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Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 18 Last of the Line by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn’t your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you’ve come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable – you’re in the right place. A little reminder: When I wrote Chapter 11 on my PC I was careful to put the extracts from Joel’s Memoir in italics. Alas, the elves don’t appear able to produce such a typeface. Thus, for the avoidance of doubt I shall use ***** as a break within Dab’s narrative or Joel’s Memoir and +++++ to indicate a change in the voice: Dab to Joel (or another, as will happen later), or vice versa. I hope that helps. Don’t leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty – these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. fty/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 18 A week before Christmas I settled down one afternoon to resume the adventures of Joel and Amos. Poor souls, they had been stuck in New York for over three months while, in the 21st Century, my first personal brush with the reality of what was to come had taken place. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ We travelled overland a few hundred miles by wagon. The roads were poor and the journey hard, but Amos and I were cheerful. Several times along the way I was called upon to assist, and I made no secret of my trade as a smith. Amos and I shod many a horse along that wearisome journey. After several days we came to a wide river, and the company – there must have been nigh on one hundred of us all told – took to crude rafts, being poled along now, being carried by the current now. Four days passed in this way, and three nights we spent moored against the river bank. By and by the great river, now wider than any river we’d ever seen, turned south, and our way led west. Another wearisome overland journey began, and this time there was no road. All that guided the leader of the train of wagons were deep ruts where others had gone before. God preserved us, but some poor souls fell by the wayside. Two children died of some affliction, but mercifully no other child caught the malady. We stopped for a day to bury the little mites. Their parents had three other children, none older than ten or eleven years, and we wept at their desolation. They knew that they would never return to lay flowers on the little graves, and it was with heavy hearts that a sad procession drew away the next morning. We made rough crosses, but in our hearts we knew that the winter storms would likely carry them away, leaving their graves known only to God. Amos was strong and brave. The privations of the journey told heavily on some of the women and the older men – one was like to be a grandfather of many winters – but my boy seemed to grow in stature with each day that passed. We came after many weeks to a settlement – more a vast untidy collection of rude shacks. This, we were told, was where the California Trail was to start. Ye gods, I thought, have we not laboured upon the train for long enough? It was late in the year, but despite this the men agreed that we should press on with our journey. It was a foolish decision, as some were to perish with the cold, but we had thought that staying at the trailhead was fraught with danger also. We were truly in a dreadful situation. This was the most vexing part, always the darkest ere the dawn. We wound our way over high mountain passes, fearful each night for our safety as the cries of wild beasts resounded. Amos declared that he had seen a great bear, but I was spared such a sight. Two of the old people went to the Lord in the highest part of the pass – the cold carried them off in the night. At last, after terrible privations, only a small part of which I have set down, we came into a lower and more easeful land. Thus was California! The leader of our group bade us stop at a grove of fruit trees, and by a merry stream we bathed and gathered to give thanks to God for our safe passage. It was early March of 1849. Of 116 souls who had set out from New York 11 had left the trail to set up a home on the way, and 18 had perished, 10 of these since we left the trailhead. Burying the poor souls was hard, for the very earth had been like iron. Amos and the other boys were much affected, for three of the lost ones were but little children. Two days later we came to a great encampment of miners seeking gold. This was what rumours had led us to hope for, for there had been tales of men who scooped handfuls of gold from the very streams. Amos and I were delighted to see so many horses, knowing that we would find work here. I spoke to the leader and told him that Amos and I would remain with the encampment. Several other young men made the same choice, and a wise one it turned out to be. Life in the camp was rough but after the crossing of the Continent we found it more bearable. We fell in with a good company of men, and around 12 of us made a small community together. Another man – Gideon – and I were the oldest, both about 40 years, so we became the elders of the camp, as the younger ones jokingly called us. Amos and Gideon’s boy Jacob were the only young ones, although both were good hard workers, fully capable of a long day’s work. The others were all men of 20 to 25 with no family accompanying them. I was mistaken in my belief that there would be much work with horses, but there was a great deal for a smith with a need for iron tools and such things. I had no need of Amos for much of the day, and he went off to join the gold miners each afternoon. One day he came back with kırklareli escort the greatest smile upon his face – a smile I can still see now, so many years later. It was a smile that would change his life and mine for ever. “Father,” he said when we were alone, “l have found this.” He drew his kerchief from his britches and opened it. Within lay a lump of yellow gold. “Is it real, Amos?” “I think so, Father, for I was not the only miner with a piece.” I had no idea that gold looked like that. I had once seen a half-sovereign in Uttoxeter, and I suppose I foolishly expected to see something similar here, but this was misshapen, but bright nonetheless. It was about the size of the head of a large nail. “Goodness, my boy, you must have found your fortune,” I said, not really believing it. Amos beamed. “I am going to return to the stream, Father, why don’t you come with me. There is more gold to be found, I’m sure,” Amos and I spent all the hours of daylight that God sent us in the next two weeks, working in the stream a few yards from the next men. Each night we returned with more gold, sometimes small pellets, sometimes nothing at all, and on two occasions with goodly pieces. Amos once discovered a piece as large as a halfpenny, but very misshapen. The other men, also successful in their quest, said we should all go together – for safety, they said – down into the city of San Francisco on the coast. There there would be assayers who would weigh and value the gold and who would give us the American dollars. Amos and I set off, our gold in a leather satchel strapped next to my skin under my garments. I saw that others were equally careful not to display their wealth. We made the journey to the city five times in the next months, each time with gold, although never as much as that first time. The second time Amos and I met the assayer he urged us to deposit our gold with a bank where it would be kept safe. I agreed, for we had few things upon which to spend more than a little money in the camp. We were wealthy men, but our daily lives were not changed. We went back to the camp and resumed the search for gold. I come now to a part of my story which is distressing to me, although as the years have passed I have come to accept that, however dark and strange it seemed to me at first, I must not judge. Each man must find his own path, and if one man finds another man’s route through this life hard to understand then he must accept that God knows all, and we do not. It is hard, very hard, for a loving father when his son loses his way, however. The winter drew in hard in 1849 and the camp was wound up, all of us making a last journey down into San Francisco. We lodged in a part of the city called Barbary where there were many taverns – the men, now wealthier than they had ever been, naturally wished to enjoy the winter in merrier surroundings that the camp. Amos and I found lodgings easily enough, and all was well for a day or two. I am hesitant to enter upon the dark part of my story – or Amos’s story, for it was he whom Satan beguiled. Since my dear Martha had died I had lain with no woman. I regarded my vows made to Martha as being holy, and I intended – and still intend – to keep them until we are together again in Paradise. The bright taverns and noisy racketing of Barbary had no effect on me therefore. Amos and I frequented the taverns, naturally, but I had no interest in the brothels. I was pleased that Amos had no interest there either. What I did not know, and did not learn for some weeks, was that Amos had been ensnared by sodomy. ***** All of this happened many years ago, and as I pen these pages at home in Staffordshire Amos is a grown man of 30 years. I have prayed earnestly about this, and although I am still dismayed by what Amos has chosen to do he remains my only Son, and my love for him, as it was on the day he was born, is without question. And as always my love for him is his Mother Martha’s also. Amos and I are long since reconciled to our different ways, and he and I have talked for many hours about how the tale should be continued. It is right that Amos should record his story in his own words. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ It was time to take stock. If Amos was the first of the queer Cunliffes, ‘being ensnared by sodomy’ as Joel had put it, that meant it had happened 186 years before I read these pages for the first time, at Christmas 2035. And by one of those strange coincidences it was exactly 250 years ago now, as I write these words. I started this lengthy tale on my 80th birthday in September 2099. Amos’s descent into sodomy was in the early winter of 1849. How strange! I resumed my reading – if Amos was about to tell it in his own words it would be an interesting read. ‘Ensnared by sodomy’ indeed! Grasped with both hands if he was the forefather of a string of Cunliffe queers. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ I, Amos Cunliffe, will set down my story. My Father has said that I was ensnared by sodomy. That is not entirely true. Ever since I was ten years old I was fascinated by what other boys had within their britches. Two other boys who lived close by in Uttoxeter and I would go into the woods and pull down our britches, showing each other what lay concealed within. Very soon what lay within lay no longer, rather it had reared up. At that innocent age we had only childish words for those parts which thrilled us, and for the things we soon found it pleasurable to do with them. I did not learn the proper names – if indeed these are the proper names – for my cock, my balls, my arse, wanking and so on until much later. But there was no need for boys of ten to know these words for kırşehir escort us to enjoy playing with the things they represented. My interest continued – grew, indeed, in the California camp. Some three or four nights after our arrival an older man, Seth, came up to me while I was relieving myself before sleep. He stood very close, much closer than was the practice, for we pissed a few feet apart normally. I was instantly aroused, for I had had only my trusty right hand for relief for many weeks. He glanced at my cock and seeing it rigid put his hand upon it. I did not move, and he took that as a sign that I was willing for him to continue to hold me. “You can hold mine, Amos,” he said quietly, smiling at me. Five minutes later we had both spent mightily on the ground at the hand of the other. “You’re a good kid, Amos,” he said, “you liked that didn’t you?” I nodded, “yes, Seth,” I whispered. As we walked back into the camp he took my hand. “Can we do it again?” I said. “Of course, Amos. Come out here tomorrow night as it becomes dark.” All the next day I could not keep Seth out of my thoughts. What we had done together in the dark had been so wonderful and so wicked, both at the same time. I knew my Father would have been shocked had he known, and although I lusted hard – and hard I was, almost all day – I knew that I must keep my mind on the day’s work and my Father in the dark about my new friendship. At last it was full dark and I went across to where we pissed into a small stream several dozen yards from the nearest part of the encampment. Seth was already there waiting. “Hello Amos,” he said quietly, “I’m glad you came. I’ve been thinking about you all day.” In the dark he could not see my smile. “Let us walk a little together,” he said, “it’s better that we are not too close,” and he nodded towards the camp, still brightly lit with lanterns. “Are we not to do things together?” I said, disappointed that my cock and his were not already at their exercise. “Have no fear, little one,” he whispered. Had my Father called me that I should have been very resentful, but coming from Seth – a great deal younger than my Father – it made me feel warm somehow. We walked close by each other for some minutes until we were atop a small knoll. “Now,” he said, “look back.” I looked towards the camp, some half a mile away. No part of the path we had traversed was hidden. I saw that we could see anyone who might chance to come this way long before we could be seen, and I shivered with renewed lust. “Can we … here?” I stammered. By way of answer Seth took my face in his hands and bent very close, his lips but half an inch from mine. “Yes, Amos, we can, and we will. But not just idly spending on the ground, for that would be a waste. Tell me, lad, have you spilt your seed with any others?” The kindly darkness masked my blush. “Yes, Seth, but only with boys in England. You are the only one since.” “So I am the first man then.” I nodded. In truth Seth was not many years older than I, but to a boy of 14 someone of 20 or 22 years is indeed a man. “And have these other boys held your cock and brought your seed forth for you, while you have done the same for them?” “Yes, Seth.” “Two more questions only, Amos, and then we will do the things we both yearn to do. Have you done any other things with your cock?” “I piss and spend with it, but apart from that, no. What else is there to do with it?” I could not see what I now know was opening up before me, and so all the revelations that were to come from that moment on the dark knoll were unexpected and doubly exciting. “You said there were two questions, Seth.” Our lips were still half an inch apart. “Would you like to do other things, Amos?” and before I could reply he moved that half inch and our lips touched for the first time. I must have moved away – an instinct, I fancy – but his hands behind my head drew me forward again, this time pressing his lips hard against mine. I felt a thrill in my body and I must have opened my mouth to gasp, but Seth’s tongue took possession of the open door into my mouth and I felt for the first time the electric thrill of another’s tongue searching for mine, probing, seeking, finding … I cried out. “Ssh!” he murmured. “I’ve spent in my britches,” I wailed. Seth chuckled. “I knew you found me a lusty companion, but I had no idea my presence beside you was that powerful.” I told him, when I could speak again, that it had been his presence in my mouth. “Never mind, little one, you are vigorous and can spend again soon. Let me help you with your britches.” He unfastened them and lowered them to the ground. He carefully unwrapped my undercloth, sopping from what his tongue had drawn from me. To my astonishment he bent and put his nose and mouth into the mess in my undercloth. I heard him breathe deeply. When he looked up at me a few moments later he said that my spunk smelt like the finest spunk he’d ever smelt, and that he believed it would taste as fine. I was even more astonished when he licked the mess, and seemed to eat it. He stood up and kissed me again. His mouth tasted very different – bitter and sweet at the same time. “That’s your spunk you’re tasting, Amos. Is it the first?” I nodded. It was a taste I liked, and one I would come to know well. “Is that one of the `other things’?” I asked. “One of a great number, Amos, and if you will I will share as many as I know with you.” I was still weak from my spending, but Seth was saying things which excited me beyond measure. My cock was insisting that another spending was possible. Seth saw the change. “Let us take our clothes off, Amos, and see each other’s body properly.” Although it was cold I did not resist, and Seth made a carpet of our garments. He took my hands kızılay escort and laid me on the ground, where he lay beside me, our lips close again. “I love the taste of your spunk, Amos. Would you let me give you mine to taste?” I nodded. If Seth wanted my spunk then I knew that I should want his. I wasn’t keen on licking it from his undercloth however, so I said, rather shyly, that I would like to taste his spunk, but I would prefer to do so taking it directly from his cock. Innocent that I was, I had no notion that this was Seth wanted! He agreed and directed me into the right position. This very soon became second nature, but that first time on the grassy knoll I was a beginner and Seth was very patient. He lay on his back and directed me to squat over his chest so that my mouth could readily accommodate his cock. I bent forward and for the first time in my life closed my lips round a cock – a hot, hard cock throbbing in my mouth, bathed by my tongue. As I tasted his salty flavour I knew that this was what I wanted: I knew, even though I was but 14, that I wanted this cock, and more cocks, in my mouth; I wanted Seth to spend his hot seed in me – to make me special to him. I know now, 16 years later, that my senses were too overwhelmed with the new sensations in my mouth, my cock, my brain for any thought of the future to be sensible. All I knew that night with Seth’s cock in my mouth was that I had never been more excited. Seth groaned. “I’m near, Amos.” I put my hands round his buttocks, pulling him onto me for fear of his cock slipping out from my lips. My tongue doubled in its intensity, rolling round and over his hot cock head. Then Seth groaned deeply and pressed his cock deeper into my mouth. For an instant I felt afraid, but then I felt hot gushes of spunk in my mouth. Four, five … six! My mouth was filled and although I swallowed as rapidly as I could the quantity pulsing from his cock was too great, and some spilled from my mouth and ran down onto Seth’s balls, empty now of their precious burden. “Oh, Amos,” he whispered. I raised my mouth from his cock, “oh, Seth,” I whispered back. I licked his tender cock, already softening after its exertion. He shuddered. I was alarmed. “Did I hurt you?” “No, Amos, it was a shudder of pleasure. Now stay where you are for a moment.” I was happy to do so: had he bade me stay there all night I would willingly have done so. I remained crouched over him, his cock inches from my lips, the spunk which had escaped from my mouth enticingly inches away. I leant forward and gently licked up the little silver trail at exactly the same moment that I felt Seth’s tongue trace a path between my buttocks! “Seth!” I whispered, “you cannot lick me there – I am not washed.” But he ignored me – indeed, he pulled my buttocks apart the better to allow his tongue to do its mischief. “I love the taste of a boy’s arse,” he said and, truth to tell, the boy was loving it also. I felt I had grown a million years wiser in just 30 minutes. My cock was firm again in consequence of Seth’s play with my arse. When his tongue lapped at my very entrance I felt it give a great lurch. “You like that,” he said, “I can feel your cock against my chest.” “Suck me, Seth,” I whispered, “suck my cock and let me spend in your mouth.” He moved his body a few inches and for the first time my cock was engulfed in a warm sensuous mouth. The sensation was beyond words. Had I died at that moment I would have gone from an earthly heaven straight to another. Seth was expert in what he did to me, playing slowly, playing quickly, taking – amazingly! – one of my balls into his mouth and gently rolling it about. I was fearful for an instant, but I trusted Seth, for everything he had done had been kind and gentle – even when he was being fierce! Too soon I felt my balls tingling in the familiar way and I moaned that release was near. Seth made no move to draw back – it was clear that we would always both spend in each other’s mouth – and I tried to relax as my spending rushed upon me. I cried out, but softly, as my spunk flew up out of my cock into Seth’s mouth, into Seth’s belly, into – I allowed myself to think – into Seth’s soul. I was but 14 and had yet to learn that sexual coupling, while blissful and all-consuming, does not imply love for one’s partner, and I fear – I am shamed to confess it here all these years later – that I whispered that I loved him. He chuckled. “No you don’t, Amos, nor do I love you, but what we have done these last minutes is making love, not being in love.” I didn’t understand, of course, and I told him so. “You will come to understand soon enough, Amos. Meanwhile we must return to camp.” He took my face in his hands and gently kissed my mouth again. “Should you like us to do this again?” he whispered. I could not speak: my heart was so full. I nodded, fearful that were I to try to speak my voice would have betrayed me by showing him how close to tears I was. We met again – not the following night for my Father kept me in conversation about our finds – but the night following. My cock had been hard with desire all day and I told Seth of it. He smiled. “I too, Amos, for when I think of you my mind and my cock grow urgent, as you can tell,” and he took my hand and drew it to his britches. A great giant dwelt therein, or so my mind conjured. A great giant that was my friend, and a great giant that would, in the coming weeks, teach me so much. Part of me felt guilty that I was neglecting to spend the time in companionship with my Father, but that part was always overcome by the urgent part which lurked and grew hot in my undercloth. My Father remained in ignorance of my dealings with Seth, and my dealings with Seth grew in intensity. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 19 as I read more of Amos’s memoir. The story is, of course, fiction. Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. ===============================================================================

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