This is a story that involves sex between males. if such a story is offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue,
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This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events it is entirely coincidental.
The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
My thanks to John and Michael who have read this through and made a number of corrections and suggestions. Any remaining errors , grammatical, spelling or historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
If you want to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
Jeffrey: some general remarks about this episode: I am not sure how - structurally - this episode fits with what is to come. There is a detailed narrative mostly about the war and, while it gives a lot of background information to people who, unlike you and me, have no recollection of the period, I believe it is more significant in terms of space devoted to it than it needs to be or than it can be without holding up the narrative thrust. That is, assuming that the novel is about the coming-of-age of Trevorin important areas.. But I am really straying beyond my usual field of competence, in attempting to tidy up vagaries of grammar, punctuation and spelling. Ignore me if you think what I say is irrelevant. But you do wallow in the impersonal passive in this episode! I have changed them as much as possible (for me) because I think they tend to be colourless. Attaching a person to a verb keeps the narrative vivid, compelling. I hope you agree with me. Two Jubilees and a Spitfire.
Resume:- Time 1940. Trevor a boy of seven from the slums of the east End of London has been evacuated to the country, but after being found in a compromising state with an older boy, his father came to collect him and take him back to London.
Part 3 Two Jubilees and One Spitfire.
Trevor and his father sat close together on the train back to London from Somerset. They were fortunate to get a corner seat for Trevor, and his attention was divided between looking out of the window and looking at his father. Trevor chatted away to his father incessantly. His father was impressed when he pointed out the different breeds of cattle to be seen in the fields. Any fellow traveller that day would have realised that there was a close relationship between father and son.
Eventually Trevor's tongue fell silent, and as they drew out of Reading, he fell asleep, and only woke as they pulled into Paddington Station. They went by tube to Liverpool Street and then caught a bus to Limehouse. The war had brought about a number of changes to the London scene. There were more people to be seen in uniform. Some buildings had sandbags to protect them. This was especially true of the government offices in Whitehall, though Trevor did not see them, as their route did not lie that way. But the local police stations were also sandbagged up to the first story. Many of the shop windows had been removed and boarded up, as a protection from flying glass. Nearly every other window was criss-crossed with bands of stick-on brown paper. This too was to give some protection from flying glass. In many of the smaller side streets there were now shelters, with thick brick walls and reinforced concrete roofs. These were thirty to forty feet long and could shelter up to a hundred people. There was an entrance at each end, with a blast wall in front of that. Trevor was surprised to find one of these in the road where he lived. Though there were these changes, there was no war damage as yet to be seen.
Trevor's mother, Amy Russell was at home and greeted her returning son with many hugs and kisses, and exclamations of 'Ow you've grown', 'Ow well you look', and 'What rosy cheeks you've got'. Trevor had indeed grown, and the fresh country air and good food had given him a look of good health.
He quickly opened his case, and extracted the jar of clotted cream that Mrs Joliffe had given him that morning. This West Country delicacy was something new to the East End family. Trevor explained how it was made, and how it was usually eaten with bread, scones, or fruit. They had it that day with bread and jam.
The war had brought regular work to Frank Russell. So there was now some financial stabiltiy and almost prosperity to the Russell household. There was no longer the everyday struggle to make ends meet. Frank was now bringing home a regular income. There was now a radio in the house, and he bought a daily newspaper.
That evening Frank was sitting in an arm chair reading the daily paper when, rather shyly, Trevor came and sat on the arm.
"Not too big a boy for a cuddle ven?" Frank put his arm round the boy.
Trevor got onto his father's lap, and put an arm round his father's neck.
"I don't know who is more pleased to see who?" said Amy Russell observing the scene.
"I think it is about equal on both sides, don't you Trev?" Frank gave Trevor a squeeze. Trevor returned the squeeze.
" 'Ow's your reading coming on, son?"
"All right."
Frank pointed to a short article in the paper. "Can you read vat?
Trevor read it with minimal hesitation.
"Well done. You 'ain't forgotten all you learnt then."
Sitting on his father's lap and reading the paper with him became a part of the family routine that summer.
On April 10th the second act of the drama of the Second World War began. Hitler sent his divisions into Denmark and Norway.
The following day something occurred that was to have quite profound consequences for Trevor. He was sitting again in the arm chair with his father. In the paper there was a small map of Denmark and Norway showing with black arrows the directions of the German attacks.
Trevor pointed to the map. "What's vat, Dad?"
"Vat's a map."
"What's a map?"
Frank spent some time explaining to Trevor what a map was, and what that particular map meant. . But Frank went on to talk about Denmark and Norway. He had not been to either of the countries, and he had been taught nothing about them at school, but he had helped to unload cargoes that had come from them. There had been butter and bacon from Denmark, and wood from Norway. He even pointed out where the boats had come from. It was the beginning of Trevor's life-long interest in maps.
Easter Day had been early that year, so on the Monday Trevor was back at his old school. There were changes to be seen there. In the school playground there were a couple of the large brick shelters. The windows were covered with the criss-crossed brown paper. He quickly met up with many of his old class mates. Some had been down with him at Binchcombe and had trickled back to London over the months. Many had returned for that first war-time Christmas, and never returned to Somerset. They all had their tales to tell, They spoke freely. A few had been badly treated, some as little more than servants to work in the house or on the farm. Others had been accepted. Then there were those who had been well treated like Trevor, and had thrived in the rural surroundings.
By the end of April the campaign in Norway was virtually over, and King Haakon had fled to Britain. Ten days later the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, was forced to resign, and Winston Churchill became Prime Minister. "We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender." The same time Hitler launched his blitzkrieg in the West. He invaded Holland and Belgium and attacked France.
Within five days Queen Wilhelmina of Holland had fled to Britain. With brilliant audacious skill the main German attack was in the area reckoned to be impenetrable to armoured divisions. Hitler's panzers swept though the wooded Ardennes, and quickly crossed the river Meuse, one of the vital defensive barriers for the French. Five days later the Panzers had reached the Channel. Hitler had succeeded in ten days, with little loss to himself, in doing what the Kaiser had failed to do in four years of bitter costly fighting.
Trevor was only slightly aware that serious events were taking place. Living in Limehouse close to the River Thames he saw some of the small boats come down the river to cross the Channel and lift as many soldiers off the open beaches to the east of Dunkirk. If there are ever miracles in wartime that was one: 338,226 soldiers, a third of them French, for there was no differentiation when it came to rescuing the endangered men., were brought back to Britain from the defeated and beleaguered army. The miracle was that there were so many, and the weather stayed calm for the crucial days. But the tanks, and guns, the trucks and masses of equipment were left behind. Many of the returning soldiers did not even have their rifles. As Churchill said a few days later, "Let us brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last a thousand years, men will say, 'This was their finest hour'."
Most of the British public were unaware that their days of greatest peril were the following few weeks. Britain was unarmed. Winston Churchill did not as yet command the full support and loyalty of his own cabinet. His foreign secretary, Lord Halifax, was in favour of coming to some agreement with Hitler. Hitler held out an olive branch - of sorts. Joseph Kennedy, the American Ambassador to the Court of St James, was sending back profoundly pessimistic forecasts of any likely hope of prolonged resistance to the Nazis from Britain.
For Trevor that summer term was the time when the war began to affect him more personally. The Luftwaffe started by attacking shipping through the Straits of Dover. Slowly the war in the air began to increase in intensity
There was the first sounding of the air raid siren during school hours. Trevor and his class walked in an orderly line out of the classroom, across the play ground, into the brick shelter. It was fun and exciting the first time, and soon the all clear had sounded. But it started becoming a regular occurance. It was not so much fun then.
The Hurricanes and Spitfires were seeing action high in the skies over the South East of England, leaving webs of vapour trails in the blue sky. When Hitler knew his peace overtures had been rejected he made plans for the invasion of Britain. In Britain it was a time of feverish activity. Dragons' teeth, and pill boxes appeared at cross roads, even in the East End of London. [Foot note 1]
Something of the underlying fear got through to Trevor and his school mates.
They asked many questions, many of which had no satisfactory answer. His education began to suffer.
So the Battle of Britain was fought in the skies. The Luftwaffe attacked the vital radar stations along the south coast, but they failed to destroy them all, because too soon they diverted their attention to the fighter bases like Biggin Hill. The RAF was being savagely mauled but again the Germans changed targets too soon. But the Battle of Britain had been won.
'Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few." [Churchill]
Saturday September 7th was like many days of that summer of 1940. It dawned bright and sunny. It was mid morning when people in the South East began to realise that it was a different day. The radar screens did not pick up any enemy air activity. The sirens did not sound. The people of Limehouse enjoyed the opportunity to get on with normal life without interruption. Housework was done; shopping was done; cakes for the weekend were baked. Trevor played a form of cricket in the street with his friends. A wicket had been chalked onto the blast wall of the brick shelter. They used an old tennis ball, and the bat was one that had seen better days..
The meal time, about 1.00pm, usually called dinner time, came and went without interruption. The boys resumed game of cricket in the street. Frank Russell came home from work, and sat reading the paper.
It was mid afternoon that the familiar sound of the siren was heard. Frank put on his helmet with the letters ARP [Air Raid Precautions] written on the front. He went off to the ARP Warden's Post. Many people trooped into the shelters. Some stayed at home. The siren had sounded too many times before and had only signalled activity high in the sky.
The people in their homes heard it first. Puzzled they went out into the street, and hurried to the shelter. Then those in the shelter heard it. Trevor and his mother heard the pulsating drone of air craft. An air raid warden stepped into the shelter. "There're 'undreds of them flying in formation towards us," he said, his voice cracking with excitement and fear.
There was absolute silence in the shelter as the droning became louder. Trevor got closer to his mother. There came the high pitched whistle. They all knew what that heralded. Then there was the crump of bombs. Soon the air was full of the sound of exploding bombs. There were crashes, and the tinkling of splintered glass. Soon there were other sounds, the bells of the fire engines and ambulances rushing to where they were needed. The raid seemed to go on for ever.
It lasted for just over two hours. Those in the shelter noticed that the sounds of exploding bombs had ceased. The All Clear sounded. The people in the shelter began to move towards the entrances, each one fearful of what they were going to see. They were amazed to see that all the houses in the road were still standing. Those who lived at the further end of the street from the Russell home had some of their windows blown out. But everywhere there was the smell of burning, and a great pall of smoke was rising from not far away high into the blue sky.
Just over 500 German bombers had followed the course of the River Thames, flying unopposed at 5000ft to deposit their bombs on the docks of east London.
Amy and Trevor made their way home. Amy prepared tea for them both, and saved some for Frank. Both began to fear for Frank's safety. But a couple of hours later he looked in to say he was safe. He grabbed a sandwich and went off to continue with his work as a warden.
Trevor was sent off to bed. But shortly after dark, which was very late because of the introduction of double summer time, the sirens went again. Amy Russell got out of bed, and dressed quickly. She went in and wrapped Trevor in a blanket and took him out to the shelter. The women, children and old men of the street gathered there, many in their night clothes. The women still had their hair in curlers, and many of the older people, that first night, had forgotten to put in their dentures.
The Luftwaffe that night was guided by the fires which were still burning from the raid in the afternoon. There were further explosions, further crashes, further bells of ambulances and fire engines. That night was the first of 57 consecutive nights of air raids upon London. It was soon called the London Blitz.
As soon as the All Clear sounded Trevor and the other youngsters in the street liked to rush out and search for pieces of shrapnel from the anti aircraft guns.
One night the bombers had droned their way over Limehouse. Amy and the other adults wondered who was catching it that night, as no bombs feel near them. The bombs were dropped on the City of London. First there were the high explosive bombs, then showers of incendiaries. Soon the City of London was ablaze. In the middle stood Christopher Wren's masterpiece, the Cathedral Church of St Paul. Those fighting the fires, and rescuing the trapped in the surrounding streets, thought that St Paul's must have been destroyed. But when the wind blew, and the smoke cleared for a moment, the great dome was still there high and proud, watching over her city in its hour of travail below. Later it was learnt that incendiaries had landed on the cathedral, but were put out by volunteer fire watchers with their buckets of water and stirrup pumps. Most were quickly put out. But one fell high on the flatter part of the dome, out of the reach of the firefighters above, and of those below. It burst into flames, but whether because of some breath of wind, or its balance was disturbed by its bursting into flame, it rolled down the dome, on to the stone galley below,
where the fire fighters armed with their stirrup pumps were able to deal with it.
There was an exceptionally low tide that night. Water mains had been cut by the high explosive bombs, and water could not be pumped from the Thames. The City of London was within a hair's breadth being consumed by a fire storm like those that later destroyed Hamburg, and the beautiful city of Dresden.
There was one night when the air raid had been heavy. The drone of the enemy aircraft had faded away, and the anti aircraft guns fell silent. The tension in the shelter began to lessen. The people sheltering began to prepare for the dawn and the sounding of the All Clear. Suddenly there was the most tremendous explosion. There was the sound of falling masonry. Every body looked at each other knowing that had been a close one. Then a warden came into the shelter. "How many explosions did you hear?"
Everybody answered, "One. Why?"
"It was a landmine. We saw two coming down on parachutes. There must be an unexploded one nearby. We'll have to go and look for it. Should be quite easy, there will be the parachute still attached."
The wardens left, followed by some of the fitter middle aged men in the shelter. The light was beginning to increase in the east, heralding the approach of dawn. The men began to search for the parachute and its attached landmine. At the end of the street there stood one of those typical London plane trees. They were some of the few trees that could survive in the atmospheric pollution of London in the 1940s. The men searched. Then as the light increased one of them happened to glance up, and there, caught in the branches of the tree, was a parachute with the landmine attached.
The wardens and the police were contacted. Everybody living within a given radius had to be evacuated. Families were allowed five minutes to collect essential things from their homes, before being directed to a school a mile away. There were many glances at the plane tree with its deadly decoration.
It was late in the afternoon before the bomb disposal men had disarmed the landmine. Then folk were allowed to go back home.
On another occasion Trevor was wandering through some neighbouring streets. There were a couple of large smart cars, an unusual sight in that part of London. Also several policemen, and a crowd of people. Trevor wormed his way through the crowd, as only a small boy can, and he was rewarded with a sight of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. Only a short while before Buckingham Palace itself .had been bombed, after which the Queen was heard to remark that she now felt able to look the East Enders in the face. On another day Trevor saw Winston Churchill, with a cigar in one hand and giving the V for victory sign.
Trevor's home had its windows blown out fairly early on. They were covered with some fabric which let in some light. One night when a bomb had landed fairly close not only had the window coverings been blown in, but also the window frames themselves had been dislodged. Trevor went up to his bedroom. He looked around and gave a loud cry.
His father rushed upstairs. "Wot's the matter Trev?"
"My spitfire. Its gone."
His father looked around and found it under Trevor's bed. From then on he kept it in the chest of drawers, not on it.
It was one morning in January 1941 when the All Clear sounded, that Trevor and his mother stumbled bleary eyes out of the shelter. Amy saw a man standing in the doorway of her house wearing the familiar ARP helmet. She knew it was not Frank, and immediately she began to fear the worst. She clung to Trevor's arm, almost hurting him with the tightness of her grip. One look into the man's face told her the worst.
Somehow she managed to unlock the front door, and they entered.
"It's Frank, isn't it?"
"Yes, Amy. I'm afraid it is."
"Ve worst?"
"Yes. You know ve Hardie Buildings, ver flats at ver end of ver Commercial Road. A bomb landed on vem demolishing a part of vem. Vere were cries of some kids trapped in ver debris. Frank and I went to get them out. Some firemen warned us to be careful as there was a wall that was bulging out. We dug out one kid wiv our 'ands. and Frank 'anded her to me,
and I carried 'er in my arms to safety. There were still sounds of another kid crying. Frank continued to search. 'E 'ad just got a lad pulled out, when another bomb landed not far away. The blast rocked the wall and it collapsed down on Frank and the kid. They didn't stand an earthly."
Amy collapsed into an arm chair. She wept profusely. Trevor went and put his arms round her. He was unsure what to do in the circumstances.
There was a knock at the front door and the neighbour, Mrs Cussins, came in.
She was a typical cockney matriarch. She was a large woman in her sixties. Only on a Saturday evening at the local was she ever seen without her hair in curlers. She had had eleven children. All of them were now married and were now producing grandchildren, adding to her family at the rate of several a year. She still ruled her family. Though she was outspoken, and tough, she had a heart of gold. She had seen the warden standing at the door and guessed what it meant. She came in, surveyed the scene, and knew at once she was correct. She went over and gave Amy a hug.
Then she went and began to make that English panacea in all times of trouble, a cup of tea.
There was no other family around for support. All Trevor's grandparents were dead. Amy was an only child. Frank had a couple of younger brothers but they were both with the eighth army in Egypt. The neighbours were good, especially the formidable but kind hearted Mrs Cussins. Trevor as a young boy of eight was offered no help in dealing with his grief. The sorrow of bereavement was regarded as an adult emotion, not a child's. Trevor retreated whenever he could to his bedroom. On several nights he wept in bed, but he was rather ashamed of that. He was coming to those years when it was regarded as sissy for a male to cry. The East End was a tough environment where boys grew up fast.
The local vicar called and stayed for about half an hour. Most of his words were with Amy Russell. As he left he said to Trevor, "Your Dad was a good and brave man. I hope you will always be proud of him. He was killed saving the lives of others."
Frank was buried in a nearby cemetery. There was a short service in the cemetery chapel. Many neighbours were there. Mrs Cussins was there, dressed, as the other women all in black. Her hair was not in curlers that day. There was a short procession from the chapel to the grave. They had to deviate from the path because of a couple of bomb craters. Even the dead did not rest in peace. After the coffin had been committed, 'earth to earth, dust to dust, and ashes to ashes,' the vicar hurried away. He had ten funerals to take that day, eight of them of people killed in air raids.
It soon became apparent that Frank had been the one who held the family together. Amy was out at work for long hours each day. Trevor was left to himself. He was out playing in the street, or on the piles of rubble, or exploring the cellars of destroyed buildings. On several occasions his school was damaged by bombs. It was then closed for a while until emergency repairs made it useable again. About a third of the school's children went fled back into the country to safety. Several times before he was killed Frank had said, "We're not going to be parted again. We're going to stay together as a family. If we 'ave to go, we'll go together." There was certainly no thought of Trevor returning to Somerset or going anywhere else. But after Frank's death Amy began to let things drift.
One day about two months after Frank's death Trevor returned home to find a strange man with Amy in the house.
"Vis is Bert," she said. " 'E'll be living wiv us. I vink you'd better call 'im Uncle."
That night when Trevor was lying in bed, still awake, he heard the rhythmic creak of bed springs from his mother's room. He remembered the sex education given him by Harry, and immediately realised what was going on. He wondered if he would be getting a young brother or sister.
That uncle was the first of a series. They all seemed to have names like Bert, Alf, Dick or Fred. The shortest stay was a fortnight, and the longest four months. There always seemed to a be a blazing argument between Amy and the man, and then the uncle promptly disappeared. Trevor's treatment at the hands of the various uncles was either good, bad or indifferent.
Trevor often remembered his times with Harry. Often he would look carefully round his cock, hoping to find the first signs of pubic hair. He knew that that would be the harbinger of the time when he could make spunk. But in his mind he knew that it would be several years before that time came. He had little or no interest in sex with the other boys. There were no showers in the school, as the children did not participate in any games that might require the removal of mud from a playing field. So there was no seeing each other with no clothes on. A bath was a weekly activity, for most of the children done in an iron bath in the kitchen at home. Some adults went to the local public baths, but rarely did the children go. The school lavatory was a rather smelly place in the playground. There was little lingering there. Occasionally one boy might get a glimpse of another boy's cock, as the boy buttoned up his trousers. Very rarely, if two were alone in the lavatory, they would look at each other, and the proud comment would come from one, 'Mine is bigger than yours!'
At one end of the street in which Trevor lived there was a corner shop that was a newsagent and tobacconist. The shop was owned by a Mr and Mrs Huckle.
Mr Huckle had served in the army in South Africa during the Boer War, and also in the First World War, called in those days the Great War. He was a tall thin man, with white hair and a small white moustache. In the beginning Frank had taken Trevor along with him to the shop to buy a paper,
or some cigarettes. Sweets were not yet rationed so Frank would often buy Trevor sweets of some sort. In the late autumn of 1940 Frank had started sending Trevor to buy the paper or some cigarettes. Trevor had come to know Mr Huckle.
One afternoon after his father's death, Trevor was in the shop with a couple of pence in his fist hoping to buy some sweets. The evening paper was open on the counter. It showed a map. Trevor stood twisting his head trying to see the map the right way round.
"What are you looking at, Trevor?" asked Mr Huckle.
"Ver map," replied the boy.
"You interested in maps?" Mr Huckle turned the paper round so it was the right way up for Trevor. "Know what it's a map of?"
"Egypt and Libya," answered Trevor.
"Good lad. What do you know about them lands?
"Dad said that there is a lot of sandy desert vere. And vat dates come from Egypt. Vere're prymids in Egypt. 'E said vat boxes of dates often 'ave prymids on vem"
"Pyramids," corrected Mr Huckle. "General Wavell has pushed the Italians half way out of Libya."
"Dad said 'is brothers was wiv ver amy in Egypt."
"Did he now."
That small incident was the beginning of a relationship between Mr Huckle and Trevor. Sometimes Trevor would call in at the shop just to talk to Mr Huckle about any map that there might be in the paper.
On the tenth of April Mr Huckle greeted Trevor with excitement.
"New map today, Trevor. 'Itler's gone into Yugoslavia."
"Where's that?" asked Trevor.
Mr Huckle explained. Trevor saw the map with three arrows that marked where the Nazi panzers were pushing towards the town of Zagreb in northern Yugoslavia."
In London the blitz continued until well into 1941. The last few weeks the raids were getting less and less heavy. Then they stopped and Londoners began to get a good night's sleep. The Luftwaffe had been called off, so that it could get into action elsewhere.
The morning papers of Monday the 23rd June showed another new map. Mr Huckle called Trevor into the shop. "Itler's gone and done it this time, Trevor. 'E's gone into Russia. Let's 'ope 'e's made the same mistake as old Boney." Mr Huckle had to explain that one. The significant factor was Great Britain was no longer alone in fighting the Nazis.
That summer the maps in the newspapers showed the Germans sweeping all before them in Russia. Neither Mr Huckle nor Trevor was aware of that dramatic moment in December 1941, when a patrol of the Wehrmacht reached the terminus of the Moscow tram system. Through a gap in the frosty mist of that winter day the German patrol saw the sun glittering on the distant domes of the Kremlin. They got no further.
But yet other maps were appearing. On the other side of the world, there was the day of supreme infamy when the Japanese without warning attacked the US fleet in Pearl Harbour. Almost immediately Hitler declared war on the United States. Unwillingly, the States had been forced into the war.
It was just before his eleventh birthday that Trevor returned home from playing with friends among some nearby bombed out buildings. They were mainly piles of rubble. It was a strangely warm afternoon. He came in and poured himself a glass of water to quench his thirst. When he had drunk the water he made his way upstairs. He stopped half way up the stairs when he heard moaning noises from his mother's room. He knew it was not his mother as she was still out working. He crept upstairs. The door to the bedroom was open and he peered round to look in. The current Uncle, whose name was Fred, was lying naked on the bed, tossing himself off.
Trevor knew exactly what he was doing. He remembered all the times he had helped Harry 'to make spunk' just over three years before. But this was his first sight of a fully grown man doing it. Fred was a heavy well built man. He was a manual worker in his early forties. His work was regarded as vital for the war effort. His legs and torso were covered with thick black hair. But what caught Trevor's attention was the massive cock which was being vigourously pumped by Fred's large hairy hand. The purple helmet of the cock appeared and disappeared as the extensive foreskin was manipulated up and down. Fred began to roll around on the bed and to groan with even greater pleasure. Trevor had seen Harry reach his climax many times, so he knew what to expect. But he was surprised when, with a louder cry, Fred's body went rigid and a spurt of spunk shot three feet into the air, and came down landing all over Fred and the sheets. Four times that happened, though each spurt was slightly less than the one before. With a loud sigh Fred sank back onto the bed. He turned his head and saw Trevor standing and watching round the doorpost.
Fred's initial thought was to be angry at being spied upon. But a moment's further thought made him realise that there might be some further enjoyment to be had.
"That was good, Trev, lad. Ever seen anything like that before?"
"Not as much as that. Nor shooting so far."
"When did you see a man shoot his load then?" he asked with a conspiratorial grin.
"When I was in Somerset. The older brother there used to get me to get him to make spunk."
"Did he. Did you enjoy tossing him off?"
Trevor nodded and took a step into the room.
"Can you shoot your load yet?"
Trevor shook his head.
Fred turned onto his side, so that he was facing Trevor. "Does your cock get hard."
"Yes," replied Trevor with a certain amount of pride.
"Like it when it does?"
"Yes"
"Its a great feeling ain't it. Do you like playing with your 'ard cock?"
Trevor nodded.
"Did vat other boy in Somerset play wiv you?"
"Yes. A lot." Trevor took a further half step into the room.
"I vink you liked it," said Fred with a wink.
"We did it a lot." Trevor was beginning to relax. He had never had a conversation like this with a man.
"When did you do it?"
"Often in bed. We slept together. Ver other younger brother usually slept in ver smaller bed alongside. One night 'e 'eard us doing it, so we 'ad to stop doing it. After vat we did it around ver farm. Vere was a barn in a field. We often went up vere. I'd make 'im make spunk, and he'd play with my cock. We both liked doing it, and did it as often as we could."
"And you were never caught?"
"We was once. Mr 'Earn caught us doing it. 'Arry got thrashed by his Dad. 'E used 'is belt on 'Arry."
"Bare bottom?"
Trevor nodded.
"Three of the best?"
"No ten of ver best."
"That must 'ave 'urt," commented Fred.
" 'Arry cried a lot. 'Is bum 'ad great marks on it for two or three days."
"Poor kid. Just for doing what comes naturally," reflected Fred. "Did 'Arry's Dad thrash you?"
"No. I got told off and sent to my room."
"You were a lucky lad then?"
Trevor nodded but continued to eye Fred's cock. Only looking at Fred's face when he was answering a question.
Fred caught hold of his cock, now in a semi recumbent state, and waggled it around. "Like it Trev? It's a big un ain't it?"
"Much bigger van 'Arry's."
"But I expect 'is un 'as grown since you saw it. 'Ow old was 'e when you were in Somerset?"
"Thirteen."
"It'd be a lot bigger by now. You like mine?"
Trevor nodded and took a half pace forward.
"I bet you've got a nice 'un. Is it 'ard now?" asked Fred.
Trevor nodded, and looked slightly embarassed.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. Us men get 'ard ons easy."
Trevor liked being included as a man and shuffled further forward.
"Can I see your'un?" asked Fred.
Trevor hesitated.
"I'd like to see it. I think 'e wants to get some air, don't you?" He nodded with his head towards Trevor's crotch. "You've got a good un there.
I can see that it's pushing your bleedin trousers out."
There was silence for a moment while Trevor considered whether to comply with Fred's request.
"Go on. Let me see it. I'll tell you whether you will end up wiv a good big un like mine. Take vem trousers down."
Trevor began by undoing his belt. Slowly he undid the buttons on his short trousers, and dropped them to the floor, and kicked them to one side.
"And your pants," said Fred.
Trevor pushed his pants down, and Fred caught a quick glimpse of the youngster's bottom in a mirror. He liked what he saw - very much. Trevor stood up, and pulled up his shirt and showed Fred his cock.
"That's big un for a boy your age." He looked at Trevor's cock, sticking out strongly. There was no trace of any pubic hair. "Take off your shirt.... I ain't got nothing on. There nothing to be ashamed of. We're men 'ere together."
Trevor pulled off his shirt and dropped it on top his other clothes on the floor.
Fred moved and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Come and sit alongside me."
Trevor, gaining in confidence every moment, came and sat beside Fred on the edge of the bed.
"Well ven. Vat's nice." said Fred. He put his arm round Trevor and pulled him closer.
For Trevor enjoyed the warmth of the man's body, even though Fred's hairy arms tickled him. Fred put an arm around him, and this was a reminder of the many good times he had had with Harry. He looked up and smiled at Fred.
Fred thought he could now move towards the next step of his scheme. "Why don't we lie down together?" He pulled his feet up on to the bed, lay down on his back.
Trevor joined him.
"If you're used to 'olding a big cock. Why don't you 'old mine."
Trevor's hand reached over and touched Fred's cock. It was now beginning to return to its fully hard state.
"That feels good, Trev. I like that." Fred's hand came across and started to feel Trevor. He did it a little roughly. Trevor was slightly uncertain,
but then he remembered that Fred was a man, and he was nearly a man, and perhaps that was the way men do it.
"You've got a nice cock there, Trevor lad I think its going to be a big un.
I think it might get bigger than mine. Mine wasn't as big as yours is, when I were your age."
"You vink so?" asked Trevor, pleased with Fred's forecast. He relaxed again.
They lay alongside each other, playing with each other's cock. Both were now fully errect.
"I like your cock," said Fred. "I bet you've got a nice bum."
"Do you want to see it," asked Trevor, hoping for fresh praise.
"Yea. I'd love to see it. And feel it. Why don't you turn over on to your belly. Ven I'll be able to see it properly.
Trevor turned over on to his stomach. He felt Fred move but could not see what he was doing. He felt Fred's hands strongly on his buttocks. He gave them a gentle tap. He felt Fred pull his buttocks slightly appart, and something hard and warm touch him in a tender spot. This was something totally new. He liked the feel.
Then he felt the most excruciating pain, it seemed that he was being ripped apart by a red hot poker. He was torn apart as Fred's massive hard penis with one thrust plunged into him.
Trevor tried to scream, but Fred was ready for that. A large hand covered his mouth. The weight of Fred's heavy body pressed down on him. He could hardly breathe. There were stabbing pains in his backside as Fred's huge penis thrust in and out. It seemed to go on and on, as Fred repeatedly pushed his rampant thrusting penis deep into the young boy. There was a burning sensation all the way into his guts. As Fred had climaxed only a few minutes before, even the tight virgin bum of a small boy did not bring him to his climax quickly. For Trevor it seemed an eternity. Fred thrust down on the boy, and pulled back, then thrust anew. Again and again the pain tore at Trevor. Each thrust, each agony of searing pain began to come more quickly after the previous one. The pain became constant, and increasing. Then he felt Fred violate him with a deeper penetration than ever before. He felt the burning hardness throb, and a red hot liquid pour out into the depth of his being.
Fred lay exhausted on top of him for a further couple of minutes, before pulling his softening cock out. Fred looked down and saw that his cock was covered in blood and semen. "Bloody little bugger! You've bled all over my bleedin' cock." He slapped Trevor's buttocks viciously hard a couple of times on each buttock, before getting off the bed. He picked up Trevor's shirt and wiped the blood off his cock.
Fred dressed himself and looked down on Trevor, who lay sobbing his heart out, still face down on the bed. He realised that the boy was hurt. He quickly grabbed his bag and stuffed his belongings into it, and left.
It was a couple of hours later that Trevor's mother, Amy Russell returned from work. She called but there was no answer. She was not surprised that Trevor did not answer as he was often out playing at that time of a summer's evening. She did expect Fred to be at home. She thought he must be asleep on the bed. With a smile, she made her way upstairs. What better way to wake a man than to get undressed and wake him by climbing into bed with him.
What man is averse to some unexpected sex?
She climbed the stairs and looked into the bedroom. On the floor were Trevor's hastily discarded clothes, on top of which was the boy's blood-stained shirt. On the bed was Trevor, still face down, though he was asleep he was still convulsed with periodic sobs. She saw the dried blood on his buttocks, and the blood stained sheet beneath him.
She rushed over to the bed. Her maternal instincts may not have been particularly strong, but they were stirred at that sight. "Trevor! Trevor! My poor lamb! What did 'e do to you?"
She did not need Trevor to tell her, the evidence before her eyes was enough. Trevor hugged his mother, and in a fresh flood of tears told her what had happened.
After a while when Trevor was calmer she went downstairs, and boiled some water. She popped round to next door and brought Mrs Cussins with her. They went upstairs with the water in a bowl. Amy washed the injured parts of her son, muttering all the time, "If I get my 'ands on vat man...."
"They can be bloody brutes when it comes to sex," said Mrs Cussins. "Vere were times when I had to fight my Arthur off."
Footnotes:-
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Dragons' teeth, were brick and concrete structures, 6ft high. 4ft or so across and deep. Measurements are from memory!! They were designed to stop tanks! Some hope! There are still some to be found in isolated places round the coast.
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The incident with the land mine being caught in the tree is accurate. Though it happened elsewhere. I was in a shelter, and my Dad was one of those who went out looking for the unexploded one. It had been caught in a tree somewhere near the end of our garden. I also remember the first big raid on the docks and seeing the pall of smoke rising into the air. We lived several miles away.
If you want to ask any questions do not hesitate to contact me. And thanks for the many comments on the last two parts. I am still replying. jeffyrks@hotmail.com