MARCUS BY STEVEN ADRIAN FREEMAN
Steven Adrian Freeman, originally surnamed Smith (1954-2021) was an English film critic, artist and writer, whose creative output was severely disrupted by troubles with the law over his passionately-held belief that Greek love could be very good for boys. Except for the odd short story (one of which won the English PEN’s Prison Writing competition in 2014), none of his fiction was finished. The following example of his writing is the only chapter he wrote of a novel called Marcus. Set in England, apparently in the eighteenth century, it was written sometime (probably not long) before 2003.
Or: the very start of my trials.
In which I take a short fall from
grace, receive a fearful panning
from my master, and I shew a most
unexpected visitor to a place down
below, where he gives me what I
think a token of his high esteem.
Where all this rightly started, well I tell you where, was in my ratty old hammock at Trapley's Inn. I could laugh if it was some boy else, only it was me, and didn't think it much to laugh at. Randall was in the hammock 'neath mine in a sort of cubbyhole back of the kitchen where they kept the cheeses, the dried fish and the boys. It was a tavern, yes? So all the chambers astairs with proper beds they were kept for passing travellers coming in from port, else going down to it. There was no actual proper servants, it being as you might say a poorly district. There was just Randall and me, and him twelve year, born three years after me. My parents had give me the name of Marakas, what in English is Marcus. We are Jews of blood, so I cannot help my long name, and that is Marcus Ben Dover. Yes laugh at me, if you think that a civil way to make acquaints. I never did see my family since they sold me at three shilling to Trapley for his apprentix, and all I am sad for is they took my dog Handy when they journeyed on to Lincoln.
Summer nights in that kitchen hole was sticky hot and cheesy, so I had nothing on me, no more did Randall, but then tis a queer sort of boy as wears anything to bed whatever the time of year, if you want my slant on it. You will agree that it was a trial for me then, at all of my fine young age, lying in that dark pantry, ready as you might say for all, and this little blond‑haired lad stirring sleepily, bare as a peeled egg, not three foot under me. When we was on more playful terms, Randall and me, he'd reach up and jab a finger in my end, and we'd make coarse jests on the folk as drank at the inn that day, or Trapley, our master. We might go swimming at the millpond with tother village boys, and wrassle like dogs in the grass. Still I did never quite find the face to climb out my hammock when the house was still and into his, though I was much of a mind to do it, for he was a fine sight in the skin.
Trapley says to me, on the day Randall came, "Marcus, put this down lad, mind what I tell thee now. If I ever come about it that tha's been at thy tricks with that there boy, it's the harbour keephouse for thee! Understand? There and then I'll march thee straight to the keephouse, where the streetwardens will do with thee as they please. So think on. Tha let him be, if thee don't fancy a dozen streetwardens taking turns on thee in the keephouse locks!"
That's what he warned me, and I reckon as he meant it, mainly cause of he wanted young Randall's perty backside all to himself. Trapley's wed, mind, and like most men as keep fat wives in their bed, he crept about after the boys in secret. She never caught him at it, neither, though he shafted me well nigh every night when I was twelve year, and regular enough at thirteen. He treated me like gold back then, and says I was his "special playmate", but on my yearday of fourteen he takes me walking down the lane and says "We won't do that no more boy, thee and me. Tha can stay on a‑course, and help in the tavern. But it's to be more master and lad now, not cock and chicken, if tha takes my meaning."
And sure enough, just soon as he found a new boy to play with, he went cold to me. And now I see it, thinking back, as he was looking for a way out of me from that day on, though he didn't mind pointing me at the bedchamber door of any coin‑happy traveller as wanted a bit of boy‑fun. I didn't mind if he did neither, for I'm exceeding fond of it, and learned such art at it as to make a man, for an hour or twain, thank his maker I was born.
So anyways, on this particlar morning there I am, all splayed out in my hammock, thinking with my fingers, if you take my meaning, when sure as cock‑crow, down creeps Trapley from his snoring wife and lingers at the pantry door eyeing young Randall, still dozing like a babe. Well acourse, I have to be dead asleep too, yes? Else he'd sulk all day and find fault with my every move. Twas a farce he played out twice a week or more, leading Randall up to a guest room and going at him like a spring rabbit. This morn he sidles in and shakes Randall in the lower hammock. He has just his morning cloak on, and I can see out the hook of my sleeping eye he's got a right fat one going already.
"Come up, wake thy bones" he hisses shortly, "I must be quick at it today. There's important guests coming."
"O, go away do" groans Randall sulkily, never so keen on his hands and knees as I was. As I am, if it's a fair man reading this.
"It won't be long" coaxes the master, "Soon finished, hey? Come." "You'll wake him" grumbles the boy, meaning my naked self.
"Hmph" goes Trapley, "he sleeps like a winter bear. He never woke yet, as I recall. We'll do it here."
"I don't want!" says Randall.
"Do as I bid thee!" commands tother.
I hear Randall sigh and mutter, and Trapley's hand fetching a good clap for his bottom, when he yips like a puppy and scrambles round to fold over his hammock, hands on floor, legs dangling tother side, and reluctant little bum spread for business. "There's my pretty fellow, my grand boy!" breathes Trapley heavily, throwing off his cloak and spitting on his hand to wet the tool of the hour. He leans over Randall, pawing at him, his heavy shoulders pushing my own bum up in the air, as if a person wouldn't wake at that! He was in like a ferret, and all I could hear is Trapley a‑grunting, the small hammock a‑creaking, and Randall protesting weakly.
My eyes firm shut, I thought of him squeezing his morning glory into that tight little arse. My beauty went hard as an iron candle, and I dared a peep over the edge, with his broad back heaving me bodily in my sleep. It was a sight to watch, hey? All that greedy inning and outing, Randall's heels kicking feebly like landed fish, his fine cheeks gulping in such a rough unwanted breakfast. Whiles I watched the master shag away, I wasn't jealous of young Randall, mark you. I still found men enough willing to keep my own tail fed, younger and fitter too than old Trapley. No, I watched him pump away, and wished I could be where he was going, O yes!
"You're too heavy!" moaned the boy, "I don't like it so fast!"
"Leave off with your bellyaches. Soon be done, mmmm, yess.."
The jerking of the lower hammock grew more and more urgent, jostling me rudely in mine as I clasped my beauty hard. Slap slap slap, went Trapley's loins against those small white buttocklets and made the boy pipe "oo! oo! ooh!". Didn't it have to happen then, I beseech you? My seed shot, all at a sudden, spitting up to the cheeses hanging from the ceiling, and I let out a great gasp of fun and pitched sideways out my hammock.
To land, need I add, in a heap across Trapley's back‑end, so he loses balance and the boy's hammock snaps off the wall and we all tip, arms legs and curses, to the floor, with Randall pinned flat under us like a trampled mouse. The man's busy rod must have lunged cruel deep in him with my weight to drive it, for he yelled fit to bring the roof in.
There was a moment, as we lay there, the three of us, as corpses stacked in a charnelhouse, when I thought we'd all break out laughing. For myself, I could not keep it back. I threw back my head and hooted, fit to laugh my merry head off. Trapley, sad to relate, was not of my temper.
"So it's spying on thy master now, is it? Peeking out at corners?" says he, clumsily gaining his feet, face all athunder, with a wet PLOCK! as he dislodged from the boy. "I believe tha did that apurpose!"
"I never!" says I, as he yanks me upright.
"He did!" Randall hissed, "He was watching and he spat his milk out, cause it a‑splashed me on the neck!"
"O I never!" says I again, fighting back a grin.
"Young dog, do you dare it!" Trapley shook me hard, "Make sport of me?"
"Fetch me that warming pan!" he commanded Randall, "and I'll warm his backside, see if I don't!"
He swung me over one hip as Randall rushed to obey, pinning me tight til his angry rod pressed into my groin.
"O don't!" I wriggled, "It wasn't apurpose, I fell!"
"I'll fell thee, cheeky monkey!"
"You woke me up, truly, with your rumping Randall! I couldn't help it!"
"Sauce! This will give thee something to ponder on! Give it me here."
He took the flat copper warming pan in right hand and fastened on my waist so as I winced.
"Tha's been giving me a mite too much sauce of late, but I'll settle thee!"
"Me? I never!"
And then came this almighty WHOP! across my innocent bottom. I yelled grievous loud.
"I will NOT be mocked by a slip of an apprentice in my own inn!" says he. WHOP! A roaring pain filled my bare arse. THWATT! I gave a keen howl.
"Do I have thy attention, pup o' mischief?" SWATT! He did! By gob, he did. I was squirming like a eel. WHOP‑WHACK‑WHOP! for my poor tender bum. I tried to fight free, but he had the gripe of a blacksmith.
"I'll remind thee who is master of the hill, boy!" WHOP‑WHOP‑THWATT!
In all my hot‑arsed misery I saw that Randall found this a fine entertainment. He watched the warming pan fly up and smack down with evil relish, rot his eyes. And me yowling and clawing the air all the while. I commenced to sob, for my cheeks are delicate when they meet warming pans, and Trapley left off his tanning of me.
"There! Mind tha remembers it. I've not beat thee more'n half dozen times in past years, but I can soon mend that score in future! Randall, stoke up that oven boy, there's a day's work afoot."
Randall grabbed his clothes and sped away. Trapley set the warming pan by and fastened on his cloak, watching me snivel and sob amid the brooms, rubbing at my sad boiling backside. He went off with a last bark.
"Put some clothes on and get about your sweeping before we eat."
It is true what he said. He never fetched the strap to me but half dozen times these three years since I lodged with him, and always I reckon as I earned it. But I tell you fair, my splendid backside is a tender thing for my years, not like the village boys I knew, who had rumps of leather from long years of practise. I stood trembling at this violence done me, on my softest of all places, my fondest part, and wept for pity at the wickedness of so ungrateful a master. My cheeks sang loudly as I pulled on the tight green skin‑breeches I mostly wore, and the fingers shook as I fastened up my shirt. Indeed, I was snivelling yet as I swept out the yard and stable, and watered Trapley's horse, nursing my bottom all the while with one hand. If you do scorn such weakness of spirit, I say pah to you, and give you the thumb.
When I presently joined Trapley, his missus and Randall rat for bread and goatsmilk and hot black pudding, the mere sitting at table was a murder. Trapley would not leave off me yet. He wagged the butter knife at my ear and snapped: "We're not three days off from yon Summer Boy Fayre at Lee Downs. I took thee there three years since for to see the tumblers and sword‑eaters, and the bear‑dancing. But tha's not seen the auctions, where fathers bring their boys and sell 'em into service. Mind as I don't take it in my head to bring thee there come Satyrday!"
"What d'you want to take on so at me for?" I protested hotly, "Why'd you tan me so mean? I was a better boy for you than he'll ever be!" jabbing my finger across the table at Randall, who kept his eyes to his platter.
Trapley boxed my ears.
"What do tha mean by that? Think on. I might buy me a boy as knows his place from yonder Fayre. One as can mind his tongue! Tha jumped up scalawag. Not a word out of thee till I give leave." He sat down, avoiding the fearsome look of his wife. And I knew then I had settled my bacon with those few rash words. I wept some more as we ate in silence.
I fixed upon my course in that silence. I would not be put to auction, poked at and prodded like a spent mule or a bondwench. No by jiggery, I would find myself a new master first. One as did not take after younger boys. One as would not batter my bum like a blessed anvil if I crossed him. One as had a healthy appetite for what I do best. O yes, Trapley would rue the day he fetched that warming pan to me! I might just have a quiet word in the ear of his lady wife afore I left. That'd pickle his ale for him, by gob it would! And Randall.. Him I would fix before the day was out. But how was I to know the jest that fate was fixing for to play on me?
Rest of that sunny morning I kept well shy of the master, paying particular mind to my sweeping, my scrubbing off the bar tables, my washing out the tankards, my stirring of the curds, but inside my head I was busy a‑drawing up of a list, sorting out those man friends as looked in regular especial to find me, and who among them might serve as a genial master to swear articles to. Whiles I thought, my marvellous bottom did ache and throb right grievous, spurring me on with my list. It was in want of a cool sit down in the river, but I dared not slip away today. Take Jack Raison, the forester and huntsman. Jack, I knew, would take me in for sure, and I had gone hunting with him last winter. But that one was a rough cove, not a one to cross after a long night's drinking. His conversation was a single road that led to his bed, and his cabin in the hills was a very paradise to all god's vermin.
Peter Chamberlain, now there would be a catch for me. First off he had a splendid length on him, as pleased me much, and he knew how to work me to a frenzy with his ever‑moving fingers. He was a prize in the night and no mistake, was Peter, and passing rich. He had an estate tother side of the port, and would give my master occasion once a month or so to send me on an errand there. Only he was not the sort of man as takes kindly to his boys having any friends but him. I liked Peter much. He treated me kindly, and delighted to make young Marcus laugh a fit, for he had a rare wit in these parts. He taught me to fly the kestrel, and that is a thing so grand. And yet, O alas!, I feared I might stray from his bed betimes, and he told me once he had a riding crop for boys of that variety. I know my own sins, you see, and navigate my course by them.
Trapley opened the street doors before noon, and set me to fetching tankards of froth for the usual types as they piled in from field and barn. He spoke fairly to me, but his words at table had cut me sore, and my poor bums were tingling in my breeches yet, so I did not swerve from my resolve. What, for exampling, of that Captain DeVries, the Swede?
"Hey boy, fetch out the dice‑board, what?" called an ancient ruin with but three miserable teeth in his head.
"Bread and sausage with my ale, and salt with it" muttered a youngish monk with a eagle's nose and poppy‑out eyes.
Traffic soon filled the four ground rooms of the inn, all a‑hubbub, and I was kept on my heels for them. Some grinning midden‑hog gave me a sly pinch for my arse as I bent over with his victuals, and passed a foul remark on his sausage. In the ordinary way I'd have thrown him a good jape and got a penny down my breeches for the trouble, but today I just looked daggers at the fellow and hurried away.
Yes, Captain DeVries would be glad of a new cabin boy of my qualities, I could lay to that. His last boy was washed overboard in the Solent, as he told me, a Scotch boy all bags and pipes as I recall. The Captain did not come by so often, but I had sat on his mast a few times, and was always partial to a salty tale. Only no, he could not go on my list. For if I signed aboard as cabin boy I'd be fighting off the whole stinking crew every time I set foot out his cabin, and no boy, not even my shameless self, wants his stern breached by a great shipful of lusty tars over some deck barrel. Well, except that Jimmie Ravenshead. He did. And come back from his first voyage out with an arsehole fit to drop a bucket in. I chuckled at Jimmie, simple lad. He learned the hardest way that moderation is a virtue in all things, like a man once said to me. He went into a monastery after, Jimmie did, and got sodomised the Christian way.
I was brushing down the cloak for a handsome new face when Randall comes tripping downstairs to smirk at me. He was polishing the warming pan. I booted his rump a good one and he made haste out the door.
"Marcus, you dozyhead, what about this fire then?" called Master Shallot, a silk merchant out of Kent. I oftentimes would sit with him playing jack‑and‑fives when the place was quiet, and he seemed to have a shine for me, but he wasn't for boys in the happy sense, and had six strapping daughters he thought I should be courting. They gaggled like geese.
"You seem out at sorts for such a brightly day, lad. What's your trouble?"
"The master gave me a good beat" I confided in a whisper.
"As I never did deserve!" I added hotly.
"There never was a lad yet on this earth that didn't deserve a hiding" he teased.
"What about your precious Jesus" says I.
"Well, apart from him then."
"I'm a good boy" I huffed curtly.
"Then it did you some service" quoth he, not vouchsafing me a fig of sympathy. "Tush, brace up son, you've had beatings before. What besides?"
"I think he means to be rid of me" says I, glancing over my shoulder to see Trapley was not in the room, "Now I'm not his playfellow like before, he's fixing for to put me up at the Boy Fayre!"
"Oh, sad news to be sure, Marcus. Dear me! I should be sorry for that. Happen though he'll relent. Fie, you half run this place for him! That little type up at stairs is a lazy one, as I've observed. He'd be a fool to put you out and count on that one. I'd rest at ease if I were you." And he patted my shoulders in a fatherly style.
"I don't care. I want none of him neither!" says I, forcing back a tear at my own wretched state.
I had fed the fire and brought some kitchen scrapes for his dog when Trapley calls me to the bar and says "Now Marcus, think on that we've important guests in house tonight, come down from London for the Fayre."
I shrank back in alarm, insulted.
"No no, tha mistakes me. I must down to the docks myself presently and meet them off the ship. Tha mind the tables while I'm gone, hey? The missus must keep her kitchen and have their meals hot. Here's the cellar keys then, and see as tha lets them not an instant out of hand. Aye, and tha knows the rest, Marcus lad. Mind, no scrapping with young Randall there, hear me? If he gives thee vexation while I'm gone, tell him there's a good tanning in it for him tonight. That'll geld his temper. Oh, and no borrowed ales for those strawbonnets in the back parlour. Mind tha sees their pennies first. I'm away then. The porter wants jugging below, if tha gets a moment."
He ruffled my hair the way he always used to, what made me sad, and strode out the inn with his riding bag.
Some while went by, what with my listing, and ferrying ales down throats the whole while, when who should arrive at the door with the wind in his hair and a broad smile but Willem. My Willem! I ran over straight and hugged him at the waist for joy. Never was I more glad to see him, than this of all days. Willem was a squire or count or some such, and had a great castle far off in German lands. His long name was such as your tongue would throttle you in trying to say it. He was thirty year and silver blond, and my head bare came up to his nipples, so tall was he. He tugged at my ponytail fondly and grinned.
"What's this my lovely?" says he in that gorgeous accent of his, "Is this a welcome fair for a prince or not? I think yes. How long has it been now? So very long when I see you so."
"Oo I hope so!" giggles me.
"Come, welcome your Willem properly then" and he fixed his lips on mine for all the inn to see. My knees went to water.
"O Willem" says I, and blurts out my sorry tale before his scarlet cloak was off him. He listened with those wrinkles in the edge of his eyes and a courtly arm about my waist. My rod began to rise for him directly.
"Tja tja" he shook his head when I had done, "My angel in the swamp. What is such to be done for it? I must I think speak to your master when he return. He will not put my Marcus for sale. No, we cannot permit this."
"Are you staying!" I beamed eagerly, taking his cloak and staring at his fine clothes.
"Alas no, even for tonight I cannot" he sighed, taking the wine I kept always by for him.
"Oh!" I protested.
"No, do not ask me with this sad face. I break my journey but for to see you again, and to kiss perhaps your lovely smile. In perhaps three weeks I return, and then I may stay two, three days with you. I must sit Marcus. Come by me."
He took his wine off to a privy curtained alcove under the stair, and I was proud to see those hefty country fellows part hastily aside for him. I hurried to serve the waving empty flaggons and bring some tobacco leaf to Master Shallot, who rebuked me for the kiss, then I joined my Willem, huddling up to him at once.
"But I may be sold off in three days!" I pressed, "And to who knows what uncouth sorts."
"No, I must speak firm to him, your master Trapple. He will not do this."
"O but why can't you take me with you?"
I put an arm about his neck and pressed his thigh, mustering my charm to accomplish this thing. He smelt of the road and yet in all he smelt fine and strong to me.
"Pretty Marcus, there is not a boy in England beside you" he purred, "But it is not possible in this way. I cannot take you."
"O but why? I'll do anything for you, anything you ask, I swear!" He looked only into his wine cup and sighed. "You can have me by you every night, and you won't be sorry for it!"
"Of that I am content!" he laughed.
My hand moved to his crotch, to find it was already alive and growing. I pressed my cause home.
"Please Willem. Don't you know how much I'd rather be page to you than slave away in this barrel of apes? What must I do to prove myself? Ask what you will of me."
He was very hard now, as of course was I. Willem's was not the longest ram I'd had in me, no, but it was a fine girth, and had a full figure of a man behind it. I began to itch inside for him, as sometimes happens. My breathing was thick as he commenced to squeeze the top of my thighs and stare straight into my pleading face.
"How you please to torment a poor mortal with your hungry green eyes and this red mouth, and all the shape and moving of you. Do you know I have come best a hundred mile out my way for to see you. And you ask what I cannot, and offer what I must have. This is not the cruel way to greet your friend?"
I set his hand upon my pointing beauty and brought my face close to his ear. "Say but you'll take me off and you can have me direct, in the cellar. O say it!"
His thing surged, and his hand moved around to slide under the inside of my breeches, stroking the top of my bottom parting. My mouth went so dry I gulped. I wondered if I should straddle him right here in the alcove!
"You would not like to be with me, where I am going. These things must stay a mystery to you. But.. When I return, if it is possible, then I may take you with me, sweet Marcus. That perhaps I can promise."
I leaned forward to let him explore my splendid bottom further. How could any man resist?
"I do so want to visit your cellar" he purred, nibbling at my ear, "To explore your dark places it is my fondest wish."
I giggled with delight. His fingertip was trying for my darkest place.
"Shall I fill you with my friendship? My very firm friendship? It will keep you close in my thoughts these three week."
My urgent rooster was ready to crow. I was captive and slave to that voice, those hands. I wanted him so much it hurt. This did not aid my bargaining position.
"Oh alright" says I with a toss of my shoulders, "If you promise you'll speak to him I suppose that will hold him off for three weeks. If you promise, then.. I can wait till you come back."
"I give you my oath on it." He pulled me to him and kissed my mouth heavily. His finger had found my keyhole.
"But now, will you make me wait also, tyrant boy?"
Well, I gave him my absolute wickedest grin, and sat back on his finger. "Come visit my depths" I laughed, and led him out by the hand. Such a wanton am I.
Lucky for my thumping breast, I had seen my friend Daniel come in with a cooper when I hung up Willem's cloak afore. Now I ran up and begged him to keep bar for me awhile. Daniel was only just fourteen, and if he were nary the beauty that I am, still it is a comely face in the dark. He enjoyed the men quite as much as me, and acourse we were close as thieves, the twain of us. He saw Willem standing behind me and answered loudly "What, are you off to get a good shagging then, Master Ben Dover?"
I blushed mightily, staring about, as he purposed I would. These doings aren't spoke of openly. Several men about the place, hearing him, glanced straight at my green‑tighted arse. Their eyes burrowed under my breeches and, I fancied, a yard further.
"Well if I must, I must, but I'll have a shilling off you for the pains."
I nodded urgently.
"Go on then, you whore" he sniggered, and went to tend the bar. His cooper, with a black beard fit for a king troll, supped at his ale and pretended he was five mile hence. I absolute flew to the cellar door, and took half a lifetime fitting the shaking key to the lock, hearing the drinkers snigger behind me.
The cellar on a hot day as this was chill, but well lit from slatted windows along the sloping ceiling. It smelt of sitting ale and busy mice. It smelt of winter and old wood. It smelt of my lust for Willem, and his for me. There was a long oak table on the stone floor, and some empty grain sacks as I purposed would serve for a bed amid the tall casks of ale, the vat of new wine, the clusters of dried tobacco hanging in bunches at the ceiling beams.
"Say not a word till we're done" Willem commanded, coming round behind me at the table. His hands took a full clasp on my buttocks, as had left off with their stinging now, then slid about to toy with my rod, my beauty, and now crept up to find the waist and, so very slow, peel down my long snug‑fit breeches. He groaned with approval at the sight, as any man would. Kneeling, he covered my shapely bottom with delicate kisses. And it is, you know, truly a thing of spleandour, you men in my mind's eye. It was an ample fruit to him, kissing my cheeks, nibbling at them, drawing his tongue over them, rolling my sack of jewels twixt thumb and finger.
He thrust me over the table, and with another grunt and something low in German, he came close to tease my nether opening with his tongue. It is a thing many men will scorn to do, though I keep it clean for those that will, and for the boy it is a wickedness so fine. I rolled my head and sighed. His tongue sortied into me there, wriggling like a fat worm in my portal of delight. I moaned aloud and shuddered, clutching the table to me. Then came a finger, long and clever, winding about inside me, then two fingers, crossing and uncrossing, loosing my tunnel.
"O please" I croaked, "I'm ready to fuck. Fuck me, Willem."
"No talking in front" he growled, "Your behind he is but lightly flushed. I had thought to see you black and blue from your tale of miseries."
"It hurt!" I pouted.
"I have a sandal would have hurt you more, and left a better mark, my Marcus!"
"You would never beat me, not me. I know it."
"O I would indeed! In my country, boys take it as their part in life. It is a common thing in home. You are too much the delicate."
"You're only teasing me!"
"Why do you suppose so?" He began to disrobe hurriedly, "I too believe a boy needs dis.. dis‑clip.."
"Discipline" I frowned. So Willem had a sandal, did he? That was a grim discovering. I sat up and watched him discovering that noble body.
"It's that I wish to escape from, and you know it!"
"Will you talk me to China and back? Or be silent, and come play my flute?"
I stood up with a sulky face and knelt to open his leather riding breeches. His German battering ram sprang out at me, purple, rigid, and pulsing with hot blood. I opened my mouth and enclosed as much of it as I could at a gulp. Some men, as I know, want nothing more than this of a lad, and like to stay at it till they pump their milk down his throat. But these men are not for me. I have another mouth to feed. His cock was dry and hard, and I could tell he had been using it much in my absence. And what if he did? Must we swear marriage vows to enjoy each other? Toward the root of it, too far for my lips to reach, his cock was bristled with tiny hairs like a dog's muzzle. They would scratch inside me and have me in a frenzy. Aye, twas a mighty piece!
I moaned my pleasure, affecting to finger as I sucked like a minstrel at his oboe. All the while he stroked my black‑red hair, played with my ponytail. For what seemed to me a long while I bobbed thus, joyously, on his pillar of manhood, my head swimming back to an earlier state of boyhood when I was giddy and drunk at the close smell of a man who wanted me. Willem's thighs were strong and thick with bearskin hair, just like the tangle which grew about his teutonic cock. Already my arse was pouting and tingling with expectation. I drew back, and let my tongue tip flick around the bulging knob of it, but when I essayed a crafty bite he yanked my tail sharply.
"Enough of that! Let's find a place that has no teeth in it. Hmm, let me think.. Ah yes!"
Thankfully, I draped myself back over the table and wriggled my bottom with relish.
"No, not that way. Lie you down upon the table. Draw up your knees. Your face, when I rump you, it is a marvel to watch. You are the first boy I am having since six‑month. This may take some time, I fear."
"Oh please!" I grinned, taking the posture as he bade me. He stepped up to the table. I grabbed my knees so that the port of entry beckoned him with a silent kiss. He brought the head of that fine ram to nuzzle between my cheeks, to press at the place god had made to fit it. He hesitated there, drinking in the sight of me.
"For what you are about to receive, brave Marcus, may the lord make me truly thankful."
"Ah, men!" I cooed.
And with that he brought his weight down, supporting my knees in his arms. The mouth of my bottom gasped, and he bored into me, stretching, stretching my arse to swallow it. I shuddered with joy, and my seed sprayed out at him with a high moan, clinging in beads to the matt of his breast as I threshed about on the table, just the head of him inside me. It was but the beginning of delight.
"Willem! Willem! Do it hard!" I gasped.
He lurched forward, gouging three good inches deeper, and still it was not all in. He drew back slowly, tugging at my insides, drove in hard, out slowly, in deeper.
"Strong ale you are down here" he breathed close to my face, touching my pointing tongue with his. I closed my eyes and shuddered as he passed into the tightest depth of my bowels. Then he went to it. The table rocked and tapped on the floor as he sawed with vigour in and out, my ring burning and sucking him as he went. I began to make strange sheep‑like bleating sounds as he pounded the pulpy innards that have no name, and no purpose at all but this. With a wrench he hoist my hips off the table and drove in to the very hilt, the bristles at the root of his cock prickling the gagging walls of my right sore hole, the knob of him so very deep in me it hurt, but hurt with that excitement that lies beyond pleasure. I was full to bursting with him, and wanted it never to leave off. I kissed his face angrily.
"More!" I insisted.
Well, poor reader, must I tire you with this long history of my shagging on the cellar table? Willem rampaged at my bucking backside as if my throat was his only possible target. I rolled about, my arms flying whither they would. The slap on slap of flesh the most exquisite of music in our ears, and me yelping and giggling and OWWooing like it might be some poor ancient shepherd lad totally ravished by this lusty Pan. All of my body and soul shook under him, the whole length of my love tunnel was on fire with his sawing in and out, my rod striving to spit at him a second time. And when at last he sprayed inside me, I sprayed also, and howled his lovely name, not caring who might hear us. Such a slut was I on that day.
Some fellows, having once delivered their milk to you, will pluck it out direct and go about their business. Willem gave a deep sigh of gratif.. of thanks, and hoist me up in his arms so that I rested impaled upon him, and covered my face with gentle kisses.
"Most perfect of boys" says he, "Zeus never did have of such a catamite in his heaven. No other boy ever, in all the world, came close to the pleasure of swiving you."
"I love you Willem" says I, resting my head on his shoulder.
"Love? This is another thing. I lust you Marcus, with all my heart!"
"I lust you too" says I with a smile, "From the heart of my bottom."
He jigged me a little on his cock, what felt like a horseride, only better.
"Then have me for your boy." It seemed a good time to press my advantage, "Your page I mean, houseboy, what you will. We'll go riding like this every day." I made my arse give him a squeeze when I said it, though I was sore as sore down there.
"Such temptations! How can I argue with both ends of you at once? But would you really be my boy, if I did?"
"There's not room in there for two!" I jested.
"Room for twenty, by what I hear."
"Oh.. those. They're just friends, Willem. Not like I'm with you."
He made a grunt, meaning he didn't altogether believe it.
"I still cannot think it, you are fifteen years age. You've not a hair on your body yet. Your voice could make you twelve. You are not tall. And this.." he gave my bottom a hearty smack, "This is so round and smooth. It cannot be fifteen, this ripest arse!"
"You make me feel like thirteen. You never said, how old are you?" I began to wriggle, a bit out of comfort, spiked on him so. His milk was begun to seep down my cheeks, and my arse to retch and repel this saucy invader.
"Ah, how old! A thousand christian years of sin. Come!" He hoist me off him and set me on my feet so sudden I hissed and did a little jig, clutching my bristled arse. "Shall we look to my saner appetites upstairs? I've a hunger for other meats now."
"Why does it always hurt going out when it used to always hurt going in?" I protested.
"Imp of sodomy! Tis a greedy backside, and that's the plain truth of it."
I began to dress, feeling the cellar's cold in my bones, and watched him put his lovely rooster away, still agleam from me, for three long week. I shook the hair what always flew in my eyes during that business, and smiled at him my satisfaction at what we had done here.
And now he reaches in his belt purse, and for a cold moment I thought he was about to toss me a coin for it. I was shocked he might offer to pay me. But he opened his palm and showed me a fine silver necklet with a pendant, and on the pendant a little boy being waft aloft by a eagle.
"The god of the Greeks, he came down in shape of the eagle and sought the prettiest boy in the land to service him in heaven. No‑one has more right to wear this than you, I think so. Wear it and think always of your Willem."
Nobody had ever give me such a beautiful thing, not ever in my life. He fastened it about my neck. I could not trust my voice. "Do you ever wear a, how is it you call that? Wear a boy‑skirt?"
"A skirt??" I laughed at him.
"Like the boys are wearing at court. You know."
"A tunic? It's not a skirt! Yes, but my old one is too small. You can see my bum when I run, or on hands and knees. I haven't got a new one. Trapley says I should wear the breeches now."
"I shall buy you one, bring it when I come back. Pity to keep those fine legs under cover."
I put my arms about his neck and kissed him more from my heart than I ever kissed a man.
"I do love you Willem. It's so beautiful."
"No more than you" he sighed.
We were busy with this lover‑talk when there came a commotion up in the tavern, and I recollected my duty all at a rush. I bounded up the stairs, fastening my shirt in haste. In the bar a brawl had broke out over the diceboard, and the ruckus had brought the missus from her kitchen. As I appeared from the cellar she was bodily flinging the quarrelers into the street with a few oaths as would shatter stone. They looked to their heels without a word. Then she turns her dread tongue on me.
"What are you at?" she raged, "Leaving the place untended! You scampermonkey! And how dare you put that gypsy after my bar, hey?" She slapped my face so hard I reeled. "What's in your stupid head today? You've been all in the clouds all morning! Where were you got to all this time?"
"Down in the cellar missus, with his foreign man" crowed Randall, behind her.
"In my cellar?" she roared, "What are you up to, down in my cellar with some stranger? Speak it out, or I'll box your brains for you, now just see if I won't!"
"They was doing dirty things missus, as I know Marcus" Randall advised, and she boxed his brains for him directly.
"Ma'am, I had to jug the porter" says I meekly, "for the guests the master is bringing. And breach a new keg for the evening. I can't lift it up at stairs ma'am, so I asked.."
"No‑one ventures down that cellar save me and the master, haven't we told you that a thousand times before? Haven't we?"
"Yes indeed ma'am, I'm very sorry for it, by your pardon, indeed I am."
"I shall tell the master. Just you wait!" she wagged a pudding finger at my nose.
"Oh ma'am! But he told me to fetch up a keg!" I lied.
"Did he tell you to show some knave out of lord knows what beggar‑den where we keep the stock? Did he tell you to put that little pickpenny after the bar, and take the bread from all our mouths? Why didn't you fetch Randall? What's he there for, d'you suppose, donkeywits?"
I had an answer for her on my tongue, but the sense not to say it. He's there cause the master is tired of you, you old witch, and wants a smaller oven to stoke! He keeps the master's quill sharp! "I do beg pardon ma'm, I'm truly sorry for it."
"Not yet, you addle‑head, but later you shall be! Just wait till he fetches back, and there'll be a fine reckoning, boy. Now clear up them stalls and set the tables aright, you both. I never saw such a brace of idle mouths. I've no use for the pair of you. Get about your work!"
Master Shallot stood up to help set the place arights, and the missus bustled off to her empire of flour and sucking pigs. "Dear dear, happen you've another hiding in store tonight!" taunted Randall.
It was too much to bear. I leapt on him and split his lip with a good knock as banged his curly head off at floor. I got in two more good cracks for to black his eye before Master Shallot pulled me away and left the blond boy blarting in a heap at my feet. It felt good, seeing him smart.
"Next time I'll fetch your prissy head off, by gob!" I snarled.
"He'll sell you away for sure now! For sure!" he blubbed, "I'll tell on you! I'll tell it all!"
"Tell!" I hissed, "But dig yourself a grave first!"
"Now that's enough!" Master Shallot shook me roughly, "By all the saints, what's got into you today Marcus?"
Randall snorted. I heaved a sigh, and looked over my shoulder for Willem. What had got into me. But he was no place in sight! I cried out for grief, and dashed to the cellar door, but the cellar was empty. His cloak I saw was missing, and he was nowhere in the back rooms. I charged out into the road calling his name. Ran down the road a good way, calling and calling, "Willem! Willem!" But the truth will not be denied, though it be more bitter than poison. Willem was vanished into air. And all my hopes with him.