SIMON THE BACKPACKER - Part 10 By 'The Colonel'
This story is copyrighted to myself the writer and cannot be copied in any way, shape of form without my express permission. If you are underage or don't like stories of a homosexual nature press the back button now otherwise, enjoy and let me know.
SPECIAL CHAPTER -- THE COLONEL
Let me start this special chapter with an email from my new friend John in Palm Springs:
Hi Col.,
I'm enjoying this little tale of friendship and modest intimacy...altho I think that it would be better categorized in incest if the twins play a prominent part of the story?
My question: Are you purposely leaving out what "The Colonel," aka "Bob," looks like? Did he discover his sexual orientation 20 years after his wife died? Or, earlier? I'm assuming that if his discovery was pubascent that he would be 34 y.o. However, since Simon likes older men, I see a range of age from mid-40's to 60's?
I must say, being an ex-Navy man, the first image the name "Colonel" conjurs up for me is that of Colonel Saunders and his fried chicken;o).
Saying that, it would be helpful to helpout with the visual imagination.
Thanks,
John Palm Springs
Well John, I dedicate this chapter to you and hope that you won't find me a dull and boring old fart, which is sometimes how I see myself.
I was born at the end of 1948 in London, the fifth and youngest child of working class parents. There was a long gap between my brother and me, and I was very definitely a mistake on my parents' part.
I don't remember much of my very early childhood but one of my earliest memories is of when I was about five years old, We were living in west London and my father was employed by a public (which in England means "private") school and we lived in the Porter's Lodge, just inside the gates.
There was no lock on the toilet door and one day I must have needed a pee, but when I opened the door my brother was sitting in there and his cock was rock hard. He had his leg in plaster at the time (this has nothing to do with the story, so I don't know why I'm telling you) having had a fall on some waste ground.
I don't recall any vivid details, but I do remember him cumming and I asked why his pee was so thick.
When I was six we moved back to central London and lived in a flat in Russell Square. Although I was not aware of it until later in life, this was a well-known hangout for gay men on the lookout for casual sex, and it is now regarded as the gay centre of London, it being right close to the main university buildings and there being no shortage of impecunious students around all looking to earn a `fast buck'. I played at the local recreation ground, which had a toilet at one corner. I had wondered why the floor was always wet in there, and when I went in one day and found my friend's younger brother peeing on the floor my question was answered. This seemed to be the norm, so I stated adding my contribution thereafter.
I was vaguely aware from the age of about ten that I was curious about other boys' bodies and spent a lot of time in the boys' toilet in the hopes of catching a glimpse of a cock or a bum.
Opposite the entrance to the playing fields was a `real' public toilet, one of those with stairs down to a subterranean area with urinals and cubicles.
I remember one day I was playing in the front part of the recreation ground and I needed a shit. I couldn't be bothered to go right over the other side to the toilet, so I went across the road and down the steps `where the big men go'.
I was not aware of anyone at the urinals, but I went into a cubicle, took down my shorts and had the dump that I so urgently needed.
While sitting there I was conscious of a foot appearing under the gap at the base of the wall between my cubicle and the next one.
Obviously, I ignored it because I did not know what went on in `cottages' at the time, but then the foot was replaced by a beckoning hand. This was all getting very strange to me, so I got out of there as quickly as I could and ran back over to the playing fields. I was, however, curious as to who was in the next cubicle so I stood looking through the railings until a man appeared up the stairs. I remember he was very short and wearing a raincoat, even though the weather was hot. In fact, he was the very personification of what I now know to be the definitive "Dirty old Man".
Life carried on as normal until I was about twelve and two years into Grammar School.
We were in the lecture theatre one day and I was sitting next to John (not the one from Palm Springs), a boy who was later to become my best friend. In the lecture theatre we sat on long benches with a desk in front of us that went from one side of the room right across to the other with a gap each end for access. These were arranged in tiers in such a way that the teacher at the front could not see what was going on under the desk and anybody behind would be similarly unaware of what might be going on.
I imagine you are probably ahead of me here. I was sitting, not paying particular attention (it was a physics lesson) when I was aware of John's knee against mine. We were the only two sitting in the row, so it is not as if we were cramped. He leaned back and I could see his cock poking out from his flies. I looked at him and he smiled, and started stroking himself. Now John was one of those kids, while his cock got bigger when aroused it never went hard, whereas with mine, the least little provocation and it was like a baseball bat inside my pants (rigidity, I stress, not length [unfortunately]). He continued to stroke himself for a while; then put his hand on mine and placed it on his dick.
Well, let me tell you I very nearly came in my pants there and then. I stroked him for a little while and then I felt his hand in my crotch. He undid my zip and started struggling with my Y-fronts (we all wore them in those days). Not wanting to let go of his cock I let him struggle for a while, then used my left hand to disentangle my baseball bat from my pants.
When it appeared he gave a sharp intake of breath. He took it in his hand and started to masturbate me gently. I had jerked myself off a few times, but this was still comparatively new to me and I was cumming before I knew it. I pushed his hand away as if I had cum it would have gone all over my trousers. John must have been in the same situation as he was also pushing me away. We gave it a few minutes and then resumed our hand exercises and I whispered to him `Luncheon room toilets at afternoon break'.
The toilets in the luncheon room were little used other than at lunch times and I knew that we were unlikely to be disturbed.
I stood, hard as a rock waiting for John and when he appeared through the door he had already unzipped his flies and was disengaging his cock. We stood at the urinal servicing each other when he bent in towards me and kissed me gently on the lips. At first I backed away, but then thought `what the hell' and returned the complement.
We both climaxed within a few seconds of one another, my seed spurting against the back of the urinal with such force that I thought it might crack the porcelain, and John's semen just jetting gently to the floor from his erect, but still flexible trouser snake.
We kissed again, muttering how good it was but had to leave quickly when the bell rang for next period. We dashed off our separate ways, but I made a mental note to remove my underpants just before each physics lesson just to make it more comfortable. Maybe that's why I don't wear them to this day.
I have gone into quite a bit of detail as regards our first experience together and could prattle on for hours about our subsequent relationship and sleepovers and snatched moments of passion about the school building or on the bus, (and we covered pretty well the whole gamut of sexual acts assisted by John's `friend' Trevor, who was two years older than us and had introduced John to homosexuality) but I think I'd better move on.
Whilst at school I did not have relationships with anyone but John, but there was a boy called Brian (known for some obscure reason as Bert') who always positioned himself next to me in changing rooms, whether at the Gym, Sports Field or Swimming Baths. At first I thought coincidence' but then I realised that he must fancy me. As we dressed after showering at the gym one day he `lost his balance' as he was putting on his pants and fell against me. I felt his cock on my leg and thought nothing of it until I felt his hand in my crotch.
I looked at him quickly and he grinned a wicked grin. I smiled back, said loudly for everyone to hear `Naughty Boy!' and slapped his bum playfully.
After that he found some reason to touch me up at every possible opportunity, even in school as we passed in the corridor and, not wishing to be churlish, I reciprocated, but that's as far as our physical contact went. I often wonder now what might have happed if ...
After I left school I lost touch with John for about twenty-five years, but I'll tell you about our reunion later.
I was now released into the great wide world and my parents started pressuring me. When are you going to bring a nice girl home and settle down?' What they really meant was when are you going to move out and leave us in peace?' I knew at this stage that I was bi-sexual as there were a few girls that I fancied, but for the time being I wanted to concentrate on men.
I went to work in a west end theatre on the catering staff and noticed one day there was a new guy in the box office. He was short in stature with chiselled good looks and a ready smile. I guessed he was gay (not a word used in those days. You were queer', bent', a homo' or a shirt lifter') as he had quite an effeminate voice and was, quite literally, limp-wristed.
The box office was a triangular shaped room with the ticket window in one of the angles with a curtain behind it screening of the office part. On the ticket window was a bell to be rung for attention, so the duty clerk could get on with jobs in the back office.
A couple of days after he arrived Chris beckoned me over to the ticket window and asked if I could get him a cup of tea as he had been out drinking the night before and desperately needed a liquid intake. I went off and obliged him with the tea, and when I took it into the office, he appeared from behind the curtain, put his hand on my arm and thanked me. `Any time I can oblige you don't hesitate to ask' he said camply and laughed. I should have left straight away but something rooted me to the spot.
He removed his hand from my arm and cupped my chin in it and said `After I close up at seven I have some office work to catch up on. Perhaps you'd like to help me'
`W--We'll S--See' I stammered and left the box office.
Needless to say I returned just after seven o'clock and, without going into detail again, we put on a performance that could never appear on the west end stage.
I eventually moved out from my parent's flat and I managed to get myself a basement flat in North London and a girlfriend named Pauline who lived about two miles from my flat. She lived with her parents, sister and elderly aunt in a small terraced house. When I saw her home each night I was invited in and sometimes I slept on the sofa (there was NO CHANCE of sleeping with Pauline as she shared a bedroom with her blabbermouth little sister). Other times I would walk home (it took about forty minutes)
One night on the way home I took a slightly different route and spotted a `cottage' which I did not know was there. Being a curious sort of chap (ahem!) I went in. There was a urinal with two stalls (but no divider between) and one cubicle. It was pitch dark and I stood at the urinal. After a few seconds there was a sound from the cubicle of somebody clearing their throat. Out of curiosity I took my matches from my pocket (I smoked in those days) and, cock still sticking out, went to have a look. In the cubicle, trousers round his ankles and wearing a suspender belt and black stockings was a man of about fifty. He had his monstrous dick in his hand and was masturbating furiously. I think this was, without doubt, the worst sight I have ever seen in my life.
I hurried out of the cottage and almost bumped into a man of about my own age going in.
Don't bother' I told him. There's only a dirty old man in there'
`Why should I look at him when I can look at you?' he said.
He looked down and I followed his gaze. In my anxiety to get out quickly I had left my cock hanging out of my flies.
Here,' he said let me put it away for you' he said.
`Perhaps you'd like to come and see a little more of it' I said.
`I don't mind if I do' he said.
We went back to my flat and spent an entertaining night together. He had a wonderful body which was covered with hair. Even his back was very hairy. I had always thought that this only happened in older men and had not before found it sexy, but with this young man, (whose name I never found out, but I referred to him as `my little bear cub') I found it a distinct turn-on.
Time passed and Pauline disappeared from view to be replaced only by male partners. As I said in chapter one, most of my gay experiences were fleeting affairs and I drifted from cock to cock quite happily.
I was invited to a party and there was a girl there called Maria who I quite fancied. After the party I took her home and kissed her goodnight chastely, but I felt a stirring in my loins at the touch of her lips.
Could it be that, at long last there might be another close encounter of the female kind?
Well, readers, I married her. (apologies to Charlotte Bronte for the misquote)
Yes it was time to settle down for a long and sometimes arduous life, but I have to say that she was a wonderful wife to me and bore me two fine children - my son Colin, who is a computer whiz kid and my daughter Francine, who is an actress.
I won't bore you with married life as the facts would not be of interest to most of you, but I will say that I was not entirely faithful to my wife, and there were occasional little flings with men, `just to keep my hand in'.
In 1990 I visited the city of Guildford on business and went into a pub for lunch and there, sitting at the bar was a face I knew very well. I crept up behind him and whispered `Do you remember the lecture theatre at school?'
He turned around and I said `Hi, John'
Recognition slowly dawned on him. Bob,' he said I don't believe it!' We hugged, there in the middle of the bar and he quickly explained to his pals that we had been friends at school and hadn't met for nearly thirty years. We had a few drinks together for old time's sake', then we had a few more and then we had a few more. We left the pub and had dinner in a rather swish restaurant with a couple of bottles of wine and then liqueurs. Why don't you come back and spend the night at my place?' he said.
I hadn't booked into a hotel so I thanked him and wondered whether this might lead to something interesting. `I've only got the one double bed, but I'm sure you won't mind sharing' he said.
`I look forward to it' I replied, smiling. I could feel a stirring in my nether regions and when I looked at John he seemed to be having a similar problem.
John lived in a small cottage in a back street behind the cathedral. It was a little rundown, but was clean and tidy. We had brandies and John suggested that we get to bed as he had to be up fairly early in the morning. We went into the bedroom and I explained that I had nothing to sleep in as I did not wear underwear. That's OK said John, I sleep in the raw too.'
We undressed self-consciously and turned and faced one another. The years seemed to melt away and we were soon in one another's arms, kissing passionately. We got into bed and made sweet and languorous love. It was like rediscovering a valued possession that had been hidden away for a long time, and I realised that my affection for John had not diminished at all over the intervening years.
After we had made love we talked long into the night. I explained that I was on a visit to Guildford and that I was married and lived on the outskirts of London. He told me that he too was married, but his wife was visiting her mother for a few days. He invited me to stay for another couple of nights until she was due back, and I accepted. Let me tell you, we made up for all the years we had been apart, and the sex was even better than when we had been young as we had both had that much more experience.
The time for me to leave arrived all too soon and our good-byes were tearful and prolonged, and we promised that we would keep in touch, but sadly we didn't, although when I moved into this house I sent him a note letting him know that I had moved and the reasons why. He sent me a note of condolence and a promise that he would come and visit `some time', and that was the last time I heard from him, but I live in hopes.
Tragedy struck thirty years into my marriage and Maria was killed in a train crash, which left me alone and desolate. I could not stay in our house' as there were too many memories, so I called on my daughter who was resting between engagements' at the time to help me find somewhere else to live. It was she who found the house I am in now and helped me dispose of Maria's things. She also helped me to move in and stayed with me until she was offered a small part in a west end show, but understudying the leading lady. It wasn't long before the leading lady found the singing too demanding, so Francine stepped into the breach `until we find someone else, dearie' they told her. She proved so successful in the part that they called her in after two weeks and offered her the part outright. YES I AM VERY proud of her and YES I AM A DOTING PARENT.
Well, I think that brings us pretty well up to date until Simon came on the scene and turned my life upside down.
As far as my age goes, John from Palm Springs, I am as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth (and my tongue is fifty-six years old -- I made a typo here and originally typed fifty-sex. Perhaps I should have left it.) The boys tell me I don't look a day over sixty. I don't mind, it means I can smack their delightful, shapely, inviting, gorgeous little bums at frequent intervals (no, I am not into spanking, just being playful). I am five feet nine inches tall and weigh in at about 13 stone (there are fourteen pounds to a stone -- work it out for yourselves). I have a full beard and moustache.
My eyes are pale blue/grey and my hair is dark blond with a little grey creeping in and a small bald spot. I have little body hair except under my arms and around my six-and-a-half inch (hard of course) cock. In fact, I like to think of myself as `Mr. Average'.
And (John from Palm Springs) as far a Colonel Saunders goes, I HATE FRIED CHICKEN!!!
Incidentally, the reason I am known as The Colonel' is that a letter for my son Colin arrived at my house addressed to the shortened form of his name, Col Calverley', and the postman assumed that this was my title and put it out on the jungle drums. There is only one way I have been `in the military' and that was in a cottage just outside Aldershot with a VERY obliging young squaddie, I was certainly "in" him, but that's another story.
Thanks again, John, for your suggestion, I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this one.
The Colonel
If you have enjoyed this tenth chapter, or have any comment to make please E-mail me at Colcalverley@aol.com
If you have a suggestion to make and I use it, I'd be delighted to dedicate the chapter to you.
I will try to reply to all messages.