Kevin Armstrong - Burmese Boy

“Christopher, I’m going to cum!”

This announcement simply caused him to redouble his efforts and soon I was pumping jets of spunk into his luscious mouth. When his lips finally released my cock head he was careful to lick up every remaining drop of my cum.

As the twi-light turned lilac we lay in each other’s arms.

“I’m not really gay you know Kev.”

“Really? You could’ve fooled me.”

“Yeah… I’ve got my eye on this chick… Judy, works in Coles.”

“Well, after this afternoon, at a rough guess, I could be forgiven for thinking this is not the first time you’ve sucked cock.”

“Nah, I have to admit I love having dick in my mouth.” He laughed. “It’s my little secret.”

“And swallowing?”

“Not all the time… but I wanted to taste you Kev.”

“And?”

“Loved it. And I want some more as soon as the tanks are re-filled.” He laughed again.

“But if you don’t mind me asking, where do you find cock in a place like this?”

“The ships.”

“What?”

“I go down the port. We get ships from all over the world. With those sailors spending weeks at sea I get all the cock I want. I guess I’m like a one man cock-sucking welcoming committee.”

“My God, they should give you a medal. An AO.”

He laughed and put his dick in my hand. He was hard again. I was still curious… a beautiful boy evidently addicted to sucking cock and he reckons he’s not gay? How could that be?

“Christopher, has it ever crossed your mind while you’re on your knees draining some young sailor’s cock that you might just be gay?”

“Nah, I’m not gay. I don’t want to be like that. I want to fuck women, have kids, all that.”

“Then…?”

“I reckon it’s the boredom, a place like this… it’s the adventure and I really get a kick out of sampling all those cocks from all over the world. It’s as if I’m in touch with a whole universe.”

“What a poetic motive for cock-sucking! Well, you don’t think you might be bi?”

“Bi?”

“Bi-sexual.”

The boy laughed. “Naw, I reckon these bi-sexual cunts are pathetic. They’re the worst kind… I reckon you gotta make up your mind and stick to it.”

Boy Wonder’s logic escaped me.

“I reckon if I just stick to sucking cock and wanking then I’m not really gay… you know what I mean…?

“No arse…?”

“Yeah, none of that dirty arse stuff. Fucking a guy. As long as I don’t do that then I reckon I’m not gay.”

To console myself I took the boy’s cock in my mouth and caressed the head with quick movements of my lips and tongue. All too soon he was squirting his spectacularly fresh cum against the back of my throat.

One of the young guys playing a small role in Cabaret had to drop out because of getting a job in another town. I took the opportunity to cast my boy journalist in his place. As well as possessing wonderful cock-sucking technique Christopher was a natural actor. Already at his age he was a great story-teller, always taking on different characters as he told jokes. I had to admit to myself that it was also very convenient, we could spend a lot of time together without alerting suspicious minds. However I thought that Boy Wonder was starting to overdo it when he turned up on my doorstep with a battered suitcase and insisted on moving in. My ancient weather-board cottage wasn’t equipped with a telephone, he chortled, so he couldn’t ring and ask me. Anyway, how could I refuse? How could I indeed? Christopher lived with his parents on a small farm just outside of town. He’d told his folks that he was writing a series of articles about theatre that he wanted to send to a literary journal and it would be a lot more convenient if he stayed with the visiting Cabaret director for a few weeks. They seemed to buy the story, only his older brother Jordan seemed a bit hostile.

As the days passed and we were rolling closer and closer to the opening night of Cabaret I felt more and more foolish. Myself and Boy Wonder seemed to be falling in love. How mawkish! How sentimental! We started to leave short love poems we’d written to each other on the kitchen table.

At the same time Christopher had not changed his stance about not being gay. No, he just liked sucking cock. I didn’t make an issue of it. As long as I was wanking and sucking with perhaps the most beautiful boy I’d ever come across who was I to complain? Besides, as I think I’ve said somewhere else in this memoir, I don’t believe in trying to pressure guys into sexual acts that they may not feel ready for. Although I ached to fuck (or be fucked by) Christopher I didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself and risk losing him altogether.

Then came the day I thought I was going to lose him anyway. It was a Saturday and he seemed very nervous. I asked Christopher if he had any problems at work. He didn’t respond, just looked at himself in our bedroom dressing table mirror. I touched his cheek and reached for his cock but he brushed my hand away. Then it all came blurting out. That night he had a date to go out with Judy, the girl from Coles supermarket. They would have some dinner at the Esplanade Motel… but then, and Judy had made a particular point of this, they would go for a walk along the beach.

“Well you know what that means Kev. She’s up for it. We’ll be fucking in the dunes. My God Kev, I’m gonna get my end in! Why else would she mention the beach? I bet she’s already dripping wet just thinking about it.” He touched himself as if to confirm his own hardness.

I lurched out of the bedroom. I was devastated. How did Boy Wonder who’d never been with a woman know that cunts dripped? Was it part of sex education lessons at high school? Well he’d insisted all along that he wasn’t gay. Would he want to move out of the house? Would he ever suck my cock again?

That night I knew I had to get out of the house so I bought a carton of beer and invited myself over to Pattie Roe’s place… she was the girl who was playing Sally Bowles in Cabaret. She had a dark, gravelly laugh and if anyone could distract me from my misery Pattie could. I couldn’t bring myself to stay alone in the cottage with my mind being invaded by images of Christopher inserting his beautiful cock into the folds of a cunt.

After a few too many beers and ancient theatrical anecdotes I rolled home to the cottage and went to bed. Christopher had not come home. I wondered if he’d spilled himself inside Judy from Coles yet. Then I thought I was being pathetic. I’d been given due warning. He was not a gay boy.

I was in the middle of a nightmare that creeps up on me with sinister regularity. I’m an actor in a play. It’s the opening night and I step on stage and then I realize to my horror that I’ve somehow forgotten to learn the lines. I start making up gibberish, hoping to bluff my way through when… I wake up.

The bedroom light snapped on. I was still half asleep. Where was I? Was I still in the play? Then I saw that there was a figure standing at the end of the bed. It was Christopher. He was only wearing a shirt which hung open. His cock was erect and he was slowly manipulating the foreskin over the head. Was I still dreaming?

“Where’s that fuckin’ Intensive Care of yours?”

It suddenly flashed through my mind that things couldn’t have worked out very well with Judy of the Dunes. I fumbled for my lube and gave it to the boy. He climbed into the bed.

“How do you usually… I mean, what’s the best position?” mumbled the boy.