Room 203

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

Mom crawled out the window of Room 203 before sunrise as quietly as she could and I hauled up the rope ladder when she was safely down and closed the window and locked it. She would not return until sundown, until then, I was on my own, unable to leave the room and had to stay here, on guard, for if I left it at any time and the landlady saw and knew I had left, that would be an end of it, for she would swoop in and change the locks on our door and Mom and me would lose everything we had. We were currently three weeks behind on paying for our room.

It was up to me, eight-year-old Peter Jensen, to guard the door, with my dark brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin and too-cute face and scrawny body, standing in all of my four foot two inches of height and my fifty pounds of weight glory. I had to ward off the two hundred and ten pounds of fat of Mrs. O'Neill or the two hundred and eighty pounds of her husband, Mr. O'Neill. The two of them owned and rented out the rooms of this large house with a cruel, iron hand controlled only by the laws of the city which we had learned, one of which that they couldn't toss out anyone actually inside the room. So I stayed inside while Mom worked.

Once she was gone, I went back to my bed (Mom had scooted it in front of the front door) and got back in. Mom had bumped against the wall of the house in climbing down and I was afraid that the landlady had heard that and....

Yep, there was a knock on the door, a loud, thumping knock, "BUMP-BUMP-BUMP-BUMP!"

"Who it is?" I called out not too loud, I wanted to sound like I wasn't right just the other side of the door.

"This is Mrs. O'Neill, Mrs. Jensen, I need to talk to you about the rent!" came the call. Mrs. O'Neill was a stout woman in her fifties, with a hard, cruel face and salt-and-pepper hair done up in a severe bun on her head and she wore ugly flowered-pattern dresses that fitted her corpulent body about as well as it might have fit a hippopotamus standing on its hind legs, only a hippo would have looked better in it. She also cooked the meals for those who paid her for her breakfasts and dinners (buy your own lunches and no cooking in the rooms) but it was only a few unhappy bachelors and elderly men who paid her for that, and they all complained bitterly at her miserly meals. Mom would make a little money here and there during her day out and use it to buy a little food for us and bring it back for us after sundown and that was how we were eating. I hadn't eaten a hot meal in a pretty long time.

"Mom's gone to her job already!" I told her.

"She has not, I've been watching the front door the last hour or more!" Mr. O'Neill countered.

"You must have missed her because she left about fifteen minutes ago," I lied.

This went on a while, but I didn't open the door and her key was no good because my bed held the door fast shut and she eventually went away. The law wouldn't let her evict anyone who was in the room anyhow, they had to have left the room empty for her to change a lock. If she had tried, I would have yelled loud enough to get witnesses to her dragging me out, and she knew that. So she gave up for another day. But Mom and her rope ladder couldn't keep going forever, we both knew that. She'd have to get some money one way or another, and soon, to pay the room rent.

I slept some, then, and got up and cut myself a piece of bread from a loaf we had for my breakfast. The landlady's husband, Mr. O'Neill, a lazy beer-bellied man who did the janitorial work around the house, came up to pound on the door even harder around ten o'clock in the morning and I still refused to answer the door, telling him my mother had told me strictly not to open the door while she was out, and he'd have to talk to her tonight. Of course, that would never happen, Mom was never in the room, even when she was in the room, if you see what I mean. When we talked, it was in whispers. I told him that Momma had a job and was working hard and she'd pay the room rent in full when she got her paycheck from her new boss and he had to settle for that. He tried to force the door open, but I managed to keep it from opening fully and someone came over and talked to him and seemed to be able to chase him away. I guessed it was the police. The knock was a genteel, "bump-bump-bump-bump!"

"Who is it?" I called again.

"My name is Gordon. Can I come in, please?"

"Gordon who?" I asked.

"Gordon Chambers. I'm the nephew of Mr. and Mrs. O'Neill." he said.

The landlord's nephew? "My mother's not here! If you want to talk about the rent, you have to come back when she's here." I answered.

"I'm not wanting to talk about the rent, Peter," he said. "Honest, I'm not. I'm only twenty-one, and I got out of college for the summer, and I'd like to talk to you, okay?"

"Okay," I said cautiously. He knew my name! "But don't let your aunt and uncle in here, okay?"

"They're both gone from the house right now," he said.

I decided to trust him and with some effort, scooted back the bed and unlocked the door. I opened it and saw a very young man, with a short-cut light blond hair, a kind but handsome face, wearing a letterman jacket of a college over a white shirt and light brown pants, looking all neat and polite and kind. I'd dealt with hard-looking rough characters like the O'Neills for so long, I hardly thought there were any such people any more in these hard times. "May I come in?" he asked me after I'd stared at him silent for a while.

"Uh, sure, come on in. He walked in and I hastily locked the door again. Just in case. He saw me do that, smiled at the bed askew nearby and without saying anything, moved it over to block the door. "There we go." he said with a smile.

"Uh...yeah." I had to smile back. He sat on the side of the bed and I sat beside him just about a foot of space between us. Close enough to talk, not so close as to be touching in any way.

"I'm sorry your mother and you are having trouble paying your room rent, Peter," he said without heat or question, more a case of stating a fact. "Plenty of people are in bad straits these days and I wanted to hear what happened to your family. Don't tell me anything you don't want to."

I saw no reason not to tell this nice man about our family's misfortune. My father had lost his job when the factory closed. Our family had run through most of our savings while he was looking for a job, but he found another job at long last. Then, on the day he got his first payday and was coming home with the money, three thugs had ambushed him, knocking him out and stealing his money. One of the blows had been so severe that his brain had been ruptured and bled, killing him. Mom had had to sell the family possessions and buy a train ticket for me and her, and with our few remaining things, mostly our clothes, came here to the city two months ago, hoping to get a job as a cleaning woman or a cook or a store clerk or such. She had looked for work ever since.

"How much does she pay for room rent for this room?" he asked, "If you know, that is?"

I told him and he looked angry. "I thought so. My aunt and uncle are overcharging the tenants. A lot of places do that these days, they know the people have no other choices. It's a nasty thing, something I want to fight."

He looked at me. "If your mother has paid that for two months, she not only is not late on her rent, but she is owed two more weeks of free rent for this room." His face, so friendly, was looking so fierce, like a warrior champion in our defense, that I felt an outrush of gratitude and desire for Gordon that I threw myself over and hugged him tightly. "Ohhhhh, thank you so much, Gordon, thank you!" I said, on the edge of crying like a baby. I buried my face in his strong chest's side, and I felt so safe, I blubbered on. "I've felt so scared, so alone, so..so... Ever since my father died, it's just been my mother and me, and she has to leave me alone so much, it's...it's frightening!"

He reached out with his strong, confident hands and patted me paternally. "It's okay, Peter, I understand, you've had a very tough row to hoe, no doubt. Things are tough all over. Me, I don't have money to go back to college again in the fall. But that's just me, and you have it a lot harder, and you are a lot younger, Peter, and not only that, but you and your mother are being treated unjustly. How about you and me get together and take my uncle and aunt down and fix this once and for all?"

Hearing these brave words, my tears faded back into my tear ducts and I looked up into his face and smiled, and he smiled back at me. His face reached down for me and I saw he was going to kiss me and I lifted my face to let him do so. His hand reached us to touch my cheek as our lips met, and his hand was trembling. We kissed, softly, slowly, sweetly, for about ten seconds before he lifted his face again. "Ohhhh, Peter, I...I shouldn't have done that...." he stumbled in forming an apology.

"It's okay, Gordon, it's okay," I said hastily. "It's just you and me here, and my mom won't be home again until darkness. Nobody is going to bother us, like you said, your aunt and uncle are gone. Just us here. Just us." Now it was me reaching up to kiss him and when I did that, my body rising up on the bed to do so, he met me with more confidence. Slowly his bigger mass let him take over and he bore me back onto the bed, putting himself on top of me as he kissed me longer and longer, stroking my body with his hands, no tremble left, no guilt remaining, no apology forming in his mind, only desire flaming in his loins.

We fought with each other's clothing, alternating with fighting with our own, slowly we managed to get all of them off our bodies and onto the floor where they belonged. Gordon's body was soft but muscled in the way of a young man's athletic body is muscled, not large and kind of ugly with the veins bulging out, but sleek and arcing with the body flexing and making you feel all safe and warm and loved when they touched you and held you. His body enfolded me and I let him kiss my face and neck and shoulders as he slowly worked his way kissing my body all over down my bare young form. I was glad I had bathed just the night before. He licked and lapped me here and there, and I found places on my body sang out in joyous pleasure at his touch and taste and licks of moist delight, but he moved over my young nipples and across my ribs and down to my navel which he ignited with his tonguetip, and I shivered as I realized he was approaching my privates, my special place where even I knew that if he even touched it, I would roar with my joy.

He reached my groin, and I shuddered as he lifted his face upwards, his tongue extended, and I watched, unable to look away or even breathe. His eyes saw mine looking and he grinned without his mouth closing and he used his tonguetip to brush over the head of my cock, and I gasped breath in and let out a moan, "Uhhhh-uhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh!"

His tongue moved in and out of his mouth, catching and carrying his saliva down its body to wash it over my prick's body, coating the shaft with his warm mouth-moisture and I was in a sort of agony from the exquisite pleasure he was giving me. I finally broke down and begged. "Oh, God, Gordon, please, I can't take it any more, please, do something more than that, please!"

"I was waiting for you to say that. You want more? You willing to do something to get more?" he said, with a playful sort of ferocity, if you can imagine it.

"Ohhhhh, ohhhhh, anything!" I groaned.

"You can see how good it feels to have someone else putting their mouth on your cock, or will when I lay my lips on it instead of my tongue." He hitched his body around so his hard dong flopped out and bounced like a ripe banana held by a hungry monkey. "How about you give me a little bit of what I'm giving you?"

That was a not-so-subtle hint, but I wasn't objecting, and I quickly scooted around to get closer to the business end of that "banana" and I began to swat and swipe his dong with my tongue as if my tongue were a bat and his cockhead were a ball on a string like a kid sometimes practices his batting on. Gordon was grunting and chuckling alternately from me doing that, and then he got down to business and his mouth closed on my prick and he began to milk up and down on it and I felt a wash of pleasure swamp my brain. I was dazzled by that for a bit and then I imitated him, seizing his cockhead and then driving that shaft into my mouth and down my throat as far as it would go. I nearly choked and had to back down off it again, but saved myself from coughing or other such things.

"You don't have to shove it all down your throat, Peter," Gordon said gently to me. "I can take all of yours because I'm bigger than you. Just get the head of it and the foreskin in your lips and work it back and forth over the cockhead, and that'll do the trick, the rest is just for show, sort of."

I took his advice and did a lot better and he groaned and moaned enough to say that he was enjoying it. So was I, and he had a head start on me. I was in a rapture of heady bliss that I had never experienced before, the sweet warmth of his mouth and the tight grip of his lips on my prick were making me ecstatic in a way that my own hand had never thought of doing. It was like fire crackers were going off in my brain behind my eyeballs and my body was operating on automatic, I was glad that I had started sucking on Gordon the right way before the explosions. I was in a sort of miasma of erotic suspension that kept me in a dream state that left me immune to the worries of the real world and blocked off from the troubles of my life.

In all that, my own body's needs were all that were of importance, that and sucking on Gordon's hard, sweet, sweaty, salty-tipped rod that oozed such delightful, delectable pearls of sweet juice that my tongue savored and sampled as I sucked, and in that serene Eden of Joy, I rose to my crescendo of climax and I groaned out my gratification with gusto, going, "Ahhhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhh-ahhh-ahhh-ahhh-AHHH-AHHH-AHHH-AHHH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH, AHHH-AHHHH-AHHHH-AHHHH=AH, HAH-HAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

As I was overcome with orgasm, I was wracked and wrecked and quivered and shivered, I shaked and quaked, gasping and groaning, sighing and moaning, until my joy, having flowed through me and over me, drenched me completely and washed away, leaving me a drained, dry husk of myself, limp and free of my struggles, feeling that I could and would overcome any and everything.

Gordon had been forgotten in my passion, his cock left abandoned by me but he turned to me in good humor and he said, "How do you feel now, Peter?"

"Ohhhh, ohhhh, I feel terrific!" I said. "Better than I have in a long time."

"Great. Now, how can I take care of Moby Dick down there?" he asked me, looking down at himself significantly.

"Oh, gee, I'm sorry," I said. "Let me catch my breath and I'll get back to work."

"I have another idea, if you're game," he offered.

"Okay," With Gordon as my friend, I felt invincible. He produced a small tube of oil from his pants pocket after fishing them off the floor and proceeded to use it to grease up my young bunghole, using more on his finger to stretch it out. He used it with some ability and he admitted that he and his college buddies had done each other often this way. "When you get older, you can jam yours up my hole the same way," he offered. "But for now, let's see if you can take mine. If you can't, that's jake."

"Thanks," I said, and his finger in my butt did feel really good. I trusted Gordon and he said that this helped a whole lot. When you trust someone you relax around them and that means your butt muscles will relax if they are touched, he said. I don't know if that's true or not, but he did okay by me. Soon he had two fingers in me, and then three, and they were touching me in a way that felt terrific. He had found a bump inside of me, I could feel it was a sort of two-noded bump, that when he touched, it was like my cockhead in high nervous responses of pleasure.

"You're sizzling now," he panted, and he greased up his rod. "Now, I'm going to slowly ease this inside you, you will feel some pain but if it's small, let it go, if it's big, yell and I'll stop for a while or stop altogether, okay?"

"Okay," I breathed. He pushed into me and I was pleased that I didn't have to stop him once. He pushed well inside of me and then he stopped, breathing hard, and said, "That's got about five inches into you, Peter, you are one hot little piece of ass, you know that? I can really go to town on you, but I'll start off slow."

He did, making slow, sweet motions, and it was good, and he sped up and that was better and soon he was gasping and moaning and I was holding onto him as the bed rocked with the strength of his thrusts into me. He was panting hard and I was feeling really good, and I knew if I hadn't just climaxed myself, I could have joined him in this rapture. But his cock felt really good especially at the end when it got really hot and pulsed and Gordon's face turned a delicate red and he began to thrust into me kind of fast-and-furious, and he let out a long yell of "HAH-AH-AH-AH, HUH-HUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" and I felt the cock pulsing inside me and the squirting jets of his jizz pumping so deep into me that I couldn't feel it any longer, I just knew he was juicing his spunk way up inside me deep and that felt so very good, like he and I were becoming one in a real, irrevocable way.

Gordon finished and in his exhaustion, he sort of fell onto me, and I let him lay as he was, panting and he roused after a moment and heaved himself off of me and lay down beside me, his breaths loud and his chest rising and falling hard and quick, and he said to me, after the panting slowed down, "Wow, that was the bee's knees!"

"Yeah, it really was," I agreed.

He looked over at me. "Peter, you know the other tenants here, don't you?"

"Somewhat," I agreed.

"Help me talk to them, find out what they are paying for their rooms. Can you do that? I promise that you won't get locked out of your room. That's a promise."

"Well...okay," I said.

We got dressed and walked around and talked to everyone before Mr. and Mrs. O'Neill came back. Gordon and the tenants were all waiting for them, while I watched carefully from the top of the stairs where I couldn't be seen.

It turned out that the O'Neills didn't own this house! It had been Gordon's father's house and his father had died that last spring. Gordon had found that there was little money in his father's accounts and had come here to find that his aunt and uncle had been bleeding his family's accounts empty little by little. Gordon had called the police and they arrived a little later to arrest them on charges of fraud and other things I didn't understand.

When Mom got home that evening, I had great news for her. We were not only current on our rent and had two more weeks free to boot, but she had a new job. She was to be the house's new cook and to also go around and collect the weekly rents from now on. She would continue to live in Room 203 where she had been living, and receive free meals and a salary on top of that, and Gordon would be living in the O'Neill's rooms on the bottom floor. He would be the manager of the house and handle any scofflaws that came along. But all Peter really wanted, he said, was to be able to have a nice home to live in while these bad times lasted.

Also, one minor thing. I was to be staying with him from now on. He said he would feel alone in that big manager's apartment by himself and I was to be his live-in companion.

Of course, you can guess the real reason he wanted me in there.