Honest Abe

Aunt Edna, had she known, would have said the accident was God’s punishment for my wickedness. “Mysterious are the ways of the Lord.”

“Mysterious” was the word. I don’t mean the accident, but Honest Abe’s sudden disappearance after five years. Five years of never missing a Wednesday then suddenly nothing. It was as though Honest Abe had ceased to exist.

I had just turned 13. Aunt Edna had come to live with us after Uncle Charlie died. She was very religious and very nosy. Neither my sister nor I liked her at all. For one thing she would just walk into a room, any room. If you did complain she’d always say, “If you’re behaving yourself, you have nothing to hide.” After all, she was, as she took pleasure in telling US, one of the family now. I doubt that I’d have gone into the park as early as I did if it hadn’t been for Aunt Edna.

I had discovered the pleasures of my body in a big way, so every afternoon after school I’d take my football and head for the park. Not that I ever wasted a minute playing football—that was strictly for Mom and Aunt Edna’s benefit. When I left the house I’d make straight for the gent’s loo that was on our end of the park. It was divided into two separate sections—one was the urinals while the second had two cubicles with toilets. I never quite dared use the urinals in case a neighbor would wander in, a male version of Aunt Edna.

“Can’t wait till you get home, Tom? You live across the road and come here to pee? What are you up to then, Tom?”

At 13 the urinal was definitely out. Instead I always made for the second door and the cubicles. Here I could safely lock myself in and a partition going from floor to ceiling insured my privacy.

The happy hours I spent, stripped naked, running my hands over my body, rubbing my crotch with one hand while pinching and caressing my nipples with the other. I had quite large nipples which peaked out and were very sensitive to my touch: so sensitive, in fact, that had I just stroked and pinched them I would have shot a load of cum without touching my cock. I was always careful not to excite myself to that degree since I loved the feel of my cock as it would spring to life, pulling the foreskin gently back over the head, I was grateful that I had not been clipped. The foreskin added much to my pleasure, especially when I would pull it all the way down and run my finger under it and around my cock head—greased as it would be by preseminal fluid.

The ritual seldom deviated. When my cock started pulsating I would begin massaging the inside of my legs working toward the crotch, then round to my ass, over the cheeks, down the warm crevice to where my balls began to tighten. Then pulling the sack down with my left hand, I would bend my cock down, and hold it in place by pressing my thighs together. Now both hands were free to massage my stomach, up to my nipples again until I felt I was getting close to shooting. I would then stop and sit for a couple of minutes, taking this brief respite to admire my cock.

When I had cooled it a bit, I would grab my shaft firmly and begin jerking, at first gently then harder. It was heaven as I began to build up to shooting again. My breathing would get heavy though I always checked myself against moaning. It was, after all, only a wooden partition between me and the next person (and most of the time there would be someone in the next cubicle). Finally, the explosion. White liquid fire erupting all over my stomach, chest, and hands. How I loved it. How I do love it. I would lick my cum from my fingers and palms, then scoop up what had gone onto my stomach and chest and lick these deposits clean—salty but so so sweet.

Before leaving I would shoot two more loads, then get dressed and trundle home to dinner. Mother always marveled at how I could stay so tidy after an hour of something as rough as football.

It was after I got back from holiday camp that I saw what I thought at first was just vandalism in the toilet, A largish round hole had been gouged out of the partition between the two cubicles. What looked like an old floor rag had been stuffed into it, but I could see that anyone might easily pull that out, catch me in the act, and maybe tell my folks. It was, I thought, like something Aunt Edna might do.

That day I was very nervous about starting anything I wouldn’t be able to finish. But soon my flesh became stronger and hotter than my fear. I decided against undressing completely and just took my shorts down. Since my shirt was loose I was stilt able to play with my nipples. I just had to be a bit cautious.

I had noticed that the other door was ajar so as luck would have it, I was alone. And if anyone did come in, the outer door always scraped the floor when you pushed it open. I would have plenty of warning. So I was again pushing my fingers into my crotch, feeling that wonderful ecstasy. At 13, this was what life was all about.

I had just shot my first load, trying to catch as much as I could in my hand, when the outside door was pushed open. I stood frozen as I listened to someone going into the next cubicle. I heard a coat being hung on the hook and someone sitting down. I could not move, nor could I think what to do. What if it were a neighbor and that cloth dropped out of the hole? Here I was, cum on both hands and a semi-hard cock. Wouldn’t Aunt Edna just love it?

Well, there was only one course of action—clean my hands and sneak out before the person in the next booth finished. I cautiously began to run my tongue over the side of my hand (despite my fear it still tasted lovely). Then what I dreaded happened. The cloth was pulled out of the hole. I ducked back quickly so I couldn’t be seen. Unfortunately I had chosen the back wall, so I would, at some point, have to pass in front of—or try to crawl under—the gaping hole in the partition, Either way I’d be seen since the bolt on the swing door was on the opposite side, and a policeman (it must be the police. Who else would be spying through the hole?) would have a good view. It was a thought to wilt my cock. I didn’t dare breathe let alone continue licking my cum from my hands. I just remained motionless, hoping the cloth would he put back and I’d be able to get away.

What happened next could zap most, but to a naive 13-year-old it hinged on the traumatic. An enormous rigid cock was pushed through. I had never seen such a size, and its thickness made me blink. Wrapped around it with a rubber band was a five pound note and a small piece of paper with something typed on it. I was now completely immobile.

Slowly this enormous prick began to rotate, lifting upwards, doing a full circle, then nodding from left to right, Furtively I reached out a finger, still covered with my spunk and touched the tip. It responded with a little jump. It too was unclipped and as I got up more courage I gently squeezed the lips which made the cock head ooze slightly.

It wasn’t until I clasped the whole head in my cummy fist that I moved close enough to read the note that was attached to the shaft with the money. “Suck me, drink me, and Honest Abe is yours.”

I carefully removed the rubber band, the note and the money. Now, for the first time, I could see the entire shaft. It was absolutely beautiful—smooth and white, the distended veins were as delicate as the markings in a really fine polished marble.

I closed both hands over it and still the enormous head protruded in front of me. Smearing my cum all over it I reared myself up. Five pounds. I would have done anything for this cock for nothing. My cum was now almost completely off my hands and onto its shaft, it didn’t occur to me that there was a further existence beyond what I held in my warm hands, it wouldn’t have struck me as odd had I been able to lift this Lube of pulsating life from the hole, service it, then pass it back through the hole where it might have vanished. It was all very Lewis Carroll.

First I licked it clean of my own cum, and as I did I could feel titty tremors traveling its length. When I had worked my way to the head. I pulled the foreskin down and inserted my tongue so that f could lick the cock-head and the inside of the foreskin simultaneously. I swirled my tongue round and round. A low moan came from the other side of the partition—was there a body, a head, a mouth, too? Did it matter? Not really. What did matter was slowly driving its way deeper into my mouth.

Since the shaft was so long and so thick and I was only 13, I found it impossible (then) to take the entire length. What would not go I clasped with my left hand and massaged. With my other hand I began fondling myself, never letting up on the pleasure of “Honest Abe.”

A quick further hardening, short breathless moans, and I knew the cum was beginning to course its way through Honest Abe to me. A fantastic deluge filled and spilled from my mouth. I swallowed as quickly as I could, and each contraction of my throat muscles brought more. I drank as much of this white flood as I could. The rest I would take care of in the same way I did my own. When the last drops seemed to have been milked, I once more traveled up the length of the shaft with my flitting tongue. It had now partially softened.

I was very hot now, standing out to my full five inches. Still holding Honest Abe in my mouth. I was able to take the full length now and taste a few of the pubic hairs which sprouted around its base.

Seeing the money and the note on the floor. I had a wonderful idea. Not letting Honest Abe out of my mouth I wrapped the money and the note around my shaft, fastening them with the rubber band. Then when Honest Abe withdrew through the hole. I stood up and pushed my hard cock with the money and note through the hole.

A warm hand grasped me gently and removed the money and note. I had also pushed my balls through so when the moist mouth dove down the length of my cock I could feel the slight scratching of a chin once more sprouting hairs. This added unbelievably to the sensation of being sucked off—for the first time ever. With the rough chafing of my balls and the hot persistent mouth sliding back and forth, sucking my entire being it seemed, I came like never before. I wanted to scream as my cum flooded from me and could only restrain this urge by biting down hard on my hand.

How long my orgasm lasted I can’t remember. What did it matter? When my cock was released and I started breathing a bit slower I thought I would look through the hole and see Honest Abe. Why not? At that moment, there was no one in the world I loved more. But before I could look, the money came quickly through the hole followed by the cloth being fit back into place. Immediately after I heard the two doors open and close.

When I left there was no one about or rather several men, but they were all with women. I couldn’t believe that any of them was Honest Abe. I suddenly became depressed. What if I didn’t see him again? The thought of masturbating by myself was, for the first time, not a pleasant prospect. What that cloth in the hole meant hadn’t penetrated. As far as I knew, only Honest Abe had the power to “open sesame.” But maybe… My gloom began to lift, Wednesday. I had noticed the clock on the church Lower had chimed four when I got to the park. Perhaps that was the witching hour. I had to wait a week to know. In the meantime I would just have to play with myself, but even this would be more wonderful now, I had a beautiful fantasy after all.

Now the cubicles seemed to be in use more and more. Still not connecting the increased activity to the hole in the partition, I would at times have to make three trips before I’d find a cubicle empty—and then both were usually unoccupied. Sometimes I would be late for supper and get a dressing down from Mom and Aunt Edna who would say that if I wanted room service I should live in a hotel. Times like that I would have liked to whip out my cock and jerk off while she dropped dead from shock.

One day when I went to what I now considered my cubicle, the floor cloth was not in place. There was just the gaping hole and my first impulse was to retreat, but then I decided to plug the hole up with a toilet roll. As I picked up a roll I looked through into the next cubicle. A kid I had seen at school, maybe three years older than I, sat on the seat vigorously stroking his cock. I soon forgot about plugging the hole and just watched. He smiled at me as though he were expecting me and began to jerk his meat harder so it became even larger.

“Hungry?” He leaned sideways so that the action faced me, “How ‘bout eatin’ this?” Not wailing for an answer, he got up, still jerking himself, and came to the hole where he pushed his meat through.

It had a completely different taste from Honest Abe and wasn’t nearly that size, which wasn’t to say this cock lacked either flavor or size. I went down on it without further prompting. As I sucked (this time I could manage the whole length), the kid in between moans would say things like: “Take it, cock sucker,” and “Suck it, fairy.” Had I been paying less attention to his cock, I might have bitten down so that he would never have called anybody a cocksucker or fairy again, at least not when his cock was in their mouth, As soon as he had come, he whipped his cock out of my mouth, zipped his fly, and before replacing the cloth, leered, “Fucking pervert.” Then he was gone.

Finally it was Wednesday again. I was filled with the excitement and anticipation I used to feel as a kid when Christmas rolled around, A kid! From that first encounter with Honest Abe I stopped thinking of myself as that. I wasn’t yet a man, but I fell I wasn’t a kid anymore either.

When I got there, just before four, both stalls were empty, and the cloth was firmly in place. This time I stripped completely so that I would get the maximum pleasure as I began to feel myself. A few minutes later the outer door scraped against the floor. I knew it was Honest Abe. The bolt on the cubicle door was pushed forward and the coal was hung on the hook. My cock seemed to know too. It rose with anticipation. Then the cloth was pulled out and that huge cock came through, again with a five pound note and the typewritten message: “Suck me, drink me. and Honest Abe is yours.”

My hands trembled as I removed them. Holding what seemed to me to be what was most beautiful in the world, I covered Honest Abe with open mouthed kisses. I also managed to take more of him into my mouth by swallowing a bit of the head. This obviously pleased him since the moans started almost immediately. I was careful not to have him too far back when I sensed the warning tremors. This time I didn’t lose one drop of the warm thick soup he lavished on me.

I did not attach the money and the note to my cock before pushing it through, I knew he would be squatting, mouth open to receive me. He was.

I wondered if maybe one day he would ask me to join him in his cubicle. I longed to explore his body as I did my own. But that would have to be up lo him. Now I rode crest after crest of my orgasm as it gushed from me into Honest Abe’s eager mouth, His chin chafed a bit more today which increased the sensation. I was floating, absolutely weightless, Just like a fairy in fact. I received a light kiss on my cock and balls before they were eased back through the hole. The cloth was quickly replaced, and, again, Honest Abe was gone. It crossed my mind that I might never actually see the rest of him. I still loved him.

Wednesday followed Wednesday. “Suck me, drink me, and Honest Abe is yours.” The fivers grew. I hollowed out a book I kept at the top of my bookshelves to hold the money. There was no reason to spend it: I got an allowance. Besides, any sudden spending would have aroused suspicion—especially from Aunt Edna.

As the months passed I began to develop a keen business sense. Now every visit to the park meant a cock, pleas to be sucked and to suck. Since I was usually younger and prettier than my partners I found that I could be selective. And to be selective could be lucrative—a pound, two, three, another fiver, ten pounds from the man who wanted me to join him in his cubicle, which I did. As a result I was lucked for the first time. By the time I graduated from high school, I had hollowed out three more volumes. In spite of all this activity, only one thing really mattered—Wednesday at four: “Suck me, drink me, and Honest Abe is yours.” Five years, then nothing.

That day I went home such a misery that Mother, when she saw my face, cried, “Someone’s told you.” Only gradually did the tragic faces of Mother, my sister, and old Aunt Edna register. “Your father’s been in an accident…” There was no need for her to finish. I knew he was dead.

I continued to keep my “appointment” with Honest Abe for some weeks after that day, but he never appeared. When I graduated I decided to pack my four volumes of Shakespeare and seek an addition to my fortune in New York. Aunt Edna would shit herself if she knew my business or if she could see my bank balance. Though I keep hoping to run into Honest Abe again, I don’t believe I ever will.

Every once in a while I go home to visit Mother. When I’m there I usually wander into the park and watch the comings and goings at the loo. If a chicken, say about 13, goes into “my side,” I like to saunter in after him to the adjoining booth. The hole and the cloth are still there. I settle myself back and work up a whopping erection (the size of Abe, really), then taking the cloth out I stick my meat through the hole with a fiver and a note around it: “Suck me, drink me, and Honest Abe is yours.”