The evening wasn’t a busy one and fourteen-year-old Jamie and the girls had time to try to drum up some upstairs business. One man, sitting alone, seemed a particularly good prospect to Jamie. He was maybe in his thirties. His clothing was clean and neat if not expensive. It marked him as a traveler rather than someone from around Harper’s Ferry coming to Murphy’s Roadhouse on the outskirts of the town, on the road toward Winchester, for something particular to scratch the itch. He was tall and quite good-looking, well-enough groomed, although, again not lavishly so, so not of the gentry class. He was thin, but solidly built. And his eyes followed Jamie around the tavern room while the lad served customers.

Jamie was quite familiar with that look and where it might lead to, if the man was willing to lighten his purse.

Jamie and the two young women, each a few years older and more experienced than Jamie, also serviced the customers who had a hanker for it and the means to buy it. The Thadeus Murphy of the roadhouse’s name was long dead and the establishment, the tavern, with a produce store at one end and brothel rooms upstairs, was now run by his widow, Bessie, with only a few good riding years left in her, but not bad looking, quite substantial and buxom, but a bit sour and shrill. Each of them—Bessie, the two young women, and Jamie—had rooms in the upper, attic, level of the building, where men rode them, according to their preference, for a price that was what really kept the roadhouse in the black.

The handsome traveler had watched Jamie for some time, long enough that the boy discerned his interest but thought that perhaps the man wasn’t fully aware of what was on service at Murphy’s, until the man finally got around to rising and going to Bessie at the bar. They conversed shortly, with both of them looking over at Jamie, a beautiful young blond boy with blue eyes, a small, but perfectly formed body, and an easy smile—especially for good-looking muscular men who were willing to ride their horses the several miles south of Harper’s Ferry for a half hour of riding Jamie’s ass on the upper floor of the tavern.

Money changed hands at the bar, Bessie gave Jamie the nod and hand signals that had him turn over his share of the tavern service to the young women, and he went over to the staircase, walking halfway up, and stopping and pausing for the handsome traveler to join him.

When he did, the man whispered, “My name is Abraham. They call me Abe,” in a well-modulated voice that suggested higher breeding than his clothes did. Jamie took the man’s hand, gave him a brilliant smile, and guided him the rest of the way up the stairs.

“What is your pleasure, sir? Top or bottom? Before or from behind?”

“I like variety,” was the answer. “But I will be on top. You seem a flexible lad. That is good.”

The sport they engaged in in Jamie’s room, dominated by a three-quarter’s rope bed, a basic dresser supporting a bowl and pitcher of water and handcloths hung on the drawer pulls, and one straight chair, was like none other Jamie had ever experienced before and opened up a whole new world of how men could take sexual pleasure with each other. The brothel world in the last decade of the nineteenth century in the river gorge region where Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland met was a basic, unsophisticated, mainly farming-community one, in which men of the fields came to roadhouses like Murphy’s to quickly get sexual release and then steal back into the night, somewhat ashamed of the fetish that beleaguered them.

Abe obviously was proud of his fetish—at least where he was indulging it. He took his time and provided a succession of exotic positions that Jaime had no prior knowledge existed or could be managed and were so sexually arousing. Unlike most of what Jamie experienced with other men, Abe also wanted both of them to be fully naked and he didn’t just use Jamie’s body—primarily his hole. He worshipped the boy’s nubile body, exploring him completely with his hands and his lips. Despite being well on his way to being a seasoned whore, Jamie first came just in response to the caresses of the man’s hands and lips.

Jamie had never had love made to him before. He had just submitted to sexual lust and need, told the man what he wanted to hear, and took his money. Abe made love to him. Jamie had never been totally taken at length and to the depths before. Abe fucked Jamie totally. And he used the entire room to do so.

Cocksucking was a service Jamie provided for most of the men and for some it was the only service they wanted. Although he was only fourteen, he had learned to do that expertly. When both he and Abe were completely disrobed and had kissed and fondled each other, standing in the center of the room, to the point where they were both moaning and in erection, Abe sat down on the side of the bed, pressed Jamie to his knees in front of him, and, holding the boy’s blond curly head between his hands, guided the boy’s full lips to open over the man’s thick erection and give him head.

This wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that this didn’t last long—this was not taken as the fulfillment of what the man wanted from Jamie. Not taking this as the goal, Abe lifted the boy to his feet, grasped Jamie’s wrists, and pinned the boy’s arms behind his back. He then drew the beautiful, small, naked body in between his spread thighs, and took the boy’s cock in his mouth. This sometimes happened for Jamie. He was a sweet angel and there were men who wanted to devour him. But few relentlessly sucked him, even when told the boy was in danger of coming, until the boy actually did come.

After that it was all exotic taking by Abe. Upending the boy in front of him, he reclined the boy’s head toward the floor, instructing Jamie to grasp the man’s ankles, and, gripping the boy’s waist between his strong hands, he brought Jamie’s buttocks up to his face, which he buried in the boy’s crack, and Jamie, upended writhed and cried out the taking as the man ate out his ass and used his tongue to open up the boy’s passage.

After that it was a quick, smooth-transition session of Abe fucking the boy with a thick, long cock in one position after another, none of which was held long because Abe wanted to use so many others and none of which Jamie had ever experienced or even imagined were employed by one man with another.

In the same position in which Abe had eaten the boy’s ass out, he lowered Jamie’s buttocks, and instructing the boy to continue grasping Abe’s ankles while hooking his own on Abe’s shoulders, Abe drew the boy’s hole back onto his erection and slowly spread and stretched the passage with his shaft, taking possession of the boy and pulling him on and off the cock.

Next, he stood the boy against the wall, the boy’s back to the wall and his knees hooked on Abe’s hips, and he fucked the boy. He then taxed the boy’s flexibility by moving the bowl and pitcher off the top of the bureau, making Jamie do the splits on the bureau top, facing the wall, and Abe stood behind him, his cock buried in the boy’s passage and, gripping the boy’s waist, pulled him on and off the cock.

“Yes, yes,” Abe murmured. “I knew you would have the flexibility to please me.”

Abe sat on the straight chair, with the much smaller boy in his lap, first facing him, with Abe gripping and spreading the boy’s buttocks with his hands that also were pulling and releasing Jamie’s passage on the cock. At Abe’s direction, Jamie grabbed the man’s shoulder blades with his hands, digging his nails in, and pressed his feet on the wall behind the chair, using the balls of his feet as leverage to help take the churning action of the erection.

Throughout the fuck, Abe quietly and patiently gave instructions on how he wanted the boy to hold himself and to do—or not do—and Jamie, panting and in awe of the man’s prowess, worked hard to comply. The man was humming, obviously quite pleased with how the boy was taking the positioning and the cock.

In the last position of the first fuck, Abe, still sitting in the chair, kept Jamie in his lap, but turned him, facing away, once more told the boy to grab the man’s ankles, and Abe fucked the boy to a shuddering ejaculation.

Jamie assumed the man would clean himself off with the handcloth and water from the pitcher than, dress, and leave, but he didn’t. Jamie had never serviced a man before who wanted to cuddle and fondle after a fuck until he could rise to do another one—who could, and did, bring the boy off repeatedly just with the use of his hands. But this was what Abe wanted. And this was what Abe got from the young, nearly fresh boy—whimpers and sighs, moans and repeated surrendering releases.

They used the bed for the first time well into the second hour of the coupling, stretching out against each other, Abe hard-bodied and a good foot taller than Jamie—and never completely losing his erection—and they kissed and Abe explored the boy’s body with his hands, making Jamie moan and pant, while Abe recovered. Then he turned the boy on his belly, hooked Jamie’s ankles on his shoulders, laced his arms under the boy’s armpits, penetrated him, and made the boy’s body into a rocking taut bow, using the rocking motion for his cock to plow the boy’s depths, bringing a nearly simultaneous climax out of them both.

Afterward, Jamie lay, exhausted, on his back on the bed, arms akimbo, purring and lightly panting—and watching the man’s fluid, graceful movements as he washed himself with the water from the pitcher and dried himself with a handcloth and redressed.

Another contrast with most of the men who came into this room and fucked Jamie, was the Abe talked to Jamie as he cleaned and dressed, telling Jamie how sweet he was and how yielding and flexible—what a sweet angel his was. Men paid for him before, but few of them praised his body and his performance in the fuck.

Jamie wanted to ask the man more about himself—what had brought him to Murphy’s Roadhouse, did he live in the area, where had he learned all of those exotic positions, did he have any more of them in his quiver ... and, most important, would he come back and make love like this to Jamie again?

None of those questions having been answered, Abe gave him one last smile and left the room.

Not ten minutes later, another man appeared at the door—one who had paid for Jamie’s time before. He was a man who only knew one position—the missionary position—and rutted like a pig and did so only exposing his cock, although he liked for the fourteen-year-old Jamie to be naked. He was a man who believed that, since he was paying for it, only he needed to be pleasured in the act. A man who, once releasing his seed, would climb off Jamie, quickly wipe his privates off with the hand rag at the water pitcher, and, without looking back, would be gone—to be replaced, on a busy night, by the next man.

With a sigh, Jamie went full on his back, spread and bent his legs, pressed the soles of his feet into the mattress, and raised his tailbone. This was how Howard Jameson always took him. This is how Howard Jameson would take him now. All of the interesting, sensual actions and positions left the room when Abe departed. Being fucked by the Howard Jameson’s of the world would never again be as satisfying as it was before Jamie had experienced the handsome traveler, Abe.

When Howard Jameson came, he climbed off Jamie, quickly wiped his privates off with the wet rag, and left without looking back—passing Seth Black at the door, with Jamie seeing who it was, turning on his belly and going up on his knees, knowing that Black’s favorite position was that of the dog.