Claire Kent Alias Super Sister The Return of Superboy
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Poor Boy free porn video
I began life in a charity ward of large University hospital just prior to WWII. I grew up in abject poverty and began working as an eight-year old picking pole beans in endless farm fields for tens cents a bushel. Do you have any idea how many beans it takes to make a bushel? It was back breaking work, I can tell you.
At the age of ten, a boy named Willard says to me, “do you want to make more money?”
“How do you do that?” I asked.
“We go to the Country Club and caddy,” he responded.
“What is caddying?” I asked.
He explained that rich people played golf and needed someone to carry their golf bags with their clubs. I had no idea what he was talking about, but if I could get out of the farm fields and make more money, I was more than game.
So, the next day we went to the Country Club to inquire about caddying. We found out that the caddies actually worked for the Caddy Master who in turned worked for the members of the Country Club.
The Caddy Master took one look at us and told us to come back when we grew up some. He said we were too little to caddy.
Willie and I were disappointed, and he would not go back to the Country Club again, but I was determined to get out of those hellacious farm fields. So, every day for the next week, I returned to the Country Club and pestered the Caddy Master to let me become a caddy.
He must have liked my persistence, because he finally said, “we are starting a caddy school tomorrow at seven AM, be here and you can attend, and we will see how you do.”
I was there at six, ready to learn how to be a caddy.
I need to explain to explain about caddies in the 1950s. There were three classifications of caddies, i.e. B, A and Honor. A B caddy was a beginner, An A caddy was an apprentice, and an Honor caddy was an experienced trained caddy capable of carrying double bags and actually caddying for two golfers at the same time.
Your caddy classification was distinguished by the color of your caddy card issued to you by the Caddy Master when he assigned you golfer(s) to caddy for. A B caddy card was white, an A caddy card was yellow and the Honor caddy card was blue.
The caddy card contained your name, the name of the golfer(s) you were assigned to caddy for, the caddy rates (your pay) and a place for the golfer(s) to rate your performance, i.e. excellent, good, fair or poor. Trust me, you did not want to be rated fair or poor, that was cause for the Caddy Master to run you off. There were different pay rates for each classification, with B caddy being the lowest and Honor caddy being the highest.
The caddy school was taught by Honor caddies who would play golf and the students taking turns caddying for them. The school lasted for three days, at which time, you were expected to have learned the basics of caddying, the finer points would come with experience. At the end of the school, the instructors would recommend to the Caddy Master those who should be awarded B caddy status. I was thrilled when I found out I had made the cut.
Over the next two years I busted my butt carrying golf bags loaded with clubs and a variety of accessories, like balls, tees, towels, umbrellas, etc. The work was hard, but I was out of the farm field and I was making more money. I had even progressed to A caddy.
A typical loop around a golf course was four and a half miles and A and Honor caddies were expected to make two loops on weekends.
At age twelve I became the youngest caddy to achieve Honor caddy status. It is a bit of a story how that came about. Back then, women were only allowed to play golf at the Country Club on Tuesdays. A lot of caddies avoided caddying on Tuesday because many of the rich Ladies were real bitches and constantly complained to the Caddy Master. Since the Caddy Master worked at the pleasure of the members, the caddies were in a no-win situation.
Because I had a thirst for making as much money as I could, I showed up bright and early every Tuesday. The worst of the bitches was a certain Mrs. Park who constantly derided the Caddy Master about her caddies. Then one day I got assigned to caddy for Mrs. Park. I took the job with trepidation to say the least, I had heard horror stories. However, the round went without incident, until we were walking off the eighteenth green and I handed her my yellow card..
“What are you doing with an A caddy card?” She roared.
I almost shit my pants, and I just knew I was in big trouble. For what, I didn’t know.
Mrs. Park went directly to the Caddy Master and demanded to know why I had a yellow card. The Caddy Master began apologizing profusely saying he would immediately fire me.
“Apparently you don’t understand me, Tommy is the best caddy I have ever had and he deserves to be an Honor caddy,” she said.
I don’t know who breathed the bigger sigh of relief, the Caddy Master or me.
The following Tuesday, I was assigned to caddy for Mrs. Park again. Once again as we walked off the eighteenth green, I handed her my yellow card. Going directly to the Caddy Master’s stand, she bellowed, “apparently you do not like your job. I told you to make this boy an Honor caddy and if you don’t, it might cost you your job.”
Needless to say, I was promoted to Honor caddy. But remember, Honor caddies were expected to carry double and as a small skinny kid of twelve, that would prove to be a very big task. But the chastised Caddy Master deemed, if I was to be an Honor caddy, I had to carry double.
There were several issues with carrying double. First, not all golf bags weighed the same, which caused a serious balance issue. Second, you had to chase two golf balls, and if one golfer hit it right and the other hit it left, you really had to hustle, because neither golfer wanted to wait on his clubs. The walk around the course was greatly increased when carrying double. And again, Honor caddies were expected to make two loops on weekends.
Honor caddies were paid $3.50 for carrying double per loop and with an average of fifty cents tip from each golfer, and with two loops meant you made $9.00 every Saturday and Sunday.
The work of carrying double was back breaking for me, but I was not going to let it beat me. By the time I was fourteen, I was handling the work without difficulty. I remained a caddy till age sixteen when I was awarded a job working in the men’s locker room. I made seventy-five cents per hour plus tips. The tips were far greater than the hourly wage.
I would shine the members street shoes while they were on the golf course and cleaned/shined their golf shoes after they finished their round of golf. I also cleaned the locker rooms and maintained a fresh supply of towels, shaving items, combs, hair tonic, etc. for the pampered members.
But being in the locker room meant I saw lots of grown men in the nude constantly. I would marvel at the differences in size and shapes of their cut and uncut cocks. I would be mesmerized when I saw men with hard cocks sticking out straight. I started getting little woodies when an impressive cock came into view. I would get knowingly smiles from some of the men. I began to think they were teasing me. I would sometimes retreat to a bathroom stall and masturbate.
Bringing in a fresh-supply of towels to the shower room, one day, I heard someone moaning followed by a voice saying, “oh yes George suck my cock.”
I peeked into the shower area and saw George Woodward on his knees sucking Bob Morton, as the shower cascaded water on them. My cock was instantly hard. I quickly made it to a bathroom stall and furiously masturbated to the best orgasm I had ever achieved.
As was my normal way, I would show up at the locker with a member’s freshly shined street shoes just as he entered the locker room after a round of golf. Just a little trick to elicit a tip. This time it was Mr. Bob Morton, who said. “Tommy did you like what you saw yesterday?”
“Uh, I don’t know what you mean,” I said
“Oh, I believe you do, and I have seen you checking out my cock. I think perhaps you might want to suck it,” he said.
“Sir I have never sucked a cock in my life and I’m not queer” I responded.
“The fact you have never sucked a cock has nothing to do with whether you are queer or not and if you could meet me in the shower in ten minutes, it could mean a very big tip for you,” Mr. Morton said.
Retreating to the room where I shined shoes, I was shaking like a leaf, wondering what I should do. There was no question I would like a big tip, but sucking cock to get it was a big question. I had to admit to myself the sight of hard cocks did excite me, but did that mean I wanted to suck them, I was not sure.
The ten minutes were flying by and I had a decision to make. With reservations, I proceeded to the shower room and saw Mr. Morton under a shower slowly stroking his big hard cock. Seeing that cock made my decision for me, I undressed and entered the shower. Mr. Morton placed his hands on my shoulders and slowly pushed me down to my knees. Then taking his cock in hand he began rubbing it all over my face and lips.
“Open your mouth Tommy and take my cock in,” he said.
Doing as instructed, I felt a pulsating and throbbing cock enter my mouth for the first time. Being a complete novice cocksucker, I was not really sure what to do, but almost by magic, instinct took over and I began sucking my first cock. His cock felt wonderful in my mouth and I was enjoying it immensely when I was admonished to watch my teeth. Something I had not thought of.
I must have gotten to Mr. Morton, as he grabbed my head and pulled it hard down on his cock. The hard pull caused his cock to hit the entrance to my throat making me gag and my eyes to water.
“Tommy try to relax your throat muscles, so my cock can enter your throat,” he said.
I was not sure what to do, but I must have been doing it right, as I felt his cock enter my throat. I was no longer sucking his cock, he was fucking my mouth and throat. Holding my head, he fucked away with gusto, as I was getting very red in the face from a lack of oxygen, I thought I was going to suffocate, when he said, “try breathing through your nose.” Luckily that worked.
Soon I could hear Mr. Morton moaning loudly as he said, “God I’m going to cum.”
Withdrawing his cock from my throat, Mr. Morton unloaded a huge amount of cum in my mouth coating my tonsils. I began choking again and Mr. Morton said, “swallow Tommy.”
I did as I was told, I swallowed as fast as I could, noting how good the bittersweet taste of cum was. I really liked it.
“Damn Tommy you are already a better cocksucker than my wife. Actually, she is a lousy cocksucker,” he laughed and said.
I was rewarded with a twenty-dollar tip with a chance to make much more in the future. The next time I was sucking Mr. Morton, several other members entered the shower area.
“Holy crap Bob, you have been holding out on us,” I heard someone say.
I was mortified I was caught sucking Mr. Morton’s cock, but I got over it very quickly, as I ended up sucking three more cocks, including the cock of George Woodward, the very man I first saw sucking Mr. Morton. The tips added up to sixty-five dollars, a princely sum in 1957. The money was great, but damn I was getting addicted to cum, I just loved it.
Soon I was doing other things to make tips. The members found out I had a driver’s license and they had me running bets to a local bookie shop, would you believe, in a bakery.
While most of the members were content for me to suck their cocks in the shower room, an Attorney Colonel Robert Tyler made a proposal to me that shocked me to no end. He wanted to fuck me. Seems the Colonel was a closeted homosexual who had a penchant for young men.
He warned me any discussion of his proposal would result in my immediate dismissal from my locker room job and my lucrative sideline. He invited me to his home where he lived alone.
In complete fear and trepidation, I showed up at his home one evening. The Colonel was pleased to see I had shown up. He suggested we shower to get squeaky clean. But first, he wanted me to use an enema to cleanse my inner self. I had no idea of how to use an enema, so he showed me. Then into the shower where he bathed me and himself. Once we were thoroughly clean, he shocked me by dropping to his knees and engulfing my cock in his mouth. Although I had now sucked many cocks, I had never had my cock sucked. Over the next ten minutes, I found out why men enjoyed having their cock sucked. When I could no longer hold back, I filled the Colonel’s mouth with a load of my cum. The orgasm I achieved was awesome.
But that was not the biggest first to come, the Colonel took me to his bed and made love to me. He rained kisses all over my face and neck before plunging his tongue in my mouth. I responded and soon our tongues were doing a tango. I was never so turned on in my life. When he took my nipples in his mouth and gently nibbled, my cock was so hard it hurt.
“Now Tommy I’m going to fuck you, that was why I insisted on you having an enema. I’m paranoid on cleanliness,” the Colonel said.
He placed me on my back and lifted my legs up in the air and said, “for the first time I’m going to fuck you this way, I want to see your face as you are being fucked and I want you to see my face when I cum.”
He oiled his cock and fingers with lubricant. He slowly inserted his fingers in my bum and oiled my ass hole. There was mild discomfort briefly until his fingers made-contact with my prostate. Then it was the best feeling ever. I loved it.
Withdrawing his fingers, I felt his hard cock make-contact with my puckered rosebud. Pressing forward he made entry. Soon the entire mushroom head was inside me. Then wham, as he thrust hard forcing his entire cock deep in me until he was balls to the wall. The look on his face was indescribable. Not wasting any time, he began fucking me deep and hard. His thick cock was massaging my prostate so good I began leaking cum. The feeling was fantastic. I was enjoying this as much or more than sucking cock or being sucked.
The Colonel continued fucking me for some time, before he tensed up and shouted, “I’m cumming, as he blasted the walls of my rectum with a huge load of cum. Now I knew why he wanted me to see his face when he came, it was twisted displaying the pleasure he was feeling.
Shortly after he came, I did as well, covering my belly and chest with my own cum. He saw the look on my face. His face displayed the look of a man that had just had a great fuck and my face displayed the look of a young man that had just received a great fuck.
He asked me to spend the night. Twice during the night, I was awoken by the Colonel fucking me again. He fucked me once more in the morning before I left. I was a well-compensated and well fucked young man when I left.
I left my job at the Country Club to take a full-time position as a manservant and butler for the Colonel.
Thirty years later the Colonel left me the bulk of his estate upon his passing. I had come a long way from those hated farm fields.
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