Street Kid

by Ned Williams

  Adam then gave me the Full, Grand, Conducted Tour of the rest of his Palatial Home. It took all of three minutes. On the same floor as his room was a minute bathroom given over to the exclusive use of the two lower floors of the house. The upper floors had another of their own. Next door to his double bed–sit, in the front of the house, was the well equipped, communal kitchen which was used not only for its obvious use but also as a meeting place for the whole house. It contained a pay phone for the rest of the residents and food cupboards for each of the five rooms. From this side of the house, it was below street level and a door from the kitchen was accessed from the street above. This kitchen door was for the exclusive use of friends. The front door was the preserve of strangers. He gave me permission, if I decided to come on a return visit, to use the kitchen door. I was given his personal ‘key’ which is to say, the ring tone of three longs and one short that informed him that whoever was at the door was for him. Each room in the house also had a special ring of its own. Obviously, I was going to be considered a ‘friend’.

  I asked, “What constitutes ‘long’?”

  “Just come back in here and feel inside my jeans.”

  This was my cue.

  It wasn’t a particularly memorable session but it satisfied my still lingering frustration.

  After it was over, he didn’t seem to be in a rush to get dressed. Whilst we lay there in all our naked glory, he continued to talk. He told me how he knew lots of people my age. “In fact, I’ll tell you what, next week end, there’s a load of beaut’s coming over. It’s a sort of informal gathering I regularly have for some of my young friends.” I smiled at him. “Want to come along and join in?”

  I, naturally, assumed it would be the prologue to an orgy. I accepted.

  To be frank, I didn’t give the appointment much thought. It was just another date which might bring in some more clients. Little did I realise the effect it would have on the rest of my life. Another earthquake was about to rattle my comfortable complacency.

  In the interim, before this mighty seismic shock, I continued fulfilling the obligations of my ever expanding social diary. Even Sheba began to complain that I wasn’t finding enough time to hear her hopes and fears. My art teacher joined the chorus of complaints over my intermittent appearances in the disparate world that was my current life.

  I had a couple more dates with Ben. It was becoming clear that we were less suited to one another than either of us initially thought. Even so, the relationship had yet to run its course.

  When I arrived for the date with Adam, I found he had gathered together a small group of about ten young men. I quickly realised that, at sixteen, I was one of the youngest – not that any of the rest looked as if they had left their teenage years behind. Our host must have been the oldest in the room but his youthful outlook on life allowed him to fit in easily with the rest of us. I scanned the faces to see if there was anyone I knew. There was no one. Even at first glance it was obvious that Adam had a predilection for the slim and good looking athletic type. I felt rather plain in my jeans and tee shirt. The rest were mostly in semi–formal attire.

  Although half of them appeared to know one another, I was not the only stranger. When I was introduced, my feeling of being an outsider grew but they soon made me welcome and I was steered to a place on one of the beds between two stunners. They talked over me and only included me as an afterthought. This sounds as if they were being rude but their conversation was such that it was designed to entertain me.

  The evening turned out to be a straightforward social event full of coffee, biscuits, blatant innuendo but no sex. Adam and a couple of house trained lackeys liberally dished out this fare and took the opportunity to socialise with his partygoers. One had the distinct feeling that Adam saw himself as a frustrated matchmaker as he kept dragging people from their seats and taking them to an unsuspecting stranger to introduce them. Once he was satisfied that a contact had been made, he eyed the rest to see who else needed a forced introduction. He must have assumed that I was happy where I was as he left me alone with my handsome bookends.

  As my attention was not fully occupied, I was able to look around the room. Amongst the crowd my eyes kept being drawn to a reserved but striking young man who was built like a fit brickie. He sat in a corner and watched everything in silence. Every so often, I caught him staring at me but it was more a gaze of irritated curiosity than friendliness. He appeared not to want to actually get involved, socially, with anyone but appeared gratified simply to sit and observe. A few tried to engage him in conversation but his body language and unabashed stare at the person who dared to invade his thoughts soon forced them to give up and move away. Even Adam seemed to respect his demeanour and left him alone. Once, I had the temerity to smile at him, but he stared into my eyes with hostility and deliberately turned away. ‘Same to you,’ I thought, ‘God, what a queen.’ Though he said nothing and seemed to move, when he moved, in slow motion, he had a comportment and quality which made you look at him. Although Adam didn’t drag the strange, silent youth around, he frequently went up and whispered something to him. The young man just stared blankly at him in silence.

  At about ten o’clock the evening ended and the date for the next meeting was fixed. One of the first to leave was the silent one in the corner. It was the fastest I had seen him move all evening. Adam tried to head him off but to no avail. As the rest of us said our goodbyes and poured out into the street, I noticed that the silent early leaver was standing at the end of the street, waiting for something. As we passed, we wished him sweet dreams but received an inscrutable look as an answer.

  “Is he always like that?” I asked my nearest companion.

  “Who, Mickey? Yes.”

  “Hostile?”

  “Nah. He’s all right. You just need to get to know him. And he likes to be called ‘Mickey. For goodness sake, don’t ever call him Michael or Mick or he’ll go utterly bananas.”

  Adam’s ‘Evenings’

  From that evening on, with a few exceptions where I had other unavoidable commitments, I attended all of Adam’s Evenings. I quickly began looking forward to them and soon developed a comradeship with many of the other visitors. There were a hardcore group of boys who attended every meeting yet there were quite a few others who either made a single visit or appeared only intermittently. Even though Adam insisted that the evenings were strictly sex free, I noticed that various lads paired off when they left to return home. We all knew that Adam’s gatherings were to be a social event. Naturally, as the guests became friendlier, innuendo and openly gay chatter became cruder and more confidently delivered.

  On these evenings, I enjoyed safety, friendship and loyalty which involved me in a whole new style of living. Like Andy before him, Adam virtually adopted and looked after me as if he were an older brother.

  At each of these functions, the silent sentinel was always in his corner viewing the scene and seemingly waiting for something.

  One evening, on about my fifth visit, I was sitting near the box containing Adam’s record collection. I began idly looking through the discs and came across an excellent performance of Sibelius’ ‘Fifth Symphony’. The silent Mickey must have spotted this and, deserting his corner, came darting over to look at the record with me. For the first time, we actually exchanged a couple of sentences.

  “I got that,” he mumbled.

  “Really?”

  “Yeh. S’good.”

  “You like Classical Music?”

  “Right. The best,” he muttered and he shifted his position to sit on the floor beside me.

  “I’m Carl.”

  “I know.” Was that the shadow of a smile I detected?

  Forgetting a previous warning, I blurted out, “And you’re Michael?”

  “Mickey!” Though this was delivered firmly, he was smiling in a determined way. Yes, there was definitely a softening of his features. His eyes were gentler and seemed to dance and I saw no suggestion that he was about
to go ‘bananas’.

  “Right. You prefer it to Michael”

  “S’right. I’m Mickey” I was learning quickly that ‘Mickey’ was a lad of few words.

  Adam must have clocked our ‘meeting’ and crossed over to join us.

  “Having a good time, boys?”

  After managing his few words to me, Mickey reverted to his usual air and merely stared at the friendly Adam.

  When Adam had given up his attempt at comradeship and parked himself beside a somewhat camp youth, Mickey reverted to his friendly manner. We talked – well, I talked, his contribution to the exchange was chiefly monosyllabic. Even so, I began to change my opinion of this taciturn young man.

  As usual, when the evening ended, Mickey made a beeline for the door. As the rest of us left, Mickey was in his usual place – waiting. This time, however, there was a change in his routine. As we passed him, Mickey crossed over to us, took me by the arm and steered me away from the others and, walking away, guided me beside him with a gentle but determined grip.

  Mickey opened up a little but it remained hard work to gather any information from him.

  Through some careful and determined questioning, I discovered that Mickey actually hated Adam and was merely using him to meet people. So far, Mickey had yet to find anyone who took his fancy. I wondered if I was going to break his duck.

  It further turned out there was a sub–plot being played out, of which all our fellow guests were in complete ignorance. Adam was mad about Mickey but had never been able to get or have him.

  Mickey admitted that he had assumed that I belonged to Adam, with a high fence around me labelled ‘Adam’s property, do not touch’. When I told him that this was not so – far from it – he gave one of his smiles. I pondered as to what had amused him and why. Eventually we parted company. I mentioned that I would not be at the next gathering.

  “Then, nor me.” He shrugged and walked away. Certainly he was a strange lad yet there was something both fascinating and mysterious about him.

  The next time I managed to get to Adam’s, Mickey was in his usual place. As soon as I entered, he caught my eye and, shoving the young man sitting beside him so that he had to move along the bed, patted the space empty space thus gained and beckoned me over to join him. I did so with mixed feelings. Would I be stuck with him desperately trying to hold some sort of conversation? Adam spent the evening casting knowing looks in our direction and appeared to be pleased that we seemed to be getting along.

  I later learned that Adam expected Mickey to show his gratitude to our host for facilitating this introduction by giving himself to him. All was in vain as Mickey stuck to his guns and refused all Adam’s advances.

  One evening, Adam was waiting for me as I left work. “You must come around tonight. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He wouldn’t say any more. I now knew him well enough to trust that when he spoke like this, it was worth listening.

  That night I didn’t turn up for my art lesson. When I arrived at Adam’s he ushered me in and there sitting on one of the beds, was, to me, the strikingly good looking lead singer from a band I was beginning to adore. I blinked in utter disbelief and gaped like an idiot. This singer nodded to Adam in an obviously prearranged signal and pulled me down beside him.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Adam.

  “Don’t go,” the visitor said, “Watch, if you like, but don’t be too obvious.”

  After dimming the lights (Adam had such a contraption), and pulling the only chair in the room around to face away, Adam sat down with his back to us and, as we performed our gyrations, watched by looking at the reflection in the glass of the tropical fish tank.

  After it was over and the singer had gone I asked Adam how he knew him.

  “That would be telling,” came the enigmatic response.

  Another important person now entered my life. Adam had re–established contact with a young man called Paul who was a very confident, loud, well built youth who believed, understandably, that most people found him irresistible. He worked as assistant manager in a supermarket (‘everybody knows, Supermarket Rose’ was frequently sung for his benefit). He exploded into my life and wasted no time in getting to know me intimately.

  Paul turned up at one of Adam’s evenings and it was obvious that he knew not only Adam but many of the guests.

  “I don’t know you, do I? Or do I?” Jokingly, he turned his back on me and bent over. Through his open legs, he peered at my feet. “Nope, I don’t recognise the shoes.” He stood up and faced me. “Hi. I’m Paul.” I expected a nod or an extended hand but, instead, Paul grabbed me and gave me a smacking great kiss. The rest laughed and applauded loudly. In my line of vision I could see Mickey’s face blaze. He looked as if he could have happily disembowelled me. After this potent glare, he turned his head away to inspect the wallpaper.

  That evening Mickey displayed even more antagonism at the gatherings. I wondered if he fancied Paul? Later, I didn’t disappear with the others but stayed behind with Paul. Adam made a pathetic excuse to leave and, alone, Paul and I ‘got it together’.

  Later, sitting on the bus to return home, I puzzled over the many detours my life appeared to be taking. Puzzled? The image of the jigsaw puzzle dropped back into mind. I still couldn’t make out the picture. Was Fate toying mischievously with my destiny?

  At the next ‘evening’ Mickey went out of his way to show that he was irritated by everything and everyone. When he arrived, I was already in residence and Paul’s effusive greeting of me and his open display of affection seemed to feed Mickey’s barely suppressed fury. Adam must have noticed this as he went over to sit by and talk to the injured young man. I was staggered to see that Mickey was actually speaking to a serious looking Adam. Did Mickey have his eye on Paul and was annoyed that I was the first to turn him over to bite the pillow?

  On another of Adam’s party evenings, an incident occurred which will stay with me permanently. The whole room was happily engaged in playing a rather complicated ‘dare’ game. Two guys, who were a stereotypical ‘item’, must have had a row before they arrived for the fun because the butch one was callously and joyously involved in the game whilst his ‘wife’ was out in the kitchen having his tears mopped by a sympathetic but faintly bored Adam. I wondered if this state of affairs was a common occurrence and, as such, caused Adam to be lukewarm in his soothing of the wife’s trouble brow. Back in the main room, Butch’s turn in the game arrived and through the numerous twists and turns of the incomprehensible rules, had to stand in the middle of the group and drop all his clothing from the waist down. Being a shy and retiring sort of chap, he couldn’t wait to be the centre of attention and, taking his position centre stage, eagerly began to disrobe. The extended process of his striptease was undertaken whereby he complied with all the rules plus a few more he added for good measure. He peeled off each item as if every article of clothing was giving him an awesome orgasm. This was peppered with bouts of mock coyness which was hysterically funny. When all was revealed, so to speak, he did a sort of hula dance which made all his formidable ‘bits’ wobble and wave about like seaweed in a strong current. He approached various members of his audience and moved provocatively in front of one then another. Unfortunately, Adam had convinced ‘bitch’ that she’d been silly about their misunderstanding and it was at that precise moment, ‘bitch’ walked into the room to apologise and make up. He instantly took in the scene, and looked from Butch’s face to the half hard cock he was sporting. Bitch’s smile magically transformed into fury, then confusion, followed by outright anguish and all within the space of a few seconds. Obviously, he didn’t expect to come in and see his lover flamboyantly exposing his swelling private parts to a load of strangers.

  The whole party roared with delight at this new development. Butch, carried away for a moment by the acclaim he was receiving from his fan club, grinned and waved at his partner. Wrong move. Bitch, with a choking sob, screamed, “That’s mine. How dare you show it to
every Tom, Dick and Harry? I came in here to make it up, you bastard!! And now I see this…” And he retreated at high speed.

  For Butch, realisation finally dawned. “Oh, no!!! Fucking hell!” Ignoring the helpless laughter and without bothering to pull up either his jeans or underpants, he waddled out of the room after the demented partner.

  I believe, after an hour, they made up, kissed, screwed in the little bathroom and went back to their flat for some more make up sex.

  One afternoon Adam met a pretty young German boy who was a stranger to both England as well our city. He was wandering around the centre looking lost and somewhat bewildered. He had the temerity to ask Adam where the nearest gay pub, club or pickup area was situated. Didn’t he know about the U.K.’s laws on homosexuality? I hope he counted his blessings that he happened to run into and ask another gay guy instead of a copper. “As soon as I saw him,” Adam later said, “my arsehole opened up like a rose!” Adam, not being of a selfish disposition, offered his wunderkind around to all his friends. The German lad had a fantastic time as did all the boys who had him but, for some strange reason, for which I cannot remember, I dipped out!

  It was also about this time when I made an epic fool of myself. During Adam’s evenings there were innumerable references to ‘Grapefruit Gerty’. ‘Grapefruit Gerty’ was a standing joke to which everyone, except ignorant me, happily joined in. Although it didn’t mean a thing to me, the gang made the guy sound at the same time both sad and hilarious. He was supposed to be in his early thirties and, much to the embarrassment of any companion, cavorted about like a teenager and only drank grapefruit juice when he socialised – hence his nick–name. The stories about him were numerous and, although funny, verged on the cruel.

  Due to the addition of Adam’s circle to my social life, my existence on the racks substantially diminished even further. Every time I went to earn some extra cash, I was treated as a stranger and jokingly ignored. To be frank, I was now too well known for the punters and, much to my chagrin, at sixteen, I was getting a bit too old. Many more younger and better looking boys had joined the gang. Even Andy complained that he felt neglected – not that he was concerned enough to ask for the cause of my sudden and intermittently mysterious absences.