Street Kid

by Ned Williams

  “Why are some of them floating on the top?” asked Lorna after she had moved closer for a better inspection. “Are they supposed do that?”

  Roger’s proud face changed to horror and he joined Lorna in peering. “Oh my poor wee babies. They couldn’t have survived the move very well.” There were tears in his eyes.

  “So, they’re dead, then,” stated Lorna with an evil glint in her eye. “Shame, I shall miss them.”

  “I’ll have to buy some more.”

  “No need – not on my account.” She sounded genuine.

  He removed the corpses and asked if there was anywhere to bury them.

  “Flush ‘em down the bog,” was Lorna’s unhelpful suggestion.

  “I’ll do it,” I said and took the slimy things to flush them down to their final resting place. When I returned Roger was looking depressed.

  “I’m off. I have a date,” I informed everyone. I think it will be an all nighter so that’s this evening taken care of.”

  The client was indeed an all nighter. I don’t remember too much about the trick but his bedroom will remain in my memory forever. It was completely black. The bed was a vast circular affair which was suspended from the ceiling on great chains. Just before we slid between the sheets (black satin, naturally), my employer set the whole thing swinging gently. It was exactly what I imagined having sex at sea would be like.

  The next day, not long after I arrived home from my dreary day at the office, Roger arrived with more fish which he carefully released into the tank and was filled with more anguish as he saw that two more had decided to go belly up. “I’ll have to buy yet more.”

  “Are they expensive?” I asked.

  “Well, they’re not cheap,” he muttered as I left the room to chuck the latest batch of martyrs down the lavatory.

  That night was the first time that all three would have to be together. Lorna elected to take the mattress on the floor which left Roger and I sharing the single bed.

  Whilst he spent three quarters of an hour washing and carefully applying potions and unguents to his face, I undressed and got into bed and Lorna slipped under the covers of her mattress.

  “Roger, are we going to have this ritual every night?” complained Lorna.

  “Got to keep the skin looking good for my public.”

  “Why bother? You didn’t look any different this morning than you did last night.”

  “That’s because I look after myself all the time.” I couldn’t hear Lorna’s reply as she had her head buried under her pillow.

  Eventually he was satisfied with his ablutions, and with a, “There, I’m gorgeous again,” he turned out the light and got into bed beside me. “Mind if I cuddle in?” he whispered.

  “Help yourself.” I turned my back on him and he put a tentative arm around me. After about five minutes the arm began sliding down my stomach and I could feel something sticking into my back. I turned to face him and he immediately turned his back on me and thrust his arse into my crotch. Apart from our pants, we were naked. It was rather exciting to have quiet sex. Even when Lorna started to snore gently, we maintained our silence. The next morning I discovered the one thing which was a real mark against him and that was that he loved eating sweet corn. I assume that you can catch my drift.

  The following night I shared with Lorna and after another parade of opened bottles and tubes, Roger took his place on the mattress. As we lay there, Lorna’s hands started to become a little free with me. Being quite an attractive lass, I easily responded and enjoyed another bout of hushed sex.

  The next evening I was to meet up with Mickey. After a brief bit of socialising with his family, we went up to his room. He had managed to tidy all my goods away so that the place looked extremely neat. The only exception to this was that all my records were out in full view.

  “I’ve been playin’ them. Hope you don’t mind” he explained and I shrugged that it was fine by me. “You do have lots of good ones but some are real shit.”

  “Thanks very much,” I grinned.

  After a while Mickey started to come on to me. Our intimacy was full of warmth and tenderness. As I knew I wouldn’t be getting my end away later, I was happy to indulge.

  After it was over I asked, “Well, Mickey, when are you coming over to pay me a visit?”

  “No, don’t think so.”

  “Why?” I was a little hurt. “Lorna and Roger are nice people.”

  “Roger?” He looked searchingly into my eyes.

  ‘Shit,’ I thought, ‘I’d forgotten to mention him.’

  “He’s just someone who is also staying.”

  “s’another reason to stay away.”

  I knew it would be pointless to try and make him change his mind.

  When I arrived back at the flat, Lorna was already in bed. Roger was, as usual, plastering muck onto his face. As I walked in, it was clear that there was tension in the air. Roger wanted to talk.

  “I’m sorry, chum, I’m tired and all I want to do is sleep.” I ignored his hurt look. I undressed and lay on the mattress.

  “Look at your neck!” Roger bellowed. “That’s disgusting.” I had forgotten that Mickey had managed a pretty good impression of a vampire but without the blood.

  “Will you stop it with the slap and get into this fucking bed,” scolded Lorna.

  Before I finally settled into sleep I had an amusing quarter of an hour listening to Lorna and Roger moaning at one another. Lorna wasn’t attracted to Roger and even if she was, I am sure that Roger wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. He could only function with males in a submissive way.

  “You’re feet are cold,” complained Lorna. “Get them out of my way.”

  “It’s a bit difficult...”

  “Sod it. Just do it. And keep any erection to yourself if you don’t mind.”

  “Will do.”

  “Christ, you stink like a Babylonian whore.”

  “That’ll be my new moisturiser.”

  “Well it smells like you should use it to grease your arse.”

  ‘He doesn’t need it,’ I thought. ‘An easy entry, that one.”

  “Will you keep still. How can someone so short have such a big backside?” He did, too. “And you’re taking all the blankets you selfish git.”

  “I’ve only got a corner.” And so it went on as I drifted off.

  I was awoken the next morning with a wail from Roger. Another three fish had decided to kick the bucket.

  “You’re spawning a fucking massacre,” sighed Lorna as she spread herself out to take advantage of the whole bed. “Why do they keep dying on you?”

  “Perhaps they’ve got some sort of disease.”

  Loudly, Lorna said, “Thank God, or whoever is responsible for bringing that pernicious aquatic bug into the house. Are you sure you don’t simply have an unhealthy penchant for murder?”

  I went to the toilet again and made sure that the latest victims followed all their mates.

  It didn’t take long before my commitments of fitting in all this sex–in–the–home and my continuing escapades on the racks started to shatter me. At one point, Mickey asked if there was something wrong because I was starting to look worn out. I couldn’t tell him the truth so I made some lame excuse about an imminent cold.

  One evening, about two weeks after he’d moved in, Roger went out on his own – a thing he rarely did. He returned in a state of euphoric delirium.

  Lorna, who was convinced that Roger was the personification of misery, tried to put him down about his good mood. He laughed off all her efforts.

  It turned out that Roger had seen and fallen in love with an attractive twenty six year old man who had recently come to terms with his sexuality, walked out on his marriage and was eagerly making up for lost time by haunting every gay club and bar he could find. Apparently, he was immensely popular and highly sought after.

  “He’s beautiful, handsome, gorgeous sexy – oh, everything you can name.”

  “B
itch?” named Lorna.

  “God, I hope not. No, he’s too manly to be that way. Tonight he wore a tight tee–shirt and it looks like his body was made for worshiping. I’d gladly kneel before him.”

  I said, “Facing away, I presume.”

  “Carl, that’s not like you to be catty.”

  “It happens sometimes. It's just that I understand that you’ve got an itch in your arse that only this guy’s stiff cock can scratch.”

  “Stop it! It’s out of your character.”

  “What’s his name? Do you know?” I asked.

  “Richard,” he cooed.

  “Oh, so he’s a bit of a Dick!” threw in Lorna.

  “I would call him Ricky – or, better still, Rich. I wonder if he is.”

  “What?”

  “Rich. He looks as if he is.”

  Over the next week, Roger drove us mad with his constant monologue about Richard. On the nights when we slept together, I suspect he was fantasising that it was Richard banging him and not me. Roger made frantic efforts to get himself noticed by, what he now claimed, was the great and final love of his life. He was certain that this was the one person whom destiny had singled out just for him. He always tried to find out where lover boy was going to be and then happen to find himself in the same place at the same time. He must have spent a fortune on new clothes and always took great care and attention with his appearance each time he went out. The only problem was that he didn’t have much in the way of taste and the items he bought and his idea of ‘looking good’ didn’t coincide with anyone else’s.

  His fussing and primping began to become even more involved and the whole process was taking longer and longer. It really didn’t bother me at all but it was now gnawing at Lorna’s nerves. She became angry at the amount of time he took to get ready to either go out or get to bed.

  On one of his forays, Roger asked me to come along to take a look at the object of his desire and give my opinion. Why he should require my seal of approval I shall never know.

  It turned out that Richard was an exuberant man who always seemed to be at the centre of everyone’s world. This attention was never courted but he simply had the sort of magnetic personality which drew adoring crowds around him. I could see instantly why Roger was smitten. He was good looking – and knew it. The clothes he wore were obviously chosen to show off his powerful physique.

  “Hello, Richard,” called Roger.

  “Hi, um...”

  “Roger.”

  “Yes, Roger, I keep forgetting.” This should have rung alarm bells inside Roger’s emotional head but it didn’t.

  Richard excused himself from his gang of admirers and came over. He was very kind and gentle with Roger but my companion didn’t have the faintest idea of how to treat people. There was a bitchy quality to his conversation which I don’t think pleased Richard. Even to my eyes it was plain to see that Richard didn’t fancy Roger. I had the feeling that Roger’s desires were never going to be requited and that the love of his life considered Roger a bit of an irritant.

  With me in tow, Roger summoned up the courage to have a serious talk with Richard. He promised that, if Richard would go out with him on a full time basis, he would be faithful and keep house for him.

  Richard’s shocked eyes widened at the prospect and he tried to tell Roger that all he wanted to do was have a good time and that he wasn’t interested in making a home with anyone. He’d just left one relationship and wasn’t looking to start another. Roger refused to hear what Richard was saying. He kept fooling himself that Richard was only saying this for the benefit of his friends, some of whom had joined us.

  I could see that Richard was trying to let Roger down gently. It didn’t work.

  On the way back to the flat, an animated Roger asked me what I thought. I couldn’t tell him.

  Lorna continued to mock the moaning Roger and labelled him a curmudgeon.

  “A what?”

  “Look it up,” she smiled. I could see that there was a certain sympathy emanating from her assumed hard shell.

  Actually, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the lad. I knew a little of the pain of being totally ignored. Each time he came home from trying to see and talk to Richard, I made sure that I was there to help him pick up the pieces. The amount of wet shoulders I received over this period would have filled a medium size village pond.

  Eventually, Roger became such a canker to him that Richard gave up trying to let Roger down smoothly and became actively hostile.

  “Oh look, everyone. It’s Roger – again – and again – and again!”

  This was the night when Richard’s unsubtle message finally penetrated Roger’s fractured emotions. He came home early from his battering and fell apart. His distress was so deep that I was totally unable to bring him out of it.

  Larry clambered in. “What’s the matter with ‘er? Did the dildo go in too far and now she can’t get it out?”

  “Larry, not tonight, there’s a good girl,” I said, trying to indicate that Roger was highly distressed.

  “I can take a hint but she’s not going to wrestle my title of Ace Drama Queen off me. That award’s mine and mine alone” He went back over the wall and we could hear him scrubbing his kitchen – loudly.

  That night we were to sleep together. It was the first time when Roger wasn’t interested in having sex with me. We cuddled and he finally drifted off. The next morning Lorna treated him kindly and made herself available all day so that he could get everything off his chest. By the evening he had cheered up a little and even managed the occasional smile.

  Going to Pot

  Slowly, and with plenty of help and support from Larry, Lorna and myself, Roger managed to get over Richard and began to rebuild his life. Part of this rebuilding was helped by the resumption of his one in three nights low key sex life with yours truly. After a couple more weeks of this, I frequently made an all night date for the night I was to spend with Roger. I didn’t want to waste all my erections on someone who was never going to be important in my love life. These holidays from servicing Roger were calculated carefully so that he wouldn’t feel rejected yet giving him the strong message that I had another life away from his ever open arse. On those nights I was otherwise occupied, Roger had to sleep on the floor. Even sleeping with Lorna, the sex was less frequent. Many times we simply held one another in a brief embrace and then went to sleep.

  One thing hung over from before my change of address was that, so far, I still hadn’t had my introduction to the luscious Terry. I hadn’t forgotten Lorna’s promise to introduce us and I made sure that she didn’t either. The amount of quizzing to which Lorna was subjected was formidable. Eventually, just to shut me up, she gave me her word that she would make amends.

  It took her a day to come back with “I had heard that, soon, Terry would be having a small party after the pubs have shut and I’ve managed to angle us an invite.” I gave her a hug. “He’ll let me know when.” I gave her another hug. Actually, this never happened because, as it turned out, our paths were destined to meet sooner rather than later.

  “You fancy ’im? Terry? Ugh!” Roger sounded both incredulous and disgusted.

  “Yes, I do actually. He’s quite nice,” I understated.

  “But he’s so full of himself.” This, from the teen who assiduously mollycoddled his body and believed that his life was the most interesting thing in other people’s.

  Abruptly Larry called over our barricade, “Sweetie, can I borrow yer slap?”

  “I don’t wear it,” I called.

  “No you can’t,” called Lorna.

  “No you can’t,” echoed Roger who was deeply offended by this request because, although he went out at nights wearing a little makeup, he truly believed that no one would suspect. He fooled himself into thinking that the enhancement was oh so subtly applied. It wasn’t. Even the beloved Richard had thrown that one at him. Realising his accidental faux pas, Roger yelled to Larry, “Besides, I don’t wear any.”<
br />
  “Sweetie, you can put both Fenella Fielding and Dusty Springfield to shame,” sailed the voice from over the partition.

  “Larry, go away,” bawled Lorna.

  “Carl, I need to bend your ear’ole. Later maybe?”

  “Fine,” I answered and we heard Larry close his cupboard door.

  “That old queen will be the death of me,” Lorna moaned and not for the first time.

  Because of my experiences with Winston and his family, Larry and I got on very well – rather too well for Roger and especially for Lorna. Neither were so open–minded about his character. Let me be quite clear, neither had a prejudice against blacks. I think it was Larry’s devil–may–care attitude which made them both balk so readily.

  Lorna was furious that Larry and I had our partition conversations – furious at Larry, that is. Our exchanges were never serious but they were highly entertaining.

  Because of their constant objections, after a while we reserved our prattling for when Lorna was out.

  On one occasion Larry tried his luck again. “And don’t forget, hon’, I still hope to carry a flag for you – well, your pole anyway.”

  “Larry, I’m very flattered and I love you lots but I’m not turned on by drag. Sorry”

  “But, darling, I can manage butch.” He then squealed with laughter. “What am I saying? Me? Butch? It’d be easier if I tried to pass myself off as white.” He had a sudden thought. “Oh, did I tell you the one about the scout master and the pot of marmalade?”

  “I don’t think I know that one.”

  “Honey, it’s not a joke. It’s what happened to me last weekend. Anyway dearheart, this is how it all came to pass...”

  Somehow or other the four of us managed to bumble along in our own sweet way until one day Lorna mentioned that some of her money had gone missing. Without a single shred of evidence she promptly set about accusing Larry. As soon as she was able, Larry was confronted with the crime. Even though it was a sobering event, it was made slightly ridiculous by them having to conduct the prosecution and defence with both of them standing on chairs and wrangling face to face over the kitchen partition. Larry was both hurt and upset by the incident. Even though he vociferously maintained his innocence, she wouldn’t hear of it. When the fiery trial was through, Lorna got off her chair and slammed shut the cupboard door to display to the enemy her intense anger.