Street Kid

by Ned Williams

  I don’t remember too much about our first night together. Mickey’s mother had donated some sheets and blankets for her son which we happily utilised. I don’t know whether his family knew of Mickey’s orientation and he never said but the donated bedding was for a double – which we had. I know we didn’t get much actual sleep. It suddenly dawned on me that, although we had been intimate on many occasions, this would be the first time we actually slept together. “I hope you’re still a virgin,” I demanded with a smile.

  “You should know.”

  Soon we had to begin getting to grips with that mystical thing called cooking. Now that we were able to create and eat at home we experimented with new dishes from my well thumbed basic cook book. I say we, but it was yours truly who, again, actually put the ingredients together for our sought after delectation. Mickey was even worse than myself when I first left home. All he could make was instant coffee and even that, as I had already discovered, he managed to make it taste like mud and I won’t make the pun about it not being ground coffee! Unlike Paul, Mickey was interested and enthusiastic over this cooking lark and eagerly chopped sliced and mangled ingredients that I required for my disparate brews. Between us we managed to produce food that was both reasonably palatable and vaguely edible. All these attempts were met with either serious contemplation or uncontrollable giggles. Over the next week or so our rubbish–bin slowly received less and less of our disasters as we gradually developed our somewhat limited skills.

  Despite umpteen invitations offered to my apathetic Mother, she still obstinately maintained her position and refused to visit the flat. She even disdained from being in possession of my new address. I thought it unwise to tell her that I was sharing with the young man over whom she had been so acerbic.

  The same invitation was proffered to the few members of my art class with whom I had a connection. They did make the effort and at various times the odd individual arrived, complimented, drank some steadily improving coffee and left. Although Mickey had met them briefly at the art exhibition, he didn’t really know them. They all got on superbly. Mickey, as usual, said very little but listened with care and asked some questions which cut through the crap and went straight to the crux of each topic. Even I didn’t realise how much in tune with the art world he was. In his reserved way he charmed all the guests. At the next class I attended they made a point of saying how much they had enjoyed themselves and thought that Mickey was both captivating and more than a little intriguing.

  I now had to be very much more circumspect about my life on the racks. Although he was innocent of it, I knew of Mickey’s view on my secret engagements. He had touched on the subject of paying for sex and he made it clear that he certainly didn’t approve. Did he suspect I was, on a part time basis, living the life he abhorred? Although I had no proof, I wondered why he was against it so much. Had he once been almost drawn into selling sex and had a bad experience? I asked him but he refused to answer. He did, though, tell me of his first gay sexual experience. He was sixteen and suspected that he was gay but he had slept with a few girls – just to be sure. He hung around with a group of homophobic friends and played along with their bigotry. One day they decided to ‘raid’ a public toilet. Mickey was sent in as a decoy and they vowed that they would join him a few minutes later to humiliate their victim. My mind shot back to the attack we rents made on our sexually doubtful copper. In Mickey’s case there was a slightly different outcome. There was a young man in the toilet and Mickey made fumbling attempts at making a pick up. Outside, his mates had thought it would be fun to leave him and not support their comrade so they melted away thinking it hilarious. Mickey was, by now being invited into the lockup. Thinking he would be rescued at any moment, he played along with his seducer. By the time he realised there would be no help forthcoming, he’d been initiated into having a homosexual encounter – and he loved it. His suspicions about himself were confirmed and he knew which path he would now follow. The next day his friends asked what happened. Mickey shrugged nonchalantly and said, “Nothing.”

  “Still a virgin?” one inquired. For Mickey, my little joke when we first slept together must have appeared stale bread.

  “Yep.” In one respect he was but not in another. Now he had found his sexual track, he happily walked along it and slowly gained experience. He also stopped hanging around with his narrow–minded mates.

  My unexplained absences were never questioned and, whilst I was out and about, Mickey stayed in and continued to explore my L.P. collection.

  There was a frightening gay guy who I knew very slightly, whom Lorna invited around to her place and Mickey and I were asked down to meet him. It was a creepy man of mixed race called Herbie. I remembered him, though he looked at me as though I were a total stranger. Every time I had come across him, an inexplicable shiver went down my spine. Sitting in the same room as he, my spine didn’t so much shiver as freeze solid. Like a defenceless animal looking into the fixed eyes of a snake, one was both repelled and fascinated by him. There were three legendary incidents which personified his character. The first was when he was at a party and sat idly strumming a guitar. A girl who was rather mouthy and over full of herself loudly criticised his playing with, “If there is one thing I cannot stand, it’s someone who thinks he can play an instrument, but can’t!” She couldn’t have known that Herbie could play the guitar with such skill that he could have easily been a professional.

  He gave a slow cooked smile and stood up in a measured way and walked over to where she sat eyeing him and the guitar with a smug expression full of contempt. His face instantly switched to a cold sneer and he snarled, “Bitch!” and smashed the instrument over her head. She was knocked unconscious and bleeding. He threw down the instrument and calmly walked out leaving everyone to clear up the mess. No one dared to challenge him such was the spell his ominous aura cast over the gathering.

  The second was when someone stole his rucksack. He found out who it was and went out looking for the thief. He refused to rest until he found the culprit. He finally cornered and confronted the chap in a quiet street and, in revenge, picking up the hapless youth, bodily, Herbie carried him and dropped him onto some spiked railings then, once again, calmly walked away leaving his victim impaled and screeching for rescue which eventually came through the help of a passer–by and various neighbours who were summoned by the screams. Luckily, the dull points missed the young man’s spine but damaged a lot of his internal organs. Eventually, he was able to walk again but with great pain and difficulty.

  The third was when he was talking to a friend of his and the friend’s girlfriend took a joking offence at something Herbie said. She slapped his face. Herbie asked why she’d done that.

  “I just love slapping men around the face – and they can’t fight back. It sends a lovely tingle through my fingers.”

  “I must try it.” He then fetched her such a backhander across the face that she collapsed into a snivelling heap. “You know, you’re right,” he said to the prone figure, “it does tingle.” After that attack, I doubt if she ever slapped anyone across the face ever again.

  Herbie idly rubbed his chin which was adorned with a neat goatee beard. He frowned at its lack of style and wanted to borrow a razor to restore it to the manicured state which he demanded of himself. I asked Mickey, who was sitting with us but obviously wanting to leave, if he could borrow his electric razor. “No!” was his uncompromising response and walked out. I offered him my safety razor but Herbie smiled and refused. Mickey had instantly disliked him and he made his position abundantly clear. I was worried in case there would be a flare up but Herbie was fine about the incident. He smiled at Mickey’s cheek. He seemed to know that his demeanour disturbed people and he liked to play on it. I can only assume he admired Mickey’s courage in standing up to him.

  Resurrected Demons

  Over the next few weeks Lorna slipped ever further from our social circle. She began to go out more often. Perhaps having had her two gu
ests encouraged her to seek company in the outside world. Larry also became an infrequent visitor. His reasons were somewhat different as he had found a wealthy boyfriend who took him shopping a great deal. Even though he was now ‘taken’ he still dropped tentative hints to both Mickey and I that he was available for us if we wished.

  One evening, when I was out working the racks, I inadvertently bumped into Adam. This meeting almost caused my secret life to be exposed as he caught me with Paolo and Ian. I whispered to them that there was someone I knew and they peeled off from me. Luckily, Adam was so pleased to re–establish contact that he didn’t notice my two companions who were standing a little way off and wondering who the stranger was. After so long, I was pleased to see Adam. All the troubles at the flat didn’t seem that important any more. They belonged to Paul’s world. My new world was now with Mickey.

  “I’m back in town and eager to get started on a new series of conquests,” he announced.

  “And Henry?”

  “The bastard threw me out. Some lad he was after – he told me he was in love with the kid – was not interested in him in return but went for me in a big way. Even his money couldn’t bribe the boy away. To cut a long story short, Henry got all up his own arse and sulked. We then picked up another lad and the same thing happened the result of which was that he couldn’t deal with the competition any more so she slung me out.”

  “Sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Of course, it didn’t help that some cops began turning up at his place. Remember that business with them, you and Paul? Well, they must have somehow tracked me down and Henry threw a fit. To me it was no big deal but Henry didn’t see it that way. He thought that the questions were getting ever more dangerous and, being the jellyfish that he is, panicked.” I had never known him to be so candid about his life. “Anyway, I work better on my own.”

  “You know that Mickey and I are now living together?”

  He positively beamed. “No, I didn’t. Well, I must say that I’m delighted for you both. I knew, right from the earliest days, that you two were made for one another.”

  He went on to suggest that we might all meet up sometime and could I give him our telephone number and, sometime in the future, he might phone and make arrangements.

  As I readily gave him the number, I asked “Have you seen much of Paul?”

  “No. Nothing. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing.” He then had an afterthought, “I must try to get in touch.”

  “If you do, give him my best, won’t you?”

  “From what I hear, you already have but I’ll certainly remember you to him – if we bump into one another.”

  After I left him with more vague promises of meeting up, I rushed home to tell Mickey the good news.

  As I walked in and before I could say anything, a furious Mickey told me Adam had phoned.

  “What? But that’s impossible. But he said that he probably wouldn’t be able to get in contact for weeks.”

  “He wants to go out with me.”

  “What did you say?” I was worried.

  “Says I owes it to him ‘cause he introduces us and I owe him.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Don’t fret, I told him where he could go. He also said things about you that were not nice.”

  “Like what?”

  “It don’t matter but it’s what pissed me all together. He won’t be saying those things again in a hurry.”

  By now I realised that I had made a huge mistake in encouraging Adam to get in contact. Not for the first time I pondered over what had happened between those two? Mickey certainly wasn’t telling. Whatever he said to Adam must have been pretty emphatic because he never called again and he certainly was never invited around. That one casual meeting turned out to be the last time I either saw or heard from him.

  Sad to say, I wasn’t exactly faithful to Mickey. One day, whilst he was visiting his family, I picked up a short, camp, sweet youth and took him back to the flat. After we’d had a fairly unmemorable encounter he told me that he was an ice skater. When he saw the collection of records, he asked if there was a piece of music he could use for his routine.

  “It has to be violent because my set is full of anger and passion – just like me!”

  I didn’t agree but said nothing. I suggested he tried Stravinsky’s ‘Le Sacre du Printemps’. I played him a portion of it and his eyes shone with delight. As he left, I gave him the record as a present. As I never saw him again, I don’t know if he ever used it.

  About a month later, just as I thought my life was all signed, sealed and decidedly settled, Sheba managed to leave me pole axed.

  “I have good news and bad news – good news for me but bad for you,” she began.

  We were alone and Sheba sat on our flat’s oversized sofa and I parked myself beside her and sat there listening dumbly as she enthusiastically dispatched her news.

  She had decided that her massive personality had outgrown our parochial citadel and it was now time for her to move on to feeding grounds new. Secretly, she’d maintained and developed the contact she had recently made with her sister. Sally lived in an enormous flat in London and Sheba decided she was going to move down there and to wave her hometown a two fingered ‘Goodbye’.

  “You will come and visit me, won’t you?” This was delivered more as a challenged ultimatum than a request.

  “Love to,” was all I could come up with.

  “Well, my dear, I must go. I have lots to arrange.”

  “When are you thinking of leaving?”

  “Not thinking but doing – a week from today. It’ll be farewell to the drab and dingy and hello to the brilliant and beautiful. I’ve already chucked in my notice.”

  “You’re really going so soon?” I don’t think I managed to hide both my surprise and disappointment.

  “The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.” She opened the flat door. “’Bye, Carl. I’ll come and see you before I leave.”

  “But we’ll see one another in work.”

  “No. I mean, properly.” There was a great significance in her tone.

  After she had left, I merely lay back and stayed there in a petrified state with my mind utterly befuddled. I couldn’t believe it. Sheba had been such an important part of my life during my mid to late teenage years. She had been the shoulder upon which I had rested for comfort and cried on in my moments of melancholy. Her down–to–earth view of life often made me take a more sober look at my own. I tried to imagine what my existence would be like without her. A vital emotional limb of mine was being ruthlessly amputated and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. Selfishly, I felt that I was being betrayed by one of my closest and dearest friends. I remained stretched out on the sofa for about half an hour in my mesmeric state when Mickey came home. He took one look and came over to hold me.

  “Something happened?”

  I told him. Putting his own feelings to one side, Mickey gave me some extra hugs and said, “You’ll still see her. Loads. I’ll be sure to make it happen.”

  Every workday’s lunchtime we made sure that we were free to eat together. She asked if I would be at home on the Friday evening as she wanted to come around and say our goodbyes properly.

  Every Friday Mickey worked late and didn’t get home before nine at the earliest. For old time’s sake, Sheba and I had a farewell sex session where, because my mind was otherwise engaged, I could hardly perform and the whole thing was a bit of a disaster. Mickey arrived home and quickly sussed that intimacy had taken place in his absence but, as it was Sheba, he didn’t mind.

  Eventually, the evening came to an end and there were sad hugs and goodbyes from me and a firm, restrained and unspoken good riddance from Mickey.

  After she left, Mickey came over and sat on my lap. He twiddled with my hair and stroked my face. He knew what a massive wrench was being applied to my life. I smiled reassuringly to show that all was well and that we were still secure i
n our relationship. That night I slept poorly.

  By the next morning I had managed to get my head into some sort of order and, with very little effort on my part and a lot of understanding on Mickey’s I put aside my gloom and began to buck up.

  Even though we had vowed to keep in touch and exchange visits, when she left, I realised that I’d probably never see either her or her smiling face ever again. It seemed that the end of one more part of my life was coming to a close. This was true, but eventually it was to open another door to even better things.

  Almost as soon as Sheba had left, Lorna began to have serious problems. She started a brief but intense and tempestuous love affair with a married woman called Claire which, right from the very start, was doomed to utter failure. The woman was indeed a lesbian but felt it was her Catholic duty to stay with her husband and children. Lorna couldn’t accept this as she wanted Claire all to herself.

  I only met Claire once. It was at a party. Lorna knew Claire would be there and wanted go as it would give her an opportunity to meet up with the love of her life. She asked me to accompany her to give some emotional and moral support. Mickey was also invited but literally turned up his nose at the prospect of attending a party of any description let alone one with Lorna in attendance.

  All would have been reasonably well if it wasn’t for the fact that Claire was there with another woman and it was fairly obvious that they were more than simply friends. Lorna wanted to go up to Claire and talk things over but felt intimidated by Claire’s companion who looked like a woman who was not to be trifled with. It was almost the repeat of Roger’s dilemma with his belovéd Richard.

  We spent an uncomfortable hour with Lorna trying to look unconcerned and Claire being loudly happy. Eventually Lorna couldn’t take any more and we left. She tried to catch Claire’s eye to wave goodbye but the object of her infatuation totally ignored her and deliberately turned her back on the suffering Lorna.