I Never Gave My Consent

by Holly Archer

  ‘Want to go for a walk?’ Imran asked one night, as we were all sitting outside the church, near our usual bench.

  I felt my stomach flutter a little. ‘OK then.’

  Carly was busy chatting to Ali and Naseer, and no doubt one of them would make her do something to them soon, anyway. I felt a bit bad leaving her alone with them, but I convinced myself she’d have done the same to me if someone as fit as Imran asked her to go for a walk.

  We sat around the back of the church, but he didn’t ask me to do anything to him. We just sat there and chatted about everyday things like school and our families. He was a year older than me; his dad was Pakistani and his mum was English. He insisted his dad was far less strict than lots of Muslims round our way. He owned a takeaway in town and Imran sometimes worked there at the weekends to help out.

  ‘He doesn’t give a shit what I do,’ Imran laughed. ‘He’s always so busy with work and, you know, stuff. I could go out with any girl I liked and I bet he wouldn’t say anything.’

  ‘My mum’s the same,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t really bother what I do. She’s always busy with work or my little sisters.’

  This wasn’t strictly true, of course. If Mum had an inkling of what these boys had asked Carly and me to do she’d have been horrified. But she’d just got a new job as a teaching assistant in a local school and she was frazzled running around after Lauren and Amy, who were both still toddlers. I had always behaved myself, more or less, and I’d never really given her any cause for concern. Despite what people were starting to say about me, I was always home before my curfew, so Mum had no reason to suspect I was slowly falling into the most unthinkable trap.

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘You’re a good girl, though, I bet that’s why. My dad’s not like Ali’s or Naseer’s. They’re not supposed to be going out with anyone. They’re supposed to be waiting until they get a wife.’

  We both laughed.

  ‘Not much chance of that,’ I said.

  Imran smiled at me and I had to catch my breath as he slipped his arm around my neck. My body was stiff and rigid and I felt really awkward and nervous. It took me a few minutes before I allowed myself to lean into him. I was really worried he’d try to kiss me, as I still wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want it to be sloppy, like my kiss with Ryan had been, but that was the only practice I’d had.

  ‘You didn’t really give Ali a blow job?’ Imran said, as he locked his fingers through mine. ‘Did you?’

  I blushed and looked at the ground. ‘No,’ I said, softly. ‘But everyone thinks I did.’

  Imran started to laugh. ‘I knew you didn’t,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think a fit girl like you would just do that for no reason. Ali is so full of shit sometimes. Anyway, maybe we should be getting back.’ He flashed me another smile, his brown eyes beaming. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you sucked me off. In case that’s what you thought.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, weakly.

  As we stood up, Imran took my hand again and looked into my eyes. We stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other, as if neither of us knew quite what to do. I expected him to lean in for a kiss and my heart was hammering in my chest, wondering if I could sort of improvise and kiss him like I knew what I was doing.

  Instead, he said, ‘What’s that noise? Is it your phone?’

  My phone was on silent, as always, but it still vibrated when someone called and, if you listened carefully, you could hear a sort of low hum when it went off. I scrabbled in my pocket and noticed that it was another anonymous call. As quickly as I could, I cancelled it.

  ‘Who’s phoning you?’ Imran asked.

  ‘No one,’ I said. ‘Just a withheld number. Probably a prank call.’

  Imran shrugged. ‘I’m working in my dad’s takeaway on Friday. It would be really nice if you could come down and say hello. Are you doing anything?’

  My eyes lit up but I tried my best to sound cool as I replied. ‘I’m not sure. I might come down, you know, if I’m free.’

  Imran winked at me. ‘Well, I hope you do.’

  Friday came and I could barely concentrate in class because all I could think about was Imran. It was my first proper teenage crush, and every time his face popped into my head, I couldn’t help but smile. I didn’t tell any of my friends at school – they didn’t know Imran, and I didn’t think they would understand. Plus, I felt that if I said out loud how much I liked him, I might somehow jinx things between us.

  I called for Carly at her gran’s, as usual. She didn’t know what I’d been planning, so I tried to keep it as casual as possible.

  ‘So, um, want to walk into town?’ I said.

  She stared at me, a little confused. She was still wearing her hair in a high ponytail, but she’d obviously been practising, because it looked way better than her first couple of attempts. She’d also bought these ridiculous big hooped earrings, and she’d taken to wearing them every night.

  ‘We always walk into town,’ she said. ‘Why are you even asking?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just . . .’ I tried to pick my words carefully. ‘Why don’t we go past Imran’s dad’s takeaway? He’s working. It could be a laugh.’

  Carly shrugged. ‘Won’t that be a bit boring if he’s just working?’

  ‘We can just stop by,’ I said. ‘Just for five minutes.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Do you like him?’

  I blushed and let out a weak laugh. ‘Nah, he’s just my mate.’

  The takeaway was down a side street, away from the main shops. It was near a few of the pubs and people would often come in for a curry or some pakora after a few pints. The first thing I noticed when I walked through the door was the pungent smell of the ghee, used to cook the curries. But when I looked up at the menu, there was loads of other food on sale too, like burgers and chips with cheese, and more Western dishes. The shop was really grubby. There were greasy fingerprints all across the counter and bits of stray food strewn on the floor. This surprised me, as Imran was always really well turned-out, wearing the best clothes. He was the only person behind the counter, which struck me as a little odd. He was only a year older than me and I assumed he’d have to be supervised by an adult.

  ‘Hey!’ he said, grinning as he saw us. He was shuffling a big wad of fat, uncooked chips into a fryer. They looked pale and unappetising. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  The shop was deserted, so Imran came out from behind the counter to talk to us. I could still smell his aftershave, but this time it was mixed with that distinctive greasy takeaway smell, which now makes me shudder. It was a bit awkward with Carly there, so we only stayed for five minutes, until a customer came in and he had to serve them.

  ‘I’ll see you next week,’ he called, as we left, flashing me another of the smiles that made my stomach flutter.

  I was in a bit of a daze as we ambled along the street, close to where we usually walked.

  ‘You do like him!’ Carly cried. ‘You’ve gone all red!’

  I could feel my face heating up again. ‘I don’t!’ I protested. ‘Carly, you can be mates with a guy without having to bloody suck them off.’

  She didn’t seem offended by my slight. ‘Whatever. Hey, is that your phone ringing again?’

  I fished my phone out of my jacket pocket and looked at the unknown number on the screen.

  ‘It’ll be that guy again,’ I sighed. ‘I wish he’d just leave me alone. I don’t have a clue how he has my number or why he’s phoning me.’

  ‘Just answer,’ Carly said. ‘See what he wants.’

  Against my better judgement, I pressed the phone to my ear. I was surprised to hear a different voice to the first one. The man on the other end still sounded Asian, and his English wasn’t brilliant, but his voice was a bit deeper.

  ‘Holly,’ he said. ‘Holly?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Who is it?’

  He ignored my question. ‘Come and meet me,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow.’

  I didn’t really know
what to do, so I just hung up. I guess I had no idea of how serious it was that several older men seemed to have got hold of my phone number and were asking me to meet them. If a young girl came to me now and told me a similar story, alarm bells would ring and I’d be very worried for her safety. But back then I guess I was just naive. I didn’t realise what was about to happen, so I pushed the phone calls to the back of my mind.

  Instead, I spent my time daydreaming about Imran, and counting the hours until I might see him again. I didn’t see him around town all weekend, and I was really disappointed, so when he was waiting by the bench on Monday evening, I was over the moon. I tried my hardest to stay calm and look cool, even when he asked if we could go round the back of the church for a walk. I wondered what Ali might say, considering he’d tried it on with me just a few weeks before, but he didn’t seem bothered. He just laughed.

  Thank God Imran is different, I thought. Thank God he’s nothing like Ali.

  Round the back of the church, Imran perched himself on a stone wall and motioned to me to join him. Again, he slipped his arm around my shoulder, but he didn’t try to kiss me. I was a little confused. As much as the idea of snogging him made me nervous, I had expected him to at least have tried by now.

  ‘Thanks for coming on Friday,’ he said. ‘It was really nice that you popped in to see me.’

  I smiled. ‘That’s OK,’ I replied.

  His brown eyes fixed on me intently. ‘I think you’re really nice,’ he said. ‘I mean, you’re fit and everything, but not just that. I like you.’

  My heart skipped a beat. ‘You like me?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ he grinned. ‘I like you. I mean . . .’ he trailed off for a few seconds. ‘I want you to be my girlfriend.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Of course I was over the moon, but I was scared that if I opened my mouth no sound would come out, or I’d say something really embarrassing.

  ‘Why have you gone quiet?’ he laughed. I still said nothing, and his expression changed. As if on cue, he removed his arm from where it had been resting to around my waist. ‘Oh. I get it. You don’t like me like that?’

  ‘No!’ I answered, a little too quickly. ‘I do.’

  ‘You do?’ he said, his brown eyes lighting up again. ‘So you want to be my girlfriend then?’

  I nodded. ‘Mm-hmm,’ was all I could manage to utter.

  ‘Good,’ he said, slipping his hand round my waist again. ‘I’m glad.’

  Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. Now Imran was my boyfriend, or at least that’s what he’d said. It was what I’d wanted all along. But I’d never had a boyfriend before. What the hell was I supposed to do next?

  ‘You know, maybe . . .’ Imran began, before stopping. ‘No, forget it. I couldn’t ask you to do that.’

  Desperate to please him, I urged him to go on.

  ‘Well, maybe, if you want . . . but only if you want, and only because you’re now my girlfriend, you could, you know . . .’ he trailed off again.

  ‘I could what?’

  ‘You know, like, give me a blow job. But only if you want to. You don’t have to.’

  ‘Oh,’ I replied, not sure what else to say. ‘Right.’

  ‘I know you’re not like Carly,’ he went on. ‘I know you’re not a slag. I know you wouldn’t do it with just anyone. But it’s different with me. You know you wouldn’t be a slag if you did it with me, because I’m your boyfriend?’

  I nodded, weakly. I’m not sure what was going through my head in those moments. All I could think was, this really fit guy wants me to be his girlfriend. Everyone at his school must fancy him like mad. If I don’t do it now, will he think I’m a baby? Will he get bored and find another girl who will? Plus, it wasn’t like I was being forced into it. Imran was nice. He said it was my choice, didn’t he?

  ‘Do you want to?’ he said.

  I bit my lip. ‘OK, I’ll do it. But you promise you don’t think I’m a slag?’

  He squeezed my shoulder. ‘Of course not.’

  But he was already unbuttoning his jeans, telling me to kneel down. I did as he said, as his jeans fell around his ankles. He gently took hold of my head, stroking my hair, as he placed it in his crotch.

  It seemed to take an age before Imran had finished, but in reality the whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. I didn’t have a clue what to do, of course. I just kind of freestyled but I found the experience pretty disgusting. Occasionally, he’d push my head around a bit, or tell me what to do, but on the whole it seemed to work. As I was doing it, I remember thinking, isn’t this strange? We haven’t even kissed yet, but we’re doing this. I was so eager to please, so desperate to be his girlfriend, that I didn’t really question it. Naively, I just did as he said.

  Finally, when it was over, I scrambled to my feet as he pulled his jeans back on. There were two muddy wet patches on the knees of my trousers, from where I’d been pressing into the damp ground. I looked intently at Imran, waiting for a reaction. I didn’t know how these things worked. Was he supposed to say thanks? Tell me it was good? Had it been good? I just didn’t know.

  But, as he fastened the top button, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at me. I stood there for a moment, in stunned silence, as he started to walk away.

  ‘Imran,’ I said, softly. I had to walk really fast to keep up with him. ‘Imran!’

  Ali and Naseer were standing round the front of the church with Carly. All three of them were looking at me. Suddenly, I felt a little bit sick.

  ‘Sorted, mate!’ Imran said. Ali and Naseer burst into a chorus of laughter. I could feel my whole body tense up and the bile was starting to rise in my throat as it slowly dawned on me what had happened.

  Imran didn’t want me to be his girlfriend. He’d wanted me to give him a blow job, just like Ali had. The only difference was he’d been much more careful, much more cunning. He was only fourteen, yet he’d callously manipulated me, slowly but surely, into thinking he liked me. As I stood behind him, knees still damp, there was a fleeting moment when I thought the tears might come, and I prayed they wouldn’t. It was bad enough that I’d believed Imran when he’d said he wanted to be my boyfriend. It would be even worse if I started crying, right here in front of everyone.

  I was surprised at how quickly I regained my composure. After a few seconds, I didn’t feel like crying anymore. I just felt a little bit numb.

  I didn’t look at Imran as I grabbed Carly’s arm and told her we were going. Behind me I could hear the boys, all three of them, making crude remarks, saying horrible sexual things about both of us. As much as I tried not to listen, it was Imran’s voice I could hear above everyone else.

  The walk home was a bit of a blur, and I think Carly knew I was in a mood because I didn’t talk much. That night, as I climbed into bed, I had a strange feeling that something had changed forever. I still didn’t cry, but there was a horrible, gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach.

  The only thought in my head was: you’ve done it. Now you really are a slag.

  The next day, my phone rang again. This time I answered it, as if I was on autopilot. I didn’t even think about it; I just did it. It was the older Pakistani man, the first one.

  ‘Holly,’ he said. ‘Holly!’

  His voice was still loud and aggressive and it still sounded like he was calling me Kelly. I held the phone a little away from my ear.

  ‘Holly!’ he repeated. ‘You there?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said. ‘But who are you?’

  ‘You call me Mr Khan,’ he said sharply, in his broken English. ‘I’ve seen you. At school. Now come meet me. Tomorrow. You come meet me. After school.’

  ‘I don’t know who you are,’ I replied, bemused. ‘How did you get my phone number?’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘The boy,’ he said. ‘The boy sold me number.’

  ‘The boy?’ I echoed. ‘Sold you it? What? What do you mean?’

 
‘Ali,’ he said. ‘Ali sold me number.’ There was another brief pause, before he proudly added, ‘And only cost me five pounds.’

  4

  Mr Khan

  It transpired that Mr Khan didn’t just have my phone number; he’d found out everything he could about me: my age, who my parents were, what school I went to, and even which way I walked home. I didn’t know if he’d got his information directly from Ali or from someone else. One thing was for sure, though: he knew so much about me and I so little about him.

  I didn’t even have a clue what this mystery man looked like. It would be another few days before I’d find out, but he called me constantly. If I didn’t answer, he’d get really mad and start phoning me at five-minute intervals. In the end, I figured it was best just to answer and keep him happy.

  ‘You come meet me,’ he’d say. ‘After school.’

  He never told me where to meet him, or what he looked like, so I assumed he was all talk. I guess I thought he’d soon get bored of me and stop calling. I didn’t think I’d ever come face to face with him, not really.

  So that’s why I was a bit shocked when I was walking home from school as normal and a car began crawling along beside me. At first, I thought the driver was just parking up, or slowing down to drop someone off at the side of the road, so I kept walking. It was only after maybe a minute or so that I realised the car was following me. I stopped and squinted into the window, to get a good look at the man in the driver’s seat. He had brown, leathery skin and piercing black eyes. I can still see those eyes now and I shudder when I think of them. Even in my youthful naivety I knew they had a look of pure evil about them. He was wearing traditional Asian clothes: a long white tunic, and matching loose-fitting trousers, but they looked a bit faded, as if he’d worn them loads of times and hadn’t bothered to wash them.