Street Kid Read online

  For a while, Peter and I regularly saw one another. All I wanted was to be in his company. When we were apart, I counted the hours until we’d be together again. Everything and everyone took second place to this delicious obsession. During our brief relationship, the town centre became a ‘Carl Free Zone’.

  Sad to say, the first great love of my life only lasted a few more weeks. I think the meeting with my mother had soiled our relationship. He couldn’t rid himself of the guilt of having let me down even though I continued to reassure him that all was well on the home front. Eventually he confessed there was someone else in his life. He’d been seeing this lad for about a year and was beginning to feel guilty. He finished our liaison. Was he telling the truth? Had my mother unconsciously poisoned our relationship? I have no way of knowing, but the event left me shattered. I had been dumped. It was the first time in my life that such a thing had happened. Up until then, I was the one who did all the dumping.

  Returning to the town centre, I was determined to drown my disappointment and sorrows. Andy and Paolo listened as I poured out my heart. I became the only person in the whole world who had ever suffered such an emotional catastrophe. If they thought I was a bit of a fool, they neither said nor showed it. On my behalf, they were upset and took it as a personal mission to revive my good spirits. Thank God for friends like those.

  At work, Sheba spotted there was something wrong. She took me to one side and tried to find out what it was. To satisfy her curiosity, I told her I’d broken up with a girlfriend and it wasn’t easy.

  “Girlfriend?”

  What's this? I didn’t like the implication of her question. “Yes!” I think I must have sounded too defensive.

  “Really?”

  “What else, d’you think?” She took a long drag on her cigarette. “Don't you believe me?”

  “Mostly.” She was smiling. How dare she smile and how dare she be able to see though me so easily.

  Was I getting lazy and starting to give out subliminal messages about my sexuality? I made a mental note to keep a closer eye on my mannerisms to ensure my secret life would remain just that.

  As for my recovery – even though it was the first time I’d felt anything so strong for anyone, my resilience was high and I soon got over it. There was too much to distract me for the hurt to linger for very long.

  Sign Language

  There are things I have either said or done which, thinking back, make me squirm with embarrassment. It’s the unknown, knock–on effect of my involvement that makes me cringe.

  Soon after Peter and I split up I began a liaison with a sweet young man called Joey. We first met in ‘Hell’ on a warm, quiet Sunday evening. Andy, Paolo, Zenda myself and a few others were flopping around whiling away the time by loudly indulging in our favourite pastime – recounting our previous night’s adventures. We were making so much racket that, at first, I didn’t notice the good looking youth who entered the square. I suppose he must have been about seventeen or so. He was short, with dark brown, unkempt hair and an open, innocent look about him. He stared furtively around as if he were new to the game, searching for his first client. My heart went out to him as he reminded me of myself in the not too distant past. I was curious.

  “Another new rent?” I asked.

  “Where?” chorused the others, their heads swivelling in unison to take an inventory of the outer limits of the area.

  “There, you berks!” I nodded my head in the direction of the cute little stranger.

  Paolo sniffed and looked at the pavement. “Oh, him. He’s just a punter – and a weirdo.” A bored Andy got up and went for a promenade. Most of the others followed.

  “Really?” I couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?” Paolo nodded. I was puzzled. The boy was far too young and beautiful to have to pay. Many punters would have been honoured to pay him! Yes, he definitely should have been on our side of the fence. Unless... “What’s the matter with him? What’s he into?”

  “No idea. And to be quite honest, my dear, who gives a fuck? He’s a right mushroom!” Paolo stood, spat on the floor and started to trail after Andy and the rest. “I wouldn’t bother with it, if I were you.” He tapped the side of his head “Screw loose!” he shouted so all could hear.

  “Dangerous?” I glanced to see if the stranger had heard this declamation.

  “No honey. Just weird.” Paolo changed direction. He’d seen one of his regular clients pop into the toilet and, I assume, wanted to get to him before Jacko’s ever open arse could drain him of both his cum and money.

  I was left alone with Jim and Philip, two bitchy queens who I tended to avoid. I ignored their viciously carping mockery and, instead, stared at the lad for a while – catching his eye. He seemed reluctant to meet my gaze but he managed to raise a smile before looking away. Losing interest, I watched Andy and the rest regroup and process the perimeter in a gang.

  The strange figure abruptly crossed my line of vision. He gave me a sidelong glance, smiled and walked towards one of the bombsites. After pausing on the threshold he shot me another look and disappeared into the darkness. ‘Weird, eh?’ I thought. ‘Well, my shy, young friend, let’s find out.’

  I ambled over to the collapsed doorway and, after waving towards the others to confirm they had clocked my trail, went inside.

  The natural way of these encounters was to go in and find the potential client either touching himself up, or waving his cock around like a demented orchestral conductor’s baton. This young man was standing beside a pile of rubble and doing nothing remotely sexual. He grinned and extended his hand. I wasn’t used to this politeness in a prospective trick – they usually wanted to know your size and what you’d do for them. I realised that he was actually offering me a piece of paper. I took it and, before I could see exactly what it was, he’d gone. He’d passed a hastily scribbled note, which had, and this really surprised me, two pound notes stapled to it.

  “Hi, I’m Joey,” it read, “I’m very shy, so forgive me writing like this. If you are interested in meeting me for more of the attached, I’ll be outside The Clipper, just off the Market Square, in about half an hour.” Goodness knows when he had a chance to write his little memo. Perhaps he went out cruising with a selection of them – all saying the same thing and each with some cash attached.

  ‘The Clipper’ was a large, sprawling, ancient public house, which had once been (according to local, romantic legend) a smugglers’ haunt. Now it had become an up–market warren of bars with en suite restaurant and snack bar facilities. It was in an area criss–crossed by narrow streets. At night, these streets were well known as pick–up places where girl prostitutes plied their trade for the more heterosexual members of the city. I rarely went there!

  As I came out of the ruin, ‘Joey’ was nowhere to be seen. The rest of the gang were otherwise occupied with either clients or one another. As there was nothing to hold me, I decided to keep my date.

  Heading towards the entrance of ‘Hell’, I was about to take a leisurely, erratic course back through the warren of access lanes when I came face to face with Skip and Fallon.

  These two young men, as I have already indicated, were as different as chalk and cheese. If ever anyone wished to cite the archetypal example of opposites attracting then this would have been it.

  Immediately they saw me Skip, the quiet one, walked over to a wall and leaned decorously against it. It was a good vantage point to calmly observe the comings and goings in ‘Hell’.

  “Looks quiet today. Much happening?” Fallon indicated the square.

  “Very little.” I never really knew what to say to these two. They were always pleasant but there was something about them that made me look for any excuse to get away.

  Fallon glanced over at Skip. “Want to try somewhere else?” Skip shook his head. His ample golden blonde hair swirled and reflected the dying sunlight. He changed his weight onto his other foot, folded his arms, looked across at me and gave a secret smile. My God, he was so b
eautiful – and did he know it!

  “Here, I must tell you...” Fallon began a long monologue about a new shop they’d discovered, which sold top quality kitchenware at knock–down prices. I immediately switched off.

  Putting his thumbs in his belt, Skip allowed the tips of his fingers to press the material around his crutch to show the world what he had. This wasn’t done for my benefit but as an unconscious stance he always adopted whenever he was lounging. He spotted a small real or imagined strand of cotton on his sleeve and, after screwing his face up in disgust, delicately removed it with two meticulously manicured finger nails. Fallon was still in full flow.

  They were certainly a well unmatched pair. Even so, their clients were many and wealthy. They were the nearest things we had to ‘society whores’. Fallon had a natural, continental sexuality whilst Skip oozed a sensuality that few could match. Fallon’s hair had a blue–black sheen and Skip’s was the colour of burnished gold. Fallon towered over their clients whilst Skip snuggled in. All attempts at breaking them up were doomed to failure.

  Eventually, Fallon finished his story and Skip pointed out a client. The man drove a large Jag! They gave their apologies and went over to the car. I watched as they got in and were whisked smoothly away. I continued my journey to ‘The Clipper’.

  By now, I was somewhat overdue for my date with Joey, consequently, I was in no great rush to arrive. I ambled along the streets as if I had all the time in the world. If he wasn’t there, it wouldn’t matter. I had two pounds for nothing. Also, it wouldn’t be a wasted journey as I could always drop into ‘The Green Goddess’ which was just a little further on.

  As I rounded the corner to enter the street where the glowering ‘Clipper’ stood, I was astonished to see Joey, if that was indeed his name, still waiting for me. For the first time, I looked at him closely. Dressed in immaculate jeans, a pristine white tee–shirt and a faultless leather jacket, he looked a bit out of place on ‘The Clipper’ steps. The whole ensemble appeared casual but there was a careful perfection in his style of clothing that indicated he had ‘dressed up’ to go out. On him, it all looked a little precious.

  Putting on a burst of speed, I went up to him and apologised for my late arrival. He thrust his face in front of mine and stared intently. I was thoroughly taken aback. I was beginning to wish I’d listened to Paolo. The guy was obviously extremely stupid. My next thought was how I could extricate myself from the situation. The last thing I wanted to do was waste my time on an idiot who had huge mental problems. The guy could be dangerous.

  “That’sss okay.” His voice was strange. He had a speech impediment and spoke with that camp sibilance that always drove me mad with irritation. He must have seen my expression because he muttered something about it being no problem if I wanted to change my mind and I could keep the money! I could walk away without any recrimination from him. Then he laughed. Wow! His whole face bloomed.

  I looked up and down the street and mumbled the time–honoured question; “Have you a place?” I was rather hoping he would say ‘No’.

  He moved to stand right in front of me again. I took a step back in deep consternation. “Ssorry, I’m deaf. I have to watch your lipss, or I don’t know what you’re ssaying.” He smiled.

  “What?” I frowned. ‘Shit,’ I thought, ‘I don’t deserve this!’

  He ignored both my question and the frown. “What’ss your name?”

  “Carl.” Now I began to feel quite a heel and utterly guilty over my total misunderstanding of his situation.

  “Carl? Iss that what you sssaid?” I nodded. “Hmm, I like it. Ass you already know, I’m Joey.” He shook my hand.

  I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “Look,” I whispered, ensuring my mouth formed the words with great clarity so that there would be no doubt over what I was about to say, “in case you don’t realise – but I’m...”

  “I know the sscore.” Grinning knowingly, he produced twenty pounds from a very fat wallet and thrust the notes into my back pocket, “I’m not sstupid, you know?”

  “I didn’t think you were,” l lied. My guilt was intensifying. He cast me a quizzical smile. In the face of that openly distrustful expression, I wilted.

  “A lot of people do, you know – think I’m sstupid, that iss?” There was no upset or anger as he delivered this observation – merely a sadness at other people’s lack of understanding – including mine. “They think becausse my earss don’t work, my brain hass followed ssuit!” I don’t think my lie had convinced him one little bit, which was why, I am sure, he felt the need to pursue this line of conversation. I was suitably chastened. “Letss go for a wander.”

  We began a haphazard walk and as we started to get to know one another, I soon realised that whatever else he was, Joey certainly wasn’t a fool. He was, by turns, vivacious, funny and highly intelligent. I silently cursed Paolo for being so ridiculously judgmental. (Although, I could talk.) There was also a wonderfully romantic streak, which quickly made itself known. He had a way of looking at me which managed to combine a shy knowing quality with an impish delight in the secretive. It was all extraordinarily persuasive.

  After half an hour or so of this I stopped and pulled him around to face me. This sudden movement appeared to alarm him because I saw him recoil and stiffen. It only passed after I had apologised for startling him. “Look,” I went on more kindly, “you’d better get your money’s worth. Where d’you want to go?” Now fully recovered, his whole face twinkled. Did I say something funny?

  “I have a placce, but it’ss probably not what you’re ussed to. It’ss a bit sstrange, you ssee?”

  I nearly came out with –, ‘It can’t be much stranger than some of the places in which I’d already performed.’

  We went for a short bus ride and alighted at a modest residential area. After a short walk down some side streets that quickly reduced to lanes and alleys, we came to a large field containing small, regimented plots of land.

  “I live over there.” He pointed to about a hundred houses which stood sentinel around the field. “Our family keepss an allotment.” He looked at me to ensure this morsel had been digested. What was I supposed to say? He continued, “Come on, it’ss jusst over here.”

  He headed off between the little parcels of land. Where the fuck was he taking me? I followed.

  It began to dawn on me that we were heading towards their family plot. Their particular designated piece of sod was heavily overgrown. At one end, almost obscured by amazingly rampant weeds, stood a fairly substantial wooden tool shed. It was completely windowless. As he walked towards it, I followed. In that dark shed, which smelled of creosote, our dirty deed was done. Joey was extremely affectionate. He loved to be cuddled and caressed. Unusually for a trick, he adored to receive and give tenderness. He didn’t want to go too far. It would appear that the main desire he wanted satisfied was the need to be close to someone and show his fondness for them.

  When it was over and we were standing outside the shed’s door, he gave me yet another ten pounds. Being a bit of a mercenary bastard, I took it but something still bothered me: why did he need to pay at all? He was certainly good looking and only a couple of years older than I.

  Whilst on the way to the bus stop, I broached the subject. He thought for a moment before answering. Was he calculating whether I could be entrusted with his dark secret? Eventually he must have thought I was trustworthy because he began his confession. “I’d doubt their motivess for going with me. Thiss way I don’t have to worry. I get what I pay for and there’ss an end to it. No sstringss!!! And I can go with whom I want without all that chatting up crap. Paying for it givess me the luxury of picking and choossing” He put his hand on my arm to stop me. “Can I ssee you again?” I didn’t answer. “Pleasse?”

  After what he’d just said, this request came as a bit of a surprise. “Well, um, yes. If you want.”

  He smiled. “You’re shouting, aren’t you?” I smiled and nodded. He raised his eyebrows in u
tter delight. “Pleasse don’t. Shouting doessn’t make my earss open and I don’t want everyone to know my bussiness. Jusst sspeak normally. If I miss a word, I’m not too embarrassed to assk for it’ss repetition.”

  I wasn’t sure I was coping very well, however –, pressed for another date on the following Sunday evening, I caved in and agreed. After he waved good bye and disappeared down a side street, I caught a bus back to the centre. I wondered if he’d turn up. Probably not. I decided to say nothing to the others.

  Sunday evening came and I strolled to our arranged meeting place. He was already there, waiting for me. Was I late? I looked at my watch –, no, I was right on time. This was highly unusual. Although rents were expected to be punctual, tricks frequently took delight in keeping us hanging around. It turned out that Joey had been waiting for me for over half an hour!

  Before we could agree the financial arrangements, Joey told me that he would settle up afterwards. To be quite honest, he’d paid so far over the odds for our first encounter, I didn’t mind if I was about to be conned.

  We took the familiar bus route and threaded our way to the shed. Another dark hour was spent in an intimate, affectionate embrace. Afterwards, on our journey to the bus stop, he slipped something into my back pocket.

  “That’ss for you,” he whispered.

  ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘at least he’s keeping to his side of the bargain.’ In the light of the street lamp, another date was made for the following Sunday and off he trotted.

  On the bus, I dug into my pocket to see how much I’d been paid this time. I drew out a small package wrapped in rather too pretty paper. Puzzled, I opened it. Out fell an identity bracelet. It was solid silver. On the front, engraved in copper plate was – “Carl”. I was stunned.

  The following Sunday, once again, he was there before me. This really was a unique punter. We followed the same routine and after our assignation’s purpose, from the depths of the shed, he produced and gave me a substantial parcel. He must have made a special journey to the allotment to plant it. Once again, on the bus, I opened it. On the way home, I discovered that the parcel contained a pair of Levi jeans, some tee–shirts and an expensive sweater. What was going on?