I was tearing the newspaper into
foot-shaped wads to fit into my shoes when I noticed the advertisement. It was
the name that caught my attention: Attersbury, not only because it was unusual,
but because it was burnt into my memory like a cancerous sore. I spread the
newspaper out on the concrete table, holding it down against the wind which had
suddenly sprung up from the seaward side of the park.
‘The engagement is announced between
Julian, only son of Lord and Lady Attersbury and the Honourable Sarah Anne
Eddings, daughter of Lord and Lady Contillsdon, of Dorking,
I’d never heard of Sarah Anne, but I
couldn’t help the tears that came to my eyes when I thought of Julian. I’d
liked him a lot at one time, even lusted after him if the truth be told,
because he was undeniably handsome; tall, blonde and blue-eyed in contrast to
my short, dark ‘nuggetiness’ as my poor mother had excused my small, spare
frame.
But feelings of love and wanting weren’t
the ones he engendered now. I loathed the spineless, lying, scheming rat with
every bone in my body. Whoever tied themselves up with him was bound to get a
nasty shock at some point in their lives, because Julian was not the sweet,
generous, honest and respectable young man he appeared to be.
So who exactly was this unwitting,
clearly deluded Sarah Anne, I wondered. Obviously someone well out of my league, as her title indicated. Mind
you, as a person who now lived the life of a tramp and resided for the most
part in a sandstone and concrete folly in a public park, I guess almost anyone was out of my league.
I tore the announcement out of the paper
and stowed it carefully away in my pants pocket before continuing with the
refurbishment of my left shoe. The right one was just about okay, but the left
already had a small hole worn in it. I made a mental note to pay a visit to the
opportunity shop on tomorrow’s dole day to see if I could get another pair.
I wasn’t looking forward to the coming
winter. I liked my freedom, which is why I chose to sleep rough in the park in
the warmer weather rather than take advantage of the rather regimented local
shelter for homeless men, but in colder times it was another matter as I had no
wish to freeze to death in the snow. Still, the place did at least offer free
food for outcasts like me and with the modest repairs to my footwear completed,
I decided to amble into town to fill my belly with today’s offering, whatever
it might turn out to be.
It was tomato soup and lamb hock stew,
both entirely palatable if not exactly up to restaurant quality. I accepted my
metal soup bowl and plate of food from the bored, sullen-faced volunteer,
before going into a corner to sit by myself to eat … not that I don’t like
company exactly; it’s just that the people who habitually frequent this place
tend to smell even worse than I do and their table manners generally leave much
to be desired as well.
I suppose there’s another reason too, if
I’m man enough to admit it. I’m small as I said, can’t stand pain and have
absolutely no clue at all about self-defence so if I’m picked on, I have no
recourse but to run away and give up my meal or my belongings to those strong
enough to take them from me … like Julian, for instance, but that’s another
story.
So I ate quickly before someone else
decided he wanted my food and left the stark, featureless, fluorescent-lit room
as soon as I could, happy to be back in the fading sunlight. For some reason, I
couldn’t get Sarah Anne out of my head … how hard would she be to find, I
wondered. Bah; forget it; what’s the point. She’d never talk to me anyway, even
if I managed to get within twenty feet of her and who’d believe the crazy story
of a filthy, ragged street-kid with an axe to grind.
I hadn’t always been like this of course
… would she understand why I was? Would she be even the remotest bit
interested? I somehow doubted it … she was presumably head over heels in love
with the gorgeous, rich, all-too-eligible Julian.
But I owed him. In spades I owed him, so
I expect that’s why I finally resolved to find this Sarah Anne and at least let
her know why I owed him. Not that
she’d believe me of course, but if I could throw a little crushed glass of
misery into Julian’s strawberry ice-cream existence, then I’d feel … something.
Not happier; I doubted I’d ever be that
again, so what then. Revenge? Yes, undoubtedly; he was a monster masquerading
as a mother’s pet and I wanted him utterly destroyed, like he’d destroyed me.
Eighteen I was and that only just,
forced to eke out a miserable existence doing odd-jobs, living on hand-outs and
the dole because I was essentially unemployable. Julian had seen to that. I had
no references; no-one I could call on to vouch for me; no permanent address or
family to rely on. Julian had seen to that too, the miserable bastard.
It wasn’t because I was gay; I’d never
told him and I’m sure he never knew, despite the fact that only two years ago
I’d pretty much worshipped the ground he walked on. He’d been the one I
fantasized about in bed while I was wanking; he was the pillow I cuddled and
kissed at night … and within a short six months he’d turned my life to shit.
Okay; so I’d been a slightly sexually-repressed sixteen year-old, still in the
closet, but I was generally happy and healthy … and now here I was at eighteen
and I might as well be dead for all the future I had.
It was already starting to get darker
earlier. I’d pulled a few discarded newspapers out of kerbside rubbish-bins to
take back to my place in the park. The broadsheets made better blankets, being
larger, so they were the ones I usually went for if I could. I got tossed out
of the stone folly now and again by the garden guards, but they were generally
fairly tolerant, some of them even sympathetic to the point of actually coming
up to give me a hot drink or the occasional pie, probably because I was young
and reasonably decent looking.
I have to admit that my fairly good
looks also brought me another source of income, not as socially acceptable
perhaps but welcome for all that. A couple of the guards were … well, if not
actually gay or bi, certainly not averse to having sex with a youngster like
myself and I could earn a couple of quid sucking them off or perhaps a fiver if
they felt like fucking me. I always made sure they used condoms though; I might
not have had much of a life, but I had no intention of ending it in an aids
ward. With that in mind, I decided to make tomorrow quite a busy day by
including a visit to the clinic; not that I felt I needed it from the aids
viewpoint but clap and syph were always possibilities, so better safe than
sorry.
I spread out my papers on the bench and
positioned more of them to cover me when I lay down. The slight breeze seemed
to have died away and there was just a crescent moon, which would make for a
reasonably dark night. I could hear the frogs going for it in the ponds down by
the glass ark and the distant but piercing sound of a nightjar as the cold drew
my first shivers. Clear nights like this were the worst and to be frank, I
preferred it cloudy and raining; I pulled my covers up over my head and closed
my eyes …
Morning dawned early, as they usually
did for me, woken either by the snarls of the traffic from the nearby tollway
or the equally noisy chorusing of the parks resident birds. I sat up slowly,
easing feeling back into the creases caused by the wooden slats of the seats.
I’d had some cardboard underlay two days ago but somebody’d taken it and I hadn’t
had a chance to replace it as yet. It was still chilly, but the sun’s rays were
starting to peek over the nearby trees and it had the promise of quite a nice,
warm day. I folded my newspapers into a flat pile and stuck them up into a
space beneath the central table-top, hoping they’d still be there when I got
back tonight.
The main toilet-block wasn’t yet open
when I arrived, so I waited the ten minutes or so for Morris to come and unlock
it. He and I exchanged the usual greeting grunts; I don’t think he approved of
me being so young and already such a drop-out, but he didn’t actively
discourage me from using the place to wash in. If I was lucky, he’d be in a
good mood and turn the hot water on so I could have a warm shower instead of a
cold one, but today didn’t look like one of his good days, so I was forced to
settle for a partial strip-wash of my smellier parts. I could get a full shower
at the shelter later on if I wanted one, so I wasn’t too disappointed.
The walk into the city was no different
from the ones I’d done hundreds of times before. I always took the same route,
because the roadside fruit-sellers would be setting up their barrows and I
occasional scored a free apple or even an orange if I was lucky. Today though I
got nothing, my stomach already rumbling with emptiness by the time I reached
the dole office. The queue was longish, twenty minutes crawling by before I got
to the window and received my pittance, handed to me by the overfed,
gum-chewing girl with the usual reluctant lack of grace, as if it came from her
own purse.
I divided the money between a number of
pockets to guard against theft – nobody cares if a street-kid gets robbed –
before heading off to the clinic and another enforced wait.
‘Have you had oral sex recently?’ Yes.
‘Active or passive?’ Active.
‘Did he come in your mouth? Yes.
‘Did you swallow?’ No.
‘Have you engaged in anal sex in the
last week?’ Yes.
‘Active or passive?’ Passive.
‘Did he use a condom?’ Yes.
‘Do you have any symptoms?’ No.
‘Roll up your sleeve.’
‘Take this ticket and come back in two
days time for your results.’
‘Next.’
I left, one swab and a vial of blood
lighter and walked the short distance to the shelter, where I managed to get a
salami sandwich and a cheesy bacon bun, plus a large metal mug full of lovely
hot tea.
Two-thirds of my day’s errands
completed, I handed in the empty mug and crossed the busy street towards the
church and the nearby opportunity shop. The lady who runs it knows me and gave
me a nice smile as I entered.
‘Hello David; we haven’t seen you for a
while, dear.’
‘I’ve been around, Lily, as always. Got
any half-decent shoes?’
‘You know where they are, dear, down the
back.’
I walked along the cluttered corridor to
the rear room, full to bursting with toys, umbrellas, faux-fur coats and
ancient, mothballed clothing. There were a few pairs of men’s shoes, but
nothing in my rather small size. I was about to leave unshod when I noticed a
pair of ladies’ patent-leather court pumps on a rack. They had bows on the
front which I could easily dispense with and they fitted me well, so I tried
walking in them, finding the narrow heels unfortunately too difficult to deal
with.
I was on my way out when Lily mentioned
some joggers over with the sports equipment in the corner and I found quite a
nice pair of ankle-high trainers only a size or so too large. They were a bit
expensive but I needed them, so I took them to the desk to purchase. Despite a
reproving stare or two over the top of Lily’s bifocals, my pleading managed to
get me a few valuable shillings off the price and I bore my new footwear away
in triumph. I sat on the kerb outside the store to put them on, using some of
the wadding from my old shoes to improve the fit. They felt fine and I rounded
off the day’s events by dropping the discards into the first garbage-bin I came
to.
It was almost lunch-time so I made my
way to the big square with the fountain in it, knowing I’d probably be able to
get at least one or two pieces of bruised or damaged fruit from the vendors and
excelled myself by landing not only an over-ripe paw-paw, but a big bag of
rather squishy Victoria plums as well. I ended up full to bursting, washing the
delicious stickiness off my hands and face in the fountain run-off.
I sat back in my seat to digest and bask
for a while in the sunshine, remembering the newspaper announcement I’d stashed
away and taking it out for another look. Dorking … I’d never heard of it, but
obviously it was somewhere in
The main Post Office was just across the
square and I knew they had maps there. Hmmmm … why not.
I’d had a shower at the men’s shelter
and used my fold-up disposable razor to good effect on my bum-fluff of a beard.
My clothes were still a bit tatty, but whoever picked me up wouldn’t know that
until I was actually in the car and I hoped that by that time, my pleasant
manner and winning smile would have convinced my benefactor not to throw me out
again.
Dorking turned out to be south of London
on the A24, just past Leatherhead, which was why I was strolling along the
road’s left hand side with my thumb pointing that way whenever a car came
towards me. Most of them zotted past of course; it’s getting harder and harder
to hitch a lift these days, what with drivers sometimes being attacked and
robbed by the people they pick up. The weather had turned again and I’d been
walking through intermittent light showers for nigh on two hours when an old
‘Hi … where’re ya headin’?’
‘Dorking.’
‘Hop in then; I pass right through it.’
He was about forty or so, quite neat in
a traveling-salesman sort of way. I wouldn’t say he was a looker and he used too
much hair-grease for my liking, but he had a nice smile and a kind face.
I knew what he wanted even before his
left hand landed gently on my thigh, because he’d given me enough sideways
looks to put a blind tortoise on full alert. I guess he felt emboldened when I
didn’t flap his hand away with an anguished shriek, allowing it to crawl slowly
up the inside of my leg until he was actually touching my balls.
‘What d’you like?’ His voice was husky
with desire and his hand trembled a little as I relaxed back into the seat and
spread my legs a little wider.
‘Depends on you,’ I said, ‘I’ll suck you
off if you want, or you can fuck me if you use a condom.’
‘How much for a fuck?’
Oh no; I wasn’t going to be caught like
that … why say ‘ten’ when the guy might’ve been willing to pay fifty.
‘What’s your offer?’
‘How about twenty?’ His hand was now
cupping my cock and balls, squeezing gently. I could sense his breathing
speeding up as he massaged me.
‘How about thirty?’ He agreed so fast I
was immediately sorry I hadn’t asked for forty. ‘Better take your hand away
then, or I’ll come before we get wherever it is we’re going.’
‘What’s your name,’ he said, both hands
now back on the wheel, his eyes peering through the wipers, searching the side
of the road for a convenient place to pull over.
‘David.’
‘I’m Gareth … I … I don’t do this all
the time … I’m married, actually.’
‘The ring did sort of give it away.’
‘Oh …’ he looked at the solid gold band
on his left hand and gave a lame grin, ‘… I should have taken it off, I guess.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered if you had,’
I said, ‘they always leave a whitish indentation. It’s easy to spot.’
‘Ah … I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said,
a thoughtful expression settling on his rather round features as we drove on.
‘Hey-ho … how about here?’
We were approaching a layby with a sign
indicating toilets and picnic tables, the Humber slowing to turn off the tarmac
onto a pitted, dirt road. The car dodged the deeper puddles, heading into the
back of the area where Gareth pulled up in front of a picnic table, the kind
with a little A-frame roof over it big enough to keep the sun off the lettuce
and that’s about all. We appeared to have the place to ourselves.
‘How’s this?’
‘Fine,’ I said, ‘d’you want to do it
inside or outside?’ It was still quite warm and the rain was just misting, so I
was easy either way.
‘Outside,’ he said quickly, ‘with you
leaning over the table.’
‘Sure … you got any lube?’
‘Just some antiseptic cream. Will that
do?’
‘No problem …’ I got out of the car and
closed the door. He’d positioned it so we wouldn’t immediately be seen if
another vehicle happened to pull in. He came around the front and stood close,
his hand reaching between my legs from behind. ‘You’ve got a lovely tight bum,’
he said, the words almost hissing between his teeth.
I reached behind me to take hold of his
wrist. ‘I’d like to be paid first, please.’
‘Oh … sure.’ He had his wallet out like
the proverbial jackrabbit, opened it up, looked inside and said ‘shit’.
‘What?’
‘I’ve only got twenties … do you have change?’
‘Sorry,’ I lied, ‘No, I don’t.’
He thought for not more than half a
second. ‘Well … tell you what … you make it really good for me and I’ll give
you forty, how’s that?’
‘I can’t let you fuck me without a
condom.’
‘No … that’s fine, really.’ He had two
twenties out, offering them to me with his head cocked and eyebrows raised. I
took them and folded them into my front pocket with as genuine a grin as I
could raise.
‘Okay buster … fuck me stupid.’
~
What was it Julian did and why was it so terrible?
Would Sarah even meet with David, never mind listen to the ravings of a
homosexual prostitute tramp. Find out how David meets the love of his life and
how the awful Julian finally gets his comeuppance.