GROWING OUT
CHAPTER SIX
THE STORY OF MR. JONES
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The prostitute’s name was Margot. It was her real name, though no one believed her, especially not the two young men who offered her a ride as she stood at Euston Station that first morning, wondering what to do now that she had finally arrived in London from her hometown of Liverpool.
She had come south with the intention of going of going to secretarial school and using her prominent breasts to advance her career where her intelligence, she knew, would fail her. So when they had said to her “Looking for someone, luv?” she had tossed her head and giggled and said “Not specially,” and they had said “Well, let’s share a taxi,” and she had thought, Why not.
Margot hadn’t cared that the two boys were black. She had always wanted to be chatted up by a black boy, but her mother in Liverpool would have killed her if she had caught her speaking to one. Mum didn’t like blacks.
Margot didn’t see why not. They always wore nice clothes and smiled at her, and her girlfriends said they had big cocks. That had interested Margot; big cocks meant big satisfaction, satisfaction which she hadn’t got standing up in smelly alleys hoping none of her friends would see her late Saturday nights coming home from the pictures with one of the dockside boys.
These two seemed like perfect gentlemen. They hadn’t mentioned her tits, like all the white guys did first time they spoke to her. “Lovely tits you’ve got, Margot, give us a feel,” they would say and grab at her with dirty-fingernailed hands. The one sitting beside her on the left, the one who said his name was George, was looking at her tits all during the ride, though.
“Come up for the shopping, have you?”
the one called Roy asked.
“No. Come up to live. I’m going to be a secretary. I’m
going to find a flat in the West End and buy myself some pretty clothes
first, though.”
George had said nothing during the ride, apart from telling her his name. Roy did all the talking. Roy said that they had a flat in the West End, if she wanted to stay for a while until she found a place. Margot had heard of sharing with guys, but she thought she’d have to wait and see. These two seemed alright enough, but they were only the first two men she had met in London. There must be hundreds like them and hundreds better. She’d wait and see.
They had gotten out of the cab in a very unimpressive street. Not much better than the street she had lived on in Liverpool, Margot thought. But inside the flat, Margot was in heaven. She had never been in such a nice place before. It was dark inside with black curtains over the windows and the place was lit by several lamps, some with red and gold bulbs, some with figurines of gnomes and dancing ladies. Over one window was a string of Christmas lights.
There was a shaggy goatskin rug on the floor on which Margot wanted to put her bare feet, only she didn’t want to take off her shoes and expose the hole in the toe of her tights. The sofa was a bed really, covered with an imitation leopard skin rug and lots of little cushions. There was a very elaborate record player in a corner, connected by lots of wires to two speakers -- much nicer than the portable one she and her girlfriend used to play 45s on in the basement beside the church back in Liverpool -- and a TV set.
There were lots of pictures on the walls, pictures of mountains sceneries, a picture of a Chinese-looking woman, a poster of a bullfighter and another poster with the word JAMAICA on it. There was a picture of a man who was playing three horns at once, and another picture of a black man who seemed to be a priest or something.
Roy had opened a cupboard and Margot could glimpse
inside lots of bottles of drink, not just cheap wine, but Scotch and gin
and other things. And when he asked her what she wanted to drink, Margot
had said “gin and it” even though she didn’t know what
“it” was other than something she used to hear women call
for as she sipped a glass of beer in the pub on Saturday nights.
Well, you couldn’t ask for a pale ale here, Margot thought. Roy
had laughed and given her a gin with something pinky looking in it, but
it had tasted nice and she was glad that she had accepted their offer
to ride with them in the taxi.
When they had suggested that she have a bath and change her clothes and come out shopping with them, Margot hadn’t looked in the least surprised that they should want her to bathe when it wasn’t Saturday night. She was glad she hadn’t refused, because the bathroom was almost as nice as the living room. It had a bathtub and a basin and a piece of carpet over the linoleum floor, and there was hot water which Roy turned on from a white box on the wall over the bath. He even put some powder in the water, which made it smell ever so nice.
She hated getting out of the bath, it was so nice, but the water was getting cold, so she put a towel around her and put her head around the door and asked where her things were. George, who was the only one in the living room, just pointed at a door which Margot realized was the bedroom. Does he never speak, Margot thought huffily, as she went into the bedroom.
And surprise, surprise! Guess who’s lying on
the bed, naked as all creation and smiling too, but Roy!.
Well, why not, thought Margot as she removed the towel and let him look
at her breasts. Bet they don’t see much of that now.
Roy didn’t stop laughing while they screwed. Margot didn’t laugh much, she was so surprised. This was much better than she had ever had. Wait till she told her friends in Liverpool. Bet they’d want to know if was true about Black men’s cocks. Well it was, but she wouldn’t tell them. At least, not right away. She’d let them beg her first. Then she’d brag about it, and about how long he was at it. Yes, this was much better, soft and tender and if she shut her eyes, she could almost imagine that he was white and like the man she used to think about when she put her hands between her legs alone in the bed on cold Liverpool nights.
She was lying there thinking how lucky she was, getting off the train and finding a boyfriend right away, and finding such a nice flat to live in, when George put his head around the door and said “Ready?” in a very bored voice, and then closed the door.
Roy got up and had a bath and then shaved and put on some nice smelling lotion on his face and body, and put on clean clothes -- such nice clothes, all bright and fashionable. Margot was glad she had packed her pink wool mini and green sweater that showed off her tits.
They had taken another taxi to Oxford Street, which
she had heard so much about and which was ten times better than she had
ever dreamed, full of people carrying packages, cars waiting in the traffic,
store windows jam packed with all sorts of things she wanted to own.
“Look at that watch! Oh, isn’t that a lovely dress -- just
my colour! And those shoes!”
Margot realized that she needed so many clothes, if she was to look as smart as the girls she passed in the street. A lot of people stared at her and maybe it was because her clothes weren’t fashionable, but then maybe it was because they were just jealous of her being with two such good looking men. She wondered if they could tell which one of them was screwing her, or if they thought both of them were.
They went into a shoe shop and Roy helped her choose a lovely pair of white shoes. George paid for them and he seemed to have such a lot of money in his wallet. She was glad they were rich too. Maybe she wouldn’t have to work after all, just stay home and dust the place and wait for Roy to come home from work each evening.
They went to a club that night near Paddington Station, full of black men and girls and some white girls, and lots of throbbing black music that Margot hadn’t heard before. Everyone danced so well, that Margot knew she was going to have to learn all the new steps, and when the black men came and asked her dance Margot thought now was as good a time as any to start learning.
The men held her close and pressed their legs between hers so she could feel their cocks hard on her thigh, but Roy had been watching and he didn’t seem to mind at all, so she just let them. These black people do things different. A Liverpool boy would have killed any man who asked his date to dance -- let alone dance like THAT.
George didn’t dance, though, and Margot wished he would even dance with her. What was the matter with him? Was he queer or something? Or was he just jealous? He hardly seemed to notice her, even though she spoke to him just as much as to Roy. He didn’t even seem to have a girlfriend. Maybe his girl had just left him and he was sad about it. Margot thought she would try and cheer him up. She told him about Liverpool and her Mum who had called her Margot after the ballet dancer Dame Margot Fonteyn, and her father who worked on the docks and drank a lot, and how her mother was always crying at night, and how sometimes her father would beat up her mother and then they wouldn’t see him for days.
Her father loved her though, Margot told George, a bit too much her Mam used to say, but Margot didn’t mind. When her father had died one day, an industrial accident they called it, Margot had cried for weeks. Her mother used to hit her when she found Margot crying, and then she used to hit Margot more often when Margot started going out with boys.
“You’re no better than a whore,” she used to scream at Margot. But Margot just used to push out her chin and say, “Well if I was a whore, I’d be living in luxury instead of this stinking hole” and comb her hair again before she slammed the door behind her.
At nights Margot and Roy and George would go out to a club and dance, and people would come over to their table and talk. Some evenings they would just sit in the flat with the lights turned on and some Black music on the record player, and more friends would come over and they would all sit and talk. Most of the time Margot didn’t understand what they were saying, they talked so funny -- not like the Blacks in Liverpool did, but like they weren’t talking English at all.
Margot liked those evenings when friends came over, for all she would have to do was make drinks and she would get a chance to wear her new clothes and they didn’t mind if she sat and did her nails with the new polish she had bought that day. And when the friends left, she and Roy would go to bed and screw. She was always glad to be in bed with Roy, because every time he found some new way to screw. He never did it the same way twice, always different.
She wondered if George knew different ways too, other than the ways Roy did it. She had got used to George now, and she got used to Roy never answering her questions about George. In fact, he never answered her questions about where they worked, or how they always had so much money, or where they went some evenings they left her alone. But she didn’t mind. Life was nice.
One day
Roy told her he wanted her to do a favour for a friend.
“What sort of favour?” she asked.
“He’ll tell you,” was all Roy said.
Later that evening he came back home with a black man. He told Margot to give him a drink and while Margot was pouring it, he said he’d soon be back. Margot didn’t know what to say to the man. He wasn’t one of the friends she had met before, she was sure of that, and he didn’t say much except to answer Margot’s questions about whether it was still raining, or if he had come far.
But he seemed quite nice and quite handsome too, and after a while Margot saw him looking at her tits and he smiled at her and gestured his head towards the bedroom, and Margot thought Well if I’m quick I’ll find out if they all do it different.
He hadn’t done it different. In fact, he was very much like the boys in Liverpool -- wham, bam, thank you mam -- but at least now she knew. When he was finished, he just put on his clothes and left, and not a minute too soon because no sooner than she heard the front door slam, she heard Roy coming up the stairs.
“Your
friend just left,” Margot said.
“Yes I saw him going,” Roy said.
“What was the favour you wanted me to do for him?” Margot
asked.
But all Roy said to her was “Go take a bath” as if he knew
that she really needed a bath after what she;’d just done.
A couple of days later Roy said he had another favour he wanted her to do. This time, when the man looked towards the bedroom, Margot suddenly knew what the favour was, but it was such a giggle. Roy’s friends were hard up for a screw and so Roy had loaned her to them. She’d heard once that when you visit an Eskimo, he offers you his wife as a token of his hospitality. Margot assumed that Blacks were more or less the same. After all, Roy didn’t seem to mind. He still smiled all the time, so it must be quite normal to him.
The third time Roy asked her to do him a favour, she had giggled and said “Who is it this time?” But he hadn’t answered. Instead he had gone out.
Sometime
later, George knocked at the door. There was a white man with him.
“Roy’s out,” Margot said.
“I know,” George said. “This is a friend of his.”
And he had pushed the man through the door and closed it behind him.
Margot was so astonished. And a bit ashamed. What would a white man think of her, living her with a Black man? She wondered if he was from Liverpool and knew her Mam and would go back and tell her he had seen Margot. But he spoke, and Margot could tell he wasn’t from Liverpool at all. In fact, he had a very nice accent, sort of upper class, Margot thought.
But she didn’t like him at all. He was old, at least 40, and his hair was thin and stuck to his head, and his hands were fat with short fingers. Margot remembered a girlfriend saying that you could tell how big a man’s cock was from the size of his thumb, and this man had short thumbs.
God no, Margot thought. He doesn’t expect THAT kind of favour, does he? She couldn’t -- she just couldn’t!
“Well
little miss, let’s get on with it, shall we?” he had said
and reached across to grab her breast.
“How dare you touch me!” Margot had said and jumped up from
the sofa.
“Come on, let’s not play games,” he said. “Half
an hour is all I’ve got.”
“Half an hour! For what?” Margot was aghast.
“Come,
little Miss Innocent. Or do you want to put on a veil and play Virgin
Bride?” And he stood up and advanced towards Margot, holding out
his arms.
Margot pushed him and he fell, and as he hit the floor he swore.
“Bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are? I’ve already paid
for this. “Ill beat the shit out of you, and Blackie too, I warn
you!”
Margot screamed, and then a lot of things happened at once. The door had opened and George had come in and the man had hit George and George had hit him and given him a bloody nose and pushed him out the door.
And then George had hit her, slapped her so hard she had fallen on the sofa, and then he was punching her hard, in the face, on her breasts, in her back, kicking her when she fell on the floor, hitting her again when she tried to get up, calling her ‘whore’ and saying where the fuck did she think all the money came from - heaven? And that she had better start paying her way or he would beat her so badly, he’d kill her, or that he would cut up her face so bad that no man would want to look at her again, and that she had better learn fast to be nice to their friends, and that if she ever thought of running away his friends would find her and kill her.
And finally when Margot sobbed on the floor, holding her face and hoping that her tooth wasn’t going to fall our and leave a hole in the front of her face, he had pushed up her dress and torn down her panties and screwed her right there on the floor.
And even though she was in pain all over, it was so sweet, the sweetest ever, so sweet that right at THAT moment, with her eyes closed tightly and tears rolling down her face, she had cried out “Daddy!”
TO
BE CONTINUED....
