The Beat (7 page)

“Pauline! What if the girl was to hear you? After all she’s going through. The man ought to be horsewhipped.” “Probably a lucky escape for both of them,” Gerry crossed her. Pauline’s eyes darted back and forth waiting for the retort. She secretly loved to see Connie crossed. The old wowser was bitchy enough about her when her back was turned. Connie drew herself up with assumed dignity. “Well, that’s what you would expect of you men. You all stick together.” Only Connie would see Gerry as one of the boys, for she was incapable of seeing beyond. It was a tribute to her lack of understanding. Silence fell as Sue came into the room. She wove her way between the tables towards Gerry. She addressed him disinterestedly.

“Mr Wilson says you’re to manage without me. He’s going to run me home.” She turned around and withdrew as she had come. Silence reigned until her exit. The whole room heard her simple announcement. With the closing of the door the buzz of voices all started together.

“Doesn’t she look terrible, poor girl?” Connie crooned.

“Can you manage on your own Gerry?” Pauline asked.

“Yes, but she’s already sent us over on the 7.15.”

“Shit. The shit will hit the fan if you don’t sort that one out.” Pauline enjoyed the panic she had engendered.

“I think I’ve stopped them all in time,” Gerry said wearily.

“Poor girl doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Connie gloated. Her enjoyment came from the sense of tragedy. She always relished misfortune and was the first on the scene both for the commiserations and to start the grapevine of gossip. Back at his desk Gerry knew he could manage. Solving past mistakes was the hardest part to tackle. If only she had concentrated a little more. Half-way through the morning Wilson popped his head in to make sure all was running smoothly.

“I’ve taken Sue home, alright?” And that was all he had to say. He just assumed he had Gerry’s support. Gerry would manage. Then the phone rang. It was Robert. He wasn’t particularly interested in the news Gerry had about Sue. Instead he was full of the news about the boy found murdered in the park. The police had apparently released the fact that there had been a witness. It had just been on the radio. It was a friend of the dead boy who was with him at the time. They weren’t saying any more but the appeal for others to come forward was again repeated. They can’t have much, Gerry told himself, not if they are still asking for people to come forward. It was just a scare tactic. What could a witness tell anyway? How could anyone else have known what happened there that night? Even for those inside the toilet block, it was too dark to see. Nor would they be able to identify each other. A passer-by would know nothing. They could only have seen a parked car, an anonymous figure in the darkness, but nothing more. And how many other shadowy figures had come and gone in the time immediately preceding and even after the event? Someone passing by minutes earlier or later would identify completely different cars or half-seen faces. The turnover there was fast. Gerry was safe. Nothing conclusive could be culled except from the six people present, and their common secret was safe. To work, to work. Lunchtime was nearly on them and he was going to be kept pretty busy until Sue was back in action. He wondered how long it would take and what kind of advice and support she was receiving at home right now. The phone rang again. It was Steve. Two personal calls in one morning. Gerry told him that Sue had gone home. He didn’t say how badly she had taken it. It would be fatal to let the boy go back on it now. Now was the time to bolster him up most. If they were pressured back together now, they would stay that way. Steve wanted to meet Gerry for lunch. Gerry thought it a bad idea. He remembered Pauline’s reaction to his seeing Steve on the Monday evening. It would obviously make it worse for the kid if they were seen together at lunchtime today. Even if eventually Steve was going to have to face the lash of rumours that surrounded Gerry’s working life, today was not the day to start. It could cause just the sort of panic to send Steve back to Sue and the bridal arrangements. If Steve was to come out even that far at work, it must be in the climate of his choosing. When he turned down the lunchtime meeting, Gerry thought Steve sounded disappointed. He so obviously needed support. Gerry decided to explain it with a half-truth by saying how frantic it was without Sue, and that lunch, in any shape or form, might be out of the question. He then tried cushioning the refusal by saying, “Robert phoned before to ask after you.”

“Yeah?” But it didn’t seem to have the desired effect. Steve started on dangerous ground: “You know I do still care about Sue a lot.”

“Of course you do,” Gerry countered. “And that’s why you had to call it off and why you now have to keep it that way. It’s for her sake too.”

“Yeah, I know. Only … was she very upset?” Gerry paused and then decided on the truth. “Yes. But she’ll get over it.”

“Yeah. I suppose.” Gerry caught sight of Wilson’s passing back. He continued to talk anyway. The kid was more important. If it had been Sue talking to Steve it would be condoned by all, so what the difference?

“How are things at home?” he asked.

“Pretty bad. Mum isn’t speaking to me this morning.” “She’ll get over it too, you wait and see.”

“I don’t know. She was pretty mad at me last night.” Gerry could just imagine. He suspected she wouldn’t get over it either. This could well be the beginning of Steve’s alienation from them. His mother wouldn’t get over it but with any luck Steve would, in time.

“My brother reckons the old man is going to throw me out. Hasn’t said anything to me though.”

“If he hasn’t, he probably won’t. You might find he’s quite supportive if you give him a chance.”

“He’s not the kind of bloke you can talk to.”

“Don’t then, leave him be.”

“Yeah, I reckon you’re right.” Gerry really should get back to work now. He tried easing the call to an end without offending Steve. Just when he was about to hang up Steve asked, “Can I come over and see you tonight? If it gets too rough, I mean.” Gerry had to agree. Steve had to know that he had some support. It was probably right it should come from Robert and himself. At least Steve must have overcome his fear of Robert if he wanted to come back. That was a start. No one from work need know he was coming over.

Gerry took a short lunch-break in the tea room rather than going out to risk running into Steve. It was peculiarly quiet. Only Connie sat there doing her lottery numbers. Apart from her, the tea room was empty. They ignored each other as long as possible. Gerry scouted around for an afternoon paper but with no luck. He wondered if the papers would have a more detailed release than the radio had. Actually Robert seemed to care more than he did. He hoped Robert knew and suspected nothing. When she had finished filling in her coupons, Connie rose and addressed the room in general, “I suppose someone ought to phone the poor girl.” He thought it very unwise. Since there was no one else present, he tok it on himself to reply.

“You do that,” he said. For once she seemed satisfied.

“It happened to my eldest,” she said as she rinsed out her tea cup. “Engagements always seem to be on and off at least once.”

“And she’s alright, isn’t she Connie? She got over it?” he asked.

“Oh yes, they got over it and got married.” Then she continued more to herself, “Course they aren’t happy now. He just didn’t change after they were married. Not the way she was hoping he would.”

“Did she?”

“Did she what?”

“Did she change Connie, after they were married?“

“Jossie? No. Why should she? She wouldn’t change, she’s like her mother.” Gerry sat on in the tea room alone. He would have liked to phone Robert to find out about the news report but decided it would be unwise to show so much interest. Wisest to let it rest. After about twenty minutes he returned to his desk. The afternoon flow was already starting to come through and it was a matter of pride that he was going to keep up alone. He couldn’t call it loyalty for he felt he owed the place little enough. No one acknowledged the lost lunch-breaks, they only noticed when things went wrong. He was back at his desk working steadily as the rest of the building crawled back into motion after their break. Everything seemed to be going well. It was about two-thirty when Wilson came storming through. Pauline had brought the morning’s figures from the counter and as she had predicted, “The shit had hit the fan.”

“Gerry,” he barked, “the 7.15 for the twelfth has gone over and I’m holding you responsible. The numbers have come from your section and your section alone. If they had been processed immediately instead of sitting around ...”

“I’m short-staffed,” Gerry answered back.

“What?”

“I’m short-staffed. I’m here alone.”

“Sue’s only been away half a day.“

“Then it’s probably her booking.” He felt disloyal saying it but why should he take the rap? “I don’t care whose booking it is, you’re responsible for this section and it’s for you to sort it out.”

“I’ll fix it up if you give me the details.”

“Wasting time on the phone while work sits around, then this happens.” Gerry ignored the comment. He could pretend it was being applied to Sue not himself. He took the details and studied them slowly. More embarrassing calls to make. He was good at that. Sue’s writing sure enough.

“And another thing,”

“Yes?”

“Have you spoken to Mrs O’Day yet?” Gerry shook his head.

“Well I would if I were you.” And he returned as he had come. Gerry had seen the scene a hundred times before. He would love to just quit the job but he couldn’t afford to. After all, it helped support his life at home with Robert and that was what mattered, wasn’t it? He didn’t believe anyone found job satisfaction anymore, just sustenance for the hours they lived away from the place. He just wanted to clear up the mess, finish up and go home. Surely he and Robert could help sort out something for Steve? The boy in the park was dead. There wouldn’t be a witness. If he held on, things would return to normal.

It was odds on that he would get a hard-on with the kids jumping on him like that. One of the problems of being popular with the boys. At times like these he felt so randy he wanted to fuck the lot of them. If only they knew. Or their parents. Shit, that would do it! But Phys. Ed. teachers don’t fuck boys. The Art Department was always far more suspect for that, or the English mob. Trouble was all the fags there were straight — as far as he could tell anyway. This was the last lot of the day. It had developed into a right free for all. His prick was going to burst out of his jocks if they didn’t lay off. Great it would look, walking across the yard in his tracksuit with a hard-on. Those things didn’t hide anything and Robbo knew he was well hung and had plenty to hide. He blew his whistle and they all reluctantly clambered off him. His watch showed it was only five minutes to go. He could send them off for showers now. He gave the order from a sitting position, his knees bent up to protect his throbbing bulge from sight. Christ, after all these years it still gave him a hard-on. He couldn’t trust himself to see them into the showers. All those fourteen-year-old arses displayed outwards as they protectively hid their pricks towards the wall. Only once had he showered with them. His great penis had caused enough excitement that day as it proudly trailed its way to the shower. And it hadn’t even been erect. God knows how he had kept it down. He wasn’t going to risk it again. Graffiti had shown him with a twenty-four inch dick for all the rest of the year. It still popped up that way occasionally even today. It was kind of flattering. No one could say the kids hadn’t been interested. That too excited him in a way. The possibility was there with lots of them. The parents made it an impossibility, but some of them were as randy as he was and knew what it was all about. He let the horseplay go in the changing-rooms, ignoring the supposed protests of the participants. He’d been through it all himself. Scared it wasn’t masculine to fancy other boys. He ran his hand through his short, cropped hair. He had been sweating with the excitement. It was over now and he could get up and follow the boys back towards the school buildings. He was dying for a cigarette. He walked over the butts that littered the ground around the gardener’s shed. All the staff knew the kids smoked there, it just wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to stamp it out. The boys didn’t even have the sense to cover their own tracks. They thought they were so grown-up, but they were still just kids. He had a golden rule that kept them out of bounds. After his final year at teacher’s college, he had vowed to himself that he would never fuck with any of them, students or ex-students. To be accurate, at the time he had vowed not to fuck with anyone. That hadn’t lasted out the summer vacation. Now it was just the kids that were taboo. It had been so for eight years now. The bell went. His class was emerging from the shower block fast enough. He wouldn’t have to chase them out like he did in the middle of the day. The last classes always changed fast. It meant he could get away on time too. No reason to go back into the staffroom and all the bitching talk he would encounter there. Teachers only ever talked shop. He had nothing to do with them inside working hours or out. He just threw his dirty gear into his locker each week until the vice-principal complained about the smell in the staffroom. He got off on it himself. It was sweaty, moist and stale — just like semen. No wonder those prudes complained about it. It was pretty uncom-promisingly male. He cultivated his supermale ego before them. The cropped hair, bristling moustache and strong chest held no other implications for them. They thought him too busy with his mates to get married. So he was — too busy screwing them. He should come out with them at work but it suited him this way. No one would go delving into his past for dirt to chuck around, so he let things ride and fostered their ignorance. Jesus, he could upset the vice-principal enough just by sweating. She found both the sight and odour offensive. To really rile her he had been known to spit in the yard, not to mention going into the staffroom in his bathers before he took the school swimming. Boy, he loved those swimming lessons! Wet speedos and white bums. But he never got into the water with them, never touched anyone. Let them do the jumping, the splashing, the touching, the feeling. He guessed he was just a perv with fantasies. He swaggered out of the gate with the first of the kids. The principal would be watching but what the fuck — that man was a pushover. Besides, Robbo was good with the kids. No discipline problems, few truants, no complaints from parents and that was what the Department liked, that was what the principal liked. He gave them the commodi-ty they sought and made it clear that they got no extras. It worked well for everyone. In eight years not a single complaint about him. Couldn’t beat that as a record. Jesus, some of the teachers had about one parent up there a week — matched the number of kids they molested. Some of the chicks working there were hopeless. Monica laid into the kids, open sandals and all. She used to say get them early in the day, then the marks wore off before they got home. He slammed his old VW into action. Its revs screamed louder than the kids spilling out through the gates. When he started up, they got out of the way. They showed him a degree of reverence or fear — he wasn’t sure which.

At home he just threw off his clothes and flopped out on the bed. The room was a mess; his body still moist and clammy. He gazed up at the ceiling and blew smoke-rings towards it meditatively. It relaxed him. Jesus, the room was in a mess. One day he would have to open a window or something and let some air in — it was putrid. His clothes sat around so long between washes, they needed burning. Burn baby. The thought made him smile. Absent-mindedly he started to play with himself. Not that he wanted to get off, he was feeling good and it relaxed him further. It blocked out thoughts. Let his tool be the only active part of his body. He finished his smoke and stubbed out the butt on a saucer next to the bed. He laughed to himself. He remembered the judge looking so offended. And he fell asleep. His body was well trained. He woke at six-thirty. It only took a few seconds to come round. Time to get up and go up to the market at the local shopping centre. It was late night shopping so he still had an hour and a half. He would make it easily. He poured himself an orange juice from the refrigerator and climbed into some old jeans he had left lying on the floor. They were a pretty tight fit and he wasn’t wearing any jocks, so he had to be careful with the zipper. He shoved his prick down the left leg to show an obvious bulge. The roughness of the material excited him slightly, making the bulge grow more prominent. He was raring to go tonight. He looked in the mirror. You couldn’t miss a prick like that. He threw on a sweater, sculled the juice and was set to go.

The shopping centre was a pool of stark neon light and bustling people. Fuck, he hated crowds. He swaggered through them and they parted before him. He went past the supermarket and the small-goods section to the fruit and veg market. He tried to be careful about what he ate, plenty of fresh fruit and veg. His body was the food he put into it and he tried to keep it in top form. He knew he could make people stop and look and he swaggered more to prove it. The confinement of his cock in the tight jeans was keeping it semi-erect. But it was time to apply his mind to what he needed for the weekend. He strolled along the crowded aisle sur-veying the goods laid out there. He always selected carefully before he bought. First time round was just a reconnaissance; the second time round he bought. It wasn’t worth saving a few cents to lose the quality. From each stall he bought only what was best. While he was looking at some oranges, he saw a guy with longish hair and a neat little arse saunter past. He was carrying a cardboard box half-full of vegetables on his hip. It accentuated the slight sway of the slim hips as he walked. Robbo watched his arse proceeding up the aisle between the two rows of stalls.

“I’ll have him,” he decided then and there. His crotch was thinking not his mind, but then his crotch did a better job than his brain. True it would be good if both worked together, his crotch to lead him into trouble and his brain to get him out of it, but then that wouldn’t be Robbo. He had paid heavily for such impetuous acts in the past and would again no doubt. He was careful at school — but here? Hell, why not? If he wanted to screw the guy, then he wouldn’t let up till he had. Firstly he had to get the guy’s attention. The guy was as yet unaware of Robbo’s existence. He followed him round the stalls to check him out properly. Yes sir, he was what he wanted. So Robbo cut through to the next aisle. This way he would be coming towards the guy as he came up the next row of stalls. He stationed himself conspicuously halfway along and waited. He could see the guy coming towards him unawares. For a second the crowd parted and Robbo caught his eye. It had been brief but something had registered. Slowly the guy moved closer. He was aware of the watching eyes now, Robbo could tell by the way he avoided looking up. He too was playing the game. Then suddenly he was coming straight towards Robbo, his eyes resting inquiringly on him. Robbo casually slid his hand up his thigh to his crotch, and gazing directly at the guy, lightly rubbed his prick to emphasize its presence. The guy smiled but looked away. He knew what was going on; it was just unclear as yet if he was going to take it up. No one turned Robbo down. The guy wasn’t getting away with that. The neat little arse was calling him on. If he brazened it through, Robbo thought he could pull this one off. He followed the arse to the small-goods stall, where the guy waited to be served. He looked round once and knew Robbo was still there. Robbo waited well back, leaning against a pillar with his hands through the belt loops on his jeans. His strong, heavy hands rested in two crescents around his zipper. It was his favourite open position. His intention was apparent but who could accuse him of stating it? The women going past were probably admiring his dick too. People did. He like to show it off. With his purchases finished, the guy put his box on the ground and knelt down to pack in the new items. He looked up. He could see Robbo’s prick summoning him. He looked and considered, then went back to rearranging his box. Unsure if the chance would get away if he left it any longer, Robbo moved in. He stood before the kneeling figure with his crotch pushed forward to the guy’s face. The guy looked up. Robbo smiled down at him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Good day.” The number looked embarrassed but rose to a standing position. He smiled nervously.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Robbo stated. The guy shrugged. Robbo looked at his crotch. The guy knew that he was being assessed. Robbo let his own crotch swell slightly for its newly captured audience. The guy’s eyes flashed down to the movement then back up to Robbo’s face.

“You live round here?” Robbo asked.

“Yeah — with friends.” The guy was starting to relax. Robbo was now sure he was going to get there.

“How much time you got?” The quarry paused.

“For what?”

“Thought we might have time for sex, man,” Robbo replied. The guy laughed.

“Fine,” he said. “Where?” Robbo whacked the arse lightly on the left cheek and grinned.

“Follow me,” he said. He turned and led the way through to the car park, then on to the metal door next to the lift shaft. It was a public area but badly lighted. The guy carried his box in front of him. Robbo held open the emergency exit door for him, then let it slam shut. It echoed up and down the shaft like a cell door banging shut at night. Before proceeding he reached under the box and gave the guy’s prick a good feel. It was coming up already. They went up the metal staircase, Robbo leading the way almost disinterestedly. Only at the top floor did he look back. The guy was just behind him. He pushed the door open, then it too slammed behind them. The second door to the cell block. The guy looked around; they were on the roof of the car park, open to the sky. It was dark already; stars gleamed very far above. The air was still; there were no cars in sight. Robbo led his quarry to the dark gloom behind the top of the stairwell and lift shaft. It would be fairly private there. He took the guy’s box from him and pushed him up against the wall. Holding the guy there with one arm, he squeezed his crotch hard with the other hand. It wasn’t clear if he was going to rough the guy up or have it off. Robbo twisted his hand hard on the penis it held. The guy let out a gasp. Robbo pressed in hard on him pushing him to the wall and attacking the gasping mouth in a rough, forceful series of kisses. This was how he liked it. The guy was scared. He squealed and struggled. Robbo pinned him there, his mouth clammed over the other’s. With his free hand he undid the belt and forced the guy’s jeans half down about his knees. He yanked hard on the erect cock. Then he slipped his own erection out and started to pound it into the guy before him. His hand went up inside the shirt and pinched and twisted the nipples there. The more his partner squirmed, the more he forced himself onto him. He tore at the nipples and pounded his throbbing dick into the guy’s stomach. His mouth smothered the gasping mouth beneath, chewing at the ears, chin and neck, leaving bite marks to bruise and scar. His partner must have been having one hell of a time: he was squealing with delight.

“Turn around,” Robbo ordered into the ear he was smothering. The guy was shaking his head frantically.

“No,” he gasped, “I don’t fuck.”

“Don’t fuck — Jesus.” Without further words, Robbo took the guy’s head between his hands. He held it firm enough to avoid escape and guided it down to his erection. “Suck,” he ordered. He thrust his penis into the mouth before him. He battered it in and out as hard as he could, holding the guy’s head so that he couldn’t resist. He heard the guy spluttering, “Shit, man.” But he kept on pumping; the throat would have to take it. He thrust away cruelly until finally he felt himself on the verge of coming. Then he held the head still for a moment and drew back. Then it was on again. He bore it quickly in and out until he felt himself shoot into the unwilling throat. The guy was choking as he withdrew. He shook the last of the semen from his tool and forced it back into his pants. As he walked away the other guy was still on the ground spluttering. Robbo had his marketing to do. The guy could find his own way down. Back in the well-lit shopping area Robbo discovered he had a damp stain on his fly. He rubbed it and went to buy his provisions. He laughed as he thought of the judge’s face. Loitering, the charge had been. Convicted of the intent. No action was necessary in those days. He had been charged with intending only. Shit, if every bastard was convicted on his thoughts alone, at nineteen they would all be on the inside. Gays and prostitutes were the last to be labelled with it. In that final year at college both could still be charged for contemplating activity. Loitering and soliciting they called it. He sniggered at the thought. If prostitution was something prostitutes did, surely soliciting was how solicitors made their living. Back home it was time he got something to eat and finally have a shower to get rid of the smell of the day’s sweat. He tackled the food problem first. He left out one of the apples he’d just bought and ate his way through it as he packed the rest of his purchases away. To look after his body he had to eat properly so he cooked himself a T-bone and threw together some salad as it was grilling. At times he could be picky about food. No fast-food junk found its way into his diet. His body was about all he valued and he wanted to keep it that way. He shoved vitamin pills down in the morning and made sure he got a decent workout at school. Shit, so many teachers taught Phys. Ed. sitting on their arse and issuing instructions. It was no joke. How could they expect to keep fit and get the kids going that way? Besides, he enjoyed the physical exertion of doing everything along with them. Unless he raised a sweat, he couldn’t expect them to. It gave him a kind of a high to feel them all there pushing themselves along with him. The principal would say he was good at his job, but really he just got off on it. He cleared a space on the table and ate his steak and salad. The shit food they sold at work appalled him. Often he’d had a go at both the kids and the women in the canteen about it. The silly bitches in the shop had lost track of their purpose and just looked to profits like a commercial concern. Instead of changing the kids’ eating habits, they pandered to them. Coke and potato chips for lunch was fine by them. The result was that the kids were all constipated and farted through any unexpected physical exertion. Gymnastics was fatal. But shit, school was out, and he could forget it for another twelve hours. He finished eating and left his plate where it was, wandering off to the bedroom. He stepped out of his clothes and left them there on the floor. That was where he had found them an hour and a half earlier. At least they got an airing in between. He had the shower hot, spending as long under it as he could until the water started to run cold. Every part of him had been soaped, soaked and was clean and ready for the night. He dried himself thorough-ly, making sure he dried between his toes, up around his arse, every cranny clean and dry. Looking in the mirror, he really needed a shave. He ran his hand over the stubble thoughtfully and decided to leave it. It suited him not to look groomed. Besides it felt great as it pricked into the flesh of his hand. Some kind of thrill there for whoever he met tonight. Back in the bedroom, he decided he’d take the bike again tonight. The clapped out old VW didn’t command the right image. Deciding against any underwear, he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a check shirt. Boots and a leather jacket, and he was just about set to go. He looked in the mirror and rearranged his cock. The rest was satisfactory. He could make a start for the night. He kick-started the bike into action and cruised to the end of the block. Nine o’clock. A bit early to make a start. He’d go for a ride first. Heading in the right direction, he cruised every park and every bog on the way. Twice he did the lap around the football ground. Both bogs at either end were quiet. The light was still working in each. No cars in sight. Not a single jogger still about. It was going to be a lousy evening. He didn’t even bother to stop the bike and take a closer look. Cars were the best indication and without one parked outside, hardly anyone was going to bother to stop. It just took one to park and within minutes others would materialise. No one came to the oval on foot. It was too far except for runners. Nine-fifteen, a bit late for runners. He cruised on down to the park at the city’s edge. Pretty dark. No light inside and two cars left in the shadows. One had a kid’s sticker on the window. Sloppy bastard, he thought, but he decided to give it a try anyway. He crunched through the door in his heavy boots, his helmet under his arm. Two frightened figures sprang apart. One had been giving the other a head job while he sat on the dunnie and wanked himself off. Robbo wasn’t interested. It crossed his mind to ask which one had the kids. It might fuck things up so he let it be. He made towards the urinal while the two figures scrabbled to get respectable in the cubicle. To save them coming out he hissed, “It’s cool, mate, keep going.” There was silence, then the squelching sound of an amateurish blow job being continued. He turned and left. Just one bog left to cruise, then the pub. It was one of the last of the cast-iron pissoirs left in the city. A monument to the Victorian beats, still functioning on both levels. Leaving his bike, he went inside. There were two separate urinals. A figure stood at one. He took up the other. The guy stretched over to see his dick. He jerked it then looked at his neighbour. It was a kid of about seventeen. Nervous, straight out of school, with nowhere better to go. The kid took the look as interest and reached over to grab Robbo’s dick. Robbo drew back. He’d promised, no kids. Besides, he remembered being seven-teen and doing the beats with nowhere to go and no idea what to do. His sex life had consisted of coquettishly wanking at his dick until someone showed interest, then rushing off home alone. Something in the kid made it all come back to him.