ASTABGAY BLACKPOOL

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JOHNNY’S JOURNAL

Chapter 7
Ships That Pass In The Night?

I spent two very happy years with Ted, and that was a lot longer than either of us expected for such a relationship. There was a lot of love between us, but we weren’t in love. We both knew that. The very first day, after that party in Croydon, the rules were hammered out. Whilst we were together I could have anything I wanted, within reason of course. I couldn’t order a Rolls Royce – well, not without first asking! But I was not trapped in our relationship, I could call it off whenever I wanted - and likewise so could he.

He warned me that, on average, these arrangements he had with his young companions only lasted about six months. Around that time either his eyes or mine would be likely to find someone else to pursue. He was such a lovely man, so kind and thoughtful, I hold a guilt that in the end, after lasting four times the average, it was my eyes that found someone else. Perhaps we did have more than we both realised.

Ted was an extremely wealthy man. His assets were a great deal more than the few theatres, nightclubs and cinemas he enjoyed “playing” with – and that is probably just as well, for there must have been many “gold-diggers” in his life. I was not one of them. Perhaps that is why it lasted so long. Everything I had from him was pretty much forced on me – like when I passed my driving test, immediately afterwards he took me to a showroom and made me pick out a brand new car. He simply would not take no for an answer, we were embarrassing ourselves on the forecourt, so in the end I chose a middle-of-the-range Ford Zephyr.

I was only twenty when the relationship started, and he forty-six, so I had to get used to being called all kinds of things. Depending on the company we were in, I could be his other half, young companion, nephew, son, or simply a good friend. We went to an endless stream of parties, and had four wonderful holidays together. But it wasn’t all joy-riding.

When we were still together after six months I spent weeks with all the different people and departments at the company’s head office in Baker Street to learn how everything operated, and afterwards I was given all kinds of assignments, mostly to do with the cinemas, with a lot of them quite meaningless but where it is good practice for it to be known someone from Head Office might be coming. I made several such visits to my old cinema in Sydenham, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment of them. But that was only one of seventeen I would have to visit from time to time.

It was a visit to the one in Southampton, one I had never had to go to before, that was responsible for the next big change in my life. Passing Winchester en route, how could I not stop off to say hello to Tommy, and hopefully meet up again with my Tony?

Sam and Beryl were delighted to see me, and pleased I was doing so well (big flash company car, not my Zephyr parked out front!), but Tommy was no longer there. Whilst at university in Manchester he had met someone in a club, a hotel owner, and they’d hit it off big-style. He was now up in Blackpool with him, helping to run the hotel.

The news was a big disappointment for me. I really wanted to see him again, even hoping we might have had a romp. Opening my briefcase, I quickly scribbled out a cheque, sealed it in an envelope, and asked Beryl if she would forward it on. I told her how he had pushed money into my pocket when I left, and how it was the twenty pounds I owed him, with a little interest. It was not, it was a lot more, but still nothing compared to what I owed the guy for the way he looked after me so well.

Waving them goodbye, I cruised around to the next street and stopped outside Tony’s house. Somehow I knew, before I rang the bell, I was not going to see him. A young guy, topless, wet hair with a towel draped around his shoulders, and a packet threatening to burst out of his ice-blue jeans, answered the door. One might say: a gorgeous bit of rough. He was obviously amused at the way my eyes would not stop dropping to have another look at his bulge, but he could not help me with Tony. His family had moved in a year ago, it was empty then, so they never met the previous owners or had any idea where they might be.

The disappointment must have been obvious, as my heart sank. I stood there wondering what to do. I knew I should just thank the guy and leave, but I was slow in doing it. He dropped his head lower, so he could see into my eyes, and asked if Tony was someone special to me. I was so down that I didn’t care, and I said, “Only the love of my life.”

“Well, I could be that too,” he said. “Do you wanna coffee?”

The coffee was delicious, and so too was he. With no one else home we were able to have a great time on his bed for about an hour before I told him I needed to go, I still had a cinema to visit. We showered together and had another coffee, and then I asked him if he would like to come with me. I could drop him off on the way back. He agreed, so long as we were not going to do anything that cost money. He was out of work and didn’t have any. That honesty was, I think, the trigger that immediately made him special to me. With my suit, and the company car he must have seen, a lesser person would have come regardless.

To not look out of place beside me he put on his suit, one that was obviously kept only for weddings and funerals because although it fitted well, and he looked great in it, I could see he wasn’t comfortable – casual was his style. We left, and the conversation just flowed. I was enjoying every minute of the guy. He got a little upset when we stopped off at Chandler’s Ford for a bite to eat, even wanting to wait for me outside, but I talked him round in the end, and judging by how quickly he put the mixed grill down his throat, I think he must have been starving.

The visit to the cinema was all over within half-an-hour; rushed through. He wanted to stay outside, but I steered him around the place, and just let it drop to the manager that he was my brother I didn’t see very often. It was only then I realised I had spent half of the afternoon and the early part of the evening with him, a guy I thought was absolutely wonderful, and yet I didn’t even know his name. One should always know the name of a guy that you have sex with – you need to be in with some chance of screaming out the right one!

Leaving the cinema and finally swapping names – he was Steven – I asked him what he would like to do. He said he wanted to see the ships. I thought: “What, at your age?”, but didn’t say it, and we drove up and down the docks. There wasn’t a lot in, but he knew the names of some of those that were, and stared longingly at them.

Later we stopped off in a lay-by on the Winchester bypass and walked slowly through the trees along the river bank, neither of us wanting our time together to end. It was only the first day, first date if you like, and already we were serious about each other. But there was an obvious rich boy – poor boy conflict.

We swapped our histories. His had not been good, but I was able to show him my rich boy image was only recent luck, and it might end at anytime. Take that away, and we weren’t too dissimilar. If he loved me as much as I already knew I loved him, I would go back and end it with Ted. We would both be poor then, but  we could at least be together. I had my own car and a few things I could sell if need be, and I did have some money in the bank anyway, so we could easily rent a flat anywhere he wanted. Southampton, so he could see the liners more often?

At that he simply bawled. Sobbed his heart out, hugging and squeezing me until I could hardly breath. He wanted that more than anything in the world, but it couldn’t be. After them spending so much money they didn’t really have on him, just so he could join the Merchant Navy, he couldn’t let his parents down now. His first voyage was already arranged by the naval school. He left on the SS Oriana in six weeks time – a round the world trip to Australia.

For the second time that day my heart plummeted.

More next time when I reveal just how stupid I can be, but how it sometimes pays off.
 

Johnny.

Copyright ©Michael Knell 2008.
 

JOHNNY’S JOURNAL

Chapter 8
A Love Exposed - Twice!

There was just no way I was going to be able to hide meeting Steven that day, or how much I thought of him. It was love at first sight, and guilt was written all over my face. Besides, Ted had this habit of knowing everything. I was sure he would never spy on me, but the chances were someone would mention I wasn’t alone at the cinema. Like Old Bill in Sydenham, he had people keeping him up to date everywhere. An innocent mention of my “brother” would reveal all – he knew I didn’t have one. Anyway, I was also extremely late arriving home. It was after midnight.

Eyes met as I went into the dimly lit lounge to find him in his dressing gown, lying along the settee, relaxing to some classical music I was usually happy to suffer for him. I looked at him, such a lovely kind man, one who had given me everything, and my bottom lip went, closely followed by my eyes welling up. Ted turned the music down, and with outstretched arms invited me to sit on his lap. I went over to him, and sobbed on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.”

He told me it was always likely to happen one day. I had lasted longer than all the others, and asked for so little, he had hoped this time it might not, but he was not surprised. I didn’t have to give him the details if I preferred not to – I only had let him know when I was going, and what I wanted to take. I thought he deserved to know, I owed him that, so I sat next to him, close up, and we both cried our way through my story.

Ted could always pull a rabbit out of a hat, you could rely on him, and this was no exception. When he learned there were only six weeks before Steven sailed away on that many months voyage, he suggested I should leave first thing in the morning and spend that time with him. He would book me into the Norfolk Hotel – he knew a reputable hotel for everywhere! - and if during that time I got Steven out of my system I was welcome to come back and nothing more of it would ever be mentioned again. If I didn’t, then we would cross that bridge in six weeks time.

There could never be another Ted. Even hurt, he was still kind and understanding. I loved him so much, and I wished the type of love could have been the same as I had for Steven, for then none of this would have happened. But it was not.

He wasn’t there in the morning. There was just a note on the hall table: ‘Hotel booked - Good Luck, Floppit! xxx’. It was his nickname for me, that and: Flower.

I stood looking at it for a long time. Was I doing the right thing? Many would give their right arm to have the life I’d enjoyed for the past two years: brand new top of the range company cars at my disposal; an executive status; every latest gadget imaginable; the best seats at any show or restaurant I desired; fantastic holidays; two luxury homes with Ted, and my own unused flat rented nearby simply for my parent’s benefit. Only a madman would give all this up. And then I pictured Steven’s beautiful eyes looking into mine, put the note in my pocket, and rushed out of the door like a madman.

Steven answered the doorbell, and I could see from the redness he had been crying. He stood looking at me for a split second, in some kind of disbelief, and then relief as his face lit up and he grabbed hold of me, dragging me inside. Falling back against the slamming door, we started to devour each other. At every break from the lips-locked passion in order to gasp for a breath, he would moan: “I love you, I love you, I love you,” and then pull me in again.

I can remember thinking: now I know I’ve made the right decision, and eagerly responded. Hugging him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow, and pushing my hand down inside his jeans to hold him, I was on cloud nine and never wanted it to stop. He in turn unzipped me, without breaking away from the kissing, pulled me out and began playing with me. I was getting desperate; we would needed to do it soon unless he wanted his hallway decorated. However I hadn’t bargained for what happened next.

“Steven,” the voice said. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend. Is this the chap you’ve been crying over ever since you came home yesterday?”

I pulled away in a panic and stuffed that which protested, and wouldn’t easily go back, inside my jeans, rapidly zipping them up. Turning, I saw this woman at the end of the hallway, obviously his mother. I know I went bright red with guilt. What we were doing was illegal, and I was doing it right under her nose with her son! I might I have been over twenty-one, but weren’t in private, and anyway he was only eighteen. I guessed I was for it.

“Yes, mum,” Steven answered, excitedly. “See, I told you I would see him again. I told you, I told you, I told you! I knew he would come back! You said I would never see him again, but I knew he’d come back.” Then grabbing hold of my hand, he told me there was nothing for me to worry about, his mother knew all about us.

At that particular moment I wasn’t overly reassured, but thankfully it turned out he was right. His mother was a lovely woman, and one, as I learned over the quick lunch she prepared for us, who had been up half the night with her son in a heart to heart as he had confessed all: he didn’t like girls, he was in love with a guy, and now he’d found him he didn’t want to go to sea. He only wanted to go in the first place because that’s where people like him often went, everybody knew that.

He had apparently told her everything that night, and I even wondered at one point if he’d given her a blow by blow account of what we got up to on his bed! She seemed impressed that I’d left so much behind me just to be with her son, quite expecting I was just someone having my wicked way with him, never to be heard of again.

Not even asking if I’d booked accommodation anywhere, she said she was going to make up the spare room for me. It was next to Steven’s room she revealed with a knowing look. I hadn’t the heart to tell her I was booked into (knowing Ted) probably the best hotel suite in Winchester, and anyway I wasn’t going to miss the chance of being near Steven. What the heck if I didn’t stay at the hotel? It was only money. And as I thought it, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say that for much longer!

All this happiness, however, was tarnished by knowing the clock was still ticking, and that voyage started in less than six weeks time. It mattered not to his mother if Steven decided against going, but his estranged father, now living with another woman, was plagued to come up with the money for the naval training course he’d undergone, working many extra hours to find it. He would be very unhappy - and it seemed it was never a good idea to make the man unhappy. However we tried to put such things out of our mind for now, and relish the present.

As soon as his mother left for work, we jumped into bed to enjoy some marvellous sex, and to make plans for the time we had left together. We decided on taking a touring holiday, and that evening drove around many car sales forecourts in search of a caravanette for sale. There was one in Eastleigh we both liked, a secondhand Thames, and the place was still open.

Within minutes Steven was all over it, and under it – even expertly driving it up and down the forecourt. I didn’t even consider he might drive. Bringing it back to where I was trying to do a deal with the salesman, thinking of a straight swap with the Zephyr, he reeled off a load of things that needed doing to it, and said if they were done and the guy took the Zephyr for it, giving us two hundred pounds into the bargain, it would be about right. I looked on in amazement.

We called back for it two days later having settled for all the work being done, one-hundred-and-fifty pounds back, and a respray thrown in. That was only the first time Steven amazed me. There were to be many more times.

The next day was spent stocking up the caravanette, buying some utensils for it, and generally making sure our little love nest on wheels was ready for an early start the following morning.

Next time I will tell you how two love-struck poofs shocked the camper world as they went on a round trip to Land’s End, stopping off everywhere, in a barrel load of laughs.

Johnny.

Copyright ©Michael Knell 2008.

JOHNNY’S JOURNAL

Chapter 9
Carry On Camp Camping!

We decided the first stop should be the New Forest. Travelling via Romsey, so we would miss Southampton and thoughts of all that held for us in the future, we beetled around like mad things, exploring all the little towns and villages, and generally having a whale of a time. We were only self-sufficient up to a point: washing was possible, and cooking of course, so we could have pulled up in any lay-by and happily survived, but a few home comforts like a shower and a loo were preferable, so around teatime we set off to find a campsite for the night. We found one a mile or so outside Brockenhurst, and it was open. Whoopee!

There were quite a few tents, campers and caravans there, so we passed all of them until we found an isolated spot near a clump of bushes where we could enjoy some privacy. After a bit of a session to christen the vehicle we decided to take a short nap, but it was eight-thirty before we awoke, and the sun was already behind the trees. As we intended walking into the village that evening for a couple of drinks, we thought a quick bacon sarnie before we left would help to line our stomachs. But first, with  neither of us wanting to walk all the way down to the loos just for a pee, we needed to water the bushes. I don’t know why, but the exercise turned into a contest to see who could get it over the bush. Steven could.

“Oy!” a voice shouted out, as two blokes in army uniform suddenly jumped up to look over the bush, with the one sporting a dewdrop looking extremely unhappy. About a dozen more uniformed guys then appeared from behind various trees, bushes and hollows in the ground, all of them helpless in fits of laughter. It turned out the soldiers regularly spied on the campsite as a part of their training.

After some profuse apologies, we legged it back to the caravanette where inside we rolled around holding each other in hysterics. A scrumptious bacon sandwich later, and with the soldiers gone (we hoped), we set off cross-country, through the trees, to find the river that followed would take us to very near the village.

Fighting our way through the branches that crossed the barely visible meandering path as it descended in the closing darkness, and frequently startled by strange noises or something flying up screeching just ahead of us, my mind rushed back to all those Tarzan movies of my childhood. Together it was great fun, but I would not like to do it on my own! I think it was probably on this walk that I first appreciated: there really is nothing to equal following someone along a track if they have nice buns. I just thought I’d throw that in!

We found the nearest pub, the one by the shop on the triangle, and it was quite full of tourists. Too cool to sit outside for long, we were forced to suffer the only vacant table which, unfortunately, was near to a gaggle of young ladies that resembled overgrown girl guides, one of them complete with the stereotypical National Health spectacles and buck teeth. They kept looking over, giggling, and then whispering to each other. We were obviously the subject of their humour.

After a while of suffering it, Steven nudged me and, standing up to frantically search his pockets as he looked all around the floor paying particular attention to under the girls' table, he said just loud enough for them to hear: "Shit! He's escaped. I hope he don't run up someone's leg." He then sat back down to continue searching, with his eyes darting everywhere.

Taking the cue, I managed to keep a straight face long enough to say: "He'll be okay, he's got eight legs. You couldn't keep him anyway, that would be cruel."

Autosuggestion took it from there. After a couple of squeals, as the annoyances each in turn became fully convinced something had touched their legs, the group quickly drank up and left to our chorus of: "Bye!" There is no denying it, we had a skinful that night. How we ever made it back along that treacherous path without falling into the river, I shall never know. After a quick pee up that bush, this time without any objectors, we scrambled into our little love nest, threw off all our clothes, and hugged each other to sleep.

It was nine o'clock when I awoke. Steven was lying naked next to me, still fast asleep and magnificently morning proud. I can remember thinking: we really should have closed those curtains before we turned in last night! Fortunately the windows were steamed up, so I don't think anyone sold tickets. Nine o'clock was obviously late for arising at such a place, for there was a lot of activity to heard outside. Pulling on my skiddies and covering Steven, I slid all the windows open to find the blast of cold air mouth-wateringly laced with the aromas of many egg and bacon breakfasts. It was time to get up.

It was also time to learn not all campsites come with hot showers. The wooden hut contained only the barest necessities so after shaving and washing all our important little places in the caravanette, to the amusement of many we washed our body tops under the communal outside freezing cold water tap. Then watched over by a whole family of New Forest ponies, we enjoyed the most marvellous fried breakfast before setting off to Bournemouth.

Having found a street where we could park, we spent the rest of the day exploring the town, found the gardens that led to the front and did the pier and the beach. On our way back we discovered a well-patronised cottage where, after the pees we were both bursting for, Steven started swinging his semi-and-rising pride and joy about wildly - so all those with eyes straining sideways in an attempt to look out of their ears could see exactly what they were missing. Tart! Exploding into laughter, we legged it.

From stories I'd heard Ted tell, I knew there was a "men's" club somewhere in the town, so we went in search of it. Finding it, and from the outside it looked okay, we decided to return later after moving the caravanette somewhere more suitable for the night. Sandbanks car park, under some beach huts, was the nearest place we could find. It was a hellish long walk back, but we had nothing else to do.

Suffering some strange looks - I think the place existed mainly on regulars so they were a bit wary of us - we were allowed in and spent a couple of very happy hours there. I never doubted how well Steven would dance, he was sex on legs, and his Concrete and Clay was a sight to behold. Everybody stopped to watch. Pre-disco, dancing then was very much a matter of doing your own thing, mainly based around the twist movements but often with a bit of rock and roll thrown in with a few other styles. Amazingly the sixties saw over 500 dances introduced so you could get away with just about anything. I think Steven covered all those to date that night.

Refreshingly cool when we left, we dismissed any idea of taking a taxi and danced most of the way back to Sandbanks, ignoring the occasional sounds of horns and jeers from passing cars. It was brave for those days, two guys dancing down the street, but we were far too inebriated to care. With the music still buzzing in our heads, we scrambled into our camper and had a lot of great sex that night. But next morning . . .

The mother and father of all hangovers clung to us. Hours it took, drinking coffee after coffee whilst sitting on the vehicle's back doorstep, nursing our splitting heads, before any resemblance to being human appeared in either of us.  Going for a walk along the all but deserted beach to clear our heads, we noticed a couple of young guys taking photos - of us! They looked vaguely familiar, and then I recalled they too were at the club. Waving at us, they walked over.

Tim and Jerry, they introduced themselves. Tom and Jerry, my mind laughed. They too had a good time last night, but probably not as good as us, they joked. It seems on returning we hadn't noticed their car and tent-trailer parked next to us. Having taken a taxi back, and being one of those shouting out of the car window to us as they passed by, they were already trying to get some sleep by the time we returned. After suffering fifteen minutes of our noisily explicit  lovemaking keeping them awake, where they reckoned the vehicle rocked around madly, they gave up and drove over to the other side of the car park. Oh, My God!

They were great guys, a close couple we learned, but not an item. Sisters, they said. We spent the rest of the day with them, and later on our travels our paths crossed again, which explains the photo they took being here of Steven doing a handstand in a litter bin on Sandbanks beach that morning. Crazy? No, just a great guy in love.

We stopped off and explored numerous places, too numerous to mention them all, as we made our way towards Land's End,  Staying overnight in many good campsites - and a few bad ones - we were just out for laughs. The area round Lyme Regis was fun. We discovered gold, only to later learn it was dinosaur shit. Nearby we got lost on a walk, couldn't find our way back and were chased by a wild boar. Much further along the coast, in a beautiful little cove, I shall never forget the oral we had on a rock as the waves washed all around us. Sensual, it was. But by the time we had finished it required some cold, wet feet to reach the beach. I don't remember the name of this place, but the locals were a little weird, they stopped talking when we entered the pub for a beer - so we camped it up for them. Barred! Barred, we were - they didn't have people like us there!

Many of the roads in Cornwall were obviously only made for the local pixies at that time, as to meet anything larger than a car meant one of you backing up to the nearest passing point or gateway to a field. To get over this, if that place was a long way behind us, and the other driver didn't start backing up, Steven would jump out and explain our gearbox was playing up, we had no reverse. It worked for all but one guy who, not believing the story, decided to sit it out. We'd made ourselves a sausage sandwich by the time the, probably once a day, local bus came up behind us and he had no option then but to reverse. He shouted a lot of abuse at us through his open window as we passed him, so it was annoying that night to find the bloke serving behind the bar of the pub we had chosen. Fortunately there was another pub.

I think Land's End would have been a bit of a disappointment for us, an anti-climax, had we not met up again with Tim and Jerry. That night they joined us in the camper, parked off the road on a grassy slope to some wilderness, and we downed a lot of drink, told each other a lot of stories, and had a lot of laughs right into the early hours, when we just fell asleep where we were. They gave us several photos they had taken of us in Sandbanks, before they left after breakfast the next morning. We never saw them again.

Making our way back along the north coast of Cornwall and Devon, although it was all new to us, I don't think either of us had as much fun as on the outward journey. Not spoken about, but always in the back of our minds, was the knowing we were heading home and to the inevitable: the day that Steven would have to leave. We did Cheddar and Wookey Hole, spending a few days in the area, loved them both and vowed to return one day, and then headed for Winchester, arriving back there just three days before I would have to drive the greatest guy in the world to Southampton and wave him goodbye.

More next time when I tell you how it went on seeing Ted again, and how stupid I can be.

Johnny.

Copyright ©Michael Knell 2008.