Inseparable Bond (15 page)

Norman put his
head around the door, looked around the room and left.

‘What’s that
bloody stink?’ Alfred shouted, as he entered the room, loosening
his tie.

John noticed
Ralf Parker’s haunting look as he got up from the table, clenching
his fist. This was John’s time to leave before any violence
erupted.

He was on the
late shift at his work but decided to leave early and take
advantage of the warm afternoon. Walking down the hill, he noticed
the police presence at the fairground had gone, along with the
fairground. Only litter and mud tracks remained on the vast area of
wasteland, hard to imagine the activity the fair had brought to the
town and the publicity surrounding it.

John Bell
stood at the broken fence for a few moments with a contented smile
growing across his face as he focused on the site where the caravan
had stood.

A feeling of
satisfaction and relief flowed over him as he continued his walk,
confidently smiling at the few people struggling up the hill
towards him.

He noticed a
young girl on the footpath across the road; she was wearing a pair
of blue shorts and a tight low-cut white vest, with her youthful
breasts requiring no help to create a seductive cleavage, her
ginger hair, full and bouncy, around her face.

John walked
across the road and watched her tight buttocks swing from side to
side as he walked closely behind her, accelerating his speed. As he
was about to approach the girl, she opened a garden gate and gave
him a seductive smile as she closed it behind her.

With the hotel
in sight, he continued his pace as he crossed the roundabout to the
hotel staff entrance.

He had only
five days work left before he was to visit his sister in Fleetwood,
but he still felt apprehensive, more on returning to his criminal
neighbourhood than to visit Jennifer.

Late Sunday
afternoon was always quiet in the kitchen, the chefs and waiting
staff had left for the day after the Sunday lunch service, leaving
only a pile of pans and crockery behind them.

Before
attempting the pile of dishes, he went into the staff room for a
cigarette. He noticed an open locker and peered inside. He found a
pile of unwashed lingerie. Piece by piece he took it out and held
it up to the light. All of it was lighter and darker shades of
blue. He took each piece between his lips to feel the silk and lace
against his mouth as he shoved a pair of blue panties in his
trouser pocket.

He finished
his shift at 8 o’clock as usual. The hostel authorities would not
allow an extension of his evening working hours as all residents
had to be back in the building by 10 o’clock at the latest.

It was raining
slightly as he wearily climbed back up the hill, pausing slightly
to look at the house where the young girl had entered that
afternoon. A dim light shone through the net curtains in the
upstairs window, the downstairs in darkness.

The rain was
dripping off his baseball cap, running along his neck and down his
back as he tilted his head upwards towards the bedroom window. His
feet were cold and uncomfortable with his socks now wet from the
holes in his shoes, which were filling with water as he stood. He
lowered his head to avoid the increasing rain and continued his
climb up the hill.

Once on level
ground, he sprinted to the large wooden front door, just missing
being hit by a car, which splashed by him at high speed.

He heard music
from Gary’s room next door as he fumbled through his wet pockets
for his key. Once inside, he quickly undressed and placed his wet
clothes over the radiator to dry overnight.

He wrapped
himself in his well-worn tartan dressing gown, grabbed his towel
and made his way to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. As he
lowered himself into the hot soapy water, he felt his body warm
through to his bones as he ducked his head under the water, running
his hands through his greasy hair.

The opening of
the unlocked door startled him. ‘Someone in here,’ he shouted, as
he quickly raised his body out of the bath to push the door
closed.

Gary Brown’s
head appeared around the door. ‘Hi mate,’ he said, with a wide
smile. ‘Fancy a bit of company?’

‘Well, I’m
taking a bath, Gary,’ John replied, as he lowered himself back into
the bath.

Gary entered
the bathroom and closed the door behind him. ‘Is there room for two
in their mate?’ he asked, as he struggled to pull his tight vest up
over his head.

‘Well, not
really mate, I can hardly get in the fucking thing myself,’ John
answered, as he watched him remove his white boxer shorts.

Gary lowered
his naked body and kneeled at the side of the bath, reaching over
to grab the bar of soap, which had congealed between the rusty
taps.

Gary glared at
John as he vigorously soaped his hands and placed them heavily on
John’s chest. He rested the back of his head on the chipped enamel
bath as Gary lathered his shoulders, neck and arms with circular
movements down his stomach.

His strong
hands slid gently onto his erect penis, immersed in the warm soapy
water as he inserted the middle finger of his right hand between
the crevices of John’s buttocks. Gary’s slowly rubbed his finger
around the opening of his rectum as he retained a firm grip on
John’s penis, gently inserting his wet finger inside him.

His forced his
finger upward, which effortlessly raised John’s buttocks from the
surface of the bath as he pulled his penis to reveal his full
torso. John groaned as he ejaculated. He slowly lowered his body
under the water, lifted his head from the cold enamel bath with a
smile of satisfaction.

Gary stood up
and removed the towel hanging behind the door. He put on his shorts
and flung his vest over his shoulder as he walked over to the door.
‘Just to repay the favour, mate,’ he said, as he opened the door
and left the room.

He lay in the
bath for a few minutes, relaxing after his unexpected and
pleasurable intrusion before standing up to soap his body. He
reached for the damp towel Gary had thrown to the floor and lowered
his hand through the grey water searching for the chainless plug to
empty the bath.

He returned to
his room and lay in his bed, re-living his recent sexual encounter
as he stared at the net curtain covering his small window, its
off-white colour had changed to amber from the street light
outside.

The rain
lashing at the window woke him early. He washed and shaved quickly
and took his clothes off the radiator, which had dried overnight He
entered the dining room to see Gary and Dorothy eating breakfast.
Gary looked up as he pulled out his chair, ‘Good morning,’ he said,
‘Sleep well?’

‘Yes, very
well, thanks,’ John replied, as he sat down. Dorothy looked up from
her cereal with a suspicious expression as if being aware of the
previous nights encounter in the bathroom.

No words were
spoken over breakfast. John left Dorothy and Gary at the table as
he took his cup of tea into the television room to have a
cigarette. The room was empty and quiet, only the ticking of the
clock of the mantelpiece broke the silence.

As John gazed
out of the window, not focused on anything in particular, he
noticed young Peter Scott briskly walking across the wet grass,
carrying a bucket. The hood on his bright yellow anorak was pulled
over his face, shielding it from the oncoming rain.

John’s
attention was drawn to the kitchen door, where Gary Parker was
carrying two bulging black bin-liners through the heavy
downpour.

John watched
him as he threw the bags down at the rear gate, opposite the garden
shed.

He stood
upright, looking back at the house, wiping his hands as he shook
the rain from his hair. His wet, striped sleeveless shirt stuck to
his body outlining his muscle packed frame. He walked over to the
garden shed, looking back at the house nervously; He quickly went
in and closed the glass door behind him.

John wiped the
condensation off the window with the palm of his hand to see the
silhouettes of the guys in the shed. Gary’s shifty look aroused
John’s suspicions and he became increasingly curious as both guys
remained in the shed.

The rain
briefly stopped as the sun struggled to burn its way through the
mist. John walked over the wet lawn, feeling inquisitive as he
tried to open the shed door. It was locked from the inside, which
further aroused his suspicions. He peered through the small windows
as he walked along the side of the glass building, but neither Gary
nor Peter was to be seen.

Attached to
the shed was an old brick outhouse which was used as a storage area
for the mower and various garden tools. John climbed on a compost
heap and peered through a small window frame, being the only source
of light to the building.

He
precariously gripped the drainpipe with one hand and an ivy branch
with the other as he peered through the broken window, as his
unbalanced feet rested on the compost heap below him.

A few missing
roof tiles gave an additional ray of light, awarding him a more
advantageous view.

Alerted by
groaning sounds coming for the far end of the building, he saw Gary
leaning against the wall.

A stream of
light from the roof shone brightly on his torso, which was revealed
by his open white shirt. His trousers and pants were around his
ankles, resting in dirty water from the previous downpour.

He was
groaning loudly as Peter Scott squatted between his legs with
Gary’s penis embedded in his mouth. The sight of this sent erotic
jolts through John’s veins.

Gary was
holding tightly onto Peter’s short cropped hair, as he appeared to
force his penis further down his throat, causing him to choke on
his over-sized genitalia.

John’s
adrenalin rushed through his body and his heart pumped madly at the
sight of these two hunks engaging in oral sex. He became sexually
aroused and released his grip from the drainpipe to open his
trouser zip, to fondle himself as he watched intensely as they
performed, unaware of their voyeur peering through the broken
window.

John was
alerted by a garbage lorry which pulled up alongside the gate,
being visible from his position. He quickly jumped down from the
compost heap, adjusting himself as he walked back to the house.

He returned to
the television room where some of the residents had gathered, took
his seat by the window and reached for the newspaper from the
opposite chair. He peered over the paper to see Gary leave the
garden shed, fastening his shirt buttons as he walked over the wet
lawn and back through the kitchen door.

John went to
his bedroom and changed his leaking shoes for the new trainers.
Putting on his raincoat as he left the building, he walked toward
the cricket ground half a mile further up the hill.

His attention
was drawn to a white van pulling into a lay-by adjacent to the
public toilets. The driver jumped out of his cab and gave a
sideways glance over to John.

Dodging
between the traffic as he crossed the busy road, he went into the
Victorian-style toilet block and saw the guy standing at the far
end of a row of urinals. He was about 30-years-old, with an
attractive face under his red baseball cap. His loose fitting blue
trousers were splattered with various colours of paint, which had
splashed onto his heavy grey boots.

His legs were
slightly open as he stood back and pissed into the urinal. He gave
a slight glance over at John encouraging him as he approached the
urinal.

John had
already been sexually aroused after watching Gary and Peter in the
shed and was now desperately in need for sexual relief by anyone
other than himself.

The guy stood
at the urinal long enough for John to realise he was game for at
least a ‘hand-job’ so he approached him without hesitation. The
whole place smelled of excrement ineffectively masked by a pungent
disinfectant, it wasn’t very encouraging. His nose pinched itself
and he tried not to breathe too deeply. His hands were unsteady
with excitement as the guy turned his body towards him. John was
nervous, and found his breathing difficult to control and came in
unpredictable shudders.

As they
fondled each other, the guy stared motionlessly at the door in case
of an intruder. John felt a fine mist of perspiration form across
his forehead.

Feeling
relieved of his sexual frustration, he walked back down the hill
fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette, brought it out twisted and
mashed.

He strolled
back to the hostel and opened the door to the small reading room,
he peered in. Ronnie Baxter was sleeping in an old leather chair.
He swaggered to the chair opposite, leaned back in it, put his feet
on the table and reached for a packet of cigarettes that lay
there.

Baxter was a
pasty-faced man in his fifties, neither large nor small, always
dressed flashily- even if sometimes dirtily. He had been in the
hostel for many years. He was a coward, a liar and a thief, and
watched constantly by the nurses and other residents, although John
thought he was too much of a coward to be dangerous. The side of
his mouth twitched and twisted as he snored slightly.

John watched
him sleep, thinking what a nice looking guy he would have been in
his younger years. His features were well spaced, and although his
mouth and chin were a little uncertain, his broad forehead was good
under a thick mass of wavy ginger hair.

He was
Australian, came over to England from Melbourne with his parents at
the age of twelve. His father had worked as a train driver, his
mother a home help in Croydon, but Ronnie Baxter had more ambitious
plans. He had an obsession with money.

He started his
criminal life shortly after arriving in the country when he got
involved with a gang who preyed on old ladies, relieving them of
their cash and credit cards but without causing any physical
injury.