Marc Jesmond - 5. Chapter 5 'The Date'

Marc Jesmond arrived at the small town of Deadlock. He got out of the car and looked around.

So, this was the place where it all began; where his parents, freshly arrived from Italy set up their first business? He recalled his childhood, how his father would bring him to see the café, and proudly explain that nobody makes ice cream like the Italians. It was all so different then; the place was thriving. Deadlock was the hub of a mining area and every evening the High Street buzzed as workers, en route home, killed time in the café, waiting for their connection. And they were spending money too, on snacks, coffee, smokes, ice cream, juke box. Times were good. All up and down the High Street shops did a roaring trade as customers streamed in and out, browsing, chatting, laughing. Now look at it.

On the outskirts of town a large superstore, complete with car park had opened in the 1980s, quickly killing off every small store on the High Street. The main thoroughfare had been pedestrianised and planted with trees and shrubs; before long it became the haunt of skateboarders and bikers by day, and drunks and louts by night. The once proud ice cream parlour began to lose the valued customers it needed and gained others it didn’t! Vandalism and harassment followed. And a decision to site the new bus station half a mile away finally killed the shop off.

But Marc hadn’t come here to reminisce. He got back into the car.

Searching for somewhere relatively safe to park his Mercedes, he decided that he could do worse than leave it in the back lane behind the shop. Marc looked up and down the litter strewn alley. The high street shops all had backyards, surrounded by six foot high brick walls. Standing on tip toes he looked over the wall into his own premises. There, before him, was the door that led into the rear of the shop, and to one side a rickety set of exterior wooden stairs climbed from the yard to the first floor. This was the apartment occupied by Alma Robson, and right now it appeared deserted.

Marc tried the back gate, but it was bolted. Walking around to the front street, and the shop frontage, he took the key Terrence Haddaway had given him and tried it in the front door of the shop. The lock offered little resistance, and Marc entered, sweeping away with his foot a pile of mail. The shop was dark, cold, and had been gutted of all valuable fittings. But he could still make out the grubby outlines on the walls where the photograph of his grandfather had proudly hung, alongside all the awards presented to the family for making the best ice cream anywhere!

He looked down both sides of the long, narrow room where once the luxurious, glass-partitioned booths were situated. He remembered his father’s words,

‘In Italy everybody likes to be together, family, friends and children, but the English are not like that. They like their privacy. I think they may even see eating ice cream as naughty. They will love these booths’

Then he would chuckle, innocently, completely without malice or guile. God, how much the world seemed to have changed since papa died, and how glad Marc was that the old man hadn’t lived to see this! Then he brought to mind the other side of his father. The old man who was forever complaining ‘The English this, the English that’, Fuck! Marc had wanted so many times to scream, I’m fucking English too, I was born here!

But he’d said nothing: for while the young Marco wasn’t Italian, he didn’t feel English either. And that wasn’t the least of it. There was something else, quite apart, that made him feel an outsider. Something that, despite his parents’ claims that the Italians are all about the family, they never wanted him to speak of. Something that, even to this day made his heart ache.

Depressed and chilled Marc returned to the door, stepped outside and locked it. Across the street, he recognised the figure of an elderly, slight woman, frantically stabbing on the keys of a mobile phone. It was Alma Robson.

She looked back over to him,

‘You! I’m just calling the police. I thought I was being broken into. You might have let me know what you were up to’

Marc bit his lip. Why was it that every phrase, word, nuance of speech that came from this tiny parcel of poison was, at the very least combative, if not outright offensive?

Marc strode over, and resisting the temptation to stand right in her face remained as calm as he could,

‘I’ve been trying to contact you for over a week now, and got no reply. I was checking out the shop premises to see if it was habitable, or could be adapted’

Alma’s face was spite,

‘Who gave you that key?’

But Marc was taking no more of her nonsense,

‘That’s not your business’

‘Oh is it not? Well that’s my home up there. And as long as I’m breathing you won’t set foot over the thresh’

Marc could feel a red mist descend. It was pointless saying more. He needed to get back to his beloved riverside as soon as possible, or he wouldn’t be answerable for his actions.

‘Please, oh please, let this evening be better than the day I’ve had!’

-----------------------------------------

Leon should have known something was up. Why was Glen being so nice to him, and spending the whole afternoon hanging out with the kid he called variously ‘retard’, ‘moron’ and ‘horse dick’? More to the point, why, in the last hour or so, had he brought him no fewer than three sparkling apple juices, none of which tasted as they should?

When the moment felt right Glen pounced,

‘Lee, would you like the good news, or the fuckin’ great news?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve got you a date tonight. And he’s a star. He’ll blow you till your eyeballs spin, and give you a stack of dosh. How good’s that?’

Leon’s head was beginning to ache,

‘What are you talking about, what man?’

‘What man!’ A man I’ve hand-selected for you, and this one’s class; not like those fucking mingers you hang out with at the sauna. Tonight, all you have to do is pull that fuckin’ big tool of yours out for him, and remember to call yourself Noel if he asks’

‘Who’s Noel?’

‘It’s just an online name’

‘But I’m not online’

‘No, but I am, it’s me. I’m looking out for you. I can get us meets all over this city. No risk, just easy money and.....’

‘What did you do that for?’

There was panic in Leon’s voice. Glen remained calm,

‘I was only thinking of you; all you gotta do is meet the guy, let him suck you off, take his forty quid and leave. Christ, I wish all my meets were that easy!’

‘Well, why aren’t you doing it, then?’

It was a fair point, and it took Glen by surprise,

‘Cos he fancies you’

‘But how does he know me?’

‘I dunno, he’s seen you at the sauna, or some guy there has told him about you’

Immediately Leon called to mind the stranger in the sauna who’d asked if he was online. That didn’t comfort him. Glen kept up the pressure,

‘Lee, it’s a piece of piss. Just lie back, let him go down on you, cum if he asks, then take the money and run. It can’t go wrong’

But Leon still looked far from comfortable, and his Svengali was beginning to lose patience,

‘Fuck me man, you get your cock sucked every fuckin’ day in that filthy sauna, and you give it away; this is an upgrade. The guy lives in one of those flashy condos at the water’s edge’

Leon appeared bewildered. He couldn’t argue with the logic, but was still unhappy. Glen gave it one last shot,

‘OK, here’s the deal. I’ll come with you. There’s a cafe just a few yards from the guy’s flat. If there’s any problem, give me a buzz, and I’m only half a minute away’

Leon was beaten down. His heart was definitely not in it, but he’d run out of ways to combat his insistent pimp. Then Glen added,

‘But just remember, don’t give the guy your mobile number. We don’t want you pestered afterwards, do we?’

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Leon’s first reaction, as Marc Jesmond opened the door to him, was one of relief on finding that his date was not the guy from the sauna. Marc was younger, better looking and altogether gentler on the eye. And he seemed kind,

‘Come on in. I’m Marc’

Leon missed his cue to say ‘And I’m Noel’,

‘Can I take your coat?’

Leon looked awkward for a moment, took off his jacket, then,

‘Oh, can I get this first?’

He fumbled in the pocket and retrieved his mobile phone. Marc smiled to himself as he hung up the coat. These kids and their phones!

‘Can I get you something to drink, beer, wine?’

Leon thought for a moment,

‘Have you any sparkling apple?’

Marc was bemused. He did have some apple juice, and some soda, so he guessed he could make up something suitable. When he returned to the living room he found Leon gazing out of the window,

‘What is it?’

‘It’s cool, being beside a river’

Marc knew that only too well. It was going to be achingly hard to leave this place. He walked over to the window and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Nothing was said for a minute, then, without prompting Leon returned to the sofa and sat down; he placed his drink down on the table, undid his belt and pulled down his jeans. Marc was slightly taken back but said nothing. The boy’s face was inscrutable, though if you were looking for it you might have convinced yourself that there was a slight sparkle in the eyes. He waited till Marc got close then slipped down his boxers.

Marc knelt down. He couldn’t read Leon but he could read the situation. Taking the flaccid cock in his hands he gently kneaded it into activity. Leon was uncut, which slightly surprised Marc, and he had concerns about cleanliness. He needn’t have worried. Daily visits to the sauna had played their part in ensuring the boy was always clean and fresh.

Marc eased back the foreskin and ran his tongue around the glans. He’d been told many times that oral was his forte, so he was looking for a reaction, but Leon still looked slightly awkward. Marc took the shaft in his hand and went to work sucking slowly and powerfully on the head. For ten minutes or so he continued this activity taking careful note of the boy’s breathing. Then he paused and looked up.

‘Would you like to cum?’ he asked,

Leon smiled very slightly, childlike almost, and nodded,

Marc resumed, this time sliding his hand over the base of Leon’s shaft in rhythm to his mouth’s work. The penis was one of those that engorges to a satisfactory erection but rarely rises above the level. Marc now plunged the head into his throat and massaged the entire shaft. He could feel the contractions building and the boy breathing harder, and harder.

Leon’s semen was plentiful but bland, and since Marc was no aficionado of jizz he gulped it down till the pumping stopped. Removing the cock, and holding it at face level Marc gave the shaft one last gentle squeeze, causing a large pearl of cum to hang from the tip of the engorged head. Theatrically, he flicked at this with the tip of his tongue, and smacked his lips. Leon remained calm throughout and his expression, which hadn’t changed much, still appeared rather enigmatic.

‘Was that OK?’ asked Marc, instantly regretting the question,

‘Yeah, it was nice. You’re good’

Leon sounded gauche, innocent. Marc wanted to hug him, but forbore.

‘Fancy a bite to eat. I’ve got a few snacks if you like’

This was an understatement. He had assembled a tray of pizza, crisps, cheesecake and drinks that Leon could see clearly as he looked through to the kitchen, and he ached to get stuck in to it. But a sudden panic overcame him,

‘Em, yeah, thanks, but I’ve got to go. I can’t stop, sorry’

Marc stepped back as the boy stood up, boisterously pulled up his boxers and jeans, then grabbed his coat. He waited for the appropriate moment then added,

‘Sorry you can’t stop. You’ll want this?’

He handed Leon a small, brown envelope. The boy looked surprised as he took it. Marc continued,

‘I’d really like to see you again. Can I have your mobile number?’

Leon panicked,

‘Er, I don’t know it’

Marc kept calm,

‘But you’ve got your phone with you. Look, I’ll write my number on a piece of paper here, you just text me back when you get a moment’

Marc scribbled his number on a post-it and handed it to his guest, adding,

‘If you want to, that is’

‘OK, thanks, gotta go’

Then, almost as an afterthought, Leon stopped and turned to Marc.

‘You’re a nice man’

Marc smiled, said nothing and optimistically offered his cheek, but to his surprise Leon clasped his head gently with two shovel-like hands and kissed him on the lips,

‘Thanks’

Then he was gone.

Standing at the door, Marc watched as the boy hurried along the waterfront, before returning indoors. Had he waited a few seconds more he’d have seen Leon pause and enter the cafe, where he’d find to his dismay that the person he was relying on to be there was not.

A man, shutting up shop asked Leon what he was looking for.

‘Has someone been here, young guy, long, dark hair, and hoodie?’

‘No, nobody’s been in this last half hour’

Leon texted Glen at once, but he had several minutes to wait for the reply.

‘Don’t forget the money, catch you later’

Why is it that, so often in life, we seek out the company of those who mean us real harm, while ignoring those who would do us so much good? Leon felt deflated, stupid, confused. His head was spinning, courtesy of several shots of vodka he’d unknowingly taken earlier. But -as he began the three mile walk back into town- at least he had plenty of time to text Marc with his number.

Marc was glad to get the message, and one fact caught his attention at once,

‘Interesting, this isn’t the number that was on the profile. Maybe he has two phones, or.....’

Then he stopped. Life’s short and confusing enough as it is. And he had a tray full of pizza to get through!