Junction X by Erastes (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

Icy fingers rippled down my spine, and I fumbled, no lies ready at my lips.

She pounced on my guilt and shook it like a terrier would a rat. “What? You don’t want me to come? What is this, Ed? Some nefarious boy’s night out?” She was playful, but her eyes were over-inquisitive. “Perhaps I should…”

I decided to push it. I slid an arm around her. “If you really want to know, then…yes. Yes, it is.”

“Is what?” She stiffened in my arms.

“A nefarious boy’s night out. I could never lie to you.”

“Ed Johnson!”

I laughed, and I felt the world tilt. “Don’t be silly, Val. Not for me. For Phil. You understand that, don’t you? He’s feeling a little lonely, you know. We thought we’d go to the West End…”

“Oh.” She looked blank for a moment, and almost a little dented. “Oh!”

“Val.” There was something powerful and terrible saying the words for me. Nothing could stop me; nothing would stop what I had planned. It was if I had already slid into Alex’s bed. I had crossed the line. “It’s not for me. You know what Phil’s like if he gets too drunk.”

“But the West End, I mean, really. Why can’t you go out somewhere here? The stories the papers come out with…”

“I’ve been to these clubs before, you know that. And Phil won’t want to, you know, so close to home.”

“Yes. Yes. But you went there to entertain clients, but not for yourself.”

I had to wonder at her belief in me, her faith and trust. I suppose she was right, in her way. I’d had the opportunities, and girls who didn’t seem to find me unattractive—I’d skirted on the very edge of Kray renown, rubbed shoulders with good time girls laid on for my clients, but I’d never been tempted.

But I was not ashamed, not even then. I pretended to give in, all pretence and brittleness. “All right. I’ll cancel it. Phil will understand. We’ll just go to the pub.” I sighed and shook her loose, stood up and walked into the hall.

She called me back, as I knew she would. “I’m being silly, I know. I’m sorry. But London clubs. Gangsters and starlets, from what you read.”

“Look. I’ll make you a deal. I promise you faithfully that if either a gangster or a starlet makes an approach I’ll warn them off.” I sat down again and peace was restored. “What about Phil? Can he have one?”

She couldn’t help but smile. And, new-made man that I was, I pressed the advantage. “You don’t mind, then? I thought it was better to tell you the truth.”

“I’m glad you did.” She sounded quieter than normal, and in fact the whole exchange had been less fraught than I’d thought it would be. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She kissed me and disappeared, leaving me with the television and thoughts too jumbled to cope with.

Phil was easy regarding the new story. “No problem, old boy. I’ll remember, and I’ll just not answer the phone if anyone rings. Just have a good time, and when Val finds out—and she will, you know that—just make sure that my name stays out of the mud. She’ll need a shoulder to cry on, I’m sure.”

I felt like hitting him, my pathetic, nearly-drowned honour surfacing far too late. “Don’t you dare,” I said.

“Only joking,” he said. But I didn’t believe him.

Alex was harder to pin down and see alone. In the end, I had to dig out some old bits and bobs from the attic, some dusty toy sheep, old track and some trees, the sponges of their foliage shrivelled and desiccated. All that was left of some younger dreams, crumbling in my hands. I told Alf that it was a present, a thank you for looking after the children so well. I included a few pieces that I’d been buying here and there, toy tokens for my lover—some signals and a couple of shops. I’d buried them under the older and less reputable items.

Alf waved me in and told me to go up, “You know the way,” he said. “Come down after, I’ve got a nice malt that you might like.”

I forced myself not to race up the stairs, remembering who I was supposed to be and that what I was doing was a duty and not a skin-tingling pleasure. When I got to the attic door, I opened it slowly, hoping to catch him unawares and, holding my breath for fear of alerting him, I managed it.

He was seated on the far side of the room, his face a picture of concentration as he bent over something I couldn’t see. The room was quite dim, lit only with a couple of actual railway lanterns and a desk lamp near his face which illuminated his face and hair in a way that Rubens would have sold his soul to capture.

I stepped in on the balls of my feet and shut the door, trying to be silent, trying to retain the golden glowing image for a second longer, but the door’s latch clicked and he looked up. For all that it was a difficult room to manoeuvre, he slid around the edges and then I was holding him close—though never close enough—the scent of camomile coming from his hair. He kissed me as if his breath was only waiting for mine.

“Your parents.”

“The last set of stairs are wooden, we’d hear them.”

“You didn’t hear me.”

“I did. I thought you were Dad. Shut up. Let me.”

“Don’t, Alex.”

“Don’t? Not even?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Weak-willed and trembling, I let him slip to his knees while, terrified, I curled my fingers in his hair. Part of my brain tried to stay alert for a creaking step, but all was wiped away at his first warm breath on the head of my cock. Time left us, and everything seemed centred in the small tight place behind my balls. Until it wasn’t and I buried my ecstasy by biting down on the back of my hand.

He pulled himself