Making Movies

  I Pornographer Volume  3

   Chapters

1.Home Leave

2.Scoring

3.Last Day

4.Going Back

5.Back

6.Evil Doctor

7.Police Visit

8. I run a charity called Oxfam

9. Rasta

10. Rough Sex

11. Back Again

12. Farewell Bruce

13. Sandra’s Tricks

14. Revolution

15. The Plan

16.Going Out Soon

17. My Party

18. Almost Free

19. The Hostel

20. Reporter

21. A Warning

22. Striking the First Blow

23. Sheila

24. Threesome Fun

25. John Steed

26. Probation Officer

27. On the Radio

28. Pictures in an Exhibition

29. The Exhibition

30. Censored

31. Angela

32. Another Battle

33. Back in a Cell

34. Plan for an English Revolution

35. Insanity

36. Quiet Life

37. A Virgin

38. The Attic Studio

39. An Idyllic Interlude

40. Invitation to an Exhibition

41. Doreen

42. Fear

43. Seeing Double

44. The Milkman

45. Fungi        

46. Simone

47. Earrings

48. She’s Leaving Home Bye, Bye

49. A Threesome

50. A Private View

51. Home Again

52. The Royal Academy

53. Porn Again

54. Bankrolled

55. Making Movies

56. Sarah & Sharon

57. Videx Ltd

58. Roxanne

59. Lesbian Model Agent

60. Rejected

61. Michelle

62. Jealousy

63. Earn Every Day

64. Paula Meadows

65. Cuckolded

66. Revenge

67. Educating Sara

68. French Lessons

69. Colonel Spanker

70. Kent

71. Enjoying Myself

72. Meeting Old Bill

73. International House

74. Editing

75. Violence in the Park

76. A New House

77. Truth or Dare

78. Lindsay Honey

79. Paula Performs

80. Paula Disapproves

81. Jean

82. Debate at the ICA

83. NCROPA

84. NCCL

85. Double Standards

86. Having Fun

87. A Solicitor Retained

88. Happy Birthday

89. Tom’s Present

Home Leave

Chapter 1

I stepped outside the gate and there was my father waiting for me a smile on his face.

I walked up to him and embraced him.  “It’s great to be out again Dad. I can't believe that the time went so quickly.”

“I can’t believe it either” my father said as he drove onto the London Road and the motorway.

There were new things that I had not seen before and I stared out of the window.

“What are you going to do when you get out?” my father asked.

“I will be going to University while I’m in the Hostel, and doing my painting” I replied.

“All right but the shops are all closed still. I’m doing a bit of mail order though still” but only Pellen Personal Products, not photos and films” my father said not taking his eyes off the road.

He was a safe driver never exceeding the speed limit and he made way for overtaking cars.    

I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of big Mercedes cars overtaking and assumed they were very popular with the affluent. I wondered if it was all right to have rich people who drove big cars after the revolution. “Why not? There will always be rich people” I thought. I supposed that it must be allowed. I had read that after the Russian Revolution the only cars on the road were communist party cars and the party members had their own shops.

“I know how you can sell films legally, Dad,” I said.

At the word legal my father took his eyes off the road for a split second to give me a piercing look with his cold blue eyes through his horn rimmed glasses. “I have been told not to work yet, how can it be legal?” my father asked, staring straight ahead his eyes on the road.

I looked at the speedometer and it was held steady at seventy miles an hour. “My father never usually broke the law and he has been a straight goer all his life” I thought.

When he got a licence from the OPS then for him it was as good as legal and one had to obey all the rules and take orders. He was waiting for me to tell him how.

“Video is not an object under the Obscene Publications Act” I answered. I knew the OPA inside out.

“But they will nick you if you start doing the blue films, even on video” my father said.

I laughed and realised that we were coming off the motorway into the outskirts of South East London.

“They can’t nick you, the OPS I mean, nor can anyone else for that matter. I’m going to start a big mail order company” I said confidently.

We were slowing down now as the traffic built up at traffic lights. There were women walking along the streets and I looked at the attractive ones. “Women I could get one and fuck her” I thought.

“Don’t take any chances Mick, not after all this. It would kill Mum if you went back inside” my father said.

I did not think that this was true and I thought that my mother was happy as long as I was alive and all in one piece.

“Dad don’t worry I am not going to make any mistakes this time Dad. Thanks for visiting me all this time with Mum” I said.

I noticed that there were more and more females on the streets and some of them looked very horny. “Dad let me out as soon as we near a station because I want to get some clobber while I am out and it’s only three days. I will see you and Mum later” I said to my father who had pulled up at a traffic light and put on the hand brake. “Always careful and safe, the opposite of me” I thought.

I went to my bank in Charing X Road to get some money and found

that the building was gone. I got out my cheque book and dialled the phone number.

“Oh that branch has moved to the Haymarket” I was told. I went to Haymarket and drew out two hundred pounds. I wanted to buy a denim jacket and jeans, the new uniform of the proletariat.

I walked down the length of the tube train and sat down opposite a girl with a short skirt and as the train rocked I felt myself getting hard and I looked down at it, then at the girl opposite, an attractive brunette, and she smiled and I was just going to chat her when she got up and got off at the next station.

There were lots of girls around and I stared at any I found attractive.

I walked along the street to the shop that always advertised denim jeans, at low prices in Time Out Magazine.

The girl serving knew that I had been in prison by some peculiar instinct.

“You have been away for a long time” she said as I chose some Levis I looked at her wondering if it was so obvious.

“How do you know?” I asked.

She just smiled mysteriously and I thought of fucking her but I did not try to chat her up.

On the journey back home I sat opposite another attractive girl wearing a mini skirt. She was about nineteen and was horny giving me several flashes of her white knickers before she got off. I wondered why most pretty girls seemed to be exhibitionists if I showed any interest.

I shrunk my new Levis in the bath then pulled them on wet with a struggle and I then went out into the garden and lay in the sun until they were dry and shrunk to fit my body. They stayed damp for hours but I persisted until they were dry.

When my father got home from his work as a teacher on the Gas Board he laughed.

“They’re a bit tight aren’t they? You still look like old snake hips” he said.

“Mum is cooking the dinner. It’s a whole salmon” I said.

“Why don’t you have chicken your favourite? What’s this veggie lark?”

“I’m not a real veggie I just don’t eat mammals but chickens are not mammals so I might have some tomorrow” I said        

He put his books down on the table and I picked one up to read it. As soon as I started to read I realised that it was left wing socialist in tone.

“I thought that you were a Tory” I remarked.

“I always vote Conservative” my father said.

“But you are teaching new recruits socialism on the Gas Board isn’t that a contradiction?” I asked.

“I don’t think that it is socialism, and anyway it is a right load of bollocks. Sometimes I wish I was back collecting” he said, then started to lose his temper and goes red in the face which accentuated the big scar he had across his forehead.

“I’m a socialist too now” I said.

“A socialist, I expect that you will be driving around in a big car again as soon as you get out and wearing diamond rings, and going to the top restaurants” he said, ridiculing me.

“I don’t see why socialists can’t have luxury goods in a just and fairer society, a meritocracy where everyone is equal and we get rid of the class system and share out the land. You contribute according to your abilities to make a better world for everyone” I said.

“It’s all bollocks Mick and I teach what they pay me to teach but what are you learning all that stuff for? You won’t change and when you come out you will soon forget all that bollocks” my father said.

My mother came into the room and Dad stopped arguing. “Hello love” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Tea is nearly ready. Mickey bought a whole salmon” my mother said.

I took the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket and opened it, letting the cork pop out so that it hit the ceiling and poured it out into the glasses. They were lead crystal flutes that I had bought from the Pig and I wondered what he was doing now. “Good health” I said.

Good health” my parents toasted me.

The grilled salmon, new potatoes with a tossed side salad tasted marvellous and I realised how different food was outside than inside. I knew that returning to prison was going to be hard.

“Fancy going down the pub for a drink after dinner” my father asked.

The pub was crowded and the smoke made my eyes smart and after a few Worthington White Shields I felt pissed. “I feel pissed already Dad and the smoke is getting in my eyes.”

“That’s because you are not used to it now” my father observed with a laugh.

I did not like the feeling of being drunk. “I want to go home,” I said.

We walked back down the road and my father began to sing.

“I’m tired and I want to go home, had a little drink about an hour ago and it went right to my head…”

I laughed and the fresh air made me feel a bit better but when I got home as soon as I got in bed I went to sleep straight away and so ended the first day.

When I awoke I could smell bacon cooking and I got up, put a dressing gown on and went into the dining room where my father was tucking into two slices of gammon, two fried eggs and fried bread.

“Good morning Michael, what do you want to eat?” my mother asked.

“I will have eggs and soldiers,” I said with a laugh.

“How is the champagne socialist this morning?” my father asked, laughing.

“Oh I’m fine, yes that is what I am a champagne socialist and we will all be drinking it after the revolution” I said.

“I’m going to work” my father said, getting up from the table and giving me a look that scoffed at my remark.

When my father was working for me and started to earn good money I had tried to get him to give up his job on the Gas Board but he could not be persuaded.

“I want to get my pension for Mum and I like a bit of security and in your game it is easy come easy go. See you later” my father said as he collected his books and went out of the door.

I sat down to eat the soft boiled eggs that my mother had cooked for me.

Radio 1 was playing and I wondered how Chris Denning the disc jockey was getting

on.

Scoring

Chapter 2

I wanted to buy some hash to smuggle back into the prison and I got out my phone book and went to the phone in the passage and dialled the number that Alec Morey had given me in Parkhurst.

“Hello” answered a South London voice which I thought was Alec’s

“Hello Alec, it's Mickey Muldoon. I’m on home leave, go back tomorrow and wondered if you got any puff” I said.

“This is not Alec, it's Jimmy, his brother. Alec told me about you, come on over.”

I stepped into the road and a lorry blasted its horn and my heart gave a little leap of fear. I was not used to the roads and I noticed that there was a lot more traffic around. I walked down Brixton Hill towards Brixton and was surprised at how many

black people were on the streets. I knocked on the door of the council house in Brixton and a big dog started barking inside.

“Who is it?” a voice asked.

“Mickey Muldoon,” I answered.

The door was opened by a stocky guy with a red full beard who was holding back a fierce looking Alsatian on a choke chain

“Hello Mickey, I’m Jimmy” he said, opening the door and shaking hands while holding the big dog with the other.“She’s alright she won’t bite, come on in” he assured me.

The first thing that I noticed was that the house was full of paintings, the walls were covered and others were stacked against them.

“Fucking hell there are so many paintings” I enthused.

“Yeah, I paint all the time. I’ve not got any puff to sell you but I can tell you where to get some from Rasta” Jimmy said.

I followed Jimmy’s directions to a block of council flats and knocked on the door of number one on the ground floor. There was a fierce barking of a dog that launched

itself against the front door with a crash but no-one answered. I knocked again and the dog attacked again but still no answer. I saw a curtain move so I crouched down and shouted through the letter box. “Rasta, Jimmy sent me man; I’m a friend of Jimmy Morey” and the dog inside went mad.

“I coming man” a Jamaican accent said and after three locks and a metal bar were taken off the door opened  A black guy with long dreadlocks stood there and he dragged the dog into the back and I followed him into the front room that was blacked out with candles burning, the smell of incense filling the air and Reggae playing over stereo speakers.

Rasta man sat down and then produced a piece of black hash. “Temple ball man,” he said, shaking hands.

What’s it like?” I said.

Rasta took out an ornamental pipe and put a small piece in the bowl and offered it to me smiling. “You try,” he offered.

“Look Rasta, can I call you something else other than Rasta?” I asked.

“No man, Rasta’s my name”

“Okay Rasta but I don’t smoke tobacco, and if this pipe has been used for tobacco then I will become sick” I apologised.

“No man, only the sacrament I smoke in this” Rasta replied.

I held a match to the hash and inhaled and held the pungent smoke in my lungs.  Rasta watched me smiling, his white teeth contrasted with his black skin gleaming while he nodded his head to the beat of the music and his long dreads shook around his face.

I realised that I was stoned already with the first pipe. “Man, how much is an ounce of this stuff?” I asked, trying to hide how stoned I already was in case he put the price up.

“Eighty pounds” for a piece like this he said, lifting the lid off a carved wooden box inlaid with mother of pearl and taking out a phallic shaped piece of hash and handing it to me. “It was in a ball man, but it is now like this” he said laughing enthusiastically.

I took the phallus of hash wondering whether he had hidden it in his rectum and smelt it and it smelt of hash and nothing else. I wondered whether it was the same hash that he had given me a sample of.

“If you break off a piece like this and break it, you will see the sweat of the holy men when they stop rolling,” Rasta said, answering my doubts.

I looked into his large eyes and saw that they were green shining and iridescent.

“All right man I will have this ounce” I said, feeling into my jacket and taking out the money.

After the business was over I smoked another pipe of the Temple Ball and I was so high I was flying.

I looked around the room and at a painting I thought was Alec Morey’s. “Is that Alec Morey’s painting?” I asked pointing.

“Yeah man, he’s a good friend of mine with Jimmy, his brother,” Rasta said. He pointed to a painting of a tropical beach. “This is Jimmy’s and this is one of mine,” he said, pointing at a painting of a guitar done in the Jamaican colours of red, yellow and green.

“Religion is the opium of the masses” flashed into my mind. “But cannabis is not at all like opium” I thought and many tokers that I knew were creative people and the use of hash introduced into the UK by the Jamaicans in the Fifties had been one of the drivers of the Sixties Revolution which was still ongoing and had already changed Seventies London beyond all recognition. Love and Peace, sex drugs and rock and roll, were in full swing.  

“Thanks brother” I said standing and doing a thumb handshake with him. “When I come next time round about January I will bring you one of my paintings” I promised.

Last Day

Chapter 3

I went over Leicester Square on the tube from Clapham Common and walked around looking at females who showed their legs or wore miniskirts. I went into the small park in the middle and hung around there a bit to see if there were any girls that I could pull then up to Piccadilly Circus where girls sat on the steps of Eros where I lounged against the rails looking up girl’s skirts. A nice looking girl sat down showing her red knickers and as I watched her I became semi erect. I walked over to  “Hello do you know where Oxford Street is?” I asked standing on the steps of Eros as the traffic, black taxis and red buses roared by in a continuous stream. It was getting dark and flashing neon coloured the girl’s face as I waited for her to answer looking up her skirt to where her knickers formed a V shape.

“No sorry I’m a tourist” she replied.

“Oh what country” do you come from? I asked.

“Ireland” she replied.

I chatted to her for an half an hour but in the end her boyfriend arrived and she got up, embraced and kissed him and I realised that I had been wasting my precious time. I looked at my watch. “God how time flies, this my last full day.”

Going Back

Chapter 4

I woke up in my bedroom the next morning, a room in my parents house that they always kept for me. It was the room I had slept in and the house that I had grown up in at 4 Kingswood Road, Clapham Park in South London since 1939 when I was born. I had  survived the Blitz and the Nazi bombs that had dropped all around us, some so close that they had cracked the walls.

I opened the curtains and looked out of the window onto the small garden and the block of private flats opposite. These houses used to have long gardens until someone bought the land at the back to build the flats and our long gardens were concreted over to make way for two rows of ugly garages. Our garden was only small and not big enough to grow any amount of vegetables as I would have liked. I looked over at the big pear tree in the block of flats and remembered walking around the garage wall so that I could steal the pears from the garden. I heard the radio on in the kitchen and smelt bacon frying and knew that my mother was up. In the kitchen, my mother was just serving my father with his breakfast.

“Morning Michael, what do you want for breakfast, bacon and egg?” asked Mum.

“No Mum, I'll have eggs and soldiers,” I said.

My father looked up from reading the Daily Mirror which he had spread out next to his plate.

“Gets a bit boring, this veggie lark doesn’t it” my father remarked.

“No, not really. I love eggs and soldiers always have done but I like smoked salmon and scrambled eggs as well” I said.

“You have not got a lot of time today Michael. We had better leave about half four” my father reminded me.

I realised that I got used to freedom very quickly and going back once one was out was horrible, but then I knew that I had to go back today.

“Have an early tea before you go back and I will get you your favourite ready, roast chicken, roast potatoes and peas with Yorkshire pudding” my mother said smiling.

I looked at my mother’s smiling face eager to please me.

“Oh good Mum that will be lovely” I agreed.

“I thought that veggies did not eat animals?” my father remarked snorting in derision.

“I don’t eat mammals, you know animals that give birth and suckle their young because they are homomorphs and remind me too much of humans whereas chickens are birds that lay eggs and are covered in feathers and they don’t remind me of humans at all” I said.

“I don’t know what they are teaching you in there Michael” my father commented.

“Don’t argue Bill, he is going back today” my mother said, putting down my boiled eggs and toast cut into soldiers in front of me.

“Thanks Mum, you are the best cook in the world.”

I locked the door of the bathroom and took out the packet of three Durex that I had bought in the hope of persuading some female to have a one night stand and for a secondary purpose and taking out the phallic shaped ounce of hash I pushed it into the Durex then lubricating my anus with some Vaseline I gingerly pushed the filled protective inside. It was slightly painful and I wondered how homosexuals loved cocks up their arse. I had used my rectum to hide cannabis in prison and I managed to push it right in. However when I stood up the pain was too much and I had to take it out.

“I will have to cut it in half,” I thought. I went downstairs into the cellar and got a knife and there was my old Bunsen burner still connected. I switched it on and held the knife over the flame until it became hot then cut the hash in two. In the bathroom I tried the smaller half and it was bearable so I took it out, washed it and then dried it off and put a second Durex over the top, tied a knot and wrapping it in some toilet paper and put it in my pocket.

Time was flying and I realised that time was indeed relative and the hands of the clock seemed to be moving as I watched them.

I ate the delicious roast chicken dinner that my mother had cooked for me.

“It’s lovely Mum I really miss your cooking” I praised her.

My mother smiled. “Never mind you will be home again soon Michael” she said.

Just before we reached the Maidstone prison I turned to my father. “Dad can you pull over a minute, there is something that I have got to do” I requested.

My father did not say anything but pulled off the road into a lay-by.

I took the paper out of my pocket, unwrapped it to reveal the Durex. I had lubricated my anus before I left and I sat in the front seat and slid the half an ounce into my rectum. I had hidden the other half in my bedroom and I would collect it on my next and final home leave.

My father watched in surprise as I inserted the protective, but said nothing.

The walls of the prison appeared and my father stopped the car outside the front gate.

“My second home!” I said with a laugh and I looked at my father feeling a rush of emotion that surprised me.

“You are fifteen minutes early” my father observed looking at his watch.

“Better early than late Dad” I said and I leaned over and hugged him. “I’ll see you again soon,” I said getting out of the car.

My father sat there and watched as the screw opened the door in the big front gate and I waved and stepped inside.

Back

Chapter 5

“Got anything that you should not have Muldoon?” the reception screw asked.

“No guv” I answered thinking what a stupid question it was.

“Take all your civvies off and put them in the box then put that towel around you” ordered the screw.

“All right, lift up your arms” the screw ordered.

 I lifted my arms.

“Now put on this vest and drop the towel”

I put on the vest and dropped the towel.

“Now turn around and squat,” the screw said.

I turned around and squatted.

“All right Muldoon get your clothes on and get dressed” the screw ordered.

The screw escorted me back to the wing and unlocked the big gates.

I entered the wing, which was locked down but would be unlocking for evening association soon, and passed the wing office.

“Welcome back Muldoon” the PO shouted.

I smiled and walked up the iron stairs to the Fives landing and along to my cell, waiting outside the door for the landing screw who was climbing the stairs to unlock me.

The screw came along the landing and unlocked “How was your home leave Muldoon? " he asked.

“Oh fine guv’nor” I replied as he banged me inside the steel and concrete box. As soon as his footsteps died away I got out my chamber pot and squatted over it until I excreted out the hash filled Durex which was wet and shiny with mucus. I washed it and dried it, then taking out the half an ounce of Temple Ball. I took out my pipe which was still in its hiding place. I smoked two pipes of the hash until I was out of my head.

I heard the doors unlocking and soon as I was unlocked Alan knocked on my door and pushed it open.

“All right son. How was the home leave?” he asked with a smile then sniffed the air.

“I see that you have secured” he said.

I took out the Temple Ball. “Wait until you try this Alan. It’s dynamite, one pipe stuff” I said.

I quickly loaded the pipe for Alan and he inhaled deeply as I held the match.

“Fucking hell it is magic” he said smiling broadly as he felt the effects .

“It’s hand rolled Temple Ball made by the Buddhist monks” I said. “They don’t pick the plants but run through them wearing leather aprons then they scrape them with a knife and roll the resin into a ball and leave it on the Temple steps. People come along and leave offerings of food and so on and take the hash. Go on Alan have

another pipe. I will cut it in two. I have got another half an ounce outside” I said with a big grin.

I went into Alan’s cell first thing in the morning and we both smoked a pipe of Temple Ball each before breakfast.

After we had eaten a bowl of porridge, a boiled egg and a roll we made our way to the Roundhouse.

Walking through the alley from New Wing to the Round House I saw Tabby standing in his usual place distrusting free LSD.

Tabby held out his hand smiling and on the palm were some tabs.

 I held out my hand and took them.

“Give us a skin will you Tabby?” I said and Tabby took a packet of cigarette papers out of his tobacco tin and took out a paper.

I took the cigarette paper and wrapped the tabs in it.

It was a full moon again tomorrow and I knew that I would trip despite the danger even though I was going out soon.

“It’s a full moon tomorrow” I said to Alan.

“Yes, tripping the white light again,” he said.

“Yes, tripping the white light” I replied smiling.

We entered the Roundhouse where the screw checked our names off a list that he had on the desk. His radio was crackling as usual and I looked down to see his jackboots protruding from the bottom of his uniform as we ignored him and walked past.

“Why don’t you do some painting today” I said to Alan as he followed me down the passage to the art room. “Let’s have another pipe each before we start” I said then I put the kettle on and Alan made the coffee while I assembled the pipe.

I burnt off a piece of the black hash and hiding behind an open cupboard door. I had the second pipe of the day, then I kept watch as Alan had one.

“Fucking hell I am really stoned man” I said to him.

“Yes, that Temple Ball is really strong,” Alan agreed.

Now that I was stoned I was eager to paint. “Why don’t you just sit at your easel and paint something from your past life” I suggested.

“What are you going to do?” he said.

“I want to do a study of you painting, I mean you don’t have to pose or anything, just get comfortable and paint. I’ll switch the radio on okay.”

Tangerine Dream came on with some freaky music.

“Yeah I like them, really cool” Alan said.

I was eager to start and sat down at my easel and laid a thick impasto of titanium white all over the canvas and as Alan started to work I painted directly into the white.

“Why did you start doing the bank robberies Alan?” I asked.

“I was a heroin addict and needed the money.”

“His answer surprised me as he did not seem the type except that he was highly intelligent as many junkies I had known were.

“But you were not on heroin when you robbed banks, surely?” I asked.

Alan looked at me with his Paul Newman-like features and blue eyes.

“Yes me and the colonel were on smack all the time, you shoot up every day” he explained.

“Shoot up every day and what about the colonel was he the same?” I asked.

“Carry on painting as you talk, it is a different part of the brain, opposite hemispheres” I explained.

Alan painted and spoke at the same time as I did. I painted in a trance-like state, projecting the image onto the canvas as a latent image and then developing it.

“The colonel was scared of the needle and the sight of blood, he used to put his arm through the door and I used to jack him up” Alan explained.

Then you used to go out and rob banks?” I asked, encouraging Alan to talk as I was eager to hear his tales.

“Yes we used to rob banks whenever the money ran out” Alan said in a matter of fact way.

Bob Dylan came on the radio “lay lady lay… until the break of day ... .stay lady stay”… lay across my big brown bed.”

“He’s my favourite singer,” Alan said, listening to the lyrics with a nostalgic look on his face.

“Yes he’s great, but carry on you were telling me about the colonel and when the money ran out” I reminded him.

 “I told you about when we thought we ran out of money before, didn’t I?” Alan said.

“Yes you went down the cellar and found ten grand in a sack. It does not matter Alan, please carry on. I like hearing about it. Did you plan the robberies?”

“No we just went out on spec, but we had a modus operandi, and that is how the Robbery Squad sussed us out. We used to get dressed in workman’s overalls then go across a Jacob’s ladder where we had a nicked Transit van parked on the other side, then we would cruise the high streets looking for a bank. Then we would get the sledge hammer and guns out of a bag, a shotgun and a revolver and we would steam into the bank. The colonel would fire a shot in the ceiling and shout at everyone to get down, and they fucking did” he said his eyes flashing in excitement at the memory. “Then the colonel would smash a hole through the glass hatch with sledge hammer and I would leap through the hole and shoot the locks open of the drawers and scoop all the money out and put it into a sack, then we would run out jump in the Transit and away back to the Jacob’s ladder run over in our overalls, our civvies in a sports bag, get dressed in the motor and drive home.”

“Were you masked up?” I asked.

“Yes we had nylon stockings over our faces; they make you look frightening and are good at concealing your identity. We were in and out in less than two minutes and the Old Bill could never get us. One day the Robbery Squad had us under obs and we sneaked out the back of the house, did a jug and come back” Alan said smiling at the memory.

“So how did you get caught?” I asked.

Alan stopped painting and his face turned angry. “They fucking fitted us up with a job we didn’t even do” he said a pained expression on his face.

“Poetic justice they would say and it was an earner for them!” I said smiling.

“Poetic fucking justice, no I don’t agree with it.

But what do you mean they earn out of it?”

“Because the Robbery Squad obviously knew who did the job and you took the rap. I bet some little firm paid them a few grand to get out of that one” I said.

“The Robbery Squad, yes I didn’t think of it but they are all fucking bent, the liberty taking bastards” Alan said angrily realising that I might be right.

“Yes there was one of the Robbery Squad who used to give info to the chaps, but wanted to rob banks for the kick and a little firm took him on one but the cunt shot someone” I said laughing.

“Yes the guns are only used as frighteners, my pal Philip Morris blew a guy’s head off on the Dairy Robbery but it was an accident, he pointed a shotgun at a guy lying on the floor. “Don’t move” he said and the fucking gun went off, poor cunt could not believe it. One time we were chased by Old Bill in a squad car then we got out and held then at gunpoint while we drove off in their squad car with the

lights flashing.”

“Tell me can you have sex on smack?” I asked.

“Yeah it is like fucking in a dream with hot waves washing over you but heroin is too nice, nicer than sex even. Do you know what, my girlfriend came up on a visit to see me and do you know what she had a belt on with a big buckle, and do you know what it said on it? Easy Rider, it fucking blew my mind man, easy fucking rider” Alan said sadly.

“Easy rider eh! Alan I have had the same feeling on acid and I think if you get on a sex trip like I do then you would experience that same feeling again. You can achieve any state of mind on acid” I said thinking that LSD might be used to cure heroin addicts.

“Sex Mickey, that’s the last thing that I think of; for me a trip is a mystical experience. You’re just a sex maniac” he laughed.

“I would be if I were not a pornographer” I said grinning.

People were coming down the stairs and Alan looked at his watch. “Time for dinner” .

We walked back to the wing and there was an air of excitement in the wing.

“Rhino is dead” the words were on everyone’s lips.

“Yeah, they put him in the food trolley and wheeled him over to the hospital” Frank said greeting us as we walked up to the Fives.

“How did he die?” I asked.

“Heart attack, what do you think?” Frank replied.

“Poor old bastard” I said wondering if anyone had tabbed him up.

“No work today, everyone is going to stay banged up but there at evening association tonight” Frank said. “They are having a collection

for a wreath.”

Alan lit one of his small roll ups.

“You could not stop smoking tobacco even if you wanted to,” I said to Alan.

“I have stopped a few times and I can stop anytime that I want to,” Alan replied.

“Stopped and started again, that means that you could not stop” I said and all the Chaps laughed.

“Yeah, you could not stop if you wanted to Alan” Frankie Sims  repeated.

Mick is right "" Frank Samways agreed.

Everyone was shouting agreement as the pipe came round to me again and I inhaled the smoke deeply.

“Yeah, he’s right, you could not stop even if you wanted to,” Bruce said.

I could see that Stocker was getting angry now and I wanted to wind him up and get him to stop. “Alan you are addicted to tobacco and addicts can never quit because they are junkies and you can never trust an addict” I said thinking about what he had told me about being addicted to heroin.

“Right I’ll fucking show you, I will give up” Alan said vehemently and everyone cheered.

“Alan is going to give up smoking and I’m going to fly to the fucking moon” Tuttle said grinning.

“You will never see me smoking again” Alan said a fierce look of determination on his face.

“Now is my chance” I thought. “Okay Alan if I see you smoking then you will have to give me your wages until I go out” I challenged him.

“All right then, I will because I am never going to smoke tobacco again” Alan retorted angrily.

About a week later Samways came to my cell a sly grin on his face.“Mick,come quickly Alan is smoking in the recess” he informed me.

I shot out of my cell and ran over to the recess on the opposite side of the landing, and crept up to the toilet which had a half door. I could smell tobacco smoke and there was a tell tale wisp of blue smoke floating in the air then I looked over

the top and caught Alan smoking. “Smoking eh, I told you that you were addicted

and could not stop even though you wanted to” I taunted him then I went back to my cell and carried on with the drawings that I was doing for another erotic book.

I heard Alan shouting across the landing in an angry voice.

“Samways you fucking grass, you fucking told him.”

Everyone knew that Alan had promised to give me his wages every week, and even though the prison wages were not much there was a rule that stipulated that a prisoner should be given enough to buy half-an-ounce of tobacco, paper and matches. Someone in the Home Office had established this rule to prevent prisoners getting into the hands of the tobacco barons who would lend out tobacco at a hundred percent interest.

The relative price of food was cheap compared to tobacco and a non-smoker could get quite a lot of food each week in the prison canteen.

Stocker went into the canteen to get paid with the rest of the Roundhouse and when it came to his turn I ordered all the food, which I put into a big cardboard box with my own groceries, then divided into two equal portions and gave him half.

“Here you are, Alan,” I said, carrying the goods into his cell.

“You don’t have to Mickey,” he said.

“No I insist Alan” I said and so it came to be that Alan stopped smoking tobacco.

In the art room we still smoked our hash and painted every day then one day Alan painted what I considered to be his first masterpiece. It was Eros in Piccadilly at night, the colours were on a blue ground and the painting had an evocative feel to it with murky figures emerging from the night.

“What is it?” I asked Alan.

“It’s Piccadilly in the early hours of the morning, we used to go to Boots chemist gone midnight to pick up our scripts,” he explained.

I was excited and a little envious of my protégé as I would have been proud to have produced this work myself.

“Alan it’s a masterpiece and I want to show it to

Bradford or Morel when they come in to see me. With work like this I reckon that you could get a place on a degree course when you get out.”

But a couple of weeks later before I could show Piccadilly to anyone he painted over it!

When I asked him why, he just sat there a sullen look on his face and refused to answer.

I guessed that the reason he destroyed the painting was because he did not want anyone to know that he had been a heroin addict. I thought that because he had stopped smoking tobacco he would have gained the will power never to take heroin again.

“Alan when we get out if I ever find you taking smack again then I will capture you and keep you prisoner for a couple of months” I said.

He laughed but I was serious. “You can never trust a junkie” I would say whenever I wanted to wind him up.

I was alone in the art room one day and a studious looking guy entered and introduced himself as a professor from Sussex University and as Tabby had told me that the LSD was coming from there from the American MK ULTRA project I

wondered whether he had come to see one of the guinea pigs, himself.

He obviously knew who I was and we shook hands and he looked around the room then his eyes came to rest on the “joke abstract” that I had taken out to the college that day.

“It seems like a lot of you chaps are turning to abstract painting these days even though you are very good at figurative painting. Why do you think that is” he questioned me

“It is since the Sixties and with the prevalence of drugs like cannabis and LSD” I said watching his reaction to the mention of the hallucinogenic. “Buyers see further into the paintings and can be frightened by the terrifying figurative images in the works.”

The professor reacted with what seemed to be someone who had just learned the truth of something that he did not realise before.

“That is a very interesting hypothesis,” he said.

I remembered freaking out myself over a painting which I hung on the wall of my cell. When I looked at it after I had been puffing an alien image that was anthropomorphic but with an elephant’s trunk seemed to draw me to its eyes, from which after a while I could not disengage from. I would pull myself away from it with a tremendous effort

and it happened every time I tried to stare the image out. I reasoned that it was only a painting that I had created myself, and thought that I could overcome it, but the last and final time that I had tried to stare out the entity in the painting I tore myself away with tremendous difficulty. I decided that I had captured the essence of some terribly powerful alien and I tore the painting off the wall and destroyed it.

 I decided to carry out some experiments on others, so I painted two paintings in murky colours and gave one to Bruce Reynolds and the other to Frankie Sims and sure enough they both returned them the next day. When questioned as to what they had seen Bruce said he saw a rat and Frankie Sims said a nightmare, but would not go into detail. Then I painted two other abstract works in plain flat colours which they said that they liked to look at when they were stoned. I asked Frankie Sims what he saw in the abstract and he said that it was pleasant to look at and that he saw “Huge dice revolving around” and Bruce just liked looking at

the pleasant colours.

 “Yes it is and I have experimented on fellow inmates who have reacted very strongly” I said to the professor.

“Now that’s very interesting,” he said, raising his bushy untrimmed eyebrows.

“An original figurative painting, especially where the artist paints in a heightened state of perception, contains unconscious projections which can be more powerful than the overt subject matter. If you study the folds of cloth in some of the Old Masters paintings, or any subject where repetitious marks are made such as smoke, clouds or even leaves on a tree then you might see these images, which have been referred to by many painters as the accident. Buyers of art, the artist’s patrons, have been terrified by some of these latent images and that is why, in my opinion, that abstract painting manifested itself and became popular as well as the competition from photography” I hypothesised.

“Mm it has been extremely interesting talking to you about the emergence of abstraction and I will research your theory” the professor said smiling.

 When he had gone I wondered whether a professor at an English University would collaborate with the intelligence services in experiments on prisoners and decided that it was quite possible. I decided to follow up my suspicions when I got out and with this in mind I obtained Tabby’s phone number intending to phone him in the

future.

 I had not thought of going out for a long time and had banished the thought of the outside world from my mind, now I could not stop thinking about it and especially women. I wondered whether I would be able to perform after masturbating for all these years.

An evening class in drama had started and it was run by a couple of young women who ran a charity that went into prisons and put on shows for prisoners. Stocker, Reynolds, Danny Lewis the Rasta and Tuttle all joined mainly so that they could associate with sexually attractive girls.

“Why don’t you come over and join the drama class?” I was constantly asked but ironically I was now afraid to be in the company of sexually attractive females that were seemingly unattainable. “No, I'm going out soon and I will wait until then,” I would explain.

Evil Doctor

Chapter 6

 I woke up with a pain in my tooth, looked in the mirror to see that my face was swollen and it was obvious to me that I had an abscess.

 A screw in a white jacket ushered me into the doctor’s office.

“Good morning doctor, I would like to see the dentist, I have an abscess” I said.

 The prison doctor , who was purported to be suffering from cancer according to the prisoners, glanced up at me and wrote something in a book.“Next” he said.

“But what about examining me?” I questioned.

The doctor ignored my question. “Bring in the next patient” he said to the screw.

“Collect your treatment outside” the screw said dismissing me.

 I felt angry but joined the line of other prisoners who were waiting for their treatment. The queue moved along to a serving hatch where a medical screw dished out little  beakers of liquid to prisoner patients. I looked at the coloured liquids and knew from experience that the white ones that most prisoners were prescribed were aspirin.

 Prescriptions were served in liquid form to prevent prisoners from accumulating drugs and misusing them. When it got to my turn the screw in the hatch asked my name and when I told him he placed a beaker of the white liquid in front of me.

I was still smarting from the way that I had been treated. “What is the doctor’s diagnosis and what is the treatment?” I asked.

“Here is your treatment Muldoon, take it or leave it” the medical screw glared at me through the hatch.

“I don’t take anything unless I know what it is,” I said, keeping calm.

“Refusing treatment, all right, next one” the medical screw said in a pompous manner.

 I had never reported sick before in all the time I had been at Maidstone.

“I demand to know the doctor’s diagnosis and what my treatment is?” I said.

At my words, the line of prisoners waiting for their medicine began to shuffle and a few mutterings of support began.

“Look Muldoon, move on, the doctor does not tell prisoners what treatment they are getting or give out diagnosis” the screw said through the hatch, his face becoming angry.

“Well then he should not be a doctor because all doctors have taken the Hippocratic Oath and he should be employed in somewhere like Auschwitz” I said walking away.

 My remarks had set off the waiting prisoners, some many of whom were now saying derogatory things about the doctor and I realised that I had struck a vein of discontent among the prisoners who reported sick.

 I had heard rumours about this doctor and about how he never touched or examined sick prisoners and now I knew this was true.

The dentist visited the prison once a week and there was a waiting list which I did not even know if I was on, or not. I knew that I should have been on the emergency list but when the day arrived for the dentist, other prisoners were called but not me and my face was swelling up more each day and the pain was now severe.

 I went to see the AG and asked him to check whether I was on the emergency list and he sympathised with me but explained that he had no power where medical matters were concerned although he would ask the medical officer to come and see me again.

 The medical officer came over to my cell to see me and unlocked my door during “bang up” time.

“Look at my face, it’s swollen” I said.

The medical screw looked and smiled. “I can’t see anything” he answered, leering at me and with that he banged my door shut.

“You fucking evil bastard” I shouted as his footsteps went away and I knew that he heard it even through the thick walls and iron door. I looked in the mirror and my face was really swollen and the pain was intense.

 The next week the dentist came but I was not on the list again so I decided to lance the abscess myself. I got a metal compass with a steel point and heated it over a church candle flame until it was sterilised then I lifted up my upper lip to expose what was now a visible abscess with a yellow head of pus on my upper right gum and placing the point of the compass on it I psyched myself up and pushed it in hard.

Immediately my mouth was filled with pus which I spat out into my chamber pot and to my surprise and relief the pain disappeared immediately. Afterwards I rinsed out my mouth with salt water and did so every day for a week afterwards.

 After six weeks the medical screw came and escorted me to the hospital where I was examined by a local dentist who visited the prison once a week.

“Now what can I do for you?” he asked.

“Well I don’t know because I had an abscess for some time, which was so painful that I was forced to lance myself” I said.

“That is an offence, self harm and I can place you on report lad. You didn’t have any abscess Muldoon!” the medical screw exclaimed.

 I am going to take an X -ray of your jaw” the dentist replied, ignoring the screw. “He did have an abscess and I can see it clearly” the dentist remarked to the medical screw holding up the film. I vowed never to report sick again.

Police Visit

Chapter 7

“Muldoon!” The visits screw was calling out my name and I stopped painting and went to the door of the Art Room and opened it and walked down the passage to where the visits screw was chatting to the other screw on the door of the Roundhouse.

“I think that there has been a mistake guv’nor I’m not expecting a visit,” I said.

“It’s a police visit,” the visits screw said smiling.

“Police visit!” I exclaimed my heart beginning to thump in my chest and I breathed in deeply in an effort to stop it. I knew that I could refuse to see them but if I did my parole would be revoked.

 The two screws laughed at the look of dismay on my face.

“Come on Muldoon there is two Scotland Yard officers waiting to see you” said the visits screw and I followed in trepidation wondering if those above wanted to keep me in forever and were going to fit me up with something.

“One off Sir.” the door screw said into his radio.

 The two police detectives looking smart in dark suits and striped school ties sat in the interview room which the prisoners called “goldfish bowls” because a screw could see through the glass panels which surrounded the box like room.

 The visits screw opened the door and I walked in. “Good morning officers” I greeted them with an appearance of confidence that I did not feel.

“Take a seat Muldoon” one of them said and I sat down.

“We want to question you about a murder” one of the detectives asked, fixing me with a piercing look.

 The word murder sent a shock wave through my body. I knew that it was easy to verbal me and fit me up by words I was supposed to have said because there was no tape recorder.

 The detective scribbled the question in his notebook, his hand poised ready to write down my answer in his notebook.

“Murder, what murder?” I replied.

“Have you ever possessed a Luger pistol?” the interrogator asked.

“No never” I answered” but I had heard of an unsolved murder that everyone in Soho knew had been done by Bernie Silvers when he had supposed to have shot some gangster in a club with a Luger.

“Were they going to try and fit me with it?” I thought.

“What are you going to do when you get out?” The next question came.

I realised that the visit was not because I was a suspect in a murder case but that I knew too much and was meant as a threat.

“I’m going to go to University to study for a degree” I answered.

The detective gave me a piercing look. “You are not going back in the porn game again then Michael?” he asked.

“No I’m not” I said lying and because I was planning exactly to do just that and I had this plan to legalise pornography in the UK.

“You make sure that you do that Michael because the Old Grey Fox thinks that you are still at it and directing things from inside.”

I suspected that Wickstead would like to keep me inside because I might discover too much if I was released, and had already tried to do that when he published his memoirs, giving me a chapter to myself. He had fitted me up once and he was even more powerful now, a Commander at the Yard with the new title Gangbuster Bert Wickstead.

 I knew that if he said that I was a suspect in a murder case he could stop my parole and perhaps he was afraid of me, that I might take revenge in some way.

“All right Michael I hope that I won’t need to come and see you again” one of the detectives said as a parting shot.

 I felt sick as the visits screw escorted me back to the wing.

“Fucking hell, police visit exclaimed Frankie Sims that’s all you fucking need.

“I think that you will be all right Mick and that they were just trying to frighten you”  Bruce said.

“Yeah the fucking slippery bastards, they certainly did that” I exclaimed. I knew that I would be worrying now until I went on my home leave next week because if I was under investigation for murder it would be stopped.

I run a charity called Oxfam

Chapter 8

My home leave day arrived and much to my relief the screw escorted me to reception where I dressed in the Levi jeans and jacket, realising that the police visit had just been to frighten me.

 My father was waiting outside the gate and I walked up to him, embraced him, and we drove off towards London.

 I had not eaten any breakfast that morning because I wanted to eat some home cooked food for a change. Soon we were entering London and I stared out of the window searching the streets looking at any passably attractive females, then we

were on the South Circular which would take us practically to my doorstep. Catford, Peckham, Lewisham the streets were getting familiar now and each one I passed through brought back memories of my youth and particularly of girls that I had known. Camberwell Green and now Coldharbour Lane Brixton where my father pulled up at the lights and I flashed back to sitting in a car with Kenny, my hands all bandaged and Coloured Pat smiling through the open window.

“Oh what have you done to your hands.”

“This is the exact spot where Coloured Pat saw me with my hands all bandaged up. They would never have got me otherwise. I mean he had so many enemies that they did not know where to start looking” I exclaimed to my father.

“Why didn’t you phone up Bill Moody? That’s what I would like to know. He told me that he could have got you out of it. He was head of the Murder Squad then.”

“I didn’t trust anyone and anyway imagine phoning up the Yard and saying to Moody, I have just killed someone can you come over and get the body! And anyway coppers always obey orders from above and as events proved they wanted to make me into the British Charlie Manson and have Hawley kill us all.  Dad I didn’t think that they would find out who it was and Wickstead would have fitted up some other poor bastard. Everyone thought that it was Pamela Spencer and when he arrested her she had a loaded Smith and Wesson in her car and when they asked her why she had it she said for that bastard Hawley” I explained.

 The lights changed to green and we drove up Coldharbour Lane to the next set of lights right opposite Brixton Town Hall.

“Pamela Spencer, who was she then?” Dad asked.

“She was a hostess who Hawley slashed up from her cunt to her tits. When he was awaiting trial he told me that he was in for GBH on two coppers, the lying bastard,  and I wrote him a reference and helped the bastard get a light sentence. Twenty

one months, the bastard should have got at least a ten for that” I said angrily.

The events were still fresh in my mind and I still thought about it every day.

“Joey Janes told me that he was a maniac but you still had him working for you Mick” Dad said pulling away from the lights.

“Well I did not want to fall out with him Dad he was a dangerous enemy to have” I said.

“Well it cost you ten years of your life” Dad said as he drove up Acre Lane.

“It did not cost me ten years of my life because I was very much alive, and still am, except now I have a good education and I’m going to go to University and get a degree” I said as we turned up Kings Avenue.

“That’s the way to look at it Mickey, you are only thirty nine and have got the rest of your life ahead of you. Mick. I wish I was thirty nine again, now let’s stop talking about the past as it upsets Mum, she never got over it you know” my father said as we turned off Kings Avenue down Thornbury Road into Kingswood Road and pulled up outside number four.

 As we got out of the car I saw the next door neighbour Mr Shaunessy who glanced at me in surprise.

I smiled and nodded. “Good morning,” I said in a loud voice.

“Good morning” he replied weakly and disappeared into his house.

I walked into the house with my father knowing that he knew all about me because of all the publicity in the News of the World.

“I was a murderer and a pornographer, an evil man, an executioner.”

“Seeing me had probably scared him half to death” I thought.

I walked upstairs to the kitchen where my mother turned to greet me.

“Hello Michael, you are home” she greeted me a smile on her face.

I embraced her and hugged and kissed her affectionately, a rush of emotion bringing tears to my eyes. “You look beautiful as ever Mum” I said.

“Would you like a nice cup of tea Michael and then I will make you some breakfast. I have bought you some kippers that you wanted. Kippers, scrambled eggs and fried tomatoes with some toast” my mother said.

My taste buds began to salivate at the prospect of such delicacies.

“Yes please, lovely, Mum” I replied sitting down at the dining table.

My mother poured out a cup of tea from the teapot and poured in some milk from a little milk jug that I remembered.

“You don’t take sugar do you Michael?”

“No I don’t Mum” I replied the title of professor John Yudkin’s book Pure White and

Deadly going through my mind as my mother put one tea spoon full of sugar in her cup and two in my father’s.

I sipped my tea. “Mmm lovely, there is nothing like a nice cup of tea” I said remembering the insipid “diesel” that they served in the nick.

“They serve you tea in there don't they, Michael?” my mother asked.

“No I always buy my own, you can’t drink the prison stuff, they call it diesel" I said with a laugh, sipping at the bone china cup that I remembered buying off the Pig in the Sixties.

“Blimey, you still got the cups I bought you in the Sixties Mum” I said.

“We have still got everything that you bought,” Michael my mother said proudly.

“Look I am wearing the earrings that you got me for my birthday.”

I had not noticed the diamond and amethyst earrings sparkling on my mother’s ears until now and I flashed back to Soho and Brian Goldstein.

“They are Cartier matched amethysts surrounded by diamonds set in eighteen carat gold and platinum” Brian had said.

“They look beautiful on you Mum”.

My mother smiled and started to cook my breakfast and soon the smell of kippers, toast and scrambled egg pervaded my nostrils.

My father sat reading the Daily Mirror and it was just like old times.

I went to my bedroom and took out the half an ounce of Temple Ball that I had left there on top of the wardrobe in a tin and taking out my pipe and a box of matches. I smoked two pipes of the hash until I was really stoned. I went upstairs to the front room where my parents were watching television.

“I’m going out for a little while” I said, and then I kissed my mother on the cheek.

“See you later Mum, Dad ” I said.

“Don’t drink too much Mickey, you’re not used to it, you know that” my father advised.

“We will wait up for you, Michael,” my mother said.            

“I might not be home until about twelve” I said thinking that I would catch the last tube home.

 I ran for the 137 sprinting to catch it up, jumped on and going up the stairs to the top of the bus I walked along the bus and sat down. The bus was full of people and I could not help noticing how many black people there were.

 I sat down next to a large fat woman who took up an enormous amount of the seat and made no effort to move as her hips pushed into mine.

She was ugly and unattractive and smelt of strong perfume and I got up and went downstairs preferring to stand.

I got off the bus at Clapham Common and ran down the underground, queuing to buy a return ticket to Leicester Square.

On the tube I looked at any female who showed a bit of leg on the way to the Wild West End where I was going to pull a chick.

 As the tube train thundered through the tunnels I remembered the familiar noise and the whooshing of the doors at it reached each station Clapham North, Stockwell, Oval, Kennington then under the river Thames emerging at Waterloo then Charing Cross and then the magical name Leicester Square.

I alighted going up the moving stairs and then out into Leicester Square walking along towards Piccadilly and Woofy’s words entered my mind.

“Just stand on the corner of Lyon’s and chat to every bird you fancy that walks by.”

I laughed at the memory, looking at my reflection in the plate glass windows and although I did not stand on the corner I looked every girl I fancied straight in the eye.

 Here was one now wearing a short skirt and high heels with plenty of makeup. “She must be out trying to get pulled” I thought.

“Hello darling, fancy coming for a drink” I said smiling.

The girl just looked at me and walked on, so I turned and followed her looking at her arse, the way her buttocks moved as she walked, and as I followed her I felt my cock responding and I put my hand into my pocket to play with it.

 There was another one approaching and I took my hand off my cock.

“Fancy a drink darling” I said but she just ignored me and walked on.

I wondered if I was losing my sex appeal and I looked at my watch. I had been walking up and down Leicester Square for an hour now and my feet were beginning to ache. I was not used to walking for a long time on the pavements. Just then I noticed a beautiful blonde girl walking towards me wearing a mini skirt, high heels, her breasts jiggling as she walked. I was struck dumb but I looked her straight in the eyes with my “I want to fuck you” look while pulling in my twenty nine inch waist, pushing out my chest and holding back my shoulders then I looked back and she was looking back at me!

“Hello baby, I’m Mickey” I said smiling, staring into her lovely brown eyes.

“I am Vicky, where do you live?” she asked, smiling her teeth white against red painted lips.

“Clapham Common” I replied. “Wow, this chick is hot for it!” I thought.

“Oh we will go to my place in Maida Vale” she replied, then stepping into the road near Piccadilly Circus she waved at a passing taxi that pulled up immediately and we got in.

“Maida Vale” she said to the taxi driver sitting down her skirt riding up to show creamy tanned thighs.

I noticed that she wore expensive clothes and a gold, diamond studded Piaget watch and realised that I had pulled a rich chick.

“If only the Chaps could see me now” I thought sitting beside her, pressing my thigh against her I felt her respond by pressing back.

“Vicky, you are beautiful,” I said, smiling at her.

“Thank you” she said, passing her hand through her long blonde hair to reveal diamond earrings glittering on her ears, her ample breasts moving as she lowered her arm.

I drank in her perfume which I recognised as Cabochard because it had been Sandra’s favourite.

We were travelling up Edgware Road now and she leaned forward to the driver.

“Turn left here, just down on your right, over there by that big house on the corner.”

We got out and she gave the driver some notes. “Keep the change” she said, opening the front gate and I followed her up the path and up a small flight of steps where she rang the entry phone.

“It’s Vicky” she said and the door opened.

Vicky led me into her bedroom then turned to me and I immediately put my arms around her and kissed her.

She pushed me away. “Have you got any cannabis?” she asked.

“Yes I have” I answered surprised and I pulled out the small piece I had cut off the half ounce of hash before leaving home. “Fucking hell this chick is a raver, she wants a stoned fuck” I thought.

“Have you got any more?” she questioned me.

“Yes I have more at home but you only need one pipe of this and you will be out of it” I replied pulling out my pipe. I sat down on a chair next to the bed, burnt off a small piece of the hash and put it on the pipe then handed the pipe to Vicky who was sitting on the edge of the bed.

She put the pipe in her mouth and I held the flame over the hash while she inhaled then she started to cough.

“Wow, this stuff is strong man,” she said giggling.

As she giggled her skirt had slid right up her legs and I caught a glimpse of her pink knickers but thought that I would really get her stoned before fucking her. I burnt another piece of the hash off, a bit bigger than usual because sex was great if one was really stoned and I wanted to be really high. I had already had two pipes before I left home and with another now I felt myself floating. I built another pipe and gave it to Vicky and held the match on it while she inhaled and this time she did not cough and I realised that she was an experienced toker.

“Wow man this stuff really is strong, how much is it?” she asked, moving onto the bed and lying down.

“It is hand rolled Temple Ball made by Buddhist monks and it is two hundred pounds an ounce” I replied lying down beside her.

“When can you get me an ounce?” Vicky asked, looking up at the ceiling and holding my hand as I lay on the bed beside her.

“Tomorrow, I can get you an ounce tomorrow” I replied, squeezing her hand gently realising that both of us were really high. As I lay there with her on the bed I had the sensation that we were both flying. I turned on my side and kissed Vicky pushing my tongue inside her mouth and feeling her breasts through the cashmere sweater that she was wearing then sliding my hand up the sweater I pulled up her bra and released her ample breasts. As I played with her nipples I felt them erect then I slid down the bed and pushed up her skirt to reveal her pink silk knickers. I slid my hand inside the gusset and felt the swollen mound of her cunt. I slid my finger in, first one then two, to discover that she was wet and sticky.

“I’m feeling a cunt, actually playing with a beautiful girl’s cunt” I thought.

Vicky just lay there unresisting as I slid her knickers down and off over her high heel shoes which she had not taken off. My cock was hard as a rock but I wanted to look at her cunt and examined her and I grasped her knees and opened her legs wide looking at it while kneeling in between her thighs. Her pubic mound was covered in fine blonde hairs and I pulled apart her cunt lips to reveal the pink shiny inner labia then lying in between her legs I began to lick around her inner thighs and as I did so she trembled and I could feel her cunt beginning to pulse. As she lay there, her eyes closed, I began to lick her labia then sucked them into my mouth.

 Vicky began to moan and writhe about on the bed little “Oh oh” sounds coming from her lips.

I revolved my tongue around the little erect, smooth bud of her clitoris then suddenly her body began to shake with a powerful orgasm. I was pleased that I had made her come so easily then realising that I still had my jeans on I undid them and releasing my fully erect penis and pushed it slowly into her and fucked her, first softly then harder and faster and was rewarded with a second orgasm. I was happy that that after almost a decade of daily masturbation I could fuck and fuck and fuck…

 I turned into a satyr fucking her harder and harder and she let me use her not responding much except to grind her cunt into me. I imagined I could not come but then as I fucked harder and faster I felt an incipient orgasm rising in me and I

knew that I was going to come and a wave of pleasure pulsed through me as I shot my sperm into her hot, wet cunt ejaculating, spurting several times into her.

 As I rolled off her cunt made noises like she was farting but I knew it was only

caused by air that had been trapped inside the vagina but from my experience it only happened when a woman was really turned on.

 Afterwards I lay there on the bed beside her, holding her hand, floating in a dreamy stoned state.

 I wanted a piss so I got up to look for the toilet which I found by opening a door in

her bedroom. As I pissed I looked at myself in a large mirror and smiled looking down at my cock which was still wet from Vicky’s vaginal juices and oozing sperm.

The taps looked like solid gold and filled the hand basin with water and picking

up a real sponge I  washed myself.  I noticed a large bracelet on a shelf below the long mirror and I stared at it seeing that the huge chunky thing was solid gold

encrusted with diamonds while beside it was a gold ring with a huge diamond that must have been at least two carats. I picked it up and examined the stone and saw that it was a flawless blue white diamond that must have been worth thousands.

A wave of paranoia shot through me. “What was this, a set up, on my home leave?” and I breathed in deeply.

“No it was synchronicity that I had pulled a rich girl on home leave and fucked her. Was this a test from the gods? If I had been a thief then I would have been out of here quickly a few grand richer. Temptation to put in a working class boy’s way?”

Suddenly another door opened and a beautiful thirtyish looking woman in a negligee stood there.

“It’s mine big boy” she said smiling,

“Who are you?” I asked, realizing that I still had her ring in my hand. “I was just admiring it,” I explained it down. “It’s a nice piece, a blue white, flawless lovely.”

“I am Helen, Vicky’s sister” she answered smiling. “That was quite a performance you put on in there” she said, running her tongue round her lips in a provocative manner.

I looked at Helen and realised that I could see her large breasts through the nightdress and the triangle of her pubes and that she was naked except for the negligee and the high heel bedroom slippers she wore.

The way she was looking at me I realised that she was coming onto me and wanted some of what her sister had. I was tempted and she smiled as my cock started to become erect again.

“Mmm you are a big boy” Helen smiled and turning around she walked into her bedroom and I followed her watching her buttocks jiggling as she swayed on her high heels.

“What do you do apart from drug dealing?” she asked, turning on a sound system so that soft music flooded into the room.

 Her question set off alarm bells in my head. “Was this a set up? Dealing drugs on home leave?” Paranoia gripped me again and I breathed in deeply realising the danger I was in. “No, I'm an artist, a painter” I replied. “I don’t sell drugs. I just turned on your sister Vicky because I like her.”

“Do you like me?” Helen asked pouting.

“Yes you are a beautiful woman” I replied not being able to deny that I did like her because my cock was getting bigger every second.

 Helen’s eyes were focused on my erect penis and she walked behind me putting her arms around me from behind and grasping my cock she looked into the mirror and shook it up and down.

“But I want to go out with your sister Vicky” I said walking away, retreating into the bathroom and putting my hand on the door of Vicky’s bedroom.

“She won’t go out with you, she has got lots of rich guys who fuck her” Helen said as I opened the door and shut it behind me. I lay down beside Vicky who still lay on the bed her eyes closed. I would like to have fucked Helen as well but I thought that it would spoil my chances with the beautiful Vicky who lay there her skirt still up and her knickers beside her on the bed. I knelt between her thighs again and she sighed with pleasure as I slid my cock into her again and began fucking her, pushing it right in and grinding while kissing her then I pushed myself to arms length  and watched my cock going in and out while pushing up her legs that I put over my shoulders to fuck her really hard.

 She moaned and kept her eyes closed and as I fucked her, the headboard banged against the wall and I knew that Helen was listening to me fucking her sister again and wondered if it was true that this beautiful girl lying there abandoned had lots of rich boyfriends who were fucking her like Helen had said.

I could get up now and go into Helen’s bedroom and fuck her too and that is what I would do if I found out that Vicky fucked around like her sister had said. I came again and shot another load of semen up Vicky.

 “I am Victoria’s mother” said the woman looking at me and extending her hand.

Instead of shaking it I brushed it with my lips “Enchante” I said bowing.

“Oh you speak French in spite of a Cockney accent” Victoria’s mother remarked with a giggle holding her hand to her lips in a girlish manner. Her remark annoyed me slightly as I thought that I was well spoken and had managed to remove all traces of my South London accent over the past ten years in an effort to sound educated.

Obviously traces of it were still apparent to this upper class woman and I blushed.

“Oh, have I embarrassed you? Let me tell you it is all the fashion these days. Victoria tells me that you are a painter. What kind of paintings do you do?”

“Figurative abstraction, but you would have to see one” I said.

“Really, I would love to see your work. I run a charity called Oxfam, in case Victoria has not told you and my husband is a judge.”

Rasta

Chapter 9

I got off the bus at Brixton carrying the landscape painting and walked through the council estate on the way to Rasta’s, past a corrugated iron fence until I recognised the run down block of Council flats where he lived. I knocked on the door and shouted through the letter box. “Rasta it’s Mickey the painter” which resulted in

the barking of his dog and an attack on the door.

“Okay man I’m coming” shouted Rasta.

I heard the sound of him locking the dog in another room and then the unlocking of several locks and the removal of a bar.

His house was like a fortress and I noticed that iron bars had been fitted to all the windows.

“Hello man, come in quickly the police have been watching” Rasta said an urgent tone to his voice.

“Hello man” I said entering his flat and following him into the front room and sitting down on the sofa. “This is the painting I promised you” I said, handing it to him.

Rasta looked at it in delight, a broad smile lighting up his features. “Thank you man it is wicked and I like it very much” he said then smiling he removed an African spear from the wall and hung up the painting. “It looks good there man” then he sat down studying it before turning back to me an inquiring look on his face.

I want another ounce of Temple Ball” I said.

“Okay man” he said, opening the ornamental box on the coffee table in front of him and taking out a phallic shaped piece of hash he handed it to me.

I pulled out the money immediately and gave it to him.

He counted it and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Thank you man, and now we have a smoke,” he said. He took a piece of hash and cut off a small piece with a sharp knife that he took from the box and placing it in the bowl of his pipe he handed it to me.

I struck a red match and held the flame onto the hash until it glowed red then died and turned grey, careful not to let any smoke escape.  As usual the strong hash hit me immediately and I felt the familiar feeling of being stoned coming on and I handed the pipe back to Rasta.

Rasta lit up a pipe himself and smoked it, holding in the smoke and then releasing two plumes of blue smoke from his nostrils then he loaded the pipe again and handed it back to me.

I was already stoned and when I finished the second pipe I was flying. I looked up at my painting on the wall and now I was stoned I noticed latent anthropomorphic shapes in among the foliage of the landscape that I had not seen before, and as always, once I had parted with a piece of work I experience a regret that I had parted with one of the best paintings that I had ever done.

Rasta saw my gaze and turned his attention to the painting smiling as he looked at it.

“It reminds me of home,” he said, offering me the pipe again.

“You are very kind but I am very stoned all ready but can you lend me your knife to cut off a piece of the hash? ” I replied.

Rasta took the knife and heated it. “You need to make it hot, man, to cut it,” he said.

Rough Sex

Chapter 10

I stood at the bus stop in Brixton High Street waiting for a 37 or 35 to Clapham Common. The high street was crowded with shoppers coming to buy cheap food

in the market. I could see Peachey’s fruit stall was still there in spite of ten years passing and I flashed back to when I had met Sandra buying fruit there when she was just sixteen and fell in love at first sight.

Suddenly a young black guy walking by hissed “weed” then stood against the nearby wall looking at me.

I looked back and shook my head and smiled and wondered how he could tell that I was a toker.

A bus came along and noticing a black woman with a child in a small pushchair. I bent down, grasped the front and lifted it onto the bus before making my way up the stairs and sitting down on top of the bus. I looked out of the window at the crowded streets as the bus pulled up at the lights opposite Brixton Town Hall before turning right. I noticed several young Afro Caribbean guys lounging against the wall outside the Prince of Wales public house scanning passersby for likely customers. You could always score some puff in Brixton which was either herbal cannabis they called “ganga” or some Jamaican cannabis resin.

The police patrolled the pavements in their uniforms trying to catch the dealers but without much success as they used lookouts, hid their hash in nearby “stashes” and were fast on their feet. The way I felt was that they offered a public service, at the risk of their liberty, and were not stealing.

 I remembered scoring my first cannabis in an illegal black club in Somerleyton Road Brixton, called the Glass Bucket by the locals, when I was fifteen and eating curried goat and rice and jiving with white girls who lived with Jamaicans and spoke Jamaican patois like them.

The bus climbed the hill in Clapham Park Road and halted outside Clapham Common Underground station. I ran down the escalator and stood on the platform

Noticing the dirt encrusted walls and looking at the posters as I waited for the train which was driving a huge cloud of dust in front of it. I got onto the train as the doors opened with a whoosh.  As the train rattled and rocked across subterranean London I studied the map in the carriage looking where to change for Maida Vale.

I found Vicky’s house on the corner and opening  the gate I walked up the steps and rang the entry phone.

“Who is it?” Vicky’s posh voice crackled out of the speaker.

“Mickey the painter” I answered and the front door clicked open.

“Hello baby” I said and tried to kiss her but she pushed me away.

“Did you get me the cannabis?” she asked.

“Sure baby, shall we have a smoke first?” I replied looking at her beautiful face.

She turned and opening her handbag which lay on the settee. She opened it and took out some banknotes.

“Here you are, two hundred pounds,” she said, offering me the money.

“I don’t want your money baby I want you” then I put my hand into my pocket and pulled out the quarter of Temple Ball that I had cut off and pressed it into her hand.

“Why are you giving me this?” she asked, smiling.

“Because I like you a lot, I’m not a dealer, I’m a professional artist” I replied.

She sat down on the settee and pulled out a packet of Rizlas and started to stick three papers together.

“Don’t smoke a joint Vicky, it is bad for you” I said.

“I like a joint” she replied taking a packet of Players out of her bag and breaking open a cigarette she put the tobacco into the three papers then holding a gold Dunhill lighter under the hash she burnt off a bit and started to crumble it into the tobacco.

“You should never mix the holy sacrament with tobacco because it is poisonous,” I said.

“What are you a fucking hippy, or something?” she said, a petulant look on her face and expertly rolling a joint she tore off a piece of the Rizla packet and rolling it up she stuck it into the end of the joint to act as a filter.

“What is wrong with being a hippy? Love and peace baby, drugs sex and rock and roll” I said.

Victoria lit the joint and inhaled, making little sucking noises as she mixed air with the smoke in the habitual manner of the joint smoker then blowing the smoke into the air.

“Look at the joint and how it is burning hash. You are wasting fifty per cent of the cannabis smoking like that because the lighted end is heating up the hash and dispersing the THC into the air even before it lights” I said looking at her sitting there

so sexy in her mini skirt and high heels her breasts swelling against her sweater as she inhaled. “ I suppose you want to fuck me for the hash now?” Vicky said the petulant look still on her face.

“I would love to fuck you for love not because I gave you a piece of hash. Come on, let's go into your bedroom” I said.

“Fuck me here because I am going out shopping soon with my sister” she said opening her legs and pulling aside the crutch piece of her black knickers while puffing on the joint.

She was acting in a way that I did not like but my cock became so hard looking at her sitting there with her knickers pulled to one side showing her cunt that I had a job extricating my fully erect penis from my tight jeans. I knelt down on the thick pile carpet and pushed my cock into her and began fucking her really roughly while she sat there smoking the joint so I pushed her legs up and fucked her frenetically while the settee thumped against the wall.

While I was fucking her she pointed to a photo on the wall which featured several young guys in a tropical setting.

“See those guys? I let them all fuck me at the same time” she said.

I felt jealousy rising in me and I rammed my big cock up her hard pushing up her thighs so that it went right in but she just smiled and blew out some more smoke. “Right you bitch” I thought and I pulled my cock wet with her juices out of her cunt and pushed it against her anus and holding her legs up I pushing it into her arse.

“Ow that hurts, take it out you bastard” she said.

“I am going to shoot my hot spunk all up your tight little arse” I said feeling myself coming and I shot my load right up her. Then pulling out my cock I went into the bathroom to wash.

When I came out she was standing there an angry look on her face.

“You can go now, you hurt me” she said.

I opened the door and went down the stairs and let myself out and walking up the street.

“Well I won’t be seeing that rich bitch again” I thought.

Back Again

Chapter 11        

The week passed quickly and my father drove me back to Maidstone again where I asked him to pull up into the same lay-by where I put another half an ounce of the Temple Ball up my arse wrapped in two Durex.

My father pulled up outside the nick and I hugged him.

“Next time it will be for good Dad. See you in a couple of month’s time.”

I knocked on the door of Maidstone Prison and entered through the little gate giving a backward glance at my father and smiled goodbye.

Stocker was the first to greet me when I came back to the wing.

“Hello Mickey, have a nice time brother?”

“Yes it was great and I had a nice fuck too” I replied.

“What some old brass?”

“Not a beautiful chick that I met up Leicester Square” I replied.

“You dirty lucky bastard! Hey Bruce got parole; the Scrubs hostel the lucky cunt” Stocker said smiling.

“Fucking hell we will be there together” I said.

 “Come down Frank’s peter at unlock we are having a party and have pulled up some of the hooch that you made. Did you get the gear?” Alan asked.

“It’s right here” I answered, patting my arse.

It was bang up time now until association at six and the screws were already shouting and Alan and I started to climb the metal stairs towards our cells on the Fives.

 Being back again after the week’s home leave was terrible even though I did not have long to do, because you quickly adjust to the outside life, the comfort, the  freedom of movement and association and the food.

 I reached my cell I had to wait outside for the landing screw to unlock the door and I stood there on the Fives with Alan the glare of the fluorescent lights, the noise of hundreds of prisoners talking and shouting, the jangling of keys on chains, the shouting of screws and above it all the crashing and banging of hundreds of steel doors, the shooting of the door locks, bolts being put on and the screwing up of the locks.

The screw was approaching now and I moved away from the door so that he could unlock it.

“See you after bruv” said Stocker.

“Have a nice home leave Muldoon?” asked the landing screw, smiling as he unlocked my cell door.

“Yes, thanks guv’nor” I said as I walked inside the steel and concrete box and he  banged the door shut screwing up the lock and putting on the security bolt.

 All the prisoners were locked in their cells and the wing became relatively silent except for the muffled sound of radios and a few prisoners shouting out of their windows. I squatted down over my chamber pot and excreted the hash filled Durex into the pot, then washed it in a bowl of water, drying it with a tissue and removed the first Durex then and the one inside that was clean. I was glad that Rasta had formed the hash into a phallic shape which made it easy to insert into my rectum.

It was a relief to remove the phallus and wondered how homosexuals liked to be fucked in their arses and also some girls like Susan too because it made me feel like shitting. I had to go now so I squatted over the pot and excreted a long stool and the hash protective.

 The smell was awful and I swung a towel round in a circular movement in an effort to drive out the stench but if you used the pot in a small cell it was impossible to get rid of the smell for several hours.

 I got some talcum powder and blew it into the air and then it smelt like a toilet with the addition of perfume.

 I sat down on my bed and wondered at the insanity of imprisonment and the locking of humans in steel and stone boxes and thought that there must be a better way to reform people if that was the idea but perhaps it was not?

 The state needed crime in order to “protect” people from it and then so many people

depended on crime and derived their living from it specially the ruling class which dominated the legal profession and became rich from it!

“What would happen if there was no crime?” I thought and I got out my notebook and began to write about revolution.

 When I wrote, drew or painted and did anything creative the hours seemed to fly by and I was reminded of the relativity of time.

 I heard the screws unlocking for association and looking at my notebook I had written four pages about revolution.

“Association Muldoon?” the screw asked his key in the lock ready to screw it up again.

“Yes please guv” I answered although I could have gone on writing.

The screw put on the security bolt with the door open and pushed it so that it did not bang shut by accident.

“All right Mick?” Stocker’s voice came through the small gap in the door.

“Come in Alan,” I said.

Alan sniffed the air. “Smells like a shit house in here” he said laughing.

 I picked up the chamber pot. “Alan I will slop-out and meet you down Frank’s peter” I said.

“All right bruv, well done” said Alan referring to the fact that the horrible smell meant that I had got the hash. I went to the recess and slopped out the chamber pot pushing the valve that sent water to wash the faeces and evidence of the Durexes down into the sewer.

 The recess stunk as several other prisoners queued to empty their pots too. I did not usually have to use my pot for excretion as I had trained myself to go in the morning after unlocking time.

Farewell Bruce

Chapter 12

All the Chaps had congregated in Frank’s cell for Bruce Reynolds’s farewell party and as I opened the door everyone cheered and the doorman cum pipe maker banged the wedge under the door.

The radio was playing Pink Floyd’s Shine on You Crazy Diamond. “Come on you prisoner, you piper, you painter come on and shine.” I thought that this was a magical moment of synchronicity as we all sat down and the first pipe was passed to Bruce.

He smoked it without coughing, a big smile on his face in the knowledge he was going out and we all cheered.

 Sims was pouring out the hooch that had been laid down for three months and that  looked a nice golden colour.

“Not for me” I said as Sims offered me a jam jar full.

“Come on Mick it's Bruce’s home leave party” everyone shouted.

“All right then just one glass as I don’t like being pissed inside” I said.

“Well you are with your mates ain’t you? You are sure you are not trying to fucking       poison us?” Jimmy Tuttle joked.

 Everyone laughed as I sipped at the hooch. “It tastes like Merrydowns to me,” I said.

 Then the pipe came and I held a match over it inhaling the pungent  smoke I pushed my chin down onto my upper sternum. I locked in the smoke and when I released it through my nostrils hardly any smoke remained as it had all been absorbed into my lungs.

“Mick reckons he had a fuck on home leave” Stocker said.

“Come on Mick, tell us all about it,” Bruce insisted.     .

 “Tell, tell, tell” everyone chanted, setting up a cacophony of noise that must have been heard all over the wing.

“Well I was over Leicester Square on the pull and I just kept chatting to every horny chick that walked by. Then as I passed this beautiful girl of about nineteen in a mini skirt she was looking back. She thought that I was a dealer and my eyes were a bit red and with my tight Levis and long hair and beard I suppose that I looked the part” I said then the pipe came to me again and I had another pipe while everyone passed comments and waited for me to continue.

“What did she look like she wasn’t a brass, was she? Danny  asked.

“Brass no she was a rich bitch wearing a really short mini skirt and high heels and a cashmere sweater that showed off her big tits, blonde with nice brown eyes and a lovely little arse” I said.

 “And you fucked her?” Danny asked.

“Fucked the arse off her” I replied.

“She took me to her house in Maida Vale and I gave her a bit of Temple Ball for nothing and we got really stoned and I sucked her cunt first making her come then I fucked her really hard.”

 “Fucking hell with that big old bill of yours she must have loved it” said Bruce giggling.

“Yeah, have you seen it? “It’s like a baby’s arm!”

“Never had any toys as a kid.”

“His mother used to pull him out of the cradle with it.”

Now everyone had a fit of giggles except Dunford who just sat there an amused look on his face.

“Fucking hell can’t you give me her phone number” Bruce said.

Everyone got stoned out of their minds that night and I had a wank thinking about Victoria and was asleep before the screw turned out the light.

 I was awoken by the wake up bell at six and lay there until the screws started unlocking then got up and dressed.

 There was a knocking on my open door and Stocker’s voice “Mick can I come in?”

“Yes, come in, Alan,” I called.

Alan poked his head round the door.

“Come quick Mick, I can't get Bruce out of bed” he said a note of urgency in his voice.

 I got up quickly and followed Alan along the landing to Bruce’s cell and went in. Sims and Samways were there trying to wake up the train robber who was as white as death.

“What’s the matter with him?” I asked, thinking that he had drunk too much of the hooch.

“He has nearly OD-ed on speedballs,” Stocker said.

“Lift him up and slap his face,” I said.

 We lifted Bruce who was limp as a dead body his limbs flopping uselessly and Samways slapped him round the face a couple of times and we were rewarded with Bruce opening his eyes and smiling wanly.

“Give him a drink of water,” I said.

Sandra’s Tricks

Chapter 13

The visiting room was crowded and my father leaned across the table and grasped my hands in his a sad expression on his face. “We went to visit Laura and Billy and just as I was pulling out of the driveway Sandra pushed Laura’s cat under the wheels and she was so upset I could not bring them,” my father explained.

“She pushed Laura’s cat under the car wheels?” I repeated.

“Yes I saw her bend down at the back as I was reversing out of her driveway with the cat but I did not realise what she was doing” my father replied.

“She said that she is not going to let you see them when you get out, but you have an access order from the judge,” my father said.

“An access order from the judge, but I would have to go back to the courts again, get a solicitor and all that and she is probably telling them all sorts of lies about me, alienating them from me so that they won’t even want to see me” I said sadly.

 “It’s a shame Michael but there is nothing that we can do” my mother said nodding  her head in agreement. “She has got millions, you ought to see it down there at Battle, she showed us round, sunken baths and everything it must have cost a fortune” she said.

“She has not got millions Glad, she is filthy rich that is obvious” my father commented.

“Yes all the sunken baths, she is running a prostitution racket from there, and that is where she gets all her money from. I doubt if she works over the Kings Road anymore” I observed.

“She said that she is running a beauty therapy business and she showed us her clinic and certificates, she has even marketed her own beauty products” my father said.

“That’s just a front and I know other hookers who take a six week course to get these bits of paper. It’s not a beauty clinic but a treatment room. She told me about it on a visit down the island once. She certainly is  earning lots of money though but I’ll show her when I get out” I said angrily.

“Don’t do anything silly Michael” my mother replied a worried look on her face.

“I mean that I will earn more money than her and when I am rich again I will get my children back” I vowed.

“Mick how are you going to get rich again so quickly, the shops are only selling a few copies under the counter to their regulars now and ripping people off, no one has got a licence believe me” my father said.

“Fuck the  shops, I’m going to start a legitimate mail order business, I have it all planned and no one can stop me” I boasted.

“What hardcore blue films? Michael you will be back inside again, they have told me” my father said.

“Don’t worry Dad I am going to sell on video which is not covered by the Obscene Publications Act, and anyway it will all be legalised soon. Denmark was the first, I think it was 1967 and rape dropped over eighty per cent and now all of Europe, the Common Market is legalising it, the Labour government will legalise it soon. I have

been keeping up with things in here” I said.

 My father looked at me doubt showing in his eyes.“We have not had a cup of tea yet Michael. I will go and get one. Do you want any chocolate or biscuits? he asked.

“I will have some digestive biscuits if they have got any” I replied.

My father walked off to the WVS canteen to join the queue of prison visitors who were purchasing lots of sweets, biscuits, tea, cakes, lemonade and orange juice for their loved ones.

“Mum, don't worry about me, I am not going to do anything silly when I get out, I promise you. Anything I do will be legal and I have been studying English Law while I have been in here. I’ve got O level English Law and would have got the A level too but they would not let me take it but I studied it myself and I am studying it at degree level now” I assured my mother holding her hands.

“Well as long as you know what you are doing Michael but don’t take any chances I could not bear to see you locked up again. Me and Dad still go over to the Swan and drink with the police. Dad gets on really well with them and they always talk about you.”

“Well make sure that you tell them that I’m not going back into it when I get out and that I’m going to University.”

 My father arrived back at the table and put a tray loaded with chocolate bars and biscuits and a glass of orange juice as well as three cups of tea on the table.

“Here we are, got the McVitie’s digestives and I got the orange juice for you, you know” he remarked winking and sitting down.

 My father had bought the orange juice because my mother had a bottle of vodka in her handbag as usual which she would surreptitiously pour into it when the screws were not looking.

“Oh lovely Dad, pity it was not Bushmill’s and a glass of Guinness” I said laughing.

I looked over at the screw sitting at the observation desk and he was not looking.

“Go on Mum, no one is looking” I said.

 I had a half glass of vodka and orange juice and it went straight to my head and I felt half drunk in about five minutes.

“Give my regards to the Porn Squad when you see them Dad but tell them that I have given up porn and that I’m going to go to University and keep schtum about video, don’t mention it at all because they could suss it out, they are only pumping you when you go over the Swan” I said.

“No Michael, some of them are really good blokes I’m telling you. They all said that you should have got a medal for doing that Gerry and that you saved a few people’s lives. Did you know that he burnt an Indian family and their kids to death? I

mean I don’t like the wogs too much but the Indians are not bad as the darkies” my father said.

“You can’t generalise about a whole race of people Dad. One of my best mates is a Jamaican in here” I said.

“He’s right Dad and that pop singer that Sandra brought round that day; he was all right wasn’t he?” my mother said.

 I was annoyed at the little secrets that my mother was letting out and I knew that

they had been to the pub before they visited me and her tongue was loosened by the alcohol.

 I looked at my father and he looked a bit guilty.

“What do you mean to say that Sandra came up with her black boyfriend and you let him in?” I said in amazement.

“Oh that was ages ago before you both fell out and anyway he was a famous singer” my mother said.

“So it is all right if they are famous” I replied drinking the rest of the vodka.

“Come on, give me some more Mum” I asked.

“Don’t drink anymore Mick” my father advised.  “You don’t want to mess up your parole for being drunk.”

“Okay I will have some McVitie’s biscuits” I agreed feeling half pissed.

“Do you remember McVitie's old Jack the Hat?” I said laughing.

“Yes, why did Ronnie kill him?” my father asked happy that I had changed the subject.

“Because Jack would have killed him otherwise” I replied.

“Do you reckon he would have done it on his own? I mean, the Krays were not that easy to kill” my father observed.

“No but Jack always used to carry a revolver and had a shotgun near to hand, a pretty deadly combination. He was a killer and one day after we left Bill Baileys restaurant, over Stoke Newington and he was taking me and Sandra over to the Barry brothers Regency Rooms, he drove alongside our car and pointed a shotgun out of the window at me. I thought that he was going to kill me, the bastard” I said giggling now as the alcohol took hold and wiping a tear of laughter from my eye.

“Why did he do that?” my father asked.

“Well Sandra didn’t tell me, but he tried to pull her when she came out of the toilet in the yard at the back of Bill Baileys. It was a message to Sandra that if she told him and then I would have to challenge him, then he would kill me. He was a right vicious cunt, oh sorry Mum” I said looking at my mother because she did not like me swearing.

“Don’t use that word Michael it sounds terrible when you swear like that” my mother said blushing.

“Sorry Mum, it’s the drink, I won’t do it again” I said leaning across the table to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Mickey sit down, you’re acting pissed” Dad said.

“That is because I am pissed,” I said laughing.

“If Ronnie Kray killed Jack the Hat in self defence then it should not have been murder then should it?” my mother asked.

“Well it was not Ronnie, but both the Twins, they planned to kill him and surprised him up their flat then Ronnie shoved a bayonet down his throat, so under English Law that is premeditated murder to kill with malice and aforethought” I observed.

“I mean it is all double standards because in the military they call it a pre-emptive strike and they don’t wait to be killed!” I said laughing uproariously tears of laughter coming to my eyes and a few people in the visiting room looked around.

 I noticed Ricky waving from another table where his attractive blonde mother was waving too and then to my surprise she got up and walked over.

“Hello I’m Sheila, Ricky’s mum and I want to say thank you for the lovely painting you did of Ricky” and bending over she kissed me on the lips.

 I looked into her blue eyes and they were saying “Please fuck me” then she walked off her hips swaying from side to side on her high heels and sat down, smiling at me a provocative expression on her face.

“Who’s that? I think that she fancies you!” my father said smiling.

 We all laughed and it went through my head that Ricky wanted to fix me up with his mother and have me as a stepfather because his father, a well known villain from the East End, had left his mother ages ago.

 I looked over and smiled and thought that I would fuck Sheila when I got out.

A screw came over to the table. “Visit over Muldoon,” he said.

I stood up and hugged my parents and walked out of the visiting room.

“Stand on the box Muldoon” the screw ordered. I stood on the box while another screw rubbed me down.

“Got anything that you should not have?” the screw asked.

“No guv'nor,” I replied. I felt slaughtered as the visits screw escorted me and several other prisoners back to our wings. “When I got back to my cell I lay on my bed, the room going round like a television that had lost its frame hold and I made a vow that I would never get drunk again because it was so unpleasant.

Revolution

Chapter 14

I got out my pipe and smoked a couple of pipes and felt a bit better. I would not go to the Chaps Club tonight because I felt too ill.

 “Can you open the gate guv’nor; I want to go out to my allotment to pick some Brussel Sprouts?” I said to the screw on the Ones.

“Yes all right Muldoon but be quick” the screw replied.

It was a bright and sunny but cold winter’s day, frosty, just the time for Brussel Sprouts. As I prised them off the stalk they squeaked and I filled a bag full of them.

I had grown lots of vegetables since starting off the allotments: tomatoes, lettuces, cucumbers, celery, potatoes and cabbages but I was amazed when I discovered from the garden screw that one could grow Brussel Sprouts on the stems of cabbages.

 I learnt a lot from the gardens screw Mr Jones who had been raised in Kent on a small holding and he would sit talking to me on a summer’s day smoking his pipe of sweet smelling Erinmore tobacco reminiscing about raising crops and living on a farm.

 My allotment was the most fruitful of all, despite not doing an enormous amount of hoeing, which I thought could disturb the roots if you were not careful. I had the biggest, tallest plants. The reason for this was simple, human faeces, which I buried in the soil and plenty of water.

 Laying in my bed at night I would visualise the plants and my mind was filled with the colour green and I realised that growing plants had re-established something that most modern people had lost, especially those who lived in the towns; the connection between humankind and the flora of the Earth.

 I kept all the Chaps supplied with fresh vegetables and discovered that one could produce vegetables all year round. I did not tell the Chaps that I was using human excreta as manure because it would have put them off but I wondered why farmers

spent enormous amounts of money on chemical fertilisers when everyone produced their own manure.

 There was a connection, I was sure, between Crapper’s invention of the WC and sexual repression! I started to read the history of farming and discovered that chemicals were introduced round about 1945 when a scheme was introduced

by the government which paid subsidies for every acre of land under production and  until this time farmers had used the same method for thousands of years which was the rotation of crops, leaving one acre in five fallow, that is letting it grow over with grass and weeds then ploughing it back into the ground during winter to replenish the earth then planting crops in it in Spring. This traditional method allowed farmers to produce crops without chemicals which were supplied by big capitalist organisations making them dependent on the chemicals and on the state. The result being, that the subsidies given to those who did not use the traditional methods of crop rotation drove the small traditional farmers out of business and because they could not compete with the subsidised farmers the small farmers put out of business and displaced by big “gentlemen” farmers who bought up the land and who used

machines instead of labour to produce food that was not as good and wholesome as the traditional kind.

 The natural cycle of man, nature and the eco system was upset with enormous unnatural consequences for the future as the chemicals ran off the land when it rained and polluted the rivers and drinking water.

 I started to research this situation and discovered that the small farmers were naturally anarchic because they were self sufficient producing their own food, fuel and water and energy and thus could not be told what to do and therefore were a

threat to the state.

 I felt that in the future, and after the revolution, there should be a redistribution of

land and a return to the old methods of farming that had supplied natural food for thousands of years. This would encourage labour back to the land as capitalism was wound down. The more I studied, the more I realised that  global capitalism with its ethos of buy cheap sell dear to maximise profits was the greatest threat to the human race that had ever emerged, because the capitalist system depended on infinite growth from finite resources and that entailed the mass production of inferior goods and the sale of those unnecessary goods to sustain this malignant

growth. Goods were no longer made to last but to wear out in order to be replaced; the craftsman was being eradicated and replaced by the factory worker. Capital could be moved anywhere and the once proud boast of “Made in England” was being forgotten as our industries were being wound down as global capitalists found it profitable to move their factories abroad to where cheap labour was available.

 I remembered, with embarrassment, that I had thrown out furniture produced by Victorian craftsman that would have lasted hundreds of years and replaced it with factory produced stuff that looked shoddy after just few years and could

not be repaired.

 A consequence of this being that parents had nothing of value, no possessions to hand down to their children because their modern factory made furniture had all fallen apart and turned into worthless rubbish.

 I realised that the very people, the rich, who had encouraged the purchasing of mass produced goods like furniture did not throw out their old furniture but retained it and bought up all the old craftsmen produced goods calling them antiques.

 Why had I thrown away furniture and other goods made by craftsmen? That was the question and I realised that I had been brainwashed by advertising and the mantra of “modern” is better. I resolved that in the future I would acquire land, grow my own food, buy goods produced by craftsmen, and a mate and have more children in case I never got my own back.

Capitalism was responsible for all the ills in the world because all one needed to be happy were food, comfort, love and land. This tied in with my work and the return to the Garden, the destruction of the sweatshops and the re-growing of all the forests.

 The plan for the revolution was forming in my mind and I was writing it all down and eventually I would put it into a book and publish it.

Otherwise I realised that the cycle of growth, inflation and recession would carry on and the bombs would start falling on me again.

 I studied the paintings of the expressionists like Grosz and that he had discovered that capitalists wanted and needed war to create demand, first for weapons and bombs, mass produced goods that could only be used once, that were paid for by the taxes extorted from the masses and then lucrative contracts to to rebuild what had been destroyed by war.

 The “Wunderwirtschaft,” whereby Germany was totally destroyed and post war German was rebuilt by a “miracle” made me suspicious that the greatest crime in history was a conspiracy of the ruling classes who had more in common with each

other than the working classes of their own countries.

 The First World war that was supposed to have been started by an anarchist throwing a bomb at the Archduke Ferdinand! The British Upper Classes sang “Oh for a jolly good war” because the threat of class revolution was averted by the mass murder of millions of young working class men British and German men and youths who were made to kill each other and “forced over the top” to be mown down by the newly invented machine gun by the officer class pointing pistols at their backs. If they refused to commit suicide they shot for cowardice in the morning by their working class mates who were brainwashed to obey their social superiors.

 After the 2nd World War why did the Butcher Harris order the blanket bombing of wartime Germany where the civilian population were the target, because he was a ruling class agent of  capitalism, and why did Goering do the same to England because he was a co-conspirator in the destruction of a capitalist system that had reached its apotheosis and needed to be destroyed in order that capitalism would rise again from its own ashes. Who supplied Hitler the dupe, the maniac with the money to start a total war where all honour, truth and justice were non-existent and the rules of war were transgressed, by the military and why did the officer class of both countries conspire together in an unnecessary and unjust war because if they had not then there would have been a class revolution in both countries and the destruction of capitalism and their social class.

 Hitler had been used, financed by rich industrialists, to start the war under false pretences by dressing German soldiers as Czechs and pretending that they had invaded Germany!  I was convinced now that I was reading Mein Kampf.  After the 2nd World War all the remaining top Nazis were executed because they knew too much about who had started it and why. The co-operation of post revolutionary Russia and Stalin was more difficult to understand but I was beginning to realise that Stalin was not a revolutionary but an old conservative.

 I had so many books to read and was now insatiable for knowledge.

 Sexual revolution was a quintessential part of any revolution because freedom was necessary for the people, including the women held in bondage by a contract of marriage that was simply a business contract and not a declaration of love.

 I thought  about Stalin’s remark when questioned about the sexual freedom of women when a female revolutionary mentioned “free love” and that satisfying the sexual emotions “was as natural as drinking a glass of water.” Stalin had replied that “one should not drink water from a dirty glass.” That proved he was a conservative.

 I had obtained a book “Eros and Civilisation” by Herbert Marcuse, that I had started to read before but had been taken from my cell but which I was starting to read again and that I thought would be a key book in forming the philosophy of the

revolution and a new way of living.

 How would I finance the revolution, that was the question, and the answer came to me. I would make millions from pornography and kill two birds with one stone, encouraging the people to make love and not war on one hand and enabling me to finance the revolution on the other.

The Plan

Chapter 15

Tony sat in the Art Room while I put the finishing touches to his portrait.

“Tony I believe that visual art should not need a verbal justification because it is a visual language whereby the artist communicates information that cannot be said in words. Language is logical but art obeys no rules and is illogical. What is happening in the art schools now is that ideas expressed in logical words is creating an elitist so called conceptual art which cannot be understood unless one communicates in a private language” I said.

“That is true Michael and I agree with you and I think that the verbal justification should be hung on the gallery wall instead of an art object” Tony said laughing.

“Yes visual art appeals to most people because a lot of the guys in here appreciate paintings even though they are uneducated because they just look at the images and don’t need to think” I said.

“I love looking at your work Michael but don’t you think that painting is an anachronism, middle class and elitist. You are not going to change the world with paintings are you? If you look at the history of art then most painters were trying to do what photographers and filmmakers are doing today” Tony said.

I knew that he was right but I loved painting and decided that I would always do it because the images I created by the act of painting seemed to contain messages from the source of creativity itself, from the great collective unconscious or the

godhead the source of all creativity. They were not logical but magical and artists where sorcerers.

 Later back in my cell I began to write again about the revolution and decided that the essential aim of revolution was to wind down capitalism. The Sixties Revolution had changed society but capitalism had subsumed it and seemed to be stronger than ever because all the intellectuals that had power seemed to have accepted Freud’s thesis that civilisation and “progress” requires the repression of sexuality and the sublimation of sexual libido of the working classes into labour.

 I was reading Eros and Civilisation and I was beginning to realise that Freud was wrong and Marcuse was right. Most of the people seemed to be unhappy most of the time even if they were happy some of the time. They were accepting this state of affairs because of the understanding that they had to work all the time to produce goods. They did not really need all these goods and this is what had to change and machines and technology should be automating production allowing humankind to work less and less and enjoy an increasing amount of leisure time.

 I wondered why most political philosophers spoke and wrote in a language that could only be understood by about two per cent of the population. I had tried to read Das Kapital but found it obtuse and the same applied to most political thinkers and writers and what one needed was to communicate to the people in plain language that everyone could understand like Engels. “Workers of the world unite and throw off your chains” was easy to understand. Capitalism seemed to give people freedom and everything that they wanted but really was afraid to give real freedom to the people and thus increased its domination over them. I wondered how to communicate the truth that technology could provide leisure and pleasure without the need to toil for increasingly long hours in order to consume ever more goods in order to sustain growth.

How to educate the people to produce the food and housing and creature comforts  that they needed without spending most of their lives toiling?

 No one could be happy unless they got rid of their sexual repression. It was obvious that the positive propaganda of pornography would encourage people to throw off the old moral taboos and get rid of the guilt associated with sex and I realised that sexual control was at the basis of capitalism and that if one could break the  conditioning of the past by the acceptance of what was called “perversion” but was in fact uninhibited sexuality then capitalism could be destroyed and replaced by a world in which pleasure and leisure were the most important things in life.

Technology and science should be harnessed to provide good food, comfort and pleasure without destroying the environment.

This could be achieved, by creating images, drawings, photos and films that showed

people that they could have everything that they wanted if capitalism was put in reverse and a system of production was created that was not based on profit, growth and consumption but on pleasure and need.

 What did I need to make films that showed a Paradise on Earth and how we could all live in peace!  Money I needed lots and lots of money and it would be difficult because those in power who controlled and dominated us all controlled the media and imposed censorship. They would try to censor me as they had done in the past but now I had become politicised, even more so because I was setting out to destroy them and the machinery of censorship, secrecy and repression whereby they maintained control.

 I was reading about the new medium video that was uncensored because it was home entertainment and could only be seen in the privacy of one’s home and privacy was a right.

This was the answer I knew it and I would wait until the time was right and then make films that showed every form of consensual sexual behaviour as natural and the more people watched it the more acceptable it would become. I was getting very excited by the idea.

 I also started to read about the emergence of a new political movement called the Greens and about their ideas of saving the Earth for future generations but my excitement ended when I realised that pacifism was a basic tenet of their beliefs.

I knew that capitalism would use force to perpetuate the present system of control and first it would be the stick and the boots of the police then the gun and the bomb and any people’s revolution would be ruthlessly crushed like the students of Paris  were crushed by state violence in the Sixties.

 One could not oppose capitalism head on in the streets; it had to come in a velvet glove that concealed the iron fist of the peoples’ frustrations and anger and had to be supported by the police and armed forces.

The police and armed forces were working class and loved sex and pornography but suppressed their natural feelings like most people to appear normal.

Children were conditioned and socialised to feel guilty about their natural sexual emotions and pleasure and therefore told lies to adults about their secret sex lives because they were led to imagine that they were the only ones playing sexual games with themselves and with their friends.

 I remembered with embarrassment at my terrible shame at being discovered that I masturbated and the guilt that I endured about my secret sex life but I was intelligent to realise that most kids had a sex life too that they hid from adults and they were not

completely conditioned and repressed until they became adults.

 I became a pornographer at an early age and my audience was all the other kids that I knew. I could draw anything that I liked and seemed to have inherited this ability from my mother who had been an artist but who had been exploited, as a young girl in the sweatshops where she would paint lampshades and fire screens, for which she would be paid a pittance but whose but whose work was sold to the rich for sums of money that would have kept her for a year.

I could draw whatever I liked and I would create pornographic drawings in class and pass them around and practically every kid in my class would look at them and laugh at the “naughty” sexual scenes. My drawings were always very much in demand and because the kids loved them and realised that everyone else did then they started to overtly do the things in the drawings.

 I remember that flashing one’s cock was very acceptable in my class and everyone wanted to see my cock, or Taylor’s and watch him play with it, especially the girls and also mutual masturbation was very common as was homosexuality among boys and girls.

 Pat would entertain us by pushing a pencil in and out of her vagina she would push it in and then expel it with her vaginal muscles. Yvonne and Pam would finger each other while sitting astride their school desk and the diminutive, bespectacled Taylor would masturbate his enormous cock by rolling between his hands much to  everyone’s delight and my friend John and I would masturbate each other

while everyone watched. We had made holes in our pockets to facilitate this!

It was a mixed school but boys sat next to boys and girls next to girls but when out of school certain girls let boys finger them or feel their tits. Saturday morning pictures was a hotbed of sexual activity and the girls that let you were very popular indeed.

 I knew from an early age that when children grow into adults most of them denied their childhood sexual experiences and that most adults who were beautiful and sexual as children grew up into ugly sexual repressed and unhappy adults who sublimated their sexual desires with toil and the consumption of goods and that whinging and moaning became the normal way of life as people conformed to what was called “reality” and appearing to be “normal”.

They had to pay the bills that began to drop through the door, and when the honeymoon was over they had to sacrifice pleasure in order to keep up with the Joneses.

  I knew that most work was just a system of control that turned most happy beautiful children into miserable ugly adults. I took out the picture of my class when I was  fourteen and looked at it and it was true most of them were beautiful and sexually attractive because they did not have to go to work every day in a rat race that no one could win.

Those that stayed beautiful, as a few of them did, were those, I was amazed to discover, were the  ones who maintained an active sex life and were

engaged in a form of labour that they enjoyed.

 How would the violence of the state be fought? As most violence was committed by repressed males then women who had no sexual guilt, women without hang ups would form a revolutionary cadre that offered to satisfy male aggression and

residual violence would have to be ritualised and televised as entertainment for the people.

 Society had to be eroticised and polymorphous sexuality, that is all consensual forms of sexual behaviour and identity becoming natural and acceptable.

 Censorship was going to be used to stop the message but pornography, the peoples’ favourite form of entertainment would overcome I knew it.

 Uncensored pornography was to be the propaganda of the revolution.

Going Out Soon

Chapter 16

“Muldoon you are going out soon, so who do you want to give your allotment to?” asked Mr Jones the gardening screw.

“I would like my allotment to go to Dunford Mr Jones” I replied.

“Right Muldoon I will see that he gets it.”

“Do you know what Muldoon.  I love gardening but when my parents had to sell the farm we moved into a house in the town without a garden. It was terrible because growing up gives you something out of life.”

“Yes it is the fruits of your labour, work that you like doing and that gives you the rewards of what you produce. You have taught me a lot about growing vegetables and fruit Mr Jones and when I go out I will never forget what you have taught me. I think that it’s a common dream to get a little house in the country where you can grow all your own fruit and Veg. It puts you in contact with the Earth and this is a biological need, I feel and you never know what’s in the fruit and Veg you buy from the shops, especially the supermarkets do you?”

 Mr Jones puffed on his pipe and I smelt the sweet smell of his Erinmore tobacco.

“Yes the fruit and vegetables are tasteless, especially those big tomatoes, all swollen up with water. As you know we don’t use any chemicals only dung here and look at it, it’s blooming even in the winter” he gestured at the eleven convicts busy hoeing their plots green with winter lettuces, potatoes and Brussel Sprouts.

 “Do you know that I use my own dung?” I said

with a laugh.

 Mr Jones turned to me and laughed. “Aye Muldoon I knew what you was doing but I never said anything lest they stopped you” he replied laughing as we sat on the wall at the end of my allotment.

“That is why my tomatoes were bigger than anyone else’s, even though I don’t do much hoeing” I said laughing. “Do you know what I am still eating the tomatoes I grew in the summer? I wrapped them up in newspaper and put them in a

cardboard box like you said when they were still a bit green and they all turned red” I told him.

“Do you know what Muldoon I’m so happy that you started the allotments and I became the gardening screw, because I hated being on the landings all the time, you see too much suffering when you get to know the lads” he said then he

looked at his watch. “Oh it is time to go” he said, getting up. “This is the last time I will be seeing you Muldoon.”

 I grasped his big gnarled hand and shook it warmly and feeling a tear welling up. I turned with a lump in my throat and picked up the carrier bag I had brought. “Here you are Mr Jones, I hope that you like it” I said.

 Mr Jones took the little painting of the Kent orchard that I had done for him out of the carrier bag and stared at it. “I never expected it. It’s beautiful and I will have something to remember you by.”

“Thank you for everything Mr Jones and I will get a little farm one day I am sure” I said smiling.

 Mr Jones turned to the gardening convicts. “Come on lads; finish off now it is time for your tea” he shouted.

My Party

Chapter 17

Marine was blowing talcum powder around the landing near Sim’s cell then he went inside.

“What is he doing?” I asked Stocker, gesturing at the Marine who was sitting inside Frank’s cell.

“We were waiting for you and Marine had a few pipes and he got a bit paranoid,” Alan said, placing a pipe in Marine’s mouth.

“Come on Marine this is your last pipe because we have got to wedge up now” Alan said.

 All the Chaps laughed at the bizarre sight of a screw sitting in Frank’s cell smoking a pipe.

 Marine was a great guy and we all liked him. He never boasted about his exploits in the marines but we found out from other screws that he had been decorated for bravery in action.

 Marine got up and looked really stoned, his eyes all red and his pupils huge.

“All right lads I’ll be off now” he said and sticking his hand out to me. “I’ll be saying goodbye to you Muldoon” he said.

A lump rose in my throat as I shook his hand. “Good bye Marine” I said.

“Goodbye and good luck” he said and he turned and went out of the door.

Everybody sat in their favourite places and the doorman cum pipe maker banged the wedge under the door and the pipe started to go round.

“Mick has got to go first, because it is his party” Frankie Samways said and everyone cheered.

 I smoked the first pipe of many pipes that I knew that I would have to smoke that night because etiquette said that the strong man could never refuse a pipe no matter how high he was as it was a sign of weakness. Cannabis is not like alcohol where in the end you become intoxicated, comatose and sometimes die of alcohol poisoning,

but some become paranoid and that’s what the experienced piper can control but which the weak or the inexperience cannot. Smoking a lot of cannabis can produce terrifying hallucinations for some people while for those who can control themselves, beautiful visions and spiritual states of being.

“Mickey” Frank Samways was speaking to me, bringing me out of my reverie.“I want to tell you about that little cunt Nelhams before you go out because he told me that he is going to work for you when you go out. You can’t have him on the firm son, because he fitted up Harris and he got four years yesterday at Maidstone Crown Court for GBH on a screw. Nelhams called Harris a cunt, and you know what Harris is like, he gave Nelhams a slap but Nelhams charged him and said that Harris hit him with a piece of wood which he planted in Harris’ cell, the cunt” Samways said angrily.

 I was really high and Samways face was distorted, his teeth bared like an animal.

 “Okay Frank I promise you that I won’t give that little cunt a job, no way. I wasn’t going to anyway, the Nazi cunt.”

 Frank had a serious look on his face. “Glad to hear that me old son, and you know what the little cunt was weeks off sick and he hit himself with his fucking truncheon the cunt” he said vociferously.

 I had heard about Harris punching Nelhams but did not know that he had fitted him up with a piece of wood. I was glad that Samways had told me but I did not want to speak about it now that I was high. “Thanks for telling me Frank but I wouldn't have had him working for me anyway.”

“Come on let’s talk about the horniest birds that we have ever met” I suggested changing the subject matter then realising that Tony was queer I looked at the big giant who read my thoughts and  he smiled back reassuringly.

 Well you start off then Mick because you are the dirtiest fucker here” said Sims and everybody laughed.

“Well the dirtiest girl that I ever met was Susan and she loved it all. I used to have her in the films and photos and her photos always sold like fucking hot cakes…” I said, interrupted by everyone cheering.

“Let him fucking talk then” Stocker shouted above the noise.

“Yeah, let the man talk,” said Danny Lewis, the Rasta.

I looked around the cell at the smiling happy faces waiting to hear my story.“Well I was up her flat one day and she smiled and said, look through the keyhole of the

bathroom door in her front room. I looked through the keyhole and saw the young couple who lived in another flat fucking in the bath, then as I watched she got my cock out and started to wank me…”

 Everyone cheered and made noises and I paused

then continued. “Then she got down on her hands and knees and began to suck me off” I paused to laugh.

“Come get on with it, we want to hear” Hennie the Dutchman said smiling.

“Then I stood up and said, now you watch, then while she was looking through the keyhole, I said dirty girls like you have to be spanked and have a big cock up the arse…”

 A cacophony of screaming and shouting ensued which I was sure could be heard all over the wing and I sat smiling, waiting for it to go die down a bit then the pipe came to me again and I smoked it into a cinder and continued. “So while Susan was peeping on the young couple I pulled down her knickers and began to slap her arse until it turned red, then I got my cock which was now hard as a fucking bar of iron and pushed it right up her arsehole…”

 The screams and shouting became louder and I had the sensation that the cell was lifting and travelling through space, the faces around me were red and some were crying with laughter and I felt myself beginning to giggle uncontrollably too, the  symptom that puffers know as “the giggles.”

“Susan, Susan we want Susan” everybody chanted but I could not speak or stop giggling even though I tried even though it was painful. Finally I got myself under control and began to speak again with difficulty, the tears of laughter streaming down my face. “And then as I fucked her arse, and Susan loved to be fucked up the arse in preference to her cunt, I felt her quivering and shaking and I knew that she was going to come and I reached down and pulled her cunt lips, she loved that…”

 The cacophony of hooting and shouting was loud now, accompanied by Jagger singing I Can’t Get No Satisfaction on the radio, and I knew that synchronicity was playing its magic again, supplying the soundtrack to my story. “Anyway as I pulled her cunt lips she pulled herself back, stretching her cunt even more, then she began jerking up and down in an orgasm and I shouted out, you dirty fucking bitch and shot gallons of spunk up her bum.”

 This brought the house down and everyone was shouting and screaming, rolling about unable to stop the contagious attacks of the giggles that they were all suffering from. I was giggling too but through the tears of my laughter I glimpsed Tony a smile on his face but absolutely in control of himself.

 The wedge was being banged out of the door and I was shaking hands with all the guys that had been my good friends all through the long years that sometimes I could never see an end to. I would not be seeing these guys in the morning because the screw would be unlocking my door at six to go to the reception. Tears were rolling down my face, tears of laughter mixed with tears of pain. I was going out in the morning.

Almost Free

Chapter 18

I stepped out of the front gate and my father was outside and so was the screw Nelhams. I ignored Nelhams and walked over to my father and embraced him. “Hello Dad I never thought that I would see the end of all this, but the day has come and it is all over, I’m free”. I hugged Dad closely while over his shoulder I could see Nelhams waiting there, watched by a screw from the gate.

“What do you want?” I asked Nelhams.

“I want to talk to you, let me buy you a drink” Nelhams said, pointing to a pub that was situated just across the road from the prison.

 I looked at Nelhams standing there in his civilian clothes, wearing a suit and tie, all dressed up like he was going for a job interview and without his uniform he looked an insignificant little runt and I imagined him working in a holiday camp obeying all the rules.

 I looked at him straight into the pale blue eyes of this little man who fantasised about being an SS officer.

 “Fuck off you little cunt, you fitted up Harris with a piece of wood and got him an extra four years, you fucking bastard. I would not dream of employing a cunt like you, now fuck off.”

 Nelhams never spoke, he slunk away, his rejection witnessed by the screw at the gate.

 I turned to my father who was watching the incident in surprise. “Come on Dad, let's go for a drink” I said.

The pub was nearly empty except for a couple of locals who nursed pint glasses of beer. The barman, I guessed, knew that I had just been released from the prison just across the road and he looked at me in a strange way.

“What will it be, Sir?” he asked.

 It was strange being addressed as Sir after so many years; usually it was me sycophantically calling the screws “Sir.”

“Two Worthington White Shields” I said to the barman and I watched carefully to see if he let any sediment into the glass as he poured it, which he did not.

My father and I stood at the bar sipping our drinks watched, surreptitiously by the locals and the barman.

“What was all that about?” my father asked.

“He thought that I was going to give him a job in the porn business” I said and laughed.

“I thought that you told everyone that you were going to University?” my father replied.

“I did but no one believed me!” I exclaimed, grinning.

“Come on Mick I can’t have another one because I am driving” my father said.

 I sensed that he wanted to get away from this place where everyone knew that I had just come out of the nick.

 I knew that the barman saw ex-cons like me regularly and I expect that a lot of them got pissed.

“All right Dad” I said, draining my glass and walked out with Dad without a backward glance.

 We got in the car and drove off towards London.

“What time have you got to be in the Scrubs?” my father asked, watching the road ahead.

“I have got to be there by nine o’ clock every day, but I will be allowed to sleep out at weekends soon. In six months time I will be discharged completely. I’ve got to watch my step while I am on the Hostel though, because I am not officially discharged from prison yet, and they can get you back in any time that they want for breach of the

rules.”

“Are you going to University Mickey?”

“Yes I am going to play the game for a while until I am ready to go back to the porn game and become a millionaire” I boasted.

 My father glanced at me, his blue eyes enlarged by his spectacles, with a look that I remembered so well, a look that meant he doubted what I was saying, a look of scepticism.

“Mickey, they have told me that you can’t do porn anymore” my father said, his eyes on the road.

“Look Dad they have had the order from above not to let me work, but fuck them I have just done ten years for keeping schtum and I’m not having it. Do you think that I’m going to be a pauper? No don’t worry there is always people selling porn and there always will be, and before long it will be legalised. Everyone else in the free world has legalised it except Britain and Ireland and the reason we have not legalised it is because those bastards above are corrupt and earning a fortune

out of it. No matter what they or the media are saying and it won’t take me long to find out the full SP, believe you me” I said getting a bit excited.

“I hope you know what you are doing Mickey because we don’t want to see you back inside again.”

“I won’t be going back inside again believe you me Dad and I am going to become filthy stinking rich” I boasted looking out of the window at the rain soaked streets of South East London that we were just entering.

 My father had a grim expression on his face as we drove through streets that were becoming more familiar.

“Just tell Mum that you are going to University because she is proud of your achievements and her heart is set on you becoming somebody” my father said.

“Becoming somebody?” I laughed ridiculing his statement. “Dad I was somebody, and I will be somebody again, a photographer, filmmaker, an artist producing brilliant erotic works of art, a company director, but I will never give up the porn because I believe that it should be legalised and I will fight for it to be legalised” I said.

“So you are not going to University then to get a degree?” my father said as we were driving through Dulwich.

“Of course I am and I will get my degree. Look Maidstone has already offered me a degree if I come in at the second year, the degree is guaranteed” I said.

“But how can they do that when you have not even taken the exam?” my father asked, pulling up at a set of lights on the South Circular at Tulse Hill.

“Look there is the Tulse Hill Tavern over there where Alton told me to kill Gordon Smith” I said. “What a joke an Old Bill telling you to kill someone” I laughed. “Oh getting back to the Art College, of course they offered me a degree in Fine Art on the strength of my work. Look they can’t teach me anything” I said boasting again.

“So why are you going there it all seems a bit strange to me” my father observed driving up Tulse Hill.

“Because art degrees are all a joke anyway aren’t they. How can you get an academic qualification in painting? I’m only going to get free materials and to find contacts in the art world and to fuck all those posh students” I said laughing. We had turned left at New Park Road off the South Circular then my father turned right and

drove down Kingswood Road where I had been brought up, past the school where I had gone as a junior and down to the bottom and pulled up outside number four and I was home.

“Remember what I said about Mum and don’t  mention all the mad ideas that you have” my father said, fixing me with his cold blue eyes that had scared many a man in his fighting days.

“Okay Dad but when I am rich I will be taking you and Mum out to all the posh restaurants again” I remarked climbing out of the car and following my father through the front gate and waiting while he unlocked the front door.

 When I went into the passage my mother was waiting at the top of the stairs.

“Welcome home Michael” she greeted me.

I climbed the stairs and put my arms around her and hugged her.

“Hello Mum, still as beautiful as ever” I said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Come upstairs to the kitchen Michael, I will cook you some breakfast. What time have you got to be in that place” she said referring to Wormwood

Scrubs hostel and not mentioning the dreaded name.

“I’ve got to be there before nine,” I replied. “I’ll leave here about seven that will give me plenty of time” I added sitting down at the table.

“I will drive you over there” offered Dad.

“What all the way over there just to take me there?” I questioned my father who sat down at the table while my mother cooked scrambled eggs and made a pot of tea.

“Yes Michael, things have changed a lot while you have been away. There are robbings and stabbings all the time now” my mother said, turning to look at me.

”Yes it’s the Darkies they are out there robbing people at knife point. We never go shopping down Brixton anymore” my father said.

“Come on Dad it can’t be the blacks doing all the street robberies, there have always been robberies and I can’t believe that things have changed that much” I said aware that socialists were supposed to protest against racism but this was my father.

“Yes, let Dad take you back Michael. I will feel much better if you let him” my mother said, placing a plate of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs in front of me.

“It’s lovely Mum” I said, my taste buds salivating and appreciating the luxury of good food once again. I was aware that I had not eaten my prison porridge before I left and that I had breached the old prison superstition. That if you did not eat your porridge on the day of your discharge then you were doomed to return.

“Here you are Michael, a nice cup of tea PG tips. We don’t use those tea bags, only the loose tea” my mother said.

 “This is how I remember it Mum” I said sipping at the brew.

After breakfast we all went down into the living room and I sat on the settee while my parents settled down into their armchairs.

 I looked around the room which was hung with several of my old paintings.

“We have got all your paintings stored away and Dad is framing them” my mother said.

 I looked at some of the early works which were now embarrassing to me as I had changed my style a lot and thought to myself that I would change them.

“We don’t use downstairs now and that is yours now Michael” my father said.

The Hostel

Chapter 19

My father pulled up outside Wormwood Scrubs prison and I shook hands with him.

“I will see you soon Dad as soon as they let me out on Monday morning and I will travel over by tube, they don’t let you out on the weekend.”

“See you Monday Michael” my father said and I walked in through the gates of Wormwood Scrubs prison and saw a sign on the left saying Hostel. I went into the lighted doorway and entering the passage. I saw a signing in book in the passage and I opened and printed and signed my name, noting the time as requested at the top of the page in capital letters.

 I was inside the hostel out but in a technical sense, in a state of limbo, neither in nor out but halfway.

 A con pointed to a bed next to mine in the dormitory.

“That’s Adam Faith’s brother’s bed, you know the pop singer.”

“What’s he in for?” I asked wondering why a seemingly rich pop’s star’s brother should be a criminal.

“Burglary” answered the con.

“Oh right, listen, do you know where Bruce Reynolds is?” I asked. I knew Bruce was on the hostel but had not seen him.

“His bed is over there but like Adam Faith’s brother they are never here” said the con with a wink.

“How do they manage that?” I asked.

“Dunno mate but neither of them are ever here” the con said.

“That’s funny” I remarked suspecting that something was going on because by rights

prisoners on the hostel had to sleep there and be in by ten every evening and if you were well behaved you were allowed a weekend out. This probationary period lasted for six months until you was discharged proper. I wondered how Bruce managed to never be here.

“Muldoon” I could hear someone shouting my name.

“That’s the Warden he wants you to go to his office” the con said.

I went to the Warden’s office and walked up to the open door.

“Come in Muldoon and take a pew,” the screw who was sitting behind a desk said.

I sat down on the indicated chair and the screw swung his swivel chair round to face

me.

“You will be allowed out to look for a job but if you don’t get one yourself within a month we will get one for you” the screw informed me.

“I am applying for a place at University” I replied.

“You can’t because the rules state that you have to be in gainful employment” the old grey headed screw said smiling.

 I knew that screws got the job as Hostel Warden after a life on the landings and sometimes worked on after their retirement.

“But attending University is gainful employment as such” I replied.

“Not in my book it ain’t and you will have to find a proper job” the screw said in a friendly way still smiling in an avuncular manner.

“What after all that studying and gaining fourteen GCEs! It don’t make sense to me guv’nor” I protested.

“Well I didn’t make the rules, but off you go now to look for a job and don’t be late in and don’t forget to sign the book in and out” the Warden said.

 I walked out of the office thinking about the stupidity of the system and knowing that I would not be an employee whatever happened.

“No, I would start a company and employ myself or maybe my sister’s Italian hairdresser husband would put me down as an employee” I thought as I walked back up to my bed space and opened the bedside locker to get out some clothes.

 The con who had been speaking to me was sitting on his bed and smiled. “Here do you want some work?” he asked a sly grin on his face.

“Work, what kind of work? Because the fucking screw has just told me that have to get a job” I said resentfully.

“No not that kind of job, look” said the con winking and opening his locker to reveal a

crowbar, a torch, gloves and a balaclava among other burglary tools.

 I was shocked by his stupidity, and by the stupidity of a hostel system that put convicts together after their discharge.

“No thanks, I don't do those kind of jobs” I replied. “Don’t they ever search the lockers? I mean isn’t it risky keeping your gear there?”

“No they never search the lockers, they are not interested” the con said grinning. “Anytime you want to earn a few quid let me know it’s easy.”

“No, I'm a pornographer, a much easier way of earning money” I joked.

“Yes I have heard about you, as long as it’s not kids or those snuff films it’s all right. But I’m not interested in that sort of thing. Don’t mind looking at dirty pictures though” he said with a sly grin. “You got any then?” he asked.

“No, the Old Bill got the lot,” I replied dismissively.

The next morning I got up early and walked out of the hostel, through the big iron front gates of the prison into Du Cane Road and made my way to East Acton tube station. I travelled to Clapham Common then got a 137 bus to Kingswood Road and had breakfast, which my mother cooked, then got on the phone to my sister Kath.

“Hello Kath, this is Mickey,” I said.

“Hello, how are you?” my sister replied in a voice that I remembered so well.

She had never visited me during my sentence and neither had my other sister Maureen for that matter, only my parents had after my divorce from

Sandra. Now I wanted a favour from the sister who would be dead if it was not for me.

“Kath I need a big favour. I need a job, not a real job but as I have to be employed for six months, I need Maurizio to put me on the books as being employed in the shop. It does not need to be a big wage, apprentice will do it because of the taxes and you will be doing me a big favour, okay?” I said.

“All right Mickey, I do the books so when do you want it to start from?”

“This week” I said.

“All right, I will be down to see Mum on Sunday and I will see you then” Kath said.

That night as I signed into the hostel a con approached me. “You are Mickey Muldoon ain’t you?” he asked.

“Yes I am “replied, wondering what he wanted.

“Bruce Reynolds, the train robber is waiting in the dining hall to see you” the con said excitement showing in his voice.

“Thanks pal” I answered feeling happy that Bruce was here.

I walked into the dining room and Bruce was sitting there drinking a cup of tea.

“Hello Mickey” he said looking up, smiling his eyes sparkling behind his gold framed spectacles.

“Hello Bruce it’s great to see you” I said, shaking his hand and looking at his smart expensive suit, shirt, tie and shiny shoes. “You look great!” I exclaimed. “I never expected to see you because someone told me that you are never here.”

“That’s right Mickey and someone signs me in and out in the book. I got a message saying that you were here and that is why I dropped in to see you and give you the full SP” Bruce said smiling stroking his greying hair at the sides, which gave him a distinguished look and displayed a gold Rolex Oyster on his wrist.

“I have got your address and I will drop round to see you in the week and have a chat.”

“All right Bruce it will be great to see you” I replied. “What time and day?”

“I don’t know yet but I will ring first” Bruce said smiling. Then looking around he leaned forward confidentially. “If you want a weekend out just bring the screw a bottle of whisky and drop a fiver on the floor when you are leaving” Bruce said winking.

 I laughed wondering if there was anyone straight in the world. “Okay Bruce I will do that” I promised.

“Do you want some puff?” Bruce offered grinning.

“No I’m still smoking that fucking Temple Ball.

Do you want a bit of that?” I offered.

“I have got some Red Leb here, it is fucking good stuff. We will have a puff when I come round your house.”

“All right Bruce. I will be looking forward to seeing you” I said.

 “I’ll be going now,” he said, standing up and shaking my hand. “See you soon,” he said.

 The next day I bought a bottle of whisky that I got the shopkeeper to wrap in brown paper and went back to the hostel and knocked on the screw’s door.

“Come in”

 I went in and saw his eyes look at the brown paper wrapped bottle which I placed on his desk. “Here you are guv’nor a little present from me,” I said, smiling.

“What can I do for you Muldoon” said the screw in a matter of fact tone as if a con giving him a bottle of whisky was the most natural thing in the world.

“I would like a weekend out guv’nor?” I said.

The Warden smiled and I noticed the broken veins in his face and the roseate nose of the drinker.

“You have only been here a short while Muldoon but I can see that you are a sensible lad so I will say yes, starting at this weekend. But you know the rules and you must be back by Monday night at ten to sign in and that is very important” he said, taking the bottle of whiskey and putting it into a drawer in his desk.

“Have you found a job yet? he asked.

“Yes guv’nor in a hairdressing shop” I answered.

“Good, don’t forget to bring me your pay packet and wages slip every week” said the Warden.

 Okay guv’nor will do, and I won’t let you down, that’s for sure, thank you for trusting me” I said reaching into my pocket to retrieve the five pound note I had put there for this occasion and rising to my feet to go. “Thanks again guv” I said, letting the fiver flutter to the floor as I walked out of the office.

I made my way home on the tube and bus, had my breakfast and stood up rubbing my stomach. “ That was lovely Mum I’m going downstairs now to do some painting now” I said.

“All right Michael” replied my mother smiling.

Downstairs in the old living room I set up my easel and put a blank canvas on it, then taking out my pipe I smoked a couple of pipes of hash until I was high and started to paint. The floorboards were bare as no one had lived downstairs in the house

for years and I let the paint fall onto them. I was painting figures in a landscape and as I painted time did not exist and I entered the painting living among the trees and flowers of a post revolutionary England.

Reporter

Chapter 20

I was on the tube going over to the West End, up to The Strand to be precise, to the offices of Time Out magazine. I had read it regularly outside and during my sentence and had learned that the guy that owned the magazine was a socialist who practised

what he preached as everyone who was employed on the magazine got the same wages.  

 I got off at Charing Cross and walked out of the station into The Strand, crossed the road and started walking along the left hand side while looking at the A-Z magazine.

It was up on the left, and I kept on walking until I found the offices. There it was, a metal plate outside bore the name Time Out. I entered and walked up the stairs until I came to the reception area. There was a bell on the counter and I rang it.

“Can I help you?” a guy asked.

“Yes, I want to see the editor,” I said.

“What is it about?”

“I have an exclusive story on liquid cosh used in English prisons to control inmates” I said.

The guy looked at me strangely and I wondered whether he guessed that I had just come out of prison myself.

“In fact I am not quite out but halfway out” I thought.

“Wait here please, I will go and see him and tell him what you said” the guy said.

 I stood at the reception thinking to myself that I should have waited until I got off the hostel before I started attacking the Home Office, but the editor might not run the story anyway, and I was raring to go. I wanted to strike back at those who had taken away everything that I possessed for the “crime” of defending myself and my family.

 Suddenly the guy was back interrupting my thoughts.

“He will see you, come this way please” he said.

I walked through busy offices where the staff were hard at work producing the next issue of the magazine until I reached a small office that was the same as everyone else’s.

“No big office, I am the boss, capitalist bullshit for this guy.” I thought.

The editor looked up at me and smiled. “I understand that you have a story about liquid cosh. Please sit down” he said.

“Yes I have just spent the last ten years inside in Parkhurst and other prisons and I have kept notes on how drugs like Largactil, Diazepam and so on were used to control the more recalcitrant prisoners” I said. I took the cardboard tube that I was carrying and pulled out a roll of drawings that I had done in pen and ink.

“I would like you to have a look at these,” I said, offering the drawings to the editor.

 He unrolled them carefully and spread them out on his desk.

“Hmm, these are interesting! What’s this one?” he asked, looking at me.

( ORIGINAL DRAWINGS )

“This shows a line of prisoners, strung out waiting for their daily fix. They would line up outside this place and a medical screw, they are the ones in the white jackets, would dish out the prescriptions in plastic tots.

All drugs were in liquid form to ensure that prisoners took them and did not hoard drugs or sell them.

The drugs were highly addictive and prisoners on them were what other prisoners called “clucking” as they waited in the queue, that meant that they were shuffling around and practically begging for their drugs by the time the hospital screws arrived to serve them out. I knew one of the guys on liquid cosh and he told me that he would get aggressive and demand more than his prescription and that the medical screw would keep on filling his beaker and that he could have as much as he wanted. I kept watch one day and I found out that he was telling the truth, but the chilling thing was that the medical screws would always write down exactly what each prisoner consumed, no matter how much they had. I came to the conclusion that the prisoners were being used as guinea pigs to discover what the effects of massive overdoses of tranquillisers had on human beings.

There was this doctor, a certain doctor Pickering who was very fond of experimenting on prisoners and he had a penchant for carrying out full frontal lobotomies, he said to cure violence in prisoners. He was in charge of the psychiatric wing in Parkhurst.” I stopped talking and questioned the editor who was listening attentively.

“Are you interested in doing this story?” I asked.

“Yes but why do you want it published? Do you want money?” the editor asked.

“No you can have it for nothing, I just want the truth to come out” I replied.

“I see,” he said.

“Well, are you going to write the story?” I asked.

“What is your name?”

“Michael Muldoon,” I replied.

“No Michael I am not going to write the story you are” he said.

“Yes, type it out and send it to me at this address,” he said, giving me a card.

 I wondered whether he would in fact publish my story but he seemed a genuine guy and I suppose that it was up to me now.

“Do you fancy a cup of coffee while I get your drawings done? By the way my name is Tony” he said.

“Yes Tony thanks a lot” I replied. I sipped my coffee, waiting for him to return with the drawings.

“Well if they are photographing my illustrations then they have already decided to run the story” I thought.

 Tony returned with my drawings and shook my hand.

 “When do you think that the story will be finished?” he asked.

“Oh, give me a couple of days and it will be ready. Look Tony do you mind if I drop it in when I have finished?” I asked.

“No, just drop it off at the reception desk,” he said.

“Don’t forget to put your name and address on it so that we can send you a copy of the magazine” he said.

 I was practically floating on air as I walked back down The Strand towards Charing Cross.

 As soon as I got home I got out the typewriter and began to

type. In a couple of days I had finished and I took it up to the Time Out offices and left it at reception.

 A fortnight later a copy of the magazine in an A4 envelope arrived through the post and I eagerly took out the magazine and flicked through it until I came to my story.

“Wow! There it was, two whole pages written by Michael Muldoon, and the greatest surprise was a cheque. I could not believe it they were paying me as a reporter as well. I looked at the invoice and I was getting paid per thousand words and there was also an invitation to do more stories for the magazine.

A Warning

Chapter 21

As I made my way back to the hostel I saw a newspaper stand with the words “Liquid Cosh Scandal” written large and the newspaper seller was shouting “Liquid Cosh Scandal” and my heart beat faster in my chest. “This is exciting” I thought.

I crept quietly into Wormwood Scrubs Hostel and signed the book and was just going up the stairs to the dormitory on the first floor when the Warden appeared.

“Ah! Muldoon, I want a word with you” he said.

I followed him into the office and sat down.

“The Lifer’s Section of the Home Office has been on the phone to me and have instructed me to have a word with you. It’s about this story you wrote in Time Out magazine” the screw said a serious expression on his face.

“Yes fucking liberty guv’nor. I had a few drinks in a pub with some geezer, you know what I mean, I was a bit pissed and I got to speaking about Parkhurst and so on. He must have had a fucking tape recorder in his pocket. It’s a right liberty putting my name on it” I said.

“You mustn’t do things like that while you are on the hostel and don’t leave the hostel tomorrow morning because a doctor wants to give you a check up and I have to take you to see him. All right, I will see you in the morning” the warden said.

“All right guv’nor” I replied feeling a bit sick but feeling in my pocket for the folded up fiver I had there. Then getting up I left the office letting the fiver drop on the floor then I went up to the dormitory and climbed into my little single prison like bed and lay there thinking about what I had done and the stupidity of it.

 “Why hadn’t I waited until I was off the hostel?” I thought. The powers that be, those above did not like the truth to come out about what really happened in their prisons and now they were threatening me and I had to go into the prison proper tomorrow to see a prison doctor who I suspected was going to be a psychiatrist, the implication being “Are you insane Muldoon?” The threat of being certified! One did not need to

commit a crime, just two fucking control freak doctors who worked for Big Brother in the Home Office and they could lock me up forever.

 I awoke the next morning full of trepidation, wondering whether taking me inside the prison was just a trick and once I was in there they would not let me out. Officially I had not been released from prison so on paper nothing would have happened and I would just go on serving a “life sentence” which was not a life sentence but an indeterminate sentence that could last forever or for a few years.

 It was mental torture not knowing when and if, I was going out. I had tasted freedom and had got used to it so quickly. On the other hand, I thought writing the story would have given me a bit of protection surely and it would look suspicious if I were put back in prison but then who could do anything about it once the order came from above.

 I could go downstairs now and walk out the door and go on the run but I would not. Instead I went downstairs and picked up the pay phone in the passage and dialled my home number.

“Hello” my mother’s voice sounded over the phone.

“Hello Mum it is Michael, I will be a bit late today because I have an appointment to enquire about going to University, and I should be home about an hour later than usual” I said.

“All right Michael I will see you then” replied my mother.

“Bye Mum” I said, putting down the phone.

I hung about in the small hostel dining room where a few cons were eating prison food before going to work. I looked at the grey bowls of porridge, which I had discovered was Blue Cross Animal Food, according to the sacks in kitchen in

Parkhurst, and the rest of the breakfast of goulash and bread, the insipid tea and wondered how I used to eat it, although I had supplemented my diet by hook or by crook in order

to survive and remain healthy. I felt sorry for these poor bastards who were eating it and who probably did not have any friends or family like I did.

“Muldoon” it was the warden calling me and my heart gave a lurch.

“I should have gone on the trot, straight out of the gate and gone abroad. I would be kicking myself if they kept me in the prison and give anything to get over the wall” I thought.

 I walked out of the dining room and the warden stood there in the passage all dressed up in his uniform and even wearing a hat for this occasion.

“Come on Muldoon, let’s go” he said with a funny expression on his face.

I followed him towards the big gates of Wormwood Scrubs prison.

“Go on, turn around and run why you have got the chance. Don’t walk voluntarily into the belly of the beast” the words went through my head but I seemed powerless to turn around and obey my instincts.

 A small door opened in the massive front gate and we went through into the gate house with much banging and clattering of keys, then out the other side through a big iron gate and into the prison grounds past the Church that had been built by prisoners in the nineteenth century and to the Long Term wing at the end, the last one on the left.

 The hostel warden pulled out his big bunch of keys and unlocked the metal gate and I stepped inside, then another gate into the wing.

 I smelt the sour odour of cabbage, urine, faeces, sweat and fear and I was back inside again. 

 The hostel screw walked along the centre of the wing and the noise and rattling of keys, screws bellowing orders and the crash of doors assaulted my ears and made me feel sick to the stomach as memories came flooding back.

“You see Muldoon it’s very easy to get back into prison, that’s why the hostel is situated just outside the prison gate, and once back in, no one can get you out again because you are a lifer and that means that you are under the Home Office forever. By the way they were really annoyed at the article and the way that you described the prison system, not very happy indeed.”

“I told you guv’nor that I did not write the article but that I was talking to this guy in a pub and he put it all in the magazine without my permission” I lied.

“And how did he get the drawings?” the screw asked.

“Well I let him have those because he said that he might know someone who would give me an exhibition” I made up the answer quickly.

“Muldoon these people at the Home Office are very powerful; they can recall you to prison anytime that they like. I have seen many men go back inside and it’s up to me really because I don’t want anymore phone calls like the one I had yesterday. Do you understand, or else you will be back inside for good and you won’t get out so easily next time” the warden said.

 I breathed a sigh of relief, realising that he had only been frightening me and that I was not going to be kept inside.

“Muldoon you are an intelligent bloke so no more writing articles in magazines, all right?”

“Definitely not guv’nor” I promised.

“Let’s get out of here,” the warden said.

I walked out into Du Cane Road feeling exultant at just having escaped from a terrible trap and breathed in deeply of the air of freedom. I made my way to East Acton Underground station where I caught a Tube and made my way to Clapham

Common where I caught the 137 bus to Clapham Park. I rang the bell and I heard my mother coming down the stairs.

“Hello Michael I have got your breakfast ready, smoked salmon, scrambled egg and toast. Did you get your place at college” my mother asked, smiling.

“Yes but I can’t go until October” I said following my mother up the stairs and into the kitchen.

After breakfast I went downstairs, got out my pipe and got high on the Temple Ball and began to paint.

 I heard the phone ringing upstairs and heard my mother answer it.

“Michael it’s the television people on the phone and they want to speak to you” she called down the stairs.

I put down my brushes and wiped the paint off my hands then I went up the stairs where my mother stood by the phone a look of excitement on her face, “Hello” I said.

“Hello, is that Michael Muldoon speaking?”

“Yes it is,” I replied.

“This is Yorkshire TV, we read your piece in Time Out and would like you to appear on our current affairs programme” said the voice.

“I can’t, sorry because I would love to but I have just been forbidden by the Home Office to speak to the media. I will have to wait until I get off the hostel in five months' time” I replied.

“I see! I liked your piece and the illustrations were excellent, and I’m sorry that you can’t make it, goodbye” then the phone was put down.

I felt a pang of disappointment go through me because the high of publicity was what I craved and I had so much inside me that wanted to come out.

“What did they want?” asked my mother.

“They wanted to interview me about an article I wrote in Time Out, but I could not go because it is right up in Yorkshire” I replied.

“Article that you wrote in Time Out, you did not tell me and Dad,” my mother said.

“No I did not want to worry you but they have said that they want me to write more articles for them, they liked the one on prisons that I did so much and I got paid as a reporter as well” I said.

“Another writer in the family, I did tell you about your great grandfather who had a book published, didn’t I? Michael I am so proud of you” my mother said smiling happily.

 My mother had told me this story before but I had not taken much notice of her thinking that she was romanticising but now I realised that it  had been true.

 I got back to the hostel that night and signed in then went straight upstairs to the dormitory, climbed into my bed and fell asleep.

 I had a nightmare that I had killed someone else and received another life sentence from which I would never be released. I woke up sweating and realised that it had all been a bad dream but also that it was a warning that I had to slow down and take it easy until I was off the hostel.

I got dressed and went downstairs and signed the book out. As I walked along Du Cane Road towards East Acton Underground Station the road was full of screws coming to work.

“What a fucking job” I thought. “I would hate to be a screw” and my mind flashed back to when my father said that he was thinking of getting a job as a screw in Brixton Prison which was just around the corner from our house in Clapham Park, South London. I laughed as I remembered my father giving me what he called “a clip round the ear.”

“I ain’t having no old man who is going to be a fucking screw” I had said to him.

I got onto the Tube train and sat opposite a nice looking girl who was wearing a short skirt and watched her legs intently as the rocking of the train swung them from side to side, hoping that she would uncross them and show her knickers.

 She looked at me and where my eyes were looking and I smiled at her but she looked down at the magazine she was reading and ignored me.

 I sat with my legs wide open trying to direct her attention to the bulge in my tight jeans while I fantasised about fucking her.

There was something erotic about tube travelling in the proximity of attractive females, the rocking of the train and the vibrations that went through one’s pelvic area from the rattling of the train.

 I got up and changed onto the Northern line at Bank.

Striking the First Blow

Chapter 22

“Give us a copy of Time Out magazine will you Paul” I said to my local newsagent in Lyam Road whose shop was situated right opposite Brixton Prison.

 The proximity of the prison in Jebb Avenue was always a reminder to me that prison was not very far away.

 Paul Woodley and I had been childhood friends and been in the same class together at Richard Atkins Primary school at the top of Kingswood Road.

“Long time no see Mick” said Paul giving me the copy of Time Out.

“Yes I’m on the hostel at Wormwood Scrubs now but I will be out for good soon. I’m living round my Mum and Dad’s again. I’m doing a bit of reporting now. Did you see my story in Time Out last week?” I asked, knowing that Paul, who was probably still a virgin, and who hardly ever went out, read every newspaper and magazine that was ever published.  

 Paul had become an eccentric and had stopped washing years ago. He would deliver newspapers and magazines to the prison and always wore sandals without socks and his feet were black. I had not seen him for ten years but he had not changed a bit.

 His father had died and his aged mother of over ninety sometimes served when Paul delivered the newspapers to the prison.

“Yes I saw it and your name Michael Muldoon on it too. I knew that it was you Mick” Paul said smiling and puffing on his pipe.

“Do you know what they nearly stopped me going out for writing about, the bastards?”

“Sounds a terrible place in there, there’s a follow up article in this week, about how you were proved right about the amount of drugs that they were giving the prisoners, the story has spread to all the newspapers now” Paul chuckled.“I’m glad that you are out now. How long was you in?” he asked.

“Ten years,” I said. I knew that Paul liked to talk but I wanted to get home and read the article.

“Paul I’ve got to go, but I will see you tomorrow when I come round for my newspapers” I said.

“See you Mick, take care” Paul replied.

When I got home I went into the front room and sat down in the armchair and turned to the follow up article written by the editor Tony Elliot.

 He had checked out my facts and first had phoned the Home Office who had denied that experiments were being carried out on prisoners in Parkhurst or that massive overdoses were being given in order to study the effects on humans over long periods of time. However Tony had contacted the pharmaceutical company that supplied Parkhurst prison and discovered the exact amounts of the tranquillisers that were going into Parkhurst over several years. Armed with this information he had simply divided the amount of normal doses by the number of prisoners and came up with the amazing calculation that the amount of tranquilising drugs supplied to Parkhurst Prison was enough to give a massive overdose to the whole prison population of the UK!

 I laughed out loud when I read the story and was pleased that I had been proven to have been telling the truth.

 I had struck my first blow against those above in the Home Office and I was exultant.

Sheila

Chapter 23

The phone was ringing and I heard Mum pick up the phone in the hallway upstairs. I stopped painting and listened.

“Michael it is for you Sheila” my mother called down the stairs.

I wiped the paint from my hands and made my way up the stairs to where my mother had laid the phone off the hook and picked it up. “Hello” I said.

“Hello this is Sheila, Ricky’s Mum, do you remember me from the visits” came the husky voice on the phone.

“Yes I remember you well, you are the good looking, sexy blonde with the big tits” I replied.

 A giggle on the other end of the phone. “Cheeky, look, do you want to see me?”

“Yes I would not mind seeing you. How about the weekend” I said, knowing that I was out at the weekends now with a fiver and a bottle of whisky..

“Give me your address and I will come over and see you” I said thinking to myself that Sheila definitely wanted me to fuck her, or otherwise why was she phoning me up and asking if I wanted to see her?

“Have you got a motor then?”

“No, not yet because I’m still on the hostel,” I explained.

“Look, I will pick you up on Saturday about midday. Is that all right with you? Give me the address I’ve a pen a paper ready.”

“Yes fine, it’s 4 Kingswood Road SW2, just turn right off the South Circular at New Park Road and it is the first on the left” I said.

“All right I will find it and will see you then Mick” Sheila promised.

“Okay Sheila I will see you Saturday then” I replied putting down the phone.

“Do you want a cup of tea Michael?” my mother called down the stairs.

“Yes please Mum” I called knowing that she wanted to ask me who Sheila was. I sat down at the dining room table and my mother put a cup of tea in a bone china cup and saucer down in front of me.

 I sipped the tea which tasted so different in the thin bone china cups and remembered the big thick pint mugs that we had drunk out of in the prison.

“Who is Sheila then Michael?” asked my mother with a smile.

I knew that she was hoping that I had met a woman that I would “settle down with” as she called it and have kids and live happily ever after.

“I painted a portrait of her son and I think that she wants me to do one of her Mum” I replied.

There was a ring on the doorbell Saturday morning and I looked out the window to see a white Toyota Sports parked across the road which I guessed was Sheila’s car.

 I went down and opened the front door and Sheila was standing on the front doorstep, a nice blonde who looked young for a woman who had a son in his twenties.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello, come in,” I replied.

 I took her downstairs where I had a painting on the easel. It was looking rather scruffy down in the kitchen now that I had been painting there for a couple of months, with paint all over the bare floorboards and piles of discarded oil paint tubes flung against the walls. I had been to Francis Bacon’s studio once and he had made a great impression on me.

“It’s a bit messy in here isn’t Sheila” commented.

“Don’t worry about the mess, just look at the paintings” I said pointing at the several paintings that I had done which I had now placed on the walls on their stretch frames by banging nails in the wall.

“Hmm not bad but I like nice paintings, like the one you did of Ricky and also the ballet dancers” she said.

 I remembered selling Ricky a pot boiler of some ballet dancers. It was true that the public liked pretty pictures and that if you chose a pleasant subject matter then you could always sell a painting.

“Ballet dancers,” I replied. “Yes, it's a nice picture. I remember it now. I was heavily influenced by Degas at the time” I said.

“Degas?” Sheila repeated her hand on her hips.

 “Oh he was a French painter who did lots of paintings of ballet dancers” I said thinking that Degas particularly liked to paint nubile young girls and that in the nineteenth century ballet dancers were available for liaisons with “gentlemen” who watched them with opera glasses and waited outside the stage door in order to buy their favours.

“Do you fancy a cup of tea?” Sheila asked, walking into the small kitchen which I hardly ever used because when I wanted a cup of tea I went upstairs.

“I haven’t not moved down here properly yet because I have to sleep in the hostel during the week” I said.

“You don’t have to sleep there tonight do you?” Sheila  asked, smiling suggestively.

“No, I have got the weekend off. In fact I have every weekend off now” I said thinking that she was really keen for me to sleep with her and that she wanted a good fucking.

“So are you coming back to mine for the weekend?” Sheila asked blatantly a coquettish grin on her face.

 I looked at her, a pretty blonde, dressed in a suit and wearing high heels and felt my cock respond. I got up and moved towards her putting my arms around her waist staring into her blue eyes and smelling her perfume.

 She was smartly dressed like a typical middle class woman and this turned me on. I brought my lips down on hers and kissed her for the first time.

 Her ample bosom pressed into me and I placed my hand upon her breasts and felt them, while pushing my tongue into her mouth.

 Sheila responded by pressing her pubic area into my crotch and grinding up against me, then I felt her hand exploring my groin and feeling my rapidly hardening cock.

“I would love to fuck you Sheila” I said.

“I would love you to fuck me big boy” Sheila replied laughing.

“Look I will say goodbye to my Mum then I will come over to your place” I said.

Sheila drove her car into the garage then we walked up to the row of maisonettes. I noticed from the sign outside that they were council property.

 Inside was like an affluent middle class person’s house and the luxury surprised me.    Here I was inside Ricky’s mother’s house and I wondered what he was doing at this moment as Sheila took my hand and led me to the bedroom for the start of a dirty weekend. She showed me where the shower was and I went in, stripped off, stood under the hot stream of water and wondered how she made the money to live in such style.

 I came out of the bathroom and she went in and emerged about half an hour later, her make up freshly done, dressed in a see through nightdress and fluffy high heel slippers and got into the bed with me. I kissed her, sucked her tits then her cunt before fucking her then she sucked me, but the sex was vanilla nothing kinky, and even when she sucked my dick she kept her head facing away from me.

 I suppose that it was straight sex, the kind that most people have on a Friday night after a few drinks.

 I lay there after fucking her smoking a pipe of hash.

Make sure that you don’t burn a hole in the bedding” she said, passing me an ashtray.

 After having a puff I fancied something a bit kinkier.

“Let me see you wanking yourself” I said. I loved to see women wanking themselves, and from my experience, most girls will do it if you ask them because they, like most men, do it too.

“I don’t play with myself,” she said. “Do you fancy something to eat?” she said changing the subject.

“I do as a matter of fact” I said. I got out of the big luxurious double bed and went to walk out into the living room.

“You will have to put some clothes on Mickey because my kids are in the house.

“Oh, okay” I said surprised because Ricky had not told me that he had any siblings but he did tell me that his father had left his mother. I washed my dick in the bathroom and got dressed.

“Do you fancy a cup of tea or would you like a beer?” Sheila asked.

“I will have a cup of tea please” I replied.

I sat drinking my tea and became conscious that my fingernails were rather long and I had wanted to get my fingers inside her cunt the next time I fucked her.

“Sheila, have you got a nail file and nail scissors?”

She got up and came back with a manicure kit and I sat there cutting and filing my nails and afterwards I put the nail clippings into an immaculately clean ashtray.

 Everything was so clean and tidy in the room and I guessed that Sheila was the proud housewife who spent a lot of time keeping it spic and span.

“What do you fancy to eat?” Sheila asked.

“I like fish and although I don’t eat mammals I don’t mind chicken or poultry” I said.

“Chickens are animals,” Sheila replied giggling.

“But they are not mammals who suckle their young and they don’t have eyes like us or other similar organs” I said while the word “anthropomorphic” went through my head but I did not use it.

“Oh, you are a funny sod Michael. Ricky told me all about you” Sheila said laughing.

“I will go and make the meal,” she said.

“I will come and help you,” I replied.

In the kitchen I looked in the fridge and saw some lettuce and tomatoes. “Can I make a salad?” I asked.

“Make what you like,” Sheila answered with a giggle.

I could tell that she was not used to being helped in the kitchen by a man. After I finished making up a salad I looked around the kitchen and found some vinegar, mustard, sugar, salt, pepper and some vegetable oil and started to mix up some salad dressing.

“What’s that you are making?” Sheila questioned me.

“Salad dressing, I usually use extra virgin olive oil and a bit of garlic too but I could not find any” I answered knowing that she never had any of these ingredients.

“Garlic pooh, I couldn’t kiss a fella who had been eating that” she laughed. “There is some Heinz’s salad cream in the fridge though.”

“You ought to taste the dressing, it’s nice.”

Just at that moment the door opened and an attractive blonde girl in her early twenties walked into the room. “Hello Mum,” she said.

“Oh this is Julie, Julie let me introduce you to Mickey, he is the one who did the painting of Ricky in the nick, Mickey meet Julie” she said.

“I shook hands with her daughter whose short skirt, long legs and swelling breasts I ignored lest Sheila saw that I found her daughter sexually attractive.

Then a boy of about thirteen all dressed in a football kit walked into the kitchen.

“Hello Mum, we won two nil” he said then his eyes examined me curiously as I mixed the dressing.

“Oh this is Mickey. Mickey, this is Johnny” Sheila said, introducing us.

I shook Johnny’s hand and smiled at him thinking that he must have seen many strange men in his house since his father, who Ricky had told me was a bank robber had left. Now he had me as a prospective Dad, a convicted murderer although I had no intention of moving in with Sheila.

 I wondered about the psychological reasons as to why women who live with “villains” usually wanted a replacement villain if they became separated.

At mealtime we all sat down to eat and I put some of the dressing on my salad which I had put into a little bowl as a side dish.

“Why don’t you try some on the salad Johnny?” I asked.

“All right,” he agreed.

I poured some of the dressing onto the salad Sheila had arranged on the edge of his plate and he began to eat.

“Mom, it is quite nice” he said then suddenly there was a look of disgust on his face and he held up a finger nail cutting which he had found in his salad.

 Further exploration uncovered a little pile of what were obvious my fingernail cuttings.

I squirmed in embarrassment, wondering how, or who could have put them into the boy’s salad. “They are mine, but I have no idea how they got there because I left them in the ashtray,” I said.

 Everyone looked at me and the boy blushed and was obviously uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry Johnny” I said looking at the white clippings and trying to make a joke out of it.

“They are very clean though” I said.

“Urrgh,” Johnny said, looking at me in disgust.

Sheila and Julie had little smiles on their faces and as the rest of the meal was ate in silence I wondered if putting the nail clippings in the boy’s salad was their idea of a joke? I noticed that the clippings were in a neat little pile hidden under the lettuce leaves and I knew that either Sheila or Julie had put them there. My guess was that it was Sheila.

 After the meal Johnny went to his room and I sat in the front room with Sheila and Julie drinking some coffee.

 Sheila got up suddenly. “I’ve got to go out for an hour on a bit of business,” she said.

“Can I come?” I asked.

“No, I have to do this on my own, but I will hurry back” Sheila replied.

 I was surprised that she left me in the house alone with her daughter Julie.

“Do you fancy a puff?” I asked Julie.

“Yes, all right,” she answered.

I got out my pipe and loaded it with a small piece of Temple Ball and offered it to Julie who much to my surprise put the pipe to her lips.

I got up and held a flame to it while she inhaled.

She coughed a bit. “It’s strong,” she remarked.

“Yes it is Temple Ball, made by the Buddhist monks in India. They don’t pick the plants but walk through the flowering plants wearing leather aprons, then afterwards they scrape off the resin and roll it by hand into balls” I said feeling loquacious after the smoke.

“That’s interesting, how do you know so much about it?” Julie asked.

“The Rastafarian who sold me it told me,” I answered.

“I see,” she said, looking at me intently. “Do you like blacks?” she asked.

“I try to be colour blind” I answered.

“My boyfriend hates them and so does Mum.”

They, the council are moving them down here into the East End now and we did not have any before” she said seriously.

“Does that worry you?” I asked.

“Yes it does, they take all the houses before the whites and they take over the drugs business” she replied.

I realised that Sheila was probably a dealer and that is where she was now. I started to get paranoid thinking that if the Drugs Squad followed her home I could be caught up in a raid and I had some hash on me too.

 I looked at Julie who was now curled up on the settee her legs tucked under her in modest manner and thought of how I would like to fuck her as well as her mother, perhaps both in the same bed.

I remembered Adrian Street the wrestler when he told me that he used to fuck a mother and daughter in Brixton.

 I looked at Julie and knew that she would be shocked if she knew the fantasies that were going through my mind. But I knew that they were only fantasies and that Sheila or her daughter were too straight to indulge in any kinky behaviour and I would not try it either.

 I heard the keys in the front door and Sheila was back.

Later as we lay together in her King size double bed in post coital relaxation she started talking.

“He is a right bastard Terry, Julie’s boyfriend. He fucks her up the arse and she  doesn’t like it” she said looking at the ceiling.

 I wondered why she was telling me about the intimate details of her daughter’s sex life.

“How do you know that she doesn’t like it?” I asked.

“Because she told me so,” Sheila answered.

“What about you, do you like it?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” Sheila exclaimed an indignant tone to her voice.

“Well there are lots of girls who do,” I observed.

“Yes, the ones in your dirty films,” Sheila said.

“How do you know that you don’t like it if you have not tried it?” I asked turning towards her in bed feeling my cock erecting with this dirty talk about anal sex and picturing Julie’s boyfriend fucking her arse a pained expression on her face.

“My ex husband tried it on me once and it really hurt,” Sheila explained.

“Well you have to lubricate yourself first” I said.

“With that thing of yours I reckon that it would be torture” Sheila said laughing.

“Do you want to try it?” I suggested my cock now rock hard.

“You must be joking you dirty bastard” Sheila said with a laugh. “What time have you got to be back at the hostel tomorrow? I will drive you back” she offered.

Threesome Fun

Chapter 24

The lads from the Personal Advertiser, who were surprised to see me looking fit and well after a ten stretch, gave me a lot of letters from swingers. I sorted through them and found an attractive couple who were looking for a guy with a big dick for “threesome fun.”

I thought that it might be a con to extract money, or a hooker, but I sent off my “undraped” photograph and received a letter back from Silvia and John who lived in Minster, Kent and arranged to meet them for a dirty weekend and also to bring  some porn, as they had asked me to bring some, if I had any.

 I climbed up into the attic and sorted out some of my old photos and books.

I was still fucking Sheila but becoming tired of the vanilla sex we had together and needed something a bit more exciting.

 I got a train to Minster and followed the instructions in the letter until I arrived at a row of tiny terraced houses and knocked on the door.

 I heard footsteps and the door was opened by Silvia, an attractive brunette in her twenties. “Hello you must be Silvia, pleased to meet you” I said smiling thinking that she looked even better than her photo.

“Come in,” she said.

I followed her into a small kitchen.

“Can I take your coat?” she inquired.

“Yes thank you” I replied, taking off my overcoat that she hung behind the door.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

“Yes please” I replied looking at this petite young woman who you would never guess advertised in a swingers magazine for a “guy with a big dick for threesome fun.”

She was wearing a sweater that showed off her small but firm breasts, and although she was wearing a bra, her nipples. She had nice shapely legs encased in black stockings, a tight black skirt and high heels and just looking at her made my cock hardened in my jeans.

 She poured out a cup of tea. “Sugar?” she asked, raising plucked eyebrows and smiling her red lips showing perfect teeth while looking down and giving my bulging crotch an approving look.

“No thanks, no sugar for me, just milk,” I replied.    

“John is still at work but he will be home soon” she said.

I sat in the little kitchen table that was covered by a plastic cloth sipping my tea, smiling into her brown eyes which I noticed she had carefully made up with mascara and eyeliner and all the time my cock was in a permanent erection, responding to this young woman of twenty four who according to her letter wanted to have some threesome fun.

 I felt like fucking her now right on the table, pulling up that little tight black skirt and getting my dick into her but instead I just sat there waiting for her husband to arrive. I wondered what he wanted to do and whether he was bi or just wanted to see me fucking his wife.

 Silvia looked at the clock. “He should be home soon now” she said, giving me a sexy look.

“Was she really going to let me fuck her? I wondered if she would ask me for any money although their letter had said “no financial arrangements” then there was a knock on the door.

“That’s John back from work now” she said, getting up and walking over to the door.

I stood up to meet John who came into the room and he shook hands with me.

“Hello I’m Mickey, pleased to meet you” I said.

John was dressed in dirty overalls. “Hello, I am just going to have a shower and get changed,” he said. “Sylvie, why don’t you wait in the front room?” he said to his young wife.

“Come on,” Silvia said, smiling at me.

 I followed her into the front room and sat down next to her on a black, imitation leather settee.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked, turning towards me, her short skirt riding up to show a generous proportion of her thighs, her legs slightly open affording me a glimpse of white thigh above her stocking tops.

“Yes I wouldn’t mind one” I replied.

“I have got beer, sherry or whisky or gin” she offered.

“I will have a whisky, straight” I replied.

As she poured out the drinks I studied her little round buttocks under her tight black skirt and my cock was hard and beginning to get wet with the anticipation of fucking this horny little chick. I could feel it beginning to stick against my inner thigh as it strained to be released from the bondage of my tight jeans.

 John came into the room, dressed in a dressing gown, carrying a tin of lager and sat down in an armchair opposite the settee in the right hand corner of the room.

  He smiled, “Did you get any porn?” he asked.

“Yes it is in my overcoat,” I replied.

“Shall I get your coat?” Silvia asked.

“It’s in the inside, in the big pocket, in a big envelope, just take it out” I replied.

Silvia returned with the envelope and handed it to John then came and sat down beside me again on the settee. She sat closer this time and I could feel the pressure of her warm thigh as it pressed up against mine.

 I responded by pushing back and noticed that her husband John was eagerly  looking through the porn that I had brought.

 I turned my head to look at his young wife Silvia and she put her hand around my neck and pulled my head close and kissed me.

 I pressed my lips hard against hers and pushed my tongue into her mouth while my  hand caressed her firm little breasts and I felt her nipples erect under my touch.

 I felt her hand feeling my stiff cock through my jeans then she sat up and unzipped them and reaching inside pulled out my now massively erect cock with some difficulty.

 I looked up at her as she sat waving it, showing it off to her husband.

“Yes it’s big!” he said in approval a smile on his face.

Then Sylvie knelt down and put my cock into her mouth and I felt her hot lips begin to suck.

 She glanced round at me and smiled my cock still in her mouth and then over at her husband who now had his penis out of his open dressing gown and was masturbating over the sight of his pretty wife sucking mine.

 This was horny and I was really enjoying the scene and could have stayed playing on the settee but he stood up “Let’s go upstairs to the bedroom, shall we?” he said and Silvia let my cock slide out of her mouth and stood up pulling at my hand.

 I got up with Silvia leading me by the hand following John up the stairs into a little bedroom that contained a double bed with the duvet pulled back ready.

John got into the bed while Silvia started to undress.

“Do you mind if I have a smoke of this stuff?” I asked, taking out my pipe and a bit of resin, hoping that the couple did not mind cannabis.

“That’s all right” agreed John who seemed to speak for the two of them.

 “Have you got an ashtray?” I asked.

Silvia handed me one and I wondered if either of them smoked but neither lit up a cigarette while I smoked a couple of pipes of hash.

 I liked to smoke cannabis before I had sex because it intensified all the feelings and I could go on and on without coming. I could fuck without it but it was that much more pleasurable on it. I felt stoned and completely uninhibited now and putting down the pipe onto a bedside table I sat down on the bed next to Silvia who I had noticed was still wearing her stockings and suspenders.

“Do you fancy a puff?” I offered.

“No we don’t touch it” John answered.

Then his wife immediately knelt down in the middle of the bed and resumed sucking my cock. I lay there legs apart looking at my big hard cock in her mouth.

John noticed this and held her long hair to one side like a pornographer taking a shot so that I could watch his wife sucking my dick.

 I thought that, the scenario now taking place in this room would make a brilliant porn

film.

 John knelt on the bed behind his wife and began to fuck her from the back and I could see that he had his eyes fixed on my cock as Silvia sucked it.

 He fucked her for a couple of minutes. “You love sucking a great big cock don’t you dirty bitch” he suddenly said and then ejaculated withdrawing and collapsing onto his side of the bed.

 I got hold of Silvia and manoeuvred her onto her back and climbed in between her legs and sliding my cock into her cunt that was wet with her husband’s sperm I began to fuck her, slowly at first and then faster. After a while Silvia began to breathe faster and I realised that she could come easily even after a few minutes fucking so I began to push my cock right into her ramming it in harder and harder, making slapping sounds as my body banged against her flesh then she groaned and writhed around her body quivering in orgasm.

She let out a long sigh and opened her closed eyes. “That was nice,” she said a smile on her face.

“Was it? Now I am going to fuck you really hard” I promised.

She looked up at me a kind of frightened look on her face.

 I pushed myself up onto my hands and began to fuck her hard and fast, then slowing down to grind my pelvis into her which with my big cock caused some girls  a bit of pain but she loved it and it was not long before she rewarded me with another orgasm and I knew that she was multi orgasmic.

 I had not come yet and I did not even want to yet but just wanted to keep on fucking her. I lay on top of her kissing her fiercely. Pushing my tongue deep into her mouth “You love my big horse’s dick up inside you don’t you? Filling you right up, stretching your cunt” I said and I pushed my hands around the back of her buttocks and grasped her cunt lips which I pulled as I fucked her.

 She liked this then I moved my hand around to the front and stuck three fingers up her wet cunt, then four, then five pushing it in then taking it out and putting my cock back in. Then I fucked her really hard again as I pushed my finger around her cunt pushing it in alongside my cock. All this made her come again and she writhed around on the bed moaning and groaning.

 I realised that we had forgotten all about John who I noticed was just lying there playing with his cock.

 I wanted to come and felt like doing something really dirty to Silvia like spanking her and fucking her arse.

“Do you like being spanked?” I whispered into her ear which brought a shake of her head.

“We don’t like pain,” John offered.

“Okay, but it’s not pain but pleasure the way I do it” I explained. “How about anal sex?” I asked.

“No it hurts too much and is a bit gross,” Silvia said.

“Shall I come up you then?” I asked.

“Why don’t you come all over her face? She likes that” John said.

“Does she?” I said. “I bet that is what you like to see” I thought.

I took my cock out of her and lay on the bed with my legs apart looking up at Silvia.

“Give him the special treat,” John said.

Silvia knelt down in between my legs pushing her face underneath my cock and testicles, at first I thought that she was going to lick my anus but then I felt her tongue flicking around the lower end of my testicles which was quite nice then alternatively sucking my cock.

After watching my cock in her mouth I felt like I wanted to come and I wanted to fuck her face, so I took her head between my hands and fucked her mouth hard and feeling myself coming I shot my sperm into her mouth and while it was spurting I took it out letting the rest shoot all over her face.

 She licked it, her tongue protruding and her lips drinking the hot sticky sperm, her eyes glancing sideways at her husband a smile on her face.

Then John got up. “We will leave you to sleep now while we go downstairs,” he said.

I could have fucked her again after a few minutes rest but they walked out of the room together “Goodnight, see you in the morning, that was wonderful” Silvia said.

“Goodnight” I said, suspecting that they were going to indulge in some further sexual activity downstairs. As I lay in the bed I could hear noises from downstairs but then I must have dropped off to sleep.

 In the morning I had breakfast with Silvia and John before walking back to Minster station. I had to be back in the hostel before 10 pm.

John Steed

Chapter 25

Kenny sat in the corner of my bedroom. “It’s good to see you looking so fit and well after all this time Mickey” Kenny said.

 I looked at his face and there was something different about it. At first I could not place it but then I realised that it was his nose. He had plastic surgery done to his Jewish nose in order to disguise his Semitic appearance and make himself more Anglo Saxon.

“What have you done to your nose?” I asked.

“I had it done, you know, remodelled by a plastic surgeon. Oh yeah, I changed my name too, by deed poll to John Steed and I am not Kenny Eighteen anymore” he said.

“Okay Kenny, but you don’t look that different. How much did you pay for the nose job?” I asked. “John Steed, wasn’t that the name of the English public schoolboy character in the Avengers TV series?” I thought.

“Oh, a few grand and I am different now and I wanted a new name and a new face after all that, you know what I mean?”

“Well you are still the same old Kenny to me and I bet that you are still doing the films?” I asked wondering if he was going to offer me a share of the money he had been earning out of my business over the years. I was not going to ask for it because my pride prevented me from doing so.

“I am straight now, doing Mickey Mouse films, but not on your old machines. I bought new ones.”

“Was I hearing right?” I thought. “Was this the guy I had done ten years in the nick for telling me that he had bought new machines with the money he had got out of my machines so he seemingly thought that did not owe me anything?”

 I studied his face and he stared back and I remembered those soft brown eyes that were so deceptive and could turn vicious all of a sudden.

 Regret filled my mind, should I have lied to save him, a member of my family, and my brother in law, and to keep my business going. All he had given me was some jelly beans on a visit when he visited me with his new wife and that is all I was going to get out of this little bastard. I could sense this.

“Why had he come to see me?” I wondered.

“Yeah, I have changed a lot now, Mickey got out of the porn game and even joined the Parachute Regiment” he offered smiling.

 I looked at the diminutive Kenny who stood about five six in his shoes and wondered what he was talking about and I instinctively knew that he was lying about getting out of the porn business. “Why would he give up all that money?” I thought to myself.

“Joined the paratroopers?” I exclaimed with a laugh.

He blushed and I remembered that he had a habit of doing that when he was annoyed.

“Only the TA but we go on manoeuvres and train” he said, looking serious.

“Made any parachute jumps?” I asked.

“Yeah, several” he said smiling at the memory of his daring and jumping out of an aeroplane.

“How is your wife?” I asked wondering how he had met this girl who I had heard was a member of the Frazer family, a relation of Frankie Frazer the well known London gangster.

“Oh we are getting on all right,” he said doubtfully.

I wondered why I was sitting here in my old bedroom making small talk and why I did not say “Okay where is my money and what are we doing now?” But I knew that this guy who I had taken a murder rap for, and that if I had told the truth, would have got life instead of me was not going to offer me anything.

“We divided up the business, Sandra and your Dad had the photos and equipment and I had the films,” he said, answering my thoughts.

So that was his excuse, making an arbitrary agreement over my property and that is why he thought that he did not owe me anything I thought knowing that if the situation had been reversed that I would have looked after him well and had a nice few grand to give him when he came out. I looked at the expensive hand made suit that he was wearing, the diamond pinkie ring and the gold Rolex on his wrist and realised that I used to dress like that and it was me that had changed not him, even though he had had a nose job and changed his name to the Anglo Saxon John Steed. “Well Kenny I am glad that you are getting on so well. Look I have to rush off in a minute to see this girl” I said getting up. I had made up my mind that I did not want to work with him anymore.

“Okay, Mickey, it was nice seeing you,” Kenny said, getting up from the chair.

 I opened the bedroom door, walked down stairs and opened the front door and he walked out of my life forever.

 I went into the front room and stared out of the window trying to see what kind of car he was driving. Then I heard a car start up just around the corner and I realised that he had not wanted me to see it.

 He was still in the porn game, I knew that and, he probably was driving a Merc or some other big expensive car and did not want me to see it.

 Anger shot through me at the way that he had treated me, he had never trusted me as I remembered his doubt before the trial when he realised that I could say anything I liked in court and that if I decided to tell the truth that he would probably go down for life and I would walk free.

 I remembered the words of the judge. “I don’t think that we have heard the whole truth told in this court throughout the trial” he had observed at the end of the trial. The old wise judge Sebag-Shaw had known the truth but he could only act on the words spoken in the court. I tried not to regret my actions at the time but then I had only expected three to five years not a life sentence.

“You did the right thing at the time” the words went through my head as I tried to convince myself. I knew that those above had let it be known to the Porn Squad that they did not want me to know that Kenny had a licence and that they wanted me to believe the lies in the media that the black market in pornography no longer existed in Soho but they could not fool me. I was going to wait a bit then put my plan to legalise porn into action.

Probation Officer

Chapter 26

My six months on the hostel had passed quickly and I was back out in Civvie Street again. I was living with my parents, earning a bit of money from writing and illustrating erotic books. There was just one catch I had to report to a probation officer once a month.

“So what are you doing now Michael because a requirement of your licence requires you to be employed?” Mr Heath the Probation Officer asked.

“Well I am painting at the moment and am working as a reporter for Time Out magazine as a freelance” I replied, the last being a bit of an exaggeration but the magazine had asked me to write more articles. The truth was I was painting every day downstairs in my house and having a rest.

 Mr Heath looked at my record. “Yes there is a note here about you writing an article that defamed the prison service. It says that you made false allegations about experimentation on prisoners. The Lifer Section of the Home Office have advised me to tell you that they don’t want you to write any more such articles” Mr Heath said looking at me through his spectacles, his hands pressed together in a praying position.

“False allegations, that’s a lie and the Home Office know it. The facts are that the editor of Time Out discovered the amount of tranquillisers supplied to the prison by the pharmaceutical company, over a period of several years was enough to give massive overdoses to every prisoner in the prison” I said indignantly.

“Michael I don’t mind what you write, but I am just telling you the Home Office reaction and in your position, being on licence for life, even though the reporting requirement could be dropped after several years of good behaviour, it would be best if you did not antagonise anyone in the Home Office. They are very powerful people you know, '' Mr Heath said in an avuncular way, smiling at me as though he was giving me some friendly advice.

“Yes absolute power not only corrupts but corrupts totally ” I quoted.

“So what are those above going to do, recall me for telling the truth?” I asked.

“You believe it to be the truth Michael but sometimes it is better if you keep a low profile, as I have said, you are on a life licence. Most lifers behave themselves when they get out and when their reporting restrictions are ended we never hear from them again” Mr Heath said.

“Really! Well that does not surprise me at all because most lifers are not murderers as such, but just ordinary people who have led an honest life and have cracked up under the strain of the rat race and after an argument and have killed a member of their family, the so-called “domestics.” Of course, after their release they go back to their old way of life” I observed. “Murder, as such, requires malice and aforethought, in other words the intention to kill and planning to do it. In my experience very few people fit into this category” I observed feeling as though I was criticising the system but knowing that Heath was only a part of it and simply obeying orders and earning a modest living.

“That may be but we have to do something don’t we to obtain justice for the deceased” Heath observed. “What would you do to domestic killers then?” he asked.

“Well if there was no premeditation I would classify them as having killed when the balance of their minds was disturbed and send them for treatment and observation to a mental hospital for a few years” I said.

On the Radio        

Chapter 27

When I got home my mother told me that someone had been on the phone from a radio station and had left their telephone number.

 My heart started beating faster and I was filled with the exciting anticipation of attacking the system again as I dialled the number.

“Hello LBC radio” said the voice of a receptionist.

“Someone called me, I have an extension here and I am returning the call” I said.

“What is your name Sir?”

“Michael Muldoon”

“Hello Michael, thank you for calling back. I would like you to talk on a radio show about murder. Do you want to go on the show?”

“Yes I do” I replied amused at the synchronicity of just returning from an interview

where I had been threatened, in a subtle way albeit, and through a third party, not to talk about my experiences in prison. “Well fuck them” I thought.. I was not on the hostel now. What were they going to do, send the police round to my house to arrest me for appearing on the radio?

I walked into the offices of LBC radio at the appointed time and five minutes later was ushered into the studio where a warning sign told people to be quiet and that we were on the air. A radio presenter introduced himself and said that we would be on soon and that I should speak into the microphone in front of me, when the light was on which meant that it was my turn to speak.

 I was relishing disobeying the Home Office message delivered by Heath, the Probation Officer and wondered if he would find out that I had done a radio show about prisons.

“What we are going to do Michael is I am going to make an announcement that we are going to have a discussion about murderers, life sentences and what society should do with them, callers will also be calling in live and you will be able to answer their questions okay?” the radio jock said.

“Yes I understand perfectly” I replied.

“Okay then we will get straight into the show. Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we have with us today Michael Muldoon, a convicted murderer who served ten years and the discussion today is what society should do with murderers who have been released from prison on license, capital punishment, the life sentence and any related questions. Mr Muldoon is in the studio now to answer any questions that you may have” the presenter said in a rapid fire in an Anglo American accent. “Can we have the first caller?

Sound of a phone ringing.

“Hello Mr Johns from Tonbridge in Kent”

“And your question to Mr Muldoon Sir?”

“I am a retired insurance agent and as I understand it Mr Muldoon was sentenced to life imprisonment but was released after having served only ten years. In my opinion life should mean life and not ten years.”

“Well Michael what have you got to say to Mr John our caller?”

“Since the abolition of capital punishment juries are more ready to find the accused guilty of murder because they know that they won’t hang. Capital punishment was reserved for premeditated murder like poisoning and murder by explosive or firearm and all other cases were commuted to life imprisonment by the Home Secretary.

Expert opinion, at the time, said that the maximum time a person could serve incarcerated without mental deterioration was nine years and most convicted murderers whose life sentences were commuted were released within this time span. Conversely, today people are charged with murder when in fact they are guilty not of murder but of manslaughter” I said.

“Mr Johns on the line, are you still there Sir and what do you say to that?”

“Life should mean life because that is what it says” Mr Johns replied with a touch of anger in his voice.

 I smiled at the radio presenter and he smiled back.

“Michael what do you say to this?” “All homicides are different as chalk and cheese,

one person has raped and murdered a child another killed his wife in a domestic argument and it is obvious that crimes so different in there seriousness should attract a different sentence” I said.

“I still think that if a person is sentenced to life then life should mean life” Mr Johns persisted intransigently.

The presenter smiled at me from across the table “Thank you Mr Johns from Tunbridge Wells” the sound of a phone ringing.

“Hello good evening Sir” said the presenter.

“Good evening Mr Lazenby here from Putney in London. I think that Mr John's your last caller had a point when he says that life should mean life.

 Why do judges sentence people to so-called life when life is not life but say ten years for example.

 I take Mr Muldoon’s point that all cases are different but why does everyone get sentenced to life when it is plainly not life? That is my question” said Mr Lazenby.

 The presenter nodded at me and the light in front of me was on.

“That is a very good question Sir. When a person is found guilty of murder the judge has no option but to pass a mandatory sentence of life. In my mind this is totally wrong because in fact life is not life, as such, as you have observed, but an indeterminate sentence to be decided in the future by the Parole Board. The trouble with this is that a lifer is sentenced not on the just the seriousness of his crime but on his behaviour in prison. A prisoner may be a model prisoner but that does not mean that he will be a model citizen. No, I think that every citizen charged in our courts with homicide should be given a sentence in court by the judge, who has seen many such cases, and can judge the seriousness of the case, which it is his job to do on behalf of the public. Politicians have taken away the judge’s right to do his job properly on your behalf which means that he can only pass the mandatory sentence of life, which we all know is not life and is a complete farce. No I believe that Parliament should repeal this stupid and unjust law where a convicted killer is sentenced years later by a secret court, out of the public gaze, because justice should not only be done but seen to be done, and the best place for that to be done is in open court where all the facts are fresh in the public’s mind. The judge should be able to do his job of sentencing those found guilty by the jury there and then, because he has had the experience of assessing the seriousness of the case and should pass the appropriate sentence” I said the words rolling off my tongue as I thought of the

righteousness of what I was saying and the stupidity of the politicians who had devised such an unjust system.

 Mr Lazenby’s voice crackled over the air. “I certainly agree with what Mr Muldoon the lifer is saying but what sort of sentence should the judge be able to pass?” Mr Lazenby asked.

“For heinous cases like child murder up to a hundred years and for the less serious anything the judge, in all his wisdom would seem appropriate” I answered quickly.

“Well yes a hundred years for people such as the Moors murderers, I certainly agree with that. Thank you” said Mr Lazenby.

“Thank you Sir and thank you for calling LBC and now it is time for a commercial break” the presenter said and pressing a button the commercials came on the air.

“You are doing very well Michael and I certainly liked your answer to the last question, the present system is bloody ridiculous and causes a lot of public anger. By the way, can I get you a coffee or tea?” he asked.

“Yes please, coffee with milk and without sugar would be fine” I replied.

I sat there drinking my instant coffee while the presenter prepared to get back on the air.  I was thinking if I could say something quickly which would attract some interest in the unsafe and unsatisfactory verdict in my own case because I wanted to get my case reopened.

 The presenter was looking at me. “We will be back on the air in a few moments. Are you ready to continue?” he asked with a smile.

This was turning out to be a good show and I could tell that he was pleased with the way that things were going.

“Yes I am ready” I answered confidently.

The phone was ringing again and we were back on the air.

“Hello Mr Thompson from Somerset you are live on LBC radio, good evening Sir and what question do you have for the lifer Mr Muldoon who is here tonight to answer any questions about life imprisonment, murder or sentencing in such cases” the presenter said grinning at me.

“I am an ex police officer and I think that we should bring back capital punishment because the murder rate has gone up since the death penalty was abolished” said Mr Thompson with an angry tone to his voice.

“Well I would not have hung anyway Sir because my case was not a capital one and I probably would have been released a bit sooner than the ten years I did. But I disagree with capital punishment because sometimes the law makes a mistake like in the case of Timothy Evans when the jury believed the lies of a special police constable Reginald Christie who actually murdered several women and hid their bodies in the same house at10 Rillington Place” I replied relishing the fact that the real murderer was a policeman.

“Yes but Evans was guilty of killing a baby in any case and deserved to hang!” the very angry voice of the ex policeman crackled over the ether.

“Deserved to hang for killing a baby! Well I don’t believe that he did it, and it smacks of authority justifying their actions to justify a terrible miscarriage of justice where an innocent man was hung by the neck until he was dead” I said feeling emotional at the terrible injustice Evan’s had suffered.

“Hang all murderers that is what I say because people like you should not be at large, once a murderer always a murderer” crackled the voice of a now very angry man over the air waves.

 The presenter grinned and I grinned back.

 “Thank you Mr Thompson from Somerset now we have another caller on the line, Mr Jones from Edgware in London. Good evening Sir and what question would you like to ask our guest Mr Muldoon, the lifer, this evening? Asked the presenter, grinning at me again.

“What sentence does Mr Muldoon feel that he should have received if the judge had been able to sentence him?” asked the viewer.

“Well there was police corruption in my case that prevented me…” I began to say getting home my point.

 The jock smiled and pressed a button. “And it is time for another commercial break,” he said, cutting me off.

 I could hear my voice feeding back and was surprised because my answer had disappeared completely and I realised that there was a slight delay in what one said and what was sent out over the air.

“Touché” I exclaimed, realising the trick.

“Sorry Michael but the rules are that you cannot make allegations live over the air on LBC, people would take legal action against LBC if we allowed that. Are you ready to continue to answer Mr Jones?”

“Sure, I am ready, sorry” I answered a bit peeved.

“Hello Mr Jones, are you still on the line?”

“Yes,” Mr Jones answered.

“Mr Muldoon, the lifer is ready to answer your question now” said the jock.

“Well obviously I can’t answer that question fairly as I am biased but I would have been happy for the judge in my case to have given me any sentence he felt appropriate and I am sure that it would have been fair” I said. “It would have been three to five years as promised” I thought.

“Thank you Mr Jones I hope that has answered your question and we have another caller on the line a Mr Jimmy Tarbuck from South London.

“Thank you for calling LBC Sir, and what is your question?” the presenter asked.

“Does Mr Muldoon feel that Ruth Ellis should have hung?”

“No I do not and she was hung because killing by firearm was automatically a capital offence. I was in Paris at the time and was attacked in the street by an angry Frenchman who called me a barbarian. The French would have given her a few years because they considered the case to be a crime passionel, a crime of passion, and the Frenchman was right the English committed a barbaric act in executing Ruth Ellis and this is the trouble with having mandatory sentences which give the judge no choice. The lesson for history here is that the judge should always decide the sentence because he has the experience and that is his job. Mandatory sentences is sentencing by politicians for political reasons, and unjust, a stain on our legal system, and as I said earlier this law should be repealed by Parliament” I said with

emotion.

Pictures in an Exhibition

Chapter 28

Jean and Rose, the two ladies who ran the Burnbake Trust had arranged for me to have an exhibition at my local art gallery, the Battersea Art Centre and I was busily preparing for it. I had a week to hang my paintings and went to the gallery to hang them. I chose all my best works which included several paintings featuring prisons and prisoners as well as my Back to the Garden theme. I was hanging my work one day , a little girl of about ten walked into the gallery and started to look at my work.

“I like that one,” she said a serious look on her face.

“Do you? Thank you thank you it is one of my favourites too” I replied.

“Are you the artist?” she said.

Yes I am” I replied.

“My name is Angela and I paint too” she replied.

“I am Michael! Do you always paint?”  

“Yes I have painted since I was a small child and I always come here whenever there is a new exhibition.”

 Angela was a beautiful little girl with lovely blue eyes, very blonde hair and reminded me of Alice in Wonderland and I immediately wanted to make a portrait of her. “If you come tomorrow I will make a portrait of you and hang it in the exhibition” I offered.

“All right then” she replied.

I brought a sketch pad with me the next day and used pastels on tinted paper and made a beautiful portrait of Angela which I framed and hung on the wall, and then we both stood back and admired my latest work. “Do you like it Angela?” I asked.

“Yes very much so” she replied.

“Well you can come to the exhibition next Friday, to the Private View if you want” I said.

“Oh yes I would love to” Angela said, clapping her hands in delight.

A professional photographer turned up who used a “redhead” , an 800 watt light, to photograph the paintings for the Sunday Times.

“I am using Ektachrome Professional Tungsten, it gives the pictures a warm effect” he explained.

“Yes I know and I use it myself sometimes” I explained and we got into a conversation about film and lighting.

 I phoned Alan Stocker who promised to get in touch with Danny Lewis too and invited him to the exhibition. “Bruce too if you can find him” I said over the phone.

 Posters were made up and when I left the gallery after finishing the hanging I stood across the road admiring my name Muldoon which was splashed in big letters across dozens of posters outside the gallery in Queenstown Road, Battersea.

“Well Dad your name is splashed all over Battersea High Street” I said to my father as we were having our evening meal.

“Well I must say it is better than being splashed all over the papers. I can be proud of you now” he remarked.

“You should be proud of me anyway. I saved the life of your daughter and grandchildren when my name was splashed all over the papers before” I commented.

“Everyone knew that you were my son, all the neighbours, everyone at work that is what I mean” he said, beginning to get angry.

“Come on you two we don’t want any arguing at the dinner table, and anyway we are proud of you now, having an exhibition. Aren’t we Bill?” my mother said.

“Yes I suppose so, of course” admitted my father.

“The private view is on Friday at six,” I said.

“Private view! Does that mean that the exhibition is not open to the public? my father asked.

“Yes, it’s like a party where everyone drinks lots of wine” I replied smiling.

“Who supplies the wine?” my father asked.

“I don’t know the gallery” I think, but I know that it will be there” I observed.

“That’s good isn’t it Bill” said my mother.

The Exhibition

Chapter 29

The exhibition was crowded and I turned up early to meet the guests.

When Alan Stocker arrived with Danny I was with Angela. “I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine Angela, this is Alan and Danny” I said.

 I saw the expression of shock on Alan’s face as I introduced him to the little girl who looked lovely in a party dress, earrings, little red shoes and looking quite the little lady. I knew that he was making all sorts of assumptions and probably thought that I sexually desired little girls which really amused me. “Let him think what he wants,” I thought.

“I am delighted to meet you” she said, shaking their hands and gracefully curtseying.

“Delightful isn’t she. Look her portrait is over there” I said pointing.

Then suddenly I was confronted by a very strange looking man whom I recognised immediately as Lord Longford known as Lord Porn who offered me his hand and gave me the old square’s shake in an affected way.

“I am pleased to meet you and I adore your paintings,” he said.

“Oh thank you, I am so glad that you like them” I said wondering if he thought that I was on the square too.

 At that moment a guy with a microphone intruded into our conversation.

“You will have to switch that thing off unless you pay me ten pounds a minute. That’s what I charge for interviews” Lord Longford said in a loud upper class voice which made him the centre of attraction in the room.

 I was amazed at his behaviour and at his demand for money and struck speechless.

“Yes, all right,” the reporter replied, turning to me.

“Did they help you Michael with your painting?” he asked, holding the microphone near for me to speak. I was just about to say yes when Longford decided to answer on my behalf. “No, they did everything to stop him!” Longford exclaimed.

 Longford had taken over my exhibition and the guests were crowding round to hear the radio interview. I wondered who the “they” were who Lord Longford was talking about and decided to reassert my authority and tell the truth.

“Well the education department certainly gave me every encouragement and the Secretary for State granted me permission to study for a degree in Fine Art” I said.

“The Home Office did not want him to have this exhibition or any publicity” Longford stated as if he knew what he was talking about and I suppose that he did.

As Longford was speaking I saw that my mother and father had arrived and I sensed immediately that they were overawed in the presence of a Lord. I held Angela’s little hand in mine and beckoned to my parents.

“Mum, Dad, come over here and meet Lord Longford” I said.

“Please call me Frank, Michael,” Longford said.

“Meet my Mum and Dad” I said.

 As my parents approached Lord Longford I saw that they were awe struck in the presence of one the upper classes

“I am delighted to meet you both, Mr and Mrs Muldoon” Longford  greeted them with a bow.

 Having been introduced my parents quickly withdrew and I was reminded of the deference of the working classes which I detested. I put my hands on my hips and felt that I possessed a natural nobility and authority myself.

 Alan and Danny were now standing next to me and I became aware that we were all dressed in denim jackets and jeans as opposed to the many suits surrounding us.

 A diminutive an elderly man was speaking to me and pointing at Danny’s portrait that hung on the wall a few feet away.

“Let me introduce myself, I am Raymond Delbanco the art dealer” he said and I shook his hand gently.

“I am pleased to meet you Sir” I said politely, noticing a woman who seemed very afraid of me and my companions.

 She was obviously Mrs Delbanco and was dressed in a long mink coat and obviously afraid, openly crouching behind her husband.

 I looked at her and smiled and nodded my head but she still seemed terrified.

Delbanco pointed at the portrait of Danny. “What does this signify?” he asked.

“The noble savage” I answered immediately. Danny muttered “capitalists” which I hoped that the art dealer did not hear and which I ignored.

“And which of your children is your favourite? Delbanco asked.

I pointed to a landscape with figures. “This one” I replied. “And what does it mean?” Delbanco asked. “It is what England will look like after the revolution, when all the forests, flora and fauna return, an earthly paradise” I replied.

“I see, I see, thank you” Delbanco said smiling, swiftly taking his wife’s hand and leading her away.

“I am Alan Brien, a newspaper columnist” said a man dressed in a suit and tie who was smiling at me.

“Oh yes Alan O’ Brien I read your column in the Sunday Times” I replied.

“It is Alan Brien not O’Brien” the columnist corrected me a slight tone of annoyance in his voice.

“Oh I am sorry, I do beg your pardon” I apologised.

“Michael what do you think of Lord Longford and his anti pornography stance?” Brien asked.

“Well I think that he has a bee in his bonnet and that pornography, as such, can be erotic art and be a positive thing in a sexually repressed society” I replied.

“You think that this country is repressed do you?” the columnist asked.

“Yes and people would be a lot happier if sex and eroticism became a more natural part of their lives” I said thinking how my words would sound in the Sunday Times.

“Yes I think that Longford is a bit mad too” he agreed.

“Not so mad” I thought, thinking of the £10 per minute that he had just earned.

Someone else, an attractive woman, was speaking to me now.

“I am pleased to meet you and I love your work” she gushed.

“Oh thank you, I am so glad that you like it,” I replied.

“I am an art therapist working in Springfield Psychiatric Hospital in Balham” she informed me.

“Oh yes I know it well, not that I have ever been in there” I said laughing.

“Well you should visit one day and perhaps take a class and some of the paintings the patients do are very interesting” she said.

“Oh are they!” I said thinking about some artists who I had read about who had been influenced by the work of mental patients.

“I would like to take you up on your offer” I said taking out one of the business cards I had printed with my name and phone number on. “Here you are,” I said, giving her a card.

 Later in the bar after Angela had gone home I propped up the bar having a drink   with Longford. Up close he looked really weird with his shiny bald pate and long hair sticking out at the sides.

 “What do you think of all this pornography then Michael?” asked Lord Porn.

“Well Frank, most erotic art is bad art but some of it is erotic and good and I cannot see what harm it does and I think that erotic art should be encouraged by the state” I said.

“And you don’t think that civilisation would suffer or that it is un-Christian?” he asked.

“No Frank but it should be beautiful and erotic and if that was encouraged the ugly stuff would disappear” I said earnestly.

“I read somewhere that you still jog, I jog too” I said changing the subject.

“No Michael, you run, I jog” replied Longford.

Censored

Chapter 30

I went out next morning to Woodley’s newsagents.“Morning Paul, give me a copy of all the papers, I am looking for a story about an art exhibition at Battersea Arts Centre” I said.

“Morning Mick, no I have not seen anything” he replied.

My heart sank “It must be in there somewhere” I thought.

“Thanks Paul” I said not waiting to enter into a conversation with the loquacious Paul and walked quickly back home to Kingswood Road, where in the front room, I scanned through all the papers and found not one mention of last night’s exhibition even though newspaper and radio representatives had been there and Raymond Delbanco had spoken to me as though I had been a genius.

“Perhaps I should go over to his art gallery in Cork Street Delbanco, Darby and Browse and ask him for an exhibition” I thought. Then I became angry because it had been an important story, I thought, and obviously those above had decided, like Lord Longford had said, that I should not get any publicity. I took out Longford’s phone number that he had given me and wondered whether I should ring him. “No

perhaps there will be something in the Sunday papers, maybe in Alan Brien’s column in the Sunday Times” I thought.

The exhibition was open to the public for three weeks and I would go down there later on today to see if people were coming to see the exhibition  and whether I had sold any work. I had put not for sale signs on all my prison paintings but others I had priced at three hundred upwards.  After breakfast I put my running kit in a bag, because I would go for a run around Clapham Common later and made my way to the gallery. As I crossed the High Street I took in all the posters outside with my name plastered all over them Muldoon, Muldoon they shouted now in a sort of mockery. The gods were laughing at me I knew. I walked in through the doors and upstairs to the gallery which to my surprise was deserted in contrast to last night’s several hundred people. I walked around looking at my paintings and suddenly two children walked in on Angela and another little girl.

“Good morning Michael, this is my friend Stephanie, would you like to do a portrait of her?”

 My black mood lifted as I looked at the two smiling children.

“Good morning Angela, good morning Stephanie, yes sit down over there I would be delighted to do a portrait of you” I said and I got the easel that BAC had given me to use and started to draw. I did two drawings of Stephanie, one which I kept and the other that I hung in the gallery, then I did another portrait of Angela and sprayed the pastels with fixative before I rolled them up and gave them as presents to the little girls who were delighted and ran off to show their parents.

 I went into the toilets and sat on the loo and smoked a couple of pipes of hash. I liked to be high when I went for a run and I knew that I would run further and for longer and that I would feel a sense of rhythm as I ran and that the pain of exertion would turn to pleasure. I put on my running gear and outside the gallery I broke into a run across the High Street and up Bolingbroke Grove to Clapham Common where I started to jog around the green space while cars sped by on the surrounding roads. It was a beautiful spring day and I started to feel great after I had warmed up. I ran around the Common for an hour then made my way back to the gallery, showered and changed back into my clothes.

Angela

Chapter 31

I looked into the gallery and saw a girl sitting down in front of one of my paintings as if entranced. She had curly hair that surrounded her face like an afro, though she was white. I looked at her face which was pretty and noticed that she had large breasts that pressed against her dress and it was obvious that she was not wearing a bra. I could not see her legs because she wore a long peasant style dress and long leather boots. I noticed also that she wore no makeup but had large hoop earrings dangling from her pierced ears and silver bracelets on her wrists. I thought that perhaps I could pull her and that the gallery filled with my work, which she obviously liked, was a good place to get women. I estimated that she was in her early twenties. I was forty now but knew that I looked a lot younger and I walked

over to her and sat down on the leather divan on which she sat.

“Do you like it?” I asked when it was obvious that she did.

“Yes I do, very much” she answered, turning her head sideways to speak to me.

“I am happy that you like it, it is one of my favourite children” I said remembering the way Delbanco had spoken of my work last night.

“Oh, are you the artist?” the girl asked.

“Yes I am, please call me Michael” I said, taking her hand and kissing it.

“I am Angela,” she replied.

Another Angela” I thought “I am very pleased to meet you” I said.

 We talked and went to the coffee bar for a chat and sat looking into each other’s eyes. I wanted to fuck her and I felt that she would let me as soon as I go her alone.

“I live just down the road in Cedars Avenue” she informed me as if reading my thoughts.

I interpreted this information as an invitation to go there with her.

“Shall I walk you home?” I asked, taking her hands in mine and staring into her eyes. I noticed that her pupils were dilating as she looked at me and knew that there was a strong sexual attraction between us and I squeezed her hands.

 “All right, let’s go,” she agreed.

We walked along Queenstown Road together hand in hand, not bothering to catch one of the big red buses that kept on passing until we reached the junction of Cedars and Battersea Park Road, where we crossed at the lights to the other side and walked along to a terraced house in the main road. Angela took out her door keys and unlocked the front door.

 I followed her up a flight of stairs where she unlocked another door.

“This is my flat,” she said.

As soon as we stepped inside her little flat I took hold of her and kissed her fiercely on the lips, my hard cock digging into her through her thin skirt.

 She broke away “I am going to the bathroom” she said.

I knew that she was going to wash herself and that I was going to fuck her and I smiled as she went out of the room.

 While she was in the bathroom I looked around the modest flat which was quite small and noticed a few original paintings on the wall and some left wing books on her bookshelf. A poster of Che Guevara adorned the wall next to a picture of Fidel Castro. I sat down at a table and got out my pipe and piece of hash and when she returned I asked “Do you mind if I smoke some hashish?”

“No, go right ahead. Would you like a cup of tea with your smoke? She said laughing.

“Yes please I would” I replied.

When she returned she took a large piece of cannabis resin out of an earthenware jar on the mantelpiece and put it on the table.

“Do you want to smoke some of my stuff?” she asked.

“Yes I will try it. Do you want a pipe of this Temple Ball” I replied.

“I will have some but pipes are too strong for me and I smoke it like this” she said and  placing a piece of hash on a saucer she lit it and captured the smoke in an upturned glass sucking it in from the bottom of the glass.

 I laughed and tried it myself but it was far too weak for me as I was used to far greater concentrations of smoke in order to get high.

“You are used to smoking lots of this stuff?” she commented as I blew out large clouds of smoke.

“Yes, I liked to get really high,” I said, feeling the effects of the cannabis. I got up and cradling her face in my hands I kissed her passionately, pushing my tongue into her

mouth and reaching down to feel her large breasts.

 She stood up and pulled her sweater over her head showing her large firm breasts to me and cupping them in her hands.

 I knew that she knew that her breasts were beautiful and sexually exciting. You have beautiful breasts” I observed standing up and cupping them in my hands from behind and weighing them, feeling the large volume and rolling her nipples between my fingers. I felt them elongate and grow under my touch. I kissed the nape of her neck and undid the waistband of her skirt, letting it fall to the ground. I put both my hands in between her thighs pulling apart her labia which was swollen and already wet with desire and pushed her down onto the single bed, parting the bush of silky black pubic hair between her legs and slid my stiffly erect cock into her.

 She sighed with pleasure and I sucked her large breasts as I fucked her.

I fucked her several times that night before I fell asleep and slept soundly my arms around Angela until I was awoken in the early morning by the sound of someone getting a bicycle out the house through the front door.

“Don’t worry it is only Peter, the guy I share the flat with, he’s a reporter on the Morning Star and goes to work early” Angela said. “Do you want something to eat?" she asked.

“No thanks” I replied, feeling the desire to go home and have breakfast there.

“I’m going to leave now as I have something to do” I said, not telling her that I wanted to go and get the Sunday papers and look through them to see if anyone had done a story on the exhibition and also do some painting.

 Painting for me now had become a compulsion which I had to satisfy and I knew that when I got home I would get very high after breakfast and after reading the papers I would spend several hours working.

I wrote my phone number down on a piece of paper and she gave me hers. I walked out of her house on a cold, cloudy Sunday morning and caught a 137 bus that ran past her door.

At home I searched the Sunday papers in vain and discovered that even Alan Brien had failed to mention me in his column in the Sunday Times. I remembered Longford’s words. “They didn’t want him to get any publicity” and I knew that I was not going to get any.

 No one had bought any of my paintings either and I was not going to go crawling over to Delbanco I decided. I would earn money from what I could always sell, pornography but I needed about ten thousand pounds to buy the professional ENG

Umatic cameras, deck and lighting and sound equipment to get into production and my funds were quite low.

Another Battle

Chapter 32

Most of the old shops were there as I made my way round Soho. I noticed that there were new shops and that some of the old shops had disappeared, but the main thing was that the shops were still there, as I knew that they would be, and the presence of sex shops indicated the availability of pornography on the black market. The only way to get rid of the black market would be to legalise it as most other countries in the so called free world had done.

Britain had not done so because London was corrupt as I knew it to be, and always would be. I had not been taken in by the lies and the stories in the media saying it had all been cleaned up.

 I went into a shop in Gerrard Street and asked for porn and was offered an American video, there were several titles on offer including Debbie Does Dallas, which I had heard was a very good film. I went to another shop. I noticed someone I knew very well in Greens Court my old friend Georgie Vinn and he gave me a strange look but did not recognise me I thought because I had a full beard and was wearing a big long military overcoat, jeans and boots, the antithesis of the smart suits I had worn in the Sixties but then he might have recognised me and I couldn’t be sure.

 I wondered why the Porn Squad had lied to my father telling him that the porn game was over and I knew the answer to that question straight away. It was because those above had wanted me to believe that it was finished and because they did  not want me personally back in the game because, number one I knew too much and number two I had caused so much trouble like the “Downfall of Scotland Yard” as the media called it. I went into a shop in Old Compton Street and asked for porn and was offered some rip off soft porn but as I was walking out one of the guys Tony, whom I recognised from the Sixties and was reputed to own several shops, followed me out of the shop and gave me a strange look. I wondered if he had recognised me after all these years even though I had grown a beard and wore different clothes. I walked off quickly, crossing Old Compton Street and turned quickly up Dean Street.

  I went in search of more shops and after visiting a few more I knew that the black market in porn was alive and well but there was not any English material around and most of it seemed to be pirated American videos.

“Right, I will make some English titles and sell them” I thought. If video was not an article that could be trapped by the Obscene Publications Act then I would be able to sell by mail order.

 I entered a shop in Greek Street and started to walk around the shop which had soft-core American magazines on the wall and ignoring the punter in the corner who was leafing through some magazines I walked up to the big tall hard looking guy behind the jump. “Got any hard stuff?” I asked.

“Yeah he said this book” and handed me a rip off Danish magazine wrapped in cling film. I took the book and began to study the cover when I saw him tense and glimpsed a right hander coming towards my jaw. I moved my head backwards instinctively and the blow missed me passing just in front of my chin.

 He then stepped around the counter to attack me  again and I retaliated with a straight left to his jaw.

 I saw the surprised look on his face when I connected. The blow did not stop him though and he steamed into me trying to wrestle me to the ground.

 As I grappled with him I knew that he was an experienced fighter who must have been as hard as nails  because I had hit him square on the jaw with a straight left which I knew would have knocked most men cold. We wrestled together and I avoided a head butt and played an old trick which was to hang onto him and let him use up his energy while listening to his breathing.

 He kept on kicking me in the legs and I felt a sharp pain in my shins thinking that he was wearing boots but I endured the pain and took the blows without going down.

 He could not loosen my lock on his clothing and as we wrestled we smashed through several book stands and I heard him begin to gasp for breath. I broke away and then hit him with several blows to the body mainly which he warded off with his forearms like a professional boxer but one hit him in the solar plexus and I heard him gasp for breath and now it was his turn to hang on. We fell backwards up against another bookstand with our backs to it landing on the floor. I shot out my left arm and took a lock on his suit and he was trapped for a split second. I formed my right hand into a tight hard fist and then swung it in a vicious arc with all my strength. The blow landed on his nose, breaking it and spurting out copious streams of red blood.

 He slid down the pile of books semi conscious.

I jumped up and stood over him in a wide leg stance that I had learned in a fighting technique called “power punching” and when he opened his eyes I hit him with all my strength knocking him out.

The big guy lay there unconscious in the middle of the wreckage of the bookshop bleeding like a pig.

 As he lay there I noticed the glint of metal on the tip of his boots and saw that he was wearing martial arts boots with little sharp knives fixed to the soles.

“You fucking vicious bastard” I thought. It was then that I noticed that the punter was still over in the corner of the shop and realised that he had seen the whole fight.

He looked at me a frightened expression on his face.

“Quick take your books and get out of here” I said then turned to get out of the shop myself.  There was a mountain of wrecked bookstands blocking the exit and I climbed over them and slid down the pile into Greek Street right into the arms of a woman police officer.

 She immediately took a lock on my overcoat which was covered in blood. I could have knocked her out but my code of honour prevented me from hitting a woman.

“Let me go love, I’ve got a licence” I said.

She looked down at the several porn books that had spilled into Greek Street and started to kick them back into the shop then much to my surprise she released me.

“Go on then” she said.

Just as I went to run off a uniform copper came running across the street blowing a police whistle and launched himself at me in a rugby tackle. Before I knew it I was surrounded by police and handcuffed with my hands behind my back.

 Soon a police van arrived and I was shoved unceremoniously into the back.

Then the guy that I had just been fighting was led in too. “Who was that fucking nutter who beat us both up and ran out of the shop?” I said to him forgetting

about the witness.

The big guy looked at me, managing a wan smile. “Yeah, he was a fucking nutter wasn’t he?” he replied.

“Look at your poor legs” said the policewoman who was now in the back of the van, a horrified expression on her face.

 It was then that I became aware of the pain and glancing down I noticed the blood running from several wounds on my shins and remembered the knives on the guy’s boots.

 I looked and saw that he was still wearing them and looking him in the eye I glanced down letting him know that I knew what he was wearing but said nothing.

 I was taken to Saville Row police station and locked in a cell where I stretched myself out on the hard wooden bench.

“What a fucking, fine mess you are in Mickey boy. You have just got out of nick on a life licence and been nicked for a crime of violence, probably GBH for breaking a guy’s nose. Fucking hell that is a recall and I will be in for years” I thought.

The terrible situation I was in, being on licence came home to me with full force as I realised what I had done and that the Sword of Damocles was hanging over me.

 I had always thought of just getting out and being free but once one received a life sentence one was never free.

Back in a Cell

Chapter 33

“No you never pay for your crime and I am doomed to be judged for it over and over again” I thought laying on a hard bed in Saville Row police station. Recall was designed to protect the public and the fucking gangster with the knives on his boots would be a member of the public the same as Hawley had been I knew.

I realised that I had been set up and that someone had probably recognised me walking around the shops and a telephone call had been made and this guy behind the jump was no ordinary shop keeper but a heavy and recalled paradoxically that and he had seemed quite well spoken as well.

 A key grated in the lock interrupting my train of thought and a detective in plain clothes entered my cell.

“Hello Michael, I am detective sergeant Johnson of the Clubs Squad. Now what is this all about? You are a pornographer in a fight in a porn shop, now give me the full SP” he said smiling in a friendly way.

“I will only talk to the Porn Squad, so unless you get one of them over here, I am saying nothing” I said.

“You have just been released from a life sentence on licence and you are in a very dodgy position, me old cock sparrow so you had better talk” said the detective the smile disappearing from his face being replaced by a threatening look.

“Look I was the only guy that refused to grass up Chief Inspector Alton and Commander Moody when they were grassed up by that rat Humphries even though I  was offered a Queen's Pardon by the Crown, you should give me plenty of help” I said.

“Yes I know all about you Michael and what you say is true. I will see what I can do but I’m not promising anything. You are due up Bow Street Magistrates in the morning. Can I get you a cup of tea and something to eat?” he asked.

 “Yes please” I answered.

The detective turned and walked out of the cell banging the door behind him and I lay back down on the hard wooden bench looking up at the bars on the window and the graffiti on the walls, I was back again in the nick.

 Soon a key in the lock and a uniform police officer escorted me to a cell with a bed and gave me a cup of tea and a packet of cheese sandwiches.

“I was going to be judged again in the morning” I thought, wolfing down the grated cheese sandwiches and washing them down with tea. Then I climbed into the hard bed and dropped off to a fitful sleep and had a nightmare where I was banged up forever.

I was taken by police van early in the morning and locked in the cells at Bow Street Magistrates Court to await my fate.

 As I sat there in the cell I thought about what I would say in my defence in court.

“But what good would it do me? I was a convicted murderer and the magistrate would take a dim view of me I was sure.

What else could I do if I was attacked? Didn’t I have a right to defend myself when attacked?” I wondered if the punter who had been in the shop and witnessed the fight would be in court to say that the guy had attacked me and whether or not it would be discovered that he was wearing steel knives on his boots.

“He had probably got bail and the punter was allowed to slip away unrecorded after all it was all bent” I thought.

 I  now heard that you did not have any civil rights at all while on licence and even if one was charged with a crime of violence it would mean automatic recall! I had even heard of lifers being found not guilty and still being recalled. The Sword of Damocles was hanging over my head and I should have left the country when I had the chance, but it was too late now.

I went to look at my wristwatch to discover the time and it was not there and I realised that it had been torn off in the fight and must be laying somewhere in the wreckage of the shop in Greek Street. The sound of footsteps, a key in the lock and the cell door was unlocked and I was led out into a passageway that led to the court.

“Well this was it, I was going to be judged again” I thought.

 Just at that moment a plain clothes detective approached me.

“Michael, listen to me very carefully,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes” I said expectantly.

“When you go into the court, don’t say anything at all. Just keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?” the detective said.

“Yes but I’m charged with a crime of violence and that means an automatic recall?” I replied.

“No Michael, you are not charged with any crime but a breach of the peace which is not a crime and all you have to do is say nothing. Do you understand?” the detective explained.

 My heart raced as hope welled in my heart.

“Someone was helping me at last” I thought. “Yes I understand,” I said.

As I was led into the court I recognised an old screw from Wandsworth wheeling a hand barrow with my record on it. He was a big, tall guy and I remembered him well.

“What’s he doing here?” I thought.

The screw gave me a meaningful look from his big, dark eyes. “You are for the high jump, recall” the look said.

Then I entered the dock standing beside the guy that I had had the fight with the night before.

 He looked in a right state with had two black eyes, a broken nose, his jaw was swollen to twice the size and he looked like he had been in a fight with Rocky Marciano and lost.

 Normally I would have taken a delight in my handiwork and at the beating I had given my attacker but now it looked as if I had attacked him and beaten him up.

 I noticed the old screw lifting my weighty record onto the table before a solicitor who was obviously acting for the prosecution before looking over at the guy with the beaten face and giving me another dirty look.

 The prosecuting solicitor undid the red ribbon that was tied around my bulging record and started to read the crimes of my youth.

 There I knew no other crimes of violence except the murder conviction.

But murder was the most heinous of all crimes and I had been found guilty of it.

 The magistrate was entering the court now, an immaculately dressed man in a handmade suit, shiny black shoes wearing a stiff collar and old school tie.

 He sat down and gave me a long look straight into my eyes and then his gaze switched to the wounded guy who stood beside me, a good four inches taller, in the dock and his eyes twinkled in amusement and I detected the beginnings of a smile as he looked back at me. He was, I knew, obviously admiring the handiwork I had perpetrated to the face of my attacker, who had obviously picked on the wrong man, and I thought how fortunate I was to be before a man who could appreciate natural justice at the hands of myself.

“Michael Muldoon do you accept to be bound over to keep the peace in the locality of Soho for one year hence” asked the magistrate.

“Yes Sir I do” I said with a smile of gratitude on my lips.

“Then you are bound over to keep the peace in the district of Soho for one year from this day onwards. You are now free to go” he said a smile playing around his lips.

 The prosecution was thumping my record which lay on the bench in front of him.

“But this man is a convicted….” he managed to say.

“Will you shut up? I have not asked you to speak and the court does not require you to do so” the magistrate said vehemently.

 I stepped down from the dock and made my way out before any further developments could take place and as I went out into the hall outside the court I was approached by the detective. “My advice to you Michael is to stay away from Soho and stay away from the shops, all right?” he warned.

“Yes all right” I answered amazed that I was at liberty again. I was happy and I knew that the gods were smiling on me again.

Just at that moment the guy who I had fought with the previous night emerged from the court and was met by a guy who had been waiting outside.

 I wanted my watch back and the guy was obviously the sex shop owner so I walked over and the guy with the black eyes saw me coming said something and the other guy who looked at me a frighten look on his face.

“My watch was ripped off last night and it must be in the shop,” I said.

“Okay Michael we will go and collect it for you” the shop owner replied while his wounded employee looked at me with the respect of a man who had been fairly beaten in a fight of his own choosing.

 We walked through Soho back towards Greek Street.

“He is not going to start fighting again when we get there, are you?” I said, wondering whether I was doing the right thing going back to the shop for the sake of a wristwatch. I knew that it was the right thing to do and I could not alter my ways.

“No, of course not,” the shop owner replied quickly.

Back in Greek Street I was amazed to see that the wreckage of yesterday’s battle had been cleaned up and the shop was back to normal again as if nothing had ever happened.

“Wait here and I will get your watch,” the shopkeeper said.

 I waited outside and five minutes later he came out with the watch and handed it to me.

“Thank you very much” I said, then turning on my heel I walked down Greek Street then through Berwick Street market where the stalls were alive and crowded selling fruit, vegetables and fish. I stopped to buy some smoked salmon for breakfast from the first stall, a fish stall that had been there for as long as I as could remember. I walked down Berwick Street, through Walkers Court glancing at the thriving bookshop that had belonged to Fat Bill, Ben and Brian which they had acquired from Kenny Lynch and the old memories came flooding back and I wondered what Ben and Brian were up to now and whether they were still alive.

 Looking at my reflection in the plate glass windows of the big shop I saw a hippy looking back with a big beard wearing a long blood stained army coat that reached down to his knees.

 I wondered what they would think if the Chaps could see me now. In Walkers Court going past Raymond’s Revue bar I remembered that he was the only guy in Soho with a licence to show girls without knickers in his club because Raymond paid the Clubs Squad, then out into Brewer Street, turning left down to the end doing a right into Wardour Street then down to the end into Leicester Square. I walked along to Leicester Square Underground station where I caught the Northern line to Clapham Common. Then a 137 bus to Kingswood Road and getting out my keys I unlocked the door and walked into my house, feeling on top of the world because someone had given me a bit of help and I was glad that I did not give evidence against Moody and Alton. I supposed that those above wanted to protect their own interests too and had not wanted anything appearing in the media about Soho bookshops still selling porn after the propaganda about the big clean up.

“Is that you Michael?” the anxious voice of my mother called down the stairs.

“Yes Mum” I replied.

“We were worried when you didn’t come home last night.

“I couldn’t mum. I was held up” I replied. “Hold on dying for a Jimmy Riddle”  I said, shooting into the toilet and quickly taking off the blood stained long coat and throwing it into my bedroom on the way out.

“You should have phoned Michael”

“I couldn’t Mum there were no phones where I stayed” I said.

 “No phones?”

“Look Mum, I have bought some nice smoked salmon for breakfast” I said.

“Do you want me to do it with some scrambled eggs and toast?”

“Yes please Mum” I replied.

Plan for an English Revolution

Chapter 34        

Later I went back over the Battersea Art Centre and wandered around the almost deserted gallery then sat down on the bench looking at my favourite painting of an English Paradise on Earth.

A middle class looking woman approached me. “Michael, I am very interested in your work. My husband Simon is exhibiting in the coffee shop. Can I buy you a coffee?” she said in a posh accent

“Yes certainly” I replied following her into the coffee bar gallery.

I walked around the restaurant joined by her husband Simon, looking at his pen and ink sketches which were extremely good caricatures of people in pubs and so on. I noticed that many of the pictures had red stickers on them denoting that they had been sold.

“I see that you have sold a few” I remarked with a touch of envy.

“Yes they sold at the private view, mainly to friends” he replied in a posh accent like his wife.

“I see, I never sold a thing” I replied.

“Not to worry, I noticed that all your best paintings were not for sale” he observed.

“Yes I could not part with my favourite children” I replied.

“Yes, one gets so attached to them. Incidentally you will find my wife interesting. She was one of the main organisers of the Paris riots” he said.

“I did not know that you painted. I thought that you just did caricatures” I said.

Simon carried on painting the big canvas on his easel.

“Do you like the caricatures?” he asked without turning to look at me.

“Yes I do, very much so” I said truthfully.

“They are my potboilers and they always sell, but selling paintings is a lot more difficult. People need to be told that you are a genius by some so-called art expert before they buy them and then they buy as an investment not because they like them” he said.

“Well at my exhibition Raymond Delbanco spoke to me as if I was a genius of a painter but I did not sell one single painting” I replied.

“Yes I know I was there but they did not like your politics and his wife was absolutely terrified of you. She thinks that you are a communist who wants to confiscate all the rich people’s wealth and property like the Nazis” he replied.

“Well I certainly want to redistribute the land that was stolen from the indigenous people throughout history. I am thinking of the land enclosures and so on. But this ought to be done as painlessly as possible and there is plenty of land to go round” I said. “Michael, think about what you are going to say to the Party members tonight.” Simon said.

“Michael, Simon, dinner is almost ready. Would you like a glass of wine? I am having one” Helen called.

“Come on Michael, dinner is almost ready and I do fancy a drink. You go on down I have got to wash this paint off my hands” Simon said getting up from the easel.

 Helen was pouring wine into three large glasses and I looked around the enormous kitchen with copper bottom saucepans hanging from a rack and realised that Simon and Helen were rich.“Can you chop up the parsley for me Michael?” Helen asked.

I washed my hands under the tap in the kitchen sink and picked up the large sharp  knife that lay on the chopping board next to the parsley and began to chop it. I was always self conscious when handling sharp knives in the company of relative strangers because I had stabbed someone to death and I always had to act normal because of the amount of times I was supposed to have stabbed someone, the inference being that I was a maniac.

 Only I knew that it was Kenny Eighteen who had done the majority of the wounds but there was eighty nine no way. Probably Dr Tuck had done them I thought. I had to stop thinking about it all the time.

 Helen seemed to read my thoughts and smiled at me reassuringly. “That will do fine,” she said.

 Simon walked into the room and picked up one of the glasses while Helen picked up one too.

 I picked up my glass and we all clinked glasses.

“To the revolution” Helen said.

“To the revolution” Simon and I said.

I looked at Helen who was a very beautiful woman with fine bone structure and I was pleased that she was on my side because in a people’s revolution one obviously needed the support of the rich and educated classes in order to overthrow the old corrupt regime.

The dinner was excellent, oysters on a bed of ice followed by steamed Turbot, mashed potatoes and  parsley sauce washed down with an excellent Graves.

 The house was large and I walked into a huge room where lots of young men sat around a long table. I sat at the head, Helen sat on my right and Simon on my left.

 I took out my pipe and loaded it with hash while everyone looked at me, waiting for me to speak.

After having a few pipes I felt ready to speak and I surveyed all those that sat around the table and noticed that they were all male except for Helen. I wondered who they were and remembered Simon referring to them as The Party but no one had told me which Party but they were obviously revolutionary and on the left.

 I was a bit out of touch having been incarcerated for the past decade but perhaps that was a good thing. Not many working class guys here tonight and they need a working class leader, I thought.

“Where are all the women? We obviously need lots of attractive women on our side if we are to fight the forces of capitalism” I said.

 This brought a few laughs which I thought sounded posh.

Who were these people and what was I doing here telling them all about my plan for an English revolution I thought.

“I am serious, we need a volunteer force of sexually unrepressed women using their sexual power to persuade as many people in key positions as we can to support the movement ” I said.

 I looked down the table and people were now listening to me who ever they were.

“We have to have the support of the students at the Universities at one end of the spectrum and the support of the grass roots, the working class kids in the schools at the other end. The hardest obstacle to overcome is that capitalism makes the slaves comfortable and they are warm, well housed and well clothed in their council estates and also entertained, mainly albeit, by American propaganda films.

 Why should anyone want to turn around capitalism and consume fewer goods than they are consuming today? One reason is leisure time and having more time to play in a polymorphously sexual society. Most people look forward to the weekend as a brief respite from toil and this is what we have to concentrate on by gradually cutting the working week until people want to go to work and even volunteer to do it.

 With automation not being used, work is being used mainly to control and dominate the people and what we are going to offer is happiness to a basically miserable  society where everyone whinges all the time except for a few people who work at things that offer them the fruits of labour and satisfaction. The state has to take over the means of production and run the workplaces and factories. What is to stop everyone smoking hash, drinking wine, having sex and just consuming, you may ask?

 Well it will work like this. As the profit motive is no longer the raison d’etre of production but to supply the people with the necessities of life, then everyone will be entitled to the goods that they need. Energy will be free but produced by automation which will use as many natural sources of energy as possible and in a world of finite resources we cannot sustain infinite supply therefore rationing at a normal level of demand will have to be imposed while technology endeavours to supply demand and scientists work on non polluting ways of producing energy like wind, wave and solar power.

Capitalism sells to the people resources like water and food that should belong to us all and we only need a modicum of labour to produce or to supply. Water, for example, falls out of the sky and tanks in people’s homes should store that which falls upon their roofs. I am not a Luddite and believe that technology will supply our needs with scientists motivated by altruism being better motivated than those whom work for profit. Capitalism encourages gross consumption and waste whereas when machines are made to last forever, or hundreds of years, scarce materials will become more plentiful. Goods will last a lifetime and clothes made by proud designers and craftsmen will not fall to pieces in the washing machine. This brings me to a point which is how does one get a washing machine for example?

The answer to this is simple because as post revolutionary washing machines will  last a lifetime one will simply report to a washing machine factory and put in the required labour time to produce one, and the same goes for any other goods that people want.”

I paused for a minute and picked up my pipe and put some hash on it then held a pipe to it and inhaled then exhaled sending a cloud of pungent cannabis fumes into the room. I realised that I was the only smoker in the room.

“Don’t worry pure cannabis is not carcinogenic” I exclaimed jokingly but no one laughed.

“Does anyone fancy a pipe?” I asked and nobody took up the offer. “Sex, drugs and rock and roll” I exclaimed.

“We have got some wine if anyone wants a glass?” offered Helen and there were one or two murmurs and Helen returned with a tray of glasses and a couple of bottles of wine.

“Michael? Helen asked and as I nodded and smiled she poured me a glass.

“Food, how will people get food if the supermarkets are closed down? This is the

question I said, sipping my wine. “We will turn them into food distribution points

and people will bring their ration cards and collect their entitlements.

 How will we get people to eat less in a society already conditioned by capitalist advertising to consume enormous quantities of food?

We will offer the incentives of health and beauty in an eroticised society.

Television will provide education and entertainment without advertising and there are

many actors and teachers who will do this for the love of it and make erotic films for example. Incidentally all sex crimes and censorship will be abolished because we will have laws to deal violence, for example as in cases of rape. Obviously there are people who like doing everything and there are even those would enjoy,

working in or supervising a washing machine factory, for example, or conversely working on the land albeit voluntarily and part time. Where food is concerned the good news is that we have enough land to grow enough to feed everyone and we only have to work out the logistics. In fact as you probably know there is a surplus of food that global capitalism destroys to keep the price up on the markets. As I have said the incentives for the revolution will be far more leisure time with the working

week progressively being reduced to allow the development of a hedonistic society of drugs, sex and rock and roll. I know that sounds a bit crude but artists will create a new culture with new imagery to be placed in public places. Of course I will need a lot of help and we must discuss the best ways of starting the revolution and being triumphant because the alternative is horrific. Capitalism is fast using resources and ruining the world we live in at an ever increasing rate and unless this is stopped they will need another World War to smash it all down and start again.”

 I looked around the table. “Are there any questions?” I asked.

“What about violence? Is this going to be a bloodless revolution” someone asked.

“Well as I have said we are fast moving towards a world where basic materials will run out and there will be widespread violence competing for scarce resources. Of course the people might agree with the aims of an anti-capitalist revolution but the capitalists will fight back and paramilitary forces and the police will try to stop the revolution as in the Paris riots.”

 I glanced at Helen and she nodded. “What we need is a people’s revolutionary army dressed in the denim of the workers who will be trained in martial arts and street fighting who will fight the police on the streets and win without the use of weapons.

 However we have to try and get the police and the army on our side so as to minimise the struggle between the people. More sex for the warriors will be a great incentive and with this in mind the censorship of sexual imagery must be opposed and disobeyed as it is the propaganda of free love” I said trying to think of what I had said and of any points that I had missed.

 Of course we must be prepared for state violence and be ready to fire back if the forces of oppression fire on us.

 Pacifism is a weakness which will not succeed and we need the police and army on our side to minimise the inevitable street battles.

“What about the officers in the armed forces and the royal family are they to be killed off as in the  Russian Revolution?” someone with a posh voice wanted to know.

“Of course not and I think that many officers would be prepared to join us if they could do so. As for the royal family and the upper classes, as it ever occurred to you that many of them do not like, or enjoy the life into which they were born and many would like to be just like everyone else.

“But what do you want out of the revolution Michael? What would you become if it

succeeded?” someone asked from down the long table. “All I want is to live in a peaceful world where pleasure is a priority and not the rat race of toil in a world where consumption causes diseased lemmings to run even faster towards the abyss. If the revolution was successful I would like to become Minister for the Arts for a period.”

“What would be the first thing that you would do?” someone asked.

“I would commission lots of erotic statues to replace all the public statues of mass murderers would be taken down for a start so that the children of the revolution grow up without shame. But will I need a little help from my friends.”

Insanity

Chapter 35

I walked up to the gate lodge of Springfield Mental Hospital in Tooting South London. “I have come to take an art class,” I said.

“The building over there Sir” said the man at the gate.

“I have come to see Kathleen Lewis the art therapist and take an art class” I said to the receptionist who directed me to the art room. I opened the door and went in to find an empty classroom that was plastered with patient’s work. I started to look at some of the more interesting paintings and drawings on the wall. There was one

particular artist’s work was done in red and green ink that was really intense and I stared at several of the pen and ink drawings that were obviously the work of the same person.

 The door opened and Kathleen came in “Hello Michael I am so happy that you could

come” she said smiling.

“Hello well as you said there is some very interesting work here. I particularly like this person’s work. Are they still here now?” I asked.

“No, she died several years ago,” Kathleen answered.

“That’s a pity I would love to have met her. How long did she do?” I asked. “I am thinking of her as a prisoner” I thought.

“She was a patient here for sixteen years” she answered correcting

me and ignored my analogy .

“Sixteen years!” I exclaimed. “What was she in for?” I thought but did not ask. “What was she suffering from?” I asked.

“She was a paranoid schizophrenic,” Kathleen answered.

 I remembered when I had been in a state of chemically induced paranoia and thought that it must be terrible to be like that all the time.

“Do you think that a chemical imbalance of the brain is responsible for paranoid states of mind?” I asked her.

“Yes I do,” Kathleen confirmed my thoughts.

“What is the treatment?” I wanted to know.

“Oh there are some very good one’s these days but we usually calm them down with tranquillisers” Patricia answered.

“Liquid cosh” I thought and I remembered what R D Laing had said in his book on radical psychiatry that if the patient is not allowed to go through the trip then they will remain in that state permanently. “Have you ever read R D Laing?” I asked.

“Yes I have “Kathleen said.

Just at that moment I heard the sound of excited female voices approaching outside in the corridor

“That is the patients arriving, now I will be here to give you any assistance that you may need with them, so don’t worry and just play it by ear” Kathleen said.

 The door opened and several women patients entered and then they all looked at me, then before I knew it I was surrounded by them, and they were all laughing and giggling.

“Oh he is lovely isn’t he?” one of them said and then her hand went straight to my crotch and suddenly their hands were all over me and I realised that all these women were sex starved and had celibacy enforced upon them.

“Come on, stop it girls, behave yourselves” Kathleen was shouting an urgent tone to her voice.

 I just stood there unresisting, letting their hands rove all over my body. Eager hands unzipped my jeans and released my flaccid penis while the women giggled excitedly. I was not deriving any sexual pleasure from the proximity and tactile attention that all these females were giving me simply because none of them was remotely sexually attractive to me, but I simply could not resist and stop their harmless explorations of my body and stop the fun that they were obviously having.

“Stop it! Stop them Michael, stop them at once” Kathleen was shouting rather hysterically.

 I began to laugh feeling rather like a patient myself and identifying with the patients and not with the authorities represented by Kathleen and the women all started laughing too while staring at my penis and trying to coax it into life.

 A bell started to ring and I realised that Kathleen had pressed the alarm.

 Several white jacketed male nurses arrived and herded the still laughing women out of the room.

 I hastily rearranged my clothing and looked at Kathleen while a feeling of intense sadness swept through my body and my eyes filled with tears which I blinked back.

“Why didn’t you stop them? Are you all right?” Kathleen asked a worried expression on her face.

“I couldn’t, yes I am all right but what about them?” I answered.

“They won’t be punished but why couldn’t you stop them touching you?”

“Because I felt sorry for them, they are obviously starved of sex. What I want to know is why they are forced to be celibate? There are male patients here in the same condition. Why aren’t they allowed to have sex? ” I wanted to know.

“Because then they would become pregnant” Kathleen answered.

I felt myself becoming angry at how these people were being treated. “Why can’t they take contraceptives and be allowed to have sex if that is the problem?” I asked this woman who seemed to accept the terrible conditions these so-called patients were forced to endure.

“It would lead to all sorts of control problems” Kathleen answered.

“Love, hate and jealousy, just like in the outside world. These people are not patients; they are prisoners on liquid cosh and who are tortured by enforced celibacy and electric shocks. It’s disgusting, man’s inhumanity to man” I said.

 Kathleen was not used to being accused and I could see that she was becoming angry herself at my accusations.

“Michael, I made a mistake inviting you here because you don’t seem to understand that these people are mentally ill and that there are rules about the treatment that we have to follow,” Kathleen said.

“Rules that you have to follow even against your own conscience?” I accused her. “No, no attempt whatsoever is being made to heal these people who have committed no crimes and they are prisoners on liquid cosh, not patients. If they were treated like human beings instead of dangerous criminals then perhaps we could cure them. There should be houses built within these enormous grounds and they should be allowed to find friends of the opposite sex and allowed to set up homes” I said.

“Michael what you are saying is interesting and I will discuss it with my colleagues but I am only a visiting art therapist who takes the art class” she explained.

“Okay I won’t be invited back here, this is obvious. I will see you around” I said.

“I will never see you again” I thought as I walked out of the classroom and out of this damn place that called itself a hospital but was obviously a prison that simply contained those who were a nuisance or considered dangerous in some way.

 As I walked across Tooting Bec Common I broke into a run and as I ran I thought to myself that after the revolution then mental health would be one of the areas where an enormous change was needed.

The birds were singing and as I ran across the green grass I had the illusion that I was in the countryside and I realised that commons were museums of what England used to be before all the trees and flowers were destroyed and concreted over.

There will have to be an enormous demolition program and a removal of all the concrete and the re-growing of the trees and flowers which will encourage wildlife to flourish again and clean the air that we breathe. Houses will be built among the trees or underground and Nature will quickly reassert itself, healing the World I thought.

 I was nearing the end of the common and approaching the roads but I did not stop jogging and carried on down Telferscot Road past my old secondary modern school from which I had been expelled at fourteen years of age.

“We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control, dark sarcasm in the classroom” the words of Pink Floyd echoed through my head. “It is not education, as such, but socialisation and conditioning in order to make us obey and to stop us questioning and opposing authority” I thought. I was nearing the council estates of Clarence Avenue and thought that an enormous change was required here. These were poor people living in subsidised housing who were piled on top of one another like prisoners in prison blocks, but ironically had no gardens in which to grow food that could have helped them to save money. It would be a good idea for a start section off all this grass and give everyone an allotment on which they could grow food. There was plenty of land but it was covered with grass and people were discouraged even from walking on it! It all should all be dug up and vegetables planted and also people could keep chickens. I realised that capitalism wanted to exploit the poor and discouraged them from even growing a portion of their food that could be sold to them in the shops. I envisaged this council estate full of fruit trees with vegetables and flowers growing and with chickens laying eggs that would supply everyone’s breakfast. No wonder the youth on these estates became bored and alienated when there was nothing to do with no money in their pockets. I pictured them working happily on their allotments and taking pride in growing food and for their pleasure growing cannabis to smoke and to heal and brewing alcohol from their own produce to drink and be merry. I envisaged that these bare and grim estates would be filled with happy smiling children and adults.

“Everything is here and Nature will provide once we turn back the so-called progress of capitalism and the greed of Mormon '' I thought. I jogged across Kings Avenue back to Kingswood Road, stopping outside the house where I had been brought up and looked up at the crack that had been there since a German blockbuster bomb had fallen on Kings Avenue destroying the big mansions of the rich, cracking our house and now there was a council estate built upon that land.

 What were council estates, supposedly cheap housing for poor people built by a benign and caring Labour government? If so they had become open prisons designed to destroy family life by piling families on top of one another and depriving them of their gardens and houses so that they could be exploited as passive consumers in a capitalist society.

Quiet Life

Chapter 36

“Why don’t you come and stay with me and Maurizio for a while up in Banbury” my sister Kath said.

 I looked at Maurizio and he smiled at me. I liked my sister’s husband immediately and I could see that the feeling was mutual.

“You must just paint nothing else, just the painting” he said in a strong Italian accent.

I had not been getting on well with my father because we had begun to argue about our politics, he was a Tory and I was left of Che Guevara!

 Someone in the Porn Squad had told him about the fight I had over at Greek Street and said that I should stay out of porn for good whereas I had insisted it was just a matter of time before I started again.

 All I was doing was smoking hash and painting all day in the little room downstairs and my father thought that I was wasting my time after the fiasco of the exhibition where I had ended up selling just one painting. And so it was, I found myself in the little town of Banbury in Oxfordshire, where Maurizio had a hairdressing shop in partnership with his friend Lawrence.

 Maurizio liked to smoke hash and listen to music and we usually did that each evening. My sister Kathleen had a daughter from her previous marriage with Ken called Nancy aged about nine. Nancy was a sweet little girl and I could not

believe how much she had inherited the dark Jewish looks of her father Kenny.

 I had an easy life living with my sister and all Maurizio wanted me to do was to paint and soon his house was covered in my work.

 He already had several original paintings hanging on his wall that had been done by his friend Mario that lived in Rome.

 I had written to him and Kath while in prison and at the time he was working for an Italian in a shop in Banbury and by correspondence I had persuaded him and Kath to find their own shop which they had.

One day we went to Lawrence’s house where he lived with his attractive blonde wife Julie and we all went out for a run. We ran as far as Maurizio could, a couple of miles, and then turned back. For me it was just a fun run but on the way back Lawrence suddenly overtook me and I started to race with him leaving Maurizio behind. Lawrence was a good runner and fit but I stayed just behind him and managed to overtake him as we reached his house where I lay puffing and panting outside his front door.

 One day I went to the shop with Maurizio in order to get my hair done and while I waited for Maurizio to finish work I smoked some hash in the back room.

 Lawrence came in and gave me a dirty look and I sensed that he thought that people who smoked hash were stupid and unobservant.

 I sat out the front of the shop and I noticed Lawrence open the till and take out some cash and put an IOU back in but as he did so he glanced over at me. I pretended not to notice but his actions and demeanour made me suspicious. Sure enough an hour or so later he took out the IOUs and put them in his pocket without replacing the cash. Before he did so he glanced over at me again, and again I pretended not to notice him but observed his actions in a mirror while nodding my head in time to the music, which came over the shop’s speakers, as though I was really out of it.  

 As Lawrence glanced over at me I could see the look of contempt on his face and read his mind that he thought that I was just some stupid junkie.

 So I began to watch him over the two or three days that I made excuses to visit the shop which was called L & M Haircare; not a good name for an Italian what about Maurizio of Rome I thought.

 Another thing that I discovered was that he had a girlfriend who he had made manager of the shop and the relationship that he had with her was pretty obvious to the other staff.

 I knew that Lawrence was not a particularly nice guy at all and so when I was sure I confronted Maurizio with the truth. We had just had a smoke of hash and Maurizio

was playing Tangerine Dream on his expensive Hi Fi system.

“Maurizio I am going to tell you something that you are not going to like and which you probably won’t believe but which I know is true” I said while sipping a glass of Chianti.

Kath looked at me sharply but Maurizio just grinned.

“Maurizio, your friend and partner Lawrence is robbing you blind” I said dramatically.

Maurizio's jaw fell open in surprise. “I do not believe it, he is my friend,” he said.

“Are you sure Mickey?” Kath asked.

“Yes this Lawrence thinks that I am just a stupid junkie who smokes hash all day and who is oblivious to everything that goes on around him. Yes I am sure that he is robbing you, as sure as I am that he is knocking off the manageress, who is his girlfriend.”

“It is not true, he is my friend,” uttered Maurizio, looking upset.

“Maurizio, he does it every day. What he does, he puts IOUs in the till when he takes out cash but instead of putting back the cash he just takes out the IOUs. Look I am certain because I would not accuse him if I was not. No, he is robbing you

blind, I am sure” I said.

 Maurizio began to cry and I realised how soft he was.

“Look all you have to do is check the till without him realising what you are doing and you will see that I am right. He is not very clever but a cunning and blatant thief who thinks that you and me are fucking idiots. Just keep your cool and check it out and incidentally you don’t need this stupid Englishman in a hairdressing business because the English think that Italians are the best hairdressers in the world. Without him you will become rich here in this little town” I said enthusiastically.

“What am I going to do?” Maurizio asked, sobbing.

“Well you are going to set up in business on your own and you don’t need this jerk Lawrence, but first you check out what I am saying. Look don’t let him know that you are suspicious but when you open the till you will see the IOUs and just add up

the takings without anyone noticing then check them after Lawrence has gone. You will see for yourself. I won’t come to the shop when you are doing this and it is better that you find out for yourself” I said emphatically.

 It did not take Maurizio long to discover that what I had said about Lawrence was true and a couple of days later we sat and discussed the situation.

“What am I going to do now?” Maurizio asked.

“Well what we are going to do is to confront Lawrence and tell him that we know that he has been robbing you and then we are going to dissolve the partnership and he is going to pay you compensation for what he has stolen and for the shop” I said easily.

“But I wanted the shop,” Maurizio said sadly. “It is near to the American airbase and lots of my customers come from there,” he explained.

“Maurizio I am going to find you a new shop in town and believe me all your old customers will come back to you because they have cars and you are Italian” I said with certainty.

“I cannot face Lawrence! Oh how am I going to do this?” said Maurizio with tears in his eyes.

“Don’t be silly Maurizio of course you can tell him” Kathleen said a touch of anger in her voice.

“Look Kath, you do the books with his wife Julie and since Maurizio has been checking the till I want a rough estimate of how much Lawrence has stolen over the last two years since you have been in business. I think that we can assume that he has been doing it from the off. So there is that, then half of what the shop is worth plus goodwill and that is what I will ask Lawrence for” I said in a businesslike manner.

“Oh what will I do, what will I say” moaned Maurizio.

“You don’t have to say anything. I will say it all. Just tell Lawrence that we are coming over for a run tomorrow evening” I said.

 When we got to Lawrence’s house he was waiting for us wearing a tracksuit. We were in his front room and his wife Julie was there as well.

“Lawrence, I have something to say to you” I said while Maurizio stood behind me looking sad.

 Lawrence realised immediately that something was up when he looked at my face and I gave him a look that had put fear into many a so-called gangster.

“Lawrence, I have been watching you and you have been robbing your friend and partner Maurizio blind for a long time” I said.

Lawrence looked at me like a man who was guilty. “Don’t be silly, of course I’m not” he blurted out. I glanced over at Julie, his wife who looked terrified.

“Could you leave us alone dear for a moment” I said as kindly as possible and then I turned back to Lawrence. “Lawrence you don’t need to argue because we both know that it is true the same as the fact that you are fucking your manageress is true. You thought that I was stupid but I watched you every time that you took out those IOUs. Now if you want to argue about it I’m going to give you the biggest fucking kicking of your life you fucking scumbag, I’m going to cripple you for life” I said fixing Lawrence with a cold stare knowing that Lawrence would not want to fight.

 Lawrence said nothing but I could see the fear in his eyes.

“What’s going to happen now is that the partnership between you and Maurizio is going to break up and you are going to compensate Maurizio for what you have stolen, plus half the cost of the shop and the goodwill of the business” I said.

“How much do you want?” asked Lawrence, becoming businesslike and dropping all pretence of denial now that he realised that the game was up.

 I could read him like a book and from the cunning expression on his face I realised that he was quite pleased with the prospect of getting rid of Maurizio and running the business on his own. But I knew that the Italian Maurizio was why the customers came to the shop and I also knew that when they discovered that Maurizio had a new shop in town then they would follow him there.

“Your wife and Kath will go over the books and give you an offer which will be fair and that you cannot refuse” I said.

 Julie came over to Maurizio’s house the next day and her and my sister began to work out the sum of money owed.

 I noticed that she was wearing lots of makeup and a short little black dress and high heels and that she was showing out to me.

 Kath giggled and gave me a look that said that Julie fancied me but I knew that Julie was her friend and that she would probably break up with Lawrence now and was looking for a man but there was something pathetic about Julie that I did not admire and even though I could have fucked her I ignored her and went out for a walk around town.

 And so it was that Lawrence paid a handsome sum of money to Maurizio and I went looking for a new shop.

 I walked around the sleepy little town of Banbury through the marketplace where women were buying fruit, vegetables and foodstuffs produced by local farmers and looked at an empty shop there but I did not really think that it was suitable I to attract the wives of the American armed forces or the affluent customers that I had in mind for Maurizio.

 In the High Street I saw a large mock Tudor shop and I noticed that people who visit Woolworths had to pass and although at the end of the High Street had good parking facilities. The building was mock Tudor and entirely white with black windows and beams and was easily recognised and probably well known among the local people and as soon as I saw it I knew that was what I wanted. I noted the name of the estate agents from the board outside and decided to visit their offices that were only a short walk away.

“I am interested in the shop in the high street, the mock Tudor building” I said to the estate agent.

“Oh, I am sorry Sir that is already under offer” the estate agent replied.

“How much are you asking per annum?” I asked

The estate agent came out with a figure that seemed quite low to me so I added five per cent mentally and it was still cheap.

“I will give you an offer that you cannot refuse, five per cent more on behalf of Maurizio Figoli of Rome who wishes to start a hairdressing salon there. I am Mr Figoli’s business partner from London and we can do the deal today” I said.

“All right then, you have got the shop” the estate said without hesitation.

Later I went round to the shop and took some photographs, made up a display advert introducing Maurizio of Rome and went to the offices of the local newspaper where I took a display advert on a permanent basis. I also persuaded the paper to run a news story about Maurizio of Rome and opening of the new shop.

 The decorators moved in and painted everything in black and white and Maurizio chose and had installed all the latest accessories and hairdressing equipment that money could buy.

 When it was finished I stood across the road looking at the sign outside, Maurizio of Rome it said and I wished I could have seen Lawrence’s face when he saw it.

 I walked around the shop with Maurizio and he smiled in delight at the way it looked and the way things had turned out.

“I hope that the customers will come?” he said looking at me.

“Of course they will,” I said.

Soon after that two of Lawrence’s staff left to work for Maurizio and he was back in business. As I predicted the new shop was a success from the start and when I visited it was already full and still taking bookings.

A Virgin

Chapter 37

“Now you can get on with your painting Maurizio” said after we smoked hash and drunk the Ruffino Chianti that Maurizio assured me was the finest wine Italy produced.

“Always when you see the black cockerel on the bottle it is the best” he assured me.

I started to paint again every day but I did not have a proper studio but planned to build one soon in the attic.

 I was painting a large canvas in the garden and it was propped against the wall but I ran out of paint and decided to go down to the local art shop in the town to buy some.

 As I peered through the window of an art shop I noticed a beautiful girl with very long black hair, who looked Japanese sketching.

 I went into the shop and asked if they had any titanium white in large tubes or tubs but they only had small tubes which I would use in a single brush stroke.

 I looked at the girl and thought that a good chat up line would be to ask her where I could buy some paint, so I walked over to where she sat.

“Do you know where I can buy some large tubes of oil paint?” I asked her.

The girl looked up and smiled showing white even teeth and close up she looked even more beautiful with high cheekbones and large dark brown eyes surrounded by heavy long lashes.

“Yes I do” she replied through bee-stung lips that she had painted red.

“Is it far?” I asked.

She stood up and I noticed that her head reached just up to my nose and that she was wearing a long traditional wrap around ethnic skirt.

“No it is only about a quarter of a mile, not even that” she answered.

“Do you think that you could be so kind as to show me the way because I am new in town?” I said.

“Yes of course,” the girl said without hesitation.

“Oh thank you please call me Michael”

“My name is Sara. Come on, it's not far” the girl said.

I followed her and we walked side by side through the small streets of the old Oxfordshire town.

“If it is not too personal may I ask where you come from?” I asked.

I am Malaysian” Sara answered.

“Well your English is perfect! Have you been here for a long time?”

“I came here when I was ten and I am seventeen now” Sara answered, smiling sweetly. “Are you an artist?”

“Yes I am a professional artist” I answered.

“I am at the local art school, the Banbury School of Art and they sent us out to sketch things from life,” she explained.

“Really! Yes I thought that you were a student and Japanese when I saw you sketching” I said laughing.

“The Japanese did invade Singapore; here is the art shop,” Sara said, stopping as if to leave.

 I was already thinking about seducing this beautiful young girl and the line came into my head. “Would you like to come and see my etchings?” and I smiled.

“Would you like to come and see some of my work?” I asked.

“Oh yes I would” Sara said an excited look on her face.

We walked back to the house and I went down the side alley and opened the wooden garden door and led Sara into the back garden where my painting was propped against the wall.

“Oh! I like that, it’s so big” she exclaimed.

“Yes I like to paint on large canvasses and this one is relatively small. Would you like to see some of my other paintings?” I asked.

“Yes I would, they only let us use pencil and pastels in small drawing books at the college” Sara said in annoyance pouting her bee-stung lips.

 I led her inside the house which was empty, as my sister was out shopping, and as I showed her my work I reached down and took her hand and held it in mine.

“Would you like to work in oils on a canvass?” I asked her looking down at her beautiful face, noticing that she had painted her lips and outlined her eyes with mascara.

“Yes I would love to use oils” she replied the excitement of the prospect plain in her voice and facial expression.

 I bent and kissed her on the lips and she responded then I pulled her close to me kissing her long and hard and we sat down on the settee in front of us and I looked into her large liquid eyes.

“You are so beautiful Sara” I said.

She kissed me back and her body pressing against mine made my cock hard swell  into erection. Aroused I ran my hand over her breasts and as she did not resist I slid my hand into the top of her dress and felt her firm young breasts and her nipples rising under my fingers. Then I pulled open the top of her dress to reveal her hard firm young breasts which were surmounted with swollen upturned nipples, surrounded with large areola and bending my head I began to lick and suck them while kissing her breasts. I ran my hand over her thighs and between her legs and she sighed with pleasure offering no resistance.

“Take your dress off,” I said.

 Sara stood up and unwrapped the wrap around dress that she wore and I saw that wore a pair of navy blue school knickers which I pulled down to reveal a smooth

hairless cunt.

“Do you depilate your pubic hair?” I asked.

“No” she said looking ashamed and putting her hands over her hairless pubic mound.

“Malaysian girls are like this. Don’t you like me?”

“I love you and your body is flawless and very beautiful like your face” I said, pulling her close to me so that my mouth was up against her vagina. I began to kiss her smooth mound running my tongue over it before I touched her labia with my tongue and pushing them apart to find her swollen clitoris which I began to lick and suck

until she shuddered with pleasure. Then I pulled her down onto the settee beside me and knelt down on the floor pushing apart her thighs and sucked her cunt hard burying my face in between her thighs. pushing my tongue right up inside her while she writhed around in pleasure, her breathing coming faster and faster until her whole body trembled in orgasm.

“I am in heaven” she exclaimed her eyes closed.

I knelt in between her thighs and started to push my massively engorged cock into her tight cunt.

 She put her arms around me and pulled me into her with a surprising strength and eagerness and my cock slid into her wet cunt.

 I fucked her slowly and she started making little bleats of pleasure, then I fucked her hard pushing up her thighs so that I penetrated her deeply and soon her flushed face and fast breathing told me that she was going to have an orgasm.

 Her mouth opened and she gasped in pleasure writhing around in an orgasm which made me come too and I shot my sperm into her in wave after wave of pleasure my cock spurting out an enormous amount of sperm.

 I withdrew my cock and that was when I noticed the red blood mixed with my white sperm as it dripped from her cunt then I looked down at my cock which was red with her blood and realised that she had been a virgin.

 “You are a virgin! You are bleeding” I exclaimed in surprise because the possibility of it had never entered my head.

“It does not matter, it didn’t hurt," she said a fierce look of pride upon her beautiful face.

 I held her close and kissed her face and her lips “I love you” I said.

The Attic Studio        

Chapter 38

Maurizio gave me the use of his car and I drove to Bicester Sara’s little village about five miles from Banbury. There she was waiting on the corner and I pulled up and she jumped in. I bent over and kissed her.

“Not here, someone might tell my parents,” she said, pulling away.

I put the Fiat into gear and drove off. “What would happen then?” I asked.

“They would beat me,” she replied.

“Beat you!” I exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes they beat me with a stick”

“Bloody hell that’s a bit strong. How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“Ever since I was a child,” Sara replied.

“What sort of things do they beat you for?” I asked.

“Anything, they beat me for any little thing, if I get in late, anything” she replied.

I looked over at the sweet, innocent looking Sara and wondered at the cruelty of anyone who could beat her. I looked at the road ahead and thought about taking her away from her parents.

“I am going to build a studio in the attic,” I said.

“Really, can I help?” Sara asked with excitement.

I ordered a load of wood and Sara and I built the studio. It was easy nailing down the planks to make the floor and then buying an attic window from B&Q.

 I unpacked the window and frame and read the instructions for installing the window. It said to cut a hole in the roof so I broke a hole in the tiles from the inside and climbed out on the roof with a piece of chalk and a measure and marked out a big rectangle, of the required size on the roof. Then I hired a power saw for cutting stone and cut the hole.

 I was up on the roof wearing safety goggles working and the noise of the saw cutting through the red stone tiles brought out Maurizio’s next door neighbour who I observed looking up in amazement as red hot molten stone flew off the roof as I cut through the stone tiles.

 By his gestures I realised that he wanted to tell me something and I switched off the powerful cutting tool and looked down.

The neighbour looked up at me smiling holding up a small tool. “This is a tile cutter," he explained an amused look on his face.

 I laughed looking down at the neat rectangle that I had cut in the roof and thought to myself that I would have to have pulled out tiles, cut them and replaced them using the small tile cutting device but now I had not disturbed them and that they were all squarely cut. “Well I have got the job done now anyway” I shouted down.

 I sawed through the wooden beams inside and put in the wooden frame made it good and then it was time to put in the window but Sara and I could not lift it into place no matter how hard we tried so Maurizio called a builder friend of his and the guy, a huge muscular man over six foot tall just simply lifted the window up on his own.

As he manoeuvred it into place I hoped that it would fit and it did clicking into place thus was the attic studio made.

An Idyllic Interlude

Chapter 39.

I asked Sara if she would pose naked for me and she agreed. I painted her in a kneeling position and she was the best model that I ever had, not moving at all for four hours until I had finished the painting in oils.

“It’s finished, come and see it!” I exclaimed in excitement.

Sara went to get up but she could not because she had stayed in the kneeling position for so long. “I can't," she said.”

 I rushed over putting my arms under her and lifted her to her feet and massaged the blood back into her legs.

“You should have said something,” I said.

She looked at me a fierce determination in her eyes. “I did not want to move," she said.”

 I wanted to fuck her there and then as I cradled her face in my hands covering her sweet face with kisses but I did not want to make her pregnant.

 “I want you to go to the Family Planning Clinic and get some kind of contraception, but not birth pills,” I said.

 I had heard that birth pills had bad side effects and even caused cancer.

I also had another pupil Nancy who showed an immediate aptitude for art and produced brilliant paintings from the outset and had obviously inherited my mother’s artistic gift through my sister Kathleen.

 One day Nancy produced a surprisingly sophisticated painting A View from the Attic

Window and I persuaded her to enter it into a children’s art competition advertised in a national newspaper shop chain and she won first prize which did not surprise me in the least.

 Sara was keen and produced some work that reflected her ethnicity and we painted every day. I started to paint landscapes from life and Sara and I would go out into the beautiful Oxford countryside to paint.

There was a river running through the local countryside and I painted several paintings in this location with my easel set up on the river bank. It was one of the happiest periods in my life and I was producing some of my best work.

 I would lie down in the grass, smoke some hash, drink some wine and paint interspersed with making love to Sara who I discovered was highly sexed like me.

 One particular day we found an idyllic location under a canopy of trees with a small stream running through it. There was a tree stump with a fork shaped tree in front of it and I instinctively placed my canvas on it and it fitted perfectly.

“Synchronicity!” I exclaimed and sat down and began to paint while Sara painted too using the easel.

While we were painting I heard voices and I looked up to see two small girls of about ten were watching us. They asked if they could stay and watch us paint and later as we had a hamper of food I invited them to eat with us and I spent another idyllic and pleasant day in the beautiful Oxfordshire countryside painting while listening to the singing of birds and the excited chattering, singing and laughter of the two young girls who I noticed were happy and laughing playing with Sara who sang along with them.

 At the end of each day’s painting I would put the finished paintings in the back of the car face up so that they would not get smudged and take them home where I would take them up to the attic studio and put them up on the wall to dry.

Invitation to an Exhibition

Chapter 40

 The telephone rang one day. Hello Mickey how is it going?” said a voice over the phone that I recognised immediately that of Alan Stocker.

“Hello Alan, how are you?” I said.

“I am fine! The reason I have phoned you is that Corinna Seeds, the actress, has opened an art gallery in Chalk Farm and she wants you to be the first artist to exhibit there. I suggested to her that we have a joint exhibition. You have the upstairs

and I will have the basement?”

“Okay Alan, of course I would like to exhibit with you. When is it?”

“It is not until October when the gallery will be ready. We are decorating it at the moment” Alan explained.

 It was good to hear from Alan again and I was excited at the prospect of going down to London and holding an exhibition.

“Hey by the way, some of your paintings were in the Sunday Times magazine. I bought a couple of copies so that you could keep one” Alan said the excitement plain in his voice.

“Oh great and I did not even know” I said remembering the photographer who had visited my exhibition in Battersea. It seemed like a long time ago and that I had been in Oxfordshire forever.

“How are you doing at the Slade?” I asked Alan.

“Yes, marvelous and I am doing some good work. I can’t wait to show it to you. I have abandoned all preconceived ideas, even the use of complementary colours and just using any palette I choose by instinct” Alan said, the excitement in his voice crackling with energy over the phone. “So I will say yes to Corinna then for the October exhibition.”

 Definitely but how am I going to get all the paintings that I have done here down to London?”I asked.

“Don’t worry Mick we will hire a van down here and I will drive up and collect you” Alan promised.

 I marvelled at his quick thinking “All right Alan it will be good to see you again” I said.

Doreen

Chapter 41

Kathleen decided to go down to London to visit our mother and while she was away Maurizio phoned up one of his customers, a girl he knew  called Doreen who supplied hash.

“She is very hot and we might be able to fuck her” Maurizio said in his sexy Italian accented voice.

“Really, is she good looking” I asked thinking it natural that Italians would always fuck other women even when they were married and thought nothing of telling their own brother in law and I remembered that Kathleen had hinted to me that she and one of her friends had had a threesome with Maurizio before they were married.

“Yes she is very nice” Maurizio enthused.

About seven in the evening there was a ring at the door and Maurizio ushered in a pretty girl that must have been in her late twenties.

“This is Doreen, Doreen meet my brother in law Michael” Maurizio introduced the girl and she sat down at the long wooden table and getting down to business immediately she pulled a small plastic bag out of her handbag containing an ounce of blonde Moroccan hashish.

 “Here you are Doreen, there are eighty there” Maurizio said.

“Thanks man,” she said, putting it into her handbag without counting it.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Maurizio asked Doreen.

“Yes please” she answered.

I got out my pipe eager to try the hash and loaded it and started to smoke. After three pipes I gave my verdict feeling the hash beginning to work. “Yes it’s good stuff, a creeper” I said looking at Doreen who took this as a compliment.

“Thank you” she replied smiling.

“Do you want some?” I invited her handing her the pipe.

“Yes, thank you” she replied and took a long hit, inhaling the smoke into her lungs and holding it in like an experienced toker.

I gave the pipe to Maurizio who was stoned just after a couple of pipes.

I sat down beside Doreen and looked into her eyes. We were all stoned as Simply Red, one of Maurizio’s favourites played on Maurizio’s s hi fi system.

 I put my hand on Doreen’s thigh and she did not push it away so I ran my hand up her skirt and started to caress her cunt on the outside of her knickers.

 I kissed Doreen, pushing my tongue into her mouth and sliding my hand in between her legs and up and down the smooth material of her knickers. She was wearing stockings and suspenders which indicated that she had come prepared for sex and suspected that she probably wore tights usually. With my other hand I felt the fullness of her breasts under the thin sweater and she was not wearing a bra.

“Come on, let us go to the bedroom,” Maurizio said.

I followed Doreen up the stairs watching the movements of her buttocks under her skirt.

 In the bedroom she pulled her sweater over her head to reveal a nice firm pair of breasts then took off her skirt then lay on the bed watching Maurizio and I undressing.

 As I pulled down my pants I saw Doreen’s eyes widen as she saw my enormous penis which was erect and stuck out at right angles to my body.

 I saw that Maurizio was quite well endowed as well then we both laid down either side of her, our hands exploring her body.

 I played with one breast while Maurizio played with the other, and then pulling open her thighs I examined her cunt.

 Doreen was a brunette and she had trimmed the dark pubic hair in between her legs so that her cunt lips were visible and I pulled them open to reveal a pink healthy cunt that was already wet with desire.

 I got down and knelt between her legs running my tongue up and down her stocking clad thighs and onto the milky white skin above her stocking tops.

I looked up and Maurizio was caressing her breasts and sucking her large nipples into his mouth.

 My tongue was moving closer and closer to Doreen’s cunt and she began to writhe around giving little shudders in anticipation of having her cunt licked, then I began to brush my tongue across her labia and each time I did it she gave a little moan of pleasure which was also a sound of approval at what I was doing. Kneeling in between her thighs I then put my thumbs either side her wet cunt lips and pulled her wide open then pushing my head close so that she could feel my breath upon her I began to lick the inside of her cunt, revolving my tongue around it in a circle that got smaller and smaller until it was centred upon her clitoris. I pushed back the hood of her clitoris until it was revealed like a smooth hard little fruit and licked and sucked at it then pressed my face right in, hard inside her labia which made the lower half of my face wet and Doreen to moan and sigh and push her cunt into my face.

 My cock was now hard as a rock and I slid up the bed and pushed myself up onto my arms and slid my cock into her wet receptive cunt and began to fuck her with thighs raised and her legs wide open to receive me. As I fucked Doreen I looked up at Maurizio kneeling beside her head and pushing his cock into her mouth and as I fucked her I watched her sucking his cock.

“She loves all of this,” he said a look of pleasure on his face.

“Yes she loves sucking a big hard cock while she is being fucked by another big hard cock” I said talking dirty as I knew that most women got even more turned on by this.

 I started to fuck Doreen really hard and fast and she looked at me her eyes full of sexual excitement Maurizio’s cock in her mouth, then her breath came faster and faster and she writhed around in orgasm.

“Go on, Doreen baby come, come and come” I encouraged her.

“Doreen, you must kneel on the edge of the bed,” Maurizio said, looking down at her.

I pulled my cock out of her wet cunt as she swung her legs onto the floor and stood up then knelt down on the edge of the bed her buttocks in the air.

Maurizio stood behind her on the floor and began fucking her while I manoeuvred myself so that her head was in between my legs and she immediately grasped my cock with both hands and began to suck it.

“She loves two cocks at once, sucking one and being fucked by another” I said talking dirty again which brought more moans of pleasure from Doreen.

 I remembered when Tony and I had both got our cocks inside Pat at the same time.

I pulled my cock out of Doreen’s mouth. “We are both going to fuck you at both at once now and you are going to love it you dirty bitch aren’t you?” I said sliding underneath her so that she was on top of me.

“Oh yes I will love it” Doreen gasped realising my intentions and put her hand down the bed to grasp both our cocks at once.

 I didn’t know whether she had ever done this before but suddenly the warmth of her cunt enveloped both our cocks and we were both inside her tightly stretched cunt.

“Oh you dirty fucking bastards” she said getting really excited.

“Two big hard cocks up inside your cunt, filling you up, stretching you wide open, fucking you hard” I gasped in excitement. “You love two cocks up your cunt baby and now I am a going to fuck you tight arse while Michael fucks your cunt” Maurizio said.

I felt his cock slide out of her cunt then Doreen gasp as he began to fuck her arse.

Two big cocks up you Doreen, one up your cunt the other up your arse. How does that feel?” I asked looking up at her face and fucking her while her long dark hair fell  around her it and her breasts swung back and forth brushing against my chest.

“Oh yes, oh yes it feels lovely, I’ve never done it before and it is so fucking dirty, you dirty fucking bastards” said Doreen now in sexual abandon.

“I am going to come all of my spunk up your bum” gasped Maurizio and jerked about in orgasm shooting his load up her anus. He then disengaged

I felt like coming up her arse too so I got up pushing her off me then repositioned her kneeling over the bed and looking down at her buttocks I spread them and guided my swollen knob into her tight arsehole and looked down at my cock as it went in and out of her anus.

“You dirty fucking bitch, you love my big horse’s cock up your arse don’t you?” I said.

“Yes, yes” Doreen gasped.

“Say it you fucking bitch, say I love your big cock up my arse” I said.

Obediently Doreen repeated the words. “Yes, I love your big cock up my arse” she

gasped.

“I’m going to shoot all my hot spunk up your tight little arse, right up inside you” I said, feeling my cock beginning to pulse and then to spurt again and again, in several long throws. As I emptied myself into her I could hear Maurizio encouraging me.

“Yes fuck her arse, she a loves it, come up her” he was saying.

After I had come I pulled out my cock while Doreen walked out of the bedroom into the bathroom.

I looked at Maurizio and he smiled broadly and we slapped the palms of our hands together in celebration of what we had just done.

 I wanted a piss so I walked into the bathroom.

Doreen was sitting on the toilet “It always makes me want to go” she said standing

up to flush the toilet then sitting on the bidet to wash herself.

 I realised that she had experienced anal sex before and on more than one occasion.

“Let me see your cunt, pull it open,” I said.

Doreen looked up at me and smiled, pulling open her cunt.

I looked down at her smiling and began to piss directing the stream of urine onto her cunt which was satisfying in an unusual way that I could not explain and was probably some primitive sexual desire.

“Michael you are the dirtiest, fucking bastard that I have ever known” she said with a tone of approval in her voice which suggested that she had loved every minute of it.

 We all went downstairs and sat up to the early hours smoking hash and drinking wine then Doreen got up looking at her watch. “It is two in the morning and I have got to get up for work soon” she said picking up her handbag,

 Maurizio went with her and let her out and returned to sink back into his big leather armchair. “That was great,” he said a satisfied expression on his face. We can do it again every time Kath goes down to London to see Mum” he exclaimed.

“I wonder if she does go down to London simply to visit Mum or to be fucked by Gordon” I thought and an image of Gordon’s face flashed through my head.

I knew that was why Ken had divorced her because he had suspected that Kathleen had been fucking around with Gordon and I remembered her bringing him up to visit us in Brixton while we were awaiting trial.

 Gordon had an enormous cock on a skinny body and that is why I had him in my films.

“What about the girls in the shop can we fuck any of them?” I said visualising a couple of the pretty sexy girls who worked in the shop.

“No I never fuck the staff it is a good rule which I learnt in Rome years ago. My sister has a shop in Rome, did I tell you?” Maurizio said.

“No you did not tell me, but as I have told you English people think that Italians are the best hairdressers in the world and maybe they are because they are more artistic. Why don’t you get more Italian staff in the shop?” I suggested.

 Maurizio laughed. “Italians are fucking crazy people” he said.

“Yes but they have the reputation of being good hairdressers,” I said.

Fear

Chapter 42

I am going to send all my staff to be trained by Toni and Guy, they are good friends of mine” he said.

 I had heard of Toni and Guy and they were getting big on the hairdressing scene and I remembered seeing one of their shops in Sloane Square.

“They are rich, those guys” I said.

“Yes, do you know that we were all friends together as boys in Rome and we all came here with no money in our pockets and now we are all successful, and Toni and Guy are rich. We all ran away together from Rome because the Mafia was after us” he said laughing at the memory. “We were fucking this young girl and her father found out and went to the Mafia. I remember that we were all on the train and we did not relax until we were over the French border” he laughed again at the memory drinking some more of his favourite wine.

“So why don’t you think about getting some Italian staff over here to work at the shop. It will give you a big reputation around here” I insisted.

“I have told you that Italians are crazy” Maurizio repeated the phrase.

“But come on why are they crazy, you are Italian and you are not crazy” I observed.

He laughed again and got up to put Dire Straits on the turntable which was one of my favourite groups. “I will think about it, '' he said.

After work the next day Maurizio and I went to a local pub. We were having a quite

drink when a diminutive, aggressive man in his twenties appeared.

“You cunt I am going to fucking kill you when you come out of the pub because you have fucked up my wife’s hair. She washed it and it’s gone all frizzy” he said threatening Maurizio in a Banburian accent.

 I breathed in deeply ready for trouble and prepared myself for a fight.

The blood drained from Maurizio’s face. “I am sorry she should not have washed it. Send her into the shop and I will straighten out her hair” he replied a frightened look on his face.

“I told her to wash it you cunt, because I did not fucking like it. I promise you Eytie bastard that when you step outside, I am going to fucking kill you” the angry husband shouted.

 I looked at Maurizio who was now white and shaking with fear and thought that it must be terrible to be afraid and be unable to defend oneself against bullies.

 I sympathised with him remembering back to my childhood when I had gone through period when I was unable to fight back and this cowardice had attracted more bullies until I had developed my immature body with weights and began to fight back.

 I blushed at the memory of my father sending me to a boxing club and him calling me a coward.

“Don’t worry Maurizio, I won’t let him beat you up” I promised.

“Come on, let's go,” I said to Maurizio.

Maurizio hesitated knowing that the bully was waiting outside and that everyone in the pub was watching him because everyone had heard him being threatened.

“Look you don’t want to fight, so if he attacks you that is an assault and I will stop him” I promised thinking that I was on a life licence and it prevented me acting in a rightful manner and carrying out a citizen’s arrest to protect Maurizio but I was determined to do so and keep my principles.

 As we moved towards the door our progress was followed by most of the drinkers in the pub who most probably all knew each other. We were the strangers in town, Maurizio, a foreigner and me from London.

 I pushed open the door and walked out into the night to be met by the sight of two men squaring up to one another, one was the irate husband and the other an unknown man. Already a small crowd had formed in order to watch the free entertainment.

 I knew all throughout my life, whether inside or out, that a fight drew an instant crowd of spectators and fights among the working classes were common, especially outside pubs at closing time when the protagonists were under the effects of alcohol.

“All right you motherfucker…” I heard one of the men say and I realised he was an American serviceman, then he hit the irate husband once on the jaw and he went down like a ton of bricks, knocked out unconscious.

 I did not know what the fight was all about but I did know that it was a case of poetic justice and that it had saved me from a possible fight.

The spectators began to drift away and there was some anti-American muttering but no one challenged the guy who jumped into his car and drove off.

 Maurizio and I got into our own car and drove away from the scene.

 “Some of those American servicemen are as hard as nails!” I exclaimed in admiration. “I remember seeing two American sailors fight a whole crowd with their backs to the wall down in Leysdown, Kent when I was on holiday with Mum and Dad” I said to Maurizio remembering the scene. “They were knocking guys down like ninepins” I enthused.

 Maurizio did not respond to my reminiscences and drove home in silence. I wondered if he was upset at being threatened in front of so many local people and also wondered if the American had a wife who was a customer of Maurizio and who had taken his part on overhearing the threats made to him.

Seeing Double

Chapter 43

I had to go down to London myself to see my probation officer, once a month and I drove down in Maurizio’s car, a Fiat with a five speed gearbox that he told me proudly had been made by robots in an Italian factory. I broke the speed limit for most of the way, hardly touching the brakes and using the gearbox to slow down. I remembered reading somewhere that people, who broke the law one way, would break it another like speeding and it was a good idea for the police to suspect people who broke the speed limit of committing other crimes too.

 Soon I was back in London and the traffic became heavier the more that I drove into town. I had arranged to sleep at home tonight in my old bedroom that was always there for me and I pulled up outside my parent’s house and rang the doorbell. As I waited for my mother to answer the door I studied the letters that had been cut into the brickwork of the porch. There was a big V for victory that I had done in 1945 at the end of the Second World War and then MM LOVES SJ and I remembered when I was in love with Sandra Joyce.

“It’s Michael Mum” I shouted through the letter box and I heard her coming down the stairs.

“Hello Michael, come in,” my mother greeted opening the front door.

I stepped inside the familiar passageway that  was now covered with my paintings and put my arms around my mother and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek then followed her upstairs to the kitchen.

“Dad is out at the moment, would you like a cup of tea Michael?” my mother asked.

“Yes please Mum” I answered sitting down at the dining room table.

“How are you getting on at Kath’s?” my mother asked.

“Oh fine Mum, I’m painting all the time and going out in the countryside to paint  landscapes” I replied enthusiastically.

“Oh that’s good Michael, you have never really changed, always happy when you were drawing or painting. When you were a little boy I could always keep you quiet by giving you a pencil and paper or some watercolours, you would be there for  hours” my mother said smiling at the memory placing a cup of tea in a saucer down in front of me.

 Later that evening as I sat in the front room after the evening meal I turned to my  father and handed him a brown paper wrapped bottle. “Here you are Dad, here’s a present for you” I said.

 My father smiled knowing that it was a bottle by its shape and unwrapped it to reveal a bottle of Irish whisky “Bushmills” he said reading the label.

 I took two lead crystal glasses from the cabinet and was pleased to see none of the glasses or decanters or glasses that I had bought from the Pig in the Sixties had been broken.

 “Mum, what can I get you?” I asked.

“A gin and orange please Michael” she replied, having her usual tipple.

“Good health” I said, raising my glass. Soon I poured another drink and my mother, who did not drink much, got up from her armchair.

“I will leave you two men to it. I am going to bed” she said.

“Goodnight Mum” I said.

After my mother went to bed I sat up with my father drinking and after a while we were both inebriated and we had drunk half a bottle of the Bushmill’s.

“Do you know what, Maurizio can’t hold his hands up?” I said.

“Yes he is a right coward, I know that” my father replied.

“Yes, some local threatened him in a pub and he swallowed immediately. I was really embarrassed. I was going to knock the guy out if he had touched Maurizio. Bloody hell Dad I’m glad that you sent me to boxing lessons when I was fourteen” I said.

“Do you remember when you knocked out Charlie Faulkner, the ABA champion and gave him a black eye and brought him round the house to show me?” my father said, smiling fondly at the memory.

“Yes I thought that he was messing about at first when the referee counted him out” I grinned trying to focus the two images I could see of my father.

“Yes you inherited that knockout punch from my Dad. Flash Mick they used to call him, he was a money lender as well as owning two shops in Larkhall Lane, a greengrocers and a library. I mean he would always knock a man out if there was any trouble” my father said, warming to his story.

 I had heard it many times before but when my father had a drink he liked to talk and we would exchange reminiscences about the exciting times in our lives and that usually meant the fights we had had or in his case, the Second World War.

 I wondered why working class men like to talk about fighting and sex, although my father never spoke about the latter, maintaining that he had always been faithful, and           I decided that it was the times when they were really alive, because the rest of their time was spent at toil doing things that they did not enjoy.

“Your uncle Mickey too was a right bastard and had the same knockout punch, but the fights then were different, we had straighteners, none of this kicking when you’re down, or using bottles and knives, that was dishonourable” my father said a wistful look in his eyes.

“Yes that is because violence among the working classes was ritualised and allowed to happen. I mean the police never came and interfered down the Larkhall Tavern did they?”

“No of course not because no one ever got seriously injured even though fights were common. I mean the old girls would stop them. If you were fighting outside the pub, and you never fought inside, it was outside for a straightner. You didn’t have to fight and some blokes backed down but then you got the reputation as a coward in the neighbourhood. People said outside for a straightner and that’s what they did, fought man to man, bare fists and sleeves rolled up and if the other man went down you had to stand back until he got back on his feet” my father said a serious look on his face.

“Yes it was a fight with rules, like a duel. Did you have seconds, I mean someone seeing that no fouls took place?” I asked interested now and pouring out another whisky for us both while seeing two of my father.

“Yes there were rules in a straightner, no kicking, biting, punches below the belt or strangling and your mate held your jacket.”

“But Dad there must have been some serious injuries like in the boxing ring?” I said.

“No it’s the gloves that allow you to punch harder, imagine punching someone really hard in the head you would break your fists.”

“Yes you would unless you had hardened your hands like me and Kenny then you can punch people really hard and even knock them out with a shot to the head or break a bone” I said laughing.

“But we did not fight like that in those days. It was stand up face to face and use your fists and if the blood started flowing, even though the men wanted to carry on, the old girls would shout out. That’s enough stop it now boys” and they would stop. I mean your grandmother would stop Mickey from going too far. She would shout “Michael that’s enough, home now, and he would stop and go home” my father said sipping his glass of whisky.

“I reckon that the worst thing that they ever did was to ban duelling and then start to nick people for having a straightner. People were much more polite to each other in those days. That’s why society is much more violent now because fighting is illegal and people are no longer polite to one another. The legal profession just sit back and exploit the working class for the violence that they have caused by not allowing the ritualisation of violence” I said thinking that after the revolution all the old customs will be restored and men will be allowed to fight again. Young men should be allowed the rights of passage and that is how females selected their mates by choosing a man who could look after them. We will bring back respect and all the old customs and there will be boxing rings built in pubs” I said.

“How are you going to manage that?” my father asked a sceptical look on his face.

“There is going to be a revolution. The Labour Party is being infiltrated by the radical left.”

“Don’t be silly, you are wishful thinking again Michael, the Tories will get in at the next election.”

 I stood up trying to bring Dad into focus. “Dad, I'm a bit pissed. I'm going to bed now” I said. I went to the toilet to have a piss and supported myself with one hand against the wall watching my stream of urine going into the bowl.

“I have not been pissed like this since the Sixties” I thought.

The Milkman

Chapter 44

“Yes Michael you are welcome to come into the college at any time and use the facilities here” the Principal of Goldsmith’s college in Brixton said.

 I noticed a canvas on a draughtsman’s drawing board in his office and wondered how anyone could paint with such preconceived ideas.

“I suppose that my work could be said to be the opposite of yours, free expression” I said jokingly to the Head of Painting.

“Yes it is all worked out using Einstein’s theory of relativity” he said smiling.

I did not know whether he was serious or not but if he was I thought that it was ridiculous. “I know some local artists who live near here  in Brixton and I think that you would be very interested in them. They are ex bank robbers and started painting in prison. There are five brothers who all paint and they’re of Irish extraction and are uneducated, having spent a lot of time in prisons, but they all paint because they love to do it.”

“What style do they paint in?”the Principal asked.

“Well they know nothing of the history of art or theory but some of their work is social realism, council flats, gas cookers and Brixton market. I’m writing an article on them at the moment for Time Out.

Later in the college the art shop I bought some oil paints and some stretchers and loaded them into my car. It was the cheapest place to buy materials and I would come here now to buy them. I liked to be in art colleges but I could not see myself as a pupil and I realised that I was not going to go to Art College because I could not be a student. “I am a master,” I thought.

That afternoon I drove up to the Probation Office which was situated in a house in Tierney Road just a short distance from my home.

“So how is everything going Michael?” Mr Heath the probation officer asked.

“Oh fine, yes everything is fine. I’m preparing for a two man show at the moment with one of my pupils, an ex bank robber who is now at the top art school in this country, Slade” I said proudly.

“I see and this man is at University now?” Mr Heath asked.

“Yes he is completely rehabilitated” I replied.

“It says here in your record that you had the intention of going to University on your release on licence” Mr Heath said.

I noticed how he always stressed “release on licence” and I realised that if I stayed in England I would never really be free because I did not have the full civil liberties that other people had.

“No I am not going now because when I was on the hostel I asked to go, and I had every intention of doing so, I was told to get a job and that going to University was not gainful employment” I replied a bit of resentment in my voice.

“You know that the terms of your licence requires you to have a full time job” Mr Heath said.

“Yes I am working as a reporter at the moment” I replied.

“And you are living at home with your parents?”

“Yes I am,” I answered.

“I may have to make a home visit at some particular time in the future,” Heath informed me.

“Well that is okay, then you can have a look at some of my work.”

“Yes I would like that. It says here that you became a vegetarian while in prison. What made you decide to do that?” Heath asked.

“I have ethical and health reasons” I answered.

“I am a vegetarian too” said Heath signalling that now he had gone through the motions of doing his job he now wanted to talk.

“Really, well a vegetarian diet is much better for your health as long as a sedentary worker like yourself does a bit of exercise” I said realising that I liked to preach.

“Yes I used to get lots of exercise when I was a milkman but as you say I need to do some now and I will have to start. So you don’t think that we need meat to stay healthy?” Heath asked.

“Humans are not carnivores because they have flat back teeth, like all vegetarian species, so that they can chew and grind food. They say that we are omnivores but I think that we are more suited to a vegetarian diet with a bit of fish and perhaps wild game. People think that they have to eat a lot of meat to develop muscle fibre but this is a fallacy because all the big animals like horses and cows are full of muscle, so one does not have to eat them to be strong. Look at apes and they are nearest to us as animals, they have ninety nine per cent of our DNA. They can eat meat if they are starving but are natural vegetarians.”

“I eat a lot of Soya, Shepherd’s Pie is my favourite” Heath informed me.

So for the rest of the meeting Heath and I talked about vegetarianism and as I drove home I thought of Heath delivering bottles of milk and now sitting in his office interviewing ex-convicts and trying to keep them on the straight and narrow. A useless task I knew because statistics showed that over sixty per cent would reoffend within six months and that was only the ones that got caught. It seemed to me that imprisonment produced recidivists and that there must be a better way of reforming criminals.

 From my studies I realised that most people in prison could not exist in the outside world and that there total earnings from crime were probably less than if they had a low paid job. The people for whom crime paid were the legal profession who became rich from the proceeds of prosecuting or defending the recidivists.

There were not many professional big time criminals in prison because they knew how to survive in a corrupt society and conversely the illiterate and mentally ill were in the vast majority.

Fungi        

Chapter 45

As I ran through the local Oxfordshire countryside I noticed many species of edible mushrooms. Later in the day I got a basket and went into the woods and fields gathering them and finally I collected a large basketful.

“Look I have collected lots of wild mushrooms” I said enthusiastically showing them to my sister.

“How do you know that they are not poisonous?” Kathleen asked, looking at them doubtfully.

“Because I know the different species from my studies on mycology, they are easy to identify. Look these are chanterelles and are beautiful to eat, these are field mushrooms and these are Cepes” I said smiling.

“Well I don’t know,” she replied, still looking doubtful.

“Look there is not many species of poisonous mushrooms in England. The only real killer is the amanita phalloides and you would have to be stupid to eat that because it looks and smells horrible. There are some hallucinogenic mushrooms but I could not find any amanita muscaria, amanita pantherides or campus psilocybin” I said with a laugh showing off my knowledge.

 “Look don’t worry I know my mushrooms and the only people who have died are when they have picked the phalloides when it first came out of the ground and when it is more difficult to identify” I assured her.

“Well I don’t know” repeated Kathleen still not convinced and I wondered why this girl had gone to a grammar school while I went to a secondary modern.

“How did you ever get to grammar when I went to a secondary modern?” I said, voicing my thoughts.

“Those nuns didn’t teach you much did they?” I joked.

No they taught us to keep away from boys but did not seem to notice all the dirty old men around when we played basketball in our school knickers” Kathleen said giggling in a girlish way.

“Yes they were probably all lesbians! Anyway I am going to cook these with some garlic and they will taste lovely. There is nothing as delicious as wild mushrooms.”

That evening as we ate dinner no one ate any of the mushrooms except me. I was determined to prove my point and steadily ate my way through several large portions.

“Not for me,” Maurizio said, looking at the mushrooms doubtfully.

“Nancy, do you want some?” I offered.

“Don’t eat any Nancy you don’t know what they are!” Kathleen quickly exclaimed.

“I was not going to eat any, they look disgusting, like toadstools” Nancy said.

 “This is ridiculous!” I exclaimed, pouring the remainder of the fungi onto my plate and eating them with gusto even though I had eaten more than my fill.

After dinner everyone watched me waiting for me to keel over and die from eating poisonous fungi but I was still very much alive by the end of the evening and when I was still there the next morning everyone seemed surprised.

 From that time on I went on regular mushroom picking but Sara, who was now invited to dinner regularly, and I were the only ones who ever ate them!

Simone

Chapter 46

Simone was the first Italian girl that Maurizio got over from Italy to work. She was tall, dark and beautiful and she arrived just as Kathleen was off again to visit my parents.

 The evening that she arrived we sat playing music and smoking hash and I was surprised to see that she smoked cannabis.

“Everyone smokes it in Rome now” she said.

“Really I had no idea” I replied.

“The cannabis is all right and that is all I ever do, but there are many junkies now in  Rome” she said, screwing up her beautiful face into a grimace.

 I studied the fine bone structure, her high cheekbones, aquiline nose, full pouting lips, long luxuriant black hair, and surprisingly, her green eyes and wondered if many Italian women were this beautiful.

 She saw me looking at her and gave me a smouldering look. “Yes, many junkies, but I never touch,” she emphasised. “Yes when you go to the park in Rome the grass is covered with needles as far as the eye can see”

Maurizio commented, nodding his head.

“Really! I had no idea” I exclaimed, surprised.

We sat there listening to music and drinking wine but when I offered Simone another smoke I could not find the piece of hash.

 We searched high and low but without finding it.

“I remember emptying the trash can,” Maurizio said.

We went out into the garden and the dustbin was turned on its head with Maurizio shining a torch.

Simone bent down searching suddenly she giggled. “I have it!” she exclaimed, pleased at herself finding the precious piece of hash.

 Her short skirt was pulled tight around her buttocks and as she giggled I felt her arse and instead of pulling away she wriggled back onto it giggling more and standing up and she gave me a hot look. “Naughty boy,” she said.

Then Maurizio began to feel her arse too and she giggled again. “Naughty boys” she said.

 We were standing outside in the garden and it began to rain.

“Come on, let's go inside,” Maurizio said.

I inhaled the smoke into my lungs and held it there.

 Simone began to giggle which made me start too and I was forced to release the smoke and cough then we were all laughing.

 Simone wore a black low cut dress which showed the cleavage and swell of her large breasts which jumped up and down as she laughed and as she giggled her short skirt revealed more and more of her shapely thighs. I got up from the table and sat down beside her then put my arm around her shoulders.

 Simone turned and looked at me giving me a look that was full of sexual promise and I kissed her on the lips and she immediately pushed her tongue into my mouth. I felt her large swollen breasts underneath her dress and then my fingers found the zip at the back and undid it then her brassiere which I pushed together and unfastened. My hand was cupping one of her breasts while Maurizio fondled the other. I could not believe that this beautiful girl was letting us do this too her on such a short acquaintance and it occurred to me that Maurizio had already had sex with her before he came to England or perhaps she was some expensive hooker that he had hired from Italy.

“You are both naughty boys” Simone was saying again repeating the phrase she had said when we had groped her in the garden and she giggled again as we both fondled her large breasts.

“Yes very naughty boys” I said bending down and sucking one of her large nipples revolving my tongue around it, sucking it into my mouth then I slid my hand up her dress and slid my fingers under the edge of her knickers and started to rub in between her thighs on the outside her knickers. She opened her thighs to allow me more access and I slid my fingers under the edge of her black knickers and found the wetness of her cunt and felt Maurizio’s hand feeling her cunt as well.

“Come on, let's all go up to the bedroom” Maurizio said standing up.

Simone stood up letting her dress fall to the floor then she put her brassiere on the settee.

 I looked at her beautiful breasts, slim waist and long slim legs and was entranced by her beauty. “Simone, you are a very beautiful woman,” I said.

“And you are a beautiful boy” she said looking down at my bulging erection and grasping it through my trousers pulling me by it.

“Come on” Simone said giggling and she led me by the cock as she followed Maurizio out of the room and up the stairs.

I stared at her buttocks as they moved up and down under her tight black knickers and followed her into the bedroom. I stood behind her kissing her neck and back and staring at her reflection in the mirror as I cupped both her breasts in my hand and jiggled them up and down.

 Simone then bent forward and slid off her knickers letting them fall to the floor and still wearing her high heels she stepped out of them and sat down on the edge of the bed looking up at me.

 I hastily tore off my clothes and was soon naked, my huge cock already hard and sticking out at right angles to my body.

 “You have a nice cock” she said, grasping it and waving it back and forwards and giggling.

 Maurizio was undressing, taking his clothes off and putting them neatly on a chair as if he was getting ready for bed. He looked over at me and grinned then walked around the bed and stood beside me.

 Simone grasped his erect cock too, which was big, and just a bit smaller than mine, and started to wank us both then she bent forward and began first to lick my cock then Maurizio’s before pulling on our cocks so that they were right in front of her face. Then she began to suck and lick them both at once, opening her mouth wide and revolving her tongue around our knobs.

 I looked at the reflection in the mirror then down at the swell of cunt which was covered with silky black pubic hair that she had trimmed so that I could just see the top of her labia between her open legs. I wanted to examine, play with and suck her cunt and I knelt down on the thick carpet and pulled open her thighs to reveal her cunt that was wet and shiny with desire. I bent down low and starting at her shoes. I ran my tongue up one leg to her knee and then did the same to the other, then I kissed her inner thighs and began to kiss and lick until I reached her cunt while looking up at her sucking Maurizio’s cock. I grasped her labia between my fingers and thumb and pulled her cunt wide open and slowly started to lick around it.

“You have a beautiful cunt Simone” I said.

Simone looked down at me with Maurizio’s cock still in her mouth giving me a lascivious look and trembled.

I pulled back the hood of her clitoris and began to revolve my tongue around it then to suck and flick it with my tongue which caused her to wriggle her hips from side to side and I stopped licking and just left my tongue against her clitoris letting my open mouth press against her.

 Simone grasped my head and began to move her hips up and down so that she used my tongue in the way that she wanted.

“Stand up and bend over the bed,” Maurizio said.

Simone stood up and turned around and knelt on the edge of the bed.

“We are going to give you two cocks at once, eh Michael?” Maurizio said giggling.

I grinned and sat down on the edge next to Simone.

“Get on top of me” I said and she straddled my body, her large breasts swinging in front of my face and I felt her hand grasp my big stiff cock and guide it into her.

“I am going to fuck you in the arse while Michael fucks you in the cunt” Maurizio said.

“Oh yes fuck me both” Simone said with excitement. “Oh, oh” she gasped as Maurizio buggered her.

 Simone’s cunt felt really tight with Maurizio’s cock in her arse and I moved my hips up and down fucking her. “Simone, you love two big cocks inside you at once, don’t you?” I asked, looking up at her beautiful face.

“Yes I love two cocks inside me” she replied.

 I grasped both her large breasts in both hands and began to suck the nipples and as I did I marvelled at the fact that this stunningly beautiful woman was so uninhibited,

“Yes I am going to come” Maurizio gasped and he ejaculated his sperm inside her.

“Come on Michael you must fuck her in the arse too” Maurizio said.

Simone obligingly climbed off my body and I stood up while she knelt obediently on the edge of the bed, her buttocks raised up and her head resting on her folded arms looking back at me.

 I pulled apart her buttocks and a trickle of white sperm emerged from her anus. I pushed my cock now swollen with the anticipation of buggering this beautiful young woman and slowly pushed it into her receptive arse. I pulled her buttocks wide watching my cock slide in and out of her pink anus which was stretched tightly around my cock and looked over at the reflection in the bedroom mirror.

 Maurizio stood there watching.“That is it fuck her in the arse with your big cock” he encouraged me.

 Simone moaned “Yes fuck my arse” as though she was really enjoying it.

Her enjoyment of being buggered really excited me and I felt myself beginning to come. “I’m going to shoot all my hot spunk right up your tight arse” I gasped then the spunk shot out of me as I spurted profuse amounts of sperm inside her. I withdrew and watched my spunk trickling out of her anus while she remained in the same kneeling position.

 The next day I visited the salon and she was cutting a client’s hair.

“So is a hairdresser after all” I thought.

She was an expert and she was popular with the customers but much to my disappointment she left the next day before Kathleen came back from London and I wondered if she would ever return.

“Why didn’t she stay?” I asked Maurizio.

“I told you that Italians are crazy, she only came to see my new salon” he explained.

“She would be fantastic in the films, if only I could have captured last night’s scene on camera” I thought.

“She would be fantastic in a film” I said to Maurizio, voicing my thoughts.

“Yes but she would never do it!” he exclaimed.

“You cannot put everything you do on film. Just enjoy it!” Maurizio said laughing.

Earrings

Chapter 47.

Kathleen arrived back from London with a device for ear piercing and as I had thought of having an earring I volunteered to be the first to try out the machine. I sat in the salon while Kath read out the instructions and Maurizio and the girls stood around to watch.

“Now you put the earring in here, place the top over the earlobe in the place where you want the earring and pull the lever. Are you ready Michael?” Kathleen asked.

“Yes, go ahead,” I said confidently.

“I will spray your ear with anaesthetic first,” she said, picking up an aerosol can.

“No don’t use that on me just go ahead and do it” I said acting macho in front of the girls.

“Are you sure, Michael?” Kathleen asked a worried tone to her voice.

“Sure I am sure, go right ahead” I replied smiling.

 Kathleen pulled the lever and I felt a slight pain in my earlobe but the earring did not go in and the machine was stuck on my ear. I looked in the mirror as I sat there with the machine on my ear surrounded by hairdressing assistants with horrified looks on their faces.

“Mmm that is a big earring” I joked as Kathleen tried to get the device off my ear.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“No not much but try to get it off” I replied.

“You must have done it wrong,”  Maurizio replied a worried look on his face.

 “No, I followed the instructions exactly,” she said.

I reached up and took the weight of the device. “Read them again,” I said patiently.

 After a while she got the machine off of my ear but no earring just a hole trickling a bit of blood.

“Try it on the other ear” I suggested.

“Are you sure?” Kath replied.

“Sure I’m sure, go ahead but no anaesthetic, I don’t need it is just a pin prick,” I joked.

Kathleen checked the machine again and placed it on my other earlobe but hesitated.

“Go on” I encouraged her laughing and imagining what would happen if I were a customer.

 She pulled the lever and again I felt a sharp pain and the machine dangling from my ear with the earring stuck inside it and through my earlobe.

 I looked into the mirror at the worried expressions on everyone’s faces and laughed out loud.

“Does it hurt?” Kathleen asked, trying to get the device off my ear to no avail.

“No not much” I replied although my ear was beginning to feel a bit sore now. Then I supported the machine with my hand and stood up and let it go and it dangled from my ear. “This is the latest fashion” I joked before pulling it off and ripping out the earring. My ear dripped with blood and it was slightly sore but I had to get it off before it really started to hurt. I looked at everyone and laughed as one girl started to cry and so it was that I had holes in my ears but never wore an earring. “The gods don’t want me to wear them” I thought.

She’s Leaving Home Bye, Bye

Chapter 48

“This is what they did to me yesterday for not cleaning the house properly. Although I did do it” Sara said, showing me her back, looking at me with pain in her eyes.

“I can’t believe that they could do this to you, it’s terrible” I said looking at the angry red welts on her back.

“Right, I'm going to take you away from there. Are they out of the house during the day?”

“Yes they work all day at the military base and come home about six”

 I drove to the small town of Bicester and instead of meeting Sara on the corner as I usually did, she directed to where she had lived since coming to England from Malaysia.

 “This is it she said” indicating a drab looking semi-detached council house taking out her keys and opening the front door. We walked along the passage and into the

front room which was sparsely furnished but spotlessly clean.

“Come on, let's go to your room and collect your things,” I said.

Sara’s small bedroom just contained a bed and a couple of pieces of cheap furniture and on the wall were a couple of pictures and a newspaper cutting showing Sara that I took off the wall and read.

“Bicester girl wins North Eastern Martial Arts Championship” said the headline.

“I did not know that you were a martial arts champion” I exclaimed in surprise.

Sara smiled modestly and blushed. “No, I did not think to mention it,” she said.

“That’s marvellous, you can teach me” I said smiling.

Sara did not have many clothes or possessions and we soon had them packed.

“It seems that your parents do not have much money to spend. I thought people were well paid by the military” I commented.

“We live on our mother’s wages because he sends most of his money back home to India” she said.

“India! I thought that you came from Malaysia” I said.

“I am but my father. I don't know whether he is my real father is Indian. They met at an army base and were transferred here” she replied.

“Why does he send his money to India?” I asked.

“Because he is a chief in his village and has three more wives and several children to support and when he retires he will go back there” Sara explained in a matter of fact way.

 I thought of the bizarre situation this beautiful girl found herself in.

“You must write a note or else the police will be looking for you” I said.

“What shall I say?” Sara asked, taking a pen and paper from her rucksack.

 “Say that, I have met a man who I love and am going away to live with him in a nice house. I will phone you to let you know how I am getting on, Love Sara” I answered.

 With her sparse possessions in the car we drove back to Banbury.

 That night we slept together my arms around her.

 “How old is that girl?” Kath asked.

“Sara is nearly eighteen” I replied.

“Well she does not look it!” Kathleen retorted a sulky look on her face.

“Well she is and I can show you her passport if you want and that is all that matters. Her parents beat her with sticks and her back is full of bruises. I am not leaving her there” I replied.

 Sara moved in with me and we spent a lot of happy days in the studio painting and fucking but she was noisy in her orgasms of which she had many and she would shout out and scream as she came.

 One day Maurizio approached me. “Michael I am sorry but I have a young daughter to bring up and she is asking questions about all the noises that your girlfriend is making” he said.

 I knew what was coming and that he was afraid not for his step daughter but from nosy neighbours and local gossip which might hurt his business and Kath also had this idea that the police may come looking for Sara. I would be going down to London in a few months anyway for the exhibition and I was planning to get back into production as a pornographer and I could not do that in Banbury.

“I will find a flat until I move back to London” I said thinking that he was an ungrateful bastard after all that I had done for him. I searched the local papers and went flat hunting with Sara and soon found a flat which was right opposite Banbury Art College that Sara attended.

 The landlady was a sultry looking woman about thirty who had a hard looking boyfriend. She answered the door in a silk Chinese dressing gown, high heels and black stockings.

 I took the flat which was just one big room with a toilet and kitchen area. The flat was a lot different from Maurizio’s and my sister’s well furnished house but I was happy painting all day and smoking hash and fucking every night.

 I was laying in bed with Sara one night and I wondered if she had any experiences because it would turn me on hearing them. “Have you ever been out with anyone else before you met me?” I asked her.

“One of the teachers at the college but I would not let him do anything” she replied blushing.

“One of the teachers, what did he try to do?” I asked.

“He tried to feel me in between the legs and when I would not let him he tried to take me play with him.”

“Where did all this take place?” I asked pulling her close and kissing her.

“In his car after he offered to give me a lift back to Bicester. I used to think that I was a lesbian before I met you because I had a girlfriend who started to kiss me and I thought that I was in love with her” Sara explained.

 My cock started to get hard and I put my hand down in between Sara’s legs and began to finger her tight little cunt.

“Well you probably had a crush on her and girls often fall in love with each other. No one thinks anything of two girls walking together hand in hand but if boys did that then people would think that they were queer” I said.

“Yes she was in love with me and she wrote me letters telling me that she wanted to make love to me.”

“And you did not do anything but kiss?” I asked.

“We felt each other’s breasts and that was all we did.”

“But it would have gone further if you had continued the relationship” I said, climbing on top of her and pushing my cock into her because this talk of lesbianism was making me horny. Her cunt was really tight and I wondered how this petite girl could take my massive cock but she could and I fucked her really hard until her face went red and she started making the little bleating sounds that told me that she was going to come again.

“Oh, oh, oh I am coming” Sara screamed out loudly.

I pumped her full of sperm and then collapsed beside her on the bed cuddling her in my arms feeling affection for this beautiful girl in post coital drowsiness.

Suddenly there was a rapping on the door and Thelma the landlady poked her head through it.

“I have come to tell you that I have got to put the rent up from next week and I want another five pounds on top” she said entering the room.

“Look we agreed on the rent and I have only been here three weeks and I am not paying anymore” I said sitting up on my elbows.

“We will see about that” said the heavily made up Thelma, slamming the door.

I noticed I still wore the Chinese silk dressing gown with the dragon on it and high heel shoes.

 Next minute the door flew open and her boyfriend entered the room brandishing a cutlass.

“Don’t you talk to Thelma like that or I will fucking kill you” he threatened.

I jumped out of the bed naked and faced him in a martial arts stance taking deep breaths, riding the horse, waiting for his attack but said nothing.

 This unnerved the boyfriend whose arms I noticed were quite heavily muscled and were decorated with several tattoos, some of them probably done with a needle in prison like the one on my right forearm.

“You are either mad or a brave man” he said and turning on his heel he left the room.

We had no more demands for rent increases and Thelma or her boyfriend said nothing when I paid the usual thirty five pounds a week.

 I wanted to be dirtier with Sara and that night I showed her some pornography which she examined with interest.

“You don’t have any hang ups about sex then” I exclaimed surprised that she made no adverse comments about the hardcore photographs and magazines that I showed her,

“No, I lived in a bamboo house on stilts until I was ten and my parents would be in the same room with me. It was just a part of life” she answered.

 I showed her a copy of Janus, an English spanking magazine and she looked at it for some time.

 “Do you like this magazine and the pictures?” I asked wanting to play some spanking games with her.

“Yes I do”

“Why?”

“Because the pictures tell a story” she answered.

“Some girls like to be spanked before they are fucked” I said feeling my cock get really hard.

“Do they?”

“Yes, do you think that you would enjoy it?”

“I don’t know because I have never tried it,” she replied.

“Well bend over the bed and I will see if you like it.”

She bent over on the bed and I pushed down her waist so that I could see her cunt and the little puckered flower of her anus.

“Turn your head and look at me” I ordered and looking down at her tight little buttocks. I began to spank them, setting up a rhythm, smacking first one way then the other until her silky smooth bum was slightly pink which caused me to have an enormous erection. I looked down at her little smooth, tight cunt and pushed my big knob into her and began to fuck her.

 Sara gasped as I looked down at my cock going in and out then she had one orgasm and then another and on the second I shot copious amounts of sperm up inside her as she writhed about in a long drawn out orgasm.

 She had obviously enjoyed sexually submitting to me. “Did you like the spanking and fucking” I asked her rather superfluously.

“Yes, it made me come,” she answered.

And so it was games of sex and submission were added to our sexual repertoire.

I heard the doorbell ring and Thelma answering it then her footsteps coming down the passage and stopping outside the door of my bedsitter.

 She knocked on the door.

“Come in,” I shouted.

Thelma’s head appeared through the door. “Is the artist at home?” she said with the smile of someone who has discovered that her lodger was something rather special, a real artist.

 I was sitting; painting and the room stunk of cannabis smoke and was in a terrible mess with old newspapers spread out on the floor to stop the paint from staining the carpet.

“There is a lady who wants to see you” Thelma informed, standing there in her silk dressing gown puffing on a cigarette.

“Could you ask her to come in please?” I said.

“He said to go in” I heard Thelma saying; the sound of heels and a smartly dressed woman entered the room.

“Hello Michael I am one of Maurizio’s clients and I have seen some of your work at the salon and I would like to buy a painting” she said in a posh voice.

 I realised that I certainly looked the part sitting at my easel wearing the clothes I wore for painting which were splattered with paints of all different colours with tubes of paint littering the floor. “I am very pleased to meet you. Do you see anything that you like hanging on the wall?” I asked.

 The lady looked around then her eyes alighted on one of my prison paintings. It was of the sun shining down one of the spurs in Maidstone Prison. It was an unusual prison painting where I had discovered beauty in something mundane such as the sun shining down a passageway through a window at the end with the shiny floor reminiscent of water. At the end of the passage was a figure that had been abstracted by the light and I remembered that Tony Dunford had posed for it standing there for an hour or so looking out of the window and I did not really want to let it go.

“It is a present for my husband. He is the Captain of the Queen Elizabeth and I think that it would be nice hanging in his cabin” she said.

“Oh really that is interesting but why don’t you have one of my other paintings?” I replied looking at her, noticing that she was quite attractive dressed in a suit with a skirt down to her knees and sensible heeled shoes.

“How much do you want for it?” she asked and noticing my interest. “My daughter is waiting outside in the car,” she said.

“Two hundred pounds” I replied.

“All right I will take it” she replied without hesitation.

It was only a small painting and I realised that I could have asked more.

She took out her cheque book and a fountain pen, the pen poised ready to write. “Who shall I make the cheque out to?” she asked.

“Michael J Muldoon, that is MULDOON I said, spelling out my name” and walking over to the picture that was unframed and hung on the wall by a piece of string fixed to the stretcher at the back I lifted it off the wall. I never framed paintings because clients framed them and one could borrow them for exhibitions in there nice frames and put underneath “the collection of Mr and Mrs somebody or other” and this encouraged others to buy.

 I took the cheque and took one last look at my painting which as always looked marvellous once I had sold it and handed it to the obviously rich  woman. Then she walked out and another of my children was gone forever.

A Threesome

Chapter 49

I phoned up Doreen and she said that she would be over about seven. She looked as horny as ever wearing a short skirt and high heels and I could see the little bumps that her suspenders made under her skirt which told me that she expected me to fuck her tonight.

“This is Sara, Sara this is Doreen” I said introducing the two girls.

Doreen looked at me and grinned as if to say you dirty bastard she’s young isn’t’ she? “I am pleased to meet you,” she said to Sara.

Doreen sat on the bed and pulled a half an ounce of black hash out of her hand bag. “This stuff will blow your mind man, it is fifty” she said.

I paid her fifty pounds and she put it in her purse.

 I held a lighter under the piece of hash and the spicy smell of resin filled the air, then crumbled off a piece and loaded my pipe then I handed it to Doreen who took a hit then handed the still burning pipe back to me.

 I inhaled deeply until the little piece of resin glowed red then turned into grey ash, then knocking off the cinder into an ashtray I placed another little amount on the pipe and offered it to Sara.

“I don’t really like it,” she said.

“Just try one little pipe,” I said.

I held the flame to the pipe while Sara inhaled a small amount and then started to cough which made Doreen and I burst into laughter.

There was a bottle of wine on the table three quarters full and I put three glasses on the table and filled them. “One for you, one for you and one for me” I said, handing Sara and Doreen a glass.

 The girls sat on the bed drinking wine and I thought that I would like to have a threesome.

 I smoked another pipe and Doreen had one too and I felt really high. I put my arm around both the girls and then I kissed Sara long and hard then Doreen straight afterwards and I could see Sara was surprised when I pushed her down onto the bed and started to pull off her clothes but she just lay there naked looking up a startled look on her face.

“Look at those little tits and smooth tight little pussy” I said and while I spoke pushed my hand up Doreen’s skirt and started to feel her cunt.

“She likes to be fucked hard every night by my big cock. She is only a little girl but she can take my huge cock all the way and she really loves it. She told me that her girlfriend used to kiss her” and I lay down beside Sara and started to run my hands over her body over her small breasts watching her puffy nipples erect then in between her legs while I kissed her.

“Doreen, why don’t you lay down next to her?” I suggested and she did smiling at me.

“Now kiss her.”

Doreen kissed Sara on the lips as she lay there unresisting, then Doreen’s hand began to explore Sara’s body too and she began to suck her breasts then getting into a kneeling position on the bed she began to suck and lick Sara’s smooth little cunt looking round at me a dirty expression on her face.

 My cock was hard as a rock now and I knelt on the bed and pulling up Doreen’s skirt I pulled down her silky black knickers to her knees pushed my cock into her cunt from behind and began to fuck her as she sucked Sara’s cunt. As I fucked her I watched her head in between Sara’s wide open thighs. I pulled out my cock.

“See Doreen she is a very naughty girl and naughty girls have to be spanked. Bend over on the bed you naughty little girl” I said.

 Sara bent over her pert little buttocks sticking up in the air and then I began to spank her until her silky smooth buttocks began to turn red.

“Doreen open your legs wide because now that you have sucked Sara’s tight little cunt she is going to suck yours” I said.

 Doreen smiled a lascivious expression on her face and opened her legs wide.

“Suck Doreen’s cunt” I said, spanking Sara’s buttocks and she began to lick gingerly at her cunt.

“Not like that suck her out properly like she did you, get your tongue right up inside her” I commanded.

 Sara started to suck Doreen harder, then looking down at her little cunt I pushed my big swollen cock into her and began to fuck her.

“Suck her cunt, that’s it, suck her cunt while I am giving you a good fucking, you love my big dick up you” I said.

 Doreen’s face showed that she was really enjoying everything and I noticed that she was wanking herself as Sara sucked her cunt.

“That’s it Doreen wank yourself while she sucks your wet, sticky cunt. I love seeing girls wanking themselves, come on wank yourself really hard until you come and she licks out all your juices” I said pushing Sara’s head in between Doreen’s thighs” then I heard Sara’s breath coming faster and I knew that she was going to come soon and I began to fuck her really hard my hands holding the sides of her buttocks pushing her back and forwards.

“Oh, oh, oh” Sara gasped, her breath coming in short bursts.

I saw Doreen’s fingers moving really fast as she wanked herself in sexual abandonment. “Oh man I’m going to come too” she said, grasping Sara’s head in both hands and grinding her cunt hard against her lips.

 This made me want to come as well and I felt a powerful orgasm ripple through my body and I ejaculated copious amounts of hot sperm deep inside Sara.

After Doreen had gone Sara began to cry little tears rolling down her face.

“What’s the matter baby?” I asked, putting my arms around her and holding her close.

“Does it mean that I am a lesbian” she asked a plaintive tone to her voice.

“Of course not,” I replied laughing. “You are just highly sexed like me and lucky to be totally uninhibited and you are bisexual too and can enjoy sex with both girls and boys.”

“So there is nothing wrong with me then and I am not a lesbian?”

“No lesbians can only enjoy sex with other females, and neither is Doreen. Both of you are bisexual and I think that a lot of girls are.”

“Come on let’s get to sleep” I said and she climbed into bed with me and as I cuddled her she soon fell asleep.

I lay there thinking that life was good to me and that I was having a great time.

A Private View

Chapter 50

The Private View in Chalk Farm was crowded and the crowd began to spill out into the High Street.

 A tall eccentric looking man was speaking to me. “I am Lawrence Head of Painting

at the Slade” he said a slight stutter to his voice.

 I knew who he was before he had spoken to me because Stocker had pointed him out and he was the guest of honour at the exhibition.

 Sara stood beside me looking up at the six foot plus Lawrence in awe.

“Let me introduce you to Sara, mon amour” I said.

“I am pleased to meet you Sir Lawrence,” Sara said, shaking hands.

“Please call me Lawrence my dear, won’t you?” he said, beginning to stutter badly, bending forward and stooping to shake Sara’s hand.

 Just at that moment there was a commotion at the door and I looked over to see a shabbily dressed man who had gate crashed the party and had grabbed a glass of wine.

“Excuse me a moment will you” I said to Lawrence and made my way over to the scruffily dressed man whom all the middle class people in the gallery seemed to be afraid of and were backing away from.

“Who says I canna have a wee drink?” the guy said in a Glaswegian accent an aggressive tone to his voice.

 I confronted him and put my arm around his shoulders. “Hello Jock, have a wee drink and then go” I said looking him straight in the eye.

 He looked at me knowing immediately that I was not one of the soft posh people who were now staring in awe as I stood with my arm around the man’s shoulders.

 Jock’s face bore the marks of a violent past, a broken nose and a couple of razor marks across his face.

 It always amused me when people were afraid of people with beaten and scarred faces because they were obviously the victims of violence and not necessarily violent themselves, although of course they could be especially to those weaker than themselves.

 I steered Jock out of the door and into the street and taking his now empty wine glass I gave him a hard look.

“Well Jock it was nice knowing you, off you go now because you are frightening all these posh friends of mine.”

 Jock looked at me and shuffled off into the night and as I returned to the crowded gallery I saw the looks of admiration on several of the guests faces and the excited chattering of posh voices and I realised that Stocker and I were probably the only working class guys here.

 Sara was talking animatedly to Lawrence who was surrounded by people who were eager to make the great man’s acquaintance and who hung on his every stuttered utterance.

 Then suddenly a familiar face from my past was smiling at me, Captain Bingham with a lady, who was obviously his wife.

“Hello Michael I would like to introduce you to my wife” he said and I shook hands with his lady smiling at a man who had given me so much help in the past and treated me with respect even though he had absolute power over me.

“Hello Sir I am so pleased that you could come” I said thinking that Alan Stocker must have invited him.

“A marvellous show Michael and I am so happy for you” Bingham said smiling his wife smiling too.

 Then someone else was shaking hands with me. “I like your paintings, they are like carpets” he was saying to me in a friendly way.

“Yes I think that the surface of the painting, the two dimensional aspect of the painting is so important don’t you?” I replied.

“What sort of artist are you?” the guy was asking.

“A figurative abstractionist” I replied.

“I thought that you was a piss artist” the guy said laughing in a good natured way.

“Yes a piss artist” I repeated his words laughing.

There was so many people so many faces and everyone was getting pissed on the free wine and the gallery was beginning to sound like a public house where everyone had had quite a lot to drink and had begun to shout above the noise in order to make themselves heard.

“Come downstairs and have a look at my show and we can have a smoke in the loo” Alan said.

“What about Sara?” I replied, glancing over to see that she was still talking animatedly to Lawrence Gowing.

“Oh she is all right Lawrence likes talking to girls.

Let her get to know him” he said.

 As he spoke I noticed that Alan’s working class accent had disappeared and that he now sounded affected and middle class and I wondered how he had changed his accent so rapidly. His appearance was affected too as he made limp wristed gestures and wore John Lennon glasses. He had acquired an extensive vocabulary in Maidstone but now his accent sounded very much like all the other guests here tonight and I realised that the art world was very much middle class and how quickly he had become part of it.

 No one would guess that here was a working class boy who had strayed from the straight and narrow and become a heroin addict and bank robber.

 In the toilet I noticed that Alan had hung a portrait of me that showed me as an angry little man hunched up sitting at an easel that he had done in Maidstone.

“So I am in the toilet, am I Alan? I remarked not liking his little joke or the painting much.

“Yes I thought that it would be terribly funny if you were hung in the toilet” he replied giggling and getting out a short little pipe.

 I pulled out my pipe and a piece of hash and soon the small toilet was full of smoke and I was feeling very stoned on wine and hash.

“I saw Bingham and his wife,” I said.

“Yes I invited him”

“You have done well arranging all this and inviting Lawrence Gowing” I said.

“It wasn’t all me, Corinna did most of it. You have not met her yet have you?” he asked.

“No I haven’t” I replied. “What’s she like?”

“Pots of money, she is from one of the oldest families in England. Come on, let me show you my latest work” he replied.

 As we emerged from the toilet the stink of cannabis floated out on clouds of blue smoke and several guests waiting outside laughed.

“Smell that, it’s fucking good stuff. One could get stoned on the fumes in there” someone said in a posh voice laughing.

Downstairs was full of people too as Alan guided me over what was obviously his favourite work, a large multi coloured figurative abstraction with the words Alan Stocker glowing, as if on a neon sign, with his name up in lights.

 I stood looking at it thinking that it was rather shouting for attention but did not want to tell him that.

“Well what do you think?” Alan asked his hands on his hips awaiting my favourable comments.

 I wondered what to say. “Well it certainly catches the eye but I prefer some of your earlier works” I replied gesturing over to where he had hung some of the paintings that he had done in prison.

“I love it” he said then a girl who appeared to be something twentyish was smiling at us.

“Oh let me introduce you to a very good friend of mine, Michael this is Corinna, Corinna this is Michael,” Alan introduced us.

 I looked at the girl who was heavily made up, her eyes outlined with thick mascara.

“I am pleased to meet you Michael, I have heard so much about you” she said in an upper class accent.

“I hope that it was all good” I replied laughing and observing that she wore black fishnet stockings, a mini skirt, snakeskin high heeled stilettos, a low cut silk blouse and reminded me of a hooker in a French film. As she spoke, large gold hoop earrings dangled from her ears.

“Yes I have been talking to your girlfriend Sara and she is absolutely charming” she said.

“Oh, is she all right I have left her all alone upstairs?” I observed.

“She is perfectly all right and is rather the centre of attraction talking to Lawrence” Corinna said laughing drinking her wine.

 I looked at the way she was dressed and wondered if I could get her into a threesome with Sara.

“I had better go back up stairs and see how she is, '' I said.

 Upstairs I made my way back through the crowd to where the tall crane-like figure of Lawrence towered over everyone.

 He was surrounded by several adoring young women and as I approached he looked at me then he began stuttering heavily which everyone ignored while they waited patiently until he got the words out.

“Had a terribly interesting conversation with Sara, she is absolutely charming” he managed to say then he put his arm around my shoulder.

“You are prolific I can see that, it’s all that stuff you smoke, when I was a young man I had consumption and all I did was to paint and fuck. It has rather the same effect” he said, smiling benignly at me.

“Consumption that must have been terrible” I sympathised.

“No it was rather a different state of mind, an altered perception of the world, a fever in which I did lots of painting. I did some of my best work then” he stuttered then magically his speech returned to lucidity.

“I would like to see some of the work that you did during this period,” I said.

“Well I have some of my earlier works at my flat in Percy Street and if you come to the college one day we can walk over there and I can show it to you” Lawrence Gowing invited.

“I would really like that. I will come up during the week to see Alan and then I will come and see you” I replied. “Here I am becoming friends with one of the most influential people in the art world, a man that wrote a famous series of art history books and is still writing them” I thought.

 As I spoke to Lawrence I noticed that he was always surrounded by several women.

 Everyone wanted to speak to the great man and then Alan and Sara were speaking to me and I realised that I was very stoned. I bent forward and whispered in Alan’s ear. “Who are all these women who follow Lawrence around?” I asked.

“They are his disciples and he likes them to hang him up on a big cross that he has in his studio and whip him” Alan answered in a matter of fact way.

Home Again

Chapter 51

I moved back into my old room at my parent’s house with Sara sleeping with me in the single bed.

 The first night as I sat in my old armchair having a drink with my mother and father in the front room and Sara knelt at my feet as if I was her master.

 I saw my father glancing over at the long haired beauty that obviously worshipped me.

“You have never had anything like this” I thought amused.

The next day I had two phone calls, one from Rose inviting me to donate a painting to the Red Cross at the Royal Academy and the other from Corinna to say there was a reporter from the Ham and High coming over to the gallery to do an interview.

“Ham and High it is just a local newspaper, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes but it is a quite important newspaper as lots of art world VIPs read it” Corinna informed me.  

 When I entered the gallery Stocker stood hands on hip gazing into the distance striking an arrogant pose while a photographer knelt subserviently on one knee taking pictures.

 I almost burst out laughing then the photographer turned to look at me. “Who is this?” he asked Stocker.

“Oh he used to paint my portrait when I was in prison” Stocker replied.

I felt betrayed by my former pupil but said nothing to explain that I was the artist who had painted all these pictures in this gallery.

 I did not really like the art scene, too much sycophancy, it seemed was required for me to adapt, although I would always paint because with me it was compulsive.

 I intended to be my own man as a pornographer and I knew that I was going to earn a fortune making English porno. All this was going through my mind as the photographer packed up his equipment and left.

“I am donating a painting to the Red Cross at the Royal Academy” I said to Alan.

“Really that’s marvellous! Can I come?” asked Alan eagerly.

“No, sorry but I could only get two tickets” I said, relishing the disappointment on Alan’s face.

The Royal Academy

Chapter 52

The Royal Academy was crowded and I was the only one there wearing a denim jacket and jeans among a sea of dinner jackets and gowns.

 Sara was dressed in her ethnic Malaysian wrap around dress with the little Malaysian dagger in the waistband that I had encouraged her to wear.

 As we walked around looking at the paintings of the Summer Show that still decorated the walls I noticed a beautiful woman.

 Bottles of Dom Perignon were being opened by the case full and I went over and filled three glasses then holding Sara’s hand I approached the woman and offered her a glass of champagne.

“Hello, would you like a glass of champagne?” I said, offering her one of the two bubbling flutes that I held in one hand.

“No not really but you could get me a glass of still white wine” she said.

“Yes, certainly Madam,” I replied.

“But before you go are you going to introduce yourself and your lady” she replied in a posh upper class voice. “I am the Countess Pepita Rivera of Mexico.”

“I am Michael Muldoon the artist and this is Sara from Malaysia who is also an artist” I introduced us.

“You stay here and talk to the Countess while I get the wine” I said to Sara.

I looked at Sara’s proud face and thought that she looked perfectly at home here among all these Lords and Ladies and I realised that she possessed a natural nobility.

 I struggled through the throng of people who surrounded an enormously long banqueting table that was covered with solid silver dishes full of all sorts of exotic food and thought that the scene was like something out of a film. I realised that this was the world of the super rich who lived in a lifestyle that ordinary people would never imagine.

 I looked at all the sumptuous array of food and ate some Beluga Caviar on a small square of toast and a lobster cocktail in a solid silver bowl while I looked at the labels of the numerous bottles of wine on the table. I thought that the lady would like a dry white and I spied a bottle of Pouilly Fuisse and grabbed the bottle out of an ice bucket and poured out a glass then made my way back to the two women who were now chatting animatedly.

 I gave the wine to the outstretched hand of the Countess whom I noticed was wearing a chunky, solid gold bracelet so heavy it must have weighed down her arm, while her neck and ears sparkled with gold and diamonds.

 “Here we are Countess, a glass of Pouilly Fuisse” I said.

“Oh thank you, I have been having the most interesting conversation with Sara” she replied giving me a dazzling smile. “But do call me Pepita won’t you?

“Really Pepita” I said.

“Yes she tells me that you paint every day”

“Yes I am a compulsive painter and I am tuned into the creative consciousness in the Universe” I said.

“Sara tells me that you paint landscapes with figures from life,” she said laughing.

“Painting from life for me is simply a way of taking notes and improving my technique of painting so that I can develop the images I receive from the godhead and project them onto the canvas. What I am receiving and capturing at the moment are scenes of a Heaven on Earth, the theme is a Return to the Garden” I replied. “That sounded rather good” I thought, remembering Bradford’s advice about learning how to speak about one’s work.

“How interesting I shall have to visit your studio sometime” the Countess replied.

“Yes I am prolific and I have lots of work” I said thinking of her being shocked by my parent’s humble semi-terraced house near Brixton Prison and the little paint splattered room in which I painted.

 I squeezed Sara’s hand and gave her a kiss. Then I noticed a heavily built guy standing near to us and as I caught his glance he scowled at me.

“Who is that man standing next to us, Pepita?” I asked, nodding in the scowler’s direction.

“Oh he is a bodyguard he was assigned to me officially and is from the Protection Squad.”

 I looked over at the guy and noticed that when I looked at him he instinctively touched the left side of his chest when I gave him a hard look.

“Do you always have armed bodyguards when you come to England?” I asked.

“They always assign me a protection officer but I don’t know whether they carry guns,” Pepita replied.

“Well he does” I said laughing and Pepita and Sara both turned to look at the guy who looked away and tightened his lips.

“How do you know? the Countess asked.

“Well he’s not a very good bodyguard because he does something bodyguards should never do” I said, pausing while the Countess and Sara waited for me to explain. “He touches his weapon!” I said laughing at the innuendo.

The Countess and Sara started to laugh and again looked around at the object of their amusement.

 I was pleased to see him grit his teeth so that one could see the muscles rippling in his jaw.

 When the woman turned back to me he shot me a vicious Humphrey Bogart look baring his teeth.

 I stared back at him and smirked and mouthed the word “cunt” when the ladies were not looking and his face assumed a very serious hard man expression that amused me no end.

“Oh look there’s Lord Rothermere and Bubbles' ' exclaimed the Countess and I noticed a large self important looking man moving through the crowd accompanied by a jewel encrusted lady in a long evening dress whose hairstyle obviously attributed to her nickname.

 I thought how extreme wealth could make people look ridiculous by the expensive clothes and jewellery they wore and about Lord Rothermere.

“Wasn’t he the old Nazi who owned the Daily Mail and who was on the side of Hitler during the Second World War?” I seemed to remember reading something to that effect when I studied modern history. The progress of him and Bubbles was followed by an admiring crowd some of whom even clapped that by the pleased expressions on their faces delighted the Lord and his Lady.

 I suddenly felt like a piss and I turned to Countess and Sara. “Would you excuse me a moment ladies?” I said.

 I found the toilet and was having a piss in the urinal when the bodyguard walked in.

I immediately was on my guard and quickly shook my penis and put it back in my trousers turning to ward off any attack.

“Why don’t you keep away from her? I know all about you and you should not be around these type of people” the protection officer said aggressively.

 I noticed that he was not taking a piss and had followed me into the toilet for a confrontation

“Who do you think you are fucking talking to you mug” I said giving him a hard look regressing into pure Cockney argot as spoken by all the London hard men.

“I am talking to you, you criminal and if you don’t leave her alone you will be sorry” he threatened me baring his teeth like a beast starting to attack.

“If you keep threatening me I will knock you spark out you cunt” I said putting up my fists. “Come on you flash cunt and I will fucking muller you. I will rearrange that ugly fucking boat of yours so that your own fucking mother won’t recognise you” I said feeling a massive shot of adrenaline flood into my body. He was bigger than me but I felt really powerful as if I could tear him limb from limb. I breathed in deeply, riding the horse ready for his attack. I would not attack him but I was deliberately trying to make him lose his temper because an angry man is easier to defeat and if he attacked I would win, I was sure.

 Suddenly he realised what I was doing. “I will report you” he said and then turning on his heel he walked out of the toilet.

 I laughed out loud, my long mocking laugh ringing in his ears as he departed then I walked back out into the huge salon.

 I had enjoyed winding up Mr Hardman and I wondered who he was and how he knew who I was and how I would be here tonight.

 As I walked back over to where the Countess and Sara were standing I noticed a huge portrait of Paul McCartney and stood for a moment to look at it. It was photorealism and I knew that it was a copy of a photograph even though the sitter may have sat on a few occasions.

“What do you think of it?” asked a young man who had come to stand by me.

“Is it your work?” I asked him, looking at the signature on the painting which read “Humphrey Ocean.”

 The name rang a bell and I remembered reading about him accompanying Paul McCartney on the Wings Tour.

“I am Humphrey Ocean the painter” he confirmed, shaking my hand.

“I am Michael Muldoon the artist” I replied.

“What do you think of it?” he repeated his question a smile on his face as though he was expecting praise.

“Stick a postage stamp on it and send it off” I replied laughing.

  I saw a look of dismay appear on his face as I quickly walked away.

I was not going to praise something merely because it was done on a large scale by a famous artist. He was doing what a lot of portraitists had been doing since the invention of photography in the1860s and many people were impressed by their work, but I was not. “The source did not matter” was the mantra in the art world but it did to me.

“Hello, I was looking at some of the paintings,” I said to Sara and Pepita.

A slightly built middle aged man climbed onto the stage and addressed the audience through a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, Lords and Ladies I will now read out a list of the winning numbers of donators who were entered in the raffle” he said.

 I realised that the man on the stage was Sir Hugh Casson, the President of the Royal Academy who was a painter. I had read about him and seen reproductions of his work and I remembered some of his pen and ink drawings of Soho where he had left out all evidence of the modern world.

“Michael Muldoon the artist has donated a painting won by number 404” I heard him calling,

“Hey that’s me! Excuse me Pepita, come on Sara” I said, making my way to the stage and getting up onto it with Sara.

 Sir Hugh Casson handed me a ticket. “You have been won by Mr Herman Neumann” he said laughing.

 I looked a bit puzzled as everyone started clapping and stood there with Sara looking at the piece of paper.

“Yes we have raffled you” he said over the microphone and everyone started laughing.

“He is the person who won the painting you donated,” he explained.

“Oh, I see,” I replied.

“Look since you are up on the stage, why don’t you read out some of these numbers for me” Sir Hugh suggested, grinning in a pleasant manner.

“Okay” I agreed. “He knows who I am” I thought and taking the tickets I began to read out the numbers while Sir Hugh handled the winners who approached the stage.

 Some people were not there like the Mr Neumann who had won a painting from me and their prizes would be sent by post or they would collect them.

 So there I was on the stage of the Royal Academy with Sara by my side. I knew that the gods were laughing again and that I was affording them so much amusement on the stage of the world.

 I liked Hugh Casson immediately because he was so friendly and obviously quite eccentric. I handed some of the tickets to Sara who began to read them out in her middle class accent that she had acquired in the eight years that she had been in England and I realised how unselfconscious she was and looking around at the smiling faces that people seemed to like her immediately.

I liked her company and I was very much in love with her I realised.

While I was on the stage handling the tickets I noticed Mr Hardman across the huge hall speaking to the Mexican Countess and saw her look at me in a strange way and I knew that he had told her that I was a convicted murderer.

 I gave the rest of the tickets to Sara and got down off the stage and walked towards the Countess and the bodyguard intending to challenge him in front of her but she warned him and seeing me coming he disappeared into the crowd.

“What did he say about me?” I asked the Countess.

“That you were a very dangerous person, but I don’t think that I have any reason to be afraid of you Michael,” she said, smiling and unafraid.

 I took her hand bowed and kissed it, my lips lingering on her flesh.

“Of course you do not Pepita; I only am only dangerous to dangerous men and I  never hurt a woman and being a gentleman neither would I” I said thinking of how romantic I sounded.

 The Countess rewarded me with a dazzling smile and I was struck with her beauty, breathing in her perfume and looking at the swell of her ample breasts revealed by her low décolletage. I knew that I would love to fuck her and wondered if I would get the chance.

 I pulled a business card out of my pocket with my name and telephone number. “In case you ever want to see my work” I said, handing her the card.

 As I left the Academy with the Countess and Sara I noticed a guy standing there an obsequious expression on his face holding two small paintings of crucifixion scenes.

“How much are they?” the Countess asked.

As I looked at the guy I remembered seeing him at my exhibition in Battersea and Jean introducing to me as an ex-con who painted. I nodded to him in recognition.

“Twenty pounds each,” he said.

Much to my surprise the Countess pulled a large bundle of notes from her handbag and gave him some money and took the paintings.

I thought I could never sell work like a beggar and demean myself in this way no matter how hard up I ever found myself.

 Out in Piccadilly a large chauffeur driven car drew up and the Countess stepped inside.

“Goodbye Michael, I am flying back to Mexico tonight” she said.

As she got into the back of the car, I glimpsed Mr Hardman glaring at me from the dimly lit interior as the door closed and the limousine disappeared into the Piccadilly traffic.

 I knew instinctively that I would never see her again.