A pounding on the door synchronising with the beat of the rhythm echoing in his head impinged upon reality, bringing Alan back from the abyss of his nightmare. Staggering groggily to the door he opened it a little to find McCarthy standing outside.

"I thought that I'd better pop up and check on you before I went out" he said, concern on his face. "You look a bit more alive today at least. When I called in last night you gave me a right turn! Looked like death warmed up you did! Mind you, I don't wonder. You've been out cold for two days solid. Must have been one hell of a binge you went on. Still, you seem a bit better now so I'd better be going. Got to keep the old dears cheerful at the centre". He shuffled off down the stairs still muttering to himself.

Alan followed the retreating figure down the stairs and stumbled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The milk was off but that wasn't important. 'Black coffee will probably do more to clear my head' he thought as he took his mug back to his room. Picking his way amongst the debris he made it to the armchair and sat down again thankfully.

Looking round, he smiled ruefully as he contemplated the shambles he'd made of the room. It summed up the shambles he had made of his life. He could equate the scratched and battered book case with it's scanty collection of dog eared books and tatty magazines to his own scratched and battered life with it's scanty collection of dog eared memories and tatty hopes. The shadow that was cast half across the room by the ancient roll top desk with it's tarnished brass fittings and it's coffee stained wood all at once became the visible manifestation of the rape that had cast it's shadow across his life; brooding; dominating; always there.

He wondered vaguely what the symbolism was of the gleam of the fireside coal scuttle and the little stand of fire-brushes. Was there a gleam of hope from any part of his own desecrated and raddled existence. Yes; there was one thing. Tommy had turned up out of the blue two; no three nights ago. Could that be the sign of hope?

Alan sat back, nursing his rapidly cooling mug of coffee and tried to remember what had happened that night.

********************

A Sultry Friday Evening. August 1969.

I was sitting in the bar nursing a pint and feeling morose. George had been slipping me the occasional drink because I had no money and not much prospect of earning any; not in my present state at least. I was fully aware of my poor state of cleanliness. My clothes were dirty and I hadn't bothered to have a bath for several days in spite of having scored with a couple of clients the previous day. In short I stank of sweat , sex and alcohol.

I was just contemplating the dregs of my pint and wondering whether I could cadge another from George when there was a tap on my shoulder. Pulling my thoughts together I stood up a little unsteadily and turned to face what I hoped was a possible client. Tommy stood there, looking shocked and uncertain. Mick was a couple of paces behind him.

All the shame and disgust that I'd felt about myself since that night in April welled up inside me. I couldn't allow them to find out about the rape and if they already knew, then I certainly couldn't face the humiliation of the scorn; or even worse; the sympathy that would be heaped on me. I pushed past them without a word and ran from the pub.
Back in the sanctuary of my room I locked the door and cowered in the chair, fearful that they would come looking for me. A part of me screamed to get out of the room; to run and hide somewhere. Anywhere! Under that; almost smothered by the fear and the shame within; another thought struggled to make itself heard. A thought that told me that Tommy and Mick could drag me out of the sewer into which I'd crawled if I would allow them to come close.

Footsteps echoed on the landing outside and a soft tap sounded on the door. "Alan" a voice called softly. "It's me; Tommy. Mick's here too. Will you let us in please. We want to talk to you".

"Fuck off! Leave me alone" my voice screamed, while my thoughts said 'please help me' I shrank further back into my chair.

A rattle sounded in the lock as a key turned. 'Thank God Mick still has a key' my mind rejoiced as my body flung itself at the door, vainly trying to close it again. "Get out! Leave me alone; I don't fucking want to see you!" I screamed, clawing and kicking futiley to try and stop them invading my sanctuary. I allowed no one in here these days ; ever.

Mick grabbed me, causing a further flare up of my fear. His tattoos and his skin-head style stirred the memories and opened all the scars of that April night. I struggled wildly but he just held me firmly but carefully , pinning my arms to my side until the paroxysm of rage had burned itself out. The panic died and exhaustion set in. I sagged and Mick gently lowered me into the chair.

Tommy came over and sat on the arm of the chair next to me, taking my hand gently in his. Mick moved away to sit on the edge of the bed, as if aware that something about him disturbed me. "You seem to be in a bit of a mess. Would you like to tell me what happened?" Tommy asked quietly.

I looked at him for a long time, my thoughts racing wildly. Finally I found my voice. "I don't want to talk about it. What the fuck are you doing here anyway?".

He looked steadily back at me as he replied. "I was beginning to wonder why you hadn't been in touch since the end of April, so I wrote to you at David's address a couple of weeks ago. He wrote back to say that he hadn't heard anything from you, so we decided to come up to London at the earliest opportunity and see if we could find you. From the look of you, we were non too soon!".

He leaned in towards me to say something else but pulled up sharply when he caught a whiff of my unwashed body. "God! You stink. Mick; go and run a bath" He turned back to me. "Let's get you cleaned up before we go any further. Come on we'll give you a hand" Unresisting and docile now, I allowed Tommy to undress me and help me to the bathroom.

Even a long soak did little to restore me to any semblance of feeling but I was clean again, at least on the outside. Tommy found some fresh clothes for me and when I'd dressed he helped me back to my room. Mick had found a tin of soup and had heated it for me. The smell of chicken filtered through my senses and suddenly I realised that I was ravenously hungry. I grabbed the bowl and began to slurp at it greedily. Mick stopped me, put a spoon into my fingers and forced me to take things more slowly. Finishing, I dropped the bowl to the floor and sat back.

"That feels better" I mumbled finally. "Thanks"

"Do you feel a bit more like talking now?" Tommy asked, sitting beside me on the arm of the chair once more.. I nodded and paused to collect my thoughts. "Why didn't you go back to Bradford as you intended?" he continued when I said nothing.

A gut wrenching fear took hold of me. I couldn't tell them what had happened to me; why I'd ended up in the state in which they'd found me. I had to say something though. An excuse came to mind; something that wasn't too far from the truth. "I was beaten up the night before I was due to go back. I was in no state to go home for a while and then somehow I never got round to it" Tommy looked askance at me, so I continued, inventing as I went along. "They took my money as well and I've not been able to scratch up enough money to pay for my ticket. I've been stuck here trying to live on the dole".

Tommy looked at Mick who came across and crouched down in front of me. I flinched involuntarily. "You don't need to be frightened" Mick said. I'm not going to hurt you".

"What do you mean?" I demanded, panicking. "I'm not afraid of you!".

Mick took hold of my hands, his face overflowing with concern. "Give us a chance to help you" he offered. "After you ran out of the pub I had a word with George. He told us everything; all about what happened in the park and how you've been living since".

My body went for a rigid for a second before I jumped up wildly from the chair. "He's lying!" I screamed at them. "I got beaten up; that's all". Mick fell heavily to the floor and I pushed past Tommy, scrabbling for the door. I had to get away. I pulled the door open, screaming incoherently at the two of them. Running down the corridor I disappeared into the night, trying to outrun the shame and degradation that had engulfed me.

Later; much later; I came to my senses sitting on a bench on The Embankment. It took me a moment to focus and I couldn't work out how I'd got there. Then, the memories flooded back. God! Tommy and Mick knew. George had told them everything. How could he? I buried my head in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Are you all right dearie? " a voice queried close to my ear. I looked up fearfully, shrinking from the sound. "Don't run away. I'm harmless" the voice continued, sounding hoarse and raddled in my ears. "Here you are dearie; you can have a drink of this".

I looked up to find an old woman sitting next to me. Her looks matched her voice; wrinkled and dirty, with straggly hair and bloodshot eyes. In spite of the warmth of the night, she was huddled in layer after layer of cardigans and coats. She was holding a half full Tizer bottle out for me to take. "Go on " She encouraged, pushing the bottle even closer. "It might bring a little colour into your cheeks".

I grasped the bottle and took a large swig. The liquid hit the back of my throat, burning my guts like nothing I had ever tasted. Deftly, she caught the bottle as it dropped from my fingers. I was choking and spluttering, fighting to regain control as the fire in my guts began to ease.

"Good drop of meths that is" She chuckled happily, taking a large mouthful of the vile stuff herself. "It seems to have done you no harm" she commented more seriously. "Babbling on something awful you were when I sat down".

I looked at the old girl, a knot of tension churning inside me. "What was I saying?" I whispered finally.

"Well dearie" she answered. " I couldn't understand a lot of it. You were rambling on a lot; but I caught something about three thugs who did something disgusting to you and how you didn't want someone called David to find out". She paused and took another swig from the bottle before offering it to me. I took it. The fieriness of the first mouthful having dulled to a warm glow that eased the pain. "I might be wrong" she continued, "but if I was to hazard a guess, I'd say you'd been attacked at some time". She paused and studied me intently for a while. At last she spoke again, very quietly. "Have you been raped dearie?".

Horrified, I looked at her. "How did you know that?" I stammered.

"It's in your eyes dearie" she replied. "I'd know that look anywhere". She fell silent for a while. Eventually she continued again. "I know what you're going through. I was a good looking woman once and I had a good job too. Then I was raped one night. This is where I ended up. I wouldn't want the same to happen to anybody else".

I was stunned. All my worst fears were coming true. People could tell what I was just by looking at me. Panicking, I blurted out what I was thinking.

"Don't be silly dearie" she replied reassuringly. "I told you, I only guessed because you'd more or less told me when you were babbling". She looked at me, her mouth crinkling into a toothless hag-smile which was somehow very warm and comforting. "Would you like to tell me what happened?" she finished.

Suddenly I wanted to pour the whole story out to her. The old woman was completely unknown to me; someone who I would never see again; and I was desperate to talk to somebody.

Hesitantly at first I began to relate the story of that April night in the park; reliving each loathsome moment as I spoke of it. My solitary listener sat very quietly while I told the whole base tale. When I'd finished she sat quietly for a while. Then she began to speak.

"A lot of what you were rambling on about makes more sense now. Why did you go on the game? she demanded suddenly. "And don't tell me it was for the money, because I won't believe you. You said that you were in work when you were attacked, so I've got no doubt that you could have got another job if you'd wanted".

I nodded dumbly in agreement. 'How had I ended up prostituting myself' I wondered? I had never taken a conscious decision and I'd never given it any thought. "I suppose that there must have been a number of reasons" I said finally, "and you're right; money wasn't one of them. Oh, it came in useful and it became my justification for doing what I did, In the end though I think it was shame that drove me to become a whore. That and self-loathing". I paused and thought very carefully about what I wanted to say. At last I realised that I finally wanted to be honest with myself.

"Before I was raped I'd been giving it away to anyone who took my fancy" I confided at last, consciously choosing and using the word 'rape' for the first time. "I think I've been telling myself that if I hadn't been such a slut, then the rape wouldn't have happened, so I suppose that I'm blaming myself for what happened".

"And so you began to punish yourself by selling your body" the old woman suggested.

"I suppose that's part of it" I admitted. "After what happened, I don't think that I really cared anymore. When I was raped I think that the worst aspect wasn't the abuse or the degradation. It was the fact that I was completely helpless to stop what was happening. I've never lost control of my own life before; at least not to that extent" I added, remembering my time with Sue. "I felt all clogged up and filthy inside and nothing I did could wash it away, but at least when I had sex with men it seemed to smother and dilute the disgust I felt. Whatever shame I subjected myself to as a rent boy, at least I was in control. I could say no and I could exert even more control by taking the punters money off them".

The old woman nodded wisely. "The pain never goes away" she said, "but after a while it becomes bearable. The best thing you could do dearie would be to go home and try to forget everything that's happened down here".

"If only I could" I replied wistfully. "Things are just as bad back in Bradford. That's why I came to London in the first place".

"Haven't you got anybody in Bradford who could look after you. Parents or a girlfriend or even friends who might care for you?".

"There's one person who loves me I think" I murmured, almost to myself "But he's the last person I could turn to. If he ever found out what I've become he would hate me as well. I couldn't bear that. I'd rather leave him with the memories of the person I used to be".

"Why tell him?" she queried. "What he doesn't know won't harm him".

"I know what I've done though and it would always come between us. In the end I'd have to tell him and then things would probably be even worse" I shook off a moment of deja-vu. I had heard that feeling expressed or I'd expressed it myself somewhere before.

"That's a decision that you've got to make for yourself dearie. No one else can do it for you". She sighed deeply. "Now dearie, have you got any money?".

"A little bit" I replied. "Why?".

"All this talk is making me thirsty" she stated, turning her gap-toothed smile on me. "I've been providing the sympathy for the last hour or so. It's time you provided the tea!".

We wandered across to a mobile tea van, joining the queue of other down and outs and whores who had nowhere else to go at that time of night. I was introduced to some of the regulars by the old woman; her name turned out to be Sadie; and I spent a very pleasant hour with a crowd of people who couldn't have given a damn about me or what I'd done. From the snippets of chat that I picked up, most of them had done things that were as shameful as my own activities, at least in the eyes of the world. Meths drinkers and murderers. Thieves, whores of both sexes, alcoholics and addicts all stood around that tea van and I felt completely at home among them.

As morning approached the party began to break up. At one point I asked Sadie where everyone was disappearing to. "Here and there" she said. When I looked at her curiously, she continued. "Even 'winos' have private lives; things to do and places to go. Take me dearie. I'm going across to Kings Cross station for the day. I got a pitch there; quite lucrative really".

"What do you mean a pitch" I queried, intrigued by now.

"Walk over with me and I'll show you".

At the station she stopped. "We'll have to say goodbye here dearie. You'll have to stay well behind me if you're still nosy enough to want to see where my pitch is. If I go in on my own the peelers usually leave me alone, but if two of us tramps go in together they chuck us right back out again". With that she ambled across the station concourse to a spot near the ticket barriers. Settling down on her haunches, she pulled an old box out from the voluminous folds of her clothes. She took something from the box and placed the empty container on the ground in front of her.

I risked walking across the hall on a course that would take me past her. I wanted to see what she had in her hands. What it was were small bunches of dried flowers . As I passed, she whispered loudly too me. "If I've got something for sale they can't do me for begging. I sleep on The Embankment on that bench most nights if the weather's fine. Now piss off!".

Leaving the station I was accosted by a well dressed but coarse man. He asked for directions which I couldn't give him and for some company which I could. I needed some money badly and he was more presentable than some of my recent punters. I thought wryly that it might have something to do with the fact I was a bit more presentable myself after the bath and change of clothes of the previous night.

We went to a scruffy hotel in a back street near the station. My client seemed to be well known to the receptionist and he paid for a room in advance for an hour. Once there he wasted no time in preliminaries but grabbed me roughly and whispered to me exactly what he wanted me to do. I complied, growing more and more disgusted with myself by the minute, but forcing myself to go on until the sordid act was finished. I kept telling myself that I needed the money. Afterwards I dressed hurriedly, feeling as dirty as I'd ever felt. The stink and stickiness of his semen was on my body and the putrid stench of corruption was in my soul.

I waited dumbly for payment as the man stared at me from his position , supine on the bed. Finally he sat up. "You filthy whore" he screamed at me suddenly. "If you think I'm going to pay you then you've got another think coming. If you want your money you're going to have to take it!". He grabbed his trousers and waved them in front of me. I could see his wallet sticking out from a pocket. "Come on then" he was saying. "What are you waiting for. An embossed invitation".

My temper snapped. Lashing out wildly I caught him full in the mouth with my fist. He sprawled back on the bed; unresisting; a smile hovering on his bloodied lips. further down, the erection that had subsided after my ministrations stood proud again, harder than it had ever been for my fingers. I tore the wallet from his trousers and ran across the room, his growing laughter pursuing me down the corridor.

As I ran I forced myself to accept the truth of the encounter. He had wanted me to beat him up. He had wanted me to rob him. That was how he got his kicks. I loathed him, but I loathed myself even more. I was slipping deeper into the sewers that Tommy had once talked of and I couldn't see any way out again.

I couldn't face David again, so going home was out, but neither could I accept the status that joining Tommy and Victor in Brighton would imply. I had done the unthinkable and become a whore but I could never bring myself to admit it to the people I loved; even though they knew. I couldn't live with them knowing what they knew. I couldn't live with myself knowing what I knew.

That thought stopped me dead. I had rejected suicide once as an option but suddenly it didn't seem so terrifying; so unthinkable. What was the alternative? I'd already rejected all possible futures except one. A future of prostitution; of self loathing, humiliation and abasement. A future in which I was a recipient for all the perversions and corruptions; and the occasional caring and tender moment I had to admit; of my fellow men.

Without even realising it, the decision was taken. Life; what little remained; suddenly became so simple. All the pain would be gone; wiped away. All my problems would be solved. No more johns or tricks. No more self loathing or disgust at the depths to which I had sunk. No more dark lonely nights or empty pointless days. Above all no more nightmares. No more visions of ancient forests or dark cathedral vaults filled with all the terrors of my imagination. No more skeletal hordes groping; seducing; raping me. Yes it was all so simple. My childhood victim had called on me to join him many times over the years 'the time has come' I thought. 'It will be so simple. Buy some tablets, get drunk and go to bed.'