Soss

Late, quite late, sitting on King's Cross. Bernie in front, saw me in his mirror, climbed slowly out.
"A'low Peta you all right?" voice rising and falling on the first word.
"Yes I'm all right Bernie"... such was the conversation. Never progressed beyond a couple of syllables...
'Ad any young ladies lately...?' he knew I had not, watched me like a hawk.
'Ad a good one last night"...lowering his voice ."Took it up to Albert's ..Got 'old of Yorkie Bar.. ee came round..."
Wynd up time for Peter.. asked my usual question.. why he never let me in on the act?.. "Nah too late for you.. anyway you never tell us when you 'ave one up the flat".

Which was true.

The rank shuffled along, a very quiet night. He left it at that hoping I would get out and ask him more about the previous night's activities.. mostly in his imagination There were occasions when he pulled.. they were clandestine.. His triumph was "Soss"

She was something else.. He had known her for years, only had to curve her index finger and he was there.. everything else dropped, he did have a point, she being the greatest plater the Cab trade had ever known and she was not a dog either. More surprising, very intelligent, had the most incredible World Wide Ham Radio which she operated expertly. Had built a room in the loft of her house, a massive revolving antenna sticking through the roof, nothing really that she could not do.. above all, obsessed by sucking one, one after another, so very many as possible, insatiable. Anything else, strictly out.. It was to everyone's' chagrin, she, so openly attached to Bernie. Him, almost forty years her senior, something very hard ……..for them to swallow……...

The Parties at Albert's were a big draw if he slyly let slip Soss would be the Star "Performer".. For weeks in advance all would be on their best behaviour towards Berni to get in his "Good Book" He quite autocratic about it as well
" 'Ees Aht! " he would say without any compunction, the letter "H" never figuring in his vocabulary.
Poor Jimmy Skinner, Squeaky Bill and a few others would be crawling, red faced "Yes Bernie.. No Bernie" terrified of being left behind. Squeaky Bill, approaching Eighty but completely mesmerised by Soss.

All those invited knew the routine.. Usually another couple of girls dragged in.. The only way I could get a 'invitation' was to find one, otherwise I was 'out'. No one would actually see Soss. Never made a appearance, always arrived early, making herself comfortable in Albert's bedroom, more or less in darkness, however, no doubt of her presence once she caught hold. Bernie making the utmost of being Master of Ceremonies.. "Nah Then!.. Nah Then!.. quieten down and draw your number!", conniving that Jimmy Skinner, as always, was last, or nearly. Bernie stumbling round the room making comments on the lucky first few.


The other girls simply sat about on people's laps, in the packed, smoke filled room, drinking from cans of beer, trying to hold their clothes on against the eager, pawing hands.. a cheap thrill before 'the' event


Should imagine that it would be a reasonable analogy to say that me life was akin to a chromium metal ball in a Arcade amusement machine, curving about, bouncing off different females, a light flashing, buzzer sounding, each time I touched a spring loaded reaction.. the sharp questioning look, the single word, the open rebuff. The only numbers clocking up being the amount of money spent from my pocket...a very long way from any "normal" existence. Have already had a bollocking for using this word. Cynthia wrote quite acidly "What is normal!" She knows what I mean, yet, deciding to go to town on me for some reason.

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