My Fair Lad - Part 1
A multipart reimagining of My Fair Lady. Set in London, about now.
It tells the story of Chas, a rough edged lad of 18 who's down on his luck, working in Londons Borough Market and Mark who is a successful banker in the city.
Mark and his banker colleague Gerry make a bet that he can teach the roughly spoken and unkempt Chas to be a gentleman and be accepted into the banking profession.
I hope you like it! Comments to scribblerlad@hotmail.com
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My Fair Lad - Part 1
Hi, my name is Mark, Mark James, did that sound too James Bond like? Well picture a slightly unfit version of Mr Bond. I like to dress well, I like nice things.
I'm 32, tall, I swam at school, that was the only thing I was good at, and got a good wash, apart from math, oh and the gift of the gab. Suffice to say my CSE grade 1 in math was an outlier.
That single GCSE equivalent has done a lot of heavy lifting from my days working out the odds and running books whilst at my rough secondary modern school, handling bets on who'd win the egg and spoon races, the dads race at sports day and even the swimming finals.
Yes, I would pay out a lot of money, especially if the favourite pupil won, or the most competitive dad crossed first, but I learned from an early age that the banker never loses. Just throw in some lures, play on their greed and my pocket money would be boosted, guaranteed.
Enough to save, not spend, and not in a savings and loan bank either, but by taking my Uncle Jim's advice and buying penny shares from tips I'd find in the papers in the library at lunchtime. I'd ask my Uncle Jim to phone his broker and buy the stocks for me.
Uncle Jim called me shrewd. He was right to call me that. Ma and Pa were too busy working 2 jobs to notice me really. I had a succession of neighbours morphing into `aunties' who supposedly looked after me, but were really just somewhere for me to go if it was raining or I'd been been beaten up for being a smart Alec. Which happened frequently.
So here I am walking from my Thames apartment to Borough Market, its a cold crisp winters day, the start of advent, I'll have lunch at a cafe and look at the stalls, maybe buy some vegetables and cheeses, perhaps have an oyster or two.
The market is busy, too busy really, thronged by tourists taking selfies in front of the oyster and fish stall, the fishy aromas blending with the giant paella bubbling away at the adjacent stall. Long gone are the cheese on sticks, sliced applesand melon samples, you have to get here early for those.
I nod to George who's stood outside his restaurant, crazily named Turnips', he taps his watch theatrically and I nod and mouth one o'clock', he nods back. That was much easier than using their app. George will sort me out a quiet table overlooking the restaurant, he knows I like a good view of people. People watching is what I do, I`ll be more specific; lad watching is what I do.
Talking of views, I spot him, at the rear of vegetable stall, stacking boxes of apples on a Slingsby, that's a handcart to you and me. His body flexing and tensing as he stacks them, sweat on his brow as he tilts the Slingsby back, taking the weight and pushing it to the stall. I get a great view of his rear, tight globes sat low in his brown dungarees buckled tight across his shoulders as he unloads the boxes. His lats and biceps flexing as he deftly unloads.
I've noticed the lad before, his shaggy, curly, auburn hair, some would say ginger, his freckles and his green eyes, sparkling before a quick tongued reply and the way he laughs, tilting his head back, his thick neck and Adam's apple prominent.
It's cold today so he's got a T shirt on, his bib unfastened on one side, folded down like a napkin, showing his right nipple pressed against his white T.
He walks by me with a tray of apples, swerving his body and the tray to avoid bumping in to me. I caught his sharp musk searing my nostrils as he approched and I met his eyes as he suddenly saw me and dodged quickly out of my way.
The box knocked into a basket of leeks on the stall which tumbled off the corner of the stall and onto the floor.
`Sorry guv'nor' he said,
We we both immediately squatted to pick up the leeks off the floor almost banging our foreheads together.
`My fault, me daydreaming whilst you're working', I said,
Our hands went for the same leek, I gripped the shaft of the leek lifting it off the floor. His palm came on top of mine and his other hand under the leek.
`You gotta be gentle with these' he said as I reluctantly pulled my hand away and I watched him stroke his fingers across the white flesh of the leek, from the roots to the rough green woody stem.
`See, like this',
his eyes looking into mine as he stroked the leek. I'm imagining it's my cock he's stroking. Is this a `come on', surely not, has he noticed me seeking him out, staring at him before?
We rose and he jammed the basket back into the gap in the stall as a voice boomed,
`Chas, more caulis, now'.
Chas shouted `got it' and went away to the van.
I watched him pick cauliflowers from a wicker basket and peel the outer leaves off and with a penknife, cut through the stalk, the outer green leaves falling, revealing the ivory white flower. He'd soon prepared a boxful. He lifted it onto the Slingsby and trolleyed them to the stall where he arranged them, he was stuck in the middle of the punters with their arms outstretched holding money to get the attention of the smallholder. Brisk trade.
I saw him look around for me and he grinned and put his arms up in a shrug. He was trapped momentarily and he pushed his way out of the crowd with the Slingsby.
It was almost one o'clock when I caught that acrid musk and his voice behind me say
`same time next week?',
I turned my head to see him smiling, half laughing, so he had noticed me.
`definitely' I said
I felt his hand cup my ass.
`Make sure you do, Guv'nor',
`Chas?',
the voice boomed out and he disappeared as I went to Turnip for lunch. My two small plates and a desert to keep me going until dinner with work colleagues tonight.
I sat in the restaurant looking over at the tables, a few nice views of guys but it's so touristy. I eat and pay up, my table immediately reoccupied, and I walk out into the street.
My attention is drawn to the noise across the street outside The Market Porter Tavern. I hear that familiar boom,
`hurry up Chas we ain't got all day',
I hang about and see the rusty haired lad grinning and carrying out three pints of beer, clutched between his outstretched arms, hands gripping all three in a triangle. The boss takes the one at the head of the triangle and Chas hands one out.
I stand transfixed as the lad, caught in the winter sun rocks his head back and sups the pint in one draught, his Adam's apple rising and falling as he gulps the drink down, a trickle from his lips darkening his brown bibber. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand as the blokes clap him on the back.
He looks across and smiles at me, and runs over.
`Hi, did ya enjoy ya lunch? Pricey and posh that place, a bit like you eh?',
`Yes' was all I could say,
`So, you live near do ya?',
I nod,
`Cat got your tongue?' he said,
I nodded, `yes, it's not like me to be the quiet one, it just such a surprise',
`It can't be. You've been watching me for months now, maybe years even, most Saturdays. What's your number?'
I gave him my card,
`Well Mark, nice to meet ya, I'll text ya and see if we can grab a drink, eh',
`Chas, where are you?' Boomed out his boss.
Chas copped a quick feel down below and a quick peck on my cheek and he ran back over the road and disappeared into the throng of the market.
A taxi sped too close to me, the blast of the horn waking me out of my dream. I walked along the Thames, the concierge nodded at me as I got in the lift to the sixth floor.
The plaque by the door was inscribed `JA'. I unlocked and thought for the 100th time, that I must remove that sign. I've just about rid the apartment of all its safe beige and warm shades of nothing that the previous owner so loved. Bland, middle of the road, rather like his trashy novels.
Jordan Archer must've fallen on hard times, no one would give this view up. The L shaped reception looked across the Thames on two sides, my study also overlooking the river, the opposite of the lounge with the kitchen and the five bedrooms at the rear overlooking the city.
Yes, it was expensive, yes, I have a huge mortgage, and yes, I'm worth it.
The realtor negotiated a really good deal on the furniture and appliances. Gavin, my hairdressers bloke, is an interior designer, he came up with the colour scheme and I stayed on in my pokey rental for another few weeks whilst it was all decorated, furniture fitted and unpacked, room dressing I think Gavin called it.
All that I insisted on a was a new super-king bed, the thought of me sleeping where that pompous author had been quite put me off.
I showered, I was thinking of Chas, imagining him peeling off his clothes, fully revealing himself to me, my hands caressed my body, crossing my arms, rubbing my shoulders, imagining it was him caressing me, my cock erect, my balls lifted, ready for yet another emptying against the shower screen glass.
I resisted the urge, dried, and put on my smartest casuals, all faded jeans with knee holes, a shirt that had been stonewashed to look old and faded and off I went. Rich but poor.
The meal was good, the company fine, but you know how work colleagues are so guarded and competitive, no one reveals their true hand. My closest colleague was Gerry, a partner like me, I'd known him since `The Deal' as it's become known. I think he's sussed out I'm gay, something I don't reveal about myself or discuss.
We say good night to the others and I tell him about my encounter,
`not another sordid Grindr meet up is it?',
Gerry was curious about the arrangement and we agreed to meet the next Saturday at 12:30 where he'd observe my encounter and then we'd go for an afternoon walk by the river, maybe take the Thames Clipper to Greenwich.
My phone pinged and woke me, fuck its early Saturday morning 5:30am, who the fucks texted, who's died, which market has crashed?
I opened the text, an unknown number, It was a selfie of a shirtless Chas, his brown bibber folded down. holding the phone between his hands, grinning. `See ya later' it read.
I studied the shot, taken outside the van, Chas surrounded by boxes of veg that he'd loaded on,
It was still dark but lit by the loading bay floodlights, I couldn't see his crotch, his folded down bibber concealed that, but his side buttons were undone giving me a view down his thigh on either side. I was rock hard, I took a cold shower and dressed, more worn out expensive clothes but at least they fit me perfectly.
I walked to Bills cafe on Clink street, Eggs Benedict and coffee then a walk over to Southwark, passing the Golden Hind and the Cathedral, another great cafe stop, but not today.
I met Gerry outside Fish' and we looked at the street food stalls, then I walked to into the market whilst Gerry bagged an outside' table at Turnip and watched me.
I heard the booming voice,
`Chas, courgettes',
I watched Chas load the Slingsby and cart them around, then
`Chas, Russets',
I walked closer, he saw me, smiled and nodded his head towards the van. He passed me the box of apples to hold, we were shielded by both doors. He put out his hands and held the box with me, he leant forward and kissed me quickly,
hi' he said I thought I'd frightened you off, so I sent a pic, to keep you interested',
He took the box from me. I could see his bare skin through the side vents, his chest above the bib, the finest auburn hairs between his pecs, his shoulders and strong arms, his chest narrowing to his waist supported by wing like lats.
`You like looking dontcha',
he laughed as he got more russets, bending for me, showing his ass, his cheeks heavy, separated in the loose dungarees,
`Yeah I like like what I see, but what do you see?', I said,
`An older guy, 28 maybe, in great shape, fit as fuck, wears nice clobber, got an expensive watch, always wears matching shoes, nice hair, and, from my feel last week I won't be disappointed',
His eyes fell to my crotch.
`So what we gonna do about it?' He said.
`Where are you living?', I said,
`Ramsgate, with my mum and dad, It's Reg's business, he has a warehouse in Ramsgate, he gets stuff straight off the docks from Runges Market in Paris and from trucks bound for France, he sells at markets through the week and Borough on a Saturday.
`Is Reg your dad?',
`no way, Reg is that fucker over there, my Uncle Reg. He fancies himself, thinks hes Gods gift to women, he's making too much dosh here, pays me buggerall, for doing all the work, still it keeps me fit, see?'
He flexed his arms for me, I salivated. My dick thickened.
`Ha that got you going!' He laughed.
`Listen, next Saturday, I'll bring my mate Gavin with me, as one of the guys is off, he's my bestie and we'll have a bit of fun, get the last train back, you're paying'.
`Is your mate er amenable, you know?'
`you mean does he shag, yeah, he's my bestie, nice kid, plays hockey, apprenticed electrician, lovely guns, top heavy, you'll like him, guaranteed, you'd better get supplies in, he goes through a three pack in less than an hour'.
My ass twitched.
Chas?' Reg boomed, onions'.
`Cumming' shouted Chas.
`Just the three of us, nothing weird, I promise?'
I nod, my erection straining in my jeans,
`You'd better sort that out',
he says gripping it,
`Red or Brown' he bellows back above the hub hub.
`Red' shouts Reg.
`See you next Saturday then, I'll get Gavin to text you a pic then you got both our numbers'.
I was in a daze as I walked back to find Gerry,
`So what's the score then?',
My face must've said it all,
`Oh no, it's young love, or should I say young lust, let's go for an afternoon tipple in my local away from these tourists and you can tell Uncle Gerry all about it'.'
We walked to the Kings Arms on Newcomen Street, just off Borough High Street, 15 minutes away.
`Two pints of Harvey's Best please',
Gerry paid and we settled down on a table by the window, the light streaming in from the large cut glass windows.
`Lovely pub this' I said looking around.
`Never mind the blooming decor tell me about lover boy',
I showed him the picture on my phone,
`Bloody hell, just look at that, butchers dog or what!'
`So you're not shocked?
`No, in fact I wouldn't mind some of that myself, but I'm not sure Celia would approve and she'd find out, or sniff me out, if you get my drift',
`And you sort of seem to know about me?',
`Oh yes everyone knows, not that I've said anything, but a well off, attractive, fit bodied 30 year oldish single male is bound to be',
What do you mean told anyone, told them what?',
`Oh bloody hell, you really were pissed, remember those Polish clients who we took out and we sealed the deal and ended up in a club close to the Polish Embassy drinking shots? Anyway in the taxi home you spilled the beans and swore me to secrecy, but I already suspected. It's hardly the end of the world is it',
We sat drinking and chatting until it was dark.
`An Uber for you, young man, my bolt hole is around the corner, Celias in the country.
`One thing though, for next week, let's have a code word you can text me, I'll be in town for the weekend, Celias dreadful parents and her bloody sister and kids are over, I'll be in town listening to opera and relaxing, Bunberrying',
`Working more like, that's why your bonus is always the highest',
Busted, anyway how about ripe plums', text me that and I'll come straight away'.
My Uber said 1 minute away so I walked outside, the cold Thames air blowing through me as Gerry disappeared around the corner.
Working from home is a joy, the study is so light and airy and the view is ever changing, the wind whistles in the windows when it's really foul weather. One thing I like is the colour of the river, it changes every minute, from the deepest slate greys to airy summer blues, reflecting the sky, determining my mood somehow.
I complete on a few good deals, I phone a few prospects and arrange to meet. Later I zoom my team with possibilities, should they be able to find me a better price.
My phone pings, it's a new number, I open the photo. It's a lad in rigger boots, yellow hard hat and a tool belt, that's all, grinning at me, his hands over his cock, legs stood wide. This must be Gavin. Fuck, he's everything Chas said.
`Ping', it's one from Chas, he's dropped his bibber to his ankles, naked, his hands over his crotch, legs wide, leant against boxes of bananas.
`Like it?',
`Yeah', I reply,
`You'll get to suck it, send me and Gav a pic',
`No, you'll have to wait, to see me in the flesh',
My social media awareness training kicking in.
`Spoilsport, I was gonna rub one out looking at you',
`Store it up for Saturday',
`Is that what you old blokes have to do?',
`Cheeky', I replied.
That seemed to be the end of that. I spent the rest of the afternoon looking at the pictures side by side on my computer, my dick swollen hard, so hard, as I fantasised what I'm going to do with them.
TBC