This is a series on our young Marty. Some of the stories that laid the foundation for who he is … or perhaps more accurately, who he thinks he is.
As we touched down at Prestwick International Airport the excitement was reaching a crescendo. I felt ready. Ready for anything. What would I do? What would I find?
I was soon to find out.
British Customs and Immigration was relatively quick. I had been worried. A 19-year old on his own. No return plane ticket home. A relative pittance in his pockets. Probably not a likely candidate to sweep through. But I was wrong to worry. There were no awkward questions. No issues about being able to get home.
“Welcome to Britain.”
Whew! I was in! I didn’t know what to think.
With a small group of other young travelers I found my way to change some money, then boarded a bus that would take us into Glasgow proper. On the bus I remember looking at the coins, and trying to decipher them and calculate their value. There were shillings, half crowns, 6d, and 3d, and large coppers (pennies, naturally). It was all so exciting.
But let’s not continue with details. Shall we get to the heart of the matter? I feel we should.
Somehow, on that first night, our 19 year old Marty ended up alone, drunk, almost penniless in front of abandoned warehouses and buildings near the Glasgow docks after midnight. Not through any nefarious means, rather his own innocence and stupidity led him there. An unpleasant situation to be sure. Fraught with potential danger.
Surprisingly I refused to panic. I considered my options. Unfortunately I was drawing a blank, beyond finding a corner somewhere to be unobtrusive and maybe grab some sleep. Just then I heard the klop, klop, klop of a woman’s heeled shoes against pavement. In the very dim light cast by the old and few street lamps I saw a woman walking alone, headed my way. She looked to be wearing a long trench coat. I was carrying a small suitcase so I was likely to appear as no threat to her.
As she neared me I put down my valise.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but do you know if there is a youth hostel nearby?”
She stopped. Looked at me incredulously. In the shadows it was hard to make out her features, but she seemed to be early to mid 30s, medium height, with shoulder length dark hair. Not unattractive.
“Oh Luv, there’s nothing like that near here. Are you lost? How did you get yourself here?”
I confessed my innocence and stupidity . How I had been led here by false promises of transportation. How I was fresh off the plane. How I had only a few British pounds in my pocket.
“Oh my. You can’t stay here Luv. Come with me. You can sleep on my couch. And my husband will drive you to the motorway in the morning.”
“Thank you!” I answered. “Are you sure it will be ok?”
“Yes, Luv. It’s fine. Come with me”.
As we walked towards her flat, I learned that Deidre was just coming home after her shift as a barmaid. She was Irish, and she and her husband and small child had made their home in Glasgow for 5 years.
We shortly arrived at a tumble down apartment building. After walking up 2 flights of stairs, we entered Deidre’s flat. A small, one bedroom. The couch was in the tiny sitting room, and Deidre immediately set to work making it up for me. I was very tired. Sleep had been non existent for almost 2 days now.
“Can I get you anything, Luv? Will you be alright?”
“Oh yes, I’m fine,” I replied. “And thank you so much, again.”
“Good night”, she said as she headed to the bedroom.
“Good night, Deidre.”
I’m sure I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Exhausted and relieved at my good fortune.
Then sometime later I awoke. I could see a light from under the door in the nearby bathroom. Momentarily, Deidre came out and approached the couch. She crouched down beside me and whispered.
“Are you alright Marty, dear?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you Deidre.”.
“Good,” she said as she lightly brushed her hand along the length of my face. Then she softly kissed my lips. I was taken aback. With sleep still controlling me, I couldn’t really think. What was happening here? But I instinctively kissed her back. Her lips pressed harder in return. And before I knew it, Deidre had slipped her hand under the sheet covering me and had found its way inside my jockies. Despite my fatigue, my cock reacted instantly. Youth will do that I imagine.
She slowly stroked while we continued to kiss. I was perplexed, but didn’t fight it. Deidre pulled off the covering sheet. I slid the jockies down. Without another word or sound my cock was between her lips. I gasped in excitement and wonder. She slowly sucked. Then ran her tongue up and down my length.
“You have to be quiet, Luv. We don’t want to wake Gerry.”
I mumbled an agreement and bit my lip.
It wasn’t long. I arched and held my breath, trying to be totally silent.
Deidre kissed me. Got up and headed to the bathroom again. I could hear her brushing her teeth as I fell again into a deep sleep.
A few hours later I met Gerry as he came over and woke me up and introduced himself. I quickly hit the bathroom, washed, cleaned up. We had tea and toast for breakfast. Then it was into his Mini for the ride to the Motorway for me to continue my journey as he headed off to work.
I wasn’t a great conversationalist. I really didn’t feel like talking. And what could I say?