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  The rest of the day had passed uneventfully. Old Cooper, still hurling threats at our window, had finally been led away by some of the men. But he was not to get off so lightly. Razor King never forgot an insult. One night a few weeks later, old Cooper was badly slashed by an unknown razor slasher on his way to work. Everyone knew it was my father's work, but as usual, there were no witnesses and the victim kept silent. Cooper lost his job and, half-blind and emaciated, he took to selling bootlaces in the street. I speak of this simply to emphasize the fact that it never paid to cross Razor King. The latter's position depended entirely on his reputation for the most savage brutalities. Thus, sooner or later, a man who had crossed him would find himself confronted in a quiet place by a man half-mad, more wolf than man, razors flashing and hob-nailed boots kicking. Cooper was just one of a long series of broken victims. His fate excited pity in no one, not even, I believe, in Hazel who, having been brought up in the slums with a knowledge of all their brutal conventions, looked upon her father as an old fool, just as she would have considered it foolish for a man to try to stop an avalanche with his fists. Anyway, since she had come to bear Razor King's mark, she had become his woman, and as her fate was intimately bound up with the fate of her man, her first loyalty was naturally to him.

  Hazel had returned to bed immediately after the marking. She was sleeping restlessly. Johnnie and Razor King had gone out. I was therefore alone. Remembering suddenly, I put the paper aside and reached in my pocket for the little screw of newspaper. It was still there, warm from the warmth of my body. I opened it and threw the paper in the fire. I held up the little yellow rubber sack to the lamp and watched the liquid move about like crystalline sputum within. I tightened the knot at the neck to make sure that none of it escaped. Then I poured some hot water into a basin and washed the bag carefully. Clean and dry, it lay like a little sexual talisman in the palm of my hand. I laid my other hand on top of it and crushed it between them. The fluid moved about excitingly between the palms. I shuddered, aware that my own breathing had become heavier. I laid it against my cheek. All skin, with the slimy little clot within, was more than anything else like an oyster, a warm yellow oyster, a gift from an unknown man. Had it been inside a woman, a man's lust trapped within the almost transparent rubber in the hot breathing walls of some unknown woman's cunt? I shuddered with pleasure at the thought. What a wonderful find! I had seen them before, often, in doorways, hide-outs where we went to smoke cigarettes, and lying around the street, but I had never before found one which was so skillfully knotted so that not a drop of the precious ichor was lost. I raised it to my nose and smelled it. I was slightly disappointed. It smelled only of rubber. I had washed the living smells away with the dust. I held it by the knot and allowed the bag to fall like an empty sausage skin on my lap. I lifted it again and watched the slime fall like a veil within to the little nipple at the end of the condom. Imprisoning the liquid there between my forefinger and thumb I raised it to my mouth and sucked it strongly as I would have sucked a teat. That made me feel really sexy. A man's lust in my mouth. I pricked the rubber gently with my teeth, little doting pressures, little tongue jabs, ecstatically. With a furtive glance at the bed where Hazel still slept soundly, I allowed my knees to fall open and allowed the fire to strike hotly at my naked crotch. I raised my skirt above my navel and looked down at myself. There was a small mole below and to the left of my navel, a little mark which would soon be covered by my growing pubic hairs which were as yet still sparse, quite silky and not extensive. The lips of my sex showed pinkly through the meager hairs, wet or sticky like the pistil of flowers. Slowly, allowing the bag to wedge between my reddening thighs – the wave of heat from the fire struck directly – I touched it lightly against the sensitive clitoris. I was breathing heavily. But somehow this slight contact disappointed me. Once again forcing the fluid into the little bulb at the end I held it tightly to my sex and rubbed it there briskly until the exterior of the condom was again quite wet. Then, with my middle finger, I slipped it into myself up to the knot. Only the open end of the little rubber bag was now visible. I closed my legs tightly together to contain what was in and with my eyes tightly closed I enjoyed the sensation.

  At that moment Hazel groaned.

  Quickly I allowed my skirt to drop back into place and got up. I found that I could move around without hindrance and all the time with the luxurious feeling of having that between my legs.

  "What time is it?" Hazel said. She was in a sitting position and now seemed wide awake.

  "Nearly five," I said.

  "Will ye make us a cup o'tea, hen?"

  The big kettle was already near the boil on the stove. I moved it over until it sat directly on the fire. It began to sing at once. I was smiling to myself. I was wondering what Hazel would say if she knew what I had between my legs. It suddenly occurred to me that my father never used condoms. For all she knew, Hazel might be pregnant. I would like to have asked her what it was like to be fucked like she was the night before. Did she really want it in the same way as my father did or did she only want the reputation? She was already well-known in the dance-halls. That's where Johnnie had seen her, dancing with one of the professionals, for she had a reputation as a dancer herself. I had been a bit surprised when she came back with Razor King. There would be no more dancing for her now. Not until my father got tired of her anyway, and by that time she would probably be pregnant. And that would be the end of her. She would settle down with some man or other in a slum flat. She would become one of the hairy, gaunt, hatless women in shawls. My mother was one of those women. I suppose everyone thought I was going to be one too.

  I made the tea and carried a cup over to her.

  She was looking at me in an uncertain way, as though she wasn't sure whether she could talk to me.

  "What age are you, Gertie?"

  "Eighteen," I said. "What about you?"

  "Nineteen," she said. "Nineteen last August."

  "Were ye no thinkin of gettin married?"

  "Me marry!" She burst out laughing. "When ah get married it'll no be tae one o'the louts in this district! No bliddy fear! Ah suppose ye think ah'l marry a hooligan like your brother Johnnie?"

  "Whit's wrang wi'im!" I said angrily.

  "Whit's wrang wi'im!" she mimicked. "He's all cock an bluster, your Johnnie! No brains!"

  "An ah suppose Razor King's the same!" I said.

  She laughed softly. Her breasts were above the blanket. She took her right nipple between her middle and forefinger and squeezed gently. "No. He's different," she said. "He's the King. That's different."

  "Johnnie's only twenty."

  "Who cares if he's seventy?" Hazel said. "He's no the King and no likely tae be."

  "Ah widnie be too sure aboot that!" I said and went angrily over to the fireplace.

  For a moment we were both silent.

  Then Hazel's voice came softly across to me, coaxing.

  "Ah don't want tae quarrel with ye, hen. When ye're a bit older and know a bit more aboot it, ah'll tell ye a few secrets."

  My hand brushed my skirt above where the condom was embedded.

  "What do ye mean?"

  She laughed again.

  "Ah'm no that young," I said.

  She looked at me reflectively.

  "Step a minute into ma shoes," she said, pointing to the patent leather high-heeled shoes which lay discarded beside the bed.

  I was thrilled. I had never worn high heels. Slowly, with great excitement I crossed the room and put on the shoes. They were not much too big for me. I stood up shyly for her to see.

  "Lift your skirt a bit above your knees and let's see ye," she said. "Now turn round."

  I was careful not to lift the skirt too high. I didn't want her to see the projecting condom.

  She seemed pleased with me.

  "Ye're no half bad, hen," she said. "Razor King's daughter, eh?"

  "Whit difference does that make?" I felt it was an attack on me.

  "
It makes a difference all right. Don't you worry!"

  When I didn't reply, she said: "Ye can thank yer bliddy stars!" Her tone became confidential. "Listen, Gertie," she said, "ye don't want tae stay in the Gorbals all yer life, do ye?"

  I shook my head. We all hoped that some miracle would happen, that some Prince Charming would come along and take us away. But it never happened. Deep down we all knew we were condemned. Did Hazel know a way out? Then why was she with Razor King? I looked at her mistrustfully.

  "Come here an ah'll show ye something, hen."

  I went slowly up to the bed.

  "Now this is between you an me," Hazel said. "You breathe a word tae yer father or that precious brither o yours an we're finished. Ye can rot where ye belong, right here in the Gorbals."

  I nodded breathlessly.

  She opened her handbag and from out of the lining she took a small rectangular book.

  "D'ye know whit that is?"

  I shook my head.

  "It's a bank book," Hazel said. "It tells how much money ah've got in the bank." She opened it. "Look there," she said. Her finger pointed. The deposits amounted to two hundred and fifty-three pounds.

  -6-

  That night I couldn't sleep. For a long time I lay listening to the grunting animal movements of the Razor King as he made drunken love to Hazel. I lay in the darkness with the nipple of the condom in my mouth. Johnnie hadn't come in. I knew he wouldn't come back that night. When I felt they were asleep, I slipped quietly out of bed, dressed quickly, and let myself out of the flat. On the stairs I hesitated. Where was I going at this time of night? It must have been after eleven. The streets would be deserted. But something dragged me on. I couldn't sleep. My whole body cried out to be taken. Hesitantly I descended the gas lit stairs past the lavatory on the floor below. Although it seemed deathly quiet, I sensed that there was someone inside. I waited long enough to hear a man whisper and a woman answer softly, urgently. Then I went on down into the close. I walked quickly through it to the street. Without paying much attention to where I was going, I walked along toward the first intersection. It was cold and everything was very dark. I walked quickly. Somewhere ahead of me I saw a man wearing a cap move into a lane. He moved furtively, as though he was afraid. I walked quietly until I came to it. Flats above formed a tunnel over the entrance to the lane. Beyond the tunnel, in the open, a single gaslight bracketed to the brick wall burned. I could see no movement. Nervously I entered the tunnel. I was scared and yet I was throbbing deep between my legs. And then, as I moved hesitantly out of the other side of the tunnel, I ran into him. He was just out of sight from the street in such a position that the gaslight illumined him for himself only, and for me, for I was within a yard of him. He looked up startled at my approach, and then his gaze fell downwards to what was in his hands.

  His cock was long and stiff, like a mast, the foreskin pulled well back over the glans penis. All of it was out, the testicles as well. He had pulled them through the slit in his underpants. He said nothing. He looked from me down to his rampant cock and then back to me again, and when I said nothing but stood there gazing first at him and then down at his glistening cock, a slight leer appeared on his face. Still without a word, but leaning towards me almost confidentially, he took the thick pink member near its root and made it quiver between his fingers. It grew even bigger and seemed to be beckoning to me obscenely. He was smiling now, first at me and then at his cock. He turned towards me. I could smell his breath. He had been drinking. Slowly I reached forward and took it in my fingers. He quivered at my touch. And then suddenly, I felt myself grasped at the scruff of the neck and pulled close to him. He was laughing softly.

  He had forced me against the wall so that we were both out of sight from the road.

  "Kneel down!" he whispered urgently.

  I found myself kneeling in front of him with my bare knees on the cold cobbles of the lane. His cock was dancing against my face. It smelled unwashed, of sweat. He gripped my hair in both hands and forced my face against it.

  "Get it in, ye fuckin slut!"

  With one hand he guided it against my lips and moving his belly forwards, rammed it in.

  I almost choked. His hard knob was rammed right into my rising gorge. I closed my eyes and gave way to his will, making my mouth a soft receiving hole for his lust. All resistance was gone from me and when he sensed that, his hands tightened on the hairs of my head more cruelly and a stream of obscenities came from his mouth. In the midst of my delirium, the knowledge came to me that I was in fact suffering pain. His violent movements caused my knees to be scraped on the stones. My scalp was afire under his clawing fingers. My throat was almost in convulsion. And yet there I was, eagerly lending myself to this brutal treatment. That was perhaps the first realization of the destiny that was in store for me.

  Who this man was I never knew. I felt the spurting hot semen in my mouth. I sucked avidly, draining him to the dregs. Suddenly I felt myself hurled away from him. His open hand struck me painfully on the side of the face. The force of the blow sent me sprawling on the ground. I heard his heavy breathing and his curses. I was lying face downwards in the middle of the lane, my fists clenched, my eyes tightly closed, my whole torso quivering with pain and pleasure. A moment later, I felt my skirt being ripped away at the back and the cold night struck my naked buttocks. I groaned with pleasure, uncertain of what was to come. And suddenly a red hot poker seemed to be laid across my thighs. I found myself screaming and even in the middle of the scream, I realized that the pleasure was there, like a healing blanket over all pain. Through the mists of hot sensation I heard the noise of his fleeing boots and I realized that my scream had scared him. When I finally I pulled myself to my feet, painful all over but with a slow electric current of joy burning within me, I found myself alone in the cold dark lane. I shuddered, seized suddenly by shame. What kind of love was this of which I had been the willing victim? What strange desires lurked in my breast? Razor King's daughter? Did my blood mark me even more terribly than the sweating women who were victims of his bed?

  My skirt was torn. I wrapped my coat tightly about me and walked as quickly as I could back toward the tenement. As I climbed the stairs, I heard a woman's groan issue from the privy on the landing. But it bore no resemblance to my scream in the lane. It was a soft groan, husky, as though a man had set his member between her thighs.

  -7-

  My father was waiting for me. The lights were on. He was sitting at the table with a whiskey-bottle in front of him. He had obviously been drinking heavily. Hazel was reading a comic, sitting up in bed. My father looked up at me with dull red eyes as I came in.

  "Where the bliddy hell have you been!" he said quietly and menacingly.

  I was shaking with fright. I knew I couldn't take off my coat without him seeing that my skirt was torn away at the back. And just before I entered, I had touched my fingers to the weal across my buttocks. I suppose he used a belt. It would be red.

  My father was looking me up and down, at my shoes, at my bleeding knees, at my face.

  "Ye filthy little whore!" he snarled. "D'ye no think ah know where ye've been?" He poured himself another glass of whiskey.

  "Take yer bliddy coat off!" he said.

  There was nothing else for it. I did so, trembling. At once his eyes alighted on my naked thighs.

  "Turn round!" he said. And when he saw the weal: "Ohoo! So he stropped yer erse fer ye too, did he?

  In the background I was aware of Hazel watching me speculatively.

  "Who was it, ye filthy bitch!"

  I cowered away from him. "I don't know!" I said desperately. It was the truth. I hadn't recognized the man.

  "So ye don't know! Well ye'll know who gives it tae ye noo!"

  He got up and lurched over to the nail on the door where his black leather belt hung. I watched him in fearful fascination. If he had gone for the belt a week ago – both Johnnie and I had been belted regularly since we were little children – I woul
d have experienced nothing but fear. But the whole situation that night had the acute color of sex. As he reached up for the thonged leather, I experienced a vivid thrill of anticipation. It held my fear at bay, as something which hung threateningly outside of me.

  "Get yer clothes aff!"

  I obeyed at once. There flashed through my mind the memory of Hazel's position the evening before. She had been forced to strip in front of me. She had a strange smile on her face now. I stepped out of my torn skirt and slipped off my pullover. I stood naked in front of him.

  That made him hesitate. He stood staring at me uncertainly. My breasts had grown over the last year. I was nearly a woman.

  I moved before him. I lifted myself face downwards over the wooden table. The wood was cold against my naked belly and breasts. I felt my flesh quiver with excitement at the thought that there on the wood Hazel was going to be witness to my humiliation.

  Perhaps it was my willingness to be thrashed that made his first strokes light. They stung but were almost purely pleasant. I gasped each time the leather belt fell. My legs had slipped apart at the crotch. Suddenly he stopped and I heard him say: "What the bliddy hell's that!" I felt his fingers between my thighs and then I had the sensation of having something ripped out of me. Only then I realized. It was the condom! I had forgotten all about it.

  "Jesus Christ!" I heard him yell. "Ye bring his bliddy dirt back wi'ye! Stuck between yer stinking little legs was it!"

  I knew then that I was going to be thrashed without mercy. Hazel let out a gasp. And then the belt fell like cinders on my naked buttocks. I screamed. But it came again. The pain seemed to spread like a sea over my whole shuddering torso. I screamed again, barely conscious of the mumbled reactions of the neighbors beyond the walls. Even yet, there was no tear on my cheeks. I felt I was going to explode. The belt came again and again, but each time the tears welled up in my eyes, they were sucked down again by some invisible whirlpool of lust within me. And then the tension cracked. I screamed with all my might and the tears flowed out in great sobs. Only then did I realize that Razor King had stopped. The door slammed. Somewhere beyond me my pain came back, a long shuddering wail, and it was my own lips slobbering on the wood.