Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2004 19:12:31 -0800 (PST) From: GH JUNKKIE Subject: "Room and Whored at Monahan's Boarding House", Chapters 1-2 "Room and Whored at Monahan's Boarding House" Chapters One and Two By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE gh_professional@yahoo.com The following story is copyrighted/2004 to the author. No one is granted use (either through reproduction, printing, uploading to any other web site and/or similar means) of this story without the author's prior, written consent. The story contained explicit depictions of sexual acts between adult men and boys. One is advised not to read it if this theme offends you in any manner. Readers are further advised to adhere to all laws in their local area. Preface Like other selections I have penned (or tapped out), what you have chosen to read is based on a true story. It has been "fictionalized" (whatever that means) yet the events within actually occurred during the Great Depression and at a place just like Monahan's. In fact, as many of our nation's dirty old men will attest, during that era, similar stories unfolded in men's boarding houses from coast-to-coast. But unlike other stories written by Yours Truly, "Room and Whored at Monahan's Boarding House", is not intended as a man's quick leap into one-handed reading. Instead, as a scenarist, I find the most arousing sexual acts come out of...well, yes, COCKS... but out of highly specific situations and locations as well. Perhaps we can better understand this aim, if we were to look at actual, videotaped pornography (and who doesn't?!). Perhaps the following example can more easily illustrate the erotic stimulus which is "reality". After all, libidinous arousal is in the details. In the first videotape, filmed on what is clearly nothing more than a cheap men's room "set" - its commode blatantly lacking any plumbing - we see depicted two poorly lit but well-paid and "specially coifed" twinks grinning like ninnies and making googly-eyes as they exchange hap-hazard blowjobs. Their relationship to one another as well as their locale and lack of caution within this non-specified locale are unclear. Their twinning, tan booth "alien autopsy" skinny bodies are completely naked, having stripped off every stitch of clothing within the first minute of entering this "men's room" (as is only normal, of course). Periodically, one even spots the shadow of a third person appear in the shot. A lighting technician, off camera, is apparently having a problem. Then as the two "stars" climax, their poorly captured ejaculates make it to just about anywhere other than a mouth or butthole. And as if it were boric acid, one actor even seems to cringe when a shot of semen accidentally lands across his aggressively plucked left brow. Conversely, we are shown a second videotape (oddly, its plastic cassette heavily caked in dried semen-fingerprints). It was clearly made with use of a hidden camera mounted in a mall rest room somewhere in America's suburbs. We hear the drip of a sink, the muffled paging of Customer Service. It captures hours upon hours of a young teenaged boy in his stall sucking off one shopper-daddy after another at mid-day. The lens allows you to see each man's much older cock, jutting out of its suit fly, as it ejaculates into the youth's throat. And as the camera "whirs in" for a close up, you also notice one wedding ring after another as each man grips the youngster's shoulder in an attempt to keep knees from orgasmically buckling from beneath them. At one point, a man even pops his head into the facilities to ask, "You in here, son? Kev? You in here?" before going elsewhere in search of the thirteen-year-old that you know to be in the middle stall with the eighth man of his "after-school special". Which videotape is Truth? Which is Fiction? Well, if you're a genuine men's room cruiser, perhaps one whose sexual upbringing was in the public toilets, you know exactly which is the real or "true" scenario - no matter how "fictionalized" it may sound to a toilet neophyte. And if you are a married man who has unloaded in the mouth of a mall rat, you also know which one holds greater "truth" as you recognize the details. So often, it is not merely the act which turns us on, but it's the particulars - the hows and wheres and whens and whos - that get us to blow the papa-protein. It is said that Sex is ninety-nine percent mental. That is why a man not only wants to see "a woman" gangbanged by thirty black thugs, but, instead wants to see them plunge into his own wife...who's eight months pregnant. And it's the reason that some men can only get on their knees and open their mouth for a football player...a college football player...a Fighting Irish, Notre Dame football player. Its why some boys aren't interested in playing with just any old man's penis but, rather, focus solely on their own daddy's penis...as he sleeps. The fact that sex is in the details, the scenario, the mind, cannot be escaped. Some guys will say its all too much "intellectualizing", that its all physical. They claim they'd shove their meat into any hole until they shoot seed. But even those guys who think they'd fuck anything, anywhere, anytime, have their own peculiar sense of "scenario" within all the random whoring. The mere fact that they most get off on "mindless" screwing of anyone who bends over is a libidinous turn on to such men. After all, by fucking anything that moves - anywhere it may move - these men are admitting to the fact they prefer that to the "scenario" of sex within the sanctity of their own marital beds. No, their seemingly purely physical, detail-free antics are, upon closer examination, quite chock full of requirements and particulars. And all the same is true, perhaps even truer, as it relates to erotic writing. It's the libido which reads and drinks in all the details of a story. The libido needs to know or "hear" certain cues in order to be awakened and stimulated. Description then of the sexual act is merely support, a device, to get accomplished what the details have led one toward - climax. "Room and Whored at Monahan's Boarding House" Chapter One At the depth of him, my pa was always something of a failed architect. As a young man, he had nearly attained his degree in Architecture when the Great Depression hit the World - and at its onset, destroying, for a time, his. No matter how hard he and his folks tried to swing it, they simply could not raise the funds to pay for his final semester of schooling. Instead, to dull his disappointment, pa momentarily turned to booze, as did so many young men of that time. But fortunately, unlike so many other young men, he never became a raging alcoholic. And that good fortune might only have been due to the fact that when he was out looking for work in the Spring of 1930, at the age of twenty-three, he met my mother. Like a hundred other men who also read the same newspaper ad, he left Indianapolis in an attempt to get one of a handful of meat packing jobs in Chicago. Although, pa hated the idea of working in some stinking warehouse for twelve hours a day, six-months of increasingly frequent hunger pangs had grown more annoying to him than any dread of bloody, butchering, blue-collar work. But, fortunate for him, there would always be a glimmer of Hope that would suddenly present itself to my pa. Like when his grandmother's youngest brother, great-great-uncle Felix, surprised everybody around the dinner table one evening as he handed his grand-nephew an envelope containing cash enough to cover perhaps three weeks' room and board in Chicago. The sixty-six-year-old confirmed bachelor lived with the family and shared a bedroom with my pa from the day he was born. "This is for what I been doing to you in this bed ever since you were but a wee one, Tim", he secretly told pa later that same night. "Take it and may you never speak of the gross liberties I've taken with you all these years." And then, despite the fact that my pa had expected to hitchhike in what promised to be inclement Midwestern weather, just on the outskirts of Indianapolis and within the first hour, a local farm family offered to give him a ride in their truck the entire way to Chicago. And as they drove, they even told him of a respectable boarding house where their eldest son, only a few months earlier, had once stayed. The farmer husband strongly recommended that if the place had a room, pa should try to stay there. They told him it was owned by a fine, Irish Catholic family who gave impressively discounted deals to the young men trying so hard to earn a buck during such hard times. And so it was decided that they would drop off my father at Monahan's Boarding House. And as if by some additional intervention of Fate, due to a flat tire along the way, they arrived with first light just as its front doors were being unlocked for morning business. And that's where he met my mother. As the farmer's truck pulled away, pa saw her on the front stoop of the imposingly large and once elegant greystone building. When he went to step up to meet the plump but pretty young woman where she swept the night's dirt off the steps, a young man suddenly crossed between them as he exited the front door in some hurry. The excited young man quickly passed them, saying, "Good Morning, Miss Colleen. And thank you so very much for all your kindnesses!" "Oh, Mr. O'Shea! Is today the day?" she asked with a broad smile. "Yes! Yes! I'm catching the 6 a.m. train," the young man said as he hastily walked away, a duffel slung over his shoulder, "Watch out sunshine and Miss Pickford!" "Good luck to you!", the young woman called out to him as the young man dashed down the block. Watching the young man wave over his head, my pa turned to the young woman and asked if they perhaps had a room for him. The young lass thought they perhaps might but could not be certain. She directed him to speak with her mother. And so she warmly welcomed my pa to follow her inside and into the large, high-ceilinged foyer where she knocked on a door. They waited a moment before an older woman, her mother, answered. Mrs. Monahan, a stocky, pleasant-looking immigrant from Dublin, emerged from what appeared to be a rather fine-looking apartment based on the quick glance of it my father got as she came into the foyer. Then, as the young woman made her apologies and left to return to her sweeping, the older woman welcomed pa with a smile. Before he could ask, she said in a nasal, Chicago-modified Brogue, "You are in luck, young man. Another lad left us just this morning. He got a job way out West...in the orange groves of Hollywood. Lucky, lucky Robby O'Shea!" "That's wonderful", pa said. "For him...I mean." "Yes. But saints preserve him", she replied. "There are nothing but saints'n'sinners out there in that California. We pray he will not succumb too awfully to its unwholesome women and sunshine. But it is work. And he surely was a fine boy and hard worker." Pa set down his canvas tote as he waited to see what was available. "Ah. And you, too, look like a hard worker. I want no drinkers here, you know", she said. "What is your name?" "Tim...Timothy J. Fitzgibbons", he said, hoping that the woman hadn't heard the bottle of whiskey at the bottom of his tote clunk as he'd set it onto the marble floor. "That's a good, Irish name", she replied happily. "And you are Catholic, are you not?" "Well, ma'am...um, yes, ma'am, I am", my pa stammered, fearing he might lose an available room if he didn't answer right. "I mean, I was raised Catholic. My ma is Catholic. But my father, well, he was born in Belfast. My ma got him to convert when he came here though. But seeing that pa isn't much of a religious sort..." "Yes. But your mother was allowed to raise her boy Catholic? You're baptized and all? Baptized Catholic, I mean", Mrs. Monahan asked. "Oh, yes, definitely", my pa replied. "And ma took me to the Catholic Church in Indianapolis every Sunday." Clearly relieved that such a handsome young Irishman had been raised in the one true Church, she said, "Timothy J. Fitzgibbons, Catholic", as she wrote it into her Registry. "Not that it matters much here. We've had all sorts at Monahan's. Why, a few of the boys here and there have been out-right Protestant. We even had a Jew stay with us two years ago. He was a fine man none-the-less, very tidy. But this way, we'll be sure to notify a priest now in case you suffer a problem. And St. David's Church is just three blocks from here. Mass times are posted in the front room." As they talked, my pa then noticed two men descend the main staircase and enter together what appeared to be a dining room at the left of the foyer. And sensing the aroma of bacon as it wafted out of the room, he suddenly remembered how hungry he was. All that he had eaten in more than twenty-four hours was a plum that the farmer's wife had given to him while they drove. "That's Mister Van der Horn in the suit. He sells Hoovers. Nice enough I suppose although always a bit of the mystery", Mrs. Monahan said, after she had greeted the two men as they passed and then disappeared through the dining room doors. "And the other one is Mister Philbin. He's a fine, fine glazier. He has work on a new skyscraper they're putting up on Adams Street. He's a married man. And saints keep them - eight children. But they all live in Milwaukee while he's down here working so, so hard." Then seeing on pa's face the same expression she had seen on almost all of the young men who had crossed her threshold, Mrs. Monahan smiled and said, "Thick Irish bacon, eggs and flapjacks...and piping hot coffee are on the menu this fine morn." Pa smiled at her meekly, as he tried to conceal his hunger. "Once we finish getting you registered, Mr. Tim Fitzgibbons, and you've washed up some, I want you heading straight in there for your fill. Breakfast is served until 7:30 a.m. around here." "So you do have a room?", he asked, grateful that he had lucked upon such a respectable place and was so close to eating a big meal. "I don't...I don't have lots of money, I'm afraid." "I told you that I did", she replied as she had him put his signature in her book. "And who does have lots of money these days? None of us are Insulls, you know. Don't worry, we'll take care of you, young man." Pa was truly touched by the woman's sincerity and hospitality. "Thank you", he said softly as he handed back to her the registry pen. "First payment is due now and then only at the end of each week. Unless, of course, you stay with us on a monthly basis. Then it's only due at the end of every month." As he listened to the woman, pa dug from his breast pocket the cash, still in the envelope as his great-uncle had given him, to pay for the first week's room and board. "You won't find a higher quality accommodation for gentleman anywhere in the city at that price. We Monahans take care of our young men during these blasted times. You boys are all so hard working and needing of care during these difficult, difficult days", she said. "Now, it's not a large room. And it's on the top floor. But I can assure you it is spotless and would not have been here had you arrived in just another twenty-minutes." And as if by prophecy, as she spoke, the bell on the front door jingled and not one, but two young men in tweed caps, asked if she had a room. "You're out of luck, I'm afraid, boys. My last one is going to this fine young man here", she said sadly. "You're just five minutes too late." The young men had a look of drained disappointment, a look Mrs. Monahan saw daily. She immediately told the young men to wait as she scribbled down the names and addresses of two other boarding houses she could recommend. "These are both houses run by good Catholics families. They're both clean places and want no drunkards. Tell them I sent you. If they know I sent you, they try to have a place even if its over their back garage if that will do." The young men took the note and thanked her as they left, their expressions reflecting a renewed hope for the day. "Well, Mr. Fitzgibbons", she then said to my pa. "I'll have Mr. Monahan, my husband, show you to your room. It's on the fourth floor. There is one bathroom for the entire floor. But that's never proven to be a problem as we only host gentlemen here at Monahan's. Now, go wash up and come down again for a big, fine meal." "Thank you", he replied as he felt a great worry lifted from his broad shoulders. "Harr-y! HARR-Y!", Mrs. Monahan called out. And only a moment or two later, from somewhere in the back of the large house, emerged a tall man of about sixty with pewter-colored hair. He wiped his hands and then extended one to pa. "You'll be staying with us?', he asked as the two firmly shook hands. "Of course he is", Mrs. Monahan replied. "The 'Hollywood' O'Shea boy left us this very morning. Now, show our Mr. Fitzgibbons here to Room 4-H, please, Mr. Monahan." "It'll be a pleasure, my Mrs. Monahan", Mr. Monahan said as he started up the large main staircase. "Come along, lad. You're three flights up. Mind you, that's not counting the front stoop", he added while Mrs. Monahan returned to their apartment. Seeing that wife was now out of earshot, Mr. Monahan confessed, "My Mrs. Monahan never climbs the stairs here anymore. Bad heart the doctors say. Why, I don't believe she's even been on the second floor for nearly three years now. But no worry. Our Miss Geraghty cleans the rooms each day after noontime. 4-H isn't our largest room. But it's always been fine enough for many a young lad such as yourself." "I'm sure it will be swell, Mr. Monahan", pa said as he followed the older man up the grand old stairs. "We never board young ladies here at Monahan's. Since the very day my grandparents, James and Effie Monahan, arrived from County Cork to open the place after the Great Fire, Monahan's never has had lady guests. No married couples either", Mr. Monahan explained as he led the way up the increasingly steep flights of mahogany balustrade staircases. "A few rules, my lad. No one is permitted visitors anywhere but downstairs in the front room - the room with the piano - and only until nine in the evening. And you can ask us if you need to telephone someone local. There are no telephones except just the one inside our apartment there. As you must have noticed, off the foyer in the front is where me and my family live. You met Maesie, Mrs. Monahan, my wife. Did you meet my daughter?", Mr. Monahan asked he continued to lead the way. "Was she the young lady who was out on the front stoop?", pa asked. "Yes", he replied. "My Colleen. Thirty-one and never yet has had herself a beau. Oh, she's no Gloria Swanson but she's a sweet and wonderful lass. She's our only child and still has not met that special lad." At thirty-one, Colleen Monahan was eight years older than himself and a spinster, pa thought as he said, "She seems to be a nice young lady, Mr. Monahan." "Oh, she is. My Colleen is no doubt the finest girl in all of St. David's Parish", her father replied. "Now to let you know who all is under my roof. At Monahan's, we are always booked up with hard working men such as yourself. We have twenty rooms and twenty gentlemen here. Well, make that twenty and one-half gentlemen if you count that Mr. Harris has his wee son with him in a large room up front. Half right now are married men from outside the city earning money to send to their families back home. We even got one all the way from Flagstaff, Arizona. And the other half are single fellas such as yourself." As they continued their ascent, Mr. Monahan continued, "No drinking is allowed. But between you and me, a nip is allowed up in your room as long as my wife never catches wind of it. Be discreet about any drinking. My Colleen does light cleaning and signs in guests when we're not around. And there's Reta, our housecook. You haven't eaten until you taste Reta Reilly's lamb stew. Then there's James O'Mally and myself who keep up the building. Anything bust, you ask him or me. And as I mentioned before, there's our Miss Geraghty who cleans the rooms and serves the early meals. She's only here between six in the morning and six in the evening." "This is one fine house you have here, Mr. Monahan," pa said, simply thinking about his own humble upbringing and love of Architecture. As he admired the elaborate bas-relief ceiling decorations, which scrolled their way all along the ever-ascending route, he added, "Both you and your daughter must have greatly enjoyed growing up here." The older man then stopped on a landing and turned to look at pa, saying, "Well, I can't say its true for my daughter. As you can figure, we had a lot of rules where she was concerned. She wasn't allowed past even the first floor until she was a young woman. But as a boy with the run of the place, I certainly had my fun around here. It was hard work for a boy, but it had its rewards, too. I can tell you that." "I bet", pa replied. "Especially when boys get to go places that girls can't." The older man then smiled slyly and added, "Now before you get any ideas...and I have to tell this to all the lads so take no offense. The gals do all their work on these upper floors only in the afternoon. You need anything before noon or after six in the evening, you ask James O'Mally or me. Neither of our lasses is allowed upstairs until after noon - that's twelve on the clock - nor are they allowed past the first floor after six in the evening neither. Not to disappoint you, my lad, but that's to assure everyone under my roof that none of you young gentlemen will be bumping into either Miss Geraghty or my daughter while you do your business washing and whatnot on the boarding floors. Between you and me, I know how we males live, young man." "I...I understand, Mr. Monahan. And please, call me Tim", pa said. "Ah, fine. Tim it is then", Mr. Monahan said as they finally reached the fourth floor. To the right, or what would be the front of the house, Mr. Monahan then pointed to a door at the farthest end of the hallway. "That's Room 4-A, Mr. Harris and his boy. Harris has himself a job selling fine men's apparel at Marshall Fields. Not much money in it these days, of course. He's a widowman. Very sad. His wife was hit by a trolleycar right here on Union Avenue last year. They been with us since it happened. I think the little lad is four or five or thereabout. I know he don't go to school. But he's a quiet little lad and none of the men complain." They then turned to their left and walked to the opposite end of the long hallway, to what would be the back of the house. "That's the bathroom", Mr. Monahan said as he pointed to a door at the very end of the corridor. "And here you are - Room 4-H." The older man opened the door to the small room and then handed pa the key. Mr. Monahan went directly to the room's window shade on its single window and pulled it open, saying, "Not a bad view from up here. You get the breezes when its summertime hot up here." Pa tossed his tote onto the floor and joined the man at the window. "It looks great", he said softly, as his eyes scanned nearby rooftops puffing smoke and several skyscrapers in the distance. "Real different than Indianapolis. That's for sure." And as he stood very close to the older man, feeling his body heat and smelling pipe tobacco on the man's shirt, the same rush of unwholesome excitement he experienced whenever his great-uncle Felix wanted to perform unnatural acts upon him, washed over my pa Peering out the tall, narrow window together, Mr. Monahan gripped pa's left shoulder and smiled, "Most of you young lads come to find out there are a lots of different things - new things for a good-looking young lad like yourself to experience here in the big city. What are you planning to do here in Chicago, Tim, my boy?" "I'm hoping to get one of the jobs at Chicago Beef Packaging", pa responded. "They advertised in the Indianapolis papers." "Well, I'm certain that even in these scarce times, you'll get work here in Chicago, Tim. And they need you strapping lads at the stockyards. Its hard work and requires muscle which it looks like you got. Now come, let me show you the bathroom." The older man then led pa out to the corridor again and across to the bathroom. As he did, Mr. Monahan said, "Now with the bathroom right here, your room ain't as quiet as some. But think of it this way, in exchange, when you have to go in the middle of the night, you can get to the turlit quick while the others just might pee their long johns before getting down here." Pa laughed as he figured one always had to look for the silver lining - even in a cheap boarding house room. Mr. Monahan further explained, "There are eight rooms up here. And you all share this bathroom. Same situation on the second and third floors, although there are only six rooms on each of those floors. But its rarely ever a problem as all you young men are out working or looking for work most of the day. And what most of the boys do, especially if they're just shaving or bathing, is to leave the door unlocked for those who have a call of nature." Pa glanced into the large white-tiled bathroom. It had a commode, a broad pedestal basin, a small stained glass window and large footed bathtub, complete with shower. And it was spotlessly clean. "Well, you wash up if you need to. Clean towel and soap back in your room", Mr. Monahan said. "And seeing it's still so early, I recommend you plan to get down to the stockyards before sitting down to any breakfast. Stuff a flapjack into your coat pocket if you need but I recommend you get a head start on the others. They'll be lining up for those jobs by now, Tim." "Yeah, I better get a move on then?", my pa asked, knowing that despite his hunger, it would be best to skip breakfast if he wanted to be certain to secure work in the city. "Mrs. Monahan won't mind that I snatch some flapjacks as I run out?" "Boys do it all the time. She won't mind one bit", Mr. Monahan replied. "Work comes first during this damn Depression we're in. Now, I'll leave you to settle in before you go out. And welcome to Monahan's. You seem a fine lad." "Thank you, Mr. Monahan", my pa said as he watched the older man head back to the top of the staircase. "And thanks for the advice, sir." "Good luck to you, boy. I'm sure that you will make out fine", the older man said, as he quickly descended the staircase, his steps sounding like the hoof-beats of a horse upon the wooden risers. My pa returned to his room only to lock its door before returning to the bathroom where he took a hard-pressing piss. He then rinsed off his face and as he stood before the medicine cabinet mirror, combing his hair neatly, he hoped and prayed that he'd get the stockyard job - any job. Despite being a full-grown man, having been raised in a small town on the outside of Indianapolis, he had had some trepidation about coming to such a big city. But now, after meeting the Monahans, he figured that if all its residents were this warm and friendly, he could see himself making a life for himself - permanently - in Chicago. Chapter Two At ten that same morning, as she again swept seed pods from the mature trees which lined the sidewalks, Colleen spotted my pa as he dashed across the street, returning to the boarding house. Despite having seen so many men come and go all her life, she instantly recognized this particular young man's distinctively handsome frame and strong jawline from beneath his tweed cap. She also recognized the elated steps of a lad with good news. So the very moment that he reached the bottom step, she greeted him by saying, "Did they have work for you, I hope?" Grinning, my pa replied, "Yes! Yes!", as he climbed the stairs to meet her on the landing just outside the front doors. "I'm to start tomorrow. Long hours but good pay", he freely said. "Oh, I am so very happy for you, Mr. Fitzgibbons", Colleen beamed. "I prayed for you this morning - that God would watch over you." The fact that she had thought about him that morning came as a surprise to my pa. He hadn't thought of her at all. But her kind words caused him to stop short before thanking her by offering, "You can call me Tim." Colleen blushed. And as she looked away for moment, she said, "Thank you but no, Mr. Fitzgibbons. My folks don't permit me to refer to any of our guests by their Christian name. Mr. Fitzgibbons will do." My pa leaned in closer to Colleen and grinned as he softly said, "Then call me Tim...only when we're alone. Is that a deal?" Again, the older woman blushed, but didn't answer his bold move. My pa didn't even quite know why he was being so forward with the pretty but plump woman. Perhaps because of his good news in finding work, he wanted everyone else that day to feel good, too. Or perhaps he flirted with the Monahan's daughter because he somehow pitied her for being a spinster of thirty-one. Whatever it was, his kind words to the woman caused him to feel good about himself. And the bold flirtation made Colleen feel warm all over. She turned to my pa before he entered the boarding house and said, "Lunch won't be served until eleven-thirty, Mr. Fitz...Tim. But I managed to save you some slices of bacon. It's in the kitchen. Ask Reta, she might even make you some toast to go with it. And ask her for butter. Tell her I said it's okay." "Thank you, Miss...Colleen", my pa replied, feeling a slight pang of guilt since he now knew, that due to his elation, he had opened a door with the woman that he was unsure he wanted opened. And yet he also felt guilty for feeling that way. Why was he so disinterested in such a caring and warm woman? And she wasn't at all that unattractive. Surely, she'd make some man a fine wife. He should wish for such a woman to be his wife. But for reasons that were beyond his understanding, he wasn't. He went inside where he meandered to the back of the house, figuring that would be where he'd find the kitchen. And sure enough, as he passed a double set of doors, he could smell the aroma of cinnamon as something was baking. Slowly and cautiously, he pushed a door open and spied a heavy-set woman rolling out dough. At a table along a wall, near the back door, sat a trim, good-looking man in his early fifties. "Hello, can I help you?", the woman asked as she looked up but barely paused from her duties. "Um, um...Miss Colleen...", my father began to say as he was still hesitant to step into the kitchen. "Are you Mr. Fitzgibbons?", the man piped up as he set down his newspaper. "Um, yes. Yes, I am", my pa replied as he looked at the man. "Come in, come in then", the man said as he stood up. He wore workman's slacks, which showed off a prominent endowment where it snaked along one thigh. And pa was surprised to see that despite the rather blustery weather, the man's shirt was unbuttoned several buttons, revealing a fine, hairy chest. My pa stepped fully into the large kitchen where immediately his mouth could not help but water, as he smelled whatever it was cooking. Reta Reilly smiled as she recognized the sight of a hungry lad. She said, "'Making cinnamon rolls like the Swedes make...for lunch. But Miss Colleen set aside for you good bacon from this morning." "Yes, she said...", my pa replied. Scanning my pa from head to toe, the man then reached out his hand and introduced himself, "Name's O'Mally...Jim O'Mally. But everyone just calls me O'Mally around here. I keep up the place along with Mr. Monahan." As he shook O'Mally's hand, noticing the man's very strong grip, my pa responded, "I'm Tim Fitzgibbons." "Yes, I know", O'Mally replied. "You get that job? The one at the stockyards?" "Um, yeah. I did!", my pa said proudly. "Good pay too. Far better than anything in Indianapolis, that's for sure." "Well, good for you, boy!", O'Mally said as he returned to his seat. "Come along now and eat something, young man", Reta said as she nodded for him to take a seat at the same table where O'Mally sat. She handed him a plate full of Irish bacon and a slice of toast. And without his even asking, she had slathered the thick bread in creamy butter. "Give the boy some coffee, Reta", O'Mally said. "And I'll have a fill up, too, while I get to know our new guest." The two men chatted with one another for nearly an hour in the kitchen while Reta, too busy to talk, went back and forth between baking cinnamon rolls and stirring beef stew in an enormous cast iron pot on the stove. As the clock quickly ticked closer to lunchtime, Reta finally shooed the men out as Miss Geraghty came into the kitchen preparing to ready the dining room for an eleven-thirty start. Most all of Monahan's guest who worked nights and several others who worked within walking distance, would take their lunch at the boarding house. Often, it was the busiest mealtime. The two men returned to the main foyer but seeing it was still twenty minutes to serving, my pa said he'd best wash up some while he had the time. "You might want to even take a bath or a shower now", O'Mally offered. "I recommend you do it now since it will be less busy in there than later this evening. And the water is hotter now, too." "Thanks", my pa replied, appreciating the handyman's suggestion. "I just might do that. Thanks." O'Mally then said he'd see my pa around and again congratulated him on securing himself work on his first day in the city. The well built man then wandered to the back of the house and out to the mudroom, which was located just short of the broad back porch. Pa took two stairs at a time as went up to his room. Although he was tired, it having been an exhausting morning, youthful adrenaline coursed through him as he thought about all the turns his life had taken in little more than twelve hours. He was now a fully employed man in one of the nation's biggest cities. Secretly, he admitted that he didn't know what to expect from working in a slaughterhouse, but he knew he was better off than most men struggling in such hard times. At the top of the stairs, upon reaching the fourth floor, a noise caught his attention and he looked to his right down the hall toward the front of the house. A man, who was very tall and very broad shouldered, was still tucking in his shirttails as he came out of Room 4-A. Pa paused thinking he'd say hello to the man. As he came closer to the top of the staircase, the man looked up at pa with a somewhat gruff expression as the fingers of his right hand double-checked the zipper of his trousers. "Good day", my pa said to the man. "Yeah", the man harrumphed as he quickly passed my pa and went down to the third and then to the second floor. My pa figured that Mr. Harris, the widower, was in some hurry. And knowing how tragically his wife had died, leaving him alone with a small child, pa cut the man a pass figuring he'd give the man another chance, another day. But before he could even start to his own room in the opposite direction, he heard another person coming up the stairs. Since he wished to meet someone else who'd be sharing his same floor and the same bathroom, he held back and waited until the person appeared on landing between the third and fourth floors. He watched a very well dressed man, with a fine, thick mustache take the rest of the stairs up to where he stood. "Hello", the man said in a friendly though fatigued manner. Beneath his left arm, he clutched a newspaper along with a green shopping bag. "You're new here, aren't you?" "Hello. Yes, I just arrived this mornin'", my pa answered. "Tim Fitzgibbons", he continued, as he reached out to briefly shake the other man's hand. "I'm all the way down there...in Room 4-H." "Glad to meet you, Tim Fitzgibbons", the man said as he shook pa's hand. "I'm just in for a quick lunch. I have to be back to work in forty-five minutes. I'm collecting my son to make sure he eats. We're both over there...in 4-A.", the man added, as he indicated the same door from which the other man had just exited. "'Name's Ted Harris", the man said. "Hey! Want to meet my son real quick?" My pa was confused but tried to keep his startlement to himself as he nodded and said, "Sure. That would be nice." "Well, come along then", Ted said as he made haste. "We have to head on down to eat but come on in and say a quick hello. Perhaps we can chat later this evening in the front room downstairs. Nealy likes to listen to Mr. Capshaw play the piano down there after dinner." Standing outside of 4-A, Ted lightly rapped on the door as he said aloud, "Nealy, I'm back. Open the door." There was the soft sound of a slide latch being unlocked and the door opened. And there in the doorway stood a very small boy with neatly trimmed blonde hair and a weary smile. Immediately, the boy's gaze passed his father's shoulder and met my pa's eyes. Its then that the child's blue eyes ever so quickly scanned my pa's front down to his crotch. "Hi daddy", the boy said, still looking at my pa, as his father went into the room and set down his newspaper and package. Following them both in, my pa noticed how much bigger and more finely furnished this room was compared to his own room. It even had two sets of bay windows looking out high above the treetops on Emerald Avenue. "Nealy, this is a new guest here", his father said. "Mr. Fitzgibbons." The small boy continued to look at my pa. The boy's eyes making him uneasy where they seemed to fixate upon his crotch. As the child's father busied himself with some papers on a desk, my pa noticed that the child was wearing nothing but the bottom part of a pair of long underwear. "Go put on some clothes, you!", Nealy's father said to the boy cheerfully. "I only have a half an hour to grab some lunch. So get a move on." The little boy, seemingly all excited by a guest in their room or by his daddy's presence or maybe with just the prospect of leaving the room, raced over and disappeared into a large alcove, which was partitioned off by heavy draperies. "My Nealy", Ted said as he looked through some mail. "Four years old and just the spitting image of his late mother. He has her spirit, that's for sure. But he's alone too much, I'm afraid." My pa stood there, now not sure if he should ask about the man he had seen leaving the room only moments earlier. "He's very cute", pa said as his eyes surveyed the room's elaborate wallpaper. "Yes, he is", Ted said as he set down his mail and called out to Nealy to hurry. The child came out from behind the curtain wearing short knickers and a white shirt. "Come on, put on your shoes, Nealy. I have to get back to work and I'm famished", his father said as he smiled at the boy. "Why are you such a slow poke this morning? You'd think you were digging ditches the way you're moving so slow." The boy giggled as he struggled to get his shiny brown shoes on his feet. "That's silly, daddy. Little boys don't dig ditches." "Ah, in some places they do...if they make their daddies late for their meals!", his father joked as he knelt to help the child on with his shoes. They then both stood up and smiled at my pa. "Are you going down to eat?", Ted asked as he looked around for the room key. "Or are you going to wait for the twelve-thirty seating?" Not knowing there was a second seating, my pa spontaneously answered, "Yes, I think I may do that. - the second seating. That way I can take a shower. It's been a long day." Although it would work into his schedule just fine, my pa also knew that he'd said it as, for some reason, he didn't want to dine with Ted Harris and his son. For some reason, he was confused and feared that he might ask them something out of turn. "Go open the door, Nealy", Ted said. And as the boy unlatched it and pulled the knob, Ted instructed his son to say goodbye to my pa. "Bye", the tot said, somewhat indifferently - although his bright blue eyes again scanned to my pa's crotch. "We might see Mr. Fitzgibbons later tonight", Ted said to his son. Then turning to my pa, he added, "Nealy will be alone up here after we eat until I get in from work again at six. Some of the guys check in on him while I'm out. But he'll want to get to know you after dinner I'm sure. He'll be friendlier then. He's really a good boy." They walked together to the top of the staircase but then parted. Ted and his son went down to lunch as my pa, at last, returned to his small room. From the desk next to the window, he grabbed the towel and bar of soap as he figured on taking O'Mally's advice and shower while it was relatively quiet on the floor. To be continued... By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE gh_professional@yahoo.com