Jan - 'Tart of Gold'

"Did your mum know what you were doing to boost your income?" Colin asked.

"Yes, she knew how I was making my extra money. I won't say she approved, because she would never feel it was an 'honest way' to earn money. But she knew that I had set my heart on a place of my own, and that I was careful and didn't spend money on drugs or loads of booze. I had mates that I went clubbing with, but I didn't get involved with fucking blokes my own age.

The school where I'd made my friends and the clubs were a few miles from where we lived, which was just outside the main part of the town. I didn't advertise and the hotel I mainly got called to was near the supermarket where I worked, so they expected to see me round that area.

In fact I did tell one of my friends - Maisie was the only one that I could trust to keep a secret. She was lovely about it, saying that she wasn't brave enough herself, but she could see why I was doing it. A while later I was able to help her out of a bit of a financial mess she'd got herself into - only a few hundred, but she'd got herself in a right old stew about it. I paid off her back rent and put down a few weeks in advance. I also gave the sodding landlord the benefit of my professional skills - or a few of them - to keep him quiet for a bit. He hadn't got very much, and what he had got he didn't know how to use - still he seemed pleased with himself, and for some blokes that's half the battle.

A couple of years down the line Maisie began to think that she was more inclined towards girls than boys. She and I had some quietly sexy times together in her little flat, to help sort out which way she was going. She has a steady girlfriend now, and she's much happier.

I've had a few other lesbians ask me for sex, some of them as work, some of them for mutual enjoyment. I liked the gentleness and the way I was pleasured by some of these girls, but it never got me really excited.

I think Maisie and Mum were the only people I could say I really loved. I suppose I'm saying I would be heart-broken to lose either of them."

I stopped my story at this point. I got up and went to get the whisky bottle and the water jug to top us up. We were sitting in separate armchairs, not next to each other. I had my legs (shoes off of course) tucked up under me. It felt real cosy, and I was quite relaxed.

"You've done very well telling me all that in a coherent way, but you might like to leave it there and come back another time to my place to bring me up to date". It didn't sound patronising, coming from Colin.

"O.k. let's do that," I said. "I've really like coming to visit you: almost worth getting pounced on to meet you and enjoy your lovely house!"

I was wondering if he had any designs on my professional services. I sort of hoped not. I had too few men friends who didn't expect favours, and it was a pleasant change.

"I'll be going now. I need to get back and catch up with my niece in Australia." Colin was a perfect gentleman. So we could continue chatting for a while without me having to worry about 'what if...?'

*****

We met again about a week later. This time he cooked me a lasagne, which I'd only eaten a couple of times before. I thought it was fantastic.

"Before I start telling you more of 'history according to Jan the Tart' I'd like to ask you a question," I said.

"Go ahead."

"With all this talk of fucking and sex generally, are you thinking of fucking me?"

Pause. He obviously needed a moment to think of a suitable answer.

"I'm sure that it would be lovely, but...no, I am not. At my age you can be interested in sex without needing to practice it. Anyway, it isn't always possible, and I wouldn't want you to be insulted by the sight of a limp dick in response to your generously offered and beautiful body." I thought he'd done really well to find the right words! I was relieved rather than insulted. I wanted to keep him as a lovely friend.

"Thank you, that's good news for me. I want you to be special," was my considered reply.

"Great. Let's get on with the story. Please."

"Well Mum and I worked things out with Tyler. For the first two years after he was born I gave up all work. I breast-fed him, which I loved, and played with him and talked to him so that by the time he was two we could have quite interesting conversations. I loved the way he tried using new words, sometimes in completely the wrong place, with really cute and funny results. I sat with him and looked at picture books with words in big letters, and I took him regularly to the park to feed ducks and talk to other peoples' dogs, and kick up leaves in autumn, and go on the slide and the swings. I've got a bit of a lump in my throat as I remember those times."

"Such lovely times, and so quickly passed," Colin said.

"When Tyler went to school I was still with Mum. The house of my own came about when he was 6. The house was not far from Mum's, or from the school. I made sure that I only had early shifts so that I could pick him up from his gran's and take him back to give him tea. One day a week I did my home-working, trying to build up a bit of business from home. I only had a couple of clients during that day: by the time I'd taken Tyler to school and come back and cleaned up myself and the house it was usually 11 o'clock, and I needed to be finished by about 2 o'clock to get ready for collecting him and bringing him home. Still, I was charging £75 for a full hour, so that day added £150 to our weekly budget, which made a huge difference."

"I imagine that you were paying a lot for your mortgage at that time?" Colin intervened.

"Yeah. I seem to remember it was over £400 a month. Wouldn't have afforded it and kept us fed and warm without the extra cash. . I seem to remember I was earning around £700 a month at the supermarket for a 25 hour week.

When he was seven I decided that he could get to school and back by himself. The route was safe, and there were no busy roads to cross. There were also other kids heading in the same direction. That gave me a bit of extra time.

When he left school I was only in my early 40s. I decided to drop all but three mornings a week at the supermarket. The rest of my time was available for servicing my personal clients. Sounds sort of respectable when put like that. Better than saying I was going back to being a fucking tart?

I had mostly repeat customers. The frequency was different for each bloke (and occasionally woman). Some could afford twice a week: not many. Some only came once a month. I had always kept a notebook where I wrote significant things about each client. Sometimes it was just their personal preferences; any equipment I needed; how long they stayed; if they were difficult to get rid of and so on. I also wrote in red biro if I really didn't want to see them again. Some were smelly, some reeked of alcohol, some were aggressive, and some were just really rude. By eliminating these people I had built up a bit of a following of decent people. Just because I was a tart I didn't see why I should put up with just anybody that wanted to book me. And just because people come to a tart for a bit of sex and maybe a cuddle, it doesn't mean that they are either evil or perverted. Lots of them are really nice people. We're not like lawyers or cabbies who always have to take the first one in the queue."

"So how many clients did you see in a day?" Colin seemed quite interested in the details, but I suppose that was because of his business training. I felt he was making sure that I had what they call 'a viable business'.

"Only two or sometimes three. Obviously there's a certain amount of risk involved in my trade - as you've seen for yourself. I've been careful to declare my income and pay tax on it, partly because I thought if I wanted my rubbish collected, police to protect us, sewers to take the shit away, the street lights maintained, the children educated, the NHS supported, and the people who we now call 'vulnerable' looked after, I had to make my contribution. But also it removed one possible line of blackmail.

I decided to go to the police and ask to see the local superintendent. Bit cheeky, I know, but it's best to have the boss knowing what's going on. I came clean on what I did and where I did it, and said I did my best not to break the law. I wasn't going to bribe any policemen, but I'd like to make a regular donation to their Benevolent Fund. I asked if they might agree to help if I got any trouble from criminals or anti-social behaviour.

'Thank you, Jan, for coming to see me. I appreciate your openness. We certainly won't give you any trouble if you stay inside the law, and I'll brief the chaps on the front line. If there are any complaints from neighbours for example, we'll do our best to calm them down and we'll let you know if there's anything you should be doing... or not doing,' said Superintendent Brownsword.

'I occasionally pick up bits of information that might be helpful to you. If you give me a number to call I can pass it on. I won't identify myself, for obvious reasons,' I volunteered.

'Well, if you don't mind, that would be good. Be sure that you aren't putting yourself at risk, won't you?' the superintendent said.

'I'll call from a public 'phone - if there are any left.'

I'd never been on the game hoping to be stinking rich. My lifestyle is pretty simple. I like living where I do, and it suits what I do. End of terrace, with the side facing a residents' car park. I had it re-arranged so that the 'front' door was at the side, so clients parked in the carpark and came into the house without disturbing the neighbours. It's a cul-de sac built as council houses. I bought the house in '97 after a lot of the houses had been sold off. There are sixteen houses all told: two blocks of 4 on either side of the road.

I got to know most of the people in the road, some of whom had lived there for 30 or more years, and were 'retired', though most of them found plenty to do. I did little things for the elderly when they had difficulties, not to creep, but because I like helping people.

I didn't have a car myself. What would I use it for? I could go anywhere I wanted by bus, train and taxi. If I had one it would take up the parking space that I'd reserved for my clients.

I think that's nearly where you came in."

"I've found it a fascinating story because it's so far from anything I've ever had direct experience with. I think you've worked out how you want to live and found a way of doing it. It may be unconventional, but you haven't had to rely on anyone except your mum; you've been a decent parent, paid your taxes, tried not to break the law. Well done, I say."

I got up and went over to him. I straddled his lap, with my knees resting on the sofa he had decided to sit on today. I rested my head on his shoulder, with my hands behind his head. I hadn't felt like this before. I wonder if this is what it feels like to have a proper dad? He put his arms round me in a very matter-of-fact way, not attempting to grab my bum or do anything else that might suggest a sexual interest. That made it even more special.

We stayed like this for a few minutes. Then I leaned back and looked into his eyes. I suppose they were probably conker brown once, but now they were a soft grey with a slight green tinge. I liked them. We smiled at each other. His wrinkles folded into deep creases.

"Being pounced on outside your house was real lucky," I chuckled, as I slipped off his lap. He walked me home, but wouldn't come in.

*****

It was my turn again the next week. I'd done a stir-fry with courgettes, carrot, bean sprouts and onion, with a few bits of bacon. I'd found out that he liked beer, or rather ale, which I had a taste for too, so we had a glass with our meal. For desert I had made fruit salad with fresh fruit.

We settled ourselves on one of my sofas. He sat himself at one end, so I sat at the other end and put my feet up on his lap. I was looking forward to hearing about his life.

"My first eighteen years were pretty humdrum. My father was a solicitor, and my mother had been a teacher. It would have been more interesting if Dad had been a nurse and Mum an astronaut, but unfortunately that was not the case. I did 'A levels' and got good enough grades to go to Leicester University which was just expanding its engineering faculty, and then I went on to do a post-graduate diploma.

That's when I made up my mind to concentrate on manufacturing technology: it might have been aeronautics, or space, or defence, but I was fascinated by the idea and process of making things.

The UK was lagging behind other countries when it came to the science and practice of manufacturing. I worked for a time with a car manufacturer. It was quite fun, but infuriatingly badly organised and managed and while I was there I enrolled on a course to learn German. After about 18 months I felt reasonably confident that I could manage working in Germany."

"So what was happening in your life outside work?" I asked. "Not that it seems you had much spare time."

"I never really had a relationship that was compatible with what I wanted to do. There were women who seemed keen to get me to commit to something serious or permanent; and there were women that I might have liked to take that step with who didn't really rate me. I suppose the problem was finding a match."

"I'm guessing that you were getting a bit of fucking though?" I asked.

"Yes. Once I'd got the hang of it - which took a little while - I didn't have a problem finding partners."

"What do you mean 'got the hang of it'? I reckon that fucking is one of the easiest things we have to do."

"I didn't have the benefit of your Mum's guidance. I had to learn what women liked, not to mention the details of the female layout. Labia, clitoris, G-spot, cervix were just words to me until a lovely older lady took the time to teach me. Not much to learn about men's anatomy is there?"

"O.k. fair comment. Go on please."

"Well I found a job in Germany and spent three years there, and three more in Italy. The contrast between them was fascinating. In Italy flair and creativity were highly valued, and they produced some fabulous stuff, but the attitude was 'well, it'll take as long as it takes'. This made it extremely difficult to plan complex projects."

"Sounds exciting though," I could sort of imagine a jolly atmosphere, a bit like art lessons at school, when lots of us took the opportunity to let off steam and make a right old mess. "What about the Germans?"

"Fantastic organisation, detailed planning and record keeping, but always happier doing something the way they'd always done it than thinking of new and better ways. Much easier for a young designer to get bored!"

"So lots of energy for doing other things!" I got quite excited thinking about what he might have got up to.

"Yes, and Germany has some of the most permissive sex laws in the world, so sex work of all sorts is widespread and, of course being Germany, highly regulated."

"...and you took advantage?"

He looked a bit sheepish. "Well actually no, I didn't need to."

I clapped my hands and said "Bravo!"

"Both countries were interesting and enjoyable places to be. Beautiful landscapes, of all sorts from mountain to marsh; interesting people and enjoyable way of life. But Italy had the trump card with its magnificent buildings. I could admire their looks and marvel at the technical achievements. So it was all very satisfying."

"But no permanent relationship?" I asked.

"No. I came very near it in Italy. I had a lovely girlfriend, but Italian families cling together so tenaciously that she wouldn't leave them; and I really wanted to get back home after 6 years away. Mainly because I was convinced I needed to start my own business. We parted with tears."

I've told you that my feet were in his lap, and at this point he took one in each hand and started softly rubbing them. I noticed of course, but I didn't say anything.

"That was sad, but I suppose you had got the itch to be home and start on your great project; and perhaps you were a bit like me and had grown to value your independence too much to give it up." I thought I could understand him deciding to move back and move on.

"Yes, both those things are true; but many times since I have wondered if I was right. Anyway, I came home, and I had saved quite a lot while I was away. It was enough to be able to rent a small workshop and equip it with some of the tools I needed.

To start with I worked for other engineers as a kind of overflow, but gradually they began to allocate whole components of a project to me. I started to have the confidence to suggest some design improvements, and word got around so that I began to get orders from source, so to speak. I did quite a bit of advertising in trade magazines with the help of a friend who was in advertising as a graphic designer.

I very soon had to take on another engineer, and another machine operator. Then we needed bigger workshops. There were recessions to contend with, and employees to deal with, and I soon found that the management took up too much time and stopped me doing what I loved, which was designing and making things with my own brain and hands.

I learnt to delegate much of the management, and I found that being able to spend more time with the guys who were making stuff in the workshop did wonders for employee contentment."

"It sounds like a big success." I said, genuinely impressed that this ordinary, gentle man had achieved so much.

"In its way it was. I never wanted the company to grow into a mammoth, trying to do too many different things. We got to the point of employing about 60 people, and that was quite enough. I knew them all: knew their strengths and weaknesses, as well as some of their personal problems. I had a proper profit-sharing policy that paid bonuses every year, and I didn't take a huge share myself, although I paid a substantial amount into a pension.

When the time came to retire I decided to offer them employee ownership. It took some time to set up with lawyers and accountants, but we managed it in the end. I sold it to them for half the valuation, and I lent the Employee Ownership Trust a substantial sum, which encouraged the bank to lend to them as well. They committed to pay the loan off over 15 years, and any balance left when I died to be paid to my nephew and niece."

"And what of your sex life through all this? You surely didn't stay celibate for thirty years?"

"I was wary. I had been hurt by the Italian experience. I didn't blame Emilia at all: it was simply a matter of circumstance. But I wasn't looking around for commitment. I took on a housekeeper, who became a friend, then a lover. She had a life of her own in another part of the country, where work was scarce. She stayed with me for four nights, then went home for three. We were fond of each other, but never needed to be shy about the fact that our relationship was one of convenience for both of us."

"Strikes me as an odd sort of caper. How did it work exactly?" I was frantically trying to picture this set-up, but having difficulty.

"She was younger than me - I was in my early forties when she came to work for me, and she was about eight years younger. I didn't know if she had been disappointed, or disillusioned, because she had no sexual attachments at home. I gave her a room of her own and put her on the payroll, so she paid tax and was insured.

She came down from her home on Monday morning and went back on Friday afternoon and basically did all the things that housekeepers usually do plus slept with me when we both felt like it. She was a good lover, and I became a lot more considerate in bed as a result of her tender, laid-back attitude."

"How long was she with you? And how did it end?" I wanted to know.