Susie Learns the Hard Way (12 page)

‘Know your way round at all, girl?' asked Harry.

Susie had answered ‘No,' before she realised Harry was making conversation with her, actually being polite for the first time that day.

‘Know where we are then?'

She could read all the signs quite easily, and see the names of places she vaguely recognised, but it was still a meaningless jumble. ‘I'm afraid I haven't got a clue. Not a clue,' she said happily, almost as if the sheer overwhelming size and scale of the place was part of the adventure, just something else she'd been given that day to enjoy.

In truth, lost in the maze of South London side streets, none but locals and taxi-drivers would be absolutely certain of their whereabouts. But Harry knew where he was going, and kept heading in the right direction. ‘We'll be there in a few minutes. When we get there, just shut up and leave the talking to me. Okay?'

That was a glimpse of the Harry she knew best; it seemed that driving used up all his aggression, but now they were near journey's end he had energy to spare on being rude to Susie again. Best try to talk to him now, before the car came to a complete halt.

‘Why are we going to a boxing club if we're looking for a sex drug?' she asked, keeping her voice as conversational as possible. If she didn't make a big deal of the question, maybe he wouldn't make such a fuss of the answer. ‘I thought you said Olympics and athletes—'

He interrupted swiftly. ‘As anyone who knows anything about anything will tell you, boxing is a corrupt and ugly sport, and illegal drugs are given to young boxers in training and sometimes even just before a fight to pump them up. Allegedly. Remember that word, allegedly. It'll get you off the legal hook a hundred times a year.'

That wasn't all bad; it was informative, bordering on co-operative. But she thought it was her last chance; as he finished speaking, Harry turned off the main road into a small side street and pulled up. They were in a short cul-de-sac that looked as if it remained unchanged since its last visit from the
Luftwaffe
; collapsing buildings, roofless houses with bedrooms that opened to the night sky, and at the end a blackened old church with an even dingier, blacker hall alongside. As they neared it, Susie could see the printed Scout posters and hand-lettered jumble sale announcements tacked limply to the notice board outside. One said there was a young men's club every Tuesday at seven-thirty, with activities including boxing.

Inside, the hall was surprisingly warm, a feeling added to by low-wattage lights dangling from the ceiling. At the far end there was one bright fluorescent square roped off. It was the ring. But Susie noticed the smell most; damp, mould, cooking fat and sweat.

To her surprise there were quite a few people already there; surprise, because there were no cars outside. But as she studied them, she realised they must all be locals who had walked there. And they were, of course, all young men. She was the only woman among a dozen or so young men, which shouldn't really have been a surprise in a boxing club.

There was one older man there, though. Well past retiring age, he might have been anywhere between sixty and a hundred, though he moved with the easy grace of someone who still worked at his fitness despite the wrinkled face and the white hair. His flat nose and cauliflower ears, track suit and trainers, told her he was an ex-boxer, and clearly the man in charge. The rest were all boys; younger than she was, most of them. All of them, probably, but they were all big. They were obviously all in training, with impressive muscles bulging from heavy shoulders and arms, slab chests and six-packs topping off narrow waists and sturdy thighs. The only thing she didn't like too much was that they were all wearing baggy shorts, concealing their best assets. Like all girls her age, Susie admired a shapely bum and a well-packed pair of shorts, but in her case it was usually from a distance.

She'd never been very sporty at school or college, and generally found watching sport boring, too. But this was different. This wasn't sport. This was more like war. These lads were hitting each other. Great big solid thumps that sucked in breath and rocked them on their feet, snapping heads and bruising arms, shoulders and chests. The animal aggression that rose in a steaming cloud around the fighters was a living thing, so powerful it was almost visible. The effect on Susie was immediate and dramatic and she felt the excitement in her quickened pulse, rapid breathing and her own warm honey as her body unfolded, pressing against her silky black knickers and oozing its juices into the clinging material.

And some of them seemed to be aware of the state she was in. Perhaps she imagined it because she was the only woman there, and as soon as she arrived she'd been very aware of her femininity, made even more obvious in these drab and very male surroundings by the way she was dressed; heels, stockings and suit, showing off long legs and firm breasts. Wishing for jeans and sweatshirt, she was glad she hadn't dressed even more girlie; she probably wouldn't have escaped alive. As it was they were looking at her with hungry eyes, making her feel like an ice-cream in the desert, surrounded by people dying of thirst.

One or two of them seemed disdainful, as if they resented her presence, but most of them belonged to the other group, who looked out of the corner of their eye, watching her as she moved around the hall. Thumping sacks or pressing weights or sparring, their eyes followed her, making her conscious of the tap of her heels, the swish of stocking against stocking, the flick of her skirt around her knees and the teasing bounce inside her blouse.

One of them, who watched especially carefully, looked vaguely familiar, and though she tried not to stare at him she couldn't help it, her eyes drawn back to him time after time. And of course each time she looked his way he was staring at her, and caught her glances often enough that he started to preen himself. As if she could have found
him
attractive; a short, barrel-shaped specimen with no teeth and squinty eyes, he looked too small to be a boxer of any ability.

But he wasn't the only one staring at her like that. The others were still looking her up and down as if she was going to be their next meal, and she started to feel uneasy. She'd been nervous before, but now she was getting a little frightened.

They were still busy doing whatever it was they were doing, and as their exercising raised their body temperatures the smell of oil and sweat grew stronger and part of her was thrilled by their close-up near-nakedness, the rippling muscles and the steady flow of sweat that spread a light sheen across their bodies. Deep between her thighs, the trickle of fear became a steady flow of warmth.

She watched intently, absorbed in the spectacle, and she didn't really see or take much notice of the whispering between Harry and Nobby, the grubby little man in the tracksuit who ran the club, though clearly it was the purpose of their visit. Remembering her promise to Harry, to keep out of the way until he needed her special qualifications, she felt she was doing the right thing and continued watching the sparring. Moving round the hall, watching different pairs of boxers, she found herself opposite the open door to the changing rooms. Inside, in the bright light, stood a six-foot teenager she'd heard the others call Alf. Naked from head to toe and slippery wet from the shower, he glistened like a bar of dark chocolate – perfectly formed, with great biceps and triceps, and a long dangling penis, swinging from side to side as he dried himself.

He looked up and saw her staring. No more than seventeen, maybe eighteen, he looked her in the eye. There was a pause as he stopped patting himself dry, and then brought the towel up under his flaccid penis with both hands and cupped it, lifting it towards her, rubbing it slowly. He could have been drying it and certainly would have said that if she'd screamed, but there was no mistaking the unspoken message; large as it was to start with, it grew thicker and straighter in his hands. And as she watched, fascinated, Susie felt a flutter in her panties as her body opened like a flower.

There was no telling how long she might have stood there staring, but a whistle blared in the hall, an intrusive blast that grabbed her attention. All the youngsters were heading towards the old boy with the whistle, and when she looked back into the changing rooms Alf had turned his back, and she had only a fraction of time to admire his chiselled young buttocks before he pulled on a pair of snug-fitting pants.

She pulled herself together and found Harry.

‘What's going on?' she asked him, inclining her head towards the group of lads gathered around the old man. Alf was there, she noticed, still naked apart from the towel draped around his neck and the lemon pants, which fitted even more snugly at the front than they did at the back. He gave her one more arrogant glance before turning away, bending slightly to listen to instructions from Nobby.

‘Oh, nothing much,' he said airily, with a dismissive gesture. ‘They're just organising a little bout. They usually end the evening with a fight, you see. Of course they're all a bit excited to have an audience tonight.' He gave a long, thoughtful stare.

‘You and me, you mean?'

‘Well you, mostly.'

He smiled, and Susie smiled back. ‘It's working, then?'

‘What? What is?' Harry looked around and then back at her. It was the first time all day he'd looked anything other than complacent and self-assured.

‘Having me around. A woman. It's working. I'm keeping their attention distracted from you.'

Harry's shoulders relaxed and settled into their normal droop once more, and his smile reappeared. ‘Oh yes,' he confirmed. ‘It's working all right.'

He looked away from her, and she followed his eyes across the hall to where the group of youngsters gathered round the trainer were still talking in low, excited tones. Every so often one of them would glance across the room, giving her that ‘ice-cream in the desert' sensation. Then they all looked together, she felt a clutch of fear deep inside, and they turned back to Nobby and continued with what had now become a very animated but very quiet discussion.

Then they all started nodding at once and the group broke up, all heading in different directions, spreading around the ring with expectant faces. Raised a couple of feet off the floor it wasn't as high as a real boxing ring, but it was high enough to make spectators look up and give them a good view.

And right now they were getting a good view of Alf, who'd been to the changing rooms and put on some rather less revealing shorts, as well as lace-up boots and a pair of blood-red gloves. He was quickly joined in the ring by Nobby, who spoke a few words in his ear, and the barrel-shaped youth who'd been staring at Susie earlier. As the trainer went over to speak to him, he was joined by a younger lad in T-shirt and shorts who unbuckled the head-guard, freeing the piggy face, and suddenly she realised who he was. Or to be more accurate, who he looked like.

She thought she'd seen him before, and now his face was fully visible she realised with a shock that he might have been the Prince's bodyguard from her dreams. No, that he
was
the bodyguard. He'd been a regular visitor to her fantasies ever since she was a schoolgirl, and his appearance had never changed in all that time. And now here he was, climbing into the ring not five feet away from her, evil personified and real.

She shook her head in disbelief.

‘What's the matter?' asked Harry, suddenly solicitous.

‘Nothing. Nothing.'

Nothing she could tell Harry about, anyway. Of course it was just coincidence, nothing more, but it was nevertheless a disturbing feeling to be looking at someone who had treated her so badly so many times even though it was at her own request, so to speak.

Then there was a sharp blast of the whistle and the two boxers began to circle cautiously around each other, Alf dancing lightly on his feet and the bodyguard – he would always be the bodyguard to Susie – shuffling heavily in pursuit. There was a sudden flurry of arms and a quick rattle of feet on the floor of the ring; not canvas, she noticed, but sheets of plain wood. The big gloves slapped across shoulders, chest and face as Alf landed three rapid punches.

Susie almost cheered to see the bodyguard get what he deserved, her pleasure slightly lessened because the attack didn't even make him blink, and he continued prowling across the ring towards Alf.

Three more rapid shots snapped the bodyguard's head from side to side.

‘Yes!' Susie hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear, and several pairs of eyes turned her way. One or two looked happy to see she was enjoying the display, and one or two looked just like they had earlier – ready to eat her for dinner.

Twice more Alf landed the same blast of three dazzlingly fast punches and danced away to safety.

Each time he did it Susie cheered, louder now, with increasing confidence and increasing enjoyment. Then Alf stepped up again, but he'd landed just two of the three when a trunk-like arm swung up under his blurring gloves and a clubbing right hook landed on the side of his jaw with a sickening sound. His head jerked to one side and his eyes glazed. But his dancing feet flailed at the floor before they found a grip and carried him whirling away to safety, shaking his head to clear it.

The other boxers cheered and the trainer motioned the fighters to carry on. Susie looked in horror at the blood dripping from Alf's mouth. But he was undeterred and closed in on the bodyguard, changing his tactics, hopping from foot to foot just out of reach of those deadly hands, occasionally leaning in to pop a jab on the other youth's chin or nose.