Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2004 19:12:31 -0800 (PST)
From: GH JUNKKIE <gh_professional@yahoo.com>
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

