Being a pornographer since the early Sixties has given
me a unique insight into corruption. This corruption, I discovered reaches
the highest levels. Once you have walked into Scotland Yard with a brown
paper envelope and paid off the head of the OPS (Obscene Publications
Squad) then you will never be the same again. Meeting Chief Inspector
Alton (I am not sure of the spelling of Lesley’s name) was an educative
experience and in his cups he told me many things that an old square like
him should not have done. He trusted me and I never intended to ever break
my vow of silence but one thing made me change my mind: This was my false
conviction for the murder of a Soho gangster Gerry Hawley. In prison this
Brixton secondary school (Santley Street) boy became educated and my
education made me realise that my conviction was unsafe and unsatisfactory
because I was surrounded by police corruption at the time and the jury at
the trial new nothing of this or why I had killed Hawley. I made a new vow
that I would never pay the OPS again and that I would devote the rest of
my life to fighting corruption. From now on I would try to expose the
truth about the corruption that existed at Scotland Yard and how the
filthy lucre went “upstairs” to the highest levels of government. My
purpose was to overturn my conviction. It is not nice being a “murderer”
and one can never become an ex murderer!
Since I have tried to expose the people at the top I
have had more than one further attempt on my life! I say further attempts
because the reason I killed Hawley in 1969 was because he had picked up a
contract to kill me. The order had “come from above” as Les would often
say. !969 is a long time ago but if the truth came out it would damage the
credibility of the British government and the state even today. The “down
fall of Scotland Yard” was bad enough and Inspector Les got twelve years,
Inspector Bill Moody (OPS) eight, but these old squares kept silent about
corruption at higher levels in the Home Office - and according to Les even
the Home Secretary was on the take! Les and Bill Moody served out their
sentences in the “country club” Leyhill played golf and were allowed out
into the town and got to see their wives at weekends! Moody was a model
prisoner and became the altar boy! I know that the above allegations I
have made above are true because during a pornography trial at the Old
Bailey I was visited with a well known QC who told me that I “was a victim
of corruption at very high levels”
I got to know Les well and we would often meet at a posh
country pub, which had a very good restaurant, in Surrey a short drive
away from his home in Esher. I would receive a phone call about a meet and
I would put the proverbial brown paper envelope in my pocket and drive
along the A6 to meet him. Sometimes I used to play tricks on him and he
got very annoyed on one occasion when a regular at the pub, an ex army
officer, assumed that because I was with Les that I was a detective. I
went along with it and when he asked me if I had nicked any villains
recently I said that I had nicked some bank robbers that week. “A ready
eye on a jug, caught them bang to rights” I had joked. Les’s ex military
acquaintance started trying to play a game where he tried to work out the
slang that I was using. “We have to know all the underworld slang I told
him so that we can catch the villains.” During this episode I could see
Les was getting very annoyed. He was getting drunk as usual and I carried
on in spite of his disapproving looks while ordering him and his friend a
drink. In Lesley’s case a “Double Ding Dong!” as he would say. I always
thought that this term for Bell’s whiskey sounded rather ridiculous but
used it in his company.
When we entered the restaurant he reproved me for
imitating a police officer and I replied “what was I going to do then tell
him that I was a pornographer!” I was enjoying myself as I usually did
when I delivered my pay offs and I thought that he had to stand for my
jokes because he always wanted the money and also I always paid the bill.
Sometimes in a moment of drunken generosity he would spin a coin to see
who paid for the wine, of which he would drink copious quantities even
after several double whiskeys.
I liked him to become inebriated because then he would tell me what was
going on in the corrupt world of Soho and the OPS. One thing that puzzled
me was that he often complained when I accused of him of “making a
fortune” that “We (the OPS known as the “dirty dozen”) don’t get all of it
and a lot goes “upstairs.” At first I thought that he was referring to
senior police officers at the Yard but then I realised that they were
people that he did not like, people who came from a different social class
whom many police officers despised. Over the years, since my conviction in
1969, pieces of the puzzle fell into place and I found out that the Home
Office referred to the practice of accepting corrupt payments from the
pornography business as “farming.”
I was shocked myself but the nothing surprised me now.
I always remember my father’s reaction after he had said
to me that I would get nicked one day because I was living a flamboyant
lifestyle, driving a Jaguar, wearing handmade suits and eating out in the
most expensive restaurants. I said “Dad I can’t get nicked because I am
paying Scotland Yard.”
“Don’t be silly” he replied. “We have the finest police force in the
world.”
I knew that was true once but not now and the corruption had infected the
body politic and spread to the highest levels. I knew that the corollary
of censorship was corruption. This was true of any popular commodity that
the public consumed.
I told him about how I used to meet police officers from
the OPS in pubs and so on and how I would slip them a brown paper
envelope. The reason corrupt police officers always ask for payment in a
brown paper envelope is because if they are arrested by honest cops then
they can say that they thought that the envelope contained information and
that you were an informer.
“How do you know that they are police” my father, an ex army warrant
officer in the 19/21st Queen’s Lancers had asked. “Oh I know I had replied
because they sometimes leave their warrant cards in the window of their
cars to avoid parking tickets and to let other coppers know who they are.”
Dad still was not convinced until I took him along one day and introduced
him to a detective constable in the OPS and let him go to the toilet to
hand him the brown paper envelope. I told the OPS detective that I would
send my father if at anytime I could not make it. Actually I was rather
disappointed that at a time that I wanted to impress my father that Les
did not turn up himself but sent someone of the lowest detective rank.
The reason that the hit was put on me in 1969 was
because I had broken the terms of my unwritten licence which eventually
caused what became known as “the downfall of Scotland Yard.” Les had told
me when giving me “a license” that I “must not sell by mail-order and I
must not export.” I was an entrepreneur but I eventually did both! When I
was arrested in Amsterdam for exporting English pornographic films into
the Dutch porn-shops (which were then illegal) it resulted in n Interpol
enquiry. I had caused it and I knew too much. It was told by another
corrupt OPS detective sergeant Roy that it was Les who had put the
contract on me but in my opinion the order had “come from above.”
In the Sixties I started to supply the Soho shops, first
drawings in sets of ten then later photos. When I delivered my drawings to
the little Frith Street sex-shop Tommy had always said to me that if I
took some photos then he would always take some. My hobby had been
photography since the age of fourteen and I bought a Jobo tank and
developed my first roll of black and white film at that age. I had
photographed my erotic drawings and printed them onto bromide paper at
nineteen. In the Early Sixties I discussed with a friend Tony using our
girlfriends as models for the sets of photos I told him that I could sell
to the Soho shops. The girls were both about nineteen and beautiful,
Sandra was dark and Pauline blonde and both had long hair down to their
shoulders. The first pictures that I took were lesbian pictures of them
and when I took them round the Soho shops, packed in sets of five in
cellophane, most of the twenty two shops took them. I remember sitting on
the Tube coming home to Tony’s small dingy flat in Norwood South London
with a few hundred pounds in cash in my pocket and this was a lot of money
in those days. I became successful quickly and soon Tony and I started
posing with the girls too producing hardcore pornography. The shops began
ordering more and more of my work. I was creative and used props and
uniforms and when I did some “nurse sets” orders went through the roof.
This is when it was suggested to me that it was about time that I started
to pay the porn squad.
I went into the Longshop in Old Compton Street and the
guy in the backroom looked at me through the hatch in the wall and gave me
a sly grin. The backroom was crowded with “punters” leafing through sets
of photographs that were in boxes labelled singles, groups, les, pissing,
flag, fem dom and so on. Every taste was catered for and Sixties Soho was
the centre of a successful pornography trade that catered exclusively to
customers all over Britain and even abroad.
“You are doing all right now Mickey and it is about time you got a
licence,” the guy said.
“What do you mean” I answered naively.
“Everyone pays the dirty squad, don’t they?”
He said in a low voice so not as to be overheard by the throng of
customers in the backroom.
I felt a surge of anger and defiance rise up in me. I was proud to have
registered a company Nestville Photography Ltd and my new found status as
a company director. I was doing legitimate photography too, and I thought
that it should be legal anyway. This was the Swinging Sixties and people
were talking about legalisation in Europe. I had heard whispers about
“paying Old Bill” and people had given me hints and now suddenly I
realised that it was true.
“Fuck off,” I replied angrily. “Tell them to fuck off.”
The guy behind the jump looked at me in surprise. “But Mickey everyone has
to pay” he pleaded. I turned my back on him and waked out the shop into
the dark Soho night heading for the tube at Leicester Square. I was not
going to pay. I was a Brixton boy who had been in trouble as a youth for
stealing cars I did not like the police because they had beat me up. A
vivid image flashed through my mind of my face covered in blood.
I still carried on supplying the shops but the next time
that I delivered some new photo sets to a shop in Old Compton Street I saw
a Ford Cortina coming down a one-way street towards me. I had been warned
by “Chico” in the Moore Street bookshop but I had ignored him.
I drove off. And a high speed chase developed as I sped through the West
End with four members of the porn squad behind me I a GT Cortina but I was
a good driver and lost them. I was laughing at the time and the chase was
exciting but when I went round the Soho shops again most of them would not
order.
“The porn squad won’t let us order from you” was a common refrain and they
had to obey except for one or two rebels like Flash Mick in St Anne’s
Court!
I led the OPS a merry dance for over a year and me a guy called Evan whom
I sent round the shops posing as a new “smudger.” In the end they caught
up with me.
I was living in a rented house in Stoke Newington and
had two children by this time, a girl Laura aged two and a bit and a newly
born son Billy who was asleep in his cot downstairs. I was awoken by a
loud knocking on the front door. I knew immediately that the OPS had
tracked me down. I looked at my wife Sandra and gave her a last kiss as
the OPS smashed their way into my house through the backdoor using a
sledge hammer. The bedroom was suddenly filled with detectives who dragged
me out of bed dressed only in a vest! I was bundled downstairs into a
waiting Q car the screams of my wife and child echoing in my brain.
In the car which drove at high speed through the early morning London
streets I was wedged in between two large men.
One of them turned towards me and joked “Moody told us that you was a big
bastard! How tall are you Mickey?”
“I’m five foot nine and a half,” I answered.
I thought that I would flatter them and said”Fucking hell you are big
blokes in the porn squad”
“We are not the porn squad son we are the “Heavy Mob” from the yard.”
“Bloody hell,” I replied I thought that you were the Dirty Dozen!”
They cracked up at this and started laughing.
One of them said,” Moody told us that you were six foot and a right hard
man.”
“Well I did a bit of amateur boxing” I replied warming to these now
friendly guys.
“Where is the porn squad then?” I asked.
“They are behind us.”
One of them turned to the other. “I am going to see that cunt Moody when
we get back”
I sensed that they did not like Moody much.
“We were requested on the raid by Inspector Moody of the porn squad and we
will hand you over to him when we get you to the other end” one of them
said informatively.
“They wont beat me up, will they?” I asked
“No son we will make sure of that. There are no marks on you now and that
is how it will stay.”
I pleaded not guilty and was remanded to Brixton prison
for trial at the Old Bailey.
When I came up for trial I had a visitor in the Old Bailey cells Inspector
Bill Moody of the porn squad. The screw opened the door and a scruffy, sly
looking man stood there. “I’m Bill Moody Michael and I would like to help
you.” He said grinning.
“You are fucking bent you bastard,” I shouted at him. “And I am going to
tell the judge when I get upstairs I the court room,”
Moody stayed calm. “Look there is more to life than stepping on the
accelerator. And if you plead guilty you will only do a year out of
eighteen months.”
“How do you know what I am going to get? I replied full of doubt.
“Because I have had a word with the judge and he said that he will give
you eighteen months if you plead guilty. Look you will be out in nine
months with the remand time knocked off! Don’t be silly all your life son
and give me a tinkle at the Yard when you get out.”
The judge gave me eighteen months as Moody had promised and I went to
prison.
Prison was a violent place and if you backed down you would quickly become
a serial victim of extortionists and bullies. Law and order stopped at the
prison gates. I was transferred to Chelmsford prison in Essex. One day the
News of the World did a story about “Big Jeff” the millionaire
pornographer and took aerial pictures of his mansion.
I realised that they were talking about Evan the guy I had sent round Soho
when the shops were told by the OPS not to do business with me because I
had told him to call himself Jeff. It was obvious to me that he had set up
in business on his own.
I received regular visits from my wife Sandra and she would bring me money
and hash which I smuggled in to make life a bit easier.
One day in the workshop a prisoner started flicking pieces of metal at me.
I told him to stop and he replied “Who you talking to cunt!”
“I said that I would see him in the recess later”
The guy replied”all right cunt I will muller you”
Then a voice rang out. “No you won’t be seeing him but me.”
His name was Gerry Hawley, a Soho gangster who later gave the other guy
the beating of his life.
We walked around on exercise together every day and went to the gym
together. I promised to see him when he got out.
I was happy to have Gerry as a friend because I did not know whether Evan
Philips was a Kray front and they were very strong in prison. I knew this
because one day a guy called Big Smithy got stabbed on the exercise yard.
Joey Holland went up behind him a plunged a homemade knife into his back.
Big Smithy turned around and picked up Joey as if he was a baby, even
though he was a six footer and athletic. Smithy got him by the scruff of
the neck and the seat of his pants and began smashing his head out on the
prison wall. By the time the screws arrived Joey’s head was smashed and
the wall was red with his blood. I asked Gerry what it was all about and
he told me the Krays had sent a message to Joey telling him to kill Big
Smithy because they said that he was a grass.
I remembered Bill Moody’s words: “There is more to life than stepping on
the accelerator Mickey. When you get out give me a tinkle.” I thought to
myself that I needed protection if I was to continue my career as a
pornographer.
My discharge came around and I went around to Evan’s
house posh house in Kew and after a bit of arguing he gave some money “a
one off payment” to start up again. He told me that he was “playing the
game now” and paying the porn squad for a licence. I asked him if he was
working for the Kray firm and he denied it saying “those two will never
get out of prison.”
I told him that I intended to start paying too and he said that he would
have a word with his man on the OPS.
I moved into a hotel in Bayswater Terrace and hired two
rooms, one in which I put my equipment in. I did a photo shoot with Sandra
and another model dressed up as nurses. They sold like hotcakes and I was
back in business again. The first time I went round the Soho shops they
all gave me a brown paper envelope for playing the game and keeping
“schtum.” I was not expecting this and I felt good that they were paying
me for keeping silent and when one of the shopkeepers “Fat Bill” suggested
I meet a member of the porn squad in order to get a licence I agree. I did
not fancy going back to the hell hole of an English prison again or being
asked for protection by some Soho gangster!
I met Roy, a sergeant detective in the OPS in a small
coffee bar in Walker’s Court next to the Walkers Court bookshop where Fat
Bill had a partnership with two other guys Ben and Brian. It was the
biggest shop in the Soho formerly called the Kenny Lynch Record Centre.
I sat waiting for Roy and he turned up a quarter of an hour late. He sat
down and I ordered him a coffee. He grinned and said. “I have read a lot
about you Mickey Muldoon and you look just like your picture.” He had
white even teeth and thick dark hair. He was fit, handsome a spoke with a
slight cockney accent. He was friendly and said that he knew my uncle Sid
who worked as a barman in the Cricketers at the Oval. Sid had one arm, the
other being blown off in the Blitz. From the way Roy spoke he obviously
identified with the working classes and tried to emphasise he that came
from the same background as me.
“I will try to get you a licence Mickey,” he said but the governor thinks
that you are a bit of a gangster…”
“I’m a photographer, a company director “I protested.
“Look I will see what I can do and have a chat with Les, the governor.” He
promised.
Fat Bill said that he would ask me to start paying just to see whether or
not I would co-operate and play the game.
“First you will see me for a few months, pay me a tenner a month for
starters and I will look after you. Nothing goes on in the office without
me knowing so you can work without fear of having your collar felt while I
get to know you and sweeten things up with Les.”
I looked into his eyes and he seemed genuine. Here I was the guy who was
not going to pay bent coppers, hoping that Roy would be able to get me a
licence.
Later Fat Bill said to me that”if you were not paying Old Bill then you
would have to pay someone like the Krays!” He then told me a story about
how “a little firm” came into the Walkers Court Bookshop and ask him to
pay protection and he had gone to the meet where he supposed to start
paying and pulled a hand grenade out of the bag and said” Do you want to
be paid because I am already paying Old Bill” and he never had any trouble
after that!
Bill I and became friends and we used to go out to the Toscana an Italian
restaurant in Dean Street for lunch and sometimes in the evening for
dinner as well. Bill introduced me to the owner Walter an Italian. The
restaurant was a meeting place for the Soho fraternity and I met a lot of
interesting people there. We used to stay in when the restaurant closed at
three and business was often done.
The time arrived when I was supposed to meet the head of
the OPS Chief Inspector Alton. Roy told me that the meet would be in a pub
near Scotland Yard, next to the Passport Office in Petty France. Roy would
be there to introduce me. I turned up at the pub at the appointed time
around twelve. No-one was there and I felt uncomfortable at the bar and I
ordered a beer which I sipped while waiting. I was glad when Roy walked
through the door, smiling and walking straight up to me. I had been
waiting half-an-hour and had the feeling that I was under observation by
the regulars at the bar whom I suspected the majority to be coppers from
the Yard.
I ordered Roy a drink and he said that “Les” would be there soon and
repeated the line that Alton thought that “I was a bit of a gangster.” It
was true that I knew the Krays whom I had met in prison when serving time
for the porn offence and that I had gone to see them at the El Morocco in
Gerrard Street. I had gone to see them because I was afraid of snubbing
their invitation and to find out what they wanted. Actually I had met Evan
Philips there (Jeff) and now that he was paying the OPS and doing well I
wondered whether the Reggie Kray had put Evan on to me and if Evan was
really working for the Krays.
I had gone to the El Morocco and had been greeted by
Reggie Kray who extended his arm straight out, gangster fashion and shook
mine. I was wary but he acted friendly and invited me to sit at a special
table “with the chaps” where all drinks were on the house. Other Kray gang
members sat around and I spoke to a few of them including Tony Lambrianou
(whom I would later meet when serving a life sentence.) The club was
luxurious and Reggie had gestured around at all the “punters” some of whom
were famous show business people such as Stanley Baker and Barbara
Windsor.
Reggie said “All the punters are down there but you can sit here with the
chaps.” He pointed to a young guy playing the piano and remarked “That’s
Ronnie’s boyfriend but don’t say anything because he gets the right
needle.” There was that hint of menace in his voice and I thought to
myself that I certainly would not make any disparaging remarks! During my
drink with the chaps Reggie had introduced me to Evan Philips whom he
described as “a rich boy whose father had bought him the Glynn Martin
accommodation bureau in Shaftsbury Avenue for something to do.”
Reggie sitting next to me had said in a friendly way “Don’t trust him yet
though because we don’t know the full SP.” As I sat next to Reggie I had
been wary but Evan, who spoke with a middle-class accent slightly tinged
with Welsh, was friendly.
However when I left the El Morocco the doorman Punchy Smith picked an
argument with me. He followed me as I went to my car which was parked in
Shaftsbury Avenue. As I got in he took out a gun I drove straight at him
and he had to dive out of the way. I wasn’t going to intimidated by the
Twins and I knew that if I shoed any sign of cowardice I would have to
start paying them “protection.” I was paranoid and on my guard for a few
months after but received no threats or any other sign.
After a few phone calls during which he never mentioned
the “Punchy” incident I started to see Evan socially and often went to
restaurants with him with our wives, both of whom were called Sandra. He
started to work for me as “Jeff” soon after I got arrested by the OPS and
sent to prison for eighteen months.
All this was going through my mind as I stood at the bar at the pub in
Petty France. I started to deny the “gangster” tag with Roy and explained
how I been summoned by Reggie Kray and why I had gone. Roy laughed “You
made your reputation in the Ville as a hard man, didn’t you and had a few
fights, its all on your record and that is why Reggie wanted to get to
know you. Don’t worry I will explain all that to Les. I know that you are
not a gangster.”
I was eager to emphasise that all I wanted to do was to make photos and
films and supply the sexshops.”
“Don’t worry Mickey, I know that you are a bit of an artist, all that
painting, drawing and photography you have done since you were a kid.” It
was amazing how much he had learned about me from my record. Roy gave me a
reassuring smile. I was eager now to pay and get a licence and give the
brown paper envelope in my pocket to Les and get my “licence”
Suddenly the door opened and a large, tall red faced man wearing a Mac,
suit and tie entered the door of the pub.
Roy nudged me and said “Les has just entered, that’s him.
Les came over to Roy and shook hands but ignored me except for a dirty
look. I felt slightly humiliated.
But then Roy spoke “I would like to introduce you to Mickey.”
Alton replied to Roy but turned his back on me and was not friendly at
all. Roy nudged me and said in a low voice. “Buy him a drink.”
I turned to the big man and said “Can I buy you a drink?”
I was relieved when he replied “I’ll have a Ding Dong” and turned abruptly
back to his barely audible conversation with Roy. Evidently they were
arguing and Roy was putting my case for a license!
Alton already looked a bit inebriated when I ordered a round of drinks
including a “large Ding Dong.”
I was right, Alton did look a bit worse for wear. His face was red and he
had the roseate complexion of the heavy drinker. I looked around the bar
and everyone seemed to be knocking back the drinks. I looked at the clock
and closing time was not that far off. The brown paper envelope was
burning a hole in my pocket and ironically I was eager to give my cash in
a subservient manner to the large blustering, florid alcoholic head of the
porn squad who still seemed to be arguing with Roy.
Suddenly he turned to me and said. “Roy has told me that you are all right
but I have my suspicions that you are a bit of a gangster.”
I looked Alton in the eye and pleaded my case. “I’m not a gangster, I am a
photographer and filmmaker and that is all I want to do. I assure you.”
I had dressed smartly for the occasion with a tie but wore a leather
jacket.
Alton looked at the jacket a look of ridicule on his face. “Bit of a
leather boy are we?” he said with a smirk.
“No” I denied the accusation “This is the latest style now.” I kept my
temper and realised that he was deliberately insulting me to see if I
would become angry.
“Bit of a hard man aren’t you, had a few fights in the recess, know the
Kray twins.”
I protested my innocence.
I bought another round of drinks and Alton seemed to be softening his
attitude towards me. “All right then I am going to give you a chance for a
trial run, but any gangster nonsense and you will be out.” He looked at me
threateningly.
“Don’t be silly” I replied I am just a photographer and just want to get
on with my job and earn a bit of money.
“I’m going for a piss”, he replied and he walked off lurching slightly
towards the toilets.
Roy looked at me and gave me a lop sided grin, showing those white even
teeth. “Go into the toilet and give him the envelope” he said.
Alton stood in the toilet his hand against the wall, steadying himself
while pissing. I went straight up to him and taking the brown paper
envelope from my pocket I extended my hand offering him the money.
H gave me a bleary look but made no attempt to take it. I glanced at the
toilet door worried someone would come in.
I stood there what seemed like ages then the drunken head of the porn
squad mumbled.
“I don’t know if I am making a big mistake here” he said slurring his
words and swaying.
The toilet walls were green, the urinal covered with the yellow lime of
the many drinkers who had pissed on the walls. The ammonia stench of stale
urine assailed my nostrils as I wondered whether someone would come in and
if Les would gracefully relieve me of my cash. Strangely no-one entered
while Alton and I were in the toilet.
Then he suddenly extended his hand and took the envelope muttering “You
behave yourself or you will be out as quick as you got in.”
I walked out into the fresh air of Petty France leaving
Roy and Alton at the bar and found my car, got in and drove half pissed to
my flat in Stockwell Road, South London.
The flat was shabby from the outside, over car showrooms, but luxurious
inside.
My wife Sandra looked at me expectantly and smiled and I hugged her saying
in triumph:” I met Alton gave him the bread. We have got a licence! Let’s
go out to the Toscana for dinner tonight.”
Sandra smiled at the news of our newly found security. “Great Mickey I
will phone Daphne to baby-sit.”
Edited: 1 June 2007
So now I had a licence: One day Alton said to me” Come
up the office and see me. There are a few things that I want to spell out
to you about your licence.” It was weird the way he talked, as if the
licence was an official one issued by the Home Office! In a way it was but
then I did not know that then.
“What do you mean Scotland Yard” I said surprised.
“Yes come over to New Scotland Yard. You know just round the corner from
where we met in Petty France.”
“But how do I get in?” I replied with doubt.
“Simply walk in through the front door and take the lift up to the fifth
floor. Walk along the corridor and my office is down the passage on the
right.”
I found Scotland Yard with the revolving metal emblem outside and starting
walking towards the front door. The situation was surreal and I had the
feeling that the gods were laughing at the amusing situation they had
placed me in.
I walked in the front door went over to the lift and pressed the button
for the fifth floor. The door opened and there was the corridor. I was
getting paranoid walking down the passage. No-one had stopped me and here
I was in the Yard. What was I doing here? Suddenly a man smoking a pipe
emerged from one of the offices and came towards me.
As he neared he greeted me with “Good morning Michael!” I had never seen
him before in my life but I realised immediately that he had read my
record and recognised me from the photo.( Later I learnt that it was
Commander Drury who was to be grassed on by Jimmy Humphries the nightclub
and porn shop owner.) and sent to prison.
“Good morning,” I answered politely” I am looking for Chief Inspector
Alton’s office.”
“It is over there on the right” the unknown detective replied, puffing on
his pipe
I knocked on the door and Lesley Alton’s voice answered “Come in.”
I walked in and Les was sitting behind a desk.
“Sit down!” he ordered brusquely.
I sat down and he began to speak laying down the rules of my licence: “No
mail-order, no exporting, no underage girls and you are to give me a copy
of every film that you make and a set of each of the photos.”
I sat there paying attention like a private listening to his commanding
officer.
“I will also be coming over to your flat in Stockwell on an official
visit. Also when you ring up the office, if you need to contact me you
will say that it is Mr King. Have you got all that?”
I had also brought a brown paper envelope with my monthly payment inside.
I put my hand inside my pocket and brought it out. “Do you want this now
“I had asked waving it in the air? This was filthy lucre and he was paying
attention to me now.
Just leave it on my desk,” was the laconic reply and that will be all for
now. And remember no more gangster stuff, knocking out people and all
that.”
“Okay Lesley,” I replied “but that was because he owed me some money and
would not pay me and called me a cunt.” I realised that Les knew
everything that went on in Soho. It was true that I had knocked out one of
the shopkeepers, a flash guy, big with muscular arms who had told me to
fuck off when we argued over a long outstanding bill. I often used to see
him posing outside Bill the Dustman’s shop in Frith Street. After I had
taught him a lesson I found out from Bill that it was his brother-in-law!
I had to be the hard man on the Soho turf or people would take liberties.
Now here I was trying to make Alton think that I was meek and mild! I
don’t think that he was fooled much though. I trained with weights and
looked muscular and fit. I also had a couple of scars from old prison
fights. I started amateur boxing at fourteen because my father thought
that I was gay and made me go!
Lesley’s voice broke my reverie. “Well in future just let me know about
any problems that you have and I will sort them out for you.”
“Thank you Lesley,” I replied with a smile. “So I did not have to be my
own policeman anymore” I thought.
Les did not return my smile but replied dismissively. “All right that will
be it for now. I will see you next month.”
“What up here in the office? I replied.
“I will phone you and make a meet,” he replied.
I stood up glad to be leaving.
Out in the fresh air I walked up the road to Petty France where I had left
my car.
As I drove home I laughed at the bizarre situation that I found myself in.
The more I supplied the bookshops of Soho the more I learnt because the
guys in the shops loved to talk shop to someone who had a licence like
themselves.
I got to know all the guys in the bookshops and some of them had a
surprising history and I realised that some of the porn squad had their
own shops or a share in a shop, in which they had placed their own man.
Bill the Dustman had been nicked by Bill Moody for stealing a carpet out
of a hostel when he worked as a dustman.
Bill was a big jolly cockney lad who liked to spend most of his life in
the pub while his mate Tommy worked in the bookshop in Frith Street.
He asked me to meet him one day for a drink.
“I meet Bill Moody on your manor. You know in Bedford Hill, south London,
and The Bedford. You know don’t you?
I knew the pub which was opposite Clapham North Tube station and turned up
there to meet Bill.
Bill was propping up the bar. He was a large man with an impressive gut
from too much beer and food.
He introduced to his wife, a chubby red faced woman in a fur coat who
greeted me with “Hello love, pleased to meet you,” shook hands and then
went back to sit at a table with her girlfriend while Bill stood at the
bar talking men’s business. Bill was in there nearly every day and when he
had downed a few pints his big cheery face would light up and he would
begin to talk shop.
“Yeah, Bill’s a good geezer; I mean he caught me bang to rights when I
nicked a carpet out of a hostel. I just rolled it up and put it on the
cart! He said with a grin, pulling back his double breasted grey suit
exposing a nice freshly laundered shirt and an expensive tie, waiting for
my laugh. He brushed his hand through his cropped greying hair and rubbed
the stubble on his chin.
I laughed on cue and thought that he did not look much like a dustman now
with his expensive suits, a Rolex clad wrist, and a two carat diamond
glinting on his little finger that signalled his nouveaux riche status. I
always knew when he was in the pub because his brand new Ford Executive
would be parked outside.
My approving laugh encouraged him to go on about Inspector Bill Moody.
“Yeah, he tracked me down to the dustcart and do you know what we ended up
going for a drink together. He was the first Old Bill that I ever gave a
drink to. Do you what I mean like?”
I laughed again and glanced over at his wife who was always dressed in her
long Mink coat, her gin and orange on the table in front of her an
incongruous lipstick stained Players Weight in her mouth. I did not smoke
and hated the acrid smell. My clothes stunk of it if I stayed too long in
the Bedford chatting and reminiscing with Bill but I liked to get the
information.
“Yeah, Bill helped me out and we started to meet for a drink. That is how
I got into the porn game when Bill got on the porn squad he got me the
shop in Frith Street and got me a licence. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean Bill, I said but he nicked Sandra when I was
in the nick even though I kept schtum,” I replied remembering the time
when Sandra had carried on my business when I was serving my time.
“Not very nice when he would not let me earn a living? I continued with a
touch of anger.
Bill’s face fell and he looked at the floor. “Bill told me about that.
There was nothing he could do. The order came from above.” he said
defending his friend.
I looked doubtful, here it was again that phrase “It came from above” as
though God had ordered it.
“What do you mean? I asked.
Bill moved in closer and put his hand alongside his mouth, his forefinger
alongside his nose so no one could lip read him and spoke in a whisper.
“Bill told me that it’s the Home Office that tells them what to do. But
don’t ever say so to anyone.” His face took on a serious expression and he
moved back to his position at the bar.
I realised that I had learned something important here. “Okay Bill” I
replied with a smile. I would never say a word.
Bill knew that he had impressed me with this important nugget of
information.
One eyed Jimmy ran a shop in Greek Street and had a glass eye. He had a
big shop with a large backroom with hundreds of sets of photographs all
over the wall and it was obvious that he could never have taken them down
in a hurry and never had to do so.
He always paid up on time giving me a brown paper envelope with “Greek”
written on it in marker pen. The preliminaries over he would light one of
his King Edward cigars, stick a tooth pick in the end, and holding the
toothpick between his teeth., Puffing on his cigar?” revealing gold teeth
then take out a bottle of Five Kings Greek brandy.
“Want a drink Mickey? He would ask and I would usually have one for social
reasons. I would also smoke a bit of weed in his shop. I never smoked
tobacco just pure herbal cannabis in a single paper. Sometimes the punters
leafing through the sets of photographs would sniff the air and glance
over but Bill never seemed to mind except for a mild rebuke.
“That stuff does not half stink Mickey,” Jimmy would say a smile on his
thin lips.
“Yeah so do those fucking cigars” I would reply and he would laugh and
take a sip on his brandy, staring at me his glass eye dull and lifeless. I
thought “If someone could invent a realistic looking eye whose pupil
dilated and closed then Jimmy would be the first one to buy it.”
(He introduced me to a Master Sergeant in the US air force stationed at
Ruislip and from then on I always had a supply of King Edwards and
American alcohol in my house. I gave films in exchange that the air force
boys used to watch the sergeant reporting back on the audience response).
One-eyed Jimmy used to know the porn squad well and he would let them use
a flat for their stag shows up in Oxford Street where they watched films
and entertained hookers and models.
“Yeah do know the Greek model Gina well they had her down there the other
night and she gave them all a blow job but got really pissed as usual.”
One eyed Jimmy looked at me a smirk on his face. “And they all fucking
pissed all over her, yeah pissed all over.” He repeated for emphasis. “And
do you know what that dirty bitch said?”
“No” I said encouragingly waiting for the punch line.
“She said that she thought that it was fucking beer. You know that they
were pouring their drinks over her!” He laughed slapping his thigh.
I laughed my approval. “Is that why they call them the Dirty Dozen?” I
quipped.
Jimmy laughed out loud at this and a few punters looked over but then went
back to their search for the fantasy that they were looking for. At
frequent intervals a customer would approach the till and Jimmy would take
a fiver for every set, wrapping them in a plain brown paper bag which he
would seal with sellotape from a machine on the counter, his cigar in his
mouth, large diamond ring, gold watch and cuff links, glinting as he added
the money to a large roll that he stuffed into his back pocket.
Continued 1 June 2007
The phone was ringing I picked it up and it was Roy on the other end.
“Have you got your Xmas booze yet?
“No I said I have not.”
“Well then” Roy replied I know where to get some really cheap. Look I will
pull up outside your place about two o’clock and give you a bib on the
horn. You just follow me up okay.”
“Okay Roy! I will be looking out for you.” I replied.
At around two o clock Roy pulled up outside my flat in his Mark 2 Jaguar.
I went downstairs saying to Sandra that I was going to collect my Xmas
booze and would be back in a couple of hours.
I spoke to Roy through the window of his Jaguar. “Hello Roy all right? I
said. Where are we going?”
“It is over at Peckham” he replied through the window of his Jag. “Just
follow me up and when we get there just don’t say anything then the chaps
in there will think that you are Old Bill.” He laughed. “It’s an LF and I
gave them a licence when I was on the Fraud Squad!”
I followed Roy’s Jag through Brixton and Camberwell over to a Peckham
backstreet where we pulled up outside a firm. The name Rangelines Ltd was
over the door. It was busy with men unloading and loading vehicles with
cases of spirits. I got out of my car and we stood on the pavement for a
moment.
Roy said to me “All spirits are a pound a bottle. You can have as much as
you like.”
We walked into the warehouse and a guy that knew Roy came up to him.
They spoke together and the guy turned to me and said” You just choose
what you want and someone will wheel it out to your car.”
I walked around the warehouse and started to pick up boxes of whiskey,
brandy, vodka and gin. There was a good selection of top branded goods and
soon my Ford Executive was loaded, including the boot, back and front
seats. I recognised one of the loaders whom I had seen during my time in
the Ville and he gave me a funny look but I don’t know whether he
recognised me or not and ignored him. I paid the boss of the Long Firm a
pound for each bottle that I had taken and he stuffed some boxes of nuts
into the car.
Roy said “I’ll see you later and drove off.”
As I drove home to Stockwell I realised that the corruption did not stop
at the porn squad and that bent detectives moved from squad to squad. It
was becoming obvious to me that the corruption was widespread!
Roy liked a drink and we would go to various pubs and
clubs in Soho but he never bought a drink as the publicans all knew that
he was a copper and it was always on the house. One day we went to the Wig
and Pen Club, frequented by writers it was said. The drinks piled up on
the bar in front of us as everyone wanted to buy us a drink. Then the
landlord was calling time up and people were trying to get in one more
drink before closing time
Roy pulled out his warrant card and shouted” I am extending the licence of
this establishment for another hour.” A big cheer went up and more drinks
arrived. Later I staggered out of there seeing double. Roy could drink
like a fish!
Roy also liked a meal and we would go out to restaurants together. He
lived in Five Oaks Green in Kent and sometimes we would go to restaurants
around his area. He loved French cooking, as I did, and we enjoyed la
cuisine Francais in some of the best restaurants. The meals were washed
down with expensive wine and we usually finished up with a Napoleon
brandy. We had long conversations about the porn business and the Soho
scene and slowly I was getting the whole picture about who was who and who
owned what, including pubs, strip joints, brothels, blue film shows and of
course the sex shops.
The phone was ringing and it was Alton. “I will see you in the Fox and
hounds at twelve.” He said with authority.
I turned up at Midday Alton stood at the bar with another guy whom I did
not recognise.
Alton turned to me and introduced me to the other detective as Sergeant
Philips who was evidently on the porn squad. We went over to a window seat
where Les and his colleague settled themselves on stools. It was
understood that I would buy every round!
I went over to the bar and ordered two double Ding Dongs on the rocks and
two beers. I poured both the whiskeys into one glass and went over to the
two thirsty detectives. Les started gulping down his drink immediately and
every time I bought the drinks I did the same thing! It was not long
before Les was looking a bit pissed. When he went to the pissoir I
followed and gave him the brown paper envelope. He staggered as he came
back to where we were sitting.
Suddenly he turned to the sergeant and said “Get me a car, phone and get
me a car.” I knew that he was feeling a bit worse for wear because of the
enormous amount of alcohol he had consumed!
When the sergeant had gone I started to speak to the inebriated Les. “Les
can I have a licence for a shop” I asked. I had always wanted my own shop.
It was a real money maker and I could use it as a warehouse in Soho to
supply the shops and possible have some processing equipment in there too.
“Come on Les, can I have shop? I pleaded.
“No more shops in Soho,” Les replied.
“Ahh Les….”
“Victoria is the new place…if you behave yourself…where is my car? Les
slurred out the words.
Suddenly he gave an involuntary spasm and despite him holding his mouth
closed a thin trickle of vomit trickled down the trench coat that he was
wearing.
I took the silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit and wiped
off the vomit, stuffing the soiled cloth into his pocket.
“Come on Les. Let’s get you outside,” I said.” The fresh air will do you
good.”
Alton was a big man and with an enormous effort I managed to manoeuvre his
huge bulk out into Peter Street and prop him up against the wall of the
pub.
As luck would have it I spied a taxi parked on the corner of Wardour
Street. I waved and beckoned to the driver, who was off duty eating a
sandwich. But he gave a sign that he was not interested in taking a
passenger who was obviously drunk.
Just at that moment I spied an acquaintance called Joey Janes who worked
in a bookshop approaching down Berwick Street.
I gestured to Joey to come and help me but when he saw Lesley Alton, whom
he obviously recognised, he shook his head and carried on walking.
“Joey I shouted look” I pulled a twenty pound note from my bankroll in my
back pocket and waved it at Joey. “Look just give this to the taxi driver
at the end of the street and tell him that is a present from me and he
will get his fare as well if he takes my passenger, who is ill, home to
Esher in Surrey.
Joey nodded “All right my boy” he said and walked along to the end of
Peter Street where the taxi driver was still parked on the corner of
Wardour Street. I saw the taxi driver take the cash and Joey beckoned but
sped off.
With a supreme effort I got my shoulder under Les’s saying “Look Les I
have got you a taxi all we have to do is get to the end of the street.” I
half carried the Head of the Porn Squad down Peter Street.
As I pushed him into the back door of the waiting taxi a big pile of brown
envelopes and cash poured onto the floor and the taxi driver’s eyes bulged
in surprise. I scooped up the cash and the envelopes and stuffed them back
into the big poacher’s pockets in Les trench coat.
“Take him to Esher, Surrey” I said to the taxi driver and he will give you
the fare and a nice drink at the other end.”
I laughed to myself as the taxi drove off up Wardour Street.
Continued 6 June 2007
I walked down the alley called Greens Court and into Monty’s shop. I knew
that it was one of Mason’s shops. The mysterious Mason had several shops
in Soho and all of them were earning a fortune. Monty was Jewish like most
of the people who worked for Mason. Monty looked at me through the serving
hatch in the wall that separated the front of the shop, which contained
legal material, and the inner sanctum of the backroom where all the
material books, photos and films where illegal. He pulled a string that
released a bolt and I entered the backroom. The room was full of customers
searching through the photos on the counters, which, like all the
bookshops, were placed in long wooded boxes labelled “singles, couples,
trios, groups, les, flag, juve, bondage, homo and animal. The juvenile
photos were real but most were old for the simple reason that if someone
sold underage (under sixteen) material to a shop, the shopkeeper had to
inform the porn squad and they were busted! I looked at a picture of a
young girl with an old man.
Monty looked over his glasses at me “I don’t like them with blokes, just
solo is all right. Do you know who she is with?”
“No” I replied with interest.
“It was her father!” Monty said with a chuckle. “Dirty bastard.”
I chuckled along with Monty. Then I noticed a photo of a middle-aged man
above the inside of the serving hatch. The caption “Do not serve this
man,” was written above the photograph .Customers had to look through this
hole in the wall to gain access to the backroom.
“Who is that guy? I questioned Monty.
Monty gave me a knowing look over the top of his glasses and rubbed his
pot belly. That’s Cyril Black the MP. (Don’t remember if this is the right
name) He used to come into the shops buy some porn then stand up in
Parliament with it. He’s an anti- porn campaigner who tries to get the
shops closed, but he can’t get served anywhere now!” Monty said with a
satisfied look on his face.
Where did you get the picture? “I asked.
“The dirty squad,” Monty replied.
I noticed that the Danish magazines that used to be on prominent display
had been taken down. “Hey where are all the Danish mags gone? I asked.
“Oh! We got the tip off that the Danish ambassador is coming round the
shops and the order is to take them all down until after he goes back to
Denmark.”
“Why is that Monty?” I asked.
“Because the Danes are complaining that it gives their county a bad image”
He sniggered. “Dirty Danes, they fucking legalised porn over there. The
mags are fucking legal out there and you can buy them in the newsagent.”
Monty looked indignant realising that he would be out of a job if this
happened in England.
I laughed to myself. From what I could hear a lot of countries were
following Denmark’s lead as sex crimes had fallen dramatically.
“Might happen here too” I said to Monty to get his response.
Monty’s face grew angry. “It will never happen here” he said indignantly.
“Do you know why?” he was raising his voice now and a couple of punters
looked over. He noticed this and lowered it to a normal pitch...
“Why Monty?” I pressed. I wanted to know why because I wanted pornography
to be made legal because then I would be one hundred per cent legitimate
myself.
“There is too fucking much money in it that’s’ why,” Monty said with
A snort of derision at my apparent naivety. Little did he know that I
wanted it legalised myself.
I walked around the corner to Walker’s Court past Raymond’s Revue Bar and
into the big front of the Walkers Court Bookshop. Ben looked through the
hatch and seeing it was me pulled the rope to unbolt the door to the inner
room. The backroom was very busy indeed with three co-owners Ben, Brian
and Bill manning the tills and serving constantly. I knew that they wee
taking a fortune because I supplied them and knew just how much they were
earning from my publications alone.
Fat Bill greeted me with a smile. “Hello Mickey. Do fancy going over to
the Toscana for lunch “
Bill looked at me his eyes reduced by his glasses to currants in a bun,
dancing with glee at the prospect of food.
He always reminded me of Billy Bunter but, of course, I never told him
that! “Okay Bill. Yes I fancy a meal.” I replied.
Bill turned to Ben and Brian. “Me and Mickey will be off to the Toscana in
a minute. All right?” Bill said to his partners.
They were busy serving and Brian replied all right Bill” and went back
serving.
Ben looked through the hatch. “Hold on the governor is here,” he said
pulling the bolt.
To my surprise Alton poked his head in the door and said, surveying the
crowded backroom with a smile of approval. “Everything all right! If
anyone wants to see me I’ll be in the Fox and Hounds.” He gave me an
approving look and I tried to smile.
Bill, Ben and Brian all nodded in obeisance and I realised then that it
was Les who ran Soho.
24th June 2007 continued
Joey James worked for Bernie who owned a large number of
bookshops and other establishments such as flats that he rented out to
business girls. I got to know Joey socially and although he was sixty four
his wife was only twenty four. His wife was about the same age as my wife
Sandra and as they got on together we would go out to eat or to the
Playboy Club in Park Lane. When I walked into Joey’s shop there was a guy
looking at the books, Joey did not greet me with his usual good humour but
was serious and seemed a little bit frightened. Then the big guy
introduced himself and I knew why because as soon as he said “Bernie” I
knew that I was talking to a very powerful and supposedly ruthless and
violent man.
I did not know why he wanted to take me “to lunch” but I
nodded and he guided me just a few feet into the Italian restaurant next
door. The owner obviously knew Bernie as he ran about drawing out chairs
and acting in an obsequious manner as though Bernie was the King. I looked
at Bernie who people called” the King of Soho.” He was smartly dressed in
a three piece suit and looked every inch the Jewish businessman.
Bernie looked at me and asked me if I needed any help in getting a
licence.
I smiled and thanked him and said that I was already paying someone from
the OPS Alton.
He nodded at this piece of information. He was a connoisseur of Italian
food and introduced me to some dishes that I had never tried before. After
the meal he said that he wanted me to accompany him and we walked through
the streets of Soho to a pub in Seville Row. It was past closing time but
the door opened as soon as Bernie peered through the glass.
We entered a big salon and sitting around the tables were groups of men,
Jews, Maltese, Greeks and Irish. Everyone nodded at Bernie and now at me
but no general conversation took place between the groups all who seemed
to know each other. I was the new guy here and some gave me hard looks
that I returned with equal intensity. I wore a three piece blue chalk
stripe suit with two vents. I swept back my jacket and stuck my thumbs in
the pockets of the waistcoat. I looked down and noticed that my black
leather handmade shoes were very shiny. I looked the part, a Soho hard
man: one of the chaps... I was only five feet nine but very muscular and
trained hard on the weights. I was beginning to think that Bernie had
brought me here to use me as a bit of muscle. I did not mind, even though
he had not asked me because he was a powerful guy and I wanted to be his
friend.
There were bowls of pistachio nuts on the table and the Greeks and Maltese
were continuously cracking them open. I reached down took some and started
to eat the little salty nuts myself. It was the ritual of cracking open
the little shell and prising out the green nut without breaking it.
The room now contained several groups and as no new people were arriving
everybody seemed to be waiting for someone.
Bernie was not saying much but then the door opened and a guy in a light
coloured trench coat opened the door and entered.
Bernie turned to me and said in a low voice “the governor of West End
Central.” His eyes met mine and the look implied that I was now the keeper
of some terrible secret.
I looked at the non descript man in the trench coat who did not seem to be
drinking a lot but made frequent rips to the toiled in which he stayed for
some time while people from the tables got up and visited the toilet.
Then it was Bernie’s turn and he got up and visited the toilet too.
Everyone sat there until the business was over and the “governor” had
left. As he walked out his poacher pockets bulging I realised that the
corruption in Soho did not start and end with Scotland Yard but the
uniform man in West End Central was playing the game too. It was a
peculiar meeting with Bernie and I did not see much of him after that day.
I expressed my surprise to Joey that Bernie had asked me to go with him to
the meeting in Seville Row but he did not seem to want to talk about it
but just repeated “Bernie is a very powerful man.” before he switched the
subject matter.
My children Billy and Laura were getting bigger now and I wanted to get
them into a private school. I was poor as a kid and went to Santley Street
Secondary Modern in Brixton. I remembered seeing “rich kids” in their
smart little uniforms and running after them with my mates, name calling
things likened “posh kid I am going to hit you,” and throwing stones as we
chased them enviously up the road.
My kids were going to get the best chance in life and with this in mind I
drove up Kings Avenue and into the driveway of the big mansion, set in
leafy grounds which I knew to be a private school.
Soon I was sitting in the large front room which was the head mistress’s
study and she was asking me questions.
“What is your name?
“Michael,” I answered in my posh voice.
“And your surname?”
“Muldoon” I replied awaiting the inevitable question.
“What part of Ireland do you come from?
“I was born here and so was my father ,it was my grandfather who was
Irish.”
The head mistress with her plummy accent studied me through her
spectacles. “And what part of Ireland did he come from?
“I am afraid that I don’t know I replied.
All I knew about him was that they called him flash Mick and he was a
money lender and owned a library and a greengrocers shop in Lark hall lane
in South London.
The woman was speaking again.
How old is your daughter Mr Muldoon?
“Er, nearly four,” I replied.
“And what is your occupation?
“I own a film processing laboratory” I replied.
“Oh I see,” she replied.
My big brand new car was outside and my handmade suit, shirt, shoes, gold
watch and diamond ring broadcast my wealth. I knew that I could afford the
fees.
“Well Mr Muldoon it is far too late for your daughter to come here because
one has to put their name down before birth.” she said in a superior way
smiling condescendingly on this working class boy from Brixton. My vision
of my daughter dressed in the smart little uniform of this posh school
vanished in a puff of disillusion at my lowly origins.
I had been in a flat with Brian once near Holloway prison, a council flat
and over the mantelpiece was a picture of Alton, Ben and Brian on horses,
dressed in all the riding gear. I was surprised t see this fraternity
between off duty coppers and sex shop owners and Brian had informed me
that they “all sent their children to the same schools” and fraternised
together. I never took things this far the same as I never went to the pub
in Soho Square where the OPS and shop keepers drank together.
The head mistress was speaking to me. “I can recommend
another private school in Streatham”
I drove out of the big mansion and onto the South Circular and up to the
address that the woman had given me. Soon I was seated inside the cosy
little study talking to the principal who was a tweedy looking woman in
her Sixties.
How old is your daughter?
“She is nearly four,” I replied.
“Oh you have left it a bit late, haven’t you Mr Muldoon?”
I had a disappointed look on my face and was beginning to think that I was
not going to be able to get my daughter into the school. Having a daughter
in a private school was a status symbol that I wanted. I could show people
in Brixton that I was rich and I knew that I wanted it for that reason and
not just to give my daughter a better chance in life. I wanted everything
that rich people had.
The principal was talking to me. The fees are £??? So much a term. (I
can’t remember) I smiled because I was being accepted and the sum was
quite reasonable and affordable.
“Do call me Michael wont you?” I replied. Yes madam I can write you out a
cheque now. Not for the term but for the whole year.
The woman’s eyes lit up and I thought that this was more like it, “money
talked!”
I pulled out my gold Parker pen and signed with a flourish. I had got the
pen from Brian who regularly bought gold, silver and precious things from
a character that would visit the walkers Court shop. I myself had acquired
watches, rings and pieces of expensive jewellery for my wife and bargain
prices.
My diamond sparkled as I put the pen back into my pocket.
I was pleased as my daughter would now start at the school in a few weeks
time!
“Have you any other children Michael? The kind looking woman was asking
me.
“Yes a boy William who is nearly three I smiled.
“Well would you like him to come to nursery school? The principal asked.
“Oh I did not realise that he could come I smiled pleased at the thought
that he could come too.
I pulled out my cheque book again and paid other years fees for my son
too. The principal gave me the address of the school outfitters and Sandra
took both my children there the next day
Continued 3rd July 2007
As I walked around the Soho sex-shops my films and
photos were in every shop, I was supplying about eighty per cent of the
material sold in the bookshops. Not for nothing had Alton given me the
code name “Mr King” for I was the porn king of Soho. I made a delivery of
new sets of photos every week and a new film every month. I was prolific.
I went around Soho every week to obtain orders on new
material but this particular week I was told that the order had come from
the OPS that no-one was to sell hardcore. The OPS would telephone the
shops to say that a raid was imminent and that no stuff was to be left in
the shops. Most of the shops obeyed but one or two rebels like Flash Mick
in St Anne’s Court disobeyed and worked out of a suitcase that could
quickly disappear. Flash Mick had a special chute under the counter into
which the suitcase would be put in the event of a raid and two touts
acting as lookouts at either end of the alley St Anne’s Court! When I
walked into his shop the Irishman’s eyes lit up in amusement because he
was fucking the system.
“To be sure I am earning a fucking fortune be Jasus” he said with a broad
smile. The two carat diamond ring on his pinkie flashed and glittered and
as he laughed a gold tooth glittered too in his mouth.
He knew that I was of Irish descent and that I really hated the corrupt
porn squad and resented paying them money like he did.
He ordered twice his usual order because the punters went round to his
shop knowing that he would not obey the order not to work. Another guy in
St Anne’s Court also was a rebel and worked out of a suitcase too. When I
walked into Bobby Katz’s shop he was laughing too because he was earning
double his usual take. He was a Jewish guy who I had become really
friendly.
Bobby liked to drink and we would go to Muriel’s in Soho and drink until
the early hours of the morning. We were regulars at Muriel’s and when we
entered we would be slagged off by Muriel, the lesbian owner and Ian
Bannen her queer partner.
“Hello Doris” Muriel would greet me “have you sucked off any big cocks
lately?” This was a typical greeting and the rule was that one did not get
offended and merely laughed at the old dyke or her partner the queer Ian.
When he had imbibed a few whiskeys Bobby’s head would start to turn at a
360 degree angle and he would emit a kind of snorting sound. This was
ignored by me and everyone else.
Bobby was an ex inmate of Belsen and when he was inebriated he would tell
us about his life in the labour camps.
“They wanted unpaid labour, slaves to work in their factories. There were
brick buildings, flats in which we lived and every SS officer was assigned
a certain number of Jewish slaves and he got paid for the labour which we
did.” When Bobbie spoke there was a respectful silence and he would show
us the tattooed number on is arm that identified him as a slave of the
Third Reich. The stories of cruelty and suffering that he would tell in
his cups remained in my psyche forever we would drink until the early
hours of the morning and stagger out into the Soho night to drive home,
blind
Drunk.
One of the regulars was Francis Bacon the painter and I would often join
his circle because Francis was fascinated by pornography and loved to talk
about it, He would squeeze my knee and come onto to me because he liked
muscular guys like me. I also enjoyed his company and he would buy every
round of drinks while regaling us with tales of his queer love life and
the art world. One particular story I liked was when he received a
commission to do a painting. He sat down in front of the canvas but the
sitter wanted a bigger canvas. He hen got a huge canvas but would not let
the commissioner see the work until he was paid thirty six thousand
pounds. He then revealed a tiny portrait in the middle of a huge canvass!
When I went to one of the biggest shops in Soho. Mason’s
shop in Moore Street I was told to go out of the door and enter the first
doorway on the right and go up to the first floor. I followed the
directions, walking past a sign that said “model second floor” and knocked
on the first floor door as instructed. The door was opened by Chico who
smiled and said “Come on in Mickey.”
I entered the crowded room which was full of punters leafing through sets
of photos, books and films. I realised that they were earning a fortune.
Serving all the eager punters were Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn who smiled
and nodded a greeting. The order was massive because they were working
during the shut down.
However the enterprise came on top when Monty saw a shop lifter stuffing
some sets of photos into his inside pocket.
“Hey you” Monty shouted and with this the thief jumped straight through
the window and landed with a shower of glass onto the Soho pavement in
Moore Street. Unluckily for Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn a passing
uniformed police officer was in the vicinity and came running over to lift
up the man on the pavement. As he did so the stolen photos and so on fell
out onto the Soho pavement of Moore Street. The police officer marched the
punter back up the stairs and rapped on the door indicated by the punter
thief.
When the door was opened Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn had blended into the
punters.
The police officer said “Look when you tell me who is running the show
here, then the rest of you can go home.”
The punters did no say much but all eyes swivelled onto the three Jewish
entrepreneurs.
The uniformed man said, pointing at Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn. “All you
lot can go home but you three remain here for questioning.
The Porn Squad was called in from the Yard and the guilty three were for
the high jump because they were not playing the game in breach of their
licence.
I went into Chico’s shop a week
Later and he told me that the Porn Squad had fined them a few grand for
disobeying orders.
“Did you pay? I asked.
“We had to Mickey” he replied.
Continued 8th July 2007
As I entered Walker’s Court Bookshop Fat Bill greeted me
with an excited look on his face. “Woofy is waiting for you at Lyons
Corner House. He met a girl called Susan, a right dirty bitch. Blimey”
Bill wiped his brow, and took a breath. He was panting, his little black
eyes dancing with glee behind his spectacles. “I had her in here, stuffed
a fucking great dildo up her arse and cunt, and she fucking loved it! Go
on down to Lyons where Woofy is hanging onto her for you. She is fucking
hot.”
I walked out of Walker’s Court Bookshop, turned right into Walker’s Court,
and crossed Berwick Street, down Wardour Street, hurrying towards Lyon’s
in Leicester Square. I certainly wanted to meet this girl and my cock was
already signalling little twinges of anticipation.
I reached Lyon’s Corner House and peered through the window. Woofy saw me
and smiled and got up from the table where he was sitting with a beautiful
girl who had long blonde hair down to her shoulders. Woofy shook my hand
and I gave him a fiver. He said, “She has been waiting over an hour to
meet you and I said that you are the top man.”
“Thanks Woofy” I replied. “I won’t forget this.” Woofy was a tout who
worked in Soho every day and who was useful in many ways because he knew
everyone and everything.
I walked up to the table where the blonde girl, who wore a bright red suit
with a short skirt and red high heels, sat. “I’m Mickey,” I said as I sat
down.
The blonde who wore bright red lipstick to match her ensemble smiled,
showing a gleaming row of white teeth. “Woofy told me all about you,” she
said.
“Really” I replied” I hope that it was all good.”
“He told me that you make the blue films and that is why I am here!” she
said with a blush and a nervous laugh.
As I gazed into her blue eyes and listened to her I detected a slight
Northern accent.
“So what do you do at the moment” I asked, curious as to why a girl like
this wanted to be in dirty films.
“I am a hairdresser” she replied” I work in a shop in Brixton, in the
parade, just before the Town hall.
I knew the shop she descried. “Why do you want to be in the films?” I
asked.
“Because I like sex” she said with a laugh. As she spoke I notice that her
top lip curled slightly. She was really dirty I knew that immediately and
I wanted to get her somewhere alone.
“Come on” I said. Standing up. “Where do you live?
“Lordship Lane Dulwich” she replied.
I got my car out of the Denman Street car park and drove towards South
London. There was a sense of urgency in my driving and because of the way
Susan looked at me I knew that I was going to fuck her. I looked over at
her and at her thighs which were revealed by her short skirt riding up. I
noticed that she was sitting on her heel and that she was grinding her
cunt up against it. My cock became rock hard and I said to her.
“I am going to fuck you when we get to your place”
She laughed nervously, blushed and moved up and down again on her heel.
I pulled up outside her flat in Lordship Lane under a tree and got out.
Our hands clasped each other like lovers as we walked up the path of the
house. She took her keys out of her bag and quickly unlocked the door and
we went up the stairs to her first floor flat. I could see her little
black knickers that were halfway up her arse and my cock was already hard
and sticky. As we got inside the room we embraced passionately and she
pressed her lips so hard against my mouth that our teeth ground against
together. In her bedroom I got my cock up her quickly and she gasped with
pleasure as I began fucking her.
“Oh yes, oh yes,” she kept repeating.
I began turning her around and bent her over her single bed. Her buttocks
were white, round and smooth and unblemished. I noticed that she was a
natural blonde and that she had a few freckles on her milky white skin. I
was worked up now and began talking dirty to her. “You are a dirty girl
aren’t you?”
“Yes I am, a dirty girl” she gasped obviously loving this game.
“Do you know what I do to dirty girls like you?
“No” she said wriggling and pressing her cunt against me. “I smack their
bums until they are really red and then fuck them up the arse.” I replied
now really carried away.
I started to smack her milky buttocks and she started to go red
immediately.
She turned her face towards me and asked” Are you doing this because you
know that I like it because you like it?”
The way she said this blew my mind made me reach the point of no return
and I pushed my cock into her arse and came and came and came.
She really was a hairdresser and very highly sex. What the psychiatrists
of the day called a “nymphomaniac. After that day I used her to make
thousands of photographs and dozens of films. I also used to use her flat
as a location.
I had been paying the OPS for a couple of years now and often wondered
what sort of protection I had. One eyed Jimmy had introduced me to a
couple of Greek girls who worked in Soho and I had taken them to Susan’s
flat along with Gordon Smith, who worked for me, and a male performer whom
I had never used before. The two girls were pretty with dark wavy hair and
large breasts. When the guy that I had not used before took his trousers
off everyone saw immediately that his penis was diminutive. One of the
girls looked at it in dismay making a face of disapproval, pointing at it.
Gordon had a smirk on his face and a satisfied expression as he paraded
his manhood in front of the girls. I was wondering what to do when there
was a loud knocking on the door.
“Mickey, it’s the police came Susan’s voice.
“Oh fuck off” I replied thinking that she was joking.
“It really is the police cried Susan plaintively.
Then a gruff male voice said “open this door now or we will break it down.
We know what you are doing in there.”
I walked up to the camera, took out the film and hid it. Then I shouted “I
am making a glamour film.” Before opening the door.
Two detectives entered neither of whom I had seen before. One of them
pulled out his warrant card and said I am DC Smithers of the Obscene
Publications Squad and this is DS Symons from Peckham.
“Pleased to meet you, now as I said I was making a glamour film and that
is not against the law is …”
“Shut up will you” Smithers said. Cutting me short. “You were reported by
a member of the public who could see through the frosted glass in the
bathroom. He phoned the police at Peckham.”
I knew already that making pornography was not an arrestable offence and
that the porn squad had the monopoly of investigation no matter where the
situation was.
Smithers looked at me with a knowing look on his face. “I would like to
speak to you alone in the other room.” I followed him glancing round at
the worried looks on the performer’s faces. Gordon’s face had turned a
sickly white and the new boy was trembling. It was all so amusing. I
followed Smithers and his colleague into the other room and he closed the
door. Once inside all pretence was dropped.
“Okay Michael I know that you are paying into the office and I am just
going to give you and the others a verbal warning before I leave. My
advice is to pack up your gear and get out of here and don’t use this
place again.
I smiled surprised at how open Smithers was in front of the Peckham
detective who seemed to find Smithers’ behaviour quite natural and also I
was quite pleased to discover that my licence really did work. I put my
hand into my back pocket and without taking out the big roll of notes
peeled off forty quid which I then took out and offered to the two
detectives.
“No Mickey, you are already paying, there is no need…”
“Go on” I pleaded extending my hand with the filthy lucre. “Please take it
and have a drink on me.”
The notes quickly disappeared into the officers’ pockets and we all began
moving into the front room where all the actors and Susan stood looking
nervous and afraid.
Smithers spoke with authority addressing Susan. “This is your flat young
lady and because you did not know what it was going to be used for, all I
am saying to you is do not let your flat be used in this way again.” He
then turned to the others. “My advice to you lot is to get your things
together and go home.”
With that Smithers left the room and walked down the stairs with his
brother officer. I stood there listening as their car started up and drove
away.
“Go on you” I said to the new boy,” off you go while you have the chance.
With that he scuttled out of the room. I grinned at the others and noticed
that the colour was returning to Gordon’s face.
“We can finish off the film now” I said to the surprised crew.
As I drove away after completing the shoot Gordon gave me a funny look.
“You are paying the police, aren’t you?
“Don’t be silly Gordon,” I replied, “it is just because making pornography
is not an offence and it is only if you are caught publishing it that they
can do anything.”
Gordon looked at me a smirk on his face. “If you think that I believe that
bollox…”
“It is not bollox Gordon it is the truth” I protested.
Continued 13th July.
The phone was ringing and I picked it up.
Voice: Hello Mickey, this is Gerry. I am out.
I was stunned and at first I did not know what to say to this voice from
the past. Yes I had given him my telephone number.
“Where are you?” I asked.
I am in the Falcon in Soho.”
“Okay son I will be right over” I replied.
I walked out of the flat and got into my car and drove down Stockwell Road
to the Embankment. I was in Soho in fifteen minutes and I drove into
Denman Street car- park, left the keys in the car and jumped out, the
attendant who knew me as a regular customer waved. He would park my motor
as usual.
I entered the Falcon pub and Gerry was there at the bar. Soon we were
chatting and reminiscing about old time and about our time in the nick.
The alcohol loosened my tongue and soon I was boasting about being the
biggest pornographer in Soho.
“You need a new set of clobber” I said to Gerry.
The little Jewish tailor sat in his workshop in Wardour Street on the
second floor crossed legged sewing by hand the garments of the self
proclaimed aristocracy of Soho. “The chaps” as they were called all had
their suits made by this little Jewish tailor. Gerry stood there while
Hymie stitched the liners and stiffeners directly onto his body. Then came
the ritual of ripping off the arms.
Gerry loved it all and I was treating him right because I wanted him to be
my muscle in Soho, my soldier who would defend me without equivocation I
any gangsters tried to put protection on me.
Back in my flat I gave him a nice stake and wished him the best of luck
then he explained to me that he did not want a job at the moment but was
going to spend some time with his girlfriend Pamela. I understood that at
the moment all he could think about was sex!
Being an entrepreneur I quickly became tired of the terms of my “licence.”
The first rule I broke was no mail-order. Roy said to me that nothing went
on in the office without him knowing about it and he would be my inside
man for a small monthly fee. So I started the mail-order business. First
of all I had a front company selling soft-core films by post and then
after an interval I sent a mail shot offering hardcore. I started to hire
out cheap offices in run down areas of London. Soon I was making a fortune
and opening letters filled with banknotes.
Every thousand customers were allocated a different address and I had an
addressed, stamped letter ready saying that this is a notification of a
change of address and in future to use this new address.
Months went by until the first one came on top and I got the tip off from
Roy as promised. It was early one morning
“Don’t go over to Peckham today,” Roy’s voice said on the phone. The
landlord has identified you and said that you drive a big American car.”
Then the phone went dead.
I shouted out to my wife Sandra that I was going out on urgent business
and ran downstairs and jumped into my Toyota Crown and headed for Peckham
and the rented office that Roy had warned me not to visit. As I drove I
pushed a button and the electric aerial went up, I looked through the blue
tinted windows and admired a reflection of my car in a shop window as I
stopped at a set of traffic lights. The white walled tyres looked cool. It
did look like an American car. I was nearing the office now and I knew
that the porn squad were inside robbing all my customers’ money and
waiting for me to pick up my mail. I pulled up across the road. I took out
a pair of small, but powerful binoculars, from the glove compartment and
waited for the postman. I waited over an hour. I smoked a pipe of hash and
listened to some Floyd then I saw him approaching. I took out a business
card with the address printed on and a phoney company name and then
approached the postman.
“Excuse me” I said showing the card. “I am in a bit of a hurry and have
just left the office. Do you think that I could have my mail?
The postman gave me a large amount of envelopes secured by an elastic
band.
“Thank you” I said and walked across to my car and drove off to one of my
other rented offices in Catford and collected the mail, then off to the
last one in Clapham North. The last one was was never raided, because it
was a small lock-up shop I had secured from Bill the Dustman and he had
arranged for me to pay a small sum to the governor at Clapham nick. There
I picked up a sack containing a thousand names from the Peckham office. I
went to the sorting office in Venn Street Clapham and posted them as
sorted mail. I knew that they would get there by tomorrow morning and the
porn squad officers waiting for more of my money to drop through the
letterbox would be disappointed. I wish that I could see their faces!
I was doing well now and wrote a letter to my sister and brother-in-law in
Australia that I would give them a stake in my business if they would come
home.
Collecting my mail I noticed a letter with the tell tale blue lines
showing through the envelope-it was a prison letter. I opened it and much
to my surprise it was from Gerry who was in Wandsworth Prison and enclosed
was a Visiting Order.
I entered the big iron gates of Wandsworth Prison this time as a visitor
and not as an inmate. This hell hole had a reputation for being the
toughest prison in England. They screws were fond of beating up the
inmates. I was glad that I was not one of them.
The visiting room was crowded and as I waited for Gerry I noticed a guy
with whom I had fought in the recess in Pentonville when I did 18 months
for publishing porn. His name was Dougie McKinnon a professional boxer who
had been immortalised in the film A Kid for Two Farthings. A brassy blonde
was visiting him and he was kissing her across the table. I nodded in
respect and he nodded back. Then Gerry came walking in. He was a tall,
muscular guy with a thick neck and handsome good looks. He sat down and I
asked him if he wanted a tea or coffee. We sat drinking a cup of tea
served by the WVS who always seem to be aged old ladies and with whom one
could exchange a few pleasantries in the midst of so much suffering. Wives
and girlfriends wiped away tears, angry words were exchanged and children
stared in puzzlement as their dads remained behind when the brief visit of
twenty minutes ended...
“So what happened?” I asked Gerry.
He looked at me and grinned. “I had a row with my girlfriend Pamela and
she called the Old Bill. Anyway when they arrived I chinned them and I
ended up being charged with GBH!”
“I supposed that you were pissed at the time?”
“Yeah I was. Look Mickey can you help me. I need a letter from an employer
to say that I was working and to give me a bit of a reference.”
“Sure Gerry. I will do that.”
A screw walked up to the table. He had a slashed peak and tried his best
to look like an SS officer. “Your time is up Hawley. End of visit.” He
growled.
Gerry looked at me the anger showing in his reddening features. He got up
saying ”see you pal” and was led away with a rattle of keys.
Outside the prison I breathed a sigh of relief and got into my car quickly
driving away from Wandsworth Common and the grim old Victorian prison.
Later I got a letter from Gerry’s solicitor and I said that I had employed
him for a few months and that he was a hard worker who had a problem with
alcohol. I added that he should receive a sentence where he could be
treated for his drinking problems. I typed it all out on my company
notepaper and sent it off.
I got a letter of thanks from Gerry telling me that his solicitor had used
it in court and he had got a light sentence of 21 months. I felt that I
had done him a big favour but he had lied to me and if I had known what he
had really done I would never had helped him.
The flat next door to me was empty and it was up for sale. I wanted it for
my brother-in-law so I went to the estate agents in Streatham High Road,
drove my car up onto the pavement outside and walked into the offices.
The estate agent was also a car dealer as I had seen the same name outside
a car dealer’s showrooms. I explained that I wanted the flat next to mine
for my sister and brother-in-law.
The estate agent looked at me and said”sorry but the flat has been let.”
“Look” I said “I will give you a year’s rent now if you let me have it.” I
took out my cheque book and my gold Parker pen and started to write the
cheque.
The estate agent looked at me and picked up the phone. “Tell the client
for the Stockwell Road flat that we made a mistake because the flat has
already been let.
I gave the cheque to the estate agent who said. “What do you do for a
living?”
“I am a photographer” I replied
“Oh an artist, I see no wonder you are so emotional.
As I drove home with the good news I realised that money could buy most
things in life.
It was a hot summer’s day as I headed for Pett`s Wood in Kent. Susan sat
beside me in the car and Pat and Ginger and Gordon were in the backseat...
I looked down at Susan’s white freckled legs as her skirt rode up to
reveal her thighs. My cock gave a little stir and she noticed me looking
down at her legs and gave me a sexy smile. We were off to make a film in
the countryside on a nice summer’s day and everyone was in a good mood.
Gordon was saying something to Ginger about acid, which I understood to be
LSD.
“What did you say” I asked with curiosity.
“I said that there were some magic strawberry fields going around” Gordon
said.
“Do you mean LSD” I replied a cautionary tone to my voice.” You want to
keep away from that stuff haven’t you heard about the guy that tried to
fly and killed himself?”
Gordon and Ginger started giggling and Gordon relied. “Yeah everyone’s
heard about the guy but no-one seems to know who he is. The Beatles are
always on it and they write their best material when they are tripping.
“Strawberry Fields forever” he started to sing in a fairly good imitation
of the Beatles.
“It is fucking dangerous stuff and it sends you crazy” I retorted.
“What if I said to you that me and Jimmy are on it now and that we are
tripping” Gordon replied.
Ginger giggled “Yeah and me too”
“Oh fuck off you are just fucking having me on,” I replied with disbelief
because both of them seemed their usual self and the papers had been full
of scare stories about bad trips and so on.
Gordon held out his hand and there were two tiny tabs in his palm. “There
you are these are strawberry fields,” he said.
“What are they like? I asked in curiosity.
“Great” Gordon replied “everything is so beautiful out here in the
country.”
“Can you get a hard on when you are on them?” I enquired.
“Well I always do” Gordon laughed.
“Well give me one then” I said impulsively stretching out my hand over the
front seat towards him.
“Don’t take them Mickey” Pat said a worried look on her face.
I popped the little pink tablet into my mouth. It was so small that I
couldn’t see it having a great effect. Soon everyone’s faces were taking
on a rosy glow and as I looked at the girls I could see the desire on
their faces and smell their hot little cunts. My cock became hard like a
rock and began to push against my trousers. I started to feel Susan’s legs
and put my hand up her skirt. “I feel so fucking horny” I exclaimed.
Gordon and Ginger laughed their approval in the back seat and only Pat
seemed a bit nervous. As I looked at her beautiful face in the mirror I
wanted to fuck her.
I looked at the petrol gauge and saw that I needed petrol. I pulled in at
the nearest petrol station and began to fill up. “Anyone want anything?” I
asked.
I walked over to where they sold drinks and ordered three cokes and two
packets of crisps. On the way back to the car I spotted two attractive
girls. Soon I was chatting to them. “You are lovely looking” I said to one
of them.
“Do you think so? “She replied smiling at my flattery. Her lips seemed to
be really red and luscious like ripe fruit and I could see how white her
teeth were and how pink her tongue was inside her mouth. My cock became
hard and I wanted to fuck her there and then in the garage. “I am making a
film today” I said with a smile.
“What kind of film” the girl replied her mate giggling.
“A sex film” I said do you want to be in it?
“I don’t even know you” The girl replied.
I drove off in the car chortling at my audacity. “Fucking hell I don’t
even know them, never seen them before and I asked them if they wanted to
be in a sex film.”
Everyone laughed.
We were near Pett’s Wood now and I pulled off the side of the road. I
opened the boot and took out my Bolex 16mm cine camera and some film.
“Come on this way “I ordered climbing over a fence. The land was deserted
and I guessed that it was some kind of nature reserve as it stretched for
miles. We walked further and further until we were away from the road and
in a deserted spot. “This will be fine” I said. I sat down and the others
looked at me expectantly. I pulled out my pipe and began to fill it with a
bit of Lebanese red that I had scored recently then I realised that I was
tripping. I noticed that the grass looked really green and the flowers
that dotted the Kent countryside were so colourful and bright, their sweet
perfume filling the air, the sound of birds singing and bees buzzing. I
saw the world with a sense of wonder and awe that I had never experienced
before. I felt a tear roll down my face. “It is so beautiful I said to the
others.
Gordon smiled “Yes it is isn’t it.”
“Hey is it all right to smoke when you are tripping?” I asked Gordon.
“Of course” Gordon replied.” You can do anything that you like. Everything
is possible.”
I lit up my pipe and deeply inhaled. I felt a sense of peace and had the
urge to start filming. I loaded a spool of film into the Bolex and began
winding it up.” It was brilliant this camera. No Batteries just a reliable
clockwork motor made by the Swiss.” I thought.
“What I want you to imagine” I said to them all “Is that you are out in
the countryside with your girlfriends. You have brought them out here, to
this deserted place in the hope that you will be able to have sex with
them. First I want you all to walk down that hill until I shout stop, and
then when I make this sign-I began to twirl my arm above my head- begin to
walk back up the hill towards the camera.
As they walked down the hill I began to set the camera up on the tripod. I
looked through it and got them in the viewfinder and they were laughing
and chatting. I pressed the button and the clockwork motor began to whir
reassuringly. They reached the bottom not knowing that I was already
filming them. Through the camera the scene was of two pretty girls out
with their boyfriends in the countryside. “Stop” I shouted. I had them in
the viewfinder and focused in. I made the twirling signal and they began
to walk up the hill towards me. The girls looked pretty and their skirts
and their petticoats fluttered in the slight breeze. Both had ribbons in
their hair and tied their long hair back as I wanted. They stumbled a bit
on the grassy slope because they still wore their stilettos. They giggled
and the boys held their hands and steadied them. As they neared me I
shouted “Just walk past the camera and sit down there on the grass.
Through the camera the girls looked inviting their skirts riding up and
showing glimpses of their knickers. “Just start kissing and fondling the
girls “I instructed. “Take you time, and girls, push their hands away at
first and play hard to get. What I was getting now was a realistic
enactment of the contemporary Sixties girl who had to put up a bit of
resistance before she would let you do anything and it was this lead up to
the sex that I found so erotic. “Put your hand inside their blouses now.
Girls let them feel your tits and put their hand inside your bras. Now
girls let them start feeling up your skirts, that’s it keep kissing each
other. What a pretty sight it was the girls lying back in the grass their
petticoats up. “Now slide your hands inside their knickers. Don’t take
them off yet but just pull them to one side to show their cunts. The
girl’s blouses were open and their knickers pulled to one side: Pat’s cunt
was slightly hairy with the colour the same as her brown hair while
Susan’s was blonde. I could see that both their cunts were wet and
glistening with love juice. “Get their cocks out”, I said. The girls took
out the boys massive cocks which were stiffly erect. “Now play with them
and smile at each other. That’s it; now begin licking around the top.” As
I looked through the camera I was a voyeur unseen, watching two young
girls and their boyfriends having sex. My cock started to get really hard
and I felt it go wet and sticky inside my trousers. When this happened I
knew that I was getting some erotic footage that would turn people on.
“Now change over partners” I commanded. The girls smiled at each other and
changed boyfriends as though it was the most natural thing in the world
but I knew that this was crossing the line of acceptable behaviour and I
was depicting the taboo. “Now fuck “I said. “That’s it, this is a film so
you can fuck them as hard as you like. Now change partners again. Now Pat
you hold Gordon’s cock as it goes into Susan and Susan you suck off
Jimmy.” I had the couples doing every sexual permutation I could think of
then I shouted: “Cut, that’s it. All we want now is a finishing scene. I
want you to run after the girls as they run away from you naked. The boys
had done so much fucking and had both come twice that their penises were
flaccid and flopped between their legs. “Okay roll them” I shouted and the
girls ran down the hill with the boys chasing them but the peculiar thing
was as they ran their floppy penises became erect!” I thought that running
after naked females and watching their bouncing buttocks had evoked an
instinctive response. It certainly looked great on the film.
On the way back to London I pulled out some banknotes and paid everyone
off for the day’s work.
Pat turned and said. “I don’t really want the money Mickey.”
I was surprised and asked. “Well why do you do it then?
“Just for the fun of it” she replied.
“Okay it is all right to do it for the fun, but one day you may need the
money. I want you to open a Post Office savings account and stick the
money into it.”
I handed her the money and she gave me a little smile and put it into her
handbag. I dropped her off at the end of her road in Tulse Hill and then
the two boys at East Dulwich railways station. Alone with Susan in the car
I could tell that she was getting horny again because she was sitting on
her heel and grinding her crotch into her shoe. I pulled up outside her
flat in Lordship Lane and looked over at her. “I have got to get home”
said. “It’s getting late. I promised to take Sandra out for a meal.
“Oh just come in for a little while” she said looking at me with a really
lustful expression.
“Look if I come in I will just fuck you up the arse and go” I said my cock
getting hard at the thought.
Susan looked at me and replied” Come on then.”
I followed her up the stairs to her flat, looking up her skirts, seeing
the way her tight black knickers went up her crotch and arse. Inside her
flat I bent her over an armchair and pulled up her skirts, pulled down her
black knickers to just below her bum and pushed my wet cock into her anus.
She gave a sigh of pleasure as it went in. This was the first girl that I
had ever known who preferred anal sex. Her anus was tight around my cock
as I thrust in and out. As I neared orgasm I shouted. “You dirty fucking
bitch, you love my big cock right up your arse don’t you?”
“Yes I love it,” she gasped her breathe coming faster and faster and her
eyes rolling up in her head. I pulled her long blonde hair making her look
round at me.
“I am going to shoot my hot spunk right up your arse,” I exclaimed
excitedly. “Do you want that?
“Oh yes, Mickey” she groaned “Oh yes!”
I shot my spunk right up her arse my legs going weak as I shot my load. I
pulled out my dripping cock, the spunk going all over my trousers and
stopping off at the tiny bathroom halfway down the stairs where I washed
my cock and wiped the spunk off my trousers with Susan’s flannel. I got in
my car and headed home.
Sandra would be waiting for me and as I had promised to take her to an
Italian restaurant, the Toscana tonight. I looked at my watch. It was only
half seven…
Updated 16 July 2007
Another rule that I broke was the “no export rule”. I had
sold photos to a guy called Walter and I knew that he had sold my
photographs in Hamburg. I thought that I could do some business myself so
I went over to Hamburg and the red light district but did not find any
contacts there but I had heard that the red light district of Amsterdam
had bookshops.
My plane touched down at Schipol and I went outside and caught a taxi into
Amsterdam. A walk around the Seedijk soon discovered numerous porn shops.
I realized here was a new market for me. I got a plane home and collected
box tops from my best selling films and a copy of each one then I caught
the next plane out and started to tour the shops. One of the first shops I
went to was the Souvenir Shop in the Seedijk where I showed the owner the
box tops of my titles. He was very interested and also spoke a bit of
English and told me to come back at about 6pm and meet him outside the
bookshop.
I went back to my hotel the Port van Cleefs and collected the 8mm films. I
returned to the Souvenir Shop at 6pm and Henk was waiting for me. I
climbed into his car and he drove me to his house. Inside one of the rooms
an 8mm projector had been set up and several Dutchman, whom I understood
to be bookshop owners, were the audience. My films were put on and there
were gasps of obvious surprise and approval as they saw that some of my
titles were in colour.
The Dutch bookshop owners made big orders on the films that they had seen
and promised me cash if I could deliver.
I went back to London and realised that if I could deliver then I would be
getting thousands of pounds per delivery.
I contacted a guy I knew called Andy whom I paid £200 to take the films to
Amsterdam and leave them in the left luggage department of Amsterdam
Centraal Railway Station. I duly collected the two suitcases full of films
and went to the Souvenir Shop and informed Henk that I had the order and
it was now in Amsterdam.
That night I met him at his house again.
The Dutch sex shop owners were waiting for me and paid up in cash. I left
Hen
