Hosing down guilt

Two teenage firefighter friends bounded after me last night, as I made my way through the market.

For the last month, I have tried to avoid them, as I suspect they just want money.

When I get a taxi home, I usually ask the driver to take me via an indirect route, where the boys do not get a chance to see me.

But last night a friend drove me home from my drinking spot, so I could not afford to be choosy. He dropped me only metres away from where the firefighter boys sit all night, talking.

I tried to cut down the side of their station, but they saw me, and called out my name. Young Gor bounded after me, followed shortly after by his close friend, a taller boy whose name I have forgotten.

I took a close look at Gor, whom I last saw at Christmas time. He was wearing a pair of hip-hugging jeans, worn low on the waist. Last time I saw him, someone had just stolen his cellphone, and his only pair of sandals.

'Where have you been?' he asked. He wore an expectant smile, though I am not sure what he wanted. Perhaps just a friendly talk.

I told him.

'Are you drunk?'

'A little,' I said. That might give me an excuse to wobble home, I thought.

Gor was wearing a stud in his lip, just like last time.

Both he and his friend had flawless skin...maybe it's all that soot they get on their faces when they bravely fight fires. Like coal, it's supposed to be good for the complexion.

I am kidding myself. One day I must ask the boys how many fires they have actually fought, or whether they just race around, perched precariously on the back of their fire truck, because it feels exciting to have the wind blow in their hair.

Lately, I have been stuck in traffic when a fire call-out happens. Fire trucks speed by, siren screaming. They always have boys teetering on the back. They look rough, as if they have no money, jobs, or clothes.

We stood there a while longer, looking at each other. Gor glanced at my stomach. Perhaps it's grown bigger, I thought sadly. I have been out having a good time, while these poor young lads just sit around talking, because they have no money.

'You look thinner,' I told him. His good looks were starting to mesmerise, to lock me to the spot. If I had any sense, I would just say a friendly goodbye and walk away.

In the past, I would succumb to admiration for their fresh-faced features, feel guilty about their plight - then part with money.

Last night, to my surprise, I changed. Handing out money would only encourage them, I thought. I decided to keep my wallet in my pocket, where it is safer.

'Good night, then,' I said. I waved as I walked away.

'Good night,' Gor said. He smiled. Maybe he just wanted to say hello to an old friend.

I committed one last sin. I added the word, 'darling,' in English, as an elder brother might.

I have found myself doing that lately, when talking to my young friends. I must stop it - one day someone will ask me what I mean.

Back home, I asked Maiyuu whether I should have helped them. Of course, I wanted him to say 'yes,' so I could shell out next time and not feel bad.

'What for? If you give them money for food, they will just spend it on alcohol,' he said bluntly.

'You only want it give it those boys because you like the look of them.'

Nothing like a talk with the boyfriend to make a guy sober up.

Still, for once, I stayed strong in the face of temptation. Imagine the frosty response if I had handed over money, then owned up.

All in all, a lucky escape.