RuKsaK

Fenton had a huge piece of chunk between his legs. Not a hair on it, because he was ten. In my school we had a long fetid slab of aluminium for pissing against and Fenton stood further back than all of us – much further back with this mass of flesh lapping across his extended palm. The whole school knew about his whole dick.
‘Fenton, what the fuck is that thing between your legs?’
‘Fuck off,’ he’d reply at less than two miles an hour.

He was a dry-brained droner, a low-toned thug with all his juices in the south:
‘What kind of animal is that Fenton? Looks like a manatee.’
‘Fuh-huck off.’
------
‘Girls first! Girls first!’
‘Nah – boys first. Who’s going to do it?’

Through a hole in the scrappy hedge, behind a fence she showed us. The first pussy I’d ever wanted to see. But, I didn’t see anything and she was ten like me anyway. The rabble of shoving had ensured me a back seat at the mini stadium. The other boys barked without knowing why.

‘Now the boys! Now the boys! Which one of you is going to do it?’
‘RuKsaK!’

My eyes stretched a yard of astonishment as a took a back step or two.
‘Not me. No way is it me. I saw nowt.’
‘Who gives a toss? Get your lob out and show it to them.’
‘I saw nowt.’

The ‘I saw nowt’ mantra I went with for the next five minutes proved a rotten negotiation trick. So, I stood in open view, unzipped, wheedled it out, let it lie down my fingers and blitzed:
‘You fucking seen enough?’

The girls yelped up a cloud of giggles. The boys lay in metaphorical piss on the floor. I let it slope back as my face lit crimson.

Walking away from the scene Donko rubbed his hand on my head and announced to all:
‘You’re not fucking Fenton, are you RuKsaK?’
‘No I’m not – but I’ve fucking dealt with that now – you lot've got it coming. You’re going to have to get it out one day and you’re not Fenton either, are you Donko?’

A complete puzzled laugh said it might take years for them to do so.
------
Fenton is a bricklayer now, with a baggy head, a slower, deeper drone and way too ugly to get any use out of that meat of his. Don’t know about Donko, but probably still dealing with stuff slower than most – lucky bastard.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

I’m not fucking Fenton