"I'm getting a hard just thinking about it," said Pete.
"I am too and I'm not even the guy who's going to do it."
"There's one problem though," said Pete.
"You can't come?"
"No, it's not that. I need a look-out. I need somebody to tell me the coast is clear."
"Yeah? Well, look, I can do that."
"Would you?" asked Pete.
"Sure. But we should have one more guy so we can watch in both directions."
"All right. Who you got in mind?"
"Baldy."
"Baldy? Shit, he's not much."
"No, but he's trustworthy."
"All right. So I'll see you guys at four."
"We'll be there."
At four p.m. we met Pete and Lilly at the car.
"Hi!" said Lilly. She looked hot. Pete was smoking a cigarette. He looked bored.
"Hello, Lilly," I said.
"Hi, Lilly baby," said Baldy.
There were some guys playing a game of touch football in the other field but that only made it better, a kind of camouflage. Lilly was wiggling around, breathing heavily, her breasts were moving up and down.
"Well," said Pete, throwing his cigarette away, "let's make friends, Lilly."
He opened the back door, bowed, and Lilly climbed in. Pete got in after her and took his shoes off, then his pants and his shorts. Lilly looked down and saw Pete's meat hanging.
"Oh my," she said, "I don't know…"
"Come on, baby," said Pete, "nobody lives forever."
"Well, all right, I guess…"
Pete looked out the window. "Hey, are you guys watching to see if the coast is clear?"
"Yeah, Pete," I said, "we're watching."
"We're looking," said Baldy.
Pete pulled Lilly's skirt all the way up. There was white flesh above her knee socks and you could see her panties. Glorious. Pete grabbed Lilly and kissed her. Then he pulled away.
"You whore!" he said.
"Talk to me nice, Pete!"
"You bitch-whore!" he said and slapped her across the face, hard. She began sobbing. "Don't, Pete, don't…"
"Shut up, cunt!"
Pete began pulling at Lilly's panties. He was having a terrible time. Her panties were tight around her big ass. Pete gave a violent tug, they ripped and he pulled the panties down around her legs and off over her shoes. He threw them on the floorboard. Then he began playing with her cunt. He played with her cunt and played with her cunt and kissed her again and again. Then he leaned back against the car seat. He only had half a hard. Lilly looked down at him.
"What are you, a queer?"
"No, it's not that, Lilly. It's just that I don't think these guys are watching to see if the coast is clear. They're watching us. I don't want to get caught in here."
"The coast is clear, Pete," I said. "We're watching!"
"We're watching!" said Baldy.
"I don't believe them," said Pete. "All they're watching is your cunt, Lilly."
"You're chicken! All that meat and it's only at half-mast!"
"I'm scared of getting caught, Lilly."
"I know what to do," she said.
Lilly bent over and ran her tongue along Pete's cock. She lapped her tongue around the monstrous head. Then she had it in her mouth.
"Lilly… Christ," said Pete, "I love you…"
"Lilly, Lilly, Lilly… oh, oh, oooh ooooh…"
" Henry!" Baldy screamed. "LOOK!"
I looked. It was Wagner running toward us from across the field and also coming behind him were the guys who had been playing touch football, plus some of the people who had been watching the football game, boys and girls both.
" Pete!" I yelled, "It's Wagner coming with 50 people!"
" Shit!" moaned Pete.
"Oh, shit," said Lilly.
Baldy and I took off. We ran out the gate and halfway up the block. We looked back through the fence. Pete and Lilly never had a chance. Wagner ran up and ripped open the car door hoping for a good look. Then the car was surrounded and we couldn't see any more…
After that, we never saw Pete or Lilly again. We had no idea what happened to them. Baldy and I each got 1,000 demerits which put me in the lead over Mangalore with 1,100. There was no way I could work them off. I was in Mt. Justin for life. Of course, they informed our parents.
"Let's go," said my father, and I walked into the bathroom. He got the strop down.
"Take down your pants and shorts," he said. I didn't do it. He reached in front of me, yanked my belt open, unbuttoned me and yanked my pants down. He pulled down my shorts. The strop landed. It was the same, the same explosive sound, the same pain.
"You're going to kill your mother!" he screamed. He hit me again. But the tears weren't coming. -My eyes were strangely dry. I thought about killing him. That there must be a way to kill him. In a couple of years I could beat him to death. But I wanted him now. He wasn't much of anything. I must have been adopted. He hit me again. The pain was still there but the fear of it was gone. The strop landed again. The room no longer blurred. I could see everything clearly. My father seemed to sense the difference in me and he began to lash me harder, again and again, but the more he beat me the less I felt. It was almost as if he was the one who was helpless. Something had occurred, something had changed. My father stopped, puffing, and I heard him hanging up the strop. He walked to the door. I turned.
"Hey," I said.
My father turned and looked at me.
"Give me a couple more," I told him, "if it makes you feel any better."
"Don't you dare talk to me that way!" he said. I looked at him. I saw folds of flesh under his chin and around his neck. I saw sad wrinkles and crevices. His face was tired pink putty. He was in his undershirt, and his belly sagged, wrinkling his undershirt. The eyes were no longer fierce. His eyes looked away and couldn't meet mine. Something had happened. The bath towels knew it, the shower curtain knew it, the mirror knew it, the bathtub and the toilet knew it. My father turned and walked out the door. He knew it. It was my last beating. From him.
28
Jr. high went by quickly enough. About the 8th grade, going into the 9th, I broke out with acne. Many of the guys had it but not like mine. Mine was really terrible. I was the worst case in town. I had pimples and boils all over my face, back, neck, and some on my chest. It happened just as I was beginning to be accepted as a tough guy and a leader. I was still tough but it wasn't the same. I had to withdraw. I watched people from afar, it was like a stage play. Only they were on stage and I was an audience of one. I'd always had trouble with the girls but with acne it was impossible. The girls were further away than ever. Some of them were truly beautiful -their dresses, their hair, their eyes, the way they stood around. Just to walk down the street during an afternoon with one, you know, talking about everything and anything, I think that would have made me feel very good.
Also, there was still something about me that continually got me into trouble. Most teachers didn't trust or like me, especially the lady teachers. I never said anything out of the way but they claimed it was my "attitude." It was something about the way I sat slouched in my seat and my "voice tone." I was usually accused of
"sneering" although I wasn't conscious of it. I was often made to stand outside in the hall during class or I was sent to the principal's office. The principal always did the same thing. He had a phone booth in his office. He made me stand in the phone booth with the door closed. I spent many hours in that phone booth. The only reading material in there was the Ladies Home Journal. It was deliberate torture. I read the Ladies Home Journal anyhow. I got to read each new issue. I hoped that maybe I could learn something about women.
I must have had 5,000 demerits by graduation time but it didn't seem to matter. They wanted to get rid of me. I was standing outside in the line that was filing into the auditorium one by one. We each had on our cheap little cap and gown that had been passed down again and again to the next graduating group. We could hear each person's name as they walked across the stage. They were making one big god-damned deal out of graduating from Jr. high. The band played our school song: