Date: Thu, 13 Jun 2002 22:25:05 +0930 From: andrew staker Subject: Short Story "Lolito" chapter 2. LOLITO Chapter 2 What better way for a character in a story to wake up than a phone call? Around nine-thirty Auntie's voice filtered through the antiquated receiver. She'd be back around three in the arvo. That gave me a little over five hours all to myself. I said: "I'm glad you had fun. See you later." Apparently her 'Poetry through Meditation' seminar had been enlightening and she felt ready for her trip to Europe. I could feel the grimy, unwashed skin at the apex of my legs rub against itself. It was so good to sleep naked. Liberation of the body through not wearing pyjamas or boxers, oh yeah! Wiping the crusties from my eyes with a clammy, crotch-smelling hand, I entered the shower. I emerged enlivened, wiping the beaded water from all over my body. What to do? The house seemed in order. Perhaps wash the one dish I had warmed and eaten a meat pie on? Why not! Done. Now what? Sit down and read? Far too trite. The beach? Its call certainly I heard. My rather used but much-loved beige shorts would do well for a stroll. Barefoot on the sand on a lazily balmy morning is the way to go. Peering at the seagulls, the oil tanker about to fall over the horizon, the odd anaemic cloud... ah, so nice. While I sat, constructing conical mounds of sand, a shrill feminine yelp knifed its way from the front of the house to the back, where I was playing childishly. Then the honey-like laughter of a younger boy trickled through the air. "Hey..." she meowed... "stop it. I'll tell mum!" Again the laughter. Getting up and in a half-assed manner wiping the sand from my butt, I headed in and to the front window to peer out curiously. Nothing! Nothing of interest that is, for sure the wind blew the palm-tree, but such a thing cares no one for. Auntie's bookshelf was impressive. I bypassed the myriad books on painting and such until a tired little collection of poetry decided to jump snugly into my hand. So I sat on the couch, reading the charming yellowed pages. I stopped for a while. On that very same couch, the night prior, the kid had twisted his slender frame and smiled his thin lips. On the very same furniture his short shorts kissed fabric with fabric. I lowered my nose in an attempt to recapture his juvenile elixir; none of his scent was left in the fibres of the fabric. Back to my book. I read these lovely lines that seemed to capture my mood and elate me: "I love to rise in a summer morn When the birds sing on every tree; The distant--" "Hey you stupid dork!" the shout burst my concentration. "Bloody stop it." Again the girlish voice. And again the agitated, pleasured laughter of a schoolboy. I thrust the fragile book aside and crept to the window, my eyes piercing through the drapes. A shiny red ball, fresh from the wrapper made its ping-pong way across the road from brother to sister and back again; for it was he! The lad. The boy who'd come for sugar was this morning tossing the ball with his sister. What was her name again? What did it matter? Genes had been kind to her, for she wore the tightest pair of jeans I had seen. Her hair waved freely in the breeze. Perhaps her young brother did have reason to dislike her. One could see why young, hormone-infested males (much like your 'humble narrator') might find her body and face able to charm. But not I. Her voice was hoary, her countenance like that of a fox, oozing dishonesty and manipulation, yet of course all masterfully glazed over with a saccharine shell of delayed female puberty. Then the ball stopped, loosely held in her arms, close to the belly, as if to show that in the future a foetus should nicely swell there. She looked to the window, at me. Naturally I darted in embarrassed terror. The two convened upon Auntie's lawn and eventually their footsteps turned to doorknocks and hushed giggling. I unwillingly lugged myself to the door, breathed in, cast my sight downward, and opened. "Well hello!" she said. "Katie at your door, what more you looking for?" She smilingly barged passed me, finding the cosy couch. The kid remained in the doorway, slightly embarrassed on behalf of his sibling. "This is Katie," he said rather unwillingly. "Oh, yes. Your sister." I turned to her. "Hello Katie. Your brother went on and on about you last night." "Yeah, most people do. Sneaky little runt, kept you to himself last night! But I'm here now..." So where you from, and what's your name... I forgot it. I'm Katie by the way." "Peter," I responded. She seemed to sprawl herself across the red couch in a manner that naughtily brought to mind his movements. "Do you guys want a drink?" I suggested. They both agreed and off I was into the kitchen. Whilst pouring with attention the fizzy pink contents of a plastic bottle into sturdy plastic cups, voices raised in the other room, followed by the slamming of the door. "What happened?" I asked Katie. "Ah... Brad the worm got pissed off. Happens all the time." "But why?" I enquired, rather annoyed at the turn of events. She laughed cruelly. "What the hell do I know?" By now she had discovered the remote control and was watching some hausfrau telemarketing programme wherein a kitchen rag could soak up ten times its own weight in liquid. I returned with two drink, sat precariously on the shabby cane chair and indifferently said: "Who the hell would really believe that crap?" "My mum bought one a month ago. She's heaps happy with it. Uses it all the time." Oh okay, methought. Through further idle discussion it emerged that she had dropped out of school in its penultimate year and now banked on a career "in the retail industry. Yeah, I work at Just-Jeans in the city. It's heaps good." And further: "I wanna save up for a car... a good one but one that doesn't waste petrol." And so it went on and on until I could have discovered what her favourite tampon brand was, were it not for the fortunate fact that she recalled an important thing: "Fuck! It's one o'clock. I gotta go Pete. Something's on." We did the pleasantries at the door and she was off. What the hell had all that been about? Two or so hours later Auntie returned. Yet she didn't come back alone. By her side was a rather handsome man considerably younger. "This is Janek." She huffed and puffed around the house while us two pretended to care enough about each other that we conducted a conversation. It so happened that Auntie was so impressed with his talents (unlikely to be poetic) at the seminar yesterday, she just had to have him along on her Euro-trip. How convenient for this mid-twenties man. But could he go through and sleep with a forty-ish woman for an overseas trip? The whole notion seemed grotesquely unimaginable to me. The imbalance of their ages was nigh on sickening. Mind you, Auntie hadn't been quite so perky when I first saw her yesterday on my arrival from the country. Maybe they would have fun strolling through the high-roofed galleries of the Continent. The tedious hours of her departure finally burned themselves out and in late evening, after packing and instructing me somewhat vaguely as to the rules of the house, Janek carried her suitcases into his car and off they went! Quiet, quiet everywhere, save the periodic lull of sea waves. It was just darkening so what else could I do but watch the sunset? There sat I, a lonely, bored lad from the country. I was about to fall asleep when a ball gently struck my back. I turned round. Bingo. It was Brad, the kid. I turned my body into a sitting position, wiping off the sand from my hands. "Hi..." I said. He was only a metre away. "So... what happened this morning? Did I scare you off?" "Nah. That was just Katie. She was being a dick," and he looked at the sand, the red sun reddening his blue eyes. I laughed stupidly. "Well... tell me Brad... how can a girl be a dick? I mean, surely you know that..." "Yeah yeah, I'm not a moron. Peter's you?" "Yep, my name. And not Pete, as your sis would rather call me," I said. He sat himself down, maintaining that gap of space between us. "I see you got the same shorts on..." This rather confused him, then he recalled last night and said: "Yeah... so? I'm no scrag! And look: different shirt." Indeed it was: a nice orange, complementing the sun. "Where in Adelaide do you live? We're from Marion..." I told him I was not from the city, which meant he wanted elaboration about the country and the kind of house and so and so. "So you go to school, or dropped out like Katie?" "Well," I replied, "I have finished--" "Lucky you! You gonna work like she does?" "Um... actually, I plan on getting into uni. You know what you is, right?" He looked at me as if I had hurt him with my patronising. He said he was in year seven (the final year of primary school in South Australia) and he was looking forward to high school. "What kind of job do you want?" "I got no fucken idea. Geez, you sound like the teachers!" I humbly apologised and said we'd not talk about school, ever. "Do you think Katie's cool?" he asked, digging his nimble finger especially hard into the sand. What was I to say? That I thought she was horrible, materialistic and the embodiment of postmodern refuse? "Yeah, she's okay... I guess. Seems like she wants lots out of life..." "Oh, okay. Sounds different to what her last boyfriend said when I asked." His voice this time round was gentle, less self-assured, more vulnerable. I enquired what the report on his sister from her previous boyfriend had been. "Well, the guy was Kevin. He was Italian right, played footy and stuff. And the first thing he said was: 'I think she's got big tits and great blonde hair.'" We looked at each other for a few second (for he imitated the masculinity and accent of Katie's former in an curious way) and burst out laughing. "He really said that?" Yep. "And did you tell her?" He had. "And then what?" "She dumped him. This was last week. Now we're here on holidays. Mum and dad own the shack." His teeth had been chattering for a while. I didn't feel cold at all. Maybe he was. The sun had now gone, only his crimson remnants painted the sky beautifully. A light, young wind was blowing from the water. "Are you cold?" Of course he bashfully denied he was. "Then why are your teeth chattering?" "Um... 'cause they like to!" he smiled. "Not good enough." Not thinking, I removed my t-shirt and chucked it between his crossed legs. "Put it on." He did so with (surprisingly) no resistance. "Now is that better or not?" He nodded his blonde head. "But now you'll freeze," he juvenilely whined, pointing with his finger and my nude torso. I assured him it was not so bad. I sometimes spent whole summer days up in Clare walking around the house and property with nothing but shorts. "But if I am making your uncomfortable..." I said. "No...! Why should you?" he said, nodding to and fro. "Do you know stars?" What did he mean? "Ya know... those join the dots things!" "Ah! I can honestly say I don't. Perhaps the Southern Cross, only." So we looked for it and sure enough, there it was, its stars gaining in brightness as the light of the sun finally vanished. "Do your parents know you're out on the beach all by yourself?" I asked. He giggled naughtily, coming closer to my shirtless self. "Sh..." he said, moving to my ear and whispering: "Me and Katie are playing ball on the beach. They've gone to the pub..." "But you are playing, Katie is not!" I insisted. He informed me that she was in the town, after some guys. "She sounds like a popular gal," I hinted. He looked away from the stars and the splendour of nature; looked down not to the sand but perhaps at me. At the nipple on my exposed chest. "You lied." I asked what he meant. "You said you weren't cold. But look." And with that he swiftly grabbed my hard nipple and childishly yelled "Nipple cripple, nipple cripple!" "Owww! That hurt Brad!" He continued laughing. I got up and stretched. "Happy now?" He smiled. I relented and started laughing with him. It had been a funny gag. "Fair enough. You got me. I am cold. Let's go in." And so we did. Once again plonking himself on the couch, I asked if he cared for a cocoa. I went to make him one. When he went to the mug to sip it, his whole face bloomed in pleasure: "Mmm. This isn't like Milo." "No," I said, glad to see that he had differentiated. "This is the real deal. Real cocoa. Good to see you like it." A pause, with him not as glued to the TV as he had been the previous night. "I'm cold Brad. I'm gonna go get a top, okay?" Pause number two. "Must you?" he said, looking up, a peculiarly devilish smile springing forth. "Yes... I must. You're the one who said I was." "Yep. And those nipples are still hard..." He winked at this point! "Well, can I pick a top for you?" So he came to my room and we rumaged through the wardrobe (Auntie had, that afternoon, insisted that I transfer all my clothing from the suitcase to the furniture.) We decided on a plain green thick cotton polo top. "Not too bad," he complimented, when it was on. The doorbell sounded. As if by instinct, the lad lunged into the cushy couch, feet up, put the remote in hand. I opened it. She walked in and looked at the couch. "Oh, thank God he's here! I was freaking out... mum woulda cut my head off!" And she laughed, relieved. "Yeah, he's safe. We were watching telly," I said in a reassuring tone. Brad from over in the couch said: "Yeah... thanks for taking care of me!" and stuck his tongue out. "Shut up, Wormus!" she said to him. He continued: "So... find any hot guys?" She looked at me with fox-eyes and said: "Maybe..." I didn't know how to react, but Brad did. He insulted her in rather crude terms. I begged for calm, which came, and not because the older (and supposedly wiser) relented, but because the younger sibling did. So there we were... three young folk in front of the television around nine pee-em. She had taken the couch next to her brother and I the cane chair. During the commercial break of some 'Greatest Car Smashes'-like show, she spotted the book I had been reading. "Wow, poetry!" she vulgarly sarcasmed. She flicked through and said: "Here's a cool one. It's just like outside: 'Swifly walk over the western wave Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave--' What a piece of shit!" she said. And shut the book. I had no comment for her. The kid had nothing to say either. So the three of us remained there in that room. I was growing quite irate that the situation. Both their presences were unwonted, but only hers unwanted. During the next break, something suddenly clicked in her mind: "Wait a minute Brad. You're wearing his t-shirt!" "Yeah... so? I was cold... he leant me one. Big bloody deal." And that was that. He had shut her up. A minute or so later... her mobile phone rang. One of her co-workers (she made sure to tell us) had called and she needed privacy to talk. There was plenty to be had in the kitchen and off she went. "Is she always like that?" I asked Brad. "Who cares? I bet you wanna lick her pussy." I was abruptly halted. "Excuse me!" Had I heard correctly? "Where do you pick these words up?" "Who cares?" he refuted. "I saw the way you were staring at her. I bet you wanna kiss her lipsticked lips and rip her bra off. And the only thing that's stopping you is me. Right?" I was still shocked that a seemingly nice, intelligent and innocent blonde kid from the suburbs could spew such filth from his little mouth. "Well, I... um... what makes you think that I would want to...?" But at that moment Katie dashed through, turning at the door to say "See you home soon Brad" and "Bye for now Pete" then slammed it shut in a hurry. She was off. "So you don't like her?" he asked. He seemed unbelieving of the fact that I may not be attracted to his sister. "Wow, you're the first guy I've know who doesn't like Katie." O oh, was it a good or bad thing? "And it's cool!" He was smiling. "Thanks for the cocoa Peter." "No problem." He looked at the clock. "I should get home. Mum and dad'll be back soon. I get in trouble for being out so late, even back home." What could I do? I had to let him go. "Maybe we can go for a walk into town tomorrow? Katie said there's icecream and stuff..." "I would like that," I said, concealing my excitement. At the door, before I had a chance to open it, he hugged me, taking me by surprise. He was all downy and warm, frail and bony yet masculine nonetheless. "Thanks for not liking her," he whispered in my ear. I was turning red but he (luckily) didn't get to see that. I let him out and he ran across the dead road, waving once more before he entered his shack. I closed my door, ran to the bedroom in frenzy, pulled out my porno and hardening cock and jerked off madly. Afterward, I collapsed and even my breathing felt sensuous. http://www.geocities.com/adonipolis