Date: Tue, 08 Oct 2002 22:26:30 +0930 From: andrew staker Subject: "Lolito" story chapter 5 LOLITO Chapter 5 [http://www.geocities.com/adonipolis] "Yes Auntie, it's all fine. Of course I look after that kind of thing. And of course nothing's burnt down. Have fun... I can't wait to see the photos. Bye. Bye-bye." Telephone finally hung up. I slowly proceeded to get dressed. It's not the nicest of things being woken up by a telephone from an aunt on the other side of the globe who's ignorant of timezones. A 6 AM revenge: I called my mother. That convo had had to take place too. "So what are you doing this early Wednesday son?" So after going through the usuals, we said goodbye, with me thanking her for pushing my coming to Adelaide. It was far too early to do anything constructive, yet too late to go to bed. TV is the only contemporary solution to such banally quotidian dilemmas. Getting rather peckish, I went to the cupboard and fished out some baked savoury biscuits--pizza flavour--to munch on. Brad's slender fingers had skated on the shiny box that day at the kiosk. He wanted these... and these he got. Soon awash in biscuit crumbs, I did manage to doze off. Perhaps the news of impending superpower-led imperialism was the catalyst. The noise of the mailman's motorbike woke me again. Finally, the sunshiny day mythologised in Australia came to the sky. It blistered heat outside, illumining the whole shack. Slap on some shorts; a crimpled t-shirt flew from the floor onto my body. The path to the mailbox was difficult to walk on barefoot. Amongst the crap stuffed in was a pamphlet advertising a local model search, "to be held Thursday at Noarlunga Centre." Most fascinating! Back inside, sitting dishevelled on the dishevelled couch, I chanced upon a pale blue envelope addressed to Auntie. The Adonis Foundation. What the fuck? Dare I open it, I thought. So I did. Apparently, Auntie was a donor who actively sought out disadvantaged young men and propelled them to bourgeois excellence. Gave them a job, a house, access to a career... in a word--in their words--"providing a path to success." I wonder if Janek, Auntie and the Adonis Foundation had a correlation? I had shed some of my apprehension. I was now ready to go over the road and knock on the Winckelmanns' door. "O, hello Peter," the mater familias replied. "Katie's not feeling too well I'm afraid." "That's okay. I was actually after Brad." (Talk about brazen!) She yelled, directing the noise toward the back of the dwelling. Clean as a whistle, he bounced onto the scene. "Peter!" he exclaimed. Realising she'd have to cede, Mrs W said: "Come in then, Peter." And that I did. "Me and Katie were playing Monopoly," the kid said. "But we're just starting. You can join in." So we spent about thirty minutes playing the game, with Brad showing terrific arithmetic ability. "I'm getting some cordial," his sister said. It was time for a break. Finally in (relative) solitude, I was able to ask why he had gone all funny last night, and was he okay. "Yeah, it's good now," he smiled. "Mum always tricks me." "How?" "Well," he continued, "she never tells me the truth... and she always gets the cheapest of anything available. It's annoying!" "Is that all Brad? Jeez, I thought it was something major!" and I tickled him on his upper body, where a couple of nipples were subduedly protruding. Katie came in carrying a tray with three perspiring plastic cups full of bile-coloured drink. "Mum said we can have some cordial!" Ah, what a treat. "And look what else. It was in the mail!" "What?" Brad asked. "There's a model search on tomorrow, at the shopping centre. Mum said I could enter." She seemed to be beaming at the possibility of being judged as an object of natural aesthetic unity. "It's pretty exciting!" Brad: "Can we keep playing?" His sister: "Nah, stuff it. I give up. Yous two win." Brad whispered to me: "She's already on the catwalk!" "Well, I don't want to play... it stuffs up the game," I said; Brad agreed with me. She left. She returned. She said: "I'm going to Noarlunga, to buy some stuff. Want to come with me Peter?" What a frustrating situation. What reason had I to follow her, when my raison d'être was sitting cross-legged beside the Monopoly board? But the kid saved me. He leapt up, leapt out, then raced back. "Mum said you gotta take me along too!" Ah my clever angel! In about forty minutes the three of us were assembled at the bus stop opposite the kiosk. Katie was sporting a dress that plainly said "Fuck me" though of course it was nice, as her mother approved. And sure enough the bus came and we got on. There was a delectable assortment of Brad-like guys on board. We sat near the back, where two seats face each other. Brad and I sat together, his sister opposite, getting motion sickness. We found our way to Noarlunga Shopping Centre (aka Collonades). Katie was in her element. She flung herself (and we followed) from shop to shop to shop! By the end, she had filled her feminine backpack with makeup/accessories/that-kind-of-shit. "I'm all ready for tomorrow!" she triumphed. Just then a marvellous idea hit me. I had been hankering for a delicious, homemade pizza for a long time. Seeing a shiny giant advertisement of "Pizza... eat it" made me take the decisive step. "Hey... do you guys mind coming with me to Coles?" "Why a supermarket?" Katie enquired. "It's not like I need anything from there..." "Yeah, but I do!" I said, growing quite irate. It was such a good feeling to know that the kid would follow me and not his sister. She opted to wait for us on a bench, browsing through the numerous beauty-aiding goodies she'd just acquired. So once again Brad and I repeated the kiosk incident, with him choosing what he wanted. Yet I had a goal--the pizza--so I did direct him toward the general areas. "Can I help you make it?" he said. What a good boy. I didn't even need to ask. "Wow, those look good!" he said pointing to some mushrooms. "What, you actually like mushroom?" He agreed, and asked what was so strange about that. I wasn't really able to supply an answer. So he pushed the shopping trolley through the remainder of the aisles--something that he had insisted he should do. I also stocked up on some things I knew I would need. When we rejoined his sister, she was a tad more animated than usual. "Guess what?" What was it this time? "The guy who's organising the fashion parade tomorrow is around, handing out pamphlets... I heard from a girl. She's gonna enter too, but I dunno why she's bothering!" Why was Katie bothering? "Let's go to the bus stop," I urged, "else my ice-cream will melt." We nearly made it out when a rotund man whose voice was rich and deep barged in. "My, what a nice boy!" he said, eyeing Brad. "Tell me son, are you shy?" "No, not really," Lolito responded. "Well then here!" he said, shoving a pamphlet at Brad. "Please turn up tomorrow, it would make me happy." Katie had quickly managed to read it. "It's the modelling thing tomorrow." "What, he want's me to be in it?" Brad said unsurely. "I guess..." she ceded, looking far-off. Well duh! The bus uneventfully conveyed us back to Maslin Beach. Brad urged me not to commence the pizza preparation until he came over. And it was not a long wait. Within ten minutes his sweet doorknock was at the door. "Wow, you've changed!" I said. "Yeah... these are my 'home' clothes. Mum says I can get these dirty." (If only I could dirty them for you.) "So, what's first?" "I've managed to hunt down one of Auntie's cookbooks; so we should be okay!" He said: "Yeah..." "I'll mix, you add the water, 'kay?" I asked. So we went through the steps with enjoyable meticulousness. Having his slender hands all around me, mixing, measuring and managing the dough was a nice experience. "That's about it," he finally said. "I think it's ready!" "Good," I responded. "According to this, we have to let it rise for about twenty minutes." I covered up the bowl containing the pizza dough and then told him: "Now take it to my bed, and put it under the cover." He laughed a little. "It's going to take a nap!" He soon returned. "Now," I continued, "we have to cut up all the toppings. Ever peeled mushrooms?" "No! But I want to see how!" "It's easy," I said. I demonstrated. "Now do that to these other ones, then chop 'em up." So after the salami, capsicums and such were all diced, it was time to bring back the dough. "Wow!" he exclaimed from my room. "It's huge!" He rushed back with it. "Look at this baby!" He was beside himself with pleasure. "Now I can tell Katie that I can cook." "O, we forgot the sauce!" I reminded him. So we proceeded and added some herbs to the tomato paste. "Smells excellent!" he commented. And it did. Finally the pizza was ready. We chucked it in the oven. "About forty minutes and we can eat. But now what?" "Clean up?" he said. "God you're a boring guy Brad!" "Am I?" "Nah, not really!" and I smiled, getting a bit self-conscious. He was far, far from boring... and he knew it as much as I did. "Then stuff the washing. I know!" "What?" "Well, I told mum what happened at the shops, how that man wanted me to model too... so she said I should." "And...?" I asked. "If I enter, so do you!" He had me by the hand and was leading me toward the bedroom. "I've seen you're clothes, and you're a real good looking guy, so you'll win!" "Stop it Brad, it's stupid," I said, trying to keep calm yet also flattered at his comments and the enthusiasm with which he was squeezing my hand. But he was already milling around, looking for clothes. Lucky my porno was under my pillow, a place I was sure he'd never look. "What about this shirt? It goes with your eyes." "That shirt? My mum bought me that... it's embarrassing." "Why? All the guys at my school talk about shirts like this. They're really cool you know!" he smiled. "Chuck it on!" "Here?" "Yeah!" and he was back at it. I tried it on. "And these pants?" He threw the pants at me. "These'll get all the girls liking you... at least the old ones judging." And again I was forced to change pants in front of him. Down went the old, on came the new. "Yeah, great." Obviously he approved. "That's how you're going tomorrow Peter, please?" I was convinced. How could I object? "But I have to take them off now... and put on what I was wearing." "In case they get dirty," he said. Exactly. "You can change; I'm going to wash the dishes." Why the hell was he so keen to wash those dishes? Who cared? "Do you need help?" I asked, when I rejoined him. He did not. He said I could sit down. And I did. As a result, the TV got switched on. Newsbreak: the search continues for an escaped mental patient. Police have warned residents of the Noalunga area not to approach the woman, who is described as hairy and extremely dangerous. "Did you hear that Brad?" I asked. "Yeah!" he said. "Pretty freaky!" and he went back to the sink. In another five minutes, he returned. "The dishes are done, sir." "O good..." I said. Sir? Had I heard correctly? "And the pizza needs a checking up on..." and he smiled. "Now it's my turn to sit down." The pizza was ready. I took it out (carefully) and (carefully) cut it up as nicely as I could. I placed it (carefully) on two plates and took it to the lounge-room. "Pizza!" I said. He turned around from the couch. "But you're not wearing you're uniform!" "What?" "You know... every good pizza-boy has a uniform!" and he laughed indulgently. "Shut up and eat," I said, sitting down and handing him his plate. "And drinks?" Argh. The little bastard. Off I went, poured him some Coke and back I was. "Thanks, Pete!" "Don't call me that," I pleaded. "Only you're sister does." He got the hint. "Mmm... it's really good!" He was happy with it. I too. After the meal was over and we got a tad bored, he wanted to go to the beach. Needless to say I was helpless and followed his every directive. We played 'chasee', whereby he ran and I had to tag him, then I ran and he had to tag me. All quite fun. "I want to sunbathe now," he suddenly said. "And I want to sunbake," I followed. "But you know... can we go... there?" and he pointed to the nude section of Maslin's. He had me. So in no long time, we had passed the infamous clad/unclad-bathing divisor. We placed a large towel down and he shyly removed his t-shirt, his shorts and finally the light blue briefs. He plopped himself on his stomach letting the sun kiss his smooth little arse. He then looked up at me. "Well, what about you?" Realising I had been left transfixed by his little striptease, I quickly copied him and went down. The sensual warmth of the air and sunlight were pleasurable. I just let the time pass, occasionally glancing at Brad. I think he fell asleep. At one moment I decided to wake him... exposing just his back was dangerous: ozone hole> Australia> melanoma. "God, you're like my mum!" he complained. But he complied. So now he offered to Ra his young penis with the beginnings of pubic hair. I didn't dare look directly at it. We were both now on our backs. But it was difficult to sleep, so we put our caps on. Brad's bright red baseball cap inverted over his blonde head seared sexuality. When I was sure he was asleep, I got up. I spent a while looking at his mons pubis. That whole region sang of seduction. I got up, stretched, went for a walk and came back. He was now awake. He got up. "I can see your pubic hair!" he said. I didn't quite know how to react; I attempted to mask it. He said it again. "So?" I said. "Everyone's got one!" "Yeah," he said. "Like that guy!" and he pointed to a man beaching in the shallow water whose body was a nimbus cumulus cellulitis. "Thanks!" I said. Not being able to resist, I said: "You'll soon get some!" "I know. Isn't it cool? There's some down there, but it's all soft. Is yours soft?" The ease with which he weaved through this corporeal exploration threw me. I did not know how to digest the situation. "You can find that out later," I said, growing uncomfortably aware of the potential spectacle that might ensue if we continued in as public a forum as the beach. "My skin's starting to itch. Let's go home," I urged. He followed. We were back at Auntie's shack. "I need to shower, Brad," I told him. "Won't take long." "I need to as well." So the sand was out of my hair and off my skin. I felt much better. We were both just chilling on the couch, sipping some 'ice cold Coke'. "I hope my skin goes brown," he said. "What, you don't know?" I asked him. He was rather puzzled. "Well, my mum's told me that there are two types of skin: the one that goes brown, or the one that doesn't, and just burns. I'm the kind that turns brown." "I didn't know that," he stated. "I guess we'll find out." (We will indeed!) "It was cool how it was an all-over tan." "Yeah, I've not had one of those before!" I said. All of a sudden (naturally) he screamed out: "Wow! You have a chess set!" "O, yeah. I got bored." "So you were playing with yourself?" he asked. (I just loved his humour.) "Shut-up!" I replied. "Can you teach me?" he asked. Of course I would. We did not immediately set up the board. Rather, I showed him piece by piece how they moved. Then I tested him to make sure he knew. "A pawn... one square forward--except the first time when it can move two--and takes to the diagonal left or right." "Good," I said, then pointed to the next piece. "Bishop. Moves along its own coloured diagonal. Worth three pawns." I approved, then pointed. "Knight," he said. "Moves like an L shape... can jump over pieces; also worth three pawns." And again I repeated. "Rook... straight up or down... worth five pawns." Et cetera, et cetera, we went through the queen, king and the various little combinations they could do. "Now that you know well enough what each piece does and how much it's worth," I said, "we can start a game." And we did. Naturally, it being his first game and all, it was a boring one. He had absolutely no development and I crushed him in the middle game. Not a pity though, for he was not bored as I had anticipated but instead keen to do better. He insisted we play another. By the fourth game I had to put my foot down. I said I had had enough, that "my brain is tired" and we should do something else. "Fine... I know when I'm not wanted!" and he smiled, getting up. "Mum said I had to go home around now anyway... she wants me to get ready for tomorrow." "What, the modelling thing?" I asked. "Yeah!" and he goofily smiled. "So you're actually taking it seriously?" He said: "Why not? Did you read the thingy? Heaps cool prizes. And I get to perve!" (So do I!) "So, it starts at nine. Mum can give you a lift." "What? Why should I go?" "'Cause I want you there... please?" he begged. Refusing blonde Brad was virtually impossible. "Cool. I'll be here eight thirty tomorrow morning." He left. So tomorrow would be models day. Quelle bizarre! Andrew Staker http://www.geocities.com/adonipolis