Date: Tue, 16 Mar 2010 21:37:49 +0000
From: paxos@hushmail.com
Subject: London Victoria - part 4

Dillon turns the key quietly in the lock and lets himself in.

"Dillon?"

"Yes mum."

"What do you want for tea?"

"Not hungry."  He starts up the stairs.

"Not hungry?"  His mother is in the kitchen doorway as he
disappears.

Dillon closes his bedroom door behind him and slings his back-pack.

He sits on his bed.

Dusk.

A train grumbles past casting an orange and black silhouette.

He kicks off his scuffed school shoes.  He clicks through the menu
on his iPod, inserts the earbuds and lies back on his bed.

Another silhouette flickers past.

He puts his hands behind his head.

"Yeah I would do any... hmmm hmmm hmm.  Yeah I would do any... hmmm
hmmm hmm."

He grunts and turns his head in his hands to the right and the left.

"But I won't... doooo... that!"

He is on his feet.  Holding his iPod in one hand, with the other he
grabs off his socks, unbuttons his trousers and skins off his
boxers.  His headphones tangle in his shirt as he pulls it over his
head.  He re-inserts the buds.

"stars are burning..."

His clothes lie where they fall.

"anything you've been dreaming of..."

He stands in the window.

Darkening orange on the bedroom wall.

The occasional flash as trains cross points and arc light.

---

Dillon is in the bath when the doorbell chimes.

Muffled voices below.  He submerges.

He holds his breath and counts.

He listens to the ringing in his ears.

A bubble escapes his nostril.

He sings underwater, then surfaces.

He puts his pink heels on the sides of the bath and submerges
again, his backbone flat against the enamel.

He holds it.

He hums and listens to the distance.

Surfacing he can still make out voices below.

His arms drape along the sides of the bath, steaming.

Water drips.  He blinks and pushes his hair out of his eyes.

His fingers are pruned.  He examines them.

His mother's voice.

He watches water drip from his finger tips.

His erection slowly swells.  He closes his eyes.

He touches his face lightly.  Strokes his cheek with his knuckles.
Runs a finger across his lips.

His eyes are tightly shut.  His eyes flick behind his eyelids.

His hand runs over his neck, traces his emerging Adam's Apple.

His hand presses against his chest and stays there.

He opens his mouth.  His tongue rubs over his teeth.  Against his
lips.

His hand is on his flat stomach below the water.  Inching lower.

With his index finger he traces across his tight cock with the
lightest touch.

With finger and thumb he draws back his foreskin and his bright
pink cock-head breaks the surface of the water.

Eyes shut, he opens his mouth wide.  His knees hook over the sides
of the bath, water dripping down his smooth shins.  His toes curled.

---

"Is there anything to eat?"

"I thought you weren't hungry."

"I wasn't but now I am."

"There's cake in the tin if you want.  Or do you want me to make
you a sandwich?"

"What kind of cake?"

"Fruitcake."

"Gross."

"Sandwich then?"

She gets up and he follows her to the kitchen.

"You missed the man from school."

"What?"

"When you were in the bath, the man came round about the golf."

Dillon is still wet from the bath.  There are dark patches on his
hoodie and trackie-bottoms.  He flips up the hood over his wet hair.

"Golf?"

----

Charles Fox clears his throat.

"For your first golf lesson, let us start with the stance.  Your
legs slightly apart.  Knees slightly bent.  Slightly wider.  That's
it."

"You're a nutter."

"This is the grip....  Watch me."

"I am."

"That's called the fairway.  See how smooth it is, with just the
odd patch of rough?  The green, down there is even smoother.
Flawless."

"Yup."

"All the way to the hole between the bunkers."

Dillon is silent.

--

Comments welcome as ever.  paxos@hushmail.com