With this we get our first true taste of Cock, and it’s not really good.
He is definitely an antihero. Abusive, arrogant, possibly a rapist; yet here is a throwaway sentence that I think sums him up, what he is, what is probably the core theme of this novel: Bless my sins, for I was fathered.
Here we also see two key words: Rosetta, and Blessed.
I don’t know what I’d do with a boy like Cock, but I really hope I could love him as the terribly-damaged and –incomplete child he so obviously is.
It is my belief that artists are responsible for their creations; they have to come from within. Thus, it could easily be argued that I am a freak like my scion. Maybe. Maybe. In order to write an insane teen boy, I must have a little of him in me, and maybe I do.
How do I respond to that damnation? Well — Cock learns, grows, becomes better, I think.
But not, alas, for a while. This boy is in trouble.
This is the last time I’ll apologize for him. From now on, he stands or falls on his own, as the rest of this narrative does. You’re on your own, as is he, as am I.
Just remember one thing: If I didn’t love him, I would never have written about him.
Noblesse Oblige, from The Seven-Year Mirror, ©2007 Warren Ockrassa
Dinnertime was awkward and silent, for his ma anyway.
He had cleaned himself up, tossing his briefs out the window. He checked and was glad he did. Splat on the decking. Brown streak. Shit.
Let ‘em lie. No, can’t. Everyone knew him and knew his briefs. They’d recognize them and him and know all about it, all about him and everything, what he did, what was done to him, what god said to him through the skylight.
So what? It’s god’s fault for scaring me.
God won’t see it that way. Want to be mashed?
He sighed and levered naked down off the window ledge, stooping to rinse his smeared ass and then to gather the reeky streaky briefs. Weighted them with a loose bolt. Dropped them into the greasy-oily sea. Splashed the caked brown stink off the decking. Burned at the shame of it all, shitting himself like a stupid fucking little.
Didn’t look at the hovering eye.
Went back inside through the door and crept up to his bedroom, put on some new briefs. Clean ones. Not the racing ones for the meets, just some that fit him. Didn’t remember where he got them, didn’t matter anyway.
Flumped loudly down the stairs.
Ma was quiet.
“Smells good,” he said.
He moved to set the table.
She sat and he served.
Stupid. Stupid. Piss off Tokoshi-san. Ma loses work. We have to leave. I can bring in money.
Tightness steely banding in his intestines, cool within, prickly hot on skin.
Because Dolen. Dolen and his eraser. Rubbing and things gone that had been there but a palimpsest, always a shadow behind and Dolen was not as he seemed.
Fucking Rosetta. He was proof to it.
Fucking Ma. She got him into this.
No. He wanted it as much as anyone. And he was thrilled when at ten told he rated. To rate and non-Rosette and run and ride and writhe under ‘rasing.
Oh the buzz. En! Er! Gized.
Always after god talked to him. Mind flippyflopping fish on fingers and lick the sizzle. Good this. Caught in the net dropped outside the house between their deck and the neighbor’s, she a cleaner like Ma and with no kids. Maybe the fish ate his shitty briefs. Funny that might be. Looked at him sometimes. He didn’t mind, let her watch, masturbated in his uncurtained window at night spunk rainypattering outside down seaward for her benefit and she blushed looking at him in daylight but always smiled. Maybe someday, yeah why not? She was older and probably loose but why not? Bet she went outside after each time and lookied for the drippys and lapped her shaft-wrapping tongue raw.
Everyone wanted him, his cum, the sauce he made that meant so much to man and maid, scum of cum on skin like drum and fire pearly arc through air over tits or inside, mouth ass cunt didn’t care what they want, yeah that squirt of him and his body inspired by sire and desire.
He, like fish, like most unschooled danjis, knew not his sire, was just a cloud of jizz released and one of them successful. Bless my sins, for I was fathered. And of a breed, he thrust along also.
God gave him that and the thing he had inside, the thing that no Rosetta could read in the hollow knob of bone atop shoulders, and also the juice of him and his cells’ secret recipe for making more of him. God had told him what to do with his precious spooge, how to fuck and whom and when, and then left him riding risen like ever and then he would be down down down, crash deep and darkyblue like undersea a kay but now, en oh er yeah gized.
“This is good, Ma.” Leg jittering on football.
She smiled. “Thanks, son.”
“Sorry about Tokoshi-san.” Jitter jit jit. Jit!
She eyed him but wasn’t god so he didn’t affright. “Just keep it slower by the wharves.”
“Try to remember that,” he said. “I will.” Thump thump thump the heart in him. Standing with his cock. “Gotta go.”
To do god’s will. Muff next door wants a slip of slapper in her slit. “Just walking thinking digesting, die, jess, sting.” The three final syllables punctuated with palmslaps to his bareskin ripply belly, penis massive throbbing under.
Her expression was hoody under blackhair brows.
“Back in half.” Leaning in kiss cheek and out the door, knocking one boat over, being let in.
And the evening and the morning were.
Tokoshi-san fumed. The shame of it was immense. Did not this woman understand that she needed to control her boy?
So many times he had ridden his watercraft too swiftly. So often with those other Barque brats. And ashore he was nearly as much a curse, harassing the guests, tormenting the staff. Everywhere like imps. That was bad.
But this — Ay yah.
The woman, Jed’sa, was red of face and eye. She knew the dishonor was great and was kneeling before him now, begging his forgiveness. “Please, Tokoshi-san,” she sobbed. “Please, benevolent sir, spare my position.”
The headline glared across his viscast.
Woman Raped, Beaten
She had been left alive to speak of and name her assailant.
Was the boy truly that stupid?
And the story, the story she had lived to tell. She had thought he was simply being friendly. He had believed a god told him to couple with her. He was stronger and possessed a divine mandate and she had yielded her body, but not quickly enough to suit him. So he had beaten her while penetrating her.
Even without her witness he would have been caught. Foot– and fingerprints were everywhere and there was his semen within her, bearing millions of copies of his DNA.
But would he be jailed?
Discreetly, brooms would emerge. Silently things would be swept into corners, into shadow.
Tokoshi-san knew. Few others did.
Jed’sa crept closer and reached for the sash of his kimono. He made no move to stop her. “We will have nowhere to go,” she said humbly. “I will be cast away and shamed, and my son will never be a man of honor.”
“He will never be a man of honor no matter what you do,” Tokoshi-san grated. “It is not for you to decide.” Her face crumpled. He also knew it didn’t matter. Her son could rape a thousand women if he chose to, beat them as much as he desired, even strangle them afterward, then roast their bodies and eat their flesh.
He would never be punished for it.
He was Blessed.
“With your benevolent help, perhaps he could amount to more than I,” she said, pressing her cheek against his groin, nuzzling.
Could he cover this? Ignore it? It was the cool season. Tourism was at its neap. She was not recognizable to the guests, all of whom were so far above her in station that her existence did not register in the least. The only time she was ever noticed was when she did to them what she was beginning to do to him, and no one looked the women in the face when they were performing that service.
The top of a woman’s head, he reflected as he looked down now, was anonymous.
Her hair was shiny and black and straight, and she always kept it clean. Satiny and glowing and never any skin flakes to distract a guest, not even at the part, where the follicles plunged into the translucent cream of her scalp. She took care of her appearance. She was a dedicated, if unimaginative, worker, and young, just a little over twice the age of her ill-begotten fruit.
She would owe him many favors for his forgiveness.
But that still left the boy. He must never be allowed near the wharf again. She would have to understand that.
Her hair swayed like a silk curtain in a breeze as her head moved back and forth slowly.
Perhaps this would not be so bad. Perhaps having a woman in his debt, whose son was Blessed, could be made to work well for him.
He continued not to stop her.
He was graceful in his magnanimity and came discreetly on her tongue, not demanding bukkake.
Fan goaded. “Let’s wet the wharf,” he said.
Heads swiveled his way, Rip, Tube, Blade.
Rip’s eyebrows crept.
“He’s pissy today,” Blade said.
“More’n that,” Rip murmured. “Lot more.”
Fan rounded on him. “What the fuck’oes’at mean?”
“Easy, danji. I’m not tryin to sluff on your kareshi.”
Fan denied it but his face flamed. Everyone knew he liked Cock and Cock’s cock. Prolly even more’n Blade did. They’d known each other long before they got their foils, back when they were both spunkless. He was the only one of all of them to freely offer his ass to Cock any time he wanted a quick boyfuck. Or a slow one. Sometimes they thought he asked for it.
He didn’t care, he said, as long as it was Cock’s cock pumping spunk in him. The rest judged he didn’t care pretty regularly. Several times a week at least he could be caught not caring, on his hands and knees and blissful and rocking, Cock’s pelvis thrusting behind.
Rip held up a reader and showed the simplified headline. The others gaped as the reader’s voice, a cheery tinny girly thing, chirped merrily about how Cock had fucked the shit out of some Barque cunt. And beaten even more of said shit from her as well.
“She lived next door to you?” Tube said, looking at Cock with disappointment. Cock shrugged again and Tube shook his head. His tone said even I know that much. “Fuckin screwy, danji. Don’t shit where you eat.”
“Or fuck where you shit,” Rip added.
Fan’s face was pale and he ran his hand through the thick tufts on the haired side of his head. His fingers, cool, shook. “That was Missus Tasumi,” he whispered. “Wasn’t it.”
Cock shrugged a third time.
“She used to give us sugarcakes,” Fan went on.
“Fuck you,” Cock said and inducted, leaving them all wet with his spray.
“How the shit does he do it?” Rip said that darknoon while Castor’s skies wept.
Cock had been missing all morning. That was fine by Rip and Tube; he was off and it always made them sullen when he was around and like that. Blade didn’t care much either as long as there was dick somewhere to suck and fuck. She would get achey, she said, if she had to go without a good slap for more than a little. The boys were happy to be sure she endured no want.
Fan, who cared, was scanning the horizon restlessly. Eyes narrow and squinty and worried. Rip splashed him and he jumped. “Whaddafuckyawant?”
“You know his secret?”
Fan’s eyes stayed seaward. Like a pet for his master, Rip thought, contempt and jealousy — jealousy! — curdled in his chest. “What secret?”
“Fuck, danj. How he can do the shit he does and not get wetted n landed forever.” Cock’s escapade the night before was not the first, merely the latest and most severe. He always did crazy shit but usually it was with guests at the resorts, not right next door to his fuckin bedroom, and usually it was basically harmless. Fucked around, did skins, one time even had some crazy lep from Allahu’akhfuckit convinced he knew Pollucan acupuncture, of which there was no such. Filled the poor brokedick shitwad with nÿlo needles so he looked like a fuckin jellyglobe and then charged him eighty okane for it, all the while assuring him with total seriousness that the redness and swelling would go away if he kept his che’yah up.
Cock was fuckin funny sometimes.
But he was also funny in the other way, the way that made people itch on the inside. Made them jumpy and nervous. Not want to get too close. Like maybe if they shook him he’d bite.
And now he was slapping bitches, both ways, that lived right next to him. Some cow he knew from back when he was pre-spunk. Fucked up.
And never, never ever, did Cock ever have to deal with the monitors. Rip wondered if he’d even been questioned for what he’d done yesterday.
If he had tried that, or Tube or Fan, they’d be in the tank for a longass fuckall haffokshit time and probably chemically impotentized for a while after being sprung.
But Cock was free and still fucky.
“Well?” he demanded.
Fan looked over to him, irritated. “I don’t fuckin know,” he spat. “He’s just lucky or some shit.”
“Lucky ain’t it,” Rip said. “Luck is stealin a wad and not gettin caught. The bitch named him, danji, named him and they got his goo right outta her fuckin twat. He done it, he done her and they fuckin know it. And he’s just fannin his ass around out there like nothin happened. Like he fuckin bowed n said hey how ya doin.” Rip shared Fan’s gaze at the sea. Clouds had broken, giving way to high strat streaks and the nimbus around Castor’s twin that spoke of darknoon’s incipient end. Hazed through atmosphere, Pollux egged in the sky. The foils bobbed on the waves. “And I want to know how the fuck he does it. I wanna be able to do the same.”
“No shit,” Tube murmured.
“Someone wanna fuck me?” Blade said.
Fan shook his head and turned his back on them, still looking for Cock.
The waters of Castor lapped at his cheeks and tasted almost like tears when they left drops in the corners of his lips. His eyes were closed against the sting.
And the eye, traitorous and watching, that loomed.
He breathed slowly, his body rising slightly with each expansion of his chest, then sinking as he deflated his lungs, the cool ocean slipping gently across his belly, sternum, nipples, only to roll back once more as he inhaled. He was a shore unto himself and set his own tidal schedule.
There was ground beneath him, but it was two kay vertical through the cold cobalt pelagic before he’d rest there if he decided to sink to its level. The sea got even deeper bulgeside.
Waves slapped hollowly against the foil’s induction ports. The machine bobbed corklike several meters off. From time to time his arm would be tugged by the tether that kept it leashed to him, or him to it.
He and it were beaded by water. They’d waited out the darknoon deluge together. Jewels ran and tracked and joined and rolled down the foil’s hull sections. Thing and beast. All alone but the moil within.
She’d told, described him. God had not stopped her from doing that. He thought god would keep her quiet, make her understand the precious gift she was being given. The sacrament he’d shared with her, take ye my body, the eucharist of life, had gone unremarked, unappreciated. It was labeled a crime, sin, not benediction.
But he’d been so sure. All those times she looked at him. Watched him. While he yanked his slapper and spewed his mighty sauce, just for her benefit.
Didn’t she understand, didn’t she appreciate the privilege of being injected?
And why did she say he had beaten her, forced her? She had asked. She had been the one to suggest the roughing. She had been the one to say harder, harder, yeah do it harder baby.
Well, at least god would keep him from being prosecuted. Persecuted.
“There he goes again.”
He started violently in the water and got a noseful, came up sputtering and choking at the burn in his sinuses, looking around himself.
“Yeah, the stupid little brokedick sluffer. Thinks he’s god’s own tool.”
“Can’t even handle his tool,” the first voice, the man, said. “How can he be god’s?”
The second voice, the woman, laughed. “He’s not god’s tool. Look, god can’t even look at him any more. God’s too ashamed of him to look.”
Cock glared up at Pollux, ready to refute it, but Eve was right. God wasn’t looking at him at all. The eye was downcast, bulgeward, tilted as though in shame.
Adam spoke again. “And off he goes, slapping some poor woman.”
“He thought she liked it,” Eve hissed. “No woman would want that slapper. It’s lumpy. Bent.”
“Ugly,” Adam agreed, “and small.”
“The water’s cold,” Cock said.
“Did it say something?” Eve mocked. “Ooh, did goddy-woddy’s wittwe tooly-wooly say somefing to us’ms big peepah?”
“The water’s cold,” Cock repeated, his ears heating. “It’s not small. It’s just that the water’s cold.”
“It thinks we care what it has to say,” Adam said with a tone of surprised condescension.
“I’m not an it. I’m a he.”
“Then why does it call itself Cock, which is a thing, I wonder?” Eve said offhandedly.
“Maybe it’s stupid,” Adam suggested. “Maybe it’s too stupid to know the difference.”
“It can’t read,” Eve agreed. “It might just be a lot more stupid than it thinks it is.”
“Right,” Adam said. “After all it got caught.”
“God let me get caught,” Cock mumbled. “It’s god’s fault.”
“Nothing is ever god’s fault,” Adam said sharply. “God doesn’t do anything wrong. Only people. And stupid little ugly cocks like you.”
“Then why does everyone say god is in charge if god doesn’t do anything?”
“He didn’t say god didn’t do anything, you idiot,” Eve said, sounding bored. “He said nothing is ever god’s fault. Fuck, you really are stupid.”
“Except you,” Adam said. “God made a mistake making you.”
“No god didn’t,” Cock said. “God told me yesterday that…”
“Oh, there it goes again claiming to be in touch with god,” Eve snickered.
“Like they’re bosom friends,” Adam laughed. “I bet it wants us to think it’s even been spunked by god.”
Cock glanced uneasily to the eye. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he said.
“Say things like what?”
Cock spun around and saw Fan bobbing close, astride his foil, arms crossed over the yoke. He looked a little worried.
“Bet he heard us,” Eve taunted.
“Uh,” Cock said.
“Hey! Hey Cock! Tell Fan what you really think of when you see him!”
Fan continued to gaze at him, his eyes clouded. “I just … wondered where you were,” he said.
“LA LA LA LA LA, Fan Fan fanny-fan man, COCK LOVES YOU and WANTS TO ASK YOU TO RUN AWAY WITH HIM!”
“Didn’t know if you were all right, or what.” Fan gestured to the foil. “Saw that and thought…”
“COCK THINKS ABOUT YOUR SPUNK ALL THE TIME AND THAT’S WHY HE WANTS YOU TO FUCK HIM FUCK HIM FUUUUUUUUCK HIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMM UNTIL HE’S SQUELCHY AND DRIPPING WITH YOUR GOO RIGHT OUT OF HIS ASSHOLE!”
“…maybe you were looking for stunfish or something, or jellyglobes.”
“OOH, COCKY-WOCKY WANNA BE THE GIRLY GIRL FOR FANNY-MAN! COCKY-WOCKY WANNA GET AWW MAWWIED TO FANNY!”
Fan considered him. “You wanna? Do some globes?”
“SUCK HIM, FUCK HIM, SLIP HIM THE SLAPPER AND SQUIRT THE SPOOGE! COCK WANTS IT BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!”
He shuddered and closed his eyes, shook his head.
Fan looked disappointed. “Oh. All right.” He seemed at a loss for another suggestion.
“Yeah,” Fan said cautiously. “Why?
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”
“Okay,” Cock said. “Look, my foil’s got a bad induction port. You think you can tow me?”
“NO! NO! NO! YOU ARE STAYING HERE AND WE WILL KEEP YOU UNTIL YOU DIE ALL ALONE WITHOUT GOD LOOKING AT YOU!”
“Uh,” Fan gulped. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” Cock said. “Hey. Stay with me tonight.”
Fan brightened. “Really?”
“NO! NO! DO NOT STAY WITH IT! DO NOT BE WITH IT! IT IS UGLY AND SMALL AND LUMPY AND YOU WILL HATE IT!”
“Yeah,” Cock mumbled. “Just us, you and me. It’s been … a long while.”
Fan beamed and nodded. “Sure,” he said. “We can see a viscast maybe?”
“A DATE! A DATE! YOU’RE GOING TO TAKE IT UP THE ASS TONIGHT. YOUR FANNY-MANNY KARESHI IS GOING TO FUCK YOU LIKE THE PUSSY YOU ARE!”
“That sounds like a terrific idea,” Cock said with true verve, and the voices both shut up, shocked into silence at how he had outsmarted them in their game.
But they’d be back, like always. First he would feel even for a while, and then he’d get that prickly skin and god’s eye would look at him. God would tell him something and he would do it, and then he would be deep down and Eve, that hellcunt, and her pet prick Adam would come back to shovel another mountain of chum on his head.
Fan, unaware of all, strapped his foil to Cock’s and began tugging the machine, whose induction ports naturally functioned flawlessly, back to Urbis T’oh-k’o. Cock rode mounted behind him, pelvis to butt and barechest to bareback because he knew Fan liked the feeling, and by the time they made the beach he was better, his hands grasping the boy’s hips firmly and sometimes skittering around frontward to brush and cradle and gently squeeze what lumped between lean tight thighs. Each time he did Fan made a soft mmm sound as Cock smiled against the cup of his ear and deposited light kisses there.
He knew that later Fan would return every gesture, touch for touch, kiss for kiss, until they were both incapable of moving, locked in shared ecstasy. It had been that way with them forever.
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