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.

She nod­ded.

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.

Ay yah.

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.

Cock shrugged.

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.

(Hadn’t she?)

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.


Didn’t know if you were all right, or what.” Fan ges­tured to the foil. “Saw that and thought…”


…maybe you were look­ing for stun­fish or some­thing, or jellyglobes.”


Fan con­sid­ered him. “You wanna? Do some globes?”


He shud­dered and closed his eyes, shook his head.

Fan looked dis­ap­pointed. “Oh. All right.” He seemed at a loss for another suggestion.

You alone?”

Yeah,” Fan said cau­tiously. “Why?


Okay,” Cock said. “Look, my foil’s got a bad induc­tion port. You think you can tow me?”


Uh,” Fan gulped. “Sure.”

Thanks,” Cock said. “Hey. Stay with me tonight.”

Fan bright­ened. “Really?”


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?”


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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