Date: Thu, 04 Jul 2002 11:11:11 +0930
From: andrew staker <mallowisious@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Lolito" chapter 3

LOLITO
Chapter 3

I stood looking into a toilet bowl full of dark brown shit corpuscles,
dangling the last drips of piss from my penis. I ran my left hand over my
face and eyes then watched the cleanly chaos inundate and leave the bowl
sparkling blue. Monday morning. A sleep-in, for it was nigh on eleven.
Unlike the previous, today was overcast and murky. A sombre wind whispered.
Brad had hinted that we'd make our little trip down to the kiosk. It could
not be far, I thought to myself.

So I dressed prettily even before breakfast, aiming--and achieving--a casual
yet tended look. I sat at table munching on Auntie's crumpets. Shit, not
much left. I would need to go shopping. So I took a juicy $50 note from its
pile of siblings and suavely put it in my pocket. Were they awake?
Hopefully. But is it not too forward to go over, knock on the door and say,
"Hand me over your kid"? So I should have to wait until he came knocking on
my door. Boy, such tedious moments.

I even managed to peer across. Their shack was dormant. For a Monday this
was unusual I thought. Or perhaps not. It was the edge of Adelaide after
all. Toward the south and east lay nothing but modest hills. North was the
city, houses swelling ever more. I was too well dressed to splash about in
the water. But perhaps a walk to the beach, just to see who and what was
moving. How boring a sight: retirees walking their poodle, a mother and
three infants lazily strolling. The temperature was not low, so some bathed.
Usually guys or girls my own age, on holiday playing with each other. Yet
they formed clumps that excluded yours truly.

But I grew tired of a beach lacking a sun and my version of Tadziu. Back to
the house to watch the midday tele-news, on the national broadcaster of
course! Tragedy here and there, terror hither and thither. Interest rates
up, dollar down. Then the sport and how some pimply dude my own age was
achieving world fame and wealth while I wasted away in a shack lusting over
the puerile form of Brad.

That activity soon consumed itself. And I lay on the couch, half tempted to
read that poetry book. But no. I had other things on my mind. So mustering
all my determination, I got the keys, wallet and traversed the road. I stood
on the porch, on their porch. The wind licked wisps in my hair. I could see
my hand trembling. But it managed to knock. In almost no time at all, a
round, passive man opened. The dialogue was rather generic and Katie
recognised me.

"Dad," she said to the man, "this is Pete. I told you... from across the
road?" I walked in. A swarthy woman loomed grandly over the kitchen,
mangling some chicken into lunch. "Mum, this is Pete." She wiped the greying
hair from her face with a moist hand.

"Hello. Peter... McMack," I said, half awed, half eyeing for my Lolito.

The father got me a drink whilst she said dryly: "Mrs Winckelmann. And he's
John, my husband." The petite crucifix intermittently interrupted her
resumed labours, but Katie luckily took care of me.

The place was rather desolate, minimalist in decor, featuring an aged Bible
verse on the wall. Katie said: "So, how are your holidays going?"

"Not too bad. Been going to the beach and that," I responded, grasping my
perspiring glass of raspberry cordial for reassurance. "But it's pretty
boring."

Who should come out through the hallway but Brad, sporting some grey track
pants and a nonchalant yellow t-shirt. "Peter!" he squealed. The mother
stopped for half a second, the recommenced. "I thought you'd never come."

The father had by now taken out a laptop. "I'm going to do some work dear,"
he told his wife. And he left.

"My husband works in computers," Mrs W. told me. "Do you take much
interest?" I told her I was a consumer, not producer of computer tech. "O,
it pays off!" and she smiled, gurgling some beer. Suddenly the overtly
Christian austerity I initially envisioned evaporated. Her smile was
genuine. "I tried to get Kate into it, but no brains!"

"Mum!" the indignant Katie rightly retorted. Meanwhile Brad childishly
giggled. "Well... are we off then?"

Brad: "She's gotta come too..."

To which his mother calmly responded: "Why of course. Why not?"

So we left for our little walk to the kiosk. Katie informed us of the hot
guys around the place, it being summer and all and that. "You should find
some girls too," to which an interesting silence was the sole respondent. It
was not a long walk at all, probably about three minutes max. The kiosk
turned out to be "Maslin Beach General Store OPEN 7 DAYS". It featured two
plastic chairs, a matching table plus a plethora of associated lolly and
drink advertisements. We shuffled inside, gazing at its limited but
encyclopaedic range of goods. Cat food to mouse poison and newspapers to
boot.

"Well you two, I actually need stuff to eat, 'cause if I don't buy it, no
one will. And I'm not about to starve!" So I busied myself with seeking out
what I need. Katie bought her brother an ice cream and invited him out, but
chose to follow me around. So I asked him: "Which one should I get?" and he
picked the brand of toilet paper with a blue duck. Then he decided upon
chips with little crinkles and chocolate made by Nestle and so on. In the
end I had a little bundle of goodies and a hefty amount to pay. But he had
been by my side.

We then joined Katie outside, with the kid standing, licking his
strawberry-flavoured, chocolate-coated confection on a stick with expert
skill, his pink tongue and red lips gorging on it. Make me into an ice
cream! I yelled within. "So tell me about uni," Katie provoked, giving rise
to a summarisation which she periodically broke off with comments about the
various cars driving by, containing more often than not guys whom she found
appealing and felt she had to make it known. I doubt she was interested in
my tale about university life, but I decided to press on in spite of her.
Her mobile phone finally rang and she felt she needed to go at some distance
resulting in a two-way confidentiality: I had free access to my Brad.

"You know," he said, "I think I believe you don't like her."

"You do?"

"Yeah," he continued.

"Well that's different to the last two days!" I smiled at him, glancing
across, glad to see her talking still.

He nudged nearer. "Actually, I feel sorry for her." What? "Yeah, I mean... I
can tell you don't much like talking to her. You screw your nose when she
interrupts you..."

He had got me! I defended: "Well, I mean, she... she's..."

"Rude--can't listen?" Exactly that. "Well, you just gotta get used to her!"
and he swayed in jest, chucking his used ice-cream stick in the bin. "Good
ice-cream!" he said, thanking me with a stolen kiss.

"But... I didn't buy it. Katie did..." I protested, in shock.

"Oh..." and he laughed it off.

His sister returned, staggering. She looked at him. Her eyes seemed to
glisten with sadness. "He fucken... that bastard... he dumped me!" she
cried, leering to his shoulder. He consoled her as best he could, sometimes
looking in my direction and smiling. He even nudged me over. I did a
knightly thing and began to comfort her. Her arms were surprisingly soon
snaking their way around my body.

We decided to walk over to the grassy reserve some fifty metres from the
shop, passing a bus stop on the way. There was a family picnicking and some
youths arcing their athletic selves in pursuit of the hither-thither
football. The clouds were well and truly thickening. By sheer chance the
family's radio was functioning and the weather report came on, with warnings
about gales, thunder and local, heavy falls of rain in southern areas. To me
this was exciting, but with Katie in mourning at the denouement of a teenage
relationship, it was not the right time to make my meteorological sentiments
known.

"But I thought you were single," I said, rather bemused by the whole affair.

She became enflamed. How did I know that? Had Wormus been telling me stuff?
(Indeed he had told me of the last, Italianate boyfriend... as far as I
knew, that was as far as her romances extended.)

"Well you know nothing! That was just a dork! My real boyfriend was Shane!"

And because she subsequently fell on her back in an orgy of tears, her
tender brother filled in the cracks. Yes, Kevin was her boyfriend, but only
as far as he and her parents knew. Shane was the real guy... the one who had
the emotional and corporeal benefits of Katie's love. Brad continued by
saying, "Shane was kind of a rebel. Like he did shit he wasn't meant to. And
mum and dad would never have liked him. So yeah... Katie didn't wanna let
them know!" Hence the hush-hush. The kid had even concealed it from me. "Mum
and Dad don't need to know now," he told her. "I mean, what'd be the point?"
So we gathered ourselves and walked home.

I was keen to get my shopping inside the fridge et cetera and not so keen on
having lunch with them so when Katie awkwardly excused herself and Brad, I
was more than happy to let them go and eat with Mr and Mrs Winckelmann. I
fried a kransky sausage split in half and ate it with some baked beans fresh
from the can--kind of a favourite of mine. So I sat on the red couch,
watching an American soap opera. But this idiosyncratic pleasure did not
last long, for young Brad let himself in.

"Lunch over!" he announced. "Mum said I could play."

"O good," I responded, so very glad.

"What were you watching?" he said, skipping over onto the couch. I told him.
"Not too exciting. But I'm usually at school around now... so it's worth
watching. But they take Jerry Springer off on the hols... that's a pity. Why
do people hate us schoolkids?"

I cleared my throat. "How was lunch? Your mum looks like she can cook." He
giggled slightly. "I don't suppose you want a drink?"

"Actually," came the reply, "I was after a cocoa, like last night." I said
that could be done. "But... well, can you make a cold one?" That too could
be done. As I got up, he followed. "This is a nice kitchen," he idly
observed. Maybe it was... but there was a much nicer thing in the kitchen.
"So this is your aunt's place?"

"Sure is. I'm here on holiday..."

"Like me!" he jumped in. We chortled a while before quiet. I didn't feel
like saying much... nor possibly did he. But I grew uncomfy, so I stopped my
mixing of milk, sugar and cocoa powder and asked him, "Why did you kiss me
today?"

He did not immediately respond. Rather his eyes lowered slightly and he
glided his soft hands across the bench-top. "I... I'm sorry..." and he
walked out in a hurry. I decided it would not be wise to chase him. Perhaps
I could not even move. So I stared at the sea in frustration. O ye brooding
clouds. Deciding that it would be a waste, I finished to cocoa and began to
sip it, walking sadly back to the room. Maybe I would read that book of
poetry after all.

Were I one to adhere to cliches, the mug would have dropped from my hand
when to my surprise I saw him on the couch, sitting rigid, leafing through
the book of poems. In a subdued voice with a cautious tone he said "Thanks"
after seeing the drink in my hand. I handed it over. "Look at this one I
found. It's a bit hard..." With some discomfort, I managed to ask if he had
read poetry before. "Not really. But if Katie can... me too. What d'you
think of this?

'How sweet I roam'd from field to field
   And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld
   Who in the sunny beams did glide!'"

I walked over, sat next him and then commenced:

"'He shew'd me lilies for my hair,
   And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through the gardens fair
   Where all his golden pleasures grow.'

I think it's great. What a lucky find!" and I smiled towards him.

"So you don't mind if it talks about guys?" he timidly enquired. I said that
it was talking about love, which is neutral. "So it doesn't care about boys
or girls...?"

"No," I replied. "Love is a feeling people have 'cause they are human!"

"My sis is real down now. And my parents don't know why... and she can't
tell 'em either."

"I must admit," I said, "it's a rather odd situation."

"Have you ever been dumped?" No. "Is that 'cause there aren't many girls up
in the country?" Ah... the answer. The answer. "Have you ever had a
girlfriend?"

"Well, I'm an honest guy Brad... so no, I haven't." There, I had done it. I
told him something about me that back up in Clare made everyone look funnily
toward me.

But his reply was not "you gotta get one" but "that's cool." After a pause,
he continued with: "I'm sorry I... did that... I won't ever again..." and he
stared at his hairless arms, playing with his puffed-pastry like fingers. Ah
my Brad, if only you would do it again! "You know what? You should be
Katie's boyfriend."

I almost baulked. "WHAT?" He had initially hated me for so much as talking
to the poor girl.

"Well... she could use your strong muscles for a hug now. I seen them..."
though I doubt what he had seen were muscle, the point was he had seen.

"But I told you Brad, I don't like her."

"And I do?" he looked into my eyes. "But it would make her so much happier."
All the convincing I needed came from his eyes, his rosebud lips and that
naughty little nose covered in Caucasian skin. I consented. He then dashed
off and returned, sure enough, with Katie and a videogame.

The three of us spent the remainder of the afternoon wrestling or racing or
flying on the PlayStation. I was minimally skilled, largely through lack of
experience or perhaps poor hand-eye coordination. But Brad really got into
it. The pleasure he extracted from the little electronic box connected to
the television was amazing. Katie and I sat on the couch, his young body
nestled between us on the floor. I was terrible in trying to convince Katie
I had feelings for her. If anything, I could have sworn the kid's back
rested a tad too comfortably against my leg.

When it got to six, I was utterly bored. "I have a headache," I said. "Maybe
we should go for a walk."

Katie jumped up and offered to get me a glass of water. It took Brad a
little longer to break out of the PlayStation's hypnotic grasp. "O, okay."
She returned with the water.

I continued: "Well, while we were down at the shop, I noticed some kind of
bushy, hilly place just across that reserve. Kind of had a path. What do you
guys say?" They quickly agreed so we turned off the electronic gadgets and
headed down. The shop was still open, but had all its lights on. The sky was
darkening and a rather loud wind blew in from the sea.

So Indian file, with Brad in lead and me at back, we walked through the
swaying bushes. There was no one around but the blue light of stormy
evening. He ran happily left and right, climbing and descending... his
cheerful voice colouring the air warm. And we reached it, the little peak.
He stood, gazing toward the turbulent horizon and close to the madding sea,
whose waves crashed with anger against the beach. He spread his thin arms.
"I am a prince!" he shouted toward the wind. Katie sat down, rather
disinterested. I walked over to the knoll and joined the kid. We were both
princess now. Then some chunky raindrops spat on us. But it was warm; it
felt good. Nature was licking us all over. His yellow t-shirt, getting
wetter, moulded to his boyish body. His hair grew moister, his eyes
struggling to stay open. He looked adorable. I would have reached across and
patted his sweet face, were it not for a sharp human sound.

"It's getting cold!" Katie shouted. The kid and I did not say a thing;
rather, we continued our strange co-nuptial with Nature. "Oi... I'm fucken
wet!" So I turned, only to see Katie trudging across the muddying ground.
Brad turned too. Then she yelped and slid, falling on her arse. Brad burst a
giggle but her screech of pain replaced it. "Ow... ow! OW!" and then we
realised something was not right.

She could not walk--a twisted ankle or something. So we carried her between
us back home. It took a while and the rain, coupled with thunder, made it an
adrenaline-intensive walk. We knocked at the Winckelmanns' door and their
father let us in. Rather quickly the decision was made that they'd rush her
to the local hospital in Noarlunga. "Could you stay here and care for Brad?"
Mr W. asked of me. Could I ever!

"Sure mister Winckelmann. Can do." So they zoomed off. There we were, Brad
and I, sitting in the gloomy, rain-dropped quiet of his shack. I was not in
the mood for PlayStation, so we played Guess Who, that boardgame where one
has to discover which person the opposition has chosen by way of eliminating
physical features.

After this got boring, and the television got boring, he turned to me: "I
know what we can do." He got up, then from somewhere down the hall, yelled
out: "Come here." So I followed. "Well, I got to tell you what to wear. Do
it to me."

What, was he serious? This question was soon answered when he removed his
wet shirt with no fuss. "I am cold after all." So he opened up the wardrobe
and started plonking an array of t-shirts and shirts on the bed. The
veritable rainbow of colour was only outshone by the dull, wet shine of his
naked torso. "Pick one," he told me.

"Well... that one," I said, pointing to a nice, Bordeaux-coloured shirt.

"Okay..." he said, picking it up, then stopping. "Wait... it's gotta match
with my pants." He felt his track pants with slender fingers. "Wet too!" and
as casually as before, off slid the pants.

I was left breathless, viewing the near-naked body of Brad. A nondescript
pair of grey briefs covered his fruits de garcon. He turned to the wardrobe,
yanked out some pants and begged me elect a pair. Stumblingly I said: "Those
look warm... and go with the shirt." Sure enough he was happy with my
choice. He removed his wet socks and replaced them with an equally white
pair. Then his pants and shirt. He was once again clad, looking less carnal
but no less seductive. He asked if I needed some change of clothing, to
which I replied: "I doubt they'd fit me."

For the remainder of the night, we stayed in front of the TV, intermittently
eating and drinking sweets, some of which I had gone across the road to get
from my place. Katie and the parents had still not returned and it was
getting late. Brad eventually fell asleep with his soft head on my shoulder,
body extended while I sat upright, having a hard time trying not to sleep.
In the end, I think I was too weak. I caved in and had a pleasurable dream.