So ......

So here I am sitting on the floor lost in Wolf Hall – that Cromwell was a so and so wasn’t he? - when I hear his voice calling me from the other room. Get your arse in here he says. God I hate that old bastard. I mean I know you’re not supposed to feel that way about your own fucking father, but believe me, if you lived with the fat slob, you wouldn’t be too keen on him either.

It’s not just that he’s hugely fat, hairy and stinks of BO, or that he wears the same underwear and socks for days on end. No, what really pisses me off is that he makes me suck that disgusting bit of gristle he calls his dick every fucking day.

I suppose it has its advantages - at least that bit – and I do mean bit – of the disgusting slob is clean. But only because it’s my mouth that washes it. Yuk. He probably wouldn’t be able to find it without help it’s so smothered in blubber. My guess is he hasn’t actually seen it except in a mirror for at least the last ten years, and then he’d need a magnifying glass!

I’d better go in. If he has to get up to come to me I’ll get another right royal beating. I’ll say one thing for the cunt – for a fat bloke he can’t half move fast when he wants to. See this black eye? And look, I didn’t get this bruise on my back from falling over. God, listen to him.

Alright, alright I’m coming.

* * * *

I have to say that was not nice. The dirty bastard couldn’t be bothered to get off his boil covered arse to go for a piss. It’s the first time he’s actually been too fucking lazy to go to the bog, and my God, the fucking smell! And I had to lick the cunt clean. I honestly don’t know how I didn’t throw up. The only blessing was he came quick. I didn’t have to breathe in his foul stench for as long as usual.

I need a shower – and some mouth wash. Bleach anyone?

* * * *

That’s better, at least I look and smell clean, although between you and me I feel like a right filthy, dirty slag.

My mind never feels clean – know what I mean?

I know, I know. I can hear you. Why don’t I just up and leave?

And where exactly am I supposed to go?

It’s alright for you, with your nice job, nice house, nice life. Some of us haven’t got a fucking choice.

You think I like living here? Well, do you?

Do you really think if I had somewhere else to go I wouldn’t be off like a shot? Fucking hell man. You think I fucking enjoy this?

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak to you like that. I mean, it’s not your fault is it? Mind you, if you do have space for a randy seventeen year old with great cock sucking skills, well, I’m your boy!

And you know what? I don’t look that bad when I’m washed and scrubbed. I mean, look at me. Five foot ten tall, eleven stone dripping wet. Not an ounce of fat on me – unlike some I could mention! And come on man, you have to admit I do have a nice smile. All my own teeth. And get those dimples.

Alright, so the hair’s not great, but what do you expect when I have to use a blunt pair of kitchen scissors on it? I mean the miserable old cunt isn’t going to give me money for a fucking hair cut is he?

So, ignore the hair. Okay? I mean just look at that ass. I do have a fucking ace ass? You bet your mother I do.

I run you see. It’s mine that. Running. I pretend I’m this famous athlete and I’m in this really big race, like the Olympics or something. There’s me and all these foreign gits, and no one’s even looking at me right? I just jog along, keep up with the pack then suddenly, I’m this bleeding, fuck-off fast greyhound, and I race to the front leaving them all standing. Even the bloody Kenyans can’t catch me, and that’s saying something. I fucking love it man.

Running. Like I say, it’s mine.

So, thanks to the running, I’ve got a really nice ass. Small, tight globes of muscle that reach down the back of my legs. The thighs aren’t bad either are they? Strong, like a spring loaded nut cracker. Getting hairy now as well. Proper man’s legs.

Talking about nuts, what do you think? I shave them. And my cock. Well, his is so fucking skanky it’s not surprising I keep mine clean and pretty is it? Do you like it then? Here, I’ll lift the cock out of the way so you can get a proper look. Big aren’t they? Work well as well. I mean I pump a fucking ton of jizz out of them every fucking night. Course I don’t waste it. I mean protein’s good for you right? I reckon that’s what makes me such a fast runner, all that extra protein.

No, you prat, I don’t mean his protein! Fuck me, if I had to rely on the shit he spits out of his peanut I’d not make it out the front door. Jesus man. I saw a documentary once about rubber – no, bear with me. Anyway, they cut this rubber tree and after a minute – might have been longer, I don’t know, not that it fucking matters, right? – well, this drop of sticky white stuff appears where they’d cut it. Then it just sort of dribbled down the trunk. Well that’s him, only he’s a fucking seedling. You’d think that being so big and fat he’d have a big cock wouldn’t you? Perhaps God has got a sense of humour after all!

Speaking of big cocks………… Nice isn’t it. Eight inches long and six round last time I measured it. Thicker at the top. Like the foreskin? I love playing with it. When I wank at night I spend ages pulling, squeezing and flicking it. It’s so fucking sensitive. I can almost make myself cum just by rolling it around in my fingers. I get so fucking hard, and my balls get really tight and swell up. By the time I pull it right back and rub myself off I’m usually writhing about the bed like a bitch on heat.

I love wanking. Know what? I think I love more than I love running.

Sometimes I pretend that after I’ve won that big race I get to pick which runner I want as a prize. If I’ve had a really good run then I always pick one of the Kenyans. I mean, have you seen them? They are fucking gorgeous man. That smooth blackness of them. And their beautiful faces! Those lips! Be great to kiss those lips wouldn’t it? Soft, big, kissable lips. I imagine what it’d be like to touch their hard, muscled bodies. I’ve heard that they’ve got big cocks – you know, black men. I wonder if it’s true? Anyway, I pretend it is, and I think about sucking a proper dick, a big, hard dick with a clean pair of balls. Not like that old fat cunt downstairs.

In my dream, my Kenyan athlete has a fucking awesome cock. Big as mine. Bigger even. With a soft, long piece of skin for me to play with. I suck it between my teeth and nibble it – gentle like, not so I’d hurt him. Suck it into my mouth, push my tongue inside it. Taste him, taste his juice. Fuck, look at that, I’m rock hard just thinking about it.

What? Okay, okay. I’ll just get dressed then I’ll go.

He wants a kebab for his tea. I’ll have pie and chips. Well, it depends how much money he gives me really. I might end up with a chip cob if he’s in a mood. Still, there’s always protein later – ha ha ha!

* * * *

Love this time of night. The old prick is downstairs, drunk. Same thing every day with him. I have to blow him in the afternoon then as he’s been so active while I do that – not – he has a little beauty sleep. I once made the mistake of joking he’d need more than an afternoon’s sleep to catch his beauty. Didn’t see the funny side did he? I actually had to get myself to A&E that time.

Fifteen I was – fifteen going on fifty my mate Brian says. He’s the only one who knows. About dad and what he makes me do. Keeps telling me to get help. Like what? I says. Police. He says. Or a teacher. What could they do? Put me in care in some over crowded orphanage that smells of boiled cabbage and stale piss? I can stay here for that, and I get my own room.

So, I was saying, he has his little sleep then he sends me for whatever takeaway he fancies while he opens a few cans. The best days are when the chippy or pizza place are really busy and I have to queue. He’s usually too pissed to eat by the time I get back. Well I’m not going to let all that food go to waste am I? Course I suffer for it in the morning. You see it’s my fault I had to wait to be served. That’s how I got two cracked ribs last year. Now I make sure I save at least half in the fridge so he can have it for breakfast. Microwaved kebab – mmmmmm, lovely!

He’s usually fallen asleep for the night by nine. I’m safe then. He won’t shout for me till about ten tomorrow. Plenty of time to myself.

Unless of course he’s feeling really randy and a blow job isn’t enough. Those nights I have to strip off, kneel down in front of him and let him paw me. He tries to shag me, but to be honest the fat fuck really is flogging a dead horse. I mean with a stomach like his, he’d have to have a dick like a donkey to even touch my cunt with it. I tell you, nothing smaller is ever going to reach. It’s abso – fucking – lutely gross. Then there’s the weight of the fat twat. I mean I’ve strong legs, all that running you see, but I can hardly hold him up when he’s trying to fuck me. God alone knows how much he fucking weighs.

Three chairs have collapsed under him in the last two years. Don’t laugh. He might hear you.

He never used to be like this. I mean he’s always been an arsehole, he’s always knocked me about, but it was only when mum left that he started eating and drinking like he does. He was really strong, you know? Really powerful with massive arms and a chest a body builder would kill for. But it’s all flab now – and some. I mean mum leaving was bad enough but that she left him for another woman, some diesel dyke she’d met at work – well, I laughed so fucking much I nearly pissed myself. It was worth the broken arm.

He hasn’t done a days work since. Hasn’t left the house for what? Must be eighteen months or more. Mind you, I doubt his little fat legs could hold him up long enough to walk anywhere now.

So, where does the money come from I hear you ask? Well he’s conned the social into paying him some sort of benefit and the rest comes from the two guys he sells me to – Hal, short for Harry on Tuesdays and William, or Billy as he likes me to call him on Thursday nights. Been pimping me out since I was twelve. It’s one of the reasons mum left. Why the stupid bitch didn’t take me with her………… Well, water under the bridge now isn’t it?

So, Hal and Billy.

Hal first. He looks like a rat, no, he does, honest. Even has teeth that stick out over his bottom lip like a fucking hamster or something. Skinny fucker too. Clean though and hairless. Shaves his entire body except his head. Well, alright, so I shave the cunt. Then I have to put body fucking butter all over him. He smells better than that fat cunt downstairs I’ll give him that.

Hal was the first. Thank god his cock’s as skinny as the rest of him. About five, five and a half long. Hardly feel the weedy thing these days. Course, when I was twelve I thought a fucking marrow was being pushed in my arse. It was okay, I couldn’t scream cause he’d Duck-taped my mouth. After he fucked it first of course. I got my first extra protein dose twice that day. Once at each end. Bloater downstairs got fifty quid. He charges him seventy five now, a hundred if he fucks me in the arse twice in one session.

I don’t mind really. Like I say, his cocks so thin it hardly touches the sides. And at least he talks to me. I mean it’s not exactly a deep and meaningful conversation, but it’s company. Hal got me reading. Think it makes him feel better about shagging me. He brings me books. He finds them in the Charity Shop. He tries to educate me. Some fucking hope! Most of them are okay. I don’t like all of them, but some are good enough to let me escape for a bit. Wolf Hall’s good, so was that Mr Norrell one, all about magic. Wasn’t keen on Pride and Prejudice, everyone spoke funny in that one. Wouldn’t have minded meeting that Darcy bloke though. He sounded hot – you know, hot as in fuckable? Bet he didn’t smell of piss of have a pencil for a dick.

So that’s Hal. He’s okay. Could be worse.

Billy is worse. Beer dick Bill they call him, and fuck me they’re not fucking wrong. It’s not that long, thank God, but it’s thick  - like I can’t get my hand round it. Still makes me squeal every time he puts it in me after all these years. First time he did it he ripped me open. My arse bled for days. I honestly thought I was going to die.

So,  after that he waited a few years till he figured I was big enough for him to try again. He’s been stretching me as wide as the fucking Dartford Tunnel for two years now. I have to put this butt plug thing in for the day before he gets here. I’d never get his club up my twat if I didn’t. Funny thing is, I quite like it now. At least I can feel the fucking thing when he’s banging away at my back door. Not like Hal – bless him.

He has to pay extra, on account of his size. Sometimes the fat fucker  downstairs wants to watch Billy creaming my cunt. It’s fucking disgusting listening to him flapping away at his so called cock while a man with a real dick reams me out.

Billy doesn’t talk. He’s not the brightest button in the tin, if you get my meaning, and he can sometimes be a bit rough – okay, very rough, but hey, it means we can eat over the weekend, so don’t knock it.

Brian doesn’t know about Hal and Billy. He’d dump me if he did.

I love Brian. He doesn’t know. I can’t tell him. He’s straight you see, while I’m – well, you know what I am don’t you? Please don’t tell him. About me being – different, will you? Or about where the money comes from? He wouldn’t understand, and I can’t lose him. He’s all I’ve got.

So, there you are then, that’s me.

Pathetic isn’t it?

I’m going running now.

See you again? Bring some cash next time if you like? I won’t tell. Honest.

My name? That’d be telling wouldn’t it? It’s mine  - my name, and I’m sorry, but I don’t give it to anyone.

Except Brian of course. Brian can have my name.

So……… come on Mr Kenyan, let’s see if you can beat me today.