Tuesday, February 08, 2005

What I Like Best About Being A Boy

by Deek Deekster, age 42 years and 49 weeks

Eating big cooked breakfasts
Speaking in a deep voice
Wearing comfortable shoes
Looking good unshaven
Not having babies
Pissing standing up
Listening to loud music then turning it up louder
Not caring who is looking at me even when I know I look shit
Going to bed when I want
Shouting at football on the TV
Earning more than girls
Drinking more than girls
Spending money in clubs and bars where there are girls
Conversations with nice girls who talk dirty
Getting high with girls and dancing flirtatiously
Having sex with nice girls who know how to nasty
Sharing a bed with a nice special girl who talks dirty, earns money, doesn't want babies, likes a good breakfast, knows how to nasty, lets me come to bed when I want, tells me I look good when I feel rough, dances when I turn the music up, wears comfortable shoes, doesn't shave, pisses with the door open, asks me who is winning, sits with me even though she doesn't care, and speaks to me in a voice I could listen to forever


Last night, I dreamt I was in a large old house, which was full of captives being made forced labour. There was a head man with long permed hair and a leather coat, he looked like a hippy Albanian. He was malevolent, sadistic, scary. There were green-uniformed guards with guns and cigarettes who sneered and mocked us. We were being kicked and punched and knocked to the floor again and again. This lasted for over an hour. Then we were split up and put to work. I was given an old mop, taken to a huge decrepit ballroom, ordered to clean the floor, and left alone. It wouldn't clean. My elbows ached where I had been kicked. I could feel my teeth were loose where I had fallen to the floor and blood was all over my face. I was terrified that the long-haired man would return and punish me for not having finished the floor, but I had no water, it was useless, the mop just spread dust and dirt. I worked and worked but the floor looked streaky, black and grey. With a sudden commotion that made my skin crawl the head man returned. I was petrified, started to stammer my excuses. For some reason he was pre-occupied and didn't seem to notice or care, swept past me and picked up a telephone, but the guard with him did notice and began to laugh at my efforts to make the place clean. I didn't matter whether it was clean or not, they just wanted to humiliate us with pointless tasks. The guard hit me with his rifle and knocked me over and insisted I return to the mopping. No water. I could feel my ribs aching and the blood on my chin. I got up and made my way to the other side of the hall away from the guard and the head man, and started once again with the futile cleaning; I had to get away. I would die soon if I stayed.

I woke up on my balcony, which is a public, shared space, naked from the waist down. It was freezing. I was still terrified, and confused. Didn't know where I was. Could still feel the blood on my face and my elbows ached from where they had been kicked. I stopped and looked around and realised where I was and what I was doing. The front door was open behind me. I went back in, shocked. 1.30am. I was distraught, heart racing. I sobbed. My girlfriend held me while I shivered and tried to calm down. I was scared to go back to sleep. It was very real. Eventually I slept.

After my parents split up, out went Dad #1, in came Dad #2. I was 5 years old, confused and hurt, and I used to have nightmares; this disturbed my parents so they drugged me with stupid doses of strong drugs on the advice of the stupid doctor. Locked into sleep, I couldn't wake up to get away from my awful dreams.

I didn't like very much about being a boy. Being a man, with a woman who loves me even though I am half-crazy some nights, beats it hands down.

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4 Comments:

At 9:44 AM, Blogger transience quoth...

i had mixed reactions to this one. let me elaborate.

1) i knew i was supposed to guillotine cupid last night, but he escaped me leaving his wet diaper under my sandal. and then i found out he had gone to deek. deek! can you hear me? can you hear me?2) aaaawwwwwww.

3) i hate bad dreams, too. i'm glad she was there to hold you.

4) *nodding sagely* drugs that let you sleep are a godsend. drugs that do not let you wake up are bitches you kick to the curb...kerb.

5) i hate love. =)

 
At 9:46 AM, Blogger transience quoth...

holy crap. my numbered list is off kilter. i am anal and i do not like this.

 
At 6:28 PM, Blogger Blog ho quoth...

Jesus. Good story. Good fucking story.

 
At 12:57 AM, Blogger I.:.S.:. quoth...

nice! thanks you very many! i tries to write me too as well. now that that degenerate dave bones have taken over editing the socialist wanker (did you see, there's new stuff!) i can even keep a blog myself. i liked reading this.

 

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