Disclaimer:
This is a work of (slash) fiction depicting same-sex love between two teenages dudes, as well as violence and drug references. Ya know the drill.
Fan mail to webtrash@unpunk.com
"Skip"
-1-
"Skip!" The voice hissed out at me from the shadows. I dropped the joint to the ground, feet crunching in the alley as I ground the smouldering butt out with my boot.
"Whats up mate?" "Found digs for the night. Follow me."
I grinned at Ben and followed the figure as we stomped through the back alleys of Perth. We crossed under the freeway underpass, past the old bakery and through the park, moving steadily towards the deserted building Ben had selected for the nights acommodation.
Name's Skip. I've been a street kid since I was 14. I got mixed up in drugs when there was nothing better to do and my parents decided they're reputation down at the country club was more important than their son. I make a living from the usual vices: drugs, prostitution, petty larceny. Whatever it takes to survive.
I don't ask for sympathy. Was my choice all along to do drugs, and not to hide it from my parents. I should of seen it coming, and sometimes, when it's cold and my stomach's empty and I'm sleeping in the park, I kinda miss the house and the meals and my N-64, but you can't live your life regretting things, things ya can't change.
We stopped outside the warehouse and Ben turned around, feet gritting in the plaster dust.
"You're taller. Gimme a leg up."
I crouched and hoisted my companion up through a broken window pane. A few moments later, he reached down out of the window and helped pull me in. Getting my breath back, I ran a hand through my greasy hair and checked the place out. Carpet, most windows intact, stairs leading up. Pretty cosy. I threw my rucksack onto the floor and sat down on the threadbare carpet, beside Ben. He was looking up at the stars through the window, idly rubbing his nipple ring through his shirt.
It had become pretty clear to me over the past year or so that I like guys. Not just any kids. Streetkids. Punks, skinheads, street-juicers, I liked 'em all. Guess I left the pretty-boy look back in Nedlands. Shoulder length black hair, boring brown eyes, tattooed and scarred from defending myself against the world. Fading trackmarks from where I came off heroin pretty hard. Faint scar on the eyebrow from a piercing that didn't work out the way I planned, ripped out in a bar fight with a rich kid from south of the river.
I loved Ben. There was a time when we were like brothers. Drinking buddies, partners in crime, two dudes who looked out for eachother. But times changed. I started growing up (eventually), started getting hard whenever he took his shirt off or took a shower with me. If he noticed me getting hot over him, he didn't say anything. We were natural together.
Well now I've got you all wrapped up in my little world, I may as well describe Ben. Ben's full name is Ben Joseph Parish. He's shorter than me (which isn't hard), with a crewcut of wiry hair, dyed blue most of the time. Inked down his arms and one of his legs, pierced eight times. Green eyes that look more alive at night than during the day. He looks real feral, but he's one of the cleanest streekids I know. Doesn't shoot up, tries to wash every day, even nicks toothpaste from the Supa Valu to keep his teeth clean. he's one fine fuckin piece of work, and one of the most loyal, honest and good-natured guys I had ever met. No wonder I was smitten. If that's the word.
He looked down from the window and noticed me staring at him. Like it wasn't half obvious. Ben has this little grin, like he's winking at you with his smile. I guess it was that smile that won me over in the first place. I rolled down onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, where bits of plaster hung like stalagtites, the gaping hole yawning out into the roof cavity.
"Gonna be a cold night, Skip." "Yeh, guess we better sleep pretty close to keep warm."
Did I say that? Did he hear my voice waver? We'd done it a million times, kept close in winter months to preserve our energy. but I'd never said it outright like that. Maybe I was changing faster than I thought.
The air seemed to change in the room. I opened my eyes and looked over to him. His head was cocked and he was looking at me intensely.
"What?"
Ben hesitated, then shrugged. I closed my eyes and rolled over, biting my lip in anger. I shouldn't have said something so fucking stupid.
But my anger melted away as I felt a familiar bulk press up against my back. I felt Ben shuffle around and get comfortable, then felt one of his shirts drape down over us.
Then silence, marred only by the gentle breathing of two peaceful trespassers, our dazed breaths punctuated by sirens in the distance. Another kid OD'ing in the backstreets of Highgate, another rich salary-earner beating his wife to death. Ambulance, police. Then silence again. A spider tickled my cheek before sliding off onto the ground.
"Skip?" "Yeh." "You awake?"
I grunted. Ben was real bright sometimes, but other times he said some pretty stupid shit.
"Nah, I'm dead. What's up?"
A pause.
"Are you. Are you like -- gay, or something?"
I sucked in my breath as silently as I could, and felt my heart kick a heavy and sudden staccato in my chest.
"Why you askin man?"
A longer pause. I could feel Ben awkwardly shuffling behind me, drumming his fingers on his leg like he always did when stuck for words.
"Well, I've never seen you go for chicks or anything. It doesn't bother me if you are, but... shit dude, I dunno. Forget I said anything."
The beauty of defeat. I rolled onto my back and looked Ben square in the eye.
"Ben, I don't know if I'm gay or bi or straight or whatever. Right now, I don't care. Getting food and money to live on means more to me than where I put my dick at the moment."
I really, honestly hope he bought it. I think he did. I rolled back onto my side, but his relentless drumming suggested he wanted to continue. I gently counted down in my head. Five, four, three, two, one..
"So you like -- think of doing stuff with guys?" "Now and then."
I took a calculated risk.
"Do you?"
After about fifteen seconds, I realised he wasn't gonna answer and decided keeping my breath in wasnt a good idea. Taking a bigger risk, I reached back and grasped his hand in mine. Feeling him recoil slightly, I prepared for the worst. But, amazingly, his hand warpped back around mine. But that was the closest I was going to get to an answer. A minute or so later, he curled up around me and began to snore gently. Ignoring the vicious throbbing of my erection through two layers of jeans, I sighed and tried to fall asleep. Tomorrow, we go shopping.