Monday, October 12, 2009

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter 4


“Sex is one of the most amazingly personal gifts a person can give;

It should be cherished as such every time this gift is offered”

That night I went to work feeling really strange. On one hand I felt utter shame at the thought of anyone finding out what I had made love to that day, but then also that sense of delight at knowing if I ever actually talked to another human being, and they asked

“So JayJay old chap, still a virgin?”

“Why no Sonny Jim I believe my virginity was taken quite some time ago” I could reply

“That’s delightful news, perhaps we should celebrate with a cup of tea and one of these splendid short bread biskets my mother baked for us” They’re bound to say

“That sounds marvelous, must be sure to thank your mother for offering us such a lovely snack to afternoon tea with, on this such a wonderful day” I could exclaim

I also felt really strange physically. I was badly hung over, my head felt like there was a dodgem car race going on inside. My stomach felt like I had swallowed a rat, and to pay me back it was crawling around trying to make an escape by biting and scratching at my insides. The weirdest thing was I also felt strangely great, warm in the downstairs department. Like I had changed in some way, like I had grown physically into more of a man.

As I sat back at work sipping on a can of Dr Pepper, I began to feel happier and happier about my accomplishment. You know how people say they never forget a face? Well I’m not one of those people. I forget faces, I forget every face. Sometimes I wouldn’t recognize people I had known for years. Sometimes I would see my Dad or one of my brothers and study their face, and think “really, do they really look like that, how have I never noticed that big nose?” or something to that effect. Then they would catch me staring at them and would say “what the fuck are you looking at, you dirty, dirty, dirty little boy, you really are a weird twisted little fuck aren’t you”. Well my brothers wouldn’t say that, they would just punch the crap out of me. But my dad would say something like that.

Usually never remembering faces is a terrible thing. Especially when you’re trying to masturbate over the really cute girl you spotted five minutes ago in the eleven.., and raced home to turn the image into a fun afternoon, but it was already gone. But when you have just lost your virginity to the ugliest women in the world, not remembering her face is a good thing. I was able to turn the image in my mind to what ever I wanted it to be. I started making her a gorgeous older woman, with her breasts still pert and round, and her body with no hair at all apart from on her head. Then I turned the fantasy into the very cute mother of the guy I hated the most at school. And I had put her away gloriously, and could walk around school every day that he treated me like shit with my head held high saying “who cares what you call me, I have FUCKED your mother!”

I did remember some things. I remembered how good it felt to be inside her. I remembered her moaning as I performed oral sex on her. And I remembered that she had told me over and over again that she thought I was good looking. No one had ever told me that before, and she didn’t have to. It’s not like she only said it because I said it first, I was a long way from saying that to her. And she said it like three or four times. So maybe she actually meant it, maybe I actually was attractive. I had never before had a reason to think of myself as good looking, and suddenly I did, and it felt great.

After a while I began feeling really good about myself. This was going to be the start of something good. I now knew for a fact that at least one woman wanted to sleep with me, if I started taking the chance and actually speak to some girls I could get more, and more, and more and more and more, and nice girls too, and young ones, and really young ones, and only slightly older ones. I could become the Caesar of sex, and have sex with a different person every day. I would walk down the street and beautiful women would come up to me and say

“Aren’t you JayJay Domey? Oh my god I have heard about you, you’re supposed to be the best fuck in the whole city, when can I try you out?”

“Well I am booked solid for the next seventeen nights, but I can fit you in after that, unless of course you would like a morning appointment, in that case I have an opening in nine days” I would be forced to reply.

Then, like a cow wandering on the tracks in front of your train and splattering in a million pieces all over the front of drivers window, leaving so much blood on the glass that the driver cant see his way to drive the train anymore, and on the one day your going somewhere where it’s quite important, the inevitable happened. It should have been as obvious to me as the fact that footballers play football, or Politians politionate, or prostitutes fuck. I was a security guard, I was feeling good, I was me, of course something terrible was going to happen to me that night. And it did, and it was fucking horrible.

You know what; I have yet to tell you what I look like. You must have all sorts of different images in your head. So time to spoil those for you now with the truth. I am reasonably tall now, nearly 5’11. When I was in highschool I was always really short and round, but I had a massive growth spurt after I had graduated.

Apart from making me taller this also made me less fat, which was a good thing, as you can imagine. I still had a fat gut, but I can now see my own penis when I am naked, and I’m lucky enough to know that not only is that a pretty disturbing sight, but I can also tell when I have crap looking shoes on. That is all the time.

I have brown eyes, just brown enough to have no character at all. I have a small upturned nose which gives me a lovely piggish look. Well lovely to all the kids at school who could then tease the short round pig looking boy with nothing more than walking past saying “oink, oink”, oh how amazing their imaginations must have been. They even came up with a really imaginative nick name for me “pork boy”, how did they come up with that one?

I have the worst hair in the world. Well actually not the worst, the worst is when your balding with an egg shaped head and only have the back and sides and a few strands across the top. Compared to those people I can’t complain too much. I have the opposite problem, way too much hair. God must have been passing out the hair one day and made more people bald than he meant to, and he didn’t want left overs so he said just whack it all onto Jason ‘JayJay’ Domey.

I also have this really weird shaped head, all bumpy and uneven. Which means short hair looks ridiculas on me, so I am forced to sport a haircut with some length in it. Thing is my hair is so plentiful that it doesn’t want to fall down over itself, it wants to stick up or out, or in, or over, or somewhere. Whatever some of my hair wants to do you can guarantee the rest of the hair will have different ideas. The political scene on my head must be a nightmare. So many different opinions, and all so outspoken! My head is like two protest groups, one anti abortion and one pro choice all mixed in together. So the result is my style choice is mostly really, really gelled down hair with about five or six clumps that refuse to go anywhere but up. Fucking extreme left wing, anarchist, activist, fascist hairs!

Apart from that I am a pretty average normal looking guy; I don’t stand out for anything much, neither good nor bad. I once actually had a girl come up to me after class at school and say “you know what, if you didn’t frown so much you could actually be cute”, to which I responded to by smiling, as you do. Then she said “actually no, you don’t have that nice a smile”. Thank you - that was delightful of you to pay me such a heartfelt compliment.

So I have lost track now. Oh that’s right I was just telling you how a horrible thing happened to me. You must have been curious to know what it was. People are always curious about things like that. Like when you walk past a crime scene all taped up, with police everywhere, and some kind of lump on the ground with a sheet over it. And you want to know what it is. Is it a weapon used in some crime? Or better still a dead baby or a human head? That would be pretty cool. But you can never find out what it is because cops don’t give out that kind of information. They say “nothing to see here”. “CLEARLY THERE IS SOMETHING TO FUCKING SEE OR YOU WOULD’NT OF THROWN A SHEET OVER IT, WOULD YOU?”

Or maybe police sometimes just show up places, throw a bag of dirt on the ground, throw a sheet over it, and tape up the area then tell all the passing pedestrians that there is nothing to see, just so they can see the disappointment and frustration on their faces. It’s always frustrating to want to know something, think its about to come, and then random mundane useless delays come, and people hold off telling you for no apparent reason, and tell you something else completely uninteresting and unimportant. I hate people like that.

So anyway that night started out just like any other night. I spent the first few hours not doing much but sitting back and dreaming of the now beautiful woman I had made wonderful love to only hours before. After I had done my first few rounds I decided to watch a movie. I had brought in a tape I had made of ‘High Fidelity’, starring John Cusak and Jack Black, one of my all time favorite movies. It’s not that often that star characters in movies are people I can relate to. They’re usually so charismatic and successful, and they save the world from disasters and score with beautiful women. But ‘High Fidelity’s’ main characters are all flawed, and their successes are believable. It gives hope to people like me. So once I took in having to pause it every twenty minutes to do rounds, and all the mucking around in between, by the time the movie was over the night was almost done. I only had one more round to do.

I did my last round as I did them always. First I study all nine security camera images to see if anything is happening. Then I walk out of the office and past the main entrance to check that it’s still solidly shut. Then I walk around the inside of the outside walls of the factory, shining my flash light inwards at all the machines and conveyer belts. Then I poke my head into the men’s and ladies toilets and turn the light switch on for a quick check. Then I walk back through the middle of the factory, shining my flash light all around as I walk back to the security office, lock the door behind me and sigh a huge sigh of relief.

It was my last round of the night and so I was feeling both very tired and relieved to have the night coming to an end. Having had no incidents ever yet in my security career and of course none tonight I was feeling reasonably relaxed, at least for me. However as I came out of the bathrooms I heard a noise at the far end of the factory. At first, surprisingly, I hardly notice it, and didn’t react at all. Then I heard it again. It was footsteps! I stopped and quickly turned off my flash light. “Please, please, please, please don’t have seen that” I whimpered to myself. I was crouching right in the middle of the main walkway - looking all around trying to see what was going on. Then I saw a figure walking behind a big machine!

Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum my heart was beating so hard it sounded like Tommy Lee had taken a night off having sex with women like Pamela Anderson, and had instead decided to bring his drum kit into my factory for a bit of a jam. I was convinced that anybody else in that factory would be able to hear it clearly.

Upon this confirmation that there was at least one other person in the factory with me I knew I had to spring into action. I jumped to my feet and ran to my left towards a conveyer belt. Bringing up images of Olympic gymnastics I launched myself at the belt hands first and sprung up into the air. Gracefully I soured as I did a full somersault with half twist before landing face first into the rock hard concrete. I looked back up over the belt quickly as blood started to drip down my face. After being reasonably sure that no one was heading in my direction to get me, at least not yet, I crawled underneath one of the big cling wrap makers.

There I proceeded to crunch up into the fetal position and rock back and forth and began to shake like a leaf in a hurricane. I touched my hand to my face and looked at it, even in the dark I could see how much blood was on it. This made me desperately need to throw up at the site of this horrible injury, but I just couldn’t risk making that much noise. So instead I went through a series of wrenching just in my stomach and throat without coughing. Suddenly the vomit came up, just into my mouth and I held it there briefly tasting the foul mix of my last peanut butter sandwich and the spaghetti bolognaise I had eaten earlier. I then had to get it out quietly, so let it drip out of my mouth slowly next to me on the ground. As it all came out there was a strand of undigested spaghetti hanging from my mouth. I pulled at it to get it free, and discovered that half of it was still caught in my throat. The feeling of it sliding up as I pulled was so intensely gross that it made me suddenly bring up another big pile of vomit into my mouth, which I spat out on top of the last pile. It began to stink awfully badly and I pushed myself deeper into the crawl space I was in to get away from it.

I lay there, still in the fetal position, still rocking back and forth, holding my hands together in a pray like manner. I stayed like that for what felt like twenty minutes listening to all sorts of banging noises going on from all corners of the factory. All of a sudden footsteps sounded really close to me and stopped! Then another couple of steps and stopped. I could tell he was really close to me - and obviously looking for something, but did he already know that I was here?

I had to be quite, no noise at all. So I tried to breathe as slowly and as quietly as possible, iiiiinnnn then ooooouuuttt. Unfortunately I started to breath so slow that I ran out of breath and then started breathing heavily to catch my breath. How cruelly ironic, one of the quietest people in the world suddenly forgets how to be quiet at the first moment of his life when quietness would be a huge asset rather than a huge disability.

This shadowy figure was obviously looking for something specific; I could tell by the way he would take a few light steps then stop for a while, then a few more steps and stop. Like he was looking into every nook and cranny he passed.

I had images running through my imagination of a face suddenly appearing before me and being dragged out like a slaughtered bull after a bullfight, and just like the bull, sliced up into little pieces. After concluding to myself that being found was now inevitable I made the decision that I was not going to go down like that. Not this Kid!

So slowly, as quietly as I could, I pulled my gun out of its holster. Then I moved it up out in front of me and then up under my chin. There I sat, eyes wide open, determined that if a face appeared in front of me I would pull the trigger and take my chances with god and the devil. Unfortunately in my fear I had forgotten that I wasn’t actually allowed live ammunition due to my inexperience, and only had a gun to use in a threatening manner or fire blanks as warning shots. So what I was planning to commit suicide with was actually nothing but a glorified cap gun.

I have no idea how long I stayed in that position because at some point my fear and head injuries caused me to pass out. The next thing I remember was waking up in a manner like thunder and launching up into the air, slamming my head hard in the edge of one of the parts of the machine, with a metallic crunch which I could feel shiver its way through my entire body. As I grabbed at my head in amazing pain, I became aware of a figure standing in front of me and I flinched and started to grab for my gun as my eyes came into focus.