Kiss Kill

by Mawter, Jeni

  Knuckle duster chuckle buster

  Slurple burble purple nurple

  Ruby booby Pinch Queen

  Mrs Potika told us that the definition of ‘person’ or ‘identity’ is the starting point for understanding The Human Condition. I was soon to learn about my own human condition …

  How Do You Define a Man?

  A sixteen-year-old boy sits on an unmade bed. He is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. There is a table beside the bed, with a photo frame and glass of coke on it. A lamp is on the beside table, giving off a pool of light. There is a pile of dirty clothes near the door, a school bag peeping out from under the bed and some ‘girly’ posters on the wall.

  How would you define a man? A man is meant to be some kick-ass machismo. Today’s man has no sense of honour, duty or loyalty. Today’s man is constantly searching for money, sex and freedom. So when me and Jonno and the boys sit around talking about how many kids we want to have, or when we’re going to get married, how does that fit in?

  My father is a traditional man, all locked in to work and work and work. A food-on-the-table, roof-over-your-head sort of man. If there’s something to be done, he does it. Something to be fixed, he fixes it. Something to be said, he clams up. Not the best communicator in the world but you always know where you stand.

  [Points to the photo of himself and his dad after a win at football.]

  I remember the time he sat me down for the birds and the bees talk, poor bloke. I must’ve been at least twelve and knew more from Dolly Doctor than he could ever imagine. He’d probably spent a year psyching himself up for that Sex Ed talk. As corny as it sounds, he actually started with the birds and the bees. I was cool with nests and eggs, queen bees and worker bees, but when he got on to babies, and my mother, I flipped. Why would your dad give you a Sex Ed talk when all his experiences are with your mum? I mean, ‘Too much information’. I’ve never seen him so relieved when I told him it was okay, I knew all that stuff. And with a ‘Good one, son’, he nicked off faster than a bull in heat, for want of a better pun.

  [Nods at the girly posters on the wall]

  At first, it seemed like every time I was around a girl I couldn’t talk. I got butterflies in the stomach. I was like Dorkus Extremus.

  But Elle helped me pull it together. She was so friendly and chatty and funny and stunning, I started to relax. I remember that first time she seemed interested in me, not the words she said, but her face, how I felt, how I felt inside, like a warm waffle with maple syrup and melted ice-cream.

  And then when we hooked up all that awkwardness disappeared. I was Mat the Casanova, Mat the Comedian, Mat Mr Charisma. Nothing I could say was wrong. Nothing I could do was wrong. She laughed at my jokes, listened while I raved on about football or cricket or soccer, asked my opinion on anything from Fight Clubs to YouTube to the elections. It was like I was special, the chosen one. And she was perfect. A stunner with boobs built like bombs and a killer smile. The girl all the other guys wanted. But she was mine.

  [Gives a victory salute, then shakes his head]

  But now, my advice is this. If you hear yourself saying, ‘She’s perfect. She’s as good as it gets.’ RUN. Run for your life. Do not look back. Keep running. Cross continents if you have to.

  [Points off stage]

  GO!

  Things started out simple enough. A quick hug here, a few kisses there. All lips and tongues and warm breath on your neck. Everything I’d dreamed of. [pause – smiles] Everything I wanted.

  But Elle wanted more. She used to whisper, ‘Feel my breasts?’ as she planted herself up against my chest. I could feel them all right. Hugging her felt squishy, nothing like a bloke hug on the playing field. It felt all lumpy and bumpy, but nice lumpy, soft. Guaranteed to give me a boner. Elle would just laugh and push closer. ‘Want to touch?’ she’d tease. ‘Want to taste?’

  Every guy in my year at school would trade his mobile phone and footy boots just to be me, but deep down I didn’t feel ready. Deep down I was scared shitless. It’s one thing to have an email address as mrstiffy@hotmail.com, but totally mind-blowing to find someone who wants to give Mr Stiffy a home.

  We were at Elle’s place, in her room, when we went the next step. Second base. A tug at her shirt, an ocean of skin, and I was there. My hand was smothered in breast. It felt like one of those squeezy balls full of sawdust only heaps better, all soft and bouncy, that didn’t leave an indent when you pressed. And press I did. I pressed, and stroked, and rubbed and nibbled, with all the curiosity and innocence of a baby with a fistful of new toy. I wondered if I was doing it right. I remember having a crazy impulse to phone Jonno for reassurance, and to hear him say, ‘Atta boy’. [shakes head again] But then everything went wrong.

  Elle’s fingers flew lower, the same fingers I’d lusted after on those computer keys. But as soon as she got to the button on my fly, I froze. She flicked that open as quick as she was undoing her bra strap. Wasn’t I meant to undo the bra strap? Her fingers yanked at the zipper, her tongue down my throat doing things that reached my dick. I wanted this. How I wanted this.

  But as her fingers flicked the rim of my boxers I froze. Suddenly this thing so-right, felt wrong. I can’t explain it. Whether it was the thought of her mum bursting into the room and seeing me butt-naked, or whether all those scripture lessons sunk in, or the egg + sperm = baby equation, I don’t know, but suddenly this whole thing felt wrong.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Elle as I pushed her hands away and sat up.

  I felt scared. I wasn’t mature enough for this. I was too young. Had no idea what to do. Elle reached out again. It was obvious she wanted to do more than I did. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t up for this.

  But then I felt guilty. She was my girlfriend and that’s what she wanted.

  [Shrugs – pauses. Gets off the bed and starts to pace, then stops and addresses the audience]

  This wasn’t how I planned it. Hell, I didn’t even have a plan. No condoms, nothing. Mum had bought me condoms for my sixteenth birthday. Left them in a brown paper bag at the end of my bed. I sold them to the highest bidder at school. What a fool.

  “What’s the matter?” I was batting away Elle’s hands, trying to work out what was going on in my head. “Don’t you love me?”

  Did I love her? Did I respect her? Would I respect her afterwards? Would I respect myself?

  I couldn’t say why I was throwing my big chance away. I only knew I was going in with regrets and one thing I hated was regret.

  “Nothing,” I said, trying to yank up the zip of my fly. I felt like such a loser. Like I’d let Elle down. And even though we hadn’t really done anything, I felt guilty. How long before this got out?

  But Elle would have none of it. What she’d started, she wanted to finish. [punches fist into the palm of his hand]

  You hear how men are sexual predators. You hear how women are sexually passive. But you never hear the reverse. [pauses – runs hand through his hair]

  She was so insistent. Told me if I loved her I’d do it. Asked if I was queer? Called me a faggot.

  I lay there, saying nothing, thinking of all the gay baiting that goes on at school. It doesn’t take much. Those who are shy, who are bookish, artistic or theatrical, geekish or weird, we’d target them all. Homophobia is a sport at my school.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got a pin dick,” she teased.

  “I’m not in the mood,” I said, but before I knew it she’d stripped off her top [Mimes removing a T-shirt], wriggled out of her bra, and was flashing the biggest pair of puppies to ever exist [Rocking shoulders side to side like a show-girl at a topless bar]. Part of me wanted to run, but part of me wanted to stay. I’d never seen such magnificent breasts.

  “They’re yours,” she said, taking my hand and resting it over her nipple. “All yours.”

  [Cupped hand hangs in air, as if holding a breast]

  How could something that felt so right, also feel so wrong?
/>   [Punches his pillow and kicks his school bag]

  I’m ashamed of what happened next. Betrayed by my own body. My head was saying ‘No’ but my body was saying ‘Yes’.

  [Reaches for the glass and downs the coke in one go]

  “Touch me.”

  “No,” I said as her fingers eased down my boxers.

  “Taste me.”

  “No,” I said as she wrapped herself around me.

  “Take me.”

  “No,” I said, then …

  It was over so fast I couldn’t say for sure how it felt. I felt shocked, confused, frightened. I was angry at myself for not being able to physically stop this. Angry at Elle for taking what was mine. I mean, she didn’t even ask me!

  Why wouldn’t she listen? I thought of the boys at school. How all of them would tell me how lucky I’d been. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt lost.

  Elle lay beside me, snuggled against my chest.

  “What you thinking?” she asked.

  What was I thinking? I was thinking, I want to go home.

  [Curls up in the foetal position, hugging his pillow to his chest, reaches over and turns out the light]

  I tried to get over it. To push it down to those places you avoid in your mind. And it wasn’t hard. Not with Elle in my life.

  Elle ♥ Mat

  Elle’s Blog

  I love being in love with you. It’s the best feeling in the world. It keeps me happy. It gives me lots of reasons to wake up in the morning. It gives me reasons to hope and dream.

  I’m in love with my best friend. I go to sleep with you in my thoughts and I wake up with you in my dreams. I never want to live without you. I feel like there’s this silken thread of love connecting me to you. I want to pull you close and hold you in my arms forever. I don’t need food. I get all my nourishment from you. You feed my heart, my hungry heart. I cherish this Me and You. You have made me the happiest girl in the world.

  Through you I see myself, reflected in your loving eyes. I once heard that falling in love with someone was really the process of falling in love with yourself. For once I am in complete acceptance of and appreciation of myself.

  So, let me tell you. Think of the one person that loves you most.

  And ask yourself …

  How do they see you?

  How perfect are you through their eyes?

  How does that make you feel?

  The Sweetheart Sadist

  I can’t believe she’d do this to me. Not after all that stuff on her blog. This love feels like torture. I told her in the strictest confidence. I told her it was something I’d never tell anyone else. I said I’d say it once and never speak of it again. She was meant to be my best friend. My sweetheart. My honey. My love. It doesn’t make sense …

  I feel so betrayed. I feel like I can never trust anyone ever again. What possessed her to put my deepest, darkest secret out in cyberspace?

  When I was ten I got felt up by a family friend. It was no big deal, really. Just me backed up against a wall and a hand shoved down my pants. Dad calling out if he could offer his guest anything. ‘A drink maybe?’ Or his son!

  A beer ’d be nice.

  I could hear Dad in the kitchen, Mum was nowhere to be found.

  Hot breath on my face. A whispered, You made me do it.

  That hand again …

  And then it was all over and I was wondering if I’d imagined it.

  Why’d she tell everyone about it? Doesn’t she realise if my parents found out they would die? All their friendships torn apart. Our family torn apart. No one gains by putting this out there. Least of all me.

  Is this the fine line between love and hate? She must hate me so much to want to destroy me like this.

  She says she didn’t mean it. That it kind of slipped out and she never thought any more about it. Can that happen? Revealing something so deep, so sacred, so hidden about her boyfriend and she’s not aware of the damage she’s doing to me?

  Does this make it an involuntary betrayal? And if it does, is that supposed to make me feel better?

  I didn’t mean it so it’s all okay.

  Bullshit! It makes me feel worse. Involuntary betrayal is more hurtful. It means you couldn’t even care less about the person you’ve betrayed, that you didn’t even bother to think of them at the time. ‘I just didn’t think’ doesn’t exonerate the action.

  So what am I supposed to do tomorrow? Walk into school and pretend that it never happened. That it was some big joke. That I was just rumour-testing – putting something out there to see how long it’d take to get around. They’re all going to be pointing at me and laughing.

  And what about Elle? She knows I’m angry but she thinks it’s ‘no big deal’ and it will all go away. I’m so angry I want to shove her eyeballs to the back of her head. Make her see how she’s been blowing out of her ass. But if I show my anger, the kids at school will know it’s true so I’ve got to put a lid on it, bottle it up inside and pretend everything is fine.

  I’ll never forgive her for this. Causing me so much pain. Total public humiliation. I wonder if she gets off on this. Is this the stuff that feeds her? Watching me squirm. I also know something else. I will never, NEVER, put myself in a position where she can strike me down again.

  Mat’s Private World

  www.youtube.com

  Mat’s Private World

  Video of Mat dancing and singing in his bedroom

  Added: 1 hour ago

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  She’s done it again. This time it was intentional. This time she thinks it’s funny. Says it makes me look cute. The fact that it was in my own room, the fact that it was meant to be private, doesn’t seem to gel. We were mucking around when we took this. It was not for public consumption. She just doesn’t get it. Can’t see why I’m upset. Called me a weak lame jerk with delusional tendencies for grandeur!

  The Liar Paradox

  In 270 BC, the poet Philitas of Cos wasted away and died of insomnia while brooding about the liar paradox.

  What is the Liar Paradox?

  Elle says that she is lying now.

  Is what she says true or false? Can a liar speak the truth? Not when she does nothing but lie.

  If what Elle says is true, then there’s a contradiction. If Elle’s claim that she is lying is true, then she is lying, in which case what she says is false.

  If, however, what Elle says is false, then I’m no better off. If Elle’s claim that she is lying is false, then she is not lying, in which case what she says is true.

  So how did this all come about?

  I just told her that I loved her. She just told me that she loved me. Should be perfect. But it isn’t. Straight after she tells me that she loves me, she says she is lying. Back to the paradox. If she’s lying then she doesn’t love me. But if she’s lying then saying she doesn’t love me isn’t the truth.

  When I tell her I’m confused, she laughs.

  With Elle, love is this neverending spiral.

  Rage.

  Small Word. Big Hate

  It was not a long stick, but it was a stick all the same. The kind of stick you’d use on a wolf or a fox if they came too close.

  Thick.

  Meant to cause pain.

  Don’t get me wrong. The stick was not real. The stick was in my mind. Real, was her boot in my back. My taut back, as I curled on the floor.

  I don’t know what made her lose it. It might have been my face. Or my smile. Yes, it must have been my smile that tipped her. Clipped the rage part of her brain.

  At the start, when I walked in her room, it was all good.

  How’ve you been?

  Great.

  And you?

  Fine.

  But then she turned, like a surge at sea, with enough strength to sink a boat.

  Saw you with her!

  With who?

  Her. The slut. You kno
w.

  I did not know who she meant. I wracked my brain. All possible sluts jumped out of my head. I looked at her snarled face. Saw the eyes go blank, like roadkill. Saw her lips twitch, her fists clench, her head roll back.

  I don’t know who you mean.

  I heard a sound like a cat stuck in a drain. Her foot thrust out. All I could see was a face full of froth and snot and skin like puce. I rolled to the side. Her foot swung through air … And that was it.

  You prick.

  Thwump.

  Scum.

  Thwack.

  Cheat.

  Bmmmph. Bmmmph. Bmmmph.

  I’m no cheat.

  Yes you are. You lie. You cheat. I can’t trust you.

  I don’t know what you mean.

  I flung this way and that, as far from the crazed foot as I could get. Her eyes rolled, yolks of green in whites like hard boiled eggs. The foot stopped, poised for a blow. I jumped to my feet. I could feel a heel in my shins, my knees, my thighs.

  I tried to hold her off.

  You’re mad!

  Not the right thing to say. Like a match lit near gas. Her fists swung. Both legs kicked. She kicked and swung and swung and kicked. I could not fight back. Boys do not fight back. I tried to catch those hands, to ward off the blows. My lungs craved air. I heard her hate, in the grunts and groans and gasps. She kicked in time to those grunts. My gut churned. The pie I had for lunch came back to my mouth, a mix of stew and spew. I tried not to spew. My head spun, my face burned. I shut my eyes to block out the pain.

  How can I fight this? I can’t. Where did Elle go? Who is this girl? No, not girl. This wild beast.