Fryupdale
Page 13
Roscoe hisses open a couple of cans of Special and we clank them together and glug them down. After giving them ten minutes we creak out after catching one or both of them in the act. Sure enough there’s the flabby lad silhouetted in the open field with his arms sticking out like a scarecrow and he’s mumbling to no-one in particular: ‘I knew it. I fucking knew it.’
There’s a slurpy sound coming from a block of black on our right which we take correctly to be a hedge, and closer inspection reveals Patty Jenkins down in her most convenient pose gobbling the other lad’s sweaty nob with his boxers tangling his knees. Patty’s still got her mega-baps well strapped in which I can’t help feeling is a mighty waste on the lad’s part, though they do say some are inclined to save a little mystery for their lovemaking.
The routine is for Roscoe to step out out and politely inform the chap that in order to keep such a sorry and perhaps illegal activity under wraps there may have to be a small session of financial transacting. But somehow the sight of Patty summoning up such enthusiasm for the one-thousand-and-forty-third nob she’s ever had in her gob seems to rub Roscoe up the wrong way. So while the flabby lad’s still stomping around the field moaning about fucking knowing it, Roscoe bellyflops over the top of the hedge and slaps the lad out of his fantasy and calls him a paedo.
Patty slops his nob out of her gob and wipes herself on the hem of her upturned top and gets to her feet and giggles at her mucky whore knees.
The lad’s staring big-eyed at Roscoe going, ‘I don’t want no trouble, like,’ but Roscoe slaps him round the chops and sinks him in the mud. He goes, ‘she might be a dirty slut but she’s only fifteen, like.’
The lad’s got his arms in the air and he’s starting to panic. He starts to yammer about not knowing, and it would look well funny if it wasn’t so serious because he’s plain forgot he’s still got his boxers round his knees and his danglies dangling. Then while he tries to get up Roscoe slaps him back in the mud and he plants his bare arse in the soil with a slop.
The fat lad comes over with all the commotion and Roscoe calms a little and gives it the, ‘your mate’s been nobbing my sister and she’s only fifteen,’ bit, and for good measure, ‘what with her mental what-nots, I’m afraid it don’t look good.’
The fat lad squints through the gloom at Patty like he’s checking if she’s dribbling enough to pass for a spaccer. Patty leers right back at him and licks her lips.
The fat lad starts cursing under his breath again and he reaches out his wallet and Roscoe’s most peturbed when he finds the two lads between them can only summon the paltry sum of thirty-five quid between them and their cash cards are stuffed safe behind Old Roy’s bar running up a fine tab.
Faced with the prospect of having a pocket-full of short change once he’s deducted travelling expenses and the cost of a couple of four-packs of Special Brew and Patty’s considerable pre-event bar bill, it doesn’t take Roscoe too long to get his radge back on. First he orders the thin one to kick off his air-bubble Nikes and the Levis from round his ankles and the boxers from his knees, then he’s after his dress-shirt and the lad’s left clasping himself white and blubbery in the nude. The fat lad’s got wind of what’s happening and he’s legging it away over the field stumbling as he goes, happy to spend the night tramping out on the moors if he means he’ll avoid having to get his own pair of floppy norps out in front of a lass. Roscoe gives the thin lad a boot in the ribs and the lad’s proper crying now. ‘Fucking hell Roscoe,’ I say, thinking the lad’ll most likely freeze to death just lying like that, and on second thoughts Roscoe chucks him his shirt back, and I might say it’s one of the touching things I’ve seen him do, only he spoils the effect by pulling out his car keys and chucking them and his trainers into the blackness for the spite of it.
Roscoe’s fair raging and we sit in the car in silence and neither me nor Patty has the courage to ask Roscoe for our cut. The car stinks of mud-shit and Roscoe’s got the Stones Roses on blasting which is totally wrong for the mood we’re in.
Roscoe swigs another Special while his lights search the road and I feel Patty sobbing in my armpit and I say, ‘you didn’t need to call her no dirty slut.’
Roscoe slams on his brakes and almost sends us arrowing through the windscreen. He turns and slurs, ‘get the fuck out of my car.’
Well the mood he’s in we don’t need no second invite, and I help Patty out and he zooms off with the door still flapping, and Patty sobs more till his red back-lights turn out of sight.
It takes us a fair few hours to make it back and those hours present plenty of time for thinking. Instead of risking waking her old man at her place we head in the site static with the broken window catch that those of us of a certain age been using for extra curricular activities for years. Patty sprawls out over the stinky couch and starts talking her fanciful notions about getting a one-way ticket out of here. They’re tempting enough notions all right and what with all that thinking time I find myself swept up with thought that it’s not too late to make a go of it somewhere else. Then I look into those eager-to-please blowjob eyes of hers and suddenly I hate myself even more. Truth is I know how tonight’s going to end up, just like I know how things’ll end up next time Roscoe cools off and comes back round spouting another of them stupid ideas of his.
* * * *
Chat Room
rachel_beardsmore: hi all!!! has it really been ten years?! time flies when your having fun!!! (not!!!) thanks for popping by, there’s a few peeps (?) i couldn’t track down, anyone know what happened to ged blowes, marnie sleightholme, jake birdsall??!!
Elvis Perkins: Wot about Tammy Marsedn bet shes still fit
rachel_beardsmore: hi elvis it’s me rachel, what are you doing with yourself these days??!! well i never left sad eh??!! still yuong free and single well maybe not the young bit??!! only twentysix tho??!! lifes good… :o)
LIZZIE B: MARNIE WENT TO AMERICA JAKE BUMPED INTO HIM IN YORK A WHILE BACK GED DUNNO
rachel_beardsmore: omg hi lizzie how you keeping haven’t seen you in ages??!! you still around fryup??!! hows jake any clues??!!
Denise: hello?
rachel_beardsmore: hi denise how you keeping??!
Elvis Perkins: Wot about tammy marsesn
rachel_beardsmore: anyone got any tales to tell bet you have?>?! saw mr metcalfe in town the other day, I couldn’t believe he was still alive!!! he must be like 90!!! anyone else remember when jake hit him wih that board rubber>?>?!!! class!
SOULJA BOY 74: yo peeps
LIZZIE B: DUNNO LOST TOUCH
rachel_beardsmore: er, hiya soul boy 74!!! who are u? :):o
Elvis Perkins: Shame bet shes still fit
SOULJA BOY 74: wouldn’t you like to know
Denise: hi Elvis!!!???
Elvis Perkins: use ur real name you tool
rachel_beardsmore: can peeps use their rael names!!?
TAMMY MARSEN: Hi tammy here I’ve still got big tits for u to suck
Denise: what it’s me denise green rememeber (how cud u forget oo-er!!!!??? :@)
Elvis Perkins: lmfao
rachel_beardsmore: ha ha very funny
Denise: ????????????????????????????????????????????
[Denise HAS LOGGED OFF]
LIZZIE B: SMOKIN WEED IN THE SPORTS PAV WHEN MR KHAN WALKED IN, CLASS
JAKE BIRDSALL: Hello
rachel_beardsmore: hi jake is that really u!!!
Elvis Perkins: haha
JAKE BIRDSALL: how r u all doing
rachel_beardsmore: great thanks jake how about you, you out and about round york i hear??!
JAKE BIRDSALL: rachel I always fancied u
LIZZIE B: THIS INST THE REAL JAKE NO WAY
rachel_beardsmore: *** blushing **!!
Debbie Bullock: Deborah Bullock here, hello to anyone that knew me, working for haulage firm in Grantham, three kids, Clint 13 now, kyle nine britney 3 another one on way
Elvis Perkins: shit you’re keeping busy
rac
hel_beardsmore: hi debbie you still in touch with marnie
[SOULJA BOY 74 HAS LOGGED OFF]
LIZZIE B: U ALWAYS WAS A SLAG OVER AND OUT
[LIZZIE B HAS LOGGED OFF]
Debbie Bullock: no dead hopefully
Debbie Bullock: Yeh you too skanky bitch dunno why I bothered
[Debbie Bullock HAS LOGGED OFF]
rachel_beardsmore: let’s get back to teachers and memories stuff, anyone else remember mini marsh when we hid things high up so she couldn’t reach them!! remember when jake hid her glasses!!
JAKE BIRDSALL: forget mini marsh how about meetin up
Elvis Perkins: yeh right
JAKE BIRDSALL: rachel I always wanted to put my massive cock in your minge
[rachel_beardsmore HAS LOGGED OFF]
JAKE BIRDSALL: shame
Elvis Perkins: dick
TAMMY MARSEN: well you gonna suck my big tits or what
Elvis Perkins: ok
TAMMY MARSEN: pm me
[Elvis Perkins HAS LOGGED OFF]
[Tammy Marsen HAS LOGGED OFF]
Jake B: Hello?
JAKE BIRDSALL: hello
Jake B: wtf
JAKE BIRDSALL: ha
Jake B: ???
JAKE BIRDSALL: woh, freaky
Jake B: Dick
[Jake B HAS LOGGED OFF]
[JAKE BIRDSALL HAS LOGGED OFF]
* * * *
About the author:
Mark Staniforth was born in 1974 and lives in a small village in North Yorkshire. He is working on his first novel. His latest work can be found at:
http://markstaniforth.blogspot.com
Credits:
'Carnival Queen' first appeared in Southpaw
'Eleutherophobia' first appeared in Night Train
'The Parish News' first appeared in Succour
'Sweet Tooth' first appeared in Eclectica
'Nine Lives' first appeared in Underground Voices
'Cow-tipping' first appeared in Fried Chicken & Coffee