Boy Parts

by Eliza Clark

  ‘How are you real?’ he asks.

  ‘Dunno.’ I look over to him, wiping water from my eyes. He is smiling at me. His neck is rimmed with bruises, a print of my hands wrought on his light brown skin in purples, reds and blues. ‘Your neck looks fucked up,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve been telling people I got into a bar fight.’ He snorts. ‘You should see the other bloke! And stuff. I told my best friend? So he could vouch for me. Like, yeah this mental charva grabbed him at ’Spoons.’

  ‘Are you embarrassed of me, or something?’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t really want people to know I’ve… like… been doing, um…’ He clears his throat. ‘Kinky stuff. Plus, I just don’t think anyone would believe me if I, like, told them, and they looked you up on Facebook, or Insta or something. The friend I told called me a liar when I showed him you – he said you were probably catfishing me, and I’d done the bruises myself in a wanking accident.’ He laughs, awkwardly. ‘I followed you on Instagram by the way – hope that’s okay.’

  ‘Fifty thousand other people do,’ I say. I shampoo my hair. ‘I don’t give a shit.’

  ‘Cool…’ He clears his throat. ‘Cool, cool, cool. Do you have anything to drink? Not wine? If that’s okay?’

  ‘I have a little fridge in the garage. There’s some old Moretti in there. Bring me a bottle, if you’re going.’

  He comes back with two very old bottles of beer, which I lean around the shower curtain to grab. He sits on the toilet and drinks his beer.

  ‘Who’s Frank Steel?’ he asks.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘F… Frank Steel? You posted a picture the other day from ages ago. It’s you in your underwear and the caption said Frank Steel took it? And I just… I saw a box in your garage labelled Frank, which made me remember. He’s a photographer, then?’

  ‘Oh. Frank. Yeah. Frank was like a guest academic at CSM. I modelled for them once or twice, no big deal. Sort of an ex. We had a brief thing. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Okay… Pronoun dodge…’ he says, with a knowing smirk. I purse my lips. When I’m done finger-combing in my leave-in conditioner, I poke my head out of the shower, and scowl at him.

  ‘I didn’t pronoun dodge,’ I snap. He’s still smirking. ‘Fuck off.’ I see him pull his phone from his pocket. ‘Don’t you fucking dare google it.’

  ‘Too late,’ he says. I catch a palm full of water, and fling it at him, like a chimp flinging shit. ‘Irina! So she’s a woman, who cares? It’s fine. It’s cool, I’m not like… I’m not… homophobic. Biphobic. Whatever. Like, if anything, I think this is great.’ I’m still scowling. I sit down in the bath and start shaving my legs, waiting for my conditioner to sink in. Eddie from Tesco rambles, and rambles. ‘Oh God, not in a gross way, I mean. I really don’t care like… I’m not one of these men who’s really into lesbian porn stuff? I’m like… I mean I’ve done stuff with men before, it’s just so not a big deal.’ I perk up at that, give him an expectant oh aye? from the floor of the bath. He colours and chugs half his bottle of beer. ‘Yeah. I mean. Whatever, you know?’ He snorts, makes a show of shrugging even though he’s about as red as I’ve ever seen him. ‘What-ever.’

  ‘Tell me about it, then, if it’s not a big deal, all these blokes you’ve—’

  ‘All these…’ He forces a laugh. ‘It wasn’t… I’m. It was one other boy, I was… young.’

  ‘If you’re going to google my sort-of-ex, I want details.’ I’m smirking now – imagining him skinnier, during uni, with his curls ironed out and fringe dragged across his forehead. I imagine someone taller, paler, in an empty room at a party, awkward hands lifting hoodies – lips that are too rough, sloppy tongues. I’m there.

  ‘Mmm.’ He clears his throat. ‘One of Amir’s football friends used to like… I was like fourteen at the time, so. I mean, it was fine, but upon reflection, it wasn’t really… cool. Because he was eighteen. And… well, bigger than me, like. The power dynamic was kind of… I mean, as someone who is about to go into teacher training, it’s like… aaah! Safeguarding issue!’ He looks over to me, expecting a reprieve. I expect a story. ‘So, my parents would make Amir take me to football, and to hang out with his friends at parties and stuff, and they’d give me beer and… um, obviously I don’t take drugs ever anymore, like ever, but they’d give me… weed, sometimes.’

  ‘Hardcore.’ I snort.

  ‘But yeah so his friend B-Ben. Would follow me to the bathroom all the time, and… at first he would just kiss me, and stuff, and I’d just kind of… take it? But.’ He stops. I tell him to keep talking, and he does, but only after a moment. ‘He started getting me to touch him.’ He clears his throat again. ‘This isn’t like a fun story, really I mean. At the time I was kind of into it, I guess? Like, now I’ve had some, uh, therapy, and I’ve done loads of work with kids, and I’ve learned a lot about um… grooming? And stuff? It’s…’

  ‘Bit rapey, innit?’ I stick my head under the spray and rinse out the conditioner. My mental image has changed, but I’m still there. Less furtive, cheeky experimentation, more… big, frightened eyes, and heavy hands, knotted into dark curls. Was Ben rough? So rough that Little Eddie knew things wouldn’t end well if he were to protest. Did Ben’s hands ever snake around Little Eddie’s neck? Did Ben back Little Eddie up against the door of a pub toilet cubicle, pick him up by the waist, cram his tongue into Little Eddie’s mouth, and probe at him with unpractised, unlubricated fingers?

  ‘Yeah. I just… I shouldn’t have brought it up… I just didn’t want you feel like… I was. That I thought you… having a thing with another woman was… an issue? I mean. I’m sorry. What happened with me and him wasn’t a… I know it’s fucked to think like this.’ He says the word fucked very quietly, as if he’s worried an adult will hear. ‘But I’ve always thought of it as being like… my first relationship?’ he says. ‘I haven’t really told anyone… ever? Outside of counselling? Amir was best man at his wedding. His straight wedding. I figure he was more of an opportunistic offender than a preferential… Well, I say that; he did wink at me when we were all in the pub, last Christmas?’ Eddie from Tesco finishes his beer.

  ‘Did he ever fuck you?’ I ask. My eyes are closed, but I figure he’s giving me a look. Hurt, confused, whatever. I throw him a bone. ‘’Cause, you know, I had a thing with my art teacher when I was sixteen,’ I say. ‘Mister Hamilton. He was… forty-odd? I think? He’d take me to dinner and then we’d sit in his car a street away from my house, and he’d get me to suck his dick, and stuff. Now that’s a fucking safeguarding issue. We could never go to his house because of his literal wife and children, so we’d only ever do it in his car, or public bathrooms. Lost my virginity in the disabled toilets at an Odeon cinema.’ I think for a moment. ‘We were seeing Notes on a Scandal. Even at the time I was like… mate.’

  ‘Jesus,’ says Eddie from Tesco. ‘I’m so sorry, Irina.’

  ‘It was fine. I quite liked it,’ I say. ‘Your thing sounds way more traumatic.’

  ‘It’s not a competition,’ he says. ‘But no, he never. There was no penetration… With regard to… Uum. The particular orifice I assume you’re referring to.’

  There’s a lull. He looks like he’s thinking.

  ‘I mean, it just happens, doesn’t it? Practically a rite of passage.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Irina,’ he says. He looks at me in a way he never has done before: right in the eye, with his brow crinkled. His big cow eyes are shiny, and his lips are pulled into his mouth, pressed to a tight line. ‘I’m really sorry that happened to you,’ he says, after a moment.

  I am suddenly very aware I’m naked. I go pfft, and I wave my hands. I sneer. I roll my eyes.

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine. He got caught, he got fired.’ I shut off the shower. ‘End of story. It has literally never been a big deal for me. It only lasted six or seven months. I’ve had longer relationships with toothbrushes.’

  I get Eddie from Tesco to wrap up the Ben stor
y. It is depressing, and nowhere near as pornographic as I’d hoped.

  Little Eddie and Ben’s relationship fizzled out unceremoniously when Ben went to university. At the leaving celebrations – the last hurrah when Amir and his group of friends got their A-level results – Little Eddie followed Ben to the toilet at a house party. And Ben told Little Eddie he wasn’t in the mood, because he’d gotten two Bs and a C, and hadn’t made it into Newcastle Uni, or Northumbria (his second choice), and had only just gotten into Edinburgh Napier through clearing. Ben had cried on Little Eddie’s shoulder, instead of molesting him, which made Little Eddie feel strange. No longer was he going through the motions of a sexual relationship with this older boy, he was providing support. Like a real boyfriend, or something.

  Then Ben moved to Scotland and very quickly got a girlfriend, which Little Eddie tragically discovered via Facebook. Facebook’s presence in this story suggests that Eddie from Tesco is younger than I had initially assumed. Little Eddie decided, however, that their dubiously consensual fumbling would continue over the Christmas break.

  Little Eddie was allowed to tag along with Amir to the pub at that first post-freshers Christmas reunion. As usual, Little Eddie bought a Diet Coke, and Amir bought vodka shots, which he would pour into Little Eddie’s drink when the bar staff had their backs turned. Amir, in high spirits, lost track of the amount of shots added to his little brother’s drink and, thus, Little Eddie became very drunk, very quickly.

  Little Eddie stared at Ben from across the table all evening, and Ben would not meet his eye. The older boys traded stories about sex, and booze and soft drugs, and Little Eddie stared, even stretching his stubby legs to rub Ben’s calf under the table. Little Eddie announced, with a slurred, pointed voice, that he was going to the toilet – knocking into Ben on the way. Ben did not even acknowledge the shove, and Little Eddie found himself in the toilets, completely alone. He burst into tears. He sobbed alone for ten minutes, wondering what is wrong with me? Why had Ben lost interest, and why was Little Eddie trying to rekindle something that had made him so uncomfortable and confused?

  Intellectually, I know this is a sad story. But as I imagine him – fifteen, drunk, half hard, humiliated, sobbing – my skin prickles. My nipples grow tight against the fabric of the towel I’ve wrapped around my chest, and I lick my lips. I imagine his tears on my tongue.

  ‘Sorry. Jesus, sorry that story is so pathetic, like… TMI, Eddie! Not that this whole conversation isn’t TMI, but…’ He laughs, and buries his face in his hands, talking to me through his fingers. ‘Hey, at least there’s no danger of us having sex tonight,’ he says, with a sniff. ‘I’m definitely up for a film, though. A nice film.’

  I drop him onto my bed. The towel around my hair unravels. I frantically suck the bruises on his neck. I drop the towel around my body, and he notices the scars on my hips for the first time. He runs his fingers over them and seems not to believe me when I say stretch marks into the crook of his shoulder. He catches my cheek in his hand.

  ‘I feel so close to you,’ he says.

  I go downstairs for a glass of water, and by the time I get back to my room, Eddie from Tesco has cleaned up, tucked himself into my bed and fallen asleep. I sigh. It’s only ten p.m. Like, four hours before my usual bedtime. I fucking hate sharing my bed, too.

  I think about booting him out, but I just end up leaving him.

  I sit downstairs with a glass of wine, and watch Snowtown, because checkout boy’s story made me think of it. I watch the rape scene near the start a couple of times. I once told Flo I thought it was hot as fuck, and she was like, hmm, deleting that info, thanks. Like she hasn’t been creaming herself over Call Me by Your Name since it came out. She was all like, oh well that’s totally different Irina, and I don’t really see how, to be honest? She’d be shitting herself about a straight film with that age gap.

  I drop her a text, briefly considering what would wind her up the most before sending her anything.

  Hey, guess youre still freezing me out.

  Sorry you can’t just be happy for me when i finally find someone i like.

  Lame.

  Three dots. She’s typing. I grin.

  This has fuck all to do with the fucking tesco guy lmfao Irina????

  SURE.

  But yeah blanking me is super mature!!!

  Not fucked up and upsetting at all

  From my perspective you basically accuse me of lying about getting raped, you vanish out of my life it’s bizarre and wont even talk to me when i start dating someone I actually like and im trying to get your opinions and stuff like.

  All this stuff is happening to me and you just ditch me.

  Then you’re acting like the victim here like.

  Honestly youre always acting like im this monster

  How do yio think this makes me feel?

  If it’s not about eddie (the guy from tesco fyi) I don’t get it?? Whatd id i do???

  If you have a problem with me, if ive done somethig just tell me??

  But the silence is cruel flo. It’s fucking cruel.

  I throw in a few typos, like I’m cry-typing. I put my phone down and go back to Snowtown. I finish my glass of wine before I pick it up again. I have an essay to read. The first text:

  Youre right.

  I cackle.

  Im so sorry

  Michael just like hw ereally doesnt tryst you he thinkis you make stuff up to manipulate me and make me feel bad and I KNOW YOU DONT

  i know you dont do it on purpose but sometime you do like you do say stuff and its upsetting anmd manipulative but michael just always assumes the worst of people and its so exhausting to have like.

  Maybe you hurt my feelings and i tell michael and he convinces me you did it on purplseand it s hard not to getworn down n convinces by it and i jsut felt really confused I didnt mean it i felt like i needed some time on my own and honestly

  Mauybe i was jealous of the guy from tesco and yourem texting me anbout him all the time i know aftr what i said 2 you I desrv to feel like shti its really stupid im just used to having you to myself and i felt confusedx and territorial and angry and michael was being werid and i s2g he does it from a place of concern

  Being caught between the two of you all the time is so tiringj imn so sorry

  It’s okay.

  You know, I actually think that’s really shitty of Michael.

  He’s always been threatened by you.

  Mmm. Just don’t let him like grima wormtongue you

  You know i’m not a bad person.

  I know I’m not always nice

  but i’m not like evil??? Or anything???

  I don’t know flo

  i have a lot of baggage and im trying my best.

  I know.

  I’m so sorry.

  Can i come over tomorrow? About 10-ish?

  It’s my day off?

  Okay.

  I smile. I finish the bottle of wine, and fall asleep on the couch.

  Eddie from Tesco wakes me up in the morning, about nine. Nine a.m. I tell him to fuck off.

  ‘I made breakfast,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t eat breakfast.’

  ‘I was wondering why you didn’t even have eggs or bread? That’s wild. I went to the Waitrose and got some stuff, I, like… I mean, I figured you weren’t vegetarian because you had some tuna in your cupboard? I’ve only ever seen you buy salady stuff and wine. So, I got some smoked salmon and avocados and made you eggs? I can make toast, if you want.’

  ‘Waitrose?’ I say. ‘Bougie. I don’t do carbs, though.’

  ‘I figured,’ he says. ‘Toast is optional.’ He drops a plate on the coffee table in front of me. As promised, smoked salmon, avocado, and he poached the fucking eggs. ‘Why didn’t you come to bed? I missed you this morning.’

  ‘Don’t you have… work?’ I say. I shuffle up on the couch, my laptop still on my stomach. He sits on the floor with his legs crossed, on the other side of the coffee table, eating poached
eggs and toast. Poached.

  ‘Not till twelve,’ he says. ‘Uh… Sorry if this is a bit much, I was just… hungry?’ He clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s my T-shirt.’ It’s big on him, and I only own like three T-shirts. It’s white, with a print of one of my photographs on it. Flo got it for me – a birthday present.

  ‘I didn’t want to put my work shirt back on, sorry. Is this one of your photos?’

  ‘Yep.’ I move my laptop onto the floor, and replace it with breakfast, which I eat slowly and carefully. He’s squeezed lime onto the salmon and the avocado for me.

  ‘So, um, when do you want me to come round for the video?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘For the show. Hackney Space? You said you wanted to try me out for your film?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah just… When are you off next week?’ He grins. He’s off on Friday. ‘Then. Just come over whenever. Not before one, though. And text me first.’

  ‘Cool,’ he says. ‘Cool, cool, cool.’

  He does the washing up when we’re finished eating. I eat the avocado and the fish, but I leave the eggs. I poke them, and watch the yolk dribble out and soak the plate. He brings me a coffee when I tell him to. He says he needs to leave soon, to pick up a clean shirt for work. There’s a love bite on his neck now, just above the bruises. Who the fuck over the age of seventeen gives someone a hickey? I remember climbing all over him, picking him up, grabbing at him.

  ‘Are you gunna go, then?’ I call.

  ‘Yeah, as soon as I’m done washing up.’

  ‘Just. My friend is coming over soon,’ I say. ‘So… You know. Get a wiggle on.’

  ‘Sure, just gimme five, I’ll be out of your hair.’ The doorbell rings. I swear under my breath. It rings again. ‘Do you want me to get it?’

  ‘Nope.’ I pull my robe closed, realising I’ve been lying here with one tit hanging out, and jog to the door. There’s Flo, brow crinkled. Her lip wobbles as soon as she sees me. I cut off her apology, and tell her I have company. Before I can send her upstairs, Eddie from Tesco wanders out of my kitchen, drying a pot and smiling.