by Lee Kerr
It’s our summer break, so what are we supposed to do? Hang around midtown and loiter like we actually matter to anyone? We could have gone to the beach to watch the boys surf all day and long into the evening, until the sun fades and we would light fires and drink beer. Our youth is supposed to be for these wasted moments; that gap between nothing and something meaningful.
It was my father who suggested a month of charity work, the flight and accommodation paid for by him. I have to admit that it did sound a little more appealing than lighting a beach fire and piling firewood on top of yesterday’s wood, all the time wondering if tonight Angelica would get screwed by Brad or Cody, or maybe by both of them. I always thought that it would be a delightful change if for once Brad could pound Cody into the dunes whilst everyone else watches. That would hold my attention far more than the set-menu jock-and-cheerleader routine I’m so regularly forced to endure.
If you knew me it would come as no surprise that none of those ideas met with my approval. I had no intention of standing with the other mannequins on the boulevard, handbags as red as lipstick, their bitch-rays on full blast to anyone not in designer everything. I was not going to lay with the other dolls on the beach, either – the ones who at least try to relax, even if it is in the name of a messy fuck somewhere deep in that big, adult sandpit. And as for a month of sweating in Africa, my feet blistering and my hands torn from battling with rock and wood? Well, I told dear Daddy if some village wanted the luxury of fresh water then its lucky inhabitant’s best get digging their own well.
I did, however, take him up on his offer of a flight and accommodation, and I even managed to convince a few others to con the same out of their parents. And so five college friends have come to Thailand for a summer break that I hoped would turn out to be legendary, for more reasons than I care to share.
At some point during the flight here I realised it was unlikely we would all be friends forever, not when you consider the intertwined secrets of our past, created for nothing but my amusement and known only to one person. Looking around the plane that evening, the rest of them asleep, I realised the nightmare I had created and brought onto this trip was far worse than whatever random stuff that was making the news lately. And in relation to that weird shit going down, we all decided to get the flight anyway, and as soon as we landed I knew that we all needed to make the best of whatever happens next.
We are a small group – a collection of young, twenty-somethings who will move on to become doctors, lawyers and other incredibly helpful people. We set out to study hard and play harder, especially when it’s on some other mug’s doorstep. We will dance naked on the beach, we will drink vodka and we will smash our glasses onto the floor. Our indiscretions will be tolerated; one of many down-payments made for all the future value we might one day contribute. But we’re nothing unique, nothing but young kids carving out a world for ourselves, feeling as if we’re the only things the universe should be paying attention to.
You might think we are five testosterone-riddled young men who are staying in cramped, yet utterly fantastic beach huts – the kind of places where you hear the waves all day and night, where we spend all of our time topless and barefoot, our modern loin cloths and chilled bottles of Bud the only thing that separates us from our cavemen ancestors.
You’d be very wrong. We’re just two weird couples and Austin, and we’re stuck in a beach resort, entombed in concrete and trapped by eternally happy service people who put our pathetic needs ahead of anything else. Even if they found twelve puppies drowning in a pool, my need for another mojito would come before any sense of rescuing them. The question you should be asking is why aren’t we dancing around those raging fires, our sweaty bodies exposed to the burning flames, as we perform our own strange moonlight rituals? It’s all because of the princess two doors down – the poor little thing who can’t possibly be away from everything clean, crisp and sanitary. It’s because of her that we’re stuck in this white-walled, ordinary, lifeless place.
As angry as I am I will never hold it against her – never could and never will. She has been through too much and I know how much this break means to her; it means a lot to all of us in some way or another.
Speaking of a princess, my own little precious thing has just come out of the bathroom. I sit on my bed and stare at him as I contemplate the inevitability of my recent choices. Eric has a towel wrapped around his waist and is standing still in the middle of the room, just a few paces away from me. He starts prodding at his chest, desperately trying to find something that isn’t there.
‘It’s looking a little more defined, don’t you think?’ he says, his hands pulling at the skin that’s sucked to his tight body, his eyes not daring to meet with mine. ‘I definitely think so.’
I don’t say anything as I slowly move off the bed and snake my ways towards him, passed the suitcase I still haven’t unpacked, moving around the used clothing that awaits rescue by someone who isn’t me.
As I reach him he finally looks up, desperate for an answer, begging for validation. My approval means everything to him; like it’s a stamp from God – a passport to acceptance. I circle around him and stare, so obviously taunting him, so openly playing with his fragile needs that I’m often shocked he still hangs around me. I say nothing, knowing that there is still more to do, acutely aware that I must nurture what I have created.
‘Well?’ he says, stepping away from me, just slightly, but enough to demand that I take in the whole of him, not just the microscopic bits I’m so obviously overanalysing.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, and then kneel down. I take prolonged yet genuine time to properly look at his flat stomach, all thanks to his Asian genetics, which seems able to remain unaffected by any of his American vices.
‘So, you’re saying that an entire semester in the gym has done nothing?’ he says, his skinny arms hanging by his sides like lonely, limp posts, desperately wanting a flag to carry and a burden to bear.
I look up at him. ‘Your stomach looks no different. It’s as flat as the Nevada dessert.’
He lets out a long huff, like my opinion is the only reality he will accept, as if my words can override what a thousand mirrors might otherwise tell him differently.
‘Tense your body,’ I say.
He immediately obeys, starting with his stomach. I have to admit that something appears; some vein resemblance of abdominal muscles. I touch them and he shudders, giggling like a girl whilst still managing to hold his pose. I trace my fingers along them, finding small yet obvious grooves between each muscle. It gives me hope – hope that he can yet be moulded; hope that what is still hidden can come out and be noticed. These small muscles that are forming are symbolic of Eric – a reflection of his future self. He is still trying to shed the skin of his current being. And where muscles grow, confidence will follow. I jab him in the stomach. ‘I think I’ve found your ribcage but that’s about it.’
I don’t give him time to sulk, now demanding that he shows me what his arms have gained. He obeys and tenses them, putting all of his energy into forcing two small tennis balls to form under his skin. I tense with him, showing how it should be done.
He suddenly laughs, losing his pose. ‘Your boobs look firmer when you do that!’
I jab him again, reminding him who is in charge. He quickly returns to his original position, both arms curled up and stretched, his eyes checking that this posture is the best for showing off what he has created.
I grab one of his arms and put my hand around it. I can no longer wrap all the way around – a sure and irrefutable sign that progress is being made. ‘There is definitely something there,’ I say, and then take a step back. ‘You see, I made you, so it’s important that I see progress is being made to make my investment worthwhile.’
He nods back, showing a cowardly acceptance of my demands. He’s happy to be moulded, happy to be in the hands of someone else. He’s my puppet of progress.
I quickly pull his towel away, mana
ging to get it off his waist and away from him before he can grab it back.
‘Anna!’ he shouts, covering his tackle with his hands, his face in shock. He looks over his shoulder and I can see he is thinking about fleeing to the bathroom, but he probably knows that it will do him no good. For however long he could hide in there I would be waiting out here and if he pushed me too far I’d start throwing his clothes over the balcony.
I calmly place his towel on the bed. ‘Eric, remember that I made you. When we first met you were some geeky boy, far more Chinese than American, but now I’ve cleaned you up. We’ve said goodbye to the bowl haircut, and you’ve finally come around to my way of thinking that a bit of stubble works well on you, whatever your mother thinks.’
He shakes his head and opens his mouth. I stop his challenge; I openly refuse to accept any defence of his faraway and entirely archaic mother. ‘And I’ve got your body on track and your mind focused.’ I open up my arms and hold out my hands. ‘There’s a lot we should celebrate.’
He frowns, keeping his hands where he thinks they should be. ‘I’m not hugging you,’ he says, half-shouting, half-laughing at the idea.
I laugh back. ‘Why can’t I see it? We both know two hands is overkill.’
‘How do you know?’ he says, his mouth gaped open. ‘You can’t know that.’
‘Because, Eric, genetics leave nothing hidden.’
He shakes his head. ‘You didn’t make down here and you can’t change whatever its size or shape is. It’s the one thing you’ll never be able to change.’
I narrow my eyes as I consider if I want to test that theory, wondering how far I could push him. I imagine myself sitting in some hospital waiting room, absently flicking through a magazine, while he’s lying on an operating table, about to get it lengthened. I laugh to myself when I imagine a less sinister version of this future being played out in my mind – one where I find myself inserting his floppy cock into a vacuum pump, his whiny voice begging me to stop, and my voice, calm and chilling, telling him that it will work and that it must be done.
I finally sit on the bed. ‘I bet Austin is hung.’
Eric laughs, his face filled with a smile. ‘I bet he is.’
I jump up, grabbing at his hands, which are encasing his small jewel, hoping to catch him off guard. ‘Eric, show me. I need to make sure you have trimmed.’
‘I’m not trimming!’ he shouts.
I let go of his wrists and encircle him with my arms, knowing that my way in is through his mind. I stop when I’m behind him, and then push a hand against him, forcing him to arch his back, just a little.
‘A tidy ass crack is very important these days.’
‘It’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom,’ he announces, validating what I can already see.
I walk back in front of him and place my hands on his forearms whilst I look into his jet-black eyes. ‘This moment is symbolic, Eric.’
He’s still shaking his head, his mind denying that the ultimate reveal should ever happen, but his hands eventually start to separate from his body.
‘Close your eyes,’ I say, as I slowly guide them away from his cock and rest them by his sides. I look him up and down, taking all of him in. I see the beauty of his simple body and for the first time in our few months together I see him for what he truly is. He will never be my lover, or my boyfriend – he will simply be Eric. And there are a billion more Eric’s out there, all with their tight, slightly off-white skin. They’re like clones, coming off the production line with their shiny, black hair and petite little figures, all accessorised with a slightly oversized bush around purely functional genitalia.
But this Eric is different now; I’ve taken this model and customised him the Anna way. Eric is my past as much as my future; he’s like the Barbie doll my once parents gave me – the doll I painstakingly accessorised with all manner of combat gear, a machine gun for a handbag, and a tank for a house. Eric’s scrunched up face reminds me of their horrified expressions all those years ago, how their faces screwed up when I showed them Barbie’s head glued onto the body of GI Joe. It was my best work at the time and I personally liked what it stood for – the ultimate symbol of a women thriving in a world dominated by men.
‘Keep those eyes closed,’ I say and then step away from him. I start to strip off, calmly letting each item of clothing drop onto the floor around us.
‘Anna,’ he says and gulps. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Stay still,’ I say, as I keep peeling away the layers of our friendship. I know that touching his flesh with mine will make us stronger, meaning that our relationship no longer has any physical boundaries.
His eyes are still closed as we stand opposite each other. I copy his movements: his nervous smiles, flashing white teeth, the way his hands scratch his body before returning to his sides and swinging nervously around. I want to touch him, to tease my way down his chest and see his reaction as I run a finger past his cock and onto his balls.
‘Open your eyes,’ I say, softly, more erotically than I had planned.
He obeys, but upon seeing me naked he immediately brings his hands up to his mouth, openly horrified. He looks around the empty room, as though hoping to find an audience to validate his shock.
‘Why are you laughing?’ I ask, but get nothing back. His gaze darts around the room, desperately searching for a safe place to look.
‘Eric!’ I shout. ‘Why are you laughing?’
‘We’re both naked,’ he says, his hands back around his tackle. ‘It’s totally weird!’
‘Take a hold of your cock with one hand.’
He shakes his head, denying the possibility of what could happen.
‘Do it!’
He jumps back and freezes. He looks like he’s thinking through what is happening, and the obvious consequences that would come from refusing my request. He eventually does what he is told, taking a hold of his manhood, grabbing all of it, like it’s his new pet gerbil.
I run a finger down my breasts while I stare at him. He looks back at me in pure confusion; his innocence is being taken away from him, inch by inch. All the time I focus my eyes and my mind on his tackle, but no matter how deep I go nothing moves, nothing stirs. I know that he’s trying, trying for me. He wants it to grow, more for me than ever for himself.
I move closer to him, as close as we can get without touching. I interrupt him, his eyes now closed and his imagination somewhere else, as his body gently sways. I kiss him on the cheek and he opens his eyes, his disappointed look so obvious.
‘Eric, we will be friends forever.’
‘We will?’ he asks, his arms now folded across his stomach, clearly seeing no point in hiding anything. ‘Even after this, after what we have just done?’
I throw him his towel and start putting all those layers back over my body. ‘Especially after this. We both know what you like and it’s important that you embrace it. Promise me that you will embrace it.’
‘I promise,’ he says, too casually, the towel still hanging at his side.
‘And promise that you will obey me.’
He laughs and nods. ‘I have trusted you this far, haven’t I?’
I nod. ‘We’re late, and you need to trim and get dressed.’
He looks down. ‘Really?’
‘Embrace and obey, remember?’
*****
When we get to the bar Austin is already there, sitting on a stool, a beer in front of him and his headphones still plugged in. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t do anything, and I immediately think he is loyal and brave in equal measure – happy to wait for his friends to eventually arrive, not wanting to go and sulk at a corner table where no one can see him.
He’s the poor guy who has a room to himself. That’s what everyone has said to him from when we first planned this holiday, when we were on the plane and ever since we arrived in this overcomplicated place. I personally think he is the luckiest person here: he has enough space to do what he wants and can keep the pe
ople he loosely calls friends at arm’s length. I’ve twice asked to swap with him, much to Eric’s horror and a confused look from Austin.
I embrace him as soon as we’re close enough, forcing a kiss onto each cheek, then giving him an overly long hug. Even though we only left each other’s company only a couple of hours ago I insist upon this intimacy because I like the feel of his skin. He is most definitely the right shade of dark; his skin is soft and smooth, and his body perpetually tanned and toned. The moment I first met Austin I knew I had to add him to my collection. You can’t meet someone who looks like he just came from a sunbed in heaven and not keep him around for as long as possible. He’s everything that I imagine a real angel would be. Why would you make them pasty white and hairy when you can have perfection wrapped in forever-bronzed skin? I look at him and he looks back at me, and I know that if I become God he will be right by my side, or perhaps slightly ahead and to my left, giving me a regular glance at those generous abs.
He’s everything Eric isn’t and it fascinates me each time I see them next to each other. This holiday is a perfect chance for me to observe their physiques, to consider why I feel that they were created for very different reasons. Time on the beach and by the pool has allowed for ample examination of tensed arms and muscles that double in size with a simple flick of his wrist, and a hopeful answer as to why their snakes are such different sizes.
I look at them both now and see a fascinating mix of colours and vibes. I wonder what their children would look like, however impossible it would be to create such a thing, and as they awkwardly embrace each other I wonder what it would be like to see them fucking. I watch them quietly fumble and half-hug, picturing them entwined as one, their sweating bodies rubbing against each other as they pant and moan.
‘Drink?’ Eric asks, waking me from my thoughts.
‘Of course,’ I say, smiling at them both.
‘What strange ideas just crawled out of your mind?’ Austin asks, still perched in the same position as when we arrived. He is sitting still, kitted out in a trendy tee and a cool cap, the night still young and offering plenty of time to change, should the mood take him. I’m impressed that although his body has not left his seat, he has managed to bend and contort around us with very little effort, every part of him inviting and welcoming.
