Jake falls from one punch, right on his skull…fuck’s sake, he’s an idiot after all.
The three of them surround me, one on each side and one in front. The biggest, over six foot and thickset under his puffy parka, with stubble like a Turkish toddler, must be seventeen at least. He stares me down, right down, his eyes splayed as tries to focus on both my tits at the same time. I should have worn a bra but I assumed that Jake wouldn’t be able to get under it. I tried to make it easier for him but now this troll is ogling my nipples gleefully as they poke through my loose-knit woollen jumper.
The two on either side are smaller and look younger but I bet they’re all the same age. Under his parker and layers of fat the big one probably has just enough muscle to cart his bulk…but if they get hold of my arms I will be fucked, literally. Jake is sparked out and I’m alone in a playground on a scummy estate…shit, the boys at school were right!
I hate them. I ignored them, just because he’s so fucking sexy! He’s skinny but he’s got snakelike, wiry arms; the intoxicating way they pulse when he plays netball…
That should have been a clue! He was the only straight boy not to take rugby this term. I thought that made him cool, I didn’t think about his reasons, I actually assumed he was being brave, now I think maybe it was the opposite… I only convinced myself he was brave when I found out he was straight…
Even Scott thought he was gay! We argued back and forth for weeks, in the unisex changing room (Jake always used the male), over who should ask him out. Scott’s a cunt, thank fuck, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to ask a boy out, especially with my reputation. Most are scared of me. They call me a lesbian, like they wouldn’t love it if I was! They use it as an excuse to avoid admitting they find me sexy, I know they have silently agreed to pretend they don’t, so they don’t have to face their insecurities. Just like they pretend Jake is ugly.
After Scott asked him out and horrified him in front of a gang of boys who will never let him forget it, Jake had enough confidence to ask me out! I doubt he would have but Scott probably told him that I thought he was gay. It wasn’t Scott’s intention to help; he was just being a bitch! I bet it was his fault that the boys followed Jake when he came over to me in the playground.
They jeered him while he asked and I nearly turned him down, even though he’s fit as fuck. He was obviously nervous and it took his sexiness away. The other boys, nasty as they all are and not even worth remembering by name, actually seemed sexier for a moment…
I’ve seen him play netball though, seen his muscular calves bulge as he plants his stocky body, seen his arse, like two fists punching through the back of his shorts, seen him play a whole game without a bead of sweat appearing, he just gets oilier and finishes looking like a greased up model. I’ve seen the front of his shorts swinging when he jumps, like a banana-boat in a circus tent…
I ignored the other boys and said yes; I’ve never gotten such a twinge from a word.
“Where you gonna go?” one prick asked, putting Jake on the spot. I felt protective and wanted to answer for him but I knew that would make things worse, so I let him answer.
“The park,” he said eventually, sounding overly confident given the lameness of the reply.
The gang of boys laughed and I fought the urge to shoot Jake a ‘You fucking serious?” glare. Instead, I asked them what was funny; knowing full well that by fifteen you should have graduated from trying to finger girls under the slide. I kind of like the idea of Jake fingering me though, I wasn’t planning to let him, but I was going to let him try.
“Just cause you’re all scared,” was his ironic reply, his voice quavering.
“Of what?” the biggest boy, some dickhead from the other half of the year, asked genuinely, chuckling.
“Getting beaten up, that’s why you go to the cinema and shit, the park is fun at night, if you’re not afraid! We’ll have plenty of privacy!”
I hated him then, the way he said privacy was so suggestive it made me feel a bit sick. Even though I was thinking the same thing, sharing it was pathetic. If I hadn’t committed already I would have told him to fuck off then but he’s an awkward geek and of course he couldn’t find the words to stand up to alpha males. I realised I’d have to get used to it if I wanted to have some fun with him and I decided it didn’t matter how tough he is. He’s way sexier than the next fittest boy in school, so I bit my tongue and let him embarrass us both.
Mum said I’d done the right thing. Doing housework, we discussed it for hours. Mum could tell that this was special to me, maybe she knows what I’m after, but she was supportive, the house has never been so immaculate! We even polished my trophies, which I haven’t done since I stopped competing two years ago…
Shit, that’s a weird coincidence. I remember her saying ‘I had to pry the Brasso open with a knife, you must have crushed the lid onto the pot the last time you used it! If you started competing again you’d still be great…
Maybe she was right.
Before either of the smaller boys can get a hand on me I bring my elbows up simultaneously. I don’t need a lot of force, elbows are harder than fists and my form is perfect, both their noses burst.
I could leave them be but as blood spills over me I remember the thrill of a real fight, and I feel compelled to go into horse stance so I can punch the big guy hard in the dick. I use a karate style punch, starting from my hip and twisting my fist, a move I nicknamed the ‘Off Switch’. It works.
With them all distracted by pain, I choose my next victim. I scissor the smallest boy’s legs, twisting them, bringing him painfully into his back and finishing the move with a judo chop to his balls. I laugh as he screams. I hadn’t even noticed that the floor here is rubber; I didn’t even hurt my shoulder dropping him!
Staying down I sweep the other small guy’s legs and as he hits the floor, utterly defenceless, I put him into an arm bar. Putting in my full strength, as I pull his arm it rubs my vagina and I get some tingles. I engage my hips, the tingles intensify, his arm bends into a ninety degree angle, he screams. I’m fucking wet.
I let him go and get up, carefully rolling away so the big guy, who has already recovered from my surprise cock-shot, can’t stamp on me. He tries anyway and as the lumbering buffoon’s great leg steps out and misses, I can’t resist doing something else I was always taught not to do. I kick, hard, using my heel.
People often take the piss out of axe kicks, but fuck me they work if someone presents their knee to you the way this guy just did; my heel smashes down on his knee and my god, it is infinitely more satisfying to smash a knee than a wooden block made to split down the middle. He crumbles like his kneecap, crying.
I am so fucking horny. I can’t even consider beating them any worse.
I run over to Jake, lying in foetal position next to the swings. He’s not out cold anymore, thank fuck, but he doesn’t look like he will remember everything. I recognize the signs of a bad concussion, he looks very confused and as I touch him lightly on the shoulder he looks at me with unfocused, dizzy eyes.
“Are you going to be sick?” I ask. He looks like he might be and if so I’ll leave him in foetal position.
“No,” he winces, sitting up and groping his forehead with one hand.
“You should probably go to hospital, shall I call an ambulance?”
Before he can answer the other three start calling out, like I was talking to them!
“Can you walk? Maybe we should get out of here? Let these boys call their own ambulance. I didn’t break your fingers you whining cunts!”
He nods painfully, regrets it, mumbles agreement and, as gently as I can, I wrap his right arm over my shoulders like a dead fox, and pull him up.
Fuck me, boys are heavy!
I struggle with him once we are standing; the initial push is easier than trying to stay up now my weight has more than doubled!
“Jesus, Jake, put some fucking effort in you’re a dead fucking weight!”
He vomits in response.
That’s it! I’m getting this boy home and he’s getting me off. He’s not getting anything back but there’s no way I’m going through all this shit just to go home frustrated.
“Where’s your flat Jake?”
“We can’t go there,” he moans.
“Jake, you got knocked out, you need to go to hospital, if I take you home I can call an ambulance and you can be comfortable while we wait, we can’t just carry on with the date. The police will want to see me too; I could do with a cup of tea before then, just take me to yours.”
He’s crying. He’s actually crying.
“Why are you crying?”
He sobs and I have to stand and hold him up while he does. That’s four boys crying because of me, so far!
“My stepdad, he’s going to fucking kill me. He told me not to take you to the park. He said I couldn’t look after you.”
“For fuck’s sake! I am so sick of this; take me to yours, now!” I twist his arm a bit to let him know that if he doesn’t I’ll fucking kill him.
The concussed buffoon leads me slowly out of the dank playground, past a bin-store, over a shit strewn lawn, to one of the many doors covered in layers of flaking paint, revealing old graffiti underneath, with a rectangular window of wire glass set into it, smashed, the shape of a cobweb broken into the glass. By the door is a grimy intercom, with dozens of buttons on it.
“What number?” I ask.
“Just pull it,” he tells me.
“You pull it, I’m struggling just to hold you up, how can you be so thin and weigh so much?”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, opening the door with a groan, visibly shaking.
“I still need to know the number,” I point out.
“It’s that one,” he nods to the first door on our right.
“Right, do you have a key?”
“Yeah,” he sounds unsure.
“Jake, forget your stepdad, give me the key.”
“Okay,” he sounds terrified. He does it though, and I drag his reluctant carcass to the door, unlock it, and together we struggle through the narrow opening.
“’OO’S THIS?!” bellows a loud, deep, northern voice with an edge like a rusty shovel.
Into the hallway, filling it at one end, appears a giant man with a face to match his voice, square, with skin like red iron and hair like rust.
“’Oo’s this girl?” Why’s she carrying you, you silly sod, you got your arse kicked?”
“He got hit but he’s okay, he won the fight!” I lie angrily. I hate this strange man already.
“Don’t you shout at me in my ‘ouse!” he shakes a fist threateningly, “Leave ‘im, I’ll teach him a lesson, you get out of my ‘ouse now!”
I have fucking had it! I drop Jake to the floor, run at the red-faced man and-
Fuck! He’s got my fucking hair! He’s got my fucking hair and he’s pulling it, hard, fuck!
I try to kick his balls but he puts his fat legs together and I miss. He swings me by my hair, into the wall. I hit my head, hard, and feel my legs buckle. I feel hair ripping out of my scalp and I scream. I’m fucking scared.
He drops me but I can’t fucking move, my legs are fizzing, they won’t respond. I can’t breathe, my stomach is swollen, it’s pushing my heart into my throat, it’s crushing my bladder, I feel piss seeping into my knickers…
The world shakes suddenly. The pain goes but so does my vision, replaced by bright, flashing lights. My ears start ringing. My head has gone numb and feels like it’s swelling up all over. For some reason I feel like I’ve been hit.
The world shakes again and I am faintly aware that someone is hitting me, but I can’t feel anything. I am aware that my head is throbbing but I can’t feel pain, just the sensation of it pulsating, like my heart has gone all the way into my skull. Someone is screaming, maybe me, but it’s hard to tell over the ringing. It doesn’t matter, I feel quite good now, sleepy, I could sleep easily…
“Sabrina!” Sabrina, wake up!” Jake is yelling my name. I don’t want to wake up. I can’t feel anything but for some reason I am sure if I move it will hurt. Am I drunk? It feels that way; I can feel that familiar sensation of being surrounded by police and paramedics.
“Sabrina, you need to move for us, help us out,” a stranger’s voice, a woman’s voice.
“Shut up!” Another voice, a man’s this time. What the fuck is happening?”
“Fuck off!” Jake replies. I open my eyes.
The pain is immediate and blinding, my head explodes with pulsating agony. I try my best to move but all I can do is turn my head slightly.
Lying on the floor next to me I make out the shape of a rusty-haired, red-faced head, redder than ever, with blood running from its eye sockets.
“Don’t look!” warns the woman’s voice, “You’re boyfriend…I’m sorry, he…oh, God. I’m sorry.” It’s all she can say.
I want to sleep but I can’t take my eyes off the holes, where Jake’s stepdads were. It would be easier to ignore if he wasn’t screaming so much, whilst officers hold his arms back and paramedics try to help him.
“Jake,” I call, “Jake!” I call louder, it hurts, but I have to know he’s listening.
“What?” he asks.