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Johnny Oops
Category:
Fantasy
Pages: 349
Johnny doesn't know if he is a charlatan, a prophet, or a sex maniac
“Hell bent to prove he’s a messenger of God, and not just a teenager overcome by raging hormones, Johnny Oops sets out on a Journey to find himself. Unable to decide if he is a charlatan, prophet or sex maniac, Johnny’s wild ride of self discovery and coming of age leads him down a tumultuous road of highs and heartbreak, beginnings and attempted endings to one, final life-changing epiphany. Electrified by the genes of a genius, counseled and conflicted by his inner self, Johnny finds that salvation and redemption can only be had by traveling the precarious vistas of a new reality of his own making.”
Excerpt
CHAPTER 2
This past Saturday I thought I was safe. School was closed and I was taking a shortcut across the schoolyard with my friend Billy to go to the candy store and spend some of my allowance.
Three bullies who attacked me before and who are the bane of my existence, jumped out from behind a garbage disposal bin in back of the school cafeteria, and started pushing me around. They must live here.
My friend, Billy, who is short and fat and wears glasses, is terrified of these three guys. He ran away as fast as he could towards the schoolhouse. I didn’t know what good that was going to do him; school was closed, but they weren’t interested in him. It’s me they wanted.
I tried to run away too, but I froze in fear. Vick taunted me, saying, “Where you going, faggot? How come Mommy let you out of the house?” They must be reading my mind.
Stan pushed me over Don’s outstretched leg, and I found myself flat on my back. The pain creeping over me was a killer. Couldn’t draw a breath. Lungs exploding. When I started to figure out what had happened to me I couldn’t move. I wasn’t functioning. Couldn’t muster the strength to turn over and try to get up. I tried to raise my hands in front of me to protect myself, but I was paralyzed. My muscles tensed reflexively: as I got ready fro the beating I knew was coming. A sense of hopelessness and dread crept over me like a black hole that was sucking my useless body into the ground. Tried to pretend I was somewhere else. Didn’t work. I was in too much pain.
Before I could raise my hands or legs to defend myself, Vick, the leader of the pack, jumped on me straddling my thighs, sitting square on my cock, and smacking me in the bridge of my nose with the palm of his right hand, while punching me in the stomach with his left fist. The blows came nonstop. Vick wore a big silver pinky ring. The damn thing split my lip. Blood flowed everywhere. The air whooshed from my lungs. I gasped for breath feeling I was going to pass out. Wishing I did. The warm, salty taste of my own blood, trickling down my upper lip from my nose, and into my mouth, making me nauseous. Wave after wave of crunching pain racked my body. I started coughing and couldn’t stop.
My throat was raw sandpaper as I rasped, “Leave me alone, Vick, or you’ll be sorry.” Hardly got that out before he started laughing and hitting me in the gut again.
Someone had stuck a white-hot poker where my nose had been before. Couldn’t breath. Blood from my bloody nose gagged my mouth. Blood from my split lip covered my tee shirt. All the while Dan and Stan were whooping it up and kicking me over and over in my ribs – one on each side of my body. They cheered Vick on calling me a fag and a queer.
“What are you crying about, you faggot? Want to go home and play with yourself?” Vick chimed in? How do they know?
Everything was a blur as blood and dirt clouded my vision. I tried to push Vick off me, but I couldn’t move. He weighed a ton.
“Leave me alone you bastard. You’re a real prick,” I said.
Vick grabbed me by my hair and started pounding my head into the dirt. “Language Head,” He said. “I hate queers. They make me sick.”
“I’m not queer,” I cried out.
Vick laughed and said, “You’re a homo, a god damned faggot. You and your kind make me sick. You’re teacher’s pet, you and your fancy words. I bet you’re getting it on with your little pansy friend Billy. Where did that faggot go? I’m going to make spaghetti and meatballs out of you and your fat bellied friend, you jerk off. When I’m through with you, your guts will be all over the ground.”
Billy whimpered from somewhere behind the garbage bin.
“How do you like this?” Vick screamed in my ear as he reached behind him, and grabbed at my crotch.
I kept squirming and trying to get out of his grasp, but his weight was grinding me into the ground. I couldn’t breath.
His buddies contented themselves by continuously kicking me, and chanting in one voice, “Language heads a queer, language heads a queer.”
I wanted to die.
I had to do something to change the dynamic of the situation. No teacher was coming to my defense although I thought I saw one in a window quietly watching, and if I let Vick keep punching me and grabbing me; I’d soon be too weak to fight back.
Summoning what little saliva I had left in my mouth, I spat in Vick’s face as hard as I could. This distracted him enough so that I could wiggle a few inches out from under him.
I unzipped my fly and in one fluid motion pulled down my underpants, and pissed full force in his face with a stream of ammonia smelling urine. In seconds the two of us were soaking wet.
Startled, Vick jumped off me. The big bully started to cry. He bawled like a baby. Don and Stan backed off, not wanting to catch the last of my spray. Vick staggered after them, holding his arms away from his urine soaked body like a zombie afraid he had just caught leprosy.
He stopped long enough to scream back at me, “I’m going to get you. You won’t get away with this. I’m going to chop your pecker off with my knife. I’m going to make you a eunuch.”
In spite of the fact that I had won this round, his threat made me shudder. I knew I hadn’t seen the last of Vick the Avenger.
Billy came out of the shadows, and grabbing me gingerly by the elbow with one hand, he helped me up. I don’t think he really wanted to touch my bloody urine stained hands or clothes.
We swaggered from the scene, chests puffed out in victory. Just to be safe, Billy unzipped his fly too, in case the bullies attacked again.
He said, “I’m sorry I didn’t help you, Johnny, I was too scared.” He is the most pathetic twerp I ever met.
Billy said, “You sure taught them a lesson. If you didn’t smell so shitty, I’d shake your hand. Here, use my handkerchief. Try and wipe the blood off your face.”
I went home to change my clothes and wash up. Fortunately my parents were out, and nobody saw me as I stripped and jumped in the shower, doing a victory dance and shouting, “I’m the man,” over and over.
I guess sometimes you have to really piss a bully off in order to get him to leave you alone.
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