Bully Ch. 01

Long time no see, gang. Life, Covid, and work kept me away from my hobby, but now I'm back. This is the first chapter of Bully, which I hope is a sweet love story that also touches on some tough issues.

Enjoy.

Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Bully -- Chapter 1

Turning to a life of crime wasn't going smoothly for Jimmy.

He started the day feeling like Pablo Escobar, Plata o Plomo style, but that feeling quickly morphed into Wile E. Coyote beep-beep style. It was soon going to take a deep dive south.

"Listen, bro..."

"I ain't your bro." The guy trafficking on the corner of Suwanee Street had a goatee and an ugly scar on his left cheek that he kept rubbing.

Jimmy knew the guy. Rob, no, Bobby something, a high school dropout who used to hang out with his big brother. "You're Bobby, right?"

"Who wants to know?"

Jimmy looked around. "Me?"

Bobby sniffed the air like a dog looking around for a rival. "You a cop?"

"Detective Pot Narcotics." Jimmy smiled and held out his hand, then realized Bobby wasn't the type to appreciate humor. "Bro, I'm eighteen. I'm still in high school."

"Prove it!"

"I don't have my not-a-narc ID on me."

"Funny shit."

There was little traffic on the streets near Suwanee on that sleepy Sunday morning. The alley behind Jimmy usually swarmed with cars coming in for service at Reed's Garage, but now it was quiet. Young drug dealers didn't usually get out of bed on Sundays until... well, Monday. But Jimmy had seen Bobby standing on this corner the last Sunday morning and on the one before. Maybe the guy was a capitalist and had spotted the market niche.

Whatever the reason, it suited Jimmy's plans just fine.. The chances of anyone who knew him passing by at this early hour were slim.

"Look, bro, I mean..."

Bobby squinted. "You're Raymond's little brother?"

Jimmy nodded quickly, deciding he'd better take advantage of the momentum. "So, we got this banging party coming up, with like fifty people..."

"Yo, Dora the Explorer, go tell your life story to someone who gives a fuck. You buyin' or what?"

"Sure, so how does this thing work?"

Bobby spat on the sidewalk. "Jesus, you're a bona fide retard. You give me the money and then... What the--?"

A rusty Buick drove over the curb and came to a screeching halt, half on the street, half on the sidewalk beside them. The sound of an old car's handbrake being pulled can tell you a lot about the driver's mood. The Buick's handbrake didn't sound like "Golly, I'm home, going to have a cup of tea with the lady, and kiss the kids goodnight." It was more like "I'm going to fuck someone so hard they'll get pregnant twice."

The car door opened, Sierra Reed rolled out, and Jimmy's family jewels rolled up into his stomach.

Crap.

"Jimmy," Sierra's voice was a surprisingly delicate and pleasant alto. There was nothing delicate or pleasant about the rest of her. "Nice of you to drop by."

Jimmy glanced at Bobby. It gave him a glimmer of hope that Sierra wouldn't kick his ass if there was an audience.

"You there," Sierra wolf-whistled. "Piss off!"

Bobby gave Jimmy and Sierra a glance, then did a David Copperfield disappearing act. So much for hopes and glimmers.

"Not you, Jimmy," she said when Jimmy looked like he was about to follow Bobby's lead. "I'd like a word with you."

"Which one?"

"Get fucked."

"That's two words."

"Come here!" Sierra growled.

"I'm good where I am." Jimmy made to bolt but Sierra stood in the middle of the alley, blocking his exit like a pissed-off rhino. He had to back away, even though he knew it was a dead end. He looked around left and right, but all the motorcycle and car garages on either side of the alley were locked.

"If the mountain doesn't come, Mohammad must come to the Jimmy." Sierra followed him, in no hurry but with the inevitability of the melting ice caps.

"Look, Sierra, I don't wanna do this. You don't wanna do this. The best thing is for both of us to just go home quietly."

"Is that so?"

Jimmy was running out of alley to retreat to. "Whatever it is, let me just say I'm sorry."

"Fuck you. You fucking white trash hick. Whatever it is? Really?"

"Me? I'm white trash? Says the girl whose dad named her Sierra."

"Why the hell did you do it, Jimmy?" Sierra pulled a dirty rag from the pocket of her overalls and wrapped it slowly and deliberately around her right hand.

"I ain't scared of you."

"Sure."

Jimmy wasn't big or heavy, but until his senior year, he'd been a member of his school's wrestling team, and nowadays, he was training with the boxing team at Golden Gloves. On the other hand, the paw Sierra wrapped for protection was the size of a sledgehammer and attached to a girl who was built like a refrigerator. She wore a pair of dirty denim dungarees, and not one but two tool belts crossed her chest. Sierra Reed worked at Reed's Garage, which was owned by her father. Arthur Reed probably used his daughter to pull up cars when the lift was broken.

"Fucking Judas." Sierra continued to pace.

"Huh?"

"You used to come by our house seven days a week. Mom cooked dinner, and you and your best friend Clifford were like... We used to call you Timon and Pumba."

"In the fucking third grade, maybe."

"Every day, asshole. You came every day for a hot, home-made meal, and we treated you like family."

"It was just a stupid prank."

The wall near Reed's Garage was covered in crude, colorful graffiti: a childlike sun with a smiling face, grass, flowers, butterflies, and a stick girl in a red dress. Cute. Someone added a cock sprouting out from between the girl's legs, a pecker of the size that would put Moby's dick to shame. The girl in the picture looked like she was trying to have intercourse with the sun. Someone wrote the word "Sierra" under the picture to remove any doubt.

"Just a prank, huh? What did you get out of it, Jimmy? A laugh? Did some fuckheads call you 'the man'? What for, Jimmy? Clifford used to be your best friend."

"Look, it was just a stupid prank. I haven't talked to Clifford since junior high. He's out with his own kind these days, and--"

Jimmy didn't finish the sentence because he was walking backwards and tripped over an empty gin bottle. Sierra was on him in a flash. She grabbed him by the collar, lifted him off the dirty asphalt as if he were weightless, and pushed him against the locked iron gate of Reed's Garage. Jimmy wriggled with little success. His fist rose, ready to punch her square jaw; a murderous look from her convinced him that nothing good ever comes from violence.

"Really? His kind? What would be Clifford's kind, Jimmy?"

"Shit. You know what I mean."

"Oh, I sure do."

A jeep passing the alley's entrance gave a cheerful honk but didn't slow down. Jimmy stared after it, willing it to turn back.

"Look at me!" Sierra bellowed.

"Lemme go!"

"His kind?" She lowered her voice and lowered her head until her green eyes were level with his. "His kind?"

"The people he rolls with. You know. Sharon Adams and Rick Cook, and José and all the others."

"Others what?"

Jimmy felt the iron gate pressing against his shoulder blades. He tried to meet Sierra's gaze. Her eyes were in contrast to the whole butch show. Green, large, and with feminine, fluttering butterfly lashes. Still, he lowered his gaze two seconds later.

"What would his kind be, Jimmy? If your kind would be a yee-haw asshole hick who thinks he's grabbed God by the balls." She shoved him hard against the gate again, jarring his bones. "And anyone who dares to be a little different... What would be my little brother's kind?"

"Jesus, Sierra, what do you want?"

She pressed her rag-wrapped fist under his nose. "Did you send the video too?"

"What video?"

He felt the hiss of air as her massive fist sped up and hit the gate an inch to the left of his favorite head. Her other hand didn't release his collar, and he could only wince. "I didn't. I didn't make the stupid video."

"Then whose bright idea was it? That little shit, Taylor Holt?"

"I dunno."

"Liar!" She slammed her fist against the gate so hard she must've hurt herself.

"Listen, Sierra, I--"

"My brother's kind? What kind is that supposed to be, Jimmy? A sweet boy who wouldn't hurt a fly? The kind of boy who gets bullied every day at school?"

"High school sucks for everyone." He tried to pry her fingers loose from his collar. It would have been easier to open a can of food with his teeth. "Why are you taking it out on me? Everyone knows high school is shit."

"Tell me about it." She laughed bitterly. "You know why high school sucked for me, Jimmy?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

Bam! This time her fist hit the wall with the ugly graffiti, causing some plaster to fall. "Give it your best guess, Professor."

He lowered his gaze to her crotch and quickly raised it again.

"Well?"

"Because you're a..."

"A what? A mermaid? It's got a name, Jimmy. Say it."

"A futanari."

"I really am a dick girl. It took me only four years of therapy to be able to say that with my head held high after all the shit I went through in school. But that's not the real reason." She shook her head. "Oh, no, Professor. Try again!"

"Listen--"

"School was hell," she waved her fist in his face again, "because assholes like you made it hell for people like me, Jimmy. That's why. And fuck me if I'm going to sit by and watch you guys make it hell on earth for my little brother. Calling him Hippo, Lard Ass, Fag, and AIDS Cave wasn't enough, you and your shit friends had to humiliate him in front of the whole school too."

"It was just a stupid prank."

She nodded, suddenly calm, which was far scarier than her anger. "Take your pants off!"

"What?"

"Your pants. Down."

"Are you fucking mental?"

"Take your pants down or I'll do it for you."

He glanced frantically at her crotch and then back at her beautiful eyes.

"What? No! Jesus, no, you fucking idiot," Sierra snorted. "In your dreams, maybe. I wouldn't touch a slimy loser like you for a million bucks. Take your pants off, dummy. I'm gonna make a funny video."

"A what?"

She pulled him up by the collar, and Jimmy had to stand on his tiptoes to stay on the ground. "Like a movie, only shorter. You know what a movie is, don't you? Action. Cut. It's a wrap."

"What?"

"What?" she mimicked his voice. "It's a funny video, shithead. You love sending funny videos starring kids whose only fault is that they're easy targets. This time you get a taste."

"I swear to God. I didn't make that stupid video!"

"Sure. Pants! Now!" Sierra unwrapped her hand and retrieved a smartphone from her oil-stained coveralls. She tried to operate it with one hand and cursed when her massive fingers failed to dance the unlocking sequence on the screen. "Move, and I swear I'll punch you so hard your grandchildren are gonna feel it."

Sierra let go of his collar, and Jimmy took advantage of the second of freedom and ducked under her meaty palm. He rolled to the side and bounced like a feather, ignoring her cursing and the kick she sent after him.

Back on his feet.

Jimmy ran.

Across the cracked pavement of the empty parking lot at the corner of Potomac Ave he went, and up along the sagging fence that marked the boundary of the abandoned Walmart.

He thought he'd be able to outrun her with ease; Sierra wasn't built for speed. However, when he checked behind him, she was close on his heels, her face the shade of a ripe tomato. She was puffing like a steamboat and looking like a rhino that had just been kicked in the balls.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

Over a broken cart and up the short path that led to the church wall. Someone opened the gate of the little church at the wrong moment, and Jimmy collided with the man in a whirl of arms and legs.

Shit! Jimmy rolled.

The man rose from the dusty road. It was Father O'Hara in his Sunday suit. He stared at Jimmy, somewhat stunned, and then said some very ungodly words.

Jimmy's father was still in church; he would surely hear about this.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

The wall next to the church fence was covered in graffiti, "Not afraid of God's wrath, it's you I'm scared of."

His Honda leaned against the wall, and Jimmy jumped up, thanking God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary that he'd had the burned-out contact in his kickstand replaced a week earlier. A few seconds later he was racing down Jefferson Road at top speed, well out of Sierra's reach. He glanced back only once to see her leaning against the church gate, panting, but her green eyes were on him.

Fuck if he was ever going near Reed's Garage again.

@@@@@@

Who needs enemies when you have Mondays?

Mr. Montes, the Spanish teacher, had to take a day off, and Mrs. Fink, a chemistry teacher, was filling in for him.

"Earth to Jimmy."

Jimmy searched the row of chairs near the classroom wall. His eyes kept coming back to the second chair from the back. The empty chair.

"Earth to Jimmy."

The classroom smelled of coffee and floor cleaner, something with lavender. The lights in the room were dim, and the projector showed a series of colorful Mexican pictures on the blackboard. Alejandra, standing near the blackboard, droned on in her sing-song voice. Something about Cinco de Mayo, but he wasn't really listening.

"Earth to Jimmy."

Jimmy gazed out the window at a passing cloud in the shape of a motorcycle, wishing he could ride his bike, preferably to the beach. He looked behind him and saw Emily frowning. Amanda, sitting in the next row, leaned over and whispered something, causing them both to giggle.

What the fuck?

"Yo, shithead." A wet spitball hit him behind the ear. Someone snickered.

"You know something?" Jimmy finally turned to Taylor." You shouldn't believe all those people who say no one likes you."

Taylor leaned forward. "Have you been to Suwanee Street?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Jimmy whispered back. "But I had to abort the mission."

"Your mom should have aborted. What the fuck, Jimmy?"

"Got jumped by Sierra Reed before I could buy anything." Jimmy checked behind him and caught Emily staring at him again. Something was definitely maybe going on.

"We can't show our faces at the party without the good stuff," Taylor whispered. "You're making us look like fucking losers."

"What else is new?"

"Ben's counting on us to bring the goods."

"My face is counting on me to keep it in one piece. Fuck Rich Boy and his party."

Taylor kicked his leg. "Are you for real? The entire cheerleading squad is going. Emily will definitely be there."

"Like I give a shit."

"Sure thing, Jimbo." Taylor checked behind him where Emily was sitting. "There's a point where denial turns into pathetic, and you're Real Housewives pathetic right now."

Jimmy turned away from Taylor and skimmed the chairs once more. "Do you think something happened to him?" he whispered.

"Huh?"

Jimmy nodded at Clifford's empty seat. "Clifford. It's been over a week. He hasn't come to school since we... You know."

"Yeah, a real fucking tragedy." Taylor pursed his mouth. "You got a tissue or some shit like that? I need to blow my nose and wipe the tears."

"What if we wenttoo far?"

"How is it our fault if Hippo can't take a joke?"

Jimmy clenched and unclenched his palm. Taylor was his friend, but this wasn't the first time he'd wanted to bash his head in. "We made him cry in front of the whole school," he said.

"And it was fucking awesome. Everyone was laughing their asses off." Taylor leaned in even closer. "Ben White invited us to his party on the very same day. Things don't happen by accident, Jimbo, only to those who dare to truly live. It's the party with a capital P. Ben's dad has a proper bar, a professional sound system, and an Olympic sized swimming pool. I've seen the place; it's amazing, it's dope, it's lit... Are you even listening?" He whispered furiously because Jimmy's eyes glazed over.

"To every word. You said blah, blah, blah, party, blah, blah, blah, blah. See?"

"Asshole."

Jimmy licked his finger and stuck it in Taylor's ear, at which point the other boy cursed and backed away. "You talk about nothing but the party with Rich Boy 24/7. I'm a little overdosed."

"You're just saying that because you can't grow a pair and get us what we need."

Jimmy felt himself blush. "You know what? You can go to Suwanee and buy the stuff."

"Bitch, I'm the brains. You're like the yellow minions."

"You can even lick Ben White's balls if you're that into him," Jimmy whispered a little too loudly. "Just remember, Rich Boy thinks people like you and me are trash, so use a ton of mouthwash. Oh, and watch out for Sierra when you're there. She knows it was you who made the Clifford blowing Michael Jackson video."

"Sierra can sit on my big fat," Taylor pointed at the spot Sierra could sit on. "And fatty fag boy can stay home until the end of the year. Nobody gives a shit."

"What if Clifford really drops out of school?"

"I hope Hippo shoots himself in the face."

"Dude."

"One less cock-sucking fag."

Jimmy eyed his friend's face to see if he was serious. He could not see any sign of remorse. Then he tried to remember when he had ever heard Taylor ask for forgiveness.

Taylor was the tallest boy in the class. He played center on the school's basketball team. He had a mother lode of light brown, well-groomed hair and soft, blue Irish eyes. Last summer he had finally gotten rid of his severe acne and the nickname that came with it: Poxy. Girls started noticing him. He would have been a lot more popular if his family had not been so poor. Jimmy always harbored a nagging suspicion that the day Taylor joined the clique of popular kids, he would dump him faster than shit went through a goose.

"Maybe we can buy the stuff from Erik Goodman. I heard--"

Taylor did not finish the sentence because the lights came back on, and he had to lean back in his chair.

"That was brilliant, Alejandra. A beautiful presentation." There was sporadic, unenthusiastic clapping, and Mrs. Fink sighed as she turned to her class. "I think we all learned something about the amazing Mexican culture today. So unless anyone has any questions for Alejandra, now that most of you are in my chemistry class, we need to talk about your lab assignment. I want you to pair up. Yes? Taylor, can you hold till the bell? Ten minutes?"

"I'm good, Mrs. Fink." Taylor lowered his hand and grinned like a raccoon. "I have a question for Alejandra."

The crowd chuckled.

"Seriously, Mrs. Fink, it's a serious question about the amazing Mexican culture."

People giggled even louder. Alejandra, a small Latina with cherry-red lips, blinked.

Taylor cleared his throat theatrically. "I was wondering. If Mexican culture is so hot, how come every Wetba--um, I mean Mexican, sneaks across the border to live here? Should have been the other way around, no?"

People giggled all around.

"Yeah, okay." Mrs. Fink was a bit on the heavy side, and she tended to breathe loudly, especially when dealing with students like Taylor. "I meant real questions."

Behind Mrs. Fink's back, Alejandra gave Taylor two middle fingers.

"I'm just wondering, Alejandra, why is that?"

"Okay, Taylor, that's enough. I am wondering if it would be best if you sat near the wall. You and Jimmy sitting next to each other is bad for this class."

"Mrs. Fink, this is anti-white racism."

Mrs. Fink sighed. "If you think you're funny, Taylor, I've got news for you. Anyway, you two have been chatting non-stop since this morning." She pointed her thumb at the empty seat, signaling him to get going.

"That's Clifford Reed's seat."

"We'll sort that out when he gets back."

"I hope I don't catch anything faggy," Taylor said in a low voice, earning more giggles. "What the hell is that?" he added loudly.