The Milky Bar Kid

We were in the kitchen. I was helping Mom with the breakfast things. The morning sun was slanting in through the half open window, making me squint at her. She had just announced something that had put a downer on my plans for the next couple of weeks.

"Aw, Mom... You're not expecting me to spend my time amusing that dork, Arnie?"

"He's your cousin, Ross. It's only for a fortnight while your Uncle Brad and Auntie Kay are away."

"It's a real pisser, Mom. I was going to hang out with the guys. We'd all planned to go down to Fresco to see the races. It's my 19th, remember?"

"How can I forget when you've been mentioning it every couple of hours for the last two weeks. Now listen, honey – it won't hurt you to be nice to Arnie for the short while he's here. I know he annoys you, Ross. But you have to learn to be more tolerant – it's all part of growing up."

"He's such a kid, Mom. All he wants to do is play cowboys and Indians."

"Well, I'm sure Arnie would love to see the races as much as you. If he likes cowboys, he'll like horses, and if he likes horses, then he'll like the races."

"Oh, great! I'm never going to live it down being seen with that misfit."

"I won't have you talking about your cousin like that. Arnie's a lovely, gentle boy."

"He's a dork, Mom. He's 18 and he still plays with toys."

"He's just a bit slow in maturing. Some boys are like that and you shouldn't hold it against him. Anyway, I've virtually promised Brad and Kay that you'll take good care of him. It's only for a couple of weeks, not a lifetime. Now let's hear no more about it."

"Thanks a bunch, Mom."

So that was that. I was stuck with it. Mom had made up her mind and when she made up her mind there was no shifting her. Anyway, she'd committed me now – to ridicule and humiliation too, I shouldn't wonder - should the guys, Richie and Bobby ever get to hear of it.

In fact, I also got lumbered with meeting Arnie off the Greyhound that afternoon. My aunt and uncle lived in the next state and dropping their little darling off in the car first would have taken them a long way out of their way and they couldn't afford the time because they already had a long journey ahead of them and a plane to catch.

I couldn't believe it when Arnie stepped off the bus. He looked gawkier than ever. His spectacles looked even thicker than I remember a year previous, and guess what..? He was wearing a soppy cowboy outfit complete with a white hat - one of the good guys.

I sort of shrank into the ground. I even considered abandoning him right there and then, pretending I hadn't recognised him and walking off into the sunset. I was so embarrassed. I just didn't want to be seen with him.

"Howdy, Woss."

"Hi, Arnie." I took his suitcase, walking just ahead of him. I didn't want him keeping step with me and he was a dawdler anyway. "How was your trip?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Yeah? How long it take?"

"Seemed like ages. About five hours. It was boring, Woss."

"Hey kid... My name's Ross... That's Ross with an 'R'"

"I know what your name is, Woss."

"Yeah, but you don't say it right."

"I do twy to say it wight, Woss."

"Well, try harder, for Christ's sake!"

It was about a fifteen minute walk from the bus station back to the house. We walked through the town. Arnie was going on about something or other. I'd already grown tired of his childish conversation and I had decided to shut my hearing down for the time being.

Suddenly there was a shout behind me...

"Wossy, look! Oh, please come and look."

I stopped and turned around. Arnie was peering into a shop window. I might've guessed it – a toy store.

"Come on, Arnie. We haven't got all day. Tea'll be on the table."

"Oh, Woss, please... I want to show you something."

I felt myself getting impatient. I really didn't want this shit. But he wasn't going to budge until I'd taken a look at what he'd seen in the window. I went back and stood next to him. His face was a picture of wonderment, and his thick glasses seemed to reflect every toy in the store. But in that moment my heart did a kind of flip. I can't explain it.

"Just look, Woss. See..?" He was pointing to something now. "Can you see it? Isn't it beautiful?"

Lying on top of its cardboard presentation box, in the centre of the window display was a silver six-shooter, with a mock pearl-inlay hand-grip. It was gorgeous and sparkling, and I had to admit – a beauty, as Arnie so rightly had said. But it was still a toy, and I couldn't help despising him for it.

"Oh, Woss, I'd love a gun like that. Could you buy it for me?"

"You've already got one, Arnie. What you need another for?"

Arnie took his gun out of the holster, twirled it around like a seasoned gunfighter and offered it to me. I put the suitcase down and took the gun from him.

"Nothing wrong with this one, Arnie." Which was true enough, although I could appreciate it was a crude replica in comparison to the one in the window. It was cheap black colt copy with a white plastic handle. I gave it back to him and he spun it again before putting it back into the holster.

"Isn't it a beauty, though Woss?"

"Sure. But your gun's fine too."

"But I want that one. Will you buy it for me, Woss?"

"Hey look, kid. Let's get one thing straight. I'm not made of money. Nor are my parents. That there piece is almost fifty dollars. I don't carry that kind of dough around with me anyway."

Arnie looked deflated and I almost felt a bit sorry for him. He stared back into the window and his bottom lip came out in a sulk.

"What's the matter, Arnie. You used to getting your own way all the time?"

He didn't answer me, just stood stock still, staring into the window, looking ever more downcast.

"Come on, Arnie. We've got to go."

He ignored me and stayed put. I pulled him by the arm to lead him away. But he snatched it back.

"I weally want that gun, Woss. I think you're mean."

One thing was for sure; Arnie didn't have a clue about economics. Fifty dollars was a small fortune to me. If it had been about ten, or even twenty dollars, I probably would've caved in just to shut him up. But fifty? I had the whole summer vacation to get through yet, and splashing out a load of cash on a toy for a snotty kid didn't quite cut it for me.

But something had happened to me back there when I felt that thing for Arnie. Yeah, he was irritating the hell out of me, but there was something appealing about his gawkiness, his naivety, his vulnerability. There was something soft about him, something that I felt compelled to take advantage of, but I couldn't put my finger on it – yet...

We got home, Arnie unpacked his stuff, and we had tea, Mom and Dad making polite conversation at the table while I tried to figure something out about Arnie. And then, in a flash it came to me. THE MILKY BAR KID! That was it, that's just who he reminded me of. Boy, if he continued to wear that stupid outfit he was in for a hard time - and no mistake!

Then there were the sleeping arrangements. Arnie was to have my bed and I was to be relegated to the 'camper' on the floor, which struck me as a bit topsy-turvy. I mean, I know Arnie was our guest, but he's only a little guy and he would 'swim' in my bed. While, there I was, all six feet half an inch of me, inside a too small sleeping bag, struggling to get comfortable on a rickety piece of and aluminium and canvas.

Well, life's a bitch, and then you die... Or so they keep telling me.

I went to the bathroom, cleaned my teeth, attacked an annoying spot on my forehead, and returned to see Arnie getting into some striped pyjamas. Can you believe it? I didn't think anyone wore those things these days. I wondered if he'd ever graduate to a tee-shirt and shorts like myself, which was what guys generally wore these days.

"Jesus, Arnie... Is there anything about you that's 21st century?"

"What?"

"It doesn't matter." I picked up a soccer magazine from the bedside table and plonked down on the side of my bed – or rather, Arnie's temporary one. I flipped it open. "What would you like to do tomorrow, Arnie – any ideas. kid?"

Arnie had removed his glasses and was peering at himself in the wardrobe mirror, right up close. He was seriously short-sighted; he half-closed his eyes and tried to focus on his reflection. He looked totally different without his specs on. In fact, and I hate myself for saying this, he was a pretty good-looking guy - I had to admit it – and I mean pretty. He had beautiful blue eyes, a little button nose, and a soft, full mouth. My heart did that little flip again.

"I'm getting contacts in the fall," he said.

"Yeah? Good for you, kid."

"Do you think I'll get used to them?"

Who knows? I don't know about that stuff."

Arnie put his specs back on and turned around to face me.

"Will you wead to me, Wossy. Just for a while. It helps me sleep."

"Hey, Arnie... You're putting me on, right?"

"Mom weads to me sometimes."

"Yeah? Well, I ain't your mommy. And I ain't your wet nurse, either."

"Aw, come on, Wossy... Just one. I've got a book."

"Don't call me 'Wossy', Arnie. You're doing my head in. How many times I got to tell yer? It's Ross, for Christ's sake."

"Don't tell me off, Woss."

"Somebody ought to teach you how to speak properly, kid."

"We gonna play tomorrow, Woss?"

"Sure. What'll it be – Ring-a-Ring-of-Roses... skipping... something like that?"

Arnie hopped onto the bed.

"How about cowboys and Indians?" he said.

Now why did I know that was coming?

"What is it with you, Arnie? Is that all you can think about - fucking cowboys and Indians?"

"I don't like it when you swear, Wossy."

"Is that so? Well, you better get used to it, kid, because the way we're going on, you're gonna hear plenty of it, believe me."

In the end I did read to him, his book – Roy Rogers. Yeah, who else? The good thing about it, he went off to sleep after a couple of minutes. Poor kid looked tuckered out. Must've been the bus journey. Five hours on the Greyhound. That's enough to tucker anybody out.

I don't know what came over me, but as I looked at him lying there, all peaceful, I had this almost uncontrollable urge to kiss him, just on the forehead; a goodnight kiss. It was kind of weird, you know? Like Arnie was my own kid. I can't explain it. But all I did was, I tucked him up nice like he wanted and smoothed the hair off his forehead. He looked kind of cute lying there and suddenly I became aware that my heart was racing. Worse thing of all... I had one hell of a boner that was tenting my shorts. Jeeze! What was happening to me?

I turned the light out and tried to get comfortable on the camper bed. It was useless... I couldn't sleep. That kid Arnie had gotten into me and I couldn't work it out. I felt confused. I mean Arnie was my cousin, a dork and a sissy. But he was 18 for Christ's sake! He was only one year younger than me – it seemed like ten. He annoyed me like no other person had before in my life. What was this strange affection I was feeling for him? But it wasn't only affection, and that was the trouble.

What I felt for Arnie was kind of sexual as well and it was hurting the hell out of me. I mean I was lying there in the dark, listening to the crickets outside the window, playing with my knob while I thought about Arnie. It was plain crazy. I thought about the kiss I had nearly given him. Maybe I should have gone through with it. He would never have known. He'd been too far gone.

But why should I have wanted to kiss him at all? When I thought about it, it horrified me. Not the thought of doing it, just the thought of what others would think if they should ever find out. Ross Cunningham kissing a guy, well, not even a guy, really - a boy, a kid, a dork. Yeah, that'd make the front page all right. Not that they would find out. But Jesus, how would I ever live that one down with the guys if it ever got out?

I got some tissues from the bedside table and began beating off to naughty thoughts of my cousin.

In less than a minute I was blowing my load with an orgasm that nearly jack-knifed my body in half. And then I had that feeling of guilt and shame that sometimes follows an orgasm caused by thinking about something you shouldn't be thinking about.

I wiped myself and smelled the tissue like I always did after coming. The faint ammonic aroma that seemed to accompany my goo these days was getting stronger with every new emission. I balled the tissue up and tossed it towards where I estimated the waste basket to be in the dark. At least maybe now I would be able to sleep. I needed it. There were lots of adventures I was planning for my cousin, but they weren't the kind that Arnie was looking forward to. My take on playing cowboys and Indians was quite different to Arnie's – and that was a goddam certainty.

Well, cranking one out before I went to sleep did nothing to settle my mind because I had a damned weird dream that night.

Arnie appeared as Roy Rogers, my mother was one of those a car-hop-bunnies on roller skates you see at the open-air movie lots, selling candy and ice cream. Richie and Billy were outlaws, and I was some sort of cowboy, the one with the black hat – a bad guy I guess. This is how it went:

Me and Arnie were watching an old Roy Rogers movie on the TV with the lights out for maximum effect. He's got his cowboy outfit on and his face is a picture of wonderment, just like when he was looking into that store window, absolutely transfixed by this Roy Rogers dude. Then suddenly I was aware of somebody else coming into the room as a beam of light swept around the walls. I turned around. It was an usherette with a flashlight fixed over the candy and ice cream on her tray. She was dressed like a car-hop-bunny with roller skates and the skirt to her uniform was incredibly short. She had great legs and as my eyes gradually made their way north, they came to rest on her hooters for a moment – great tits too. And then I saw her face, and oh, Jesus... I nearly jumped through the roof.

"Like some popcorn, boys?"

"MOM..! W-what the hell are you doing here?"

"I live here, honey," she said. "Don't tell me you've forgotten? Hope you're looking after your cousin like I told you." Dreams, huh? Aren't they just the weirdest things?

We bought candy, ice cream and popcorn and got back into the film - or rather Arnie did.

Then suddenly it's as if I've literally entered into the movie and I'm galloping across the prairie going somewhere and nowhere in a hurry, a plume of white dust trailing behind me and my horse. I'm the guy in the black hat. Suddenly, I'm ambushed by Indians. They take me prisoner, peg me out like a starfish on the sand and start circling around me on their horses.

They taunt me, sing their war songs and whoop and they look like they're preparing to do some pretty nasty shit to me. A few of them are on foot doing the old war dance routine. I try to shout at them, tell them they've got the wrong guy; but my voice won't come out. I try like mad until I'm red in the face but I can't seem to make a sound. They just keep circling round and getting ever more riled up.

Suddenly, Arnie appears at the top of a bluff, a six-shooter in each hand. He is flanked by two other riders and intuitively I know these are going to be Richie and Bobby. Arnie looks resplendent in his cowboy outfit, the sun reflecting off his deputy badge. He's like a saint, a saviour, the crusader with the white hat sent by the Big Man upstairs to get me out of a tight fix.

He fires off a couple of shots into the air, stopping the Red Indian goons in their tracks. They look totally shocked, and before they can organise themselves to retrieve the situation, Arnie and his sidekicks are bearing down on them, all guns blazing. He sees them off. I guess they just didn't fancy their chances against these reprobates.

The Indians saddle up in double-quick time and hot-foot it way out of the place. Arnie, Richie and Billy trot round and come to rest, their horses panting and sweating.

"Well thanks, guys. Get me out of here," I tell them. "Come on, Arnie... Cut the ropes."

But incredibly he just smiles and stays astride his magnificent grey steed.

"Hey, what's going on, Arnie, man? Come on, Kid... Let's go!"

"Before I let you go, Wossy, I want you to make a deal with you."

"Huh? Come on, Arnie... Cut the crap!"

"I want you to pwomise me something, Wossy."

"Is that so? What the hell are you talking about, buddy?"

"Hey, guys... Richie... Bobby... How about it? Get me outa here."

But they just push their black hats further up their foreheads and laugh.

"No way, bro. You're getting' what you deserve," said Richie.

"Say, that's right," added Bobby. "All those nasty thoughts you got about, Arnie... I wouldn't blame that kid if he refused to piss on you when you're on fire."

Note Bobby said 'when', not 'if'.

"So you see, Woss... Looks like you're in some kinda fix here."

"Okay, Kid. Let's have it. What you got in mind?"

"You know exactly what I want, Wossy. I alweady told you."

"Yeah, the gun, right? And I already told you I can't afford it, Kid."

"I don't believe you, Woss."

"Too bad! I'm just stating a fact. I can get you something else."

"Like what?"

"Well... Hey, why don't you just untie me and let's discuss it."

"I'm sowwy, Woss. I've already decided."

Arnie dismounts and saunters towards me, hands on holstered guns. The sun blinds my eyes until Arnie's head blots out the rays for a moment as he stands over me, legs astride. He looks about ten feet tall, looking down at me and chewing gum. His tousled blond hair appears illuminated like a mass of fibre-optics.

"I think the Kid means business, Ross, old buddy," said Bobby. "He got that mean look in his eyes."

"How can you tell," I said. "I can't see shit through them bottle-bottoms."

"That's not funny, Woss."

"It wasn't meant to be, Kid."

"You shouldn't mess with me, Wossy. You never know what could happen."

"Why don't you make him suck your dick?" Richie said to Arnie, with a smirk.

"Nah... That'd be too easy. Anyways, he'd only enjoy it. Ain't no punishment, to a perv like him."

Richie laughed, a thin, mocking sound that drifted up into the air. He struck a match on his stubbly chin, lit a thin cheroot. The smoke rose up from his face and sailed away in the wind.

"Her, Kid," said Richie, passing the cheroot to Arnie. "Take this, it'll make you look tougher."

Arnie obliged, took a puff, and nearly coughed his guts up.

"Yuk!" said Arnie. "Tastes like shit."

"Yeah," said Bobby. "But it sure is good shit, huh, Kid?"

"I should stick to the candy cigarettes if I were you, Arnie," I said.

Arnie rolled the joint around his lips, narrowing his eyes behind the glasses, trying to get the mean Clint Eastwood look, but failing miserably. I wanted to laugh. He kicked my foot. He didn't like the fact I found it amusing.

"You tryin' to be funny, Woss? I mean, what's so damned funny?"

"Well, okay, Kid... if you really want the truth..? You oughta see yourself. I mean, you look... you just look fucking ridiculous, man!"

Arnie took another puff, got the lighted end into a nice glow.

I've told you before about swearing, Woss. And you ain't gonna be laughing in a minute either, fella,"

Arnie growled out the words between coughs, which he was doing his very best to stifle.

"And you're gonna be sorry you said that" He cocked his head to the side, keeping his eyes on me. "Hey guys..! I got me an idea. Get the dude's pants off. Maybe I can get this dumb-fuck to see things my way after all."

At Arnie's command, Richie and Bobby moved menacingly towards me, crouched on their haunches and put their hands on the belt of my jeans. But I didn't feel scared. In fact, quite the opposite. I feel kind of tingly and excited. My dick has suddenly perked up too.