Rambling Oaks, what the kids called the 'woods.'
It was not exactly a 'woods,' more like a copse gone wild. It was the edge of development, dirt not yet turned by tractors in preparation for new home construction. Most times he didn't like to go to the woods alone, but today was different. Dexter was a social boy, but he didn't feel like company right now. So he turned left and not right. It was a simple decision that would change his life forever, which is the way it usually goes. The street dead-ended in dirt. The dirt ended at the trees. Walk through the trees a little and you came out to grass, which then led to more pavement and new homes. The woods were a kind of last stand and all sorts of things happened there.
First cigarettes had been smoked in the woods by more kids than could be counted. First kisses had been tasted, and of course there were the rumors of first blow jobs and such, though Dexter wasn't sure about that. He wasn't brilliant or anything, but he had a little more wisdom than most of his peers, and he had the sneaking suspicion that getting a girl from this neighborhood to suck on your Johnson involved better surrounds than a place like the woods. A car, at least.
Dirty mags had been read here, and Dexter had seen a few in the last year, though his reactions were ambiguous in a way that didn't seem to match up with his friends'. So he'd leered and joked with the rest of them, tossing off verbal gems like 'hairy clam' and 'furburger' with snickering confidence and aplomb. None of it made sense to Dexter, as the girls in the pictures he saw were hairless down there, and what did a burger have to do with it, anyway?
People had wept in these woods too, Dexter was aware. Nice neighborhood or no, kids still got beat, from time to time. Abuse existed, though it wasn't talked about much. The woods had been a sanctuary, a haven, a place for the simple, the illicit, the groping, and the sad. Even at eleven, Dexter understood that the woods was going to be one of those places he'd never forget. It would always have power, even if just in memory.
He took his time walking down the street. Enjoying the sunshine and the sounds. No one was crazy enough to be out mowing this early, but two people were out washing their cars, which Dexter thought was a fine idea. He stuck his hands in his pockets and found a white stone in one of the gutters to kick. It was going to be a hell of a day!
The pavement ended and he hit the dirt. There were two kinds of Texas dirt. There was the dark, dry, clumpy sod, the kind that grass grew in and came out in chunks. Then there was the tan, almost granular kind, that soaked up the sun and was generally filled with detritus, stones and such. This was the second kind.
The trees weren't too far off, and Dexter decided that he would really make a morning out of his walk. He'd head through the woods, out the other side, and into the neighborhood next door. He'd circle around and be back at home in time for some bologna or peanut butter and jelly and probably some Kool-Aid. Then maybe a trip to the comic store and the pool.
Why not? The day was his.
He quickened his pace toward the trees, excited by all the prospects unfolding before him. That's when he heard them.
'Kiss it, you fucking retard,' the voice said.
Dexter recognized this voice. Any kid in the neighborhood would. It belonged to Mark Phillips, bully and all around evil individual. Mark's story was as unoriginal as the Texas dirt under Dexter's tennis shoes: he grew fast, he grew tall, he grew wide, and he liked the power this gave him over others.
He had various protection rackets running, as bullies will. Some lunch-money graft, comic-book offerings, allowance percentages. Noncompliance was met with punishment, and it was here that Mark truly excelled. He was a cut above, willing to go that extra mile. The average bully would smack you around, maybe give you a titty twister, or hold you down while dripping a stream of spit into your mouth. Mark used these standbys as well, but the difference was in how far he was willing to take it. Tears were generally a sign that your point had been made. Not so for Mark.
Dexter had been on the receiving end one time. For some reason--
he still didn't know why--he' d refused to turn over a comic that Mark had asked for. Mark's response had been instant and savage. He'd slapped Dexter's face so hard it made him feel like his eyes were rattling around in their sockets. Mark had followed it up with a shot to the solar plexus that drove Dexter to his knees, gasping for breath. Mark had swarmed on top of him in an instant, pinning him to the ground, arms trapped under Mark's knees.
'Faggot grew some balls, huh? Bad idea, faggot. Now you gotta pay.'
Dexter had felt he was already paying. His inability to catch his breath had panic rising in his chest like a flood. He was sure that he was dying. He wasn't, but it felt like it.
'Gonna show you something I learned watching a martial arts program, faggot,' Mark said. His tone was almost happy, and Dexter looked up at the boy and removed the 'almost' from that equation. Mark put a thumb to either side of Dexter's face, digging into a spot just under the upper cheekbone. He pressed up. Not hard, which made it all the more terrifying, because even that little pressure hurt.
'It's a nerve someajigger or a pressure point or something. Whatever they call it, it hurts worse than a kick in the balls.'
Then he really dug in, turned his thumbs into steel rods and pressed with all of his not inconsiderable strength. Dexter couldn't help it; his eyes bugged out and he didn't just yell, he screamed. The agony was instant and terrible and everywhere. It felt like Mark had driven spikes into Dexter's jaw. He could see Mark through his pain, white-edged now, grinning away. Mark's eyes were shining and Dexter became aware that the boy actually had a hard-on. Mark was making Dexter scream, and it was giving the bigger boy a woody.
It should have stopped there. With another bully, it would have. But that was the day Dexter learned that Mark was willing to go that extra mile, to really put his heart into it, so to speak. Because he didn't stop. He pressed harder. He pressed and grinned while Dexter screamed, and kept on pressing until Dexter pissed his pants. In the end, Dexter was begging the older boy to stop.
'Is your momma a whore?' the older boy asked.
'Yes, yes, yes!' Dexter screamed.
'Say it, then. Tell me your momma is a dirty old wetback buttfuckloving, cock-gobbling whore!'
Again, that dim awareness of Mark's hard-on, throbbing now. To his credit, Dexter actually paused for a moment at this demand. But then Mark pressed harder.
'Okay, okay, okay! She's a dirty old wetback cock-gobbling whore!'
he screamed.
'Buttfuck-loving, cock-gobbling whore.'
'Buttfuck-loving, cock-gobbling whore! Please stop please stop please stop please stop please--'
And then Mark did let up. He removed his thumbs. He didn't get right up and off Dexter, though. He stayed where he was, staring down at the smaller boy, eyes half-lidded and predatory, hard-on throbbing against Dexter's stomach. Drunk on power, the power of might-makes-right and the dispensing of pain.
'Listen up, faggot. You ever tell anyone I did this to you, and I'll find you and tear your cock off. You think I'm kidding?'
Dexter couldn't speak. He was shivering, the throbbing in his cheeks wouldn't stop, it was almost as if Mark had never pulled those thumbs away. He shook his head no, and began to weep, big, long, ropy sobs. Mark looked down at him in disgust.
'Fucking pussy faggot.'
A moment later the bully was gone. Dexter turned on his side and vomited into some of that good old Texas dirt. His cheeks were on fire. It took almost two days for the throbbing to die down completely and he couldn't eat right during that time.
It was Dexter's first brush with full-on gibbering terror, and it had left a mark. He had no doubt the bully would make good on any threat. Mark
In later years Dexter would wonder why, knowing this, he didn't just turn around on that tan Texas dirt and head right back to where the pavement began again, back up to the junction and the way that led to the park, the
