This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies. In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation.
© obohobo 2009
"Bzzz, bzzz, splutter, cough ... cough, silence." The engine of my radio controlled model aircraft cut out at the worst possible moment. A few more seconds and the plane would have been over the field where I could have glided it to a safe landing but I'd decided to circle it around the oak tree at the end of our garden and, whilst out of my sight for a few moments, the engine stopped.
Our house, one of a row of semi-detached houses, have gardens that back on to a hay field and I've put a box each side of the fence so that I can climb over easily and fly my planes. The owner of the field doesn't mind and always shows an interest in them when he's seen me there. The plane appeared briefly and lower than I expected and, without power it would not be able to gain enough height to return to the field. Almost automatically I straightened the rudder and set the ailerons to glide it gently downwards. From its glide path I estimated it would come down in the Carson's garden, three doors from mine. Quickly I climbed back into my garden, dumped the control box on the patio table and ran around to the Carson house. I knew Mrs. Carson would still be at work so I didn't bother knocking at her door but continued to the bottom of her garden where to my joy, I found the plane intact and nestling between a couple of bushes. "I couldn't have found a better landing place if I'd tried," I muttered as I knelt and examined the plane for damage. A movement caught my eye; Bethany Carson, in her ground floor bedroom, moved about whilst changing out of her school uniform. The blinds were wide open and with the sun shining directly into the room, I could see her clearly. Normally no one would be in her garden so she uninhibitedly and unknowingly, revealed all her charms to me. The sight put me in a quandary. Should I show myself or should I keep hidden and watch? Not much of a choice for a sixteen-year-old boy when the subject was an attractive girl a few months younger; a girl I played with until a few years ago when the onset of puberty changed her personality and she became ill tempered.
From the way she moved as she undressed, I guessed she had music playing in the background and the undressing took on the character of a strip-tease act. At the time, I wondered if she'd actually seen me and was putting on a show for my benefit, but I remained cautious and hidden until she turned her back to the window and I could move to a better position behind a larger bush. I found out later, she saw my movement in her mirror and thereafter, I only saw her back until she finished dressing and left the room.
Waiting some minutes without seeing her return to the room, I made my escape only to be confronted by Beth's angry voice as she stepped out of the side door and blocked my passage. "You bloody peeping-tom, you pervert, spying on me from my own garden. Well you won't do that again in a hurry." She swung a leather handbag and hit my head twice. I'd no idea what she kept in it, but it certainly knocked me for six. I staggered back, dropping my plane and took a blow to the stomach that knocked the breath out of my body and sent me backwards to the concrete path. The impact of my head hitting the hard surface caused me to see stars and I lay there barely conscious. Beth hadn't finished. Her foot unmercifully kicked my exposed crotch twice causing me to scream in agony but she ignored my pain and ordered, "Get up you sneaky sod and get off our property. You just wait until mother get's home and tells the police." It didn't work out that way.
Hardly able to walk, I staggered to the road and collapsed and knew nothing more until I came round in the ambulance and even then my memory of the events that followed are only vignettes of being wheeled into the hospital and someone cutting off my trousers. Mother sat at my bedside when I came round and I vaguely remember a policeman standing nearby. Such was my state of mind at the time, that I thought he was there to arrest me. The shock put me to sleep again and all I can remember of that time is gripping mother's hand so tightly, she winced.
They must have given me something to make me sleep as morning light came through the window and the large clock on the ward wall read 6:10 when I next awoke and tried to sit up, but I seemed to have more wires and tubes connected to me, than in my radio control unit. A nurse came and I shyly said I needed to go to the loo but she brought one of those cardboard pee bottles and to my embarrassment pulled the duvet down and inserted my penis into it. Even her gentle touch caused me a lot of pain. "Sorry," she whispered, "You're very swollen and bruised down there and won't be walking anywhere for a while. I expect you're thirsty." I nodded. "I'll bring you some juice and a couple of painkillers which should tide you over until breakfast at about eight o'clock."
Mother came later that morning and a doctor and a policewoman came with her. The doctor explained my injuries in clinical terms. I knew my balls were swollen because I'd seen them when the nurse checked after breakfast, and I could feel the lump on the back of my head but hadn't seen the bruising of my face although it felt sore and I found it difficult to open my eyes fully. He said they would keep me in for at least another day to keep an eye on any concussion problems but then I could go home and I was to rest. He'd make an appointment for me to return for a check-up in a week. Mother questioned him on my treatment but they didn't think it necessary to keep me in longer and would give me a prescription for painkillers and anti-inflammatory drugs.
When he left, mother and the policewoman wanted to know what happened. "Would you mind if I ask the questions and record your answers on my machine?" the policewoman asked and when Mother and I agreed, she went on, "You are Mark Hifield and you live at 23 Broomway Road, Middleton?" I confirmed this and in a voice distorted by the pain, related the events that led to my beating. My expected scolding from mother for watching Beth undress didn't come and I learned that Beth might very well be in serious trouble, mainly because she'd deliberately put four large potatoes in her handbag and thus made it a premeditated attack using a weapon. I wondered how often potatoes had been considered weaponry but Beth certainly used them to devastating effect if my head was anything to go by.
The doctor's kept me in an extra day but even so, I found it difficult to walk and climb the stairs to my bedroom and mother borrowed a folding wheelchair from a woman across the road so she could wheel me into the garden and from one room to another. At least at home I had things to keep me occupied although I spent a lot of time lying on my bed, thinking about what happened and the sight of Bethany's body. The policewoman came again and took a proper statement and asked if we intended to press charges against my assailant. Quite fairly, she pointed out that if Bethany got a good lawyer, they might find it difficult to get a conviction because of my invasion of her privacy. Mother and I decided against pursuing it, she'd been friendly with Ruth Carson since their schooldays and Ruth had always been okay with me when I used to play with Beth.
I heard Ruth arrive as mother prepared tea but when she brought my food up, mother never mentioned her. They continued talking for an hour or more but, although I strained to listen, with a thumping headache, I couldn't pick up more than the odd word. I knew they discussed Beth and me but couldn't get any idea of what they said. Mum had emailed Dad who is working in Dubai and he wanted to take a belt to Bethany's bum but we all knew that was out of the question these days. Eventually mum came to collect the tea tray and asked, "Would you mind if Ruth comes up to talk to you? She asks to bring Beth as well." Before I could answer and refuse, she went on, "I think you should. She needs to apologise for her daughter and has some interesting ideas on punishing Beth. She knows her daughter is in the wrong and is thankful that we are not going to take her to court, whatever the likely outcome."
.... There is more of this story ...