Hogg - Excerpt

This story is mostly Hogg's.

But first I have to tell you some about me.

Behind the landing of the stairs that went to the basement, by the blistered radiator, I used to suck off a kid named Pedro. He was a sad-looking thirteen-year-old spic, who wore baggy gray pants with a three-inch rip in the side seam-I don't thing he *ever* changed them-and a white short-sleeve shirt he put on Sunday mornings; Saturday nights it was gray. With his shiny hair bumping against the underside of the steps and their hanging drips of dirt, he would grind his sneakers on the gritty boards and rub the heel of his hand on the hard place above his groin where his dad's belt was tied. (The buckle had come off.) His knuckles were red from chewing. "You want it?" He'd dart around scared glances. "Come on, take it now. Go on, take it." His zipper was always half open.

Squatting, I'd nose between the brass teeth to smell his sweat. He would push penis, both testicles, and the two little fingers of his left hand into my mouth. Holding his thin hips, I toweled my tongue inside his foreskin till, leaning and grunting, he would spurt his greasy juice and, quickly limp, a tablespoon of urine.

Once he told me, when I stood up, "You look funny down there. You really look funny."

I was eleven.