Hero Syndrome

It was written, or perhaps spoken, that some people were born with a destiny. The act of doing great things is somewhat subjective, this is the part they rarely mention, even in the smallest of print. Chairman Mao is someone who was destined to do great things, but to some those ‘great’ things were proper dud. He did start a revolution for sure, but the consequences of that revolution were horrendous. Some may say, and when saying some this refers to borderline lunatics, that revolutions always involve high body counts and much suffering along the road toward the greater good. That’s nonsense. The internet revolutionized the entire world, from business to personal relationships, and not a single drop of blood was spilled. The man that created the internet, whose name escapes right now, was destined for great things, but people don’t wear t-shirts adorned with his face. Serial killers on the other hand have recognizable faces and household names, and serial killers believe they too were destined to do many great things. That’s less subjective, except for the serial killer themselves and the bizarre lonely ladies who write pornographic fan-mail to them in prison.

Caleb Payne was a man, well not yet a man, who was destined to do many great things. Caleb himself was unaware of this before it happened, but when it happened he became well aware that he could monetize his face and slap it on all sorts of tat to sell on his very own website. Caleb’s destiny to do great things was conjured up by the universe, perhaps as a sick joke, and was a most unexpected turn of events. How subjective were these many great things that Caleb would accomplish? You can judge that for yourself.

Caleb lived in a small and well to do town on the border between Hampshire and Surrey. It wasn’t a sleepy town, but it was a yawn fest. Caleb’s mighty journey from nobody to hero began at the age of 17. He was a mere college student studying the most uninspiring courses known to man: Media Studies. Caleb didn’t have what you would call ambitions, he didn’t even have aspirations, he just had vague ideas. He loved comic book movies and media, and made this a key component of his not-so-well crafted identity. He had a shelf in his bedroom adorned with many contemporary editions of tired old comic book franchises. Each book was kept in pristine condition, which isn’t too difficult to achieve when you don’t bother to read them.

Caleb wasn’t the definition of average, that would be unfair, but he was close enough. He was the only child to his average home-county bread middle class parents, who’d always praised and protected him. His upbringing was standard for such classes of people, and there were certain standards and goals that were expected from such an upbringing:

Pass his A-Levels, or HND as was the case.

Go to university.

Get an average job that pays well enough.

Live in a bog standard house share until he’s 30.

Get a mortgage.

Get married.

Slowly die.

A life path set out in stone sounds like something a highly driven individual with vision would have, but this wasn’t that. These life paths were imagined by someone at some point in time and drilled into the middle classes years ago. It was similar to taking a shower in the morning: it just happens. There’s no list of clearly defined goals, no-one has written an inspirational book outlining the detailed steps to achieve mediocrity. This is a vague path toward mind-numbing security. Caleb’s choice of study was based on a love of Hollywood blockbusters, but he could of studied anything, it’s just the stepping stone toward getting into university. What would he study at university? It didn’t actually matter, because a degree is a degree. Way back in the day that meant something different and was quite the achievement. These days, and in Caleb’s days, it’s about as impressive as a 5 year old being able to pull their own pants down for toilet time.

On Tuesday the something of March a few years back, Caleb walked the familiar journey back from college to home, which always involved a detour via Amy’s flat for a little visit. Amy was a somewhat childhood friend. Some childhood friendships were forced upon people, usually because the parents were friends and forced playdates were a regular occurrence. This is how their friendship started, but luckily for Amy, Caleb had always pined after her sexually which meant he was a little bit useful. Amy was a good looking girl, with a curious jawline and chewable cheeks. She was always smiling, but it was the kind of smile that masked tendencies, the kind of tendencies that make a person harm kittens and themselves on the right occasion.

Back in the 90’s Amy would have been labelled a slag, but in the 2010’s she was labelled as independent (except for most local girls, who used more Instagram hashtag-worthy slurs). Caleb had probably juiced away millions of potential mediocre offspring whilst daydreaming about mundane sexual encounters with Amy. Amy possessed many attractive features, but the greatest was that ass. It was just right, a back-bumper that could please the lovers of skinny and thick. It was the ass that the three bears would have rested their heads on saying it was just right. It was marriage material, which was lucky for Amy, because her mind certainly was not.

Whatever Caleb looks like in your mind right now is fine, but that vision is about to be spoiled. Caleb was around 5 ft 10, with light brown hair styled into a moppy hair-cut favored by unspectacular young men. He was, at that time, fairly skinny with a boyish face and un-striking blue eyes. His eyes were so un-striking in-fact that Amy didn’t even realize they were blue until he was 15, and they’d known each-other since the age of about 9. Caleb was to Amy what a cute but needy dog would be to a rescue centre. Actually that’s wrong, he did provide some benefits, not like a friend with benefits, which would be just fine for Caleb, but a friend who could be trodden on and prop up your feelings of self-worth. It didn’t matter how many of the awful men who passed through Amy’s world would reject her in the end, Caleb was always there to remind her how sexy she possibly was.

Caleb reached Amy’s just as the skies decided to fuck up every walking man’s, and woman’s, day with cloud spit. Amy answered the door dressed like person who wasn’t going to work anytime that year, because she wasn’t, but still emitted some kind of radiance.

“Hey,” she said with as much enthusiasm as was warranted for such a word.

“You ok?” Caleb always wanted to know the answer to this overused question. Amy nodded and invited him in.

Amy’s flat was a newish build and warm. It didn’t carry much of her personality, the mess on the floors, tables, and sides did that instead. The two bed flat was awash with children’s toys, books, and discarded clothing, and this was ok because Amy was a proud single mother, otherwise it would have been very weird.

“Where’s Elsa?”

“She’s with mum for a few days.” Amy said as they entered the living room. Amy plonked herself down on the sofa and continued to scroll through Instagram on her phone. Caleb made himself some space, something he was use to. He sat on a small chair just by Amy’s side, Caleb was never smooth enough to join her on the sofa.

Amy’s phone dinged. It’s a message. Who from? Which cunt is it from today? Poor Caleb’s brain would always be driven into hyperdrive every time her phone dinged. By then he should’ve been numb to it, as Amy did get through a lot of suitors, but somehow hanging onto the pain was like having an actual relationship with her that was quantifiable through the varying degrees of torment.

“College alright?” Amy asked without much interest.

“It was funny today actually.”

“Yeah?”

“You know Frida?” Caleb asked knowing full well Amy didn’t care if she knew her or not.

“Na.”

“She lives in Puddleford.”

“Unlucky slag.” Amy was right, Puddleford was, and still is, an awful place.

“Well she was doing these duck impressions in theory class,” Caleb should’ve known at that point you always stop telling a story which involves someone doing any kind of animal impression.

“And Ms Pearce was in the hall when she’d started right, so she had no idea that she was doing animal impressions right.”

“Yea-ah.”

“So she does this weird duck impression, like, it’s not like a duck, it’s more like… I can’t even do it, but it’s like a sex noise.”

“Right.” Amy replied whilst glued to her screen.

“So she was doing it really loud, and we, Neil and Chris and me, were pissing ourselves. Like actually pissing ourselves, and she was doing it louder and louder right…”

“Oh my god!” Amy blurted.

“What’s wrong, are you in danger?” Caleb definitely said that.

“Jesus fucking Allah Christ!” Amy began to laugh.

“What?”

“Jason just sent me dick pic, oh my god.” Amy’s words gave Caleb’s wind an upper-cut away from his sails.

“Jason Humpage?”

“Yeah, oh my god it’s fucking massive, look.” Amy held out her phone and Caleb looked, because if he didn’t, he could’ve been perceived as a homophobe.

“It’s not that big,” lied Caleb, he knew all too well this man pole was a certified monster. Amy’s phone dinged again.

“Oh my god not another one… oh… god he can be such a wetty.” Caleb said nothing back, because Caleb knew Jason wasn’t as wet as he was.

“Listen to this, hope you don’t mind me sending that but you got me horny. Ha ha”

“I don’t think it’s cool sending those pictures without permission.”

“Fuck that, that’s made my day.”

“But it’s crossing lines.”

“I don’t care mate.”

“Has he asked for a picture?” Caleb enquired with a glimmer of hope that Amy was so shameless she might just show him.

“No way, I’m too shy for that.” Amy lied, Caleb had seen everything on a number of boys phones before, he even had some on a hard drive before, but then the drive malfunctioned and Caleb cried.

“Isn’t Jason a bit, like, crazy?”

“No he’s been alright since he came out of jail.”

“When was he in jail?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No.” Caleb probably did, but Caleb didn’t really pay much attention to the local gossip, which was one of his limited number of better traits.

“He was in for a few months.”

“Oh… oh, didn’t he beat up Tina Graham?”

“Who hasn’t, gobby fucking slag.”

“He hit a woman, that’s so not cool.” Caleb said, stating the bloody obvious.

“She’d kick the shit out of you mate, you’d have to smack her back.”

“I wouldn’t do that, it’s wrong.”

“You wouldn’t hit anyone Caleb.”

“I don’t believe violence is the answer.” Caleb lied, he just heard that once in a movie or TV show. Amy’s phone dinged again.

“Aww my god, what is up with this boy.”

“Is he being violent?” Caleb enquired with as much sincerity as he could fake.

“Would you send this to a girl, I want to fuck you but I’m happy just cuddling and waking up to see your face in the morning…”

“Sex isn’t everything.”

“I know that, but like, I just wanna, you know.” Amy said shuffling with a cheeky smirk.

“I like just cuddling.”

“Yeah that’s fine, but after having your fucking brains fucked out. Sometimes girls just wanna be thrown around and pounded like a piece of meat.” Amy was serious about that.

“I don’t think they do, I just think you think like that, know what I mean?”

“What you on about?”

“Respect all women,” was Caleb’s best reply.

“Thanks for the heads up mate.” Amy replied as she mulled over her next move. “Close your eyes a minute, I’m gonna send him cheeky tit flash.”

“Don’t do that, he might upload it to a revenge porn site.”

“You’re hilarious sometimes, close your bloody eyes.” Caleb complied like a good pet, as Amy popped one breast out and got a fancy downward angle sorted for the snap.

“Ok, done.” Caleb wished he’d kept a little slither of eyelid open.

“Have a wank over this you cunt.”

“Is that what you’re writing?”

“No you weirdo, I’m writing suck on this, with a question mark.”

“The new Steel Solider teaser trailer 2 came out this morning, did you see it?” Caleb said, desperately trying to steer this train onto wholesome tracks. Amy got dinged again and burst out laughing. This is what Caleb would get for his efforts every time.

“Sorry mate. He’s fucking hilarious.”

“You hungry?” diverted Caleb.

“Yeah actually, that’s a good shout.”

“I think it’s two for one Tuesday at Giovanni’s.”

“Cool.” Amy replied, knowing her purse would not have to be opened at any point this early evening.

After enjoying what always should of been a disappointing pizza experience, Amy’s mind had finally been turned from psychotic monster cock. Amy finished a quick call to her daughter and mum and her mind had drifted to an exhausting, dark place. A place where her baby father’s punchable gurning face inhabited, the unfortunate side affect of having a child who resembled one parent more than the other.

“Feel like getting pissed now.” Amy said.

“I could go to the shop.”

“I got some vodka in the freezer, Jimmy left it here.”

“Jimmy!”

“Don’t go there, I don’t remember a thing. Elsa was being annoying so, you know.”

“She’s not annoying.”

“That’s easy for you mate, you don’t spend every waking second with her.”

“I know it’s hard for a single mother.”

“To be fair you see her more than that prick does.”

“He doesn’t… oh right, yeah.” Caleb remembered that Elsa’s father was a king of all waste-men.

“You’d be a good dad I reckon.”

“You think so?” Caleb said with much excitement.

“Definitely.” Amy smiled.

“I’d happily be Elsa’s dad.”

“She’d love it, you spoil the little shit.”

“She deserves it.” Caleb smiled, thinking of how much vodka would be needed to get Amy’s pelvis thrusting on top of him like a jailed cow girl.

“She does like you a lot.” Caleb should put his hand on hers and ask ‘what about her fine mother?’ or something equally forward, but Caleb didn’t have it in him.

“You seen Carla lately?” Asked Amy, because she wanted Caleb to just bang Carla and chill out.

“She was at that DJ night at the Mulligan, she was very pissed.”

“Was Louis playing his shit tunes again?”

“I don’t mind them.”

“Did you have a go on Carla again?”

“No!” Caleb shot that idea down with stealth. Fact was Carla was drunker than he was, and unable to agree to any hanky panky. “She’s not my type.”

“She fucking loves you mate, you should get involved.”

“I don’t want her.”

“Man needs to drink water innit?”

“What you mean?”

“You need action mate.”

“I’m not like other men.” Caleb lied, he’d nail a big titted Pangolin in a dress, like any heterosexual male his age.

“I believe you mate. Not!” Amy said, not even knowing the origins of that outdated phrase. “Just fuck her and be done with it, it’ll do you good.”

“I want something meaningful.”

“Fuck that shite, it’s too much hassle. Just bang and leave the cunts.”

“You deserve better.”

“I’m getting better, you saw his truncheon!” This was the response Caleb could’ve done without, but it was always his choice to pine after Amy.

The vodka flowed that night, and so did the umpteen messages from Jason to Amy’s phone. At one point Caleb wished Amy had a dog he could distract himself with. Nothing quite like someone else’s dog to amuse yourself with when you’re trying to escape the reality of a situation. Maybe he’d buy her a dog one day. But that would have to wait for after he achieved his destiny, and that was subjective greatness.

The next day Caleb came into college late. This wasn’t so unusual, as Caleb was an average student with average discipline, but it was his favourite day, as it was writing day and Caleb was writing a big screenplay. What was it about? An alternative universe-type situation where Batman became Muslim. It sounds awful as a concept, and it was, but it probably would’ve been given the green light 2020. Where-as Caleb had no original good ideas, Hollywood had run out of them instead. Not much has changed since then, except for Caleb’s stature and sex appeal amongst the confused.

Caleb had picked up some great tips from his writing tutor, Lois. Those tips were stolen verbatim from Robert McKee’s book ’Story’, but that didn’t stop Lois from lapping up the praise from Caleb and most of the class. After the class Caleb and his old school friend Neil went to their favourite reasonably priced cafe. The name of this cafe doesn’t matter, the most important thing was that the owners were fine with low spending youngsters sitting around there all day nursing a cheap flat white. Caleb had ordered a cheap flat white as it goes, what else would such an un-assuming being of greatness drink on a Wednesday? His friend Neil was what some use to call portly, but would now most likely be referred to as athletic and brave. He was no looker, and he lacked charm, but he smiled a lot and had a strong sense of right and wrong, even if what he thought was right would often be mis-guided.

“You still look hanging,” Neil pointed out.

“We always drink a lot,” Caleb informed Neil, making sure he understood that this was a sacred pass-time only enjoyed between himself and Amy.

“I got told she did a three way with Dennis and Ryan’s cousin.” Caleb always enjoyed hearing these weekly updates.

“That’s not true, she tells me everything.” Caleb did not lie, however everything doesn’t always mean everything. Never forget that.

“I dunno, Dennis doesn’t fib,” Neil said with conviction, because despite his odd upper lip, Neil was a damn good judge of character. “I just think you should defer your energy toward something more fulfilling.” Caleb wasn’t interested in this sudden reality check, he had fantasies to fulfill, as mediocre as they were, they were his best creative accomplishments.

“It’s not wrong for a woman to enjoy the pleasures of multiple partners,” Caleb asserted.

“Of-course, women are sensual beings, not just the bearers of children,” concluded Neil, although he concluded too soon, as Caleb loved a good one-upping.

“It’s not just about bearing children, right, to be a woman, it’s a state of mind.”

“I know that mate!” snapped Neil, “I was speaking with Amy in mind.”

“That’s fine.”

As if the talk of Amy’s sexual conquests weren’t enough for Caleb’s delicately balanced ego, Justin and his old pal Liam came into view outside the needlessly decorated cafe window. Liam and Justin were on the other side of the road engaging in the most awful of practices: boy play. Pushing, shoving, shouting and mocking each-other like men without feelings, it was a disgusting site for Caleb, and Neil too once he had a gander for himself.

“Oh god,” moaned Neil.

“Amy said Justin was in prison.”

“Yeah I know.”

“I didn’t know that,” pondered Caleb out loud, “I always thought he was extra-macho but I didn’t know he violated women.”

“I think he’s got mental health,” said Neil.

“Problems?”

“Why are they problems, it’s just mental health, and I respect that.”

“Do you respect that he punched a cis-female?”

“Does she identify as so?” Asked Neil, which threw Caleb a few inches.

“Does that matter?”

“Depends on how you view women as a whole. They can do everything we can do, and that includes fighting, and I heard that Tina Graham could kick the crap out of both us at the same time.”

“You don’t hit women, or anyone, ever.”

“Not even fascists?”

“Are they trying to kill me?” Asked Caleb, unprepared with any retort.

“Yes, and they’re birthing women.”

“It’s my only way to survive.”

“I wouldn’t hit them,” said Neil, and this really pissed Caleb off, “it’s an old fashioned way of thinking, but I think you shouldn’t hit a woman, any kind of woman.”

“What if Justin Humpage identifies as female?” Said Caleb, thinking he had outwitted Neil for once.

“He could never get away with that, he’s clearly alpha and toxic, no-one would ever consider him to be as pure and beautiful as a woman.”

“Fuck you,” snarled Caleb, he had run out of other peoples talking points to win this joust. For the rest of that day Caleb was mildly on edge, convinced that Neil was going to bring the elephant into the room that Amy was getting Justin’s mighty sausage chucked up her on the regular. Thankfully this never happened, but perhaps that was because Neil was a man of tact. He could read Caleb well enough to know what would flick his switches and he had enough respect to know when he ought not to push things too far. Caleb had a good friend.

After he had watched the surprise third teaser trailer for the new Steel Solider movie on YouTube and left a most forgettable comment, it was time for fantasy time. Surrounded by the corporate sheen of comic book movie posters and ‘collectables’ that personified his bedroom, Caleb drifted into deep fantasy. To his credit, Caleb did have half a decent imagination, as it was heavily influenced by everything he read and saw online and through other media, so there was lots of borrowed imagery to use. But perhaps it was not right to call it his own imagination, more like some sort of reboot of other peoples, but it was in his head and he could play around with it well enough for it to count as an imagination.

Anyway… Caleb was deep into his favourite pass-time, Fantasies of Amy. Again, to give Caleb credit, he did like pump his rhubarb over images in his brain, which gave him some longer lasting stamina rarely possessed by someone his age these and those days. Not that Caleb didn’t like a few cheeky sessions on Dirt Hub or whatever it is you people watch to blow off steam and spurt gunk. Caleb enjoyed wacking his Cumberland over Amy as it felt like he was being faithful towards her, it was part of the self-constructed relationship between them. It wasn’t a good or healthy relationship, but it was the best he had. Caleb would probably do well in prison with these kinds of mental coping systems in place, and perhaps that’s where he would end up. But you’ll find that out later… or will you??

One of Caleb’s favourite but perhaps not his best fantasies, involved him being a super hero and Amy being an ‘up-coming’ kick-ass strong woman super-hero-lady. Lots of tight lycra, big hair, and tits that were much larger in this fantasy scenario than in real life. Caleb would always save Amy from certain doom, perilous and deathly certain doom. He would often dish out some thug-level licks to antagonists who often resembled big strong rugby-boys, and his town was awash with enough of those for him to inter-change the character faces as often as he pleased. Once saving Amy from certain doom she would realize how awesome and gentle Caleb was, and that he was the best person for her. They would share a sensual kiss under a waterfall or on-top of a mountain / tall building, before he would fly her or swing her like Tarzan to his super hero lair. Now it’s inside the layer that Caleb’s imagination would get impressive, perhaps influenced by his favourite internet cosplay thot Lilibeam666. Without going into too much detail, this super hero lair was more like a kinky rainbow coloured sex theme park, equipped with lubed up bouncy castles, KY jelly slides, and a fondling booth. Oh, and lots of dildos, Caleb seemed to be a big fan of dildos. Why would a super hero lair be equipped with every dildo a horny dutchman could think of? Perhaps all of his arch enemies were massive homophobes with penis envy? Who knows, but it was Calebs place, and he decorated it how he liked.

Once Amy had landed onto a fourteen inch bubblegum dildo at the bottom of his super hero KY jelly slide, Caleb would bust his tadpole batter into a sock and leave it in his laundry basket for his mother to wash on Thursday evenings. But on that day his nut busting had been interrupted by a most unwanted intruder. Just as Amy landed on his sacred super hero dildo made of bubblegum and his load broke free from the end of his saucy stick, Jason jumped into his brain. He wasn’t part of the fantasy, Caleb had barely given him a second thought since he saw him outside the cafe, but he turned up anyway. Caleb felt odd, fucking odd in-fact, as he rifled seaman into his sock. Caleb was surprised and shocked by what had happened, and his post strumming euphoria was soiled.

Caleb should’ve been use to boys like Jason invading the lust of his life, Amy had a hideous track record with bad suitors, but perhaps Caleb had just reached that breaking point. He hadn’t had a meaningful relationship with a girl since he was 13, and that doesn’t really count once you’ve reached the ripe old age of 18. Caleb had needs and desires, and he had only banged Carla twice when he was drunk and some lunatic on a holiday in Devon when he was 15. Caleb, like many ‘nice’ guys, could not fathom why hot chicks like Amy liked men who basically treated them like plop. But Caleb didn’t understand the basic principles of attraction or seduction, if he did he could’ve used them to his advantage and had Amy. Fact was he was waiting for Amy to see the light, but for girls like that to reach a point of maturity that transcends them from their wild and wacky ways they need to experience a lot more bullshit. Justin was just another rung on her ladder of bullshit, and there were a lot more rungs to come before she reached enlightenment.

Caleb tried to make himself feel better by playing out violent fantasies in his head, all of which involved Justin being royally fucked up. Caleb surprised himself with how far he could take these fantasies. He had found himself a new level of imagination, it was crystal clear and methodical. It almost seemed doable. But at that time Caleb wasn’t so capable of such acts of violence. But he was capable of other things, he just hadn’t quite seen it yet.

On Friday nights there were minimal options for going out on the razzle. The town had no clubs, no Wetherspoon’s, but did have a variety of pubs. The problem with those pubs was the bizarre closing hours and closing time rituals. Even since 24 hour drinking had been introduced into the UK, the local establishments still insisted on locking down at bang-on eleven o’clock, also insisting you drink up within the twenty minutes grace period, and not a minute longer. Often, fun loving patrons would be unaware it was about five to eleven at night and order a round in, which would be served to them without warning, only to be told a few minutes later to drink up. When the clock struck 11:20 pm, the lights would either go off or the ambient lighting would be replaced with lights brighter than search lights used at Colditz. It was all rather rude.

Caleb and Neil would often frequent one of three venues on a Friday night, and occasionally, when they felt a little spicy, mix it up by frequenting two in one evening. On this particular evening they were spending the evening in the large beer garden that belonged to The Thomas Arnold, a popular tosser pub geared towards the younger crowd in Caleb’s town. The Thomas Arnold was named after some local pamphleteer and failed political activist from the Victorian era. Why he was beloved enough to have a pub named after him isn’t important because it just isn’t interesting in the slightest. The Thomas Arnold was the type of place that was littered with kooky, rustic decor, mixing up old-school farm tavern and 60s pop-culture memorabilia. This kind of vibe was popular with those whose fashion sense was fifty shades of beige. You know the type, boys with floppy hair and girls who never painted their nails. Amy referred to it as ‘that twat pub’, hence why she rarely went for there for a tipple.

Caleb and Neil were joined by Pete Underhill, once Caleb’s best friend at primary school and now just an acquaintance-level buddy. Pete had recently gotten into the weed selling game, which was a surprising choice for a tennis playing son of a civil servant. Pete didn’t need the money, because he actually had a part-time job whilst studying his A-levels, he just liked the low-level bad-boy status such a profession brought him. Caleb and Neil had been discussing that one simply couldn’t be a nihilist, though using the word ‘discussing’ would be an inaccurate description as Neil did most of the talking whilst Caleb tried to filter through his regurgitation bank for any counter arguments. This discussion was shut down by Pete because it didn’t interest him, which was most likely due to it not being about his favourite topic, himself.

“This new kush is the shizzle,” said Pete in his accent that should never be aloud to say a word like ‘shizzle’.

“You said that about the last kush,” said Neil.

“No mate, that wasn’t kush, that was OG Kush, this is proper kush,” explained Pete.

“Is that better than OG Kush?” asked Caleb.

“Just smell it,” Pete pulled out a ten bag and rammed it under Caleb’s nose, “see what I mean, it’s da bomb,” Pete should never say things like ‘da bomb’ with his kind of dress sense, which was a cross between Simon Cowell on a golf course and Tim Henman at a dental check up.

Caleb couldn’t really tell how ‘bomb’ this kush was from the smell. It did stink, and stink good, but Pete had a habit for a over-hyping his products. Hell, every dealer in the district had that habit.

“We’re still not buying any,” informed Neil.

“Just let me know when you’re looking to buy mate, I got plenty, call me anytime, well, except Thursday, Saturday and Sunday evenings… oh, and Saturday morning too, and every other Tuesday afternoon until early evening.” Caleb and Neil did not make a note of this schedule in their diaries.

It was a somewhat fateful event that Pete had decided to try a half-arsed sales pitch to Caleb and Neil that evening, as was his decision to start selling weed in the first place. The universe had a funny way of navigating people towards their unexpected fates, and at that moment many fates were about to be set in stone, and it was only Caleb’s path that was headed towards ‘greatness’.

Before Caleb could scan behind Pete for any invading dangers, Jason and Liam appeared within spitting distance. They were hunting for drugs, as were many who’d had a few shandy’s on a Friday night, and they had had a lightbulb moment which said Pete was the man to hook them up with some party dust. Caleb was almost stunned in silence by Justin and Liam’s appearance, so much so that he played along when Justin gave him the shush finger so he could play a little prank on an unsuspecting Pete. This prank was a simple wet-willy exercise, you know the one where you suck your index finger and jam it in some poor schlubs ear. Upon receiving this soggy finger to his left ear, Pete shouted out some borderline gangster talk before turning around to be confronted by Justin’s not-to-fuck-with frame.

“Mate I fucking got you,” laughed Justin as he pointed Pete out to Liam, “look at his face mate.” Justin was impressed by his little spit finger prank, it was a triumph of men. “You know for any?” Justin cut to the point.

“I got kush,” gleamed Pete, this didn’t impress Justin or Liam.

“Don’t want that fucking shite,” said Liam, knowing full-well that one puff of any green substance would send Justin into one of his infamous psychosis-fueled rages.

“We want some fucking…” Justin said before sniffing the most ridiculously long line of imaginary cocaine.

“Oh…” answered Pete.

“Oh,” mimicked Justin.

“I can call someone for you,” Pete said as he whipped out his phone like a good boy. Caleb was uncomfortable with Justin’s presence. His full-on man testosterone vibe pulsed into every inch of Caleb’s body, whilst his mind wondered to a dark place. This place was inhabited by a high-resolution image of Justin’s impressive member. The horror, the horror.

Pete made an awkward call to someone who clearly wasn’t cut from the same cloth, whilst Liam and Justin ogled a couple of fruity and drunk girls not too far away. The girls were cute, but also not old enough to be drinking at that establishment. This was perfect for Justin.

“Is that Bailey’s sister?” asked Liam.

“Yes mate,” grinned Justin.

“Right guys I got a link for you,” said Pete with embarrassing levels of enthusiasm. Caleb winced at this whilst his anxiety raged over whether Justin would engage with him.

“Who is it?” asked Justin.

“It’s some city boys, you need to drive me over to Wyndham,” explained Pete.

“Wyndham!” said Neil with an air of shock.

“Yeah,” said Pete.

“I ain’t fucking sacred of any Wyndham boys,” said Justin, and he meant it.

“Can’t they come here?” asked Liam. Pete shook his head. “Fuck it let’s go now,” said Liam.

“Suppose you want a bump?” asked Justin.

“That’d be cool,” said Pete like the all round good little boy he was.

“Meet us in the car park in five,” said Liam, “let’s grab some money off Tennent.” The boys bounded away, pushing and slapping each-other. As they passed the group of younger girls, Justin took it upon himself to slap one of their behinds. Her reaction? Giggles of joy.

“You see that?” said Caleb.

“She must be internalized,” was Neils assessment. Pete finished his drink with pace. Caleb was concerned, as most boys he knew found any trip into Wyndham would end up with a good old fashioned bottom whooping. It was a rough old town, full of squaddies and poverty, it was no place for floppy haired Guardian reading types.

“Can’t believe your going to Wyndham on a Friday night!” said Caleb.

“It’s alright, the boys I know there run the town,” said Pete. Neil raised his brows at this statement. Pete wasn’t the type to be able to get in with any crowd of hoodlums capable of running their own town let alone a stinking ghetto-fest like Wyndham.

Almost an hour passed, which Caleb and Neil had spent discussing why young ladies would be excited and ok with having their backside slapped by humans such as Justin. The conclusion of which was inconclusive.

Pete returned and made his rounds through the pub garden drumming up business for stinky kush. As Neil delved a little deeper into the subject of internalized female oppression, Caleb observed Justin, Liam, and a couple of other friends make regular trips to the outside toilet block. After each trip their rowdiness would increase. As Neil discussed the finer points of why DC was superior to Marvel, Caleb observed Justin make moves on the group of younger girls, who by that time were probably drunk enough to get with Caleb.

If only he knew.

As Neil spoke on how Superman and Batman were the Churchill and Kennedy of the comic book world, Caleb observed Justin take the girl who was Bailey’s younger sister into the mens toilets. It wasn’t until Neil had moved onto the finer points of comparing the Justice League to the Avengers that Justin and the girl emerged from the toilets. Now that was either one hell of a snorting session or Justin had defiled Bailey’s sister, and the state of her hair suggested the latter.

Caleb just couldn’t take his eyes off of Justin, and luckily for him Justin hadn’t noticed this unhealthy interest Caleb had in him. Caleb saw Justin try to start two fights, grab some girl he recognized from Waitrose’s crotch and clearly show pictures of who Caleb feared was Amy’s private parts to all his friends. Caleb hated Justin. He hated him enough to actively stove his head in with a breeze block. Unfortunately, at that moment in time, Caleb hadn’t found his inner strength to dish out such justice, all he could do was fantasize about it in graphic detail. The best he could do was tell Amy all about Justin’s exploits at the pub like the good little boy he was.