Hunter Huxley

When I was five my dad met some woman named Jill. She had three children: Libby (4), Katy (6), and Mathew (7). They were spoiled, snotty, dumb, whiny, shitty little kids; little assholes, and not in an endearing way. My dad wonders if Jill was a prostitute because her hand-bag seemed, according to him, to primarily function to carry boxes of condoms.

Often he would stay at her house and I would stay too. The daughter Katy was, for whatever reason, knowledgeable about sex, especially for a six year old. She explained it to me, and it sounded fun. We fucked. Yes, I am serious. It was her idea. We even did oral sex. (Pretty gross when you think how filthy little kids are.) Pretty much every time I stayed for however long, we’d fuck.

We told Mathew about it and got him to watch us fucking under the covers. I suggested him and her do it; they didn’t.

Jill used to put the four of us in the bath together as people tend to do with little kids. One time in the bath I touched Katy’s ass and she reproached me, “we’re not allowed to touch each others bums!” I was puzzled. She then told on me and Jill reproached me further. Fucking sluts, both of them.

After Jill and my dad finished (my dad would say, “she hated smoking so she left me for some red-headed Australian dork who smoked”) I worried that I had impregnated Katy. I didn’t know what sperm was; I just thought people fucked and a child ensued. I seriously thought I was going to be a six year old father; this kept me up at night. My mother new something was wrong but I never told her what.

I imagine Katy is an enormous slut today; it would be amazingly erotic to encounter her and contract her STIs.

My father then dated a Ukrainian woman called Natasha. She was married to a guy named Oleg, and they had a daughter called Oxana. Oxana would undoubtedly be majorly hot today. She was a year younger than me.

We would go to Natasha and Oleg’s house to visit, hang out for a bit, then my father would take Natasha away to stay at his house and often for weekends. Oleg was an intense beta who lived at home till thirty. Him and Natasha slept in the same bed when she wasn’t with my father; like, they were properly married. My father had other women sleep in his bed (usually random Asians) when she wasn’t there. And then when the weekend or trip or even just night was over, my father would drop her home to her idiot husband and even go inside and drink his coffee.

My dad moved on and Natasha left Oleg.

The place where my father lived during all this is visible from my current house across the lake. Every time I look over at my old porch it’s a strange fucking feeling.

My father would occasionally encounter financial strife and have to get flatmates in; these were invariably sleazy bachelors with mustaches and pornography under their beds which I’d look at when nobody was home. (I was left at home alone a lot when I was young.)

One of them, John, was a security guard loser my mother dated when she was battling with the incredibly low self-esteem my father left her with. He was actually quite good to me as a kid. He is now a limousine driver for a well-known strip/escort club in town. I was so happy when I heard that; he was born for that occupation. Apparently John was more “normal” in the past; he became a bit strange when before leaving for work one morning he had sex with his beloved wife and kissed her goodbye, then came home that evening to find she’d packed her shit and moved in with another man.

There was English Dave who played the Eagles on his twelve string and had parties on weeknights with his unemployed friends who would crash on our floor amidst sticky shot glasses, roaches, and that clicking sound records make when they get to the end but nobody takes the needle away or turns off the turntable (Dave was oldschool). That was a weird environment to get ready for school in. My father kicked him out before long.

Then there was Running Steve and Fat Little Mark at the same time; I shared a room with my dad. I guess he was especially broke at this time. Running Steve was a physical education teacher at a local primary school and was all in to his health. Because of the health thing, he refused to wear deodorant; he believed deodorant contained the body’s toxins or something like that. He was also very hairy. Essentially, he was a hairy athlete who refused to wear deodorant; he stunk like a hitchhiker’s asshole. He was also a frugal man who would salvage the moldy bread my father threw on the lawn for the birds.

Fat Little Mark was usually on the dole and he drove a vintage corvette and played soccer. Whenever my father supplied him with food he’d scoff as much as he could as fast as he could; he was “storing it ’cause he didn’t know where he’d be tomorrow” my father would say.