95% (An Uncensored Biography for Men That Never Grew Up)

95%

(An uncensored biography for men that never grew up)

By Ben Maye

 Text Copyright Ben Maye 2013

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is produced and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent reader.

benmaye@yahoo.com

Version 2.0

Index

Part 1

Preface I

Foreword II

Introduction III

Chapter 1 To rape or not to be raped page 1

Chapter 2 Turtle’s heads, dog shit butties and hospital visits page 5

Chapter 3 Black bras, spastics and cider page 21

Chapter 4 Wet dreams, Tampax and homebrew page 32

Chapter 5 Psychopaths, poodles and community service page 43

Chapter 6 Pottery, chloroform and gay switchboards page 56

Chapter 7 Fags, B.O. and masturbation page 75

Chapter 8 That bitch of an itch page 83

Chapter 9 Humiliation, degradation and urination page 97

Chapter 10 Party, party, party page 110

Chapter 11 Torture, guitars and immigration page 127

Chapter 12 Vandalism, petrol and suspension page 143

Chapter 13 Chips & gravy and partners in crime page 152

Preface

All characters and incidents appearing in this work are real. Some names and places have been changed to protect the guilty. This has now made its contents only 95% true. Which bits, though? Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely intentional. Yes, I am that much of a bastard!

..is what I would write if I was stupid, so for legal reasons, the above statement is possibly not true, but probably is. 

Ben Maye

Foreword

There are three definitions you may need to understand before reading this book: a cheeky wank, an angry wank and a noisy wank.

A Cheeky Wank can be either: cracking one off discreetly at home, candidly in a public place, or being pulled off by a third party in an unconventional place--for example, on the back seat of a bus.

An Angry Wank is one of those itches you just can’t scratch, where you violently pull yourself all around the bedroom banging into walls and trying to find things to stick up your arse in an effort to ejaculate and when you finally do cum, it’s only a little flob you just about manage to throw over your thumb.

And finally…A Noisy Wank is one of those orgasms where your entire body reaches a euphoric state. You lie flat on the bed, totally relaxed, and at climax you can’t help shouting out to your maker, e.g., Jesus Christ, Oh My Fucking God, Kill me now, you bastard, etc. Or at least subconsciously moan so loudly that your mum knows exactly what you’re doing and how much of a mucky little bastard you really are! You can usually spray your chest with one of these wanks but on a good day you might even hit your chin!

A Soapy Tit Wank is something completely different and far more enjoyable but as its meaning eponymously goes without saying, I’m not going to waste your time or mine stating the obvious!

Any other terminology you don’t understand--well, you’ll just have to work it out for yourself, or look it up in an urban dictionary!

Enjoy 

Introduction

95% (an uncensored biography for men that never grew up) is the story, based on real events, of three main characters and how their lives unfortunately interacted from the age of four until twenty-one, with devastating effects. It is a realistic and humorous portrayal of growing up in the 1970s in a working class town and the everyday reality of life in the state secondary modern and comprehensive education systems. Although based on specific people, it is the story of thousands of similar lives in hundreds of towns in the United Kingdom.

Victimisation, brutality and vulgarity were the realities of life and not the happy, fluffy versions portrayed in middle class family sitcoms that are still rammed down our throats to this day and have been for the past 40 years.

We created our own humour, made our own realities and frequently fucked up!

That is the true reality and the story of 95%.

Chapter 1 - to rape or not to be raped

Midnight, Friday 30th November 1962. Oldham, Lancashire.

A long, dark avenue faintly lit by a single streetlight. Thick pea-soup smog, the result of pollution from factory chimneys synonymous with the industrial revolution, which both made and ruined this part of the country. The distant sound of a woman’s stilettos becoming louder and louder. A silhouette emerges from the mist, belonging to a large round young woman, the worse for a boozy night out in the workingmen’s pubs of the area.

She takes a few more steps then stops. Did she hear something? Was it the night playing tricks on her senses? She waits momentarily. Still unsure, she resumes her journey at a slightly faster pace, then again she stops. This time she is sure she heard footsteps behind her. Suddenly the crashing of a dustbin lid as it hits the cold hard cobblestones. Adrenaline is pumped around her body by a heart that is ready to explode with fear. Her pace quickens almost to a canter. Footsteps behind, in time with her own, become louder and louder as they are getting closer and closer. Without realising, she is running, trying to escape the unknown, but the steps become louder still. In her anxiety to escape, she stumbles to the ground, her hands and knees grazed and stinging. Finding her feet and panting with fear, she again tries to escape her pursuer, the sweat now pouring from her brow. She can feel him directly behind her but cannot turn round for fear of what she might see. Suddenly a hand, then a jolt, as she is pulled by her hair violently backwards and off her feet. She falls to the ground, kicking and screaming for her life. A hand covers her mouth, muffling her screams, whilst the other grabs a breast. Struggling violently, she hears her blouse being ripped apart and smells stale beer and cigarette breath, then the hand slides down beneath her skirt and into her underwear. Frozen with fear, she is aware of penetration as he pulls himself on top before plunging deep inside her.

No, please! she cries as he lurches up and down on her like a wild animal. Trying to resist, she knows her efforts are in vain as he continues writhing before suddenly raising his rigid body, then collapsing in a heap on top of her. It is over.

They lie silently but for their heavy breathing. Slowly, with hair strewn across her face, she turns to him. Catching his eye, she takes a deep breath then mutters, Is that it?

What? he replies in confusion.

Do it again, she says.

Are you fucking crazy? You’ve just been raped!

Yes I know, but it was my first time and I didn’t know what to expect, so can we try it again please?

Lifting himself hurriedly to his feet, he attempts to pull up his pants, unnerved by the reaction of his victim. This wasn’t how he wanted it. You’re fucking mental, you stupid bitch; you need fucking help. I’m off.

Oh no, you’re not! she yells, dragging him by the leg in an attempt to pull him back down. You’re not finished yet.

As he hits the ground, she punches him with a right hook that almost knocks him unconscious. He is aware of his trousers being pulled off, then a heavy lump on top of him, pinning his arse to the cold, hard paving stones. As he regains his senses, his eyes focusing, he can now see a huge scary fat woman pulling at his cock, trying to get it hard again.

Come on, fuck me, you bastard! she shouts bouncing on top of him, trying to squeeze it in between her rolls of pubic fat.

Ahhhhh! he screams, not knowing whether to fight her or fuck her. Fighting seems the lesser of the two evils. Kicking and wriggling ,he manages to break free, hopping down the street, his pants hanging off him.

Bollocks! she exclaims, her big fat naked arse finally feeling the cold of the paving stones penetrating through it.

---------------------------------------------

Twenty-two months later, the victim-cum-rapist bore a baby boy, Joey. The reason it took so long was that while he was in the womb, he went for a walk, came across his future sisters and as there were no mirrors, thought he must be an elephant, too!

Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, said Joey, pacing up and down the Fallopian tubes waiting to be born. Suddenly the ovary walls started to shake and shudder.

About time too, he mumbled strapping on a crash helmet. I wonder what it’s like out there?

- - - - - - - - -

Push, said doctor Steptoe.

I am fucking pushing.

Well, push harder.

Ahh… splat. Oh fuck, I’ve just shat myself!

- - - - - - - - -

Ahh, ouch, fucking hell, get on with it, bitch! yelled Joey, barely holding onto the walls, as he was violently thrown around, one contraction after another.

- - - - - - - - -

"Scream!"

I know it hurts but you have to push.

Hurt? It doesn’t hurt; it’s fucking wonderful. God, I hope it’s quads!

That’s it, I can see its head, said the doctor.

- - - - - - - - -

Ouch, what the fuck? said Joey, upside down with his head stuck. Christ, it fucking stinks down here.

- - - - - - - - -

Nurse.

Yes doctor?

Get me a hammer.

You can fuck off! shouted the patient. What the fuck you are going to do with that?

I am going to have to hit you in the upper abdomen to help move the baby along. I’m afraid he’s jammed in there.

Wouldn’t it be better if you hit me square in the twat with it?

Ok, this is getting fucking silly! I’m losing track of the plot. Sorry, next chapter!

Chapter 2 – turtle’s head, dog shit butties and hospital visits

Not a great deal happened in Joey’s formative years from birth until primary school at the age of four. He was mainly on his own. He had no friends, no pets and nobody to speak to. His mother had droves of lovers in the house, day and night, and all paid her a fair price for a fair hour’s work! He had two siblings by now, both girls, both with different fathers and both of different ethnic backgrounds.

Although preschool, he had already started stealing cigarettes from his mother’s clients. At the age of four he had smoked his first cigarette; at seven he was already on 20 a day and by the time he moved to secondary school he was helping to keep the Silk Cut factory in Hyde profitable.

He started primary school at Werneth infants. The social services had decided he had mental issues, as he couldn’t pronounce certain words correctly. When looking for the football results on Saturdays, he would ask how ‘Wilbendon’ had gone on against ‘Topman Hossper’ and in the Bundesliga, he followed ‘Biner Munich’. He adored chocolate ‘Smalteasers’ and years later, his favourite sportsman was ‘that boxer Lenox Tyson’! He was sent to retard school to learn how to weave wicker baskets but as he was completely fucking useless at it, they decided to put him back into mainstream education. They figured he could always hand out hymnbooks during morning assembly and put the chairs on the tables at the end of the day.

It was there that he received his nickname ‘Joey’ from a very politically incorrect teacher, with strong right-wing leanings that yearned for the glory days of the dreams of a Nazi Britain, a reality that had almost come to fruition only twenty years earlier.

His mother had intended to name him ‘Hermon’ after the Jewish name of a range of mountains in Israel but being as thick as pig shit, she spelt it incorrectly and accidentally wrote ‘Herman’ on the birth certificate. He had never got used to this name anyway as most of the time she just called him ‘little twat, cunt features’ and other variations on the female genitalia. It was this anti-Semitic teacher that spotted the irony of a Jewish kid intended to be named after a sacred area of the holy land that his grandparent had escaped to after surviving the Nazi holocaust but instead accidentally being given the German name ‘Herman’, which actually meant ‘Army Man’. After amusing himself endlessly at morning and afternoon registrations, he morphed ‘Army Man’ into ‘G.I. Joe’ after the then-popular children’s American toy soldier, and this eventually just got shortened to ‘Joey’. All the other kids presumed he was called Joey and even his mother started using it, when she wasn’t referring to him as ‘fuck-wit.’

He became the butt of all the jokes by his classmates, as he was rather dense, smelly and had developed a nervous twitch, which stayed with him all his life. Well, at least until he was taken away to a distant galaxy by aliens in a later chapter!

His early nicotine addiction meant he was frequently caught smoking cigarettes behind the school canteen. This was at an age when some of the other kids didn’t even know how to strike matches.

Although he hung out with the other boys at school, he was completely alone and was only allowed to tag along so they had a scapegoat to blame whenever they were in trouble and also because they could get him to do stupid things, like the time in infant school when it was suggested that he stuff as many dried peas as he could up his nostrils during a ‘counting’ lesson. After an hour of sheer panic, the teachers still couldn’t get them all out, so he ended up in the Accident & Emergency department of Oldham Royal Infirmary, a trip he made several times before he was ten!

After school and at the weekends, the boys hung out in the schoolyard playing football, breaking windows and generally getting up to no good. Whenever they were called before the headmistress for misbehaviour, they would all instantly and without conference state, It was Joey that did it, miss!

The main leaders of this gang of five year olds were Casino and Yogi, both pseudonyms they had had from a very early age. Yogi had been jokingly nicknamed by his mum as a toddler due to his love of the cartoon character Yogi Bear. After a while he stopped answering to his actual name and as his future trademarks of stubbornness and arrogance kicked in, he refused outright to acknowledge the presence of anyone that didn’t call him Yogi, including his teachers and his parents. Rumour had it that his actual name was Ray, but nobody really remembers. This caused much confusion many years later on his death certificate after being gunned down by a police marksman during a hostage siege but again, that’s a later chapter.

Casino got his nickname after something to do with his older brothers’ Roulette game but again, it had been so long that nobody was really sure how it stuck.

Casino’s favourite trick was throwing dog turds at the other kids, especially the white crumblies that poodles produce. It was a rare occasion for Joey’s mum not to find a piece of dog shit in the hood of his coat when he got home from school at the end of the day.

Yogi’s trick was throwing farts. This involved him farting into his own cupped hand, quickly closing it so the smell was preserved, then either throwing it into people’s faces, or in class, approaching them unsuspectingly from behind and holding his hand open in their face, forcing them to taste it.

Out of desperation, Joey started knocking on neighbours’ doors asking for food. He usually asked for a jam butty, but was grateful for anything he was given. Don’t feel too sorry for him, though. Yes, there were times when he was hungry but mostly he did it because he just preferred anything other than the cornflakes and the other unimaginative meals his mother served up three times a day!

Casino and Yogi picked up on this and soon abused it.

Do you want a butty, Joey? asked casino while Yogi sniggered.

Yes please, replied Joey excitedly.

Ok but you wait here. You can’t come in my house ‘cause my mum says you stink, he said as he and Yogi ran off to get some bread. As Yogi buttered a couple of slices and put a thick layer of strawberry jam over them, Casino would go into the back yard with a knife and bring back a small piece of dog shit. After smearing it finely over the sandwich, they returned to the street and offered it to a grateful Joey, who would happily devour it, crusts and all.

Was it good? asked Yogi.

Hmm, lovely, thanks.

Well, we’ve got an endless supply if you want some more, sniggered Casino.

Over the next few years of primary school, Casino and Yogi’s sadistic streaks grew, mainly due to Joey’s gullibility. Yes, they were both definitely disturbed anyway, but having a pet mong to invent practical jokes to play on helped shape them into the sick bastards they became. Joey would watch them in fascination as their antics got increasingly extreme. He stood outside the bakery on the corner of his street one day staring into the window, drooling at the beautiful cakes. He suddenly noticed