Ever heard of pica, that disorder that kids get that makes them want to eat totally inappropriate things? People with pica frequently crave and consume nonfood items such as: dirt, clay, paint chips, plaster, chalk, cornstarch, laundry starch, baking soda, coffee grounds, cigarette ashes, burnt match heads, cigarette butts, feces, ice, glue, hair, buttons, paper, sand, etc.
I knew a kid, Roy, like this, except for eating, he would totally fuck everything and anything. He was a fucking machine. When little, he had to be removed from his mother's leg. All the time. God have mercy on his pets. Cats and dogs, they all ran away. I think his folks finally bought him a turtle. *shudder*.
As Roy grew older and we were all going through school and riding the bus and all that crap, we must've seen Roy fuck a hundred things. If he could fit his dick in it, he'd get himself up in there. After his turtle 'died,' he focused mainly on inanimate objects. Watermelons were a summertime favorite, in the dusk; a bunch of boys just yelling and cheering while he was on his knees in some lazy horsefly-ridden field, humping the fuck out of some watermelon we'd cut a hole in for him. I saw him fuck a Cracker-Jack box once. In class, he would just press himself hard against the underside of his desk, his face twisted in an agonized grimace, almost a smirk. No one ever accidentally left their coat lying around. There were rumors that his dick was all bruised up and had cuts, abrasions, and scars all over it. I never had the guts to look up close. I'm sure he would have let me, if I'dve asked. He certainly wasn't ashamed of his dick.
Puberty came and went and Roy grew apart from all us, not that we liked him ever, but he was sort of fun in a gross way. Anyway, with the hair and the muscles, Roy moved into his own little world which consisted of God knows what. I imagine it was porno and Twinkies. He had pretty bad acne.
After college, I saw him once on the street. He was jittery, manic. I had heard he was selling drugs, some weed, mostly prescription stuff. I could believe it. He had grown into his looks a little, maybe he'd been working out. He told me about the 'powers' of yohimbe root as we talked, standing by the courthouse (I'm a lawyer, remember?). He was totally leaning on the parking meter, humping on the parking meter. I was reminded what we used to yell in that faraway watermelon patch: