© Sebastian Worboys R.I.PA DIALOGUE BETWEEN OPPOSING DEITIES. “I want an electromagnet in his left hand along with the Neodymium Iron Boron in his groin. That way, he won’t even have to think about it – whenever he sees a prospective mate, his body will act of its own accord.”
“That’s abusing his rights of free will and choice.”
“Perfectly acceptable within the codes of the DNA handbook. How does a bird know where to migrate? How does an elephant find water? ”
“Why not make him bisexual too, and have done with it, so that every moment on from adolescence is nothing but a struggle of restraint for the poor fellow?”
“My designs are nothing if not subtle, Ishvar, you of all should know that. Okay, over to you....”
“That’s abusing his rights of free will and choice.”
“Perfectly acceptable within the codes of the DNA handbook. How does a bird know where to migrate? How does an elephant find water? ”
“Why not make him bisexual too, and have done with it, so that every moment on from adolescence is nothing but a struggle of restraint for the poor fellow?”
“My designs are nothing if not subtle, Ishvar, you of all should know that. Okay, over to you....”
* * *
Denton had a tough time in school. No teacher succeeded where his parents had failed. Luckily for him, he wasn’t aware that his hand was always down his pants until senior school, at which point it had become more a source of amusement to his friends, rather than a crutch to himself. It was like the way you didn’t always point out to someone you know that they have something stuck between their teeth, for fear of them not being able to get it out. Or how you sometimes let smears of toothpaste or lipstick go unmentioned. It’s their problem, you sometimes think, let them fix it.
He had girls on the brain, however, Denton did, and when he became an altar boy of the church and a singer in its choir, the priest soon clamped down on his boyish ways, expelling him after he was caught snogging Gemma Sweeny in the confessional box. It was not normal to have only one hand visible most of the time. Eating, writing, typing – it didn’t matter what he was doing. But no matter what anyone said, it was all still in one ear and out the other.
His friends wondered why he even needed all the girlfriends he went through by the time he was a young adult, because he obviously enjoyed fiddling with himself immensely. What they didn’t know was how fast his other hand was on the punch bag hanging from the shed rafter back at home in his garden. His father had installed it when Denton was only 7 years old, when the problem first became apparent.
By his mid twenties, Denton had countless kids all over the borough, thanks to his supercharged sex drive. He sometimes passed single mothers who he knew bore his children and it made him feel sad because they all, understandably, wanted nothing to do with him. His life was dark, in that respect, because they had been brief flings, and nothing more.
His best companion, over the years, was that old punch bag. His right hand was so fast on that thing that his father eventually dragged him down to the nearest boxing club. In just two years of training he excelled like nobody in the history of the club before. His left hand reinvented the meaning of southpaw, because even in fights it hung carelessly close to his groin, but his right was so devastatingly quick that before he was thirty years old it was earning him professional contracts and enough money to look after each and every one of his children.
And why? Well, because God compensates, that’s why.
Because God compensates.
He had girls on the brain, however, Denton did, and when he became an altar boy of the church and a singer in its choir, the priest soon clamped down on his boyish ways, expelling him after he was caught snogging Gemma Sweeny in the confessional box. It was not normal to have only one hand visible most of the time. Eating, writing, typing – it didn’t matter what he was doing. But no matter what anyone said, it was all still in one ear and out the other.
His friends wondered why he even needed all the girlfriends he went through by the time he was a young adult, because he obviously enjoyed fiddling with himself immensely. What they didn’t know was how fast his other hand was on the punch bag hanging from the shed rafter back at home in his garden. His father had installed it when Denton was only 7 years old, when the problem first became apparent.
By his mid twenties, Denton had countless kids all over the borough, thanks to his supercharged sex drive. He sometimes passed single mothers who he knew bore his children and it made him feel sad because they all, understandably, wanted nothing to do with him. His life was dark, in that respect, because they had been brief flings, and nothing more.
His best companion, over the years, was that old punch bag. His right hand was so fast on that thing that his father eventually dragged him down to the nearest boxing club. In just two years of training he excelled like nobody in the history of the club before. His left hand reinvented the meaning of southpaw, because even in fights it hung carelessly close to his groin, but his right was so devastatingly quick that before he was thirty years old it was earning him professional contracts and enough money to look after each and every one of his children.
And why? Well, because God compensates, that’s why.
Because God compensates.
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