Getting Some (standard:drama, 4163 words)
Author: Bobby Zaman	Added: Jul 04 2002	Views/Reads: 3201/2146	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Sixteen year old boys grow up.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


I opted to go to Shahriar s place right away, knowing very well
something was already brewing for the evening.  It was safe to say the 
elders would gather either at the club or at Qadir Uncle s house for 
dinner and drinks, which had the potential of lasting till the sun came 
up.  It was Tuesday and the game was scheduled for Saturday. 

I showered and changed while Shahriar had his cook set the table with
freshly cooked, piping hot food.  By the time I came out to dinner he 
was dressed, cologned, hair brushed from all sides in a James Dean 
pompadour, and grinning at me like a Sheikh. 

There s a party at Partho s place, he said ladling a spoonful of dal
over his rice and passing the bowl to me.  Well, his parents are 
throwing it, but everyone s going to be there.  I told him I d bring 
you. 

He ate rapidly, slurping and sloshing his way through seconds, thirds,
and fourths.  I d eaten all day on the train, hence mother was happy, 
and I was full. 

He sprang up like he d been electrocuted as soon as he was done eating. 
I d never before seen him this anxious and energetic.  Down the stairs 
he zoomed bellowing the driver s name at the top of his voice. 

After that, said Shahriar opening the car door for me, I ll give you
your real birthday present. 

Partho s place was in Kulsi, same suburb where Qadir Uncle lived, a
twenty-minute drive from Shahriar s house, so chances were high that my 
parents, if mother s lethargy from the ride had receded, would make an 
appearance.  But these party s were different, they were big, and 
adults mingled like kids, and kids basked in the importance of acting 
like grownups.  Parents and elders usually stayed on the first floor in 
the living/dining areas, and kids gathered in places like the den or 
even bedrooms, mostly because those rooms had VCRs and enough Disney 
tapes to keep them quiet for years.  Both groups were stuck in a time 
warp which they thought would somehow be suspended in limbo forever, 
which is why to this day my mother can pinpoint the very day I stopped 
throwing tantrums for He-Man action figures, but cannot fathom what 
prompted the change, and I can t believe I m old enough for her to want 
grandchildren from me. 

Partho took us in through the back door and via the kitchen to avoid
being stopped by every adult and told how big we ve become and asked 
over and over what grade we were in.  But Partho had grown 
substantially since the year before.  He was the tallest among us with 
a wide neck sitting on his shoulders like a tree stump, dangly long 
fingers, huge feet (thirteens at least,) and a solid deep voice, while 
mine and Shahriar s cracked every three seconds being the worst 
indicator of this rebellious, unattractive, transitory period in our 
lives. 

As we made our way through the L-shaped kitchen I quickly scanned at
least a dozen cooks, servers, and drink tray bearers busily working 
away and shooting back and forth to and from the living room, and no 
sooner would one tray full of drinks leave to make the rounds, another 
huffing and puffing bearer would charge back in and stack another empty 
tray.  Partho tapped one of the bearer s shoulder and said Three beers, 
upstairs, fast, and led us up and into his split-level, independently 
air-conditioned, cabled, and state-of-the-art furnished room. 

I thought I heard him wrong, but once in his room Partho poked me in the
chest and said, You had a beer yet? Before I could answer Shahriar 
blurted out, My man here s gonna do a lot of things for the first time 
this week.   They laughed.  I felt like a squirt. 

Shahriar guzzled the beer like a Harley-riding Hell s Angel and Partho
sipped his with an air of distanced dignity, while I held on to my 
bottle without bringing it anywhere near my mouth until Shahriar 
grabbed it from me and chugged it down.  Always afraid, my jaan! Don t 
worry, aunty, (meaning my mother) won t know a thing.  Look at this 
poor guy, always the loyal son.  Well, we ll make an animal of him, won 
t we? 

I m staying in tonight, replied Partho. 

You re kidding, Shahriar dropped the bottle to the ground and draped an
arm around Partho s neck. 

Shaheena s coming over later. 

What! 

Before Shahriar could go on Partho held up a hand in front of his face. 

I know what you re going to say, Partho said putting down his beer on
the side table by his bed.  She s a beautiful and sweet girl and we 
like each other a lot. 

She s an uncle-fucker, said Shahriar. 

A silence followed during which Partho s face knotted up in a frown, and
he stood up.  That s the problem with you idiots, he said, You always 
want to act like a bunch of immature morons and think you know 
everything. 

I closed in on the confronting duo.  Shahriar, already buzzing from the
brew put a hand on my chest and said, No, it s alright Shams, stay out 
of this.   I obeyed. 

You think you re a big shot? said Shahriar getting in Partho s face. 

Maybe I am.  It s a lot better than being a loser and talking about what
I don t know about. 

You re a sixteen year old punk! And your little girlfriend is a whore. 

Partho s nostrils flared up and his face cringed with rage as he pushed
Shahriar making him stumble, stagger, and slide across the marble floor 
and stop against a wall.  I got in between and stopped Partho from 
going at him again.  He sure was a big lug of a guy at that age and I 
could feel his heart thumping madly as my hand pressed against his 
chest to hold him back. 

Stupid bastard never had a brain, Partho snarled, Just plays with his
penis all the time and makes things up about everybody.  I m sick of 
it. 

Shahriar wobbled to his feet and came at Partho.  I wheeled around and
wrapped my arms around his torso while he kicked and slipped trying to 
get at his assailant. 

Stop it! I yelled as loud as I could.  Tears were streaming down
Shahriar s eyes as his body loosened and he stopped charging. 

Damn bastard! Shahriar sniffed and growled.  Thinks he knows everything.
 Can t even throw the ball anywhere near the wicket and thinks he s 
some Kapil Dev or something. 

That s why nobody likes you, said Partho, his voice bleeding with
resentment and condescension.  The words hit Shahriar like a poisoned 
dart.  His body stiffened up and he fixed a gaze on Partho that was 
filled with disbelief, like he had just been dumped by a lover and 
couldn t believe his ears. 

Bastard! Shahriar scowled at Partho and me and walked out.  I started
after him and Partho put a hand on my shoulder from the back. 

I m sorry Shams, he said, softer, almost vulnerable.  She s a nice girl,
really and I like her very much.  I hate this town.  People talk too 
much all the time.  Besides, everybody makes mistakes, right? 

His look was so sincere and hurt that it felt like he was scrutinizing
my conscience with the strength of its betrayed pride, and the silence 
that followed while his arm slowly slid off my shoulder, betrayed the 
sanctity of Shaheena s integrity which he had defended so vehemently 
just moments ago.  It would be still another six months till I heard 
the real story, the scandal that caused ripples in the heart of 
Chittagong s elite. 

I found Shahriar sitting on the hood of his car smoking a cigarette. 

When did you start smoking and drinking? I asked.  He raised an eyebrow
and said, I m a man.  Not some whore-licking mama s boy.   He flicked 
the cigarette toward the house and yelled for his driver.  Inside there 
was laughter and clicks of glasses and inebriated voices trying to 
overpower each other.  My parents still hadn t made it around. 

Forget the car, let s go, said Shahriar and pulled me by my arm and
started walking.  We came out on the street and he flagged a rickshaw.  
Take us by the stadium, said Shahriar and the driver started pedaling. 

Everybody in school knows what Shaheena did, Shahriar mumbled under his
breath, She even got in trouble with the principal for it. 

It had been a while since I was on a rickshaw and the ride felt good. 
The night was brisk and a light breeze was rising and falling every few 
minutes.  We reached the stadium fifteen minutes later and I thought it 
looked so different at night, so dark and quiet.  We got off by a 
grassy alley between the gallery and a power plant and Shahriar paid 
the rickshaw driver. 

This is it, said Shahriar with clenched teeth and started toward the
alley.  Blood beating madly in my temples, I followed.  From the corner 
of my eye I saw that Shahriar was moving with the strides of an 
emperor, stalking the domain with a keen familiarity, a grin curving 
his mouth in the shape of a horned moon. 

We were walking fast, as though the real attraction was at the end of
the alley.  And then a whole new world unfolded.  From whoknowswhere 
women appeared like conjured spirits, of all sizes and shapes and ages. 
 They started catcalling at us.  Shahriar grunted and started chuckling 
like a kid.  I had just been served my unique birthday present by my 
friend. 

One woman got on Shahriar s tail and he turned around and grabbed her,
yet again in a motion that resembled a bearded biker more than a 
scrawny sixteen year old.  He let her go just as fast and came to me. 

Here, this one s good, he said taking me by the arm and holding me in
front of another woman, who was, it was very clear by now, a 
prostitute, as were the others, like a display.  All yours.   He 
whisked back away to his woman. 

Mine smiled at me.  I tried to make out her face in the dim spray of
light that was pouring in from a flood lamp on the other end of the 
power plant.  Shadows zigzagged and danced against the high gallery 
walls of the stadium as the other women got to work and more clients 
appeared out of thin air. 

Her smile caught me off guard.  It was the first time the opposite sex
had set eyes on me with an inviting glance, one that said it was okay 
to look back and want to touch them.  So I did.  My hands groped her 
all over like an airport security guard checking a suspicious 
passenger.  I felt calmer, but still nervous.  She led me a few steps 
back and sank to the ground.  Out went my calmness and blood rushed to 
my temples again, thereby leaving nothing for other places where this 
particular circumstance would need it to be.  My groin felt like it had 
turned to ash.  She lifted her sari and pulled me down by my shirt.  
All around me there were grunts and exclamations. 

I couldn t see her face.  She fumbled around to find the end of my belt
and pulled at it.  I perched on my knees, undid my pants, and slowly 
lowered them.  Shahriar was laughing and moaning somewhere in the 
darkness, for the lights from the power plant seemed to have faded into 
the night, leaving only touch and the occasional eyeball at close 
glance to be the sign of another presence. 

She reached down and felt around for me. 

Quick tangent: Once in the dead of winter in Chicago (many years after
above incidents) a friend and I were walking back to my car after a 
night of drinking.  Allan s bladder was rebelling.  We stopped by a 
dumpster at the mouth of an alley and he relieved himself. 

Better? I asked once we started walking again. 

Yeah.  Considering my dick was shriveled up in my kidneys. 

Back to story. 

That was the case with me that night in Chittagong on my sixteenth
birthday when my good friend Shahriar wanted to give me more than just 
a present.  As the prostitute, my first carnal encounter, patted my 
groin in search of my manhood, it was snugly introverted like a shy 
child in the presence of unknown guests. 

I tried hard to concentrate, at one point suddenly realizing what I was
actually doing.  There was a fully grown woman under me, true she was 
working, but it was a way in which I hadn t had the privilege of seeing 
the opposite sex, and after being attributed every name a pimple-faced 
fat boy could have, that too mostly by girls, I d given up even 
thinking about getting within ten feet of Eve s descendents. 

Where is it? she asked. 

I squirmed and wiggled to make contact, putting to use all the tricks I
d learned from watching porn. 

Nothing. 

The more I tried, the more my cavalry retreated.  It was a full out
mutiny. 

Do you even have one? she said and chuckled. 

Yes, I answered, like an obedient student, and thrust again. 

Nothing. 

Nothing there, said the woman and relaxed her legs around my waist. 

Damn! 

Nothing doing, child.  It s just not there and whatever you have is too
tiny to work. 

She pushed me to the side and brought her sari over her legs.  I lay
with the grass pressed against my bare ass.  It didn t occur to me to 
feel humiliated or insecure because I had nothing to compare this 
failure to.  I got to my feet and pulled up my pants and tried to play 
it off like I was Hugh Hefner having a bad day. 

I don t know what s the problem, I said straightening my shirt and
dusting the dirt and grass off my pants, It was fine couple of days 
ago.  Damn! I don t know what s wrong. 

She was long gone by the time I finished my perjured soliloquy. 

Shahriar materialized and slapped me on the back. 

My jaan, finally a man, he said and kissed me noisily on the cheek. 
Told you you d have the best fucking birthday, didn t I? 

Yeah.  I m hungry. 

Let s go celebrate with some Chinese food. 

At the restaurant Shahriar went on and about his woman. 

She did everything I told her, he said, Everything.  I made her put it
in her mouth, and rub it, and sit on it. 

My mind was also back there in the alley by the stadium, and one thought
was prodding my brain like a hot poker: what was happening inside my 
pants.  I excused myself and went to the bathroom.  I locked the door 
from the inside and took down my pants and looked my 
still-shriveled-self in the mirror.  I felt I needed to do something, 
talk to it, or make it feel better somehow. 

I cupped my hand and got some water and scrubbed myself.  The woman
flashed in my mind, her smell of pan and betel nut, and her soft thighs 
pressed against my torso, and the few minutes that she ll always claim 
in the most crucial encounter of my life. 

Shahriar was digging away at the wontons and said he d order another
round for me. 

Partho is full of bullshit, he said munching on the fried batter,
Shaheena was always the whore of the town and still is. 

What do you have against her? I asked. 

Against her? What the hell do you mean? 

If you don t like her that much just forget about her. 

Forget about her! he dropped a half eaten wonton and leaned in like an
interrogator.  You re a moron like him too? 

I m not a moron.  What did she do to you? 

This time he threw down his napkin and got to his feet. 

Am I the only sensible one here! he said and pulled out his wallet and
dropped a five-hundred taka note on the table and stomped out.  I 
watched embarrassed and became the object of many stares and glares and 
went after Shahriar. 

Why am I the only one that knows this? said Shahriar sipping a beer an
hour later as we sat in his bedroom and listened to INXS. 

Will you tell me what s the matter? I said nursing a coke. 

Shahriar looked at me in way I hadn t seen in the four years we d known
each other.  He set the beer bottle down on the floor and sat at the 
edge of his bed. 

My parents are getting divorced, he said, his voice trembling with rage
and tears. 

I know, you told me. 

Damn bastard! My jaan, I tell you it s because of her. 

Who? 

That uncle-fucking Shaheena. 

What! 

Again the disorienting look. 

My father was the uncle she fucked. 

My glass slipped out of my hands and coke spread out on the white carpet
like a giant inkblot. 

Mom and I walked in on them a month ago, said Shahriar and picked up his
beer and slowly reclined back on his pillow.  Right there, across the 
hall, in that bedroom, she was naked with my father. 

But he s such a nice guy.   Of course, leave it to me to come up with
the best clichés and the worst times.  He s always so good to me and 
all the other kids. 

That bitch ruined my life and I ll get her back for it. 

He flung the bottled across the room after downing the beer in one long
gulp and it crashed against a wall and broken pieces scattered on the 
carpet like a sprinkle of ants. 

What will you do? You re sixteen. 

I ll get her back.  That s all.  Hey, you had a good birthday, didn t
you? How was the one you had? 

She was alright. 

You re a man now.  Hah, my jaan is a full grown man. 

I guess. 

For the rest of that trip the only physical contact I had with women
other than the occasional kiss from my mother was the endless, baseless 
hugs from Qadir uncle s oldest daughter Mehreen.  I d blink and she d 
drape her arms around my ample midriff.  I didn t mind because she had 
a well-kept serpentine figure and the best looking teeth I d ever seen. 


Dhaka Club beat Chittagong club by fifty runs and the party was loud and
raucous and I filled my body with Coca Coal till I threw up in the 
swimming pool.  Shahriar didn t come and didn t answer his phone all 
night.  He came to see me off at the station, wearing the same clothes 
since our night out.  We embraced shook hands and looked forward to 
next year. 

That summer my family and I moved to Chicago and I didn t see Shahriar
again.  Last I heard his father had died of a heart attack, and no 
further word about him settling scores with Shaheena. 

Her name came back to me when I read in an online magazine that she d
married a teenage heartthrob actor, and there were some pictures of 
them on their honeymoon in Thailand.  I remembered her face.  She used 
to come to the cricket games with her parents and little sister, but I 
never actually spoke with her.  They looked happy, she very much in 
love, snuggled up against her superstar husband s chest with his bare, 
bulging arms wrapped around her waist. 

Some years later after I had my first real encounter with a woman I went
to the bathroom afterwards and stared blankly at the mirror for a long 
time.  Then I filled my cupped hand with water and vigorously scrubbed 
myself. 


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