South Africa
Part 35

This is the second part of Steve's last email to me as of March 6, 2002. The contrast between Wingnut's sleepover and what followed is nothing short of amazing. MrB

I went into a total fucking downer as soon as Wingnut left my house, and the door closed. I'm sorry, Gary, but I couldn't help that. From that moment, my day just totally fucked out.

Once Wingnut had gone, I felt ready to explode. I put on a vest and shorts, then went to the gym [hoping to release my aggro on the punching bag]. But my dad was there, hitting the bag. Pissed me off even more. I thought I was being clever when I asked my dad if he wanted to spar a bit [with me]. "Yeah, sure!" This would be my chance to fuck my dad up and get even. I was so fucking amped to see him bleed. Actually, to see anybody bleed.

I danced around a bit, using some of the stuff [technique] that Wingnut had taught me. My dad played around, jab, jab, jabbing at me. Soft punches to the arms and forearms, most of which I blocked.

I stared at his fucking face and flew a right hook, which he blocked. Then he upped me in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of me. He never said a fucking word. Neither of us spoke.

I coughed a bit, then got my breath back. We danced again. Caught my dad with a little jab on the jaw, and he bit his lip. The [sight of his] blood was cool, so I connected him there again. He just kept dancing around, and I connected him again in the same spot. His lip was a little swollen by that stage, then he let me fucking have it. His first hit snapped back my head, and I thought my teeth had gone through my jaw bone. Then his glove swung into the side of my head, rattling my teeth again. I dropped my guard cos I was so disorientated, which gave him the opportunity to smack me in the ribs.

At that point, I'd made the fatal mistake. I lost my temper. Every time I tried to get closer, I would open up [my defence] and he'd get me. The worst was an upper cut into my stomach, which sent a searing pain right down into my balls. I collapsed onto my hands and knees. I was spitting blood from a cut on my mouth. I saw one glove drop to the floor in front of my eyes as my dad pulled off his gloves. The fight was over as far as he was concerned.

"Stay the fuck here!" I demanded. "Where the fuck do you think you're going, you cunt?" I was almost crying cos I was so fucking angry... more angry with myself for showing him how fucking weak I was.

He never said a word. He picked up the gloves, and put them back on. Then he waited for me to get to my feet. I swung at him, but he hit me. I swung again, but he hit me a second time. He would wait patiently for my wild swings before hitting me until my face felt like porridge. The tears and blood were pouring down my face, and my vest was bright red. Sweat was pouring off both of us.

"C'mon," I demanded once more. "Hit me again! You fucking prick!"

Smack! Again. It was the most reaction I'd ever gotten from him, and it was the closest I could remember us ever being.

I swung another shot, and caught him on the ear, but then he lambasted me with a whole flurry of short punches to the ribs and stomach until I collapsed in a fucking heap on the floor. My whole body was in pain, and I heard him walk to the door.

"C'mon!" I yelled. "Finish the job! At least fucking say something!"

"Say what, Steve?" he asked with a look of total anger on his face. "Do you want me to tell you that the pain you're in now is just a small part of the pain we go through every fucking time you're high or pissed out of your skull? Is that what you want me to tell you? Want me to tell you that I can't speak to you because most of the time you're flying on another fucking planet? Want me to tell you how many nights your mother and I lie awake, scared that the phone is going to ring with bad news? Want me to tell you how many times I wished that we could be together but I don't know what to say to you? Wake up, boy, before you kill yourself. And what the hell was all this [sparring] in aid of?"

He'd disappeared through the door before he could hear my response. "Maybe because I love you, dad."

I rolled onto my back, and laid there, still with my gloves on, and just stared at the ceiling. If he really cared, I thought, he would've spoken to me ages ago. Scared the phone is gonna ring with bad news? He'd probably fucking celebrate. Where the fuck does he get off trying to lay the guilt trip on me? As for being together, that's a fucking joke. What we just shared [in the gym] was the most togetherness we've ever had, and I thought that was pretty cool hahahahaha! Wake up, boy, before you kill yourself? Fuck him. I'll wake him up next time we're in the gym together.

I must've laid there [on the gym floor] for hours with my mind just a jumble of fucked up images and thoughts. When I got up, I looked at the mirror, and saw that I resembled somebody who'd just stepped out of a session with Mike Tyson. My left eye was swollen closed, and seriously bruised. My vest had these kiff red patches all over from where my mouth was bleeding. My lip looked like a Michelin tire. Fuck it, dad, you worked me over good. Even my fringe hair was matted with blood. Fucking hell.

I showered, and got the blood off that had soaked through the vest onto my skin. My face was a fucking nightmare, so that sorted out any chance of my going out anywhere. From my room, I could heard my mom and dad having a go at each other about what the two of us had done. It was much later that my dad came into my room and asked me if I was OK. He made me stand so that he could check out my eye, which worried him. At least that's what he said.

Amazing what you find out. My mom told me that he used to be a junior boxing champ for his age group at school. Hahahaha! Steve, you fucked up so badly.

My dad didn't stay too long. The housekeeper came into my room to have a look at my eye, and she made me lay on the bed. Then she put some old fucking tea bags on my eye. It actually did help with the swelling quite a bit. The best was having my eyes closed, and feeling her stroke my cock into one helluva fucking erection. When that thing gets excited, it's a fucking strong looking cock. I pulled down my shorts so that she could get a good look at it. As she stroked, she forced the foreskin up to my cockhead, then stopped before I spunked her.

After the housekeeper had gone, I kept the tea bags on my eyes for a while. My body was aching all over. I used the muscles in my groin to keep my cockstand active.

I must've fallen asleep and slept for most of the day, then into the night. And now I've just written this [email to you].

The swelling in my eye has gone down quite a bit, but it still looks like a bus ran into me. :)

Sunday: Spent some time in the gym... hanging onto the chin bar and stretching my back... doing a lot of stretching on the floor, too, just to get the ache out of my muscles. My face looks fucking cool... like I stood in front of an express train.

Spent some time in the sauna as well. Found such a cool way to wank. My cock was slack, so I pulled my foreskin right back, then made an O shape with my fingers. I grabbed below the cockhead and pulled it [the foreskin] as far down as possible. The sinew underneath was as tight as a piano string. Then I let my fingers slide my foreskin up and down over the muscle. As I got harder, my cock rose to an upward angle. The precum and sweat mixed together to make a fucking brilliant lube. My jizz jetted up to my chest in sprays. Then I watched my lazy juice as it slid down my sweaty bod and collected in my pubes with the remaining sweat. Cool, huh? That tired me out, so I slept for a few more hours.

The Red Bull Downhill Extreme was on and I wanted to get to that, but fucking hell, not looking the way I was. Last year, Cody was there and it rocked.

Sunday night I went around to my bud's place - the one with the PS2 games and the horse cock. :) When I told him that my dad had beaten me up, he wanted me to lay a charge... at least until I told him that I'd started the whole thing off. When I got home, there was a message to phone Mark. It was late but I phoned him anyway. The first thing he said was that Steph had phoned him, which made me think that I was in deep shit with him again.

"She said she had a cool afternoon with you."


"She's feeling guilty about how she treated you and wanted advice from me. What is it with you guys in Cape Town?"

"All I wanted was for the two of us to get together and maybe go out sometime. Just friend shit."

"She doesn't believe you, though. Reckons she'd like that, but doesn't want to get involved in a Steve romance."

"That's all I asked her for. I never said anything about a fucking romance."

"You should try her again. She wasn't thinking when you were speaking to her."

"Yeah, well, right now I look like a train wreck."

"Fuck it, Steve. You promised [to quite the drugs]!"

"No... fuck. My dad beat the shit out of me."

"Yeah, right!"

"Serious." So I told Mark the story of sparring with my dad in the gym.

"Go, dad!"

"Yeah, well fuck him."

"When you come up here [to Joburg] I'll give you some tips [on boxing]."

"Fuck that. You'll just enjoy beating me up as well."

"That, too. So what's the matter? You're sounding lower than shark shit."

Well, that did it. The dam burst and I started to cry like a baby on the phone. "I don't know what's the matter," I sobbed. "I feel fucking depressed all the time. Fuck, Mark, I'm not handling anything very well."

"Hey, bud, just cool it for a sec. OK? If you're off the shit like you say, then it's probably because of that. Just a chemical reaction in your body or some fucking thing."

"It's this whole thing with my dad as well. My friends have all crawled into the fucking woodwork. You're a thousand miles away."

"Hey, hey, Steve. Calm the fuck down. I've been hearing from Steph that you've been in one fucking fight after another down there [in Cape Town]. Now your dad? I'll tell you what it sounds like [to me]. It sounds like you actually want people to fuck you up. You need to stop being a fucking punch bag or you're going to go fucking psycho, making yourself a victim for everyone. You need to get your fucking ass up here, and I'll teach you how to deal with any prick who wants to take you on."

"Yeah, but that'll just give you an excuse to have a go at me as well, hahahahaha!"

"Fingers says that you're supposed to be coming up here during your [school] break."

"I'd like to if you can handle that."

"I'm serious about really fucking training you [to box], Steve. I'll give you a fucking hard time if you get here, and you know I will."


"Fuck off. You know what I mean. And there's still all that sanding that you haven't finished [on the yacht] yet."

"I'll look forward to that. Thanks, man."

"For what?"

"For listening. At least you will still listen to all my bullshit."

And that's about where the call ended. I so wanted to be in control of that [phone call] but I couldn't help it [going to pieces].

I ended up pushing a guy around at school today, but backed off when a friend of his rocked up to back him up. My face is fucking painful, and I can't handle a lot more of that right now. It was the fuckwit comment he made that pissed me off, and I was going to land him one [punch]. Something about my girlfriend being too rough or some shit like that. A really lame comment that he probably meant as a joke.

This has been a fucking mammoth email, so I'm going to end it here. I've had a weekend of receiving emails as well as this morning. I suddenly feel drained with all the email stuff [coming from Cody's site]. I know that I still need to get Cody's site launched, and that's driving me crazy just knowing that it's hanging over my head right now. A lot of the emails are [asking] about when the site is going to be back up.

Your friend and the Codeman's


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 Steve Part 36