The boy with the stolen jaw

The Boy looked in the mirror, studying his jaw. He ran a finger across the smooth, sun-kissed skin that housed the defined structure. As he reached the chin, the Boy attempted to wiggle it left and right but the sturdiness of the bones and tightness of the surrounding muscles prevented such movement. The Boy’s friend looked on nervously as the Boy opened his mouth as wide as he could then slammed it shut, to the satisfactory sound of molars kissing molars.

‘My dear friend,’ said the Boy. ‘I love it.’

‘Really?!’ blurted the friend.

‘Indeed,’ said the Boy. ‘It truly is a magnificent 19th birthday gift.’

The friend punched the air.

‘Well,’ said the friend, pointing at the 27-year-old Man heaped on the floor in the corner of the room. ‘Plenty more where that came from! Anything else of his you’d like?’

The Boy watched as the sad looking Man on the floor stroked his, now, flabby, bearded jaw.

‘How about his hairline?’ said the friend.

The Boy looked at the Man, his thinning curls running further and further away from his elongated forehead.

‘Nah,’ said the Boy, sweeping his thick, wavy locks back, revealing his straight, uncompromising hairline. ‘I had that for Christmas.’

‘So you did,’ said the friend. ‘Old Man! Reveal your stomach!’

The Man lifted up his t-shirt.

The Boy and his friend laughed uncontrollably.

‘Look at all those wispy hairs!’ said the friend. ‘You can barely see his belly button!’

‘Do you want to?!’ said the Boy. ‘It’s probably filled with all sorts of junk.’

‘Yep,’ said the friend, looking closer. ‘Where does all the fluff come from?’

The Boy shrugged and flicked the Man’s stomach. ‘Do you think it will ever stop wobbling?’ he said.

‘Doubtful!’ laughed the friend, as he patted the Boy’s rock hard abs. ‘What was I thinking? How could forgot I got you that for your last birthday.’

The Boy smiled.

‘Well,’ said the friend. ‘There must be something else you want?’

The friend bent the Man’s knee and recoiled as he heard bone crunching on bone.

‘Nope,’ said the Boy, performing squats. ‘They were an Easter gift.’

The friend prodded the pimply, sagging arse of the Man.

‘Nope,’ said the boy, twerking. ‘Got that years ago. A gift for completing my GCSEs, I think.’

The friend grabbed the Man’s crooked nose, avoiding the sprouting hairs.

‘Nope,’ said the boy, fiddling with a pleasingly smooth nostril. ‘Mum and Dad gave me that for cleaning the house.’

The friend grabbed the belt of the Man, pulled his trousers and pants forward and peered inside. ‘Jesus,’ said the friend. ‘You don’t want that.’

‘No worries,’ said the Boy, rubbing his new jaw. ‘This is perfect. Shall we grab a beer?’

‘Aha!’ said the friend. ‘I’ve got it! How about his ability to handle a hangover?’

The Man’s eyes widened.

‘Perfect!’ said the Boy. ‘I’ll take it!’

The Boy and his friend high-fived as they wandered off to get absolutely smashed.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

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