David Mackey

David Mackey has new goggles for swimming and has discovered two new things. One: When he keeps his head above the surface, begoggled or not, the light is bent through the water, creating the illusion that the feet of the person ahead of him are further away than they actually are. Two: Jessica Goldstein from across the street wears an ill fitting bathing suit and if he swims behind her when she does the breast stroke he can catch a glorious glimpse of her much desired crack.

David’s mother is telling all her friends how proud she is of her son. He’s lost so much weight since he started the swimming, she says. He’s there every day for hours on end. He’s a born again dolphin.

David Mackey heard that playing with yourself will turn you blind. He knows that’s not true. His vision is getting worse, but it has nothing to do with that. That’s nothing but an old wives tale, told to scare old husbands and old sons. Just in case, though, he doesn’t tell his mom that he can’t see the board at school anymore. He moves to the front of the class, and though his grades don’t improve his teachers praise him for the burgeoning interest in his studies.

This kind of dedication, they tell his mother, might see him getting into somewhere like Berkeley. His mother is over the moon. Did you hear that, she says to David’s father. Berkeley! His father grunts approvingly and scratches himself.

David Mackey buys a dirty magazine from a store in New York on a field trip and the next week he takes it into school and unsticks the pages to show pictures of naked girls to the other boys in his class.

David has so many friends now, says his mother. I know that being popular isn’t the most important thing, but still… They’ve all started swimming too, say the other mothers. He’s such a positive influence.

I fucking hate David Mackey, says Jessica Goldstein. The big jerk off.

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