Chapter Five: Boys Are Choice
"We're still meeting up with Joyce and Stanley tomorrow, right?" I asked him as he slaughtered a miserable looking rodent creature by pressing X repeatedly.
"Uh, yeah I think so."
"Are you going to start working for him or are you still gonna work on that machine that smokes your weed for you? Because I like the machine and Stanley's thing seems kind of like a scam."
Michael sighed and said he didn't know. I watched as he accepted a quest to resurrect the dwarven king Ejolmir by pressing X near a drunken dwarf. As I watched Michael's character (a warrior named Chadicus who shared Michael's rugged physique) scale the ancient mountain I sipped my Moscow mule and yawned. I stretched and moved my legs off the side of the couch until my ass was on Michael's lap. His gameplay seemed hardly affected by this, even when I lazily adjusted my position again. The warmth of his lap soon had me panting lightly and when I reached for his cock King Ejolmir was soon forgotten.
Later that night Michael sat kneeling upon my belly and faced me, with the consequences of my earnest attempts to get him pregnant forming a messy line behind him. He kissed me and withdrew, pinning my shoulders down and grinning when I tried to return the favor.
"How many guys have you been with again?" I asked for the fifteenth time.
"Two," he replied, "but neither of them fucked me like that."
"But you still like women more?"
"Yeah," he said, grinning, and lifted my legs up over his shoulders. "In fact I would say I'm attracted to them exclusively."
Fuck, I thought, that's so hetero it's honestly really hot!
A few more hours later I gently slapped his ass to sleep, at which point I held him tight and marveled at the hardness of his body.
At 5pm the following day I crouched on Michael's roof and listened to The Monks on my old-school wired headphones. Some normcore boys searching through our neighborhood's rubble for scrap noticed me and started pointing. I observed this calmly as Gary Burger wailed like a dying goose in my ears. What a shame to be born in the late 21st century, to never know the joys of watching five conspicuous men with tonsures have a Guitar Freakout in Germany.
My 19X cell phone lit up with a text from Michael. He had smoked too much weed while giving his lecture on smoking weed at the university. Apparently there had been a lot of weed involved, he told me, and perhaps even some pot. He told me to go get drinks with Joyce and Stanley without him. I took my headphones off and threw them at a nearby telephone pole, where they wrapped around the wire. I waved at the normcore kids and rappelled myself off the roof as they stared up at me in the stunned silence of newborn fawns.
"It's me, your friendly neighborhood transse-" I exclaimed, and slammed my shoulder into the pole, sending me to the ground where I started my endless sprawling roll, yelping and crying through the cluster of normcore boys and flopping towards the Brewery. I slammed my back against the double doors at the entrance and collapsed on my ass, in plain view of Joyce and Stanley, as well as a cute bartender.
"I meant to do that! I was doing the roll that Sonic does! Remember Sonic?" They all shook their heads. "What I did was cool actually, not embarrassing! Hahahah! Ha?"
Nobody laughed along. The bartender pretended they had something else to do while Joyce and Stanley watched me get up, lick my bloody wounds and sit next to them at a small table near the bar.
"Are you okay?" asked Joyce.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I answered.
"Here, let me help," she said and started dabbing at me with an alcohol pad. She was younger than me by at least a couple years, with a round face and bleached blonde afro puffs. She was wearing a crop top and a jean jacket. She had black post-industrial makeup on her face, which brushed lightly against mine as she bent to dab my knee. Then she started dabbing higher and I opened my mouth to make a joke about at least buying me dinner first. But all that came out was, "Ah!"
Joyce backed off and Stanley gave me a wry smile. We ordered margaritas and the margaritas lead to nachos which soon lead to tequila shots. At first Stanley kept the conversation pretty stilted, and I had to listen to him explain his business idea to me and Joyce. It was something to do with computers, devices I hadn't been interested in ever since the boy I had a crush on in sixth grade had called the game I had programmed lame. Soon Stanley's sharp face was flushed red though, and the subject changed to music, sex, and booze.
"No, totally! I used to think Hitachi was the best there was, too, but this thing changed my life!" I shouted in Joyce's face.
"No way!" Joyce shouted, "I have to get one! Hey, let's do more tequila shots!"
"More tequila? Great idea, babe!" shouted Stanley.
"Thanks, babe!" Joyce shouted and stood up to hug her boyfriend. When she let go he held her chin and pulled her back in, kissing her lustfully. I turned and held my gaze on them for way too long, focused on the stunning contrast of their faces pressed together and unaware of my own rude staring. Their eyes opened and both of them stared back. I smiled obliviously and Joyce walked over to my chair. She stroked my hair and then yanked it back so hard it brought a tear to my eye. A switch-up for the ages, I thought in my drunken masochistic stupor. She brought her lips close to mine and then pulled her head away, causing me to jerk against her grip and cry even more. I gave Joyce a stupid grin while the bartender did their impression of Jim from The Office. We decided it was time to leave.
At the couple's apartment I let Joyce subject me to the kind of erotic torment which anti-Semites used to pretend to endure to win Oscars. After that I tried to make Stanley laugh with more Office impressions while I fucked his girlfriend. I couldn't even get the man to giggle. His excitement was evident but it did not show on his face. Josie and I collapsed in a pile of sweat sometime around 5 in the morning, and slept like babies. When I awoke that afternoon I resolved not to tell Michael about my first lesbian encounter, and tried not to feel guilty about it.