DENSE THING
Chapter Nineteen: I'm Going Home (to Bone)
The wind was blowing. Cherry blossom trees, brought from across the sea centuries ago, were in abundance. Their flowers drifted down in clusters, catching a stiff breeze and vaulting ahead towards the decayed buildings in the distance. Other leaves and assorted detritus from the ground joined them in great flurries. I pitied the squirrels who had no chance to collect nuts in all nature's commotion. Yet I relished this day. The crisp air which was beginning to take on the mystical properties it had at night invigorated me from within.
As I approached the wide, looming building on the hill, I heard voices that told me I wasn't alone. It wasn't until I passed the last of the decayed smaller structures that I saw their owners, three older sapphics and a young man with gauges and a septum piercing. These were the first people I had seen in almost a year. I made no attempt to engage them but instead stopped and admired the edifice they were conversing beside.
The cracked and ancient single-story was mostly brick with some cement. The corners of the building had mostly crumbled to ash but here they had been replaced with newer wooden construction by locals. The wood was painted over colorfully, with overlapping patterns and even some crude character art here and there. It didn't fit perfectly, but it was quality work and gave the place a unique charm. Over the door hung a sign advertising "Live Music + Performance". I pulled the flyer I had found last week out of my jacket pocket. The place seemed to match the crude drawing on the front.
"Hahaha wow it's been so long since I've been to one of these shows! I can't believe it!" the queer guy said excitably.
"This is literally the first place like this there's been in decades, Slayden," replied one of the sapphics, a woman with purple bangs and an Invader Zim shirt.
"Hahaha wow that's so cool!" said Slayden.
"Yeah,"
The two stared at each other intensely, Slayden's head bobbing up and down slightly in silent emphatic agreeability whilst his goth acquaintance stood perfectly still. The other sapphics and I turned our heads this way and that, taking interest in the blossoms in the air and the remarkable stitching of our rolled up pant legs.
"You wanna go in?" asked the goth.
"Not yet!" said Slayden, "Too dark!"
"Okay,"
"You're very pretty!" said Slayden.
His sapphic acquaintance nodded serenely in thoughtful agreement. Her friends flashed each other a look and walked into the venue. I decided to follow them in, hoping at least to escape the overwhelmingly powerful and off-putting sexual tension of the highly height-differentiated pair. As I stepped past the door held politely open by a sapphic woman in a maroon coat I croaked a meager "Thank you," and the wind grabbed the flyer out of my hand. In its rush to fill the dark lively room, the wind shot my flyer under a table in the corner, where the name of tonight's act could not be viewed.
"Whoops!" exclaimed the milf in the maroon coat sympathetically.
"Thanks! I mean, shit!" I said. She looked confused and unnerved and walked away. I slunk over to the bar and ordered a Moscow mule. I brought it to the nearest empty table and nestled it in both hands. The bar patrons were all chatting and flirting happily as though seasonal affective disorder was a distant memory. Meanwhile, my eyes were glued to the stage, where I examined the gold glittery curtain for any sign of movement. I brought my drink up to my lips.
"GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEGAYS!" boomed a deep voice over the PA, making me spill my drink. "THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING TO THE OPENING NIGHT OF FREDDY FUCKBEAR'S DRINKS & DRAG!"
There were cheers and general commotion. A few "Yass Qween!"s from the patrons. The milf in the red coat shouted, "Slay!" It had been years since I had heard such generic gayspeak. Wait, I thought, am I a milf now too? Shit, I think I am. A childless milf, at that.
"TO HELP US CELEBRATE OUR GRAND OPENING, WE HAVE AN ACT HERE THAT WE'RE SURE YOU'VE ALL MISSED DEARLY! THE SUBJECT OF A HUNDRED WET DREAMS AND THE MAN EVERY BOTTOM THINKS ABOUT WHEN HE'S GETTING FUCKED FROM BEHIND! HE'S HOT, HE'S KIND OF A LOT, HE'S GOING TO SHOW YOU WHAT HE'S GOT! THE ONE AND ONLY... GRAHAM COCKS!!!"
The curtain flew open to louder cheering and a burst of nostalgic music. Standing there on stage was Nash as Graham, with mustache applied, chest bound, and wearing full twunk regalia. Suddenly my heart started pounding in my chest and my cool demeanor disintegrated. I was reduced to a yearning, mewling beast.
Nash left the green room half an hour after the show. She still had gel in her hair but had changed into a white tank top and black pants with suspenders. I was still at my table, my heart still pounding and my glass still empty. Our eyes met. She ran at me and slid over the table, knocking the glass to the floor where it shattered on the concrete. She grabbed me by the waist and lifted me off the ground. I started laughing, but my eyes were watering too. She put me down and held my face between her palms. When she saw the tears she kept smiling but wiped them away with one hand while she held my hand in the other.
"C'mon, kid," she said, "Let's go home."
I nodded. She took me home and fucked me with a strapon. It was pretty nice.
As I approached the wide, looming building on the hill, I heard voices that told me I wasn't alone. It wasn't until I passed the last of the decayed smaller structures that I saw their owners, three older sapphics and a young man with gauges and a septum piercing. These were the first people I had seen in almost a year. I made no attempt to engage them but instead stopped and admired the edifice they were conversing beside.
The cracked and ancient single-story was mostly brick with some cement. The corners of the building had mostly crumbled to ash but here they had been replaced with newer wooden construction by locals. The wood was painted over colorfully, with overlapping patterns and even some crude character art here and there. It didn't fit perfectly, but it was quality work and gave the place a unique charm. Over the door hung a sign advertising "Live Music + Performance". I pulled the flyer I had found last week out of my jacket pocket. The place seemed to match the crude drawing on the front.
"Hahaha wow it's been so long since I've been to one of these shows! I can't believe it!" the queer guy said excitably.
"This is literally the first place like this there's been in decades, Slayden," replied one of the sapphics, a woman with purple bangs and an Invader Zim shirt.
"Hahaha wow that's so cool!" said Slayden.
"Yeah,"
The two stared at each other intensely, Slayden's head bobbing up and down slightly in silent emphatic agreeability whilst his goth acquaintance stood perfectly still. The other sapphics and I turned our heads this way and that, taking interest in the blossoms in the air and the remarkable stitching of our rolled up pant legs.
"You wanna go in?" asked the goth.
"Not yet!" said Slayden, "Too dark!"
"Okay,"
"You're very pretty!" said Slayden.
His sapphic acquaintance nodded serenely in thoughtful agreement. Her friends flashed each other a look and walked into the venue. I decided to follow them in, hoping at least to escape the overwhelmingly powerful and off-putting sexual tension of the highly height-differentiated pair. As I stepped past the door held politely open by a sapphic woman in a maroon coat I croaked a meager "Thank you," and the wind grabbed the flyer out of my hand. In its rush to fill the dark lively room, the wind shot my flyer under a table in the corner, where the name of tonight's act could not be viewed.
"Whoops!" exclaimed the milf in the maroon coat sympathetically.
"Thanks! I mean, shit!" I said. She looked confused and unnerved and walked away. I slunk over to the bar and ordered a Moscow mule. I brought it to the nearest empty table and nestled it in both hands. The bar patrons were all chatting and flirting happily as though seasonal affective disorder was a distant memory. Meanwhile, my eyes were glued to the stage, where I examined the gold glittery curtain for any sign of movement. I brought my drink up to my lips.
"GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEGAYS!" boomed a deep voice over the PA, making me spill my drink. "THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING TO THE OPENING NIGHT OF FREDDY FUCKBEAR'S DRINKS & DRAG!"
There were cheers and general commotion. A few "Yass Qween!"s from the patrons. The milf in the red coat shouted, "Slay!" It had been years since I had heard such generic gayspeak. Wait, I thought, am I a milf now too? Shit, I think I am. A childless milf, at that.
"TO HELP US CELEBRATE OUR GRAND OPENING, WE HAVE AN ACT HERE THAT WE'RE SURE YOU'VE ALL MISSED DEARLY! THE SUBJECT OF A HUNDRED WET DREAMS AND THE MAN EVERY BOTTOM THINKS ABOUT WHEN HE'S GETTING FUCKED FROM BEHIND! HE'S HOT, HE'S KIND OF A LOT, HE'S GOING TO SHOW YOU WHAT HE'S GOT! THE ONE AND ONLY... GRAHAM COCKS!!!"
The curtain flew open to louder cheering and a burst of nostalgic music. Standing there on stage was Nash as Graham, with mustache applied, chest bound, and wearing full twunk regalia. Suddenly my heart started pounding in my chest and my cool demeanor disintegrated. I was reduced to a yearning, mewling beast.
Nash left the green room half an hour after the show. She still had gel in her hair but had changed into a white tank top and black pants with suspenders. I was still at my table, my heart still pounding and my glass still empty. Our eyes met. She ran at me and slid over the table, knocking the glass to the floor where it shattered on the concrete. She grabbed me by the waist and lifted me off the ground. I started laughing, but my eyes were watering too. She put me down and held my face between her palms. When she saw the tears she kept smiling but wiped them away with one hand while she held my hand in the other.
"C'mon, kid," she said, "Let's go home."
I nodded. She took me home and fucked me with a strapon. It was pretty nice.
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