Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

«I wish I was loved.»

His fingers hovered near the keyboard. Tits. His eyes gazed upon two glorious tits. Breasts. Gazongas. Gorgeous ones at that.

He moved the cursor over the “size” option, clicked the dropdown menu, and moved the little sharp icon over the many available options: C, double-C, D-, double-D, E, double-E, F, double-F… The standard was double-C, and those were already some of the most beautiful breasts he’d ever licked with his eyes.

He’d rarely consumed porn. Too fake. Too ugly. «Porn women ain’t real women,» he thought. They were, however, much more real than that, were they not?

He wasn’t so sure. Say, those breasts. They looked so much more natural, so much more real than any real pair he’d seen in life. Only the titillating titties of old, perhaps, could compare to those breasts, those fake tits he had in front of him on the screen. And those titties, like the fake digital beauts they’d once belonged to, were now legends. Whispers in the wind, gushes on the cock.

For all purposes, those breasts there, flickering on the screen, they were real, and they were gorgeous, and he wondered… if they would be as sweet to his touch as they were to his eyes.

He clicked on the double-D option. «Götten… mái!» His eyes almost left his skull. *Boing!* His legs moved on their own, spreading out, and his posture on the chair was stiffened, and his groin caught a fire, a burn, a truly energizing shot of masculine purpose right there, blazing in the middle of his nethers. «These… tits…!»

Yeah, the tits. Truly astounding, those melons were. «Cristo!» He was amazed by the materialness of the pair: their softness, their roundness, their hazelnut shape, the sheer touchability of their every musky inch. They seemed too good to be true—and, given his line of work… sure. A pinch of skepticism would never be unmeasured. Those were only pictures, after all, and pictures, he knew well, were the finest conduits of lies.

Still… «They look so good.» He scratched the underbelly of his chin, where a shallow, unkept beard had been growing for years. «So good!»

Unreally good. Incredibly so. It was a beauty that invited the eyes to come out and wander—and wander they did all over her body: from tits to belly, from belly to hips, from hips to legs, from legs to…

The world. It seemed that way: eyes wandering all over the world; a world that was her body, a void that was his heart. «Perhaps…» His mind went thinking before he shut it out. «Perhaps…» He wanted to have no such thoughts, no such silly temptations, and yet… «perhaps…» So went his thoughts. «Perhaps it is the world that can fill my void.»

A globe. After wandering all over the world, his eyes landed on a globe. An icon of it. A little image of a globe shining next to the Buy me now button next to the picture of that doll. His heart beat more unsteady, trapped on the edge of hope and disappointment. «Surely they wouldn’t deliver here.» He gave his thoughts a silent beat. «Would they?»

Why was he wondering that? It’s not as if he was going to buy her anyway. Just looking at her price tag made him feel poorer and caused his mind to laugh, his soul to cry, because he was so destitute—and he knew it. He tried to forget it, yes, and yet, like all poor people, he could never really do it. Every time he looked at the price tag of something, he was reminded of it. Poor, poor, poor. His dead carcass worth more than his living being. He was…

«Quiet. Quiet.» He closed his eyes and shut his mind. «Quiet.»

His eyes returned to the screen. More real than the real deal, read the sign at the top of the page. «Not joking, they aren’t.» He whistled very softly, and so did his penis. «So… hot!» He found himself rubbing one thigh against the other, mesmerized beyond his own self. «Heavens. If this is the reaction a mere picture of this woman has on me…»

Not a woman. A doll. A mere image of a doll.

Fake light. Fake warmth. Fake woman. Fake love.

Yet still… «Damn me.» He moved the cursor over the little icon on the screen. A little box appeared next to it, the text inside it in very small letters, and he had to strain his eyes to force those blurry words into a more discernible shape: Global delivery available to...

«Huh.»

What were the odds? Such an obscure company, a servicer of such a unique industry, niche within a niche, catering to his residence, his damned frigid corner of the world. «This… is a sign.»
In the options for the breast sizes, he selected the largest available, just out of curiosity. «Mother…!» The breasts, once big and beautiful, ballooned into a bloated and disproportionate volume, two abnormal blimps of unarousing tit-flesh, enough udder to scare off a bull and put its cows into unemployment, damned milkers so grotesquely billowing that they went down, down, down to the woman’s navel. Yuck.

He held no harsh judgments, though. «You find every type of taste out there.» Certainly, there were people for whom those balloons would have been not a repulsive, but a tantalizing sight. People for whom their enormity would have been a selling point, not a repellent. «You never know, you never know.» He shrugged. «There’s always something for everybody. Such are people.» He reasoned, himself very intimate to this truth. «To each… their own.»

He lowered his head and his shoulders. «People will attach to anything.» He pondered. The weight within him, deep in his belly was growing, turning uncomfortable. «People will love anything. Anything.»

Except for him.

The breasts he chose were big enough. Huge, but believably so, like breasts a real woman (albeit an extremely lucky one) would have. They seemed to be his type: huge and shapely, heavy and full. Milky and… «delicious!»

The thought of their fertility aroused him. Just looking at the doll’s nipples made him pucker his lips and gently suck in the air without notice. He wanted to eat those melons, to suckle on their bountiful milk. They looked lush, hot, and delightful to touch, never for a day dry of nectar, forever replenished with life-giving cream.

He was almost kissing the screen. So long had he spent looking at that doll that he had completely ignored the darkness that had encroached on his room, the sun diving slowly, lazily into the earth with no moon to take its place. Night had risen, yet he barely noticed it.

With a yawn and short squeaks of discomfort, he pulled back on his chair to reveal an embarrassing bulge on his briefs. Embarrassing, though, not because of the tent it formed on the fabric, but because of how small that tent was. «Oh.» At the tip of such a short, puny tent, a moist, sticky smudge grew on the fabric. «Curses.»

Was he really going to do it again? Just how many times did a regular man have to do it in a single day? «A regular man?» He pondered. «A real man? Zero.» His stomach felt heavier and his heart beat incredibly hard. It hurt like it was pushing against two heavy walls that slowly closed on it, intent on crushing it, squeezing it out of his breast. «A real man would have real women to do it with.» His eyes darted again, irresistibly, back to the woman, no, the doll on the screen. «Not this plastic fantasy.»

A fantasy he could not look away from, nonetheless. «Knuk mirh, götten!» He bit his lower lip. «These breasts… gütten mái! They’ve even got weight to them!»

Literally. He could feel their weight with his eyes. He loved how the tits arched down gently, their teardrop shape drawn naturally by gravity. Their silicon (or whatever material they were made of) made them behave just like real breasts in the real world—or at least that’s how he thought real breasts would behave.

Their fullness indicated real life: tanks immaculately designed for the rearing of many children and the comforting of many lovers. Firm and meaty. Dense and heavy. Not too solid and not too perky, nor so pointy like the breasts of women with implants. «This fake woman has breasts more real than…»

…

He needn’t complete it. He needed only to gaze.

Eyes on knockers, mouth agape, mounds of meat rubbing between his thighs, throat heaving like a starved wolf’s. Eyes wandering, wandering, wandering all over the world: from tits to belly, from belly to hips, from hips to legs, from legs to…

Oh.

A text on the screen. This beauty, it read:

… is a tall, strong, muscle-bound amazon for the fearless of heart and steely of will who love ‘em rough.

A goddess among queens, a queen among mortals, she is a natural-born leader of women and lover of men.

Endowed with mystical powers of the fertility gods, this steadfast, unwearying warrior is a match for any lad in both bed and battlefield.

An avid horse-rider and thirsty cock-rider. Are you strong enough to take on her? Nights of fire and fury await!

His head bobbed foolishly next to the screen. «Tall. Strong. Muscle-bound.» His mind browsed through the words again. Both his heart and his brain were in agreement: it was not her boobs or her height, nor her luscious hair or heavenly face that were her most attractive features. Instead, those would be her… «Muscles!»

Indeed. That woman had muscles on top of muscles, and those muscles seemed to have muscles of their own, making her stronger than any woman could ever hope to be, as well as stronger than almost any man he had ever seen.

She was no monster, though. She was much closer to a… «Valkyrie.» Indeed. She looked like the perfect embodiment of those powerful demiwarriors of the land, who guided the souls of soldiers to their final rest in the afterlife. Other folks from more distant lands, he would recall, also had their own versions of such she-heroes. «A muscle-bound amazon», he read again. Every people on his planet nurtured similar stories of such fabled warrior-lassies. Women stronger than men and mightier than gods. Women with curves and muscles. Women with the softness of an hourglass figure and the steel-hard strength of a battle-forged beast.

Masculine and feminine, all in one, both in the same. Male and female made whole. The perfect being. «Um deus.» To him, her bulking, bulging, daunting musculature didn’t detract from her femalehood. It enhanced it. «Caralho! Que linda!»

Though her shoulders were wide, her neck thick, and her hard muscles covered in very prominent, bulging veins (a sign of unmistakable virility and power), she still rocked those full and heavy breasts, very long and gorgeous legs, and a huge, round, firm ass, all bound together in a neat, feminine package by her very thin and tender waistline—thin, that is, when compared to her much wider, stronger hips.

«Que bunda!» To shoulder the heavy burden of such big muscles and massive features, her butt was fittingly enormous. Like her breasts, her cheeks were round and shapely, but also heavy and rigid as boulders. «Que bunda duríssima, meu!» So hard, in fact, they looked like not only they could withstand the direct blow of a sledgehammer, but actually shatter it.

«Now, this… this… is an ass!»

Her perfection unfolded at every glimpse, inch after inch of her glowing brighter in the dark. She was big. She was buff. She was a treasure, a rare gem, and her rareness didn’t go unnoticed by her makers, as evidenced by the glaring red text blinking incessantly next to her pictures:

Last units remaining!
Last units remaining!
Last units remaining...

Initially, he dismissed it. «Nah. Cheap trick. They’re trying to create scarcity where there is none.» Were they, though? Very few of the other dolls on sale had a similar notice. «She’s the most expensive. Of course they would be trying to nudge customers to buy her as quickly as possible.» He pulled his gaze away, yet the doll pulled it back. «This sign must be here all the time. It’s not as if there are that many people in the world attracted to a woman like this, right?» Eyes away. Eyes back. «Right?»

You never know, you never know…

The longer he tried to convince himself, the less convinced he became, and the greater grew his urge to just… buy her, have her, love her! «Oh!» Every instinct in him burned like a sun. «No, no!» He closed his eyes, shook his head, tapped on it lightly with his knuckles. «I can’t afford it! It’s so silly! It’s just so…!»

His eyes came back to her.

Last units remaining!
Last units remaining...

«Fuck!» He read her price again. «No way I’m buying her. This woman… uh, this doll…» He gulped. «She’s basically worth the same as this place!» That little apartment he’d struggled so hard, suffered so much to get.

It still felt cheap, though. Not his apartment. Her. As if the many zeroes on the price tag were still unbefitting of her size. After all…

«She’s just… so… big!» His eyes, poor eyes, always moved irresistibly back to her, time and time again, just like his tongue was pulled slowly, very slowly from his mouth just to drool on his pants. «She’s just so pretty. She’s just so… so…»

Perfect. She looked perfect for him. Perhaps something more than perfect: she looked impossible. «She shouldn’t exist.» That body type, that ideal blend of muscles and curves, of power and height, he could swear no real woman could ever look like her, not even in a dream. So flawless. So immaculate. So spotless. So… «ideal.»

The woman on the screen looked deeply into his eyes. They had a heavy, royal air of serenity on them, those pearly green eyes of hers. She wasn’t just sex and appeal, she was also authority. Confidence. Gravitas. She really had that stern tranquility to her, that silent dignity of a queen who, calm and soothing, looked at her subjects with the subtle grin of someone who was perfectly comfortable with her power and secure in her station. The exact opposite of him. «Damn.»

Suddenly, the price didn’t seem to matter all that much. Only the doubt. The nagging insecurity that he wasn’t worthy of such a piece of heaven. «What a woman. What a… god.»

Gods should not mingle with mortals, even fake, silicon gods like her. That woman felt above him. Beyond his reach. Too much a woman for too little a man. «No.» It was foolish to dream with love. Foolish to even try. «My heart…» He touched his breast. «Too many false hopes.» Better not feed it any more disappointments, lest the hopes became a poison that would curse him in his sleep. «But… but…» Wouldn’t this be a good thing?

*Click!*

His eyes glided back to the persnickety red sign: Last units remaining! Last units...!

What if it wasn’t a lie? What if she was really one of the few gods remaining? «I’ve seen this label a couple of times before.» And every time he checked back… poof! They were gone. Out of stock. «This can be the very first… and very last time…» He gulped. «That I see her.»

That doll. His woman. The woman of his dreams.

There he stayed thinking, the sign blinking, and the clock ticking. The clock waited for him to come back and be productive again. He didn’t want to. He never did. It was so common for him to stop and just… daydream. To peruse useless things on the link, to covet better, more exciting prospects in his dreams.

Daydreams for impossible realities. A life of travels. Of women. Of love. A whole new fresh start. A whole new fresh… «me.» He lowered his head, blaming himself for daring to dream again. «So many people have it so much worse than I do.» He thought. «Such a worse lot in life.» He looked around his tiny room. No mess. No pictures. No trash. No riches. No life. «I could… I could be much worse off. Yes. Much, much worse off.»

I could be worse off.
I could be worse off.
I could be worse off.

He wished this line of thinking ever brought him any comfort. If so… «I’d be the happiest man on earth.»

The powerful woman continued to stare at him, her face both the same and slightly different at every blink. With those deep, piercing eyes, she looked like she knew what was going on in his mind, almost as if she were the only one who could understand him, comfort him, help him, and nurture him in times of need.

He couldn’t find the strength to shut down his machine. No. It would’ve been like closing a door on a lover’s face. To bid goodbye to his one and only chance of a beautiful relationship. When would he ever see that beautiful face, that gorgeous body again? «She went on sale just now.» He bit his nails. «This red sign wasn’t here when I first saw her. Now…»

Blinking and blinking and blinking.

Last units remaining!
Last units remaining!
Last…

«Damn it!»

Was she really that on demand? Or had they made so very few of her?

Didn’t matter. The sign blinked all the same:

Last units remaining!
Last units…

Her face, so serene. Like a shell. He could hear the ocean in it.

He couldn’t buy her, he couldn’t send her away. Indecision!

All he could do was… run away. He got up from his seat and walked in circles around his place. It wasn’t a very long walk. His apartment was just a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living space doubling as a dining room, plus one tiny storage space opposite his bedroom. «Nothing to brag about. Nothing to be proud of.» He thought, but then changed his mind—if only a little. «Perhaps there should be some pride in here.» It was tiny, it was scant, but… «Doesn’t matter.» He smiled. «It’s home.» And it was so much more than anything he’d ever thought he would have in his life. «Calm. So calm.» He walked around the place as if it were his first time. «It’s so peaceful here.»

He stepped into the narrow balcony by the living room to take a breath. From where he stood, high atop the none, he could hear nothing but the cold and see little else but the walls of the lower buildings that surrounded him, and the calm, chill ocean in the distance, its nigh-frozen, placid surface shimmering above the rooftops and under the quiet dome of the silent north.

It was cold there, as it was cold any time of the day, any day of the year. Cold enough to chill the bones and crack the lips even on summer nights. Still, he loved it. He liked it that way.

The cold. It made him feel safe. Protected. Like a wall that shielded him from the unstable, unforgiving hotness of his past. «Minha terra…»

The sea. Slim as it was, the ocean view never failed to soothe him. The coolness of the air was a cure for his head every time it got too hot or too weary. The hums of the wind, as if mimicking the waves, were like the rhythmic tics and tocs of a metronome bringing harmony to his soul. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc…

«Fine.»

He returned to his bedroom. The amazonian goddess still waited for him. You are never going to see me again, said her eyes, and for a brief instant he even looked back, startled, as if he’d heard her voice just then, right behind him, those words laid upon his nape like warm honey.

He sat back on his desk and read her price again. «Caralho.» Ice dripped down his spine. That was no piss money. «Well…» His shoulders went lower, a bit defeated. «What else am I going to do with this money anyway?» He had worked so hard for so long, suffered so much, and lived for so little that all the money he had saved began to lose all meaning. Just paper sheets on an ever bigger, but never big enough stash. It would only be a matter of time, wouldn’t it, for all those efforts to feel like… waste?

«To think that saving money makes a lick of difference.» It didn’t. It never did, and his life was proof of it. «There’s no need to save a thing when, decade in, decade out, like clockwork, everyone’s savings will be gone.» Blasted away on another pointless war. Absconded again by worthless bankers. Confiscated once more by petty bureaucrats. Or obliterated to smithereens in one final mushroom cloud.

Pointless. All pointless. To save money, to spare a thing in such a world, it felt like hubris. Arrogance. To spit in the face of the gods. When the past was gone and the future was none, only the present could ever mean anything.

And if the present was worth something… wouldn’t that be it? Love? «Yes. Yes, it would.» The voice in his head got surprisingly strong. «I will buy myself some love.»
His muse looked softer, more inviting to his heart. Her body, though, was anything but, and he loved it for it. Her body. Oh, her body! Her tall, strong body! As if her skin itself was an armor, one meant to protect him with its endless muscles, shield him from any harm in its firm, tight embrace. «Imagine it. A hug! A hug against this tall, strong body!»

He melted on his chair. How firm, oh, how amazing it would feel! How strong and lovely her arms would be around his torso (or his neck), how tender and warm her lips would be on his shoulders, on his nape, and her hands all over his back. “Mmm…!”

*Click!* With another press of a button, he refreshed the screen. The doll still stood there, waiting for him, but the sign… «Oh!» Was it blinking faster? «Umm, no.»

Giving way to temptation, he experimented with several customization features: the style of her hairdo (long, dark, full), the varnish on her nails (blasé beige), the shape of her sex (tight, tight, tight!), the color of her eyes. «Green.» He settled for their default color, a strange conviction getting hold of his heart. «Her eyes shall be green.» Deep green eyes from a deep nature’s sin, as stunning as the core of an emerald cracked open. «They’re perfect this way. She looks…»

Absolutely beautiful. Absolutely perfect. «So… strangely real… with such peerless, deep green eyes.»

And so he made her in the likeness of his dreams. In the end, having assembled the perfect woman, the immaterial girl, all that was left for him was to hit the big, red button at the end of the page, with the words Buy me now emblazoned in it in big, blaring bold letters.

He hesitated.

He argued against it.

He wrestled with himself some more.

*Click!*

The page asked for pay. «Oh.» The small intermediate step gave him pause. «So this… is what I’ve come to.» Perhaps this was the real reason he was stalling so much: a truth. A hard truth. The hardest truth to swallow. «I am… I really am so… so…» To buy that woman, that fake, plastic love, would be to admit the one obvious, inadmissible truth: «I am undesirable.»

Truly. So undesirable only a fake love, a plastic fantasy would give him any semblance of warmth. «Oh, well.» His thoughts were cut short as he was met again by the deep, suddenly cold eyes of his lover. «It is what it is.»

It took him a good chunk of time to set the transaction. Many protocols had to be cleared, many hoops lept through. Minor issues. Petty complaints. Insignificant drivel that distracted him from the real fear in his heart: that giant leap he was about to take, that giant woman he was about to invite! «Please, gods… be gentle.» His fingers trembled as he typed row after row of cumbersome data on the screen. «I… I…!» He gulped. «I was never loved before.»

The cursor glided to another yellow button. Confirm pay.

He averted his gaze before he…

*Click*

…
…

A few seconds passed. The screen flickered.

And so he waited.

…
…
…

He kept on waiting.

…
…

The screen flashed a sign:

Authenticating...
Authenticating...
Authenticating...

One-in-five chance it would all go through without a hiccup. «If I need to make any calls, that’s it!» He crossed his arms and turned his head. «No more silly games with this silly doll.» He pretended to believe his own words as his eyes, trembling, nervously returned to the screen.

Authenticating...
Authenticating...
Authenticating...

…
…
…

Authentication complete!
Redirecting to transaction processing protocol gate.
Please stand by.

…
…

Initiating transaction processing.
Please do not disconnect.

…

Transaction processing (19)
Transaction processing (18)
Transaction processing (17)

And so he waited.

…
…
…

And waited…

Transaction processing (3)
Transaction processing (2)
Transaction processing (1)

…
…

And kept on waiting.

Transaction processing (1)
Transaction processing (1)
Transaction processing (1)

“Hmm.” His throat hurt when he swallowed. «Must be something wrong.»

Transaction processing (1)
Transaction processing (1)
Transaction processing (1)

«It’s too expensive. No way it’s going through.»

He lowered his head and smiled. His hands were warmed by his long sigh of relief.

Transaction processing (1)
Transaction processing (1)
…
…
…

Transaction complete.

«Oh.» His eyes flickered with the screen. «Oh, no.»

His love was ready for shipment.

He stood on his chair, unmoving, unblinking, not a thought in his head. It was what it was. No cause for worry. No reason to fret. «Very well, then.» Before he went away, however, and tried to forget all about that matter, for no other reason but dumb, plain curiosity, he returned to the digital store and checked again the sales page of the love he’d just bought.

The red sign was no longer blinking. Its text, instead, spelled out simply:

OUT OF STOCK.

Leaning back on his chair, he stared blankly at the white ceiling. «Maybe it was meant to be.» A little smile dawned on his lips, only to quickly disappear.

Chapter Text

Wednesday was groceries day.

At some point in the long past, he didn’t remember when, there had been a reason for him to pick that day, and only that day for buying his weekly necessities, though this reason too he no longer remembered.

Wednesdays just felt right. Perfectly spaced between the drabness of Mondays and the kookiness of Fridays. Like all good things, they stood right in the middle, the healthy cornerstone of the workweek, and on this day—Wednesday—the world felt alive, but tame. Unthreatening.

Safe. It just felt safe.

Not that he needed to expose himself to the elements so frequently, every week. Once every month would have sufficed, given that he ate very little and consumed frivolities even less often. Somewhen in the past, too, he had changed his routine from buying groceries from once every month to once every week. As with his choice of Wednesdays, the exact reason for the change eluded him, but sometimes…

… when he stood next to her…

… it all seemed a bit clearer. «She is so pretty.»

He stood idly by the door. Time slowed down whenever he was near her. «Pretty.» Perhaps it wasn’t the best word for her. «Hot!» Ah, yes. This one was.

The clerk stood quietly, peacefully behind the counter, her curly hair flowing like cascades of gold into her weary shoulders—wide, elegant, graceful shoulders brought down if not by the weight of her generous breasts, then by the sheer brunt of her boredom.

It wasn’t a perk he had considered when moving to that country. Not consciously, that is. To his tastes, women there looked so much better. Women who would be models elsewhere, in that country were usually no more than school teachers, bus drivers, street cleaners, and… convenience store clerks. «No. No!» He had to remind himself every time. «Don’t look at her. Don’t think about her. No…»

It was hard for one’s mind to not drown in such a sea of good-looking gals. In terms of beauty, competition among all the ladies seemed so stiff even the cutest of them wouldn’t think too highly of themselves, and he wouldn’t be too surprised if many of them probably faced their own loads of insecurities and rejections, thus becoming easy (or easier) targets for men with just enough flame in their hips and heft betw’n their legs to make a play for these damsels’ hearts.

Alas, he wasn’t such a man. He had no heft, he had no flame. None. «Waste.» He remembered how long it took him to simply gather enough grit and look a woman in the eyes for the first time. «Waste. Such a waste.»

The laughter and mockery that ensued taught him well the painful lesson: never look at a lady. Never address them. Never even think about them. Ever. «A waste. Just a waste.» He lowered his head and averted his gaze, then, and walked past her. «Don’t bother them. Don’t bother with them. Even less so with yourself. You’re waste. You’re just… waste.»

Even then…

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He often stopped between lanes to have another peek. After years of practice, he had become quite the expert at being a lurker without being a creep. He didn’t want to make pretty girls uncomfortable, no, but he also wouldn’t deny himself the simple pleasure of seeing them. «The sight of a pretty woman is a right.» He often recited in the sad recesses of his mind.

That girl on the counter was the night-to-the-day contrast of the one he’d just purchased, and not only because she was skin-and-bones real. She was slim and delicate, hardly weighing more than nine and a half stones, and without a drop of tomboyishness in her whole demeanor, at least at first glance.

She was an all ‘round princess, yet she still carried that humble look, that honest demeanor of someone who hadn’t had all good things of life handed to her on a silver platter—beauty notwithstanding.

She looked approachable. Down-to-earth. Human.

Human and real. Just like him.

«I wonder…»

*Sigh*

«I just… wonder…»

How much better the world would be from her point of view. Good parents, good country, great friendships, solid foundations. How would it feel to have people always smiling when they looked at you? Treating you like a human being? Showing you always the better angels of their natures? «Nice. So nice and sweet.»

A most wonderful thing it should be. A world less dry. A life less menacing. An existence where he would be safe anywhere, any day, not just on Wednesdays, and not just there, in the frigid outskirts of the earth.

Yes. It sure would be nice. It sure would be sweet.

*Drop*

*Drop*

*Drop*

One by one, he placed his things in the cart. «Maybe I’m not such a loser.» He smiled, if only briefly, as he looked at the goods. There was pasta and rice and beans with some nice sauces, and whole pounds of decent, chewable meat, even some bottles of juice imported from his native land, of all places. «Umm.» He weighed one on his hand. «This thing’s a luxury here, yet back in my land it would be cheaper than water.» Considering how hard sanitation and plumbing came around, this wasn’t just an empty hyperbole.

His land. His country. His old, bastard place…

*Blam!* He startled himself by throwing the bottle a little too hard in the cart. The sound of heavy metal wringing woke him from some nasty thoughts. Immediately, he lowered his head, afraid that some soul in that abandoned yard would notice him, and strolled away between the aisles, hoping to disappear from any imaginary gaze.

People could sense the weird and the disease in him. It was clear to anyone with the right brain: just as rich, beautiful people exuded the smell of ease and the aura of success, he oozed the stench of failure, the fetidness of inadequacy.

He didn’t resent the fact that he was made to fail and want, however. Not exactly. What truly bothered him, what ate him from his insides, was the slumber. It was the fact that failure and shame should drag on for so long! «Mother nature could take me now. And quick.» He thought, he begged, moving along the isles without picking a thing. «But mother nature isn’t merciful.» Like most mothers aren’t.

How long would he have to go on in that life? Fifty, sixty, seventy years, perhaps? Shivers. The thought of a long life was asphyxiating. «A torture.»

Indeed. It was enough to make him scream to himself, to bang his head against the walls of his apartment, never to be heard. Not that he resented this either. Never being heard. He preferred it this way, that no one heard him and no one knew of his problems. It was much better than someone knowing, but not bothering with it. Or worse: someone knowing and enjoying it.

He felt a swelling behind his eyes. «Oh.» *Ba dum! Ba dum!* He felt his heart apace, his skin ablaze, sweat steaming on his forehead. There was a slight unease of breath followed by a hazing of the sight. He shut his eyes, counted to three, ten, twenty… but the pain didn’t go away. Not this time. Not as easily as it used to. The longer he faced it, the worse it got. The last time he’d had it this bad…

…

No. No point in thinking about it.

So long ago, so far away. Back, back in his old land.

In public. It involved slurs and beating. Lots of beating.

And blood. And some broken teeth. «Por favor… por favor…»

He felt as if the world had been stolen from him and all his senses had been scrambled. Feet to the clouds, head back in hell.

In his mind, he got the image of those shelves toppling over like dominoes, all because of him and his clumsiness, his uncurable, detestable carelessness. «The manager will come.» He felt his heart swell and explode. «They’ll scream at me.» The pain and the migraine got stronger, his shivering hands gripping the rail of the cart like they wanted to tear it off and bend its iron.

You alright, mate? A voice came by his side. Almost scared the soul out of his body. You alright, mate…?

…

…

He looked around. There was no one there. “Umm.”

The place remained empty and the shelves… *Phew* They were all in place. “Oh.” He touched his forehead and felt its warmth on his sweaty palm. “Again.” That wasn’t the first time he’d heard voices. Voices where there were none.

Perhaps looking at the beautiful cashier would make him feel better.

…

…

It did. It actually did.

And it was weird. In moments like these, he usually didn’t like thinking about women. It usually brought back uncomfortable memories, and it was useless, simply useless to dream about something he knew he would never have.

That girl, however, made him feel special. Warm and sweet. Like a lover and a sister. Or a goddess who’d turned mortal just for him.

He didn’t feel too intimidated by her. Was it because she seemed poor like him? Sitting behind that counter, looking bored and hopeless, tending to that empty store to buy up a semblance of a better future, as working-class folks usually did? Or was it because she was young, but quiet, acting so beneath her looks?

You should go talk to her.

That voice. That annoying voice in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to physically expel it from his skull. «No.» He reasserted himself with his own voice. He was not to commit the same disaster, the same painful blunder… from so many years ago.

Chicken. Vermin. The voice uttered with a grin. Waste. You really are a waste.

With the swelling a little worse behind his wet, trembling eyes, he turned the cart and strolled aimlessly to the very back of the market, with nothing else to buy. The calm and the ease, so briefly returned, were now quickly faded.

His head was heavy and aching, and his heart racing to the point of pain, the pressure growing as he realized that, romantically or not, he would have to meet that girl regardless. «Come on. You’ve done this already. Many times, even.» He tried forcing a smile, being positive. A tsunami of vicious thoughts, though, bombarded him at every turn.

Vermin. Vermin. Waste. Their dreadful, careless grins…! You’re waste. Just a waste.

Maybe he shouldn’t leave. Maybe he couldn’t. He would set up camp in that store and live there like a ghost, a homeless apparition. Not that anyone would notice. Not that anyone would care. «Fuck.» The word exploded in his skull, hurt his bones with every blast. «Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.» Like a death roll inmate, he marched to the counter, trying his best to not look at his executioner.

To not look at her.

To not bother her.

To not ruin her good day, her good mood with his presence. Beauty was something too precious to be tainted by his being. This was, in a way, his only way of caring for a woman: the farther he got from one, the more invisible he made himself to her, the better.

It was a nice and fair relationship: like a vampire, silent and covert, he fed on a woman’s beauty without her noticing it, leaving her always and ever alone, thus sparing her from the smear of his glances, the disgust of acknowledging his existence. Though that girl did not know it, she made the world a much better place just by existing and being beautiful, for her abundance of blessings trickled down into his empty chalice of a human being.

«I love you.» He thought, growing a hunchback as he put the groceries on the counter. She might have been looking at him. He wouldn’t know it. «I could be feeling less stressed by not coming out here so often. But I do. I come. I leave the house. All because of you, beautiful stranger.»

He raised his head. *Phew!* She was not looking at him. Mechanically, as if the job had become one with her instincts, the woman tallied up the prices, one by one, and laid the produce carefully on the other end of the counter. «Oh.» Her eyes too, he just now noticed, were aggressively green. «Wow.» Almost two big emeralds dimming out every other light in the place. «Gorgeous.»

She barely looked at him directly, but treated him instead with the casual disinterest of a bored-out-of-her-mind teenager who had no terrible worries in her life, but no great joys either. «Here,» he pondered, «she doesn’t have to worry about a thing.»

This pondering made him feel another pinch in his heart. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how clean and tidy everything in that country was, to the point that even a mundane, desolate store in the middle of the cinder shone to him like chrome. «Nobody suffers here. It’s like paradise does exist, but it’s meant only for them.» He felt hurt, a bit resentful, and muttered something to himself.

“Sorry?” The cute clerk leaned forward. “Did you say something?”

He staggered. Deer on the road about to be run over. “Uhh… err…” He stammered his way through meager words. “N-no. Nothing.” He counted the bills and left as soon as the change was handed to him.

Sometime later… «I don’t know. I wish she, like, said something.»

Perhaps she could have asked whether she’d seen him before. Perhaps she could have commented on the fact that he bought groceries regularly there, same time, same day, every week without fail. Perhaps… perhaps… «I don’t know.»

Something. Anything.

Stupid. Selfish. He should be glad none of it happened. The best thing for the woman, indeed, was to say nothing, and he knew it very well. «Yes. But still…» It hurt. It was good, it was fair that his existence wasn’t acknowledged, but still…

It hurt. It hurt quite a lot. «Why can’t I do a bloody thing?!» He hit his head with his fists, thrashing the bags as he carried them back to his cove. «You stupid little shit!»

A lone car, rarest of sights, almost ran him over as he crossed the streets. Came out of nowhere and disappeared as if it had never existed. «Fuck.» As he landed on the other side of the street, he realized, with great sadness, that he was still alive. «Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…»

That doll couldn’t arrive soon enough.

* * *

Boobs. Breasts. Titties. Knockers. Shakers. Sucklers. Milkers. Gazongas.

He’d spent half the day looking at them, and they weren’t still half of all the mommy tanks he’d have to gaze upon until the day was dead.

He stretched out long and lazily in his chair. It could get tiresome working with the same thing all day long, day after day in the week, all four weeks of the month, for months and months on end until there were no more months left to waste. «‘Tis what I can do.» He reflected. «‘Tis all I know. I guess it could be worse. So much worse.»

Playing with pictures all day, building beautiful posters and covers and raunchy works. Many of his clients used to write speedy-pence romances to be sold abroad for peanuts a pop, and sometimes he got the occasional big fish, or had to work with such particularly nasty requests that clients were pretty much willing to pay him whatever he asked. «If not me,» he reasoned, «who?»

Not enough psychos left in the world, it seemed.

He looked at the screen and admired the sumptuous cleavages shining there. The women were all nubile beauties with overdeveloped, lactating breasts, their dresses stained by the overflowing milk, their naked figures dripping with hot, thick mommy cream. “I need you to make them all milk.” His client had specifically instructed him. “Breasts. All ‘em tits. Big tits, all lactating. The dresses almost tearing up, you know, ‘cause ‘em tits so big! Really hot. Some them, really nasty tits, huge baboongas. I want ‘em tits naked, shooting milk. Not all pictures. Some images, nasty tits covered. Some images naked, big tits free. Y’er go’it? I tell which picture which. You cover tits and you not cover tits when I tell ya, a’kay? Very fine. You can name price. I pay for first work, just one project, a‘kay, with ‘em tits out, then we see if we continue plan, a’kay?”

There were really strange, uncommon types asking for beaks all the time, but he mostly didn’t mind them, quirks and all. So long as they paid, all clients were equal. «It would be nice, though, to make money without having to work for it.»

To be born an heir. Oh, yes. That would have been the sweetest life: to be born beautiful, from a great family, attending top schools, dating all the princely girls there. To know that all the problems in life would be taken care of because he was a spoiled-as-hell golden boy of heaven, the luckiest sperm in the grand lottery of wombs. «I wish I were spoiled.» He sighed, returning to work after a long sip of bad black goo. «Life sucks when you’re not.»

The work was partially finished. To be added still was all the shine and polish. He placed a few effects on the tits, making them gleam like sweat, like droplets of morning dew on their soft, velvety skins, and then went to work on their pores, their skin tone, adding rosy bits and specks to their most delicate areas, like the cheeks of a woman blushing after a compliment, making it seem as if the ladies were especially nubile and hot, very fertile, like a princess about to be deflowered by her gallant knight, or a female baboon shaking her swollen nethers at her prospective groom.

Countless times he sucked his lips and bit them very lightly, his mouth getting drier as the hours mounted. The skirts of those nubile vixens were just short enough to give the viewers the impression they saw something they weren’t supposed to. A tantalizing window to paradise, more erotic than nudity outright.

Their hips, legs, and rears were just as he liked them: wide, thick, and meaty. Those were healthy, strong teenagers brimming with fertility, good wombs ready to produce great babies, their tight and unblemished sexes inviting big, unwieldy hammers to whack their fruitful innards full of life.

His member got softer still, as tiny and inelegant as a dried-out, shriveled shrimp, as he thought of the kinds of men who could have such young beauts on their arms. «Men who are the total opposite of me.»

His eyes swelled, and the pressure in his head got distracting, if not painful, to the point he found himself struggling to focus. As it happened, the combination of eleven nigh-unbroken hours of work and a lifetime of sexual incontinence wasn’t too great a recipe for one’s mind.

He got out of his chair, his sex making a very, very, very small tent on his loose shorts, and headed into the bathroom.

Pants down. Cock up. Hands down. Jerk, jerk, jerk…

He hated the mirror in front of him. Every time he got a glimpse of himself in it, he felt he could rip his dick out in anger. Thus, he closed his eyes, bent his head low, and tried to imagine instead the man he would have loved to see in that reflection. The man he wished he’d been born as. The man every woman would kill to have in their arms.

He felt the sweat running down his cheeks. His breath was uneven, his heart apace. His head was almost exploding and his brain nearly seeping through the cracks of his skull. “Oooh!” Eyes gently rolling. “What… what…!”

In the porn flicks of his mind, he imagined not himself, but other lads fucking his women. Big, hulking, hairy muscle-bound stallions teaching those uptight little sluts a lesson. He would imagine their orgasms and their fountains of squirt. Rows of women standing in line, waiting to be seeded by every single one of those tireless bisons.

He would imagine this one glorious, beautiful male, his body sculpted in marble, his face carrying the smile of an effortless, weightless life, fucking rows and rows (and rows and rows (and rows and rows (and rows and rows…))) of ladies, each and all to a fainting orgasm, one after the other passing out, collapsing under the sheer exhaustion and elation of the mere penetration by his giant member, his ungodly tool shattering their pearls into a gushing, quivering mess. “Oh, what…” He rolled his eyes and moaned: “What a man!”

He milked himself onto the mirror. *Splat! Splat! Splat!* Pitiful threads of translucent white goo, barely semen, more like a dick sneeze, not an ounce of the virility expected from a real specimen of his gender. He rubbed off the remains of his sex, trying to coax more of that paltry paste from whatever was left inside his flabby tool. Alas, that sad dribble was all his cold worm could muster.

When hardened, his member was only a little longer than his palm was wide. Not so much a penis as simply foreskin wrapped around a pinky. Thus, his ejaculate was suitably just as pathetic. *Splat… splat… splat…*

He watched the paste slide down on the mirror. The contrast couldn’t have been more hurtful: that slug of frustrated manhood in the mirror versus the powerful man-bull in his mind, the image of his mighty studliness fucking his harem of mares ever so vivid, burning so brightly as the bonfire of a pagan god of fertility. And next to it, the dead, wet charcoal that was his wet, drab, sad penis resting on his palm. «Eu sou tão patético.» He wanted to spit at his own image. «Tão miserável!»

He had come when he had come. And when he had come, it was not a squirt, not a dribble, but a fountain, a whole damned dam breaking loose. The beastly god roared like a lion, thundered like a bull, and his load was enough to make a woman full for the rest of her life. Like with no other man (or band of men), he had stretched her beyond the limits of even her filthiest fantasies and made her experience more pleasure in a single thrust of his stallion rod than all the pleasure she had ever felt with all lovers that had come before.

Many lovers. All losers. Every last one of them washed away by the potent torrent of her steed.

*Boooom…!*

*Blaaast…!!*

So it was seared in his mind, the picture of a giant bull in the shape of a man ejaculating oceans in the womb of his conquered lover. The ejaculation of a natural-born leader. The sexual apotheosis of a god incarnate.

And next to it, the petty little dribbling of a flabby, kiddie dick. When all was said and done and his sack felt empty like a popped-up blister, no more than a hollow and dried-out piece of skin hanging from his crotch, the boy was left with the bitter task of cleaning up his mess.

Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic. The words bounced in his skull. Though he was aware of them, he wanted not to think about them. Or about anything at all.

Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic. Ridiculous. His hand wiped the mirror, pieces of damp toilet paper clinging to the glass and sticking to his fingers.

Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive. He tried focusing on the meandering, undulating motions of his hands and arms, leaving the words back and deep within his mind, tucked away, buried low, pretending that his thoughts were never there.

Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive. Repugnant. But they were. By all gods’ mercy, they were. Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive. Repugnant. Unworthy of life!!

He came out of the bathroom, death and disease clinging to his skin like a plague, and sat again on his desk, pale skin looking ghoulish under the dead light of the screen. He took one deep breath and exhaled a long, defeated sigh. «Merda.» He was horny again. «Fuck!»

His release had given him no release. Like a castaway who drinks the salty waters of the sea, that false taste of satiety had only rendered him thirstier. «Fucking… hell!!» He beat his head. «Fucking hell in all fucking’s fuck!!» The pressure in the back of his eyes had returned, and grown so strong he needed to squint, squeeze, and scratch his face every second just to set his sights straight and his thoughts clear. «Kill me. Kill me now.»

To want to die. To kill oneself. Two different things. Different things that stressed just how… «Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless!!» He really was.

To kill oneself. That was an action. It required strength. Courage. All the more so depending on the method. Now, to die, to simply die, that was easy. People did it all the time, for it was natural, it was just as Mother intended. To die, one simply needed to be alive. That’s it, that’s all. Be alive and you will sure be dead. Someday. Somehow. But a sure thing no less.

«Die. Die. Die. Useless. Die…» One of the few mercies Mother had to offer: to just… not wake up one day. Or having never been awake in the first place. «Just… just…»

…

He stared at his own reflection in the dark corners of that screen. His cheekbones protruded grotesquely on his pale skin. «So white.» He thought, and not all of it was his fault.

That country knew no sun. Its hottest summers would pass for the worst winters back on his land, and its winters would have been apocalyptic to his people. Were they to suffer a single day of the mildest eve from that north, by the twelfth hour they would «all. Be. Dead.»

The thought brought him some comfort. It hadn’t been a nice country, after all. Oh, not a nice place at all. Yet still… «There was sun. At least the air and the skies knew a warmth that these lands don’t.» Those new, foreign lands he chose to land on. To live in the chill, so close to the white, setting foot on those frosty shores long ago… «Nature here kills, but the people don’t.» His mind drifted back to his old place. «Nature was kind there, but people weren’t.» Was there any place, anywhere in the world where the two would meet? Good people and gentle nature?

He wouldn’t know. He wasn’t in the business of knowing. What he did know, and what anyone with common sense knew, was that the opposite—terrible nature and terrible people—far and wide abounded. That country, that inhospitable land at the top of earth’s dried-out skull was living witness to this very horror.

Hell is Mother. Paradise, a fantasy. “La paz es plena cuando la panza es llena.” So went a saying from his land. «Life is cool when the belly’s full. It’s only in times of strife and hardship that we see the true character of man.» Correct. He didn’t object to that. However… «The opposite can be just as right.»

It was also easy to make peace without the strength to lift a sword. When poverty was so overwhelming and there was nowhere to escape it, you got peace. A crooked sort of peace, yes, but peace no less. The peace of immiseration. The dead, sickly peace of exhaustion by starvation. “Pacce Mortum.”

That continent had gotten lucky. Its deathly peace was, to his eyes, better than the immiserated slavery that his people got. «The life of a slave that almost was my fate.»

Through trial and failure, he had drifted up there, in the continent of the dead, as close to the white as humans could get without turning feral or mad, carried only by an adamant, irrational insistence on living, or perhaps by the lack of guts to embrace self-annihilation.

To die is normal. To kill oneself is brave. «I’m neither normal nor brave.»

A mongrel. That’s what he was. A mongrel’s death. That would be his fate.

It was so kind of that land (or so desperate) to take him after he’d failed to settle on every other place, washing ashore, then, at the very edge of the planet, where the scraps of civilization fell like rapids into the void. «The only place to take me. The only place where I’m worth living.» A crumb of humanity suitable for the scrap of a human being he’d become.

“Oh…” He took a long, chill sigh. Could’ve been worse.

Yes. It could have been worse.

Moved by a sudden and strange urge he couldn’t quite explain, he lowered his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. «Darn it.» He could count the ribs on his chest. «Eat more. Need to eat more.» On most days, however, his lips only knew the taste of black poison. «Perhaps… if I eat more…?» Would he somehow fix that general gracelessness of his form?

Doubtful. He wasn’t tall, and by no means he would ever be considered handsome. Cute? Maybe, but even for most folks this would’ve been to spit on the face of generosity. He had a pathetically oblong face with very flat features, like a huge tapeworm stomped by a boot on a sidewalk. His lips were so thin that his mouth, when shut, looked like a line cut with a razor on a piece of stretched-out rubber. He often looked like the sketch of a human being, and the gods, when making him, were like children trying to draw a person from memory.

«What person would be drawn to me?» He reached out to the light and touched the screen of his machine. «What women but the fake ones… here?» He leaned ever closer, wishing to lick the ladies through the pixels. «No.» The sooner he was finished with that work, the sooner his thirst would be quenched. Or so he hoped. «Work. Yes. Gotta work instead.»

Rubbing his feeble thighs against one another, squishing the feebler worm between their meat, he went back to adding the steamy shine and polish to those fake, illustrated ladies, making them little by little more untouchable, more incredible, more impossible with every brush, sketch, and click. By the end of his toil, the night was high and the mug was dry. His stomach growled and churned in demand of something good. Or something solid at all.

*Grooowl!*

He cursed his belly as he reviewed each of the works. All good. All beautiful. All glorious pictures of porn that he was sure would sell beautifully. There was a gleam of pride in his heart, a speck of emotion like the one he had felt when he first began working, so many years ago. It was an accidental craft born out of desperation rather than inspiration, sure, but it made him all of the shekels he needed, all the coin that would’ve kept him from death, or worse, impoverishment.

It could have been worse. A long sigh. It could have been… worse.

It had been by sheer, idiotic luck that he’d landed his first contracts, his first paying gents, making him realize that, no, maybe he wasn’t so entirely useless, and no, his future wasn’t all used up. As birds of a feather do, he was allowed to build a whole new trade atop people’s sexual incontinence. His entire being, a man’s whole life founded upon mankind’s uncouth yearning to screw.

Though he was a loner, and though he was a crooked fuck, a mentally disfigured twat with as much social grace as a bat in daylight, he was not, despite everything everyone had ever told him, an absolute zero.

No. He was zero point something. A filthy, smutty something finding solitude, if not peace on the edge of humanity’s ash heap.

He both hated and pitied them. His clients. And his people. They were not guilty of the rottenness of their souls, but no amount of pity or compassionate insight helped ease the pain of all they had done to him.

Back in his land. Back in his youth.

From the day he was born to the day he would die, he would have to wear those iron thorns in his mind. His body would grow weary and weak, but the thorns would remain the same size, the same weight, if not heavier and tighter with age, squeezing his thoughts and bending his will until it creaked and splintered, sending him into a final fit of rage and, hopefully, an early grave.

*Click!* He pressed a button on the screen. «Done.» With a long sigh, he leaned back on his chair, thinking that maybe now he could, well, he should relax a bit.

No. Another mind within his mind interjected. You need money. He cursed those words, but obeyed them as always. «Fuck. Merda!» With another long and dreary sigh, he moved on to another work from another contract instead.

Money. Yes. Doe. It was money that had allowed him to escape his wretched place and purchase that little piece of crooked heaven. The nature of his work, irregular, unpredictable, independent and undependable, was as unforgiving as it could be, on occasion, quite fulfilling. Some days you made bank, some days the bank made you.

He both envied and despised the stability of more formal professions, whose laborers never had to worry (too much) about their next paycheck, which was always sure to land, as regular as the cold, the week ahead or the month to come, but who in turn ended up tame, nothing but shy and compliant golems to their uncaring, faceless masters.

Shy, compliant, and often evil. To protect their beloved paychecks, to safeguard their much-needed stability, these sheepish, impish blokes were always willing to steal, slander, batter, and kill, and always eager to elevate to power other like-minded blokes who would steal, slander, batter, and kill in their stead. All to secure their checks. All to shelter the salaries that, in turn, sheltered them from the vagarities of life. The banal monstrosity of small-minded drones. The slovenly evil of petty bureaucrats.

There’s nothing more sad and pitiful than a corporate man, or any man beholden to a formal institution and a stable, unchallenging profession. Their dwellings were the anti-habitat of humans: the white walls of air-conditioned buildings, the thumping of fingers on a keyboard, the occasional boorish chat by the kleidam, the perfunctory sneeze of a coworker, the mortifying humming and buzzing of blindfolded productivity.

He envied their perks and dreaded their leash. A good salary, nice prospects, a sensible dental plan, but not those detestable office blocks where they would invariably rot away in virtual sheets, moving what little money remained in the world from here to there and there to here, working for the fat profits of dismissive lords and uninspired masters, mere engines to power the easy, unmerited luxuries of their thieving lords—lords whose blessings their own gorgeous sons and beautiful daughters were sure to inherit, mind and body, blood and purses, growing rich and tall, noble and lazy, dapper and spoiled.

The varóns to end up real studs meant to screw, conquer, and marry only the finest princesses, the vacas of the world, breeding yet more dismissive lords and uncaring masters for humanity, and unraveling further the endless thread of injustice, the inescapable destiny of inequality that kept poor blokes like him on the mud. Or worse, in the cubicle.

Sons of prosperity, heirs to happiness. How detestable was to see them, how wonderful would it be to be them!

“Ouch!” He had drawn blood from his lips. “Ouch, ouch… fuck.” While he dreamed of better rolls of the dice, he read his next assignment on the screen. «Oh, for the love of fuck.» He rolled his eyes hard enough to feel them touching the sky of his skull. Each of the pictures he was required to assemble would feature a damsel in the strong arms of a dark, thick, shirtless, muscle-bound, long-maned hero. «No. Not this.» His eyes crashed back on the screen. «Not this again!»

As tantalizing as the women were, they were not what pulled his eyes and stole his gaze so deeply this time. «Caralho! Mas que… mas que…!» It was the men. «Mas que cavalo gostoso, porra!»

He licked his lips, smacked them loud. *Pop!* As he laid his eyes on the hard bodies of those studs, his penis was resurrected. The sight of those males was just as arousing as the not-naked-but-still-very-naked virgins they held in their arms. And painful. The aggressive muscles of those man-shaped stallions, whose pants bulged ao enormously around their crotches, reminded him of a virility he would never possess. Their legs were built like those columns of the hellenic temples, their torsos wide and massive and powerful as walls, their pectorals so enormous a single half of them would be wider than his entire chest.

He admired their six, often eight, rarely even ten slabs of gorgeous abdominal muscles, the shiny, lustrous hairs that adorned their chests, and the beautiful dark manes that flowed like divine waterfalls from their heads and onto their mighty shoulders, as well as the vast, well-kept beards on their sharp, chiseled jaws. «Fuuuck!»

The burning in his loins stopped being funny. It became something… searing. His balls, tiny within his shriveled sack, shivered and stirred an intense wobbling in his sapless member, causing him to pant and heave like a female himself. A female in heat.

“Aaaah…” He moaned. He called out for his bull. “Mas que inferno!”

In heat and haste, he picked up the machine from his desk and ran—not just walked, ran—back to the bathroom. The mirror glass was still foggy from his previous session of self-love. «No… gods… no!» He shut the door, laid the machine down on the sink, and lowered his trousers to ferociously pork himself to the images of those powerful stallions.

He closed his eyes and moaned. Oh, he moaned, moaned, moaned under the sultry grace of those portraits of obscene masculinity, in love and heat with the abundance of meat and muscles, all the manhood of those larger-than-life, stupendously-bred, beautiful bodies.

It wasn’t the prospect of nudity, but the sheer sturdiness of their frames that set his cock and soul ablaze. The firmness of their gazes, oh, the steely authority of their beings achieving respect without a word! “Fuck… oh, fuck!” The perfection of their physiques, living statues from dark marble contrasting aggressively, almost insultingly to his own flabby frailty. “Caralho! Ai! Aiii!!”

The thought of himself, puny boy, being taken by those gorgeous studs, chained down to the bed by nothing but their powerful arms, whipped in the legs, the back, the ass by no more than their mighty, naked hands, lock-n-choked around his neck by their swollen biceps, sinfully sodomized, split apart, made two by the colossal columns that swayed and swung so heavily between their girthy legs…! “Aaaii, caralho! Cristo! Oh, cristoooo!!” They brought him over the edge quicker than any woman ever had. “Aii, aii, aiii…!!”

By some sadistic twist of his soul, he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of himself, of his ghastly, grisly body in the mirror. “No!” His breath died down and his dick died out with it. “No!!” His sight went blurry as they got wet, himself mumbling and trembling as he leaned with an arm pathetically on the glass. «Merda, merda, merda. Caralho!»

In that briefest, but damnest of peeks, his eyes were met with the spectral remains of his reflection, his grim and ghostly appearance illustrating so well the unbridgeable chasm between him and those godly studs. «Que… patético!»

Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive. Repugnant.
Unworthy! Unworthy! Unworthy of living!

He felt the urge to spit on his own image, to make a clone of himself and club it to death. «Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive…»

…

Was that what they felt when they saw him? Long ago? «The people from my land? My neighbors. My…» He gulped. «My mother?» His drool oozed like venom, burning like acid in his throat. «Was this what they felt? This great disgust, this uncontrollable rage?»

His fist was clenched. He would have thrown a punch on the glass if the glow of the screen hadn’t caught his attention first. «Oh…» His man was still there. His steely eyes, though wrapped like his arms around the woman’s frame, were somehow also staring at his, as if the man’s presence was so big, his greatness so abundant and ever-flowing, that even a failed, weaselly being like him would be graced by it, encompassed by that god’s generous soul. «Oh…»

Without realizing it, he moved his fingers to the screen and touched the hair of that gorgeous man. «Oh!» He had cuddled him as a woman would, and his body felt the same rush of flame, the same shot of energy any woman would feel. «Is this… oh!» He gulped, gazing upon that stud’s massive being, that man’s outrageously muscular frame.

The godly male was so obscenely hung that even when wearing briefs one could see the clear outline of his bloated testicles behind his member. «Is this… it?» He gasped and moaned. The fact that the bulge of that beast was clearly soft only made it more imposing. «Is this what a real man looks like?» He’d never seen one in real life to compare. «God. God.» His fingers moved closer… and closer… to the screen. «What a fucking… god!»

Just like a god, that man breathed life into him: his penis grew hard again, his body hot once more. He ran his fingers across the screen, imagining the touch on that firm, rock-hard male, and wished, for a moment, that he was such a male. «No. Just no. Wasn’t meant to be.» Instead, more realistically, he imagined himself being dominated, roughened up, beaten, and done raw by that powerful minotaur, that tireless and tirelessly fertile bull of god.

The shallowness of his seed couldn’t compare to the scorching, heavy porridge the stud was sure to unload in his guts, to the massive buckets he would easily gush on the tight privates of his countless mistresses. “A man like this…” He moaned, touching his own pecs, pinching, pulling, and twisting his own nipples. “Must ejaculate like a fucking god!” A ferocious hose!

*Squeek!*

*Squeek!*

*Squeek-squeek-squeek-squeek-squeek-squeek…!*

Minutes and minutes went by, countless and uncountable, as he imagined himself being demeaned and humiliated, manhandled and subjugated by that manly animal in all sorts and manners of depravity. His dick, flimsy as it was, told him no lies: he had more pleasure imagining that man plowing him with his superior penis, or humiliating and derogating him before his own harem of fertile females, than he did by imagining himself doing the deed, or trying to measure up and become a man of similar disposition, laying those women by his own will and volition. “Fuuuck…!!”

Tried as he might, he could never push his imagination to such ridiculous heights. Whenever pictured himself as a better man, a richer stud, a prince of finer breeding and brighter prospects, those rough, coarse males would crash into his thoughts and steal even his imaginary women in his dreams, taking them to their bedchambers to lay them over and over again until they were left wet and quivery from the stallion’s tools inside their gushy womanhoods. “Fuck!!” He would hear these women’s cries and moans, and get even harder with them. “Hell…”

He didn’t know how success felt. His life had been so devoid of victory, so bereft of things worth bragging that any notion of braggadocio came down to mere dictionary definitions. Meaning without feeling. All theory, no practice. «I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be good at something. To feel good at all.»

Even in his fantasies, he came out the loser. Even in his dreams, he remained a virgin. He could change his fantasies, play with them, concoct as many incredible scenarios as he wished, each as fantastical as he could make them, yet the fantasies, the dreams, all his fanciful reveries, like pendulums, inevitably swung back to the same lame state.

He would watch as the rival male took his own dream girl to bed, mocked him as he brought her to ever greater heights of pleasure, her body twitching, her eyes rolling, her voice crying and moaning as he drilled orgasm after squirting orgasm out of her battered pussy.

And it didn’t end there. It never did. After the woman was left conquered and wrecked and ruined on the bed, the male would then withdraw his gorgeous pipe from her wonderland and proceeded to fondle it with his two thick, hairy hands. As the damsel still panted and wailed and slowly recovered her breath, the muscular steed would turn to him and demand. “Why don’t you feed your girlfriend a real man’s cock, huh?”

And the boy, the sad, pathetic, and disgusting boy, with tears in his eyes, would crawl to him on his knees, yelping like a puppy, and hold that massive bat as carefully and respectfully as he could, its throbbing balls massaging his own knuckles with their potent thumps, all under the approving gaze of his satisfied master. “Good pup.” The mighty man would fondle his cheeks. “Now, put it where it belongs.”

With gentle nudges from his huge, hairy hands, the boy would guide the member gently back into his girlfriend’s quim, stretching her loudly with the sheer girth of that monstrous manhood. «Zie… die… götten!» He would think and she would moan, his breath echoing unevenly in the bathroom. «His head alone is bigger than my fist!» In the end, with many inches always left outside (lest the bull wanted to kill the poor gal), the stallion would fuck her body, mind, and soul senseless for another hour or four, drawing from her so many climaxes that the poor little thing wouldn’t know what’d hit her when it was all said and done.

She yelped, screamed, moaned, quaked, and fainted more times than anyone could count, and the little man, both within the dream and out in his bathroom, would come quick and hard by watching that superior male in action. “Aiii… aiii, cristo!!”

*Rub-rub-rub-rub-rub-rub-rub…!*

The fire rising. The pressure painting his mind red.

One deep breath. His eyes gone blind, his ears deaf.

Rubbing and rubbing and rubbing… until…

“Ooorh!!!”

…

…

*Squirt-squirt… pilf.* His baton sang a noteless song. No wonder. After all the previous sessions, his bowls were probably as dry as the cerrado. The very opposite, of course, of the raging stallion in his dreams, who would unload like twenty men inside his woman each time.

Barrenness of balls aside, the pleasure of that nut was noticeable and sublime, and he found himself fumbling his own buttocks, teasing his little ring with his index as he descended from the ecstasy and opened his eyes, seeing himself again rather anticlimactically in the same dark, dreary bathroom, facing a mirror still smudged by the half-wiped remains of his previous load.

The machine shone on his frail body, its screen dimmed after many minutes of inactivity. “What a man.” He muttered softly, and then more aloud. “What a man.”

He shut the computer quietly, every motion a testament to his defeat, and returned to his desk like a captured soldier being paraded in chains on the ample roads of the victorious nation, living spoils to the studly victor. «Fuck.» He thought. «That’s, what, six… seven nuts in a day?» He wasn’t counting. He was afraid of the shame the real number would bring.

Not that he even liked the habit. No. To be perfectly frank, he was revulsed by it, he knew it was poisonous to both mind and soul. What else could he do, though? In the lack of options, it was the only thing that kept him alive, if not sane.

«Fukken idiote!» No matter how many times he’d done it… he still did not feel sated! «You rotten piece of s-!»

*Blip!* His machine sang a pleasant tune as it woke up. On its screen, the erotic image of that man dominating the busty damsel kept shining upon him. His wide shoulders and thick arms enfolded the princess like the walls of an ancient city. The sight of his exposed, muscular back, the protruding slabs of muscle along his impossibly wide frame… oh. «Oh, no.» It got his member twitchy again. «Fuck, no. No. No!»

…

By the end of that shift, some hours past moonfall, he had relieved himself time and time again in his seat, many times with his pants still on, making a mess of his hands, his chair, and his life. «I fucking hate myself.»

Change clothes.

Clean the bathroom.

Go to bed and die. «Fuck me. Kill me. Drag me down to hell.» He jumped on the black and sank on the sheets with his head heavy, his eyes still aching, and his brain begging for release. «That doll… that love…» He thought to himself, holding back the flood in his eyes, waiting to die. «Someone… anyone…!»

Flashes from the past: the doll, the clerk, the people from his land, all the cruel folks who kicked him and begged him to die.

«Please…!» The flood was too great. It deluged here and there in some lonely, frosty tears. «Please somebody come and fix me!»

So darkness took pity on him and led him to a little death.

Chapter Text

He woke up to a buzzard several days later. “Uh… hi, hey…” He yawned as he picked up the phone in his living room. “Umm, good… uh, good morning.”

“Oh, hey. Hi! Good evening, actually.” There was the sound of papers being shuffled. “This is, uh… seventeen, seventy-nine, am I right?”

“Seventeen… seventy… umm…” He rubbed his face, still groggy and a little red with tears.

“Seventeen, seventy-nine, right? Your apartment, I mean.”

“Ah, yes.” He nodded, even though he wasn’t seen. “Yes, it’s… uh, it’s correct.”

“Very good. Well, there’s…” He noticed a slight crack in the speaker’s voice. “There’s a package here for you.” A curious pause followed. “A big one. Anyone ‘ma pick it up?”

He felt a tightening on his chest, his heart playing hopscotch. “Umm… uh…”

…

…

“Hello?”

The jolly voice slapped him back to the earth. “B-b-be…” He cleared his throat. “Be right back. I mean… right down. I’ll be, uh, right down in just a minute.”

“Jolly-doo!”

The phone was hung. He could count his heartbeats on his fingertips. Asphyxiating! «She…!»

No. No time to think. He headed to the door, each step getting longer as his legs grew wearier and gut heavier. «It’s so soon!» His heart rang like an alarm clock in his brain. «She can’t be here already!»

His hand. Cold. His fingers frozen on the doorknob, melding with its cold metal. In his guts, he felt the same fear whenever he had to make eye contact with a girl and… *Gulp!* Talk to her! «No. I can’t. I just… can’t.»

*Bleeeeeep!* Another buzz. *Bleeeeeep!* The ringing of that phone was like a spear through the ears.

“Uh… y-yes?”

On the other end, he could hear fingers thumping. “Sir, are you coming?”

“Umm, err…” He looked at an imaginary clock atop the door. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I, uh…”

Do not look for an excuse.

Do not try and make yourself sound even more of an idiot than you already are!

“R-right now. I’m going down, uh… right about now.”

Right about now!

…

…

He was shaking as he stood in the middle of the lobby of his massive building. The white on its walls was made more oppressive by their sprawling length and dizzying height. Thankfully, a young, jovial face appeared in front of him, its easy smile bidding him welcome and giving those walls, that enormous hall some color and warmth. “Ah, good evening!” The smile morphed into a tall, happy face. “Seventeen, seventy-nine, am I right?”

Clumsily and awkwardly, he tried smiling back, or at least giving the man a timid nod. “Hmm.” With his heart in his throat, he knew that he had to say more than just hmm. “Yes. Yes, I… uh, I’m from the unit.”

With movements as fluid as nature, the young concierge shuffled some papers under his counter. “Big boy’s for ya.” He pointed forward, over the boy’s shoulder.

“Oh?”

He looked back. Only then did he notice, with a little startle, the giant wooden crate that was resting against the wall behind him, a light brown monolith as conspicuous in that hall as a lynx on a baby’s crib. “Oh! Oh, yes, uh…” He could barely look the young man in the eyes, as pleasing and soothing as those big, blue eyes were. “I guess this one’s mine.”

“‘Tis alright, ‘tis all great.” He slid some papers to him over the counter. “Now, I need your name here and here… and, uh, here and here too. Two copies, alright? All for record keeping.”

…

…

He ignored the man. Or rather, he didn’t quite listen to him. The box, once neglected, was now all he could see. «Big!» He thought, his limbs shivering for no reason. «It’s so… big!» So much larger than he expected. «Dear gods!» He gulped, feeling an unexpected tingling betw’n’is legs. «How big is she?»

“Um, sir. Sir?” He was called again to reality. “Sir!”

“Uh, oh… sorry! Y-you were saying?”

“Your signature.” The young man tapped on the papers. “I need them, alright?”

“Oh. Right.” Hastily, he took his pen. “Sorry.” He focused on not letting his hands shake too much as he scribbled four barely legible signatures on the sheets. As he did, two elderly ladies walked by, then balked at the sight of that grotesque container in the room.

“Ah, hallo, missen Olsen! Gët’midtag, missen Svensson!” The young lad—and he was, indeed, quite young, a teen scarcely older than twenty—greeted the two still-faced ladies with his iceberg-melting grin.

The two strangers just stayed there, standing still, doing nothing but staring at the box, then at the boy signing the papers, then whispering something to each other before finally, slowly leaving the hall. «F-fuck!» His last signature looked so much more hideous than the previous three. «There’s no way to be discreet with something so big, is there?»

The young lad also watched him with a rather amused look in his eyes, as if witnessing a wild, yet harmless rare animal out of its habitat. “Sooo…” Once again, his voice rescued the resident from his thoughts. “Guess you’re going to need help with this one, eh? That thing looks heavy. I’m feeling charitable today, so let me…”

“No.” He cleared his throat, took a deep breath. “I mean, uh… no, I’m fine, uh, thank… umm, thank you. V-very much, thank you.”

The lad stopped. “You sure?” He cast a long, silent gaze upon the boy, sizing him up from head to toe. “I do think you will need my help.”

“No. No help.”

…

…

“You really sure about this?”

“Yes. I… uh, am sure.”

“Doesn’t sound too sure to me, to be honest.”

“Well…” He straightened his back, tried to look like a man in charge of his own destiny. “As a matter of fact, I am.” He gave him a gentle bow. “Thank you, uh, for the offer, though.”

“Oh, welle.” He shrugged. “You are gonna need this, though.” He rolled a dolly cart around the counter.

“Uh, oh…” The boy mumbled some awkward, half-hearted thank-yous, his lips and tongue making barely discernible words, only grunts and grumbles that somewhat conveyed his emotions, much like an animal. “Well, uh… thanks. Again.”

“Hey, suit yourself.” Keeping a close eye on the resident, the lad moved back to his station. “If you need something, I’ll be here to help.”

“Uh, oh… well…” He looked at him. It was the longest he had made eye contact with anyone. “Thanks.”

His heart felt elevated. It was a pleasant, fleeting chill until he actually tried to move the crater. «Oh, häellen!» He cursed. «How… how do I move this thing?» He had to gulp and swallow his soul as the crater loomed so large before him, not much shorter or less imposing than the walls it rested on. «She’s big!» He pinched himself in his mind. «She didn’t look so huge on the screen.»

The doorboy watched him amusedly as his puny self tried in vain to place the lower pane of the box on the forks, failing to lift it even a single twip above the ground. “Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

Minutes upon minutes on end, the sweat began raining down from his forehead on his cheeks and chin, eventually turning his white shirt brown and gluing its cloth to his needle-like body. “N-no. I mean…” He tried to speak, but the air in his chest was searing hot, his lungs themselves turned to a smelter. “No. N-no help… -t-thanks.”

“You ain’t an ant.”

He stopped and looked back. “What?”

“You’re not an ant.” He seemed to savor the puzzled look on the guy’s face. “You cannot carry objects fifty times your body weight, I mean.” He sized him up head-to-toe again. “Or a hundred times, in your case.”

“Oh, well, you…”

*Wrooom!*

He covered his mouth. What insignificant progress he had made was undone as he got distracted and let the crater fall back against the wall. *Boom!*

“Oh, fuck me, god!”

“Just let me lend you a hand, comrade.”

“Oh, please, no, there’s… there’s no need to…”

He stopped. His and that young man’s eyes met. And embraced. “There’s…” His voice shivered. He didn’t know it, but in his eyes there was something of a shimmer. “There’s no need to…”

The man too had stopped. He probably thought the whole situation was too silly—this was clear from his face alone—yet still he took the time to listen to that weird fellow.

“I… I…” His thoughts shut his voice. Too much noise up there in his skull. «Why not? Why not let him help me?» In the cacophony of sounds, he took a serious look at his mind and pondered. «Why am I so afraid of him?»

Alas, as he was often prone to forget, time did not seem to stop or slow down whenever his speech did. “Hey?” The gentleman’s voice woke him up again. “Are you okay?”

Sudden question, quick reply: “Oh, uh… yes.” He straightened up and… smiled. He truly did smile, and tried looking as normal as he could. “I guess, umm…” He pointed at the humongous box. “Took my breath away, this huge fucki-, umm, this huge freaking thing.”

“Wunderkein!” The young man smiled back, himself too looking more relaxed. “Come. Let me help you, will ya?”

Though he winced slightly, he accepted the man’s presence in his space, allowing him to get much closer than any stranger had been… probably ever.

He saw him grip the edges of the box and try to nudge it off the wall. The lad was of excellent disposition, and his body, though slim, seemed capable of silent feats of unassuming strength.

Alas, not there. “Holy…!!” Not even the lad, as much taller and physically fitter as he looked, was prepared for the sheer weight of that container. “What in Hel did you order? A bear?”

“I… I-I…”

As he tried to answer, stammering his way through some comprehensible sentences, he couldn’t stop giving that man a very intense, focused stare.

The lad’s face was truly beautiful.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry? Sorry for what? “Let… l-let me, uh… help you too with this.”

“Yeah. Much appreciated. I think only the both of us can make any progress with this thing.” The lively chap cracked his neck, rubbed his shoulders to disperse the heat and acid in them. “Heiße! I need to go back to lifting stones. And here was I thinking I looked like some hot shit or something.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, don’t mind me. Come on.” He invited the boy to come closer—an uncommon request to his ears. “Come now. On my mark.”

“Oh, okay.”

“On three: one, two…”

* Umph!* The two youths nearly farted their souls out as they tried lifting the thing. It took them several tries (and no shortage of backaches later), but eventually they did manage to lay the container onto the forks. “Good!” The young man swiped the sweat off his forehead. “Oh, good, good. Now…” They let go of the box, which settled with all its weight on the tiny cart. “Very careful now. Watch it!” Quickly, the two pushed against its wooden frame, preventing it from turning and crashing over them.

“Heiße-heiße-heißeee!”

“Careful! Floor’s slippery like a fucker!”

“I-I can, uh, I can feel that. Uuurgh!” He slipped, *bong!*, and his glutes crashed on the ground, bouncing him on the floor like a ball.

“You okay?”

“Hmm, yes, no… oof… no problem.”

The porter looked up at the box. “Well, I think it’s settled.” He turned his face to him with a quirky smirk. “What’s in here?”

He gulped. “Sofa.”

…

The porter tilted his head. “Sofa?”

“Yeah. Umm, it’s uh…” He shrugged. “Sofa.”

…

…

“A sofa made of… what? Titanium?”

“It’s just a regular sofa.”

“Okay, okay, hey, ain’t my business, anyway. However…” The young lad stretched his hands a couple of times, cracking his fingers and cooling the sore muscles along his wrists and forearms. “Forgive me if the question sounds perhaps a little bit silly, but… are you new here?”

“Umm, what?”

Earnestness burned on the lad’s face like a sun. “Like, are you moving in with this stuff or…?

Indeed, the question was sort of amusing. “No. I-, I’m not moving. I… I live here.”

“You do?” He looked puzzled. “For how long?”

“Two years now.”

“Two years! Well, darn. I should have known you by now.” He reached out with his hand. “Name’s Jonathan.”

The boy stared at the hand, bewildered. “Umm…”

“You’re supposed to shake it.”

“Uh, okay, umm…” He shook the hand and himself with it. “Uh, n-nice… nice to… meet you.”

“Likewise.” The two hands remained together for an awkwardly long and silent time. “And…?”

He stared at him, eyes gleaming like a deer about to be sent to heaven by a train. “Umm…”

“Your name.”

“Ah… yes. My name…” He trembled, not sure why. For a second, it was almost as if he’d forgotten his name. “João.”

“Hm?”

“João. My name is… João.”

“Oh. I see.” The young man—Jonathan—tilted his head. “Zhu-ahn-um?”

“No. João.”

He tilted his head the other way like a confused puppy. “Zho-ahn-o.”

“No, no. João. Jo-ão.”

“Zhon-hum.”

“Just call me John.”

“Oh, okay. My bad. So… John, eh? Yeah, this one is easy to remember.” He smiled, and their hands finally parted ways. “How come I’ve never seen you before, John?”

“Oh… well…”

“I guess you don’t leave the unit very often, do you?”

…

…

This Jonathan fellow. He looked (and acted) like the joyful, extroverted type, so there was (probably) no harm intended with the question.

He couldn’t know for sure. He’d always been pretty inane in guessing people’s motives, and experience had long thought him to, when in doubt, err for the worst. As such, his posture became defensive, his face heavy and still. The face of few friends, as folks called it back in his land. “Umm, I suppose I don’t. Not, uh… not that often, no.”

“Oh, I see.” He winked. “Night worker, eh? My shifts are all evenings, sometimes mornings, so that’s probably why we never met.”

“Oh, yeah.” His eyes wavered. “Maybe.”

“What you do, John?”

His heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. “Umm?”

“What do you do in the night? Working midtown, I suppose. Serving bars, stuff like that, eh?” There was silence. John’s eyes moved away. “Ah. I see.” The fellow moved back very gently. “Personal, huh?”

John’s eyes returned to him. “Yeah.” He was relieved. “It is, uh, quite personal. Private, you see.”

“Yeah, I get it. Most people are.” He scratched the back of his head. “I apologize if I got too nosy. I get scolded sometimes for being, uh, a little pushy.”

“Oh, uh, it’s not… hmm…” He smiled. “It’s no problem.”

“Good to know we’re on good footing.” He then turned and walked back to the humongous box, surprising John a little.

“Uh, where… what are you doing?”

“Uh, helping you? Still?” He held the cart by its handles. “Taking this to the lifts, shall we?”

“Oh, no. Uh, no need to. There’s no need to, uh, not anymore.”

“Are you sure?” He looked slightly disappointed. “Like, sure sure?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I… uh, am.”

“You’re raining sweat, comrade.”

“I am not.”

Jonathan simply rolled his eyes and pulled away. “Well, your sofa, your troubles.” He returned to the counter. “Just make sure you bring the cart back when you’re done, okay? You won’t believe the number of people who just leave these things up and expect us to go get them back on our own. Mmph! Inconsiderate jerks! We’re workers, not serfs, you know.”

“Hmm… oh…”

“Oh, please, don’t mind me. Here was I thinking loud again.”

“Oh. Okay. Hmm.”

John looked back at the box. *Ummph!* In no time, after merely sliding the cart a couple of inches on the ground, he was heaving and wheezing like an undead soul.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“Y-y-y-y-yes. T-this is something… uumph!” Rainfalls from his skin. “This is something I prefer to handle myself. T-thanks, though. Thanks a lot.”

“Well…” He nodded. “Anytime, mate.”

After an eternity of pulling and sweating, he managed to get that box inside one of the lifts. «I… I…!» He had done it, and he quite couldn’t come to grips with this fact. «I can’t believe I did it!»

“How you doing, mate?” He heard Jonathan’s voice in the distance. “You doing good? You doing fine?” A gentle pause. “You still alive?”

“Y-yeees.” He answered, the sweat dripping into his mouth.

“Does it fit? In the elevator, I mean?”

Barely, but “yes. Yes, it does.”

“Ah, good. Alright. Have fun with your… sofa.”

*Plim!* The doors of the lift closed before John could ask or say anything else.

* * *

The sun was setting when he realized he’d have no peace unless he opened it. «Maybe I should return it.» He rocked his body back and forth, bit his nails, paced around like a startled cat. «I could use the money. This is so ridiculous.»

Before him stood the box, a tower of wood ready to crush him. Open me or I’ll smash you, it whispered into his heart. «Prostitutes are cheaper. Aren’t they?» The thoughts popped and bounced in his mind, colliding with many other unpleasant sensations.

Coward.

The cute girl. The cute clerk back in the store. Her image flashed in his mind, followed by those of much prettier, flesh-and-bones women he’d seen in real life. All those were much better than the solution before him.

Are they?

«No. No, they aren’t.» He took a deep breath, walked around the box, and inspected it. «Women can be cute, they can even be hot, but should I ever expect them to be good?»

No. No, he shouldn’t. Not women, not people. Not anyone.

If people weren’t pushy, they’d be needy. If not needy, they’d be cruel. If not cruel, they’d be childish. If not childish, they’d be annoying. People would be a thousand different things, none of which pleasant, and none ever remotely good. «At least… at least…» He looked up at the towering box. «A doll can be anything.» He smiled. «She will be anything I want her to be.»

One hour later, the box was lying on the ground, himself a sweaty bloody mess, with a crowbar shaking in his hands.

Ya, comrade, are you sure you’re not needing any help getting her out of that box? The words of the doorboy… what was his name? Joel, Joey… John… Jonathan… his words still echoed in his mind.

No. He had denied his help again, perhaps a little too hastily, a little too harshly, yet the lad always took his answers in good faith:
Hey, always your choice. Just remember to bring back the crowbar too when you’re done with it, okay?

Hmm, okay. T-thanks.

…

…

Several more minutes passed. It took him longer than he would feel comfortable to admit: having never used that tool before, that crowbar thing, he did a splintery mess of his place as he tried to pop the lid open. Frustration grew with every failed attempt, burning in his veins like acid, like molten glass piercing his heart, thrashing his muscles, snapping his nerves, making the process of trying out new things much more excruciating than it was, surely, for other people.

Normal people. Healthy people. People who were worth a damn.

…

…

*Cling!* The crowbar fell on the floor, and so did his knees. *Thump!*

Looking down at the box with more calmwater eyes, he took a deep, deep breath, much deeper than all the breaths he had taken until that moment, and slid his fingers along the bands of the unhooked lid, slow and careful, trying to avoid the many splinters from his clumsy hacking.

And then…

*Brooom*

He set the woman free.

…

…

…

For an eternity, he stared at her. For a forever, he gawked at her. She was definitely more beautiful in person than on the screen. «An… an… an an an an an an an…» His thoughts were just like his tongue: stammery and useless, unable to form any coherent sentence, any cohesive anything. He was just too…

Shocked. Stunned. Stumped. Aghast by that astonishing beauty.

«Damn… her… d-!!… … …»

She looked sturdy. Hard. Like a paragon of stability, or a standard for all things harmonious and graceful. She was so big she seemed to overwhelm her already huge confinements. Engineers could’ve used her to measure the solidity of a building’s foundations, or perhaps use her as the foundation itself. There seemed to be nothing in the universe, no material among the stars any heftier, harder, or firmer than that which bound together her mountains of flesh and muscle.

Split an atom and you end a city. Split her skin and you end the world.

He stared deeply at her face. It was strong and willful, locked in a neutral expression, but with just enough personality to avoid looking eerie or uncanny, like the faces of things not truly living.

She was beautiful, and her beauty was bolstered by an unshakeable, immaterial aura of confidence, a sense of self-assurance as mountain-hard as that impossible body of hers. Like a sequoia in the wild, she was a pillar of power that dwarfed all vegetation around her, turning all other trees into grass.

He was such a grass: short, tiny, frail.

It was said that leopards in the wild live alone, in isolation, surrounded by hundreds of miles of nothingness, for none dared stand next to a predator, and once you spotted them, you would run away.

She was that predator: one and only in the wild. Only she existed and only she needed to exist, for only she was needed, and only she truly mattered.

Just looking at her made him feel smaller, more pitiful, more ashamed of his sorry self. He, who should have been the bigger, stronger sex. He, who should have been the grander, mightier soul!

The femininity in her face only added to his confusion, as if no such tenderness could exist atop her hard, stone-carved body, or such toughness and fierceness could ever work along her honest, sweet-hearted gaze.

He walked to-and-fro, fro-and-to, carefully inspecting the doll while avoiding her sweet, deep green eyes. Even from up close, she could have easily been mistaken for a real person, and her uncanny stillness did little to dampen the effect of her hyperrealism. If anything, it was her realism that made her truly, utterly spooky. «Darne schültz!» He gulped long and hard, pacing more nervously around the box. «Those folks weren’t joking! This is one masterpiece of a woman!»

The Pietà of sex dolls.

She had come fully clothed, and thank the gods for that! He wasn’t sure how he could bear the sight of her otherwise. The mere neck of that woman, exposed over the collar of her tight, tight shirt, was enough to make his member pulsate, almost surge like a pillar and a fountain on his pants, painting them white, chantilly all over his briefs and thighs. «Keep it together! Keep. It. Together.»

His fists, tighter. His head, straighter. An icy cold snake, like the blow of the winter’s wind, crawled up on his spine and made him grayer. «Keep it together. Together. Keep it together.» Goddess or not, she was the doll, he was the master. «Together. Together. Keep it… *gulp*… together!»

She wore a large, glossy black leather jacket over her miles-long shoulders, its full sleeves containing and restraining her powerful arms. Underneath said jacket followed a dark-gray, short-sleeved shirt with a minimal, unintrusive design. The only eye-catching thing in it would have been the huge imprint at the center: an outline of his motherland’s continent, and one sentence written in huge white capital letters overlaid in two mirroring arcs:

Born to be Wild.

The shirt was tight enough to highlight her muscles without looking ill-fitting. This wanton, conscious display of prime physicality—she was a woman who knew her assets and saw no cause or reason to hide them—sent his poor little mind into many confusing, conflicting thoughts, braked only, if for a short and uneven while, by his endless gushing, his shameful adulation, maybe even adoration of her amazing, utterly exquisite physique. «Meu…!»

Her piece went down and down onto her powerful hips. There, it was complemented by long, dark jeans tightly wrapped around her…

«Caralho!!»

Her…

«Céus! Céus!»

Her powerful…

«Caralho dos céus!»

Legs! Legs!! Dear gods, her legs!

They were two tree trunks sprawling powerfully from her titanic hips, a pair of massive pillars of meat that could only very unkindly be described as simply legs. More appropriately, they were two unbelievably long, impossibly ripped logs of meaty might that put the fiber of those poor jeans to the test. So huge and astounding was her tonnage of walkers that he wasn’t sure whether she was just one woman or three: the woman above her hips, then one woman for each leg.

«Longas! Longas! Longas!!!» His mind was short-circuited by the view of those long, long, looong legs, his tongue almost lolling out of his mouth, the saliva nearly dripping from its tip.

Long, long, looong legs. Thick and mighty and powerful legs, as long as any muse’s, yet thick, thick, thick like a bricklayer’s thighs, and impossibly juicy. They were legs meant to be wrapped around one’s skull, then used to crush it into a bloody…

«Hell! She… s-s-she…» He shivered. He salivated. «T-this… t-this woman…»

Shake his head. He had to do it. *Shake, shake, shake!* He had to shake his head really hard to not get lost in the fumes of the flames that were slowly rising from deep within his breast.

Each of her legs was wider than his torso. Compared to his waist, pff!, it just wasn’t fair, not fair at all. Her arms alone seemed each as thick as the thickest part of his thighs, and her feet, much like her hands, were just as proportionally gigantic and intimidating, a single toe as massive as his heels, a single thumb as long and girthy as the entirety of his manhood.

«By… the… gods!» He gulped and kept thinking, his mind racing and raging, the blood burning, and his breath falling apart.

If there ever were Valkyries, she would have been Freyja. She would have stood above even godhood itself, as she seemed to outstrip and outrank even that one queen of legends. Not a Valkyrie, not a goddess, but an elemental force, perhaps Ginnungagap or Yggdrasil, maybe—if those unearthly notions were also endowed with very carnal endowments superior in size, girth, and length to those of Thor, Baldr, and Týr’s put together.

The Yggdrasil of Manhood. The Tree of Life and Cocks.

«This woman… ibn fukkert lass…!» He kept on thinking and gulping as his eyes took in all that which the goddess had to offer, like a man who, after spending his whole life in the desert, now had to drink from an open firehose or swallow a whole spring in one gulp.

Her legs and jeans flowed further down into long leather boots. Were she not a doll, but an actual living thing, no one would have doubted, for the thinnest of slices of time, that she had indeed ridden through all of the Andes, north to south, Nunavut to Magallanes, all on her own.

She did justice to her motto, then marched well past beyond it:

Born to be wild
Born to be wildest!

«Is this… gold??» His eyes swung and swayed drunkenly on her body, stopping by the wide, thick, jet-black leather belt that tied that whole attire together. Its buckle, as big as his hand, shone golden like the sun, a shine unmistakably real, a glimmer that belonged to no fool’s gold.

All that glimmers may not be gold, but this… That belt told him. This bitch is!

It was a distinctly unisex outfit that fit her like a god. How amazing it would be to take it off, and how…

«Terrifying!» His eyes met hers, and his dick became smaller. «Fuck.» He rubbed them. His eyes, that is. «I could swear she was… staring at the ceiling just now.»

She wasn’t. Her eyes stood at a slightly low angle, staring down and straight at… him.

His breath gained pace. Her muscles continued to defy her clothes, doing battle with their fabric, and they seemed to be gaining ground at each passing second, at each coming round. Her arms, especially bulky, tested the sturdiness of her sleeves with their ever-swelling, ever-bulking, hulking biceps, bringing damnation to both her shirt and her jacket, condemning them to an unhumbled… *Tear!*

He moved closer. He couldn’t avoid it. His racing heart carried him forward, one leap ahead with every beat. Past the initial shock, his arousal overshadowed his fears, and his dick, for once, honored its duties and grew accordingly, paying salutes to that mighty beast. *Thump-thump! Thump-thump! Thump-thump!*

He no longer felt embarrassed by that tent on his shorts. Perhaps he didn’t even notice it, oh, certainly not, as he leaned in closer and closer…

… and closer…

«Dear… dear gods!»

… and yet closer to her face. *Snif!*

“Oooh!” She smelled so good. Like wild berries and hazelnuts and green bushes in the rain. “Wow.” He looked at her. On his knees. Like a servant. “You are… wow.”

His hand landed on her hips. The shock…

…

…!!

Indescribable. There was no skin in that body, only muscle, and her muscles were «stone! She might as well be made of solid concrete!» Like squeezing a soft, warm kind of steel.

Those powerful, massive thighs made his fingers feel just like his dick: minuscule. If she were alive, she would be one of those gals who could easily pick a man up, lift him over her head, and then… *CRACK!!!* Tear him in half like a stick! «Okay, man, okay, hmm.» He closed his eyes, shook his head. «Focus focus focus focus focus……»

His hands crawled up on her waist, his heart beating so hard he felt his ears shutting off at every beat, *womp* and *womp* and *womp* being all he could hear as he surveyed her body, the hardness of her muscles, the realness of her flesh. She was outrageously powerful and unbelievably warm. If he would close his eyes, he would swear he had a real woman on his hands!

There it was. A woman. Finally in his grasp, under his palm, for good. And forever. «My fantasies.» He felt impure just thinking about it. «They don’t even come close to this!» The sweat abounded on his forehead, the saliva piling on the back of his mouth, sliding into his throat without him ever swallowing it.

There, in his living room, he stayed sat and still, glutes on the ground, until the sun had long kissed the blue and gone to rest. Her green eyes glistened in the dark, reflecting like a feline what little light managed to peek through the balcony door.

As still as him, there she laid. All the time there she stayed, patiently waiting for his inevitable defeat.

It was four past the darkness rein when he, looking so stiffly at her, seeing her so calm and peaceful, decided to finally take things further. «I’m sorry!» His vision was blurry as he bent down to pick her up, preparing for the backbreaking, bone-splitting effort of lifting her. Every bone of his body did indeed crack as he pulled her, every nerve in his brain burning, every joint in his bones snapping and clacking, and yet… surprisingly… «Oh!»

He had lifted her. He had done so quite quickly, and spending not nearly as deadly an effort as he’d thought he would. «Umm. I thought she would be heavier.» His heart beat like a hammer as he grappled her and felt her weight. «I thought she would break me in half. Split my spine like a stick.» He took another good look at her immense being. «But… how?»

How was that possible?

“You’re not nearly as heavy as you felt when back in the box.”

Nor was she so heavy when he started to carry her through his place: step after step, moving slowly along the dark hallway towards his room, stopping at every foot or two to try and catch his breath, he was amazed by how much progress he made while still saving up energy for more—a farthest of far cries from all the effort both he and that Jonathan fellow spent when trying to lift her in the box. «It feels… like you are walking with me.» He looked at his doll’s face, and her eyes were staring at his. Not just her eyes, but her breasts too. Almost. «Oh. Wow.» He chuckled. «You are big.»

And healthy. He ogled those magnanimous milkers, boobs of impossible volume, girth, and bounciness, the kind of overgrown baby-feeders he’d never thought a woman so tall and muscular could ever boast.

For every inch in her body where she seemed to lack a single gram of fat, she compensated by putting tonnes of it on her breasts… and ass. «Mother of…!»

It was an ass to end all asses. A fruitful, colossal sitter so big it had a gravitational pull of its own, like two planets on her backside. «Mercury, Venus, Earth…» He tried recounting them. «Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars… and her ass!» Was it perhaps the mammoth gravitational forces of her buttocks that aided him in moving her forth? «If I touch them… I die.» His hands gravitated perilously close to those mountainous backstages. «If I touch this ass… I die!»

He was sure of it, and with ever-weakening resolve, he pushed forward. He was attacked at all times on all fronts by sensations he was truly not used to feeling. Her smell made him dizzy, her touch made him queasy. It was maddening. It was cruelty. Psychological warfare waged against his meat.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. That he had lasted so long already was a miracle on its own.

«Welp. We’re here.»

He couldn’t believe it himself. His thoughts, his words, his senses… he couldn’t believe any of them as he felt his woman’s back hit the end of the hallway.

To his left, the door to his room. To his right, the door to the storage.

…

…

There he stayed, deadly still, knowing which path to take. «Oh.»

…

…

He looked to the left.

…

…

He looked to the right. «I can’t.» His lips shivered. His eyes hurt as if his brain was about to blow up. «I’m s-sorry, but… I can’t.»

He slid open the door to the storage room and peered inside. “Oh.” It had been a long time since he’d paid that place any attention. «Feels like… it’s the first time I’m here.»

He guided his eyes around the dark space before switching its lights on. *Click!* There he saw a long steel shelf on the left wall, stacked with cleaning materials, empty buckets, and bucketloads of dry cloths. Despite its apparent crowdedness, the room was spacious enough for one to walk in straight, with no need to turn their shoulders. In the back, he saw a single small chair. «Umm. I don’t remember this one.» He scratched his mind. «Maybe it’s meant to climb over and reach, I don’t know, the higher shelves?»

He paid it no mind. All these things, all these details were too petty next to the mammoth woman standing beside him.

«You…» He handled the doll with ease, the task of moving her around becoming easier the closer he got to letting her go. «You stay here. For now.» Could she even fit in such a tiny space? «You… you…» His heart sank, and his eyes gravitated toward the end of the room. «This… this chair.» He pulled it closer to the door. «This chair… yes. This chair will do.»

As he sat the doll down in that filthy mockery of a throne, he wondered whether he should have been more surprised by how well the chair bore her weight or… «How easy it is to move her!» No longer just easy. Effortless. «Natural.» It felt sleek to move her limbs around, as if it wasn’t him moving the doll, but the doll moving herself along with his arms and hands. «Well, I…» Deep breath. Deep breath. «I sure got what I paid for.»

The doll sat still, ever so patient, and he just stood next to her equally still, ever so pathetic. “Well…” He twirled his thumbs, knowing but pretending not to know what to say.

She was a doll. Just a doll. He owed her no excuses. “I… uh… I, err…” He stammered and uttered. “Good night.”

The doll stared blankly at the shelf ahead of her. Her expression was so compassionate, but lonely. It felt like misery to abandon such a beautiful person in such a tiny, dirty space, surrounded not by crowns or jewels, but by cleaning items, used-up brooms, and dusty apparel.

It would have been more merciful, honestly, to simply have left her back in her coffin. «Just one bigger box, this place is.» He cast a long gaze around the storage room. «A mausoleum.»

He watched her closely, staring into those deep, big eyes of captivating green. “Oh.” Irresistibly attracted, even hypnotized by them, he only realized that his arm had slowly crept towards her when his palm touched the back of her hand. “Oh. Oh…”

Oh!

Silky smooth. And hot. His fingers melted between hers, then merged with her palm more tenderly. She was never cold, that impossible woman. Always warm. «This is why you don’t deserve me.» He thought, tripping over his words. «I mean… I. I don’t deserve you. This is why I do not deserve you.»

He felt the heat from her fingers fade with every word. Like with everything he touched, the chill of his body sprawled over hers, sucked out her warmth through his palm. «Like a vampire.»

A vampire of love and affection.

…

…

It would have boded well for him, after such sad, pitiful epiphanies, to have moved away, backed off from that beautiful lady, whom he did not deserve and could only disgrace with his presence, his being, his hole. Alas… «I’m a hypocrite.» Especially when next to pretty ladies, let alone a lady as pretty as she. «Love. Warmth. Heat. And hotness.» He looked at the doll and the doll looked past him, her eyes staring straightly at the wall behind him. «You are… so unrelentingly beautiful.» He moved closer. He touched her waist. “Heiße! You are… strong!”

The courage that had been slowly building within him was something to fear. His fingers ventured forth, moving warmer and hotter over her belly. «Oh!» He applied pressure to her waist, a gentle squeeze on her muscle. «Wow.» Nothing moved. Not one inch caved in. Not one millimeter of skin. «Dear gods!» He felt no meat, no flesh, only iron, sheets of stainless steel wrapped around titanium in that rock-hard colossus of a woman. “By the gods in heaven, miss… you are built.”

He looked up. With any other woman, her face wouldn’t have been one he could stare at for too long. «You are… one perfect lass, aren’t ya?» He felt uncomfortable muttering those thoughts, even when they stayed well enclosed within his tiny skull, for they felt heretic, truly sacrilegious in the deepest sense of the word, able to shatter the natural order and condemn the world to unspeakable chaos—the chaos that befell men who didn’t know their places.

What are you looking at, creep? Oh, my god! Are you autistic or what?? Get lost, you fucking loser!

The burning behind his eyes… “Aargh!”

The tightening on his chest became extreme. His panting grew faster as he choked on his own breath, the air in his lungs as heavy as stone. He was locked in there with his doll, not willing to leave, not daring to stay, too horny to flee, too fearful to act. «Stupid. You’re so… stupid! Why can’t you do anything? Huh??»

He looked up again. Her expression…

It was somewhat different. She was still the same, sure, but her calm, her coolness… those were replaced by a very subtle, very tender look of concern, as if she… she…

As if she were worried about him. “Hmm. I guess… this is it, okay?” He shook his head, stood up. “Stay put while I… while I think about what to do next. What to do… to you.”

He knew well what he had to do. What else, after all, had he bought her for? The only thing a man could do to his doll. He knew it, of course, and knew it quite well, but just as well he knew it, he was also too much of a coward and a pussy and a sissy to actually do it. «Maybe I’m not a man, after all.»

*Click!* He switched off the lights and walked out, glancing at his woman one final time before darkness overcame her completely. Her expression… «Her face!» It was changed again, somehow. More somber. More concerned.

«Yeah.» He rolled his eyes. «Right.»

He slid the door shut and walked away, diving on the bedsheets with the abandon of someone who jumped into a deep, dark hole, hoping to never be seen again. To sleep and never wake up. What a blessing. What a longing.

Both lovers slept apart, only loneliness to keep them together. «She can’t be… she can’t be…» He tried to not think about her. «You! You are… you are never… ever, ever… going to have her in your arms. Or anyone.»

Darkness covered him only less swiftly than the tears. «You are never… ever, ever… going to be loved.»

The doll stood away on her scanty throne. Quiet. Peaceful. Lonely.

The boy rotted away in his icy bed. Lonely. Just lonely.

* * *

The night was cooler than usual.

On the good nights, he used to lay belly up, staring at the white ceiling as he fell asleep. Good nights didn’t come around very often, though. Instead, for most of his life, his posture was chaotic, and the sleep, if it ever came, was slow and persnickety to arrive: shoulders to the mattress, one side, then another, then back to the other side again, minute by minute, second after second, his knees on his stomach, himself crying and wailing and hiccupping as he regressed into a baby, but was never able to regress further into nothing.

From where he laid that night, on his left shoulder, with his back against the sole window of his bedroom, he could see, through the partially opened door of his room, across the dark, dreary hallway, the door to the storage room where he had locked away his love.

…

…

…

Dark.

…

…

Silence.

…

…

He used to fear the dark and the silence. A recurring nightmare of his, from as early as his childhood’s budding years, was a shadow. Just a shadow. A shadow standing by his bedroom door. A shadow just barely, but never fully out of sight, spying on him, prying on him, peeking inside. The shadow was not evil, but it wasn’t good either. It was unknown, unmoving, all-knowing.

Just… standing. Standing there. All the time. All the night.

Until it wasn’t.

…

In the blink of an eye, the shadow would disappear, not to be seen again for many nights. Or minutes.

…!

He always feared the moment when he would blink and the shadow would be back. Inside his room. Closer.

*Blink*

And closer.

*Blink*

And closer…

*Blink…*

Until it stood beside his bed. Next to him. Helpless. Defenseless. Dead.

In his freshest years, the shadow terrified him. The neighbors knew painfully well the degree to which it scared him, for his scandals traveled easily across the block, like strong winds leaving no one a good night’s sleep, agony to last until the break of dawn—or until the break of his jaw by his momma’s hand.

His momma. She enjoyed those scandals all the less, oh, she really didn’t. Unlike the neighbors, though, who had the desire but not the opportunity, she had the desire and all the opportunity, and she leaned on this opportunity eagerly, laying down the law on his jaw with repeated, merciless prejudice, his every cry of fear beckoning a world of pain until there was no more crying, no more fear, no more nothing. Just the dark. And the silence. And the shadow by the door.

…

…

There is a certain logic to child beating. Those who say it doesn’t work have never raised a child nor faced any sort of deprivation in doing so. A caring, attentive child-rearing is a luxury: it demands time, money, ample resources, things that people always have in short supply. It was true then and it would remain true forever: love is expensive, and all mankind is poor. Folks who cannot afford raising their kids well would settle for raising them rough and raising them decisively. Like civilians in times of ration, sometimes ears must be pulled, wrists twisted, and skulls banged against the walls in the name of survival.

Anyway. There is a certain logic to child beating, and he was living proof of it. He didn’t like to think much about it, just like he didn’t want to think much about anything at all, but souls with restless pasts seldom know peace.

It was dark, that bedroom of his, and even darker in the hallway past his door. He tried to not open his eyes, or to look at his surroundings only through his fingers and the thinnest gaps in the bedsheets. He laid on his bed while curled up like a fetus, safe and sound in his imaginary womb, and spied on the hallway carefully, one tiny blink at a time, making sure that the shadow was gone, really gone. That it, like the beatings, had been banished forever into the past.

He doubted it was truly gone. Just like his momma. It would be only a matter of days, he knew it, or a matter of months, perhaps even years, until something brought it back. Next time, the shadow wouldn’t be just standing there, at a safe distance, by his door.

No. It would be there. There. At his face. Just inches away, ready to tear it off. Or snap his neck like his momma once had.

…

…

Anyway.

Compared to the horrors of his past or the sheer anxiety of single-living, of urban foraging, of paycheck-to-paycheck subsisting, that shadow of his infancy wasn’t such an evil sight. It seemed quaint. Innocent. Wistful, really, when compared to the monstrosity of adulthood.

Still, still… he guarded himself. One night, he knew it, it would come back, no warning, as sudden and unpredictable as its departure, as certain and unavoidable as the hands of his momma cracking his skull.

Any night then. He knew it: any time, any night.

…

…

The hallway stood dark and empty, and the silence felt uncanny. He dreaded any noise during the day, yet begged for it during the night. His land, long ago, was the land of noise. Of sound. Of shout and scream and crocodile tears. And beatings. Many, many beatings. Beatings aplenty, the only thing that was truly abundant in that land of slaves.

Rich people beating cops. Cops beating poors. Poors beating paupers. Paupers beating their own. Grown-ups and kids. All cracked. All bent. All beaten.

Beatings and poundings, floggings and screamings, all a nation imploding and collapsing, a catastrophe once or twice (or thrice or more) for every generation, creating yet more noise, yet more screaming, yet more poundings and more beatings. The country destroyed itself once every generation or so, and a generation later it was rebuilt in an even uglier form. Unsurprisingly, such a maniacally suicidal nation couldn’t offer a poor bloke like him much of anything in terms of healthcare. Or education. Or employment. Or basic human decency.

It didn’t really offer him or anyone (or anyone without a thousand acres of land under their name) anything except for bills to pay and flogs to take. In both metaphorical and plain speak, it was a dump, and everyone, everywhere, all the time was expected to shout and scream and shriek, like a baby bird to its callous momma, just to get the flimsiest sliver of attention, the scantiest scrap of dignity, and this…

Well. It didn’t do him or his mind (or his soul) many favors.

A husk. A hollow. A corpse others didn’t bother to bury. Had he not escaped as early as he did, such would have been his fate: worse than death. Still alive, but broken, nothing but the poorest of bums roaming the streets, beaten, spat upon, thrown around by one and all, and eventually cleansed from society by the merciful bullet from some death merchant or off-duty cop.

So he left. Yes, he left the place, but the place didn’t leave him, not immediately, and certainly not for good, the healing of his sanity being slow to take hold. For a while, he felt worse: living on borrowed time, in the shadow of bankruptcy, of police, of deportation, of hatred, of low-paying scams, of extortionate rents, of nonexistent health coverage, of the memory of his mother, the memory of her hands on him, the pain… the pain…

Of the shadow. The shadow that one night may come back, one night to haunt him, sooner than later, and then… to take him back, back, back to his land, back to his mother’s hands, like a child, like a nobody, just like his country: undoing itself time and time again, and coming back worse than it was before. Run from it and it will catch you. Stay and it will kill you.

«Kill me.» He flipped around, facing the wall. «Kill me. Gods have mercy. Kill… me.» He flipped again, back to the door and the hallway.

He dreaded any noise during the day and begged for it during the night. His window, left partially open, let in both the cold and the hum of the night. In the absence of sound—and the shadow—he looked for other fears to fear about. He imagined dangers where none existed, and in silence his fears would abound.

Not for a second in his life could he get any rest. Everything needed to be tightly controlled, carefully managed just so he could carry on through the days alive and in one piece. One misstep here and the fangs of monsters would close on his throat. One mishap there, the claws of enemies would rip his eyes out, lift him by the skull, and throw him out through the window, out to his death.

He had never slept in any room lower than the tenth floor. It was a cardinal rule: the higher the building, the surer the death. It was his insurance against life, his hedge against the monsters who would never let him go. «Some people have guns. I have the sky.»

He became calm all of the sudden. The thought of sleep comforted him. The good, long sleep beyond the window glass. Under, under. Through the window, under the sky, into the asphalt. No more troubles, no more traumas. No more life at all. Silence. Peace.

The only instance when he believed he had any sort of control over anything: not over his life, but over its end. «No one can control their own lives.» He thought. He was wrong. «I can’t control my life. Other people can. Everyone else can. I cannot.» He closed his eyes and smiled. «Not the flame, but the smoke. And I… I… I prefer the smoke. Everything is quieter in the dark.»

They made him calm. Slow. And sweet. These thoughts, they gave him hope: hope that one day the suffering would end, and he would be the one to end it. Any day. Any time. Any way he saw fit.

Control. He would have control. It wasn’t a great deal of control, sure, but it was control still. The day he would stop hurting. The day he would stop living. Such a great feeling, this was: to have control! Great enough to stop his eyes from aching and body from rolling uncontrollably on the bedsheets. A little sleep before the great slumber. He had to be prepared for it, after all.

…

…

He stared into the hallway as he slowly embraced the calm. No shadow stood by the door. He blinked, and still no shadow stood by the door. He blinked again, more slowly, more softly, and still no shadow…

…

…

He blinked again. Blinked. And blinked. Slowly he felt himself steering away from life, cradled in the wings of the crows of sand. It felt good. It felt comfy. Happy. He hoped this happiness would never end.

…

..

.

*Bump!*

He sprang up on the bed. There’d been a noise in the hallway. For the briefest of moments, he imagined something beside his bed. He knew it was pure imagination, but it scared him nonetheless.

After the shock, he welded his eyes shut, dared not to open them even a little.

*Tap*

*Tap*

*Fumble*

*Fumble*

Blindly he tapped on the mattress, fumbled around on the sheets trying to find the switch of the little lamp by his bedside. *Click!* The light inundated his room with soothing gold, shining away its demons. With the rays and the subtle warmth from the lamp, he got enough confidence to try and… oh…

Oh-so-slowly…

Open….

His…

Eyes.

…

A fraction of a sliver, a snip of snippets, and then a little wider, and then a little wider still, and then…

…

…?

Nothing. He saw nothing. No monsters by his bed. No shadow by the door. Nothing. Whatever had been there and made that sound, it had been like the splinters of his imagination: mere illusion, nothing else. Just a subconscious desire to scare himself and suffer, to afford not the meekest slice of peace. Ever.

He should’ve felt safe. Should have. Wouldn’t. The fact that he saw nothing couldn’t dissuade him from the suspicion, no, the certainty that he had indeed heard… something. «I swear there was a bump. A noise coming from… just… there.» He looked past the door and into the darkness blanketing the hallway. «There. The… the door.» His eyes were glass. «The storage?»

…

…

…

Back to sleep. There was nothing to fear. It was all just silly imagination.

Now, please… please… back to sleep.

…

…

…

…

…

…

He got up. The act took him a good half of the night. He felt every fiber of his legs rebelling against his will, but…

He got up. It amazed him that he had the strength, no, the guts to do it, the cojones to pull it off. «I… can even…» Walk. «It’s just in my head.» He told himself at every step, believing it less the further he walked. «These things, they’re… they are just in my head.» *Step, step…* «Just in my head. They’re just in my head.»

*Step*

*Step*

…

*Step*

…

…

The hallway ahead. So many possibilities! A tall and pale vampire jumping from the dark to seize him by the throat. A canine-looking ghoul leaping from a corner to bite off his legs, feast on his genitals, slurp on his guts like pasta while leaving the husk of his skin untouched, like yolk sucked off a soft-boiled egg. An eight-feet-tall, long-armed, short-legged ape demon, its head touching the ceiling, its jaw hanging low on the floor, all skin and teeth, the tongue snaking out for miles, snatching him and dragging him by the waist before the creature’s arms did and crushed his spine, split him gory.

His mind created monsters where none existed, out of the dark and real people. The monsters of the dark, they were the less terrifying sort: phantasmagorical devils, japery ghouls, malignant souls, mythical fiends, soul-stealing imps… *Yawn.* These figures swayed closer to the amusing side of scary. They were creative. Puzzling. Entertaining to the curious brain. They had mythos, stories, and folklore behind them.

And real people? What had them? What stories could they tell, what intrigues entice? None. Nothing. No creativity. No spark. No deep desire to corrupt the soul or spoil the virgin. Just sheer, shallow, self-serving pettiness; the casual evil of a monkey who wants bananas, and therefore smashes the skulls of other monkeys who stand in the way of its cravings.

The everyday villainy of plain folks. The casual monstrosity of the common man. «I take the demon over the man.» He gulped. «The devil is kinder than people.»

*Tip*

*Tap*

Tiptoeing on the razor’s edge, he wore his heart on his wrists.

He hated it: living on the edge, walking on blades, but he couldn’t help it. He was like a cat, automatic, by instinct, always keeping his senses sharp in case some predator would leap from the nearest branch, from some suspicious bush, jumping from the dark to snatch him, to pick his bones clean from his peeled-off skin.

*Tip. Tap.*

*Tip. Tap. Toe.*

*Tip. Tap. Toe.*

*Tap*

*Tap*

…

*Click!*

He turned the lights of his bedroom, and all those imaginary fears disappeared in a blink of the mind. The remainder of his house, though, was still a terrible, treacherous place, feeding his twisted imagination with all the pains and the horrors it so ardently desired.

He could peek at it—the darkness, the living room drenched in black—and try to get a sign, a proof, any confirmation that there was indeed a shadowy tall beast looming tall and still, ominously standing there, at his passageway’s tail.

…

…

Nah. Nothing. “Oh.”

He reached out to the storage door and slid it open. *Wroom!* The first thing he saw was the massive body of his woman fallen across the tiny space. Somehow she had fallen from the chair, leaning forward and hitting her head on the shelf in front of her, and knocking an item or two from it in the process. «How on earth did she move?» He sighed. «Guess this chair doesn’t have legs so strong. Well, certainly not strong as hers.»

He looked again at the doll, not knowing exactly what to make of that situation. «This is so rude. To leave her like this. In this place.» It was so hard to take his eyes off her body. That body, that… everything. «This is so bloody silly.»

She was a doll. She was nothing but a doll. Pounds of silicon wrapped around a titanium frame. She was a plaything. Not a real thing. «People are just meat wrapped around a calcium frame, though.»

Just as he did with the monsters in the dark, he couldn’t resist crafting souls out of lifeless things, if only to give himself, the loneliest of souls, something to cling to, something to love and attach to. «Like a little monkey to a hollow doll of its momma.» His momma…

…

…

Setting out to the living room, he looked for a chair wide and cushy enough for the doll. «…» His thoughts were all mute. «…» «…» «…» Dots in the void. White noise in his skull. He liked them this way. How rare were these moments, and how precious was the silence in his mind.

The doll waited for him, still collapsed in that undignified position, and he readied his body for another battle with that woman’s weight. “Urgh! Uuurgh…!” His groans echoed in the dark. Amidst all the wheezing and whining, he wrestled with his desire of returning the doll and getting his own life back to normal. The depressive, miserable normal he was very used to. «Stupid. Stupid. Stupid idea!» He kept telling himself. «What a stupid, stupid idea. And how pathetic!»

*Wooosh…*

He stopped. The pain, the sore, the burning in his muscles, even those went away as his ears spiked, like a prey searching for danger. His spine tingled. A breath as warm as the tropical breeze had touched his nape. «What…?»

He looked to his right. In his bedroom, he could see the soft curtains of his window shyly fluttering with the timid winds of the night. «Umm.» That gush he had felt was warm, unlike the winds from that land, which were as cold as the loss of youth. «Nah.» He whisked away his fears and suspicions. «It was just the wind.» And returned to the task of getting that mountain of a woman off the ground. “Uurgh… fuck. Oh, oof…!” Her size! Her weight! «The gods be damned!» Her massiveness rendered any soft touch or meek pull moot. «Guess there’s… no other way.» He huffed and puffed between thoughts. «No other way to handle you, eh?»

He needed to be firm. He needed to be rough. Closing his eyes, he lassoed her waist with both arms, perhaps not hugging her, but crushing her, and drew his nose closer to her neck, sensing her incredible…

«Caralho! Que cheiro é esse?» He took some extra sniffs. «Darn me in hell! I didn’t know a doll like this could smell so… wow!»

It was so nice. It was so… princessly. Like a virgin. That smell invited him irresistibly to a couple more sniffs. *Sniff!* *Sniff!*

*Wooosh…*

He pulled back. Eyes wide open. «What did I just…?»

Again, for the faintest of moments, he’d felt something on his neck. A whiff of air. A blow on his nape. A breath, though not his own.

Shivers ran down his spine. *Broom!* He dropped the doll again. «Okay, I’m sure I felt something. This time… I’m certain of it!» He scratched his neck. The memory of that gush of wind was still kindled on his flesh. «What the hell.»

He looked back at his bedroom, where the curtains by the window were fluttering a little harder. The wind had moved the door a little further around its hinges, and the stronger current caused a deeper hum to echo, like a ghost’s lament, across his home. «Oh.» Part of him was disappointed. «I guess it’s really just the wind.» His hand on his nape, however, begged to differ. «I don’t know.» His eyes returned to her. The doll. “It felt so real…” He muttered to himself.

A couple of headshakes later, he’d returned some sense into his mind. «Oh, blimey. I’m really, really tired.» He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and laced the doll again with his arms. “Oh, fuck! Uurgh… goddamned… urgh!”

She was just! So! Heavy! It took him close to two minutes of pushing and pulling and wailing, of heaving and panting and wheezing to finally sit that massive woman on her new chair. «There! Let’s hope this one doesn’t break under your…» He gulped. «Size.»

Burning with exhaustion, he sat on the ground. The bulk of the doll dominated his sight. As his panting cooled off and his sweating ran dry, he felt a calling, an urge, and this time… «Caralho.» He wouldn’t resist it. «Puta… que…»

Stretching his arm forth, he touched her swollen thighs. «Puta que pariu!» No amount of denim would ever be enough to hide that rippling thickness, that iron hardness of her body. «Fukk mischt! These muscles belong to a bull!» He gulped, and couldn’t hide his sneaky smile. «Gods be damned, lady. You’re packing!» As he touched her thunder legs, his heartbeat ran apace. «My whole body is weaker than a single leg of this woman!»

His fingers moved just beneath her powerful ass. «Caralho.» Merely squeezing, or trying to squeeze those cheeks caused his own glutes to hurt and his legs to wobble and weaken, as if his muscles had been sapped of will and intimidated into submission. «Damn it, I swear!» His heart beat at a ridiculous pace. «I swear this woman’s alive!» He couldn’t stop touching her, gawking at her features so worshipfully. «There’s such realness to her touch, to this gorgeous skin of hers!»

He looked at his own fingers and felt a human heat in them. «Oh.» Not very unlike those gushes of wind he’d felt on his nape. «Amazing! That’s some unbelievable engineering that went on this broad.»

A gush of wind, now a chill and strong one, brought his attention back to his bedroom, inviting him to bed. «Well…» He shrugged. «That’s it.» His eyes fell awkwardly on the doll. «Should be going now. Long, uh… long work tomorrow.»

…

…

«Damn it.» Instead of leaving her, he moved closer. «God… goddamnit!» Her breasts. They were outrageous! «Fuuuck!» So full. So lush. So ripe. Those were the breasts of a goddess, of a mother of all humanity. «Gostosa!» He catcalled her in his head. Her somewhat punk and casual attire only made her hotter in his mind. The elegance of her style, the tightness of her clothing, it all amounted to a potent mix that screamed: Tear! Us! Off! Her clothes. All her pieces begged: tear us now!! Shred us! Devour her! Now. Now! NOW!

«Fuck!» He shook his head. «Dear gods, help me! Give me strength! Or at least strike me with a lightning before… before I…!»

This time, his sinful thoughts were not so easy to rid of. They were no longer just thoughts, but instinct. «Look at her.» He was shivering, averting her gaze, keeping his eyes frantically frozen on her tits. «Look. At. Her!»

He closed his eyes. Rubbed them hard. Then, he forced his head up, eyes very slowly opening again to see her. The doll stared stonily, stoically at the wall behind him. Even her blank stare was enough to add heat to his poor, starving flesh.

A moan startled him. It was his own. «Caralho…»

Her face. Something in her beautiful, regal semblance stole his mind. Her poise, her stance, her halo of coolness, that type of aloof authority she bore… oh! To stand next to her was to feel like a kitten in the paws of a big, protective dog. He felt shielded, nurtured. Her presence was so calming that his anger, usually hard, no, impossible to control, it just… *Poof!*

Just like that, it… *Poof!* It went away. No anger no more.

«Oh…» Her hands stood in a slightly awkward stance beside her body. Her arms looked just a little too straight, a bit too rigid, and overall he found her pose to be quite graceless, unbefitting of her queenly stature. “Here. Let me…” With very smooth, careful movements, he bent her joints effortlessly. «Wow!» He never ceased to be amazed by the smoothness of her motions. «So gentle, yet so…»

Hard! The power in those arms! The ripple of her muscles, the swell of her veins! It almost tempted him to… press his fingers on the visible bulges of her veins and… run his nail along them.

Imagine. Just imagine: folding those sleeves… undressing those arms and… sticking his tongue out and… running its tip on those swollen, mighty vessels… «Céus. Que…» His head hung lower and lower. «Que delícia!»

Her majestic face, her mighty body, her tender skin… it all neutered his fears, blew away his foolish thoughts and silly ideas. Only she mattered. Her beauty, her heat. Not his pains, not his mind, not the monsters in the dark. «Only her. This perfect, flawless woman that I bought.» In her arms, no harm would come to him. «Simple. Everything feels… so simple with her.» Like two and two put together: she was with him, he was with her. Simple. Like it was always meant to be. «By the gods. This feels…» His head hung lower… and lower. «This feels so…»

Good. It felt so good. And it would always feel good, always feel right, so long…

…

…

So long as we always stay together.

…

…

«What…?»

He raised his head. He looked around. Darkness receded into light, shapes and shadows floating inside the room. He had fallen asleep on her lap, who knows for how long. «Oh.» He raised his eyes back to his beautiful woman. The power of her face spoke louder than any of his thoughts. She was beautiful, she was gorgeous, and her beauty… «Oh, heaven!» Her beauty made him feel beautiful too.

“So…” He uttered, the words coming out broken from his shivering lips. “How do you do?” The doll stood silent. The doll stood still. “I… uh… I hope I… haven’t insulted you too much… by putting you here. In this place.”

The doll stood silent. The doll stood still.

He smiled, though. He smiled, chuckled, and rolled his eyes. «I’m talking to a bloody doll now.»

He didn’t feel so ashamed. He couldn’t, after all, feel too bad when the doll was there, so close to him, with her presence being so calming, her air having such a soothing effect on his mind. To look at her was to fill one’s stomach with butterflies. He couldn’t think badly of himself when she was around, and her beauty, her smell… “By the gods! You smell so nice.”

It compelled him to talk. He couldn’t explain it, and felt no need to. It was just a very natural, guttural reaction, like answering to a person who treats you well, without any ulterior motives.

“I’m… having a bad night. That’s all.” He felt his eyes popping. That same crushing pressure! “I mean… all nights are… kind of bad. The days too, to be honest.” He sighed. “It’s no, uh… no reason. Nothing in particular.”

He looked at the doll. The doll looked at him. Her face was somewhat lighter, her eyes open to his heart.

His lips trembled. “It just… happens… sometimes, you know.” He shook his head. “I know I don’t make much sense. I’m stupid this way.”

There was a slight, but noticeable change in the air. «Oh.» He looked at her with different eyes. «I felt like someone was standing here with me just now.»

She had the most intense green eyes he’d ever seen. A tiger’s gaze in a mother’s body. He feared those eyes. And admired them. Those were the eyes of a woman strong enough to move mountains, yet whose strength would be used solely against those who dared threaten him or bring him harm, never against him himself.

Her eyes alone cleared his mind of any trouble. He felt aloof and serene, almost forgetting all the bad thoughts of that day. Or that life. “I’m… I don’t think… I’m a good person. At all.” He kept saying, very slowly, many pauses between his words, but a lot of honesty in each of them—a rare thing for him. “I… I…” He looked at the doll, then back at his flimsy, frail body. “I don’t think I deserve a strong woman like you. What would I… say… what would I do to you… in bed?” He gulped. “Huh?” She just listened. “I… I… I can’t give you pleasure. I can’t do… anything. I’d just be there, like a dead stick, flabby and sad, while you just wait, probably quite disgusted too.” He pulled his legs and hugged them, a fetus sitting in front of his plastic mother. “It happened once, you know. Not sex. Never got close to sex, but… a girl, once. A kiss. I couldn’t even kiss right. I almost puked on her face, and she was already… you know… trying her best to ease me up. I knew she was trying, oh, and I liked her so much for it, but… it’s just not right for a man.” He detested everything he said, just like he hated everything he saw on his body. “Look at me. I’m not a man. Cristo, your legs… just one of them is bigger than my hips. I’m… how can I be a man to you if I can’t even be a man to a regular girl? I… to be with you, it’s… just gonna… show… how much not of a man I am. It’s awkward. I’ll only be thinking nasty things, and… I just don’t wanna… you know…” He scratched his face, trying to peel off his skin. “I just don’t see myself ever getting anything nice in life.” The doll simply stood there, always so royal, looking so mightily down at him. “You are… a very beautiful woman. I just… I mean, I know you know it, but… I guess… I just want to take this out of my chest: it’s not you, it’s me. Obviously, I’d love to sleep with you if… if I could, but… even though you’re fake… even though you obviously cannot hear what I’m saying… even with all that, it’s just not right. You’d hate it.” He chuckled. “You’d hate it so much you’d… create life and… jump out of the window just to get rid of me. I’m… really fucking… bad. At everything. The only thing I can ‘do,’ if you take that to be something, is porn. Not even good porn, just… soft, petty porn. Lewd pictures for boring rich folks. Smutty comics for poor, lonely blokes. Covers for sappy, catlady romances, you know.” He gave her a long look. And smiled. “You look like a woman who’d hate these things. You’re like a cool, biker girl.” He leaned onto his legs, hugging them tighter, and stared longer, deeper at his woman. “Heavens, the kind of man who would have you. He’d be, like… six and a half, seven feet tall? A mountain of muscles too, and of… testosterone.” He sighed. “I have the same testosterone as a mouse. This is why I… I guess… why I look for women like you: very strong, buffy types. I’m so weak that I need a strong woman to protect me. Both physically and mentally. That doesn’t mean that… you’re wrong. That it’s anything wrong with you, no, but that… well… you probably attract a lot of losers like me in your life. Just saying. Not that you would want to, of course not, but… anyway…” He shrugged. “You must be used to it. And it must certainly drive you mad.”

For a moment, he realized the silliness of his situation, and his heart snapped shut in his chest. “You don’t attract nobody. You’re just a doll.”

The lights flickered. The same peculiar sensation from earlier: the tightening of the space, the impression that someone else was there with him…

He looked at the doll and tried to read her, but again, before he could get any answer, he was hopelessly lost in her beauty. “I’m sorry. You are a… woman. Or an avatar of one. Doesn’t excuse me from treating you bad.” So many things invaded his mind. Bad things. Nasty things. Insidious thoughts to eat his heart. “Just talking to you feels insulting. I know you d-”

He closed his eyes. Breathed in deep.

“I know you don’t want me. No woman does. If one ever does, well… she’s crazy. Or psycho. Or evil. I might wake up one day in a bathtub all cut up and find out my organs have all been harvested. Not that this is the lady’s fault, mind you. This is actually a good thing: my organs, you see, are worth more outside of me, giving life to another person, and this woman, you know, this crazy, psycho lady, she’s…” Inhale. Hold. Exhale. *Sigh* “She’s doing humanity a service. A good service for… taking my organs out and… selling them to people much more deserving.” He looked up. Her face, always enigmatic. “I’m not looking for pity. I’m even feeling calm right now. I spent my whole day hating, my whole life shouting, my whole night… thinking… about… ending it. Ending it all. For good.” The light flickered again. He shrugged it off. “I don’t feel that bad right now. Not even that… tired.” He rubbed his eyes. “I mean… fuck. I am tired, but… I don’t feel like… I need to die… to… rid myself of this tiredness. I’m more calm and… level-headed, I guess you’d say.” He looked at her. And just looked at her. Her size and beauty shook him in a most brutal, primal way. He found it honest to just say it out loud: “I am… I am… getting so hot by you right now. You’re just… so fucking hot.”

Her knees faced his way. So close. One arm-stretch away. He raised his hand and brought it closer, so much closer to her body, but stopped short of touching her.

He looked at his woman again, always vying for her reaction. “Please…” He said, simply, and then…

He got up. “Thank you.”

He turned around, walked away.

Stopping by the door, he gave her one final, fleeting look over his shoulder. She sat there, still, as she always did, always ready to hear him, always willing to give him love. “It was a nice talk. Now…”

A thousand thoughts. All telling him very clearly that he was going to regret those simple words he was about to say.

He said them anyway. “Good night.”

He shut the lights, shut the door, and returned to the silence and the dark.

Chapter Text

There would be no sunshine that day. He knew it.

He didn’t feel like working. He didn’t feel like waking up at all. «Hell.» Was his first thought of the morning. «Kill me.» Was his second, and from then on it wouldn’t get any sunnier in his mind.

The sun itself felt detestable, and he scrambled to shut the curtains while trying to not really wake up at all. He laid still on the bed, like dead wood, hoping for sleep to carry him back into the void, and in the void keep him.

«But I need to work.» Said one half of his mind.

«But I fucking hate working.» Replied the other half.

Twisting and turning on the mattress, he “slept” for thirty minutes longer until… *Woosh!* He sprang from the sheets, startled by nothing, and jumped straight into his desk.

«Stupid piece of shit. You stupid little sack of fucking s-!»

…

…

Silence. He got a moment of it.

…

…

That’s it, one moment. Now, back to life. He couldn’t waste a precious second of his day. «I’ve gotta…!!» His head was close to exploding. «I’ve gotta… work.»

Make money. Survive. If he ever dared to stop…

… if he ever dared to take a day off…

… to stop for just a second and contemplate any other life but work, work, work…

…he would die. He would starve. That was just a fact of life. Of his life. The life of a poor, worthless gutterscum: one second of laxness and everything he’d ever achieved would just… rotten… rot away as quickly as the burn of the hope he once had for a better life. A kinder fate.

You spend an entire life hustling your way into decency, into the barebones basics of subsisting, and then… one slip… one pull of the rug beneath your feet… Poof! All is lost. And there ain’t ever coming back.

One shot at decent living. Not luxurious. Not comfortable. Decent. One step above the streets, and that’s it. That’s all you got. That is the way of life. That is your way of living.

So he labored. The illustrations were especially spicy that day. Bad news. He always had this terrible boiling in his sack every time he was forced to stare at those beautiful vixens and their tall, chiseled stallions, their angelic faces barely concealing their hellish intent towards their potent partners.

One would understand the pain, the thirst that came with the job: working with sexual abundance, yet being unable to sip from a single drop of it. Retouching without touching. A starving beggar seeing a playboy splurge. Even eunuchs would have a better time in their masters’ harem. At least the eunuchs didn’t have a cock left to make them suffer.

Such exposure made him masturbate once or twice or nineteen times before the evening was set. He did the deed so many times that not only his dick, but his arm felt numb. «Piece of… shit.» By the seventh or eighth or perhaps ninth session he went through, blood came out. *Squirt… squirt…!* His member was a stillborn worm in his hollowed-out hands. A couple of jerks more and it’d fall off. «I…» He had to spend the rest of the day walking around like a cowboy, his crotch burning like it’d been ground against glass fresh out of the smelter. «I hate my life.»

Yeah, yeah. How many times had he complained about it? What did he expect to accomplish by complaining even more? Was he hoping for pity? From whom? It’s not as if he had anyone but himself to pity.

Whomever it’d be, he was getting none of it. And he knew it.

«I fucking hate my life.»

And he deserved it.

Then, there were the voices. Only his voice at first, and a nasty one at that, until it copied itself and gave birth to other voices, several clones of him talking, screaming, screeching, yelling at the clouds, banging their fists on imaginary walls, turning his brain into a ball pit of tantrum, a clatter of hatred so intense he felt the house itself shaking around him, his body and his insides throbbing like rails as the train slowly approaches.

«I… I can’t stop… I can’t do shit! No. I… I wasn’t born so fucked up! I had many opportunities in my life, yet still I can’t do shit with any of them! My fucking… job, it’s… so fucking worthless!! There are people half my age making billions, and they… no! They had it better! They had mommy and daddy! They had love and a good country, a good… fucking… society!!»

He gritted his teeth, screaming into a pillow as his country, his motherland, it became yet again the target of his wrath. “Fucking… pile piece of shit place I had to be born into!! Fucking shite filled with nothing but pigs and monkeys!” He began to tear the pillow off. The feathers glided softly onto the ground. «That fucking land of useless mediocre mongrels!! I could have been so much greater if I were born elsewhere!!» He bit the pillow. Tore it piece by piece. Soon, he was eating the cloth and the feathers. “I could have been king of the world by now!!”

Other voices joined in—different voices this time, and much less merciful than the others. These newcomers, real voices, not just invented ones; the voices of his past, stored deep in his mind, programmed to play on repeat for as long as he lived, and only on the worst moments of his life, to make them somehow even worse, like salt on the gaping wound:

Parasite! Have some common sense, you fucking crazy! Who do you think you are? Some lucky sperm? Some golden boy from trust fund heaven?!

These were the responses every time he’d been foolish, stupid, asinine enough to tell someone, anyone of his dreams: «But I wanna…!» Tears raining down his piggly face. «I wanna be an artist!»

…

…

Hah, hah!

…

Hah, hah!

…

…

HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH…!!!

Oh, the laughter. The laughter and the hatred.

Never once did he want to design pornographic portraits for a living. Never once did that career, or anything remotely resembling it, ever cross his mind. Of course it never did. Who, in all earnestness, would ever want to do this for a living? If he had gotten to that point, it was only because… he needed it to survive.

To make money. To get by day after day until hopefully he had saved up enough money to not do this anymore and finally focus on what he truly desired in life.

So he labored. Day after day. And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day…

…

«Fuck me, gods.»

Those cheap, knock-off illustrations were the only thing in his whole damned life that had ever made him any money. His art, his genuine effort, it was worse than worthless. It was negative: he lost money, he lost time, he lost friendships, he lost every damn thing a human being would consider basic. «What a joke.» He clicked his tongue. «What a great, fucking joke.»

His dreams had cost him everything, yet his shit made him money. Not that any of this elicited any pity from the voices. Useless. Useless! In both failure and “success,” they all agreed on the same thing, and screamed it, at the top of their lungs, into his brain, directly on the ears of his soul:

Sad. Disgusting. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Repulsive…

Useless! Useless! You’re so fucking useless!

Their words weren’t the worst. It was the laughter. The laughter, the jest, the ridicule, like hyenas and demons eyeballing as they scoffed at him. In time, their static became only one long, uninterrupted chant of mockery.

The whole world scoffing at him. Enough to make one blow their brains out.

“Arrgh!” His brain felt at its limit. His eyes, nearly popping. He could see the blood coming out. “Aargh, fuck!!” He screamed his pain out, yet the longer he screamed, the greater the pain became, for the voices all screamed with him, always one step ahead, always more powerful, ever so unrelenting:

There are slaves toiling their bones out in the Sahara! Their paltry little children being sold off for barley! What do you know of pain and misery, you fucking imbecile?! Useless! Parasite! Fucking waste of semen!

The look of disgust from his neighbors as they sideglanced his mother, who too was deeply disgusted by him…

Twenty years of a child for this?!

And the laughter. Oh, the laughter! The endless jest, the unrelenting tearing down of his hopes and dreams. You are a piece of shit. If you were not a piece of shit, you’d be born in some good country, not the dump you were born in. And you know why were you born in this dump? The voices paused before the answer, grinning and crying out with so much laughter. Because you’re garbage, and garbage belongs in the dump.

His dreams and ambitions, for the most part, never warranted a proper response. Only laughter, yes, only jest, and ridicule.

Sometimes, though, there was silence. The worst of silences; a silence so contemptuous that no word could better convey its message: this is so stupid it’s not even worth addressing.

But sometimes it was addressed, and when it was addressed…

«P-please… n-no!»

Yes. He preferred the laughter anytime.

MISERÁVEL IMBECIL!

*Bang!*

…

…

…

…

Hit. He was hit.

And he was hit and hit, and then hit some more, and offered up to the neighbors so they could hit him too and laugh at his expense, feel a little better about themselves by hitting and hitting him and cracking him up good. This guy thinks he’s some special boy!! What a fucking nutcase! What a cockless donkey!!

And laughter. Oh, the laughter.

And the hits. So. Many. Hits. *Blaam!*

…

Heavy blows on the back of his head. Strong enough to make his eyes pop.

But they didn’t, they sadly didn’t, and he sadly never died from these hits, remaining alive just to hear more of the laughter, more of the sneer, and get more of the hits as they grew plentiful, heavier, and merrier. *Blaam! Blaam! Blaam…!*

There is a method to torture, you see: the secret is to cause just enough pain without damaging the body. Maximize the pain while minimizing the harm. This way you get the best net suffering, the best return on your blows.

Who do you think you are? Some kinda genius?! Sneer, laughter, and blows. Every. Fucking. Time. Hey, y’all! He thinks he’s some fancy brain, some finer soul than us! Worthless slice of flabby pecker, that’s what you are! Laughter. Just laugh and laugh and laugh. And blows. So many blows to his head! Fucking stupid piece of shit! Thinking you’re any better than the fate you’ve been assigned!!

But he was. He swore he was: he studied, he read, he made art. He stayed silent when no word was needed and spoke the truth when he was prompted, but the land, that accursed, piece-of-shit land he’d been shat on needed no truth nor peace nor silence. It was a nation of babble, a land of lies.

Lies. Lies and lies and damned, fucking lies! It was a place so enamored with lies that the worst of liars became righteous, and the only good, upstanding citizens in the public’s eyes were those who lied and thieved the most. Truth and decency, humility and honesty… bah! Only losers clung to them! Those who spouted them got themselves whooped! No mercy or love for truthtellers.

In a land of lies, the truthsayer is first to die. In the land of the blind, one of the many voices screamed, the one-eyed man is king. It was a famous saying from somewhere ‘round his continent. Another lie. «Yeah, right. What a load.» He banged his fists on his head harder, if a bit more slowly this time. «In the land of the blind, anyone who’s got an eye will be blinded too. As soon as folks find out the person still has an eye, they will jump on them like animals and gauge that eye out.»

His land, after all, was so compelled to mediocrity, so pulled toward indecency that the biggest crime, the only crime was to try and rise above their station. It was a country where everyone—and he meant everyone—spent all their days and their energies trying to bring everyone else down to their level, to the mud and the shitter where pigs so love to linger. Where good, compassionate leaders were unheard of, and where only the biggest scoundrels of the earth could make themselves respectable.

Alas, he wasn’t such a scoundrel. He wanted to be, but he had no talent for it, nor any skill for crookedness. *Sigh* Unable to be evil, but with no talent to succeed in goodness either, he just became hollow. A shell. A purposeless little spark of spurious flame fluttering by until it faded, with no fire left behind for a legacy.

Just the dark. And the cold.

…

…

A long time ago, he swore it, he knew it, he could remember it vividly, there had been a fire where his fleeting spark stood, but the people of his land made sure to correct that, to dampen it until it was moot. They could be very competent, his people, and quite skilled and well-coordinated when it came to pulling someone down and bringing them back to the shitter. If anything, it was the only thing that brought them meaning, hence the laughter, the insults, and the blows.

So. Many. Blows.

*Bang!* «Worthless!!» He hit his head. *Bang!* «You useless, worthless man.» And he hit his head again. *Bang! Bang!*

The worst thing was… he didn’t disagree with the voices. He fought them for the sake of fighting them, for the stress of it, but never really denied them. *Bang! Bang!* To think was to be continuously humiliated. In a way, the act of thinking was just another form of self-immolation. *Bang! Bang!* To ram his head against a wall, see all his hopes and dreams shattered as soon as the words left his tongue. *Bang! Bang! Bang!*

A great humiliation, that of never being able to rise above the words of your detractor. The greatest humiliation, then, when such detractor lived inside your head, followed your every step, always and forever, and never, ever, not for a single second stopped chasing you, not for the briefest of moments took some rest. *Bang! Bang! Bang!*

When it wasn’t his family, it was his teachers.

When not his teachers, his bosses.

When not his bosses, the strangers.

When not the strangers, his acquaintances. And only acquaintances, for he had never had anyone worth calling a friend. «God… d-damn…!!»

*Bang!* Whoever it was, whomever he knew or had ever known, they were all enemies, they were all foes, and his foes and enemies needed no sleep, nor did they ever give him any sleep. *Bang! Bang! Bang!*

“Useless. Useless. Worthless. Useless”

And his head yelled back at him:

*Bang! Bang!*

*Bang! Bang!*

*Bang-bang-bang-bang-b-*

…

…

*Crack!*

He felt a sharp pain above his eyes and heard something splinter. “Aargh…!!” Perhaps his skull had finally cracked. Maybe, just maybe… you finally die.

The window was right there. *Bang!* Death would be more merciful through it. *Bang!* Still, despite all his pain… *Bang!* He didn’t really want to die. *Bang! Bang!* He just wanted to sleep!

At one point, his body got stiff. *Bang!* Both mental and physical exhaustion burned him. None of that stopped him, however, from bashing his skull against the wall enough times for its surface to bend and crack under the impact. *Bang! Bang!* He felt a wetness on his skin. Blood, probably. Hopefully. *Bang! Bang!* Despite all this, he still hit it. Heavens knew what could happen to him if he truly hurt himself. If he ended up on a hospital bed, damaging his brain so bad that he’d have some freaky issues for the rest of his life, unable to walk, to eat… to work.

*Bang! Bang!* The act wasn’t all torture. He preferred the pain in his skull to the cruel voices inside it. *Bang!* Whenever he hit it… *bang!* The voices got a little quieter. *Bang!* A little happier. *Bang!* Almost as if they were hurt. *Bang!* Or satiated. *Bang! Bang!* Like he was doing exactly what they wanted him to do. *Bang… bang…*

…

…

*Bump!*

He stopped. With his brain drumming and throbbing against the cracked bone of his skull, he turned his head to look at his bedroom door, and then he just… stopped.

The silence was soothing with the chill wind from his window. The curtains touched his naked arm as they fluttered, bringing his body the only smooth touch of that night.

Something had happened. Something had made a noise there, across the hallway. «W-what…?» He remained there, sitting still, head burning and veins boiling, staring at the hallway and seeing colors in the dark. “Ouch.” He braced his head with both hands. “Ooow!”

*Tundum-tundum-tundum!* His brain throbbed with his heart. It was very close now. His head. Very close to cracking up. Just a matter of time now. Just a matter of seconds for death to snatch him.

“Ouch!” Tears rose. His nose, all clogged up. “Ooow…!”

Hush, hush now. It won’t be long. Not too long before the silence. Not too long before the dark. Not too long before those voices finally shut up. Just flow with the wind now. Close your eyes and feel its blows take you kindly into the night.

*Tundum-tundum!* His heart… his heart… *Tundum-tundum!*

*Tundum-tundum.*

…

*Tundum… tundum…*

…

…

…

*Bump!*

He stood up. Something had made a sound, somewhere in his hallway. “Oh.” The door of the storage room across the hallway stared back at him silently. It had been many days since he had left it closed. Almost enough to forget the pain, the shame, the love he had rejected and abandoned. Trapped. Locked up.

He had heard a noise coming from there. A bump against the door. A call for his heart. «Enough.» His head hurt. It hurt. «E-… enough.»

It hurt so bloody much!

With the gait of a living man, and feet so white and numb they’d belong to a corpse, bumping and thumping against every wall while his broken brain bumped and thumped against his shattered skull, the boy got himself out of his bed, into the dark, and…

… and…

«Enough. Enough. Enough.»

He walked to the living room. *Woooosh!* His home turned cold as he slid the balcony door open. *Woooosh…* The wind, through whispers, invited him to sleep.

He stared into the night, approving of its uniformity, the few stars dimmed by the even dimmer lights of the lifeless city beneath, and stepped forth, feeling the cold wind on his body.

He looked down. It was a nice, merciful fall from there. The rails were low enough for one to fall over with only a slight push. A simple, careless lean, and then…

…

…

*Whoosh!* That’s all there was. That’s all there would ever be.

For the standards of that country, it was a very sloppily-built place. «They forbid these kinds of hazards.» His hand touched the rail. «They try to protect their people at all costs.» He raised his head, sniffed out the chilly air. The northern winds had such dry bitterness to them. «They care that their people don’t hurt themselves.» He choked on his own saliva. «They won’t care for me.»

He stepped on the lower rail. Looked down again. If he ignored the few white dots on the streets, he would be staring into a perfect dark. The full moon shone much brighter on those latitudes, yet at the feet of his building lay only shadows, like the mouth of a leviathan ready to swallow him and give him peace.

«One step. Just… one step.»

Yes. All he would need was one step, just a single step, and a tiny jolt into the dark. The silence and the dark he knew so well. The silence and the dark he somehow… for some unknown and inscrutable reason… took so long embrace.

His head, his heart.

*Tundum-tundum.*

*Tundum-tundum…*

«No more pain. No more past.» No more surprises in the dark.

No more past. No more future. No more voices to make him cry.

Provided that the religious folks were wrong, there would be nothing beyond the veil, and this nothing was so much better than the everything he’d ever known, than all the things he’d ever experienced in the light. «Zero is better than negative.» He looked up, staring at the different, hideous darkness of the sky. His mathematical mind was giving him some peace. Or the illusion of it.

He put his other foot on the lower rail, and his body rose higher against the night, into which he looked again, neck bent, head low, eyes down, down, down. «But the pain…» It gave his mind a split second of thought and his heart a splinter of doubt.

The pain. Yes, the pain. The pain was his only enemy. He’d seen pictures of people who’d fallen from those heights, yet somehow survived. Only a demon or a very nasty brand of god would curse a person to such an end: to deny them the release of death, but also invalidate them through the rest of life.

In that country, sure, these unlucky souls tended to be put to sleep. This was some solace, but not enough, oh, not nearly enough for him to ignore the pain that such survival, no matter how brief, would bring. «Oh, gods, take pity!» He shivered, looking down, thinking not only about the pain, but also the agony of the fall.

The fall. Yes, the fall. One could never forget the long, dreadful fall itself. Some folks in more savage places had it easy, for their lands abounded with guns, and every discussion, every torment, every slight was resolved with a bullet to the eye. Easy, quick, simple, efficient. In most places of the world, though, most people weren’t so lucky. They only had tall buildings at their disposal. To leap from such heights, though efficient, still left them with one too many seconds of horror and despair, even regret as they met their fates and the dark’s embrace.

There was no kind dying for those who jumped. Their last seconds on earth, the longest of their lives, would be filled with horror and second thoughts.

Oh, the second thoughts! The windows of opportunity when no opportunity remained. The plans of salvation that only came when salvation became impossible, all hope lost, a little too hard, a little too late. But that was the point of it, wasn’t it? To torment the tormented one last time. To give them a little taste of hell before they went to freeze in it forever?

It was his stupid body trying to survive. «I want to die. I do, but my body doesn’t.» In a last-ditch effort of self-preservation, the mind went berserk, filling the person with all sorts of foolishnesses and stupidities. «Hope.» He realized. «It gives us hope when there’s none. It’s always like this, ain’t it?» He smiled, barely realizing he was still leaning into the void, staring into the dark. «We only feel hope when we shouldn’t. We persist when it’s wise to give up. Endure when it’s best to surrender. Better for everyone.»

He knew what it was: survival instinct. He knew it, but preferred to always think of it as «torture. Sadism.» Life wanting to keep him struggling to no avail. A hangman enjoying the struggle before the inevitable end.

Everyone would die. Why not, then, make it quicker? Why not skip all the bullshit and hurry to the common fate of all? «Enough.» He bobbed his head, tears of blood sipping from his eyes. «No more pain. No more lies.» He looked up one last time, cursing all the gods and spirits that watched him from the moon. «No more doing the bidding of an uncaring life.» He closed his eyes and stepped blindly into the air, climbing one final set of stairs that wasn’t really there.

One hop. One tiny leap. It was… so easy… to just… «Lean forth and fly!» He wouldn’t even notice when his feet had left the rail. It’d just be flying, and he’d just be gone.

*Tundum-tundum.* His heart. Oh, his heart… *Tundum-tundum.*

*Tundum… tundum…*

…

…

*BUMP!*

A loud noise startled him. “Fuck!”

*Blaam!* His buttocks came hard on the ground. “Ooow!!”

He squirmed for a while, not on the asphalt below, but on the balcony floor behind him, having fallen back thanks to the startle from that weird, mysterious sound. “Motherf-!!” He felt he’d broken something. Not his head, but his hips. It was certainly less broken, sure, than if he’d fallen in the opposite direction, but still… “Hurts like a fucking bitch!!” He grabbed his butt and squirmed on the floor a little longer. “Ooow!!”

The wind receded very slowly into a soothing silence, but the pain in his butt and the burn in his head prevented him from enjoying it. He was left squirming and whining on the ground. If anyone had cared to hear him, they would have thought a puppy had been struck and left for dead in that chilly air. Pain. Intense, bone-splitting pain! Yet now… he no longer even had the strength to get up, climb over the balcony, and end it. «Curses…!»

*Bump!*

He froze. The sound had come again. «What the hell?» This time, it was undeniable: that mysterious sound had come from deep beyond the living room, somewhere hidden in the hallway. «My… my room?»

The intense burning, though… “Aaargh!!” He held on to his head. The sharp, searing pain struck him often, and it struck him hard. “Aaah!” Like the waters of a dam collapsing after years of neglect, the pain burst from him like lava. “Merda… merda!!” Deep inhales. Hurtful gasps. “Fuuuck!!” His quick breaths formed misty clouds rising to the darkened dome. There were very few people left in his town, yet still very few stars shimmered in the sky. The night was dark and dead, much more than it needed to be. “Fuck… heaven’s… fuck!!” Everyone was gone. Everything was dead. Except for him. «This pain! This fucking pain!!» Skull slowly splintering into eight, ten different pieces. «Okay, you win! I live!» He prayed to the gods on the moon. «I will live! I won’t die! Just please… please…!!» His shattering eyes, shedding crystal tears, begged forgiveness. «Make this fucking pain go away!»

*Bump.*

…

*Bump!*

…

…

Alone in the dark, squirming in pain, he heard the strange noises again. «Fuck! What the… what the fuck!»

*Bump! Bump!* Something… someone… knocking on a door.

It certainly wasn’t his living room door, he knew it. As hurt as he felt, he was enough too well to hear it clearly: those bumps came from somewhere near his room, deep, deep in the dreary, dark hallway. *Bump… bump…*

«Fuck!» With the pain slowly receding, he tried staying as still as possible on the floor, letting the cold breeze freeze him, hoping that his quietness would bring that blistering ache to an end. «Please… please…»

…

…

…

It did. It actually did. It took while, but… in the end, it really did go away.

Dark and cold embraced him in the open. The floor was so chill he could no longer feel his back or his limbs.

Didn’t matter. The fact that the painful freeze, not the burning pain, was all he could feel, oh, it was like his soul was dancing in the stars. Not happy. Not glad. But relieved. An appropriate feeling for a dance on a night devoid of light. «What the fuck has gone on with me?»

In the back of his skull, the throbs of a hurt, bleeding brain. *Boom! Boom!*

In the back of his home, the knocks of a covert, mystic being. *Bump! Bump!*

«Screw this.»

By the time the moon herself became sleepy, he tossed aside whatever pride he still felt and, with great difficulty, feeling his skull threatening to explode and his brain drop from it like a piece of meat hanging over a fiery pit, he got up and…

… stumbled his way through the living room… into the hallway, and…

*Bump! Bump!*

*Bump! Bump!*

… seeing shapes and colors flickering, sources of light all around him, he toppled and tumbled his way to the very end of the corridor, paying no mind to whatever demons or ghosts inhabited it, waiting for him and plotting his demise.

«At this point… at this point…»

His head. Oh, his head.

*Boom! Boom!*

*Boom! Boom!!*

«I kind of wish for a ghost. A monster to just… jump on me and… let me fucking die!»

No monsters. No ghosts. Only…

*Bump. Bump.*

*Bump. Bump!*

… ghostly knocks.

“Who’s there?” He asked, making his way through the final feet of his hallway, walking between his bedroom door and the storage room. “Are you there… ghost?”

*Bak! Bak! Bak!* He knocked on the door to his right. The storeroom. *Bak! Bak! Bak!* He knocked on it three times, then three times again, waiting for something, yet getting nothing but the pain in his mind. “Fuck! Oow… fuck.” There was silence. Just silence. The knocks and bumps had gone away. «You fucking cowardly ghosts!»

He waited long enough until he could only hear his own breath and feel his own organs moving, churning, doing whatever organs do. «I swear… pain or not…» The sweat burned on his cheeks. «I heard something.» Slowly, he moved one fist to the door. «Something… here.»

There was still hope. Not the hope he desired, but the hope he could afford. «The doll…?»

*Creak…* He slid the door open, peeking inside. “Hello?” As his eyes wandered in the dark… “Oh.” He noticed a bottle of bleach rolling on the floor and stopping by his feet. “What the…?”

The bottle, it seemed, had fallen from the shelf. A broom too, apparently, had been knocked across the space, almost hitting… «You.»

Her. The doll. Still sitting there, ever so patient, so humble, calmly accepting the dust that slowly piled on her beautiful skin. “Oh.” He muttered, putting the things back into place. His eyes met hers. Her eyes cried loneliness. “Fuck…”

She looked mad at him. Of course she did. After so long locked up in that place, that woman, that queen probably felt exhausted with him. It wasn’t even the imprisonment that enraged her, but the imprisonment at the hands of… what? A boy!

“I… I, uh…” He knew he would regret the silliness and the foolishness of it all. And still… “I’m sorry.” He knelt before her. “You’re dusty.”

He touched her thighs. He was trying to wipe the dust off her jeans (or at least this was his excuse), and as soon as his fingers met the incredible sturdiness of her legs… «Fuck!»

The power! The strength! That wave of greatness rippling through his body! It didn’t matter that the storage was cold. Much colder, in fact, than the rest of the home. She was warm. Hot. Like real skin underneath her clothes.

Her face appeared slightly changed. Angry. Irate for his abandonment.

“I don’t… I can’t…”

The words, the damned words. He knew them, but didn’t want to say them.

The shame. The mighty shame of admitting it!

His eyes, nearly exploding. He rubbed them, then rubbed his whole face with both hands, covering himself, hiding from her gaze as he uttered those words that cost him his soul: “P-p-please. Help me!”

He bowed before her. Her lap was a soft pillow. Her muscles, gentle and kind. Something one would never assume by just looking at them, seeing how sturdy and mighty they looked. First impressions. Deceiving. “Oooh…!” Once he made contact with her heavenly thighs, he was at peace. Even his battered head hurt much less when in contact with that strong, loving body.

He felt a hand on his nape, cuddling his hair. It prompted him to raise his head and look up, only to see nothing, just the same doll standing in that same position, looking down upon him with her gorgeous green eyes. “Can you… can…?” Took him fifty lifetimes to ask that question, but there it was, finally asked: “Could you please… please… could you sleep with me?”

Part of his soul panicked. «Caralho! Mas… mas o quê que eu acabei de dizer??» Just like his decision of buying her, he had crossed an uncrossable threshold. «Fuck.» Now, he was less than a boy. Less than a virgin. He felt like basically just a verm…

Stop this.

…

…?

He’d heard a voice. In his head. A different voice, though. A new one. A kind one. Definitely not a voice he had heard before. Just like… that touch… of the invisible hand on his neck. «What…?»

That sudden voice startled him. It made him move his gaze all over the place and wonder: had that voice really come from his head, and his head alone? «Seemed…» He touched his skull, counting every throb of his damaged, aching brain inside. «Seemed too real.» Then his eyes, back again… they returned to the doll. “You didn’t happen to talk just now, did you?”

His lips found it hard not to smile. «Oh.» A smile. So rare, and so lovely. It felt so good on his face. «Why do I… why do I feel so…?»

…

…

Happy?

…

…

Was that really…?

…

Happiness?

“You.”

That doll. Only with her he felt a reason to smile. Only in her presence…

“Oh… you!”

… he felt compelled to happiness.

He kept his eyes firmly on her, enamored by the perfection of every inch of her face. “Could I… please…” He scratched the back of a hand, so timidly. “Take you to bed?” He left the gentle pause hanging in the air. It glided down, slowly and smoothly, following with his hands onto her lap, and only then he felt like he could speak again, now with a puppy whine and a beggar’s gleam in his eyes: “Please?”

Her face… it seemed to get closer. His own eyes invited her embrace.

In his head, he heard her answer:

Yes.

How peculiar. He heard it in the same tone, the exact same voice as before. “Thank you.” He kissed her godly thighs, and with great effort led her to his chamber.

* * *

Sweat. There was so much of it! «By the gods, woman!» He heaved and wailed as he pulled his giantess another inch across his bedroom, painful inch after hurtful foot bringing her ever closer to the bedsheets. «You. Are. Heavy!»

Not nearly, though, as she should have been. As they walked together, he marveled at how he could carry her despite his injuries, the burning in his skull reduced to nothing but an annoying, if pervasive headache. «It’s so wonderful how… smooth this feels!» She felt as if she’d lost half her weight from when he first carried her through the hallway. «It’s like… you’re walking with me!»

Whenever he looked at their feet, he could swear hers were moving in tandem with his, a very close and uncanny mimicry of his steps. “You… you did lose some weight, eh?” He cracked a smile. The levity of his voice deflated a bit of the effort of carrying her around. “Being locked up in there was, uh… a real harsh diet, wasn’t it?”

There would have been dead silence in the room if not for his panting and gasping, as well as the deep, thick noises of such a heavy object being moved across the wooden floor. “Don’t worry. I… I will feed you.” He smiled. “I will feed you well now.” He began to giggle. “You’re… uh, you’re strong. Buff. Like a type who, uh… really likes to exercise. Aren’t you? Well, I… I heard you, uh… I heard that strong people like you enjoy chicken. Good for building muscles, you know.”

His giggles! Did he still have a four-year-old child living somewhere up there, in his brain? “Do you, uh, like chicken? Chicken breast? To help you grow, you know?” His heaving and panting, wheezing and gasping were made more tolerable by his giggles. “Well, in that case… don’t worry. From now on, I will feed you some good cock.”

He had to stop and cover his silly smile. Though the chuckles made his head hurt, he was surprised by how negligible the pain felt, any hurt all the more insignificant now that she was by his side. Maybe he hadn’t hit himself so hard, after all. Maybe most of his pain had been only in his mind. Like most of his problems, perhaps.

“There we have it.” He was a puddle of salt and water by the time he’d managed to sit her on his bed. “Lar, uh, doce lar.” Yet again, her flexibility astounded him. She seemed to have sat down by herself, her movements so fluid as to feel lifelike. “Wow.” The skill that had gone into making her, all the talented work that was poured into that craft, into the mindboggling precision of her joints, her skeleton, her whole incredible being… “caralho.” He couldn’t stop being amazed, even awed by all that liveliness. “You are… uh… really real, huh?”

Not real enough to give him any answer, though.

She stayed there, silently sitting on the bed, bending its mattress and its wooden frame with her titanic body, too big even for the full length of that narrow bunk. «Cristo.» He gawked at her some more. «You really are gigantic.»

He wiped the sweat off his head, wondering what to do to her instead. Lay down, perhaps. Lay down next to her. By her side. Face by face, if he were so brave.

Yes. That’s what he should do. «Oh, no.»

That’s what he knew he should have done from the very beginning, but was just too much of a pussy, of a bloody coward to do. “I’m… I… uh…” He fondled his arms and his hands so shyly. It was just too… scary.

That woman. That goddess. Too much woman for a virgin boy like him, a facsimile of a man who had only barely kissed another girl in his life—and not even a pretty one at that! «Fuck! Again: what can I…» Shivers and tears. «What can I…??» The pain in his head, oh, slowly returning. «What the fuck can I do to a woman like this??»

To just lay with that woman, just like that, out of the blue, himself being who he was… oh, what a joke! It would be like a man who had spent all his life bedridden, unable to walk or even to crawl, paraplegic and wheelchair-bound, now suddenly expected to run several marathons back-to-back… and win every single one of them! “I can’t. I just… oh.”

He was caught. Trapped in a moment between times. Her hypnotic eyes, working their magic on him, stirred his soul like sweet stew on the low fire.

And then he heard it. His heart. And something else along with its kindred beating: Yes, you can.

That voice. Her voice.

«I…»

It had caught him off-guard, thrown him off his balance, that tender voice within his mind. «I…!» It moved him in such a way as if another body had taken possession of him, inhabited his skin, and shaken his soul like an earthquake.

«I… I can’t!»

The doll kept on looking, her green eyes always inviting him. Yes.

That voice…! Yes, you can.

He took a step back. “Whoa…”

Generally, he could rationalize anything that was thrown his way. He had to, for he wasn’t the type who could afford any magic or wonder in his life. Everything had to be exact, precise, rational, cold, and banal. Everything needed to be empirical: no fantasy to one’s heart, no hope for one’s future. And yet, tried as he might, he couldn’t put a finger on that… peculiar, eerie kind of voice that was uttered in his head, to the ears of his soul:

Yes, baby darling. Yes, you can.

The voices were all his. Always were. He knew it. But that voice… that incongruous, incredible voice… «It is. It is my voice. I know it is mine. And yet…»

…

…

Slowly, always doing his best to not bother her, to not disturb his most beautiful woman, ever apologetic for his very existence, he relented and laid down on the bed, pulling her gently to his side. «Wow!»

Quiet. Quiet. It was peace and quiet, only the calm darkness to warm them up, to break the ice between them and join them together, an embrace of cold turning warm, soft, and close.

Close. Their bodies coming closer, slowly closer together. Slowly.

And slowly.

…

…

Still. He stood still. Eyes on her, getting used to her beautiful face, her soft air, her bewitching green gaze. Her eyes glowing so brightly under the full moon, casting emeralds upon his face, painting his skin green, a cool contrast with the red smudge and purple bruises on his forehead.

There was a noticeable nervousness on his breast. His chest moved heavily with the weight of mountains, and his breath could be heard coarsely from the other side of the moon. He cleared his throat, swallowing his nasty spit, and avoided his woman’s gaze in shame, protecting his genitals with both hands as if she were going to bite them off.

Her eyes demanded worship. His eyes wanted to flee.

He had a lot of worship to give. Yet still…

… still…

…

Nothing. He said nothing. Did nothing. And he wanted it that way. «Just a moment between us two. Hmm.» The light of darkness enveloped the couple tightly, protected them… him… from all the monsters that preyed about. «I need to get used to you. To this face. To all… that you represent. All that you mean.»

Sunlight began to pour into the room. The cockerel would have sung, but there were no roosters in the ice. Upon seeing the golden threads on her face, he was struck, as lovers do, by her morning beauty, and then ashamed, irate by his waste of a day. «What did I do but hate? What am I except for… waste?» He grabbed his own hair tightly, but refrained from pulling it or injuring himself any further.

Because of her. Only because of her. He wouldn’t behave like that in front of a woman, would he? «I need help.» He wanted to say, beg, pray to her. After all, a woman deserving of worship is also a woman capable of miracles. She who is worshiped is divine. “P- p… p-please.” A gush of wind instilled coolness in his warming heart and swerved all the worst feelings of his inner self. “I…”

His tongue was held still by his brain, as it often was the case, yet the latter’s grip felt greatly hollowed, growing more impotent the warmer he felt to the touch of a loving, beautiful woman.

«She isn’t alive.» He reminded himself. His eyes wandered on and over her body. «She… is not… real.»

She is not real.

She is not.

She is.

She is real.

She is real and… she loves me.

His face probably looked very ugly, he would bet, after all the beating and lack of sleep. He would have been tempted to say that the previous day had been the worst of his life, but this title, alas, had too many contenders. «Wouldn’t make into the top twenty.» He told himself, not without cracking a small, self-pitying smile.

Her face stood before him. Calm. Placid.

Waiting.

She didn’t look impatient, but she did look… disappointed? «By the gods in heaven, I swear… your face changes every time I look at it.»

He was amazed, always amazed. Though it was about one three-fourths past the sunrise kiss, and the early birds were chirping, and the late sleepers yawning, their arms, legs, bodies stretching, and the early workers queuing for the trams and cutting the streets towards their faraway offices, he wasn’t angry anymore. «I lost sleep. I lost a whole day. Missed a whole night of dreams.» He repeated, trying to gauge his inner demons, and noted how no more angry feelings were there to be found. He did not want to explode anymore. The window remained open, but he no longer wanted to fly through it toward the moon.

He was cool. He was at peace. “I’m sorry.” He mustered the courage to touch his damsel’s hands, knowing it was her he should thank for all that coolness, all his peace. “I’m just… just…”

…

…

…

…

No. No more.

…

…

No more. There needs… no more.

…

…

Words. None of them. No more words for many minutes.

Time went on. Still, no sleep to knock him down. No anger, also.

The eyes of his doll now glittered with gold, reflecting the sunlight that slowly illuminated his bedroom, the whole place fresher with the gentle breeze of summer, the airy chants of the larks.

Let it out.

Her voice. That voice.

You need to let go. You need to let it out.

He squeezed her palm, and in his head he imagined her squeezing it back. Her voice was… her voice… «This voice I am making for her.»

Was he? He didn’t… he… couldn’t…

The voice had just appeared in his mind. It spoke to him in a tone he’d never heard, a tone he’d never thought he could even hope to replicate. «A loving tone.» It weighed heavily on his breast. «A tone I never heard before in my life.»

It was strong. It was feminine. A singer’s voice, full of harmony and softness, even when not singing, even when just plainly speaking, powerful and clear in the subtlest of whispers, yet sharp as a blade, piercing as a spear, and all the sharper and more piercing when directed so clearly at the listener, when directed so intently and so intensely… at him.

As he moved his hand to her hair, his palm hovering so close to her heavenly threads, he anticipated eagerly the wonderful feel of that lush, smooth mane on his touch. Predictably, though, and also so sadly, he kept his hand a few inches away, not daring to venture any closer without her consent, lest were she to chop his hand off for his vile transgression. «You wouldn’t mind it. Would you?»

The fact that he could stare at her, at such incredible beauty so up-close, to witness such a dreamy woman, a lady far better and leagues hotter than those of his most delirious fantasies, and do so without having his heart fail him or his mind rebel against him, oh… this was far and away enough reason for pride and jubilation. “You… you are… so fucking hot.” His eyes didn’t waver. “And you… you know it. Of course, you do. You know you’re beautiful, as any woman who looks like you does.”

He allowed himself a couple of hours to crack open his soul. To say, to confess, to tell her what he really wanted since the day he’d laid eyes on her, across the ocean, through the virtual screen. “I don’t… talk… to beautiful girls. I don’t… talk… to girls at all. Not saying you’re a ‘girl,’ of course.” He moved his gaze lower, lower on her body—her massive, muscular body sinking on his bed as heavily as a boulder! “You’re a woman.” He blinked. “You’re the most woman there is.”

He slid his hand along her arm, feeling the tightness, ripeness of her muscles. Like all other parts of her stupendous physique, her arms were amazingly well-defined. Her biceps, true testaments of peak human condition, swollen and hard, bulging and solidly constructed, and it was a wonder to anyone who beheld those guns how they could possibly be contained by such tight, tensed sleeves, even if they were made of the strongest material known to man.

Her body begged a palm to touch it, a tongue to worship it, yet that tiny man didn’t feel worthy of being even beneath her feet, let alone laying side-by-side with her, almost like—oh, the audacity!—a husband. «I am, at best, an offering.»

A sacrificial lamb to be gutted on the altar of her awesomeness.

As he went on thinking, the sun stretched itself out in full. Her unflinching gaze kept his back against the wall, as if, in the lack of action, she had to be the one to take the first step.

And the second too. And the third, and the fourth… She was doing the whole walking. He knew it, and predictably felt very ashamed. “I’m so s-”

«Shut up.»

Her voice. Her voice…

«Shut up and kiss me.»

His heart jolted, happy as a piglet in the mud, a labrador pup next to its wholesome momma. She was a woman, and she desired his lips!

«Heaven.» His heart now beat so full of joy. «Is this how it feels… to be desired?» His eyes doubled in size. «Is this how it feels… to be beautiful?» Though only the tiniest fraction of the thinnest sliver of the real thing… «It fills me with… more energy… than all the money I have ever made.»

He tried to move his head just a half-inch closer.

«No.» He moved it back, shaking it. “No.”

He looked down.

«It’s okay.» She said. «On the cheek, then?»

He looked up. Her beauty was just… so aggressive. It burned his eyes, made his head hurt. “N-no.” His lips trembled and his eyes almost… popped? Melted? He couldn’t describe it, nor did he want to feel it for much longer.

Before he could escape her grasp again, her gentle voice melted like butter in his ears: «Then hug me. Just hug me. I need no more than this.»

She was asking. Not begging, not demanding. Asking. Her tone was such that it would make rejection feel like villainy. Like a snake charmer, she could strike that perfect balance between kindness and authority, both little sister and mighty mother, stealing all will and agency from her subjects, no matter how angry, how destitute, or how rebellious they felt. «Pretty please? Prettiest of pleases? Hmm?»

As far as he was concerned, he didn’t nod on his own, and his lips didn’t move by his will, but… still…

He did all of it so surely, so quickly, as if any other action was imp-… unthin-… indescrib-…

“Okay.” Said his lips, and his arms warmed her waist, bringing him closer to her, pulling them both into a hug.

…

…

…!

…!!

…

On his chest, he felt something piercing. «Cristo!»

Breasts. Her breasts. Those astonishingly big, heavy breasts pressed against his torso, like boulders of milk.

Their faces were apart by many inches still. He could feel his heartbeat making ripples on her sturdy tits, and those tits felt like she too had a heart beating inside. He tried pulling her closer, hugging her tighter, but no energy was left in his arms, in his whole body. Past the smooth, initial softness of her skin, she was pure muscle. Pure concrete. No in-betweens: a titanium core under a pin-thin layer of silky skin.

An amazon beauty carved out of the earth’s heart, pure and unalloyed, untainted by the elements and indifferent to the universe, one and only, absolute and indivisible, supreme and unquestionable, as only the gods and goddesses could be.

In honor of such divinity, his dick grew hard. Her body like granite, his member like chalk. He was cool. He was chill. A lot of bliss beneath his blisters. “You’re so beautiful.” He finally said it, feeling a little ashamed that he did, and feeling a whole lot better after he did it.

The words pushed some of his pains away, like pressure out of the cooking pot, and her hair, so close to his eyes, with its scent so intense, kept inviting his touch, every strand of her being begging for caress. It was a vast, magnificent mane no woman could pull off even after exhaustive care. Either you had it or you cried for it. A sumptuous, lush, dense crown that could only be worn by a rightful ruler, a matter of birth instead of merit—or rather, of birth that made the merit.

Only she, the most woman of all women, had in her blood that superior royalty no commoner could ever aspire to emulate. “Hell. You are… like… really, really beautiful.”

The doll smiled. Not really. But she did. Her face changed according to his mood, her demeanor matching his desires. To him, at that moment… «she’s smiling.» He tried moving closer, yet her tits blocked him. Her chest was so endowed, her bosom so big and firm, even his tightest hug couldn’t bring his face much closer to her. This caused him to smile, and then to feel a breath of warmth on his loins.

And his neck.

…

He kept his eyes firmly on his doll, a twinge of tenseness now coloring their adoration. «Feels like you just breathed on me.» Even the scent of that breath was distinct and lifelike. For a moment, her eyes seemed to have changed direction, twitched to-and-fro before stopping back, irresistibly back on his own eyes.

He took a breath. In. Out. Deep inside, then deep away. As he did, he paid attention to his every move, his eyes unwaveringly open, drying out on the chilly air, and felt his breath hit her skin, then hit back on his own neck. “Oh.” He smiled, both relieved and sorrowed as he realized that… «Well, you ain’t real, are ya?» He moved his hand closer to her hair. «I… I kind of wish you were.»

No. How could he? What a silly thing to…

«If you were real, I guess… you wouldn’t be with me.»

Her eyes enchanted him. They reassured him.

…

He lowered his head. Blushed a little. «Thanks. Thanks for… being with me.»

…

…

There was silence. It tasted sweet.

Her eyes, like the skin of her cleavage, had a softness to them, and power too. A gaze like her chest stretching out her shirt, straining its cloth to the limit, but doing so to the boy’s mind and soul, deconstructing him ether by ether.

He let his head roll onto that powerful bosom, his skin making contact with those two mighty planets, gravity too strong for his flimsy alien cheeks, those boobs like two giant, flexed muscles, but also soft and tender, full of life, full of nature, greenery everywhere. Two planets a lonely species would call home, away and safe from any threat, to thrive on them… forever.

He moved his nose just a few inches above her bosom, smelling the wild odor of that primordial creature. She was savage down there. Had the smell of a virgin battle princess, one who killed a beast every day to feed her tribe. The thought of her as a young, chainless warrior, an amazonian archer and chariot rider, so fearless, so undaunted, oh… It aroused him greatly, it made him harder than hard.

His member throbbed. Its bruised helmet, having grown purple after another whole, fruitless day of countless masturbations, rubbed hard and painfully against the rough terrain that had become his legs, crushed under the tight, unpleasant fabric of his cheap garment. “Urgh…”

His palm landed on her sturdy side. Despite all their gazing and revering, the two lovers were still fully clothed. «I… just… wouldn’t dare… to undress you. To undress a god!»

Heavens knew he would’ve had a heart attack if he tried. Just the feel of her muscles, the tease of her glutes so near his fingertips, was enough to send perilous shivers to his heart… and also his sorry, dilapidate d-

“Damn, woman!” He smiled. “You are built.”

Before he could realize it, his lips were puckering forth, reaching forward, planting a kiss…

On…

… her…

… cleavage!

*Smack!*

All sound…

…

… all… the… sound…

…

…

… seemed to disappear… for a minute…

…

… an hour…

…

…

«By the gods!!»

His sex shook, his crotch firing up like a sun, and in his mouth he felt, powerful as the gallop of a wild stallion up a hill, the taste, the texture, and the firmness of…

… of…!

… her mighty, godly bosom!

«Caralhocaralhocaralhocaralhoespíritosdaterrameumeumeumeumeu…!!»

He could taste her muscle on his tongue, in the very recesses of his mouth! It was… «hard. So hard! Pure fiber of flesh. Like… the taste of power!» He laid his nose back again onto her breasts, smelling the primal scent that could only be gestated, nurtured, and birthed from such a boobful abundance. “Ahoy-ah-häevla!” Firestorms and thunderbolts reacted on his arms, forcing him into a hug so tight as to almost tear the limbs from his shoulders. “Sua… cavala!” His hips buckled forth, the tip of his minuscule breeder squeezed bloody and purple against the rough fabric of his briefs, like a thumb on a door frame hastily slammed shut.

…!!!

…!!!

…!!

…!

…

…

…

He almost did it. Almost.

As he laid his face on her cleavage one more time, her breasts dwarfing his head, overwhelming his frame, a sudden, much swifter wave of cooler sensations washed over him, like fire, yes, but made of water and flowers, not the coarse and untamed flames of the teenage arousal he had felt seconds earlier.

«What…? What is this?» He could not process the power of those heavy walls that were closing on him, weighing on his body from every direction, and nudging his eyelids shut. «Sleep…?»

After for so long desiring it, now he wrestled against it, he resisted it, but then…

*Bump*

Swift as the fairy’s wing, he rested his head on his woman’s breasts, his muscles cooling off, his soul surrendering, and felt his mind fly away with the other senses into the night, the sleep hitting him like a cotton train, a baby gladly drunk on his mother’s milk.

Chapter Text

The light shone painfully on his iris, making his head throb and ache.

“Say ‘aaah.’” The kind doctor asked him one more time, and one more time he sheepishly replied:

“Aaah.”

The old man took some notes on the small pad before walking to a corner on the back of his office. The patient followed him tensely with his gaze. “Come on now.” The man called and he followed, his head persistently hurting at every step.

To just walk was somewhat challenging, his sense of balance hanging by a thread. The pieces of his brain, mushy and jelly, acted like they would ooze from his ears and nostrils, splashing on the ground as he tried to keep his feet gripped and his legs firm.

In the back corner of the bright office sat a large, tall box, impeccably white and rectangular in shape, with enough volume inside to fit about three decently-sized adults, though it was short enough that none would be able to stand in it upright. “A moment, please.” The doctor told him, and the patient kept staring at the box as the man walked over to a control panel beside it.

Its uniformity and cleanliness were mesmerizing. He had always liked smoothness. Clean features, straight lines, plain surfaces, shiny glasses, glossy textures, and pure, unblemished colors like a perfect white or a soul-stealing noir. The tender features of that mechanism were such as to naturally entice his senses. It provoked in him a reaction almost as immediate and violent as… she did. Though much more neutral, perhaps, and less animalistic.

“What is this?” He felt compelled to ask.

“Oh? This?” The doctor’s face beamed with an I’m-so-glad-you-asked grin. “Gefördiß, ja? This machine will make a complete multidimensional scanning of your body, from bones to muscles, down to the ligaments.” He looked over to the patient, curious to see his reaction, and appeared disappointed as he was met with only a cold, blank stare. “Anyway. Used to be a different machine. Many different ones, as a matter of fact. One for each procedure, and each as massive as the room we’re standing on. We needed to wait for days for the results. You’d have to… ”

He was cut short as the door of the apparatus was slid open for the patient, so smooth it barely made a sound.

“You can step inside, now.” The doctor gestured towards it, his tone descending a couple of octaves, as soft as a fly’s fluttering wings. “Mind the head, though.”

“Oh, sure.”

The boy peeked inside, ever so suspicious, and had fuzzy feelings in his crotch as he beheld its interior. “It’s so… white.”

“A piece of work, don’t you think?” The tone of the doctor, though proud, was enmeshed with a very distinct, salient hurt, almost a fatherly kind of disappointment. “It’s a, uh, Toryo device.” He waved to the patient. “You can step in now. No need to walk on light feet. This thing is quite resilient despite her looks.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Medical equipment this side of the hemisphere is so fickle, I know. Many moving parts. Not to be trifled with or handled with heavy fists. This one you’re stepping into, though…” Again, his tone was peculiar, almost one of begrudging respect. “Exceptional engineering, unbelievable precision. I’d say it’s almost miraculous how well it works and how much—pardon my german—shit it can take.” He knocked on the box a couple of times, yet hardly a sound came inside. “Feels like she was built on another planet, by a species much more intelligent than ours.”

“Huh.” Slowly venturing inside, the boy saw a cylindrical monolith protruding from the floor at the very center, with barely enough surface area to accommodate a person’s buttocks. “So, I…”
“Yes, you sit in the middle. The lights will go off, and I want you to look up at one single beam that will be blinking above this entrance, okay, near the ceiling. Understood? It will shine exactly ahead of you, a little above your eyesight. So…” The doctor operated the machine through the panel. “You told me you have no problems with tight, closed spaces, claustrophobia, nothing of the sort, correct?”

“Hmm.” He could feel his heart picking up pace, uneasy and unsure, and almost falling from the ribcage into his stomach. “Yeah. No, uh… no problem.” He nodded, looking quite silly. “I’m cool.”

The doctor took a pause as he pressed buttons, ticked switches, and pulled levers on that panel. “Once the procedure starts—and don’t worry, I will let you know when it starts—it will get very dark inside. So, I need to be sure: can you confirm to me again that you do not have claustrophobia or any closely-related fears, do you? Nyctophobia, melanophobia, any of them?”

“Um?”

“Fear of the dark? Closed spaces? Got any?”

“Well, uh…”

The darkness of his bedroom. The shadow by the door. Then, right next to his bed. “Well, I…” He cleared his throat. “I get uncomfortable, sure, but, uh… I can take it.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded again, shaking like a tall leaf in the wind. “Uh-uh.”

“We can take the usual procedures if you’re not a hundred percent sure. And by that I mean the old equipment, the traditional examinations, many days of waiting, many other appointments to be made.”

“Oh.”

“I feel like you’re unsure. Go ahead and ask me anything.”

“Would you, uh, recommend these traditional, uh, exam, uh, examinations?”

“I would not.”

“Oh.”

“As I just told you, these might be days, many days of examinations, and you’ll have to come back here every time and spend hours on every process, and then we will both have to wait weeks, possibly months until the results are out, technical and logistical complications all considered, you see.”

“Oh.”

“And I wouldn’t say these examinations are much less… well, ‘intimidating’. It’s really just a matter of you being very afraid of the dark. Pathologically so.”

“Oh, I guess… I guess I’m not.”

“So are you okay with this test we’re about to perform?”

The boy cast his gaze through the tight opening of the box. “Will I have to do this many, uh, many more times?”

“Just once.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

“More than okay, it is excellent. In this day and age, a machine like this is…” The doctor sighed and exhaled longly. “A miracle, a miracle. Everything a professional could ask for.”

“Will I, uh… will it take a lot of time, though? For this examination, I mean?”

“Not at all. Perhaps, umm, five minutes, I would say. Now, sit tight, in the middle, and please look at the lights ahead of you once they start blinking. You do not need to sit perfectly still, but you will want to stay put and move as little as possible throughout the duration of the scan. Do you understand me correctly? Alright? Excellent. I’ll be here with you all the time, do not worry. If you’re okay with it, we can even talk during the process, if that helps calm you down.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Are you comfortable?” The doctor again asked. Through the screen on his panel, he could see the patient trying to sit on the cylindrical pillar, yet struggling to find a nice position in such a tiny, oddly-shaped seat.

“Umm, not really.”

“I agree, this seat’s not great, but it is functional. In theory, we can have patients as heavy as seventy fäerings in there, though people half as large find it very difficult to sit on. Well…” He pressed a sequence of buttons on the panel. “Good thing that’s not your case.”

“Umm.”

“It’s been forever since I saw a fat… uh, an overweight individual around here. Guess it’s one of the good things that came out of… all this tragedy. Ain’t it?”

“Hmm. Yeah, I guess.”

The doctor waited a spareful seconds longer until the patient seemed well-adjusted on the tiny metal seat. “Give me a green when you’re ready.”

“Umm… okay.” He nodded, rather sad and pitiful. “We can… uh… start. We can start now, uh… doctor.”

“Alright. You see the opening in front of you? The door you just walked through?”

“Hm.” He nodded.

“The hatch will close shortly. It’s not going to make a sound and it’s going to shut only very slowly, so nothing to startle you.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“Should we begin, then?”

“Yes. We, uh, we should. Begin, I mean.”

“Excellent. On my count, the hatch will shut. Are you ready?”

“Am I… I mean, I am, I am.”

“Fine. On my count: three. Two. One.”

From inside the machine, without a sound any louder than a slow, soothing hiss, the door slid shut in front of the patient, and all lights slowly faded until there was nothing but perfect darkness within.

“Aaand shut.”

“Doctor?”

“I’m still here. How are you doing?” His voice came very clearly inside the box, distorted only by a slight robotic intonation. “I can see everything from here. And read everything as well: your vitals, your heartbeat, your body heat, your pressure… all the data, and so much more.” He chuckled. “You are doing… quite well, I see. All signals good. Tell me, how do you feel?”

He shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Fine, you guess.” Buttons were pressed, levers pulled, and throats cleared before the doctor asked him one final time: “Can we begin? It will be five minutes, maybe a little longer, and I’ll want you to remain as still as you can throughout the procedure, okay?”

“Okay. Uh, yes, we can, uh, we can begin.”

“Excellent, my lad.” Buttons, levers… start. “Please, look at the light.”

A green, sharp dot beamed ahead and above the patient’s face, over the shut-off hatch, and he stared at it, trying his best to not move an inch.

The light was strong and unnatural, quite like the shine of a laser pen, but looking at it caused the eye no strain. In fact, it was the opposite: like an injection without a needle, his eyes slowly became numb to all stimuli and sensations, and the coarse, hoarse beating, the heavy weight he felt he’d been carrying on his head all this time, it all suddenly went away, and he had nothing but feathers in his brain.

“Alright, we begin in three, two…”

The machine hummed. Nothing else seemed to be happening. Just a quiet, soothing purr, and a very tender vibration under his butt. Though the strange situation caused his heart to pace a little, the voice of the doctor, a rough and husky one, very fitting for a corpulent man in his midlife, quickly soothed him back.

“Come again, my lad: how long have you been feeling these pains?”

The patient’s face turned darker. “One week.” His memory traveled back to forbidden harbors…

“A week, eh? Hmm.” The doctor checked on his screen between long, lazy pauses. “Now, if you will, sit upright for me, please. Little straighter now, if you may. Yes, yes, like this, but… come on, now, just a little straighter. Straight posture, please. You have any problem with your back? Any pains on your spine, perhaps?”

“Hmm…” If anything, he reasoned, his problem might have been not having a spine at all. “No, no. No problem. Not that I know of.”

“Then you can sit straighter than this.”

He could hear the impatience growing in the doctor’s voice, and struggled against the fickle bones that kept his sad sack of meat upright. Being sat like that, so straight, with his head carried up high and shoulders wide, it was all quite unusual to him. It made him feel vulnerable and under threat.

Naked. Like a chick far from the mother’s wings.

“You do have a bad hunchback, you know. Quite noticeable for a lad your age.”

He grumbled. “I know.”

“I’m going to give you some brochures on this. Little manuals, easy read, so you don’t keep slacking on your spine like this. You really wouldn’t want to go to a doctor, you know, getting to a point you would need to seek medical help for this, and most definitely not at your age, not so young. You will end up in their offices sooner or later, oh, much sooner than later if you keep treating your back this badly.” He sighed. “Straight posture, young man, please!”

“Oh. Sorry.” He straightened it up once more, as best as he could.

“Now, stay still. Like this. Just keep it like this for… a little… while… longer.”

The machine hummed and rumbled, and the boy stood still and straight. It was fascinating to know that, for every hum, following every thud and every vibration, his body was being invaded, his skin and muscles undressed by countless rays of very complex nature, some even deadly at higher concentrations.

Despite this, he felt nothing. It was quite the unique sensation, being inside that machine, unraveled fiber by fiber by its mechanical gaze, the most vulnerable he would ever be, yet feeling just as protected, just as coddled as when he was in the arms of…

«Umm. Feels nice.» He wondered. «I’ve been feeling much nicer as of late, if not for these… argh!» He touched his forehead, feeling the pieces of his skull barely hanging together. «These pains.»

“Are you alright?”

The boy tried nodding, but the pain… oh! It felt like having boulders on his forehead, hooked to his skull by long and heavy chains. “Yes, yes. It’s just…” He tapped on it with a finger. “The head.”

“Hang on just a little longer. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

The tight seal of the box. The perfect darkness inside. The quick, subtle pulses of the tiny dot above. Or perhaps the doctor’s voice, his calm and soothing ramblings, and his tone of genuine care for his patient, his sincere attention to his ills and woes… all of it made him feel at peace with himself and the universe, sleeping cozily on the clouds.

“Now, now, we’ll be taking some pictures of your muscles, lad, and your vascular system too. You’ll see some blinking lights everywhere, all around you. It’s very quick and they’re not too strong, but they can be, uh, disconcerting to some. How do you feel? Do you feel fine?” The patient nodded. “Excellent. When the lights begin to flicker, please tell me if you feel anything different.”

“Do I need to look at them?”

“Come again?”

“The lights?”

“Oh, no. Just keep your eyes ahead, your posture straight, and wait until this next step is over. All you need to do is… nothing. Don’t move, don’t… nothing. Leave all the rest to me. Understood?”

“I… yes. Understand. Uh, unders-, uh, understood.”

“Öberstående. Now, ready for my signal. The lights will begin to shine in three… two…”

He mumbled something to himself, barely audible even to his own ears, and then, as the doctor’s count came to a close, a sort of yellow, blueish flash inundated the cubicle, illuminating it whole, only to then quickly fade.

“How did this one feel?”

He muttered, his words feeling heavy, like waddling through very thick mud. “Feels okay. Kind of pleasant.”

“Yes. Some patients say it’s quite the nice sensation.” The flashes, they returned, and their flickers, now more plentiful, lasted longer each time. “Some report feeling sleepy. Others, just relaxed. Elated. I myself don’t like it too much. More of a free-ranging ox, I am.”

“Um?”

“Claustrophobic, I meant to say. Sort of. I dislike tight spaces like this one.”

“Oh.”

He made little sense of the doctor’s words, but that was okay. The experiences that enveloped him, his mind, his body, they… oh…

Every time the lights flickered, there was an ever louder clap, like… *tlac! Tlac!* A mechanical spring trap catching a little animal. *Trap! Tlac! Tlap!* Every time it snapped, he imagined himself on a sunny beach. *Tlac!* There were beautiful women around him. The sun was high, the sky was clear, the ocean was calm, its riptides forming tiny canyons on the shore, like rivers of sand. *Tlac!*

Life was good in his dreams. *Tlac!* Too bad the dreams…

“Now, we’re not done yet, young man, not yet. Please, one more go-around.”

There was the mechanical rumbling of that machine, now devoid of blinking lights or snapping sounds. Too bad. As his body was invaded by the rays, he tried spying on the darkness, seeing as much of it as he could without turning his neck.

Weird shapes. Wild geometry all around him: greenish, blueish hues blinking, following his gaze wherever he turned it to. “I still see the funny shapes in the dark.”

“Funny shapes, you say?”

“They’re much more… uh, they’re stronger now.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like those… weird… you know, those weird little thingies you see in the corners of the eyes, you know, but much bigger, and much more… aggressive.”

“Huh. Can you tell me what you mean by ‘aggressive?’”

“They’re like, uh…” Darn it! After so many years living in the ice, his vocabulary still failed him when he needed it most. “You know… big smudges… with very bright colors. Mostly green and blue.”

“Huh-uh, huh-uh.” The doctor pressed some more buttons. “Still. Please, keep still. There’s yet one more round to go.” The machine kept rumbling. “What kind of accident, again, did you say you had, my lad?” One more time the doctor asked him, and one more time he lied to him:

“Fell. I fell. Tripped over. Wet floor. I was… cleaning the house, you see.” He pointed to his right eye, which he did feel much heavier than the left one, like a marble inside his socket. “Hit the temple on a chair.”

“Hitting a temple is serious business, youn’lad. What were you thinking? Waiting, what, one week? One week to come here? You are lucky. If you had suffered anything bad up there, you wouldn’t’ve had a week to spare. You wouldn’t’ve had a day at all.”

He gulped. “Is it this bad?”

“On your temple? Near your sphenoid, your temporal?” He shook his head, not a trace of lightness in his demeanor. “No. I will never call it ‘bad,’ for it would be understating it. Understating it grossly!” His gaze was heavy on the patient, who sat like a child in the box. “It’s deadly, lad. You didn’t hit it too hard, or you hit it closer to your zygomatic bone (the bone, you see, right under your eyes) than to the lower temporalis. A strong blow there, my man, on the temporal, and that’s a nasty hemorrhage for you. Had two patients die like this. Both old. Both slipping in the shower.” Again, a heavy, iron look. “Not a young man’s way to die. Not at all. Unless you fight for a living, which, well…” He looked at him closely. “I guess isn’t your case.” He pushed one final button and the machine stood silent, the white lights shining blindingly inside it. “You can come out now.”

His head was dizzy when he got up. He firmed one foot on the cold, metal ground and tried to balance himself, his brain swinging from one side to the other in his skull, heavy as the cargo of a ship swaying on very uneasy waters.

He closed his eyes, blinked hard and fast, and looked briefly back to his seat. «Looks like a dick.» He smiled. “If the head was just a bit narrower…”

The doctor grumbled. “Say something?”

“Oh. Dizzy. Head… feels dizzy.”

“Yes, yes. Have not a worry. And not a hurry. Take your time. Let your blood flow, settle back on your hips. Sitting still for so long on such an uncomfortable stool, of course it feels very…”

He closed his eyes and heard the doctor’s words dissolving past his eardrums, barely licking his skull. They felt pleasant. The message itself mattered little. All he cared about was the tone, the attention, and he savored it dearly, like a subsaharan kid who’d got their first taste of ice cream. «I wish… I only wish…» Again, the pain. The thuds, the bumps, the uncomfortable, yet no longer unbearable pulsations right behind and under his eyeballs. «Pain.» He touched his face, hiding it in his hands. «I wish I’d heard this voice, a voice like this… more often.»

Step after step, he left the tiny white box, right foot first, left foot second, and breathed in the pleasant, chill air of the doctor’s air-conditioned space, stepping in there like the very first time.

“You feeling swell?”

He heard the man’s voice and nodded with eyes still mostly shut. “Ja. Feels… a little good, actually. Like, uh…”

“Like you’re groggy?” The doctor chuckled, doing something on his desk. “Like you churned maybe one bot’o’whisk too many?”

He blinked and blinked. “Umm, yeah. Feels like that.”

“So you drink?”

No, he really didn’t. “No. I really don’t.” He shook his head, and heard the doctor’s pondering nods and whistles:

“The ruskie disease sure is a problem for many men your age. Not here, in this country, where there are no young men left, and I guess also not from, uh, your country, your land, but it is endemic in the continent, in the east. Poor chaps. Drank all their glories away, those sorry folks.” The doctor pressed buttons and shuffled papers while the patient still struggled with his sight and balance, one drunken step after the other in the mercilessly white, ruthlessly bright, cold office. “Such strong, sturdy people. Huge bodies, excellent constitution, superb sets of teeth, and not-too-unwitty a mind.” He made a dismissive, almost contemptuous gesture. “All washed away by vas and vodka. And the bombs. I am not saying that…” The doctor gave his musings a pause. “You sure you are feeling okay, lad?”

The young man supported himself on a wall, tapping it with his palms. “Uh-huh. Just a little…” He kept blinking fast and hard. “It was… too long in the dark. I have some sensitivity, you know.” He pointed around his forehead. “In the eyes.”

“Mm.” The doctor stood up. “Is this sensitivity something common, or did you just get it recently, with the accident?”

“Both, I guess.” He contemplated his own words. “I, uh, always sensitive. Hmm.” Blink, blink, stare. Ouch! Light, pain, shut, blink, blink. “Always been… quite sensible. My eyesight. But, umm… yes. It got worse, uh, recently. With this, uh… this accident.”

“Here.”

“Oh?”

He heard the doctor walking closer and handing him a set of dark glasses. “I cannot control the brightness in my room, but I can help you ease it with these.”

With many thank-yous, he took the glasses and put them on. «Weird.» He thought. «Now, for some reason, I feel much safer. More private. Like my eyes…» He blinked slow and heavy. «My eyes are safe now.» With confident steps, he calmly sat by the doctor’s desk, trying his best to make as little sound as possible. «Is my eyesight really this sensible?» Then, the contemplation: «I never quite left my room. All the rooms I’ve been in… I… I haven’t been to places. I haven’t been to countries or cities. I’ve been to rooms. Rooms in Bovari, rooms in Cali, rooms in Theclan.

Rooms from as far back as his country’s dirtiest, all the way up to his igloo in the artics. «Rooms, all rooms, tiny and cramped, and none well-illuminated, none like this office.» He looked up, sideways, everywhere. «Even my place here is dark. Curtain’s often shut. Skies often cloudy.» Even the sun was deader there. An overall glaze of grays and clouds, like concrete seen through a thin sheet of cotton, or an uneven white wall looked at through dusty glass. «Are my eyes really this bad?» He touched them, feeling them throb. «Or I am just too much of a hermit?»

“You work with… machines, is that right? Computers, I’ve heard?”

The kind voice of the deep man rescued him from his thoughts.

“Oh, huh?” He half-mumbled. “Umm, yes. I guess.”

“What sort of work would you say you do, exactly? Is it some type of, uh, computer talk? What you do for a living, I mean?”

“Computer talk?”

“Yes. I don’t know the correct term exactly. No longer a young man, you see, and never had much of a mind for these modernities. What I mean is… well, how do you say… uh, do you talk to computers? Do you… interface with them? Write a bunch of commands on the screen for them to follow?”

“Oh. You mean a programmer?”

“Yes, this.” The doctor quickly nodded, almost snapping his fingers. “Precisely. A computer… programmer, this is it. So, you deal with, uh, lots of computer commands, computer… uh, codes?”

He really didn’t feel like lying. Not for lack of want, but just because he was really, really bad at it. “Design. I…” Deep breaths. Lying without lying. Lying by telling the truth. “I make drawings. Illustrations. Covers, posters, flyers. This kind of stuff.”

“Oh. You people can do this on a machine?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“But, well, you’re a whole team, I suppose. A whole company, or…?”

“No. It’s just… uh, just me.”

“Just you?”

“Yes.”

“And people can do this alone in a single device?”

He nodded again, and started to have questions about those questions he was being asked. “Don’t you work with computers, doctor?” He pointed over his shoulder, back to the magical rectangle he’d just crawled out of. “Isn’t that one?”

“Well, technically speaking, yes. They are all machina, are they not? But if you mean ‘computer’ like those boxes with key things that we type texts on them… no. I can’t say I deal with them, nor that I have dealt with them any recently, or that I know anyone else who has, for that matter.”

“Oh.”

“Quite the rarity, these mechanisms are.”

“Well, uh, I guess… I guess they are.”

“And expensive, aren’t they?”

He didn’t answer at first. Then… “Hmm.” A simple nod.

He felt suddenly threatened, as if his callous talk had revealed to that man a social condition much above what would have been expected out of a man, a boy like him. Anything could happen if you were rich, or worse yet, if you were perceived as rich without actually being so. Anything bad could happen in the hands of parasitical people—who, to his eyes, were all people

“So… you’re an artist, eh?”

He snapped from the dark and back again into the light. “Uh-huh.” He did his best attempt at a smile. “Yeah. You can, uh… you can call it like that.”

Despite all… he liked that man.

“You deal with a lot of d-” *Ruuum!* As the doctor was talking, he was cut by a sudden thud stemming from somewhere behind the patient, soon reverbing all throughout the room, as if they both stood in the belly of some mythical beast of legendary proportions. *Ruum! Ruum! Rrrr-rrrum!!* The sounds grew soft, but all-encompassing, and the boy felt himself inside that little dark cubicle again.

“Ah. Not to worry.” Said the man. “That’s the… oh, how would you call it? Computer? Yes, I suppose that’s the groß machina in the back, digesting the inputs.” He pointed to the white cubicle, then to an electronic device, a little black, shiny rectangle he had on his desk. “The images are being generated as we speak. The readings I took from you just now, I mean.” He showed the patient the little device, where he saw only very unintuitive, complicated commands and symbols on the screen. “We can see the pictures here in an instant. See that large machine over there?” He pointed to the patient’s right, where another white apparatus, as big as a freezer, lay silent and still, apparently idle against a wall. “That’s the press. A printing device. In a couple of minutes, it will start working. As you can see it yourself, there’s no shortage un deine machina in my workplace. I don’t understand them. Not any more than the common man would, that is, and than what’s strictly necessary for me to perform my medicine. But I am grateful for them. All these analyses, these exams and consultations, you see, they used to take weeks… oh.”

This time, the doctor interrupted himself. “Anyway, don’t mind me. It’s all very convenient, that’s all I’m saying, even if I am not particularly fond of all this… modernistic aparashtik.” Still, his face again beamed with harmless curiosity. “Would you say you work with lots of, uh, details on the screen of your device?”

The question caught him off-guard. “Details?”

Boobs. Breasts. Titties…

“Yes. Well, I mean… do you work with lots of text, lots of very small symbols, tiny letters on the screen?”

“Oh.” Deep in his brain, there was a very long… *phew!* “Oh, you mean…?”

“Very small fonts on your device. The type that, umm, forces you to move very close to the screen.” The doctor hunched over. “Like this?”

He was rather surprised by the accuracy of the man’s pose. “Oh, yes. Umm, yes. Kind of.”

“Aha!” The doctor boomed and the patient winced. “I knew it! Oh, you youngsters! This explains your bad posture.”

The boy touched one arm and nodded pitifully, avoiding that man’s mighty gaze. “Yeah. Kind of, I think.”

“Kind of, eh? You think, eh? More like definitely.” The good man looked down, back at his small, handheld device, tapping his fingers on the desk while waiting. “I’m not surprised you’re doing so bad on your eyes. Even before this accident, you were probably doing damage to your sight without realizing it.”

“I know. I know.”

“You know, eh?” He frowned. “Can you see straight?” He tapped on the bridge of his nose. “Glasses? Ever used any?”

“Umm, well…” The humming and shaking in the office got stronger and louder. “No. Not really. Never.”

“You’ve got to be extra careful with how you’re working, my lad. Even if you manage to keep y’erself alive with this lifestyle, doing this too much can seriously damage your sight by as early as your fifties.” He leaned forward, giving the patient a slightly reprehensive look. “Can’t go hurting your breadwinner, right?”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Ain’t much of a living if you can’t make a living, correct?”

He bobbed his head heavily. “Correct.”

The humming and trembling in the room stopped. “Where are they? Hmm.” The doctor tapped on the black screen of his little device. “People only usually pay attention to athletes and sportsfolks when it comes to, uh, their bodies, their physical health. Whenever some accident happens or some of them (most of them, actually) die from something as quaint as a stroke at the tender age of, say, fifty, forty, sometimes even younger… oh.” He shook his head. “Too often people seem to be concerned with these special cases, and only with these cases. These very extreme laborers, those who push their bodies to the limits. For everyone else, everybody thinks they’re invincible, or perhaps that they are beyond the possibility of damage, especially young blokes like you. Oh, you people!” He threw his hands in the air. “You are just the worst.”

“Ex- uh, excuse me?”

“You youth. Young blokes like you. Such lots of energy, such little brains. So much pain that you careless lads can avoid in your golden years by just having a bit of diligence. You know, not much, just…” He sighed. “The basics.”

For every sentence, the boy could only sheepishly mutter: “Yeah. Uh… uh-huh.”

“You younglings are… ah!” There was a flash on his device. “Finally. There we have ‘em!” He turned its screen to the youth. “Do you see it, lad? Quite a thing, isn’t it?”

He leaned over the desk to watch it closely. “Umm… yeah.” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to be looking at: the shape of his skull, the overall outline of his head, all in blues, with stronger, shinier lines sprawling like webs from his sockets, his nose, his muscles all over the transparent, X-ray kind of picture. “What, uh… what should I be concerned with here?” He shrugged. “If anything?”

“Not much, judging by these.” The doctor dragged his fingers on the screen, changing the image. Now it showed the patient’s skull from the right, and then from the back as he swiped the screen with his finger again. “Looking at these readings, you probably did some damage to the right optical nerve. That’s the big one here, you see.” One swipe later and the picture showed the patient’s skull from its right side. Then, the doctor’s finger landed on one of two large, thick blue lines that flowed out the eyeballs. “This one, connecting your eyes to the brain. You’ve probably seen it in flickers, if you are into that sort of thing. The bloody ones, scary ones, when the character loses an eye to a monster or something silly like that. I’m generalizing, of course. You understand me, young man? Are you following?”

“Um, yes, doctor, yes.” A timid shrug. “Kind of.”

“Look at this.” For a second, the old man could hardly contain his excitement. “Look. At. This!” He pressed one icon near the bottom right of the screen, and the whole tablet blacked out briefly before showing again an image of the boy’s skull, now seen from the front. Unlike the previous pictures, though, that one had a different depth to it. As the doctor touched the screen and moved his finger on it, the image was rotated, like a tridimensional object trapped inside that tiny device, revealing a complete scan of the patient’s body, with nervous connections and all.

“Oh!” He was indeed amazed. It was the aesthetics, however, not the readings or the data per se that appealed to him. “That’s, uh, quite something.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Quite briefly, the man frowned. “Seems like everything that’s worth a damn is eastbound now. Not from here, not east of the continent, I mean, but far, far east.” With a couple more pinches and swipes, he made that model of his skull bigger, and much more detailed. “So, it looks like your right C-nerve… you know, this large one under your eyeball… it seems this little guy is a bit inflamed.” He rotated the picture slightly. “Can you see how much more swollen than the left one it is?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not that the other one, umm, is perfectly fine, now that I look at it.” He moved the model into the left eye and its nerve, and squinted at the tablet. “This fella here is a liiitle bloated too. Well, it’s no wonder.” He threw another disappointed glance at the patient. “For someone who brings bread home with your eyes, you haven’t been treating them with much kindness, young lad.”

The boy could only pathetically bob his head and mumble. “Um-huh.”

“Let me have a look at yooour… muscles… here.”

A couple of touches and pinches later, the screen had changed again, showing a crude scan of the youth’s muscles. “Oh.”

“Yes. We have readings even of your muscles.” He moved the model until they could see, quite clearly, the red-and-white mesh of the patient’s facial muscles. With every touch and swipe, several colored readings appeared, ranging from light blue to dark red, each overlayed on top of his muscles. “It isn’t just your nerves that are inflamed.” He pointed at several places in the picture. “Your forehead is looking pretty… well, perhaps I wouldn’t say bad, but it isn’t looking too good either.” If his gazes could burn, the boy would have been a charred lump of coal by then. “You said you hit your right temple. Did you happen to hit or hurt anywhere else on your face, on your head?”

The beatings. The headbutts. The… “No.” He said, straight and clear. “I don’t remember… um…” He could be quite the actor when the situation asked for it. “I really don’t remember, so I would say… no. I didn’t hit anywhere else.”

“Umm.” The doctor kept looking at him, staring at him, not a word to utter, not a sound at all for an uncomfortably long time before shrugging and… “Your two frontals here.” He pointed again at the device. “They are… not damaged, but very inflamed as well.” He hovered a finger around the muscles on the patient’s forehead. “Can explain your headaches. You also did a number on your corrugators and…”

“Corru- uh, corrugators?”

“Oh, yeah, these muscles here.” He showed him. “They are these muscles above and, uh, around your nose.”

“Ah.”

“Let me take a look at… your… bones.” Intermingling words with motions, he added a quick sequence of commands on the screen, and the image changed yet again, this time to…

“Oh. Creepy.”

It showed him a clear scan of his skeleton. “Yes.” He moved the image into the man’s skull, highlighting the patient’s bones with incredible detail. “Uuum-huh. No. No damage to the bones either. None whatsoever.” A few more buttons were pressed, and… “There is some evidence of recent stress on them, as you can see here.” He showed him some colored circles over specific areas of his skull. “But that’s nothing we cannot already infer from the readings of your nerves.” Suddenly, he pulled away. “You are probably fine, lad. That’s probably nothing you’ve got going on in your head, young man, nothing too bad you need to worry about. However!” His eyes, like icy spears through his heart. “You must take it easy on your work for the next week or two. Do not strain your eyes too much and… yes, I think avoiding very brash movements with your head in the meantime will also help. Treat your head like it’s some precious ceramics you’re balancing on your neck.”

*Broom! Broom!*

Both heads turned. The doctor and the patient looked at that corner of the room where the large, white machine sat, having suddenly begun making the most terrible noises. A flash of light came from its wide burrow, followed by a heavier tremble that was felt even as far as the doctor’s desk, many feet away.

“Ah, just in time.” The burly man stood up and walked to it, opening one wide mouth when it was done and pulling from it several heated, heavy sheets of plastic-coated paper. “Ouch! Hot.” He handled those sheets with great care. “You’ll take these with you.”

The boy watched curiously as he placed the sheets inside three large envelopes, each as long as a person’s forearm. “Do I…” The poor lad gulped. “Do I have to pay for these?”

“What?” The doctor gave a long moment’s pause, waiting for the silly question to set into the folds of his brain. “What did you…? No. No, of course not! This is just standard procedure.”

“Ah.”

“One batch is for your nerve readings.” He laid one folder on the desk, then the other two. “This one is for your muscles, and this… is for your bones.” He patted the folders with his big, hairy hands. “And we’re all set.” He smiled. “Why would you need to pay for this, my lad? Even illegals need not pay for such procedures. It’s so basic.”

“Oh.”

The man pointed to a large, light gray panel hanging on a wall to his right. “I can show these to you on the light wall, if you’re curious, but it’s pretty much all that I’ve shown to you already.” He took one picture and showed it to him. “You see? Same stuff. Your skull is fine. You’re young, you’re healthy.” His smile grew wider, his eyes shinier. “Your body can take a hit or two. Of course, doesn’t mean that it should be taking a hit or two, or that you should try your luck, tempt the fates all too often, alright?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Umm.” He glanced at his body. “How’s your diet going?”

“My… my diet?”

“Yes. I have to ask because, for a man so young, these pains you’ve reported…”

“Oh. I know.”

“You know, right?”

Again, pathetically, the boy could only nod and whimper. “Is it because I’m thin?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Do I look… unhealthy?”

“Yes. Yes, you do. For your age, even your height…” The doctor didn’t deign to verbally complete his sentence. He just tilted his head, clicked his tongue, and made a very worried expression. “You have to put on some weight, lad.” From the many drawers on his desk, he grabbed a small block of notes. “Let’s see… this is only your second check-up, isn’t it? No previous health conditions.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose. “Oh.”

“What is it?”

“We need to update this form. I don’t know how anyone didn’t notice this before. It’s gravely irresponsible.” He affixed his gaze on the young man. “You’ve got no previous mental health conditions, do you?”

He was taken aback, eyes as wide as if gazing straight into the sun. “Excuse me?”

“I apologize for this.” He tapped on the notes. “But we forgot to add the mental health forms to your questionnaire. It’s all good, it’s okay. Not too big an issue.” After a quick glance back at the papers, he repeated the question. “Just to be sure: you don’t have any previous mental health conditions, do you? Any history of mental health problems…?”

“No.”

“… I need to be aware of?”

“No.” He shook his head, his conviction burning like the star on a god’s heart. “No.” Even his voice came out deeper, making the room rumble with the lie. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Okay.” He shuffled through the pages. “Come again… this is your second check-up? Ever? No dental, no ophthal…?” His tone dropped some serious octaves as he saw the patient nod after every question, and his eyes sank on him as heavy as anvils. “Young lad, you have a serious problem with your healthcare habits, do you know? How come? Have you been living here long?”

The boy lowered his head, swaying nervously on his seat. “Two years.”

“Two years, huh? And you… oh, well, you speak the language nicely.” He laid the papers on the desk. “I can see that you’re legal. You’ve got all the proper papers and such, so why the negligence?” He was met with only silence. Not even the patient’s gaze, which throughout the session felt so unusually comfortable meeting his eyes, graced him with their shine after he’d asked that question. “Oh. I see.” He muttered. “Life must have been ugly back in… well, that place you came from. Isn’t that right?”

He found it quite easy, this time, to answer. “Yes.”

“Did you have to pay for healthcare back in your place?”

“No.”

“Oh, no?”

“No.” He shrugged. “Because there was no healthcare.”

“Oh.” He moved back. “That’s a darn shame. Well…” He glanced at the patient. “Delicate subject?” He caught his nervous, hesitant eyes. “Personal subject, eh? The kind you wouldn’t like talking about, I mean?”

He looked at the doctor a little longer this time. “Well…” A hesitant shrug. “Do I have to?”

“You…” He sighed. “You do not.”

“Well, then…” Shoulders down. Eyes away. “I’d prefer not to.”
The doctor silently nodded. “Don’t worry about cost. You know that the state, for what it’s worth, has got you covered. It had got us all covered, which is a great respite in such… uneasy times.”

“Um. I see.”

The doctor leaned back on his seat. A much lighter aura now surrounded him. “Enjoying the country?”

He found it easier to share his lightness. “Yes. It is…” A deep breath. “Paradise.”

“Oh, paradise! I don’t know a single local who would be this generous. Myself included. I always thought paradise would be a little warmer, at least.”

“Do I look like I have it?”

He tilted his head. “That you have what?”

“Previous… uh, previous mental health conditions? And stuff? I mean… do I look so bad?”

The older gent inhaled deeply. “Well…” The patient could feel his scalding breath hit his face. “Maybe. It’s always a concern when I see someone who’s either very over or, in your case, underweight. I’d say… yes. You don’t look so fine for a man your age.” He leaned heavily over his desk. “See, lad… you’re no dunce. I feel like I don’t need to, or rather, that I shouldn’t need to explain to you the basics, correct? Eating habits, you know, they reflect a person’s mental state. Healthy people are rarely eating too much or too little, or too irregularly.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

“Same logic applies to sleeping habits.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He blinked slow and heavy, wishing to talk, but wishing to say no more than whatever would make that man think positively of him. The doctor’s tone, much like his eyes, was knowing. It was difficult for a professional of his caliber (and income) to not sniff out a lie from his patients. “Look, my lad…” He spoke to him somberly. “You will be looking back at this age quite often when you grow. When you get older.” He sighed. “Oh, yes, you will, and I want you to be looking back with pride and fondness, not…” Again, a sigh. “Regrets.”

He smiled timidly before lowering his head. “I see.”

That was a very kind man. A very kind man indeed. «I like him.» He was being told by the doctor, albeit indirectly, that he wasn’t ugly, or that at least he wasn’t beyond salvation, and he profoundly cherished such an experience. «To get complimented. Aided. Guided in life.» He contemplated. «Must do wonders to one’s self-esteem.» He brought his head even lower. «I wish this happened more often to me: people talking kindly, smiling, treating me like a human being.»

*Tap!* He was startled by a firm tap on his nape, followed by a more vigorous, yet reassuring shake. “Posture, young man!”

“Oh! Sorry.”

The doctor spied on the clock on the wall. “Well, I regret to say it, lad, but… I suppose we’re done.”

“Oh?” He looked a little surprised. “That’s it? But… what about the pain?”

“Well, as I told you, it’s nothing to worry about. It will be gone in a week or two.” Again, a heavy, burning gaze. “Provided you take care of yourself. You keep damaging yourself like this, though, hurting this wonderful machine that is the human body, and I’m afraid you’ll need to look for more specialized care next time, and for that you’ll probably need an actual healthcare plan.” Could the gaze of a person burn? Physically burn? That man’s did. It was a gaze so intense the patient could almost touch it. “Listen to me, lad, and listen to me well, if you know (or want) what’s best for you: you will not want any damage in your nerves or, worse yet, any blood flow issues in your brain by the time you’re forty. Protect your precious machine, my little man, your precious body.” He gave him strong pats on the shoulders. “You will save yourself a lot of issues (and a ton of regrets) by the time you reach your golden years.”

“Well…” He touched one shoulder and squeezed it, pulling one arm across his chest. “I guess… that was very dumb of me.”

“Yes. Maybe. But I sense you have learned your lesson, so…” A gentle, cooling smile. “Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

“Oh. Umm…” The smile took over his lips too. “Okay.”

“Alright. Just make sure you have a full check-up every six months or so. And avoid working yourself too much.” The big man stopped by the door and cast what was supposed to be a final look at the patient. “After all… it was just an accident, right?”

Reluctantly, he nodded. “Yes. Yes, yes. Just an… accident.”

“One final word of advice, then, if I may?” He saw the young man nod, prompting him to point a finger gently at his face. “You’ve dark spots on your eyes. You haven’t even been sleeping well, have you?” The patient slowly shook his head. The doctor could only sigh, roll his eyes, and scold him yet again. “Look-a… when people ask me what’s the most important thing in life… the most crucial factor for a long, healthy living, do you know what I always answer? Regardless of wealth, race, and sex, or whatever background the person might have had? The single, universal constant for a good, well-balanced life?”

He made a dramatic pause, staring at his patient until it became clear he was not going to make a sound or answer a thing. Poor chap. The doctor must have thought. So stressed. So roughed by past experiences, he must have been.

With a kind smile and fatherly tone, he continued: “Sleep, young one. It’s sleep! It’s the one thing you should never fuck with! Get any less sleep than you should, and your day is lost! You must have realized this yourself if you ever faced an all-nighter. An hour lost in the morning is a day lost in the life. That-a Yiddish saying, you know, and quite the true one. I don’t care how much you work, lad, or how much you sincerely claim to love your job. I’ve been having a couple of, um, liberal professionals such as yourself; you know, free-range laborers, flex-hour creators, wildcard producers, you name it, all young, male, and stupid. All thinking they can live forever on their own terms and treat their bodies however they want with no consequence.” His complexion turned severe. “Don’t be like them, m’lad. Don’t be stupid. You ain’t gonna live forever, and the fates know you ain’t gonna be young and pretty for all eternity. That, oh… that I can tell.” He sighed, and his air became softer, his shoulders a little lower. “Treat your body like the delicate machine it is and you won’t have to repair it costly later. Like, uh… unt machina. A computer.” He gestured vividly. “You can understand this, can you not? Treat your body like you would your work device: don’t stress it, don’t beat it, maintain it regularly, and, above all, give it enough time to rest.” His voice deepened. “Eight hours a day, m’lad. Until your late fifties, that’s what you ought to be resting. No more, no less. Sleep too little, and the stress will pile up gradually, sleepless day after restless night, until your body…” He clicked his tongue. “Goner. Serious, m’lad. I’ve seen my fair share of nervous breakdowns on young chaps like ya who had ‘no idea’ where that breakdown came from, only for us to discover it came from an irregular sleep pattern. The human body is merciless to those who dare deprive it of its most treasured asset: sleep! I say this because you people, you young ones, I beg your pardon, are really flipping stupid. All your hustle, all your bustle, all the corner-cutting and useless posturing just to pile up some worthless shekels you won’t be healthy enough to enjoy later on, down the lane of the living!” He clicked his tongue again and whistled. “Six ways to sleep less and produce more? More like Six ways to get six feet deeper on your grave! Save on sleep, and sooner or later, be it a day, a month, a year, a whole decade, you’ll be in the hospital wasting months of your life (and thousands of kröne off the taxpayers’ expenses) trying to fix an illness no man should have at any age.” He clapped his hands, stomped his feet very vigorously. “Do! Not! Miss! On! Sleep!” He pointed at his own eyes. “This pain you’re talking about? This tired sight you have? These weird shapes you report seeing in the corner of your eyes? All lack of sleep, ma lad, lack of sleep!” He set his feet straight and his posture straighter, rising above the hills like a general on a battlefield. “Remember, my boy: dead men need no bank accounts.”

In the end, as always… “Doctor, sir… yes. Yes, I… uh, I got it.” He just nodded timidly and uttered sadly. “Thank you. I, uh… I will keep this in mind.”

The doctor gave him one last pat and a kind fondle on his shoulder. “Take care of yourself. Young age is a blessing, and one that ends all too quickly.” As the patient was meekly excusing himself out of the room… “Oy, my lad.”

“Umm?”

The big man pointed back at his desk. “You forgot your results.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He grabbed the three massive envelopes from the desk, his whole body creaking, his bones cracking as he tried to lift them. “Than- uh… oof! T-thank you, doctor.” Trying to not lose his breath, he slowly and awkwardly stepped out of the room.

“Just one more thing, lad.”

He looked back again. “Hmm?”

The doctor loomed large over him, questionnaire in hand. “I think you skipped one question here.” He adjusted his glasses. “I mean, I don’t blame you. This thing needs to be better formatted. Still,” he squinted, “would you say you’re sexually active? Yes, no?”

He stood there, numb for a second or so. “You mean, if I’m… having sex?”

“Well, is there any other way to be sexually active, uh?”

“Oh, um.” He shook his head nimbly and smiled awkwardly. “I guess there ain’t.”

Did he skip that question on purpose? Or had he simply missed it in his haste, nervousness, and timidity? «Seems like such a silly thing to leave unanswered.»

His memories flowed back. Back to her. Back to his fantasy that until that day remained untouched. “Yes.” His answer was firm. His voice, uncommonly manly. “Yes, doctor, I am.”

…

…

…

“You’re… sexually active?”

“Yes.” He tilted his head. “Why?”

He and the man stared at each other for longer than anyone would have found reasonable. “You mean…” The doctor gave him another good, long look. “You’re having sex, right?”

“Well, uh…” He awkwardly looked away. “Is there… any other way to be sexually active?” With a smile, he looked back up. “Eh, doc?”

The burly man simply smiled and ticked a box on the paper. “Alright, then. That’s very fine, lad. Very, very fine! Well, in this case, try and don’t forget to get some rest and sleep between working your gigs and, well, working your ladies, eh?”

He chuckled. “Lady.”

“Huh?”

“There’s just one lady. Just one, doc.”

“Ooh, that’s lovely. Fiancé? Spouse?”

“Oh, I…” He touched one arm, timidly. “I’m afraid we’re not that far yet.”

“Ah. Right. But is it something serious?” He leaned closer, speaking with a much softer tone. “Has your restless heart found its special nest, hm? The lovely home to settle down forever?”

“Well… um…” He lowered his head. Her image shone so clearly in his mind. Her shine and lightness were like a healing ice on his nerves, and the hurt and the burn all fizzled out, the ache and anguish all faded away. «I guess…»

All the weight in his muscles had vanished, and the patient found himself, so suddenly, free of any worry or pain.

Chapter Text

The register beeped as the products were scanned. The noise, as usual, was strangely comforting, and he had a silly smile on his face as he hastily packaged the groceries into the heavy, rough-textured bags.

The cute blond girl behind the counter looked at him in between scans. “Nice day, I see.”

He took a step back, pulled from his own head by her voice. “Oh.” It was the first time she’d ever talked to him. The first time that she was the one initiating the talk, and a talk unrelated to her work or his groceries.

He was surprised by her raspy, tomboy-ish voice. It was a striking contrast to her pretty porcelain face. “Oh. I… err…”

“Having a nice day?”

He tried his best to not look or sound weird. “I, uh… I guess.”

“Huh.” And then, like so, she returned to her boring duties.

He was in the clouds. Indeed, he felt like the greatest man in the universe. «She’s just being polite, though.» No matter: despite his best efforts, his hands began to shake. He hid them behind his back so that she didn’t see them trembling, but when the products continued to pile on the counter, demanding his attention, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide from her for too long. «There’s no reason to take this as anything more than what it is: politeness. Just darned, casual courtesy.»

He threw at her a thieving glance. It was late in the evening, and she had the air of someone who could not (yet still had to) spend one second more in that tedious, life-sucking job. She looked too miserable for her beauty, and he was not used to seeing (or even conceiving of) faces so pretty with frowns so heavy.

“Why?” He asked. She probably didn’t hear him. “Hm…” He tried again, a little louder. “Why?”

“Huh?”

“How do you know it? T-that I’m having, uh… a nice day?”

“Oh.” She shrugged, not even looking at him most of the time. “Don’t know. I saw your smile and figured you were having a nice day.”

She smiled. He was shocked. “Oh.”

The pretty cashier pointed at the groceries piled on a big stash to her left. “That will be thirty-four hundred, fifty-five, all.”

“Oh. Umm… yes. Sure.”

So many things! So many things on his mind! She probably saw his hand shaking as he counted the notes, almost dropping the old, raggedy wallet on the floor as he did. «Get a grip get a grip get a grip…!» He shouldn’t have expected anything out of that conversation, naturally, but still…

Well. It was his nature, was it not? Pretty lady, beautiful smile, heart attack.

He handed over the notes and moved on quickly to pack his things, looking for something nice, anything intriguing to say while she registered the pay and pressed some buttons on her counting machine. “N-nice, uh… job.”

“Mm?” She looked at him, quizzically.

“Err, it’s been a… nice day at my job.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And I, uh, came back from the doctor. Good news.” He rubbed his forehead. “Perfect health. No, uh, no problems.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Her replies were short, sharp, definitive. Clear periods in each sentence. He knew he had no reason or cause to press further. Still…

“Things been boring, eh?”

There was a gentle warmth on her face, like a sketch finally gaining color, and she acted more expansively and lively, as if she was a doll suddenly imbued with life. “Ugh, tell me about it!” Her vividness was such that he had to take a step back, surprised by her quick and exuberant spontaneity. “I think you’ve been the third customer we had the whole day.” She checked her surroundings, making sure no one else heard her. “It’s sooo empty in here I wanna hang myself! And so boooring!”

“Oh. U-um…”

“I wish I could just trash this damned uniform and… I don’t know. Run away. Jump into the sea.” She pointed through the door, at the calm, glacial sea crashing against the shores beyond the wide streets. “I guess freezing wouldn’t be so bad. But again, hey…” She shrugged. “I need money.”

“Oh.”

“It’s weird, I know.” She smirked. “The ocean doesn’t scare me, but going homeless does.”

“Huh. I…” He smiled back. “I get the feeling.”

Silence befell the two, and he soon realized she wouldn’t be the one to break it: just as quickly as she had warmed up to him…

“Okay, then.”

… quickly she had returned to the cold again, pulling out a little book from under her counter—a novel, probably of the romantic genre judging by the sparkly pictures on the cover and the bright, wavy fonts on the title—and began to absentmindedly skim through its pages whilst keeping an eye from time to time on the screen above her register. “Oh.” After a little while, she noticed that… “You’re still here.” She cast a quick, final glance at the register. “That’s it, sir. There’s no change for that.”

“Ah, yeah. Right.”

Slowly, he packed the last of his groceries. He had no cause to be there anymore, nor did he have it in the first place. Still…

He kept thinking. He kept mulling, with commendable persistence, over something to say. Anything that could have mattered. Anything that would have preserved that pleasant encounter, as random and fleeting as it’d been. «It does so good for my heart.»

Her reserved posture, though, made it clear she no longer wanted anyone to bother her. «How can I read her like this?» He wondered, truly puzzled, his mind like a firework machine giving up on logic and surrendering to chaos. «She’s young. Much younger than I am.»

He kept an eye on her, each gaze longer than it should have been, and saw how she now seemed truly lost on the pages of that book, having forgotten about him just as one would forget the meal one had for breakfast many weeks ago. «She’s a teen. Late teen, I guess, but still a teen. And teenagers are all like this.» His mind returned, quite pleasantly, to the doctor in his office. «All aloof. All confident. Thinking they’re all going to live forever.» He bagged the very last products on the counter. «And all with the attention span of a pigeon on a cornfield.»

He grabbed his bags and turned his back to her. “Bye.”

She didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

A handful of trams rode by the street, the only sign of life in that block, in that whole city. Rush hour, lone hours, it never made a difference. Whatever the time, whatever the season, the city seemed forever empty, forever silent, a desolation that could often soothe as well as smother.

«This is a good day.» He thought, taking a deep breath, exhaling very slowly, and enjoying all the warmth that filled his breast.

The lukewarm winds of the dying summer were always the most pleasant. They were as hot as they could be in those farthest nethers, like a blanket at body temperature hugging him, enveloping him.

He carried his bags and himself back to his building, taking his time, leisurely pacing aboot. Though he had planned to do some work that day, he had been slowly convincing himself, since the instant he stepped out of that doctor’s office, that «well… another day off isn’t killing nobody, is it?»

From street to street and block to block, he stopped by the small parks and gardens to smell the flowers, hear the birds, and contemplate the desolate beauty of his town. It was very late in the evening, quite deep into the lands of dusk, yet the sun hovered still too far above the horizon, everywhere so bright and ready to shine just as intensely for many hours more. In the peak days of sun, that shine went on forever, no night to be seen for weeks. «Everything so dry.» Rain was scarce, and the winds often merciless. If one wasn’t careful, didn’t watch their steps, a sudden, treacherous gale could push a grown man into the streets, which would have been dangerous, of course, if those streets had any life other than lumbering trams and slow-moving buses.

«Everything so… white.» If he could have summed up that city in one word, it would have been that one: white. «It’s all white in here, all the time.» He looked around. «It is so bright everywhere, so much light, so much shine, that the colors just fade into nothing, all coalescing into a big, dead sum of… white.» The sun was always naked. It bathed the land with uncompromising harshness and uniformity. «It feels like sitting in that cubicle, that strange machine in the doctor’s office right before the lights went out.»

The impeccable streets and straight, narrow roads all sitting on a massive, sprawling plain, and the minimal architecture, the smooth walls of the countless buildings, everything acted like giant mirrors of varnished stone refracting the rays to every direction, boosting the white and spreading the silver everywhere.

The trees, though many, were scarcely exuberant. Their crowns were rarely wide, their leaves often too thin, and their spareful branches were always too spread out and wide apart. Even the ocean by his side, beyond those streets, wasn’t really blue, but a soft cyan and thin-ice teal, like foam dissolved in a slim sheet of water on a shallow plate.

In every direction on those farthest edges of the earth, everything seemed to be covered in snow. He could not explain this optic illusion, but it did seem like, as his eyes met the horizon, both earth and heaven turned to cream, like the dense froth of a cascade as it crashes on a lake. «It’s easy to see why some people would have thought the planet was flat, or why they would have imagined fantastic lands beyond where the eyes could reach, far away and clear off the boat’s sail.» He stopped from time to time, stretching his walk to let his thoughts wander. «Lands of frost giants and wind spirits. Of beautiful nymphs made out of flowers and trees. Of large serpents swallowing the earth and massive turtles holding the planet on their backs.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “I feel like I could just… walk out through the horizon and fall into the void. To pierce through its layer of magic and enter these mystic realms of folklore.» He opened his eyes and exhaled. «Hmm.»

A stoneful of birds followed him, chirping random tunes to match his steps. About halfway into his block, he took notice of the strangest sensations. Maybe the spirits, the nymphs, and the giant turtles from beyond the veil had blown upon him some mystic winds, some transformative aura that made his body feel like it wasn’t his own, but… someone else’s. «I feel… lax. Soft. Wobbly. Like pudding spread out over too big a plate.»

Was it… peace? Tranquility? Serenity? Happiness?

He stopped again to look at his surroundings. For the briefest of moments, but still an instant so impactful it resounded in him like a punch to the liver of his soul, he believed to be in an imagination of sorts, a reality that was not really real, but a made-up dream, a pure fantasy, not really reality but… being inside someone else’s dream. A byproduct of thought out of somebody else’s mind. “Oh… whoa!”

Like a sleepy person falling down, he snapped back violently into what he believed to be reality. Looking down at his own body, he touched it, pinched it, pulled his skin, and felt himself whole again. «Yes, yes. This is my body.» And looked around once more. «Yes. Yes. This is… my town.»

The chirping of the birds… this he could remember, this he could recognize. «Hey, little fellas.» He smiled at them. «As long as you’re here, I know I am awake.»

The birds stopped chirping. Their silence was so intense he felt it like a concrete thing, colder than the air around him and harder than the ground beneath his feet. “Oh. Hmm…” A couple of steps later, all the birds had flown away. Almost. A single bird remained landed on a dry branch just ahead of him, and there it sat still and quiet, strangely silent, moving only its head slowly to keep the boy in sight. «Don’t, um… don’t mind me.» He too kept a careful gaze at the strange little creature. «I’m just passing by.»

Strange birds or uncanny feelings aside, he could scarcely remember the last time he’d felt so good. Partly because he rarely felt good, partly because he barely kept any records of his moods. All his sensations, he felt them in the present. For him and his emotions, the past went only as far back as a couple of minutes, and the future was only dread, no good to bring about. «Yet the good days…» He lifted his head high, almost prancing on the streets. «I know them when I feel them. I know that they are rare… and must be cherished every second as they come, moment to moment.» He looked down again, smiling like a fool. «Step by step.»

Could he ever replicate those days? Could he pinpoint the elements which made them lovely, and maybe court them on days less jolly, to multiply them, like the early farmer who first discovered agriculture, and thus was no longer bound to the wills of the soil and the rain, the whims of the winds, and the caprices of Mother Nature? «People were nice to me today.» He reflected. The doctor, the pretty clerk… No. That couldn’t explain it all. «I was feeling good before I met them.» Since he’d got up, things just felt… right. Like he had a charm on him, repelling (or at least repressing) all the darkness that usually haunted him. «Is this what the folks call the Law of Attraction?» He smirked. «A magnet of happiness, a harbinger of good fortune?»

He stepped into his building. Hey, man! This happy aura even seemed to call to him with a friendly voice. «Oh?»

He shook his head, looked around, and realized it was no aura, that which spoke to him—but it was close, and it was just as bright and happy: “Hey, man!”

He saw a young man, a handsome lad waving at him. “Oh… hey.” The young porter. What was his name again? Gi… Je… Jerome? Yohan…? “It’s, uh, Joh- John-…” He shut his eyes, perused the folds of his brain. “Jonathan, right?”

The lad winked and whistled, a big, warm smile unfolding on his face. “Right I am. And you are…” A second of thought. “John!” He snapped his fingers. “John, eh? Oh, right! Told ya was an easy name to remember.”

“Hmm… oh.”

John himself had forgotten about it. His name. «John. I am… John.» He looked again at the lovely chap and nodded with vigor. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“You’re from seventeen-nineteen, eh?” Jonathan grabbed two envelopes from the mail wall behind him. “I think theeese… are for you.”

“Oh… thanks.”

As he took the papers, he noticed how wide and beaming the man’s smile was that evening. «Do I, uh, have something on my face?» He smiled back, not knowing nor needing to know why, only reflexively, instinctively, like the social animal he was supposed to be. «Is it… the aura? These good feelings I have with me today? The good vibrations?»

He had little time to ponder. “So, you’re actually out!” Jonathan whistled. “Finally, finally! Oh, I think this is the first time I actually see you here, at least since our last talk.” Then, half-joking, half-serious, he leaned closer and stared at him with his big, blue eyes. “Just so we’re on the same page: you do live here, right?”

“Yes, I… I, do.”

“Long time, do ya?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Oh, well, that’s great. Phew!” He leaned over the counter, laying his weight on his forearms and elbows. “I know pretty much everyone from the building. Like, everyone! Really everyone… except for you. Oh, I was even wondering, hey, if you really existed. Like, you were not just a dream or… an apparition! A ghost!” He shivered, then chuckled. “Kinda need to rub my eyes now that I see you. Hardly believed you were actually real.”

“Oh, well, umm… yeah. I can…” He touched his own body: arms, shoulders, and chest. “Yep. I am pretty sure I’m real.” In silence, then, he looked at the fellow for a second. «Jonathan. Hmm. This guy.» He smiled. «He likes to talk.» He paused. Then shivered. «Maybe… well, maybe…» *Gulp!* «Maybe I should talk back?»

Before he could ponder any further… “So, you out and about t’day?” Jonathan beamed. “What you up to? Out to meet som’body special, I bet.”

“Oh, um… what? Ah, no.” He touched one arm, pulled it over his chest. “It was, uh, nothing special.”

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. “Nothing special, you say. Really?”

From one of his grocery bags, he grabbed their heaviest item. “Urgh. Look.” He dropped the large, almost foot-long envelope on the counter. “Went to the doctor. These are, uh, some of the results.”

“Ah.”

He tapped on his head. “Really bad… migraines. I had an, uh, accident last week and… head was, uh, hurting. Quite a lot.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, comrade. But, you know, you’re alright, eh?” Mimicking him, he tapped on his own temples. “Every right up there, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” Clumsily, and with a lot of effort, he placed the package back into the bags. “Guess I just need to, uh, sleep and, err, uh, eat better.”

“Oh, totally.” He smiled. “Which brings me to… well, it doesn’t have anything to do with it, anyway, but still, as I have your attention…” He snapped his fingers, trying to nudge his own memories into the surface of his brain. “I think we’re having an inspection soon. We don’t have a date yet, but it’s pretty sure it’s gonna be either this month, you know, or next one. Yeah. Next month at the latest.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“We’re checking the usual stuff: pipes, gas, electricity, pretty standard stuff. You probably saw the notice in the lifts, eh?” He looked at him. “You did see the note, right?” John could only look away, shaking his head in a very tepid, timid manner. “Oh, okay. Well… consider yourself notified, then. Did you ever have an inspection before?”

“Uh, an inspection? Oh, well, I guess not.” He scratched his head. “In my apartment? No. No one has come to it, no.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Well, I guess they only really looked into a few apartments at a time. Last year, if I remember right, it was the northwest block, but not even the entire block. This time, though, I am told it’s a full inspection. Inconvenient little stuff, I know, but necessary, I suppose. Just a heads-up so you’re prepared.”

“When… uh, when is it?”

“Again, we don’t have a date, but next month probably. I will let you know when they’re checking your unit.”

“Hmm.”

“We will need to have someone present when they check it, though. We can try again if no one’s there, but this is a state thing, you know. Government stuff. They have deadlines and such, so if we can do it as early as possible, you know, on the first visit…”

“I get it.”

“…all the better.” His smile became somewhat caustic. “But, anyway, you do spend all the time cooked up in there already, right?” He chuckled. “Guess it won’t be a problem in your case.”

“Yes. I mean, no.” He smiled back, his lips cracking a bit. “Guess it won’t.”

…

…

Time to leave. He bent over to pick up his things and turned aroun- “Hey.”

He dropped everything. “What?”

For once, it was Jonathan who looked timid, hesitant. “I… am… not sure you’ll be interested, buuut… well, probably not, but… ah, what the hell. Worth a try.” From behind the counter, he pulled out a leaflet. “Her’ya. Take it.”

And gave it to John. “What is it?” He had a good look at it, and… «Hell! Fuck me!» His eyes burned. «Argh! Fuck! This design!» The injuries all over his head flared up with force. «Oh, heavens, it’s hideous! What is this?!» It appeared to be an invitation of sorts, a call to a night out at a bar, yes, a song night at a pub downtown, or so it seemed at his first glance, before John’s eyes were burned by the hideousness of it all. «The fonts are leaping off the page! Argh!» He rubbed his eyes, feeling that they would bleed at any moment. «And the colors! Hell! The colors are all over the place!» It was clear that whoever made that thing was extraordinarily tactless and unprofessional, or at least had spared every precious penny on the cheapest artist they could find.

“You like it?” Jonathan remained there, all smiles and sunshine, looking rather proud of himself. “I’m on it!”

“So, you… you made this?”

“I made what? This?” He glanced at the paper. “Ah, no. We paid a guy to do it.”

“Oh. Oh!” Phew! “Good.”

“I’m in the band, though.” He pointed at the high-contrast, misaligned, grossly oversaturated picture on that leaflet. “I’m the lead, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Well, no.” He scratched the back of his head, the light shame flaring on his face. “Kind of not. I’m not the lead lead per se, but… well, I’m the second best. Very close to being the face of the band, though still not quite.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m the bass guy.”

“Oookay.” He looked back at the tiny leaflet. “So, this is…”

“An invitation. I dunno, you’re about my age. I thought you might enjoy it.”

Enjoy… uh… an invitation to… what? “Enjoy… uh… an… invitation, eh?”

“Ah, nothing special. I mean, it is special to me and the guys, but… well, it’s nothing grand—yet. This is the place.” He tapped on the paper. “You might’ve heard of it. Well, you probably haven’t, with all your, uh, work and all.” He winked and nodded, trying to be as friendly and unintimidating as possible. “It’s a pretty nice joint downtown, right in the heart of the city, and the prices ain’t that eye-gouging, you know, as far as downtown goes.”

“Hmm.”

“Just take it with you. It’s this weekend. No way to walk there, but you can take the tram real quick. Just half an hour, basically a hop, and the stop is right around the corner.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

“If you prefer, I can list you some bus lines that go near it. Ain’t no direct route, though, at least none that stops close.”

“Oh, uh, no need to. I can take…” I can take a bike. He was about to say, and almost said it, but thankfully he stopped himself in the nick of time. «What am I saying?» His thoughts raged on. «This would mean I’m accepting his invitation, and I… well… I don’t like invitations.» He had to repeat it at least one more time. «I don’t like invitations. I don’t. As a matter of fact, I… I hate them.» He gulped. «Invitations and people. And… and… and going out. I hate it all. Don’t like any of this. Don’t like them, not a bit.»

He turned around. Tried to leave.

…

…

“So, uh…” He walked back very awkwardly to Jonathan. “You’re in a band, eh?”

“Yeah. At least for the time being.”

“Oh, that… that’s cool. Is it a side thing or…?”

Jonathan sighed long and heavy. “Well, I guess.” He shrugged. “Got this boring ass job here. Paying the bills and whatnot.” He moved about as if he had long ago made peace with his reality, resigned to his fate. “Most people my age will be lucky to be working at all, you know.”

“Oh. I do.”

“I did have a friend of a friend of a friend of my sister who knew the estate’s boss, let’s say, and he actually was the one who found me this neat position. Well, found me is not giving the guy enough credit: he put his own skin on the line for me, and for that I couldn’t be more grateful.” He shrugged and sighed. “I’d rather be here than working behind a fucking register, that I can tell you. Oh!” He covered his mouth. “Oh, heavens!”

“What?”

“I mean, you…” He kept his hands on his mouth, gauging the resident’s reaction closely. “I said a slur.”

“Oh.”

Jonathan relaxed his posture a bit. “Please tell me you didn’t mind it.”

“Mind… mind what?” He smiled. “Didn’t hear a thing.”

“Oh. Phew.” He returned to his cool, lax self. “Thanks. You do look like a chill type. There’s big trouble with this, ya know, big trouble! If I’d said it to one of the old folks… oooh.” He made a click with his tongue, then slid an index across his throat. “It’d be bye-bye gig.”

“Heh.”

“It’s bye-bye gig and hello retail. Or the fields.” He shivered, or at least pretended to. “Or the cemetery, I figure. With options like these, frankly speaking, I’d rather be in a grave.”

“Oh. I-kes.”

“Yep. Sorry for this.” He chuckled. “You seem like you can take the edgy off-hand comment here and there.”

“Oh, uh… yeah. Yeah, I can”

“Yeah. I told you: you’re chill. You’re cool. Living alone, bachelor life, no worries, no problems, no bullshit, eh?”

“Yeah. No problems. No, um… bullshit.” He cleared his throat. To his shock, his lips… Oh. They kept moving on their own, spitting out words his brain had not quite approved of yet: “You, uh… don’t bother with your work too much, do you?”

“Oh, oh, for what it is.” He shrugged, then began scribbling something on a notebook behind the counter. “The work is nice, and by that I mean there’s no work at all.” He gestured to the empty hall. “See anybody? It’s like this, like, all the time. Ninety percent of the shift, I’d say. I just hit up the tunes and zone out for most of the shift. Easy money, easy life. If someone shows up, it’s mostly old people, with the occasional weird bloke here and there. Almost never the type who’d cause anyone migraines, you know.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I… well…” Inside himself, he was trembling, almost crumbling. He couldn’t understand what compelled him to talk, yet he just… kept talking. “College?”

“Bah.” Jonathan shrugged. “Who’s got diplomas these days? Any job worth having is long gone, long relocated.” He cast upon him a calm, neutral look. “And you? Got the tube?”

“Huh?”

“Diploma? Got one? Higher education, college, I mean.”

“Oh, no. No. No school, um.” He averted his gaze, but smiled nonetheless. “Would be nice, I guess, but… well, I suppose it wouldn’t be my thing.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He scribbled a couple more notes before pausing, frowning, and then looking up at John with a very quizzical expression. “What did you say you work with, again? I mean, don’t mind me, but… you don’t seem to leave the house, so… what gives?”

A long silence followed, and John’s eyes seemed to have parted from Jonathan’s for good. «I knew it wasn’t a good idea. Talking. And shit.»

The young porter, though, could read his discomfort easily. “You didn’t happen to have won the lottery by any chance, have you?”

“What? Umm, no.”

“Ah, it’s okay.” He talked with great levity, in a tone that would put even a charging bear at ease. “Even if you had won anything, I know you wouldn’t tell.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess.” He smiled. “Probably.” His eyes felt more and more comfortable coming back to that young lad’s face. Not that it was too difficult. After all, his was a very beautiful face. “But, umm… if I had… I’d probably give you something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Lottery. I’d probably have given you something. You know.” He shrugged. “To help. So maybe neither you nor I would have to work ever again.”

Jonathan laughed. “Ah, man, you’re too kind. Heavens know I would love this. A life full of lazy splendor, devoid of work and filled with fun!” He cast upon John a naughty look. “And women.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

Silence befell the lads. “So… got any girl?”

Oh. “Umm, I mean…” He cleared his throat. “Girl?”

Jonathan giggled. “Yeah. Women. Booty. You tapping any?”

John pulled his gaze somewhere else, to some different continent or planet, looking for an escape, or just somewhere cool and dark where he could hide his gaze, and perhaps bury his whole soul with it. Just say it. From the cool and the dark, a voice came to advise him. Just say whatever bullshit comes to your min-

“It’s, uh, complicated.”

“Ooh.” Jonathan clicked his tongue and slowly… very… slowly… nodded. “Huh. I see.”

John didn’t know what to do or say to make the awkwardness any less biting, so he just… “Yeah.”

He was getting tense, flummoxed, but Jonathan’s bright, colorful gestures, his hands going up-and-down, sideways and round-ways… oh. They had such a magical effect on him! John soon felt all the tension ease out and his body return not to a normal state—which was always tense and irritable—but to a uniquely relaxed, alleyed demeanor. “I was meaning to ask, well…” Jonathan continued. “If you would bring your lady, you know. Double the butts, double the coin.”

“Oh.”

Jonathan’s hands, up-and-down, up-and-down, wavy-wavy. “Well, it’s no issue. I know that’s your private business, and you’re quite the private fellow yourself, so…”

“Well, no… uh, no problem.” He pulled his elbow closer, so shyly. “If I had… umm… a lady, I mean…”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Jonathan smiled wider and wider.

John shrugged, rolled his eyes, and offered him an apologetic grin. “Wouldn’t make a difference. I mean, I don’t think she would want to, uh, go out, you know. Not to this type of event, at least. I mean, I guess she… umm… she would be too shy, too reserved. I guess this wouldn’t be…” He gulped. “Her thing, you know?”

“Oh, you never know. You know what they say about opposites, eh?”

“Umm…”

“They attract.”

“Oh, well, I… I don’t suppose that would be, uh, that would be my case. She would be just… uh… just shy.”

“Well,” Jonathan smiled, “suits you, I guess.”

A blissful instant of silence followed, during and after which so many things could happen. Endless possibilities. «I can ask him about the night off. About his band. I can ask about his aspirations, what he truly wants to do for a living, or I can just… I dunno. Ask whatever.» He thought, and he surprised himself by thinking it, and by the growing lightness of his own soul, the ever greater buoyancy of his spirits, his shoulders rising, his feet leaving the floor, himself taking off to the stars, enjoying nothing but wonder and splendor… and…

Companionship. Camaraderie. Up there in the heavens, among the gods. «I…» He came to a moment of quiet awareness. «I…» Took him bombs of energy to muster those simple words, the mere thinking moving his body: his fists tight, knuckles sharp, and his limbs finely trembling. «I am enjoying this conversation!»

Before he could appreciate it, though… “Well! I’ll let you be.” Jonathan locked away the notebook and turned around, ready to leave off to somewhere else. “Suppose you gotta go and, um, do whatever you must, eh?”

“Oh… umm…” He looked at him and simply… “Yes.”

“Well, darn, so do I. Gotta close up the registry and ready the files for the next shift.” With a wink and a salute, he gestured one last time at the leaflet still hanging on John’s fingers. “Give it a thought, though. I can guarantee you will enjoy it.”

“Oh. Yes. Umm… okay.” He did his best attempt at a friendly smile. “I’m sure, uh, it will be… fun.”

“Of course it will. I will be there!” His voice was deeper, but with no less warmth, and his eyebrows seemed to carry a whole other chunk of the conversation on their own—a chat without words. “The place is really cool. Not intimidating at all. You’ll feel at home there. If not at home, then certainly at ease. Calm. Comfortable. Safe.”

“Oh.”

The pauses were so many, so frequent now, but John no longer minded them. No. He was learning to enjoy them, for whatever reason.

His eyes on Jonathan’s, trying to read him. Jonathan’s eyes on him, reading him fully, understanding him perfectly, down to a tee. “And I guess, who knows… when it comes to women…”

…

…

He didn’t complete it. He just sort of looked at John, and allowed John to keep looking at him, communicating instead with his eyes, hoping he would understand that wordless talk, that silent gossip, which was the most honest chatter of all. Then, after this long, warm pause, he continued: “Maybe this getaway will be good too. Who knows.” He shrugged. “I’m inviting some really good people, some really fine gents. You will see. And who knows…” He shrugged again. “Who knows…”

“Well, uh… I didn’t say I would go. You know.”

“Oh, I do. Matters not.” Jonathan was friendly. His demeanor, always undisturbed. “Just letting you know what you should expect if you come, and all the great stuff you will miss if you don’t.”

“Oh. I see. Well…” He picked up his things. “Thanks. Umm, thanks for all.”

“Hey, man, you’re the boss.” He turned around with a wink and a nod. “See you there. Hopefully.”

“Yeah.” Before walking away, John mustered one last smile. “Probably.”

One second later, he was gone. Vanished into the belly of the building.

Chapter Text

*Hum… hum… hum…*

As the elevator rose, he relived that conversation in his head. «Jonathan. That Jonathan fellow…» The leaflet was shaking in his hand, still at the tip of his fingers. «That wasn’t all that bad.» He smiled. How cool he would feel… if he actually… went out… on a date! «I liked him. And he, I guess…» One could almost be deceived into thinking that… “He liked me.”

*Ding!* The doors of the elevator opened up, giving way to the blinding lights. “Ouch!” The hallway to his apartment felt brighter that day. «Everything does, to be honest.» He walked into the long, sprawling corridor, an aseptic setpiece of economical and efficient design.

Given the block’s peculiar architecture, half of that hallway got no natural light in the summer mornings, then the other half in the evenings, and none of it during winter. That day, however, as he walked along the light, he marveled at how much brighter the bright parts seemed, and how less oppressive the dark areas looked under the dead, fluorescent gleam of the artificial lights. «The seasons are so erratic.» He mused. «Time feels totally different at every hour of the day.»

They were long past summer’s peak, drawing close and fast to the windleaf months, and the memories of winter returned all the more vividly to his mind, chilling his bones long before the actual season did. «Only two seasons in this place: cold and freezing. Only difference is… the light.» Springs and summers, the days of undying and undone sunlight, of bright-blue skies and thin-veiled clouds, of bloodshot welkins and bitter weeping trees. Light unstable, light uneven, but light no less. As for winter… «Oh!»

As. For. Winter…!

…

…

No. Better not think of it. Perhaps this was the one thing he missed from his ol’ place: the endless warmth, the lively sun, and the untiring colors of the tropics. «Beautiful weather, dreadful folks. Beautiful folks, dreadful weather.» He inserted the key into the knob, his palm getting cold with the metal. «Having the cake and eating it. Can’t I ever have both?»

*Bump!*

He stopped.

…

…

Just before turning the keys, he’d heard something inside. “Hmm?”

It’d sounded somewhat like the exhaust pipe of an old car very, very far away, but in a thicker, graver timbre, as if the pipe was covered by many heavy blankets of very rough cloth. “What the…?”

He kept staring at the door, wondering if that sound he’d just heard had really come from inside his place. «He did mention, that Jonathan guy, about an inspection. Or something.» Perhaps the pipes of his place were really busted?

«No.» He frowned. His heart was in no place to feel fear, his head had no space for paralysis or overthinking.

No. Not in the middle of that day, not under such a heavenly light, so bright, so beautiful, and with so many bright and beautiful people wishing him just as bright and beautiful a day. «Fuck this bullshit.»

He shook any dread off his head, turned the keys, and entered his place.
*Creek…* The door moved very gently, and he stepped inside with uneasy feet, his soles straight, but unfirm, wanting to be tipped-and-toed as he waltzed in. «Nothing.» He scanned his place briefly. «It was nothing.» His eyes were trembling, his ears twitching. «I must have left the windows of my bedroom open again. It was just the wind, that’s all.» He tried to forget about it. He had to. «Got only one thing in my mind now.»

Only one flame in his blood.

With his crotch burning and his hips shaking, a fool in the middle of the living room, he could barely process his thoughts as he finally contemplated being back… back… back… back into her arms! «Honey?» A heavy weight pulled his shoulders down and his mind low. He dared ask, dared dream. “H-… honey?”

He ventured with gusto into his hallway, that corridor which, in days and weeks and years past, had offered nothing but bleakness and grimness to his heart. “Honey?” Light and warmth now came from the end of it. He stepped more slowly as his steps brought him closer to his bedroom. “Love?”

He turned to his left, to his bedroom door, and looked into the room that now seemed much larger, much warmer, much more loving and caring than it’d ever been before.

She lay on his bed. Her wide, muscular back was turned to the door. Waiting for him. Teasing him. Inviting him to pull her by the shoulder and turn her around so he could finally see her beautiful, lovely face again. “Oh…”

He caught himself panting. Ruffled. He was flustered, yes, but he was also… elated. “Hey.” He muttered, his vision blinking and his sights vanishing, a wary reminder that he was not all that great, nor that he should act so lax with his health or his head still so frail. “Hey… big one.” He walked in. Big, silly smile on his face. “It was… a very good day today.”

He cast upon her a longing gaze, then directed his eyes, now so heavy, to his machina on the desk. «A good day. And why was it good?» He pondered, just for fancy, for he already knew the answer: «It was good because it was bereft of work.» So he walked past the damned device, calm and without haste, toward his bed.

Toward his woman. “Hey, there… gorgeous.” He stretched one hand to her beautiful body under the sheets. “Looking peaceful.” He touched her shoulder. “Looking tight.”

He caressed her, felt the strength and hardness of her muscles, that iron-made skin, and himself growing softer, more relaxed under her touch… yet also harder, more aroused under his hips. «This touch…»

It was magical. Only with her could he feel those things that really shouldn’t be felt. Shouldn’t because they couldn’t. Couldn’t because they were impossible. «Or perhaps… they aren’t possible for me. They aren’t possible in my mind, for I have never experienced them. Never experienced them, so…» He pulled his hand, rubbing the tips of his fingers. «I never really got… perspective.»

He beheld those fingertips, now devoid of warmth, the feeling of the woman a mere memory, though a memory that alone was worth all the world to him.

«I touch you…» No. Don’t think these thoughts. Say them. “I… touch you…”

Slowly, he vocalized himself, and slower still he brought his hand closer…

… closer…

… closer and back to his woman, his love, his honeydew, his sweetening soul.

“I feel… impossible things… when I’m next to you.”

Fingers on her skin. Not even that. Fingers on the bedsheets that covered her skin. And still…

“You…” He pulled the sheets a little, revealing the power of her skin, of her muscles to his eyes. And his groins. “Oooh…” Every single thing in that impossible woman aroused him. “Cristo… senhor… senhor dos céus…” He muttered, then touched her again.

*Zap!* That was it. *Zap! Zap!* The electricity of her touch burned him! *Zap! Zap! Zap!* “So… good.” He pressed his fingers, ever so gentle, a liiitle firmer, a liiitle harder on her skin, on the massive, dense, hard slabs of muscle that were her shoulders, like a solid sun, a lightless star, and felt a slight denting of her skin under his graze. A pore. A pore of her, less than that, was already worth the world, more than the whole universe to him.

His eyes levitated toward her face. It was instinctive. Inevitable. Like planets around their sun. Don’t think these thoughts. Say them. So he did: “They say atoms never touch. I think they are right. But on your skin… in your…” He gulped. “Muscles… these atoms are as close to touching as any atom can be. And it is awesome. It is hard! And my touch… my…” He shivered. Head to toe. Earthquakes under the skin. “My touch can’t get enough of this awesome hardness of you!”

He took off his shirt, changed his pants. After a couple of nights with her, he’d grown comfortable enough to lay shirtless by her side. Shirtless, but not naked. His pants, his shorts, his underwear, didn’t matter: some piece of clothing still had to stay on. «I think she understands.»

He held onto his head, fondled it, and felt the veins on his fingers, throbbing on his temples, side of his skull, that soft place that never grew hard with age, always the focus of his pains, now the engine of his thoughts.
He looked at his doll. She gave him confidence. If not the doll herself, then the sight of her. The sight of a beautiful, powerful woman.

A woman he could reach. A woman he shared a bed with. «Friend. A woman who is also… a friend. Yes. This… this is treasure enough.» He exhaled a little more forcefully, feeling so much… more.

More of himself.

More of his surroundings.

More of anything he’d ever been allowed to feel. «How much of myself… and my world… was I not allowed to feel just because everybody else was always so angry? Always so fearful? Everybody always… so full of hate… and therefore allowing no one else to be happy, lest a stranger’s happiness revealed to them their own misery? Now…»

He inhaled deeply, and this time grew enough strength to cast a longer, more confident gaze at his surroundings, full of luster and intent, hopeful for once that in his kingdom, in that snowy empire atop the world, he would finally be safe, finally be real, finally be… «Me.»

He looked again at the doll and allowed the feelings to wash over him. Not just the feelings, but the words as well. “I look at her… at you… and every time you’re a little different.” Perhaps not, but that was how he saw things. «I’m just…»

…

“I’m just… getting to know more. To see more details. Details one doesn’t see at first, not immediately, and especially not me, who’s so…”

…

…

Nasty stuff.

He was about to say nasty stuff about himself, but withheld his tongue, his thoughts, and more easily now than ever before. “You make it easier.” He said, his gaze certainly wavering, but still locked on her, focused on her love. “You make it a lot easier for me to take it easier on myself.”

This time, though, and with this new, unrepentant look, he noticed just how deep into the mattress that doll was sunk. “Your muscles are so heavy they test the, uh, frame of the bed. Perhaps the frame of the floor itself.” He thought, tapping his heels on the ground. As he put away his groceries, he opened the massive stacks of exams he’d gotten earlier. “Been to the doctor, you know.” With shame and regret, he patted his temples slightly, softly with his fingers. “The migraines. The… head-cracking. You know… from that day. That night when I… hurt myself. So silly.” His eyes glittered. Perhaps tears, maybe passion. “That night I finally took you to bed.” He looked at the scans of his body. “This is me.” It felt weird seeing the bones, the nerves, the transparent and fuzzy layers of colorless skin over them. “I wonder if you aren’t just the same.”

*Creek!*

He turned. “Umm?” There had been a creak, he could swear. “You didn’t happen to make a noise, did you?” He laid the papers on his desk. “You… naughty one.”

Leaning onto the bed, he pressed his hand on the mattress, gently at first, and then a little more forcefully. *Creek!*

“Oh.” His palm sank deep into the soft material, and a gentle creek came from its frame. “Oh. That’s it.” He touched his head, fondled his temples. “Wow.” He watched his lover. “You’re… big.” Indeed. Never stopped surprising him just how incomprehensibly huge she was. “You’re absolutely, positively gigantic.” His hand hovered above and along her waist, waving up and down with the peaks and valleys of not only her muscles, but her intensely feminine curves: that thinner waist, those wide hips, her buxom form, her very abundant, womanly features. “How… incredible… you must look…”

Naked.

…

…

…

The silence went on into impossibility. «Should I lay or should I go?» He thought to himself, nothing but his shorts and his underwear adorning his ridiculously tiny and frail hips, his sad and helpless body, like a scrawny kitten out in the jungle, born just seconds before its momma abandoned it.

His eyes reposed on her body reposed on his bed, taking over it, like the river in a flood, the lake in a monsoon washing over the earth, reclaiming to the elements all that was manmade and unholy. Her gigantic form, in all its elegant shape, took over the space like a conquering empire over its helpless tribal lands, yet still, every night he lay in it, he didn’t feel constrained, nor did his space feel violated by that invasive species, that ever-expanding kingdom, for she was generous, she was kind, and he… well… «I am scrawny. »

Tiny. Frail. Small, thin, and helpless. Like said kitten, he could fit anywhere, snuggle into every warm embrace, and be loved and adored by it forever.

So there he stayed, standing and still, seconds into infinity, the silence short of absolute thanks to the wind that was blowing from his window, whisking by his ears. «Hmm.» He looked again at his own body, his own scrawny self, and found it… «So small. So little. There’s so little in here. In me.» Really little. Little shorts in a little waist, little crotch to carry a little would you just lay down already??

He was shook. That big, powerful voice. The voice of a woman. His woman. «You…» Startled still by that voice, he kept his eyes on his gorgeous lady, who remained waiting for him, yearning for his body, begging for him to come and bring her warmth. «Foolish woman.»

Foolish? Perhaps. But only as foolish as he made her.

And so… and so… and so…

He laid with her.

*Wooomm* His body sank on the mattress, and he spread himself on it like butter, his back rested against the wall, squeezed between it and the mighty mountain of muscles that was his woman. «So… urgh… tight!»

Her body. His body. One body. Her hair, like the ocean surrounding a drowning man, overflowed into his face. Her face trapped him, her eyes ensnared him, and he was made to behold her how any woman like her, tall, strong, gorgeous, and imposing, demanded to be beheld. “I… I guess…” He stammered for a while until her scent, her presence, the oppressive, inescapable aura of a battle-hardened warrior princess pried the words out of his mouth. “You… you just…”

Her eyes, her aggressive eyes of unforgiving green embraced him, loved him, fondled his cheeks just like a good mother would, trying to spread his lips so she could plop a breast into his mouth and feed him. “You… you…”

It took him an inordinate amount of time to say it—but it was okay, it was alright, for next to her, that impossible woman, that war goddess who could split the earth with one fist, he could take aaall the time in the world.

Their love was sincere. It needn’t be hushed. “You’re big.” He said, eventually, with his lips surrendering again, once more, to the sincerity of his soul. “You’re huge. You’re… beautiful.” He smiled. The goddess gazed upon him with those intense, all-knowing eyes.

He laid a hand on her cheek, feeling her strong apples, fondling her smooth, impeccably lined jaw, until her lips lay between his fingers. They were full and rich, like fruits on lush greenery. “You… you…” He gulped, trying to not repeat himself too much, keeping his lady entertained, if not impressed. “You look like… spring. Springtime midsummer: all warmth and wealth, all bounty and happiness, and so… full of pretty colors.”

…

…

He knew what he had to do. He had done it a couple of times before, though never with the courage that showed her, his woman, his true intent, his real devotion. “I… I will…”

He looked into her eyes. They knew it. Just do what you have to, they told him.

And so his lips journeyed into hers…

… met the soft, warm moistness of her lands, and made them their home. His lips taking over paradise, and his body made all-heaven in the kiss. *Mwah*

A kiss. A kiss. «I am… kissing… a woman.»

A kiss. A kiss. «I am kissing… you.»

*Mwah…*

He opened his eyes. He held her. *Mwah…* He kissed her once more, lips and eyes joined in darkness, fireworks in the mind. «A kiss… a kiss…» *Mwah… mwah…* Growing daring with time.

Not even the same person, it seemed, he who was kissing. He bit her lower lip, pulled it a little, and heard it clap back on her perfect teeth as he let it go. She was magnificent, and every evening, in the dying of the light, like a flower out of the darkness, she blossomed to him, her perfume saving him from the dark, her beauty turning less intimidating, her awesomeness becoming just a little less heavenly and a bit more… tangible. Mortal. Flesh of his flesh. «A god made human.»

*Mwah… mwah… mwah…* He kissed her and worshiped her and loved her infinitely. «One could make a religion out of you.»

*Mwah… mwah…*

…

*Mwah!*

Caressing her cheeks, feeling the perfect smoothness of her skin, he laid his lips upon her longer, tasting her, loving her, giving her thinning pecks before respectfully, almost dutifully sliding his tongue into her mouth. «A kiss… her power…» He grazed her teeth, slowly prying her mouth open with his tongue to taste her. «The taste of power. Of pure, unabashed might!»

Every inch of her was power. Every millimeter of her was strength! In her arms, like a kitten wrapped around warm blankets by the fireplace of a large wooden estate in the winter, he felt utterly protected, safeguarded from the worst of storms.

*Schlept… schlept… pop!* He sucked her more intensely, feeling the saliva mix with her tongue, her insides getting fuller of him, the scents of their faces mingling as their noses danced in a slow-swirling waltz, and the deflated apples of his face were warmed by her stronger, fuller cheeks. *Mwah… mwah…*

A kiss. A kiss. He wrapped his arms around her powerful waist and pulled her closer. Her breasts against his… oh!

His member, fully hard, throbbed with thirst, rubbing against her mighty thighs as he kissed her, kissed her, kissed her cheeks, and suckled on her neck, almost uncontrollably, a baby, a lover who’d lost his mind in the damning paradise of his woman.

His hands sank into her skin, feeling her strong, iron-clad muscles beneath her clothes. Her width and weight were like a sun: every inch of her created its own heat, bringing warmth to the whole bedroom, lighting his body aflame.

Soon, his legs were wrapped around hers, his crotch gently dry-humping her jeans. *Thump! Thump…!* Whenever he was about to lose control, he moved back, so insecure, and vacillated, his old self letting the demons eat him whilst his heart wept in guilt. «I am not wort-! I do not des-!»

…

…

*Tap*

…

…

*Tap, tap, tap!*

Feet of iron toe-tapping on the ground. She was impatient. He could feel it through her heat, her love, her compassion easily turned into apprehension once he had crossed her line.

«What’s going on, baby? Don’t you like me?»

There was a limit, after all, for everything.

His lips continued to hug hers, drinking from her essence, and his hands kept exploring her body, if only more shyly now. He raised his head, facing her. It was as if she had lifted him by the chin, forcing him to confront her.

«Stop this.»

He nodded. «Yes, honey. I’m sor-»

«Stop being sorry.» She was stern and firm. «And stop just… thinking! Talk to me instead!»

He stared into her, hope brimming in his eyes, and felt her hands guiding his head again to her face, his mouth to her lips once more, and he kissed them. *Mwah!* He kissed them so thirstily!

«You like these lips?»

«Yeah.»

«Then say it.»

«Please…»

She moved his head away, her eyes glazing. Could emeralds burn like fire? Hers did. «I’m not going to repeat myself.»

He smiled. “And you’re going to do what?” The words left his lips without him even noticing. “Walk away?”

She kept facing him. «Maybe.»

He fondled her hair, cuddling her scalp, and kissed her face several times, warming his own heart with the endless praises he laid upon her beauty. “You’re gorgeous.” He planted a kiss. “You’re so gorgeous. Beautiful. You’re so… beautiful.”

«I know.» She smiled. «I’m hot.» Her face was like a panther about to strike. «Say it, you horny dog.»

He chuckled. «Yes, you’re hot.»

«I said say it.»

“Okay.” He spoke, looking around the bedroom and feeling embarrassed for people who weren’t there. “You are… very hot.”

«Come on, now, say it like you mean it.»

“I mean it.”

«Then prove it. Say it loud.»

“You’re hot.”

«That’s not that hot. Say it.»

“Ah, fuck…” He looked around again. The room was empty. “You’re ho-oh-ot!”

«Louder.»

“You’re hot.”

«Again.»

“YOU’RE HOT!” He kissed her. “You’re… hot! You’re fucking hot, you… shredded muscle goddess!”

He slapped her ass… and immediately pulled his hand, staggered by the pain and shocked by his own initiative.

His woman, however, laughed it off so beautifully. «That’s more like it, my little stallion.»

He felt her hand on his waist. He was the one holding her wrist, moving her hand over his skin, yet her joints were so smooth, her movements so effortless, that it was easy to forget who was moving who.

He sighed as he looked at his belly, then at hers.

«What you thinking on, stud?»

“Ha!” He grumbled. “I ain’t… no stud.”

He moved her hand to his face, spreading her fingers and making her palm fondle his cheeks. «Yes, you are.»

“No, I’m no-”

She pulled him to her. Their eyes, almost kissing. «Yes. You. Are.» Her smile was cocky. «Are you doubting my word? You challenging me, stud?»

“No.” He chuckled. “Would never dare to.”

«Good boy.» She spanked his ass, turning lazily on her back to face the ceiling and lay her head on his shoulder. «You’re a stud, but you’re my stud.» She winked. «My little filly.»

“Mm.”

The way he looked at her made her too a little sad. «I want to be naked with you. Why don’t you want to be naked with me? That’s what I was made for, you know.»

He didn’t answer. He was, in fact, answering it, but all inside his head, and so many answers that it was all just one big, inscrutable noise.

She sighed, trying instead a different tactic. «Who are ashamed of? Just one word. Say it. Whistle it. Blurt it out. No need to overthink it.»

“Oh, big one. My whole life is overthinking.”

«Don’t be cheeky with me now.» She gave his face playful little slaps. «Come on, little filly.» She fumbled his crotch with her incredible legs. «Say it. What are you afraid of?» He looked around the room, prompting her to look too and comment on the obvious: «There is no one here. The house’s empty.»

“Yeah, but my head is full.”

«I am your head. Look at me.»

Her smile was a constellation. No man needed to yearn for the beauties of the universe when gazing upon such a face. She was a whole galaxy, and he felt like an astronaut adrift, lost in the immenseness of her love.

«Yeah, big boy, that’s right. I am awesome.» He kissed her, and she accepted his kisses, yes, but with one condition: «Say it: who are you afraid of?»

“Myself.”

«Ain’t no point being afraid of yourself, silly. My silly little filly.» She moved her hands to his pants, making him irk and shy away. «Hey, okay, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you there.» She winked. «Oh, honey. I’m going to do anything but hurt you.» She winked again. He still looked uneasy. «Do it with me, then.» Her hands rested upon her shirt. «Take off my clothes. Oh, gorgeous, you haven’t touched my naked abs all these nights! I’m burning under all this cloth, you know!»

“Well, it’s a cold country. You could use the extra hea-”

«I said ‘no cheeky.’»

“Sorry.”

«If there’s ever going to be ‘heat’ in here…» She paused, then winked. «You know.»

“I do… love.”

«Ooh.» She squirmed. «I’m ‘love’ already?»

“Well, I guess… mm…”

She laughed. «Just kidding, beautiful. Handsome.» And fondled his face. «But being serious now: take off my clothes. Please.»

“I… I don’t…” The prompt, even when unaddressed, pulled his eyes back to the beauty and the giganticness of her torso, and he was struck with awe and wonder before that superhuman physique, that unholy and uncarnal and immortal being.

«How do you like this? Huh? All of this? Eh, my little horse?»

His heart jolted as his eyes basked upon her massive, sturdy form, every one of her legions of muscles stretching those clothes, testing the strength of the tight, tight, tight shirt she wore.

Born to be wild.

She was keen to catch that desirous gaze of his, muttering in her purring, buttery voice: «You are horny for me. Hopelessly horny. Horny as a stallion surrounded by countless fruitful mares. You. Are. Horny. And you want to shoot all of your horniness inside me. Admit it.»

He coughed, he gulped, he hid away, and was stripped naked before her gaze. “Don’t need to admit it. Oh… you can see it. You can see it all over me.”

«Heaven’s grace, I can.» She bit her lips. «You thirsty fucky-boy.» She raised her legs. His sight was almost completely blocked by those two massive tree logs of maiden meat, each only less massive than her spectacular, fertile-as-the-Nile hips. «Look. Look at my legs.»

“I… I am looking.”

And drooling. His jaw stood low, the water dripping, sizzling with desire. The woman gave the muscles of her legs a mighty flex, and her thighs swelled until nearly snapping the fabric of her jeans. «Look. At. My. Thighs.»
“I… am…” He gulped. “Looking.”

«Ain’t’em a treasure?»

“Y-yes, they… are.”

She flexed and relaxed her thighs, hard and soft, hard and soft, on and off, wantonly displaying to him the thickness and firmness of her meatage whilst fondling her man’s hardened sex in his pants.

«You naughty pumpkin.» She sucked her lower lip, as if unable to hold back her own arousal. «You’re so hard already. Hard as a rock.» She winked. «Big as a horse.» The boy smiled and lowered his head, but this only caused her to admonish him: «Don’t you dare look away! Have you any idea of how many empires fought and fell just so they could get a touch of these two thunder goddesses?» She rubbed her hands on her legs, and her man was robbed of breath and soul.

“Oh… yes, ma’am. No, I do not, ma’am.”

«‘Ma’am?’» She brought her lips closer to his ears. «Don’t you mean… ‘mommy?’»

He laughed. “Fuck you…”

«Yes, fuck me.» She pointed at him. «You.» Then back at herself. «Fuck me.» And spread her legs wide, inviting the farmer to seed her fields. «Fuck me, dad-dy. I’m so fucking horny-eee for my dad-dy-eee!»

“No, you’re not.”

She fondled both his back and his pecker, kissing his nipples, sucking his breast, licking the whole left side of his naked pale torso. «Don’t you think I hear what you say when you’re asleep?»

“Well…” He gulped. “You shouldn’t. That’s… private stuff.” Yet he brought his face again to her, his eyes begging for her words. “Umm… what do I say?”

Her eyes were big and honest. It was staggering, truly, how she could go from hot to cute and cute to baby in the blink of the eye and the beat of a heart. «You call me ‘mommy.’ A lot.»

He shuddered, yet she pulled him towards her, closer, and embraced him harder. Harder… «You mumble ‘mommy, mommy’ in your sleep. And you love kissing my tits. Using them as pillows. Kissing them while you call me ‘mom-’»

“Hmm, okay, uh…” He gulped, tried to break free. “I get it.”

«It is okay, honey. It is natural. A lot of men do this, and those who don’t, wish they did. In the end, all men, all of them want to do exactly this—return to mommy—and to do or say otherwise, oh… this is the unnatural thing, the thing to be ashamed of.» She became somewhat more serious, though not without fondling him sweeter, hugging him harder, and kissing him wetter on his thin, frail torso. «What did you just think of right now? I want you to say it.»

“What?”

«I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t like it.» She hugged him harder, almost in a threatening manner. She could squash him like a pimple, and he couldn’t deny that the thought of it made him harder. «Tell me what you’ve just thought right now. Say it.» She squeezed him. «Say it loud.»

He felt her powerful arms around his waist crushing him, threatening to splinter his spine, her muscles swelling and throbbing with the hot blood being pumped through their thick, mighty arteries. «Heavens, this woman…!» He thought, but this thought too she was quick to catch:

«‘This woman’ what?»

“Oh, I meant… like… you’re so b-”

«‘… big and beautiful,’ yes, I’ve heard it.» She gave his lips a tiny peck. «Now say it, honey.»

“Please…”

«Say it. When I said many men do this,» she shook her ample, bountiful bosom under his eyes, «that many men kiss a woman’s boobs, dreaming of their mothers…»

“Caralho…”

«Say what you thought.» She kissed him. «Say it.» And kissed him again. «Say it.»

All the time she kissed and fondled him while keeping her powerful, painful grip on him, a blessed mix of love and threat, loving wetness from the edge of her lips and rough pressure from the brunt of her muscles—a mixture that she so naturally mastered.

He had to close his eyes to mutter these simple words: “Only losers.”

«Mm?»

“There. I said it.”

«You whispered it. I want you to say it.»

“Come on… oow!!”

She squeezed him. Really squeezed him. He felt his eyes bulge out and his lungs surge up in his throat. “Ouch, ouch, my head, woman!”

«‘Woman?’ Did you really just call me ‘woman?’» She squeezed him again, harder still, making him again feel like his eyes would pop.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry!! My goddess! My queen!”

«Now that’s much better.»

“Please, you’re hurting…”

«Then say it, you devil!» She squeezed him again. «Say it, you literal motherfucker!»

“Okay, okay, please, I’ll say it!”

«Then fucking s-»

“Only losers do this!”

He said it so loud that the window and the walls near them shook a little. She was left to stare at him in silent amazement, her eyebrows risen with pride. “Only losers think like this. Only losers act like this!” He continued. “Please… can you let me go now?”

She kept squeezing him. «Why? You’re clearly enjoying it.» She rubbed her thighs on his hardened cock, now turning purple.

“Please.”

«Alright.» She said, very sweetly, and then… *Swoom!* Her man could finally breathe again. «So you think you’re a loser.» Silence. She caressed his chest with her fingers, dragging her nails on his skin. «You thinking, eh?»

“Yeah.”

She went on to kiss him, but he turned away his cheek. «Oh, I see. Making yourself difficult.» She kissed his cheek, then gave it a good, long, warm, wet lick. «I like that. I love a good chase.»

“No, you don’t.”

«How dare you say what I like or not?» She bit his earlobe, pulled it kindly. «Are you one of those controlling boyfriends, by any chance?»

“I wish.”

«Oh, you wish!»

“Yeah.” He looked at her. “I do.”

«Mm, I feel there’s a lot to unpack here.»

“Is there?”

«Oh, yeah, little filly, there is.» She laid her head on his lap and looked at him with the most beautiful smile in the world.

He couldn’t resist pinching her cheeks and playing with her lips, inviting her to suckle on his fingers, even gargle on them. He chuckled, he moaned, feeling her constantly, relentlessly stimulating his cock with their cuddling.

«Do you wanna talk? Or do you wanna cum?»

“I want to…” His body soon became warm. With shame. “I want…”

She toned down the pace and intensity of her fondling. «We talk, then.» She looked so sweet, her eyes like candy. «I’m an excellent psychiatrist, you know.»

“Oh, are you?”

«By heaven’s charm, baby, I am.» She flexed her right biceps, and the mighty muscle nearly tore through her sleeves like a rhino loose on a china store. «Healthy body, healthy mind. Now look, darling, look at this body.» She flexed it again, and this time he could hear the fibers of her sleeves stretching and splitting apart. «I’ve got the healthiest mind in the world!»

“Oh… you… you…”

«Aaand I don’t charge!» She turned over on his lap, crushing his chest with her massive bosom. «Not with money, that is.»

“Oh, no?”

«No.» She shook her head, smiling like a villain. «If I charge, it’s not with money, but with cum.»

“Deuses do céu…”

«Am I or am I not a dream come true? Huh?» She kissed him. «Mm?» And kissed him and kissed him and kissed him… «mm? Mm? Mm?»

…

For a moment…

…

…

… he saw things as they were: the doll, laying motionless by his side, her face candid, but stiff, and his arms moving her on the bed, over his body, fondling himself, touching himself per his whims and wishes, his mind making her alive.

He sighed, speaking dearly. “You’re just a dream.”

…

…

«Mm. Maybe I am.» She took him by the chin, lifted his head softly. «But dreams are the stuff of life, aren’t they? And as far as dreams go…» She winked, and bestowed upon him a wicked grin. «I am one hell of a good dream, am I not?»

He chuckled. “Yeah.” And chuckled again. “Yes. Yes, you are.”

«Of course I am. It’s you who are imagining me, after all.» She winked. «You’re smart. And kind. And creative. I can’t help but be an awesome woman, then.»

Taking hold of his chuckles, he looked at her with unmatched earnestness. “Why are you doing this?” He kissed the back of her hand. “Why are you… you know… taking all this time, all this trouble for me?”

«Well…» She pondered for a second. «Do you want the straight answer or the funny answer?»

“I want the honest answer.”

«Both are honest.»

“Then gimme the straight one.”

«Oh, but I like the funny one more.»

“Well, I prefer the straight one.”

«But I want the funny.»

“Then why did you as- ouch!!” He curled in pain as she, out of nowhere, grabbed his balls and gave them a mighty… *squeeze!* “AI, CARALHO!! QUE MERDA!!” He fought against himself to catch his own fleeting breath. “Filha da p-!!”

«What?» Her address caused him to bite his own tongue, to seek silence, but she pressed on, unrelenting. «‘Filha da’ what?»

His balls were still on her hand. “Filha da… mãe.”

«Oh, that’s a ‘no-no.’» She tightened her grip on his balls, threateningly, making his eyes roll in pain, bliss, and joy. «That’s not the way to talk to a lady, mister.»

He was hurting, but he was smiling. “Please, please, para.”

«I will not.»

“Please!” He tried to be serious while giggling at every plea. “Isso dói, dói, por favor… please!”

«Have not a worry, sweetheart.» She kissed him on the tip of his nose. «I am bad, and I’m gonna be bad to your balls… but I am never going to make you feel bad. Ever!» She kissed and kissed and kissed him some more, then licked and sucked his chest and nipples, making him fall back on the bed, almost breathless, as she kept her iron grip on his balls. «So… do you want the straight answer or the funny one?»

“Just… give whatever answer you prefer.”

«Ah. So, the funny one?»

“Yes, yes, uh, whatever.”

«Aww, yes, baby.» She released the grip on his testicles and went back to cuddling his crotch. «Why am I doing this, you asked? Well, here’s the answer: I like playing with my prey before I devour it.»

…

…

He turned his head to her. Very. Slowly. “That’s it? That’s the funny answer?”

She nodded. «It is!» She looked so proud of herself. «Wasn’t it funny?»

“Ah, yes. Uh-huh. Very funny. A riot.”

«Yeah, right?»

“Oh, yes. Definitely. You have, uh, talent for comedy.”

«Do you think I’d be a good comedian?»

He took a moment to think. “No.”

«No?»

“No.” He cast upon her a long, heavy look. “You’re, umm… too big. Big and heavy. You would crash through the stage before you could tell a single joke.”

«Oh, look at you. A comedian yourself.» She returned to threatening his balls. «You want your balls crushed again, funny guy?»

“Ooof… oow…” And then, after a split second, a sharp thought hit him. “Yes!”

She was taken aback, a little surprised. «Oh, yeah?»

“Yes… mommy!”

She laughed. «Alright, you fiend! That was smart.» She let go of his testicles. «I ain’t crushing your balls… yet. Not like this.»

“Ah, bummer. So, uh, what’s the straight one?”

«Mm?»

“The straight answer.” He slid his fingers along a thick, prominent vein of her left biceps. “You told me there was a funny answer and a straight one. So, the straight answer: why are you doing this?”

«Because you are imagining me like this.»

“Oh.”

«You don’t like this answer, do you?»

“Nah.”

«Too straight?»

“I think, yeah, it is.”

«What if I tell you it’s not honest?»

“Uh?”

She turned ever so slightly, facing him closer, more intimately. Her whispers were like flutters of a lonely butterfly’s wings in an empty, windless field. «What if I told you this answer, though straight, wasn’t at all an honest one?»

“It wasn’t?”

She shook her head slowly. Very slowly. «No-oh.» She pinched his nose, and he winced quite adorably.

“Okay, umm, then… what’s the honest one?”

«Honest and straight?»

“Yes. No more… um, no more games.”

She beamed and giggled, and then complied charmingly to his request. «I’m doing this because… well… I believe this is the fastest way to get in your pants.» She fondled his crotch. «To get your horse dick deep inside my wet pussy.»

He covered his face, blushing like a ripe berry. “Mm. You’re so… uh, poetic.”

«Only as poetic as you make me.» She smiled. «And only as horny and as filthy as you want me to be.» But then… she realized he was no longer smiling. «Hey.»

“Hey.” He muttered weakly.

She took his hand, only for him to flinch and move away. «This is what I’m talking about. It’s been two weeks, love. Two weeks since you… got me. Two weeks that you don’t… touch me.» She sighed. «That you just don’t do anything to me. You don’t touch me, you don’t… love me.» She saw his apple moving nervously on his throat, his poor, frail chest shaking as he heaved on the bed. «You want to say something? Um?»

She moved closer, bringing her ears to his throat. Cowardly, though, he moved away, and she was forced to lay her arms on his torso to try and pull him back without scaring him away. «No. Don’t run from me. Not now. Not when we’re finally making such excellent progress.»

“It’s small.”

She left the wind to speak for a while before she dared ask. «What?»
He moved awkwardly on the bed, his knuckles making vacillating flights towards his crotch, which he protected, shut off tightly with his upper thighs.

“My penis. It’s… small.”

She laughed. «Your cock is not small. It’s big.»

He smirked. “It’s small.”

«It’s big!» She raised her palms, each facing the other, and set them about two feet apart. «It’s like… this! Just like a horse’s.»

He rolled his eyes and moved away. She, however, feeling daring, kept going to him, kept pushing him, seeing how much of that outrageous love her man could take. «It’s big and thick. I almost feel there’s an arm between my thighs right now. This fucking bulge of yours, oooh…» She smacked her lips, spit sprinkling on his cheeks. «Sooo delicious!»

“Stop it.”

«You’d make a bull cower in fear, a horse trot away in shame. And these balls…»

“Stop it… mm!”

He groaned as he felt her hand massaging his seedmakers, pinching one, then the other, then playing with both, twirling them in his boxers, changing their places on his sack, then squeezing each of them lovingly as she spoke. «Tell me, boy, are you selling mangos? ‘Cause I can feel you’ve got some real big, fat mangos in this sack!»

“Fuck…”

«Hell, yeah, you’re hung as fuck. As endowed as the fuck machine you were always meant to be.»

“Cristo, para.” He asked, but there was no way for his request to have sounded any less convincing or any more impotent.

Picking up on his indecisiveness, she kept pushing. «No. I will not stop saying what is true. Remember: straight or funny, I’m always honest.»

“Oh. No, uh… no, you’re not.”

«Huh?»

“Didn’t you just… lie to me right now?”

«I didn’t.»

“Yes, you did. The ‘straight’ answer you gave me. The first one. It wasn’t true. It was a l-” *SMACK!* “Ouch!”

She laughed, her hand pulsating with the slap she’d given him. «No, mister. I didn’t. I never lie.»

“Mmph! I see.”

She returned to him, candid as a kitten, and smooched his cheek with a conciliatory kiss. «You don’t think you’re big?» She fondled his pecs, her fingers drawing little hearts on his tiny, frail chest. «You don’t think you’re a big, well-endowed sexy hunk?»

“Come on.”

«I will turn savage on your balls if you keep evading my questions.» She squeezed his balls just hard enough to show him she meant business. «And not the nice kind of savage, my darling. It will be the bloody, messy kind instead.»

“Fuck, fuck… oow!”

«Yeah, my baby boy, it’s going to be a pain changing these sheets when I’m done with you. Blood, after all, is very difficult to wash.»

“Alright, alright… urgh! I, uh, I get it, I get it!”

«Do you really?»

“Yes! I do! Now, please…!”

She squeezed his balls just a little tighter. «Do you promise you won’t evade my questions anymore?»

“I promise, oh, I promise!” Then, just as quickly… “Oooh!”

Sweet, sweet release!

«Umm. Fine. I will trust your word this time, handsome stallion, but only this time.» She winked. «No more getting cheeky. No more playing with your momma’s heart.»

“Oh, mmrrph! But you can play with mine, I see.”

«Of course.»

“Fine. Ask what, uh, whatever you want to ask.”

«What I want to ask is very simple, honey bun: what’s the deal, my love?» She laid her hand on his breast. «Why are you so cruel to yourself?»

There was silence, and in silence they both lay. Really close to her prey, she was. One wrong move, one clumsy noise, one accidental crack of the twig under her paw, and the prey would run away, and she’d be left alone to starve.

She remained still, then, and deadly so, reading his every motion, attuned to his every emotion, waiting for him to gather the strength to say something, to confess, what she already knew, oh, what she already could hear inside his throat, the words locked in his neck, struggling to be set free.

And yet…

… minute after minute…

… hour on top of hour…

*Sigh*

It became clear to her that he wouldn’t have such strength. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

«Don’t you ever say ‘sorry’ to me again.» She smooched him on the cheek. «Not one more time, little filly. Or else…»

“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “You will crush my balls. You… will go away.”

«I will go away with your balls, that’s right.»

“Hmmrm…” Her hands on his sack. *Urgh!* The gentlest of squeezes.

«So? Are you willing to risk it? Huh?»

“I… I am. After all, I have no balls to speak of. No manhood for you to steal.”

«Oh, now you’re just being petty. And dramatic. Attention-seeking, you are.»

“Stop… doing this.”

…

«What?» She asked innocently.

“Stop…” He raised his hands, covered his face, moving away to cloister himself in a corner of his bed. “Stop… trying to help me.”

«I will not.» She moved closer. «Please.»

“Move away, you… you whore.”

She smiled. «It hurts my heart when you talk to me like this.»

“Fuck… fuck you.”

«Come here and fuck me yourself, then.»

“Damn it.” He said, very meekly, and threw a fist at her face. Also very meekly.

*Pat!*

His blow landed limply on her chin. Her head turned very slightly, as if blown by a very tender gush of wind. «I see. So this is how you want to play.»

Her eyes were deadly. For no more than a few seconds in time, she looked mortally at him, letting him know that, if she so wished, she could reduce him to dust with barely a thought. A twitch of her pinkie, and then… *boom!* His head, ripped clean off his shoulders.

She could, but she wouldn’t, and this was the only reason why he was still alive. Alive and being loved by her. «Alright, then.» Seconds later, her face relaxed. «Do it again. Punch me one more time. Come on, do it.» The boy’s eyes grew, beaming with bleeding stars. «You’re a big man, are you not? Hitting a big woman like me like that, huh?»

“I…”

She grabbed his fist and moved it to her cheek. «Do it, big boy. Come on, do it!» Her eyes were shining sad, and her apple was trembling in her throat, as if fighting to hold back her words just as hard as her eyes were holding back her tears. «Hit me again, if that’s what you’ve been meaning to do to me all this time.»

“I’m… I’m…!”

He pulled his fist back, moved away, away, and… curled in a fetal position, hugging his own legs, pressing his back against the wall so hard as to drill a tunnel in it. “I…!” His breath quickened, his heart paced, and his limbs began to shake.

Soon, he felt something. Something warm, something wet on his arms. Something forgiving. Her lips. Loving him. Kissing him tenderly. «Stay with me.»

“I-”

«Shh.» She moved her hands along his thin legs, fondling his muscles, caressing his thighs. «I talk. You listen.» She said, a babyish tone buttering her voice. «I’m not angry.»

“I know you aren’t.”

«Then why don’t you open yourself up to me? Huh?»

“Because… because…” Like a fish, but smart, he noticed the hook dangling in front of his eyes and refused to bite it. “Stop it. Stop… playing games with me. Messing up with my… my mind.”

«Very well.» She kissed him, lips on the cheek. *Smooch!* «Then you let me do the speaking…» *Smooch!* «… while you just do the sweet, sweet listening. Okay?» *Sssmooch!* «Okay, umm? Doesn’t this sound like a sweet ol’ deal?»

“…”

She pulled back a tender distance, reading the answers on her lover’s breaths. «Very well. I see that you are listening. So, my beautiful, do you want me to be straight, then? No silly jokes, no half-hearted digressions? Only pure, straightforward talk? Very well…»

“No.”

«Mm?»

“No.” He turned his back to her again, this time for the last time. “Be quiet. Let me sleep. Let me go.”

…

…

…

«I’m afraid this is not possible.»

“Please.”

«I will not.»

“Please!”

She moved her hands over his arms, getting firm and fistful grabs of his triceps and shoulders, pressing her hard breasts against his torso, those breasts harder than her tightest grip, several hands on her man, not just a single pair. In that position, she cradled her man’s body almost entirely. Soon, she was gently, slowly, softly kissing his nipples, raising her eyes to his with a very feline complexion, her every whiff of air sounding so cute and lovely as she whispered, low and kind, almost as if to evade one’s ears and speak directly to one’s heart: «It is okay. It is so fine. You think I mind this?»

He paused and waited, frozen in the knowledge that she knew more than he did—for she came from where he lay, deeper than anywhere his conscious thoughts could reach. “I know you do.”

«Then you are arrogant. You don’t even know yourself. The bad and the good. You overstate the bad and downplay the good. Always.»

“Please… go.”

…

…

…

«If I am to go, I am to go forward.» She leaned in for another kiss, missing his cheeks, hitting his chin. *Smack!* «And I wish, if at all possible, to go with you. Only you. This is why… I want you to open your heart for me. And your legs.»

“Huh?”

«Let me be straight, love. Straight as an arrow can be. Straight as a viper in the air, an instant after making its deadly leap.» She winked. «I want your legs. Open. Your heart and your legs and… what’s lain between these legs. I want you to spread your thighs for me, and only me, and… if you’re so lucky… I might even give you a blowjob tonight.» No answer. «Our first blowjob.» A kiss. A kiss… «Our first of many. And the first of many more intense things to come. Mm?» Silence. Always silence. «What say you?» A kiss. *Mwah!* And a word. «I know I asked you only to listen, but… I guess I really am a liar, huh?» She giggled. «Allow me, if you’re so kind, to skid around my promise just for this bit, just for now.»

She waited. And waited. «Hmm? What say you? Can you allow me just this? Just for now?» She knew the exact beats she had to strike, the right strings to pull, the correct buttons to press.

She waited. And waited. Like striking ore in the right vein, she knew it was not a matter of force, but rather precision. She needed just enough well-measured strikes to crack open his heart—and hopefully, his legs. «Do you allow me a question? Just one question, and then you can stay silent, you can remain quiet for the rest of the night.» A kiss. «For as long as you want.»

“Mm… no.”

Almost there. She could hear the veins creaking. Almost there! So close! So very close! «Do you want to open up to me?»

“N… no.”

*Creek. Creek…*

«Oooh. I think… I heard a yes.» She saw his mouth move a little and his lips twitch, so brittle. «Oh? Is that a smile I see?»

He chuckled. “Stop it.”

He… chuckled.

«Now, you’re smiling.»

“Oh, céus, você…!” He turned. Their breaths collided. Their eyes met. “Damn it. You are good.”

«Yes. Yes, I am.» She giggled, brimming with well-placed arrogance. «A hundred thousand an hour.»

“Hm?”

«A hundred grand. For the therapy sessions. That’s how much this little session here would cost if I were not humble or charitable, or if I weren’t so extremely in love with you!»

“Heh.” A lone giggle escaped his mouth. “Then you’re out of luck, I fear.” He pulled the sidebands of his shorts, pretending to search through empty pockets. “Man with no doe, I am.”

«Oh, darling, darling.»

He turned around, half-heartedly, yet most of his body still faced her. Theatrics, that’s all that was. “Man with no doe, man with no hoe.”

She tilted her head, frowning so incredulously. «Did you just call me ‘hoe?’»

“No. I mean, I… look, I’m just being cheeky.”

«I see.» She pinched his cheeks. «And what did I say, mister, about being cheeky, huh?»

“Oh, come on.”

«You just called me a ‘hoe,’ little filly. I think I am entitled to a little teasing. As payback.»

“I didn’t call you…”

«Shoosh.» She smiled, and he smiled in return. Two duelists taking a bow before the shots were fired. Aims at the hearts, roses for bullets. «I am entitled to a tiny clap back. As an apology.»

“I haven’t called you… such a thing. And if I…” He sighed. “If I came across as such, then I’m sorry.”

«Umm. You are forgiven.»

“Man with no doe… man with no hose.”

«Hose?»

“Yeah.” He spread his legs a little. Juuust a little. “Hose.”

«Oh, ooh, you tempter!» She grabbed a fistful of his thigh, and he squirmed under her touch. «Are you here tempting me with thy hose after I expressly told you of my thirst for it?»

He pulled his leg from her. “This is not what I meant.”

«Uh-huh!»

“Man with no doe… well, ain’t a man at all, this is what I meant.”

She rolled her eyes. «I see.» And leaned down to his waist, causing on him a quick jolt of caution. «But even if this nonsense were to be true…” She winked, her fingers warming up his nethers. «It would make no difference for you. Because, you see… for you, I am free.» She gave his shoulder a kiss. «My services, that is. These little therapy sessions.»

“Oh. Umm.”

«‘Oh. Umm.’» She mocked him. Then, with peaceful motions, she returned to his breast, to his arms, calm and dandy. «I’ll always be free for you when you need me.»

“Oh. I see. And, umm… any other services?”

Her eyebrows, if risen any higher, would have flown to the moon. «Oh, my! Look at you, now!»

“I’m just curious.”

«Oh, oh, I see, I see.» That smile of hers could crack diamonds!

“How much? How much would your… uh, other services cost?”

«You can say it straight, honey bun.» She rubbed her nose on his. «After all, we’re all being straight now, aren’t we?»

“No.”

«Oh, no?»

“No. We… kind of aren’t.” He pulled off a mischievous grin. “You were the one who was supposed to be straight.”

«Oh!»

“Yes. Only you. I… I can be vague. As, uh, as vague as I want.”

«Oh, I see. I see!» Her smile…! Oh, that damn, damned smile! «Okay.»
He stopped. Sometimes it was just difficult to know when she would listen to him and when she would just tease him further. “You… okay, then?”

«Yes. Yes, I am.» She was the picture-perfect model of cuteness. «I am here to serve you, after all. No time to be too pushy.» She winked. «This will come later.»

“Oh.”

«So, lovey-darling, what were you asking? How much was my, say, ‘intimate care’ worth? My ‘skin-to-skin’ treatment?»

He chuckled. “Yeah. How much would it cost… to sleep with you?” He took a deep breath. “To… fuck you? Hmm? If I were… say… some other guy?”

«Oh, I think there’s no answer for that.» She winked. «There is no answer because there is no price. Not one that could ever be paid, I mean. It is simply beyond anyone’s means.» She spoke not without some weight, some dead seriousness hanging on her every word. «Priceless, I am.»

“Oh, well… I can’t say I’m surprised.”

«You aren’t, are you?»

“No.”

There was an opportunity… and she seized it! Taking her hands up to her torso, she grabbed a generous portion of her tight, tight shirt, then pulled it, stretching out the cloth even thinner against her skin, giving him a much clearer view of the unbelievable massiveness of her form, the ripeness of her shape. «Dear gods…!»

Aroused by her own form and cognizant, as all pretty women are, of her own allure and irresistibleness, she moistened her fat, lavish lips, and made throaty sounds as she turned slightly and stood somewhat more heavily on the bed, partly laying, partly standing on her knees, rising above her man whilst her eyes remained hopelessly locked on his face, taming and hypnotizing him. «Do you think any money in the world could buy… this?»

He gulped. “Well…” In his head, quite silly, he tried to come up with a funny quip, a clever reply to that question, like a scoundrel trying to out-crook a rascal. “Perhaps, well… ten milly? An hour?” He saw her shake her head and smile, the arrogance of a demon inhabiting her every grin. “Then… a billion, perhaps?”

«Baby, oh, baby.» She drew her hands under her breasts and pulled them up, highlighting those huge, hefty milkers against the fabric of her shirt. «For such a price, I guess one may have a lick… a touch… a sample of an inch, perhaps even a full, whole inch of my skin. This beautiful, perfect skin of mine!» She winked. «Maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t think too much about these lowly things, of course. These vile metals, these petty concerns of coins and capital. No man, after all, alive or yet to be born, can ever hope to pay such a price. Only you, my dear and dearest, can touch this skin, taste this body, oh… and for no price at all!» She squirmed, too enthralled by the magic of her own voice. «Oh, heavens! Have you any idea of your fortune, my heart? You are the luckiest male in the universe. No other man will have even a fraction of your privileges, and certainly not without paying entire kingdoms for it. You are that lucky! Or perhaps…» Her smile turned wicked. «You are that unlucky, because once I lay with you… you might as well consider yourself dead.» She chuckled, pure evil emanating from her heaving, bouncing breasts. «Once I lay you, it will be as if you were laying with ten thousand maidens, ten thousand naughty, horny devils at once, each of them the most ravenous of all sex spirits from the netherworld, and I will keep laying you… and laying you… and laying and laying and laying you just like how a god would lay its offering.» Her body shook. Her eyes glittered. «Oh, why do I keep talking? Saying what I would do to you, as if it made a lick of difference?» In her shoulders, an uncaring shrug. «You’d be long dead before we ever reached this point, anyway. Long dead, long murdered by my tireless slaying, my unrelenting… fucking.»

“Fuck…”

«Yes.» She turned on him, and her massive, gorgeous breasts crushed his frail chest as she spoke close, too close to his face, close enough that both could feel each other’s heartbeats on their breaths. «We shall fuck. And, alas, I am afraid I am not going to take it any easy on you, my bunny. Not one ounce of pity for you, my heart. After a single pelvic thrust…» She performed the motion, and the bed… *Buuump!* It creaked and shook aggressively. «I will have every single bone of you broken. Ugly stuff. Yet still, I will keep going, for there’s no stopping me once I get to slaying.»

“Cristo amado…”

«Ain’t no ‘cristo’ here, loverboy. No old god, no kindred spirit to save you now.» She winked. «I am the god. Your god. Your goddess. And thy goddess commands thee…» She laid her palms on his knees. «Spread thy legs, ye stud, so I can lay with thy most coveted offering, my most desired sacrifice!»

“Aii…” He whimpered. It was but a whimper, but one heard across eternity. “I…”

Her smile felt cold, calm, meticulous, but above all… victorious.

«So? What say you?»

“I…”

“…”

…

So it followed: sweet silence. Again so sweet, and again so terrible. Sweet silence, terrible silence, and a long silence to boot. Long enough to tire the gods and test even the patience of a saint. But not hers. Not her patience, which was just as endless as her libido, as untiring as her love. «There are no voices torturing you now, are there?» She asked him.

“No.”

Indeed there were no nasty voices in his head pestering him, as it was so likely to happen in these moments of silence, of long… nothingness. «I…» He thought of speaking, but chose the silence.

He could never think for himself, for he was never allowed to: the voices would torture him. The voices planted there by his parents, his society, his evil upbringing, root of all suffering, crucible of his trauma. «But now…» Now he could think. Now he could… do things. Imagine things. More pleasant stuff.

All…

…light…

…and water…

…and wind…

…and the air and… flowers… roses…

Nice things, pretty colors, a warm touch, a sweet-scented rose, and a view of eternity, a sighting of paradise. *Sigh*

He looked upon his woman, and she smiled back at him, expectantly. «So?» She asked, eyes beaming with joy.

“I…”

There he went again: the silence. And the stammers. “I… I…”

She chuckled. «Oh, darling!» She touched him, eyes dancing in heaven, their beautiful green filling his soul with peace. «Just say it.» She laughed more deeply. «I’m not going to hurt you.»

“Hm.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder, then massaged it sweetly with the tip of her fingers. «I’m here for you. Heart and soul. Body and mind. Tits and cunt. I’m never going to hurt you, no matter what you say.»

“Hmm.”

She laid on her back, eyes on the ceiling, and moved away from him just a little. «Very well.» She sent him a kiss. «Call me back any time you need me.»

He turned to her, his face split by a thousand emotions. “Aren’t you…?”

She looked at him. «What?» He persisted in his silence, lower lip softly trembling. «Ooh, darling.» She extended to him one arm, moving her hand close to his cheeks, and saw whether her lover was going to accept her gesture or recoil from it. «My love…»

…

…

He accepted it. And so, she caressed his cheeks with great fondness. «You’re so scared, aren’t you?» His eyes got wet as he painfully nodded. «You’re scared because of all the hurt, aren’t you? The way people hurt you. The way they mocked you. The way they never believed in you, and belittled you until you had no love left for yourself?»

“Oh…” Filled with pain, he turned away, stared at the ceiling, eyes glittering brighter and trembling harder with every passing second.

His lover continued to stroke his cheeks, pinching and pulling them with such intense affection. «You can cry if you want to.»

He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and then…

“I!…”

He turned again to face her. Some forlorn tears rolled down his cheeks. “No. I…” He sniffed, he coughed. “I’m fine.”

His silent tears dripped on her fingers. «Are you?»

He nodded, not too insincere.

«Would you mind if I got closer to you again?»

He stayed silent. His eyes skirted hers.

«Oh, my heart. You silly, silly man.» She pinched his cheek, then pulled his head a little closer. «We’re not going to have sex if you don’t want to.» He looked at her, and she beamed as he did. «Of course I wouldn’t do it. Not if you don’t want to.»

“And you…” He sniffed. “Aren’t you…?”

She paid attention to his every word, nodding encouragingly with each of them. «Come on. You’re almost there.»

He closed his eyes. He gulped. He opened his eyes and faced her again, a gentle flame dancing in his chest. “Aren’t you mad?”

She shook her head silently, and uttered: «Only madly in love.»

“Oh.” He blushed. “I thought…”

She stroked his cheek more vigorously. «I apologize. I knew you were scared and still a little too shy, yet I pressed all the same.» She smiled. «To be fair, you did speak a lot tonight. You opened your heart more than any night before, so you can’t say my stubbornness wasn’t all in vain, huh?»

“Well…” He smiled too. “I guess not.” He reached out to her hand and hugged her fingers with gentle devotion.

«Oh…»

They both smiled and shared in that gentle silence. Emboldened, she tried moving her face closer to his. «I am not going to touch you. Not this way, I mean. I am not going to do anything naughty, anything too… fast, too sudden for you. Okay?» As she laid one hand over her right breast, she didn’t fail to notice how his fingers, if only fleetingly, refused to let go of hers. «I know I have teased you and even kind of lured you into a false sense of security right now. I know I went too far ahead and I… I apologize for that. For what I did.» She blinked slowly, spoke in such a velvety tone…! «No more games now. No more teases. All I want is… to give you a hug… and…» She brought her shoulders closer, emphasizing the immense girth of her big, abundant breasts. «To let you lay your head on my breasts, which I know you love so much.»

“Ooh.”

She returned to fondling his cheeks, noting how his eyes were so enamored with her tits. «You can look at them as long as you want. You can… even…» She moved her hand to his, pulled his arm slowly… slowly… towards her tit, and then, facing a brief, ephemeral hesitation… «Touch them.» She laid his palm on her right breast. «However you want, and for however long you wish.»

Without making a sound, gliding over those sheets as if he were made of feathers, the little man hugged her and pulled himself to her body. «Oh!» He tried pulling her to him, yes, but he was so slim and frail, and she so tall and mighty, that he ended up pulling himself to her instead. «Oh, my bunny…»

In the end, it didn’t matter. Both lovers were finally together in a warm embrace.

«Welcome home.»

She had no reaction as he began to cry on her breasts. He was silent at first, then loud as he understood her acceptance of him and his tears. «Baby. My baby hun…»

He wept with wild abandon and hurtful sincerity on her bosom. Pulling him closer and tighter on her chest, stroking his hair with such loving care, she let him rub his wet, teary face all over her motherly breast.

It took him many minutes, but soon the male was kissing those tits, laying on them very sweet and longing pecks. Then, hours later, after he had kissed them enough times for his lips to hurt, his body grew heavier and warmer…

… the soft sands of the sleep gods falling on his weighting head…

… and he let a cheek repose on those ample, mighty tits…

… letting go of his weight as he relaxed his neck, released his thoughts, and melted over her immense being and even more immense soul, her bosom so huge that it could embrace the world. “Thank… you.” His eyes then rose to meet hers. “Oh.” Her eyes were distant, dead, and cold. “I see.”

She stared blankly at the wall over his shoulders, as she always did in that idle form of hers. She was just a doll, after all. Just a doll. All her words, all her love, all that grace and care she had shown to him… it had all been just a dream.

Just a dream. «But…»

What a sweet, longing dream it had been.

Chapter Text

“So, this dude…” Asked the guy. “What’s his problem, really?”

Jonathan was far too relaxed to pay attention to him. There was a pretty, tall, thin blonde on the other side of the bar, and her face stole most, if not all of his focus. Even as his friend repeated the question, perhaps one too many times, he barely had a chance to hear it until… “Uh, oh. What?”

He was awakened, as it were, by the guy’s fingers loudly snapping on his face. “Wakey wakey, snowy flakey! So, you checking her out, eh?” He too glanced at the woman as discreetly as he could. “Yeah, she good. Wanna have her?”

“I don’t know.” He took a long time enunciating every word, his mind in a different place in each of them. “Maybe. I rather wait for my dude.”

“You owe him something?” His friend crossed his arms and laid back on the chair, checking the blonde from time to time, but apparently disapproving of her for some reason. “Not good for long-term, this broad, but… eh, I guess she’s nice for a quickie. Maybe.”

“Don’t you already have Marcia?”

“Yeah, I do, but it’s nothing serious yet.”

He chuckled. “Does she know it’s nothing serious?”

“She knows what she needs to know.” He smiled. “So, you owe this guy something or what?”

The young man raised the cup to his lips, sipping its thick, bitter brew. “He’s a nice dude. He just needs some help, you know, getting out of his cave.”

The friend seemed understanding, if a tad bothered. “He’s not one ‘em lone wolves, is he? You know, the kind of people we had down south, blowing up everybody all of the sudden?”

“Nah, no!” He laughed, but took a pause and thought for a second. “He’s, uh, he’s good folk, really. Nice to talk to once you get through him. Quite sharp, even. His own type of clever. You gonna see.” His eyes kept wandering between his companion and the woman. “A workaddict, I would guess, and a dude who’s had it rough in life, I think.”

“Oh, well.” He took a sip. “Who hasn’t, these days?”

“Yeah, but with the right people and the right talk, he’s gonna let himself loose real easy.”

“If you say so.” He cast a disapproving glance at the glass after finishing his sip and took the whole bottle instead, turning it in his mouth like it was his last day on earth. “So…” He burped aggressively. “Does he drink?”

“I’m… not sure. Probably not, but I guess he doesn’t mind it on special occasions.”

“Ah. He’s one of ‘em types, eh?”

“Probably.”

“And this one would be it, eh?”

“Be what?”

“A special occasion?”

“Ah, yeah. Hopefully.” He threw an all-encompassing look around the place, already deader than an abandoned cemetery, and getting emptier by the second. “I actually told him about the band.”

“Oh.” The lad shrugged. “Tough luck.”

“Yeah. Fuck that Thompson bastard.”

“And he agreed to it? Like, to being in a band?”

“Oh, what? No. Oh, no, no, he wasn’t going to be in the band, he was going to watch us and…” He sighed. “Then we go to happy hours and such.”

“Well, now we only got the happy hours.” The friend too looked around the place. “Or not-so-happy, judging by the looks of it.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, regardless, I suppose he ain’t so shy if he agreed to come in the first place. To watch a band and such.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Well, of course I am. I’m Josh, am I not?” He burped. “I’m always right.” Something in the bar seemed to catch his attention. “There. You see? That one’s a fine piece.”

He turned around and smiled. “You do like the redhairs, don’t ya?”

“Oh, there’s something about them that moves me right, ya know? Too many blondes and brüne in this land. I like having unt eldhårig once in a while.” Then, without a warning, he stood up.

“The hell you’re going?” He checked on the woman again. “Now?”

“Yep. Now.”

“Come on, man, let’s at least wait for him.” He gave his friend a light tap on the arm. “And you barely started dating Marcia, anyway.”

“Dating?” He seemed almost repulsed by the word. “The fukk ever said anything about ‘dating?’”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Seeing. You started ‘seeing’ Marcia just now. Don’t you wanna, you know, keep it in the pants for a little longer, huh?” He saw the man stopping, indeed, but only to stare back at him with a funny face and a quirky smirk. “What? What’s with the smile now?”

“Have you been fucking, Jojo? Like, at all?”

“I have, for your information.” He slapped him on the side of his hips. “Not nearly as much as you, I’m sure. Ain’t a prized stud myself, ain’t not, but yes, I have been getting work for my hammer, thank you very much. Quite a bit of work, I would say.”

“Good boy. Yet why do you still sound like a monk?”

“Not everybody’s as horny as you.”

“Does he fuck?”

“What?”

“This dude you’ve met. This guy we’re waiting for. Does he fuck?”

“Prish’Allah! We just sat down, dude!”

“I’m just asking.”

“Well, don’t ask things like this so soon, so out of the blue. Y’hein!”

“Well, does he or does he not? ‘Tis quite of a simple thing I’m asking.”

“No.” He threw his hands up. “I guess he never did. Not without paying, at least.”

“Mm, real bad. Can’t trust a man who doesn’t fuck.”

“A man is more than his penis, you know that, right?”

“No.” He shook his head, making tiny grunts with every shake. “No, he ain’t. A man is exactly his dick. It’s called manhood for a reason, you know.”

“A smartass fiend, you are.”

“If you have a problem with this, you have a problem with yourself. Only reason men don’t like thinking like this is because they themselves don’t have manhoods big enough to brag about.” He grabbed a volume on his crotch and pulled it up in his jeans, adjusting the denim before walking off to the new conquest. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m gonna get labor for my own hammer.”

“Fine. Get lost. It’s better like this.” And yet… “Oh, wait. Hey, man, hey!”

“What, dude? You blocking me? Serious?”

“No, no, it’s just…” He tried not to chuckle. “Look, try not to do anything too embarrassing tonight, eh? She’s coming, you know!”

That seemed to give the guy enough reason to stop and ponder. “Oh. Yeah.” He was finally putting two and two together. “You trying to set him up with…?” He gulped. “Her?” The other nodded. “You fucking traitor. Acting like the cupid behind my back, a’ya?”

“You’ve been split for years now. No more dibs on her, you haven’t.”

“Still…” He tapped a foot repeatedly on the floor. “Johanna? Seriously? You think she is the best pick for him? A guy who never got his goose drowned?”

“Oh, she’s not all that bad. And he’s cute. I mean, I can see how he can come off as cute for some women—and Johanna, I think, might be a good match for him.”

“Well, gasoline is a good match for fire. Doesn’t mean they should come together very often.”

“You jealous? Stirred up about her still, eh?”

“Ah, go choke on a bag of cocks.”

“Look, it’s not as if I expect anything serious to come out of this.” Jonathan pondered more thoroughly. “The guy just… you know, he just needs to get out of his head, once in a while, and experience the world a bit.” He laid back on the chair, one arm behind his head, and drank the rest of his cup lazily, deciding whether or not he should follow the friend’s steps and try his luck with the pretty, tall blonde in the opposite direction. “If I can get him to be more sociable and at ease around ‘em ladies, I feel like I’m doing a great contribution to society.”

“Hail Jonathan, the good samaritan.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you with this bag of bull cocks I’m choking on.” He gestured him away. “Go off and pick up your reddie.”

“I feel the blonde ain’t waiting for too long either.” He winked. “Go try her out.”

“No. Thanks. I’ll pass on this one.” He took the bottle and drank straight from it. “I’ll rather wait for him.”

“Uh-huh. Pussy.”

“Dickhead.”

He checked his watch. «He seems like a punctual kind of guy. Unlike Joh.» And looked around the bar, seeing its already scarce number of patrons leaving without much ceremony, making the place quieter, lonelier, but also cozier in a way. «Well…» He reflected. And hoped. «Guess this will help him.»

He took a sip from the bottle. Then another.

And then another. «Baby steps, I suppose.»

* * *

Autumn had a magical way of announcing itself.

He took deeper breaths of that fresh air, stopping his bike from mile to mile to admire his surroundings. «I’m afraid.» He was honest to himself, feeling his heart beating so hard, instilling a chill resolve in his veins.

The cold winds of summer’s end gave him some comfort, easing out the apprehension in his heart, the burning sting of fear that boiled deep in his bowels. The chill in his spine made him sweat and shiver, the cold from within meeting the cold from without.

The loud buzzing of the trams woke him from his stupor. The glaring lights from the streets cast dreary shadows around him, forming monsters on the walls, shades of fear on his tracks.

He rode as if to escape them. A couple of yards ahead, then, he stopped and looked back, contemplating surrender. «I’ve postponed this… for too long.» He wasn’t one to break promises. «Not for that guy. Not anymore. I kicked the can, uh, down this road too many times.» He nodded. «Too many times.»

He looked ahead and saw the can at the end of the long road, away from the reach of his feet or his fears, kicked beyond any chance of being kicked any further. «He is waiting for me.» He vaticinated, then pressed on, his feet sinking on the pedals, his bike shooting forth until all he saw were white lines flowing around him in the dark. He, a single man of destiny now imbued with heavenly purpose. «If not for me… for him.»

A man with a fate, a man with a date. With his upper lip stiffened and limbs tamed, he rode to the heart of town with redoubled strength and reinforced determination.

«Nice going, lover.» Following him every mile, his muse cheered him on. «My big, sexy bull.» She winked, biting her lips. «I don’t even know how you can ride a bike like this with balls so big.»

He chuckled. Whenever he walked or rode through the deep city, rare as it were, he always stayed in his own bubble, carrying his home around him, his safe space where no one would hurt him, be it with fists or nasty words.

His doll, his woman, his lover. She was a nice addition to these self-protecting daydreams. “Alright.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “Now quiet down, please.”

«Thaaat’s how I like it!» She stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth, gliding over to his side and kissing him on the cheek, helping him steer the bike as the kisses multiplied and became much longer and hotter. «I want to see you smiling like this… forever.»

“Mm… okay!”

She watched his face with great attention, making exaggerated expressions whenever he tried to be serious. «Oooh, my baby’s serious, is he?» She baby-talked to him. «Is my baby fighting against a smile right now?»

“I’m not.”

«Yes, you are.»

“I’m…” He puffed up. “Yeah, I am.” He relaxed his muscles, allowing his face to shine.

«Oooh, that’s it baby!» She clapped excitedly, pressing her fingers on each end of her lips, then dragging them up. «Smile! A big, big smile for you and me!» She flowed high up on the streets, enjoying her first time downtown—the first time he took her out, if only in his mind. «So, my little filly, care to tell me where we’re going? Oh, it’s so white, everything, isn’t it? These buildings, these streets, oh, even the trees and their branches, and the lights that light up every street and sidewalk, all white, so white, so very white!»

“Mm, yes.” He looked around, seeing the dense vapor coming from his mouth. “It’s getting cooler. Winter’s not long ahead.”

«And can a beautiful, hot-blodded tropical scoundrel such as yourself survive in this artic cold?»

“I can. It’s not easy, but I can.” He looked ahead, seeing the road much shorter now. “Ain’t no challenge… I can’t overcome.”

He rode fast. As the lights of downtown shone blindingly and the winds of autumn turned to ferocious twisters, John looked back one last time and realized his lover was no longer following him. «Hmm. Maybe better this way.»

He rode again, even faster, ready to claim his prize, enjoy the night, and finally start having a life.

* * *

A hand shot up in the air. “Hey!” Excitement radiated with every motion. “Hey, John! Here! We’re right here!”

As with most places, he had entered the bar with as little fanfare as possible. «Oh!» No matter how invisible he tried to make himself, however, Jonathan could easily pick him apart from the shallow, thinning crowd. «Well, guess I don’t need to be anxious.» He kept thinking, clutching his fists and cracking his fingers to calm himself down.

Whenever in strange spaces, he preferred to stand or sit by the edges and the dark corners. Invisible. The farther away from the people, the more removed from their sight, the better. Jonathan, however, gave him no such respite. «Did he have to pick the very center?»

Perhaps there would be no reason to worry: the place was so big, yet so empty that sitting in the middle of it would feel the same as sitting in the corners. Just as lonely, just as invisible, just as safe. «No turning back now. No turning back.» People or no people, full or empty, he still had to remind himself at every step of his resolve, to fight against his most primal instincts and the shadows that always followed him, always stalked him, that never really went away. «Do not turn back now. Do not walk away.»

Especially when he’d walked so far already.

“That’s right, John, it’s me! Come one here, now!”

The shining smile of his friend by the table was all the help he needed. He felt empowered when seeing that honest, agreeable face beaming with such a positive aura in the very middle of a scattered battlefield. «Maybe that’s why he’s sitting there, in such a central place. Maybe he wants to spread this energy to every corner of this bar equally, leaving no soul unwarmed, no heart untouched.»

On his way, John tripped over the leg of a chair, bringing the unwanted attention of the mean-faced, gorilla-shaped mountain of a man sitting on it. “Watch it, mate!” The towering brute blurted out, and John muttered some incoherent excuse, walking a little faster until his friend would welcome him with a warm handshake and even warmer words:

“Hey-o, you made it!” The heat from his palm spread through John’s body, changing his color and giving him life. “Hope you didn’t have much of an issue finding the place.”

John fought against his own soul. “Uh… yeah… no. No, no, uh, no problem.” He gulped, trembling with every handshake. “It was, uh, quite easy. Very, uh, very straightforward.”

Jonathan watched him closely, following him with a gentle smile as the lad took his seat. “First time?”

“Huh?”

“In a bar? First time in a place like this?”

“Not… not quite.”

“Not quite, eh? Ada boy! But I suppose it’s been a long time, anyway, since you set foot in one, right?” He saw John nod without a word. “So, how close are you acquainted with the ways of the whisky, by the way?” He winked and smiled. “Drinking, I mean. I don’t wanna give ya any more than you can handle.”

“Mm, not very, uh, acquainted, no. Been a long time, actually, since I drank anything.”

“Alright. Baby steps, then.” He slid to him a bottle over the table. “Try this one out. It’s very sweet, very light, perfect for first-timers. This will help put you in a relaxed, chilly mood.”

It took John only a couple of chugs to lower his shoulder, straighten his back, and look more firmly and sincerely at his friend. «Friend?» No. Companion.

“So…” He hiccuped, then blushed with the heat of the ale and the sight of Jonathan’s ever-widening grin. “You’re… uh, you’re playing?”

“Playing?” Jonathan threw a quick look at the tiny, dusty stage far away in a corner of the bar. “Ah, yeah. About that.” The glow in his face was dimmed somewhat. “Show’s been canceled.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, they canceled on us this evening. Total douchery, really. I guess I could have warned you, but… no, I really couldn’t. I was out of work by the time folks broke me the news.”

“Oh, uh, it’s… uh, it’s okay. It’s, uh… no big deal.”

“Were you eager to hear us sing?”

John shrugged, his eyes still too skittish. “I guess.”

“Aww, that’s neat. Well, man, sorry to disappoint you, then.” Jonathan made a subtle gesture with his head, nodding at his surroundings. “Not that it’s a surprise, really. Place looking deader than a desert.”

“So… no one else is coming?” John sounded a little hopeful with the question, and Jonathan’s kind voice made sure to keep him in this tranquility:

“Yeah, most of the folks understandably canceled, but there’s still a nice crowd in here.” He winked, attentive to John’s every tic and schtick. “Not many, but great. Few, but good.”

“Oh.” John took shy sips of his cup, casting timid, but ever warmer glances at his friend. “Okay. So, who’s comi-?”

There was a high-pitched scream followed by a piercing blow, a very strong *slap!* from a nearby table. “What on earth…?” They both turned to see the commotion. “Oh.” Jonathan smiled, then leaned onto John to whisper. “Speaking of trouble…”

A woman was laughing, smiling wide with her friends at the table. A tall man stood near them, smiling also, seemingly undaunted by the rash and the burn of the blow he had just received on one cheek.

“Get out, really. I mean it, come ooon.” Insisted the giggling girl as she played with her hair and giggled to her friends, who were all eyeing that man very intensely. “Girl’s night only. Pleeease.”

The eloper, however, chose to shoot the few bullets that remained in his arsenal. “You carry quite the punch for a woman your size.”

The girl lifted her arm and flexed, displaying her biceps like prized trophies. From his table, together with an amused Jonathan, John widened his eyes for an instant and watched curiously as the woman flaunted her muscles. Alas, to his great disappointment, there were no muscles there worth flaunting. Just two fleshly mounds on her arms.

“I’m stroooong!!” Still, she gloated.

“Hell, you are! You’re right: I should be leaving!” The charmer pointed at her almost in a dismissive way. “I’m not exactly into a woman who’s that much bigger than me.”

“Mmph!” She huffed and puffed and wiggled on her chair, leaning onto him. “Don’t like a strong woman in y’er life, do you?”

“Perhaps I would, but that’s not the matter.” The fiend struck a devilish grin. “What I would like is a woman, not a man in the body of one.”

The lady’s face grew gray and pale for a second. Both she and her few friends stood in silence, eyebrows raised, confusion on some faces, shock on others, big smiles on all. “What did you say?” She tried interjecting, but her man was now leaving. “Hey. No! Come back here! I want an apology!”

“What’s that, now? I remember you telling me to leave just now.”

“I changed my… fuck.”

“Perhaps I didn’t listen to you well. Can’t know. With such a strong, deep, masculine voice, it’s not all that easy to make out your words.”

“Fuck yooou.”

“Oh, and now you insult me?” He turned his back to her again, walking out even faster. “Fine, then. I promise to no longer disturb ya gals.”

“Come ooon!” She jumped on the chair, very silly, hella cute. “That’s not faaair!”

“Neither is life, my dude!” And he whisked himself away for good.

“Did he just call me dude?” The girl, still quite befuddled, asked her friends. “Hey! Did you just call me…?”

Hopeless. Poor lass would get no answer from the man, who was now gone, moving back to Jonathan and John’s.

“Watch out.” Jonathan whispered to his companion, who was doubly startled: first by his whisper, then by the stranger’s growing figure, that tall and swaying beacon of light that burned brighter with each step. “That’s Joshua. Good mate, but maybe a little too intense for his own good.”

“Oh.” John gulped, and was left with little time to think about anything at all.

“Sorry to leave y’all hanging.” With brisk and stalwart moves, the stranger—Joshua—took a seat among them, sitting on it like a throne, as if he owned the entire table. “You must be…”

John’s eyes became marbles. They had to grow large and wide to take in all the light of that booming newcomer. “João.” He said, meek and timid. “I mean, John.” And cleared his throat. “You, uh…” Joshua’s lonely hand waved in the air, waiting for a shake. “Uh… you…” He felt the chill of the cold sweat on his forehead. Hurriedly, a bit too worriedly, he stretched out his hand to give the acquaintance a proper greeting. “You, uh… you can call me… John.”

Jonathan gestured at John with a glass. “His actual name is Jo-an-uh, I mean, Jo-ahn-uhm. Mm, how do you pronounce it, again?”

“João.”

Joshua, now shaking John’s hand firmly, tried his tongue. “Jo-ah-oh.”

“Jo.” The boy took a pause. “Ão.”

“Jouh-ao.”

“For-, uh, forget it. You can just call me… John. Means the same in your tongue.”

“Ah, well. You learn a new one every day, don’t we?” He let go of the boy’s hand (finally!) and switched his eyes back and forth from John to Jonathan, talking to both at once with a natural’s ease. “Some foreign names roll out of the tongue nicely. Some others,” he peeked at John, “not so much, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm, it’s…” John blushed. “It’s okay.”

He looked at his own hand. Warm. It was still warm and tense from the handshake. A firm shake, that guy had. Firm, lively, powerful. Just like the man himself.

“Well, John, I am called Joshua.” He announced. “You see, our names ain’t so difficult to remember.” He pointed to each as he called them out: “John, Jonathan, Joshua! I feel there’s a tongue-twister here, begging to be made.”

“Or a joke.” Jonathan almost ate his glass of rum, burping very loudly as he did. “John, Jonathan, and Joshua walk into a bar.” He had a near-paranormal ability to refill his cup as soon as it had left his lips.

“Hmm. What is a good word with jay for ‘walking?’”

Jonathan looked at him, rather puzzled, a little bothered, yet decided to play along. “Jaywalking?”

“No, no, no. A word for ‘walking,’ like, ‘to walk, to stroll’, the verb, but starting with the letter jay.”

“Why do you wanna know that?”

“Just humor me, okay?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Fine. Well…” He checked on his brain for one second, then two, then… “Jogging?”

“Nah. Not the same thing.”

“Jaunting?”

“Is that a word?”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Jaunting, like… for what?”

“To jaunt?”

“To… jaunt.”

“Never heard this word before?”

Joshua shook his head vigorously. “I dummy.”

“Well, that’s the word. Jaunt. To jaunt. Kind of means, like… to walk. Not exactly the same, but…” Again, a shrug. “Close enough. Closer than ‘jogging’, that is.”

“We both dummies.”

“Shut up.”

Joshua jolted, full of electricity. “To jaunt! Jaunting! Heck, I like it! And what would be a word for ‘bar’, but also starting with the letter jay?”

“Joint.”

“Oh, wow, quick, this one, eh? You’re quick.”

“I’m sober. Brain’s working fine.”

“I’m sober too.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, perhaps I’m a little… *hic!* Tipped over the edge.” He looked at John, a child-like excitement flaring from his eyes. “John, Jonathan, and Joshua jaunt into a joint!” He snapped his fingers at Jonathan’s face. “That’s a tongue twister for ya!”

“Wow. What a worthwhile endeavor, this was.”

“I smart. I genius.”

“Shut up and drink your ale.”

Though John had barely noticed, his own mug of beer was down and dry by a third. “John, Jonathan, Josh. And there’s Johanna too.” Joshua kept musing. “The Jay Quartet.” He snapped his fingers at Jonathan’s face. “Hey, yo, Jojo, that’d be a good name for your band.”

“Shut it.”

“It’s catchy. Maybe this time it will be successful.”

Jonathan pointed a finger at Joshua’s face. “Shut. It. You clown.”

“Wow, you were really counting on this night, eh?”

“Mmph.” He drank his booze, dissolving his irritation into regret. “We did have a shot. Once. You know.”

“Nah, we didn’t.”

“You had to leave, hadn’t you? Things were never the same without you.”

“I know, I know.” Joshua played with his hair. He had a beautiful, smooth dark mane, kept short and messy only on purpose. “Y’all lost half the audience when I left. The female half, that is.”

“Hah, hah.”

As if to prove his point, Joshua peeked at his side, over his shoulder, back at the table with the women. They were still eyeing him.

“Mmph.” Jonathan grumbled. “Can’t say you’re easy to replace.” Joshua’s triumphant smiles, which never seemed to fade, only made his words heavier, much harder to come out. “Son of a bitch. You were… quite the talented lead.”

“I was amazing, say it.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m no longer into being poor.”

“Well, if you ever reconsider…”

“No, thanks. Last time was enough. Enough poverty for a lifetime.”

“You only stayed a year.”

“And it was one year too many.” For once, Joshua lowered his shoulders, the light of his smile greatly dimmed. “I need to find myself a more stable position in life.”

“Uh-huh.” This time, it was Jonathan’s turn to flash a covert smile. “So I guess Johanna was right, eh?”

“Fuck off.”

“Heh, heh.”

Just as John was beginning to feel lost…

“So, loverboy!”

… the universe snapped back into the world, the two chatty men pulling him just like a black hole would do a lone, passing star.

“Joshua, take it easy.”

“Easy is my whole style.” He winked. “So, little John. Jonathan here was telling me about your girlfriend situation.”

“Girlfriend… situation?” There were so many emotions in John’s look that his eyes became indecipherable.

“Don’t mind him.” Jonathan burped, his eyes swaying from side to side. “Joshua is a fiend and a rouser. He likes poking snake pits just to get a kick out of their hisses.”

“You do me, dear Jojo, a great disservice.”

“Uh, I…” John tried to squeeze himself back into the talk. “It’s okay, no… uh, no worries.”

“See, Jojo? Boy’s tougher than he looks.”

“Joshua, I swear…”

“And I… uh… oh…” John tipped and toed around their words, trying to gain ground and stay ahead, striving, for reasons unbeknownst to him, to remain in the lead of that chat. “There’s no, uh, girlfriend situation ‘cause… uh…” His eyes swayed and swung, kind of adorably, like a puppy trying to make friends in its new pack. “There’s no girlfriend.”

“Yet.” Joshua winked. Jonathan felt the need to interject:

“I literally didn’t say anything that I shouldn’t have. Trust me.” He looked at John. “We were just talking, joking around, and then I mentioned, well…” He lowered his voice. “Your ladies thing. Your situation with women.”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Help me out here, Josh.”

“It, it’s… it’s okay.” John just shook his head firmly and tapped on the table with his fingers. “I get it, uh… no hard feelings.”

“You see, Jojo? You underestimate the chap.” Joshua turned to John, his smile lifting his soul and filling it with butterflies. “You should have met me first. A shy person meeting Jonathan is like, hmm, a block of ice falling onto an iceberg.” He clapped his hands. “Not much of a difference, is there?”

“You’re a fucker. Have I told you that already?”

“I don’t think you have.”

“You’re a fucker.”

“Oww.” Joshua warmed his left breast with both hands, teary eyes beaming with candor.

“So, uh…” John, once again, like a caterpillar amongst snakes, tried to retake the reins of that prattle. “What exactly has he, uh… has Jonathan, I mean…”

“Jonathan, Jonathan!” Joshua cut him off. “You can call him Jojo. We all call him that. Jonathan’s too many syllables anyway. Three syllables, yuck! One too many, in my opinion.”

“What’s with you and words tonight?”

“If it depended on me, all words would have two syllables, and no more. We would achieve world peace. Utopia.” He hiccuped, then doused his loins in yet more heavy liquor. “Hell is grammar. We should all go back to grunts. And swinging on trees.”

“You’re not funny when you’re drunk. Beats the whole point of being drunk.”

“What’s. Up. With. You. Tonight. Eh, Jojo?” Joshua laughed.

“Just please promise you’re not going to get into another… situation. Not tonight, not with him here, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what situation, anyway?” Joshua gestured broadly at his surroundings. “It’s not as if I can pick up fights with ghosts! Nobody left in this cemetery-looking joint.”

“Mmph.”

“By the way!” All of a sudden, Joshua turned back, one arm over the headpiece, and boomed to the distant table with the three women, who all acted as if they were waiting precisely for his call. “Hey, y’all gals! What y’all three beauties doing here, anyway? Did you get lost on your way to the runway, maybe?”

Some laughs, lots of chirping. “Girls night out.” Replied the same redhead from before. “We love peace and quiet.”

“Very well, then.” Joshua returned to his friends. “Peace and quiet, the lasses want. They will want nothing to do with me, that I am certain of.”

“We didn’t say th-” One of the girls, a different one, tried to intersperse, but she was interrupted by the other two, and the trio remained chatting and giggling among themselves, many looks and titters thrown at Joshua from time to time.

So resumed the conversation among the men, the girls slowly getting forgotten again. “Sorry for the interruption, my man.” Joshua winked at John. “You asked?”

“I… I…” The words felt easier. “Hmm. I was wondering… what you were talking, uh, about me.” His eyes, left and right, back and forth. “About women.”

“Oh, just the basics. Like, have you gotten any action lately?”

“Hmm…?”

“Have you cast your hook on the lake? Have you drowned your goose in the puddle?”

“Joshua.” Jonathan puffed.

“Oh, bugger!” The fiend just laughed and laughed. “As if anyone would care if you haven’t!” His eyes were firm, yet unthreatening. Deep eyes of icy blue. “Look, John, Johnny-boy, whether you prefer to go solo in life, just hand-to-hook action in your lonely nights, or perhaps you’re loaded enough to hire prostis on the regular, you know, to keep your little soldier on the drill…” He gestured openly, expansively, as if to blow all those words away. “No matter! Like, who under heavens is judging? Despite what our nature commands, I don’t believe that women are for all men. Like, they can be some serious pain.” He scratched his cheek, smiling wider as he spoke. “You might think you’re missing on anything, man, but honestly…” His eyes went blank for a second. “Yeah, you kinda are. But there’s no problem, oh, no problem at all with this, mate. Especially for you! Because by the end of this night…” He drank and winked. “We’re gonna get y’er soldier some action.”

“Josh-ua.”

“We gonna get you inside someone real golden pussy tonight!”

With exasperation, Jonathan turned to John, who was stiff like a rod. “Don’t mind this clown! We’re getting you inside no one’s pus-, uh, inside no one. Period. I mean…” He tripped on his own words and thoughts. “Maybe we are, maybe we ain’t. It’s, uh, it’s your call. All your choice.” He cast an annoyed glance at Joshua. “I mean… geesh, I apologize, dude, real apologize.”

“Uh, no, it’s…” John was smiling. A little. But he was. “It’s okay. Really.”

“This little… fucker never learns when too much poking is enough until he gets bitten.”

“Dude, he said it’s okay. Yeesh.”

“I should have thought of a better person to arrange this date with!”

“Better than me?” Joshua beamed. “Who you gonna invite? Loki himself?”

“Will you stop with the jokes? And the quips? And the… whatevers?” Jonathan gestured angrily, lost for words or reasons to be annoyed with him. “For a minute or, like, two sentences, maybe?”

“Never.” Joshua shook his head playfully, holding a bottle to his lips. “The only way to lower my jokes is to lower me six feet under. The only way to shut these pretty lips…” He chugged the bottle and burped. “Is by putting a lotta dirt on ‘em!”

“Are you tempting me?”

“Always.” He winked. “Being a tempter is my thing, ain’t it?”

“By Sigurd’s sword, I never quite know when you’re too drunk or just stupid.”

“I’m always drunk, lad.” He winked. “Drunk on my awesomeness!”

Jonathan grunted, Joshua laughed, and John… John couldn’t help but let out a chuckle or two. «Why… why am I even afraid of laughing? Of… of showing my laughter? My… my happiness?» The thought assaulted him like a hammer, so intense it left him frozen, seized up with a blank, gelid expression on his face.

“Look at what you did.” Jonathan looked at him briefly, then scolded Joshua once more. “You broke my guy.”

“I… I…” John snapped back into reality. “No.” He touched Jonathan on the shoulder—a daringness that struck him like lightning. “No, I… I don’t mind.” Again, he smiled, and more openly this time. “It’s no problem… really. It’s… it’s alright.”

Joshua clapped, fire blasting from his hands. “Yeah, Jojo. Stop being so prickly. The guy’s already opening up—which shouldn’t be a surprise, eh? Quite frankly?” He winked at John. The man seemed to love doing that: a lot of winking, a lot of flashing eyebrows at everyone, men and women, drawing all equally closer to him. “Jonathan told me you from the tropics, eh? Ain’t that right? Long-ass migrant boyo from the tropics, eh? Hah! Guess it suits you: a man born in the tropics can never be too shy.” He chugged a bottle of moonshine, then a second one, then a third in superhumanly quick succession. *Buuurp!* “Welp! Suppose it wouldn’t take long ‘til his true colors shone for us!” He winked. “These tropical people, all sexy, all flame-on-the-hips!”

“Joshua, you can keep the jokes, but off with the racy stuff. Not all his people are, mm, spicy like that.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, they are. All of them, no exceptions, though some might now know it yet. Sooner or later, it all comes flaring: the cockiness, the daring-do-ness, the horseschlonggroß braggadocio, eh?” He beamed at “John, eh? Ain’t that right, mexiboy?”

Under such an intense gaze, made all the more commanding by his deep, heavy tone, just as deep as his deep, clear blue eyes, John could only lower his head and grin. “I’m… well, I’m not from the Mexico.”

Joshua shrugged. “Mexico, ‘merica, well, ‘tis all the same to me. I only know Mexico from there, so y’all’re mexica lads t’me.” He clicked his tongue and whistled. “So, tell me, Johnny-boy: how did a mexica lad like y’er got in a frozen iceberg stuck on Thorin’s nethers like this?”

“Hmm… well…”

Jonathan intervened. “He’s shy about these things. Oh.” He turned to John. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. ‘Shy’, that is. I meant it more like… ‘private.’” Then back to Joshua. “He’s private about these things.”

“Heh.” Joshua made a sinuous dance with his eyebrows, like caterpillars mating on his forehead. “See what you get for criticizing me? Guess you should be the one training on your words, eh? On your grammar.”

“You are drunk.”

They were both silenced by John’s voice. “Look, I…” If not silenced by his words, then by his tone: loud and firm. A shock. Almost as if a different person had just sat there among them. “I don’t mind it. Don’t mind it all. But…” He stared deep into Joshua’s heart. “The ‘mexica boy’ stuff…”

“Oh.” Joshua gulped. “You take umbrage with this, don’t you?”

John nodded, and then not a word more was needed.

“I am sorry, then.” Without sass or pazzazz, Joshua laid his bottle back on the table and bowed to John. “Sorry if I have offended you. Can get out of control sometimes, you know, with me jokes.” He took back the bottle and “cheered” John with it. “Mate.”

“Told ya.” Jonathan quipped. “You don’t learn ya place until you get stung.”

“Well, guys, uh…” John tried drinking again too, if only not to fixate too much on that single topic. “No, uh, no problem, really. I mean, this aside, uh… it’s no big deal. None, uh, at all.”

“Still, though, my question stands.” Joshua leaned over the table, ensnaring John with that intense, gorgeous gaze of his. “How did you end up here? How was it even possible?”

“Hmm…”

“I can barely remember the time I saw somebody out-of-bounds. Hell, somebody out-of-land at all.” He winked at John. “Must have been one hell of an adventure, eh, for you to manage to land here alive and in one piece.” He cast a thorough look at him. “And so young!”

“Well… uh…”

John pondered on the matter for a bit. «He’s right. Jonathan, that is. This is quite private to me.» Still, he wouldn’t, he just couldn’t let that Joshua lad hanging, so…

“Left early. My place, that is. My country.”

“Oh.”

He shook his head very slightly, the words moving him and his muscles in ways even he couldn’t fully comprehend. “Matters not where I departed from. All that matters is, well…” His eyes darted all over the darkness. “I went places. Many places. Don’t know if you heard about them, but… well… they’re quite well known down there, down south, back in my lands: Colombia, Quixca, Theoclan… Theoclan as in the Mexica highlands. So, in a way…” He smiled. “I am kind of a mexica lad. A little. Been there for less than three months.”

“Colombia… ah, Gran Colombo, you mean! I heard about this one too.”

“Hmm.”

“You’ve been there?”

“A bit. Very short. Place to place. Many towns.”

“And you didn’t stay because…?”

“Difficult.” A weight fell on him. «Private. Real private.» He thought, yet his tongue carried away his shallow mind: “Crime. Corruption. Government really, uh, heavy-handed, I would say.”

“Oh.”

“Same issue for all countries there. Wouldn’t have much of a future in that continent. Me, I mean. Decided to cross the ocean just…”

…

Just because there was no land left for me to stay. He thought, yet his tongue kept things pleasant: “Just because, I mean.” He shrugged. This time, he was startled not by any sound, but by the lack of it. No sound, no noise, no quip of any kind. “Hmm…” Joshua, in front of him, seemed frozen for a second. «What’s he thinking about?» John knew his look, he knew it quite well: the look of a man sidetracked by his own thoughts. “Josh, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Joshua?”

Another startle. *Tlac!* This time by Josh’s sudden jerk combined with a furious snap of the fingers. “Ah, yes! I remember now!” He fixed his gaze on John. “La Plata! Always forget it’s there.”

“What you talking about now, you good-for-nothing devil?” Jonathan blurted out, and John merely tilted his head in curiosity.

“It’s also there, right? In the continent?” Joshua’s eyes glittered with intense curiosity. “La Plata? Isn’t that how it’s called?”

“Oh, hmm… you mean…” A map was drawn clearly in his mind. “La Platina?”

“La Platina, yes. Well, I think it’s that.”

“Oh, it’s called La Plata, too. The Silver’s Bay.”

Again, another snap. “The Silver’s Bay, yes! I heard this too! A country so rich that silver overflows from its rivers. Or was it, uh, that the rivers were made of silver? Oh, no matter!” Again he focused intensely on John. “It’s in the continent too, right? La Plata? In that continent you came from, so far away across the einderloorsee?”

“Hmm, yes. Yes, it is.” John nodded humbly. “To the south. The, uh, far-south. No other countries under it. Beyond it, uh, just the ice. The true ice. Antarctica.”

“Antar-ta moum.” Joshua’s eyes sunk into shallow black ponds for a second. “They say the Plata… Silver’s Bay… they say it’s one heck of a country, eh? Is that right, or is it just hearsay, just horseshit?”

“No, uh, it is right. Quite right. The Plata is… a great country. Oustanding country, from what I heard.”

“And why didn’t you go there? I mean, I assume there isn’t a whole ass ocean separating you from there, right? Not back there, when you were still in the land?”

“No. No, there isn’t.” He felt a pang in his heart and ice in his throat. “I tried. I tried getting there.”

“Oh.” Joshua leaned closer. “And?”

Pang. Ice. “Geography wasn’t the problem.” He sighed. “The physical distances, not too great. The political distances, though…” Another sigh. “Couldn’t even step a hundred miles from it.” He looked up at Joshua, a twinge of defeat coloring his eyes gray. “Impossible. One of the obstacles (for me, that is) that come with a well-run nation: they can afford good borders. They can protect their own.”

“Well, makes sense.” Joshua returned to drinking his beer, quite nonchalant. “Heard they’re rich. Very rich. Unlike us, who can barely keep the lights on.” He turned to “Jojo, hey, remember Macy? She went down there.”

“Down where?”

“To the Plata. She’s living there now.”

“She is?”

“Yep.”

“And… you still talking to her? Old May?”

“Well, she does talk to me. Whenever we can get a line on, she never shuts up about how awesome everything is, how rich everybody’s getting down there.”

“May-may? Really?”

“Yeah, man. She really likes the place. Speaking spainyal and all. Going native, I think.”

“Oh. Hmm. Wow. Go figure.”

Joshua was peeped by Jonathan’s slightly unusual tone. “What? Go figure what, mister?”

“Seems like a very… big decision for Macy. That Macy, really? We’re talking about the same Macy or…”

“Yeah, man, that Macy. Old May-may.”

“Oh, wow. Well, good for her. Never took her for taking such big steps. Or any step at all. Good taste, you see, was never her forte.”

Jonathan frowned. “She was my girl for a while, you know.”

“Quod eramus demonstrandum.”

“Hah, hah.” He flickered Jonathan the finger.

Time went on. John had in his mind the idea—call it stereotype—that bars got livelier, messier as the night dragged on and the moon rose higher. «This one doesn’t.» He noticed, looking around at the much deader place. The very few souls he’d seen when he entered were now mostly gone. The “staff”, if one could call it that, looked more intoxicated than the few remaining patrons—an apparent requirement to endure a night so dull.

“Oy, Erik!” Joshua, amidst hiccups, both cheeks flaring like ambers, tried calling one of the workers. “Serve us some more ale, pleaza!”

“We don’t serve tables here.” A thin, short, and languid man answered with eye-rolls and dismissive whisks. “Come to the bar and serve y’erselves.”

“Yo’rein! Kindness goes a long way, but apparently not long enough to reach this dead-ass place!” He stood up. “Hang on, ya… *burp!* Ya shit-eating wankers! Im’ma be refueling our tanks.”

In an instant, then, he was gone. John and Jonathan were left again with only each other, exchanging vacillating looks and bumbling words.

“So… how d’ya feel?”

John was spiked by his words. “Huh?”

Jonathan leaned closer, his face warming him like the lazy flames from a fireplace. “Do you feel good? I feel like the environment is to your liking. Not many people, not any noise at all.” He winked, then burped. “Do you feel okay? Is there, uh, anything else I could do?”

John felt a fire, one much different than the burning of the alcohol or the warming of companionship, burning suddenly and explosively in his entrails. “Hmm.” He nodded, then felt the need to shake his head and explain his own clumsy noises. “I mean, no. No, really. I…” He hiccuped too. “I’m good. Too good, actually. I feel, um, very good, really good. Thank… hmm…” His cheeks flared up. He felt like a human matchstick in the dead of night, waving back and forth in a cold, lonely island in the hopes that some boat would see it, some rescue miraculously passing by. “Thanks. For this. I mean it.”

Jonathan blinked slowly, his eyes telegraphing the words “I got you” as he did. Then, peeking to his right, he nodded toward the table with the three women. “There’s three of them and three of us, you know.” He looked at John, who just looked befuddled. “Three of them, three of us. One for each, and none of them really bad looking.” He took another sip of his bottle. “Wanna try?”

John felt his heart in his throat. He wondered whether Jonathan had noticed it: the organ beating so hard against his apple that it nearly pushed the drums out through his ears with every throb. “N’uh-huh.” He shook his head, slight and firm, and lowered his gaze, bringing his shoulders and elbows closer together. “No. Thanks.”

“Oh.” Jonathan took another sip, only to notice his bottle was dry. “Too antsy about it?” He looked at John, who looked at nothing. “Too nervous?” He saw him nod. “I see.” He peeked again at the table a couple more times, each quicker than the previous one, bringing his own shoulders lower after each glance. “I don’t have the balls for it either.”

In a flash… “There ya go, ye basterds!” Joshua was back. “Fucking miss me, y’all?” A hundred bottles of different shapes and sizes rested on the table, all weighty with liquor.

“Fukk! That was fast!”

“Call me herr nordenblixt from now on.” He laughed hard, a little too hard, perhaps, enough to grow conscious of his laughter and halt it midway. “Fukkent, sorry… *hic!* Sorry for that. Well, I am getting drunk!”

“You used to be tougher, you know?”

“Well, Jojo, we all used to be younger. Guess there’s no cure for this, in’it? Older minds, frailer bodies, drier livers.” He offered one bottle to the newbie. “E’ya there, John. Wanna try it some more?”

Jonathan noticed his subtle look of surprise as John nodded and said: “Hmm. Yeah. I can, uh… I can go for some.”

“Oh, look at this!” Joshua laughed. “Jojo here told me you weren’t one for drinking.”

“And I’m… *hic!*… I’m not, but today… tonight…” He looked at the women, then back at the men. At his companions. At his… friends. “Tonight’s a special night, I guess.”

“Oh, damn, Jojo, look at him! I think we’re corrupting him already!”

“Just serve him the booze.”

“Nah.” He left the bottle by John’s hands, acting dramatically as he spoke. “We don’t serve here, don’t you know? You serve yourselves, ya lazy bums.”

John chuckled, Jonathan rolled his eyes, and the night stretched on. The three ladies kept looking expectantly at their table, probably vying for Joshua’s attention, but alas the loud fool had drunk the memory of them into oblivion, quickly becoming the most intoxicated of the trio.

“ Jonathan, John, Joshua, and Johanna jaunt into a joint! ” He sang, louder with every pass, eyes swirling and hands refilling glass after glass after bottle after barrel of ale, dowsing all in an instant, so much liquor that strains of it were snorted out through his nostrils with each verse: “ Jonathan, John… *hiccup!*… Joshua, and Johanna… *burp!*… jaunt into a joint! ”
Jonathan and John could only follow suit, if only in the drinking and not the singing or the squawking, and by the hour’s end one of the girls had gone asleep, and the other two had gotten so drunk they didn’t seem much more distant from their friend’s fate.

“Damn it, that woman.” In between hiccups and burps, Jonathan checked the watch on his wrist. “Late as usual.”

“You think she’s gonna… *hic!* You think she’s gonna flake?”

“She better not.” He looked around the table. “I don’t even know if I can pay for all this.”

“Broke asses molasses, you are.”

“You’re one to talk.” Jonathan barked. “You’re… *hic!* You’re paying for this last batch, ya know.” He remained stern before Joshua’s shocked expression. “What? I never asked you to order so much! Fuck, look at John!”

They both glanced at the numb, half-asleep rook. Just as he was about to give his bottle another chug, Jonathan gently touched his hand. “Alright, amigo, take it easy. I don’t wanna be responsible for taking yet another good soul from heaven.”

“I’m…” John burped, and in doing so he felt a thick, nasty liquid climbing up his throat. “I’m fine.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Jojo.” Joshua giggled. “Hell has just gained another servant.”

“And I’ll make sure it gains yet another,” Jonathan pointed at him, “if you don’t pay for this whole alehouse you just ordered.”

“Damn it, Jojo, and here was I thinking you would be treating us for the night.”

“Not everyone has a rabbit foot stuck up their arses like you, Josh. I mean it.” For once, Jonathan looked worried, and he cast nervous glances at the staff behind the counter, then at the exit, as if gauging the odds of fleeing before the bill landed on their table. “If Johanna doesn’t get here, I’m not sure I can pay for most of this.”

“We’ve got the newbie!”

“What…??” John was half surprised, half startled, all indignant.

“You leave him… *hic!* alone!” Jonathan was quick to point a finger at Joshua. “We already took his soul. We ain’t taking his purse too.”

“Ah, what good is a purse when you lost your soul, anyway?”

“I mean it, Josh.”

“Well, well, darn. And poor Joh!” He mumbled, more to himself than to the others. “Don’t know why she still keeps us bums around.”

“Mmph.” Jonathan shrugged. “Must feel good for rich people to keep some paupers close. Reminds them of their own wealth, their position in the, uh, hierarchy and such. Or perhaps it’s the opposite: if they meet people richer than themselves, then looking at us poors makes them less hurt about their perceived inferiority. So it can be a type of consolation, you see. A nasty brand of solace.”

“Nah.” For all his intoxication, Joshua’s words sounded firmer and surer than his sober ones. “Johanna ain’t that kind of woman. Ain’t that kind of person.” He smiled. “She’s good. A good person. A good woman. Good heart, good purse, and good pussy.”

“Joshua, language.”

“Ay, ay, cap.”

John’s eyes jumped from one man to another. «Fools.» He turned the bottle on his lips. «Hmm.» His eyebrows moved up. The beverage tasted more delicious now. A little sweeter. «I probably can pay for all this, though.» It wouldn’t be cheap and certainly not painless, but… «It’s possible. I can do it.» The beverage tasted sweeter at every sip. «They know not what I work with, and I certainly work harder than any of these… bums.» He made a pause. His thoughts brought him some shame. «I… I am richer. I… I am better.»

Time seemed to be moving differently. Not slower, not faster, but a mix of both: speeding up, slowing down, making him feel like he heard all the conversation in an instant, then only a couple of words after a whole hour, each word making less sense than their burps or hiccups did. «They…» A series of unpleasant thoughts ran through his mind. «They want me to pay. For all this. They… this is what they wanted all along.» The sweetness went away. The liquor was now just bitter. «Is this why they invited me? Why such… normal people… such… lively people…»

He felt dead, or at least like dying inside. Acid in his innards. Rotten things boiling in his blood. «Is this why such lively men, such… normal, happy men invited me? To scam me? To fleece me for their booze?»

He looked at his bottle, then his friends—“friends”—then back at the bottle and his cup, seeing his hands trembling ever so softly, feeling his heart beating much less so. «Even this beer might have been tampered with. They… they put poison in it and now… now… they’re going to knock me out!»

They are going to steal you. Fleece you. Even rape you while you’re asleep. You didn’t seriously think they would understand you. Accept you. Tolerate you. Did you? Did you??

«No. I mean…» He touched his forehead. Chilled it with the dew on the cold glass surface. «This is just silly. This…»

He looked at them. They seemed so happy. So harmless.

Don’t they all? Weren’t everyone in your life “happy, harmless”… until they weren’t? There was laughter. Nasty laughter inside his skull. How else are they supposed to win your trust, eh? You idiot. You dirtblooded imbecile.

Foolhearty little moron! You don’t learn, do you? Why do you think predators—lions, panthers, wolves—always look cute when they are not gnarling? That’s because they want to disarm you. To enthrall you. To entice you to a pet. And then, as soon you get closer… *snatch!* Off they go with your hand! And your face. And your heart.

«No. This… this is just silly.»

The laughter didn’t get any better. Quite the opposite: it was everything that he could hear. The laughter and the voices. Predators always look cute when they lure their prey. So goes with wolves, so goes with men. Nasty laughter. Much nastier than all the nasty he’d ever heard. Men like you, that is. Prey for men like them.

You didn’t honestly expect that such beautiful men, such strong men, would ever befriend or even just accept to come close to a child… to a thing like you for free, did you?

No. These men know what’s up: you got money, you got freedom. How long did you think it would take for them to notice, eh? One week? Even just a second? By the gods, you’re such an idiot!

And a fool! You never leave the house, yet you never run out of money. They are not like you: they’re not idiots, so of course they know—or suspect—what you do.

«But… I mean…» John reasoned with himself. Or with the voices. What voices? «He’s the doorman. Jonathan, I mean. He cannot…» He gulped. «He would not steal from a resident, would he? That’d be too risky. And… silly.»

You’re silly. And stupid. And a moron. A silly, stupid little moron who just happened to have stumbled upon a lot of money on the link!

Yeah: you got money. More money than they do. And they know it. They smell it all over your innocent stupidity. And they will take your money. Take all your money and put it to a much better use.

Yes. They will take your money and finally do something worthwhile with it. Not just buy stupid fucktoys. Something worthy, like getting out of this country and into the Plata, building a company there, meeting real women, starting a real family, siring many, many children, and being a net positive to this planet. Unlike you. You sad sack of virgin shit. Unlike you!

They’re chatty and friendly and big and beautiful. Unlike you!

They’re smart and savvy and warm and alluring. Unlike you!

They’re tall and healthy and funny and attractive. Unlike you!

Unlike you! Unlike you! Unlike you!!!

“Hey, John.” There was… warmth… on John’s shoulder. “Hmm, Jo… Jo-an… Jo-ahn-un.” He heard it, his name, and the clumsy attempts to pronounce it. “Damn it, I don’t know how to get these vowels out. John, hey, John. Are you okay?”

John blinked fast and looked at his shoulder, where he felt such comforting warmth. Jonathan… yes, it was Jonathan: he was touching him there, on his shoulder, while moving the cup and the bottle of beer away from him. “Damn, I knew it wasn’t a good idea giving you so much booze all at once. Never a good idea, oh, never, especially with someone who’s not used to drinking.”

“Oh, I…” John blinked slower and harder, seeing things even fuzzier as he reopened his eyes. “Hmm, what? I’m sorry, I think I just… oh…”

The voices. Were they still there? He couldn’t hear them, but he could…

Well. He thought he could hear… still… the laughter. Very faint, very soft, but still there: the laughter! That cruel, twisting knife of a laughter in his mind!

“I’m sorry.” He excused himself again. “I just got… a little carried away with myself for a moment.”

“You will take it easy on the booze from now on.” Joshua spoke matter-of-factly, in a tone unlike any other he’d heard from him before. A tone of authority. Of sincere gravity. The tone of a father. “You know, I only pushed you the weakest beer. Barely beer, in my opinion, more like, hmm, beer-flavored water, alcohol-laced piss, but still I think it was unwise of me to not keep a clear eye on you.”

“It’s okay, Josh.” Jonathan rebutted while gently tapping on John’s back. “No one expects wisdom out of you. If anything, the blame is mine. I am the one chaperoning him, after all.”

“Guys, guys…” John hiccuped, holding back the salt and the sadness behind his eyes. “I’m, uh, I’m okay. Serious.”

“Don’t weasel your way out of this, mister.” Joshua continued to speak in that uncharacteristically firm, sober tone. “We’re not letting you drink any more than you have already. After all…” A very mischievous gleam shone in his eyes. “We can’t let you be drunk in the presence of a lady, can we?”

“Joshua.” Jonathan reprimanded him, but John seemed to have not heard his teasing words.

He had. Somewhat. There was “drunk” and “presence” and “woman”, all other words lost in the mist of drunkenness.

And fear. The fear that the voices would return. The fear that they would deafen him and make him look like a crazy…

… in front of all his companions.

… in front of all his…

… friends.

“Hmm.” He acted drunker than he was, hoping to distract them from those very fears in his heart. “What were we, *hic!*… saying? What were you saying?”

“I was actually asking you about your travels.” Joshua smiled, he and Jonathan exchanging a couple of knowing glances. “I mean, it’s quite unusual, like, stupidly so, real fucking rare…”

“Joshua.”

“Sorry. Real freaking rare for anyone beyond-sea to land up here, at humanity’s razor’s edge. Can you people even stand the cold here? You ‘mericanitos, like, you tropical folk? Or do you, like, go into hibernation every winter?”

“Joshua.” Jonathan gave him a stern look.

“Maybe we should be giving him more alcohol, Jojo. Like, he should be getting all the fat he can get before winter comes around and he’s forced to hibernate.”

Joshua’s mostly serious, earnest tone probably accounted for most of Jonathan’s bewildered expression, but John took the joke for what it was and prevented the two friends from bickering any further. “Oh, no. Again, uh, no,” he waved his hand, and Jonathan gently slapped it. “Ouch.”

“No alcohol no more. At least give it another hour before you try it again.”

“Oh… hmm?” John then realized he had been wavering his hand closer to the bottles of liquor. Whether he’d done it consciously or not, well, he wouldn’t know. “Oh, okay. Sorry… *burp!* I mean… no. It’s not that cold up here. I mean… it is, but… I’m not, you know… it doesn’t kill me or anything. I am just as active, uh, as any of you guys.” He winked. “No hibernation required.”

“Phew. Well, that’s good to know.” Joshua beamed. “Given how thin you are, I suppose you wouldn’t hibernate even if you tried.”

Jonathan threw him another deadly look, but John just chuckled those words away. “Well, uh… guess it’s a nice thing I’m with you. Huh? I suppose you will… fatten me up.” His mind looked for words that made more sense. “You will… make me a little healthier, eh?”

“Sure thing. By the way, Jojo, speaking of fattening up… we’ve gone quite a while without eating anything, eh?”

Jonathan gestured with some exasperation. “Not my fault. I’m still waiting for Johanna.”

“Oh, yeah, Joh. She’s always particular with the food.”

“Yeah.” Again, he checked his watch. “If only she was as particular with time too.”

“So, John, is this, like, your first winter here?”

John shook his head. “Nej. Be my third winter now.”

Joshua whistled. “Well, look at you. Practically a native. Did you take it well? I mean, the cold and, yes, all those thorawful rainsnows we got?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I mean, it’s not like I was jogging out on the streets every day, but… yeah, I took it fine.”

“Huh. Well, that’s interesting. A tropic man enduring our winters! I guess they used to be colder. You know, back in the day. I, born and bred in this icehole, like a baby bear, remember quite well how the snow months were so much longer, way past half of the whole year, and how winter used to be feared. Like, actually feared. Deadly. A truly mortal thing. I think I was four when das Frendzidhig happened.”

“Nope, Joshua, you’re full of shit.” Jonathan casually chugged a bottle as he rebuked him. “That was grandpas’ time. Cut the bull, will ya?”

“What, you moonlighting as a weatherman now? I suppose being doorman isn’t work enough for you, eh?”

“Might as well be moonlighting as a farmer given the amount of horseshit I need to carry from you.”

“Guys, uh, guys…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Johnny-boy.” Joshua winked at John. “Bickering is what keeps us from being at each other’s throats.”

“Thorund!” Jonathan looked tense for a moment. “Is our friendship an abusive relationship?”

“D’oow, think of it less as abusive and more like steamy.” Joshua flashed his brows.

The table returned to the careless chatting and boozing. It was all too fascinating for John, if a bit too loud and chaotic. «They like me.» His mind was bright, and his fingers edging closer to a cup. *Slap!* “Ouch!” John felt the kind burn on the back of his hand.

“No more rum for you, mister.” Jonathan eyed him with a wicked grin. “What? Are you that addicted already?”

John rubbed the back of his hand, blushing intensely. Most of the red was because of the alcohol, but a lot of it… «Oh.» A lot of it was true happiness, really. «They do care about me.»

Little voices teemed inside his chest:

It’s a trap! They’re mocking you behind your back!

They’re planning to do nasty, vile things to you as soon as you lower your guard!

Don’t fall for this basic fucking trap, you fucking idiot! Wake up!

Wake the fuck up, you goddamned retard, and run the fuck away!!

Don’t you see this is just a ruse?? You stupid lowly donkey!!

This time, he noticed them. They weren’t nearly as sneaky as they had been the previous time. «You…» He even felt like confronting them, but decided against it. Giving them the time of the day, even just a single second, felt like conceding defeat already.

“Yo, Johnny, my bunny.” Joshua called him out, his many hiccups and burps and swallows making half of his words sound either unintelligible or just really funny.

“Oh?” Once again, John was sucked out of his mind and placed back on his chair, with even more bottles before him, a little castle of booze piling up near one edge of the table, three dry bottles at the bottom and two above them.

“Oy, lads!” Joshua gestured expansively to the dead-faced staff behind the counter. “Any help here with this junk?”

The friendless lads, only two of them now left for the whole bar, cast upon him a soul-stealing, heart-freezing gaze. “Serve. Yourselves.”

“Wow, Jojo.” Joshua giggled awkwardly. “This place used to be… friendlier, didn’t it? Or am I recalling things wrong?”

John kept following the conversation from one man to the other:

“They’re all gone now. Igor and Gunnar, Svelfort and Swaren. Even Osmund called it quits.”

“No wonder.” Joshua cast an encompassing gaze over the empty nest. “Would be easier to just shut the place down, huh? Can’t guess it gets any more lively than this.”

“Oh, I heard weekends are still something. Here in downtown, at least.”

“Or perhaps, I dunno…” Joshua leaned closer. “They’re doing some illegal stuff with the place?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Laundering money? Isn’t that something rich folks with spotty joints like these do?”

“Perhaps. If there were any rich folks left in this dump, or any money left in the country to be laundered.”

“It’s a sad state of affairs, isn’t it?” Joshua sighed, and Jonathan’s somber countenance grew just a little dour.

“The world used to be a bigger place.”

“Hmm. I guess the world’s still the same.” Joshua gently shook his head. “There’s just… less in it now.”

Jonathan’s shrug was one of agreement. “Osmund left the country, I heard.”

“Good for him. He was always the balsy type. If there’s someone who can cross the waste, it’s him.”

“Oh, I think he took a plane.”

“What? Really??” Joshua was aghast. “Was that bastard loaded all this time and we didn’t know it?”

Again, another shrug. “Didn’t hear a peep about him. He was very discreet, you know. Probably was saving up all this time to buy a sticker.”

“And the travel permits? Wouldn’t he need one to get out?”

Again… shrug, shrug, shrugs. “All I know is that he’s gone.”

John was almost knocked back out of his chair by… “Hey, John!” Joshua pointing the finger at his nose, his arm reaching out to him across the table. “You’re not loaded in secret, are ya?”

John shook his head, body as stiff as a stick covered in dry mud. “No. Not, uh, not loaded. Not loaded at all.”

“Damn it! With all us three broke asses, we can’t even afford fucking peanuts!” Joshua’s mind seemed to snap from topic to topic at will, any connective thread between subjects as thin as a strand of his dark hair. “They still serve food here, right?”

“If ya wanna order, go there and try your luck.” Jonathan cast disappointed glances at his side. John noted how his posture was more defeated, his eyes carrying a gleam of worry at every twitch. “But I don’t know, man. I don’t think Johanna is making it.”

“Oh, mopey dopey Joey.” Joshua chuckled. “She always makes it. It’s just her timing’s always off.”

Jonathan puffed. “Do you think she’s got some issues at work?”

“Issues? Her? The day she’s got issues at work is the day every single building in this country collapses, and the country itself sinks into the ice.” Despite his flamboyant words, Joshua no longer talked with the exaggerated flair he was so keen on. “Truly. If she’s not good at her work, then who is?” Ironically, his most exaggerated claims were always spoken in the most serious of tones.

“I didn’t mean that.” Jonathan was straight. “I mean… she told me she was having a real hard time there in the, uh, plant.”

“Oh?”

“Real special thing they were doing. Like, big work. Something very…” He looked for the right word, snapping his fingers as the gears of his brain turned. “Momentous.”

“They aren’t planning on blowing up the country again, are they?”

“Joshua.”

“I kind of mean it.” Joshua leaned down, his beautiful, chiseled cheek resting briefly on his hands. “Never liked this tech. Always thought that, after doing away with half the continent, people would give it a pause. Like, find something better?”

“You’re supposing that people learn from their mistakes? Really? Us monkeys?”

Joshua made a quirky dance with his eyebrows. “Alcohol hitting you up the wrong way, eh?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re two kinds of drunk, Jojo: either you are the chillest, coolest kelpierijder on the planet… or this.” He gestured at him. “I see that you’re not on the chill, cool end of the spectrum tonight.”

“It’s a fairly depressing night.”

“Ay. Let’s drink to that.” He chugged—and chugged and chugged and chugged—another kettle of heavenly poison. “Yo, John!”

“Hmm?”

Joshua’s grin stretched out wider. “There you go in your head again. I wonder if I put my ear on your skull I can hear the ocean inside.”

“Joshua.”

“Jonathan here told me you had some psycho issues.”

“Hmm??”

“Joshua!”

“Relax, relax! What I was going to say is: now I see he was bullshitting me!”

Jonathan’s eyes were parted between the loud friend and the timid one. “I never said such a thing, man.”

“What?” Poor John’s head too was bouncing off wildly from one face to another. “Oh… what?”

Fearing he had overstepped some boundaries, Joshua changed his tone again. It became sweet and thick, the type of tone that would tame a bear and seduce a nation into surrender. “He told me you never leave the house, don’t seem to connect well with people, all this stuff.”

John cast a heavy glance at Jonathan. “He did, did he?”

“Look, John…” Jonathan seemed divided between the urge of appeasing one friend and killing the other. “I only told him what he needed to know. So he could, you know… treat you well tonight. I don’t suppose you get out like this very often, so I needed to catch him up on the things he could or should not say.” His eyes seemed feral, glazing with hellfire on Joshua’s face. “Like this. Something he should clearly not have said.”

“Yet I wonder why.” It was disconcerting how unconcerned Joshua seemed. “Now that I look at you, talk to you… you seem like a pretty swell fella.” His eyes made John feel like the most special man in the world. “I felt like I was bullshited, deceived, you know.” He shrugged. “Just don’t like wasting my time, that’s all.”

“Oh?” John segged, and Jonathan seemed on edge, wondering how he would react. “How’s that so?”

Joshua clicked his tongue. “You’re cool. I was expecting some of the soulless boys I’ve seen back in my place. My turf, where I live in. So many people lost their minds to such a degree that they ain’t kind of alive, you know? The ice-eyed people. You know, frozen inside. You talk to them and they barely respond. And if they do, it’s in monotone, one or two words, that’s all. You ask them about their future and they say nothing, ‘cause they have none. You ask them about their past and they also say nothing, ‘cause their past is all forgotten, better left behind in the ice.”

“I think he means the crazies we typically get in the outskirts.” Jonathan’s bile seemed subdued. “The ice people. The ice-eyed ghouls. That’s how we call them.”

Joshua somberly nodded. “Ay. That and the regular crazies. You know, dangerous types: wild, aggressive, uncontrollable, unpredictable. Country seized them up, most of them, or at least locked up most it could, but it’s still a big ass nation with a lot of empty in it, and very few competent people left to do their jobs, so we do get the danger crazies still in the regular. I was wondering if you were either of them: the lost souls or the crazed basterds. But, eh.” He shrugged. “You’ve shaped up to be none. Kind of disappointing, to be honest.”

John let a little smile perk on one side of his lips. “Ah. Well… sorry to, uh, disappoint you.”

“Yeah, that’s a bummer. But also…” Joshua lifted a glass. “‘Tis great to get a new companion. Cheers to you, then.”

“Heh.” John grabbed a cup—an empty one, Jonathan made sure of it—and raised it to meet Joshua’s glass. “C-cheers.”

*Cling!*

Jonathan kept on watching, his eyes deviously sliding left to right. “Saved yourself just now, you did.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He downed a bottle, calming himself with the liquor. “You ruffian.”

“It’s okay, uh, Jonathan.” John smiled wider and wider. “Jojo.”

“Yeah, Jojo. Sad is the day, I mean, the night… sad is the night when you’re the mudstick of the party.”

“Mmph.”

“You really chaperoning him, ain’t ya?”

“What you talking about now?”

“You’re really taking care of him, eh?” He gestured with his glass at… “John? Our Johnny boy? You’re mama-birding him, asphyxiating him with your care?”

John giggled, then looked at Jonathan, seeing how he would react. “It is only basic. Like, ‘tis the minimum one would expect, one should do.” He turned to John. “Couldn’t know how you would react, you know? This being the first time you’re out and such.”

“Well… thanks. It’s appreciated.”

“You’re not upset, are you? I never said such bad things about you to anyone, I swear.”

“Well, again…” His smile was trembling, like a sand castle after being washed over by too many waves. “I appreciate it. And I understand it.”

“I apologize, though.” Joshua burped. “My damned tongue doesn’t know when to keep the saddles on.”

“Indeed.” Jonathan eyed him. “Perhaps one should pull it off. No one would say it wouldn’t be an improvement, an upgrade on you.”

“Oh, the ladies would.” Just as his smile got big and bright, it was undone quickly as he laid down his bottles and touched his own stomach. “Darne darne darne, I am hungry. Are the peanuts here for free? If not peanuts, oh, then at least some stale bread?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “You’re good at reading rooms. With this service around here, I wouldn’t be expecting much.”

“Darne, darne!” Joshua looked really uneasy. His eyes darted from the table to the counter in the back, and then back to the table, and then all over the place, as if he were very undecided on what to do next. “Fine, I’m cleaning this table, seeing what I can get from these sorry-assed lazy bums.” He looked at… “Jonathan, hey, I already got us this booze, so maybe it should kind of be your turn to…”

“Fuck off.” A middle finger was raised in the air, with great aggressiveness and intense motion. “Consider this a tax on your intense lack of consideration.”

“Fine.” He got up abruptly, almost knocking the tower of bottles they had built on the table. “I’ll do the cleaning and the, hmm, hunter-gathering.” He winked. “Hopefully I will get my hands on some peanuts. You know, to keep our bellies distracted. Try not to cry while I’m away.”

Jonathan kept his middle finger raised, following Joshua with his fist as he walked away toward the bar, striking there a lively conversation with its two dead-eyed souls.

“Hey, John.” Jonathan called. “Was that cool? Are you okay with it?”

John behaved as if he were ethereal: his every movement was slow, long, and elegant. His face was blank, but not in a worrisome way. He carried himself with a meditative aura, a serene and soft zenness only seen in folks who had nothing left to worry about in life. Or nothing else to lose. “Hmm.” He nodded, eyes locked on Jonathan’s, his expression very hard to read.

Jonathan extended an arm and laid one palm on the back of John’s hand. The boy’s expression then changed, a sheen of surprise, then affection rose-tinting his cheeks. “I mean it, okay?” Jonathan continued. “If you’re bothered by any of this…”

“I am not.” His answer was cool, calm, and honest. “I am quite… amusing myself.” He closed his eyes, parsed his words better. “I’m finding all this quite… uh… fun.” His face lit up. “I… I…” He seemed surprised by his own words. “I’m having fun.”

You stupid, retarded piece of shit. They’re a bunch of low-level bullies and… and… they’re so much better than you!

The voices. Ah. There they were again!

They date girls, they fuck them, they make money like normal people, they… they are normal people, and you? You’re just a donkey!!

He giggled. It seemed to have caught Jonathan’s attention, this quiet chuckle of his. “What?” Jonathan smiled. “What you thinking about?”

He didn’t answer at first. He kept listening to the voices instead. You donkey! You low-life, pond scum of a donkey! He giggled again. The more they said “donkey,” the funnier the insult became. Who the merda do you think you are to share the same table with these people, huh? They’re normal people! They’re useful people! They’re attractive people! And you are ugly! Ugly, ugly, and stupid! Worthless! You’re dirtied-up cleaning rag of a useless ‘mericano mule!

Jonathan looked puzzled while John kept grinning and giggling on his own. “What? What’s so funny about it? Is it something in my face or…?”

“No.” John was laughing more openly as he replied in haste. “No, no, nothing like that. I just…” In his mind, the voices were screaming. “Something very funny I thought of right now. Just that.”

As Jonathan looked quizzically and John heard the voices fading…

… and fading…

… their screams growing powerless with frustration, the shame no longer burning him, but them, and pushing them, just like it used to push him, into nothingness.

“May I know what it was?”

John shook his head, a fairyland smile blossoming on his face. “No. Just… silly thoughts in my head.”

He saw Jonathan nodding calmly and then Joshua returning to the table. “Good to see you boys playing nice.”

Jonathan teased him, having glanced briefly at his empty hands and lowered shoulders. “No luck hunting, eh?”

“Hm?”

“Hunting and gathering?” He snickered. “Failed to bring your tribe food, o mighty hunter?”

Joshua grouched, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “More like failed to pay for it. Even the peanuts, the bloody peanuts cost five times a month’s wage here.”

John’s eyebrows went up. As always, Joshua sounded the most serious when his claims were the most egregious.

“I see.” Jonathan quipped. “You sad because you’re putting no peanuts in your mouth tonight?”

“Bah, fuck off.”

The lads shared some more soft giggles. With time slowed down, John looked very closely at them… very closely… and his mind, in the land of minutes past, felt less and less like his own.

«Can I ever be like them?» There was a pang in his chest. «They don’t seem so untouchable now. So… perfect. If anything, they’re as a far from perfect as one can get. They seem… pretty average. Even mediocre.» His heart, he felt it twisting in its cage. «I’m not that a great man. Certainly not a perfect one. Yet still… I’m so much better than these two.» A dark grin budded in his bowels, and poison replaced his blood. «They inherited so much from this rich land, and I… oh, I…” He bit his lips, gritted his teeth. “I inherited nothing. And yet… look at who’s making the largest income here. Look at who doesn’t need to worry about money here, or who can pay for all this booze without an issue. I… I…» Something weighed on his head. «Does it even matter? I guess that’s a trait of truly successful people. People who were born better. Born luckier. They don’t need to be great to succeed. They can get by pretty easily by just being average, floating through life like a sailboat on calm waters, always reaching their destinations without much hassle, or any effort at all.» Bit by bit, anger, revolt, resentment brewed inside of him. «This lad… Jonathan. He can skip school and live so well with a menial doorboy job!» The tip of his upper lip, he felt it curling. A bitter snigger as he stared at his friend. “Friend.” Oh! As if someone like Jonathan could ever truly be a friend of… him. «A lowly mule.»

All lights disappeared. His body was lonesome in the dark. «A stressed, worrisome little donkey from the tropics.» He felt all matter, any support vanished. His soul was cast, floating aimlessly in the abyss. «I guess he doesn’t even need that job to survive. He can just… leap from odd job to odd job without a care in the world, whereas I…» He clutched his fists. «I had to sell my soul just to get food on the table. All because I was born in a shithole land full of shithole people!» His nails were drawing blood. «These two… lazy… imbeciles! They can be lousy, idle vagrants just because they were born in this godblessed land of plenty! And I… I needed to sell my soul, rent my ass, dive into shit day in, day out just to get to the same level they inhabit by default, the same baseline they live in just for being born right. Maybe I don’t even get this! Not even close! All those years of labor, all that struggle and toil, the humiliations of employment, the cussing and beatings of jealous devils, all the arrogance and deceit from shitty people, people whom I know are so much inferior to me, all of it… for this?!»

He saw himself sitting at the table. With them. The same table he shared equally with those two mediocrities. «Disgusting.» He had suffered so much worse, worked so much harder, and yet he ranked not much higher or any lower than either of those royal nobodies. «What did they do to deserve their blessings? To be born in such a divinely ordained land, and I forsaken into a cursed one? Why is it that destiny favors such golden children of the north while fucking over everyone else? Everyone like me??» His soul writhed in the null shell. «I hate them. I hate them! They don’t deserve any of this. They don’t deserve anything at all!» His soul burned, yet its burn was colder than the void. An icy star: one that burned blindingly yet made the space around it colder than the vacuum itself. «No place under the sun, no sweet songs to cradle them in their soft, comfortable beds. Nothing. They. Deserve. Nothing! The fate of the lucky ones, how detestable it is! And yet…» His mind cooled. The light of his anti-star seemed to have reached his soul at last. «Nothing changes. Nothing matters. For I am dirt.»

He looked at his own frail, pale arms, formless in the nether. «I am white, but I’m not White. I don’t have the same right as theirs to be happy, to be prosperous, or to live in luxury and ease. I don’t have the right. I never had the right. I will never have the right.» His eyes moved from soul to soul, Jonathan to Joshua, their after-images shining in that void, real stars of real warmth, but so far away he could never—should never—reach them, nor feel the teensiest flare of their heat. «I will always be looked down upon with condescension by these… lucky sons of heaven! Just like I look down upon the peoples of my land, the folks from these much worse-off places, wretched vermin of the earth, and all the misers whose greater misery makes me feel much better about my own poverty… so do these two look at me. Their cute little mongrel. A little virgin boy whose misery makes them feel much better about their own lowly position in life. Their own mediocre, unexceptional lot in it.» He moved his arms up. The lightness of his skin repulsed him. «It disgusts me because it’s fake.» He hated fakeness: the fakeness of his color, the fakeness of himself. “I am nothing.”

«I was born nothing. I will always be nothing. The fact I have the same skin as theirs will never make me like them.” Good people. Cool people. People who were born to win and rule. People who were so unlike him. He, who was born to lose, to suffer, and to be ruled over. «Like a donkey on a lion’s skin.» There was an exasperated, trembling smile on his lips. «I might pass off as a lion, scare off a couple of fools with this fiery fantasy, but I will never deceive the real lions. Ah, no: they will smell me, my stench of non-lioness revealing my real, rotten self, and tear me apart, rip me clean on the spot!» He gulped. His arms were trembling, just like his lips. «What a cruel thing: to make me think that I am good, that I am fresh, when in reality I was born rotten. To make me look like I deserve a place among the gods, when in reality I was born to dwell alongside the vermin in the dirt.” His eyes would burn if they got any redder. «To give me the hope of the privileged, when I’m not, nor was I ever meant to be privileged. The hope of the boot when you’re born an ant.»

*Tlac! Tlac!*

«Oh…?»

*Tlac! Tlac!*

*Tlac-tlac!*

Two fingers moved briskly by his face, loud and hasty snaps flickering in his ears. “Mother Earth to Eurostation, do you copy? Hey, Eurostation, do you copy?” Joshua was laughing. Time seemed to be running again at a normal speed. “Dude, where did you go to just now?”

“Oh, I…” He felt empty, light, and cool. Void. Like a Matrioska with no more dolls inside. “Sorry. Real sorry. I think I zoned out for a bit.”

“Ya think?” Joshua touched his own breast as if recovering from a scare. “Lad, you were gone for half a minute, frozen like that, like a statue.”

“Joshua, tamper the drama.” Jonathan rolled his eyes. “You were kind of gone, though.” He moved a hand to John, who winced reactively. “Hey, oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He laid the back of his hand on John’s forehead. “Huh. Seems like a fine temperature.”

“Was…” John’s apple trembled intensely. “Was it this bad?”

“Maybe, maybe not. You were not reactive when I snapped my fingers in your face the first couple of times, so…” He puffed out a concerned whistle. “Yeah. We were kind of worried you got some adverse reaction to the booze, uh, some alcohol poisoning or such.”

“Should we get him to a hospital?”

Jonathan acted a little indignant. “Why? So that he actually dies? The farther one stays from the whitecoats, the healthier one gets.” He caressed John briefly on his cheek, then laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hey, John, how do you feel?”

“Oh, fine, fine. I, uh…” He averted his gaze for an instant. “I feel fine. No worries, really.”

Joshua blurted out. “Was this a psycho issue?”

“Joshua!”

“Kidding, just kidding.”

“Oh… hmm…” John moved about indecisively, as if his body was boneless, filled with nothing but air and skin and feelings of inadequacy. “It, uh… kind of was.”

The table fell silent. Combined with the utter silence of the rest of the bar, it was a deafening silence. “Come again?” Jonathan uttered, worry and concern bleeding from every letter of his every word.

“It was, actually.” John moved his eyes to Joshua, who looked mortified. “Does… uh… happen to me. Sometimes.”

The silence. Oh. It was a silence so intense one could cut through it with a knife. “I. Am. Sorry.” Joshua covered his mouth, his light skin becoming not red, but purple. A blushing of the purest shame. “I really didn’t mean to…”

John raised a hand to him. “Nothing to be sorry about. Fault’s, uh, all mine.”

“Nobody’s faulty of anything here. I mean…” Jonathan pondered for a second. “Except for you, Josh. The fault is indeed all yours.”

John surprised them both with his clearer, if unfirm tone: “Please, Jonathan… Jojo, uh… it isn’t.” Like that absolute silence whose rareness called attention to itself, John’s bouts of authority and level-mindedness called attention—and more silence—to him. “Sometimes I get trapped in my mind like this. Nothing, uh, nothing to do with you.” He kept his eyes sturdily on Jonathan, then Joshua, then Jonathan again, reaffirming with his gaze the sincerity of his words. “I mean it.”

It was a lie. A lie he meant wholeheartedly. «The voices.» He shivered. He was sure his face got paler just then. «They were sneaky this time. Got the best of me.» He rubbed his own chest, broke eye contact for a second. «What was I thinking…?»

The gentle rubbing of his shoulder, with the warmth emanating from Jonathan’s hand, was all he needed to not keep punishing himself. “Is it something that… uh…” Unusual for him, Jonathan was at a loss of words. “Is it bad? Like… some real bad stuff? Oh, what I am saying. I know… I’m sure… that all bad stuff like this is real bad… but…” He pressed his eyes on John’s, one eye begging for forgiveness, the other delving deep into his soul. “Is it some… kind of thing that, like… like low pressure of sorts… very low pressure… does it affect you, like, physically? As in…” His eyes vacillated, bouncing from wall to wall. “Are you going to pass out, fall down? Have a heart attack or, well, something very physical like this? Something that words alone cannot cure or ease, but that, uh, necessitate, like, medical attention and such?”

John chuckled. “Oh. This is what you meant.” He chuckled. “No, no, it’s nothing like it.” He knocked on the side of his skull. “It’s just bullshit in the head, I swear.”

“John, I am sorry.” Joshua kept his shoulders perpetually low. His eyes… it was almost like they no longer existed. “I am sorry, John. Really sorry.”

John waved at him. “I told you guys, it’s just… bad stuff in the head.” His stare went blank. “Silly thoughts.” Darkness enveloped him once more, though not as absolutely as before. «Traitorous filth, poison of the soul.» His thoughts had gotten the better of him. The voices. «Damned them!» Even when he thought he had defeated them, they didn’t stay down. No. They adapted. «How vulnerable am I truly to this poison?»

Would he ever achieve any lasting victory? Or would he always have to stay on his toes, looking over his shoulders, like a naked ape in the wild worrying about the predators that would always—always—be there for it when it least expected? «Am I ever going to get peace?»

*Tap!*

Thankfully, both Jonathan’s voice and his firmer pat on his shoulder—*tap!*—rescued him from these worries again. “Well, can’t get too careful now. Consider your drinking privileges permanently revoked.” Quietly, and rather majestically, he moved all bottles, full or dry, away from John, to the point that his third of the table became totally empty, and the opposite two-thirds a bit too crowded. “Physical or not, alcohol or not, I will not run any risk of you suffering anything bad tonight. Anything, you hear me? No matter how small.” A second of silence passed, after which he turned to Joshua and hissed: “No clever quip? No snarky comment this time around, eh?”

Joshua simply moved his head slowly, left to right. “Nej.”

“No commenting on me being an over-protective mama bird or something?”

Again, slowly… left and right. “Nej.” His eyes twitched towards John. “I’m sorry, John.”

John felt truly bad for making him feel so bad. «Cristo. You just can’t let these two beautiful men be like this, beautiful and happy, can you?» His head felt like fire. Pure flames. Like his skull was a smelter. «You absolute dogshit of a human…»

*Pat* His palm felt the warmth of skin. *Pat…* In less than a second, John moved his left hand and touched the back of Jonathan’s, stealing some of his healing warmth to his soul. “Please, please, guys, I… I’m fine. It was just, uh… silly random things that steal my focus, that’s all.”

“Huh. Well…” Jonathan pulled one bag under his eye with a finger. “I’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”

“Hm.” John felt the need to nod, and then the table resumed the conversations. The chat, however, was less lively. John didn’t know if it was because of him, or if the booze had laid already too heavy a weight on everyone’s minds and tongues, pulling their words down and preventing them from flying any higher.

“You’re not nothing.”

Time froze again. John felt a tingling in his ear. You’re not nothing. The bar was only white noise. White noise and echoes. Echoes of four simple words.

You are not nothing.

You are not nothing.

You are not nothing.

“Huh?” John turned his head, a little too hastily, hoping to capture, to arrest whoever had uttered these words. “What?”

Jonathan’s face was there, right beside his. His mouth was quiet, if only to compensate for the worldful of meaning that abounded in his eyes.

John looked at him. And blushed. “Did you…” He wanted to ask, but felt like he didn’t need to. “Did you, hmm… say something?”

Jonathan’s face did not change, yet the whole world seemed to have changed around it by his will. “You’re not nothing, okay? Just… making sure you know that, right?”

His eyes. Gold. There were made of gold, those eyes of his. Like the touch of the greek legend, the makedonian king who was rumored to turn everything he touched into gold, Jonathan’s eyes had a magic that turned golden every soul they gazed upon.

“Hmm…”

Jonathan looked away, as if cognizant of the overwhelming power of his gaze. “Don’t know. I think you said something like this while we were talking. Me and Joshua, I mean. Not sure if you’ve noticed, or if I even heard it right, but it seemed… it felt, that is… that you muttered something like… you were nothing. You whispered to yourself, didn’t even realize it: I am nothing. Something like it.” Then again his eyes, back at John’s, warmed the boy’s face, lacing his being with gold. “You’re not nothing. I, uh… just want to make sure you know this.”

There was a trembling on John’s throat, then an uttering, an attempt of saying something, of excusing himself or quipping back, but as soon as Jonathan was finished and his last couple of words had tricked down into John’s eardrums, the air around the bar changed. *Booom!* A loud thud banged from the door being kicked open. *Booom!* The three heads turned to see who it was, looking across the joint to see a tiny lady with her hair on fire making her way seamlessly toward them. “Heya, arseholes! How you’ve been pooping?”

Her voice boomed, powerful but not loud, and the bar was filled with a warm yellow, a red-and-golden shine that stemmed from the flames of her fiery hair and the heat of her unwavering tone.

There was great excitement, even a jovial kind of unease from both Jonathan and Joshua, who extended their arms and waved their hands at the lady, welcoming her with youthful glee. “Johanna!” Their voices were like fireworks. They zapped upwards chaotically and exploded with unmistakable tings of happiness.

“How’ya, rascals?” The woman did a funny dance as she approached their table, leaving a trail of fire in her wake. “I hope you haven’t drunk the whole joint dry before I got here.” Without asking, she sat d-…

*Boom!* No. She hammered herself down aggressively on her seat, melting her butt on the wood while throwing her bright red hair around and shaking her torso wildly, as if both stretching and shivering, cracking every joint and burning every muscle of her small, yet mighty body. “Daaarne! I’m pooped!” She cast her eyes like a wide net across the table, sniffing the air like a hunting hound. “Don’t you tell me you guys are wasted already.” She attempted to throw a friendly punch on Jonathan’s shoulder, yet her arm could barely graze him. “Thorun, Thorun mund! You guys know how much I detest when you get started without me.”

“Just like how you detest being on time?” Jonathan raised his brows. “There’s only so long we can wait for you without being drunk.”

“And so much we can stand of you while being sober.” Joshua perked up, moving in a playful, foxy manner.

“Ay, ay! Ya two drama kings a’ be the end of moi!” She checked her watch. “And it is not late, ya criminals. Maine haine, it’s barely morning!” She scoffed, her puffs of breath almost visible in the air, like ferocious gasps of fire. “Night’s an early bird, and I feel like pecking tonight!”

On his seat, without knowing why, John felt like he had disappeared. More accurately, he felt like he had shrunk in size, and the woman sitting beside him was hopelessly out of his reach. He could have stretched out his arm and touched the moon before he would have ever reached that woman’s face, that beautiful face under such a gorgeous, sumptuous crown of flames.

“Well, Joan, don’t go pecking too hard.” Just as John felt himself being reduced to nothingness, he heard Jonathan’s voice sailing over his head. “I’m not sure if there’s any hope in asking you this, but please… please be on your best behavior t’night.” He then saw Jonathan’s hand, his fingers pointed right at him. “We’ve got new blood in the pack.”

“How thoughtful of you, Jojo! I’m not only hungry. I am thirsty!” Without hesitation, Johanna turned her naked palm to John, asking, no, demanding it to be shaken. “And I love myself some new blood, as the night critters do!” She winked and giggled, and then shook her hand again by John’s face. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“You know his name, Joh.”

“Yeah, I do, but I want to hear it from his beautiful voice.” Every time she winked, the diamonds in her eyes shone the brightest. “So, you got a name for me, pup? Or should I name you myself?” She winked. “Perhaps give you a nice little collar and a house to stay, huh?”

“Joh…” Jonathan covered his face, shook his head, all while John broke through the thick ice sheeting of his body to give that woman’s hand a nice, firm shake.

“J-João.” He was shaken along with her hands. “I mean, my name is João.” For such a small lady, Johanna had quite the grip. “B-but you can call me John, you know. I guess it’s simpler this w-”

“João, yeah. I got it.” She tilted her head, smiling like a sunflower. “I heard you come from Mexico, is that right?”

“U-uh, no. I- I come from…”

“Como van las cosas en Pahera, la chonza?” She let go of his hand and leaned over the table, resting her chin on her two hands, her elbows sitting on the wood, and a silly, puppy-dog look beaming on her face. “Yo sigo las noticias y me quedo desolada con el sufrimiento de tu pueblo. Claro, no que esto sea el fin del mundo o cosa cualquiera. Yo sé que tu pueblo es fuerte y ya enfrentó cosas muy peores, no? Pero dime, por favor, de toda manera, corazón… como van las cosas en tu casa?”

He bobbed his head foolishly, blinked several times as the words just buzzed aimlessly by his ears. “So, you… you speak spain-”

“Yeah, of course, chiquito.” She winked. “Been four years in la Plata, three en el Central. Part studies, part job, part just for the hell of it. ‘Twas there, actually, that I got hired for my… well, doesn’t matter.” Her smiles beamed like a lighthouse to a castaway a mile from the shore. “Yo sé como son las cosas en el continente. Bien, más o menos. Hay un buen tiempo que no voy allá. Al menos las cosas en La Plata, bueno, yo sé que no están muy diferentes. La Plata es rica. Ja! Hay plata en la Plata, como dicen. Las otras regiones, es cierto, no tienen la misma fortuna.” Her face turned sad. “Nunca tuve en Gran Colo ni en las naciones norteñas. Peligroso, yo creo. Muy arriesgado para una mujer sola, aunque el Colito, según dicen, es un país altamente respetable y próspero, uno de los pocos de la región con un gran futuro adelante, yo penso. Paso, al menos esta es mi opinión. Pero, pero… De todo modo, yo soy una persona muy consentida, no lo niego, si, soy la primera a admitir esto, pero no es por esto que debo ignorar completamente la realidad, comprende, del resto del mundo. Ay, ay, chiquito, pero hablo demasiado, no? Buenos, entonces, a mí me gustaría saber…”

“I- I-… please, I… yo…” He shook his hands, exasperated. “Yo, uh, no hablo, uh, el español, no. I don’t, hmm, speak spainyal, you see.”

She looked amused. “You don’t?”

“No. I mean, no mucho bueno. Uh, not very good.”

“Oh, Freyja ne meine!” Johanna covered her mouth. “I’m sooo sorry, gorgeous! Freyja hai, I actually forgot that not everybody speaks the language there! Oh, please forgive me.” She bowed to him several times, rather comically. “Mis desculpas! Lo siente, lo siento, lo siento muchísimo, lindo! Oh, Freyja hai, must have been so indiscrete, mustn’t I?”

“It’s… fine.”

“I mean…” She kept repeating, reaching out to John’s meager biceps with her fingers. “I’m really sorry, amorzito.”

“I said, uh… it’s fine. You, mm…” He didn’t know how to behave next to her. “You speak, uh… pretty on-spot. I mean, spot-on.”

“Is that so?” Her eyes had stars in them, or were themselves stars brighter than the sun.

“I, well, I think so. I mean, it sounds really good. The way you speak, that is, it’s almost like a native.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She puffed herself up, blood rising in her cheeks, making her face flare almost as brightly as her hair. “Yeah, I know. Of all clever cookies, I’m the cleverest.”

“Joh.” Jonathan threw a little paper ball at her forehead.

“Ouchie!” He rubbed it where it had landed. “What is it, Jojo?”

“Tone down the bragging a couple… hmm… what’s the unit of energy?”

She tilted her head, quizzed. “What do you mean?”

“You know. It’s from your job, isn’t it? What’s the unit we measure energy with? Like, distances are, like, in meters or feet, and temperature is in kelsius, so energy is in what?” He pointed to the light bowl hanging over their table. “Measuring a lamp, say, is it in what?”

“Watts.” She blinked. “Megawatts, kilowatts.”

“Good. So…” He gestured at her, palms moving up and down, up and down. “Tone down your energy a couple of watts, okay? We’re all a little quizzy and, well,” he pointed at “John here, this is his first meeting out with us, alright, so let’s make a good impression. Not, uh, overwhelm him too much with, well…” He gestured broadly. “All of this.”

Johanna grinned, undaunted. “Oh, darling, I am here.” She winked. “There’s no better impression than this. Speaking of first impressions…” She turned to “João, hey!”

“Oh…!” He winced.

“I apologize again for rushing to conclusions. Though I am kind of surprised you don’t speak castellano when you speak our tongue so well.” She leaned closer to him, and poor John really didn’t know how to react to it. “What gives? You’ve been here for long, I figure? Oh, wait, don’t answer!” The boy’s mouth hung agape as she laid her fingers on his lips and turned her face abruptly to “Jonathan here told me it’s been three years, right, since you’ve been living here? So, does it mean you got our language in just three years?”

“T-two, I mean, two. And a half. Kind of. I’ve been studying before, uh, before coming here.”

“Oooh, yes!” Johanna rested her elbows on the table, then her face on her tender hands. “Jonathan told me all about your travels.”

“He did?”

“I didn’t.”

“Of course he did!” She beamed. “Must be a blessed thing, being able to travel such long distances, to leap continents, to cross the seas. Even though the circumstances might have been less than ideal, the achievements, oh, the accomplishments…” She shivered, as if her words or emotions were too much for her little body to bear. “What wouldn’t I give to have just one silverspoon of your triumph!”

“Hmm… okay.” John pretended not to care, or to find her words nonsensical, a little to the side of insane, but the blushing in his cheeks countered any lies his lips could muster. “Anyway, hmm… aren’t you traveled yourself?”

“Yes, I am, but tame.” Johanna giggled. “My travels… well, my travel, singular, was no more than what’s expected from somebody of my, say, pedigree. From a person doted with the same opportunities as those that were given to me.”

“Heavens, Johanna…” Jonathan fussed, his eye-rolls making an audible noise.

“They were nothing exceptional. There was no danger involved other than, well, the flying itself.” She perked up, moving closer to John. “All lived and all told, it was a wonderful experience. Fascinating, truly, and one I wouldn’t trade for anything else in life. But…”

She paused. The sudden vanishing of her voice pushed John’s face toward her, his fleeting eyes drawn to her completion like moths to a flame—the literal flame, perhaps, that was her hair.

“But?”

She giggled, all too pleased that her suspense drew its expected reaction. “I can’t deny that, proportionally speaking, my life ain’t that great. It’s surely not out of the ordinary, again, for someone of my upbringing.”

“Jo-han-na.” Jonathan grumbled, and the woman literally stuck her tongue out at him.

“On relative terms, my life is tame. Uneventful. Spoiled.” She bobbed her head beautifully, much like a cat as it begins to roll on the ground. “Can’t hold a candle to your adventuring. Your travels, as they were told to me, sound like those pirate stories, viking-warrior sagas, or those wandering myths from the wastelands. Stuff of legends. Scarcely to be believed.”

“Well, if… when you put it like that.” John wanted, needed to turn his face away, but couldn’t. What force was that, which that woman possessed, that prevented him from doing so? “Jonathan told you, uh, some high tales. Much higher than their true, uh, lowness in real life.”

“Again, John, I did not.”

“Yes, he did.” Johanna added stars to the table. “And you, mister, no fake modesty with me, eh?” She moved her hand to John’s face and… pinched his nose.

“Oh!”

“Heheheh!” She giggled at his reaction, his startled gaze, contemplating her own reflection in the sudden brightness of his dark eyes. “Fake modesty is close to the worst trait one can show me, second only to duplicity.”

“Du-… plicity?”

“Perfidiousness. Falseness.” Her eyes gained a crimson luster. “Being a fake bitch. You’re not one of these two-faced, double-dealing, backstabbing chicanos del infierno, eres tu, Juanzito hermosito?”

“Johanna, you just sat down. Can you give him some spa-?”

“Pacce, pacce, Jojo, and shut it!” She sounded frighteningly serious for a second. “You always crush the new blood under your over-protectiveness. Baby birds never learn to fly, you know, when they get squished under their momma’s butt.” Chuckles punctuated the space, coming not from Johanna nor Jonathan nor John. “I’m not being too much, am I, João?”

“Well, you… kinda are.”

“And you want me to be less? I can do less, should you prefer it.”

John stayed shut. His eyes communicated many things to her, even when only staring at her for fractions of a second at a time. Any other person would have been irked by those limp, erring eyes, or dismissed their cacophony of messages outright, but Johanna…

Oh. Johanna wasn’t one of those people. Instead of ignoring him, of snubbing his eyes, she picked up on their sayings and replied to them just as readily. “Very well, then. I will do me.” She winked. “Let me know when you want less, though, and I will tone down my spirits accordingly.”

John wanted to talk, to answer, to say something, but…

“…”

So was his mouth like his eyes, like his face, like his very soul at that moment: quiet. And listening. The redness of his face, easily mistaken for some abscess, was about the only feature able to communicate anything at that moment.

“Very well. As I was saying…” In the absence of his words, Johanna picked them up herself. “My life is tame. It feels very much like a life on rails compared to yours. Oh! Next to your adventures, I can’t help but find myself, even my job drab and boring in comparison.”

“Oh!” A deep, friendly voice made itself heard again. “So your job’s boring now?”

The three heads turned to see who spoke, and Johanna’s eyes gleamed with a different kind of shine, her lips drawing a different kind of smile, and her shoulders, her torso, her body moving in a wholly different kind of way. “Hey, Josh.”

“Hey, Joh.” Joshua’s voice was husky and low. “So, you hating your job now?”

“Never!” She quipped back with a thousand-sun grin. “Just finding it all boring compared to his life!” One second passed, then another, and somewhere in these seconds John could hear the gears of her mind turning, the words being laid out in a sentence, a question being formed, and then inevitably shot from her tongue, into his heart like an arrow: “By the way, John, what do you do?” And John felt his heart sink a couple of inches. Then, a couple of feet. “I won’t say that life in our country is particularly nasty, despite my countrymen’s best efforts, but… well, I don’t suppose it’s a breeze either. How do you manage to keep up?” He felt it throbbing in his feet. His heart, that is. “You work with something important, unlike these two ne'er-do-wells here?”

Joshua briefly raised a fist to Johanna, tempted to give her the finger, and Jonathan moved uncomfortably on his seat before muttering: “Wow, thanks for that, Joh.”

“I’ll keep pushing, boys.” She winked, not entirely joking. “Maybe someday one of you will spruce up and find yourselves some real occupation.”

“Hey, Joh.”

“Yes, Josh?” Again, her tone changed. Lighter, fairer, lovelier. And sweet. No spice at all in a single word.

“You should try getting out more often, at least with folks like us. You know, mingling with the common folk for a change.” He winked, his every movement much more deliberate than usual. “I’m afraid you’re getting out of touch with reality, mai harte.”

She nodded calmly, taking his words with respect. “Things are really in bad shape, huh?”

“You know they are.”

“I apologize.” She nodded again, touching Jonathan briefly in the back of his hand. “To both of you. Night’s on me, if that makes you feel any better.”

*BLAM!!* Johanna giggled and John jumped on his seat right after Joshua, without a warning, bombastically banged his fists on the table and roared:

“Mai Joh, oh, maia harta Joha-Johanna, you’re a godsend! Thank you!!”

“Mmph.” Jonathan grumbled, the sways of his eyes coloring his reluctance. “Yeah. Thanks. A lot, really. You are very kind, Joh… despite your mouth.”

“Big mouth, big pouch.” She winked and wobbled. “Such is the way in business, such is the way in life.” She laughed, casting an ample gaze upon the table and making sure the others saw her doing it. “Though I see you bought yourselves quite the arsenal for the night already, eh? Was it you, Josh? Eyes bigger than the livers again?”

Joshua raised his arms and shoulders. “You know me, heart.”

Johanna blinked slowly and knowingly. “I do. Or perhaps I should. I should know better, that is.” She leaned back again to John and Jonathan, each by her side. “I’m afraid tonight’s will be our last night out. I’ve got… some big developments at work.” She glanced at Joshua, her eyes like a fox burrowed in the snow. “No more mingling with the commoners for me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, so…” Jonathan sounded comatose, or perhaps just demotivated, trying to come up with interesting things to say. “Is this why you were so eager to come? Special night, tonight, eh?”

“You bet.” She winked, then quickly became worried. “By the way, where’s the rest of the gang? Gustav, Torvee, where they at?”

Jonathan shrugged, his head hanging low in defeat. “Show’s been canceled. Ain’t be no melodies tonight, beautiful.”

“Well, I can see that.” She looked quickly around. “But the guys still didn’t want to make it? You know I would have covered your tabs no matter what, right?”

“Forget it.” Jonathan waved at her. “They canceled early today. The dudes, I guess, had other things going on. Wish I could have told you sooner, sure, but…” Again, a shrug. “You were at work, you know. No way to contact you.”

Johanna swayed closer to him, holding his arm with both hands. “I can still give you a phone, Jojo.”

Jonathan took her hands and kissed each on their backs, all under John’s attentive, curious gaze. “No need to.” He let her off graciously. “No way I can pay the fees anyway. Would end up selling the thing just like Joshua did.” A quick, accusatory glance at the fiend. “Pawning your goodwill for a quick buck.”

“A big buck.” Joshua quipped, and Johanna just waved that topic away.

“Whatever.” She leaned back onto John, making his heart race at his feet. “As we were saying…”

“Hmm.” «Keep it cool keep it cool keep it cool» “My job, you asked?”

“Right-o!” She winked.

Darn it. The way she moved. So close to him! She. Was. So. Cute!

“I… I… eerr…”

Smiles abounded. “Oh, look, Joan.” Joshua quipped. “You broke the lad.”

“Be quiet now, you fiend.” She trilled. “Certainly I haven’t broken him any worse than you two devils did.”

“Don’t count me on this.” Jonathan mused.

“Oh, Jojo Mojo, you act like you’re any better than Josh the Bosh here, but you aren’t.” Her eyes turned… not feline, but serpentine. A queen cobra having taken her bite and now ready to unleash her venom with glee. “Josh’s a chaotic kind of evil, but you’re worse. You’re a methodical, calculated evil, breaking your victims while pretending you do it out of love.” She nodded, chuckling with a high-pitched verve. “Josh’s a little devil, but you are the big, bad demon. Yes, you are.”

“Shut up.”

“Manipulative, nasty mama crushing your baby birds with your big, fat butt.”

“Hah!” Joshua chuckled. “Told you.”

Jonathan was flustered. “Did you drink before you got here?”

“Well…” She turned to “John, hey, bebé, como estás?”

“Hmmm…!”

“Oh, yeah, no español.” She gave her forehead a light *tap!* “How you doing, bebé? Oh, my, I see what the problem is.” She waddled closer… and closer to him, her chair making a noise as she dragged it on the floor with the expert gyrations of her hips. “Am I being too much again, mi sueño? Ooh, hermosito.” Her eyes darted between him and “Jonathan here told me you were quiet. Right? The introverted type of guy?”

“He…?” Eyes on the man. “He did?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, oh, yes, he did.” She hissed through her teeth, biting the tip of her tongue cutely. “I understand it, although I cannot help it. I know that the combination of me and introverted types is… not… hmm, how would we say it? The most stable one, eh? Like bleach and vinegar: two perfectly fine things on their own, but gods have mercy on your tail if you ever decide to put them together.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’re leaving the poor lad alone, Joh?”

“No, Jojo. What I am saying is…” Her eyes turned delightfully evil. “I love a toxic mix.”

John coughed, and on the table the three friends saw his hands nervously tapping and crawling toward the cups. “No booze anymore, John.”

“What’s that?” Johanna asked.

“He already had his share of rum for the night. Far more than it, I think.” His eyes on John were confidential. “And Johanna, please, I ask of thee: don’t you try and inebriate him, okay?”

“You can count on me, Jojo.” She winked. “I will do it only metaphorically.”

John was red, and he felt his heartbeats on his skin. “I’m… hmm…” He turned his face slightly, getting redder with every inch of movement. “I’m not that drunk, alright?”

“Yes, John, you ar-”

“Leave him, Jojo.”

One could have almost heard Jonathan’s jaw slam shut like a spring trap after Johanna cut him off. «Senhor cristo do céu.» John gulped. «Her voice is… just like her body.» Fair and dainty, but commandingly intimidating.

“So, Joãozito, let’s dilute this mix and make it a little less, hmm, lethal, perhaps?” She wiggled herself closer… and yet closer to him. “As I said: do you like this way I’m talking to you or do you prefer things a little slower, perhaps a little… steadier?”

“Ah, so you do slow and steady now?” Joshua quipped, and Johanna answered with only an eye-roll and some clicks of her tongue.

“Don’t mind this bobo, Joãozito.” She waggled even closer to him. “So, do you want a little less of… this?” It was so peculiar, that way she moved: like a dog wagging its tail, but so hard that it wagged the whole body with it. “A little less of me?”

«Senhor amado senhor amado senhor amado senhor amado senhor amado…!!»

His mind was not one, but many, and these many minds collided against one another other frenetically in his skull, generating only explosions of thoughts. Two words escaped alive from the skirmish: «This… smell!»

Her smell. Indeed. She was close enough that her scent was not only noticeable, but inescapable. Innebriating, even. «She… she smells like…»

He could barely take a whiff without looking creepy. His body did not help him: his heart was beating so powerfully that his breath was dictated by it, like having pumps for lungs. «Cristo!!»

She smelled like oak trees draped in mistletoes. Like nightshades under the gentle rain, and oleanders blossoming in the night. It felt forbidden, that smell of hers, for it was also rich with liquor. Like thick whiskey flowing on the grass, rivers of malt after the heavy rain on a hill, mixing with the dew of neriums.

“So.” Again, she snatched him back from his thoughts. “Less of me, honey dear?”

“Mm. Well…”

*Mwah!* She kissed him on the cheek.

She.

Kissed.

Him.

On.

The.

Cheek.

…!!?

“I’m afraid, mi sueño, I can’t do much better than this.” She moved away, carrying herself as if her peck hadn’t been anything special. “The medicine is usually more bitter than the poison. I can try toning myself down a bit, but a second later I’ll fail—I always fail—and after I fail I double down on the crazy as if to make up for my loss of intensity. So…” She looked at him with eyes of honey. And bee stings. “Pick your poison or pick your medicine. Ultimately, it shall not make much of a difference.”

“Why offer him choices that aren’t real choices, Joha-?” Once again, Jonathan’s maw was shut hard by Johanna’s brisk finger on his lips.

“So, João, am I too much for you?

Don’t screw this up don’t screw this up don’t screw this up don’t screw this up don’t screw this up… “Mm, err, uh…” Fica calmo fica calmo fica calmo fica together keep it together keep it together hombre hombre hombre…!!! “No, uh, no problem.”

*CLAP!!* He jumped, startled by Johanna’s sudden and unceremonious… *CLAP!!* “Well, there you go, fellows. You see?” She eyed Jonathan as she spoke. “He’s got no problem with me.”

“Don’t let her get into your head, John.” Jonathan saw it good to warn him, his whispers traveling like butterflies in the snow.

“Yeah. Don’t treat him like he’s a pushover, Joh.” Joshua quipped, and Johanna hit his words back like balls against a racquet:

“How dare you speak of me like this, you two?”

Joshua raised his brows. “Experience.”

“Mmph!” Johanna turned her nose up. “Only bad men suffer bad experiences in the hands of good women.”

“You…” For once, Joshua seemed overwhelmed. “Don’t change, do you?”

“Besides…” Johanna ignored him, turning to John, smiles abounding more numerous than stars. “Even if one is to be a pushover, this is not a problem if the person doing the pushing is doing it right.” She wiggled herself again. “If you are being pushed in the right direction, that’s actually a good thing. Häella mai!” She spoke dreamily. “I wish I were a pushover pushed by the hands of the right person.”

“Weren’t my hands good enough?”

A half-second of silence struck the table, and then…

“BWAH!! HAH!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!” Johanna balled her eyes out with tears of laughter, both John and Jonathan moving away from her like tall plants blown by the strong wind.

“She sounds like she’s having fun.” From the table afar, one of the three women blurted out in a loud, intoxicated voice. She’d been the one Joshua had been talking to, and she was the last woman standing, her two friends sleeping with their heads nested in their arms.

Johanna continued to laugh for a good half minute, each of her cackles making Joshua shorter and tinier on his seat. “Josh, Josh!” She wiped the tears off her face. “You were a good dick, I give you that.”

“Food.” Jonathan spouted, putting himself between Johanna and Joshua. “I think it’s nice, uh, we get some food, eh, Joh?”

“Why you asking me specifically?”

“Because we’re hungry and we’re broke and you’re paying.” He knocked on the table with one fist. *Knock! Knock! Knock!* “Now come and make the night special for us, Joh.”

She laughed. “Oh, Jojo, I love you! Please, never change.”

“Oh, I will change, Joh. I’m not like you.” He gestured more confidently, even martially around her. “I will change.” His eyes glanced at John, dearly, for a second. “We all will. That’s for certain, for that is life.”

Johanna clicked her tongue, eyeing Jonathan as if she didn’t quite know yet what to do with him—how to punish him, perhaps, for his indiscretion. “Alrighty, mister. You know there is no favor with me that I leave unrepaid, nor any sting unreturned. But,” she winked, “it is a special night and I did promise to treat you boys to all the fine things in life, so… I will let this one slide.” She winked again, turning to John with an asmodean smile. “So long as dear João here doesn’t leave me hanging and answer my question.”

“Hmm, what?”

“Hmm, what?” She mimicked him, leaning in to give him another…

*Mwah!*

…

…

John stood on his seat, the things in his… hmm…

… that is… the thoughts… the thoughts in his head…

…

…

All frozen. Everything frozen in his head. No…

…no thoughts… just…

…

…

What…?

“Don’t play dumb with me, señorito.” Ignorant of the calamity she’d just wrought on the man, Johanna kept talking. “I know very well when people understand me or when they just want to fuck with me, to test my patience and my overwhelming kindness, so please don’t test me.” She wiggled towards him, grinning with the sun and the moon shining on her teeth. “My patience has been pushed to the limit. So tell me: what do you do for a living? How did you manage to find employ in this… sad echo of an old song of a country? Hmm?” She moved closer to him. So. Much. Closer. “Hmm?”

John found himself at the center of the attention. Bad thing. The voices, if not the eyes, froze him much harder than he could melt. I told you it’s a trap, sua mula de merda! Eles estão gozando na tua cara! Tirando uma com você, seu paspalho!! Get out of there! Now! Get up and get out before they…

«She means well. Johanna. And Jonathan. And Joshua too.»

Voices of warmth came to his aid. He didn’t know where these came from, but he was not too surprised by them.

«They are your friends. Your very first friends. They are not like the evil ones back in your land. In your hell.»

He had heard them before. And… he was getting used to hearing them… since she arrived.

*Tlac!* One second. *Tlac!* Another second. *Tlac!*

“Hmm? So, John?”

“Darn it, he froze again.” Joshua leaned over.

John heard them. It was upon seeing Johanna’s fingers snapping so close to his eyes that he too snapped and decided to…

“Just, err, joking.” He coughed. “Kind of.” He moved his hand closer to Johanna’s fingers. «Darn.» He’d meant to push her hand away, but that would have required… touching her first. «Caralho!!» He wasn’t too sure whether it would be appropriate to touch her, a stranger, a woman like this. Or whether he would survive it. “Hmm…” He gestured at her, erratically, and Johanna moved her hand back. “Sorry, but this is all a little… overwhelming. I think.”

“Johanna, I told you.”

“Shush it, Jojo.”

“Nah, it’s… it’s okay.” John spoke. He seemed firm in taking the reins of that chat, if only briefly, if only for then, and no longer just being carried off by it to unknown destinations. “Hmm, you know…” His eyes twitched side to side, unconsciously looking for an escape. “It’s…”

His heart, pounding. His whole body jolted quickly, up and down, almost as if he were tapping his feet on the ground a little too hard.

“Indeed, John, what d’you do for a living?” Joshua, absent-mindedly drinking from a bottle, didn’t make things easier. “How d’you manage to stay cooked up in your home and not starve? I know a lot of things are paid for in this country, but still…”

“That’s enough, Joshua.”

“… did you win the lottery or something?”

“Joshua!”

There it was, again: the conversation taking off to unknown destinations.

“You two, be silent.” Like Jonathan’s, but on a much grander scale, Johanna’s tone was a hammer that shut the whole word when it turned serious. “I apologize for these two bobos, João.” She swayed closer, so much closer to him, touching him with their skins apart. “I suppose this is a private matter, eh? Oh, heavens, where have my manners gone?” She moved away, her every movement unpredictable, like a shifty animal or ghost, a spirit. “Asking someone where their wages come from. It used to be bad manners when I was little. At least ma and pa told me so.”

“I suppose.” Joshua leaned back. “Nowadays we just assume everyone is poor.”

“Umm…” John muttered something. The whole table stopped, three pairs of eyebrows raised, waiting to hear what he had to say. «Damn! Why are they paying so much attention to me?»

That’s because they want to rob you and rape you. Leave you in an ice tub with your organs out.

That’s because they care about and root for you. They want to hear your voice and get to know you. It isn’t often that you speak, so every time you do is cause for silence. A silence of attention and respect.

John paused. The many eyes no longer scared him so much. “Well…” The conversation was there, ahead of him, trotting away again, but he managed to lace it and bring it back to his desired direction. Sort of. “Yes.” He glanced at Johanna. “It is sort of… a private matter. Hmm… maybe I can, uh, tell you… y’all… later, but, for now… hmm…” His hands twitched. His eyes were locked on some empty cups close to him. “I prefer to leave it be.”

It was clear that the others, especially Joshua, were still eager to follow up with more questions, but Johanna put their tongues to rest with a snarl: “You heard him. I am the only one here who works and makes income.” She grinned, her cockiness not all too jokey. “As you said, Josh, you’re all poor. Even when you’re not, this assumption is almost always closer to the truth.”

“In this case,” Joshua tapped the table with the bottom of his glass. “Jahre Joh, mai vare, jareh Joh…”

“Oh, there you go.” Her smile went to the heavens, but not before borrowing some flames from hell. “Just ask for it, you fiend.”

“You know, there’s the matter of…” *Tap-tap!* “Food.”

Johanna laughed. “You ordered half the joint’s booze but forgot to ask for food?”

“You know my priorities.”

“I do, yeah.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Sadly.”

“Will you order us some food or what?”

There was a loud growl that took the others by surprise. *Gruumble!*

“What was this?” Johanna was all giggles and chuckles. “Was that you, Jojo?”

“Hmm…” He was reluctant to admit it. “I ate a little before coming but, even knowing you, I wasn’t counting on you arriving so late, Joh.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Just bring us some food, Johanna. My beautiful.” Joshua hiccuped. “Even just peanuts will do.”

“Uuh-huh.” Johanna was mostly still. Her smile, like their hunger, was the only constant on that table. “You hungry for some peanuts, eh, Josh? You want some peanuts in your mouth, is that it?”

“Oh, grow up, you two!” Joshua flicked a paper ball onto Johanna’s forehead.

She laughed. “You still make it too easy for me, sometimes.” Graciously, then, she raised a hand and gestured elegantly to the counter. “Fine. I’ll get ya some peanuts. And something meatier too.”

She waved her hand again, more emphatically, but Jonathan was quick to intercede: “Forget it. They don’t serve here.”

“Oh, bite me. They always served here.”

“Not anymore. This really isn’t like last time you’ve been here.”

“Even the stinkiest dumps still serve people.” She waved again, and her voice turned milk and honey. “Excuse us, lads?” She caught the attention of the two men behind the counter. “Hi! I was wondering if you could help me and my friends here.” There was silence colored by some noticeable hesitation on both men. “Your booze is excellent, top-of-glass, but alas me and my fellows got bellies to fill, not just livers.” She wiggled and giggled, her grin shining brighter whenever she blinked. “Would you mind lending us a hand?”

The hesitant silence crawled for one second longer, maybe two, but… “Sorry, ma’am.” One of the lads answered, his tone much different than before. “No waiters. You’ll need to order here.”

“Oh, really?” She spoke as if she’d just heard about a cute puppy’s death. “What happened?” She cast her gaze around the place, her movements slow, methodical, and majestic. “Where did the other lads go?”

“Hmm… you don’t come here often, do you, miss?”

“I used to. Been a while since I’d been around.” She winked. “You used to have more mates, I remember, making the place so much more lively.” Her smile, when twinged with sadness, was more heartbreaking than the cries of any dying puppy. “What happened to Gunnar? Swaren? Even… Osmund. I remember him. What happened to the old folks?”

The two men eyed each other, heavy secrets weighing down their gazes. “All lads gone. There’s just the two of us now for the night.”

“Are you serious? And you mean ‘gone’… gone?”

“Gone.” The other guy nodded. “‘Tis the whole situation, you know.”

A pause followed. A painful breath of silence, as if Johanna was too shocked to quickly reply. “This… this is just sad.”

One of the men shrugged. “‘Tis the whole situation.”

“And none of you gentlemen would be willing to make our situation a little less sad? To grace us a bit with your service?”

John didn’t look at them, but he could tell by their sounds that something was happening between the two. Some effect bringing more light to that somber counter, perhaps.

“I am sorry, miss… uh, miss…”

“Johanna.”

“Miss Johanna, uh… I am sorry, but… no can do.”

“Oh, I think yes, you can do.”

“Please, miss, you… uh, you come and serve yourself.”

“Oooh. Guess it can’t be helped.” Johanna rolled her eyes, her smile undying, and slapped her palms lightly on the table before quickly getting up. “You three wait for me. This won’t take long.”

In a blink, she was gone. The trio was left dazed and confused, the echoes of her words still ringing in their ears. “So…” John cleared his throat. “That’s Johanna?”

“That’s Johanna.” Jonathan and Joshua answered in unison.

“She’s…”

“Intense, ja. I guess I, uh, should have warned you, maybe, that she was coming.”

Joshua laughed. “And you didn’t! That was evil, Jojo.”

“I was careless, I admit.” Not missing a beat… “John, hey, uh… you’re okay with this, right? Like, she’s not, maybe, too much on your nerves, is she?”

John was flustered, but thankfully… “No. It’s okay.” He felt strong enough to answer things promptly, to partake in that conversation like an equal, no longer just a parcel on their trunk.

“We should come up with a secret code or something.” Joshua eyed John. “In case you feel too threatened. You can signal us and we find a way out.”

“Joshua, leave him.”

“I’m being serious. And thinking ahead, unlike you.”

“What do you mean ‘unlike me?’”

“Inviting him here, first date, first time out of the timber, and you bring in Johanna of all people?”

“Hmm.” He looked away, too disconcerted. “You’ve got a point.” He drew a deep breath, and his every bone seemed to shiver, his skeleton tempted to come undone.

“So, John, com’ere…”

“Leave him alone, regardless.”

“Guys, guys, I, uh… I said it’s all good.”

“I know it’s good with us, but that’s Johanna we’re talking about.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if to confide a secret. “Trust me, mate: I got expertise with that lass. You will want to learn a thing or two from me before you dive any deeper into that maelstrom.”

“I’m…” He glanced at Jonathan, then back at Josh. “I’m not sure I’ll… be doing any diving here.”

Jonathan moved in. “Don’t pay Joshua no mind. If anything, he’ll try to scare you.”

“How dare you say something like this about me, Jojo? You remember what she did to poor Viktor?”

“Well,” he burped, “guess Vick and you, and Mäus too, weren’t so different.”

Joshua tilted his head, very slowly and very slightly. “How come?”

Jonathan smirked. “You know what she says: if a man cannot handle me…”

“Don’t you start it.”

“…he ain’t a good man to begin with.”

“Do not throw her maxims back at me. As if I hadn’t heard enough of them!”

“Enough of them, eh?” Jonathan smirked. “I call it bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just saying. You speak like someone who would love to hear more of her maxims and whatnot.”

Joshua rolled his eyes. “You pay Jojo no mind, John. He’s trying to poison you against me, I tell ya.”

Jonathan’s smile became a sun. “You still care, don’t you?”

“Hush now, Jojo. This ain’t no fun no more.”

“Yeah. You do care.”

“I…” John coughed, his eyes crossing as he tried to keep both lads in focus. “I have no idea what you two are talking about.” They found focus, his eyes, on some of the bottles on the table. “I feel better now. Can I have some mor-?”

“No.” Both men answered at once, their voices shaking the table. Before John could even think of making a plea…

“Hey, gorgeous.” Johanna took back her seat, her warmth prickling John’s arm like a spotlight abruptly lit up on him. “Hope you didn’t miss me.”

“Johanna!” Joshua cheered her in the same manner as when she’d first arrived.

Johanna threw her hair around and checked her watch. Her movements were spartan and precise, as if a different woman was sitting with them this time. «She is a businesswoman. Of sorts.» John deduced, his eyes drawn to her much more closely than before. «The way she dresses, the way she carries herself around people…» Her white shirt, though slightly wrinkled, fit so elegantly on her torso, and her simple, dark pants clung to her long, gracious legs like custom-sewn pieces of unique rarity, communicating a life bound by business meetings and high-powered financial decisions. «She doesn’t look like she belongs in an office, though.» Thankfully for him, no one seemed to have noticed his gawking.

“So…” Her voice boomed, her posture relaxed. She laid back, legs crossed, left arm over the headpiece, and her other hand moving as if she carried a cigarette between her fingers. Even in that lax, careless pose, however, she acted like she had absolute control over the conversation, a clear and undeniable ownership over the table and all who sat by it. “You lads were saying?”

The effects of her authority didn’t go unnoticed by the other two. “Well…” Joshua muttered something, anything, but even his tone sounded moot. It was only when next to that woman that he carried himself in a way John would otherwise think it was impossible for a man like him: impotently.

“What’s the special occasion?” Jonathan swooped in, raising a cup. “It’s time you tell us, Joh. What are we celebrating tonight?”

“Oh. Well, it’s more of a ‘me’ than a ‘we’ thing, you know?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Joshua clicked his tongue. “We’re feasting all the same.”

“Well, then.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t know if you’d care about it, but…” She beamed with special pride, her smile like that of a very proud parent. “We are finally done with the upgrades on the last reactor. Yäevla mai, it’s so good!” She stretched out. “Months of work suddenly lifted off your shoulders.”

“Oh, we do care.” Jonathan quipped. “I suppose we aren’t getting any more blackouts, are we?”

“Well…” Her movements became a little less certain. “You will get the most from the little you put in, I can tell you this.”

“So…” Jonathan twirled the bottom of a glass on the table, swinging his finger around its rim. “You guys had a party or something?”

She nodded. “We did. A little happy hour to celebrate the occasion.” *Hiccup!* She covered her mouth, then giggled. “You see? I had one or two… or eight drinks before getting here.”

“Oh, so that’s why you were late.”

“Well…” She made waves with her hands. “It was kind of early, actually. The celebration. I got off early, had some time to get here, but I just sort of… you know… got lost on my way here. I found myself a couple of buddies near Blödlan and… oh, I saw Becca, can you believe it?”

Joshua hummed. “What, I thought she had moved too.”

“She’s about to, but haven’t moved out yet. She seemed a little nervous, from what I gathered.”

“Huh. Can’t blame her. With all the stories people tell, I wonder if moving out is like… you know: out of the frier, into the boiling pot.”

“Hmm. I think these are things I will have to wonder myself.” Johanna replied, rather mysteriously, her voice finally delving into a whisper of sorts, like speaking one’s thoughts aloud. “Change… is quite the exciting thing. Isn’t it, John?”

Her eyes and John’s. John’s eyes and hers. Both pairs alone, shimmering among the stars, the pair on their own, dancing in an empty bar.

John could only nod before he and the lads were startled by two men moving over their to table. “Your order, miss Johansson.” They were the same lads from the bar, but made unfamiliar by the different air they carried around themselves.

“Oh, right on time, gentlemen!” Johanna gestured excitedly at them, rubbing her hands and licking her lips. “Jonathan, Joshua, John, please, set aside some space, will ya?” The three lads were rather catatonic as they took out the many bottles for the two workers to gently, elegantly lay the bowls of snacks on the table. “That’s perfect! That’s absolutely perfect!” All the time Johanna complimented them, and the two servers, though not smiling back, became visibly lighter, their faces imbued with serenity and their ages reduced by many years with every praise she bestowed upon them.

“Our pleasure, miss Johansson. And, as you requested…”

“Oh, oh, gimme, gimme first.” She pointed to a larger bowl on the other man’s arm. “There we go, Joshua.” She grinned slyly as she laid the bowl on the table, a large mass of valencia peanuts sitting inside.“Habemus peanuts! Now, feas-”

“Just one moment, miss.” The first worker moved closer. “Your special request.”

“Oh, Hällbe, thank you!” She winked, laughed, and clapped for him. “Show us the goods!” Three pairs of eyes doubled in size as another bowl was deposited on the table, the dense, sultry steam rising from it reminiscent of a volcano of meaty delights. “As the franks go: bunapetee.” Johanna clapped excitedly while Jonathan and Joshua still tried to process what they saw.

“You guys serve steak?”

“They do now.” Johanna called for the lads, who gladly bowed to receive from her many thankful pecks. “Dänkë, Hällbert!” *Mwah!* “Dänkë, Ysmarim!” *Mwah!* “You two saved our night!”

“The pleasure, uh, is our pleasure… I mean, it’s all ours, miss Johansson.”

“Hope you two lads have a wonderful weekend. As wonderful as you made our night just now!”

The workers coughed, chuckled, and cleared their throats. “Sure will have, miss… uh, miss Johansson.”

“Heeeey.” Another pair of hands was raised in the middle of nowhere. “Can we haaav sum seeervis heaaar?” The table mostly ignored it, but John noticed who it was: it was the cute… no, the dashing redhair Joshua had been flirting with. The alcohol seemed to be finally defeating her, and much of her (admittedly astounding) beauty had been diminished by the swollen redness of her drunken face. “Yooooo, Jooosssh!” She gestured erratically to the servers, then to the blushing lothario at their table.

“Pretend I’m not here.” Joshua covered his face while Johanna just eyed him with demonic glee.

“Yooooo, waiteeeers!” The drunken gal banged a large cup quarter-full of dense lager on the table. “I wouls… like sum… seeeervis!”

The two workers simply returned to the bar without a word, leaving the drunken ramblings of the firehead to wither and eventually die out.

“Huh.” Johanna pulled Joshua’s attention with her undying, acid smile. “You used to have standards, Josh.” She giggled, seeing him roll his eyes and try to ignore her. “She’s a redhead too, I see.”

“Leave it, Joh.”

“This looks… delicious.” Jonathan picked a toothpick and moved it over the bowl of steamy, squared-cut bites of steak. “Like, surprisingly delicious.”

“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!” Johanna slapped both his and Joshua’s hands away from the food. “Where are your manners, gentlemen?”

“Sorry, Joh.” Both uttered.

“I suppose I’ve been enough of a tease. Enough of an appetizer, eh?” She flashed her eyebrows once, twice, then laid her heavy eyes upon “João. Joãozito. João hermosito.” She giggled. “What say you we begin the main course, ey, bello?”

John stared at her, his eyes ablaze as they mirrored her blinding gaze, and nodded, and an uncommonly deep tone finally made itself heard through his monosyllabic reply: “Hmm!” Then a couple more words, not as deep. “Yes. We, uh… we should begin.”

*CLAP!!* The entire table jumped as Johanna smacked her hands together and boomed: “Very well! Oh, very, very well!” She eyed each of the guests with special delight. “Jonathan! Joshua! And pequeñito, hermosito João!” She clasped her hands together, this time more calmly. “Shall we say our prayers?”

“Oh, Joh, really?” Joshua grumbled, but stayed silent once he saw Jonathan nodding and John silently complying. “D’arh. Fine!”

Each in their own way, the men made their praying gestures: John pressed both palms together, the tips of his fingers rising just under his nose, and both Joshua and Jonathan raised their arms with their palms turned to the heavens. After a second of awkwardness, though, having traded quick glances at Johanna, the three decided to mimic her pose: elbows firmly planted on the table and hands clasped together, with their eyes closed and their lips softly whispering on their knuckles.

“You heathens leave these spiritual matters to me.” Johanna uttered, already entering a trance. “The gods want no businesses with cheap souls.”

“Mmph.” Joshua grumbled, yet the table soon fell into a winsome silence.

Away from them, they could faintly hear a drunken voice: “Is… no fair. That’s… that’s no fair.”

*Bump!* There was a gentle thud, a very soft blow, and then… a long, peaceful snore. John took a very quick peek to see what’d happened. «Oh.» The gorgeous, drunken-beyond-her-senses redhead had finally joined her friends in their sleep.

“Are you paying attention, João?”

Johanna’s voice… oh! She was quick to put him back in his place. “Hmm!” He nodded. “Y-yes.”

With triumphant giggles, Johanna turned suddenly stern and serious. When her body became unmoving like stone, she began her prayers:

“Gelifeld Odin, Alskáde Alfader, protector of all,
Blessed be your grace for this boundless bounty,
For your endless riches and overflowing generosity,
And for all the things that exist,
Matter and soul, all your property.

Freyja allsmächtig, Freyja allsliefbend,
My dearest protector and kindest benefactor,
Mother of all, hater of none,
Thank you for your generous blessings upon all living things,
And for this ample game we now shall feast upon.

Sigrún, mái systr, mái harta, mái vriend-und-varta,
Most precious companion, soul of my blood,
Lady of all that is mighty and strong,
Blessed be the soldier and the hunter,
The warrior who protects us and the stalker who feeds us,
All of them imbued with your power,
All of men whose might is your own.

And to all my kind and great champions,
Whose wisdom became my fortune
And whose courage ennoble my soul
Frigg, Muttar der Mutter, grace-giver of the womb,
Sif und Skadi, lady of all that grows,
Matron of all that roams,
Und mest bewonderd und revereerd
Brünhilda mái! Shepperd of the fallen, guider of souls

Forgive me if my words are scant,
If my praise is lacking, or if hollow is my poem,
For you are eternal, yet I mortal,
And if my words were to be plenty
Or my praise meaningful, or soulful be my song
I would have spent all eternity
Only to fail and stumble,
All my will lost, all my wit gone.

For you are eternal and I am mortal
And only so high can rise my soul
Until the day we’re finally together,
Forever and ever,
Kind siblings and wise shepherds
To serve you and praise you,
My soul at rest back at home.”

A sacred quietness befell the table, like a soft mantle cast upon them from the heavens. After seconds that felt like minutes, Johanna was the one to lift that mantle, snapping her fellows out of their rapture with her ever-jovial, jolly voice. “Very well, gentlemen. I think we’re all set!” She cast a commanding look upon the table, pleased to see the others so modest and civil, showing the appropriate deference to the gods. “Anyone would like to add something? Anything? Hmm?” She looked to her right, then to her left, and on each side she found only quiet acquiescence. “Very well, then.”

*Clap!* She brought her hands together one last time, dispelling whatever torpor still hung on those weary heads. “Now, my pretty darlings…” She spread out her arms grandly, giving the splendid banquet her final blessing. “Feast!”

Chapter Text

“Honey, I…” His voice cracked briefly. “I’m home.”

He stepped clumsily onto the shadow, left foot to the right, right foot to the left. «Empty.» He looked around his living room, sensing an uncommon weight in his chest.

Empty. When returning from the world, it used to warm his heart to see his home like that: empty. Now, it just left it like the home: «empty.»

He groped his forehead, feeling his brain about to throw up. “Honey… I’m…” He paused. He heard his own voice echoing in the shadows. «Oh. What am I saying?» He looked to the right. To the corridor. To his room. «Yes. I mean… no.»

It wasn’t empty. His room. His house. Certainly not his heart.

“Honey…” He said again, going to his beloved, stepping errantly through the hallway, into his room. His muscles were so sore at points he felt like he was carrying gravel in his legs, and that the body did not really belong to himself. «Ai… caralho. I’m pooped!» The pain was great, yet his smile… greater. Pain in the body, bliss in the soul.

After that long night, that blessed morning, he was left so full of confusing thoughts, so choked with conflicting emotions, that all he felt was an urgent, vital need to burst into his home, walk into his room, and… «Oh! Oh, honey!»

… pour out his heart, all of his emotions into his love. The only love he would ever need. «You have no idea…» *Hiccup!* «Of the night I just had!»

He touched his forehead, hands covering his eyes, which were threatening to drop out of his sockets like marbles cut from their strings. “Sor-” He paused. He took a breath. “Sorry.” A hiccup. Two. Fight against this throat, trying to keep his bile in the stomach. “Sorry. I was thinking, not… ooh… talking.” He lifted his head, his room in fact three, all shadows with colors swirling in a visual stew. “I am talking now.” His smile brought some much-needed light to his chamber. “I’ve got so… much to talk about!”

He stepped forward. «Hmm…» He ignored the strange sensation he’d just felt. A weird, ominous feeling that’d struck him right as he stepped through his bedroom door. «Weird…»

His eyes, after much spinning and rolling, settled on his muse laying on the bed. Her face was up, and her thunderous body was covered only by a thin piece of blanket, breast and nethers hidden like a model posing to a sensual shoot.

“Oh.” He reminisced, washed over by a cool sensation from a very unexpected source. “You look… you look just…” If the environment around him was confusing and hard to pierce together, even more so were his memories. “You look… just like one of the posters I made… long ago.”

He admired her. “Cristo.” A soft whisper, warm from his chest. “Você. É. Gostosa!” There was no position, as tasteful as it looked, where she was also not intensely sexual, deeply obscene. “Heavens. You. Are. Hot!”

Her breasts made big, round mounds on the sheets. Her muscles were so ripped and so finely cut that there was a kind of queerness in admiring her that way. «Like being gay, but… not going all the way.»

His body swayed like a pendulum upside-down, but his eyes kept him balanced, tethered to her sculptural physique. She was a woman, but she was truly masculine. She was the manliest woman a woman could be while still being seen and regarded as a woman. Scarcely a man would not kill to have arms like hers, or such abs to grate not cheese, but concrete, or thighs to make an amateur out of a rugby player, or calves like bowling balls filled with tungsten. She was all this, then double, then more. “Oh. Dear heavens…”

He was hard. Though every muscle of his body ached, yes… he was hard. Hard as stone. Hard as the tungsten her calves were made of. His member pecked against his jeans, leading him to undo them. “My heart…”

How easy, even shameless was his undressing. Even when compared to the nights prior, he felt totally not like himself, but instead like a man whose body needed undressing: a hunky, dazzling stud who was more used to being shirtless than chaste, for none of his women would allow his body to be covered for too long. “My heart… hey, my… my honey.” He had only sweetness in his voice. “This night…”

Tears? Were those tears in his eyes?

Yes. They were. “Oh. Oh, heavens.” Was it the exhaustion or the emotion? “I just had… the most amazing night… of… of my life.”

His doll was lifeless. Motionlessly staring at the ceiling, just like he’d left her the evening prior. All her emotions and actions, all her words and sentiments lay only in his head…

… and yet he could feel her gently smiling at him, and her pose becoming slowly, only slowly and very slightly, very smoothly more open and receptive, welcoming him to her warm, muscular embrace. “Love…”

He nested on her arms, several kisses blossoming on her face, then her neck, then her strong, muscular shoulders. “Your body is such a wall.” He curled on her torso. “Such a cradle of… power.” His lips met her muscles, her many, many muscles, making them warmer and firmer. “So unlike… her.”

Before he knew it, he had turned soft, fallen asleep on her body, snoozing on her bountiful breasts just as the memories receded into dreams.

«Yes, lover. Tell me.» A voice peered into his mind. «Show me how amazing it was this night of yours.»

* * *

Joshua sang atop of his lungs for the whole city to hear:

“What I saw yesterday
Is no more what I see t’day!
Searching for a child
That child wit’ut their shoes
Stepping, stepping in the snow
Crushed electrodes, tangled wires
Whispering in the cracks of the hanging tree
What I saw yesterday
Is no more than I see t’day!
Searching for a child
Who drinks the water
The water from the well, well dried up!
(Dried up! Dried up!)
No more water, no more no!
Stepping, stepping in the snow
Stepping in the snow without its shoes!
No more shoes, no more water
No more child
No more memories
No more no!
I will still stir no more memories
No more memories
I will still stir no more memories
No more memories
No more no!”

The trio laughed and followed him closely. “Okay, Josh, tone it down.” Jonathan chided him, keeping a nervous eye on the buildings across the street. “No getting into fights like last time.”

“Fights? Fights?! No fights with *hic!* Jooosh! Josh’s love!”

“Ja, ja!” Jonathan puffed, exasperated, as he carried Joshua by the torso, keeping him balanced with one arm over his shoulders while his body swayed wildly in every direction. “Just please, uh, stay… ugh, stay put!”

Then… “Hein fukkerts!” The fiend switched from druken joy to unending wrath. “Værdøse, kastrade vilswinne!”

“There, there, tiger.” Johanna strolled behind them, laughing off Jojo’s misery. “We’re all very proud of you. No one is going to dare rob us now that you’re here.” Jonathan’s tensed expression, as if his face had become a pressure pot, added jolly to her giggles. “You’re both very, veeewy brave!” She hugged an arm by her side, causing the tension to rise and the temperature to boil the waves that were crashing beside them. “Now, now, my big, strong, burly men, let’s cool off a bit. You both had enough bravery for the month.” Her voice climbed a few octaves, a mommy pecking on her children’s cheeks.

That doting tone caused the temperature to rise further on poor John’s head, melting his brain as the threads of his thoughts seeped through his nostrils. «She’s hugging me.» He looked to his left, her hands wrapped around his arm and her torso leaning against his. «She’s… hugging me.»

The waves crashed and sprinkled the foursome with much-needed ice. They walked alongside the ocean banks, risen from the breaking waves a dozen feet or so, and separated from the waters by white and elegant balustrades, which had been built, like most things in that city, so as to resemble marble.

“I always get this.” Jonathan muttered to himself as Joshua began to sing again. “Always get the task of babysitting your drunken ass!”

“No more pains! No more struggles! Oh, sweet child, no *hic!* No more no!”

The waves crashed, and their coolness tamed John’s heart. «Hmm.» He looked to his left. A beautiful woman was there, hugging him. «In a way, she’s like… her.» A couple more steps were spent as his brain slowly regained its form. «She barely weighs a thing when she’s walking with me.»

Her every step was laden with lightness, her inquisitive gaze stripping bare every detail on the streets, from the lamposts glimmering with blue to the two huge, mirrored moons in the horizon—one on the sky, the other by the sea. She walked as if she owned the city, her chin high, her breast tall, and her eyes turning often to check on that most dilettante member of the quartet. “How ya doing, bello?”

John always felt a cozy warmth when he heard her voice like that. “Hmm.” To her verbose love, all he could muster was a monotone nod. “Hmm.”

“Hmm! Hmm!” She hugged him harder. “Mysterious.”

Several silent steps were given, the crashing waves and the soothing winds being the only music they needed. “It’s getting late.” Jonathan checked his watch, then the street to their right. “Come.” Judging by Joshua’s sickly, animalistic noises, it seemed like he was just seconds away from puking. “Stop’s down there. Half a mile close.”

“At least I got meself some sweet franchesa booty!!” Joshua cried out in pride, a small strip of paper shaking between two fingers. “Darn-ee-ooo!! Im’ma get some sweet culo soon!”

“There, there, steed.” Johanna giggled, following them more closely. “Will be a wonder if her address is actually right. Shitfaced as you both were, it’s amazing you got anything other than childish scribbles.”

Joshua released himself from Jonathan’s grip. “Hey!” The friend grasped for the drunkard, but quickly realized it would be more trouble than it was worth. “Suit yourself. If you fall into the sea, I am not jumping after you.”

His words fell on deaf ears, for Josh only had ears for Johanna. “Oh, I see. I see it there, Joh.” His smile outshone the moon. “You’re jealous. Don’t tell me you ain’t.”

This time, it was John’s turn to be released, his body growing colder and his soul lonelier as the woman crossed her arms and turned her head away with a scoff. “Neja ai! I’m just… laughing at your miserable state, honestly.” Her eyes, in spite of her mouth, always returned to Joshua’s body without fail. “How sad, Joshua! I remember the time when your body could take more booze than this.”

“Is it one’s fault, jähre? Time is a thing. We all grow old.” His voice lost all traces of stupor. “I’m no longer the young steed you got used to.”

Johanna kept her arms crossed. “No one’s fault, you say?” There was a playfulness in the way she swung and swayed her hips, her legs crossing with cocky self-assurance. “I remember someone was at fault, clearly, and quite faulty this someone was.”

Out of nowhere…

*Bump!*

Joshua dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together, his smile like a third moon on the land, the piece of paper firmly squeezed between his fingers, but altogether ignored, forgotten. “Oh, Johanna, I’m… *hic!* I’m sorry! I am so incredibly sorry!”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry steed, sorry ass.”

“Do not doubt my words, hardi maia.” He winked. Then burped. “I am drunk! The words of a drunken man might not be beautiful, but they’re always honest!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I really am, mái harta!” He hiccuped. “Sorry, I mean.”

“Oh, oh.” Johanna stopped. “I am harta now? Mái harta again, eh?” She turned her cheek. “Ship’s long sailed. You’ve been long left at port. I hope you know it.”

“Not for a day do I forget, Joh.” Joshua licked his lips in a way that… it was difficult to describe. Or not pay attention to. “Not for a day can I forget, Johanna, for how could I? How could any man?”

“Mmph!” Still, with her many glances, she couldn’t help but pity him, nor meet his face with a gentle blush. “You’re a second-rate barn breeder, you know that?”

“Ay.” Joshua’s smile was triumphant. “But a breeder still I am, eh?”

Johanna scoffed, pulled away, yet ended up closer to him somehow. “If there’s a good thing that came out of our… fling, you poisonous demon, is that I learned to have standards.”

“You sure did.” Joshua’s grin flared. “For I set those standards. Now, thanks to me, you finally know what a real man tastes like.”

Johanna laughed, and John felt a weight, a constriction on his heart. «Ouch.» It was that same open, loud, tremendous laughter that she had given back at the bar: sharp, piercing, incisive. Destructive. To hear it was to be cut, to have one’s heart mercilessly slashed. “BWAH!! HAH!! HAHAHAHAHA…!!” The pain of that laughter wasn’t all too unfamiliar to John, hence his shortness of breath, the gnawing pangs in his heart, all that agony and asphyxiation forcing him to lift one hand to his breast and squeeze it, hoping to relieve it and calm it down.

«How… how…?» His eyes turned to Joshua, whose grin, though a little slimmer, was still shiny and warm. «How… h-how can…?»

How could anyone hear that laughter and not shrivel in fear?

“You’re funny. I give you that.” Johanna quipped, wiping the tears off her face, and her initial words were a little vacillating as they squeezed past the gushes of her dying chortles, freeing themselves from her throat. “That’s why I got into you in the first place.”

“And why I got into you as well.”

Johanna gave him an icy look. “Be quiet now, you perpetual five-year-old, for we are in the presence of respectable people.” She looked at John, who seized up, hard as a stick (and just as thin). “Real men, at last, not fickle little fillies like you!”

“Uh-huh.” Joshua looked at John, whose redness was all the more obvious under the moonlight.

“Folks, can we move?” Jonathan tapped his feet a couple of yards ahead of them. “I’ve got a tram to catch.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joshua went ahead, tripping over his feet, nearly rolling over the baluster and into the sea. “Hare, fukk!”

The only reason why he didn’t was Jonathan. “I always have to babysit your ass.” He grumbled, grappling the irredeemable fiend on one arm. “How come I always end up playing the babysitter?”

“Because you love me and you care for me, nana!” Joshua moved in and… *mwah!!* Smacked a loud kiss on Jonathan’s cheek. “And I loved you t-”

*Slap!*

Joshua was quickly silenced as Jonathan’s palm landed on his cheek—a soft blow, judging by its target’s negligible flinch, but painful enough to cause Joshua to curse and attempt to wrestle with Jonathan.

“Boys, boys, no fighting.” Johanna clapped, tugging John along again by the arm. “This is what we get, querido Joãozito, by going out with a bunch of five-year-olds.”

Joshua pulled away from Jonathan, waving one fist at Johanna’s face. “Huh! Huh! And you’re sooo much more mature than we are, eh, ye devil woman?” The small piece of paper flapped on his clutched fingers. “You’re jealous! Stop hiding it. Tell me: would an eternal five-year-old get the address d’un fino culo franco like hers?” He stretched his arm, showing her the little paper more closely. “You saw her, Joh. Shitfaced or not, you can’t deny her looks.” His grin burned with the arrogance of a man with no real problems in life. “She’s a hottie! And a red-hair just like you!”

John pulled back for a split second, flinching as he heard Joshua’s tone and saw his wicked grin. «Mas que homem!» The thought crossed his mind as his heart beat a little faster.

Joshua had the face and the attitude, if not the body of those men he worked with tirelessly on his projects: a daredeviling lothario whose exploits he only witnessed in the filthy works of some of his clients—or in the darkest corners of his imagination. «Senhor dos céus…!»

The presence of that man intimidated him, but Johanna was there, thankfully, to remind both him and Joshua of who was in charge.

“I see.” With a calm smirk and a feline sway, she plucked the piece of paper from Joshua’s hands and flicked it into the sea.

“NAAAI!!” Joshua cried, running towards the waves, reaching out fruitlessly to the paper as it became smaller, then finally disappeared into the starless sky, carried on by the artic winds over the dead seas and into the realm of the moon. “What have you done, you c-!”

“Enough of your goddamned clown show, you piece of shit!!” Jonathan pulled him from the shirt and restrained him, this time aggressively, with an arm around his neck. “You’re going to get yourself drowned, you cockless donkey!”

“She threw away my culo, Jojo!” Once imposing and indestructible, Joshua sounded now exactly like what Johanna had deemed him to be: a five-year-old. One whose toys had just been stolen by another bigger, stronger kid. “She threw away my pussy, Joey!”

“Serves you fucking right, fuckhead! Now come before I’m forced to knock your miserable ass and carry you passed out again to your fucking hole!”

John winced as he saw Jonathan handle him with such assertiveness. “They’re… they’re not going to fight, are they?” He whispered to Johanna, hoping to get some reassurance from her.

“Who knows?” She gave him none. “Let’s keep an eye on them, make sure they behave.”

John wondered what he could possibly do in case they didn’t behave, but somehow none of it mattered that night, with that warmth by his side, Johanna hugging him so kindly. She was light as a leaf falling from the tree, gliding onto the ground, yet he knew she was firm; that she could latch to his body like an anchor whenever she wanted. «She’s a diamond.» It occurred to him: a frail-looking stone, but said to be the hardest of rocks. «And quite precious.»

He cast more frequent and open looks at her as they walked. With every step, she seemed to be getting closer to him, hugging him harder, and at every yard he felt he was blushing less intensely, and the pace of his heartbeats becoming more subdued.

“Not to be a pain, but let’s move, folks, shall we?” Jonathan shook the watch on his wrist. “There’s a cart only every two hours at this time and I’ve got work early tomorrow, too.”

“How’s that so?” Johanna asked. “Iørdag ist!”

“Sadly, Johanna, not everyone is born with a purse up their behinds like you.” He growled. “I only get one day out a week.”

“That’s rude!” She stomped. “Isn’t it illegal?”

“I can assure you it most definitely isn’t.”

“Everyone needs at least two days of leisure a week!”

Joshua turned, fighting against the tight lock of Jojo’s arm. “Don’t you work, like, all the time, Joh?”

“Well, that’s different.” She beamed. “For one, I love what I do. Ain’t much work if you’re enjoying yourself. And two: I’m literally the one keeping the lights on.” She pointed to a lamp as they walked by it, looking at it with the same sense of ownership as she did everything else. “The nature of my job requires… hmm, how would you say it… a little more tact.”

“Ja. Keep rubbing it on our faces.” Joshua jeered. “The pain of poverty isn’t stinging hard enough, after all.”

“There’s still time for you to turn your life around, you feeble donkey.” She pulled John a little faster. “I’m talking only to Joshua, okay, Jojo? This doesn’t apply to you.”

“Noted.” Jonathan calmly replied.

“If you’re talking about finding better opportunities, I guess I need to remind you of the land you’re in.” Joshua retorted, little lightness now clinging to his tone. “Or what? Have you been spending so much time away in that plant that you became so clueless about reality outside of it? Or is it that thing about rich people, that you’re all too detached from reality to care?”

Johanna puffed. “The former.” There was a slight contrition in her voice. “Working too much, granted. These past couple of months have been on the backbreaking end of the scale, I admit.” She cracked a trembling smile. “Backbreaking enough to test one’s love for their craft, even.”

The two friends ahead walked a little slower, turning from time to time to check on her. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” Jonathan asked. “It has been a while since we last saw you.”

“And I am sorry for that, Jojo. I am good, yes, I am okay. There is no need to be concerned.” She drew a deep, deep breath. “Almost a year since the whole thing started. Spent entire weeks cooked up in that plant, can you believe it? A whole month straight in the worst of it, and two whole weeks even just now, with everything almost taken care of, all things mostly in place.”

“Häevla thorun!” Joshua griped. “Pay aside, how can anyone love a job like this?”

Johanna hugged John harder by his arm, spreading the warmth of summer on his head, flowers blossoming and birds chirping all over his brain. “Hmm. Beyond the storm, the plenty. Worst’s long past now. Like springtime past the winter, I guess, I can finally blossom again.”

“Had a vacation yet? Or is your job so important that even this is denied to you?”

She chuckled. “So nice you asked this.” An enigmatic grin sprang up on her face. “I shall get perhaps even more than a vacation. Something a little bigger, a little braver, I’m planning.”

“Oh, oh.” Joshua tried slowing down, but he knew better than to dare and pull back against Jonathan. “Care to tell?” To this question, he saw her simply shake her head and grin enigmatically. “Huh. Mysterious girl, eh?”

Their feet met more ground until the street had merged with another and widened out into a boulevard, catching John’s attention. «Goodness.» Was that the same wide street that led to his home? «We’re so far away, though.»

The waves crashed on his left. The four walkers were swaying gently like mariners on the high seas, the booze muffling their minds like soft pillows, adding such great weight to their eyelids. “There we have it.” Jonathan pointed ahead, at a box of light rising from the middle of the road. “And we got some time to spare.” He checked his watch before pulling Josua with him. “Come, Josh. That’s our stop.”

And then a voice… “Stop it, Jonathan.”

So he did. John was knocked awake as he saw the resolute wall of his friend crumbling like a sandcastle. How could anything have such an effect on such a responsible guy like him? After a whole night with him keeping discipline in the gang, like a father or a chieftain, acting as the harbor that kept each boat from floating adrift?

«Of course it’s her.» John was delighted by the tender smile on his cheeks, his ears even more delighted by the echoes of the words Johanna had uttered:

“Stop it, Jonathan. Why the worry if we’ve got time and the platform’s in sight?”

“Well…” Jojo mused and found nothing. “You’re right.” He shook the drunken Joshua in his arms. “Guess keeping this animal on a leash gets to one’s nerves.”

“I can vouch for that.” Johanna giggled, much to Joshua’s dismay:

“I am quiet now, you devils. Give a wasted hobo some peace. Hmmm…!” He held on to his forehead, the veins popping around his temples. “I *hic!*… humbug… booze finally’s hitting like an anvil to the liver.”

“Weak.” Johanna laughed. “So weak!”

“Shut it, Joh.” He grumbled, and the rolls of his eyes were visible even when his face was not. “Really, fuck you. I digged that chick.”

“I am sure you will find more culos to replace her.” She griped, her hands tightening on John’s arm. “Like her pretty bun replaced mine, rows of buns will replace hers. That I am sure of.”

John could hear the tightening of their hug as Johanna’s eyes, however, seemed anchored on Joshua’s back. «I guess I can’t blame her.» He sighed, seeing her like a single, tiny tugboat hopelessly attached to a runaway cruiser, struggling and battling to pull it toward safe harbors and tame waters, but always failing, being pushed back instead to an unending, fruitless tempest.

«I guess they do prefer the storms over the harbors.» John cast a look upon Johanna, whose eyes still were all Joshua’s. «I cannot blame her.» His musings, at the pace of millions for every step, tended towards two general directions. One, the plainspoken. «For a man like him, it’s caution to the wind! Even when he means trouble.» He allowed his eyes to lock onto Joshua’s wide shoulders and elegant back. «Especially when he means trouble.»

Two, the philosophical. «Women are natural harbors. They crave no order, for they already are such. For them, the tempest is a godsend. They’ve got only to gain in mixing with hurricanes, for this is true balance to them.» He blushed, then lowered his head, almost defeated. «All women crave the storm, for it is the storm that gives them meaning, that proves their worth as women. After all…» He smiled. «What makes a harbor if not the storm? What need would there be for safe havens if there weren’t any tempests?»

One step was given once his thoughts commenced, another when they wrapped. When John raised his head again, he saw Joshua uncoupling from Jonathan’s arms, turning to them, and walking backward as they went.

“Next fuss you cause, I’ll quiet you down with a punch.” Jonathan warned him, and Joshua simply dismissed him with calm gestures and quiet whispers.

“You still bitter, eh? Jähreh Joh?”

“Disappointed. More like it.”

“Another chance, will you?”

John felt the pressure of the hug tightening, reaching deep into his bones. “Ouch.”

“Never.”

Joshua pointed a finger at her. “Liar.”

“I have never lied.” She stopped, and her frame grew larger than a lion’s as she raised her hand to her mouth. “Read my lips: you can talk to your friends, talk to my friends, talk to me, and it won’t matter, for we… are never, ever, ever getting back together.”

Joshua raised his hands and spun around on his heels before Jonathan grumbled. “Quip all you like, you two, but walk as you quip, alright?”

“Yes, Jojo.” Both Josua and Johanna answered, chuckling thereafter.

“Tight on me.” Johanna pulled John harder to her chest. “I am not safe when this devil is around.”

“And you think he will make you safe?” There was some awful honesty in Joshua’s provocation. “No offense, my mate.”

Johanna pointed a finger at him, then at herself. “You talk to me and leave Joãozito alone.” She rubbed her pretty face on John’s arm. “His soul is still pure and untarnished. I need to enjoy it while I can, dig it for treasures while it’s still rich with honesty.”

John’s face turned many colors as the conversation, as usual, soldiered on without his voice. “As if you weren’t the defiler yourself.” The seriousness in Joshua’s voice added weight to his words. “Have you ever considered, jähreh Joh, that it was not me who pushed you out, but you who scared me off?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “I’m keenly aware I’m no saint.”

Joshua snapped his fingers, pointed at her. “So you do admit there was a one-sidedness in our coupling, and not one bent in my favor, eh?”

“Sure.” Again, a shrug. “Where are you getting at, Josh? That I should have given you any more than what I gave you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Joshua, I am a woman of many duties and many needs. With all due respect, I feel no desire to tend to the wants of petty males, especially ones whom I deem so inferior to myself.”

There was a hitch on Joshua’s steps. “You’re calling this ass inferior to yours?” He turned around, drawing attention to his buttocks, and it was only then that John noticed the generous prominence of that lad’s rear.

«Damn.» He moistened his lips. «This is a great ass.»

Johanna, however… “Asses are not hearts. Hearts you cultivate. Asses you consume, then throw away when you’re done with them.”

“You’re full of shit, Joan.”

“You’re the big ass here. If anyone, the shit belongs to you.”

“Guys, guys,” Jonathan was rubbing his forehead hard. “I know we’re walking and we’re on time, but…” His gestures became erratic. “Can you tone it down on this, uh… whatever this conversation is? I swear to the gods, you two are giving me migraines.”

“Sorr-o, Jojo.” Johanna giggled. She spoke with the casual disdain of an explorer to whom a territory, though stunning, had become very familiar.

“Mmph. Act dismissive all you want. I know your tastes and I know what I got.”

“I’ve never been one to deny my desires.” Johanna locked her eyes on Joshua’s derrière. “Hot asses are rare assets. I shall praise them if they are praiseworthy, and I never said yours weren’t.”

“So what’s the matter? Oh, I get it: you consumed my ass and now you cast it aside like it was nothing?”

“Why the shock, Josh? What’s the worth of a fruit once you sucked out all the juice?”

“So,” Joshua grinned devilishly, “you sucked out all the juice from my ass? With what, a straw?”

“Guys!” Jonathan erupted. “I swear you people cannot say these things on purpose!”

“Eyes on the streets, Jojo.” Johanna waved him off. “Don’t wanna be missing your train, do ya?”

“Thorin thormund!” Jonathan walked faster and further ahead, leaving the trio to walk even slower behind him.

“You never lie, eh? Bullshit.” Joshua made semi-aggressive gestures at her. “There’s a whole lot more juice to squeeze from this bun, from this bod of mine.”

“Now you’re just repeating yourself. What is it? Pettiness?” She giggled. “It is a nice bun. Used to be nicer, though.” She tilted her head. “What happened, Josh? You’re thinner, paler, more frailer now. What gives?” Her eyes dripped with poison. “This nord ain’t killing as many boars as he used to, huh?”

“Hard times struck us all, Johanna, and hard. Hard and all at once.”

“Oh, jäevla, this again.” Johanna grumbled, rolled her eyes, but couldn’t sound entirely dismissive as she scorned the idea. “Look, times have always been hard, ‘least since I remember them. They’ve been hard on my parents, they’ve been hard on me.”

This time, it was Jonathan’s turn to side with Joshua against her. “Johanna, you’re not seriously comparing yourself to us, are you?”

“Not in any way, Jojo. It’s just…” Again, her resoluteness faltered. “It’s Josh. Joshua specifically, okay? Maybe if you had chosen to do one thing in your life instead of, I don’t know, jumping from half-assed idea to half-assed plan, you’d find yourself on much firmer footing by now.”

“Oh, would I?”

“Yes, you would.”

“Do you believe this that you’re saying right now?”

“I…”

She was silent. Joshua pressed on. “Excluding people from your circle—people whom you’ve known and interacted with since you were a kitten—what honest, hard-working individual without great parents or great fortune or even thicker-than-average connections (like those from your circle) has ever made it in this land?” He felt the need to specify it further. “In this land, mind you. Not emigrating (or trying to), not being abducted and sold off to some vërschtaffen-fürhlen markans or worse? Someone who did honest work, regular work here, right here, all their lives, and who is now living a good life?”

Johanna puffed, crossing her arms, tapping one foot on the ground. “I would say Lars… Felix… but no. One of them was born… quite well-off, well above average, at least, and the other… hmm… he also doesn’t apply. Wasn’t born wealthy, but was chaperoned by wealthy people. He’s even considering emigrating nowadays the fancy way, by plane, for he saved so much money.”

“Ja, ja, Johanna, I think you’ve got the point.” Jonathan gestured at her. “Don’t go speaking to yourself now.”

“So.” Joshua smiled. No arrogance, no provocation in his grin, just the basic satisfaction of being proven right. “No one you can think of?”

“That I know for sure?” She shook her head. “Nej. All I know is legends and myths. Gossips and hearsays, you see.”

“So you got the point, eh?”

“Which is?”

Joshua sighed. “Not exactly a matter of choice that I have to struggle a little harder as time goes on, or that my body gets a little frailer as food gets worse and… harder to come by.”

“You’re not that poor.”

“That’s not the point, Joh.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“You condemn me for jumping from half-assed idea to half-assed plan as if there was literally any other way for a man to try and make it big. ‘Making it big’, mind you, is not about the ‘big’ per se. It’s about dignity. The only way for one to have dignity is to get like, really lucky. And to get really, really lucky, you need to take really, really great risks—which is what I did.” He surprised the group by walking faster now, forcing the other three to follow him until they had reached the stop. “But that’s the thing about risk, Johanna: it’s risky.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She stretched one arm out, offering her open palm as a sign of peace.

“Very few people actually make it. No one has any option, though: you either risk it or you lose it. If you risk it, you can make it or lose it. If you don’t risk it, you lose it for sure.” He shrugged, the vapor flowing densely from his nostrils, the night finally starting to become really, really cold. “It’s a miserable state of affairs, I know, but it is what we have. Don’t condemn me, then, for at least trying out my luck.”

Many seconds of silence passed. “I am sorry.” Johanna looked at him as if her eyes alone would apologize for her. “This is… something very dear to you, isn’t it?”

Joshua smiled, winked, and clicked his tongue. “Nah, not that much.” He tapped on her shoulder. “I’m a fiend, after all. A bum, truly. I have failed, but didn’t mind failing that much. Ultimately,” he shrugged, “I’m an unambitious ass. I deserve to be put in my place from time to time.”

She giggled. “Then what was all this about? All this talk? Just to humble me?”

“Kind of.” Joshua gestured ambivalently. “You got a little too cocky for my taste and, I gotta confess, this line of thinking gets on my nerves. Just squaring things, you know? You’re right for calling me lazy, but I am right for calling you an entitled little shithead sometimes.” He pinched her nose, pulled her head a little. “You spoiled-ass princess.”

“Heheheh, stop it. Oh!”

*Mwah!*

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, and John was left without words. He already had no words to give and was left with even less as Joshua pulled Johanna’s face by her nose and… *Mwah!* Stole a kiss from her lips.

A second passed. Another followed. The wind howled, and the waves crashed more evenly on the shores.

A third second passed. A fourth one followed. Johanna raised a finger to that man, turning her blushing face away and moistening her lips with her tongue. “No.” She said, her tone mostly firm. “No.” She feared looking at Joshua again, her eyes getting lost in his tempting bravado. “You will not… do this again. You hear me?”

Joshua played it cool, swaying his body so smarmily, having a smile on his face like the world’s sexiest sleazebag. “I will not, even though you liked it-”

“Joshua!”

…

…

Even the waves stopped crashing. “Umm.” Joshua undid his fiendish pose and looked straight into Johanna’s eyes, contrition burning in his gaze. “I am sorry.”

Johanna pulled John with her, moving away from the upset lover. “I guess João is such a case.” She pulled him even closer, smiling as he noticed his (predictably) shocked reaction. “He wasn’t born rich…”

“As far as we know.”

“… and he made a good life for himself here, at the world’s end.” She turned to him, seeing the poor man’s face go from yellow to green to pink to blue to red and then all over the rainbow in every blink of the eye. “Isn’t that true, Joãozito?”

“I… I- I… I…”

Joshua shook his head. “He immigrated here, and immigrants are generally successful off the bat. Besides,” he put his arms akimbo, “how do we even know if he’s a regular fellow or not? As far as we know, he might be a lottery winner or…”

“Alright, Joshua, shoosh.” She caressed her face on John’s shoulder, taking advantage of his trembling to massage her cheeks. “Sorry for bringing you into this, João. Will not happen again.”

“…or he might be a criminal, for all we know. Of the international type.”

“Joshua, mind the bullshit.”

“I mean it, Jojo. Just think about it: he steals some large fortune from down there, down in the tropics, like, some hidden treasure from some druglord or something like it, then goes on the run, escapes to wherever he can, crosses the ocean, and lands here, in the middle of nowhere, which is where I think not even the most powerful person from the New World can reach him.”

Jonathan raised one fist. “Remember what I said about your mouth, bullshit, and my fist?”

Joshua raised both hands. “Think about it, though: how does one cross that whole ass ocean and ends up here, here of all places?” He turned his eyes to John, who was beyond dead at that point. “One must be resourceful. One must be rich. One must be crafty and wise enough to keep their mouths shut.” He pointed at John’s face. “Which he seems absolutely excellent at, mind you.”

“Joshua, you will stop this?” Johanna quipped, not all too serious.

“You know what they say about the quiet ones.”

“Hmmrmm…”

The trio heard John’s uncomfortable grumbling. “What is it, John?” Johanna moved her hands from his arm to his waist, hugging him fully, tightly with her entire being. “Are you upset? Does this talk annoy you?”

His eyes went up, down, sideways, up into space, and he grumbled, growled, produced the scant little words he could muster with his heart banging against his chest at five hundred blows a minute. “Hmm. I… it…” He gulped. “It kind of does.”

Immediately, with thunderous claps… *baam! Baam! Blaam!* Johanna commanded the attention of the other fiends. “Drop it. You shall leave João alone now. All your frail, flappy buns need to know is that he is much better off than the both of you, hence… he will stick with me!”

During this brief altercation, John and Johanna had moved apart. Johanna called out to him, inviting him back with tender gestures, but John stalled. Part of him refused to return to her—«It’s not… it isn’t… it’s just not right!»—part of him was too afraid regardless.

“Isn’t that right, João-bão-bão?” Not missing many beats, Johanna took it upon herself to reunite with her companion: she stepped towards him, wrapped one arm around his waist, and pulled him back to herself in a warm, calming embrace. “Rich-a folks-a stay together.”

“Hmm.” John looked away, looked afar, look everywhere but at her heart. “Ain’t rich.” He muttered, soft enough for only her to hear.

“Don’t matter.” She whispered back just as softly, and then further destabilized him by rubbing her face on his torso, just like a cat, humming and mewling as she enjoyed that self-massage on her cheeks.

“Doting on the poor boy, are you?”

“Of course, I am. And not a ‘boy,’ but a man. A real man! A man who commits!”

Joshua laughed. “Oh, that’s rich! That’s what you want now, Johanna? Commitment?”

“Sure! That’s what all women want!”

“Commitment flows both ways, you know.”

“I said I wanted commitment. I didn’t specify the type of commitment, however.” She saw Joshua tilt his head, slightly puzzled. “I want commitment to myself.” She cackled. “I never said I would be the one doing the committing.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Hm-hmm!” He nodded quickly, so adorably.

“You want puppies, that’s what you want!”

“I do!” Then quickly, as if rehearsed, Johanna turned to John and gloated. “And you would look so good on a leash, wouldn’t you, João?”

“…!”

“Johanna, leave t-”

“Eyes on the street, Jojo. On your precious tram.” Both John and the others, but John especially, seized up as they heard her intimidating tone. “Allow me, and only me, John, these indiscretions with you. Hmm? What do you think?”

John’s apple bounced vividly, electrically in his throat. “Hhm-rrm…” If he’d closed his eyes, he’d see words. Many, many words bouncing and bumping like electrons in his mind, a web of light shining from his brain, so many, many words colliding and breaking apart, forming more nonsense words and broken sentences, yet none of these words would ever, could ever see the light of the moon. “Hrmm… urhmm…” His torso began to quiver, the many, many words breaking him apart from inside out, their frenetic pace, bouncing and moving at the speed of light, cast flaring sparks in his brain, the rest of his mind a deep well of kerosene.

“You broke the poor lad again, Joh.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Just like that… “I get ya. You’re one out of the mold, a’ya? You’re very quiet for a ‘mericanito, I see.”

The bouncing quieted down, and the web of electricity dimmed into softer flames. “Uh…”

Looking at him, Johanna giggled. Each of her chuckles sounded like a meow. “I see. You’re more zeiny. On your own.” She pulled him harder, amazing him yet again with the disproportional strength she seemed to hide in that slender body. “I can play zeiny too. Or pretend that I am your big sister, protecting you from these bullies, warming you up on this cooling night.” She lowered her head to his shoulders and nested her beautiful face on his nape. “Or perhaps I can play the girlfriend. We’re boyfriend and girlfriend now, so we should stick together. It’s bad manners, after all, for a man to leave his girl away.”

It wasn’t just the cold. The shivering on John had become quite intense, enough to shake her head and make her words wobbly and funny. “Heh, heh, heh.” She placed one hand… one hand… oh!… on John’s chest. “Easy, easy. Hey.”

She looked up. It was the closest they’d ever been to each other. «By the gods…!» John stood idly, without a soul. Those were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, those pearly eyes of ocean blue.

Johanna’s hug tightened around his waist. He felt, however, only more room, more air inside of him. “There, there.” She whispered, her soft, warm air sending shivers down his spine, into his legs, making them weak and wobbly. “Trust me. I am not going to hurt you.” Then… oh. That delightful, devilish gleam in her eyes! “Unless you want me to.”

John gulped, heaved, yet… “m’kay.”

The simple sound left his lips like the gentlest stream, bringing upon Johanna such a smile that…

… that…

…

«Wow.»

He wanted to see nothing but that smile. Forever.

“There it is.” Jonathan muttered, looking at one far end of the street while calling for Joshua with one hand. “Come on, Josh. Let’s go home.”

The scoundrel seemed to refuse. His face looked heavier for some reason. Redder and more bloated, with his rapacious eyes consuming both John and Johanna with offputting ferocity. “Be careful there *hic!* Johnny boy!” He burped, his face swelling with every hiccup. “You know what they say about spiders, eh? The *hic!*… black widow types?”

From the northern end of the street, shining lights were glowing brighter. “I think it’s high time you go, you fiend.” Johanna pulled John tighter—oh! So! Much! Tighter! “Time for me to enjoy the company of a real man.”

The lights grew stronger. Jonathan raised one hand to his forehead, squinting to make out the tram in the brightness, its fuzzy silhouette becoming sharper as it approached to take them home.

Chapter Text

*GASP!*

His lungs woke him up, the shortness of breath like a noose around his neck. «What…?! Wha…?!» The pleasant memories of that night faded into the void. Memories? Or really just… dreams? «What is happening?!» He gasped and struggled. Something was squeezing his belly, crushing his guts. «Joh… anna?!»

He remembered, oh, he did so vividly, the tight embrace of Johanna around his waist, her lovely arms loving him further with a hug unlike any other he had ever gotten, ever, from any woman or any person whatever.

«O que…?! Cristo dos céus, o que está acontec-?!!» He tried getting up, sitting on the bed, but a much greater weight pulled him back, further deep into the sheets. «Deusdeusdeus…!!» Survival instinct kicked in, making him struggle harder. As with some plants and spider webs, however, the harder he struggled, the more trapped he became. «Please, please… solta!! Let me… oh!» He begged, he squealed, and then she screamed: “LET ME GO!!”

And the pressure around his belly… *Wrroooom!*

*Gasp!* A breath. Fresh air.

*Gasp! Gasp! Gasp!!* One breath. More breaths. Many breaths. Deep breaths. Desperate breaths. Relieved breaths. “Cristo! Cris… *gulp!* Cristo!”

Many seconds underwater, he felt he’d spent. An agony all the greater considering the frailty of his lungs. “What… oh, cristo, what…?!” He looked around. Moved his hands and tapped his bedsheets in the dark.

The mattress beneath him. The sweat on his body. A body. A body on his back. A hug. A tight hug on his body, around his belly, though no longer constricting, no longer suffocating as he’d felt just then. “What the fuck…?!” He fumbled around with his hands behind him, feeling hardness, toughness all over his fingers.

Muscles. Muscles the likes of which only a god could flaunt.

Power. Power so extreme only a hero could boast.

A mighty god, a mythic hero. A fake, plastic woman.

“Y-you…” He muttered, still gasping for air. With the greater laxness around his waist, he could finally turn around a bit and gaze upon… her. “You.” His hot breath touched her face and flowed back, much cooler, onto his skin. “You… what are you…?”

He looked around. Darkness. Darkness and sweat blurring his eyes. He touched his forehead, breathed deeply a couple more times, then relaxed again, the bedsheets clinging to his back, making wet noises with his excessive transpiration. «What… what has just happened?»

On his shoulders, very firm and lovely pats. «Love? Love. Love!» A voice growing concerned. A voice of true «love! Hey, love! My love! What’s going on?»

He rolled his eyes. «Not now. No. Not…»

He paused. The pain of his brain being split apart by conflicting thoughts caused him to halt and wonder, to ponder whether he really needed or wanted to be alone that night. Or any other night, forever.

«No. No more fantasies. No more fictions. Not tonight. Not now that I have…»

…

…

A girlfriend.

He had a girlfriend, after all.

*Broom!*

…

*Woom, woom… bruump!* Behind his back, the sounds of something moving. Of something… someone… big and heavy waking up, sitting by his side, and fondling his shoulders with strong, steady hands. «Let me be a fantasy.» There was a lot of disappointment in that voice, that voice of heavens, but also acceptance. Like someone owning up to one’s faults and learning to work around them. «So be it. But I am your fantasy, and that’s what I was meant to be.» Her fondles became firmer, like her tone. «Please, lover, do not deny me my purpose. Not any longer.»

He turned to her, his face still strained, his suffocation still echoing in his trembling eyes. “H-hey.”

He smiled, and his lover happily smiled back. «Hey.»

He reached out, and she took his hand like the most precious treasure on earth. That face! Heavens! The face of pure heavens. “H-hey.” He repeated, chuckling to himself. “I…”

Sensing his pain, she used both hands to… «Shhhh. Shhh. Shhhh.» Caress his chest, massage his torso. «Calm now. Calm, calm, calm.»

After a couple of minutes, sensing the quietness of her lover’s lungs and his heart at her fingertips, the woman took a deep, deeper breath, and then talked to him in a tone of pure, uncompromising love. «Alright, my darling. Can you tell what just happened?» Then, a crack in her voice, as if even her herculean demeanor and spartan might couldn’t totally hide the rifts of insecurity and worry in her breast. «You got me really scared just now.» Her voice faltered. Her smile was all the more perfect the more broken it became. «What is it? Should you call an ambulance? To the hospital, huh?»

He stared deep into her eyes. «These eyes!» Eyes of the purest beauty. They were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, those mystic pearls of hilly greens. “I…”

The lover placed her fingers on his lips, sensing the tremors and the hurt in his malformed muffles. «Alright, mister. No need to rush.» His body became even more relaxed. Her smile, so triumphant, proved how much she enjoyed that taming of his head. «You’re still nervous. I sense it. Take as many deep breaths as you’d like and… talk to me when you feel like it. Okay?» She took his hand. The gentle squeezes mirrored the glacial glints in her eyes. «But do talk to me. Okay?»

One minute. Two minutes. Three min- “Okay.” He nodded, and then nestled again on her torso, the weight of her breasts like soft pillows to his mind, sleeping pills to his nerves.

One minute. Two minutes. «Hey, mister.» She poked him. «No sleeping, though. Not before I know what happened to you.»

“Hmm… huh?” He rubbed his eyes, massaged his forehead. “I… I was hoping you would tell me.” He looked at her, her face so far higher, her torso so much greater, that he pictured himself like an ant talking to a rhino. “Did you… did you just…?”

She leaned a little closer to him, turning her head slightly to give him a fuller ear. «Hmm?»

He took a couple more breaths, the words still scrambled somewhere between his lungs. “Did you just… crush me right now?”

She was indignant at first, but conceded him the benefit of the doubt, given his state of confusion. «I was hugging you. I wasn’t crushing you.» She covered her mouth. «Did I… I mean, did you feel like I was crushing you??»

He looked down, stared at his own belly. “Hmm.” Now that he thought of it, many minutes after the fact, he wasn’t so sure of things anymore. “It… felt like it.” He touched his own belly, still feeling pangs of the grip burning with every heartbeat. “I never… never felt something like this before. In my sleep. Not, uh, when I’m alone.”

Both lovers stood in silence for a minute.

Two minutes.

Three…

The shadows moved softly around the room, faint traces of blue shifting places, changing hues as the clouds danced in the dome with the moon. «I was hugging you, but not crushing you.» The lover moved one hand close to her chin, the shocked and scared expression on her face showing that she too had doubts about her claims. Even her memory, unlike her body, wasn’t perfect. «I didn’t. I know I didn’t crush you.» She turned her face back to her lover, the shimmer in her eyes carrying the wetness of tears about to blossom. «I didn’t hurt you… d-did I?»

To see his woman crack like that, her voice splinter into countless slivers of doubt, oh, it crushed him even harder than any hug, and made him feel like an absolute monster. “No.” He reached out to her, his emotions talking faster than his tongue. “I mean… I don’t know.”

He looked at his belly. The memory of that squeeze… it was too palpable, too clear for it to have been… «just imagination? Well, she too is my imagination, yet I talk to her just as if she were real.» His mind balked at its own thoughts, pulses of heavy sentiment weighting on the heart of his brain. «Just as if she were real.» He repeated, and a silky touch came to warm his cheeks.

«You know I can hear your thoughts, don’t you?»

He smiled, yet touched her hand firmly, keeping it shyly away. “Well, don’t. My thoughts… they’re mine. Or at least that’s how I like to keep them. My thoughts only, and, uh, no one else’s.”

She giggled, her beautiful, huge face growing like a titan next to his. «Very well.» *Mwah* A kiss. A smooch. The last defenses of his heart all crumbling, then suddenly… all gone. «If your thoughts cannot belong to me, then at least can your memories?»

“Hm?”

She pulled back, rolling her eyes, sighing humorously. «What did you do yesterday? Last night… and all the morning, really? You were out for sooo long, you know.»

“Oh…”

The gorgeous lady looked down at her man, his face one to guard many beautiful secrets. «You never spent so long away from home. Not when you do groceries, not when you’re out to the doctor or any business in town.» She moved closer, herself like a planet and him like a petty meteor about to crash and be dissolved in its atmosphere. «Certainly not at night, and most definitely not overnight, moonlighting for an entire bloody day. I mean… wow! I’ve never seen you like this. You never have anything to do on nights… except for me. Maybe.»

He chuckled. Her tone, however, felt serious. Weighty. Her face surely was.

“I was out.”

She allowed the silence to slug on for a couple of seconds before she rolled her eyes and muttered. «I know. I noticed it.» She moved in again, her kiss on his cheek tasting like a worldful of blames. «What, however, were you out for? Hmm? What were doing last night, on a weekend’s eve, no less, which is always reserved to us, and only us?»

He looked at her, his eyes pulsating on a slightly different rhythm than his heart. “Hmm.” He thought of saying, but…

…no. «What would she think of it? What…?»

«…?» These thoughts. No thoughts. He had to silence them, for he knew his lover would be listening, just like she listened to all his thoughts, for she was his thoughts. «Did… did she…» One cannot really silence them, though. Not completely. Not for long. «My dreams. My… memories.»

…

Jojo.

…

Joshua.

…

…

Johanna…

…

… had she…

… had she listened to them?

*Tap!*

“Ouch!”

He rubbed one cheek, his lover giggling by his side. «Don’t be silent with me, mister.» She graced him, though, with a couple more seconds of silent reflecting. They giggled and laughed a little longer, enjoying the silliness of their casual love. Soon enough, though, she felt that the silliness required some sprinkles of seriousness in it. «I’m serious. I won’t listen to your thoughts, but I demand that I listen to your words.»

“Oh…” The memories of… her… flashes in and out of his head, drenching him with confidence. “You demand it, don’t you?”

«Of course.»

Her powerful arms slithered around his torso, their bulk and massiveness compressing his lungs and stealing his breath without a twinge of effort, even when they were at their softest and most relaxed. “Damn. Damn… woman!” He gulped. “Your muscles are… incredible.”

She smirked. «They are, aren’t they?» As all people with her physique and in those same circumstances would do, she raised one arm over her lover’s face… and flexed it. *Boom!* The entire universe seemed to ripple and be ripped apart with the hardening of her muscles, sounding like a mountain having suddenly sunk into a placid sea. «Takes some very good genetics and an insane amount of work to craft muscles this big and this beautiful.» She undid her flex, which in many ways was even more impressive and booming than the hardening itself. *Swooom!* «Glad you noticed it. Glad you like it.» Then… «You do like it, don’t you?»

He immediately grasped her thunderous biceps, the very touch of his fingers on that mountainous mass enough to cause sparks to flicker about. “What’s this question now? O-of course, I…” He gulped. “Of course I love it!”

She kept her eyes locked on him, waiting for his own gaze to falter and flee. «Then why don’t you share your night with me?»

One second. Another. Boom. There they went: his eyes moved away. “What does this have to do with…?” *Bunk!* “Ouch, ouch! Uurgh!” He recoiled on the bed, her fist having gently grazed a side of his belly. “Ow, ow, woman, don’t do this!”

«Mmph. I merely touched you.»

“Look at your size, then look at mine. Even a flick of your finger would… I don’t know. Break my neck. Rip my head off. Decapitate me clean, on the spot, and splatter my brain all over the place.”

«Ooo. Gory.»

“You know it’s true.” He massaged his waist, the heat of her fist adding to the vanishing pains of his previous agony. «Hmm.» It did feel familiar. That heat. That pain of her fist on his skin. «It’s like… it’s really her touch.» Her touch that bumped his belly. Her grip that crushed his lungs.

«I’m sorry.» Her voice stole his mind away.

“Mmph. What was this even for?”

«You were trying to run away. To change the subject.»

“I wasn’t.” He then looked up, his eyes drawn to her hand as she raised it and clutched her fist. “No! Don’t do it! Not again, I’m serious!”

She giggled. «I won’t.» She relaxed her fingers, yet toughened her face. «But you’ve ought to talk to me, mister. For real.»

“Hmm.”

She moved closer to him, like an overgrown bear breathing down the face of a pigmy dormouse. «There you go again, leaving the conversation, sighing your way out of the talk.»

“I’m…” She was right. “I…”

His eyes. Her eyes. Two eyes only.

Her fingers. His face. Gentle squeezes on his cheeks. «How do you like this?»

“Hmm…!” How easy would it be for her to crush his skull with those hands, and how delightful when she decided to use them for love instead. “Heaven.”

She giggled, her fat, heavy lips laying the thickest pecks on his cheek, his neck, all over his face. «This is what I was made for. This is what you have bought me for.»

“Oh… don’t say it like that.”

«Heh, heh. Like what?»

“Bought me for. You make me sound like a… I don’t know, a human trafficker.”

«You did traffic something, you know.” A pause. A wry smile. “You trafficked my heart.»

“Hah, hah.”

*Mwah!* Her kiss, oh…! With all her weight, all her might, all those muscles… damn! Even her kiss felt like a soft punch! «You’re an organ trafficker. You fiend!»

“Hah. Right.”

He had sweetness all over him: the warmth of her skin, the solidity of her muscles, the softness of the blankets, and the sweetness of the silence. «So.» She spoke, softly nibbling his cheeks with her lips. «You’re going to pretend I didn’t ask you a question? Going to hope that I forget it, is that it?»

“Oh, I…”

He looked at his own palms, stretching his fingers wide, then shut. He then looked out the window, to the beautiful moon that shone, still so high. «Wow. Did I sleep that long? A whole day over?» He looked back again at his fists. «Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am trying to avoid this conversation.»

Why would that be?

*Poke! Poke!*

«Hey, you.» She poked him on the belly. «You gorgeous. You handsome.» She sweetened her words with more kisses. *Mwah! Mwah!* «I’m serious. I need to know.»

“Well, it’s…” His eyes traveled back, the images of his memories and the present getting all switched up. “It’s kind of private.”

…

…

That’s it. *Brump!* He felt a change of energy on his side. Like a sudden movement, but with no real movement. «I know.»

With the weight of those two words, the sorrow and the pain sipping through the syllables, it was impossible for him not to wonder: «I’m in a real pickle, am I not?» He knew it, he felt it, for he was a man, and every man, no matter how imperfect, knew very well the weight of that tone when it came from a woman’s lips: the tone of an aggrieved lady on the very last straws of her heart.

“Hmm…” As gracious as he could be, he tried laying one palm on the back of her hands. “Love? Sweetheart?”

She recoiled from his touch. Only briefly. Still, his heart skipped a beat as she did, and her eyes, too, twitched away from his, her face very much tempted to turn away. Ultimately, her hands accepted his touch. She embraced his palm with one hand, though her face, her eyes, they remained terribly distant. «Is our love also not a private thing?»

Oh. “It is.”

«So am I not worthy of your privacy?» She looked at him. «Of knowing your life, just as I have known your pains and sorrows thus far?»

He pulled his hand, if only to protect his groin and curl in an ashamed, apologetic pose. “Did I offend you in any way?”

His woman huffed, puffed, and chose the silence for a while longer. It was easy to forget, with all her strength, size, and power, that she was a woman, still a woman, and quite a cute and adorable one at that. «Why do you hide this from me? I thought we were… already very intimate. These were things that I… as your lover… should know. Or that you shouldn’t feel ashamed or timid of telling me.» She turned to him, her eyes more gracious than before. «I understand most men don’t like this.»

He looked at her, his confusion slow to die. “Don’t like what?”

She raised one arm. *Boom!* Flexed it again. «This.» *Boom!* «Muscles. Not on a woman, that is.»

He was silent again. Nothing to do with shyness, though. «Cristo!» His jaw stood low, the drool hanging on his lower lip, his eyes totally enraptured by the bigness and the swoleness of that enormous, hard biceps. “What… w-… what...” He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

She smiled while unflexing her biceps, seeing how his eyes followed them closely as she lowered her arm. «So you do like these, huh?»

“O-of…!” Was that a trap? A joke? Some kind of clever ploy on her part? “Of course! Of fucking course I do! I told you so. Many, many times over, in fact.”

«Well… for a second now, I thought you didn’t mean it.»

“Why?”

She looked away, rolled her eyes, and looked back at him again, having checked on her thoughts in that split second of quick emotion. «I was wondering if maybe that’s what put you off. If that’s why you were acting so… distant.»

“I wasn’t acting…”

He was silenced. Her fingers rose so intimidatingly over his lips. «Sweetheart, now you listen. You don’t talk. You listen.» She winked. «Lesson number one in dealing with a woman: you listen. You don’t talk.» She winked again. «Vërßtant?»

He gulped. He nodded. “Ja.”

She wiggled so cutely, so content with her small, little victory. «Very well. So, I was wondering why you bought me off in the first place. Why go through all this expense and time…» She chuckled. «All the trouble of moving me around the house, you know… because I know I’m quite heavy.»

He chuckled too. “Yeah. Yes, you are.”

«I am.» She sounded immensely proud of it, and her muscles seemingly flexed on their own. «I was wondering, then, why go through all this and… not do anything with me.» Her eyes on him again. «You haven’t even laid me yet, you know.»

He looked down, his one head not of one mind. “I know.”

«But I get it. Oh, honey, don’t take these words the wrong way. I am not rushing you. Or at least, that’s not my intent.» She touched his shoulders, made sure he understood it. «Never once have I ever wished to hurry you. Never.» She smiled. «I would understand if all you wanted to do with me was talk. And kiss. And sweetly make out with me, enjoy my muscles… and my other features too.» She wiggled her shoulders, and her breasts then… *Broom! Bloom! Bloom-bloom-boom!* They sounded like huge, ripe, heavy tanks full of very thick liquid swinging so close to his face! «I get it. You have suffered so much. If all you want from me is support… that I heed your words, and with my kind, patient ears heal your wounds… I get it. But now you don’t even give me your words anymore. Makes me frustrated. A little mad, actually.»

He turned to her, and his breast burned with a novel flame of confidence. “Now, now, I think you’re exaggerating a little.”

«Oh? Am I?»

“Yes. Well… I think.” He looked at his palms. “I have always talked to you. Always, uh, made out with you.”

«Except when you needed the most. Like now.»

He shrugged. “Well, I was tired yesterday. Or, uh, today.” He had lost count of the time. “In any case, well, I was tired. Really tired, and… I needed some sleep.”

She moved a finger close to his cheeks. «You’re lying. Yes, you were tired, and yes, perhaps you needed some sleep, but…» Her face. Closer. Much closer. «That’s not the reason why you are quiet.»

He looked at her. His smile was almost inevitable. “You promised you would stay out of my mind.”

«And I am.» She moved in for a kiss. *Mwah!* «That’s not me reading your mind. That’s just me reading you, and you’re very transparent right now.»

“Hmm. Fine. What do you, uh, wish to know, then?”

They both gazed at one another longingly, his eyes offering her a peace deal. «What did you do yesterday? You spent a whole night, no, a whole day out. You can’t expect me to not be curious, to not want to know what you did, especially after… well… after everything.»

He raised his gaze. His eyes were drenched in curiosity. “Everything?”

She took a deep breath. «I wasn’t expecting this. Not so soon.» She lowered her gaze. «I didn’t think you were the type of guy who… went out. Spent a whole night out, a whole day walking around town, not a care in his mind.» She looked away and toward his desk, to the computer that all day long had sat still, shut off for so long. «You haven’t even been working as you used to.» She smiled. «I’m not scolding you, mind you. I think that’s amazing! All of this is amazing, don’t get me wrong: you going out, you enjoying yourself, you…» Deep breath, deep breath. «Being a man. A happy man. It’s so good. It’s all I ever wanted for you.»

His silence now was not born out of avoidance. If anything, it arose simply from him being so overwhelmed. “Thanks.” His throat couldn’t muster any more words than this. He felt they would be followed by tears if he tried.

«No problem, sugar.» A kiss. *Mwah!* And many other tiny kisses to accompany it: *Mwah, mwah, mwah…!* «My honeypot. My sweetie pie. This is where I wanted you to get to all this time: happiness. Fulfillment. It’s what I was made for, after all. But now… after all you’ve told me…» She touched her chest. «After all the tears you laid upon my breast… I didn’t expect you to actually move on so quickly, and so soon.»

“Oh, come. You really are, uh, blowing all of this out of proportion, you know?”

«Am I really?»

“Yes. Oh, yes, you are. I’m…” Throat. Swelling. Lips. Shivering. “I’m not happy. I’m not fulfilled.”

«But you’re out-and-about in town already, and that’s barely a day after you cried so deeply, so painfully in my arms.»

Her touch on his back… oh.

Her massage on his shoulders… oh.

It was all so firm, all so loving that they touched him deeply, all in his soul.

«I was wondering, then, if you had lied to me. If you, like most men, had grown used to your woman and bored of her already. Or… maybe…» She shrugged. «You had grown repulsed by my muscles, tired of my body after so few nights with it.»

He touched her hand. “What’s gotten to you?” He kissed her palm. The tireless rippling and bulging of her muscles… oh! It really messed all his thoughts up. Made scrambled eggs out of his mind, really painful for him to keep the focus on his words. “I mean… fuck.” He giggled. “Couldn’t be further from the truth!”

«It couldn’t, could it?» She smiled, her confidence growing back to its usual, stellar heights.

“Of course not. I mean…” He kissed and kissed and kissed her hand. “What a silly thing to think, really!”

«Well, I am a woman. A strong woman, a god of a woman, but still… a woman.» She winked. «Allow me a little moment of irrationality now and then.»

“Okay. So… is that all you feared?”

«Of course not, silly.» She flicked the tip of his nose. «And don’t you pretend you’re not paying attention.» She gave him a gnarly stare, fangs for eyes. «Where did you go? Why the change in attitude all of the sudden?»

“Well…” He looked away again, his fingers awkwardly changing places, twirling around as the words got lost in his maze of memories. “You remember Jonathan?”

She nodded. «The doorguy?» And giggled. «That sweet kid who helped you with me downstairs, when I was still in the box?»

“Yep. Him.”

«You were out with him?»

He nodded. “Remember I told you, couple of days ago, that he… uh… he had invited me out?”

«Oh.» It suddenly dawned on her. «Oh! So this was it, already?»

He nodded again. “Yes. I’ve been out with him and… friends.” Her. “We’ve been out to a bar.” He cherished that warmth he felt so sweetly in his breast. “It was… umm… really fun.”

…

…

…

«So?»

His eyes pretended there was nothing there. His ears, that nothing’d been said. “So?”

*Pump!* He got a light tap on his shoulder, a bump from her fist. «Tell me. Tell me all about it.»

“Oh…”

…

…

«Oh?»

“I mean… look…” He moved uncomfortably on the bed. “I just went out. With folks. There’s…” Breathe in. Breathe out. *Sigh* “There’s nothing special about it.” The blinds on his window fluttered. Perhaps the wind was the reason why his room had gotten so cooler, so quickly. «Hmm.»

He tried turning his eyes and glimpsing at his woman, with hope in his heart that he would see her only for what she was: a stiff, rigid doll laying by his side.

He saw her, indeed, stiff and rigid, but still… «Oh.» Very much alive. «Merda.»

Was it so easy for him to lose control of his imagination? His doll was still there, laid beside him, but her posture had sunk again into one of hurt defensiveness—a wall much greater, much more incomparable than all the walls in his home and all the tall edifices of that gray, sprawling complex.

«And now you’re pretending I’m not even here.» She spoke.

He flustered, holding his heart on his finger. “Love…”

*Slap!*

Thank the gods she had such a perfect, absolute control of her muscles. If this wasn’t the case, then the slap she just gave him would have ripped half of his face off. «And now you call me ‘love’, even though you don’t consider me as such.»

“Excuse me? I never…”

Halt. His words braked on their tracks, leaving dust and debris behind them. His woman had raised her palm again, and his face already hurt in anticipation of another blow. «I talk. You listen.»

“Hmm.” He nodded, simply, and she moved in closer. Closer. Her breath became his breath, her fire burning in his lungs, a total takeover of his body and soul.

«I talk.» She repeated, slow, slower, slowest. «You listen.»

His throat quivered, his breast sunk, his head… «Hmm!»

Up. Down.

A nod. And that was all.

«Mmph!» She mimicked his grunts, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps to tease him. «Your first night out.» She mused, and then looked at him. «This was your first night out, wasn’t it?» She saw him there, shaking, with his neck as stiff as the rest of his body. «You can talk now. Just now. Yes or no. Only this answer and nothing more.»

“Y-yes.”

«There were no other nights out before? No other, uh, hangouts I’m not aware of, huh?»

“No.”

«Mmph.»

Then again, with her arms abruptly crossed, she moved her face away once more. “Oh… gods in heaven…” He uttered, gulping as he heard a terrible, arousing sound. It was the loud sound of rubber stretching, of iron chains dragging over a rough floor, the potent boom of her overabundant muscles and her super tight, swollen torso battling for space with those super thick arms as she’d crossed them, making her entire body ripple with badly contained, barely restrained power.

«Makes it even worse, then. This is your first night out. Your very first night out. Oh! A most unique and wonderful milestone! And stilll… you want me to have nothing to do with it? Is that it?»

“Lov-”

*SLAP!!*

This time, his face did rip apart. He swore it.

«I. Talk.» She growled. «You. Listen.»

“…!”

It was said that male and female wolves, being roughly equal in strength, had a rich and varied familial life and a sort of egalitarian social structure in the wild, even more so than primordial humans, for whom sheer strength alone was enough to subdue their females into a life of boring placidity. Female wolves, on the other hand (or paw), when aggrieved with their males for whatever reason, were not shy of unleashing their fangs against said males, disciplining them just like pups. Every male-to-female interaction, so he heard, depended on the female’s consent and good mood, and every decision in the pack hinged on her approval, tacit or explicit, and even sex, no matter how starved a male was, was the female’s domain, and her wanting or not was the difference between a very happy daddy wolf and a very miserable, battered foe. Or so he’d heard.

When approached by a male on one of her moody nights, the female wolf would gnarl and show her teeth, and both male and female would engage in a tense, stiff dialogue of barks and growls and the clattering of sharp teeth. Minutes, sometimes hours would pass, with intervals where both male and female would quit growling and take a breather, only to resume the fight until the male either wore the female down or was himself worn out by her unwavering unwillingness, quitting the den to lick his wounds and try his luck again some other day. Or so he’d heard.

Just like said wolves, as he laid there, so small, so close to his much larger female, the simplest motions of her organs enough to cause a powerful rumble across the room, the bed, and even the walls quietly rippling with her power, he felt just like the poor wolf at the mercy of his female’s wiles, herself growling in his face with bloodlust, her offense too great to be soothed by his acquiescence alone. «Your first night out with friends. I was wondering how long it would take for it to happen. How much love I still needed to give you, how many kisses and kind words I had to lay upon your ears. Here was I, the fool, preparing for years of love and care and attention, preparing to spend at least as many years as you’ve been alive to repair all the damage that your incompetent mother and malignant neighbors did to you. Oh, the fool, the fool I was! Here was I, ready for a lifetime of labor, when all you needed was just a couple of weeks. Weeks!» She turned to him, her male reduced to a tardigrade, but without any of the resilience. «You are much stronger than you let out to be. You know that?»

He looked at her. His eyes dared cultivate some boldness and see her in a more straightforward manner, facing her head-on. She was smiling. That felt good. “I…”

She immediately raised a fist, one finger menacingly raised upright. «No words. Mommy’s still talking.»

“Hmm.”

The silence flowed like a broad stream, the waters soothing his ears as she prepared to make her strongest case. «I told you many times and I will tell you again: this is what I was made for. Period» The silence flowed a bit longer, nothing but their breaths to join the waters in their hum. «This body. This soul. They exist only for one reason: to give you love.» She looked at one palm, stretching her fingers back and forth as the immense muscles of her arms boomed and rumbled even with that minimal motion. «If you need no more love, you need no more me. Why don’t you just send me back, cast me aside?» She looked to her left, to the window, and smirked. «Or throw me out through the window, defenestrate me, and get this nonsense over with?»

He was shaking. Not with fear, but apprehension. Sensing the pile of words growing so perilously inside his throat, she conceded him a small, little grace. «Fine. You can speak once. Just this once.»

“You are being dramatic!”

«Oh?» There was silence again, and the doll for a split second wondered why. «Ah, yes. Keep talking. I will let you know when you must be quiet again.»

“Thanks, ma’am.”

«Aww, you cute.» She pinched his cheek, making him chuckle and cozy up to her much stronger body.

“You’re being dramatic, that’s what I want to say. Really dramatic. I guess you really… uh… you really are a woman, eh?”

«Yes.» She placed one hand on his waist, grabbing him in a most sensible spot. «Now, be cheeky with me again, mister, and I will…»

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, please…” He touched her hand reflexively. “Please, no. No. Please.”

«Mmph.» She looked away, her grip diminished, but her hand was still there. «I am dramatic. Fine. How come?»

“I would never st-…”

«Stop loving me?» She had thunders in her voice. «Let me go? Oh, let me see: I am everything to you. I’m the most beautiful, wonderful woman you’ve ever seen. I am incredible, I am precious, and you wouldn’t know what to do without me.» She froze her eyes on him. «I know how you think, oh, my petty boyfriend.» She pinched his cheek. «And I know how you talk. You think I haven’t heard enough? I know your tricks, and I know the verbal traps you love to lay down for yourself. And your women.» She looked away, a smirk born out of the acid in her body. «Women I wouldn’t be surprised to know you have plenty of, by the looks of it.»

His low gaze took many words from his ears, his eyes cowering behind his thumbs, his fingers dancing around each other. “B-boyfriend?”

She raised her hand, her fingers clearly reminding him of no words. Not a single word more, mister.

«Of course. Since the very day you took me out of that box, I’ve considered you my boyfriend. Or what?» Her eyes on him, weighing on his shoulders. «Don’t you consider me to be even that? Your girlfriend?»

“…”

«Is that so? I am not even a girlfriend in your eyes?» She turned away. Her enormousness made her look even cuter when she acted like that, like a regular girl, a tiny woman aggrieved with her teenage crush. «Perhaps you consider me to be just your mistress? Or worse, your prostitute?» She looked down at one hand and clutched her fist, on and off, seeing the tendons harden on her wrists along with all the muscles up her arm. «Not that I would be angry. This what I was made for, after all.» She took a deep, deep… deep breath. «I am strong. In and out. These things wouldn’t regularly affect me.» She turned her eyes back, oh, back at him. «But I do take umbrage with dishonesty. With being a two-faced double-dealing low-life scoundrel.» She booped her knee on his leg. «Mmph! Judging by the state of things, by how quickly you seem to be growing without me, I wouldn’t be shocked if you were just like any other man I knew. Just another low-grade steed who loooves spending time on other pastures, ingratiating himself with all sorts of young, sassy mares.» She looked at him, her eyes seemingly all-knowing. «Am I just that? Huh? Just another woman in a harem I know nothing of?» Her eyes moved away, all lost and confused. «Are there other women I should know about? Other lovers to pick up my mantle and take care of your heart? Hmm?»

“…”

«You can speak now.»

He took a deep breath. “Woman…”

«Woman?»

“I’m sorry. My love. My heart.”

«Hmm.»

“All this… just because I didn’t tell you-?”

«You can be quiet now.» And so he was. «You have been away for over a day. You slept here with me all evening, and you gave me not a word, not one peep, not one piece of mind about what happened the night prior. This has been… the most eventful night in your life, hasn’t it? Or the most eventful day in a really long time, has it not?» Silence. «Has it not?»

He nodded. The redness of his cheeks mixed with the blue from the moon. “Yes.”

«Then why don’t you want to talk about it?»

“Well… it’s…” Her. It’s her. All over his mind. All over her. “It’s my bad. I didn’t think it was… that important, you know.”

«Oh!»

“I know, I know.” He nodded in shame. “You didn’t think your first night out with friends was that important? Are you kidding me?” He looked at her. “That’s what you’re going to say, isn’t it?” And he got his cheek pinched again. “Ouch.”

«Clever, clever little mouse. Who’s reading whose mind now, eh?» She smiled, and he chuckled under her grace. «Yeah, yeah. Go laughing, you fiend. Go chuckling and keeping your secrets from me, you naughty bum, acting as if I haven’t noticed your changes, your…» She bit her lip, moved one hand over to his thigh, giving it a most lascivious… *squeeze!*

“Ouch!”

«Your cockiness. Growing as big and warm as your member.»

“Hmm!” He moved uncomfortably.

«Very well.» She immediately took her hand back.

“Am I… really changing like that? Or are you just saying this because you know that’s what I want to hear?” He looked away. “What I always wanted to feel?”

Her words came as low, threatening growls. «Are you calling me a liar?»

“No. Never.”

«Never, huh? So you’re just calling me a mistress? A prostitute? Someone worthy of your cock, but not your heart?»

“Cristo, amor! What’s up with you tonight?”

She pouted. «I am still a woman. Have to play the part once in a while.»

“Well, can you… huh, not play the part for n-?”

«No.»

“Oh.”

She pinched one side of his waist, then made her fingers “walk” along his naked belly. «So?»

“…”

«You’re supposed to talk now. Where were you last night, and what did you do?»

“Oh.” He mumbled. “What are you now? My mother?”

She raised her eyebrows and seemed to ponder on the question for a long while. «If that makes you hard, I can be.»

“Oh, you…” He turned away, smiling like a beautiful fool.

«Cutie.» She moved in for a kiss, and all the thoughts in his mind seemed to clear.

“Oh.” He turned and faced her. His hand met her cheek. “You are… really… distractingly beautiful.”

«Well, don’t let this beauty distract you from your responsibility, mister.» She pulled away, and some of the air from his lungs was pulled with her. «Speak. I demand to know how much fun you had last night.» She moved back in, a little closer, just a pinch. «How much fun you had without me, mister.»

“Oh. You demand, right?”

«Yes.» She nodded with such conviction! «Girlfriend privileges, don’t you know?»

“Oh, well… then I have to ask that you… uh, that you excuse me.”

«Oh?»

He looked at her, playfulness and fun tiptoeing in his eyes. “Yes. After all, it’s not… well… it’s not as if I’ve had many girlfriends before.”

«Mmph!»

“What do you mean mmph?”

«I mean…» She bumped her fist on his shoulder. «I doubt you, mister. Hiding secrets from me like this, getting out with your gang like that, I no longer know what type of man you are, what sort of boyfriend I have here with me, by my side.»

“Hah! I can assure you it’s, uh… still the same type of man.”

«I see, I see. The same type of hunk!»

“Ouch, ouch… hey… hah, hah, hah, hah!” She moved onto him, hands like claws, cuddling and tickling him on his sides. The pair laughed and played for a minute until their faces were drawn together, so very close, and their breaths were felt on each other’s hearts. “I… I…”

«Say it.» She kissed his cheek. «You can say these words without the fear of their weight. I was made for this. Built for this.» She bit his earlobe. Pulled it slow. And hard. «I am the training grounds of your heart. Say these words to me like you would the love of your life.»

Her image flashed in his mind. His eyes glittered, the image of his lover so much clearer now under the night. “I l-… like you.”

She smiled. Pulling him closer, she awarded him kiss after kiss after kiss under the blessings of the moonshine. «And I love you.» *Mwah* «I love you now. I loved you always.» *Mwah! Mwah!* «I will love you… forever.»

*Mwah!* Both lovers pulled away, each locked in contemplation until their hearts no longer kept their tongues at bay. “Fine. I will tell you.”

«Yaaay.» She moved in for another kiss, and he closed his eyes as that single kiss went on for sooo many minutes.

…

…

…

…

…

*Mwah!*

“Fine. I…” It took him another while to catch his breath. “Ooh, I… I was… fearful then, but… I am confident now.” He looked at her, breath still warm from her lips. “You’re my girlfriend, after all, eh?”

«I am. You’ve got a girlfriend all to yourself, mister.»

“Huh. Well… that’s good.” His eyes got lost, his sight dimming with the memories weaving in the sleep. “So… here’s what I did.”

Their bodies lingered warmly as the moon and the stars chilled coolly in the skies.

Chapter Text

«I’ve… got a girlfriend?»

He looked to his side. Johanna ripped through the gigantic pretzel like an animal, the sound of her starved, desperate bites sometimes mirroring, sometimes contrasting the waves that crashed on the shores. “Hmrrr! Zer gutt! Zer zwaißer gutt!”

He too carried a massive, almost two-palm-sized pretzel in his hand, yet he didn’t find in himself the stomach to eat it. How could he, after all, when by his side there was a lioness devouring her meal with such dispiriting, menacing lust?

“You don’t want this one, do ya?” She threw her napkins in a trash can. *BANG!* How the linen made such a loud and brash pop against the metal, John didn’t know, yet he got startled all the same. “I guess you had enough back in the bar.” Johanna allowed herself a very gentle, very damselly burp, covering her lips with her fingers and squinting so graciously as she relieved her esophagus from the impolite gas. “Oh, goodness, you’re shivering!” She laughed as she saw his trembling face. “Oh, your poor, poor thing! It’s the autumn winds, aren’t they?”

«No. It’s the fear from a stray bullet.» John thought, still hearing the loud *Bang!* she had made in the trash can, his sour, shoddy memories unearthed from very deep, long hidden chests. The memories of the crossfires in the favelas. The image of fire beetles whisking by the skies, bringing down meaty bodies from fast-flying choppers and inviting more flaming bugs, like thousands of little comets you could hold in your hand, to shoot back and erase many shacks, even small hills from nature, flattening the horizon red.

Johanna drew a deep breath, feeling the ice cooling her muscles. “Hare mai, yare mah! I will never get tired of them! Some people think it’s still too cold, but I think some people are just silly.” She purred like a lynx, then giggled to herself, making a silly dance around him. “So, sweetheart, will you have your pretzel or can I have it?”

“Hmm… no.” He gave it to her. “All yours, uh… Johanna.”

She took his dough with a rush, yet her expert, meticulous movements never made her look indelicate or uncouth. «Wow.» With his eyes irresistibly, unavoidably drawn to her, John could only battle with the furious thoughts in his mind, his voices gone awry, one side wanting to annihilate him, the other to uplift him, the two equally splitting him apart. Be careful there, John. You know what they say about spiders, don’t you? The black widow types?

Looking at her, John wondered how could a slender, elegant woman like her ever pose a danger to any man. «These spiders, the ones that devour their males…» He reasoned. «They are supposed to be huge, aren’t they?» Like his doll. Like his lover back in his shack.

You know what they say about the quiet ones.

There was this property in some animals, indeed, where the small preyed on the big, and the big cowered from the small. Seeing her pretty, little mouth munching on that biscuit, dandy like a doll, yet unrelenting like an ant, reducing a snack the size of her arm into crumbs snowing down from her pretty, little fingers… «Oh.» John realized that… yes. He could be danger.

“Darne! I swore this was it!” Jonathan grumbled in frustration. The lights they were seeing on the horizon a couple of seconds later became much dimmer, and eventually the gang noted that the vehicle was much smaller than it should have been: a simple beetle car passing by without much sound, not the big and long and louder worm they had been waiting for. “Schultz fükken!” Jonathan checked his watch. “They’re late. Quite late.”

Johanna laughed. “I told you, Jojo. I told you many times, but you don’t listen!” She moved her fists brusquely, emphatically around her head. “No one follows the time anymore. No one needs to.”

“Mmph!”

“You’re the only one who keeps track of time like it’s some religious matter. And, beg I ask you… why? Is it so demanding, your job as a doormat, I mean, a doorman, that you need to keep track of time like some bizzy bosses of mine?”

“Some people just like a little bit of order in their lives, Johanna.”

“Some people are silly. That’s what I think.” She threw her arms up, stretched them out until John could hear her joints cracking. “There were times for order. Now it’s time for chaos.”

“Right, right, Joh.”

“Take it from me: there’s no beating entropy. I know it. That’s my job, you see, knowing it! Not a laywoman’s opinion, but a scientific fact! All things in the universe are going to scatter into inert mass. All the flow of information will eventually, inevitably come to a halt.” She chuckled like a mistress confiding a secret to her lover. “Abandon your sweet memories of predictable times, or the hopes that they shall one day return.” She moved abruptly to Jonathan’s side, abandoning John to the wind and cold, and leaned over his shoulder to whisper in his ear like a devil. “Entropy is everything. Entropy is all. Whatever order you think you live in, you know what it truly is? An illusion!” Her heavy tone belonged to no woman, no man, quite honestly, to no earthly creature at all. “Jonathan, Jonathan. Jojo, my darling, my dearest. You should have known better by now: order is just a brush on the canvas. A drop in the ocean. Like a surfer riding atop the wave’s crest, you believed you were flying when you were in fact simply enjoying the high before the fall. Chaos is all the highs and all the lows, with order being just a snapshot of the whole picture.” She walked out, moving like she was tapdancing, prancing with springs for heels. “How foolish of us humans for mistaking the snapshot for the film, the drop for the ocean, the brush for the painting. Foolish, utterly foolish!” She shook her head like a nanny to her babies. “Entropy is not an end, nor is it a beginning, nor is it any part in the middle. Entropy is the whole story! We’re living through it every second, yet we cling to only the words that make us feel cozy and safe, ignoring the rest of the tale, the full totality of the text, and calling it evil, deeming it an aberration when the aberration, in reality, is us. Us panicky little monkeys for whom this story was never written, wannabe protagonists of a song where we weren’t even meant to be extras, nothing but background characters of the thinnest footnotes.”

Jonathan drew a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and pointed a finger at her. “You are the worst type of drunk.”

“Ah, yes? And what is it, this type?”

“A lousy drunk. Of the tedious and annoying sort.”

“Oh, in this case… you’re welcome!” Johanna did a graceful bow. “I try my best.” She then called out for John with her hands. Unrequited.

“So many words to excuse yourself for being tardy.”

“Maybe, but you wish you were as eloquent when excusing your own petty faults.”

“Hmm. Indeed do.”

Johanna went back to John, Joshua’s eyes following her closely, clung to her face like bedstraws. “I feel like eating something sweet!”

“We just came back from the bar, Joan.”

“Yes, Jojo, but you know how I am with alcohol: booze makes my belly thrice as large. Something to do with my livers and me being so tall and thin. The metabolism of long, ‘stretchy’ creatures is always faster, as you know.”

“Yo, Johanna.”

She appeared to ignore the call at first, burrowing her face on John’s neck, hugging him tight so he didn’t flee, just like how he looked like he always was about to. “What, Josh?”

The unrequited lothario rested the back of his head on his hands, arms raised over his shoulders, his body resting upon nothing, his eyes quickly lost in the skies. “Say you had our lives.”

“Your lives?”

“Our money, or lack thereof. Say you were poor like us and you had no perspective of becoming any better. What would you do in this scenario?”

“I would kill myself.”

Jonathan coughed. “Johanna! How can you say something like this?”

“With my mouth.”

“Johanna.”

An honest second passed. “Oh.” Her face subtly changed. “I mean, isn’t it obvious? For me it is. It’s always been. If I’d been less fortunate in life and saw really no hope in ever improving my fate, I would do away with such a useless life, and in death find the good fortune of the rich: that of eternal tranquility, of no worries in one’s mind.”

“You mean our lives are useless?”

“If you don’t enjoy them, yes.” She shrugged. “Yes, they are useless.”

Joshua whistled. “I know you, so I’m not surprised by your words, yet… somehow I still am.”

“You’re not surprised, but you’re shocked.”

“This…” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah. This is, uh, the correct way of putting it. I think.”

“Johanna, don’t say such things again, okay? Not in front of, uh, visits.” Jonathan gestured clunkily towards John.

“Jonathan, Jonathan.” Johanna rubbed her scalp sweetly on John’s neck. What a blessing that her face was so warm, for her words now were so, so very cold. “You and your silly clinginess to the morals of old. João here, I feel like he’s more up-to-date. Aren’t you, Joãozito?” She smiled upon seeing John’s reluctance. “Yes, he does. I feel it.” She laid one hand on his breast, protecting his heart from the chill of her voice. “The ‘mericas teach you a thing or two about life, don’t they? The meaninglessness of it all? The vulgar disposability of the flesh? Yes. Oh, yes they do.”

Just as John looked like he was about to utter something, she moved her scalp away, her face closer to his neck and…

…

…not a kiss, but a whiff of air. Almost a kiss that never was. A rub. A tender, sweethearty snuggle with the tip of her nose on his neck, done in an instant, less than a blink, but with a force that shook John’s soul through and back in time, past and future all eroded, leaving him stronger than all the hills from his land.

“Jonathan, Jonathan. I never understood you. Or people like you. Life is only worth living when it’s good. If it’s not good, it’s no life at all.”

“Fine. Maybe one day you will be one riding the wave as it crashes. With all due respect, Joh, for all your highty-mighty talk, you never really experienced anything lower than the top of the wave’s crest, anything lesser than prosperity and good luck, so I will be excused in calling bullshit to all your nonsense.”

“Right on. Though it is not nonsense.” She purred, stretching all over John’s body and making her hug all the tighter because of it. “You can doubt the integrity of my soul, yet not that of my words. You know, after all, this is the truth: life is not what matters. A good life is. There are people who live no matter what, and there are people who only live lives that are worth living. Biiig difference!” She gestured broadly, stretching one arm out whilst keeping John tettered with the other. “To most people, life is good. To a few, a good life is good. Again: biiig difference! I never quite understood those who prioritize life above all else. To me, a single day in luxury is greater than a hundred years in misery. If I had to make a choice, I would choose the former in a heartbeat.” She bit one lip, her gaze growing razor sharp, blizzard cold. “And so would you two if you weren’t so cowardly.”

“Fine, Johanna.” Joshua huffed. “Pretend that I asked you nothing.”

“Indeed. Big talk from a flimsy girl like me, isn’t it?” Johanna shook herself and John along with her, and the four pairs of eyes then turned to see another wall of light rising beyond the ave, this time much stronger and wider than the deception that had come before.

“This has to be it.” Jonathan mumbled, and Johanna was left to muse to herself—and to her confidant:

“Most people don’t live. They survive. Big difference! And I… oh. I want to live. Live well. Live beautifully!” She looked at him, gracing him with her gaze. “Ain’t that right, João?”

Like before, there were half-aborted utterances, severed attempts by the poor man to sp…

… spe…

… s-p-e-a-k…

… to speak, but Johanna… “No.” She placed her fingers on his trembling lips and whispered, so coolly that even his soul could barely listen. “Not yet. Keep your words to yourself. At least while we still have company.” She cast a dubious gaze upon the others. “They’re not cut from the same cloth as us. They’re weak. We’re strong.” She whispered calmer, lower, in a volume so low that even his soul now was deaf to it, and only its heart, the unconscious of his subconscious could possibly hear it. “They cannot understand our ways of thinking. They can only… resent them.” She winked. “Wait just a little longer and then… then… our real talk will finally begin.”

In those circumstances, John would have felt his heart race, his brain hurt, and a painful squeeze bring intense pangs of suffocation to his head, the veins up there in his gray about to balloon and pop, but…

His left hand made a move. It tiptoed on Johanna’s back, slid its fingers around her waist, and…

“Hmm.”

He said. She said. There was a whisper, a hum, both of their souls somewhat, somehow connected, and… “Hmm.”

A nod. A blink. And the two groups now worlds apart: the couple in their little bubble, then Jonathan and Joshua stepping over the street.

“That’s our go.” Jonathan turned, gesturing to Joshua, then catching wind of the two silent birds nestling so much closer together. “What you two up to?”

Johanna… “We’re getting pretzels.”

Jonathan was silent. After a couple of seconds of hesitation, so was Joshua. “Come, Josh, come.” He gestured to his friend, his voice descending many octaves into hell. “If you’re too drunk to walk, I swear I will…”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t sweat it.” Joshua trotted on the street, turning around briefly to deliver John “a final word of advice, eh, lad?”

“Hmm?”

There was a change in the air, a swift shift of attitude, and John couldn’t initially quite put his finger on what it was. Johanna, however, eyed Joshua with something beyond a mere murderous intent. Choose your next words carefully, you whore-bred son of a swine, or I’ll make sure your tongue and your throat end up very far apart. Her whole demeanor screamed, and one would never doubt its deadly sincerity when meeting her icy, bloodstained eyes.

Joshua’s mojo died out completely, and he walked backward on the empty street as the rectangle of light engulfed his ever-fading body in an aura of white. “Remember the spider!” He shouted out, simply, only to quickly follow Jonathan and catch with him the long cart, sliding in it to the city rims.

“Hmm! Delicious!” Johanna licked her lips as John came back to her side, returned from the past. “The cold and the booze and the night, they all make me hungry.” She cast her eyes upon him, her gaze glittering with all the stars that were lacking in the skies. “You’re newlander, so you’re not used to the cold, are you? Oh, no? You’re used to it already? Then why are you shivering like this, baby?”

She hugged him, kissed him in the arms. Like Joshua, she was hard to decipher. It was difficult to know when she was serious or just fooling around, but unlike Joshua, there was a palpable danger even in her queerest of follies, to the point John felt still unsure of how to wield his words and keep his attitude next to her. Therefore, he decided to keep his attitude cool and his words sheathed until he had a much better grasp of the strength of his opponent. “Hmm.” He muttered merely, yet for Johanna his hems and hums were no issue.

“It used to be colder, you know. Much colder.” Her steps slowed down, her arms waved lazily next to him, inviting him to come closer, yes, but not judging him if he didn’t. “Opa told me how, in his time, the cold was so intense that autumns were like our winters now, but even worse, and the snow—oh, the snow!—it was so thick we needed massive plowers the size of diggers to clean the streets everywhere we went, in every street and alleyway!” She turned to him with a juvenile giddiness. “Can you imagine? The entire city covered in snow! Not hail or glass, but actual snow! Feet and feet of it, fluffy whiteness everywhere the eye could see, covering the hills and the plains like a blanket on the earth! Ooh!” Excitedly, she took a pause to muse. “The gods be praised for this not to be the case anymore. Can you imagine? Plowers the size of hillholers! We can barely afford two-cart trams in these streets, let alone those monstrous mechanical moles of the bog! Hah! Hah! Grand-gran was an old fox, he was. Too fond of high tales, you see. And yet…” She sighed. “How wonderful it must have looked! He was the last of my family, you know, mein harta opa, and the last of our generation, I believe, to have experienced such a harsh environment before it all warmed up.” She giggled. “Pa himself was amazed by his tales, flourishes or not. He said he never knew, even in his childhood, a cold like the ones grand-gran described. Things must have changed pretty fast, haven’t they, and they’re still changing.” She put one finger in her mouth, then popped it out to raise it in the air and gauge the wind. “Year in, year out, it’s always warmer. Can this land really become a warm paradise in the future? Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it. I remember, when I was little, how cold it was! Well, how cold it felt.” She hugged herself, a little sad, and then offered a tiny thumb of crumb to John, the very last piece of bread. “A little something?”

“Mm, uh…” At every second, John forgot how to speak. “Nah, thanks.”
She poked his arm. “Come. Have the last bite. For warmth.” She winked. “You need some warmth inside of you.”

“Thanks, but… but no.” He felt like had to relearn how to speak in every sentence. “Besides, you’ve… you’ve eaten it.”

“Except for this last part.”

“I mean, you’ve already… uh, put it in your mouth. Got, uh, saliva and, uh, spit all over it.”

“Well, and? I’m a woman. That means I’m very clean.” She licked her lips. “And don’t you tell me you wouldn’t want my spit in your mouth. Even just a little.”

“…”

“You see, I don’t know many men who wouldn’t kill to have a taste of me.” She winked. “Just a little, at least.”

He heard the waves. Their steps. The ruffling of leaves nearby. The white buzz of traffic far away, the sounds of downtown washing like waves over the shoreline.

He stopped. Just a little. Then… he giggled. “Heh, heh.” Then… he laughed. “Hah, hah! Look, I…” He laughed some more. “Are you s- are you, uh, *cough*, are you serious?”

“I am.” She laughed too, and there they went, both walking and laughing like fools. “I am very attractive, don’t you know?”

“Hah…!”

“What?” She moved ahead of him, walking backward while following his steps. “Are you saying that I am not?”

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

What’s up with these women?

He looked up. Her eyes. “Oh. Your… your eyes.”

There was a tender tempo to their steps, each foot, back and forth, set to the beat of their hearts. “What’s with my eyes?”

“They’re…” The redness in his cheeks. Even for his paleness, he wasn’t supposed to blush so hard. “They’re quite striking.”

“Oh. Just the eyes?”

“Hmm.” He looked away, an army of emotions doing battle in his breast. “Look, I… I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

“Oh?”

He nodded at her hand, to the last crumb of bread still on her fingers. “Finish it, please. I’m, uh… I’m quite full.”

“You liar.”

“I’m not. Lying, that is.” He patted his belly. It was indeed full, alright, just not with food, but instead with butterflies. “I’m stuffed.”

“And you’re not trusting any food I’ve taken a bite of?”

“…”

“You think I am to poison you? Intoxicate you? Is that it?”

Halt. His feet on the ground, both of them idle, side to side. “I just wouldn’t go trusting you… or your mouth… so soon.” Something, something, something… “A mouth that has kissed some… stranger’s lips, uh… is not one I would trust, at least not right off the bat.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Don’t know where your mouth has been lately, so…” He shrugged. “That’s all I am saying.”

“HAH!!”

Jolt! John jumped up as Johanna boomed into the night and moved the stars with that laughter, oh, that uproarious, raucous laughter of hers: “BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!!!”

As she laughed and laughed and laughed, John couldn’t help but feel attracted to her face. «She’s so lost in herself.» He had never seen anyone enjoy a laugh as deeply as Johanna seemed to enjoy hers.

“OOOH! OOOH!” She wiped invisible tears from her eyes. “Oh, I get it. I get it, mister.” Those foxy eyes of hers! “Playing difficult, are we?”

John proceeded to walk again, trying to look away, to hide the incessant beating of his heart. “Uh, no.”

“No, eh?”

“No.” Then… he looked at her. He. Looked. At. Her. “Not playing. Just being difficult, that’s all.”

Again… “HAHAHA!!!” Much quicker now, and much more elegant somehow. “My goodness, look at you! I think I misjudged you.”

“Hmm?”

Her eyes, his. His eyes, hers.

Step, step… stop. Only the waves left to color their ears.

“Yeah. You’re not nearly as timid as I presumed.”

Beat, beat… step. Walking again, both of them. “Hmm.” As they walked, so did John’s mind: «I… am not. I really am not. Not tonight. Not with her.»

They walked and walked and walked, walked so long the moon herself had walked long in the night sky. “Well, suit yourself, grumpy-grump!” Johanna flicked the little crumb in the air, then ate it up with an extravagant bite once it fell into her mouth. *Whack!* Her aim, her moves, her swallow, all perfect, all seemingly rehearsed.

Before he knew it, they were walking on a different part of the city, strolling by a sprawling, luscious park along the shore, the cold, strong waves of the sea on one side, a dense, silent forest on the other, the trees so many and so big they’d almost be tropical if not for their striking northern features. “Oh, heavens. Where have my manners gone?” Johanna tiptoed closer to John, swiftly taking her suit off her back. “Come. It’s giving me the pains seeing you like this, all shivery!”

“Oh.” He felt on his arms, around his shoulders, the dome of fabric donning his back, embracing him heavily, with Johanna tapping and patting on the suit to make sure it fitted him nicely.

“There. It’s not even too big.” She winked. “A nice fit.”

“Hmm.” John nodded, feeling his heart itself warmed by a blanket. A blanket made in paradise.

The waves did all the rumble there, their clashes harmonizing beautifully with the occasional ruffling of the leaves. “Mm, the smell!” Johanna closed her eyes, rolled them hard beneath their lids, taking in all that youthful air. “Feel it, João! Is there anywhere in the world a scent finer than our land’s?”

John was still a little distracted by the suit (and by everything else) to answer promptly. His fingers tapped and fumbled around the fabric, which perhaps was cotton, but really felt like silk. «Expensive.»

He never had any experience with that. Expensive things or fine materials. He’d never quite enjoyed fancy things nor donned lavish clothes, so he had no good examples to draw from, no proper standards to compare to. Yet still… «Expensive.» He felt it, and he felt it deep in his bones. «This thing feels expensive.»

Such was the trait of true quality: you knew it even if you’d never felt it before.

“Is there, João?” Johanna’s words finally broke through the wall of thoughts that surrounded his mind.

He looked at her. “Sorry. Was distracted.”

“I know.” She smiled. “You seem to do that a lot.” She giggled. “Do you smell it? This delicious air from the park and the sea?”

He closed his eyes, took some sniffs. “Hmm. Hmm.” They were walking away from the shore, into the green. “Yeah. Yeah, I… do.”

Indeed, the sweet air was delicious. Its flavor, colors, and aroma, together with the sounds of the crashing waves, the ruffling of the leaves, all blended deliciously in a banquet only Mother Earth could serve a mortal. “Is there anywhere in the world a scent finer than this, the aroma of our land?”

“Hmm.” He tried taking the reins of his tongue from his mind and giving it to the dreams. “I guess… my land is better.”

Johanna stopped, looking at him with pleased surprise, her ears spiked like a curious kitten’s. “Oh.” Something from him came out on its own, the truth flowing like butter out of the tongue. “I thought you didn’t like your land.”

“I don’t like my country.” He twisted his lips. “But I love my land.”

“Ah.”

“The smells…” He smelled them again. “This nation… so calm. And peaceful. And wonderful. I smell serenity in the air. And…” *Sniff! Sniff!* “Hazelnuts. For some reason.”

“Hazelnuts?” She giggled, taking another breath. “Oh, yes. I guess you can smell that.” Her delicate palm landed on the thick trunk of a mighty tree. “These are old, venerable spruces. Perhaps this smell is coming from them?” She reminisced. “They’ve been planted here before our time. Before history, even. Great-gran talked about them, passed on their tales to my family, and they were already big and strong by his time. Mind you, there are barely any recordings from their time, my great-grandparents’, and yet the few tales that survived still talk about these spruces. An unwitting icon of the land, a symbol of our country they have become.” She brought her face closer to the tree and smelled its wood deeply. “You can smell the atoms in there. The fallout.” She glanced at John with a wicked smile. “I would know it. Conifers are good at capturing the molecular changes around them. Storing the particles in their wood, like records of time written by nature’s hand.” The hairs on her body were spiked, and her tone traded a lot of its grace for an overjoyed geekiness. “You know it? These cone trees, I mean.” Part of her seemed to speak one language. The other, a whole different tongue. “They’ve proven to be unlikely record keepers of the lost age. Information retainers. You know it?”

John shook his head, trying to be as respectful as possible. “I don’t.”

Why so? Why was he so careful with her around that topic?

He didn’t know. He only felt that her words, her excitement, they demanded maximum respect—a type of respect that he never could match, oh, even after ten thousand years of study and care.

“Oh, boo!” She stuck out her tongue at him. “You bore!” Giggling, then, she returned to the tree. “There is a lot of radioactivity stuck about twelve inches deep… here.” She placed one index on the trunk. “You can see the changes in coloring, even in texture if you cleave it like so.” She performed a chop with her hand, slicing the trunk horizontally. “Twelve inches deep, you see the changes in the rings. Twelve inches. A hundred and twenty years. Three or so inches a ring. Twenty to thirty years a pop.” She scratched her chin. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? A hell of a time to be alive.” She turned to him, walking one step away from the tree. “I mean it: hell. Truly hell. I’m glad I wasn’t alive back then.”

“Hmm.” He looked at the trees with different eyes, hurting his neck as he tried to spot the peaks of their crowns. “Me too.”

Johanna fumbled the trunks like a doctor to a patient’s body—or a butcher to a pig. “They are small today. Cross references show that their species was supposed to grow much, much larger.” John watched those trunks from their base to their tops, raising his brows as he noted how enormous they already were. “Effects of the radiation, it’s believed, and all the deep chemical imbalances from that era.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure about… the radiation stuff.” John talked. He would marvel at how easily he talked, how effortlessly the words flowed now, but he was too enthralled by the conversation to even notice it. “Not savvy on this, I mean.”

“Oh, I think you’re savvy enough.” Johanna glanced at him, her smile bringing down the gates of even the sturdiest fort. “Who knows what kinds of other traits and skills you’re hiding behind this innocent face of yours.”

“Hmm.”

“Sorry. I made you uncomfortable.” She looked away, back at the tree. “You were saying, pequeño?”

“Hmm. So, I’m not sure what most of this means, but… isn’t there a threat? With these trees? Like…” One step back. No point to it: he was surrounded by them. Enemies on every front. “Are we safe? Is anyone safe here, in the city?”

“Yes, yes, you are.” She chuckled. “You’re not the only one to think of it, in fact. Ages ago, from my gran-grans’ childhood, there were discussions, or so I was told, to bring these trees down, send them away, or burn them for fuel.” She shook her head staunchly. “Bad idea! Bad, bad idea! The radioactivity is let out precisely when you burn them.”

“Oh.”

“It would have been quite the disaster, I mean, if they had gone forward with the ‘burning for fuel’ plan. It’s a good thing that rational minds prevailed back then, if only too late, and for far too little a matter.” She shrugged, moving back with haughty steps and gazing upon those trees like they were a long-lost lover. “Not all plants could claim the same luck. Surviving the changes, I mean, not the burning part. Wet stems are said to have been battered the worst. Not one of their kind survived unscathed. Most of them died. Outright extinct.” A deep breath. “Along with the people who depended on them for food.”

“Hmm.”

She moved back in again. “Mighty ones, venerable ones, these dwarven spruces are. They survived the changes and thrived in the new world. Something about the cold, they say. The scarce humidity in our air and the mixing of the currents.” She took a moment to hear the leaves as if they were telling her a story. “They’re tall, beautiful symbols of the land: stern, staunch, and sturdy. Not a lot of bellish, but a whole lot of utility. Dependable, if ungracious.” She giggled. “Unlike me.”

She paused, just a little, then looked down at her feet. “They’re convenient in ways you wouldn’t even think of. Their roots, for instance: they spread long and deep, almost in a single column, with very little lateral spread. They avoid the infrastructure as if they were intelligent, respectful of our property, mindful of our needs.” Again, giggles. “They are good, beautiful friends. I can’t imagine my country with the cold of the old days, to be honest. Too much of a good thing, you know…” She made an adorable expression. “To imagine we spent eight months in the dark and in the cold? Snow everywhere?” She shivered. “Brr! One would go mad!”

“Yes. I think one would.”

“Is that why you don’t like it here?”

He tasted the sweet calm between her speeches. “Never said that. I love this country.”

“I see. You love the country, but not the land?”

He didn’t need a lot of thought for his answer. “No.” It was an honest one. “The country’s great, the people even better, but the land… the land is barren.” He shook his head. “With all due respect.”

“All respect is due.” She performed a fanciful little bow. “We’re from different cultures, from different hemispheres. I wouldn’t expect what’s good for you to be good for me, especially not when the differences are so great.”

“Mind if I… ask you something?”

She turned to him, fifty suns shining in each eye. “You know I won’t.” She whistled. “Shoot away.”

He smiled. Translating thoughts into words felt… so easy now. “How did you know I didn’t like my country? I don’t remember… saying this to you. To them. I don’t remember saying much of anything at all, honestly.”

“Yeah, you were pretty quiet. Not that I was surprised, though. Jonathan and I had some chats before.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” She laughed. “Don’t fall for his goody-two-shoes act. For a guy, he sure loves to gossip.”

“Hmm, uh.”

“Hey, ya, don’t take it the wrong way.” She tapped his shoulders. “He’s a good friend. Through thick and thin, that lad is. Joshua, on the other hand, is of the fairweather type.” She sighed. “Both as a friend and as a lover.”

«Okay, let’s keep the conversation on me.» The thought shot up in his mind, and soon through his tongue as well: “What did he say about me?”

“You’re not angry, are you?”

“Well, uh…” He smiled. “That depends on, uh, your answer.” Then… he cracked his knuckles. *Tlac! Tlac!* “That depends on, uh… how much gossip that lad, uh, did.” *Tlac… crack!* “Ouch!”

He shook his fist when Johanna, all giggly, replied: “Ay, ay, calmate, calmate, varón. Rest easy, tough nut. He told me nothing more than what I needed to know. You know, so I didn’t scare you off.”

“Hmm.”

“He told me you were quiet. He told me you… had some issues.”

He turned around, looked at her, and as soon as his eyes fell on her she knew exactly what his lips were about to say. “Not issues in a bad way, pequeño. Relax. Issues just like you and I, him and Joshua, all lads and lasses of this world have. A little worse for wear in your case, I know, but still nothing out of the ordinary.

“Huh.” Oh. «How I wish you were right.»

Silence was not given much leeway that time. When she walked, she marched: “He basically told me to tone myself down when next to you. Can’t blame him. I have a history of scaring off people with my… forcefulness.” She wiggled, balancing herself on a sole foot. “I can be a little too intense for the average commoner.”

“I… I noticed that.”

“So have I noticed your baggage as soon as I saw you.” She pointed at her head, then her breast. “I’m not only intellectually gifted. I am also extremely emotionally perceptive. Goes with the package: great minds are almost always great hearts as well.”

“And, uh, very humble too, huh?”

“Yes!” She tiptoed around herself for a couple of seconds before realizing… “Wait! Were you being sarcastic?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you just quip at me? Like, sarcastically? Calling me humble when you actually meant the opposite?”

“Well, uh…” He looked away, trying to hide the smile creeping in. “Not so perceptive, are you?”

She laughed, then hit his shoulder with a feeble punch. “There it is! I knew you weren’t so shut-in as Jonathan made you out to be.”

“Hmm… well… you…” He gulped. “You kind of make it easy for me, uh… you know…” He looked at her. “To talk.”

“Yeah.” She smiled.

One second.

Two seconds…

That gorgeous smile couldn’t get any wider, nor any brighter! “Things flow nicely between like-minded souls. Two wavelengths, when they sync… that’s pure harmony, isn’t it?”

“…”

No answer. Only blushing and the swinging of the eyes. “Ai, que lindo!” She reached out to him and… *pinch!* Gave his cheek the tiniest, quickest of squeezes. “Mind me not, guapo. As I was saying, I am too much for most people, and I’m quite aware that most people hate me for it, but the ones who don’t…” She leaned closer. “They love me! I’m hated by most, but absolutely adored by a few—and the few who adore me, oh, are usually the only ones who matter. High-quality individuals, high-caliber human beings.”

«Who talks like this?» Part of his mind was shocked. «Like, out in the open?» The other part, not so much. «Well… I do too.»

He took a breath. Whatever part of him was still submerged in thoughts, however, Johanna yanked it out with her voice: “Jonathan didn’t need to tell me a thing. As soon as I saw you, I knew it: you had it pretty rough.”

“…”

They were walking in and out of the park, toward the trees, then out to the sea. The horizon stretched out starless into infinity, and the waves came and went in the rhythm of the kyries, not too strong, not too soft. “My knowledge may go far, but it doesn’t go far enough for me to judge you.” She winked. “Not so far enough as into ‘merica, of which I only know the best lands, only seen their bright side.” She elaborated. “La Plata is probably the best country I’ve ever been to. Even my patriotic, sentimental heart doesn’t have a hard time admitting it.” The flicker of a lamppost caught her attention. “Just providing basic electricity here has become a challenge. The Platines, some issues notwithstanding, have everything else the world seems to lack: fat cows, juicy steaks, endless plains of fertile green, a positive outlook of the future, and merchants galore.” She sighed. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw the supertankers on the bay, their massive ripples crashing against the channel’s walls, bathing me and the bystanders with their warm, salty water.” She took a deep breath, trying to replicate that memory with the waves on those shores. “Qué rico, más qué rico! It’s a good thing for everyone else that los platinos are so shut in. If they wanted to, they could easily conquer the world. Well…” She shrugged. “Half of it. The western half, I figure.”

“Hmm.”

He listened. Just listened. Even when her words didn’t mean much to him—and they always did. Oh! For some reason, they always felt of utmost importance—and even if she were just saying outright gibberish, her voice alone could carry him into eternity, pull him across the world and into the unseen stars without a sweat. «So beautiful.» She looked like a princess, moved like a ballerina, and sounded like an angel. «She’s… just so beautiful!» As they walked, he tried not to stare at her like that, so long and fondly.

“I guess circumspection is a perk of wealth, eh?” She went on. “When you have everything you need within your borders, why bother with what’s outside? ♫ Why bother, o brother, when all is well within your borders? ♫ Your world is the world, and everyone else is but a minor inconvenience you can afford to ignore.” She walked more slowly, her smiles no longer so bright. “I love my country, but I admit I will do well without it. What I cannot do without, at least not so lightly, is my land. Cold and sad and weary as it may be… it’s still my land.” She closed her eyes and drew in all the air into her lungs, wanting to steal all the aroma from the land and keep it tightly guarded in her breast for all eternity. “The land of my childhood. The scent of my life.” After a quick and strong exhaling… *Gasp!* She turned to him. “I suppose you miss your land like this too, eh?”

He was nibbling his lips like a dog gnawing on a bone. “Yes.”

She looked at him, walking on feathers. “Do you miss it a lot?”

“Sometimes.” He bobbed his head, walking on clouds.

“Must have been quite a challenge parting from it. Suffering or not.” She blinked very slowly. “Such a long trip. Dangerous too.”

“I never felt that. Not in the moment.”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“No.” He paused, resting his shoulder on a trunk. “When I left it, I didn’t think. I didn’t wonder. I just… got out. I just wanted to… get out.”

“Ooo. That bad, huh?”

He nodded. “The land is the land with or without its people, yet it takes a people to make a country, and the people who made my country were… shall I say…” He locked eyes with her. “Deeply unworthy of that land.”

She frowned. “Ooof. That bad, huh?”

“I can’t begin to describe it.”

“Then don’t.” She sighed. “I feel a lot of pity for you.”

“Hmm?”

“You heard me: I pity you. In a good way.”

“Hmmm…”

She laughed. “You’re not half as ugly as you behave, nor half as dim as you let it seem.” She winked. “You’re wearing a mask, bebé. I can see it. I’m a mask-maker myself, though never one to wear such hideous disguises.” As their gazes met in the moonlit seas, she coated her words with an extra layer of honey. “Don’t you worry. I’m not here to judge. I’m only here to knock out hideous masks and worthless disguises.”

… and see the gorgeous faces that lie beneath…

“I don’t mind it. Your insecurities, I mean. Not much, that is, for I am used to them. Felt a good deal of them myself.” She touched her heart. “My land is no stranger to trauma, you see. Since the crazy years, we were quite used to getting a lot of hurt folks from the skirts, not to mention our own kin who ended up hurt and thrashed themselves. Broken souls, lonely hearts. This type of thing.”

He looked into the ocean, just an endless, enticing void. The moon, so dominating in the sky, in those waves became a scattered smudge of white, the void too strong even for its tantalizing light. «Am I the ocean and she, the moon?» Resting his back on an endless tree, looking down upon his frail being, he opened his hands, looked at his palms, and noticed how he was so thin he could almost see through his skin.

“What did Jonathan tell you about me?” He looked at her. “Exactly?”

She smirked. “Exactly, eh?” There was a long silence between every silence. Their conversation might have lasted the whole night. “He told me as much as he knew about you: almost nothing.”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me, João: what troubles you?”

“What… troubles me?”

“Yeah.” She giggled. “That’s a fancy, approachable way of asking: what are you so worried about?”

John looked up, lost in the dark, blinking so slowly that one would think he was sleeping during every blink.

«Everything.» The dark, the dark… he took in all the dark of the night to help organize his rebellious mind. «This ocean, these stars… this beautiful girl by my side.» A lightning bolt speared his heart. «A real girl. An actual woman.» He looked at her. «Is this… what having a girlfriend is like?» He felt the beating in his chest, then the warmth and the waves of heat following every thud. «Is this what it feels like… to be loved?»

It was more intense than anything he had experienced… with her. «It’s better because it’s real.» He clutched his fists, felt his nails prick his palm. «It’s material. The dream come true. Oh, cristo!» Another bolt of lightning. This time, weaker, more suave. Like a thread of amber tying down his spirit. «If this is what just talking to a girlfriend feels like… then what would it… what would it be…» Very slightly, he began to shiver. «How would it feel to kiss one? T-to…» He crumbled. «To make love to one?»

*Tlac! Tlac!* He jolted when something grazed his arm and fingers danced in front of his eyes. “There you are. In your little space again.” Johanna pulled back, her soft hand leaving his arm, her fingers still snapping tepidly as they moved away from his eyes. “Would you say this happens often, João? I saw you blanking out quite a few times back in the bar. Even wondered whether I should have an ambo on call or… whatever.” She shrugged, moving about with a fairy’s grace. “João, João, do you hear me?”

“I do, I do.” He touched his head, cursed himself infinite times every second. “That’s… uh, nothing to worry ab-”

“Don’t give me this bullshit.”

“Oh. I… I don’t…”

T! John balked. T! As big as the trees surrounding him, as thick as their mighty trunks, he saw a giant letter T! drawn in front of him by Johanna’s hands.

“Tempo, tempo, Joãozito.” Johanna undid the gesture, and John’s lips were sewn shut like a mummy’s mouth. “I’m not judging you. However, no matter how heavy the weights of your past and how painful your traumas may be, do not treat me like all the others.” She looked at him, sincerity glazed with drops of balsam. “Be honest with me, alright? Too long have I spent with people measuring words around me, holding back with me, wearing masks near me. I’m… done with this fakery, you understand?” The broth of her gaze was boiling. Dense, suffocating fumes rose from it. They shut one’s throat in a single breath. “Don’t be like the others. Don’t treat me like a dunce.”

“I don’t…”

T. T. T!

“Tempo, tempo, tempo, João.” She sighed. “I talk, you listen. Are we understood?” He froze on the spot. Stiller than still. More frozen than his already extremely frozen form. “Got it, eh, João? I do the talking, you do the listening, a’right? Makes things easy for me, at least for the time being.” She smirked, her eyes like two little snakes mating. “No te preocupas, bebé. I will let go of your tongue once I feel it’s sufficiently tame.” She faced him. “Are we understood?”

Balking, hemming, gulping, John feebly nodded and uttered, “y-ye-”

T. T!

“No words. Gestures will suffice.” She saw him gulp, then simply… nod. “Good.” She relaxed her posture, smiling so proudly. “Now tell me, João. This blanking out of yours, this frequent spacing out I see you do… is it dangerous? Do you have some medical issues I should be aware of?” She pursed her lips. “Low pressure, perhaps?”

He took in some air, making sure that his lips all the time stayed firmly shut. With a firm shake, he let his head do the talking. No.

“Ah, good. So you would say it’s all a mind issue, right? No need for me to worry about you fainting out of nowhere, passing out in the middle of the streets, and poor little me, alone, having to call for help, for an ambulance, or anything like that, right?” His head. A firm shake again. No. “So… just a mind thing, eh?” She touched the side of her skull, tapping on it with her finger. “Many little things yapping and zapping all at once, eh, taking your mind and your focus from the world, huh?”

He turned to her, looked into her eyes. «How did you-?» No. There was no need to ask, for the answer was so clear. Yes. Said his head, a gentle nod before night.

Johanna touched him on the arm and relaxed even further by his side. “I get it.” She crossed her arms. “You were probably thinking about a thousand different things, right? A thousand little things all at once. You were thinking about everything, and because of this you’re able to do… nothing.” She saw the astonishment on his face. “Don’t act surprised. I know your type. I’m an engineer, you see. Been living and working with crazy men all my life.” She left him with a smirk, lowering her gaze upon herself, circumspect for a brief while. “Papa was one of the crafts too. I wondered how much of him rubbed off on me.” She raised her head, seeing herself too in the starless sky. “I know how you tend to withdraw. Get lost in yourself. In your thoughts.” She looked back at him. “Your insecurities.”

John breathed in.

…

…

Breathed out.

…

…

…

“I’m no engineer.”

Johanna giggled. “Talking, are we?”

He looked at her. “Yes.”

She raised her brows. “Love this confident tone of yours right now. Very well.” She perked up. “Now that we got the basics out of the way, you can speak. I will allow it.”

“Hmm.”

“I guess you aren’t. An engineer, that is. Then what are you?”

He looked at her. There she was, smiling, her eyes unforgivingly locked on his. “What am I?”

She looked away, if only to not scare him off. “What you do for a living. I know you have a computer. And access to the link, probably.” She looked back and saw him just like how she predicted he would be: tense, frozen, scared. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice it, did you?”

John could count the beats of his heart at the tip of his tongue. «Correcorrecorrecorrecorrecorrecorrecorreseufeladaputacorrecorrecorre…!!»

He looked to his side. He looked at her. “You…” He gulped. The many thoughts weighed down his tongue considerably. “You’re rich… aren’t you?”

Johanna laughed. “HAH!” Less a laugh and more a single loud, bombastic cackle. *HAH!* She moved about humorously, as if his question had released even more brakes from her persona. “Smooth, aren’t you?” John turned back, away from her, yet she… “Hey, no! Come back here. Don’t pretend you didn’t ask me what you just did.”

“Hmm. I… I’m sorry.”

*Tap!* It wasn’t a slap proper, that one she gave him, but it was still… *Tap!* A very firm, commanding blow on his shoulder. “No sorry. I hate this word.”

He turned to her. “You do?”

She nodded. “It’s the most detestable word in any language. It’s a sign of submission. Weakness.” She moved about sinuously, drawing curves and erratic shapes in the air. She moved not like a person, but a snake—one that inhabited the skin of a person. “Weak people are sorry. Strong folks never need be.”

“Well, this doesn’t sound like a recipe for… good living. Good coexistence, I mean.”

She stuck her tongue out and blew air through her lips like a child. “Coexistence is detestable. Only weaklings coexist. You’re right, though: it is a bad recipe for life, for the world as is.” She moved closer, dangerously closer to him. “And the world as it is… is a bad thing. It shouldn’t exist. It should disappear and be replaced by something better. Be replaced by someone… like me.”

John gulped, looked away… but made no meaningful attempt to distance himself, even when she had moved way past the point where he would usually feel comfortable with. “That’s… something.”

“You can drop the act, brata. I know you agree with me.”

He rolled his eyes, looked up, looked straight, then… turned his head and… looked straight at her. “Hmm.” He nodded. “Fine.”

“Do not say sorry to me. Ever again.” She moved in closer. C… l… o… s… e… r. “Friends do not need to hear it. Enemies do not care about it.”

“Hmm.”

“By the by…” She moved away, gesturing at him with a naughty finger. “I will tolerate your grunts, your hmms and your huhs for now, but keep in mind that I do expect you to be a little more… verbal as the days roll by. Understood?”

He looked at her. No. He looked at her… with a smile. “We’ll be seeing each other so often?”

She smiled, and left most of her words to be carried by the wind. “That all depends on you, chiquito.”

Chapter Text

He stared at the ceiling, the gentle hues of blue from the moon drawing waves on the concrete.

«So…» Her voice came from behind him. Her chilly breath raised the hair on his back. «It was just you three?»

He muttered something. Anything. “Hmm.” Something like it, and his mind went blank for one second. Or one year.

«Huh.» She kept on humming, breathing, her air forming icicles in his follicles. «John, Jonathan, Joshua.» She seemed to smile. «There’s quite a nice ring to it.»

“Yeah. We… uh… we played with it, even.” He gulped.

«You told me.» Her arms pulled him back, squishing him tighter against her formidable, overwhelming torso. «♫ John, Jonathan, Joshua jaunt into a joint. ♫» Her smile burned on his neck. «It’s cute.»

“It is.” He gulped. He tried to think of nothing, yet ended up thinking of everything… and then some. It was good, though. No one could read his mind when his mind was such a mess. Like trying to divine messages out of leaves, any message one saw would only be the message they wanted to see.

Chaos is silent. Randomness, inscrutable.

«So…»

Still…

«Was there no one else with you? No one else you forgot to tell me about?»

…

…!!

*Thu-rum! Thu-rum! Thu-rum!* His heartbeat. Incredible! Like soldiers on the march. “Hmm… uh… no, no.”

«You sure? Just you and the boys, then?»

Her arms. Were they growing bigger? Thicker? Or was she just hugging him… tighter?

«John, Joshua, Jonathan. John, Joshua, Jonathan. No one else joined in the fun?»

He tried using his unease to his advantage. “Hmmrr!” He tried turning around, but her arms… Oh. Her arms were always in the way. Her hug was simply… “Too tight, my heart.”

«Oh?»

He sniffed out her shoulder, using his nose to poke her when his hands couldn’t. “Too tight. Your embrace.”

«Oh, sorry!»

She undid it, and upon release he felt as if his lungs had just doubled in size. “Ooh… hmm!” He took deep breaths, coating his lungs with sugar while her voice honeyed his ears.

«I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I…» She laughed, gasped, acted all innocent and guiltless. «I guess I just… missed you so very much!»

“It’s… uh…” *Gasp! Gasp!* “It’s, uh… it’s okay.”

«Hmm.» She touched his shoulder, inviting his face. «I think I need to control my strength a little better.»

“You control it just fine. It’s just… hmm…” He turned around. Her face stole his words, his breath for a second. “Wow.”

She giggled. «You’re going to say how beautiful I am.»

He smiled, both lovers smirking knowingly at each other. “Now I don’t need to.”

«Huh.» She touched his face. «You sound more confident. So much… lighter now.»

“Lighter?”

«Yes.» Her hands moved over his shoulders. Her fingers gave him tickles. «Like all the burdens have been lifted off your shoulders.»

“Oh.”

He turned around, his back on the bed again and his eyes sailing in the waves of the ceiling, going up and down with those shimmers of blue.

His lover massaged his shoulders, the tips of her fingers feeling like little people dancing on his body. «Hey.»

He turned again. “Hey.”

The silence of the lovers. «You’re not avoiding me. Are you?»

He turned again. Again. Something from the past snapped into his present. His thoughts, his memories, their words were like popcorn in his skull. “Hmm.” He hummed and grunted, giving sound to the gears of his mind. “I am.” He felt movement, though couldn’t read what the movement meant.

«Oh.» His lover sulked in the silence, sinking her chin in his shoulder, making bubbles in it with her nose. «Can you look at me?»

He could. He did. “I’m sorry.”

She chuckled. «For what, silly?»

“For hurting your feelings.”

She dismissed it with a humored grimace. «You’re still quite the distance from being able to even scratch my feelings, let alone hurt them.» She raised an arm. «Inside and out…» She flexed it. «I’m strong!»

*Boom!*

“Ah…” He was going to say something. He knew it. He had the whole speech prepared, but those biceps… *Boom!* When so big and so hard, they… Oh. They always took the words from him. “You’re impressive.”

«Thank you.» She planted the softest, warmest kiss on her muscle. «Now, about your night…»

“Ay, ay…” He moved about uncomfortably on the bed, as if threatening to turn around, look away, and put that subject (and himself) to rest.

«Alright, alright. I get it. You want your privacy.»

“Hmm. It’s not even that.”

«Oh, it isn’t?»

He looked at her again, straight as the words from his lips. “It’s that… such little details… such small talk, you know…” He shrugged. “It’s not very interesting to me.”

He touched her cheeks and she touched his. Both lovers spent an age looking at one another, admiring each other’s features, loving each other’s faces with the tips of their fingers until the next parcel of words was finally laid upon each other’s ears. «It is interesting to me, however. Very interesting. Deeply so.»

“Oh.”

So went the silence. «Are you afraid of me?»

His eyebrows, up, up, up. “What? No.”

«Afraid that I will judge you? Afraid I’m going to be angry with you for some reason?»

He couldn’t have shaken his head any more vehemently if he’d tried. “No. No, no, no, that’s not it.” The whole bed shook with it. “It’s just… uh… it’s my very first time.”

«Oh?» She smiled.

He did too. “Yes.”

«Oh, this gorgeous smile of yours!» Her fingers kissed his lips. Many, many kisses giving him all the love, oh, all the love in the world, all the love he would ever need, which was all the love he had never gotten… until the night before. «This gorgeous smile on these gorgeous lips. I like to see them moving.»

“Mm-hmm.”

«I like to hear you talk.»

“I’m not making up any excuses. I just… ran out of words.”

«Is that so?»

“Yes.” Thank the heavens that his mind, in that very instant, was an awesome… blank. “I told you all about the night. All I could tell you already.”

«Is that right? Oh, I don’t think it is. So you’re telling me you and the boys been all night hanging out, slacking off, acting like a bunch of hooligans, is that all?»

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, and then she chuckled. “What?”

Her eyes were skeptical. «All night out? Not just the night, but through the morning and past the noon too, is that what you’re saying?»

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

«Were you wasted?»

Again: shrug. “I told you. We could barely walk out of the bar on our, uh, two feet and such.”

«Look at you.» She pinched his waist.

“Ouch.”

«My, oh, my. Are you turning into a bad boy already?»

He rolled his eyes. Not so hard this time. “I wish.”

«I wish that too. Not that there is any problem with who you are right now.» Then… «What? What’s this look for?»

“There isn’t any problem with who I am right now?” His frown screamed disbelief. “With… my sad and… disgusting…?” *Slap!* “Oww!”

She pulled her hand back, checking to see if she hadn’t hit him too hard in the face. «Temper your words, lover. No hurting yourself, remember? Both physically and mentally. You are to never again hurt yourself.» She pulled him closer. Forehead to forehead. Noses kissing each other. Eyes almost a single pair. «Estamos entendidos?»

He nodded. “Hmm.”

She let him go. A little. «You—who you are right now—is perfect. Who you will be one day, also perfect. I don’t care about shy or outspoken. Reserved or braggy. Your traumas do not define you. Your pains do not ruin you. All we need to do is… shoo away these pesky flies. Cut this weed from your body so that your personality may finally shine unobstructed. Do you understand me?»

He looked into her. He saw someone else. “Take out the poison, you mean? Take out the poison, uh, from inside me?” He asked, and saw her kindly, wordlessly nod to him. “Hmm. They, uh… kind of said this about me. My friends, that is.” His eyes: left, right, left, right, twitchy-twitchy. “Last night and, uh… and stuff.”

She moved in closer. C… l… o… s… e… r… Her eyes entered his soul. «Huh.» She peered into his past, into his very lonely being. «They must be incredible friends. Incredible, absolutely amazing, so that in a single night you… changed so much.»

He pulled back, trying to rid himself of that penetrating gaze. “They are. They are the best of friends. They are, frankly…” Tall frame. Thin body. Graceful port. Hair of flames. “Incredible.”

She touched his face, and her fingers fell in love with his lips. «Tell me. Tell me all about them. After you left the bar. Passed out in the streets. Oh, didn’t you even feel cold?» She fumbled his shoulders, giving him some very vigorous pats, some very strong rubs. «My darling, how didn’t you catch a cold?»

Her face. So beautiful. Her lips. So red…

“I had warmth.”

«Oh.»

He got daring. He cupped her face with as much vigor as she touched his, looking deep into her eyes, pulling himself toward her, and blessing her lips with a mighty…

…

…

…

*Mwah!*

Time was stopped for a few eternities. «This was good.» She unrolled her eyes, then opened them to meet his face, gracing him with a very impressed look. «This was really good.»

“Hmm.” He pulled back. A little. “And the other kisses weren’t?”

She laughed. «Look at you! Being cocky!» Despite his smile, he kept staring at her, demanding an answer. «Oh, I see. Well, my love, they were all awesome! All great! But this…» She needed a pause to breathe and recollect herself. «This was something else.»

“Well, uh… glad to be of service.”

His words added some unexpected weight to the air, made even heavier by his lover’s firmer, deeper gaze. «With more to come, I hope.»

Silence. Sweet silence. There wasn’t any embarrassment in that silence. It was the silence of lovers who needed only each other to feel complete, to be whole.

«But tell me…» Sweetly as the silence had come, sweetly she ended it. «What did you talk about? What did you do? You didn’t just spend these many hours wandering about vagrantly, did you?»

His eyes grew distant. His face, though, moved closer to her. “Curious, are you?”

She did a cute gesture, her eyes catching the light at a different angle, very briefly, and glimmering with a different kind of green. «My boy is growing. I need to know everything.» Those eyes… «Ev-ery-thing!»

He relucted. “Hmm. Well… uh…”

He fought against it. “I don’t… you know…”

He lost it. *Sigh…* “Very well, then.”

Looking deep into those deep, deep eyes of uneasy green… he saddled his lips into his mind and readied his heart for another halfhearted lie. His imagination pulled his tongue ahead, and the memories and the past stayed far back behind.

* * *

Johanna looked at him, waiting for his answer. “So?”

John looked everywhere, finding nowhere to hide. “Oh, uh…” Johanna’s eyes were something else. Like fangs. A rottweiler’s teeth: once they sunk in, they never let it go. “I don’t know, uh… what are we, uh… talking about?”

She laughed, her fangs savoring his bleeding flesh. “Oh, no, no, mister, no running away now. Don’t you think I forgot about it.” She blinked as if both eyes were winking, an adorableness that was hard to compete with and impossible to emulate. “How d’you get your hands on a machina? What type of link do you use?”

He rolled his eyes, moved about uncomfortably. She knows it! She wants to steal from you! Quick! Run away before she catches you! Before she manages to tell anyone about your secret!!

The voices in his head… they could be so stupid sometimes! «Sometimes?» Always. “So, uh… don’t you too forget, uh, my question first.”

“Oh, I see.” She smiled, one side of her lips much higher than the other. “Yeah, I’m well-off. In the sense that money has never been a concern, nor will ever be… yes. You could say I am rich.”

“Hmm.”

She giggled. “There we go, the grunts again.”

“Oh…”

“Don’t sweat it.” She relaxed, her back resting against a tree trunk, her arms crossed over her torso. “You are afraid that someone will rob you, aren’t you?” By the sudden, shocked way he looked at her, she knew it. “Yeah, you are.” She giggled, mostly to herself. “You do right. I mean, you’re right for thinking like this, for acting suspicious. Reserved.” With deep, thoughtful breaths, she looked around. “Our nation is not poor, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any poors in it. Or any dangers. Even here, you can never be too safe. Or anywhere in the world, I’m afraid.” She clapped, *CLAP!*, as if to establish a formal shift on the topic, like a messenger announcing the beginning of a letter with loud trumpets. “It is a tad bit silly, though, that you would think I would be the one to rob you.”

“Hmm…”

She smirked. “Only thing I’m ever robbing of you is your heart.” She proceeded to enjoy his frantic, squirmy reactions to her words. “Hah, hah, hah! Tu eres muy lindo.” With a touch, then… *swoom!* Everything was peace. All was calm under the moon. “You do right. Even for suspecting me, you’re right. Can’t be too trusting, eh, especially with someone you just met. Especially someone as volatile as me.”

“Hmm… well…” He coughed, he gulped, he kept his spirits in place. “You said it yourself.”

“I did.” She took a deep breath, and the old question inevitably returned. “So, what you do for a living? I know you’ve got a computer and you probably have links, against all odds, so…” She shrugged. “What gives?”

He stared into the ocean, the land and the water making such a clear white-and-black contrast. “How did you know?”

“That you’ve a machina?” She scoffed. “It was so easy! Jonathan did mention something about you never leaving the house…”

“Mmph! Jonathan…”

“Don’t blame him. It was all casual conversation. No gossip that would have been considered too impolite, or a break of trust.”

“Mmph. Speak for yourself.”

“Welp!” She shrugged. “Not my problem! This is between you boys. But, anyway, Jonathan mentioned you never left the house and the topic came again here and there in the bar. I guess you were a little too drunk (and fazed) to notice. Also, judging by how… reserved you are, I would have been shocked to learn that you actually did some regular work, so…” She raised both hands over her chest, then moved them against one another, interlocking her fingers with immeasurable grace. “Two and two, together! *Click!* Not a difficult puzzle, you see.”

“So you figured that I work, uh, virtually. Not in person, eh?”

“Remotely, yes. And for that, you need a computer. Unt machina. Also, you would need at least a landline, which is neither reliable nor cheap.”

“Fine. Do you… uh, do you think Jonathan and Joshua also noticed this?”

“Are you afraid of them?”

He shrugged. “Never, uh… can never be too careful.”

She pointed two fingers at him, like guns. “Correcto! Well, I don’t suppose they did. They’re not the freshest cookies in the pot, you know. Smarts-wise, that is.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Even if they were, so long as you’re not rich, like, really rich, truly well-off, then it’s not something that comes naturally to the mind.” She moved back and forth, as if rocking her body on an invisible swing. “Most people cannot even conceive of having a landline, let alone something so esoteric as a mobil, even less so… unt machina! And easy access to the world! You do have all of these, don’t you?”

“Hmm.” He was too scared to even utter the simple word, so he just nodded instead.

“Amazing. And is your link good?”

“It is. Reaches most places.”

“Ooo! What type?”

He gulped, consulted with the ocean whether it was wise or not to reveal it.

“G-Tau. Double-O-two.”

“Oh, I see. Not cable, though?”

“No.” He scoffed. “Doesn’t reach my place. The cable, that is. Besides, too expensive. Way beyond my means.”

“Well, I figured as much. G-Tau is great, though.”

“Comes with the machine. The antenna, that is.”

“Mine too.”

“Uh?”

Without warning, Johanna reached into her suit on him and fumbled its interior, looking for its pockets. «Oh!» She rubbed John’s sides in a very… tantalizing manner as she searched.

“Here.” From a pocket, she pulled a big, black block of… something. “Mái mobil.”

The suit felt lighter without that thing in it. “Oh.” It was a portable telephone, big, blocky, and built, with a large antenna protruding from one of its sides, just like the one he had on his machine. “You have one, eh?”

«Of course she does!» Scolded him his mind. «She’s rich and powerful and beautiful and successful, unlike y-»

“I do.” Johanna handled the thing with disinterest. “Everyone in the plant has one. We need them. They stay with us at all times, should any emergency occur.”

“Oh.”

Without even flicking that thing on, she put it back on her coat. «Oh!» John’s body was again blessed by her touch, yet this time he welcomed it naturally, as if her skin and his were… meant… for each other. «Oh…»

Johanna peeped back to her spot. “Good signal. Most of the region still has it, which is quite a shock. You don’t have a mobil of your own, do you?”

“No. Not like that. Although… mái machina is portable.”

“Oh, oh! Look at you!” She seemed proud. Not an ounce of arrogance and condescension in her voice.

“Yeah. It’s old, though. From, uh, pretty much when, uh… from before I even left the continent.”

“Wow. Good quality too. Is it eastern?” She saw him nod. “Hah. Those nititos still know how to make good things. If there’s electricity running in a machine and zeroes and ones making it think, then only they can still make it right.”

“Huh.”

“Mind if I ask you how you got your hands on one? I don’t wish to come across as nosy or, worse, insulting.” She pulled away slightly, very conscious, it seemed, of John’s barriers. “I’m aware of the peeves and sensibilities that come with class differences. I know this equipment costs the same as a decent house in many places, and regular, stable links are, like, several times a commoner’s wages, so…” She shrugged. “How did you come across one?”

«Is she sniffing me out? Is she investigating my life? Does she suspect me of being a thief??» Asked half of his mind.

She’s sniffing you out! She’s investigating your life! She’s calling you a thief to your face, you idiot! Answered the other half. Run! Run! R-!

*Shake!* He gave his head a vigorous… *shake!* And then there was silence. Then there was pondering. Then there was… acceptance.

…

…

Everything, everywhere, all at once. There were so many things to answer, so many things to say, so many things that, if he actually said them out loud, would scare away that or any other woman, then leave him alone again, this time for good, without even Jonathan or Joshua to come to his rescue.

“Stop that. Say it.”

*Shake!* He shook his head. Looked at her. “Hmm?”

She grimaced. “Say it. What’s on your mind? Say it. Don’t think: say it.”

“I…”

Her voice… so buttery now! “I’m not like them, remember? Jonathan and Joshua. The waiters at the bar. The cheap girls on that table. I’m not like any of them—and neither are you, or so I hope.” She winked. “We’re strong. They’re weak. We need not fear the opinions of the weak—not of each other.” She moved closer.

C…

l…

o…

s…

e…

r…

“Try it out. Say it. You’ve been surrounded by weak people all your life, to the point you may have started to think of yourself as weak too.” She tapped on the tip of her nose with one finger. “Birds of a feather, you see. Wolves of a pack. We can smell each other, see who belongs. I certainly can.” Again… *tap! Tap! Tap!* “I smell no weakness in you. Only the impression of it.”

“Oh…”

*Flick!* He flinched as she flicked his nose. Then laughed. “Yes, that’s right. Try it out with a strong person for once. See how good it feels to speak your mind, to let the words out without fear of anyone. Or anything.”

She was either brimming with fun or scorching with seriousness. No in-betweens. Trying to guess her mood from moment to moment, to keep up with such a chameleon of a personality, it was like juggling knives and swords. “Very well… uh…” He battled with himself for a bit longer before he let them… all… out. The words. “You don’t suspect I stole it, right?”

“Not for a second.” She did not miss a beat.

«Wow.» Juggling knives and swords, it seemed, was something she did for a living. “Well. Uh…”

Sensing the brief silence, she interjected politely: “Not that it would have been a problem if you had stolen it, mind you. Don’t think of it as a vice, as something wrong.”

He stared at her, ears as spiked as his mind. “Come again?”

She shrugged. “I suppose that your land, like, was really bad, right?”

“Yes.”

“And it was filled with terrible people, right?”

“Y… yes.”

“So there’s nothing morally wrong in stealing from those people, in screwing them over if that means getting yourself an advantage. In this case, this means to flee and fly to a better land, meet and dine with its good people, and improve your lot on this earth. You deserve it. They don’t. Whatever it means to achieve what you want…” She made a firm, decisive gesture with one fist, as if snatching something heavy from the air. “You do it! You take it! It only makes you more admirable.”

“Oh, I… wow.”

“Keep talking. Don’t be afraid that you’re actually going to hurt me or something.”

She raised one arm. «Oh.» She flexed it in front of his eyes. «Oh!»

She really was stronger than she looked. “I’m strong. Mentally and physically.” She gushed. “Such is the quality of strong people.”

If she said so… “What would you think of me if I said I stole it?”

“I would think waaay better of you, actually.” She noticed his slight tilt of the head, the clear nod of confusion. “Why wouldn’t I? What woman worth her salt doesn’t love a bandit? A scoundrel? Especially one that does what is necessary to survive. Not only survive, oh, no, scratch that: to thrive and get himself all the good things in life—which, by extension, are all the things he will provide for his family.” She winked. “For his wife.”

“Oh.” He leaned back, blinked slowly, heard her words echoing in his skull. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“What about the other people?”

“What other people?”

“The other people. Hmm, the ones who, uh, suffer from… uh, being stolen?”

She shrugged. “There are no other people.”

“There aren’t?”

“No.” She moved in. “You think there are because you’re too infected with the mentality of these same weak people. Trust me: with the proper guidance, the proper environment, you will learn how to expel this poison.”

“Oh.”

“In time, that is.”

“Right, right. So…” He looked at her. She was always looking at him. “I stole it.”

“Wow, wow. Look at you. My bad, bad hombre!” She wriggled and purred. “I’ve got to be careful where I sit now. The seats, the chairs, they’re all gonna get wet.”

*Cough! Cough!*

He coughed, he chuckled, he choked on his own spit, and she was quick to offer him a helping hand, holding him caringly by his shoulder. “There, there. Friendly joke. I admit, though, it may have been a little much for you. For now, at least.” She winked. She was always, always winking. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, nah, don’t, uh, don’t wor-” He paused. He smiled. He pointed at her. “So, you’re sorry now?”

“Yes.”

He stopped again. It seemed she wasn’t going to say anything. “And you see no problem with it?”

“No. Why would I?”

“You just said that strong people never need to say sorry.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“So…”

She shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

…

…

“Just like that?”

“Yep.”

…

…

“Are you so inconsistent, then?”

“Yep.”

He paused. He pondered. He laughed. “Okay.” It didn’t make any sense… but he knew it did. “Fine.”

She moved in closer, always wiggling and swaying like a snake. “How do you pay for the access? As good a thief as you may be, I’m skeptical that you’re good enough to steal from any of the providers and their scary security staff. They are, you know, all huge! Very difficult to hack into.”

“Oh, oh. And you would know that, would you?”

With that same quickness and naturality… “Yep.”

And that was that. “Well, uh… I’m afraid I’m, uh, not really that good a thief.”

“Aww.”

“I’m not. Hmm… but I can practice.”

He glanced at her. She smiled. “I know you can. And I can be a good teacher.”

“You?”

“Yes. Why? Fancying me for some innocent little girl, are you?”

“No. Just not… a thief.”

“I’m very good at stealing hearts, I told you.” She giggled as she saw him trying to hide his laughter, both of their bodies getting closer without moving. “Fine. So, how do you pay for access? Your G-Tau link?”

“Why do you want to know it so much?”

“Curiosity, that’s all.” She shrugged. “I am an engineer, after all. Curiosity is in the blood.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell.”

“I pay it with my pay.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. Uh…” He scrambled his words, then put them back together in a clearer way. “I pay with it my… salary, you would say.”

“Ooh. And what you work with?” She heard him grumble. “Too deep? Too personal a matter?”

“Mmph. You could say so.”

“Then you need not tell me.” She turned, her movements sharp and precise, each signaling a change of topic, just as quick and sudden as the changes of her heart.

“You… you aren’t going to press for more information, are you?”

“Why would I?” She turned to him. She winked. “Just because I am curious doesn’t mean I’m disrespectful.”

“Oh.”

“Would you object to me moving closer to you?”

He turned to her, eyes gone wide, and used the bits and pieces of his inebriation to aid him in his sincerity. “Why would you want that?”

“Mm?”

He sighed. “I don’t want to be no bum, but… I’m not exactly… pleasant. I’m not a pleasant guy. Why would you want to talk to me? To be so close to me?”

“Because I think you are.”

“Oh?”

“Pleasant, I mean.” She bit her lower lip, swaying towards him with her hands crossed behind her pretty little butt. “And fun to play with.”

“Ah.”

“You doubt me?”

“Perhaps a bit. I… I know I am no Joshua.”

“Oooh, so that’s what’s keeping you bummed down!” She giggled. “Of course you aren’t Joshua! Only Joshua’s Joshua! You are you.”

“Me ain’t no fun.”

“Not if you keep saying that, then yeah, you ain’t be.” She moved in… even closer. “But you are. And you will be better. I know it.” She tapped on the side of her head. “Weak mind, weak mindset. Like poison, though, it will come out. Eventually.”

“Oh, uh… and you… are so sure of this?”

“I am.”

Her smile. His smile. It was impossible for such a heavenly grin to not be infectious.

His eyes on hers. The image of a powerful, dark-skinned lady glimmered in his mind. “You know… you remind me of someone.”

“Someone excellent, I hope.”

“Not just excellent.” He smiled. “The best.”

“Past girlfriends, maybe?”

“Oh…” He lowered his head. This time, though, he made an effort, a real effort to keep his smile intact and his spirits high, at least for any bit longer than just a blink of the eye. “You can say so.”

“Oooo.”
“Care if I ask you something?”

“You know I don’t.” *Wink!* “Ask it.”

He shut himself very briefly. The things in his mind… «hmm.» No longer a cacophony. No longer a ruckus. Surprisingly… quiet. And peaceful. “Why are you so sure?” He saw her tilt her head. “The poison.” He tapped a finger on one side of his head. “How are you so sure it’s going to come out?”

“Because I am.”

“Well…” Smile. That smile! “Care to be more precise? Or is this… I don’t know… just something out of the heart?”

“Oh, it is out of the heart, a hundred percent, yet I can be more precise, and I will.”

“Oh.”

“I love precision. I’m an eng-”

“Engineer, I know.”

“Yep! Taking out toys, breaking them apart, figuring out how they work, oh…! This is everything to me!”

“Hearts ain’t toys.”

“They are. Everything is.”

“Hmm. People are more complicated than… machines.”

She beamed with… a suspicious smile. “Oh. Oh!” She put it back: both that haughty smile and her naughty words replaced with an innocent grin and more quaint sentences, continuing the conversation onto calmer waters. “They are not. People are machines.”

“Huh.”

“Just made out of meat.”

“I suspected… uh, you were going to say something like this.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.” Eyes. On hers. “I did.”

“That’s what I said: birds of a feather, we are. Wolves of a pack.”

“Huh.”

“Instinct speaks louder than words. Instinct, that is, between fellows who are one of a mind.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t pretend it’s not like that.” She elbowed him gracefully. “You keep making yourself lower than you really are, eh?”

“Just because you’re good with machines doesn’t mean you’re good with people. I don’t… uh… think you know what you’re talking about, for that matter.”

“Oh, honey! If you only knew!” She beamed. “Guess what my mother did for a living?”

He turned to her, his curiosity a little peaked. “What your…?”

“Pa was a mechanic. Of sorts. A man of machines, he was. And ma… oh!” She hid her words once more, dressing up as the playful trickster god again. “Take a guess. You know what she was. Look at me, see how I act, how I talk.” She winked. “You’re one clever cookie, yes, you are. You know the answer, though not in the mind. In the guts! You have the word very clear deep inside of you, or maybe not even that deep, but your shyness prevents you from uttering it, from speaking plainly to me.”

She moved in closer.

C… l… o… s… e… r…

“First thing that comes to your mind. Come! That little voice inside your head, beneath all the other voices that don’t really matter. That voice you pretend ain’t even there, but you know it is. The voice everyone has and everyone follows, even though they rarely listen to, or whose existence they don’t have the guts to acknowledge. The voice of instinct! The literature of the guts! Words of the soul!” She winked. “Let them speak their poetry to me, bebé!”

“You are crazy.”

“I’m strong. To the weak, we all look crazy.”

“Are you calling me w-?”

*Tlac-tlac! Tlac-tlac!* Her fingers on his face, shaking and snapping as loud as her commands: “Say it, say it! No more words! Just the answer! Come! Say it now!”

He looked up. Took a breath. “A doctor.” He turned to her. She was glowing. “Your mother was… a doctor. A mind doctor.”

She clapped. “Psychiatrist, yeah! Hah! I knew you knew it! I told you, didn’t I?”

“You’re…” He turned away, his halfhearted smile refusing to concede defeat. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah.” She made a little dance. “I’m right here, in front of you. I’d say I’m quite possible.”

He chuckled. “So what was that for? Your father was a machinist, your mother a mind doctor.” He shrugged. “So?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She rested so lazily on a tree trunk she practically melded with the wood. “Mind and machine come together in me like clockwork.”

“Hmm.”

“The mysteries of the meat and the wonders of the machine are both mine to explore and conquer. It’s in my blood. Neither mind nor mechanics are safe from the relentless gaze of my brain. I’m an all-purpose drill who will pry them open equally, nothing and nobody to remain intact in my wake.”

“Is it all so simple for you?”

She winked and nodded, almost needing no words to confirm what to her was so obvious. “I’m an engineer by training and heart. Every nerve of me is gears and clockworks, every vein is notations and linearizations!” She shivered with joy and excitement, love and wonder. “I’m pure mechanics, from cerebellum to the heart, yet it all comes along neatly, courtesy of ma and pa: the psychology of people, the inner workings of things.” She interlocked the fingers over her chest. “They’re one and all the same to me. Ma and pa themselves were deeply inquisitive people, a very curious lot, hence they worked with what they did and they bred kids like me, bestowing upon us, their offspring, these traits that I inherited in full.” She puffed up, quite the arrogant gal. “Overwhelming inquisitiveness, asphyxiating curiosity.” She stared into the sky, which felt too small for her gaze. “I would crack the universe open if I could just to see it working, just like I broke every gift I got when I was younger. I get mad for not knowing things. I have an urge for knowledge, a thirst for clarity, which makes me… quite the invasive little critter, some would say.” She looked at him. “I’m curious about ya. I want to break ya. See your insides.”

“Cristo.”

“Cristo, cristo, oh, yes! If I could break the gods too, I would.”

He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. “So, what am I in this? Your, uh… guinea pig?”

“Yes, bebé! Consider yourself a test subject.” She nodded with such purpose it was a little scary. “Nothing personal. It’s just… scientific inquiry, that’s all!”

“Oh, I see.”

She moved in. Their bodies were touching. Their breaths… were felt almost deep beneath their skins. “So? How do you feel about it?” Her nose… it touched his cheek! “Mi conejillo?”

He blushed, quite flustered, tasting his heart in his mouth. “Well… uh… I guess I can take it.” He looked at her. “For science, right?”

She beamed with the gentlest smile. “Yeah, bebé. For science.”

They stood there, silent for a while, and the leaves sang for them songs of forgotten times, and the waves crashed on the stone like music by the shore.

Chapter Text

He stared into the night. There were even fewer stars in that artificial sky. “And so we walked. We walked into parts of the city I didn’t even know existed. Parts that… were so astoundingly beautiful.” He stopped. It wasn’t the city, or the trees, or the wind, or the sea that shone in his mind. “So pretty. So delicate and tender.” He took in some air. The wind tasted sweet. It was night, after all, or perhaps very early in the morning, and the ocean, even from far away, smelled inviting. Delicious. “Never been to a rich part of town, you know. It’s nice. You even feel like you’re part of it. Like you’re part of… her life.” He heard nothing. After so long wanting to hear nothing, he heard nothing… and now all he wanted was to hear something. To hear her. “Is everything alright?”

…

…

No.

…

…

Nothing.

Maybe she was gone. She’d never been there in the first place. «Yeah, but… she is.» His eyes were on the ceiling. His head wanting, but refusing to turn and bring those eyes down, down, down… «She’s always been here.»

She’s not real. She’s never been real, and now you no longer need her. «I…» The thought left him shocked for a while. It kept repeating, banging against the walls of his skull, just like the stammer of his mind, on and on and on with the slow realization that «I…!»

He. No longer. Needed her. “Hey. Why so silent, all of a sudden?” He asked. He didn’t need to. It was silly to ask, but anyway, he was a really silly person. In a good kind of way. “Now I yearn for your voice, you know.”

Silence. There were no trees or leaves or nearby seas to smooth it out. It was just silence and… the heavier weights of his every breath. “Hey, speak to me.” He had his mind on the doll, but his eyes remained still unforgivingly on the ceiling. “I wish to hear from you a little.”

A part of him feared…

A part of him thought… just…

…

…

She knew he was lying. She had been quiet for quite a while. All the hour that he rambled on about his night with “the boys,” she knew it was a lie. She knew it was all bullshit—and now it was time for him to face the consequences of his lying. For him to face her wrath. “Can you please talk to me?” He turned abruptly, and all he saw was a copy of himself. “Oh…”

His doll was there. She was alive. Her eyes were opened, staring at the ceiling too, and her hands were crossed over her thick, muscular belly.

She was still, a bit motionless, just like dolls should be, and for a brief moment, a split second or even quicker, he thought, he hoped that she was just that: a doll.

Just a doll. No more than a doll. Never more than a doll. Just… a doll. “Honey?” He realized, soon enough, that it wasn’t quite so. Her chest was moving. Her mountainous, humongous breasts were rising and falling. Very faintly, very daintily, in a subtle way that, in all that dark, could easily be mistaken for stillness, for death, but they were moving, yes, there was motion and life in her no less.

Up and down. Up and down. The slow motion of a sorrowful breath. Taking her time. Soaking up all the lies he had told her. «Wow.» She said, simply.

And then she was quiet again.

…

…

The silence. The air. «Damn…» How hard he wished the leaves were there, that the trees surrounded them with their smooth, soothing dance, their gentle sounds coating his ears so nicely.

Taking in that silence, though, that disorienting quietness, it was…

…

…!

Too much. Oh. Too much! Too much for his poor senses to bear! “I need some words here. Love.” He moved a hand over to her face. “This silence is getting to my nerv-”

Touch. The tip of his fingers.

He moved his palms to her face, touched it gently with the tip of his fingers, intent on fondling it.

Turn. She turned her face away.

«Oh.» Went his mind.

“Oh.” Went his mouth.

…
…

…

…

…

…

…

A couple more minutes of silence were in order.

…
…
…

…

…

…

…

…

Even though an eternity had passed, he would never be quite sure it was enough.

You’re strong.

Words of quiet came to grace his mind.

You can speak plainly.

Words of quiet from the unlikeliest of places.

Though you must be ready to take a hit. Just like I was punched, you can be punched too. You never know, after all, if the person you’re speaking to is weak or strong. Few people have the talents, the skills I do for reading other people. You don’t—not for now, so you better take it easy.

A wink. A nod. Stars brimming in a smile.

Learn how to pick your shots. Choose your first fights wisely.

…

…

He looked at her. Static. Quiet. Breathing so softly. So terribly alive. «She’s strong.» He told himself. «Is she?»

Only one way to find out. “Hey. I need you to speak to me.”

There she stayed, looking at the ceiling, blinking once or twice, but otherwise as unmovable as the mountain that she was.

He didn’t need to do this. Did he? He didn’t need to ask. «I can just… imagine. I can imagine things and she will act as I desire.» Something got stuck in his throat, as if the thought itself had been so sacrilegious it doomed him, much like a peasant who spat upon the face of his king.

She stayed there, unmoving, untiring, not really dead, but terribly, asphyxiatingly unalive. “Speak to me.” He ordered. “I command you to speak to me.”

…

…!

His heart skipped a beat. Or seven. «Whoa!» It stopped beating altogether, blanketing his eyes in dark before its inevitable return to life. The doll had moved her head. «It… always seems…» Like a dream, but… «so real!» There were dreams that were too real. Or was it his reality, often so numbing, that felt like a dream?

“Hey.” He welcomed her.

Her beautiful face upon him. «Don’t do this.»

He gulped. “What?”

Silence. That dastardly, disgusting, despicable silence! «This.» She nodded, and he knew exactly what she was referring to. In her nod, as clear to him as an accusing finger, she had noted his sizzling mind. «Thinking that you can control me.» Pause. Just… a pause. «You can’t.»

Silence. Again.

«Fuck.» His mind. «She knows…»

No.

Silent.

Be silent, please.

She knows. She can read it.

She can read your every thought. «She is my every thought.»

It was so ridiculous, though.

«I’m not reading your mind, you know.»

He stopped. Silence again. «She knows that I…»

He began, but stopped.

How could he know? How could he make out what was real or not? It all felt so incredibly real, yet it was all so intensely stupid it couldn’t be anything but absolutely fake. A joke. A farse. A circus, alas, that for some reason he couldn’t escape. “You are my mind.”

She didn’t respond. Just… *Sigh*

Silence.

It was impressive, though: she knew how to use silence just as expertly as… the other one. Johanna. «Only difference… though…»

When Johanna did it, he felt good.

When she did it, he wanted to die.

No stopping now. You shoot your shot. Wink. Bells and whistles. You better hit.

Bullet still in the air. “Fine. Can you tell me what’s up?”

She looked at him. Silenc- “Hey, honey, I need something here.”

She gave her lips a very… slight… twist. «Now you want to hear me?» Before he could even think of an answer to th- «I apologize. I am acting like a girl, not a woman.»

“Hmm.”

Still, her eyes… her eyes of deep, terrifying green! «Your thoughts are safe. I cannot read them.» She reacted indifferently to the puzzled look he gave her. «Suit yourself. If you don’t believe me…» Her tone changed. It went from one of mild hurt to one of quiet understanding. «It’s fine. It’s really fine. I don’t expect you to understand these things… all at once.»

He made his move: his hand, not to her face, but slowly, slyly towards her hand. “Is it something I did?”

He touched her palm. She didn’t recoil. «More like something you didn’t.» She took a breath. «Give me a second. This suspense makes me look like a bitch, I know, and I…» She didn’t smirk, but for a very quick moment, it looked like she was about to. «I am supposed to be the stronger soul here.»

“Hmm.” He gave her palm a loving squeeze, then dared venture a little further up her wrist, feeling its thickness and firmness already so incredible just a couple of inches in.

The strongest woman in the world. The hardest body on the planet. The sturdiest soul under heaven. All to his touch. All for himself. “You clearly are.”

She finally broke a smile. «I know.» She gave him (and his body) a quirky glance. «You never let me forget it. You… cutie. You cute little man.»

He chuckled. A little uneasy, a little awkward, bits and pieces intimidated, yes, but… he chuckled no less. “Now, there’s my girl. I missed ya.”

She acted like she didn’t want to smile or please him. It was so cute! «Woman. No ‘girl.’ Woman.»

“Woman. Sorry.” He fondled that hand so lovingly. “There’s my woman.”

She took a deep breath, then a deeper breath, then raised her hands to her face and… *Slap-slap-slap!!* Slapped her cheeks with both hands incredibly fast and incredibly hard, making the bed, the room, the house, the building, the city, the planet shake with every blow. “Fuck…” He gulped. Those blows may have felt hard, apocalyptic to him, but to her they were probably quite casual, just a warrior lady trying to wake herself up from a slim instance of morosity.

«Sorry. Sorry for this.» She gave herself a couple more slaps. «I apologize for my crankiness. I guess my thunderous body is not all immune to my… feminine wiles, huh?»

“It’s okay. I’m glad we’re talking.” His touch. It gained a firmness… not all too common for him. “And there’s no need to apologize.”

«No?»

He moved to her. His eyes delved into hers with deep sincerity, honesty beyond honesty. “Strong people, uh… they don’t need to say sorry.”

These words moved her in many different ways. There was pride, fun, vigor in her expression, and then… sternness. Weight. A type of grimness belonging only to the hurt, bleeding hearts. «What happened last night? What happened to you?» She reached out to him with one hand, caressing his face like a cradle’s touch. «You’ve been out for a day, yet I feel you’ve been away for a lifetime.»

Their hands were all-embracing, their eyes both loving and battling each other, a fierce peaceful fight, two lovers trying to decipher one another, trying to unveil the secrets of each other’s hearts without, however, letting their intentions be known, without stating their desires outright.

It wasn’t deceit. It was a considerate circumvention. A swindler’s care. «They must have been amazing, these friends of yours.» She cared for his face like it was a baby. Her most precious child. «I feel like you’ve grown five years in just a handful of hours.»

He chuckled, trying to dissipate the heat. “I hope not. Otherwise, uh… I would then be too old.”

*Plick!* She flicked his nose. «You know what I mean.»

Flicked it or ripped it? “Ouch, ouch, woman!” He rubbed the hurt member, glad to see that it was still there, attached to his face. “Bloody heavens, you…” His eyes beamed with perpetual admiration. “You are strong!”

She gazed upon him with foxy, tricksy eyes. «‘Woman?’»

He chuckled. “I’m sorry. I, uh, got too comfortable with you. My bad.”
She pinched his cheek. Played with his face a bit. «No need to apologize.» Their eyes, their smiles. Brighter. Wider. «Strong people don’t need to apologize, after all.»

“Hmm.”

«Where did you hear this? Did you come up with it yourself?»

…

…

Something…

…

…

Something was amiss. “Hmm, yeah. Sort of.”

«Doesn’t sound like something you would say.»

He looked at her. That table… oh. He would sure as hell try to flip it his way. “What do you mean by this?”

Her lips twitched. «I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to call you weak or… anything like it.»

“Uh-huh.”

Her subdued, hesitant smile wrote in very big, clear letters: she was enjoying the tease. The challenge. The fact that her lover didn’t take things laying down anymore. «Mere hours ago, it felt like you were pouring all your heart, all your pain on my breast. And you were, oh, you were.» She fondled her waist, rubbing her palms on the base of her hefty boobs. «It felt, just like a minute ago, that you were a lone, lost soul looking for help. Yearning for someone to save you.» Eyes up. His eyes down, on her breasts. «Hey.»

“Oh, sorry.” He looked up. “You are irresistibly beautiful, you know.”

«Beautiful or hot?»

“Both. Right now… hot.” He gulped. “You look more hot than you look beautiful. If that makes any sense.”

«It does. Oh, baby, it does.»

She felt him reaching for her hands, fondling their backs with… quite the expert touch. «Even your touch feels different. More mature.» Her eyes up, mercilessly on his. «More experienced. It is not a type of touch one learns with men.» Her eyes straight, glimmering with spice. «Usually.»

Think. Think. Thinkthinkthinkthinkthi- “You know Joshua?” He saw her pucker her lips and tilt her head. “He’s… he knows his way with women.”

«Oh.»

He fondled her and loved her, caressing her hands with tender circular motions. “Yeah. He taught me a thing or two.”

«And are you expecting to use this thing or two?» She fondled him back. Harder. «Your recently acquired knowledge? Hmm?»

His eyes… Her eyes… “What’s going up, sweetheart?”

She sighed, turned around, and moved away from him to better organize her thoughts. «I feel like I can’t look at you for too long or else…» He couldn’t quite see her smile, but it was there. Oh, it was there. As unmistakable as the fading moon, sizzling with unrestrained hotness for his soul. «Or else… I will go crazy. Damn a woman’s heart, this gaze of yours does!»

He felt warm. The blood boiled up from his breast. It was… quite the intoxicating feeling. “Thanks.”

He saw her taking her breaths, putting her thoughts in order, choosing her words carefully. Every gesture, every motion, it was… something he was quite not used to. «So you’re going out with friends. Learning the ways of a woman’s heart.» Her eyes. A quick, pixy glance. «Learning to pick a woman up, I wouldn’t doubt.»

“Hmm… hey…”

«Just a second, just a second, oh.» She touched her forehead, shut her eyes. «Oh. Oh!» She seemed to curse herself and damn her feminine weakness. «What a terrible way to fall in love with a man.» She looked at him, pleased to see his face just as flustered and… honored. «I do love you. You are aware of this, right?»

He gulped. “I-I…”

*Wroooom!* There was motion. The whole world moving. *Wroooom!* A continent rising above the land, chains of mountains so vast as to lose the eyes in every direction. *Booom!* The woman had turned around, then settled on top of him, thunderous legs to each side of his thin ones, her overwhelming breasts almost crushing his skull. «Are you aware, petty male, that I do love you?»

The gods had been merciful that his woman knew what she was doing: her hands were away from his, her legs spread apart, both anchored deep in his bedsheets, raising her body many inches above his. If she had actually laid on top of him, used him as extra filling from that mattress… Boom! Once upon a lad. Now, just dead. “U-uh…”

She gave his grunts no chance to blossom into words. She moved in… closer… and closer… and then he felt the heavy, hard mass of her breasts on his chest, getting heavier… heavier… oh… heavier…! «Do you love me?»

His mind would have been melting if his body wasn’t so crushed. The presence of that woman, hot as it was, acted like the scent of a predator: it kept his senses sharp and his thoughts biting. “I…”

Her lips. He could taste them! Their fullness, their hardness, their texture, their… every little thing, he could taste them all. And so he would, it seemed, as they got closer…

… and closer…

… and so! Damn! Closer!

“I…” He shook his head. “Look, it’s, uh… difficult to… uh…” He shook it again. Cleared his throat. Looked her dead in the eyes. “It’s quite difficult to focus when… uh… you’re here. Like this.”

She stopped her descent, her massive boobs nonetheless drilling a hole in his feeble, frail breast. «Oh?»

He moved a hand to her face. The audacity! Even for such a simple gesture, touching a woman like her, especially for a lad such as himself, it was sacrilege. Heresy! Burn the lad on a stake! “It is. And… it’s a bit too soon for that.”

She laughed. His soul and his heart would have been soothed by that laughter, weren’t his body so terribly crushed by the titanic, superlative mass of her tits. «Nice answer!» She looked back at him, her eyes temporarily crushing him so much harder than her tits. «A very nice answer. I wonder how much more confidence you gained from this miraculous night.» Her right hand… up. It moved onto his body, onto his breast… then down. Down. Down. Into his waist. «How much more spice to tame your lady tonight and conquer her cunt tight.»

She fumbled his loin hard, but avoided his member. “Uurh…” He moved about uncomfortably. She knew it, she was quick to notice it, moving her hand away and showing it to him, almost like a gesture of peace or surrender.

«Right-o-right. Still, my male…» She laid upon him the facts straightly. «You never touched me. You never really treated me like a woman should be treated.»

“That’s not true.” He saw her foxy, haughty look getting foxier and haughtier as he spoke. “I have touched you. I have treated you… so right.”

«Oh.» She felt, on her powerful forearms, the tip of his fingers touching, worshiping, and climbing her like daredevils on an adventure. Her male was getting confident, and other parts of his body were rising too, just like his fingers. «I see, I see.» She moved in to fondle his head, caress his cheek and his scalp a little, love with love, answering in kind. «You have indeed treated me like a lady. Acted like a true gentleman around me.» She moved in. Her breasts… *wrooom!* Their pressure on his chest was like a hammer cracking the earth! «You have touched me, but you haven’t… touched me.»

She left her eyes to tell her story, and he read their lines very knowingly. “Oh.”

She moved away. The bed creaked and rumbled as she rose to sit on his waist. «Does this feel comfortable to you?» She calibrated her weight, adding strength to her legs as she adjusted herself on his loins, her formidable sex crushing his, dawning on him like a kraken upon a boat. «Often, when I know my strength, I do not know your frailty. When I know your frailty, I don’t know my strength. Help me find balance, then.» She acted guilty, her enormous shoulders crushed under a heavier burden. «I do not wish to hurt you like I did just now.»

He looked at her, staggered by her beauty. The moonlight always hit her just right. “Hmm.” He would have been easily mistaken for being too focused, with his eyes so intensely fixed on her face. It wasn’t focus, though. Just sheer admiration. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She was. She really was. Even the other couldn’t compete with the strong, hard perfection of that chiseled face, that marble-sculpted jaw. «Thanks.» With her muscles, her face, her curves, and her grace, she was beyond the perfect woman: she was, quite simply, Perfection itself. «But focus on the matter at hand, please.»

“Hmm.” He looked down, seeing his sex already so crushed under her superior, pulsating member. «Fuck!» She was so big and so tight and so hard down there that she basically had a penis of her own. Or at least something that would pass a woman’s version of a very big, fat “c-come down, uh, you can, uh…” He cleared his throat again and again and again, obviously aroused by that divine being. “You can lay down, uh, a little further.” She did so, and the rising pressure between their groins caused a deep, hoarse sound to rouse in the warming night. He gulped, feeling the immenseness of herself crushing the very little smallness of his being. “Fucking hell. C-cristo… senhor!”

She chuckled. «Looks like somebody is really happy to see me.» She stopped. «How does this feel now?»

“Uh-hmm, uh-huh, hmm, h-hmm…” He nodded and shook comically, pathetically, unable to form much in the way of words, then raising an upward thumb to tell her “o-okay. Uh, it’s, uh, okay like t-this.”

She giggled at his clear apprehension. «You cutie. Are you saying this because you already feel too much pressure or just because you’re really, really aroused?»

Words to one side, words to the other, bang-bang-bang, hitting and colliding all around. “Both, actually.”

She laughed. A more open, expansive, masculine laugh this time. «Lover…» The way she spoke… oh. It was utmost seriousness, he heard it right away. «I wish to make love to you.»

…

…

“Okay.”

Her smile beamed a tentative flash. «‘Okay’ as in… let’s do it?» Her hands moved down… down… down to his pecs. Or what could pass as “pecs” in that frail torso of his. «Or ‘okay’ as in ‘I got it?’»

“I… I got it.” He gathered all the spit in his mouth and swallowed it. *Gulp!* Made little difference. He was still drowning on his spit, salivating way too much.

«So that’s a no?»

“N-no-ah-I-mean…”

She sighed. One hand went up. Then, from said hand, a finger. «Can I speak?» He bumbled through himself, then nodded, looking both adorable and foolish as he did. «Good.» She rested her hands and lowered her shoulders. If there was any pose that said I am going to be serious now more clearly than that one, he wouldn’t know it. «So.»

He smiled. A bit of saliva still oozed in. “S-so?”

She smiled back. Then, they spent some time smiling at each other, two lovable fools. «Here’s the thing: I was sad… and…» She was battling against her words. Against herself. «I was awfully frus-… Well. I am quite frustrated, you know. Not with you, personally… well, perhaps a bit with you, perhaps a bit on the personal side, yes, but… oh, please, I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, okay? I know how much you hurt.» Hand down. Palm on his left breast. A gentle touch. A gentler squeeze. «I know how much you bleed… right here.»

He felt at ease. Even she, it seemed, harbored some of the insecurities of young love. “Huh. I… told you a lot about it, haven’t I?”

«You have.» Her smile… it could illuminate the universe. «You have told me everything. More than anyone would tell someone after so short a time.» She glowed. Little green suns on her eyes. «Eight weeks? Nine? How long’s it been since we first met?»

He didn’t know. In a land with no suns, time was awfully hard to tell. “About two months, I guess. It was… quite late in summer when I got… when I met you.”

«Hmm.» She muttered kindly.

Eyes on eyes. Hearts on hearts. That smile of hers… it could illuminate the universe long after it was dead. «Even if the universe dies, her smile will go on.» Long after the last black hole had dissolved into nothing. Her smile, her grin, her warm, beautiful beam, it would go on beyond eternity.

The answer to entropy. The proof of a kind, merciful god. “Glad to have you here with me. Timing, uh… I think the timing of our meeting…” He shrugged. Not so good with words, after all, even after she had made him as comfortable as he could be. “I think the timing has been just right.”

«Oh?» Deviousness in her gleam. «And why is that so?»

He wandered into her eyes, got lost in her soul. “When I met you, back then, in the summer… everything was warm and… sound.” He heard her chuckling, then… taking his hand. “Oh.”

She brought his hand closer to her heart, though without touching her breast. «When you met me in the summer, to my heartbeat’s sound, we fell in love as the leaves turned brown.»

She saw him tilting his head and his eyebrows moving up with curiosity. “Did you come up… I mean, uh… it’s pretty. These verses, they are… pretty.”

«I know.»

“Did you come up with them yourself?”

«No.» She shook her head. «It’s a little song from my land.»

“From… your land, huh?” He asked, and she nodded. He felt honored, for some reason. “Do you know, uh, many songs from… oh, what’s it called? The Parias?”

She chuckled. «My land is a little farther.» She winked. «It’s a secret land. You’re not invited to it, so I can’t tell you about it.»

“Uh-huh.”

«It’s just a cute little verse I thought about, that’s all. Please…» She gave him his hand back. «Keep talking. We met in the summer…»

He smirked. “To my hearbeat’s sound.” They both smiled, and then he was business again. “It was warm. It was… sound, pleasant. Now…” He gave a tentative glance through his window. “Winter’s not long to come by. It’s rough.” He touched the back of her hands in a caring, special way. “I’m glad I’ll have your warmth with me to carry me through it.”

«Ah.» She moved, very enigmatic. Like a ballerina of power. «I see.» Her grace made her scarier: something so big and heavy, after all, should not be able to move so quickly, nor so seamlessly. «Do you really desire my warmth?»

He looked puzzled. “I do. Of course I do.”

«Hmm.» Smooth. Seamless. Enigmatic. «I wonder… if we’re heading into a sort of winter ourselves.»

He moved up. “Baby… amor…” Credit where it was due, his heart, his instincts, they all felt superbly attuned to her words and her feelings. Just like a good lover’s should. “O que foi? What, uh… what’s going on?”

She smirked. «Oh, this woman, eh? Walking in circles, taking detours, playing with your emotions, doing everything but being straight.» She placed one hand on his chest. «Rest back, rest easy. I’m not angry at you.»

He did so, he relaxed, though not without the slightest, faintest reluctance. “You did say you were angry with me.”

«Not ‘angry,’ no.»

“Well, at least disappointed. If not with me… personally, then with something I did.” He remembered her words, spelled them out carefully, showing her how seriously he took them. “Or… something I didn’t.”

He looked at her. She looked at him. Eyes, eyes…

“Oh.” It finally hit him. “It’s about…”

…

…

Giggles. «Say it.»

…

…

…

…

“It’s about sex, isn’t it?”

She made little guns with her fingers, then “shot” at his breast. «Dingdy-din-ding! We’ve got a winner!»

He chuckled. “You’re mad at me because…”

«I’m not mad at you.»

“Okay, yeah. Uh, you’re… disappointed with me because…”

«Much better.»

Chuckles, chuckles… eyes. “I haven’t… we haven’t had sex yet. Is that it?”

She winked. «You did come a long way since this hangout, huh?» She moved a hand over his breast. A finger. A single finger on his meat, drawing circles with the nail. «Are you sure there wasn’t any woman involved?»

…

…

«I don’t know. This type of… how do I put it? Aura. This type of aura around you… this halo of confidence and… cockiness, even…» She flashed him a grin. «This type of confidence and self-assurance only really comes from a man who’s had his ways with women. Who has, uh, ridden a few rounds with them. No sex involved, even. Not necessarily, I mean. Just…» She shrugged. Her powerful shoulders always thundered when she did. *Boom!* «Fooling around. Getting to know them.»

…

…

…

«Hey, love?»

“Oh, sorry.” His eyes. His eyes on hers. On. Hers. “Did you think… what?” A smirk. “That I was fooling around, is that it?”

Again, her shoulders. *Boom!* «I know it’s silly, but… I know what I know.» *Boom!* «From the long time you spent away to… the way… you behave right now… you know…» Smile, smile… *boom!* «It kind of screams like… having an affair.»

He took her hands. Slowly, then, he guided her eyes with them to his heart. “Honey: calm. Down.” He kissed her. *Mwah!* The back of her hands felt so soft, yet so sturdy! “It was just a night out with the boys. Nothing to worry about.”

«I know, I know. Oh.» She took her hands back and looked at him, still with half-suspicious eyes. «You kind of make it difficult for me to believe it, mister. The way you touch me, the way you kiss me… oh!» Hands down. Palms on his breast. Fingers around his nipples. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes! «Makes me wet.»

“Oh…” His heart slowed down. Every beat of it and every draw of his breath were in sync. «Cristo. Cristo. Cristo!» She was outrageously beautiful. «Erotic. Outrageously erotic.»

«Yes.» She might have not been reading his mind, but she could see his thoughts very clearly on his face. «I got it.» She ran her hands down along the sides of her body. «I got… all… of… this!»

Her hands seemed to be taking detours on the edges of the planet, so aggressive were those curves, so big and tight her body was. To his eyes, none of that teasing ever felt like repetition. “I…” He attempted to speak, but damned him if it wasn’t hard to say a thing with an ocean frothing in his mouth every time! “I…” He shook his head. Come on, come on, come on, filho da puta, you can do this! “I… hmm… you’re quite beautiful. Have I told you that yet?”

She took a pause. Perused the cranks and nooks of her mind. «Iiiii don’t think you have, no.»

“Well, you are. You’re outrageously, extraordinarily beautiful.”

Her body… grr! So tight! So tempting! Wrapped up so neatly in all that tight, tight, tight clothing! Senhor amado dos céus, caralho…!

«Beautiful?» She interrupted his thoughts with a firm raise of her hand. «Or hot?»

“Hot. You are outrageously, extraordinarily h-”

«I know it.» Now, not just his thought, but his words: she interrupted them by laying her hand on his lips. «I will never get tired of hearing it, but… I want a little more than just your words now, more than just thoughts tonight.» She made sure the pause dropped on his heart before she leaned closer. «No words. No thoughts. I want cock.» Her eyes gleamed with the dances of little devils inside. «I want you to fuck me tonight.»

…

…!

Damndamndamn…!!

No. He stopped himself. Tamed his mind. After all, none of that was too surprising. “Hmm.” He said, trying to buy himself some time, but getting none of it as she…

«Eyes on me, mister.» She drew his eyes back to her with her fingers. «So, here’s what I want to do.» She smiled. «Oh, I wish I were being super hot with you right now. Speaking slowly. Moaning softly.» She slid the tip of her tongue out. Slowly… slowly… she moved it left, right, all along her beautiful lips, making them shine with the moonlight. «Teasing you. Denying you. Making you beg for a taste… of me.» Then, just like nothing… *pop!* It felt as if a different woman had taken her place: a big woman, a heavy woman, but light. A friend, no longer a lover—yet still a lover all the time. «Alas, it seems that you, little mister, have turned the tables on me. Now I’m the one who’s being teased, I’m the one who’s being denied her wishes.» She raised a hand, her thumb and her index drawing a pinch. «And I’m the one who’s this close to dropping on my knees and begging you, oh, begging you for dick!» She winked. «Praying that you bless my fat, wet cunt with that awesome cock of yours…» She bowed. «If you pardon my german.»

He was blushing. Not literally, but he was. “I…” He remembered the words that were uttered to him that previous night—something something strong, something something honest, something something fight—and felt his own words more orderly, more organized in his mouth. “Look…” There would be no more stammering for him. “I…” Almost. “Huh. I appreciate that, I really do. You have no idea how… this makes me feel. How good it makes me feel, I mean.” He looked at her, his starry eyes making up for the perpetual lack of stars in those northern skies. “Thank you. This… this means a lot to me.”

«I know it does.» She fondled his cheeks. «Yet why do I feel you’re going to reject me?»

“I’m not… I mean…” One mind. Two lines of thought. “I’m not rejecting you.”

«So you’re saying yes?»

“Well…”

He smiled. They both chuckled.

He was nervous. A shoddy building to her wrecking ball. Yet still… “No. Not exactly.” He was light. He was happy. “It’s amazing. You know.” He took her hand, rubbed his cheek on her palm so smoothly, his eyes twitching and rolling, like a cat getting a good rub on its belly. “How you make me feel.”

«How do I make you feel?»

“Nervous. A wreck.” He gauged her reaction. “Yet calm. And strong.”

«I think that’s still the effect of your friends on you.»

“Hmm.” He felt her hand moving away and his… moving in. “Oh.” Her breasts dangled over his face, shaking so slightly, tempting his eyes. “Damn.”

They were so big, yet so hard that their every wobble was very slim, not one strand of hair setting them apart. «Men are always very nervous around me. That’s my greatest strength.» She moved one hand beside his face, and her biceps made a roar as she moved her arm. «I can hold them really tight.» She closed her fist. «Make them do my every wish and whim.» She pulled away. «Yet you are the only one who’s ever resisted me for so long. The only one who’s ever resisted me at all.»

That wasn’t happening. That couldn’t be happening. «Why does it feel that I have no control at all?» He was of one mind and a billion thoughts. His woman was there, shining under the moon, her two beautiful, piercing eyes painting him emerald and blue, and yet… she shouldn’t be. «Why can’t I just imagine her away?»

Just as this thought whisked by his mind, sadness blanketed her face. «Hey, honey, real talk.» She moved her hands up and did that gesture he got quite used to from the night before: T, T, T! Tempo, tempo, tempo… «I want you to fuck me.» She smirked. «And I want to fuck you. Whatever you prefer. But…» She looked out through the window. «I need you… now. Tonight. Not one day longer, not one night more.» Her eyes moved down upon him like the prayers of all the faithful to their one and only god. «I need you inside me, making me warm, and… I just can’t wait for it no more!»

His eyes glittered with the crystals of the moon. Hers shimmered too, but with the river and the salt she would unleash upon him too.

“Oh, amor. Are you really… I mean… do you really want this so badly?”

She nodded, then moved like someone with nowhere else to go. «Yes, silly. Yes! I want you! I want you so terribly bad!»

The emotions… the feelings… would there even be a point trying to count them? Trying to tame them all? «I… I…» If his mind didn’t make up its mind and his mouth didn’t make a single sound, his eyes communicated all that she needed to know.

«I understand you.» Her hands, again on his breast. Massaging him. Comforting him. Letting him know that «everything will be alright. We can take it as easy as you’d like, but…» She bit her lower lip. Her pent-up energy was unmistakable thanks to the uncontrollable wiggling of her butt. «I really need it. You. I really need… you.» A smile. «Inside of me. Tonight.» Her eyes… «Now!»

«I guess it can’t be avoided. Sooner or later, you knew this was going to happen.» His thoughts were a mess. «They have always been a mess.» He reasoned with himself. «Only now, though...» They felt like a surprise.

He raised his eyes back to her, and she welcomed him with a heavenly smile. «There’s my man.» She spoke. Or he thought. He didn’t know which was which anymore. «Please… talk to me. I need to hear your voice.» Winking very slyly, she pointed a finger at him. «I command you to talk.»

He smirked. “Sorry. It’s a lot of things going on… here.” He moved his hands around his head. “You know… everything I went through. Don’t you?”

She nodded. «I do.»

“You know… how I feel about… all of this.” He gestured more uneasily around his pelvic area. “Don’t you?”

She nodded. She granted him a comforting silence. «I do. You have told me everything.» She took his hands, squeezed them tight. «And I promise you I will never be like any of them. Those nasty people.» She kissed his fingers. *Mwah. Mwah…* «Those evil people.»

*Mwah…*

He pulled his fingers gently back, and she kindly, warmly let them go. “Do you give me a minute? To think?”

She nodded, and her silence was like a warm blanket on his heart.

…

…

…

«…»

…

…

The wind. A gush of it.

It felt so good…

…

…

…

He looked at her. “Can I think a little longer?”

She laughed. «Think all night long, love.»

He smirked. “All night long, eh? So… you’re not really that hurried, are y-?”

«Yes. Yes, I am, mister.» She winked. «I trust you. I trust that you will say yes.»

«And what if I don’t?» He thought to ask, but…

No. He wouldn’t have the heart. «By the gods. These eyes!»

Her eyes were so sad. So candid. So… devoted.

…

He thought for a little while.

…

…

Wasn’t a long while this time around. “Can I ask you one thing?”

She acted cheeky. «Will your decision hinge on my answer?»

He pondered, tilted his head here and there, and then replied. “Kind of.”

She acted cheekier. «Oh. A challenge, is this?»

“Don’t think of it like that.”

«Oh, but I want to. I enjoy challenges.» She licked her lips. «Makes me wet.»

“Then, uh, yes, it’s a challenge.”

«But I don’t enjoy men who change their minds just to please their ladies.» She grinned. «Makes me dry.»

“You’re acting quite daring for someone who’s begging for my… my…” A stutter. “My sex.”

She relaxed. Provoked him, yes, but she did it softly. «Your cock?»

He winked. “Yes.”

She crossed her arms. Caralho! Her limbs and her breasts, poor things, they fought for every atom of space available on her chest. «Very well, mister. What is your question?»

He relaxed his face, let his eyelids move down, his eyes melt as he asked: “Why?”

It needed more words. He knew she didn’t need to hear them, that she would accept him no matter what, but he still felt that question needed more words. It was no longer a matter of pleasing her, but of… proving something to himself. “Why… do you want it? Why do you want it so badly?” His eyes, awake again, moving up with his face to meet hers. “Why do you want it so badly… with me?”

Her smirk. Oh! A goddess of mischief, she was. A fox in a woman’s body, sometimes. «There you are.» Hands on his cheeks. Fondle, fondle, fondle. «There’s my baby boy again. I never thought I would need to say this, and I do hope I never, ever need to say this again, but… I missed this.» The gleam in her eyes…! «I missed my insecure little baby boy.»

He took her hand. They both loved each other infinitely in the quiet. “Why? Why, then?”

She took her hand back. Her movements were sharp, precise, definitive, making the bed rumble while paradoxically steadying his heart. «Here’s the thing. First things first. I will start with the simplest reason, then work my way up through the more complicated ones, okay?» She winked.

Her quick, quippy demeanor took a lot of the pressure off the situation. It made him feel comfortable, safe again. “Okay.”

She beamed. «Right on. The simplest answer is…» She pointed at him. «You’re hot!»

They traded chuckles and longing looks. “I guess this is a fair point.” His voice, deep and steady. “And then?”

She moved back a little, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. «My, my…» She bit her lips, purring like a cat in heat, yet her haughtiest thoughts she kept inside, guarded deep, for the time being, within her loins. «The second reason is, I guess… I fell in love with you.»

“You’re kind of answering my question with the same question. I asked you precisely why. Why you fell in love with me.”

She sucked one lip, laughing loudly, unable to contain the emotions that bubbled inside of her. «Look at you! So cocky!» She winked. «Such swagger!»

His eyes, though… “Answer what I asked.”

Her eyebrows, up. Her eyes, shimmering with stars. «Yes, master.» A gentle bow. «Sometimes love is all the answer you need, you know.»

“You’re coming with platitudes at me?” A light smirk, a gentle scoff. “Really?”

He was stopped by her upright palm, her firm hand. «Quiet now, love. Let me explain to you how love works. I want you so deeply because… I fell in love with you, and I fell in love with you because… well… because I did.» A wink. The tip of her tongue between her teeth. A sexy, perky bite. «You think I wouldn’t? After so many weeks with you? After so many kisses you laid upon my face, so many suckles you took from my breast?»

“Oh. Huh.”

Laughs. Giggles. «Any woman would fall in love with you this way, whether she was attracted to you in the first place or not. I was already deeply insane with love for you the very first moment I saw you, so these past few weeks were just… the cherry on top.» She watched his face. She knew exactly what was going on in his poor little head. «Don’t you think for a second, oh, my male!» She pointed at him, snapping him out of the poisonous thoughts that brewed within. «Don’t you think that you’re not sexy or hot or great or… oh!… a man any woman wouldn’t die for! You are! You aren’t half as ugly as you think you are, and with a little bit of work, a couple (dozens) of pounds of muscles here… and here…» She pinched and squeezed parts of his body. «You will be a horse! A steed! A true stud any woman, anywhere in this world would pay fortunes to bear the children of!» She winked. «You are awesome! Let’s just… take all this rubble from over your greatness and… release all your true awesomeness, letting it shine unclouded, unabated, and unimpeded!»

His mind had been frozen. A couple of words back, his mind had gone…

…

…

Blank.

“What…?” Did he hear that right? “What did you say?”

She struck a dandy pose, making the bed squeak and the bedroom shake. «I fell in love with you because it was impossible not to. So many weeks, love, so many words… so many declarations of love, so much devotion to me and my care.» Her posture melted, her formidable frame became small and approachable. «I guess it was impossible for me or anyone to not fall in love with such a man.»

“Oh. Umm. Uh-huh.”

A finger. His face. A finger pointed at his face. «Stop doubting yourself. I think we have long moved past this stage, haven’t we?» She licked her lips, purring at every inch of the lick. «Thanks to me… and thanks to your friends too, I guess… you’re free. Or free-er, I should say.» She shivered, unable to tame or fathom the tsunami of pleasure that ate her up from her groin. «Oh, jolly, I wonder… how much hotter you’re still yet to become!»

“Fine. Hmm. I guess, what you’re saying is… exposure, huh? You grew in love with me because of… exposure, didn’t you? The time we spent together. The secrets we shared. They weaved a love where there was none, just as it happens with two colleagues who, uh… spend a lot of time together, right, and share a lot of the same interests?”

She snapped her fingers. «Right-o!» She laughed. «Look at you, look at you! You speak the language of love so much clearer than I do.»

“Right.” He mimicked her. “Right-o.” Her eyes. Tantalizing. Daring. “So… is this all?”

Her posture, then… somber. *Wooom!* He felt the sudden fall of that silence upon him, like a heavy blanket of secrets cast upon them both. Secrets yet unspoken, secrets perhaps unspeakable. “Love?”

His woman shuddered, crushed under the thickness of the fog in her mind. «I am sorry. I… just got a little… something… right now.»

He moved up. Elbows on the mattress. Pulling up, up, until he could meet her eye-to-eye, or as close to her eyes as he could get. “Love?”

Again, that loving gesture: one hand on his breast… push… push… push… gently pushing him back to the mattress, telling him that «it’s nothing. No. It’s nothing to be too worried about. Just…»

…

…

*Sigh!*

«There are things about me you don’t know. Things you will never know, so…» She moved her hands up. Looked at them while she stretched and shut her fist. *Wroom! Wroom! Wroom!* Her powerful muscles stressed the fibers of her shirt every time, reeking with power in every little motion. «Huh. How hypocritical of me. I scold you sometimes for being overwhelmed with your own past, your own… nature.» *Sigh.* «And here I am, right now, crushed by my very own being.»

Her eyes on his. «Whoa.» That type of sadness… he only saw it in his own eyes, when staring at himself in the mirror. “What are you talking about?”

She gave him no prompt answers, too lost with herself, too staggered by the weight of her own past. Of all things she’d done, that which she was about to do was leagues away the most terrifying, miles ahead the most intimidating of all. A woman such as her, as big as a mountain, as built as a bull, as strong as a bear… so shocked. So collapsed. So crushed by a bigger, stronger, more terrible trauma!

“Amor. Ei, amor…” He reached out to her. After so many words and so much pain he had laid upon her, what type of monster would he be if he didn’t burden at least some of these words, some of her pain on his own back? “Lover, please… what…?! What is going on??” It was shocking to him too. A twinge of dishonesty in his worry.

What freaky shit is this? What crazy stories are these I keep coming up with?

She looked up at him, and his thoughts were ground to a halt by her eyes. “Amor?”

She smiled, using her deep breaths to power her words forth. «I guess the simplest way to explain it is…» She moved her arms. «This is my nature.» She touched herself. «This is what I was made for. That’s all I exist to be.» Eyes all over her body. Too long a contemplation, for there was way too much body to cover. Then, finally, back at him. «Even if I were never attracted to you, I would still be bound to serve you. Destined to bring you love, because not doing so would cost me… everything. My sanity, my body… my soul.»

Her breaths… slower. Slower. Slower. «Lover of mine, I guess what I want to say is… we’re bound together now. Forever.» Her eyes shimmered with the glimmer of tears about to rise. «I loved you always, I love you now, I will love you forever.» She winked, and a lonely tear indeed escaped her eye. It escaped before he caught it, really quickly, with a finger. «I… *sniff!* I was meant for this. All I want is… this! That’s why it’s so important for us… to get freaky tonight! If we don’t, I…» Lip bites. Shivers. «I really don’t know what I’m going to do. What I’m going to be. I…» Eyes on the window. A finger right through. «I guess I am going to jump and disappear, that’s what I will do.»

“Whoa, whoa! Let’s not be too dramatic, okay? This type of thing, uh, you know… it used to be my thing, you know. This type of freaky talk, these hopeless words.”

«Then I guess you understand the pain, the emptiness…» She moved in. Little closer now. «The pressure! The urge of doing it no matter what! No matter… how!!»

His eyes flickered. It’s not that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but that, for a brief and disconcerting moment, he wasn’t even sure of what he was talking to. “Love… is this so bad?”

Her nods would threaten to bring down the entire building if they got any more vigorous. «Yes! We’ve gotta do it! Otherwise, I don’t see any need for myself!» She raised one hand and counted with her fingers. «So the first reason, I guess, is because you’re hot. That is easy peasy, orange squishy, lemon squeezy to understand.» She winked, and he nodded in silent understanding. «Second reason is… I have fallen in love with you. After so many weeks together, so many words of love thrown around, I think any woman, hot or not, would have fallen in love with you just the same. Then the third reason…»

The fingers stood there, risen as she shook and shivered, her eyes lost briefly in a mist of terrible secrets that he could never hope to understand—but that now, damnably, he had to! He needed to!

«Third reason is… this is my nature, love, and it’s too late to go back.»
He saw how, after her speech was over, she seemed to return from a really terrible place, like a drug addict slowly waking up from a very rough, damning trip to hell. “Love…”

She knew his words. She had his mind. «Don’t try to understand it. I think these things are… just…» A deep, sorrowful sigh. «Beyond your comprehension.» A quick smile, innocent and foolish, acting as if it could make him forget all the weight of her words just then. «I am a sex doll. I am your sex doll.» Winks and giggles. «I was made to fuck you and by the gods I will! I will fuck you… even if that’s the last damn thing I do!»

The ocean made itself heard in the room, carried perhaps by the morning wind, and it defused a lot of the tension that had been building up between the two.

Lover and lover were gazing upon each other, less reading what the other had to say and more internalizing all the words, all the thoughts, all the feelings that were yet to be said or written. The young, male lover vacillated, as he usually did, but even he, with all his fears and insecurities, had to accept that the stream had long been crossed, its waters many, many steps behind. “I’m afraid.”

On his face, he felt the warm embrace of her smile. «I know.»

On her face, she felt the warm embrace of his gaze. “I don’t know what I am supposed to do.”

She responded with lovely giggles and kindly rolls of her eyes. «Silly, silly. Nothing! You will do nothing, for you need to do… nothing.» A wink. «Leave it to the experts. Your only job will be to lie down and… enjoy yourself. Enjoy me over yourself.»

“Hah.” A hesitant chuckle.

«Hah.» A provocative snicker.

Eyes on eyes. Heart on heart. “And if I don’t?”

Eyes back on eyes. Darkness on her heart. «Death.» His heart, fast. Her eyes, up. Up on the window. «My death, silly. Through the window I go.» Eyes like a hammer on his breast. «I’m serious.»

“You’re… really eager, aren’t you?”

The wink, the wink… not with her eyes, but with her soul, translated into her every tender motion. «You’ve no idea.» Her insecurities, so charming, pushed out more words than were needed. «Look, you’ve been out. You had fun with friends. You… showed yourself much stronger than anyone or even I had predicted.» She crossed her arms. Again… *wroom!* There was barely any space left in her chest for her boundless muscles. «You are ready for it.» She winked. «Last night was proof of it.»

“You… you’re right.”

«If you… if you don’t lay me, oh…» She played with her hair, looked around, getting flustered, not knowing what to do with herself. «It’s over. Between us. Over! You will never see me again.»

“I understand.”

The way she looked upon him, like hooks and anchors for eyes, it felt like she was trying to hook his soul and steal it to her with her gaze. «I’m not leaving here without a taste of your body. That’s an order. And… my body, oooh…!» She shivered. It was a wonderful thing when a woman, so aware of her own beauty, felt aroused by her own curves, got the hots for her own smoldering being. «Look. At. This. Body. Yo!» She laughed, she giggled, she didn’t know what to do with herself. «Anyone would be insane to not fall on their knees for this sweet ass rockin’ body in an instant, let alone after so many weeks lying next to it, sleeping with perfection on your bedsheets.»

“I know.”

«If you refuse to sleep with this body… oh!» Her words trailed off and her mind visibly left her skull, for she had been touched. Touched! Touched in the back of her hand by that male’s frail fingers, which nonetheless felt like the thickest, firmest limbs of a titan. «Oh…!» All the more so when he moved those very fingers around hers, then draped her hand in the strongest, hardest squeeze, a loving, caring embrace by a true, inveterate swain.

“I know.” He laid out the words simply.

Her ears, now so skeptical, had a hard time accepting them. «You do. Don’t you?»

“I do.” The words became irresistible with his smile. “And… I do. I accept your terms.”

«Oh…»

He left her hand, laid himself back, gods and heavens encircling his mind, the memories still so warm, yet moving back, back, back into the past to make space for the sweet, the majestic, the wonderful present. I am going to get laid tonight. Swirled the thoughts like butterflies in his head.

Before her fascination, under the devotion of her eyes, he put out his tongue, puckered forth his lips, and invited his woman with words of blazing steam and scorching yearning: “Come to me, my heart, and… show me how real lovers fuck.”

The sea had moved away, the wind died out completely. «As you wish.» Only the sound of their hearts remained. Each beat counting down the time. Each breath dispelling their shame.

Their hearts, about to erupt. Their minds in roaring flames to merge. And their bodies… their sweaty, longing bodies… finally to meet and mix and converge in a swirling, sweltering bang!

Chapter Text

They were walking somewhere in the city, he didn’t know where. Trees surrounded them, just like they surrounded the concrete everywhere, anywhere, all the time in that golden heart of town. «It’s like a forest.» He thought, only to then realize that «it’s nothing like a forest.» He noted again as the beautiful colors shimmered and swirled around him over the darkness, sparkling lamplights glittering in the black. «A rich forest.» Another part of him, and a rather disingenuous one pondered, looking beyond the trees at wherever he could to see tall buildings, ornate structures, big, dark, and imposing.

Buildings whose stone were like their wood: they had a texture, a tenderness, and a color that could never be replicated in a factory, never mass-produced. «Old buildings. Fancy castles.» He whistled in his mind, getting his eyes lost in the rows of fortresses and mansions that shared that space with all the tall, dark, and threatening trees, all classic and intricately detailed, every wall like a sculpture, every door a holy relic.

“Ever been to der Gollenstadt?”

He looked to his left, seeing his girl still there with him. «This is…?!» Parts of his mind were always close to short-circuiting, but there was a lightness, a calming trait in her touch that always prevented him from… crumbling apart. «It’s… like… as if… s-she can…» He shivered and mumbled.

“Poor thing.” His woman embraced him a little tighter, a warm and firm hug with one arm around his waist. “Should I get you a proper coat? On top of the suit, I mean?”

He gulped. Her voice was like a lasso gathering the steeds of his thoughts in order. “No. It’s just… all of this… is a little too new… perhaps a little too much for me.”

She chuckled. “Good.” And said not a word more.

Since her command for utmost sincerity, he dared not withhold from her any information, even less so to utter a misleading one. «Meu senhor querido!» He felt crushed, overwhelmed, but all of it was wonder. He may have not spoken as much as he wanted to, for the reins of honesty exerted quite the heavy pull on his heart, but all that he did speak was unconditionally honest, a type of restraint that made his every word worth more than a thousand speeches. Certainly more than all the speeches he’d ever uttered… back…

Back in his past. Back in his land.

The walked by the lights, and the butterflies in his stomach fluttered among the stars. “Say.” From his side, he heard her voice. “You’re a creative, aren’t you?”

That foxy, clever voice! Every time she spoke to him with that tone, oh, he knew he would have a fun, fun time!

“Hmm?” He looked at her.

“Hmm!” She mocked him. “Don’t you pretend you didn’t understand.” She raised a hand to his face, flicked a finger on his nose. *Pinch!* “You are an artist, are you not? What you do for a living?”

His feet, stopped. Her feet, still going, but slower, then slower still, then turning around so she could look and giggle at his face. “I got you, didn’t I?” She basked on that flimsy victory while her male hid his face briefly, then walked again with her.

“How…” He gulped. He coughed. He chuckled. “How’d’you know?”

“It became clear to me about an hour ago.” She refreshed his memory with the sunbeams of her beautiful smile. “When you said that people are more complicated than machines. I had my suspicions, my gut feelings, indeed, that you were more of the libertine type, of the creative crafts, but it all only came together very neatly, like a lightbulb lighting up, when you said it: people are more complicated than machines.” She giggled. “This is something only an artist would say.”

He turned to her. “You don’t read minds, do you?”

She stuck out her tongue. “♫ Silly, silly, willy-nilly. ♫ I don’t need to read minds for that. Didn’t I tell you how good I was with people? And machines?”

“Fine.” He grunted. “I’m just… sort of… avoiding the topic. Being dramatic, that’s all.”

“Just like all artists do.”

“You’re going to ask me now what I do, uh, creatively, right? How I pay my bills and such?”

*Tlac! Tlac!* She snapped her fingers like guns in the air. “Correcto, mi roboto! Oh, look at who’s reading whose mind now!”

“Hmm.” He half grumbled, half chuckled, and Johanna…

“So?” She would not allow the silence to go, denying him his hopes of losing her tracks. “What do you do for a living?”

He looked at her. He admired her. Such a strong, terrible aura coming from such a pretty, eternally young face. She was scarier than… the other one… in many different, fascinating ways. She didn’t need big muscles or voluptuous curves to crush a lover into submission. «Welp. Or maybe I’m just too small and petty regardless.»

They stopped. Only then, when their steps had ceased, did he snap out of his thoughts and contemplations. “What beautiful things are you thinking about right now?” She addressed him, hands on his elbows, fields of dreams in her pink, blushy cheeks. “You’re admiring me. Getting lost in my beauty, so… I’m sure they are pleasant, wonderful things, these thoughts you’re having, these things you’re thinking about.”

He gulped. He coughed. He chuckled. And she chuckled with him too. “Fine, uh…” He stepped back. One step. Very short. Just a little one. “Hones-, uh, honesty, eh?” He saw her tilting her head, slightly confused. “We should, uh, be honest… to each other. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Honest all the time, eh?”

Again, she nodded. “All the time.”

And her smile was worth the world. “Oh, I see. Because…”

The air. The wind.

The leaves on the trees.

Each of them. He could hear them. The air. The wind. The leaves…

“Because… we’re strong. Aren’t we?”

She stepped forward. One step. Very short. Just a little one. “We are.”

He drew courage from the songs of the leaves, all of which rooted for him. “And if… if I don’t feel like… being honest?”

She shrugged. “Then choose silence. Just don’t lie, okay?” She trapped him with her eyes. “Lies are for the cowardly and the meek.”

“Hmm.”

She gave another step forward. Oh! Her lips… they were touching his nose. “There is only one thing I find truly disgusting in this world, and that is weakness. Meekness.” She touched his hands. They were warm and soft. No longer shivering. “You promise me you will not be weak. Um?”

“I… I…” His eyes. Lost, lost, lost. “I cannot make such a promise.”

He gulped, and his woman kept looking at him with mysterious eyes. “Promise regardless.”

“Oh.” He looked away. Not too far away. Just a bit. Just for drama, really. “And what if it’s a lie? This promise of mine?”

“It won’t be.”

The whole world felt as sure as the tropical sun rising every day, and he stood strong, tall as the trees and buildings around them, made as sure and straight as those words he heard from her beautiful, beautiful lips.

He pulled back, a clock ticking in his mind, certainty glazing on his face, sem tempo a perder, sem tempo a perder! “Hmm. Very well. I…”

Clock ticking.

Certainty fading.

Clock… ticking.

Ticking.

“I choose silence.”

She made an expression that was both comic and understanding, and then… she walked away.

“Hmm…?” He walked after her, both of them strolling side by side, just as they had been for the previous hundreds of hours, and he… “So.” He didn’t know how to react. “That’s it?”

He didn’t know he didn’t have to know how to react.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, so simply, so completely, and then just… walked away.

She walked and walked and walked away.

“Oh. Okay.”

Every step brought the couple to a different place, in a different hour, the night growing thin as their silence grew warm and her smiles, captured through his side glances, grew as bright as the moon. Who was stealing from whom? Him, stealing peeps from her through covert eyes? Or her, instilling doubts in him through her more open glances and wily smirks?

“You can say it.”

“Hmm…!”

She chuckled. “You can ask me whatever you want. You need not fear my answers, you know.”

“I don’t?” His tone, stern, doubtful, cunning. Like herself. “I need not fear your answers, really?”

She giggled. “Wolves of a pack. You need not fear me, perrito.”

“Huh.”

“I know, I know.” She turned to him, still walking. “Bleeding heart, isn’t it?”

He avoided her gaze, fought with himself against his better instincts, but… «ai, que merda.» Were those really his better instincts? Or just his worst ones?

“I don’t do much in life.”

“Hmm, hmm.”

Silence. Steps. Breathing, breathing.

“I do… paintings. Digital paintings. Illustrations. Covers.” He gulped. “For books. Network pages. Magazines. Posters, sometimes.”

“Oh, oh, I see.” She walked. Slower. “You’re an illustrator? A designer, is that it?”

“I don’t have, uh, a technical term for what I do.” He shrugged. “People pay me to… put images together… often texts and other… stuff in it, uh, and I… I give them the files and…” Shrug. Shrug. Shrugs. “Get my monies.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

He turned to her. “It’s not.”

She stopped. One hand on his shoulder. “I kept this in because I didn’t want to interrupt you, nor take back the reins of the conversation while you were finally opening up. However, as you’re apparently falling back again into your worst habits, let me be very clear and very straight with you just now.” Her hold… wow! What an incredible grip she had with that hand! “I said this is impressive. I mean it when I say this is impressive. Because this is impressive! It is a lot in life.”

“Oh…”

“Eyes on me, mister.”

He raised them. He stared at her. He died. “Yes… ma’am.”

She chuckled. “This is a lot. You crossed continents. Landed safely on a safe harbor. Maintained yourself quite well and without a fuss.” One eyebrow, high and higher and even higher still. “I suppose you get paid in hard cash, strong currency, do you not?”

He blushed. “Yes.”

“Oooh.” She let him go. They walked again. “What service do you use?”

Don’t tell her don’t tell her don’t tell her you stupid fucking s-

“Torval for the transfers. Not, uh, money, but, uh, files.”

“I see.”

“Bank… isn’t here.”

“I supposed none of them are. Pretty impossible to bring cash through usual means.” She peeked at him. “Legal means, that is.”

He blushed. His eyes were everywhere. “Legality is… often flexible.”

“Indeed.” She laughed, and his heart felt… happy with that.

“I told you I was a thief.”

“I see, I see. I see you, player.” She winked. “A player and a slayer.” She hid her naughtiest giggles in her breast. “So, how do you deal with money? Where do you hide it, eh?”

He turned to her. “What did you say you work with, again? Nothing to do with, uh, the… uh, revenues and… finance departments of, uh, government, right?”

“Just answer it, silly.”

“Fine. Uh…” Eyes ahead. A light path. “Toyoda.”

“Ah, you too?”

“You have an account with them?”

“Surprised? Anyone who wants to hold onto real cash go eastern. Extortionist rates, though.”

“Mmph! You tell me about it.”

“So, let me get this straight: you came all the way here from half-away the world, settled on (what I suppose is) a nice home by the skirts…”

“Wäelfland punt, actually.”

“Wäelfland, oh, yes. This is where Jojo works. Oh, my, then! You’re even better off than I expected.”

“Please, don’t be like this.”

“I will be like this, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” She laughed, quite the maniacal fiend. “So you have a nice home…”

“A tiny home.”

“… in a nice place in the nicest of countries, with a stable link, and all of this with the eye-and-liver fees that Toyoda charges.” She stopped. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Oh, well, I guess I don’t mind it anymore.”

“Very well. What exactly do you draw? Or illustrate, whatever?” She reverted to walking at a dairy whimsy pace. “This might be just my ignorance speaking, but I never figured artists could afford such a lifestyle.”

“They can’t. Artists don’t get paid. Laborers do.”

“Oh.”

He stopped. She stopped after him. For the very first time, indeed. “Artists do art. I do labor. Different things, you see.”

“I see. So…”

The wind. The leaves. The sea crashing, farther away, all of them whispering, leading doubt astray. “Porn.”

Eyes. His.

Eyes. Hers.

A moment of pause. A smile growing without showing.

“Porn.” Repetition. “I do porn for a living.”

One second of calm. This is all she allowed him before… the laugh!

“Oh, my… hah! Hah, hah, hah!” And then a pause. And then again… “HAHAHAHAHA!!” It was over, though. Almost as soon as it’d begun, her laughter rescinded back to giggles back to smiles back to compassionate rubs on his arm. “Look at you!” She boomed. “Really, truly a fiend, aren’t ye?”

He looked right, he looked left, he… “Yeah.” He looked at her, warm smile on his face, the pain and the doubt all but gone, flowers growing in his breast.

«Is this what… the freedom… the freedom from lies… that thing people talk about… feels like?»

Truth shall set you free.

“May I see it?”

“What?”

“Your porn?”

A crash. A train derailment in his guts.

A couple of coughs. *Cough! Cough!* “I… uh… no.”

“I see.”

“No, I mean… not ‘no’ in the sense that you can’t, but… like… no, you can’t.”

“That doesn’t quite make much sense.”

“I know, I know. Hmm, how do I put it…” He hid his face behind one hand, blushing a bit. “You can look into some of my works, like…”

“Oh, that’s great!”

“Hold on, hold on. I, like… it’s not like I have them ready or anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t exactly keep any files. Like, old ones, that is. And the ones I keep are, like… off-limits. And such.”

“Non-disclosure?”

“Hm?”

“You’re legally obliged to never show them to any person? That’s what I meant.”

“Oh, I…” He shrugged, he grimaced, his shoulders formed waves of indecision. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It’s not, like… everything…” He moved his hands around, hoping that his winding, bouncing gestures would make his words any clearer. “It’s always more like… in a gray zone, you know.”

“I got it, I got it.” Her smile became bigger at every repetition.

“It’s porn. Like… not porn porn, but still… it’s not something, uh, people like leaving trails for. You know?”

“What do you mean, not porn porn?”

“There’s little actual nudity involved. In most cases, that is.”

“Oh, so, more like… erotic? Suggestive?”

“Yes.” A boulder was lifted off his lungs. “More, uh, more like it, yes.”

“Can I see them, though? You told me that I could see some of them.” She did a little dance, biting her lips, wiggling her eyebrows. “Sort of.”

He gulped gallons of air, the fires in his head burning as if they’d just received hot, fresh batches of coal. “Well, I… so…”

She laughed. “Take your time!” Then… she resumed walking with him, the pace carefully chosen to instill calm waters into that stormy mind. “It’s amazing, really. Not just what you do, but the fact that you’re actually telling me all this.” She winked. “Thank you for your trust. It means the universe to me.”

“Oh, come, that’s…” That’s nothing. He thought to say, but gladly chose to stay quiet. “Um, you… uh…” He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

The trees turned to lights turned to buildings turned to trees again. Every step felt like laying on a divan and taking a nap. «Why am I feeling so calm?» He looked at his palms, seeing them straight and still. «Why am I acting so cool?»

His thoughts, or rather, his actions, unlike the walk, were quick and decisive.

“Have you heard about, uh… My President Beloved?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a series of books. A… steamy type of romance they sell there in the northern parts of the Americas. Mississipi, Cali, those sorts of places.”

“Do they still make money out of these things?”

He shrugged. “Apparently they do. Enough to pay me, I mean.”

“Hmm. Hmm.”

“Have you heard of it?”

“I know what you’re talking about, but no, I haven’t heard about this book in particular.” She mused to herself. “My President Beloved. Oh, heh! I can already see the story just by the title.”

“It gets way worse than this, you know.”

“I can imagine.” She acted like she was constantly trying to keep her giggles under control.

“La Reina del Upaxaca. The Thief and the Heart. Ever heard of them?”
She shook her head gracefully. “I know The Bandid I Loved.” She bit a lip. “Enjoyed it a lot in uni.”

“That’s before my time. What about…” He strained his memory searching for whatever title he deemed popular enough. “Stained… uh, Stained Glass Sins?”

“Oh, you worked for this?”

“Yeah.” He blushed. “I made, uh, all the covers. Small pay, but, uh, stable enough. Eight books, eight covers. Enough to buy, uh, nice coffee with it.”

“Odin mai, this is so awesome!”

“You like the series?”

“Never heard of it.”

He stopped. She looked at him with a mischievous smile and shrugged. They both laughed, and so resumed walking again. “So you don’t know any of these, do you?”

“Let’s say that I am in good standing with the love gods. I lack no blessings in this walk of life.”

“Huh. I see.”

Silence. A pause filled with glances and smirks. “Is this about Joshua?”
“What? No, no. I… what, uh, what made you think…?”

“Oh, forget it.” She shook her head, pranced ahead. “Stupid me being all stupid and silly. I thought you were, you know, kind of thinking of him.” Her smirk, oh! It could kill, that grin of hers. “I noticed how you were looking at him back there, when we were all together.”

“I have, uh, no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Good. Better leave it like this.” She pranced back, trotting like a pony. “But, just for your information, there’s nothing going on between him and me, and there hasn’t been for years, nor there will ever be again. In terms of lovers, I would say I am… quite free at the moment.”

“Oh. Hmm. Not sure what I can do with this information, but…” He moved his fists close to her chest, both thumbs turned up. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You’re very welcome. Given your… line of work, I suppose you will find good use for this information soon. Somehow.”

“I…” He smiled. He didn’t want to have smiled in this specific instance… but he did. “I will keep this in mind.”

“And in order places too, I hope.”

He looked at her. “Hmm?”

“You will keep this in mind…” She winked. “And in order parts of your body too. Farther south, maybe.”

“Alright, uh…” He walked faster, stepping away from her. “No.”

“Oy, I’m sorry!” She chased after him. “Hey! I’m serious. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Strong people, *cough*, don’t apologize, uh, remember?”

“Until they do.” She winked. “Remember?”

“You, uh… err, I…”

“Hey, hey, listen. I’m sorry.” She touched him on his arm, her pace slowing to a crawl. It was a simple touch. Not a pull, nothing aggressive at all, but it was enough to put him to a halt. “I went a little too far, I know.”

“You, you can, y- you can, uh…”

She laughed. “Oh, pobrezito. Desculpame, desculpame, amor.”

“I don’t speak the language.”

“Yeah, I know.” She rubbed her forehead. “Oh, but you can understand this, can’t you?”

Breathe in, breathe out. His heart, oh, his heart… *Thu-rum! Thu-rum! Thu-rum! Thu-rum…!*

*Thu-rum! … … *Thu-rum!*

…

*Thu-rum!*

…

…

*Thu-rum.*

“Feeling better, now?”

“I do.”

He stopped by, here and there, to catch a breath and admire his surroundings. «Wow.» The city was getting more and more beautiful—and more expensive-looking—the longer they walked.

“Uh, sorry. On my part. I kind of, uh… overreacted a bit.”

“Don’t apologize. Not for this. Not because you’re strong, but also because, in this case, yes, you’re correct for feeling this way.” They exchanged glances. Just as mercilessly sharp as when she was teasing, she was relentlessly charming when she was apologizing. “It was not overreacting, it was… reacting just right.” She took a tender bow. “Le ofrezco mis desculpas, chiquito.”

“…”

“I offer you my apologies.” She glowed. “Sweetie.”

He raised one arm. She followed the gesture intently, curious to see where he was going with it. “And I… uh… I forgive you.” He laid the arm on her shoulder, “knighting” her with his forgiveness. “Just, uh… just take it a little, uh, easier next time, okay?”

“Okej.”

“You…” *Gulp* “Intense, are you not? You… you press a little too hard. Sometimes.”

She hopped around him like a bunny. “I like touching where it hurts.”

“Mm. Don’t touch too much. I bleed easy.”

“I know. In a way, makes it even harder for me to resist.” Very shamelessly, even loudly, she licked her lips—her full, beautiful red lips—in front of him. “You bleed easy. You bleed full. Makes you only more delicious for a predator like me.”

“Hmmm…”

“Uncomfortable?”

After pondering for a while, he felt in the air the breeze of the morning, and then wondered whether they’d actually spent all that time talking to each other. Not that he minded it. Not a bit. “Look, uh… strong or not…” His shoulders were low, so low. “You should be careful.”

“Of what?”

“This behavior. You know… you too should be careful with whom you act like this. Many men, uh, might take it the wrong way.” Then… she was silent. “Hey?”

She smiled. “I was punched once.”

He turned. “You were?”

“Yes. By a guy, in fact.”

“Why?”

“Because of this.” She hopped around. “Because of who I am.”

“Intense?”

“Annoying.” She corrected it. “You can say it, I’ve no problem with it.”

“Uh…”

“Honesty never hurts. Not the people with the right type of skin. Rough skin! It only strengthens them.”

“That’s not it, it’s… just… oh, I’m sorry. You aren’t annoying. You’re… lively. And cute.”

“Oh, aren’t you the gentleman?” She danced for a while, moving ahead of him, and then stopped, contemplative once more. “Of course I am like this to you: lively instead of annoying. You like me.” She tapped a finger on her head, then on his. “Birds of a feather.”

He smiled. “Wolves of a pack.”

Johanna howled. “Awoooo!” Very low and sweet. “For most people, the people who do not like me, I’m just annoying. Weak people can’t take a good joke in high spirits. They can’t stand another person’s happiness, and the stronger this person is, the less they can stand them.”

“I… I can relate to that.”

“I know you can. You’ve been born amongst the low. You lived with them. Mingled with them. You know their ins and outs, as well as the rottenness of their souls.” She touched his head, and he accepted her touch without a flinch. “It did a number on you, didn’t it?”

He took her hand. She fondled it. “It did.”

He hadn’t many more clever words to utter. The crunch in his heart, like a paw squeezing it tight, tore his expressiveness down to its most basic vernacular.

“It’s no issue.” Johanna stepped in closer.

C……… l……… o……… s……… e……… r………

“It’s going to heal.” She fondled his hand back, their fingers all deeply enamored, hugging and cuddling one another, memorizing every line of each other’s prints. “It’s going to heal like nothing. Quicker than lightning.”

“Hmm.” He grumbled, yet this time… “Are you sure?” And all the more time he spent with her… “Really, I mean?” He felt bolder and stronger to go beyond mere monosyllabic grunts. “You sure of this?”

She nodded. “Hm-mm!” The certainty of a whole universe brimmed in her every nod. “As certain as the rising sun at winter’s end, I know it, and I have no fear to say it: you will be better.”

“Oh.” He smirked. “Rising sun, eh? Coming from this land, this isn’t much of a reassurance.”

She beamed. “It isn’t, is it? Because we do not have a sun?”

“You very rarely do.”

“But we still have it, and it still comes, as it always comes even after the darkest winters, just like it comes more often and stays with us much longer with each passing year.” She winked, and then he heard a bell ring somewhere in the distance. “Remember: even in here, it used to be much colder. We’re living through the warming days, just like you are living through the warming of your heart.”

She placed her hands on his breast. He turned slightly.

They walked again. “Anyway…” He muttered, and then noticed her walking only a little slower, giving him a most precious space. “How did you manage?”

“Manage?”

“To survive.”

“Oh. The dude who punched me?”

“Yeah.”

She slapped her biceps. “I’m strong!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not as frail as I look, you know.”

“I didn’t say a thing.”

“But I know what you’re thinking.” She sighed. “I’m not the thickest branch in the forest, not the thorniest flower in the bush. What I am, however, is sturdy. And I know how to forge alliances.”

“Did you get out fine or…?”

“I was protected. I had friends at the moment, and my friends had friends who had friends of their own, and so on and so forth, and they all came to my aid.” Her facial expressions alternated between darkness, haughtiness, and devilish pride. “Remember, darling: few people love me, but the ones who do… oh. They don’t just simply love me; they worship me!”

“Huh. I see.”

“They adore me more than the people who hate me hate me. You could say I’m a religious figure. Of sorts. A cult leader, if you may.”

“Brimming with such confidence… welp, I don’t doubt it. You are cut for the job.”

“Indeed I am. Most people, after all, are sheep, and sheep will always follow anything that moves, so long as it moves with conviction, or at least any degree of, uh, noticeable certainty.”

“Oh, wow. Now that you say it like this, I can see why someone would punch you.”

“And I can see you’re not this someone.” She moved in. Got him by his arm. Pulled him closer. “Do you object to me holding you like so?”

Thoughts, thoughts, lightning in a bottle, boom, explosions, death, calamity, boom, boom, blam…!

“No.” He looked at her. “You feel… good.”

“And you feel comfy.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. He… “Oh.” He felt the impressive warmth and cuddliness of her gentle, soft head on him. In times like those, he wished he didn’t have so many layers of cloth and silk separating him from such… heavenly texture. «The cold would mean nothing.» He breathed in, breathed out, and clouds of crystalline silver rose and died ahead of his gaze. «Her warmth is all one needs.»

They walked for a couple of miles longer until she warmed him with her voice. “You would feel more comfy if you weren’t so thin, you know.”

He turned to her, a playful smile on his face. “I’m not asking you for, uh… fitness advice.”

“Ain’t fitness, honey bun. It’s health.”

“Mmph.”

She pinched his sides. “Put on a couple stones of muscle,” she winked, “and we’ll talk.” *Bonk!* “Ouch, ouch!” She giggled. “You meanie.”

He wondered if he’d butted her head a little too hard with his forehead. “That’s what you get for, uh, unsolicited, uh… hmm…”

“Advice.”

“Yeah. That. Unsolicited advice.”

“For an artist, you’re awfully awkward with words.”

“I’m a painter. Uh, a designer. I, I… I design stuff.”

“Well, can you design yourself some more muscles? Or at least a bit of fat? Oh, darling, given your state for now, you can’t afford to be picky. Fat or muscles, whatever makes you grow a little… thicker will work.”

“Off with the teasing, you.”

“But you’re liking it.” She moved in. So. Much. Closer. “Admit it, muffin.”

“Hmrmm.”

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

“Don’t you feel scared? Like… in a survival kind of sense?”

“No. And it’s not as if I tease one who doesn’t like to be teased. That incident, so long ago, oh… it was one of the rare moments I couldn’t read a person well. This innocence of mine, which was never too great, is now long gone. Now… I am perfect.” She shone, wearing the moon like a crown. “With one look, I know a person exactly.”

“Hmm.”

“I know you’re good.” She pulled him tighter, hugged him harder. “And I know you’re good with me too.”

«How can she ever be so right??» Half of his mind…

«Maybe she is perfect.» The other half…

“Besides…” She cast a long look at the row of trees. “It is a good life when you live safe. Not protected from any danger, but knowing that you can survive any danger that comes your way. That you’re resourceful and smart. That the gears of the world always grind in your favor. It’s quite the addictive feeling.” She blessed him with her eyes of endless seas. “Knowing that the gods love you. Knowing that everything will always go your way.” He answered with silence. She tiptoed beside him, somewhat making him tip and tap with her too. “You don’t know the feeling, do you?”

One could always object to her indiscretion, but never to her boldness. “I shouldn’t be talking these things to strangers.”

“We are not strangers. We’re friends.”

“We barely know each other.”

“And do you know how people get to know each other?” She pointed her two fingers at her mouth, making her lips draw every syllable: “By talk-ing.”

“You…” He shook his head. “You…”

He couldn’t think of anything clever to say, and she couldn’t stop thinking of clever things to say. “I understand that you’re not well versed in the ways of people. Of socializing. Of human husbandry, as I like to call it.” She winked. Bells rang in the distance. “Fear not, bebé. I am an exquisite teacher. My yearning for mentoring is infinite.”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm.” She made her lips twitch and her cheeks wobble in such an adorable way. “Back to single words and lonely grunts, are we?” She affected him. She saw it clearly in his smile. “Yeah, that’s it. Show me this beautiful set of teeth of yours.” She moved one hand to his lips and spread them apart with her thumb and index. “Oh, wow.” She gazed at his biters. “They’re actually… quite not bad.”

“Ah, stop it.”

“You’d fetch a great price, you know.”

He turned away. Then back to her. “Oh, you…”

She smiled daringly. “Meee…?” And moved closer. And closer.

…

…

And closer. “What? Meee… what?”

“Yooou’ve…”

Something smart. Something clever. Come. Think. She likes it. And you too.

“You… you’ve got, uh… you’ve got a very… punchable face. You know.” He moved his fist over to her cheek, then grazed it slightly with a tender bump.

Her eyebrows snaked upward. “Oh, no!” Then she turned around, shouting with the faintest screams: “heeelp. Heeelp. I’m being abuuused!”

He giggled. “Yeah. I’m, uh… I’m a thief. And a… fighter.”

“A beater? A woman beater, you are?”

“Oh… um…”

He nodded. Somewhat. She moved in closer. “A wife beater?” She whispered. “Oh, a beater I know you are.” She winked. “Maybe we can figure out the wife part later.”

He moved away. “Alright, uh…” He cleared his throat. “You win.”

“I win what?”

“You can, uh, you can stop it.”

“Come. Let’s keep playing. It’s fun.”

“It’s… it’s n-” No. No more lies. “Yes. It’s fun… for you.”

“And not for you?”

“For me?” No. More. Lies. “Yeah. Fine. You’re right.” He shrugged, lowered his head in defeat. “It’s fun for me too. But we should stop. I, uh… can’t, uh… much longer, I can’t go.”

“And why is that so?”

“I will bore you.”

“If this leads me to know you better, then that’s exactly what I want.”

“Hmm?”

She leaned onto his ears and whispered with all the honey of her heart: “I want to be bored by you.”

He looked at her. The silence… «And the leaves and the trees. And the wind.»

He closed his eyes. He could smell them. Each of them. He could smell them all. «The sea. Oh, the sea!»

The sea always had a most wonderful scent in the night, when it was cold. His breath formed hearts in the dark sky. She picked them up and hugged them in her breast. “Do I have your attention?”

Eyes. Open.

Eyes. Her.

Eyes on her. “Hmm.” He nodded, though also felt she needed more than hmms and uhs and uh-huhs this time. Especially this time. “I…”

…

…

What’s up with that?

What do you want?

Why do you lo-

…

Why do you like me?

Why do you stand me?

Why do you bear m-

“Curiosity, eh?” He asked.

“Yes.” She answered.

The trees, the leaves, the skies, and the sea. “For science, eh?”

She took an elegant, well-measured pause. “Yes.”

The sea, the skies, the leaves, the trees. The symphony of the winds. The blessed moment of quiet.

Tic, tic, tic… She counted the time perfectly in her head. Stretched out one arm. Invited him with an open palm. “Shall we keep exploring?”

She looked at her palm. Her arm. Her shoulders. Her neck. Her… «Wow.» Beautiful, oh, quite a beautiful neck. And long. And elegant. And smooth. And… «Focus, man, focus.» He looked at her neck. Her face. Her eyes where the gods lived. Eyes of Valhalla.

“Okay.”

He took her hand and she pulled him into the lights, guiding him to heaven-knows-where.

* * *

The moon shone like a sun as the two love birds stared at one another. Like in a duel, first one to blink goes bye.

“So…” He muttered, unsure of what to say.

«So.» She smiled, very sure of what to do.

He gulped. She chuckled. He avoided her with soft glances at his sides.
The sky was full of color. It would be easily mistaken for twilight if not for the dreary silence of the city. Truth be told, a voice mused in him, it’s always silent.

The greens and the blues, not to forget the purple hues, were the aquarelle of the night. They shone more clearly and more colorfully then, over the waters of love, just as he was about to dive.

His innocence. His purity. His chastity. «Oh, cristo!» They were all going to die.

«Nervous?» She asked him, a mountain of muscle sitting on a frail, starving kid.

“Incredibly.” He gulped. They were less like two love birds, and more like a sparrow chick in the claws of an eagle.

«I’ll go easy on you.» She winked. «Which part of me would you like to see first?»

He shook and shuddered as his mind exploded, or got close to it, his poor self frantically scrambling to keep its many pieces from crumbling. Caralhocaralhocaralhocaralho…!

It was good, though, that he was less distracted by his own anxiety and more by… all that awesomeness he had over him. «She is so… stupidly attractive!» Attractive in ways nothing real could ever be. «I feel like I’m in a dream. That I’m about to make love to a fucking angel!»

Or a demon. «If the devil himself had a favorite, she would be me.» She winked. The simple gesture caused ripples along her whole formidable body. «Among his favorite succubi, his lieutenants of love, his duchesses of sex, his chief generals of fornication… I would be the best. The one and only. Peerless. The one demoness so good even the other demons would have to keep away from me, lest they too were to go insane with hots or mad with jealousy. And you…» She placed a finger on his chest, threatening to draw blood from him with her nail. «You have been with me all this time and still can speak clearly. Form thoughts and ideas coherently. I’m impressed.» She clapped. One, two, three… *Clap* *Clap* *Clap!* A clap, and a clap, then another clap, each slower than the previous one, and all immensely sarcastic. «Maybe you’re the devil who can take on me. My chief incubus and studliest husband, the one and only who can tame me. Who can break me.» A wink. «Who can make me scream.»

“You’re… *gulp* Severely underestimating my sanity.” He chuckled. “Going hard on the speech, eh? Trying to hook me with these lines?”

«No. I know I already hooked you, so now I’m just… savoring you.» She wiggled her hips, causing deep rumbles to echo across the block. “And my lines are not the only thing hard here, I see.” She smiled as she heard his deep, delicious laughter. «Did you like this one?»

“Hmm-hmm!”

«You’re almost wiping tears off your eyes. That’s nothing, baby.» She talked with winks and swings, her curves bouncing softly as she moved like a seductress ready to claim her prize. «You should see the tears you will cry when I have you moaning like a bitch.» She moved in lower. Closer. Slower. «Crying as you feel you’re nutting your whole soul inside of me.»

“A-are you trying to m-make me nervous?” He could hear his own heart, seven beats for every syllable.

«Yes.» She leaned down, lower and lower and… lower. «Absolutely.»

She took him.

She…

…

She pulled his head, moved to his lips, and took them.

And that was it.

…

…

…

*Mwah!*

…

…

…

*Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah…*

*Mwah-mwah-mwah…*

*Mwah*

The otherwise silent and void room was filled with the happy, sloppy noises of their lips entangled in love. He tasted her and she served him. He kissed her and she sucked him. There was no doubt, though, of who led the battle: she consumed him with a vivaciousness to challenge the stars and a strength to shame the gods. In her kissing, her utter possessing of that man, she wiped his teeth, tongue, and palate clean of anything that wasn’t herself, any scent, flavor, and thought that wasn’t her own.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was the annihilation of his own soul. Or so it felt. “Meu… meu…! Fuck!” He gasped when their lips finally parted, hers pulling his like they had been glued together. “Fuck… I… I, oh…”

«No.» She placed a finger on his lips, her own mouth so close to them that he could feel her words on his skin, no need for ears to hear them. «No words. Just…»

A kiss. *Mwah!* She invaded him, yet again, with a suffocating kiss. “Oh…!”

There was something addicting about her kiss. Something that, no matter how rough it got or how painfully it made him cough and gargle and fight for his lungs, prompted him to always return the favor in kind.

Gradually (and inevitably, as he felt it), the weaker lover picked up on the vivaciousness of that superior tongue, and gained speed and strength himself. It felt as if the stronger lover was lending him a bit of her own energy, not unlike the sun bathing the buds, giving them life, making them sprout. «Heavens…! How… good…!»

They battled for many long, unbroken minutes until his limbs little by little picked up on the strength and vigor of their tongues and began venturing forth more daringly into the once forbidden territory, touching arms, neck, shoulders, and the back of a muse who, bit by bit, scorching inch after scorching inch, revealed herself a whole new continent to his tiniest man-of-war fingers.

«Very good!» She declared, pushing his arms back with a grunt and keeping him firmly stuck on the mattress. «I see we’re properly warmed up. Now, to the matter at hand.» She sat back on his crotch again, eyes almost blocked by her gargantuan tits as she looked down upon him and smiled at his perplexed, bewildered state. «Which part of me would you like to see first? I’ve been oppressed by these clothes for too long, o, lover! Tonight… they’re all coming off!» A wink. «It’s only a matter of figuring out which will come out first.»

He shivered, wondering whether he would survive it all. “I’m afraid that… if I catch a glimpse of this…” He gulped, swallowing half of his mind with it. “I’m not… going to…” His severe shaking amused her quite a lot. “I’m going to die, that’s what!”

She laughed. «You’re not.» Then pointed at him. «Quiet now.» Just like this… *snap!* His shaking was all but gone, though at the cost of him feeling that his every bone had been replaced with dry concrete. «You’re strong. The only thing in you that’s going to die is the old you. The you that you yourself don’t like.» She winked. «Nod if you can hear me.»

He nodded. Painfully, however. As if his every join had been replaced with ice: one crack for every inch of motion. “Hmm. Hmm.”

«Excellent! So, where should we start?» Her eyes peeked down, her smile growing as they saw the answer. «My tits? I see you don’t take your eyes off them.»

“Hrhm…!!” The man was gone. Only a beast remained.

She laughed. A hardest, hottest laughter wouldn’t be heard ever again, anywhere else in the world. «We have a winner! Now sit tight and… enjoy the view.» She winked. «Stud.» She brought her hands to the base of her shirt, laced its tabs slowly with her fingers, pulling it only fractions of an inch higher. Still, he could see the tantalizing color of her skin, the strong and healthy complexion of her muscles.

The moon shone brighter, casting threads of blue over that divine body. «Puta cristo amado, que coisa linda!» He counted the stars in his mind as his eyes went mad with that picture: her whole body shining with a turquoise aura as the moon unveiled her, giving her such a preternatural gleam—a woman who was already so much more than a woman, and now became something even grander.

Yeah, stud. I got you. Her eyes and the curves of her lips told him. Her face of unmistakable pride. A queen. A gorgeous woman at the height of her power, and not at all fearful to use it. A goddess, he would call her, but even this expression would sound vulgar—perhaps because so many unworthy men had gotten into the habit of calling women like her such.

God. She was god. Quite simply… god.

«Should I lift this a little higher?» She asked him, that good soul. Despite all her teasing, she was still considerate of his heart. «Are you sure you can take it, stud?»

It was at this moment that he chose to surprise her. “Wouldn’t be, uh, much of a stud… if I couldn’t. Would I?” His eyes glittered differently. Her eyes grew bigger just to capture their light. “Do it.” He told her. “I want to see you. All of you.”

«My, my.» She licked her lips. «Very well.»

She pulled up her shirt.

Up.

Up.

Up.

…

…

Slowly.

A very slow, sluggish pull, but without any pauses. Just…

Up.

Up.

Up.

…

…

Always. Until every fold and bulge of the muscles in her belly had been laid out, naked and glaring, to his eyes.

He saw the lowest muscles of her belly, those that formed a letter V guiding downwards to her groin. The road to perdition. He saw her lowest abdominal muscles, a swollen, hard pair that swelled and shrunk at her slightest breath, then two slightly smaller pairs above them, then finally the fourth row of power, the two hard squares sitting at the base of her unfathomable breasts.

«I know you are an abs guy.» She purred, so proud, and made her muscles dance for him. «How do you like them?» She moved her belly with astounding power, showing off a level of control no normal human could ever hope to match. «I am very proud of my babies.» She should be, for they were incredible.

“…” The lips of her lover parted. There were many words in the back of his mouth, though none would leave it. “…!” Only grunts and wheezes were heard, and the occasional gulp on his throat and creak from the bed, his body starting to tremble again, his heart sounding the drums of war—or retreat.

«Feel them.» She took one of his hands, guided it to her abs. «These muscles beg for worship.» She pressed his palm on her belly.

«My…!!» The man died right there. «…!!» Even his mind went blank. Awesome! Awesome! The words popped here and there, like bubbles on sparkling wine, but everything else was…

…

…

…

Fumble. Touch. He moved his fingers on her skin, sensing the firmness of her body. Hard! Hard! She had so much of that body for him to sense. Hard! Hot! His fingers were ants having to crawl around the world.

She remained there, quiet, steady, just smiling as she witnessed her lover’s obvious delight. She didn’t have a belly. She had a wall. Hard! Hard! Hard! Like steel, but always hot, always hard, and a tender sheet of silk over it. Soft! So soft! How could she? She was hard like a titan, yet soft like a pup.

He moved his other hand to her body, getting a very firm grab of her sides. *Clunk!* Like two claws seizing a huge mass of steel, he grabbed her, and immediately he felt that his fingers would crack if he applied any more pressure to that body. “By the gods…!” He finally uttered, looking up at her as he felt her breaths through the countless motions and flexes of her countless fibers of muscle.

«Impressed?»

He nearly suffocated on his saliva. “Hm-hmm!” Shivering, he took his hands off her. “It’s… uh… it’s the hardest thing I ever touched.” His neck was stiff. His head looked like it was going to drop and shatter like ceramics. “It’s… uh… oh…”

She laughed. «Not as hard as you are, apparently.» She wiggled her butt, torturing her lover and his member, the poor thing finding no space under the tonnes of meat and muscle sitting atop it. «Bad.» She placed her hand back on the shirt. «Really bad.» She moved her belly and her torso to clearly steal his eyes, kidnap his gaze. «If you cannot stand the sight of my belly, what comes next is sure to blow your mind.» She sighed. Even this minuscule gesture made her abdominals harden like blocks of titanium. «Be strong, my male. I am counting on you to give me one night to remember!»

She lifted her shirt. Born to be wild. The words emblazoned on the fabric were crushed as two globes were revealed to her lover’s eyes. The room became brighter, as if the two massive wonders had provided the moon more reflecting surface for it to shine upon. *Bwoom! Bwoom!* Once the woman had lifted the shirt, her massive moons collapsed harshly, brutally under their own weights. *Broom! Broom!* The room itself shook, he could swear it.

Like the divine figure that she was, she wore planets for breasts, the two massive things giving his eyes a universe of pain, the darkness encroaching on his sights like he was going blind. The hurt, the tiredness… “Fuck!” He closed his eyes. He rubbed them. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…”

Her breasts were naked. He almost went blind because of them.

«I hope you can still move.» She mentioned very casually as she struggled to take off the rest of her shirt. «I don’t mind if you’ve gone blind or swallowed your tongue whole.» Her tits ballooned and wobbled as she clumsily handled the tight cloth on her torso. «But if you can’t move, welp, then there isn’t much fun.» Even just passing the shirt through her neck was a challenge, for its fabric was extremely tight. «Imph imsimph mum… phun…» She mumbled, her words obscured by the constricting cloth. «Ah! Much better!» She breathed freshly once the shirt was finally off. «It isn’t much fun when your lover is dead in the water. So…» She cast the cloth away. «How dead do you feel right now?»

The lover mumbled, grumbled, produced some sounds that denoted the presence of intelligence in him, then…

…

Shivers. She could see shivers on his lips.

Eyes. There were some twitches in his eyes.

Mumble. Mumble, mumble. Something. Something, something…

Something. «You know, I was joking when I asked you if you were dead.» She moved one hand to his face and… *Snap! Snap!* «Hello? Lover, are you there?»

He heard the snaps very deep in his ears, sounding like they were coming from veeery far away.

S n a p!

S n a p!

Only then did he wake up, though even this “waking up” was debatable. “Huhm… urh-huh… uhmm…” Once again, grumbles and mumbles. “I… I-eh…”

She laughed. «I hit you real bad, didn’t I? It’s okay.» She relaxed her pose, the extra layer of ease only adding to her ridiculous attractiveness. «I can wait. Just tell me if you feel you’re going to have a heart attack, okay? I can’t afford to lose another lover like this.»

“Uhmm… uh… huh…”

Where to look at? What to pay attention to? His eyes were like a thin man forced to swallow a whole banquet in one bite. «By the gods in… céus…!» His mind came and went, flashing like his sights, darkness in one blink, light in another, the pressure rising as he felt the blood clotting in his nose, a single pop to send rivers of scarlet raining on his torso.

«Are we good, lover?» She chuckled, ever so tender. «Just tell me if you feel like this is too much for you, okay?» She moved a hand to his face, fondling his cheek with motherly care.

He would have felt immensely loved in that instance, oh, he would have, if the sight of her bulging, hardening muscles hadn’t poured gallons of gas into his flaming wound. “Just… please… I just…”

She moved her hand back, sitting on him in such a defenseless, earnest pose. «What is it?»

His mind was exploding. He didn’t want her to think there was any problem with her, but… his tongue… Argh! Get it together, man, get it to-fucking-gether! He had completely lost control of it.

One by one, the words, the sounds… “I… uh… I…”

He was a mindless animal reduced to the basest of utterances. She chuckled. Her voice was grave and deep. It didn’t help her male, oh, it did not help him at all that, in that instant, she had moved slightly back, supporting herself with her arms on the bed briefly, and giving all the muscles on her torso a mighty, though involuntary flex, all while exposing said torso to the abundant light of the moon, making him… “Oh! Fuck!”

He closed his eyes. Moved his face away. “Fucking… shit!! Oh, shit!” He looked at her again, eyes going wider than Saturn’s rings. “Fuck… fucking fuck… hell… caralho, meu!”

She laughed and laughed. «A true bard we got here. You know, hot as your body is, it was truly your way with words that got me into you.» She winked. «Your unmatched skill as a wordsmith.»

“Shut… the fuck up.”

One eyebrow… *flinch!*

«Excuse me?»

Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme…!!

His mind was a wall of noise. Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme…!!

If one could peer into it, one would only see…

Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme…

“I… I-oh…”

He saw himself floating in the dark. A demon on one side. An angel on the other. Both of them female, both of them hot. Almost as hot as she was.

And naked. Huge, massive tits bouncing as they pulled him: one pulling him to the right, the other to the left. And he, in the middle, was torn apart. *Thrash!!*

“I… I-oh… I…”

Given the glory that had been revealed to him, the face of god uncovered before his eyes, he should have been grateful to still have a mind at all.

“I… am… uh…”

God was real, and it looked like her tits.

“I… I…”

He caught a glimpse of his woman’s movements: her head bobbing gently back and forth, a gesture of support and motivation, trying to pull the words out of his mouth.

“Iiiii… Iiiii…!”

There was laughter. A beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful tit- I mean, laughter. «Wow!» She slapped her thighs, and the innocent gesture caused her tits to wobble even more so. «I know I’m hot, but… wow.» Her smile and her eyes, like lilies on a calm pond. «Thank you. Always a pleasure when a man gets this stunned.» Her tone, a little deeper. «Would help, of course, if you could actually add words to these stunned eyes. I like the silent, admiring gaze as much as any other girl, but a couple of words of praise here and there, like spice on the succulent meal, are always a treat!»

She was offered only his silent, admiring gaze, however. After some time of that long, disquieting silence, she moved one hand to her man’s face and… «Hey, hey! Just give me a sign, lover. Show me you’re really here.»

*Snap! Snap!* This time, he barely even heard it.

s n a p …

s n a p …

“Oh!” It was not the snap that awoke him, but… “Oh, gods. Heavens. I…!”

… his lack of breath. He was awoken only by the painful burn on his lungs, by their crushing squeal for air.

«Good to have you back, my beautiful stud.» She laid herself slightly back, inadvertently frying his brain again with the fuller view of her ultra-chiseled physique. «Are we good? Do you like what you see?»

A thousand thoughts sliced his mind like a thousand hands with the sharpest knives. “Hmmrmrmm… *gulp!* hrrmmm…!” He really wished to go past the mere grunts, but how the fuck can I do this when literally the world’s most gorgeous woman is sitting naked on my fucking lap??! His mind went up, his guts went down, he shat his guts all over the ground. Gods in heaven, help me here! Spirits of the land, protect me! If any of you mystic, paranormal things are real, please let me at least be able to form coherent sentences so… so that I… I…!! His mind broke. All he saw was darkness lasting one eternity before he was able to (clumsily) put it back together. So that I can at least give praise and worship to her worshipful form! My throat, my tongue, please, I never asked much of you! Just don’t be dead for a minute and let me speak to her! After this, you can be gone! You can be gone and never return! Forever! The gleam in his eyes was the sign of the tempest raging in his body. I will speak nothing else, for nothing else needs to be spoken! She…! The gleam in his eyes burned like the sun as he turned them to her face, then back again to her body. She is the most gorgeous woman to have ever been, and this… this…! Is the only thing ever worth seeing!

The gleam in his eyes were the angels entering his body, giving him the strength and the zest to say: “You’re the most gorgeous woman…!”

She stopped him, however, with a firm raise of her hand. «Yeah, yeah, I know. I think I heard this a couple times before.» She smiled, so cheeky. «Would you believe it?»

“Hrmm, hrmm!” He became smaller with every shake.

«You sweetie.» She giggled. «So, tell me. What do you wish to do… with this body?»

The shivers rocked down from her powerful shoulders to her wide, mare-like hips, drawing her shape by the moonlight much more clearly than any male gaze could. He gawked at that body, feeling his jaw separated from his skull. “I… I-eh-oh…” He slapped himself.

…

…

Not literally, no. After all, he could not move, but he did slap himself metaphorically, in his mind. “Fuck. Oh. Oh!” He took in deep breaths, feeling the flurry of sparks burning from the coal in his lungs like a constellation of fire. “Foda-me, foda-me, fodam-me senhores das luas, você…” He cleared his throat. “You are… so… spectacularly gorgeous.”

She laughed. «I wonder when I heard this before. Hmm… guess it was many, many years ago. Oh, golly, I can’t remember.»

He chuckled, trying to think of a clever retort, but…

…

…

No.

There was nothing in his mind. No will, no thought, just… fire. Fire hammering him down like the fists of Thor. “You… you are…” His eyes glimmered again, more angels entering them to give his will a push. “I… can I just… fuck…” Shivers, shivers, trembles, deaths, many deaths, and then again many shivers. “Can I… I… just…”

Clear throat.

Die.

Born again.

Die once more.

Another try: “Can I… have a l-look… at…” Shivers, shivers, teeth to dust. “L-look at y-your… fuck…”

«Easy, easy.» She guided him with wide and clear motions, much like a lifeguard after pulling him out of very dark, deep waters. «Take a deep, deep breath… and then…» *Wooosh!* «Breathe out.»

“T-t-t-to b-be f-frank, I…” He was a bamboo stick in an earthquake during a hurricane in the middle of a tornado. “T-this… isn’t making it much e-easier on m-m-me, h-h-h-ho-honey.”

«Oh, no?»

“N-n-n-no!” His eyes… he… they… his eyes, they were… glued to… that… body… her body… oh! “I-I-I-I…”

«Take. A deep. Breath.»

“I can’t! And s-s-s-seeing you l-l-like this, all l-l-like… s-s-sexy and s-s-such…”

She laughed. «Hits you real hard, doesn’t it?»

“A lot. And, um… I j-just can’t focus when y-you’re… m-moving like this. G-gesturing like this, so s-slowly, s-so… sexy.”

«Oh.» She relaxed her body. «Are you hard just for watching me move?»

“Yes!”

He stared at her relaxed, soft body. In that lax, softened state, ironically, the purity of her muscles, the perfection of her herculean and mythical physique only became much more salient. “Fuck!” In a state of relaxation, the power of her muscles was at its most visible and earnest. After all, muscles were supposed to look hard and intimidating only when flexed, yet hers still looked intimidating and powerful even in their nimble, limp form. “Merda! Oh, merda… caralho!” That was the testament to her true power!

«Do you need something? A cup of water, perhaps?» She giggled, all teasy and cheeky. «You’ve lost a lot of it in sweat already, you know.»

“F-f-fuck…”

Off. Fuck off. He thought of saying, but thankfully his tongue had grown experienced enough to grip his mind and wrestle his thoughts shut. “I mean… a m-m-minute. J-j-just… oh…” His eyes were aflame. Red and yellow lights coloring half his room from his burning head. “Just give me a…”

«… a minute. Okay, alright.» She seemed to be relaxing even further, laying back to wait for her lover to calm down, but then…

“No! Please! N-no!” He was all shivers and terror, his skin so white it was almost glowing in the dark. “D-don’t move! P-please! I am literally going crazy here! Every time you move… my head just… d-d-dies a little bit.”

She laughed. «You’re silly.»

“And y-you… are too fucking hot!”

So she waited, and his eyes took in all the time she gave him, hoping to get used to her form.

An hour. It seemed like an hour had passed until he could watch that body without drying or going insane from it. Caralho, meu, mas que égua deliciosa, porra!! His thoughts were a string of barely coherent praises and worships to that god-woman. Occasionally, when he could muster the strength for it, some morsels of his glories escaped his lips: “Linda… c-caralho… puta… linda, linda… lindíssima… meus senhores do inferno, que mulher magnifica… maravilhosa… caralho… ca… muito linda, m-meu…!!”

She was true to her word. Still. Unmoving. All this time she awaited for him perfectly still, not a muscle moving in her body, not one motion where she didn’t intend to. «Help yourself to all my beauty.» She softly mused. «Beauty. It is something I know you lacked all your life.»

She made her voice as neutral as possible, always in the hopes of helping her male cope with his own massive lust and hopefully, finally… convert just an ounce of it into actual raw, primal, physical touch.

She dreamed of his strength, and her male just howled and growled: “L-l-linda… meu… que égua… mas que c-c-cavala… cavala, meu… t-tão … tão gostosa, puta que pariu!”

So transcurred the hour, with his eyes taking note of all they could of that pangean body, that world-spanning lusty mass.

Her broad, powerful shoulders would protect any male she chose as mate, as well as all the children they reared together. Her torso was like a hut and a fortress. Her back was like a field where a literal army could march upon. A thousand armies could launch themselves against her muscular back, and each of them time after time would come out defeated and broken by her unyielding mass. Hours and hours would be needed to cross it from shoulder to shoulder, a journey made only more perilous by the sheer elevation of it: those mountains of muscles, those valleys of power, and the countless striations of her plentiful muscular bulges acting like traps in the terrain, a single contraction able to make the entire thing quake and crush the petty males who dared venture on it.

Her monstrously large, stupidly massive breasts… oh! The boy felt no illusions about the fake nature of those world-feeding mammaries: those breasts that would be nearly impossible to exist on any fair-bodied woman, and absolutely unfeasible in an awakened titan of muscles and warlike stature such as her.

Excessive muscles are not necessarily indicative of small breasts (except, perhaps, in proportionality), but low body fat always is, and her body fat was so low as to be negative. One would only need to look upon her to become trimmer themselves, as if her superb health sucked out all the unhealth from the folks around her. Thus, her extremely low, almost nonexistent body fat would mean she should’ve had no boobs to sport or ass to flaunt, yet she abounded, to an almost abnormal degree, on both fronts.

Her tits, gigantic and magnanimous, each tit a god in her own right, were voluminous and hard and real just like any tits couldn’t ever dream to be. That queen mare who sported them was already massive, yet she was also so endowed that her tits looked almost too big even for her.

They were fake, for they were impossible, but they were more real than any real tit could ever be: their shape was pearly, like water drops, with the only uncommon thing in them being, once again, their sheer massiveness, their overabundant fullness, like wearing two melons of meat and milk on one’s chest.

“Fuck…… fuck…… fuck……” Cloud. Smoke. Fog. The condensed air rose from his every pant, its mists obscuring her shape, making her form in his eyes only more inscrutable, more mysterious. “Fuck… fuck me… gods… fuck me… tear me apart… gods, please… kill me…!”

The enormity of her big momma jewels prevented those tits themselves from resting comfortably on her chest. As seen by her nipples, each tit was slightly angled aslope, with their waterdrop shape not perfectly symmetrical, but instead skewed to the sides: left tit pointing left, right tit pointing right. In between them, the pressure was superior to that of the abyssal regions of the earth. If one tried to stick a finger between those tits, said finger would have been ground to dust before a quark of space had been penetrated into the valley of her breasts.

If one ever succeeded in setting those tits apart, the release of energy resulting from their separation would incinerate the whole world, and perhaps the sol system around it, for the pressure between those two god-breasts was orders of magnitude superior to the force that kept the neutrons in an atom bound together.

In short: “They… are big… fucking… melons!”

She chuckled. «Yes. Yes, they are. Indeed they are big.» With gentle flexes of her chest, she made each tit bounce, one after the other, each at every word: «Quite… huge!»

*WROOOM!!*

*WROOOM!!*

He gulped. He had once seen, long ago, back in the city of Porto Santo, a massive container ship passing by the eroded waters of the old bays, its massive anchors dropped, and one of them dragging along a concrete platform, wrecking the port in its wake. A disaster. He still remembered the coarse, booming sound of that massive anchor, as big as a coach, tearing apart the metal and the concrete of the dock, bringing destruction to the iron and the stone as easily as a finger would draw lines on sand. It had stuck with him, that calamitous sound, and it was the exact sound her tits made when wobbling and jouncing so powerfully on her chest. *WROOOM!!* *WROOOM!!*

Her tits were hard. Hard! Really hard, truly solid, almost like muscles themselves. Their every movement resembled the rumbles of hard, heavy objects being dragged along an equally hard, heavy surface.

But there was a caveat. A catch. An incoherent exception to those extraordinary tits: they were soft. Soft. Really soft. As soft and milky as all good tits should be. Delicious to the eyes, maddening to the touch. They were tits so creamy and fresh that he felt, no, he knew that sinking his fingers on them would be the most pleasurable experience he or any man would ever have or could ever achieve. More so than even sex, for the coitus, instead of pleasure, would bring him only pain.

Pain and death by emasculation. Pain and death by suffocation in those gorgeous, godly breasts. Full! So full!!

Hard, soft, and full. He could hear the milk sloshing inside. Like containers filled almost to the brim with thick, heavy nectar, every motion caused the tits to soar and their milky mass to roar with a boom reverbing across his room.

His ears were filled with it, they could never get enough of it, and begged for more of that honeyed sound, that fruitful song, that creamy chant of milky delights.

De! Li! Cious!

«Are you full of my tits yet, stud?» She boomed, her entire body vibrating with power, that effortless might of her dimmest voice, the softest of thunders ringing in his ears. «Can’t wait until you’re choking with them in your mouth.»

“You… h-how…” He gulped. “How you know? Me… looking at your tits?”

The question was so silly it made her pause and frown. «What did you say, my beautiful male?»

“I… h-how…” He gulped. The saliva fell down like strings of iron crashing on his guts. “H-how do you k-know… I’m d-dying… for you t-t-tits??”

She laughed. «You silly! You think I don’t know a man’s gaze? Come, come.» Facetious, she covered her breasts with one awesome arm. «There’s more to me than just tits, you know.»

Yes, there was. Of course there was. If anything, there was too much of her: too much of tits, too much of abs, too much of hips, too much of ass. “O-oo-orh!” He coughed and licked his lips, his eyes salivating as they snorkeled deeper, lower into her body, getting lost and damned and burned and jammed with all the delicious abundance that woman had to offer. Deuses queridos! Meus deuses dos infernos! Me deem…!! His body began to vibrate violently. Me deem força, oh, demônios abençoados!!

She giggled. The absolute decomposition of her lover under her brutal handsomeness would never fail to entertain her. «You’re an absolute cutie!»

Her breasts gave way to her abs gave way to her belly, which was the valley of death for all men’s hearts. Cristamado! He cried in his mind, feeling his eyes getting sucked by the deep, aggressive crevices of her uber-muscular physique. This is a statue!

Her body was exquisitely carved. Her muscles were chiseled to a degree no natural woman (or man) could replicate. Her monstrous abdominals, which would intimidate a bull with their strength, bulged and swelled seemingly to no end, no mortal’s eyes ever getting used to their size.

Like her tits, like her everything, each of her prominent muscles was big, hard, swollen, and rippling. Every feature of her, from the thickness of her thighs to the width of her hips to the carnal fullness of her ass to the milky content of her tits to the outrageous aura of her face, all seemed to overflow and overwhelm the senses, to the point that a single of her six (or were they actually eight?) abdominal muscles seemed to pack enough power to halt a charging stallion on its tracks and rip a berserk bear in half. I cannot even count these muscles! His eyes swerved by and by, gone awry by the intensity of that celestial sight.

Indeed, in such moments he cursed himself for having a very, thoroughly limited knowledge of the human anatomy, for perhaps such knowledge would have allowed him to better appreciate that unfathomable glory that had just been unveiled to his undeserving eyes, or at least simply to not be so confused by the apparent changes in her muscles, their constant multiplying and dividing, becoming more and less plentiful depending on how he viewed them.

Sometimes, she looked like she had six powerful muscles on her abdomen, each of them a brick of pure deliciousness, each brick building that wall she called a belly in that fortress she called a body. Sometimes, though, she looked like she had eight of those muscles—and the confusion came mostly from her lowest faux abs, those connecting her virile waist to her super feminine groin, constructing that gorgeous V-shaped artifice that looked to him like the cradle of all life.

«They’re all abdominals.» Her voice woke him up again, snatching him from the torpor and into the stupor. «If you call them just abs, you will also be right.» She giggled, moving her free hand to her belly, making as little movements as possible as she pointed at each bloated brick of muscle. «From the top, these two little bricks you see here, right under my breasts, all the way down to these bottom two long boys you see here, connecting to my inguen (that’s the fancy word for groin, by the way), these are all the same class of muscles.» She perked up. «You may call them rectus abdominis if you want to sound smart, or just stick to ‘abs’ if you want to sound like a normal person.» She giggled, pointing again at each and every muscle from top to bottom. «Most people have six, but some freaks can add up to twelve bulges, six on each side. It all depends on genetics, you see. I, being genetically endowed as I am, have eight: they are these two squeezy boys you see here on top of my belly, under my breasts, then these four blocky ones in the middle, and these two reeeally long ones gluing my belly and my groin together.»

“Um-hmm. Um-hmm.”

«And these…» She released her breasts, causing the entire universe to rearrange itself in the wake of their falling, then grappled the sides of her waist a couple of inches above her hips. «They are called obliques. They’re the siblings of the abdominals. Think of them as abs for your waist. They go all the way up from your hips to these cutesy little muscles here.» She moved both hands up until a series of four or five visible slips underneath her chest, like tiny abs of compressed muscle at the base of her boobs. «These are called serratus anteriores. Some call them ‘saws’ or ‘little saws’, but they are mostly just called serratus by the very few who actually notice them.» She put out her tongue and bit it in very a naughty way, winking at him as she moved her fingers along her heroic physique. «Not everybody has the physique of a god, so it’s not every day one stops to notice these tiny, little differences.»

Her fingers moved on, fighting for space with her breasts as she tried to show him… «My lats. You see them? I would need to stretch out my arms and pump out my chest for you to get a clear view of them under this light, but I don’t think your brain can take it. Not yet.» She giggled. «Judging by the way you’re looking at me, I think you’re going to sneeze out your melted brain if I do it. Poor little thing!»

She relaxed, arms resting beside her… what’s their name? Obliques, yes! Arms resting beside her obliques as her tits pointed so imposingly at her lover’s face, which was locked so painfully in that stunned, astonished complexion. «Any more questions? This will all be on the test, you know.»

His stillborn answers were shown by the fidgety motions of his apple, the only evidence of his ability to speak. “Umm, uhm…” Now that his eyes had been properly lectured on the shapes and curves of her body, like a mortal having been lectured on the exact chemical composition of the angels, he could let them wander more calmly over her continent, as if knowledge had set them free. “Urhmm…”

Her abdominals led down to her inguen, which was thankfully and damnably covered by her tight jeans. In the midst of his intense gazing, the goddess sighed, and her muscles all seemed to boom simply with that slightly bigger uptake of air. «I’m really eager to get naked for you.» She revealed, her face full of candor. «Take you up in my arms and… love you like just a mother would.»

Her words captured his eyes. “Umm.” Was all he could answer as her deep, green eyes forged precious marbles out of his darkness.

His gaze wandered down along her neck and into her…

No.

He stopped it on her neck. “Wow. Wow.” His lips weighed down heavily, almost moving his utterances on their own. “Wow. Oh… wow.” Thick. Thick neck! A huge, bloated vein (or artery, he wouldn’t know) coursed along it, a central vessel that flowed with unimaginable levels of power into her head.

His woman turned her head around very slowly, sensing the heat of her lover’s gaze on her choker. «Admiring my neck, aren’t you?» She spoke not even to him, but mostly to herself.

She was a proud gladiator who no doubt spent hours every day admiring her physique in the mirror, gauging the fruits of her labor by the stupendous form she’d crafted for herself. «I know. It’s thick, isn’t it? Thick and hard.» She tittered, wobbling her butt. «Just like another thing I’m feeling here between your legs.»

He smiled. “Don’t compare this awesome neck to my… my…”

Silence. A different kind of it. A sad kind of quietness. «Penis.» She spoke softly. «Cock. Dick. Rod. Pecker. Wombwrecker. Pussybreaker.» She winked. «You can say it.» She saw him recoil, however. «If your heart is healed, that is.»

A gulp. Uncomfortable wetness in his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

«Now, now, my strong man. Do not be sorry.»

“I know. I… I…” He returned his gaze to her. “I will do it. With you. It’s a promise.”

«I never doubted it, lover. Not for an instant.»

“Can you… just…?” His words tripped and fell. They were light and easy words, yet their tracks had become muddled, laden with tar and filth.

She saw it. She knew his soul so well. «You’re not guilty of what they did to you. For how they treated you.» One hand. Close. So close… to his thigh. «Nor for how they touched you.»

As her fingers grazed his skin, he winced a little—but just a little, and this caused in her a hopeful smile. «You see? You are healing. There was a time when you couldn’t even be touched like this.» She felt like leaning closer, but refrained from it. Still, the mere intention of movement caused her muscles to surge and rumble, sounding as if thousands of bears were roaring in the distance. «Now you can. And you will learn to touch and be touched much more thoroughly than this.» She licked her lips. «This I promise you, o, lover.»

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to her. “This is pathetic.”

«It isn’t.»

“I… I can’t even look at you without sounding or acting like a retard! What hope do I have, then, of…?”

*VRRROOOOM!!* The entire world was cracked in half as the giant woman collapsed over his body. *BOOOM!!* She didn’t simply lean in or lay down upon him. No: she collapsed over him, cracking something on the bed as she sank her hands on the mattress and crushed his eyes with her emerald gleam, her tits crushing his breast, a single tit so massive it covered most, perhaps almost all of his chest! «Silly male!» She spoke, and with a tongue…

She…

Licked…

“Oh…!”

*SLURP!*

She took a long, lascivious lick of his neck, chin, and cheek, finishing her daring move with a final lick at the tip of his earlobe, then a quick, soft bite, then finally hot, wet, moany whispers in his ear. «Still putting yourself down, aren’t you? I won’t allow it!»

“I’m sorry! I’m so s-sorry!” His words were hisses. Exhausted gasps of air in the shapes of phonemes.

«I won’t allow your apologies either. Remember, lover: you’re great. You are awesome. Nothing that ever happened to your life was your fault.» Then, a little correction. «Nothing that broke you, that traumatized you, that is. Everyone has their faults and flaws. Even I am not immune to those, as perfect as I was bred to be.» She laid a kiss, a single, lovely peck on his cheek. *Squik!* «But this, this pain… it’s not your fault.» *Squik!* «It was never your fault.» *Squik!* «You have no need to apologize, you understand?» She moved back, a couple of inches only. Her eyes hovered over his, seeing the somber tears his dark eyes were holding up. «Please, cry.»

He did.

His breath became a mess as he began to whimper, initially too afraid or ashamed to really cry.

His woman was no stranger to that ritual. With a single hand, a lonely palm, she warmed his chest in slow, gentle movements, her palm drawing a wide circle on his chest, as wide as his breast could allow it to be. «Where are my tears, husband, where are they?» She flashed him a smile. «I’m a lacribus, don’t you know it?» She smiled upon seeing his puzzled head-tilt. «Just like a succubus craves a man’s semen and an incubus craves a woman’s heart, I, a lacribus, crave a lover’s tears.» She kissed him, gave him those tender, innocent pecks on his cheeks, all while licking and very gently sucking his tears as they met her lips. «So feed me, lover. Feed me your tears, and I will replace them with nothing but love in your heart.»

…

…

He did.

He cried.

…

…

He sobbed.

…

…

He howled.

Her words did it for him. They broke through the final layer of concrete on his breast like a chisel to the vein, letting the whole dam come down and the waters come pouring forth. The strength of her muscles took on a different meaning as he embraced her. There was no arousal there, no lust. Only love. And safety. And protection.

“Mamãe…”

She smiled as she heard his call. «Mommy is going to hug you real tight, okay? Tell me if it doesn’t feel so good.»

Her muscles roared. His body almost disappeared within her.

Gasps. Moans. He felt a breeze on his eyes, a soothing cold, as if something had just left his body through them. Something nasty and quite evil. “Oh. Mãe…” He muttered, and the tears kept coming. They rolled more easily now from his eyes, though the pain was all but gone.

Nice. It felt nice to cry on her shoulders, especially when her kisses, tender and furtive, felt like kittens cozying up to his face. «And here’s one kiss.» *Squik!* «And here’s another kiss.» *Squik! Squik!* «Here are all the kisses for my pretty baby. All the kisses he never got in your life.» *Squik! Squik! Squik!*

“Oh… oh, um… thank you.”

«Thank you, huh? What? Are you tired already of my plenty kisses?»

“No. No, I… I will never be.” Some tears rolled on his cheeks, caught by her fingers as she fondled him.

«Are you holding back?»

“No.”

«No, huh? So… what’s this?» *Squik!* «Are you done being sad, then?»

He raised one brow. “You sound disappointed.”

«Just making sure, oh, just making sure.» *Mwah! Mwah!* «I’m just making sure you’re not hiding away, knowing how sensible you are.» She kissed him and kissed him… and every kiss lasted longer on his cheek, her lips making sure his soul was at peace. «You’re a sensible man, and quite considerate. You’re always afraid of breaking one’s heart, especially if this heart belongs to someone who really cares about you.»

“Umm. Well… sounds like weakness, to be honest.”

«When unregulated, yes, it’s weakness. In the proper hands, though…» Again, her lips. Close. Dense. Firm on his cheek. *Mwaah!* «It’s the greatest of superpowers!» Her irises widened when she felt on her nape… «Oh.»

His touch. Her man, with his face still wet and hot after all the tears, touched her firmly on her nape, pulling her back, aligning their eyes until they were both gazing deeply at the cores of each other’s souls. “Hey.” He whispered. His tone was that delightful husky timbre that never failed to weaken a woman’s legs.

«Hey.»

He touched her cheeks. She touched him back.

“How do you feel… about all this?”

Her smile was like a fox teasing her little bunny on the prairie. «‘All this’ what?»

He smirked. “With me? Like this?” His gaze vacillated a bit. “I bet this didn’t help with the mood.”

«The mood?»

“Yeah. Sex and all.”

«Oh.» She paused, then she smiled, then she giggled. «Oh!» Her chuckles reached him, deep into his soul. «Oh, baby, oh! I am always in the mood when I’m near you.» She pulled back, though always keeping her eyes on his face, reading his emotions so attentively. «Don’t you believe me?»

The voices. They were screaming many defiant phrases in his mind. Thuthful sentences, perhaps, but all hurtful no less.

Of course, he doesn’t! Not a word you say isn’t one he didn’t come up with in his mind! You’re just a figment of his imagination! A pathetic invention of a loser who cannot get any real woman in the real life, so he has to resort to getting a fake, plastic bitch to fuc-

“I do.” He blinked, shutting the voices in the darkness behind his eyes. “These voices… you know?”

«I do.» She rubbed her nose on his. «Are you winning? Are they bothering you much?»

“No. No, they aren’t.” He shone. “I won. I… I guess your eating really helped me shut them up.”

«My eating?»

“Yeah.” A glorious smile. “You taking my tears? That lacribus thing?”

«Oh!» She laughed. «Yeah, yeah!»

“Gotta be honest, it wasn’t your, uh, smoothest line.”

«Well, sir, it worked, did it not?»

“It did.” His head jerked forward. “It did.”

Their gazes. Eyes on eyes, emeralds on ebonies. «So…» A suggestive smile turning explicit. «Are we gonna…?»

His gaze. His darkness embracing her heart.

But first, his hands. It was his hands that embraced her face, undoing her smile and turning up the dial of her body heat.

A pull. He pulled her face to his, allowing their lips to meet. The room was filled again with the slurpy, messy noises of two tongues making love, of lips popping and hugging, of teeth biting and pulling, and faces getting wet with kisses and more kisses getting out of control, two lovers unable to get enough of each other. «Nice!» She moaned, sometimes to him, many times to herself. «You’re… quite… the amazing kisser.»

“Thanks.” He turned his face, receiving on his cheek a kiss that was meant instead for his lips.

Her eyes descended upon him with concern, meeting his eyes that were wavering, looking at something behind her, the hypnotic shine of the moon. «What is it?»

“I… I want to do this properly.” He smiled, then winked. “Get up. Sit on me again.” He sucked his lower lip. “I want to have a good look at your body… before I take it.”

Her reciprocal smile grew with a long, growling purr. «Nice.» So she rose again, adding countless creaks to the room as the poor bed fought to hold her titanic weight. «So, mister?» Her body shone cleanly under the moon. «How’s it gonna be?»

His mind was filled with wonder and thunderous thoughts, besieged on all fronts by her endless beauty, and crushed no less intensely by the growing weight of his responsibility, yes, of touching, worshiping, making justice to that woman, that queen, that…

God.