Chapter #11Take them. by: Seuzz   You trot after Felicia's body with Chad's; you turn Sandra's toward Raul. "So I guess Chad got lucky twice tonight," the latter says with light mockery.
"He got luckier than you know," you coo. "You want to get lucky too?" You wrap her arms around him and raise yourself on her toes to press her mouth against his. He stiffens and doesn't respond, so you inch higher toward his nose. A blue tendril twists out from between her pursed lips, probes expectantly, then darts up his nose.
You catch up to Felicia and without preamble grab and hold her tightly, clamping Chad's mouth over her face. She squeals in alarm, then snorts hard as a pseudopod tickles the inside of her left nostril and shoots toward her brain. It dissolves as it hits her nasal cavity.
Raul sags onto the porch. When you have him under control, you lay him out flat on his back and drag his mind into unconsciousness to quickly absorb it. You hold Felicia in Chad's arms as you put her to sleep too. It doesn't take long to see, through both of your new acquisitions, that Felicia will be mostly useless except as a husk to hide in. You turn Raul over on his side and look at Sandra. "No reason to waste myself on her," you grunt. You relinquish her mind and body, and, letting her unconscious body drop to the ground, shuffle back toward the house. "Dude, that's some sweet pussy you gave up on," you call out when Chad is back in sight of the porch.
"I can get pussy when I want it," you taunt back. You put an ugly look on Sandra's face as you drop Chad on the porch next to her. "I'll have to pretend everything is normal between us, of course."
"Everything is normal between us," you snap as you stub out the cigarette.
"I was talking about me and Fellatia," you reply, using Raul's pet name for his girl.
"You're such a dick, Raul. What if someone tells her what you call her?"
You put an arm around Sandra and pull her toward your chest. "How about a three-way until the other guys get back?"
You push Raul away and stand. "I'm going home. You guys are wasted. Sleep it off."
You watch her go with two pairs of eyes. "She's pretty useless too, except for acting like a cunt," you mutter.
"That's what makes her useful. If I'm going to manage the Jenny's and the Fellatia's, it helps to have Sandra in my corner."
You grunt and fall onto your back. "Dude, I'm still horny."
"Don't look at me. Wait until we get some other girls."
You lay silently in the dark, with two bodies on a dimly lit porch, and another in a bed some blocks away. Time passes, and Chad and Raul's housemates return, loudly. They jeer as they step over the two guys you've possessed. You eye them watchfully as they pass. Josh; Michael; Yung-ching; Anthony. Tall, strong, and stupid, every one of them.
* * * * *
After the house goes dark and silent you go back in to lay some traps for the morning. Yung-ching always drinks a protein shake for breakfast; you spike the one he already has chilling in the fridge with a worm. Another worm goes in the milk for Anthony's corn flakes. You twine a third around a shower head, to take anyone who steps into the tub. Then you put your last two bodies in their beds, to lay with eyes open, staring blankly into the dark, until dawn.
Light comes some hours later, but the house remains still. An alarm eventually goes off, but is stilled; ten minutes later it goes off again, and is again stilled. The third time it stays off. Then noises tell you someone is moving. You lurk patiently, then lift Raul from his bed, put him into some shorts, and pad out into the kitchen. Yung-ching is there, wincing against the morning light as he grips his undrunk shake. He blearily eyes you.
"Dude, I feel like shit."
"That crap you're holding won't make you feel any better." He makes a face, ambiguously, then sourly starts to drink his breakfast down.
Anthony comes in and pulls out a box of cereal; he rudely shoves an oblivious Yung-ching away from the sink so he can lift and rinse out a filthy bowl and spoon. It takes a moment before you can make your newest acquisition react, and then you give Anthony a dirty look and knock his shoulder with Yung-ching's as you stumble over to a bar stool. "Just need a quick nap," you mumble as you put his head on his arms and close his eyes.
"Guy and his shakes make me wanna puke," Anthony says as he sloshes some milk over his cereal.
"Give him a break," you say as you knead Yung-ching's thick neck and strong shoulders with Raul's hands. "He ruined his taste buds with that crap he grew up eating in China."
"Taiwan," Yung-ching mutters, though he is actually unconscious.
"Whatever. He's teaching me dirty Chinese words, you know," you say pleasantly. "For payback I'm supposed to help him lose his virginity." Without moving his head, you raise Yung-ching's hand and give Raul the bird.
Anthony grins and starts shoveling corn flakes into his mouth; more than a few hit his shirt instead, and milk dribbles down his chin. "Anyway, you won't catch me drinking that shit."
"We could all stand to be a little more buff," you say. "Starting today we step up the weight training."
"Speak for yourself," Anthony says through a full mouth, spraying milk and little bits of cereal out. It's almost sheer luck that your worm lands in his mouth instead of on the floor.
"I think I'll be doing the speaking for all of us," you reply blandly. The bowl slips from Anthony's suddenly nerveless fingers and splatters all over the floor. "I suppose I'll have to be the one to clean that up now," you sigh as you step into the kitchen and unroll some paper towels. Your Anthony body just snarls "Move over, panda-fucker" at Yung-ching as he takes a stool next to his comrade.
Your eyes flick at the sound of pipes coming alive in the bathroom: water runs hard into the tub briefly before it turns to a thin spray from a showerhead. In the bathroom, you drop onto a head of dark, close-cropped hair. Water runs around you as you slither down the back of a neck and then around and under a chin, over the jaw, and up the cheek and into the nose. A spasm of choking and snorting ensues.
"That's better," you say as you arch Yung-ching's back and stretch his arms. You scratch his pits and utter a few coarse words. Then you drape his arms lovingly around Anthony, lay his head alongside that latter's, and kiss his cheek. "Would you like to suck my cock?" you murmur into his ear. "Or would you like to take me up my fine, sculpted ass? I'll let you, now. You secret faggot."
Your Chad body meets your Josh body as it steps naked from the bathroom. "You didn't leave the towel on the floor again, did you?" you ask. "No, I left it on the bottom of the tub," you retort as you brush past. You dress Josh before pulling all your local recruits into the living room. You sit silently for a bit.
"I'm going to be late for class if I have wait on Michael," you complain.
"No one needs you," you reply.
"Fuck, he's probably jerking off again."
"Let's cure him of the habit, then."
You march all your male hosts down the hallway to Michael's closed door. It takes only two kicks of Anthony's powerful leg to bust it wide open. The room's sole occupant flips over in his bed, his eyes wide in alarm.
"Good morning, sunshine," you jeer as you drop Chad onto Michael's chest. You dangle a worm over Michael's face. "Time to join the club." His four other housemates smirk down at him with folded arms.
He looks in shock from one face to another, and then his eyes light on the worm. He looks at it with dumb, uncomprehending fascination. And then he opens his mouth to scream. That's when you drop it into him.
* * * * *
You send some of your bodies out, at different times, some singly and some in groups, as the morning progresses and as their class times approach. But one of them you send to an off-campus bakery, where Cindy is waiting. "Hey there," you say, and give her a chaste smooch after sitting down with a blueberry muffin.
"Hey," she smile back. There's some small talk between you, about her sorority and the weekend past and the weekend to come. She seems mildly distracted, though, and becomes gradually more agitated as the talk continues. You're not very surprised by her manner. She was there when the housemates nearly got into a serious fight last night—this was before you came upon them—and there was even some shirt tearing. The events had upset her greatly. Finally she blurts out, "Can we start hanging out at my place more?"
"How come?"
"Chad was being a creep last night."
"I thought he was being normal."
"That's what I mean. I wish Anthony had punched him out."
"Well, then be glad you didn't stick around. He went on to nail Jenny and Sandra after you left. He was a real dick about it afterward, too."
She makes a face. "Why do you hang out with him?"
"I hang out with Michael and the other guys. Chad's just there."
"Do they like him?"
"H'lo, kids," you say as you saunter up and drop a backpack on the table. You turn the chair around, straddle it as you sit, and flip your ball cap brim-side back.
"Raul, do you think Chad's a creep?" you ask.
"Hell yes," you reply.
You grimace. "Alright, he's a jerk and an asshole and a cocksucker, but I'm not sure I'd call him a creep."
"Why are you interested in Chad all of a sudden?"
"I'm not. Cindy is."
"Ooo!" you smirk. "Sounds like you got some competition, Josh."
"I'm not interested in him," Cindy says, and gives you an angry look. "I can't stand him."
"That's the first sign you're falling for a dude." You give her a dirty grin. "You can't stop thinking about how much you hate him, and then you can't stop thinking about him period."
Cindy folds her arms, pouts, and looks away. You tilt your chin inquiringly at her and look over at yourself; you reply with a slight shake of the head; you frown.
"If he's going to be over at your place so much, I'm going to stop going over there," Cindy says with finality, and twists off part of your muffin.
"Well, that's your right. But leave my breakfast alone."
"I gave you what you wanted last night."
"I'll give you more than you want tonight if you're not careful," you retort with a grin. You put your arm around her and pull her close, but she twists out of your grasp and stands up.
"I got class," she says as she picks up her bag. "I'll see you after macro."
You watch her go, then put a brotherly arm around Josh's shoulders. "God, I want your girlfriend in the worst way," you murmur in her ear.
"I'll get her soon enough. Then her back door will swing wide open."
"That's why it's such a tease to see her slip away like this." You goggle at her ass as she walks off, and groan softly.
* * * * *
Flap. Flap. Flap. Your flip-flops slap loudly against your heels as you make your way to your seat in the crowded lecture hall, and you belch softly as you drop into a hard chair. You unzip your backpack to pull out a pencil and spiral pad, and discover you've forgotten the textbook at the house. Classic Chad behavior, you reflect with cold amusement. Like it matters.
Your jaw works expectantly as you watch one slim girl after another enter the classroom. The professor attracts them like honey: he is young and dynamic, with a mane of thick black hair and steel-rim glasses that focus his sharp, intelligent eyes. His magnetic effect on female flesh would make him a candidate for possession, but his subject matter—French literature—doesn't strike you as particularly useful. Instead, you take mental notes on which girls would make good recruits. So many are fresh and ripe and soft that it becomes impossible to choose. Instead, you puff out your chest and slip off your sandals and spread your legs and hoist your feet onto the seat back in front of you: a display to attract attention from one—any—of them. You can't help noticing, though, that Chad's toenails want trimming.
Class hasn't started yet, but the prof has entered and begun looking through his lecture notes when a girl with mango-like breasts bursting against a tight t-shirt enters and takes the seat in front of you. She shakes her long brown hair back invitingly. Oh yeah, she wants me. You could take her easily, right now, in class. A thin blue discharge from your cock, winding down the back of your thigh and calf and onto your feet, then onto the chair and up into her hair, to drop down the back of her fresh white t-shirt and then slip down to take her up the ass or the pussy. Even if she proved to have no other uses, you could take her back to the house after class and bang her hard, and share her with your Yung-ching body ...
She turns around and gives you a sour look. "Do you mind?" she says with irritation.
You look at her coldly and with an unfamiliar sense of betrayal, then drop your feet to the floor. The professor chooses that moment to start talking.
* * * * *
At the same time, in a classroom on the other side of campus, you're actually fighting off a girl. "That's a really nice shirt," she says breathlessly with shining eyes. There are only six other people in the seminar room, which makes it hard to avoid her.
You glance down at the Hawaiin-print shirt you'd carelessly snatched up. "Thanks," you say curtly.
"Did you get it in the islands?"
"Nah. Just around."
"I was going to go to the big island for Christmas, but it fell through."
You give her a sidelong glance. Her hair is trimmed alarmingly short, with bits and pieces here and there tied up in rubber bands. She wears no makeup. It's not an unpretty face—Sandra is rather plain-looking too—but it's bold and impudent in a way that leaves you slightly recoiling. She has badgered Michael with inane chatter ever since he added this class. Among his friends he derides her as "Shufflemouth," for the way weird, trivial talk pops randomly out of her.
"Do you surf?"
You drop your chin onto your forearms and shrug your shoulders. "A little. I have a cousin in California, and he takes me out sometimes when I visit." That cousin, Patrick, would make a fine host; in addition to being a surfer, he's a chemical engineer. Too bad he's so far away.
"I've never been surfing, but it looks like fun."
Fortunately, the professor enters and immediately calls the class to order. You think, with pleasure, that he's brought relief, but a short time later you feel a piece of paper being slid under your elbow. You glance down to see a scrawled note: "Do you like tacos?"
With a brief spasm of irritation, you wonder if it would be worth possessing her, just so you could send her gabbling off in another direction.
* * * * *
"... Six. Seven. Eight. Okay." You help your other body lift the bar and set it back in its crutches. You were serious earlier about increasing your hosts' muscle masses, and the weights are heavier than they are used to dealing with. You breathe heavily before rolling off the bench, taking your towel with you. You throw another towel onto the bench—which, with the other equipment, is in the house basement—and roll another body onto it, gripping the bar expectantly before lifting it.
"Ready? Okay. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. How long? Have you known? That you're gay?"
You again lift the bar into its crutches, then grunt and press the sides of your head briefly before rising to swap places again. "I told you, I'm not gay."
"Then how come I'm always showing up in your fantasies?" You settle onto the bench; the hands of the spotter brush lightly against the hands of the lifter as you get ready to start again.
You roll your shoulders in a shrug. "My best friend in grade school was Chinese or something. I've liked Orientals ever since then."
You grunt and exhale, grunt and exhale, then stand up again. "So what about Mei-Yin? Or Sally? Why me?"
You close your eyes as you lay back down on the bench. "I don't fantasize about fucking you, dude. I just fantasize about you."
"You don't fantasize about fucking them either. In fact, you don't fantasize about them at all."
You are too busy pushing the weights up and down to answer, but your grimace is eloquent. You keep your eyes closed and rest your arm across your pulsing pectorals as you answer. "Maybe I just like the exotic. Don't you ever fantasize about being exotic?"
"A billion people look like me," you retort, and slap your other body into vacating the bench. "I'm about as far from exotic as you can get."
"You didn't answer my question. Don't you ever fantasize about being exotic?"
You lay on the bench, and you look down at yourself: dark, liquid eyes gaze up into pale blue ones. "But we are exotic," you reply. "There's only five other people on this planet like us."
Smiles appear on both faces; no matter which perspective you adopt, though, they each appear to be upside-down.
* * * * *
For lunch you enjoy a sandwich, some bananas, and some cheese sticks at widely scattered locations on campus, but not all of your bodies take sustenance. You are, for instance, also perched on a wall outside the Engineering building, waiting for Cindy to come out of her macro-economics class.
You glimpse her emerge, but are momentarily distracted by two other girls who come out at the same time. They seem familiar, but no one you've possessed seems to recognize them. You shake it off as unimportant as Cindy comes up and leans on the wall next to you. "How was class?" you ask as you kiss her cheek.
"The demand curve keeps dropping, but the supply of bullshit seems to be inelastic." You stare at her blankly. "Sorry," she apologizes. "That was actually one of Mung's jokes, but no one in class laughed at it either."
You grunt. "Speaking of bullshit, I should say I'm sorry about you and Chad."
She shrugs. "Forget it. Like you said, he's not really one of your friends."
"If you want to start hanging out more at your place instead, that's okay."
"Have you thought any more about moving out, about getting a new place with me?"
It's not a new question. You suck on your cheeks. "I've got a sweet deal where I am," you observe. "The other guys could find someone to take my room, no problem, but I don't think my folks would spring for paying more when I've got a deal where I am."
"You mean they don't want you living in sin."
You wince. "Well, there's that too," you admit.
She gives you a look of irritated skepticism. "Do they think you're living with choir boys now?"
"Well, they know Michael. We went to grade school together—"
"And he's a good guy."
"—and I've told them about Yung-ching and Raul. They're impressed that I'm living with a guy from Taiwan, and I've played up Raul's having an uncle who's a missionary in Bolivia."
"What have you told them about Chad and Anthony?"
"That they play on the school baseball team, that's all. My dad likes that."
"Oh, Jesus."
"They like you." There's nothing not to like. Cindy has long, strawberry-blonde hair and a pale, cream-like complexion. You kiss her again. "If they knew what we were getting up to, though ..."
"They'd think I was a slut."
You sigh. Cindy is not one to sleep around. In fact, her usefulness would begin and end as a conduit through which to add some of her sorority sisters to your team. There wouldn't even be much point in keeping her after you'd gotten a foothold inside the Alphas ...
... except as a playground for your current hosts.
The fact is that the morning has left you slightly disturbed by the amount of your own brain power that is being sucked up by your hosts' erotic fantasies and ardor for complaisant, available sex partners. Chad wasn't the only host through which you pleasurably judged the prospects for increased membership; with multiple pairs of male eyes, there were a lot of girls to ogle throughout the morning. Through Michael you struck up a conversation in the library with a pretty blonde co-ed in a tight sweater—it was a conversation that was going swimmingly until her boyfriend joined her; and after the frustration at the coffee shop you sent Raul off to Felicia's to get a mid-morning blow job. The flirtation that, against your better judgment, you've got going between Yung-ching and Anthony is another symptom. It's actually hard enough keeping them out of Sandra—right now, in fact, you are walking Chad over to her place, to gamble on getting laid again—and if you added Cindy, you fear that your self-control would falter to the point that you'd never feel sunlight on your bodies again, unless it were for an al fresco orgy down by the river. You are, in fact, clutching desperately at Josh's instinctive protectiveness toward his girlfriend as the only thing preventing you from sliding down that slope.
You put your arms around her waist and rub your nose and forehead against her neck. "You're not a slut," you say firmly. "But we do it often enough, even with five assholes around and your own roommates. Put us in a house together, and I might starve to death before I let you out of my sight."
She snickers. "If that was meant to be a romantic image, it wasn't," she says. "But I appreciate the thought. And if it makes a difference, I've sometimes had the same worries about letting go of you."
You give her a long, slow, lingering kiss that gradually deepens and widens and becomes more and more electric, until in desperation you yank Anthony's body out of the house and walk him over to hoot and jeer at yourself into breaking it off.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, you've arrived at Sandra's apartment and rapped sharply on the door before stepping in without waiting for a response. You look up at Chad from the middle of a game of solitaire, then scoop the cards up and shuffle them. "How was Azari?" you ask him as he drops a backpack onto the floor and plops down.
"Boring as shit."
You deal out five cards to each of your selves. "Part of recon means paying attention and learning something about the history of the planet."
"Oh, I paid attention," you say carelessly, tossing a ball cap onto the floor in front of your crossed legs. "But it would be faster just to possess a few host brains that already have the knowledge."
You twist out of a blouse and throw it on top of the cap. "That's a thought. We can spare a little and send it hopping across the faculty to scoop up data."
You study the cards silently for a moment, then throw two flip-flops onto the blouse.
"Fold." You toss the cards away.
"You're so easy to bluff," you sneer as you scoop the winnings toward you. "There was o nly a 25% chance I'd get a fifth diamond, you know."
"Ooo, you've been boning up on statistics, among other things, haven't you?" You stretch out and grab one of her nearby sneakers.
"Stop it. You play with the clothes you're wearing."
"Don't be pedantic."
"The fuck does that mean?"
"It means put on the blouse, dick head."
You shrug and slip the blouse around brawny shoulders while dealing out more cards with your other pair of hands.
A cell phone rings while you're struggling out of a bra, so you pick it up with your other body. "H'lo?"
"Yeah. Hey, is Sandra there?"
"Just a minute." You twist something in your throat, and then speak again. "Yeah, who's this?"
"Hey Sandra, it's Jenny."
"Hey girl. I didn't see you in Baker's today. You okay?" You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder while holding your cards with one hand and tossing a flip-flop onto the bra with the other.
"What, I can't I have the blouse back," you murmur balefully.
"Go fuck yourself," you retort in a voice that doesn't belong with Chad's body. "No, sorry, Jenny," you say into the phone. "I was talking to an asshole."
"It's not Chad, is it? Is he there?"
"No, he's not. I haven't seen him since last night." You pull off shorts and flimsy underwear and throw them into the middle. "Raise." You answer by stripping the panties off your female body, which is now entirely naked, and deal two new cards.
"Well, he's who I wanted to talk to you about," Jenny continues, "so it would be awkward if he were."
"I told you not to think about him. It's bad for your mental health. It's bad for anyone's mental health. I ignore him as much as I can."
"Is that why you slept with him last night?"
You study the cards while you think. "Who told you that?" you ask into the phone. "Pull off my clothes," you mouth at your other body.
"I ran into Anthony and those guys at the Waffle House. They said you went into his bedroom after I left and didn't come out."
"Oh, I came out all right," you say to Jenny in a muffled voice as the t-shirt slides over your head. "I'm not talking to you from his bedroom."
"Don't be a smartass, Sandra."
"The word is 'pedantic.' It means 'being technically and infuriatingly precise.'" You stroke your newly exposed cock lightly with your thumb. "And I'm not being a smartass. I went in to give him a taste of his own medicine for you."
Jenny is silent, and you seize the moment to cover the mouthpiece. "See and raise. What are you going to cover it with?"
"You can fuck me," you mouth back.
"That wasn't very nice of you," Jenny says.
"I didn't mean it to be." You grin at yourself, and mouth the word "call." "He deserved it."
"I mean, it wasn't nice to me."
"Fuck it, Jenny, I'm like your best friend. And if I keep telling you that Chad is just a piece of toilet paper that's been well wiped against a diarrhetic ass-crack, why won't you believe me?" You toss down a hand that holds two fours and an ace.
"So why do you get to waste your time on him? It's like you're saying you're better than me because you can handle him."
Your other body grins and throws down two aces and two kings, then scoops up all the clothes.
You groan and fall onto your back; your cock goes flaccid. "Being 'better' has nothing to do with it, girl. Maybe you're actually better than me because you care. I'm telling you that you shouldn't. And for your own piece of mind you should just forget him."
"I should make you walk home like that," you say primly as you start slipping back into the bra and blouse.
Jenny sighs unhappily. You scratch your crotch absent-mindedly. "Look, I know he makes you horny. He's a lout with muscles, and a lout with muscles is still a lout. Don't you remember that logic class we took?"
Your hand is still in your crotch when the front door opens and Sandra's housemate walks in. "Sorry, someone just walked in. I gotta go." You clamp the phone shut.
"Christ Almighty, Chad," Christina says with a shudder as she shields her eyes. "Put some clothes on."
"I can't," you grin back. "I lost them to Sandra." You pull Chad's filthy ball cap own over Sandra's short, dirty-blonde hair and smile mischievously.
* * * * *
Even as the above is unfolding, you pass the apartment on your way to the liquor store. Thanks to tight budgets, your boys are usually forced to go for the cheaper, more watery domestic brews. But you're not worried about money; you can always possess someone with deeper pockets if you need more, so you wander the store and mull over some of the more expensive offerings from the microbreweries. Another bit of your self-control is beginning to crumble.
Eventually you choose a couple of six-packs of some of the fruitier offerings and lug them to the front. Hector, the regular behind the cash registers, eyes them in surprise. "What's wrong with Coors?"
"It's a celebration," you reply curtly.
"Check their IDs," you remind Hector from another corner; Michael works at the store part-time, and it's through him that you speak. "What?" you taunt back at Anthony's upraised finger. "How do we know it's really you?"
You mutter back, but Hector only grins and refuses your money, so you rip open your wallet and slap Anthony's driver's license on the counter. Hector pretends to study it closely, and flicks it with his finger to see if the lamination will give way. "Looks kind of suspicious to me," he smirks. "Mikey, you vouch for this guy?"
"Nah," you grunt as you stack one heavy case onto another. "But what the hell." You lift your cap and wipe back sweat-stained hair, then saunter up to the counter. "Holy shit!" you exclaim, affecting surprise at the beer that is sitting there. You gape at your other body. "I take it back. Who are you and what have you done with the real Petrelli?"
"Bite me, Hennessey."
Your eyes glitter with amused malice. "Throw 'im out, Hector," you say, as you pick up the brews you've chosen and return them to the shelves. "Abusive customer."
You stare balefully. "The fuck is wrong with you?"
Others in the store have begun to take notice, so you stab a finger toward the door. "Out. Or I call the cops."
You gape, then turn purple and advance menacingly. But you stop yourself with a hard hand to the shoulder. There's a moment of suspense, then in a fury you turn around and storm out the door, slamming it behind you.
You fall back into gales of laughter, and Hector looks at you in bewilderment. "I got a rude wake up call this morning," you explain. "A little revenge. But I'll make it up to him." You pick up the six packs again, add a few more, and hand them to Hector, asking him to hold them behind the counter. "Tell the boss to deduct it from my paycheck."
* * * * *
You're sitting on the outdoor patio of a Mexican restaurant, drinking beer and eating nachos and fajitas while shading your eyes against the setting sun with three pairs of sunglasses. "I should be taking an astrophysics course. Or an astrophysics professor," you grumble as you regard the swollen orange orb. "It might jog a memory."
"I doubt the science is advanced enough," you reply. "I read a couple of books when I was kid, and it was only about the local planets and the main-sequence stars."
"I almost remembered something this afternoon," you say around a mouth full of beef and peppers. "I saw two girls. They looked really familiar, but I couldn't place them." You pull a bit of gristle out and scrape it against the side of the plate. "You guys are useless."
"You're one to talk," you retort. "You want smarter playmates? We need to spread out. Stop shielding Cindy."
"Shut the fuck up. You had Fellatia and threw her away."
"You both need to shut up." You're busy undressing the waitress with your eyes.
"I wish you'd stop pretending that you and Anthony weren't going to go horizontal this evening."
"Just give me two minutes with our waitress and I'll show you what it means to go horizontal."
"Like I said, stop pretending. You love having him panting after you."
You drain a bottle and set it firmly down. "You wanna walk home, asshole?"
You rub your eyes. "It's gonna be real fun tonight after we start drinking for real."
You fall silent and hunch over your plates; you're jerking off at the house, and it's setting off sympathetic erections in all your hosts. When it's over, you sigh. "Well, that was the opposite of a climax."
"Are we all going to get together at the house tonight? Sandra could be the entertainment."
One of your cell phones vibrates, and you snap it open. "No, she's got calculus homework," you say after reading the text message.
"Fuck, five us could do it for her while she was servicing the sixth. Or four, if we doubled up with her."
"See, this is why I want to leave Cindy out of it. Hell, if you're just looking for a back door, Raul, Anthony could play the bitch."
You snigger. "Cocksucker won't even admit to being a homo."
"That's what would make it fun."
"Oh God, here comes Shufflemouth. Tacos. Good thing Michael went out with Steve and them instead." You are, in fact, having a lot of fun palling around with Steve and Eddie and Carrie at the barbecue place, and the reflected enjoyment from that party is probably the only reason you haven't set a match to the dry tinder of resentment piled up around Josh and Raul and Yung-ching, and set them to shoving and punching each other.
"Can I interest you guys in some dessert?" It's the waitress. She has long, lustrous dark hair, and the red and green frills of her blouse nicely frame a plunging décolletage; from behind your shades you have a magnificent three-dimensional view of her pert breasts.
"Nah. Thanks. Just the check." Shufflemouth doesn't recognize any of your present hosts, but she and her skinny date have sat down at the next table, and her talk has already begun to grate badly on your three sets of ears.
* * * * *
Evening has fallen; the muted TV shows a ball game while soft music plays. Most of the beer bottles are empty; the rest are cradled comfortably in half-a-dozen hands. You let a loud burp rip from one throat, and then another, and then another.
"You guys are disgusting," Cindy says from the couch, where she's nestled in Josh's arms. She's the only woman in the house; she is also the only human present you have not possessed.
"Then why do you hang around with us?"
"I don't hang around with you. Only with my guy." She cuddles closer to him.
You snort and rise impatiently from a chair. "When are we going to stop dicking around and do something?"
"Like what?"
"You know what."
"There's no hurry."
"Fuck." You glower and stomp back into a bedroom. A roomful of eyes, most of them yours, watch you go.
"What's Anthony's problem?" Cindy asks peevishly.
She's met with silence. Then you sigh and get up to follow. "I'll go talk to him."
You drain a beer and set it next to a lamp. "Except he's right. What are we waiting for?" You turn to stare belligerently at the guy with his arm around the girl.
You stare back stonily. "Not yet."
"What are you guys talking about?" Cindy asks.
"It's okay," you say, and kiss her on the cheek. "We've got plans is all, but I'm being a dick."
In the bedroom, you strip off shirts and shoes and cuddle on the bed, resting a head against a bare chest. Two pairs of eyes stare blankly into the darkness. "You know Mei-Yin real well. How about taking her?"
"She wouldn't make you happy."
"No, but you could make her happy."
"Anyone could make her happy, after a thing like that. What about you?"
"I'd be happy if you were the one making her happy. We'd both be inside her, you know."
"There is no me and there is no you, and there wouldn't be a her either. There's not even an us."
"I know. It gives me a headache."
"No it doesn't. I'm just pretending it does."
"Are you pretending that you care for me?"
"Of course. I hate your guts. I hate my guts. I hate all of our guts. These bodies and brains are just meat."
"What happens when we are finished here?"
"I don't know. But I'd hate to be Anthony and I'd hate to be Yung-ching after I've left us. Because then, I'm guessing, is when the real fun on this planet will start."
"Then let's us give them some fun now." You slide Anthony's hand down the front of Yung-ching's shorts and start massaging his cock.
But the swelling pleasure in the bedroom does nothing to lighten the ugly mood in the living room, or to distract you from your overwhelming sense of frustration. You stand in front of the TV with your hands in your shorts pockets, glowering at the screen; you sit in the ratty cloth recliner with your eyes closed and your jaw clenched; you roll an empty beer bottle between strong hands while staring distantly at nothing; you stiffen and throw a protective arm around Cindy. One by one all the cell phones in the house buzz, bearing the same warning message from Sandra: "lisN 2 josh." It is almost the last play you can make to hold yourself back.
The moment hangs dangerously, and then blackens. "Come on," you say quietly to Cindy and start to rise. "Let's go someplace by ourselves."
You tilt three heads to stare at Cindy as she gets to her feet. In the bedroom, you release a male tit from between your teeth and lift a face from the scalp whose scent you had been gently breathing in. Cindy twists her hips inside her shorts, oblivious to effect this simple gesture has on you.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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