Date: Thu, 04 Sep 2003 22:27:10 +0000
From: Psiberzerker Anarchrist <psiberzerker@hotmail.com>
Subject: Curious Chapter I

  Author's note: The meat piston action doesn't start until chapter II, so
you might want to skip ahead if you don't care how these things happen.

  I was enjoying my morning cup of Cafe Ruby when the lunch rush hit.  This
close to downtown, we got a lot of yuppies slumming for their Lattes,
Biscotti, and trendy pressed sandwiches.  Never a Starbucks(c) around when
you need one, they'd have to go all the way up to the State strip to get
their daily dose of Seattle's worst.  The fascists always looked at me funny
when I ordered a cup of dark roast to steep my Earl Gray in.  Here, they
where used to me.
  I window shopped the crowd of young urban professionals, but not very
seriously.  Not being the guys' type, I mostly looked to the Ladies.  One of
them looked pretty sturdy under that taupe suit.  It was just tight enough
to tell me what I needed to know without giving too much away.  I like
surprises, especially in plain wrappers.
  Speaking of which, she took out a magazine with her cup of whatever.  Most
of them stayed only long enough to get it to go.  I caught the title,
"Stroke" before she spread it across her lap.  Curious, I had to go check it
out.  I don't know the odds of there being two publications with the same
name, but the Stroke I knew was pornographic.  On the other hand, that was a
rather cute half naked man on the cover.
  She was so engrossed in a pictorial about "military relations" that she
didn't notice me coming up.  Must've been fairly early on because they only
had their fatigues half off, and hadn't reached for the lube yet.  "New
issue?"
  "Just got it," she didn't bother to look up, but turned the page.  Sure
enough, they'd gotten sick of philatio, and moved on to sodomy.
  "White Rabbit?" I guessed.  You could get it at Our Place, but that was
XXX only.  The former also offers freedom rings, and rainbow flags with only
a small back room for the porn.
  She silently lifted the bag to show me the logo, but tore her eyes away to
take the scenic route up my body.  I've heard lots of words to describe my
mode of dress, but subtle had yet to come up.  I'll answer to Rivethead
because it sounds cool, but I don't actually have a name for it.  Some
people look for each other in personals, I like to advertise by wearing
various flags.  Her whipping out a gay male jerk rag in a predominantly gay
cafe was a cry for help on the order of a signal flare.
  "Mr.?" she offered her hand to prompt my name, and got an honorable
mention for grip strength.
  "Ruby," blood flowed back into the back of my hand where her thumb used to
be.  "Like the stone."  I got so sick of people forgetting my name.  She
stowed the dirty book, but didn't offer an introduction.  I seated myself
next to her without invitation to balance the karma.
  "Confused?" she smiled to show that it was an inside joke she got.
  "I hate it when straights call me that," I admitted, but without ire, "I'm
pretty secure in my sexuality, they're the ones that get confused."
  She chuckled, "The one that gets me is the double standard," she mocked,
"Two girls is sexy, but two guys?  Ewwe!"  She grimaced fetchingly.
  "Curious," I threw out another buzzword.
  She nodded, "About male bi-sexuality," she quantified, "Unfortunately, you
guys are a rare and elusive find around here."
  I knew, "Probably due to our natural predator, the North American
Redneck."  Though the capital, our 'city' wasn't even close to the largest
in this southern state.  "Why're you looking?"
  "I want one for my boy," she didn't say friend.  I don't really care for
kids, they don't know how to do anything.
  "Is he gay?" I wondered.
  "Straight," she shook her head again, "We both are, but you can't have a
Troi' without being open minded."
  "You always this direct," I chuckled, "Or just in a hurry to get back from
lunch?"
  "Shit!" she checked her watch, and hastily downed her cup.  "Call me if
you're interested," she tossed a business card onto my lap, and swept out.
{Donna Martin} I thought that was an ironic coincidence {Physical therapist}
  She had a work, home, and mobile number.  I wondered idylly which I would
call.