Authors: TJ Klune
I scowled. “That’s not his fault. He got hit by a car.”
“He looks like he hates me already.” He chuckled.
“You’re laughing at him. You got hit by a car and I didn’t laugh at you.”
Vince smirked tiredly. “Nah. You just made out with me.”
“I was trying to give you mouth to mouth!”
“Dude, I was still breathing.”
“I panicked,” I defended myself.
He squeezed me tighter. “You can panic on my tongue anytime.”
I helped him to the couch rather than say anything in response. It seemed safer. Everything felt all topsy-turvy, and I didn’t want to risk opening my mouth and making it worse. I tended to do that quite often, and this situation felt perilous.
I could hear Wheels following us, his toenails clacking on the tile, his wheels squeaking as he rolled behind us. He was sniffing in these short, tiny bursts, and I knew he was smelling Vince, trying to figure out who the fuck I’d brought into his house. I also wanted to sniff Vince repeatedly, but that was something I figured I’d better keep to myself. He wasn’t cocaine, after all. Well, not that I did cocaine or anything. I’d seen
Scarface
. I knew what it did to people.
Vince groaned as I set him on the couch. I felt twinges of sympathy pain in my own ribs, but then I realized it was because he was still holding on to me, digging his fingers into my side. He was trying to pull me down onto the couch with him, and I didn’t want to go there.
Not yet
, I thought before I could stop myself.
But wouldn’t it be fun?
I worked my way out of his grasp, and he grunted, knowing exactly what I was doing. He finally gave in and let go, settling back against the cushions. “You want something to drink?” I asked him, trying to keep from wringing my hands in front of me. “You can’t take the muscle relaxers yet. We have to keep you up for a few hours to make sure you don’t have brain damage.”
“I don’t have brain damage,” he assured me.
“That remains to be seen,” I said before I could stop myself.
He looked at me weird. “I could use a beer,” he said finally.
I gaped at him. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning! On a
Wednesday
.”
“I’m on vacation, apparently.”
“You can have water. Or juice.”
He scowled at me. “We should have gone to my house. That way I could have done whatever I wanted.”
“Too late. You wanted to come here. Water or juice.”
“Beer.”
I waited.
He rolled his eyes as Wheels sniffed his leg, and I realized he was still in bike shorts and my shirt. That got me a little hot and bothered. “Water,” he said finally. He leaned forward with a slight moan and looked down at Wheels, who froze again, looking up at him.
I left them to stare at each other, telling Vince to not touch the dog’s cart because Wheels tended to freak out if anyone who wasn’t me touched it. I clicked on the TV before I left, making sure it was loud enough that I wouldn’t be overheard. As soon as I hit the kitchen, I whipped out my cell phone, hit speed dial, and started to sweat profusely.
“This is Sandy, how can I help you?” he said when he answered his work line.
“I am so fucked,” I groaned into the phone.
“Paul.” He didn’t sound surprised to hear from me at all. “You know, I’ve been sitting here this morning, looking at your empty desk, wondering at just what point in your life you were taught that it was okay to hit hot men with your car. Where did I go wrong with you? Was it something I did? Do you have unresolved issues with your father?”
“I
didn’t
hit him!” I whisper-shouted. “He hit my door!”
“Uh-huh. You don’t think it was your subconscious acting out?”
“Now’s not the time, Sanford,” I growled at him.
He chuckled in my ear. “Why do you sound so freaked out, baby doll? You said earlier that he’d be fine. You’re not going to get arrested or anything. I’ll make sure a claim gets filed for you here and his bills will be taken care of. It’s not a big deal. Nothing’s broken, right?”
“No. Just a concussion and bruising.”
“Then why do you sound like you’re passing stones the size of watermelon?”
“He’s sitting on my couch wearing nothing but bike shorts and my shirt.”
There was a clattering noise through the line. A moment later, “Sorry. I dropped the phone. For a moment, I thought you said that Vince Taylor was sitting on your couch wearing your clothes.”
“And bike shorts.”
“And bike shorts. Yes.”
“You can’t forget the bike shorts.” Nor would I. Ever. “He was the one that wanted to come over here,” I said, as if that mattered somehow.
“Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Why the
fuck
are you on the phone with me?” he snarled quietly at me. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? You get your fucking ass back into the living room, and you sit down next to him and you take care of his every single whim, no matter what the fuck it is. Do you understand me?”
I replied with the only thing I could think of, the only thing that had been going through my head for the past thirty minutes. “I told him about Wheels, and he said he thinks he’s going to fall in love with me.”
Silence.
“Sandy?”
“He said that?” Sandy finally said. He sounded funny.
“Er. Yeah. Stupid, right?”
“It’s just like your parents,” he said in awe. He knew the story of how my parents met and this was probably freaking him out as much as it was me.
“What? No.
No
. I don’t even want to talk about that right now.”
“Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to listen to me, okay? You’re going to do exactly what I say. Understood?”
“Yeah.” This was why I’d called him. I needed someone I trusted to tell me what to do.
“You are going to go to your room. You are going to get those very expensive pajamas that I bought for you. The ones you never wear because you stupidly say they make your thighs look like sausage encased in plastic after it’s been sitting out in the sun for two weeks. He’s got to be uncomfortable still wearing those bike shorts.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to remember to breathe.
“Then you are going to sit with him all day and answer his every single beck and call. I don’t care what he asks for. I don’t care how uncomfortable it makes you. You are going to do
whatever
he asks because you hit him with your car and for
some
goddamn reason, he goes over to your house and tells you he could love you.”
“Well, he told me he could love me first and
then
he came over to my house.”
“Paul!”
“What!”
“Don’t you sass me!”
“I’m
not
!”
“Pajamas!” Sandy hissed. “Anything he asks!”
I felt bad. “He already asked for a beer,” I admitted. “I told him I’d get him a juice instead.”
Sandy groaned as if I was the most insufferable thing on the planet. “Okay. From this point on, though. Okay?”
“What if he wants to fist me?”
Sandy snorted and tried to cover it up so he could still sound stern. “Has that come up?”
I’d meant it as a feeble attempt at a joke, but now I was worried. “No.” But what if he did? How does one politely turn down a fisting? I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want your arm up my butt. I like my intestines shaped the way they are.
“Paul, I’m going to tell you the same thing my drag mother told me when I was first starting out. ‘Helena,’ Vaguyna Muffman said, ‘you can’t worry about fisting until it actually happens. You’ll live your life in fear and you’ll never unclench your anus.’”
“May she rest in peace,” I said, and we had a moment of silence for Vaguyna. She’d passed away a few years ago from cancer, and it had been hard on Sandy. When he quoted his drag mother, the one that’d taught him everything she knew about drag, you knew Sandy was serious.
“Is that all?” I asked him after a respectful amount of time had gone by.
He thought for a moment. “No. Because knowing you, you’ll do exactly what I say, but you won’t say anything for the whole day. So in addition to everything I’ve said already, you must learn seven new things about him. I will call you tomorrow after I get off work, and you will tell me those seven things you learned about Vince. And they can’t be something stupid like he’s pretty or he’s nice. They have to be
real
.”
“He
is
pretty, though,” I muttered. “And nice. That should count as two.”
“It doesn’t. Seven new things, Paul. By tomorrow.”
“This whole new deadline thing you’ve got going on?”
“Yeah?”
“I hate it and I hate your face,” I said as savagely as possible.
Sandy wasn’t fooled in the slightest. “You’re welcome. Do you need to write any of what I said down or can you remember it?”
“I’m not going to do
anything
you said!” I swore.
After a time, he said, “Feel better now?”
“Bite me,” I mumbled.
“That’s going to be Vince’s job.” I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“You’re a bitch.”
“Seven things. By tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you in
hell
.”
“I love you, baby doll.”
“I love you too. Am I going to mess this up?” I gnawed on my thumbnail.
He didn’t hesitate. “Possibly. But that’s why you have me.”
“I’m not going to make it to your show tonight.” I felt bad about that.
“Paul, is this important to you?”
“I think so, though I really can’t say why.”
“Good. There will be other shows. Hundreds, possibly millions if I figure out how to live forever. I can survive one night without you, I think. You’re always just cramping my style, anyway. Maybe tonight I can finally get laid.” He didn’t mean it, though. Not like that.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“You’re welcome. Now don’t go trying to get
too
fucked. You did hit him with your car, after all. Boy needs to heal before putting his cock in your bum.”
“The doctor said we can’t have sex until the weekend,” I said absently. Then I realized what I’d said. “Oh
sweat
balls.”
Sandy sounded like he was going into apoplectic shock. “Apparently,” he gasped as he hyperventilated, “you don’t… need my help… at all! You’ve already thought… this one… through.”
“I’m going to go now before I make it worse,” I said.
“Don’t think… that’s…
possible
,” Sandy said as he struggled to breathe. He sounded like he was dying. “Should have… recorded… this phone call. No one… will believe me. Need… record for… posterity. The world… must know… what happened.”
I hung up the phone. “Fuck,” I whispered.
I didn’t stop to think, because if I did, I’d end up having a minor meltdown right here in my kitchen. Instead of turning into the Paul I knew, I pushed him away and turned into Semi-Confident Paul whose super powers included the capability to have light conversations without stuttering, and to not sweat and turn red at a moment’s notice. Of course, this led to me wondering what kind of boots my superhero costume would have when I was Semi-Confident Paul, and whether or not I could pull off a cape. I liked to think I could.
I went back to the living room and Semi-Confident Paul turned into Shocked Paul, who then transformed into Big Puddle O’Goo Paul and lastly morphed into I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul.
All four of my alter egos would have rocked a cape and boots.
Somehow, someway, Vince had gotten Wheels to turn into a big fat traitor, the Benedict Arnold of doggy-dom. My antisocial mutt had turned into the world’s biggest slut in the five minutes I had been pretending to get juice.
I rounded the corner and found Wheels lying on his back on Vince’s legs, his little car discarded next to Vince on the couch. The little whore had his two front paws pointed lazily to the ceiling, his head hanging off Vince’s knees, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in that way he does when he’s getting a
really
good stomach rub. Vince was smiling down at Wheels as he scratched his belly. His nub of an ass wiggled back and forth (Wheels, not Vince. I would have been a little weirded out had I come around the corner to find Vince was shaking his ass while touching my dog).
I was about to shout that my dog was the biggest skank in the history of the world when Vince caught me watching him and said with a grin, “I think he likes me. I always wished I could have a dog.”
From there, Big Puddle O’Goo Paul wanted to find a female dog and go back in time to save Wheel’s manhood from ever being snipped so there could be billions and billions of
puppies
that I could shower upon Vince because he
always wished he could have a dog
. He’d gotten past my own dog’s defenses, which in turn shoved him right past my own. “That’s… that’s so special,” I managed to say. “I’m surprised he let you touch his cart.”
Vince reached up and grabbed Wheels by the face and started an ear massage, and Wheels made a sound like he was about to orgasm all over Vince. Unfortunately, that was not an image I could get out of my head and it made me a bit queasy. “He didn’t mind,” Vince said, oblivious that he had gotten to second base with my dog. “I just picked him up and he tried to lay in my lap. I told him I’d let him if I could take off his wheels ’cause I didn’t want him to get hurt.”
It was about that time that I noticed how the muscles in Vince’s arms flexed against the shirt he wore as he massaged the dog’s head. I remembered then that he was wearing
my
shirt, and for some reason, Big Puddle O’Goo Paul roared until he blew up into I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul.
I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul wanted to punt Wheels like a football out of the room so
he
could climb in Vince’s lap and lie on his back and have Vince rub his face. I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul didn’t think it was fair that the stupid half dog got all up in Vince’s lap without having to do a damn thing. I Want To Eat You Like A Buffet Paul was jealous of a dog and began to plot deviously to knock off said dog so there would never be any question again as to who belonged in that lap.