interplanetary travel and my inner gay man
The group I was with split up and fanned out in a system of tiny little planets. A friend and I got off our spaceship (which we'd been riding like a motorcycle) and wandered around on one of these rocks. Besides beige, sandy dirt, the only thing we found on the entire planet was a weathered metal box the size of a child's coffin stood on end.
Our mission then became to open the box and see what was inside. After several McGuyver-worthy attempts, we managed to pry off one of the sides. Out popped a dead elf resembling Dobby from Harry Potter; he wore a tribal-patterned metal death mask twice the size of his actual head. The corpse didn't fall to the ground, but continued sticking out of the box, just waving there like a jack-in-the-box.
My brief initial fear had subsided as soon as I realized the elf was dead and had no way of attacking us.
Then, I was a young man bending over in front of a sunny window, my hands on a metal radiator. I was letting another, fairly attractive, young man rub his penis all over my rear end. Just as he began to insert himself I interrupted him: "Could you put on a condom?"
"No, I don't think so," replied the man, and pulled up his jeans.
"That's a shame," I said, half wishing I hadn't said anything. "What you were doing there was really working for me."
"Really?" said the man. "I couldn't tell." He meant because I hadn't been screaming or moaning.
Years passed, somehow. I wasn't actually a man; I was me, but living as a gay man. That's how people interacted with me. Maybe they literally saw a different person.
I had a mentor who died and I was in his huge studio. Looked like it could have been used as a dance studio but in reality it seemed more like his study/banquet hall. I moved a stack of papers off a surface and dusted it.
Hours later, some older man who I think was the mentor's friend came in and praised me for the amazing job I did cleaning the studio. I'd not only gotten everything spotless, I'd redecorated the room the way I'd always imagined. It was now fit for a big party, which apparently would be starting any minute.
The man's praise made me burst into tears.
At the party, my first boyfriend from earlier (who left because I asked him to use a condom) found me among the crowd and we hugged for a long, long time. I seem to remember Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" playing in the background. Even though it had been more than a decade since our adolescent dalliance I still recognized him. He apologized for his behavior when we were kids and said he was ready to settle down, which was why he had come to find me. He'd never forgotten me all these years and I was the one for him, etc.
And I guess we would have lived happily ever after, except then I woke up.
Our mission then became to open the box and see what was inside. After several McGuyver-worthy attempts, we managed to pry off one of the sides. Out popped a dead elf resembling Dobby from Harry Potter; he wore a tribal-patterned metal death mask twice the size of his actual head. The corpse didn't fall to the ground, but continued sticking out of the box, just waving there like a jack-in-the-box.
My brief initial fear had subsided as soon as I realized the elf was dead and had no way of attacking us.
Then, I was a young man bending over in front of a sunny window, my hands on a metal radiator. I was letting another, fairly attractive, young man rub his penis all over my rear end. Just as he began to insert himself I interrupted him: "Could you put on a condom?"
"No, I don't think so," replied the man, and pulled up his jeans.
"That's a shame," I said, half wishing I hadn't said anything. "What you were doing there was really working for me."
"Really?" said the man. "I couldn't tell." He meant because I hadn't been screaming or moaning.
Years passed, somehow. I wasn't actually a man; I was me, but living as a gay man. That's how people interacted with me. Maybe they literally saw a different person.
I had a mentor who died and I was in his huge studio. Looked like it could have been used as a dance studio but in reality it seemed more like his study/banquet hall. I moved a stack of papers off a surface and dusted it.
Hours later, some older man who I think was the mentor's friend came in and praised me for the amazing job I did cleaning the studio. I'd not only gotten everything spotless, I'd redecorated the room the way I'd always imagined. It was now fit for a big party, which apparently would be starting any minute.
The man's praise made me burst into tears.
At the party, my first boyfriend from earlier (who left because I asked him to use a condom) found me among the crowd and we hugged for a long, long time. I seem to remember Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" playing in the background. Even though it had been more than a decade since our adolescent dalliance I still recognized him. He apologized for his behavior when we were kids and said he was ready to settle down, which was why he had come to find me. He'd never forgotten me all these years and I was the one for him, etc.
And I guess we would have lived happily ever after, except then I woke up.