The Safeword is 'Papa' (ch.3)
#3 of The Safeword is 'Papa'
Rain hammered the sheet metal roof of my van. I could not sleep, and after three glass bottles of Starbucks® vanilla-flavored Frappuccino® chugged in rapid succession I had become a living conduit of impotence and pent-up homosexual rage.
I wanted to fuck something. But I wasn't sure what.
For a brief moment, I thought, maybe a girl would fit the bill. But that ship has long-since sailed, hasn't it Finnick my good fox? Oh yes, most definitely. Occupying it's dock in port now is a long phallic submarine, painted an obnoxious pink and positively turgid with seamen. Chiseled seamen kissing eachother on the mouth beneath the gusting signal flags, rubbing cocoa butter all over their washboard abs.
I have no idea what I'm talking about.
I stared up at the leaking roof of my van, digging my Skull Candies further down into my ears as I struggled to think through angry metal.
Do I find him attractive? I dunno. I can see where someone else might. He's got a broad smile, if you're into that sort of thing. Bright eyes. Thick orange fur that just... swallows you up... like a warm tide beneath a Hawaiian sunset, making you feel safe and protected and at peace with yourself, and -
My half-closed eyelids shot open. As I daydreamed, my paw had been making a beeline down my belly en route to my lap. "FUCK! Are you serious?!"
I considered giving him a call. It wasn't Friday - our day. What snarky thing would he say if he rolled over on his cot and read the LED numbers spelling my desperation?
Another Starbucks® vanilla-flavored Frappuccino® later, I was too crazed to care. I dialed the little cockbag's number.
It rang.
Once... twice... three times... five times... seven...
"B'wuh?" someone gurgled from the other end.
At that moment, I realized I hadn't thought about what I might say. I didn't even know what I wanted! Did I want to do the Papa/Fin thing? Did I want him to hold me, spank me, take me to dinner, pin me to the wall of a dirty outhouse and fuck me senseless? WHAT?
After an interminable silence, I settled on the first thing that came to my mind...
"Get a job, you Commie!"
... and then hung up the phone.
Not fifteen seconds later, as I lay curled in the fetal position, my phone rang against my belly.
My fingers shook as I swiped the green icon. "Yeah?"
"You know I have caller ID on my phone, right? Just like every other person on planet earth these days? Right?"
My throat felt impossibly dry. "Leave me alone."
"Dude, you called me!"
I curled tighter around the phone. "Shut up. I don't know. Shut up."
I could hear the mattress shift beneath him as he sat up. "Uh-huh. So what's going on? Looking to get a head start on our little weekend ritual?"
"I don't have any money," I said. Which was true. Between the mob, loan sharks and a fairly insistent drinking problem, I barely broke even at the end of each week.
"Do you wanna just hang out then?"
I chewed the corner of my pillow. "I... don't know. I want... I don't know what I want." I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighing. "I don't know why I called you."
"Hmm..." I could practically hear the corners of his mouth turning up. "Well... how 'bout this. Papa and Fin have a few more days before their next meet-up. So... howzabout I make my way over there... we put on an old John Wu movie... smoke some weed... and just hang out. Free of charge. Just bros being bros. Sound like a plan?"
I was curled so tightly around my phone, I must have looked like an over-boiled shrimp from above. "Y-yeah. I mean... whatever. Come or don't. I don't care." Please come. Please come.
"Dope. See you in twenty." The phone went dead.
I stared in disbelief at the stark white screen as my caffeine-riddled mind had every thought imaginable.
Are we really gonna chill? Or, like... "Netflix and Chill"?
Is he gonna spend the night?
Why the FUCK did I call him?!
I wonder if his tongue can fit in my mouth.
Fuck ~ STOP! That's gay!
Well maybe I'm gay! I don't fucking know!
This went on for quite a while. So long, in fact, that before I knew it there came a soggy knock at my van's back door.