September 27, 2010; Confab

Well, there you go. Skeeter had done the nasty with a man-trollop. Worse, Boo-Boo had lent him the money to do it. What kind of fucking nuthouse was I living in? All my beliefs about humans and their taboos and the way they operate amongst themselves had been thrown out the window.

Here were these queeros—already a lifestyle I was barely coming to grips with—going just that one step further into some weird world and—worse again!—acting like everything was normal. I mean, Skeet told Boo all about the encounter—in such lurid, vivid colour that I had to leave the room—and Boo had nothing more to say besides, "I'm glad for you; I'd never have the guts to do it." Guts? It doesn't take more guts, it seems to me, than the ones which make the dong whip about and salute!

The next day, on our walk, Skeet and I ran into Babs, the old hen and, of course, Ginger and Benjie. While the humans blathered I exploded: "This one had a pro yesterday?"

"A pro...?" said the dense little Benjie.

"WHAT!?!?!?" Ginger shrieked. "Oh, this is juicy!"

"Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat?" Benjie blithered in his little darkness.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Benjie! Get with the fucking program! Fucking! Money exchanged!" Ginger barked.

"Oooooooooooooooh!" Benjie yodeled.

Meanwhile, after Ginger's scream, the humans had stopped talking and were just watching us yammer away in Dog Speak. The dear old hen said, "Isn't that adorable! It looks like they're having a fine old gossip!" Babs laughed, Skeet did not. He said, in a voice that was dangerous and with words clearly aimed as a warning to me, "I hope my little imp isn't saying anything he might later regret." I got the tone. I admired his self-control, evident in the word "imp" which he used in lieu of "fucking little cocksucking motherfucker" simply in deference to the old lady. But I also knew the control wouldn't hold on forever.

So I tried to retreat from the subject I had introduced to my friends, but Ginger would have none of it. "What did he look like? Was he sleazy? A junky? What?!?!?"

"Was he hot?" Benjie asked.

"Oh my God, you are such a homo!" Ginger snapped at Benjie who now ignored that kind of remark.

"Could you both simmer down? You're going to get me in trouble!" The humans had continued chatting, but Skeet was watching me and I could feel the heat of rage radiating from him and the stink of revenge was in the air. Ginger smelled it too and quietened and Benjie snerfed a laugh. "Thank you," I said, and added quickly, "He was very good-looking and very, very nice and polite. He wasn't sleazy. He had weird ear-piercings and tatoos and a strange haircut, but if you saw him on the street you would only notice he was tall and healthy-looking."

"Well, that's dull," Ginger said.

"So are your guys breaking up?" Benjie asked.

"No, everything is normal!" I said.

"Well, that's queers for you. They have their own set of rules, don't they?" she said.

"They certainly seem to. I'm still a little lost, frankly."

"I really, really like Skeeter and Boo. I think they're cool," Benjie said, looking up at Skeet. Skeeter noticed and leaned down and scratched the twittery little dog. Ben practically jizzed on the sidewalk he was so happy from the attention.

The people were done and we all went our separate ways. Boo said to me, "I'm not ashamed of what I did but if things get out through some weird cat/dog network I will string you up by your dick and beat you with a stick like a pinata."

"I'm so scared, John," I said. He laughed, seemed cooled down but I was nevertheless so, so happy that my dog and cat associates did not talk to people. The image in my head of me shitting candies while hanging from the ceiling seemed rather too real.