Just above the car to the right is SG's balcony. Get the picture?
The evening was odd to begin with. I was alone with Mook A and he was playing his idiot game. Then he gave me my evening walk (which is normally B's job) and settled down to watch TV. Where was B? At a meeting of his professional association. Then it was very late and A went to bed, inviting me to come and cuddle with him. I did, of course (as all beds are mine in this place and must be claimed and reclaimed) and promptly fell asleep.
At one in the morning, B finally came home and he was a basket case because his meeting had gone wretchedly. I nodded awake to hear a bit of it but it was same-old, same-old though A was very consoling. B was a mess of nerves so A proposed to give him a couple of tranquilizers. I thought, "Oh-oh!" 'cause B had already smoked a joint and had a couple of beers to try to decompress.
Yadda-yadda-yadda on it went and then—what's this!?—the doorbell rang at two. B went down and I heard this familiar voice and wondered if it was worth getting out of the bed for. But the decision was made for me when A got up and went to the door. There was their friend, a straight guy (we'll call him SG) who's pretty cool about my two homos. But he wasn't cool. He was babbling, talking about a fire or some damn thing and then changing the subject about 80 times. Soon he was ushered into the house and it looked like he was spending the night (goddammit as if the fucking place isn't small enough for him to be horning in on my space!).
The deal was that SG's apartment building was apparently burning to the ground; he had been getting ready for bed, had seen an odd light at the window, gone to look and had been met by a wall of flames shooting over his balcony from the building next door. He grabbed what he could and came right over the the Mooks. The Mooks were properly condoling but then it just started to get weird as SG proposed, and the Mooks accepted, to take a walk to go look at the fire and, worse, to bring me with them. Hey, Fuckbrains!, it's 2:30 in the fucking a.m. and I need my fucking sleep, not some little quest into the cold, dark night! But nobody ever picks up on my moods so off we went.
I was in no hurry to get there as the night smelled good and I had some pissing to do, as long as we were out there. In a few minutes, though, we were watching the firemen break into SG's apartment while smoke poured out of the building next door and flames still shot out of windows here and there. Moreover, the cars parked behind the burning building had all blown up and there was a big autumn-dry tree that was threatening to explode and shoot burning leaves all over the neighbourhood. SG wasn't going to be sleeping in his bed that night, that's for sure. We watched the spectacle for way too long and I was starting to get cold. I tried to make the point that I wanted to leave by pestering all these weird people who, for some reason, were wandering about in their pyjamas and house-coats. What was spooky is that there must have been rats living in the vicinity of the fire as, suddenly, I was hearing all these weird, squeaky, noises and little skitters in the darkness. Finally, after I had put my muddy paws on one-too-many pyjama-ed people, we all toddled back to the Mooks'.
But—fercrissakes!—they weren't done yet. They drank tea and smoked cigarettes and chattered away and then SG asked B if he wouldn't mind coming with him, back to the conflagration, to see if the firemen would let him into his place to get some stuff. So off they went. A, I could see, was getting good and fucked up as he had taken his medication and was visibly wobbly. So we retired to his bed—again!—and were settling down for the night when the two other goofs came back. The firemen had told them to return in 20 minutes to get stuff out of the building.
I had a look at Mook B. There was something wrong with him. His eyes were sort of crossed and he was walking funny. I could tell his brain waves were off and that there were synapses in that pointy little head of his that were not connecting. But off B and SG went again. A decided there was no point going to bed just yet so he went outside onto the balcony to smoke and I sat in the kitchen wondering when the fuck this would all be over so I could get some motherfucking shut-eye. Why does everything happen to me!
Back they came, with a suitcase full of stuff. And on they went—talktalktalktalktalktalk. B looked really weird now and went off to his bedroom for a bit. No moves were being made towards beds or even preparation for sleep, so I sat on my little rug and snerfed with pissed-offedness. Suddenly there was B and something was very wrong with him. And the doofus was trying—politely—to move SG away from the bathroom door. SG was so preoccupied he didn't get this was happening and then there was the gusher: B puking up and down the bathroom door, on the floor, in the bathroom and, eventually, into the toilet. Not a pretty sight. And not pretty sounds, either, as when B is hurling it sounds like he's trying to snot out his stomach through his nose.
But here's another thing about couplehood: A just started to unroll a streamer of paper towel and as he continued to talk to SG about the fire and any damn thing that came into SG's head (as he wasn't particularly lucid at this point) A just went about the business of cleaning up the barf.
Finally...Finally!...they were talking about going to bed. I didn't wait as all of this was phenomenally tedious to me. I went to bed, B joined me and we fell asleep as A and SG yammered on in the kitchen until the fucking cows came home.
The next morning SG left to check the damage. The Mooks were sipping coffee when A, revealing far too much about his feelings, asked B what SG had been wearing when he got up. "The housecoat you lent him." Silence. "Do you think he's sexy?" A asked. My ears perked up. There was a brief hesitation before B said, "No." A snorted and I snerfed. You see, about a month ago A had told B, "I ran into SG on the street and he told me that he had seen you walking along and before he recognized you he had thought to himself, 'There's an attractive man.'" When B was told that story he did something I had only read about in books written by lady novelists: he simpered and blushed and said nothing but said everything.
Over the next day or so you could cut the sexual tension with a knife, though SG was completely oblivious of this. It's not like the Mooks tried to catch SG when he was changing clothes or naked in the bathroom or anything but I did notice that when SG was in that famous housecoat it was open down to his navel and A would become like those horny straights—the ones who, when they talk to a member of the opposite sex, never raise their eyes above tit-level. B was more coy about it but the whole scene became like one of those sordid Southern Gothic plays where a stranger comes into town and fucks with everyone's head.
However, when everyone was fully clothed it was a different matter. During those periods the three of them would just chatter on about "intellectual" things and then pat each other on the back for being so smart.
All I knew was this: I was not getting enough sleep, SG had the fucking nerve to put his wet shoes on my sleeping mat, my couch was being used for a bed or for the guys to talk instead of being reserved for me, and when I tried to poke SG into playing he had the unmitigated gall to push me away! And the fucker was a houseguest! (Who doesn't know that I pissed on his shoes...no one pushes me away.)
Finally, yesterday, SG was able to go home and not a moment too soon. Just before he left, though, I realized it was time to reassert my dominance and I got to do that in a most unexpected way. Mook B was taking me on my evening walk and decided he needed to make a stop at the local convenience store. Instead of taking me into it so I could warm myself a little, the fucking twat tied me to a tree! While he was in there this asshole drunk came over and started to "bark" at me. Fuck, he was pissing me off but he was staying just out of chomping range. Until, of course, I broke the leash. That's when B came out of the store, saw that I was free!free!free! and came after me.
After two days of playing fourth-fiddle to a straight guy—sexy or not (but who slept on my couch)—I figured it was time for the Mook to earn my love. So I ran and he ran. And I stopped and he tried to cajole me to come to him. And I ran and he ran and I stopped. Cajole. Run. Stop. Cajole. And all the time I was thinking: Work, you fucker! Work!
Four blocks later, and a couple of dashes across main arteries, I figured my bed and a little warmth might be a nice thing right now. I let the Mook catch me (and, of course, drown me in kisses of gratitude and adoration), and we went home.
But—my fucking stars and garters!—SG was sitting there smoking and blathering away with Mook A like it was still fucking party time! I started to think that they were all fucking queer for each other and just gave up. I went to sleep in the office where it was nice and dark and relatively quiet while the three of them said their endless goodbyes and lied about how fun and pleasant the SG's stay had been. I mean they must have been lying because no one can be that inconvenienced, not get any fucking out of it and be happy about anything.
The house is quiet. The Mooks are tired. Life is getting back to normal.
However, I did had to tear a cushion apart this morning just to remind the Mooks not to do anything like that ever again unless the fire victim comes with a bitch with a little fire in her for me.
