Page 5 of Nearly Roadkill: Queer Love on the Run
Into this bar skateboards Winc, oblivious of the hour, the patrons, the atmosphere.
He (for that’s the pronoun chosen at the moment) shakes the rain out of his long, dark hair like a puppy, again clueless of the startled stares his presence provokes.
He turns on his “All Messages” option, allowing him to receive not only Private Messages from the other patrons, but also the news, public service announcements, and advertisements.
In this virtual world, he sits down at the bar, orders a beer, and surveys the place.
“Cool,” he says. Onscreen is a lottery game, inset with a football broadcast, which he idly watches. He has a small waterfall tattooed under his right eye. His body is lithe, boyish, and he’s added a bit of mascara tonight.
Meanwhile, Scratch puts the final touches on “her” transformation. Unsuspecting souls checking her profile would see:
Member Profile
Name: Scratch
Occupation: Fully
Quote: Fuck your gender
□ click here to read more
Of course, the “more” part is what Scratch is still working on.
Immediately after creating her profile, Scratch starts receiving advertisements.
Since she elected to receive more info about fragrances, she has been pelted with pleas from the fashion industry for her attention, her time, her body fat, her virtual crow’s-feet.
It’s helping. Her profile is getting more solidly centered in “pissy.” By the time a pastel-colored layout urges her to buy the latest PMS medication, she’s in full swing: young, female, angry.
She hits the REFUSE button hard, almost breaking her mouse.
She recovers by surfing the other patrons’ profiles, whose scintillating conversation is revealed:
Online Host
*** You are in room “The Tavern” ***
FredMan: Hey, honey, come sit closer to me.
Scratch: No thanks, I’m fine right here.
Tomgun: Don’t mind Fred, he’s harmless. But I’m not. ::grin::
FredMan: Not that harmless.
Scratch: Winc, how long is your skateboard?
Winc: Oh, it’s not a long one, it’s about average.
Azazello: LOL, Winc, tell her it’s huge!
Winc: ::startled:: huh? What do you mean?
Scratch: I’m sure it’s long enough, babe.
Hanzoo: Scratch wants your body, man.
Scratch: Thanks, Han, but you can go do yourself now.
Winc: ::to Scratch:: So I missed that one, eh? You want my body?
Scratch: Why don’t you come with me and see?
Winc: ::gazing at Scratch from beneath hooded eyes:: What’s in it for me?
Hanzoo: Go, Winc!
Scratch: ::shrugging:: Suit yourself, cautious one.
A soft chime sounds in the background. Everyone in the bar instantly becomes “quiet” and listens—no one is typing.
A Public Safety Announcement
from
the United States Government
Bureau of Census and Statistics
presented with the cooperation of your local Net service provider
Only three more months left until New Year’s Eve.
One more month to Register!
Registrants are still eligible for the following benefits:
· Entry by invitation to special areas of the Net
· Harassment insurance and protection by the Eye network
· Personalized advertisements which focus on what *you* want!
· A chance to win our SIX MILLION DOLLAR LOTTERY!
Tonight’s winners will be announced in 32 minutes.
All new registrants will be awarded a double chance to win tonight’s drawing.
So send those entry forms in now now now!
We apologize for interrupting your service temporarily, and we thank your local service access provider for their assistance in making this public safety announcement available to you.
End: PSA #3724
The silence continues until the last of the announcement fades from the screens of The Tavern attendees. Then gradually, the room’s ambience begins to return.
FredMan: I know someone who won last week’s lottery.
Hanzoo: Wow, what I could do with $6 million!
BarBun: You do, Fred, really? ::pouting:: I suppose I should Register.
FredMan: It wasn’t six million, Han, that’s only the grand prize. You haven’t Registered, Bun?!
Hanzoo: You haven’t Registered, BarBun?! Get with it, woman!
BarBun: I know, I know, it’s just all those questions they ask you!
Winc: I’m with you, BarBun. Major ick!
Hanzoo: The questions aren’t so bad, BarBun… just the standard age, sex, race, income, stuff like that…
Winc: ::whispering the name of a private room to Scratch::
Azazello: Yeah, and what else… simple stuff like sexprefs, brandprefs, zip, zip-plus, famzips… it’s not hard.
Scratch: Got it, Winc…
BarBun: All right, all right, you guys, I’ll fill out the forms now. Geez!
Winc: ::waving::
FredMan: If you win, BarBun, take me to the islands! I have a time-share condo, but no way to get there!
Scratch: No Reg for me. Too intrusive. Plus Reg messes up what’s so great about this place. We’re all the same, we can be whatever identity we want, the playing field is leveled.
Hanzoo: Leveled how?
Scratch: Huh?
Hanzoo: Don’t you think the default is white, and probably male?
Scratch: Well yeah in the world, but not here.
Hanzoo: Are you sure?
Scratch: ?
Hanzoo: When you’re *not* a white person, you can tell what the vibe is in the room—real life or online—
Scratch: Oh.
Hanzoo: You probably assume everyone is white because you’re white.
Scratch: Right. But it doesn’t matter to me!
Hanzoo: To you. But for me, I need to know where I can have a good conversation and not be treated like shit. Let’s just say you won’t find me in the “Confederate flags for Jesus” chat room.
Scratch: Oh.
Hanzoo: And, ::very gently:: it’s usually white people who say the playing field is level.
Scratch: Oh.
Hanzoo: ::laughing:: It’s okay, hon.
Scratch: No it’s not.
Scratch: Yeah, sorry. Got a long way to go.
Hanzoo: Oh don’t we all. Just go with BarBun and register!
END JABBA NARRATIVE ENTRY
SCRATCH’S ONLINE JOURNAL
The first time I met Winc was unbelievable. Perfect that ze was there. If I’d heard another stupid line I would’ve thrown up right into my keyboard. I captured most of it:
Member Profile
Name: Winc
Age: 28
Occupation: hahahahahahahaha!
Hobbies: Skateboarding, it’s my life.
Quote: jus’ wanna be yer cherrybomb!
But just as I was to join the Winc dude in a private room, I get one of those Private Messages….
Private Message from Thesman
Thesman: Um, Scratch, just being friendly here, but if any member of this service catches your profile (you wrote: “the F-word your gender”) it will mean a quick end to your online days. You might want to take that offending word off and replace it with something more mainstream.
Scratch: Thanks, oh my goodness! I’m taking out my frustrations with Winc. Catch you next time.
Thesman: Leave him in one piece OK? See ya later…
Scratch: If he wants it. ;) bye.
Thesman: I’ll remember that… have fun…
Ah yes, self-policing—way more effective than actual law. As always.
I didn’t even care what this guy Winc was or if he was a guy. I was trapped in “girl,” with all these lounge lizards around me. Thought some cybersex would be nice. I gave him a whole lot of attitude, but he stuck around anyway.
You are in Private Room “Apt. 3G”
Scratch: Warning: I’m pissy and I’m horny and I want…
Winc: Yeah? ::grinning:: What is it you want?
Scratch: I don’t care what sex you are, I just wanna fuck. If that’s too rough for you piss off.
Winc: ::leaning forward, putting my hands on your shoulders:: Do your stuff, Scratch.
Scratch: ::crotch zing:: I like that in a partner. Gotta know about your hair. Long or short?
Winc: ::laughing, turning away, tossing long hair out of my eyes::
Scratch: --- likes long hair.
Winc: You?
Scratch: Short, bristle, you have to ask to touch it.
Winc: What if I don’t wanna ask first? ::turning and walking back closer to you::
Scratch: Then you get a kick in the balls.
Winc: ::stopping short:: Ah… well… With what kind of shoe?
Scratch: They’re boots, dude. Bet you’re pretty in that long hair.
Winc: ::dropping to my knees, pressing my cheek against your boot:: ::purring:: I’m as pretty as they come.
Scratch: ::grabbing hair:: ::pulling face up to look at me:: Stay with me, though…
Winc: ::jerking to my feet::
Scratch: ::kissing your neck, pulling hair::
Winc: mmmmmmmmmm… nice, very nice…
I’ll summarize a bit: It’s a bare room, mattress on the floor, but we’re nowhere near it.
I can practically hear our voices echoing, it’s so real.
I’m horny as hell, urgent, with a kind of intensity I’ve never felt before.
Like I don’t care what he wants. I’ll use him anyway, I’m not obligated to his rhythm.
I push him against the wall, and he gasps.
“You like it rough, huh girl?” he asks.
My hands are hungry, rough on him, rougher than I wanna be, but now I understand that phrase “I can’t help it.
” He shudders, I bring my hands to his chest, squeezing his nipples.
I squeeze them hard, and his eyes go wide.
It makes me laugh softly. I’ve pegged him; his hardness turns me on, but it’s the way he yields that takes me over the top.
I’ve never been here before, it’s not some bitch in high heels with a whip I’m being, but I’m definitely running this thing.
I can feel my own desire take over, spill out, let it guide my fingers on the keys, my hands along his body. I lift his shirt, suddenly impatient.
“I want it off!”
He tosses his head, making his hair whip my face a bit.
“Make me,” he says.
He still doesn’t get it. He’s describing himself, and I begin seeing him. Lithe boy body, soft hair on his belly, sinewy. I ease up to his chest, kittenish, unassuming, kissing his chest, but then bite his nipples hard. He gasps.
“Shirt off,” I repeat. He’s breathing hard but pauses, maybe in confusion, maybe still impudent. “Off!”
He pulls his torn T-shirt over his head. He folds his arms across his chest: I pull his arms down, knead his chest with my hands. He gasps, and I press myself fully against him, kissing him deeply.