The Bargain

I went over to see him next day, after the dinner party debacle. I had a proposition to put to him, one I thought he’d like.

He opened the door looking all bleary-eyed and dishevelled, and still dressed in a robe, although it was past mid-morning.

“Hi! Man, you look like crap. What have you been doing with yourself all night?”

It pays to start off strong, I find.

“Oh hi … Luce, isn't it? I’m surprised you’re still talking to me after what happened last night.”

“Hey man, no sweat. Actually that’s partly what I came here to talk about. Are you really seriously into my Mum?”

“Ummm … You’d better come in. Please forgive the mess.”

Maybe the guy was a writer after all. Certainly the place was cluttered and weird enough – print-outs, charts, pictures, pinned up on every surface. It must have gone downhill considerably since the other day when Mum came by or there’s no way she’d ever have invited him to dinner. Only straight arrows need apply to get between Mum’s legs. The way she blushed when the discussion finally cranked around to her own womanly arse! (Not bad, either, though it’s creepy to think that way about your own mother).

He cleared some of the detritus off a chair, and motioned to me to sit down.

I sat.

“Look, I’ll come straight to the point. I get the impression that you’re some kind of pervert, given what the computer tutor said about you online …”

“What did he say?”

“It. It’s an android. Nothing much, to tell the truth. Just that your stuff was kind of rank, and that we’d be better off not reading any. That’s not the point, though.”

“What is the point? Are you worried for your mother, associating with such an odd and dubious character?”

“Well, it’d kinda make sense if I was, wouldn’t it? What with your arse obsession and all – Ma’s arse, under the Moons of Mars and all that. I’ll bet you’ve heard them all … but no, that’s not what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

“Do you want to show me your arse?”

“What is it with you and arses? Aren’t there any other parts of a woman you’re interested in? Her mind? Her personality? Tits, even?”

“I’m interested in all women's parts.”

“So am I.”

“Come again?”

“I like women, too. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’ve come to see a dirty old man because you want to own up to him about your perverse love of your own sex.”

“Fuck no! I don’t need a father confessor. I’ve got no problem with liking getting it on with women. My problem is far simpler than that.”

“How can I help?”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say! My problem is that I don’t have anywhere to go with my girlfriend, and it’d be really great to have the use of your room.”

“But …”

“Before you say anything, think about it for a minute. I can’t have sex with her in my own room at home, because my mother might come walking in at any moment. And we can’t do it at her place because she’s married and her husband might ditto.”

“Married!”

“Yes, married. Not all dykes lead an exclusively dykish existence, whatever you may think. She has a husband and she still has sex with him – quite frequently, I suspect, from some of the marks on her arse.”

“Marks?”

“Not handprints and things. He doesn’t spank her or whip her or anything – just the usual things: rugrash, lubricant and so on.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Fucking – as you say – hell. So how's about it?”

“You want me to lend you my flat as a safehouse, so you can slake your lesbian lust on the object of your affections.”

“Got it in one. A trifle flowery perhaps. But I guess that’s how you writers are.”

“ You don’t believe I’m a writer, do you?”

“Hey man, whatever gets you through the day. Now, in return, I’m prepared to offer not to queer your pitch with Mum – in fact, to talk you up on any and all occasions. As, contrary to most adult opinion, she does listen to me.”

“Well, that’s a very generous offer, but …”

“She’s already given you the bum’s rush, has she? Joke, get it? Too early still for that to be funny, I guess. Well, in that case …”

“No, no, no – I can’t discuss the nature of my present relations with your mother, but let’s say that they’re still in flux – in process, even.”

“So do you need my help or don’t you?”

“I’m not sure that I do. Absence of hindrance would certainly be handy, though. I don’t doubt your influence over her wavering views of me.”

“I’d probably be doing her a favour to tell her to cut you out of her life altogether, but I still do have this little problem myself – and to tell you the truth I feel it’s getting pretty urgent. I mean, how long can you hold on to your honey if there’s nowhere the two of you can get it on together?”

“A cogent point. Which brings me to my counteroffer. One blowjob for each use of the room.”

“You’re joking, right? You know I’m not into guys.”

“You or your friend. I’m not particular.”

“Oh no. There’s no way you’re even meeting Pat, let alone spunking all over her tonsils. She’s way too fine for that.”

“I’m afraid that’s my final offer.”

“You fucking creep! Don’t you guys ever bargain for anything else?”

“I can see that you’ve already been associating with a fine representative sample of the masculine sex. I’m afraid that it is something that tends to be on our minds quite a bit.”

“Well, drop ’em then. Time’s a -wasting.”

“You mean you agree?”

“Of course I agree. I’m not a child. I’m just grateful I’m getting out of here without having to let you fondle my arse.”

“Don’t speak too soon, child – perhaps we should institute a sliding scale of charges …”