Jizz in my pants

You jerk awake with the voice of a goddess still in your ears and the taste of her lips still on your tongue. And a sticky patch on your sheets giving evidence to the fact that you’ve had your first wet dream in almost thirty years.

As you set about the task of making coffee and laundering your bedclothes you think back over your dream. You’re just about to chalk it up to too much shitty diner food when you click on the AMA and are greeted with pop up that says Updating! Please wait! Those words are superimposed over an animated golden apple spinning slowly. You can just make out the word “KALLISTI” written on it. If the dream was just indigestion, it was pretty fucking prescient.

You spend most of your day working on your uniform for tonight, making sure your makeup kit is stocked, and generally maintaining your numerous alternate identities. Getting a set of fake documents is pretty easy. Actually building a person from those documents takes work. You also spend some time researching where the hell sealed birth records are stored with only a moderate amount of success.

Five o’clock rolls around and Beth shows up at the door with an armload of groceries. You help her carry them into the kitchen and sweep her into your arms for a passionate hello kiss. “Good day, Baby? How was work?”

“Help me with dinner and I’ll tell you all about it.” She directs you to start slicing vegetables, dicing onions, and generally playing sous chef while she starts grating cheese. “So I was subbing for a SPED classroom at Edison today.” Edison is Duluth’s Charter school program. “I usually love them because the kids are sweet and generally really like meeting new people. This batch was awesome. Bright, creative, just a whole lot of fun, and it’s a non-traditional classroom so there’s all sorts of experimental stuff going on.” While she talks she’s simmering aromatic vegetables in butter and oil in a wide pan, then adding in a few cups of Arborio rice.

“So the day was pretty fun. Right up until the end. There are these two boys, one is a pretty high functioning autistic and the other has Downs. They’re both really sweet, but for some reason they hate each other. Well they got into a fight...” she motions you over to the pan she’s working, “Stir this. Keep stirring. Don’t stop til I tell you... Anyway these two started doing that thing you see in bad comedies about retarded people where they cover their face with one hand and swing wildly with the other. I got them apart and put them in separate rooms, but the whole time I had to fight back bursting into serious fucking belly laughs. It was so absurd.” She begins giggling.

You chuckle yourself, “I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. That sounds like it was a real Kodak moment.”

“Is it wrong that I don’t feel bad about it?” Beth actually looks concerned. You can almost read the thoughts going through her head. Is sociopathy contagious?

“Honey, the fact that you recognize that you should feel bad means that you’re not a horrible person.” You pause for a moment, a smile slowly curling your lips, “I think.”

This does the trick and snaps her out of her funk. She giggles again and swats you on the ass. “You prick.”

It’s pretty clear from the spread that Beth lays out on the table that she’s trying to impress you, which you think is ridiculous as well as sweet. Lamb loin chops roasted with vegetables and Romano cheese, mushroom and champagne risotto, and somehow while you were in the bathroom, she managed to whip up a ricotta cheesecake. She also somehow found the candles that you keep for emergency purposes, and your heavy butcher’s block table is laid out for a candlelit dinner for two. You have no idea where the wine glasses came from, but there are two at each setting, a flute full of a sparkling white, and a goblet three quarters filled with a rich deep red.

Beth sits across from you, and raises her champagne flute, gazing at you adoringly. “To finding out that what you wanted was there all along.” You mimic her gesture and clink her glass with your own, smiling at the way the candlelight reflects in her eyes.

You make small talk at first, asking more about her day, but quickly lose yourself in the meal, savoring each mouthful. It’s fucking delicious. You don’t say another word until you’re halfway through your cheesecake. Where the hell did she get Amaretto from? “Little Sister, I think you missed your calling. That was amazing!”

She dimples adorably and just busies herself with clearing the table, then produces a bottle from her seemingly endless shopping bag and pours two fingers of a golden liquid into one of your rocks glasses. “Your after dinner drink, Sir. May this one be excused?”

The sudden change in demeanor almost throws you, but you are nothing if not adaptable. “Go ahead.” You wonder exactly what she’s up to, but it’s clear she has even more plans for the evening. You settle in and sip at your glass as she heads off in the direction of your bedroom. Wow, that’s good. Irish whiskey. Bushmill’s Black if your tongue is any sort of judge. You almost wish you still smoked.

After a bit you pull out your phone and start playing a stupid match three game while you enjoy your drink. You’ve just cleared another level when Beth’s voice rings out from the bedroom.

“Please come here Sir. This one has something for you.”