Morphine

Edmond is an endearing fellow. Charming, witty and the owner of a very nice ass. I can say that. I’ve been gay.

So when he asks me, week after week, to come to church with him, even though he knows I will never believe, I always say yes. Even with the risk of Mina.

I sit, listening intently to the hymns, to the sermon and to the youth minister. He touches my neck occasionally to wake me up. Mina glares. It’s hilarious. He’s so straight!

Mina, he sighed, with a gleam in his eye, how I love the second person!
She was… Horny. That’s the best way to say it. Sex sex sex! All the time! Unlike my completely hetero counterparts, I enjoy conversation. I could have it… Just not without… You know.

When service is over, I drop Edmond home and drive past her house, which could swallow mine whole. There are people, I conclude from the procession of cars in her immense driveway, including her idiot boyfriend. I forgot… It’s her birthday.

Why wasn’t I invited?

Oh, yes, because I’m popular. An athlete, an actor, voted “best overall”. She forgot that I exist.
I park and watch until the black-clad party leaves. The light goes on in the open upstairs window I know to be her bedroom. That asshole Atwood lays her on the bed and disappears, returning with a small object in hand. The curtains are pulled.

I scream.