There's a cloud over my head right now.
Just a tiny one, mind you, but it follows me around wherever I go. Even indoors. And it just sits up there, about a foot over my head, raining on me. Every ten minutes or so, a petite lightning bolt shoots out of it, and singes my scalp.
Fucking Storm Boy.
Yesterday, I had to let Ox down gently, and explain to him that while I thought he was an amazing person (and bonerifically sexy), I didn't feel like I could commit myself to one guy right yet. He was devastated. (Naturally.) I patted him on the shoulder, chucked his chin, and quoted some lyrics from Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield." This got us both hot again, and we made out for a while. During one of our rest periods, I brought up the subject of Storm Boy. I didn't say anything about Storm Boy using him as a sexual stand-in for myself. I only said that he was a friend of mine, and that he had "mentioned" Ox. But I could tell by the look on Ox's face that he had pieced together the rest of it. Ox said that Storm Boy had never said the first syllable to him about me. No surprise there. After making love to Ox several more times, in several different ways, I regretfully bid him au revoir. Soon afterwards, I got a visi-phone call from Storm Boy.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?" were the first words out of his mouth. I let him bitch at me for a couple of minutes, out of politeness.
I then proceeded to tear him a new one. I pointed out that the whole mess could have been avoided if he'd just been honest with both Ox and me about what was going on, and why. "So you like to chase after some Bear," I told him. "That's all well and good, son. Only next time, step out of your comfort zone and aim yourself at one who doesn't look like me."
Storm Boy maintained that I "didn't want [him] to be happy" and that I would have put myself between him and Ox (an interesting visual) no matter what. And then the little ingrate demanded an apology! The best I could muster was, "I'm sorry the raw, brute power of my sexuality bends all male humanoids to my will." Storm Boy ended our conversation when he repeatedly smashed his visi-phone into his bedside table.
The tiny cloud showed up an hour later.
7 comments:
Aww!
Ain't love gland?
Ouch.
(No, it's not you. I just got zinged by a lightning bolt again!)
Goodness, it's like you're trapped in a superhero soap opera. Hopefully it won't turn into an issue of Lois Lane.
um, that last comment was from me...nico that is.
Nico: It all is rather melodramatic, isn't it? Y'know, until you mentioned it, I hadn't realized how much Storm Boy is like my own personal Lois Lane (by way of Lex Luthor)! That would make Gadfly Lad or Tusker my Jimmy Olsen, and Eyeful Ethel my Perry White. Yow!
Wait - who's your Cat Grant? C'mon, dish... who's a lush.
is Rainbow Girl your Steve Lombard?
It used to be Storm Boy. Luckily, I don't have a "Cat Grant" in my life right now.
And I think Phantom Lad is my "Steve Lombard." Rainbow Girl is more like my "Oliver Queen."
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