"Is that an eyeball?" Voodoo asked, though her senses were confirming to her that yes, it was absolutely an eyeball. It even had that new eyeball smell.
"Yeah!" Bryan said, as enthusiastic about disembodied body parts as he was about just about everything. "An eagle actually plucked it out of this guy's head, he had to get an eyepatch, Hank said it reminded him of a Greek myth. Anyway, it was lying on the ground too long for them to put it back in, so I got it."
"Oh,
Bryan
!" Still clutching the eyeball in its jar, Voodoo leaned across the couch and wrapped Bryan up in a hug. "You're the best."
"You hug? I didn't know you hugged—"
"I'm asexual, not a—I still hug. Just only with clothes on." Voodoo broke away from him. "This isn't making you want to masturbate, is it?"
"No!"
"Because I'm aware of how people are about boobs and my boobs were technically touching you, so—"
"I don't wanna masturbate—" Bryan pinched his lips shut. "Any more than usual," he burst out. As always, unable to dissemble. "Which isn't much! And a lot less than other guys!"
"That's fair," Voodoo says. "When someone likes pineapple on their pizza, I don't judge them for how often they get pineapple pizza."
"You think sex is like pineapple pizza?"
"Well, no—I dislike pineapple, and the physical sensation of sex is alright. Or, at least, I imagine it would be. Masturbation being pretty cool, you know. It's more like mushrooms. They don't ruin a pizza, but I don't see what they add."
"That sounds very accurate," Bryan confessed. "But I still don't get it."
Voodoo took up admiring the eye again. It looked like it was trying to blink. "Look, Bryan, it's not wrong that you wanna touch someone's boobs and masturbate. It's normal. Seems like I get a lot of paramedic calls about that going bad, but who am I to judge? It just sucks that you don't have someone who wants you to touch her boobs. I guess I kinda screwed you over there, letting you date me when I knew the boob thing was going to be an issue."
"I feel like we're overdoing it on the word 'boobs.'"
"It's very polite of you, but don't change the subject. If it weren't for me, you could be shacking up with someone else—touching her boobs all you want."
"In your defense, I never really thought I liked boobs all that much. Turns out I do! This is why all the best philosophers preach that self-knowledge is the beginning of wisdom."
"Yeah, but—guy liking boobs? I shoulda seen that coming. I need to find out a way to make it up to you. You still like masturbating?"
"Only, like... half as much as Johnny. He has a ranking system..."
"How do you feel about lesbians?" Voodoo interrupted.
"I support and respect their right to be happy and safe in whatever way they see fit—"
"I meant in your pornography."
Bryan's mouth briefly hung open. "I... well, when I do watch pornography, which isn't often, I suppose I enjoy watching two women as much as I like one woman. Not twice as much, like you'd think—"
"Lesbian pornography, yes or no?"
"Is it weird that I care whether it's realistic or not? Like, if they have long fingernails, I just cannot buy them as being lesbians—or, more accurately, bisexuals, since they'll usually have sex with men as well. I guess maybe they didn't expect to meet another attractive, compatible woman and so they let their nails grow long, since they were only expecting to be having sexual encounters with guys—"
"Is this going anywhere near a yes?"
"It is," Bryan admitted suddenly, "I like lesbian pornography, I know scissoring isn't a thing and I watch it anyway..."
Voodoo stood. "Okay, good. I'm gonna try to knock out two birds with one stone."
***
"Hey, Stats, still wanna lose your virginity?"
Stats looked out of the back of the ambulance in mild surprise. "It's on the backburner. They finally released Space: Above & Beyond on Blu-Ray. I'm marathoning that when I'm not working."
"How open are you to lesbian sex?"
"The usual amount. She has to be
at least
as feminine as Kristen Stewart. And her fingernails have to be short."
"Alright, good. Meet me at my place after work. Bring your video camera. Oh, you're open to making a sex tape, right?"
"I'd want to wear some sort of mask, but I would probably be doing that anyway."
In the driver's seat, Cash concentrated on his turn signal. "Why can't you ever have these conversations in private?"
***
In Voodoo's apartment, she gave her bedroom a last check to make sure all her paraphernalia had been removed. She knew that sexual people had to be in a certain mood to reach and enjoy orgasm, and some of her collectibles weren't conductive to that, even with someone as cool as Stats.
Stats came in finding Voodoo already undressing. Voodoo had a slender body, athletic and trim with exercise, almost callously attractive with its pale skin, her hips and breasts blooming out from her body with a garden's serenity, neither excessive nor unnoticeable, just presenting themselves with casual curves. Her nipples were an incongruous, shocking pink, her golden tuft of pubic hair professionally shaven, her muscles just visible when she exerted herself opening up the drawer on her dresser. Stats watched—Voodoo was pleased to say quite avidly.
The harness she'd bought, Voodoo stepped into. The other dildos were already hers; Voodoo was very pleased to have saved money by buying a harness compatible with sex toys she already owned.
"Which one would you like?"
Stats' brow furrowed. "I want big, but not
too
big. Bigger than six inches. Not too much bigger. Like, a black guy, but—a funny black guy, you know?"
