Macon insistedon assigning team captains, who were—no surprise—himself and Artemis, due to the fact they considered themselves the most athletic of the bunch. What followed was embarrassing to say the least. They picked the asthmatic and the guy with only one hand before they picked me. Teresa was actually pretty good, so I wasn’t offended that she got snatched up.
“That stings,” I said, joining Macon’s team by default.
“Sorry, bro, but you don’t have the hustle.”
It was true. I was terrible at team sports. I’d like to blame my scarcity of limbs, but I was shit at sports even when I had two fully functioning legs. Despite being exceptional at killing Rabids, I lacked the coordination required to catch a ball and run it down the field. I supposed when survival wasn’t on the line, I was just a bit lazy.
Kitten was fast, though, and consistently caught Artemis’s passes. He’d probably played with his brother growing up. Macon hollered at me to “tag him, bro” and I got a sudden surge of motivation to follow through. Kitten went down—I’d forgotten how light he was, and I fell on top of him, both of us sweating and out of breath. Kitten smiled mischievously and licked his lips, then pumped his hips in a way that wasnot at allsweet or innocent. I was so stunned by his brazenness that I didn’t move.
“It’s two-touch, Cipher,” Artemis said. “Not tackle. I can’t have you injuring my star player.” I rolled off him and stared at the clouds for a moment, picturing a Rabid’s teeth sinking into my testicles so that I didn’t sprout wood. Artemis offered Kitten her hand and he took it, throwing me a sassy little smirk over one shoulder as he strutted over to the line.
The fuck was that?
We ended up losing, which was probably my fault, but I took zero responsibility for it. Macon was a good sport, thrilled just to have been able to organize a team sport. “MVP,” he said to Kitten with a fist bump since he’d scored the most touchdowns. “Next time I’m picking you for my team.”
We scavenged a few more homes before meeting back at the “Christmas” house, where we washed up with well water from a spigot Macon had discovered and changed into our new clothes for dinner. Teresa came downstairs wearing a frilly gown that she’d acquired from the lavish walk-in closet in the master bedroom.
“You look just like a beauty queen,” Kitten said to her, awestruck.
“Remember the Miss America pageant,” Macon asked the group. “Got my first boner during the swimsuit competition. Hello, Miss Texas.”
“Remember the wave?” Artemis asked and modeled it by cupping her hand and smiling like a doll.
“We should do it,” Kitten said. “We should dress up like it’s a beauty pageant.”
I expected Artemis to shut it down, but something about the excitement of the day and our high spirits must have gotten into her, and they all tramped upstairs, with the exception of yours truly, who was the designated “judge.” And as I told them, someone had to be strapped in case the Rabids made a house call.
Teresa descended the stairs first, wearing yet another floofy ball gown with a hat that didn’t match in the slightest, nor did her heels. She walked slowly down the stairs, announced herself as Miss Equestria, which was the fictional home of the My Little Ponies, and said that what she wanted most for humankind was an endless supply of candy. I smiled and applauded while she took her place to the right of the banister.
Artemis came next, wearing a slinky black number and strappy heels that threw me for a loop because it was sexy as hell and she was kind of like my sister. I had the urge to cover up her cleavage, but damn, she sure did know how to work it.
“Miss Baltimore,” she said flatly, “And my hope for our species is a motherfucking cure for this motherfucking virus.”
“Word,” I said.
Gizmo was next, which was a surprise because he rarely participated in this sort of thing. He was wearing a satin smoking jacket and slippers, announced that he was from a galaxy far, far away, which may have been true, and that his hope for humanity was world peace. I think he was being serious. “Leisure wear suits you,” I complimented and he returned it with a distinguished nod of his head.
Macon followed soon after wearing a tight-as-hell red cocktail dress that fit him like a sausage casing. I couldn’t imagine how he’d squeezed that dress around his thick thighs and big ole booty. “I’m Miss Georgia, y’all, and I want a plot of land to farm, a pretty little lady by my side, and an endless waterfall of whiskey.”
“I love that you are secure enough in your manhood to wear that dress,” I told him.
“The clothing makes the man,” he said with a salacious wink.
Finally, it was Kitten’s turn, and I found myself sitting up a little straighter, wondering what sort of outfit he’d chosen. He appeared on the upper landing and struck a sassy pose at the top of the stairs, arms raised, lips pushed out in an exaggerated pout–was he wearing lipstick too? His dress was cream-colored, scandalously short, and practically translucent. I could see the entire outline of his compact body when the rays of sunlight hit him just right, not that I was looking. Unlike the others, he was barefoot, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen a nicer pair of feet. There was also a flower crown in his hair, and he looked, quite honestly, like my masturbation fodder for the next several weeks.
His eyes met mine and he smiled mischievously. “I’m Miss South Carolina, naturally, and my hope for humanity is to heal all the sick people in the world.”
Did I mention the dress was short? So short that it rode up in the front every time he descended another stair.
“Is that lingerie?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes away from his silky, brown thighs.
He shrugged and spun, causing the dress to flutter up even higher. I glimpsed the bottoms of both ass cheeks and wondered if he was wearing anything at all underneath that dress. I imagined running my hands up those smooth thighs, cupping his balls and stroking him, kissing along his neck with his head thrown back, the noises he’d make as I brought him off and the dewy look in his eyes right after he came, his murmurs of gratitude as he said my name in that soft, breathless way. My dick inflated like a helium balloon and somewhere in the miasma of fantasy and desire, they asked me to choose a winner.
“I need a cigarette,” I announced. I shot out of my seat like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs and hobbled my horny ass out the front door.
* * *
“How couldyou let him dress like that?” I asked Artemis hours later when we were trading out the night shift. I’d taken first watch on account of needing some “alone time.”
