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   Chapter 3 No.3

Loderunner By Christina Engela Characters: 5852

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:01


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Dorian Wintermuller was something of an enigma. At 27years, he was still not really what you might call gainfully employed. He was a qualified interior decorator and did the odd private contract now and again, but being a kind of new-age house-wife was less stressful. No, gainfully un-employed suited him better for now. It saved years on his life not having to fuss and fiddle – to say nothing of the stress involved in getting a client to understand the subtle differences between cerise and lilac.

Back in the early 21st century there had been something of a second sexual revolution, carrying on where the original one had left off. First it was women's liberation, followed by the gender equality revolution. People suddenly came in fruity new flavors of heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, asexual and even omni-sexual – and of course, anything else in between that suited the individual. Not forgetting the transsexual and transgendered folk. Then followed a couple of new definitions like 'metro-sexual' which allowed ostensibly 'straight' men the freedom to be comfortable while dressed in funky styles, experiment with perfumes, skin care products, make-up and nail varnish and even carry – um, man-bags. Everything available for the – um, liberated modern man. That in a nut-shell more-or-less describes our friend Dorian – a guy with far too much good taste and style and sensitivity to be content with blue jeans, a check shirt and 'old leather' after-shave. He had on a black silk shirt, brown slacks with silver zippers down the front of each trouser leg and a pair of black, thick soled 'puppy squasher' ankle boots in the latest style. Thick gold chains encircled his neck and wrist, highlighting his long brown hair which was straight and cut in an elegant bob. Imagine a few rings too for effect. Very camp.

On the balcony where he sat, legs crossed, sipping at a tall thin glass of red wine while reading 'La Femme' magazine, he had a pretty good view of the back of Atro City University across an alley-way. Soft music played in the background as he heard the sound of a key in the front door.

"Honey, I'm hom–o." Came the sound of his partner's voice, laced with irony.

"Oh, Skoochy – that one's so old already." Said Dorian rolling his eyes and draining his glass. "Find another one, will you? Preferably something not quite so hurtful."

Tim disappeared past the open-plan kitchen, dropping his coat on the sofa as he passed.

"Got any band-aids?" He called out.

"Did you get rumbled again, darling?" Dorian called, showing concern as he rose and went inside to point out the little pack of band-aids in the medicine cupboard in the bathroom that Tim was rummaging in. He'd dropped his t-shirt into the laundry already, and was standing with his back to him. He turned round and they embraced, his muscular arms encircling Dory's slim little waist, his slim little arms rea

ching round Tim's neck. Their closeness highlighted Dorians petite and feminine build.

"You men, " Dorian smiled up close, giving him a good view of his feminine features. "Couldn't find your own ass with a GPS!"

Tim laughed, and winced suddenly from his headache.

"I wouldn't need a GPS to find your ass!" He teased, knowing Dory's weakness was his misconception that his rear end was overweight. As with most of Dory's complexes, it was inaccurate.

"You're mean!" Said Dorian, feigning mortification. He withdrew his slender hand from Tims' hair, now wet with his blood and regarded it with distaste. "What happened?"

"Won seven thousand creds in a card game, then I got mugged."

He continued cleaning himself up as best he could, thinking a nice soothing shower and perhaps a nice relaxing evening with Dory over a glass of wine and some dinner might cheer him up.

"And the money?"

"The money, Dory? What about me? I got my head bashed in." He said, getting more serious. With Dorian it always came back to the material things. And no matter what, sometimes it was never enough. "The money's gone. But my head's still here – a little dented, but okay. Not that you'd miss it, huh?"

"Oh, poor baby. Pain makes you grumpy." Said Dorian, wiping the blood off his hands on a towel before leaving Tim to shower and clean and dress his wounds. 'That's quite alright', he muttered under his breath. 'Do it myself.' A few minutes later he returned to the lounge area, to find Dorian relaxing on the sofa watching a local soapie with a fresh glass of wine. Popping some pain pills, he downed them with a glass of milk and slunk off alone to bed.

The next morning he woke up with Dory's head on his chest. The soft smooth skin of her face was pressed against him. Her brown locks snaked across him, as did one slender arm. Pale morning light was filtering through the blinds over the window. S - he was fast asleep.

He considered his life as it was. It wasn't too bad; he had enough to get by on. Okay, he was broke at the moment, but Dory owned the apartment and anyway, he had a credit card to take care of things like groceries and the odd luxury. Every so often he had to work like crazy to make a dent in the debt. And he had no issues about his gender or sexual orientation. Not really. At least, not until he met Dory. He was comfortable and for the most part, he was happy with Dory. They'd been together for two years now. He had girlfriends – real girlfriends – before Dory, and had never intentionally fallen for her, but sometimes crazy things just happen. One night a guy goes to a new club, has a few drinks, meets a beautiful girl who completely blows his mind, and wakes up in a strange apartment next to her – and then she gets up to go to the loo, and pees standing up. And on the way out in a great hurry, he trips over her clothes and false boobs lying in a pile on the floor.

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