Slash Work - 3. Answering the Call/How Did I Make It Work?!

Chapter 3: Answering the Call/How Did I Make It Work!?

Through the power of will, positive thinking, determination, magic, and Satanic rituals, I was able to get the second chapter done on time and posted it on the Internet. I hope to God that the readers won’t notice the sudden, abrupt change in Guy A. Or, if they do, that they won’t mind it too much. It’s only the second chapter. They haven’t had the chance to settle in with the characters yet.

Unfortunately, rather than just sit there in front of my laptop and wait for the reviews to start pouring in, I had to go to work instead. Actually, I was on a time crunch when it came to posting the chapter online. I kept busily editing (stupid HTML coding) and glancing at the clock, making sure that I wouldn’t be running late. Rather irritatingly, the site won’t allow you to save the editing process in the middle for later. You have to do the whole editing process all at once or start all over again. And for those of us who post rather big chapters, editing can take up to an hour or more. I am SO glad that I’m not posting more than one story right now.

So anyways, work. Yeah. I have to be able to eat somehow. Luckily, the campus bookstore pays heartily for my indispensable work. Well, enough that I can eat more than just ramen noodles and Taco Bell. What’s even more enjoyable is the fact that, after classes begin and before classes end for the semester, we rarely get slammed. So it’s usually quiet peaceful, and sometimes we even get to slack off when we’re really dead. Which is just what happened tonight. If I’m not mistaken, I believe the campus is hosting some poker tournament tonight, which would explain why students aren’t rushing here, desperate to buy textbooks or university apparel. Why do they torture themselves like that anyways?

“Hey bro,” said Simon, my co-worker for the night. “I’m heading to Taco Bell to pick up dinner. You want anything?”

“Taco Bell? Again? Are you kidding me?” I replied, astonished. “How can you not be sick of that stuff by now? Most people I know eat it just about every day!”

“Well yeah. It’s right on campus and uber-cheap. Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to turn into one of those talking tacos you hear on the radio.”

“Whatever dude. Suit yourself,” he said, walking out the doors.

I sighed in disgust. I could never eat the same thing day after day. And besides, Taco Bell isn’t that good for you. True, they don’t have any greasy fries for you to gorge on, but that doesn’t make their food any less fattening. At least hamburgers and chicken TRY to hide the amount of grease within them. Tacos leak it off both sides. But now all this talk about food is getting me hungry, and I didn’t bring anything to eat. Oh well. Looks like Coke and Snickers are going to be my dinner tonight. Simon came back a few minutes later, reeking of cheap Mexican food.

“So how’s that story of yours going?”

Yeah, I told him. Actually, to be more accurate, I told him parts of the story. Like with everybody else I’ve told, I omitted the whole “gay” thing when describing it. Come to think of it, with Simon, I think I actually said that Guy A was Guy B, and that Guy B was Girl B. Hopefully he won’t ask to see it anytime soon.

“It’s doing pretty well actually. I got some reviews for my first chapter, more than I expected. And I just posted the second one before I came here.”

“That’s cool. So is there going to be any naughty bits in it?” he said, wagging his eyebrows while doing so.

I laughed. “I don’t know yet. If there will be, it won’t happen for awhile. I gotta get the readers hooked on the characters first.” Then I added as an afterthought, “Though that doesn’t mean I can’t cook up a rape scene.”

“Dude, no way! That’d be awesome! You’re talking about the girl, right? ‘Cause I don’t want to read no gay rape scene.”

“Well what if the guy finds himself in prison? I have to do a gay rape scene then!”

“Is he going to wind up in prison?”

“Well, I don’t know yet. I’ll add it in just to prove you wrong!”

“Uh-huh,” he laughed. “You do that. See where that gets you with your readers.”

“Yeah yeah. Go over there and straighten things.”

We both laughed. It does feel good to talk to someone about my story, even if I have to lie a little. Though I am now thinking about that rape scene.

When should I have Guy A and Guy B have sex? I mean, they have to have it sometime, you know? I can’t just keep them celibate for life. But I can’t have them having sex on the second date either. And who will be on top first? And should they even go straight to anal sex first? Do guys do that in real life? I would think that guys would start off slowly, starting with, I don’t know, jerking off together or something like that. I wouldn’t want to just go straight into having my ass plundered without any prepping or experience, or with someone I’ve only known for, like, two weeks or less. I’d ask Simon for his opinion, but that might lead to him finding out that the Girl B is Guy B.

~~~

That night, once I got off of work (stupid work, wasting my Saturday with its 8-hour shift), I returned to my apartment, picked something edible from out of the fridge, took off all my clothes (I’m going to shower eventually!) and sat in front of my lover (my laptop), bringer of happiness and porn (not that those two aren’t the same thing). But first, before I do my ritualistic rubdown of Nick Jr. (God that sounds SO wrong), I should check my emails, see if that chapter got me anything.

Wow! Three reviews! That’s awesome! “Manga_dog” is entertained by my antics. She said that stories written in my style are always fun to read. Nanna Manners made a return visit, glad that I thanked her first in the Author’s Notes (and admitted that she was a hypocrite). She decided to draw attention to one of the miscellaneous characters I threw in to the previous chapter. Probably thought that he’d wind up being important later. We’ll see, Miss Manners. We’ll see (I mentally cackled to myself).

Comedian also returned, saying that he very much liked my story. The chapter wouldn’t normally work for audiences, but my unique style of writing made it fit. Wow, that’s actually very insightful. Though I am wondering exactly what it is I’m doing that’s so different from everything else. Maybe it’s the level of quality? As in my story excels in quality over all others, leaving them in the proverbial dust? Yeah, that must be it. So good of you to notice that, Comedian!

If I could somehow reach out and personally thank all the people who reviewed somehow, I’d totally do it. But alas, some of the reviewers don’t leave email addresses, or even links to their profile page (if they even have one), so there’s no way to contact them. I guess I can always say thanks in an Author’s Note at the top of the page. But thanking them all personally would take up too much space. Maybe just a general “Thank you all! Here’s a plate of cookies! Help yourself.” will suffice. Watch, though, as somebody will be allergic to cookies and contract a virus and sue me. It’s not my fault!

Hey...not all my emails were reviews. That’s odd. I don’t usually get emails from anyone else but spammers. I should delete it, but it has my name on it. Hesitantly, I click on it, preparing for a full-frontal assault of viruses on my dear, sweet, innocent laptop.

The first word is “dude.” Okay, so it’s NOT spam. Actually, it looks to be an email from Chad. How the hell did he get this email address? And why the hell is he still so worried about that stupid project of ours? It’s NOT that big of a deal. He shouldn’t be THIS close to failing the class. And he apparently doesn’t seem to think that he can do it without my help. That guy has no self-esteem, I swear.

I didn’t bother replying back to him. I’m going to see him on Monday anyway. And I don’t want to start on the third chapter, since I’m already naked, half-hard from absentmindedly fondling myself while reading the reviews, and next to a computer with the special ability to present free porn to me with the click of a button. Oh how I love technology. Bettering mankind since 1998. Unfortunately, as I realized during my jerking off session, I had forgotten to replace the Kleenex box, meaning that an unfortunate sock would become the keeper of my seed for tonight. I hate doing that since if you do it enough times, the sock tends to turn yellow. And no matter how many times you rinse it, it always feels crusty for some reason. And then what do you do with the other sock that goes with it? Well, one sock is ruined, so you might as well ruin the other sock...

It’s a vicious cycle, poorly planned masturbating is.

Leaving the sock to dry on the floor, I hop in the shower. I should’ve just choked the chicken in there instead. But how was I supposed to know that I had no tissues left? Oh well. Whilst rinsing myself, I thought about future plot points to the story. The rape scene was becoming more than a mere idea for me. It would certainly shock the readers, that’s for sure. But where would I put it? And how would such a scene affect the story as a whole? And how was I going to pull off the inevitable Football Game of Destiny scene? Wikipedia can only tell me so much. And, most importantly, how was I going to prolong this story? How am I going to make it last more than a couple chapters?

Freshly showered, dried, and clothed, I sighed as I picked up a textbook and started reading. I hated having to do homework on the weekend, but I had to do it anyway. I try to split it so that I’m not trying to do three days worth of homework in one. Especially when I work both Saturday and Sunday. Chapter production might slow down a bit. I hope readers don’t hate me for it.

~~~

Sunday I woke up at around noon (what sane person would want to wake up earlier than that on a day they can sleep in?), feeling like writing a story! I had the day off of work, I blew off Chad’s invite for that project, and have half of my homework done. The day was mine! I booted up the laptop, resisted the urge to look at porn, and brought up a blank document. Just as soon as I had typed down the title and chapter number, and started typing the first sentence, my cell phone rang. What the bloody hell? What is it now? And when did I start thinking in British? I looked at the cell thinking ‘Tea and crumpets’ in my head before recognizing the number. I sighed and answered.

“Hi mom,” I said, not bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm.

“Hi darling! How are you? How’s school?” she said, energetically.

I continued typing out the first sentence.

“It’s going good. It’s only been a couple weeks since school started. I doubt I’m falling into college depression yet.”

“Oh that’s good. How are your grades? Are you keeping them up?”

“No mom. I’m partying every night and not remembering what happened the next morning. I couldn’t even remember the name of the girl that I woke up next to this morning.”

“Now don’t you make fun of me, honey,” she said in a stern voice.

‘I kind of already did,’ I thought to myself.

“I expect you to keep up your grades like you did in high school. Just because you’re in college now and don’t have us there to remind you of things, doesn’t mean that you can start slacking in your studies. I expect good things from you.”

“I know mom.”

‘Maybe I should introduce a motherly figure into the story. Make her extremely smothering and nosey.’

“Well I just wanted to call and make sure that everything is alright with you. If you ever need somebody to talk to, remember that I’m always available.”

‘Like a hooker with a heart of gold.’

“I know mom.”

“Well, if that’s the only answer I’m going to get out of you today, then I’ll just hang up and let you go back to whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Alright. I’ve got stuff to do anyways. Bye mom.”

“Goodbye dear. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I ended the call. It’s not that I don’t love her. It’s the fact that she’s really smothering and tried to shelter me from the world for so long. Honestly, if it weren’t for my dad, I doubt I’d be living in an apartment in another state right now. I’d still be living at home, going to a community college close by that doesn’t cater to my needs nor studies. All so that she can further protect me from being (gasp!) human.

Okay, so how far did I actually get? Only two sentences. Great. And now my enthusiasm went down as well. Well, so much for that idea. Wait, maybe there’ll be a review or two in my inbox. Doubt it. Eight was already miraculous enough. But, just to make sure...

Another one! Yay! Who reads these stories in the middle of the night? Oh yeah, time zones. And England. Stupid country that also speaks English, ruining my notion that everybody who speaks English lives in America. That fucks over a lot of other people out there, I’m sure of it. Well, anyway, the review.

And it’s a big one, too! From “BobBobbyBobbert” (are they even trying anymore?), who is loving the story so far! As you should! He also finds the story to be a brilliant masterpiece (I’m paraphrasing here) that should be showcased at the Louvre, even though that’s a place for paintings and stuff, because it’s just THAT awesome! That’s what I’m assuming he meant by “brilliant” and “very entertaining.”

My work is also inspiring him to do his own writing! I’m inspiring others to take up the art of good writing! That’s excellent! And who better to teach him than myself? I wouldn’t want such a fragile mind such as his to be corrupted by the many evils out there, such as bad fanfic writers. He’d be saying “kawaii” in no time. (shudders) Bobbert here wants to feel the same pleasure I get when I post a story. I hope he does well.

So with that review, I can feel some of that writing edge come back to me. I think I can muster through with another chapter now. At least, if I can make it through this without blowing it all to smithereens, I can refocus and write an exhilarating fourth chapter.

So anyway, back to the story. It’s time to get those two into the shower together. With other guys around, of course. I can’t have them fucking like gay rabbits blissfully aware that they don’t have to worry about having babies as a result of said fucking now can I?

“Dude,” said Guy B, with the Cheshire Cat’s own grin on his face, “I don’t know why you’re always so nervous when it comes to taking showers with us. Ain’t nobody gonna rape you or anything.”

Yeah, you say that now. I’m more than willing to bet on that exact scenario happening if you knew...

It was an hour later when I got a text message on my phone.

“dud1 wana fuk”

From an anonymous caller. Who the fuck is this?!