Lee Kerr - Welcome to the Apocalypse

I calmly place his towel on the bed. ‘Eric, remember that I made you. When we first met you were some geeky boy, far more Chinese than American, but now I’ve cleaned you up. We’ve said goodbye to the bowl haircut, and you’ve finally come around to my way of thinking that a bit of stubble works well on you, whatever your mother thinks.’

He shakes his head and opens his mouth. I stop his challenge; I openly refuse to accept any defence of his faraway and entirely archaic mother. ‘And I’ve got your body on track and your mind focused.’ I open up my arms and hold out my hands. ‘There’s a lot we should celebrate.’

He frowns, keeping his hands where he thinks they should be. ‘I’m not hugging you,’ he says, half-shouting, half-laughing at the idea.

I laugh back. ‘Why can’t I see it? We both know two hands is overkill.’

‘How do you know?’ he says, his mouth gaped open. ‘You can’t know that.’

‘Because, Eric, genetics leave nothing hidden.’

He shakes his head. ‘You didn’t make down here and you can’t change whatever its size or shape is. It’s the one thing you’ll never be able to change.’

I narrow my eyes as I consider if I want to test that theory, wondering how far I could push him. I imagine myself sitting in some hospital waiting room, absently flicking through a magazine, while he’s lying on an operating table, about to get it lengthened. I laugh to myself when I imagine a less sinister version of this future being played out in my mind – one where I find myself inserting his floppy cock into a vacuum pump, his whiny voice begging me to stop, and my voice, calm and chilling, telling him that it will work and that it must be done.

I finally sit on the bed. ‘I bet Austin is hung.’

Eric laughs, his face filled with a smile. ‘I bet he is.’

I jump up, grabbing at his hands, which are encasing his small jewel, hoping to catch him off guard. ‘Eric, show me. I need to make sure you have trimmed.’

‘I’m not trimming!’ he shouts.

I let go of his wrists and encircle him with my arms, knowing that my way in is through his mind. I stop when I’m behind him, and then push a hand against him, forcing him to arch his back, just a little.

‘A tidy ass crack is very important these days.’

‘It’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom,’ he announces, validating what I can already see.

I walk back in front of him and place my hands on his forearms whilst I look into his jet-black eyes. ‘This moment is symbolic, Eric.’

He’s still shaking his head, his mind denying that the ultimate reveal should ever happen, but his hands eventually start to separate from his body.

‘Close your eyes,’ I say, as I slowly guide them away from his cock and rest them by his sides. I look him up and down, taking all of him in. I see the beauty of his simple body and for the first time in our few months together I see him for what he truly is. He will never be my lover, or my boyfriend – he will simply be Eric. And there are a billion more Eric’s out there, all with their tight, slightly off-white skin. They’re like clones, coming off the production line with their shiny, black hair and petite little figures, all accessorised with a slightly oversized bush around purely functional genitalia.

But this Eric is different now; I’ve taken this model and customised him the Anna way. Eric is my past as much as my future; he’s like the Barbie doll my once parents gave me – the doll I painstakingly accessorised with all manner of combat gear, a machine gun for a handbag, and a tank for a house. Eric’s scrunched up face reminds me of their horrified expressions all those years ago, how their faces screwed up when I showed them Barbie’s head glued onto the body of GI Joe. It was my best work at the time and I personally liked what it stood for – the ultimate symbol of a women thriving in a world dominated by men.

‘Keep those eyes closed,’ I say and then step away from him. I start to strip off, calmly letting each item of clothing drop onto the floor around us.

‘Anna,’ he says and gulps. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Stay still,’ I say, as I keep peeling away the layers of our friendship. I know that touching his flesh with mine will make us stronger, meaning that our relationship no longer has any physical boundaries.

His eyes are still closed as we stand opposite each other. I copy his movements: his nervous smiles, flashing white teeth, the way his hands scratch his body before returning to his sides and swinging nervously around. I want to touch him, to tease my way down his chest and see his reaction as I run a finger past his cock and onto his balls.

‘Open your eyes,’ I say, softly, more erotically than I had planned.

He obeys, but upon seeing me naked he immediately brings his hands up to his mouth, openly horrified. He looks around the empty room, as though hoping to find an audience to validate his shock.

‘Why are you laughing?’ I ask, but get nothing back. His gaze darts around the room, desperately searching for a safe place to look.

‘Eric!’ I shout. ‘Why are you laughing?’

‘We’re both naked,’ he says, his hands back around his tackle. ‘It’s totally weird!’

‘Take a hold of your cock with one hand.’

He shakes his head, denying the possibility of what could happen.

‘Do it!’

He jumps back and freezes. He looks like he’s thinking through what is happening, and the obvious consequences that would come from refusing my request. He eventually does what he is told, taking a hold of his manhood, grabbing all of it, like it’s his new pet gerbil.

I run a finger down my breasts while I stare at him. He looks back at me in pure confusion; his innocence is being taken away from him, inch by inch. All the time I focus my eyes and my mind on his tackle, but no matter how deep I go nothing moves, nothing stirs. I know that he’s trying, trying for me. He wants it to grow, more for me than ever for himself.

I move closer to him, as close as we can get without touching. I interrupt him, his eyes now closed and his imagination somewhere else, as his body gently sways. I kiss him on the cheek and he opens his eyes, his disappointed look so obvious.

‘Eric, we will be friends forever.’

‘We will?’ he asks, his arms now folded across his stomach, clearly seeing no point in hiding anything. ‘Even after this, after what we have just done?’

I throw him his towel and start putting all those layers back over my body. ‘Especially after this. We both know what you like and it’s important that you embrace it. Promise me that you will embrace it.’

‘I promise,’ he says, too casually, the towel still hanging at his side.

‘And promise that you will obey me.’

He laughs and nods. ‘I have trusted you this far, haven’t I?’

I nod. ‘We’re late, and you need to trim and get dressed.’

He looks down. ‘Really?’

‘Embrace and obey, remember?’

When we get to the bar Austin is already there, sitting on a stool, a beer in front of him and his headphones still plugged in. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t do anything, and I immediately think he is loyal and brave in equal measure – happy to wait for his friends to eventually arrive, not wanting to go and sulk at a corner table where no one can see him.

He’s the poor guy who has a room to himself. That’s what everyone has said to him from when we first planned this holiday, when we were on the plane and ever since we arrived in this overcomplicated place. I personally think he is the luckiest person here: he has enough space to do what he wants and can keep the people he loosely calls friends at arm’s length. I’ve twice asked to swap with him, much to Eric’s horror and a confused look from Austin.