The Dragon Con - Chapter I

Based on a Trve Story

2021

“Sounds great Liz! Really appreciate the initiative you showed on this.

“Alright… Jeremy. You’re up next. Any updates on that Med Supp model conversion?”

Here we go. Don’t shit the bed now, Jer Bear...

“Absolutely!” I bark out in a commanding yet suspiciously flamboyant baritone.

“I’ll for sure have that comprehensive plan to you by the 22nd. I also have a couple questions on some of the technical minutiae… but we can take that offline once I’ve finished documenting the initial product specs. Should have the email done by end of day today—tomorrow morning at the latest.”

Ruby sighs and hands the floor to some dude in Buzzfeed glasses named Jeff, who’s around my age and speaks with the affect of John Mulaney. Jeff joined our team a few weeks ago on a day I’d taken as PTO to avoid meeting him, then scheduled a call with me the following morning to talk about video games for thirty minutes. I thought he might be flirting with me until his cute little wife stepped into the Zoom call. Per her Facebook she’s a grad student in history. Her Instagram was private.

As Jeff pivots our standup into complaining about anti-vaxxers I finally open those product specs Janet sent over last week and can’t help but smile. The old girl can call herself whatever she likes, but this dogshit was clearly written by Jing Hua.

I hastily identify the three passages most reminiscent of Margaret Cho’s mom and draft a cordial yet subtextually exasperated email asking for clarification—ostensibly addressed to Ruby, but very clearly written for those lovely ladies in HR. I put it on a timer to send at 7:17pm, but then recall that sometimes less is more and change that to 6:03pm. It would probably also be wise to actually read Janet’s specs at some point in case Ruby pings me any follow-ups, but at the moment I’m a bit too drunk for that.

I also doubt Ruby will even bother, because at this point it’s obvious that I intend to give her something super half-assed just before my rotation ends and leave her in the lurch. But the weak bitch has zero standing to write me up after horribly botching my onboarding last year—she knows I have receipts. Moreover she still owes me one for buying several hundred dollars’ worth of Girl Scout cookies from her fat daughter. I’ll get a good review from her and Ruby can do the model conversion her damn self.

I mute my laptop and place it on a styrofoam takeout box—oxtail and sweet plantains, couriered to my door by the valiant Roberto. Below some withered grocery bags barely prevent my stately granite coffee table from getting drenched in grease.

At long last I retrieve my penis from the mouth of the bubbly young nurse between my legs and pull her onto my lap for a smooch. Stasia giggles and asks how I managed to get this drunk after only two beers. That makes me insecure in my masculinity, so I restrain her arms behind her back and sink my teeth into her fat pink nipple.

“YOU FAGGOT!” She squeals like an ornery piglet and careens around trying to get free, but soon intuits that knocking over my recliner might not be wise given her current position. And so she shifts tactics, attempting instead to knee me in the balls. Sadly for her I learned how to avoid that maneuver in February whilst wrassling Mara, a spirited Texian lass far stronger and many times more dexterous than poor Stasia.

Mara was sort of my Red Sonja (she’s a blonde but I think of her as a redhead because of her personality and the fact that she plays Ariel at Disney). Thanks to her I could test my mettle against the peak of womankind—Mara played softball in college—at a time I myself was roided up and in prime condition. By the end of our affair I was good enough at girlfighting that our only rules were no weapons and no screaming and I could still have the bitch pinned in thirty seconds. Often I emerged from this gauntlet with cuts and bruises because I’m clumsy and have sensitive skin, but there’s basically nothing girls can do to you if you have pain tolerance and protect your balls.

Anyway I’m getting out of shape these days because I threw out my back shortly after Mara decided to stop cheating on her bf with me and haven’t been to the gym since. But it’s not like you need to be especially fit to overpower girls—particularly Stasia, who’s maybe five feet tall and nothing but squish in all the right places. Without Mara’s physicality or competitive streak our wrestling mostly amounts to me bullying her like we’re in some 80s cartoon, but in practice this works quite well since she’s only two or three clicks less masochistic than my darling Rebecca.

Stasia reverts to that breathy sexy baby voice she thinks is hot and begs daddy to let her go. She’d clearly let me get away with more, but also seems to mean it now so I oblige. Though not wanting to seem overly accommodating I also delay for half a second and growl roguishly, wondering briefly if that’s my own sexy baby voice.

I’m being significantly gentler with Stasia today than I was the first time I fucked her. I hurt her pretty bad that night, and she ghosted me for several weeks thereafter.

The sex was lovely, to clarify—it was specifically during the cuddling that I fucked up.

See, Stasia and I initially met on SeekingArrangement, but unlike Rebecca who sorely needed her bills paid and Mara who was after that Fifty Shades experience, Stasia basically just wanted to date a guy who made more money than her and would always pay for dates, because apparently most of the dudes she pulled on Hinge were losers.

This severely confused me because there’s no way I could have pulled a girl who looked anything like Stasia on Hinge, and my profile clearly suggests I have money. But Stasia would have called me an incel if I explained any of that to her, so ultimately I demurred and simply praised lady luck for delivering me such top shelf pussy for naught but the cost of dinner at a midgrade Thai joint.

And we actually hit it off really well that first date. She was giggling the entire time and I quite adored the way it made her jugs bounce. Ba-bom ba-bom ba-bom.

Over the course of dinner I learned that Stasia was homeschooled and kind of a sperg, being conversant in loads of obscure shit you’d never expect a femoid to know about. She also must have been a Trve Crime fan, because on our walk home from the Thai place she said I reminded her of Ted Bundy and clearly meant that as a compliment. Being something of a theater kid by disposition I relied heavily upon that framing in my subsequent performance and we both had a marvelous time.

But then I sort of ruined everything when she mentioned she’d had an abortion—or actually several, which seemed quite unusual for an educated white girl and honestly a bit fishy. Stasia sensed her revelation made me uncomfortable and pressed me about it, and I brilliantly responded that I just can’t eat her pussy now because it’s haunted. Immediately she stormed out and didn’t speak to me for almost a month.

Sometimes I really am a moron.

And the really fucked up thing is I’d been super vulnerable with Stasia about my own shit and she was fully accepting of everything. And it’s not like I’m some pro lifer—it actually strikes me as rather unseemly for a man to care strongly about abortion or babies or children in general one way or the other. It’s more that Stasia really seemed like Wife Material to me and then suddenly dropped something I never would have expected to hear from a girl who’d hitherto seemed like Wife Material.

But I suppose practically every girl I date is on the other side of that dynamic the first time they hear me say “nigger.” And much like how that typically goes down, I genuinely couldn’t give less of a fuck about Stasia’s abortions at this point.

I mean, I suppose I still have a very minor disgust response toward them. But it’s far less pronounced than the disgust response I feel toward, say, red toenail polish.

But I also know Stasia will never forget that initial display of contempt. I certainly couldn’t forget Mara’s after I showed her my old Disney parodies. She’d bruised my ego terribly, but of course men aren’t allowed to have their feelings hurt, and so I just fucked her very hatefully to get the worst of my anger out and then pretended I was over it. But the stink of her initial comments never went away after that, even as the two of us went on to share a ton of genuinely lovely moments together.

That same exact stink is all too palpable in my rapport with Stasia today. She isn’t giggling like the first time, and I see nothing like the spark that ultimately became a flame with Natalie and Rebecca and very nearly Mara. It would seem Stasia is here only because she’s in the mood for some Mean Dick. This is a hookup.

And so far it hasn’t been a bad one—I may have even set a couple personal records. But I wasn’t expecting to get this drunk in the middle of a workday. That makes me feel like a fuck up. I really need to keep shit plausibly deniable. I’m almost 28.

But for the record this is mostly Stasia’s fault. When I summoned her to my apartment this morning I told her to bring some beer so we could day drink, but I was really expecting, I dunno, Guinness or some shit like that. Instead this maniac brings a four pack of the most delicious blueberry date rape shit you can imagine with like 9% ABV. That’s why I ended up shitfaced fifteen minutes before my standup call.

*Beep*

Stasia’s eyes light up. She quickly checks her phone and immediately she’s crestfallen. “I guess that’s you. Must be one of your other whores.”

I retrieve my pussy repellant Android from behind my ass and see the word “Natalie”. Hesitating only a moment I thumb “1488” into the greasy touch screen and open Facebook Messenger because I guess that’s where Nat is texting me now.

Entirely aware this can only end in heartbreak, I extend a reverent finger toward my First Love’s big pink moonface to learn how the evil cunt will toy with me this time.

Natalie: my dad’s trying to make me get the vaccine

Of course that’s how she starts it after ghosting for months—probably thinks it’s cute.

It is.

It also establishes a suitably quirky damsel in distress framing. Splendid job, Nat.

Natalie: want to go with me to dragon con?

I roll my eyes. Grow up, you dumb bitch. Are you really still going to *conventions*?

Me: when this weekend?

Natalie: it starts tonight can you fly here now

Natalie: I just checked there’s a flight to Atlanta at 4 u can get here by 6

I smile despite myself—at least Natalie does the manic pixie thing well.

Rebecca had been far subtler in her manipulations, but her good and evil sides always felt like these starkly opposed Manichean forces, which I suppose makes sense coming from a Jewess. Meanwhile when Natalie fucks with you she really makes you feel that dark forest duality of her icy Britannic heritage—real Wicker Man shit.

Perhaps that’s why Rebecca’s bad behavior on the night she got wasted didn’t really bother me—by that point I’d tangled with far older and more powerful gods.

Me: Flight is booked.

Natalie: I was thinking u could pay for the hotel then I venmo u half later

She’s thinking nothing of the sort!

What Natalie intends to do is flirt with me just enough to make me think she’s into it, and then well after hooking up (only to the point of second base, of course—never sex) she’ll insist that she only went along with everything for my sake and didn’t want to do anything sexual at all.

This will occur despite her clearly having enjoyed the hookup quite a lot and never emitting even the faintest indication to the contrary. But she’ll nonetheless leave the implication dangling that I wronged her in some way so she can cynically use that to drag me around by the balls while playing innocent widdle girl.

Cunt.

me: Stfu I’m obviously paying for it.

Natalie: okay

Natalie: I’m not having sex with you.

me: I’ll respect your boundaries.

me: Don’t be late picking me up this time.

Natalie: I won’t.

Natalie: thank you

Natalie: I’m excited

Me too, babe.

me: It’ll be fun

I ask Stasia if she’ll drive me to the airport for $50. She says she’ll do it for $100.

I’m fairly certain Amanda will go for the $50, so I help Stasia get dressed and walk her to her car. She says she’ll keep bringing me Addy but doesn’t want to hook up again.

Suddenly a freight train of sentimentality smashes into me and I tell Stasia I’m really sorry about the abortion thing—that she’s a good person and is sure to find a suitable husband soon. She tells me to stop being a faggot and cuts me a weak smile. I give her a sloppy kiss and honk her milkers one last time and she giggles like on our first date.

She doesn’t hate me. As she drives back to her pretty little house in the burbs—already a homeowner at 25, clever girl—it strikes me how much I genuinely appreciate her for that. Briefly I consider Venmoing her $500, but stop myself after remembering she’s a nurse and that would likely just ruin the moment.

I text Amanda to be here in thirty before making my way upstairs so I can hop in the shower and rinse off the stench of Stasia’s clam. Then I throw a bunch of clothes in a suitcase and listen in on the last few minutes of our standup call. It seems they’ve finally reached the point where Ruby forces everyone to listen to her rant about the sins of antivaxxers at her most recent PTA meeting.

But I’m the unprofessional one.

I close my laptop and throw it in the suitcase on top of my clothes.

I get a text from Amanda—the delectable little dago is coquettishly asking me to make it $75. I consider offering $150 if she also throws in an airport beej, but immediately it occurs to me that I ought to preserve some vital essence for the Main Quest, and I simply tell Amanda sure. Obviously she’s pushing her luck, but I honestly find that charming, and in any case strongly prefer her company to that of an Uber Haitian.

Amanda responds that she’s in town and can be here in fifteen. Fantastic.

I close my eyes and prepare for yet another brutal narrative inflection point that inevitably tosses all my shit into disarray. Natalie, Natalie… Whenever that bitch pops back into my life there’s always such a palpable Before and After.

She really keeps things interesting—both for me and for the three other men currently in her rotation. I’m fairly certain the latest doesn’t even know about the rest of us yet!

Poor little fly—he seriously thinks he’s her ‘boyfriend.’

For all Natalie blames her problems on that pedophile who groomed her as a kid, she certainly managed to pick up more than a few tricks of the trade.