The Dragon Con - Chapter II

Myopic Musings

Chapter I

---

SEVERAL MONTHS PRIOR
SUMMER 2021

“Look—you can’t put it in my ass this time. Also no more pictures!”

Roxanne pulls her toes out of my mouth and hooks them behind my Warby Parkers, flinging them across the room with significantly greater force than the situation possibly warrants. Instantly my blurred vision is engulfed by pale Macedonian soles that feel materially softer than last time and smell distinctly of minty cucumber.

She’s been using the right lotion—that overpriced Korean shit it took months to identify after things ended with Rebecca. Moments like these are why I bothered.

I drive my face into her arches with so much force it makes my eyeballs ache.
That's so nice. What does it say about me that nothing else even feels like relaxation? 
Christ, these feet are like ice packs...

Several years ago I read that women’s extremities get so cold at night because their bodies are constantly redirecting heat to the womb—isn’t that insanely endearing? Shit like that is why I can never hate the fairer sex, even in their very worst moments. It's also a big part of why I always keep my thermostat at 60 degrees.  

Roxanne pushes back hard against my face as my hairy werewolf fingers assault her shapely little calves. There's power in these legs—I like that. Admittedly Roxanne isn't half as strong as Mara, but you can still tell she did gymnastics in middle school. 

Soon the faded mauve of my eyelids is a canvas for resplendent hypnogogic fireworks, and Roxanne giggles as it registers that I’m transfixed and helpless. Her plan all along? Like Indiana Jones she dexterously plucks my Android off the designated assfucking pillow I tentatively positioned between us and casually drops it behind the headboard.

“Wait, wha… what the hell are you doing?!” I seize her by the ankles and wrench her feet away from my face. My vision is terrible enough that I’d normally find it difficult to lock eyes with a broad under these conditions, but with Roxanne it’s almost trivial. Not only because her emeralds are enormous—every woman who likes me invariably has fucking massive eyes—but because her peepers in particular don’t really connote ‘groomable Disney princess’ so much as ‘Alexander the Great’s psychotic BPD mom.’ Such intensity strikes too primordial a chord to be obscured by visual impairment.

“I SAID no pictures. No pictures and not in my butt. After last time my stomach was upset for DAYS. Also no biting me this time. At least not hard enough to leave marks. That bruise you left on my tummy the first time STILL hasn’t gone away. See?”

As Roxanne pulls up her shirt to reveal an ugly purple Gorbachev splotch I recall the sound of velvety bronze girlflesh crumpling between my molars—you really hear it so distinctively, like with those novelty toothbrushes that play the Spongebob theme song through your teeth. Immediately my penis is rock hard.

I wrap my fingers around her throat and squeeze flirtatiously—gotta do it from the sides, not straight down… “Oh fuck off, you know you loved being marked as mine.”

“I mean, yeah, for like ten seconds, asshole! But since then I’ve kind of hated your guts, ‘cause I haven’t been able to sunbathe AT ALL for the past two weeks.”

“Why not? Everyone knows people do shit like this during sex, babe, stop being weird. Last year I’d send Rebecca for massages with her ass looking like one of Ted Bundy’s sorority girls and the chick rubbing her down would say she has the same…”

“Okay so first off, you REALLY need to stop talking about Rebecca in front of me, it’s fucking weird. Second, she was obviously telling you that to make you realize other people are noticing her bruises. It’s actually kind of adorable you were too autistic to figure that out. Third, I fucking told you last time that I’m a NANNY, which means I can’t let little kids see your fucking teeth on me—especially when the parents are super Catholic. So, yeah, you actually kind of ruined my summer. Dick.”

“Oh... Well, I’m sorry... I guess. I suppose that would suck.” Just end it there, retard. “Actually, wait… how old are these kids?”

Her face gets a bit snaky. “It’s an eight year old girl and an eleven year old boy. Why?”

I feel my mouth contorting into that shit-eating Joker grin. Why are you sabotaging it? “Hold on—so you were actually going to sunbathe in front of an eleven year old boy? As in, like, in a bikini?”

She slithers around uncomfortably. “Will you shut up? Peter is the sweetest little boy ever, he’s super fucking innocent. If anything I sort of get gay vibes from him…”

That makes me bristle—a lot more than I’d like. I remove my hand from her throat. “That’s honestly a really fucked up thing to say about a kid in middle school. Especially if he’s rich he’s probably been sheltered by his super Christian parents and hasn’t learned the right way to perform masculinity, especially around women.”

Her eyes narrow a moment, sizing me up like a Black Mamba. Then her face softens and she grins up at me wryly. “I never would have taken you for a fan of Judith Butler.”

I laugh despite myself. Goddamn it. “Yeah, well… feel free to play innocent good girl—the sweet little nanny who’s ‘never done that stuff before’—but I want you to know that I can fucking see you, Roxanne.”

Now her face is stone. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Don’t say it, dingus! You know it isn't worth it. I scratch my nose and fix my gaze on her. 
“I mean you obviously knew you were going to be Peter’s... you know, awakening.”

“WHAT?!” Roxanne’s eyes explode in their sockets. It’s the first time I’ve seen her looking genuinely wounded. “You are… SERIOUSLY fucked up. What the hell would even motivate a person to THINK something like that?” She scoffs and looks away.

I bristle again. “Gee, I don’t know—maybe the fact that I was an eleven year-old boy? And pretty much constantly jerked off to my babysitter? Or to, like, that bitch Frankie from that one show on Cartoon Network.”

She shuffles beneath me uncomfortably, her elbows fragile little isosceles triangles. “You mean Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a good show.”

“It was.”

Her eyes meet mine again. This time they’re glistening. “You can’t actually fucking think that about me. Normal people just don’t think shit like that…”

My heart sinks. Christ, how do I salvage this? “Look, babe… I’m not saying you’re like a… you know, pedophile or something. Just that you’re smart enough to know every boy around that age usually has a girl—usually a babysitter or some shit like that—who brings out those sort of thoughts in him and he still jerks off to like thirty years later.”

She sniffles and rolls her eyes again. Shut up shut up shut up.

“…and so there’s probably, ya know, some unconscious part of you that loves the idea of that—and not because you’re some kind of, like, predator, but just because literally everyone really enjoys feeling powerful and desirable, right? I mean you yourself told me the last time I fucked you that your biggest fetish is feeling worshipped…”

“You just say things, don’t you?” Those arresting emeralds penetrate my soul, and for a moment it rather feels like I'm the one pinned by someone twice my bodyweight.

“You walk around with this big fucking hammer and hit people over the head with it, and then you try to act like some butthurt incel when no woman wants to be with you. Well you wanna know something, babe? These girls keep walking away because you can’t take anything CLOSE to what you dish out. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, do you know how badly I could hurt you if I pulled even HALF of what you say to me in like every single conversation? Do you have literally any idea?”

“A pretty decent one, yeah.”

“Do you know how cringe it is you made me watch Bojack Horseman on the first date?”

Roxanne has a loaded gun to my temple and an itchy trigger finger—only a virtuoso performance stands any chance at salvaging today’s hookup. Here goes nothing…

“Alright Rox—wanna know the truth? I’m fucking embarrassed I ruined your summer. And for the record I was also embarrassed about Bojack like ten minutes into that episode, and you obviously knew that, so thanks for bringing it up. But you’re frankly entitled to hurt me a bit, because I clearly like hurting you. And I obviously like being hurt myself, or else I wouldn’t have dated Natalie all those years… the same way you must like being hurt or you wouldn’t have dated Dan. So in the end it all comes down to figuring out how to hurt each other in a sophisticated way that stings instead of smarts and doesn’t leave giant purple blotches on our belly. And yeah, I know I’m saying the quiet part out loud and this is obvious subtext that ought to be left unsaid…”

“You’re the one who keeps coming back to that! I told you I love it when you do this.”

“I know, I know... I guess I’m just used to Nat…”

“OH MY GOD, fuck Natalie! And fuck Rebecca and fuck Mara! I’m the one giving you her attention and pussy right now, so how about just for once you think about ME?! You’re so proud of that giant brain of yours, why not use it to figure out what I want?”

She kicks me in the face—hard. Now I’m out of my head and want to rape her again.

So I secure her ankles tightly. It’s been months since I hit the gym, but I’m still more than strong enough to keep a bitch pinned in this position, except possibly Mara…. Jesus, faggot, will you listen to what the woman said? Her pussy’s right there! Go take it.

Roxanne’s giggles turn to squeals as I rip her panties off and slide them up her legs. Unable to kick me in the face now she tries scrunching up her toes to distract me, and that stratagem works marvelously—even through the blur of acute myopia I can’t help but appreciate how exquisitely the blue of her pedicure complements her tawny Mediterranean complexion, somewhat evoking the color scheme of Portal.

Of course they look great; I chose the color. Royal Blue #4169E1 if we’re being precise. When we discussed the matter several hours prior to our first date Roxanne had been dead-set on pink, but I’d insisted blue was the only tenable option given her skin tone and ash gold locks, particularly in the midst of summer. It goes without saying that pink toes are lovely on pale kittenish brunettes, but they always look entirely retarded on blondes, and I never let mine go through with them unless I’m very specifically in the mood to degrade a 107 IQ bimbo type. And Roxanne is infinitely too good for that.

She quite adored how they came out. That’s probably why I got so far on the first date. I didn’t believe Roxanne a second when she said I was the first guy inside her asshole, but I could tell from her expression there was some deeper sense in which it was true.

Still, I shouldn’t have fucked her like that the first time. I should have let her enjoy it—done all the standard LARPy rapey foreplay shit girls adore and then bit the bullet and fucked her in more of an unsatisfying normie way. When you make a girl cum good on the first date you’ll typically get enough oxytocin in her that she’ll start to internalize your grossest fetishes, and then in a few weeks you can do basically whatever you like. It’s kind of nigger tier to go straight for her asshole the very first time. She must really like me as a person to come back for a second hookup after that shit. I should kill myself.

Moreover it should have been Roxanne I met in January. My relatively intact soul was wasted on Mara. She wouldn’t even let me put it in until… Christ, was it the third date?

Roxanne could have been entirely splendid wife material had I pursued her with that type of chivalry. Or perhaps she’s only endeared to me because I’m such a chode now. Who the hell knows? To even think about such matters risks descending into inceldom. There are certain times in life a man has no choice except to ride the tiger.

I slip on a rubber and forcefully sheath myself inside her. She shudders rather adorably and immediately goes limp. Now her emeralds are hidden treasures.

Emotionally this feels perfect. Sexually it’s… okay. Her tits look really lovely from this angle and I can get maybe 90% hard by licking her face like in an Ugly Bastard hentai,. but ninety seconds in I’m already bored out of my mind and halfway to flaccidity, and that’s after three Bluechew. So trying my best not to Ruin Everything I slam her knees into the bed and start playing with her feet again, which happily gets me back up to a somewhat respectable 75%… for like two minutes, after which my mind drifts toward boredom, annoyance, contempt, disgust… there simply isn’t enough of a power dynamic.

To spare us both the indignity of me softdicking her I unsheathe and roll to the side. Roxanne half-exposes her emeralds and stretches out lazily like a pampered housecat. “Is there a problem?”

“It doesn’t feel enough like I’m raping you.”

She snorts out a laugh and grazes my scalp with acrylics that would probably code as bimbo if not for her already trashy Balkanian heritage. “It sure felt that way to me.”

“Let me just play with your asshole a bit to get hard again.”

“Fuck off. Nothing down there.”

“Then let me record. You can even delete the video if you don’t like it.”

“No. I’m not stupid. You’ll just pretend you need to shit and back it up in the cloud. Also I don’t even like that you have all the stuff you recorded the first time.”

“Fine, but if I actually wanted to blackmail you or something then what I already have would be entirely sufficient. Also if I wanted to do something like that I would have tried it already during that first week you were ghosting me…”

She gives me another Black Mamba glare. “Why are you talking about blackmail?”

Women really can be so tedious at times. “I thought you like it when I vocalize subtext… Why else would you be scared that I have pictures and videos of me fucking you?”

Her glare softens into something a bit less serpentine and more thoughtful; enigmatic. “Say I end up married to some other guy in five years. You’re going to look me up on Facebook and make before and after compilations with my wedding photos against those pictures you took of me in the bunny ears. Aren’t you?” She’s vulnerable now.

“I shouldn’t have shown you those ones I made of Mara.”

“Fuck shoulds and shouldn’ts, you did it for a reason.”

“I think you kind of like it.”

“Maybe a little, yeah... But mostly I think you’re sick and feel sort of bad for you.”

She starts scratching my head again—the second best thing about girls after cold feet. “There’s lots of other stuff about you I like a lot more. Like, it was pretty cute how you tried to carry me like a princess all the way back from World of Beer.”

“I got pretty far if you think about it. It was more an issue of stamina than strength…”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, babe.” Her eyes are glistening. What a goddess.

“You aren’t gonna want to see me after today.”

“Why do you keep putting words in my mouth?”

“I know how girls are.”

She sighs and sniffles and starts to get dressed. “Should I send back my allowance?”

“I’d say sending back half is fair. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yeah, I think so...” After smoothing out her dress in the window reflection she retrieves my spectacles from the floor and tenderly places them back on my face.

Then she looks around for her vape, which is currently beneath my ass and will stay there at least a few moments longer, because I’m not quite ready for Roxanne to leave.

I hook a finger into one of the little loops outside her dress and pull her back into me. “You know, you could just tell the parents you were downtown and some homeless nigger bit your tummy... then they’ll do all the work of prepping the kids for you.”

Roxanne giggles and falls into my chest. “That might actually work if I say it was another kid I was nannying... I doubt it would even occur to the Culbertsons that people do this kind of stuff—especially to girls like me. They really are so sheltered.” She plays with her hair and smiles to herself. “And so are you… in your own way.”

Now my eyes are glistening. “Christ, Roxanne… there really is a universe where something amazing could have happened here. You know that, right?”

She coos introspectively. “Right person, wrong time... who isn’t used to that by now? Eventually I’ll find my right time guy… and eventually you’ll become him for someone. But in the future you might need to get a little bit better at performing masculinity…”

I wrap the bitch’s hair around my hand and deftly maneuver her face towards my cock, her terrified whimpers ensuring I’m 100% by the time it reaches her plump Slavic lips. She lets me in without hesitation, and in under a minute I’ve given her a second lunch.

Roxanne takes a few moments to catch her breath, then cuts me a sardonic little grin. “Parting advice—you should really consider incorporating pineapple into your diet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’ll like it, it’s sweet. Also I’m keeping my full allowance after that.”

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

“That’s cool. Now can you help me find my vape?”

“Try under the headboard. Girls are always dropping them there.”

“Are they?” She slides off the bed onto her hands and knees and starts looking.

“None so elegantly as fair Roxanne, of course… Anyway babe, while you’re down there could you also grab my phone?”

Roxanne sighs and emerges a few moments later holding both my cumstained incel Android and a half-crushed White Monster can. She gently tosses the former onto my belly and spends a few seconds examining the latter. Then I get her Black Mamba. “How many of these do you drink a day?”

“I don’t know—three or four, why?”

“BABE! No wonder you can’t sleep. You really need to stop that, it’s not sustainable at your age. Not at all. You won’t be able to keep up that sort of lifestyle much longer.”

“At my age? I’m only 27! That’s, what, three years older than you?”

“Two years older. You know that. But I actually realize I’m not getting any younger. That’s why I’ve been trying to find a husband by putting out for all these narcissistic rich dudes who won’t even help me find my vape.”

Feeling admonished I retrieve her vape from underneath my ass and toss it over to her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I needed you to get my phone.”

“You are SUCH a lazy pig. You really need to get your ass back in the gym soon or you’re absolutely getting fat again. You have such a fucking fat dude personality.”

“Eh... I’m rich enough to be fat now.” I smack my little pot belly.

“Probably, yeah. But you’re also way too insecure. Who wants to date Jonah Hill?”

Once more I slide a finger into one of her little dress loops and pull her into me. “How’s this for insecure, bitch?” I open Google Photos and proceed to delete her entire album (“Roxanne Petrovski - 25”), including all the degrading bunny pictures.

Suddenly her emeralds are polished in a brilliant mirrored sheen. “That’s… actually really cool of you. I wasn’t expecting that… like, at all. Thank you. I really mean that.”

“Consider it homage to every universe where I actually was your right time guy.”

“God, you’re SUCH a fucking theater kid. But right now I kind of love it.” She gives me a heartfelt embrace. “Take care of yourself, Jeremy. Get back to writing, okay?”

“Probably will eventually. And back at you, gorgeous. Maybe save what’s left of that lotion in case you ever need me as rebound dick?”

“For sure.” She grazes my scalp with her acrylics a final time and plants a chaste little kiss on my lips. “Also you need to put on pants and walk me to my car. I know you want to be a fat guy and just sit there, but there are too many blacks where you live.”

You really have to appreciate Slavic women.

I oblige Roxanne and quickly hurry back upstairs, eager to restore that recently deleted folder in Google Photos and goon very furiously to the hugely degrading compilations I’ve already made of her.

But first I check my texts.

Roxanne: Goodbye luv… truly wishing u all the best Xo

Ruby: Hey, I didn’t see you on Teams… Just checking in if you’re down for the optional teambuilding lunch at Hamburger Mary’s this Saturday. Please lmk!

Natalie: I’m with my sisters at Universal.
Natalie: do u want to buy us dinner lol

In an instant my heart is thundering like Secretariat. She wants me to meet her sisters?

That seems very meaningful. Natalie and I have dated on and off for well over five years now, and to my knowledge she’s never even mentioned me to her family before. But that stopped bothering me several months in when I discovered she hadn’t even introduced them to that welfare-scrounging British ex of hers—a dude she clearly loved a hell of a lot more than me, let alone anyone else in her rotation.

Still I know her recent trip across the pond went about as terribly as it always does, which means I’m up for another swing in her batter’s box. And she’ll be 28 this year…

Me: why not

Natalie: were at the choco factory place
Natalie: I’m a bit drunk lol

How cute.

Me: be there in 45
Natalie: okayyyy

I jump in the shower and then try my best to dress about two clicks preppier than I normally would so I can make the right impression on her little sisters, both of whom are hugely spoiled Zoomette sorority girls. I can’t help but notice my compression vest is just a bit tighter than usual—feels like a fucking corset, honestly—but underneath my collared shirt I’m still the very image of a sleek and aggressive yuppie.

With not a little pep in my step I hail an uber to Universal to go play Cool Older Guy.