by Gentry Race
This didn’t stop Ari from frequenting his favorite spot, though his no-holds-barred, fun-loving, ‘Jewish ghetto gator’ attitude yearned for confrontation, and despite working in the tech industry, his PBR hat and thrift shop attire didn’t go over so well with the new tech crowd.
I walked in, and gone was the smell of rancid beer and two dollar nacho night; now, the perfumes of fresh leather mixed with the aromatics of rock salt lamps clarified the ugliness the place once had. In conclusion, I liked it much better. Ari and Hera were still on the fence, but came here because it was the closest bar to their places.
“Dude!” Ari yelled, then he took the shot he held in his hand and bolted from his seat. He was hammered already.
Hera was just behind him. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which bobbed as she spoke intently to the person across from her. Her passion reminded me of Jess’s. I missed Jess, just thinking about her, but there was Hera to fill her place. Sometimes I wondered if Jess and I were growing apart.
“We are going to Comic Con, bitches!” Hera yelled, spinning around and holding her vodka tonic as if she was about to give a speech.
Ari grabbed me over the neck, pulled me to the bar and said, “What are we having, bro?”
There was a plethora of fine Belgian beers with a strong alcohol content level of nine percent by volume and higher. The selection made my taste buds tingle. I loved me some Belgian beer. This was due to my trip to Belgium with Hera the summer before… I tried not to remember too much of the inauspicious week, since I had almost made out with her.
“Chimay,” I told Ari, making sure to properly pronounce it as ’she may’.
He smiled, remembering an inside joke we trade when we’ve already had a couple of pints of the strong, dark ale.
He skirted closer to me, covering the side of his mouth with the back of his hand and twiddled his fingers rapidly. “Will she blow me?”
I couldn’t help but smile and mimic his enactment. “She better!”
We both laughed, and I looked back to Hera, chatting it up with a couple of strangers. The bar was lively for a Tuesday, despite ‘Two Dollar You Call It’ being eliminated after the remodel. Now there was only Nine Dollar Beer night. A fine example of gentrification.
Hera caught me staring at her, and I quickly looked back at Ari, who was spouting off about the 3D-printed body event we would get to see down in San Diego.
That’s when I felt a soft hand on my buttocks.
I looked behind me and saw the hand belonged to Hera.
She liked surprising people. It was, like, her forte, the one great joy she sought in life. I would be out and about, performing some mundane task, and Bam! There she would be to catch me off guard, keep me on my toes. I always liked her attention, even though I had a girlfriend.
“Glad you came,” she said almost sensually into my ear, so as not to have to yell over the loud banter in the background.
Her whisper was soft, and she smelled of pink bubblegum. As she pulled away and took a sip of her beer, I couldn’t help but notice her braless chest. She was full on nipping and she didn’t have a care in the world who saw her perfectly perky breasts. Her lips were thick and full as she smiled, which she did so often, showing off her set of pearly white teeth.
“I heard you gave Tessa a run for her money last week,” I said.
Hera shook her head in disgust at what I was saying. “That bitch thinks she can pull a fast one on me.” She leaned in closer, looking around to make sure no one heard her. “But I have a secret.”
I could tell by her eyes that she’d had a lot to drink already. I quickly gulped down a few swigs, trying to catch up to her level, and prepared myself to hear what flaw she’d discovered in my game mechanics.
“I am a superhero,” she said.
I burst out in laughter. “You mean superheroine.”
“Heroin? No, I’ve never done an intoxicating substance in my life.”
I looked at her plainly as she took another drink.
“You know what I stinking mean,” she said.
Ari was just behind us, taking another shot of his favorite liquor, a fiery, cinnamon-flavored treat from Hell itself: Fireball. The stuff tasted like your favorite flaming atomic candy had been mixed with ethanol. I mean, I could handle a strong shot, but this stuff was as vile as it was vicious.
“What the fuck are you two chatting about over here?” he interrupted. “Don’t be ‘super killing me, smalls’.”
I looked back at Hera. Her look was more determined now, seeing both of us together. I could tell she was processing the events to come. She paused for a moment, then finally said, “We are going to Comic Con, bitches!”
Ari cheered along with her, gathering the next few patrons around us to cheer along. I was caught in the middle of it all and I felt excited about the trip for the first time. It would be good to get away from Tessa, to hang with my best buds, and perhaps finally have some alone time with Jess.
The end of the night was superb. I ended up switching shirts with Hera all because of a bet Ari made with a homeless guy across the street. Debauchery was always at its best when I was around these two.
A bell rang out, signaling that the nightly ‘last call’ was in effect.
Ari began to sing out loudly, “ ‘Closing time…’ ”
He grabbed the girl next to him and tried to kiss her, but Hera was quick to stop him, her arm restraining him across the chest with ease. Maybe it was for moments like this that she worked out and kept such a fit physique. When Ari felt her resistance, he was quick to remember to let the cerebral cortex drive instead of his horny limbic system.
With Ari back in check, Hera stepped closer to me, a smile on her face. “Do you remember what you said to me last summer in Belgium?”
I tried to recall. There were a lot of strong beers involved on that trip. I thought some more, and remembered how suave and debonair I was. “Yeah, I was talking in the third person, reminding you how all your friends were going to be jealous of how much fun you were having with me. And how I was so amazing.”
“Go on,” she said with a smile.
“And then you asked what would happen next,” I said.
For just a moment, I could see regret in her eyes. “What did you say to me after that?”
I paused, waiting for the right moment, and finally said, “ ‘And then he kissed her’.”
I quickly gulped down my frothy beverage and nodded to both my friends, trying for a half-assed Irish goodbye. A few hugs, handshakes, and fist bumps ensued with people I hardly knew, then I was out the door and in the cool, Northwest Oregon, summer evening air.
As I walked home, the pavement was still radiating with heat from the scorching summer temps we were having. It hadn’t been this hot in a long time, but I was thankful, considering how much rain we usually got. Soon, San Diego would be gracing me with its milder weather soon enough, but right now, I needed to pack.
I was almost home.
“Hey!” a voice yelled from behind me.
I looked back to see Hera running toward me. With each stride, her breasts bounced up and down in a rhythmic fashion that I was dying to see more of. She plowed into me like she was playing tackle football. I felt her hard body as I grabbed her waist, swinging her around and then setting her down away from me.
“Hey, dummy,” she laughed, “you still have my shirt on.”
I looked down to see my chest adorned with one of her favorite superheroes, Dr. Awesome, in a standard flying-hero pose. Dr. Awesome’s suit clung tight to her voluptuous silver body, hallmarked with a triangle cut-out revealing her two overly plump breasts, squeezed together and ready to burst in delicious comic book form goodness.
“Oh shit, my bad,” I said, starting to pull the shirt off.
“Whoa,” she said, interrupting me. “Slow down, cowboy. Where am I going to take mine off? Your house is right here.”
Still inebriated, I shook my head, not seeing the common sens
e in her suggestion. If Jess were to find out that Hera had been in my house, there would be hell to pay.
Ever since Jess found out I went to Belgium with Hera for work, she was showing fits of jealousy, albeit subtle ones.
Well… no harm, no foul, I thought. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.
And there we were.
Not realizing it, we both took our shirts off at the same time. Her body was tinted a deep viridescent from the green party bulbs I’d gotten two-for-one at the mall. Her rock hard six-pack obliques pulsed in and out as she took a breath. Her petite, muscular shoulders were stacked, and she looked like a goddess-like she-hulk. Her perky breasts were exposed to me.
I smiled, and she jumped on me.
I caressed her body, feeling her hot skin, and worked my way down to where her jeans bulged from her thick behind. I was in heaven. We kissed passionately, like Betty and Bruce had finally been able to sneak away from the lab, and the government wasn’t privy to our gamma grinding.
She reached down, feeling my hulk-ness. I was fully erect, trying to shred through the thick, restricting denim.
“Let me just take care of you. I’m on my period,” she told me. “Besides, I’m not going to be the one that takes your virginity.” She dropped to her knees. “Looks like someone is ready to come out.”
“Release him. You’re gonna like him when he’s angry,” I said.
She unhinged my snap, and all of me flopped out for the world to see. It was incredibly hard and lit as green as a hulking monster. Hera grabbed the base of my shaft and pointed it upward, giving it an approving nod. She stroked it up and down.
The sensation was mind-blowing. I had never had a handjob before, and her touch was amazing. I place my hands on her shoulders to guide her and show her the rhythm to my incredible ecstasy.
I ran my hands down her back, trying to feel for something — anything— that I could grab onto and return the favor of satisfaction. Hera then spit on my cock and worked me, cupping my balls gently with her soft hands. I could feel the crescendo building. It was all happening so fast.
Her hand stroked my shaft up and down. The sensations were overwhelming. I was about to burst from the seams. Ecstasy came like sunlight beaming into a dark cave of pent-up stress. Her puckered mouth came to the tip of my head just as I released.
I was flabbergasted and relieved when she worked it all out of me, lapping up the essence of me like it was nothing. I had always thought women disliked that sort of thing, but here she was, squeezing every last drop out of me.
“I... uhh.” I was speechless at what had just happened.
Reality started to dawn on me when I looked over to see pictures of my life — pictures of my family and of Jess and I.
What have I done?
If Jess were to find out, it would be over.
“Shhh,” Hera said, giggling and stumbling a bit in her step. She was obviously still drunk. “It’s our secret.”
“What?” I said, surprised.
She bent down and picked up her t-shirt, making sure it was the right one. As she stretched the shirt up over her head, I caught one last glimpse of her perfect breasts. Then she pulled down the skin-tight garment, covering herself once more.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.
“Don’t sweat it, man. Looks like you needed that. Now pack for the big day,” she said, and left my apartment.
A blanket of confidence came over me. I felt satisfied, more secure. Like I could rule the world.
Here I come, San Diego.
5
San Diego
The flight from Portland to San Diego was painless, other than the rickety seats and the janky armrests I accidentally broke. I felt surprisingly strong for being hungover. A swift two hours and twenty minutes with Ari and Hera, and we were stepping off the plane and into the jetway. The terminal was filled with hundreds of locals waiting to escape from the madness that was about to descend upon their city.
The encounter with Hera was long-gone and almost felt like a dream. I could thank the numerous intoxicating beverages for this effect, but my head started to hurt, just thinking about that. Besides, Hera seemed to be playing it off like nothing had happened, and if she was cool with it, then I was, too.
I overheard one person in the bathroom debating the positives and negatives of the pop culture convention, and how the event created an absurd amount of traffic, along with high-priced hotels and AirBnBs. Which he was making a fortune from, allowing him to afford a trip out of town. It was a love/hate relationship, it seemed.
The long airport corridors, baggage claim beltways, and escalators were all decked out in tiny logo squares of bright primary colors, advertising Comic Con. One featured a perfectly arched, female eyebrow over a crooked eye framed with thick eyeliner and luscious lashes. The red, blue and yellow palette contrasted in superhero supreme, revealing a subtle, dotted, halftone effect upon closer inspection. That familiar ‘retro’ comic book look that everyone seemed to go gaga over, in a world where print was dying.
How ironic, I thought.
An quiescent man standing next to about five other sharply-dressed drivers held a sign with my name on it. I couldn’t believe it. Hera and Ari ran up and instantly started taking selfies with the guy, making sure to prop the sign up as if my name was of celebrity status. The man grabbed our bags and pointed us to the curbside.
San Diego was experiencing mild heat with high humidity; it felt as if we’d walked into a sauna, fully clothed. The long, black limo van parked outside sparkled in the southern California sun, and stretched three cars longer than mine. Inside, plush leather seats were embroidered with popular fantasy heroes and heroines, and arranged around a stripper pole that was shaped into a spiraling unicorn horn, aiming for the heavens. A fine selection of Middle Earth’s special edition ales were on ice, waiting for us: My Precious Pils, Sword in the Stone Stout, and, my favorite, a Belgian-style triple simply called A Hobbit Harem.
Ari threw his bags in the back, and immediately began queuing up his favorite songs on the audio controls. Hera set her bags down and started twirling her hard body on the unicorn grooved pole, her leg raised high. She was gorgeous. This called for a drink.
I went to the beers, twisting the cap off one and taking a swig. I handed Ari a stout, and he looked at me crazily trying to open his beer as he could not twist off the cap. Hera swung off the pole and grabbed a cold one easily twisting off the cap as well.
“Hey, it's not a twist-off,” Ari said, surprised.
“Must have been a one-off,” I said.
“Or two,” Hera added.
“Damn, you guys got that ‘Granite Grip’,” Ari said.
“Say what, now?” I asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“Granite grip,” he answered, “You know, Rock’s catchphrase?”
“No,” I said.
“Rock. The strongest superhero in the Quantum Universe?” he asked us.
We fell silent.
Ari shrugged and lifted his bottle. “To a breakfast of champions.”
“We ate breakfast on the plane,” Hera reminded him.
“Hobbits have two breakfasts,” Ari said.
Hera shook her head. “How do you know all this stuff?”
She had a point. If Ari spent half as much time developing his game as he did reading comic books, watching movies, and fascinating over pop culture, he could have a hit property, too.
That’s what separated us. I’d put in the hard work and created a game that was climbing the charts. And now we were here, in a decked-out, fantastical limo with unicorn-horned stripper poles, and drinking fine, creamy ale. It was a shame we had all these accommodations for just us.
As we drove along the harbor side, the streets were already packed with cars making their way to the week of Comic Con. Trains, street lamps and benches were covered in this year’s headliner event, and the company that paid the most to sponsor the comic convention, Quantum Comic Studio
s.
“Dude!” Ari said. “It’s the Bald Eagle.”
The Bald Eagle, clad in his American airmen flight jacket, large goggles and star spangled scarf, was the newest property from Quantum Comic Studio to come to the big screen, starring a high-profile African-American Hollywood actor. I remember when Ari introduced James to the character. After a fall to third place for DC/AC Entertainment, this was the latest attempt to bring down the big superhero movie production powerhouse of Marvele Studios. In addition, I saw ads for Imagine Comics Studios, as well as Valiant Knight Movie Studios, but it was Quantum that took 2nd place in the box office charts.
Ari said it was because the recluse owner from Mexico was running guns for the cartel, and wanted to infiltrate American society from the inside, within its entertainment sector. I thought it sounded a bit absurd.
I never paid too much attention to what Ari liked to spout off about. Sometimes he indulged a little too much in the tabloid articles that spewed outrageous slander disguised as truth. He was into the gossip, and sometimes I listened. Hell, it probably even helped my creativity. A person once told me that the things you create are an amalgamation of the last three things you read or watched.
I handed Hera her ale as she finished up her pole exercises. She smiled in gratitude and looked out the window at the cityscape that grew taller as we made our approach from the airport. San Diego was a beautiful city, and a hungry one at that. A ‘whale’s vagina’, as some called it, established with an endless array of Mexican food stands serving up fish tacos, cold beer, and the infamous, French-fry-filled California burrito.
On our right as we headed down Harbor Drive, we saw a plethora of recreational boats, docked in their designated rented slips. Coming up were two wooden ships with broad sails that looked as if they had sailed in the eighteenth century. Next up, two gigantic cruise ships were waiting for their next sojourn out to sea. These were then dwarfed by a larger military vessel, The Midway: an aircraft carrier laden with wartime jets that was deployed in World War Two.