by Otter Lieffe
She looks fucking hot today, Nathalie thought, of course, she's been at work.
She looked around to check that they couldn't be seen from the street and, as soon as she was sure, she put down her bike and allowed Kit to pull her into a hard and passionate kiss. It was still a risk for Nathalie, so close to her job.
But it's worth it. Who could resist those lips?
“I need more of that.”
“Then let's get moving,” said Kit, pushing her bike down the slope to the main part of the motorway.
“The highway will take us nearly to the park and it's safer than the street.”
Nathalie followed and nodded her consent although she didn't really need to. She always did whatever Kit told her to and they both knew it.
For Nathalie, cycling to the park was hard going. The motorway was only just intact, and they had to navigate their way constantly around tree trunks and gaps in the concrete. When they arrived at the park, she was completely out of breath, but as she looked over at Kit, already getting off her bike, she saw that she'd barely broken a sweat.
They pushed their bikes over to the area of grass which served as a bike park. A volunteer stood nearby watching over the twenty or so bikes already left there.
Kit, suddenly overcome by impatience, grabbed Nathalie and gave her a forceful kiss on the lips. Nathalie kissed her back just as passionately.
I've needed this all day.
The moment consumed them, and they stayed there holding each other for a long time, oblivious to the other visitors who arrived. Then they parked their bikes and headed out into the bushes to find some action of their own.
Her breath smells like coffee, Kit noticed. Since when did that become a turn on for me? And since when did I start getting into apolitical, insecure girls? But hot is hot and besides, if her job gets me some good intel on the State, it'll definitely have been worth it.
“Let's go in,” she said finally, pointing towards the bushes. “I have so many dirty, beautiful things I need to do to you right now.”
Chapter twenty-one
Prisoner 7485 longed for a bath, but at least he wasn't hungry anymore. For each shift that he laboured at the factory conveyor belt, collecting sticky, warm food bars, wrapping them and piling them in boxes, he was rewarded with a bar of his own. As a General he had never lowered himself to eating Nutrition bars.
Crap food for the stupid masses he had called it, back when he'd been able to get whatever food he wanted.
But now, he thought, I think these bars might be the best thing I've ever tasted.
Down in the factory, he was losing all sense of time and his mind was increasingly numb with each passing hour.
How did it ever come to this? I was a great man. I was a fucking king.
He remembered back to the days before the Crash and the Improvement. Back before he had come to the City and became a soldier. Back when he was the happiest he had ever been.
He lived in Berlin for most of his life and he had fond memories of that cold, bustling city. His good looks and powerful intelligence carried him through economics school, and he became successful faster than any of his classmates. PhDs, job offers, he was spoilt for choice.
His first real job was at a multinational bank in the 2010’s. He was open from the beginning about his love of men and—as he kept reminding his workmates—he was just like everyone else, so they had nothing to worry about.
In Berlin he had a good place to live and he paid his taxes. Gay rights were already forty years old by this point and gay men married, had kids, and served in the army. Once middle class, cis, gay, white men like him had their demands met, identity politics were declared officially over. Mobilising around sexuality and sexual freedom became passé as the most powerful of the queer hierarchy got everything they’d ever wanted.
He remembered his promotion to 'sexual minorities liaison officer'. His job, as he saw it, was basically to hijack LGBT events in order to promote the bank. At one Pride, they'd even sponsored a giant, inflatable pink bicep on wheels with the bank logo printed all over it.
It was stupid as hell, he remembered, but people loved that shit.
He could clearly remember his first meeting with the board. The bankers scheming around the oversized conference table, minimum wage servants bringing him his coffee just how he liked it. Like all successful businesses, the bank was being accused of various financial evils—settlement construction in the West Bank, mineral exploitation in the Congo—and there were protests almost daily outside the Berlin headquarters. He learned that day, through six hours of powerpoint presentations, that it was the liaison officer's job to give the bank a friendly face.
“After all,” they had said. “How bad can we be if we support the gays?”
Three months later, the bank was the main sponsor of Pride and, again, the bank was plagued by protests, this time by queer activists who began regular protests, die-ins, and blockades against what they called ‘Pinkwashing’—the deliberate exploitation of LGBT+ struggle for commercial gain.
The bank was rapidly losing face so the handsome, acceptably conservative Sexual Minorities Liaison Officer was sent to give a string of media interviews, publicly calling out any criticism of the bank’s sponsorship as radical homophobia.
“It’s the radicals, the muslims and the transsexuals” he had said. “They want to take away our hard-earned freedom.”
The media took the bait and, from night to day, the bankers gathered in their corporate tower became beacons of LGBT+ freedom, and the rabble of queer activists down in the street became homophobes. As a final coup de grâce, the Liaison Officer passed a motion that strictly forbid the use of the word 'pinkwashing' in all official bank discourse. It was a perfect scheme—the bank went from strength to strength after that and the Liaison Officer earned himself a hefty bonus.
Those were the good days. He had all the sex he wanted, all the coke and GHB and poppers and methadone he could use. And he slept very well in his luxury apartment overlooking the park.
“You're moving too slowly! Are you asleep or what?” One of the other prisoners was shouting at him from behind the conveyor belt. Prisoner 7485 saw there was already a big mound of nutrition bars piled up at the end of the belt waiting to be boxed up.
“Yeah!” joined in another prisoner from the next belt over. “You're not dead yet, faggot!”
“Maybe he's too busy checking out your ass 7340!”
“Well, who can blame him?”
They laughed and Prisoner 7485 put his head down and worked faster. He just wanted to be back in his cell.
But this was all his fault.
The Improvement had destroyed his comfortable life, but he had survived it. Like a fucking phoenix, I rose from the ashes, worked my way to the top as a decorated General, went back in the closet so I could be the best.
He hefted another box of wrapped bars over to the delivery bay. His back was killing him, and he leaned against the boxes for a moment to rest.
But I just couldn't keep it in my pants.
“Keep moving!” shouted a guard.
The prisoner kept moving.
I had it all, he thought miserably to himself. And this time there's no way out.
* * *
Kit was at the point of no return.
She rarely came with other people. Although she faked orgasms almost every day and had become quite the expert at it, she usually kept her real climaxes private and just for herself.
Tonight, though, she couldn't hold back.
Nathalie was going down on her, tasting her, thrusting her tongue deep. The chemistry between them was palpable and within minutes they were surrounded by spectators.
Nathalie, she noticed, enjoyed having an audience and the more people were watching, the harder she seemed to work. Kit didn't mind, she even wanted to invite some of their watchers to join in, but it was already too late, she couldn't hold back anymore. She'd be
en on the edge already for at least half an hour and she had to let go.
She grabbed Nathalie's hair and screamed.
* * *
The guards were yelling again.
“You're too slow, prisoner,” shouted an older, white guard with facial tattoos. 7485 had heard he was in for killing his wife. “I'm moving you onto Inspections, you lazy little—”
The guard grabbed 7485's wrist and dragged him over to a pile of boxes of nutrition bars like the ones he'd been packing all day. He pushed a small letter opener into his hand.
“You open, you check. Do you think your little verger brain can handle that?”
“Yes.”
The guard lifted his hand to hit him.
“Yes…Sir.”
After another two hours of work, Prisoner 7485 was desperate enough to try anything.
A guard near the door rang the bell to signal the end of shift and the new prisoners lined up to be returned to their cells. As they left the factory, they were handed a single Nutrition Snack to take back with them.
Prisoner 7485 knew that if he was going to get out of here, he'd have to work fast. So, as discreetly as he could, he slipped the little letter-opener into the pocket of his filthy overalls.
I'll take it back to the cell, cut my wrists open when the guards are gone and put an end to this. It won't be easy, it's not very sharp, but I'll do it. Another thirty minutes and it'll be over. I'll be out of here.
Despite his exhaustion, Prisoner 7485 realised he was grinning.
I always find a way out.
Chapter twenty-two
Prisoner 7485 joined the line at the door and shuffled forward patiently. When he reached the front of the queue, he put out his hand to receive the snack from the guard, but from behind him he heard a familiar voice yelling. Before he could even turn his head, a massive, meaty hand smashed against it. In blinding pain, he fell to the ground.
“Where is it, prisoner?” shouted the tattooed guard. “Did you think I was stupid, or what?”
Prisoner 7485 reached into his pocket and held up the letter opener. The guard grabbed it, giving him a kick in the stomach.
“No snack for you, prisoner. And two extra works shifts tomorrow.”
Prisoner 7485 tried to reply but his mouth was full of blood. He tried to nod, but his vision went blurry. He tried again and the room went dark.
* * *
Night was over. The first light of the morning began to cast shadows slowly across the park.
What an evening! thought Nathalie as they walked hand in hand back towards their bikes. It was only walking together that she noticed how much taller she was than Kit, her paler hand wrapped around Kit’s darker hand effortlessly.
The perfect fit.
Nathalie had to go to work in the morning and she knew she'd be exhausted all day.
But I'll only need to think about tonight and what we did here. I'll know it was worth it.
They collected their bikes and were about to start heading back into town, but somehow just weren't ready to leave yet. They were in the zone of new lovers where time becomes slippery. Entire nights together could disappear in the blink of an eye. They stood for a while with their bikes, but neither of them got on.
“Let's sit,” said Kit, putting her bike back down in the grass.
They walked over to a bench near the cliff that fell dramatically down from the park to the sea and, still holding hands, they sat. The sun was just appearing over the horizon and the breeze coming off the water was deliciously fresh.
“This was amazing, thank you,” said Nathalie.
“It was.” Kit looked thoughtful for a moment, unconsciously fiddling with her hair.
She never does that, Nathalie noticed. That's my thing, not hers. Is she nervous?
“My name’s Kit by the way,” she declared with just this hint of nervousness in her voice. The State had a strict policy of naming and revealing her true name was a great sign of trust.
“Kit. It’s a beautiful name. I’m Nathalie.”
“Nice to meet you, Nathalie.”
“Nice to meet you, Kit.”
They sat silently for a while watching the sun rise.
“We need to protect these places, you know,” said Kit finally. “The parks, the sea.”
“Of course.”
“And the forest…”
Nathalie stared back in surprise. We've never talked about the forest before.
Like most people she knew, Nathalie had never left the City and what she knew of the world outside, she'd heard mostly from rumour. It was taboo to talk about anything beyond the City walls, in particular the forest. The guerrilla war, the resistance, defending the earth and all that, we just don't talk about it. Kit knows that.
Kit continued, “Because if we don't, there'll soon be nothing left.” She looked Nathalie directly in the eyes and continued in USL, keeping her hands slightly hidden and her gestures discreet.
“The resistance needs people like us, you know.”
Nathalie was too shocked to speak.
K—her darling Kit—was…one of them.
Chapter twenty-three
Prisoner 7485 woke up back in his cell.
There was blood in his mouth, and he was pretty sure he'd pissed himself. As he lay on the concrete floor and stared at the blank wall feeling sorry for himself, somewhere beyond the walls of his tiny cell, he began to make out the sounds of birds calling. A flock of seagulls maybe. They must be loud for me to be able to hear them in here.
The sound grew louder as if they were right above the prison.
I wish I could see them flying and see the sky, just one more time.
Prisoner 7485, curled up perfectly still, listened to the birds in wonder.
* * *
Kit and Nathalie sat quietly listening to the waves when suddenly a massive flock of gulls filled the sky. Squawking and whistling, they gathered together over the cliffs of the park and headed out to sea in search of a meal. With everything that had happened to their populations—climate change, overfishing, pollution and hunting—the birds were finally reclaiming these abandoned parts of the City.
Just like us, thought Nathalie. We're taking these places back too.
She wanted to respond to Kit's revelation but needed to find the words. She was just getting up the courage to speak when Kit stood up abruptly. She yawned and stretched and then announced loudly:
“This was fun!”
“Err yeah it was—”
“We'll do it again soon.”
“I hope so—”
“Definitely. But for now, let's get you home and ready for your long day at the office!”
Nathalie didn't know how to respond. She nodded and obediently followed.
* * *
At Ash's boathouse, her guests had arrived and dinner was served. It was going to be a feast. Pumpkin soup, fresh flat breads and a massive salad that they'd never finish even between the three of them.
Jason and Pinar sat waiting at the little table on the deck. They held hands and chatted softly about the day they'd shared together. Ash was still inside, busy in the kitchen.
“Ash, are you coming?” Pinar called.
“I'll be there in two seconds.”
Jason squeezed Pinar's hand and asked:
“Can I hear some more stories while we wait?”
Pinar smiled and nodded.
“Well, ahem.” She cleared her throat. “I guess we were talking before about gay sex in other animal species, but obviously, homosexuality is much more than just sex…”
Jason leaned forward, listening intently.
“Bert and Ernie's courtship flight for example. It's bonding. For kestrels, that's normal behaviour for straight couples as well, but many species have special courtship and bonding behaviour only for gay and lesbian pairs. A lot of homosexual bonding is technically non-sexual,” she continued. “Male mountain zebras 'ki
ss' each other on the mouth for example and male bonobos do the same but with a lot of tongue.”
Jason smiled shyly.
“Male bonnet macaques spoon their partners sometimes even holding on to their mate's penis while they're sleeping.”
“Cute!” blurted Jason.
“Totally.”
“And it's always in monogamous partnerships?”
“Not at all. There's every imaginable combination of multiple males, multiple females, two of one and one of the other, heterosexual 'primary' partners with homosexual 'secondary' partners—and the other way around. Not to mention the orgies and the self-masturbation.”
“Seriously?”
“Have you never seen a dog rubbing against a lamppost?” Pinar laughed.
“Well yeah!” Jason loved these conversations. Every minute he spent with Pinar, he felt like he was learning something new, seeing the world in a slightly different way.
“Also…” continued Pinar, enjoying being back in her educational role. “Savanna baboons have been known to masturbate with their own tail and perform auto-fellatio. Walruses use their flippers. Female orang-utans make dildos out of vines, penetrate themselves with them and rub them against their clitorises.”
“Orang-utans have a clitoris?”
“Every mammal species on this planet has a clitoris dear.”
“I…” Jason was lost for words. “Oh.”
Inside the boat's little kitchen, Ash was deep in thought, mindfully lighting a candle at her altar as she always did before dinner. On the shelf in the kitchen, she had several important objects from her life laid out—photos of her teachers, a stone from the Femme Riots amongst others, and now she was putting out something new.
In a box of her things, she had recently found a small framed photograph of a heroine of hers, someone who had changed her life in more ways than one. She placed the photo on the altar next to the candle and lit a bundle of dried sage leaves which burned gently, releasing their fresh, clean smoke into the kitchen.