“But your English exam isn’t until Wednesday,” Tara laments. “Come on; let’s have some fun.”
“I can’t, Tara, I have to read Leo Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina in its original form and compare it with the Hadrian-released version. The original book is no simple read, let me tell you, but, oh, Tara, the romance, the love, and all between opposite sex individuals. It is truly stunning. To actually read, for the first time, a piece of literature that deals with het’ro themes is so refreshing and exciting. I just can’t put it down, even if I wanted to. And I don’t. In its original form, the book deals with three central couples, not just two, and I swear it’s over a thousand voc pages long!”
“Why don’t you just read the uni notes version? That’s all anyone else does.”
“Oh, Tara, how can you even ask? Even if the notes weren’t riddled with anti-strai propaganda, they could never achieve what reading the real book is like. Oh, I wish I could hold the real print book in my hands.”
“You might as well wish for a thousand dead trees.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Did it really take more resources and energy to produce books than it does to produce all our technology?”
“I don’t know, Cantara. All I do know is that we abandoned books and the excessive use of pen and paper for ecological reasons.”
“Well, you cheated.” Cantara’s wide smile reveals that she approves.
“I had to. You know I did. If I had submitted that paper over the wave, anyone and his dog could have read it. What if it got into the hands of my mother?”
“I know, I agree. There is no security on the wave, especially with the anti-pseudonym laws. If we could at least keep our identity secret, we could express ourselves more freely without fear. Thank Hadrian that Dean taught us that little trashcan trick.” Grinning now, seeing how her friend has effectively deflected the topic, Cantara adds, “I haven’t changed my mind, you know.”
“About what?” Tara asks coyly.
“About going out, or about reading a real book someday. I do wonder what it would be like. The wave links I’ve read suggest books have a dusty, musky smell to them, especially after they have aged.”
“Ugh. Sounds gross.”
“I think it sounds romantic.”
“You and your romance. Romance doesn’t exist if you can’t love the person you love.”
“Oh, but we’re getting there. Progress has been made.”
“Off the bones of six dead men!”
“Well, at least we can be open about who we are now without the threat of exile.”
“Oh, sure, they won’t exile us if we admit to being bi or straight, but…” the elongation of the vowel with the crisp slamming of the final consonant helps to emphasize Tara’s frustration, “if we have sex, now that’s a different matter. There is still the anti-strai sex law that criminalizes opposite sex intercourse.”
“And the Anti-Strai Propaganda Law that gags us!” Cantara is being swept up into the political discussion.
“All of which do little more than perpetuate hate. They act like lighter fuel sprayed over sparks.”
“True enough, but,” Cantara counters, “it is our first victory since the sexual reform laws enacted in year ten.”
Year ten is bitterly remembered by all heterosexuals and bisexuals as the year prejudice revealed its ugly head inside Hadrian’s Wall. As the young country struggled to maintain the ideals established in what is known today by Hadrian’s citizens as the four cornerstones, many powerful members of Hadrian’s government were beginning to foresee difficulties in restraining heterosexual couples from those nasty accidental pregnancies. Bill 33 was set before the Senate putting all propagation under government control as well as severe limitations on heterosexuality. Fear of overpopulation and emulating the lives of the outside world was strong enough to push through very stringent restrictions on all forms of heterosexual behavior. No one was allowed to reproduce except through Hadrian’s Reproduction Clinics. The propaganda chant of the time was “Say YES to IVF and NO to het’ro sex!” Once Bill 33 passed, defending the logic of other anti-strai bills was easier. The sexual reform laws outlawed heterosexual intercourse, and with the ever-growing fear that the law was, in itself, not enough, reeducation camps were created to ensure all of Hadrian’s youth were guided towards the only acceptable, normal, and safe form of sexual behavior, that of same-sex couples. This draconian law also meant that anyone twenty-two years of age or older was summarily exiled. The extreme Conservative Right, which was currently in power, had used the need for extreme measures to ensure population control as its central argument. It wasn’t long after that the most damning attack against the Wall occurred, where all the soldiers both on and off duty were slaughtered and the women raped and tortured. When 6-13 happened, the setting off of a dirty nuke at Augustus’s city border gate only added fuel to a fire that had been burning into white-hot coals for far too long. All Hadrian remembers 6-13; it cemented the general population’s mistrust of outsiders and everything strai. When a straight man drives across your border and ignites a dirty nuke, it doesn’t take too big a push to convince the majority of citizens to abhor all things heterosexual.
“Even you have to admit,” Cantara added, “getting rid of the threat of exile just for being who we are is astonishing and wonderful.”
“But not good enough,” Tara lamented. Ironically, when alone, Tara is the more outspoken of the two, but when in the company of others, Tara’s abusive background takes over and silences her, leaving Cantara to act as her mouthpiece. But, here, in the relative safety of her dorm room with her most trusted friend, Tara feels free to express her deepest thoughts and feelings. “Six men had to die in those camps before the law was softened—softened, Cantara; not removed.” Here Tara gets deadly serious. “How many more of us have to die before real changes are made—the kinds of changes that will allow us to walk the streets arm-in-arm without the threat of abuse or ridicule, the kind that would allow me to write a paper on being straight through the voc without fear of reprisals? And then they fire Politis—”
Cantara is shocked at this news. “I knew they had suspended her, but I didn’t think they’d go so far as to fire her. Oh, Tara, I’m so sorry.”
Tara is nearing tears. “I should have exposed myself. I shouldn’t have let her take the fall.” Giving her friend a sheepish little smile, the one that always wins Cantara over, Tara sweetly begs, “Please come out for a drink with me. I really could use one with all this business with Politis and shit.”
“Oh, Tara, I want to—really, I do. But I can’t. I have way too much reading to do, and then I have to work on figuring out what my thesis strategy will be on the day of the big exam.”
“Are you sure there is no way I can convince you to come out with me? The Blue Chair is said to be strai-friendly.” The Blue Chair is Antinous Uni’s Sonic Music Nightclub. “We might even be able to secretly hook up with some guys. How exciting would that be?”
“Hadrian’s Lover, that would be awesome!” Now, using her hands like a hatchet, cutting the air with each word, Cantara concludes, “But. I. Can’t.” Exasperated, Cantara turns her back to her friend and pulls up a visual screen of the book she is reading as if to emphasize her need to study.
“All right, read your book. Be a good little student and study. I’ll ask Angel and Grace. They’re both done with their finals, too.” Sighing now, she adds, “I won’t be able to meet any guys with them, but at least I can get drunk.”
“I don’t like them,” Cantara warns. “Remember, they walked out when Politis was reading your paper?”
“Yeah,” Tara replies in their defense, “but they didn’t know I was the one who wrote it. They still always say ‘Hi’ when we meet, and Angel even offered to buy me a drink once.”
Cantara isn’t mollified. “I don’t trust them. They were behind Politis being fired; you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do. But everybody’s gone. They’re the only ones
around, and you won’t party. So they’re not my favorite two to hang out with, but what’s a girl desperate for fun to do? You’re clearly determined to stay in, and I’m clearly determined to go out.”
“What about Sid and Prasert? You could still meet a man hanging with them.” “They took off on a spontaneous romantic getaway this weekend. And, I know, then there’s Dean, but Dean—”
Cantara cuts her off. “Don’t you dare say he’s too old!”
Tara retracts quickly. “Of course he’s not too old; he just doesn’t like to party—I mean really party!”
“Please don’t get so drunk I have to clean up your puke in the middle of the night, again.”
“No promises, girlie,” Tara laughs as she walks through the door of their dorm room.
Cantara shakes her head in mock censorship, an action she will later regret.
*****
That night at The Blue Chair, the three women are drinking quite heavily. Angel is standing behind Grace with her arms wrapped around her. She is swinging Grace from side to side in her embrace. Every so often, Angel attempts to caress Grace’s private regions. Grace giggles at Angel’s provocative advances, but she skillfully deflects her lover’s aim. Even drunk, Grace isn’t willing to let her lover get carried away sexually in public.
“For the love of Antinous, you two get a room.” From behind the bar, the bartender can be heard laughing at Tara’s remark. He even tosses her a wink. This sets Angel off.
“What the fuck’s your problem, Tara? Pissed your little girl wouldn’t come out with you?”
Grace laughs robustly at that. “Like anyone could get that fucking breeder to do anything.” Angel appears to concur and rewards her girlfriend with a tighter hug and a kiss on the back of the head.
“What makes you two think Cantara’s straight?” Tara asks noncommittally.
Angel responds, her head now resting atop Grace’s, “I saw the stupid bitch going into the strai office.”
Tara acts amused. “Strai office? They have an office?”
Angel is miffed. “You know what I mean—that stupid GSA room.”
Feigning ignorance, Tara asks, “What’s a GSA?” Had she been seen entering the GSA office space, too? The location chosen for the GSA to meet is quite discreet. Very few on campus know of its existence, so Tara wonders how these two learned of its location.
Grace answers, her drunken slur destroying her attempt at sarcasm, “Gay Straight Alliance.” Both Angel and Grace laugh at how stupid Grace sounds.
“Oh,” Tara replies, trying hard not to show any signs of worry.
“You know,” says Grace, stepping forward to get in closer to Tara and slipping out of Angel’s embrace, “I’ll bet that little bitch was the one who wrote that crybaby ‘How it sucks to be a strai’ paper.”
Angel agrees instantly. “Yeah, what a fucking piece of shit that was.”
Both girls chime in sync, “So strai!” They laugh uproariously at their joke.
“Don’t be ridiculous, she wasn’t even in our class. Besides, Professor Politis obviously thought it was well-written,” Tara says, the phrase popping out before she realizes it.
“Yeah, well,” Angel begins suspiciously, “we know what happened to her.” Grace giggles. Angel responds by wrapping Grace inside her arms again. “I suppose someone might like that paper if she were strai,” Angel ponders. She eyes Tara briefly and then cuts the tension with, “Maybe old Politis is a closeted strai.”
Tara forces a short laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” Then trying to be onboard with the other two, she adds, “She couldn’t help but coo over the paper; that’s for sure.” Shaking slightly inside, Tara reaches for her drink and gulps it all back.
“Whoa there, girlie,” Angel laughs. “If you keep drinking like that, you’ll end up drunker than Grace.” To which Grace begins to giggle uncontrollably in Angel’s arms. Angel is clearly enjoying the vibration effect. While Tara is ordering another drink, Angel whispers something in Grace’s ear. At first, Grace appears upset, but after a few more soft whisperings, Grace begins to giggle uncontrollably again. She is also nodding her head in aggressive agreement. “Hey, Tara,” Angel says, “get that bartender back. I think we three need to get rip-roaring drunk!”
“What can I get you, ladies?” the bartender, a young man of mixed Asian and African descent, asks. He is close enough to Tara that she can smell his strong, musky odor. Large, dark eyes and thick curly hair add to his physical attraction. She tries not to show just how much she longs to kiss his lips or embrace his tall, lean body.
Angel snaps Tara out of the bartender’s magical allure by slapping her on the shoulder. To do this, she has to lean forward and push Grace’s face into Tara’s bosom. Grace giggles in ecstasy as her face gets squashed between Tara’s abundant breasts. Angel then addresses the bartender. “Bring us three tequila shooters. Don’t forget the salt and the lime. You guys do have lime, right?”
“No, sorry,” the bartender says apologetically. “Imports have been tighter than usual.”
Tara feigns interest to keep the young man close. “Why? We haven’t had any major attacks since 6-13.”
The young man smiles as he replies, “There’ve been extreme droughts down south, you know, in what used to be tropical regions.”
For a brief moment, Tara imagines herself on a beach, lying next to this dark-skinned, handsome young man.
Turning his attention back to Angel, he offers up the next best option. “But we do have some very tart chock cherry juice that tastes even better.”
Angel slaps her hand down on the bar and orders. “Screw that, then! Get us three Mindbender shooters.” The bartender nods and turns to prepare the concoctions. While they wait, Angel leans into Grace’s ear and whispers again. To Tara, it simply looks like Angel is seducing Grace, as usual. When the Mindbenders arrive, Angel releases Grace and stands between her and Tara. She takes on a solemn pose and turns to face Tara. “Tara, I have a confession to make.” She reaches her hand behind her to grab Grace and stifle the silly girl’s laughter. In a tight whisper intended only for Grace and Tara’s ears, she announces, “I’m bisexual.” At first, she was going to say straight, but as she and Grace are clearly a unit, she opts for the next best thing, pretending to be bisexual.
Tara is stunned by this sudden declaration. She looks over to Grace, who is struggling so hard not to laugh that she is doubled over from the effort. “Grace, is this true?” Grace is only capable of nodding.
Angel immediately hushes Tara, who has spoken at normal volume—much too loud for such a delicate conversation. Looking back now at Angel, Tara complies and lowers her voice. “But what you were saying about the paper? I thought—”
Angel cuts her off. “Uh, uh. I was only saying that because I wasn’t sure about you and, you know…” She uses her head to point around the room at the various other carousers. “But I think I know you’re strai, too. Am I right?” When Tara doesn’t respond right away, Angel reassures her, “It’s okay. Grace and I are cool.”
Tara is sucked in. “Oh, wow. I never would have thought it of you. But you—I mean, you walked out of class after Politis read the paper.”
“Of course I did! I’m closeted.” Leaning in now, she whispers, “I didn’t want anyone to suspect me, you know.”
“Yeah,” Tara ponders, slightly confused but far too drunk to distinguish between falsehoods and truth. Turning now to her other friend, she inquires, “What about you Grace? Are you bi, too?”
“Nope,” Angel replies for her as the combination of alcohol and laughter has left Grace incapacitated. “Grace is lesbian through and through. But it’s cool; she’s an ally, aren’t you, Grace?” All Grace can do is nod her assent. “So, am I right? Or did I just shoot myself in the head by telling you?”
This is the line that works its way into Tara’s trust. “Yeah,” she smiles, feeling free and unburdened. “It’s true.”
“And you,” Angel adds, “you wrote that paper, didn’t yo
u?”
“Yeah, that was my work.”
“Brilliant!” Angel adds. Grace nearly falls flat on her face with giggling. Angel sighs, “Poor Grace; I better hold her up again,” which she promptly does, using her right arm, only leaving her left hand free for the shooter. “All right, then,” she says as she picks up her shot, “to allies, bi, strai, and gay!” Angel watches as Tara throws back her shot. Then as Tara shudders in convulsions, Angel quickly dumps her shot off to her right. She shoves Grace, slightly reminding her to do the same, too. “Barkeep,” she calls out, “three more.” Angel repeats this pattern two more times, ensuring that Tara is so intoxicated she almost falls flat on her face. Angel catches her laughing. “I think you’re done for, girlie. Come on, Grace; we better take Tara back to the dorms.”
But they don’t take Tara to the dorms. Instead, they lure her into the alley behind The Blue Chair. Once there, they proceed to strip Tara of her clothing. When Tara resists, Angel punches Tara so hard in the head she drops to her knees. Angel tears at Tara’s blouse, ripping if off her body. Grace, after unzipping the back of Tara’s skirt, effectively wrenches it down around Tara’s ankles. “Put her in a headlock,” Angel orders. Grace complies. Tara now retrieves the beer bottle she had smuggled out of the bar. “So you’re a fucking strai, are you? Do you know what it feels like to have a strai man stab a hard dick into you?” Angel’s voice has become menacing. “Well, it feels like this, you fucking strai bitch.” When Tara cries out, Angel orders Grace, “Shut her up!” To do so, Grace shoves Tara’s blouse into her mouth, deep enough into her throat to make her gag. Now muffled, all Tara can do is groan. When Angel is finished, she tosses the beer bottle aside and begins to beat and kick Tara unconscious. “Let her go, Grace; she’s done for.”
Grace does as she’s told and allows Tara’s limp body to fall to the ground. Standing back, the two women stare down at their work. They are both struck by the horrifying wonder of what they have done. Suddenly, Grace squeaks out, “She’s still breathing, Angel.” Looking into her girlfriend’s eyes, the terror of the moment causing tears to streak down her face, Grace whispers, “What if she wakes up and tells someone?”
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