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Episode 17: In Which a Bolt Gets Screwed

As Daedalus Bolt followed Trixie Testosterone into her unassuming, one-bedroom apartment (located above a laundromat in downtown Crescendo Cove) he couldn’t help but think how weird it was for him to be consorting with the woman who, before this bout with multiple personality syndrome, had been his brother’s bible-toting, prude of a wife.

He was further astonished when Trixie—who back when she was Chastity Bolt advocated a return to Prohibition—pulled a bottle of vodka from her freezer.  And when they went into her living room to sit down, he knew at a glance what was in the small, wooden box on the end table.  Still he was startled when, after taking a gulp of booze right from the bottle, Trixie opened the box, removed various sundries associated with the rolling and smoking of marijuana, and said, “If I don’t smoke a doob immediately after work, I’m fucked.” 

Daedalus must be given credit for his adaptability: although all of these things were shocking and disconcerting, he still managed to drink some of Trixie Testosterone’s booze.  He even found himself capable of taking a few hits off the joint she rolled. 

Once suitably medicated, Trixie leaned back in her chair, looked at Daedalus on the couch across from her and said, “So tell me about this Chastity chick.”

And so he did.  He told her everything he knew about her background, then he told her all about Steel and how they met and fell in love, he described their wedding day and told her what their domestic life had been like, he told her about her charity work and informed her that she had been recognized by organizations and governments the world over, and he ended by saying that back when she was Chastity Bolt she hated him, Daedalus Bolt, more than anyone else in the world. 

He spoke for over an hour.  When he was done, a few drinks and a couple more joints later, Trixie gazed at him with half-closed eyes and shook her head: “Wow, is that ever fucking wild.  I can’t believe I was such a tight-ass bitch.  Hey, I don’t have any kids, do I?”

“No.  You tried, but it turned out you were incapable.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing.  Imagine how fucked up those kids would be if I wandered into their lives now?”

“Yeah, I guess your right,” Daedalus agreed.

Trixie smiled at him slyly, causing Daed to shift in his seat.  He knew that look and he didn't like it--not coming from her at least.

She purred, “You know the one thing I don’t get?”

“What?”

“That I hated you.”

“Ahem, you were a much different person then.  You didn’t approve of my lifestyle.”

“I understand that,” she said, rising and moving toward him, “but I find it hard to believe that I could dislike someone so cute.”  Before he knew what was happening, she’d straddled him.  Her knees were on either side of his thighs and she was rubbing her groin against his. 

Poor Daedalus Bolt.  He tried to protest, but Trixie silenced him by snaking her tongue into his mouth and increasing the tempo of crotch-on-crotch friction. 

You have to remember that Daedalus Bolt is accustomed to fornicating every night.  His charm, combined with his insatiable sex drive and the fact that he socializes almost exclusively with intoxicated exotic dancers, means it’s rare for Daedalus to sleep with only one woman in a night, let alone to do without entirely.  Yes, you absolutely must take that into account before you condemn him for standing and walking down the hall to Trixie’s bedroom, with her still wound around him. 

When it was over, several hours and countless orgasms later, Trixie Testosterone stared at the ceiling in wonder, the way all women do after they’ve had Daedalus Bolt. 

“Oh my god,” she said, “I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

Daedalus remained silent, smoking a cigarette.  He’d enjoyed the sex, for sure, yet he could not put aside the fact that, personality disorder notwithstanding, he’d just screwed his brother’s wife. 

“Is it always like that for you?” Trixie asked.

“Pretty much,” Daedalus muttered.  Then he looked at the clock and rolled off the mattress to his feet.  “I have to go.”

“No!” Trixie said desperately, reaching across the narrow bed and grabbing hold of him.  She didn’t want him to leave, now or ever.  “Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I know it sounds stupid, but I have to be home for breakfast.”

Continue reading: Episode 18: Complicated Contemplations of Love