Nocturnal Emissions

This is a short story about a house full of crazy people.

Nocturnal Emissions
Will Flannigan

         I was sitting at my desk, in my room, with my door closed.  Minding my own business.  I was reading the paper at the time.  When I overheard the most crucial conversation of the twenty-first century.  “Who keeps leaving all the god-damn lights on at night?”, wretched voice.  Twisted.  Utterly hair-pulling.  I lived with two other people at the time in an old Victorian home.  Both of them were fucking nuts.  Freaks.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          

         The front door was locked.  Shit.  It was never locked.  I knocked.  No answer.  I knocked again, louder.  “Hold on, almost there!”, it was Traci, she sounded chipper.  She was always strangely happy. 
         The door opened.  In front of me was a completely naked Traci.  This was typical.  She had a habit of cooking and cleaning in the nude.  Naturally, I never complained.

“Hi Steve!”
“Hey”, I walked in the door and took off my sunglasses.  “You’re naked”

         She nodded and smiled.  She wanted me.  I don’t blame her.  I was the only completely straight guy in the house, she had no other fucking choice.  She sat down on the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table, then lit a cigarette.

“Are you cleaning?”, I asked dryly.
“Nope, just watching TV and waiting for you to get home”
“What are you watching?”
“Will and Grace”, big fucking surprise.
“Want to watch it with me?”
“No, I hate that fucking show”
“Why don’t you come and sit down?”
“No thanks”
“Why not?”

         She batted her eyelashes at me.  She was gorgeous with her long dark curls and her tanned skin.  She claimed to be a virgin.

“Because Traci, for the last time, I’m not going to fuck you.”
“Just once?”
“No”
“Please?”
“No”
“What if I – I’ll do anything you want?”

         I stared at her for a moment.  Every possible sexual position flashed through my brain like slides.  Doggy-style, missionary, cow-girl, reversed cow-girl, the piledriver.  The Kama Sutra passed before my eyes in a fantastic display of flexibility.

“Have a nice day Traci”

         She sighed.  I walked to my room and closed my door.  I was probably masturbating.  I thought about Traci.  She was a social-disease cesspool.  Biggest slut in three counties.  One day she found out she was pregnant.  She said it was a miracle, immaculate conception.  Fucking whatever.  She loved god so much she screamed his name at the top of her fucking lungs every night.  Religious?  Hardly. 


*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          

“Who keeps leaving on the god-damn lights at night?”, that’s Traci.
“Not me”, Jeff, the slimebag.
“You’re such a fucking liar, you’re always the last to bed.”
“No I’m not”
“Yes you are, you’re up until four in the morning every fucking night”
“So?”
         At this point, in my room with my door closed I am laughing hysterically.  Morons.  I love listening to fights.  I love listening to the stupid fucking arguments these people have.  My door is closed.  I am immune.  They’re going to assume I’m sleeping or masturbating, I don’t care which.
“And, you never do anything around this house Jeff!”
“You’re right I don’t!”
“You’re not a princess”
“Yes I am”
“Whatever”
         Silence.  Their gears were turning, the next sentence better be a good one.  Whoever says it must chose their words wisely.  Silence.
“Ya know, I bet it’s Steve leaving the lights on.”
Jeff, you fucker.
“Why?”
“I think he sleepwalks ya know?  I’ve seen him do it”
“Really?”

Jesus Christ.  Sleepwalking?  Are you serious?  These people are fucking wacko. Sleepwalking?

“We should get him out here”
“Steve!”
“Steve!”
         I don’t reply.  Some good old suspense will do these nut jobs some good.
“He must be sleeping”
“Or masturbating”
         They both laugh at my expense.  The room outside my door quiets down.  I hear the television playing a re-run of Will and Grace.  I’m not surprised.  The show used to be funny, until it was burned into the fucking television screen.  Now, it’s annoying.  I pause.  Stand-up.  Sigh and put on my sunglasses.  This could get messy…


*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

         I met Jeff last year at a PFLAG meeting.  I was doing an in depth story on homosexuality on campus.  Jeff was my “informant” my “gateway to the gays”.  He was the PFLAG president at the time.  He was a great president except for the fact that he claimed to be gay but he was actually bi-sexual and had been pissing in the gene-pool for years.  He was responsible for several bastard children.  Poor kids. 
         I was looking for a midnight snack, something to put a warm feeling in my stomach before bed, a peanut butter and banana sandwich.  If it was good enough for the king then it was good enough for me.  I noticed the living room was bustling with activity.  The TV was loud and so was the laughter.
         In the living room I found Jeff lounging on the couch like a Roman hookah hose in one hand, television remote in the other.  There was a cheap bottle of vodka on the coffee table paired with a jug of cheap orange juice.  Will and Grace was blaring.  I hate Will and Grace.

“What’s the occasion?”, I asked.
“I’m gay”
“No shit”
Jeff sighed, “Steve, I’m an asshole”
“I know”
“No really, I am”
Damn, he sucked me in.  “What did you do this time?” 
“Turned another one”
“Gay?”
“Yup”

         Jeff’s personal fantasy was brainwashing single, seemingly straight men into bisexuals.  He was like a black widow, luring straight men into his web, mating, then eating away at their dignity.  How romantic.  He blew a smoke ring.

“You disgust me”
“Why?”
“Look at you, you’re the love child of Alice’s caterpillar and Jabba the Hutt, where are your slave girls?”
“I traded them in for boys”
         
         Jeff then scratched himself, burped and farted.  He began to laugh.

“You’re shameless”
“At least I don’t sleepwalk”
“I don’t sleepwalk”
“How do you know, you’re sleeping?”

Filthy Mind Games

“Whatever, I’m eating and then going to bed.  Turn down the TV”
“Why?”
“I’m going to bed”
“Why?”
“How fucking old are you? Four? Make sure you turn off the lights”

         The shithead laughed at me.  His belly jiggled in his robe.  What a character.  I was the only normal one in the entire fucking house.  Super.

“Hey Steve! Make me a sandwich!”
“Fuck off”



*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *
“So ya’ll think I’m a sleepwalker?”
I catch them by surprise.  I am so cool.
“Yea, we think you’re leaving the lights on”, says Jeff.  Guilty bastard.  He smiles too.
“It’s possible”, adds Traci.
I think for a moment.  If I tell these people how fucking stupid they are, they are just going to get pissed at me.
“You’re both fucking stupid”

Mission accomplished.


         There is an odd silence.  They both just stare at me.  Maybe they know something I don’t know.  So I decide to make things a bit more interesting.

“I tell ya’ll what, since ya’ll think I’m fucking weird anyway.  Since this sleep walking thing isn’t just going to disappear.  I’ll sleep naked tonight.  Just wait for me to come out of my room.  You will get to see what ya’ll have wanted to see since I moved in.”

“Sounds good”, says Jeff.  I’m not surprised.

         I leave the conversation at that.  I return to my room and close my door.  Sleep walking?  Whatever.  I lock my door.  I don’t want them sneaking in on me tonight.  I take my clothes off and look at myself in the mirror.  I’m irresistible.  I crawl into my bed.  I fall asleep.  The next morning I wake up.  A note is taped to my chest.  Shit.  I read the note, “A bit disappointed”, signed Jeff.  Son of a bitch!