Mariposa Honeymoon - Chapter 12
published November 13, 2018
Derek and Charles come back together.
If he was going to keep enlarging his friends, Pierce realized he would have to start renting bigger cars.
He was back at the wheel of the Chevy Beat which “Jesus” had used to drive Derek and Charles to their hotel, the same Chevy Beat which still reeked of “Chuck’s” Cuban cigars, despite Pierce leaving the windows open for a day and investing in a dozen of those little pine-tree air fresheners. He was already dreading the cleaning fee he would be charged if he couldn’t get the smell out before he had to return the car tomorrow. Now, en route from the park to the beach, it was Derek, in the form of Mike “the Spike” Cochran, who monopolized the back seat with his immense size, and whose profuse post-workout perspiration was adding its own distinct aroma to the mix. Pierce held out a slim hope that the two warring stenches would cancel out each other, but he didn’t know if that theory had any scientific merit.
It didn’t help that Derek was seething with a rage that caused him to sweat even more heavily than an hour of strenuous exercise under the Mexican sun. Since seeing the shaky photo of “Charlie’s brother” chatting with the blond kid from Iowa, Derek’s mind had been prolifically concocting scenarios which would explain Charles’ behavior over the past 24 hours. In none of these imagined storylines did Charles emerge as an innocent party.
Pierce spoke calmly as he drove, doing his utmost to soothe the raging beast whose hot angry breath he could feel against his neck. “When we get there, I think it’d be best if I go talk to him first.”
“You?”, Derek bellowed in the Spike’s rumbling voice. “This is all your fault! Charles’ll prob’ly throttle you.”
“If that really is Charles in the picture, I think I can handle him. Worst case, we’ll swap catty insults and threaten to scratch each other’s eyes out before grabbing a couple of strawberry mojitos while we get avocado facials.”
“You sure got a narrow view of what it means to be gay,” Derek griped.
“It’s not me, it’s the Mariposa. It’s not exactly subtle. You wouldn’t believe how much I had to water down that first dose to make Jesus as dull as he was. Mariposa doesn’t just make you slightly bigger or slightly hornier. It tends to turn people into extreme caricatures, in case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Big-Ass Big-Muscle Big-Dick Porn Star.”
Derek had to concede the point. His incarnations as a Chinese gymnast and a tattooed punk hadn’t exactly blended into the scenery. Neither had the mammoth bear or red-haired jockboy that Charles had become. From the photo, it looked like Charles today had been whittled down to an eye-catching blue-haired twink. He could only imagine how much his dignified husband detested his latest transformation.
Blu made a yummy sound as he finished his third Calypso Colada, followed by the tiniest of burps. “These are soooo fuckin’ tasty,” he said, licking his lips. “You think I can get this in the States?”
“We bought it in Texas,” Todd informed him, halfway through his own bottle of the blue beverage. Todd didn’t particularly care for the stuff, but since he had been the one lobbying the other guys that they might want an occasional break from beer, he felt an obligation to help dispose of it. He couldn’t wait to get back to beer.
Todd was keeping Blu company underneath the palapa while his three traveling companions zipped a Frisbee from one to another. Thanks to their competitive natures, this activity was rousing Kev and Bart out of their morning inertia, although they still were largely standing in place and expending minimal effort in their throws. Despite their initial wariness, the Iowa boys had welcomed Blu into their sandbox, mostly based on his alleged relationship to the well-regarded Red. The more they chatted, Todd grew fonder of Blu’s biting sense of humor. Although Charles was intelligent and well-read, and could offer droll comments at times, he would never have been rude or fearless enough to unleash the caustic insults which rolled so easily off Blu’s tongue. It was just another way in which Charles felt gloriously liberated today.
With Todd’s college friends too far away to hear, Blu delicately dipped his dainty manicured toes into potentially dangerous water. “So, my brother told me the two of you went to a club last night, but you left right away.”
“Yeeeah,” Todd said, looking to the horizon uncomfortably. “That was a mistake.”
“What was the mistake?”, Blu asked with arched eyebrows. “Going or leaving?”
Todd paused, unsure of the answer. Eventually, he admitted in a soft voice, “I appreciated what he was tryin’ to do, but I think it was just too soon for me.”
Blu scooted his little butt closer to Todd, careful to maintain a platonic distance. “Believe me, sweetie, I know that feeling. I’d say it took me a decade from when I knew that I KNEW what I was and when I finally felt comfortable enough to admit it out loud.”
Todd found it hard to believe that the flamboyant flirt beside him had ever been able to conceal his true self. “Really? A decade? How old ARE you anyway?”
Blu’s vanity perked up. “How old do you THINK I am?” He waited eagerly for the answer.
“I dunno,” Todd said, biting his lip. “Thirty?”
Blu frowned. He had been feeling like Todd’s contemporary, just as he had the day before, so it was deflating to learn that, despite Blu’s vivacious and fun-loving attitude, Todd perceived him as a decade older.
Seeing Blu’s disappointment, Todd frantically barked out lower numbers like a desperate contestant on “The Price Is Right”. “What? Twenty-eight? Twenty-six? Tell me! I’m not good at guessing ages.”
If he wanted, Blu could have pulled out his driver’s license to prove not only that he was really 31, but also that he had exactly the same ID as his “younger brother”. Instead, he copped to being 29, shaving away a couple years to save a little dignity, and complimented Todd on his precision.
Curious, Todd asked, “So how about Red? When did he…feel brave enough?”
“About the same as me,” Blu replied. Noticing that Todd was puzzled by the chronology, Blu felt it best to barrel onward and derail any further fact-checking. “The point is, once I…once WE…came out, we both wished we’d done it way earlier. All those years of being afraid just felt like a waste of time. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I had been braver when I was your age. I mean, if you do only get one life, why would you wanna wait so long to start living it?” Blu found it amusing to be doling out this advice. It sounded like the sort of thing Pierce could have said during his best-man toast, although Pierce would have spiced it up with a dick joke or two.
Just then, as if merely thinking Pierce’s name could conjure up his physical presence, Blu noticed a familiar figure approaching on the sand. At first, he assumed it must be a mirage or a hallucination or mistaken identity, but as he drew closer, there was no question that this was Pierce in the flesh.
With some difficulty, Pierce had convinced Derek to wait in the car until he had been able to suss out the situation with Charles. As the only blue-haired boi on the beach, Charles had been easy to spot. Even at a distance, Pierce could tell from the colorful urchin’s body language that he had noticed Pierce. Pierce stopped in his tracks when he saw the little guy stand up and excuse himself from his conversation with the blond kid. Resigned to his fate, Pierce watched as the slender figure in the blue Speedo marched his way. Pierce held his breath with trepidation, recalling that Charles had been mad enough on day one to punch a hole through a hotel-room wall. Clearly today’s version of Charles wouldn’t be capable of inflicting that kind of damage, but Pierce braced himself for Charles to unleash an angry tirade or a fusillade of furious slaps.
Blu’s expression was impossible to decipher as he stretched out his arms toward Pierce. It appeared likely that he was threatening to choke Pierce around the neck, but instead he placed his hands on the sides of Pierce’s head and pulled him close to plant a fat juicy kiss on Pierce’s mouth, one which lingered for a good five seconds.
Released from the suction of Blu’s lips, Pierce staggered back a couple of steps and stared at the exotic creature who only had a few inches of height advantage over him. Just to be certain, he asked, “Charles, right?”
Blu shivered and asked saucily, “Do I look like a fucking ‘Charles’ to you? I prefer ‘Blu’ now.”
“That’s right. B-L-U. I’m debating whether I should put an umlaut over the U or not, but I’m worried that might be a tad too much. What do you think?” Bubbling with excitement, he slowly spun around so Pierce could check him out, making a point to shake his bountiful backside to draw maximum attention to his tramp stamp and the firm globes of his ass.
Pierce was amazed, never having encountered this particular variety of Mariposa before. While there were still identifiable traces of Charles in his prettified facial features, the renovation was incredibly thorough. The unnaturally blue hair which perfectly matched the coloration of his eyes was undoubtedly the result of the elixir, but Pierce knew that the shimmering nail polish on Blu’s fingers and toes must have been applied by hand, meaning they were a conscious choice on Charles’ part. His loose posture and obvious ease at being nearly naked couldn’t have been more different from the studied rigidity Pierce associated with Charles. Even as a Mariposa veteran, Pierce found the transformation breathtaking. “You look…incredible.”
“Don’t I, though?” He bounced merrily on the balls of his feet, setting his butt jiggling again. “Ohmygod, it is so wonderful to see you, honey! And just look at you. You look like a goddamn teenager! Looks like somebody else has been dipping into the Mariposa.”
“Yeah, maybe, a little. So you’re NOT mad at me?”, Pierce asked cautiously, still on guard for the anticipated backlash.
“Are you kidding? I feel FAAAAB-YOOOO-LUSSSS!!!” He shouted and waved his arms high over his head, like he was limbering up for the first letter of the “YMCA” dance.
Every head within 200 yards turned in their direction. For the first time, O became aware of the presence of Mike the Spike’s faithful native-American companion on the beach. Distracted, he was struck in the nape of his neck by the Frisbee that Bart had thrown his way. Pissed, O picked up the disc and flung it back briskly, aiming to decapitate Bart.
Ignoring the onlookers, Pierce placed his hands on Blu’s shoulders and spoke softly and calmly. “Charles…”, he began.
Blu corrected him in a sing-song voice, “Blu-uuu!”
“Okay, ‘Blu-uuu’. I’m gonna need you to pump the brakes for me, okay? Just dial it back about, like, fifty notches.”
Blu harrumphed, defiantly placing his hands on his hips. “Excuse me?”
“Look, I know I made a few jokes the other day about you not being gay enough, but you have to trust me when I tell you…you are way too gay.”
Blu clucked his tongue. “This is rich! Of all the people…”
“I know, I know,” Pierce said, aware of his seeming hypocrisy, “but I say this with total respect. You’re trying too hard.”
Blu became fiercely defensive. “I am not ‘trying’ at all. I’m just doing what comes naturally. You thought I was a stiff, that I needed to loosen up? Well, this is me loose, baby!” He tapped his lacquered fingernails on his sternum.
“Please, listen to me, CHARLES,” Pierce said, stressing his real name in hopes of reaching a version of Charles that might be submerged beneath the surface. “I may have done more Mariposa than anyone alive. I know exactly what you’re feeling. The Mariposa gets working. It seeps into every part of your body, every corner of your brain. You lose your inhibitions. Maybe you do some things that deep down you’ve always been curious about but were too scared or shy or sensible to do. It’s electrifying. It’s empowering. Pretty soon, you’re absolutely convinced that the way you are now is the authentic you, and you’re never gonna go back to the way you were. But it’s an illusion. An AWESOME illusion, but still an illusion. A coupla days ago, Derek was a Chinese gymnast, but he never believed that he was still gonna be a Chinese gymnast when the buzz wore off.”
“You’re wrong,” Blu replied. “Maybe that’s how it usually works, but I’m telling you, this is who I’m supposed to be. I’ve had urges my whole life to express myself more, to dare to be different, but I was always so afraid what people would think. What would it do to my image as a good son or an honor student or a serious lawyer? Every once in a while, usually after I had a drink or two, I’d think maybe I should shave my head or get my ears pierced or, I dunno, get ‘I’m really gay’ tattooed on my forehead in rainbow lettering. Just do something big and bold and irrevocable that no one could ignore. But I was terrified of being noticed, because I was afraid that if people discovered what I was really like, they wouldn’t like it. So I went the other way. I kept my head down and did my job and tried my best to be invisible. I chose boring. Boring was my camouflage. Derek was the only one who managed to see through it. But, guess what? I’m not gonna be boring any more. I choose not to.”
Pierce really hated hearing his own words thrown back at him, especially because they made so much sense. Having given the newlyweds the Mariposa six-pack with the specific intention of opening their minds, Pierce knew he was in no position to complain that Charles’ mind had been opened too much. Even so, he was concerned. “All those things you’re feeling, they’re great. I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”
“You know what I think?”, Blu asked with a snippy tone. “I think you’re jealous. I think you don’t like having competition for who’s the most fabulous.”
Pierce scoffed. “Tread very carefully, blue boy. You’ve been a twink for a couple of hours and you’re trying to front me? Believe me, sister, you do not want to go against me in a fabulous-off.”
“Are you challenging me to a gay duel? What’s that like, exactly? ‘Sequins at dawn!’?” Blu felt his anger rising. “And what the hell are you even doing in Cancun? Did you follow us here? Have you been sneaking around behind our backs, getting your kicks watching our marriage disintegrate on our honeymoon?”
Pierce shouted back, “I’m here to make sure nothing goes wrong!”
Blu got in Pierce’s face and loudly exclaimed, “HA! Bang-up job so far!”
A voice boomed, “Stop it! Both of you!” Powerful hands pushed Pierce and Blu apart from each other. The two combatants turned to look at their towering referee: Derek, embodied in the form of Mike the Spike. He glared at both of them, a lit Cuban cigar clenched in his teeth.
Blu stared at the large black man in disbelief and lowered his intensity, knowing it could only be one person in there. “Derek?”
“How’d you guess?”, the big man asked.
“I know your scent,” Blu explained. This was exactly how Derek smelled when he came home after a run, only about ten times more pungent and intermingled with tobacco smoke.
“I was just gonna come get you,” Pierce told Derek meekly.
“Yeah, I see you’ve really calmed things down,” Derek said facetiously, pressing a hand against Pierce’s chest. “Why don’t you tag out and let me talk to my husband for a while?” His scowl made clear that this was not a request.
Blu faced Pierce and pointed toward the Iowans’ palapa. “Yeah, go ask Todd for a drink. Try the blue stuff. I think you’ll like it, unless you think it’s too gay for ya.”
Pierce didn’t always know when he wasn’t wanted, but in this circumstance, it was pretty obvious. He walked over to Todd, glancing back at Derek and Blu a couple of times. When he reached the shelter, he said to Todd, “I hear you got some blue stuff I should try.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Todd said, glad to find someone else to help rid him of the blue booze. He opened the cooler and, as Pierce selected a bottle, asked, “Everything okay over there?”
“It’ll be fine,” Pierce said as if trying to convince himself. He focused on the bottle, inspecting the ingredients label of the Calypso Colada.
Todd’s normal aversion to prying was trumped by his genuine concern. “What was Blu sayin’ about a…a honeymoon?”
Pierce rubbed his eyes wearily, tired of lying. “They got married a few days ago. They’re just working out a few newlywed kinks.”
Todd’s jaw dropped. “That little guy married Mike the Spike?”
“Yeah, more or less,” Pierce sighed as he sipped from his bottle. “It’s complicated.”
Todd looked back at Blu and the porn star. Everything about this vacation seemed to be getting complicated.
Derek and Blu walked down the beach in hopes of getting some privacy. As Derek continued to puff on his cigar, Blu coughed and waved the smoke away when it drifted down toward his face.
“What’s the matter? I thought you liked these the other day,” Derek said.
“I liked a lotta things the other day. Today it smells like ass.”
Derek glanced down at Blu’s Speedo-stretching buttocks. “So what’s that fine ass of yours smell like?”
“You’re not in a porno now, okay? Not everything needs to be a double entendre. Where’d you get that cigar anyway?”
“You musta dropped it the other day. I found it on the floor of Pierce’s car.”
“You mean Jesus’ car?”
“Pierce’s car IS Jesus’ car. Jesus was Pierce.”
Blu came to a halt as he factored that into the events of the past three days. “So he’s been down here in disguise this whole time?”
“He claims he was here to keep an eye on us, in case any problems came up. First day, he was Jesus. Yesterday, he was Beau.”
Derek realized that he still thought fondly of the easygoing surfer and considered him a separate entity from Pierce, even though he now knew the truth. “Doesn’t matter,” Derek said dismissively before turning to confront his husband. “Listen, I know Pierce has put us both through a lot these past couple of days, so I’m not trying to place any blame here, but I just gotta know. Did you have sex with Chico the bellboy?”
Blu was blindsided. “Whaaaat? Did Pierce put that idea in your head?”
“No, my eyes put that idea in my head. I saw you and Chico in bed last night after you abandoned me at the club.”
“What? This is in-SANE!”, Blu shrieked. “You and I left the club together and went back to the hotel together.”
Derek placed his gigantic hands on Blu’s slight shoulders, his voice calm but forceful. “Please don’t lie to me, Charles. Just admit what you did and I’ll forgive you.”
“But I didn’t DOOOO anything! You and I went to the hotel, we both passed out, and when I woke up this morning, you’d already had your morning Mariposa and taken off without me!”
Derek spelled out his counter-narrative. “Oh, no, no, no, YOU left me at the club with Beau…I mean, Pierce. He and I came back to the hotel, I saw you sleeping with Chico and, this morning, I come back in the room, all the bottles are empty, and the two of you were gone!”
Blu was growing more confused. “Hold on a second. Are you sayin’ you didn’t drink the other bottle?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then how’d you turn into Dick the Prick?”
“Mike the Spike,” Derek corrected him, slightly insulted. “Pierce gave me something from his private stock, after I saw that you already drank your bottle.”
“But I only drank my bottle because I thought you already drank your bottle!”
The two men stared silently in opposite directions. They were at a stalemate. Each believed that their own version was accurate, yet the two stories were seemingly incompatible. Baffled, they needed to turn to an expert on the subject. Simultaneously, they both shouted “Pierce!”
Pierce cringed as he heard the high and low voices harmonize as they called his name. “Oh, fuck, what now?”, he muttered, handing his bottle to Todd. “If I don’t come back alive, tell my mother I loved her…and that I’m the one who stole her red stilettos in tenth grade.”
Pierce tentatively made his way across the sand and discovered the two men deep in thought. They spelled out the discrepancies between their recollections of the past day’s events. After several minutes of spitballing theories and shooting them down, Pierce had an epiphany. He remembered seeing Chico staring with something approaching religious fervor at the half-empty Mariposa bottle which had turned Derek into the punk. Pierce thought it was possible that Chico sneaked back and downed the rest of that bottle, which would have turned him essentially into Derek’s identical mohawked and tattooed twin. “So maybe Charles brought Chico back from the club, thinking he was you,” he said, pointing at Derek, “but by the time you went into the room, Chico’s dose had already worn off. When you saw him, were you you or were you still the punk?”
Derek had to think a moment, but was fairly certain of the sequence. “No, I’d switched back by then.”
“There you go,” Pierce said triumphantly. “If Chico drank the other half of the bottle, it would’ve worn off for him too.”
“Is that really possible,” Blu asked, “for two people to turn into the same person?”
“It’s not only possible,” Pierce replied, “I’ve done it! A few years ago, my friend Rafael and I didn’t have time for a full dose before our next flight, so we decided to split a bottle. I even got a picture!” He pulled his phone from his pocket and zipped through his photos, eventually showing them a picture of two identical dark-skinned bodybuilders striking identical double-bi poses in identical yellow thongs.
Derek recognized the shot. “You showed me that! You said they were two Mexican twins that you had a three-way with!”
“Well, it was me and Rafael in the bodies of the twins, which would make it either a two-way or a four-way, so I just split the difference and called it three.” Pierce studied the photo, wondering how outrageously muscular he would have become if he had consumed an entire dose by himself. He vowed to track down another bottle as soon as he could.
Derek scratched his shaved scalp and looked down at Blu. “So if you took Chico home from the club, thinking he was me, then would it technically be cheating if you thought you were fucking me?”
Blu erupted, desperate to be believed. “But I wasn’t fucking you! I mean, him! I didn’t fuck anybody!”
A grin spread gradually across Mike the Spike’s typically scowling face. “I didn’t fuck anyone either!”
Blu smiled back, on the same wavelength. “So that means…”
Derek nodded. “We didn’t fuck around on each other!”
As all three of them sighed, a hidden force inside Derek’s right pant leg was pushing against the fabric insistently, rising unignorably. Blu watched with delight, marveling at what appeared to be a third thigh emerging on the big man’s body. He looked up and saw lust-filled eyes gazing down at him. The eyes may have belonged to Mike the Spike, but he recognized the lust as pure Derek.
Watching what was unfolding, Pierce’s mood shifted from relief to dismay. “Oh, Jesus. Are you seriously getting a hard-on from realizing that you weren’t unfaithful? Is that a fuckin’ monogamy boner?” He shook his head and turned away, griping, “You guys are hopeless.”
Blu pressed himself against Derek’s body, straddling Derek’s right leg so he could feel the pressure of the stiffening Spike. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” he declared.
Derek wrapped his enormous arms around his slim husband and replied breathily, “I wanna fuck you even worse. Go get your things.”
Blu bolted excitedly, dashing across the sand to retrieve his tote bag.
Derek turned to Pierce and demanded, “Gimme your car keys.”
Pierce looked over at him. “I can drive. Where we goin?”
Derek held out his hand and shook his head decisively. “WE aren’t goin’ anywhere. I think my husband and I deserve some ‘alone time’ without our chaperone lurking around. I’d say you owe us that.”
Pierce felt he was in no position to argue. He walked over and placed the key to the rental car in Derek’s palm. “Be careful with it, will ya?”
Derek nodded, then bent down to mumble into Pierce’s ear. “You still got any pot on you?” Pierce patted his pockets and shook his head. “Any back in your room?”
Pierce could see how Mike the Spike coerced confessions so easily. It was hard to say ‘no’ to someone his size. Pierce begrudgingly handed Derek his room key and told him, “I still got a few joints in my suitcase, in a vial labeled ‘boner pills’.”
“So where do you keep your boner pills?”, Derek asked with a smirk.
Pierce glanced at Derek’s giant bulge. “I don’t think you’re gonna need ’em.”
Blu returned breathless, the tote bag swinging on his shoulder. He took Derek’s hand and tried to tug him in the direction of the car, but his big body would not budge until it wanted to budge. Blu waved to Pierce, vowing “We won’t be long.”
Derek cupped a hand over the lump in his pants and said, “Speak for yourself.” Blu laughed giddily.
Watching Derek and Blu head toward the car, Pierce yelled after them, “What am I s’posed to do ’til you get back?”
“Hang out with the Iowa boys,” Blu suggested. "A young guy like you should fit right in.
Derek added, “Pretend you’re still Beau!”
Pierce looked toward the palapa, where all four of the college buddies were now lounging and drinking. All things considered, he could think of far worse ways to spend an afternoon than getting blasted on the beach in Cancun with four fit young bros, at least two of whom he suspected were gay. He walked over and greeted them with an ironic “How do you do, fellow kids?”
Passing through the hotel lobby, Derek paused at the front desk to ask if there was any update on the whereabouts of Chico. The concierge shook his head sourly. None of the other employees in the area seemed happy to hear Chico’s name either.
In the hallway on their way back to their room, Derek puzzled over the young man’s whereabouts. “Maybe he’ll show up at the club tonight. He has been there the past two nights.”
“Okay, but how will we know if he’s there?”, Blu asked. “He coulda turned into anybody. Hell, that concierge coulda been him.”
“I doubt they’ve got a Mariposa flavor that turns you into a miserable portly guy who sits at a desk all day.”
“Maybe that’s his power fantasy,” Blu suggested. “Don’t kink-shame.”
Derek stopped walking and looked down curiously at his impish companion who was behaving so unlike the man he married. “Now that you mention it, how do I know you’re not Chico, pretending to be Charles, pretending to be Blu?”
“I guess you don’t,” Blu teased. “Ask me something only Charles would know.”
Derek took a moment to think. “Okay, what word does Charles yell out when he has a particularly intense orgasm?”
Blu leaned against the wall and smirked, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll let you know in ten to fifteen minutes.”
“Not sure it’ll take that long,” Derek said, impressed that his mighty erection had remained at full strength during the entire drive back to the hotel. He stopped short before reaching their door, doubling back when he remembered that he needed to retrieve something from Pierce’s room. He unlocked the door and headed to the bathroom closet, digging into Pierce’s suitcase in search of the vial of joints.
Blu dropped his tote bag on the floor and meandered through Pierce’s suite, finding it slightly jarring to be in a room where no one had punched a hole through the wall. He had grown restless on the drive, with the vibrations of the car only heightening his arousal. He had never been so excited about the imminent prospect of sex. His longing had taken form as a physical presence – or, more accurately, an absence, a palpable void located somewhere between his ass and his crotch which kept occupying more and more space and desperately needed to be filled.
His nerves tingled at the sight of an open Mariposa bottle on the floor next to the sofa, missing only a portion of its bright pink contents. He picked it up and took a whiff, detecting traces of cotton candy and springtime. He felt an overwhelming urge to drink it, but was halted by a sharply shouted “No!” He turned to see Derek’s immense body framed by the front door, a transparent yellow container full of marijuana cigarettes looking tiny in his hand. “Leave that alone. That’s the shit that turned Pierce so young today. C’mon, next door.”
Derek gestured and Blu obeyed, hustling through the open door but reaching back at the last second to stop it from closing. “Oopsy, forgot my bag!”
He rushed back into the room, snatched up his tote bag, then hesitated as he saw the real reason for his hasty return. The bottle of Mariposa seemed to be beckoning him, imploring him to take a sip. Now that his husband had the body and apparently the libido of a porn star, Blu would hate to disappoint him. What could it hurt to make himself a little younger, a little hotter, a little firmer? In order to satisfy Mike the Spike, wouldn’t it be wise to give himself a bit more pep?
Blu found the temptation irresistible. He picked up the Mariposa bottle and knocked back a sizable swig. As the liquid entered his body, it seemed more volatile than any of his previous doses, as if fireworks were going off inside of him at a molecular level. A surge of vitality buffeted his body as he tottered toward the door on wobbly legs.
Derek’s annoyed voice boomed through the door. “You coming?”
Blu whispered to himself, “Not yet!”