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Blue Moon 2.3

by Donna Lamb

Joel Messenger shrugged. “I don’t know, it seems like a good idea.”

“Well, it’s not what you drink so much as how you drink and how much you drink if you don’t want to be sick in the morning.” Richard frowned. He didn’t drink much himself since he made his living as a driver but he sure did his share of dealing with drunks. “The first thing to do if you want to drink is eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” said Joel. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered as if cold. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“What’s this about?” Richard asked. Subconsciously he had noticed the changes in his geeky roomie but consciously put them down to Joel’s peculiar behavior. Joel had always seemed a trifle effeminate to Richard’s macho sensibilities but on the night of the Blue Moon appeared fruitier than usual. “Is this still about Sylvia?” he asked.

“You took my girl and my dinkle,” Joel accused. “That wasn’t nice.”

“I never touched your dinkle!” Richard protested, tacitly admitting his theft of Joel’s date. “What the hell is a dinkle anyway?”

Joel suddenly giggled, perhaps hysterically,covering her mouth with the heel of her hand. Truth to tell, the new girl still suffered from the psychic shock of her discovery or perhaps after effects from the devil-worked transformation itself. Besides, a lot of words for the male member started with the difficult sounds called labials that tended to trigger Joel’s slight stutter. So she had been using the childhood word her mother had used when she had found out Joel couldn’t say pee-pee or wee-wee. And Joel didn’t really know that it wasn’t a commonly used word since it wasn’t something that had come up in conversation very often — so to speak.

Richard stared at her. On one level he felt a sudden, very disturbing attraction to his slender roomie and so on a more conscious level he began to get defensively angry. “Cu it out, Joel. She was a real witch and you’re better off without her.” Actually, Sophia Drake had been the Devil in Drag, going about the world on Strangefellows Day and granting troublemaking wishes under the Blue Moon.

“You don’t know what a dinkle is, Mr. Dinkle Alexander?” Joel asked, still giggling. She dropped one hand to her own crotch and pointed with the other at Richard’s groin. “Mine’s gone, all gone. Now I’ve got a w-w-winkie.”

“Holy shit!” Richard said, the obvious pun on the most common casual version of his first name occurring to him. He hated to be called Dick but something about Joel’s manner and words told him that his roomie didn’t intend a simple punning insult. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Joel leaned forward, trying to scowl. “My dinkle is gone, Mr. Dick.” She stretched her shirt tight across her chest. “I’ve got titties. I’m a girl and it must b-be your fault ‘cause it sure isn’t m-mine!”

“You what?” said Richard, staring at Joel’s chest. “What are you doing, man? Is this a joke?”

“No, damn it. It’s not a joke!” Joel snatched the edge of her shirt and pulled it up to her throat displaying her barely-b-cup boobies to her roommate. “Now do you b-b-believe me, M-mister Dickhead?”

Richard stared for a moment then reached a hand out. Joel dodged backward and jerked her shirt down. “B-b-bastard! Don’t touch me, you p-p-pervert!” she said, feeling absurd and alarmed at the same time.

Staring some more, Richard noted Joel’s slimmer, hairless arms; more delicate face, wide hips; narrow waist. “Vodka,” he said. “We need vodka.”

Joel nodded. “Lots and lots.”