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Blue Moon 2.5

by Donna Lamb

Richard stared at Joel. The oven timer dinged. Richard got up to retrieve the HotPockets while Joel got a tissue to wipe her face.

"I just don't know what's happened to me," she said. "I didn't want this to happen. It's like a bad movie, or a dream." Her expression changed. "That's it, I'm dreaming! I m-must be dreaming!"

Shaking his head, Richard scooped steaming Italianate pasties onto plastic plates. He pointed at the cheese-and-tomato one Joel had chosen for herself. "Take a bite of that," he said.

"I'll burn my mouth!"

"Then you're not dreaming, are you? One, you know it would burn your mouth, and two, it really would."

Joel sniffled.

When he used to pout like that, I wanted to smack him. Now when she does it, I want to kiss her, thought Richard. He broke off a corner of one of the pasties with his fingers to let the inside cool faster. Joel used a fork to chop hers into small pieces, same as she had done the last time they'd eaten this. Richard watched her. "Maybe you'll be happier this way," he mused aloud.

"I will not! My dinkle is gone, I liked having a dinkle!"

"That's — disturbing."

"Huh? Why?"

"Well, you're using a cutesy word to talk about your penis that you don't have anymore. You're a beautiful girl who doesn't need her own penis because she certainly can have the use of almost any guy's —dinkle— she cares to borrow. It's either disturbing or hilarious and if I start laughing, I'm sure you'll cry again."

"Pour me another screwdriver and maybe I can laugh, too," said Joel. She pushed her empty glass towards him and reached for the bottle of sweet green Tabasco on the table.

Richard drained his glass and refilled both from the pitcher. "This may be hitting you harder than you might think?"

She shook several drops over her shredded HotPocket and after a moment of thought, added six or eight more to her drink. Richard shuddered. "You talking about the vodka or my being turned into a girl by your stupid w-w-wish? Either way, I think I'm doing p-pretty good. Hic."

Richard rolled his eyes but took a moment to consider the shadows under her cheekbones and the graceful curve of her neck as she tilted her head and examined the lifted glass to see what the green sauce had done to the color of the orange liquid.

"Think it needs m-more Tabasco?"

"God, no."

She took a sip of the concoction and moaned with pleasure, sending thrills to parts of Richard he had wisely concealed again by sitting at the table.

"So what happens if I w-won't sleep with you tonight? I think your w-w-wish will turn you into a girl, too!" Joel took a forkful of cheese-and-tomato pastie crumble and nibbled fragments off the load with her sharp little teeth.

"I don't think so," said Richard. He took a man-size bite of his first HotPocket, savoring the simple ham, turkey and cheese. He didn't like strong spices in his food, the despair of his Mexican-born grandmother. They both chewed for a moment.

"But if I won't sleep with you, the w-w-wish will have to turn you into a girl, too, in order to come true." She grinned at him. She took another healthy swig of her Tabasco-tainted screwdriver.

He grinned back, pointing with a piece of pastie at her glass. "If you drink all of that, you will sleep with me."

She opened her mouth to counter his argument. "Hic," she said.