Eliz hides her fourth dimensional sex organ behind a closed door. She’s afraid someone will see it and it will either blow their mind and leave them brain dead or tear their very atoms apart. The door is oak and strong. Strong dead trees are best at protecting.
Friends come to Eliz’s door. They bring flowers and toy versions of her favorite marine mammals. They ask about the faint light coming out from the bottom of the door. She says she’s sick and makes up a flimsy excuse that the light is one of those daylight lamps.
Her boyfriend comes to the door every other night. He wants so badly to see Eliz’s face. They slip their fingers under the door and interlock them. It’s intimate. The light from her fourth dimensional sex organ creates shadows between their fingers. The shadows form shapes and they name them.
Eliz: There’s a penguin on this side. She’s lying, the light is too bright on her side; there are no shadows. Boyfriend: There’s a formula one car and a wheelbarrow and eleven small chickens over here. Eliz: I want to see the chickens! Boyfriend: Then open the door.
There is no response from under the door. Only a dull hum that Eliz’s boyfriend assumes is from the daylight lamp. Her fingers slip away. The playing shadows flee.
Eliz takes her fourth dimensional sex organ in her hand. It’s quiet and light with stylish little folds and adjacencies. It’s in her hand but also in several other times and places. Glowing elsewhere and elsewhen.
She slides her hand back under the door. The shining follows it. Eliz’s boyfriend’s face erupts with light and cosmic radiation. Eliz can see the shadows now. Things are not just blinding white. There’s a four-poster bed, a Parthenonic temple, a wet washcloth. She fears her boyfriend has been destroyed. The shadows comfort her a small amount.
But then it all happens. Two suns collide with that oak door. They spiral outwards larger, magnitudes larger. Galaxies merging. Andromeda and The Milky Way: a lusty novella told for eight billion years. The Milky Way circumnavigates one finger around the inside of Andromeda’s fourth dimensional sex organ; her galactic center. Elsewhen and where a door has been opened and light has flooded both the hallway and the bedroom. In total it lasts only six minutes but their eyes meet for the first time, for eternity.
Kitten Heels and Spider Legs
I bought my first pair of kitten heels at Target. I used them to crush wolf spiders. It’s empowering to kill such a terrifying creature with something so perky.
Scenario: You kill a wolf spider with a towel or piece of clothing. You leave the towel or piece of clothing untouched. You’re afraid to look. If you look you might see the hairy beast. Or worse, it might be gone, unkilled, roaming.
Kitten heels are preferable. They make clean kills.
I bought my first hunting knife at Target. It’s too small and everyone laughs at but it gets the job done. I use it to skin the fur off the wolf spiders that I kill with my kitten heels. I take their pelts as my trophies.
I broke my heart for the first time at Target. He was outgoing and handsome. He had a bright red beard and patches of freckles. He was shorter than me, especially when I was wearing my kitten heels, and he had a bit of spare tired around his med-section, but I liked that. He worked at the electronics boat at the back of the store. I wanted him to be the captain of my ship.
I bought cheap a sewing kit at Target. I was lucky that they had it; Target doesn’t specialize in sewing materials. I thought about buying an entire sewing machine but it would have been too big for the work I needed to do.
I sewed together the pelts of six thousand wolf spiders. I was careful but I pricked myself a few times anyway. The inseam was the hardest part.
“What the fuck are these?” the man with the red beard who worked in the electronics department asked.
“They’re pants, I made them for you.” I smiled.
The God of Jealousy and how he created Monogamy
Andrew taught me how to be pansexual. Oliver taught me how to be polyamorous. We all settled down; everyone. I have two partners and each one of my partners has another partner besides me. It’s like a pyramid scheme.
Andrew has me and Jimmy. Oliver has me and Susie. Everyone on Earth has two lovers. No one has less than one. In a way we are all dating each other. The President has two partners and one of her partners is partners with Meryl Streep. So I’m kind of dating Meryl Streep and the President. We are all connected.
One day, while fucking one of my partners, I can’t remember which because the orgasm was so good, I invented jealousy. It certainly wasn’t on purpose, it just kind of gurgled up from the pits of me. I thought, for some reason, “I should be the only one getting fucked like this. No one else should have what I have.” I dug my fingers into my partner’s back. Still didn’t look at him. I wanted just him, all to myself.
My fingers attached to him. My skin fused with his. I climbed on top of his shoulders and perched myself there. We were connected.
Andrew or Oliver went on with his day. I protected him from others. I kept him away from his other partner. Rubbery flesh tusks grew out from the back of my mouth. My teeth fell out and my gums hardened. My face grew pale and then purple. My weight forced my partner to crawl along on all fours; a bestial chariot. We spread my new toxicity around the world. Clogging the chain of connected peoples with a terrible possessive malady.
I connected us. The newly monogamous named me a god; a fearful sight such as death.
Alex Vigue is a queer poet and storyteller from Washington State. Alex has been published in Phantom Drift, The Fem, and Witch Craft Magazine. He is the fiction editor for Dirty Chai Lit Magazine. You can find him and links to his other work on twitter @Kingwithnoname.