Late Twelve
By Systematic

“Can two guys even do that?” Sandy asked. Friday had come at last. Yes, he was in my study, yes, he was in my lap. He still had his pajamas on, and it was going to stay that way. I was injured, after all.

“Probably,” I said, looking at Oracle’s latest story. There are only so many ways she could write about beautiful boys having sex, so she was getting creative. She actually wrote two kinds of stories – most of them were this flowery gay stuff, but a few were more down to earth, and also hetero.

“Would you do that to me?” Sandy asked, pulling my arms around himself and leaning into me.

“Not tonight,” I replied.

“Let’s look at Oracle’s account.”

“What for?”

“Aren’t you curious about her?”

“Nobody puts personal information out in a place like this.” But I let him have the mouse anyway; I was done. I wasn’t going to write anything tonight. I just leaned back and relaxed while he dug for information about Oracle.

“Late?”

“What?”

“How well do you know that maid?”

“Which one?”

“The one with the short black hair.” He meant Red. I knew Red lusted after Sandy, and I think he was starting to pick up on it. Or at least, he was starting to realize she looked at him differently from everyone else.

“Not very well,” I replied, thinking of how badly I’d fumbled my last attempt to get rid of her. It had backfired, just like the attempt before it. What she needed was a boyfriend. I thought about broaching the idea to Sandy, but I already knew what he’d say.

“She’s cute,” he said absently.

“Yeah,” I replied, just as absently. If I hadn’t been injured, it might have been difficult for me to doze off with Sandy in my lap. But I was injured, and that didn’t leave me with much libido. When I opened my eyes, I saw something I didn’t quite understand.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking around Oracle’s computer.”

“You’re what?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Do you know what an IP address is?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Then don’t worry about it. Hey, she’s got a webcam.”

“What? No, don’t click on it. That’s an invasion of privacy.”

“Come on.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Don’t you want to see what she looks like? I bet you she’s at her computer. I can turn the webcam on from here.”

“No, that’s terrible.”

“No, it’s terrible when people give your stuff bad scores but don’t say what they didn’t like,” Sandy said.
I couldn’t argue with that. “Just one peek. Okay?”

Of course I was curious. And after all the voyeurism I’d done – though I’d never asked for any of it – it seemed like a minor offense.