The A.V. Club

A Novel by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

Chapter Fourteen: The Practice Date

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. Everything in this story is imaginary and is not meant to represent any real-life people, events, or medical conditions. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, or if reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don't read it. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older, even if it seems otherwise for dramatic or narrative purposes. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright©2016 J.K. Ermon.

~~~

Emily was happy but very sleepy after that memorable Sunday meeting. She could barely keep her eyes open during all the farewell hugs. When we got in my car, she sprawled out across the front seat and put her head in my lap. By the time we cleared Jack's drive, she was fast asleep.

It was very peaceful, driving my snoring girlfriend home through the early dusk of rural Ohio. I wanted to pet her hair, but decided not to wake her. I was a little tired myself, but still nowhere near sleepy. My stamina these days seemed damn-near infinite. Conversely, whenever I decided to sleep and put my head down, I was under in seconds.

"Bobby, did watching me with all your friends make you feel any different about me? Do you think I'm awful now?"

I grinned. That was a question I knew Emily would never ask. She already knew how I felt about it. Benefits of an emergent girlfriend.

Emily stirred when we approached New Richmond.

"Bobby?"

I petted her hair. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"How do you feel about going on a date with Marianne?"

I glanced down at her. "Come again?"

"A practice date," she clarified. "For her. So she knows how to act on a proper date, when she and Mark get back together."

I put my eyes back on the road. "You seem very confident of that."

"Oh, they'll get back together, all right. The challenge will be making it work for the long term. Right now, she still needs to figure out a few things."

"Such as?"

Emily shifted over onto her back and pillowed her head on my thigh like a bolster. She smiled up at me.

"She needs to know how to be with a boy...outside the bedroom. How to be open, emotionally. She's got a lot of de-prickling to do."

"De-prickling?"

"Think about it, Bobby. She let herself love a boy once, and it uprooted her whole life. She had to go off, have a baby, and then give it away. Small wonder she became so prickly."

"And you think we can fix that."

She looked thoughtful. "If she lets us...yes."

"Okay," I said. "So when you saydate,you mean...?"

"Ask her out. She likes the Claryville Drive-In. Take her there. The important thing is to get her talking. Get her to open up about herself. If she asks about you, be forthcoming."

"I can't betray the secrets of the Club..."

"Aboutyou,Bobby." She reached up and tapped my chest. "Your hopes and dreams. Who you are as a person. Let her in there."

I chuckled. "She's already been. Elbow-deep."

"Oh, shush. You know what I mean."

She moved her hand to my forearm and squeezed it. "Seriously though, Bobby. You may have to be patient. She may snap at you a few times...make nasty remarks. Ignore it. Think of her like a horse that's been spooked. She may buck a few times before she's back to normal. When in doubt, just be yourself." She gave me another squeeze. "Yourtruestself."

"Okay," I said. "And where areyouin all of this?"

"Nearby." Her smile grew impish. "Observing."

"What if...when I ask her out, she says no?"

"She won't. She likes sex with you too much." Her expression grew thoughtful. "She may even try to avoid talking altogether by initiating sex. Don't let her."

"Wow." I shook my head. "I always thought the problem was that shewouldn'tput out."

"That was a symptom, not the problem. Sex was never the problem."

"Really?"

"Bob-by," she said in a playful,don't you know anything?voice that reminded me of my kid sister. "Why do you think she got knocked up at summer camp? Marianne Fleischmann was, is, and always will be Boy Crazy."

~~~

When the phone rang at breakfast Monday morning, I was up and out of my chair before the rest of my family could twitch. It was Emily.

"Bobby?" She sounded distant, distracted.

"Hi sweetheart," I said, and promptly kicked myself mentally for saying that aloud. I could hear the creak of my entire family shifting in their chairs to stare at me.

"Hi." She took a deep breath. "I just called to say...there will be no hanky-panky at lunch time today," she said. "I just don't feel up to it."

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She sighed. "I'm fine. Look...just speak to Marianne at the portables, okay? Ask her out, like we talked about."

"Sure, but...areyouall right?"

"I'mfine,Bobby," she said tiredly. "It's just one day. I guarantee you'll surviveone daywithout pounding the living daylights out of my poor vagina."

I blinked. "Okay," I said, taken aback. Then I had one of my rare light-bulb moments. I realized what was happening here.

"Oh." I cleared my throat. "Um...can I, uh, get you anything?"

She sighed again this time with a disgusted"ugh"sound. "Oh, don't make a federal case out of it." Then she disconnected.

I stared, bemused, at the handset for a moment and then put it back on its cradle. I turned to face the very interested eyes of my family.

Oh, great.

I sat down and gestured to Dad's newspaper. "Can I get the movie listings, Dad?"

He handed the section to me. "Who was that?"

I took a breath. No point in lying. "That was Emily."

"Your girlfriend," my mother said.

"Yes. We're going out to the late show at the drive-in tonight."

I scanned through the movie section and found Claryville's listings at the bottom.

"Sooo," my dad said. "Do you think you might bring Emily around here tonight, on your way to the movies?"

I shook my head and put my finger on Claryville's movie times. "It's an eight-thirty show. No time to come by and chat, sorry." I had no doubt my parents wanted to subject Emily to a full-bore grilling. Which would be compounded if we showed up with Marianne in tow.

"Janice says the drive-in's one bigpassion pit,"said Alison.

"You stay out of this," Mom snapped.

"Who's Janice?" I asked, looking to deflect.

"My best friend, dummy," Alison said.

"What happened to Andrea?" That was Alison's best friend the week before.

"Andrea's a fink."

"Wait a minute," my dad said. "I thought Andrea was nice."

"Andrea's afink,"insisted Alison. "She said Tommy Eldridge was cute. He'snotcute, he's adork."

Dad looked confused. "And that was enough to disown her?"

Alison disdained to answer that.

"Wow," I remarked. "You seem to go through a lot of best friends, Allie."

"I do not!" She flared.

"Alison." Mom cleared her throat and gave my father a pained look that clearly saidcan we please stay on track here.

"Bobby," she stated. "When can we meet Emily?"

"Soon," I said, snatching the toast off my plate and jumping to my feet. "Gotta go."

~~~

It was a weird drive to school. Emily had thrown me for a loop. I knew so much about the structure of the known universe and the laws that governed it, but so little about basic female biology. I needed help.

I pulled into Augie's Diner. There was a phone booth in the parking lot. I made sure the folding glass door was shut firmly behind me, picked up the handset, and dropped a dime in the slot. I dialed a number.

The woman who answered reminded me of Gladys Nessman. Same age, same flawless diction, same vaguely threateningclass, behaveundertone.

"Ohio State University, main switchboard, how may I direct your call?"

"Cultural Anthropology department?"

"One moment."

I could hear it ringing a few times, and then another Gladys picked up.

"Humanities."

"Professor Harold Wexler's office, please."

"Thank you, please hold."

A few rings later and a familiar voice said "Hello?"

"Hi, Professor Wexler," I said. "It's Bobby Halverson."

"Oh, Robert, how good to hear from you."

His cultured, mature voice was like a calming dose of twenty-year-old scotch. I could immediately picture his office. There would be ponderous wooden bookshelves lining every wall, bulging with leather-bound tomes. There would be a three-foot diameter spinning globe in the corner, standing in an ornate bronze chassis. The professor himself would be seated at a huge oaken desk piled with papers, cherrywood pipe in hand, sporting shirtsleeves and his tweed waistcoat (which he would invariably refer to as aweskit).

I cleared my throat. "How are things in Columbus?"

"Warm and lovely, m'boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have a question about...being a boyfriend."

"Ah. I haven't been one of those for a while, but I hope my tenure as a husband may prove useful."

"Me too. The thing is...Emily just got her period."

"Oh ho," he chuckled. "The first great test of the boyfriend's mettle."

"Yeah. I don't want to blow it."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. The fact that you're asking for help speaks volumes. What would you like to know?"

"Um...well, first off, how long does it last?"

"Oh, for regular women, about four to seven days. The worst symptoms - menstrual flow, cramping, bad moods - usually occur in the first three. In Emily's case, the good news is that forgynophallus americanus,the whole business is much briefer. Their periods last no more than three days, tops. The twist is, along with the all other symptoms, they often experiencegreatlydecreased libido for the first day or two. After that, however, it's business as usual. Did you know, m'boy, when emergent performers go touring, they always book their dates in accordance with their cycles?"

"Wow. So...what do I do? How do I make it better?"

"Ah, dear boy. Menstruation is a woman's cross to bear, and you cannot bear it for her. Take it from my own experience, the worst thing you can do is hover about solicitously. Just treat her normally. Perhaps be a bit more considerate of her feelings; progesterone fluctuations can leave one's emotions quite tender."

"And that's it?"

"Well...women will often crave solitude during their time of the month. If she wants to be left alone, leave her alone. If she consents to be in your company, she may not want to be kissed or cuddled or held. Tread very lightly."

"Wow. So I just...abandon her for the duration?"

"Not abandonment, just give her a little breathing room. Which is not to say there'snothingyou can do. Gifts are always a good idea. Don'tshowerher with them, mind, but just the odd little gesture that tells her you're thinking of her. My wife was especially fond of dark chocolate. It contains lots of magnesium, which is a natural muscle relaxant. And over-the-counter medications like Midol. And of course, it would behoove you to find out what kind of tampons or pads she favors. Don't bring hertruckloadsof things, but you get the idea."

"I think I do, Professor. Thanks very much."

"Glad to be of help."

I felt a lot more relaxed and relieved about the whole thing.

"So," I asked him, "are you going back on the road anytime soon?"

"Not until June. Technically I'm retired, but even an emeritus must make a few appearances if he wants to keep his office on-campus. I've grown quite attached to mine."

I chuckled, imagining the smell of pipe tobacco and old books. "Are you working on anything?"

He made a pleased sound. "Ah yes, the great unpublished work. A socio-anthropological overview of the Emergent Phenomenon from the forties to the present."

"Wow. Sounds impressive."

"Eight hundred and forty-three rigorously fact-checked and footnoted pages at last counting."

I whistled. "When do you think it might get done?"

"Oh, itisdone, m'boy. All but for a few finishing touches." He paused. "I wouldn't call it an engaging read, but it is the truth. Or as close as mortal man may come to it."

"You think I might have a look?"

He sounded pained. "It's not quite ready for peer review just yet..."

"No, I mean once it's published."

"Oh, I have no intention of publishing it."

"What?"

"Not until after I'm dead, at any rate."

"Sorry, Professor,what?"

"Robert, my boy...why do you think so many scientific studies of the emergent phenomenon end up fruitless?"

I blinked. I hadn't expected this kind of sidesteppery from Professor Wexler, but I was willing to follow. "Because they proceed from incorrect hypotheses."

I could almost hear him gesturing with his pipe. "And yet, through all that trial-and-error, no one has ever hit upon the right one? No, my boy. What happens is that the scientistsbondwith their emergent test subjects. They fall in love. Or at least, into passionate infatuation. They start sleeping with them. Then, of course, they start rethinking their aims. Rather than make these wonderful ladies endure further poking and prodding, they quietly let their studies slide into oblivion and move on to other things."

My voice rose into a squawk. "Seriously?"

Another inaudible nod. "I spoke to many of these chaps over the years, compiling data for my little opus. Once they knew I was of a similar bent, they were quite forthcoming. All of them, to a man - and in two cases, women - said the same thing. They became sympathetic to the ladies being studied. So much so, that the dickgirls' privacy and emotional well-being became more important than the tests themselves. The researchers wrapped up their experiments and posted their findings as inconclusive."

"Werethey inconclusive? Did any of them find anything?"

"They didn't, but the point is, they no longer cared. They wanted what you and I want: for dickgirls to be free to pursue their pleasures unfettered, and without undue scrutiny. I have no doubt theywouldhave found something had they persevered, for there were some very fine minds among them. The fact remains, however, that no one - notoneof them - ever did."

"Didyouever hit upon anything? The correct hypothesis, I mean."

"Well, I suppose, but there's no way to prove it under a microscope."

"What was it?" I could feel the little hairs on my arms and the nape of my neck standing tall. This would blow Frank's mind, when I told him.

"That the emergent are conduits for the generative life-principle of the universe."

I blinked. He said it so matter-of-factly. I didn't know whether to be intrigued or disappointed. It sounded like crackpot stuff.

"You mean...God?They're conduits forGod?"

"Well yes, I suppose. God, sentience, life, call it what you will. The underlying creative and sustaining energy of existence, if such a thing could be said to exist." I could sense him shrugging. "As I said, not something you can put in a test tube."

I was mute, and he chuckled. "It's just my own personal belief, Robert. I'm not attempting to start a religion." He snorted. "Emergent ladies needthateven less than the poking and prodding."

From his end of the line, I heard a thumping noise. I recognized the sound. He was banging the ash out of his pipe. I heard a match strike and a contented puff.

"So anyway, m'boy, that's why I'm not publishing. I'd rather the emergentry be left alone for the time being. What they do is no one's business but theirs. And the people who enjoy them, of course."

"Of course," I repeated numbly. Then I thought of Frank's Emergent Bible. "Um...one of my friends has compiled something similar...from a bio-chem angle. Would you like to see it?"

"I'd be delighted. I'll be at Tin Pan Allie's this Wednesday. Tally Whacker will be performing, and it promises to be a wonderful show. I've enjoyed her company many times. She has the most splendid semen."

He said it with such good-natured lechery, I couldn't help but grin, even as my dick rose a little. "I'll see you there."

We said our good-byes and I hung up the phone. I headed straight for Rittenhouse Pharmacy, already drawing up a shopping list in my mind.

~~~

The whole gang was in our schoolroom clubhouse before class that morning. I put it to them at once.

"Motion to go bowling this Wednesday?"

Jack sighed. "Can't. I've got tutoring all this week."

"I can't either," Mark said. "I'm going out with Marjorie. I can't cancel on her. I may never see her again after this week."

That was melodramatic but not untrue. And that was the end of it. None of us wanted to go if we all couldn't.

"Well, shit," I said glumly.

"Next week for sure, though," Jack said. "After we collect dues on Sunday, we'll be more than flush enough."

~~~

Marianne was standing outside the portable at lunchtime. She wasn't smoking, which surprised me. An even bigger surprise was her height. She was definitely taller, maybe a full inch or two. It redistributed her weight and as a result, her face was more defined. Her double chin was gone, and with her new butterscotch-cream complexion, her face was reminiscent of a teenage Barbara Streisand. Her hair was still a frizzy brown explosion around her head, but it looked thicker and richer.

"She's inside," she told me before I could say anything. "I'm supposed to tell you she just wants a private talk with me today. She'll see you tonight at your work."

"Okay," I said. "And about tonight..."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I will go out with you."

The portable's door banged open and Emily stuck out her head. "You were supposed to let himaskyou." She sounded vexed.

Marianne rolled her eyes again. "Yes, I am terrible at following orders."

"Hi Emily," I said timidly.

"Hello, wonderful boyfriend," she said. I honestly couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay," I said.

The door banged shut. Marianne made to go inside, and I stopped her.

"Here," I said. I reached into my knapsack and pulled out a small straw loop-handled basket. Rittenhouse Pharmacy had a bunch of them left over from Easter. It held a big bar of dark Belgian chocolate, a pill bottle of extra-strength Midol, and a bag of Brach's mini candy-coated chocolate Easter eggs. "This is for Emily."

Marianne raised her eyebrows as she took it. For a second, I thought she was going to make another wisecrack, but instead she said, "That's...actually very thoughtful."

"Thanks. Um...could you find out what brand and size of tampons or maxi's she uses? I need to know."

"Sure."

She went to the door. I blurted out, "And tell her I love her."

That inspired another eye-roll.

Emily's vexed voice came from inside the portable. "I love you too. I just need a little boyfriend-free time!"

"Which is totally okay," I called back.

Marianne threw me a droll look as she went inside. "Doinggreat,Romeo."

~~~

Work was uneventful that night, right up until closing time. The last vehicle to pull up was a white campervan. It had the classic overcab sleeping compartment and the driver's window looked like it was ten feet off the ground. The driver had to reach down to drop her container of negatives into my hands. She was a tanned redhead in her thirties with a big perm and a white crochet halter top.

"Ready by this time tomorrow, sweetheart?" She had a New York accent.Sweet-haht.

The A.V. Club - Ch. 14

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