((It would seem,)) I realized, ((that I have what people refer to as a ‘type’.))

“You’re that redhead cop from next door,” inferred my new friend with a disdainful tone and a sharp glare.

“(Not… anymore.)” I continued to look her up and down. ((I’m not intimidated by your height,)) I thought. ((I’m inspired.))

“You quit?” Her distrust was not going anywhere.

“(Let go. Unfit for duty,)” I muttered as I admired her shape and fantasized, {I climb you like a tree and get lost in your foliage…}

“You’ve heard of ACAB, right?”

The all-too-familiar acronym pulled me out of my reverie and caused me to kick into coping-with-humor mode. I nodded and chuckled. “Sure have! I’m a bastard who beats and extorts and kills—bloodthirsty, crooked, and heartless by nature. And I’ve always been this way, since the day I was born. A bad seed, evil by nature. People fear and hate me for being what I am, and they fear and hate me even more for being a vicious PEO. As they should.”

Her harsh expression softened into bewilderment. “I don’t see what’s so funny. And I hafta ask, PEO as in…?”

“Parking Enforcement Officer. It’s a more dignified title than ‘meter maid’. Not that we have any dignity.”

“Hm. Yeah, the most pathetic of all the swine, though hardly the most loathsome—that title goes to Vice.”

“Vice? The most loathsome? No, the most loathsome is definitely Parking. We’re the real bastards who work forces. We hold weekly cross burnings and write hate speech on the back of our parking tickets and choke people to death for parking 14 feet and 11 inches from a fire hydrant.”

“Do you think making light of your sins will absolve you of them?”

My smile dropped, my gaze dropped, my heart dropped. “Dogs go to Heaven. Bastards don’t. There is no absolution for the spawn of Satan.”

“You aren’t a cop anymore, which means you aren’t a bastard anymore.” Then she smiled at me.

I considered her kindness silently. ((You… you gave me your smile. Even though I am… was a cop.)) My eyes rose to meet hers, and I dreamed within them. {You sweep me off my feet, hold me up by my fat ass so that I can wrap my legs around your waist and cling to you and kiss you…} I replied, “That’s… the most reassuring thing I’ve heard in over a decade. Maybe I’m not a horrible person for having once been complicit in a corrupt and hateful institution. Just kind of… worthless.”

That precious smile disappeared— ((Left me, abandoned me.)) —to be replaced with her pitying stare. “You have some real self-esteem issues, don’t you?”

“Is knowing that I’m objectively lazy and incompetent a ‘self-esteem issue’, or am I simply being honest with myself?”

She rested a hand on my shoulder and gave it a couple pats. “It may take some time… but I’ll fix you up.” She took a seat on my couch.

“I don’t need or even deserve—‍” ((Be her friend,)) I commanded myself. ((Doctor Huygen’s orders. Don’t question her kindness. I have no friends, I need a friend, she wants to be my friend, just be her God damn friend.)) I corrected my response: “—I mean, I don’t need a lot of help, but—I’ll accept it—and I appreciate your kindness.”

“Oh, but you do need a lot of help. You’re an ex-cop—you need to be rehabilitated, and you need a new career, and you’re never gonna get a new job as long as you’re convinced that you’re good for nothing. This isn’t going to be easy, you understand?”

I joined her on the couch. “I guess you’re right. Thanks. But this is a lot to promise someone you met a few hours ago through a video game.”

“With a computer server as our matchmaker, yes—but you should know that I’ve been around the sun my fair share of times and I’ve learned to be an efficient judge of character. There’s something about you that I really like, and I want to figure out what it is. And now that we know we’re next-door neighbors, we can be friends!”

“‘Friends’…” I slipped into thought. ((I did it. Now all I have to do is not drive her away with my pathetic personality and my hideous face and my grotesque body.)) I asked her, “What would you like to do as… friends?” My imagination ran wild. {Like maybe draping your mass over me like a weighted blanket while kissing my entire face, my chest, my belly, my…} It was a good thing she couldn’t experience my fantasies.

“Depends on how far you want to take it. I have quite a few friends already, but I’m not super close to any of them, but (you…)” She smiled slyly. “I’d like to get really close to you—if you know what I mean.”

“Right. You expressed a certain interest in me.”

Her response was to spread her mischievous smile into a devilish grin.

“Well,” I explained, “I have no experience, unless you count having my ass groped by college girls in the showers after cross country…”

“Was it consensual?”

“It gave me funny feelings, but… I… liked it. The same thing happens at work all the time.” The echo of the sentence rang painfully loudly, so I quickly added, “But I don’t like it at work.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but you didn’t answer my question. Have you ever consented to having your ass touched?”

“(No. Um—well… I guess… in a way…)” I muttered.

“If consent isn’t communicated enthusiastically, it isn’t actually consent.”

The episode in the showers played out in my head; I avoided thinking about the episodes at work. “It’s more complicated than that, and only just now did I start processing my feelings about being touched back then. It didn’t bother me at the time, though, and still doesn’t.”

“If you say you don’t mind, then I guess we can say that no harm was done—but it still doesn’t count towards your experience. So… would you be interested in an arrangement?”

I considered her offer silently. ((This is happening so… fast. But… I am curious. I want to know what it’s like to actually be with a real woman. In many diverse ways.)) Timidly (yet eagerly), I responded, “I would like to… try.”

“That didn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Do you want me to beg?”

“No. I just don’t want to hear any hesitation in your voice.”

I groaned. “Fine. I enthusiastically want an arrangement. I want you to make me into a real woman. Is that enthusiastic enough for you?”

“Much better.”

“Good. Now, tell me about this arrangement.”

“We’d be fuckbuddies.”

My head reeled. ((But,)) I wanted to point out, ((I’m ugly as sin…)) Instead I softly muttered, “(Fuckbuddies…)”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a ‘fuckbuddy’, pal.”

“Oh, I know what they are… It’s just that… all of a sudden, I have someone in my life who I’m going to regularly… engage in… sex with.”

“Deal?” She offered her hand.

((You have a nice face,)) I observed silently, ((and rich eyes, and there’s an alluring heft to the muscles in your arms, and you… smell good, and I like how freaking small I feel next to you—I want to sit in your lap, or be picked up by you and cradled in your arms like a bride on her way to consummating her marriage. I should have fun while I still have a few years of youth left—and you’ve got the experience to help me make the best of them. Yeah, fuck it, I’m in.)) I accepted her hand and gave her a healthy shake and a hearty “Deal.”

“Would you like me to take the lead?”

“For reasons I shouldn’t have to explain… yes, I would appreciate that.”

“You got it.” She leaned in; I closed my eyes and parted my lips, expecting hers to meet mine.

Instead of a kiss on the mouth, though, I felt a wet pressure on the side of my neck, and then a vibration in my throat, and I thanked God that I was seated because my legs instantly turned to jelly.