Primordial Passion

Brian is a ‘people person’. Both in the sense that he thrives in social situations, but also in that he defiantly prefers people over any other walk of life. It’s not necessarily that he doesn’t like animals; it’s just that he doesn’t really co-exist with them very well. Of course, not everyone can be Dr. Doolittle, but Brian seems unable to acknowledge the fact that our species shares this planet with several hundred thousand other animal taxa. 

Personally, I’m convinced that deep down, animals actually intimidate him- I know for a fact that he’s afraid of squirrels. One night, we were walking back from Deb’s when a squirrel in a nearby tree decided to make a death-defying leap to a bough just over Brian’s head. Brian had actually screamed like a five-year old girl and had practically leapt into my arms. I had found the fact that Big Bad Brian Kinney was petrified of squirrels to be particularly amusing, but when I hinted that the story might make a ripping good yarn at the Munchers’ next barbeque, he had sat on me and tickled relentlessly until I had sworn, on pain of death, that his secret would follow me to the grave. His adamant refusal to allow any non-edible animals products into his loft confirmed my suspicions that he suffered from an advanced case of zoophobia. (As an aside, when I had pointed out that leather was actually the external integument of a cow, Brian snapped back at me that that was all a hoax put on by ‘Vegans Anonymous’ to support their cause. He just didn’t want to admit that his half his wardrobe came from an animal that had four stomachs and chewed partially digested vegetation for a living).

I was therefore considerably surprised to come home one afternoon to find Brian parked in frount of the T.V., avidly watching what looked like an episode of ‘Zoboomafoo’. He seemed to be concentrating very deeply as he watched a small black and white mammal dig holes in a pile of decaying plant matter. The thing was kind of cute, but I couldn’t put a common name on the little badger/rat/skunk-like animal. However, the peaceful scene was not destined to last very long, as a large, bipedal, carnivorous dinosaur suddenly came hurtling out of nowhere and, to my horror, snapped the little guy up, squealing out its death cry, and consumed it whole. I was deeply traumatized by the scene of that gratuitous violence, and more than a little confused as to what a dinosaur was doing in the middle of a badger/skunk/rat/ stripy beaver colony. I made my way cautiously to stand behind the back of the couch and watched the dinosaur, a Tyrannosaurus according to the narrator, stalk across a prehistoric plain, swishing her tail and snapping her massive jaws menacingly.  

“I didn’t know the T-rex ate badgers.” I remarked, trying to sound casual and laying a hand on the back of Brian’s neck to make him aware of my presence. He put a hand up to cover mine in acknowledgement, but didn’t take his eyes from the screen. On the coffee table, I saw the sleeve of the DVD he was watching; BBC Video’s ‘Walking with Dinosaurs’.

“It wasn’t a badger,” he informed me vaguely, “It was a Didelphadon”. He tapped a book he had been holding open on his lap, the ‘viewer’s guide’ to the acclaimed series, and indicated a picture of the ill-fated badger-rat-skunk thing. The fact that Brian had actually committed the name to memory, on top of the initial shock that he was watching the damn thing in the first place, prompted me into speech.

“Brian, why…”

“Got a new account,” he interrupted, instinctively knowing I was about to ask him what the fuck he was doing, “with ‘Dino-Stee’. They requested an ad agency with some experience in dinosaurs.” By some fluke chance, I happened to be familiar with ‘Dino-Stee’; they were a new software company that specialized in providing educational programs with an emphasis on prehistoric life. But seriously, the idea of Brian having ‘experience with dinosaurs’ was laughable- in fact, it was boarder line hysterical.

“So you naturally told them you were an amateur palaeontologist?” I giggled, “Did you also tell that that you thought ‘Ankylosaurus’ was the medical term for a twisted ankle?” 

Without looking away from the screen, Brian snaked his hand out, grabbed the frount of my shirt and hauled me down until I was on a level with his head. Bent awkwardly over the back of the couch, I could only squirm as he plunged his tongue into my ear and began to lick the sensitive skin around it, eliciting that intense tingling, tickling sensation that he knew I found unbearable

When he had judged by my squealing and thrashing that I had adequately paid for that comment, he put his mouth next to my ear and whispered, “Don’t worry, Sunshine. I’m a fast learner. Now get lost and don’t talk to me until the dinosaurs are extinct.” I assumed he meant the dinosaurs in the movie, not the ones that disappeared 65 million years ago in a large poof of extraterrestrial smoke. Before letting me up, he gave me a quick hello-I’m-glad-you-didn’t-get-struck-by-lightning-today kiss before returning his undivided attention to the program. Still grinning to myself, I left him watching a herd of Torosaurs sparring, and went to the kitchen in search of something edible.

Upon reaching my destination, I noticed that Brian had brought home a few prehistoric pals to help him in his quest for a dinosaurian knowledge. Staring blankly back at me from the counter were five dinosaur models; two Stegosaurs, a Tyrannosaur, a Triceratops, and a duck-billed dinosaur labelled Parasaurolopus.  It was almost adorable how into this Brian was getting, and I began to think that a certain amount of fun may be gleaned from the situation. I picked up the Triceratops and the Tyrannosaurus and examined them more closely. I wondered if Brian wanted to discuss some of the deeper questions palaeontologists strived to answer…

“Hey, Brian?” Although he had told me to fuck off, I didn’t think he’d mind if I asked him an intellectual, if somewhat hypothetical, palaeontological question. “Would you rather have a Triceratops skull frill or T-rex arms?”

Brian, apparently taken aback by the question, gazed at me over the back of the couch, looking as if he could actually see my marbles spilling out of my ears and rolling all over the floor. In case he hadn’t heard the question, I helpfully repeated it, holding up the two models. When he continued to stare at me with the what-the-fuck-are-you-on look, I pressed on.

“A frill would be kind of cool- I mean it would look pretty snazzy- but it would really weigh your head down. Speaking of which, giving head with a skull frill might not be too much fun either…” (Disturbing mental imagery). “But that would be way better than having teeny T-rex arms.” I pulled my elbows into my chest, extended my forearms with two fingers on each hand held out, signifying the arms in question. “I mean, can you imagine trying you brush your hair?” I mimed trying in vain to reach my head with my truncated arms. “Or trying to play baseball?” Donning an expression of intense frustration and grunting for effect, I mimed trying to swing a bat with my stubby little arms. “But the really terrible thing would be trying to jack-off…”

Brian had, unfortunately, chosen that particular moment to take a swig of the red wine he’d been using to ‘help him concentrate’. The mental image of a T-rex trying to jack-off with its abbreviated forelimbs and only two fingers caused him to spew wine from his nose and mouth in a very good rendition of one of those fountains found in the fine gardens of Europe. I tried really hard not to laugh at him, knowing how uncomfortable it was to have liquids in your nasal cavity, but I just couldn’t help it.

When he’d stopped choking, and when wine had stopped coming out of his nose and he had regained some of his composure, he beckoned to me to come closer to him, wearing an expression I couldn’t quite read. I obeyed a bit uneasily, feeling that this would be an excellent opportunity to observe the ‘Personal Space Rule’.

“Turn around,” he said, smiling sweetly. I did so, and he swatted my ass hard enough to send me stumbling forward. Righting myself, I turned grinning, and waved my dinosaurian arms in mock indignation. Brian however, was not impressed and informed me sternly that if I uttered so much as a syllable in his presence within the next hour, he would personally gag me and drop me out of his top floor window.

“Now go get a towel to clean up this fucking mess,” he ordered, indicating the wine-spattered coffee table. Concealing a smirk with difficulty, I went back to the kitchen to attain the cleaning supplies requested. As I reached the sink, my attention was again caught by Brian’s Mesozoic miniatures- more specifically, by the two brightly coloured Stegosaurs. The two dinosaurs, with their attractive dorsal plates and impressive spiky tails, were standing facing each other with what, in my artist’s eye, I interpreted as a heavy, lust filled gaze. How romantic. I picked the two up, thinking what a great couple they made and what a beautiful family they could have. But as I was picturing the happy family roaming contentedly across the Jurassic plains, a very serious flaw in my Stegasaurian romance and subsequent procreation theory suddenly occurred to me. How the fuck did Stegosaurs- or any dinosaurs for that matter- fuck?

I tried to experiment by having Stegosaurus #1 mount Stegosaurs #2 from behind…but there were all those dorsal plates in the way- not the mention the huge ass spiky tail (which could easily put an abrupt end to one’s sex life if not handled with caution). So I tried placing Stegosaurus #2 on his/her back and having Stegosaurus #1 climb on top…but wait, didn’t these things weigh several tonnes? Stegosaurus pancakes, anyone? There was another problem with this face-to-face approach and that was that the Stegosaur bottoming would be impaled on its own dorsal plates and would be doomed to spend the rest of its life marooned on its back with its legs failing helplessly in the air. Hmm. Well, goddamn it- they had to have been able to do the deed SOMEHOW- I mean, they were around for 265 million years…

I was in the midst of trying to work out a way in which they could somehow do it on their sides when I became aware of a presence behind me. Looking up from the models, it took my brain less than two seconds to register that the couch was now empty and that Brian had somehow teleported into the immediate vicinity behind me, and had been watching me. I turned my head slightly and met his gaze. He was wearing an expression of supreme amusement, eye brow arched, tongue in cheek, a smile playing on his lips. I felt like the biggest, geekiest, most idiotic moron alive.

“Having fun with your little friends, Sunshine?” he asked, wrapping his arms around my chest, putting his chin on my shoulder, and looking down at the two Stegosaurs I held frozen in mid-romp. “Looks like we have some primordial passion brewing here.”

“I was…umm…” I could feel a red-hot scarlet flush creeping up my neck and into my face. I swear the coming off my cheeks would be enough to ignite a campfire on a rainy night. “I mean, I was just trying to work out…”

“How dinosaurs fucked?” Brian finished, still wearing the shit-eating grin. “Well, Dr. Grant, would you like a personal demonstration? Your little friends here might learn a thing or two.” He reached around me and scooped up the remaining three dinosaur models and piled them into my arms, along with the two Stegosaurs. Then he took my shoulders and steered me out of the kitchen.

In relatively short order, I found myself lying on my back on the dining room table, relived of my cargos and underwear, watching as Brian lined our five spectators up in such a way that they had a perfect view of everything that was going on. Brian and I had, of course, preformed in public before, but an audience of atomically correct plastic dinosaur models was a new one for me. When Brian had finished arranging the peanut gallery, he leaned over the table and covered the top half of my body with his, nuzzling my neck. I was very grateful just then that he was not a six tonne Stegosaurus. Thank God for mass extinctions. 

“Now, are you ready to show them to fuck like dinosaurs?” he growled, biting and sucking on my neck and collarbone, while grinding against me. He slipped one of his hands under me and cupped my shoulder to make me rock with him. With the other hand, he began to prepare me with his fingers, moving at a tantalizingly low pace. I knew he wanted to hear me beg for it, so beg I did. At least, it was meant to be begging- it came out, as it always did, as a slew of incomprehensible grunts, squeals, moans and the odd one syllable words. But fortunately, Brian is fluent in Horny Justin. I decided that the dinosaurs watching were somehow fluent as well (I mean, c’mon, viewer satisfaction…)

He stood up, but continued to work his fingers inside me, causing me to writhe with pleasure and continue my garbled monologue. With one hand, he expertly extracted a condom from the back pocket of his jeans before undoing them and pushing them to his knees. He preformed his trade mark bit-rip-and-tear on the packet before handing the condom to me. He told me huskily to put it on him.

“Brain,” I managed to gasp out, proud of myself for being able to utter the multi-syllable word, “You’ll have to come closer. My stubby little T-rex arms can’t reach that far.”

THE END