Mouse hijacking signature.bmp

Page
Blogs
Fiction
Home
Interviews
Biography
FAQ
Art Gallery

 

Novel News
Short Story News
Award News

 

Reviews:

Archangel Protocol

Fallen Host

Messiah Node

Apocalypse Array

 

After Archangel Protocol
Mouse[2]
Dee[1]
Mouse[3]

Dee [vignette]

Mouse[4]
Mouse[5]
Mouse[6]

 

"Missing" from Fallen Host
Em and Morningstar

 

"Missing" from Apocalypse Array (in .PDF format)

Mouse[1]
Mouse[2]
Mouse[3]
Mouse[4]
Mouse[5]
Mouse[6]
Mouse[7]

 

Non-Mouse Fiction:

Alternate Beginning of Fallen Host

To Catch A Gene Thief

 

FanFic
slash

het slash

 

Allah's Will
by Armand LeBeau

Pious Muslims know that it is a great honor to surrender their will to a Higher Power. Me, I've never been a very good Muslim. That is, until I discovered that Allah could be one seriously hot mama in size twelve purple leather pumps.

But that's jumping the gun as it were.

It all started innocently enough. For me, anyway. God, I'm sure knew the score, being into predestination and all that.

So, there it was - As the song goes: Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody. I'm not particularly bothered, though. I have a good book. Not, THE good book, I had enough of the Koran in prison. No, my interest is being held by a rip-roaring biography of past presidents of the United States. Honestly, I never used to _get_ the allure of the printed word until my LINK got fried. Now I can hardly pass one by without opening it up. Theyíre such a distraction to a geek boy like me. In fact, Iím supposed to be fixing the power supply problem for the commune right now, but I told myself just few more pages and then Iíd start.

That was a chapter and a half ago.

Anyway, Iím actually considering closing the book when someone clears his throat. I look up to see Ariel. He stands very straight in the center of the aisle, his hands clasped primly beneath his breasts. It seems as though heís dressed to go out, in a conservative plum colored pants suit and matching handbag. "Nice ensemble," I tell him.

"Oh, thanks, Mouse," he smiles. It's a very pretty smile. Ariel's lips are pert and crisp, like the apple that his lipstick matches. I'm at a loss as to what to do with that observation, so I look away.

Iím usually fairly straight. Itís just that Ariel messes with me. Heís a very attractive woman. Heís got all the things going for him that turn me on: a great set of legs, the kind of silky long black hair you can imagine yourself getting tangled up in, and brains. Iím serious about that last part. I once happened to overhear him debating theology with one of the rabbinical students and I was absolutely captivated. Smart chicks make me hot.

Silence stretches between us. So I ask, "Uh, so, can I help you with something?"

"Iím sorry,are you busy?" The sound of his voice always surprises me. I expect it to be obviously male, but itís not. Itís an alto, definitely, but soft and cultured.

I look at the book in my hands. I put it back on the shelf. "No, not really."

"Itís just that youíre the house wizard and, well, I have a technical problem."

I donít know Ariel very well, but its clear heís not LINKed. In fact, I think it would be safe to say that tech and Ariel donít mix, so I'm curious enough to ask, "Okay, what is it?"

He reaches into his handbag and pulls out what looks like a mop of hair. He thrusts it at me."It's not working."

"Your hair?"

Ariel frowns at me like I'm missing something obvious."It's a hairpiece. It's supposed to light up and dance."

"You have dancing hair?"

He shrugs delicately. "It's very fashionable."

Moving hair seems creepy to me, but what did I know of haute culture? I take the hairpiece from him. I turn it over looking for a battery pack or something obviously wrong with it. The material feels surprisingly soft, like real human hair. Strands of black and bright blue are attached in waves to a kind of barrette that presumably one clips onto one's head. I glance at Ariel. I have to fix this thing; I'm dying to see it working.

He catches my eye when I look up. "You still want to be president, I see."

"Huh?"

He points at all the biographies. "Studying up?"

I shake my head. "Just avoiding work."

He misunderstands me, and looks very sheepish. "Oh. I'm sorry." Should I come back?"

"No,no. It's okay, this isnít real work," I say, pointing to a point on plastic barrette where there seems to be a tiny hinge. "I think I've located the battery. I might even have a replacement. Let me just check."

Ariel follows me over to the far right wall where the reference desk used to be. I've got most of my bed back behind the walls of the circular desk, but in one of the file cabinets I've stashed all sorts of batteries that I've rescued from the various garbage runs the commune engages in. I keep the tiniest batteries in a plastic baggie in the front.

"Oh," Ariel says looking over at my little space, "You're much neater than I thought you'd be."

My dirty clothes are carefully stuffed into a banker's box that sits beside the futon. The clean ones are hidden in various desk drawers. I keep the floor swept, and all of my computer junk is left on the main tables in the library, separate from my sleeping space. My bed is against the wall. I built a simple futon frame out of scrap lumber, using a design I found in one of the library books. Most of the sheets and blankets don't match, but I keep them nicely tucked in at the corners. In the center of the futon stands my Hello Kitty doll. I found it in a dumpster, and seeing it abandoned was too Velveteen Rabbit, too sad.I mean, who abandons anything with eyes that big and trusting? I had to bring it home. It was my duty. I imagine that doll is the only thing that seems personal. The rest is clean, empty, and neat.

"Yeah, it's weird, isn't it?" Truth is, I've always baffled people by being a kind of a neat freak. I like things organized. Itís part of the hacker mindset, I guess. "Of course, it helps that I don't have much stuff."

"The doll is cute. I wouldn't have figured you for the doll sort."

I give him a mock glare. "Hey, don't mess with Miss Kitty."

Ariel laughs, a distinctly masculine sound, which disturbs me enough to force me to be more serious about the battery hunt. Using the tweezers from my pocket, I pull one out. "This might fit," I say.

And it does. The instant I close the latch the hair starts to wiggle. I almost drop it, especially when lights start flickering through it. "Yikes," I say, handing it back to him.

"Wait until you see it on," Ariel says with a smile. He lifts up a bit of his long black hair and slides the barrette underneath. Then he does some smoothing out of his own hair, and suddenly it looks like his whole head is pulsing with light and movement. The effect is sort of like the mythical Medusa, only softer. Each wave of the wig bring along a sheet of Arielís real hair, which cascades up and down in spidery waves. Itís like the sides of his head puff up and deflate, as if saying, look: Big hair. Flat hair. Big hair. Flat hair. The whole thing is really very mesmerizing and I realize Iíve been staring for some time.

"It really goes with the conservative look," I say.

"A good juxtaposition, don't you think?"

"Sure," I say, unable to keep my eyes off his dancing hair.

Ariel regards me for a long moment, resting one hand on his hip. I feel a bit scrutinized. A slow, seductive smile spreads across those alluring lips. "Want to come out with me?"

"Uh, are you asking me on a date?"

I swear the glint in his eye is lascivious. "Yes."

What's weird? No one has ever asked me out before. Nobody. Not ever. Under no circumstances. Not even in prison. That's not to say that I've never gone out with anyone, itís just that I've always been the asker, not the askee. It's kind of sexy to be asked. I like a woman who takes charge, even if the woman is a man.

"Yeah, okay, sure," I say.

The way Ariel's smile brightens I wonder if I should have thought harder about the underwear I chose this morning. Then, I banish the thought. I mean, I've heard the talk around the commune Ariel is an angel. For Allahís sake, look at him in that matching plum outfit and handbag: he's got to be the sweetest thing since Hello Kitty.

Locking the library door behind us as we go, I feel confident my virtue will remain intact. No worries, right?

 

#

 

When we walk into the Manhattan club, I no longer wonder if I'm in trouble, I know it. In fact, I have to reassess everything I think I know about Ariel. This man is no angel.

Some things are as I expect: the pounding music assaulting my eardrums, the black painted walls and chrome-edged bar making the room seem dark and cavernous. The disco ball was in the realm of possibilities, as is the teaming, sweaty mass of gyrating humanity.

My eyes drift to the super-buff, half-naked men dancing on the bar. This, in and of itself wouldn't necessarily stand out. I mean, I assumed Ariel was into guy-on-guy action or he wouldn't have asked me out. It's the men being led around the floor in leather masks and chains that have me worried. Then, I swear I hear the crack of a whip during the break in the music.

I tug on Ariel's sleeve. "What is this place?"

I've never seen anything like this bar. I knew there were such things as underground gay bars, but I've never heard of anything this out in the open, so just wander-in-through-the-front-door,-would-you? The thing is, itís blatant. Boring, vanilla, dare I say it, garden-variety homosexuality is still a crime in a America last time I checked the books, and as an active criminal Iím always up on these sorts of things. ThisÖ well, this crossed over several lines. I don't know jack about the Christian Bible, but Iím sure Leviticus prohibits this sort of behavior with a stern: thou shall not leadith thy boy-toy around in full bondage gear.

"Are we safe here?" I ask, thinking of police raids.

Instead of an answer, Ariel flashes me that lascivious smile again, only this time it gives me chills all the way to my groin. He takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. Suddenly, his aren't the only hands on me. Someone's fingers slide up my leg and squeeze my ass; another makes a play for my crotch. By the time we find a space in the crowd, I've been thoroughly inspected.

"Uh, Ariel, I don't know if this is really my scene," I shout into his ear, despite the fact that I already I feel my cock straining against my jeans.

Ariel stands close enough to kiss. He's so much taller than me that I find myself staring at his breasts.They look firm, and, shall we say, happy to see me, which surprises me because I would have figured them for fake. Although, cybernetic enhancements could easily account for a remote control nipple. Iím still puzzling over Arielís nipples, when his fingers lightly trace the silver wire that runs from my temple along my hairline to the base of my neck. I swear I feel a spark.

Something moves, anyway.

"Are you a good Muslim?" he asks me, leaning in so closely that his lips tickle the inner lobe of my ear.

It's a strange question, and it distracts me momentarily from his breasts and the image of a naked man being spanked in a cage just over his shoulder. "Not really, no," I say.

He steps away from me, breaking the tension that had He frowns at me, lips coming together in a fierce pout. "I think you're lying, Mouse. You almsgive. You keep hallal. That's more than most."

I can't believe we're discussing this now. Everyone around us is dancing to the throbbing beat, while we stare at each other stock-still. Well, except for Ariel's hair. That twists and twirls to the rhythm,sparkling like a some kind of halo gone haywire.

"Sure, I do all that," I say. I'm irritated and anxious to get back where we were. He's far too far away, and now his arms are crossed in front of his chest, blocking my view of those taut miracle nipples. "Look, thing is, I have no problems going through the motions. It's the core tenet I have a problem with. I've never been able to completely surrender my will to Allah."

"I know," Ariel said with that frighteningly sexy smile again. "That's why we're here."

 

#

 

Despite everything my mother ever told me, I find myself in the bathroom of a gay men's bar with a six-foot some transsexual wearing purple leather pumps. I don't remember agreeing to follow him in here. I certainly have no idea what he plans to do with me, but hell, I'm lucky I remember my name after he kissed me.

The kiss was very sudden, very hungry. I remember the strange sensation of titling my head back like some kind of swooning Vivian Leigh, while at the same time running my thumbs over the stiff peeks of his very real breasts. My hands found the curve of his hips equally as satisfying. I was just about to explore the reality of his round bottom when I felt myself jerked away and shoved through the crowd.

The harsh lights of the bathroom make me blink away the memory of the kiss. A couple of guys using the urinals look up at us when the door slams behind me. I wave stupidly, because its either that or giggle hysterically like a school girl. I have about a second to register the fact that the bathroom is clean and very upscale before Ariel drags me into the middle of three stalls.

"Oh," I say, looking down at the toilet bowl and the tiled floor. Suddenly, the tawdriness of it all hits me. "What's happening here, exactly?"

"Whatever Allah wills," Ariel says.

"I turn around to see him latching the door. There's a threatening overtone in his voice that makes me swallow, hard. My pulse bangs against my throat just under the collar of my shirt. Ariel seems to notice, and his finger touches the hollow of my breastbone. I try to say something, although I don't even know what: "I.. uh... That is..."

"You're scared."

Should I be disturbed that he said that with a smile?

"Does the idea of surrendering control frighten you so much?" Ariel takes a step closer, bending down to kiss me between the eyes. My knees actually weaken.

"Yeah, pretty much. Definitely."

"Itíll get easier."

Not precisely the response I'm hoping for, but I don't exactly bolt from the stall when he slowly removes a pair of handcuffs from his handbag.

"For now, these will help," he says, as he expertly slaps one end around my wrist.

I've been cuffed before, though mostly by cops. No, make that exclusively. At any rate, this is different. Really different. For one, most cops don't have hair that waves around on its own. Secondly, I sure as shit have never gotten a hard on when a cop did it.

In fact, moves like this usually make my balls shrivel up and hide. Which is what should have happened when Ariel swings me around to pin my body to the stall door so hard it rattles, but it doesn't. nstead, I'm starting to ache because I can feel his erection pressing against my stomach, while his breasts temporarily cut off the oxygen to my mouth. I'm so into the combination of startling sensations that I hardly notice him guiding my hands over my head, until I feel the bite of the cuff on my other wrist. When he moves away, I naturally try to make a grab to keep him close. That's when I realize I've been neatly chained to the towel rack.

Who puts a towel rack in a public john?

Actually, upon closer inspection, it appears to be a chrome towel ring, no less. The hand towel, which should be balanced neatly in the middle of it, however, it nowhere in sight. Worse, the ring seems to be positioned just precisely at the point at which Iím held completely taut, the soles of my feet just barely touching the floor.

Who has stalls this tall?

I mean, okay, Iím short, but....

My train of thought is abruptly derailed by the sudden realization that Ariel's fingers are undoing my belt. I start, making the cuffs jingle and the door rattle. On the other side, I can hear snickering. Someone whispers, "Maybe we should stay and watch."

I so don't want this to happen. Not like this. And not with an audience.

Too bad the rest of my body doesn't agree. It's pretty clear I'm right where I want to be when Ariel gets my jeans down around my ankles. He takes a moment to admire my Hello Kitty boxers before dropping those, too.

I moan with the sudden exposure to air. The goose pimples on the flesh of my buttocks rub against the wood veneer of the stall door. I arch my back toward Ariel, trying to touch any part of him with my straining cock. He, the cruel bitch, steps back just far enough out of my reach and regards me with the sinfully sexy smile. I'm dying for those lips to do something more than grin at me. Dew sprouts at the tip of my cock and I let out a tortured groan.

Then, apparently liking the sound of this new development, I can hear the scuffing of boots on tile and the banging of the adjacent stall doors. Someone swears as they slip on the smooth toilet bowl, then I see a mop of blond hair and pair of wide, watchful eyes over the wall.

"Sweet," comes a whispered appreciation from the other stall, and I glance over to see one of the blackest men I've ever seen sporting a tight, hot pink Afro. Despite myself, my cock jerks under the scrutiny.

I try to alert Ariel to the presence of our audience with a spastic jerk of my head in the direction of the boys. He's either oblivious or uncaring. So, I try another tact. Though it's almost impossible to form a coherent sentence, I manage to gasp: Couldnít we... I mean, Iíd be okay with going home and doing this."

Although that's a bald faced lie, as close as I am to coming, I'd never make it to the taxi much less home.

Ariel puts a finger to his lips, shushing me. He points to his purse, which heís perched on the plumbing of the toilet. "Donít make me have to use the gag as well."

"Merciful Allah," comes out before I can shut it.

Ariel wags a finger as if in warning. "Nah, ah-ah, what did I just say?" he asks, reaching for the bag.

"Oh, no," I say, jerking wildly against my restraints. "Please. I'll be good. I swear."

"Too late," he says, running a polished nail down the center of my trembling chest to stop just where the hem of my tee-shirt hangs. I buck wildly trying to bump his hand with my cock. Ariel jerks his hand away just before I can graze it. "As you can see, Allah is not feeling Merciful tonight."

"My breath comes out in a shudder. I don't know how much longer I can wait.

Turning to reach for his bag of tricks, Ariel pauses, noticing the boys peering over the stall walls. The boys hardly bother to hide or look chagrined, apparently figuring that if you're fucking in a public bathroom John Q. Public is allowed to watch. Ariel glances back and forth between them for a moment, then I see his shoulders shrug.

"Oh, Allah," I beg, a blush heating the tips of my ears and other places. "Please."

I don't really know what I'm asking for, but the anticipation of being touched in any way shape or form is killing me. At this point, I don't care if Ariel invites the entire population of Manhattan to watch us, just as long has he does me soon.

In fact, at a feather light touch, I cum. All over the ceiling of the bathroom. Ariel and our audience make a collective sigh of disappointment.

"That," Ariel says with pursed lips, "is NOT what Allah willed."

"Well," I say. "Heíll just have to try again, wonít he?"