A Crying and Sodomy Pros Snippet

The Challenge went out:

"...I want to like a story because I want to spend time with the lads, so if someone's cast the lads as blue-skinned elves from Alpha Centauri currently undercover as rentboys on Mars, make me believe it."

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"Heck, when are they going to come up with camo paint that doesn't run?"

"About the same time that we get our expenses paid in the same month..."

The muffled curses continued as the two patched their make-up, turning their porcelain blue skins into an approximation of the average young Martian rent boy's idea of the perfect maquillage for leaning against a lamp post.

"I can't get this tape to stick ...can you do my ears? Why the hell can't we get sent to a decent planet for a change... one where everyone else has normal ears?"

"You complained the whole time we were on Vulcan. Said it bored the pants off you... And you know you love it really. Any hint of undercover that's going to involve pinning back your ears & dressing like a tart's nightmare, & you're first in line, nagging away till Cowley gives in."

A pair of green eyes narrowed, and a foot lashed out.

"Hey, watch the merchandise... I'll need those when some agèd Martian wants me to bend him over the wall & give him a good seeing to!"

"Huh! More like you'll be kneeling in the gutter... Still, at least we get three days off at the end of this," Doyle slowly licked his lips. "And if you're really good I'll lick that paint off you... inch by inch..."

Any speculation as to the vitamin content of the paint, or even the likelihood of their finding the murderer of 6 Martian rent boys before the weekend, was cut short by the approach of the first likely customer of the night.

"Ok, sunshine... pull your tights up & start pouting... Showtime!"

-- THE END --

March 2004