“I winced. I just said "creamed." I felt so deprived and miserably virginal.”

“And so the Afternoon Weekday Date Scorecard went like this: gay boys, 3. Bedsheets, below zero. Vatican-enforced check on virginity, 10. Sometimes life just plain sucked beyond the suckiest of suckage. And I was out of clean bedsheets, too.”

“You don't have to call me back," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm so fucking proud of you. Sweet dreams." ~ Peter”

“Are there any other questions?" I cleared my throat. "Yeah," I replied, raising my voice. "Can I get paid for being the repeat victim in these practice runs? It's not easy, you know, getting tied up or stuffed insidesomething, while everyone figures out what catchphrases to use when destroying people." For a few seconds, Magnifiman was quiet. "Okay, are there any other questions?" he asked. I sighed, my shoulders drooping. "I'll have to take this up with my union," I said. Of course, I just needed to form one.”

“Calais took all of a fraction of a second—I've yet to learn how to gauge his speed—to appear beside me, taking the alarm clock and shutting it down. Then he worked on my bonds, leaving my gag for last because he wanted to sneak in a kiss. Which he did. Too bad I was too annoyed and cramped to respond, so I just made like a limp doll that made a face at him while he got all Romeo on me.”

“I hated meatloaf. It was like something that Satan pooped out after an eternity of constipation. So I told Mom because I was honest that way. I sat back, squared my shoulders, and met her eyes, all confident-like."Mom, meatloaf's like something that Satan pooped out after an eternity of constipation. It should be outlawed, frankly, and serving it for dinner is like child abuse and should carry with it some pretty stiff penalties.”

“Listen, you," she hissed. "He's gay, he's my son, and I'm premenstrual. So don't—and I mean don't—even think about it." ~ Mom”