Squidboy: Part One

Part Two

An old, gothic mansion  stood at the top of the hill, a long flight of rickety wooden steps  leading the way to its door. The windows were dark, the curtains drawn.  Vines crept along the side of the house like tendrils exploring the  brickwork.

The steps groaned in complaint as I climbed the  staircase up to the house and stepped beneath the archway,  second-guessing myself the entire time. My skin pricked and I shivered  beneath my coat, though the night was mild. I summoned whatever nerve I  had, and even as my hand trembled with hesitation, I grabbed the brass  knocker and tried it. A low thrum resounded through the thick door. A  minute passed, and all I could hear were the crickets in the garden. I  noticed a placard on the door as I waited. The R'lyeh Manor, it read.  Another minute went by in that same near-silence, and by then I really  was ready to turn around. It was clear that no one was at home, and I  would have to return in the morning.

Then, without warning, the  door swung open. I had expected a butler to answer, but the man who  stood before me was dressed in a stark white lab coat and had a pair of  brass goggles atop his bald head. He was thin, but surprisingly muscular  for a man of his profession. I noticed a scar that ran down his long  forehead, across his eyebrow, all the way down to his cheek. His skin  was a pale, sickly colour.

"Hello," I began, "I got this address from my brother. My name is—"

"Ethan?"  he guessed, looking me up and down with his eyes, and putting his hands  on my shoulder. I tried not to squirm beneath his grasp or let it show  on my face. "Yes, your brother mentioned you would be coming.  Remarkable. You look just like him."

"Twins," I said, with an awkward laugh.

"Yes,  that's right," he seemed to remember, letting his hands trail from my  shoulders to my waist in what seemed to be an absent-minded manner.  "Even so..." he added, and trailed off. He seemed to catch himself, and  pulled his hands away from my body.

I stood awkwardly at the door,  doubting my mission once more. Would I really be able to go through  with this procedure my brother had arranged for me? And a worse thought  occurred to me. What would the doctor expect as payment for his  services? He wasn't entirely unattractive, but he certainly wasn't my  type, with his bookish, pale face, his large nose, and expansive  forehead. And if his wandering hands were any indication, I was  certainly his type.

Then, of course, I had to remind myself of  what was at stake here. The game my brother and I were playing was  hardly child's play. The truth was that at eighteen, I was still a  virgin. Although my brother had been exploring his sexuality from a  young age and had already had dozens of sexual partners, I never had. It  wasn't that I was incapable of finding a man who would be willing;  after all, I shared my brother's good looks, and he'd never had trouble.  I was simply more particular about the men I wanted to sleep with. I  had a type. James' type was everyone. Eventually, my brother began to  become concerned.

"Carry on like this," he warned, "and you'll be a virgin for life."

Thus,  our game began. These were the rules. I needed to lose my virginity  before my nineteenth birthday. James got to choose my partner, and I was  to seduce him. I had only three chances. I had already passed on the  first two, meaning Sir Victor was my third and final shot at winning the  game. And if I lost, James would win something he'd always wanted. I  had promised that if I lost the game, James could fuck me himself.

My  brother delighted in taboo. The thought of an incestuous affair was  nothing if not exciting to him. To me, the very idea was mortifying. I  could not afford to lose this game. Whatever the cost, I would seduce  Sir Victor. And if this doctor could help me, I would do just about  anything...