District 69, or, How Trixie Learned ASL: A Drag Alien Occupation Story

Content Warning (click to expand)

ableism, alcohol abuse, assault, blood, bullying, children in sexual situations, classism, cyberbullying, dead bodies, death, death of children, decapitation, dismemberment, disownment, dubious consent, exhibitionism, explicit sex, explosions, fire, gang violence, genocide, gore, grooming, gun violence, guns, hate crimes, home invasion, homophobia, hostage situation, impalement, military occupation, political satire, pornography, racism, riots, school violence, sex addiction, sexism, terrorism, violence, voyeurism, war, white supremacy

The author has asked us to add this statement: “If there isn’t anything in this story that offends you, I sincerely apologize and will try harder next time.”

 

by Lady Zinnia Fuchs

Now, I know what you’re going to say.  Every time someone hears about drag queens having sex with 18-year-olds they assume we must be grooming them.  Well, let me tell you, Honey, that it’s pretty rare to hear that about straight men having sex with 18-year-olds, so you just shut up about that right up front.  Not one of us ever said or did anything inappropriate until that boy was 18, and he was already in our sphere of influence because the Deaf community and the gay community, we go way back.  The literary canon is full of examples of straight men waiting patiently for the beautiful, young maiden to come of age, and “grooming” isn’t where people instinctively go, so check your hypocrisy.  Plus, I know for a fact that boy was on all the hookup apps pretending to be 18 way back when he was 15, so we had nothing to do with it.

But even if we did, with the space aliens in control of District 69 and humans completely subjugated and with no way for what was left of the American government to fight back, what we did would have been completely justified.  You have to remember, things were pretty grim after the aliens showed up.  I mean, at first it’s like, “Yay! Life in outer space!” and then it’s all, “Aaah!  They’re eating my neighbors’ heads!” and finally it’s like, “Well, shit, I guess it’s no worse than when the Republicans were in charge,” and then everyone just sort of gives up.  Everyone except the drag queens, that is.  The drag queens and one Deaf boy.

Trixie, Denzel, and me, we ambushed him at his 18th birthday party.  It was at one of those pizza places where the video games are better than the food, and the video games are crap.  We sashayed in side-by-side.  Denzel is big, Black, and fabulous in sequins.  Her name is Denzel because she looks exactly like Denzel Washington in drag.  The fact that she looks nothing like Denzel Washington out of drag is testament to the power of illusion.  Trixie is small, Asian, and rocked her faux fur.  She’s the smart one.  I’m fat and typically dressed like a field of wildflowers.  We spend so much time together so much our high heels are always in perfect sync as we make our entrance.  Everyone stops to look. 

The boy’s name was Caden — part of that generation where all the boys’ names rhymed with each other — if you ever don’t know someone of that generation’s name, just swallow the first syllable and say “-ən” and he’ll probably answer.  We didn’t have that problem when I was his age.  True, in my homeroom we were all named Mike, Mark, Chris, Tom, Todd, Jim, or Brian, but those at least don’t rhyme.  Well, Caden was hanging out with Brayden and Aiden and Jayden and the two oddballs, Mason and Jackson, posing for selfies with them in front of Whack-a-Mole, flashing his penis every time the flash went off.  We marched up to him.

He saw me and signed, Lady Zinnia!  He tucked his now-legal dick back into his pants and swept over to give me a hug and a kiss on both cheeks.  Happy to see you!

Now, Trixie didn’t know any ASL and Denzel only knew a few words, so they just stood there looking useless.  Gorgeous, but useless.

I signed back, We have an idea!

What is it?

Space aliens, I signed — the sign for that is the same sign as bug, but over your head instead of touching your nose — don’t know ASL.

So what?

Trixie moved over to Aiden and asked him when he was turning 18.

Space aliens, I went on, read everything we write in emails and social media.  They listen to phone calls and videos.

I know, Caden signed.

Here in District 69, everyone knows where the space aliens are.  We see what they’re doing.  We count how many there are.  But we can’t tell the government.

Right, Caden signed.

You know that website where people post videos and, I fingerspelled “fans,” pay to watch them?

Caden nodded.

I signed, Space aliens don’t watch people fucking.

Caden stared at me, blinking.

I explained.  They listen to the audio.  They don’t watch.

Caden shook his head.  So what?

You make an account, I signed.  We three fuck you, and you sign the information the government needs to attack the space aliens.

Caden stared at me for a long time.  Then he signed, Yeah. O.K.

“He said yes!” I blurted.

Trixie jumped away from Aiden and Denzel almost fell out of her heels.  “Really?” Trixie said.

Now, the problem with not being allowed to groom underaged boys is that we expected we’d have to work on him for at least several weeks, so the specifics of the plan were only about a quarter baked.  In fact, I didn’t even have the oven preheating. But Denzel ran with it.  “Tell him to come to my place after school tomorrow!”

And then we scrambled.  The three of us huddled around Denzel’s laptop and dug into the nitty gritty of the site.  “You need two forms of photo ID,” I’m texting Caden at 3 AM, “or they won’t show your videos in the parts of the country still controlled by the government!”  Trixie, meanwhile, spent the whole night hating on the design of site’s user interface and telling us to change it, or at least make it pink.  Denzel, I think, went deaf himself listening to us bicker about it.  We all ended up crashed out all over his midcentury repro living room set. None of us made it to work the next day.  Luckily, that doesn’t matter so much since the space aliens don’t participate in the international monetary system and none of us have been paid except for GoFundMe donations for the past six years.  Incidentally, if you believe for one minute that people will work hard for the common good, you are sadly mistaken.  If something I do is important for the common good, you’d better fucking find a way to pay me for it.  And that goes double if you’re one of those space aliens who controls the means of production.  Luckily, we still have pet food plants in District 69.  Mrs. Blinken’s cat won’t get his bag of kibble today, but he’ll get it tomorrow.  I haven’t seen a mai tai in half a decade now.

Caden showed up at 2:45.  Trixie opened the door and he marched in like he owned the place, backpack over his left shoulder.  Clothes off?

And there the three of us were, just standing there looking at each other like, “Now what do we do?”

Who fucks me first?

Wait, I signed.  First, we needed a plan.  We can’t tell anyone what we’re doing.  The first video needs you using ASL telling viewers to tell the government to watch but not say anything.

O.K. Caden signed.  But if there’s no fucking, no one watches.

I relayed that to the girls in English. 

Denzel sighed.  “We drag queens are supposed to embody stereotypes, right?  I guess that makes me the big, Black dick.”

And with that Caden shrugged his left shoulder and his backpack slid to the ground, and he shrugged his right shoulder and all his clothes fell off.  I have no idea how he does it, but there he was, naked and ready to go in one simple movement.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  If you’re a straight woman who reads gay fiction as porn, you’re like, “Finally! This is what I’m reading this for!”  Sorry, Honey.  This is actually gay rhetoric. You’re about to be disappointed.  Gay sex is for gay men, not for you. 

And now all the gay men reading this are perking up and thinking, “Oh?  Does this mean there’s going to be an authentic gay sex scene for once?” 

To you I say, “What the fuck are you thinking?  We’re shooting porn!  There is absolutely nothing authentic about porn sex!  You know that!” 

And now everyone else is thinking, “So if the gay sex is going to piss off the straight women and the gay men, can’t we just fade to black and skip it?’  And, seriously, no.  The sex is plot.  And this is drag.  I’m not doing my job if I’m not offending you.

Trixie grabbed her phone and started recording.  Caden got down on his hands and knees as Denzel stepped up behind him.  She hiked up her sequined skirt and slipped out her dick.  Now let me just say that I had never had the opportunity to sample it before, but Denzel was doing the drag concept of embodying a stereotype all the credit in the world with that dick.  Every stereotype of Black dick turned up to 11, that dick was.  Now, even in a porno, you can’t slam a dick that size right inside somebody without any prep work, so he started by rubbing it along Caden’s crack. 

Now, Caden was dutifully signing his introductory message, but Trixie doesn’t know ASL.  She kept pointing the phone at the action on the backside. 

“Trixie! They have to be able to see Caden’s face and torso!”  I shoved her arm over so the camera could see Caden’s front side.

She shoved me back with her free hand and pointed the camera back at Denzel’s dick. “Then I can’t see the action, and then it’s not porn, and nobody’s going to watch it!”

Trixie and I had a little shoving match.  For everyone who watched the video, sorry about that.  Just keep a little barf bag by your computer, you’ll be fine.  It’s good to have there anyway, for cleanup afterwards.

“Here, maybe this will help,” Denzel said. 

She wrapped her arms around Caden’s chest and stood up.  Now, remember, she’s in four-inch heels when she does this.  She stands up, and lifts Caden clear up off the ground, her dick sticking straight up at him.  Then she lowers him gently down onto that dick and impales him like a Saxon in front of Vlad Dracul’s house. Caden moans and goes limp, his head lolling, and Denzel starts raising and lowering him so he slides up and down that dick, legs flapping in the air the whole time.  Irony about Deaf people: they’re loud, and Caden is a screamer by any standards.  The next-door neighbor is screaming for us to shut the fuck up loud enough that we can hear him inside the house over Caden, but, you know, so what?  Trixie, meanwhile, is standing so slack-jawed that I have to grab her hand and point the camera all over again.  I wave to get Caden’s attention and sign, Again.

Caden shakes himself back to focus and starts signing as he bobs up and down.  My name is Caden. I’m Deaf. I live here in District 69.  Space aliens are in charge here, same as other Districts.  Here we watch what the space aliens do, but we can’t tell the government because if we write, the space aliens read it, if we speak, the space aliens listen.  But the space aliens don’t watch porn.  They don’t know ASL.  So I’m having sex with my friend.  If you know someone in government, tell them to watch.  Don’t talk about what I say.  Don’t interpret.  Don’t write what I say.  Just watch.  Tell people to watch.  When the government sees this, they need to know the space aliens have weapons underground.  A red barn on a farm, belongs to Michael Unger, north side of Campbell Road. Weapons are under the barn.  If the barn blows up, we know government watched, we make more videos.  Now, I need to come.

And with that, Caden blew his load.

“Damn,” Trixie said.  “I need to learn ASL.”  I stepped over and pressed the stop button on her phone for her, and our first foray into porn production was done.  OK, so it wasn’t the best porno ever made, but let’s be honest, you’d watch the worst porno in the world if someone told you about that amazing feat of athletics that Denzel pulled off in heels and full sequins without even mussing her wig.

And people did.  We had over 30,000 views by the next day.

And Saturday night, that weapons bunker blew so high they saw the flash in Cincinnati.  Caden ran over to Denzel’s house and ran laps around the outside whooping so loud the next-door neighbor threw a pair of slippers at him.  They missed.  And Caden’s Deaf, so he never heard the language the neighbor was using.

But the space alien retribution came before we could even strategize our next video.

In the Districts, the space aliens have control of all the TVs, monitors, and tablets, so any time they want to stream something at their oppressed subjects, everything just turns on all at once with an electronic wail designed to jar even the heaviest sleepers awake.  Just then, that happened.  And there was a space alien looking directly into the camera. 

Now, I was raised right, and I know that all God’s creatures are beautiful.  I know that to the core of my being.  And that is how I know with absolute certainty that the space aliens are not God’s creatures.  Their exoskeletons are the color of curdled milk, with chartreuse pulses of blood appearing through them every so often.  They’ve got four thick legs that end not in a foot but a spearpoint.  Their torso bends up from their body like a centaur or the fattest praying mantis you ever did see.  They’ve got four arms that are as thick as their legs, and their hands aren’t hands but instead are a bony circle that looks like the insect version of the snout of a star-nosed mole. Their heads are like a flattened disk with compound eyes all around and a four-part beak sticking up off the top.  Ug and lee.  There, I said it.

So the machine voice starts talking.  I instinctively start interpreting for Caden, because closed captioning is one of those things that space aliens see as completely unnecessary and missing the memo on one of their announcements gets you dead.  “Residents of District 69,” the machine voice says, “your attention is required.  Today the United States and Canadian governments launched an unprovoked attack against a civilian target.  To demonstrate our displeasure, we will now eat the mayor and town council.”

So the camera pulls back, and sure enough, there’s Mayor Umberling and the four other city councilmembers looking like they got snatched off the golf course or shopping mall with no time to prep themselves for the camera, with oozing green restrictor tentacles wrapped firmly around their torsos.  Each one had a different space alien standing behind them, one of its weird hands holding on to the restrictor tentacles.  The first one leaned forward until its torso was almost straight out from its body.  It tugged Mayor Umberling’s restrictor tentacle and he topped backwards. 

Now, can someone please explain to me why collaborators always look surprised just before they get their heads eaten?  I mean, learn your history, people!  Collaborators always end up either eaten by the people they’re collaborating with or shot by the resistance.  I’ve never shot a collaborator myself, so I have no idea if they look surprised when that happens, too, but, seriously, the look of shock on the faces of every one of the people on the town council!  It’s just pathetic.

Anyway, the space alien’s beak closed around the top of Mayor Umberling’s head.  He winced and let out a quick cry, and then his skull went CRACK and brains shot into the space alien’s mouth.  The rest of the town council squirmed against their resistor tentacles, but the other four space aliens did the same.  CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, brains all over the place.

Now, I admit, I did feel a twinge of guilt when they ate the one lady who had voted against the trans ban, but then Caden pointed out that she’s the one who led the charge to ensure that Deaf students were taught in English and only in English and that’s why he only reads and does math at a sixth-grade level to this day, and I decided that yeah, I’m OK with it being the privileged white people who are the ones forced to sacrifice for the greater good for a change.  We stopped paying attention to the screen about the time the rightmost space alien was trying to figure out how to deal with the fact that diamond earrings aren’t edible.  Caden turned and signed, What next?

Now, I’m not a native ASL user, so I had to struggle to come up with what I wanted to say.  I ended up with, If we do same, space aliens do same.

Caden seemed to understand.  They can eat all the town councils.

What do we need to tell the government?

Wait.  I’m texting my friends.

Caden pulled out his phone and sent a text message.  A beat-up old Mercedes roared up in front of Denzel’s house and parked.  Brayden and Aiden and Jayden and the two oddballs, Mason and Jackson piled out and barged into Denzel’s house without knocking.  Trixie and Denzel looked baffled as the six boys conversed in ASL far too fast for any mere mortal to understand.  Finally, Caden turned back to me.  O.K.  They know where the space alien house is.  Blow it up, all the space aliens there die, right?

Good, I signed.

My ass needs to recover, he signed. For this video, I need to top.

We all looked at Trixie.

“What?” she said.

“We need a bottom for the next video,” I said.

“Nuh-uh,” Trixie said, shaking her head.  “Denzel’s stereotype is big, Black man in a dress.  Mine is Asian girl.  That means you can’t have me until you marry me, and when you marry me, I run your life.”

Denzel and I stared at her in disbelief.  I’m the one who finally said it.  “Trixie, you are the biggest ho outside a Colorado Springs production of Beetlejuice!”

Trixie clutched her furs.  “It’s not my fault my marriages don’t last!”

“Trixie,” Denzel said, “your last marriage lasted five minutes.”

“Nor can I be responsible for premature ejaculators!”  She stamped her heel.  “The answer is no.  One of you do it.”

I turned and started to interpret for Caden, but he stopped me.  I read her lips.  She enunciates well.  The lipstick helps.

Even the best lipreaders only catch about three-quarters of what’s being said, and that’s mostly from context, so that was some damn fine lipreading.  Drag queens and context rarely go together.  But it didn’t help us get the next video produced.  Finally, I asked, Is a blowjob O.K.?

Caden considered for about half a second.  Sure.

My knees hurt, I signed.  Bedroom.

I pointed to the door of Denzel’s bedroom.  His place isn’t that big.  It was only about six steps.  I led the way, but Caden got there at the same time, and he was already naked, a trail of teenaged boy clothes on the floor behind him.  I have no idea how he does it. 

Denzel worked the camera this time, and it turns out that Jackson is good with lighting, so the video was technically much better than our first one.  There were only two problems.  One: my wig is so big that Caden had to keep shifting his torso to keep from being blocked, and shifting your torso is the way you say “and” in ASL.  Two: I’m way too good at oral sex.  His monologue ended up going something like this:

My name is Caden. I live here in District AND 69.  The space aliens listen. The space aliens AND read.  This video, don’t AND interpret.  Don’t write what I AND sign.  Tell the government AND to watch.  The space aliens live together in town at the corner AND First Street and Elm Street in a large building that’s brown—light brown—dark brown—light brown—dark brown—light brown—dark brown—very humble—late—late—LATE—VERY LATE—EXTREMELY LATE—UNWORTHY OF CONSIDERATION!!!

And then he came in his own eye.

“Impressive,” Jayden said from the bedroom doorway.

Denzel’s obnoxious neighbor screamed from next door that we were perverts and too noisy to live.  You can hear the start of his rant all muffled at the end of the video.

That video wasn’t as big a hit as our first video was.  To this day, it’s only gotten 1.3 million views.  But it did the job.  The space alien barracks blew up around midnight.

The retaliation came at 8:00 the next morning.

All our screens turned on with the hallmark scream, and the camera showed kids lined up in front of the local grade school.  A dozen space aliens, some of them with charring on their exoskeletons, stalked around them.  Their teachers kept them in line, beads of sweat visible on all their foreheads.  The machine voice announced, “In response to the unprovoked attack on the District 69 living quarters, we now claim an equal number of human lives.” 

Each of the aliens placed a hand on the head of a child.  They straightened their wrists.  The children started crying.  The space aliens’ wrist spikes shot into the kids’ brains all at once.

I learned something that day.  Straight, white people think rioting is A-OK when it’s their kids who are dying at the hands of those in power.  I have to admit, I was as surprised as the space aliens were.  I’ve always said that you have to be an idiot to not see the pattern of where the space aliens moved in and set up the Districts: It’s all the parts of the country where the elected officials and everyday voters spent a lot of time in the media talking about how the people in charge can’t break the law because they are the law and how it’s so important for those who disagree to shut up and go with it.  Well, lo! and! behold!  Turns out it’s only when they’re in charge that they believe that!

The kindergarten teacher started it.  She’s a tiny Italian stereotype who would fit in just fine in a drag show.  She screamed “Run!” at the kids who were still waiting to be brain-spiked and spun around and kicked a space alien in the torso with her high heel.  Chartreuse blood gushed out onto her foot.  The space alien squirmed, its arms flailing.  One of them caught her in the shoulder and she fell.  The other space aliens descended on her. 

And all the while, the kids she’d told to run just stood there.  That’s our education system.  Kids come out completely unprepared to think or even show a basic understanding of, well, anything, yet they’re all really, really good at standing in line to wait for whatever horrific thing is about to happen to them. 

Our screens all turned off at once.

But we could all hear the straights roar.

Everyone convened at Denzel’s house without anyone coordinating it.  Me, Trixie, Caden, and Brayden and Aiden and Jayden and the two oddballs, Mason and Jackson.  The boys arrived all signing over each other so fast I could only catch the swear words.  Anyone who thinks drag queens are the most inappropriate creatures on the planet really needs to spend a little time listening to teenagers who don’t think anyone is listening.

Caden filled me in on the plan.  I interpreted for Trixie and Denzel.  Riots everywhere.  We need to broadcast live.  They [Brayden and Aiden and Jayden and the two oddballs, Mason and Jackson] will go out and observe, report back.  I’ll tell everyone what is happening.

I signed to the other boys, Dangerous!

Mason signed, Yes, then said, “We’ll be back.”  Brayden and Aiden and Jayden and the two oddballs, Mason and Jackson vanished into the streets.

Trixie pulled out her phone, logged into Caden’s site, started the live stream, and handed me the phone.  She turned to Caden and signed the only two signs she had learned: Fuck me and now.

Trixie turned around, got down on her hands and knees, and flipped her skirt up onto her back. 

Now, this time I’ve got it on video, and I still don’t know how it happens.  The laws of physics simply don’t apply to that boy’s clothes.  Everything, including shoes and socks, just drops right off of him.  And then he gets down on his knees and slams his dick inside Trixie as easily as it happens in pornos.  I swear to God, that girl must walk around with her ass pre-lubed.  I mean, that would be a real time-saver, especially for Trixie.  But I don’t want to ask. 

Caden signed, District 69 needs you to help us. The space aliens are killing and killing and killing and killing.  The people are rioting.  We need you to send troops now.  The space aliens are weak right now.  We can defeat them.  But we need you to help us.

He went into a list of where he knew groups of space aliens to be, and descriptions of the attacks people had made against them.  Someone down by the old Army Reserve armory had sent a burning car rolling into one of their patrol vehicles.  The high schoolers had taken out the surveillance system in Old Town.  Nobody saw who did it, but six space aliens were dead on Route 12.

Jackson was the first to return.  Not with news, however, with a tripod and a power supply for Trixie’s phone.  We got it set up and the shot framed so it had a clear view of both Caden’s signing space and his dick as it popped out of Trixie and then back in at regular intervals.

Other people were livestreaming the riots, of course.  But they all got shut down after a minute or two, and the footage deleted.  Denzel and I watched social media and slipped Caden notes with updates that he would broadcast. 

About an hour in, it became clear that Caden and Trixie were in this for the long haul.  Denzel slipped some pillows under Trixie’s knees.  At 1 hour, 43 minutes, Brayden arrived.   Turns out that he’s captain of the cross country team and does runner support for ultramarathons, so he knows what to do.  He’s got two cases of sports drinks, bananas, donuts, and a note for Caden that someone had backed a tractor into the wall off the distribution warehouse and people were looting food.  He pops straws into two of the sport drinks and rehydrates Caden and Trixie, then offers them both bananas and donuts.  Caden takes a donut and Trixie takes a banana, which of course becomes the moment every is posting animated gifs of years later.  Of course.  Caden and Trixie looked better afterwards and picked up the pace a bit.  Brayden gave me and Denzel a schedule for feeding and hydrating them and a list of signs of cardiac or kidney issues, and then was out in the field again.

With the five boys out gathering info, Caden ended up with an update every 20 minutes or so.  Old Mr. Breckenridge killed six space aliens with a chainsaw before they killed him.  Young Mr. Breckenridge is missing, along with Chainsaw Jr., and then, Space aliens are gathered together near the old Best Buy, ready to defend the old TV sets from looters, and then, The equestrian club has discovered that space aliens are afraid or horses.  They are currently chasing space aliens around the soccer fields in Svenhardt Park.

Mason checked in for the last time at 4 hours, 11 minutes.  Space aliens are patrolling the woods between the center of town and the industrial park.  He went out again and then didn’t answer any texts and his phone rolled straight to voicemail.  All we could do was hope he was holed up somewhere without his phone.  The 45-second snippets that were getting out from other users on social media showed lots of footage of space aliens impaling any phone they could get their conical hands on. 

9 hours, 22 minutes, Caden still popping his dick in and out of Trixie at a pace of about 19 strokes per minute, we got the first reports of paratroopers.  First it was Jackson.  Paratroopers spotted coming in.  Location secret for their safety.  Then Aiden.  Gunfire near the V.A.  Space aliens fleeing south.  Then Brayden.  Space aliens fleeing soldiers, but killing everyone they find.  Caden fucked Trixie through it all, and our number of live viewers hit eight digits.

I did take a minute to research what the world record for the longest gay fuck is, but didn’t come up with any good answers.  I sent an email to the folks at Guinness anyway, just in case.

11 hours, 3 minutes, Jayden burst in, signing and shrieking simultaneously.  “They’re going house-to-house, killing everyone!  We have to move!”

Caden signed, Wait! and then started relaying that to the viewers.

“Boys, go!” I ordered.

Brayden and Aiden and Jayden and the one oddball Jackson piled out the slider into the back yard. 

Caden signed, I may need to sign off soon.  Here is the important information.  He then began signing the recap.

Denzel and I pulled our guns out of our falsies.  Denzel prefers a 9mm, but I’ve got a blunt-nosed .357.  That thing has the recoil from hell, but a girl has to be able to protect herself.  There is no such thing as a drag queen who doesn’t know how to shoot, swing a bat, or throw a knockout punch. 

And we were just in time.

Four space alien wrist spikes punched through the front door.  They twisted, and the door shattered into splinters.  A space alien stood under the porch light, the beak on the top of its head snapping.

Denzel and I fired simultaneously.

My shot split its head in two, chartreuse blood splattering everywhere.  Denzel’s pierced its exoskeleton in the center of its chest.  It staggered forward.  Caden and Trixie were out the slider already.  Denzel grabbed the tripod and followed.  I fired one more shot, fighting the recoil, proving that limp wrists are not necessarily weak wrists.  The space alien’s exoskeleton split between its upper arms and it fell to the ground.  I was out the slider a second later.

It looked like Denzel’s obnoxious neighbor had tried to run.  His body, sans head, was draped over the fence between the two houses.  Denzel pulled a loose picket out of the fence and motioned Caden and Trixie through.  They both squeezed into the neighbor’s back yard.  I ran up next to Denzel.  “No way in fuck I’m fitting through there.”

“Me neither,” Denzel said, and passed the camera through to Trixie.  He replaced the picket and pulled out his 9mm again.  “You and me are heading the other direction.”

On the archive of the livestream you can see Trixie and Caden creep through the neighbor’s back yard and through the slider into his house.  It’s totally been trashed, but they don’t find any space aliens there.  So they slip into the primary bedroom and into the closet, where they mount the tripod on the shelf and go back to fucking.

Denzel and I, leading with our guns, made our way into the front yard.  A crowd of terrified humans ran south, space aliens following like cowboys moving the herd.  More space aliens, beaks still snapping, were coming out of houses farther south from us and heading immediately to the next one, and the next. 

We didn’t have unlimited ammo, but we sure as shit could take a few of those vagina fuckers out before we ran out.  We marched after them.

The paratrooper found Caden and Trixie at 12 hours, 59 minutes.  They’re still just going at it, and the door flies open.  They both jump.  There’s this hulking Canadian soldier standing there.  He recognizes Caden and Trixie.  He signs, You O.K.?

That one’s universal enough that Trixie understands.  They both nod.

So the soldier strips off his uniform and starts fucking Caden’s face.  This goes on for 20 more minutes, soldier shoving his dick into Caden’s mouth, Caden shoving his dick in and out of Trixie’s ass, when they pull off the holy grail of gay porn: the simultaneous orgasm.  They both shoot loads so big that Trixie’s furs are ruined and, well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing that the owner of that house was never going to need anything in that closet ever again.

Meanwhile, I was down to my last bullet, Denzel down to his last two, fourteen space aliens having left the people they were chasing and marching down on us, seemingly aware that we wouldn’t take them all down.

And that’s when the flash-bang went off.  It lit up the night sky like daylight.  My ears pounded and then rang.  But when I looked up again, all fourteen space aliens lay on the ground, twitching a few last times before expiring.

District 69 was free.

The Republicans won the next election and took all the credit, of course.  To hear them tell the story, you’d think the military hadn’t shown up at all.

Mason never was found.  I sincerely hope that the space alien who ate him choked on his bony femur and died a slow, miserable death.  I mean, we all thought Mason was delicious, but not like that!   He’s actually got two memorials, though.  First, his name was carved on the “In Memoriam” sculpture the county put up in the park along with the names of all the other dead and missing from the uprising.  But more importantly, we put a plaque and his photo on the “Community Heroes” wall outside the QUILTBAG Center.  That wasn’t without controversy, since he was straight.  But the board agreed unanimously that he had been instrumental in the gay community’s efforts to bring down the space aliens, and since he was always comfortable around the gay sex that was an essential part of that operation, he clearly rose above his disability.  Besides, straight boys are like catnip for gay men.  The week we unveiled his photo monthly planned giving to the Center tripled.

Caden’s superhuman prowess did not go unnoticed, of course, and within hours of the liberation, he had an offer from the top porn producer in the world.  He and Trixie were off to Slovakia the next day.  The first video they made with him was a challenge to see who could do what Denzel did in our first video.  None of the competitors wore heels, and the best the best of them could manage was to hold it for 53 seconds.  Trixie was back three months later, but Caden’s career is going strong.

Of course, the part of this that’s so annoying is that even though we made Caden internet famous, we never got a chance to monetize any of it.  The channel was free when we were trying to get help for District 69, and now, without a teenaged exhibitionistic nymphomaniac, there’s just no one willing to pay to subscribe. 

But that’s O.K.  We have a plan.

Caden’s younger brother Hayden turns 18 in 196 days.

About the author and the piece (click to expand)  

This story is not only a “market killer,” it’s the story that was used to sell Science Fiction is a Drag! to its would-be publisher. It went on to be rejected by nine more publications before making its way to us. Lady Zinnia, The Drag Queen of Science Fiction, recently declared that we have achieved dead internet and deleted most of her online presence, but she can still be found on Bluesky at @ladyzinnia.bsky.social.

 

©2026 by Lady Zinnia Fuchs. All rights reserved. May not be used for A.I. training.