This is a work in progress: The night was hot and the humidity that lingered from an early evening shower amplified the heat to an uncomfortable proportion. The moon hung low and burned orange as if infused with ire. The clouds were sparse, the stars visible, and the night young. "There's nothing new under the sun, but shit every damn day gets hotter, and every damned day the thermometer keeps saying the same thing." Casey thought to herself as she slipped one leg out of a car. "Hairs worse nightmare." She quickly peered into the mirror once more to check her make up before, with the snap of her wrist, the car's visor was up. The air was sticky and wet. It wasn't unlike her to be half of the wretched accommodations the elements had so benevolently provided, but this was unwanted and wanton. It was of no consequence, however, as she was out to enjoy herself. "The club'll have ac anyways." She thought to herself as she gingerly flattened the front and back of her dress with the palms of her hands. The frock of her dress fitted tightly against her body and stopped just before the median of her smooth legs. Red was her best color, but tonight was a red letter night to wear a yellow dress. "This is going to be amazing!" Jeremy thought aloud. "I haven't been to a club in quite some time now." "What are you going to do when you get there?" Tyler inquired sheepishly. Tyler had always had a crush on Jeremy. It was more of respect and adoration than anything, but if Jeremy ever made himself available to the idea of sex or even heavy petting, Tyler would jump at the chance to jump in bed with him. Hell, in bed, in the shower, into a window with flames and thick black smoke billowing out of it. But he would suffice for being his close, more emotionally inclined, friend. "Uhm, duh much? Dance, drink, dance with you, drink with you, and try to get you some ass." Jeremy playfully smacked Tylers bum and grabbed the packet of cigarettes he was holding. "Cancer sticks will give you cancer dick." Tyler rolled his eyes. His puns were always trite and generally unfunny. They were corny. But that was one of the reasons why he liked him. First of all, he was sure Jeremy did it on purpose, and secondly- he was the "girl" of the psuedo-relationship. He laughed at all of his jokes, feigned interest in topics that would bore the paint off of a brush, and entertained most of his whims. He detested being called the "girl" or the "bitch" of what really wasn't even a real amorous relationship. That, and it was demeaning if either term was used with a tone that inflected subservience. Not all women make sandwiches for their partner after sex, and not all women laughed at painfully moronic puns made by an egotistical person. Even so, he would have been his bitch or girl any day of the week. "You need to stop smoking these. Seriously. When you're 50 you'll look like Nixon's posthumous dick." He opened the container and broke the 7 cigarettes that were left in half, dumping them into the trash can. Cigarettes were expensive... and, apparently, so were compliments. He didn't have enough to purchase either. Tyler had bought a new ensemble for that very night. It wasn't too twinky-gay, as Jeremy hated that, and it wasn't too jocky-prep as he also hated that. It was simple. It said "I dressed in teh middle for you. Look at me- I'm not mesh, I don't glimmer when the faintest amount of light strikes me, I don't cost four-hundred dollars, and I'm not an off color." But, of course, he didn't notice. "Hey!" A deeper more controlling voice bellowed from across the room. "Are you two ladies ready to go, or are you going to pluck each other's ass hole hairs?" "Wid, hold your horses you mongrel. I'll be done when I'm done." A reply sassily came out of the bathroom. Widdicker, Wid, was a six-foot-four powerhouse. He had broad shoulders, huge tris, bis, delts, traps, pecs, and a stomach you could peel concrete with. He was humungous. He was also the gayest one out of the three and was a sub-bottom. It didn't work out for him very well though. Most guys wanted to be dominated by him. After-all, he completely fit the bill. "Wid, if we alays left when you wanted to, we'd still be naked. Go practice your Vin Diesel/the Rock impersonations." He looked like neither. In fact- he looked more like a more chiseled and hunky Pierce Brosnan. Bond, not Mrs. Doubtfire.