Author : Desmond Hussey
“Twenty-five quid”, the androgynous doorkeeper said, looking bored despite the deafening beats and boisterous atmosphere in the club behind him/her. I waved my hand over the ID scanner/ electronic debit transfer and hoped I had enough cash left for tonight’s shenanigans.
The bouncer was practically a wall of muscle and eyed me with impassive scrutiny. Even his eyeballs looked like they spent time on a universal gym. Guys like him were bred in test tubes, raised on steroids, protein and barbells and hired out to places like this by private security companies. What a life.
I slipped past him into the humid, smoky, inferno. My ears naturally adjusted to the volume, filtering out the damaging frequencies as my eyes compensated for the darkness, smoke and ultraviolet light.
I scanned the gyrating crowd. The usual suspects were here. Dougal stood out like a sore thumb. At nine feet, he towered over the other patrons and his mane of platinum hair glowed vividly in the black lights. Lennix was prowling. Her lithe figure moved with feline grace as she shamelessly seduced an obviously blitzed out emo-infant sucking a blinking soother. I wondered what his parents were thinking when they ordered that particular mod for their unborn. There was simply no accounting for taste. Tabitha was all breasts and hips, as usual, flashing her excessive cleavage to all who cared. Someone told me her gene mod included ample back support. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least.
I couldn’t see my chums, so I elbowed my way through the twisting, spinning, bobbing, slithering dancers, aiming for the bar. Someone caught my arm.
“Oiy, Maggie!” Damian squealed, his forked tongue darting salaciously across his thin lips.
“Hello, Damian. Long time no see.”
“Felicia’s looking for you.”
I nodded and let the crowd push us apart. I didn’t like being too close to Damian. Something about his pupil-less red eyes gave me shivers.
“There’s a ghirl what makes me horny”, a musky satyr slurred in Scottish brogue as I sidled up to the bar. His furry legs were obviously fake, but the horns and hooves looked real enough, as were the overpowering pheromones radiating off him like waves. “Cannae I buy you a drink, pett?”
I ordered a triple scotch. I was anything but a cheap drunk. My mother’s work, I’m sure. My mods included a ridiculously high metabolism and resistance to alcohol, which usually sucked, but at times like this it was a blessing. You take what you’re born with, I guess.
Thirty quid later he was less impressed by my womanly charms, but his pheromones were starting to affect me. I was grateful when Felicia tapped me on the shoulder and broke the aroused trance I was settling into.
Felicia’s unique epidermal mod was fascinating and beautiful. I don’t know how they did it, but the constantly changing melanin patterns were truly breathtaking. I kissed her long and hard, releasing my mounting desire triggered by the Satyr’s chemical excretions.
“Care for a third?” goat man crooned when we finally broke apart.
“Toss off, Puck.” Felicia said as she led me toward an empty booth, arm around my waist. “I’ve got wonderful news”, she whispered in my ear.
“What is it?” I asked as we cuddled in the shadows.
She patted her belly and grinned coyly.
I knew immediately what she meant. After six attempts, our in vitro transgenic hybrid had finally taken root in her womb. I smiled. Extensive gene mods had left us, like most people, infertile, but with enough cash and skilled doctors anything was possible.
We were having a baby!
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