Chapter Text
Dylan was an outspoken, proud, politically active bisexual man in his late-twenties who spent the majority of his time getting into verbal fights and arguing with any poor fool who managed to attract his attention— that was what he did when he wasn't slumming at his job that was bound to be replaced by AI one of these days. Or, well, maybe not. He worked at this woke company job (which was a little bit of an oxymoron), which valued humans (who had the correct opinions, of course) keeping their jobs.
Getting a house in California was something to marvel at—even if it was just Oakland. He and his girlfriend Amy lived together, sharing the responsibilities of paying for the place, and it was super adorable— Despite the hellish conditions of their house. Technically, they'd only rented this place, and it was definitely a fixer-upper by the time they'd scraped together enough to actually buy it. The real owner of the house was a total asshole, seeing them as inexperienced spoiled grown-up children who could hardly figure out how to pay taxes. Which was somewhat true, and the owner used their naive ignorance as an excuse to cheap out in some ways and completely drain their bank accounts in others.
The neighborhood was a middle-income area that didn't have many families and was a little lifeless at times but could pass as the suburbs anyway, but Dylan and Amy’s house had stood out for not just how they advertised their political views everywhere, but how it wasn't very well-kempt, despite their best efforts. The owner of the house just couldn't be damned to fix it up on his own, and wouldn't allow them to make any bad changes. There was probably black mold growing somewhere, which could explain their more wild ideas.
Being bisexual, Dylan was attracted to both men and women. Some people thought that bisexuals were only attracted to one gender and were just faking it, but that was the farthest thing from the truth. He had some boyfriends throughout high school, and had thought he was gay at first, until he'd finally looked the other way to his best friend, Amy, and the rest was history.
Amy had been with him romantically for about seven or so years—and they'd been friends for even longer—and they'd gone through several phases of life and were ready to move onto the next: Marriage. Amy was skeptical about the effects of marriage on opinionated women like herself— and she hated how the patriarchal system worked to treat women like cattle, trading from one owner to the next. Women were chained by the leg to their husbands historically, being slavish miserable pill-popping bangmaids, and it was important for any marriage between any woman and any man to be one hundred percent equal in every single way. Only a Conservative could think that a woman could be happy in a societal-conforming heterosexual marriage. Dylan had nodded at this explanation, even though it hurt him deep down because he really wanted to marry her… He couldn't even explain why, but to have her last name— It just felt like a dream.
Dylan and Amy were perfect matches, although they seemed like prissy nightmares to everyone else. They both had pretty much the same thoughts on everything, starting from their first meet in high school. They'd started dating in their last years at USC. Amy was as feminist and free-thinking as revolutionaries were made. She'd still had her piercings and short pink-dyed hair, as she was a freelance creator, doing designs, making music, pretty much everything under the sun. She also worked as a barista at the local coffee shop.
On the other hand, Dylan’s career was more stable and so, he couldn't have blue hair anymore— which his parents were happy about, although he kept his blonde hair more shaggy and boyish. Never quite a rule-follower even though he was almost thirty, a milestone he'd hopefully celebrate with his new wife. Dylan had a creamy, white, slightly-flushed complexion from all the hot California days, so fine-featured that he looked more like a flamboyant ken doll than an actual man. His thick, pink lips would usually be pursed into a pout. He worked out daily, but knew it would be misogynistic to lift weights, so he stayed a 5’5 arrogant little twink with weak arms, that couldn't do more than flail around whenever threatened, but killer legs and a fat dumptruck that wobbled every time he happily skipped over to check his mail or go to his car, unable to see a problem with his tight pants and see-through white shirts, since only women were judged for their outfits. In his mind, Jack had the male privilege of NEVER being slut shamed ever. It was even worse when he flounced around in his ultra-revealing gymbunny gear.
There was only one problem in their relatively easy-going life: They had a Republican neighbor! Who put up the American Flag everywhere on his yard, next to some atrocious MAGA signs—which was different from the political decorations Dylan and Amy had because theirs was about wholesome topics like women empowerment, LGBTQ rights, and executing their felon president—and he would go around bothering people (Dylan) about cutting the grass and participating in the community. It ticked Dylan off every time he'd see him.
His name was Jack, living right next door, and Dylan couldn't help but gravitate over to his side, if only to watch out for any tricks he may pull. Jack was so clever to him, and he was so different from anyone Dylan had ever met before- as well as being the first conservative the liberal didn't instantly lock out of his life after one argument. That was, again, only because of how close they lived and how Dylan NEEDED to see what was up to! He couldn't allow anything bad to happen to his future wife. Amy, to him, was the most beautiful woman in the world, being so liberated and so intelligent, and he knew that Republicans were dangerous psycho-rapists who wanted to enslave all women. Especially independent woman-identifying womb-havers like Amy!
“Jack’s so strong too… F-fuck, how tall is he, like six-foot-three or something ridiculous, he probably takes height supplements…” When he wasn't outraged over some social issue, he stuttered a lot whenever he spoke to Conservative men. The anger gave him bravery, but right now, all he had was worry. He was going to marry Amy. He couldn't have anyone disrupting their bliss.
Of course, Dylan felt a lot of guilt for wishing to protect Amy from any Republicans. She was a strong woman who could protect herself, he knew, but he just… didn't want her to deal with all that! She was so focused on her commissions and building her ethical creative business in a world of computer-generated slop. Dylan nibbled on his bottom lip, aware that he was being a slight chauvinist by wanting to be a protector.
Dylan was almost tragically ignorant of the fact that he could never be a protector for any woman at all—even for a domineering feminist like Amy— He was so tiny in comparison to all these alpha males, yappy and emotional but non-threatening like a Chihuahua. His plump, perky, sculpted ass meant that any red-blooded patriotic male who swung that way knew automatically this liberal was just a worthless cumdump waiting to be fucked. Not someone with deep thoughts or even semi-important opinions.
So it was this mistake that led him to knocking on his neighbor's door. Practically banging on it, with his nerves being all out of order. A strident activist as he was, everything was life-or-death, win-or-lose. He'd become even more nervous, skittish, and reactive because of that.
Dylan jumped up when the door finally opened. He'd been standing there and knocking for twenty minutes… people were starting to watch through the curtains.
“Oh- it’s you. Dylan from next door.” Jack had known Dylan from their minor aforementioned conversations. No matter how brief the interactions, it was always apparent how they differed politically, because Jack was (as mentioned a thousand times) REPUBLICAN! God, Dylan didn't even know there were Republicans in Blue State California but Oakland seemed to be full of them… infested with them… The caked-up twink took this all really seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. He had to look up to the other man.
“Yeah. It's me. We need to have a talk.”
It was the crack of dawn. Jack rubbed at his stubbled face. “Right now?”
Dylan tried to stuff his hands in his pockets, but he couldn't because they were actually sewed-in. His hips were wider than a normal man’s, and he was so short too, so he usually had to wear women’s pants in order to accommodate for that. “RIGHT now. It's- it's important, because, um… I know your views on women's rights—”
“I don't think we've ever had that conversation—”
“—and how you're a super misogynist who probably harasses independent women like my girlfriend because your fragile masculinity can't handle her,” continued Dylan snottily. “You should know I won't let you bother her. S-she can protect herself, but I'm also… there.”
He finished that last sentence lamely. He’d practiced this speech multiple times in the mirror, but his stupid brain just wouldn't get it right!
He shouldn't have to worry, because Jack really didn't care about anything he was saying. In fact, the whole time he was talking, this patriotic male was openly ogling him, undressing him with his eyes and guessing how many fingers he could stuff in that pretentious, tight, virgin rim.
“I’m gay. You don't have to worry about your… Wait. You're saying you have a girlfriend? That's your girlfriend?” This prick huffed out a disbelieving chuckle. “Are you not also— you know?”
The implication took almost a minute to be discovered. When it did, Dylan squealed, “Wh-wh-I’m not gay!!” He swallowed down harshly, running a hand through his fluffy blond locks. “N-not to be homophobic or anything, but, I feel like we should get that out of the way. I'm Bisexual.”
Jack actually laughed at him then, although he had the half-decency of ducking his head to try and hide it.
“What's so funny?” Dylan demanded. He was still caught up on the fact that Gay Republicans even existed. Something something face-eating leopard parties.
“It's just... That's not real,” Jack told him patiently, like he was speaking with someone so dumb you couldn't do anything but take pity. “You're either attracted to women or you're attracted to men. No special exceptions. This is why the Lesbian-Gay community isn't accepted anymore in society, because you folk make it so complicated— tons of made-up sexualities for attention. Nobody takes us seriously anymore, because we've got braindead pretty boys like you playing around with feminist bitches and giving them power over the community, by proxy.”
“That doesn't even make sense!” he snapped, his cheeks bright red. “I am— I am attracted to… to… I'm marrying Amy because…”
“You're confused. That's why.”
Dylan’s eyes dropped down, because he was so full of rage and couldn't handle seeing this Conservative any longer— but his effort to calm down backfired. He could see clearly the outline of Jack's massive cock in his pants. For a second, all his unpleasant emotions were forgotten and a gasp of surprise escaped his pink pretty lips. “N-no way that's real…” Surely it couldn't be. He couldn't imagine any guy having such a huge fuckstick, so lewd and tantalizing even when covered... What the heck?! No! It couldn't be real...! He blinked and still didn't look away.
At all his gawking, Jack let out a bemused “What?”
Dylan snapped his gaze up. They made eye contact for about two seconds before it became too much for the stuttering, stumbling liberal, who couldn't even defend his own sexuality— although that could be blamed on the undeniable truth he wasn't the smartest in general. His political career crumbled the second a real man put any pressure on him.
Needless to say, Dylan scurried away. That night, he opened his bedroom window and proceeded to have loud, passionate sex with his girlfriend, but the only thoughts bouncing around in his empty skull were about making SURE the bastard living next door could hear him!
They'd ended up getting a noise complaint, too, with an officer showing up and ringing the doorbell again and again before Dylan, stinking of sex and practically naked, had to answer the door, blushing and stammering about how he “didn't realize he was making so much noise”.
It was only a few days later that his internal thoughts slipped out his lips for the first time, when he and Amy were cuddling together in the late afternoon. A movie was on. Amy was trying to stroke his leg, a classic sign she was horny (the police pig had interrupted her beloved female orgasm) and would be requiring him to go down on her, but he was so distracted he couldn't even notice. The Democrat was pondering more than the political and economic state of the world.
For some reason, Dylan couldn't stay away from the Republican. He was so infuriating, and he NEEDED to win this argument with this- this crude jerk who towered over him. And who was so handsome and manly.
Instead of silently taking some yapping libtard’s bullshit, Jack said more ugly things to him, not caring one little bit about his feelings. About the REAL gay community—basically just homosexual right-wingers—and how he was only looking for attention from his Leftist Overlords. Being ‘Bisexual’ was popular nowadays and easy to fake. You could date anyone you wanted to, for the validation of others, and then go and run around like a skank, having so much sex to make up for the deficit. If not, well, you’d end up just like Dylan. Throwing tantrums everyday because he was so sex-starved. He was lying to himself, Jack told him. Normal Gay people were dignified and productive members of society, never purposefully drawing attention to their sexualities. They played for one team, got married, fought for American rights, didn't complain about stuff they didn't like. They certainly didn't whine and kick their feet about the natural order of things.
He'd brought up Amy herself. How could he be attracted to a woman if she tried to act so much like a guy? In this awful small town in Oakland, California, everyone could hear and see sweet dumb Dylan getting bossed around by his feminist girlfriend.
Yesterday in particular, the worst thing ever happened. After one of their debates, just before Dylan was about to drive to work, Jack had the audacity to slap him hard on the ass the second he turned his back! His cheeks wobbled at the harsh clap, the skin no doubt bruising beneath his pants, and he stumbled ahead forward. Nobody had ever, ever, ever…
It had taken poor Dylan a second to realize he'd totally jizzed in his underwear, the thickest load he'd had in a long time, causing a growing stain on his crotch. The orgasm rocked him, making him pant hotly and jiggle all over, trying to refrain from touching himself in public.
He'd orgasmed from getting slapped on the butt by a man, but the real humiliation came when he couldn't dare turn around and go change himself- because then, Jack would know what happened! Instead, he stalked over to his car on the other side, got in, started it up and went to work in his cum-soaked pants, looking like he'd peed himself.
Abruptly, he leaned back with a heavy sigh and spoke. “Hey, bear-bear?... Um. I have a weird question.” He accidentally pushed her away from him when he turned. “I just- I don't know. I've been thinking. Don't judge me.”
Amy seemed placated by all his preemptive apologies, forcibly interlocking their fingers.
“Have you ever wanted to be with a straight guy?” He knew this would upset her and he could already see the way her sweet expression was shifting. “I mean, like… someone who hadn't gone out with guys before.” Someone who doesn't get so distracted and ends up staring at another man’s crotch.
“Dylan! How could you say something like that!” She slapped his arm. He nearly jolted away from her feminine touch. “God no…” Amy immediately started on her lecture, equal parts tough and loving, because she was super in love with him. He was her dream man… so woke to today’s problems and so submissive to her every desire. No matter how much he puffed himself up and rebelled against the status quo, Dylan was naturally a sweet thing- which was why it was so shocking to his parents he'd ended up with Amy. She was a punk and Dylan's mom and dad were both usual Clinton Democrats. Their son was always trying to do the right thing, forcing others to pick up their litter and recycle more. His eyes got all big and glassy whenever he argued, so eager at all the attention given to him. It was too bad he was about as smart as a potted plant, because, God, he could dedicate himself to anything.
Now that he thought of it, he remembered his parents also having doubts about his relationship with Amy. They told him that they were perfectly accepting of his sexuality, and they wouldn't be bothered by a Gay son. He didn't need to pretend to be straight by getting into a relationship with one of his friends. (Both of them were pretty sure Amy was a lesbian anyway.)
“I'm not pretending, Dad! Come on, it's 2012, things are changing—sexually is a spectrum… and... and... I love her!”
That was the first time he said those three words, in an argument with his condescending daddy… He hated his father so much, for being ‘conservative’ in comparison to his ultra leftist stances.
“Do you agree, Dylan?”
“What?”
“I was saying- you can't think about that kind of shit. You'll become an oppressor of your own community.” She nuzzled into his chest. “Don’t think about that, okay? Who even talked to you about that…”
“That dickhead next door,” replied Dylan on impulse, but then, he was thinking about dick. Specifically, the huge, girthy manhood his evil neighbor was hiding from him. Jack would imply he was a slut whenever he stared too long, but that was just plain manipulation- just like Fox News claiming to be ‘entertainment’ was, leading on and making a travesty out of justice. Dylan really, really, really wanted to see that MAGA cock. He pressed his sensitive thighs together, hotter than hot between the legs.
Amy saw the unfamiliar look on his face and was slightly disturbed. She'd never seen him when he was aroused- like that. “Is he… bothering you?”
“U-um! No!” He didn't want his beloved girlfriend to think he was weak… Not that weakness existed in men. That was fragile masculinity. The Patriarchy. Something! “I- Let’s go to bed, okay?”
“You can always tell me…”
“Jack is fine,” he said, despite how Jack really WASN’T fine. Jack was always touching him, and teasing him, and telling him how he was secretly a gay man! And not just a gay man in denial, a slutty, whorish, nasty twink who needed to be stuffed, day-in, day-out. That was why he voted Democrat, after all, because he was too stupid and easily-led and, honestly, shouldn't be voting at all. Worst of all, Dylan just took the degrading words and panted along, too slow and dizzy to realize he could just leave instead of listening. “We've been getting along, I guess, he hasn't said any slurs or anything like you'd expect." He pretended everything was normal. “I'm handling everything so he won't bother us when I-” When I marry you. It was a surprise so he couldn't tell her, of course…! “So he won't annoy us in the future with his fascist nonsense. Don't worry, I've got this.”
All this brave talk- it made something in him stir. His head was all messed up, as he pictured how much of an impact he was making, telling this awful Republican what was what. He covered his face, trying to hide his heavy blush, and told Amy he was too sick to eat her out.
That night, however, he snuck into the bathroom and rolled his pajama pants down. He couldn't dare look at himself in the mirror, his creamy sun-kissed thighs jiggling like jelly in his aroused state, ready to collapse, face first, ass in the air. For his dignity, he managed to keep himself standing, facing the wall with one hand balancing himself on the sink. He'd always been insecure about his thicker thighs, in contrast to his lean form, and his bottom, which was always so plush and available to the sight.
However, lately… he had been so stressed that he couldn't handle trying to hide his body anymore. He’d ditched any form of long pants- It was California. Way too hot. And shorts were so much more comfortable; the shorter, the better. The company he worked at would never mandate a dress code anyway, although he did get a few notes about appearing ‘sloppy’ and ‘inappropriate’. Which he had only the vaguest idea of what those words meant.
There was something wrong with him, he could tell, but he couldn't put his finger on it! He was so clumsy. He couldn't even dress himself properly and Amy frequently fussed over making sure all of his buttons were right and that his hair was slightly neater. It was sweet, but all he could think about was— Well, not her.
His cock was flushed pink, dripping with precum, as he yanked his tight briefs to his ankles- He would sometimes get teased in his local gym’s locker room, for wearing panties, but, first of all, that was super offensive, and second of all, he didn't really have a choice… Wear anything else and he'd end up giving himself a wedgie. Sometimes, he wished he could just not wear anything, that would be so much simpler. If only society was nicer.
His hand slithered downwards and he nearly yelped as he held his needy libtoid toy. The truth was he was sooooo horny, droolingly so, all the time. Not an hour went by where sex wasn't on his mind— and not wholesome sex with Amy, but raw, carnal, disgusting anal sex with… with guys! Not just any guys, but the most patronizing, hateful, mean, politically incorrect guys you could think of!
It was basically cheating. Imaginary cheating or something. He pouted and started to stroke himself, his hips jerking rapidly—he had to do this quick, he couldn't wake her up, God, he wished he had his own bathroom… or that he lived alone, or, or, or—and his mouth releasing little sharp gasps with every angry tug.
“Hhhnn… I hate them so much,” he whined, biting his lip to try and keep the noise level down. “I hate Republicans… they make me so fucking hard, it's not fair—”
When he finally orgasmed, having completely given into the degeneracy for now by allowing his thoughts to become dark and explicit, his cum coated his fingers stickily, his load overflowing in his hand, splattering on the floor.
“N-not enough,” he grumbled, his brows furrowed. He was so angry and upset at those awful Conservatives— for not stuffing him with their cocks so he wouldn't have to jerk off in the middle of the night! He could be cuddling with his girlfriend right now, but instead, his tummy was flooded with thigh-clenching, pillow-biting arousal, imagining a nightmare world where he really couldn't vote and all the decisions could be made for him—and, in this dark place, he admitted to himself that attention could be so nice, and politics became so stressful when people expected him to have a brain—as he licked his own sperm off himself. The things a liberal had to do…