Julie's Anatomy Lesson


Julie was eight years old when she had her first encounter with death. A boy in her class named Vinny had failed to make grades, and one day he was there, picking his nose and playing tag in the playground, and the next he was just gone. Since he failed honestly and was thus spared a public execution, Julie did not witness his death, nor did any of her classmates, but they were all duly informed of his execution, and her instructor was quick to point out that it had been painless. This, however, did not dampen the poignancy of his absence in her classes, and the finality of death made its impression on her.

She obsessed over it for months after that, her mind continuously returning to an interaction she had with the boy in the second grade. Julie had been a portly girl at that age, not fat but chunky, and most of the other kids ridiculed her relentlessly, calling her thunder thighs or tubby or bubble butt. Had she been born fifty years earlier, she might have been spared this torment. In those days students attended school from home and interacted with each other as they would a teevee. The system worked beautifully until a hacker known as Quantom developed software that "attended" school for you, aced your tests, did your homework, and allowed you to play hookie and still pass with flying colors. Alas, virtual classrooms were scrapped in favor of traditional schooling, and students had to trudge off to schoolyards where bullies were given free reign.

One day, after a particularly nasty confrontation that left Julie steaming with hot red cheeks and tears in her eyes - eyes which were as enchanting and captivating as ever; sparkling blue jewels that shimmered with intelligence and vivacity and expression - Vinny had taken her hand, wiped away her tears, and smiled at her so sweetly that she was instantly filled with good cheer, her troubles forgotten. That boy, who had been so warm and kind and thoughtful, was now gone forever. She found it simultaneously terrifying, fascinating, and strangely exhilirating.



Her next encounter with death came at the age of thirteen. A fifteen year old blonde girl from Parker High, a school across town, had been caught cheating on an exam. They said her name was Taylor Henning, but that no longer mattered. Once they caught her cheating, she was nothing more than dead meat walking. They put her in the pit, and the event was broadcast in Julie's school as a warning against immoral behavior.

Taylor was a well built girl, her waist trim and lean but with a strong core, wonderfully bouncy, budding young breasts bulging from her chest, and thick, well-toned legs that culminated in firm, shapely buttocks supporting her base. She was sent into the pit naked, as was custom, and a pack of five dodgerines, an aptly named genetic invention that took most of its traits from bulldogs, badgers, and wolverines, was set loose on her. They stood just over one foot tall and measured twenty inches in length, and the brutal inefficiency of the creatures was both horrifying and astonishing. They were bred and trained to not outright kill their prey, but rather to focus the brunt of their considerable wrath on their victim’s soft underbelly.

They converged on this poor girl and did what they were designed to do. In the blink of an eye they had ripped her midsection open and spilled a feast of guts at her feet. Although there was no hope, Taylor fought them for her insides with admirable pluck and grit. As she tried to scoop up bits and pieces of her entrails she received vicious bites and deep gashes on her arms and hands, but she didn't stop until she lost a couple fingers to the cause. Blood sprayed and spurted grotesquely, soaking these vile engines of death in gore. Eventually losing the strength to combat them, Taylor sat and watched helplessly as her insides were gobbled up, and Julie saw it all unfold in 3D technicolor. It took over thirty minutes for the blonde girl to finally die, and it was horrific.

No one spoke out against the violence; Julie and her classmates all pretended that what they saw was just, for fear of arousing suspicion and earning a similar fate. Life was cheap, particularly at their age when they had yet to contribute anything to society, and they could be frivolously disposed and discarded.

It hadn't always been this way, but ever since the human race's mastery of the genetic processes responsible for aging, the government of Pandora had taken prohibitive measures to maintain a sustainable population. All female residents were required to partake in a procedure that would halt their menstrual cycles indefinitely, and when the population reached a certain level women were allowed to apply for the right to procreate. A predetermined number of offspring would be permitted, and at the appropriate age they would begin schooling. In order to ensure these children became productive members of the community, those with incurable birth defects were killed outright, and any who failed to make grades were quietly and efficiently eliminated.

This presented an obvious problem, in that death was a particularly undesirable condition, especially since religion had gone the way of the dodo, and children were prone to do whatever was necessary to avoid it. Thus, a deterrent even more unappealing than the death that awaits failure was needed to combat cheating. It was left up to each school district to resolve this issue as they saw fit, resulting in some imaginative, and excruciatingly painful methods of execution, and in most cases these inventive killings were performed in public as an example to others.

That aside, life in Pandora was surprisingly pleasant. People remained youthful and in good health - the oldest known resident was well over seven hundred years old, and had the appearance of a man in his twenties - and modern medicine had conquered cancer, heart disease, brain damage, and all sorts of less serious illnesses. Violent crime was rare, and poverty was non-existent. It was a wonderful time and place to be alive, provided you made the cut. Fortunately, Julie needn't worry. She was no genius, but she was a bright girl, her father owned a chain of thirty-seven restaurants, and her mother was a world renowned actress. They were an exceedingly wealthy family.

This provided solace in the coming nights when she repeatedly woke from horrid nightmares in which she was brutally slaughtered in a variety of fashions. Invariably, upon awakening she would masturbate until reaching the most intense orgasms. Julie never could understand why, but the image of that blonde girl dying in gruesome agony not only haunted her dreams but fueled her libido immensely. She would imagine herself in that situation, facing the horror of imminent death and prolonged amounts of pain, and it drove her mad with lust.









Julie’s third and final encounter with death came at the age of sixteen, and it is this encounter with which this tale concerns itself.




"God, you're beautiful."

"God's a mythological construct, no more real than fairy godmothers or vampires."

"Funny how certain phrases stick with us, even after the meaning behind them is outdated and obsolete. You are beautiful, though."

It was true, Julie’s baby fat melted away with the arrival of puberty, and in its wake stunningly sensual, feminine curves were formed. Her face developed into a mesmerizing spectacle of such extraordinary radiance, most of the boys in her school could not peel their eyes off her. Never-the-less, Julie remained humble and grounded, remembering her younger years when she had been ostracized and targeted by bullies. It was this humility, coupled with her appreciation for the plight of the disfavored that led to an unlikely friendship with this short, unfortunately proportioned boy named Philip.

Julie giggled and blushed. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m tired, let’s take a break,” Phil said.

“Okay,” Julie agreed, and she tossed the basketball through the hoop one last time, then let it bounce and roll up against the wall of the gym. Her father had built this gym for her because she so loved the thrill of sinking jump shots, and she and Philip were just wrapping up a friendly game of one on one. A game dominated by Julie, naturally. “So what do you wanna do?”

“Let’s go back to your room, watch some teevee or something.”

For Julie, "watching teevee" meant strapping into a chair equipped with cybernetic goggles and neuro censors, and immersing oneself in a virtual world that was almost indistinguishable from reality. One could either become a part of this deceptively authentic existence, or simply be a silent observer. Julie usually chose to interact, preferably with an environment packed with action and brimming with extreme peril. Today, however, she deferred to Philip. "What do you feel like watching?"

"I don't know, you feeling adventurous?"

Julie beamed, "Always!"

"How about one of those classic Westerns?"

Genuinely delighted, Julie agreed, "I love it."

Part of the interactive experience involved signals transmitted neurologically to the participant’s brain, thoroughly immersing them in this fantasy life. While subconsciously the mind was aware that what it was perceiving was not true, thus preventing the participant from suffering any physical damage, the experience was practically seamless. The participant would be furnished with a full set of memories suitable to the program they’ve chosen, superseding their real life experience, although their personal quirks and feelings would remain. Julie found herself transformed into an orphan girl turned outlaw, forced to rob banks and turn the occasional trick to make ends meet. Phil was her childhood friend who chose to cut ties and run with her when she struck out on her own in this cold, harsh world. And so their program began.

“You ready?” Julie wore her hat low on her brow, shielding her angelic face when she tilted her head, a creamy white corset accentuated her ravishing figure, and a beige skirt hung down to her knees. Twin colt revolvers dangled from hips, and a menacing smile played upon her lips.

“Let’s do it,” Phil nodded, his boorish stature clothed in rigid jeans, hardened by dust, a beige shirt and a tan leather duster. He wore his hat in similar fashion, and he had a Winchester rifle slung over his shoulder and .45 at his waist. The pair strolled into the First National Bank of Tombstone as fearless and bold as a pair of honey badgers, and Julie pulled leather on the teller before he even knew she was there. She tossed a couple of burlap sacks through the window at him.

“Fill ‘em up,” she demanded, a command that went unquestioned. The only other patron in the bank was a middle aged woman whom Phil held at gun point, and she did not appear too keen on causing them any trouble. This is going perfectly, Julie thought, her heart thundering in her chest. While she knew stealing was wrong, it gave her a certain thrill, the articulation of which was difficult to pin down. The closest she could come was that it made her feel... alive.

The teller passed back two bags filled with gold bars, which Julie tossed to Phil, who in turn slung them over his shoulder. The teen bandits fled the bank, mounted up, and rode out of town without meeting any resistance. It was no coincidence that the sheriff was tracking a gunman who had killed two men in a card dispute the previous day, leaving his deputy in charge of keeping the law, a man noted for his honesty, not his bravery.



The next scene took place the following morning, at a creek fifty miles out of town where Julie and Phil made camp. For the viewers, this jump in time was fluid and indiscernible, as the program filled in the gaps in their memories accordingly.

"I'm going down to the creek to wash up," Julie remarked, stretching her hands over her head and arching her back in an awesome display of her exuberant young physique. Phil was cooking a breakfast of bacon and eggs over a small fire, and he paused to cast a hungry eye in her direction, then nodded stoically.

Stripping down naked once she was out of Phil's view, Julie waded into the cool, refreshing water and rinsed the dirt from her body. She dipped her neatly cropped, soft brown hair under the surface and combed her fingers through her silky locks, then splashed water in her face. Once she felt cleansed of the dust, she made her way to the creek bank and, without drying off, she slipped on her skirt, put on her boots, fastened up her corset, which was the fashionable sort, not the sort that sought to alter a woman's shape by squeezing her waist like a ripe piece of fruit, and fixed her holsters on her shapely hips. The intoxicating aroma of sizzling bacon wafted on the morning breeze, and Julie's stomach growled as she climbed the embankment.

"Is breakfast ready?" she called out just before breasting the acclivity, and immediately wished she could recant those words. Deputy Johnson, from the good town of Tombstone, and a posse of six men, occupied her camp site, and Phil was already fettered with ropes. The attention of the seven lawmen was now fixed squarely on Julie, thanks to her big mouth. Surrender was not an option, as that would surely result with her dangling at the wrong end of a rope, so she stood sharp, her pistols at her finger tips, and steadied her nerves. She had been in gunfights before, or so the program told her, and the key to coming out alive was to stay calm, keep a cool head, and pick your targets wisely. Sizing up the opposition, Julie focused her attention on a hard looking man saddled up on her right.

Fast as greased lightning she drew down and banged two shots through the man, knocking him off his mount. The response to her attack was faster than she had hoped, men on all fronts going for their guns. She turned to the man closest to her and put a bullet in his noggin, just above his right eye. This instilled doubt in at least two of the men, as they cut tail and ran, finding the sanctity of cover more appealing than a shoot out right here in the open. Encouraged, Julie picked out her next target, but as she pulled the trigger a slug punched through her right shoulder, spoiling her aim, and she only winged him. Still, her courage and accuracy had apparently spooked her opposition, as the next two shots they fired whined past her, missing their mark.

Wounded but not shaken, Julie put down two more men with a couple quick shots, one in the chest of Deputy Johnson and one in the cheek of the man next to him, leaving only Julie and the man she clipped in the clearing, but before she could finish him off she caught a round in the left side of her belly, succinctly followed by another in the right side of her belly. These shots did not come from the wounded man, but from the pair of cowards that had taken refuge when things got hairy. They now fired at her from behind a dune and behind a stone, leaving her without a clean shot to return fire.

Recognizing that she was outmaneuvered, Julie stumbled back and allowed herself to tumble down the embankment, coming to a rest beside the stream. "Shit, I can't believe I've been gut shot," she muttered as she drug her bleeding body into the water. Drawing a deep breath, she went under and let the current take her downstream. From somewhere far behind, the sound of gunshots could be heard, muffled by the creek, and then all she could hear were the sounds of the water rushing through the river bed, eroding the rock. Her lungs screamed for air, but she stayed down, not daring to surface. When it felt as though she would pass out from extreme oxygen deprivation, she forced herself to count to ten, then finally came up to breathe.

Looking back, she saw no sign of her pursuers, and the section of the stream in which she had bathed only minutes ago was nearly one hundred yards behind her now. Julie decided to ride the current for a while, as it was easier than walking and harder to track.

Again, the program skipped ahead, picking up with Julie pulling herself to her feet, some five miles down the shore from where she stood her ground against the lawmen. She peered down at the two holes in her stomach; both continued to spill blood down the front of her at a worrisome pace. The pain spawning from that region had originated as a numbing pressure, then slowly graduated to a dull ache, and now had escalated into something more akin to an unbearable, fiery furnace flaming in her guts. Back in reality, there were settings on her chair that adjusted the amount of sensory input one can feel while interacting with the teevee, and although the instructions strongly advised against it, Julie kept hers on par with real world sensations. This was due to her masochistic tendencies, as once she returned to her true reality she brought with her the memories of this pseudo existence, and the authenticity of her experience made her ensuing orgasms all the more pleasurable. Oblivious to the pleasant life and the pinnacle of sexual experience that awaited her, Julie was left in agonizing pain and hopelessly terrified.

Sloshing in her boots, she clutched herself and headed south, away from the stream. She had no horse, no hat, and she was likely bleeding to death, but she did not give in or give up. The town of Sierra Vista was some thirty miles from Tombstone. Perhaps there she could hide out and seek medical attention for her wounds. Her previous route, prior to the disastrous confrontation with Deputy Johnson, had taken her fifty miles west of Tombstone, which put her approximately fifteen or twenty miles north of Sierra Vista. She could conceivably reach town by nightfall. Something of a montage followed, tracking Julie’s arduous trek south through the desert. In a matter of minutes Julie travelled six miles, although to her manipulated mind this was equivalent to the passage of several hours wrought with suffering.

She had fallen to her knees for the umpteenth time and was struggling to rise back up, when an arrow whizzed through the air and embedded itself in her firm left buttock. Julie fell forward, bracing herself with her hands, and glanced over her shoulder. At least three Indians were fast approaching on horse back, two of them with arrows notched and their bows drawn. "Oh shit," Julie mumbled. She scrambled to her feet with a bit more urgency and limped forward as fast as she could, but she didn't get far before two more arrows stuck in her, one in her left hamstring and one in her lower right back. Arching her spine and reaching for these latest projectiles jutting from her flesh, Julie once again sank to her knees.

Still refusing to halt her inane attempt to flee, she shuffled forward on her knees. The clip clap of hooves thundering across the ground gained volume by proximity, and seconds before the horses galloped past an arrow struck her near the center of her back, just a little high and to the left. "Ahhhh," Julie cried out, her eyes widening in fear. The mounted natives circled their horses around in front of her, Julie noting that there were in fact four of these heartless killers, and two of them loosed arrows that found their mark in her soft, young teenage body, one narrowly missing her navel and the other thudding into her chest, just below her right breast.

"Please stop," Julie gasped, and a harsh cough sent blood spraying from her lips. Heedless of her pleas, another brave shot an arrow into her belly, then another. As the third arrow pierced her midsection, Julie drew iron with her right hand. She thumbed back the hammer and squeezed the trigger, but the pistol misfired. The damned ammunition was wet. "Huh," Julie grunted as she accepted an arrow in her upper abdomen, then another in her right breast. Squeezing the trigger again, Julie was rewarded with the crack of a pistol shot and one of the braves bit the dust.

It was little deterrent to his companions, who stood their ground and reloaded their bows. Julie tried the trigger again, and was met with another misfire. Further misfortune ensued, as three arrows thumped into her torso in rapid succession, two in the left side of her chest and one a couple inches above her belly button. Her strength left her and she slumped over, coming to a rest on her back, forcing the arrows in her posterior up through her body. She managed to lift her head high enough to watch the arrow tips poking their way through her abdomen and thigh, but the one in her upper back jammed up against her rib cage and the tail end snapped under her weight.

The three remaining braves seemed content with the damage they had inflicted and rode off for the horizon, leaving Julie to die. The next fifteen minutes were extremely unpleasant for her, choking on blood and wallowing in unimagineable mental anguish - she wasn't actually dying, but the program tricked her into believing she was. Vultures circled the sky, anticipating a bountiful banquet, and when they finally roused up the courage to land and begin picking flesh from her bones, Julie was not yet fully gone. Her consciousness lingered, rendering her alert enough to know that she had effectively been reduced to buzzard meat.

Then, from out of the blue, the report of a rifle shot carried across the desert, one of the buzzards exploded in a spray of feathers and blood, and the rest took to the air, chased from their meal. Julie was unable to lift her head and spot her rescuer, but she knew it was Phil who rode over to where she lie and dismounted. As he knelt beside her, Julie murmured, "They got me, Phil." Her body was a pin cushion, her belly had been pulled apart by hungry scavenger birds and a loop of intestines lay in the dirt, pecked from her guts.

"Sweet Jesus, Julie," Philip gasped.

Julie tried to speak, but words would not come. Instead she coughed up some blood and felt the focus go out of the world. I'm dying, was the last thought she had before the program ended and she awoke in her teevee chair back in reality.



"Holy shit, that was intense," Julie remarked, her shocking blue eyes peering over at Philip. She smiled, feeling tremendous relief wash over her as she realized that she was still alive and well, with very little possibility of any change in that condition for at least the foreseeable future.

"Fuck, that was crazy. Are you alright?" Philip answered her, genuine concern evident on his face.

Julie looked down at herself to confirm that she was in fact in one piece, even lifting her shirt to examine her smooth, flat belly. "Looks like it," she said. Mindful of the hungry look in Philip's eyes, and the warmth spreading through her loins, Julie pulled her shirt all the way up over her head and tossed it aside. Her breasts remained tassled beneath her sports bra, which she proceeded to liberate from their binding. "I'm nipply," she said with a giggle, and flicked her left mammilla to demonstrate this fact. With the coinciding decline of religion and STD's, modesty had decreased in importance while promiscuity gained popularity. Julie didn't give a second thought to offering up her body to this young friend of hers, despite the fact they were not engaged in a formal relationship.

Philip was equally lacking in restraint, as he lowered his trousers to expose a full erection.

Without a word, Julie followed suit and pulled her shorts down, inviting Philip to mount her right there on the teevee chair. There was no foreplay, no planning or questions asked, Philip climbed on top of her and slid inside her warmth, where she was already dripping wet. Julie moaned in delirium as she accepted his pulsing meat, her astonishing eyes rolling back in her head with transcendent rhapsody. Her hands went to her breasts, squeezing the flesh and pinching her pert nipples, and together their hips found a rhythm.

“Ahhh, ahhhhh, ahhhhh!” Julie cried with each thrust of her pelvis, the mounting pinnacle of human elation growing ever stronger, until her entire being seemed to explode with uncontainable delectation. “Oh fuck, oh fuck me!” Julie screamed, while Philip grunted with content satisfaction. They came in tandem, as so rarely occurs, and collapsed in each other’s arms. After some time, the teens awkwardly separated and dressed themselves.

“Wow,” Philip said breathlessly.

“That was… also intense,” Julie remarked, smiling.

“Right." That's when Philip noticed the position of the knob on Julie's chair. "Fuck, Julie, you had your teevee sensory input set to real life equivalency?”

“I can handle it, I’m a tough chick,” she told him, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I guess you are,” Phil replied. “So you know how that blonde chick felt, you know the one who got caught cheating?”

“Taylor Henning.”

“Was that her name?”

“It was.”

“How does it feel, fucking animals eating your insides, thinking you’re gonna die?”

“It’s hard to describe." Julie searched earnestly for the right words, "The pain is crazy, worse than you can imagine, but that’s nothing. The worst part is knowing that you’re dying. It’s just, so… utterly hopeless. It’s literally the end of fucking everything. You’re lying there, trying to wrap your head around the fact that each second you’re getting closer to your last, scared out of your mind. It’s enough to drive you insane. But then when you wake up in this chair, it’s such an incredible feeling, you feel so… so… sanguine. So alive!”

“Yeah, sanguine,” Philip said, smiling out of the corner of his mouth. “If that's what you wanna call it.”

Julie giggled. “Shut up, you fuck.”

Philip's smile faded as his mind drifted. “So I guess Taylor will never get to experience that, “sanguine,” feeling.”

This sobered Julie up. “No, I guess not.”

“Would you ever consider cheating?”

“If I knew I was gonna fail, I don’t wanna die, so sure,” a confession Julie wouldn’t dare make in the company of any other living soul. “I’d risk it... to at least have a shot at living.”

"What about cheating to help someone pass?"

"Would I risk my life for someone else?" Julie almost replied with a hasty hell no, but the thought of Vinny stopped her.

"Damn, well I guess it depends on who I'd be helping, and how sure I am that we wouldn't get caught."

"Okay, then let's say I'm failing Calculus, and I have a surefire way for you to send me answers on a quiz without getting caught."

"Then I'd say fuck yeah, I'd help you. We're still just talking hypothetically here, right?" Julie raised her eyebrows. "You're not gonna suddenly disappear on me, are you?"

"Yeah, hypothetically."

"You know, it's ironic. They make us pass their tests so they can be sure we'll be productive members of society or whatever, put the community first and all that bullshit, but then they punish us for helping each other out."

"Well, the tests are useless if we're allowed to cheat."

"Maybe there's more than one way to gauge a person's value. Vinny, for instance. Vinny was a sweet kid, he would have given his right arm if it would help the community. He was the perfect example of what we're taught to be, but they killed him because he didn't score high enough on some stupid test."

"That's true, Vinny was a good kid."

"You're fucking right he was.”

"Soooo, you'd risk your life for me, huh?"

"I don't know about that, in your hypothetical situation you said you had a surefire way to avoid getting caught. Not much risk there. What about you, would you help me cheat if I was failing?"

“Sure, I guess, I mean it’d be kind of a dick move to say no, especially after you said you’d help me.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet, so you’d risk your life for me?”

“Well, I dunno, I mean…”

"Ha, you totally love me," Julie cooed.

“Shut up, no I don’t. I wouldn’t want you to die is all. Does that mean you love me? Cuz you’d help me cheat?”

"Ewwww, no, you spaz." And with a giggle, Julie signed her own death warrant.





The day of her death Julie awoke much like she did any other – full of good cheer and optimism for that day and all the days she was sure would follow. She slipped on a pair of faded and tattered jeans, pulled a white halter top tee over her head, and applied some lip gloss. Her hair was neatly trimmed in a cute bob cut, which required very little maintenance, and she had no use for makeup. It would be impossible to improve upon the radiance of her already stunningly perfect face.

She went happily to the transport that carried her to school, without any of the angst she once felt when bullying and torment were familiar foes. These days, everyone was nice to her. A result, she supposed, of her blossoming beauty, which could speak poorly for humanity. On second thought, however, such was the way of nature. In a wide variety of species, animals with desirable traits received preferential treatment. It was even a basis for the law of evolution, as Julie understood it.

Bearing this in mind helped absolve the guilt she felt as the recipient of undue kindness, as did her attempts to balance the scales. Julie's unwavering friendship with Philip, for example, despite the fact that lately he had been... awkward... around her. The poor kid had it rough, and anything Julie could do to ease his passage in this world was an endeavor she would happily undertake.

This included surrendering her body for his enjoyment, which she had done a total of eight times since they became intimate months ago. For Julie, there was no pleasure in sex with Philip, obviously because he did nothing to stimulate her. Their first time together had been inspired by an incredibly erotic and romantic death in teevee-land, but each engagement henceforth was spurned on by Philip's insatiable hormones and nothing more. Julie suspected Philip picked up on her lack of enthusiasm, and it was this failure to connect on a physical level to which she attributed his recent awkwardness.

Still, she stood loyally by his side, and when she arrived at school on the last day of her life to find Henry Jergen and his gang of hooligans harassing Phil, she rushed to his defense. They had him hemmed up against a wall, four of them in a circle, employing all the old familiar taunts.

"You're such an ugly fuckling," Henry was telling him, "why don't you just do everyone a favor and kill yourself?"

"Fuck you," was Phil's tentative reply.

Henry slapped him on the side of the head, grabbed his ear, and yanked and twisted it.

"Ouch, stop it!" Phil cried.

"Ouch, stop it!" Henry repeated mockingly. His lackeys stood around chortling, yucking it up at Phil's expense.

Julie stormed up to the group, took hold of Henry's hand and wrenched his arm behind his back.

"Ah, hey!" Henry cried indignantly.

Julie let him go and gave him a little shove as an expression of her displeasure. "You're such a dick, Henry, why don't you go fuck off?"

Retaining his cocky demeanor, Henry looked at Phil and sneered, "You gotta have a chick fight your battles for you, queer boy?"

"He didn't ask me to step in, dick weed," Julie fired back at him.

"What do you see in this loser, Julie. You ought to be with a stud like me."

"Unlike you, Phil has personality. And he's sweet." Julie grabbed Phil's crotch before adding, "and sexy."

With a snort and a dismissive wave of his hand, Henry turned away and left, his gang in tow.

"You don't really think I'm sexy," Phil said, almost a question.

"I think you're sweet," Julie answered him.

"And you don't love me."

"I like you, as a friend... and right now you're creeping me out a little, so just be cool, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Julie. You've been a good friend to me."

"I'll always be your friend, silly."

*continued in next post*