Gimmedemudders
Hearing Things
Albert, a young musically inclined software engineer, has a tendency to repeat two gibberish words every few minutes. The medical term for it is Tourette syndrome. The mysterious words are "gimmedemudders" and "boryledmeasthray." It happens so often that those surrounding him sometimes ask if he said anything, but it's always a hard no. He loves to gaslight others into thinking they hear things. Of course, only someone meeting him for the first time would fall for it.
A True Friend
Sam is Albert's best friend. She knows him inside out and has heard him drop more "gimmedemudders" and "boryledmeasthray" bombs than she can count. Sam has spent enough time with Albert that her brain has learned to mute out the tics—she's a true friend who sees beyond disorders.
What Forces of Nature?
Sam and Albert went to Hooters for dinner. It was his first time there. He'd only heard about it from friends and on TV up until that point. A hot model-like waitress approached the table with the kind of rack that defied gravity and spat in the face of aerodynamics. The blonde handed the two friends the menu. Sam noticed that the frequency of the tics intensified. Albert's lusty stare cut like a dagger as he centered his focus on her cleavage. It was the first time that Sam saw this side of Albert.
I See You
After placing the order, the same waitress came to deliver the dishes, and a while later, she asked if everything was up to standard. Albert's stare grew bolder, and what was more surprising was the waitress's unfazed attitude. They exchanged (and locked) eyes from afar while she served the other customers. The waitress, Sophie, decided to approach the table once more and hand Albert what seemed to be a business card for a pleasure house.
Low-Risk Risk
Albert was aroused, terrified, and thrilled all at the same time. He wanted to see Sophie in a more accommodating setting where both parties would emerge content. He had never been near a woman before, let alone a very experienced one, but he basked in the comfort of knowing that far less was riding on screwing up a paid 'experience' than on an organic one.
Know Thyself
Sophie greeted Albert and guided him to a quiet room. Albert walked behind her like a dog who knew a treat would be handed in exchange for high-fives. The room had some candles, protection on the bedside table, and some leather straps for the kinky crowd, but he knew he wasn't about the "tools," for one needs to learn how to crawl before attempting to run.
Just A Job
Sophie cut formalities short. It is important to establish house rules very early in the game. The sooner the sexless understand that there is nothing romantic about sex work, the better. Other clients are waiting for their turn. So, yeah, chop‑chop, sad case—time is of the essence, and the customers lining up outside are not going to fuck themselves.
Milky Ramifications
Less-talkative Sophie was getting undressed while Albert stood there like the world had been put on hold. His motionless state didn't last for long, especially after Sophie took off her bra. Now cross-armed, Albert started rocking repeatedly, saying, "Gimmedemudders, gimmedemudders, gimme demudders, give me them udders..." It was then that it felt like a repressed memory pocket was being projected on Albert's internal projection screen: Albert was a formula child who never knew what it was like to suckle on the true teat of life.
Silver Lining
Appalled by what she saw, Sophie put her bra back on and left the room. Albert tried to get her to stay, but she wasn't paid enough to put up with this crap. She might have been swayed if not for the pimp's share, but the house always takes its cut.
Albert, while disappointed in himself for somehow managing to walk out of a brothel with his virginity, saw tears of happiness run down his cheeks as he began to notice that the udder-tics had stopped entirely. Albert was filled with hope that he might one day be able to stop saying "boryledmeasthray," too, and be finally free of the disorder and all the coping jokes.