Tuesday, June 29, 2004

1. Dick

For a long time, I used to go to bed early. Not anymore, though. Not since that crazy, horrifying day at the bank just a few short weeks ago. Now I'm scared to sleep because of the nightmares that I know will wake me up sooner or later. It never fails: I drift off, and then a face haunts me--usually the Joker or one of his gunmen--and I bolt upright in a cold sweat.

Sometimes it's Batman I see in my dreams instead, bent over at gunpoint, and then it's my cock that bolts upright, too. I keep replaying the scene over and over in my mind: the day that changed my life... I guess I'm being overdramatic, because nothing in my waking life is really all that different. Okay, so I changed banks the very next day. And I took a few days off from work and left town for a long weekend, but other than that I guess things are getting back to normal. It just seems like something is going to happen, something big.

Ever since that day, I jump when I hear the phone. I don't know why, I just ... keep thinking he's going to contact me. It's crazy, I know, but there was something about the look in his eyes that made me think he might try. Good thing I've got caller ID, because the phone really was ringing off the hook for a while there, but it was just the media trying to get my side of the story. I tried to keep my name out of the papers, but somebody got hold of the police report and pretty soon every perky-voiced reporter in town wanted to get the scoop on The Main Hostage. (Fortunately, the cop who took my story wasn't too specific about what went down, and nobody really knows the whole story.)

For a while I fantasized that the news would get to Bill, wherever he is, and he'd call, concerned. But no. And honestly, he's not the one I hope will call me. Janice says that's a sure sign I'm over him. Sometimes I feel like I'm still a teenager, even though my high school days are lonnnnng behind me. I think I'm just a late bloomer, and the whole business with Bill was just my rite of passage. That's all past me now, and if the horrors at the bank proved nothing else to me, they showed me I can hold my own in a crisis.

Who am I kidding? Some costumed Bad Guy gassed me and forced me to have sex with a costumed Good Guy. Sounds like a wet dream I had when I was 12...

... Only it happened, it really happened. Even when I was jerking off to his picture, I never imagined "Batman" was an actual person, let alone one whose path would cross mine under such surreal circumstances. I have to keep reminding myself it was no dream, and even if I was easy prey for the Joker, I did my fair share to help Batman defeat him. A small part, mind you, but at least I didn't crack under the pressure.

I'm rambling. It's late, and I'm tired. Time for my nightly attempt at sleep, even though I already know how it's going to turn out.