“So you really convinced her, huh?” Victor said.

“Yeah, I guess I did…”

“You got lucky, man. I mean, I would have bet against you.”

“…thanks, Victor.”

We were having dinner together. My old college roommate, Victor, had taken me out to celebrate–both my birthday and acceptance to Cub Club. He offered to pay for any five-star restaurant of my choice. Naturally, I selected Domino’s Pizza. Victor was understandably skeptical at first–like most MAPs, he preferred to eat his pizzas at Chuck E Cheese–but I managed to convince him after describing Domino’s wide selection of specialty pies, artisan-crafted sandwiches, and irresistible bargains. An attendant took our coats and escorted us to a candle-lit window-side booth as Chad Kroeger echoed drunkenly from the overhead speakers.

I was fiddling with Victor’s phone, scrolling through his Kinder app. Unlike me, Victor had been an established member of Cub Club for several years now. His profile was littered with positive reviews and flirtatious comments from dozens of cubs, each one clamoring for the opportunity for his skilled tongue to once again grace their taints. I dropped it on the table in disgust.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” Victor asked.

“Nothing…” I said, then I thought about it. “Hey, do you think I see children as ‘sexual objects’?”

Victor regarded the question thoughtfully. “I think you see children as walking fleshlights if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s something my caseworker said,” I added. “She made me sound like some sort of animal…”

“We are animals, Tom.”

I considered that. “Yeah, but…you know what I mean.”

“Drink your beer.”

I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my phone. Domino’s Pizza didn’t sell alcohol, but Victor had insisted it wouldn’t be a proper celebration unless someone other than me was intoxicated for a change. We picked up a six-pack from a convenience store on the way. Some disgusting concoction known as ‘lager’. I sipped it sullenly as I scrolled through my match’s profile.

“What the fuck kind of name is ‘Waffles’ anyway?”

Victor shrugged. “It is strange you know so little about him…”

“I had to submit mountains of paperwork, and this little shit doesn’t even have to give me his real name?”

“Maybe the family has privacy concerns. Maybe they’re hiding out from some stalker under an assumed identity. Maybe it’s all some kind of elaborate test. You sure the disability backstory is legit?”

I swiped back to the boy’s picture, the single, badly lit photo of a fox cub in a hoodie. A thin line of drool could be seen seeping down the corner of his mouth.

“Pretty sure…” I said as I swiped to the DM tab and started typing.

“Hey, just telling my friend about how excited I am to finally meet you! :)” I hit send. Like all my other messages, it remained unread.

“I don’t know, man…what if he ghosts me?”

“He’s not gonna ghost you,” Victor said dismissively. “As you said, he’s the one who initiated the match. Besides, I doubt a kid like that has many better options…”

“I’m the one who deserves better options…” I scowled. The stoat shot me a knowing look.

“What?”

“You’ve been on the waitlist for what, eight years now?”

“And seven months.”

“You’re the only mother fucker on this planet who could be out celebrating his birthday and his first match and still somehow be miserable doing it. You did it, Tom! You made it! You’re in! A card-carrying member of Cub Club! But you’re behaving like an orphan with an incest fetish. Now’s the time to be happy and horny! Why are you acting so sheepish?”

“Okay, first off, that’s racist. Second off, I’m not card-carrying; my card doesn’t come in the mail until next week. And third, it’s just a provisional license anyway, who knows how long I’ll actually be able to keep it…” I shook my head, hiding it under my paws. “This is just like that old gypsy woman predicted…”

“Hey, don’t put this on her. This was your plan. And honestly, it’s not a bad one. All you have to do is entertain this kid for a few weeks, pretend like you’re his friend, maybe suck his dick a fuck times, then once he gives you a good review, you can move on, and you’ll never have to talk to him again. Piece of cake.”

“…piece of cake.” I agreed. It was just crazy enough not to work at all.

I rubbed my forehead. “Don’t you see some sort of ethical dilemma with this whole situation?”

“What situation?”

“This situation. The me fucking a retarded cub situation. Don’t you think there are some issues of consent involved?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Like, sure, I’m okay with an adult having sex with a child. But a retarded child? How is he supposed to know what he wants? I mean, what if he’s just confused and desperate and wants someone older to hang out with? What if he’s not even gay? I mean, again, he’s retarded.”

Victor frowned as he opened up his menu. “You know, you keep using that word. It comes off as not having a lot of respect for intellectually disabled people.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d really call them ‘people’…”

The stoat slowly lowered his menu in shock. “Jesus Christ, Tom…”

“What?”

He pointed. “This place offers an extra-large one-topping Brooklyn-style pizza for only $13.99!”

“That’s a good deal!” I said.

“It’s a very good deal!” he agreed.

“Anyway…” Victor continued. “You’re overthinking this. If you don’t fuck, you don’t fuck. That’s the whole purpose of the program: pairing lightly-used kids with responsible MAPs so they can explore themselves in a safe environment. That’s it. That’s all it is. It’s like Gamestop for kids. If he realizes he isn’t gay, that’s a good thing. If he decides he wants physical intimacy with you…well, that’s a good thing too.”

“It’s not a good thing for me…” I said.

Just then, my phone buzzed, startling me as I scrambled to unlock it. Waffles’ sister had messaged me on Kinder. She apologized for the lack of responses, stating that Waffles had difficulty reading on his own. But she added that her brother was very excited to get to know me in person and suggested meeting tomorrow morning at the miserably early time of 11AM. I promptly agreed, showing Victor the news.

“That’s great!” he said. But I wasn’t so excited.

“This is going to be a fucking disaster…”

“You know what your problem is? You see everything as a problem instead of an opportunity.”

“…an opportunity?” I repeated skeptically as I opened up my menu.

“Yeah. If you’d actually give special needs cubs a chance, you might find that you like them better than most ‘normal’ children. I know I do…”

I had several questions about how that might work. For example, how would that even work?

“You’re full of shit,” I said. “Continue.”

Victor grinned. “Okay, so when I first started out, I got paired with this boy who got photosensitive seizures. Real sweet too, used to sit in my lap and let me butt-fuck him while we watched Saturday morning cartoons together. I’ll give you three guesses as to my favorite episode of Pokémon to put on…”

I lowered my menu. “…what the actual fuck, Victor?”

The stoat looked offended. “What?”

I pointed. “Did you know we can order a large two-topping pizza and a side of loaded tots for only $16.99?”

“That’s a good deal!”

“It’s a very good deal!” I agreed. “Anyway, that’s one example. And epilepsy isn’t a real disability anyway.”

“What about hearing loss? You ever fuck a deaf cub, Tom?”

“…I haven’t been enrolled in the program, so no.”

“Everyone should fuck a deaf cub! I got assigned one last summer. I used to spend weekends at his house. He would take out his speech processor before bedtime. Oh man…his parents must have thought we were clubbing baby seals…”

I sighed, laying my head down on the table. “Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he’ll turn out to be nonverbal…”

Across from us, I studied a lion cub talking to his dad about something. He grinned at something the man had said as he sipped from his glass of Sprite®, America’s favorite soft drink. This was the sort of cub I deserved…

“…why couldn’t I just get a normal cub?”

“Dunno. Probably got taken up already by all the normal adults…” Victor said.

“Probably…” I agreed, and then a moment later: “Wait, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“Well, you said yourself you don’t exactly have the best rating…” Victor grimaced as he sniffed the air. “And you’ve definitely got some personal hygiene issues to work on…”

“I’m part skunk, I have scent glands!”

“Look…” Victor added gently, “All I’m saying is you’re not exactly ‘typical’ is all…”

“I am well within the norms!”

“Come on, Tom, you can’t even stand in the checkout line of the grocery store without spaghetti falling out of your pants.”

“That’s ridiculous! The spaghetti stays in my pockets right where it belongs.”

“If you say so…” Victor said, rummaging in his pockets for a pack of Newports. He held one out to me.

“Cigarette?” he asked.

“Yes, it is!” I said.

The stoat shrugged as he put it to his lips. Instantly, our waiter was by his side, arm outstretched with a lighter in hand.

“Are you gentlemen ready to order?” the waiter asked as Victor puffed on the open flame.

“I am,” Victor said. “But I think my friend is still having a mental breakdown.”

“…I’m still deciding,” I growled.

“Oh?” our waiter asked helpfully. “Having trouble choosing between our selection of delicious hand-tossed crusts, always fresh ingredients, and mouthwatering toppings?”

“…it is overwhelming,” I admitted.

“The truth, my friend, is there is no wrong answer! All of Domino’s Pizza’s menu items are crafted to perfection. But perhaps I can interest you in our Philly Cheese Steak Pizza™? With tender slices of real steak, onions, green peppers, and mushrooms, all topped with a mountain of delicious cheese? It’s not just a meal, it’s an experience.”

“That sounds wonderful!” I said, audibly relieved.

“And I’ll indulge in a Memphis BBQ Chicken Pizza with grilled chicken breast, BBQ sauce, and a blend of delicious cheddar and mozzarella cheese!” Victor said. “Also, please give me a side of all your sides and condiments.” Victor didn’t seem to notice the look I gave him.

“Excellent,” our waiter replied as he grabbed a plate from his tray. “I’ll be back with your food in a moment. In the meantime, I’ve brought an order of Garlic Bread Twists™ to whet your appetite. On the house, of course.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you!” I said as I handed my menu over. But my enthusiasm turned to surprise as the waiter leaned down and somberly kissed me on the crown of my head, doing the same to Victor before turning to leave.

“Really good service here…” I noted.

Victor was already stuffing his face with the delectable garlic sensation. “Mhmp! Did I tell you about the cubs I was assigned?” he asked with a full mouth.

Here we go…

“Only every time I see you…” I said, toying with my beer.

The stoat wiped his mouth off enthusiastically. “They’re perfect, Tom, absolutely perfect! I interviewed with their parents last week–”

Victor had completely forgotten that this was supposed to be my birthday dinner and was now bragging loudly about his personal life, which happened to be one of his favorite pastimes. He was currently boasting about his not one but two concurrent matches.

“–it’s these two red panda boys, Zackery and Jackery. Super smart. Identical twins, too. And the ass on these boys, Tom… You know how much I enjoy eating a good ass–”

Indeed, I did. The stoat’s fondness for underage anilingus was known far and wide. He was considered a maverick in his own right, an authoritative expert in the field. Victor approached eating ass the same way great artists might approach clay or canvas, it was his one true medium. Too much ass, some might say. The doctors had recently informed him that it was starting to negatively affect his nutrition.

“–taut yet loose…a slightly musky aftertaste…clean and inviting…running a little hot perhaps, I’d say a tad over a hundred degrees–” Victor described each boy’s rectum in breathless detail.

Victor had always been a man of refined tastes. He preferred Asian cubs and was well-reviewed enough to consistently get them. Pandas, Sun Bears, South China Tigers… The stoat once confided in me that he couldn’t climax if his partner spoke English. Japanese cubs were his favorite. Victor was the kind of friend who, when you took him out to get sushi, stared at the calamari just a little too long and a little too intensely.

“–and Tom, when I put my tongue in there I swear I can taste the wagyu–”

As I tried not to gag on my beer, I reflected upon the fact that I had never had the privilege of rimming a cub before. The closest I had come thus far was drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. A few weeks ago, I had managed to catch a glimpse of one of these boys with a golden ass. Victor didn’t catch me spying as I followed him to his match’s house. A little tanuki answered the door excitedly, squealing as he wrapped his arms around the stoat.

“Nii-san!” the boy exclaimed. “Nii-san! Nii-san!”

In Japan, people express familial relationships through different brands of cars.

“Hey!” Victor snapped at me impatiently. “Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, I was just trying not to vomit at the thought of your life…”

Victor rolled his eyes as he ashed his cigarette. “I suppose you have a point. We’ve talked enough about me and my successes in Cub Club. Let’s talk about me and my successful career instead.”

I buried my face in the table with a groan.

“I finally got promoted to L6!” He looked back at me expectantly, as if waiting for applause.

“…I’m proud of you, I guess.”

“I’m really coming into my own now. I just paid off the Tesla this month. Plus my stock options mature next year–”

I could just picture Victor zipping around town in his new all-electric sports car, its battery charged exclusively through the power of an internal fusion reactor as its gearbox is kept well-lubricated with the semen of award-winning stallions. On Sundays, he takes his twins to stare at the poors in the park. They throw breadcrumbs at them. Like pigeons.

“–and you know we’re always looking for new positions to fill…”

Here it comes…

“You think you might wanna come work for me?”

After graduating, Victor knew he wanted a position offering clout, a belligerent sense of righteous authority, a culture of toxic sycophancy, and – most importantly – absolutely zero accountability. But unfortunately, all the E621 mod roles had been taken that summer. Instead, he settled for Project Manager. In the years since, he had jumped from company to company, diligently marshaling his teams of talented engineers in the ceaseless pursuit of making the world a slightly worse place to live.

“I don’t want to work for Amazon,” I said bluntly. In truth, I had been boycotting that company ever since that time I ordered sodium nitrite, and they shipped me Chile saltpeter.

“Okay, not Amazon then. It doesn’t have to be a FAANG company. There are a lot of places looking for someone with your skillset.”

“Maybe I should join the Mafia…” I said, playing with my silverware. “I could kill people…I’m at that point in my life…”

“Come on, Tom, I’m serious. You were two semesters away from your CompSci degree, only to drop out for what? To become a skydiving instructor?”

“Former skydiving instructor.” I corrected. “I’m a writer now.”

“And how’s that treating you? You paying the rent okay?”

“Fine,” I said. I always thought two kidneys were excessive anyway…

But the stoat seemed unconvinced; he studied me with a somber expression.

“What?”

Victor hesitated. “Just let me help you, Tom. I just…I just want to help…”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Everyone just wanted to ‘help’. The stoat’s kind words were just the latest in a chorus of concerned coworkers and family and social services, each one pleading with the unshakable conviction that they could save me from myself if only I would let them…

“I appreciate your concern,” I said. “But I’m happy where I am.”

Victor nodded tactfully, a mixture of pity and disappointment. “As you wish.” We sat there silently for a while, not looking at each other, before he reached down and scooped up the last of the Garlic Twists™. He chewed them thoughtfully. “These are actually really good…” he added.

I glanced down at the empty plate.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Our pizzas arrived shortly thereafter, each one dramatically unveiled from beneath a cloche. Their fragrant aroma wafted throughout the restaurant, bringing each of the customers just a little closer to heaven. But even staring down a plate of sizzling gooey goodness, I found that my appetite had soured. I kept glaring back at Victor, who thus far had failed to notice my pouting. He was preoccupied with sprinkling raw pineapples and jalapenos on his once-beautiful pie, further debasing it with generous helpings of BBQ and ranch dressing. I watched in awestruck bafflement as he brought the abomination to his lips. Every bite was an insult to God.

“You don’t think I deserve him, do you?” I said bitterly. “The cub–Waffles–whatever the hell his name is. You think he should have been assigned to someone else.”

Victor paused in the middle of a swig of his beer. “It’s not a question of you deserving him,” he said quietly. “I wonder if he deserves you…” He put the can down, looking me over thoughtfully. “This boy could be your chance to stop being you. I suggest you take it.” His eyes lit up as our waiter approached. “Ah! Perfect timing!”

Our waiter dutifully placed a third cloche on the table. Reaching into his pocket, he straightened a party hat and placed it on his head. Then Victor’s. I cringed as he placed a paper crown between my ears.

“I fucking hate you…” I said.

Victor smiled. “I know.”

Our waiter pulled off the cloche, unveiling my birthday cake, before lighting the ‘one’ and ‘three’ shaped candles in the middle. He bowed, accepting Victor’s tip before retreating. I couldn’t help but notice the unusually decorative icing. Familiar stripes of pastel blues, yellows, and reds. I gave Victor a look.

“Really?” I said. “The MAP flag?”

He shrugged. “Seemed appropriate given the occasion.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, I always wanted a cake that would cut itself…” But as I reached for my knife, I noted the orientation of the candles. “Uh, you got the candles backward, dumbass.”

“I’m aware,” Victor said with a knowing smile. “I had it made especially for you. Forever thirteen, right?”

“Forever thirteen…” I agreed quietly, blowing out the candles. I was smiling too, but it wasn’t a happy smile. Then I started sputtering that I had something in my eye and had to excuse myself to the restroom for the next twenty minutes.

After I finished crying in the stall, I snorted what was left of the coke and washed myself up before heading to the urinal. I didn’t really need to go that badly, but there was a particularly cute lion peeing there, and I wanted an excuse to stand next to him. The boy was around eight or nine, well-groomed, athletic build. I recognized him eating with his father from earlier. If only I’d been matched with him. I’d be a good partner to a boy like this, great even, or at least better than most…

Distracted by my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed that the boy had caught my lustful gaze and was now glaring back uncomfortably. Apparently, I had also long since finished peeing and was now absentmindedly stroking myself in front of him.

The lion kid scowled. “…take a picture, pervert, it will last you longer…” But then he did a double-take as my phone’s camera flashed at him. I thanked the boy for his thoughtfulness as I turned to leave. I think I must have distracted him, though; he seemed to miss where he was aiming because I heard him shouting obscenities as I left.

When I got back to my table, I found Victor had already paid for our meal and was packing up our food.

“Everything okay?” Victor asked.

“Just the coke shits,” I said. “Look, I’m tired, got a long day ahead of me tomorrow…”

Victor seemed to want to say something more, but thought better of it, nodding. “I’ll drive you home.”

We stepped outside as Victor lit up another cigarette. I waited with my arms crossed, laying my head against one of the patio columns as we watched the traffic pass by in silence.

“You’ve been acting a lot more depressed than usual,” Victor said finally. “And that’s saying something.”

“It’s not depression, Victor. Some guys just get the short end of the stick. You get twin red pandas with wagyu asses. I get a provisional license and a kid who drools on himself. It’s not your fault I have a shitty life.”

Victor just stared at me. “How can you be so ungrateful? Do you realize how many people would kill to be in your position right now? To even live in a city where Cub Club exists? Do you realize how far we’ve come? Not you and me, all of us. We used to be hated and feared and imprisoned for who we are. Now it’s just hated and feared. Have you considered how hard it was to get to this point? How many people worked for decades, risking their jobs, their lives, their families and friends, just to convince the majority of people that, hey, maybe we’re not all 100% monsters? People fought for your ‘shitty life,’ Tom, and we would have gotten here a lot sooner if sad fucks like you would stop feeling sorry for themselves and actually work to build the future we know we deserve.”

He angrily stubbed his cigarette on the asphalt and threw it in the trash. “So cheer the fuck up, Tom. Things are better for MAPs than they’ve been in a long time.”

We then turned a corner and were immediately hate-crimed.