Richard Prefers Dick

Richard Prefers Dick:

a homoerotic visit to the DMV

an

alphabet book

for kids

by Guinevere Knight 

A

A is for APATHETIC.

I should probably put a definition here but I can’t be bothered.

Richard, the man behind the counter, is APATHETIC about everything in life except being called by his full name. Richard prefers Dick. He loves Dick more than anything else.

B

B is for BORING

Not interesting, tedious

Steven usually finds the DMV BORING, until today. Today Steven sees Richard for the first time.

Steven also prefers Dick.

C

C is for CERTIFICATE

a document serving as evidence or as written testimony, as of status,qualifications, privileges, or the truth of something

Steven takes a number and furtively glances at Richard while he waits.

After an hour, Richard calls Steven’s number. But Steven can’t find his birth CERTIFICATE in his stack of paperwork. Richard tells him to go find it. “Get a new number,” says Richard.

Steven gets a new number.

D

D is for DOCUMENT

a written or printed paper furnishing information or evidence, as a passport, deed, bill of sale, or bill of lading; a legal or official paper

“Is this an original DOCUMENT?” Richard asks, pointing to Steven’s birth certificate

“Yes.”

Richard grimaces. “We can’t take original documents. You’re going to have to get it photocopied and come back.”

Steven looks Richard in the eye and smiles. “Will I need another number?”

Richard blushes and looks away. “Yes.”

Richard watches as Steven walks outside and does a Google search for the nearest Kinkos. Richard likes the way Steven’s pert butt cheeks almost peek out of his shorts.

E

E is for EIGHTEEN

a cardinal number, ten plus eight

Richard calls out “EIGHTEEN” and waits less than a second before giving up and moving on to the next number. “Nineteen,” he says with all the force of a gentle summer breeze. Steven looks at his number and quivers with excitement. His reads “93”.

F

F is for FORMS

printed documents with blank spaces for information to be inserted therein

Richard has taken a bathroom break.

Steven can hardly breathe; he’s next in line! He should say something. He should try to make this last.

“93,” wheezes Richard, who is attempting to catch his breath after jogging the ten or so feet from the bathroom door to his side of the desk.

“I… I found it.” Steven doesn’t normally stutter: he’s overwhelmed by the beauty of Richard’s glistening forehead.

“Great. Fill out these FORMS and get a new number,” says Richard with a sly grin.

G

G is for GABARDINE

a smooth, durable twill-woven cloth, typically of worsted or cotton

Richard looks like a bureaucratic cog. His eyes have dulled with time. He forgets his dreams. He accepts his mundane lot in life.

Richard’s round balding head is fastened to an ill-fitting green GABARDINE suit via a mustard-yellow clip-on bow-tie. A small, but thick, tuft of chest hair peeks out above the tie.

Steven wants to run his fingers inside Richard’s collar and lick off some of his sweat.

H

H is for HUNKORAMA

A very attractive man, esp a muscular and sexually appealing one

Richard had noticed the instant Steven walked in the door this morning.

Richard is drawn in by Steven’s gorgeous brown eyes that perfectly match the beautiful skin that slides enticingly over his well-honed muscles. For the first time in years Richard feels his pulse quicken. Richard is interested in more than just Dick.

He wonders how long this HUNKORAMA will be at the DMV today.

I

I is for IDENTIFICATION

something that identifies a person, animal, or thing

Steven arrives at the front of the line, again, and slowly measures his breath to keep from hyperventilating.

“I need to see three forms of IDENTIFICATION,” says Richard.

Steven stiffens. “I only have two,” he says. His eyes widen.

“Then you’ll need to fill out this form and get a new number,” Richard says, pulling a paper from a drawer.

Steven reaches out for the paper. As Richard slides it towards him across the counter-top their thumbs momentarily hook as they pass off the paper to one another. Neither wants to break this touch, but both know they have to.

Steven gets a new number and starts filling out the form.

J

J is for JACKASS

A contemptively foolish or stupid person

Richard’s boss, Marsha, thinks Richard is working too quickly and seems, in her opinion, a bit too happy. If this keeps up the bigger bosses are going to want everyone to be more productive.

Marsha pulls Richard aside and requests a urine sample; she takes over the desk while they wait for the results.

Richard’s urine comes back clean.

Marsha is angry that she was wrong and refuses to apologize. Marsha watches Richard like a hawk until she sees him rub his face with his hand.

Marsha writes him up for “Fostering an unclean work environment” while loudly telling him not to pick his nose outside of the bathroom.

Richard’s boss is a JACKASS.

K

K is for KLEPTOMANIA

an irresistible impulse to steal, stemming from emotional disturbance rather than economic need

Marsha has a secret; she, like her mother before her, has KLEPTOMANIA. Her favorite things to steal are fancy drinks from the employee fridge and the blanks for making licenses. Marsha has been plotting to frame Richard for the missing items since last October, when he turned her down for a date. Marsha prays this write-up will be the final straw for Richard’s DMV career. Would an investigation will be opened? Would she give her “evidence”.

However, Richard has a secret; he knows about Marsha’s KLEPTOMANIA. Richard has been collecting documentation of her thefts, just in case. If the DMV has taught Richard anything, it’s to always have plenty of documentation.

L

L is for LAMINATED

overlay (a flat surface, especially paper) with a layer of plastic or some other protective material

“Did you know that IDs and licenses were LAMINATED until the late 1990s?” Richard asks Steven.

“I did not know that!” Steven says with a smile. “You learn something new every day!” (Steven does know. He’s been in line long enough to memorize all kinds of DMV trivia from the pamphlets since his phone battery died.) “Do you have any other trivia for me?” he asks, leaning in a bit closer.

“You missed a box here,” Richard says, pointing to an empty square on form ID-2463.

Steven leans in even closer to see and brings his finger to the same spot. “Right here?” he asks, touching tips with Richard.

“Yep.” says Richard. “If you don’t fix it you’ll end up being sent to the back of the line. Again.”

“I don’t have a pen.” says Steven

“You do now,” says Richard, fruitlessly attempting to wipe the moisture from his palms before grabbing a Bic from the giant box behind the counter. The pen is pressed into Steven’s waiting palm. Fingers linger.

Marsha clears her throat behind Richard. Richard startles, quickly organizes a stack of papers, and glances over as Steven corrects his paperwork. “Looks like you have everything. Hold onto these papers, take a number, and wait over there to have your picture taken.”

Steven thanks Richard and goes to take yet another number.

Richard enters Steven’s information into the computer.

M
M is for MUSKY

a strong and sweet odor that can be pleasing or unpleasant but is always hard to ignore

Steven has now been at the DMV long enough to need to make his bladder gladder. Before getting a new number, he goes into the men’s room, enters a stall, and stands there, sniffing his hand. The sweat Richard left on his hand smells MUSKY and appealing with a hint of poop.

Wait, no, that last part is someone stealth-shitting in the adjacent stall. Steven carefully keeps his sweat-hand away from any contamination while peeing and flushing. He doesn’t wash it off.

N

N is for NAMETAG

an identification tag or label showing one's name and sometimes one's address or business affiliation, attached to an article of clothing or worn around the neck or wrist

Steven returns to the photography area, takes a number, and finds a seat. An elderly woman in a tight-fitting blue dress sits at a desk, bouncing her left leg impatiently. It looks like this has been a lifelong habit since what is visible of her left leg is shapely and young-looking while the rest of her would best be compared to taffy in a pulling machine. Her NAMETAG reads “BRB”.

On the desk beside her is a large clunky camera. Nobody is getting their picture taken.

After a couple of minutes, and still no photography happening, Steven approaches the desk. “Excuse me, um… Barb?”

The woman gives him an apathetic look. “Are you talking to me?”

“I was wondering how long the wait for pictures is.”

“My name’s not Barb.”

“I’m sorry. I must have read your name wrong.” He squints. “Berb?”

“Nope.”

“How long is the wait again?”

“I dunno. I’m on break.”

“For how long?”

“Until it’s over.”

Steven is defeated. He sits down and smells his hand again.

O

O is for OBSOLETE

no longer produced or used; out of date

Steven passes the time by watching Richard. The fluidity with which that large man moves while filing documents and pointing people to the back of the line mesmerizes him. It’s like watching a dance. Every once in a while, Richard extends his arm a little farther out than normal, and Steven can see thick black arm hair protrude out from underneath the wrist cuffs. Steven imagines that hair and those hands rubbing against his naked body. He quivers with yearning.

Eventually Steven is called to the photography desk.

“Documents,” requests Brb, without any inflection.

Steven hands her the paperwork.

“What’s this?” she asks, waving the most recent document in his face, “This form is OBSOLETE. Who gave it to you?”

“Richard.” Steven motions with his head.

“Fine.” Brb rolls her eyes. “I’ll fix it, but you’re lucky I’m in a good mood. This form hasn’t been in official use since June 30th.”

“You mean yesterday?” Steven asks.

Brb stares at him.

Steven thanks her and gets his picture taken. Nobody has thanked Brb at her job before! Almost imperceptibly, a smile flickers across her face. Decades of smoking wrinkles kill the expression, but a sparkle lingers in her eyes. She takes a flattering picture of Steven. Minutes later, she hands him a new license.

P

P is for PAPERWORK

routine work involving written documents such as forms, records, or letters

It was a miracle Brb liked him. The line for the main waiting area has gone out the door. Getting into his car, Steven takes a final look at his new license. This really is the best picture he’s ever gotten from the DMV. His eye catches something.

Oh god.

The name on the license says, “St Even.”

Steven pounds the base of his palm against the steering wheel and shouts a string of pseudo-obsenities that make him sound like Yosemite Sam. He goes back inside and takes a number. At least he has all of his PAPERWORK in order this time.

Richard sees Steven enter the DMV again and thinks he’s still just as sexy but definitely more bedraggled than when he walked in this morning. Richard wishes he could do something to help. Glancing at the clock, and realizing it’s break time, Richard takes his nametag off and replaces it with one that says “BRB” before walking over to Steven.

Q

QUADRUMVIRATE

a governing or managing group, coalition, or of the like, of four persons

“Oh, this is one heck of a conundrum,” Richard says upon hearing of the spelling error. “Normally I’d give you some more paperwork and have you talk to my supervisor, but Marsha…” He pauses for a second to think. “I’d better take you to see the QUADRUMVIRATE.“ Richard looks at Steven, as if expecting a reaction.

“Thanks,” says Steven, “Where do I go?”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Richard somberly removes his BRB tag and places it gingerly into his breast pocket. “Come with me.”

Steven follows Richard into the employee lunch area. The room is windowless, minimally furnished, with uncomfortable-looking chairs and slightly-too-short tables. It smells like monotony and off-brand bleach. A fluorescent light flickers on the ceiling in the far corner.

R

R is for REGULATIONS

rules or directives made and maintained by an authority

Richard walks with determination towards the corner.

Steven isn’t sure what’s happening.

In the light of the flickering fluorescent is a narrow white locker about 18 inches wide and a foot or so deep. Richard opens the locker and attempts to enter it sideways. His girth stops him.

Richard’s voice comes out slightly more airy and higher pitched than normal as he attempts to suck in his gut and push through. “God damn it.”

Steven still isn’t sure what’s happening.

“Can you push me?”

“Push you?”

“Yeah, just, like,” Richard gestures to his entire torso, “this part here?”

“No offense, but I don’t think you’ll fit.”

“None taken. Just shove.”

With a bit of hesitation, Steven places his hands on the squishy spot just below Richard’s hip bone and gently presses. Richard’s body feels warm and good against his fingers, like a fluffy blanket fresh from the dryer.

“That’s not a shove. Put your back into it.”

Steven exerts more pressure as Richard tries to be skinnier. With a groan of metal, and a slight rip of fabric, Richard finally gets his body into the locker and disappears into darkness.

Richard’s voice echoes, “Get in and close the door behind you.”

Steven looks around, steps into the dark, and closes the door.With the click of the latch a light turns on and Steven realizes he’s in an elevator car.

Then Richard opens a small door in the wall and pulls out an ink pad, a rubber stamp, and two hats adorned with fluttering papers. “Put this on,” he says, handing one of the hats to Steven as he puts the other on himself, “and stick out your hand.”

Steven sticks out his palm. Richard gently flips it over, revealing the back of his hand. With one of those fluid movements that only comes from years of constant practice, Richard inks the rubber stamp, applies it to both of their hands, and puts it back into the cupboard before Steven even realizes quite what’s happening.
Stephen looks at the ink on his hand. “‘Approved?’ What’s all this?”

“REGULATIONS,” says Richard. He pushes a button and the elevator begins its descent.

S

S is for SIGNATURE

a person's name written in a distinctive way as a form of identification in authorizing a check or document or concluding a letter

Ten feet later the elevator halts, dings, and opens to reveal a woman whose resume would be amiss if it didn’t have “indifference” listed as a skill set. She sits at a desk in front of the Quadrumvirate Office tapping her finger to a rhythm that doesn’t quite match the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock. To her left is a staircase that leads directly into the lobby of the DMV they’d recently exited.

“Couldn’t we have taken the stairs?” asks Steven

“I guess,” says Richard. After removing both his and Steven’s fluttery paper hats, he sprays them down with sanitizer and returns them to the cupboard in the elevator wall.

“We’re here to fix an error,” Richard tells the woman.

“I’ll need your SIGNATURE here,” she replies. “And here. And here.”

T

T is for TYPO

typographical error

Richard opens the door to the office for Steven and they walk in together. The room is about the size of a handicap bathroom stall. A stern man sits behind a desk. He wears a wrinkled suit.

“Welcome to the Quadrumvirate’s Office,” says the man. “How can I help you?”

“Wait, where’s the quadrumvirate?” asks Steven.

“Me.” replies the man. “I’m it.”

Steven blinks. “Shouldn’t there be four of you?” he asks.

Richard and the man answer in unison, “Funding issues.”

Richard presents Stephen’s license and paperwork to the man.

“So, Saint Even, what seems to be the problem?” the man asks after briefly glancing at the card.

“My name is Steven.”

“That’s not what this license says.”

“I’m sure.”

“Would you like to be Saint Even? It has a nice ring to it. Very regal.”

“No, thank you.”

The stern man sighs as he pulls out a stack of forms and sets a pen beside it. “You’re absolutely certain you don’t want to be Saint Even? Things would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to fix this TYPO.”

“I like being Steven.”

“Not as regal,” says the man, and shakes out his writing hand.

U

U is for UNETHICAL

not morally correct

Steven starts up the stairs to finally leave the DMV. He’s about halfway up when he stops, turns around, and says, “Look, I know it’s UNETHICAL of me to ask this while you’re at work, but, uh, would you like to have a drink later?”

Richard’s face lights up with a beautiful, mischevious, grin. “You’ll have to get a number,” he says.

Steven laughs. “How about I give you my number instead?”

They arrange to meet for pizza and drinks after the DMV closes.

Steven goes home to clean up. Richard finishes up his work day with extra grace in his arm movements, as he points people towards the number machine, and extra flourish in handing out forms.

V

V is for VEHICLE

a thing used for transporting people or goods, especially on land, such as a car, truck, or cart

Steven is waiting outside the restaurant when Richard gets there. Richard is glad he recently cleaned out his VEHICLE. The gunmetal silver 1946 Plymouth business coupe is looking mighty fine. Steven is impressed. “That’s a mighty fine car,” he says.

W

W is for WAFT

a gentle movement of air

Their mouths water at the scent of garlic pizza. Steven uses his hand to WAFT the scent towards himself and Richard.

X

X is for XEROX

“I work for XEROX” Steven tells Richard, “Your work seems more exciting than mine.”

Richard disagrees, “At least you don’t have to deal with the public.”

The evening continues, the drinks flow, and things go very well for the two.

Y

Y is for YOU

used to refer to the person or people that the speaker is addressing

Richard and Steven walk down the street together holding hands. Both are quiet and thinking about their day.

Steven stops. “YOU can call me Saint Even. If you want to.”

“I’d like that!” Richard says and smiles. “You can call me Dick.”

“I prefer Dick!” says Steven, “Would you like to come have a drink at my place?”

Dick is filled with lust. “I’d love to come!” he says.

Z

Z is for ZIPPER