Dull Moments

"No! Not THERE! Do you even know where your asshole is? Unbelievable…"

The woman with the buzzcut slaps the head of one of the boys and slumps back on a collapsible camping chair next to her other two crewmates sitting on similar chairs on the boat's deck.

Each woman has a Crown beer in their hand —with a teeny Corona logo beneath— and no longer wear masks or foul weather jackets. They sit bare-chested watching with mild interest at the three nude kids as they try to provide a spectacle of gay sex for them, a feat ever more challenging due to their inexperience, their fear at their captors, and the blue disposable facemasks covering their eyes.

"A bit faster please! And with more enthusiasm!" says the skinny tattooed woman taking a sip "Oh, come on! Have you EVER watched the Sex Olympics? This is basic stuff!"

"W-we're trying!" whimpers one of the blindfolded boys spitting out the uncircumcised penis of his peer on top of him, his thin arms shaking from the sustained effort.

"Well try harder!"

She keeps yelling at the boys what's their correct positions inside the haphazard human pyramid but it's futile. She sighs and turns to the woman with braids sitting next to her who types the air with a finger while wearing sunglasses.

"Girl, we GOT to bring back my idea of the filter glasses to the Boss. These drones are USELESS if they can't see, and WE are useless if we got to hide our identities from them at all times."

The woman with braids snorts "Dude, get over it. She already said no and was quite detailed on the why."

"That's just because she's fucking old!" the woman with the buzzcut hisses "ONE trip to an amusement park! That's all it will take for her to understand why my idea is so fucking brilliant!"

"As well as fucking expensive dude! Have you SEEN how much those glasses cost?" she whistles, points at her sunglasses "I haven't finished paying these and they're already outdated! Now imagine buying each drone at the Farm a pair!" she snorts, punches her shoulder "You're just ahead of your time dude. Maybe try pitching your idea in… ten more years or something."

"I can't keep wearing THESE for ten more years!" groans the skinny woman waving one of the featureless mask "I'll be old by then!"

"Old in ten years!? Dude…! What age do you think YOU have?"

The woman with the buzzcut snorts and takes another sip of her beer, motions at the boys pounding on the floor "Old enough to know when SOMEONE SUCKS AT ANAL!" she says raising her voice to a yell.

The other two women laugh and take sips of their beers. Then the three jolt and scream at the same time when one of the boys tries to remove the facemask covering his eyes.

"HEY!"

"STOP THAT!"

"NO TOUCHIE!"

"I-I don't know if I'm inside!" the boy whimpers moving his hand away.

"Then KEEP trying! But whatever you do, DON'T take off your mask unless you want us to feed you to the sharks!" thunders the woman with the buzzcut throwing him a bottle cap. The boy recoils, nods, and keeps blindly thrusting his hips against the butt of the kid in front of him.

The woman with the buzzcut takes another sip of her beer, burps, and watches in a frustrated silence at the trio failing to have sex. She suddenly seems to remember something and turns on her chair to watch the tall Indian boy —also with a disposable facemask around his eyes— sitting alone at the aft of the boat pressed against the metal railing with his legs hanging over the edge.

She taps the shoulder of the woman with braids, points at him "Hey girl, how about we bring him over to teach these drones how it's done? I have a hunch he has experience swallowing dick."

But the woman with braids shakes her head. She stretches her body and yawns "Forget it dude. Have you already forgot what the Boss said? We got to leave him alone until we arrive at the Farm."

"That's bullshit, I don't understand what's the point of all this special treatment." she turns on her chair, takes another sip of her beer and points over her shoulder "For real girl, what's the Boss's plan? Is she saving him for herself or somethin'?"

The woman with braids shrugs "Beats me dude. Centennials have some weird-ass kinks."

Her partner sighs. She empties her Crown beer, burps louder, and throws the bottle as far as she can into the blue ocean. Her crewmates turn and watch in disbelief at the sparkling glass container fly across the bright blue sky.

When it finally splashes down they yell and raise their hands in protest at the woman with the buzzcut.

"Not cool!"

"Dude!"

"WHAT!?" she barks with slurred words "The world is coming to an end! Who cares?"

"YOU should care!" the woman with braids yells punching her arm, her voice also wavering from the alcohol "You'll be a parent soon, remember!? That whole thing of not caring because the world is a shitty place is precisely what made the world a shitty place in the first place!"

"Girl! It was ONE bottle, OK!? And I was obviously joking with what I said about not caring! Don't compare me to a fucking Gen Zee!"

"You have a problem with the Z Generation Corporal…?" says the Boss with a bored tone behind them.

The three women jolt and move to stand up, their legs unsteady from their drunken state. The old woman smirks and raises a palm.

"At ease. I was just retrieving this." she says showing a blue facemask on her hand, then points behind at the Indian boy no longer wearing one "Carry on…"

"B-but Boss! He'll be able to identify us!" says one of the women, alarmed.

The Boss nods "That's right Sergeant, but it's of no concern in his case. He won't be returning home, so it doesn't matter."

She walks away without elaborating further, heading back to the cabin while typing on the phone.

The topless women watch her go and slowly slump back on their chairs. They throw a glance at the boy on the back of the boat, exchange looks between them, and shrug. They pass around another round of beers from the nearby cooler.

"Hey! Why you stopped?" the woman with the buzzcut yells at the group of blindfolded boys who by now have stopped moving and sit panting for air "You already cum?"

One of the boys shrugs slightly "I… I think so?"

"What you mean you think so!?" she yells throwing her beer's bottle cap at him. Her crewmates laugh.

The Indian boy glances at them over his shoulder, his eyes red and cheeks crusty from dried-up tears. He sniffs and returns his sight to the endless blue ocean and clear sky on the other side of the railing, his chin resting on one of the chrome pipes.

He closes his eyes and takes a long breath, inhaling the pure, saline air. His feet hanging over the edge are almost touching the water, his tip-toes inches away from the vast liquid void below.

He breathes deep again and starts murmuring to himself while tapping the metal railing with his fingers. Not following a musical scale or song, but a long mental calculation.

***