My steed slows down as the large, stiff tower the princess lives upon cums into sight.
No, I'm not talking about what's in my pants.
The Custodian and Darcy Ellis eye the screen as the DP program begins, its unsettling volume of innuendo apparent immediately.
"Is it really necessary for us to, y'know, watch this?"
"Certain sacrifices must be made in the interest of comprehensiveness. This is one of them."
The breeze picks up, lifting the hair from my head and swaying it out back and upwards with the sexual subtlety of an Old Spice ad. Yeah, it might be a wig, but those are the concessions when your head is a featureless chrome dome. Doesn't stop the ladies from loving my better baldheaded feature. My horse gallops to the base of the Princess's Tower, sitting down so I can step off effortlessly like the sexy beast I am. I slap his rear to get him to start prancing away, watching proudly as his floppy horse penis dangles with every step. I don't stare because of any weird bestiality fetish, that would be disgusting. I stare because he's hung like a Chameleon. Walking up to the stonework that comprises the tower, I lift up a boombox playing P!nk's Get This Party Started. She steps to the balcony out above me, allowing me to finally gaze upon her beauty. Her hair is renowned across the land, long and silky to the tough, however her head is as bald as mine. Her eyes peer down at my flawless form as I strike a sensual pose for her amusement. Turning the boombox off, I admire the curves and shape of her body from below. She is the striking image of the fairest maiden. The pinnacle of beauty from within and without. And I want to plow her fields like a fleshy subsoiler.
"Racuntzel, Racuntzel! Let down your hair, babe!"
"Uh... are you gonna climb my pubes?"
"That's the idea, sweetie."
"That... that doesn't sound pleasant in the slightest."
I shrug, disappointed but sympathetic enough to her discomfort with the idea. I've had bad enough experiences getting my pear garden caught in a zipper, let alone having a grown ass man tugging down there. My hands are very familiar sliding up large cylinders, so I grip onto the bricks of the tower, pulling myself up its length until I climb all the way up to the balcony, barely winded, seven hours later.
Flawless.
The Princess of Bo'neria, Clie Maxx, sits sunk in a large sofa, absorbed in an episode of Scrubs. She barely even notices my making to the top, giving a weak smile and wave as I hobble into her chambers, gasping for air in a lustful way. I literally crawl onto the sofa next to her, more than prepared to turn this sofa into a love seat once my heartrate lowers. I go to whisper sweet nothings in her ears, only for her to raise and finger and press it to my lips, pushing me further away from Ms. Maxx while she finishes her episode of Scrubs, her frilly princess dress covered with multiple pizza stains from a frozen 'za laying out beside her on a bed of her long, luxurious pubic hairs. As the ending credits played, she paused the playback with a lazy press of a remote. She sighed in an unimpressed manner as she turned to face me.
"So, what do you want exactly?"
"I want to freak you like a 20-year old at his first Prince concert."
She gave me a very light, uninterested chuckle and smile. Being of royal blood must give her some arcane qualities to dispel my pants magic. I await her explanation with the most seductive of tears welling in my eyes.
"Look, I'm not trying to be mean or anything, I'm just not into... dudes."
Oh! She's a lesbian! No need for teary eyes now when I know I never had a chance with her in the first place! ALRIGHT!
"Well, specifically you."
We'll just ignore that part for the sake of not getting emotional again! Now that I know she isn't a potential recipient to a molten sperm donation, I can move onto my real reason for cumming here. I easily pull out a VCR from my back pocket, VHS tape already inside of it and begin to hook it up to her TV.
"Well, if we're not doing the deed, then I think it's appropriate that I show you my brand new pitch for Bo'neria's new favorite icy treat!"
She gave a confused head tilt before shrugging and rolling her eyes slightly.
"Go ahead, I guess."
I unfold a large promotional poster showing off my new popsicle sensation in the making: Chameleoncicles! They are a normal popsicle but at the end is my head! I stand proudly in front of her as she inspects the advertisement, a little uncertain about what I've shown her.
"You want to make popsicles named after you that are shaped like cocks?"
"What?! No, these have my face at the end of them!"
"But you don't have a face, so it just kinda looks like a dicksicle to be honest."
"Uh, no! A dicksicle would have balls at the end of it! These don't have balls! Look, I love to slam as much as the next Master of Dicksaster, but these Chameleoncicles are not sexual in the slightest. Look, I made a commercial just to show you how serious I am about this product!"
I press play on the VCR and hop on the sofa at a respectful distance away from the princess, ready to watch this masterpiece of visual storytelling and product branding.
Two women wearing revealing ice cream lady outfits with a single white tee as the only upper body wear are having a water gun fight on a hot summer day in front of their ice cream truck.
"I can wait to give out all these yummy treats on this hot, hot day!" One says to the other, pressing a dripping wet towel against her chest.
"It's a good thing we have plenty of chilly snacks for all of the local brothels, strip clubs, and orphanages!" The other responds.
But suddenly, they begin to get terrorized by a poorly edited and scaled jpeg of Dick Powers! The image "spills" the ice chests near them with the power of editing as the two women run around the screen with their best screams possible. Who will save these poor women from this two dimensional devil? You know it's gonna be me, baby! I leap out in front of the jpeg and strike him into the sun with a super cool Karate Kid crane kick. The two women come up to me to tend to my wounds and feel up my muscles.
"Oh, you saved us from that naughty Dick Powers!"
"Not only did I rescue you two from that creep, but also from the concept of nuclear fusion itself!" I shout, pulling out a box of Chameleoncicles, allowing one of them to shove one of the cicles into her mouth whole in an incredibly normal and platonic fashion.
"Do you have anything else to say to that bad man, Mr. Chameleon?"
I sigh, shrugging and letting the cold wind released from the box of my product run through my wig.
"Oh, I guess I do."
"Daddy's been doing wrist workouts and it's time to start spanking."
"Dicky boy! Honestly, I thought I'd be a lot happier when I finally got to talking about you because I figured, "Hey, here's the guy who gets me better than anybody! We're like two peas in a pod, two balls in a sack, two poles with the same goals!" And while you first appear to me a fellow blackbelt in Kung Fuck such as myself, you're a little more limp, Dick. And I'm not just talking about your wrists."
"For a guy who is supposedly the source of the world's sexual energy, you pass out in the ring faster than a virgin getting his first blowie. The "King of SEXtreme?" More like "The One Pump Chump with the slumped plump stump." Where's all that Power going, buddy, 'cuz it obviously ain't showing up in the squared circle or in bed. C'mon, Death herself has kicked you out of the afterlife how many times now? Sure, I might not be the best ever in bed, but even I could please a gal well enough to where she stops sending me back to shallow graves."
"I remember hearing about you getting your mojo back and I was so overjoyed for you! I was certain that you'd take that Time Viagra and balls deep go where no man has gone before, but instead you just kept shooting blanks even more than before! I once hoped that The Slambassador and The Chambassador could peruse the most cumly of maidens out there alongside one another, but you lost sight of what really counts. You're wrestling to look less bad than you did the week before. You're pussy dipping for the stop at the end. Whor-est for the trees and all that. You need to reASSess, Powers, because all this promiscuity is for naught if all you do is get pinned in and out of bed."
"So, bring your endurance and try to outlast The Archduke of the Arched Back. You won't. Because at the end of the day nothing you do is revolutionary as a wrestler in the sheets or otherwise. You're old news because you can't reinvent. And experimentation is the lifeblood of a healthy sex life, my friend. All you do is thrust and bust time and time again, but you'll never be the best so you don't even bother trying. You know there'll always be somebody bigger than you or faster than you or more willing to go outside the box, so you keep getting smaller and smaller. Put simply, you know the truth, Powers."
"There's always a bigger Dick."
The two bodacious babes begin bouncing as I finish up my promo, taking a celebratory bite of one of my (not penis shaped) Chameleoncicles. I watch as their features jiggle in their less-than-concealing outfits, nodding my head in that "you know how absolutely fucking rad this is" sort of way. One runs a hand down my arm, her plasticky lip clenched between her teeth as she groans in an intoxicating manner.
"Oh, Mr. Chameleon! Thank you so much for telling off that bad, naughty Mr. Dick!"
"No need to thank me, honey. It's all in a day's work and it's really...
nut a throblem
I glance at the camera with my legendary smolder and I see something in the lens. It's tiny and my eyes almost don't focus on it with the thick air of sexiness surrounding me, but it catches my attention nonetheless. I see me. Not the reflection off of the lens's glass, but me watching the video tape of the commercial with the princess. How is that-
-possible? I stare into the television at him..? At me? I am staring at myself. What constitutes I if "I" am simultaneously in there and out here.
"Are you feeling okay, man?"
I'm supposed to react to her words. The Chameleon is supposed to react to what she said. But which Chameleon? Which one is me? Are both me? If I'm both, then why does the other feel different when I'm looking at him? I... I try to think but I don't even know if those are my thoughts anymore. The longer I stare, the more the boundaries between us start to shatter and fragment, like a shaky fist through brittle glass. We walk towards the screen and the lens. Both of us independently and yet intertwined. I can't tell if I'm doing the moving or if the moving is happening to me anymore. To us? Who are they? If I'm The Chameleon and I see myself and I don't know who that is, then who am I? Who is The Cham-
The world stops with a few muffled shouts through the other side of the chamber as my consciousness fades. When I finally come to, I wake up like I always do:
In a dark room, unsure if what I'm going through is real.
Part 2-B:
Improvement
"Name."
"Hayato Okamoto."
"Previous time in the X-Treme Wrestling Federation."
"None."
"His strengths."
"Agility. Adaptability. Precision striking."
"His background."
"...Why are we doing this?"
The Custodian sighed, clearly reluctant to describe the entirety of the incident prior. The two sat in a room surrounded by many white lights that clearly lit the entire space. There was a clinical nature to it all. A place where information was the only focus. Devoid of flavor and culture, all replaced with a static academia.
"Your incident in the earlier program has raised valid concerns of simulating further opponents for this match. These matters require an intense focus and bringing that focus inward could compromise everything we have worked so hard to achieve."
"So, I am learning about my remaining opponents in this fashion?"
"Not quite. We shall go over Okamoto in this manner, but not Smith."
"...Which opponent shall I imitate for the earlier match in the night. Once I've absorbed all of the information you give to me?"
The Custodian stifled a chuckle, checking his pocket watch as the seconds ticked by.
"You are operating off of a misconception, Chameleon. Think. Hayato is the perfect example of what I am attempting to stress."
TC-01 thought for a moment, the hesitation in their voice emblematic of an existing knowledge of the answer at some level within themself.
"None of those four are. I have to face them, but they aren't my real opponent."
"Go on."
"All of them have talents in some areas certainly, but there is a vacant quality to each. A willingness to stand by for more capable individuals. For all of their prowess, they'll never attempt to be anything they are not. And it holds each one of them back."
"Now then, TC-01... give me the name of your opponent."
"Corey Smith."
"Is he exempt from the qualities you've described prior?"
"...He is not."
"Perfect. I look forward to your analysis of the Smith file we will provide you."
"I don't need it."
The Custodian's ears perked, but there was no discontent in his expression, rather an excited intrigue.
"Pray tell why."
"I know Corey. All too well."
With another glance at his watch, The Custodian smiled wide. It was almost time.
"This has been an illuminating distraction, but a distraction regardless. Let us begin once more. Name."
"Hayato Okamoto."
"Previous time in the X-Treme Wrestling Federation."
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