Sweet Spot

There are few things in this world more trama inducing than being forced to hear your best friend getting fucked.

It's truly an awful experience that I would not not wish upon even my worst enemy. Steak, our puppy whimpers pitifully and tries to nuzzle into my bulky hot pink sweater. I swear she would have had her paws over her ear if had the motor function.

Briefly, I consider if this is counts as assault. Fiona, my roommate and best friend, and I pretty much coparent Steak, and while I may have lost my parents at a very young age I'm very certain hearing your mother getting dicked down would be frowned upon in most cultures.

It doesn't help that half the time she's moaning like she's one step away from death.

“I guess that's why they call it a little death” I joke, but Steak isn't having it.

Giving me her golden brown backside she ambles to the dining area, finding refuge underneath the table she usually runs to during fireworks on the 4th of July.

Fiona has driven our daughter to the fourth of July table.

When I stepped into our apartment, after a grudgingly six hour shift at Sweet Omega Spot, and spotted the flamboyant hot pink g-string on her door knob, her signal to let me know when she has someone over (someone being the next door neighbour who she swears up and down that she despise) I was one step closer to ripping my hair off.

Sweet Omega Spot is a cafe where I work. With a very in the nose name like that, it is always filled with customers. Mostly men, shifters and humans alike trying to find their promised omega.

Or playing a game of spot the omega going into heat. Which if you could not guess makes for a less than relaxing working experience.

If you're wondering why I haven't quit, that's because Gina- the owner has been promising to set me up at my own place for forever. We first met at pastry school and since she had more money and was more capable of sinking a huge amount of it into her dream cafe from the get go, I agree to shelf my dreams and work with her to get her dreams up and running. The plan was that she'd then put in a good word for me, help with renting, advertising, things that I can't easily do without a safety net

Also known as, a shit ton of money.

Oscar, my twin brother also offered to help. But I didn't want him dipping into his savings for me. He might be older by three minutes and for that reason believe he needs to carry all my problems on his shoulders, but he isn't all that better off and I refuse to weigh him down any further.

For the record, I don't think every single person working in the cafe is an Omega. Besides Fiona, Gina and myself, I've yet to meet another shifter of the Omega designation, and since I'm a dormant Omega I don't think I really count.

For one thing, I can't shift. And that's a very big one thing, I might as well stop calling myself a shifter at this point, but calling myself human also feels like lying.

I'm faster than the average human, stronger too. Just a little bit more in most ways. But then I can't shift, nor have I experienced the estacy that is supposed to be Omega sex .

I've come to the conclusion that all the hype surrounding how good sex with an Omega is groundbreaking is just that, hype.

I've been with my multiple boyfriends, and while we have spared no expense in trying out every position imaginable to man and wolf and every toy beyond our imagination, we have yet to discover anything truly surreal.

I mean. It's okay I guess.

“He must have a metal cock,” I tell Steak, and when she refuses to give me the time of the day I repeat the joke to Owl, my pet parrot, as yet another guttural moan of “Harder“ seeps through the paper-thin walls of this purgatory I call an apartment.

It's too fucking late for this. And while I'm usually all for sex positivity, I'm currently at my wits end.

At least it sounds like she's having a fun time, getting the Omega benefit that was greatly promised.

On one hand, it’s comforting to know that the future of the Earth’s population of humans and shifters, are secure thanks to diligent individuals like them. On the other hand, some of us have jobs to do, and unfortunately, “listening to my roommate and neighbour fuck until they achieve herd immunity” isn’t one of them.

I’m one of those people who sleeps early and wakes up at the ass crack of dawn. Being a dormant Omega means that I exhibit more human characteristics than most normal Omegas, and being an early bird is one of them.

But between how loud they’re being and how sensitive my hearing has been lately, yet another symptom to add to the growing list I'll have to show my doctor when I finally get around to seeing her, I’m starting to consider chopping my ears off.

Some of us can’t afford to spend the morning trying out sixty-nine creative new positions. Some of us are trying to figure out how to turn our fantasies of owning a bakery into an actual reality, and ensure it's a huge success. Some of us are currently on the phone with our brother and would prefer a slightly more serene environment for the experience that is a phone call with our brother.

"Hey Oscar. How are you?" I say as cheerily as possible.

Unlike most women, I have the privilege of being born with a very supportive brother. None of that controlling nonsense poorly disgued as protection in this household. Oscar has been as encouraging of my dreams as he could be since the start.

It’s been especially difficult to have a conversation with him since I can't seem to have any real updates on getting my own place, and it's been almost five years now.

I had honestly expected Gina to have brought it up in conversation around now, but she keeps on not doing that and for that reason, as long as Oscar is concerned, Gina is enemy number one.

I'm not surprised when he asks sarcastically, “How's Gina?”

“Ha, Ha, very funny” I jest, making my way to the sofa.

He scoffs. “How are you, Dolly?” There's a rustle of paper on his side, and frown at the thought that he's still working so late. “How's work?”

“Fine and Fine” I say “ I just got back actually.”

There's a pause “it's past ten. So Gina has escalated to making you work overtime now?”

“No, no. I just wanted to help out.” I play nervously with the ring on my lower lip. “I plan to have The Talk with her tomorrow morning, so I just wanted to butter her up before then.”

Another pause. “Dolly that's fantastic.” He says, genuinely excited despite the fact that I've been warming up to this Talk for over three months now and never actually getting to it. “Good luck with that. You absolutely deserve your own place.”

It is a decision that we can both agree had been long overdue. I felt like I am going crazy back with every day that passes in that cafe.

With every human who walks up to inquire if I can keep my tail and ears during sex, instead of ordering pastries, I lose another piece of myself and yearn for freedom form this mortal plane.

I won't regret leaving.

I just want to get it over with and get my bakery plans off the ground quick enough to prove to my brother that I’d made the right decision not joining him in med school.

He's supportive, but he worries. I'm grateful he's currently far away from MeadowLark, because I doubt I'd be able to withstand an interrogation the police would eventually launch if he was out here in the city with Gina and I.

I'm joking.

See, some of us are already going through enough, which is why I feel our roommates could stand to be a little more considerate. And maybe I’m a little jealous that I’m not the one getting dicked down right now, but that’s beside the point.

I’m just grateful my brother hasn't questioned about why it sounds like I have a dying cat being slowly murdered by a dying dog in the room with me.

“What’s that sound?”

Fuck.