Staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the Arizona desert, Johnathan J. Preston IV did not want to leave his room. It was true that he rarely did: with an ensuite, a tv and computer, as well as a mini-fridge and microwave, there generally wasn’t much reason for him to have to. The rest of the Preston family was also a good reason to not want to leave most days. However, tonight they would be even worse than usual: his father was hosting a business party and he was going to show off his ‘perfect’ family to business associates.

Lowering the blinds, even though there were no neighbours for roughly five miles, Johnathan began to undress, so that he could grab a shower. He despised being naked, but being in the hot running water of the shower helped at least a little. Only the shower eventually had to end and then he would be naked and cold. Which was even worse.

The solution was to get dressed as quickly as possible, avoiding any possibility of seeing himself in the mirror until he was fully dressed. The reflection that met his gaze once he’d pulled on the suit and tie left out for him did not inspire confidence. He was skinny, too many zits lingering from puberty even though he was now 19, the impulsive choice to dye his hair ice-blue now felt like a mistake, and... well, his face just wasn’t all that great looking. A shame after Johnathan J. Prestons I through III had all gone and married beauty queens or supermodels.

“Do I really have to do this?” he mumbled to himself, though he knew he did.

John Preston III was not a man to be disappointed.

It sometimes left Johnathan wondering how he’d managed to end up so unlike his father. Though, his grandfather was rather less ruthless, so those genes must have skipped a generation. 

Bracing for a painful evening ahead, he decided the hors d’oeuvres would help make it all better. Especially if he ate enough of them that his mouth would be full whenever anyone tried to talk to him.

The walk down from his bedroom, along hallways with further floor to ceiling windows and dark concrete walls, took longer than most people’s houses would allow. Really, the Preston home was more of a compound than even just a mansion. At least the views of the desert were nice, and the hall overlooked the driveway, allowing him to see how many cars had pulled in. There weren’t many guests yet, from the looks of things. Probably just his father’s employees (or ‘friends’ as his father liked to term them). That was a good sign. He wasn’t as late as he worried he was.

Arriving at the main living space, he saw that the retractable walls had been pulled away, turning the dining room, living room, and patio into one large open plan area. A few guests Johnathan vaguely recognised were milling about in small groups, while his father juggled the bulk of the attention. His mother, Tecla, was handling a few wives and husbands who seemed to be glad to escape having to feign interest in their spouse’s business conversations.

The group near the snackbar were still the smartest in Johnathan’s eyes, however. He crossed the room to join them, hoping his father wouldn’t notice his arrival. Spread across several black cloaked tables was a delightful buffet of finger foods, ranging from the savoury to the sweet. Sadly the plates provided were smaller than he would have liked, but he managed a decent little pile of snacks before his father noticed he’d come down. He was called over to say hello to everyone before he could put any food in his mouth.

Obediently following his father’s command, Johnathan found the crowd parting around him to give him a clear path to his father’s side. Some slight delays would have been appreciated, but it seemed he wasn’t going to be very lucky.

“Everyone--well, some of you know my son already, but for a few of you, this is Johnathan IV. More of an artist than a businessman, but I’m sure he’ll leave his mark on the world and do the family name proud, won’t you son?”

“I’ll try,” Johnathan replied, shrinking into himself as best as he could manage. 

“Still young. Still building confidence,” his father said, before moving back to discussing business contracts with some of the guests.

It was fairly easy for Johnathan to slip away at that point, everyone else too focused on trying to piece together whatever classified business they could from the contracts his father could discuss. Trying to find refuge around the tv, Johnathan was disappointed to see that a few men were already clustered around, watching football. Unfortunately, they’d spotted him walking over, and it seemed much too awkward to retreat now. He would have to wait until his plate was rather emptier.

A goal that was going to take time, because the men wanted to pull him into conversations about the current football season. He was under pressure to state his position as to whether he was more of a Vegas Kings or a Phoenix Coyotes fan. Having never really given either much thought nor wanting to get dragged into any sort of debates, he offered that he was a Seattle Orcas fan, it being the only other team that popped into his brain.

That had apparently been a mistake, all four men present around the tv pointing out how long it had been since they’d made it to the superbowl. 

“Uh... that’ll make it all the sweeter when they do win?” Johnathan tried, honestly at a loss of how to proceed.

“I suppose that’s fair,” the one man said, seeming to give the idea genuine thought.

Forcing a smile, an escape option struck Johnathan. “You know, I think I’m a little thirsty. See you all later.”

With that, he began his retreat. The men shared a laugh at his expense, which made him feel like garbage, but then they went back to their ongoing debate about sports. 

There were relatively limited non-alcoholic drink options for guests, but he was able to grab a cola. As he took a few sips his older sister Judith came down to join the party. She was looking stunning, in a gold to black gradient dress that hugged her figure but was otherwise modest. Very sleek and professional. She moved through the crowd with a grace and confidence he could never hope to match. 

Was that just the four years of seniority she had on him, or was it the advantage of being a woman? He had no idea. All he knew was that he was clumsy and both like he took up too much space and like he was too skinny to do a proper job of being a man. 

The reminder of his inadequacies had him glancing towards the other beverage options available, biting his lip as he weighed the risks of having a single cocktail. Or, maybe some punch? He could probably feign ignorance and claim he hadn’t realised it was alcohol. Even though that would call into question his sense of smell.

No. It wouldn’t be worth it. One night of misery was far better than however his father would punish him if he made a fool of not only himself, but the family.

Instead he decided to bury his sorrows in more snacks, and worked his way back to the buffet. 

It was about that point that he realised some more interesting guests were arriving: aliens. Sure, he knew his family had worked with aliens for decades. They were tied to upper level US military affairs. There’d been quiet trade with the Corporate Alliance (and even quieter trade with other groups) since shortly after the moon landing. But now it was public. The world knew about humanity’s alien relations. Honest to goodness immigration was happening, especially north of the border.

Which meant his father was able to have alien business partners over to soirées like this. There were a few Greys, because most of the Alliance were greys. Some blue skinned Lanthoneans had also joined the party, however. One of them was examining the hors d’oeuvres with visible uncertainty. Johnathan found himself hovering beside them (he wasn’t certain about the alien’s gender...), not sure how best to get to one of the eclairs.

“It is all very brown,” the blue alien said, wiggling their antennae.

“There’s some reds and greens... especially over with the veggies and dip,” Johnathan offered.

They nodded slowly. “Yes. Still. So little blue or purple. This planet will take getting used to,” the mumbled, before drifting off towards where the drinks were.

No doubt they’d complain about how brown the beers and pops were too. Not his problem, though. He grabbed some more desserts, before trying to find a quiet corner to hide in.

The plan only got to the stage of trying to find one, however, before his father called him over once again. Letting out a small sigh, he turned to find the rest of his family standing near the foyer entrance. They were clearly talking to someone who hadn’t made it in just yet, and so he did his best to hurry over without spilling any food. Anyone who was important enough for his father to greet at the door was not to be left waiting. 

He finally got to an angle where he could see the new arrival when he was barely a yard from his family, and found his brain freezing up at the site. A Kobaroian woman. She had to be seven foot before you even added the horn, and she was built like a brick. Though she was wearing the greys of Alliance fashion the cut of her outfit still had that military efficiency that marked Kobaroic fashion, and complimented her muscular frame exceptionally well.

Before he knew what he was saying a word had escaped Johnathan’s mouth. And, unfortunately, that word was ‘mommy’.

Thankfully the Kobaroian guest had had no idea what Johnathan had said, her ears were good but too far away to hear him. His father and sister, however, had been in hearing range. 

The upside was that his father had let him retreat from the party a few moments later, after he’d been introduced to the guest of honour (an executive general in the Alliance’s corporate military system). The downside was that he was going to suffer some sort of horrid punishment. Which left him sitting in his room, texting his last will and testament to Pete, his main friend from high school.

[I still can’t believe you got to meet a Kobaroian woman... I’d have called her a lot more than just ‘mommy’,] Pete messaged.

[Can you turn off your horndogness for five minutes? My dad is going to kill me,] Johnathan wrote back, disappointed in his friend.

Not that he was surprised. They’d mostly only been friends as a survival strategy, having been the two least popular people in most of their classes. Sticking together had seemed like it offered some level of safety in numbers, even if Pete had frequently been unpleasant to be around. His horny and mildly sexist commentary had seemed better than lonely silence. 

The ability to walk away when they were communicating online made him somewhat more tolerable, but Johnathan still wished he could have better luck with friends.

[Just tell me, were her boobs at eye level?] Pete had replied.

Staring at the message for a few moments, Johnathan decided that, at the moment, lonely silence sounded better than dealing with Pete. He plunked his phone on his desk, layed down on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

The minutes passed with agonizing dread as they crawled slowly past. As he lay there, he reasoned the odds of his father actually killing him were minimal. Unfortunately there were a lot of other forms of suffering that he could inflict. Would Johnathan be sent off to a generic business school, his dreams of becoming an artist dashed? Or maybe he’d have the mini-fridge and microwave removed from his room, forcing him to eat every meal with his parents. Maybe he’d be sent to a military academy, even worse than business school?

No. All of that was probably too mild. Well, apart from the military academy. The result was probably going to be worse. Maybe he was better off running away and joining a monastery or something?

... Were there any monasteries in Arizona?

If there weren’t, then what was the next best thing? He weighed the options for a moment, and came to the conclusion it was probably going to Vegas and joining one of those Elvis impersonator churches.

He was not doing that. Wearing mutton chops for the rest of his life...

A few hours had passed from the initial incident (time Johnathan had used to grow more anxious) when there was a knock on his door. The party likely wasn’t over yet, but his father must have found an opportunity to slip away.

Swallowing his fear, Johnathan hurried over and opened his bedroom door. It was indeed his father standing outside, face mostly in shadow, but for a little light reaching over from the living area to reflect off his dark skin.

“May I come in, son?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

There was no saying no to John Preston III.

So Johnathan opened the door the rest of the way, letting his father in with an ‘of course’. His father flicked the light on, then closed the door behind him. The silence was deafening as he nodded a few times, Johnathan feeling his heart in his throat.

His father then turned his gaze over to the desk, walking over to the sleek and dark wooden piece of furniture. A few sketchbooks sat on it, some of them having loose pages sticking out of them.

“How are these coming along, then?” the older man asked.

Johnathan found himself fiddling with some of his ear and hair for a moment. “They’re... they’re in progress?”

John Preston III picked one of them up, assessing the weight of it in his hand. “May I look through them? I’d like to see how you’re doing. If this gap year and the tutoring is really helping.”

“Er, well, that’s not my tutoring one... the nice one is for the professional portfolio stuff. There’s just doodles in there,” Johnathan said, cheeks going hot as he thought about exactly what sort of doodles they were.

“Doodles can still be informative,” his father said, opening the sketchbook, because of course he did.

There was no saying no to John Preston III.

He flipped through a few pages, nodding with the occasional ‘hmm’ or ‘mhm’. Johnathan felt his heart sink. There had to be something he could say to explain it. Some way to pull himself out of the pit of humiliation he was in.

“I want to draw superheroes. There’s lots of good references for muscular male superheroes, but female ones are harder to find, so I figured practice would help?”

Why had that turned into a question? Had that just been his nerves snapping at the end, pushing his pitch up?

“I see,” was all his father said at first.

It was nearly a full minute before his father finished flipping through the sketchbook. Being killed was starting to seem like a better outcome than how the night had actually turned out. Especially a clean execution.

“You never did manage to find a girlfriend during high school, did you?” his father asked, the question throwing Johnathan off.

“Uh... no? I... I tried to focus on school?”

That resulted in more paternal nodding. “You and that Peter boy... you weren’t...”

“Weren--no. No. Definitely not. Ew,” Johnathan said, face contorting in disgust. “He’s... If I was gay I hope I would have higher standards than Pete.”

“Mhm... well, I have to get back to my guests, but I must say, this evening has been... informative,” his father said, turning and leaving.

Johnathan blinked a few times, utterly unsure what to make of what had just happened. Had he escaped punishment? 

The next three days had passed in a tense sort of peace. Nothing seemed to happen, but Johnathan felt certain the other shoe would drop any minute. As such, he made extra effort to keep to his room whenever possible, only leaving to head to his private art tutoring.

Those short walks from his room down to the garage were like walking on eggshells. Especially when his efforts to get information out of the chauffeur, the maids, or the security goons went nowhere. He wasn’t sure if that was his father being secretive or if the staff had been sworn to keep him in the dark, but neither was a good sign.

On the fourth day there was another knock on his door. It was the firm and efficient knock of his father, causing Johnathan to scramble over, forgetting to pause his Yboy X game.

“Hello,” he squeaked as he opened the door.

His father did not look impressed by the strained smile he was offering. “That outfit is not very presentable. Put something nicer on.”

Johnathan blinked, before looking down at what he was wearing. It was a pair of sweatpants and a baggy hoodie, bearable thanks to the somewhat overzealous air conditioning. Not very presentable, regardless of how comfortable it was.

“Uh... one second,” he replied, before scrambling over to his wardrobe.

A couple minutes later he’d pulled on some socks, black jeans, and a somewhat too large button up shirt. He then opened the door again. The look on his father’s face did not seem thrilled, but the outfit seemed just barely acceptable.

“Come with me,” John Preston III said, turning and beginning to walk down the hallway.

Johnathan hurried after him, more than a little terrified.

“I’ve been too soft on you,” his father said, rendering his fear worse. “You’ve ended up rather... delicate as a result. It’s time that that changed. That you learn to man up. I’m not completely certain what to make of your taste in women, but I do believe it can be channeled into a more healthy outlet.”

“P--pardon?” Johnathan squeaked despite himself.

Pausing at the edge of the main living area, his father said: “There is nothing wrong with having an appreciation for powerful women if you can see yourself as her equal.”

Then he began walking again, heading towards the foyer. Confused, Johnathan hurried after his father, trying to work out what all of that might mean. It was simply too unexpected and out of left field for him to find any sort of toe hold of sense in it all, let alone the bigger picture.

At least until they rounded the corner to the foyer, and Johnathan found a woman waiting there, taking the place in. His heart skipped a beat as he found himself taking her in. She was easily 6ft, probably a bit taller, her undercut red hair pulled back into a messy sort of bun, a few strands falling from her forehead in a way that guided the eyes towards her handsome face. Because she was handsome, with a charming smile. Oh, but there was more than her fact to admire. The red t-shirt she wore showed off an impressively muscled physique as well as arms covered in tattoos that screamed a sort of ‘bad girl’ style that Johnathan had never seen up close.

The feelings in his knees at seeing her were helping him to understand the term ‘swooning’.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Mr. Preston,” she said, in a gorgeously Australian accent. “Uh... Mr. Preston III? Am I supposed to say that bit every time?”

“Apologies for the wait, Ms. Xanthopolous. And there’s no need, ‘Mr. Preston’ works fine for myself, while ‘Master Preston’ works for my son... Johnathan, I would like you to meet Grace Xanthopolous, your new personal trainer.”