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Alternative Methods.
Has sex become repetitious? Feeling sore in certain areas? Well, good news! Your boyfriend has sent you on a quest to find different ways of having fun gay sex. Yay!
Find the following people and seek out their knowledge:
Good luck, Wanderer!
Find the following people and seek out their knowledge:
- Arcade Israel Gannon (=D)
- Jimmy (Westside)
- Old Ben (Freeside)
- Doctor Alex Richards (Novac)
- Ignacio Rivas (Helios One)
Good luck, Wanderer!
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And now to die. Hopefully that's all Neil needed.
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Which will be difficult with his next words. "That's actually my next question," Neil continues, almost apologetically. "Do you have any advice on...alternatives to penetrative sex?"
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Neil coughs.
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Arcade thinks, placing a hand against his mouth and chin, other hand cupping his elbow. "Are you saying that Alex Seattle Geer only does anal sex?"
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"...Yes," he finally says, defeated.
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He can't restrain himself and nearly dies from the thought. It'll probably get him killed and it's staining his brain irrevocably, but.... He holds up a hand, begging a moment. "Excuse me," he makes out. "But do you know that guy's reputation? It's either entirely laughable..." That a man with that kind of gossip is a one-trick horse. "Or he's that good--"
He blanches, waving his hand in front of his face. "Don't answer that. Please don't."
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He and his ass will be ever so grateful.
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"Uh," he thinks eloquently. "Have you ever tried... Hmm... Switching it up?"
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Arcade, bless his soul, edges into a territory Neil's looking for, and the younger man sets aside his thoughts to instantly jumps on the opportunity. "Not looking for a different partner, but... Could you gimme an example of non-penetrative stuff?" he asks.
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Neil pushes away the urge to press both hands to his face in dismay. "Apparently, handjobs aren't very intimate," he mutters before shaking his head. "Thanks, Arcade. I owe you a shitton for this. Just name the price, and I'll pay it."
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He groans, loudly, and turns to the cabinet nearby, rummaging until he finds a large bottle of tequila that Raul had given him for his last birthday and two shot glasses. He fills both, then downs both in a quick succession. He sputters incoherently. "I hate tequila," he says by way of explanation, then fills two more and repeats the act.
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Duh.
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He says this with all the enthusiasm of a dead man, and makes the number go up to six in a moment more.
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