I Yam What I Yam
by Dr. Eugene Sands
Author's Notes: Emily wrote: "So there I was, on AIM, issuing a challenge to people. And they actually took me up on it! And the results were good, and... All right, all right. Sue has given me leave to issue the challenge to the list at large." I firmly refused to take Emily up on this challenge, but it turns out a friend who is not a list member was interested. He hasn't written much before, but is often attached to Rodney Lange and always wanted to write a story about his lover...
Disclaimer: Rodney Lange belonged to Panzer, but Demi X and Ursula sort of absconded with him. Popeye and his friends belonged to Elzie Segar and now to his heirs. Other characters do not really appear in the story. It's all in your head.
Pairing: Eugene Sands was a character played by David Duchovney in a movie called "Playing God". He was a doctor who was disbarred for drug problems, which affected his operating skills. As a drug addict, he was the perfect match for Rodney who had an alcohol problem. His original character belonged to Touchstone pictures, but now he belongs to Rodney Lange.
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His sleep was restless for the first time since Eugene, beautiful, dissolute Eugene Sands, for whom the man had fallen at first because he looked like Mulder. Now, Rodney loved him for his own unique self. Oh, God, how Eugene could laugh even with Rodney's cock down his throat...rippling motions tickling the entire length of his sensitive, engorged flesh.
Punching the pillow, Rodney tossed and turned. Maybe he should get up and go knock off a few rounds with the punching bag? A soothing hand patted his butt and stroked the length of his sweating back. It was so damn hot for Seattle! Ninety-eight degrees, a near record for the damp and temperate city. Eugene soothingly said, "Lover, if you don't want to tell your sister tomorrow, it's okay with me."
No, he'd taken the coward's way too many times before. Rodney had decided to come clean. He planned to introduce Eugene to his sister, Iris, and tell her the truth about the bargain he had made to save both of their lives. He said, "I love you and if I can't share the most important thing in my life with my sister, then she doesn't really love me."
"So Mulder isn't the most important one?" Eugene asked, piquantly jealous of the man who wore his face and who had taught Rodney that that there could be love in the touch of a man's hands.
"I won't deny that he was the first one who made me feel good about myself." Rodney replied. "But I love you and you love me. We were made for each other, Eugene."
"Then there's no reason to be worried. You just get right over here and I'll cuddle you to sleep." Eugene promised.
Eugene's hands mapped him, caressing every sweet spot on his body. They'd made love already tonight. They had devoured each other and taken turns, joining each to the other, coming inside the bodies that they knew better even then their own. Now weary, satiated, and a little sore, Rodney was content to be touched, caressed....sung to...
What? Eugene never sang? The voice was rough and phlegmatic, a cacophony of sour notes and grating sounds. "I yam what I yam and I'm Popeye, the sailor man. I eat all the spinach..."
A horny hand in more ways then one pried Rodney up by the crack of his ass and turned him over. "A fine piece of prime cabin boy." The voice remarked with a gloating note. "Ain't had a piece like that since the old days on the Sea of Terma."
His jaw protruded amazingly. His eyes were a pencil lead apart. His mouth was a seam in an angular ridiculous face. A pipe bobbed from his lips. He was all knobs and angles, thin, but wiry with ropy muscles pulled tight over the gawky frame. A slap on Rodney's ass woke him the rest of the way up.
"What have you done with Eugene?" Rodney fearfully demanded.
"Who is this Eugene? I tell you, calling his name and Mulder when I was plucking the sweet cherry from your ass? What's a Mulder? Now I met an Alex once...yummy fellow that you look just like, but no Eugene or Mulder. Don't worry about it. As long as you don't tell me Olive Oyl, I won't be telling Eugene...har, har, har."
The pipe and the jaw bobbed. His cock was huge and Rodney swore the head winked at him. Scrambling back off the bed, Rodney looked for his clothing, finding nothing but some sailcloth like trousers, ragged and torn, revealing in the seat. A length of rope apparently held them up. A striped shirt, red and blue, was the top and there was also a jaunty little sailing square cap. Rodney dressed in the strange garments, his fingers trembling.
Frankly he either was having a flashback of the DTs or he had been kidnapped again and sold into sexual slavery. The sailor however appeared friendly enough. He said, "Come along, matey, best stick with me until you gets to your feet."
Okay, Rodney had always followed the path of least resistance. He trotted after the sailor who walked with an amazing bowlegged gait, swaying as if permanently at sea.
A little man accosted them immediately after they stepped off the gangplank. He was round faced and wore a tattered porkpie hat. "I will gladly pay you tomorrow if you buy me a hamburger today."
"Avast with you, Wimpy, after a good honest sailor's pay, near as bad as Brutus sometimes, matey." Popeye said.
This somehow all seemed familiar. Rodney followed in the swaggering sailor's wake as they traveled through the picturesque seaside town. Popeye seemed to know everyone.
Finally, they arrived at a two-story house, which had a sign that said, "Mrs. Oyl's boarding house. Sailors welcome."
"Now, matey, don't be mentioning me play with you. Olive has a temper." This time Popeye's har-har-har laugh sounded nervous and forced.
She was tall. Rodney was over six feet in height and she was at least a finger above that. And skinny. She was the thinnest woman he had ever seen. Her black shoes covered more like a yard then a foot. She had a shrill voice that babbled constantly. However, Popeye's eyes (or was it just an eye) glazed over and he said, "Beautiful, just, ain't she lovely? Yep, my girl, Olive Oyl. Yes, she is. I said that she is. Just beautiful."
Flowers popped out of nowhere into the sailor's hand and he offered them to the scarecrow woman. A large man clumped across the room. He said, "What you doing giving flowers to my girl?"
"Your girl? Your girl?" Incoherent mumbling devolved from that point onward until suddenly the man was flying at his black bearded opponent. "Youse gutter rat! Brutus, she bees my gurl friend. Me faience!"
The man apparently named Brutus shouted back as Popeye pinned him to a telephone kiosk that suddenly appeared, "Sometimes you have to live with the rats..."
A cloud of flailing limbs occupied the furniture-free center of the caf (free except for the magical telephone booth). No one seemed to take much notice except Olive Oyl who cooed and made strange whooping sounds, "Oh, oh, oh," in tones that screeched to the highest decibels.
"Spinach...I needs me spinach," yelled Popeye.
A baby crawled into the melee and popped an open can of spinach down the hatch of Popeye's pipe. Immediately the sailor resumed his efforts, holding his own despite being so much smaller than the outsized Brutus. Soon enough though the two combatants lay on their backs on the floor until Brutus raised his head and addressed Olive Oyl. "He has no stamina. He's been unfaithful!"
"What? Oh, oh, oh! And Brutus and I waited for you. Popeye! How could you?" Olive Oyl screamed.
A man in blue tights and a red cape emerged from the telephone booth, looked around and said, "Jimmy? Lois?" He leapt in the air and flew away. Next a wild fellow with a multicolored knit scarf and battered overcoat peeked up. With a polite tip of his hat, the man said in a pleasant British toned voice, "Oops, not my Tardis after all." He scrambled back in and disappeared.
Finally a scrawny hag in a dark dress arrived and rushed out in a flurry of scuttling rags. She cackled and said, "Olive, my sweet, are you finally ready to be mine?"
A trembling finger pointed at Rodney and Olive screeched "Sea-hag, I want him turned into a ...mouse, no, that's been done! A swan, no, that's too pretty. A golden statue, a swine, a jackass!"
The big man picked up Rodney by the scruff of his striped jerkin and said, "A yam, turn him into a yam!"
"So be it..." declaimed the hag.
He curled, his flesh became dense, his limbs merged into an oblong form. He was a squash...no, a sweet succulent yam. A silent orange scream was swallowed by this vegetable form.
Curled on a table, Rodney saw through some means he couldn't understand. They rubbed his skin with glaze and oil before putting him into what felt like a hot sauna. When they took him out, he saw the lantern jaw of his former lover gaping above him...
"I'll eat you up! I love you so," said the sailor.
He felt a mouth sucking on him, preparing to consume his dense nutritious flesh with all those good for you enzymes. He screamed, never expecting to be heard.
"Lover, wake up. Geez, I was just trying to wake you up in a nice way. I need to know how to cook the yams." Eugene's voice said.
Rodney fearfully opened his eyes. Eugene stared down at him, lower lip sulking with thwarted desire. Its sensuous heaviness was glazed with saliva and red as if he had been sucking on something. Rodney hastily checked every inch of his body and found not vegetable flesh, but his own firm Greek God of a boxer's body.
"Oh, shit, I had such a dream." Rodney said. He leapt out of bed and ran downstairs. He found a large carving knife on the counter next to the yam. In sudden sympathy, Rodney cradled the large vegetable and kissed it, saying, "Don't worry. No one will cook you!"
The yam promptly turned into a teenage African boy, naked, scared out of his mind, but healthy. Rodney turned around and saw Eugene gaping. He said, "I think I better call Mulder."
The End
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