The Dude Mythology

By Jesse Guillon

If it's been in a fairytale, it's been in Halden Laberge's bed.

Nymphs, elves, mermaids... Women of many races have come face-to-face with Halden's libido. In fact, he lives on campus solely to pursue these exotic flings, and his policy of always leaving the girl better off at the end of the night has safeguarded him from ever experiencing playboy's guilt. But everything changes one day while crossing another species off of "the list".

Fairy enchantress Mac is wise to Halden's sneaky seduction tactics. And after spending one night with her, he finds not only that Mac comes with strings attached, but that she's pulling them to make him dance to her tune. Feeling used and betrayed, he hatches a plan for revenge. Suddenly, his game has become a cat and mouse game - a battle of the sexes where every smile and compliment hides an agenda.

All the while, Halden must keep peace within his group of male friends, which includes a philosophical metalhead elf, a poetically vulgar prankster and a socially inept half-human/half-dwarf. Throw in an irate professor, a vampire-werewolf bromance, alcohol, archaic technology, troublesome nostalgia, mind-melting drugs and some cryptic paranormal tidings and Halden's college life is becoming a warzone.

If he can keep his most trusted generals from tearing each other apart over typical guy drama, he may just solve the mystery of Mac and survive his early twenties.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jesse Guillon
• Release date: Aug 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463928356

Book preview

Chapter 1 - Jumping the Shark

Splash.

Of all the ways Halden Laberge had ever been woken, this tsunami of frosty water to the face had to rank in the top five most unpleasant.

The first thing that he noticed - as had been the case with at least two of the other four times - was that his skull was being imploded by alcohol demons. Most days, Halden's first thought upon waking was that his hair probably looked delectable even first thing in the morning. His only hair-based thought this morning was that his roots felt like they had fermented. He practically heard the crust in his eyes crumble as his eyelids broke open.

The world around Halden was a blur. For a second, all he could see was the elven man bent over his woken body. If elves were meant to be armed with bows and arrows forged from the most ancient of oaks, this elf's bow must have been left in the armoury; his only weapon was an empty plastic bucket, dripping on to Halden's bed as flakes of ice slid out.

About time you woke, said Leidt, Halden's best friend and, regrettably on this morning, his roommate.

You! Halden yelled. Ignoring the invisible hangover truck parked atop him, he sprang from his bed and chased Leidt out the open dorm room door and into the hall. His feet twisted around each other as he gave chase, and when he threw out his left arm to grab the elf, he literally threw it, having no control over where the dead limb landed. Must've slept on it again.

The tumbleweed of flailing appendages that was Halden halted, blinded, in the college hallway. Damn mornings, he thought as Leidt escaped, holding his dangling left arm in front of his face with his right hand. Even with his eyes closed he felt like supernovas were exploding all around him, despite the fact that mushrooms could have probably grown in that windowless hall.

That cold, airy windowless hall.

Uh-oh.

As a speck of arctic water slid into the crease of his lower back, he realised that he was wearing only his boxers. In broad daylight. In the middle of campus. And he didn't need to look down to notice that one appendage, unlike his arm, was very much awake.

If all of his body was meant to be shrivelled and huddling for warmth, nobody had told his penis. Then again, nobody bothered telling his penis anything these days, since it was always so busy carrying out his brain's dirty work.

I haven't even had breakfast and I'm halfway down campus, soaked and chilled to the boner. Halden's head was bursting with pain while his other head looked ready to burst with vanilla DNA torpedos. Great.

The last thing he needed to hear was the very next thing he heard - voices growing nearer. Female voices.

Damn it! Must hide my pride. But... how?

His brain wasn't up to the challenge, and the two pretty young things were past the bend of the crescent walkway. One was blonde and the other was dark-haired, and these were the only features he bothered to take in because it was clear that he wouldn't be wooing either girl.

The footsteps and voices grew close. Time's running out. What to do?

While he might've felt stupid for not seeing the solution instantly - that the quickest method of hiding himself would be to walk back inside and close the door - he could take honour in the fact that he was at least intellectual enough to see this solution before the girls spotted him.

Smooth save, Laberge, he thought, closing the door behind him as he ran a hand through his drenched and tangled hair. At least they didn't see my- He paused, then grabbed at every inch of his hair, searching for something. My beanie!

In the drunken confusion of the previous night, his trademark wool beanie had gone M.I.A. Even in a state of soggy boxers and bloodshot eyes, the greatest mark against his image was the lack of his knitted cap, which, when angled back just right, would expose the perfect number of radiant brunette locks - just enough hair to tantalise ladies, making them worry that they might never get to see the rest. He was the ultimate clit-tease in terms of head fur, and his beanie was the ultimate framing device for the epic saga that was his hair.

A spike of blaring music stabbed him from the room's corner, bringing his headache back front-and-centre. Halden bent to retrieve his ringing phone from the floor. The screen said 'Leidt'.

When he accepted the call, the elf's voice said: Looking for something to cover that saturated head of yours?

You bastard! What have you done with it?

It's safe and dry... for now, said Leidt. Now, we could discuss why I'm doing this to you - exactly what you did in your drunkenness to hurt me, causing me to seek revenge. But no. I'd delight more in having you turn your brain inside-out searching for answers.

Just tell me what you want, Halden groaned, massaging his face as a heart of ethanol pumped pain throughout him.

I want for you to know that I'm always one step ahead of you. I'm in your head, Mister Laberge. For instance, I know that right now, you're wondering that if I'm outside, just who is in the shower?

While Halden had noticed the static hiss of running water, it took that last comment for him to start questioning things. Other pieces of the puzzle became clear as he scanned the scene; his bed sheets were halfway across the hexagonal dorm room, and he hadn't noticed this while springing out of bed, but his mattress, complete with a lake of a wet patch, was twisted ninety degrees. Most of the knick-knacks from his desk had been knocked to the floor, and his bird stand had fallen against the wall.

Even with their shared living quarters looking like a pile of mixed pizza toppings, Halden's main concern was the running water. Who's in my house? You wouldn't turn on the shower just to confuse me. You get too pissy at me whenever I'm wasting water.

Clap-clap-clap. Since you figured that out on your own, I'll share one vital piece of information.

What?

We have class in half an hour, said Leidt, dropping the villainous accent. See you there. P.S. - your beanie's under the bed. He hung up.

A series of solid thumps erupted in Halden's head as he lumbered towards a glimmering speck beside his bed. From what was intact of the shattered liquor bottle, he spotted complex glyphs from a language he didn't recognise. What the hell is in my liver right now? Thankfully, some small translated print on the label revealed that it was pure 30-proof Björksênvìk.

Empty alcohol bottles... Tossed bed sheets... A visitor in the shower... Whoa.

A whirlwind of unanswered questions swept away the sickness. Who had shared his bed? Were they equally trashed? Had he checked her photo ID for age verification? Would he regret having bedded her after the haze of drinking wore off? Had he followed his own rules?

Please be so. For all his boyish womanising endeavours, a trio of self-enforced rules separated Halden from the players and cheats of the world: 1) Don't lie your way into her pants; 2) Make sure she knows from the start that it's a fling and that her heart isn't set on a romance; and 3) Always leave her better off than she was when you met.

Adhering to that third rule often forced him to take on extraneous tasks for the woman, such as bringing her fast food afterwards or fixing a broken appliance - meaning that many of his sexual encounters played out like a porno in reverse. However, where booze was involved, he couldn't guarantee that he had obeyed any of his own restrictions.

Before he could dwell on the issue, the shower stopped.

Who is she? More important than who, however, was the mystery of what.

Halden noticed something else by the door. A device with a chest-high handle stemming from a platform with two wheels. A personal transport vehicle known as an Attacca PT.

Huh? He rubbed his inflamed eyes. The vehicle remained there, complete with a gold medal for the 100-metre Walk state championship hanging from a ribbon wrapped around the handlebar. Only two types of people owned Attaccas: those who were equal parts wealthy and lazy, and those who had trouble moving on land.

Those who have trouble moving on- Oh sweet MAMA.

The bathroom door and his head swung to face each other.

And out from the aura of light and steam hopped the partner of his drunken intercourse. The young lady sported a loose shirt and a peculiar tube-like skirt, like a latex sock covering most of her lower half. Her greyish-blue complexion resembled that of a dolphin. The same couldn't be said for her tail, though. That more so resembled a whale's.

The second her eyes met Halden's, she looked away and combed back her wavy hair with one webbed hand while biting her lower lip. It was an expression he was used to seeing from women, human and otherwise.

After a pause, she said Umm... Hey.

He wasn't sure if the words Hey yourself rolled out of his drooping jaw or if he just imagined saying them.

I should, uh... The girl-like sea beast scanned the room before hopping on her tail over to her Attacca. Halden swivelled in place, jaw still hanging. Sorry about the mess. I'll call you later.

The female of the moment manoeuvred her personal transport vehicle out of the room with the precision of a personal transport vehicle driving instructor, her gold medal clacking against the handle with each turn.

Halden's gaping mouth curved into a grin of childish wonderment. Once he was sure she was gone, he leapt upward, spun a full circle and landed with a fist in the air, hangover be damned.

He had finally done it.

I've made love to a mermaid!

Halden Laberge could now cross one more race off of his list.

Chapter 2 - Catch All 150 Women or Graduate Trying

[...]once humanity had begun to see nonhuman sapients as people, not just the half-demons that the church had painted them as for centuries, the next logical question to arise in the hippy era was: If they're not beasts, why is intercourse with them still classed as bestiality? And so the swingers swung the faith's crushing pendulum back hard, rebelling against society's established norms until they had created a subculture where what was once considered heresy was now the way some people prayed. Their prayers were, in time, answered by the government with the decriminalisation of cross-species relationships.

-Drayson R. Horrock, historical essayist

Over the next hour, memories of the previous night fell into place in Halden's booze-addled mind like pieces of a lewd and erotic jigsaw. First, he remembered meeting the mermaid in the bowling bar he and his friends called headquarters. Then he remembered the first thing he had said to make this sensual sea-beauty bend forward in laughter, and the smile that could've sunken a ship if she weren't several kilometres offshore. Next came the shots of Björksênvìk that had dulled their senses once the hook-up had been jointly consented. Then he took a break from remembering things to throw his guts up.

There were still significant gaps in his recollection, such as the mermaid's name - though he swore it was just two human names smashed together, like Annalivia or Georgessica or something. But one memory that lived in vivid colour, one that not even the strongest Björksênvìk in whatever-country-it-comes-from could blur for long, was their sexual encounter.

Usually, Halden would argue that sex was like coffee; if you asked just normal thanks, people wouldn't know what to give you. Like everything else, sex was being endlessly upgraded by mankind, and the beast with two backs had long ago evolved into a beast with cuffed hands and a tail of beads. But last night convinced him that normal sex must exist somewhere, and that what he'd just had was the polar opposite. Pillows flying. Fishy tails slapping the wall. Mouths doing things that served no reproductive or nutritional purpose. They had gone at it like animals, and not just the sapient animals that they were, but ravenous beasts let out of their cages. It was the kind of sex that two humans couldn't achieve.

His dance with the greyish-blue devil looped in his mind as he sat in a lecture hall of Lenctenwind University that morning. Rows of seats descended towards the blackboard, where Professor Jarsden gave a speech on battles waged hundreds of years prior. In the back row, Halden sat starch-upright, eyes wide regardless of if he had anything to observe. Leidt the elf sat to his right, legs crossed and thumbs hanging from the chains of his pockets, chewing despite having nothing in his mouth.

When he was sure the professor wasn't looking, Halden leaned right and whispered She looked clean to you, right? Leidt shrugged. I doubt I've caught barnacles or anything, but I'm just not sure she washes her abyssal zone. My bed sheets kinda smell chickeny.

Congratulations, I'm now sicker than you are. The young elf brushed a strand of hair back over his pointed ear, and Halden's attention (for lack of a better term) returned to the professor.

Not one of the humans on coastguard saw it coming! said Professor Jarsden, throwing his arms around with every vocal cadence. "The orcs' sheer numbers gave them the strength to topple the bastion, in spite of the humans' superior intelligence. Superior military intelligence, that is. No offence, Gorgrak."

The orc student in the front row swatted the air good-naturedly.

The professor continued his verbal re-enactment, and Halden leaned back towards Leidt. Can you believe it? The chances of a group of mermaids visiting the city, ending up at our very bar?

Good to see neither of our tuition fees are going to waste.

Sorry. We'll talk later.

Leidt sighed. Don't worry. Not like this moment's going anywhere. He slouched further forward. Or possibly straightened himself. It was hard to tell with this kid, since the word 'Slouching' flashed on his forehead no matter what he did. His black T-shirt with its faded Bludstayne band logo and his spiky wristband were both at odds with his membership of 'the fairest race in all the forest'. No matter how greasy and hardcore his face and hair tried to be, his elven heritage stopped them dead.

I just can't imagine how people lived centuries ago. Halden sat back, his hands intertwined over his abdomen. Uncrossable oceans. Government segregation. Fear of the nymph-plague. I'm telling you, there's never been a better age for- Sophelia! That was her name! Sorry. There's never been a better age for cross-species relations.

Glad to know you're living the best years of your life. Not a hint of enthusiasm in Leidt's voice.

Is everything alright?

Yeah. I'm peachy.

You're not. Halden leaned closer, but the elf remained silent. What's going on?

Which is why, said Professor Jarsden, voice raising towards his famous end-of-class crescendo, the only possible end to a war, any war, is a cliff-hanger. Class dismissed!

Dismissal accepted! chanted at least ten students - Halden and Leidt not included - standing to salute their scholar.

The sun was setting as students poured through the university's half-outdoor corridor. One of the moons, the furthest, was faintly visible above the mint tower's monumental gold coin. The gargantuan cogs on the sides of Cannonbery's skyscrapers rotated at their own pace, generating nothing but touristic splendour in this day and age.

Halden always admired not only the sight of the city skyline, but the way those buildings contrasted with the concrete pillars holding up the roof of this corridor. Two different architectural periods, forced to live in the same city like reluctant roommates in a sitcom. He wasn't sure how far separated these architectural periods were. He did two subjects, and Architecture wasn't one of them.

You sure you don't want to talk? Halden asked as he and Leidt walked, raising his voice above the hubbub of every conversation in the walkway. You didn't sound like your jolly devil-worshiping self back there.

Heavy music and devil-worship are not mutually inclusive. God, how have people still not learned that by now?

Alright, alright. Don't get your flayed-goat underwear in a twist. Just know, I'm here if you wanna chat.

Thanks, brotag.

Anytime, dark one.

Halden glanced at a naga chatting with her friends as he walked. Their eyes met, and he shot her a smile. The scaly student clutched her folder to her chest and tried hiding a grin, her tail twitching.

And thus opens another door for cross-species diplomacy, he thought as he straightened his beanie. I've always wanted to try snake.

The wind picked up and an unseasonable breath of cold air hit his neck. I've texted the guys, said Halden as he tucked his nape into his shoulders. They're up for celebrating my libido's latest triumph at the Dynabowl. You in?

As proud of your dingdong as I am, I'll give this one a miss. Nadalee and I haven't just hung out alone for a while. Might take her to a movie.

Why not bring her along to see the best film of our age? The biopic of Halden Laberge - an inspirational erotica focusing on the high point of his woman-pleasing adventure.

No one can tell what genre the movie of their life is just by looking at the poster.

Erm, what?

You said your life's a movie, right? They stepped out of the corridor and stopped in a narrower hall, cut off from the city view. Let's say you live to be, like, ninety. That would make this moment the point of the film before you've left the house. If a hurricane hits this city next week or you get sent off to war in five years, suddenly your misadventures with college floosies won't feel like your life story. Leidt twirled his hand in a manner suggesting that he didn't know which hand gestures to make to accentuate his point. Or to compare this to an album, you're currently in that screechy, experimental intro track before the first real song.

Halden sighed. Leidt had entered that mode again. Sometimes, I think you need a second girlfriend.

And all the time, I think you need a first.

Not before I complete the list. They both knew that 'the list' was figurative - Halden didn't need a sheet of paper to keep track of his sex life. They also both knew that he was roughly a quarter of the way through all the species on this revered imaginary checklist. Completing the list will help me discover which race's women I'm best at loving, which will help me pick the right partner. The list is for the sake of womankind as much as it is for me.

Wanna pause this speech while I go find a flag to wave heroically behind you?

Besides, now if I ever meet, say, a mermaid who could be wife-material, I can get to know her as a person instead of just wondering what sex with one of her kind must feel like. You're welcome, future wife. Leidt snorted and lifted his eyebrows. Hey, that's more justification for my heterosexual urges than anyone else should need. You know I don't mistreat girls. However much sex I get, it'd be three times as much if I abandoned my morals.

And none at all if you followed actual-person morals. The gangly scene-kid linked arms behind his head. "Eh. If you think this