Title: Shiny Thing
Fandom: Mattel (Barbie and Ken, to be precise)
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to these things. Mattel does. But, hey, if Todd Haynes can play with them, so can I.
Rating: PG (come on, they're Ken dolls. Really, what can you do with them?)
Archive: RSA, if you want it (although I have to ask *why* you would want it, but just in case, I'll give permission now). Anyone else, ask.
Warning: Not beta'd. Not even spellchecked. Believe it or not, *not* written while under the influence of any drugs (although I'm anxiously awaiting the moment that nighttime backache stuff that I just took kicks in).
Notes: Yes, I am aware I would be going to hell if such a place existed. But I don't believe in hell, so I'm fine. I plan on being reincarnated as a drag queen anyway. Besides, all the cool people would be in hell with me anyway. These dolls are real. I have Cock Ring Ken. I mean Earring Magic Ken. Here's the story: Back in, um, '93, Mattel decided, hey, Barbie and Ken need earrings! So they released Earring Magic Barbie and Ken. But some genius decided that Ken needed... Well, read the fic. I based the descriptions of him on my CRK, sitting right next to my computer as I wrote this. Anyway, shortly after they introduced the Earring Magic dolls, Dan Savage (yes, of "Hey, Faggot!" fame) noticed them and wrote a column for _The Stranger_, an "alternative" (read: gay-oriented) newspaper. Word spread, and Mattel promptly discontinued the dolls and -- I think -- even recalled them, but the Capitol Hill Fred Meyer (in Seattle) rounded up all of the CRK dolls and set them up in displays next to the cash registers because, duh, it was the Christmas shopping season, and Capitol Hill is Queer Central. I don't have Harley-Davidson Ken, much to my dismay. CRK is really, really lonely. I should have stopped at the H-D dealership on my way home from work tonight. Damn. By the way, here is a picture of the current H-DK available from Toys R Us/amazon.com:
And now the fic, since the notes are longer than the story.

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The man in black leather sighed. The bitch was finally gone. If he had to listen to one of her simpering comments one more time ("Math is hard!" "I like shopping!" Should have made her say, "I don't swallow"), he was going to have to rearrange that pretty little plastic face for her. It wasn't *his* fault he was stuck with a bimbo who had a body that was naturally unobtainable. It was that damned company they both worked for. Somewhere along the line, it had been decided that the two of them made a "cute couple." And an ideal? Thanks, but no thanks. She thought that tight leather made her a biker bitch. Well, she was half right.

He quickly downed his fourth beer of the evening -- the first two consumed while attempting to subtly dismiss the tramp, the third quickly drained in celebration after she tittered something about "beauty sleep" while stumbling away from him -- and surveyed the room. Typical crowd. Pretty boys straight (pun intended) out of the frat, jaded queens, bland faces belonging to bodies with about as much personality as a bowl of overcooked oatmeal...

And then something caught his eye. A shiny thing. A shiny thing dangling from a neck, bouncing on... Oh, dear god. A purple mesh t-shirt, under a purple vinyl vest. His eyes slithered up to the face attached to the body, and he encountered, yes, a stereotypical face, but, hey, it closely resembled his own, so he couldn't base his evaluation on just that face. It was a pretty common look among his type, just like cropped hair and noserings were popular with Midge's crowd. The hair was the requisite two-tone bleach job, and, oh yes, one more shiny thing. A large silver hoop in his left ear. Not a tasteful thin wire but a pirate-wannabe chunk of metal. He quickly contemplated the entire effect, and he came to the clearly-intended conclusion. This guy was out to have *fun*. And that shiny thing dangling on his chest could be only one thing. A cock ring.

Carefully, he made his way through the crowd. It just wouldn't do to scare away his prey. Some faceless stranger jostled his arm, causing his to turn his attention away from his goal, but when he glanced back at his destination, he found a face turned directly his way, grinning widely, as if he knew exactly what was going through the mind of the stranger sidling his way -- and he thoroughly approved.

"Looking for something?"

The biker was startled. Somehow, it had escaped him that his target might actually *talk*. And not just talk -- be *interactive*, not merely spouting off inane statements. He *had* to stop running around with Barbie. How ridiculous was *that* name, anyway? The woman was, to put it kindly, well past puberty, yet she insisted on going by that silly nickname. The body in front of him cleared its throat, and he remembered that a question had been asked. "Hmm. Maybe."

"Maybe." The smile didn't fade, but a tanned hand reached up and playfully fingered the metal hanging from a silver chain. "Maybe this?"

"Maybe that." As if there was any other reason to cruise a gay bar that time of night. Now was probably the time to bring up a, ahem, delicate matter. It just didn't work if this discovery was made while in a private encounter. His eardrums rang for a week after the last time. "There's something you should know."

"Your name, maybe? I'm Ken, by the way."

Should have guessed. That name definitely went with those whitewhite teeth. "Call me Butch." That was the goal, after all. Butch guys wore leather chaps and blue jeans, right? His stylists would die if they knew how he was using their creation. Then again, that might have been their intention all along. You never knew with stylists. They could quite possibly be back at the hotel, snickering over the "joke" they played on the pretty straight boy model. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them. Plus they might stop giving him such fun outfits if they knew how much fun he was having with them. "But that's not what I meant. I have... I have a little problem."

"Oh?" Ken continued to caress the silver ring. "Like what?"

"Like..." He gently grabbed Ken's hand, folded his own fingers over the cool metal, closed his eyes, and quickly blurted out the rest. "I'm not anatomically correct, and I can never wear one of these."

"Oh?" To Butch's amazement, Ken brightened even more. "Me, too! Thank *god* there's someone else like me here tonight!" Before Butch could do more than file away those last two words for later contemplation, Ken was pulling him away from the wall and leading the way through the crowd to the clean night air.

~~~
So they didn't exchange any bodily fluid other than saliva. As it turned out, it didn't really matter. Finally, Butch found someone who understood what it was like to be, ahem, lacking in certain areas -- and how to work around the issue. Which reminded him... "What did you mean by 'here tonight?'"

"Hmm?" Ken's attention was focused on the fingers gently twirling their way around his earring. Then Butch removed his hand, and Ken was forced to figure out why. "What?"

Ken sat up, resting on one arm while running his other hand along the edge of Butch's beard. "Oh. That." He resumed his position curled against Butch's side. "Ever thought about a threesome?"

"Would you answer the question?"

"Hmm? Oh, I am." Now Ken's hand stroked Butch's abdomen. "See, I have this soldier friend named Joe..."

~~~ the end ~~~