Did You Ever...

a Seinfeld fanfiction by Am-Chau Yarkona amchau@popullus.net
Rated very adult.
Jerry Seinfeld belongs to himself, and I imagine that George, Kramer and Elaine belong to him to, or to the network. Anyway, they're not mine, and I make no money from them. The waitress is mine, but sadly I don't make any money from her either.

"Jerry," George began, looking up from his coffee mug, "Have you ever… you know… with another man?"

Jerry shook his head. "No. Have you?"

"No," George said. There was a pause.

"Why?" Jerry asked. "I mean, I know Elaine swears her lesbian friends have more fun than she does, and there's nothing wrong with that but I didn't know you swung that way."

"I don't," George said hurriedly, "not that there's anything wrong with it, of course. I just… wondered."

"You just wondered?" Jerry said, eyebrows going up. He leaned forward in what George recognised with a pang of fear as the stand-up comic sitting down posture. "How can you just wonder about a thing like that, George? If I didn't know you so well, I could be insulted by what you tried to imply about me."

"Well, yeah," George agreed. "But… are you sure you've never?"

"George, I think I'd have noticed if I had."

"The same way I notice when you don't tip me," their waitress put in, passing by the table.

"See?" Jerry agreed. "People notice things, George. Just because you didn't notice when you got up this morning that the second button on that shirt is much too low, doesn't mean other people don't notice things."

"Okay, okay," George said, hands up in the I'm backing off to firmer ground gesture. "But—have you ever wondered what it would be like? Have you ever… wanted to? With a guy?"

"George," Jerry began firmly, "I have never…"

"Hi, guys," Elaine said, as the diner door banged shut behind her. "What's the topic du jour?"

"Nothing," Jerry and George replied, almost in unison, waving their hands dismissively.

When Elaine looked at them strangely, Jerry added, "What's new with you?"

"Nothing much," she said, "except every man I meet seems to be gay this week."

Jerry looked at George, and George looked at Jerry.

"Huh," Jerry said, "that's strange."

Elaine shrugged. "And also depressing—I've met lots of really good-looking guys, but every time I hit on one, no luck; that's his boyfriend, right there. I tell you, a girl could start believing that all the nice guys are either gay or married."

"Aren't we nice guys?" George asked.

"You don't count," Elaine told him. "Besides, this week, you're probably gay."

"I am not gay!" George protested, loudly. "Not this week, not last week, not any week."

"Do you want another cup of non-gay coffee?" the waitress enquired.

"No," George said, though he only had a few dregs left in the mug. "But you're a very beautiful woman."

"Yeah, right," she said, and headed back to the kitchen.

"See?" George said, spreading his hands to invite their judgement. "Not gay. Lusting after women."

"Right," Jerry said, and turned back to Elaine. "Are you sure you haven't been going into gay bars by mistake?"

"No!" George cried. "You have to believe me. I'm not gay! I'm really, really not!"

Surprised by the outburst, they stared at him for a moment.

George grabbed his coat, and raced out of the diner, muttering, "I'll find some new friends, then. Some who don't know me, they'll believe what I say."

When George was gone, Jerry said to Elaine, "He's not acting a little oddly, is he?"

"Who, George?" Elaine asked. "No, I think he's always like that."

"He doesn't usually ask me if I've ever had sex with another man," Jerry pointed out.

"Oh, is that what it was about?" Elaine said, sipping her coffee. "You told him, I suppose? Good for you, Jerry."

"Told him what?"

"That you've…. oh. You didn't."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Elaine." Elaine stared across the table at Jerry, as he went on, "Maybe you've been having strange dreams, or you've been taking too much cold medication, but I've never slept with a man."

"But Jerry… three months ago… you and Kramer… I came in…"

"That wasn't what it looked like!" Jerry snapped. "I told you so, at the time. I thought you believed me! I'm not gay, Elaine!"

"I didn't say you were," Elaine said, bemused and trying to calm it down. "I just said…"

"I'm not! Really, Elaine. And if you don't believe me, I don't think we're friends any more." He turned, picking up his coat, and slid out of the seat. "I'll see you around."

Before Elaine could get a word in edgeways, he was stalking out of the diner and slamming the door behind him.

Elaine shook her head, and looked up at the waitress. "He is so deep in denial," she said, apologetically.

"I hope he's enjoying the view of the pyramids," the waitress agreed. "You want a refill?"

"Thanks," Elaine said.

* * *

The next day, she returned to the diner as usual, half-expecting that she'd be drinking coffee alone, but sufficiently in need of a caffeine hit not to mind.

George was there, alone—not at their usual table but hidden in a corner.

"Hey, George," she called, and wandered over to him, tripping on some woman's handbag on the way.

"Watch it, lady," the woman sneered.

"Sorry, I'm sure," Elaine said, with a sinking feeling that they'd be clashing handbags again soon.

"Hi, Elaine," George said, though he sounded a little reluctant about it.

"Hi, George. What's going on? Why aren't you over there?"

"I want to be able to hide under the table if Jerry comes in," George explained. "God, I was mortified yesterday."

"Yeah, what was all that about?" Elaine asked, sliding into the seat opposite George and moving the ketchup so that she could actually see his face.

"Oh, nothing," George muttered, wretchedly.

"It didn't sound like nothing," Elaine said, her eyebrows arching. "It sounded like Jerry had accused you of being gay. Not that there's anything wrong with it if you are."

"I'm not!" George shrieked. "Not that there's anything wrong with it, but I'm not. I just… Elaine, can I trust you?"

"I am a vault," Elaine said. "Locked and sealed."

"And you won't drink vodka for at least a week?"

"I swear it."

"Okay," George said, and took a furtive sip of coffee, glancing round to check no waitresses or Newmans or enemies of the people were nearby. "I… you won't tell Jerry this?"

"When do I tell Jerry anything?" Elaine asked.

"All the time," George said.

"Yes, but not the important stuff."

"Okay, I'm trusting you with this." George leaned forward and beckoned Elaine in as well. "The other night, I… had a dream. About…"

"About having sex with another man?" Elaine guessed, at slightly above a whisper.

George looked panicked. "Keep your voice down! I don't want all of New York talking about this. No. Well. Yes, but not me. I wasn't one of them. Two men, not including me."

"So?" Elaine said, relaxing a little. "Weird stuff happens in dreams."

"Jerry and Kramer?" George asked. "That's a little above normal weird, don't you think?"

"Err…" Elaine said. "Weirder stuff has happened, actually."

"Like?" George asked, eyes wide.

"Like the time…"

"More coffee?" the waitress enquired. It was the same girl again—she must have been working extra long hours.

"Thanks," Elaine said. George shook his head, peering morosely into his half-empty mug.

"Anyway," Elaine went on when the waitress had moved away, "have you spoken to your shrink about this?"

"No!" George said. "I don't want her thinking I'm insane or something. But go on, tell me what's weirder."

"Weirder," Elaine laughed, "is that it actually happened."

George's eyes went wide. "I knew it!" He paused. "Hang on—how do you know that Jerry and Kramer… you know?"

"I walked in on them one day—three months or so ago," Elaine said smugly. "Jerry swears it wasn't what it looked like, but I know what I saw and I'm pretty certain what that sort of thing looks like."

"It's recognisable," George agreed. "I've had reason to regret that in the past."

"When your mother walked in and you were…?" Elaine suggested.

George nodded. "Then, among other times."

"Anyway, Jerry seems to feel the need to lie to us about it," Elaine said.

"Just like he lied about the nose-scratching incident," George said solomely. "We ought to put a stop to this, Elaine. We can't let him keep lying to us—it's probably destroying his, err… it can't be good for him."

"Right," Elaine said. "And we'll do this… how?"

"Err…" George said, and took another mouthful of now lukewarm coffee. "Let me think it through."

* * *

That afternoon, George Costanza was a moderately happy man. The sun was shining, he had a plan, and a beautiful woman called Nicola had held the door of Jerry's apartment building open for him. He knocked on Jerry's door, thinking that it would be good to have the element of surprise.

The tables quickly turned on that one when Kramer's voice called out, "Who's there?"

Oh God, George thought, They've just finished… that, and I'm going to… He nearly turned and ran, but then remembered that Elaine would be coming along in twenty minutes or so and expect to see him here.

"It's only me," George called, and tried the knob. It was open, of course.

"Hi," Kramer said. "Jerry's out, I just popped in to watch the game—it's nearly over."

"Oh, okay," George said, and sat down on the couch. "Any idea when Jerry'll be back?"

Kramer shook his head. "Run—idiot—oh!"

George sighed in sympathy, and noticed that Kramer, as usual, was sitting a little closer than he felt entirely comfortable with. He moved away.

Kramer followed him, shifting a little along the couch the next time he leaned forward in excitement and then sat back as his team made another stupid mistake. George tried to move away again, but met the arm of the couch on the other side and was trapped.

He hadn't felt this breathless since his last asthma attack, aged twelve and a bit.

It probably wasn't that. He stood up, and went to fetch a glass of water.

The game finished; Kramer gave one last cry of misery, and switched the television off in a huff.

"What did you want to see Jerry for?" he asked George, who was still standing at the sink with his back to Kramer.

"Oh, nothing," George shrugged, and then he had a thought. "Totally unrelated question, Kramer…" he began.

"Yes?" Kramer said, skidding across the floor to stand at the counter.

George didn't say anything, turning to face Kramer slowly.

"What, George? You know I'm always willing to talk," Kramer said, turning the apples in Jerry's fruit-bowl over carefully so that only green sides showed.

"Kramer," George said, taking a deep breath, "have you ever… you know… with another man?"

Kramer shrugged. "Sure. Why? You curious? It's worth trying, sometime. Not to everyone's taste, but better than a woman."

George gave up on the asthma and decided to settle for a heart attack. He waited, patiently. After a minute when he still wasn't in pain or dying, he said, "You what? You have? When? With who?"

"With whom, George," Kramer corrected, waving an extremely irritating finger and starting on nestling the two bananas (they were beginning to go brown; Jerry didn't like bananas much and Kramer hadn't been in so many days that week) together as neatly as possible.

"Damn grammar, Kramer, answer the question!" George said, and they both froze, in shock at the loud and imperious tone of his voice.

"Well, if you feel that way, George," Kramer said. He stopped playing with the fruit and stepped around into the kitchen area, almost blocking George's exit. "I've been with…" he frowned in thought, "three men, technically, and I'd be happy to—" an eyebrow wiggle, "make it four."

George stumbled backwards, not as revolted as he'd expected he might be but still not wanting to give the impression he was interested.

"Um…" he said, and then, "err…" and then, much to his surprise, "yeah."

For the first time in some months, Kramer stood absolutely still.

George didn't breathe.

Kramer exhaled, slowly, staring at George.

George, his breath held, stared back.

"You, err…" Kramer managed, finally.

"Um… no, of course not, I just, it was a stupid thought, crazy thought, of course you don't want…" George babbled.

"Actually I think it's a good idea," Kramer said, "if you're willing," and George wandered exactly how it was that a man who was always falling over seemed to have so much poise.

* * *

Shopping in one hand, mail in the other, Jerry almost bounced along the corridor, or would have done if he'd been the sort of person who would ever dream of bouncing. There was, at the very least, a little bit of a spring in his step, as of a man who had—in one day, in one mere hour even—not only found a great bargain, on something he'd actually be planning to buy, but also received a very flattering letter from the owner of a downtown club and—to cap it all off—managed the perfect, witty, sharp, brilliantly timed insult he'd been meaning to deliver to Newman ever since he'd first met the man.

The fact that he'd delivered it to Newman's inoffensive identical twin brother who had friends in the Mafia was not about to remove the spring from the step of Jerry Seinfeld.

He was seriously weighing up the pleasures of whistling as opposed to the displeasure it would certainly cause his neighbours, and coming down on the side of whistling despite, or even because of, the probability of the latter, when he found himself at his own apartment already.

Finding the door unlocked, he threw it open with a bold gesture, not unlike that with which a playful elephant will hurl its keeper across the compound, accidentally and in fun breaking the man's neck. Luckily, the door had been getting used to Kramer for years and had already had a neck brace fitted.

Then he stopped. He dropped, in a manner most wild and uncontrolled, his shopping from one hand and his mail from the other. The regular way in which gravity conveyed them to the floor was not a source of comfort to him.

The sight which had caused this consternation was as follows: George's penis.

George's erect penis.

Attached, as is the way of things, to the rest of George's—extremely naked—body. A body which was lying, still naked, next to Kramer's body. Kramer's naked and recently satisfied body.

Kramer's naked and recently satisfied body whose hand was wrapped around George's erect penis, as they lay—naked—on Jerry's nice blue couch.

Correction: the blue couch which Jerry had previously thought was nice.

"George!" Jerry yelled, a little taken aback by this sudden development. He slammed the door shut, an action he would cite in later years as evidence of his great presence of mind in extremis.

George opened his eyes, saw Jerry, and came.

Kramer smiled. "That's right, George," he said, happily. "Now, doesn't that feel good?"

Words deserted Jerry. He uttered a primal scream, as never heard in New York since Godzilla left, and turned his back on the sight.

Only to discover that he could now see George's underwear, lying on the floor under his coat.

"Good God," he said, and collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

"I miss all the exciting stuff," Elaine sighed, staring into her half-empty mug of cooling coffee. "You really walked in on them?"

Jerry nodded. "George. And Kramer. Naked and doing… that."

"Wow," Elaine said. Her eyes were wide.

"Just promise me you won't mention this to them," Jerry went on. "It was bad enough seeing Kramer naked, but Kramer and George knowing that I'd not only seen them but told you about it… that wouldn't be good."

"Okay," Elaine agreed. "Though—if you walked in on them, how can they not know that you saw them?"

"I lied," Jerry explained. "When they were dressed, I told them I hadn’t seen anything. It seemed easiest to pretend that I hadn't."

"George said you fainted," Elaine said, casually.

Jerry washed out the inside of his nose with lukewarm coffee.

Elaine passed him a napkin, and then repeated her remark.

"I didn't faint!" Jerry said, indignantly. "I remember it all. I wish I didn't."

"That I can understand," Elaine said. "After all, I wish I hadn’t seen you and Kramer doing the exact same thing."

"But you didn't have to see George naked as well," he stuttered after a moment. "Though I have to say, in all honesty, he's better looking than Kramer is…"

Elaine smiled sweetly, and stood up before launching her parting shot.

"Well, isn't there an interesting judgement from a man who didn't want to have seen anything—though I have always agreed with that reporter, you two'd make a cute couple."

Jerry stared after her as she left the diner.

She couldn’t possibly mean… she didn't mean… George hadn't… George didn't… did he?

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