Reader! And Welcome back to CHUM, the CORPSE'S most lamented piece
in the CYBER CAFE, as well as last issue's most perused work (if it weren't
for Tom Robbins), a FECKLESS novel soon to be published in its entirety
by Zoland Books, a very brave publisher of respectable authors, willing
to risk it all on SMUT like this!!!
In our last installment (easily accessed
by clicking above), Yann saved April and Nadine saved Yann who couldn't
save Bubba who died in the storm. In this installment, murderous motives
MUSHROOM toward an imminent and indulgent triangle of LUBED-UP LUST, soon
to Nagasaki into a visceral Vesuvius of blood and guts, out of your computer
and into your head!!!
Father O'Flugence prays for the people.
This storm has been hard on the town, everyone is under stress. It's obscured
the vision of his flock, as it has every year, and has added to their
fear of each other. But he will forgive them, and work with them, and
try to understand them--even though he knows the battle will be lost.
Satan has landed on the island.
But not in the form that Mother Kralik claims.
Father O'Flugence is certain that the Devil could never invade such a
heavenly creature as the young woman sleeping peacefully beside him.
He gets up from his chair and looks at her
driver's license again, which he found in her purse--complete with wallet,
credit cards, checkbook, cosmetics, flaregun, and a few thousand dollars
in cash--of which he only pinched a couple hundred bucks: "April Berger,
California, 26-years old. Height: 5'9". Weight: 120 pounds. Organ donation:
Yes." Father O'Flugence blesses her again.
She is still out cold, due to a concussion,
but at least she's bandaged now, and clean, and warm in his home. And
in the hands of Sister Erma, who watches over her, and prays for her when
he's not there. Sister Erma enters the room.
"How is she father?" the squat nun asks.
"She's getting better," he answers, "mumbling
more and more. Did they find the doctor?"
"Yes," Sister Erma replies, "He's dead."
Father O'Flugence closes his eyes and lowers
his head. The tempest has taken its toll. Already today he has held three
funerals, and now he has to give another for that womanizing, no-good
drunk Bubba Murphy, bless his soul. He shakes his head and opens his eyes.
"God pity us," he tells the nun, and she
nods back. They look at April fast asleep beneath a Mary Magdalene being
raised by angels. April's blonde hair is everywhere, she has perfect skin,
long lashes, and a healthy bosom.
"Oh," the priest remembers, "any luck finding
Sister Erma sighs, and turns away with embarrassment.
"No father," she says, "I've been asking around, but none of the women
seem to be very enthusiastic about donating anything. I'll try again later
"Well," Father O'Flugence says, walking
toward the door, "I'm sure something will turn up. But now I better go
bury Mr. Murphy. Will you be alright?"
"Oh, I'll be just fine," she says, "don't
you worry. I'll keep my eye on her. She seems to be doing alright. Poor
thing, she's probably just exhausted."
Father O'Flugence forces a smile, and closes
the door softly behind him. He descends the stairs, puts on his coat,
and leaves the house.
Outside, it is a whole different world.
Despite the heavy drizzle soaking the dusk, chainsaws can be heard droning
throughout the town. Hammering can also be heard, and the shouts of men
lifting things. The streets are full of sand, and trees are down everywhere.
There are fish on people's roofs, and sea-soaked gulls on the lawns. Luckily
though, only a few people died in comparison to years before. This year,
the destruction is mostly property. So far, that is.
Father O'Flugence walks around the church
and enters the graveyard. What's left of the Murphy family is gathered
in black: Nadine, Widow Murphy, and Bubba's two retarded sisters. Yann
is also there--all of them standing beneath the tarp strung above the
Father O'Flugence is impressed that Yann
showed up when no one else from The Jezebel cared enough to brave
the rain. But still, he's not surprised that Yann is there. Father O'Flugence
has always fancied Yann a decent noble lad, and a handsome one at that.
Ay, the old priest thinks, he'd make a fine
husband for Nadine...
Approaching the coffin, Father O'Flugence
blesses Nadine once more in his head. All night long, and all morning
too, he has been blessing this girl he thought would never amount to anything.
But what she had done in the cave was a Godsend. He never knew she had
such spine. To stand up to Mother Kralik was something even he couldn't
Nadine nods at the priest, who solemnly
ducks under the tarp. She wonders if the old dust-farter knows she slammed
the door in Sister Erma's face. The nerve of that old holy hole, coming
around and asking for clothes for that rich bitch! Let her buy her own
stinking clothes to cover her fat-ass tits with...
"Hello father," Nadine says respectfully.
"Hello Nadine," he greets her, and then
the other pallid faces. Widow Murphy does not nod back. The word is out
that she has lost her mind, but Father O'Flugence knows it's just shock.
A shock that's not uncommon on the island. She could emerge soon, or never
"Please join hands," Father O'Flugence says.
He sees Nadine blush, but reach out for Yann. Yann, so it seems, is nervous,
and looking a bit uncomfortable. His suit is too tight and his tie is
too short. Nadine finds his hand and grips it.
The six of them form a ring around Bubba's
coffin, and Father O'Flugence starts in with the words he knows too well.
He talks about what an outstanding citizen Bubba was, how he loved his
daughter, his wife, and his crew, and how he will be missed by all. Secretly,
however, he observes the mourners.
Widow Murphy is staring straight ahead,
with a look on her face like nobody's home. As for the retarded sisters,
it's amazing they can even stand up without falling down, their expressions
being exactly the same. Yann, on the other hand, appears sincerely downcast.
And then there's Nadine, clenching his hand so tight that her knuckles
have turned white. She keeps looking at Yann, but hardly ever at the casket.
Then, after Father O'Flugence says everything,
he signals the driver of the van, who brought Bubba's sisters from the
home on the other side of the island. He comes and helps Yann lower the
coffin into the pit, and then he takes the sisters away.
Yann, however, stays to help Nadine and
Father O'Flugence fill in the grave. Nadine's mother just stands there
watching. After a while, flowers are laid on the mound.
"God bless you," Father O'Flugence tells
Nadine, repeating what he can't stop repeating these last few days. It's
the popular phrase of the day, thanks to the storm. Empty embraces are
exchanged, and then the priest walks off, escorting Widow Murphy home.
Now Nadine and Yann are alone. She looks
up at Yann, and Yann looks down at her. What she sees is one hunk of a
man, bound by clothes, wet with sweat and rain. She'd like to stroke his
head. He could suckle her and she could stare into the distance with a
supplicating look on her face.
What Yann sees, however, is a pathetic homely
girl who's been deceived by her father, and he pities her. She has no
clue that he has seen her naked. She doesn't even know that what she has
is what he sees when he wakes up with a woody: that jet-black patch, that
fleshy ass, those pert little tits--Man, what he would give to give them
"Nadine," he asks, "why'd you do that in
"Because," she says, "they were gonna kick
your ass, Yann."
Yann and Nadine stand there for a while
and listen to the rain. It is now much darker than before. The silence
hangs in the air like a parlor-room fart, both of them pretending it doesn't
"Thanks," Yann eventually says.
"Sure," she answers back.
They are both staring at the mound of dirt
that used to be her father. Then, after a while, Yann speaks again.
"I just wanted to tell you," he says, "your
dad was a... a... a swell..."
"Cut the shit Yann," Nadine suddenly tells
him, spinning on one foot, and glaring up and into his eyes. Yann gulps.
The look she's giving him makes him want to piss.
"I think I gotta go take a leak," he tells
her, "I mean, umm..."
She grabs him, pulls his head down, and
jams her tongue inside his mouth. Yann can tell their lips don't fit.
Between them, there is no magic whatsoever. What he feels is absolutely
nothing. But still, he kisses back as Nadine makes out even harder, stabbing
her tongue around in a frenzy, and digging her nails into his neck.
"Owww!" Yann yells, and pulls back. "That
"Oh!" Nadine exclaims, "I love you too!"
Yann pretends he didn't hear what he just
heard. This chick is delusional and he knows it. But still... he could
get a piece. And then they could break up.
Yann grabs Nadine and pulls her against
him. They make out some more, his boner between them like an iron rod.
"Are you hungry?" she finally asks, pulling
"Yes," he says, faking a saintly dewy expression.
She takes his hand and they walk down the
hill together. He is hard and she is wet. Lightning flashes in the sky.
wakes up and stares through the room. This is not her place in L.A., this
is somewhere else. There are shepherd scenes on the wall, and pictures
of Jesus, Mary, Moses, the whole gang. Whose bed was she sleeping in now?
The last thing she remembers is sailing
out of Dutch Harbor. She was taking the producer of her next movie, Karl
Ronson, up to see the ice-floes. It was a corporate deal. He got to watch
her tits and ass, and she was allowed to write it off. She didn't like
sleeping with the creep, but that's what she had to do to get the deal.
Once the director signed on with Ronson, she'd be in for a seven-figure
paycheck, but first she had to spread her legs. That's show business.
Anyway, it wasn't all that bad. The guy
got so drunk he could hardly get it up, the food was good, and the scenery
superb. She'd be back in a week and on the set, and Ronson would be somewhere
else, getting sucked off by some Hollywood whore.
She, however, was not a whore! She was a
damn hard worker, who other workers depended on: her agent, the director,
a whole cast of actors, technicians, stuntmen, even the pimply key-grip.
And if she didn't giggle and wiggle and jerk Ronson off, they'd all end
up shooting porno--which is why she was chauffeuring him around in her
private yacht, and letting him lick her award-winning tits. For the team.
But where the hell was she now? April places
a hand on her forehead and feels a bandage. Pressing on the bump beneath
it, she winces. She hadn't had a crack on the head like that since she
was thirteen, and learning to sail. The boom had swung in and knocked
her off the deck. When they pulled her out, she was bleeding pretty bad,
but still, was conscious enough to tell her father she'd get that boom
And since then, she had, by conquering the
winds. Not only had she sailed around the world by herself, but she had
also sailed right into Hollywood where she starred on a popular television
show, and then became a movie-star. Or rather, a multi-million-dollar
corporation with big tits.
April remembers sailing north of Nome, but
that's about it. It started getting cold. Something was interfering with
the weather channel. She was looking at the maps--that's it! Going through
the Bering Strait, she figured she could ride the shoreline or cut straight
up and avoid the traffic of tankers, so that's what she did. The wind
was blowing good. She figured it would get them up there pretty quick.
And the sooner the trip was over, the sooner she could start forgetting
Ronson grunting from behind. What a loser! He could hardly get it in half
After he had his way with her that night,
though, and she pretended that she liked it, April decided to sail until
dawn. They'd get there in the morning, he'd take his pictures, she'd pretend
she wasn't exhausted, and then they'd turn around and head back. So she
put on a t-shirt, some bikini bottoms, and put a parka over that, and
flicked on the running lights, sailing into the wind.
April loved sailing at night, but this was
not Tahiti. Setting her bead on the North Star, she switched the radio
on, but all she got was static. Eventually though, she picked up a signal.
It was old-fashioned Morse code: three long beeps followed by three short
beeps, repeating over and over again. No doubt some kid messing around.
She turned the radio off.
Near dawn and past Cape Hope she started
getting tired. Her ears were playing tricks on her. It was like there
was a rumbling, but still there was nothing obscuring the stars. And it
couldn't have been thunder, because the sky was clear as far as she could
Then she heard a slight small thump against
the bow, and then another. April turned the spotlight on. She was cutting
through a current of birds. Dead birds. Seagulls. Hundreds of them. She
shined the spotlight into the wind.
And that's when she discovered that what
she thought was the horizon was not the horizon--it was actually something
above the horizon, along the horizon, and as black as the sea. And it
was growing, and rising above her, and humming. Then she saw a flash,
and felt the rain. She was sailing straight into it.
Three seconds later, April was hit by hail.
She was so surprised that she let out a squeal. A chunk hit her like a
fist in the mouth. She couldn't believe it. Another one hit a porthole
behind her and shattered the glass. The sails began to slap and snap.
She had to come about.
April ducked and spun the wheel. Bigger
hail rained down on her back, pelting the parka. She'd have to get inside
and sail it from there. Another chunk hit her in the head. She screamed.
"What's going on up here?" Ronson asked,
opening the door and sticking up his head. The boom swung down and hit
him in the skull. April heard the crush of bone as he flew right out of
his slippers and was flung into the sea. The rope caught, the sail filled,
the jib expanded, and the boat took off wing-in-wing.
April screamed again--but what could she
do? She couldn't turn the boat back and into the eye of the wind, clipping
along at 30 or 40 knots. Besides, he was already a quarter mile behind,
with a smashed-in head, bobbing in her freezing wake. She'd never find
BLAM! Thunder blasted right behind her.
The hail had stopped, but the rain was just as furious. April looked over
her shoulder and it hit her in the face like birdshot. Nevertheless, she
covered her eyes and peered into the storm. There was a line of foam hovering
above her. It was the crest of an enormous wave bearing down on her. She
didn't even have time to don a life-jacket. The wave lifted the stern
into the air, and the boat went vertical as she leapt into the icy waters.
The next thing she knew, her parka was pulling her down, and she was struggling
to unzip it. That's the last thing she remembered.
"I'm alive," she hears herself say.
"Thank God indeed," a kindly voice replies.
April looks toward the door opening before
her. A priest is standing there bearing flowers.
"These are from some admirers," Father O'Flugence
says--and she immediately directs him to put them by the window. It's
a reflex reaction.
"I knew you'd come to," Father O'Flugence
tells her, smiling like a pervert. At least that's what April thinks at
first. Never trust a priest--that was her motto. They don't just go for
"Where am I?" she finds herself demanding,
surprised at the snotty tone in her voice. "Alaska?"
"Well," the priest says, "I guess you could
say that. Your ship was caught in the storm. You washed up on an isolated
island in the middle of nowhere. This is my home... my name is Father
"Well," April says, "did you find any other
"A man in pajamas?"
"Yes, that's him."
Father O'Flugence pauses, then answers slowly.
"Yes, I heard he was found, but not in very good shape..."
April's voice shudders. "He was dead...
I saw the boom hit him in the head."
Father O'Flugence looks at the floor. He
speaks softly, lying: "His remains... have been buried."
Both of them are silent for a while. Then
April speaks up. "I need to make some phone calls."
"Yes," he says, "but I want to send Sister
Erma by to check on you first. She used to be a nurse."
April nods, just to get the old guy out
of her room.
"I'll be back with some crumpets," he tells
her, and turns toward the door.
Crumpets, April thinks, what the hell is
Father O'Flugence leaves, and April immediately
throws off the covers to see what she is wearing. It's a blasé
floral smock. If that asshole touched her...
April sits up and tries out her limbs. Everything
still works. How she survived in that water, she'll never know. She wonders
if she experienced any brain-damage, then stands up, feeling weak, but
strong enough to go to the flowers. No card. Typical. April looks out
Outside, a quaint little town is coming
alive. People are out and working in their yards. Simple folk, with simple
clothes and simple tools. Grandmas, Grampas, bearded men. And cats! There
are cats all over the place: lazing in the morning sun, licking paws,
climbing trees, rolling in the grass.
April always wanted a cat, but has always
been so busy jetsetting that if she ever got one, she'd have to leave
it with her mother--and then that cat would become her mother's, not hers.
She opens the window.
"Hi cats," April sings to them, "hi there,
hello, yoo hoo."
An old man and an old woman look up from
collecting sticks. The old woman immediately looks away, but the old man
stands transfixed. To April, this is not uncommon. He probably saw her
Two knocks sound on the door. "Come in,"
April says, jumping back into bed. A nun walks in, smiling like an idiot,
holding a bundle of something.
"I see you're feeling better dear," Sister
Erma says, and approaches. "How do you feel?"
"Great," April says, faking it.
Sister Erma peers in April's eyes, then
asks her to stick out her tongue. She does it.
"You look fine to me," Sister Erma says.
"I wish we could send our doctor up, but he's in heaven now."
"I'm sorry," April lies.
"Well," the nun says, placing the bundle
on the bed, "I have some clothes here for you. I apologize that they aren't
what's in fashion these days, but there is a very uncharitable streak
on the island at the moment. But you must understand, the storm wreaked
havoc upon us all, and it takes a while to recover..."
April unwraps the bundle. It's a nun's outfit.
"It belonged to Sister Stephanie. I think
it will fit you," Sister Erma says. "She's in heaven too."
April laughs, pretending to have heard Sister
Erma. The idea of dressing up in nun duds is pretty hilarious to her.
Only in Hollywood...
Sister Erma is aghast that April would laugh
at Sister Stephanie's death. However, she realizes that the poor little
lamb has lost her way, and like the people of the town, is no doubt under
"Your underwear is over on the dresser,"
Sister Erma says, "I had them cleaned, but I'm still looking for more
clothes for you. For now, at least, you're welcome to wear these. Maybe
a ship will bring something in."
"Thank you sister," April says, "I really
Sister Erma goes out, and April automatically
reaches for the remote control. It takes her a few seconds to realize
there isn't even a TV in her room. Not even a phone.
After crumpets, April goes out sans habit,
the sexiest nun in town. She swivels her hips, and breathes in the fresh
fish-air. This place is just too much, she thinks, and nods at people
on her walk. She is ecstatic to be alive.
Down at the docks, she looks for a pay-phone.
They didn't even have one at that backwards-ass country church. She finally
locates one--but hesitates. What's she going to do? Call up her mother
and tell her she's alright. Yes. And then what? Call up Larry, her agent,
and tell him that Ronson is dead? Call the police? Call Entertainment
Tonight? Go back to Hollywood and strut her stuff? Suck cock? Take
it in the ass?
"Fuck that!" April says, and decides to
wait a bit. She's a millionaire, she can do whatever she pleases--and
what she wants to do is check out this town where chance has landed her.
April walks out on the dock. Men are loading
and unloading nets. A one-eyed fisherman smiles like an angel at her and
she nods back. All the men are gentlemen, eyes wide, jaws agape. No doubt,
they'd never seen a 42-inch bust in a nun-dress before, except of the
old, fat, saggy variety.
But anyway, their politeness is enchanting.
They take off their hats and gaze into her eyes, greeting her with "Mornin'
M'am" and "Nice day, eh?" And no flashbulbs go off in her face. And no
lipstick mouths shove microphones at her. And no one wants an autograph.
April sighs, and walks to the end of the
dock where a kid is playing with a kitten. He's wearing a t-shirt that's
too big for him.
"Hello kitty," April addresses the cat.
It's a small yellow kitten with white paws, almost too young to be on
The kid spins around with a genuine grin
affixed to his face. "Hey, ain't you that lady?"
"What lady is that?" April asks, kneeling
down to pet the cat.
"That washed up on the beach," the kid says.
"Yes," April laughs, "I suppose that would
"You a nun?" the kid asks, squinting.
"I guess I am," April says, "at the moment."
They both regard the cat, batting at its
"My mom says I gotta get rid of it," the
kid says, "its mom died in the storm."
"There seems to be a lot of that going around,"
"Yeah," the kid says.
April picks up the cat. It nuzzles a breast
and starts to purr.
"But what will you do with it?" she asks.
"I dunno... ice it."
"Oh... you're kidding."
The kid shrugs.
"I'll take this kitty," April tells him.
"Gee lady, like... thanks!"
April stands up and walks away with her
new cat, holding it against her chest. She talks to it as she walks: "Hi
kitty... you're a cute little kitty. Oh yes you are. You're a cat, yes
you are. Do you like me? Well I love you, yes I do!"
At the end of the dock, April turns and
walks toward the market. "You're a good kitty, oh yes. Good kitty, good
kitty. Now you're my kitty, yes you are."
She walks by Mother Kralik who is smoking
cigs with a couple deformed seahags. April doesn't even look up, but just
keeps going, tickling the kitten. Mother Kralik scowls and mutters something
April keeps talking to the cat. "Do you
like it here kitty? I like it here. It's so laid back... so relaxed. And
beautiful. Who needs L.A.? Who needs it? Do you want to stay here kitty?
Huh, do you? I bet you do..."
The old women watch as April disappears
into the distance, swishing her ass like a floozy. The fishermen, though,
watch her with reverence. A goddess is among them.
Then Nadine appears, coming down the hill,
leading her catatonic mother. They are walking toward the market, and
Nadine is trying to talk to her mother. But her mother still won't answer
Somewhere in the harbor, a foghorn blows.
The smell of rotten fish floats up from the sand, rank enough to make
a hound gag. April, however, is upwind of the smell.
Smoking cigs and chewing tobacco, the women
stand in front of the junkstore known as Mother Kralik's Antiques, which
is closed for the season. It is late in the morning on a Saturday.
"Look," the old crone tells them, "if something
doesn't happen soon, it'll be our ass! She'll bring in the feds, the world
will know what we've done. I say we better do her like we did him, like
we did all of them!"
Grunts of approval are vented from the women.
Hairy moles and plaque-ridden teeth nod in agreement.
Mother Kralik is referring to the half-eaten
man they found on the beach wearing pajamas. The sand-fleas had gotten
him, but still, he had a wristwatch on, and a whole bunch of rings--which
the hags knew would be worth a pretty penny to the Russians. So they cut
the fingers off and removed the Rolex. Then did with him what they did
to the Canadians the year before, and everyone that's ever washed up on
their sand, compliments of God.
So far, it had worked pretty well. It didn't
really matter what went into the mix, because the grinder ground it all
into an indistinguishable mush. Shark, doll-porpoise, cod--the Japanese
didn't give a rat's ass. They were under contract, so came for their dogfood
"Did you see the way she was poo-pooing
that cat!?" a semi-retarded fish-wife asks. "She must think her shit don't
"That's right!" Mother Kralik agrees, "and
did you see the way all the men pretended to be perfect gentlemen? Makes
"Precious little cunt!" another hag puts
"Pretty little pussy!" another one scoffs.
Then Nadine comes walking up, leading her
mother. They walk toward the women and stop. Nadine has a smarmy grin
on her face--like she just got laid or something.
"Well, well, well," Mother Kralik says,
picking at the blood clot in her nose, "if it isn't the little bitch who
struck me the other day. Have you come to beg my forgiveness?"
"Oh," Nadine cockily says, "I forgot all
Mother Kralik sneers, and holds down the
rising tirade in her throat.
"Okay Maw," Nadine says, "here you are.
I'll be back for you in a bit."
Nadine leaves her mother with her companions,
and walks off humming. She is heading to the market.
"Want a cig?" Mother Kralik asks Widow Murphy.
Widow Murphy nods. It's the first acknowledgement
she's given anyone, of having heard anything anyone's said, since her
husband died. Mother Kralik places the cig between her lips, and lights
it for her. They all watch Nadine go into the market.
"Little whore," Mother Kralik says, "she
sure has copped an attitude. She's got something coming!"
All the women nod and spit.
Nadine walks past bins of crab, oysters,
and illegal salmon. She stops at the sea cucumbers and smiles two rows
of almost straight teeth. Reaching into the bin, she removes the largest,
squishiest one, and fondles it.
Yeah, she thinks, she can still feel the
cum dripping down her leg.
Actually though, it isn't semen, it's her
own excitement because she's still horny and generating juices. Already,
Nadine believes she is preggie.
After the funeral, they had gone back to
her trailer where Nadine started cooking dinner, and her mother and Yann
just sat there. She was making macaroni and cheese. As they waited for
the water to boil, she excused herself, went into the bedroom, and slopped
on way too much make-up. When she came out the water was boiling. She
saw how Yann noticed her transformation, and mistook the shock on his
face for her dazzling effect. Dinner was served.
"Have some macaroni and cheese," Nadine
said to her mother, shoving the bowl across the table. But her mother
just glared at her, and then at Yann. They all sat there for an awkward
three minutes, no one saying nothing. Then her mother took her hand and
stuck it right into the macaroni and cheese. Like a monkey flinging shit,
she then grabbed a handful and threw it right in Nadine's face, staining
much of her make-up with orange food coloring.
Again, the three of them sat there not saying
nothing. Eventually though, her mother got up, went into her bedroom,
and slammed the door behind her. Both Yann and Nadine breathed a sigh
"Gosh," Yann said, reaching over to pick
some noodles off her shoulder, "that was, ummm... intense."
Nadine looked like she was about to cry.
She didn't even try to wipe the sauce off her face. Yann, however, took
his napkin and started cleaning her off. Every time he went for a drip,
he'd remove a layer of skin-colored base.
"Maybe I just oughta go," he told her nervously.
"No," she said, and made him stay in his
seat, holding him there with her eyes. Yann tried to make conversation.
"So... ummm... when's the last time she
"Day he died."
"Maybe that was a bad question..."
"No it wasn't," Nadine told him, "it was
"Some questions are better off left unasked,"
he said. The conversation was going pretty good.
"If it's there," Nadine said, "why pretend
it's not? It's dumb to pretend that something there ain't there if it's
Nadine didn't answer. She lit up a cig and
blew out a big plume of smoke. They watched it linger in the air. Neither
of them felt much like eating.
"Okay," Yann finally said, "if something's
there, and it's real, and it's dumb to pretend it's not there... then
maybe we should talk about what you're thinking... and what I'm thinking...
cuz, I mean, let's face it, ummm..."
"Keep going Yann."
"Like... it's there, which is why we're
here, cuz, you know... do you know what I'm saying?"
Nadine blew a smoke-ring out and it floated
toward his face.
"Say it Yann."
"Why me? Why not you?"
"Okay," Nadine said, "Fuckin'! That's what
we're talking about, ain't it? Fuckin'!"
Yann suddenly felt sick. He didn't want
to be talking to her about this. There were plenty other dark triangles.
The way she put it made it seem so crude, even though that was why he
was there--because he was afraid of going to a whore. He shoved his macaroni
"Ain't it?" Nadine pressed on. "Ain't that
why you're here? Or are you really hungry?"
"I'm not hungry anymore."
Nadine felt Yann slipping away. He was looking
everywhere else in the room other than in her direction. She saw him swallow
hard. She had to act fast.
Standing up, she shoved the table over.
Macaroni and cheese, dishes, glasses, and silverware went crashing to
the floor. Yann looked up at her with a combination of astonishment and
fear. Was she going psycho?
Now there was no table between them. Nadine
took a step toward him, then suddenly sat down on his lap facing him.
"Uhh... I don't know about this," Yann said.
"Shut the fuck up Yann," she said, yanking
his head back. She went to town licking his neck, thinking this would
turn him on. But in his pants, his dick was shriveling up.
Nadine moved forward, positioning her big
wet muff right on top of his crotch. She wasn't wearing any underwear.
Nadine never wore underwear. All underwear ever did for her was collect
Her pussy began to squish around. She started
thrusting it up and down, all the while cramming his head into her breasts.
Yann started making some sort of feeble attempt at biting at her nipples
through her dress. Then she felt his hands on her ass--her bare ass. Yann
had ventured under her skirt and was gripping a butt cheek in both hands.
It felt like forever, grinding against him,
until he finally got an erection. The moment he touched her asshole, though,
she felt his dick leap beneath her. Nadine started rubbing harder, as
Yann poised a finger on her sphincter.
"Oh Yann," she cried, "I want you to fuck
me so hard you rip my cunt wide open."
Yann's dick started to get soft.
"Don't talk," he told her, and slipped his
finger in a bit. Why he was doing this, she didn't know. Maybe he was
a fudge-man. But she acted like she liked it, and after a few more minutes
of grinding against him, she actually did. She thought about telling him
to shove his finger even further up her poop-chute, but decided not to.
Maybe her voice would remind him who he was with, and then he'd lose his
boner, which was now a full and furious hard-on.
Nadine felt her anus tingle. She felt like
she had to take a crap, but kept on thrusting anyway. Yann had worked
a tit out of her blouse and practically had the whole thing in his mouth.
She reached down and unzipped his pants and his cock sprang out, long
and curvy, throbbing healthy--not pale and dinky like her father's. Nadine
gasped. She had to have that thing inside her.
All it took was a lift of her hip. When
she brought it back down, Yann's cock was way up inside her, touching
a part of her that even her finger couldn't reach. The only thing that
had ever gone that far inside her before was a Coke bottle inserted by
Mother Kralik. And Yann's cock, of course, felt a whole lot better than
that. She felt something like melty butter oozing through her. Immediately,
her loins began to quiver.
Yann took his finger out of her bunghole
and grasped both buttocks in his hands. He started raising her and lowering
her, but she needed it faster. A couple seconds later she was bouncing
up and down on his dick. Every time she descended, he'd spank her buns
back into the air. Things were rushing hot within her. Nadine felt her
skin go clammy. She was about to come for the first time in her life without
Yann pulled out and shot his wad. Nadine
opened her eyes and saw him leaning back and slowing down. The whole ordeal
only lasted thirty seconds. Her vision blazed white-hot, the fucker! She
grabbed his wet cock and tried to jam it back inside.
"No," Yann said, suddenly opening his eyes,
"it's got jizz on it. You might get--"
"So what!?" Nadine snapped, and Yann immediately
went limp. Nevertheless, she tried to get it back in. She weaseled in
the head, but Yann wouldn't have it. He tossed her off his lap, stood
up, zipped up, grabbed his coat, and ran into the rain. The door banged
Spread-eagle on the linoleum, her skirt
hitched up, Nadine looked up at the fluorescent light flickering above,
and stared at it until all she saw was one vast burst of purple. She placed
her hand on her stomach, felt a jab of gas, and imagined it was a tiny
kick. Then she smiled a dreamy smile that lasted all night and into the
"Until we meet again my handsome stud,"
she said to the all-consuming purpleness, "You fucked me good, you fucked
Ahoy Feculent Reader!!! Tune in next time
to see Nadine's pathetic pursuit of Yann--as the tension MOUNTS, as the
jealousy SWELLS, as stuck-up April settles her SWEET ASS on the island
with her eye on young & studly Yann. See Nadine jack off! See April
Jack off! See them all JACK OFF together (but apart)!! And see the PORNOGRAPHIC
ruin it all leads to!! As we all jack off together to CHUM!!!