Before she could articulate that she wasn’t ready for anal, he was back in her vagina, feeling awesome. And then bam! Back in her turd tube!
“Johnson! Stop. Jesus!” Dove hated to throw a wrench in his carefully laid out plan. He was trying so hard, but her butt was nowhere near ready for that show.
Dove started out-and-out laughing at their accidental anal. It had been like “Wow! Wow! Shit!” and was cracking her up. But laughing at a dude who was intensely interested in giving her pleasure was not a good move.
He apologized profusely. “I knew that frog position was too freaky. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that, Johnson. Did you notice that like every third thrust I was like a virgin? That was my asshole.” Dove put a hand on his shoulder.
“Great. I gave you unwanted anal. That’s what I get for reading all those sexual expertise books. I just wanted to be memorable for you. Different. And now I am for all the wrong reasons.” Johnson put his hands uselessly on his legs.
They both stared at his prominent erection. It was like the flag on the moon, weirdly out of place in the sad conversation.
“First, the fact that you read up on positions is adorable. Second,”—she tilted his face with her finger—“this is the best night of my life. I have you here with that.” She pointed to his penis. “Everything is right in my world. Now lay back, let me go crazy on that hunk of man meat until it melts.”
Johnson smiled a little and did as he was told. Dove slipped him inside her preferred hole and began rocking, staring at his devastatingly good-looking face. He bit his lip. And his knowledgeable hand found the spot she needed pressure on. Her clit. And he pressed it.
She rode harder, forgetting she was a jerk in her own head and letting this man’s pleasure be her gold medal. As she moved faster, he needed to provide his own friction. He held her hips and met her over and over with his counter thrusts. Her body temperature was so high that she was sweating. The whole room rustled as a cool wind blew through her window. Dove had goose bumps as she came loudly, pounding gently on his chest and almost crying with the release and the beauty of this moment with him. He was coming, as well, with so much pleasure it sounded like pain. She panted as the breeze blew her hair all around her face. Johnson sat up, still joined with her, and moved her hair from her face. They both had a chill and cuddled close.
“Thank you, Dove. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful then you on top of me, teaching me to let go.” Johnson smiled and kissed her again.
The world can go ahead and blow up right now; I’m already in heaven.
Bitchy, hairy, monkey tits.
Duke was out of breath. His apartment was not nearly big enough for the laps he was running. Steve the Cat was still full of spunk.
He’d been able to dress, grabbing clothes as he passed his dresser and locking himself in his bathroom. But as soon as he had a craving for a snack, he had to face the clawed nimrod. After snagging a handful of Slim Jims, he was out the door in a flash.
Stupid Johnson’s car was still fucking here. Which meant he was either dead or still getting it on with Dove. Duke wished he were a smoker. He would look so cool puffing out here in the dark. He looked at the Slim Jim and got an idea.
He could be like a movie star, like Marlon Brando. He walked over to Dove’s car, and it was predictably open. He tried to ignore the fact that it smelled like her. Everyone that lived in the building had a stash of something in Dove’s car. Shannon had her backup CD of “Tik Tok”; Duke had condoms, socks, and a stick of deodorant; and Flower had a Christmas-themed tin can with various shit in it.
Duke was looking for something in particular, so he opened Flower’s can and found it. He cringed at the rest of the weird, nonsensical collection in the can.
Flower’s a freak show with her own curtain and stage lights.
He walked under the overhang from the roof of the building as a gentle mist dusted the night with tiny fucking droplets of water.
He unwrapped his Slim Jim and engaged Flower’s lighter. If he couldn’t have a cigarette, he would smoke his Slim Jim. While he waited for the end to glow red, he tried to ignore the sound of music and voices falling from Dove’s open window. The noises kept hitting him like a sledgehammer right on top of his heart.
His sweatpants were getting damp from the shitty weather. The pharmacist was right; he could fit them on despite his injury. Duke had left his cast and cups poking out of the top of the waistband just to prove he didn’t have to listen to that ass chump.
He might’ve stopped trying to light up the meat if he hadn’t been paralyzed by the sound of Dove’s excited, obviously aroused voice. The dirty part of him wanted to stay and listen. His Johnson filled up all the extra space in his cast and then some. His pecker was like a caterpillar getting ready to bust out with some hot-ass butterfly wings.
“Johnson! God! Big Daddy!”
Argh, fuck me.
Now he knew what she sounded like when she was having sex, and that was going to fucking haunt him. Yet, he stood there like a schlong dumpster, listening to their sexcapades. There was starting and stopping and apologizing.
The man—the one Duke desperately wished were him—loudly offered, “This one is supposed to tickle your G-spot.”
“Asshole,” Duke murmured under his breath.
Duke noticed his Slim Jim was all melty and lava-like. It wouldn’t even start a fire.
“Johnson! Stop. Jesus!”
Duke tensed his whole body. He would kill Johnson if he hurt her. He’d kill him dead with this fucking Slim Jim. Before the adrenaline rush could force him up the stairs like a bat out of hell, he heard her distinct laughter.
Yes! She’s laughing at him!
He was betting Johnson’s dick was tiny or he had a weird body malfunction. Then he shook his head. Dove would never make fun of someone like that. Well, except for the clown she hated at the park and the guy who ran the hot dog cart and served those delicious hot dogs.
Johnson’s voice carried across the parking lot with the volume of a person trapped in a burning building. “I knew that frog position was too freaky. I’m sorry.”
Duke actually did laugh a little with Dove.
Then he heard her sweet, feminine voice explaining the problem, “It’s not that, Johnson. Did you notice that like every third thrust I was like a virgin? That was my asshole.”
Duke smiled and felt like crying. He’d never stuff her backdoor by mistake. The fucking pharmacist sounded like an amateur. He wanted to listen to the rest of the conversation and maybe hear the dude leave so he could go up there and show Dove what a real man could do. Before he could, he noticed there was smoke coming up from his Slim Jim.
Excellent! I can smoke it!
Upon closer inspection, he realized the hot meat had been dripping like a melting candle. The cast material, unlike the Slim Jim casing, was extremely flammable.
His dick cast went from “smoking” to “on fire” in a blink. Duke stared at it stupidly. It was like a dream come true. Every man pictured his penis like a superhero. His looked spectacular. Super Dick: flaming, erect, and proud. Briefly, he pictured a cape on it, with matching spandex Ballssiere®.
Except it was getting crazy warm. Duke got scared and jumped forward into the rain. He leaned backward so his cast would get wet. The rain was pitiful, and all it did was make the fire angrier. The drops of rain that did hit his cast made an alarming sizzle and sent up a small stream of smoke.
Duke ran around in a circle. He knew he should “stop, drop, and roll,” but firefighters had no tips for an erect dick on fire.
He had a feeling if he landed facedown on this Bad Larry, it would be “Pop, cock, and drool.”
Soon, he felt someone stop his spinning. Debra Anastasia was dressed like a French maid, complete with long, yellow rubber gloves. She reached down, fearlessly grabbed his dick cast, and ripped it from his body. As she flung the flaming dressing into the parking lot, Duke felt instant relief.
Mr. Anastasia came bounding out in a suit, armed with a fire extinguisher. He unloaded the entire contents on top of the cast and applesauce cups. The pile looked depressingly small when it was far from Duke’s body. Debra Anastasia got on her knees and inspected his damage. He felt like a rock star until Mr. Anastasia did the same, and together the couple analyzed his genitals.
Mr. Anastasia nodded appreciatively. “Dude, you haven’t got one burn. Those cups you rigged are super impressive.”
Debra and Mr. Anastasia began talking to each other animatedly.
The woman smiled. “I’d love to see you in a set of those cups, honey.”
The man bit his lip and growled. Duke slid his sweatpants over his junk. The porn writer and her husband began making out, so Duke took a step back.
From his new spot, he could see into Dove’s apartment. The lights were blazing like they were having a party for a hundred people, but it was just the two of them. Johnson was cuddling Dove, who was straddling him, naked.
He had to get inside. He needed to be away from the sight of her in another man’s arms. The Anastasias followed him and launched into a full recap of his penis rescue as though he hadn’t been there.
“We were acting out a scene for my next book, and Mr. Anastasia had me pressed against the window when we saw you going up in flames!” Debra Anastasia patted his shoulder.
“So why did you light your dick on fire? Ritual killing?” Mr. Anastasia walked into Duke’s apartment and found ice in the freezer.
Duke put his hand to his face. “No, just a mistake.”
Debra Anastasia sat on the floor, and Steve the Cat walked up to her like he wasn’t a murderer stuffed in a tiny, fuzzy body.
“Aw. I bet he likes girls because vaginas smell like tuna.”
Mr. Anastasia threw a bagful of ice in Duke’s direction. He caught it and slid it down his pants. It felt great. Too bad there was no way to put ice on his heart, because it hurt a whole lot more than his dick.
Mr. Anastasia, who never said much, piped up again. “I have to say, Duke, those nut cups are very intriguing. Have you thought about working up a more permanent prototype?”
“The Ballssiere®? Yeah. I’ve been researching a patent on the internet.” Duke looked at his open door. He wanted Johnson to leave; every second Dove was in the pharmacist’s arms felt like torment.
Debra Anastasia laughed as the cat licked her cleavage. “You know, I was thinking you could design the cups to service different testicular needs—like bras. A demi-Ballssiere® could provide a little jiggle and lift. You could even have a little extra padding for when men go to the beach and want to look a bit more impressive.”
Mr. Anastasia found some paper and a pen and started sketching. Duke added a thought or two but couldn’t get as excited about his new invention as he wanted to. He just chewed on a toothpick to prevent his mind from racing.
After a few hours of composing jingles and sketches, The Anastasias finally said good-bye. Debra Anastasia begged Duke to let her take Steve the Cat until the morning. She had some fresh tuna for him, and after tempting him with all her luscious odors, she felt it was only right.
Duke called to Mr. Anastasia after his bride had already ascended the stairs. “Hey! What happened to Mrs. Duffington?”
“Oh, she’s upstairs on our guest chaise longue. The missus loves her readers, even the ones that are bonkers.” Mr. Anastasia walked closer with his words.
Duke held out his hand for a shake, and Mr. Anastasia responded with gusto.
“Thanks again for handling my dick.” As he smiled at his neighbor, Duke noticed Johnson coming down the stairs.
Mr. Anastasia turned to leave, waving. “No problem. I try to treat every man’s dick like I would my own.”
Duke leaned against his door, arms crossed.
Johnson looked pleased and nodded when he saw Duke. “Didn’t know it was like that for you. Guess I don’t have anything to worry about, huh?” Johnson tilted his head in Mr. Anastasia’s direction. Then Duke watched as Johnson’s eyes flitted to his incriminating man love TV.
Duke ran the conversation Johnson had overheard through his mind.
Oh. Johnnie boy thinks I’m gay.
“Running out so soon? Not man enough to hold your lady until morning?” Duke looked Johnson up and down like he was trash.
Johnson squinted his eyes. “I knew you had a thing for her. So I guess you’re not gay, after all.”
“Not today, I’m not. If I had her, she would wake up in my arms tomorrow. But I’m not a pussy.” Duke made a fist and rubbed it lovingly with his other hand.
The threat was there. Competition was layered thick with promise between the two men in the hallway. They continued to stare menacingly into each other’s eyes as Dove trotted down the steps with a huge smile.
“Oh good, you’re still here. You almost forgot your jacket.” Dove held it out to Johnson as he welcomed her with a one-armed hug.
Duke flicked his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, watching as Johnson deliberately tilted Dove’s chin up for a kiss. She happily complied and even moaned a bit. Duke finally broke eye contact with Johnson, letting him have the moment. He hated that her desire made his dick feel like it was burning all over again.
“Well, thank you so much, beautiful Dove.” He kissed her forehead as well. Johnson spoke to Duke, who glared back. “You know, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
Dove was confused and looked from one man to the other.
Johnson took her hand and led her to the front door. “Stay here so you don’t have to get wet.”
Duke wished he didn’t have to hear her spicy reply.
“I’m already wet.” And then she giggled as if she was naked with Johnson in bed again.
Fuck.
She sighed as Johnson drove away.
She turned to talk to Duke. “Hey, you survived Steve. Congrats. Where’s your dick cast?”
He wanted to be angry with her for picking Johnson instead of him, but he couldn’t. She had a dopey smile on her face, and she was asking about his penis.
“I think your boyfriend just ran over it. I accidentally lit it on fire with a Slim Jim. Steve’s licking Debra Anastasia’s tuna upstairs.” He looked at his feet.
She was wearing her stupid reindeer robe, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips looked like they’d been thoroughly kissed. She wasn’t making this easy.
“Well, thanks. I’ll let her keep him until morning.” Dove pushed past Duke and got herself a soda out of his fridge.
He didn’t want to tell her to leave, but having her here was killing him.
Her cell phone sounded, and she dug it out of her robe pocket. He was going to make fun of her for carrying it around but just changed his mind when her face fell.
“What?” Duke sat next to her on the couch.
“Nothing; it’s fine,” she replied as she looked at her Twitter feed.
After the phone beeped again, she shook her head and looked like she was going to cry.
“Will you tell me already?” Duke didn’t put her in a headlock like he normally would have.
She rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Well, Johnson just tweeted that he’s almost home, but he wanted to let me know he’s going to be busy all weekend.”
Pansy-ass pus blob.
“Okay. So what?” Duke had to refrain from telling her Johnson was a pube wad.
“Well then in the next tweet, he tells me, ‘I meant to mention that I have to attend an event with Beth. I hope that’s okay?’ What am I supposed to say? No? I mean, I know we’re new, but attending an event with Beth? Really? Telling me on Twitter? Really?” Her eyes filled with tears.
Duke shook his head and spit out his toothpick. He cuddled Dove to his chest as she started to sniffle.
I’m going to kill that douchebag.
Coming Winter 2015
Dove smeared some sad snot on Duke's t-shirt. She pushed herself up to sitting po
sition using his stomach as leverage. His abs were insane. And that creeped Dove out. It was like seeing a Ken doll but with a huge, disgusting set of balls and a hairy asscrack.
Dove slumped into her posture like a boneless chicken.
Fuck sitting up. Fuck everything. Fuck the pharmacist.
Holy hairy eyeballs, I wish I were fucking the pharmacist.
Duke was talking, and she didn't have the energy to try and translate his man-words into something that made any sense. Nine times out of ten if she responded, "Burned sausage is a sin," he would guess she was paying attention.
She heard her name and lolled her face in his direction. He reached up and pushed a lock of her sex hair away from her face.
She sneered like he was wearing a dog shit insignia ring. His thick finger yanked on a knot. A fuck knot. From the fucking. Sigh.
"Ouch," Dove said without any enthusiasm.
Duke pulled his meaty phalange from her follicles. And soon, he jerked her off his couch and pulled her back up the stairs. To the sex apartment. The dead sex apartment. She bet it smelled like ass and victory in there. Duke opened her door and yup--it did smell like The Braveheart of the gluteus muscles.
"So. You want to come?" Duke was hopping all around looking nervous and alert.
I came so hard last night I burst blood vessels around my eyes. Stupid pharmacist and his knowledge of womanly parts.
"No." Dove didn't want to go anywhere.
She wanted to lie around in her Reindeer robe until it fell off of her. She never wanted to shower again so she could always have this fresh-from-the-bodily-juices-of-Johnson feeling. She wanted to check her teeth for pubic hair. She finally acknowledged somewhere in her head that Duke was not, in fact, talking about spiced meat.
"I always add a guest when I RSVP to a wedding. That way: two meals. You'll have to share your entrée with me unless it's veal. I don't trust veal." Duke shuddered like he had been shanked by veal in the past.