Your Bitter Recollections Have Time to Change Themselves to Tender Remembrances

I've been working on a new long story. To work on it, I have to focus and neglect other shorter ideas. It is a lot like isolating your mind on a desert island and telling it that there will be no rescue plane till it constructs a nine part story as a signal flare.

What intrigues me about this story idea is that it involves four dominant males. My female characters almost always out number my male characters because I am writing porn and I find women sexier. Having to write about guys who are friends is going to be a unique experience. My usual porn motto is to create interesting characters and have them do interesting sex with each other. Since I have little interest in homoerotica, my usual porn methods fail me here.

What I do want to do is create a bdsm equivalent of the 'Three Musketeers'. It's one of my favorite books of all time and I am intrigued by the idea of doing a good porn version. Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan are amazing characters that have never grown old. It's a very male story with very masculine themes that appealed to even my machophobic mindset. It is interesting to me that in the world of bdsm, we don't have similar figures. I can say "She reminds me of Beauty" and a lot of porn readers will nod their heads. Say the same thing about a male character and you're lucky if people even remember that character's name much less associate anything with them.

Part of the problem of this story is that it is almost easy to assemble a group of male doms but the question becomes, what do they do? Without a Cardinal to fight, or another group of doms to compete against, you have a lot of heroic figures standing around bullshitting all day. They need a prize, a goal or some sort of quest. I think erotica sometimes doesn't survive non-sexual action sometimes. That might sound weird coming from a guy who writes about sexy industrial espionage agents but non-sexual action has the potential to eclipse sexual action if it's not handled very carefully. I think female characters can almost pull it off because heck, a woman doing anything physical is sexy, but it's trickier with men. Men doing awesome things can quickly turn into teenage power fantasies.

I think part of the appeal of this story is my lack of male friends in the bdsm community. Heck, I have few male friends in general and when I grow apart from them I rarely stay in touch. I see this more as a fault in myself, but deep down I see it more as a fault in other men that they can't hold my interest. Just like porn writers create sexy characters unlike anyone they know, I will most likely create better friends than I can personally find.

Oddly the only male friends I have kept over the years have been other porn writers. Writing is hard and anyone who can write coherent stories and improve gets my admiration. Writing as a male sex writer can be a really thankless hobby sometimes as most of our readers are made up of men who would rather have their fictional needs met by female writers. Any male writer who sticks with writing porn is either obsessive or stubborn, which are things I can relate to.

A friend of mine said that the story wouldn't work because doms don't get along. That really stopped me for awhile because I think she is correct. I don't see many dom friends that extend past two people. I think BDSM has too much rivalry, posturing and well, domination for a group of like minded doms to really be close friends. On the other hand, my ego says it is because these guys don't have a story yet to blueprint onto. They can't be friends because they haven't been shown how. It hasn't been made cool yet.

for that matter, maybe that's the ultimate goal. Instead of fighting someone, they need to learn how to not fight each other.

Of course all of this is still in the embryo phase. There is a difference between a desire to do a story and actually having the story come together. I have a lot of parties to go to this weekend which weirdly enough, always provides me with time to be alone in my head.

Fiction: The Wolf Inside Part Seven

My self control was slipping. I thought I had it controlled. My one pussy a day diet had kept me from doing anything stupid. Fucking a woman at lunch time had distracted me from making a move on my boss, Lisa. The smell of her pussy would drive me crazy but getting in a quick snack would tame my cunt hunger until the office closed.

It wasn’t much of a plan but it had worked so far.

Things had changed. It started last night when I almost fucked my friend Ben’s girlfriend. Her pussy was calling to me. Her flirtatious glances were begging for it. I managed to not fuck her by finding different prey but when I woke up this morning, I still had his girlfriend’s smell in my nose. She was a missed opportunity and instead of making me horny, it was making me angry.

She was mine. I could have had her. No, I should have had her. She was willing, and she was hot and god damn it, my beast was pissed that I didn’t take her.

I couldn’t shake that anger. As I sat on the train this morning I thought about the things I could have done to her. I also thought about how much it would fuck up my life to sleep with a friend’s girl but that was even weirder. Like, I knew it was wrong to betray a friend like that, but I couldn’t connect to an emotion inside me that cared. Last night she should have been my bitch.

The moon was full last night. That is important for some reason. I know this because when I close my eyes, I can feel where the moon is. Maybe I’m imagining it. Shit. Maybe I’m imagining all of this. I can’t tell anymore. I can’t think straight. Ever since Eden fucked my brains out, I haven’t been doing anything rational. So far it had been fun, but there can be consequences. In this economy I didn’t need to be fucking around with my job security by fucking my boss. I knew this but all I can think about is how much I keep denying myself. I think about how my self control is all I have left right now.

I dominate women, but my cock dominates me.

The office stank of Lisa. No one else could notice but I did. I could smell her cunt. When I focused, I could sense that her cunt would moisten at a little verbal abuse. When clenched my fists, I just knew she would love to have my fists clenched in her hair.

The computer screen stared at me. My work sat there. All of the deadlines and benchmarks were as meaningless as the trivia questions last night. God damn, how did people go through life worrying about this shit?

A small bite. That’s all I needed. I didn’t have to fuck her, I just needed a taste. One little taste and maybe the beast inside me would go back to sleep.

I got up and headed for Lisa’s office. Someone called my name, no doubt wanting to tell me something unimportant about our jobs. I ignored them and kept walking. If it was really important, they would have tackled me. Or at least, that is how my mind was working at the moment.

Lisa’s door was open but I closed it behind me. Lisa looked up at me and her face filled with color. She could feel it too. I could smell it.

“What do you want?” she asked. There was no challenge in her voice. I looked at her, trying to see the old boss that used to scare me. She had a red shirt on today with buttons waiting to be ripped. Her thick brown hair was around her shoulders at that certain length Atlanta women seemed to stop at. She was wearing a skirt today and her black stockings tempted me from under the desk.

No wonder I couldn’t control myself. The woman was asking for it. She had to be.

Just one bite. I didn’t want to get fired. I didn’t want to fuck my boss and get laid off. Just one bite and then maybe I wouldn’t smell her pussy any more. Maybe that would be enough for the beast.

“You know who I want,” I said. I walked towards her desk.

Lisa pushed back on her seat. Something in my eyes made her draw back. God, I prayed she wouldn’t run. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t chase her.

I walked around to her side of the desk. Thankfully she merely turned in her seat. I sat on her desk, relishing the casual way I disregarded her property.

“You know who I want,” I said again. “I want to hear you say it.”

She stared at me. Her chest rose and fell. She gripped the arms of her chair. I wondered, did she smell me too. Was my desire for her as distracting to her as her cunt was to me? I looked in her eyes and I knew the answer to that.

“You want me,” she said.

My hand went to her throat. My thumb and fingers were right under her jaw. I squeezed. Oh that felt so good.

“And do you know why I want you, Lisa?” I said. She tried to shake her head by my grip was too tight.

“It’s because you’re a pain loving cock hungry slut,” I said.

She moaned and I could smell the fresh desire between her legs. I hated her. I hated her for being so damn horny. I hated her for what she awoke in me.

I also loved her. I loved Lisa in that moment when I had my hand around her throat.

“Say it,” I whispered.

“What?” she said.

“Say you’re a pain loving cock sucking slut.”

Her eyes flashed with indignation. I wasn’t fooled. My other hand grabbed her breast. Her shirt and bra offered no protection as my fingers clamped down around her ample tit. She winced but she made no move to escape.

“Say it because that’s who you are,” I commanded.

She looked away. “I am a pain loving cock sucking slut.”

My grip on her throat tightened.

“Look me in the eyes and say it.”

Lisa looked at me. Loathing and lust warred behind those brown eyes. “I am a pain loving cock sucking slut.”

My hand left her breast and rested on her thigh. True to her nature, she parted her legs. I slipped my hand under her skirt and moved towards her sex. Lisa groaned and then whined when my hand stopped short of her sex.

“Say it,” I repeated.

“I am a pain loving cock sucking slut.” She whispered.

“And you want me to touch you there, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she moaned. “But lock the door first.”

I tightened my grip around her throat. She gasped. I fought back the surge of anger that had pushed me.

“I make the rules, bitch,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

I pulled my hand out from her skirt. The disappointment on her face was priceless. When I let go of her throat, I thought she was going to cry. I wanted to fuck her, but damn, I think she wanted it more.

“I am a pain loving cock sucking slut,” she offered without me asking.

I stood up. My cock was hard and heavy. I could unzip and slide into her mouth in seconds. I had choked her with my hand but now I was dying to choke her with my cock.

Just a bite. That’s what I had promised myself. Damn it, just a bite.

“I am a pain loving cock sucking slut,” she said again.

“Yes you are,” I said. I turned around and walked out of her office.

Just a bite. The look of fear she had. The feeling of her throat under my hand. The look of lust. The feel of her breast. The look of disappointment when I left. It wasn’t sex, but it was domination and I hoped it would be just as good. I hoped it would be enough to quench my hunger for her. I hoped the beast could be satisfied with this little snack. I hoped this one little bite would keep me from doing something stupid later.

I was wrong.

to be continued.

The Time I Was Mean to a Stripper

The stripper hated being there. That made two of us.

Years ago when I worked at a car factory, I had a black friend who was dying to go to the only strip club in town but did not want to go to an all white strip club without a white chaperone. You laugh, but this was a club that offered 'Country and Western Night' and I don't think they were making a Blues Brothers reference.

The place was a dive in every sense of the word. I wasn't writing stories then but my brain photographed the place because a place so sleazy needs to be remembered. The chairs were the same quality as a high school classroom. There was one stripper pole and it wobbled. The decor choice was abandoned warehouse.

My friend didn't care. He was in the promised land of white strippers. He spent bucket loads of money on any girl who gave him a good smile. They loved him right back.

I barely remember that night except for one stripper. She was a brunette and quite frankly I can't remember if she had a good body or not. All I remember is how she would barely dance and then when people offered her money, she would sigh, stop and get their money and returned to dancing with the same lackluster enthusiasm.

She was my favorite. She hated us. I knew enough about BDSM to know that she was not employing an act of haughty scorn. No, she really hated any sort of contact with us. Every single time money was offered, her shoulders would just sag. If this was a Lifetime movie, the narrator would be discussing how her soul was being crushed with every dollar.

So obviously, I couldn't stop giving her money. It wasn't out of empathy. I loved her annoyance. I enjoyed watching the flash of anger in her eyes as she took my money. Her hostility was damn sexy. After awhile she really started to dislike me. I discovered that the brighter my smile, the more pissed she would get. Towards the end of the night she would avoid my part of the stage when it was her time to perform.

Looking back, it's easy to see why I liked pissing her off. I found the whole strip club experience to be surreal. The girls who were lavishing attention on my married friend who kept giving them money seemed so fake. The most popular stripper of the club was a fake blonde with fake tits. The enthusiasm of the really bad DJ was worse than a perky telemarketer.

I liked pissing off the annoyed girl because her irritation was so real. I don't know why getting tipped for dancing was pissing her off but once I knew that button was there, I couldn't stop pushing it. Whole every other dancer was telling me how much they would love to give me a lapdance, this woman's reluctance to even be near me was something honest.

Cancer of Writing

I'm reading Henry Miller's 'Tropic of Cancer' again, which is is to say that I am seriously fucking my brain up with hardcore reality and fiction. Miller's writing is like a burst pipe of observations, fanciful embellishing, outright lies and terribly accurate truths.

I always go through a panic attack when I read Miller. He has a rawness to his words that I can't quite reach. He talks about lice, cunts, bidets, assholes, friends and lovers with the same honest eye. Or maybe he is coloring his words to his own bias but fuck if I can tell. It all rolls together forming a mythical Paris experience that my orderly brain will never be able to reproduce. The fact that he is mixing in the filthy with the beautiful makes it all seem hyper real and honest.

What does amuse me is how Miller reminds me of blogger habits I despise. Bloggers are eager to disguise the real people in their lives so they mention these people in tangent terms and aliases like 'like 'Pretty Boy' or 'D'. We get these half profiles of important people in the blogger's life but no real clue as to why they are important. All we know is that 'D' gives amazing blowjobs during Law and Order episodes. It infuriates me on a daily basis to see these characters step into the blog and step out with no idea of what or who they are.

Miller does the same thing and I laughed out loud when I recognized it. Characters like Carl step in and bitch about all the pussy they are getting and then step out. Women like Germaine are painted with loving words and then never mentioned again. When some names do reappear, you struggle to remember who they are because nobody in this fucking novel gets a description unless it is a derogatory one.

It is funny how I forgive Miller because I think he is making an artistic choice, whereas with bloggers I just want to scream obscenities at them. I am like one of his hypocritical characters who hates misers but refuses to eat in front of Miller for fear of having to share.

I already tried to write a story this week in Miller's style. It's infectious. I'm sure he would be offended that I was inspired by him to sound like him but it was too much fun to pass up. I admire some writers for their plots and others for the depth of their characters but my love for Miller is for that fact that he seems to write in a language all his own. He doesn't seek to offend or shock his audience as much as shit happens and he is compelled to report it, even if the shit only happened in his head.

I recognize it. It's that truth that bubbles up when you really reflect on something. It's the honesty that realizes that you love a whore because she's a whore. It's an embrace of life without slapping feel good terms like 'sex-positive' on something. You know what's fucking sex-positive? Sex. Dirty, humiliating, shameful, wonderful sex. Fuck. We bloggers spend more time defending and propagandizing what we write than we do actually writing about sex.

I've been reading a lot about Miller this week too. His battles with censorship tickle me. The fact that he is labeled a pornographer is sad to me sometimes because I see him less as a porn writer and more of a reporter on human life. The censorship came because he fucking wrote what he fucking saw.

My favorite quote about 'Tropic of Cancer' is this one,
In his dissent from the majority holding that the book was not obscene, Pennsylvania Supreme Court Justice Michael Musmanno wrote Cancer is "not a book. It is a cesspool, an open sewer, a pit of putrefaction, a slimy gathering of all that is rotten in the debris of human depravity."

That is one awesome endorsement.

Sometimes I get e-mails from starting porn writers. They ask me questions and I put on my kindly Uncle Shon robe and try to help them. One type of question that comes up time and time again is on specifics. How much sex should there be? Should we cover every detail? How long should the sex scenes be? These questions make me want to cry. It's this assumption that there is a proper way, some sort of Penthouse Forum approved porn outline that readers will enjoy. It's the assumption that porn has a secret recipe that makes awesome apple pies every time.

God damn. I want to shake every one of them. Are they writers or short order cooks? Do they have their own thoughts and dreams and hopes and fears? The perfect porn story is inside every damn writer if they would just take the damn time to honestly look at their own libido. You don't write while worrying about whether to add Lesbians or Onions. You add your personal ingredients and make something delicious. You don't fucking ask the reader if he wants ketchup on it.

I get mad because I look at 'Tropic of Cancer', a book that is infamous for being obscene and associated with pornography, was never meant to be porn yet is the best example of porn because Miller was just writing himself onto the page. Miller did the hard part already for you. He wrote a Bible about being human. His books were banned so that you could learn from them. Miller wrote about smelly cunts so that you could write about whatever is on your mind.

Fuck.

Fiction: The Wolf Inside Part Six

Thursday night was trivia night. In Atlanta, bars and pizza places will pick one night a week when they have a DJ host a trivia game. You’re encouraged to form teams, and you submit answers over the course of several hours. During this time, you keep eating and drinking while trying to remember which artist did the song “Cat Scratch Fever.”

Which is why after a week of fucking women, I was killing an evening at the Pizza Oasis. It’s the one night a week that I see my friends from college, Martin and Ben. Considering that most of the trivia is from the ’80s and ’90s, it gives us a chance to talk about old times. Our team always consists of us and whoever our girlfriends are at the time. That night, we had Valerie, who was seeing Martin, and Ben’s girlfriend of two years, Tina. We’ve actually come close to winning the game a few times. I was trying to be normal. I wanted to be normal. I thought my friends and the game would ground me and keep me from thinking about the new creature that lurks inside me.

That night, I was playing like shit. I couldn’t remember the names of hair bands or the winners of “American Idol.” Martin really poked fun at me when I missed the name of a Star Trek actor.

“Damn, Dylan,” he had said. “You need to get a new job. It’s sucking out all of your brain power.”

I faked a laugh. Martin smiled at his own joke and then turned to repeat it to his girlfriend. While he talked to Valerie, I snuck another glance at Ben’s girlfriend, Tina. Her red hair was in a ponytail that looked like it was perfect for pulling while fucking her from behind.

I could smell her pussy, which meant I knew she would enjoy a little roughness with her fucking.

She turned a little and then looked away. Tina had been stealing glances too. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I had been with too many women lately to not recognize that look. She was thinking about it, too.

“So what have you been up to?” Ben asked.

“Nothing,” I said for the 50th time that night. What could I say? Could I tell them about the delicious Hispanic woman I’d fucked in my car that day? Could I tell them about how she would squirm on my cock when I twisted her nipples? How do you tell your friends about your incredible string of sexual conquests?

The sad thing was that I really wanted to. I was dying to talk to someone about it, but I couldn’t do it. These were my friends.

“Nothing exciting,” I repeated.

“Man, I wish that were true at my job,” Ben said. Ben was a project developer for his company. Every month, he had to create a new program from scratch. He bitches about it all the time, but he also loves it. I don’t blame him’ it is a great job. I was often jealous of it.

It would almost be fair if I fucked his girlfriend tonight.

No, no, no, no. Fuck. That kept happening to me all night. For some reason, my friends were irritating me, and sex seemed to be the only cure. The beast inside me hated my friends. They just seemed so fucking self-centered. How could they not notice how different I was? I had biceps like a damn pro wrestler and not once had they asked about them. Wouldn’t fucking their girlfriends be a good way to pay them back?

No, no, no, no.

My thoughts also kept wondering back to Tina. I didn’t know why. Usually, if I fucked once a day, the beast inside me was sated. Tonight was different. I was horny again, and God damn it, Tina smelled so good.

“Are you depressed about Karen?” Martin asked. He was startled by my laugh.

The thought was pretty ludicrous. The fact is, I had forgotten about her. When I wasn’t fucking women, I was spending time with my expanding trophy collection. Every piece of underwear I kept was better than a DVD for memories. One sniff, and I could remember every detail about my prey. Who had time to think about annoying ex-girlfriends?

“Hell, no,” I said. “The bitch keeps leaving messages on my phone. According to her, I have two CDs of hers, a shirt and a baking pan.”

Valerie wrinkled her nose at the “bitch” comment. “Sounds like you have some unresolved anger issues with her.”

I smiled. “Yes, I do. I’m pissed at how much bullying I used to take. Every call she makes is an attempt to reassert herself over me. I’m pissed at myself for not realizing it before now.”

“What made you aware of it?” Ben asked.

I turned to him and saw Tina looking away again. “I just got smarter, I guess.”

The DJ announced the answer to the last question. Some people groaned, while others cheered. He began the next question, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. Being asked about Karen had just irritated me more. Karen was part of my old life, and I was realizing that my friends might never understand about my new life. I had this horrible yet wonderful beast inside me, and they couldn’t begin to know how that felt. I reached for another piece of pizza, then I stopped myself. Speaking of things I used to put up with, how in the world had I enjoyed Trivia Night? It was like someone invented it to put all our useless knowledge to work.

“Oh, I know this one!” Ben said. “It was 1996!”

“Are you sure?” Valerie asked breathlessly. I didn’t know the question, but getting the next 10 points was important to Valerie. I hadn’t seen that much urgency since I made that advertising executive beg for my cock the other day.

“I’m sure!” Ben said. “Tina, write it down and turn it in before our time runs out!”

My cock stirred. It took me a moment to realize it came from watching Tina obey. I grabbed that piece of pizza after all. The smell of cheese and pepperoni couldn’t cancel out the smell of pussy, but I was going to try.

“Hey, guys,” Martin said, “did I tell you about the system we’re auditing?”

I sighed. Martin explained his new job and the problem-solving process they were using. To be honest, I was jealous again. Martin could tell us how he fixed the issue of recurring charges on an unfixed rate, but I couldn’t share my discoveries.

I couldn’t tell them about how I only seemed to smell women who had submissive fantasies. I couldn’t describe how my body was getting in better shape every day. Somehow, my body was attracting those women to me, and I was having fun figuring out my limits. Every day, I was making new observations about my sexual stamina or my ability to find just the right kind of woman to fuck by smell alone, and I had to keep all that to myself.

It was making me feel damn lonely at a table of people I called my friends.

The really annoying thing is that I could have joined in their conversations. I knew what they were talking when it came to systems and process documentation. If I had just focused, I knew all the answers to their trivia questions. For just one night, I could have been just like my old self and been involved in the things they cared about. I didn’t have to be lonely.

But the beast inside me smelled Tina. She kept stealing glances at me like a teenage girl working up the courage to pass me a note. She was Ben’s girl, but all I wanted to do was throw her on the table and fuck the shit out of her. That made me a very bad person.

The thing is, I was starting to like being that bad person more than I liked being the guy who used to enjoy Trivia Night.

A foot touched mine under the table. I knew whose heel it was. This time, when I looked Tina in the eyes, she didn’t look away. I knew I could have her.

Fuck!

I got up. “I’m feeling pretty warm,” I said. “I’m going outside to cool off.”

“OK,” Martin said.

“Want some company?” Tina said.

Yes, yes, yes. “No,” I said.

It was a fucking crowded place. The slowness of other people irritated me as so much did these days. I began to push, using my solid body as a wedge. I worked my way to the door. I was almost there when something caught my nose.

It was pussy. More importantly, it was pussy that didn’t belong to Tina.

The smell belonged to a round girl with pitch-black hair. She sat with a group of five other young women. I recognized the bored look on her face. She wanted to talk about other things. She wanted an adventure.

I walked right up to her. In the past, I would have never approached a woman sitting with her friends. Tonight, my beast could not have cared less. Those other people weren’t worth my notice. The only one that mattered was the woman who shared my thoughts.

I bent down to her face, the smell of her pussy overwhelming me. The bar was loud enough that I could speak to her without anyone hearing us.

“I can tell by looking at you that you don’t want to be answering stupid questions all night.”

She smiled. “Yeah, it’s a little boring.”

“I am willing to bet that what you would really like to be doing is getting stripped down and tied up. I am betting you would rather be on your knees sucking cock than sitting here sucking down drinks. In fact, I am damn sure you would rather be used like the happy slut you are instead of pretending to be a good girl here with your friends.”

The smile faded from her face. For one brief second, I thought I had overstepped myself and made one hell of a mistake. Then her cheeks flushed, and I saw her eyes dart to her friends. She was wondering how I read her mind.

“You’re right,” she said.

“What’s your name?” I asked. Prey were easier to manage once you had their names.

“Mandy,” she said.

“Mandy, I’m Dylan,” I said. “Come with me if you want to be used.”

I left her. My heart was pounding with the thrill of another catch. The crowd was just as thick, but now I pushed through the mob of them like the non-people that they were. I didn’t need to look behind me to know that Mandy was following.

It was cold outside. The brisk air felt good on my face. The moon was bright, nearly full but not quite. For some reason, looking at it made my cock throb.

“I’m here,” Mandy said beside me.

I took her hand. My first thought was to fuck her in my car but I wasn’t so sure now. The wind felt great. The bright light of the moon was invigorating me. I was feeling stronger by the second.

“Here,” I said when we reached my car. I grabbed her by her hair and pulled her face in for a kiss. She stumbled towards me, but that was all right. I caught her. With my mouth locked on hers, there would be no escape.

I loved how she trembled while I kissed her. It was lust. It was fear. It was a terror of the unknown.

When she was breathless, I broke the kiss. “On your knees,” I growled.

She dropped to her knees. I was surprised by how easily she obeyed. No matter how many times it has happened, I was still blown away by the way they mirrored back the need I had for them.

I wrapped my hand in her hair. “Unzip me.”

With shaking fingers, she unzipped my pants. I didn’t have to tell her to reach in. She pulled my cock out, and her fingers clenched around it.

“Suck me, Mandy,” I said. “Suck me in the parking lot like a good little slut.”

If she had any second thoughts, my hand pushing her mouth onto my cock dissolved them. My cock entered her mouth just as easily as my tongue had minutes ago. The only protest was a deep moan that vibrated on her lips.

I wondered if she could taste the woman I fucked for lunch today. Did she recognize that musky scent that was all over my cock? Maybe that was why she was moaning. Maybe my little prey had bisexual fantasies as well.

Fuck that. Tonight, she sucked cock. My hand stayed in her hair, twisting it any time I felt she was slowing down. The pain made her groan, but she picked up the pace. In time, she learned to facefuck herself with my cock.

The moonlight illuminated us. In the soft white light, I watched Mandy devour my cock. Her black hair would disappear in the darkness and then reappear with a ghostly sheen. Hidden away between the rows of cars, we were safe from prying eyes, but I felt wonderfully exposed as I watched my cock slide in and out of her mouth. It felt right to be outside. I was tired of hiding who I was.

“I’m going to come in your mouth, Mandy,” I said.

Her eyes snapped up to look at me.

“And you are going to swallow every drop,” I continued. “And if a single drop falls, then there will be hell to pay. Understand me?”

A moan was her answer. I wrapped her hair in both my hands. Her hands went to my hips, and she held on as I thrust into her mouth.

I howled as I climaxed.

Like a good slut, Mandy swallowed every drop. My cock was covered in her spit when I finally pulled out. She looked up at me, breathless and excited.

Pulling her by the hair, I lifted her to her feet. She leaned against me on weak legs. I pushed her against the car and unzipped her pants.

Mandy whimpered. Her hips bucked against me. It was a cold night but heat radiated from between her legs.

Inspired, I lifted my knee between her thighs. “Hump my leg,” I said. “Hump till you get off, Mandy.”

She obeyed. God, I loved the women I find now. Her hips started to buck, and her hands held onto me. The moonlight fell on her desperate face. She was desperate to climax, desperate to please me and most of all, desperate to give in to her own desires.

She didn’t howl when she climaxed, but her wonderful whimpers were just as sweet.

Afterwards, she stripped off her pants right there in the parking lot. Shivering, she pulled off her wet panties and handed them to me. I stuffed them in my pocket, knowing I had taken a piece of her for later.

She thanked me as we headed back inside the bar. I didn’t say anything, but I understood her completely. Our friends are so much easier to deal with when we had just been fucked.

“We almost sent out a search party for you,” Ben said.

I smiled, making sure I had Tina’s eye. “Maybe you should have,” I said.

To be continued.

The Cockman Sightings

The Cockman was sighted in rural parts of North Carolina between April 1971 and December 1973. Unlike the more popular Mothman sightings, the Cockman never achieved the same level of notoriety most likely due to the rather graphic nature of the creature. Newspapers and television shows couldn't find a way to relay the story without discussing the profane elements of the creature.

What is known about the Cockman is the work of one investigative freelance journalist, Jake Hillman. Mr. Hillman spent a year researching the sightings and interviewing witnesses. He had evidence that the Cockman may have been spotted in his home town of Fort Macon, Georgia during the 60's, which resulted in his sister becoming a stripper. After a month of research and an encounter with the mysterious Cockman, Mr. Hillman published his findings in the Septemeber 1975 issue of Omni.

The first Cockman sighting was made by two nurses, Heather Wilks and Michelle Desmond on April 19, 1971. They were driving home from the hospital and on a dark road, they saw a strange thing run out from the trees. They described the creature as "taller than a man but with a really big dong, like something a horse would be proud of. He was blue I think, and he didn't really have a face. He had a halo on his head, though. It wasn't a bright Halo like Jesus, more like a cheap halo you get if you buy your Jesus from the pharmacy."

The nurses stopped the car and the thing ran off. The nurses said they tried calling out to it but it wouldn't come back. After two hours of trying, they left.

They reported the sighting to the local sheriff's department. The authorities were greatly amused by the story and insisted on having Michelle sketch the creature. The Sheriff's department used to sketch to make a mock wanted poster for their bulletin board. The fake poster listed the creature as the Cockman.

The second sighting was made a month later by the Sherrif's wife. She saw the Cockman lurking outside her backyard, stroking it's massive member. She reported that she watched the creature masturbate for an hour before it left. She gave no credible reason for why she didn't call authorities sooner. Two weeks later she left the Sherrif and moved in Jeff, the car mechanic, for what most witnesses described as a very torrid affair that lasted twenty years.

At this point, Cockman sightings became more prolific. He was spotted up and down the New River, appearing to boaters and fishermen. Mostly he was sighted by women who reported watching the Cockman for hours but never seeing a reason to call police till after he left. Women also reported feelings of lust, dissatisfaction with life and a desire to get the fuck out of North Carolina. Men who spotted the Cockman reported feelings of inadequacy, depression and in some cases, uncomfortable arousal.

Jake Hillman's research discovered that most of the women who saw the Cockman radically changed their lives. Heather Wilks for example, left North Carolina and became the porn star, Dusty Whips. Michelle Desmond opened the first Sexual Aid store in Swansboro. Wendy Bower, a preacher's wife in Jacksonville, left her husband and became Ms. Wet T-shirt for Topsail Island for three years in a row. There were also occasional outbreaks of women wearing inappropriate short skirts and low attendances at several churches.

The Cockman sightings reached a fever pitch on December 6th, 1973, when he revealed himself to a Girl Scout troop in Richlands. At this point the local citizens were outraged and organized hunting parties to find the smart ass monster that so greatly inflated the expectations of impressionable female minds. The owner of a Piggly Wiggly offered a 500$ bounty for the creature as well as a year supply of Marlboro cigarettes.

The creature was never sighted officially again. Mr. Hillman claims that he saw the creature on January 20th in the woods near Holly Ridge. He said that the creature's signature cock was limp and dragging on the ground. He tried to take a picture of the Cockman but his camera refused to work. When he called out to the beast, it turned to him. The Cockman had no mouth but Mr. Hillman heard strange words in his head.

"I have come too early," Mr. Hillman heard in his head. "The Apocafuck is not ready yet."

Mr. Hillman reported that there was a burst of light and the Cockman was gone. He continued to monitor the local area for any more sightings or strange occurrences. Although the Cockman was never sighted again, the people he had flashed continued to live much more interesting lives.

I'm Getting Married

I want to tell you about my girlfriend. She's funny, she's sweet, she's both insecure and very confident at the same time. She's pretty, she's smart and she loves murder mysteries. She also sings Willie Nelson like she means it, which isn't easy to do. She saw 'Six String Samurai' in the theater and watches 'Deadwood' at home. She thinks I am a sadistic mother fucker and she thinks that's a good thing.

It's been a year since my divorce. I feel like I have aged ten years as a person in that time. I've learned to like myself and I've learned to trust myself, which are two things I didn't even know I had lost. I love myself too much to not marry this wonderful girl. I'm fucking 35 and that is too long to have been without this woman.

Being a cerebral type, I didn't realize this until I heard Gnarls Barkley's 'Blind Mary'. The first time I heard it, I loved it. It's simple but aren't the best love songs simple? The song rattled around in my head and I kept singing it to myself. It was the only song I knew that captured the feelings I was going through. She doesn't know that I am ugly.

And one morning, I came out of the shower and walked into the bedroom. My girlfriend was awake but still in bed. I was still singing but I had substituted her name for Mary.

And I sang to her,

I lo-ve Mary,
Blind Mary marry me.
I lo-ve Mary,
Blind Mary marry me

The pure joy on my girlfriend's face was beautiful. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Yes," I said quickly. It wasn't my intention at the moment but what the Hell. You learn not to pause in moments like these. "Yes I am."

Fiction: The Wolf Inside Part Five

Riding the train was hard. This was where I met Eden and my eyes kept looking for her. No one had her golden red hair. No one had her incredible smell. I thought about how she took me. When we meet again, I fantasized about how things would be different. For one thing, I wouldn’t be the one begging.

I got off the train and got on the long escalator to street level. It moved so damn slow. Actually, everyone was moving slow. The crowd reminded me of a herd of cows, not so much moving as much as they leaned and fell forward. I wanted to run. I wanted to push my body and sweat. Instead I was stuck on a slow damn escalator with a hundred people standing lazily before me.

When I reached my office building, I skipped the elevator. It was ten flights up but I took the stairs. Two at a time I ran up the steps. Up and up I climbed, and the longer I went the faster I got. By the time I reached my floor, I wasn’t even breathing hard.

I walked into my office with a cocky grin. I felt great. I felt superior somehow. My only regret was that my work would force me to sit down and stare at a bunch of numbers when I could be outside running the streets.

The smell of pussy hit me as soon as I walked in. It was just as strong as Bee’s had been. My cock became hard again.

“Hey Dylan, feeling better?” Gwen asked.

I stepped closer to Gwen, trying my best to smell her without you know, smelling so hard I snorted. It wasn’t her.

“Yeah, I’m feeling much better,” I said.

She looked at me a little odd. “You look different. Did you get a haircut?”

“Nope,” I said. “I bet Lisa wants to see me right away?”

Gwen nodded. She was staring at me. I wondered if my zipper was undone because she kept looking below my waist.

“Yes, she said for you to come in as soon as you get in.”

I smiled. “Good, let’s get her tantrum out of the way.”

Gwen’s jaw dropped in shock. That was terribly unprofessional of me. Usually I was afraid of Lisa but the smell of pussy was driving me up the wall. I wanted to fuck and if I could figure out who in this office that I could smell, more than likely it was someone who I could fuck. I knew that much now.

I walked past rows of coworkers. The pussy smell grew stronger. I kept licking my lips, tasting the pussy on the air.

“Dylan!” a male voice yelled out. It was Scott. He’s kind of a selfish dick but isn’t most office people? He is always trying to grab all the credit but I don’t take it personally. It’s just the way he is.

There was really no reason why I walked right up to him and got into his face.

“What?” I growled.

Fear spread across his face. “Umm, if you’re feeling better, can you check on the Comcast account for me? I’m running a bit behind.”

“No,” I said. I turned and kept walking to Lisa’s office. As soon as I couldn’t see him anymore, the anger faded away. My mood swings were taking me by surprise. I just hoped I kept my shit together when I talked to my boss.

The pussy smell hit me full force as I opened the office door. I groaned. It was coming from Lisa.

“Sit down,” Lisa snapped. She was trying to be stern but she had no idea how fucking horny I was right now.

God, she was a sexual harassment lawsuit come to life. Lisa was an older woman but she always had thick lovely brown hair that came half way down her back. A round woman, today she was barely keeping her large breasts penned in with a red jacket. Thankfully the weather was too cold for a skirt so she was just wearing black slacks but my eyes were drawn to her shoes. They were some sort of expensive black strappy thing that encased her feet like leather bands. It made me want to bind her whole body in leather.

The beast inside me wanted to fuck. I wanted to keep my job. I pushed the beast down and tried to act normal.

“Feeling better?” she asked. Her tone was sarcastic without an ounce of concern.

“Much better,” I said. My tone was just as sarcastic. Damn it, I was trying to behave but the bitch was pissing me off.

Her jaw clenched. I could hear her heart rate pick up. I could smell her pussy surge.

“Care to explain the attitude problem?” Lisa said.

I stood up. It felt wrong to sit. I wanted to tower over her. I wanted to look down on her. I belonged above her.

“I don’t have an attitude problem,” I growled. “I just want to get back to my fucking job.”

The smell of her pussy grew stronger. The beast was howling inside me. She would be a good fuck.

“Okay,” she said. Her voice was almost quiet. “Get back to work.”

The beast wanted to kiss her. Instead I turned around and left. I closed the door behind me as I left her office. The smell of her pussy subsided just a little. God damn, I wanted to mount her so badly.

There was plenty of work piled on my desk. You miss a day crunching numbers and the requests seem to multiply. We manage credit transactions, making us not quite a bank and more like a glorified traffic cop. The finance world is constantly moving money no matter who is sick or turning into a sexual predator.

The math became an escape. The hard numbers and accounts occupied my mind. There is no oral sex in verifying a state to state transaction. There are no nipples to pinch in a weekly summary. More importantly, the work was normal and sane. I didn’t understand why I could smell every time Lisa rubbed her thighs together but I sure as Hell knew that the Bellsouth account was being over charged.

What I couldn’t understand was Gwen. I have had a small crush on our receptionist forever. Long legs and straight blonde hair were one of the best combinations known to man. I’ve lost count of how many times I have fantasized about her but today was different. I couldn’t smell her pussy. I couldn’t hear her every breath. It was like she didn’t exist and even when I pictured her naked, I couldn’t get an erection.

But when I thought of my boss, it took all I had not to walk into her office and fuck her. That would be just for starters. The beast wanted to make her beg for my cock. She would have to choke my cock down before I would deign to let her pussy have it. And when I did give it to her pussy, it would be with her bent over her desk. The beast would make her cunt mine.

People began to leave. It was lunch time and I hadn’t even noticed. I got up and left the office. I had to get away from Lisa. I had to get away from her delicious pussy before I did something stupid.

That’s when I thought of the food court. Our office building was part of a group of buildings that linked up to tiny mall. It was a fast food trap, utterly useless to shop for anything but a hot meal to get you through the rest of your work day. Today though I realized it might satisfy my more pressing needs. If I couldn’t give Lisa to the beast, maybe I could give it someone else.

I walked into the center of the food court. Crowds of suit clad people surrounded me. Some ate to escape the stress of their job while the others refueled as fast as possible so they could return even sooner. It was where stress and exhaustion collided over plastic trays and Styrofoam cups.

But here in the center, I could sense other things. Above the smell of fried foods and bad Chinese, the smell of pussy overcame all. Through the roar of cell phones and plastic forks I could hear heartbeats coming closer. In a sea of suits and briefcases, some people were as bright as stars.

I thought about Eden. Did she have the same insistent beast inside her? Did she have to go searching for strangers to fuck just to get through her day? I thought about how she had raped me and I knew it was the case.

A woman caught my eye. She was a curvy woman with curly brown hair that framed her face. She was wearing a black dress that was very professional but somehow I knew she had a tattoo of handcuffs on the small of her back. Any other day I wouldn’t have given her a second glance but I was different now. Now I could smell how wonderful she was. The beast approved.

I used to have trouble walking through crowds but today I weaved through them as easily as deleting old accounts. Lines and floor of traffic are pretty insignificant compared to the task of reaching the woman you want to fuck. Men knew to get out of my way. Women were glad I hadn’t chosen them.

She didn’t see me till I was right beside her. Our eyes met and I could hear her heartbeat soar. Discretion never entered my mind as I grabbed her by the hand.

“Let’s find somewhere to fuck,” I whispered.

She blinked. Her mouth opened and closed. A smile formed. “Okay,” she said.

I led her through the crowd. I debated heading to my car. I considered taking her back to my office. Luckily, I found what I needed. There was a small store that had closed recently. They used to sell office stuff, things like pens and notepads. It went out of business and the mall owners put those annoying makeshift wall partitions up to block the store. It was designed to hide the stink of economic failure from the rest of the mall. That suited me perfectly.

I stepped behind the wall, still holding onto the woman’s hand. For a moment she hesitated but only a moment. The doorway to the store had one of those chain wall things that came down like a garage door. It was no problem. I reached down and with one hand, ripped the door off the bolt that had pinned it down.

“Holy shit,” the woman said.

The beast liked the look on her face. It was fear mixed with lust.

The store was just an empty space. There was no light except for what peeked over the top of the wall partitions. The only thing left of the old store was a few shelves. They would serve my purposes.

“What’s your name?” I said.

“Janet,” she said.

“Well Janet, my name is Dylan,” I said. “Before we fuck, I have a few little rules you need to follow.”

She nodded eagerly. “I understand.” The smell of her pussy told me she was happy to have some rules.

I pulled her to one of the shelves. Taking both of her hands, I raised them above her head placed them on the highest shelf. When I looked down at her, I caught her trying to sniff my neck.

“Rule number one,” I said. “Do not move your hands.”

She smiled. “Will you punish me if I do?” Her eyes were hoping I said yes.

“I’ll punish you by not fucking you,” I said. I unzipped my pants and stepped out of them.

“Holy,” she said when she saw my cock. I was hard of course. My cock felt bigger than usual, although that could just be my imagination.

I lifted her skirt up to her waist. Janet swayed back and forth, trying to tease me and seduce me. She didn’t know that the smell of her pussy seduced me first.

Her panties were a shiny blue material. I pulled them down and tossed them aside. Her cunt was right in front of me, a tiny patch of hair pointing down to her clit.

“Rule number two,” I said. “Ask me to eat you.”

“What?” she asked.

My fingers reached for her pussy and I pinched a fold of skin. She cried out but I noticed she didn’t move her hands.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “Please eat me. Please, please, please, umm, I forgot your name.”

“It’s Dylan,” I repeated. Then I dived into her pussy.

When I am in this state, eating pussy is like falling into a pool of cunt. I don’t have the self control to tease or be subtle, I just lick. My mouth does the fucking; my tongue thrusting and over and over into that sumptuous cup of desire. I gorge.

Only dimly was I aware of Janet. I heard her moans and they are as inconsequential as the sounds from the mall. When her legs spasm and her hips twist, my hands pin her down so I can resume eating. When she climaxed, I only noticed because her pussy becomes even more delicious. She’s not a person or even a lover; she’s just lunch to the beast inside me.

When I have eaten my fill, my desire shifts. I stand back up and look Janet in the face. In the dim light I see that her face is flushed. Her lipstick has bite marks. Lucky for her, her hands are still where I placed them. For some reason, the turns me on more than her pussy did.

“Your pussy needs my cock,” I said. She nodded.

I unzipped my pants. “Say it.” I said.

“My pussy needs your cock,” Janet said. It was barely a whisper.

I grabbed one of her breasts. Her shirt and bra gave her no protection as I squeezed. She winced but I could smell the fresh desire going to her pussy.

“Louder,” I said.

“I need your cock,” she said. It was no longer a whisper but she was still trying to be quiet.

I released her breast and grabbed her legs. She squealed as I easily lifted her up. She wasn’t a small woman and I doubt she had ever been lifted like this before. Hell, I had never lifted anyone like this before. I guess we were both lucky.

“One more time,” I said. My cock brushed against the lips of her sex. My arms were the only thing keeping her from being impaled.

“Yes, please, I need you,” she said. It wasn’t as loud as I wanted but that was enough for the beast. Her helplessness and her need to be taken was enough.

I lowered her onto my cock. My new body had no trouble handling her weight. My fingers clamped into her thighs, holding her steady as my cock opened her up. Once I was completely inside her, it was just as easy to lift her body back up. Oh yes, I loved my new strength.

I watched Janet’s face as we fucked. Disbelief was such a turn on. She held onto that shelf for dear life, as much afraid of disobeying me as she was of falling. Janet had nothing to worry about. Her body was in my arms and I wasn’t letting go till I was done.

The people continued about their business. The thin partition walls blocked none of the sound coming from the crowd. Normal people ate, walked and talked on their cell phones. As I fucked Janet in my arms, I actually felt sorry for their mundane lives.

Janet climaxed. She clenched her eyes and bit hard enough on her lip to draw blood. I kept fucking her.

She came again. Her moans were loud with none of the discretion she had before. Pleased that she found her voice, I took it from her with a kiss. My mouth was still wet from her pussy but I took her mouth with the same hunger.

It was my turn to climax. I cried out but I kept kissing her, as if my orgasm was no reason to interrupt my taking of her mouth. My cock emptied into her cunt but it was another ten minutes before I stopped thrusting. Fucking had become more than about orgasms. It was about taking until you were done.

When the beast was finally sated, I gently set Janet down. Her legs wouldn’t support her body at first so I held onto her till she got her balance. I took pride in her inability to stand. It had become my new standard for a good fuck.

Janet leaned on me but she didn’t look at me. She kept saying “Wow” over and over like she had just climbed off a roller coaster. It was shock, pure and simple. She had been going through her ordinary day and then she got fucked silly. That was not a simple thing to process.

“Where are my panties?” she asked.

I bent over and scooped them up. “They are mine now,” I said.

Janet nodded. “Okay,” she said. “That was great, but umm, I should head back to work.”

I almost laughed. She made no attempt to stay in touch. It reminded me of Bee. The sex was great but it was also too overwhelming. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t how civilized people acted.

She left first. I pocketed her panties and came out later. The only pussy I smelled was the taste of Janet on my tongue.

The beast was satisfied. My fears and worries were slowly coming back. I was nervous as I stood in that empty store, wondering if security was going to walk in at any moment.

It was safe to go back to work.

to be continued.

Statues Three

In old San Juan, the three naked ladies keep watch. Men say they watch for their husbands while the older women know that they are watching for their lovers.

This was taken by me last Christmas.

A Message From Ms. Currie

Hi, I'm Claire Currie. You may know me from a series of erotic fictions know as the Collette-Ashbee Collection. I'm filling in for Mr. Richards today as he has called in sick. Being a melodramatic writer, he claims he 'has some sort of rare infection from beyond the stars.' I think he just has has a head cold, the big baby.

No matter, I shall be filling in for him all weekend. I may organize his links better or I might just stay on this couch and read all weekend. I haven't decided. After what he put me through in his last story, I think I deserve a vacation. Ask me questions or go to one of the links on the side and read Mr. Richard's stories. Personally I feel that 'BDSM Beach' doesn't get half the attention it deserves.

Regular blogging should resume on Monday. I bet Mr. Richards writes one of those weird Apocafuck things he enjoys so much.

Oh, this image was drawn by the ever talented Alex.

Fiction: The Wolf Inside Part Four

The fuckfever broke Sunday afternoon. For the first time in days, my cock was limp. My lust was sated. I could think clearly. My stomach growled. I was hungry for something other than breasts and pussy.

Bee laid beside me. She was asleep on her back. Her body bore the evidence of the weekend. Bite marks covered her tits. Rope burns decorated her wrists and ankles. Her thighs were red from our nonstop fucking. Even her lips were swollen from where I had rammed my cock into her mouth.

I had done that. I knew that her ass was purple from spanking bruises. I knew that her back was scratched all to hell. I knew that even her scalp hurt from where I had pulled her hair during sex. Every part of her was sore, and every part of her was a place I had claimed with teeth, fingers or cock.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Over and over, I had forced her to beg for it, and over and over, she had consented to whatever lust I had. It was what she had wanted, and yet, looking at her mauled body, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe I should have denied it to her.

Well, that’s if I could have denied myself.

Bee awoke. A look of fear crossed her face, followed by a smile.

“I can’t fuck anymore,” she giggled.

“Yeah, me neither,” I said.

“What was it, eight times?” she said.

It was all a blur to me. “Maybe.”

She rose on one arm. Bee winced as a rug burn on her elbow bothered her. She collapsed back down.

“I think we should talk,” she said.

That was an understatement. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I think you’re really hot, but I’m not this kind of a girl.”

Until a few days ago, I hadn’t been this kind of a guy either. I kept quiet, though.

“I guess what I am saying,” Bee said, “is that I have to focus on my classes. I need to keep my grades up, and I can’t really commit to being a submissive. I’m not a lifestyle girl. I mean, you can’t be fucking my brains out all the time, you know?”

I nodded gravely. I had no idea what she meant by “lifestyle,” but I got the “submissive” part. “I understand,” I said.

“You’re a great guy,” she said. “But … I mean … wow, you’re very powerful, you know?”

I placed a hand on one of her bite-covered breasts. “No, actually. What do you mean by powerful?”

She winced as my fingernail brushed her tender nipple. “When I first saw you, something just came over me. Maybe it’s because you’re the first real dom I have met, but my pussy just got wet when you started talking. I started thinking about what you would be like in bed. And that cologne! Oh, my God, that is such a sexy smell, I just wanted to rub my face all over you.”

Poor Bee. I wasn’t a real dom, but I know what she meant. I remember feeling that way when Eden cornered me.

“Tell me more,” I said. “Do you feel like I forced you into anything?”

“No, no, no!” she said. “Oh, my God, you have no idea! I have fantasized about this all the time! All my old boyfriends were, you know, vanilla.”

I frowned. “You mean white?”

Bee laughed. “Very funny. I meant they aren’t into kinky stuff. I feel like I have been waiting for someone like you forever.”

Someone like me? No, she didn’t want me. She wanted what I had become. And even that was conditional.

“But you don’t want to commit,” I said. My fingernail scratched a new line into her breast.

Bee moaned. “I like you,” she whined. “But I can’t just do this all the time. I have to go to school and stuff.”

I nodded and sat up. She was letting me go, but I felt relieved. I worried that whatever had happened to me was somehow controlling her mind, but hell, she had no problem telling me this was just a fling. Maybe I was the one who had lost my control, and she was the one who came along for the ride.

She got up when I started to dress. Bee got out of bed and groaned as she tried to walk. She was unsteady on her feet, which was not surprising considering how I’d fucked her tight ass twice last night.

In the living room, I saw her panties still on the floor from when I’d stripped her. I picked them up and for some reason stuffed them in my pocket. I looked for my shoes until I remembered I had come over barefoot. “Well, this is goodbye then,” I said.

She hugged me. Her body relaxed in my arms. I think the thought of my leaving was as a relief to her. “My real name is Bonnie,” she said. “I was named after my grandmother, and I hate it. Bee sounds less old-lady.”

“My real name is Dylan,” I said. “I guess I need a better alias.”

She laughed. “Will I see you at the club?”

It was my turn to laugh. “Sure,” I said. “Or maybe I’ll drop by your apartment again sometime.”

I felt her body tense up again. “OK,” she lied.

There was no goodbye kiss, but that was all right. I walked out into the cold air and headed to my apartment. My cock was no longer hard, and for the first time in days, I couldn’t smell pussy. I started to plan what I wanted to eat. I was dying for a steak or maybe some thick hamburgers.

Back in my apartment, I saw that I had five messages on my cell phone. They were all from Karen. The bitch thought I had her Shiny Toy Guns CD. Every week, the woman found something new that she thought I had. Usually I stopped what I was doing and searched for whatever she was missing. Fuck that. Halfway through the first message I deleted the rest of them.

I took some patties out of the freezer and tossed them into a frying pan. I turned the heat up high and just stood there. The sizzling meat smelled almost as delicious as pussy.

It had been a weird, wild few days, but it looked like the worst was over. Maybe Eden had given me some sort of weird nymphomaniac flu that made me so horny that I was imagining things. More likely, just having wild sex with a stranger turned on my sex drive to the point that I was able to score with a college chick. Whatever it had been, my cock was limp, my fever was gone, and I could get back to my life. Lord knows, I needed my head straight to deal with all the work I’d have piled up on Monday.

I thought about being on the train with so many working women in their little business skirts. I thought about Atlanta women with $100 haircuts just begging for my hand to twist their hair. I thought about office buildings packed with bored women looking for a thrill.

My cock got hard again.

to be continued.

Slut of the End Times

Ernie Kopper was born in 1942 in the Appalachian mountains of Tennessee. His mother was a preacher's daughter and his father was a trapper. Raised with no formal education, Ernie took it upon himself to learn how to play the family's fiddle. No one knew how to play the thing anymore but Ernie figured it out by his tenth birthday.

For years Ernie made a living playing his fiddle and traveling the most forsaken parts of the Appalachia. The country is harsh with little natural resources and often no infrastructure but Ernie loved that land and more importantly, he loved the stories and songs of the people that lived there.

In 1975, linguistic researchers from Duke University were in the area making recordings of the local dialect. The researchers discovered Ernie and tried to talk him into recording his songs. Erie was reluctant of having is talent taken away from the mountains but they finally found the right bribe. He recorded a massive 14 hour session for them in exchange for 3 gallons of the local moonshine and a copy of 1975 March issue of Playboy.

Among his recordings were several songs that may be related to the Apocafuck. Ernie claims all of his songs were gathered from the local people although some of his songs were obviously from other sources. For example, he had a rockabilly version of the Beatles, 'She Loves You,Ya, ya, ya' that clearly wasn't composed by mountain recluses. Some of the songs discuss events happening in Europe while other songs seem related to current events.

When pressed about where these songs came from, Ernie told a fanciful tall tale. He said that he had a fiddle contest with a powerful with who called herself 'The Singer'. He said they had a singing contest where the brids were the judges. If he lost, his cock would fall off. If he won, she would give him all the songs of the world and she would fuck him to boot.

Ernie claims she fucked his brains out so the new songs would have room to come in.

As a musician, Ernie was inspired. As a songwriter, he relies on questionable rhyming conventions and an even more questionable meter. Somehow he makes it all work through willpower, country charisma and some bad ass fiddle playing.

Presented here is one of his songs, 'Slut of End Times'.

"Oh the Slut of the End Times is just raring to go,
She’s just waiting for the horn to come on down low,
She got a little dance for us, her body to show,
Show her tits, show her ass, Mmmm that show,
The show that makes men grow.

And the Slut of the End Times oh she’s got the biggest tits,
Bouncing like the salmon giving the men folk fi-its
The valley of her tits is just asking for your cock,
And if you spill your seed, the Slut of the End Times,
will lick up every bit.

And the Slut of the End Times, she'll call you to the dance,
Which, running to her boy will be your only cha-ance,
She will dance with your grandpa, she will dance with your ma
She’ll dance with you under falling stars
till the last hurrah.

And the Slut of the End Times she will even love your wife,
She’ll hold you two close for the rest of your li-fe,
She never gets jealous oh you happy three,
The Slut of the End Times, she is the slut for me!

She never gets jealous oh you happy three,
The Slut of the End Times, she is the slut for me!"


Ernie Kopper still travels and is still playing his fiddle. At 67, he is supported mostly by his extended family of bastards that he has fathered. He says he has to keep practicing in case the Singer ever wants a rematch.