Copyright © 1997
Just a short note about these shorts stories: You have to be 18 to read them. Simple. That's it. OK, a little more:
They *are* short. Not short enough for Celeste's short story contest maybe, but pretty short. Get started early.
Shorts Stories - by MIKE HUNT
Story I - Her Shorts
It was a business trip. Most of them are, which is why I work so hard at putting a little pleasure into them. This one was no different. I'd come back from my fact-finding mission at X-Glo Corp., and I had another half day of interviews tomorrow. Then it'd be home, write a report, and send it off into the corporate black hole. It's a living.
I'd gone out with a couple of the X-Glo managers for dinner; they'd invited me and I'd accepted, as I have to when I'm on enemy turf. The meal was mercifully short and I got back to the hotel about 8:30. I changed in my suite, then went to the 3rd floor exercise room.
There was only one other person in the room when I walked in, a leggy brunette in a logoed T-shirt and a pair of tight white shorts. She was quite attention getting even if she wasn't trying. Her face read: professional businesswoman, pretty, just a hint of eye makeup, no lipstick. She had a long, thin neck which led to medium shoulders and an upper frame that I would have to call average. Not busty, not small. Like Red Riding Hood says, "just right." Oh yeah, that's Goldilocks. Whatever. There's a wolf in the story somewhere, I'm pretty sure.
She had a smooth gait as she walked on the motorized treadmill. She hadn't yet broken a sweat.
"Hi," I said. I always like to open big.
"Hi," she returned. She didn't seem to invite further conversation.
"Know what time the room closes?" I asked. Yes, the sign painted right on the door I just walked through said 10PM, but I had to say something, right?
"I think it's 10PM," she answered laconically. "Plenty of time."
"Great. Think I'll try the other treadmill," I offered.
"OK," she said. Nothing.
I jumped on the machine next to her and turned it on. The rubber loop began to
move and I hopped on it. The belt was going too fast and I pretended not to know how to adjust the speed. She stood astride her own motorized walkway as she leaned over and showed me the adjustment crank. I notched it down three or four paces and skipped back aboard my machine. She got back on hers.
We walked side by side for a few minutes, the drone of the motors the only sound in the room. I started again. "You in town on business?" I tried.
"Yep. Just through tomorrow. Then it's back to Fort Wayne and the hubby and kids." She telegraphed her lack of interest in me quite subtly, I thought. Like a truck.
"Yeah, me too. Got an afternoon flight back to Houston. Hope I make it in time for my son's Little League game." I have no son, no Little League contest. Hell, I don't even live in Houston. But you have to make conversation. It's part of the game.
"Oh, you have kids?" she asked.
"Just the boy," I said. "That's enough. He's a handful and a half."
"I know what you mean. Sometimes being away on business is more relaxing than being at home relaxing," she said. She was warming up. "We have two, a boy and a girl. She's just three months."
I rolled my eyes. "Double trouble," I said. "I can't imagine."
"She's the last. For sure." She snipped her fingers together in the air like scissors.
I nodded thoughtfully. "What do you do?"
"Work, you mean?" she said, arching an eyebrow. "National sales manager for Liverstone Meats. We do pork, mostly. Some beef. A few odds and ends."
"Yum. Sign me up for some odds and ends," I said. "Sounds delicious."
She chuckled at my stupid joke. "You?" she asked.
"I'm a consultant. I write reports that nobody reads. They're carefully filed away so when the company tanks somebody can figure out why. It's very fulfilling," I said, the sarcasm evident in my voice. "Luckily there's no stress. I just have to listen to everybody bitch about everything all day long. It's a lot of fun." I paused. She didn't respond; probably didn't know what to say. I thought a moment, then continued. "Say, I'm starting to break a sweat. I could use a massage," I said brightly. "Ever have one on the road?"
She shook her head. "I don't think you'll get one here tonight. We seem to be the last two people here. You probably have to arrange it ahead of time anyway," she said.
"Too bad," I said. "Nothing like a nice massage to relieve the stress and float your tensions away." I thought a moment and then said absently "It's worth the twenty or thirty bucks, believe me."
"Actually that sounds like a divine idea," she said. "I'll have to try that one of these trips. They have them at my health club back home but I've just never tried it."
"Oh, yeah," I said. "In fact I used to be in that game." It was a bald faced lie. The bait often is.
"Really?" she asked, turning her head to look at me.
"Oh, a long time ago. I worked my way through college as a masseur at our local tennis club. Well, not an actual masseur, but an assistant. Sort of an apprentice. Good money, great tips. It got me through school just fine," I said. "And you can work as much or as little as you want. It was a good job, now that I think about it. I did it for four summers. I picked up a few things, you know?" I was aimlessly rambling, setting the hook.
She turned away from me as she asked "But massage. Isn't that, ah, you know, a little funny, I mean, you know,..."
I rescued her from her discomfort with a laugh. "Oh for heaven's sakes. There's a world of difference between a massage, and..." I leered "...a massage." I let the treadmill engines drone for a few seconds. "A few bad apples have given it a dirty name. It's a shame, because it's such a wonderful thing. A total tension reliever. A relaxant. It's luxurious. You really should try it sometime."
"Maybe you're right," she said. "Well, I mean, of course you're right. How silly of me. Certainly. You don't stop reading stories just because a few of them are, uh, inappropriate, right?"
"Exactly," I answered. "Why, I bet I could give you a massage and you'd think you were in heaven. And you'd barely even know I'd touched you."
"Get serious," she said.
"I am serious," I answered. "I told you, I did it for four years. I still give massages to my wife. She has back pains once in a while and it seems to help her tremendously."
"Really?" the white shorts said. "I have lower back pain myself. I had to see a chiropractor last year, it got so bad."
"Well you really should try a massage once in a while," I said, starting to reel in my fish. "It'd do wonders for you." I looked away. "I could give you a short one. You know, so you can see what it's like."
"Oh I don't think so," she said.
"Sure, whatever," I responded.
She thought it over for a minute or two, then said, "I suppose I could try it. I mean just for a couple minutes. I'm almost through here. Still trying to lose the baby fat, you know. I have six pounds to go."
"Thought those shorts looked a little tight," I offered. "Just kidding. They look great on you. Not exactly exercise clothes, though."
"Yeah, well, I forgot how tight they were. Especially with a couple extra pounds. I'll lose it. Another few weeks and I'll be back to my normal weight."
We chatted for another few minutes and she stepped off the machine. She was ready and I wasn't going to hold things up with some silly exercise routine.
"Uh, how do we do this?" she said, surveying the room.
"Oh, we can't do it here," I said. "Unless you want to lie on the hardwood floor or something. We'll have to go back to one of the rooms and use the bed." She looked at me warily. "Oh for heaven sakes, relax. I told you. I did this for four years, it's no big thing."
She hesitated before making up her mind. "Well," she drawled. "Maybe it'd be OK. But no funny business, right?"
"Absolutely," I said. "Absolutely."
She threw a towel around her neck and we walked out of the room together. I encouraged her to come to my room for a few reasons. I didn't want her husband calling in the middle of our session and screwing things up. I wanted to limit her clothes selection. And I had a fresh bottle of Doc Johnson's juice which I thought would work as a lotion. There was no good reason to go to her place, so we ascended the elevator together to my room on the 9th floor.
I opened the door for her as we walked in. She commented on the sameness of the room; apparently the only difference was the picture of the flower over the bed. Hers was mauve, mine was orchid. I offered her a robe and told her to change in the bathroom. She was surprised and more than a little uncomfortable; she hadn't thought it through, I guess. I told her to leave on her underwear and come out in the robe. She was very tentative about the whole thing.
She returned from the bathroom wearing the hotel robe. "OK, lie down," I said. "A little closer to the edge so I can reach you. Normally this would be a table that would be just the right size, but we'll have to make do, right?" She sat on the bed, then lay back and swung her legs up to assume the frigid woman position. She pulled the robe tight. "I think you'd be more comfortable on your stomach," I said. She nodded and flipped over.
"OK, here we go." I moved to the side of the bed and knelt near her head. I went to work on the back of her neck and the top of her shoulders, the only things I could see and reach without a barrier of terricloth. I pinched and twiddled lightly for several minutes, rubbing first one way, then another, then used my fingernails to lightly scratch the surface of the skin as though I was itching her neck. I spent a lot of time on the junction of her neck and shoulders as I knew tension built up there.
I finally felt her relax in my hands, and I could tell that it was time to take the next step. "Raise up a little," I said. She did as I asked, and I pulled the robe out from both sides and extended it flat on the bed. As I began to tug it gently off her arms and down her shoulders she said "No funny business, right?" Her bra strap came into view.
"Absolutely," I responded, pulling the robe completely free of her arms. I folded the top half carefully across her butt, giving her the modesty she apparently needed. As I folded the lower part of the robe up and across her rear I realized she had left her tight white shorts on.
"Would you like me to put a towel across your back?" I asked. "Some women used to prefer that, others didn't care," I said, trying to sound like her decision didn't matter to me.
"I think I would prefer the towel," she said.
"No problem," I said. I walked the five steps to the bathroom and got a face towel and folded it lengthwise in thirds. The cloth was about four inches wide when I was finished. I reached up and before she knew what was happening had unsnapped the back of her bra and replaced it with the folded towel.
"What ... what're you doing?" she demanded.
"Easy. Easy. How can you possibly let go the tension go when you're tied up with one of those things? I'm sorry, I guess I should have explained why I asked about the towel. It's just second nature to me, but of course you don't know that. That's why some women used to want the towel, you know, for modesty when I was doing this for a living. It's impossible to give a good backrub with a bra strap cutting across your back. That's all."
"No fooling around," she reiterated.
"Of course," I said. I flattened my palms and began pressing against her shoulder blades. After a minute or so of circular rubbing I could feel her beginning to relax again. I worked my way slowly down one arm to her hand, and then took each finger individually and massaged it in my fist. I knew she was beginning to enjoy the treatment when I began working on the other arm. I repeated the procedure all the way down to her fingers on the other side. I returned to work on her back.
My hands crept under the towel; there was no protest. I reached for my bottle of lotion and gave a squirt to her upper back. She jumped at first, then relaxed as I massaged the gooey liquid into her skin. I widened the circles, always taking care to keep the towel perched somewhere on her back. Of course it accomplished nothing at that point, but it made her feel less vulnerable, I guess.
"Now, isn't this nice?" I asked.
"If I had only known," she said dreamily. "This is fabulous. I can feel the tension evaporating."
I was working on her lower back, and I pushed the robe down until the top inch or so of her shorts was showing. "You know," I said, "you really should lose the shorts. They're so tight I know they interfere with the release of your lower body tension. If you want the total benefit..." My voice trailed off as her hand jumped beneath her. I watched her wiggle her torso as she unsnapped the button in the front and yanked at the zipper. "That's better," I said. She tried to push them off, but lying on her stomach couldn't manage it. I helped.
I grabbed the lower edge of the shorts on the outside of her legs and tugged. I had to pull hard to get them to move, but as they walked down an inch on one side and then the other I repositioned the robe to keep her covered. With each successive tug I was careful to move the robe again. I said, "No funny business, I know." She seemed appreciative, and when the too tight shorts finally exited her ankles I sensed a sigh of relief from her. I returned to work on her lower back, kneading and rolling the flesh between my fingers. I probably worked that area for a good five minutes.
I shot another glop of juice on her lower back and began to squeeze the muscles at the top of her butt. I was about an inch above the elastic of her panties when I said "I hope this doesn't stain your underwear. It probably won't, of course, but..." I faded out again.
"I could take them off as long as you keep me covered with the robe," she rasped.
"Fine," I said. She raised her rump and I reached under the robe for the panties. I found the outer edge on each leg and tugged. The panties skipped off her like a flat stone on smooth water. I repositioned the terricloth for her. I went to her feet with my trusty bottle of juice.
With a foot in one hand I began to massage her insole, then her arch, finally her toes one by one. While I was doing it I subtly moved her leg an inch or two to the side. I knew that I would repeat the motion with her other leg, and with my position at her feet was treated to the sight of a shadowed pussy now only partially hidden beneath the robe. I let my fingers climb her legs, first one, then the other, massaging and caressing her gorgeous gams inch by inch as I climbed toward the treasure.
Her continuing sighs and occasional moans were more than enough to tell me that she was feeling aroused, even if she wouldn't admit it. I stopped a good three inches below her quim, even though she unconsciously parted her legs slightly to give me better access. As I finished the second leg, she sensed that the massage was ending.
She said "Are you stopping? This is so wonderful. The tension is just flooding out of my body."
"Not quite done yet," I answered.
"Oh good," she said. She thought a minute before continuing. "When you were doing this at the club, did it ever turn, ah, you know, sexual? I mean it's so sensual, you know?"
"Oh I suppose so, sort of," I said mysteriously.
"What do you mean you suppose so?" she wondered aloud.
"Sometimes a woman would sneak her hand under herself and really let herself go," I said. "I understand totally. It's a wonderful release and it's a perfectly natural thing," I continued. "It made my job easier, actually. And she always seemed so grateful."
"Really?" she said. Her hand was twitching as if it was deciding whether to accept this new challenge. "Did you ever, ah, you know, get involved..." The rest of her sentence went unsaid. We both knew what she meant.
"Oh no," I said. "That's all I would need, some woman complaining to the management and I lose the job and there goes my income for the whole summer. No, I was very happy to give a nice massage and let the ladies take care of themselves, if they wanted."
"Then you wouldn't mind if I..." she said softly. Her hand had already started moving under her belly.
"Don't be silly. Do whatever makes you feel good," I responded.
I watched her arm sneak under her midsection and I knew when her fingers found the target. I continued working on her lower back, then moved my hands down to the top of her ass cheeks. There was no protest.
I walked to the far end of the bed, out of her sight. I whipped my T-shirt off, then pulled my dick down one of the legs of my gym shorts as I climbed onto the bed. She was facing away and couldn't see what was happening, but she still became concerned.
"What are you doing?" she asked insistently.
"Just getting in position to work on your lower back properly," I answered as I walked up on the bed and straddled the backs of her thighs. I knelt down heavily, my knees outside of her parted legs. My erect pole had barely sneaked under the folded robe which by now served more as an excuse than a cover. I was aimed right at her cunt, and was within a half-inch of brushing against her thighs on either side. My aim had to be perfect. I leaned into her as I pressed down hard on her back.
"Oof," she said. "Easy."
"I know," I said. "I have to have some pressure for this part." I pushed down on her, feeling her silky skin tingle as I let my palms carry my weight. I allowed myself to fall forward until I was nearly prostrate on top of her. Only a few inches separated the lengths of our bodies, and I could feel her heat as she continued to diddle her clitoris.
Leaning on my elbows I took a small roll of skin between my fingers and said "There's a pressure point right around here. It'll sting for just a moment..." I pinched the skin ever so slightly, and as I did moved my groin forward until the stem of my dick touched the flower of her love blossom. The pinch had distracted her, and she made no comment or movement. I bent closer. Her cunt was already more than wide open; I remembered that she had just had a baby and it would take some time for her to get that part of her body back in shape. The mushroom cap of my dick lay quietly in the entrance to her pussy. I kept lightly pinching her back as I leaned closer to her ear with my mouth.
Whispering to her I said "Now let's have all the tension go. I'll help, but you have to finish this part. The sensual part. All I can do is help." I bent down further, until there was the slightest contact between my chest and her back. I used my hands to tickle up and down her sides as she continued to play with herself.
"You have to let me know when you feel the tension about to leave," I instructed. "I have to know. It's part of the Tai-Chi." I had no fucking idea what I was talking about but it sounded good, I thought.
As she gently rocked I felt the head of my hardness enter her moist portal and a sigh escaped her lips. I moved my hips slightly and slipped in an inch. Her sexual slime surrounded me, but the width of her hole made any friction between my cock and her pussy walls seemingly non-existent. I pushed in another inch; there was no resistance and she gave no audible reaction. As I heard her breathing deepen I let my fingers move toward her breasts. Even though her tits were mashed against the mattress I could feel the softness of their sides as I wormed my fingers between her and the bed. I knew she enjoyed feeling the hardness of a nipple sneak against my fingertips as I dug against the sheet.
And then she said, "Oh, I'm getting there. I'm getting there."
I slowly pushed my dick forward as I bent to her. Leaning on my elbows and shoving my hands under her tits I grasped them strongly, and I slowly sank my cock all the way into her sopping pussy. "Go. Let it go," I encouraged.
And she did. She began to buck and to vibrate, her vaginal muscles trying to grip my swollen member as I plunged it deeply into her. She was shocked and alarmed, but resigned, and let herself be swept along in the throes of our mutual passion. It took only moments for me to reach my own orgasm and I exploded, grunting loudly "Oh, Oh," with each passing spasm of my ejaculation. Our peaks had crossed, and my fluid flooded the sanctum of her convulsions.
We lay exhausted together on the bed; my dick still within her clutches. She bore my entire weight.
"Are you OK?" I asked lamely.
"I'm a damn sight better than OK, thank you," she said. "But I thought I said no funny business. You really are a sneaky fuck."
"You're right. I am. And I did."
Story II - My Shorts
I'd come to the pond with no expectations. I was feeling good about school and about myself and just wanted an afternoon off. I enjoyed the atmosphere as I set up shop in an open area; there was a couple about 20 feet to my right and two girls straight behind me. Another single guy flanked my left, another couple played cards maybe 50 feet away.
The little lake was private property, but deserted, which perhaps explained why some folks had started swimming there. Usually a half dozen, maybe ten people lay about in singles and pairs on the small area that was sandy enough to call a beach. I'd walked a half-mile from the highway in my gym shorts and T-shirt to reach it. The hike kept the crowds down.
I had a pleasant afternoon sitting in the sun and reading a paperback I'd brought along. I'd arrived fairly late, about 3:00 or so, and within an hour the beach began to thin out as people left.
After a time I lay down on my blanket and took in the rays from the hot sun. I don't know what made me do it, but I exactly lined up with the two girls who faced the end of my blanket. Maybe I was feeling exhibitionistic, but I hitched up my gym shorts as high as they would reasonably go. That left the head of my dick exposed just below the pant leg. The only way to see it would have been to have a "straight-on" look, which the two girls did. I put on my sunglasses, cocked my head high up on the pillow and waited.
Sure enough, within a few minutes one of the girls noticed my prick protruding ever so slightly from my shorts. She nudged her friend. They both looked and giggled and looked again, but they quickly lost interest and went back to their conversation.
I guess I must have dozed off because I awoke with a start to the gentle shaking of my shoulder and a female voice saying "Excuse me, excuse me."
"Huh?" I said groggily.
"Are you awake, finally?" she said. It was the cuter of the two girls. I scanned her up and down for a second, then shook my head to clear it.
"Yeah, yeah sure," I responded not too brightly.
"I've been trying to wake you for several minutes. You've been lying in the sun sleeping for over an hour and I'm afraid you might burn. You're fair skinned like me, and I know what that's like," she offered.
"Yeah, thanks. Yeah, I must have drifted off," I stammered. I looked around.
The rest of the beach was deserted; it was just me and her. "Where's your girlfriend?" I asked.
"Oh she left a half-hour ago. I'm leaving in a few minutes myself and I didn't want you to toast. You may have already," she said. "You were sound asleep."
"Yeah, I guess I was," I answered. "I was dreaming..." My voice trailed off as I recalled the dream. It was an erotic one, I remembered that.
"Oh I could tell that," she giggled. "It was pretty, uh, obvious."
I knew exactly what she meant. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"To put it delicately," she responded, "you were lying on your blanket horizontally in a perfectly vertical position, if you get the picture. Everybody had left by that point, tho. And I would have too except I was afraid you would burn to death. But I didn't want to wake you in the middle of, well, you know..."
"Thanks," I said. "It was a nice dream."
"OK," she said, turning to leave.
"Want to hear about it?" I murmured.
"What??" she asked, twisting her head back.
"The dream. You were in it," I continued. She shrieked. "Hey calm down. I didn't say you were a participant." She shrieked again.
A moment passed. "How could I be in it if I wasn't a participant?" she wondered over her shoulder. She turned back.
"Easy," I answered. "You were just there. I, uh, handled things myself. You just watched... You were watching, weren't you?"
"Well, yeah, I guess," she told me.
"A dream come true," I whispered. I saw her eyes dart to my shorts, and I thought she might be looking for another glimpse. "You like to look, don't you?" I asked.
"Sure. Yeah. Why not?" she said.
"Go ahead, take a peek," I said, lifting up one of the legs of my shorts, allowing my dick to fall out. I was about half erect. I came to full erection quickly under her gaze. My boner stuck a good four inches outside the leg of my shorts. Now she stopped and turned back. She sat back down in front of me. She crossed her legs, Indian style.
"And so now are you going to pleasure yourself, like in your dream?" she asked, her eyes riveted to my erection.
"I am feeling a little exhibitionistic at the moment," I said throatily. "If you don't mind..."
"Not at all," she answered quickly. "Help yourself."
"I guess I'll have to," I said as I brought my hand down and grabbed my man pole. I began to slowly stroke, and I looked at her pretty face. Her eyes met mine, then returned to my cock. "So here you are, in my dream, not really a participant."
"Yes, I see." She paused a moment. "And to join the game?"
"You could, uh, lift up the skirt to that sundress for starters," I sighed. Her fingers went to the hem of her short skirt and flipped it back, up onto her stomach. I could see the bathing suit bottom she wore at the juncture of her legs. It was tight fitting and outlined her pussy lips perfectly. I couldn't see a thing. And I could see everything.
"Is that better?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows.
"Yes, thank you. But do you suppose you could get rid of that last little bit of cloth? I'm suddenly in voyeur mode."
"I suppose I could do that," she said, lifting her butt off the ground and pushing the suit bottom off. She drew the material down one tanned leg, then the other, alternately spreading and closing her thighs as she worked. She leaned back on her elbows, her bare pussy staring directly at my throbbing hard-on.
"Ah, that's so nice," I said, increasing the pounding of my hand on my dick.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked.
"Not at all," I said. "I'd love the company."
Her hand went to her pussy and she gently caressed her pubic hair before moving lower down and teasing the edges of her thighs. She finally closed in on her target. She pinched her clitoris gently between two fingers, wagging it back and forth as her cunt lips flushed and deepened in color. She began to rub herself as she looked at my dick. Her eyes now darted between her own pussy, my cock, and my face.
I concentrated on her sex, but occasionally met her gaze and locked eyes with her. I kept pounding, and knew that I was on a build. "I wonder," I said, "you have such a pretty face and such beautiful legs. Is the rest..."
"Want to see?" she asked.
"Of course," I muttered.
Her hand left her clit while she unbuttoned the dress, then pushed down her bathing suit. Her tits bobbled free, the first one popping over the top even before she finished pushing the second shoulder strap down. Then the second breast followed, and I saw her rose colored nipples pointing at me.
I couldn't help it. Looking between her outstretched legs and watching the appearance of her tits sent me over the edge. I grimaced and groaned, and she knew what was happening. "Wait ... No, don't wait," she said. "Go. Go ahead. Go."
I came, the first small spurt dribbling about six inches from the end of my dick. The thick milky syrup landed in a neat pile in the sand. The next squirt was airborne and went several feet, shooting across and onto one of her ankles. The pounding in my pecker was uncontrollable, and I spasmed again, another huge spurt. Slowly the throbbing decreased, contraction by contraction, and as I unsquinted my eyes I saw that she was fixated on my erupting tool.
I watched as she reached down and picked some of my drool from her ankle and spread it on her clitoris. She spread my cum around in a big circle surrounding her sex button and continued to diddle herself with increasing fury. I watched as she leaned further back and spread her legs wider, finally laying prostrate on the ground. She bent her knees up and opened them. Her fingers continued to play as her other hand came up and began squeezing her breast.
I got off my towel and walked to her. She had her eyes tightly shut as she played with herself, and I knelt near her head. I could tell she was close by the insistent shaking of her hand, her deep breaths, and her groans. When I sensed she was about to cum I said, "Open your eyes for a nice surprise."
I had my dick, still large in my post-orgasmic state waving just inches from her face. She opened her eyes and blinked, taking in the close-up view, then moaned loudly as she achieved her goal. Her first sound was "oh" followed by "ooH" and then "OOOhh." There were another half-dozen variants on the theme, and I stared at her face while she experienced her thundering climax.
As she came back to earth I watched a smile cross her lips. She looked at me and said, "So is this how the dream ended?"
"Oh no," I said. "Here you actually participated. In my dream I just jerked off in your face."
"Eyuuu," she screamed. "Gross."
"OK, then how about I just jerked off on your tits?" I asked.
"Ah, that's better," she said. "That would have been nice."
"What do you mean, 'would have been'?" I said, taking my dick back in my hand.
Story III - A Really Short Shorts Story
She looked up and laughed. I'd just dropped my boxer shorts and didn't expect this reaction.
"You expect me to fuck that? Shit! I can hardly find it," she roared. "Hell, that dick is so short, I wouldn't screw it with Madonna's cunt!"
She got up and left the room.
Hey, they can't all have happy endings.
MIKE HUNT enjoys writing short stories which produce long results. You can read them by e-mail if you send a note to M1KE@hilarious.com. Use the second address for comments and general mail. It's M1KE@hilarious.com. Please note the 2nd character in M1KE is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). Thanks.
These stories are Copyright 1997 by M1KE HUNT. You can archive them or give them away. I've noticed certain sites cutting off the tops or bottoms. Please keep the goofy upfront disclaimers and postscripts with them as they travel. It's 'Be Nice To Your Appendages Week'.
I labor hard giving birth to each of these missives, including the intros and endings. How would you like it if after you were born they snipped off a little part of you?
You're kidding. They do what?? You're kidding!!!
No wonder I'm so short!