DOGGY STYLE! LITTER-ALLY!

"Howie, Howie, Howie, look at the bright side. Your only competition wears Day-Glo red, for crissakes, the pansy, and can't kiss for shit. So relax, old fart, and let Ellie enjoy herself. It's now a novelty to her, and she'll soon tire of it. Either that, or you'll end up in divorce court suing a frigging Whiffle bat for alienation of affections."

I was picturing the court room! "My next witness, your honor, is the rat bastard himself, Mr. Whiffle. He's the redheaded one over there!" I wanted to share this with Howie, but I held back.

"Maybe you're right, Art, she did tire of the 12" vibrator I got her that one time. So I might as well, as you say, be cool about it all." There was some noise in the background that sounded like kids at play.

I wanted to playfully ask him if the vibrator was a thoughtfully picked out birthday present, or had he had it gift wrapped for Christmas? I didn't get the chance. He had hung up on me. No doubt pondering my sage words of witty wisdom. Or stopping some kid from burning the house down.

I never did have another threesome with them, to my chagrin. Next thing I knew, they had moved hundreds of miles away. Packing and taking the Whiffle bat along, I assume.

Howie never even called me after that, which gave me a twinge of guilt, as if I had done something wrong. I poo-pooed the idea, and went about my business of living life. Months later, a guy who knew them both, told me, over beers:

"Guess what? Howie and Ellie have gone splitsville . . . "

We talked about it some, but I didn't mention a thought that was floating around in my head. He wouldn't understand.

Howie and Ellie were possibly the first victims of the Whiffle bat curse. But I knew one thing for sure: Just who it was got custody of the Whiffle bat!

Fini!

* * * * * * Why I love farming . . . and all that deep plowing!

Now and then I would take one of those get-away-from-the- stress mini-vacations to one of those small bed-and-breakfast places. One place I frequently went to even had a farming element to it. Four pigs, two chickens, and an old cow. And I'm not referring to the owner's wife, even though the poor dear fit the analogy somewhat.

One day, I was out by a narrow stream practicing my spin-cast fishing. I'm no fisherman by any stretch of the mind, but I had wanted to try out my cheap new spin cast rod and reel contraption. And my brand new Mepps lure. $5, cash money.

                                The stream was so narrow where I was, I
                                could throw a rock across it without too
                                much effort. Then BAM! There it was, a fish
                                jumping out of the water about thirty feet from me. A trout? A bass? A frigging piranha? Who knew? It looked scaly to me, and that's what mattered.

I tried casting out to where the fish was last seen, but I didn't have enough weight on the end of the line to carry the Mepps that far. I reached into my yellow plastic kiddie's tackle box, and brought out the only other lead weight I owned. A big mother! A jumbo kabola piece of lead. That oughtta do it. Get me some distance with that sucker.

With fingers better suited to anything but tying a lead weight to a line, I struggled, but finally managed to get that fucking piece of lead shit kabola crap attached. Triumphantly, I gave it a cast. A really good cast. With all the strength behind it I could muster up.

And boy, did it fly! It sailed through air, taking line out, like a gray golf ball that was hit by someone who was very angry at it. It crossed the thirty or so feet of the stream with ease, and didn't stop there. Oh, no. It had way too much oomph behind it.

As it cleared the tops of small trees on the other bank's side, I said goodbye Mepps. Nice knowing ya. $5 down the old pisser. I watched the line settle nicely into a tree, and felt a few more yards leave the rod before petering out.

Not wanting to lose the Mepps, I yanked upward on the rod, hoping to get the heavy lead weight to fly up and back over the trees. And come home where it belonged. In my yellow plastic kiddie's tackle box.

Then the sound . . .

I had hooked something. And it didn't sound as if it would be too easy to panfry. It was either a cow with a strange sound, or something else entirely. With the 'something else' reminding me way too much of a human. Definitely too tough to panfry. Unless you're Jeffrey Dahmer, I suppose.

Doofus like, I called out, "Is there anyone over there?" No answer. Musta been a cow, I reasoned. Sure, a cow. Who was now playing mum with me the way cows know how to do.

Then I felt a definite tug on the taut line, and then it started to droop in the section between the rod and the trees. As if it had suddenly lost the will to go on. Not knowing what else to do, I tentatively reeled it in a tad. It offered no resistance at all, which it should have, considering the weight of the lead on it. It fairly zinged back home, and I knew it would be Meppless on its return.

It was. Something, or someone, had cut the line. Neatly. I yelled something again, but again got no answer. This spooked me a mite, so I made haste toward my rental car. I was taking no chances on being attacked by a cow with a pocketknife. One who was cagey with her victims, and knew how to play mum when it suited her.

I trudged up the small hill, my gear in my hot little hands, and almost had a heart attack when a voice suddenly screamed at me from the top of the hill:

"You almost took my eye out!"

I jumped back so quickly I lost my footing, and tumbled, ass over teakettle, all the way down to the bottom of the hill, a good twenty feet. But funny, as I fell, I had an image of a nice looking woman in my head, standing there at the top of the hill. I then heard a feminine laugh. A nice laugh.

Then, "Serves you right, you big dodo!" The way she had said it reminded me of a playground. "Take that, you big baby!" "Am not!" "Are too!" But when I looked up at her, I saw she was no little tyke. Nosiree, Bob! She was one foxy woman, and I knew that she could play in my sandbox any time she wanted to.

I scrambled back up the hill, figuring out on the way up that my cow was now a human female, and I had hooked her with my $5 Mepps. I'm quick at seeing the obvious at times. An inherited asset trait.

When I got to the top, I saw she was holding my Mepps. On a short leash, to be sure, but it was in the company of the big lead weight. She offered it to me, and all she said was, "Here!" But she was smiling.

"Thanks," I threw out, taking the stuff. "But aren't you taking a big chance?"

"What chance?" She now looked slightly scared, so I quickly relieved her worried mind.

"Returning the weapon to the one who used it on you." I twirled the Mepps and lead weight a few times, as if to emphasize my point. She smiled at me, and I melted, right there at the top of a hill in the country, alongside a narrow stream, holding a $5 Mepps lure. Her smile could melt icebergs. She could have single-handedly saved the Titanic. Too mushy? I didn't think so at the time.

Well, with our own ice broken, we chatted it up. Her name was Sarah. She was staying at a B&B not two miles from where I was staying. I found her easy to talk to. Easy to be with. And easy on the eyes. We yakked and yakked. All the way to the meadow, the scene of the crime. She wanted to show me how pretty the meadow was at this time of the year.

I tagged along with her, knowing full well that if she had wanted to show me just how lovely cow plops are this time of year, I would have been thrilled, too.

We yakked some more, and then she asked me if I knew of the little lake nearby. She had stumbled upon it just yesterday. I said I hadn't known it even existed, so she offered to show it to me. I said, "No, you dumb cunt, can't you see I've better things to do than lake gawking?"

Yeah, right, as if. Just seeing if the reader is still alert.

The lake was something else. The water was so mirror-like, and so sky blue, it made the mountain range in the background seem as if it was twice its height, and floating in the sky. I loved looking at it. I also loved looking at Sarah, who now surprised me by reaching down and holding my hand. Just like in some cornball movie. Thoughts of being in love flew through my head. Replacing the initial prurient ones I had had upon first seeing her.

I felt goofy. Dopey. Smitten and stupid. And I loved it! Even though it scared the hell out of me.

We then kissed. Followed by making love, with a big floating rock as witness. It was wonderful and magical and unlike anything I had ever felt before. Sarah had me on her hook, and I was just hoping she'd reel me in. And take me home and fry me up, with or without any butter. I was the willing kook du jour.

                                 Sarah's lure.

Both of us lying there, half naked,
we yakked some more, and made
love again, but it was slower, and
even better this time. After, we
made a date for the next day.

Same time, same lake.

I'll tell you, I slept fitfully that night,
you betcha.

Well, we used that lake for all it
was worth. And then some.

On our second lake outing, I asked
her if she would like to go and see
a local comedian that night, at the
town's one and only entertainment bar.

She declined. She had to spend her evening with her mother, a woman with a handicap, who was also in a wheelchair. I understood, knowing we at least would have our days together. But a smidgeon of suspicion ran through my mind. Something in her voice . . .

Friday rolled around. Our fourth day at the lake. We made great love. Twice. And then she said she had something to tell me. Oh, oh.

"I can't see you this weekend, Arthur." Oh, oh. I asked her why not?

"Because," Oh, oh. "My husband comes up on the weekends." Oh, oh, to hell and back. She had said the words quickly, as if they were painful for her to utter. I looked at her, taking in her beautiful and innocent face, and had the strong urge to cry. Or yell. Or throw a temper tantrum by lying on the ground and beating the grass with my fists. Or go jump in the lake. Or eat worms until I upchucked.

I did none of the above. I merely reached out, took her lovely head into my hands, and kissed her. I tried to make it a long kiss, but my heart wasn't really into it.

Then I looked at her and said, with my heart breaking inside my chest, "Pity. All the good ones always get away . . . "

Fini!
P.S. I still have the friggin' Mepps!

* * * * * * You can't rape a willing woman, or can you?

Jackie was filling me in on what had happened to her just last night. Two gangster wannabe's had raped her at gunpoint. Forced her to suck and fuck the both of them, she said, and twice each. And a black teenager. And she had engineered the whole scene. Except for the black kid. He was, to Jackie, an unexpected bonus. Yep, she had used the word bonus.

I pictured what she had told me so far in my heads. That's right, both heads! The soft one on top, and the hard one on bottom. Thank God it's not reversed! For then I'd be hardheaded with a limp dick, instead of mushy headed with a boner. Brrr!

It had all started at a nightclub, a jazz joint. She had flirted and teased and toyed with a guy named Harry, the first of her gangster wannabe's. The second one, Tank, joined them. His name says it all. Big guy, she told me, and all muscle. With, as she put it, an ugly face with big, thick ugly lips. Tank also looked, she said, as if he wanted to kill someone. Anyone.

I had the picture, and told her to go on with her story. She obliged, relishing the telling, it seemed to me.

"Well, the place closed, and the three of us were out in the parking lot. Harry asked if they could give me a lift home. I was tipsy, so I got snotty with him, as you know I sometimes get." I knew. She could be hell on wheels with a few drinks in her. "I told him, 'Yeah, right, Harry, and whose home do you have in mind? Yours? Where you can whip your cock out and make me laugh? Or fuck me and make me laugh even harder?' " She paused, as if trying to remember what happened next.

"Well, Art, Harry got real pissed, and looked cute as hell. He told me that if he ever fucked me, I'd be spoiled for other guys. I laughed at him, and said, 'Oh, yeah, that'd be the day, Harry! You probably fuck like I shit, soft and mushy.' Well, he just about challenged me to let him prove it, but although I did want to fuck him, and would have right there in the parking lot, I got fresh again." Another pause.

"I told him, ha ha, that the only way he was gonna fuck me, was if he forced me. Which I hoped he would do. And he did! Fucker pulled out a gun and told me to get into the car. Which I did, and with a pussy so wet you could mop every floor of the Empire State building! And have enough left over to take a bath." She laughed, and then grinned at me. I told her to go on. Both of my heads were all ears.

"Well, there I am, sitting between the two of them in the front seat, and protesting my fool head off. Ha ha! Harry told me to shut the fuck up. Tank said, 'A dick in her mout would do it, Harry.' Tank then grabbed the back of my head and forced it down to his crotch. His other hand took his dick out, and he slammed it up against my lips, and told me to suck it, or else.

"Well, what could I do?" Indeed! "So, I sucked it, the big, fat thing of his. And just as Harry was parking the car, Tank came. A lot! I swallowed, and heard Tank say, 'Hey, Harry, da cunt swallows witout bein' told to!'

I was amused at her gangster speech imitations. And the way her lip would curl up into a gangster style sneer when she used her gangster voice. Ha ha! She looked absolutely adorable.

"We get inside Harry's apartment, and let me tell you, it looked like shit. Messy as hell, and absolutely no decorator design. The fucking living room had a couch, two chairs, and a TV. Nothing else. There was a built-in bookcase that was empty, not even one fucking book in it. Unreal!

"And it looked as if Harry threw everything he was done with on the floor. Newspapers, coffee cups, drinking glasses, parts of sandwiches, and what looked like a fucking used condom! Ugh! Harry was a slob. And, Art, knowing I was gonna fuck him, and his bulldozer friend, in all this squalor, this bachelor pigsty, made me even hotter! I'm one sick puppy, ain't I?"

"For sure, but you have fun, don't you?" I grinned at her. We both knew the answer to that one. She nodded, and grinned back at me.

I asked, "What happened next?" I hoped I hadn't sounded too eager.

"Well, Harry told me to strip, and be quick about it. Nice foreplay, don'tcha think? So I stripped, with them ogling my sweet ass. Tank whistled and told me I had nice big breasts, but not like that. More like, 'Youse got some big jamommas on ya, Jackie!' Ha ha. Jamommas! First time I ever heard them called that. Anyway, they also stripped, and Harry led me over to the couch.

                                            Jackie's big Jamommas!

                                            "He sat down, told me to turn around
                                            so my ass faced him, and said, 'Now,
                                            baby, park it!' Just like that. He
                                            grabbed me by the hips, pulled me
                                            down onto him, and told me to put
him in. Which I did, knowing my wet pussy would give me away. Blow my cover. Ha ha! Well, his big dick slid in so easily, it felt small. Ha ha ha!"

Jackie was having fun. So was I. I could picture the lewd scene very clearly. But I wanted to know what Tank was up to all this time. So I asked, and she replied.

"Tank stood in front of me, having me blow him again. He also used his big, rough hands to play with my nipples, which felt great, I'll tell you. He kept telling me to get him real hard, so when it was his turn to fuck me, I'd really enjoy myself. He made it seem as if I was blowing him for my own benefit! And maybe I was! He had a nice dick when it was fully up and running. Mmm, real nice. And very thick, too. Mmm." She actually licked her lips, as if tasting him all over again.

"Well, Harry fucked me and came, and then left the apartment. Tank told me to bend over the arm of the couch, and then fucked me doggy. He was just cumming when Harry returned. And he wasn't alone. He had this scrawny teenage black kid with him. Who didn't look more than fourteen years old, if that." She paused again, remembering.

"Harry says, quite bluntly, 'Dis is da super's kid, Leon, I tole him you'd give him a blowjob. So, Jackie, give him a blowjob!' He leads Leon over to me, and tells me to get on my knees and just do it. So I did it. And I'll tell you, for a kid, Leon had a nice one. Seven inches if it was an inch. A bit thin, but it had a nice big blobby cock head on it." She licked her lips again.

"I blew Leon until he came, with Harry and Tank watching me, and the two of them never said a word, which I thought they might, but they didn't. Then Harry told Leon to go home, and come back later, around 9 a.m. I knew then it was gonna be a long night. Anyway, Harry fucked me again, but this time in his king-size bed. With Tank standing there, drinking a beer, and watching us.

"Harry said he had cum, but I think he faked it. Probably for Tank's benefit. He hadn't twitched the way he did earlier. Then Tank fucked me, real quick like, and I swear he faked it, too! But I didn't really care because I had already had a ton of orgasms. Well, we went to sleep, with me in the middle, fighting their fucking bodies all night, especially Tank. He kept rolling over me like a fucking tank. Ha ha!"

She wound up her story. Leon had been prompt, and on time. Must have set his alarm! She fucked Leon in the big, king-size bed while Harry and Tank played observers. Then she sucked and fucked the other two while Leon watched along with the guy who wasn't going at it. Then Harry called her a cab, and sent her packing. With a last minute threat:

"Youse cry rape, ya dumb cunt, and . . . "

The End.
"From my mind, to your mind!"