Wednesday, November 9, 2011

A 2nd Excerpt From "Blackness In The White Sand"

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Charla spent about a minute getting herself ready for the evening’s festivities by reaching deep within and bringing to the surface the poisonous fragrance that helped keep the family pantry stocked for the past hundred years. Shuddering one time to thoroughly soak the pores, she gave the door a couple of hard knocks and quickly slipped into her slut persona.

When the door opened, she stuck out her chest and said in her best girlie voice, “Is this where all the cool people play?"

The man who opened the door took one look at her swollen chest and hard nipples, licked his lips and said, “You betcha sweet thang. C’mon in and sit a spell.”


Charla walked in and was immediately blown away by the hardcore thrash metal blaring from the stereo. Someone handed her a bottle of whiskey and a fat doobie, while another gave her a sloppy kiss on the mouth. A third pulled down her tank top and bra and was about to tackle her breasts when someone took the bottle and pulled her away. She quickly found herself on the lap of Hillbilly who had decided that he should be the first to pop her cherry.

“Hey there little lady! How ‘bout letting a real man do you for a while?” asked Hillbilly after taking a large swig of whiskey.

Charla lit up the doobie and took a major hit. Letting the acrid smoke sharpen her senses for several seconds before slowly exhaling, she said coyly, “I don’t know. What would this real man be showing this tender sweet young thing?”

For starters,” said Hillbilly as he stuck his hand down the backside of her cutoffs to cop a feel of her ass. “I would show this tender, juicy, sweet young adorable thing how a real man would bring her to her knees from just a few well placed French kisses.”

“Do tell. Or rather, do show,” said Charla as she took another deep hit of her doobie.

“With pleasure,” said Hillbilly as he stood Charla up. “If you could be so kind, could you climb up on this chair and sit on the top of it for me?”

Charla took one last hit of her doobie and flicked it away before doing what Hillbilly asked. When she got herself situated, she asked, “Anything else?”

Hillbilly knelt down on the cushion and unzipped her cutoffs the rest of the way. He carefully peeled them down until her lightly trimmed bush was exposed. He used his fingers to find the juicy center and was surprised to find a small pentagram clip holding it closed. He fingered it for a moment, looked at Charla, who gave him a shy smile, then carefully unclipped it.

He then proceeded to spend the next few minutes not only French kissing her juicy center but giving it a vigorous workout as well with his middle finger. And not only did he keep his face firmly planted between her legs, but he also managed to alternate his fingering from her juicy center to her tight asshole.

For her part, Charla decided to fake it just long enough to keep him, as well as the others, satisfied until she was ready to claim what was rightfully hers. Not that she wasn’t able to actually enjoy those types of sexual experiences, but since she was never able to find the one person, male or female, that could genuinely satisfy those private needs, she simply didn’t activate them while she was actively keeping the pantry filled.

“Oh papi, you’re making feel all tingly inside with that tongue of yours!” said Charla as she took hold of his head and grinded her hips into his face. “And those magic fingers are just driving me over the edge!”

Charla leaned back a little and bumped into something soft. She reached up and found a rather large piece of meat being placed in her hand. The second she wrapped her slender fingers around it, it began to throb and pulsate. She stroked it a few times to get it hard, then turned her head and swallowed it down to the base.

For the next couple of minutes, the room was transfixed as the nastiest ménage a trois that anyone had ever seen was unfolding live and in living color. Hillbilly was busy tongue fucking Charla to a climax while she was busy sucking another guy dryer than the Mojave desert. Then suddenly, the room explored with a mighty roar as the two guys climaxed hard and Charla delivered a genuinely faked climax as well.

When she had finished her fake climax, Charla wiped her sticky hand on the chair and said, “Oh my god! That was so fuckin’ fantastic! But I need a couple of minutes to recuperate before we move on to some more fun and games. Who’s up for a little titty action?”

“I am,” said Cowboy, who had caught the tail end of the ménage a trois and decided that he needed to sample Charla in the worst possible way.

Cowboy stepped forward, unzipped his jeans and dropped them. Charla raised an eyebrow and asked, “I knew you were a fine piece of ass downstairs, but I didn’t know how fine you really were. So sugar, how do you want your titty action? As a delectable appetizer, or as a hearty meal?”

Cowboy stepped forward, stuck his rod in her chest and said, “A hearty meal please.”

Charla blew him a kiss, which seemed to daze him a little, and wrapped her breasts around his rod. The second she began to titty fuck him, her deadly scent began to float upwards and invade his pores. Before Cowboy knew what hit him, Charla had wormed her way into his soul and with the piston pumping rhythm of her breasts driving the scent deeper, it was simply a matter of minutes before he became zoned out.

But before she was able to bring him to that state of being, Cowboy grabbed her shoulders and broke her rhythm. He did such a hard thrust that Charla had no choice but to take his rod into her mouth to avoid being ejaculated on. When he’d finished, he abruptly pulled out and staggered a couple of steps before falling over his pants.

Still somewhat zoned, Cowboy wasn’t able to get a proper read of Charla’s flashing of her razor sharp teeth, the true intent of her tongue running over her lips and his semen running down her chest. Giving her a thumbs up, he quickly pulled his jeans up and stumbled out of the room and to the hallway. He continued to stumble and stagger until he got to the staircase, where he promptly missed the first step and somersaulted down the staircase, finishing face first and unconscious.

Flashing a tight smile that no one saw, Charla grabbed the seat cushion and cleaned her upper body with it. When she’d finished, she said in her brightest voice, “Who’s next?”

Hillbilly and two others stepped forward, while everyone else got down and dirty with their dates. Charla found the remote for the stereo and turned up the volume a little. Chucking it to the couch, she walked over to the trio and asked, “So what are you three in the mood for?”

Hillbilly answered for them. “Some d.p. for the boys and a little oral for the man.”

“Anything you say big boy,” answered Charla with a harder edge that was missed by all. She kicked away her cut-offs and waited for one of the men to get himself situated on the floor, before straddling his waist and taking hold of his rod. She held it in place as she slowly sat down on it. She yelped a little as the size momentarily caught her off guard, then motioned for the other man to mount her from behind. She yelped again as the man’s size stretched her ass more that what she was used to, then waited until they got going before slowly unleashing her scent.

Once they developed a good rhythm, she motioned for Hillbilly to drop his jeans and step forward. She gasped a little when she saw how large he was, then said, “Okay big boy, fuck my mouth until your semen is running down my face.”

“With pleasure,” answered Hillbilly as he shoved his rod all the way into her mouth. Soon, all was right in Charla’s world. All the sex she was having was causing her to drench the room with her poisonous scent and about three minutes later, the room was under her control.

"Time to take care of business and to feed this filly’s stomach.” she said to herself.

“Oh baby! That feels so good! Your mouth is so super moist its like fucking honey. Yeah, that’s it, swallow it all the way to the balls,” said Hillbilly as he was getting ready not only to blow his wad down her throat, but to smother her with it as well. The other two were waiting for him to blow his load as well, because not only was that the signal for them to grab her arms, but they also got off on blowing their load into women that were going to meet their maker.

Unfortunately for Hillbilly, the only load he blew was about a pint of blood when Charla bit off his rod.

“Holy fuckin’ shit?! What the fuck did you do to my dick?! It’s-“

“Right here in my hand, you sick motherfucker!” answered Charla after she spat out his dick. Throwing it over her shoulder, she quickly latched onto his thigh and ripped a huge chunk out of it before shoving him away.

 The guy on the bottom was the first to die. Charla quickly pulled him out and buried her fist into his mouth, before quickly shoving her entire arm down his throat. She poked around until she got a solid grip on his stomach, then quickly removed her arm. Blood gushed out in massive quantities, soaking the floor and coating the man’s stomach. Charla turned the stomach over this way and that, before taking a large bite out of it and throwing it over her shoulders as well.

 She chewed it for few seconds, then spat it out. “Ugh. Ulcers are so fuckin’ disgusting!”

The man fucking her doggy style was next. She reached around and grabbed him in a vicious headlock and squeezed until his eyes started to pop. Bringing him forward, she took her index finger and began pressing his right eye into his head. Tuning out his screams, she continued to push until her knuckle was rubbing against his eyelid. Quickly withdrawing, she sucked her finger dry and did the exact same thing to his left. This time, she didn’t stop at the knuckle but continued to push until the screaming stopped and the man went limp. She withdrew her finger and was genuinely surprised to find small bits of brain stuck on it.

“Snack,” said Charla as she ate the small pieces of brain. Scrunching her nose at the aftertaste, she turned her attention to Hillbilly, who was desperately trying to stem the blood flow from his two wounds.

 She crawled over and laid down next to him. Propping her head up, she turned his head to the side and whispered, “I know what you and Cowboy did to my father and if I had more time, I would put you through such exquisite pain and suffering that you’d beg me to finish you off like those two rancid pieces of meat you called friends. Since I don’t have that kind of time, I will do the next best thing.”

Hillbilly went wide eyed in terror as he watched Charla stand up and snap her fingers. Almost instantly, he found himself surround by the other dozen partygoers. She walked towards the door and opened it, and just before everything went dead in his world, he heard her say, “My good friends, here is your first course. Enjoy heartily, ‘cause the second course will be the other partygoers.”

Shutting the door behind her, Charla allowed her churning emotions to briefly surface as she searched for a water source to clean off the blood. By the time she found a small shower stall some forty-five seconds later, her emotional cauldron had done the job for her. Smiling inwardly, she started to brush out her hair when an urgent plea finally touched her frequency.

“I need your help!”

Excerpt (c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Friday, November 4, 2011

Patience Is A Sin

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"I really hate doing this."
"I know you do, but we really need the money."
"Isn't there another way of getting the money?"
Me thought about it for a moment, and said, "No."
"I thought so. I'll run interference with our lap dog Jacques while you get yourself dolled up. And remember, I do love you," said James as he gave her a gentle peck on the lips.

Sighing, Mel got out of the truck while James went to take care of Jacques. She took off her clothes and pu on the outfit that Jacques had thoughtfully sent over earlier in the week. Shivering with pleasure from a sudden gust of wind that blew up her dress, she finished putting on the last of her makeup before undoing her braids. she took out a pocket hair dryer and spent the next few minutes blowing out her dark auburn hair.

By the time she'd finished, she saw that James was waving her over. Sighing yet again, Mel chucked the dryer through the truck window, popped on her windbreaker, grabbed her purse and walked over to where James and company were waiting.

"Ah, my lovely and talented Melodious! I'm so glad that you decided to grace us with your presence today," said Jacques as he did an exaggerated bow.
Mel handed James her purse and said, "Grow up. Look at what you got me wearing today."
Jacques gave her the once over and asked, "What's the problem?"
"What's the problem? You know what I usually wear at these shoots, and this ain't it."
"Believe me, for this shoot, what you got on is more than enough."
"Seriously. See those piles of rocks by the cliff? If you take a casual stroll over to them, you'll find your leading man Bryon. Now shoo."

Sighing yet again, Mel walked over to where Bryon was hanging ten at. As she got closer, she was able to see that Bryon was the kind of guy that the girls would fight over: tall, muscular, and very good looking.
"This should be interesting. Wonder what the size is?" she said to herself.
When she got there, Mel stuck out her hand and said, "Hi! I'm Mel."
Bryon shook her hand and said, "I'm Bryon. It's an honor to me you."
"Really?" answered Mel as she took out a compact to check her makeup. "Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we. Excuse me for a minute."

Mel spotted one of the crew members holding a megaphone. She snatched it from him and said, "Jacques! Front and center!"
Jacques came strolling up to the shot and said, "Yes?"
"What did you tell that guy about me?"
Jacques fidgeted nervously before answering. "Only good things, I swear!"
"You better." Mel looked around at the rest of the shot and asked, "Am I in charge out there with Bryon?"
"Yes, but I don't think--"
Mel cut him off. "That's right, you don't think. If you did, I wouldn't be here."
The second those words left her mouth, Mel knew that she'd crossed the line. Moving in so that no one esle could hear, she whispered a few choice words, which quickly lifted Jacques spirits.

Giving James a dirty look, she walked back to where Bryon was patiently waiting for her. Holding up her finger, Mel said, "Give me a minute to get ready. Do you know what you want to do? If so, just play off what I do. If not, well, you'll figure it out soon enough."

Byron nodded and said, "Yes, I do."

Mel smiled and took off her windbreaker. Jaws around the set immediately dropped as they got a good view of what she was wearing: a light see through floral print dress that minimally covered what Satan had graced her with. The dress perfectly complimented her dark auburn hair and cherry red lipstick.

Squeezing her breasts, she asked Bryon, "You like?"

Bryon nodded in agreement. Mel smiled and licked her fingertips before partially unbuttoning her dress and pinching her nipples for several seconds. Exhaling, she struck a provocative pose next to Bryon.

Blowing in his ear, she asked, "Are you ready?"
To which he only nodded, "Yes."
"Alright then." Turning to the crew, she said, "Whenever you're ready!"
Someone yelled, "Action!" and action is what Mel did and what Bryon didn't.

For her part, Mel struck various erotic and semi-explicit poses around Bryon. She knelt down in front of him stroking his groin and admiring his physique; knelt down in front of him looking up with innocent eyes and jiggling breasts; bending over in front of him to pretending to pick flowers and show him a full sensuous moon; stretching; the casual opening of the dress at the waist and raising her dress up six inches as an edible teaser.

As for Bryon, he was simply star struck. He basically followed her around with huge puppy dog eyes and drooling mouth, so mesmerized by her every move that he largely forgot what he was supposed to do.

Before Jacques could yell Cut!, Mel did, although not with words but with a slice across the throat. She had Bryon take a seat on the rocks and out of earshot before turning her attention back to Jacques.

When she'd grabbed him by the collar, the crew saw a bright reddish-orange halo suddenly encase her body. At that very instant, the crew broke ranks and scattered. A newbie who didn't know about Mel's incendiary temper didn't scatter with the rest, so when Mel walked by with Jacques in tow, he got turned to charcoal.

Mel threw him down to the ground and said, "Motherfucker! Let me see that contract! So help me, if its one of those stupid farmer-in-the-dell type fantasy deals, I'll fry you right where you stand!"
Jacques crawled over to Mel and began groveling. "Melodious, please! I was desperate for work! Ever since you left, nobody would work with me on anything that mattered! I was down to shooting pictorials for lad magazines for Christ's sake!"

"Don't use that word in my presence!" she snapped.

Jacques went wide eyed but still continued to grovel. "Melodious, I needed you so bad that I was willing to do anything to get you to come back!"
"Even lying? You lied to me Jacques. How could you lie to me?"
"I'm sorry, but you got to understand, I was desperate! Look, you can still do the shoot your way!"

In her anger, Mel had totally forgot that she was in charge out there on the set. Flashing Jacques an evil smile, she said, "Absolutely. Get back to that camera and we'll finish the shoot."

The crew waited until Jacques threw them a 'get your motherfucking ass moving before she changes her mind' look. They quickly shifted into overdrive and got things ready in less than three minutes.

Mel walked over to where Bryon was still sitting and said, "Sorry about that. A few certain particulars weren't told to me prior to the start of the shoot. Could you briefly tell me what this is all about?"
"Sure. A rugged farmer working the land with his best girl by his side."
"I'm gonna fry that frog's ass when this shoot is over!" she said to herself. To Bryon, she said, "Okay, farmer working the land. So what I did earlier was acceptable to you, right?"
"Sure it was fine. Got me a little excited too."

Mel tapped his cheek a couple of times and said, "Well big boy, that was the main idea. For this next scene, how about we do the dinner table? You know, I serve you a huge plate of food grown from the efforts of your labor. Does that work for you?"
"Does it ever!"
"That's my boy. Give me a coupe of minutes to get things ready on the set," said Mel as she gave Bryon's ass a hard squeeze and a sensual kiss on the mouth.

A couple of minutes later, a typical farmhouse dinner table was created and primed for action. Mel had Bryon sit at the head of the table, with various members of the crew playing the parts of farmhands sitting on either side. Mel picked up a large plate of food and waited for her cue.

Jacques again yelled, "Action!" and action is what Mel and Bryon did.

Mel served the plate of food to Bryon. She leaned over until Bryon was distracted by her perfectly shapped and unrestrained breasts, before flashing her teeth and with the speed of a cobra, buried them deep into the side of his neck. Within the span of fifteen seconds she had taken a half pint from a dazed Bryon.

The rest of the crew quickly took over the second Mel withdrew, and within fifteen minutes all that was left of farmer Bryon was a small pile of bones.

Wiping the blood from her lips, Mel quickly changed backed into her regular clothes and walked over to where Jacques and James were reviewing the final scene.

Grabbing Jacques by the neck, she said very quietly, "If you ever, and I mean ever, lie to me again, I will make you a slave to the lowliest disgusting pig that passes for a crew member here. Do I make myself understood on this point?"

Jacques shook his head, so Mel said, "Good. In the meantime, I think that you need to go on a short vacation."

Before he could respond, Mel snapped her fingers and two very large and very ugly minions appeared at his side. Each took a firm grip of his arms, then just as quick, disappeared with their quarry when the ground opened and swallowed them whole.

Mel then turned her attention to James. Because he knew what was coming, he sat down on the ground and lowered his head. A few seconds later, a monstrous bolt of lightning struck the set and obliterate all traces within a one mile radius.

When the authorities came to investigate the multitude of phone calls about a large explosion, all they were able to find was a warm floral print dress, a smoldering pile of charcoal and a small pile of freshly gnawed bones.

originally (c) 2009 by GBMJr under the title "A Study In Character". Rewritten and (c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Monday, October 24, 2011

The Muse Is Mecurial

please click here for part 1

Standing on a rocky ledge overlooking a rain drenched valley, a lone figure on horseback raises her staff to the heavens and implores the rain gods to show mercy on the misguided village nestled deep within that valley. An intense lightning bolt buries itself a few feet from the battle weary steed and briefly illuminates her mistress.

She is of average height and lithe, with a burnt umber skin tone and a face decorated with intricately designed tattoos. The strong breeze blows open her robe to reveal fitted armour covered with studs and spikes, and still more intricately designed tattoos covering her exposed skin. The same breeze catches the underside of her hair and even though the rain is thoroughly drenching the ledge, her hair flows cleanly and burns brightly in the darkened sky.

She stands in the stirrups and unsheathes a thick seven inch knife dripping with blood and also raises that to the heaves. Another bolt of lightning is hurled from the heavens and strikes the tip of the staff. It quickly jumps to the knife tip and creates a fiery blue arc of death. A few seconds later it jumps again and knocks the lone figure off her battle weary steed.

Enraged by this brazen act of insolence, she flings her knife to the heavens. She waits for a minute or two, before coming to the realization that her plea had fallen on deaf ears.

Crestfallen, she grabs her knife and jumps back on her battle weary steed and gently presses her heels into her flanks. Giving the mare a couple of gentle pats on the neck, she takes hold of the bridle and allows the mare to carefully pick its way down from the rocky ledge and towards the valley.

Just before they disappear into the rain soaked forest, she stands in the stirrups and throws off her robe. She then undos the buckles holding her armor in place and throws that off as well. Nearly naked and with the cold wind causing her tattoos to surface, she again draws her knife, but instead of raising it to the heavens with staff, she slices each forearm and waits for the blood to run down to her hands.

She takes a deep breath before raising the bloody knife and staff to the heavens. As the blood runs down her arms and into her face, she urges her battle weary steed onward through the trees and hopefully to a village that was shown a modicum of mercy by the rain gods.

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Friday, October 7, 2011

A: The Powerfully Bodacious Ta-Ta's

click here to return to part one of this post

Mmmmm....mammaries and cookies....does a body good, 'cause they are nutritious!

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

I Got An Itch To Scratch

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"Hey babe?" she asks coyly.
"Hmmm?" says you.
"I got an itch that needs scratching."
"Sure thing," says you.

You reach over and absentmindedly scratch her back, all the while keeping your eyes glue to the plasma screen. When you've finish, you say, "All better?"
"Yes," she says icily.

My friends, here's another relationship that is potentially on the skids 'cause the guy is more interested in watching the game then paying attention to what his lover is saying. Let's see if we can show him the way to proper salvation, shall we?

"Wh..who's there?"
"Your conscience, dumbass."
"My conscience?"
"Yeah. And your conscience is mighty pissed off with you."
"What for?"
"What for he says. Man, do you know that your love left you an opening a mile wide and you managed to fuck it up?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the fact that your woman wanted to do some personal exploration of her body and wanted you to help with that exploration."
"Excuse me?"
"No excuse for you bucko, so shut up and let me explain something to you."

The plasma t.v screen goes dark for a second, then the video comes to life as a couple appears on the screen, which is immediately followed by the audio.

Listen up bucko and pay attention to the screen while I'm talking to you. When your woman comes up to you and starts talking in a sexy sultry voice, the first thing that you should do is pay attention to what she's saying. When she says "I got an itch that needs scratching", the first word out your mouth should be, "Where?" and your first movement after she answers should be towards the exact spot she mentions. Once you're there, then you can ad-lib. Comprende?

For example, if your woman says, "Between the legs," you should go between the legs. Once there, you can ask whereabouts, then you can take it from there. If external, then you work on it external, either through the clothes or inside the clothes. And don't you dare ask how, because at this point you should be using those five magic little fingers of yours. If she says its internal, then the only question you should be asking is "Groin or facial?"

On the other hand, if your woman says, "On the chest," then you should ask "Outside or inside?", which should be immediately followed by "Fingers, groin or facial?"

However, if she should say, "Ass", then you could have a problem. Because after asking the question, "Outside or inside" the second question that you need to ask is not "Fingers, groin or facial", but "Spanking, fingers or groin." Yes, some people are into the kinkiness that is called 'spanking', the larger or thinner the object the better. Examples would be: a paddle (table tennis), a ruler, a whip or a hand. 'Fingers' is pretty obvious and sometimes more is better (again, this is a kinkiness issue too), and 'groin' is even more obvious. If you choose the last two options, please, please, please make sure that you use some kind of lubrication. While your woman may be into that kind of kinky fun, chances are she is not into that particular type of pain. Get it?

Finally, if your woman says, "Throat" then my friend you have hit the jackpot. Chances are that while she may do her best impersonation of a good porn star, it is imperative that you help make it a memorable experience, especially when she can't quite take it all in. Keep in mind that positioning and hip speed is key when you're helping your lover successfully scratch her throat itch.

No matter what kind of itch you're helping her scratch, it's imperative that you remember this one key component: always ask if you can finish the job your way. While she may want you to always finish what you started, it's important to ask if how she wants you to finish. Some women don't mind if you finish it your way because they feel that the job isn't completed unless she personally experiences the end result. And some woman would rather you finish it their way, because they feel that seeing it is for more satisfying that feeling it.

The plasma screen clicks off and your conscience reappears. "Comment?"
"I think I better go apologize to my girl and ask for second chance."
"That's the spirit."

This PSA has been brought you by the Greek God Eros, who wants to remind you that while manual maneuvers can be satisfying in a pinch, the satisfaction will be incredible if you have someone else doing the pinching.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Doing The Pogo Isn't All That It's Cracked Up To Be

click here for part 1

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh God, that was the best one ever!"
"Whatever you say T."
"Something wrong?"

That my friends, is an example of a relationship in trouble. Once again, Ted has missed both the verbal cues and body language that his girlfriend Nancy was throwing during their last hookup. Let's see if we can show Ted the error of his ways and help him keep his woman from walking out on him.

"Yo Ted!"
"Wh..who's there?"
"Your conscience."
"My conscience?"
"Yeah, your conscience. And your conscience is pretty pissed off at you right now."
"Pissed off? About what?"
"Your skills as a lover and a man."
"Excuse me?"
"No excuse for you bucko. So shut up and let me show you how you're about to lose your woman."

Instantly popping up in front of Ted is a big ass wide screen t.v. A few seconds later a movie starts.
The action gets underway with Ted and Nancy making out on the bed. A few minutes later, Nancy is barechested and Ted is completely unzipped. After another minute of the obligatory foreplay involving Nancy's sumptuous breasts, Nancy starts giving a Ted a hand job. Within another minute, Ted is fully erect and ready for action.

Nancy gives him a hopeful look, but Ted is already in his own little world with his hands behind his head. Sighing hard, Nancy takes off her shorts, climbs on top of Ted and starts doing the pogo. About five minutes later, Ted grabs hold of Nancy, scrunches his face and blows his load.

They have the aforementioned conversation, then Nancy climbs down, gets dressed and staggers out of the room.

"Dude, that is so pathetic."
"What he says. All you did was lay on your back, put your hands behind your head and let Nancy do the yeoman's share of the work. Then you have the audacity to say that was the best one ever."
"Did you happen to notice how she was limping when she walked out of the room?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, the reason as to why she's limping is that her ankles and knees are sore from playing pogo on your stick? Dude, when was the last time you actually took the initiative and said, 'Honey, I'm gonna do the yeoman's work in this particular fuck fest today. You just rest your soft sensuous ass and let me take care of things?'"

"Well, there was that time after we had dinner at the Hooky Lau."
"That was three years ago, shortly after you started dating. Dude, a bad ass woman like Nancy wants to feel special from time to time."
"God you are so dense sometimes. Yes, special. In other words, when it comes time to do it, you fuck her instead of her fucking you. Let me show you a few examples."

The room goes dark and t.v. illuminates again. First up is a couple doing it doggy style in a few different ways: traditional, then with the woman laying half on/half off the bed, then laying completely on the bed. Then the next scene features the couple using different parts of the couch for action. Finally, the last scene features an old-fashioned titty fuck.

"Do you now get the picture? You have a hotter than hot girlfriend, but she's about ready to dump you for that doughy next door neighbor of yours simply because he's willing to do what you ain't been willing to do. Understand?"
"Dump me?"
"Yes Einstein, dump you. While your stick may be larger than normal, the fact that she has to do all of the work in order to get satisfied is pretty sad. The only time a woman should be doing that much work to get satisfied is when she's out doing manual maneuvers."
"I think I should study up on that video again to bone up on a few things."
"That's the spirit."
My friends, Ted was able to pick up a few pointers from that video and the next day all was right in his world. He managed to satisfy Nancy in just every conceivable position known to man and the soreness that was previously plaguing Nancy from her excess pogo stick playing has now vanished. She is in a better mood and is more than happy to please her man with every single sumptuous part of her body.

This PSA has been brought to you today by the Greek God Eros, who wants to remind you that having sex is always better when two play the game equally.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

An Excerpt From "Blackness In The White Sand"

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Ayesha was still pretty much in that same fetal position when Thad decided to make another appearance. Ayesha saw him out of the corner of her eye and her heart just about melted, because Thad was dressed like a heartthrob. All black western regalia, with just a hint of silver on the collar tips and boot tips. He also wore a small diamond stud earring and matching cuff links.

Lighting up a very thin cigar, Thad knelt down next to Ayesha and said with just a hint of smugness, "Damn woman! Look at you. All lip and no action. I was told that you would be a formidable adversary, that you wouldn't take what I was dishing out to you lying down, and that every bad encounter that you ever had, you've come out on top. Boy, was my information wrong."

Grabbing her face, Thad blew a long stream of smoke in it, before continuing with his monologue. "You want to know something? I actually thought you were hot."

Well, that got her attention. She stopped sucking her thumb, wiped the drool from her face and focused her gaze on his.

Thad smiled, because now it was only a matter of time before the chase was back on. "No, really. When I was first told about you, they said that you were the hottest, baddest motherfucker that ever represented the female species. So I said to myself, 'I'm gonna track this bitch down and see for myself if what they say is true.

"You know, it took me quite a while to find you. Normally, when I go searching for someone, finding them is a snap. You wouldn't believe the info I can get on people, simply by acting polite. Man, the human race is so fuckin' gullible, it really is pathetic. People have no shame in giving up others if they think that those others are in trouble. But you, you're something special. Nobody gave you up for anything."

For the first time in a couple of hours, Ayesha spoke. "Loyalty means everything to me."
"Really. The people in my life who I consider to be my friends are few and far between. So the ones who earn my friendship, work extra damn hard to maintain it."
Ayesha sat up and poked Thad's chest very hard. "Furthermore, they maintain it because they know what kind of bad motherfucker I truly am."

Thad was pleasantly surprised at the amount of nastiness contained in that finger poke, but he made sure that Ayesha didn't know that she got one over on him. Standing up, he brushed off some phantom dust from his sleeve and straightened his tie. Clearing his throat, he said in the same smug tone, "I would love to continue this conversation, but events are unfolding outside that you really need to nip in the bud."

"What events?" she asked warily.
Thad pulled out a video camera and said, "I got spies everywhere. Take a look at what Antoine is doing with your beautiful body."
Ayesha took one look at the screen and freaked.
"I'm gonna beat that fucker until he's black and blue. But first, I'm gonna give you a couple of bitches to amuse yourself with. Consider this a small representation of what I'm gonna do to you when I catch you."
"I'm looking forward to it," said Thad, just before he blinked out of sight.

"Motherfucker!" she said to herself as she went searching for Antoine. It didn't take her long to find him, as he was sitting in her left eye, smoking one of his smelly cigars and laughing himself silly. Ayesha quietly snuck up, tapped his shoulder and bashed his nose three inches into his face the second he turned around. Before he could respond, she kicked out his knee and delivered a sick kick to his head.

Antoine crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap. Ayesha picked him up, saw his eyes roll and smiled. Dropping him back into the chair, she tapped his face a couple of times and said, "I'm not through with you yet. I will be back."
Turning her attention to the problem at hand, she took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles and stepped back into her mind to take control of her body again.

"Oh baby, that feels so good! Your mouth is so super moist that it feels like I'm fucking warm honey. Yeah, that's it, swallow it all the way--Fuck?! What did you do?! Oh my god, my dick! It's--"
Ayesha spat out the guy's dick and said, "Right here in my hands, you sick motherfucker!"
"You crazy bitch! I'm gonna--"
Ayesha cut him off and said, "I don't think so," before ramming her entire arm down his throat. Digging around for a few seconds, she soon found what she wanted, and quickly remove her arm the same way. Blood gushed out in massive quantities and in a matter of moments, the entire van was covered in a dark rancid cherry red.

The next guy suffered a similar fate She reached around and got the one who was fucking her doggy style in a vicious choke hold. Using his arm as an anchor, she dug her fingers in until she hit bone. With her free hand, she jammed her finger into his right eye. She tuned out his screams as she methodically pushed his eyeball deep into his head. Quickly withdrawing, she wiped her finger clean on the guy's face, before doing the exact same thing with his left. When she got to the very end, she decided to go a little further, and suddenly the screaming stopped. When she pulled out her finger, she was surprised to find small bits of gray matter stuck to it.

Smiling, she then turned her attention to the last of the gruesome threesome. She had just started pushing the man's eyes in with her thumbs when she felt a familiar tap on her shoulder.
"Not now. Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Yes now. Thad doesn't want this one. The two that you gave him will suffice."
"But I want him for me!"
"I know you do sweets. But you have bigger fish to fry. As a favor to me, leave him as is. Trust me, he will get his before the week is out."

Ayesha withdrew her thumbs and sat up. Wiping her hands on the guy's face, she said, "He'll talk."
"So what. You gave him such horrific memories that even if he does talk, no one will believe him. Besides, he's a married man."
"Really. Please, can we go? You need to get presentable. You're naked as the day you were born and you smell like a decomposing cadaver. More importantly, the police will be her soon, and do you really want to explain all of this to the?"

Ayesha turned around and was surprised to find herself face to face with Antoine. Not the imp version, but a full grown (and in her eyes, hot looking) version.
"I though I laid you out cold," said Ayesha as she looked around for her clothes.
"You did. While I was out, it was decided by others that I should be around to stop you from going too far."

Ayesha found her shirt and shorts, but no sneakers. She put them on and as she searched the van for her shoes, she asked, "How come you're not an imp?"
Antoine kicked her sneakers over and said, "They don't want another repeat of what just happened a few minutes ago. They also don't like Thad either. Office politics you night say."

Ayesha put her sneakers on and said, "Why doesn't that surprise me. Look, tell me about all of this shit later. Do I have everything? 'Cause like you said, we really need to get out of her."
Antoine looked around and said, "Yeah. You left your backpack..."
She quickly cut him off with a dirty look, so he corrected himself. "I left your backpack outside the van. I'll grab it on the way to the car."

They both left the van and hopped back in the car, with Ayesha behind the wheel and Antoine stretched out in the passenger seat. Starting the engine, she did a quick U-turn and burned rubber towards home. Once it was determined that they weren't being followed, Ayesha turned on the radio. Fiddling with the tuner, she soon found a station to listen to, and then spent the rest of the trip trying to forget what she did on both sides of the equation.

As for Antoine, he leaned back, took out one of his special cigs and lit it. Taking a deep drag, he held the acrid hashish taste until he felt it starting to do its magic, then slowly exhaled. Taking out his cell phone, he spent the rest of the trip sending out texts so as to get everything that needed to be at the ready, was in fact, at the ready.
(c)2009 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Sunday, August 14, 2011

An Excerpt From "A Lascivious Limbo"

click here for the original post

Gliding to a stop at the traffic light, I banged a right and headed towards Newington. Nestled in between the Farmington Valley and Cedar Mountain, Newington offered a unique slice of country living smack dab in the middle of suburbia. The downtown area was some five miles from the highway, and if the overall drive through Wethersfield was an appetizer for the body, then the drive through small mountain range of Newington was the full course meal for the soul.

The meandering road took me deep through the heart of the mountain, and as the pine scented breeze gently caressed my face, I felt the heaviness that was my broken heart start to peel away. Leaning forward, the breeze caught the underneath of my hair and splayed it out like a peacock’s gorgeous tail feathers.

A tear rolled down my cheek as all of the heavy problems that were causing me a world of hurt started to melt away. Coming back to Newington might have been the right choice after all, as I could feel my broken heart healing itself and my self preservation instincts taking hold.

Arriving in downtown Newington not only confirmed it was the right choice, but it was exactly what I needed. Back on familiar turf, I felt completely relaxed and more confident about what the future was going to hold for me. I was so in the zone that when a couple of cars jammed their horns at me, I simply waved back at them before casually making my right turn onto Main Street.

I was about a half mile down the road before it dawned on me that I forgot the name of the street where Todd and Wynona used to live on. “Shit. I’m always sucky at remembering street names. But I do remember the familiar landmarks, so an ugly looking electric green house should be popping up on the right hand side of the road.”

Sure enough, that punked out house came up fast on the right, and I had to brake hard and fishtail to avoid missing the street. Accelerating, I made a hard left and a quick right before coming up to the four way intersection. Blowing through the stop sign, I flew down the street and cruised to a stop in front of an ugly looking two story colonial.

I parked the car and got out. Taking a deep breath, I waited a few seconds before opening my eyes and there standing in front of me, was the mountain that inspired Todd to take a chance on starting his life over with someone new, in all of its natural glory.

As I started on my walk, I could feel my spirit being reborn. No longer was it constrained by the worries of the day, as those were being pummeled out of existence by the sights and smells of the mountain. About a few hundred yards in, the joyous melodies of the birds lifted me even further and installed a happy bounce to my step.

I never really understood, until now, why Todd found this mountain oasis to be his little slice of heaven on earth. But a few minutes into my walk and I knew why he found this to be heaven on earth. There was something here that really brought you back to when you were a child, when the biggest worry you had was whether or not you could get your homework done before your favorite t.v. show came on.

As I approached a blocked off section of the road, I started to get a funny vibe. I couldn’t really describe it other than something was telling me not go over that barrier. While I was debating that point, a blue jay suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I watched it do a few tight circles directly above me, before it dive bombed and came to a rest on my shoulder. It began singing such a haunting melody that I soon felt myself growing incredibly sleepy. Week in the knees, I sat on the ground, leaned against the barrier and simply let the melody take me away.


I was still flying high on that hypnotic melody when I thought I heard a familiar voice call my name.


Not only did I hear my full name called but this time, I actually recognized the voice, and with it, a small ember of happiness was reignited.


'Yes my love.’

“Jackie, there’s so much I want to say to you I don’t know where to begin. I…” I couldn’t complete my thought as I felt his lips press against mine with an intensity that took my breath away. When he broke off, it not only left me begging for more, but it left me paralyzed, because I found myself unable to move. Not in this dream, not in the story and not back there in my room. Frightened, I tried to say something, but I found that I couldn’t get my mouth to move. I also found that I couldn’t blink, so I was forced to stare at my true love’s face, so tantalizingly out of reach that I started to cry.

Jackie took a seat in front of me and I could see that tears were pouring down his face and when each one hit the ground, a beautiful yellow rose would spring forth from the spot of impact. I watched him reach out to touch my cheek, and at the precise instant that his fingers connected with my skin, I suddenly felt all alone.

That aloneness was magnified a few seconds later when he started to speak, as his silky tenor voice filled my head with a sadness that could only be described as inconsolable.

“You can’t stay here.”

“Don’t you see we were made for each other? We need…” I couldn’t finish my thought because Jackie put a finger to my lips to quiet me.

“Listen to me. As much as this really hurts me to say this, you have to continue on your journey to a better life. And in order for you to continue, you have to cross this barrier.”


“Shhhh…listen, not only does a whole new world await you, but a brand new world awaits those who are closest to you.”

“But I need you. I’m…I’m afraid to face what’s coming all by myself,” I cried.

Jackie wiped the tears away and said, “I know you are. But really, you won’t be alone. I’ll still be there when this stage of the journey ends and more importantly though, I’ll be there in your memories and in your heart. I’ll be with you every step on the way when you start the second stage of the journey that the higher ups have planned for you.”

He cupped my face for a few seconds, before pulling me closer in a warm embrace. We stayed like that for a full minute, our tears mixing together while we whispered words of encouragement to each other. Before we disengaged, I gave him the one thing that no matter what would always be his to have: I gave him my heart.

“I’ll always cherish the time we spent together. I know that we’ll meet again in the future, and when we do, we’ll continue this relationship from where we left off at. I love you and nothing that will happen in the next few minutes will ever change that. Take care of yourself and I will see you on the flip side of this continuum we call life.”

Jackie didn’t say a word, but simply gave me a sad smile before quietly fading away. When he left, even though my spirit felt a little emptier, my soul was bathed in a gentle coat of serenity. I watched the blue jay take a small bow, stretch its wings, give one last chirp, then disappear into the lush mountainside.

Standing up, I brushed the dust off and with some trepidation, I jumped over the barrier to continue my walk and clear my head.

The road (if you could call it a road) was overgrown with brushes, brambles, small trees, and dead logs, so it made walking a difficult proposition at best. Still, trudging through this mini version of the mountain was an exhilarating experience. It felt like I was stepping backwards into time, as the flora created a soundproof tunnel that helped the fauna become the ultimate soundtrack c.d. for my walk.

Off to my right at various spots, I could see a multitude of backyards, and within those backyards, various parties were going on. I could hear people laughing and playing, water splashing, smell the aroma of barbecued beef, and the sounds of music wafting up the mountainside.

Once again, I could feel my spirits starting to soar as the mountain worked its magic. I was seeing everything with a clarity that knew no bounds, and it was only a matter of time that I would reach a resolution to the problem that was Todd. A few minutes later, I came across the other concrete barrier.

Looking around and not seeing anyone, I decided to run my hand across the top of it. Somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, a voice piped up and told me run down the slope. Shoving that voice aside, I touched the concrete and a feeling of inner calm came over me, and I knew that this is where I was supposed to be. I wiped a tear away from my eye and---

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Friday, July 15, 2011

Your Unofficial Guide To Home Tutoring (7)

{1}, {2}, {3}, {4}, {5}, {6}



No, that is NOT a misspelling. Just as dental floss is important to good oral hygiene,you will need mental flaws at the end of your session and the end of your day for good mental hygiene. You're going to see and hear things, horrible things, that are beyond belief. You need to floss them out of your glial spaces, because they are as stubborn as a shred of roast beef or a popcorn kernel scan is to get out of your teeth, or you WILL go starkers.

My first tutoring job.

I was sent to a collapsing hovel in Coeymans.  A fourteen-year-old boy, dirty but polite, did his work, head down, sitting at the sticky kitchen table. He hadn't spoken ten words in five days. Kicked out for anger problems, assault.From where I sat, stuck to the filthy kitchen chair, I could look to my left through the arch- like doorway, through the dining disaster, to the living nightmare. In the living nightmare was a threadbare couch covered with the biggest pile of laundry I had ever seen in my life (up to that point I now realize this was actually an amateur attempt at a Guinness record I recently encountered. Back then, to me, it was like Richard Dreyfuss' mud sculpture in Close Encounters).

On the fifth day, as I sat there, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and I looked at the couch. From under the laundry heap emerged the most horrifying sight I have ever had the misfortune to impact my retinas. A naked bleached blond.

As a healthy adult male, you would have to understand that the words 'horrifying' and 'naked blonde' would normally never even occur in the same county in my mind, much less in two short juxtaposed sentences. You had to be there.

First, the dirty blond hair poked out. Then, slowly, a weak, pale arm, hand clutching searchingly at the air. A shoulder. Then WHUMP!,out onto the floor an entire naked blond rolled. I had recently watched a rerun of Invasion of The Body Snatchers, I nearly flew out of my chair, headed for the door, but my jeans and naked arms (hey, I was NEW) were sticky-glued to it, like a bug in a sun dew plant. I was trapped. I sat there watching as the laundrypod person gathered itself up on its hands and knees, and slowly, pendulous breasts wobbling with their nipples an inch above the carpet, it crawled to us. My eyes darted to my student, the laundrypod person, the student, pod person...I had no idea what to do.

I have faced enraged king cobras up to seventeen and a half feet long, been chased by male black mambas during breeding season, I had a tiger viper at a show with one fang stuck in my zipper flap, the other searching for man meat, waving around in the air dripping venom as I held him by the tail, and I ALWAYS knew what to do. THIS was a totally unique experience.

I had never seen anyone actually stagger on hands and knees. I watched with morbid fascination and sheer terror of what was to come. My student didn't seem aware of the scenario, just kept working on his math. The new formed laundrypod blond slowly wended her way, bumping into objects along the path and changing course with difficulty, towards the kitchen. Once at the door, she pulled herself up on her knees using the overfilled garbage can (a big metal one, not the usual flippy-lid plastic kitchen decorator fare) and, without even brushing back her matted hair from her face, vomited noisily and copiously into the can, breast repeatedly slapping her chest and belly, gut spasmodically heaving like an alien was trying to emerge from within.

I wish I could have seen my face. I probably looked like Kermit the Frog in the beginning of that YouTube of him watching "Two Girls, One Cup".

Gasping, yellow drool hanging from her chin and the hair on her face, she finally tilted her head, squinted at me, brushed back her hair with one hand, wiped her chin with the other and said, "Hi!". I wiggled the fingers of one hand at her from where it was sticky-glued to the chair arm. And then, back down on all fours, she slowly crawled back to the couch, stopping twice as her gut heaved a couple times, this time with her breasts swinging out sideways and slapping back together, but no more vomit was forthcoming. The curtains did NOT match the carpet, by the way, hence the bleached blond tag. Watching a naked person on their hands and knees gag from behind is indescribable. And with some grunting and heaving, she managed to crawl back into the pile of laundry and disappear.

My student spoke the longest sentence he ever spoke in my presence. "That's my mom," he said, monotone. After asking around, I found out he was WAY better off with her than with Dad.

To this day, I have no idea how long she was buried in that pile. All week? Every day when I came for weeks? I never asked. Never saw her again. My student and I worked in deathly silence, daily, with me nervously glancing in the living room several time a minute during the longest two hours of my day.

Oddly, after years of not thinking of her, I run into this woman quite a bit locally. She's living with a guy I went to school with. Lucky guy, she belongs to him, YOU can't have her!

Mental floss. SO important. You may choose a glass of wine, a doobie (I'm not judgmental), a movie, sitcoms, or loud music to drive it from you mind. I don't drink or do drugs (when you work with venomous snakes, large crocodiles, and in the past, even lions and tigers and bears, drug and alcohol are a BAD idea); movies, sitcoms, have a mild effect on me. I have tinnitus, so loud music won't do. When things are down, though, you are READING my mental floss. If I couldn't put this down in humor, the reality of the way these kid live would drive me completely over the edge. Free pass to the Enchanted Kingdom (Four Winds). When I arrive home each day, I often give my girlfriend a quick run down of the day's events, but she always gets a copy of my e-mails so we can laugh together.

The mind's eye, my canvas; words, my palette; the keyboard, my brush. I am Dean Davis, and I am a home tutor. I hope these little tips come in handy and make your job easier, safer, and more enjoyable. Feel free to contact me with any questions/suggestions.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Your Unofficial Guide To Home Tutoring (6)

{1}, {2}, {3}, {4}, {5}

Practice in the mirror. Your sincere face, concerned face, sympathetic face. Nodding, grunting like you're listening, appropriate affirmations.

Because you're going to hear things. You won't have to ask anything, it will just pour out of them sporadically.

Stories about their days, nights, their entire lives, family, relatives, friends, crimes, court, weekly police encounters. And if you are unfortunate enough to have an adult there (I've only met nine parents in eight years of tutoring up to four students a day), they're going to treat you like free therapy day at the mental health clinic. They are all very sensitive to any sign of horror, derision, disrespect you may show, and since many of them drink or are on drugs, will hallucinate them to begin with, so... your best sincere face, or your best poker face. Nod. Endless nodding. No eye contact, let them ramble until they run out. Pretend you have been married to them for years and discovered what a huge mistake you made, but they have you over a barrel financially, and all you can do is cope, keep things light, and pray for the strength to commit suicide, or watch for that asteroid you've been hoping will finally cleave the planet asunder.

They, the kids and adults, will ask you for favors. Money. Smokes. Booze. Drugs. Food. Rides. A urine specimen so they can pass a piss test. Borrow your cell phone. Borrow your car. A place to stay. If you just like I do, these favors are requested much less often. Look poor and act withdrawn and distant. Hard to beat them, but try to look like you are from a nearby neighborhood they look down on. Keep only five bucks paper money on your person, and no change (if they hear change they'll ask for it), lock the rest in your car.

And make EFFING sure you lock your car-- while the kid keeps you busy, his/her friends/family will be robbing you. I learned that at Oakbrook Manor, first-year tutoring. They can ferret out a hide-a-key like a meerkat sniffing out a grub. No wallet. No jewelry. No watch. No cell. No laptop. They will still anything they can lay their hands on (another reason NOT not to use their bathroom). Oh, sure, you can have a nice bag or briefcase to keep them in, then you have to put that somewhere. Where are you going to put it? Table? Floor? See my point? Keep lots of educational material visible in your car and you will be safe -- they have no interest in such. Books, forms and papers to these guys are like garlic to a vampire, like kryptonite to Superman.

Car safety -- most of these people do metal rods. They steal... umm... collect.. metal in their vehicles and take it to the port of Albany for cigarette money. Hence their driveways/parking spots are loaded with sharp pieces of rusted metal, screws, etc. I've had many a flat this way. If they are metal recyclers... just pull in far enough to get out on the road, and watch carefully as you do for metal shards.

I cannot stress the importance of this next convenience enough. Get one of those clip lights people used to work on cars,with a 100 W bulb in it, and a 20 foot long extension cord. These people live in the dark, like Subway dwellers or mole men. Very often, the area where you are to work will have NO working lights. All the bulbs will be burnt out, or the circuits in that room had something wrong with them. Having a cord in your own light will help immenselyy. I like to hang my light from the broken ceiling fan over the table.I also like to offload the microwave to plug it in. Then someone has to figure out how to reset the clock... or not. Most likely not.
But they will bitch about it for years, and a quiet nights, after the cable has been cut off for nonpayment, it gives them something to watch. At one home, the kid was depressed after I unplugged the microwave, because he couldn't have popcorn that night. Apparently the microwave was broken (the plug late next to it on the counter, lol). The hundred watt bulb sounds excessive, but their homes eat up light like they eat up hope, pride and hygiene, so it will be bright enough for you, and will absolutely annoy the piss out of THEM. They'll be squinting like an owl driven out of a cave at high noon in a Tucson summer. You know that in their condition they can actually HEAR the light striking their eyes.

It's the little things...heh, heh, heh.

(c) 2011 by Dean Davis of the Living World Ecology Center. Reprinted with permission given by Dean Davis

Friday, June 10, 2011

Your Unofficial Guide To Home Tutoring (5)

{1}, {2}, {3}, {4}

Long pants. NEVER wear shorts or a skirt to their homes. I rarely wear a skirt ANYway, just sayin'....NEVER unnecessarily expose ANY flesh to ANY part of their home. The furniture. The animals rubbing against you. The fleas climbing your legs from the floor. Small toddling, never beenj bathed since birth siblings with a foam of snot bubbles and a diaper so full it drags on the floor behind them, trying to clim in your lap. Scabies, lice...God knows what-all. You THOUGHT I was kidding about the showers afterwards. I have FAMILY for crying out loud, and my own well cared for pets.

Wear a hat, even on warm days. Here I am, big ole fat guy almost sixty. I perspire THINKing about spring. I wear sweatshirts and a knit cap with my ponytail tucked in on 85 degree, humid spring day while I'm tutoring. It's the only way.

Hand in hand with the above: get Purell, Clorox Wipes, and some Kwell Lotion and Shampoo. The Purell after you leavfe their house and get in your car. Teach yourself not to touch your face. The Clorox wipes are for the placemeat and the bottom of your seat cushion, and the soles of your shoes.

Routinely check the soles of your shoes for cockroach eggcases. If you step on a female roach carrying an egg case, it's as hard as an appleseed and can get glued to the sole of your shoe by mom's squished remains, then BOOM, you've got roaches! Wear cheap old sneaker with the treads worn off, much less chance of bringing home an egg case. Once a week, a Kwell treatment. You only need the lotion in the event of a scabies outbreak, but keep that shampoo on hand. NEVER hang your coat or hat where they hang theirs, a great way to get lice. As a matter of afact, just keep them on as extra protection.

"Take off your hat and coat. Aren't you hot?" No thanks, I have a condition. If I take off my layers of restraining outer garment my skin will peel off and run the hell away screaming.

I tutored two elementary children in one family for about siz month, as they were chronically ill, and had broken bones. The 'sitter'--an apt name, as that was all I ever saw thi GIGANTIC woman do--stepped on the two of them one day as they lay on the floor coloring. She stepped on one's leg, breaking it, stumbled, trying to get her balance, and stepped on the other one's arm, breaking IT in several places. Thank GOD she didn't FALL on them! Anyways, the entire time I tutored them, the whole family of four kids, three adults (don't ask-you wouldn't believe me if you ever saw Dad, anyway, but it's not like you would covert the two women), the babysitter and HER family all had head lice and could not get rid of them. Kwell. Keep it on hand. Once a week, whether you THINK you need it or not. Remember your hat too.

The not touching your face thing is VERY important. The average person touches their face 18 times a minute. A nervous person (and believfe you me, these people will make you as jumpy as Gabrielle Giffords at an NRA Gun Show) 22-35 times a minute. This is the best way to transmit disease. Adn these people will ALWAYS be sick. Undiagnosed illnessess that stretch on for months. They grow impetigo like a mature male grows a mustache. Pink eye? Hard to tell, their eyes and lids are usually bloodshot, bagged and swollen, ringed with dark circles, and inflamed as hell, redder than Satan's hairless testicles.

Ringworm (a fungus) from their festering cats. The whole family (you WILL hear about all their relatives) are like a bunch of reject from a communicalbe disease ward. Do not touch them, shake hands, accept any food or drink in their house, or even bring your own. They will reach out without asking and drink from yyour water/soda bottle. Touch your food or break off some for themselves. With their...ulp...hands. Do NOT use their bathroom, it's just...wrong. I could tell you stories but some things are better left to the imagination-or not...just don't use the bathroom. Wear an adult diaper if you have incontinence problems.

Okay, their toilet rarely flushes because it is rarely flushed...The toilet seat...The filthy soap with the Chia Pet hairdo...The sink...The tub...There, I said it, sorry...let's move on...

DON'T go in the bathroom.

>(c) 2011 by Dean Davis of Living World Ecology Center. Used with permission given by Dean Davis.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Your Unofficial Guide To Home Tutoring (4)

{1}, {2}, {3}

click here to return to Cedar's Mountain

Get used to using the phone. A lot. None of these home tutored kids will ever call you if they are not going to be there. Ever. You have to call. Every day. Several times. Leaving messages. I have one now that I have to call, leave a message, and if he doesn't call back, I now have to call his Mom, who will call him. Then she'll call me back to let me know she got him up. Then I have to call him and leave a message and wait for him to call me back....and it goes on and on and on and on.

This same student recently introduced me to the wonderful concept of the Hillbilly Alarm Clock/Burglar Alarm. All of these people have a mangy assortment of canine/rodent mix companion animals inside, and may have one or more murderous pitbull/rotties outside. When I arrive at this student's house, I am to knock on the door and keep knocking harder and harder until the dogs get barking, then keep up a continuous knocking so they go nuts and run through the house barking at the top of their lungs. This wakes up my student, who gets up, moseys to the bathroom, and much later stumbles through the house to the door, which he eventually opens after peeking through the curtains at least twice. If I hear "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!", a loud thump and a yelp, that's the Hillbilly Snooze Alarm, patent pending, meaning a remote, sneaker or cellphone was thrown at the dogs to shut them up. Then I have to go back to my car for ten minutes and try again.

No. I am not kidding. I know you are sitting there laughing, thinking what a wonderful, imaginative treatise this is. I am dead serious.

On, and if you have a wicked sense of humor, do not try what I did one time. I had a notoriously hard to awaken student, a gang kid from downstate. One day, I pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the windows, and in a deep, loud voice, I bellowed, "Narcotics officers! Open up immediately! We have a warrant to search and seize!" He was NOT amused. I did it again with another kid, not my student, but a friend of one, and I thought HE was going to kill me. I personally think it gets funnier every time I do it. Sheesh! Kids!

Bring a seat cushion of your choice. Something comfortable, because why should EVERY part of your body crawl with revulsion. Well, you remember the table, right? Tables are a bargain compared to the chairs. Wooden chair seats REEK of gases past/passed, having permeated the wood. Any upholstered seat cushion will be just...unthinkable to sit on. (That stain...could it be...??? Yes!!! OMG!!! YUUUUCK!!!). I would sooner EAT off a barstool in Jellies than dream of sitting my ass in one of their chairs. Never, ever it in an upholstered chair or sofa in the living room, even with your seat cushion. There is dampness in addition to the odor, and since it can usually not be identified, just best to play it safe. You are better off on the floor. Like placemats, place a mark of some kind to let you know which side is down, you do not want to get them mixed up as you go from place to place.

As you try to find a seat at the table, if a sperm donor or incubator is there, they will apologize, saying things like, "Oh, I'm sorry, the place is such a mess..."

Mess? MESS??? I've seen messes lady, THIS is like saying Hiroshima got a little warm at the end of WWII! THIS does for messes what Stonehenge did for ROCKS!!! Japan was a bit of a MESS after this year's earthquake and tsunami! No one could EVER find the bodies HERE! Jesus Christ, lady, get a dictionary and look up 'mess' and 'disaster'! Sound out any of the big words in the definition, you'll get the point sooner or later!...'Mess' is THIS place's gay love child!

But I digress...

They will tell you to just move anything you need to and put it anywhere.

Choices, choices.

Where WOULD you put...put...THIS? A Biohazard bag? The toilet? The litter box? A Hazmat Containment Vehicle? They will never clean and jerk their 4 foot wide asses out of the brokespring couch where they sit watching Jerry Springer or the Game Show Network, waddle through the garbage strewn floor five feet and clear a place FOR a guest in their house. This provides a nice homey atmosphere for you, like you're one of the family. You will feel depression and despondency overcome you in moments, half your IQ will drop out a pants leg (oh, another important point, later), and in thirty seconds you will resemble Pigpen from Charlie Brown. Long term exposure may make this effect permanent.

(c) 2011 by Dean Davis of Living World Ecology Center. Reprinted with permission given by Dean Davis.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Your Unofficial Guide To Home Tutoring (3)

{1}, {2}

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I thought of this as I was watching CSI. You see, in order to overcome the smell of rotting flesh and corruption, forensics investigators, detectives and coroners will apply a strip of vapor-rub under their noses.

Now, why would YOU need it, you ask? Start with the kitchen. Dishes are done once a month or so, all food remains left on the plates. the refrigerator door opens and closes by itself as the appliance gasps weekly for air and to out gas whatever science project have been growing in there in perpetuity. The most common kitchen counter decoration is one or more partially full outdated milk cartons or jugs that never get thrown away. Thrown away? HAH! The kitchen IS the dump, with weeks, months worth of bags piled against the back door, blocking the exit in the event of a fire or emergency. The garbage bags sit there mocking you, confident that you would rather have the flesh roasted off your bones in a fire than move, nay, even touch, one of them. In warm weather, the garbage is an etymologist's DREAM, with multi-legged creatures of 17 orders appearing momentarily and diving back in, happily fulfilling their multi-generational purpose as detritivores, and recycling every scrap left behind.

Next, the dining/living area. Every seat and surface will be covered with piles of laundry. The clean laundry is presumable the folded stuff. That will fill one corner table or the arm of the couch, with a mangy cat sleeping on it. The rest of it, believe me, will be the dirty laundry. On every horizontal surface, thrown in corners, you name it. You will recognize the dirty laundry by its smell, which fills many of the niches in the house unoccupied by the odors from the kitchen. They seem to save doing the laundry for winter, when the un-vented dryer acts as a supplemental heat source and humidifier for those dry winter days.

Your student, when it appears, will be fresh out of bed, regardless of the time of day. Well, fresh isn't the word, I should have said 'just' or 'right out of''. Night funk, eye boogers, a crust of dried drool on their face, hair uncombed (since, no matter where you look in the house, you can never find a potato rake), barefoot after what looks like a run through Great Bear Swamp, enough dirt under their nails to grow tomatoes. And as they sit at the table, the first thing they will do is give you a big yawn...and as they exhale...

I have spent my life working with wild animals of every description. I have been defecated on by over 10,000 species, low estimate. I have been sprayed by big cats showing their disdain and superiority to me, been a fecal target of over 70 species of vile primates, done necropsies with a sandwich in one hand, a scalpel in the other. I helped a local mortician, in a cloud of thumbnail sized fuzzy black flies, carry out the remains of an elderly woman who had been at least two weeks dead during a July hot spell because the fire/rescue people with Scott Airpacks were vomiting in their masks and fleeing the house. The maggot weighed more than her remains. Bill and I were smiling as we carried her out, making fun of the cops and fire/rescue people 50 feet away on the sidewalk. Nothing bothers me.

The breath of these guys will make even MY stomach churn. I really don't think any odor in my life had made me nauseous until I started tutoring.

And the breath isn't the worst of it. The treat bathing like it was a perverted act and they were pillars of virtue. The B/O, bathroom odors are unbearable. There are the loud belches they enjoy soooo much, smiling like a child at Christmas afterward, and lets not forget how much fun farting is.

This past week, sitting at the table with one of my students, I heard a grumbling noise that I attributed to the heard of whiny dogs that are always muttering under their breaths as they lay under the table. After five, six repetitions, it hit me--like a baseball bat. He sat there for an hour and a half, farting constantly, the most foul gas I had ever encountered. I was so sick after I left, I was literally woozy and exhausted (pardon the pun) from breathing the fumes. I ran out of Vicks on the wrong day.

Then there's the pets. All of those people are 'animal lovers'. The moms will often say they love their dogs (and/or cats) as much as their kids. This will be very evident in the neglect you can see bestowed upon the animals. They will be mangy, underfed or obese beyond belief (matching the kids), covered in fleas, ear mites, matted tangled fur, and usually infested with a wife variety of intestinal parasites. The litter boxes get cleaned as often as the dishes. You could clean windows with the ammonia fumes emanating from the box. Everywhere you step you will hear kitty litter crunching underfoot. The female dogs will pee all over the house, the males on any vertical surface including your leg. Often, surprise dried feces pop up out of nowhere on the floor, perhaps dragged there by one of the vocal but invisible rodent infesting the premises, memories of a hidden bowel movement of days or weeks past. All of these unclean animals will adopt you as their new best friend, rubbing against you, drooling all over you, breathing on you, hopping on the table, chairs, your lap...the dogs and cats as well carry their own varieties of belches, farts and infected sores that drain and ooze wherever they touch.


>(c) 2011 by Dean Davis of Living World Ecology Center. Used with permission granted by Dean Davis

Friday, May 13, 2011

Your Unofficial Guide To Home Tutoring (2)


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For All

You will need the full list of school supplies the kids get at the beginning of the year. There will not be a single item in the student's home.

Pens and pencils: Buy the cheapest, in bulk. Dispose of daily after each student. They will chew them, suck them, stick them in their noses, ears, clean eyebooger out of their eyes with them, one of my students is fond of brushing his teeth with the eraser. An alternative is to have a plastic ziplock bag of them for each student. I have found that the problem with that is they are usually damp from the student's mouths or {{{shudder}}} whatever orifice they've been in, and tend to mildew in the car in warm weather, and the erasers never dry out. The next day a horrible odor erupts when you open the bag, and, believe it or not, I've worried that it might be a health hazard to the students. More likely, exposing the poor fungi and decay bacteria to the student would be an act of cruelty that PETA would come to protest. Someone from the SPCA would be talking to the news cameras stating: "It's the worse case of abuse we've ever seen...."

Have LOTS of paper. Big spiral notebook for each student. They like to draw while thinking or while you talk to them and instruct them, pages a day. Also, they are very finicky, and if they make a mark on a paper, or a mistake, they'll just rip the paper out and crumple it up and toss it across the room. They may rub snot off their finger on the paper, or various foods and beverages they insist on consuming while working, but this will never bother them. That paper will be handed in. It might be nice to bring a garbage bag once a month or so to pick up those discarded paper-believe me, no one in the house will do it.

ABSOLUTE essential! Plastic placemats. I tried a vinyl tablecloth, but you'd have to have one for each student, and wash it each day because of the fuzzy backing. Plus, you would have to empty the table. There will be books (presumably to keep the table from wobbling, the only reason I can think of for their presence), several nights' worth of dishes and pots and pans, twenty or thirty narcotic prescription bottles, a stack of unpaid bills and threats from collection agencies, toys, one or two pet dishes (the cats are fed on the dining room table because the dogs would eat all their food on the floor), tools and at least six items you won't be able to even guess the identity of. (What is that? An old butternut? A dried fig or prune? A cat turd?) With unidentifiable items, do not touch with your hands, use one of the student's pencils to move them.

The table you work at will be sticky. There may be flies actually stuck to it, struggling and still buzzing their wings, like those curly fly strips you used to see hanging in railroad car diners. Often the student will smash one with his hand, rub it off on his clothing, and pick his nose or teeth with the same hand. There may be food leftovers from the night before on the table, certainly beer, Blackhause, Rumplemintz, Schnapps, soda and juice. I tutored one student in a cold apartment where leftover roast remains sat on a platter on the table we worked at for three days, along with a bowl of creamed corn, and a dish full of cheetos. Three food groups, easy pickin's for when you needed a snack. Actually, by the third day, with the fly larvae in the creamed corn and meat, it would be four food groups. Two days ago, I sat at a table where there was a path of white and grey mildew the size of a pie plate growing on the table. Wait! As it turned out later on, I remembered that's where the cat often likes to lay as we work, one leg straight up in the air as it groom it's rectum for an hour at a time, probably the only food it gets each day, while I watch fleas dancing and playing soccer in it's white patches. Cat fur, not mildew! Now I feel better! I was grossed out when I thought it was mildew...

So, back to the plastic placemats. ESSENTIAL. I tired newspaper, but got bitched out by a mom because shreds of it would remain super glued to the table after I left. Other Moms hadn't even noticed. "Why didn't you just get a wet rag from the kitchen and clean the table before you started?" Well, actually, ma'am, it was because I went into the kitchen, saw the wet rag on the counter, and I couldn't find a stick to beat it into submission and pick it up with. It was right there, too, sandwiched between last week's dirty dishes and this week's leftovers, though it skittered behind some pans when I entered, and made snarly noises of rage.

Right. Placemats. One for the student, one for you, one for any of your supplies and books you will be using. I place a tab of duct tape folder over on one corner to peel them off the table with. None of your student will be offended by this, they seem to marvel at your ingenuity. Many have had personal items stuck to the table for weeks trying to figure out how to get them off. They will even tell their parents about it, who will be similarly fascinated. Also, use a permanent marker to make an X on the backside of the mat if both sides have a matching pattern. More on this later.

ANOTHER essential. LONG SLEEVES. I don't care if it's ninety-five degrees you do NOT want your bare arms touching the table surface, chair arms, etc. As a matter of fact, I no longer shower and get out fresh clothes when I home tutor. I do a quick sink wash in the morning, put on some old rags, and head off. I shower AFTER I come home, steaming hot water, lava soap, crying, as I scrub my skin raw over and over again, whimpering softly...

(c) 2011 by Dean Davis of Living World Ecology Center. Reprinted with permission given by Dean Davis.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Your Unofficial Guide To Home Tutoring (1)

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Welcome to the exciting wold of Home Tutoring. Even if you've already tutored, some of these helpful hints may come in handy. I'm sure others will be no surprise.

If you're a teacher, a retired teacher, or a young student just out of college and unable to get a teaching job, you may not have run across many of these situations. You have probably been receiving middle/upper class students who were ill, or just had a run of hormones and got in short term trouble for a week or two. At one point or another, you WILL get one of MY students. Since the district no longer pays for gas mileage, most tutors meet their student at the public library. BUT...some students cannot get there because of transportation problems. Or they are so obnoxious they have been banned from the library (or you're so embarrassed you don't want to expose the librarians and library patrons to these students). Maybe the district sends a bus to take them to the library (which, at 8mpg diesel, plus bus driver's pay, makes WAY more sense than paying YOU to drive there), but the student never gets on while the bus stops traffic for ten minutes honking in front of their house (while the student, backed up by Mom-who was not there-will swear the bus never came). And there you sit at the library, clueless, getting paid to rearrange the books according to the Dewey Decimal System instead of tutoring, because you're bored out of your mind and all caught up on your paperwork.

With some of the students, being a taxpayer myself, I prefer to eat the gas mileage and go to their homes. IF you do home visits, there are a few simple items you will need, other than books and papers, and these are essentials.

For Elementary Students:

In addition to work, you will need crayons, markers, colored pencils, colored paper, dominoe, matching card memory game, math and letter flashcards, childrens' story book, especially for the younger ones. They will have NOTHING in the house. No school or art supplies of any kind. There will be a 60" plasma TV with a starred screen from Rent-A-Center and a VCR/DVD player with all the wires chewed up by the family dog(s), and stacks of dvd's and vhs tapes that were never returned to the various libraries and video stores they came from as these people moved from town to town every 6-9 months. Most of the children in these homes under the age of 10 will be unable to read, count, write their own full name, tie their shoes, recite the alphabet, recognize common barnyard animals.

None have learning disabilities. They are just victims of neglect.

Used with permission given by Dean Davis of Living World Ecology Center. (c) 2011 All Rights Reserved

Sunday, April 17, 2011


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The preacher takes a long hard drag from his whiskey flavored cigar and as he holds in the tangy pungent flavor until it worms its way through his nervous system, he thoughtfully studies the dying ember of the tip. About a minute later, he sticks the cigar back into his mouth and goes back to writing his sermon on the evils of masturbation. Before he could generate a few more vivid images to torture his congregation with, a sharp poke in his leg cause him to look up.


She sits down in his lap and drapes his arms across his muscular shoulders. Grabbing the cigar out of his mouth, she chews it down and a few seconds later, regurgitates and starts puffing away.

"I said no, and I mean it. I have a sermon to write on the evils of masturbation and I don't have time to watch your latest confession either."

She spat out the cigar, grabbed his notepad and after glancing through the contents, set it on fire by giving it a sensuous kiss. More than satisfied, she hands the burning notepad back to the preacher and gives him the type of grin that would cause his congregation to collectively unzip.

"This is unacceptable. I don't ask for a lot you know. A day off once every two weeks isn't highly unreasonable you know. Neither is tending to the needs of my congregation on a monthly basis. For all that, I do what you want, when you want it, with no questions asked."

Taken aback by his sharp tone, she bites her bottom lip and start to make a pouty face.

"And I won't have any of those crocodile tears either. Honestly woman, I do have an involuntary job that needs to be fulfilled. Just because my congregation isn't quite as spiritual as you claim to be, they still need my guidance. So please, get your shapely and sensuous body out of my lap and let me do what I was brought down here to do."

Narrowing her eyes, she readjusts her weight until she's sitting on his chest and has her knees holding his head firmly in place. She then spends another minute or so in quiet exploration of her body while the preacher tries not to explore with his eyes what's hidden to everyone else.

Gradually she crosses the finish line and the only outward sign that anyone really sees that might give a hint as to what kind of internal play was going on was the preacher grabbing two handfuls of poison sumac.


She briefly runs her hands through her hair before slowly stretching out her arms. After cracking her knuckles a couple of times, she readjusts her position and sits cross-legged on the preacher's lap. Pursing her lips, she shakes her head a couple of times, before taking his hand and tenderly kisses and sucks on his fingers.

"The answer is still no."

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Excerption From "Dandelion Tears"

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The second that her head touched the flap, Nyx picked up on a peculiar smell. Crinkling her nose, she froze for a moment as she tried to decide whether she should go inside to confront the source of that smell or simply continue on to where the humans were waiting for her.

Several seconds later, the decision was made for her as something gave her a hard shove through the flap and sent her sprawling to the ground. When she'd tried to get up, she found herself staring into the snarling face of the Queen's jaguar, who had taken up a position between her and Jerry.

Nyx quickly scanned the tent for Cerberus and found them near the far side of the tent in a pitched battle with their brother Orthus. Swearing under her breath, she was about to go mano-a-mano with the jaguar, when a sharp whistle brought everything to a halt.

Nyx kept her eyes locked on the jaguar and said, "My Queen?"

For the longest time the only sounds that Nyx heard was the labored breathing of the twin canines, the acid drool of the jaguar hitting the ground and her own heartbeat. But soon the atmosphere changed ever so slightly and Nyx became conscious of a pair of footsteps approaching from behind. She didn't turn to see who it was as the big cat kept her frozen in her crouch, but soon felt a chill running up her spine.

Shivering for a moment, Nyx felt someone lean in and give her ear a long lick before vanishing. Puzzled, she wondered where that person went when she suddenly felt a pair of hands pull her sweater down to expose her breasts. That same pair of hands then started to slap and pinch her nipples to the point where she wanted to scream out in pain.

However, before she could open her mouth, the atmosphere changed again and the air quickly became soaked with classical music. Nyx went wide eyed as the realization that she was about to become someone's personal bitch. She desperately tried to get away but found that her body was completely locked in position.

Biting her lip to quell the rising tidal wave of milk, the excruciating pain and the sensory overload from the music, Nyx desperately tried to figure out who was assaulting her this time. She frantically sniffed at the air for a scent but only came up with what was already floating around. She tried to see the reflections in the big cat's eyes but that same pair of hands ripped the sunglasses off her face.

Fighting with every bit of energy in her body, Nyx knew that her only chance of surviving this latest onslaught was to not let the music work its magic. She tried to focus her thoughts on the events of the day but found nothing in which to grab onto. Thinking hard, she finally found a small seed of a memory to latch onto, but by then it was too late.

A pair of headphones were quickly jammed on her head before a warm mouth wrapped itself around one of her breasts. Within a few minutes, both breasts were milked dry and to her horror that same person was now pulling at her jeans in order to mount her from behind.

Nyx screamed in pain as the person entered and stretched her out in all directions and pounded it home with a ferocity that caused her to bleed the moment they finally pulled out. That same person then quickly shoved a fistful of grass into her mouth before taking a handful of hair and twisting it until her throat was stretched backwards to its breaking point.

Licking her ear again, they whispered, "Welcome to your nightmare. Hate it while you can because next time, it will be your new reality."

Standing up, they straightened out their clothes and blew a short sharp whistle. When Orthus came running over, the person said, "Wait 'til I leave, then get rid of her lover."

The second that the person took flight, Nyx was finally able to move. Collapsing face first, the last thing she heard before being punched out by the ground was Jerry's horrifying screams as Orthus painstakingly turned his body into maggot mulch.

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Nyx stepped back out of the mirror and took stock of what she was wearing.

She had on a pair of form fitting dark rigor mortis blue blue jeans that were held up by three tightly woven strands of barbed wire. On her feet was a pair of knee high water moccasin leather boots that were laced with a tightly woven multi-strand of dog hair from Cerberus. A coal black half sweater that covered both arms and her breasts, leaving the key psychedelic triangle of black lily tattoos exposed.

The sleeves had a barbed wire fringe that was adorned with pieces of bloody human skin and the biker gloves that covered her hands also had barbed wire knuckles as well, while the rest of the sweater squeezed her chest until she was showing bullets.

She pulled her waist length hair out from her sweater and was surprised to find that it was brushed back out and the live spaghetti-snake curls that had terrified the familiar were put back in.

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved