Cabin fever's a bitch. Ain't it? Hell, the place isn't bad; that's not what I'm saying. More than enough... Uh...
Hardwood. And concrete. Ah, damn it.
The bunker's a crapshack. Only possible word for it. Horizons in bleak cold rock and thick tawny wood and, yeah, there's little brother shuffling down every damn hall like some kinda zombie with a Harvard scholarship, jabbering off more crap that, c'mon, let's be honest, ain't gonna help.
The kid could definitely stand to get out of the house. Such as it's a house. So could I, come to think of it. Too bad there's this damn cast slapped like a damn plaster anaconda around my leg, and there's no damn Cas, y'hear me, man?! Do you hear me?!
Doesn't hear me.
No damn Cas to work his angel voodoo or whatever that is to stitch it back together. So it's only the body. And Sammy snapping at me about finally, finally having something that hasn't been mechanically reclaimed and reprocessed and bromated tossed into my gut and since when is beer not the best remedy for a broken leg?
I know it's gotta be in one of the books lining the library where the bastard's just stuck me. A wheelchair; and crutches. Mostly a damn wheelchair. An invalid. That's what I am. Staring up at the ceiling, and not a single damn Playstation... Hell, y'know, I'd settle for a game of Pong right now. Just anything to silence the endless jabbering about...
Whatever.
Mystical something.
Men of Letters juju.
"So, anyway, Dean, like I was saying, I think, ah, when you're better, if we can just... Just find the Dagger of-"
"Sammy!" Yeah, fine. Call me a damn human bullhorn. Or maybe boat horn. Whatever. I don't care. But that's what I can hear like thunder through the library, twisting around that damn chair to fix my lil' brother with the stare.
You know what it is.
Your eyes narrow.
The skin stitches tight.
Lips purse.
"Sammy, damn it, man, you're drivin' me crazy. I know you said you wanna take care of me, but... This ain't doing it, all right? The salads; the clean-living crap. I need, okay, I need a hamburger." Accentuate this one with your hands out, akimbo, like you're kneading the patties yourself.
Hell, I can taste it.
Dripping all that poisonous better-living-through-chemistry crap he says is polluting me, twisting me into some kind of corporate slave, and, hell, who cares right now?
MSG? Please. Double dose. Processed cheese? Just drown the damn thing in it.
"I need a hamburger. I need pizza. I need cheap shitty beer. More than anything? Man, I need a doughnut. I mean, Homer Simpson bad, man. I got the jones for it; I'm goin' nuts, all right, Sammy."
"Dean, all right, I'm just... I'm just worried about you, all right? I've finally, ah, got you at my mercy." That little bastard. That towheaded little shit; that sumbitch. Only words for it. That smile; the quirking little cherub lips and those farm-boy eyes and I hate him more than words can really say right now.
Since when do words say anything?
"Your diet's been horrible lately, man."
"I work out-"
"Well, you can't really work out when you're bedridden or jog a few miles when you have a cast-"
"Sure, I can. More weight for pullups. I'm strong, man. I'm super-strong; if you'd cut me outta this damn cast, you'd see." A slap at my chest.
I am more than strong.
Cut.
Like a fucking quarry stone, man.
Chiseled like a Michelangelo.
"And then you'd just need another one, Dean. C'mon, man. Just... Just listen to me, all right?"
"I'm bored, Sammy!"
"How many books are in this library?" His arms outstretched now. And here we are. The sanctimony like some bad Hallmark made-for-tee-vee-feel-good teacher who'll uplift the poor little inner city brats. And even that stupid goofy suit.
"Why're you wearing our feeb suit, man-"
"'cause, ah... I have... A date tonight." Oh, now this...
"Now that's just precious, man. You. You?! You have the date? You, the damn eunuch-"
"That's just the doughnut withdrawal talking, man, so I'll forget I heard that." Prim little prick. Standing up.
Standing.
Just to rub my damn face in it.
Without crutches.
Arms 'round his chest.
"Sammy, man, a date? Are you fuckin' serious? How is that possible? You've been in this bunker, with me, policing my every meal, for... For weeks now. How'd you even get out, dude? Should- should I be pissed about the whole unfairness thing, or getting up to slap my lil' brother on the back and congratulating him on not just sitting around playing Dee-an'-Dee on the internet with his dorky friends?"
Silence.
It's beautiful, man.
"Dean?" Oh, the betrayal in those teddy bear eyes.
Ha ha. Now this is more than priceless.
You can still put a price on priceless. Don't ask me how that works. But, this? I wouldn't sell this moment for another fifty legs and a night with young Sophia Loren.
"Oh, yeah, man. I know." And now, hell, you need to stand. Hobble up out of that gimp-chair and, yeah, there's a bit of pain.
Oh, aw, hell, it's a full Panzer division going nuts up my leg. But I am not gonna give in to that. Not when I can toss those twenty-sided dice back in his face.
"I know. Y'think you're the only one who knows anything about computers, Dungeonmastersexyfiftyfive?" Incidentally, probably one of the nerdiest user names ever. Just sayin'.
And, now, well, poor Sammy's about a half-second from laying an egg.
An ostrich egg.
"Enjoy your salad tonight, Dean. I'm gonna eat my bodyweight in steak and maybe not be back 'til I've satisfied my date. Looks like a young Sophia Loren."
"I'm gonna kill ya, man. Just get back here! And, Sammy?" The guy's at least nice enough to set himself up for this one.
A palm slapped on the library door.
Framed in it.
A perfect target.
"What, man?"
"Make sure she's gentle with ya-"
"And drink that spinach-kale-and-beet smoothie I made for you, man, or I'll force-feed it to you tomorrow." Bastard. Bastard. "Oh, one more thing, Dean? I thought you'd be lonely, so I got a little pet for you."
A pet.
A pet?
"Whoa, Sammy, I'm gonna need to reconsider what I said about the whole Dungeonmastersexy-"
"Don't ever mention that one again."
"What is it? Lab? Doberman? A beagle? You know I dig beagles, man. Those cute little ears." Snatching up the crutches, hobbling along behind the jerk out of the library, and it's...
"Hey, Sammy, where is this lil' guy, anyway? Why didn't you tell me before? What is it? It's not some kinda dorky poodle, is it?"
"Ah, Dean, I think you might be misunderstanding a little-"
"Hell, I'll take the poodle. Just as long 's it's not a chihuahua. Those things give me bad Paris Hilton flashbacks, man-"
"Dean, just wait a second, all right. Don't be disappointed."
"It is a chihuahua? What's wrong with you, man? They're freaks; mutants. Even if that Taco Bell dog was pretty sweet, with the whole Che thing-"
"Dean? Wait. Stop talking. I'm serious, man. You're making me feel really bad about this all of a sudden." And why're we in front of his room?
"It's not some kinda robo-pet, is it? Oh, you're such a nerd. My own brother, man. My own brother bought a robot dog, right?" How can you not bemoan it? "And this chick? She's just battery-operated, isn't she?
"That's a little sad. Even for you, man-"
"Y'know what, Dean? I am not a virgin, okay?"
"Sure, you aren't, Sammy. Sure, you aren't. And we're not gonna need to hunt Charo eventually, either."
"Dean, for the last time, Charo is not a monster. That's just how she looks, man-"
"Sammy, I know what I saw on Love Boat, all right? No one is gonna tell me any different. Just like Michael Jackson."
"And, anyway, stop telling people I'm still a virgin. The last time I saw Cas, he put his hand on my shoulder and said," can't fault Sam for his Cas impression; even without the stubble, he still has the constipated pursing and that voice like he's been chewing cat litter again, "You're one of the blessed, Sam. There's a great reward waiting for you for your patience."
"Hah. Did I tell him that?" As innocent as a virgin in a convent. Or something.
"Double beets in the next smoothie, Dean. Double beets." Damn. Jerking open the door; only a jerk could jerk like that.
And it's the usual room.
It's our lives, man. Austerity. Yeah, there's a little bit of life. But everything's portable. Ain't a movable feast. More like a burger stand on wheels.
Without a damn burger. His laptop's always spilling its electronic guts out across the wall in that creamy white-hot puddle.
And that's...
"Okay, Sammy, what the hell is that?" J'accuse, man.
A finger jabbed like a bazooka at the huge fat furry rat huddled staring up at us with stupid beady eyes in a thick-walled terrarium.
"That's, ah, that's our new pet, Dean." What?
"That's a rat, Sammy. That's a rat. If I wanted a rat, I'd go down into the... We already live in a basement. What's a basement's basement? Y'know what? Never mind. I'd go down into the sewer and open up a burger and let 'em all gather 'round.
"Why did you buy a rat, man? You really are the weird nerdy kid with the twenty-sided dice who doesn't eat anything but Velveeta on Wonder Bread and talks about his mom to girls-"
"Dean, it's not a rat, okay? And who're you talking about, anyway?" Yeah, like he doesn't know. "Anyway, y'know what?
"Never mind. Don't even try to explain that one to me." Hands upraised, dismissively sweeping away that one. "Listen, dude, all right?
"It's kind of hard to look for pets that're, uh... Bunker-compatible."
"A dog, Sammy. A dog. That's what you buy when you're a human being. Not some James Bond villain who's getting ready to feed his python or something-"
"A dog? Who's gonna walk the dog when we're out, Dean? Who's gonna train the dog? You? With your leg like it is right now?"
"Dogs- dogs're great, Sammy."
"Well, I couldn't get one. Stop complaining. And it's not a rat, okay? It's a chinchilla." A chinchilla? Yeah, sure.
"Don't you make coats out of those? You bought us a living breathing shitting coat-"
"Dude, you can make coats out of... Of pretty much anything. Dogs-"
"No one makes coats outta dogs! Say that again, and I'll make ya eat that- that long-tailed rat." That ridiculous damn thing. Peering up at me with its stupid black textureless eyes.
Y'know...
"Actually, Sammy, that thing kinda looks like you-"
"Oh, very nice, Dean. Very nice. I think it's kinda cute. Don't you?" Wow, methinks you're protesting a little much, Sam. Just admit it.
Ya bought a rat.
"It's a rat-"
"It's not a rat, okay, Dean." And the guy's, well, he's just clasping his hands on the glass now. And the chinchilla, rat, whatever, it's staring up at me.
Those ridiculous glassy eyes.
"It's a rodent." Right? "Isn't it a rodent?"
"Well, yeah, all right. It's a rodent-" No, no, no, Sam. No buts with this one.
"Rodents don't belong in the house, man-"
"It's a pet. It's cute; it's soft." There're times when I don't even know you, Sam. And not the usual soulless-automaton thing.
I can deal with that.
But, this...
"Here. Just pick it up; hold it a little. You need to be careful with the little guy, though, okay? They're kind of nervous-"
"Nervous? You bought a rat with a weak constitution? Why not a mouse with heart problems?" It's, hell, it's a fur balloon.
An overstuffed satiny condom with humongous ears like a pair of those 'fifties radar dishes and a tail you could use to clean a pipe.
"It's not a rat with a weak constitution. You just... If you pick up the chinchilla, just put your hands in the cage, and let it walk onto your palms, okay? Don't just lift it up out of the cage, or it'll think you're an eagle or something."
"You bought a stupid rat with a weak constitution. Since when do I look like an eagle? Y'know what? Never mind. This's your problem, man. When'd you even buy this thing?"
"When I went out for groceries a few days ago. I think the little guy's really cute. The woman who sold it to me said they haven't had chinchillas in stock for a long time; people love 'em." Oh, so that's it, huh, Sam? Trade my dignity for a date?
"Yeah. Freaks who probably use 'em like Richard Gere to buff their colons-"
"I don't wanna hear this, Dean. If you're gonna play with the chinchilla, if you get bored, just remember not to be mean to it, or it'll piss on your hands. Oh, ah, and don't get it wet-"
"Why would I get your... Y'know what? Never mind. Why not?"
"Just let it roll around in its dust bath if it wants. I think you'll like it. Just hold it. C'mon, man. Just hold the little guy." And how delicate Sammy is; slipping a palm into the cage, and the tiny stupid thing's perking its ears.
Humongous unblinking eyes leering at the guy and there's one step.
Dainty little princess.
Huh. Perfect for Sammy, really.
And then another.
Eased up and cradled against Sammy's chest.
"It's so soft, man. I kind of get why people make coats out of their fur, but, ah... Not this little guy. This one's definitely staying.
"They can live for twenty years, I think." And now Sammy's eyes are getting that sentimental dewy look, staring down at his glorified rat.
"Oh, great. It's got a longer life expectancy than we do. Hope Cas is into rats." Y'know, never mind. Don't even think about that one.
The damn thing eased into my hands.
Wriggling.
Squirming.
Just... Settling now in some soft heap on a palm.
Huh.
It is soft.
Downy.
"Well, glad to see your new friend's settling in. I gotta date, Dean-"
"Waitaminute! Sammy, I didn't say I wanted this damn rat! Bastard! You rat-bastard, Sam!" Little prick's just melting off around a corner.
And here I am.
With this.
Hobbled.
"You're such a jackass, Sam. Stickin' me with this thing. Huh. Oh, well. Let's... Let me guess. No tricks? No soft tongue? No ears to scratch? Well, ya got those. Ridiculous ears." Still...
Shivering with a few fingers dipped into that heavy soft fur.
It is amazing.
"Maybe I'll turn you into a washcloth or somethin'. Hah. C'mon, lil' guy. Back in the cage. I've got some busty Asian beauties with my name on 'em. Or at least Winston Henshaw's credit card."
Stupid name.
But I just ain't feelin' it tonight.
Ain't feeling much of anything.
Howlin' Wolf wailing the blues spattering crackling despair through the antique gramophone, a tortured twanging harp, damn if that ain't the song of a broken heart.
And probably a broken leg, too.
Crazed.
Sooomebody knockin' on my door.
"You sing it, Wolf, man." Or howl it, anyway.
Damn, I'm tired.
Just...
Uh. Slump back, and there's just...
Exhaustion, man.
Total exhaustion.
Every bit of strength is pouring outta me. Yeah, sure. And that salad, that salmon, oh, I'm sure those were healthy. 's why I've got the feeling that I'm bleeding life out of every vein; outta my damn ears.
There's just...
Man, he doesn't get it. A man needs meat.
Red.
Raw.
At least rare.
A man needs a woman.
A man needs sustenance!
Needs busty Asian beauties. But real ones. 'cause the doe-eyed goddesses capering over the screen ain't doing it for me tonight.
"Sammy! Ya bastard! You've wrecked me, man! You've wrecked me! You've turned me into a salad-eating freak!
"I could kill ya, man. Just get back here so I can wring your damn neck." And it's one of those weird hyper-lucid dreams where you're sure you're awake. But you know you're dreaming, too, and your eyes are probably even open, and you're just swallowing down everything. Still got Howlin' Wolf on the gramophone, just about the only thing not totally shitty about this bunker, and there're...
Steps.
I'm dreaming, man.
I've gotta be.
"Sammy? That you? Back so soon, man? I told ya, didn't I? Probably just wanted to... To sell ya another furry rat or somethin'." And, hell, that's what I wanted to say.
But what comes out is a numb-tongued little gurgle that sounds like Sammysyuufurryratsomein.
Hell.
"Hi, Dean." The hell?
Well, it ain't only the voice.
That's one little stripe of psychosis in a huge Jackson Pollock of insanity.
One?
I've somehow twisted myself into a position I could only describe as a ménage between a toilet paper roll and a pretzel and a denim snake.
Half-naked and there's sweat staining everything in the still gloom and there are no windows but damn if it doesn't feel like some sticky summer you'd taste in a fetid N'awlins flop house is wafting over my skin and at least there ain't N'awlins' stink in tourist puke and castoff rubbers and booze fresh or digested.
An arm drooping down over the bed; fingernails graze the thick hardwood floor dusty and grimy and there's Howlin' Wolf as the back door man eatin' mo' chicken, any man seen, mmm-hmm, he's a back door man, and stop your giggling, you little punk.
Holy hell, can you get this shitfaced off of two or three beers?
I think so.
'cause there's...
"Uh, hi." Must be. Must be. 'cause, well, 'less Cas has found a very different meat suit, or Crowley's seriously lost his fuckin' mind, or I have a sister and her name is Samantha and she's just been hiding a lot very well, that's...
Not anyone who should be here.
Still entangled.
In my clothing.
And there's a sudden tightness in the pants. Thank god, if you're there, and, y'know, not just another absentee dad, it was just the busty Asian beauties losing their cachet. Damn.
Long.
That would be the word.
Lean.
Sweet.
A figure like some sinuous soft willow; skin like fresh cream and the hair's, hell, humongous. Don't even need to twist into some awkward situp to see that; a huge curtain of it in lush thick gray and it's cartoon gray. A jaunt to one of Sam's favorite pages; those top-heavy Japanese cartoon beauties and, wow, incredible. Not elderly gray.
Luscious and huge and voluptuous and the feet are bare, fine, very very fine, delicate toes and the figure is nothing but roundness; sinuous. 's the word.
Thank you, word-a-day.
Sinuous; coiling up and a snake could trace that one, around slender calves and curvaceous thighs and there's... Hell, it's artful. That's the word, man. Artful; with that humongous mane as some lovely little bit of modesty and maybe the chest isn't exactly like some busty Asian beauty, but there's a slenderness in everything that'd make it a little silly.
The face more than just pretty.
The hair's a thick frame like cigarette smoke coiling around some 'twenties dame but the face is... Exotic. 's the word.
The high high bones you'd toss yourself off of just to prove your worthiness.
The fine jaw.
Hell.
"Mind if I come in, Dean?"
Why the hell not? I am dreaming, after all, aren't I?
"Sure thing, ah..." And, ah, even inverted like this, the beauty's just... that. Dreamy. Something, damn, supernatural. Unnaturally lovely. Twist.
Wriggle.
I'm pretty much stuck.
Shit.
More than just a little embarrassing.
"Think, ah, y'know, it's not what it looks like here. I was just... Sleeping. Guess I got trapped by this stupid cast. You, ah, Sam's date? The... The room's down the hall, 'cause..." You look nothing like a young Sophia Loren.
And since when am I tryin' to herd some sexy naked chick to my little brother's room?
He could not satisfy this one.
"Dean, Dean, Dean. Do you really think I'm looking for your little brother's room?" Ah, hell, no. And there's a muscular elegance in her poise. Twisting on her right leg, left ankle tucked against the right calf, and if I could paint better than a spastic six-year-old with a heap of spit-up crayons and a placemat, I'd beg her to be my model.
Where's a camera?
"I, ah... I'm kinda hopin' not. Do I know you? Waitaminute. How do you know my name? Who are you, anyway? Cas? Is this some kind of sick joke, man?
"'cause that just ain't funny."
"Who's Cas?" Fine long fingers brushed through that humongous hair and I am... Hell, I am in her thrall. Already. "May I come in?"
"Oh, yeah. Please. Please, come in. I, ah, what's your name?"
"Do you really care?" Oh, now this is just the universe's kindest gift. Really. More amazing than that Playboy dredged up outta dad's crap when I was thirteen.
More incredible than a little over-the-clothes action with, uh, what was her name? Stacy Wilkins; that year, too.
And the under-the-clothes, well...
Hah. Ever.
"No. Not really."
"Good. Just lie back, Dean. You're so cute, aren't you? You've got that... Mmm..." What is that? Do I care? It's something. I've got It, baby. "Even if I like James Brown more than Howlin' Wolf."
"And a lady who knows her music. I've got some of the King of Spousal Abuse on vinyl over there; somewhere." Oh, I am drunk.
More than drunk.
I passed drunk with only a few beers, damn, what's wrong with me, a few hours ago.
Okay.
Seven beers.
I'll be honest.
I should not lie; not in the presence of, hah, at least a goddess.
"Mmm. I'm okay with this right now." And it ain't just a ghost, at least. 'cause the mattress is sagging. Just a bit. With a slender knee dimpling the sheets and I have never been happier to be home alone. "We're all alone, you know, Dean.
"Your brother isn't back yet. Maybe he won't be back for the whole night."
"Oh, I hope so." And those are fine fingers tugging at my belt.
A sharp sudden jerk.
And I'm free. Or at least, a little closer to freedom. The scent wafting from her warm skin, hell, it's... What is that?
Not just a perfume.
Something you smell like crisp spring sweat boiling off of some beauty's nape when you've been out dancing, dancing, two, three hours, tasting more than just scenting it and you suck it deep into your lungs hope you'll remember it through the morning-after.
A slender shoulder.
Lips like cherry petals. So I'm a romantic; sue me.
Hope she's not a cherry.
"So, ah, what's your name-"
"Why do you care? All the questions, Dean."
"Did Sammy or someone put you up to this?" Don't ask her if she's a hooker don't ask her if she's a hooker don't ask her if she's a hooker
"Are you asking if someone paid me to do this?" Indignation? Maybe?
"No! No! Absolutely not. I'd never even think about that." At least she's not just springing up and stomping off.
Had that happen once or twice.
The smile's slow, like molasses creeping down cold metal.
"Good. Because that would be very stupid. I just... I saw you, and I couldn't help myself. Why don't you just lie back and have a good time?" Now, now, I mean, ah...
Okay.
Guys get pretty stupid from blood-loss.
We're dumb enough as it is.
But saw me?
"Where-"
"Just stop asking questions. I didn't think you'd be the one to, ah, look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak." And the mouth is closer. Closer.
Not to my lips.
Oh, shit.
Just...
Lie back.
Shoulders sag into the bedding that's suddenly like gelatin and I am... So fuckin' happy I'm not wearing any shoes right now. Another obstacle'd kill me.
"Okay, honey. Whatever you say."
"Good. I like obedient boys." And now that is freedom. Hallelujah, baby! Wanna whoop and howl and holler with Howlin' Wolf and now, now, those are lips, soft like satin brushed over coarse denim, and that's...
"Holy crap." And now I could probably sing falsetto with that one. Teeth cinched around the zipper and tugged down.
A sharp little rattle.
"Dean, Dean, have you been that, ah, hard-up lately?"
"God, yeah. I-"
"Then maybe I'll be nice with you. Are you backed up?"
"Like a flophouse drain-"
"Then I'll definitely be nice with you. Y'know, I didn't think your hands were in casts, but what do I know?" And it's swollen.
Bloating up through the underwear; and, yeah, it'd be great to just crumple back and melt into this, but how often d'ya see something like this?
Teeth like a pianist's fingers.
Pulling with a quick shiver in the shoulders, the fine slim nape dusted with the thick gray hair, and the underwear's gone, now, too, jeans about at knee height.
God, I really need to start praying to you again if you'll just give me this every night.
Fingers; oh, damn, man, her fingers. Like oiled silk, fine, soft, lacing around me, and there's a long slow pull, a tug, a stroke, and, ah, well...
Now, this does not happen often.
But I could go in about a second.
Too much busty Asian beauties; too much boredom; too little relief.
"O-oh, I wish I knew your name-"
"Shhh. Shut up about names right now, will you, Dean?" And I'm at a disadvantage.
'cause, ah, she knows mine.
Lips closer.
"Or do you really want something to call when you, ah...?" Those wicked eyes. And the tongue's better than any word; flitting out, a quick raw wet pink stripe. Just over the head.
Shot over the bow.
"It's kinda my way-"
"Call me Ceniza, then."
"Oh. Spanish. I like it-"
"So shut up now."
"You're pretty bratty."
"That's right. Play rough with me, won't you?" Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. And was that a wink? Tongue slipping lolling rolling out now like some delicious pink carpet and there's only heat. Hotter than hot; dewy breath on my skin and there, there, your whole damn universe just crushes down there and it's...
"You really want me to be rough, Ceniza?"
"If you can take it." Hah. I'm... I'm not gonna take that one.
Fingers lace through her hair.
Holy shit, it's soft. Softer than soft; thicker than thick; some huge plume pouring around her and it's combed and stroked and I am combed and stroked, too. Some fine symmetry. Soft subdued sticky suckling and the tongue is serpentine twisting around the head and now, now, the mouth's creeping down, lower and lower and lower and I'm being swallowed.
"Holy shit. Holy shit. Ceniza. Ceniza." Stupid refrain, maybe.
I don't care.
Hips arrested with a hand on my skin and, hell, who can complain? Not just pumping up into some chick's mouth, well, that's just courtesy. Not that there's not a tension in every muscle and every one is exploding up through my skin just craving it.
To spear her down to the root.
Wet messy squelching and it's that perfect blowjob that's something you can't find anywhere but in these moments; that simple truth in scalding hot skin and plump lips and sodden with spittle and the tongue's swirling around me and this ain't for public consumption, not for the kiddies, oh, no, no, no.
"Ceniza... Ah, shit, that's..." Pull her closer, closer, and there's no complaint. Not even a little gasp when it's jabbing against her palate up into the throat and now, now, there's no resistance at all. No gag-reflex.
Thank you, god.
Really.
Thick syrupy oh god yeah. It's a quality like Karo around me; bubbling up from deep in the throat and I am there, too, and it's just wilting surrender, perfection, two fingers still laced around the base, stroking, pumping, wrenching up every bit and there's a hunger there.
Esurience.
Thank you, word-a-day.
"You're gonna bring me off way too fast-"
"Like I said, I'll give you a pass for the first one. The second, though..." Oh, oh, oh. A mischievous little smile slipping over those voluptuous rose-stained blowjob lips and it's not with gloss and she has absolutely no makeup at all.
Natural beauty. Eyes dark; black sharp and mesmerizing. Oh, oh, oh.
You sure you're not a sorceress?
Damn, at this point, who cares?
"I'm- I'm gonna-"
"Good. Good. Do it. Do it in my mouth." Suction; oh, god, it's a sudden violent rushing tide like someone's nuking a fucking dam, and you can't care about anything in that instant that dilates out into a million billion years and I am going fucking crazy.
Hips bucking jerking pulling her down; fingers snarled in her hair and still just barely finding purchase at all, twisting through the threads like knives ripped through cotton candy.
Dying.
Dying from this.
Huge neon napalm streaks raked through my eyes and there's breath and curling toes and sweat and it's pulsing outta me, humongous spattering violent racing bursts and it's a fucking machine gun spitting out gelatin and even she's gasping, gurgling, a bit coming up out of her nostrils and smearing her upper lip.
Cooing.
Giggling.
"Wow, you were not joking about being backed up, Dean. I thought you were trying to drown me. Mmm... Look at that." A few creamy pearls staining her lips.
Brushed off on a fingertip with the clotted threads from her nose.
"Want a taste?" Offered to me.
"Uh, no, thanks-"
"Oh, that's just like all men, huh? They'll give it to anybody to eat, but won't even try their own. Maybe you'll like it-"
"Nah. I don't think so."
"More for me, then." Oh, damn. That's goodbye to a refractory period when the tongue wheels out to daub away the cum and now those delicious slim fingers are just vanishing between her lips. "Wow, someone is pretty perky tonight, huh?"
"Oh, you can't even imagine, Ceniza. I'm serious. I feel like you're a gift from god, honey-"
"Oh, aren't you just so cute? Don't be selfish, though, Dean. C'mon. Give me a little kiss." Yes, yes, yes. "You're always calling me honey.
"How 'bout tasting some of it?" Oh, now this is exactly the therapy no real doctor that hasn't gotten their diploma from a porno will order.
And it's the only one that'll really cure you.
Mend your wounds.
Or at least lick 'em.
Knees; slender and soft and sweet and straddling me and there's a gift to be unwrapped less like Christmas, which, c'mon, was and is always a disappointment. It's Valentine's Day; but there're no drunk newly-dumped chicks to weep on your shoulder and definitely no shitty waxy chocolate.
It's...
"What the hell is that?" Peeling open my gift and there's...
Something there.
"What do you mean, Dean?" I don't need the word-a-day for this one. Bemusement. How can she just be bemused and not...
Well, she...
Is...
It's right there.
Trembling like the planet's most photogenic corn dog. Or something.
Tiny; slim. It's cute.
And that's...
That's why it's not some crazed Crying Game episode right now; not some jizz-drooling foreskinned horror like a mutant anteater sneering at me but it's still...
"You've got a cock."
"Uh, duh. What'd you think was gonna be there?"
"Y'know, a woman. A- what women have."
"A vagina? Wow, glad to see somebody took biology." Wow, Ceniza is a serious damn brat. "Well, too bad. C'mon. Just give it a little kiss, and then we can get back to business-"
"No way. I- I just... Oh, damn, a guy just gave me a blowjob."
And you can't quite...
Buck her without just jabbing it closer.
Rippling.
And now, well, ah, the belly's sleek and soft and there's definitely a woman's roundness, but... But the legs could crush fucking diamond.
"Hey-"
"Dean, please. Who're you trying to fool, anyway? I've seen your brother; I've seen how you act with your brother." That smile; that wicked bratty smile spearing down through me.
Like a barbed blade, raked over every nerve.
Even that is cute; cyclopean thing, waggling like a puppy's tail.
"Hey, hey, hey, now, ya lil' brat. My brother and me, we do not... Well, I mean, okay, maybe Sammy. But not with me-"
"Oh, c'mon. I know all of you by reputation, too. It's a serious bromance you've got goin' on, honey-"
"Get that thing out of my face."
"Didn't you want a pet with a cute lil' tail? C'mon... Just a little kiss."
"And, anyway-"
"And, anyway, you don't look like the straightest. C'mon."
"I'm one hundred percent hetero, okay? That was- that was just a trick-"
"I'd call it a trap, honestly."
"Damn right, it was-"
"Trapped. Hoisted on your own, ah, petard. Oooh! What's this?" And, damn, damn, that sweet willowy beauty, leaning back and this chick, uh, er... Whatever. They're definitely a gymnast or something; 'cause the spine doesn't bend but melts like warm butter and those are fingers wrapped around me, and, ah... "Hah. Looks like you're still as, ah, hard as you always look-"
"'cause you touched it-"
"'cause you like it. Besides, one hundred percent hetero? Dean? C'mon."
"All right. Ninety nine." There was that vacation to Thailand. Who knew, right?
"Ninety nine?"
"Ninety five!" And, ah, there was Acapulco. And that one hunt in Korea. And...
"See? And how many lovers have you had, Dean?"
"At least two hundred. Easy."
Silence.
"Mmm... So, ah, two hundred lovers... What's five percent of that?"
Shit.
"Gotcha." Damn, she does.
"I get to call you a girl-"
"Done." Well, why not? Why not give it a little kiss? "Oh, now your lips are nice. Your brother, he's kinda... Fruity. Not my type at all." Hah.
Even the...
Uh...
Androgynes?
Even they think he's too swishy.
And this's someone with their cock about a half-inch from my lips now. Bending up to dapple it with soft little kisses and it's sweet. The skin's essence; the flavor, aroma. Damn, what'm I, auditioning for my own cooking show?
Cock Cuisine, With Dean.
Hey, now that...
Retirement idea.
"Use your hands, too. C'mon. I don't wanna come in your mouth; I just want a lil' kissy." So damn cute. And why not? At least I owe her that one? Peering up at the soft creamy skin and the cheeks're already bubbling with pink like her tongue and that's coming out, spilling over her lips, and that... That thing is soft, a firmness like hard gelatin enrobed in silk and it is lovely.
A giant clit. Or something.
"Ngn... You're making me feel really good. Get me ready, now." Oh, yeah. And now, now, it's those delicious numbers, sixty-nine, pitching down across me like liquid satin in cream and now, now, her fingers, tongue, they're tugging twisting pulling and her ass could not only stop traffic but probably turn I-96 into a parking lot.
Kiss it; adore it.
Nuzzle it.
Now this is the kinda pet I want.
"Ngn... That's good." Her voice already hoarse, husky, deep, coming over her shoulder with her soft sweet perfume. "That's sooo good. C'mon. More. More. Put your tongue inside me." Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Lick; kiss.
Feel the skin; that cool soft quality against my cheek, and there's a faint little giggle bubbling up stroking my ears like...
Well, like she's stroking me down there.
"Your stubble's all ticklish." Cooing; you could probably explode from that. Just that. Patience, man.
And my lips, ah, they're a little preoccupied. Tongue slipping up and down and all around that soft dimpling pucker and my nose can only find itself there, too, sucking down that luscious oh so sweet aroma.
"Hey! Are you smelling me? You're like a horny animal, aren't you?"
"We're all animals, Ceniza." Or something like that.
Wallanmals.
And finally, finally, a quick jab.
Tension slackening.
Palms cradling her ass and, yeah, there is that bulk against my chest, but who cares? Even that's girlish. Why can't there be a girly cock?
Bare little shape straining up into her belly and slackening again and it's raw, hot, sleek and soft and hugely hard.
Oh, yeah.
I'm amazing.
Even with a sexy boy like this.
"O-oh, oh, oh..." And your eyes, in moments like these, the damnedest things are the ones you notice. The fine definition in muscle like a dolphin cresting dark waters and one of those fine feet is twisting, straining, ankles pivoting and cute toes straining into the bedding and fingers are tearing like fucking talons.
"Oh, that feels so good. That feels so fucking good, Dean. Do it- do it more. Harder. It- it feels... Ah... Ah, damn it, that's so amazing." That cute little cock bobbling against me and her hair matted with sweat and still so full rippling over her shoulders her arching back and my tongue's being ridden now.
Jabbed jammed deeper; mouth twisted open and who fuckin' cares if I'll need to have my jaw wired shut soon, 'cause this is...
I'm drunker with this than ten shots of Wild Turkey.
Sixty.
What's my blood-sex poisoning, anyway?
Who cares?
Flailing flitting through that pucker and it's such a cute dimpling thing and now my universe is only a wheeling confusion of her plump firm bubbly ass and her hair's huge gray plume and her scent and her sweet deliciousness and everything.
"Put it in me. Right now. I want you to fuck me right now, or I'm gonna go crazy. I'm gonna go crazy, anyway, but at least it'll be the good kind."
Not the ax-wielding let's-play-Lorena-Bobbitt kind, I hope.
And it's just...
Holy shit.
A sight.
No need for word-a-day.
A spectacle.
The curvaceous round thighs trembling and the fine knees raw red from the bedding and the calves taut and she's bearing down, twisted around to stare with those humongous crude-oil eyes down at me and that cute thing's swollen and quaking and she's just...
Falling.
Falling.
No need to raise the flag with a hand; just to balance me, and it's inside her in an instant, and it's falling into a universe made out of liquid lust and sleek oiled heat and it's warm tight succulent swallowing me and there's just a wish to scream.
Fuck my leg; I wanna bang her 'til her eyes pop out of her head.
But...
Patience.
Patience.
"O-oh, that's deep. That's so fuckin' deep. I... I feel like I'm really goin' crazy now, Dean." Hands on her hips.
Ridden.
Rearing up and falling down; a slow slow slow oh so slow what do you wanna fuckin' kill me with sexual kindness kind of slowness and you can only just wheel helplessly through everything.
Hands lacquered on her hips and dragged up with her and down again and her toes strain and calves shiver with the movement and the thighs quake and the body trembles and there's just...
Insanity.
Hair pouring around her.
Spilling over my belly.
And that endless delicious cooing.
Ah ah ah ah.
Rising to a fragile little-girl pitch and then imploding down into some deep guttural snarl and it's all sexy; the most incredible fucking thing you've ever tasted.
It always is.
Hips rising up to meet her every fall.
Hoping that that kiss'll just be a second longer.
Slapping against her ass' luscious hot skin. 's inflamed with both of us.
Oh, yeah.
Grind her down now.
"Oh, that's what I wanted. Don't be so gentle, Dean. Just- just do it hard. Do it hard. Make me come. I won't take no for an answer-"
"You're only gonna hear yes from me, Ceniza." Yeah, yeah, yeah. Arching; angling it. And, hell, amazing her eyes aren't popping out and over my chest.
Just...
So delicious.
Her body's tracing a creamy sweat-shimmering arch in the half-light; some weird fever-dream aura, bronze melted and poured like coconut oil over her skin and everything twinkles everything's brilliant blinding and eyes are scalding with sweat and fall closed and open again and she's closer, closer.
Lips hungering.
Kissing me; more than kissing.
Just about inhaling me.
Pump up into her and now, now, there's only lust. Minds, souls, hell, brains, they've melted down into slag and I'm amazed they're not pouring out of both of our ears, pooling on the mattress.
Hungry howls vaulting out of her jaws, straining open now, closing again with a crazed twanging tension.
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. It feels so good." And other soft little yelps.
A subdued chin-chin-chin.
That's...
Weird.
Chirping.
Squealing.
"Oh, fuck, fuck, Ceniza, this's... You're driving me insane. Driving me totally fucking crazy." As if I'm sane as it is.
Oh, well.
Deep; deeper than deep.
Feeling her wound wrapped around me tighter and sleeker and softer than fingers than anything else could be and it's... It's just so damn elegant I can't fucking believe it.
Wet.
Sticky.
Drenched with her voice; serenaded with every inch pulled into her and dragged out again.
Fingers laced through her hair; tasting her nape.
Hers like claws, tearing at my shoulders.
"Ah. Ah. Ah. I'm... You're hitting that spot inside me. You're gonna... I'm... I'm gonna get you all wet and dirty."
Oh, well.
Can feel it.
Throbbing.
Around me.
Clenching.
Sudden cinching a berserk spastic fit like a fuckin' seizure ripping through her and the legs jerk and spasm and it is bloating hotter than hot against me and it's not just seeping out but spraying over my belly like fucking magma Ceniza like Pinatubo and I'm about to be, and...
It's scalding.
Matted with her hair.
"Ah. Ah!" Arching; head thrown back and it's an animal shriek. Bellowing howling and how can you refuse that?
The world melts.
Everything.
Walls become gelatin and 's fuckin' amazing they're not just crumpling and everything's not just becoming a black hole and you're standing at that event horizon and who cares if you disappear who cares about anything when there's just the need to pump slap pummel deeper deeper deeper deeper.
"Oh, fuck, fuck, you're- you're coming inside me. Do it; c'mon. Don't waste one drop." Who would? Filling her.
It's...
Spurting.
Bubbling around me.
Lubricated with it and just more, more. Can't stop; can't stop.
With her nails tearing huge red livid nonsense over my chest.
When I'm about to fucking die.
Still more.
"Chin, chin, chin." Squealing; her last words or something 'cause that was... Was sexual death. Crumpling on me and we're definitely, well, at least an invitation to a fuckin' sponge bath. "Oh, that was good, Dean.
"I knew your hands were just... Whew. Incredible. Amazing. You make me feel so good."
"What about you, Ceniza? Honey, that was just..."
"Looks like you are quite the back door man, huh, Dean?" Giggling.
And it's already...
"Ngn... Your brother's coming back soon, Dean. We can't do it again. But, um, if you want..." Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. That surreally sexy flair that only a woman has; tongue creeping over perfect teeth and fingers brushing a few sweat-stained stripes of hair away from her eyes.
"Tomorrow night." What? Impatient? With this, this, that's staring placidly at a buffet like a good obedient little doggy while you starve for a decade. "Hell, any time; any any time. But, ah... Waitaminute. Why are you here?"
"So horny you didn't even think about it, huh? Think I'm such a shitty pet anymore, Dean?"
Wha?
Vamping; twisting around and now she's just tormenting me, arching back, soles still on the mattress, dragging that wet cum-sodden heat around me and up and down and I am not finished not satisfied and her ass is smearing us over my hips and...
"Whaddaya- what?"
"Mmm... Don't you like your new pet, Dean? Good thing Sam didn't know the chick at the pet store's a sorceress. Don't worry; she's a good witch. This's my reward for being such a loyal familiar to her. I wanted to see a, ah...
"New master for awhile." Holy shit. Twisting around and mesmerizing me with those eyes. "Aren't I soft?"
"Oh, yeah." Palms tasting, fuck, devouring her hips; her ass.
"Don't be mean to your little chin-slut unless I want it." So delicious I could definitely survive for a week on just that.
Damn.
She's standing.
Hips swinging with a sweet syrupy sashay and that's her palm cracking with a quick slap at her ass and...
It musta been a dream.
A seriously weird fucking dream.
"Dude, Dean, close your door or puts some pants on, man!" Oh, crap.
Eyes opening and it's...
Morning?
Something?
Sam's at the doorway and this is not exactly how I imagined the morning-after would be. Even if it's the weirdest fuckin' dream I've ever had.
I think.
Hand slapping at my crotch and there's, uh...
Something soft.
Slathered on me.
A little encrusted.
And something else.
Perfume.
Vaporous like a ghost; suck it down and there's definitely memory.
At least Sammy's turned away; a few seconds to struggle back up and tug up my jeans.
"Sorry 'bout that, Sammy. I, ah, had to let the dog out for a walk, y'know-"
"Oh, nasty, man. Don't tell me that." Twisting back into the hall while I'm groping for a shirt; the crutches. Damn, that kid can whine.
"Oh, c'mon, Sammy. Nothing you've never seen before. We do sleep rough-"
"No. No way, Dean. Not that rough."
"Yeah, don't feel too bad for not measurin' up, kid." A hand slapped at his shoulder. "Hey, you're wearin' the same clothes as last night-"
"Well, it is last night. It's just eleven-thirty." Ouch. "How long've you been asleep, anyway, Dean?"
"Long enough, I guess. I feel refreshed. Hey, ah... About that cute little chinchilla ya got." And now Sammy's quirking one brow over one sullen eye, gawping at me like I've grown another head and then that one grew another.
"What about it? You didn't do anything weird, did you, Dean? Shave it?"
"Hey, who'd do that to a cute defenseless little animal, man? What kinda nutcase d'ya think I am? Hey, you wanna beer? I got this sudden need for a beer-"
"How about you start with a shower, man? Hey, did you have a girl over, dude? You smell like..." Uh, sex.
Smell like a century of sex.
Sammy's shoulders sagging like your libido when you walk in on Rush Limbaugh and Hillary Clinton reconciling in the worst possible way.
"What about you, Sammy? You smell kinda... Uh, drunk." Or the brewery had a serious accident.
"She just wanted to talk to me about pets. The whole night, man. That chick was gorgeous, but she's fucking crazy." Oh.
Well.
"So, ah, she into that kinda stuff-"
"Oh, ew. No way, Dean. I didn't mean that she likes animals that way. I think. That'd be- y'know what, man?" Laughter.
Between both of us; bubbling up outta the chest.
"Actually, Dean, that would make me feel a lot better. I'm glad she didn't ask me to go horseback riding or something." Hah. "She just... Said she likes animals a lot more than people."
"Come to think of it, I think that's a pretty good way to think, Sammy. Animals are, ah, a lot more reliable than people, huh?" 'specially when they can be people. The best virtues of both, huh?
"You, too, Dean?" Man, the guy's exasperated. Guess he's dreading his date with Miss Michigan and her five daughters tonight.
"Call it a religious experience. Or something. Changed my outlook. I really like your little chinchilla." Stumping off with him to his room.
And it's there.
The fur...
"Hey, you got it all messy! What'd you do, man?" Sam snapping up the cute little thing.
And the eyes...
They're just staring at me.
Hot through the cold light.
"I just played with it a little-"
"What? In the kitchen?" Oh, crap. Something matted on its fur; and now smeared on his fingers. And scrutinized. Please, please, not that much. "Where'd you find doughnuts, anyway? Is this glaze?" Please, please, don't lick it off your fingers, dude. Don't. That's too far. Even for me.
"Yeah, uh, you could say that. The little guy was just hungry." For something, anyway. "He's a cute little boy, ain't he?"
"Why do you think it's a boy? It looks like a little girl to me." Sam's squinting like a moron at it. Since when has he ever sexed a chinchilla? Uh, since when has anyone? Is that a job? How do you fit that one into your getting-to-know-you stuff on a date?
"Oh, believe me, man. I know. It's a boy."
"Ah, Dean?" Sam's, ah, quizzical. 's he perfect word for it.
Staring at me now.
"Never mind, dude. Hey, how 'bout you let him sleep in my room for awhile? I'm, ah, kinda lonely, y'know?"
Chin-chin-chin.
"Did it sound like the chinchilla was laughing, Dean?"
"Just your imagination, Sammy."
