RandomReviewerReturns: I have no idea what he is anymore. A trickster god might just be in, though.
The nighttime streets of Royal Woods were a confused maze of shadows, eye stinging lamplight, and fire hydrants that came out of nowhere and barked you in the shin. Lugosi stopped, threw his arms around a splintered utility pole, and held on for dear life. He read somewhere that cool air was supposed to sober you up, but that was a lie. He was even drunker now - sick, headachy, fevered, and rolling. That's the only word that he had to describe the warm rocking and reeling in his head. The world spun and the ground pitched like the deck of a ship on stormy seas; he fell over three times already and he really didn't want to make it four.
Lester and Lamis,arms slung around the other's shoulders, held one another up and laughed hysterically as they had been since they left Pissy's what felt like hours ago, but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. "You inbred motherfuckers always cause problems," Lamis snorted, and they both shrieked laughter.
It wasn't that funny, Lugosi tried to say, but his words came in a broken grunt. He felt battered, like the very universe itself was assaulting him from every side. He pressed his hand to his flushed forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. I can overcome this. It's in my head. Focus. Be sober. Mind over matter, motherfucker.
Only that didn't work. He went right on being sloppy and drunk.
A hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped. "You're cute when you're about to throw up," Ramona said and batted her eyelashes. Her voice was thick and slurred and the smell of alcohol rolled off of her in sickening sweet waves.
Or maybe he was smelling himself.
She leaned heavily into him, one breast flattening against his back, and her arm enfolded his waist. His heart, already racing from the booze, sped up, and his dry throat became even drier. "I'm not going to puke," he said, taking great pains to enunciate each word slowly so that he didn't stumble over them the way he did his own feet. Ramona skimmed her moist lips sensually over the side of his throat, and his skin tightened. His dick, flaccid just moments ago, stood straight up, and the rapid loss of blood to his brain made him dizzy. Her hot, unsteady breath puffed hotly against his flesh and her fingernails dug possessively into his stomach.
Putting his arm around her shoulders, he turned to face her, and she stared down into his eyes, a sly, tipsy smile touching her lips. She tilted forward and he met her half way. Their lips touched and they eyes met. She smiled, then flicked her tongue out. He licked it, and she broke out in a giggle. "That's not how you kiss, dumbass," she said and took his face roughly in her hands. "Your supposed to put it in my mouth."
Oh, he wanted to put something in her, alright. Instead, he licked her lips and a tremor went through her. She brushed her thumbs lovingly along his cheekbones like an artisan carefully molding clay, and Lugosi took her hips in his hands. The air between them crackled with pregnant meaning, and when they kissed again, deeper and slower this time, an electric zap zigzagged into the pit of his stomach. Ramona's knees quaked and Lugosi tightened his grip to keep her from falling. Tides of passion swept him away, and he was dimly cognizant of pulling her body flush to his, and of his erection jamming against her middle. She gasped into his mouth and attacked his tongue with desperate urgency, soft grunts and heady sighs trembling from her working throat. Lugosi turned himself over to feeling and held her face in his hands, he hips beginning to rock on their own, his bulge grinding deep into her, his head separated from penetrating her by flimsy layers of easily removable cloth; maybe it was imagination, but he thought he could feel her - hot, slick, skilken and pulsating with need.
She staggered forward with a shocked umph and, entwined, they nearly fell over. "Come on," Lamis slurred, "we gotta get home. It's...it really late and we're in big trouble."
"It's not late," Lester dismissed, "you're just...distorted because of the drugs." He caught himself. "I mean the alcohol."
"We're still in t-trouble."
Ramona caressed Lugosi's cheek and pecked his lips. "Come on, dumbass," she said, then winked, "I wanna be alone."
Hot damn, did she just say she wanted to be alone...like with him?
Some of the mist obscuring his brain parted and newfound energy surged through him like spinach through Popeye; he grabbed Ramona's hand and yanked her along behind. "Let's go," he said.
She uttered a shocked laugh and quickened her step to keep up. "You're gonna break my arm, fag," she squealed.
He slowed down and she drew abreast. "Sorry," he said, then, feeling bold, "I just got kind excited."
"Oh?" she asked knowingly, a dirty little hilt in her voice.
Behind them, Lamis ducked her head, laughed, and patted Lester's stomach. "Stop, you're gonna make me pee!"
Lugosi looked Ramona up and down, taking her in with slow relish, savoring the shape of her long legs, the gentle outline of her breast, the gazelle-like slope of her throat, her narrowed, glassy eyes, her puckered little I-know-what-you're-thinking-and-it-makes-me-hot smile. "Yeah," he said, "I did."
She jutted her chin slightly out, putting him in mind of a pleased cat, then brushed her teeth across her lower lip. "Me too," she said. She leaned in until her nose touched his. "I'm really excited."
Lugosi swallowed. No, he wasn't an expert in women, but he also wasn't a blind moron - by excited, Ramona meant "excited."
Sexually.
Okay, okay, we've established that, now get her home and do something about it.
If possible, his dick got exponentially harder; it pushed out the front of his pants jeans like a medieval joust and pointed territorially at the juncture of Ramona's thighs. Her eyes darted to it, and she her face blushed so deep you'd need to learn Chinese to communicate with it. Her eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky, and it took everything Lugosi had in him to keep from throwing her to the ground and ravishing her right there. He grabbed her hand again, and she allowed him to lead her. Ahead, Lester staggered and went to his knees, dragging Lamis down with him. She cried out, then brayed laughter. "We're in so much trouble but I can't stop laughing!"
Lester pushed to his feet and nearly went down again. "Just act normal," he said boozily, "it's not a big deal. We can do this. I believe in you."
"Awwww," she drew, "thank you." She took his hands, leaned in, and rubbed his nose with hers. He rubbed back and pecked her lips. This was the most affectionate Lugosi had ever seen them in public, and he would have been surprised if he wasn't so worried about getting Ramona somewhere private.
They were at a T-shaped intersection now. All around darkened houses lined the sidewalk and tall trees rustled in the warm breeze. Lamps shone orange pools of illumination on the pavement and the sounds of traffic on Main wafted through the tepid night like the distant whisper of things to come. Lugosi knitted his brow and shook his head. What did that mean? Kek, he didn't know, he was blitzed, horny, and…
He came to a stop.
"Uh, guys?"
He, Ramona, Lester and Lamis stood on the curb, the street before them desolate.
"What?" Lamis managed.
He looked around, the uncanny and chest tightening sense of being completely fucking lost crashing over him like a frozen wave. "Where are we?"
Nothing was familiar. Not the yards, not the ranch houses presiding over them, not the street signs; it was like he'd never been here in his life, and his stomach clutched at the possibility that they somehow wound up shambling in the wrong direction. Lamis opened her mouth, then furrowed her brows and turned left, then right, a long, thoughtful hum rumbling in the back of her throat. "W-We should be on Ridgecrest." Her voice lifted in sudden dubiety and she looked at Lester. "Right?"
Lester smacked his lips, squinted, and thrust his head head forward. He surveyed their surroundings, lifted his hand to his forehead to block out a glare that didn't exist, and hummed much like Lamis had. Ramona slipped her fingers through Lugosi's and rocked impatiently on her heels. "Oh, I know where we are," Lamis said. "The house is straight."
"Are you sure?" Lugosi asked, then swept the neighborhood with his gaze again. He spotted a mailbox shaped like a bass that he thought he remembered, but dressed in shadows and moonlight, the world looked far different than he had ever seen it. His mother and father didn't really, you know let him out of the house after dark, and now that he really thought about it, he couldn't remember ever being out and about at night.
Lamis nodded resolutely. "Totally sure. I know these things."
She stepped off the curb and started across the street, and Lugosi followed; what the hell, even drunk off her ass, he trusted her more than he did himself. She could be a real wet blanket from time to time, but she was responsible, and that counted for a lot in his book.
Ten minutes later, 1216 loomed out of the darkness on the left like a ship at sail, lights blazing in its front windows. Lamis and Lester stumbled up the walkway and Lugosi's heart began to knock unsteadily. At the door, Lamis stood up straight and took a deep breath. "Everyone act natural, okay?"
She turned the knob and pushed the door open, the light spilling over them like biblical brilliance. Inside, Leah, Leanne, and Aunt Lana sat on the couch, and Aunt Luna sat in the armchair, her feet propped up on the coffee table. She wore a pink uniform dress with a nametag over the breast and rotting tennis shoes. She worked as a waitress at the truck stop on Route 29 and spent eight hours a day on her feet - she ate through a pair of shoes every month and complained endlessly about her feet hurting.
Lugosi closed the door behind him, and Aunt Luna glanced over. "Hey, guys," she said, "how was your date?"
"Good," Lamis said quickly. She was a lot of things, but she wasn't a very good liar; her voice was shaky and dripping with guilt. "It was really good." She hesitated like she wanted to prop up her lie with something else...then she hurried up the stairs. Lester ducked his head and fled after, leaving Lugosi and Ramona alone. Aunt Luna looked at them and cocked her brow, and Lugosi flashed a nervous smile. Could she smell the booze? Could she see the intoxication in his eyes? When he looked at himself at the mirror back at Pissy's, they were bright red and glassy - you'd have to be braindead not to see and know.
Now he was self-conscious. He lowered his gaze to the floor and resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. Next to him, Ramona scratched the side of her head and pointed her eyes shamefully at her Crocs. "You guys had a good time, huh?" Aunt Luna asked, a sly inflection in her voice. Oh, God, she knew.
"Yeah, it was...it was fun." He stayed where he was for a moment, too awkward to move, then went up the steps, his skin tingling with the feeling of being watched. In the corner of his eye, Luna smirked and shook her head fondly (oh, you). At the top, he ducked left and pressed his back against the wall like a man sheltering from enemy fire. Whew, that was a close one. His mom was lax and cool about most things, but being wasted off his ass would probably be one of those things she carted out the Mom Act for.
Ramona reached the head of the stairs, glanced worriedly over her shoulder, then at Lugosi. He opened his mouth to speak, but in a flash, she was grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pushing him back against the wall, and passionately kissing him. He tensed in surprise, then kissed her back. He snaked his hands around her hips, clutched her butt, and dragged her body tight with his; his erection jabbed the inside of her thigh, and a streak of burning sensation shot into the pit of his stomach. She threw her arms around his neck and held fast as he turned; now she was against the wall. She kicked one leg up, braced it to his hip, then the other, wrapping them around and digging her heels into his butt. Her gripped her ass, held her up, and mindlessly grounded himself against her middle, each stroke knocking a gasp from his mouth and a sigh from Ramona's. She pulled away from his lips, and he attacked her throat with frantic kisses, the salty taste of her skin making him drunker than the wine and drawing his groin forward. He thrusted, his dick prodding her center, and Ramona let out a sharp moan; her eyes rolled back in her head and her teeth clamped her bottom lip, a look of nirvana rippling across her face and a broken nngh shooting from her lips.
Every kiss, every piston drive of his hips, shoved Lugosi deeper into lust until his body blazed with it and his love steeped mind was totally fogged; he was a higher being reduced, in this moment of concupiscence, to animalism, his body moving on primal instinct alone, his brain choked with dense passion. He could not think, could not reason, he could only feel and let the hand of Mother Nature guide him.
Ramona squeezed her legs even tighter around him and rocked against his boner as best she could; with her head thrown back, eyes hazy, and teeth raking her lip, she, too, was lost to passion, her mind scrambled by the leaden desire flooding her core. She'd been turned on before - like, every time Lugosi kissed her and stuff - but her depths had never been this sickly hot, never pinched this hard. Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it, but she was so horny her middle clutched spasmodically and sizzling, sticky arousal soaked through the crotch of her panties and coated her inner thighs. Every time Lugosi's head slammed into her, prodding curiously between her clothed lips and mashing her swollen clit, pangs of jolting pleasure spread through her like spidery lightning in the summer sky and her eyelids fluttered. She swiveled her hips and bucked against him with wild abandon, not caring that they were in the second floor hallway of his house, where anyone could see them, not caring that she was ruining her underwear, not caring that she was so close to the edge that one wrong (right) move would make her cum in her pants, not caring about anything but Lugosi's lips on her neck, his hands squeezing her butt, his hard, steely dick battering the spot between her legs.
He kissed her neck, her jaw, her ear, his teeth nipping and his tongue lashing; he shook with need and grunted like a caveman claiming his mate by force, and Ramona trembled. He pinned her roughly to the wall and grinded faster, driving into her clit and sending bursts of pleasure into her brain so intense it might as well have been agony. She wound her fingers through his hair, wrenched his head back, and fused their lips together; his tongue swept into her mouth and she reverently lashed it with hers.
Lugosi thrusted and she bit his lower lip so hard his mind flashed red, but he didn't care, hardly even noticed. Incredible dank heat raidied from between her thighs and his dick responded by straining in an attempt to get to its source. He hooked his fingertips into the waistband of her leggings, then plunged them down the back of her panties, her full, fevered, bare butt filling his palms, smoother and silkier than he ever could have imagined. She pulled slightly back from his lips, and their tongues whipped one another; mingled saliva coursed down their chins in silvery rivers and -
Something whacked Lugosi in the side of his head, startling him from the depths, and he turned just in time to see a flicker of orange and white disappear into his father's office. "Don't get her pregnant, son," Dad called, then shut the door.
Huh? Whaa? Where am I?
Something lay on the floor, and he and Ramona both looked at it, their brows furrowing in matching expressions of bafflement.
A box.
Ramona unwrapped her legs from around his waist and he sat her on her feet, then stooped down and picked it up.
TROJAN, the label said.
"Uh...did your dad just give you a box of condoms?" Ramona asked.
A smirk touched Lugosi's lips, and he looked up at her. She was grinning goofily.
He nodded.
Ramona's eyes sparkled with evil, then she grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged his lips to hers. Lugosi circled his arms around her, and shuffling, spinning, and pulling, he lead her to his bedroom. She threw him against the door and assaulted his lips, her body pressed greedily to his like a second skin. He reached behind him, fumbled with the knob, and got it; the door popped open and they spilled back, nearly falling. Ramona shoved him onto the bed, and Lugosi stared up at her in boyish wonder as she mounted him, her knees caging his legs, her misty eyes simmering, and her face the most alluring shade of pink he'd ever seen. She sat astride him like a woman upon a horse; her crotch weight heavy and soft on his, and her shaky palms laid flat on his chest. She bit her bottom lip again and moved her palms slowly over his body like an inquisitive girl exploring new territory. The playful curiosity in her eyes and the cute and analytical crease of her brow gave stark testament to her inexperienced virginity. Lugosi cupped her hips then moved his hands slowly up her sleek flanks, the soft shape of her feminine body and the slight motion of her hips making his breath catch.
She pushed his shirt up over his stomach and parted her lips parted in appreciation. Her fingertips danced along his smoldering flesh and a shiver of delight dropped down her spine. He hiked her dress to her hips, and rocking back, she crossed her arms over her chest in an X and pulled it over her head. Lugosi gaped, transfixed, as the fabric drew over her breasts. Her pink bra, undone from before, came with it, and she tossed them both aside. Lugosi licked his chops like a hungry dog, warm mounds of brown skin and dark areolas, nipples hard and pulsating with desire, her stomach flat, her hips rounded just enough to suggest her body's intended purpose. The light glinted on the chain around her neck, and the heart pedant rustled against her caramel skin.
Scarlet embarrassment painted the bridge of her nose and she anxious chewed her bottom lip; her breasts bounced and throbbed with the crazy nervous pounding of her little heart. "Do you like them?" she asked haltingly...like she honestly thought he wouldn't.
Instead of replying, he glided his hands around her hips and up her stomach with deliberate intent. His palms skimmed her breasts and closed lightly around them. Her eyelids fluttered, and throwing her head back, she arched her back to give him easier access. He grazed her nipples with his thumbs and made slow, firm circles. She held his hands tight, mashing them against her, and grinded him deeply; they both moaned and she thrusted again, harder, more forcefully. She threaded their fingers together, flattened her body to his, and molded their lips. Lugosi rested his hands in the small of her back and kissed her, his mind once again rolling away and turning over control to his body. He jammed thumbs into her waistband and brushed her leggings down. She lifted up, yanked them over her knees, then kicked out of them, freeing her core and filling the room with the musky perfume of her scent.
She pawed at his jeans, and he unbuttoned them for her; she unfolded the flaps, and he raised off the bed so she could pull down his underwear. When his dick popped out, she sucked a sharp intake of breath then boldly took it in her hand, her touch gentle, warm, and full of need.
Somehow, in the whirlwind of ardor, he wound up on top of her, holding her wrists to the bed and attacking her lips. His tip sank into her folds, and her flesh gripped him like a desperate hand clutching for salvation, her slick fire scorching his ever tightening shaft. She shifted, reached between them, and navigated him to her opening. "There, there," she panted abjectly "you're right there."
Lugosi slid his hips gently forward, and her boiling core wrapped around his head. He paused, hyperventilating now and so close to coming undone he could barely pull himself back. Ramona put her legs around him and braced her heels against his butt. She drew him closer, spearing herself another inch, and Lugosi hung his head. He wasn't going to last long, and the prospect of cumming too soon mortified him.
He needed to go slow and easy.
The command, however, was lost in transit, and he slammed absently forward, his dick filling Ramona's passage and spreading her wet walls. She gasped and issued a long ahhhh like a girl settling into cold water. Her muscles clenched around him as if to expel the intruder and he gritted his teeth. How could something simultaneously hurt and feel blessedly divine?
Pulling back, he surged forward again. Ramona cried out and clung to him; her nails shredding his back and her heels held him partly in place. He set an even pace, and soon, their mixing fluids greased the way and it didn't hurt anymore.
Ramona hugged Lugosi to her chest and lifted to meet each one of this thrusts, the stinging given way to the most beautiful sensation she had ever known; she was full, in both body and spirit, and every scrape of his crowned tip against her rippling walls sent jarring vibrations through her burning body. Lugosi kissed her neck, the side of her face, her ear, his ragged breath puffing hotly against her goosebump prickled flesh, and those tender touches, each one a fully formed declaration of love, pushed her over the top. Her muscles seized and dazzling white light exploded in the center of her skull. Her body convulsed and bucked, taking Lugosi all the way to the font of her womb. He moaned, then swelled painfully inside of her. Suddenly, sizzling heat pumped deep into her stomach, and her orgasm intensified tenfold. She locked her arms and legs around Lugosi and held on as she rose out her climax, purring in the back of her throat every time his seed squirted against her cervix. Lugosi fell limply on top of her and shivered as the final volley drained from him.
For a while afterwards, they held each other close. He began to shrink and with a grimace, he rolled off of her, his cum spilling from her chapped lips in a warm, goey rush. Her pelvis ached and her muscles pulsed with soreness, but when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her lips, it didn't matter.
She laid her hand on his cheek and stared lovingly into his drooping eyes, her heart swelling with affection until it overflowed and spilled into her stomach. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, and pecked his chin. "I love you," she said sincerely.
"I love you too," he said and caressed the side of her throat.
For a while, neither spoke, both drowsing in the faint afterglow of their lovemaking; then something came back to Ramona, and she frowned. "Do you...do you think I'm ugly?" she asked.
Lugosi opened his eyes to narrow, bleary slits. Beneath his stupor, she saw confusion. "No," he said, "why?"
She sighed. "Dino said I'm a snaggletooth -"
"Fuck him," Lugosi dismissed. "He's an autist."
Ramona had a lot to be ashamed of, from the poverty in which she lived to the fat, sloppy drunk she called Daddy, but her teeth bothered her the most. Sometimes she stared at herself in the mirror with loathing and disgust and had exert every ounce of energy she had to keep from knocking the hateful things out. Before her family moved back to Royal Woods from Toledo, where her dad worked in the railroad stockyards, the other kids made fun of her so bad she ran home in tears every day. When she moved, she was terrified of it happening again, and the only way she could make sure that wouldn't happen was by bullying everyone into silence. Some small, sick part of her actually enjoyed it, but she did it not for sadistic pleasure, she did it because if she didn't, they would do it to her. You can say she was paranoid or wrong all you wanted, but she knew that if she let them, they would tease her just like the ones in Ohio teased her.
Lugosi brushed his thumb across her cheek and stare pointedly into her eyes. She searched them for traces of deceit, but there were none. "I don't know what anyone else thinks," he said, "and I don't care. You're beautiful to me."
A happy blush started in the tips of her toes and worked its way north until she was warm and tingly.
"Also," he said and flicked his eyes shamefully down, "uh...we forgot to use the condoms my dad gave me."
As if to punctuate his statement, a glob of cum oozed out of her and plopped welty to the blanket. Her stomach knotted with dread...then released. Maybe she was still a little drunk on wine and a lot drunk on love, but the idea of having Lugosi's baby brought a smile to her lips. "Eh, those things break all the time anyway."
He opened his mouth, but must have seen the commitment in her eyes; he smiled, moved his hand over her heart, and said, "Yeah, who needs those things?""
"Not us," she said.
He scooted closer and cupped her cheek. "No," he said, "not us."
He took her to France..
...and she took him to heaven.
Lester Loud lay flat on his back, the room spinning about like a merry-go-round. The ceiling twisted left, right, left, right, and staring up at it was starting to make him feel ill. Closing his eyes did little to alleviate things, as the rocking became even worse in darkness. He pressed his hand to his flushed forehead and fought back a groan.
Next to him, Lamis was curled up in a ball, her knees drawn to her stomach, her head resting on his shoulder, and her palm lying limply on his chest. She stared at him with a fixed, boozy smile that was both attractive and unsettling at the same time. He slipped his fingers into his hair and swallowed a rush of acidic, tropical flavored bile. Christ, it tasted sweet the first time around, now it tasted like one of mother's concoctions - he'd never knocked one back, as it were, but he could vividly imagine. Shudder.
Lamis rubbed his stomach in a slow, revenant circle, like a Buddhist worshipping at a statue of Buddha, and he turned to face her full on. A spill of brown hair lay lank against her forehead, obscuring but not hiding a fresh crop of whiteheads that drew his attention every time he looked at her. He was not repulsed by them, as some might be, in fact, he relished kissing them. She'd wince and cutely crinkle her nose with a charge of You're so weird, but she allowed it because, he suspected, she knew why he did it. To him, it was symbolic of accepting and loving even her flaws. She worried incessantly over her frequent bouts of acne but they only served to remind him that she was a real, normal girl and there's something immensely satisfied in being loved by a real, normal girl, isn't there? The models and musicians one sees on television are all too smooth and artificial, always done up and looking like wax mannequins. Real girls hav acne, bad breath sometimes, and fart in their sleep. Lamis was endlessly striking, and her blemishes and bad habits enhanced, rather than diminished, that.
He had no right to such a beautiful and loving partner - he was petulant, sour, envious, and a thousand other trollish things - yet fate had seen fit to give her to him. Their relationship, at least in its present form, was recent, but with the close proximity of their ages, they had always shared a special bond, and routinely blurred the lines between siblings and more. They shared their first kiss when she was nine and they explored each other's bodies to intellectual satisfaction two years later. Neither one of those moments were what he would deem romantic - he and Lamis were precocious, curious, and had what the other was seeking, so why wouldn't they slake their thirst for knowledge on one another?
Things changed on the advent of puberty. They clung to and cuddled with each other just a little more than a brother and sister ought to. Sitting on the couch and watching television, she would rest her socked feet in his lap, and he would absently knead them with his hands. He would slip his arm around her shoulder, and she'd snuggle up, throwing one leg possessively over his lap. Sometimes, she slipped into his bed and slept with her head on his chest, and sometimes he slipped into hers and held her in his arms, her scent, shape, and warmth awakening keen and powerful feelings in his stomach.
In the natural course of things, nuzzling eventually lead to kissing, then kissing to touching, then touching to petting, and finally petting to losing their virginity to each other. Even then, Lester did not realize the true scope of his emotions. It took her spending a summer as a counselor at Camp Rolling Hills for it to sink in that he he loved her. For two months he was sick with loss - he missed the sound of her voice, the way her hand felt in his, her smile (cliched, perhaps, but it really did light up the room), he even missed her hounding him about his weight and whether or not he was wearing his jacket or getting enough sleep. It irritated the bejesus out of him, but she did it because she cared, and not having her there over his shoulder and harping into his ear depressed him deeply. No one else cared for him the way she did, nor did they understand him the way she did. The one who came closest was mother, but Lester could hardly tolerate the sight of. She was selfish, single-minded in her pursuit of her scientific endeavors, and, he suspected, a clinical sociopath.
She probably possessed National Socialist sympathies as well.
Remembrance stirred in the back of his besotted mind; telling Lugosi what mother did to him. He let out a self-loathing sigh and damned himself for being so foolish. He spoke only to Lamis about that, and he swore her to secrecy. He couldn't prove the operation happened, but he had isolated and disjointed memories of it, especially coming awake at one point when the ansistia wore off too soon. Pain, fiery and greater than any he'd experienced before or since, filled his skull, and with a scream, he thrashed so violently he knocked over a tray of chrome and wickedly sharp instruments.
She hated him being normal...hated that her loins did not produce something as cerebral as her...something with its head similarly shoved up its own ass…so she took matters into her own hands. What colossal ego must it take to play God...to honestly believe you know better than nature.
Lamis caressed his face and he came back to himself. Lamis's mouth was turned down in a sharp frown and tears stood in her eyes. His heart twinged and he shifted onto his side, his hand going to her cheek. There were few things in this world that he could not tolerate, and Lamis being in pain was one of them. "What's the matter?" he asked.
She sucked her lips into her mouth as if to keep from breaking down, and a single diamond drop tears tracked along her freckled cheek. He was not one to bear emotion easily, even to the girl to whom he'd pledged his life and heart, but his throat constricted and tears of his own threatened to well in his eyes.
Finally, she let out a shivery breath. "I thought you were gonna die," she slurred.
He cocked his head in confusion, then it came back to him. Something about that dinosaur, an altercation of some kind and he, Lester, didn't do too well. "I doubt I would have died," he said and forced a smile, "at most, he would have stopped once I was unconscious then stood over me to gloat. What, nigger?"
A half sob / half laugh escaped her throat and she sniffed. "I didn't like it either way." Her frown weakened into something approaching a smile and she said, "But I did like how brave you were and...and how you stood up for Ramona."
"I did it more for you," he said. "Every time I don't snap one of their necks is my showing you how dearly I love you."
The sun crested wetly in Lamis's eyes a beatific smile spread across her face. "I love you too, Lester," she said, then an idea pinched her brow. "And I'm gonna show it."
She rolled onto her back, then to her side, facing away, then, finally, onto her stomach, getting her knees ponderously under her. Lester watched quizicaly as she thrust her rear into the air, then fumbled with the front of her jeans. She pressed her cheek to the mattress, and one green eye started devilishly through the messy veil of her bangs. She undid her pants and pushed them slowly down over her posterior, then her white panties, both bunching at her knees. Her skin was smooth and smattered with constellations of swirling freckles. Lester had seen her naked body more times than he could count, had touched, kissed, and made love to it too, but gazing upon it never failed to make his heart rate increase.
Lamis grinned and wiggled her rump enticily back and forth. "Put it in my butt."
Lester started. "Your butt?"
He and Lamis were open with everything in heart, mind, and body...except for anal. After their first sexual encounter, she told him I don't want anything near my back door. That's an exit only. Lester didn't particularly care, though he would be a liar if he said that he wasn't interested in trying it at least once. He respected her boundaries, however. He wouldn't want anything in his rectum either, so he couldn't be too upset. Her anus, however, was part of her, and he loved it the way he loved everything else. He kissed her toes, the soles of her feet, and her butt cheeks, but never that. The one time he tried, she clenched and jumped a foot. Leave my ass alone, Lestard! she snapped. That nickname never stung as much as it did coming from her, and he hadn't attempted anything with her butt since.
She nodded slowly. "My butt."
He stirred between his legs and butterfly wings beat against the inside of his stomach. In her state, however, she couldn't properly consent to the act, and disappointment so bitter it surprised him washed through his chest. He said as much, and she rolled her eyes. "I said I love you," she said, "and I want to do this with you. My body is your body."
That made him chuckle.
"I mean it," she said soberly, "I love you so much I'm willing to give you my butt virginity." She snorted laughter and raked her fingers through her hair. Lester's eyes went to her creamy flesh, and his dick slowly inflated.
"I don't want to do something you'll regret later on," he said.
She reached out her hand and took his. "I won't regret it," she said, "I don't regret anything involving you."
He smiled and skimmed his thumb over her knuckles. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure," she declared.
Jamming his elbows into the bed, he drew himself into a sitting position and waited for the vertigo to disperse before getting to his knees. Lamis arched her back and lifted her butt as high as she could get it. Her center was pink, moist, and exuded a wild fragrence that made him salivate; kneeling behind her, he admired the view, his gaze travelling from her puckered anus down to her love-swollen vagina and back again. She turned her head and stared at him from the corner of her eye, her smile growing as he unclasped his belt. He was breathing faster now at the promise of things to come, his palms sweating, his heart knocking; his fingers trembled as he pulled down the tab of his zipper and when he pulled his penis out, Lamis bit her lower lip and hummed suggestively.
If Lamis was self-conscious about her pimples, he was self-conscious about his penis. The average penile size for an American male was 5.5 inches. He was just under five and stubby.
Lamis said he fit her perfectly and while he believed her, it still made him uncomfortable when she looked at it in its flaccid form.
It wasn't flaccid now, however, in fact, it was quite the opposite.
"I want some of that," Lamis said thickly.
Laying his hand on one rounded cheek, he took himself in the other and guided it to her hole. She licked her lips, splayed her hands on either side of her, and grabbed the blanket in expectation. "Don't be too hard on me," she said, a worried note in her voice, "okay?"
"I won't," he vowed. Lamis, as any normal woman, occasionally liked to be treated roughly. He had come to appreciate such sex, but in the beginning, he abhorred it. She told him once, exasperated, that he needn't treat me like I'm made of glass. His response was, verbatim, I love you and I don't want to hurt you. She smiled and stroked his cheek...then leered like a pedophile at a toddler beauty pageant. I wanna get hurt.
Very well.
This, however, was a good sight different from conventional coitus. Vaginas, by their very nature, are designed to withstand the pounding that comes with sex. Rectums are not.
Shifting into a more comfortable position, Lester pressed his tip to her opening, and she jumped forward with an eek of surprise. A deep frown creased his face and he rubbed a tender circle in the warm flesh of her buttocks. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes," she said.
Alright, then. He drew a deep breath, gripped himself tightly, and pushed against her. She closed her eyes and bared her teeth in a grimace of discomfort, and Lester clenched his jaw. She was exceptionally tight and his dick strained for admittance. Lamis's breathing was heavy, irregular, her face rippling at the alien and not entirely pleasant sensation of his tip squeezing to get in. Her body tensed and clamped down on him, shocking a pained hiss from his throat. She lifted her butt higher, like a bitch waiting to be mated, and Lester, holding tighter to increase size and firmness, slid his hips forward. Her anus puckered defensively closed and Lester's head mashed impotently against it. Sweat began to trickle down the back of his neck and embarrassment colored his cheeks. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and redoubled his efforts.
Lamis gritted her teeth, clutched the blankets in hooked talons, and pushed back into him, doing her best to help but achieving very little. Lester swallowed hard, dug his fingers deeper, and thrusted; he bounced off, started to lose his balance, and slapped her butt hard with his free hand to keep from pitching forward. Lamis hummed appreciatively, lifted her head, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Now that I like," she said.
Reaching between his legs, frustrated with himself for not being big enough and hard enough to penetrate her, Lester grabbed his dick, jammed it to her ass hole, and, gritting his teeth, pushed. Lamis lowered her head and shoved herself back. Grunting and perspiring, Lester drew away, then surged forward. His dick finally sank into her, and whipping her head up, Lamis let out a trembling cry. Her body, springy and hot, shuddered around him, and he gasped at the sensation. It was wholly unlike her vagina - tighter and lacking her natural lubrication - and a spasmodic kick went through him. Grabbing her hips, he withdrew to almost the tip, then gradually slid forward again; her muscles danced crazily and her walls wrapped themselves to his shaft as if to strangle him.
Lamis clawed the blankets and panted heavily, each exhalation coming as a broken moan perched on the dividing line of pleasure and pain. Lester slid back, then forward, back then forward, losing himself to friction and dumb desire. Lamis spread her knees, threaded her fingers through her messy hair, and bunched her lips closed to stifle the cries. Every time he rutted into her, his balls slapped her vagina, and pangs of toe curling pleasure went through her. The pain and discomfort slowly melted away, and before long, she slipped her fingers beneath her and started to rub her clit.
Noticing, Lester leaned over, his dick hitting spots she never even knew existed, and brushed her her hand away. She held onto the bed and rocked faster, the joint assault of his rod and his deft fingers masturbating her sending her into the stratosphere. Should she tell him to pull out, or should she let him fill her ass with cum? Logic told her the former, but her burning body and racing heart plead for the latter; she and Lester were both responsible and he always pulled out, so feeling his hot, thick sperm shooting into her was a rare delicacy that she only risked every once in a blue moon, when the passion was so great that she didn't care if they got pregnant.
Lester alternated speeds, rubbing faster, fucking slower, fucking faster, rubbing slower. He was fatally close to his peak and couldn't last much longer. He propelled himself forward, and Lamis's orgasm blindsided her; her body clutched and she let out a hissing "Fuck." Lester's own end welled up from his testiciles, and ripping his hand from her crotch, he grabbed her ass and threw himself into the wall. His dick grew, sealing their bodies together for one blissful moment of total oneness, then he erupted and flooded her ass with semen. She pressed her hands to the headboard and jerked back, taking him to the hilt and sighing with each load he gave her, his creamy heat sweeping through her body and warming her to her very bones. Lester's motions slowed like cogs and drive shafts gradually falling still, then stopped entirely.
They stayed that way for a long moment, panting and conjoined, then he pulled out, crawled next to her, and dropped onto his side. His face was red with exertion and sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead. His cute dick lay against his leg, its tip silvery with his essence. Lamis lay flat on her stomach and winced at the feeling of her closing butt cheeks sploshing his seed tackily between them.
She rolled to her side, threw one leg over Lester's hips, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He burrowed his arm between her and the mattress, circled her, and drew her body to his. She pecked his nose, and laughed at the way his face wrinkled. "Did you like it?" she asked.
"I did," he said and hugged her fiercely. Scrunching her shoulders, and nestled against him, laid her forehead on his, and brushed their noses together. "I love you," she said.
"I love you too, Lamis," he replied, then, after a tentative hesitation, he added, "with all my heart."
They kissed, then, before long, both passed out.
And snored really fucking loud.
THE END.