Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 166
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Beach Western
Chapter Two
"There are men who whip you?" Ashlee asked.
"Yes, you know, on the bottom," the girl replied. "They make it hurt,
but they don't harm me. They only do it when I'm really asking for it
though. When I've broken a dish or, um, been purposely bad, like when I
sprayed their penises with whipped cream."
"Um," Ashlee replied, and it sounded like "Yum."
"Do you want to help me pick flowers?" the girl asked. "I'll let you
stay awhile, if you'll be my friend." The flowers came back to Ashlee's
attention, and for the first time she noticed how truly beautiful they
were. In the girl's makeshift bunch, lying on the bench, there were
daisies, tulips, even roses! And all seemed like they had been picked
straight out of some heavenly garden. Ashlee forgot the girl and her attire
for a moment and stepped forward to admire what she'd found.
"You really do have some beautiful flowers here," Ashlee said. "May I
hold them?"
"Sure," the girl said. The girl and Ashlee perched themselves on the
high bench, their backs to the posts of the corral. Their feet swung in the
air, inches from the ground.
"You could sell these," Ashlee said.
"We don't sell them," the girl replied. "They just grow wild here."
Ashlee wanted to ask, 'Like you?' but refrained. Then she thought of men,
young men, and their penises growing wild on this mysterious ranch.
"How long have you lived here?" Ashlee asked the girl, who shortly
introduced herself as May.
"Since I was 14," May said. "I'm 17 now. I was an honors student in
school, but my mother and father pushed me really hard. Too hard. I was
really skinny too, though now I'm told I'm beautiful. No boys liked me in
highschool, I didn't have any friends. So I ran away. Took Greyhound from
Ohio and wound up sleeping in the bushes here when someone in L.A. tried
to rape me. The people here found me. I've never left."
"You've never left, May?" Ashlee asked, incredulous.
"Why would I?" May asked.
"Don't you like to go, um, shopping?" Ashlee asked brightly.
"People bring me presents," May replied.
"Don't you want to meet boys?"
"I meet boys all the time," May said. "They come, stay awhile, come
some more, and leave." May giggled. "We have lots of parties."
"I feel jealous," Ashlee said.
"You don't need to," May said. "Help me pick some flowers and I'll
introduce you to Thane. He's nice. He's about 40 or something. This is his
ranch. You're quite pretty, so I'm sure he'd accept you."
"Well, thanks," Ashlee said.
"But you'd have to get used to not wearing clothes."
"Oh." Ashlee said.
"You want to wear clothes?"
"Well, of course. Don't you?"
"Sure, to dress up for a party or something, but mostly I just like
being natural," May replied.
"Well, I guess if you're not dressing up for a party there's not really
any need," Ashlee began. "I mean, I've spent countless hours in just my
bikini."
"Right," May said, hopping down from the bench. She brushed her
hand over her shirttail, whisking away any splinters of wood. "Help me
pick flowers and then I'll take you up to Thane. I'm glad I found you. We
should have lots of fun."
As Ashlee helped May pick flowers she wondered if the stress of
being an honors student hadn't somehow broken May's brain. The girl was
plenty nice, but almost too nice, like a little child. She wondered if May
hadn't mentally retreated from the stresses of life until she'd returned to
the deceptively simple days of her childhood. Now the girl was like, well,
some mare in a pasture. Fed and cared for by others, with nothing but an
occasional erotic spanking to stir her from her mental refuge. Ashlee
found herself envying the girl. All her life Ashlee had always been looking
forward anxiously to the future; to college, to marriage, to children. A
house, a car, a career. This girl, this honors student, had handily
dispensed with all those cares. As long as her beauty pleased Thane she
was as cared for as any princess. As any captive princess? Ashlee
wondered.
"What if, um, what if you woke up tomorrow and wanted to leave?"
Ashlee asked May.
"Thane says I could," May replied.
"Well, what if you get old?" Ashlee asked.
"Thane says he loves each of us girls equally the same," May said.
Then a glimmer of her honors student cunning showed briefly. "And,
frankly, with him pushing 50, I don't think us getting old will be a
problem."
THE END
(Sorry, but thatÕs all there is to this story right now.)
IN THE BEGINNING there was Chambers of Love
THEN there was Love Child
And NOW...
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Puppy Love
Chapter One
I sat in the office pool typing. With some annoyance I found that I
had mispelt some words in a letter for my boss. The spell checker was
bombing my writing program on my computer, so IÕd dismissed it. Now I
felt like dismissing the entire letter. I reached for the paperback
dictionary beside my desk. Flipping through it, I reflected on my life. Why
hadnÕt I made contact with Helga on my return to Buenos Aires? I guess I
was just young and rebellious. And I was pissed at Kimberly too, for
getting me into my whole misadventure. Still, I found myself feeling a
little homesick all of a sudden. I looked up. I gazed at the huge pane glass
window that fronted our office. It was raining outside. People hurried
along the sidewalk. The wind blew at their clothes. Water streamed down
the outside of the glass, blurring everything a little, making it seem like
another world.
I shifted in my chair. I glanced at the other girls. Did they suddenly
feel restless, like me? IÕd been content with my little job for two months
now. I made a lot more than any of the rest of them did, though only my
boss knew that. It was because of my special service that IÕd performed
for the Argentinean government, in London. There were beginning to be
intimations, though, from above, that I needed to Òput outÓ more. Not on
the job, of course. After hours. Argentina is not known for having the
most perfect government.
I felt ambivalent. I tugged at the hem of my miniskirt. And then,
suddenly, I decided. Yes, I was safe and dry here, warm, comfortable. Yes,
I had a nice desk. But it was boring. They made me work every day, eight
hours. Home every night, back every morning. I pushed back my chair. I
got up. I tugged on the hem of my miniskirt. I picked up my little purse
off the back of my chair, and slung it over my shoulder. And then, without
a sideways glance, without looking back, I walked out.
The rain hit me in the face. It was warm. I tossed my head, didnÕt
mind, didnÕt hurry like the other people on the walk. I felt the wind whip
past and lift my skirt. I smiled. I pulled down the front of my skirt, but
the back flew up with the wind, showing off my pantied bottom. I ran
then, hurrying just like the others, trying not to slip on my five-inch
heels.
I arrived at the safety of a bus stop wet and dripping. I waited a
moment, hoping I looked no worse no sillier, than the other pedestrians
who had crowded inside. Then, seeing the rain abate a bit, I stepped back
out onto the walk. I rounded the corner of our office building. It was a
huge building, a block long. There, down the street, was my small red
sports car. IÕd bought it with the money IÕd made working for the
government. I dashed to it. It felt good running, my skirt flying, my
bottom stopping traffic as the wind made my undies show. I fished out my
keys from my purse. Reaching my car, I got it unlocked and slipped inside.
I would go find Helga, I decided. And Kimberly.
***
Helga sat in KimberlyÕs living room. She looked ambivalent. WeÕd
reunited the day before. ThereÕd been warm hugs, kisses, tears. I was
older now, she could see. I wasnÕt a little schoolgirl anymore. I was a
woman like her, though still 15. IÕd kept them up late, recounting my
adventures. IÕd edited my stories some, made them palatable for a
motherÕs ears.
ÒI want to go on assignments,Ó I said. My voice was high-pitched,
insistent.
ÒDarling, you are too young,Ó Helga said again, for the thousandth
time. She wore neat, conservative clothes, mom clothes. She twisted her
hands in her lap. She sat on the couch like a middle-aged woman, though
she was barely 30.
ÒIf she really wants to,Ó Kimberly offered. ÒI was 15 when I met
you...Ó
ÒThat was different,Ó Helga answered. ÒThe times were different
then.Ó
ÒThey were?Ó Kimberly asked. Her face had a kind of incredulous
smile on it. ÒThey seem the same as now to me.Ó
ÒWell, I was younger, more daring, more irresponsible,Ó Helga said.
ÒI didnÕt care if I got some 15-year-old, some CHILD, into sexual stuff.
Now I do. I understand more.Ó
ÒWell, I donÕt understand,Ó I answered, rebellious. Only two days
home with her and already we were fighting. ÒYou go on assignments.
What do you do on them, hmmm?Ó
ÒShe plays Risk,Ó Kimberly smiled.
Helga blushed. She put her face in her hands. Kimberly sat
uncomfortably, silently. When Helga finally raised her face her eyes were
wet.
ÒI-I canÕt stop you,Ó she said to me. ÒThe number is in my purse. Go
get it, and call it if you wish. Then letÕs hear no more of this nonsense.Ó
I hustled into the kitchen. Her purse was there, on the table. I knew
she might change her mind at any moment. I opened the purse, looked
inside. I rummaged around. There were hundred dollar bills inside,
crumpled, as if they meant nothing. Amidst the money and other things, I
found a little slip of paper. It had lipstick on it. 472-1920. That was it.
No identifying information, nothing describing what it offered to connect
you to. But I knew, just by looking at it. I went to the notepad on the
kitchen counter and copied down the number. Then I put it in the pocket of
my denim vest. I sidled back out to the living room, sat down.
ÒI thought it would be hidden away somewhere,Ó I confessed. ÒI
should have just gone and dug in your purse when you werenÕt looking.Ó
ÒThanks for not,Ó Helga replied. ÒAnd now I want to hear nothing
more of it. Call me if you get in trouble, otherwise not. And I want you to
start school again, young lady.Ó
ÒYes, mother,Ó I answered. ÒI have a car now, so it will be fun to
drive there.Ó
ÒTry not to mention why you were away,Ó she told me. She shot a
glance at Kimberly. The blonde put a hand to her mouth, failed to suppress
a giggle. ÒI told them you had found your father, and went to America to
spend some time with him.Ó
ÒMy father, Lazarus,Ó I smirked.
ÒEnough!Ó Helga said. She was not angry, simply wanted to close off
our current conversation. ÒLetÕs go out in a few hours, get something to
eat.Ó
ÒThat sounds fun,Ó I answered. Kimberly agreed.
***
I woke up bright and early the next morning. I was ready. IÕd heard
all the advice why I shouldnÕt, all the warnings, and now IÕd made up my
mind. I kissed my teddy bear, stepped into the shower, did my makeup
afterward, my nails, brushed my hair until it glowed.
I put on my most daring micromini. There was no use kidding around
with these people. Then I slipped into a blouse that seemed to show more
of me than it hid. It left my belly bare, did little to conceal my bosoms,
but constricted my throat and my arms in tight, stretchy fabric. Then I
put on my shoes. They were new. IÕd bought them yesterday evening,
shopping after dinner with Helga and Kimberly. I think Helga had known
where I would wear them. She looked away as I strutted around the store,
trying them, feeling their fit. Kimberly insisted on paying for them, and
told me never to take them off, unless I was asked to. She didnÕt explain
why, just said not to. I nodded.
I drove myself to the agency. ThatÕs what it was called, simply Òthe
agency.Ó I found the building where it was located, a tall skyscraper
downtown, and parked underneath. I took my parking pass with me so they
would validate it. On the elevator up to the 11th floor, I wrapped my
jacket tight. The men in the car glanced at me. My jacket was as short as
my mini, leaving my thighs, my legs, stretching nakedly down to my heels.
I didnÕt need stockings. The women in the car were jealous of me. When I
got to the 11th floor I exited quick as I could. I felt their eyes pasted on
my ass as I walked with rapid steps down the hall.
I buzzed the door marked ÒAgency.Ó It was a small sign, posted on
the door in paper, as if temporarily, though the office had been here for
years. The door unlocked, and I let myself in. A woman at a desk greeted
me. I smiled. She was gorgeous. She wore a bow tie around her neck and,
strikingly, a string bikini top. I could not see whether she had anything
else on. Her hair, brown and glossy, was piled atop her head. She wore
small, conservative earrings.
ÒAre you Barbi?Ó she asked.
ÒYes,Ó I replied.
ÒKimberly called. She said youÕd be coming,Ó the woman answered.
She seemed very nice. She handed a clipboard across her desk to me.
ÒWould you please fill this out?Ó
ÒSure,Ó I answered.
ÒWould you like some coffee?Ó
ÒOkay,Ó I said. She rose. Instinctively, childishly perhaps, I looked
at her to see if she had anything else on. A bikini bottom. Of course.
Perfect for the office of the 90Õs. Stepping around from behind her desk, I
saw she wore long black boots, above the knee, with little gold spurs
fitted onto them. The spurs seemed to bring out the blonde highlights in
her auburn hair, I thought.
ÒPlease donÕt mind my Ôuniform,ÕÓ she smiled, as if feeling a little
silly under my stare. ÒBossÕs orders.Ó
ÒMen,Ó I agreed.
ÒThey can be so difficult sometimes,Ó she said, and walked away,
into another room, her hiney swaying, nothing but a thong in her ass crack
keeping me from seeing all.
I sat down on a leather couch and filled out the form. It asked my
name, my age, and other questions, rather probing ones. I contemplated
them and filled some out, wondered at others.
ÒJust do the best you can,Ó the woman answered, returning with two
steaming cups of coffee. She sat down beside me and I queried her about a
few questions. She explained them, helped me answer them. We chit-
chatted a bit, mindlessly, enjoying each otherÕs company.
ÒI like your dress,Ó she said after a bit. ÒDo you have panties on?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I answered.
ÒWould you please pull it up for me a minute? I have to do a visual
inspection.Ó
ÒAlright,Ó I replied. I set my clipboard aside. I bit my lip and raised
my mini.
ÒWould you spread your legs for me?Ó she asked.
DO YOU LIKE C-SPAN?
Please call your cable operator and tell them you want C-SPAN 3 in
your home. Currently C-SPAN 3 is only carried in the Washington D.C. area.
However, it IS available to ALL cable systems.
If you wish, download my article ÒCable Operators Prefer
PornographyÓ from my ftp site: members.aol.com/nnd66
ÒCable Operators Prefer PornographyÓ is a propaganda item I wrote
to my cable company to (successfully) get them to broadcast C-SPAN 2 24
hours per day. It is important that you not just write to the cable
company. You must also create the impression, in your letter to them,
that you are distributing your letter (to them) to OTHER people as well. If
you just write to them alone, theyÕll throw your letter away. But if you
create the impression that you are distributing your letter to others,
theyÕll worry. (And hopefully accede to your demands).
I wrote ÒCable Operators Prefer PornographyÓ in January 1995. You
are welcome to modify it.
AND IN THE END...
TAKE NOTE, EXON
(author of 0 books)
ÒIÕm a great believer in the First Amendment, in freedom of
information. Because I really think more than anything else thatÕs what
has made our country great.Ó
- Tom Clancy, C-SPAN 2, About Books, January 11, 1997.
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
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-END OF 166 EMISSION
- Chambers of Love and Love Child are contained within the 124 issues
of Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (an e-zine) available by e-mail from:
file.request@backdrop.com
- Correction: Exon authored a two page pamphlet titled, ÒWhy America
is Great and I Must be Re-elected.Ó