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From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: {Losgud}JDR"Driving Me Crazy A"( MF inc humor )[1/2]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.
=========================
The following is total fiction. Any resemblance etc. is a product of your
imagination. This work is meant as ADULT entertainment. If the laws
where you sit say you're too young to read this, go away and turn
yourself in to the thought police. Even thinking about sex is dirty and
nasty and will warp your mind forever. Go watch a movie or play a
game that ends with a body count in the high four figures. Death and
destruction are good clean fun.
Copyright(c)1997 losgud. Personal use just fine. Archiving okay.
Absolutely NO for-profit use permitted. Reposting without notice is
frowned upon. Tampering with the text (rewriting) is illegal. Copyright
violations will fall under the jurisdiction of my principality, where the
punishment is to discourage repeat offenders. We cut your fucking hands
off!
=========================
NOTE: Kind of batty, kind of long, kind of different. It might be wise
to not wait until the end to put on the asbestos gloves and safety
glasses.
=====================
DRIVING ME CRAZY
losgud
losgud@hotmail.com
Section A:
My wife has this huge crazy extended family. And every last one of
them share this singular obsession. So every time she starts talking
family I flap my arms like I'm a giant crow. Boy do I _caw-caw_ at her.
"If I'd known what was in your genes," I squawk, "I'd never have tried
to get in your jeans." I'm joking of course. Sort of. There's a hell of
a jewel down in those pants, but the wrappings and trappings that
aren't cotton kind of give me the shivers. It's a toss up. They both
drive me crazy, but in entirely different ways of the phrase.
See, the thing is that there's a million of them. That's okay. All of
them are really close. That can be okay. But hardly any of them live
in the same city. That's not okay, but it isn't that bad. They all like
to go visiting each other a whole lot. Does that sound like the worst of
it? Trust me, it's not.
Okay, let me run this down again. There's a ton of these people,
they're all close but they don't live close, and because they all own
cars our country has to be an oil-importing nation. Got it? Here's
another complication. Half the people in the family are divorced, but
everyone remains on very friendly terms. Care for another? Birth
control is commonly pronounced _menopause_. If the men take the
responsibility it's called _impotence_.
The thing of it is this. My wife begs me to hop in the car with her
and go visit one of the aunts. After 100 miles we get there, we're
barely out of the car, and her aunt says to my wife, "What a gorgeous
day you have for your drive. I know what, let's go visit your
grandmother." A hundred miles later we spill out of the car again.
Barely get seated with a cup of coffee when the phone rings. It's a
brother or a niece or an ex-in-law. "What? All of you are over there?
Well, a bunch of us are over here and we've got steaks going on the
grill out back. So _come on over_, I'll throw a few more on." An hour
and a half _further_ down the road . . .
I have strangers stop me in stores and accuse me of being a drag
queen, or a sloppy boxer. I don't wear make-up! My last black eye
was in the third grade, for chrissakes! But I do sport these
spectacular dark rings around my eyes. Kids I don't know point and
laugh at the Raccoon Man.
It's not just that all the driving wears me out; I wake up every
morning utterly exhausted. You want to know about nightmares? A map
of the United States as a family dot-to-dot. Did you ever die in a
dream? I do all the time. Last night the hypothermia got me. We
wound up at Uncle Bob's igloo outside Fairbanks, and I was dressed in
shorts and a muscle shirt. It's not that I have the sexy musculature to
flaunt, just that when and where I'd first climbed in the car it was 95
degrees with matching humidity.
What can I do? Handcuff myself to a towel rack in the bathroom and
swallow the key? That works, but it's not much fun. Get a note from
my doctor saying _no more roadtrips_? That gets expensive: my
insurance company disallows preventative medicine.
I know, I know. Be a man. Just do a Nancy Reagan. So I did sit down
and weigh it all out. You refuse, what's the worst that can happen?
She files for divorce. Well, hey, _problem solved!_
So now most the time I just stay in town. I've learned the preemptive
strike. I know all the signs. I keep her overnight bag packed. I run
and get it when I see Laura getting that glazed look, holding her hands
curled and bent out in front of her. Flecks of foam form at the corners
of her mouth and she starts babbling about family. I hand her the
keys and give her a kiss, steer her out the door, "Bye honey, have a
safe trip, say hi to everyone, see you in a couple . . . " Days? Weeks?
Months? Time, like distance, means nothing to these people.
Of course I am a very well behaved bachelor boy. Scruples aside, it's
the better bet. Sure I could be in bed with a bimbo having a hot
afternoon nap, but it's safer to be lingering over lunch with the
newspaper. Laura having left at dawn, they could have hit the eastern
seaboard and already be back at the step-uncle's a hundred miles to
the south. "Hey Laura, where's Carl?" "Oh, he decided to stay home."
"Well, hey, let's go visit him!" Don't laugh, it's happened. I looked out
the front window and saw all these figures lumbering up across the
lawn. I nearly dropped from heart attack! I thought my life had
suddenly turned into a George Romero flick. _He-e-ell-o-o-o, we're here
to eat your bra-a-a-in!_
There are times, naturally, when I do choose to bite the bullet. When I
sense the conditions are most favorable. Such was the moment when I
agreed to go along to her mother's. Laura cajoled me, "Please please
please please, I promise promise promise promise, mom really really
really really wants to see you, and it'd mean so so so so much much
much much to me me me me." My mother-in-law is great. She's the dot
just 100 miles to the east. And I hadn't gone to see her in nearly half
a year. It is germane to explain that Laura sprung the news on me as
we lay tangled in the sheets. _Ooh, this isn't playing fair_, was about
all my mind could muster, because of course she'd just deliberately
fucked my brains out. Which isn't to say I had no life left in me.
While the words crowded out her mouth, her fingers were doing some
talking all their own, and the look in her eyes was telling me something
else. _Say yes and I'll shut up, and then I'll need something else to fill
up my mouth_. How could I so no to that? When she works at it,
Laura can be _very_ persuasive in her arguments. The wonder is that
she doesn't do it all the time. Felled by the intoxication of her charms,
she could just throw me in the backseat like so much dead meat. But
then when we arrived, the car doors opened, the gathering crowd would
swoon from the heady aroma. There, I suppose, is the glitch. If she
made me shower off first I'd sober up. "Gee honey, thanks for showing
me in advance how much you're going to miss me. Have a good time!
Luv ya babe."
Ahh, the secrets we learn when we bother to sit around and think them
through.
"Weeeellllllll," she began ominously a few days later. That hinted
enough at the imminent evil that I replied, "Okay, I'm not going."
"Nononononono," she soothed. "See, my cousin and her new baby are
going to be up at my aunt's so mom and I will be driving up Sunday in
the morning for an hour and then coming right back . . .
_butbutbutbutbut_ you can just stay at mom's and sleep late and hang
out by yourself the way I know you like to do and wait for us to come
back early in the afternoon."
"One condition," I replied.
"Agreed," Laura answered, "_anything_ you want. Rent movies, have a
pizza delivered for lunch, hire a hooker to entertain you, whatever, you
name it."
"You take your mom's car."
"Huh?"
"That way when you call from Earl's house in Texas you'll get your
mom's answering machine. And I'll be able to be already safe and snug
and well asleep back at home in my own bed. By the way, how exactly
does Earl fit into the pantheon anyway?"
It took awhile for Laura to answer. She was raised according to the
etiquette books, and of course it is terribly rude to talk with a full
mouth. Eventually she came up for air and gasped, "You got it."
Weaving as I was I found it hard not to trip on the knot of pants
around my ankles. And then, "Earl's a long story. Starts with my
great-grandfather Anson's sort of step-sister and a ranch hand from
Mexico . . . " The story got a bit muffled after that point, and I wasn't
really listening anyway. Earl had maybe once briefly been a foster
child of a relative who was actually adopted . . . but the lineage linking
him to Anson's sort of step-sister got lost in translation. All these sort
of details drive me crazy. None of it mattered. I was _in_ that car.
Come Sunday morning I couldn't sleep with all the racket Laura and her
mom were making. There I sat, grouchy, a newspaper to distract me
and a cup of coffee my only weapon to beat back the grogginess that
seemed to have replaced my body's calcium content, petrifying my bones
into a bunch of surly sticks. _Go away and let me get back to sleep_
was the only thought my brain could hold. Laura was on the phone,
then suddenly off in the car. My mother-in-law, bless her, knew better
than to try me with chit-chat at that hour. Then Laura was back with
her sister Rachel. _What is going on?_ I could barely wonder.
Rachel is the family anomaly. She was born, bred and is certain to die
in this city. She is lost to the family heritage. Put her in a four-
wheeled metal box going at highway speeds and she gets profoundly
carsick. Not that she doesn't have the family urge. She once came into
a fair sum of money, but promptly blew it all on airfare. She is famous
for once having parachuted into a family gathering, with no prior
experience. Back roads and a bicycle and pedaling hundreds of miles.
After a few turns of renting scooters out of desperation she is, I
understand, thinking of buying a motorcycle. Apparently in the open
air and on two wheels she'll be able to do just fine breaking land-speed
records. But no way would she be clambering in the car with these two
for the upcoming adventure.
"Why is she here?" I whispered.
"Oh, thought I'd get you a little company," Laura replied with a twinkle.
"No one like a sister to be safer than a hooker."
"What are you talking about?" This wasn't really a question. It was
more an expression of my general morning confusion. Ever feel like you
were a television? Your brain the guts and your eyes the screen?
Someone's turned the volume and brightness knobs all the way up?
And you're parked on a channel of static? No? Oh, you were born with
cable. Never mind. No, wait. _Disconnect the line!_ There you go.
No? You can see what I'm talking but you don't know what I mean?
_Grrr_, where's my coffee?
"Oh _c'mon_. Be a sport. You can do it. She wants you to do it. Give
her a nudge and she'll be jumping all over you. It's your reward for
being such a good boy."
"What? I'm supposed to say, hypothetically, 'C'mon Rachel, spread 'em
wide 'cause Laura said so.'"
"You could possibly phrase it more delicately than that. Oh forget it
you big goof. I'll have a word with Rachel myself. Leave the door
open for you."
Did I believe her? No. No way. What was she talking about anyway?
I whacked myself on the side of the head. That's what you do to
improve reception if you don't have cable. Nothing made any greater
sense, but the newspaper print was a tiny bit clearer.
There was a great fluttering as they got ready to go. It was like a
herd of birds let loose in the house. Or a stampeding flock of buffalo.
Whichever, whatever, it was driving me crazy so I grabbed my stuff and
dived out the door to the front porch.
"See you sweetie. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And you know
what I'd do if I were you, _haw haw_."
The slamming of little metal doors. The engine roaring to life. And
then _the sound_. The sound I haven't mentioned before because no
one would believe it. _I_ don't believe. I hear it every time and still I
don't believe it. It is, I suppose, a direct expression of their eagerness
to _go_. Their git-go. Go _anywhere_. They squeal their tires. That's
the sound. But I don't know how. There are no clutches to pop.
There's not a manual transmission in all the family--I don't know why,
some sort of religious prohibition. I'm sitting on the front porch in the
middle of the morning and it sounds like the middle of the night. Some
young toughs and their jacked up rods endangering all of America by
having illegal drag races down city streets in the very early a.m. hours.
That's what it sounds like. But it's just Laura and her mom reversing
down the driveway at about 2 1/2 miles per hour. These things drive
me crazy.
=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under the "Author" name:
lushgod@hotnomail.com
=====================
DRIVING ME CRAZY
losgud
Section A
-30-
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