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From: JohnThomas@compusurge.com (John Thomas)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.moderated
Subject: Celeste contest: four entries
Four entries for Celeste's 1997 writing contest: SPACED OUT!,
YARDSTICK, DAISY, and SHIPS THAT PARSE IN THE NIGHT. The last two
have already been posted over the past week as individual stores. At
less than 500 words each, they might be easily lost in the spam ...
All four are intended as humor; there's an erotic content, but it's
relatively slight.
None of them are likely to be considered pornographic by current law,
but if you feel uncomfortable with erotic material, you'll feel
uncomfortable with these.
SPACED OUT!
by John Thomas
"Most groveling greetings, O Roth of the mighty mandibles, chief
arachnid of the seven sun systems and twenty-eight planets!"
"Nertsch, you idiot! I hear that you have invited two residents of
planet Earth into your traveling domain."
"Well, yes. But we've taken along supplies to make them comfortable
and entertained, and they seem pleased."
"You know the prime rule: none of the residents of these outer
worlds are supposed to even know we exist, let alone be invited on
board. What's the matter with you?"
"Well, as you know, my function was to study reproduction technology
among the dominant species. This turned out to be a harder job than I
had anticipated. Their two-dimensional audio-visual facilities had
plenty of examples of this -- a whole industry seemed to be producing
them. But very often, the mating organs seem to be interconnected to
the wrong places. A standard mating connection seemed rare, which was
puzzling.
"We thought we might do better studying written records. These, too,
were plentiful. But they seemed also to include a great deal of
extraneous material, such as the use of restraint equipment, and
actions intended to cause discomfort.
"The audio component was confusing, too. The videos indicated a
mating sound such as 'Ooooh, God, Unng, Yes, Aaaaah,' all emitted at a
low level. In contract, the written material typically indicated loud
shouting, such as 'Shove it in me, big boy!' or 'I love it! I can't
get enough!'
"So we put out light holoprobes in survey mode. We found a strong
correlation between sex and travel. Mating was frequent with long
distance travelers, such as businesspersons, air crews, and athletes.
But it was even more prevalent among short distan ce travelers: milk
deliverers, pizza delivery humans, plumbers, and Maytag repairmen.
Amazingly, we found the most active mating frequency in a small group
called 'door to door Bible salesmen.'
"We focused our probes more directly on individual mating sessions.
All I can say on this is that humans are poor on timing. I still
don't know how mating time is allotted. But, invariably, they run out
of scheduled time; at the end, they are always i n a great hurry."
"Get to the point, Nertsch! Why are the humans on board?"
"We decided to do an in-depth study. We found an attractive young
couple and laced their mating area with megaprobes. I swear, I had no
idea that they could detect our presence.
"But as they reached the conclusion of their mating act, the male
shouted 'I'm coming!', and the female shouted, 'I'm coming, too!'.
And after they had said that, what could we do other than accede to
their wishes and invite them along?"
========================================
YARDSTICK
by John Thomas (in the style of Deirdre)
"Do you both have to gaze at my husband's crotch like that?". Betsy
smiled, but I was still embarrassed.
"I'm sorry but .. well, after you told me over cocktails that your
husband had twenty inches, I was fascinated." I shifted uncomfortably
in my seat. "And I told Bob about it .. he's my husband, after all ..
and he said he didn't think it was possible."
"Well, Bob," said Betsy, still smiling, "you've been looking in that
area long enough. Do you think I'm, umm, stretching it a little?"
Bob seemed a little uncomfortable. "I really can't say, Betsy. But
if it's true, it would be one of the wonders of the world. I'm not
sure I really want to know. It might give me a complex." He licked
his lips. Bad move, I thought.
Dirk, Betsy's husband, was off in the kitchen fixing more drinks. I
could hear glass clinking, and was reasonably sure he wasn't
eavesdropping.
"Maybe you have a photograph," I said. An enlargement, I wondered
giddily. The thought made me grin. Perhaps Betsy misunderstood my
expression, because she smiled back at me. "Or .. do you have
giant-sized condoms around somewhere?"
"Admit it. You're both dying for a peek," said Betsy. "And Bob .. I
didn't think you'd be that interested in male anatomy".
Bob swallowed. "Well, it would be one of the wonders of the world,"
he said hoarsely. "A sight to be seen."
"Naughty boy," smiled Betsy. "I'll just go and talk to Dirk and see
what we can do".
She left the room. Bob cleared his throat. We didn't speak; there
seemed to be little we could say. We could hear low voices from the
kitchen, but couldn't make out the wording.
"Ta-dah!" exclaimed Betsy as she and Dirk came back into the room,
carrying drinks. "Let's drink a toast to scandalous behavior!" We
sipped our fresh drinks silently. It seemed as if Betsy had all the
lines. Then Dirk spoke up.
"Betsy tells me you have, well, anatomical interests," he said. That
was an interesting way of putting it; we wanted to look at his dick.
"I don't feel like being the exhibit in a freak show," he continued.
"Seems to me that if we all wanted to become more intimate, that would
be possible. What I'm saying is: I don't want show-and-tell, but I
wouldn't mind stay-and-play."
I really thought Bob would get up and leave at that point. But he
nodded his head slowly. The bastard didn't even ask me what I
thought. Maybe he didn't need to.
"You two undress first," said Dirk. "If you'd like Becky to help,
I'm sure she will do so." And so the two of us stood and started to
disrobe ...
*****
What a liar that Becky is. Dirk had at least two feel. Both Bob and
I are still limping.
========================================
DAISY
by John Thomas
You seen my girl Daisy? I swear, I catch that bitch, I'm gonna cut
her.
Two day back, I was businessman with five girls on my string. I take
care of them good, give them money, clothes, drugs, condoms. Keep 'em
happy, keep 'em high, keep 'em motivated to work hard. Motivator's my
fine body if they do good, my belt if they do bad. And I keep their
money so they won't get mugged, and dress up real pretty for 'em.
Daisy, new girl, bring in this guy. She say, this Joe, he a doctor
from her home town. I say, doctor, huh? You got any drugs, man? He
say he don't carry his black bag in this part of town. He got a point
there.
I say maybe he check out my girls, for which I give him freebies. He
say maybe he do that, but he say I look a little strung out, and how I
feel?
That true, I'm a little ragged lately. Mostly, I tell him, I get
bound up from the pills I been popping. He say constipation can be
serious, and he should check. He listen to my chest and tap it, he
bang me on the knee, then he grab delicate parts and say, cough.
By this time, my pants down around my ankles. He move around back,
then he holler, hooeee, you taken a look at your asshole lately? I
say, how the hell I gonna do that unless I work for a circus? He say,
take this here pill and ben over that table, 'cause he need to give me
medication back there.
I think the pill was a 'lude, 'cause I'm feeling all happy and dreamy
lying acrost that table with my shorts around my shoes. He say, take
it easy, he gonna give me a poultice. I say, pole what? He say,
chill, it just ointment. And I feel something go gently into my back
end.
OK, say the doc, we leave that in place for fifteen twenty minutes.
Maybe he go look at the girls while it's working. Just say there and
relax.
I lie there feeling kinda good, even with my back end plugged.
Suddenly the door burst open, and in walk a whole mess of ladies from
the 'hood, must be twenty or more. Screaming and laughing like it's a
party, or they seen the finest joke ever.
I raise up, look back at myself. There's a whole bunch of flowers
sticking out of my ass.
Now my girls gone to other business managers. When I walk out, the
ladies titter and smirk, their fancy men too. My business is wrecked,
my girls are gone, I get no respect. I hear tell that Daisy and her
man
- I don't believe he really a doctor - have flown outta town.
I find that girl, I get her. She dissed me good. Because, you know
what? Those flowers in my butt were daisies.
========================================
SHIPS THAT PARSE IN THE NIGHT
by John Thomas
It was on the corner of Strunk and White that I met her in front of
the bank building. She stood in front of the bank in her vinyl
raincoat with 24 hour cash withdrawals.
Her face lit up when she spotted my car with sparkling blue eyes and
a friendly smile. She raised her skirt slightly, which made my jaw
drop open, showing a pair of frilly panties. I caught my breath, a
glimpse of her stocking tops, and a whiff of her perfume.
Her beautiful blonde hair framed a gorgeous face that hung down to
her shoulders. "Looking for a good time, honey?" she asked, adjusting
her brassiere and smoothing her skirt, which must have been a 36-B.
I couldn't speak; my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth which
was still open. "What's the matter? Misplaced your modifier or
something?"
"Let's go," I croaked hoarsely, and followed her up the steps of a
nearby building with heavy feet. As she entered her apartment she
took off her coat; I admired her mahogany chest.
I took her coat, an asprin, and a moment to think. "I don't think I
can do this," I said limply.
She took her eyes off the lump in my pants made by my wallet.
"What's the matter? Can't get it up?"
It was true: her chest of drawers was on my foot and I couldn't lift
it. "Give me a break, a hand, or a couple of minutes," I responded.
"But .. I'm being followed .. I'm under observation .. every word I
say is being analyzed .. the slightest mispelling and I'm in deep
trouble!", I exclaimed. "A mysterious woman is tracking my dogs, or
doggingks."
She lifted her eyebrows, her dresser, and my spirits, since my foot
was no longer stuck.
"Her name is Celeste, and she told me I had to do this .. but," I
faltered, "she said I had to be short! No room for long ones in her
universe!"
"Forget her", she cried, stamping her foot and shaking her head,
which was still clad in a shiny leather boot. "We can lock the door
and split all the infinitives we want!"
Tears filled my eyes and I clenched my fists as they ran down my
cheek. "You don't understand!" I cried. "She's an English professor,
and when she stands in front of that blackboard there's a pain in my
heart, which is usally green these days!"
"I have to! No, that's ending a sentence with a preposition: ummm,
I to have? To I have? Hell: I must!", I yelled, mussed.
She showed me her pretty legs, her stamp collection, and the door.
I should have guessed it. Outside, SHE was waiting.
She looked me up and down coldly. "Your participle is dangling,"
she said.
========================================================================
Feel free to copy any or all of the above stories in electronic space
or any other space you have access to. Copy them, sell them (ha! you
wish!), write sequels, sneer at them, or whatever else turns you on.
JT
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