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From: jmp@cyber-mall.com (Joe Parsons)
Subject: Fools Rush In (mf, mast, satire)


FOOLS RUSH IN

Joe Parsons

The following text is a work of fiction containing graphic
depictions of a sexual encounter between two heterosexual adults.
If such material offends you, please skip to the next article.  

This text is copyright 1996 by Joe Parsons.  Permission is hereby
granted to repost it electronically, provided that it is posted in
its entirety.  Any deletion or alteration without the express
written permission of the owner is a violation of domestic and
international copyright law.


   **WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**

There is a message at the end of this posting that could be
construed by some as offensive. If you do not wish to expose
yourself to this, please do not read *any* of this text, as you
may be offended.

The following story is purely a work of fiction, intended exclusively
for readers over the age of eighteen. Any resemblance between the
characters depicted herein and any other persons living or dead, is
purely coincidental. (If you believe that, I have a nice bridge to sell
you. Or perhaps a nice game of three-card monte?


    **END OF WARNING--BEGIN SMUTTY STORY**



"And you, sir, are just another one of those liberal, dope-smoking,
pencil-necked geeks, just like our (heh) Commander-in-Chief."  I
signaled to Marty, my engineer, and the call was terminated. I pounded
the desk for effect.

"My friends," I said, in my most robust, radio-trained voice, "this is
just another example of the failure of our liberal, Commie school
system. Why, that guy couldn't even converse coherently with someone
like" --I paused for dramatic effect--"your charmingly humble host. My
Friends, you can always tell a liberal Commie: they just seem to turn to
mush when they get onto the radio in front of tens of millions of Real
Americans, you good folks who are a part of the Wonderfulness in Radio
Network. We'll be back in just a moment, after this word from Far-Right
Randy's Spotted Owl Delicacies."  I pointed through the glass at Marty
and the commercial began running.

I unbuttoned my collar and loosened my tie; the extra pounds I'd put on
over the last few months seemed to have settled around my neck. Time to
buy a larger shirt size, I thought. Business had never been better; the
day I found my calling skewering those Commie liberals was the day my
fortune began to be made. Millions upon millions of people were tuning
in every day, wanting to talk to me on the radio; I was a but a humble
conduit for the noble cause of Conservatism, yes: prayer in the schools,
spotted owls and California Condors on every table. 

Life was good: I'd gone from being an obscure talk show host in a 250
watt AM station in the backwoods, to being the idol of millions. Why,
Presidents even wanted to talk to me from Air Force One!  I'd take his
call, too--as long as he was on the "right" side of the fence. The one
we have now, why,  he wouldn't even get past my screeners!  Ah, yes!
Free speech. What a wonderful land we live in!

Pulling down a hundred, two hundred thou a week is not too bad either. I
hope to God we never get a Conservative President--my material would all
be gone in a flash.

I laced my fingers over my ample belly, leaning back in my chair as the
commercial and station I.D.'s finished. Marty held up three fingers,
then two, then one.  He pointed at me and my microphone and headphones
came alive.

"My Friends, we are Back!" I said in the cultured, resonant tones that
had become my trademark. The lights on the telephone board blinked at
me, and the computer screen gave me summaries of each caller on the
line: where they were calling from, their first name, how long they'd
been holding, and what they wanted to talk about. I read a bleeding
heart liberal article about how whales and dolphins were being
slaughtered, then followed it with our musical rendition of "Whales and
Dolphins, all Mixed in a Stew." It was some of my best work, and I knew
millions of Real Americans across the Fruited Plain were listening to it
and being edified. As the tape was playing I scanned the computer
screen. My eye fell on a name: Eve, from some town up north. I hadn't
had a woman on the air for some time, and since most women calling my
show tend to be of, shall we say, a "feminist" bent (and I know just how
to handle them), I thought we'd have some fun. The tape ended, and I
punched up Eve's phone button.

"Eve, you are on the air with...Me!  Gush Plumbob, the most beloved man
in America, the idol of all Real Americans. What did you want to tell
me, Eve?  Just speak right up, my dear; there's just ten or twenty
million Real Americans about to hang on your every word." I always
enjoyed putting my callers at ease by telling them how many people were
listening to...My Show. Callers are often just a touch nervous when they
get on the air with...Me: Gush Plumbob, the idol of all Real Americans,
the Scourge of the Commie Liberals.

"Gush?"  The voice in my headset was strangely self-assured, lower in
pitch than I had been prepared for. As she spoke my name I felt for some
strange reason that there were some other layers of meaning, as though
she was speaking to me at some other level.

"Yes...go ahead, Eve, is it?  What did you want to say to these millions
of Real Americans across the Fruited Plain?  Just speak right up, Eve.
Were you calling to complain about the Femi-whatchamacallits?  Some
drunken liberal senator from the northeast?  Did you have some
wonderful, juicy allegations we could spread across the airwaves?  The
Wonderfulness in Radio Network is at your disposal."  She was quiet as I
delivered my catch-phrases, so beloved by the masses of Real Americans.

"No, Gush; I really wanted to talk about you."  She spoke slowly, and
the slight husky quality of her voice seemed to fill my head. I found it
difficult to concentrate on skewering Liberals. 

"Me!  Of course!  Everyone wants to talk about...Gush Plumbob: the idol
of Real Americans across the Fruited Plain, Friend to Industry and the
Common Man alike." I was finding my stride again. I waited for her to
respond.

"I wanted to talk to you, Gush. Do you know what I might do if I were
there with you?"

"Excuse me?"  If I didn't know better, I would think this woman with the
hypnotic voice was trying to...seduce me!   Right here on the air!

"I'd sit in your lap," she purred, "and put my fingers inside your
shirt."  I looked up at my engineer, but he was engrossed in his comic
book, as usual. My hand hovered over the phone button, ready to cut the
connection. I was finding her voice strangely arousing as it cooed
inside my head. I couldn't think of anything to say; Me! Gush Plumbob,
the Idol of all Real Americans!  At a loss for words. And all because of
this...voice, this Eve talking to me in my headset.

"Then as I sat on your lap," she continued, her voice breathless, "I'd
feel your little cock getting hard against me..."  Oh, my God!  I
couldn't believe what I'd heard!  I hit the phone button with one hand
to cut the connection, the intercom toggle with the other.

"Goddam it, Marty!"  I screamed at the engineer. "You're supposed to
catch this shit!"  He sat placidly behind his glass in the booth,
reading his comic book. Eve's voice continued in my ear.

"And then I'd reach behind my back, and I'd unhook my bra, and let my
tits free..."  I stabbed at the phone button again, but her voice
continued. "I'd take off my blouse, and bring your mouth down to my
nipples...yeah, that's it..."

"Marty!  Get this bitch off the phone, Goddam it!  We're on the fucking
air, and you know the fucking FCC listens to this show!" I turned all
the controls to zero, watching the VU meters slump against their stops.
Eve's voice continued in my ear.

"And then, I'd just slide slowly off your lap, and unzip your fly, and
I'd take out your hard little cock..."  I was in a state of panic; my
engineer was ignoring my screams and shouts, and Eve was cooing in my
ears as though it were the most natural thing in the world. I buried my
head in my hands, defeated.

"I'd love to have your little cock in my mouth. Would you like that,
baby?"  

"Yes," I said from behind my hands. I didn't know if the mike was live,
or if any of this was going out on the air. I thought it might be a gag,
but I didn't know anyone who had a sense of humor. Something was
happening, and I was powerless to stop it.

"Ohhhh," she sighed. "It would be so good, baby, to have you in my
mouth, tasting your little cock. Would you let me do that?"  Her voice
was the most sensuous thing I had ever heard.

"Who are you?" I asked. "Why are you doing this to me?"  

"I just want to talk to you, Gush. And I want to make you feel good.
Don't you want that?"  I looked down at my lap, seeing the bulge--the
first erection I'd had in a couple of years.

"Listen," I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. "I'd like to talk to
you, too, but we can't talk right now. I'm at work. Give me a phone
number, and maybe I can give you a call after my show."

"Okay," she said. "Write this number down; it's my private exchange, so
make sure to get all the numbers."  I grabbed a pencil.

"Go ahead."  

"It's 1-800-666-6674. Did you get that?"

"666-6674," I repeated back to her. "What the hell kind of number is
that?"

"That's my private exchange," she said. "Are you sure you wrote it
down?"

I looked at the numbers I'd written on my pad, then at the clock on the
wall. My show (what was left of it) was almost over. "Yeah, I did."

"I'll be waiting for you, Lover. Please don't keep me waiting. 'Bye."
Her voice, so breathy, seemed to fade away into nothing, and the light
on the panel winked out.

Suddenly, the VU meters sprang to life on the board, and Eve's voice in
my headset was replaced by the raucous sounds of "Clear Cut the
Rainforest," a perennial favorite with my fans, the "Colonheads."  I
looked up at Marty and he signaled that I had another caller cued up. I
nodded to him and a coarse voice grated in my ears.

"Mega-Colons there, Gush!" the voice boomed. "I just wanted to talk
about them dam' liberals in Warsh'ton, and all them fags and commies."
Ordinarily, this was my stock in trade, but for some reason, my heart
just wasn't in it at the moment.

"Thanks for calling," I said, quickly. "We seem to be all out of time."
I drew my finger across my throat and the voice went away, replaced by a
message from one of our many Conservative sponsors. I heard my own
recorded voice pitching subscriptions to "The Illustrated Conservative's
Comix," always a big seller among the Colonheads. 

The commercial segued into my theme music, and the show was over. I
grabbed my jacket and headed out the door, intent on getting to my
office without being seen by one of my many fans on this floor.
Miraculously, I made it without being hounded for my autograph.

I ducked into my large office and closed and locked the door. I slumped
in my large leather chair behind my large desk and looked at the
portraits on my wall: large images of every Republican president ever to
be elected. They gazed at me sternly. At the far end of my office was a
small shrine: portraits of Senators McCarthy, Helms, Gingrich; My
People, all of them.

I fished in my shirt pocket for the scrap of paper I had used to write
Eve's strange phone number. I stared at it for a long moment. The
numbers seemed to take on a life of their own. Finally, I picked up the
phone, hit the "do not disturb" button, and began dialing the numbers:
1-800-666-6674. Stupid woman. Why couldn't she just get a normal number
like other Real Americans?

"Hello?"  Her voice was low and breathy, just as it had been earlier,
interrupting my show.

"Is this, um, Eve?"  I asked, already recognizing her voice, feeling a
little foolish. I wondered if this was how some of the callers to my
show felt.

"Hello, Gush. I'm so glad you called. Are you all alone now?"

"Yes, I am," I said, feeling my heart starting to beat faster at the
sound of her voice.

"So am I," she said. "I'm all by myself here, in the house, just waiting
to talk to you. If we were together, what do you think we might do?"

"I don't know; what do you mean?"  I thought I had an idea, but I didn't
want to say it.

"Okay...how about if I sat on your desk in front of you, and I let you
unbutton my blouse, would you like that?"  I imagined what that must be
like; the closest I'd ever come to seeing a woman's bare chest was
peeking at Mary Ann Foley in the locker room in high school, but that
was a long time ago. I said I'd like to unbutton her blouse.

"And then, I'd take off my bra, and I'd let you just bury your face
between my big breasts, and kiss my nipples, and you could feel them get
all hard in your mouth as you kissed and licked and sucked them. Would
you like that, Gush?  Would you, baby?"  I had a vivid mental picture of
a beautiful woman sitting in front of me, offering her soft, breasts to
me. It seemed s though I could smell her clean scent.

"And then, I'd pull my skirt up, and you'd see that I don't wear any
panties, and I'd just put my hands behind your head, and pull you to my
pussy. And I'm already so wet, just thinking about you, licking my
pussy. Would you do that for me, baby?  Would you?"

"Yes. Yes, I would." I had never heard a woman speak this way. She was
so open about sex, not like my mother, for instance. I don't think my
mother even HAD sex, except maybe once. That would be when she had...Me;
the idol of all...well, maybe I could give it a rest. Eve's voice
continued in my ear--breathy, seductive, sweet.

"And you could taste the juices of my pussy, and you make me so wet,
with your mouth, and your tongue."  I unzipped my fly and pulled my cock
out, in spite of myself--after all, most Conservatives like myself do
try to avoid any sort of involvement in gratuitous sex. 

"Then I'd take my skirt off, and I'd be naked for you, and you'd just
look at me--my big tits, and I'd let you kiss and fondle them, and my
pussy, and you could see how wet I am. I spread my legs, so you can see
how my clit sticks out, and I pull your mouth down to me--"  (she gasped
sharply) "Oh, yes!  That's it--right there...just like that."  I licked
my lips, feeling as though my mouth had been against her. 

"I'd slide down off the desk, and get down between your legs. I'd take
your cock in my hands, and just gently kiss it, just on the tip, tasting
your pre-come. Does that feel good, baby?  Do you like that?"  I was
breathing faster, knowing what her lips would feel like, kissing my
cock.

"And then, I'd open my lips, and slo-o-o-wly move down the length of
your penis, until all of you was in my mouth. I'd just hold you there
for a moment, then I'd move my lips up and down your shaft, up and down,
and I'd be tasting your pre-come, and flicking the tip of your hard cock
with my tongue...does that feel good, baby? Do you like that?"  My
breath was coming in quick gasps now, and I could hardly hold on to the
telephone. My entire world seemed to have contracted to the sound of
Eve's voice in my ear and the sensations growing in my penis.

"I'd reach between your legs, and I'd just hold your balls, so gently,
because I don't want to hurt them...and I'd put them in my mouth and
lick them all over, gently. Does that feel good?  Do you like that,
lover?"  I couldn't answer coherently. I was washed in pleasure.

"Would you like to fuck me, baby?  Would you like to put that beautiful
cock in my hot pussy?  I'm just aching to have you inside me. Would you
please fuck me, Gush?  Would you, baby?"  She pleaded, moaning.

"Yes!  Yes!  Please let me fuck you!  Please..."  This was not a
fantasy; I could taste her on my tongue, feel her wet lips on my cock.

"I'll straddle you, spread my legs on each side of you, and then I'll
just slo-o-o-wly lower my pussy onto your cock. Mmmm...that feels so
good. Your cock feels so good, so deep in my pussy. Does that feel good
for you, too, baby?"  I could feel her warmth, her slickness surrounding
me. I heard sounds of moaning and realized the sounds were coming from
me.

"Are you gonna come, baby?  I want your come inside me, Gush, please
come inside me, baby..."  

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!"  The sound escaping from my throat was the release of
dozens of years of repressed desires, past humiliations, failures. My
body was awash in pleasurable sensations I had never experienced before.
I clung to the telephone as though it were a lifeline. Eve was still
cooing sweetly in my ear.

"You're so good, Gush...oh, yes, baby, that feels so good. Mmmm...so
good."  I slumped, spent,  in my big leather chair behind my big desk,
rows of Conservatives glaring down at me. I averted my eyes from Senator
McCarthy's accusing stare.

"Gush, baby?"  

I had to work to find my voice. "Yeah?" 

"Do you feel better now, baby?"  I thought for a moment. I had to admit,
these were unaccustomed feelings.

"As a matter of fact, I think I do," I admitted. I didn't know I had
felt bad before, but I certainly felt better now. Almost like a
different man, in fact.

"I'm so glad," she said, warmly. "I have to go now, but will you call me
again?  Soon?"

"Yeah," I said. "I've got your number right here."  I put my hand on the
crumpled scrap of paper with her long telephone number. "I'll call again
sometime."  And I meant it.

"I hope so, she said."  I'll be waiting here for you."  And she was
gone. I looked at the silent receiver in my hand for a moment before
replacing it on its cradle. I sat there for several long moments,
thinking about this strange conversation with this strange woman. 

Finally I stood up, arranged my clothes, and one by one, turned each
portrait of each stern Conservative politician to face the wall.

              ******************************


The events and people depicted in this story are (mostly)
fictitious--the product of the warped imagination of the author. 


©1996 Joe Parsons.  All rights reserved.


     **WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**

Below this line is a message which some may deem inappropriate. Reading
the text below may invalidate the entire text you have just read.

    ------------------- "THE LINE" ------------------

For the best, hottest live conversation available, call the women who
were *too explicit* for the 900 lines. Find out what thousands of repeat
Internet callers already know. Call

          1-800-666-6674
       $3.99 per minute--and worth it.

If the idea of $3.99 a minute makes you choke, there are other less
expensive choices for live conversation, such as 

011-592-599-025 ("The Party Zone;" live chat)
011-592-595-030 ("The Sex Shop;" live, interactive voice voice
personals)
1-809-490-8707  ("Night Moves;" live group and one-on-one private
conversation and voice personals)
011-6787-3542  ("Cyber-Cafe;" live group chat--new programming!)

For gay callers:

011-592-595-444 ("Man-Scan;" live, interactive gay voice personals).  
011-683-8224 ("The Bath House;" live, group gay chat)
1-809-490-8292 ("Man-Scan Caribbean;" live, interactive gay voice
personals)

These are international calls, but the cost can be as low as $.49
minute, depending on your long distance carrier, time of day and calling
plan.  As always, you should know the charges *before* picking up the
telephone.

If you'd like to learn more about telephone sex, find "Phonesex--the
Straight Scoop" and "Phonesex--the FAQ" at an alt.sex.* newsgroup near
you. The author will try to fulfill requests by email, but he would
appreciate requests for reposts instead.

Joe Parsons
jmp@cyber-mall.com

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