Mr. Anastasia cuddled an adorable little kitten to his bare, muscled chest.
“You two found another cat?” Dove wanted to get past the nightmare that was the endlessly trying-too-hard-to-be-sexy, weird couple.
Debra Anastasia twirled her bleached hair around her finger. “Yes. We… found it. Duke, darling, can you watch this little baby for us?” The woman folded her arms under her breasts in an extremely obvious technique to draw attention to her cleavage.
Dove was liking her less and less. The whole breathy, wide-eyed bombshell shit got old quick.
Mr. Anastasia pressed against his wife as he slid into the room. They took a brief pause to hold their position, as if an imaginary photographer was stamping the moment onto film for all time.
He put the little kitten next to Cletus. “This here is TK. Thanks a lot for watching him, too.”
The writhing couple was gone as quickly as they had appeared.
“Those two creep me out. I think they’re stealing these cats.”
Duke shrugged and Dove closed his door behind her. She trudged up the stairs and wished she knew how things were going to turn out for Johnson. She unlocked her door and flipped on her lights. Steve the Cat was nowhere to be seen, which was odd. It could only mean he was in attack mode, which usually only happened when she was unconscious and vulnerable.
Dove kicked off her shoes, knowing she should start on her classwork, but she hated the thought of doing it. Instead, she pulled out her chair and waited as her computer booted up. She sighed and looked up. On her bookshelf, sitting as still as a statue, was Steve.
“Hi, Twat Sandwich. Are you plotting to kill me? Because tonight might be a great night for that.”
Steve didn’t blink but seemed to enjoy glaring at her from his perch like a Supreme Court justice. Dove gave him the finger, and his pupils got larger.
Weirdo.
Her colorful Twitter background mocked her bleak soul. She clicked through her replies and found him. Soon she was at his boring homepage and it made her heart race. He was tweeting. She scrolled to the bottom to read the whole thing through.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
Hello the Twitter! Tonight I am dipping into my homebrew a few days early.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I’ll be imbibing in my homemade pumpkin beer that I lovingly created in hopes of celebrating a pharmaceutical job.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
Fired from job so I will drink it until I puke!
Dove’s heart broke. He’d been so hopeful until cock rings and butt fucking ruined his career.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I’m opening two at once, so I can toast myself! Here’s to miming anal sex on live TV!
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
Here’s to my girlfriend dumping me because she believes what she saw, not what I’m saying!
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
Here’s to the nice guy finishing last and getting it up the ass! That sort of rhymes.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
My beer tastes wonderful! The pumpkin flavor brings out the hops!
Dove reached out and touched the screen. He had so many exclamation marks he almost looked excited. But she knew how much he loved counting and having that taken away was not making him happy at all.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
Beers number three and four are down the hatch! I like a hairy snatch! I’m the biggest catch!
He was going all Dr. Seuss in his drunken tweeting. That had to be the worst kind of drunk there was.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
The phone is ringing! Where is it? Oh. My pants!
Dove scrolled up quickly. Who was on the phone? She waited and waited. She typed “Who the hell is it?” in Vampersex’s update, but before she could send it, he was back.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
The Twitter! I got my job back! The Twitter! I think I drank too fast. I
may be vomiting now!
Dove was completely boneless. The relief was overwhelming.
Thank fucking God. Christ, sorry about praying with “fucking.” Shit! Sorry about saying “Christ!” Shut up, Dove. God hates you.
Duke was a winner with a wiener, and she had to thank him.
Dove leapt out of her computer chair and took the stairs in her socks. Duke’s door was closed again, but she heard the faint protesting mew of a kitten. Dove opened the door and Duke was down to his tighty-whities already, again.
“Do you repel pants? Do they actually jump off you?” Dove cringed as she noticed his black socks.
“Pants are afraid of my dick.” Duke was holding the new kitten by the scruff of his neck. “Check this out.”
Dove was about to comment on the apparent courage of his banana hammock for sticking around when Duke held TK close to his face. The adorable kitten had wide eyes but was frozen because Duke was replicating its mother’s grasp. Duke opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the kitten’s head.
Dove was horrified. “Duke, you butt knuckle! Spit the cat out! Do you think you’re a reverse lion tamer?”
Duke removed the kitten and started coughing. “Tastes bad, but how cool is that? I was looking at her, thinking, ‘Man, that cat’s head is so tiny—I bet I could fit her in my mouth.’ ”
Duke put the kitten in the crook of his arm. Dove could have sworn she saw Cletus shake his head in disgust, and then he began licking his hindquarters.
“And I tried. And I could! Anyfloozie, are you ready to pop a cap in my junk? In my lovely lady lumps?” Duke pulled out the elastic of his underwear and swooshed the kitten inside them like it was crumbs off the counter.
Dove could only grunt in horror.
He snickered. “Wait for it.” And soon enough, the kitten’s little head peeked out his fly. “I’m like a fucking kangaroo.” Duke hopped like a bunny in his underwear with the kitten’s ears keeping his beat, as well.
Cletus jumped from his couch and padded for the open door, and Dove leaned over to scoop him up before he could make his escape. As she did, a guy sauntered into Duke’s apartment like he owned it and was greeted by the sight of a full-grown man bounding around a room with a cat in his drawers.
Dove noticed his purposefully messy hair, and it looked bewitching. Before she could look in his face, his pants trapped her gaze. The man had an enormous bulge. He wasn’t even wearing tight pants and she could’ve tapped that penis for a vein through the denim of his jeans. Dove leaned against the nearest wall and buried her nose in Cletus’s soft fur. Mr. Mountain Bulge had tattoos and sexy inked all over him.
“Hey, asswipe. Why’s my motherfucking cat in your motherfucking drawers? Are you some sort of pedo-feline perv?” The huge-penis owner stepped up to Duke in a smooth but threatening way.
Duke had not one bit of self-consciousness. “Dude, this is my friends’ kitten. I’m just keeping it warm for them.”
The Schlongadongadingdong with the sex hair made like he was going to turn around and then swung his fist solidly into Duke’s jaw instead.
Duke teetered backward and fell into the recliner. The little kitten did not like its hidey-hole tossed around and flailed its little claws. Duke’s face went white as the little fluffball turned into a ball of razors. Dove was betting his sense of self-preservation kept him from smacking his underwear.
“Crapping Fucker Assholio.” Duke rubbed his jaw.
It reminded her of a horrible B-movie version of Alien as the kitten’s little kitten elbows tented and scratched inside Duke’s tighty-whities. Finally, TK popped her head out of the hole that had just been her jumpy window on the world. The long dicktance runner grabbed the kitten’s head and eased it away from Duke’s crotch. It was an Alice in Wonderland style birth directed by M. Night Shyamalan.
Cletus purred and rubbed against Dove’s face. The tattooed man was soon standing in front of her.
His voice
was gentle. “That cat you have? I’ve seen him on some missing posters. Can I have him back?”
Dove wanted to look at his face but his package was too enticing. She held Cletus out to the tattooed pile of sexy. His member was memberizing. Soon, the sexy kitten claimer was gone with both stolen cats. Duke tossed around on the floor, clutching his meat and potatoes. There were tiny red polka-dots where he was bleeding from his time as a cat washing machine.
Dove still had to thank the man. Now seemed like a fucky time.
Oh well.
“D? You got Johnson his job back.” Dove stepped closer as he flopped from one side to the other. “So… uh… thanks for that… stuff you did.” She tried to see his face. “Okay. This whole thing has been weird, so I’m just going to go home. Can I get you anything? No? Okay… I’m leaving and closing the door. And stuff.”
Dove closed the door behind her and trotted up the stairs. Her high from Johnson’s good news was wearing off.
Duke’s apartment is where the Devil takes a dump.
Steve the Cat was sitting on her keyboard. Dove was pretty sure one of his eyes was twitching. It was hard to tell. Staring contests with Steve were like looking at an Escher drawing, it only got more fucked up the longer you looked. Dove moved Steve to the floor and refreshed her screen. Johnson had been busy. And Johnson was drunk off his ass.
The Dr. Seussing was still a driving force in his tweets.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I love it when you call me big poppa
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I want to marry a girl named Floppa
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I’m gone buy a hippa.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I love my life
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I cut my sandwich with a bologna knife.
The temptation was too much. She had to tweet him or at least tweet the world.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
Today I was able to finally make a knot out of a man’s tie using just my tongue and my boobs.
She waited a few minutes. The usual suspects responded to her tweet. She was not motivated to reply, so she just kept refreshing. Then it was him. Talking to her!
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex You are very flexible. And acceptable.
Dove smiled at his rhyming words.
Thank God he got his job back. Now I’ve to keep cool and collected. He must never know this is me.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 I’m so flexible I could suck my own balls. But I don’t have balls.
She hit Send instead of Delete because that’s how her life rolled. The curser seemed to be the Internet giving her the finger.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Sometimes I look at your picture and pretend there’s a real girl behind the letters.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
Behind the black and white words, a girl that wears sweaters.
Dove felt like she was branding the words into hope.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 Imagine if I was real. What if I wore sweaters?
Steve the Cat made his way into his litter box. He was totally intent on peppering the pulsating, epic moment with the pungent potpourri of his crap.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex If you were real I would ask you on a date. I would try to make you my fate. Touching your hair would be great.
She couldn’t tell him she was the girl who had taken his hopes away or even that she had forced her sausage-loving friend into getting him rehired.
She pictured the girls at the pharmacy pretending to pinch his ass. She had a mouthful of unspent rage as she thought of the way his now ex-girlfriend had treated him.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 Imagine if I let you touch my hair and then you let me touch yours?
His twitter was quiet for so long she pictured him doing other things. She imagined Johnson making himself a sandwich and sloppily indulging in the drunk munchies. Her replies filled up with the typical nameless attention from the boys who followed her. She ran her hand over the keyboard and pretended it was his chest and she wasn’t a pants crapper with an attacking cooter.
She sighed and was ready to end her lengthy wait. None of the other twitter boys held a candle to Johnson with his boring screen and his pristine white pill. She hit Return out of habit, and he’d just sent her a tweet.
Oh my God!
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Sorry Vamper! I had to scamper! I hurled into my hamper!
She smiled at his words like they were his face. He was still thinking about her. He sent her another message.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Vamper, will you go on a date with me? You don’t have to mate with me.
Sweet ass pickles!
Super Sexy McLoudy was asking the Twitter-her on a date.
Dove’s fingers reacted so quickly; she knew her heart was typing and not her head.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 Yes. I’ll go on a date with you. Check your direct messages for my address.
Sending her address to him, she gasped. She sat back as Steve the Cat emerged from his evil lair, the kitty door swinging like an entrance into an old western salon. He stared right into her pupils as he shook one paw at a time, little bits of his clumping litter scattering like water droplets.
She decided to interact with her cat while she refreshed her message box over and over. “Imagine if I did that. Pinched off a loaf and then did a victory dance when I was done? You would hate that.” Dove could have composed a song to go along with the steady rhythm of her button pushing.
Finally, his direct message appeared.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex I will be there tomorrow at eight. I won’t be late. I am straight.
Dove stared at the screen and shook her head. How, in all that is righteous and holy, would she turn into Vampersex by tomorrow at eight?
Dove woke up alive, which was surprising. She thought for sure she would have died of panic in her sleep.
He wants to date Vamper not you, pussy knuckle.
The running dialog of sheer worry and insurmountable obstacles was making her knees shake. She had until eight p.m. to get it all right or cancel the date.
Canceling the date was the sensible thing. It was what any clear thinking sex imposter would do. After all the pants crapping, squirrel humping, cock ring flinging rigmarole, she was still stupid enough to think she had a chance of being a desirable human girl.
I’m an asshole.
She spoke to Steve, who was staring at her like she was a baby bird teetering on the edge of a nest.
“All right. All I need to do is keep the lights really, really dim. If I put on enough makeup and a bustier and lots and lots of curls… I could be… the sexy. A lot.” Dove took a shaky breath.
Steve’s lips lifted on one side. He did an excellent impression of Elvis.
“Huh. Look, you have a talent after all.” Dove almost felt compelled to pet him. He was sitting on her kitchen counter like he was never supposed to. She smiled at his funny little face and his great, ever-open orbs.
“See, this is a good day. You’re almost cute.”
Dove tilted her head, wondering if she had time to get her camera. She could picture Steve the Cat with a wickedly jaunty misspelled caption underneath him on the Internet.
He curled his lip even higher.
Sooo cute. Awww.
Steve contorted his body into a C shape and suction-cupped his anus to her countertop.
Don’t. No. Yuck. Stop it.
He proceeded to curl up the other side of his lip into what could be best described as a kitty smi
le and dragged his bunghole along the surface. He was wiping his ass on her counter.
“Yeah. That’s not the greatest omen.” Dove grabbed the antibacterial spray and had to force herself not to squirt it in his freaky, furry face. “I didn’t even know cats did that. Ugh.”
Dove wasn’t sure where to start. She should serve dinner, of course. Shannon probably had a corset from her Lady Gaga obsession phase. Dove trotted down the stairs to see if her good lipstick was still in her glove compartment.
At the landing in front of Duke’s door, there was a small crowd. Shannon, Flower, and Mr. and Debra Anastasia were all peering into Duke’s den of horror. He was regaling them all with tales of Dove’s cooter attack on Johnson’s ex-girlfriend. When they turned to face her, he’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t talk anymore over his own laughter.
The bystanders started a knee-slapping cacophony of stupid sounding laughs—except for Flower, who probably considered any noise a word. She was silently laughing, and her face looked like a frozen Han Solo in her effort to keep quiet. From the hallway, Dove could see Duke standing in front of his frozen porn TV. Oddly enough, she could look right past the explicit outline without even noticing it anymore. Duke pointed at her and laughed again.
“Whatever, dude. You put a kitten down your pants. Your penis probably has rabies.” Dove wanted to get past the nimrods, but their hilarity had spread them out. Mr. Anastasia had started spanking Debra Anastasia in his gusto.
Duke pushed his way out to get in front of Dove. She wished he hadn’t.
“How you like my homemade dick first aid, Cootie Wiper?” Duke started gyrating.
The whole package was fantastic and quite a bit to take in visually. Dove did it in pieces so her mind wouldn’t crack from the weirdness. She stared at his face. His beard was gone, and he looked much younger. He had a sizeable bruise on his newly clean jaw where the tattooed piece of jumbo-sized man meat had coldcocked him.
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