Finally, all the rollers were lined up on her coffee table. An alarming number of hairs were attached as well, which made Dove curse Debra Anastasia all over again.
“Well, your hair is free from its prison.” Johnson set his hands on his spectacular—Dove was betting—knees. His hands were tempting her right next to her face.
I just want to lick his knuckle.
Her tongue even slipped out of her mouth a little while she eyed the prize. Just before she went the fuck ahead and extended her moist mouth muscle, he took his hands away. Her mouth mourned the prospective taste of him until his hands massaged her still-damp locks. He was trying to be sweet, she was sure, like petting a kitten whose tail you had accidentally stepped on.
But he was pulling on knots and making her wince. She wanted to hang in there and take it like a man, accept his affection. But when he got to one of the baby hairs close to her ear, he pulled it out by its roots and she yipped.
“I’m sorry. Last thing you need is me making your scalp any worse.” He took his beautiful, painful hands away.
Dove sat between his legs for a few more seconds, trying to come up with any feasible reason she could stay there.
I want to sniff his balls. Just once.
She crawled away from her perfect little nest, and he offered his hands to help her stand. Dove caught her reflection in the mirror above her mantle and smiled. Her hair looked awesome. She had Bond-girl height, and the dampness brought out her dirty-blond waves. Johnson stood as well.
“I best be going. I guess I should say thanks?” He ran a hand through his mop of aphrodisiac follicles.
Don’t leave. Don’t ever leave. Let’s boil eggs. Let’s get overly comfortable. YOU TAKE A DUMP WHILE I TAKE A SHOWER!
“Okay then, thanks for dropping by. I’m sorry it was me here when you showed up.” Dove absentmindedly began poking the reindeer on her robe in the eye.
Johnson nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get moving. Do you mind if I keep the empties? I recycle them.”
I bet his dick is like a tree. I want to be a tree hugger but with my pussy.
“Sure. Have at them,” Dove said instead.
She helped Johnson put the bottles back into their convenient carrying case. At the door, Johnson waved at her, even though he was close. She stupidly waved back. He walked along her hallway and down the stairs. Even his footsteps were loud. Loud and sexy.
Dove leaned against her doorjamb and sighed. Then it hit her that they had no other plans. He didn’t say he’d call. He didn’t set up a date. He didn’t even have her phone number, for crap’s sake.
Shit.
He was just placating the weirdo. Of course.
He’s too kind to leave a freak floundering.
Her self-doubt crawled up her legs and gave her a junk punch.
Mr. Anastasia came running down the stairs. He was wearing a sarong and cowboy boots. He nodded at her as though he was dressed in a business suit and she was wearing clothes instead of her holiday robe.
Debra Anastasia flounced down the stairs like a southern belle in a dress that was made for a toddler instead of a grown-ass woman. She seemed to be trying to convince Mr. Anastasia of something. Dove wanted to get physical with the bitch who had defiled her face and hair so close to her important date with Johnson, but Debra Anastasia only had eyes for her husband.
She squeezed her cleavage together and pouted. “Baby, I can’t help it. I worry. You know how I am.” The whore licked her falsely plump lips and continued. “The guy said he was going to use a cat on her! A cat! You know how I feel about pussy cats. I think he is going to hit it with a cane or something. We need to save it. Please?”
Dove cleared her throat and the Anastasias gave her their attention. “Hey, here’s an idea. Stop catnapping people’s fucking pets. You’re both freaks. Go upstairs, put Krazy Glue on your genitals, and hump.”
Debra Anastasia looked Dove up and down. The porn writer totally disregarded Dove’s words. “Wow, see? I told you the rollers would do wonders for your hair. And look at your face.” Debra Anastasia came close and squeezed Dove’s cheeks together. “You look like you’re in love. Your date will be pleased. Do you want to borrow any of my clothes? Will he be here soon?”
The whore was clueless. She had no idea what Dove had been through, but she was smiling widely. Dove hated that her heart liked the compliment she had just received.
She sighed and lied like a fucking liar. “No, he’ll be here any minute. I better go get dressed.”
Through her closed door, Dove heard Mr. Anastasia succumb to his wife’s charms, agreeing to go find the cat that was somehow being tortured. Dove looked at her computer. She felt like a stalker. She felt like an addict, but she logged on to her Twitter.
She smiled with every part of her body when she saw Johnson had tweeted.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
Was with a girl who is refreshingly real.
Me? Me? Please be talking about me.
Dove hazarded a reply, her fingers shaking the whole time.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 Refreshing is good right?
Her heart was pounding. It couldn’t be good to want something this bad. Want someone this bad. I’m just me. Oh God. I’m me, and he’s him.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Refreshing like a cool dose of Aloe on a raw vagina.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 Thank you for not running away.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Thank you for being you when I showed up. Anyone else would’ve been disappointing.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 Night
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@ Lotsa_Vampersex Sweet dreams.
Dove immediately printed four copies of their Twitter conversation. She hugged them to her chest and sat on the couch next to the dent he’d made while he untangled her hair.
She looked to her left and then to her right. Confident that she was genuinely alone, Dove leaned over and buried her face in the dent his butt had made, giggling because she was hoping to have a supersonic sniffer and smell the imprint his balls had left on her couch.
Duke polished off the last bit of his Slim Jim and studied the grease on the tips of his fingers. He had two important choices regarding the oily substance: he could lick it off or massage it into his balls. After the ran-sac-ing—he snorted—his man bags had taken from the kitten, he figured they deserved love. Touching a ball sac was always pleasurable, so after he had indulged in his testicle moisturizer, he let his hand linger.
“My balls are still a little sore. How’re you guys holding up?” Duke nodded at the two gay men trapped in their glorious passion on his TV.
He liked to talk to them as if they were people in the room. “Bobbin” was the kneeling guy’s name, and “Fordicks” was the standing man’s name.
“Looking good boys, gotta say.” While touching his scrotum, Duke accidentally rubbed one of his kitten wounds. The spices in the Slim Jim residue forced his lovely balls to try to masquerade as a uterus as they quickly crawled inside his body.
He hopped off his sofa and went to the fridge. Duke stuck a water bottle with a squeeze top down his pants and squirted the icy relief on his punctures.
“Son of a Hairy Bitch!” Duke stood with his legs apart and swung his nut sac back and forth to try to ease the ache.
The beauty of going commando was that when he got up enough momentum, his balls would slap his own taint. Eventually his thigh muscles began to groan and he had to stop his ball meat calisthenics.
“So what the fuck am I going to do tonight?” Duke asked Bobbin and Fordicks.
They didn’t answer, so he decided to burden them with his current concern. “If I ever met a girl that’s, like, a total vegetarian, do you think she’d mind getting tea-bagged with my spicy, carnivore-perfumed
nuts?”
Fordicks looked a bit concerned, but he was just seconds from blowing his load, so he always looked worried anyway. Duke walked to his screen and gave the endlessly pre-ejaculating man’s rump a football-style slap.
“You poor bastard. Come on already! Get it? Get it?”
Duke found his remote and sat back down. He gave Bobbin and Fordicks some color as he turned on SportsCenter. Some inane blather came out of the newscaster’s mouth, and Duke got bored. God, he hated being bored. The screen went to commercial, and an ad for Petco bounced into his universe.
There was an adorable array of animals tromping across Bobbin’s stomach. Duke gave a half smile, imagining the kitten in his underwear. Before it had shredded his genitals, that kitten was sort of cute.
“Maybe I need a pet? Yeah! I fucking need a pet!” Duke left the TV on and went to take a leak. As his stream made a loud, pleasing noise, he reached over his shoulder and scratched his back. He winced as his fingers found a painful lump. He wiggled his dribble off the tip of his penis and left it out to dry as he tried to see his back in his mirror.
It was a fucking pimple, and it was just out of his reach. He let his shirt cover the blemish. Duke had unusually smooth skin, so the pimple was unwelcome. It was full enough that he thought he could really do some damage if he could just squeeze it.
His arms were too short. He tried backing into the corner of a wall, but instead of popping the pimple, it just made it angry.
“Fuck you, zit. I’m getting the heavy artillery.” Duke plodded over to his dishwasher and pulled out his barbecue tongs.
He went to the mirror and tried to use the utensil like an extension of his determined hands. No luck. His perspective was off—the mirror image was humping his groove. With no other options, he decided to bust in on Dove’s freaky ass and have her do the deed for him. He jabbed his legs into his sweatpants and slung the elastic band below his still tender nut sac.
He dwelled on the getup she’d been wearing when he last saw her and had to stop and laugh. Her date, the pharmacist, hadn’t even recognized Duke from the sausage extraction at Save-Mart because he’d shaved his beard. But Duke couldn’t imagine how the dick could mistake Dove for anyone but Dove. She was kind of beautiful. Her hair was super hairy and looked awesome when she left it down. And he wasn’t telling anyone but her tits were pretty titty, too. She wasn’t a model or anything, but she was cute. Pretty cute. Beautiful cute.
He arrived at her door and knocked so hard and furiously that people from the neighboring apartments opened their doors at the same time Dove opened hers. She looked normal, and she was smiling. Duke gave the finger to the other residents as he handed Dove the tongs.
“Hey, girl, I have massive zit I need you to pop.” Duke gave her a big smile.
“Your dick’s out again.” Dove shielded her eyes.
“It was air drying. You need to let a dick breathe. Underwear is jail.” He tucked his yak and two lemmings back into their holster—his sweatpants. “It’s gone. No, really this time.”
Dove squinted toward his crotch with one eye, and when she saw he wasn’t lying, she relaxed. “I’m not popping your pimple. You let Johnson in! I wasn’t ready.”
“You definitely weren’t ready. The voice? The scarf?” Duke had to hang onto her doorknob so he wouldn’t fall over while he laughed, remembering.
Dove stood behind the door and tried to push it closed. Duke was a strong fucker.
“Stop, no. I’ll stop laughing.” It took him another minute or so to wind down.
Dove rolled her eyes. “I already have to pierce your man business. I’m not touching any skin eruptions. Yuck.”
Duke stared at her.
“No. No. Quit looking at me. Go pop your own problems.” Dove couldn’t close her door, so she turned her back on him.
He followed her in and made his way to her bathroom with his tongs.
Dove stopped and looked at her reflection again. Damn, my hair looks good.
Duke made some grunting noises. She didn’t even want to know what he was straining with. She heard a familiar motorized sound and a victorious shout.
“Take that, you fucker! Hey, Lotsa, your electric toothbrush did the trick!”
The bathroom door opened again and Duke walked out, wearing only a sock like he was a member of Red Hot Chili Peppers.
“I have something I have to ask you, but can I take a shower first?”
He spun around to show her the gore and she quickly closed her eyes. Dove figured her date with Johnson had changed her because even though Duke was standing there with her expensive toothbrush, she was calm.
Duke took her silence as acceptance and walked back into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. He tossed his sock into the hallway, and she heard the shower curtain pull open.
Shit. The crotch hair is still in the tub.
In all her excitement, she totally forgot to clean the wayward hairs.
“Holy tit fungus! Did you give Sasquatch an autopsy in here? God almighty, girl.” He waddled back into the hallway, this time holding his privates with both hands. “You balded the dick mitten. Nice. Let me see it.”
He looked at her like she might drop trou simply because he suggested it.
“I would rather lick a monkey’s armpit than show you my vagina.” Dove gave him the finger.
“You know what I love best about a naked muff hole? It looks just like a camel’s dangly lips.” Duke extended his own lips to make them appear gummy and slack.
“Go to your room, Duke.” Dove pointed to the door.
Duke ignored her and turned his bare ass in her direction. He released a very fresh-from-the-source-sounding fart.
“Whoops, I think I’m taking a shit, too.” He did close the door on his way back in, but his voice was loud and clear as he shouted, “Fire in the hole!”
She looked at Steve the Cat, who—as always—was looking back. “I hate Duke.” Steve closed one eye. Instead of looking like a wink, the cat appeared to be aiming a gun. Dove shook her head and logged on to her Twitter. Johnson had sent her a message. Again.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex My hands still smell like your conditioner.
Dove wanted to type “My couch still smells like your balls,” but she didn’t think it would come across as romantic as she intended. She totally forgot about Duke honking off a dump in her apartment as she stared dreamily at the screen. She hit refresh as she tried to come up with a response.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Unless, of course, you have an oily scalp, in which case I’m smelling your skin’s juices.
The image his tweet painted in her mind was poisoned even further by Duke’s back pimple explosion.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 That’s my conditioner, not my skin you smell.
Well, this is some wicked awkward flirting.
Duke turned on the shower and sang about being hot.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex I bet your skin’s oil smells wonderful, too.
Dove was trying to concentrate on his words, his amazing words about her oily skin, but Duke was out of the shower and parading around in just his T-shirt.
“Put your pants back on. Dear God.” Dove wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“I backed up your shitter. Where’s your plunger?” Duke tied his sweatpants around his waist, the knot just above his penis, the legs dangling to cover his more sensitive parts.
“I don’t have one,” Dove responded with frustration.
God, I just want to say something sexy to Johnson. I don’t want to think about plumbing. I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 I secrete oil when I find a man attractive. I’m oily now.
Dove hit enter out of habit and then slapped her forehead.
Oh, yeah that’s hot.
Great.
“Who doesn’t have a plunger? What sort of rabbit poop crapper are you? God damn it. It’s downright insulting to those of us with more robust digestive systems.” Duke looked honestly upset.
“Seriously? You could’ve taken your shit downstairs in your own fucking place.” Dove stood to usher him and his stupidity out the door.
“No, I have a question for you. I didn’t come up here only to witness the slaughter of your Hairy Babushka. Don’t throw me out yet.” Duke grabbed the back of her couch and clung to it.
Dove sighed and sat down. “Ask then.” She kept looking over her shoulder at the Twitter screen, but she couldn’t see it from this distance.
Duke vaulted over the back of the couch and landed in Johnson’s dent with his naked butt.
Well there goes all my couch sniffing. Ass bag.
“I need you to drive me to Petco. I want a pet.” He had a big, happy smile.
“No. No way in hell. And Petco is closed this time of night.” Dove looked at her own pet. He was looking at Duke, and the hair behind his neck was sticking up.
Well, I could give him that shithead.
As if Steve had heard her thought, he looked at her and yawned, showing his large, intimidating teeth.
Duke was blathering on and on about how much he missed the stolen cats. Dove didn’t clue him into the fact that Debra Anastasia and her unfortunate husband were off looking for another pussy.
“Duke, owning a pet will require you to keep your door shut. Even when you’re taking a dump. Even when you are doing the expert drum solo on Rock Band naked.” Dove shivered as she recalled that particular sight.
As if he hadn’t heard a thing she said, he continued. “I want a wolf. I think that would be awesome. I could get a shirt with two wolves, and then when people comment that the shirt’s not an authentic Three Wolves shirt, I’d whistle and call my other fucking wolf. It’ll be epic.”
Fire Down Below Page 11
