“Hello, sweet Duke-meat. What did you do to your little coochie-coo?” She danced her tits up and down in a mesmerizing rhythm.
“Debra Anastasia, you’re gonna make my dick cry if I have to watch that show much longer.” Duke shifted.
Debra Anastasia thoughtlessly sat on the bed with a flounce. “So, neighbor, are you getting busted out of here tonight? Are you getting a cock specialist? Because you know I’m a common law expert on the subject.” She puckered her lips, and the pink, glossy color caught the artificial light.
“I bet you are, sweetheart. Where’s your lucky bastard husband?” Duke flinched as he tried to reposition his ass.
“Aww. My sweet hubby got whisked up to the psych ward because of his outfit. Don’t worry, I taught him how to escape from those.” She batted a set of huge false eyelashes.
Debra Anastasia reached into her bosom and handed Duke her homemade porn card. He gave Prick-ston’s name the finger and then lightly touched Dove’s name.
The crazy writer didn’t miss a trick. “You sweet on the klutzy girl? I should have guessed with all the meat rubbing she was doing. But baby, Mr. Anastasia and I stopped in Olive Garden before we came to the hospital. They do the all-you-can-eat soup and breadsticks? Well, we try to stretch our stomachs there once a week. I’m up to ten bowls of soup and fourteen breadsticks!” She gave a healthy belch and soon his hospital room smelled just like the chain restaurant.
“You’ve got to knock that off! That burp is making my tits water!” Duke rubbed his pectorals. “What does that have to do with Dove?”
Debra Anastasia propped a leg on his nightstand and waved a hand between her legs. “Excuse me; I have to air out the man killer. I’m trying out a new pair of nylon panties and they’re making my velvety core sweat.”
Duke nodded as though a sweltering dick mitten was perfectly normal.
Debra Anastasia continued. “Well, Klutzy came into the restaurant on a date. And she looked deliriously happy. I’m so sorry, sweet hiney bear.”
She patted the top of his dick cast, smiling at the daisy that was jauntily adding some spring to Duke’s injury.
She pulled out the flower and popped it in her hair. Duke tried not to look crestfallen. Dove was with the pharmacist, and of course she was having a great time. The man was a pretty bastard. His reflection on his heart’s situation was interrupted by Mr. Anastasia’s entrance. The man’s medical-tape-only outfit showcased his commitment to hairlessness. Mrs. Duffington followed him in.
“Oh, no you don’t, you Penis Peeker! Get your ass out of here right now.” Duke sat up as best he could.
Mrs. Duffington gave Duke a stern look, like he was an unruly child. “Now, now, Mr.”—she checked his chart—“Munch, no need to get riled up. Tell me, how’s your member feeling? Lots of throbbing? Are your testicles sore?”
Duke blew out a frustrated breath. “Yes, bitch. My dick is throbbing. Get your face down here by it so I can cockslap you.”
Mr. Anastasia looked from Mrs. Duffington to Duke. “Dude, I’m sorry. Dove told us to check this lady out. I told her I needed to break out, and she told me it was easy.”
Mrs. Duffington smiled lovingly at Mr. Anastasia’s robust genitals. “And did I deliver or did I deliver?”
Debra Anastasia crinkled her nose while she stood up from Duke’s bed. She looked the older woman up and down. “Look at my husband’s colossal man offerings again, old bat, and I’ll taint punch you.” Debra Anastasia never stopped smiling.
Mr. Anastasia seemed to have the most sense, which wasn’t saying much. “If I am truly going to bust out of here, we best get a move on.”
Duke slid off his bed and motioned to his neatly folded clothes on the nearby chair. “Listen, I need to get out of here, too. Do you think you guys could drop me off at the Olive Garden?”
Debra Anastasia retrieved his pants and shirt. “I don’t think that’s a great idea. She’s happy bunny humper.” She smoothed Duke’s wild hair.
“I just want to make sure he’s a good fit for her. She has problems—craps her pants, stuff like that. If she needs help, I want to be there.” Duke slid his jeans on but left them unzipped. There was no way the dick cast and new applesauce cups would fit in regular clothing.
Debra Anastasia eyed his pre-dick-ament while Duke put on his shirt. “I’ve got it!” She rummaged in her purse for a minute before producing a shower cap that she’d obviously swiped from a hotel. “So what’ve you got there on your teabags?”
Duke wiggled his hips and showed off his newly designed invention. “I’ve created the Ballssiere®. It’s like a bra. But for your nuts. I think it’s going to make me a millionaire.”
Debra Anastasia clapped her hands. “Oh, put Mr. Anastasia down for ten of them! I think the Ballssiere® is adorable!” She took her index fingers and played the cups on Duke’s crotch like tiny monkey bongo drums.
Finally, she popped the cap over Duke’s elaborate man business. “We need to keep this invention under wraps until we get a patent pending.”
All four idiots walked out of the hospital. This time they managed to get past all the security because Mrs. Duffington had such a commanding, confrontational demeanor. Mr. Anastasia’s huge Harley had a hot pink sidecar. It was built for two, but this evening it was taking on four assholes.
The Anastasias hopped onto the bike’s seat, and Duke carefully maneuvered his flagpole-like dick into the car. As Mrs. Duffington made a motion to straddle him, Duke spoke up. “Whoa now. I’m not ready for that all up in my face.”
“Please, Mr. Munch, this is perfectly professional. I’ll help stabilize your injury during your transport.” Mrs. Duffington was quite flexible despite her advanced years. Soon enough her ankles were perched on Duke’s shoulders, with his injured dick resting in against her lower back. To all the world, she looked like a crazed koala bear clinging for dear life to a tree branch. But she was an old chick, and she was air-humping Duke.
Duke looked at the Anastasias and rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to push the old crow onto the pavement. The loving couple was too busy groping each other and French kissing to give a chipmunk’s balls about his discomfort. Mrs. Duffington shoved Duke’s face between her natural, huge, saggy koala breasts. The motor rumbled and off they flew, a cartoon style pile of people overwhelming the poor machine. The Olive Garden had never seemed so far away. Duke used his tit tunnel to contemplate exactly what the hell he was going to do when he got there.
Just fucking tell her you want to be her man.
It seemed unlikely she’d even listen. He knew better; Dove thought Johnson was cut straight from solid gold sex. Duke had not one thing to offer her, except the fact that she’d never have to pretend to be someone else around him. As the Anastasias parked at the crowded restaurant and peeled Mrs. Duffington off Duke, he covered his dick with his hands. It was throbbing now, and Mr. Anastasia had to help him out of the low-slung sidecar.
Debra Anastasia straightened his shower cap and patted his cheek. “Sometimes girls are blind, Duke. Don’t hurt yourself in there. Me and the mister have the worst gas, so we’re going to use the little girls’ and little boys’ rooms. We won’t leave without you.”
Duke waltzed into the Olive Garden like he owned it. Mrs. Duffington regally began questioning the customers waiting to be seated about where they were keeping their vibrating notification buzzers. Duke walked past the maître d’ and leaned against a fake column. He could see Johnson and Dove sitting together at a small table. Both had wine in their glasses. Dove looked gorgeous and scared.
And gorgeous.
He was surprised the management team even let her back in the restaurant after her attack on Johnson’s whore girlfriend. He was still trying to place that bitch’s face. She was familiar for a reason he had yet to figure out.
Duke looked around the room, deciding to find the Anastasias in the crapper and hitch a ride home. Various strangers were making huge eyes at his penis. He waggled it like a metal de
tector over sand at the beach.
Moving it hurt; he needed his pain meds and soon. As he turned to leave, he overheard a snarky voice just over the half wall thing that made diners feel like they were alone.
“Dove Glitch is her name –found out from some Facebook stalking. Can you believe the size of her balls? She brings my fiancé back to the scene of the crime?”
Duke peeked over the wall. As if thinking about her had conjured her up, the ex-girlfriend was holding court with a handful of bitches who looked just like her.
“When she heads to the bathroom, we’re going in and teaching her a lesson. No one takes a two-carat diamond ring from me without being punished.” Beth smiled meanly in Dove’s direction.
Crap.
Even though Duke’s penis felt like it was going to explode like hot popcorn, he had to stay and protect his lady.
Not mine. Johnson’s lady.
He spotted Mrs. Duffington grilling an unfortunate couple at their table. He walked over and slid carefully into the empty chair. The crazy fake nurse nodded and smiled.
This is going to be an interesting evening.
Dove couldn’t stop staring at Johnson. She was dumbfounded that they’d been treated like regular human beings when they arrived at the Olive Garden. Johnson seemed to think the day she pussy-swiped Beth was just a humdrum event. No need to skip such a spectacular restaurant over an assault. Dove’s elaborate dress was quite possibly the perfect disguise.
He was talking again. His lips were moving around his teeth, and every once in a while, his delicious tongue would lick them. He was asking her a question, and dammit, she was going to answer it.
“So, Dove, did you ever go to the prison for the knitting job?” He leaned forward with a smile.
Dove screamed directions to herself in her head. Don’t drool, pecker chunk! You ass-clencher, make words!
“Um, no. My counselor went on her cleansing sabbatical.” Dove picked up a breadstick, futzed with it, and took a healthy bite. As she tried to manage the large chunk of bread in her mouth, a pointy piece kept hitting the little punching bag that dangled in the back of her throat. As she gagged and tried not to use her hands to keep the bread explosion in her stupid pie hole, the wine pusher distracted Johnson.
By the time Johnson had tasted the booze and okayed it to accompany their meal, Dove had managed to choke down her treat. He put a hand through his hair and looked back at her. At her! There we a good forty-five people partaking in the goodness of the Garden tonight, and he was looking at her!
“I’ve never heard of a cleansing sabbatical.” He raised his question eyebrow. He wanted more information.
Dove told him what she knew. “Ms. Jorish adheres to a strict regimen of colonics and weed during it. She comes back skinny as a skeleton with wild eyes.” She shrugged.
Johnson’s eyes sparkled as though Dove had said something insanely interesting. His voice was suddenly absurdly loud. “COLONICS fascinate me. There’s something to be said about the SLUDGE that backs up in the COLON.” The word colon sat on everyone’s tongue as they tried to swallow their dinner.
Dove said, “Yeah. There’s a lot of sludge.”
What? Shut up! Steer the conversation away from shit.
“Well, I hope you find a job that fits your needs.” Johnson took a sip of his wine. He sucked it through his teeth in a practiced wine tasting move.
I want him to do that to my pussy juices.
Dove shrugged because the most appealing job for her right now was collecting any dead skin that fell off Johnson and eating it. She doubted anyone would pay her to do that.
“Me, too.” Dove looked at him and smiled.
Johnson missed his mouth when he went for a sip of wine, so Dove passed him her napkin. He began to blush, stammering, “Sorry, your smile made me forget where my intake orifice was.”
All my orifices know where you are—especially the ones that grow hair.
As he dabbed his shirt with the napkins, it became obvious he was just making the stain worse. “If you’ll pardon me, Dove, I think I need to run some cold water over this.” Johnson stood sexily and left for the men’s room.
He does laundry! In bathrooms!
Dove was smiling to herself. No other night in her life could compete with this one.
Their waiter approached and refilled Dove’s wine.
She was expecting some food-server small talk, but instead she was treated to a harsh whisper. “We remember you, Twat Swabber. Don’t pull any of your stunts here.”
The waiter placed a plate of artfully arranged appetizers in front of her. Incredibly, using only food, the chef had created a tremendously lifelike vagina. Complete with mushrooms carved into curly hairs.
Oh God, no! Johnson can’t see this! This faux pussy is going to ruin our date!
She wanted to cover it with her napkin, but Johnson had that. She was holding the plate, deciding if she could slide it under the table, when someone close by cleared his throat. First, she saw his crotch. She gasped at the unexpected visual assault.
“Hey, Crappola, What’s up with the vagina?” Duke was smiling at her.
“First, Duke, you slob, what the hell are you doing out of the hospital? Second, a clear plastic shower cap does not hide your ridiculous man business. Third, get out of here right now. Johnson already thought you and I were dating, and I don’t want to be with you when you get arrested for wearing that.” Dove put down the plate and looked around frantically.
She was even more alarmed when she saw Mr. and Debra Anastasia sucking face in the lobby. Their presence could only mean more potential embarrassment.
Duke sat down in Johnson’s vacated chair. His delighted dimples were deep in his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled. “Give me your food; I’ll cunnilingus it to death.” He took his alarmingly long tongue and lapped at the disembodied genitalia. “Yum! They should have put a little seafood in here.”
Dove rolled her eyes and slapped her hand on the table. “Listen, I know we’re funny with each other, and this stupidity? It’s funny a lot of the time. But please—I’m actually begging you, here—leave me alone. This guy? He might even like me a lot. I don’t know what to do with that. It never happens to me. Just one night without my own luck… can’t I just have one night?”
Duke’s smile dropped along with his eyes. He took Johnson’s fork and smeared the food into an unrecognizable mush.
Well, that was a good fucking idea. Why didn’t I think of that?
“I got ya, baby girl. None of my stupid shit tonight. You have a good one.” Duke mercifully stood. “You want me to get rid of this for you?” He looked just past the top of her head. She nodded and he waddle-walked away.
She couldn’t shake the sad look on his face—like she had shit in his favorite package of sausage.
He listened to me without complaint when he could have easily shamed the shit out of me.
Dove followed Duke with her gaze while biting her lip. It was perplexing.
Soon, Johnson was back in his chair. “I thought I had a fork?”
The waiter brought their food and another fork without any more threats or embarrassing offerings. Dove didn’t know how much brainpower it took to chew and swallow without dying until she had to do so while sitting across from Johnson Fitzwell. She was praying that she would find out if his Johnson really did Fitzwell. After her third glass of wine, she had the guts to try batting her eyelashes at him. It could have been the light or the alcohol, but she was almost positive Johnson was flirting back. Maybe the kisses weren’t just facial seizures. Maybe this date was going to wind up with her legs spread and lots of nudity.
She wiggled in her seat, and the movement reminded her that she had to pee so damn bad. When she stood, Johnson stood. Her mouth hung open. He was treating her like a person who was special. Like a lady. She couldn’t even pretend to hide her happy smile.
She went to the bathroom as quickly as she could, hating the time apart from Johnson.
> When Dove opened the stall door after flushing, she had high expectations. She wanted to see her hair looking normal and her armpits looking dry and a lack of toilet paper hanging out the back of her undies. Nothing prepared her for what she actually saw: Beth’s—the ex-girlfriend—angry, bitchy face.
“Well hello, cum bucket. Preparing to whore it out to my man? Because by the time we’re done with you, you won’t even be able to whore it out to yourself.” Beth sneered.
She wasn’t alone. Beth had a colony of other Beth-looking people with her in the ladies’ bathroom. Dove was shocked speechless. It was like a horrible after-school special.
Not tonight. I’m not taking shit from this bitch tonight.
Maybe it was because Johnson had stood when she’d left the table. Maybe it was because he’d spilled his wine when she had smiled, but she found courage in the crapper. Even though she was outwomanned six to one, she still spoke her mind.
Dove defended herself. “Um, I’d like to whore it out to Johnson, but he’s not yours.”
Beth laughed maniacally. Two of the robo-Beths blocked the door. She stepped menacingly toward Dove. “Really? Dove Asshole Glitch? After what I have planned, no man will want to fuck you. Ever.”
What could she possibly do to me in the bathroom that would prevent fuckable-ness? How does she know my whole government name?
Dove slammed the stall door shut. For a second she could pretend all the Beths were not out there, pissing on her very fantastic parade.
Johnson’s alive, waiting for me on the other side of the bitch brigade!
“Listen, ‘gina pincher. We’re just here to remind you not to take what belongs to someone else.” One of the Beths was threatening her.
Dove heard the clatter of high heels click-clacking around her stall.
“Dove, open the door. We’re going to get you eventually. You can’t stay in there forever!”
One of the girls risked climbing on the toilet in the stall next to hers so she could peer over the metal dignity divider. “I can see you now, douche clot.” This Beth had deep brown hair and a fuckton of eye makeup on.
Fire Down Below Page 17
