Fire Down Below

by Debra Anastasia

  “Dove’s not in right now. Please leave a message. Beep!” Dove bit her lip as she looked at the girl above her.

  “Start pouring shit on her. She’s not moving!”

  Clumps of bitches moved quickly together. Soon the invasive Beth was holding a bottle of what looked to be industrial-strength cleaner high above Dove’s head. Dove had no choice; she had to open the door. She didn’t want whatever was in the cleaner to get in her eyes. Or worse, her Johnson tunnel of love.

  Dove unlatched the door and swung it open. There was a tremendously awkward moment where Beth and her friends tried to pull Dove out, but they eventually realized they didn’t fit in the teeny space. They wound up slapping at Dove until she came out of her own volition. The Beth clones stood around like they were waiting for shoes to go on sale.

  At least they’re not professional bathroom brawlers.

  “Well, Dovehole, we’re going to give you a bath in this shit.” Beth pointed to the cleaner. “Then we’re going to cut off all your fucking hair.” She held up a pair of super tiny manicure scissors.

  Dove had a few choices. She could try to bolt for the door, stand there and take what they were doling out, or she could scare them.

  “You’re going to get real tired trying to cut my hair with those freaking things,” Dove said in hopes of buying some time while she considered her options.

  Predictably, the Beths turned on each other for a brief moment, bickering amongst themselves over the effectiveness of the stupid scissors.

  Running is a sucky choice. I could trip, and they’d still throw the cleaner.

  Taking the punishment seemed like a coward’s way out. She would have to scare them. And off the top of her head, the scariest thing she could think of was Steve the Cat.

  So, she emulated him. First, she hunched herself over and made a ferocious face. The Beths all reacted the same way: horrified.

  Next in Steve the Cat’s arsenal of intimidation was the sway Johnson and she had experienced. It had been so creepy at the time. She mimicked his otherworldly moaning and rocked from side to side.

  All the Beths took a step away from Dove.

  “She’s crazy!”

  “I think she has a disease.”

  Dove amped up the moaning, trying not to imagine what people walking past the bathroom might think.

  It’s working! They’re scared! Or at least mortified.

  Dove might have even been more successful if she hadn’t caught sight of herself in the large, faux Italian-inspired mirror. She certainly looked unstable.

  Just once, can I go on a date with my dream guy without truckloads of shit to step into?

  Like a pack of wild dogs, they sensed her weakness, the slight buckling of her determination to defend herself. The real Beth stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Dove’s hair. Deep-Brown Beth’s malicious eyes were anticipatory as she held the cleaner above Dove’s head again. Über Beth didn’t want any of the cleaner on her, so holding Dove down was going to be tricky. She shuffled around awkwardly but still managed to keep her grip on Dove.

  Dove held in a sob and closed her eyes. These fucking bitches meant business. She could hear the minuscule scissors snipping away at her hair.

  The door being held shut by two of the lesser Beths squeaked open with gusto. The two girls were sent stumbling forward, and Dove opened her eyes as a reflex.

  In waltzed Duke with his dick cast. No more shower cap, just his nonsense. Dove almost cried when she saw him—the most unlikely hero ever.

  “Hello, ladies. What the hell is this? Some sort of ass-sucking rendition of West Side Story?” Duke took the cleaner out of Deep-Brown Beth’s hands. He pretended to toss the contents at her over and over, laughing every time she flinched. When he tired of that game, he emptied the bottle in the sink.

  Seeing Duke unexpectedly in any room was a mental jolt. All done up in his junk wrappings, he was an absolutely unavoidable obstacle. Duke sauntered to the center of the bathroom and turned toward the sinks.

  “That should be about right.” He closed one eye as if he was lining up the winning putt at the Master’s.

  And then, through the little hole in his penis cast, his stream of urine flew. The Beths between him and the sink scattered like rats, seeking shelter from the yellow arc.

  “Holy duck fucks! You’d think I’d eaten a wagonful of asparagus! You smell that piss, ladies? That’s pure, concentrated man.” As his bathroom needs concluded, his arc dribbled to a stop, dotting the floor with evidence all the way to the tips of his toes.

  No matter how disgusting he was, Dove stepped closer, and Duke put his arm around her. Some of the Beths tried to make their way to the door.

  “I wouldn’t. This thing is loaded and ready!” Duke pointed his dick cast at each of the women threateningly. They recoiled as if it was a loaded gun.

  “Do you all think you’re cute? Fucking corralling a chick in here to torment her? How old are you?” Duke pointed at each one with his pinkie. “I’ve seen all you whores out at the bars. And if I think real hard, I can bet some of you have sucked this very dick.” He pointed at his crotch like it was a car he was selling.

  The real Beth’s face went white. “Fine, we’ll let her be. Come on, girls.”

  Duke smiled like a cat that had just taken a dump in a clean litter box. “Oh, not so fast. I knew I knew you. Beth? If you don’t want me to tell the other girls where I know you from, you’ll apologize. I still have that picture you love.”

  “I won’t touch her again.” Beth looked downright petrified.

  Duke squinted.

  Beth added, “Or talk to her. Or talk about her. I’ll just stop talking altogether. I’ll apologize. To her. To everyone.”

  Duke ignored her and turned to Dove. “Did they hurt you?”

  She shook her head. Dove didn’t trust her voice. She didn’t need an ugly cry, and if she thought about what Duke had just done for her, she would bawl.

  “I want you to go back to your date while I finish my talk with these ass fungi.” Duke winked at her.

  Dove took the time to wash her hands with the whole crowd watching. When she opened the ladies’ restroom door, she heard a loud fart behind her. Duke was punishing them all. She threaded her way through the crowded restaurant. She couldn’t believe that nothing had changed; Johnson was waiting and stood as she returned to the table.

  “Do you feel well, beautiful? I hope the breadsticks haven’t given you an upset stomach.” Johnson looked concerned and lovely and handsome and perfect. Even when he was talking about her possible diarrhea.

  “I feel great, Johnson. Wonderful.” Dove spread her napkin on her lap like a normal person.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the flood of Beths come running out of the restroom. Duke followed soon after. He was doing the deep lunges he reserved for his morning ball stretches. Dove worried a bit about his injury. God knows what he put those girls through in that bathroom.

  Her whole body tensed when she saw Debra and Mr. Anastasia heading in her direction. Duke walled them off and herded them back into the waiting area. Mrs. Duffington—Jesus Christ, too many nightmarish people here—followed Duke like he was the Pied Dick-Casted Piper. Dove relaxed. Duke was taking care of everything.

  She gave her attention back to Johnson, who was discussing the advantages and disadvantages of the vaginal product GYNAZULE®’s new generic version.

  She peeked one last time to see if the cacophony of weird had been evacuated. They had. Duke nodded to her as he left the restaurant, and as stupid as he looked—with his pants unzipped and his junk plastered into a horrible genital statue—she knew she would never forget the fact that he had saved Johnson’s job and saved her from humiliation.

  Sometimes help comes from the most unlikely places.

  She settled her gaze back on Johnson, who, for some reason, was still in front of her. Dove’s endlessly horrible luck would not fuck this night in the ass.

  Johnson raised
his glass. “To Dove, a lady good enough for the name brand GYNAZULE®, even if there is a generic choice.”

  When he dropped her off after dinner, Dove invited Johnson up to her apartment for a nightcap. And by a nightcap, she meant screaming, slobbery, hard monkey sex.

  She should wait. Preserve some of the mystery of her woman parts. But hell, he was looking like that, hot damn, if he was taking, she was putting it out. All of it.

  As she walked past Duke’s door, she was a little sad to see it closed. She wanted to thank the big jerk. There was a note tacked to it, which she was intent on rushing Johnson by. God knows what little ditty Duke deemed important enough to write down. But she saw her name and curiosity got the best of her.

  He’d eliminated the only concern she had for her freaky sexcapades with Johnson. Steve the Cat would stomp any man’s sex drive to death with his antics. He also hated pounding orbs; the sight of a rhythmic ass would likely send him into a tailspin. Literally. He really would spin around on his creepy tail.

  Dove held out a hand to Johnson, and he took it—not because they were fleeing a fire and not because she was holding a million dollars. He took her hand to wrap his fingers around hers.

  His long, long fingers.

  Her knees went a little watery. Johnson placed a hand on her lower back to steady her. Her ass went a little watery. The trip up her stairs took longer than Ulysses on his epic journey. Johnson took the keys from her hand and opened her door.

  The door swung open to reveal—not a dragon, not a ninja orgy—but a couch and beyond that, a bedroom.

  Johnson and I are going to have sex. Lots of sex. With any hole I can aim in the right direction, his dick is going to be in there.

  Dove looked around her apartment. Sex could happen anywhere in here.

  Johnson closed the door behind her, and before she could turn around and make stupid talk, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest.

  Dove tried to grope him with her back while he nibbled her ear. She gyrated her shoulder blades and tried to turn them into massaging pinchers.

  Johnson’s voice was eardrum-blasting loud in her hearing hole. “EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT?”

  Dove’s brain quivered with the invasion of the noise. “Yes. Yes, Johnson, yes.”

  He went on to nibble her neck. It was time to have a pep talk with her body.

  Okay, asshole, you might get some. You might have a pussy that gets pounded until it starts pounding back! So straighten up and fly right. Think porny thoughts, say porny things, and at all times, for fuck’s sake, be sexy.

  The best she could do was grab his arm, but she did it with gusto. Now that she was thinking about it, though, she realized almost all of her porn knowledge came from glimpses of Duke’s horrible TV.

  Shit.

  Dove moaned theatrically.

  Johnson detangled his arm and stepped gently around her. “Dove, are you sure I should be here? I mean, we’re unsupervised and you did meet me on the Twitter. What will all your male followers say now?” Johnson smiled, but there was a small twinkle of uncertainty in his eyes.

  He’s jealous? He’s jealous!

  Dove walked straight to her computer and logged onto Twitter. @Lotsa_Vampersex’s reliable homepage appeared. Her computer chair moved a bit as Johnson leaned on the back of it to watch what she was doing.

  “Seeing Lotsa from this side is very sexy.” Johnson’s voice was lower than usual. Almost buttery.

  If you’re butter, my cooter is hot bread.

  She was smiling as she typed her next words.

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  Sorry, boys. I’ve found a man, so I’m officially off the market.

  She heard Johnson digging in his pocket, and moments later, he was texting on his phone. On the monitor, she could see the reflection of his wild hair just behind her.

  She checked her replies. There were a few men cussing her out and calling her a cock tease. Her followers dropped by fifty. She clicked her replies again. There was one from Johnson.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @Lotsa_Vampersex That man would love a kiss.

  Dove snickered and quickly retweeted Johnson’s message to everyone. Then she tipped her head backward to see him. The look on his face was pure sweetness.

  “Thank you for doing that.” Johnson reached down and moved Dove’s hair. He tried to lean in for a kiss but his neck was not nearly long enough. He spun the computer chair quickly and Dove’s knees smashed into his. They both cursed.

  Johnson was quite tame with his. “Damn it!”

  Dove’s curse was more colorful. “Hairy monkey taking it up the ass!”

  Johnson’s eyes went wide. Dove clapped a hand over her mouth before Johnson let loose with the deepest, most sincere laughter. Soon, she was giggling along; his emotion was contagious.

  Finally, Johnson was able to comment. “If we’re ever experiencing road rage together, you’re in charge of the swearing.”

  He moved closer and leaned in for the kiss he’d wanted earlier. Kisses that danced with smiles tasted amazing. He stroked her face like she was necessary to his hands.

  Dove looked down, her eyes filling up at his gentle touch. He was everything she could have ever wanted.

  “What’s wrong, Dove? Am I doing something that makes you uncomfortable? I won’t know unless you tell me.” Johnson took to one knee and grabbed her hand. She managed to not let any tears fall, but she wasn’t nearly confident enough to make words yet. Johnson lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles. “Do you need me to leave? Is this too much, too soon? I’m afraid I can screw things up royally, and I just want to make you happy.”

  Dove still couldn’t trust herself to speak without blubbering. But she could kiss. Not Lotsa, not a dressed-up weirdo. Just Dove. She pulled her hand from its sweet prison and touched his face. She leaned in to kiss him, and instead of worrying about which way her nose was pointing, if her armpits were sweating, or if there was a funky taste in her mouth left over from dinner, she thought about lips and touch and kissing. When Johnson moaned, Dove felt so powerful she could have head-butted a dinosaur to death. Instead, she put a hand on his chest and began unbuttoning his shirt. Johnson pulled away from their kiss and watched her eyes as she moved to the second button.

  She had a desperate need to see his nipples. It was invasive and open, looking into his tender eyes while she uncovered his chest hair. And if he had been a man-hair farmer, he would have been a millionaire.

  But there were no little tiny combines or tractors, just fluffy brown hair swirling around like it was constantly having its own party. When she finished unbuttoning his shirt, she parted it so she could see his God-given nipples.

  And then there they were. Puckered and pink—dots of passion in an ocean of curls. She wanted to fulfill her fantasy and chew them like bubble gum. They were mesmerizing her. Left nipple. Right nipple. Left nipple.

  Right nipple. Together nipples.

  OH MY GOD!

  “Dove, when you look scared like that, you worry me. Say something. Is this okay?” Johnson was sweet—again—like his hairy chest was an offensive dog load she had stepped in.

  She swallowed hard. “No, it’s just that your nipples make my tongue go fat and numb.” Her fingers pinched the air instead of the little bits of skin she desired. “Your nipples are like Novocain.”

  “You’re at a distinct advantage because I have no idea what controlled substance your nipples are like.” He ran his tongue across his top teeth.

  Nipples, nipples, nipples.

  Dove stood, leaving Johnson in his kneeling position. She reached behind her and miraculously found the zipper pull. Of course, the disengaging zipper made a loud farting sound as she pulled it down. Dove soldiered through it, letting the black dress turn into a perfect circular stage for her high heels. She stood in her apartment, showing her wares to her potential genital banger. Her boobs felt the air and advertised the temperature qui
ckly.

  Johnson was perfectly lined up to get a face full of tit. And that’d be very sexy. Dove stepped forward until his gorgeous face was PAC-MAN-ed into her cleavage. She needed to kick up the seduction, so she shook her shoulders, fully intending to softly graze his face with her breasts.

  Underestimating the weight and pendulousness of her tits, Dove managed to double tit-chop Johnson’s regal, prepossessing nose. His eyes rolled into his head as he sat back on his heels, reeling from the painful blows.

  Crap a lotta dingdongs. Fuck a shitball. I broke his nose with my funbags!

  “Oh my God! Johnson, did I break your nose?” Dove tried to cover her nose-crackers with one arm and waved another useless, frantic hand near his personal space.

  Johnson’s voice was now not only loud, but clogged-sounding. “I’m fine. Really. It might be a bloody nose. Do you have any ice?”

  Dove ran over to the icebox and pulled out a bag of 154-year-old peas. She didn’t know why they were even in there; she never ate peas. Johnson gratefully took the bag and placed it on the bridge of his nose. He did indeed have a bloody nose, so Dove went back into the kitchen for some paper towels.

  Should I put a shirt on? Does that say ‘The slutwagon is out of gas.’? Am I a horrible human for thinking about whether or not he will still ride me like a donkey up to the Himalayas?

  Dove had no idea where the socially acceptable place was to put her boobs. She decided to just cover them with her arms and sat on the sofa. “I’m so sorry about your nose.”

  Johnson had crawled to her computer chair and used the tilt feature to lean backward. He was holding his nose with pressure, as he should. He was also making horrendous mucus-clearing noises.

  “Should I get you like a spittoon or something?” As she offered, she got to thinking.

  What the hell is a spittoon? I’m pretty sure “Tupperware” is “spittoon” in another language; I’ll just use one of those.

  “No, don’t. I’ll be okay in a minute.” Johnson tried to give her a sexy look past the wad of paper towels and the pea bag.