NO SLEEP FOR THE WICKED
HOW I MEANT TO MEAT YOUR MOTHER
Vibrator's held together by duct tape after she dismantled it. Dialed it up to an unrecommended setting beyond factory rating. Lost most of the screws that hold it together. Hence the tape. Probably both an electrical and health hazard now.
Frantically banging herself, I realize her fuckhole is a symbol for her soul. It's emptiness is torture. No pity even remotely in my scorched mind, I float around and enjoy my orgasm. I shoot cum everywhere. I shoot cum on the t.v., on walls, out an open window, on an old sandwich lying on a table. I look down, see the socks on my feet, cum on those too.
Labcheck. Back to girlfriend. Vibrator yanked out, I fill her physically, symbolically. Rail her for longer than I really want to, until I find I'm fucking a squid. Tentacles waving around, I look the octopus dead in the eyes and I FUCK.
The girlfriend enters the room eating a sandwich (the sandwich), she asks, "Are you fucking a squid?" I gulp, "I think it's an octopus?" She chokes, coughs, something not right with the sandwich, says, "One of these times you should let me be the narrator." Fact: An Octopus Never Smiles.
I blank out. Exit void to the episode. Regain awareness. Blurry & alone in a soiled anecdote. Love is not in the air. Smells like something that won't wash off.
And The Socks Were Still On... THE END.... FINALLY, RIGHT?