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I, Monster
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
I, MONSTER!
It really was a lame crowd, if I ever saw one, mostly would-be-bodybuilders
and has-been-models. Some money boy was here too, the Ray-Ban force was out
strong, scattered around strategically, sipping their Ginger Ales. To be
honest, the party wasn't going all too well 'till I arrived.
That's changed now. I'm the party animal tonight, a raging bull in the glass
menagerie, a 100-Jezebel noise generator, *the* one-man disaster fucking
area. I'm ravaging the canapes berserkerlike, shouting old Little Richard
tunes to the soft rhumba of the house duo. Suddenly I find my old friend Jack
has left me again, and leap over to the bar to renew the aquaintance. I
tell the man to put the flask in a bag to go, but he starts talking about
regulations so I tell him where to regulate it and just grabs the flask
without the bag, OK by me. Then I notice this red velvety little thing,
all streamlined, eyeing me nervously. I decide she's a cut above the riff-
raff and slide over. "Split?" I roar to the red's left ear. "Shag!" I add,
just in case she's slow or something.
It was time to go anyway, the Ray-Bans already closing in on me. I came by
the back door, but I'm going out the main entrance. Red is so happy she is
screaming, squezzing my hand real hard with her elbow as we plow through the
crowd. We are intercepted at the door by a young Gucci fellow, putting on
his best knight of the round table look. "Sir," he states, "it certainly
looks as if this lady is not inclined to leave with you." "I'm no sir! She's
no lady! You're a fuckin' asshole!" I bark, putting my foot in where it hurts
most. "You monster! What did you do that for?" Red cries. "Well, it took balls
to stand up for you like that, he probably just wanted to get a kick out of
it." Hell, I really like it when girls call me that.
We jump into a waiting cab, the driver looks like Meat Loaf, but I don't
mind. I'm having a goo-ood time. "Let's Roll!" I holler, savagely. "Where
to?" asks the Loaf. "I wasn't talking to you, fatface, just drive, that's
what you get paid for". Red is looking at me, "You..." she starts. "I," I
pick up, "I what?". "You are ..." - "I AM WHAT?" - "Well, you sure are ...
something!". "OF COURSE I AM," I shout, the adrenaline really pumping now,
"I AM A MONSTER!"
She really is red now, red hot, and so am I. There's a time for everything,
a time for holding back, and a time for pressing on. I never was any good
at holding back, so I rip open my trusted Levi's, time to plunge! "Oh, OK,"
she says, hitching up the velvet, "I never liked extended foreplays, anyhow".
"THIS *IS* FUCKIN' FOREPLAY! Just see what happens when we get to my place."
"Only you ain't gonna get there, mister!" booms a fat voice up front, "as I
ain't got your address." "Then you just fuckin' listen, and we'll morse it!"
I answer, diving in.
As it turned out, we ended up at a dump downtown, called Tex-Mex Joe's. It
was the kind of place where even I looked upper class, and Red was pure
royalty, even with smeared makeup and her hairdo long gone. We got
our tequilas and sat down at a table. "What now," Red asked, downing her
tequila in one smooth movement. "What else," I answered, boot off, toeing
her wet pussy. Softly humming "I'll be glad when you're dead, you rascal you"
she came over to sit in my lap.
It was starting to feel real good, Red humping like on a trotting horse,
moaning slightly. Then I see this worried-looking fellow heading our way
and I knew it was going to get a lot better. He pointed a crooked index
finger on us, and started: "Hey, you two, this ain't no friggin' whorehouse,
I wont have any fuckin' fornicating here!" "You Tex-Mex Joe?" I broke in,
sweetly, working Red with a steady pace. "YOU BET!" he asserted. "This
your bar?" I continued. He was getting really steamed up now, "READ THE
GODDAM SIGN!! I'M TEX-MEX JOE AND THIS IS MY BAR!" "NOT ANY MORE!" I yelled.
I throw Red off of me, and with a savage snarl I jump him like a kill-crazy
pitbull, fists clenched, teeth bared and 8 inches rock hard meat sticking
out! I brought my head in first flattening his nose and ramming him through
the room into the TV set on the far wall. Christ, I feel good! Then I get
serious and rip his insides out and stuff his baseball cap down his throat
to stop his wailing. I tear my bloody shirt open, and howl. "I OWN THIS
BAR!!! I DO AS I FUCKIN' LIKE!!!". Shocked customers stare in apathy, my
chest is heaving, and the blood is pounding in my dipstick. I sweep the
counter. "RED!! Get thy ass up here!" She has that hungry look again, and
her nails bite deep into my back as I push into her. We travel the length
of the counter brutally, going all out and literally over the cliff.
We're spent, reeking of blood, sweat and promiscuity. "Free drinks for
all! Help yourself!" I shout merrily as we leave. Outside it is raining.
Red looks up at me, "Are you always like this?" "No, not on sundays," I say.
"Six out of seven ... I can live with that, monster!"
Hell, that girl knocks me out, I think I'm in fucking love!
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