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Day 8 of a 5 day cleanse......Ch. 1

Her large doughy breasts sagged like the arse cheeks of a WWII veteran. Her stare devoured me. She wondered if I could make her wet, the way the bus driver used to after school. I wondered too. She eased back in the recliner and divided her short, husky legs. It was just a complete mess. Like an open bible on a park bench soaked in texas pete. A grizzly love clam that knew eight languages. I needed support and of course big Tony was still passed out in the car. This is why I didnt join the the navy out of high school. I am invertebrate in these type situations. I needed regis to let me call my mom. But it was time to dance

I began to smell charred animal remains and looked toward the kitchen. There was a random dead creature in a tupperware bowl on top of the microwave. It was surrounded by tiny candles. I couldnt decide if it was some type of tennessee fondue ritual or maybe just a mayan sex offering. But I knew it was going to haunt me somehow. What I didnt know is that big Tony would end up going back to prison that night and that I would stay clean for the next six weeks over it




(Tbc..)
This post was edited on 10/30 at 8:11 am

The mere sight of my dick made her drool like a mutt under a picnic table. But what truly concerned me was that I had shaved my balls earlier that day on my lunch break. I felt like the tiniest laceration would be like a door for diseases to walk through and have a seat on my pancreas. My mind raced like I was auctioning off good ideas. I had to quit thinking. Time to pump myself up. Im the catholic slave trader and shes the runt of my negro litter. Im the god damn bus driver now. So I just jumped on her

What happened over the next half hour was like episode 666 of meet the mansons. It was just brutal. I felt like rob zombie had ****e on my chest. My dick and I wouldnt speak for months after this. I will say I was astonished at how agile she was for a woman her size though. She was like kung fu panda. I remember thinking frequently that this is why I do drugs. I had her hunched over the coffee table and was choking her with a string of christmas lights when I heard something behind me. Big tony had woke up

Ray Finkle said:

Seriously Pasty, PM me and we'll discuss cover work for this. For an example, I just painted a portrait of my father (he's deceased ****ers, so you can pick at the work, but leave him out of it). It was my first painting using oils and first portrait ever. It'll improve but I think I'm onto something

Click to expand...

You're the spitting image of your father aren't you?

I had her hunched over the coffee table and was choking her with a string of christmas lights when I heard something behind me. Big tony had woke up

Large Anthony has been one of my best friends for almost 15 yrs. we met because of his sister. Years ago she had gotten HIV from some lothario carnival worker that breezed through town. in a bittersweet twist of astrology he had also knocked her up with a sweet boy she named Chauncey, after the deaf dog in dr.doolittle . Every time id see him id remind him to say hey to my uncle harvey for me whenever he got to heaven. chauncey went to school with my son up until hospice took over. But anyway I was at a company cookout at piedmont park and tony was nearby at a family function. His sister forgot to bring potato salad and he walked over and asked if he could have some potato salad. We've been like brothers ever since

Now, im not sure why tony originally got thrown out and had to sleep in his caddilac. I do have suspicion that he had fricked her earlier though. mainly because she was dilated about 60 centimeters and her vagina hole smelled like smoked armpit. All I know is she went fruit ninja on that motherfricker when she saw him standing there like a southbound yeti. Roundhouses would soon be plentiful and i wanted none. my shaved sack speedbagged off my thighs as i scrambled for the door like a big pink crab. thats when I caught a pot of tiny mr.miyagi tree to the back of the skull. When I would wake up hours later everything would be different

Heres the thing, I knew very few romantic details about Mavis Chavis until I woke to her in the convulsing shrimp position babbling like a sodium punk that morning. I knew that she had the words "poquito más" tattooed on the tramp region of her upper rump and I knew that grand anthony had met her at the american legion bingo hall in smyrna. but I was foolhardy to to distill her porky essence to those insignificant details. she was a vomitous cocktail you just couldnt drink in one gulp

She was the genetic product of two wealthy dachsund breeders from Macon. the kind that use vietnamese breast milk in their cereal. well, they had gone on an amateur archeological dig along the baja peninsula with wee mavis when she was only 6. tragically, both parents were digested by disgruntled coyotes on that dig. mavis wandered in the desert eating rocks and roaches for almost 8 weeks before she was rescued by a caravan of mexican hippies. they werent the garden variety habanero and bell bottom type though. they were learned in the dark arts

what in da fvq did I just read?

The fajita hippies knew itd be years before they could offer mavis's tiny gringo genetalia locally for commercial purposes. even mexicans have zoning laws. But socialists need earners. so they fed her mid grade peyote and cross trained her as a soothsayer and carpenter. she would spend the next 10 years telling fortunes, tripping, and building gazebos. WHEN SHE WAS A YOUNG WART HOG. It was a grandiose childhood honestly

However, in an unusual turn of events, the law offices of Montgomery Rosenrose sent her a mulegram at age 16 informing her that she had been bequeathed a small fortune. an inheritance from her wolf chewed parents. Roughly one million dolars. mavis knew this was her only chance to purchase her freedom before the time came to sell her pussy to the local beaners. So she unpursed the dinero and took a cab from Cabo to atlanta. And there she was, in the big city. She had practiced santeria, had a crystal ball, and had a million dollars and spent it all. It was time to regroup and focus on her carpentry skills. which she did

Normally I enjoy watching whores cry. but only when theyre tasteful about it. mavis looked like a dog ****ting a pinecone when she cried. I didnt enjoy it at all. She had devised an elaborate fertility ritual but elephantine tony had insisted on wearing a condom. She wanted to breed and coveted his giant andre proportions. she wanted to push out a platoon of plus sized battle hounds and make bartow county her own personal province. her grandkids would conquer cobb county. her great grandkids, the world

But Tony was on his way back to the penal colony. this voicemail is the only momento i would have of him for the next 10 years LINK. he had run afoul of the law after leaving us. he had crashed his caddilac and was apprehended with 10 foils of dope that he and I had bought in dallas earlier that day. I puked everywhere like lard arse after the pie eating competition. the world just became a much less harmonious place

He realized as soon as he woke up that he was in an unfamiliar place. Rubbing his eyes, he began to see his immediate surroundings. It was a fairly nice hotel room, there was enough light in the room for Herb to surmise that it was mid-morning. He lay motionless on his side. He could see some of the city through the hotel window. Off in the far distance was a dome. Herb let out a raspy whisper, “D.C.” he suddenly remembered. As his brain slowly came back to life he began trying to piece things together. The rest of his body, though, hadn’t come out of its comatose state yet. He felt a light, gentle rhythm in his head that began to lull him back to sleep. “Oh boy,” he said with a start as he realized what the sound he was hearing was. He used all the strength he could muster to roll over. The sound he hearing was coming from the girl lying next to him. It was her soft, peaceful breathing. She had her back turned, but judging by her hair she was apparently African-American. He fought the urge, briefly, but feeling every bit the dirty old man, Herb lifted the covers. “Wow” he thought. He’d hit it out of the park again.

The girl woke without opening her eyes, turned over and put her head on his chest. “Good morning, tiger.” She purred.

The cloudy, mind-stilting haze of sexual arousal and the after-effects of whatever he’d put into his system last night were fighting an epic battle inside him. His efforts to remember how and why he’d gotten to Washington, and what exactly had transpired once he’d arrived, weren’t going very far.

The girl put her lips on his neck. The arousal overpowered him. He was ready to give in to the Demon inside him again. She moved her tiny kisses down to his chest. Throwing back the cover, she slipped her lips down to his stomach. Herb was lost in the sensation of her tongue swirling further and further down on his belly, and the stimulation of the curvy milk chocolate-skinned visage before him.

He struggled, then finally regained his sanity, momentarily.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Herb said reluctantly, “wait.”

The girl looked up from her work, somewhat confused.

“Did I tell you who I am last night?” He asked her.

The girl rested on her elbows and giggled. “Yeah, your name is Herb, you live in Alexandria and you work for the NSA.” Somehow the way she was laying on the bed made her derriere look even more amazing, if that was possible.

“Dude, that ass. Stick with the story, man…” An impish voice inside him was egging him on now.

The girl made a joke that Herb didn’t understand at first. “Are you a little absinthe minded this morning, baby?”

Herb pried his eyes away from her posterior. He slowly became focused on the bottle of wormwood sitting on the dresser. Next to it were a spilled box of Dixie Crystals sugar cubes, a spoon, and a lighter. “Ah, the Green Fairy. Well we certainly finished the evening off with gusto.” He thought. “Bravo.”

“Look, um…Torrance,” Herb said a small prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. By some miracle he had managed to remember her name. “Look, I’m not who you think I am-”

“Oh, honey, is this about your security clearance? Don’t worry, I guarantee you mine is higher than yours anyway. Don’t you remember? I work in the White House, I’m an aid to the President.”

“Umm, yeah…” Then trying to fathom what she just told him, Herb furrowed his brow and said, “Boy I really outkicked my coverage, didn’t I?”

“Yes, whatever that means” she smiled, “but don’t worry, you made up some serious ground in the sack.” She was kissing the inside of his wrist now.

Her comment seemed to reconnect a chain of synapses. Herb’s mind started producing some of the footage from last night. It began trickling in like an 8mm pornographic film reel. As he began to remember the details of his long night with Torrance that cloudy haze of sexual arousal began gripping him again.

“You better go with it, big fella,” pressed the imp,” when are you going to be in this situation again?

“Look Torrance,” he started again. “Listen to me for a second. I’m not who I said I was. I’m basically an insurance claims investigator who was in the middle of a massive bender when you met me last night.”

He braced himself. “Here come the ‘Five Stages of Grief’,” he thought. “I really hope we can get through this quickly, honey.”

“I know you’re pranking me, Herb, nice try,” She smiled. “You already told me you know Stan Cullen. He’s a mutual friend at the agency. I worked on a ton of projects with him. You know waaaay too much about Stan and the NSA to be lying.” She finished with a sarcastic. “Ha, Ha.”

“Ok, DENIAL.” Herb thought, “It’ll come to you dear. Four more and we’re through with this ordeal.”

“It’s a parlor trick,” Herb said flatly. “Psychics use a similar technique. You can edge your way into somebody thinking you know something just by asking the right questions and giving them vague statements back. When you have specifics because some general knowledge or trivia you picked up, lean on it.”

“Then use some phony, truncated anecdotes when you can.” Herb continued, “For example, something like Hey, you gotta ask Stan, next time you see him, about that incident with the Carnivore matching database and Admiral Bradley. It’s too embarrassing for me to repeat, but maybe he’ll share it with you.”

Herb demonstrated this ability by engaging the still-doubting Torrance in a discussion about her family. By the end, he’d almost convinced her that he went to law school with her sister and worked with her on the Innocence Project.

Torrance had leapt up from the bed now. Herb contemplated the notion that there was a sister out there who was possibly just as hot as the naked, scowling woman now standing at the foot of his bed. He wondered for a moment if he could talk them into a three-way.

“A$$HOLE!!” She screamed as she began gathering her clothes. “A$$HOLE!”

“Yeah, probably no chance for that ménage at this particular juncture, there, Old Sport.” Herb mused to himself. He was enjoying this a little too much.

“****ing. A$$HOLE.” She repeated the sentiment as if she was trying to elevate the magnitude of how bad this man was, but couldn’t find the words. Herb wanted to tell her how beautiful she is when she’s angry, but thought better of it. He noticed the length of her well kept fingernails and figured they were plenty capable of tearing into flesh. She sure was pretty, though.

“What kind of human garbage are you?” She asked rhetorically.

“The worst kind,” Herb agreed. “I’m just really a terrible person.” Herb realized he had his hands locked behind his head and was ogling at her half naked body. He wasn’t sure if he’d successfully suppressed the smirk, but he hoped he had. The whole thing was not a good look for someone trying to talk a girl down from her justifiable rage. He realized she noticed this and he sat up to correct his posture.

“Take a good look, a$$hole,” She yelled as she put on her bra, “this is the last time you see my bare black ass again.”

Herb had to stifle a chuckle. She was getting a little, um, urban, now.

“I’m really sorry, Torrance. You’re a terrific girl, really. I obviously have some issues.”

“You’re damn right you have issues!” She said, still outraged. “What kind of person pulls this crap?”

Yes, yes, yes, my darling,” Herb thought, “Let’s get through this ANGER stage together, shall we? I’ll be your guide, now let it alllll out.”

Torrance continued this chain of obscenity-laced observations about Herb’s character while she hopped around on one foot or leaned awkwardly against the television angrily trying to dress herself. Occasionally, she’d stop and look up into space to marvel at how good he was at duping her, as if she were a General admiring a skilled enemy tactician. Finally, after hearing enough agreements and apologies by her target, she began to calm down.

Herb knew what was next and prepared himself for the BARGAINING stage. “Here we go...” He said to himself.Herb had figured out long ago that this was the hardest stage of grief. It is where the heart is finally and irretrievably broken.

“Please tell me this not you, Herb.” Torrance pleaded. She sat back down on the bed now, fully dressed with her purse in her hand. “Please tell me this is just one bad night. I really thought you were the perfect guy, Herb, warm, smart, witty. You spoke my language. Please tell me this isn’t who you are.”

“Whatever I was taking last night must’ve worked pretty well.” He quipped to himself. He thought about asking her if she’d happened to noticed what it was.

“Yes, it’s me Torrance. I’m horrible. My addictions are almost completely in possession of me. Even when I’m sober I’m pretty awful. And I don’t mean that in a this-is-a-guy-I-can-fix type of awful. I mean it in a ‘Hey, I got to get as far away from this guy as I can’ type of awful.”

“You’re an insurance investigator, really?” Torrance pleaded.

“Yes,” Herb responded, “sort of. I do corporate investigations. Quite a few are insurance related.”

“An insurance investigator.” She said, as if she hadn’t heard him. She made it sound like he manually inseminated pigs for a living.

“Yes - sort of,” He repeated. He was getting a little irritated now. “For what it’s worth I’m a goddam good one.”

“Sorry,” she said, realizing what she’d done.

“Don’t sweat it.” Herb said. “I got accepted to Stanford’s Masters in Applied Mathematics program fifteen years ago. I declined the invitation and it’s been all downhill from there. My career hasn’t exactly gone in the trajectory I’d hoped. I’m a little sensitive about it.”

“I won’t bring it up again,” Torrance said. She made a mental note that if she ever saw this prick again, she’d be sure to bring up his career. His weakness made her feel less vulnerable.

She looked at the wall, then put her head in her hands. “Why me?” she asked to no one in particular. “I can never find a decent, man. They always turn out to be jerks.”

Herb took this as a hopeful signal that she’d moved from the uncomfortable BARGAINING stage and into DEPRESSION. He was a bit relieved, thought for a moment that he should put his arm around her. He decided not to as that could possibly bring her back to Stage One.

“I meet a guy,” she went on, “he seems perfect. Handsome, well-educated, successful. Then he always ends up being a complete a$$hole in the end.”

“No offense, Torrance” Herb replied, “but eventually you have to consider the town you’re living in. I mean, I’m the worst person I know, literally, but I probably have more ethics in my thumb than 90% of the self-important douchebags in this town. All of them think they’re doing God’s work down here, making deals with other people’s money and shoving it up the ass of the American public. This is all for the “greater good” of getting some career politician re-elected or funneling money into some mega-corporation. Honestly, Herb Atwood, ‘insurance investigator on a bender’ must look like a prince in comparison to these trolls.”

The unintentional insult snapped her out of her depression. Torrance stood up. “Well it’s been a pleasure, Herb, whoever or whatever you are. I hope you find some help and beat whatever this is that makes you such a truly despicable human being. I’ll say this for you, you’re pretty good. And don’t sell yourself short by calling what you are capable of a ‘parlor trick.’ It’s pretty damn impressive. I’ve dealt with quite a few agents and you could match up with the best of them on pretext.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t hypnotize you,” Herb said half joking. He’d read quite a few books on the subject.

She didn’t quite know how to take that. “In any case,” she said, “give me your card.” We will absolutely never be ****ing each other again, I can assure you that, but I do have a project I want you to work on if you’re interested.”

“Well, I guess that blow job you were about to give me this morning is out of the question then.” Herb delivered the boorish wisecrack to her along with his business card.

She rolled her eyes in disgust and opened the door to leave. “And stay away from my sister,” she said as she pointed a long finger at him.

Herb held the door open for her and watched her walk down the hall. She wasn’t walking as fast as he would’ve expected. He wondered if she was getting some delight in knowing he was admiring her physique. “Ah, ACCEPTANCE,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He noticed a maid opening the door across the hall. He leaned over toward her, still holding his room door.

“Perdóname, Señora” Herb asked her, “¿Qué día es hoy?”

The maid looked at Herb, than down at the towel he had wrapped around his waist. “Jueves,” She replied, and went back to work.

herb's a pimp!

gatorchatter chapter 6 verse 9: williston_gator wept.

I'm bumping this thread bc @PastyStoole needs to get back to work. This was turning into something epic.

oxrageous said:

That chapter above is incomplete. I'm not even sure what Herb's occupation should be.

Click to expand...

I'm pretty sure "Herb" runs a website, drives a Miata, and drinks Zimas...

I stopped after the first couple of posts, will revisit later, but good on ya for writing, I do it all the time, but just little shorts, it's therapeutic. When I think of something, I write down one sentence to jog my memory later, then eventually I'll go on a tear of writing.

The night was dark.

Having watched Torrance leave while leaning against the door jam, Herb’s thoughts began to get back to the moment and back to the FasCorp case. He was eager to see if he’d cracked the code during his long binge. He remembered very little of the last few days, but he suspected that once he got back to his apartment he’d see a lot on his whiteboard and in his notes. Still, why did he end up in Washington? Was there a clue here he still needed to discover? He decided to get back home as quickly as possible. No doubt his boss had questioned Steve about Herb’s whereabouts by now. Herb hoped that Steve had produced a good cover for him. He gathered what few belongings he had in the hotel room and dressed himself.


Herb sat down on the bed next to the nightstand and picked up the phone receiver. He’d call the airline and get the first flight he could out of there. He pulled the phone directory out of the drawer from where it sat next to the Giddeon’s bible and opened it to the “A’s.”


“Aircraft Parts”


The bright morning sun pouring through the window was creating an almost florescent green refraction of light on Herb’s face, at the very corner of his right eye. Herb wiped at it as if it were a bug. He ticked and twitched a little and then turned the yellow pages of the phone directory to the B’s.


“Barbershops/Beauty Salons”


Herb paused for a moment. He marveled at how many beauty salons and barber shops there were in the D.C. area. The green light was starting to annoy Herb a little now. He reached for his wallet and pulled a crumpled and worn piece of paper from the billfold. He read the phone number on it, then the name:


“Vernon. A.A.”


Herb placed the paper down next to the phone directory. He turned the pages to the C’s.


“Culinary Equipment”


The viridescent light began feeling like it was burning a hole into the side of his skull. Herb imagined he could feel intense heat from it. He noticed he was sweating. If he sat there long enough, he thought, it would kill him or drive him insane. He tried brushing his hand on his face again. Turning the pages of the directory once more, Herb read the next heading:


“Dog Groomers”


The green light was almost strangely blinding now. It seemed to have given him temporary madness, the kind of madness that’s acquired from the sun by a man lost in the desert. Herb closed his eyes. He thought back to a time when his mouth was this dry. A summer day, in the sweltering Pittsburgh steel city heat. It was before the accident, his mother was still alive. They were stuck in traffic, windows open. His parents were loaded. The stainless steel pitcher full of martini was sitting between them. Martinis, martinis everywhere, but not a drop to drink, was what his father sang acerbically when Herb complained about his thirst. Herb opened his eyes again and put the phone down. He walked over to the window and drew the curtains closed.


Squatting down like a catcher in front of the hotel dresser, Herb contemplated the bottle in front of him and read its label:


Vieux Pontarlier
Absinthe Française
Supérieure


He walked back to the nightstand with the bottle in his hand and set himself down on the bed again. Then he looked down at the piece of paper in front of him:


Vernon. A.A.


Herb picked up the phone and cradled the receiver on his shoulder. He ran his fingers along the number keys. Using his thumb to push the cork out of the bottle he was holding, he lifted the bottle to his lips and took one long, slow pull off the green liquid inside it. Turning the pages of the phone directory once again, Herb flipped slowly through the directory until he found what he was looking for:


“Escort Services”

What’s a phone receiver and a phone directory?