The Antietam Whore
<3 / :( / ( | ) /
By: Clay Brudeau
All you think about is sex, someone told me. But what the hell did I care. Sex this and sex that, sex hit sex with a baseball bat. So I called them retarded and I told them, I will write my autobiography, and it won’t contain a single chapter about sex. Which is exactly what I’ve done, so there. It is as follows. It was written by me. I hope chicks dig writers. I don’t want to waste all this time for nothing. Call me, we’ll sex.
Wait, let’s try this with a pen name.
DOES THIS GET YOU HOT?
A Work of Short Friction By Blay Crudeau
The story begins like this. Her sex was what I found most sexy about her. The way her sex glistened her eyes; the way she would sex all her sextences into a sextion at the end; how she would sex up in the middle of the night after sexing sexmares and need to be sexed and have a lullaby sexed to her before she could sex back to sexleep; even the way she would sex all the blanketsex in bed. In sexhort, I sexed the sex out of every sex she could ever sex in a million sexs and sexcross a hundred sexs; and there wasn’t one sex that could ever sex me sex her sexver; sex sex sex sex that sex sex sex — sex. There was no longer any way of sexnying that I was ent(ssseeexxx)tirely obsexed with hsexesexr. This is my thesis statement. The only down-side to our relationship was that she was very bad at extra-marital banging.
Sextion One. We had been walking on the sidewalk for quite some time and my feet were sore from the concrete so I had begun walking along the little strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb, so thank god we were in a neighborhood with grass. It’s nice to live in a town with options. You can walk with an ugly bitch along concrete anywhere, which is why it’s such a relief to be able to walk in the grass with an ugly bitch walking on concrete beside you.
“Why are you walking on the grass?” she croned at me.
“My feet are sore.” I said that, but I wanted to say, Hey, stop moving closer to me and get back to the middle of the sidewalk.
“When we get back home, I need to talk to you about something.” She rubbed her mutant slut looking hands together and wiped the sweat off on her skirt. She was going to ask me if I was cheating on her. I was, naturally. She looked like a goddamn alien. It curdled my skin to think of her sweaty Martian hands giving my engorged penis a sweat-palm hand-job. It made my guts crawl to think that I married her in the first place. Physically, all I wanted to do with her was punch her right in the vagina until her uterus fell out. And she would love it every second of it but for damned sure that wasteland of a sexual organ wouldn’t be producing more alien hybrids. Or else just kick her in the tits.
“Good,” I said to her. “I’m sick of this.”
She stopped walking, like an idiot, and stood there for a few steps then jumped quickly to catch up with me. She was stammering and I loved it. “W-w-w-w-w-w-w-W-wW-what?” She said that, I can’t believe she said that, and I laughed at her. Sex.
“You heard me,” I said, and I plopped myself down on a nearby bench, “my feet hurt. I’m just gonna sit here a while. Go home, I’m in a bad mood and I don’t want to see you.” Bitches love when you talk to them like that and that is my guess as to why she clenched her fists and marched off in dramatic form. I am sure her undergarments were dampened with vaginal lubricative sexcretions. Yea, baby, sex’s go back to my place. The smoke in this bar is getting in the way of seeing your sexy sexy eyes, Sexy. Erectile dysfunction. Hey, Sexy-pants, how many drinks does a guy gotta buy around here to get into them sexy pants. Sexy eyes, I like them.
Alex, just remember, sex isn’t like in the pornos. And make sure you wear a condom. Thanks mom. <—— Alex’s childhood parental intercoursetalk. This part establishes the characters.
Alex’s mommy was wrong as balls. Cause there I was, sitting on the bench across the street from his wife, sexy Caroline. And I was the sexy electrician with big pecs; and she was the chick with large lactation organs I would make rail to. She would say, “Oh no, my husband will be home soon,” when she was kissing me with her tongue, and I could say, “Shut up, I’m going to bang you now.” And I would. If only it was so readily available, it’s all I can think about, and that piece of garbage husband, that grotesque Alex, touching her with his fat flesh and his penis. Or worse, her wanting it. No, how she.
Alex was fat and ugly. He was born fat and ugly as a baby. He would die fat and ugly as a bald old man with erectile problems and familiile dysfunction. And as many erection-making pills as he would pop through the years, he was soulless in his banging, because he knew he was too hairy and that his sweat smelled very awfully and especially when it was the result of intense rail-making, and because his penis had never grown strong enough to lift his belly. And that’s the way it was. And that’s the way it would be. Alex the beast. Alex the back-titted. Alex the failure. Alex the distant father. Alex who married a beautiful woman who was kinda bad at extra-marital rail. Alex the sleep-gasser. Alex the ill-fated. Alex the Alex. Alex the fatty-fatty-two-by-four-can’t-get-through-the-vaginal-door.
Sextion Three. On Becoming a Trainwreck
by Caly Deaubru
Now where was I? Oh. Yes. This part is the rising action. My Caroline. My Caroline, you are mine now. You do not belong to Alex. You belong to me.
How long had I been sitting on the bench sextaring at her house. Hours? Hours, had to be. It was getting dark. If Caroline would not come out I would have to go home and get some banging from my wife. Or she is mad; I’ll go to the bar. I should just tell her I’ve been cheating on her, it’s not like I could possibly get banged less. I don’t need a face. Vagina. Breasts. (Or worse, her wanting it.) A silhouette moving past the window and I knew whose breasts and ass it was (not Alex’s) and was it really getting that dark out? (Who knew?)
Who knew where could we go that nobody would ever find us? We will go lock ourselves in the closet, my dear. We can kiss and pet. And if he comes along we will hold our breath together until he leaves and we will hide in the shadows together until he goes and we will dissolve underwater together until he disappears. It is all innocent these days. You were so sweet back then. I’m not now? No, you make me cry. You always make me cry. Petpetpet. I’m sorry, I am a wretch and I don’t deserve you. <—- in the years that may have followed, I thought, crystal ball-gazing.
Sextion Four. This is the climax.
The vagina. There are small hairs on the Labia majora are due to because the subject in the drawing trims. Thus it is the case that most men prefer their vaginas to be fully shaven. Therefore some men like a perfect equilateral triangle to be sculpted of the pubic hair. Thusly other men prefer what is known on the streets as a “bush” — this definition is self-explanatory and means that the woman in question does not shave at all. Whichever your preference, the above figure is a near-photographic representation of all normal vaginas. Asians, however, are known for their sideways vaginas, but this can easily be remedied in this figure by turning it exactly ninety degrees, Fahrenheit. In Pittsburgh, that is a hot day; in Arizona, it is so-so; in Alaska, it is imposexsible. We live in Pittsburgh: thereforely, colleges put hormones in their sexeteria food that make women’s breasts heat up to well over normal human body temperature, and this is why they always have their cleavage showing, for ventilation. Manual getting-your-partner-off — or finger-railing, as it is properly called — of the wrong female, if you have open cuts, may put you at risk for herpes simplex finger. But if you don’t lose it, you use it. Constant masturbation, however, may lead to prolonged banging capability without ejaculation, due to callusing. Avoid contact with eyes; to be used only in well-ventilated areas. Harmful if swallowed; induce vomiting and seek immediate medical attention. Out loud, say “ex” ten times, quickly. Man, you need to get sexed. How long has it been?
(How long?) The silhouette slips away and where was I and the door opens and Caroline walks out in pajamas and slippers with her hair down and her arms folded on top of her breasts and she is coming towards me and looks so sexied. (Her sex is luminous. I want it all of the time.) I grin. “Hey, sweety-pie. What’s up? You sure kept me waiting long enough.” (Good angel.)
“What are you even doing here?” She said. (W-w-w-w-w-w-w-W-wW-what?)
She is being stern and has a stern look on her face. “I was drunk, and it was a mistake. So we fucked, big deal. I don’t know why you keep coming here and trying to see me. I have a husband, you know.” Female dog: bitch. Slut. Who was she. (Bad angel.) I liked her, even though she was not very good at railing, at least she was there. (How can she say no.)
She is no better than me. I say: “You’re no better than me.”
“Get out of here,” she says. Caroline. Sexy when she’s mad (I don’t know what she’s so mad about.)
“Fucking worthless.” I stand up and leave. Where am I going? Her vagina was soft and smooth (all normal vaginas), I remember, but maybe I don’t remember, and maybe it was covered in scabs and disease. That whore. It must be and I’ve forgotten. (Where am I going?) (I’ll go to the bar.) Drunk chicks are so easy, but you have to wear a condom, because you never know.
Fuck that Martian wife.
Somewhere, someone’s penis is fitted with a latex sheath, repeatedly penetrating a vagina which will not be used as a reproductive organ for years to come, and already the penis is waiting for the next occasion it will have to ejaculate and roll over and have a cigarette and want a sandwich and the vagina will want the penis to remember its name.
Section Five. Yeah, You Like That, Don’t You. By: dcyuualrea I hesexitated at the bar before going in. Only for a sexond. The musexic was loud and sexome sextramp would be drunk to take me home. Possibly for intercourse. This is the resolution. Wait, I need to add sixteen words to get the word- count to end in 69.
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