Tagged: bonus points

“Don’t Squish the Slugs”

  • by jenbut in that way dreams do
  • rubbing their fins against it
  • own personal golden spoon
  • some sort of cheesecake
  • you have to plan your moves

Tune in next time part 657      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t squish the slugs,” Dr Ferguson purred, refusing to allow me to lay back on the mattress. For a moment I thought I knew what she was talking about, but in that way dreams dodge from your waking mind, the knowledge was gone. My senses were overwhelmed. Dr Ferguson moved close, and her heartbeat merged with mine, sounding like two dolphins with a balloon, rubbing their fins against it. She kissed me and it tasted like using my own personal golden spoon to savor some sort of cheesecake. When you’re in bed with a virtual stranger, and you’re clearly under the influence, you have to plan your moves very carefully and in accordance with Academy training. I attempted to do that now.

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Dr Ferguson Reached Again for my Waistband

  • by jenwhy would you ever need more than one cat
  • some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered
  • feeling each other up in your pantry
  • shiny because of bug secretions
  • “Who whistles for this long?”

Tune in next time part 655      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson reached again for my waistband. Before she could accomplish anything, I heard someone clear their throat. My eyes were focusing on things beyond this world, things in the realm of sensuality, and it was nearly impossible to scan the room for the mystery throat-clearer.

I wondered if it might be Deuce Pamplemousse after all, but the pale bald head suggested not.

In an outrageously accented, smarmy voice, he said, “Look at your back! Why would you ever need more than one caterpillar aphrodisiac? Is your manliness so meager?”

“Hello, Arlo,” I snarled. “They’re not caterpillars. They’re slugs, which means they must be related to you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” The viscount punctuated each word with a clap. “Very. Funny.” He positioned his pudgy body between Dr Ferguson and me.

“Arlo darling, you’re early,” simpered Dr Ferguson. “And you’re still dressed.”

“Some secrets are just not meant to be uncovered,” I blurted. What the hell was Dr Ferguson doing mixed up with the likes of this Svenborgian trash fire?

“Ignore him,” said Arlo. “Come with me, Fergie. I’d like to start by feeling each other up in your pantry. Your chest is so shiny because of bug secretions, it’s very enticing. I want to put my tongue on it.”

“They’re not bugs!” I said. “They’re slugs!” Whatever you called them, the warm, sweet pleasure they brought was overtaking my entire system. I doubted I’d be able to fight Arlo off if he took a swing at me.

“The double slugs are an experiment,” Dr Ferguson said in a babydoll voice, while running her fingertips around on Arlo’s bald head. “He’s my guinea pig.”

Arlo whistled a low note in appreciation of the plan. And whistled. And whistled. He just kept going.

“Who whistles for this long?” I grumbled, right before my consciousness drifted away on a current of pleasure.

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I Stared at the Teeth in my Palm

by jenMandatory Festivity Alert! Each year during the thick of the winter holidays, we search out seasonally appropriate sources for our Stichomancy Writing Prompts. This year, we’ve chosen to pull random lines from that 1964 Rankin/Bass stop-motion classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Off we go to the North Pole!

  • I’d like to be a dentist.
  • better known as the North Pole
  • I’m cute! I’m cute! She said I’m cute!
  • square wheels on your caboose
  • you’ll go down in history

Tune in next time part 653      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stared at the teeth in my palm. “I used to think I’d like to be a dentist.” I dropped the horrible little things into a vase on Dr Ferguson’s mantel. “Right now I’m happy I’m not.”

“Stop stalling and put on the uniform,” Dr Ferguson ordered. “My orders are to start our encounter with Position #34.”

Position #34 is better known as the North Pole Vaulter, and that at least meant she’d be doing most of the work. I doffed my makeshift toga and stepped into the awful, scratchy pants. My copious body hair protruded through the crochet holes in a very unappealing fashion.

“Well don’t you look cute?” Dr Ferguson tried to suppress a laugh.

I feigned enthusiasm. “I’m cute! I’m cute! She said I’m cute!”

“Stop bellyaching and choose your slug.” She handed me the tray and finally took her coat off. She was naked underneath. After folding her coat into a neat square, she turned and placed it on the coffee table, and I spotted an unexpected tattoo.

“What’s with those square wheels on your caboose?” I asked.

“They were a gift from Chartreuse’s brother Deuce.”

“Deuce Pamplemousse? The disco artist?”

She nodded. “That’s who the third slug is for.”

I froze, even though I was standing practically in the fire. Dr Ferguson erupted in laughter. “I’m just kidding. He’s only here musically.” She tapped her phone, and hidden speakers in the rafters started pumping out the driving disco beat of “Hop on My Caboose.”

“Then who is the third slug for?”

“You! One for me, two for you. After tonight you’ll go down in history as the first person to use two icicle slugs at the same time!” She snapped on a latex glove and scooped up a pair of clear gastropods. “Well, maybe not history, but in the organization’s files anyway.

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Dr Ferguson’s Gory Reminder

  • by Kentpromptly caught fire the very first time
  • , but he’s a chef,
  • I don’t recall hearing the astronauts mention
  • tacky crochet pants
  • understood both Shakespeare and the needs of her body

Tune in next time part 652      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson’s gory reminder brought up some things I hadn’t thought about in a very long time. Things I’d always believed were mere legends. Supposedly, the Academy and all its sister schools were linked to a precursor of the US space program. I knew that agency was real, because I’d been taken on a field trip to see their aerospace lab. It was where they’d built a moon rocket in secret, which had promptly caught fire the very first time the windshield wipers were tested.

“Is the Director still around?” I asked.

She nodded. “He’s very old, but he’s a chef, so there’s no telling how long we’ll be stuck with him. Here” She thrust something at me that looked like a folded afghan. “I want you in uniform. At least to start.”

“I don’t recall hearing the astronauts mention tacky crochet pants when I took the tour.”

“They’re itchy, too,” she replied. “But that’s minor compared to going through life as a woman seeking a man who understood both Shakespeare and the needs of her body. I have it on good authority that you don’t know much about the Bard.” The damn slug tray swung back into view. “But I also hear that I’m not going to hold that against you.”

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Icicle Slugs

  • by jengrueling toll on the mind and body
  • I clenched my teeth
  • Until then, I’m not interested.
  • does not give a fuck
  • spit two teeth into my hand

Tune in next time part 651      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Icicle slugs. Why did it have to be icicle slugs?

A life like mine takes a grueling toll on the mind and body, a grueling toll that my education at the Academy prepared me for. Mostly. I clenched my teeth as the shimmeringly see-through slugs oozed across Dr Ferguson’s tray, leaving slimy, crisscrossing trails.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the hype,” I said. “They don’t enhance the sexual experience anywhere near as much as people claim.” Truth was, they did, and I didn’t think I had the energy for it after my honeymoon with Hildegard. And why were there three of them? One for me, one for Dr Ferguson, and one for whom exactly? “Get rid of them. Until then, I’m not interested.”

Dr Ferguson said, “We work for an organization that does not give a fuck about whether you’re interested, or whether I’m interested. They warned me that you might try to weasel out of it.”

“I work for no organization,” I said.

Dr Ferguson balanced her slug tray on her fingertips, crossed to me where I stood by the fire, and spit two teeth into my hand. They weren’t my teeth (I knew from having so recently clenched them), and they weren’t hers either.

I looked up from those blood-stained molars, understanding dawning. “Oh,” I said. “That organization.”

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Snow Is Nice

  • by Kentthree little glittering, translucent things
  • with a reality television divorcée
  • like a spinning mouse
  • I’m not sure that’s the only rule
  • those who wallow in it

Tune in next time part 650      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Snow is nice to look at and can be enjoyable in person, but not so much for those who wallow in it with only flimsy spa slippers on their feet and nothing to cover their arms. I was shivering, and Dr Ferguson was determined to have her way.

“Alright,” I said. “You win. My only rule is that you must take me someplace warm right now.”

“I’m not sure that’s the only rule you’ll want to enforce,” she said with a chuckle. “You haven’t seen my toys, like a spinning mouse and a purring cat. But I’m hopeful that you’ll keep an open mind. After all, when else are you going to get the chance to go to bed with a reality television divorcée?”

I helped her onto her moose’s back. “You must have been busy since the Academy,” I muttered through chattering teeth as I mounted behind her. She flashed a grin over her shoulder as the animal moved ahead at a canter. I wanted to tuck my arms inside my improvised toga so they wouldn’t freeze solid and fall off, but I had to hang onto Dr Ferguson so I wouldn’t lose my balance and fall off. She encouraged this, stroking my forearms with her deliciously warm fingertips.

Her home was a modernist chalet atop a small hill, and it was warm, so my stipulation had been met. She used a voice command to activate the fireplace, and I toddled over to it immediately. I was just about thawed out when I heard her voice behind me. I expected to turn and find her in negligee, or in nothing at all, but she hadn’t even taken off her coat.

On a tray she presented three little glittering, translucent things.

“Aren’t those illegal?” I asked. Her only reply was her most devilish grin so far.

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I Gazed at the Moose

  • by jenlong puffy sleeves
  • bees cannot live when their stings are broken
  • dream about mousetraps and poison darts
  • result of our extra-marital affair
  • “I DESERVE this!”

Tune in next time part 649      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I gazed at the moose as snowy air stung the skin of my bare arms, jutting as they were from my duvet-toga. “What I wouldn’t give for some long, puffy sleeves,” I muttered.

“And some shoes?” Dr Ferguson asked, handing me a pair of slippers from the hotel’s spa.

I grunted my thanks and put them on. “Why the hell did you enter a moose raffle?” I asked.

“Everyone knows bees cannot live when their stings are broken.” She smiled the smile of a woman who has a recurring dream about mousetraps and poison darts, and, what’s more, enjoys it. Her statement would sound to many people like a coded message, but to me it sounded like a metaphor. But for what? I studied her from the corner of my eye as I stroked the moose’s velvety snout. It seemed quite docile.

“You’re trying to figure me out,” she said. “But don’t worry. The result of our extra-marital affair will be complete understanding. And maybe a little rug burn.”

“We’re not having an affair.”

“You won’t be able to say that tomorrow,” she said. “At least not honestly.”

“Lady, I don’t have time for this. I need to find my way off this island.” I held the reins out for her to take. “Your moose is ready.”

She ignored the reins. “Who do you think you are, turning me down? I worked hard to get to this desolate place to save you. I went against all of my training, and a direct order from your mother!” She stamped her foot in the snow. “I DESERVE this!”

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The Only Clothes I Had Available

  • by jenwe are famous for our punctuality
  • shoulder-length hair and softer features
  • “I can’t believe people actually buy this.”
  • a lot of celebrities
  • create a new surname entirely

Tune in next time part 645      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The only clothes I had available were the ridiculous tinseled ankle cuffs I’d worn to the wedding, and without a fan to lift the streamers they were not only useless but a tripping hazard. While Dr Ferguson watched with keen interest, I wrapped the relatively pudding-free duvet around myself like a big puffy toga and secured it with a tinsel belt.

“Surprisingly stylish,” Dr Ferguson admitted.

“In my family we are famous for our punctuality and our fashion sense,” I said.

“You look so much like your brother,” she sighed, “Only with shoulder-length hair and softer features.”

Which of my brothers did she mean?

From his seat on the ottoman, Spex held up an empty butterscotch pudding tin. “I can’t believe people actually buy this.” He wrinkled his nose. “Homemade is so much better.”

I tried to tune out his snotty comments and figure out why Dr Ferguson was so familiar. I frequent all the cool websites, so of course I know about a lot of celebrities in the ophthalmological world. She was not one of them.

Hildegard’s father stumbled over, drunk on peanut butter. “What a mouthful it will be to hyphenate Pamplemousse, van der Zhößængrüüpåbergschløssenfußmeister, and your last name. You ought to create a new surname entirely!”

Oh shit. How had I not known that Hildegard was a van der Zhößængrüüpårbergschløssenfußmeister? Had I known from the start she was a van der Zhößængrüüpåbergschløssenfußmeister things would have gone entirely differently.

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A Sharp Rat-A-Tat-Tat

  • by jeniconic metallic wardrobe
  • and last, but not least, Dr Ferguson
  • mermaid-themed birthday parties
  • in many a hipster coffee shop
  • just because you like to destroy

Tune in next time part 643      Click Here for Earlier Installments

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the door snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up from the note to see the door swing inward, and Chartreuse Pamplemousse strode into the honeymoon suite. I recognized him as much by his iconic metallic wardrobe as by his trademark goggles. An entourage of ophthalmological sycophants rushed in after him and stood in a semicircle at his side.

“I’m sure you all know my crew,” Chartreuse announced. “Spex, Lenz, Iris, and last, but not least, Dr Ferguson, my protégé.”

The bunch of them looked like the henchmen of some Batman villain who specialized in swindling children at mermaid-themed birthday parties. I’m sure you’ve seen people dressed like them in many a hipster coffee shop, but it was startling to see so many all gathered together on a team.

“Chartreuse!” Hildegard shrieked in delight. She ran to him, arms outstretched, but he deflected her with raised palm.

“Just because you like to destroy your own clothes with butterscotch pudding doesn’t mean I’ll let you destroy mine. Even if we are, apparently, now married.” He turned to me. “And us, too, I take it.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” I said. “None of this was my idea.”

Meanwhile I kept my eye on Dr Ferguson. There was something about her that was incredibly familiar.

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If Hildegard’s Father Hoped

  • by Kenttook off his cravat
  • weird art projects that are mostly about pornography
  • my father also enjoys circus peanuts
  • keys to open the padlocks
  • because of the required coordination

Tune in next time part 642      Click Here for Earlier Installments

If Hildegard’s father hoped to get me in trouble with John, his plan was probably going to backfire. Being the only other person skilled in the limbo code, I was the only person John could be trying to communicate with. Unless this was all a trap.

The old man took off his cravat and used it to mop his forehead. He reached for the photo and the note, but I didn’t give them up. He intended, no doubt, to incorporate them into weird art projects that are mostly about pornography. For once he was quiet, standing there hoping I’d hand over the nude picture of my mother. He took a bag of circus peanuts out of his pocket and munched with a contented sigh.

This brought to mind the fact that my father also enjoys circus peanuts, a taste he acquired during his days as an escapist on the sawdust circuit. He also found it useful to embed within the doughy candies the keys to open the padlocks that were part of his act. He needed keys, since he couldn’t pick the locks because of the required coordination. He did, however, teach himself to bite into circus peanuts without chipping a tooth on the keys.

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