Tagged: slugs

Lyudmila Hated Jason

  • by jenwanted nothing to do with him
  • fatal slugs
  • “When the sirens went off,”
  • directly to my tongue
  • (but I definitely did)

Tune in next time part 797      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Lyudmila hated Jason. She always said she wanted nothing to do with him. Had she been lying the whole time, or had something recently changed her mind? Something, perhaps, like an encounter with near-fatal slugs? Lyudmila was both fascinated by and allergic to icicle slugs. The danger of anaphylaxis turned her on almost as much as the slugs’ aphrodisiac qualities. “When the sirens went off,” I remember her telling me, “I knew the EMTs would save me, so I didn’t worry about it. I just rode that wave.” Having recently had an icicle slug applied directly to my tongue, I felt like I probably knew how she felt. Unless I didn’t (but I definitely did). Would a near-death experience cause her to rethink her anti-Jason stance, if he were the one to supply the slugs? He’d had a pair of them since we were at the Academy, raising them as pets.

I looked at Too Tall and lisped, “Icicle slugs.”

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As Many of You Probably Know

  • by jenOh honey, *yes.*
  • They call me Mr Carousel
  • an almost imperceptible click
  • only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
  • large enough for a man to pass through

Tune in next time part 687      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As many of you probably know, ice is slippery. What you, like me, may not know is that Contrarian military dress footwear is polished with excretions from icicle slugs. Soles included. I whizzed and twirled across the hockey rink, pinwheeling my arms to keep my balance.

A man in the stands leapt to his feet and yelled, “Oh honey, yes.”

I spun into the wall and grabbed on to prevent myself from taking another slapstick lap. The frost-encrusted fork nearly went flying. My newest fan clambered over the seats and opened a door not far from me. He held out a hockey stick, and I used it as a lifeline to reach him and exit the rink.

“That was some amazing ice action,” he enthused. Then he stuck out his hand for me to shake. “They call me Mr Carousel. I’m a talent scout of the Royal Contrarian Icecapades. I would love to take you to the big leagues, baby.”

I gestured at my uniform. “I already have a job. And a mission.” I saluted him with my frozen cutlery and headed toward the exit. Here on dry land my shoes were only a little bit slippery, nothing I couldn’t handle. I made an almost imperceptible click with each step.

Mr Carousel wasn’t going to let me go so easily, though. “If you sign on with the ‘Capades, I can get you anything you want. You want a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle? I can get you a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle. You want chilled silverware? I can get it for you, chilled by professionals.”

His offer was tempting, but it would certainly take too long. By the time the lawyers hammered out all the details in the contract Jim and Esmerelda would be beyond help. And yet, I had always dreamt of a career in skates…

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I Whispered to the Alchemist

  • by jenwherever he’s hiding
  • “To be continued,” she said
  • lizard person in a human suit
  • It sure was memorable
  • smell anything out of the ordinary?

Tune in next time part 669      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I whispered to the Alchemist, “I’m sure we’ll find him, wherever he’s hiding.” Whichever of my brothers the Alchemist was horny for, I wouldn’t be making introductions. But he didn’t know that, and I might be able to use him to make my escape before he figured that out.

The Alchemist jerked into action. “I have to get this man to a hospital!”

“What’s the problem?” Valentina’s husband asked from the ceiling.

The Alchemist dropped me a creepy wink, and said, “Acute slug poisoning.”

Valentina leaned down and squeezed my junk. “To be continued,” she said. “As soon as you get medically cleared.”

The Alchemist pulled a collapsable gurney from his kit and assembled it with a few flicks of his bony wrists. As he settled me on it and strapped me down, he gave another laborious wink, and quickly swiped his lips with his tongue like he was a lizard person in a human suit. It sure was memorable, much to my dismay.

He started wheeling me toward the door. Before we made our exit into the snow, though, Valentina said, “Hang on. Does anyone else smell anything out of the ordinary?”

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“And What Sort of Uniqueness Do You Bring to the Festivities?”

  • by jen“Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”
  • biggest snake ever
  • under the covers late into the night
  • you’re supposed to throw the first pancake away
  • I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek

Tune in next time part 667      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“And what sort of uniqueness do you bring to the festivities?” I asked.

“I’m double-jointed!” Dr Ferguson demonstrated, flexing and contorting her fingers into many unnatural positions.

The speaker in the ceiling crackled. “Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”

Valentina Ferguson’s digits all snapped back into human-like shape and she glared up at one of the cameras. “I realize he doesn’t have the biggest snake ever seen on this show, but there’s no way my hands were obscuring it completely.”

Had she just insulted my genitals?

“Valentina, please,” the ceiling voice griped. “Get on with it.”

Valentina turned back to me. “He never complains about my fingers when we’re naked together under the covers late into the night.”

“For the show?”

“Of course not! He’s my second husband.” She wiggled her left ring finger in front of my face like an eel. “I don’t have a wedding ring because it just wouldn’t stay on.”

I eyed her hypnotic digits. “What happened to your first husband?”

“Husbands are a lot like pancakes.” She laughed at my confusion. “You’re supposed to throw the first pancake away.”

“Get on with it!” shrieked the ceiling.

Valentina shrugged and planted an openmouthed kiss on me. She tasted vaguely of my toes, but that was an improvement over the slug from earlier.

From the speaker in the ceiling, her husband gave direction. “I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek. Keep it there as the slugs are applied.”

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I Could Still Taste the Slug

  • by jenhad sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers
  • a Grade IV erection
  • very diabolical piece of
  • pantyhose on his head
  • spitting with impunity

Tune in next time part 663      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I could still taste the slug, or perhaps it was the PA’s fingers. I turned my head and spat into the wastebasket. Twice.

“There is no spitting with impunity on my set,” the voice from the ceiling said. “Put the pantyhose on his head.”

I was so distracted by the idea that anyone these days would have pantyhose on demand that I failed to dodge Dr Ferguson. Before I knew what hit me, my face was smooshed inside the tube of sheer fabric held in place by a very diabolical piece of knot-tying artistry.

“I think you like that,” Dr Ferguson cooed, trailing her fingers down my torso. “This is a Grade IV erection at least.”

“We can’t proceed until he reaches Grade VII,” ceiling-voice said.

“Luckily,” Dr Ferguson breathed into my ear, “I had sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers of seduction.”

And then she did something astounding with her hand that I am at a loss to describe.

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“Stop Crouching”

  • by jentie-dye crocs
  • witnessed his mother commit adultery in the back seat
  • at a depth of 500 feet
  • wasn’t in his mouth very long
  • hands of a stranger

Tune in next time part 659      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Stop crouching,” Dr Ferguson said. “It’s about as erotic as a pair of tie-dye crocs.”

The sweet warmth permeating my body felt extremely erotic. I knew it must be radiating off me, and it surprised me that Dr Ferguson couldn’t feel it, too. I felt like a man, like a sexual beast, and not at all like someone who once witnessed his mother commit adultery in the back seat of a private submarine at a depth of 500 feet.

I must not have stopped crouching, because Dr Ferguson sighed dramatically and joined me on the floor. As soon as she was close, I stuck out my tongue and licked her from navel to chin. “How’s that for erotic?” I said like Angela Tyrannosaure, my tongue thick with desire.

“Abort! Abort! He’s got the third slug!” a tinny voice cried from the ceiling.

I collapsed in slow motion, swimming through a flurry of sudden activity around me. Someone grabbed my head. “At least it wasn’t in his mouth very long,” that someone said as they wrestled with my tongue.

Behind me there was a pair of tugging sensations, and abruptly my skin felt cold and clammy, especially on my back. My eyes came into focus and I saw the trio of icicle slugs resting in the latex begloved hands of a stranger.

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