Storymania - Out Of The Ordinary Worlds by Metzger

Out Of The Ordinary Worlds
Metzger

Starring at the blank laptop screen resting irregularly on the solid oak counter of 499 Ash St. [my home], I paused for a moment shading my thoughts from the inevitably infinite. Pages turned, written, or left abandoned I would never reach the darkness that my malevolent artistry required. “Too bad for the readers,” my skeptical interior bellowed. Nothing cerebral could be transferred to paper. Nothing savagely true to be left to the images and phantasms of other people’s thoughts, or for other minds to dwell on.
Yes, I was wicked. Perhaps only in a metaphoric sense, but what burned my eyes from seeing years before would invade the trembling hands of left-to-right readers. I looked out of my bedroom window. I was a modern sleaze author of the horror genre.
So back to working on my new book….
I was indelibly rancorous to the excellence of Silverburg’swork in TWO AT ONCE, and needed a parallel jolt to give me what I needed to complete my reaction, a sanctuary of a novel TWO FOR TRAVEL. So, as I’ve been doing for the last twenty some years to conjure up more poise and creativity, I would leave my scandalous suite and go to a bar for drinks and experiences.
The place, left unnamed by most higher-class citizens, was called Shaffer’s Lounge. It screamed, “Let me have it” in the worst way and ended the nights of many a debaucherizing crowd via penitence. It was perfect for a forty-eight year old man with a gigantic cock that jostled knees and gave black eyes to the more unruly fallacioist. I walked inside.
I scanned the bar like a world war two spy in red China. A picture of my obsession. Dancing surreally without leaving their seats were generation after generation of gorgeous broads. Like a Bogartian zealot I walked over to the one that looked the most “innocent” and ordered a dry shot of gin, no chaser. Better start early I thought, the people have spoken.
I drank the shot and rolled up my left sleeve, the one adjacent to the lady, and looked directly at her. Uncomforted by the intrusiveness of my gaze, she glanced shyly back and said “hello”. Now the trick [a turn of events they always love]. “Oh nothing,” I replied, curling my brow. She huffed, so much for uneasiness as a platform for my contest, but I did make her talk first.
She [who I later learned to be Alison] brushed back her hair and moved her head forward just enough for me to see a different woman. At first sight her brilliance was remarkably visible. She was playing the same game that I was; only she was better and more successful.
I left Alison to her lonesome and strolled down to meet the one who was soon to patronize me. She was talking to a tall buck, brute of a cowboy, who had no place being in the same bar as mer. Alison, the beauty of the moment, was just looking for a quick out, a solution via copulation, to be had with a poor specimen, which I was soon to replace.
Her dark eyes met mine and we had what you might call a flash of opportunity. She saw middle-aged miracle that could make her wallow in dark, sensual, mind-boggling pleasure, and I saw a hot ticket. Within thirty seconds I had Buck at the furthest corner of the bar, and was halfway to knowing where this girl kept her erotic videos hidden. One quick note for you fellahs reading, experience is everything.
As we walked hand and hand out of Shaffer’s there was only one question yet unanswered, her place or mine. It ended up being hers, which was a brisk dip from the natural side of things if you’re going to consider aesthetic décor. Across the walls posters of Robert Smith bragged 1982 and actual marijuana leaves hung snug to blank dry wall blushed unabashed addict. But it was the wood carved figurine isolated in the middle of her living room that really screamed freak!
The sculpture was a modern bust, remotely cubic in its construction, and whoever created it was beyond me. The female section of it resembled Marilyn Monroe to the hilt [at least from her belly to flowing blond hair]. Beneath her belly, what would naturally be her hips and legs was instead a wild tail ending in a bright opalescent fin. The freakish part is what she was doing. She was holding a double bladed sword in her right hand and dangling the disembodied head of Bill Gates with the left. Gates’s face draped an overly exaggerated orgasmic expression directly facing the on looking party (me). Inscribed on the pedestal supporting the whole atrocity were the words, “Seek and Destroy”. God I said aloud!”
Well if that’s not weird enough for you yet the following may blow your mind.
Kate, which she told me was her name but I did not believe, took my speechless body into what appeared to be her sleeping room and swiftly removed all of her clothing except for a black and white Metallica tee shirt. She then walked slowly towards me with an aggressive smile that parodied one frequented by the Joker on Batman. I knew at that moment that whatever she was going to do was not good but she looked outrageously arousing.
She proceeded to remove my clothing, pulling my belt from its loops first, then the rest, which left me in my birthday suit. I now noticed, as she pointed a spot light on my phallus, that the room first dark and assumedly tolerable, was now revealed to be festooned liked a medieval dungeon. She walked over to a gargoyle hanging from the headboard of her bed and twisted its neck so as to reveal what looked to be a surface unit for a stereo receiver. She pushed a few buttons and within moments a deep ambience was created though mystical rhythms. Boom, Boom, Boom, crash…
Did I mention that I was now sweating! I mean come ‘on I’m a fiction writer I don’t do this kind’ a stuff in real life.
Then she…ya’know did what came natural like, except it was not natural for humans. She began jumping up and down twisting her torso and screaming a savage battle cry. The bed she was on rocked like a wresting mat and when she threw me hurtling towards it the impact proved that is was in fact fabricated of canvass (but covered in silk sheets). My back throbbed slightly, I’m no spring chicken, but what followed could be felt by an elephant (ok a little embellished).
It was now obvious that she was going to do all of the work. Pulling her body towards mine she removed the rock shirt and placed her hands on my shoulders. She massaged them deeply, causing my muscles to completely loosen, which then perpetuated a graceful and relaxed state to envelop my entire body (I would have loved to see how goofy my facial expression looked at that time). Her body, which before looked like many nude women [vulnerable, blithe, wispy], had now become heavily muscled. Like a swimmer doing laps they rippled, contorted, as she moved her hands down from her shoulders and on to my thighs.
Turning her style from a grip-and-pull of my skin to a caress sweeping the hair of my legs she moved closer in. My cock hardened and she reached for it bringing it towards her. She folded her hands over it and began to massage in both a vertical and horizontal fashion. Forgetting the sculpture, devil music, and frightening setting, I reached up and touched her breasts. One hand on each they responded back, hardening at the areoles, feeling soft and warm beneath my hands.
Our touching continued, and for the first time since I’d arrived I raised my head and looked into her eyes. They were dark, contrasting her fairer skin, and I moved my mouth to hers. I entered her mouth with my tongue and pressed deep inside. I could feel her twisting her face to get deeper inside me. Then I closed my eyes and let her focus on placing her tongue on mine, rolling it across the surface and rubbing it underneath.
I now moved my hands from her breasts to her back directly behind them. I moved my hips and felt her wet hair close over my penis. She lifted her self onto me by balancing her hands on my shoulders. Upon entry she slid her fingers across my chest, they moved up and down, and I grew larger inside of her.
The rhythm of our fucking was slow at first, as if growing accustomed to a new pair of gloves. In and out keeping in mind what we where doing with our mouths. I was now like a missionary on top of her. She raised her hands and griped the posts of her bed; she pulled them behind her head and performed the acrobatic technique called a bridge, making her breasts face the ceiling. I saw her face, sweat across her brow, mouth open and short, quiet sheiks of pleasure ensuing. She quickened our paced and I held myself back from coming, this excited her more and whispered, “Top...I want to go on top.”
She released from the bedpost and grabbed onto me, her eyes looking deep into mine, letting me know she did not want us to separate. She pushed me down onto the covers, which were cool and silk over a hard surface. My head was now at the foot of the bed and she was on top of me. She moved her right hand back onto the bedpost beneath a gargoyle on the headboard. The gargoyle had large ears, star trek Vulcan like, and a chain circumscribing its neck. She pushed against it to push me harder and with more force. I could not hold out much longer. I lifted my neck and freed a hardly restrained shriek, and then retreated back to the covers, which were now sweaty. She smiled like a sixteen year old girl receiving her driver’s license as my cum ejaculated inside of her.
Well the aftermath was the same as with any other woman in a similar situation, I received a way to contact her, but I never called. Upon returning home to 499 Ash I had stored too much energy to sleep and completed a love scene passionate enough to throw TWO FOR TRAVEL over the top. I don’t go for freaks like Kate much anymore, not because people tell me you do one you do one all, but because I think that she was the best.