the brain-damaged primitive spends Thanksgiving with franksolich

[franksolich]

this chapter omitted because of potentially prurient content--franksolich

to be continued

[franksolich]

When they got back inside, shivering, and were standing in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate, she remembered something, and looked beyond the door to the dining room, into the living room.

He looked too.

It still looked as if three beached whales, or walruses, on the floor.

“We’re still safe,” he said; “they’re not going to wake up for a while.”

“I wonder,” she said, looking out the windows towards the William Rivers Pitt and the road beyond.  “It’s past three, and already getting dark.  What if they bring the car back?”

“Everybody usually finishes dinner about four, and of course they have to go out and do something with the car,” he pointed out.  “So we got time, plenty of time to frolic and play yet.”

Then he thought of something.  “You’re doing great, madam; any man who doesn’t appreciate you’s a pig.”

“Let’s go,” he said, hurrying her back to the bed.

Some minutes later, when she was laying on her side and he was on top, straddling her, he sensed a disturbance in the force, and stopped.  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

She hesitated.  “Well, yes.  Sort of.  It’s great; I’ve never been put through this much playing around before.  You’re no slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am; I never thought a man could hold back for so long, as impatient as men are, to get it in and to get it back out, and call it done and over.

“One thing is, I still have my pants on, while you’ve been wholly naked with wild abandon all afternoon.

“I feel like this whole bit is unequal, you being totally nude and loose and carefree, while I’m still bound up, as if something about me needs covered up, hidden.  In fact, I practically feel veiled, while you’re free to show off with nonchalant insouciance.

“I’d like to be just as stark naked as you are, displaying and flaunting.”

He looked at her, puzzled.

“In fact,” she went on, “I’m thinking that despite the risks and dangers, you subconsciously like to be caught naked by people coming into your house in the middle of the night so you can show off, ha-ha, I have it and you don’t.  You have some sort of compulsion to show yourself off.

“You’re not the only one who’s read Sigmund Freud.”

Oh, but Freud had other things to say about the matter too, he reminded her.

“I’m confused,” he said; “if you don’t want your pants on, you can pull them off.”

“I pulled yours off, you were supposed to pull mine off.  That’s the way it is, in mutually-respectful relationships.”

“Don’t worry, madam,” he said; “in good time, in good time, I’ll pull them off.  I look at it as I used to look at Christmas presents, opening the biggest and best one last.”

“Well, I still feel covered up, second class,” she insisted, hoping he’d pull them down, but he didn’t.

to be continued

[franksolich]

The two of them lay in bed close together, idly sucking face and fondling, not much more than that.  She turned her head to look at the clock on the bedside table; it read 5:37 p.m.

She thought she should be concerned, but couldn’t remember why.

Who cares, he said, with a faraway, dreamy look in his eyes.  “I just want to hang on to you, have you forever and ever.”

Some sort of change had happened to him the past hour.

“Have you ever tried anything kinky?” she asked.

Uh, no, he said.  “I don’t do kinky--no way in Hell.

“I don’t relish the idea of ending up in the emergency room with a hamster up inside me, or with my fist trapped inside of you.  And leather, chains, handcuffs, whips, leashes, collars, lace pantyhose, garters, those vibrating sticks, are silly; I won’t have them.

“What’s naturally on a person is enough to play with, without resorting to toys and gadgets and games to get all excited.

“There’s nothing more of a turn-on than a good totally naked body.”

“Well, I’m ready to get totally naked for you any time,” she said.  “All you have to do is pull off my panties and, well, there I am.”

He didn’t hear her, instead continuing his own stream of thought.  “For example, madam, a good derriere on a woman--no sagging, no creases, not overly large--small and tight--is a big turn-on.  I’ve never been sure what one does with it, but I sure like looking at it.  And looking and looking and looking.”

And then he returned to her question.  “Sometimes, madam, I think that ‘kinky’ is a clue of a depraved mind, for example women who fantasize about hopping around the sack with an amputee.  There’s a certain sort of person--both male and female--who get turned on by certain bodily deformities.

“I have a friend, for example, who was born without ears.  ‘Microtia;’ his mother was a nurse, and when she was pregnant with him, one day she grabbed a bar of soap--nurses after all have to keep their hands clean--that had a chemical, Accutane, in it.  Just one thirty-second exposure was all it took, and she, who’d always had well-formed infants, some months later delivered one absent ears on both sides of his head.

“Much to my--uh, his, disconcertment, when he was a teenager, he found that there’s some women--fortunately, not many--that get turned on by playing around with freaks.

“Why, I, er, he, couldn’t figure out; after all, it’s a dreadful deformity, it’s a horrible thing.

“Like child molesters, people who get turned on by things like this should be taken out and shot; they’re vile, disgusting, depraved people, and don’t belong in the human race.”

He reached over her to the bedside table, in which the drawer had three or four little metallic-like packages, and grabbed one.

Getting up on his knees in between her legs, he donned what he’d taken out of the little package, and tugging off her panties, he said, “Okay, madam, now I’m going to come in--”

At which same moment suddenly came into the bedroom two figures.

He started, and as in the case of past intrusions, he rolled off the bed landing on the floor in a sitting position, and then leaped up on his feet to confront.  On his way to an upright position, he grabbed the edge of the blanket, tossing it to cover her.

It was the neighbor and the automobile mechanic from town.

He kept his composure; it wasn’t the first time he’d been caught in flagrante delicto; he never liked it, but at least he was used to it.

to be concluded

[franksolich]

The neighbor wasn’t looking at anything he hadn’t seen before, but the mechanic was a practicing Seventh-Day Adventist, and he felt badly he had seen it too.

And as luck would have it, his wife was one of the most notorious gossips in town…..

The three men went out to the kitchen while she got dressed in the privacy of the bedroom.

It’d just been a flat tire, hardly any problem at all to repair.  The snow and wind and cold had just made it seem worse than it really was, that was all.  She paid the mechanic the requested forty dollars, and he left.

She, the neighbor, and he snapped on all the lights and made considerable noise, so as to arouse the three whales sleeping on the floor in the living room.  It took a while, but eventually they were, and filled with coffee so as to stand on their feet.

She and the neighbor walked them out to the car, and after she blew a kiss at him standing on the front porch, they took off.

When the neighbor came back inside, he apologized.

“You know, I’m sorry you had to come in on that, but, well, excresence happens.”

Yeah, it happens, the neighbor agreed, but not to worry; “Besides, if it didn’t, nobody around here would ever have anything to talk about.”

the end

[franksolich]

Okay now, I hope this modest little story warmed the heat and soul of the brain-damaged primitive, to help cheer him through this holiday.  Maybe when walrus-face is at one of those church dinners for the poor today, he can tell it to them.

[obumazombie]

Okay now, I hope this modest little story warmed the heat and soul of the brain-damaged primitive, to help cheer him through this holiday.  Maybe when walrus-face is at one of those church dinners for the poor today, he can tell it to them.

Is there any way the story could have ended "And they all lied happily ever after" ?

[franksolich]

Is there any way the story could have ended "And they all lied happily ever after" ?

I got a new one coming up after Thanksgiving--no sex in it, though--about my quest for a primitive for Christmas this year.  You may recall I looked for one last year, and didn't get one.

Maybe this year.  Hope springs eternal.

[GOBUCKS]

I'm assuming the redacted chapters will be published on the super secret forum.

[franksolich]

I'm assuming the redacted chapters will be published on the super secret forum.

Oh, you mean like the time I put one chapter from a hippywife primitive Mrs. Alfred Packer story, when the defrocked warped primitive, Warpy, seduced franksolich?

That's still in that forum, but as nobody ever went to read it, I don't think I'll do that again.

<<<apparently no good at writing porn.

[franksolich]

Ooops, I need to add this disclaimer, borrowed from another thread here:

All she needs to do is get rid of those stupid earrings.

<<<finds body mutilations--in this case, holes punched into the ears--decidedly a turn-off.

Other than that, franksolich finds her breath-takingly aesthetic.

NOW, I have to emphasize again, "the brain-damaged primitive spends Thanksiving with franksolich," in which various primitives are used as the inspiration for characters, is a work of fiction, although based upon real-life people and events.

<<<means no impugment on, no mockery of, the fizzgig primitive; it was just by chance that she provided the inspiration for one of the characters in this story, and the way she's depicted in the story is probably not indicative of her real person and real character.

I'd thought about using Ms. Piggy, the "msanthrophe" primitive as the inspiration, but got somewhat vomitous at imagining her and franksolich hopping around in the sack.

But for the record, franksolich thinks the fizzgig primitive, what with her exquisite Hebraic features, is stunningly beautiful, and wouldn't want the least bad thing to happen to her. 

<<<doesn't want the fizzgig primitive to be all upset with, which she apparently is.

[GOBUCKS]

Oh, you mean like the time I put one chapter from a hippywife primitive Mrs. Alfred Packer story, when the defrocked warped primitive, Warpy, seduced franksolich?

That's still in that forum, but as nobody ever went to read it, I don't think I'll do that again.

<<<apparently no good at writing porn.

Well until someone sees some coachporn, no one's in a position to judge.

The Mrs. Alfred Packer story was handicapped by its subject. Dummy hippywife was a repulsive character from the first day she lusted after the Fedex man delivering her lobsters. Now that she's been dismembered and devoured, she's more intriguing, but now everyone's forgotten that the nasty portion of her saga is posted in the super secret place.

DUmmy fizzgig is a different case. She's thirty years younger for one thing.

Even more to the point, who can resist the charms of a mentally-ill, bald whackadoodle.

There's nothing sexier than drug-drenched dementia.

Think Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, only bald, and crazier, and not very attractive, and stupid.

On second thought, never mind.

[franksolich]

I forgot where I posted this, but anyway, yesterday afternoon (Thanksgiving afternoon), I took a short nap.  Nothing was going on here, and it was grey and cold in the Sandhills.

I had a dream.....I had a dream that I was out on the town with Clare Boothe Luce, Lady Thelma Furness, Freda Dudley Ward, the current Duchess of Cambridge, and Dame Edith Sitwell.  We went to the El Morocco, the Stork Club, Delmonico's, Toots Shor's, and Grauman's.

Getting bored, we all went to a homeless shelter to try Thanksgiving dinner there.

The brain-damaged primitive came in, hat in hand and a humble demeanour on his face, and humbly asked the heavy scowling woman sitting at the desk for a ticket to the free meal.

Upon his entry, everybody got up and sang "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" to him, after which a conga-dance formed, the Duchess of Windsor in the lead, the brain-damaged primitive right behind her, his hands on her hips, and Brenda Frazier right behind walrus-face, her hands on his hips, and then everybody else.