By Helmboy
(c) 2000
I have probably left out two thousand things and put in other things. Bare with me. <snicker... how's that for interactive? I think I just asked you to get naked.>
Smooches,
Helmboy, not sure about it all and ready to take a nappie.Fest Challenge: Thigh Master Bob and the Shroud of Turin As channeled by Helmboy, who takes NO responsibility for content or any sacrilegious backlash and pulpit condemnations that might result from mixing physical fitness with the health of the soul.
Disclaimer: May the ones who own them never see this. Amen.
Summary: The view point of implements in relation to the sexy stuff of girlie men. Do I hear an amen? I didn't think so. <PS. If someone had told me ten minutes ago I would have written this, let alone the title, I would have laughed>
"You couldn't pay me to be Jim Kirk's dick."
Harsh words, I know. However, words spoken were never truer. Can you hear it? Can you hear the panting and crap that's coming out of the bed nearby? I can't believe it either.
When I was first brought aboard, I was thrilled with the idea of going into space. I came in a string bag and ended up hidden in the closet. Most of the time. The rest of the time I was up close and personal with Jim's dependents, Dick and his friends, the Ball family.
It isn't easy having a reputation as a slut. It takes real effort. It also takes a tight butt and a washboard stomach. That's where I come in. I always know when Spock's coming over because Jim gets me out and gives me a good whacking. Then he throws me in the corner and gets his gigolo gear on: Silk panties, skin tight jeans and a torn t-shirt.
It's always the same when Spock comes. They talk about football and quantum physics and then they fuck. Like donkeys. You should hear them talk to each other when they're stripping like a couple of cats in heat.
RIP! PULL OFF! TOSS! RIP!RIP!RIP! TEAR! ***UNZIP***!!!!!!!
"God, Jim ... may I call you Jim?"
<pant, pant, lick!> "For godsakeSpock! We've ... beenfucking ... fortenyearsnow. Call ... meJimFORCHRISTSAKE!"
Oh, that reminds me of Jim's spiritual side. He has one. But I'll let him tell you about it. Let's go back to their foreplay ... such as it is ...
"Jim, I would like to blow you."
"Yes. Blow you. Then, when I'm done blowing you, you can fuck me in the ass. Like usual."
"If you blow me, I'll need a moment to re-inflate."
"I estimate, given your past history of ... re-inflating ... that it will take you four point eight seven nine four seven six---"
"I take your point, Spock. Suck me."
Jim sat, I tell you, and then Spock knelt down, his eyes filled with an unholy light. It was so disconcerting to watch him swallow Jim's piece. I thought Vulcans were vegetarians. Anyhoo...
SLURP! SUCK! SUCK!SUCK!SUCK! SLURP! LICK! FONDLE! SUCK!!!!
"Spock ... SpockSpockSpock! Oh say can I see, by the dawns early light!!!! AAAAAIIIIIIIGIGGGGGGHHHHHHHHAAAAEEEEE!!!!!!"
"That was tasty. Thanks, Jim, my t'hyla."
"I looked that work up. It means `pencil dick, you're putty in my hands'."
/... damn .../ "Only in the northern climates of my planet."
"You don't have any northern climates. If you're going to call me a sex name think of something else."
"I like. Now bend over and let me ream you a new asshole."
/... oooOOooo you big strong man, you! .../ "Very well."
I was laying there watching them change places. Spock has this skinny green ass and I tell you, it looked like a little girl. No matter what you think of the satyr who owns me, he has a nice ass. I watched Spock on his hands and knees and thought, `Lordy. He's going to stick a flag pole up that poor dumb alien's ass!'"
"Jim, you put a flag pole up my ass."
RAM! RAM! RAM! RAM!RAM!RAM! REAM! PLUMB! PLUNDER! JAM!JAM! DO! REDO! JABBA-JABB-JABBA! POKE!POKE!POKE! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
"EEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!
They sort of tell forward, the blond lying on the green one and to tell you the truth, I wish I had a hand to jack off with. It was hot, let me tell you. HOT !
They lay there and then Jim turned over, Dick laying on his leg all limp and spent. Sort of reminded me of a great warrior lying on the field of battle, bleeding from his wounds and singing his death song. The Ball family? Flatter than fritters.
As I lit my cigarette I was reminded of other, more esoteric times. There was that time when Spock tried to get Jim to learn Vedek-Tantric-Klingon sex techniques.
Well, they're tied into the spirit, the dick and the rectum. You have to be one with each or some such shit. Jim listened and then he fucked Spock like a donkey. Of course, Spock -being the girlie man that he is- pouted for a while.
<resigned sigh!> "Tell me again, Spock. ` K ?"
Jim settled in with that glazed-eyed look that people who listen with their face and not their brain give you. It's that sort of look that says they're jacking off in their memories some place else because they won't be getting any while listening to some dumb whiny shit from their SO.
"Well, it's sort of spiritual. You are supposed to keep your orgasm in check for hours. The Klingon part is where you fist me with a studded glove. The Vedek chanting is hard, I know, but really , Jim! You just have to learn a second language."
He sighed and shook his head. "Tell you what... I'll fuck you and fist you but I won't chant. I draw the line at saying, `Doest thou my heinie, oh prophet monger. Mayest thou my girlie man cometh like a gusher while I thunder in his butt.' That sounds sucky even in Bajoran."
I tell you, I had to draw the line there too.
<sniff> "You really have no soul."
Well, that really hurt Jim. He may be an oversexed, gun- toting, boy-chasing, fake-it-with-a-girl mongering, coke sniffing piece of shit but he has a soul.
"Hello, sweet cheeks. Time to do me."
"Hello, Spock, my green and much treasured little girlie man."
He walked in all hot and bothered, still ringing with disappointment that Jim wouldn't embark on some truly disturbing alien sex fantasies with him. But Jim had a surprise.
"Spock, my love pin cushion, I thought about your efforts to elevate our sex life to some kind of incomprehensible level of spirituality even a dog couldn't hear."
"I decided that you're right. So, check out the bed."
He stared at it, analyzing it with that green brain of his and then he turned, noting that Jim had become naked in the meantime.
"Jim, that's the Shroud of Turin."
"Yeah. I got it at a bazaar on Rigel-Magigle 23."
"It's the impression of a crucified man. It's a burial shroud. You want to do me on a dead man's burial blanket?"
"Sure. Can there be anything more romantic and spiritual?"
"Nothing short of an open grave..."
"It's proof to you that I'm deep and spiritual and like ... filled with god stuff."
They fell on the bed and doinked until I thought I would die and when Spock limped out, Jim rolled up the shroud and threw it in the drawer where he keeps all his sex toys. He grinned like a con man when he walked to his shower and I lay there pondering the insanity of the twenty-third century male homo.
I learned a few things that day. No man is an island. I really hate the word `t'hyla', I still think Spock has a girlie butt, and one man's religious icon is another man's sex toy.
These are strange times we live in, my friends. No?