The door opened again.
Shersh looked back past the still thrusting Vonce, kind of hoping it'd be Jonathan.
It wasn't.
It was the gym teacher, Ms. Sack, and a whole bunch of kids.
"Hey!" yelled Sack.
Shersh ran off, leaving Vonce to ejaculate into the air. He then took off too.
"Come back here!" shouted Sack again, "We'll find you! There's only, like, 30 werewolves in this school!"
8.18.2014
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
They did it. They jammed together their junks in all the sexy ways a wolf can.
So, just the one style, basically.
So, just the one style, basically.
8.11.2014
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Shersh turned.
It was that strangely alluring, leather jacket wearing new boy, Vonce. Vonce Wolfer.
"Hey, sup," said Vonce. Damn, he was cool, too.
Shersh started to get all humany again but Vonce just looked at her. "No," he said, "You look hot like that."
And then HE turned into a wolf! WHAT!!!
For Shersh that was pretty dang sexy. Sure she'd never had a convo with him before or gotten his digits or smelled his hair but, dang, man. So assertive and sure of himself.
Plus the leather coat stayed with him as a wolf. That coat was really working on her.
Vonce approached and they circled each other a bit. They sniffed butts - Vonce had eaten chicken nuggets and coke and maybe, like, a lilac plant? Or used scented toilet paper? Or maybe he just took care of his b-hole. He's a werewolf, after all. Butt sniffing and butt brandishing are part of the life. Shersh was suddenly self-conscious about her butt.
But Vonce seemed to be pretty into it, judging from the snorting and how he'd occasionally bump his nose into her, cool and wet and soft. Like what sitting naked in a dewy mushroom patch must be like.
Butt sniffing complete. This Vonce thing really seemed to be happening.
"So..." said Shersh.
"I couldn't help but notice you," said Vonce sexily, "Not like in a stalker way. But in the way that I've got heightened senses cuz I'm a werewolf.
"Also, you're the only other thing in this gym."
Shersh thought a moment about the shiv-wielding hamster, decided not to mention it and was also glad Vonce had entered when he did. She'd been about ready to put her sensitive nose in primo shiv-stabbing country.
"I noticed you, too," she said, "Because you came in here as a person and turned into a wolf."
"Being a wolf suits you," he said, "I've never seen such a fine, clumpy spring molt, "he nipped playfully at one particularly large clump on one of her haunches.
Was this really happening?
Shersh had always dreamed of hot teen gym sex.
But she'd also always dreamed Jonathan Mooseknuckles.
But here was this hot wolf man. Who was interested in her.
Oh yes.
It was that strangely alluring, leather jacket wearing new boy, Vonce. Vonce Wolfer.
"Hey, sup," said Vonce. Damn, he was cool, too.
Shersh started to get all humany again but Vonce just looked at her. "No," he said, "You look hot like that."
And then HE turned into a wolf! WHAT!!!
For Shersh that was pretty dang sexy. Sure she'd never had a convo with him before or gotten his digits or smelled his hair but, dang, man. So assertive and sure of himself.
Plus the leather coat stayed with him as a wolf. That coat was really working on her.
Vonce approached and they circled each other a bit. They sniffed butts - Vonce had eaten chicken nuggets and coke and maybe, like, a lilac plant? Or used scented toilet paper? Or maybe he just took care of his b-hole. He's a werewolf, after all. Butt sniffing and butt brandishing are part of the life. Shersh was suddenly self-conscious about her butt.
But Vonce seemed to be pretty into it, judging from the snorting and how he'd occasionally bump his nose into her, cool and wet and soft. Like what sitting naked in a dewy mushroom patch must be like.
Butt sniffing complete. This Vonce thing really seemed to be happening.
"So..." said Shersh.
"I couldn't help but notice you," said Vonce sexily, "Not like in a stalker way. But in the way that I've got heightened senses cuz I'm a werewolf.
"Also, you're the only other thing in this gym."
Shersh thought a moment about the shiv-wielding hamster, decided not to mention it and was also glad Vonce had entered when he did. She'd been about ready to put her sensitive nose in primo shiv-stabbing country.
"I noticed you, too," she said, "Because you came in here as a person and turned into a wolf."
"Being a wolf suits you," he said, "I've never seen such a fine, clumpy spring molt, "he nipped playfully at one particularly large clump on one of her haunches.
Was this really happening?
Shersh had always dreamed of hot teen gym sex.
But she'd also always dreamed Jonathan Mooseknuckles.
But here was this hot wolf man. Who was interested in her.
Oh yes.
8.08.2014
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
She played with the hamsters.
The gym was always free during third period, so she'd bring in a hamster, get all wolfy and chase 'em around.
She didn't generally care for eating them but the thrill of the chase was too much to ignore.
OK, yes. Sometimes she ate them. The taste of rodent fur is pretty nasty but there is a particularly satisfying crunch.
She tried not to eat them, though. She always felt bad.
"That was a mean old thing you did, Shersh," she'd think. Although she hadn't done it with her new name yet. But she assumed it'd probably go like that.
She was just playing with one hamster today. Bouncing and leaping. Snorting after the thing and drinking with delight every petrified squeal.
Oh, and this was a good one, too. A cunning little bugger. A tiny, furry wizard of zigs and zags. Adept at knowing exactly the right moment to dart under the bleachers or skitter into a u-ey, sending Shersh sprawling as her paws lost traction on the waxed hardwood floor.
Shit. What time was it? Ok 5 more minutes and -
Where'd it go?
Shersh sniffed around. The thing was nowhere. She listened but only heard the tick of the wall clock reverberating through the gym. That and, somewhere, a leaky faucet.
She sniffed the floor, trying to discern the scent of hamster foot from sketcher and reebok tread. Was that it?
Oh, she was onto it now. Trotting after the rodent's trail. The water fountain. Of course. Hiding behind the fountain.
Shersh approached slowly, gathering herself up to spring on the hamster.
She inched forward. Tensed her stomach muscles. Held her breath. She leaned around the corner, mouth open an... nothing.
No hamster.
OW! Something bit her tail. She turned quickly, whanging her head off the fucking bubbler. Broken. Stupid.
It was the hamster. Holding her tail like corn on the cob and just going to town.
Dang, hamster.
She snapped her tail, launching the creature toward her mouth and... was that a tiny knife?
The hamster had made a little hamster shiv!
She dodged the flying rodent and managed to give it a little nip on the butt as it completed it's flight plan.
The hamster turned its landing into an effortless drift under the bleachers.
Shersh was about to put her nose under there when the door opened.
The gym was always free during third period, so she'd bring in a hamster, get all wolfy and chase 'em around.
She didn't generally care for eating them but the thrill of the chase was too much to ignore.
OK, yes. Sometimes she ate them. The taste of rodent fur is pretty nasty but there is a particularly satisfying crunch.
She tried not to eat them, though. She always felt bad.
"That was a mean old thing you did, Shersh," she'd think. Although she hadn't done it with her new name yet. But she assumed it'd probably go like that.
She was just playing with one hamster today. Bouncing and leaping. Snorting after the thing and drinking with delight every petrified squeal.
Oh, and this was a good one, too. A cunning little bugger. A tiny, furry wizard of zigs and zags. Adept at knowing exactly the right moment to dart under the bleachers or skitter into a u-ey, sending Shersh sprawling as her paws lost traction on the waxed hardwood floor.
Shit. What time was it? Ok 5 more minutes and -
Where'd it go?
Shersh sniffed around. The thing was nowhere. She listened but only heard the tick of the wall clock reverberating through the gym. That and, somewhere, a leaky faucet.
She sniffed the floor, trying to discern the scent of hamster foot from sketcher and reebok tread. Was that it?
Oh, she was onto it now. Trotting after the rodent's trail. The water fountain. Of course. Hiding behind the fountain.
Shersh approached slowly, gathering herself up to spring on the hamster.
She inched forward. Tensed her stomach muscles. Held her breath. She leaned around the corner, mouth open an... nothing.
No hamster.
OW! Something bit her tail. She turned quickly, whanging her head off the fucking bubbler. Broken. Stupid.
It was the hamster. Holding her tail like corn on the cob and just going to town.
Dang, hamster.
She snapped her tail, launching the creature toward her mouth and... was that a tiny knife?
The hamster had made a little hamster shiv!
She dodged the flying rodent and managed to give it a little nip on the butt as it completed it's flight plan.
The hamster turned its landing into an effortless drift under the bleachers.
Shersh was about to put her nose under there when the door opened.
8.06.2014
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The bell rang.
Miss Professor shouted a reading assignment out to the class as they packed up their books, left apples on her desk and resumed finger-banging.
Shersh spilled out into the hallway and slinked off alone toward her locker. The day had been wearing on her. Miss Professor's naked hate, her douchey classmates and the whole murdered mother thing was a real downer.
She needed release.
Supernatural release.
She exhaled in front of her locker, dialed in the combination.
The box was there. Always was. Always there when she needed it.
Her fix.
She looked down the hallway. The last students were slipping into their classes. The last door shut.
She crouched over the box and traced one cardboard flap.
Something stirred inside.
Inside the box and inside her teenage body.
It wasn't an animal stirring in her body, though. Well, maybe a metaphorical one. Desire. Hunger. Yearning. Freedom.
Release.
The animal inside her that needed to be uncaged, unshackled. Let loose to carve a wild canyon on the surface of humanity.
She slowed her breathing. Not yet. Patience.
Open the box.
Ah, yes.
The hamsters.
Miss Professor shouted a reading assignment out to the class as they packed up their books, left apples on her desk and resumed finger-banging.
Shersh spilled out into the hallway and slinked off alone toward her locker. The day had been wearing on her. Miss Professor's naked hate, her douchey classmates and the whole murdered mother thing was a real downer.
She needed release.
Supernatural release.
She exhaled in front of her locker, dialed in the combination.
The box was there. Always was. Always there when she needed it.
Her fix.
She looked down the hallway. The last students were slipping into their classes. The last door shut.
She crouched over the box and traced one cardboard flap.
Something stirred inside.
Inside the box and inside her teenage body.
It wasn't an animal stirring in her body, though. Well, maybe a metaphorical one. Desire. Hunger. Yearning. Freedom.
Release.
The animal inside her that needed to be uncaged, unshackled. Let loose to carve a wild canyon on the surface of humanity.
She slowed her breathing. Not yet. Patience.
Open the box.
Ah, yes.
The hamsters.
8.04.2014
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Detective Fart regretted one decision in his life: changing his name.
He thought about this while going over those grizzly murder files.
He had changed his name as a younger man in his home country.
Whoa. He'd forgotten how gross this case was. Organs everywhere. Skin in tatters. The pile of human loaded potato skins. Gross.
Fart had changed his name because the word was cool in his native language. Aggressive. A little dangerous. Just... cool.
But that was before he learned English. And his former name, it turns out, would've been pretty cool in English.
Now, this was interesting, thought Fart. Pretty gross, chaotic corpse... but on the neck... two tiny neat holes.
Could this have been the work of two people?
Fart exhaled. Should've stuck with Thunderpunch.
He thought about this while going over those grizzly murder files.
He had changed his name as a younger man in his home country.
Whoa. He'd forgotten how gross this case was. Organs everywhere. Skin in tatters. The pile of human loaded potato skins. Gross.
Fart had changed his name because the word was cool in his native language. Aggressive. A little dangerous. Just... cool.
But that was before he learned English. And his former name, it turns out, would've been pretty cool in English.
Now, this was interesting, thought Fart. Pretty gross, chaotic corpse... but on the neck... two tiny neat holes.
Could this have been the work of two people?
Fart exhaled. Should've stuck with Thunderpunch.
8.01.2014
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
This chapter starts with a person monologuing, but we don't know who is speaking yet. Mysterious, hmm? Intriguing!
"A queef," the speaker began, "Is a pussy fart."
"That's what I figured," said the other mysterious conversational participant.
"Yes, I know. I chose the word carefully.
"You see, 'queef' is one of those words... you can just tell what it means. It has that feeling, you know? 'Fuck' isn't like that. 'Fuck' is good, you know, it's visceral. You can picture fucking. But there are different kinds of fucking. Fuck can be angry, aggressive, joyful, weird. And so using 'fuck' can invoke any of those feelings.
"'Queef' only means the one thing.
"I'd like to think that there's some language, maybe a tribe those linguists care about in Papua/New Guinea, where 'queef' means something benign. Like 'butter' or 'read a book.' So then if, say, one of those tribesmen came to America and went to a juice bar in the early afternoon in Los Angeles, they'd hear something like "Oh man, my husband took me from behind this morning and I totally read a book at bikram. Like a huge book."
"Miss Professor?" asked Douche or Douché or whatever.
"What, Douche?" Miss Professor exhaled.
"While queefs have a loose biological connection, I question the value of this rant in a high school biology class."
Douche was sent to the principal's office.
"A queef," the speaker began, "Is a pussy fart."
"That's what I figured," said the other mysterious conversational participant.
"Yes, I know. I chose the word carefully.
"You see, 'queef' is one of those words... you can just tell what it means. It has that feeling, you know? 'Fuck' isn't like that. 'Fuck' is good, you know, it's visceral. You can picture fucking. But there are different kinds of fucking. Fuck can be angry, aggressive, joyful, weird. And so using 'fuck' can invoke any of those feelings.
"'Queef' only means the one thing.
"I'd like to think that there's some language, maybe a tribe those linguists care about in Papua/New Guinea, where 'queef' means something benign. Like 'butter' or 'read a book.' So then if, say, one of those tribesmen came to America and went to a juice bar in the early afternoon in Los Angeles, they'd hear something like "Oh man, my husband took me from behind this morning and I totally read a book at bikram. Like a huge book."
"Miss Professor?" asked Douche or Douché or whatever.
"What, Douche?" Miss Professor exhaled.
"While queefs have a loose biological connection, I question the value of this rant in a high school biology class."
Douche was sent to the principal's office.
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