Coming Up From Behind

Internetutia, I don't have anything new, but let this here picture serve as not-so-subtle contradictory innuendo. Color, pizazz, who-de-who, ain't nothing new. I would have preferred to have said that a few more times this week, and there is a half-written Flash Fiction Friday post that may languish in the infinite oblivion of Blogger's secret unpublished realms if I can't find a way to recycle it (I never do).

There are some good things going on and there are some bad things going on and many more things that lie somewhere in between. I've been walking more lately, and even had the lovely pleasure of meeting the ineffable Übermilf and the very beautiful Moxie Puppypants just yesterday. (To both of you, I apologize for associating you with what follows as I do to clown guy here.) I've been gardening at my children's school each week, and some awesome fifth graders have propagated a wondrous supply of seedlings to sell next month as a fundraiser. There was a second ample collard harvest and there is enough lettuce ready to be harvested to feed the entire fourth grade. Gardening with these kids is feeding me.

Fortunately, I have found a great study partner who is doing her student teaching right now, so she is as motivated as me to pass this last math class, though it will take a major coming up from behind. It all rests on our 40% of our grade final December 11. We'll get through the next two weeks' homework with the help of a tutor and our marvelous senses of humor and desperation, mashed potatoes willing, and then will live, breathe, eat, and fuck inane math proofs and theorems until the cows come home or I spontaneously combust, whichever takes longer—which, incidentally, is notated: max:{cch, Isc} for those of you who wish to be in the know on all that cool-cat math lingo all the young hipsters are into these days.

Things with my dear Mr. Bee are not good. We're all a hot mess (my favorite words of the week), but I think that unavoidably goes along with the milieu, these less-obvious perks of the disintegration of a marriage: mourning, anger, hatred mixed with love, and then all the sex that wasn't and won't (or might) be had. There's me clutching my computer and Mr. Bee taking all the car keys, the most obvious things we can each say, "Mine," about an go around and pout like little babies because the other person, obviously, didn't try hard enough.

This happens to go along with NanoI'mFuckedMo in that I've been too preoccupied to do much there, but I am in the heart of the emotions I wish to relay in such a feat, so I'm hoping to make a great comeback from behind here in the next few hours. These are the sorts of things I have going on. Typical and apolitical, still they are the same struggles that permeate our culture in these mythic "hard economic times:" homophobia (mine of myself, Mr. Bee's re: his perception lesbians are manhaters- I wish sometimes, but I'm more a fan of maneaters, and not so much them as the music they inspire.), sexism, gender role issues, what it means to be married, queer, friends, blah fucking blah blah blah.

I wish to relay literarily what it is like to be married to an alcoholic, as a child of an alcoholic and an (sober) alcoholic myself. It will be tedius to relay the slow disintegration of hopes and dreams, the poignant loss of potential and opportunities, the subtle distances that feed the disease by increasing isolation, and yet I wish it to be entertaining. This is my goal and it's good for me to see, because I have been focusing on me rather than writing the letter to myself in a parallel universe time twisty help-me kinda way—a manual of sorts for how to wake up enough to leave. Unfortunately, I do not have a story which surmounts all the odds, which reminds me, I was reminded this week of how much Nicolas Cage's recent movies, particularly this one, truly suck.

Basically, we have ourselves a Debbie Downer moment here again, don't we? Well, since her erotica was so popular previously, let's have at it, shall we. Let's get it on, oh raunchy baby.

Debbie Downer Gets a Little Dirty with Dallas

Debbie is scrubbing the damn toilet all these males chose to pee all over. She sat in her son's piss for the last time before she broke down and ended her toilet-cleaning strike. In corduroy pants, of course, and on her knees, Dallas enters the family's one and only bathroom, greeted by the sight of Debbie's fat ass.

Dallas: Hey Debbie, it's about time you cleaned that. I was wondering when you were going to finally get to it. When do you think you're going to get around to making dinner?

Debbie: If you don't leave me alone, I'll be stirring your dinner with this toilet brush, Dallas. If you're so impatient to eat, go fix yourself something for dinner. We've got that meat that you could make into a meatloaf or spaghetti or burgers. (She says as she wipes the sweat from her brow with her sleeve.)

Dallas: Oh, I wasn't impatient to eat, I was wondering if you had time for a quickie before the kids get home.

Debbie: I might be in the mood here, Dallas, if I weren't cleaning your and the boys' piss and shit off this toilet. I know, from my too few days of being single, that shit and piss never got all over the toilet and the floor from the way I use the bathroom. Why should I be the one having to do this?

Dallas: I told you I'd do it when I got a chance, didn't I? Sounds like you're the one being impatient here. Why don't you put down that toilet brush and come on over here and give your man some loving. (Dallas unzips his jeans, walks over to Debbie on her knees, and pulls out his cock which started to harden at first sight of Debbie's fat ass in those corduroy pants of hers.)

After taking off the cleaning gloves, Debbie's tired, wrinkled hand plops Dallas's cock into her dutiful mouth as she's done a thousand and ten times. Knowing she never comes when Dallas has a quickie in mind, she's not even thinking penetration should occur, here. Debbie may be annoyed with Dallas, but having his cock in her mouth after staring at that damn toilet for the last 30 minutes is a breath of almost fresh air.

Debbie licks and sucks, wishing she'd finished cleaning the bathroom sooner so Dallas would have been able to shower after work, like he usually does before they have sex.

Debbie: Do you want me to suck your balls, baby?

Dallas: I want you to take all of my cock in your mouth. (He says as he grabs her ponytailed hair and fucks her face thinking he might gag her, but his cock's not that big.)

Debbie: (Unaffected) Do you want my finger in your ass, babe?

Dallas: I want you to open up those corduroy pants, so I can look down there and see your hot fat ass while I cum.

Debbie deftly opens her pants while continuing to suck and suck on Dallas's cock. She'd really like to fuck him, but realizing that's not going to happen at this point, she slobbers all over her right middle finger and eases it up Dallas's ass.

Dallas: Who told you to do that? (He asks, knowing there's no way in hell he wants her to take it back out. He knows he's getting close, but then Debbie takes her finger out of his now eager ass and he's set back.)

Debbie: Fine, I'll stop. I thought you liked it.

Dallas: (Not wanting to ask her to put her finger back in his ass, he pleads with Debbie) Can I just do you from behind for a minute? (Hoping to get his groove back.)

Debbie moves into the adjacent living room, pulls her pants down just enough, the way Dallas likes, and leans onto the old couch.

Dallas rubs his hand along her ample ass as he pokes his cock around looking for a wet hole. Debbie is very wet, but denies him the satisfaction of her pussy. If he's not going to take long, she's going to go for the fast track ass fucking while masturbating that gets her there fast.

Dallas doesn't realize what he's doing, but doesn't want to stop once he does.

Dallas: Oh, is that your ass?

Debbie: (Over the initial shock, bumps back into Dallas's cock in a very convincing way.) Don't worry, just fuck me, honey.

Dallas grabs Debbie to pull her back onto him, loving the way the corduroy filled with her flesh feels in his hands, as Debbie rubs her clit with her wetness.

Debbie's legs tingle first as Dallas's rhythm indicates there's no turning back from cumming. They rest for ten seconds in their very temporary bliss.

Debbie: (Pulling her pants up, goes back into the bathroom and calls behind her) Will you get supper started while I finish up here?

Dallas: I don't really feel like cooking after a long day of work. I think I'll order us a pizza instead.

Debbie: But, do you think we have enough money for gas if you do that?

Dallas: Don't be such a downer Debbie. The game's about to start. You know I can't make supper. It's either you make supper or I'll order a pizza. It's up to you, like everything always is.

Debbie: Fine, order a pizza, then.

As Debbie re-scrubs just enough to moisten the cleaner which has now conveniently been sitting on the toilet seat, cleaning while they were fucking, thinks to herself, "At least I can't get pregnant again from that."

The End

There's something wrong with me. I know.
Go have a great fucking day, k?


Comrade Kevin said...

Yes, that is some downer erotica there. But I'm sure there's a niche market for it somewhere.

Randal Graves said...

This post is almost one colossus of Rhodesian (Rhodes, not Rhodesia, I don't know if they ever built a giant bronze man) frowning.

How to turn that upside down? Nicky Cage lost more loot, thus, schadenfreude party!

Freida Bee, MD said...

That somewhere is here, Kevin. That somewhere is here.

I think I'll take that due hint of disparagement as a collosal compliment and pretend you were implicating this post as one on the old school Wonders of the World.

Cormac Brown said...

"This happens to go along with NanoI'mFuckedMo in that I've been too preoccupied to do much there"

I don't know why it always has to be in November, other than the alliteration-factor. It's not fair to people in school or in businesses that are busy during this month.

Er, I enjoyed this much more than the last installment, except for the prostate exam. Of course Dallas is an idiot and after that, he should have cooked a five-course meal to insure that would happen again.

Sandy Underpants said...

love stinks, when ya do it, and when ya don't.

darkblack said...

Missed the blumpkin by that much, Dallas. Next time put a little more effort into the joyless lovin'.


Freida Bee, MD said...

Cormac- Yes. Dallas is an idiot, but he and Debbie are a duo. Can't have one without the other, here. ;)

Sandy- I think it stinks more when ya don't do it, but I eat my own words every day, so what do I know?

darkblack- Holy shit-- er. Had I only known. I had the whole setup, here!

(I'll have to sit on this whole new and disgusting concept (thanks, urban dictionary) for a while before I decide whether or not I need to wash my mouth and brain out with hand sanitizer or not. ;)

Übermilf said...

I thought the Disney people would be calling Randal for the movie rights. I changed my mind. This Debbie Downer movie is definitely for them.

darkblack said...

Oh, it's just something that older married folks do in betwixt Whist games, Freida.


Fredrick Schwartz said...

Unlike Dallas I can cook and I don't mind cleaning a toilet. If those corduroys are skin tight and crotchless this could be the start of a beauteeful friendship.