Uschi! (4 page)

Denny listened to his own enthused cries of ecstasy escalating unashamedly loud. He was just about outright goddamn screaming enough to irritate the neighbors on any other night there wasn’t a noisy thunderstorm raging above to mute things.

This was not simple sex. For the first time in Denny’s carnal experience he wasn’t just fucking like every other asshole getting some in this world. Congratulations, champ, this was true, passionate lovemaking. Something of beauty and respect. Something long desired but feared he’d never achieve.

Denny looked into Uschi’s green coffin occupant face and saw that a grimace of intense pleasure had closed the eyes to narrow slits, giving her almost an Asian cast to her corpse features. Her jaw set firmly, she panted between her teeth as if she was in the throes of labor, spewing a spray of spittle that freckled Denny’s face. Whoa, she was coming, a sudden and aggressive climax. Vaginal juices squirted from her sex and watered his groin as sizeable bucking convulsions of orgasm rocked her.

She sensed his own ending was but moments away, and that’s when her Miracle Whip lathered hand came into play. Uschi reached behind Denny and, well lubricated, wiggled her hand energetically up between his clenched tight together buttocks.

“Uh … Excuse me, I don’t rightly know about this now,” he said, voice breaking, fearful, spine arching and the hairs along the back of his neck standing on ends.

But it was already too late to try and voice any protest. Uschi pushed the full length of her whole hand into Denny’s rectum, stimulating the prostrate like it ain’t ever been stimulated before. It initiated a tsunami of an orgasm that removed all negative thoughts, worries, fears and insecurities right the holy hell out of his person. His eyes rolled back in his head and veins popped out on his neck while a blinding flash of white light went off in his brain and tiny vibrations traveled throughout his entire skeleton. Breathing was forgotten, mouth fish taken from the water silently flapping open and close, and his own fingers dug deep into the meat of Uschi’s ass, nails raking open runny furrows across both cheeks. Denny came and came and came some more and then helped himself to another extra helping and came again. He imagined he must’ve in no more than five seconds time discharged more than a gallon’s worth of baby maker juice inside of her.

And then all too soon it ended. Denny was left with skin tingling in the glorious afterglow of the endeavor and his member already going flaccid and pulling out of Uschi’s sex.

She uncorked his ass to the music of a great wet and sloppy sucking
pop!
of a noise. The whistling sigh of relief he let go at that was like steam escaping from a boiling kettle.

The two disentangled themselves, and Denny intended for a step away from his lover, but, forgetting his jeans were down to his ankles, tripped and, arms windmilling, fell to the floor. His skull barely avoided a nasty encounter with the counter’s edge as he dropped brutally hard flat on his back. The floor’s tiling was one cold sumbitch against his bare hindquarters.

Uschi looked to her hand, holding it up to her face. Her head was cocked at an angle as she admired the smears of a certain brownish substance that had greatly mingled with the Miracle Whip’s greasy cream white coloring. Oh dear. The false nail on her pinkie finger was MIA. That wouldn’t do. Made her hand seem unbalanced and ruined the whole stylish look she had going.

She used a foot to roll Denny’s limp and pain wracked carcass over onto his stomach. She straddled him, bent low at the knees and separated his cheeks and returned to his greased anus. Denny groaned and squirmed to the best of his depleted strength, something Uschi didn’t bother to even really acknowledge as she dug around in there. She found what she wanted and came back out, standing, reapplying the pinkie nail.

Mission accomplished, she then set her tongue to work licking her hand clean. Grunted in satisfaction at the pleasing taste.

She towered over her man like a triumphant Amazon warrior surveying a bloody and bodies strewn battlefield, her Himalayan chest proudly thrust out as far as she could make it go and long, muscled legs spread wide and hand planted on her slim as a contemporary burlesque dancer’s waist. This milky trail of semen leaked from her vagina and created a spider’s web design as it ran down her inner thigh.

“Golly, best thing,” Uschi said between lip-smacking licks on her feces and Miracle Whip hand. Necessary to lean her head out a far ways so she could look around the swollen mass of her left titty and down on Denny. “You are indeed one ninja killing cool world class heavyweight champion of the whole freaking world when it comes to the art of fucking the ever-loving royal shit right on out of a lady. I’ll proudly and loudly tell you and anyone else that cares to listen that. With you and your faithful dick, I felt like I was riding a goddamn rail fence. And I mean that statement entirely in a complimentary manner. Fucked by a rail fence a definite positive in my book. You, best thing, are one talented fuck artist. Don’t you dare ever let anyone try to tell you different.”

Denny remained on the kitchen floor, spent and gasping, body quivering, his eyes staring off into space. One half of his face was smushed up against the tiles and he was drooling from the mouth. A nostril managed to blow a snot bubble around the size of a blackeye pea; it promptly popped and produced a narrow mucus bridge between the upper and lower lips. The Miracle Whip ring heavy around his mistreated bunghole had grown itchy and was making him desire some quality time with a roll or two of super absorbent toilet paper. He kept his arms curled in tight over his chest like the forelimbs on a dead cockroach. Everything reeked of sex and rotting flesh and Raid ant and roach killer spray worn like a perfume. The rain never relented, knocking the trailer house, a
rat-a-tat-tat
symphony always there in the background, and wind howling and one more big bang of thunder to make the humble homestead tremble.

Sometime in the last few minutes Denny’s brain kind of slipped over into neutral. Thought process gone numb and lazy to catch up with the world around him. He slowly comprehended his homemade zombie girlfriend was talking to him. Don’t be rude. Answer her.

Clearly, but in a voice only a smidgen above a whisper, he kept his head on the floor and said to his Uschi, “Well, thank you. Appreciate the compliment.” A decent-sized pause full of heavy breathing and rapid eye blinking, then Denny came up with the notion to do the polite thing and added, “Hey, ah, you were pretty damn spectacular your own self.”

Chapter Two

Y
ou’d normally find Denny pulling up to the Dairy Queen’s drive-thru window when picking up an order to go. But not tonight. Tonight he went with parking his grape-flavored bubblegum purple 1969 Chevrolet El Camino at the back of the lot and making the walk inside to the front counter and putting in his order for a late night dinner. He thought it the smooth move to go with, seeing as how he couldn’t help but be a touch worried over how the waitress working the window tonight might react at the sight of his sweet cadaver lady sitting and seatbelt buckled in place next to him in the El Camino’s cab. He wanted to avoid her looking inside the car when handing over to him their food and getting hit upside the head with an eyeful of hot mama zombie pulchitrude awash in the glow of the dashboard lights and screaming in terror like she just learned the president had signed into law a bill outlawing country and western music. Nothing good would come from a scenario like that.

It was a good deal of a shock for him when the DQ waitress handling his order told him the total. The cost was more than usual. Denny had never dated and was unprepared for having to pay for two people. He’d had to go back into his wallet and fetch a few extra bills.

A bag in each hand, he moved through the dining area’s clutter, slump-shouldered and head down, working hard to go unnoticed. He failed. The cruel eyes of the burger and onion ring eaters at the tables around him were following his every move. Denny could feel them giving him the once over, judging him unworthy to be amongst them. He imagined conversations on the best care for a John Deere riding mower’s engine, the quality of the latest Hank Williams, Jr. album, a good way to choose previously used porn from the half price bin at the adult bookstore, and next time at the counter be sure and do yourself a favor and check out that cherry ass on the new gal they got working here all trailing off at his approach and slow to resume once he passed. The contempt they all collectively formed for him was near palpable, like the searing wall of heat raised by an out of control house fire. Somebody—man or woman he couldn’t tell which—started to cackle just as he was nearing the exit, a high-pitched bark of noise like what a small animal being injured would make. Laughing at him, of that Denny was confident in. Laughing at the loser.

He stepped outside the Dairy Queen, relieved to be getting some space between himself and the DQ people, the door’s hydraulic operated arm hissing like a hornet’s nest submerged in shallow water as it eased shut behind him.

The thunderstorm had only finally relinquished and passed on twenty or so minutes ago. Cloud cover was gone and a vertical melon slice of moon had become visible in the star dotted black sky. The parking lot’s asphalt surface glistened under the harsh glow of the ambient sodium vapor lights like a piece of sucked on and spit-slimed hard candy. Illumination intoxicated moths and June bugs swarmed overhead, wings humming, their brittle, tiny bodies making a
ping
sound each time they aggressively threw themselves against the glass bulbs. The humid August temperatures were back in full swing in the storm’s wake, everything turning sweaty and steamy.

Overall, the night was going pretty good so far for Denny. Sold his soul to the devil and fucked his zombie and got a little anal manipulation as an extra bonus. That certainly did differ from his usual routine.

Denny had required a fair-sized period of adjustment before recovering from his first lovemaking session with Uschi. At least another ten minutes of staying down on the kitchen floor, mind keeping about as solid as a dysentery victim’s bowel movement. And while he slowly eased his way back into the reality of things, Uschi announced she was feeling rather starved and helped herself to the zapped toad in the microwave oven.

She had that popped amphibian gone in three big and healthy bites, the bones crunching against her teeth like uncooked macaroni shells being crushed under a boot heel. Them splattered intestines that had settled all along the microwave’s interior walls she collected with her fingers—now clean of any and all traces of Miracle Whip and Denny Gleeth fecal matter—and lapped up like it was the sugary icing from somebody’s birthday cake.

Eventually, Denny saw to it to getting around. He came up a bit shaky on his feet and breathing heavy from the mouth and trembling hands brought his underwear and jeans back up to around his waist. Switched on the lights and extinguished the few remaining ceremonial candles that hadn’t burned themselves out yet. The lid was screwed back on the jar of Miracle Whip before it was returned to the refrigerator. He never spoke a word and made his way to the bathroom and stripped and got in the shower.

That hot water did him good on his painful body parts. It took three washcloths to get his ass clean. The shit and sandwich spread came off easy enough; it was the bleeding from the damage Uschi’s hand had made in his sensitive sphincter was where the trouble was. Sort of worrisome there for a minute or two, what with the amount of blood soaked up by the cloths considerable and dark in coloring, starting Denny to think he may need to head on over to a hospital’s emergency room and get sewn up with stitches. But time and keeping pressure applied to the wound saw to it the bleeding ebbed, finally stopped.

After drying off, he smeared a fat dollop of hemorrhoid cream on. Yeah, that helped smooth a little of the discomfort.

Next he went to his bedroom, where he dressed in the same jeans he’d had on before and a clean
Plan 9 from Outer Space
T-shirt.

He sat on his unmade bed and studied on his reflection in the dresser mirror. Beads of piss warm water trickled from his still damp hair and rolled down his face. He was having a moment. His brain was coming back up to its more normal rate of speed. His eyelids had returned to blinking at their customary rhythm and breathing steadied. Soon he began to feel it was impolite of him to be keeping to himself like this. Mustn’t forget he now shared the trailer with another.

Going to the living room, he found Uschi sitting on the sofa. Hanging on the wall space behind her was an inexpensive reproduction of the theatrical poster for the original
Humanoids from the Deep.
Every home deserved a little Doug McClure coolness to it. Uschi had the remote control in hand and kept her eyes on the television. Playing in the VCR was his copy of
Krull
.

Fuck yeah
Krull
was a great movie, assuredly one of the premiere fantasy films of the 1980s.
The Beastmaster
was passably okay.
Excalibur
tried too much to be Shakespearean and important.
Deathstalker
was just dumb and ass numbing dull. Same for
Ator: The Fighting Eagle.
Sure,
The Sword and the Sorcerer
had its occasional moments, but its star was that goofy pretty boy who played TV’s
Matt Houston
, and that was just an unforgivable sin.
Hawk the Slayer
could make your eyes bleed.
Heavy Metal
and
Fire and Ice
were great, but cartoons, so it really wasn’t fair to count them.
Ladyhawke
was cool—if you were a twelve-year-old girl. Not enough Frank Langella to save
Masters of the Universe
and the Ray Harryhausen stop motion magic not enough to overcome the incredible suck quality of Harry Hamlin in
Clash of the Titans
.
Willow
was near as loveable as a stillbirth was.
Conan the Barbarian
truly had its fair share of epic scenes, but it in many key ways strayed too far from the original Robert E. Howard source material and that crippled it too much to be labeled great.
Legend
was for weirdoes and Scientologist. Only
Krull
was perfection.