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Message-ID: <45054asstr$1067505010@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: pleasecain@aol.com (PleaseCain)
Subject: {ASSM} [PleaseCain] Sunset Scarestory (1/2)
Date: Thu, 30 Oct 2003 04:10:10 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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EXPLICIT MATERIAL NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS.

Copyright 1998 PleaseCain@aol.com and Femmes Obscure -- Commercial use
prohibited without author's
consent. Removal of this notice in any case is prohibited.

Sunset Scarestory (The Beautiful Bowl of Stars With Some Smoke in It), Part 1/2
by PleaseCain

It had been a good take this year; the little vampire tossed the crumbled
blanket aside and emptied the overstuffed plastic grocery bag onto his bed.  A
cascade of tiny colors and shapes, with browns and oranges speckled throughout.

Separating the booty into piles, he rasped a violent cough and wiped his nose
along a patch of forearm exposed through white makeup; he'd had the cough when
he was little and it had returned since they'd moved back, but since Mom didn't
yell at him anymore for wiping his nose on his arm it was no matter to him.

The little vampire separated the spoils into two piles, candy bars and
everything else.  He stuffed a couple bars into his mouth and cut the rest into
a bag that he shoved under the bed.  Then he picked through the remaining
stack, making a chewy pile, a hard candy pile and a gross pile.  He even got
three dollars.  In the hard candy pile, yellows and blues moved to the gross
pile.  Then he found something strange.

It looked at first like a gross green and white swirl.  Then he recoiled.  It
was an eye.

It remained still, staring at him.

He tapped with a cautious fingernail; it was hard, either plastic or glass. 
Cool and weighty in his palm.  Probably the most awesome thing he ever got
trick-or-treating.  Still, weird ...

"We're feeling pain, aren't we?"

"Y-y-yes."

"We're angry at our cold parents, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"To heal, we need to tell them we're angry, don't we?  I want you to tell them
... Chevette, I want to hear you say, 'Mommy, Daddy, I'm angry.'  Chevette?"

"Go on, tell them," the vampire's mother encouraged from the stairmaster.  "Say
it.  Let them have it."

Eerie bauble in hand, the vampire stood at the foot of churning, perspiring
machine-and-mother, waiting for a break in Oprah.  He called twice over the
television.  "Mom?"

"Huh?  Hi, baby."  She turned back to the screen, daubing her eyes with a hanky
in her fist.  She didn't comment on his costume.  The machine roared ahead, in
place.

"Mom, can I show you something?"

"Hun, this is Mommy's time, right?"

"I know, Mom, but this is important.  Please?"

Tears streamed down Oprah's fifty-inch face, and down a succession of others
too.  "Gerard Paul, can it wait?  Mommy's time is almost over.  We'll talk
about it in a bit.  Right, hun?"  She turned, but he was gone.  Ensconced in
the television's glow, she sobbed to the whine of television and exercise
machine.

The same blue corona pulsed from a room upstairs, but the accompanying voices
were male, calling an L.A. Kings game.  The vampire snuck in the doorway and
spied around the entry at a man lying on the bed like a corpse.

Best not to disturb him, thought the vampire, who figured he might know
something about this stuff.  The man never called the vampire by his name.  He
called him Jerome.

Back in his room, the vampire pulled the bag from beneath his bed and dropped
the eye inside, and hid it again.  In the mirror, he admired his costume.  But
for his nose and eyes, the white makeup remained on his face, and his hair
looked as slick and pointed on his forehead as it had that afternoon.  The
rotten fangs he'd ordered were gnarly.  He did a great job.  To think that only
the year before he was B2 from Bananas in Pajamas.

The little vampire rummaged on his desk and extricated a well-crushed tube of
model glue.  He pulled out a fresh baggy and squeezed a fat line of clear epoxy
inside and held it to his face, sucking--the plastic imploded--blowing,
sucking, blowing, over and again until he dropped the bag and steadied himself.

Through the tinny ringing, he daubed fresh white to his nostrils and upper lip,
bared his fangs and hissed, hands like claws above his head.

He stumbled to bed and curled around the bag of candy, snuggled in his cape.



"The way you creamed that guy in the end zone."  Bubblegum lips curled around
the words: "Did you hurt him?"

"Yes."

"Oh god," she writhed and pulled at his chesthair, pricked his nipple in her
nails.

"I knew you liked it," Troy huffed, "I did it for you."

"Oh-oh-oh my god" was Melody wet.  "All the girls on the squad, oh, they all
want you."  He always liked that line.

"But they can't have me, sugar.  I'm only sweet on you."

"Are you?" then, "I want sweets, too."

"I've got your sweets ... right 'ere!"

"No, I want something sweet.  For real.  I've got a craving.  I want candy."

He sighed.  "Whatever.  You mean, now?  Do you have any ice cream downstairs?"

"Don't take that tone with me.  And no, I want candy."

"Come on, let me take your mind off of candy."  He nuzzled her neck, his hands
pushing to her bra.

"No!  Troy Ontario!"  She shoved.  "I'm serious."

He grunted in disgust.  "What!  Do I have to run out and get you candy?"

"No, silly.  You don't have to go that far."  She bounded to her feet and waved
him follow.  She stopped in the hall and looked over her shoulder, pointing to
a closed door.  "Paulsy probably has a ton of Halloween candy."  He locked
fingers below her ribcage and nestled his erection along her ass through her
skirt.  "We can swipe some after he crashes."  She returned one of his nudges. 
"Right?"

"Absolutely," and followed her back into the room, closing the door behind him.
 She lay back on her elbows, sweater on the floor, her nipples dark tents in
her diaphanous bra.  Troy dove atop her.

Kisses deep and spitty, fingers on muscles and ticklespots, the lovers saw one
another through touch.  He was so strong, she so soft.  He moved on to
business, trailing down her throat and shoulders while she ruffled his golden
hair and inhaled the scent of shampoo.  His tongue snaked between her breasts
as he pulled the straps and unwrapped his prizes.  His mouth followed one
beautiful slope and fastened around its straining nipple.  She shuddered.

"Bite them," desperately.

Teeth delicately scraped her erect ends, top to bottom, as she liked.  She
arched her back in surrender.  He played between her breasts until her chest
was shiny and heaving, jutting with need.  Fingers burrowed into her skirt.

Suddenly lucid, she called, "Troy, Troy, I want some candy.  Troy, go, get me
some.  Troy."  He looked up, incredulous.  "Yes."

He rose and hurled a "Dammit, Melody" at the girl covering her breasts in her
arms.  He fought into his pullover and grabbed his jacket.  He stopped as she
plucked dark blue satin panties from around a lacy anklesock, a patch of
wetness in the crotch.

"Look what you did to me.  My pretty's all wet."  Legs parted beneath the
skirt.  "You want to play with my pretty, don't you?"

He wavered like a compass needle.

Very gently, she directed, "Check if Pauly's light is on."

He was out in the hall and then back again.  "It's on."

"See if he's awake.  Tap on his door.  Go."  He left, sighing, and returned
shaking his head.  "Get his bag.  He won't hear, just be quiet.  He won't, I do
it all the time."

He came back a couple minutes later.  "At first I didn't know, but," she lay in
a short kimono, "but, man, was he out."  He tossed down the sack and lay behind
her, fondling luscious legs while she poured out candy.

"Bastard!  Where's the good candy?  I want chocolate!"  She hurtled out of his
clutch.  "I know where he put it!  I'll show him!" and she was gone.  He was up
and trailed her as if a leprechaun.

She was on her knees and reaching under Paul's bed, her pouty lips matted and
blowing a kiss across the room.  Troy adjusted his dick.  She walked past him
carrying another bag.

She was already stretched on the bed when he closed the door behind him.  "This
is better," she clucked through a full mouth.  "Pervert's got a hole in his
bedframe.  There's a gross magazine in there.  God, all I had today was
ricecakes."  She reached into the bag and unwrapped another, quite oblivious to
him yanking off his pants and mounting her.  Over his flexing shoulder she
inserted another chocolate bar.


 
There was a void inside, a desolation he couldn't rub or blow on, so with his
palm he kneaded the side of his face, not because it hurt so, but because he
couldn't caress himself where it really did.  This shuddering chasm drove him
staggering onward, lost but knowing exactly where he was going, only vaguely
aware of objects passing around him.

Some moved in blurs, especially the smaller, louder ones who gathered in packs
about him, though they didn't disturb him unless they poked him or fell into
the striding turbines of his legs, and then were easily dispersed with a terse
bark.  Even the more aggressive beasts, with their glaring pairs of eyes and
wailing horns, charged past but earned little of his attention.  Delirious
beyond time and reason, his only object was succor.

The torment stretched endlessly, and yet as he felt himself drawing near, his
gait became a clumsy gallop, heedless of the others fleeing in terror.  He
moaned, the proximity tempering the mad longing like a spike.

Plunging through thick shrubbery, he discerned the dim outlines of another,
climbing from a building.  Closer, he saw it emerge from a window and  lower to
the ground.  It turned, too late to scream.  Enraged by its obstruction, he
dashed it away.  The soaring body left a gurgling skid along the length of the
wall, innards exploding onto the decorative bushes.

He bounded into the window.

It was here!  Searching frantically, he located it, handled it, drew it home.

Clarity!  Joy!  The eye was again in place.

Paralyzed by sensation and emotion, he stood and trembled, spraying a tinkle of
excitement.  And then, if it could be, he discovered something even more
astounding.

On the bed before him lay his vision, the one he stared at in his cold corner
for so long that she continued dancing and smiling when he slept each night. 
He shut his eyes and saw her; when he opened them again she remained unchanged.
 Long golden hair, citrus lips and brilliant teeth, with unblemished bronze
skin from sculpted face to bounteous domed breasts and long legs.  Missing was
the form-fitting white cloth which in the vision partially covered her, but she
was close, so very close.

As the young woman's scream found root in her larynx, the giant stepped forward
and she swooned.  It gathered her limp body and climbed through the window.



Sweating, eyes moist and bloodshot, Andromeda replaced the sports drink in the
refrigerator and turned out the remaining downstairs lights.  Traipsing up the
steps, the bathroom, undressing, drifted past in a daze.  She felt so centered
after her body-and-soul sessions, solitary and able, serene, while cool water
ran over her body, and she inhaled deeply and touched herself.

In the heatlamp, she dabbed her body with her softest towel and glided into a
white silk robe.

She stepped into the world again.  The carpet welcomed her toes.  Love brought
her closer to her family.  Melody's door was closed, and she respected that
statement in accords with their agreement: such a fine young woman she had
become!

Pauly's door was shut, too.  She opened it and peered inside.  Her little man
lay sleeping so adorably.  She tiptoed near, brought the sheet over her
peaceful angel, kissing his forehead.  The dear was still in costume.  That's
right, it was Halloween!

Her eyes scanned the room.  Mommy had a sweettooth.  She lifted discarded
clothing, some papers.  Then her face brightened, because she knew where he hid
the bag.



Outraged, he pushed the brat's door open.  She was gone, all right.  The room
was a sty, shit thrown everywhere, every square inch.  The curtains twisted in
the chill breeze.  He stormed off.

The boy's door was open.  There was his batty wife bent underneath Jerome's
bed, her old cunt hanging out of her robe.

"Andie!" he barked.  She slammed her head against the bedframe.  The boy didn't
stir.  "Get out here!"

"What is it?" she grimaced, rubbing her head.

"Come out here, I've got something to show you," he commanded and pulled her to
her feet, dragging her by the wrist through the hall and into their dark
bedroom.  He pointed at the screen.  "Half of L.A. is watching this game, and
look what they're seeing."

"We've now received dozens of calls.  Bravado, West Hollywood, Beechwood,
Mulholland, all reporting sightings.  Again, we cannot certify the credibility
of these eyewitness reports, but apparently we have an unfolding hostage
situation, details of which are unclear, and still police will not comment or
confirm our inquiries.  We'll go back to Click Berman in the Newshound Minivan,
but first let's have another look at that dramatic footage captured by the
security camera at a convenience store."

Andromeda scratched her smarting scalp.  "Jesus, George, you dragged me here to
see another freak show?"

"Knock it off.  Watch."

"These, these are only cigarette-buyers, I mean, the kind of people who stand
in line to buy cigarettes in stores such as these.  And here, entering from the
left, let's freeze here, you see, obviously a mammal, humanoid, of stunning
height and, uh, proportions ... let's back that up, and freeze, again, a view
of the captive ..."

George tap-tap-tapped the screen:  "Huh?  Huh?"

"An as-yet unidentified Angelino, apparently unconscious and in her late
teens-early twenties, caucasian, thin, long blondish hair, with really, really
outstanding ... yes, well, we can safely conclude that both captor and captive
are without clothes, which the staff and management here at your news channel
note for purely journalistic reasons (yes, and AP is now confirming this fact,
thank you).  And while the visual quality is less than perfect, clearly this
compelling clip is raising concern around the entire Valley area, concerns that
a monster is loose with a naked girl on the streets of Hollywood!"

"Huh?  Huh?  What'd I say?  Trouble, that's what she is!"

Andromeda slumped to the bed.  "My Melody," she said through her fingers, "my
baby."

"Your Melony."  He snapped a clip into his 9mm and thrust it into his
shoulder-holster.  "I'm going to the station.  Sit tight, I'll get your baby
back."  Slipping on his jacket, he went into the dangerous night.

She rocked to her feet, taking tiny steps to her daughter's room.  She stared
at the incomprehensible wreckage, moving only when her feet got cold.  Treading
past Gerard's doorway and down the stairs, she clicked on the stairmaster and
the television:

"This is Click Berman at the In-And-Out Burger on West Sunset, and you can see
behind me the extensive property damage, mangled cars, broken windows ..."
and began stepping.



Noise and brightness pursued him at every turn, and though he kept moving in
search of some peaceful corner, the riotous chaos relentlessly followed.  The
furies uncovered each restful backyard and dim alley, with harsh reds and
blues, shrill sirens, or roving mobs, twittering, jeering, shouting, throwing. 
In this hostile landscape, madness besieged him like unleashed water, an alien
sensation--panic--seized the giant ape like hands about his throat.

Even the beautiful creature in his arms set herself against him.  Sometimes
docile, draped in his arms like a sublime tapestry, or clinging to his hairy
chest with its complex of rippling muscles, in the next instant she could stir
and flail at him with her little arms, and her dangling feet became weapons
jabbing his ribs, though not as effective as her persistent screams, which
shocked and irritated him at first, then had a wearing, depressing effect on
him, a morose tug he'd never before experienced.  This hadn't happened in the
vision.  Out of his confusion coalesced the understanding that what appeared to
be a fair and dainty creature would not be so easily managed; in fact, would
need to be heeded.  And just as his frustration grew so overwhelming that he
might flee howling into the darkness, she would again be silent and surrender
in his arms, nestled to his chest.



Melody had never been so afraid in her life, not even when her parents divorced
and she almost had to move to Missouri, but luckily Mom remarried quickly.  But
this was far more serious, she might even die.  She had no clothes.  And the
thing wouldn't let her down, and people wouldn't go away, no matter how she
screamed.

But that wasn't why she fainted: the creature smelled of onions and Paulsy's
wet socks.



The goliath barreled through a six-foot stockade fence and onto the boulevard,
a rottweiler snapping at his heels.  Cars swerved frightfully, and as a set of
canines was sinking into his calf muscle, its adjoining body was thumped
skyward and down the hill.

Two, three, five cars piled into one another.  With the woman under one arm,
the monster did not slacken its pace when it reached the far parking lot, until
it saw the Oreo sign in a 7-11 window.  Stricken, it entered the store.

Inside was flouescent bright, with more noisy people who scattered like ants. 
Rampaging through the room stacked high in vivid packaging, the monster
searched for the familiar blue, and when it found it, unmistakable, it shredded
the wrapping and crushed tray after tray into its yawning mouth,  this good
taste of home the first semblance of gladness in a long unsettling day.

A bullet tore into its shoulder.  A second whizzed by its ear.  Puzzled, it
shook crumbs from its fur, and might have returned to his feast had not the
woman been roused to consciousness by the gunfire and resumed her distressing
cries.

Flustered by the loss of this state of grace, the monster shuffled from foot to
foot, bellowing obscenely in its version of cooing, and finally offered the
girl a cookie.  She bawled even louder.

Now enraged, the beast glared at the quivering clerk, who shook with such
intensity at its charge that the pistol clattered to the floor and he barely
ducked in time as the Slurpee machine flew through the glass and into the
parking lot.  He crawled behind the counter and escaped through the shards to
safety, just as flashing squadcars squealed to a halt outside.  Their quarry
was long gone.

The monster and his captive emerged from the rear door, and stole into the
brush and downhill.



Bitch was getting uppity.

All night she waved her fat titties in his face, in a little haltertop that
showed off her nipples (so juicy this time of year), one that slipped down more
often the longer they raved, the more tequila she drank, the tighter she
grabbed him.  They knew they were going to fuck: it was in her eyes, she wanted
it.

So he drove her home, when he didn't want to leave in the first place, but he
was a good guy and she was with him, and he did what he had to do.  And now she
wasn't doing her part.

When he pulled over a couple blocks from her house, she started getting weird,
but even then she was up for a good time.  She put her hands up, but he kissed
her and told her how pretty she was, and she would relax ("I like kissing") and
let him slide her skirt down, and kiss some more and then her pantyhose, and
later her top, and then she wouldn't let go her panties until he stripped down.
 ("See?")

Then she came up with this "Lick me, please lick me," and he told her, "Fuck
that, I don't do that shit."  Then she said, "I want to suck you down," and he
could go for that, but he could tell she was stalling and besides she wasn't no
good at it.

He went down on her and she punched and kicked and yelled loud, forcing him to
crank the radio way up, and he had a pretty bad set-up so there wasn't no one
going to hear her.  It was sort of funny until she started kicking on his
dashboard and CD deck and windows, and then he wasn't playing any more.  If she
would just get busy it would get done faster.

He broke her down.  For a minute, she stayed quiet and he was smooth, with the
whole Jeep rocking back and forth.  Then, scared the shit out of him, this
chick started screaming in through the window.  This wigged-out naked chick,
floating on the other side of the window.

Actually, Melody wailed when she spotted a dead jawless dog on the roof of the
Jeep.

Violetta opened her eyes and saw the naked chick and she screamed too.  Then
the naked chick saw the couple inside and she screamed back.

But the naked chick wasn't really floating.  They didn't know until the giant
stooped and squinted through the glass.  Ho, fucking ugly!  Violetta sprang
against Tucci as he hiked his pants.  The thing pushed the Jeep until it rocked
as before, its god-awful face pressed to the window.

Tucci slammed the door.  "You got a problem, ugly motherfucker?  Fuckin' with
my ride?  You're dead, man!"  He gave up two feet to the beast.  "Say, you got
a nice mama.  That's the way."  He stroked Melody's legs and reached for a
nipple, erect from cold.  The monster slapped the hand away.  "God, do you
stink!"

With a furry paw, it plucked the burning cigarette from Tucci's lips.

"Hey, you fuck!  And get that thing out of my face!"  The beast's massive
erection pointed threateningly at Tucci's chest.  Tucci slapped it aside.

The monster jumped and retaliated with a tap to the shoulder.

Tucci leapt and swiped at its face.
It slapped him back.

Like a broken marionette, the youth's head dropped askew.  The body crumbled to
the road.

Cigarettes rolled out of the corpse's tee-shirt onto the pavement.  It lifted
one tenderly.  Just like the vision.

Much to Violetta's further consternation, the monster lowered itself to the
window once again.  She shouted in terror, but the creature had no interest in
her whatsoever.  Carefully, it placed the cigarette behind his ear and cocked
it just so, like in the vision.  It grunted with pleasure and raised himself to
its full height.  And saw an amazing thing on the dark hillside above.

Upon the lighted billboard towered the vision.  Like in the magazine in the
cellar, but larger than life, stretched across the sky.  The barechested hunk
carried the young woman as effortlessly as the cigarette behind his ear, and
her wispy blond hair, her coquettish limbs and the thin white material of her
swimsuit all suggested she was light as air.  Something differed from the page
the monster had secreted in the masonry at home, but it wouldn't know that the
green adcopy of the billboard proclaimed "I'm going to live forever!," in place
of the wry observation "What do they know about fun?" on its home copy.

This did not matter, as the piece evoked such happiness.  The savage had not a
clue as to that warm sensation, yet the buoyant ingredients--the sunny yellow
background, the laser-white smiles, the mirth of play and expectation--conveyed
an unmistakable message, and in this combination of goods lay the invariable
formula of elation.  The primitive knew an immeasurable awe, and a purple,
bobbing penis.  And the signs did not cease there.

In the background of the gigantic photograph lay the final element, just over
the billboard girl's outstretched palm.  And there in the distance, beyond the
billboard, stood a larger, three-dimensional representation of this same puzzle
piece.  Stunned with a mystic's epiphany, the creature solemnly affixed the
cigarette in place, and embarked on the last leg of its quest, starting uphill
into the bush, blond companion screaming, as a convoy of blue-and-whites
skidded around the corner toward a body and a car with a shocked and bleeding
occupant.

[Continued . . .]

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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