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Message-ID: <61467asstr$1315606204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Shon Richards <shonrichards@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: Shon Richards <shonrichards@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Zombie Hard-On Blues (Masturbation, Damn Zombies)
Lines: 138
Date: Fri, 09 Sep 2011 18:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "ZombieHardonBlues.doc" begin>

This erotic story was written by me, Shon Richards.  Please do
not reprint on your website, blog, love letters to your lover etc
without asking me first.  I have yet to refuse a reprint but
let's just be polite about it, okay?

You can write to me at shonrichards at yahoo.com.  I will be
delighted to hear your comments.

Find out what I am up to at http://erotiterrorist.blogspot.com/
as well as read my more current work. 


"Zombie Hard-On Blues"
By Shon Richards

I took aim.  There was a zombie.  He looked like he might have
been a lawyer when he was alive.  I like that idea.  My
brother-in-law was a lawyer.

I shot him.  One clean shot through the head.  He fell just like
they do in the videogames: straight down like someone cut his
strings. Man, if my old clan from Team Fortress could see me
now.

There was nothing else to do.  I was safe.  They weren't getting
into the church since I barricaded it.  I had shitloads of ammo.
Robbing that ammo store was the smartest thing I ever did.  The
second smartest thing I did was raid that Costco.  I had enough
canned food to last me 80 years.  The third smartest thing I did
was rig up that rainwater catcher.  I was a god damn survival
genius.  All that science fiction horror shit I read was finally
put to use.

Course, the dumbest thing I did was not rob a fucking porn store
before locking myself up.  Mother fucking god damn bastard fuck!
I was so worry about surviving; I forgot to get some damn porn!

I took aim again.  The zombies mulled around the church.  The
dumb fucks walked back and forth like they were caught in a tide.
 I see some walk by and a week later, the same ones are walking
back the other direction.  I don't know where the fuck they are
going, but they go somewhere.  

I saw a woman zombie.  Oh man.  Her shirt was ripped open.  She
had a big floppy breast just hanging out.  It was flat.  Really
amazing how flat a tit gets when you're dead.  My mouth watered.

Oh sweet Jesus, I miss breasts.  I miss what they looked like
when they were alive.  I miss how hot they were when you have
just pulled them out of a bra.  I miss how the nipple would feel
between your teeth.  Oh dear god in heaven, I miss licking a
nipple while it got hard in my mouth.

The zombie I was looking at had hard nipples.  Hard as death.  I
couldn't shoot her.  I shot a guy who was behind her instead.  He
looked like a lawyer too.

At first I was too scared to jack off.  Then after a week, I
started dreaming about sex.  Oh man.  I dreamed about my bitch
wife who left me behind as she jumped on the evacuation train.  I
dreamed about my first girlfriend, with sixteen year old tits the
size of my head.  I dreamed about everyone.  I dreamed once about
fucking Gladys, the damn secretary at my company who must have
been seventy years old.  

The second week I masturbated.  Oh shit, did I masturbate.  I was
a teenager again; whacking my dick.  Three, four and even five
times a day.  Sometimes I would just sit here on the roof,
whacking my dick like a damn pervert in the sun.

The third week, I started to forget how women looked.  I mean, I
sort of remember.  They looked pretty.  They were soft.  I liked
the big girls the best.  Oh fuck, I loved a big girl who could
climb on top of you and her big breasts would swing down in your
face like two moons in the sky.

But I can't stop thinking.  When I got my dick in my hand and I'm
grinding away, that's when I have trouble.  I close my eyes and I
don't see my bitch wife.  I see the zombie with the bleach blonde
hair who almost ate my goddamn hand the first day of the
outbreak.  I see the shambling cheerleader squad who walked by in
their fucking uniforms.  I see blood and dead flesh.

God, I would give my right nut for a Playboy.  I would give up my
supply of chocolate bars for a fucking Victoria Secret's catalog.
  

I would murder my own mother if I could get the Internet back.

I line up another shot.  I go looking for a zombie.  It's like
dating.  Plenty of fish but you want the right one.  I skip over
zombies that are too old.  I skip the ones that are too young.  I
look for a pretty one.  One that maybe died of the flu.  One that
isn't missing half their face.  

One with really big breasts.

I find her.  She's a big lovely black woman.  Oh God, her breasts
shift underneath her big red shirt.  Oh Jesus and all of your
pecker sucking disciples, she has sunglasses on and it makes her
almost look alive.  She's beautiful.  

I want to shoot.  I want to nail her.  I can't fuck her, but I
can fuck her over.  It would be a release.  Instead of seed, I
would shoot a bullet.  

I don't.  She might one day try to eat my face off, but I can't
do it.  I found her.  That was enough.  I found her and now I
spare her.  It's like I did her a favor.  If she was alive, she
might let me kiss her tits in gratitude.

I shoot a zombie who looks like a doctor instead.  Fucking
doctors.

God, I wish I had brought some porn.

The end.

If you enjoyed this story please drop me a line at shonrichards
at yahoo.com.
Or visit my blog at http://erotiterrorist.blogspot.com/


   



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