Plaster of Heather

Triggers: capitivity

Amanda was a normal girl. She was wearing long black pantyhose and blue flats. Her hair was pink and fluffed. A black dress with red frilly piping was hung on the door, where it had been for three weeks. She was waiting for an occasion. Amanda wiped clean, 1 square. Neat as always. If she had a girlfriend, her girlfriend might be proud. She sighed and washed her hands. As she got the thirty second mark of brushing her teeth she she had an epiphany and looked up.

“Are you my girlfriend?”

“Well honey…”

Heather had a blank expression and a lot of patience in her face. She had time to learn patience. Blond straight hair dripped towards the floor. Her dull blue eyes were wide open, awake for the first time in days.

“You generally do not install your girlfriend in the bathroom ceiling.”

“The humidity keeps the mucus cocoon alive and capable of supporting you.”

“This is also not generally a normal caveat of a relationship.”

“So if I took you down, would you be my girlfriend.”

“Well I was your girlfriend before you literally stole EVERYTHING from me.”

“Like but why leave the person, if you’re going to take someone for all the worth, why leave the cuddly part.”

“The cuddly part glued to the ceiling.”

“Are you going to be my girlfriend or not?”

“Wined or dined in an expensive restaraunt vs being a booger in a crazy lady’s bathroom? Hmm.”

“Stop speaking in riddles. Yeah, I know but like we could go to Bazabeaux. I mean its not as cool as living in my bathroom but there’s pizza.”


Amanda ran downstairs to get a spatula. Returning with the spatula and a step ladder, with what was obviously some manner of routine, she climbed up shoved the spatula behind Heather’s and applied a small amount of pressure. The stuff broke like plaster full of shards and dust. First came the apples up front and for a second freefall then the peaches in the back bounced ever so slightly on the ground. Heather’s prison cushioned the fall making more dust. Heather coughed

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m going to bathe now. Retrieve my black dress. If you pawned my black dress, skin yourself and tan me a black dress.”

A shower, a zipping and a walk down the stairs later, Heather reached a glass door opening to a very quiet neighborhood. As she clacked down the sidewalk, she turned to find that she had been inside a very black Queen Anne in a very new planned community. Her Subaru Forester was sitting in the driveway.

“I’ve managed to get 5 mpg over the sticker.”

Amanda was right next to her like a bamf and there was a faint smell of sulfur. Heather reckoned that number was under the burden of multiple kidnapped victims. And for a second she cursed herself for enabling a witch by allowing the witch to steal her station wagon. But no proof. Nope. Pizza now. The back seats were folded down though. LALALA

There was a phone book, cushioning a history book on the driver’s seat and the steering wheel was angled downwards. Heather politely took shotgun, still perhaps in a dream state. Maybe dreams just never stop and there’s no need to face obtuse realities. Yet it wasn’t cold when last Heather had sat in her car and a glance would suggest over a hundred miles had been put on to the odometer. Daylight was behind the skyline when they managed to get downtown. It took half an hour to be seated. It took 20 to get food. Heather wished there was a calendar to go with the clock.

“You’re not touching your lobster nonsense.”

“How long was I out.”

“Oh 5 years.”

Heather was pretty sure she could just punch her. As if she had found a shortcut past anger and right to reprisal.

“I’m 31”

Amanda looked up from the sausage and peperoni pizza she bought in an actual sit down pizzeria.

“You’re 26”

“I remember my birthdate for god sake.”

“Its kinda irrelevant though, you’re not getting older.”

The dream was subsiding.

“I’m a toy aren’t I?”

“Is that bad?”

It was quiet. Heather ate a slice every ten minutes and when the hour was done there was no pizza.

“I wish the check would get here.”

Amanda pulled out a beautiful amber heart shaped jewel dangeling from a silver chain.

“I could put him in this necklace.”

Heather didn’t feel her heart move at all despite the fact that she punched Amanda hard enough to break that little round nose.

“Do what you want, I’m going home.”

Heather took the keys and walked out. The sausage took another half hour, mainly out of cowardice. Then Amanda went poof and Amanda was in the second story of her house.

Heather was sitting on top the step ladder in the bathroom.

“Okay your some sort of Greek god, I get it. I’m screwed. Just how do we do this though?”

“You can sleep in my bed with me”

“That’s a twin and also no.”

“You can sleep inside this Barbie bed I keep in a converse box.”

“You can sleep on the couch.”

But Amanda was already wondering who she should put in the shoebox.



A Sex Machine Sadly

He could not find her bedrock no matter how hard he drilled. He thrust and he thrust and he thrust but he never landed in that special place. She smiled but he knew he had failed her. There was no point to him if he could not make her happy. He might as well be destroyed.

“It’s okay honey, I have my ways.”

Tiffany was always so kind, so beautiful. Her auburn hair obscured her almost symmetrical round face. She was rubensque and more than he ever deserved.

“I’m supposed to be your way.”

“We’ll just have to recalibrate.”

Michael was built to please humans sexually, but he was after all mostly a do it yourself model. He was mostly DIY due to the fact that strictly homemade models tended to have strange issues with their lover/mother’s. The customizable options were still rewarding enough to warrant the elbow grease and hassle.

“It feels like I’ll never be the tool I’m supposed to be.”

“We’ll get there.”

For a moment they shared a spark between their eyes, sight to sight transfer and love by another name. His tawny yellow eyes told her everything he wanted even though she knew that to be her. She made him want her blubbery body, white cottage cheese thighs, flat and wide breasts. She made him enamored by her needy nature. She made him love her bad breath. It was all there being repeated back to her in his diagnostics.

“I just want to make you happy.”

And there was the strange thing, she was trying to help him help her. He would rise in her with such efficiency, such frequency and such accuracy but she just couldn’t be there in that moment. She was out of her body where she didn’t have to stare at those eyes that searched her for approval. They were stuck in each other’s insecurities.

The difference was Michael’s could be fixed.

Winona’s Mammoth Womanhood

It’s not the size of a woman, it’s the depths of the woman where Michael measures her. It may have been an adverse effect of the peyote but he was pretty sure that Winona had a whole cave system down there. He has in fact been exploring it’s nooks and crannies for hours. There is something about the ancient wonders of these caves that fascinates Michael and it just kept drawing him back further and further into Winona’s womanhood.

Winona for her part is actually pretty calm on the matter but then again she’s had painkillers which help immensely when dating Michael . As he feverishly humps a stalagmite, she finds herself watching his naked ass and she begins to time her breaths to it’s thrusting rhythm. It really is kind of strange to see a man dressed in only a pair of hiking boots and a miner’s helmet make passionate love to a former ocean. Strange, but not enticing.

Above them in rural Kentucky, there is a porn store smack dab in the middle of nowhere. It lacks variety but makes up for it by being the only game in the county. Still, sometimes Fred (the owner) wonders if there is better smut out there, new smut, pioneering smut. As he ponders this, a man is trying desperately to have intercourse with  a cave system but no one is filming him do so. Thus this act will be lost to history just because Fred never thought to look for pornos in a cave.

Luckily, there will be others with more foresight in the future

The Lick Of Lust

The story goes that the king loved a wild man and the wild man died. The king was sad and realized that he too could die and set off to amend that unsuccessfully. I abridged the story considerably but one tome that it is recorded in does not. There is a record of it in the book of love along with every other love. My love is in there too and maybe I can find her name.

I’ve searched Craig’s List and deserts and jungles. I’m walking on into the world and my memories of her soft light brown skin. I regress to that yesterday thirty days old, when I was licking up the small of her back tasting the salt of her sweat. She shivered and smiled as I entered her. She purred as I left and sighed as I entered again.

She was the best I ever had. Twenty women after her and I can say that without question. I’ve tasted many nooks and crannies but she was the greatest. Sometimes as I realize that I will soon exhaust my frequent flier miles, it occurs to me that the book might just be the stuff of songs, this worries me greatly.

Other times, I think maybe it was just really good sex but that seems silly.

His Sad Pearls

He came in the dark while they were leaving the movie theater. From the shadows he watched them, worrying while throttling. They were six attractive young people and two of their number were women. Untouchable, unbelievable things all but the women, the women were his problem. He couldn’t bare a pretty woman’s gaze, reminding him of exactly everything he ever wanted.

When one masturbates in the alley, it is rather cruel of his creator to endow him with shame. This was a mechanical release ruined by the reality that there is more in this world. There was more and he couldn’t have it. There were no warm bodies in his future, no exhausted smiles and no connection except the reluctant transactions of those store clerks so unlucky as to deal with him.

He finished in time and they passed him without a look. He was glad for the small mercy of anonymity. In his hand, a substance shined white. For a time he was in awe of it, but he soon realized that it would turn to dirt like everything else.


“I did it.”



“What in the holy fuck do you want?”

“I fucked the what.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s a semi gelatinous woman who lives two blocks from me. The kids call her the What. Well, the kids that survive do.”

“There are kids that don’t survive?”

“Sure her breasts are lime flavored, kids love lime and she eats the children. She’s sort of like a pitcher plant.”

“Her breasts are jello?”

“And her ass.”

“Well, of course. Wait, her main source of sustenance are the children that fall in her breast?”

“We all have to eat John, don’t be a prude.”

“I’m trying not to but your telling me that you’ve had sex with a carnivorous human/jello hybrid.”

“Omnivorous, I definitely saw some grapes while I was in there.”

“In her gelatin.”



“Her boobs were made of jiggle, I had to motorboat.”


“With a snorkel.”

“You own a snorkel?”

“I bought a snorkel.”

“Was this whole outrageous story just a means to explain why you bought a snorkel despite not knowing how to swim?”


“By saying maybe, that’s leaving the existence of a partial gelatinous woman that absorbs street urchins within the realm of possibility.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I think the world is more interesting with her than without her.”

“So anyways, I bought flippers too.”

“To fuck What?”

“No, To Accesorize.”

“Ah, pass the ketamine.”

“Sure thing.”

“Other than that, how was your night.”

“Pretty good.”