I started writing this novel under another name about five years ago. I have no real idea where it will be going, but I've decided to finish it.
I'm posting my WIP here for my enjoyment and yours. Originally titled A Slash of Gash. As always, comments are welcome. If you want to follow along, make sure you follow da blog. Let's start with a Prologue and a quick chapter...
A Flash of Gash: The Story of Debbie
By G.S.
Prologue
Dinner turned out to be better than she expected. The food was perfect. The drinks were strong. And her date was charming. For dessert they shared an obscenely large slice of decadent chocolate cheesecake and strong coffee. She had a tad too much to drink, but he didn’t seem to mind. She talked and talked, and he listened and smiled. That was good enough for Debbie.
The kiss in the elevator had left her pleasantly woozy, and when his hands wandered, she didn’t protest. He wasn’t such a gentleman in the bedroom, but who wanted a gentleman in the bedroom? She drifted off with strong hands stroking her neck and breasts.
Months later, she’d remember all this as the last normal evening of her life.
PART 1
HARD CHOICES
Debbie came to with a smile on her lips, a face in her neck, and a hard cock in her pussy. For a moment, she didn’t move - enjoying the sensation. The best thing about new lovers, was the certainty of morning sex. Well, almost always. She was forty-something, after all. When you got to be her age, the men became fewer, older, and softer.
Not this tiger, she thought. She squirmed under him and whispered, “Someone remembered their little blue pill.”
The hotel room was cold. They must have left the air going full blast all night. She barely remembered making it to the room. The two empty bottles of champagne in the ice bucket might have something to do with that, she suspected. She closed her eyes and made a mental note to take a Prilosec as soon as Tiger (she didn’t recall his first name, but Tiger seemed as good as any) finished her morning wake up call.
His lips felt cool on her neck and the mustache tickled her in a pleasant way. She stretched her arms over her head, allowing her breasts to masquerade as taught.
“Come on then. Let’s finish what you started.”
Tiger kept his face buried in her neck, his bone buried inside her, and - Debbie’s eyes flew open. His lips weren’t cool. They were cold, and as stiff as the rest of him. She wiggled a bit, trying without success to get out from under him.
“Hey. Hey!”
He felt so heavy. She didn’t remember him being so fat last night. The fuzz from last night’s activity burned away and bright, shiny panic took over.
“Hey!”
She pushed at his head and managed to move it so that it lay on the mattress. Now she could see her one night last stand’s face. Like all morning afters, Tiger didn’t hold up so well under sunlight. He had more wrinkles and blotches than she remembered. He was also a lot bluer that she’d expected. And the fly landing on his cheek, rubbing its greedy little forelegs together in anticipation, didn’t help things.
Debbie stated to scream, then stopped herself. It took her a second to understand why. It was her daughter of course. And her friends, her co-workers - the world, really. “Debbie Fein Fucks Corpse!” If she screamed now, that would be her life; her one known achievement.
“No. Not. Going. To. Happen.” She pushed at the weight with each word.
Nothing.
She was in pain now, and terrified. Tiger had died hard, she was dry, and this cork was not going to pop out of the bottle so easily. She was sweating, despite the coolness of the room and the coldness of her companion. The fly kept flying off and returning to various parts of Tiger.
Debbie didn’t know much about corpses, and less about fucking them. But she figured things were only going to get stiffer. He wasn’t about to deflate and slip out on his own.
No. And I’m sure that cock ring he’s wearing doesn’t help.
He’d said it was great at keeping him hard, and that seemed like a good idea at the time. She’d even helped him put it on and then coaxed him to attention with her mouth. The thought made her blush. Then gag.
No. He was hard, stiff, cold, and he wasn’t going anywhere on his own. She closed her eyes and tried to think.
I could maybe push him off the bed. Maybe. But what then? Would I follow him to the floor? Would he tear me up? She imagined it would be more than painful if he withdrew that way. What if he doesn’t withdraw? What if it just snaps off and stays inside me? It was a ridiculous thought, but given her situation, seemed like a perfectly reasonable fear.
Then it came to her.
He will stay hard forever. But you don’t have to stay dry. You could make yourself wet.
Could she do it? Ten minutes later, she had her answer. She’d thought about Brad Pitt. She’d thought about her first husband and how he loved to go down on her, his mouth glued to her until she begged him to stop. She thought about dildos and vibrators and threesomes, and the time her boyfriend videotaped her sucking his cock. She thought about porn and romance. Finally, after thinking about getting fingered at prom, she gave up.
“Fuck.”
Dry as Dick Cavett.
Debbie started crying and turned away. Soon only her face was wet.
Time dragged. She missed the free continental breakfast. Housekeeping knocked, she yelled, they moved on.
She was about to give up when she noticed, really noticed the ice bucket and she had another idea. It wasn’t the ice bucket that caught her attention though.
It was the tongs.
And it was a terrible idea.
