Cat's early crack!porn
Hey peeps. I was talking to
jdkitchen last night and he made a passing comment about me writing a sex scene in a mundane place, like Wal-Mart. Believe it or not, I actually wrote a scene like that long ago while I attended a writing program at Bates College in Maine the summer between my junior and senior year in high school. This crack!fic was the mastermind of myself and a guy I hung around with at the program named Adam. We sat around one evening in the basement throwing out the most ridiculous names, scenerios, and words to describe sex. As the evening wore on, other students trickled in and joined us until nearly all 20 of us were piled on the couches trying to co-write a short porn story to pass the time. "Harvesting the Honeydews" was the product of our efforts. It is also rather hysterical as a precurssor to my fanfiction because you will very easily guess who came up with the male character and who he was based off of. I can't say I actually remember which parts I was responsible for or what I wrote, but I'm sure you can tell some of my handywork or choice sentences based on the style. It's all utterly ridiculous, and also appears we could not choose which tense to use!
After we scribbled it down, Adam and I typed it up, and distributed it to all the other students, as well as our professors who were more than a little amused by the whole thing. We then adapted it into a short play, cast it, and so that as many people could participate, had both actors and people doing voice overs. I did the voice-over for Hadrian (just think - me with the accent!). We had a girl on piano, and did this whole dress rehearsal and everything. It was fantastic and fun, and sort of legendery. Yes, I was leading my porny flock even then, lol.
IT’S A HOT, HOTTT,steamy night. Morning actually, 2:23 in the morning. The air conditioning is faltering in the Super Wal-Mart, open 24 sensual hours a day. Seneca, an Italian-Egyptian, a fiery siren from the Sahara, a Cleopatra of her time, sashays in through the automatic doors, held open by Igor, a loyal, elderly, impotent, Quasimodo of his time. He watches her shapely ass swish on by in a disco of sequins.
“May I help you?” Igor said, his lazy eye conveniently drifting towards her luscious rump.
“Yes, sir. Would you escort me to the Nyquil?”
“I’d be delighted,” Igor said. She followed him like a dog begging for scraps. “Here you are Mademoiselle.”
“Gratzi.” She curtsied, lifting her skirt ever so slightly, revealing leopard patterned silk garters. Igor nearly fainted in ecstasy. Seneca bends lasciviously at her waist, and Igor smells her musk, drawn to her like a sperm whale to its prey.
A young blond British man turned his head, seeing the gorgeous woman perusing the shelves for Nyquil. He quirked his eyebrow, admiring her luscious curves. He walked towards her.
“Can I help you, lamb?”
Her eyes drifted to his sharp cheekbones, his muscular form. Her mouth went dry with want.
“I can’t sleep. I was looking for Nyquil.”
“Oh luv, me too. Come on, it’s in the next aisle…oh wait, you’ve got it…never mind.”
He grabbed her arm and she followed him willingly, watching his ass.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ wanderin’ around anyway?” He came up behind her and whispered, “I think I can help you pass the time.”
She eyed him, animal lust sparking within her, sponge-bathing him in her green, penetrating X-Ray vision. Hadrian touches, caresses her shoulder, beckoning her with his pointer finger, which was moist with sweat. Her bra strap slipped from her shoulder. She trembles, the Nyquil falls, she trips, and he catches her, her heavenly long, black hair tickling the spot of flesh at his open collar.
“I caught you,” Hadrian said.
“Oh gratzi.” She fluttered her long, black lashes and he smelled her (a swift hand gesture up to his nose, wafting her scent to it). Overcome by her erotic aroma, he flung her over his shoulder.
“You have a lovely bum, luv,” and she turned crimson with ardor.
They were soon amongst the fruits and vegetables, a plethora of color, an amalgam of textures. He thrust her into the lettuce bed, the sprinklers mist meandering on the sequins, soaking her to a moist shining Venus. He peeled her like a tangerine and tasted the succulent flesh. She peeled him like a banana. Seneca gasped and laced her fingers across his warm banana-meat. He harvested her honeydews. He licked the moisture off her collarbone and brought his hand up to caress the curves of her breast, drawing his fingertips across the sensitive undersides. She slid her hands down her thighs, unhooking her leopard garters. He brought his hands up to meet hers, gripping her hips, tilting her pelvis toward his. She whimpered, lifting them in offering and supplication. She traced down his muscular torso, plunging her hand into his pants, gripping him harshly.
“What do you want, baby?” he whispered, laving her navel.
She brought her mouth against his ear and hissed, “Come into me.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, which quaked with arousal, while he gripped her derrière, plunged into her unexplored crevasse like Jacques Cousteau in the mysterious depths of the Atlantic. He strode her like a lion. She cried out, her mouth open in a silent gasp, shocks of pleasure coursing through her body. Holding her with one arm, his hand slipped between her legs, adding additional stimulation, bringing her ever closer to release. Her body shuddered, her moans nearly deafening as she came hard, her sex spasming, and causing Hadrian’s salty passion juice to spill into her.
He groaned and fell against her, the tomatoes squishing deliciously beneath them to their screams of delight. But then they stopped in confusion, the screaming continuing, unearthly whinnying of the highest frequencies.
Igor cried with happiness, “It’s alive! It’s alive!” he cried, pointing to his pants, sending Hadrian and Seneca running stark naked into the parking lot. Watching them go, Igor said, “Wow, you guys are fast…”
FINIS
jdkitchen last night and he made a passing comment about me writing a sex scene in a mundane place, like Wal-Mart. Believe it or not, I actually wrote a scene like that long ago while I attended a writing program at Bates College in Maine the summer between my junior and senior year in high school. This crack!fic was the mastermind of myself and a guy I hung around with at the program named Adam. We sat around one evening in the basement throwing out the most ridiculous names, scenerios, and words to describe sex. As the evening wore on, other students trickled in and joined us until nearly all 20 of us were piled on the couches trying to co-write a short porn story to pass the time. "Harvesting the Honeydews" was the product of our efforts. It is also rather hysterical as a precurssor to my fanfiction because you will very easily guess who came up with the male character and who he was based off of. I can't say I actually remember which parts I was responsible for or what I wrote, but I'm sure you can tell some of my handywork or choice sentences based on the style. It's all utterly ridiculous, and also appears we could not choose which tense to use!
After we scribbled it down, Adam and I typed it up, and distributed it to all the other students, as well as our professors who were more than a little amused by the whole thing. We then adapted it into a short play, cast it, and so that as many people could participate, had both actors and people doing voice overs. I did the voice-over for Hadrian (just think - me with the accent!). We had a girl on piano, and did this whole dress rehearsal and everything. It was fantastic and fun, and sort of legendery. Yes, I was leading my porny flock even then, lol.
IT’S A HOT, HOTTT,steamy night. Morning actually, 2:23 in the morning. The air conditioning is faltering in the Super Wal-Mart, open 24 sensual hours a day. Seneca, an Italian-Egyptian, a fiery siren from the Sahara, a Cleopatra of her time, sashays in through the automatic doors, held open by Igor, a loyal, elderly, impotent, Quasimodo of his time. He watches her shapely ass swish on by in a disco of sequins.
“May I help you?” Igor said, his lazy eye conveniently drifting towards her luscious rump.
“Yes, sir. Would you escort me to the Nyquil?”
“I’d be delighted,” Igor said. She followed him like a dog begging for scraps. “Here you are Mademoiselle.”
“Gratzi.” She curtsied, lifting her skirt ever so slightly, revealing leopard patterned silk garters. Igor nearly fainted in ecstasy. Seneca bends lasciviously at her waist, and Igor smells her musk, drawn to her like a sperm whale to its prey.
A young blond British man turned his head, seeing the gorgeous woman perusing the shelves for Nyquil. He quirked his eyebrow, admiring her luscious curves. He walked towards her.
“Can I help you, lamb?”
Her eyes drifted to his sharp cheekbones, his muscular form. Her mouth went dry with want.
“I can’t sleep. I was looking for Nyquil.”
“Oh luv, me too. Come on, it’s in the next aisle…oh wait, you’ve got it…never mind.”
He grabbed her arm and she followed him willingly, watching his ass.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ wanderin’ around anyway?” He came up behind her and whispered, “I think I can help you pass the time.”
She eyed him, animal lust sparking within her, sponge-bathing him in her green, penetrating X-Ray vision. Hadrian touches, caresses her shoulder, beckoning her with his pointer finger, which was moist with sweat. Her bra strap slipped from her shoulder. She trembles, the Nyquil falls, she trips, and he catches her, her heavenly long, black hair tickling the spot of flesh at his open collar.
“I caught you,” Hadrian said.
“Oh gratzi.” She fluttered her long, black lashes and he smelled her (a swift hand gesture up to his nose, wafting her scent to it). Overcome by her erotic aroma, he flung her over his shoulder.
“You have a lovely bum, luv,” and she turned crimson with ardor.
They were soon amongst the fruits and vegetables, a plethora of color, an amalgam of textures. He thrust her into the lettuce bed, the sprinklers mist meandering on the sequins, soaking her to a moist shining Venus. He peeled her like a tangerine and tasted the succulent flesh. She peeled him like a banana. Seneca gasped and laced her fingers across his warm banana-meat. He harvested her honeydews. He licked the moisture off her collarbone and brought his hand up to caress the curves of her breast, drawing his fingertips across the sensitive undersides. She slid her hands down her thighs, unhooking her leopard garters. He brought his hands up to meet hers, gripping her hips, tilting her pelvis toward his. She whimpered, lifting them in offering and supplication. She traced down his muscular torso, plunging her hand into his pants, gripping him harshly.
“What do you want, baby?” he whispered, laving her navel.
She brought her mouth against his ear and hissed, “Come into me.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, which quaked with arousal, while he gripped her derrière, plunged into her unexplored crevasse like Jacques Cousteau in the mysterious depths of the Atlantic. He strode her like a lion. She cried out, her mouth open in a silent gasp, shocks of pleasure coursing through her body. Holding her with one arm, his hand slipped between her legs, adding additional stimulation, bringing her ever closer to release. Her body shuddered, her moans nearly deafening as she came hard, her sex spasming, and causing Hadrian’s salty passion juice to spill into her.
He groaned and fell against her, the tomatoes squishing deliciously beneath them to their screams of delight. But then they stopped in confusion, the screaming continuing, unearthly whinnying of the highest frequencies.
Igor cried with happiness, “It’s alive! It’s alive!” he cried, pointing to his pants, sending Hadrian and Seneca running stark naked into the parking lot. Watching them go, Igor said, “Wow, you guys are fast…”
FINIS