They're nuts. Or is he?

page

1

"Welcome to your insanity. My name is Barbara. I'll be your host for the duration of your stay."

"No she won't. I will."

"Shut up, you. Why would the gentlemen want you as a host when only yesterday you thought you were Jesus Christ?"

"I was."

"No you weren't, I was. Or was I Christ the day before, and William the Conqueror the day before that? I get days mixed up."

"You get everything mixed up. Don't mind them, dearie. They're nuts."

"And you're not?" I asked bewildered. What were these people doing in my bathroom? The short, skinny one, the one who thought he was Jesus Christ only yesterday (or was it the day before?) seemed to be wearing my slippers.

Damn! I hated that. There was no telling what kind of filth might be encrusted within the toe cheese squeezed beneath his grungy nails.

"No, I'm not. Or maybe I am. It doesn't matter, anyway."

"Yeah, it's kinda beside the point, if you know what I mean. Mind if I use your tooth brush? I just ate a slug sandwich and I think there's an antennae lodged between my two front teeth." The fat one reached for the object of his desire.

I only just managed to snatch it away from his grimy hands before he could load it up with Crest Anti-Tartar Formula. This one was obese and filthy, and he looked as if he worked as an auto mechanic. The pores of his face were clogged with grease and dirt.

"No," I grimaced in reply, carefully storing my toothbrush where the lunatic couldn't reach it, "I don't know what you mean. And just what in hell are you doing in my bathroom? I have to get ready for work."

"Not today you don't," said 'Barbara'.

"Yeah, not today," repeated the fat man.

"Shut up, youse guys. Maybe he wants to go. Could be fun. You ever seen one of these new ones bust loose on the job? It's a real kicker." Now the other guy, a tall and lanky man, had somehow managed to sneak my toothbrush from its hiding place and was literally foaming at the mouth from all the toothpaste he had smeared onto the bristles. There was a big dollop running down his chin. I watched, utterly disgusted, as it dangled momentarily from his razor stubble and finally fell to the counter with a sickening 'plop'. Bones looked down at the mess he was making, then back up at me. "Don't worry," he said, "Let the big chunks dry and you can use 'em as after dinner mints. I do."

"Remind me not to eat at your house." Fatso.

"You'd eat anything, anywhere, and you know it, lard ass. Now what do you say mister, can I be your guide. Can I, please?"

She was as revolting as the others, more so because she was a woman. Women were supposed to be neat and dainty. This one hadn't a single tooth in her head, and her hair was matted with what appeared to be dingleberries. Barbara must have been some sort of ill-used prostitute... once, long ago, before her beauty faded beyond the simple boundaries of ugly, into the realm of down right beastly. Her clothing looked as if it had been ripped off her body in ravishment a thousand times, as it was pieced together in patches with a kind of crude stitching sewn with strands of her own filthy red hair.

When I didn't immediately respond she added hopefully, "I'll suck your dick. You could do me if you want."

I turned immediately to the commode, sank to my knees, and threw up. Bones jumped eagerly into the gap, "I want. I want. Give it to me, sweet thang, I know just what to with it."

"No, no, me, Barb, me. It's my turn."

"Shut up, the both of you! It's for the gentleman. Should he want. Do you want, mister?"

"No," I choked around a bit of half digested bacon, "I most certainly do not."

I could almost hear her pouting, though my back was turned. Then all I could hear was a lot of male grunting and female squealing and the zipper rip of torn fabric.

..."Slower, Bones, slower, you'll come too fast."

"He always does. When's it gonna be my turn? When, Barbara, huh? When?"

"Not yet," she panted. My mirrored medicine cabinet began to rattle on its mounts. I knew Hillary, my wife, would hear that for sure and come running. And how was I going to explain all this? "Not yet, Fatso. Wait awhile. Let Bones finish...."

"Aw," Fatso pouted, "He always gets to squirt more than me."

"Sh-Shut- Shut up, Fatso. I'm do- doin'- it... right this time."

There was a heavy thud and the sounds of a struggle. "I can't wait! It just ain't fair! Bone's always gets to go first...."

Then something bumped me hard enough to knock me off my feet and send me sprawling across the filthy bathroom floor. A little puff ball of dusty pubic hairs fluttered beneath my nose for a moment before I shooed it away.

Now I could see everything, and once I did, I turned away immediately. Barbara was impaled on Bones' long, incongruously thick shaft, grinding back and forth, while Fatso was tearing away the shreds of her panties, trying to penetrate her from behind. Barb grunted louder as the obese man drove his point home.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! YEEEESSS!" they shouted in chorus. Then it was over and they were rising, zipping trousers, buttoning shirts, wiping sweat from their brows and God only knew what all from their slimy hands.

"That was fun," stated Bones matter of factly.

"Not as much fun as being Jesus Christ."

...(More Reading Here)