 My Evening.
Several hours after falling asleep on my couch, coming back from a long, tiring day at work, I was awakened by a call from my secretary, Bridget. She was a bit taller than myself, a built man of about 5'11, so I'd say, she may be 6 or 6'1. She always wore some scantilly dress or some other type of provacative attire to work, and had nice, juicy breasts. Hearing the sound of her voice began to allow my heart to palpitate, and I tried to focus on what she was saying, and not the phantasmagorical imagery I had begun to dream up.
She began to tell me of her day, from the moment she had woken up, to the moment I had left the office. I had remembered seeing her smile at me on my way out, and possibly acting out some sexual look with her face. I simply can not recall. So, she had called me, and was telling me of her day. Obviously, her seemingly worried voice began to sate my sadistic, sexual desires, so I had unzipped my pants, and slid off my Calvin Klein boxer shorts. My penis was hard. I think she began to realize this, as she interjected something blatantly sexual, along the lines of "Then I started fingering my soft pussy," at which point my heart simply couldn't bear but tell her to meet me at my flat somewhere in Friendship Heights. She pauses for a moment, and mutters that she will be there shortly.
I sift through the junk in my room as quickly, and as best I can until I hear the faint sound of my unbearibly shitty doorbell. I swiftly drift through the relatively empty rooms of my domicile, and greet Bridget, whose dressed up in a similar fashion as Regina Spektor, a musical preference of mine. The unremorseful sexuality began to make me tremble, so I simply asked her to please me. She sat down, and unzipped my pants, as I tried to escape and grab some alcoholic beverage.
"Don't leave. You asked me to pleasure you."
"Please me. I asked you to please me."
She let go of my apparent bulge, and angrily tried to storm out. She told me not only to "get the fuck away from her," but also to "shut the fuck up, you raging homosexual."
I held in my anger, and decided to tell her to sit down. She peacefully turned around. I caught a glimpse of a skimpy little piece of lingerie. I smiled lightly, and told her to strip. She didn't, but sat there in angry awe, as the aforementioned rage broiled deep within me.
"Do it, you fucking whore."
"What the hell did you just call me?"
"You didn't fucking hear me the first time?"
I swiftly picked up the empty asstray, and smashed her face amidst an amoral, conscious trip. She fell bleeding and crying on the floor, and I rapidly descended to the lower levels of my flat to grab my surgical kit. The apparel was scattered and rusted all over the floor, undoubtedly because of the raccoons that plague my area. Instead I grabbed my shiny new hacksaw, and ascended back into my living room, where the horror was about to occur. Repeatedly, I sawed off parts of her flesh, and used my glue gun to induce a searing pain that I can only begin to imagine.
That is when I woke up.
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2006-09-17, 02:39
