BDSM Library - The Cancer Series

This story was the result of a request by a client of mine who possesses a cancer fetish. I couldn't identify with this scene he is into, however, I was intrigued enough to come up with the cross between Robin Cook and Dean Koontz-type horror, with a smattering of Clive Barker.

CONVERSION

(Part One of Three)

The plane touched down with a thud.

Atlanta International Airport, nice day.

It was so good to be home.

Cory stretched his long, muscular frame, forcing the seatback to submit to his six-foot four body. "I hate sitting still for that long," he muttered. Let's not have any more crap from "this man's army", he mused---I gotta life to get back to.

Cory was cute. Not only tall, but some said mysterious. His "light-skinneded" appearance (as his brotha friends put it) were the result of some real stirring up of the genetic pool. Cream in the coffee, mistresses, affairs, you name it. His mom always said that he'd grow into the mold--a womanizer, a cad, he loved it. Cory was real together. He knew what he wanted, and always got it.

Returning home from serving his country, he wanted tits and ass. After stopping off at his folks' house, and gathering up some supplies, he found a modest apartment, and was good to go.

It was great seeing his friends--turns out it was handy to.

His friend Tyrell found him work in less than a week. Hey, it was retail, but it put food on the table, clothes on his fine ass, and CD's in the entertainment center.And speaking of entertainment, his nuts were demanding some.

Nubio was hot--not only from all the house music, but so many bodies dancing, you could find anything! Cory always joked that he could shake it enough to wear his pants out, from the inside. "Hey, sugar," a dark voice piped up, just below his shoulder. "Well, hello," Cory turned and saw a fine young thing, staring up at him. "How's the weather up there, boy? she cooed; her tongue darting between wet lips. "It just got a whole lot better, my name's Cory. You with anyone?" "No, my boyfriend dogged me for some bitch. I'm Gina." Cory looked down at her, cataloging a medium-thin waist, and nice little breasts. He was always gettin' it from his friends, he really loved small ta-tas, and they all wanted those humongus mothers. No, not for him; those big bloated blimps ... you could smother under them. He loved to play with firm, juicy little breasts, he had the gift. The C man had a technique for driving women wild. OK, so he'd been outa touch while in the service, but that was about to change. Can't let technique go rusty. "You drinkin' anything angel?" "Oh, anything with lemon's just fine" "OO, I get to see you pucker up? Sure," Cory was feeling it--this one had possibilities. "Well," Gina played with her hoop earring, "Its either that, or a bottle of beer. And tonight, I don't feel like putting a bottle in my mouth. I can think of better things. Ya know, its Friday, all work and no gettin' busy makes Gina cranky." "Well," as he headed up to the bar, "we can't let that happen hmmm?" Gina smiled as she followed him; "oo, he's as nice comin' as he is goin'." I think I just gots lucky."

She didn't know just how wrong she was.

Cory couldn't believe it. He'd been browsing, never planning on being tied to any girl, but Gina was a trip. Man, a trip and a journey. She called him "cory long legs," and he turned several shades when she did. "More to wrap around ya, my little peaches," So, there it was, they were already laying down their favorite groove--this time it was different. Usually, Cory would meet 'em, date for a week or so, and by the weekend, he'd bust them out, real fine. But, damn! Gina was different. She liked to fuck, but she didn't love it. She really freaked when his joint was down her throat. Shit, that momma could suck him like a Hoover. She had a technique too. So, they'd have some good slow jazz going on, and they'd be head-to-toe. Cory was gettin' his rod pollished,meanwhile the C man was doin' his fave technique, those little peaches. Just the perfect size for his full lips and deep mouth. Gina was playing with her clit, while the feel of his long wet tongue and palate was kneading and squeezing her left breast. Then a tooth--one tooth, teased her nip. This caused her toes to curl, and with that, she grabbed his balls with one hand, fingering herself with the other, as she waited for her vanilla shake to come gushing out. And it did! She held her breath, counted, swallowed. She milked that cock for every drop, those balls were hers. She'd never been with any man who came like that. The second time they'd done it, she put a lip-lock on his long shaft, but lost it when he dove below. Cory wanted to sample Gina downtown. "ready for round-the-world baby?" When his hot breath touched her labia, she lost what she was doing, and a fountain of jiz spurted down her chin, coating her neck, and began to pool around her nipples. "My God," she thought. "Oh, baby, spew all over me!" Gina moved down several inches, damn, he was fuckin' tall all right. She placed Cory's still exploding cock between her fine tits---and began burying it between her cum-lubed cleavage.

Shit, it was still shooting out, hot and thick.

"Yes!" she screamed.

She was already thinking about round two!

Four months had passed, and they were an item.

Cory went from constant blue balls, all the time while in the Gulf, to almost exhausted, damn that bitch was hot. He'd usually go two rounds a night, the breast man would stretch it out, playing, fingering, making those little peaches his. But the C Man had apparently met his match, Gina had him in positions he'd never tried before. And she was getting a lot more than two mouthfuls a night. Last night was fuckin' hot! He'd gotten out of the shower, she came over half an hour early. She tackled him, as he bent to find his moccasins. She got him down on his bed, on his stomach. "Something new, my girlfriends have been thinking of tryin' she purred. She put a hand on each of his cheeks. "Yall think men are the only ones to fantasize about doin' this?" Cory wasn't used ta this, "this what, what this?" he stammered. "Hope you got real clean with that Palmolive, sweetie." She bent low, with his body sprawled on the bed, his cheeks spread out as she crawled between them. "Oh, shit," she was ... uh, "what the fuck?"He yipped, what was this? Her tongue began twirling around his butt. She gathered up some saliva, and began going deeper, letting her mouth lube him up. Before he knew it, Cory was getting the mother of all or uh, father of all hard-ons. Damn, it felt creepy, but ... then it wasn't so creepy. She pushed her face into his widening crack, tongue-fucking his asshole like a movie pro. "Cory, roll over a little, like on your side, there ya go." she sexily moaned. "I gotta try this, just go with it,"

She worked his sphincter with her tongue, then put a delicate finger up there. She quietly reached into his nightstand. "Eureka!" she thought. Astroglide! Oh, honey, you're gonna get it now, and if this works, so am I! "Shit shit shit!" Cory was speechless, couldn't even think right. He was always in control, he, the C Man! But this. He was as straight as Billy D, or Eddie Murphy, or Denzel, but shit! Whatever she was doing down there was great. Gina was taking her time, but always keeping a steady action going. After her wet tongue, Cory felt the entrance of one finger, then two. This went on for fifteen minutes, he guessed. "Now, she said, since I didn't bring any of my girl toys tonight, I wanna see if this works." "I thought I was your girl-toy." "You're my boy-toy, a girl toy is a ... big ol' rubber dick, or a vibrator. I got six. With us doing the wild thing every night, I gave up "big black Mambo", my ten-inch rubber toy. But a girl still needs a half dozen vibes, for those special moments. But, for you, this will work nicely." Just when Cory thought his ass would uh, do the doodie, she stopped all the motion, and repositioned herself so she could suck his raging boner. He had never felt so rock solid before. "This is a little secret I read about. she told him. "I'm leaving half my hand up here, and now, I'm gonna do this, just the way you like it." She took the mushroom head of his penis down her throat, and at the same time pushed her fingers, slick with Astroglide, as far up his throbbing butt as she could. She mashed his face into her boobs, moaning "take 'em Cory, suck your peaches now, now!" She began to undulate wildly, anchoring her hand inside him, while ferociously malling his huge cock. Harder, deeper, harder, he was about to go for one of his favorites; the nipples,deciding right or left, when this huge earthquake began in his groin. The base of Cory's balls began to ... to vibrate, to rumble, at least it felt like that. Then the taint, that little part between his ass and his balls, began to burn. Still, Gina kept going, on and on, sucking his dick, oh, what if it, what if she ...! Then he knew what she'd done. An orgasm began spreading up him, unlike anything he'd had before. This was different, instead of his balls sending it forward, this was his ass going kaboom kaboojm! What had she done? Cory began erupting like a semen volcano, and Gina was there to take the results She popped him out of her mouth, to watch, all this time however, never relinguishing his traumatized anus. Sploof!, splosh! She got the first two volleys in the face, then, to keep from getting an eye full, she shifted a bit. Six more, founts of goo, like cupfulls of hot whipped cream, beat against her chin, spreading like mountains of shaving cream, down her neck. She tore herself away from his weak claim of her breasts, and let the last shots cover them. She began massaging all of him into her skin, soaked fingers spreading and fingerpainting her upper body. He'd come huge amounts. It worked! She'd done it. She next, gathered up handfulls and greedily suck their contents from between her fingers. She was panting, rocking, quivering. As she scooped the last plops of his thick, rich sperm into her mouth, she sighed. Cory was spent,he couldn't bring her off. She didn't seem to mind, she only had to put a hand down there, and the release was like a freighttrain.

He couldn't believe this woman.

As they cleaned up, and got presentable, Cory asked her, "so, uh, what was all that. I don't feel so great about this." She stared at him, lips tight, arms folded. "You loved it didn't you?" "That's not the point, I'm straight. I can't have ... I can't do that!" "Well, don't get all outa shape Cory, I am a woman still, ya know." "Why did you---?" "Hey, chill OK! Listen up, maybe you'll learn something. I did that to see if you would, increase your orgasm, there's all these tricks for women to increase theres." He looked dubious. "look, the French have been doing this for centuries. I'm talkin' French Men, silly!" "Ya mean they shove things ... they fuck each other, that's fag stuff." "Oh sweet Jesus, its not fag stuff, if you enjoy it, of you do yourself, or if a woman does it, etcetera, blah blah.

Look, ever heard of the prostate. I'm no guy, but I do know that other guys use to like it when a finger was up there, it stretched their climax out a whole lot." Cory thought about that. "Well, it did that sure enough." He was beginning to agree, or rather, his body was. "I never felt so drained out, in my fuckin' life." "I know, I was there, remember."

They had dinner, and decided that TV sucked.

"Girl, I think I wanna sleep early tonight. Think you made me pull a muscle or somethin'". Gina laughed; "Yeah, right. Not use to it all yet huh?" Cory walked her to the door, scratched his head, kissed her nose. "Uh, sweetie, can you uh, ... do something for me tomorrow?" Gina let her grin go serious. "Sure, sugarpie, what kinda somethin? Cory stiffened and screwed up his courage. "Well, as long as its you and a ... will you put one of your vibrators up there tomorrow?" Gina burst out laughing. "OK, C Man!" she swooned. "If you'll bury me in what's in those beautiful balls you got there, I'll have you sitting pretty on THE ROCKET! Cory wondered what that was, and was about to sheepishly ask.

"Never mind, tomorrow's another day.

Oh," as she kissed him back on the chin, on tiptoe

"I think you better double up on the vitamin E and zinc.

I just might handcuff you to your peaches! If this keeps up, you might get real sick of 'em!" She left, skipping down the hall.

"No way," Cory whispered, smiling. "no way in Hell."

Well, the taming of the C Man wasn't quite like what he'd envisioned. Shit, if this was being tamed, he wanted more. Gina had Cory almost busting in two, almost bo-legged. He was breast-mounting her, 69ing her, riding his booty on her sex toys while being sucked into Heaven--wow! Before long, the ring came. Two little garnet peaches, with a CZ (he told her diamond) for each nipple, and white gold as the areolae. "Gina, I wanna be yours, no other girl makes me this crazy, I don't even think of bustin' ... uh, doing, ... being with any other when I'm out with the guys. Well, Gina almost fainted, but said yes.

So, after too much wine and seafood (she promised him he'd need it later), off they went in his little car, full and happy. They sprawled across the sofa, watching some news story about some nation bombing some other. It didn't matter, nothin' mattered but each other. As Gina began taking off her top, Cory playfully took her hands, and with his hands occupied, began to tear her top off, with his teeth. Pthish is harder than ii looksh." "Ow, hey, the fabric is digging my, stop it!" She wriggled out of her blouse, and laid back to drink in the air conditioning. Cory gazed hypnotically, his own private set of peaches. Nice perky peaches. Juicy freckled pee ... what was this? He looked closer.

"What's the matter?

"Nothing, the fabric--I guess I was too rough!

"Silly, give me some time for the food to digest, I'm not wa what are you looking at me like that about?" "Sweetie, your, uh, your ti br your breasts don't look the same." Gina began to lose the high, and the food stopped moving. "Hey, don't get weird, its like when you fall asleep, and the pattern of the bedspread gets on your skin? Or like a ... uh, you know, when you get out of the car, and your back looks like the seat fabric?" "I don't think so, Gina, something doesn't look right. It isn't good." Now, an icy hand began to close over the back of Gina's neck. "Oh, you gonna make me get up--let me go see. Worry-wart!" As Gina padded barefoot into the bathroom, "mirror, mirror, now we'll see." Cory muted the TV, and felt strange. Sick? No, nervous? Maybe, kinda, kinda like butterflies. Like when you are going to a new place for the first time, or meeting someone new. That was it. "Ugh, what is this on me?" He heard coming from the bathroom. She came running out, "look at this. My skin's all funny, kinda puckery, all tough like a ... a something cooked too long from a microwave." Cory stood up, and approached her. Cory looked down at her boobs, touching them now. "Hey, no need to worry, its probably a rash, or a nerve thing, like hives." There wasn't anything to feel there. "Hey, its OK, it'll clear up soon. I can't feel anything." Gina examined herself, nothing. "Shit, you had me worried, I thought, you know. Girl stuff, all that rotting stuff." Cory went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He began to smile, He liked her peaches, and now, they were changing into something else. He liked that too.

A week went by, a very wet, soggy rainy week. How bummed. Everything sucked. Gina took a new job, and she was all out of sorts. Cory couldn't get her to come over every night, she needed to unwind, she needed to relax, she she she! But, what about him. He needed to do the vibrator bounce. He really loved that thing, his fine black ass clenching that thing, as she chowed down on him, he'd push against the hard sex-toy, pile-driving the cum out of him. He watched as she swallowed, and swallowed, at least twelve times. And it was all from his glorious shaft. Yeah. And those mystery tits---couldn't call 'em peaches now, they were different. The funny marks and discolourings were increasing. He didn't tell her, he thought it was serious. He felt a little guilty, but since there were as of yet, no nuggets or weird things in there--whatever you call 'em, he let it go.

He would masturbate after she'd leave, even after all that sucking and cum pouring out--there was always more. , he'd beat off to the thought of those blotchy, dimpley peaches. This last night was so way, cool! He'd painted her chest with his seed, feeling the strange Braille under his fingers. Braille that wasn't there, a week ago. He really liked them, they were unique. And they were his.

They had plenty of time, and they were off to meet her parents this week.

It would all work out.

Cory met Lalin and Carlos, Gina's parents. They were nice, they liked him. Cory was the perfect gentleman. "I'd never get rough with your daughter, sir. Not unless she wants me to," he said to her dad. Gina was embarrassed, but laughed and said "Yeah, well, he doesn't know what rough is; yet!" "Oh, just you wait young man, she'll have you doing the dishes soon," her mother chortled. Cory thought, yeah, never mind the dishes, I want to do those bazooms, real good."

Cory and Gina went to an r-&-b concert, it was great. Gina's hair glistened, her peaches ring glowed, Cory beamed---solid asa rock, she's mine. They're mine. As darkness fell, Cory was on his knees, declaring oaths of love to her little beauties. "I, Cory take this left one, to be my lawful mouth toy. He unzipped, and threw off his shorts. He began pushing the head of his penis into the left breast. I take this right one, which I now name Oprah, to suck on, to play with, to do this ...yeah, om" He opened his mouth wide, to inhale the right breast. "Why yall callin' that oprah?" Gina wanted to know. Cory thought for a moment, "just the first name that came into my head." He thought to himself, well, since its now bigger than the left one, why not? He began kneading with his tongue, and there! A hard knot. Cory dropped his left hand to his ever-growing shaft. He had to breath through his nose, with his mouth completely full of breast--nice chunky breast. "Oh, oh, my, wait a minute. Let me get comfortable" Gina said. She disentangled herself from him. She casually brushed her left breast, "oh, you men! dripping spit all over me, yuck." She stopped--eyebrows raised. "What this shit?" Cory, looked over, questioning her sudden change of expression. "What's going on, my right nipple is lower than---! Oh, my God, what the hell is this?" Cory said "ah, its ok, you must have had your bra on too tight." "I should know if my ... get offa me! My left one feels funny!" She kicked out with her heels, rising up in a hurry, running into the kitchen, thank God for 100-watt bulbs. "Jesus Christ, what the fu---Cory, you bastard, what have you done?" "Hey, I didn't do anything, what the fuck you shrieking about? A silent minute crept by, while Gina examined herself. "I gotta lump, its ... its my nipple!" Cory ran into the kitchen, clamped her small frame into his long athletic arms, and carried her into the bedroom. He pinned her down, threw her open clothing off of her, and began nuzzling her misshapened breasts.

"What are you doing?" she screamed. "I gotta see someone."

He began by sitting on her stomach, which knocked the wind out of her. His long penis found its nest between the breasts he'd been pining for.

"I gotta have these!" he hissed.

"You don't know. So nice, small, and different than any other girl's" He began to hump her breasts, all the months of prostate tickling had taught his body to pre-cum at a moment's notice. He began dripping, lubing her tits. "Oh, Gina, I need it!" He squeezed the two little globes, now, vissibly malignant, burying his throbbing bone. "I love them, I want ta feel the..."

Cory began kneading, roughly probing, for what he knew would be there. Ah, he found one, two. Now the right one---"yes!" Another couple. "Oh, gina, its a family!" He moaned, as the furious humping of her rib cage increased, his very long legs all the while, constricting her from speaking, and for the most part, breathing. Gina gasped.

"What the f.. what are you talking about, Cory! don't do this to me. You knew?" "Its a family, there's more comin' we don't need to have kids. I'll play with these, and look after them and---" Cory was rearing up, putting the weight on his knees and elbows now, as he readied a cataclysmic ejaculation. "No!" Gina cried, the hot, salty tears going everywhere, tasting horrible. He stiffened, his ass clenching; then a monsterous warm spray, as pre-cum exploded into Gina's face. She stopped trying to scream, as hot semen entered her nose and eyes, temporarily stunning her. "Oh, Gina, I can take care of you, you're my only one." Cory was still grinding into her, his tennis-ball size testicles preparing yet more. Then Gina felt something strange. Amid all this, she felt, like ... hot, pepper? No, more like /Vix or ... "ow, ow!" she screamed. What was this? Now, Cory's climax was in full swing, every half-second, round after round of thick gelatinous goo landed on Gina, he would free one hand from his weight, just long enough to squoosh it into her breasts. "Oh, that's good, so good!" he panted. "Cory, no!, its wrong!" His semen burned, but why? Cory still wasn't finished. He knew he could do round two! ... just needed a toy, a dildo. There wasn't anything within reach, so he did the only thing that he could think of. He gave Gina a quick fist to the head, knocking her back on the bed. He took her bare foot, grabbed a handfull of previously released jism, and caked it onto her foot. He then spread his cheeks wide, and knew they were in prime condition from all the months of foreplay with her. He rammed her foot, past the ankle, deep into his vibrating ass. That did it! His body, quite familiar by this time, with Gina's toys, brought his C Man erection back to life. ... and what life!

"Oh, that's it!"

Cory felt the stirring deep in his nuts.

He sat back, enveloping Gina's foot into the soft mucosa of his warm wet hole. "Hey, guys?" he yelled to aparitions only he could see. "Here's something too manly for yall! Ya gotta be man enough to give it, and to take it.! Cory rocked, clenched, pushed! He began violently pumping his cock, then the other hand, grabbing, squeezing, kneading what were once healthy breasts. It hit him, right between the eyes--this is what he craved. He pummeled and tortured the lumpy tissue, feeling hard noggules and loose, free-moving THINGS, he wasn't sure what they were.---only that he wanted to devour them.

He felt the gathering storm, internally, a storm only he could feel. As he readied himself, he thought, "this is all mine!" The geyser overtook them both, like a tsunami, spewing everywhere, smothering them both in a huge, coaggulating viscous puddle of passion. Gina was still unconcious, mercifully, when Cory's neanderthal tumult for release broke her ankle; still deep inside him---the spasmic bulldozing, crushing her foot.

Cory was in recovery.

When Carlos found out from his daughter what had happened, he did what he said he'd do. He put Cory in the hospital. Two fractures, stitches, so much blood. Gina's mother was in shock. Double hidious! How could her daughter have B.C., and have that horrible lout do that to her?

As Gina's father waited outside, out the door walked the doctor. "Well, how is she, what ... is there hope?" His face fell, when he saw the doctor's grim expression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tibbs, he said, his jaw set. "Something has given her an accelerated mutagenic reaction. Something, I'm not sure just what, has caused the cancerous tissue within her breasts to grow at an alarming rate. Has your daughter been exposed to anything? Darkroom chemicals? Solvents? Experimental drugs? "na... no." "there must be something. This isn't natural." He sighed, and looked up to see the nurse walking toward him.

"Doctor, these are the test results. HIS results!" The nurse spat. She turned and walked away.

"Oh, my God. The doctor lost his grip upon the bundle of papers. "Your perspective son-in-law? He has a cocktail, in his bloodstream, and within every other bodily fluid he possesses. Stay right here, that was the missing piece of the puzzle. I have a theory. The doctor ran into intensive care, and saw that Gina was awake, doped up---but awake. "Gina, hi, how ya doin'? Tell me, did you engage in sex with Cory?" The nurse came in. "Doctor, her ankle has been set, but, we're still counting the breaks in her left foot. What did that animal do to her?" The doctor looked at Gina's charts, at the foot of her bed. "Jesus h. Christ, judging from this uh ... residue ... matter they took when they prepped her ankle, I'd say little angel in the other room there, used her foot as a, ... uh a, dildo!" Gina, dizzy and queasy came fully awake, just then. "Oh, I hurt, all over. That son of a bitch did to me," "Gina, this is important, did you have sex with him?" "Yeah, sure, we were engaged., we did everything, dozens of times." She looked puzzled.

"Why? My breasts are more important than that asshole."

The doctor was about to count his own teeth.

"Well, near as I can tell, you must have had oral sex then?" "Yeah, I thought that was less serious, or less, um, of a commitment than, you know? going all the way. Why? You haven't told me, what's this all about? Why? Why?"

"OK, Gina, here it is straight.

Your Romeo in there, was in the Gulf War.

From what I can tell, and from what's on that chart in there, he's loaded with combinations of chemicals. They're all through him Gina. I'm sorry." Gina remembered the burning of his semen on her skin. "Oh, god no! You really mean ... they're all through ME don't you. "Me, in me!" "How much oral s sex did you ...?" Gina's heart sank. She remembered now, with crystal clarity---the little technique she had been so proud of. "Milking the prostate,"" that bitch friend of hers called it. Now look what it did ... did to HER? We did dozens, I taught him how ta ...oh! I swallowed pints. Pints! Quarts! Oh, I'm gonna be sick."

The doc stood there, his heart hammering in his chest.

He thought, You sure are gonna be sick, my poor girl,"

Aloud, he said, "We must consult with your parents. Gina, I'm sorry. You must be strong."

Gina had two lumpectomies later that week.

Her parents, daring to hope, prayed that was the end of it. Cory, disgraced, left town, in shame. No one in Atlanta, ever heard from him

About two months afterwards, Gina was getting her life back together. She gave up going to bars. Her foot took another eighteen weeks to heal properly. That limp--she was so glad to be rid of it.

With no more lame foot, and that bastard Cory out of her life, Gina decided she wanted to take an art course. She did commit herself to give a few short speeches at different Breast Cancer Awareness, and fund raising functions. She felt that since she'd triumphed over the grim reaper, and kept her breasts in the process, it was the least she could do.

It was autumn, and the sun was permitting only a cold, grey day. Gina filled out the scholarship paperwork, and dropped it off. It would be fun, and shouldn't learning be fun, after all?

Gina went in search of a nice healthy lunch, and decided to keep her promise to her one doctor--that she would look him up. She found a large, exotic-looking she guessed, West Indian doctor. "May I help you, Miss?" he asked in a lilting singsongy voice. "Yes, I am looking for doctor Howard. "Oh, I am taking over his rounds and future cases, he's on leave for personal reasons." Gina felt a twinge--"bad omen?" then allowed it to pass.

She was being silly; these things happen all the time. Its called turnover, duh!

Doctor Coliacon sat her down in his office, and said in that clipped island-speak of his, "Just take a minute, and we'll see that you're all ship-shape, hey?" The doctor picked up his scope, and examined the marks left by Gina's surgery, less than a year ago. "Very good, no abnormalities!" He next palpated, kneaded, and expertly probed her left breast. "Oh, dear, somebody has just wished you very bad fortune, my dear." He stopped what he was doing, made some enigmatic sign of the hand, and proceeded to examine her right breast. This aprasal took far less time. "I regret to inform you, Miss Tibbs, your malignancies have returned. We must do bloodwork immediately." Gina was horror-struck. "My classes, my future!" The doctor looked like a statue; a very, serious statue.

10.

They tried.

Gina lost both breasts to the onslaught.

Two weeks later, her CA-137 levels went through the roof.

Her ovaries soon fell victim to the wild, unchecked chaos, so antagonistic to a healthy body. Later, with only brief remissions, through chemistry and radiation, Gina gave up her uterus. The histerectemy was not the end of it. Somehow, by some horrible chemical imbalance, thanks to Cory's tainted emissions, her lymph system became a treasonous weapon of mass bodily destruction.

There was nothing anyone could do.

Vrykolakas

7 July 2002

1-35PM

In this continuation of "the Cancer Series", this time we find two men carrying the silent vehicle for giving every woman they meet a fatal stigmata. One intrepid doctor is determined to solve this mystery, but can she root out the cause in time?

Leora's Quest

"What is ruining all these women?" Doctor Leora Savatelli was pacing again. "Godamned police won't listen to me. Again." She fumed, ready to pull her hair out. Seventeen women had come into Bricktown Medical Center in the past month. Seventeen! All had had cancer of varying degree. She couldn't believe the statistic---seventeen women? Four women were on the road to recovery, with only small 1.5 centimeter lumps being removed. Three more had each lost one breast each, but it looked like they'd gotten it all. That left ten. Oh, Christ, those ten! Leora had never seen such ravaging. Three petite little girls, all under age 23, both mamaries gone forever. Five more had lymph node involvement, severe reconstructive surgery was what they had to look forward to. And even if the scars could be dealt with, what if the malignancy had compromised them?

What if?

Then there were the two fatalities. The women who had wandered in, only three weeks ago, the ones that had started this horrible pattern. Susanne was gone, a host to huge, splitting, rupturing tumours. Eilene, 26, struck down before reaching 30, was so far advanced that even radiation and chemicals combined wouldn't work. Leora reminded herself, "I must stop conjuring up that image," Eilene had expired, two sagging masses of wild tissue, there in plain sight, for all to see. And when they were sent down to pathology, oh sweet mother of God, greasy lipids, ropey tendrils swimming in fluids, yet to be analyzed; marble-sized lumps numbering half a dozen! It was too much. Expired? no, died. Yes, died! And she couldn't stop it. --Or slow it down. Or even get a handle on what was causing it. She threatened to go back to biting her nails down to the quick. "Stupid, fat oaf of a detective!" She was certain that after this call, she was on the police's "chronic complainer" list, the never-talked-about list that brands you as "crying wolf, ignore it". But there was something. There had to be!

Over a dozen women, in one small town? All at once?

Oh, they'd checked all right.

"No common work environment,"

"No trace of industrial chemicals,"

"No odd toxins, no tainted this, no tainted that," Blah, blah, blah. She was reminded by both the cops, AND her hospital administrator, "You're not an investigative reporter, or a detective, or an epidemiologist, back off." Well, fuck you all!" she growled, "I won't back off." She reached for her blazer, then the light switch--turned to lock up. "How can I back off?" she audibly questioned. What she inaudibly whispered was, "I just know there'll be more. This isn't the end of it."

She was right.

There would soon be many more.

it was not the end of it---

in fact, it was just the beginning.

II.

Anthony loved his life. Twenty-two, hot shit kick ass! He and his best bud, they did it. They survived school together, as well as the armed forces. They'd gotten out of New York, high prices, whining jews, two-bit vigilantes, all that crud. Crud everywhere. Yeah, they'd done it good. Moved down here to Bricktown. Not a one-horse town, but at the same time, not a congested city either. And the women, oh, the women! His tongue traced the confines of his mouth, as he primped in the mirror. What was that ol' ... Wine, women and song? Well, wine was OK, and fuck! If she tries to sing, put a bag over her face, and do it for Wal-Mart! hahaha! And doin' it was what his Friday night was gonna be.

Nick hung up the phone. He loved hangin out with Anthony, he called him Antny---like in the show Cheers. That's what Karla called her eldest son. They were a great pair, alike in so many ways, yet different. Anthony was five-seven, built like a little soccer player. He could put away as much all-you-can-eat from the Olive Garden as Nick could. Nick always wondered "where did all that food go?" Nick was six-one, black hair, intimidating Sicilian great looks. Some women found his appearance frightening, he could always tell. Oh, the price of being a devastating love magnet. While he was the outgoing, loud, big love magnet, his bud Anthony was the shorter, quieter suave woman-hunter. Together, they'd set out to terrorize the town, Nick swooping down, scooping up his catch-of-the-night, while Anthony, cool and quiet stalked his prey. They were a great team, big and small, studs to the end. And tonight was gonna be a start of a big weekend. A "bring your own body" orgy was happening. Nick really wanted his last conquest Adriana, whom he just met, and scored with just three weeks ago, to meet him there. But, she opted out, complaining she had the flu or some shit. Anth called to tell him that Marzee wasn't showing either, dumb twat had some rash! Great, hope he wasn't about to get it---it was just ten days ago that they'd done the nasty. So, with both babes out o' commission, it was time to round up some new stuff. This was gonna be a combo of rave, swinging singles bash, shit! probably anything goes, and comes. Nick located his suede shoes, and as he bent to put them on, he patted his pole-vaulter "down boy, the night's still young."

It was a big-ass warehouse. You could get lost in it.

Musta been over 90 people there, and more were driving in.

In one room, Anthony was sitting astride a brunette, nice medium breasts; he could feel them on his thighs as he fed it to her. She was servicing him real good, he liked the main course after the intro the best. As he shot a major load down her, he was already thinking of what would come next. So many guys he'd known couldn't wait to get off, and that was it. They didn't know his secret, "the whore's secret" as his father use to call it. The second time takes a lot longer, so get the first one out of the way. Then you could go for an hour, if ya wanted. Lori was swallowing greedily, as he relaxed his riding. As he pulled out of her mouth, she began wiping her lips. "Hey, Lori, what would you think of me if I did this?" Anthony got up on one knee, and proceeded to clean off his member with her long, brown hair. "See ya a little later huh?" He got up, pulled up his pants, zipped up, and went looking to see what his bud had found.

Nick was easy to spot, there were three girls, and two guys, all high on ex, and the little circle was entranced, watching big old Nicholas, drooling on one set of huge knockers, while tit-pounding another pair. Leave it to Nick, woa! Two girls! He just had to get a close-up. "Hey, Nicholas! Give it to her!" As Nick forced his big veined rod between two succulent girl mounds, other girls started shrieking, and the guys started wolf whistling. A cascade of big hair got in his way, so Anthony didn't see the first barrage. But he guessed, everyone else did. When she moved her butt to take on a guy she was with, then Anthony saw it. This blonde's bazongas were covered with cream. Shit, she looked like someone emptied a tub of Cool-whip! A mousey little girl, apparently Nick's girl's companion, began to play with it, spreading it around her friend's breasts, licking her fingers, cooing all the while, "oo, its so gooey!" Nick got up, looking down at his handywork. "Woa, not bad, and I'm just getting started. I need a drink."

Four hours later, the ex was all taken, drinks were getting piss warm, and both buds had had enough for tonight. "I'm partied out for now," Nick said. "Yeah, let's go home, I wanna get some sleep, tomorrow night's the pudding wrestling! And I ain't missing that"" As they walked towards the exit, sweat-drenched shirts clinging to both their bodies, Nick stopped and turned; he had an idea. "I feel like its time for the brown beauty joke," Anth dropped his lower lip. "Oh, no, you go ahead, I don't really want to watch." "Its cool, I spotted a black-haired girl behind us, she's perfect!" Nick's tall frame made its way over to a corner of one of the rooms. There, he spotted a girl in fishnets. She was out cold, curled up. "That's not safe, sis," he laughed. "Anything could happen," With that, he backed up, pulling down his jeans, and squatted over her. "Hey, ... matches your hair baby! hahaha!" He rejoined his friend, and they walked out into the cool night air, as the gray light of the on-coming dawn began to appear. "I don't know why you think that's so funny, dude," Anthony said, punching his friend's arm. "Hey, asleep like that, and all? She'll never know who did it. She might even think she did. That's the funny part."

Saturday night was a big success too. Both guys took on two girls apiece, this time there was THC along with the ex, and Nick got some GHB from somewheres. "Hey, Yllona, is it pudding, or is it me? haha!" Anthony didn't do too badly either, he scooped up huge globs of pudding, mixed with his man juices, and slathered two girls with it all. There was a blond limp-wristed queen there, and Anth just had to show him how truly bad,pudding is as a lube. Ouch, sorry honey, too big for ya? Next time, stop staring at my ass while I'm doing a girl." The two guys got four phone numbers from girls they'd taken on that night. "Hey, let's meet for brunch, or something," Lisa, Audrey, April and Janna were all hyper, and promised everything. They were happy.

III.

Doctor Savatelli was overjoyed, her first break in all this crap. True, none of the girls afflicted were related by workplace, colour, age or diet---however, she had pumped the parents and the hospital computers enough to find out that all those girls---every one of them had visited "the Sure Thing" club. That was a start. Maybe something in the pipes, the fog machines? Something! She got into her little blue Citation and purred off to check out the club. Answers were there, she felt. Her job was to find them.

IV.

Janna was excited, what a hunk! She thought brunch was a great idea. She towelled off, that Olay shower jel was yummy. It smelled like vanilla and berries together. Now, if only it didn't make her skin itch. Oh, well, Nick was worth it.

She began drying her hair, eyeing the cute little pants suit she'd just laid out to wear. . . . . . .

Audrey thought Anthony was crude, rough, coarse, and ... and if she kept it up, she'd wet her drawers again. Why am I attracted so much to that?" She rummaged through her closet, oh, bloody Marys would sure hit the spot. She absent-mindedly patted the area around her nipples---"can't imagine I'm sensetive to pudding. I gotta put some baby oil on this."

. . . . . . . .

April was a party girl, and a party brunch on the morning after was gonna kick major butt. She inhaled the Pantene scent, a bit overdone, she'd have ta make sure not to have her perfume clash with it. As she rinsed off, and scrubbed the last vestiges of Dyle from her skin, "ow!" she yipped, sounding like a hurt puppy. "what the fuck?" She felt around THERE, her areole, and then under her breasts. "Whew, I got that damn insult dermatitis again." She relaxed a bit, after remembering the last episode. She went to her drmatologist, and he gave her a nice soothing cream, with orders not to keep switching shampoos and new soaps every week. That's all it was! Don't need no STD rash thing.

. . . . . . .

Lisa was a little apprehensive, she already knew Janna from the Gap, and April from school. Oh, well, Nick was worth it, she just had to get some more of that. Hmmm, she mused, can you o.d. on cum? Nah! She pulled on a wool sweater, beige slacks, so slimming, and her newest flats. Yay, a hot outfit at a bargain price. "Damn, this sweater!" She was scratching a lot like, all night. "I didn't wear this sweater last night," she thought. Don't tell me my fabric softener did this. She looked toward her wardrobe, and decided to go with an oatmeal-coloured top, fuck the sweater. Besides, oatmeal is soooo slimming. Yum. As she tore off the offending garment and heaved it onto the floor of the wardrobe, she glanced down at her breasts, those were her pride and joy. Never saggy, so big! All men drooled for them. Screw those feminists, haha, pun intended. Feminists were either dykes in grrls' clothing, or they were so ugo or psycho that they couldn't get a man, so they resented it. I like my breasts, and I like everything they bring me." As she tried to satisfy the reddening itchiness of her lovely breasts, she thought of Nick's big mushroom head, emptying huge streams down her throat. "Yeah, after brunch, its dessert time ... cream, hold the coffee!"

. . . . . .

"I love eggs Benedict!" sighed Lisa. Its so ... so,"

"You like it, Lis, because the hollandaise is so creamy, like lots of things," responded Audrey. "So Nicholas, care ta work off all that coffeecake?"

Janna teased.

"Only if you and Lisa will prime the machinery with some girl action." "Sounds good." Lisa shot back. "Well, I'll take this economy model, right here." Audrey poked Anthony in the ribs, "and April honey, do you think there's ... um, enough of him for the two of us?" "Sure, after what I saw last night, and well, if he can handle the both of us." "Shit yeah, the question is; will both yous girls survive it?" They all laughed, as Lisa went all glassy-eyed. "Oh, great, Lisa's gonna have ta change her panties, even before we start." Audrey sang. "Hey," Nick said. "speaking of that, do ya know what would happen if women didn't have nice, long legs? They'd leave snail trails, ha ha ho ho ho!" "Yuck, keep it up, if you want to keep your balls," Janna scolded. "Oh, don't threaten those, dear. That's the only good part of him." April said. "Let's go."

. . . . . . .

Nick had the bigger spread, so they all converged there.

After he poured a huge punchbowl of screwdrivers, shoes went flying, and tops came off. Lisa wriggled and jiggled, April made animal noises and crawled around ending up over Anthony's face, Janna decided on the belly dancer approach--"Shakira, eat this!", and Audrey opened the bag of vibrators. "OK, about that girl-to-girl action! I think ... holy shit!" Lisa stopped her gyrating and looked over at Janna "Honey, did you have a bad day with a sunlamp?" "Huh?" Everybody stopped what they were doing. Janna's skin around and over her breasts was ... was red and peeling. Flinching from the sight of it, coveting her own huge ones, Lisa looked at her own, and saw---two different discolorings, and a ... a kind of funny insect bite marks. Now, the guys stood up, and approached the two silent women. Audrey quit fondling the dildo she'd chosen, and touched herself up there. "What the hell?" She pawed the left one, then the right, then the left. Anthony came over, and grabbed, trying to figure it out. "Hey, this one has things in it!" "What do ya? Huh?" April ran from Nick, into the bathroom. A blood-curdling scream reverberated from down the hall. "Oh, oh, it can't be!" Lisa ran to her, and understood those sacred hand signals, every girl understands. She gently took April's hands away from the defensive position they had taken. She stared in horror. "What in God's name is that?" It was like a third breast, a huge lump, but IN BETWEEN April's breasts, it shared about a quarter of both, intruding on one side of each one. They didn't look like breasts anymore. Neither one matched each other, and the large forbidding chunk of flesh in the middle of them; totally disfigured her natural cleavage. Lisa, the biggest of them all, began examining herself. It couldn't be, it just co... what were the odds? "All of us?" wailed Janna. Lisa, with the most to lose, broke out in cold sweats, and was about to throw up. She had detected a hard round thing in her left, and a squishy, free-moving long thing in her right one---her wonderful breasts! "What did this?" she shrieked. Anthony ran over to April, as Nick looked closely at Audrey. "Jesus H. Christ!" His mouth dropped open. There, where once, perfect nipples greeted the world, was an entire new landscape. One nipple was moved aside, to make way for a golf-ball shape of SOMETHING!

He held his breath, as he dared look at the right breast. Audrey began to cry, as she saw Nicholas turn white, and look away. Her right breast was scored with spots, and they were expanding, weeping watery trails, like second-degree burns would do. "What is this?" was all she could sob. As she put her hands to her face, sniffling, her bare arms brushed the misshapen blistering clumps, that were once her breasts. As her arms pressed them, the goo began oozing down her arms, dripping onto the rug. She fainted.

"Well, that was a downer," Anthony said, as he opened his door for the two of them. "Yeah, I don't get it. Is it the nutrasweet, or some shit?" "All four of them, yuck, I'm glad I didn't touch that stuff that dripped out of her, you never know." "I wanna watch the game, kick back a case of beer. I gotta forget this shit," The door closed.

Doctor Savatelli was dumbstruck! What, again?

Four more?

She'd just gotten back from a leisurely and unofficial trip to club "sure thing". Nothing, nothing! Then her page went off--Brenda wouldn't call if it wasn't serious. And it was. Four new cancer horrors, all admitted at once, by two men, after they'd had a morning get-together---how was possible? Lisa Coe, Janna Rennolds, Audrey Hersch and April Rodham, all in very bad shape! And she, for the first time in her professional life, hadn't a clue.

VI.

Dare was good. He had it goin' on, he could pass as guy or girl. He was the next RuPaul, he knew it. All the miss thangs, the madonna wanabes, screw 'em. He could do a number for half an hour at any show bar, then take on three tricks, then go to greasy Denny's and leave a $20 bill, and never think twice. The evening was commin' on, as evenings in Jersey Shore towns do, and Dare was putting her foundation on. So glad she waited. Doing that black dude was a little more involved than she thought, but the hundred bucks was nice vacation money. Bora Bora blowjob. Yummy. But hot damn, if that brotha's juice didn't taste like Altoids. Shitmother! He must've eaten the whole box. Oh, well, better that than garlic. He'd had one of those recently, and that one had given him gas.

. . . . . . .

Dare wasn't use to this. He/she'd been dancing and lip-synching for only ten minutes, and shit, she was nausious! She romped and jiggled, Whitney was so easy to jiggle to, so was Janet. Must be lunchtime's mayo. Great, bad chicken salad? All I need."

. . . . . .

Cory was exploring; enjoying this bi-curious thing.

He still liked to bust girls, but guys were so ... muscular, you could ride 'em for hours, and with what he was packin' the bigger mouth on most guys was nice. He'd just challenged this Dare creature---and damn if she hadn't taken everything he sent into her, this was the only time he'd ever stayed hard enough to keep going, until his round two hit. Usually, he'd screw a woman, rest up, then the C Man's tool was ready.

But not tonight. He was knocking down this new herbal combo; fo-ti, gotu kola, ginkgo, some other shit. He didn't need any recovery time any more. He just kept pumping bolts of juice down this guy. Both of them thought it would never stop. "Didn't fill you up did I?" This guy didn't know how true that question nearly was. "Oh, no, I enjoy giving a guy his money's worth. See ya around town, handsome."

. . . . . . .

Dare was really off. She was losing the rhythm, bad lipping is worse than no lipping. She was having hot rushes, cold sweats, what the fuck was this? "If I get sick, I'll lose money for my vacation. Sometimes, uttering an oath causes it to happen. "If I'm getting the flu, I'll die." How ironic! The universe took note. Dare didn't know just how right she was.

VIII.

Doctor Togarashi's phone buzzed.

Yes?

He never liked saying hello.

"How's Mr. Darovich doing?

I see, what about blood gases?

Hmmm. Do an electro-phoresis, then if you would please, run a slide by splitting off an amino fraction. Very good.

This was odd. His most unusual patient.

Mr. Stan Derovich, or "Dare" as he was known to friends and his various audiences, was a medical anomaly. He was pre-op of course, but the hormone supplementation shouldn't cause this. He was growing rounder, more feminine, which is as expected. But then, this! He was developing gynomastic formations---breasts. Very good. But then all hell broke loose. Cancerous lumps were growing, setting up housekeepping, ... and they were real serious on staying in the neighbourhood!

. . . . . . .

Marzee Felton was pissed. "Damn Italian stallion gave me shingles, or herpes. She was applying Calamine by the pint, ick! when it hardened, it felt like dried mud, caked on her skin. But at least it stopped the itching. She dressed, and headed to the bank. "This time, I'm ready," she dared the universe. "If I'm gonna handle money, I've got Isotoner gloves against all the germs. Let's see anything happen now!" Most times, challenges to the invissible are ignored. Then, inexplicably, other times, they are answered. Had Marzee known better, she might not have aserted herself that way. She had no idea that as she walked along, taking in the beautiful spring day, lines were being drawn, things were set in motion, A war was declared; And her body was in the middle of it all.

. . . . . . . .

Adriana Vorheise was totally out of it. She did manicure, and the flu didn't go over too well in her profession. Creepy flu to. Her armpits hurt, her hoo-hoo hurt down there, and something she'd never had in her life was hurting too. On each side of her neck, a couple inches below her earlobes, something like a little knot. All these little aches added up to a real bitch anda half. All those little aches also added up to keeping her from noticing OTHER CHANGES. She gulped down three more slugs of Niquil. Maybe that'd help. At least she wasn't coughing or running or hacking. She could go to work, ok, she'd feel like shit, but she had to go to work.

. . . . . . .

Leora was walking back from rounds, and passed the ER coridor. She almost smacked right into that little doc, what's his name? Sashimi, sushi, ... ah, Togarashi. "Oops, doctor Togarashi, I'm so sorry, I was off a million miles away." "Very sorry, my fault also. I am running around mentally, I have a distracting patient. Will you walk with me to ER? "Of course, tell me what's troubling you."

As the two physicians rounded the corner, a bonging sound was heard. An ambulance, no. Two of them, were heading in. "Oh, great, wailed an intern. It never ends." "Hmmm, let's see if we can do some triage." said Leora Savatelli. "I agree, must have been an automobile accident or the like."

Stretchers and e-med men were everywhere.

The ambulances only had one person onboard each.

Two women, mouths full of thermometers, BP cuffs, the usual. "Nurse, status please." ordered Leora. "We have two girls, both have severe disfiguring conditions." "What kind of accident?" enquired doctor Togarashi. "We don't know, both were at work. One is a bank teller, the other does nails." Doctors Savatelli and Togarashi attended, pulling back the drape material. They both gasped in unison. One woman, caked in coatings of poison ivy treatment, was in a bad way. Her breasts were strange -looking

"Look at me, no one will ever ... want me!" Marzee screamed. Her breasts were covered in little holes, as if a tool had made small dents. No! More like those holes were caused by tissue being eaten away from within. Leora kneaded, felt for---yes, shit! there they were. Scattered lumps. Doctor Togarashi looked over at her, looking up from his charge. "This one, this Adriana Vorheise, has incredible tissue damage. The breasts are all spoiled from inside. I count cysts, that I do not need to examine to know---they must be removed! Now! Adriana shook violently, as her bladder lost control. Six feet to her left, Marzee, half-hearing this, began to gasp; hyperventilating.

"My god, its happening again!" Leora said through clenched teeth. "Oh, I meant to explain to you before we were interrupted. I have a trans-sexual patient, pre-op, male to female, who is undergoing this exact same thing!" He saw Leora turn clammy white with shock. "Doctor, I have something to tell you." she slurred."

She added up the original ten, then Janna, Audrey, April and Lisa, now these two, and his transie.) Your patient makes number seventeen." Now, it was the good Japanese doctor's turn to pale.

IX.

Doctor Orocu Togarashi stared, unbelieving, at the strange new never-before-seen macro-cancers on his table. His patient, Dare, was full of it. His dream of obtaining a body in which he could finally gain some peace, shattered forever. There were so many horrors going on inside him at this moment, no one knew how to even begin treatment.

The samples of this cancer looked like square-sided kernels, much like cooked wild rice grains. Leora Savatelli gazed at them, then back at her latest tissue cultures. Marzee and Adriana were at this moment, being prepped for breast surgery, but there wasn't much hope. Dare's entire blood system was now a septic river. Marzee had tennis-balls under each armpit. Adriana's nipples both were blackened bits, as if cooked from within by an unseen torch. Leora was losing her mind. When did it go from "How?" to

"How much more?"

How many more cases would there be, wheeled through those doors? How much more horror could she take?

XI.

After "that thing" in Atlanta, Cory ran.

He ran like a cheap pantyhose.

He ran like Del Taco food through ya.

He ran like a nigga with his ass on fire.

How could they blame him?

He didn't have cancer, he was fine.

He felt better than he ever had before!

She got breast rot some other way.

OK, maybe he had lost it there in the end, but that was simple assault. Fuck this "you gave this to ma daughta" shit. So, he headed up the coast, near enough to the big city to party, far enough away to live cheap and remain anonymous.

. . . . . . . .

"Man, I'm bummed out." Every girl we know, has boob crud, fuckin' a!" "Yeah," agreed Nick, "every girl we've done, they're all sick or checkin' out!" "I'm really creeped out by this," Anthony downed another beer, a forty-ouncer. "Yeah, what if they got something, and passed it to us or somethin'?" "Shit yeah, it ain't us, we're healthy, even after the GHB wore off, we're fine." "Hey Nick, how 'bout this? We go do our usual gettin' some, but let's play it safe." "Oh, shit, you mean rubbers? No way, I hate those things, ya can't feel anything." "Fuck no, I mean, we go one or two towns away, there's a hot place I heard about called "the playgrouned."

"Hmmm, what's it like, house? Disco? Techno?"

"Nah," Nick got a slap on the back.

"Its anything goes. Ten bucks gets you upstairs!"

XII.

Melissa loved the new mawl. There was something about a brand new one--the smell, the unspoiled look, something. She wandered through the Limited, then Ups and Downs. Oh, what'll it be? Daddy would pay for it, whatever it was gonna be. Mel never even saw the statement. "Well dah," she chided, "since you don't trust me with a card yet, then you can just pay the bill."

"OO! Sunglass Hut, I just gotta!" Melissa was cut short by two noisy twerps zooming past her, where was their mother, if they even had one? Probably hatched out or something, I'm sure Then she spied their destination---of course! the video game center. Oh, fuck, another one? This was supposeda be her new find. Detouring from sunglass hut, she decided to scope out the food court.

"Let's see what I can find here,"

As Melissa window-binged and sniffed, and took in a huge foot-long something or other sandwich an exec-type, wearing a tie yet, was carrying, she spotted the taco place. Yes! She adored tacos. At least the gods were smiling---it wasn't crowded over there. She cut across the section with tables and chairs; finally seeing the source of those long sandwiches--and they weren't foot long, they were two feet long. gIGUNDO'S, where You Get More! Yipes, meat and cheese, and lettuce. Everything from Greek to Italian. Some other time, when she had a couple of her girlfriends along to help her. She spotted a couple, about her own age, she guessed, pantimiming as they carried one; each one took an end of the sandwich. They were fake mouthing and chomping, smiling and cracking up. "You gonna eat that or play with it?" Oops, Melissa saw the guy who'd asked the question. "Mind your business, you stupid fuck." "Yeah, well when I was your age language like that would get you wearing that sandwich!" "Yeah, when you were our age, they didn't have sandwiches, just caves and dinasaurs," "Drop dead ya old--- Then everything happened at once. Some black dude ran past her with one of those huge jaw-buster specials, she flattened herself to avoid him--just in case, and in doing that, lost the precious moment. "Ulp!" The old guy was now wearing the sandwich, and it looked pretty tomatoey too! Oh shit! And I missed the shot. As she turned aside, trying to hide the rolling laughter that was building, PALOP! Something hit her, on the back of the neck! She whirled around, thinking that now, they were all throwing food? She began scanning ahead, at the same time raising her hands to avoid any adolescent food-fight. SPLOK! "What the ..." Another wet slimy thing. This one landed on the side of her face, but it didn't stay there. It oozed down her neck, and before she could clamp a hand to her shoulder, it invaded her bustline. "Great!" and she didn't even know what the hell it was.

With the thought of tacos rudely batted aside, she ran into a J.C. Penny's. "Ladies' room ladies' room," she uttered the mantra, that would make it all better. Running in, she put two heavy doors between herself and the outside world. As she fumbled through her purse, she used her other hand to unbutton her clothing fortress. (Cream Savers, pads, little soaps, Tic-tacs, pen.) She was rooting around, feeling god-awful creepy with this goo under her bra. (notepad, change purse, ATM reciptes, movie stubs!) She was getting frantic, where were they? That stuff felt funny. At least it was now the same temperature as her boobs. Or was it warmer somehow? (Pocket knife, key ring, broken nail clippers, pen light that didn't work, batteries, batteries for watch --aha!) There they were, nice sanitary wet wipes. This will solve everything. She put down the traveling armada she called a purse full of stuff, and tore open her blouse, expertly unfastening her bra. "Oh, my God, mega-yucko!" It was ... was a---She thought she'd puke. The look and the aroma, now that she was inches away from it gave it away. "Oh, gross! Its cum! Somebody "did it" on me!" The word she was hunting for was probably ejaculated, but in her mental turmoil, it didn't connect to her memory. She ripped open towellette after towellette, she wanted four or five of them. Then as she backed into the wall of the stall, she remembered the first hit. "Eeooo, there's more down my back too!" She tore open the whole box full, all of them, shit! She wanted a nice barrier between that man goo and her fingers. Ick! Fifteen minutes later, though smelling like a Wet Ones factory, she exited the bathroom, numb to everyone and everything around her. As she made her way toward the exit, then the exit out to the parking lot, she was still queasy. Who would ...? Yuck! Must have come from the second level up--you could look down on the food court from there. That was it. Melissa had a bad feeling in her tummy about this. She didn't see the raincoated figure up above.

She wouldn't have recognized his smiling face, if she had seen him; they'd never met. Allowing a broad grin, now, Troy went through the little-used office aisle of the complex, where nobody went much. "He didn't intend to stalk her, no. That was for serious perves and psychos. He just liked to have fun with them. Bring a little rainfall into their lives. Then move on, never meeting them."

It wasn't rain that had pelted Melissa.

Water was neutral.

Rain was innocent.

No. What was about to happen to her was neither neutral, nor innocent. It was terrible, all-consuming evil. Perfectly hidden now. Time ticked on.

/XIII.

"Unbelievable!" Doctor Savatelli gazed at the slide, then at the print-out. They'd done it, her and Togarashi had at last, done it. This was the breakthrough they'd been screaming for. A totally new class of organism! Mycoplasms! They were not bacteria, nor were they viruses. That's what threw everybody for a loop. Something ... in between. And they were present in virtually all the afflicted women. They could slip past the body's defenses. Mycoplasms didn't cause fever, since the immune system didn't even know they were present. They upset one apple-cart after another, corrupting cells by the hundreds. This strain seemed to have an affinity for mutating breast cells. Once the body discovered this guerilla operation, it was too late---far too late. Mycoplasms, or mycos, as the two doctors shortened the name to, were completely unaffected by antibiotics. There was no compound on Earth that could stop them, let alone slow them down.

. . . . . . . .

"General, we have a problem."

General Danforth Henderson didn't like that phrase. He never liked it. "And what sort of problem has popped up, this time?" Captain Polock bit his lip, and stood at a lazy semi-attention. Well, sir," he began. "We uh, went ahead with adapting soldiers for future chemical warfare. All that crap about Gulf war syndrome, its still with us, we couldn't eliminate or shut everyone up. We got rid of as much data and proof as we could. After you signed off on the new Chamelion project, we tested it on about 200 men." "And this has created a problem?" the general leered, pointing a finger at the captain. "Yes sir, we have some unexpected side-affects." "How bad?" "There are now some 100 men, out in the general population; and they're carrying something we can't stop. We don't have a vaccine for it yet, if ever." "What is the bottom line, son?" the general lowered his voice. "Sir, bottom line is that the boys are carriers, it doesn't compromise them at all." "So, if they go on their merry way, what's the problem? We can chalk it up to failure, blame some new food additive on it, and keep trying." "Sir, ..." the cap looked nervous and

ready to do a gastrointestinal meltdown.

"--Sir, they are carriers, with one problem.

Their body fluids---all of them, contain a compound which reduces any woman they come in contact with, to a malignant mess." The general unclenched his fists, and couldn't seem to focus. "And this means, what?" "Sir, if any tears, urine, blood, or saliva from these guys touches a woman, its a sure trip to the oncology wing. If their semen gets into her, she's dead for sure, and its a very undignified, disfiguring death. Depending on how many times she's exposed, we're talking tumour masses, all the way up to total cellular assault." The general reached for the phone. "Sir, what do we do? This stuff can't be stopped, and all those guys have gone on their way. Even if we can track them down, its been six months---and we don't know how much damage has been done!" "Captain, we do what we've done before. Ever heard of Okham's razor? The simplest answer is usually the right one. We deny everything." "Sir, what if ..." "Captain, with this present administration, the FBI running around snapping at the CIA like annoying puppies, budget cuts, and my retirement coming up, I have just one order for you. Just one. Cover it up. Bury it all. Scientists can unravel the mess, if it can be unraveled. Someone will clean it up. R.I.P." And with that speech, the stunned captain was dismissed.

XV.

Mark didn't know what all the fuss was about. You didn't need to sell drugs and risk breaking the law.You didn't even have to work either. All these research projects, drug studies, money was easy to come by. He'd just gotten fifty bucks from the sperm bank--that was really cool, ten minutes and a big smile, and you get paid for it. They had screened him for any diseases, and he was as healthy as a horse. They tested him for everything they knew about. That was boring, took forever. Just like those Army doctors.

. . . . . . . .

Julie still had misgivings.

Iris and Ramona both coached her, telling her it was safe. --convincing her it was the right thing to do. Just her luck, she had married this great hunk of a guy. Money was good, her public relations career was taking off. All her dreams were running at full speed. It wasn't so hard, being immersed in a "man's world", just a few tosses of the hair, batting the baby blues, and casually flaunting her voluptuous breasts--those were the key. You could take the most hard-ass accountant, a construction worker, a Marcedes-driving CEO, it didn't matter; unless he was gay. You could get anything out of them, if the old chest was the right cup size. She had men totally worshiping her breasts. And that would last for years. Only one problem; her dreamboat, although great in bed, turns out, was shooting blanks. So, she was gonna get artificially inseminated, after perusing the stats of the donor, and not tell him. Hey, why should George know. It would crush his masculine ego. Besides, a baby was a baby was a baby. As long as she didn't accidentally get a black, latino or eskimo. That wouldn't happen. They had computers for that.

. . . . . . . .

"Its my first time here, Iris yelled over the music.

Nick was by himself tonight, his smaller counterpart was out of town, looking up an old flame. Battabing battaboom! So, he had decided to come back to the Playground, and carry on the tradition. Iris was a nice girl, all bouncey and fresh. Her long blonde hair looked natural-- ya couldn't always tell. But that didn't matter. He steered her around the dance floor, then she piped up "hey, wanna go for pizza after this?" Hey, pizza and a blonde? Sounded good to Nicholas.

Besides, he might get lucky afterwords.

XVI.

Five months came and went, and mercifully, they took the winter with them. Iris' phone rang. "Hello, Oh, hi Julie. How's the little bun in the oven doing? "Fine, I get real sick every day though. I know this happens, but wow! Its bad." Iris smirked, "glad it ain't me. I don't wanna baby, its not my thing. Never. "Yeah, I know, but I like children, and hubbybear does to. Can you recommend a natural vitamin? I'm so tired, living for two." "Sure, that's no problem, we can go shopping around later. I gotta date, again! He really likes me, treats me like gold, and like a tramp when I want him to. We do that role-playing thing alot these days." Now it was Julie's turn to smirk.

Uh, I'm not sure about him, he's kinda you know. Like a used car salesman. Not my type." "Yeah, he's a little like that I know, but after all, what good is a man if a woman doesn't have something about him to change? That's my project, to change Nick into something better. And unknown to Iris (or Nick), Nick was changing her--but not for the better.

. . . . . . .

Julie felt rotten. Is this how it goes? Big as a house, tired, run down. Throwing up? Great, can't wait till it ends. My breasts hurt, my feet are swollen. Damn. What was inside her, she was five months along, and the size of a woman carrying quints.

Julie was jarred out of her lamentations by the phone.

She clumsily worked her way over to the cordless.

"Hel lo?" she grumbled.

"If your a telemarketer, take your sales pitch and shov---, oh Iris, what's the matter?" "Julie! I've got-- there's a ..." Julie didn't like the sound of this. "Iris, take a deep breath, tell me slowly, what," "I've gotta lump in my, my left--" she gulped and almost choked. "Oh, god, are you uh, are you sure/" "They took a sample, a biopsy. I get the results tomorrow." "Oh, no!" How could this be? Iris seemed so healthy. "Julie, I think its serious, it feels like more than what the doctor saw." "What do you mean? Didn't you tell them everything?" "Yeah, but since I drove home, something's different. Its like you know ... when you gain a few pounds, that padded feeling. I got that in my breasts, both of them. But it doesn't feel like fat!, oh Julie, I'm so scared!" Julie was trembling, her own health had preoccupied her now for weeks. "I, I just settled in, and feel pretty rockie, oh, like a hangover. But I haven't had a drink in months.. Hey, drive over here, you can stay here till tomorrow, we'll go to the doc and get your results. George wouldn't have it any other way--you know he loves you as much as I do." Iris sniffled, hesitating. "O, ok. I'll be over soon. Thanks Julie. George is so lucky."

. . . . . . . .

Iris barely remembered the drive over. Her little red car seemed so claustraphobic, so closed in. She pounded on Julie's front door, and almost fell inside. She didn't look good. "What happened," George asked. "Julie lumbered into the kitchen, "a, ... she's a little out of it," Julie didn't want George causing Iris any further humiliation. "Honey, um, can you go grab a light blanket, check the guest room lamp, you know, go make things nice." "Sure, sweetie. Be back in a minute." Iris sat, hunched into a chair, as if made of stone. "I, I feel sick. Something's wrong inside me!" She looked seasick. "Oh,my boobs are on fire." Julie unbuttoned Iris's blouse, and worked the bra off. She grabbed a kitchen towell, to shield the examination from her husband. She began to probe--to explore. She stopped, transfixed. "Honey, which br ... breast did they take the ...never mind, I see the incision." Iris's tongue was like lead. Why was this happening to her? Julie had it all, a good man, money, baby on the way, she ...Then she felt a tearing in her right breast. "Your left one has the, ah, the lump." Julie said robot-like. "Then why is---?" She felt in pure horror, what was all around the right breast, the nipple, it was shrunk up, and white pinkish darkening blotches were leading away from it. And that breast, just like the other one, had a lump---a much larger one. Julie silently cursed, mouthing the words "two lumps, dammit!" Iris began to cry, tears pouring heavily down--"its burning, the tearing!" Her right boob was feeling like a big set of teeth was chewing at it. Her left one was like it had been stuffed into the microwave! "what was this!" "Get me, get me ... call 911! I'm its, this isn't normal cancer, too much!" she shrieked. Normal cancer, now there was a phrase for you. Julie grabbed the cordless, just as a wrenching pain smashed into her. "OOf!" She had the wind knocked out of her, how could this be? Too early! She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the gut-wrenching punching by unseen fists. "George!!! Help me!"Julie screamed at the top of her lungs. Iris, startled, felt adrenaline rush through her body, on top of all the internal ripping she now felt. "what, what?" Julie fell out of the kitchen chair, her newly-acquired weight pulling her down to the tile floor with a tremendous thud. "George, its coming, I'm, ... the b b baby!, George!" she shrieked, flat on her back now--unable to raise herself up. The pain was excruciating! George came in at a run, seeing the two women traumatized, the phone off the hook. He called the 911, he wasn't able to get them both into his car by himself. That concerned him, if he tried to hoist his wife out of the room, the baby could be injured. Oh, and that fall, was the baby injured already? Jesus Christ!

. . . . . . . .

Since she was still more than three and a half months too soon, the attendants wheeled Julie into the ER, along side Iris. Groaning, crying, screaming, praying. No one knew what was happening. Iris now had one misshapen breast, and only one. While prepping her for examination, her right one had began to fester, like a septic, pus-filled balloon. The nipple, and the once-beautiful round little mountain, slowly began to melt, like a breast made of ice cream; left out in the hot sun. Doctors were stunned, what was happening here? There attentioned, rivited on Iris's condition, was abruptly torn away, when a popping noise indicated that Julie's delivery was bursting forth, early or not. Nurses looked at one another, "probably stillborn," they silently agreed with each other. That wasn't quite the case however. As Julie howled, she began slapping at her swollen distended tummy, pushing it down, down. As her legs parted, a torent of foul, rancid water erupted from her thighs.

As this sloosed out of her, she grabbed her breasts for something to hold onto. At least, they were healthy!"

That was a comfort, she thought.

She was also much like the nurses, not quite correct.

As she pushed, and contracted, and spasmed and screeeeeamed!, she pulled and yanked at her breasts--"gotta hold on, hold on!" she gasped. Have ta get it out of me, it'll be out soon. all over ... never again!" RIP! As something broke through Julie's cervix, simultaneously, her arms shot back onto the bed. She felt disoriented, how could ... her hands be free, yet not empty? Then she realized, ...and her mind left her. Her arms were out at her sides, still clutching both her breasts! Two gaping holes now stood where two pre-lactating breasts were, only seconds ago. As her body automatically vomited forth its passenger, the holes in Julie's chest gushed forth blood; and more! People ran screaming. Nurses threw up, seeing the ropey, veiny, masses of rot that use to appear as fine mubile breasts. With the nurses vomiting their guts out, doctors raced to grab the baby, at least to get the miscarridge down to autopsy.

As one doctor's reach closed around it, grasping ... It wasn't a baby he held. It was a gigantic, 8 pound tumour! Tendrils came from it in every direction! It oozed, slithered, semi-shapeless! No, it wasn't alive, merely a huge unwanted parasite. The doctor holding it, dropped it. Not knowing that it wasn't a live infant, another doctor intercepted the thing's progress toward the floor, and grabbed it by a handful of strands. It split open, then into pieces, like some alien turd thing, and chunks and bits of it fell through his hands, down his lab coat, landing on his shoes Then the doctors ran.

Unseen and alone, with no one to give them final assurance or comfort, both women died.

Vrykolakas

This one is the climax, If you've read Conversion and Leora's Quest, then this last story will tie everything and everyone together. This final story has one major difference, as compared to the other two. There are no cancer fatalities here. That does not mean, that there is no terror of it, however. If you are reading this, you may think "Oh, he's just diminished the story, he's just given a major part of it away," The point is well taken. However, that is a small sacrifice to make rather than finish the series with a predictable, worn-out cliche--where everyone dies. That would be a cheap, uninspired way out; and I refuse to allow that. It is true, I did lose a little element of surprise right there. My resources, however, are indeed formidable. I have worked in enough mind-numbing events, so there is indeed, no need to fret. So, armed with the knowledge that, "yes, I did maintain the quality of shere feminine horror throughout the story,"

complete with a devastating conclusion.

You may therefore go forth now and enjoy reading ---

Vrykolakas

16 August 04

Sharpshooter

Every place has its dark side.

It doesn't have to be the Internet, side streets, alleyways, government or religion; sometimes its much closer; the everyday, the familiar, all our favorite haunts.

Kathy Rialto was wasting time, and thoroughly enjoying it. Tall, statuesque, strawberry blonde, and 19, she had finished all her papers, there was no crap work to do; and that meant the weekend was hers. She just began it early. She was humming to herself, negotiating the Metroplex's parking lot. "I hate when they park so close, losers!" She wasn't going to let anything tarnish the day--her day. Max was gonna meet her, the movie would be great, they'd decide on which food later on, and later later on, well (she reddened a little). Who knew? She took a circuitous route, through the cars parked too close together, and because of them didn't see what crunched and squished beneath her feet. "Oh, damn, that better not be dog poop." she grumbled. Fearing the worst for her new shoes, she looked down. She was half an inch deep in what used to be two dead birds. "Oh, yuck, Jesus!" she grimmaced. "Is this an omen? I hope not." Her cell phone chirped. "Hello? Hey, Max. She played with her hair as a soft breeze stirred it. "I got news for you. I'm already here. I'm heading in from the parking lot." She talked a little longer, her smile broadening. "OK, I'll meet you by the concessions. I gotta have a ton of raisinettes. Bye." She practically skipped through the rest of the cars, putting the dead birds out of her mind.

Kathy was eyeing the sweets, torn between NesCrunch and her beloved raisinettes, when a handsome hunk, one year her senior enveloped her. They were a cute couple, his jet black hair to her strawberry blonde, his rugged good looks--Max was filled out in all the right places. Athletic, without being chunky, she always felt safe next to him. "I see ya got your raisinettes," "Huh? He poked her cute little nipples." "Stop it, get away, you don't see me poking your ..." "Maybe during the movie." he teased.

They took seats toward the front, figuring it would be less noisy with figiting muttering people behind them.The last one they sat through was hell, Men In Black Three, yick! worse than one and two--never again for that series. "I don't care what he does, Will Smith is such a turd,"Kathy groaned. "Yeah, he should sell shoes," "Or crack! haha!"

Stolen Moments, starring the two from Jade, Linda Furentino and, what's his name from NYPD Blue, ...ah, oh, Caruso. They're both great, and great together." Kathy sighed. This should be good. They both began stuffing their faces during the trailer and intro.

Soon, the music made its way into the background, and a driving scene began the movie. Then, as the picture slid slowly along, they put down their empty boxes, and held hands. As in the stars' previous movie together, Jade, within twenty minutes, a hot steamy love scene erupted upon the screen. Kathy leaned her head back, stretching, and felt a muscular arm already there. He nuzzled her, she nuzzled back. He kissed her nose. Kathy murmured "too bad we can't get as involved as they are," She squeezed his hard broad shoulders. He leaned into her, sniffing her hair. Above them, from huge surround-sound speakers, the sexy notes of a sax wailed, smooth and soulful. As Max took in her plunging neckline and open jacket, he fantasized about those yummy breasts, perfect little globes. He loved to play with them, tongue and fingers everywhere. She worked out, she ran alot; and that only added to her firmness, nothing flabby or lazy about his girl. Kathy had just decided that tonight third base was going to happen. She turned in the cramped theater seat to keep one eye on the screen, and yet lean her breast into Max, sideways was surely better than noways. Meanwhile, on screen, Linda was purring some of her best. Her partner was a little stiff, kinda lukewarm. She turned fully into Max and was about to ask him what he thought so far. PLOP! Max heard it. Kathy felt something. "What the f..." she started to scream, then remembered where she was. She faced forward, darting from side to side, craning her neck to see what had happened. The hair on Max's neck went up, what had hit her? Kathy, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, began to examine the side of her neck where whatever it was had hit her. Most of it had oozed down to her chest, so she came away with only a film on her fingers. "I don't know what this is." she said. "Could it have come off the ceiling?" Max queried. Abruptly, a loud scream exploded from somewhere to their back left. "Oh! What was that?! "Hey, shut up, bitch!" an urban voice answered her. "Hey, watch your mouth shitskin!" another one answered back. By this time, whatever it was that had splattered on her had crept down about as far as it could go. It was now puddled up on her right breast where she couldn't presently get at it. Then another scream, followed by shrieking women all around them. "I think that's our cue," Kathy decided right then and there, and began to rise. "Tell that heffa you're with to shut her face before I kick it in!" "Your mother!" "Least I got one. "You're right," agreed Max. They both hurriedly made their exit, just as half of the theater ocupants followed suit. The remaining others had started a real nice brawl.

As Max and Kathy exited the lobby as fast as they could, they both looked back. The ticket takers couldn't believe what was happening. "stupid bitch!" "fucking cunt!" "Eat this!" It looked like a bar fight, and it was getting bigger. "Go back where you came from!" "Shut up ya ho!" "I'm gonna kill a tar baby!" "Drop dead you fuckin' bitch!" "What did you call me?" A white guy with long hair picked up a trash can and brought it crashing down over the head of his oponent. A big fat greasy-looking sister, saw this and grabbed his long hair; and promptly got a large workboot in the gut. She crumpled, as two more started up where they'd left off. Shouting and turmoil continued as Max and Kathy hotfooted it to their cars. "I'll meet you at ... hey, we lost the movie, and never did decide where to--" "Shit, that's right. Lets see, what about Trotteria?" Kathy almost started drooling right then and there. "OO, I've heard their good, OK!" "You sure you know where it is?" Max questioned, not wanting anything else to happen to Kathy. "Oh, sure, its yelling distance of my favorite video place." "OK. You follow me, if we lose each other, I'll meet you there."

It was a little crowded, but nowadays, every place seemed to be. No sooner were they both seated, than water and menus were brought. Kathy wanted to run to the ladies' room and get that goop off of her, but Max said, "hey, you drove over here with it, let's order first, then do it. It won't bite you." Kathy nodded weakly, her tummy conspired with her boyfriend and decided for her.

"I want seafood!"

"Well, I don't need a psychic to know that."

"I want, hmmm, something different, not lasagna or alfredo."

A waiter, with a strained look on his face, came over to their table, and proceeded to recite the evening's specials. Kathy settled on some long Italian name, when she heard it had veal, mushrooms and wine in it, that tore it. "Be back in a few minutes,"she purred. Max folded his hands and couldn't stop thinking about the movie they'd been forced to leave; the carnage it had become. What was all that? Somebody had thrown something, several times, at people all over the theater. The breadsticks and little dishes of marinated tomatoes arrived. Max began to nibble, these were refillable. As he munched and pondered, Kathy returned, walking mechanically like a zombie. "Hey, pod person, they outa soap in there or what?" "Max, it was, I got ... he threw ..." Max looked her in the eye, holding a breadstick. "What's wrong, sweetie?" Kathy looked like a trapped animal; "Max, it was semen. Some bastard threw semen at people in there. I had a big glob on my breast!" Max almost choked on a mouthfull. "It, what? Are you sure." She tried to smile, not entirely succeeding. She still looked devastated. "I know what, when we play around. This was it, all funny smelling, with bits of gel in it. Oh, it was semen Max." Max felt sick, but wasn't about to betray it to her. Poker face was one thing Max, and guys in general could do well. He thought of what to say, and gently began laying it out. "Hey, OK, maybe your right. So, did you wash it off? "Of course I washed it off. No, I want it as a souvenir. Oh, I'll never wash there again, of course I waa!" "Hey, Kath, its all right.Let's deal with this calmly. Did you, a use soap and all? "Yes," she said curtly. "Now, did it touch you in any place where there is a break in the skin?" "No, down there? No!" "Good, so listen; this guy's a total perve, he gets thrills from cumming on people. He's a coward, doing that in low lit places, and anonymously. So, listen. Even if he had some, some STD, even if! You won't get anything. We can use alcohol when we get back to your place or my place. Now don't worry Kath." This seemed to be working. She settled back, still not smiling, still feeling creepy. Then she saw the little tent of the drink menu. "I'm getting a drink. A big one." She decided on a daquiri, a double! Max grinned at her. "Now that's the spirit."

II.

Sara was halfway home. Three p.m. was not rush hour, so the beltway wasn't crowded at all. She had just spent a wad of money, if the old plastic could be called that. Now, how to soft-soap it to Walter. They were doing well, however Walter would really choke on $150 in one big lump. She came to a turnoff, where the road split, and slowed. She headed down another three blocks, and prepared to make another turn. A stoplight, of course. And she had missed it. She always missed them--there was no God! she moaned. Oy, I shouldn't say such things. She thought of her newly-bought satin sheets, she always wanted to lounge on satin--God knows that's about all the bed was good for anymore. Walter was about as satisfying as a ...her thoughts broke off as a horn sounded somewhere, interrupting them. She looked left, looked right, back, then seeing no one, rolled down her driver-side window. Some guy was making handsies and asking something. "Whaaat!" Sara yelled, as only a N.Y. Jewess could yell. "Ike canth hear you," she yelled back. Such a nice looking boy, a tie! Mine Godt, she hadn't seen a tie on any of these ruffians in years. Surely, he was respectable. She pulled out at a medium acceleration, when the light permitted; closing the distance on the young man in moments. "I'm sorry, I'm lost, do you know where the convention center is?" he asked her. Of course, convention in town, that was it Sara mused. . Of course, she replied, "its straight for about ten blocks, there'll be a sign saying the name of the place, you just didn't go far enough." She smiled, knowing she'd solved his dilemma. He smiled, he really was a handsome fellow. Sandy hair, must be a Brook's Brothers outfit. He thanked her, waved and started heading north. She continued on, about to make the last turn before her neighbourhood. As Sara encountered the turn up ahead, she took a final look back at the object of her good deed. Momentarily distracted, she didn't notice a car pulling alongside. His window was down, as was her's, so was his passenger window. He reached across the empty seat, raised his arm, and pressed something. "I wonder what the convention is this week?" Sara pondered.

PLOP!

"Hoo! Ick! Whaaaat! was that?" she cawed like a magpie.

It felt like a water balloon, but no balloon.

She twirled in her seat looking for the source.

An old beat-up car was pulling away, she quick looked for the lisence. Oh, scheiss, it was full of mud, she couldn't read it.

Then she felt it slither down the side of her face, then her neck. It was sticky. Oh, her scarf, she hoped it wouldn't stain. She made the turn, went midway through the block, and pulled into a driveway. She didn't care who's, she had to attend to this. She mopped at her neck with her good scarf, before it spread out any further. She casually sniffed, ... it smelled funny. Now where had she smelled that before. Chemical, bathroom, shower, ... she froze. She tentatively poked one finger into the glop that was occupying her scarf. "Oh, God!" she felt ready to vomit. "I've been seminated! Mine scarf is full a schmeckle! Oh, oh God!" Sara clasped her hand to her heart, the hand that wasn't holding the scarf--and felt MORE, it seems she missed some. "Somebody sploofed on me! IIK!" Sara felt lightheaded, her heart pounding. She ripped through her pocketbook for Her cell phone. Quickly she hit the buttons, hoping her trembling fingers got the numbers right.

She gasped as the ringing began. "Ha hello, Walter. I'm only five streets from home, there's been a ... a no, not an accident. I'm allright. Walter, someone did something to me." Walter was trying to understand. Did what? "Oh, Walter, someone hit me with their seed. I got sperm all over me. Oh!" She began to sob. "I can't breathe! Come get me, I can't breathe!" Walter couldn't believe this, sure, something had happened, but his wife, of many long years, did exaggerate; a bit. "I am not coming out there that few blocks to pick you up. Drive home, we'll talk about this." he commanded. "Sara, come home, if it is what you say it is, it won't hurt you, its not acid. Walter thought about the times he had ejaculated on her. He allowed a grin. then a bigger grin.

"Cookie, listen, it probably isn't that, anyway. Just get home here." he chided. Sara stopped crying, and gasping. Funny how that came and went, Walter thought. "You listen to me Walter, she fumed. "I remember nights when you'd get ideas?" "Oh, God, here it comes." He took the phone a foot or two away from his ear. "I remember soaking my beautiful robe in Woolite, shmeckle all over me. I know semen! Two nights later? Three in the morning, trying to get your latest load off my designer pillow cases? Walter, you remember it was all over my Beige Perkale?" Walter flushed, and grew more than a little angry. "Sara, you listen to me," he put his foot down. "If you'd completed what a wife should do, and just swallowed it, it wouldn't have ended up there! Now get home here!" The phone went dead.

III.

Troy was aroused, ready for business.

He was remembering; thinking back to almost four months ago now. Couldn't believe it. It went by so fast, and he'd accomplished so much. The first time, all he'd had in his arsenal was a rubber glove, a raincoat, and a fake mustache. In the mall, that new one in Bricktown. And that young volleyball candidate had felt his mark. He got her good. Its a wonder they don't put plexiglass up, above food courts. Anyone could send down anything on unsuspecting people, hahaha! And he'd done it, then a fast getaway via the skyway. Easy. But crude---it was then that he'd begun to refine his craft. He wanted to improve the experience for the girls involved. In time that was going to be many, many girls.So, with that in mind, he brought together and applied all he knew.

He first designed a delivery system, so much better than a good pitching arm.It could be loaded from a, a reservoir of sorts.

Next,

he designed a belt, and a heavy duty pouch worn right next to his bare skin. That would keep the pint of semen pretty near body temperature. Au natural. This was the colostemy bag approach.

He thought, and laughed.

If you're going to all the trouble of saving up, and pumping out, all your precious emissions, and gracing chosen women with them, then the final moment of experience had to be a warm, lifelike liquidy kiss, not a cold startling intrusion! That was common sense. He needed two more things. His third addition was a set of attachments, christ, like a freakin' vacuum cleaner, he thought. With "the hand" jobber, he could merely flex his fingers, and just like SpiderMan, he could send gooey clots of cum, up to a good 30 feet! Wow, talk about extending your manhood! The fine-point nozzle, much like a hypodermic, would send out thin streams, under immense pressure; for his jism was viscous, so thick some women said they had to chew first. Finally, he needed an extender. He realized that even he, couldn't manufacture, in his balls, all the man juice he was gonna need. He needed something to add, just to help it along. He strove for keeping the bouquet and texture one hundred percent authentic! That was the whole idea. He went on the web, and found Bukakism, a website that sold quarts of synthetic semen analog. It was used in the money shots, the degradation scenes, little frightened third world women, slathered in white man cum! He ordered about fifty bucks worth, reminding himself that he'd still make damn sure that there'd be plenty of his own nut butter in the mix.

So, topping his equipment off with six different colour raincoats, khaki, black, cream, classic opera trench, navy and camo He was, at long last, prepared. The raincoats, all two full sizes larger than he normally wore, each one possessing cavernous pockets as well; concealed everything--the belt of semen bottles, the spritzers, and of course ..., his monsterous erection. He was titalated. He chuckled although his low laughter was more sinister than lighthearted. "I'm ready, let's see if this town is."

IV.

Doctor Avram Stillwater sat in his regal padded wheeled office chair and scratched his graying head. "I do not under stand this, not one bit." he sighed perplexed. He had been e-mailed the cases of severe breast cancer, breast melting that recent Bricktown Tumour Baby, horrible! Of course the deaths too. He was puzzled because with the 21 cases he was seeing, only four of these girls had even had sex. With their figures, not to mention their very lives, at risk, he doubted that they'd lied about that, when questioned. It seems that all the Bricktown horrors, as catalogued by Drs. Savatelli and Togarashi, were the result of a mycoplasm vector. Vector, vector I need a vector here. All of those girls, yeah, even the pre-op transie, had had multiple sex partners, or at the very least, one partner, with numerous rendezvous.

This confounded him. The mycoplasm was present, yet no contact? What could that mean? And, as he rose to his feet wearily, he asked no one in particular, just how many more women out there, that he didn't know about, had it?

Troy couldn't believe his luck. This was perfect. A new setting, unthought-of by him. He was up in a tree, his camo raincoat, along with nature's gift of thick lush greenery to keep him hidden. He had gotten the chance to case this neighbourhood just three days ago---when he'd taken his little niece for the day. They did the zoo, and lots of ice cream, and some pretty tall stories. He loved little Eudora, although why his brother insisted on naming his little daughter after an email program was beyond him. At any rate, she was adorable, and could always make him laugh. So, as they drove around together, he'd spotted this street, nice medium price-range homes, big yards, and trees out the wazoo. "I'll bet taxes are high," he considered. He'd also seen that just four blocks away stood a natural foods store, two restaurants, and a bank. That meant people, people meant women of all kinds, and these trees meant he could perfect his tree-level cum shots. And perfect them, he would. He had a feeling learning to shoot from a tree or a roof would come in handy. He had no idea, just how right he was.

Tyla Katzen was a teller at the First National. She liked her job, people that visited her branch were for the most part, nice. She hated the dirty hands you got from handling filthy, inky, germy money. Oh, she hated germs. They were there, on everything! Everywhere! Worse, you couldn't see them at all! You had to wash, and spray, and wear protection, and pray that it all worked. Ugh! she exclaimed, I don't want to think, so many people handling their money, money that's in their pockets, pockets close to their Things! And how many people must there be that didn't wash up after...yuck! Then they'd hand over money, with those germy hands, to her, to make change! To deposit!

If she hadn't started wearing gloves, she would have quit. The thought of Germs overwelmed her. She got control of herself, and slowed her pace to the restaurant. She was going to enjoy the day!

PLOP!

Tyla spun around, feeling an oozing gunge rolling down her neck and shoulder. PLOP!, another one, on the right side. What was it? At first she thought, damn, the trees; a bird doodied on me!" But this was too much for one bird. And it was, "org!" warm. She got a creepy feeling. She felt around, while at the same time running past the tree line, across the street, and under a store awning. "There, safe!" she gasped, a trifle out of breath.

She turned and faced the wall, out of public sight, and quickly groped for the substance that was sliding down her cleavage. She pulled out one handfull, but missed the second one by an inch. Yucky poo! what was it, it stretched between her fingers like egg whites. It did smell a bit like egg whites. It had drippy clumps in it. She ran into the restaurant a few doors down. Known there as a regular, old Joe looked up and saw her. "Mornin' Miss Katzen." She saw who it was. "Oh, morning, Joe. I need, can you, I got splattered with something. No other soul was around me, it happened about a minute or two ago." Joe saw that Tyla was a little rockie on her feet. He sat her down, and listened to her story, and at the same time, grabbed a plastic laminated menu. "Here, drop it on here, the paper napkins would just soak it up--I wanna look at that." She did as he ordered. He took it back toward the offices, and a young food preparer approached him. "Mr. Jevski, what's that glop? Not some new sauce I gotta work with, is it?" he giggled a bit. "Nope, its something strange, maybe fell out of a plane, I don't know. Tyla yelled toward the back, as she now felt more composed, "I first thought it was bird doodoo, Joe!" "Mighty big bird eh?" the young apprentice spoke up. Joe thought a minute--as Terry got closer, and sniffed it. "Oo, it can't be, yuck!" "What's with you young fellow?" Joe asked, as Terry wrinkled his nose. "A, ... boss? I think, well, its uh, um ... --" he dipped his forefinger into the slop. "Oh, sheee sorry sir, I think its cum a I mean, semen. It sure resembles semen boss!" Joe's forehead wrinkled, just like Terry's nose. He thought about it. Oh, God, it sure did "Sir, are you gonna tell her?" "Wait here, Terry. I think you'd better call the cops. "The police?" Terry's voice rose up two notches. "Why?" As Joe got up, and didn't answer him, Terry hesitated. Oh, is he gonna tell her? From outside the little backroom of an office, a scream pierced the quiet hour. . Terry began dialing.

VI.

Kathy was renewed. Reborn! Gonna start a new day.

Max had stayed over, gentle, kind considerate Max.

She knew she loved him, and that would just grow stronger.

He had, with hands, mouth, thighs and other assorted body parts, drove all the demons of yesterday away. Last night, the veal was yummamundo! The tiramisu after that, was a powerfull weapon, warding off the semen splatter, as well as the wrecked movie. And their lovemaking? That even took care of ill-parked cars and her treading upon the dead birds! Yeah! As Kathy hopped in the shower, scrubbing and cleansing and deep-breathing, she forgot all her cares. Today was the start of the rest of her weekend. She turned off the water, and began to towell off. She did her hair, then another towell for her body. It was a nice, tripple thick beach towell Max had given her. She rubbed and rubbed, then hung it over the shower bar. She opened the bathroom door to let the steam out, and looked at herself in the hallway mirror.

Yipes! She must have scrubbed too hard, her right breast was all red! She looked at her left one--what was this? Tiny little freckles, faint discolourations. Only mildly concerned, she sat in a chair, and proceeded to give herself a thorough self examination. "Nothing, nothing, I'm not worried," she sang. She sang a silly mantra to the walls. "I'm upset, i'm upset, nothing here that I'll regret. I ..."

Her thoughts curdled.

Her right hand, wiggling and probing, felt a lump!

Her little song, died in her throat; replaced by a croaking sound. Now, comparing the two breasts, by closing her eyes, and letting her fingers map all her familiar teritory, she measured the two---right, left, right, left, ...and there, next to her left nipple, as if trying to hide, she found a tiny seed-shaped mass.

She took her left hand away from her left breast, since that lump was firm, and quite pronounced. She pressed both thumbs, both forefingers around the new little mass she'd found. It squashed, breaking up into little bits. "That's good, musta been fat or cellulite or---then a hope-freezing terror choked her. It broke up, the pieces! They're in me. In me! Kathy reared up, knocking the chair over, determined to break the hold this thing had on her. She drew in one breath, shuddered, tried for another. On her third deep breath, Kathy screamed her guts out. She went on screaming! She screamed at this intrusion into her life. She screamed for finding this thing alone. She screamed, herself hoarse!

VII.

Troy Murohy

couldn't believe how luck could change!

One minute, he had just scored a double glop hit on a woman, and off she runs into a restaurant. So, he had decided to stay hidden perched up in his tree, his camo intact. The next minute, after a very satisfying scream met his ears, she and this old guy come tromping out, and they are like, holding a meeting out there. He couldn't stay up here all day. Then he heard the siren. "Oh, great!" he flared. "This is all I need." Looking across the street, a police car had vomited forth a man and woman team. Then an animated discussion ensued, this was not good. He wished he'd brought one other thing with him. Note to self, he intoned, "include small binnocular in arsenal." Better yet, he ellaborated, I need something to hear, as well as see for long distances. He would be sure to procure these items, for next time.

He was mulling over, just how long this little coffee klutsch might take, when his revery was broken by excited talking and running feet. He craned his neck in different directions to locate the source. Then, he found it! "Aha!" he postured, "This could get interesting." He checked his equipment and amunition. People poured forth from sidestreets, the curious did what human nature dictated--inquiring minds wanted to know. Three guys, mid 20's or so, two women, ah, who could tell, or cared for that matter, and an old retread wheeling a stroller, appeared. "Now this, is gonna be entertainment." He lined up a shot on one of the women. This one had to be just right, he dared not give away his height advantage, or his ass was cooked. Slowly, carefully, he squeezed forth the flexible reservoir, full of this morning's sensational climaxes. He lined up on a blonde, back of her neck was about right, especially with two guys right behind her. Oh, the suspense, the danger. Troy loved the moment---fire! A wet exit sound much like a soggy match being struck, burst forth. Then the damn blonde moved! No, no! He clenched his firing hand, where would it, Oh, Christ," It got the right ear of the police woman, got her full on. All of it. "Oh, this is it," Troy thought. He sat back to see the drama unfold, a sick feeling expanding outward from the pit of his stomach.

Christine Pedorsky felt the wet slap on her right ear, and was disoriented for a minute, she had lost her hearing in that ear. She whirled around, and saw ... two guys laughing, a blonde, a grandma, a baby. She yelled for her partner. Cooper, don't let any male leave this area, I'm calling for another car!" Cooper, a big fat street cop gave her a questioning look. "Any male, what do you mean?" "I just got slimed, and obviously a woman didn't do it, just keep anyone from leaving this little crowd. We've got the bastard who slimed the bank teller; and now me. And he's gonna face assault charges, and anything else I can dream up!" Christine wanted to shake this stuff off, to get it out of her ear! She tried to keep her professionalism intact, that was getting hard to do. The sludge was slowly working its way down to her collar bone. She felt goosebumps, and started to clap a hand to the slop. She couldn't let it travel any farther. Cooper radioed for additional help, then went outside to pace off the perimeter. He slowly made his way away from the throng of people, all milling around now, all gaping and wondering. Well, fuck, let 'em wonder. He walked past the cars, the sidewalk, across the street. He glanced down the street to the trees. Troy thought he'd shit for sure. The big doughnut-filled dildo nose was heading his way. Oh, wouldn't that be great, yes that was it. He could just shit right on the guy--nice giveaway. Pathetic! Whosis cop just walked around, circled, scratched his butt, looked at the buildings, looked up at the trees, back at the crowd, up the road for a car, across at a plastic bag blowing. Troy felt better, this guy had no concept of where the cum attack had come from. He was safe. Soon, another police cruiser came barreling along. They took everyone concerned, downtown. Troy wondered just how they were going to find a perp. Get all the men to do a ... a what? Load in a cup? That was rich. How would they possibly solve this little gem. He waited around up in his tree, and dug out a Clark bar. He wanted to make sure even a stray cat didn't see him climb down. That was close; as close as he ever intended to get. Boy, clark bars were great. He began trying to mentally tell the dif between Fifth Ave, Butterfinger and Clark bars. He'd have to buy all three at once, then compare. Yeah, why not? I can do that while I'm out getting the sound pickup and binoculars. He licked the chocolate from his fingers. There was so much more to come.

VIII.

Officer Christine Pedorsky was feeling nauseous. She wanted to run, not walk, into that restaurant's facilities, and get this godamned jizz off of her body--yes, nice tidy evidence bag. She didn't have the opportunity however. To carry all the people from the incident location, they had needed both cars, and one more. So, as she was running them all downtown, she was forced to ride with her partner, while the goo made its way, lower and lower. God, there was so much of it! she thought. Christine thought she'd halted its advance downward, by clapping her hand to her uniform. But when she did that, she felt a squirt, and the stuff went from her collar, taking the exact direction she didn't want it to go. "Determined glop," she muttered. "This guy must be a real animal," said Cooper to no one in particular. "He must really get a thrill from this," Christine said. "This type either can't get a girl, or wants to brand them for some reason. "I disagree," "Oh?" she questioned. "It may not be either of those things. I still think that he loves the excitement. He gets off on the shock value. It creeps out his victims so they go into screams and fits." "Yeah, which I suppose supports the guess that he stays around to witness his success?" "Probably." Coop asked her "So you still think then, that we've got him scooped up with the others?" "If he shot that stuff, he'd have very little time to hoof it; and besides, he'd want to suck up all the mayhem. Just like the fire starters, they usually are on the outskirts, in raptures of what their work has done. They get aroused by it, right?" "Sure, some do, some don't, but in this case, I am not sure we got him." "I think right now," officer Pedorski trumpeted, "he's heading for the precinct as we speak, at a nice 35 miles per hour." Poor, officer Christine! On top of being completely wrong, she was also completely unaware of just how much trouble she was in. It just wasn't her day.

It was a circus. Timing is everything--and this was some bad timing. Sara and Walter Fineman, stomped in, complaining that "Sara had been humiliated, assaulted, soiled beyond imagination!" Between the Finemans, the nine people from the latest sliming incident, and one ornery police woman, strutting around demanding answers, the fracass couldn't stay contained. Well, the story leaked. It leaked to the press. It leaked like a plumber's nightmare. The press, all three nets, and stringers that would sell to Fox, WB, UPN, and anyone else who'd pay, were there--storming the police station. Max saw the story on his computer, and called Kathy. They met, and headed downtown. He wanted some answers, and she was in no shape to go alone--they'd just come from her doctor, earlier that day. Kathy had undergone a biopsy, and the results weren't in yet. So, he vowed to take care of her. Parking was always a bitch, when you got downtown, but this was worse than usual. Cars were everywhere" A convention coming to town, reporters, policemen everywhere. They parked two blocks away, and trotted the distance, entering the station. It was a free-for-all. Near as they could tell, there had been a major knock-down drag-out at the very theater they been to last weekend. Then this latest sliming; that was the word traveling around the mumbling reporters. There was a girl, talking to one of the reporters, Max and Kathy gave up looking for any authority figure, and wandered over, listening in. It seems that her name was Melissa, and she'd been dumped on by this horrible glop, months ago! What was this? Max got the loud middle-aged woman's attention, and asked her what had happened to her. He gained her trust by explaining that his lovely girlfriend here, had been spattered upon, as well as half a dozen others in a movie theater. That seemed to placate the woman. "Oy, it was terrible!. I was driving, and stopped to give this boy directions. Then I was heading home--and I got squirted with goo, right through my open car winda! I felt so abused!" The guy with her, apparently her husband, looked like he'd had to endure her story a million times already. What was all this?" Max wondered. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, a hush began soaking through the crowd. Kathy took Max's arm, and they walked off, to try to find the reason for it. They did. Three lawyers, a police chief, and someone from the mayor's office had just arrived on the scene. This was major. "Let's go home, and watch the outcome on TV, I think you'd do better relaxing through all this shit," Max said to Kathy. "Yeah, I think my nerves wanna get off the roller coaster. You got any good drinkables?" "Na, but we'll go raid the store, how's that?" "That, and some Chinese food, really sounds good." Turning their backs on the whole mess, they left. Max's last glimpse of the whole scene included that whining soiled woman, wanting justice. If she smelled lawyers, and if they smelled money in it, he was sure she'd take that instead. Those people always did.

IX.

He almost lost it.

"There really is a God, and he likes me!" cried Troy.

Troy was reading the day's paper, and there was his story. " SLIMER SPLATTERS CITIZENS!" it read. He was barely able to contain himself. He read on, yes, yes, the woman, the other woman. OO, even the girl from months ago showed up, great. And the Metroplex. Oh, the assaults, battery, injuries!" He couldn't believe it. He threw down the paper, ran for the remote. He surfed the stations, clicking around--good, it was coming up on the hour. Then, there it was! He dove for the kitchen, this was going to be a three beer story. He found the bottle opener, and brought in some paper napkins, and three beers. Don't wanna run back out for the other two later on," he thought. He prepared to veg out in his Tempurpedic recliner, his new favorite. There was a talking head, then a news action reporter, then a ... he froze! A doctor? From the clinic? What the fuck was that all about? He eased down, putting down the two beers, upending the first one down his throat. "Our findings indicate that this anonymous man, and his unsavory practice of deluging women with his ejaculate, is in reality, spreading an extremely dangerous disease."

Troy almost spit beer.

"What shit!"

He was clean. He had no, no discharge, lord, he hadn't done a woman in, how long was it?" He stopped his fuming, listening further. Every woman who has been hit with his bodily fluids is, in fact, developing growths, as I speak." Growths? You can't give somebody growths? Then it struck him, oh! Of course! A trick, it was a ... and not very clever, either. It was a trick, to get him to turn himself in, or to get checked out by a hospital. Then they'd match his cum up with the evidence he'd left behind. Damn, he was good. Of course, it would match, it was all his! He wasn't falling for anything like that. He was smarter than all of them.

Doctor Stillwater felt as light as air, and at over 258 pounds, that was quite an accomplishment. But, the news had been good. No, great! All those women, at least the ones here in his charge, were benign. No danger, none. They all had growths, and it would be a little disfiguring for them, unless they wanted surgery, but at least their systems were not compromised. And now he knew why. It seemed that the mycoplasms had to be introduced Internally, for the growths to take hold and turn to cancer. So, no matter how much glop this individual threw at women, they would not develop any serious condition. He was elated! Now, he had to develop an agent to counteract it. Cysts and fat nuggets could be dissolved.

Troy was on his third beer, and was surfing channels. The more perspectives he could get on his handiwork, the more fun it was. He noted that on one station, they were profiling him--ha! Imagine, trying to figure out what made him tick." They said he despised women. One woman said ye had bad teenage years. What a crock. A pshrink insisted that he was groping with gay issues. Fuck that! A bloated oprah cow look-alike insisted that this anonymous objectification of women was the only way he could become aroused. "Yeah, bitch, if you weren't a fat brown cow, I'd find you and show you different!" he snapped, they were all wrong. He was in it for the thrill. It had nothing to do with sex. He just loved to hear the screams, and imagine the total outrage, the turning red, the violation! "My body, oh, he got me!" That's what he craved.

Troy was coming to the end of the station choices.

Slamming down his remote, he picked up the paper again.

"Have ta save this," he mused.

As he thumbed through it, he happened to glance at a local news spot, some commerce garbage. What was this, city planners got their drawers in a knot again? He read down, and saw---! "Oh, Jesus fuck!" "Holy cuntmeat!" he exclaimed. This was it--the living it--the ultimate quintessential it! The ABSOLUTE IT! Yes, Right then and there, he decided;

There is a God, after all!

It was a collective scream that no doubt, any good psychic could have heard across town. Sara Fineman had gotten up out of a troubled sleep, her tortured soul roiling from the night before. Such treatment! She was gonna sue the city for this outrage. What kind of world was it that you couldn't drive down the street, in broad daylight without getting pelted with goo from some polluted individual. She sought an atourrney right then and there. The one she found, Cohen, wouldn't take the case. He said that they'd be laughed out of court. She left the police station, Walter yelling at her all the while. So, that was that, a great opportunity wasted. What else was there to live for? Sara drew a nice hot tub, stepped out of her night clothes, and sunk into a nice, fragrant bath. That would calm her frayed nerves.

Christine was wolfing down her third pastry of the morning with her coffee. She knew she had better stop fulfilling the cop stereotype, doughnuts and cops--otherwise, if she kept this up, she'd look alot like her partner. Coop would have been nice to put the moves on, if he wasn't so, so huge. Ah well. she sighed. Christine went to pour some milk into her coffee, and it was at that moment that the cardboard carton betrayed her with a mind of its own. A torent of milk got her right in the midriff.

"Oh, damn, first powdered sugar, now this," She rose up from the table and shed the soiled clothes. Nothing like starting over. She started a quick shower, another one, and stepped in. She had to plan another outfit for the day. She lathered up with Caress, her new favorite, and the fragrance began to sooth her. That is, until she noticed funny-looking things on her right breast. She took a washcloth, and began to soap the marks away. That was when she felt the lump.

Sara was applying great volumes of scented oil to her pampered skin. She did her arms, those dry elbows were always a problem. She began massaging it into her breasts, after all, you simply had to keep ahead of mother nature. Then she found, IT!

Simultaneously, both women began a low wail--that built into a noise from the very depths of their being. The now reverberating shriek echoed off their bathroom walls. It kept building until they both each threatened to strip their vocal cords. Christine Pedorsky was a little more rational and composed herself. She quickly began examining herself in minute detail, looking, praying, looking. Oh, at least it was just one. No more. She would get dressed, call in sick, and run to her doctor. Sara on the other hand, wasn't as composed. She jumped out of her tub, suds and oil going everywhere, and ripped open the medicine cabinet. She took a dixie cup, filled it from the sink, and began scarfing down red pills, blue ones, another couple of tranquilizers, a total of nine in all. She would ride this out and self medicate, until her doctor's office opened in two hours. She held and nurtured her right breast. Then it dawned on her. "That was where his seed touched me!" Sara immediately brought up all the pills.

Christine was getting dressed, again, when a light went off above her head. "Ick! That breast was where that creep's STUFF went." She, much like someone else across town, a someone she didn't even know, also lost all her morning's pleasures to the toilet. It was "bye bye breakfast" for both ladies.

On this fine, clear morning, the cause of both women's despair was stretching, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had fallen asleep smiling, what a great dream. Now he came fully awake, and realized that it wasn't a dream. It was a once in a lifetime chance. That article he had spotted in his newspaper, oh happy day! Within three weeks, something major was coming. And he was going to meet it. The question was, "How?"

Promptly at ten, Sara Fineman hurried into Memorial hospital. She had a sick feeling, her tummy was still in knots. Her throat was still sore from throwing up. She dared not take more pills. She couldn't stand to bring them all up again. "Hello, Mrs. Fineman," called the receptionist. She knew her well. "The doctor will see you now, please go down the hall to his outer office." Sara never understood that, why was it always "the doc will see you now," if all you did was go from one room to another, while the doctor finished up something? There were three other people in the waiting room, when she opened the door. Sara found a seat, and began eyeing the magazines. Her hands trembled a bit. She kept trying to erase the worried look she knew she was projecting. She clutched her breast, absent-mindly, that one! the one He soiled! "Are you all right?" an unfamiliar voice asked politely. Sara looked up. There sat a bright-eyed younger woman, next to her. "I, oh, I'm just here for a che che checkup." Christine didn't quite believe that. Then she felt her woman sense go off, and noticed how the other older woman, favored her right breast, must like you would surround and cuddle a frightened pet. "Are you in here for a, an exam?" Christine cupped her hand around her right one as well. "Why, yes I am! You too?" "Oh, I think so, I hope its nothing. I found a ... this morning and I'm not sure." "So did I, I was in the bath and I felt it and I'm so scared, and my pills didn't help and oh God why me? That awfulperson threw glop on me and I ..." Christine froze upon hearing this.

"Hold on, wait a minute. She sidled nearer, and spoke in confidence. "You said a person threw--? Did by any chance, something, a hit your, something warm and gooey, go down your, a , bra?" "Oh my! Yes, I was driving, and got socked by this huge glob of..." Sara couldn't say it. "Through my car window, it violated me!" "That's almost what happened to me, I was at a possible crime scene, and splok! I was hit, I first thought it was bird poop!" She couldn't believe it. "Now we both have, oh! Do you have a la la lump too?" Christine cringed, but managed a nod. "We're unclean, he marked us, this is the end for us," Sara wailed. That was the one thing Christine Pedorsky did not need to hear. Then she had a great idea. "Listen, I know. I can go in with you, instead of both of us being by ourselves. We're both here for the same thing, I'm a police officer. I would be more than happy to stay with you for the ... whatever happens." Sara looked up, she liked the sound of that. "I'd like that, oh, I don't want to get the news all alone. My husband (she frowned, not good) thinks I'm imagining all this." "Ok, we do this together." Christine said, and felt a little better.

How, in whoever's name, was Troy going to manage this? This one wasn't an engineering problem. He couldn't solve this one by building something. Hmmm. He paced and thought. The mother of all concerts, all female artists, was coming to Palladium. That was only 30 minutes away, at a moderate clip. He had a mission. So many women! It was calling out to him. He had to go, he had a duty to perform. He was gonna humiliate as many women there as his amunition would allow. Three weeks, eh? He had to prepare. He paced more. He thought; "all female acts! Dykes, bi-women! So much tuna in one place. Oh the screams, this was gonna make even more newspapers! He had to be there. They all had to feel the touch of his manhood! He was sketching out the delivery problem. He couldn't just whirl around firing shots, that would surely get noticed by say, the tenth barrage. No, this would mean going there, hours ahead. Staking out a hiding place, and then cutting loose.

There had to be a way.

Three days went by, and Troy Murohy wasn't a quitter, not by a longshot. He drove out to the Palladium, and began assessing his options. This was not going to be easy. He had to deliver a nice big cum shot to at least a hundred women. Even if he could acrue that much ammo, how to deliver it on target? He walked through the vast spectator arena. It had tiers, like a movie theater. But it was huge, he couldn't pull the stunt he pulled two months ago at the Metroplex. Shit, how was he---?" He looked up. Lights, beams, speakers. Then he saw them, pannels. Not quite the same as sound proofing tiles, but some kind of panels. That meant a drop ceiling, and where there were drop ceilings, there would probably be a crawl space. Now, how to get to it. Fifteen feet or so up? Hmmm. Stairs!

Troy ran for the hallways, there had to be bathrooms, maintinance closets, etc. He ran down a hall, nope, offices. He ran back, tore ass down another one. Bathrooms, well, that was a start. He doubled back. He was running out of directions in which to go. "Oh, fuck! Where's a stairwell?" he growled. Then he thought of it. "Its been blocked off. They must have done renovations, and nowadays they use scaffolding, the idiocy of modern America, shit!" OK, stay calm. This is just a temp setback. He thought of finding a huge ladder, dragging it into one of the bathrooms. He ran into the facilities. Oh, Christ, no panels in here, its all solid ceiling! He ran out, this was really keeping the pounds off. He saw a little door, like a miniature fire door, grey metal. Hmm, where's that go. He opened it, or tried to. Stuck. He looked for a lock. Ah, a lock. But not a dead bolt. He took a credit card from his wallet, and within two minutes, it surrendered to him. He pulled, when he felt the latch give, and it squeaked open. What was this? He inhaled some dust, sneezed. Musty, not used much. That meant low traffic. Very low. He saw a dim-lit bare-bulb, room with breakers, fire extinguishers, a terminal box, ah! He saw what he had been drooling for. A narrow staircase that went nowhere. Or rather, it went up, up to the false ceiling. Oh paydirt!" This was it. This was one of those times that Troy thanked the cosmos that he was average, nondescript. Not too tall, not heavy, forgettable in a crowd. He pushed up at the ceiling panels, they moved! Oh, happy happy, joy joy! He pushed two of them back, they clattered overhead. Oopsie! he laughed. He eased himself up, damn he needed a flashlight. It was out in his car. Oh, just a look for now. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Then he began crawling, evenly distributing his weight, along the fixed metal supports, carefully avoiding the panels that would bring him and themselves cascading down, a good fifteen feet or more, to the hard chairs below. He didn't need a broken back, not here, not now.

He went about ten feet, and slowly, quietly, raised a panel. Ah, hallway, a little more. He went out another ten feet, different direction. He pulled back a panel, judging by the curving permanent walls he was looking at, he was almost there. Oo yes, the back of the arena! He crawled straight from here, pulled one back. Yes! He'd found his golden opporrtunity. Now, how to fine tune it. He took a notepad and a felt tip, and began to draw a map. It was a very detailed map.

XI.

That was horrible! It took days for the results to come through. It was days of waiting! What if, what then? Both women were tearing their hair out, biting their nails off. A lump, both women had them. And it was all that bastard's fault, Sara just knew it! Christine wasn't sure, at least not until an additional doctor conferred with her own doctor. Both doctors had called, and sure enough, all the women that had been spewed upon, had odd malformations in their breasts. Every one of them. The good news was that in all of the cases, the "phantom glopper" as she called him, only produced benign cysts. Those could be dealt with.

Sara wanted more. She demanded that her insurance company pay for therapy as well. The jury remained out on that one.

Troy was back at his improvised workshop. He loved to be creative, he loved working with tools. Making things, fitting things into place; using things already made, for unimagined uses, that was even better. He was taking mouthfuls of different herbs now. He was hoping to increase his seminal output, for the big day! Damiana, salt palmetto and yohimbine, all showed promise, yes! He could feel the difference, in just five days! If a light breeze touched him, he was up and dripping precum. This was going to be fantastic. His explosive climaxes, all stored for safe-keeping, would fill every women in range, with embarrassment, outrage, and dread! OK, that part was humming along nicely. Now, for improvements on his motus aparandi.

First, he decided on the inconspicuous approach.

He'd go to the event as a woman!

He could do the closest shave of all times, makeup, anyone could stuff a bra. That shouldn't be too difficult. "Beauty" was comin' out. Next, he needed to arrange it so that his supplies would be hidden away, ready to use, in his little alcove. So, two days before the concert, he would go there, raincoat stocked with everything he could possibly need, and hide it all away. There was no use in showing up at a clit-fest, as a raincoated dorky guy.

The days crept by.

Troy had trippled his "output", it was humongus!

He had over two dozen vials, each one could deliver two large gloppy shots apiece. Then he began cutting his ejaculate with the new artificial jizz-wizz It was going perfectly. Within an hour, he had enough amunition for about a hundred women. That was the number that struck a chord. He was also in luck inasmuch as the synthetic cum contained a light preservative, keeping his real man-juice fresh and stable. Good. He looked up the program of acts online. Oo, he cooed. "Shakira was coming. Belly dance hey? Like ta plop one on her, right on her bouncing belly all right!" Liz Phaire, Debbie Harry, that old has-bin! Poor tired Sarah Mcclachlan, Shawn Culvin. The big question was, during whose performance, did he want his performance? hahaha! He closed his eyes and imagined fans yelling, and catching a couple, right in their yelling open mouths! Now that would make the week! Troy still didn't believe the medical propaganda they had released. He was pretty sure that he was clean. Just the same though, he thought; wouldn't it be the ultimate scandal, the ultimate marrow-freezing horror for a woman, all those women--if he did have something infectious? That would traumatize some of them good. Maybe for life!

Officer Christine was applying sunblock, even when she didn't need it. After this little trist, she wasn't taking any chances. She saw the morning paper, and oh wow! A huge concert soon--nearby to. Hmmm, she perused the different acts. "I might just go to this," she mused dreamily. Then her mind rolled back to her little sliming event. You don't suppose He'd show up there, and try that? She thought; He did do his thing to people at our own Metroplex. She picked up her phone, and called her captain. They had some things to discuss.

One day to go.

Troy had practiced, taking Beauty out for two test runs.

The first, was to a nice restaurant. The pumps were uncomfortable, but he needed the practice. All went well, he even got away with using the ladies' room, and sitting down to do his business. He'd almost forgot--a loud masculine standing pee would have raised the hackles on every hole within fifty feet. He didn't need that.

The second recon was to a straight bar. Jesus, is this how it really was. He was brushed against, hit on, whistled at, and had five drinks bought for him. Hmmm, I guess I passed the test. "Hi, I'm Nelson." Oh, great, a huge, hairy muscle-turning-to-fat, athletic looks-going to-seed dude sat next to him. He thought fast. "I'm Trina," not a bad corruption of Troy. "So, ever been here before?" "Oh, I'm new in town--I just found a job here." "Well, we'll have ta get acquainted." Nelson said, as if from a script. Great, wrong thing to say, new in town. Oh, shit. There was only one thing to do, and it was a shame to cut the evening's practice run short--but this did prove that he could bring it off. "A, excuse me, I have to say bye bye to these last three drinks, a woman's bladder you know--haha!" He got up, grabbed his ... bag. Yuck, he still couldn't do the "woman-think" and call it a purse. It had everything he needed. Off to the l-room he charged. With in ten minutes, a raincoated, slightly red-faced (from the shaving plus rapid makeup removal) dude cautiously opened the ladies' room door a crack, and peered out. "Come on, hurry up your fat-ass, now!" He stealthily padded out in his sneakers, and melted into the hallway. Upon arriving back at the bar, he saw the empty stool, and Nelson, looking like a nine-year-old waiting to lick the cake batter bowl.

He ignored him, and sat three stools away, and ordered a Coors. It was all perfect. He rooted around and found three singles. His beer arrived. Yes, it was going to work.

XII.

"You want to what?" Captain Woods raised his voice, his favorite technique. "And do what, may I ask? If you show up there, in plain clothes, you could get spewed on again, need I remind you?" "Well, if I show up in uniform--" Christine began

"Ahem, if I recall, you were in uniform, and had just gotten out of your car when you got belted with it the first time, right or wrong?" Damn him. "Well, what do you suggest?" She refused to be diminished by him. "I still think we should cover the event, I have a feeling." "Maybe so, but we'll do it a different way, with no cowgirl heroics. I'm assigning two officers to cover it." Christine's heart jumped, she drew in a breath. "Two, male, officers." the captain clarified. "Oh, I see. Well, I suppose so." "Besides officer Pedorsky," the captain stretched and extended a forefinger, "we don't even know if he's going to show up. He has always stuck close to home--our town. This may not be important to him." "I just know it is," she answered. I just feel it is.

The big Friday had finally arrived.

Troy was charged up, ready to go. This would be his greatest achievement. He had, two days earlier, stashed his canvas bag of supplies in the crawlspace, under an old dropcloth. Nobody had been up there since his first visit. Better to let two days go by, than try going up there on the day of the concert. His moving around up there might be noticed by some roadees or techies or whatever the fuck they were called these days--setting up lighting, and doing sound checks. Christ, imagine accidentally breaking through his nook, sending a ceiling panel down on the head of a young Clearasil-faced grunt? No sirree! He needn't have worried. The early afternoon snuck up on him, and soon, an attractive Trina was driving along, heading for the big event. There was going to be a big turnout. This was going to be huge. No one could have guessed, just how huge.

Parking was a bitch. And she was having puppies.

Trina parked blocks away--oh well, at least he'd converted to flats, no pumps today! He/she went in, masking the cold calculating apraisals with smiling casual looks and stares. He was rummaging for his ticket, when low and behold! what was this? A policeman. No, two, three! There was some nice security here tonight. Hmmm, he wondered if there was indeed, more security than usual. She went up to one of the keystones. "Hello, is there, like, some problem here tonight?" "Oh, no, said the officer. Just the usual. We don't want any drugs or drinking here," he lied through his unbrushed teeth!

Shit, Troy got a cold, creepy feeling.

He could always go directly to his seat and enjoy the---no! He was not sitting through Nellie or Natalie Embrolia whatever the fuck. He turned and, instead of knowingly going there, he asked instead--"Um, do you know where the a ... the ladies' room possibly is, I drove in and should've well, you know." Trina giggled and batted her eyes, oh, if she'd only had some gum to snap. She gave him that "I'm just a mere little grrl in distress, you big tough officer/guy/man you," look, and he was putty! He melted for her. I can show you darlin'. Oh, he could've won an Oscar. Off they went, the cop never imagining that he was aiding and abetting what was to come. "I could come in there and help you," the cop joked, smiling. Wonder if anything was indeed, on his mind? Troy thought. Instead he piped up, "Oh, you silly, I'll bet your like, married and everything. You go outside." Troy couldn't resist. "I'm not that kind of girl!"

The officer tried to save, no, recover, face.

"Oh, I'm sure you're not." He loped off.

Troy laughed in his natural voice. "Truer words were never spoken."

Troy had decided to strip off all the womanhood so as not to get anything dirty. How would he explain that. So, off came Trina, and, in jeans and a t, he crept down the hall, carrying bag number two. All his disguise-ware for the final exit was in there. Into the cruddy utility room he went, this time with flashlight. He grabbed a trash can, and right before he closed the door, he slid it almost in front of the doorjamb. He smeared grease all over the door, so no one would want to touch it. Better yet, any curious cop or whoever, would think that no one else had touched it---for a very long time. He had disposable gloves, for that.

He slung the Trina disguise bag over at the beginning of the gridwork to mark his place. Then he very quietly, got into his armada-firing mode. All that semen within the flexible reservoirs, eek! it was cold, had to warm up next to his body. He had plenty of time. He actually relished being away from the noise and clammer of what was about to begin. He saw, for the first time, a ridged metal hollow cable, the kind that old houses had in their basements for the 220-voltage current. Hmmm, he crawled to it, and oh my my! What had we here. It was a, what was it. He brought out one of his eye pieces. Holy shit on a bun. One of the lights had a bulb out, and this eyepiece was looking right through the hole where the bulb should have gone. He could use this. He rooted around and found what he'd dare not hope for. A second one. He was in heaven. One hole for the eyepiece. The second for his squirter system. It was almost too easy. He peered down, getting a general lay of the land. There was his dorky cop. There was a pair of dykes. Another cop. Two straight couples on a double date or something. He changed angle. More women. Oh, so many women. Well, little fillies, prepare to get branded.

He had one last idea before the major crowds started piling in. He crept back out, and down those narrow stairs. He placed an old piece of railing in such a way, that it would be impossible to pry the door open, even if somebody guessed where he was. Kinda like the chair under the doorknob trick.

Actually, Troy was so calm, cool and collected, he decided to dose off. Like anyone would hear him, fifteen feet above all that chaos.

He started awake--a thud! Where was he? Oh, of course, then a rhythm developed, thud thud thud. Ah, the show begins.

He didn't remember who the first act was, he didn't even care. He primed his apparatus for the first test firing. He focused his eyepiece, and then it hit him. How was he to coordinate the two? He couldn't aim like when he was up in his tree, or the Metroplex. Shit, all this work! Now what. He couldn't give up. He sent one of his finger nozzles slowly down the hole in the light fixture. He fired. Woa! He could do general ball park, but not a fine aim like he was used to. Well, at least he landed his very first one on some guy's head. And the dufus didn't even notice yet! He even thought of moving to different panels, raising them and firing. That wouldn't work. If he raised a panel, without seeing below it first, some idiot could be looking up at that very moment. Then the alarm would spread, they'd find him. All that work! He sighed, and really felt like just sending the heavy panels down on every clit present. No, he had control. He was better than all those below him right now. There had to be a ... way. Troy crawled over to the far wall, almost out of range of the arena itself. This was something new. He dusted off the metalwork with his gloved hands. Ho! A fire supression system. Now what can I do with this? He located the smoke detectors. No good. He located the alarm system, too loud, even up here. He ripped that apart. No good. Then he was struck by Satori! a True enlightenment, in one momentous flash! The sprinkler system! No aiming necesary here. He dashed back and brought out of his bag, into the dim light, every drop of amunition he possessed. All of it. He scooted over to the now, slightly compromised fireproofing system. He found the hoses, must led to water valves somewheres. He unscrewed these, and began to get a spray of water. Oh, fuck, if this drips down, they'll know I'm up here. He hadn't planned for this. He improvised. He followed the hoses, and bingo! Faucets. He turned them, their squeaks sounding like tortured mice. Now, he resumed his tampering. He undid all the water hoses, and connected his, well, thicker, richer alternative to h2o. Now, this would be good. He could technically be in two places at once. He once again, foraged around in all his supplies, and found what he needed. Maps, yes, burnable! A butane lighter, perfect. Matches. He hauled out some medical tape, the stuff he used to tape his balls in place when he went for the woman disguise--an old old dragqueen trick. It was so very convincing, I'm sure! he teased. He taped the tore-up paper, the lighter and some dried lint he found up there, to the fire-detection system's sensor array. Then he unrolled a lot of strips of paper, this took time, he had to tape them all together. Two feet. ... four feet. damn this was drudge work! Six feet. He had to do more, he needed a delay-action, a long one. He needed time to get out. Another act began, this one screechier than the first. Oh, yucko! who the hell was that one? Fifteen feet of paper and trash, he got going in a straight line. Now, he ran back, checking one final time, all his goop was ready for when the sprinkler valves were informed of the raise in temperature, i.e., fire. He struck one match. It went out. He struck another, it lit.

Troy touched it to the paper.

It caught.

He spread both gloved hands over his work; in an all-encompassing mockery of Genesis. "It is good," he intoned. Let there be light. And there was.

XIII.

His heart was pounding. This had never happened before.

Now, this part was crucial. Everything had to fit together, he had to get out of this crawl-space. He had to get unobserved, into the ladies' room, change, head out, and leave, as if dissatisfied with the show--before the rain of terror began to fall. He really wanted to change back into Trina, up here, that way if the ladies' room was occupied, he'd be dead, going in as a man. Yeah, he'd better do that. This sucked. He was cramped, bad lighting, and he couldn't allow any of his female garments to get soiled. That would rip credibility from him, but good! He got his jeans and t-shirt stowed away, now. He slowly transformed. The makeup, ah, shit. That, at least, he could reapply downstairs. He already looked three quarters like a woman. It all worked, he crept down, removing the metal bar. He inched the door open--just a crack. No one. He inched it open, more. He reached out, slowly sliding the trash can away from the door. Easy as pie. all the while, up above, seconds ticked by. He got into the ladies' room, it was full. Christ, his god was with him. He redid the face completely. Ah, she stared back. Beauty was ready to leave this veil of tears. Or rather, veil of sperm.

He went back in, and damn! if he didn't run smack into that insipid oaf he'd encountered before going "upstairs". "Hi, there darlin". (I'll darlin' you!) he thought. "Oh, I have ta leave, there's been an accident, and my mother's a, well, I have to get there!" Trina snuffled. "Oh, sh I mean that's a bummer, the show's beginning." (It certainly is, you fool!) Troy thought. He shambled off, out the door, and headed for his car. Troy assumed that the police presence was only scrutinizing those people who were arriving; not anyone leaving the crowded venue. He was right. Leaving the scene, therefore, was incredibly easy! He didn't want to be there, within that mess, when it began. He might get pulled in, just like the police did once before, while he was up a tree. No thanks. Better to see it on TV. Coverage was just so good these days!" he sighed. He smiled. As his car door slammed and locked, and his engine started, he roared. Yeah, you're all mine now, let's see you cops get a handle on this. He drove to a small diner along the roadside. He ran into yet another ladies' room, stripped off the disguise. He put purse into canvas backpack. Clothes came out of backpack, dainty things went in. wreaking men's cologne went on, oo that stung. He'd forgot about his close-shaven tender skin. Yowie! . He looked in the mirror, perfect. Where one tall but "decent-looking" lady went in, one average height guy came out--carefully, and ordered a burger, large drink and fries, to go.

Sensors heated up, the paper was sizzling, and disappearing fast. The flames got closer and closer, bridging the distance to the fire system. Troy's car was humming along, he was enjoying the fries. The lint caught. The lighter got so hot, that it began to glow. Then it hissed its load of gas. Up roared a pyre, right within spitting distance of the fire sensors. The automated apparatus began cycling through the three tasks it had been programmed to do. It tried to ring the fire alarm--but it couldn't know that there was none. So, silently, it sent instructions to the auto-dialer to alert 9-11. Alas, this too failed ... wires had been ripped out. Lastly, it opened its end-nozzles, and began building enormous pressure. It could at least, send liquid where it should go. Too bad it wasn't water.

XIV.

Troy raced in, throwing everything down, tearing off his coat, heading for the TV. Any moment now. Surely something would happen. He just didn't know exactly what.

The first spurt began.

Troy munched his burger.

As he ate, miles away, seven huge globs rained down upon cheering, throbbing women. One in the face, one in the right eye, two on the back of the neck. Then more goo proceeded to drizzle down upon the gathering. Another fifteen women got it. The target count was now at twenty-two, and five began screaming, grabbing their faces and necks, repelled at what they felt. Three women felt invading clots oozing down their plunging necklines. Two what looked like drag-kings, got pelted by cakey masses, which began flowing down to their boobs. Troy finished his burger. Miles away, the officers stationed there began hearing screams--and these had nothing to do with the performing musical acts. They dashed into the crowd, looking for whoever was causing it. Christine, in plain clothes, had sneaked in, and was rewarded for her efforts by yet a second encounter with a great warm mound of man-slime. "Oh, Jesus yuck!" she spurted, as she wiped her face. Not again! She whipped out her radio. "He's here somewhere, the bastard's here. Get backup, now!" She didn't care if it was an unsecured frequency. Her fellow officers came running. People were getting plopped upon, their numbers growing. And growing. Where's it coming from?" "I got cum on me!" "Who did that?" Lesbos were yelling "some man did this, I know its cum!" How would she know? Then, like something sweet, slowly changing its nature, the crowd turned, fermenting into something very, very sour. "Shut up, bitch, sit down." "You're blocking the stage!" "Fuck you!" always a good comeback. "Lemme outa here, its jit!"

"Its that awfull man!"

The cops were chattering back and forth on their radios--and that was what tore it. Reporters with scanners, scanners in newsrooms, and scanners in the hands of the curious and the hobbyist, came alive; conveying the message--something big was happening. And reporters, by their very nature, wanted in on it. So, cameras converged upon the concert, which was now erupting violently into chaos.

Troy was looking for some cake. He liked cake. He'd remembered buying some. Then the story broke. "We're in route now to the femfest concert, TV crews are arriving now. Troy closed the cupboard, this was it! He sat, fondling the remote.Come on, baby, let's see some footage. He primed a tape in the VCR, his work deserved documentation. He jumped up, ran into his bedroom, turned on a second tv and vcr, and programmed it for another channel. He wasn't gonna miss a single moment of this. Crews were overrunning the parking lot. They weren't close enough yet, but it didn't matter. A major riot was going on. People were slugging it out, and those were just the ones on the outside. They were mad that their show, that they'd paid for, was fucked up. So, might as well break some heads over it. Now the scene changed, as Troy ran between the two TV's he got a good view of things. Women with disheveled hair, gunk all through it, were crying, screaming and running. The men they were with were trying to shield them from people behind them--all pouring forth, out of control. Glass was breaking somewhere. The Palladium was now spewing forth its occupants, trampling, kicking and shrieking, gunge landing on them, even as they fled. He had done it good. Women were falling, unabled to get through the chairs and bodies, legs and arms fracturing, breaking. Then, on one of the channels, Troy saw one of the performers herself, her face one big glob of what looked like dippity-doo, crying, furious. One of her bodyguards came forward, all set to whisk her away in his powerful arms, only to get an eyeful.

As he bowed his head to get the hot sticky intrusion out of his eye, a chair, from somewhere off-camera, cracked over his back. Women were being soaked with his semen cocktail, then crushed underfoot as more women tried to flea. Large mirror tiles, the purpose of which was to enhance the stage shows, began slicing through limbs as people panicked. Troy was running between the two TV's, in order to keep up with the carnage. Oh, this second channel was covering a real spectacle. A huge amplifier was smoking and sending forth flames; the mad rush of terrified women had gotten entangled in the electrical cords which had begun shorting out. Men were kicking and slamming other men out of the way; in order to get their women out. The cops were yelling, stripping their throats ragged, trying to instill some order to chaos. From what he could see, nobody was having any luck.

What Troy could not have known about, for no camera present could transmit it, was that up in his crawl-space, high above the arena, a real fire was now blazing in full swing. The dry lint, paper, rubber from his personal apparatus--all conspired to light the old wooden beams of the upper floor. The building's roof soon caught, and toxic smoke began to spread. The fire alarm had been destroyed, and the sprinklers had been disconnected. And so, slowly at first, but inexorably picking up speed, the fire began to consume the building, the rioting crowd below totally unaware.

Feona Apple was fit to be tied--"My show is canceled, what happened?" No one could give her a straight answer. Reports were still scrambled, rumours and accusations were still rampant. Some guy spurting his sex on women? How could that be true for hundreds of women? She shrank back into her limo, and closed the window.

With the sight of smoke billowing out the upper story, the police sent an emergency message of fire to their dispatcher. Ten minutes later, siren and airhorns blared--engines were arriving. They had a little problem; they couldn't get close enough to do any good. Overcrowded parking and hysterical people were an effective barrier. There was still plenty of assaults and glass breaking going on. A pair of women, one with half her hair ripped from her head, were chasing some dude they thought had contaminated them. The chase was interrupted by a deep rumbling explosion. Troy couldn't take it, he dragged the bedroom TV toward his livingroom. As soon as a commercial break occurred, he stopped the tape, found an extension cord, and plugged it in. Now he could watch both TV sets in the livingroom. What was that explosion? he wondered. He saw a bubble headed blonde yapping about the decision to bring in riot gear. Oh, that should mix well with the firemen! On the other TV, he got his answer--somebody's cam panned upwards toward the top of the building, just in time to capture the hall windows imploding, and the roof caving in. Any minute, he thought, and the upper floor would come creaking and crashing down upon anyone left inside. Surely, he didn't plan on this. All he wanted was to mortify women with a concert they'd never forget. He glanced up, oo, this was inventive. Somebody's bright idea--instead of waiting for any riot squad; the firehoses began spraying people, drenching them; forcing them to run away from the building. Maybe it was just as well that the building burned--the evidence of his firing-and-delivery apparatus would be melted by now--beyond recognition, he hoped. Their plan did seem to be working. Folks were running for their cars, with reporters scurrying after them for some sound bites. Just as television number one closed in on a redhaired woman, television number two bore witness to the colapse of the arena.

Cars were tearing out of there. On the one hand, the cops wanted to block off the area, they needed witnesses and information. On the other hand, they needed room for the fire engines. It was total chaos. Then the car pile-ups began.

That poor besieged police station.

First came the fallout from the brawl at the Metroplex.

Then came the outdoor sliming.

And within less than a month, this!

Irate promoters and producers, hysterical women casualties, hundreds of injuries all being carted off via ambulance! The onslaught broke the back of the police force. With cops out at the venue, more cops were called out to escort the 41 ambulances needed. That left a skeleton crew to deal with regular crime matters.

The mayor was furious.

A real people draw, should have been great for his city--destroyed! The concert, a three day extravaganza! Over! The arena, trashed!And this demon, walking the streets--his streets! spewing semen on women! Intolerable. How had he done it? Dozens of girls, over two hundred and twenty three! He'd pelted them with enough ejaculate to, to what? Christ, that was inhuman. He refilled the glass of Scotch, for the third time. What kind of creature?--- According to his aids and advisors, this fiend's ... emissions caused growths in any woman they touched. What was this? he thundered. And what was he?

Every hospital in town was packed. Every doctor's office was backed up to the street. Hysterical, clammering women! They wanted answers, they wanted asurance.

Word had not yet spread to the entire medical network, that all their manifestations were benign. The offices were full of the concert victims which had been tainted, while the hospitals were jam packed full of the seriously injured. Dozens of broken arms, fractured legs, crushed ribs, poked eyes, squashed noses; scores of both men and women punctured, and abraded by broken glass--and s--everyone had something that demanded attention!

Troy was the focus of everything--people just didn't know it. With the passing of each new day, the Palladium story became an ever-changing mosaic. Talk radio picked up on the story, local news gave nightly reports, every new development chewed on by the media. Everyone had questions and issues to be addressed. Was this guy the same phantom slimer of previous attacks? Did the phantom slimer start the fire? Were the riot and the fire connected? How were the attacks carried out upon so many women? Was this attacker nonhuman? Were all these people covered under insurance? Would the insurance companies succeed in billing the city for all the medical costs? All they had was a bucketful of questions, and no answers. Every few days, an article or TV story would appear, stating that yet more women were suffering from malignancies, and appealing to the culprit to please come into a clinic or hospital for tests. Fat chance. He wasn't falling for it.

Doctor Avram Stillwater had his hands full.

If this kept up, he would probably have a stroke or something. He ran between hospitals, counseled dozens of women, dozens! He had six laboratories culturing biopsies. Women, numbering in the hundreds, were developing growths on their breasts, ranging in magnitude from small fatty sacs and odd little colorations, to large soft pockets of unchecked material. From little marble-size lumps, to large formations that pushed their nipples off to one side. Most were coming back benign, he prayed that this would continue. It still meant, however, that the majority of these women wanted surgery. they didn't want anything growing in there, knowing that it was a product of some fiend's secretions.

Once again, insurance companies as well as HMO's were socked with the bills. They were insensed!

The weeks stretched into months, and the trail was growing colder by the day. Fire experts said that "maybe," the arsonist and the mad slimer, were one in the same. Although they would confirm that the fire had started by "suspicious means" they would not say much else. The investigators had found remnints of something unusual, they could only guess as to what it was. The sprinklers had been manually shut off. That was about it. The mayor was not happy.

And so, the Palladium Incident, as it was coined, became rooted in the town as official history--case unsolved. Troy discovered a goldmine on the internet, and moved to another state. There was never again any incident of public semenations by anyone in the besieged town. Some reporters still asked the question, every now and then; when nothing much was going on, they'd flash back and ponder the bizarre incident;

It seemed that physicians agreed. All the tests conducted confirmed it. It was all one man's doings. "How could one man do so much? How could he successfully spunk so many women? How?"

All of their questions went unanswered.

Vrykolakas

The Cancer Series

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