bombing break - time for a story (Jupiter Rising)
- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
ÒGod bless America, most especially AmericaÕs child molesters.Ó
- anonymous patriot
Andrew Roller Presents
JUPITER RISING
Chapter One
Have you heard the news? There are men in this world who molest
and rape children. TheyÕre evil, weÕre told, and they must be eliminated.
Unfortunately thatÕs bad news for me, since IÕm one of them.
I was sitting in my shitty apartment watching T.V. Fox News,
donÕcha know, the ÒMolester and Kiddie Porn Channel,Ó IÕd call it, except
that same label applies to CNN too. CNBC would no doubt be the ÒMolester
and Kiddie Porn ChannelÓ also, except theyÕve got better things to talk
about, like the price of Yahoo.
My doorbell rang. I really hate it when someone rings my doorbell
when IÕm watching T.V. I had actually developed a nervous tick about it. I
would turn on my T.V. and something interesting would come on and then
suddenly IÕd worry, right in the middle of it, while IÕm watching it, ÒOh
shit. What if someone rings my doorbell? Right now?Ó IÕll miss part of
what IÕm watching. So I got to taping everything, which is why I had to
stumble past several boxfulls of used VCR tapes when I got up to get the
doorbell. With my trusty VCR already in the record mode, IÕd be sure not
to miss any of the ÒMolester and Kiddie PornÓ news, I assured myself.
I opened my front door. Some beer and soda can empties went rolling
as I opened my door. There was a little girl standing there. She looked
about 8-years-old. Big brown eyes stared up at me. She had long, flowing
hair, chestnut-colored, that went from the top of her head all the way
down her back to below her waist. Even though she was facing me I could
see all this in an instant because I was considerably taller than her,
looking not so much down at her as over her, like a skyscraper inspecting a
pedestrian on the sidewalk below. She seemed somewhat overwhelmed by
a big flat open container that was about the size and shape of a case of
soda. Except it had cookies in them, boxes of them, piled high. I looked
down at her and she looked up at me and she smiled. She asked me if I
wanted to buy some cookies. Unfortunately I didnÕt have any money in my
pockets and this brought on another nervous tick of mine. I donÕt like to
just go get my wallet and open it with someone standing at the door, not
even if itÕs just a little girl. What if I give her a five dollar bill, intending
to give her a one, and she thinks itÕs a one and thanks me and leaves,
charging me five dollars for a one dollar box of cookies? Or what if I give
her a ten or a twenty? But there was something adorably cute about her
so I asked her what sort of cookies she liked best, since I didnÕt want her
to leave right away but I didnÕt want to buy anything from her either.
After all, whatÕs a guy like me need with some fucking Girl Scout type
cookies? TheyÕre overpriced, you know they have to be, otherwise the Girl
Scouts wouldnÕt make any money selling them.
However this girl wasnÕt old enough to be a Girl Scout. She was
more the age of a Brownie. For some reason IÕve always thought that
Brownies looked cuter than Girl Scouts. TheyÕre small and cuddly, while
Girl Scouts strike me as sort of Holy and Moral Future Mothers of America,
who happen to be teenagers. Brownies just are, like little brown-suited
teddy bears. But Girl Scouts are obsessed with becoming, with their broad
over-the-shoulder sashes covered with endless fucking merit badges.
So I asked this little girl,who I assumed must be a Brownie selling
Girl Scout cookies, but who happened not to be in uniform, which cookies
she liked best. Being a perfect little saleslady already at the age of eight,
she used my question as an opportunity to explain all of her different
types of cookies. Only at the end of this long digression, listing the
various points of all the various cookies in her tray, did she say, ÒOf
course, in my opinion, I like the Turtles best.Ó
And indeed the Turtles were cute little critters. I looked at the box.
They were vaguely turtle shaped, and covered with chocolate with a layer
of carmel on top. I considered buying them but then, on an impulse, I
glanced around to see if her parents were standing somewhere behind her
and watching her. And me.
You see, something bothers me about kids who go from door to door,
selling cookies or at Halloween, with their parents secretly watching
them from a distance. I mean, the lure is that youÕre supposed to interact
with these kids one on one, and be nice to them, and buy something from
them. But all the while thereÕs ole Mom or Dad, standing under a nearby
apartment stairwell or next to a tree, watching to see if youÕre going to
kidnap, molest, rape and strangle their kid. Something about that strikes
me as really creepy.
As it was, I didnÕt see her parents standing around anywhere. So
feeling I might get my wallet after all, I asked her how much her cookies
were.
ÒTwo dollars a box,Ó she told me. A smile touched her lips. She
could almost taste the success of a sale now and this delighted her. Never
mind that the money would obviously just be passing through her to some
faceless entity, the Girl Scouts or whatever. I went and got my wallet,
leaving her standing on tip toe at my door. When I came back I had
managed to fish two ones out of my billfold without, I hoped, winding up
giving her way more money than I intended to and not getting the right
change. Two ones. Easy and simple. I figured IÕd take the Turtles since
that looked the most likely to please her. Perhaps IÕd buy them and give
them right back to her to eat all by herself, if it didnÕt confuse her too
much. I gave her the money. I told her I wanted the Turtles. Smiling
broadly, she lifted the topmost box of Turtles from her stacks of cookies
in her tray and handed it to me.
ÒHow about you?Ó I asked her, on impulse. She looked up at me with
her huge childÕs eyes and said,
ÒHmmm?Ó
ÒHow about you?Ó I asked. Still holding the box of Turtles, I
managed to pull some more bills from my wallet. Suddenly I didnÕt care
what denomination they were or even if she gave me the right change for
them or not. ÒSee, IÕve got some more money,Ó I told her. ÒWhat if I want
more, but I donÕt want the graham crackers or the off market Oreos or
even another box of Turtles, but I want you instead? How much would I
have to pay for you?Ó Her smile grew broader, just as I wondered to
myself what exactly I was asking.
ÒI cost three dollars,Ó she said. Now it was my eyes that got huge. I
think IÕd just been toying with her, trying to scare her maybe, but now
sheÕd actually quoted me a price! For herself!
I handed her my whole wad of bills. I figured sheÕd take it as a joke
or something. I was going to hand her back the box of Turtles too, but
before I could sheÕd jumped (yes, it was just like that, despite the
heaviness of her load) across the transom of my apartment. Somehow she
managed to kick my empty cans out of the way and she shut the door to my
apartment. I was alone with a little girl, in the semi-darkness of the
entryway of my apartment. I guess it was about 8:30 at night, but still
light outside, owing to daylight savings time. It was deep summer, early
August. Little did I know that my life was about to change forever.
ÒListen, I was just kidding,Ó I told the eight-year-old girl. I tried
handing her the box of Turtles. But she bent over and put down her load of
cookies, the whole trayful of them, right there on the floor of my
apartment, amidst my empty cans. When she stood up again, having gotten
off the strap that hung round her neck to steady that big tray full of
cookies, I managed to put the box of Turtles IÕd bought into her small hand.
She was still clutching the bills IÕd handed her, both my original two and
the extra bills.
ÒItÕs too late,Ó the girl told me proudly. ÒYouÕve bought and paid for
me and now IÕm yours.Ó I gazed at the girlÕs big brown eyes and her broad
smile, which was bigger than ever now that sheÕd unloaded her cookies
inside my door and had God knows how much of my money to pay for them
all.
ÒReally, I was just kidding!Ó I said again. She ignored me and
glanced around my apartment.
ÒYou have a nice place,Ó she said. ÒA little messy, but it doesnÕt
matter. ItÕll do.Ó
ÒDonÕt-- donÕt you have to sell the rest of your cookies?Ó I asked her
hopefully, looking down at her tray on my floor. She flipped through the
wad of bills IÕd handed her.
ÒA hundred and twenty dollars will more than cover them,Ó the
brown-eyed girl said. ÒAnd pay for me too, with a big tip!Ó She grinned up
at me. ÒThanks!Ó she told me.
ÒDonÕt you have to get home? ArenÕt your parents waiting for you or
something?Ó I asked her. To which she replied,
ÒNope.Ó
ÒWell I guess you can stay here for a little while,Ó I said, glancing
around now and wondering how I was going to fit a little girl into my very,
very messy apartment with my boxes of VCR tapes and my Penthouse and
Playboys (not to mention Barely Legal), and my video games and books and
old childhood toys. But she didnÕt share my concern, this new little
visitor of mine. She seemed quite happy with the place. She stepped
round her boxes of cookies on my floor and asked me if I had anything to
eat.
ÒUm, cookies,Ó I told her.
ÒWeÕll eat those later,Ó she told me. ÒI want something different.Ó
She went straight to my refrigerator, despite never having been in my
apartment before. ÒDo you have any ice cream?Ó she asked, opening my
refrigerator door.
ÒUh, I have some Chocolate Chip Mint, but I ate half the box already,Ó
I told her. And I had, straight out of the box, not bothering to put it in a
bowl first. However her response was one I suspected was about to
become glaringly routine.
ÒThatÕll do,Ó she said. And standing on tip-toe she managed to haul
the box down from the freezer section of my refrigerator. She opened it.
The next thing I knew sheÕd located my silverware drawer and was
scooping ice cream out of the box and straight into her mouth. ÒWant
some?Ó she asked me, holding up the box so I could look at it as if I didnÕt
know what flavor of ice cream I had in my own refrigerator.
ÒNo,Ó I said.
ÒItÕs weally good!Ó she said, mangling the word ÒreallyÓ because her
mouth was full of ice cream. She dug in and ate some more. I asked her if
she wanted something to drink.
ÒYes,Ó she said. I got a can of Coke out of the refrigerator.
ÒIÕll get a glass for you,Ó I told her. But she took the can of Coke out
of my hand and said,
ÒThatÕll do.Ó She opened the can and poured all the Coke directly
into the ice cream box. Then she spooned into this soggy mess, smearing
ice cream all over her cheeks as she consumed the entire box.
ÒYou were hungry,Ó I said afterwards, as she washed up at my sink,
standing on tip-toe to reach the faucet.
ÒSelling cookies is a lot of work,Ó she told me.
ÒWhatÕs your name, anyway?Ó I asked her.
ÒLisa,Ó she told me. She brushed back her auburn locks with wet
hands. ÒLisa Onion,Ó she said.
ÒMy nameÕs Sam,Ó I told her. I guess I said it rather self-
consciously because IÕm a nerd. I wear glasses, and that automatically
puts me into the nerd category with girls, especially if youÕre skinny as
well. And have narrow shoulders. And arenÕt too tall. And have a big nose
and a big AdamÕs apple and, well, you get the picture. Throw in a receding
hairline and a weak chin and the beginnings of a beer belly and the fact
that IÕm 30, and you can pretty much cross me off your party invitation
list. You donÕt want to scare the women away, do you?
However, little girls are different. IÕve noticed this. Or this girl
was, anyway. She was friendly and nice, and way beautiful. I looked down
at her, at her budding breasts, pushing against her shirt, at the way she
lifted the hem of her shirt out of her dress and wiped her hands on it,
baring her belly to me as she used her shirt for a towel. Her belly was
flat, luxuriously tanned. With her sweet little breasts and her cute tummy
and gently flaring hips, all mounted on a long pair of legs and topped with
a gorgeous young face, she looked like a Playmate of the Month. Junior
version, of course. But who was I to complain? I forgot all about the
lateness of the hour, for little girls I mean, and asked her if she wanted to
play some video games. She smiled and said yes. I donÕt know what moves
one needs to score with a woman (how could I?) but as far as little girls
go, I think I was getting them all down just right.
LisaÕs shirt flapped against her belly. I guess it felt wet and cold
because her next move was to lift up the wet part of her shirt and tie it
into a knot. This bared her belly in a permanent fashion, at least until the
knot was untied, and I was in heaven as I led this sexy-looking little girl
over to my T.V. I only had one chair that didnÕt have any stuff piled in it.
(After all, I live alone.) So I just instinctively sat in my chair, without
thinking about it, and the next thing I knew this cute little girl had
climbed up into my lap!
I donÕt know if youÕve ever had a little girl sit in your lap and play
video games before. I hadnÕt, but I quickly learned what a trip it is. You
see, I handed her my joystick. I only had one rigged up since IÕm usually
the only one playing in my apartment. She began trying to play the game I
had in the console. It was Galactic Invaders.
ÒThis is too hard!Ó Lisa complained, after several minutes of trying
to fend off the invaders from space. I asked her what else she wanted to
play. ÒWhat games do you have?Ó Lisa asked me. I ticked off what I had.
It turned out that I had a new version of Pac Man, called Baby Pac Man. I
know it sounds lame but she liked the sound of it. When I discovered,
fooling around with the gameÕs settings, that it had a teddy bear level, for
little kids, she was even happier. Pretty soon Lisa was merrily zooming
around a Baby Pac Man maze.
Do you know what itÕs like when a little girlÕs bottom is square in
your lap wiggling around as she plays Baby Pac Man on the teddy bear
level? You get a massive boner. At least, I did. Surprisingly she didnÕt
seem to notice the log growing up into the crack of her ass. Or perhaps
she was too polite to notice. I got bigger and bigger, and I didnÕt know
what to do. Suddenly, it happened. I ejaculated against her ass. There I
was with an eight-year-old girl sitting in my lap and suddenly I was
making love to her, and she was getting spermed by me! But in total
innocence, or in total politeness, she just kept zipping around the Baby
Pac Man maze. If I didnÕt do something quick, little Lisa was going to
discover that she had more than just a wet shirt.
[story continues with chapters 2 through 19]
AND IN THE END...
ÒWe are freedomÕs home and defender.Ó
- President George W. Bush
(Including the freedom to love? - h.j.)
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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