Samantha's Got a Secret

BigJimsWornOutTires

BigJimsWornOutTires

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White thongs rest on the carpet between a tousled bed and window in front of a rustic nightstand. They were damp and smelly, a byproduct of Samantha's whore lust. Like a buffet bar magnet for obesity, gnats swarmed the area. They've been removed by men many times before and on a few occasions by women. Tinder dating was her game. Though in her own words, "Free penis giveaways."

The smell shrouding the air in the bedroom was a rich shit odor that could retch bile from an untamed stomach. But Samantha has accustomed to her wrecked fragrance. Her date, on the other hand, had no idea because he had died during the night. She knew he was dead but wasn't ready to face the consequences that were to come.

Not on her own anyway.

She plucks a phone off the nightstand, unlocks it with a slide of a finger, scrolls through its contact list, then taps a name, Big Jim. Two ring tones accompany, and a husky manly, not gay, voice intercepts with a grunt. "Ugh."

"Jim, it happened again."

"Booger juice. What color this time?"

"He's white. But not baby carrot dick white."

"Good girl."

Her adrenalin rises as she urges, "Can you take care of this?"

"Eh. What's in it for me?" His relaxed tone stresses her.

"Well, I can't say me because you already destroyed both of those holes." She said with certainty as she carelessly fiddled her vagina flaps.

"Ugh, tell me about it."

"Soooo...money?" She askes in anticipation, but an awkward moment of silence follows. A very long pause. "Hellooo?"

"Fuck money. A need something of value."

"Um, money is valuable," with confidence, she assured him.

"Fuck money." He insists with his OCD enthusiasm.

"Okay," unsure how this conversation was going, she shoots another bargain. "Genital wart cream prescribed by my dad?"

Without much of a pause of a second, he replied swiftly, "On my way."

Excitement filled her body as she showed glee and cantered off the bed as her vagina flapped along the way. She quickly dons her whore panties on while sweeping the gnats apart.

Meanwhile...and on the other side of town.

Big Jim's dressed in manly skinny pearly white jeans and a masculine tight pink mesh shirt with a decal on the back consisting of three words in black: I'm Not Gay. Polished black boots with three-inch lifts erected him higher than he naturally was. Ugh, that mogging urge obsessed him. He slips a cowboy hat on with peacock feathers adhered to both sides and leaves his shithole apartment, and drives away in a custom-built industrial dump truck with a broken sign swinging that declared, 'LET'S GET TRASHED.'

It's a side business he operates for group parties—many incentives. The inside of the truck's elaborately designed into a large bed with a wraparound cabinet embedded with minibars stocked with liquor, coolers, and cameras that he claims are for decoration purposes only. It makes the client feel as if someone's watching. The ceiling's bonded with mirror cushions he had smuggled in from a parallel universe. Although clients have questioned that technology but after getting shitfaced drunk with women squatting on their face, ugh, right? Things tend to be forgotten.

"It's a fucking truck," Big Jim cuts into the narration. "An orgy party bus. Except it's a dump truck. Do the math."

An hour and nineteen minutes later, scatch that, an hour and twenty minutes later, he arrived at Samantha's whore palace. Another rundown shithole complex. He knocks at her door, she answers. Now fully dressed in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt of a cartoon restaurant in Florida called Dirty Dicks. "He's on the bed." She says.

"Ugh. How did this one happen?"

"You know how." Her eyes roll to the side.

"Ugh."

"Exactly."

"I know you don't want to hear this, but being patient zero to the world's most deadly STD, you need to find a better place to live." He looks around the front room and spots a family portrait on the wall, and continues, "What about your dad, that CDC hobbit? Can't he arrange something with you and Antarctica?"

"Just for laughs?" Embarrassed by what he said, she asks if he was joking.

"No."

"Ugh." She mimics his autism and lowers her head in shame.

"Bingo was his name-o." He says with a wink gazing at an empty spot on the wall as if it's a camera he's mocking. However, there was a camera there from a parallel universe watching everything. And the International Control Union, the committee that tracks Jim, they're up to something.

Something else.

Something other than else.

Elser
. Ugh.
 
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  • JFL
  • WTF
Reactions: isis_Bleach, Chadeep and Gargantuan
Morgan Freeman Applause GIF by The Academy Awards
 
  • Woah
Reactions: BigJimsWornOutTires
Hoe Alert. 🚨🚨🚨🚨
 
  • Woah
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Ugh. I'm trying to erect storylines from two non-fictional realities consisting of inconsistencies. "Welcome to the world of Fiction. Thus, a whole bunch of bullshit to cover up sad realities."

Like UFOs. UAPs. Can you imagine being a powerful military and government and yet these creatures treat you like insignificant peasants? That could stimulate anger. Perhaps, you share this knowledge with the world but at the same time, leave out truths that will trigger conspiracies and doubt. "Ugh, that'll show them!"
 
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  • Woah
Reactions: Gargantuan
Why the angry frown, @isis_Bleach ?
 
still a better love story than twilight
 
still a better love story than twilight
Gee, thanks. Bella would've been a MILF if I had my hands on that script. No change for the other characters except what happens to them. So instead of that guy pursuing her, she's stalking him. And he's like, "Damn, go away, you old creepy woman! I'm into jailbait."

And she's like, "But you're older than me."

And he's like, "Yeah, and?"

"So you're a pedo-vamp?"

"Yeah, and?"

Twilight: The Pedopires
 
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