Writing Period 5 Winner: A Guttural Wail, by AntoineDaSwan

The Navy’s ice aircraft carrier was an ill-conceived project from the outset. More than that, the Armed Forces' new “Family First Initiative” mandated that children travel with their military parents no matter where they were stationed—even if it was on the ice carrier, dubbed the USS Fillmore. With the children came the trappings of childhood: schools, playgrounds, fireworks, amusement parks, and the lot.

By nature of its nature, the Fillmore constantly operated in a sinking mode; that is to say that although Navy engineers consistently reassured the officers and crew that the vessel operated within safety guidelines, the fact that it patrolled almost exclusively in the South Pacific meant that it would one day melt, crack apart, and swallow its crew whole as it falls into the cruel ocean deep. The Navy treated this disastrous experiment as (quite literally) a sunk cost.

Fortunately, the crew and their families were blissfully ignorant of their eventual fate, and life continued as it normally would on an ice aircraft carrier that contained a school and an amusement park…

**********

To say that Johnny’s affinity for analingus qualified as an addiction would appear to be harsh, but that would only be true if one were unfamiliar with the lengths to which Johnny would go to achieve this repulsive—yet oddly appealing—sex act. What made his resolve even more impressive was not only the fact that he had had his hands and feet amputated when he was five (thanks to a freak McDonald’s Playplace incident), but he was also born mute. Wielding freakish good looks and an affable, seemingly naïve charm, he was able to convince each of the 276 girls in his class on the Fillmore to let him lick their assholes. All this by the time he had reached tenth grade.

As with most addictions, Johnny’s temporary relief in satisfying his desires only bred a more voracious drive to expand his sensual experiences. After he had pinned down Tegan—the final holdout in his class—with his stumpy arms and licked her asshole like a cat licks its own asshole, he felt a tremendous void where his soul should have been. Having no way to cry out his sudden emptiness in words, Johnny grabbed his pet Emperor penguin Rufus, hopped on his Navy-issued Segway, and rolled down towards the Fillmore’s slaughterhouse, which was his favorite place to think. He easily filed down with sandpaper the rusted lock that guarded the comestibles and rolled through their freezing masses.

The meat hung limp and dead like Johnny’s flaccid penis as Rufus made moaning sounds in the background. Just as his frustration nearly reached the point of self-mutilation, Johnny heard a distinct laugh from the corner. It was the giggle of a young girl, so he rolled over to investigate and found Jennifer, a cute blond eighth grader who almost certainly had a perfect and hair-free asshole. Frothing at the lips, Johnny waved a stump at an all-too-willing Jennifer, who hopped on the Segway and whispered, “Take me to the amusement park.” He knew what she meant.

His heart pounding out of his chest in anticipation of his lecherous addiction’s renewed fulfillment, Johnny rolled into a secluded spot under the park’s main roller coaster, a poorly built beast called “Katrina.” It was held together in a rickety fashion with railroad spikes, remnants of a scuttled Navy plan for a Trans-Pacific underwater commercial railway. Without saying a word (because he couldn’t) Johnny pulled down Jennifer’s pants, bent her over, and began slobbering away joyfully at her asshole as Rufus looked on with approval.

Never had Johnny engaged in an analingus session as passionately intense as this. Jennifer’s ass contracted and expanded rapidly, making his mouth move furiously. In the heat of the moment, Johnny clumsily picked up a railroad spike between his two stumps and inserted it into Jennifer’s meek and mild vagina. She screamed with delight as she cried, “Fill me Johnny! Fill me more! More!”

As though it had heard her guttural wail, the Fillmore, with an angry CRAAAACK like a pine tree exploding in winter, snapped in half. Its two halves angled downward and quickly sank, but Johnny was too focused on his sad and fatal addiction to notice. The lovers, along with the thousands of other crew and family, perished that day off the coast of Fiji.

The Navy, in memory of the tragedy, designated the site of the wreck as a national cemetery, the largest underwater gravesite in the world.

Writing Period 5 Rubric

Count Duckula is the judge for the 5th Writing Period. His rubric is as follows:

Setting
Choose one of the following as the primary setting of your story:
A cemetery
A slaughterhouse
A sinking naval craft
A school (K-12)
A carnival or amusement park

Plot Items
Include at least one of the following items as a nontrivial element of your story:
A roller coaster
A beard of bees
A penguin
Railroad spike(s)
The Necronomicon
A grand piano
A mechanical bull
A Segway
Sandpaper
A rusted lock
Objects made entirely of ice that shouldn't be (e.g. a hammer, a bed). Ice sculptures and ice
cubes do not count; the object should retain (or intend to retain) its original functional
purpose.
An incorrect interpretation of this requirement:
"John passed a roller coaster on the way to the cemetery."
A correct interpretation:
"John rode the roller coaster into Mark's rectum."

Including more than one of these items in your story in a meaningful way will be looked on favorably.

Plot Parameters
Choose at least two of the following four options to guide your writing:
Give the protagonist of your story an addiction (e.g. murder, drugs, weightlifting). Creative and/or ridiculous addictions will be looked on favorably. Due to the nature of these stories, if you choose a sexual
addiction it must be more specific than the general act of sex to satisfy this requirement (i.e. an unusual sexual fetish).
Have at least one person die in your story.
Involve two of the locations from the "Setting" category in your story.
Give an important character in your story a debilitating ailment, such as blindness or paralysis.

Submissions will be due promptly on Monday, April 5, by 9 pm PST. Late submissions will be judged if I am informed before April 5 that your work will be late for a legitimate reason.

-Count Duckula

Writing Period 4 Winner: UGH

UGH
Written by Bewis
Judged by Mr. Wonderful

“Ugh.” That was all the man managed to choke out of his mouth in a mixture of surprise and pain as the club struck him with a thud on the back of his head. She-la chuckled satisfactorily, content that, for once, she had managed to secure one of the less puny men for herself before the more powerful women-warriors had selected all of the best mates in preparation for the orgiastic, 3-day finale to the harvest festival.

She-la grunted, dragging the man away from the village, as she thought back to the moment she had selected a lover. The tribe had been celebrating their annual harvest, with the men bringing bushel after bushel of crops before the high priestess, locked securely to her throne thanks to the throbbing member of the man-slave she had chosen as her seat. As she nodded approvingly at each bushel brought forth by the subservient men, a whoop arose from the edge of the village as the women of the tribe, great warrior-hunters, returned from a recent battle.

Upon noticing the women’s arrival the men’s faces took on a look that was a mix of arousal and apprehension. Usually several of the men chosen as mates for the orgy died, be it either from sexual exhaustion or, worse, at the hands of an unfulfilled woman. She-la felt her heart pound. Despite being 6’4” and 190lbs of muscle, she was still weaker than the alpha-females of the tribe, and could usually only find a spineless, cowering thing that passed out after only a few hours of animalistic fucking. This year she would prove herself.

She-la had no problems picking a mate of her choosing. The problem, however, was preventing one of the stronger women from stealing her prize, a problem for which she had devised a solution: she would drag her unconscious plaything to the Forbidden Mountains. The Forbidden Mountains had an evil reputation, partly due to their unnatural appearance, however, even more frightening was the mythos passed down through the generations, that the Forbidden Mountains were once the abode of the Old Ones, an ancient, powerful group of beings who had ultimately destroyed themselves. Few of those who ventured into the Forbidden Mountains ever returned, and those that did spoke of bizarre tools that the Old Ones had left behind.

Walking through a silent valley deep in the mountains, She-la selected a suitable cave and dragged her man inside. She grumbled as she slapped her mate awake. The man, unsure of his whereabouts, began whimpering pathetically as She-la slipped off his loincloth, revealing a gigantic cock nearly as long and wide as her considerable forearm. She-la hooted happily as she slowly lowered herself on him.

16 hours later, She-la climaxed for a third time, letting out a harrowing and powerful scream. As she felt the man softening under her she immediately growled with displeasure and slapped him across the face, only to notice that he was either in a coma or already dead. She-la grumbled with annoyance, and began to despair until she noticed, just outside of the circle of light her torch provided, a strangely shaped object. She-la’s stomach knotted. The phallic shape was undeniable, and even with her primitive intelligence, she immediately and intuitively knew what the tool was for. However, as she was about to plunge the dildo deep into her snatch, she noticed a strange symbol, a black, blocky trefoil on a yellow background. She also noticed unusual warmth emanating from the device, and a strange whirring as the dildo sensed her hand and began to power itself on. The creeping realization that she was dealing with a power far beyond her understanding, a power once used by the Old Ones, abruptly excited her with a rush that she had never felt before, and thrust the now humming dildo deep into her cunt. The advanced electronics in the dildo, upon realizing its location, started its fucking program. However, after untold millennia of decay and rust, something had broken in the dildo, some all-important governor was no longer online, and the device began to go critical. She-la knew something was wrong, as the dildo began to heat up to an unbearable degree, the automatic in-out fucking quickened in pace until the movement was only a blur. As the dildo began to glow, She-la let out one more primordial cry of pleasure as the nuclear explosion vaporized her, her lover, the former Museum of Sex, and most of the ruins of Manhattan. “UGGGGGGHHH!”

Writing Period 4 Results

To the Gentlemen of the Erotic Word,

Well done to everyone who submitted a story this period! I enjoyed reading all seven of the fabulous stories that were written. I was also very pleased that so many of you decided to tackle the Challenge. The stories are getting better with each writing period.

To the two crusty vaginas who didn't write a story this writing period, I expected more from you...I hope you feel guilty.

Now onto the results. I have no idea who wrote each story so I'm just going to list the titles. I leave it up to the Commish to match the stories with their authors.



THIRD PLACE is awarded to "Penishead". I never thought that I could be sympathetic to a rapist and murderer after watching Charlize Theron in "Monster", but this story pulls it off. Owen is clearly the product of a harsh landscape, a motherless childhood, and a hateful father. Perhaps in another time, he would have been a veterinarian but this clearly was not in the cards. I also realy like that the predator, Owen, became the hopeful prey of Tasha, and that their true love emerged from their predatory nature. The Bonnie and Clyde of the future. Nice work.



SECOND PLACE is awarded to Armageddon II: The Cummageddon. I really enjoyed the slow, thoughtful pace of this story. It asked the question: What would happen to the world in the case of an impending Armageddon? While Bruce Willis is up on that asteroid trying to save all of mankind, what do the other 4 billion people do to bide their time? Some must get their freak on. It's not clear whether the protagonist was a prostitute before the news of the coming apocalypse or whether she became promiscuous after the fact, because hey what the fuck, why stand by manners when we're all going to die right? And it did seem to make her forget, even for a moment, her imending death. I'm glad the author left this ambiguous and up to the reader's imagination.

I thought the last lines were especially powerful:
"It felt like a giant oak was growing in me and forcing me into two pieces. I thought the rock would never make it to me, that I’d already be lying on the ground, my left side next to my right side, waiting for the rock to burn up all the other trees and pebbles. When I felt him shudder, I just kept my face flat on the car hood and we stood there frozen, my chest against cool hard metal, his dick welded to my ass, deep inside.


And finally...

FIRST PLACE is awarded to UGH!! This was a fantastic story from beginning to end. It was a great homage to the classic Planet of the Apes, in the sense that this seems like the past but it's really the future and in a place you're very familiar with but never imagined. Great rendering of the Challenge to provide multiple perspectives. Also I really appreciated the back story surrounding the Forbidden Mountains. The author really took the time to creat a mythology for these futuristic amazonian women and it paid off with a richer and more believable narrative. Not to mention the Amazon woman orgasming as the nuclear bomb erupted. Does this symbolize how the selfish nature of woman leads to pain and destruction or is it just a great way to end the story? Does the author want us to believe that selfishness destroyed the city the first time, and that the cycle of destruction will never end? Maybe. Maybe not. Something to think about, and because the author made us do that (as well as want to cum all inside She-la) FIRST PLACE.

-Mr. Wonderful

4th Writing Period Rubric

The fourth writing period will be judged by Mr. Wonderful. Stories are due on March 5th. Here is the rubric:

Parameter #1: The story must take place in the future. Imagine two naked bodies orbiting each other in zero-gravity while their ship orbits the rings of Saturn, or a Romeo-Juliet tryst with a human and an alien species, or sex in the future underwater world after global warming has wiped out terrestrial land on Earth (possibly starring Kevin Costner), or some unforeseen event that occurs in April of 2010. You get the idea. The where and when are completely up to you.

Parameter #2: The first and last word of your story have to match. So choose your words carefully.

Challenge #1: Note that this is not a parameter so it's not required for submission. However, to make things more interesting I challenge you to include multiple perspectives on at least one character in your story. To give you an idea of what I mean, read this quote from Steinbeck's "Cannery Row":

"[Cannery Row's] inhabitants are, as the man once said, 'whores, pimps, gamblers, and sons of bitches,' by which he meant everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said, 'saints and angels and martyrs and holy men,' and he would have meant the same thing."

Target a character from more than one perspective, and you will be given special consideration in judging.

-Mr. Wonderful

LEEF Greatest Hits: Ho Chi Minh City Revisted

What if Bob Dylan had fought in Vietnam? Norplant Rodriguez placed third in the second writing period with his terrifying answer to this question.


Ho Chi Minh City Revisited
By Norplant Rodriguez
Judged by The Racist

Some guys don't like to talk about the war much. Guess that makes sense. The Gooks wasted a lot of good people over there. 'Lotta guys saw their bros get blown to shit right in front of their faces. No free love for the grunts either. Hard to get pussy when you're wearing your buddy's guts as a hat.

Me? I like to reminisce. That cluster fuck they call The Vietnam Conflict was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I stepped off the plane in Saigon expecting to hear a line about how to stay alive from some short-timer with the thousand yard stare. Instead, nobody said anything to us. Wasn't worth it to get to know a guy who'd probably be dead within two weeks.

That isn't to say that I didn't pick up any useful tips while I was over there. The first real piece of advice I got came from my squad leader, a short, skinny Midwestern Jew called Zimmerman.

He'd caught me going into one of the many crab factories around downtown Saigon. I was about to slip my tube steak into a tired looking Mama-San when Zimmerman kicked in the door. He walked into the room stinking drunk, with a half-gone bottle of Johnny Walker Blue in one hand, and a 12-inch Bowie Knife in the other.

"Well goddamn, Private," he bellowed. "Don't you know you only find the good pussy out in the bush?"

He took a swig of the Johnny Walker and hit the gook whore across the bridge of the nose with the pommel of his knife. He laughed a nasal laugh as blood shot out all over the cheap silk sheets.

By this time the gook whore's ARVN pimp had come bursting into the room to check out the commotion. He was a scrawny little bastard with thin arms and beady eyes, and he was plain horrified at the spectacle in that room. He took a wild swing at Zimmerman, who was so drunk he hadn't noticed him come in, and connected just above the temple.

"Why you slanty-eyed fuck!" screamed Zimmerman. "I'll gut you like a fuckin' catfish!!"

And he did.

Zimmerman sunk his 12-inch bowie deep into the abdomen of the ARVN pimp and pulled sideways across his body, leaving a gaping hole the size of a football where the little gook's stomach used to be. The floor became a quagmire of shit and half digested sukiyaki as the little yellow man crumpled and spilled his guts all over the floor.

Zimmerman licked the blade of his 12-inch bowie knife clean.

The gook whore let out a terrified scream and tried to hide herself underneath the cheap silk sheets stained with her own blood.

I watched as he tore the sheets off of the bed and grabbed the gook whore by the hair. She squealed as he ran the blade of his 12-inch bowie up along her neck to the base of her skull.

"I could use some new fiddle strings," he said, and sawed at the gook whore's ponytail with his 12-inch bowie until all that remained were clumps of black hair that squirted out from between his bloody fingers.

She collapsed to the floor and tried to crawl away through the shit and sukiyaki stew left behind by her deceased ARVN pimp.

"Oh no," said Zimmerman. "I ain't through with you yet!"

He grabbed the little yellow whore by the ankles and tossed her on the bed, ass in the air. Zimmerman gulped down one final swig of the Johnny Walker, shoved the bottle up her ass and emptied the remnants into her insides.

He grabbed her by what was left of her hair and dragged her through the cesspool on the floor until her legs were covered with shit and bile. Then he kicked her down the stairs, leaving the black and blue imprint of a GI boot sole ingrained onto her yellow ass. A brown stream of Johnny Walker and feces came spilling out of her rectum as she hit the floor.

"HOW DOES IT FEEEEEEELLL???" Zimmerman screamed after her.

I stood shaking as he turned his gaze towards me.

"Welcome to the 'Nam you fuckin' pussy."

He walked out of the whorehouse, making sure to muddy up his boots in the shitty mess that was the ARVN pimp's remains.

I haven't paid for sex since.

LEEF Greatest Hits: La Grande Envie

This story placed second in LEEF's inaugural writing session. The Racist was lauded for his wistful construction of the prose in this story.

La Grande Envie
by The Racist
Judged by Norplant Rodriguez

Jacques Dodu’s boat left faint ripples in its wake, like tiny bread crumbs that would be there for a moment and then sink down into the water, betraying the old fisherman if he decided to turn back. He had no intentions of turning back. The windows in Brest were beginning to glow their usual warm yellow, and while no one saw him guide his boat away from the shore and paddle it into the blackness of the forest, Dodu felt a tickle on his back, as if something had swiped at him, or was perhaps still swiping at him, and he only just fled their reach.

A mile or so into the night Dodu rowed his boat over into the reeds and lily pads and slowed La Grande Envie to a stop. The water was not deep, and while the fisherman navigated the silhouettes around him purely by touch, it did not take him long to find what he was looking for. Out of the inky water Dodu pulled a twisted and rocky oyster and placed it at his feet. He fetched three more from their soft, muddy beds and began to row on.

In Brest, Dodu is an important man. When people see him in the streets they smile slightly and nod their heads. Young girls curtsy to him when introduced, and young men squeeze his hand too hard. Dodu loves the warmth he feels when someone from the town looks at him with respect and trust. When townspeople begin to thank him, and cry at his feet Dodu removes his cap, touches his heart with it and says softly, as if whispering to his mustache, “Mon plaisir.”

The river began to widen slightly and Dodu stopped his boat again. The full moon surrounded La Grande Envie, and if one could look upon the tiny vessel from a distance far away, they would see but a speck in the center of the orb’s brilliant milky whiteness. Here Dodu took a rusty knife from a box and pried the oysters open. The silvery mussel inside the rocky vault seemed to quiver and shake in the fisherman’s hand, as if wishing for something like a lung or something like air, but knowing these things are for others. Dodu put the shell to his lips and used his finger to scoop the meat into his mouth, then slurped the brine. “Vous êtes salé,” said Dodu to the empty shell, and then tossed it into the water, causing the moon to tremble.

The fisherman finished his oysters and then sat very still in his boat. Few things will cause an old man to venture into the night, and no one can ever really know what these things are until one’s legs begin to move and one’s heart begins to flutter, and suddenly one finds oneself at the mercy of muscles that know where they’re going, muscles that can keep a secret. Dodu opened his box and took out a thin silk line. He removed his pants completely and tied the line snuggly around the end of his penis. The fisherman stood up in his boat and after tying a small barb and tin to the end of the thread, he threw the line in the water.

After a few minutes wrapped in the black, a fish struck at the line and the force startled the fisherman, nearly pulling him into the dark water. The line was taut and pulled his penis up and down, left and right. In the night the line became invisible and Dodu’s penis looked as if some puppeteer was hiding in the tops of the dim trees, controlling it with a delicate but steady touch. Dodu began to pull in the line. The fish wasn’t very large, but struggled like the fisherman against a powerful and demanding force. Dodu pulled and pulled until there was very little line left. Then, finally the fish broke through the water and could land nowhere else but upon Dodu’s penis. There the fish writhed and thrashed on the penis. Dodu looked upon into the sky and stared into the craters and valleys of the moon. While the fish pulsated and shook the fisherman continued staring into something he could not understand, a surface cold and distant. He thought of salt. The fish fought once more, but then turned rigid and still. Dodu rowed home while still inside the fish, stopping once in the reeds for an oyster.