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.

Writing Period 3 Winner: Machete Phil

Machete Phil
By Bones McCloskey
Judged by Christopher Goldenpipe

Trixy and Laverne were WAY lost, the kind of Lost that only appears at 9pm on ABC. The air was thick and juicy. The rich, all-encompassing vegetation was itching them like crabby pubes. The jungle was tugging on them, pulling them further and further from the tour group. With each step in that deep, deep jungle, the girls let out grunts and moans as their tired legs struggled to free their feet from the murky soil below them.

Suddenly, the thick yungle vegetation gave way to a beautiful oasis. “Is that…?”, “Yes. It. Is.”, trixy interjected. The girls had stumbled upon a small crop circle in the jungle vegetation. In this circle was a pool with crystal blue water that was slightly sweet to the taste. The girls lapped up the water like dogs. What the girls didn’t know, what the girls could not have known, was that the sweet tasting water was runoff from a marijuana farm just a mile from where they lay gorging themselves on this fresh water.

So those two little hussies, Delta Zeta sisters from Radford University, were drinking crystal clear, pure THC, Costa Rica Freakaaaaah (in liquid form). Soon, they realized their mistake though not fully comprehending what had caused their current mental state. First, Laverne couldn’t stop laughing at their predicament. Just minutes prior, she had been on the verge of tears for fear of never being found, now she joyously laughed harder than she’d ever laughed before. Trixy was just sitting there giggling at her hands, wondering how long it would take to jerk off Obama with those easy DZ fingers of hers. After 5 solid minutes of laughing, blood was coursing through their veins as they strained to catch their breath between laughing spasms. Their clits were now completely pulsing with pleasure. Just before Trixy could announce that she was totally baked, they looked at each other and without hesitating launched at each other like a couple of wolves in heat.

Complete and total passion overtook the two girls. Before they could help it, both girls ran for cover inside an old, small mausoleum. Once inside, the fun began. Both girls ripped their tops off and their perfect tits, with rock hard nipples, came tumbling out of their shirts. Trixy began to slowly run laps around Laverne’s nipples with her tongue as Laverne slowly unbuttoned her pants while gasping in pleasure. Then Trixy got on her knees and lifted one of Laverne’s legs into the air and gently placed it on a pile of masks that lay next to them. Trixy knelt there drooling over the piece of luscious pussy that lay before her eyes. She then plunged, face first, into Laverne’s beautiful pussy lips, savoring every last drop. Laverne, moaning, was on the verge of hyperventilating.

After several minutes of licking every crevice between Laverne’s legs, Trixy found a wooden monkey dildo that she held up with glee. Not wanting to risk splinters, the girls instead opted for a double sided dildo made of elephant tusk. They lay down on their backs with their elbows underneath of them for support and spread their legs as wide as they could go. Trixy put her half of the ivory tusk in herself first, then inserted the other half into Laverne. The two slowly glided together until their clits were touching. They continued in this manner; meeting in the middle, colliding their throbbing clits together. The tusk became engorged with the girls’ wetness and grew in size. Soon, the tusk was so big, and their clits felt so good when colliding, that both girls let out a ferocious orgasm at nearly the same time.

With that, the crystal clear waters of the THC pool began to ripple. In an instant, a totally deranged dickless dude came charging out of the water. Machete Phil then calmly chopped Trixy and Laverne’s clits into a million pieces, and did lines of their own clits off their asses. With a nose full of bloody clits, Phil then gutted the girls like a couple of jungle sloths.

Years prior, when Machete Phil cut his own dick off and ran screaming into the jungle, he needed some serious pain meds. Legend has it he discovered the pool and remained submerged in the water by means of a delicate lung inversion gill transformation procedure he performed on himself. The moral of the story is: If Phil catches you drinking his THC, you’re going to get TOMB STONED.

Writing Period 3 Results

A shocking upset as underdog Bones McCloskey earns his first win under the ruling of judge Christopher Goldenpipe. His story, "Machete Phil" won for it's accurate portrayal of Clit Snorting Maniacs who live in lakes containing high concentrations of THC.

Brian AKA Mr. Wonderful placed second with his story "The Jungle Book," and Antoine Da Swan placed third with "A Forbidden Fruit."

Writing Period 3 Rubric

For those of you not in the know, the 3rd writing period is currently underway. Here are the requisite details, as decided by current judge Christopher Goldenpipe:

1. The story must take place in either Prison or the jungle, like in Africa, South America, or Australia where you can die from a plethora of animals
2. It must be a lesbian story.
3. The story must finish with a moral to it, and you must say, “Moral of the story is…” because I am not one to pick up on subtleties. This does not have to necessarily be the last line, but must be towards the end.

-Christopher Goldenpipe

Writing Period 2 Winner: The Miracle

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Writing Period 1 Winner: The Pygmy and The Pussy

The Pygmy and the Pussy
by Mr. Wonderful AKA Brian
Judged by Norplant Rodriguez

Two hours past sunset, Earl stomped into the saloon red-eyed and foul-mouthed. “Where the fuck is Daisy,” he growled to Benjamin, the toothless bartender.

Benjamin was making a strange cocktail for a bearded cowboy with whiskey, cream, and chili powder. “Now I don’t know Earl,” sad Benjamin in his high sing-song voice. “Why dontcha run along up stairs and have yerself a peek up there, get your pecker wet while you at it”

Earl pushed back whiskey-drunk cowboys and rose-scented ladies to get to the back where an English staircase wound its way to the second floor. He grabbed the arm of Emma, a regular here, as she walked downstairs with a grinning farmer and asked her if she knew where Daisy had got to. Emma shook under his grasp. “I…don’t.know Earl. I think she’s with a customer.”

Earl leaned forward and tickled the inside of her ear with his tongue. “Tell me what room she’s in you fucking whore or I’m going straight over to your house to fuck your mother, bedridden as she is.”

“You’re a monster, Earl!” said Emma. “If she hadn’t been thrown off that horse, you couldn’t handle her.”

“Just another reason why women should never be the ones riding,” said Earl with a lewd grin. His gold tooth shone in the dim light of the saloon as he began to twist her arm. A soft pop in her elbow made her shriek.

“She’s in the Christmas room,” said Emma crying. Earl pushed the girl to the floor and bounded upstairs two at a time. He kicked in the Christmas room and found some pygmy fisting Daisy.

“What the fuck is this?” cried Earl. “Is that is fucking midget?”

“What are you doing here Earl,” said Daisy. “You know..oh..oh…I’m working.

“It doesn’t look like you’re doing anything but lying there. I need to talk to you Daisy. Virgil found out that I killed his brother and he’s dead set on returning the favor.”

“Well what does that have to do…oh my god..oh…ohhhh…with me?”

“You’re coming with me, Daisy. We’re in love and we’re going to be together. I’ve gotten us a ticket on a stablecoach that will bring us clear to the Mexican border.”

“I’m sorry but I’m not in love with you anymore Earl. I’m in love with Francis.”

“And who the fuck is Francis you whore?” cried Earl banging his fist on the table.

“This is Earl,” said Daisy nonchalantly, pointing at the pygmy whose entire forearm was thrust up Daisy’s cooch.

“This little midget,” cried Earl. “Why I’m going to break him in two. I’m going to squeeze his head until it pops. I’m going to eat his legs.

Earl came lunging at Francis the pygmy, hands out and red-eyes filled with fury. Just as his hands were about to snap down on Francis’ little neck like a bear trap, Francis removed his arm from Daisy’s pussy with a loud pop. In his fist was a rusty sword which he sank in the heart of Earl.

As death and cunt juice seeped into his body, Earl muttered his last words: “I can’t believe the ol’ crone fortune teller was right. I was done in by a pygmy and a pussy. Who woulda known.”

Humble Beginnings

And so it begins. A once-clandestine literary battleground goes public. Here you will find a growing library of orgasm-inducing erotic fiction, written under deadline according to a competitive rubric. A rotating judge determines the worth of each entry. Winning stories earn 3 points and are posted on this blog. The winner on points will be declared champion. The rest go on with their lives and pine for the sweet and elusive scent of victory.