Stan Flannery and Jenna Haze were sitting on the floor of their new apartment; they both have been up for the past two days living on bath salts, having a good time, and fucking. It was three years ago when when she was first starting at Penn State. Jenna was really “cute,” she was just like your home town girl. Her big role in the pornography world would boost her confidence, but her persona and all that was below it, including the world in her dreams; Jenna was always the same girl. Life has a way of changing somebody, sometimes life turns a person into someone they would rather not be. She had a good way about her, didn’t change, and Stan needed this in his life. She had always been unafraid to talk in public, always thinking she deserved the spotlight, all the while Stan would watch, from a distance, he had his head cocked to an angle watching her snort a fat line of White Rush up her left nostril.
“Nice?” Stan asked with no sincerity at all. Shit was killing them, but it felt so good.
“Man, oh man yes, now when do you have to go to work at Wal-Mart?” Jenna answered with equally sardonic conviction.
Stan stood and walked over to her, his hand touched her own—“I work at eleven. What time is it, eight thirty, shit I got time. You know, I spend allot of time counting your eyelashes, one by one, each separate follicle holding onto the requiems of some archaic volumes of dream journals, published by Joyce’s own daughter..”
“You used to say, ‘I was young and old.’ I remember, but does that mean that you think I am better off as a fossil?” She said, as if perplexed at her own thinking, having felt the separation, images of former watchdogs howl at the raging lunatic moon.
“No, there is an album quote, ‘She will make a beautiful fossil.’ Life’s Rich Pageant, REM 1986. Pretty old, sounds like your memory is still in working condition. Let’s play some chess, eh? Then, maybe some sex?” Stan muttered, protected by his unmotivated ways of dealing properly with his negative symptoms; now they were there, alright, big time. He couldn’t feel a thing anymore, aside from the pseudo-affective properties of his Universe, In Progress.
Stan was sure to quit that job, but he just couldn’t pull himself together long enough to really even think about quitting, because now, he was head over heels in love with Jenna Haze. And it is not unlike Jenna to exhibit her own version of the “flattened affect” every now and then, but most of the time, she was very upbeat, and thankfully, un-robotic. This allowed Stan to have a good time with a real person, instead of hanging out with people who were unaware of the symbiotic nature of delusional creatures.
“I have a brain implant,” Jenna said, now convinced of a device of a “unknown” purpose, which showed up on the MRI, alright, indeed, just it looked like an ink blot instead of a tumor, and it was on both sides of her brain hemispheres, in her cerebral ganglia, which may be a valid reason for her rapid onset tardive dyskinesia (which was arrested with the removal of Stelazine to her drug cocktail she took, every night upon night of a hell of heavens.
“We should really smoke something before we play, yea know?” I asked.
“Ok, got some Salvia.”
“No, shit, we can’t do that though, I can’t go into working tripping; I’ll already be flying high as shit and people will be wondering what the hell I’m on, but that’s ok, because it makes the job go by faster.”
“You’re right, how ‘bout some herbal incense, just the basic Spike Ultra—I’ll pack that fucker fat, and we can get really lit up, then I’ll beat you at chess.” Jenna said.
Stan grabbed her left breast with playful aggressiveness, “Come on, baby, you ain’t no Karyn HunTTing are you?”
Jenna lit up the pipe and then took a deep hit before passing it to me, after exhaling said, “I don’t know who that person is, who is she?”
“Who is ‘she’?”
“Yeah, her.” Jenna’s mind now was becoming flexible enough to throw away the standard belief systems, and penetrate into the deepest, chasm of chess secrets. “Let’s play!”
“Don’t you want me to tell you who she is?” Stan remarked.
“Don’t you want me to tell you who she is?” Stan remarked.
“Tell me afterwards, let’s play chess!”
“Then we should have sex, ok, Jenna? It has been a couple of hours, and I know we are both trying to overcome our sex addictions, but it doesn’t look so good right now, because all we want to do is fuck one another. It makes me shudder in fright to think that we have spent so much creative energy in bed, but it sure was fun.”
She stood up and brought the board down from the top of the bookcase. “Here we go, Stan, let the game commence!”
Jenna cleared her throat and then said, with crystalline conviction:
“And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”
Stan looked frightened for an instant, before realizing that she was quoting the Waste Land, then he eased up and let her go—she was wearing thin and cracking, look at how fast she is moving, he thought. Not another circuitous relationship; not what I need.
She set up her pieces and then he followed suit, noticing the clock on the wall was moving again—it’s been a long time coming. Maybe she is controlling the clock with her mind! Stan was feeling that creepy-get-away-from-me-don’t-look-me-in-the-eye-I-don’t-like-people’s-intentions he often felt during the beginning of his work shift. Working at Wal-Mart for Stan was a celebration of paranoia, where live entities from alternative Universes existed, side by side, in a strange relationship of sympathy and respect for one another. Stan was a college graduate, and would often throw in some subtle jokes about having an English degree, which is, for reasons unknown to him, was considered a “difficult” and prestigious major. It really is just for a bunch of people that are addicted to information, so they read all the time, and enjoy the act of writing—having anything to do with language, Stan at work, however, was entirely mute, not talking to anyone. He hated these days, today would not be like that. Back to the chess, he thought, back to the chess: and in repeat.
Entirely ready to have her beat him in ten moves, he sat up, and they played a game of chess. Stan played white, so naturally started out E4 (Bobby Fischer’s favorite opening move as white). She followed by meeting my pawn with E5. He was developing his pieces when he noticed her nipples were getting harder. He could them underneath her see-through tee shirt she bought last week. Suddenly, Stan realized that she had left her queen in trouble; two more moves, he could fork her queen king and rook, that is, if she sacrifices her bishop in return for a pawn. And she did exactly that, so he responded with a quick discovered check from his knight, which was guarding his queen, and then took Jenna’s queen with the knight.
“I resign! Let’s just fuck!” she said.
“Ok, I’m not going to argue.” So they began to kiss, and they could feel the passion building up between them; with a combination of the bath salts, and the intensity of young lovers, they were both high a kite, amphetamine facades razed. She took a look at his cock, showing its bulge in the front of his pants. She wanted it inside her, all the time. It was the perfect size, for her anyway, but she liked the feeling of having entire seedless cucumbers up her vagina, so her pain was immediately neurologically processed and transferred to feelings of pleasure. She unbuckled his belt, and placed her hands on his dick. She began to moan with anticipation.
“There’s nothing holding you back, Jenna. Suck my dick, and suck it good.”
She had Stan’s cock in her mouth, and he wanted her to deep throat it, but she never would; saying that she has to really concentrate to do that, at least to guys who have nine inches of dick. Stan watched as his dick was being sucked, she was using allot of saliva today and it was getting all over his stomach and pants, but that was ok, he could clean up before work—it’s just spit, after all. “Take it all!” Stan grunted, pushing her head down. And then, because he was fully aware Jenna didn’t like it when you were too rough with her, he eased up, took his hands off of her head, but she remained with his entire cock in her mouth; when her face turned red, he pulled away, knowing that she could pass out from lack of oxygen.
“See how much I love you?”
“No one has ever done that for me before, thank you Jenna!”
“What are porn star girlfriends for, now fuck me!”
And with that imperative from the Starlets mouth, he sensed it was her turn now, and he followed suit by pulling down her white tennis shorts, then her panties, before engaging in sweet tasting oral sex. Sometimes it was so good, that Stan lost track of time.
“Come on, I want your cock, deep inside me!”
“Ok,” Stan said, and prepared to mount her doggie style—it was this position that allowed for the furthest penetration. Then he fucked her as best he could, having been with her for over a month now, Stan was beginning to know just when she was going to cum, so that he would time it just right in order to taste her fresh vaginal juices, and then have her blow him until he came, but today, he decided to cum on her asshole. First he spit on her puckered asshole, before sliding his cock, centimeter by centimeter into her. After fucking her tight ass for five minutes, it was time to shoot his load, so he pulled out and shot it on her now gaping asshole.
“OH…….Stan…..”
“Yeah, baby, that’s how its done.”
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