Jenna Takedown: NADS Buster
By Avida Dolor (avidadolor@aol.com)
Chapter 6, Big Bon gets an A+ in Rapture 101. 


Copyright 1999 Avida Dolor 

Warning: This work of fiction contains frank language and explicit sex 
and violence. No one under 18 permitted to read without the express 
consent of parent or guardian. 

Chapter 6 


It's the next day, warm and sunny. I've got a massive ganja buzz on and 
I'm having lunch at the Pussy Pueblo with Ev Roper, Denise Massey and 
Big Bon. It's this new bottomless Tex Mex place that opened right in 
Santa Shorta--where I no longer live. I've temporarily moved in with 
Brit and Caitlin, and I'm smoking like a chimney out of their stash. 
Wait a minute, I'm already getting way ahead of myself. I'm very excited 
by the huge presence of Bon, whose immense sunburned shoulders, speckled 
with cute golden freckles, are causing me to drool a little. This is 
probably OK, though, since I just ordered something called a 
Quimichanga, which our flappy-lipped, fortysomething waitress, Pandora--
"Skip the box jokes, I heard 'em all already," is the first thing she 
told us--says is like a "chimichanga shaped like a cunt." Well, OK, 
sounds interesting, and I'm sure it needs some lubrication. 

Anyway, Stef is not hanging with us. She was moved last night to a Roids 
safe house, they won't tell me where, and I drove the Jimmy to Caitlin's 
all by my lonesome. I kept thinking I was gonna get cut off by a Sock 
Her Moms minivan, and they'd come pouring out, drag me out of the Jimmy 
and beat me to death. Just for breaking that chick's jaw and being in on 
the attack yesterday with Stef. Am I 'splainin' this right? I feel so 
weird lately. I'm all tingly thinking about Sara coming back. The thing 
is our apartment is presently off-limits; the word on the street is The 
Sock Her Moms are in such an uproar over the murder of Millie Montoya, 
they want instant revenge and they don't care if it's a Roids agent and 
a Sinfully Sinew centerfold they have to kill to get it. In other words, 
they know Stef did it, they know who Stef is and they want her blood. So 
Stef's incommunicado till this dies down. I can't say I really mind. 
She's been such a drag to be around ever since I told her about the 
return of Sara. Which is tomorrow. Today I focus on Bon. All 6-9, 325 
pounds of her, with tits so big it looks like she's got a pair of shave-
headed midgets under her tank top. When I first saw her at the 
restaurant--Denise drove her over--I got the hot shivers. My ass 
tightened up like I was getting gluteal cramps and then I could feel my 
hamstrings start to tremolo like I was a Gibson Let's Ball and she was 
hauling on my whammy bar. She's agreed to go to Santa Herminosa with me 
after lunch to visit Professor Pep at the new Roids lab. I hope to score 
a shitload of Af-Gro Sheen and just spend the rest of the week coming 
like I was stuck in an orgasmatron.  

"Yes, you're CHICKA material, Bon," Ev is saying, as my zonked train of 
thought choo-choos back into the conversation. "You're essence of 
CHICKA. You want in, you're in. And I guarantee you're going to want in, 
since you'll get a contract pretty much entirely on your terms. The 
Roids will set you up with a car, an apartment, you'll get a regular 
salary, medical and dental, life insurance, special gym privileges, all 
the drugs you can eat, the whole deal." 

"So what about you and Stef?" Bon asks me. "You joining?" 

"The CHICKA?" I go. "We haven't been asked yet. We just got relieved of 
our Tonya duties." 

"And Tonya's heading for Mexico today," says Ev. "She'll call you from 
down there, Jen, she's not into official goodbyes." 

"Whatever. I have to tell you, it's nice not having to worry about Tonya 
and it's nice not having to worry about Stef. She's been so bizarre 
lately. So, are we being asked to join the CHICKA?" I get a weird 
feeling when I think about my future, 'cause there's just this void 
there. I mean, as big a pain as Tonya could be, the bodyguarding thing 
was a real job. It kept us traveling and on our toes--though not on our 
toes enough to keep her from getting stabbed. But the job made us feel 
like we were part of the RWF, touring a bunch of states and everything, 
and that's suddenly gone. 

"Well, right now, Stef isn't being asked to do anything but lie low," 
says Ev. "And not kill anybody. You can just chill for a few weeks and 
hang with Sara. But I'm sure there'll be a CHICKA invite down the road. 
The CHICKA is going to need all the muscle it can get. Things are 
heating up bigtime now that Tot Nots are on the black market. There's 
gonna be a big war over this between the Roids and the NADS. There are 
hundreds of millions of dollars at stake over the illegal distribution 
of these babies." 

"Tot Nots?" says Denise, whose stiff nipples are sticking through her 
braless belly tee, each teat as big and gnarly as the paper umbrella in 
her drink, something tomato-red called a Menstrual Mary. "The French 
abortion pill? It's really here now?" 

"Yup," says Ev, nodding her head with satisfaction. "It's a bootleg 
product based on RU-486, the notorious French abortion pill, best 
accompanied with a nicely chilled sauvignon blanc, and it works like a 
charm. Makes you throw up for a couple days, but big deal. It's here in 
quantity now, and we want to be the *exclusive* distributor in North 
America. But the NADS want a piece of this action. That means we're 
gonna have to beat 'em down. A lotta blood will be spilled, no doubt 
about it." 

"Well, count me in, then," says Bon. "I don't wanna sound like a sadist 
or anything, but I really get a lotta pleasure outta hurting people. I 
mean, even more than I did when I was in Tonya. No matter how lame my 
opponent was up in Canada, I had no problem pounding the shit outta her. 
Right, Denise?" 

"Shit, Bon, you showed no mercy," goes Denise, nodding so vigorously 
it's making her neck flex, which is causing a chain reaction, tightening 
her upper chest, which is roiling the rest of her pecs, which is making 
her big stiff-nipped titties thrust in a fuck rhythm. "Remember that 
little girl in Calgary who you KO'd so bad she had total amnesia for 
four days? Didn't even know her own name? The only thing she could 
remember was *yours*?" 

"Yeah. I still don't believe I didn't kill her. She looked dead when she 
hit the floor." 

"You're a future CHICKA all star, Bon," says Ev, squeezing the 
brutacious strawberry blonde's forearm, which she can barely get her 
hand around. "And you should have Sara join the CHICKA, too," Ev adds, 
turning to me. "Shit, she's tough. Remember how bad she beat up Joan the 
Bone? They took out that poor girl's spleen, gall bladder and a kidney, 
didn't they?" 

"I don't think she lost a kidney," I go, the memory of Joan making me 
think again of how much I miss my sweet-assed Sara. 

"Nah, it was her uterus," says Bon. "She kept her kidneys. But Joan was 
a broomstick. My grandma coulda busted her up." 

"Bon, your grandma is probably 6-2, 220," Denise goes. 

"Denise, *you* look almost 220, and it's all muscle," I go, in the back 
of my stoned mind wondering when I'm gonna be asked to do a Sinew 
layout. "Did you get huge or what?" 

Denise smiles at me lewdly. I'm wildly exaggerating her size and she 
loves it. But she *does* look a lot bigger in the arms and shoulders, 
not to mention her bustline, though it's hard to notice when she's 
sitting between Ev and Bon. "I been hanging with the monster Bonster for 
months now," she says, grinning. "She's a bitch of a training partner." 

"You still on Largesse?" I ask. 

"Oh, yeah," Denise goes, nodding sagely. "I'll be on it till I'm as big 
and hard as Ev here." She slaps Ev on the back, which makes a thud like 
a meat mallet on a side of beef. 

"You'll be on it forever and so will I," says Ev. "Unless they come up 
with something better for us `mature' gals. In the meantime, why go off 
it? It's got only good side effects"--Ev cups her hands under her steel-
jacketed rack and lightly bounces the boobage on her palms--"and it 
keeps us strong." 

"Those good side effects include cosmic nip stiffies, Ev?" Bon asks with 
a bawdy half-smile. "You got some humongous tittie hardons happening. 
You could poke someone's eye out with those babies." 

Ev blushes under her tan. She's not in her usual power suit today. She's 
dressed like a mall chick, braless in a too-tight halter top with tiny 
cutoffs and snakeskin cowboy boots, and she looks so good, salsa-spiked 
saliva is starting to leak over my lips. "It's you," she says to Bon. 
"You're so damn big, bursting and beautiful, I'm in a state over here." 

So's the rest of the place. People at all the tables around us keep 
staring at Bon, who's so big her fist looks to be about the size of my 
head. She's wearing a House of Voluptua bra under her tank--you gotta 
wear a real bra when your bustline is like a fucking 65FF--and the 
white, industrial-strength-elastic, extra-wide straps run next to her 
tank straps so she's got this quadruple strappage thing going on on her 
massive shoulders, which is so sexy I just wanna jump on her and get a 
piggie back ride to paradise. When she gets up to go pee, there's a 
sudden silence as everyone stops to watch her move, all those huge parts 
working in sync like some kind of steel-sculpted meat machine. The 
bottomless waitresses might as well be wearing chopped liver panties. 

So we drink a lot of Corona and eat the funny food. Pandora the 
waitress, who unfortunately doesn't train and has floppy tits with 
stretch marks, bellows "Viva vulva!" when she serves us, but it's got a 
kind of been there, ate that sound about it. We end up reminiscing about 
life in Tonya, like we miss it, and Bon and I agree we have to stop by 
and say hello to Warden Marlow soon. There isn't much else to say about 
Bon's Moosehead Melee tour of Canada, since we've already seen most of 
her fights on tape. Denise sent rough cuts to us regularly, and the 
finished product is going to be offered as a boxed set on Sinfully Sinew 
Video. As for the aborted Hairy Mary expedition, Bon says she's kind of 
relieved she never found her old friend. "If I tracked her down, I'd 
have to fight her and probably kill her," she says philosophically. "We 
had a trank gun, but I bet it wouldn't stop her. She's too big and too 
crazy. She's totally out of her mind, I have to assume. It's not like 
I'm gonna talk her into coming back with us and turning herself in. She 
killed at least 25 people. She probably wouldn't even recognize me, 
she'd just try to pry my skull open and eat my brains. So I'm glad I 
couldn't find her. Let her live up there and be happy. Or whatever." 

"*I'm* not glad," says Denise. "You killing her would be the video of 
the century. Us just delivering her corpse would be worth a fortune. 
We'd be international celebrities just like that." Denise snaps her 
fingers and takes a huge bite out of her Twaco. 

"I'm already an international celebrity," says Bon. "There are girls--
and guys--all over Canada who worship me. You shoulda seen them ringside 
on the tour, Jen. Chicks showing their tits, guys pulling their pants 
down, shaking big stiff dicks at me. It was wild." 

"Fuck Canada," says Denise. "They'd know your name in *China* if you 
brought in the Sasquatch With a Snatch. Now the fucking National Guard 
will find her, those dorks. Pass the Crotchos, would you?" 

I'm a little bit drunk from all the beer, but if I took a breathalyzer 
test it would come up pure Af-Gro Sheen. I got that magic moistener on 
the brain. All I can think about is rubbing it all over me and then 
rubbing Bon all over me. I'm in the Jimmy with her--she had to move the 
front seat practically into the back seat just so she could fit in it 
halfway comfortably--driving a bit unsteadily to Santa Herminosa, 
telling her all about our recent drug-assisted sexcapades, beginning 
with Tonya's unwitting discovery of Af-Gro Sheen when the Soleus Sisters 
rubbed it all over her before what turned out to be her final appearance 
of the season at Hank's. Bon can't drive, she's not 18 yet. Denise had 
to bribe the Moosehead Melee people to get Bon on the tour since she's a 
minor, and the Melee is, like, for majors. There's no junior Melee, a 
beer company couldn't sponsor it, though rumor has it Snickers is 
looking into getting a teen tough girl tournament going. 

Anyway, I've got the windows wide open to let all the gas out--we're 
cutting a fucking wheel of cheese from the lunch, and despite the fact 
that we ate at the Pussy Pueblo, these ain't cunt farts--and Bon is 
telling me she already got a call from Harry Dexter, who's trying to 
interest her in a rematch with Brooke for a special Venomous Video 
release. The final Tonya fight night tape is in wide underground 
circulation now, under the title Juvie Jailbait Slam Jam, thanks to his 
distinguished testicularity, the Commissioner. Besides the fact that I'm 
getting exploited again--my beating of Glo is being peddled without my 
consent, not to mention Glo's, and without any royalties for me--there's 
something particularly disgusting about this since it includes the match 
where Ice killed Flung. I've seen the tape and there's actually a super 
at the end of the match that says something about "the loser later died 
of her injuries." I mean, Jesus! The girl's got parents and siblings! 
Harry is *the* lowest. 

"But Brooke won't fight anymore," I shout over the road noise. "She's a 
pacifist." 

"Dexter says if I provoke her enough, she'll fight me. Like, beat the 
shit out of her girlfriend or something." 

"She hasn't got a girlfriend, I don't think. Unless you mean the two 
little lap dancers who are her slaves, and they're so cute it would be a 
crime to hurt them. But even if you beat them up, I still don't think 
she'd fight you. Not at the size you are now, Bon. You almost killed her 
last time, and you're way bigger and stronger now. Plus, you've been 
fighting all this time, honing your skills. Brooke not only doesn't 
fight, so far as I know she doesn't even work a heavy bag." 

"Well, that's too bad, 'cause I'd really like to put her lights out--for 
what she did to Mary. She's gotta be the one who drugged her with X-
Sponge or K-Fad or whatever. It's Brooke who did it, right?" 

"Yeah, probably," I go, "though we can't prove it and Brooke denies it. 
But Bon, I gotta tell you, Brooke's a changed person. She's kinda sweet 
now. And it would be a shame if you fucked her up, 'cause she's, like, 
so fucking gorgeous it's ridiculous." 

"I could say the same about you, Jen. You look totally delectable. 
Jesus, you got big! You are so *fine*, girl." 

I turn my head and meet Bonnie's loving gaze as she puts her hand on my 
bare thigh--a hand so big it can pretty much cover all 28 inches of my 
quad. Bon always had a thing for me. She beat the crap out of a few 
girls in a ring tournament just for the rights to room with me when I 
first hit Tonya. And those were *Hards* she was fighting, not Nancies. 
"Bon, babe, I've got it on for you so bad my tongue is throbbing and my 
clit is about to pop out of my pants. Look how hard my tittie tips are." 
I flex my chest for emphasis, trying to thrust my nipples right through 
my sports bra and tank top, the size of my bustline accented by the 
tight shoulder harness that cuts a diagonal across my cleavage. Bon 
reaches up and pulls on a fat nip through the material, and I moan 
softly as she tweaks the teat in her thick fingers, then I fart again, 
lifting my ass off the seat so the heat can escape. "We'll get the love 
drug from the professor and head straight to the house I'm staying in 
and have a party," I husk. "Wait till you meet Brit and Cait, they're 
really hot. Shit, are they gonna flip over *you*." 

"Awesome," says Bon, as we stop at a light next to a dumpy chick with 
horrible blue eye shadow in a Blazer, who is staring open-mouthed at 
Bon's door-side arm like she just saw the Loch Ness Monster. Bon flexes 
the arm into a honeydew melon of muscle and the chubster looks away in 
embarrassed confusion and fumbles to light a Newport. Bon and I give 
each other a look and giggle. I'm still peering around nervously for 
signs of a Moms minivan, but I feel less shaky about it now that I've 
got Bon next to me. She's *bigger* than a minivan . . . . 

"She's so fucking big she should have Pass/Don't Pass signs on her 
buttcheeks. Well, I'm sorry Stef couldn't make it, but this is a hell of 
a consolation prize." Professor Pep is standing next to Bon, gawking up 
at her like she was a tourist on the street outside the Empire State 
Building. We're in Pep's office, and I'm nervous. I don't wanna do 
anything to tick this chick off, she's got an unlimited supply of drugs 
at her disposal. "Sit down, girls," says the Professor. "I'd like to 
spend a few minutes getting to know the two of you. Or should I say the 
four of you. What a pair of racks! Titanic agrees with you, doesn't it?" 

"I may've topped out on it," I go. "I stopped getting taller months 
ago." 

"Me too," says Bon, uncomfortably. Professor Pep is kinda weird, and 
she's freaking us out a little. She's got a jet black Prince Valiant 'do 
and heavy black-framed glasses like a nerd would wear. The effect is 
kinda bizarre on a woman of her age--I'd say she's early 50s. She's 
maybe 5-9, she's barefoot, and it's hard to tell what's up with her body 
since she's in these green pajama-like hospital scrubs with long 
sleeves. Her desk and her shelves are littered with animal paws and 
skulls and what look to be rhino horns and the tips of elephant tusks. 
She locked the door behind us and told her secretary to hold all her 
calls and we're getting the faint feeling we're trapped in here with Dr. 
Moreau and the next thing we know, we'll wake up on an island with tails 
and big pointy ears. Then an almost naked guy comes into the 
office from an interior door--a very short, 
very muscular, extremely hairy guy with a heavy beard and a mop of 
greasy hair who looks like some kind of fucking dwarf neanderthal man, 
and I gasp in fright. The guy is sniffing the air like a dog, picking up 
our sex scents, I'm sure of it. 

"Oh, don't be alarmed," the Professor says. "This is Rick, my, shall we 
say, companion. He's harmless. Does everything I tell him. He has a bit 
of brain damage, doesn't really communicate well with strangers." 

Not *too* fucking Tara. This guy has *got* to be a cross between a man 
and a baboon or something. He takes a step toward us, his head inclined 
funny, still sniffing, then he stops and looks down at himself. He's 
wearing just a tiny jockstrap, it's nothing more than a package pouch, 
like male strippers would wear, there's a huge bush of pubic hair 
tufting out all around it, and right now it's bulging so full of 
stiffening prick I think he's gonna rip right through it. "Me fuck 
ladies," he grumbles, looking at the floor, wiggling his hairy toes 
impatiently. 

"Isn't that cute?" the Professor beams. "Rick finds you girls 
attractive." Bon and I don't say anything, we just shift nervously in 
our chairs and try to smile. The guy's fucking out of Planet of the 
Apes, what the hell can we say? Is this her husband, or what? "Rickie, 
dear, why don't you go back to your weights and get a nice pump on while 
I talk to the nice ladies. I'll call you when I'm done, OK, sweetness?" 
She ushers Rick back through the door, rubbing him gently on his broad, 
hairy back. "Now, where were we? So you feel Titanic may have done all 
it's going to do for you?" 

"As far as I'm concerned, it's done enough," says Bon. "I'm 6-9, 325. I 
don't really want to be any bigger." 

"Your musculature is still maturing, Bonnie," says the Professor. 
"You're sure to put considerable size on your frame over the next 
several years, if you continue weight training. And you surely intend to 
continue weight training, yes?"   

"Well, yeah, of course. I don't mind getting bigger muscles at all. I 
mean I'm as tall as I want to be. I get any taller it's just gonna slow 
me down, make me, like, uncoordinated. You know what I mean?" 

"I know exactly what you mean," smiles the Prof. "And I agree with you, 
you should get off Titanic now. If you have another growth spurt on it 
you could develop knee trouble. You should probably switch to Largesse, 
use it for muscle maintenance. Or maybe have a go at Testo-Glandex EF. 
That's a new version of the male hormone booster, made especially for 
women. Some girls have had great results with it. And how about you, 
Jenna Takedown? You want to be taller than 6-4?" 

"How'd you know my height?" 

"I know a lot about you. You're a She Roid, and I'm in charge of R&D out 
here now. It's my job to know all about the growth of the girls I serve. 
I love your high school wrestling tape, by the way. Harry Dexter really 
did a fine job of compiling it." 

Yeah, he also did a fine job of suckering me into bending over for him, 
that bag of shit. "Are you friends with the commissioner?" I ask. 

Professor Pep shrugs as she toys with a leopard's paw that she seems to 
using as a paperweight. "Well, he's more like a colleague. I used to run 
the medical department at Amy Fisher, and he was around a lot. Did a lot 
of work in the east, despite being the Cali girls juvie commish. He's a 
very *vital* man." Professor Pep grins at me, her bright green eyes 
glowing behind her glasses. I'm sure she knows I got bushwhacked into 
banging Harry to get out of Tonya. She looks like the kind of chick who 
knows everything. "So you haven't answered my question, Jenna. Are you 
happy at 6-4, or do you want to be taken higher?" 

"I have no problem with the idea of being Bonnie's size, but I wouldn't, 
like, take anything with possible bad side effects just to get taller. 
And if I'm topped out on Titanic, there's nothing I can do about it. 
Except switch to another drug. I'd like to know more about this Glandex 
EF you mentioned." What I'm thinking is, I need a drug that'll give me 
24-inch arms. I've been nurturing a burning desire to outgun Stef ever 
since we moved in together. 

"The EF stands for Estrogen Formula," says the Professor. "It balances 
the masculinizing tendencies of the male hormone and, in some cases, it 
will radically boost the feminizing tendencies of the female hormone. So 
you might end up with the kind of side effects you get on a wide range 
of growth drugs, except they may be even more intense than usual.  
Breast enlargement, clitoral enlargement, increased menstrual flow--you 
know the drill. You've gotten all of this off Titanic, and before that, 
off Largesse. But, as with any growth drug, you don't know the specific 
effects till you take it for awhile. It varies with the individual 
metabolism." 
   
I nod enthusiastically. "But speaking of being taken higher, Professor 
Pep, I'm really more concerned right now about Af-Gro Sheen. The stuff 
is so incredible, like, I can't stop thinking about it. I was really 
hoping you could lay a big tube on us, or maybe a few tubes. It's, like, 
a trip and a half." 

Professor Pep chuckles and idly scratches her arm, pulling the sleeve of 
her baggy shirt up to her elbow, exposing a forearm that's so thick with 
vein-coiled sinew it looks like it's alive, the taut skin writhing as 
she twists her wrist. It's my first glimpse of any of her flesh besides 
the fabulously corded column of her ballet dancer's neck and the 
scalloped, pec-shredded upper chest that's exposed by the vee neck of 
her top, and it's kind of encouraging. I'm thinking I've got another 
ripped-to-the-bone super senior citizen here, a somewhat smaller version 
of Gloria Sternum. "Ah, yes, Af-Gro Sheen," she goes, all shiny white 
teeth. "I understand Tonya Harding was coated in the stuff almost from 
head to toe." 

"Yeah," I go, getting an instant erection at the recollection. "During 
her act at Hank's Hideeho. She came onstage in front of everybody, the 
orgasm of her life. How'd you know about it? Did the Soleus Sisters tell 
you?" 

"No. I have my sources. I'm running the biggest Roids lab in the 
country--I *have* to have my sources. Anyway, I'm glad Tonya had such a 
good time on it. She took a dose that could conceivably kill a normal 
woman." 

"Ton's no normal woman," I go. I'm not about to mention the fact that 
she killed Brad on it. I assume the Professor doesn't know that, and if 
she does I'd rather not know she knows. 

"Indeed, she's not," says Pep. "I also understand she took a knife in 
the lung like it was a pinprick. She's tough as piss-hardened nails. I'm 
expecting her to make a tremendous rehab in Mexico. Four months from now 
she should be bigger and stronger than before she got stuck." 

I nod some more and smile. Oh, so we did her a favor by letting Matiqua 
Montrose skewer her like a fucking shish kebab? "I hope so," is all I 
say. Piss-hardened nails? What the fuck are piss-hardened nails? This 
Pep is a pip. 

"And that's no normal drug, either," Pep continues. "It's not really 
called Af-Gro Sheen, by the way. That's just a name I made up when I 
tested it on the Soleus Sisters. I thought they'd like the concept. It's 
a salve that's really a combination of Vascu-Phil and Rapture. Two drugs 
I invented, I'm proud to say. The latest Vascu-Phil is a vaso-dilator 
with a peculiar temporary muscle enhancing effect that I haven't quite 
figured out yet. It may work like creatine, increasing water retention 
on the cellular level. Rapture is a love drug, pure and simple. A low-
level hallucinogen with powerful aphrodisiacal qualities. A psychedelic 
for the boudoir." Pep leers at us lecherously.  

"Is it really made from Mimi Rogers' pap smear?" I ask. "That's what the 
Sisters said." 

"The molecular structure does owe something to the divine Ms. Rogers' 
DNA, but there's a lot more to the drug than that. Like recombinant 
peyote alkaloids. But no need to get into the chemistry. The important 
thing for you, dear Jenna Takedown, is that the drug exists 
independently of the ointment you know as Af-Gro Sheen. I have tubes of 
Vascu-Phil and I have bottles of Rapture. You can do one without the 
other. Actually, it's now known as Rapture Plus. I've improved the 
formula. Rapture is a liquid best absorbed through the ocular membrane.  
This is a far more potent delivery system than epidermal application. 
You just drop it into your eye like Visine. Instead of getting the red 
out, it gets the bed out." Professor Pep giggles like a child. 

"That's fantastic," I go, my thighs tightening. "Can we have a bottle or 
two of our own?" 

"Yes, on one condition. We all take it right now." Pep smiles at me 
invitingly, running a long, pointy tongue around her thin lips, and I 
can't help noticing again how great her teeth are, though they don't 
have that phony capped look that you might expect on someone her age. I 
guess I'm trying to rationalize having to go down on her just to get the 
drug. It's like I'm a crack ho, it's undignified. 

I look quizzically at Bon, my arched brow signifying: "The Prof clearly 
wants to get it on with us right now. Small price to pay for a bottle of 
Rapture. She's old and kinda queer, but I bet she has a great bod." Bon 
nods at me and shrugs. "No prob," I go. "Let's party." 

"Fantastic!" says the Prof. "Two drops for you, Jenna, and three for 
Bonnie, who is soooo big she needs a little more." Pep dances around her 
desk and has us lean our heads back in our chairs and she does us right 
there. When she gets close to me, I can smell her, and she smells like--
rusty engine parts. Is she on PHEW? That new, improved PHEW formula I 
heard about? I just met her, it's not polite to ask. She gives herself 
two drops too. 

"How come you get the same dose I do, Professor Pep?" I ask instead. 
"You must weigh a hundred pounds less than me." 

"Paulette. Call me Paulette.  We're going to become very close in a 
minute. I weigh a very strong 160 now, I'll have you know--I train a lot 
with Rick, and he works out like a demon--but one drop of Rapture, even 
Rapture Plus, would have very little effect on me. That's a dose for a 
wee thing. I could've given you both more, but I'm taking it easy the 
first time you go via the eye. It's a very potent delivery system, as I 
mentioned, and very fast-acting too." 

"No shit," I mutter. "I'm already getting sparkly things in the corner 
of my vision. And I'm getting hot, too."  Real hot. A mere minute has 
passed, and I can feel the blood pounding in my temples and there's 
sweat trickling down the back of my neck and my heart is heaving in my 
chest like it's gonna pop like a stripper jumping out of a birthday 
cake. I turn to look at Bon. She's blushed a bright beet red right down 
into her cleavage, her face coated in sweat, her bosom bouncing on every 
bombastic breath. Hey, did I just say bosom? I must be getting really 
flipped out on this shit, using grandma words. Bon groans and wipes the 
sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, then rubs the wet hand on 
her cutoffs. "You OK, Bon?" It's my voice, but it sounds like it came 
from across the room. And Bon looks like she's sitting across the room. 
Despite the immensity of her, right there in the chair next to me, she 
looks like she's 10 yards away. Jesus. Bon looks back at me 
expressionless, her pupils about the size of billiard balls. Then she 
shoots out of her chair and lets out this long moan, stretching her arms 
toward the ceiling, which she can reach, and I'm afraid she might punch 
her fists through it, 'cause now she's violently stretching and flexing, 
grunting and groaning as she hits cartilage-crunching shots, ripping 
into rigid, raunchy-ripe double bi's, then, with a snarl, hurtling her 
torsion-taut torso into one side chest, then the other, her flexed tit 
rising wet and wondrous like a surfacing whale, then Bon is gibbering 
like an idiot, whipping off her tank top and flexing wildly in just her 
humongous bra, her rib box gleaming hug e like a freshly oiled engine 
block. 

"This is just Rapture?" I ask. Bon's flexing with the unguent-induced 
urgency that gripped Tonya onstage at Hank's. 

Professor Pep is sitting behind her desk with a big understanding smile 
on her face, nodding at Bon, cooing, "Let the drug take you, big girl, 
let the drug take you." 

Bon suddenly stops flexing and stands stock still, panting like an 
exhausted yak, the sweat running all over her like acid rain. Then she 
grabs a watermelon-sized cup in each hand and somehow rips the bra right 
off her and hurls it over her shoulder like she's doing a demented 
striptease. 

"Good Christ Almighty!" That's Professor Pep at the sight of Bon's bare 
boobage. I would've said it too, except I've lost control of my tongue. 
It's just this big, fat hunk of twitching meat in my mouth with slobber 
running all over it. I'm looking at Bon's chest from a side view, and 
it's like one of those impossible tittie queens with the implants where 
you can't imagine how they stretched the skin over something way bigger 
than a basketball, except these are real, and they don't even hang so 
much as thrust, suspension-cabled on enough pec to build another coupla 
musclegirl chests with. Professor Pep takes her big glasses off and 
carefully slips them into a desk drawer. She looks cuter already. 
Actually, she's looking good enough to eat with a fork right now. I am 
so horny on this Rapture Plus shit I could happily play spi n the bedpan 
in a nursing home at the moment. "Lift me up and let me suck on those 
gorgeous mega-melons, Bonnie," says the Prof, advancing around her desk, 
and sweaty, unsteady, strangely obedient Bon lifts the Prof up in a baby 
cradle and feeds a pucker-plump, pink sweet-teat into her face, and the 
Prof starts gnawing on it like it was milk 'n' cookies time on the 
Teletitties. I get out of my chair, I can't sit still anymore, and kneel 
behind Bon and start undoing her cutoffs while she holds the Prof aloft, 
sort of semi-curling the old girl in her arms while the Pepster suckles 
on a tit big enough to smother her. 

I finally peel Bon's tight shorts and panties off of her and slap her 
massive calves a few times till she gets the message to step out of 
them, after kicking her sandals off, then I spread her muscle-licious 
butt cheeks, get control of my tongue through a concentrated act of will 
and start tossing Bon's soaking wet salad. She farts in my face a few 
times, just like Tonya did, but I persevere, driving my tongue deep into 
her pretty-in-pink asshole, working a hand around into Bon's cunt, which 
is so big and so wet I could probably fit my head in there. I start 
hunching her hoochie with a four-finger piston pump, my thumb playing 
pinball with her plum-plump chubby, and she suddenly puts Professor Pep 
down on the desk--sort of drops her, actually--and bends over at the 
waist, looking at me between her tree-trunk legs before her dilated eyes 
roll into her head and then she's groaning in heat, her thigh bi's 
jumping like pregnant salmon, striations popping out in pulses in her 
big butt like high voltage is running through her ass. She's coming 
already! And coming like a bitch on wheels, this is no ordinary spend. 
In fact, she's now sinking to her knees, still twitching all over like 
she was getting machine-gunned, and now she's slowly tipping over onto 
her side like a wounded elephant. And now she's lying on the floor on 
her battleship hip, still coming, pulling her legs up into her chest, 
drool running out the corner of her mouth, and now she's peeing all over 
Professor Pep's polished hardwood floor, farting again too, and I'm 
afraid she's just gonna go ahead and shit, firing big turds out her butt 
like they were artillery shells, but after the floo d of pee she starts 
to subside, her body easing into a slow roll till finally she flops over 
onto her back, arms akimbo, legs spread and just lies there panting, 
staring up at the ceiling with those oversized doll eyes, her giant tits 
hanging over the sides of her chest like grounded hot-air balloons. 

"Sorry about that, Professor Pep," I go. "Bon's a very big girl and she 
drank a few pitchers of beer at lunch. She must have a brontosaurus 
bladder. I'll be happy to clean it up if you've got, like, a mop or 
something." 

"Wow!" exclaims the Professor, as if she didn't hear me. "That girl 
really comes like a monster!" 

"It's the drug, Professor Pep," I go. "I've seen Bonnie come hundreds of 
times and she never got off like that before." 

"Paulette. Oh, it's the drug, all right. I guess three drops is a bit 
more than she can handle. Maybe Rapture Plus is more potent than I 
calculated. Or maybe I've developed a tolerance. What were you doing to 
her behind her back? I couldn't see anything but acres of beautiful 
breast while I was up there." 

"Just tossing her salad and giving her a finger frig." 

"You must have some *fine* technique, Jenna. Would you mind tossing *my* 
salad?" The Prof bats her granny greens at me and leers like a nympho 
cheerleader caught peeping in the girl's field hockey locker. I 
hesitate. You've gotta have a really clean ass to get a tossing, and 
most people don't have really clean asses. "Don't worry, I knew you were 
coming, I knew you were in Tonya and I had my pipes flushed by a 
professional," says the Prof, seemingly reading my mind. "My heinie is 
so shiny you could use it for a makeup mirror." 

"Uh, no problem, Prof, I mean Paulette." Just then the interior door 
opens and that hairy freak comes back in, this time stark raving nude 
with a woody on him from here to Chicago. He must've been working out, 
'cause he's all sweaty, his chest hair is *matted* with moisture. Or 
maybe he's doing Rapture too. Goddess knows he's horny enough. 

"Rick, please," says Paulette sternly. "We're having a private meeting 
here, you *must* stay in the other room, darling." 

"Me fuck really big girl," Rick mumbles, pointing with his hardon in the 
direction of Bonnie, who's still on the floor on her back. 

"Do you think Bonnie would mind?" Paulette asks me, chewing her lip with 
uncertainty. 

"*Mind*? Bonnie just doesn't do guys--" 

"--What a fuckin' *rod* on that little bastard!" Bonnie interrupts me 
from out of the blue. 

I turn around and there she is on her knees in a puddle of her own 
piddle, eyes wide admiring Rick's dick, which, I must admit, is *huge*, 
bigger than Mickey's, though not bigger than Harry's, and so stiff it 
looks like he could beat you to death with it. 

"Me really fuck really big girl," Rick mumbles, twitching his thick 
slabs of pec expectantly now, then grabbing his meat in both hands at 
the root and jerking it up and down, though it doesn't move too far, 
it's too blood-gorged to do anything but *thrust*. 

"What a fucking *rod* on that little bastard!" Bonnie bellows again, 
like we're reliving the fucking moment in time, and in response Rick 
starts hustling his hirsute and heavy balls and whipping his hips in the 
air, showing off his technique. I'm about to laugh, when Bon goes, "Get 
that hairy little mother over here and steer him up my ass." Then she 
bends over again, looking at us through her immense legs and pulls her 
cheeks apart and flexes her asshole open so it looks like a cave you 
could go spelunking in. Jesus, this drug must have Bon out of her mind. 
She *hates* man meat. 

"I'm afraid you're too tall for Rick, Bonnie," Paulette says politely. 
"Why don't you get down on all fours and Rick can mount you that way." 
Bonnie is instantly on her hands and knees in the pee, her buttcheeks 
shivering at the penile prospect of Rick, as Paulette produces a condom 
and unrolls it on his louche length and Rick quickly scampers over to 
Bon, crouches between her thighs and buries himself in her butt like the 
two of them have been doing this for years. 

Bon groans like a hysterical heifer as Rick starts hunching in short, 
deep, wicked strokes that would probably kill a normal-sized woman. But 
Bon is three times a normal-sized woman. She can take a dicking and keep 
on licking, which is what is ticking in my fevered brain as I move 
around to her eye-squinched scowl and start to undo my cutoffs. I've 
gotta get some tongue on me fast and I'd prefer Bon's hair piehole to 
Paulette's no matter how good the oldster's teeth are. But Paulette 
grabs my hand and pulls me over behind her desk and, with surprising 
strength, pushes me down into her chair, pulling my socks and sneakers 
off, peeling my shorts and panties off, as she husks, "Let the lovebirds 
do their nasty thing. I'll eat you so hard you'll have to give my head 
the Heimlich maneuver to pull it outta your lap. Then y ou can do down 
on me. OK?" 

The green eyes are twinkling down at me hopefully. "Sure," I go. "But 
take your shirt off first, I wanna rub your muscles while I come." 

"Certainly." Paulette whips the vee-neck scrub top over her head and 
she's naked from the waist up, youthfully sunkissed flesh shredded to 
the bone, wrapped in acres of raw vein and muscle with little fistfuls 
of tittie that thrust with pointy-nippled lust on the end of her muscle-
mounded pecs like a gamine's ga-ga's. She hits a quick double bi, 
flashing thatches of armpit hair that are as black as her bangs, much to 
my surprise, and the vasc-tacular peaks leap up and bulge so big my eyes 
gape in awe, but before I have time to ponder the sight she drops to her 
knees and buries her face in my party pita and starts steam-cleaning my 
rug like a Hoover hussy. I'm also wondering what was going on in her 
pants while she was hitting the double bi. There was some weird tentlike 
bulge down there below the drawstring of her scrubs, bu t I only saw it 
for a split second, and I can't trust my eyes anyway, there are too many 
psychedelic squiggles happening. Then I give myself over to the head I'm 
getting--that long, pointy tongue has clearly trotted around a few twats 
in its day--and I start to melt into the chair, I can feel my tingling 
asshole sweating on the leather as my fingers dig into Paulette's 
delineated delts like they were handgrips from heaven. 

On the other side of the desk, I can hear the squishy in-out of Rick 
banging Bon's bottom in between her moans and his grunts. Hey, this is 
turning out to be a pretty good orgy after all, I'm thinking to myself, 
and then a flame of pure sizzling sensation shoots up from my crotch and 
fans out across my belly and up into my chest, spreading like a fuck 
fire, and I'm coming, just like that, there's this loud, sustained 
"Buuuuuhhhhhhh" noise in my ears that's apparently issuing from my 
lungs, and then I'm peeing, just like that, can't control it, I'm peeing 
right in Paulette's face, and she likes it, she's gulping it like she 
was at a water fountain, it's running down her chin and neck, and then 
she's pulling me out of the chair, I'm on my knees, I'm too weak to get 
to my feet, I'm still coming, I'm still "Buuuuuuhhhhhh"-ing, 
 I'm on my knees on the floor and Paulette is standing over me, whipping 
my tank top and sports bra off in one impatient tug, then frantically 
pulling her drawstring pants down, and this *thing* springs out stiff 
and thrusting, and for a second I think it's a strapon, I can't see 
straight and there's sweat running into my eyes, but there's no such 
thing as an uncircumcised strapon, is there? 

Then my mouth drops open as I realize it's gotta be real and before I 
can figure out what's going on I'm sucking on this dick, which is not 
too big, it must be about the size of an average male penis, it fits in 
my mouth real nice, and I'm sucking on it, I'm blowing a boy baton for 
the first time in my life, I'm a Janey-come-fellately, my lips pulled 
intuitively over my teeth, working my face up and down the bloated 
shaft, and Paulette is holding onto my head, standing up on her toes, 
her lean calves bulging with vein-strung sinew, working her hips in a 
slow roll, husking, "Suck my cock, girl, suck it good," fucking my 
throat with this thing, and after a couple minutes of this she pulls it 
out of my face with a saliva-stranded pop, her abs flexing so hard it 
looks like they're gonna explode in my face in a shower of molten g uts, 
then she pulls back on the foreskin to flaunt a fat purple throbbing 
knob of glans  like she's putting on a mating display, then she pushes 
me onto my back on the floor and plunges it into my pussy while I hold 
my legs in the air--no words pass between us, it's like we're on the 
same searing telepathic wavelength--and she starts fucking me missionary 
style, but she's no missionary man, I'm getting fucked on my back for 
the first time in my life in this embarrassing, inferior *yielding* 
position, but it's a woman doing the fucking, so I guess it's cool. 

I *think* it's a woman doing the fucking. Is Paulette Pep a transsexual 
or a transvestite waiting for the surgery or something freaky like that? 
Who knows? Bad time to ask. I can't figure whether I like this picture 
or not, as I have a brief out-of-body experience and see myself on the 
floor with my legs up like a mangy mattress mama getting lay-lady-laid, 
then I give myself over to the pleasure and concentrate on gripping her 
dick with my very capable cunt muscles, my palms cupping her iron boy 
buns, a few fingers creeping into her asshole and what I guess is her 
pussy, which is sloshing with sybaritic syrup. After three or four more 
minutes of hunching, Paulette's hands grabbing and twisting my big tits 
and pulling on the hard, hot nipples the rough-but-sensitive way a woman 
would, she comes, firing a load up into me in a series of wrenching 
spasms, then she collapses on my chest in a damp, hyperventilating heap, 
heavy-breathing into my ear, muttering, "Oh Jenna, oh baby, oh Jenna, oh 
baby . . ." I lie there under her, thinking I can feel the sticky spunk 
coating my crankcase and wondering if I'm gonna get pregnant and what 
the hell the baby would be. A boy with tits or a girl with nuts? 

And on the other side of the desk, Rick is apparently *still* 
buttfucking Bonnie, the grunts and groans continuing, along with that 
squishy friction noise, which has now amplified to a vacuumy suction 
sound, like someone's using a latex plumber's helper on a stopped-up 
drain. 

Paulette rolls off me and I shakily get to my feet to check out Bon. 
She's still on all fours and Rick is still plowing her back 40 like a 
mad mulching machine. The sweat is flying off his hunching hairy ass and 
his big balls are banging Bon's thigh bi's so hard it's like the gnome's 
got a brass pendulum under his prick. I go over to view Bon from the 
front like I'm rubbernecking a sex wreck. Her eyes are rolled up into 
her head, her mouth is twisted in a rictus of lowing lust, yellow 
spittle hanging off her lips like she was a retard, her tits are quaking 
with every bang from the buck, she's got a hand up her own snatch as she 
thumbs her stupendously swollen clit like it was a videogame joystick 
and of course she's plopped in a puddle of her own pungent pee. Then, 
*finally,* the hairy homunculus unleashes his molten load. 
 He stops hunching, tightens his legs so hard I think he's gonna rip an 
achilles tendon, and comes for what must be a full half a minute of 
long, aching, eye-bulging ejacu-bursts, while he makes angry 
Frankenstein sounds and sweats even harder, his happy sac dancing 
between his legs like a puppet pouch. Then he carefully withdraws his 
still-stiff length and carefully removes the condom, which is so full of 
man mustard he could open a hot dog stand with it. Shades of Harry 
Dexter, except this guy could fit in Harry Dexter's shoe. 

With a big dumb smirk on his face, he hands the bag to Paulette who 
takes it from him with a complimentary nod and hefts it experimentally. 
"Very nice deposit, little Rickie," she coos. "That was about as much 
semen as five normal men would produce. Is the little fucker a stud or 
what?" she adds, grinning at me. 

"Now me fuck this one," Rick grumbles, pointing at me. 

"Uh, I don't think so, lil' buddy," I go, trying to smile. I can't take 
my eyes off Paulette's thing, which is hanging down obscuring what's 
under it. I'm trying to get a good idea of what's going on down there--
it's all hairless and smooth as a baby clam and there don't seem to be 
any balls . . . 

"Are you staring at my privates?" Paulette asks, sounding pleased. 

"Well, I'm trying to figure out exactly what kind of equipment you have, 
Prof, uh, Paulette--" 

"Oh, I'm so sorry! In all this excitement I forgot to introduce myself! 
I'm an Intersex Level 3, darling. I've got a real prick *and* a real 
cunt!" Paulette pulls her penis up so I can get a good view of her 
snatch. It's a tight-lipped beauty, like something you'd expect to see 
in a teen shaving fetish mag. 

"You just came in me. You--" 

"Don't worry about a thing, sweetness, my jism isn't loaded. I have no 
testes, as you can see, and rest assured they're not simply undescended. 
It's the best of both worlds! Did I fuck you good, doll?" 

"As a matter of fact, yeah. I've never had it from the front before. It 
was, uh, really nice." I don't want to seem too enthusiastic about it 
since I don't really know what Paulette is or what she did to me. I've 
never heard of an Intersex Level 3. Or any other level, for that matter. 

"Me fuck this one," Rick mutters, pointing at me again and pulling on 
his dong, which is, incredibly, getting stiff again. The guy must be in 
his 40s. Isn't it supposed to take some time before he can go again? 
Harry Dexter needed at least 20 minutes to recharge, and he was on 
Niagara. 

"How did this guy fuck Bonnie's ass for so long without coming?" I 
wonder aloud. "I mean, she's got a big ass, but still, he's got a huge 
dick on him and it must've been pretty *tight* in there." 

"Rick is an expert cocksman with a very special mental ability to delay 
orgasm--call him an idiot savant. Or just call him an idiot, he won't 
mind. He's assisted by this custom-made condom, of course, the inside of 
which is coated with a concoction of mine that I like to call Essence of 
Tumescence 2. Another revised formula. Maximum hardness combined with 
maximum staying power. When I get around to marketing this, Trojans will 
have to go into the birthday balloon business. I'm thinking about 
calling it Lead Zeppelin."  

Then Bonnie's hand is on my shoulder. She's finally managed to get to 
her feet. I look up at her and she's got this panicked smile on her face 
like she doesn't know whether to shit or go blind. "How are you, big 
girl?" I ask brightly. 

"Get me dressed and get me outta here," Bonnie hisses, backhanding wet 
strands of hair out of her face. "And please get that little guy outta 
my sight right now, Professor Pep. I'm, like, feeling kinda paranoid at 
the moment and I might hurt him." 

Paulette frowns, tosses the distended scumbag she's still holding into a 
wastepaper basket and ushers Rick back into the adjoining room, 
promising him "some special suckies" in just a few minutes. "What you 
need, big, beautiful Bonnie, is a stiff drink," the Prof proffers over 
her shredded shoulder from the interior doorway. 

"Fine, gimme a drink, but skip the stiff part, all right?" 

Rick safely away, Paulette produces a bottle of Dewar's from her desk 
and passes it around as Bonnie and I get dressed. "You girls aren't 
leaving, are you?" she asks with alarm. 

"I think we'd better," I go, wincing from a whiskey hit. "Bonnie isn't, 
like, feeling too well." 

"I'm so high I could die," Bonnie complains, taking a long pull off the 
bottle. "I can't see for jackshit, everything is the wrong distance and 
there's all this squiggly gold and green stuff in the corners of my 
eyes." 

"That's normal--a little booze will iron out your cooze," Paulette pooh-
poohs. "But if you bodacious babes wanna bolt, I'm not the one to keep 
you. I'm here to serve you, after all, I'm your friendly neighborhood 
mad scientist. Are you OK to drive, Jenna?" 

"No, not really. Well, I think so. Maybe. I'm sorry we're leaving so 
suddenly, Paulette. I hope you don't think, we're, like, being 
ungrateful." 

She steps close to me, close enough so my still-stiff nips are sticking 
in her face right through my bra and top, and she looks up at me and 
says in a sex-drenched undertone, "You *will* come back and see me 
again, won't you? We have to talk growth drugs. Among other things." 

"It'll be a *pleasure* to see you again, Paulette," I go, slipping my 
arms around her shoulders and pressing her into me, her face crushed 
against my chest. I work my hands across her bare back, where every 
muscle fiber seems to be individually traceable, springing under my 
fingertips like steel strands as she rubs her semi-erect cock on my bare 
thigh. "But can I have some Rapture to take with me in the meantime?" 

"Of course, darling," she says. She fishes in a desk drawer and inserts 
a small glass eyedropper vial into my cleavage, tenderly squeezing my 
tits and thumbing the nipples. "Be careful not to crush that with your 
pec flexion," she giggles. "And remember, two drops max. You saw what 
three did to Bonnie, and she's 75 pounds heavier than you." 

So we get out of there. Bonnie's fuming. Or maybe she's just so 
disoriented by the drug she can't talk. I manage to get the Jimmy onto 
the highway and I stay to the right, keeping my speed down, trying to 
concentrate on the road and ignore all the funny things going on in the 
edges of my vision. I'm taking Bonnie to Michelle's in Chucho, she's 
staying there till she gets her own place. The party with Cait and Brit 
is being postponed, Bon's too frantic. "You OK, Bon?" I try 
encouragingly. 

She hasn't said a word since we were in Paulette's office. It's like 
being with Stef after Sternum. Then she sighs, making this mournful 
moaning noise, and opens up. "Tell me it was a bad dream. A 
hallucination. I'm tripping, right? It was just, like, an illusion. 
Right?" 

"What?" 

"Tell me a little hairy guy didn't fuck my ass like I was Adorable Annie 
Anal." 

"Who's Adorable Annie Anal?" 

"The star of a porn series I used to watch with my brother when I was in 
junior high. Now never mind that, tell me a little hairy guy didn't fuck 
my ass like I was Belinda Buttcheeks in Rectal Projectile. And if you 
ask who Belinda Buttcheeks is, I'm gonna rip the steering wheel outta 
the dashboard and have you wear it for a necklace." 

"Bon, I'm having enough trouble driving as it is, I don't need threats 
from you. Do you realize I have no fucking *clue* how close a car is in 
front of me until I get, like, right up to it?" 

Bonnie sighs and towels her sweaty face off with her tank top, 
distracting me further with  her huge tits, which are now braless. The 
bra, a total loss, was left with Paulette, who is probably jacking off 
into it right now, unless Rick got it first and ate it. "I'm sorry, Jen. 
I'm just a little flipped out here. I mean, some kinda throwback to 
Jurassic Park just banged my butt so hard I think my colon mighta 
unraveled. I don't do *men*. You know that." 

"It was the drug, Bon. You were under the influence, you were outta 
control. Forget it. How *is* your ass, anyway? You took quite a ramming 
there. You never had anything that big up your behind before, I don't 
think. Are you OK?" 

"Actually, I been getting ass-fucked for months. Denise did my butt with 
a big strapon straight across Canada. You ever make her?" 

"No, I never had the chance. So she likes to wear a dick?" 

"Yeah, and she loves to go backdoor with it. I'm used to it. That's why 
I asked for a buttfucking when I was so high, I guess." 

"So he didn't hurt you?" 

"No, not a bit. The condom must've been well-lubed, and after five 
strokes I was just *dripping* butt nectar. I *loved* it. I came like a 
moose. Fuck it all, I'm so ashamed of myself." 

"Why? You had a good time. What's to be ashamed about? I got fucked, 
too. From the front, like a fucking cheerleader." 

"But you got fucked by a *girl*. What was the deal with that, anyway? 
Did she say she was a hermaphrodite?" 

"An Intersex Level 3, whatever the hell that is. She has a working penis 
and a working vagina. And her penis is a real working stiff. I tell you, 
she fucked my lights out. And she *came* in me, without protection." 

"But she doesn't make sperm, right?" 

"That's what she said. I guess she knows what she's talking about, she's 
an MD or something." 

"Listen, Jen, you gotta do something for me." 

"What's that, Bon?" 

"You gotta promise never to tell anybody about this. That I got 
*sodomized* by a human chimpanzee. You can't tell Stef, Ev, anyone. 
Ever. Swear. You gotta swear." 

"OK, I swear. It's not a big deal, though. If we'd stayed, I bet I 
woulda let the monkey fuck me, too. In the pussy, doggie style. I 
couldn't take it up the ass like that, he'd leave me a bloody mess." 

"Jen, how can you say such a thing? You might as well be fucked by a 
*dog*, doggie style." 

"Bon, we were doing a love drug. I came in ten seconds on that shit, and 
peed myself like a baby. And so did you. Whatsa matter with making a 
superstud when you're on a love drug? It's just, like, a mechanical 
thing. It might as well be a dildo or a strapon. I wouldn't like, *kiss* 
him. Or let him touch me." 

"Let's not talk about it anymore. You got a joint in the glove 
compartment? I need to mellow." 

"Yeah, light a doob, good idea. I'll take you to Michelle's, you can 
help her whip some clients. That'll calm you down." 

"I'm sorry I was such a pill, Jen. You wanted to stay, didn't you? Shit, 
that Pep chick is really ripped. I've never seen abs that defined 
before. I think I could see what she ate for lunch." 

"She ate *me* for lunch. I thought I was gonna shit in her leather 
chair. We should both go back another day and really get it on." 

"How about she comes to us?" Bon suggests. "I do *not* wanna see Rick 
the Prehistoric Prick ever again." 

"I'm sure she's willing to travel for our kind of quality." 

Bon fires up a jay and takes a couple of pulls that are so deep it's 
already a big roach when she hands it off. I hit the joint, praying it 
doesn't screw up my eyes any worse. I'm just starting to get a good 
handle on how to gauge the road. "Don't worry, we'll see Paulette 
again," I wheeze while holding in a toke. "And in the meantime, I got a 
bottle of Rapture." 

Bon isn't paying attention to me anymore. She's got her eyes closed, her 
hands on her temples, lost in some internal odyssey, probably stomping 
through the pine forests of rain country in search of her beloved Hairy 
Mary. I pick the little vial out of the map pocket on the door and stick 
it back in my cleavage, where it nestles safe and warm like a fuckbird. 
Sara's back tomorrow. I've got big plans for this lil' elixir of love. 

--30--