Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I blame Capt. Yossarian


The traffic lights seem to change the mood of the room with every switch they make, red a soft seductive light, yellow an almost too bright for what is going on in this bedroom light, and the green, oh the green was the I am clearly going to remember all of this in the morning light. The noises she was making were border-line frightening, I half expected the police department to be kicking down the door at any minute, mixing an array of streaming red laser lights to the yellow that was making me feel so guilty. Three fingers fully involved, a strange notion in the pit of my stomach, I could keep my thumb, palm knuckle deep in her now sopping wet pussy and touch her knee with my out stretched pinky. ‘I can do this, just keep your eye on the prize' I continued to encourage myself. I fondled her breast some as I began to slide my fourth and smallest finger inside her. 'Almost there' I thought as she started shaking, 'I hope she doesn't cum yet, I really do not want to have to do this again.' slowly I added some rhythmic movements, curling my fingers up, tickling her G-spot. With the quickest of upward thrusts, I managed to mix my thumb in and was mid-palm deep inside her. Wait, maybe I should explain how I got to this point...

A couple days ago I was enjoying a mid-afternoon smoke outside my apartment complex and this guy I know pulled-up in his lame-ass canary yellow Pontiac Fiero, with one of the not-so-hits of the 80's playing on his stereo. I could see the three high school girls holding back their laughter as they crossed to the opposite side of the street, once they reached a safe distance one of them yelled something that was muffled by the scratchy voice of Tiffany, or Debbie Gibson or Peter Gabriel, whoever sang that song "I think were alone now" but I can assure you that is was not a complement. Troy, not sure what his first name really is but I have called him Troy sense I met him, he doesn't seem to mind, maybe it’s his name. Troy turned off the engine and killed the horrid music.
"ahh, love that song, just love it. Don't you?" he asked. I shook my head and replied
"Umm, no man, reminds me of aerobics in eighth grade gym class." He just smiled as he rounded the front of his car. I thought about how cool it would be for him to do some 80's movie style slide across his hood, falling and landing in that puddle of oil and soda and God knows what.
"Oh man, where the fuck did you get that?" I was pointing to his wicked awesome belt buckle, Pabst Blue Ribbon, bout the size of a twelve ounce beer can, just as shinny and just as cool.
"oh, this thing!" he grabbed it with both hands moving it up and down like he was trying to catch the sun and blind me with it, "shit man, had this thing for years." I couldn't stop staring at it, knowing full well I was fixated on this odd mans crotch.
"I need to find a damn midget, where can I find a fuckin umpah lumpah?" I thought I said this under my breath but he responded with
"did you say midget?"
Oh shit here we go, some long speech about how they hate to be called that or something
"yeah man, I said, I need to find a midget."
"Hell dude, just go over to Rays this weekend, there is this group of five or six little people who party there every weekend man."
Rays yeah I know that place, it’s a gay bar on Mondays Tuesdays and Wednesdays I think, but Thursdays it’s all you can eat nachos and two dollar margaritas. "Right on" I said as I flicked my smoke out onto the street and walked away. I wondered why he didn't ask me why I needed to find a midget, and then reminded myself; this is California.

I climbed out of the pool, the water running off me cooled my feet as I walked across the hot concrete. I put my hat back on as I sat under the umbrella table, the only shaded spot out there. My friend had sent me a text that read, 'any planz 4 2nite' I hate what texting has done to language I thought as I sent back, 'ahyut, gonna grab some beers downtown' then lit the last smoke in my pack and moved my chair out into the sun, cracked open an ice cold Pabst and couldn’t help thinking about how awesome the day has been thus far.

Later that night at Ray's I meet Beth, nice girl, long dark hair, deep blue eyes, a huge head, and only bout four feet tall. After three Long Island ice teas she was dancing like she could bend at the knees. You need to know at this point, I am six feet three inches tall, she is three feet nine inches tall, yes, we looked awesome out there cutting a rug. She could suck my dick right there on the dance floor and people would think we were just slow dancing. but, with her sitting on the bar stool and me standing we could make-out just fine. She grabbed my cock after about two hours of flirting and told me to take her home and fuck her. I paid the tab, hailed a cab, and took her back to her place. I didn't want her to know where I lived. We staggered up the stairs to her apartment, well, I staggered she waddled. She put some music on and we crawled into her bed. With the bare bulbed lamp turned out I noticed the way the traffic lights on the corner lit up her bedroom, reached for my cell phone to try and get some video of this event but the battery was dead...

Last night I didn't just fuck a midget, I fist fucked a midget, and not just for the fun of it. Last night I fist fucked a midget for a tee-shirt, a tee-shirt I hope is worth all the nightmares I will awake to, all the memories of her biting my arm as I drove my cock in her ass. Her looking up at me and screaming "YES, YES, YES..." and me thinking how she looked like a puppet with my whole right hand inside her. One good thing if nothing else comes from this. My dick has never looked bigger than it did in her one knuckled stubby fingered hand! ...

Murphy Clamrod, lives in Fresno, CA. now, recently relocating from the New England Area where you park yr cawr, next to the bawr, where it isn't that fawr. He has a strange fascination with PBR and subscribes to Asshole of the Month Weekly. He also has "a face for radio" and hosts several Blogtalkradio shows about poetry, prose, and the like.


  1. that capt. yossarian... what a motherfucker... i'll get him for ya, murph... nobody should have to be subjected to midget debauchery...

  2. you need a cabbage patch pig of a look alike sandra bullock and way more methman!

    and don't forget the nubby.