influencethis

Senator Ted Stevens and porn: two great tastes that taste great together

2007-01-11T01:14:08Z

This was inspired by Ted Steven's famous malapropism and also something to help ease the new boyfriend into who I am.

LE FIC
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It's a lonely life, living out on the edge. Of the internet, that is. I'm a tube patrolman. The tubes of the internet get clogged with porn, and it's my job to clean them out.

It's too dangerous a life to have any family to tie me down. I heard yesterday Bob over in Malaysia got his wife run over with a powerball. Too bad; I heard Julie was a great lady. Too great, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I long for the static rumble of dial-up to drown out their marital bliss. I guess I got my wish. Doesn't make me happy, though. I am never happy. It's part of the job requirement. Makes it harder to crush your soul if you don't have one in the first place.

It's that time again. The 15-year-old on this block's been downloading lesbian pantyhose bestiality movies like you wouldn't believe for months now. That kid's going to have serious friction burns if he hasn't realized the use of the lotion his dad puts on his son's bedside. When the parents get involved, you know it's a problem. I know all this because he webcams his furry suits to his pals in Texas. It clogs up the tubes like hair down a sink.

But this one is different. This porn might be the closest thing to vanilla I've seen since Al Gore decided to research postions other than missionary. It's nearly tame--just a massive phallic object and a girl. The girl is pretty, for once, not the airbrushed-plastic pretty you see so much of; her face seems real, genuine even, facial expressions real instead of some lame moan. In all my time on this tube I've never seen something like that. Sure, she's got a couple tats but given a set of clothes she'd be the kind of girl you'd want to take to Ted Stevens' annual Patrolman Bash and Malapropisms Party. But she's blocking the way to the Donkey Show, so I have to unclog her before she backs up too much traffic.

I approach. She's a bit busy with what I assume to be a anatomically-correct horse...mold. I wait until the moans have died down a bit before speaking.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but the size of your"--I gesture to the horse member--"object there is clogging this line. I'm going to have to ask you to move along."

She looks at me. She's got pretty eyes, I realize, a nice shade between brown and green. I shake off the feeling somewhere below my belly as she explains herself.

"Sorry, officer, but this is my job. I gotta finish the video, whatever happens." She goes back to the plastic monstrosity. I never realized how much I hate yellow plastic untill now. "I'm just a porn video. I gotta follow the script."

She bounces a couple times on the thing, screaming a finish. She loops back and re-inserts herself with it. Shit, I think. She's caught in a loop. No wonder Junior over there downloading can't finish off, this one can't load properly. I remember her saying something about the script. Surely her male parter hasn't fallen off somewhere en route?

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

She finishes showing her disended anus to the invisible camera and turns to me. "Yes?"

"You wouldn't have happened to have lost a parter?"

She sighs. I can see her facial muscles moving--a rare trait in the porn biz. "Yes, officer, I have. I can't finish the movie with him."

I know the routine. Men are expendable in porn, and upon transfer some fall off their proper videos. This usually isn't a problem; you just use one guy for two videos loading in a row and the problem is resolved. Besides, no one looks at the guys anyway.

Now, however, it is. All I see before me is girls with toys, girls with animals, and even a girl bound up with some sort of fucking machine attatched to her. No men. The only thing that comes close is a hentai tentacle monster, and putting those in a live-action porn is bound to cause some notice. All I can do is wait for the kid to be frustrated, close his computer and let these videos get a rest. There's no way Miss Brown Eyed Girl is getting done with her small story.

"I'm sorry ma'am," I say when she slides herself down the horse-wang for insertion the third time. "I don't know how to fix this."

She looks at me like I have said that clearly the internet was made for education, a look reserved for true idiots. She rolls her eyes. "Aren't you technically male?"

I look down. I suppose I am, though anthropormorphic representations aren't usually given gender. I am very clearly male. Clearly enough that my regulation trousers are getting tight from her repetitive moans. I don't know if this is against regulations, and will subsequently lead to being demoted to Mirror Shock Site Regulator. The Goatse division is the worst. Still, I think, I could do this. Especially if it was her.

"Okay," I venture," what happens when the guy walks in?"

She smiles, finally breaking the 40-second loop I've been watching intently--for research purposes, of course. "Well, he watches and says things like 'that enough cock for you, baby?"

I try to think myself into an MPEG format. It works close enough, and I walk into the shot, encouraging her. She stares at me as the member rocks inside her, a gleam in her eyes I haven't seen before in earnest: actual sexual interest.

"Now you walk over, and unzip your pants," she instructs. I'm a little afraid here. I've never actually had a penis before, only the ideal of one. But apparently the original man was a bit horselike himself, so a long fleshy coil fall out of my pants before her open, smiling mouth.

"I want to suck you dry," she proclaims, her voice loud enough for the camera to her. I tentatively put the end of my new cock in her mouth. Her lips closing over it and sucking it back feels like Bob & Juile sounded; base, animal and good. She looks me in the eye and winks with the one not facing the camera. I nearly go down on my knees myself.

She continues to suck, and I recognise now why there's suck attraction in these films, the feeling of being there. She's good at what she does, and her lips meet my balls quick enough without even gagging. White-hot bursts of pleasure dance before my eyes.

She pulls me out of her mouth, and dismounts the horse. I nearly cry with the absense of her mouth. She whispers, "Now you fuck me from behind." I'm trying to keep steady but the actor orginally had enough poise to walk to her, and I'm confused as to which hole she wants me in. She takes my cock, moans fakely for the first time, and shoves me in the front one.

It feels too good to be true. I've heard rumors about what porn does to its actressess, but she seems to disprove it all. She's tight, enough to make me push and squeeze my way into her, and shining with wetness. I want to loose it right there, pour myself into her, but my actor does otherwise. I push in until I hear hear gasp, and pull out slowly. I feel her tighten and say, "Harder." I let myself become a beast. My hips move back and forth at a speed unknown to man, and she moans and gasps and twists as her hands move on her shining pink clit. Oh, humans. They don't know how good they have it.

She pulls me out and lays down, sideways with a leg extended, clearly showing me where I am welcome. I comply and slide in. She purrs and moves until I'm hitting a spot that makes her scream, a spongy place inside her near the top. She twists and bucks her hips, her leg curling around my shoulders until I'm sandwiched there, at mercy to her pleasure and whim.

This is where I can't take anymore. I so want to spill it all inside her, let her feel my juices running down her pussy, but this video is "Facial," not "Creampie." I pull out and rub myself, paying extra attention to the head. She's staying in the same position, tired and finished, mouth open. I spurt it out, her cheeks and eyes getting as much as her mouth. I move out of the shot as the camera focuses on her. The video closes.

I walk back to my station, zipping as I go. She gives me a winsome smile as her video moves through the queue, bringing her out of sight into the abyss of the porn section of the internet. I sigh. I never knew her name. It's a lonely job, policing the tubes, but sometimes it's worth it.

influencethis @ 2006-04-18T22:46:00

2006-04-19T03:54:31Z

This is straight out of Word, so it may need editing.

He waited quietly on the far end of the platform. If he could just make it through three more minutes, he would be free. Just three minutes. His mother waited, cowed, behind him. Just two more minutes, he said silently, just two more. His father wasn’t here, and if his mother wouldn’t open her mouth about him, he would be free. He would never go back and he would be free. If only she wasn’t crying as hard as she was. He would never go back. Never. No one could pay him to go back. Not pounds or Galleons. Not that they didn’t need it. But money would come later. Then he would never have to see those paper-thin walls again. Walls that revealed all his parents’ secrets to him. But that was later. No, it was never. Never those walls, again.

His mother grabbed at him with a dangerous amount of force round the neck at the sight of the train. She held him there quite a while, sobbing into his grey shirt, all the while saying nothing. Why didn’t she? People would stare. Wasn’t that something that house-elves do, weeping mutely at the loss of their masters? She wasn’t mute in the least bit with her crying. That may have helped him save the little dignity he had left, what with waiting with her in these horrible clothes and smelling slightly of cheap detergent.

The others would see. He knew they were watching. Them with their perfect families and perfect decent and perfectly ordered lives. They knew he was to be stepped on. He knew it too, from birth. How could he not, with his father telling him constantly and his mother trying to forget it? Not that she ever did anything, other than cry. And cry she continued to do, until the train started to steam slightly, letting him go with only a whisper. “Goodbye, then, love. You will write sometime, won’t you?” Her voice was pleading. God, could he not stand her pleading. It never helped with anything. He would never be around that her pleading again. Never. Not once ever in his life. He escaped her cloying grasp, and climbed onto train. He didn’t need to get his bags like the others did. They needed to bring their whole perfect world with them in their bags. He needed nothing that magic and this place he was heading, this heavenly place where he could just *be*, couldn’t provide.

He mused on them as he paced down the train corridor. He remembered meeting some of them, back when his mother could be counted on to drag herself out in public without making a scene about it. Huge homes, they had. Homes, indeed. His was never anything but a house to him. Theirs weren’t anything other than palaces. He remembered the imposing grandeur at the meetings his grandfather brought him to. He had to hide under a guise there, or his grandfather would excommunicate him and his family. And then his mother would cry, and his father would win. And his mother would plead after the crying. Both of these were possibilities to hideous to imagine. So he “put up appearances,” as his grandfather put it, and his mother pretended to be a widow, and so he managed to have some name with those other brats. There were always whispers with them, though, something under the breath about “putting down half-breeds” and “hussy’s boy.” It wasn’t his fault if she had to feign singlehood. It was better than the crying, any day.

The compartment on left, at the end of the corridor, was open. He made his way through the mass of other children, talking and *laughing.* Yes, they should laugh. They’re going with all their proper friends there, aren’t they? Seven years of fun and excitement await them, never having to worry about where they’ll go or if Mummy and Daddy will let them in or how to get away from them. He was stewing. Yes, he was wallowing in his own pity. Who else would? Who else on this green earth would give a damn about Severus? No one, that’s who. It was him for himself.

The compartment was empty. Thank heavens. He sat in the seat facing the engine. Shouldn’t get oneself sick with riding backwards on the way, should one? He glanced out the window. More of the proper type, all surrounded by family. There was the one with the mansion out in the moors. And her, she lived in that hidden place in London, didn’t she? She was the one who pointedly gave him *half* a biscuit at the family meeting and laughed in his face. He dared not do anything about it then, but now he would learn how to take care of her. Yes, the older one at the meetings would teach him how. That boy had already taught him how to close his mind. It came easily from living in a house where you were always silent, but the tutoring helped him gain a circle.

And there he was, that older boy! There, on the platform, being kissed by an older—no, those people aren’t old, they’re “agèd”—woman. They look so dignified about it all. Not like his mother, making a hideous show of saying goodbye. Proper people don’t do that, especially not the ones with homes. What would he say, that boy, if he had seen that? He would have raised his eyebrows and walked off, never to talk to him again. He would have gone back to his family, with their regal looks and regal clothes, and said he was raised by lunatics. Them, they were royal. They had their clothes with silk on them. Those were people to keep company with.

A girl passed the boy on the platform. She didn’t have any family there with her, either. Wouldn’t it be nice, if she were an orphan? He could show her what he knew of the magical world. Wait, what? He hadn’t even met her yet, he was sure of it. She certainly wasn’t from the meetings, he thought. He would have remembered that red hair. Everyone there was blonde or black. Funny, wasn’t it? Black and white hair, black robes and white masks. Was she heading for his car? It seemed so. She had a lot of trunks. Damn, she couldn’t be an orphan with that kind of useless splurging. Well, better to squelch that fantasy in its infancy, before it got the better of him and he would think that the fantasy girl was her, and then he’d meet her and it would be all wrong.

In other news, I got my first review on FF.net. Perhaps, one day, I will have my own leigon of squeeing fanpoodles! Or maybe not. Best to squash delusions of adequacy before they start.

influencethis @ 2006-04-15T16:09:00

2006-04-15T21:16:34Z

This is my fandom identity. Want personal shit? Go to the LJ under this name.

To come: CrazyYetSympatheticSnape!fic, Hermione-and-Emma-switch-places!not fluff!fic, mockingSues!fic, mocking of Eragon and all it stands for, mocking of it's author and writing style, and perhaps a GettingItOutOfMySystem!EragonMocking!Fic.

In short, skip this if you're just here to check if I stole your icon. Which I did. From your mom. Last night.