kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"TheLastToHaveSex.0"

words

To put it simply, Jerome was fat. His only erogenous zone was his mouth.

But putting it simply did no justice to the rolls of flesh he carted around daily, no justice to the sheen of sweat that would trickle, a constant trickle as he moved, from his pits, his forehead, his belly.

Putting it simply did no justice to Jerome, for though he was a bit simple of mind and large of body he was for better or worse, a human being. Despite appearances, a somewhat evolved human being.

His great bulk combined with his limited intellect had him living on disability; two checks a month and all he had to do was go out and cash them. His parents (now just his mother as his father had passed away but he still thought of her as "his parents") owned the apartment complex he lived in, but he rarely saw them. He rarely saw anyone, actually; at least, not in any intimate social manner. He had nothing to do and no one to do it with.

Jerome liked to ride the underground to fill his time. He would ride up and down on his subsidized dollar fifty, watching people go to work or go home. Sometimes he would sleep there and sometimes he would go home to take a shower; no one accosted him. He had an aura about him (his flesh) that averted people's gazes and left him to himself. He could even watch the other watchers with impunity.

If he grew tired of riding the rails and the weather was nice (which he would gauge by what people were wearing) he would go up to the park and sit on a bench and continue his watching.

While he watched people, he liked to do two things: he liked to chew a piece of gum, and he liked to fantasize. Really, these two things were the same: to him the piece of gum was a sexual organ -- it could be a giant clit to be gently devoured or a small penis to be cared for and nurtured with his tongue. He fantasized about the people he watched; you couldn't tell it to look at him but perhaps for the occasional dollop of spittle in the corner of his mouth.

Jerome was riding the rails today and absentmindedly thinking that he'd like to go to the park and watch the clouds go by. The clouds often coaxed his limited imagination into new fantasies. Opposite him on the car was a young man, in his twenties, clean cut and suited -- the typical executive. He was fiddling with his watch, tapping at it and swearing under his breath. His suit was a bit wrinkled, and the newspaper under his arm looked fresh off his doorstep, still wrapped. Jerome looked around and didn't see any other executive types around. He guessed the guy was running late. The executive was somewhat handsome, in a way that Jerome had always idealized -- wiry, flawless skin; he may have had a bit of a paunch but the expensive suit tucked it away perfectly. Jerome popped a fresh piece of gum in his mouth and began salivating into it.



The executive looked up, startled -- not up at anything in particular, but up in the way that he was hoping to see something that would let him understand what had just startled him. He shrugged it off, and went back to his worrying. A couple of seconds later, though, he realized that his penis was slowly filling out, making a small tent in his pants. He coughed softly, unwrapped his newspaper, and held it in front of his crotch in the typical "nothing to see here" mode. Then he looked around again: first to see if anyone had noticed and secondly to see if there was some agent of beauty about that had tapped his subconscious, some delectable creature to slyly fix his gaze on.

When he looked about, the only thing that caught his eye was the fat man in the corner, watching him. He flushed with both disgust and shame, and with that he steadfastly stared at a spot by the doors, telling himself he had only two more stops to go. Shortly, though, things escalated. He could feel a tongue whispering around his erection. There was just the right amount of pressure from his pants that it felt like his tip was resting at the back of someone's throat. With nothing better to do, and no face to save, he gave himself to this feeling. He imagined it was Claudia, his ex -- the bitch who would sooner put a bull's cock in her mouth than his; of course, she ate the bull's. His thoughts couldn't hold that negativity for long, and soon it was all he could do to keep his hips from rocking with the pleasure he was receiving.



When the executive left, Jerome smiled and wiped a dollop of what looked like spittle from the corner of his mouth. It was salty and he wrapped it around his gum with his tongue and swallowed both. It was good. It always was.

It hurt a bit, getting in without trampling over anything, without jarring the mind too much. He'd grown to like the pain, however, so comingled it was with the process. The guy had hardly hurt; guys were the easiest, of course. Females tended to be suspicious of anything causing them arousal; less so as militant feminism was on the wane, but it was there. He wanted some pain this time.

Looking around, he found a college-age girl with her back to him. He could tell by the clothes she wore and how she had her hair that she was hot, and likely stuck up and frigid all in one. He pulled out a new piece of gum and slowly began masticating it, turning it and shaping it to a small clit with a long vulvar area. This was going to take a bit of work.

He felt her gasp more than heard it as he flicked the clit with his tongue -- the moment of contact was such that he almost choked on the gum then and there. But he massaged the outer lips with his tongue, moving the sudden shock down her inner thighs and into her toes. He could feel her flush.



Jessica couldn't understand what was happening to her, but she was sure she didn't like it. Her legs were all tingly and her crotch... her crotch was gooey, but her period wasn't for another two weeks. Her nipples were swollen and painful, painful from being swollen, and she had the urge to squeeze the pain out. She resisted, fidgeting in her seat like a schoolgirl who had to go to the bathroom with the teacher out of the room. Her short and curlies were starting to itch, making her want to put her hand down and scratch... or really, she had to admit, she wanted to scratch lower than that. She could feel her clit swelling and beginning to pulse along with her nipples. A white noise was pulsing in her ears and she was having difficulty taking full breaths.

She forced herself to try, pausing everything, to exhale fully and then inhale deeply. On inhalation, she choked, and choked again, and there were spots in her vision; she closed her eyes. With her eyes closed the rest of the car disappeared and all she sensed was the intense... feeling. Her breathing picked up in a stocatto rhythm. She couldn't tell if the feeling were pleasure or pain -- it made her uncomfortable, or maybe it was the train that made her uncomfortable. Maybe... maybe she had to go to the bathroom.

The car came to a pause at the next station and she jumped up and out, trying not to *run* in her haste to find a restroom.



Jerome was startled by her abrupt departure -- to follow or not to follow. He (she, really) was on the verge; that was frustrating. He forced himself out of his seat and ambled as quickly as he could over to the doors. They tried to close around his flesh but between safety tolerances and the sweat soaking through his tight t-shirt, he slid through with just a simple plop.



She couldn't believe she was waiting in line! For chrissakes, it was a subway, not a restaraunt. She could hardly believe that she about to go into one of the grungiest types of public restrooms known to man. Her need faded for a moment but then it returned a thousandfold and a squeak escaped her. She looked around to see how much of a scene she was making but the only person paying her any attention (perhaps others were studiously not paying attention, but that was okay) -- the only person paying her any direct attention was a grotesquely fat man in an obscene t-shirt. He smiled around blowing a bubble with his gum and her clit exploded through the back of her skull and she found herself being helped up from the floor by a young man who had been passing by. She took mental inventory and decided that she hadn't wet herself but didn't need to go the bathroom. Jessica thanked the young man, excused herself, and went down the station to wait for the next train to carry her to school.



Jerome sucked the juices out of his gum and wondered what he was going to do -- this was a blow to his routine. The park was several stops away; he was in a part of town he'd never really travelled topside... but he didn't want to get back on the same train as the girl; that could prove awkward. He could wait for the next train, but the previous two encounters had been so tasty that he wasn't certain if he could stand still. Sitting he was good at; standing not so. That left him with walking, which typically he wouldn't even consider. However, he found that he had to do something. If he sat on the floor, he'd need someone's help getting up. There weren't any benches, and leaning on the wall was too much like standing.

He shrugged his massive flesh, swallowed his gum, and slowly heaved himself up the stairs to street level. He had to pause twice on his way up to catch his breath but even in a rush people avoided brushing past him.

He blinked profusely when confronted with the natural light of the sun. Sheltering his eyes with a sheet of flesh, he stumbled forwards trying to ascertain a direction. The sun was nearly just above him, the light reflecting off of mirrored surfaces, glass, the pavement... All about him were buildings stretching up further than he could crane his neck. He strained his myopic eyes to their limit trying to decide what the far street signs read so as to pick a direction. Finally, standing still for too long, he leaned forwards and began a march, constantly in a state of falling... onto the next step, and the next.

After two blocks he was fairly sure that he was going in the wrong direction, or at least that he wasn't going in the right direction. The street was dirtier, the sidewalk dirtier, the shops dirtier; the people were dirtier. Looking back, panting from exertion, he could see the glistening subway entrance still. He wasn't lost, at least -- he'd taken no turns; it was only two blocks. He could set out and try again... in a moment. Now he was too tired; he trudged another couple of steps and collapsed onto a park bench.

Now he was sitting. Sitting was good. He was an observer again, no longer making a spectacle of himself. Most likely if a bus came by it wouldn't even notice him. He looked around. The place seemed empty.

Then he caught movement reflected in a window across from him and heard some chuckling from off behind him. He turned around slowly as if taking in the street and caught an alley in his periphery. There were a couple shapes skulking in the shadows. Seeing as how he was sitting down and needing a rest, he figured that maybe some fantasy would both help pass the time and give him some more energy.

He surreptitiously popped a piece of gum into his mouth and began chewing it -- his saliva was thick from lack of liquid; it would take him a while to restimulate his salivary glands and fill his mouth.



Paul continued to flip his dagger. He'd been flipping it all day, seeing how long he could keep it going and in what patterns. He'd do a flip, double, triple, double, flip, or a flip, triple, flip, double, or... What was eating him was he had nothing to do and wasn't in the mood to do it anyway. His stooges were shooting the shit back and forth and he kept an eye on all three of them. What was really eating him was if he didn't give his stooges something to do soon, soon they were going to find something for themselves. No matter which way you looked at it, that didn't work out well.

Something made him glance out to the street. He saw a shambling mound piled onto a bus stop bench and an idea came to him. There was nobody up or down the street; they could have some clean fun. He felt a warmth in his blood as he held the dagger still and tossed instead the idea up and down, around and around. His stooges noticed something was up and quieted themselves.

He told them the plan, simple and short -- but as he told it, the plan changed, growing on its own... and he felt an answering grow in his pants and in his chest. His blood was pounding. He was more ready for this than he'd been for anything in a long time. Mario and Steve crept out of the alley towards the fat fuck on the bench.

The feeling in his pants was growing stronger; he wanted to whip his dick out right there and go at it -- what the hell was wrong with him? Anyway, he'd take care of the fat fuck soon enough; or, he chuckled, the fat fuck would take care of him. Service with a smile.



Jerome saw the two guys coming up behind him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't register them as threats. He didn't register them much at all, really. The guy he was concentrating on stayed in the alley and he was working him for all he could -- the guy was a tough customer, very resistant. Jerome guessed he'd come from some sort of rich, religious background. That always added a certain tang to the proceedings.

When the two guys surrounded him, obviously surrounded him, he didn't have a clue of what to do. He guessed the best thing he could do was to be as nonthreatening as possible. Maybe they wanted his wallet. He could part with his wallet. He supposed he'd be willing to do anything they wanted, even give them his gum -- he had no way to defend himself. He shrugged and waited.

They gestured him back into the alley and he complied docilely, all the while chewing and sucking on his gum. In the alley, he was led to his knees before the guy he was concentrating on, gangster assassination style. His arms were held out from them, the two guys at this point holding him with obvious distaste.

The next moment was a blur -- there was a crack at the side of his head that rang his ears and knocked out his gum. But before he could bemoan the gum there was something else in his mouth; larger, firmer, fleshier. He knew what it was before his vision cleared and he went down on it with vigor and finesse. This was his dream come true -- well, perhaps not that; he'd never dreamed of being held by two gang members and orally raped by a third, but... this was flesh. This was what he had been fantasizing about for all those lonely years. This was real.

He gagged a couple times but for the most part he held his own, bobbing and weaving, polishing the knob with the back of his throat. In his pleasure, greater than any he'd before felt, the pinpricks to each side of his neck held no significance; their pain added to the current ecstasy -- they made his chest tingle and flush, his eyes began to swim again.

His last drab of consciousness was a hot white fire shooting down his throat straight into his belly, lighting his path to Heaven.