|THE STORY OF MANDEL SHIVERS (standard:humor, 575 words)|
|Author: Danny Zil||Added: Apr 29 2007||Views/Reads: 1660/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Things ain't hangin right for Mandel just now....and bits of his girlfriend ain't hangin right either !|
THE STORY OF MANDEL SHIVERS It begins like this.... “Could you shut that fucking dog up !!” Mandel roared, sitting up in bed. Katya, his big breasted girlfriend, complied. She lifted the small dog and placed him in his basket then bent over and stroked him. Watching her short skirt ride higher over smooth brown thighs, Mandel felt an erection looming. Christ how he wished she'd hurry up and complete that sex change. Like, I mean, how can you have a serious relationship with a chick, who's got a bigger dick, than you ? Mandel lay back and lit a smoke. ‘How I wish I was French,' he thought and dreamily saw it all. Paris. The Seine. The left bank where he would draw his sketches. The right bank where he would draw his allowance. From Mom and Pops. Back home in Florida. Pops ridiculous in khaki shorts and varicose veins. Mom ridiculous in diamonds the price of a house. “Oh darlink, how I am vontink you !” drawled Katya, disturbing his reverie. Mandel grinned. He knew what was coming next – him. Katya removed her top and unhooked her bra, displaying twin triumphs of breast enhancement surgery. Her nipples stiffened, as did Mandel's cock. They fucked. From the safety of its vantage point under a table, a cochroach watched. Sensing the humans were otherwise engaged (and in the future, probably divorced) it took the opportunity to search the room for food. No luck. The bed creaked rhythmically and bounced on the floor. Katya groaned and yelled. ‘She's not a quiet fuck, I'll give her that,' Mandel thought as he ploughed away. ‘And I'll give her this as well.' He ploughed on. In the room downstairs, disturbed once again by the noise from above, a dwarf was woken from slumber. Enraged, he leapt out of bed, grabbed a broom and jumping up and down, tried to bang on the ceiling to complain. He failed. In the room below him, disturbed once again by the noise from above, a basketball player was woken from slumber. Enraged, he leapt out of bed, grabbed an umbrella and banged on the ceiling to complain. He succeeded. Semen dispersed, Mandel lay back and smoked. Beside him Katya drifted off to sleep and was soon dreaming of her small village in Poland – the dark pine forests, winter snow, drinking hot rum and singing folk songs at cosy bonfires till somebody stood on an unexploded World War 2 mine then there was blood and guts everywhere. Disturbed, Katya moaned in her sleep. Mandel thought she was awake because she moaned then as well. He blew some smoke rings and watched them drift up to the ceiling then realised that soon it would be time not to go to work – the last job now a distant ripple in the boat's wake. “You are a successful failure,” Pops had told him. Pops, a wealthy banker, had washed his hands of him. Mom, a wealthy socialite, had washed her feet of him. Mandel sighed and looked round the room – it was bare as a winter tree. He considered his future prospects – they wilted faster than his recent erection. Picking its moment well, the ghost of his future briefly appeared before him. It grinned and beckoned a boney finger towards a life of soul debt repayment. A thin wind blew in through the thin crack in the window. It was enough. Huddled under his blanket, Mandel Shivers...shivers. Tweet
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