Second BirthDay excerpt… Remember Pink the Urban Sprite of Lust? How about his bigger brother Entropy? Guess who is popping in to pay a visit in late April?! *G* Here is an unedited bit from Gray. Not responsible for spiting drinks over the keyboards in laughter! LOL
Gray
“I am Alotohs, god of death and chickens! I have returned!”
“Mmm, yeah, baby. Touch me there!”
“I said I am Alotohs, god of death and chickens! I have returned!”
“God, Pink! Touch me harder, harder you big pink fucker! Push a finger in! Eat it till there ain’t no more!”
“I am– for gods sake, people! Can you stop this office free-for-all-fuck and pay attention?”
Cali shot up in her chair dislodging her lover with a faint, “But I’m still hungry, Cali,” her fingers leaving the deep groves in the top of the back support of her plush leather executive chair. She tried to force her eyes to focus somewhere in the vicinity of an annoying sound–
“Cali!” came the complaining voice from underneath her desk, “I was not done yet! I get an hour for lunch and I still have plenty of cherry flavored whipped cream left! Now spread your legs, Chief, the clock is ticking!”
“Pink,” Cali called, her voice reedy with amazement, “I think you need to see this–.”
“But I like the view here.”
“Pink!”
A pastel pink head popped up, pushing her chair back even more as the damn near perfect body rose from beneath the depths of the this under- the-table dining room, placing his lovers legs back on the arms of the chairs.
“Callie!” Pink growled. “I was about to go for the brass ring! And then I was going to rim you before I got my dick all wet with–Sweet Tatiana!”
“Huh?” Callie was still a bit dumbfounded by what she was seeing, so much so that she never even noticed that one breast with its reddened nipple was on display over top of her most favorite bra– or that the red flavored popsicle that Pink was using as a makeshift dildo had fallen to her newly installed extra plush beige carpeting.
“Holy Crap!” he gasped.
Holy crap indeed, because there in the middle of Calita’s office was nothing short of a phenomenon of ultra ridiculous reasoning, a disaster of idiotic universal proportions.
There was a huge stone throne decorated with the yellowing sun bleached skulls of the apparently conquered. It stood cold and massive radiating nearly visible waves cold and fear. Chained before it, complete with spiked metal collars around their necks, scratching and snorting steam were two huge gargoyle-like chickens of pit bull proportions pulling guard duty. There were several tall candelabra surrounding it, burning black and purple candles that emitted the smell of lavender and coconut. From somewhere, a low menacing soundtrack played, adding a touch of the macabre to his gothic scene. And seated on the throne the likes of which had never been seen by mortal eyes sat– a short white haired man with glasses, wearing an Armani business suite and holding a cell phone in one hand.
“Now,” he intoned, a Berry White voice coming from his small conservatively dressed man, “that I have you attention, I am here to inform you that I have returned, and I seek what is rightfully mine.”
“Um…who exactly are you?” Cali managed to gasp out knowing that somehow Pink had to be responsible. Of all the things she had endured since making the acquaintance of since her lover, this had to be one of the most absurd and freaky. “Again?”
“Alotohs! Alothos! Alotohs! God of Death and Chickens here! Gods, are you people deaf as well as oversexed?”
“Um, sorry?” Cali offered as she dropped her legs and tired to straighten out her skirts as Pink fully emerged from under his desk, his cock still slightly erect and hanging from underneath the folds of his bunched up lace and tulle skirt.
“As you very well should be, human! You are holding up progress here!”
“Oh!” Pink suddenly clapped, “I remember you! Uncle Al!” “As you should, little sprite,” the man sighed running one delicate looking hand thought his long white hair. Funny, but that long oddly colored hair should have made a joke out of that custom made suit, but it didn’t. The color combination made him look more like a spokes model for Calvin Kline’s next strange ad campaign.
“You are Al! Big Al! Unckie Al! What are you doing here?”
Pinks Wings began to flutter in joy as he bounced in his place, his pink eyes shining in delight.
“Pink,” Cali asked, tugging his skirt into place over the relaxing bulge of his dick. “Who exactly is that?”
“This is Uncle AL!” Pink cheered, pointing and making the giant chickens peck and growl in displeasure.
“Al?” Cali asked again, face wrinkled up in confusion.
“Alotohs!” The man screamed. “God of death and chickens and about to add impatience and pigs! Don’t you people learn anything in school anymore?”
He rose to his feet and Cali discovered that the man was not only just about her height, but he was possessed of a set of massive purple and white wings and a heart tipped purple tail that swayed impatiently behind him.
“You guys are all out into color coordination,” she mused, rising to her feet, wondering where her thongs went. “And I thought I told the rest of your family to make an appointment to see you, Pink? Will these surprise visits never end?”
“Oh,” Pink explained. “Al is not really family, Chief, though he is an Uncle to me.”
“He’s not?”
“God of death and destruction, as if you didn’t hear me the first five times I’ve screamed it!” the man snapped, his eyes, strange solid black orbs with a purple pupil, narrowing in anger. Small flashes of electricity snapped around him and the air seemed to still, as if anticipation of a good slaughter.
“So if he ain’t family, then who is he?” Cali stared at the man, snapping chickens in all, and suddenly for the first time, and felt a small bit of apprehension. She really wished she could find her foundation garments. This was looking more serious than his family’s usual shenanigans.
“He’s Chaos’ betroved.” Pink bounced faster, sending a faint sprinkling of dust into the air.
“Oh,” Cali slowly shook her head; trying to ignore the headache she could feel brewing. “Okay, so why is he here?”
“Oh,” Pink stopped bouncing and looked over at the irate male. “Why are you here Uncle Al?”
“About time you remembered me,” the man groused, slumping back into his chair. “And I am here because it is time.”
“Oh,” Pink murmured, and then grinned. “Oh! Great! I love mating!”
“Mating?” Cali snapped. Whom… what the hell is going on?”
“Uncle Al is here to get married!”
“Married?” Calita sank into her seat, oddly enough mimicking Uncle Al in his chair, before opening her drawer to look for her stash of aspirin. “Okay. I can deal with that. Marriage is normal. Who is getting married?”
“Uncle Al!” Pink rolled his eyes, “Weren’t you listening, Cali?”
“Who is he marrying?” Cali snapped, shoving aside some condoms, some lube, and several small containers of ginseng as well as several pairs of spare underwear. Great. She needed some. Now if she could discreetly slip a pair on–
“Entropy! Chaos is getting married!” Pink looked exasperated. “I just said that. Listen to me. En is getting hitched!”
Somewhere in Manhattan, a flock of sheep appeared out of nowhere to clog up traffic. An ice sculpture in Boston depicting birds in flight came to life and headed south for the winter in April– despite the threat of melting. In the Atlantic Ocean a shark about to feast on an unaware surfer suddenly decided that sea weed would be a much more nutritious choice and while there in Baltimore, a bunch of Maryland Blue Crabs revolted and began to steam the fisherman who was trying to catch them. In of the nations capitol, several state’s senators joined AA and somewhere in the Midwest, a scientist just on the brink of discovering cold fusion and solving the nations energy crisis suddenly decided to create a light beer that not only was less filling, but actually tastes great.
And in his bed in the middle of limbo, Entropy jerked upright in his bed, waking up in a cold fearful sweat. “Feels like someone walking over my grave,” he shuddered, before snuggling back down with a plump and cushy were-sheep named Shelby.
“God,” Cali whimpered as he slouched further down in her seat, “I hate Mondays.”