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Pantsless in Portland

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The creator of Erotisphere writes about the website,
the Portland scene, and life without pants.

by AnDroid
admin@erotisphere.com

A Valentine's Day Horror Story

Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 11 February 2010 16:20

WARNING: This week's blog is a truly horrific tale. If you are easily scared or offended, we recommend you read no further.

*   *   *

After ordering his third beer, Vinnie decided that meeting a blind date from craigslist at the Yamhill Pub on Valentine's Day had probably been a poor decision. Showing up twenty minutes early hadn't been a great idea either. Still, it had been her idea to meet at this dive, and he'd been grateful for the cheap meeting point since he was technically unemployed. Now that he was here he figured he should at least stick around long enough to meet her. He sat down at his table and bent the edges of his beer coaster around the base of his pint glass. His leg shook uncontrollably. He glanced nervously at the door as he lifted his beer to take a swig. The glass clinked against his front teeth, and he snapped his head back in shock. Blushing, he looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed. A young couple sat at the bar watching a basketball game on the television suspended from the ceiling, and the bartender, a large man with a dark beard, stood there with his arms crossed, glaring angrily at nobody in particular. A dirty hobo sat in the corner with his head in his hands.

Suddenly the door flew open, and a gust of wind blew into the bar. A tall woman stepped inside. The halo of light that surrounded her blinded Vinnie for a moment. Then the door closed behind her, and the light disappeared. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the bar, he saw that the woman was extremely pale, almost green, and she had several open sores on her face. She wore a lip ring that appeared to be infected, and her pink tank top and blue denim skirt seemed an inappropriate choice of outfit for a cold, windy day in the middle of February.

Could this be the chick? He tried to remember the picture he'd received after their brief email conversation. It had been an out-of-focus image of a topless woman with droopy breasts. There was really no way to tell if it was her just by looking. His knees banged together, and he bumped his pint glass painfully against his front teeth again.

He watched her buy a pitcher of beer, and then she approached his table.

“Ah, hi!” he said, and he stuck out his hand and started to stand up, but the jiggling of his legs had given him a partial erection, so he immediately plopped back down in his seat. She didn't shake his hand, so he slapped it down on the table and rolled his fingers. “You must be Helga. I'm Vinnie,” he said.

“Vincent,” the woman said. She tilted the pitcher to top off his glass and slammed it down on the table, causing beer to slosh out of the sides. Then she took a seat in the chair across from him.

Up close he could see that the skin on her face was dry and cracked, and the blisters had tiny puss-filled zits around them. The picture she'd sent him hadn't shown her face, which was a shame, because he really preferred women with good skin, but who was he to be choosy? He was just some jobless loser, after all, and he didn't want to be alone on Valentine's Day anymore than this chick did.

“Vinnie,” he said, swigging his drink. “I prefer Vinnie, actually. Nice to meet you.”

As soon as he put his drink down, Helga was filling it again, and he realized she didn't even have a glass of her own.

“You drink,” she said. “Then we go to your place, and I fuck your brains out.”

Strange, he thought. That was the same phrase she'd used in the email - “Fuck your brains out” - although she'd misspelled “brains” b-r-a-n-e-s. Now that he'd seen how dumpy she looked in person, he really wasn't that interested in her anymore, but she seemed pretty aggressive. After this beer, he decided, he was definitely gonna have to ditch this ugly broad.

*   *   *

“Technically I don't live here,” Vincent stammered, immediately regretting what he'd said, and he forced his key awkwardly into the lock on the heavy wooden door and turned it, pushing it open and stepping into the house. “Well, I mean, I have a key. I'm staying in the basement temporarily, so...”

Helga entered behind him, her black combat boots thudding on the wooden floor, and he noticed a huge black and purple bruise on her right leg.

“Where your bed?” she grunted. “I'm fuck your brains out. Let's go bed, Vincent.”

“Vinnie,” he said. He grabbed her hand, but it was so cold and dry, he recoiled in surprise. Then tried to turn the movement into an awkward low-five, slapping her palm several times before he finally clasped his hands behind his back. “I'm, uh... Follow me.”

He lead her through the kitchen and opened the door to the basement. Two cats sat mewing at the top of the stairs.

“Hey kitties!” Vinnie said , stepping onto the landing and bending down to pet them. Helga stomped in after him, and he looked up, saying, “Could you shut that door? Some of the roommates are allergic to these little guys, so they stay in the basement with me.”

Smiv

He picked up the white long-haired cat and rubbed its nose against his own. Helga stomped down the stairs, leaving the door open, and the other cat ran past into the house.

“Damn it!” he said under his breath, and he ran after it, cradling the white cat under his arm. “Get back here, Orion!”

He chased the little rascal into the living room and scooped him up with his free hand. The cats squirmed violently as he carried them back to the top of the basement stairs, and one of them managed to claw his arm before he tossed them onto the floor and shut the door behind him. The scratch turned red, and blood began to appear on the surface. He wiped it on his black pants.

“Helga?” he said, creeping down the stairs. He'd constructed a makeshift room in the basement by pinning tapestries to the ceiling. He approached the opening between two tapestries, and suddenly he was yanked inside by two large hands.

Helga lifted him into the air with surprising strength and threw him onto the bare mattress he kept in the corner. He bounced and slammed his head against the faux wood panel wall, and then Helga was on top of him, pinning him down with her tremendous thighs. She tore open his shirt, causing several buttons to fly off and skitter across the cement floor. Great, this was his good shirt, too. Now what the hell was he supposed to wear to job interviews?

Helga bent down and pressed her mouth against his. He felt the jagged scab around her lip ring scratch his skin, and then her dry, leathery tongue slithered into his mouth, almost causing him to gag. He breathed heavily through his nose as she kissed him, and he tried to push her back, but she wouldn't budge.

Finally she pulled her tongue out of his mouth and slid down, nibbling his neck, then his chest, and finally stopping at his pierced left nipple. He felt her tugging gently on his nipple ring, and he started to get hard. He put his hands on her hips and began grinding himself against her. “Oh, Helga!” he whispered. Then the tugging on his nipple ring got rough, even painful, and he shouted, “Oh Helga! Shit, that's too hard, Helga!”

The pain became unbearable, and he opened his mouth to scream, but fingers wrapped around his throat and choked him, preventing any sound from coming out. Helga lifted her head, and there was blood all over her face. In her teeth she held his bloody nipple ring, bits of flesh and hair still stuck to it. She spat it onto the floor and shouted, “MY NAME NOT HELGA!”

She slapped him hard across the face and, hiking up her skirt, she slid her body upwards until his head was cradled between her thighs. Her vagina hovered above his mouth now. It was an unnatural gray color, and the inner labia drooped down, brushing against his chin. “Eat it it, Vincent,” she growled, and she grabbed his head with both hands and pulled him up forcefully, grinding his face into her crotch.

“Vinnie,” he tried to correct her, but his voice was muffled by the dry wad of genital skin crammed in his mouth. He stuck his tongue out, circling it around the little bump of her clitoris, wetting it with his saliva. As he licked, she squeezed his head harder and harder between her knees until his eyes bulged out, and he felt like his skull was going to snap.

“I fuck your brains out, Vincent!” the woman bellowed. “Ungh! Your brains! BRAINS!”

There was an awkward moment when he wasn't sure whether to keep licking or start screaming, and then everything turned red.

*   *   *

“Roommates! I'm home!” Sarah shouted as she entered the house, tossing her purse onto the little table next to the couch in the living room. Tufts of white hair floated up, and she suddenly sneezed uncontrollably. Who the fuck had let the cats into this part of the house? That new guy Vinnie was becoming a real pain in the ass, and if he was going to stay another month she expected to get more than 100 bucks from him for rent this time.

She walked into the kitchen to get a beer and saw that the door to the basement was hanging open. “Is someone here?” she shouted. “Hey! Someone left the door open, and now there's cat hair everywhere! I'm not cleaning this up!”

She was about to close the door when she heard a crunching sound behind her. She turned to see Vinnie standing shirtless in the dining room. In one hand he held a ball of white fur smeared with dark blood. With his other hand he was stuffing the cat's severed head into his mouth, its eyes staring blankly forward, while his own eyeballs dangled from their sockets.

“BRAINS!” he groaned, bits of gray matter flying from his mouth.

Sarah began to scream, and a warmth filled her pants as she lost control of her bladder. She turned to run, but hands grabbed her roughly from behind and yanked her backwards, thrashing and screaming in terror, down the stairs into the dark basement below.

 

Comments  

 
# revblk 2010-02-11 10:08
Wow. Glad I'll be staying in this Valentine's Day!
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