Pegman does Norfolk-Naturism

On an island like this, you just have to be naked. No seriously, you really have to be. Be one with nature. Spread your wings beneath the blue sky with its golden orb and fluffy white floaty things. Bound through the meadow, leap over the stream, dash from hillock to hillock, bush to bush, tree to … wait … Is that a thorn tree? Well, maybe a raincoat then, in case it rains and you run into a thorn tree, or a bee-hive. (2nd week running, angry bees have made it into my story – make note to discuss with therapist). Right then: naked underneath a raincoat and a bee-keepers veil, although bees don’t fly in the rain – so on the other hand…. Aaaaaaaargh! There are no axolotls on this island anyway, grumpy or otherwise, and whose idea was it to erect that damnable fence and cut the fucking grass? Bah!


© Grumpy Axolotl.
Written for What Pegman Saw
Image: Google StreetView

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Pumpkin-Salami (Your Halloween Horror Story)

Author’s note: This story contains sexual material that some readers may consider offensive.


The pumpkins were particularly large this year. It was going to be a bumper crop. Amanda wished she could lop off her own head and replace it with one of the over-sized pumpkins, She would scare the bitches in her frat-house stupid. Especially that cunt Sally. Suddenly, Amanda had an idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She was going to enjoy the Halloween party.
***
On the other side of town, Amanda’s brother Jim stood naked in front on his open refrigerator, He had a stiffy, and a good one at that. But it wasn’t enough. Jim’s penis wasn’t small, but he wished it were bigger. Staring into the fridge, he envied the salami lying on the bottom shelf; it was fat and long, as he wished his penis were. He wished he could just lop off his cock and replace it with the salami. That would scare the girls in the downstairs apartment shitless, before he drove it into their split-peaches. ha ha ha! Pumping. Thrusting. “Take that bitches” he would yell as he drilled them. He was stroking his swollen joystick but stopped abruptly when a thought struck him. He was going to enjoy the Halloween party.
***
Amanda worked the knife with a passion, but fuck!, hollowing out a pumpkin was hard work, and these were monsters. Still, it would be worth it. Ha ha ha ha. She was carving a jack-o-lantern but the hole was at the base instead of the top.
***
Jim decided to forgo a condom and plunged his cock straight into the recess he had made in one end of the salami. It was cold and gross but his erection grew stronger none-the-less and made the salami hold fast. But he knew he couldn’t keep it up all night, so he fashioned a rude belt from a length of twine that would hold the salami in place during the times his penis was flaccid. Standing in front of a mirror, he felt a surge of power as he admired his handiwork: His huge ‘erection’. Oh yeah baby! Ha ha ha ha.
***
The evening star was already in the sky when Jim arrived at Amanda’s house. He got one hell of a fright when she opened the door. It looked like Amanda’s head was a giant pumpkin. And it was. Sort of. “how do you like the costume” Amanda said from inside the pumpkin mask. “Freaky” replied Jim. “Looks like you could give some mean head with that thing on.”

“Don’t be naughty” Amanda laughed. “Hey, where’s your costume?”  

“you’ll see” replied Jim. “You’ll see. Come on. Hey let’s cut across the pumpkin patch on the edge of town. I haven’t been that way in years”

“Well, bugger me backwards with a black-market vegetable; These pumpkins are fuckin’ monsters'” Exclaimed Jim. “Tell me about it. Where do you think I got this one from?” Amanda answered, sitting herself down on one of the boulder-sized vegetables “So brother. I haven’t seen your costume yet. Any chance it has something to do with the rather obvious bulge in your crotch?”.

“Funny you should ask” said Jim unzipping his pants. “Behold!” he shouted. “These pumpkins aren’t the only monsters in town tonight” His Salami stood up proud in front of him as his pants fell to the ground. He stepped out of them and ripped off his underwear too. Soon he was dancing pantless in the pumpkin patch, his balls and salami bouncing up and down as Amanda laughed so hard it was a struggle not to wet herself. 

“Wow that’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. What a pity it isn’t real” Amanda said between laughs.

“Ah but does it scare you, my dear?” taunted Jim 

“Surely does. Even with my giant head”

“Speaking of which, I believe my wanger is big enough for your slutty pumpkin mouth” Jim laughed. Without another word he pranced over to where Amanda sat and pushed the end of his salami through the gaping maw of his sister’s pumpkin mask.

“Cmon. Give me pumpkin-head” he laughed.

“Augh, Jim you devil!” She screeched. “That thing is so gross!”

“How about I take it off then” He said quietly “And you can remove your mask. We’ll still have plenty of time to make the party.”

“Fuck off Jim. I’m your sister”

“Yes. And you’ve always wanted to do this”

She looked at Jim silently for a long moment.

“It’s wrong” she whispered. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. The pumpkins appeared to be glowing gently.

“You want it though”

Amanda could feel herself tremble. An intense primitive urge, the likes oh which she had never known before was burning inside of her. Her chest felt tight and there was a lump in her throat.

“Yes”

“Stop right there!” Crowed a haggard voice from the pumpkin patch. Jim and Amanda suddenly lost all interest in each other and and spun around, to see a woman in a witches costume slowly making her way towards them. It was a well-done costume, with all the witchy-trappings: pointy-hat, magic-broomstick with a live black cat. It was a little unnerving that she appeared to be gliding above the ground. Jim figured she must have a motorised dolly beneath her skirt, though if there were, it was silent. “Well, well, well” the witch said slowly. “if it isn’t the old blow-your-brother-in-the-pumpkin-patch routine. You wouldn’t believe how many times …”

“This is none of your fucking business” Amanda snapped

“No.” Said the witch. “Doesn’t bother me if you fuck your brother. But you are trespassing on a witches pumpkin-patch on Halloween. I do care about that, and it most certainly is my business” 

“Cut the crap bitch” said Jim. “You’re just some stupid slut dressed up in a costume. Fuck off before we stuff one of these pumpkins up your cunt”

The witch sighed. “You know, the costume is ridiculous, but I have to wear it on Halloween, it’s traditional. Here, let me show you another tradition”. The witch pointed her finger at one of the pumpkins. Her finger appeared to glow purple for a moment and then the pumpkin exploded in a ball of smoke, throwing orange chunks of vegetable flesh in all directions. The smoke cleared and then, where the pumpkin had been, sat a rather bewildered looking frog. “Yep the classic turn-em-into-a-toad routine” cackled the witch. “Forgive my self-indulgence but that one never grows old. Now, are you believing yet?” Jim’s jaw and salami both hung loosely while Amanda sat motionless, piss running freely between her legs spoiling her dress and the pumpkin she sat upon. The cat scratched it’s neck with a hind leg. Jim noticed for the first time that they were completely surrounded by pumpkins. Whatever path they had walked here had vanished. The pumpkins nearest them were merely rocks and boulders, but those further away were as big as houses. Beyond that dark shapes the size of mountains were faintly discernible through an orange mist. “No where to run” spoke the witch matter-of-factly. The cat had discovered a mouse and was now carefully dissecting it at Amanda’s feet.

“Time’s a wasting” said the witch. “Let’s get on with a curse, so I can get home in time to watch ‘the-money or the cauldron’. Amanda, that pumpkin head is becoming to you, so now you are becoming the pumpkin”. Amanda gasped as she felt her head and the pumpkin fuse together. The pumpkins eyes were now her eyes and the pumpkin mouth was now her mouth. She screamed. Really loud. “Yeah, it’s a bit weird at first, but you’ll get used to it soon enough” said the witch. “Now Jim, same idea for you. ‘Hocus-pocus, salami-focus.’ Jim’s penis was now the size (and colour) of the salami he had been wearing. His erection swelled again and soon raged like that of a stallion. “Fuckin awesome” He shouted, breaking into a stupid grin. “Right, follow me” said the witch. “I’ve made a place for you two” There was no apparent alternative so they followed the witch into the depths of the patch, treading a path they had never seen before. Small jack-o-lanterns on tiny legs scurried along in front and behind lighting the way. One squealed when the cat pounced on it. “Behave yourself” snapped the witch. She flicked her hand as if swatting an insect and a small broom materialised in mid-air swatting the cat off of the poor little lantern. The indignant lantern made a rude gesture at the cat before rejoining the caravan. They soon came to a house made from a gigantic jack-o-lantern. The mouth served as an entryway and the witch motioned that they should enter. “Make yourself comfortable my dears. That cock is the perfect size for that mouth so get sucking. You’ll be doing it every night for all eternity. Have fun”. And with that the witch was gone. There was no furniture, but the pumpkin floor was surprisingly comfortable so they laid down on the floor and hugged each other. Trying to make sense of what had happened. “This is a dream, right?” Said Jim. They knew it wasn’t. Soon it was full dark and they could see a full-moon through one of the lantern’s eye-holes. “It’s blue” whispered Amanda. “How beautiful”. Soon, Jim felt his sister taking his giant penis into her giant pumpkin mouth, for real this time, teasing him with her tongue. They locked eyes for a second and then gave in to their cursed love.

“Fucking perverts” muttered the witch. She covered her crystal-ball with a cloth and went to bed.


© Grumpy Axolotl

The Thing

There was once, like, this thing, y’ know and it was like … This thing. So it’s a little bit like that but not so much like that other one. Y’know the one I’m talkin about. It was just like that man, but not exactly, and y’ gotta believe it. I saw it. Y’ know what I’m saying man … Because some things are different. What I mean to say is is that this thing was different from the other thing. So they can’t have been the same thing man. Y known what I’m sayin? This thing man, it must have been something else. I reckon it was the thing. Roger nodded in agreement, and replied, Yeah I’ve seen that thing. It’s like, totally dope man.


© Grumpy Axolotl

Cacophony

Laura loves to sing. Loud. And she doesn’t just imitate; she assimilates; she innovates. Her creativity knows no bounds. Emboldened by the finest of wines, swollen with the joy of life, she bursts forth in rapturous melody, remoulding the choicest morsels of the canon into scales known only to herself.


© Grumpy Axolotl
Cacophony

What Pegman Saw: Penthouse

The view cost and arm and a leg. Ok maybe just a hand and a leg, suspended in mid-air, but it was worth it. And I’m not finished yet; I’m putting a garden up here: Flowers, vegetables and a bee hive for pollination. Then I’ll add a five-piece rock-jazz-funk-fusion band and a barbeque. Why not a pool too?, with a submerged pool table so guests can get snookered under-water. Afer the bar’s been been open several hours, drunken guests are welcome to play honey-raid, which is initiated by lifting the lids of the bee hives. Some will run screaming and leap over the edge, others will fall into the pool, escaping the bees only to drown miserably behind the eight-ball.


© Grumpy Axolotl.
Written for What Pegman Saw
Image: Google StreetView

Teapots

10 minutes of free-writing. No editing, save for fixing spelling-mistakes (most of which were made by iOS Auto-incorrect).


People walk around teapots. There is nothing wrong with that. Nothing to be scared or really, but they often skirt around the edges as if there is something sinister afoot As if maybe the lid is about to pop off and a hairy arm should shoot out and grab them, dragging them down into the bottomless pits of despair and endless cups of tea. Enter Bob, Bob is a dingbat. Bob enters teapot. That’s right. Off with the lid and he jumps straight in.  A coffee plunger is far more dangerous. Imagine hopping in to a coffee plunger . There’s plenty to drink,but then some smart-ass puts the lid on. Is it just me, or does the room seem to be getting shorter? They should execute criminals by coffee plunger. Squishy squashy. If they erect a giant plunger on a scaffold in the square behind the coffee-cart, it can serve a double purpose. People will come from miles around . “Hey let’s go the square and have an espresso while we read the paper and watch Roger-The-Rabid-Rapist get plunged”

Back to bob, well .. What can I say? He’s swimming in tea. It’s slowly tanning his hide. Have you ever been swimming in the sea when it’ full of seaweed. It’s horrible! Seaweed is so slimy, but one-time, we were staying at the beach and there must have been a storm out at sea, because masses of sea-weed washed up. Not just the small frilly stuff either. Great swathes of leathery plant, several meters long. My Mom is incredible right … She takes some of the big seaweed and turns it into sandals. Sandals, from seaweed. I wore them up the road to the store and back, and on the beach, but when I went into the water they went all limp and slimy and lost their shape, returning to drifting seaweed. What can Bob do in his tea-pot? There must have been in a great storm, considering all the tea-weed. Hey Bob?, Bob?, oh. Bob is living up to his name. Damn.


© Grumpy Axolotl.

Tantrum

I really enjoy writing, and I suck at it. I hate most of what I have written. I hate what I’m working on at the moment and I hate the stuff I haven’t even written yet. Actually, what I really hate is that nothing I write is as good as I think it should be, and the icing on that shit-cake is that I don’t know how to fix it.

But I’m not going to stop. Because I know the only way I can get better is to write, write, write, write, and then write some more.

I’ve realised something. I’ve been too nice. I want people to read my blog, so I hold it all in and don’t end up writing the things I want to write. That sux. It’s not good for me or for you. 

I have some stories on the way. I don’t expect anyone to like them, but I can’t go on hiding out of fear that people are going to think I’m some sick weirdo and unfollow me if I publish the stories I want to write. Fear may be merely a product of the mind, but publishing stuff is fucking scary! People read, make assumptions. Well, if I suck, so be it. I need to stop letting fear hold me back. I need to grow.

Writing this has made my cry a little. So sue me.

A big thank-you to everyone who has read, like or commented on my work. You are gold. No-one likes preaching to an empty church.

Smithers, release the axolotls!


© Brave Axolotl

Frustration

The blank page leapt out from the computer screen and slapped him across the face. Alt least, it felt like it had. He’d been daydreaming again. Doodling. He always had a tendency to draw on himself when he was naked. Being naked was supposed to help with the uh, the thing. Hemmingway used to write naked, or was it Hugo? Someone famous. The top of his right thigh bore the fruits of a brown felt-tip pen. There was a skull and crossbones, a race car, a topless women with impossibly huge knockers. He put the pen down and forced his hands back to the keyboard. He was ready to write now, but the story wasn’t coming. It was supposed to be a horror. But he didn’t understand horror. Oh, he’d read the class-notes, but it just didn’t feel natural. Why couldn’t they have a fantasy assignment, or at least the option. He’d rather write about fire-breathing dragons and little green goblins dancing in their caches of ill-gotten gold. Well maybe he could get away with trolls and dwarves if they got loose with their axes and some heads rolled. And it could be set in a castle. That’s a good start. His fingers wriggled. “The night was Dark and stormy” appeared on the screen. “Oh holy fuck!” He yelled. “Son of a bitch! To hell with this, and to hell with Poe’s Raven in a fucking pear-tree!.”  

Back at the computer with a strong cup of coffee. Extra sugar. Perhaps he should bang out some poetry first. Simple verse. He wasn’t too bad at that, although he had nothing on the young brunette at the night-class. She had a rare talent and made it look so easy. Pity she had a boyfriend, or was it a girlfriend? Her poems were not about sex; they were about the most mundane things – Bricks, teapots, a pack of playing-cards – And yet they could only be about sex; when she spoke of tea-pots, the words seemed to drip off her sweet quivering lips like erotic pearls of moisture; the lyric cadences rising and falling like her breasts. When she spoke of playing-cards, her voice seemed to emanate from some dimension of orgasmic bliss. Building up. Swelling. He was masturbating now. “Damn – this isn’t helping!”

The coffee wasn’t helping. Pacing the room wasn’t helping. Cursing the Norse Gods had little effect. Ditto, the Greek Gods. He didn’t have the nerve to try summoning a demon, although that wasn’t a bad idea: Demons were pretty horrible. I wonder how the brunette is doing. Sitting in front of the computer again. He cleared the screen and the blank page seemed to sneer at him. Typing. “The brunette was dark and sultry” materialised. “Oh for fucks-sake.” He imagined her sitting in front of her own computer. Did she get frustrated? Did she ever find it hard.  Words just seemed to pour out of her effortlessly. Did she get undressed to write? Her skill is so … her skin is so clear and she speaks golden light as the long hair cascades off her shoulders rolling down the slopes of her breasts mmmmmm. His hand had slipped off the keyboard again. Well, Fuck it –  may as well finish one thing tonight.  


© Grumpy Axolotl