Sunday, July 13, 2014



The work that follows contains material only suitable for adults.




The bards would agree that it all began with a dream. But where the dream began and who the Dreamer was is unresolved... and the whole mess was completely lost to Donald Talbot as he pushed open the front door of the two-story cabin deep in the snow-covered hills known as Caribou, twenty miles west of Seward Alaska. The area where the cabin squatted was remote and could only be reached by snow-machines in the wintertime, or snow-mobiles as they were commonly referred to by those living in the “Lower 48”, and by all terrain vehicles in the summertime. Donald fumbled with the flashlight.  He smiled a happy smile, thoughts turned to the party they would be having that night, a small rave, with music provided by him. His deejay's equipment was hooked to the back of his El Tigre', and once he got the generator going he could begin to set up and have things ready by the time the rest of the gang arrived.

            Talbot wasn't a True Believer, one who believes in a higher power, except maybe in the Marvel-Comic-Stan-Lee sense of believing in heroes and what they do. He was thirty-two, single, and had been all over the states living as a pariah, being homeless. But he did meet a lot of interesting people along the way, some he would just as soon not to have met. He had listened to The Old Rugged Cross about 64 times, and Amazing Grace about a hundred. And he slept in shelters that smelled of rotten feet and sweaty bodies. And he heard sermons from preachers belaboring that their life was just like that of the homeless people in the room, but that they turned theirs lives over to the Almighty, and now their life was peaches and cream with a stamp of salvation. 

            And that is why the homeless are homeless. Because they don't have their fiddles tuned with the Almighty...

            ( And that is why the rain falls on the just and unjust. And why a CEO isn't much happier than a day laborer...)

            Talbot laughed as he headed toward the storage area to gather wood for the wood-stove

            (It was funny. Ahh-come on, you know it was funny.)

            Talbot moved wood from the storage to the wood-stove, and set it ablaze. It was currently 16-degrees inside the cabin, Donald had planned to have it considerably warmer by the time the party arrived.

            Talbot was a good-looking man of  194 pounds that wore his hair short, crew-cut short. His eyes were green, and his fingers long—“artist's fingers” he was told; he had the voice, he had the personality, he didn't believe in hostility, and he had the smile, and he had all of his teeth.

            I think if it rained on the unjust just a little more, they might get the picture.

            Before the streets Donald had been a partaker in a seven-year Pentecostal experiment gone bad. And then, subsequently, so did Talbot.

            He had become a radio-personality merely by chance. A radio station was taking auditions, and Donald just decided to show up and see what was what. And the next thing is he's getting phone-calls, and fan-mail, and if he had somehow touched the flame of success, he knew he didn't want to let go. Because being a radio-personality took him places he otherwise wouldn't be able to go. Cool and classy parties, sometimes in parking-lots where contests were held, He got back-stage passes to concerts, and he met more young ladies than he thought he would have a chance to. A lot of roses were given and reciprocated. And Talbot was finally happy again. 

            (Is that so?) A small still voice chided in Talbot's ears.(Then how come in almost thirty years you have only been laid five times…?

            Shut up.” Donald said aloud. “I'm very particular who I make love to.”

            ( You mean dream about fucking.)

            Donald Talbot wasn't even aware that he was an undiagnosed bipolar with schizoaffective tendencies. He started hearing voices when he was about ten. They scared the hell out of him. There were no occupants of these voices he heard. And he didn't hear them in his mind, rather he heard them as audio hallucinations. His father had beaten him when he claimed to hear voices, apparently Donald was just trying to get attention by scaring people. But he wasn't. And the beatings that he got from hearing voices didn't make the voices stop or go away, Donald just learned not to talk about them. After a time he grew used to them so that they didn't scare him anymore. He chalked it up as an overactive imagination and that was that. Besides he only heard voices when he was on a downward spiral of depression, that is save one, which he heard more often than not. It sounded like himself talking to him, and it spoke like a half-assed guardian angel. Maybe it was his Id or his ego, he didn't know.

            With the fire going, he could start up the generator and get his deejay's equipment outside from the trailer that he pulled behind the El Tigre', and start setting up. Maybe he would be finished by the time the rest of the gang arrived. He had a computer and a sound-system, and he had lights that flashed and danced sequentially. 

            He started with the lights first.

            (What? Is it the cup-size that's been the problem? Not every woman can have a rack that you can see coming around the corner. Pussy is pussy.)

            No, It's not.

            (What? Are you a connoisseur now?)

            Donald said nothing. He simply went back to the storage and started the generator. Then he began setting up his equipment.

            (So what do you think?)


            (I said, what do you think?)

            About what?

            (Not about what, about whom.)

            Alright, whom then?

            (Dude, are you thick? No wonder you don't get laid. What the fuck do you think about Melisa?)


            (What do you think her cup-size is, 38 double d?)

            I'm not thinking about her cup size. Would you just shut up?

            (Prude boy. Hey you're not going to blow your wad before you make her moan, are ya'? Not like you did with that last smokin' fox. Babes sort of tend to frown on that sort of thing.)

            Could I help it? I was pent for fucksake! Damn. Would you please just shut up?!

            (Prudeboy. Maybe if you whacked it a little, you wouldn't be so pent.)

            I whack it.

            (Once a month, maybe. Prudeboy.)

            Drop dead.

            (After you...)
            The sound of thunder shook the two-story cabin and Donald surmised that the rest of the gang had arrived. The fire was blazing in the hot-stove, and the place was heating up nicely. Talbot set a speaker down on the table, and got up and went to the door. He expected to hear the voices of young men and women outside, speaking excitedly, the girls remarking on how pretty the cabin looked under the light of the moon. He anticipated someone--probably Jameson, stepping heavily onto the porch and pushing open the door before Donald could even reach it.

            (And what is it about Jameson?)


            (Oh, I know. Not only is he good-looking and got a bod to boot, but he's also charming AND intelligent. He's got money. And his dick is probably bigger than yours.)

            “Sonofabitch, shut the fuck up!”

            (Careful microscopic puny dick, they may hear you outside.)

            To his surprise, when Donald opened the front door, he discovered the outside to be just as it was before he entered the cabin.

            “That’s strange, I could have sworn I heard….” Trailing off, Donald listened to the quiet crisp night air. Surely he should be able to hear the sound of snow-machines by now. Straining, Donald cocked his head and scrutinized the acute silence. Not even an echo or a hint that the crew was approaching. Maybe someone had engine trouble. After a couple of moments of weighing the possibility, Donald decided to retrieve his helmet and climb back onto his Tigre’.

            A faint drone caught his attention before he could turn around and head back inside. Donald spied movement out of the corner of his eye, and something flashed briefly in the darkness of the surrounding woods. The form stepped out of the compilation of trees, it was, It looked like a human in high-tech state-of-the-art armor. And yet…this visitor somehow seemed…alien. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, as the head was covered by a helmet, with a face-shield that made the individual look like an insect. Don almost wet himself, and thoughts of running back inside the cabin-slamming the door shut, and getting the shotgun, hammered in admonition just beyond his skull. It was then that he remembered that the shotgun was still with his Tigre’. The form moved forward in motions as fluid as they were animated.

            Who the hell is that?!

            (Not WHO. What…? I think-)

            And then Don had a strange thought that would not let him go.


            “Oh shit, it's an invasion!”

            In a voice as mechanical as the mechanoid’s appearance the figure spoke. “Aaros Rantori, I have need…a need for…your seed.”

            Donald promptly fell on his butt in the snow. Then in an outbreak of panic, the young man struggled frenetically to get back on his feet. He wasn’t exactly certain what it was that the mechanoid had said, but he was sure that he didn’t like the sound of it. Donald lost his footing, and slipped in the snow. Once. Twice. Don scrabbled up the wooden porch. He thought that the mechanoid almost had him as he dived through the doorway of the cabin. He slammed the door shut immediately behind him. “Shit, there’s no lock!” Experience in Alaska had taught those that periodically resided in the woods that there was no reason to put locks on your cabins, it just gave the bears one more thing to break during the warm months that were the summertime when the furry free-loaders busted into your cabin looking for food. Donald felt relatively screwed.

            Wait. The wood-stove.

            (What are you going to do? Set the cabin on fire?)

            Fuck, not now. I need to reach the poker. It could serve as a weapon.

            (Oh, right. And while you’re at it you might try some harsh language as well.)

            Have you got any better ideas?

            (Put your head between your legs and kiss your ass--) 
            The door came open and fell to the side heavily as Don reached for the poker. 

The giant wasn’t as large as it had first appeared, and even though its mechanical frame filled the doorway there was no need for it to duck its…(head?), as it stepped into the cabin. Still its presence suggested menace and foreboding, a formidable opponent without question. Donald held onto the poker in the same manner that he had seen many actors in movies do when left with no other choice.

            “Aaros Rantori, I have need of your seed.”

            (Open up and say ahh, it’s anal-probe time.)

            Not if I have anything to say about it.

            Suddenly the mechanoid lifted an appendage that resembled an arm. There followed a brilliant flash of blue-green light. The last thing that Donald remembered as he fell toward the darkness of swelling unconsciousness, was that his balls were tingling.


            The wave that Donald’s naked back rested on was like satin, rolling in a manner that suggested he was gently undulating on waves of some congruous substance that melded with his body, sensations faint and stimulating gently rippled up and down the length of the man’s body. It was almost as if he rested on something alive. He was too weak to care. And yet another part of him moved with the motion, and delighted in the sensation…

            He couldn’t move his hands or his feet, though he tried, he could barely feel them. It was almost like they were asleep, without the pins and needles. He was spread-eagle in the semi-darkness. His eyes fluttered open momentarily and Donald caught a glimpse of more forms…alien, mechanoid that had accosted him in the cabin-there were three. Donald found that he wasn’t surprised. Neither was he taken aback when they left the futuristic bed-chamber that he resided in and allowed for the initial visitor  to enter. The door hissed closed behind the presence.

            (Time for your anal-probe.)

            Yeah?’ Donald mused abstractedly. And how is that gonna’ happen when I’m lying on my back, spread-eagle?

            (Do you really want to know?)


            The mechanoid seem to regard the man silently for a moment before two appendages reached up and under and to either side of the alien’s helmet. Donald shuddered in spite of himself, shivered from a cold that was not there in the semi-darkness of the foreign environment. A noise similar to the door sliding closed ensued, followed by tiny jets of air escaping confinement. The helmet wavered for a moment and then vanished, the countenance beyond made Donald forget all about Melissa.

            Looking at the face before him, Donald believed that it was quite possible that he would never look at another woman again, without seeing her as anything but ordinary. This creature was indescribably breathtaking! Her features were as exotic as they suggested eroticism. Her skin was like moonlight reflecting a rainbow, her eyes were pools of scintillating and fiery emeralds, her lips were full and enticing, as blue as her hair was currently, however the flowing tresses that fell past her shoulders changed colors like a mood-ring; from shades of blue to shades of purple…to shades of pink…to white…and then a slow flowing combination of all colors. Donald felt his breath catch in his throat. The alien woman smiled slightly then began removing the other pieces of her environment suit, setting the garments in a sophisticated wall locker.

            The room, what Donald could see of it, wasn't as alien as he imagined it might have been; it actually seem well-suited for the beauty held within it. In an atmosphere that was exotic as well as erotic,  lush pictures of an otherworldly landscape  hung with vibrant color upon the walls; sculptures, mostly busts of  women interacting seductively with one another, rested on tables or mounts placed strategically about the ballroom sized area. And the women had tails!

            “Aaros Rantori, I have need of your seed.” The woman’s voice was a silken purr of sensuality.

            Have need of my…what? My…seed…?

            (I guess now wouldn’t be the time to tell her that you’re not this Aros Ran-whatsa-whozitz.)

            The sound of a zipper being pulled down provoked a slight stirring in Donald’s loins.

            (Holy cripes! Look at the size of those tits!)

            Donald did so and his pulse quickened, even as he found it suddenly difficult to swallow.

            (Those are Special K easily!)

            Special K is what the voice considered triple-k cup-size. The female alien’s breast were not quite that big. But they were larger than anything Talbot had ever encountered up close.

            The female alien stepped free from her jumpsuit and stood naked before the widening eyes of the man on the undulating bed. Except for the obvious she looked every bit like a statuesque goddess of voluptuous proportions. The nipples of her firm, round, and voluminous breasts were slightly lighter in color than those of her lips, they stood erect, whispering alluringly, while stark white hair accentuated her path to paradise. Donald was all at once aroused.

Saturday, March 1, 2014



“Malatonach comes...” Danni said again.

            “Well, if that's the case,” Donovan said, “he's in for a rude awakening. He's gonna' have to play without his friends.” Then he addressed the entire group. “Everybody hot?”

            They agreed that they were. Locked, loaded, and hot. “Then let's let these motherfuckers have it!”


As he stood up everyone followed his lead. As he fired his Desert Eagle down into the crowd, others fired assault rifles and shotguns.

            Sea spawn screamed, high-pitched cries, that were compromised from the onslaught of the group.

            The larger of the aberrations tried to scale the wall. They were cut down in the process of trying to do so.

The spawn began to scatter. Only the octopoid creation seemed to stand its ground. Bullets barely penetrating the epidermis of the monster, sounding like shells falling into soup, hardly causing it any harm. It lashed against the building of the hotel with its tentacles, tearing up rock, stonework, masonry, and glass from windows. One of the appendages reached up over the roof of the hotel, and in a frenzied response, was cut to pieces by weapons-fire.

The daemonic mist crept closer.

Meanwhile pseudopods stretched from the epidermis of the obscenity. They opened like sickly flowers, and expelled the amorphous jelly-fish creations. Instinctively the group ducked. Several landing on the roof, and leaping again. Most of them were shot down, torn to pieces. However one slipped by and attached itself to Donovan' face.

            This figures, he thought darkly, cynically. Then he felt a tentacle forcing its way down his throat. The hell you say. He saw it his mind's eye, as clear as day, even in slow-motion, as if he had seen it a hundred times before now. He pressed the plunger on the FAD cylinder, and fell over the side of the hotel roof.

Just as he hit the octopoid aberration, there was a great explosion, and fire raced to either side of the street, consuming all in its path, even as a cloud of fire rose to the second floor of the hotel, the concussion shaking the foundation of the motel, and shattering windows.

            The group was knocked to the ground. “What the fuck?” Justin vociferated. “What the fuck just happened?”

            No one had an answer.

            “I mean what the fuck?”

And then the sky was torn asunder thunderously as if by great jagged bolts of lightning, ebon and crimson, glowing sinisterly, that came from the fog crawling toward the beach, searing the firmament of early morning.

            “Stay down!” Danni commanded.

            A tremendous wind followed, and it roared with the howls of the damned.

The fissures became chasms that fell into dark abysses of cosmic relation, like space without stars. It was as if reality was ripped multitudinous, and from the many fissures and chasms came fire and spirits of dark dominion, screeching in horrifying ululation, and glee, like prisoners that had been released from their imprisonment. They tore at the group as they flew low--the world seemed to race passed them in an amazing frenzy.

Waves of radiant energy, heat, light, perhaps electricity scattered everywhere, seemingly tearing up the really real world that the group once knew, in a cataclysmic storm. With their eyes closed, the group saw apocalyptic visions of demons and aberrations invading our realm, even as they invaded the cosmos eons ago. The world was stripped of its technology, of its superiority, of its vitality; buildings crumbled under the onslaught of devils, super tsunamis crashed against the east and west coast of the United States and beyond. Deserts became oceans, mountains became islands, and the end came shortly thereafter.