Cabbage

I find myself in the cabbage, like a thousand times before, searching for the children with fat faces and blue eyes. Perhaps they really are just manufactured, like the kids at school tell me. I prefer to believe that they grow here, possibly in the roots of the Cabbage, and crawl out at night seeking stable and pleasant-natured adoptive families to kill.

The Garden

In the San Joaquin valley of California, back in the early days of Spanish settlement, as Missionaries busied themselves with the souls of native Indians and building fortified townships, there lived in the surrounding hills a very small tribe of Indians called the Ducquah. This tribe always seemed very docile and peaceful, compared to other tribes of the region, but they were at the same time greatly feared by the the Cocopa, the Comeya and the Quigyuma, who never attempted to raid them or engage them in warfare. The reason for this was the Ducquah's powerful medicine, and possession of witchcraft and ancient curses. It was well known that anyone who troubled the Ducquah soon vanished from the face of the earth. Even the Spanish priests for once took heed of strong warnings and spared these Ducquah Medicine Men the usual compulsory knowledge of the Lord.

Over many decades the tribe dwindled until, as Spanish settlement became United States territory, there was only one member of the Ducquah tribe left; an old woman with eyes as cataract as onion bulbs who could still see everything around her with the clarity of a hawk. This old woman was more than 200 years old at that time but carried within her fragile body the accumulated life force of her entire tribe.

She lived in a Pueblo-style hovel dug into a high cliff wall which faced the morning sun, and spent her days caring for her hillside garden which grew more lush and beautiful each year. The garden was her only concern now and she pampered it like an only child. She did the work of 10 men and preserved large portions of her harvests in skins and husks using secret techniques that could keep them fresh a hundred years.
One evening the woman found two white men exploring in her garden and set upon them with the fury of a grizzly bear. She beat them mercilessly with her walking stick until one lay quite dead, and the other one, gasping for breath and whimpering in the dirt, stared up at her with one terrified eye; the other eye already swelling tightly shut. She could now see that they were only youths, perhaps 16 or so, and thought that she had possibly over-reacted.

She dragged the living boy up to her hovel by his hair to nurse his wounds. He spoke a lot of hasty words before passing out; all gibberish to her but she got the gist of it. He was pleading for his life thinking that she intended to stew him up for supper, but she didn't have much taste for human flesh anymore much preferring rabbit or deer meat. She stripped off his clothes and applied poultices to his gashes, thinking he must have been quite a pretty thing before she'd gotten hold of him.

The young man lived for three weeks but in the end her medicine couldn't save him. As his swellings receded and he recovered some of his beauty, the old woman would stroke his soft skin with her bent old fingers and whisper soothing incantations in his ear to lessen the pain. She often examined his body close up, the jet black hair which fell in locks across his eyes, his pink lips as soft and thin as those of a young girl, the small brown circular nipples that capped his chest and the solid structure of his stomach which slowly rose and fell with each breath; even his penis which occasionally became erect in his sleep was of interest to her, although she had no sexual feelings left. It did, however, awakened certain nostalgic memories from a long dead sexual past which hadn't had any reason to resurface in the past hundred years or so.

When she knew for certain he was going to die the old woman cut the boy open and set about stuffing him with fruits and vegetables and vines replacing his vital organs. In the past she had absorbed all the energy of her tribe members, animals she had killed and eaten as they died, and even the plants she ate. Their life force had kept her alive and as strong as an ox for over two centuries; but now she desired a young companion for her old age and this boy would do just fine.

The New Mexicans

In the Jaiehos Valley of central Mexico we chase down dunebuggyists with our rifles and deport them back to the United States. Go home, Gringos! we shake our fists at the internment train as it takes them back to their Starbucks and McDonalds infested country.

Tortillas. Fresh tortillas. That's the stuff of life! Fresh fish and ceviche, pablano peppers and good steaming beans.

We cast our boat into the sea. All the Gringos and Gringas had been captured, and we felt at peace once again. We dove into the water and fucked like dolphins among the seaweed.

Fidel rides Alone

"At dawn General Fidel Castro, and his second in command Che Guevara storm Havana with their band of Freedom Fighters, driving President Batista from the island in a great hail of bullets." The boy mumbles, talking to himself as he rocks back and forth in his closet masturbating to his own personal fantasy once again. In this fantasy he is always a great General ruling Cuba with an iron fist while fighting against the Evil American Imperialists.

"Fidel! Time for dinner!" His mother calls. "Coming Mama!" he yells as thick strings of jism spurt from his balls.

After school, Fidel hangs out with his best friend and current love interest Ernesto "Che" Guevara. In real life as in his fantasies Che is always by his side as second in command. They head to the outskirts of town and spend time alone on the rocky shores of Playa Arroyo Bermejo where they swim naked and Che fucks him roughly in the sand.

"Pappi! Pappi!" he cries.

One day after school Fidel catches Che kissing his hated rival, Camilo Ortiz. He runs home crying and sulks for three days, refusing to go to school. In his fantasies he has Che captured and killed on a revolutionary mission in Bolivia. It is a more honorable death than he deserves, but regrettably Fidel still has feelings for the boy.

Furthermore, General Castro cracks down on all homosexuals and eventually has them exiled to America.

When I cum it makes it so.

When I cum it makes it so.

Fidel Castro Rides Alone!

Wallflower

The Ralley children never told anyone about the time they killed a kid.

The boy's name was Ketchum Parker and he was the most unpopular boy in school. He was a bit dim-witted but not enough to get any sympathy for it; just enough to be scorned by everyone including his teachers. He wore thick plastic glasses that gave him a goggle-eyed appearance and there was something off-balance about his face that let you know he was "funny" right off the bat.

The Ralley children were not popular either by any stretch of the imagination, but in their case it was because they were such terrible bullies; notorious for terrorizing the town's youth. James, the eldest at twelve, stocky and pale with a buzz cut shock of bright-red hair and heavily freckled face, was constantly beating kids up or shaking them down for their lunch money. He had already been in Juvenile Hall but caused so much trouble there they kicked him out. He had even molested a girl but had threatened to kill her so she'd keep quiet about it. The cops were just itching to put him in prison when he turned 18 or got caught doing something bad enough to be charged as an adult.

Mary, the second-eldest was ten and just as nasty in her own way and ruled over all the girls and weaker boys in school. She wasn't afraid to fight either, if anyone dared challenge her she'd get down in the dirt or yank somebody's hair out of their scalp without a second thought.

Matty, the youngest at eight, seemed the least horrible member of the family at a glance, but he was learning fast. He'd already set a few fires on the outskirts of town; one burning down a wheat field, largely ruining an old farmer's crop for the year. Everyone suspected it was Matty who was always playing with fire but they were never able to prove it. It was just a matter of time before he killed someone or burned a bunch of houses down.

So it was these mean children that Ketchum Parker stumbled upon while taking a shortcut home from school that fateful spring day in 1975.

The Ralley children were hanging out beside an old abandoned decaying homestead which was in the middle of a decades-old process of being reclaimed by the woods.

"Hey look", James said. He was leaning casually against the gray clapboards of the dilapidated house smoking a cigarette when his pale eyes flashed, spotting the boy coming through the woods, a smirk of a smile stretching his thin lips. "It's the retard!"

Matty ran out of the house and sprang up to Ketchum, laughing and yelling "It's Ketchup Ketchup Ketchup! Hiiiii, Ketchup!"

Ketchum stopped, looking around him terrified trying to figure a way out of this, knowing he was in for trouble. "H...Hi" he said in a low voice full of fear; eyes warry and desperate.

"Hi Ketchup-head" Matty yelled, jumping around him in erratic circles like a crazed cartoon character.

James sauntered up to him striking an air of mock-comradery, "Where you going Ketchum, old pal?"

"H...home" the boy mumbled, looking down at his feet.

"Home? No! I think you should stay and play with us. I think old Ketchum needs some friends for the day don't you?" he looked around at his siblings. Mary and Matty pressed close to Ketchum

"Ketchum, do you want to be our friend?" Mary asked, eyes narrowed insidiously .

"Sure." Ketchum said, eyes still on his feet.

"Hooray!" James said clapping. "We're going to play GAMES, Ketch!."

"No, I think I wanna go home!" Ketchum cried suddenly, trying to get away.

"Oh, no. You want to stay and play with us." James said in a threatening tone, roughly grabbing the boy's shirt collar, nearly ripping it.

"Okay." Ketchum said woefully, giving up. "What are we going to play?"

"Well, I don't know yet...but it's going to be fun. You like fun games, don't you Ketchum?"

"U-huh."

James laughed. "U-huh" he repeated in a mocking dimwitted voice. "Get in the house, retard."

They pushed Ketchum into the abandoned house, forcing him to smoke cigarettes until strings of spittle hung from his mouth from coughing and he began to cry pitifully. "You've got to keep the smoke down or you'll never quit coughing." James chided, forcing him to take another puff.

"Hey," Matty said, "remember that old well we was wondering what's at the bottom of?" James' face lit up. "That's right! The Well. Our good friend Ketchum can go down and see what's at the bottom of it."

"Wh..what well?" Ketchum said, alarmed.

"Oh, there's this old abandoned well deep in the woods and we've wanted to know what's at the bottom of it for the longest time. It could be treasure. Maybe people have been throwing money down there for a hundred years..."

"or maybe there's a dead body rotting down there." Matty said with glee. Ketchum whimpered. "Well, I'm not going down there! Why don't you do it?"

"I'm too heavy and Matty's too chicken." James said. "And Mary's just a girl." Matty said. Mary punched his shoulder hard making him cry out.

"Well, I'm too chicken too." Ketchum whined.

"Just do what I fuckin' say." James growled, grabbing him hard by the back of the neck, "or else."

They took Ketchum into the woods further than he'd ever gone before, making him wade across creeks in his school shoes and crawl through brambles. "My mom's gonna be mad" he cried.

"Awe, fuck yer Mama!" James said, disdainfully. "Fuck her" Matty repeated several times.

They came to the old well and James tried to get Ketchum to climb into the bucket but he refused, putting up a terrible fight. Finally James grabbed him, picked him up kicking and screaming and tried to shove him into the bucket by force but Ketchum just slid straight out, falling into the well screaming; landing with a thud and a splash. Then there was silence.

"He's dead." Mary cried. The Ralley children yelled to him for an hour but Ketchum never answered. They couldn't see anything down in that deep well shaft and it dawned on them that they had finally done something so horrible that it was really unforgivable and for the first time in their lives they were afraid. They ran home as fast as they could, returning with a flashlight just after sunset. Looking down into the shaft they saw the boy floating in blood-filled water, some of the brains exposed at the side of his head. They turned off the flashlight and walked home, never telling a soul.

The whole town mobilized to search for the boy. Ketchum's parents were inconsolable but no one ever found his body in its watery grave.

It was a few weeks later that Mary began to see Ketchum's ghost. It wasn't a scary thing to her, but it was nothing like the Ketchum she had known. Ketchum's ghost seemed very intelligent. He didn't wear the thick plastic glasses and had a slightly more attractive face. He did not appear to be angry or malicious toward her in the slightest but was rather quite friendly. She tried speaking to him several times and then one day he was able to answer back.

Killing the boy had changed the Ralley children. It traumatized them in a way that made them want to stop being so evil and try to get along with the world more. As for Mary, she spent hours talking with Ketchum's ghost every evening in her bedroom before falling asleep.

Ketchum began looking out for the Ralley children and could even tell them about things that hadn't happened yet. James and Matty couldn't see him at all and at first they didn't believe Mary was telling the truth, but were convinced when she was able to tell them of future events. There was the time the Baptist church burned down and Matty was going to be blamed. Well, the church did burn down but Matty made sure he was seen somewhere else and as a result was never even a suspect. Ketchum's ghost told them about Mr's Eller's impending death of the flu and he told them their stepfather was going to try to murder their mother. He even told them how to kill their stepfather and exactly where to hide the body so that it would never be found.

One night Mary asked Ketchum if he would ever get into heaven now and he said he didn't know.

"I'm sorry we killed you, Ketchum" she had sobbed that night.

"That's alright." he told her, a pale shadow against her bedroom wallpaper.

"I'm better off."

Desert Markets

Long days drive across Arizona to California bound for LA. Hazy and hot summer afternoon, mirraiges shimmer in the yellow and blue distance. Sporadic roadside tourist attractions, trading posts, shops selling various kinds of desert-related junk, arts crafts, lonely run-down markets interspersed about every 40 miles or so.

Tim stops at this one flea market for a cold Coke and comes across an old Mexican man selling strange looking brightly-colored jelly tubes. He touches one and and feels an amazing rippling sensation like sonar or steel springs bouncing back and forth throughout.

"You put them on your cock!" the gravely-voiced man says; his haunted wide eyes full of sincerity; not the slightest bit of humor in him. "Most amazing thing you ever feel in your life!" Tim was not normally the kind of guy to buy sexual devices from flea markets but the old man's enthusiasm was convincing. They were $20 each. He had the spare cash and there was no one else around. Tim figured he would never see this man again so why not? He pulled out the twenty.

"You'll like it, I promise!" the man told him and placed one in a brown paper bag.

That night in his motel room with nothing to do and nothing on television Tim thought about the cock sleeve and decided to try it out. He pulled it out of its brown paper bag and was again amazed by that sensation of energy bouncing inside it. He went into the bathroom to get the little complimentary bottle of hair conditioner for lubrication, pulled off his clothes and climbed into bed.

Squirting a dab of the conditioner onto his erect and now eager cock he slowly slid the sleeve over it. The thing seemed to move on its own, wriggling strangely, and then began sliding up and down his cock on its own.

"What the fuck?! This thing is alive!" Tim screamed as a creature (not totally unlike the egg-laying succubus from the movie Alien), slid wrigglingly up and down his cock of its own volition making the strangest and most erotic noise he'd ever heard...a kind of distant nasal whimpering and begging that seemed to come from another dimension. The creature sounded both alive and mechanical at once like some chattering Japanese robot with vibrating whines and hums that sent shivers through his entire body. It begged for more. Tim tried as hard as he could to pull the thing off but it wouldn't budge and the harder he tried the more the pleasure it gave him making it impossible to remove. He gasped, rolled over on his stomach and to begin humping the creature desperately. It responded with a power approaching an industrial washing machine.

"OH GOD!" Tim screamed, not caring who heard him.
When he came it was as if all the stress he had ever had in his life passed through his balls and into this hungry sleeve which swallowed and sucked down every drop, returning a pure blissful feeling of nirvana energy back to him through his testicles. He wound up collapsed in a heap, ass in the air, his head burried in his pillow, shivering slightly completely purged of any energy.
A few minutes later the sleeve started up again, slowly just enough to get him aroused. It coaxing him back to life until he was every bit as horny as before. This went on all night until he had achieved nine more orgasms, each one more pleasurable and draining than the last. By morning Tim felt nothing but an intense love for the thing. When he could cum no more it remained on his dick, purring gently, sending him warm nurturing energy.

Tim had the sleeve for a month. It would leave him alone just long enough to eat food each day; even removing his waste (which was another story in and of itself). Nothing else mattered to him and he was happy.

Then one morning he woke up with a start to the realization that he was alone. He looked down at his cock and saw that the sleeve was gone. Terrified, he searched the motel room all day but it had completely vanished.

Somehow Tim knew deep in his heart that the creature had left him for his own good to avoid killing him with pleasure and amazingly he felt no desire to go buy another one. In time he was able to return and pick up the pieces of his life in LA.

Night Creatures Who Eat Jam

Cold harbor, dim city lights, and up from the depths of the Hudson come floppy finned-feet, like spoons slopping in black-eyed peas, PLOP (wait for it) PLOP (wait for it) PLOP.

Look, over there! A happy hooker getting fucked by a john! "Fuck me quick." she says. "My show’s about on." He tries to kiss her, but she squeezes his balls in a way that indicates, "NO, I save that for my boyfriend."

The creature sneaks up behind them where they copulate against an old brick building; pants pulled down to their knees. The john’s pale ass, contracting in rhythmic spasms of lust the only thing clearly visible in the dark. There is a loud, hideous bestial roar, and the two look up to the shocking sight of a disgusting Hudson River GILLYWOG!

The huge beast plucks the john off the ground, turns him around and sucks him off to orgasm; its slippery lips pure bliss, razor-sharp teeth covered in blood. Screams rip the night. The horrifying beast chews them both to bone, then slips floppy-footed back into the river.

Saffron

Crazed wild dogs with curled tails fuck in the yellow field, while some old woman hangs clothes in the breeze and the sea laps ashore below.

Paulo, hidden in a garden shed, masturbates as he watches all this through a shutterless window. When he finishes, he flings cum off his fingertips onto the floor, then goes to pull a cigarette out of a shirt pocket. He smokes, sitting nude, his darkly tanned body in shadow. He leans against the far wall with his ass in the dirt.

Connected to the earth he nurses his cock, its tip oozing microcosms. He looks out the window at the bright blue sky and blows ever exploding universes of smoke toward it.

Quimby the Sailor

The sailor Quimby had his own version of beatittude which he shared with the natives from time to time. It involived "fire water", taking baths in the barrels of 60 proof Bourbon that were salvaged from his shipwreck. Chief Monawakka was fond of Quimby and often joined him in these ritual baths which Quimby nicknamed "The Hot-Tub Club". The village was instructed to make their own spirit from the sap of the local Gahundi tree. Quimby named this sap-whiskey Sweet Otoan after the Otoan River which flowed through the little village. Sweet Otoan was hailed as the best spirit ever distilled, bottles selling for $100,000 at auction, making the villagers rich beyond their wildest dreams (their wildest dreams heretofore being the posession of 4 goats).

After 3 years of this Chief Monawakka came to love Quimby as a son and invited him to pick a wife from the tribe. Quimby was greatly honored and had been horny for some time. He chose Quatamaya, a slender and stoic 18 year old girl with sly eyes; the sight of whom had often excited him in the past. Her parents were greatly honored and killed their goat in celebration.

The wedding feast was vast and impressive as any in the west. The nuptuals themselves consisted of the priest screaming a tirade of blessings and finally spitting Sweet Otoan on them (an update of the traditional chewed tarrow root beer which had blessed weddings for centuries). The entire village chanted as Quimby was expected to mount Quatamaya and fuck her vigorously in the center square which he managed to do with some gusto dispite being under such pressure to perform. Several of the village elders took turns pushing on his ass help achieve deeper penetration and truth be told because they were curious as to the touch and feel, having never seen a white ass so close up.

The next spring Quatamaya bore him twin sons, Ebando and Hoobai; the first set of twins in the village in a hundred years. This was considered a great omen. The boys were blond-haired and blue eyed like their father and so esteemed by the village they could be expected to become chiefs of the tribe one day.

Chevy

Johnathan's prize posession was a 57 powder-blue Chevy convertable with tan-leather upholstery. It was a genuine pussy-magnet and this wholesome young lad was getting his fill but good. Tool down to the local Sonic and take your pick. Skinny baby-face white boy gets all the stuff he wants.

His mother, Illien was a terrible alcoholic. When he was a child they had to relocate after the entire neighborhood saw her passed out with her cunt in the air through the living room window. There were so many people you could have sold tickets. Foul-mouthed old biddy she was too, yelling at kids for picking her dandelions.

Johnathan had earned the car with is own money working hard at the local lumber yard as a stock boy for the past four years. He was a bit short in the end but put out for his boss, Mr. Blaine for the remaining $500. Still couldn't stand the old man's leer as he said, "Johnathan's my BEST stock boy" . Still, the Chevy got him pussy and that counts for a lot in rural Oklahoma.