SICKENED (Book One) (The Filthy Apocalypse Series)

Author’s Note: This book is disgusting, with little to no redeeming value. If you don’t

enjoy vile descriptions of horrible behavior than please do not continue reading.

Instead, you might want to check out Marley & Me, a truly heart-warming book.

SICKENED

Book 1 in The Filthy Apocalypse Series

By Dick Gear

© 2012, All rights reserved.

I don’t really give a shit about people.

I’ve learned that it’s easier to just go through life doing what works for me.

Mostly that means fucking lots of chicks—the dumber and uglier they are, the easier it seems to be.

Easy. That’s how I like things.

I work an easy job. I work at a parking garage downtown, which is a pretty good place to take a nap when business is slow, and an even better place to score with dumb drunk sluts who are picking up their car after a night of clubbing.

Take this chick for example, the one I’m banging right now. I met her on the job just about an hour ago, and here I am back at her tiny little studio apartment, balls deep inside of her.

“You like it doggie style, hon?” I ask, as my testicles smash up against the underside of her pussy.

She nods noncommittally.

Whatever. I thought she might dig a little dirty talk but no skin off my nose. I’m going to nut soon either way.

Suddenly there’s a dark flash buzzing by me. I catch it out of the corner of my eye and it makes me jump. My dick pops out and some of her juices splash onto my stomach. “Fuck was that?” I say.

She looks over her shoulder at me. Her forehead crinkles. “You mean Skittles?”

“It wasn’t a bag of candy, babe. It’s something else.”

“No, that’s Skittles,” she giggles, pointing at the top of her refrigerator. Now I see it: a jet-black cat glaring at me with those dumb yellow cat eyes. Its tail is flicking angrily back and forth.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“He’s very territorial,” she grins, sticks her ass up in the air. “Just ignore him.”

“Okey Dokey.” I’m used to cats. I should have known she’d have one; every damn single chick in the city has at least one cat, if not two or three.

Unfortunately I’m allergic, so now I really need to jizz in this pig’s face and get the heck out of this shit pit.

When I slip my cock back inside her hair pie, she’s sopping wet like a bowl of Cream of Wheat. She moans and pushes against me. “Fuck, yes. That’s it,” she gasps.

Now she’s into it. Maybe it’s voyeurism; she kind of digs being watched, even if the watcher is just a dumb old housecat. I decide to play along. “Skittles is pissed off,” I tell her.

She moans again and rocks quickly back and forth as I slam into her ass cheeks.

The cat jumps down from the fridge and starts running around the little room like it’s just eaten a pound of catnip.

“Don’t stop,” she says.

“He’s about to attack.”

“No. He almost never bites. I promise. Keep doing me right there.”

I look over my shoulder. The cat is only a few feet away, staring for the moment.

He’s actually kind of creeping me out, now, for real. Maybe I should stop joking about it. Black cats and all. Bad luck.

I turn my attention to the girl. Don’t remember her name, don’t particularly care to. The smell in the apartment is like seven-day-old tuna sitting out in the sun. Is it from her pussy or is it just cat food stink?

“Give it to me hard,” she says. I grab her hair and start really going to town. My cock is ramming into her at the speed of light.

Come on, I tell myself, hurry up and do this. Finish.

She wants me to. “Come on my face,” she tells me.

“That was my plan. Great minds.”

“Great what’s?”

“You know that saying, great minds think alike?” I gasp.

She shakes her head. “More fucking, less talking.”

Christ, this chick isn’t screwing around.

The cat’s meowing strangely. I turn again. It’s a foot closer, looking at me and meowing. “Can we put Skittles in the bathroom or something?” I ask her.

“No, I can’t catch him.”

“He’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Ignore him. Just finish up.”

“Okay.” Back to work. I’m doing the jackhammer technique, which is sort of counterproductive. I’m actually not feeling much of anything now. Too much friction for too long causes the penis to lose sensation. Now the pressure is on and I feel like I can’t cum.

Dammit. This calls for desperate measures because I plan on cumming. Right the hell now.

I pull out and hold my dick in my hand.

The girl spins around to face me. Her grille is definitely not hot. She’s got thin, high jutting cheekbones and even thinner, pale lips. Her hair is black and stringy. Teeth are a mess, she could have used some serious braces in her teen years. But I’m no dentist, even if she is going to be spitting in a few seconds like I’m her dental hygienist.

I start jerking my sausage aggressively at her face.

“You going to cum, baby?” she asks, feigning interest.

“Yup. I just need you to do something.”

“What do you want me to do, you want me to let you fuck my tits?”

I glance down at those drooping bags of slop. “No. Something a little more creative.”

“Creative?” Her forehead crinkles again.

“I want you to pretend to be Chinese.”

“Chinese?”

“And I want you to ask me if I need my shirt dry-cleaned.”

“Dry cleaned? You must be joking.”

“I’m not joking. Just do the accent. Broken Chinese accent, and talk to me about dry cleaning.”

“No.”

“Please, baby. Otherwise we’ll be here all night and we both want me to finish, right?”

She seems unsure. “Maybe we should just call it a night.”

I’m still working my dick over. I haven’t given up. “Just try it. It’s a little fun role play.”

“Me being a Chinese woman at a dry cleaner turns you on?”

“Hell, yeah. It’s hot. Everyone has their fetish, right?”

She sighs. “I guess.”

“Please baby. Just give it a try.”

“You need your clothes dry clean?” she says, a bit hesitantly. The accent is shit but she’s trying.

“Now…squint…your fucking eyes up. Like a Chinese bitch.” My breath is coming in short spurts. “Fuck yeah.”

She does as told. Squints her eyes. “You need shirt clean? Clean? Today?”

“Hell yeah. Good. Keep going.”

“I—I don’t know what else to say—“

“Improvise.” I jerk faster. My hand is a blur. “Improvise.”

“Ah soooo….You cum now. Put dick in my mouth….ahhhhhh….” she opens her mouth wide. For some reason—even though she’s not really sticking with the dry cleaning theme that I specified—this is enough to get me to blow my stack.

A long rope of white cum splatters directly into her mouth and on her tongue.

She jumps forward and her mouth inhales my cock like a hungry woman at Fenway eating a ballpark frank. I jizz enough to choke a horse but she gets it down like a pro.

“Nicely done,” I say.

The cat suddenly hops up on the bed right next to us and swishes its tail.

The girl wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and smiles at me like I just proposed and she’s bashfully accepted.

“Are you staying over?” she asks.

“I don’t think so. I need to be back at work in about sixteen hours, so…” I get up and put my pants back on, grab my coat.

“Maybe I’ll see you again next week—“ she says.

I slam the door shut, cutting off her voice and head down the stairs as fast as my feet will carry me. This is one of those experiences I won’t soon return to. It’s going into deep freeze—way, way down, and I doubt I’ll ever exhume the memory.

My rolodex for jerk off fantasies is pretty full, this is one night I don’t plan on reminiscing about any time soon.

***

When I get home, there’s a light on in the house.

“Shit.” I stand outside and look in, knowing full well that Nana is inside, and when she sees me coming in this late it could get ugly. She knows all too well what I get up to this time of night.

I arm myself mentally for battle and go inside.

Nana is sitting in her usual spot, the easy chair, watching an old Mary Tyler Moore episode on Nick at Night and knitting an afghan. When she sees me, her mouth does that pucker I’ve seen a million other times.

“Out late tonight, Danny?”

“Yeah.” I sit down on the couch and gesture to the TV. “Is this the episode where Lou takes over that bar?”

Nana scowls. “You stink like a brothel.”

“How do you know what a brothel smells like?”

“The mouth on you. Your mother and father are always so angry that I let you stay here. I’ve been thinking that maybe they have a point after all.”

This oft-repeated threat causes a thrill of anxiety to shoot through my stomach. I smile and try and turn on the charm. “That’s why you’re the best grandma in the whole world,” I tell her. “Because you care and you have the guts to be nice to me even when there’s all this pressure from people who say you’re too old to make your own decisions.”

This is a low blow. I know that one of Nana’s biggest fears is my mom and dad getting power of attorney and trying to sell her house and put her in a nursing home.

“Of course I make my own decisions,” she says. “I’ve been living pretty well for seventy-six years and I’m doing just fine looking after myself.”

“You tell ‘em, Nana.”

“Don’t patronize me.” She turns up her nose. “You should be getting serious about your own life by now.”

“I’m plenty serious.”

“You’re almost twenty-eight years old. You work that silly job parking cars—“

“Actually, I’m a Venue Attendant Specialist. It’s not just parking cars, Nana.

There’s a lot more going on. A lot more.”

She puts her knitting down and turns fully to me now. “Oh, really? Tell me what else you do besides park cars and meet those little trollops you call women.”

“I deal with the public, I escort people to their vehicles, interact with VIPs—just last week I worked with Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics. Pretty big deal if you know professional basketball.”

She smirks. “I know what you’re up to. Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“I know you aren’t stupid, Nana.”

She sighs. “And I’ve thought a lot about it. I just can’t see myself continuing to subsidize your perverse lifestyle any longer. You’re going to have to move out.”

For a moment I feel entirely frozen. This isn’t supposed to be how this conversation goes. In the six years I’ve lived here since my folks kicked me out, Nana has threatened me dozens of times. But she never came right out and said I was being evicted.

“At least…at least give me a few months to save,” I stutter.

“You’ve had six years to save every penny you’ve made. I never charged you rent, I made you home-cooked meals at least five days a week, you’ve used my telephone and my television. If you don’t have millions in the bank, it’s because you’re a lazy, irresponsible young man. It isn’t because you lack the time or ability to save any money.”

Of course she’s right. But I’m in a panic.

I have almost nothing in the bank. I’ve spent money on stupid things like fancy dinners to impress chicks I wanted to fuck, or on a bar tab when me and the boys go out, or nice clothes.

Somehow the money went. It’s not as though I make a great living at the garage, but with my cushy situation at Nana’s, it didn’t matter how much I spent or how little I saved.

“You’re really pulling the rug out from under me here, Nana,” I say, getting up and pacing the room. “When do you need me out?”

“End of the month.”

“That’s in two weeks. That’s not enough time.”

She glares at me. “Complain again and it will be tomorrow. Out on your spoiled little behind with nothing but the clothes on your back. And if you refuse, I’ll call the police.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so mean.”

She snorts and picks up her knitting again. The needles click and clack with deceptive speed. Her old, arthritic hands are chock full of liver spots and saggy skin, yet I know she’s still strong as an ox. “This isn’t me being mean, Danny. This is what’s called tough love. You’ve had precious little of it up to this point. I’ve been soft on you because you’re my only grandson, but it’s got to stop.”

I feel the hot string of tears in my eyes. Are these real tears, or have I just become so good at conning Nana that the waterworks turn on instantly, regardless of my true emotions? “Please. Please don’t kick me out. I’ll…I’ll pay rent,” I half-sob.

She shakes her head. “Two weeks.”

I fall to my knees at her feet. She smells like a combination of peppermint and mothballs and mashed potatoes. “Please. Please don’t do this. I love you so much. I’m sorry I been bad. I’m bad, I know it--but I’ll do better. I’ll start going to church with you Sundays.”

I bury my head at her feet.

I can’t get kicked out now. My checking account has like four hundred bucks and I would need at least two or three grand to get a place. Sure, I might be able to couch surf for a week or two. Stay with Teddy Foreskin or on Shep’s futon. But what kind of life would that be?