It's not just a job.....
- Thread starter ABSTRUSE
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ABSTRUSE said:I think Iwrote some of these with you in mind....LOL.
guess which one I'm doing?
walmart meeter greeter?
i could so see you doing that one.
impressive
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LC -- PHENOMENAL!!!! 
English Lady
Erotic English Rose
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Ok well there is no way on earth I can compare to LC's wonderful piece but the prostitute friend of Jesus was the one that inspired me the most. So here it is.
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!!!”
As the screaming punter bangs his seed into the condom that rests inside me I am praying.
“Please forgive me oh God but I need to feed my kids. Please bless me oh God and forgive me for this sinful life. Please God. Oh please.”
It is easy to pray when the punter is like this guy. Smelly and creepy and fast. I don’t enjoy it and so I can pray for forgiveness and the washing of my sins. It’s so much harder when the guy is kind of cute and he actually works at getting me hot and wet. It’s hard (excuse the pun) to pray for redemption from such sinful activities when you’re screaming in orgasm.
Jesus loves sinners, I mean when he was out and about in Galilee he often had that prostitute Mary Magdalene with him. He saved her from being stoned. He who is without sin cast the first stone and all that.
I probably would have thrown the first bloody stone not that long ago. I thought I was it. I thought I was Mrs perfect Christian. I went to church every Sunday from my lovely family home in the suburbs. My good Christian husband would load up his sensible but expensive car with myself and the 2 girls and drive round to church every Sunday.
In the week I ran bible groups and went to women’s meetings and organised fetes and jumble sales. I was the vicar’s right hand woman. Looking back on it now I had a crush on him. He was a lovely looking man. Beautiful eyes and hands.
Anyhow I had it all. I was made. Nice house, beautiful kids, husband. Then things began to collapse. My perfect husband suddenly was working late most nights and staying away at weekends and sometimes longer. The eldest girl got in with a bad crowd at school and I was constantly being called in by the head teacher of her school.
The sweet vicar made a pass at me one night and I kissed him. I became so guilty I left the church. So when Jim finally told me he was leaving me for another woman I had no support. I wasn’t even given any kind of settlement. I was forced to get a council flat for me and the girls and suddenly I had to fend for myself.
I had no qualifications and the benefit was a laugh. The eldest girl got a part time shop job and the youngest a paper round. We all pulled together but we still barely had food to eat and had no money for clothes.
John approached me one day as I came out of the job centre. I was so low. Not a single job suitable for an ex -church organiser type. He smiled at me and told me what he was and how I could solve all my money problems in just a few days. I didn’t have to think. I said yes.
My first paid shag was uneventful. He just got on, put it in and when he finished he zipped up and left. I was £50 richer. Easy money. Some guys have been a bit kinky. Most just want me to suck’em and fuck’em.
John is a good guy. Never demands much from me. Just the money. It’s only a little bit and well it’s only fair as I use his flat to fuck in. I think he might be a voyeur type. I’ve seen him watching through a crack in the door several times.
Jesus loves me. I love Jesus and I have grown to kinda love the job. I know it’s not what I pictured I’d be doing now. I was only going to do it to put me through college but I’m close to the end of my course and I am thinking of going on to university. I’ll do that and keep on the prostitution.
After all it is my Soul that is saved. My body is just a shell.
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!!!”
As the screaming punter bangs his seed into the condom that rests inside me I am praying.
“Please forgive me oh God but I need to feed my kids. Please bless me oh God and forgive me for this sinful life. Please God. Oh please.”
It is easy to pray when the punter is like this guy. Smelly and creepy and fast. I don’t enjoy it and so I can pray for forgiveness and the washing of my sins. It’s so much harder when the guy is kind of cute and he actually works at getting me hot and wet. It’s hard (excuse the pun) to pray for redemption from such sinful activities when you’re screaming in orgasm.
Jesus loves sinners, I mean when he was out and about in Galilee he often had that prostitute Mary Magdalene with him. He saved her from being stoned. He who is without sin cast the first stone and all that.
I probably would have thrown the first bloody stone not that long ago. I thought I was it. I thought I was Mrs perfect Christian. I went to church every Sunday from my lovely family home in the suburbs. My good Christian husband would load up his sensible but expensive car with myself and the 2 girls and drive round to church every Sunday.
In the week I ran bible groups and went to women’s meetings and organised fetes and jumble sales. I was the vicar’s right hand woman. Looking back on it now I had a crush on him. He was a lovely looking man. Beautiful eyes and hands.
Anyhow I had it all. I was made. Nice house, beautiful kids, husband. Then things began to collapse. My perfect husband suddenly was working late most nights and staying away at weekends and sometimes longer. The eldest girl got in with a bad crowd at school and I was constantly being called in by the head teacher of her school.
The sweet vicar made a pass at me one night and I kissed him. I became so guilty I left the church. So when Jim finally told me he was leaving me for another woman I had no support. I wasn’t even given any kind of settlement. I was forced to get a council flat for me and the girls and suddenly I had to fend for myself.
I had no qualifications and the benefit was a laugh. The eldest girl got a part time shop job and the youngest a paper round. We all pulled together but we still barely had food to eat and had no money for clothes.
John approached me one day as I came out of the job centre. I was so low. Not a single job suitable for an ex -church organiser type. He smiled at me and told me what he was and how I could solve all my money problems in just a few days. I didn’t have to think. I said yes.
My first paid shag was uneventful. He just got on, put it in and when he finished he zipped up and left. I was £50 richer. Easy money. Some guys have been a bit kinky. Most just want me to suck’em and fuck’em.
John is a good guy. Never demands much from me. Just the money. It’s only a little bit and well it’s only fair as I use his flat to fuck in. I think he might be a voyeur type. I’ve seen him watching through a crack in the door several times.
Jesus loves me. I love Jesus and I have grown to kinda love the job. I know it’s not what I pictured I’d be doing now. I was only going to do it to put me through college but I’m close to the end of my course and I am thinking of going on to university. I’ll do that and keep on the prostitution.
After all it is my Soul that is saved. My body is just a shell.
English Lady
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ABSTRUSE said:
Thanks Abs -I didn't even think of it from that prospective *L*
Evil Alpaca
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I've got one started, and I'll probably finish it up this evening. How everyone can write such good stuff so quickly is beyond me . . .
Evil Alpaca
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ABSTRUSE said:
Then I should be able to do it!
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Mortician who aspires to do stand-up comedy
Last one from me today. Migraine is kicking my butt... hope you enjoy!
~v
I’ve always been the class clown; the person voted most likely to become a comedian. I’ve also always known that because of my sense of irony, I would be an awesome mortician.
You are probably scratching your head and wondering what I am getting at, aren’t you? Well, frankly, I am too. So, I shall start now, the tale of my life. Those of you who choose to fall asleep, please confine your snoring to a low roar.
When I was very young, I had an intense curiosity about death. It was nearly all consuming. The older people in my family were dropping like flies and I wondered where they all went. I was never sad when my they passed and wanted to see what it was that these morticians did to make them look so doll-like. Certainly, Grandma never had that much color to her face when she kicked it. Upon closer inspection; for which I was severely berated, I saw that her clothes weren’t really on her properly. HRM! What does this all mean?
With all these burning questions, I decided to become the world’s best mortician. After college and the requisite graduation, I spent many years in the basement of the local funeral parlor, draining, infusing, dressing, and painting on color to the recently deceased. Don’t be fooled by the movie “My Girl”, it’s not anything like that.
The best thing was that every night, I had an audience to practice my material on; no hecklers! They never needed warm up acts so I would just forge ahead and it would go something like this:
“Welcome, ladies and gents to the Dinoto Funeral Tree House Comedy hour. Your comedian for today is Vella. A lovely hand for Vella, Please.
Thank you, thank you very much. Ben Franklin said, “In order for three people to keep a secret, two of them must be dead.” Looks like we’re ahead of the game here, folks.
One good thing; I can’t bore you to death.
A murderer, sitting in the electric chair, was about to be executed.
"Have you any last requests? asked the chaplain.
"Yes," replied the murderer. "Will you hold my hand?"
I hope you’ve enjoyed the show and I hope you’ve packed light. You’ve been an awesome audience. Thank you for dropping by.”
I swear my customers went to their coffins with a vague smile upon their stiff upper lips.
One day, you will see me on Letterman and say, “I read her story. She’s the shiznit!”
Last one from me today. Migraine is kicking my butt... hope you enjoy!
~v
I’ve always been the class clown; the person voted most likely to become a comedian. I’ve also always known that because of my sense of irony, I would be an awesome mortician.
You are probably scratching your head and wondering what I am getting at, aren’t you? Well, frankly, I am too. So, I shall start now, the tale of my life. Those of you who choose to fall asleep, please confine your snoring to a low roar.
When I was very young, I had an intense curiosity about death. It was nearly all consuming. The older people in my family were dropping like flies and I wondered where they all went. I was never sad when my they passed and wanted to see what it was that these morticians did to make them look so doll-like. Certainly, Grandma never had that much color to her face when she kicked it. Upon closer inspection; for which I was severely berated, I saw that her clothes weren’t really on her properly. HRM! What does this all mean?
With all these burning questions, I decided to become the world’s best mortician. After college and the requisite graduation, I spent many years in the basement of the local funeral parlor, draining, infusing, dressing, and painting on color to the recently deceased. Don’t be fooled by the movie “My Girl”, it’s not anything like that.
The best thing was that every night, I had an audience to practice my material on; no hecklers! They never needed warm up acts so I would just forge ahead and it would go something like this:
“Welcome, ladies and gents to the Dinoto Funeral Tree House Comedy hour. Your comedian for today is Vella. A lovely hand for Vella, Please.
Thank you, thank you very much. Ben Franklin said, “In order for three people to keep a secret, two of them must be dead.” Looks like we’re ahead of the game here, folks.
One good thing; I can’t bore you to death.
A murderer, sitting in the electric chair, was about to be executed.
"Have you any last requests? asked the chaplain.
"Yes," replied the murderer. "Will you hold my hand?"
I hope you’ve enjoyed the show and I hope you’ve packed light. You’ve been an awesome audience. Thank you for dropping by.”
I swear my customers went to their coffins with a vague smile upon their stiff upper lips.
One day, you will see me on Letterman and say, “I read her story. She’s the shiznit!”
Evil Alpaca
Phat'n'Phluffy
- Joined
- Nov 7, 2004
- Posts
- 7,865
“Can you feel the spirit?”
Rev. Charles Chilton had never considered himself someone capable of being rendered speechless. But there he was, standing in the corner Walgreens with two small boxes in his hand, staring at a crowd of onlookers and completely at a loss for what to say.
------------ --------------
Earlier that day . . .
------------ --------------
The Reverend was up on stage, leading his congregation in prayer . . . live and in living color on the Trinity Broadcast Network. He kept glancing at his Rolex out of the bottoms of his eyes, counting the seconds before he could get back to his dressing room, down a glass of red wine and rest his feet. But then, he spotted an angel!
The blonde divinity sitting towards the end of the front row was possibly the most lovely creature that Charles had seen in his life, and he had seen a few . . . delectable young things looking for the type of “spiritual guidance” that they thought he might provide, and willing to give him anything to achieve their “salvation.” She had hair of gold, beautiful curls cascading down past her shoulders. Her eyes were closed as she felt his power coursing through her, but her full red lips were slightly parted, inviting the devil inside. While dressed quite nicely (a requirement to get tickets into the sermon), a delicate hint of cleavage was pressing upward through her black silk blouse, propelled by her ample bosom. Her waist was slim and her hips tapered just perfectly . . . the Son of God himself would have been captivated . . .
There was a time he would have used his influence and power to bring her to her knees to do something other than pray . . . these sheep were so gullible. But he was in his fifties now and not in the best shape of his life, and there were other . . . difficulties. But looking at that beautiful girl leaning forward, breathing in whatever he dished out, looking as heavenly as can be, ignited a passion in his mind, though his body was slower to respond. That girl was so much his type!
---------- --------------
After the show . . .
---------- --------------
The good Reverend heard a knock on his door, then one of the stagehands poked his head inside.
“Reverend, there’s someone here to see you,” the young man said with an amazed grin. He had been there long enough to know of Mr. Chilton’s “appetites.” “I thought you’d like to meet with her!”
Normally, Charles would fire the young man for such insolence, but he also had a gut feeling . . .
“I’m always ready to meet a member of the congregation,” he said, changing back to his show voice.
Then, at his door, there was the angel. Her eyes, now open, were a brilliant blue . . . God, Charles loved blue-eyed blondes!
“Hello Reverend Chilton,” the girl said, her eyes wide with admiration. “Thank you for meeting with me! I’m such an admirer of all your good work!” she continued.
“Have a seat,” he said with a snake-oil-salesman’s smile. “I don’t get to meet with younger people nearly as much as I’d like these days. What can I do for you?” he asked, staring hungrily at her shapely calves as she crossed her legs all nice and lady-like.
“I . . . oh gosh, I don’t know how to ask this . . . it’s so embarrassing . . .” she started.
“It’s alright, Ms. . . . I’m sorry, it’s Mrs. . . .” he started noticed a quick flash of light from a ring around her finger.
“Eve,” she finished for him. “Eve Smith. And it’s not Mrs. quite yet. I’m engaged,” she added, looking a bit sheepish. “That’s . . . that’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I’m supposed to be getting married next month but . . . I have questions. I read that you used to be a marriage counselor and . . .” Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, “I’m so scared!”
“Scared? Scared of what?” he asked innocently, knowing full well what it was. He had indeed once been a marriage counselor, something he had used to his advantage. Young women from conservative backgrounds often had an underlying fear of what would happen once the knot was tied.
“I . . . my fiancée is . . . experienced. I know this, but I love him anyway. I’m not . . . I’m afraid . . .”
“Ah, I think I see. You’re afraid that you might not be able to live up to your wifely duties,” he said soothingly, his brain exploding like fireworks and his blood beginning to boil.
“Yes,” she gasped heavily, looking relieved that she wouldn’t have to say it. “I want to be a good wife to him, and don’t want him to stray once we’re wed.”
Charles’s mind was in overdrive. ‘This is too easy!’ he thought. She was exactly to his taste and looking for carnal knowledge. If he could just get her back to his generous estate . . . “Dear Eve, I think that what you need is some . . . safe experience.”
“What?” Eve said, looking alarmed. “But that would be . . .”
“No, it’s alright,” Charles replied. “You would be doing it FOR your husband to be! As long as you keep that in mind, your soul would remain pure! But it can’t just be with anyone . . . certainly not someone prone to sin. If you could find someone more . . . virtuous, you could . . .”
“What about you?” she asked suddenly.
He tried not to smile. ‘Dumb as a fence post,’ he thought gleefully. “Do you really feel comfortable with that idea? I don’t have much experience,” he lied extravagantly. “My days of participating in such events are behind me . . .”
“So you don’t think you could do it?” she asked, hope dwindling in her eyes.
Rev. Chilton suppressed a flash of anger. “I am capable of it, of course. I would be willing to teach you what little I know.” ‘I am SO getting laid tonight!’ the man thought. But he realized that he might need a little physical pick me up because while the mind was willing, the body wasn’t what it used to be.
“I . . . I’m not on the pill though,” she whispered, looking downward. “I don’t want to get pregnant.”
“Don’t worry. We can stop somewhere and I’ll pick up something that will make it all safe.” Chilton was happy. Things were working out perfectly. He could refill his prescription and pick up some insurance all at the same time. And the dumb bitch didn’t even know what was going on!
--------------- ---------------
A little while later . . .
--------------- ---------------
Charles Chilton pulled his BMW up to a Walgreens that was actually on his way home. Eve had suggested it, knowing it to be mostly empty at that time of the day. Thankfully, there weren’t many cars in the parking area. Charles had called in his prescription en route and was assured it would ready when he arrived. He got out of the car and went inside.
Eve watched him, a smile playing across her lips. She got on her cell-phone and started dialing numbers.
---------- ---------
Inside . . .
---------- ---------
Charles Chilton had found a box of condoms quickly, but the middle-aged pharmacist seemed to be dragging his feet. The man looked oddly familiar, but so many of the lower rung of society blended together. But he had been waiting there for fifteen minutes at least as the pharmacist seemed to have lost his prescription. Then he heard a number of footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and gasped. Standing there was Eve, but not the Eve he had left. She was dressed in much skimpier clothing and garish makeup. Much like a hooker might wear.
“Hey babe! What’s takin’ you? I charge by the hour ya know!”
Charles Chilton was stunned. He couldn’t help but be baffled as Eve strolled over to him, her leather miniskirt almost riding up enough to give him a peek at what he had been longing for. She grabbed him and placed his hands on her ass.
“What are you doing?!?” he asked, totally perplexed and highly alarmed. Just then, a man with a camera walked in, looked a bit confused himself. Chilton recognized him . . . he worked for a local tabloid and had harassed Chilton before. At that exact moment, the pharmacist returned and quite loudly stated . . .
“Here ya go, Mr. Chilton. Here’s your Viagra.” The pharmacist thrust the bottle into Chilton’s face.
The reporter looked like he had just won the lottery. A dazed and confused evangelist was standing before him, his arms wrapped around a prostitute with a bottle of Viagra clearly displayed in front of his face with his name on it, and a box of condoms pressed against the hooker’s ass. He quickly raised his camera and shot a picture just as the hooker turned her head away. It didn’t matter though . . . Chilton was the prize!
Chilton babbled incoherently, dropping the condoms and rushing outside, trying to cover his face as the photographer shot off a roll of film.
“Eve” smiled wickedly. She turned to the pharmacist, who was glaring out the door.
“Hi Dad,” she said smugly.
Her real name was Alice. Fifteen years earlier, her father and mother had gone to one Charles Chilton for marital advice. Chilton had seduced her mother, which had led to the ruination of her family life. Her father hadn’t told her what had happened until she was much older (she had been six at the time). He had gone through hell, and probably wouldn’t have survived some of the later years without the support of his daughter.
When she had finally found out, she had vowed to even the score with Chilton. She had seen her opportunity when he began making waves as a televangelist. She had to let him build himself up before tearing him down. She had found out about his affairs by using a private detective. She had learned of his Viagra prescription by rifling through his trash. She knew her mother hadn’t been the only one that Chilton had taken advantage of, so she found out exactly what kind of girl he liked, and had strove to create a character he couldn’t resist. She had become “Eve,” and she had tempted the serpent right back.
She had directed him to the pharmacy where her father, a willing participant in her plan, was waiting. He kept Chilton in the store so that Alice could call the photographer and get changed. In a week, Chilton would be a pariah . . . His fall from grace would be hard and swift. His career would be over. He’d be lucky to get a show on public access, and she doubted anyone would want to be counseled in their marriage by a man with Chilton’s soon-to-be scandalous past.
Alice gave her father a quick hug, happy that she saw a feeling of justice playing across his normally loving features.
“Now go change into somethin’ decent,” her father said with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want someone gettin’ the wrong idea about you.”
Rev. Charles Chilton had never considered himself someone capable of being rendered speechless. But there he was, standing in the corner Walgreens with two small boxes in his hand, staring at a crowd of onlookers and completely at a loss for what to say.
------------ --------------
Earlier that day . . .
------------ --------------
The Reverend was up on stage, leading his congregation in prayer . . . live and in living color on the Trinity Broadcast Network. He kept glancing at his Rolex out of the bottoms of his eyes, counting the seconds before he could get back to his dressing room, down a glass of red wine and rest his feet. But then, he spotted an angel!
The blonde divinity sitting towards the end of the front row was possibly the most lovely creature that Charles had seen in his life, and he had seen a few . . . delectable young things looking for the type of “spiritual guidance” that they thought he might provide, and willing to give him anything to achieve their “salvation.” She had hair of gold, beautiful curls cascading down past her shoulders. Her eyes were closed as she felt his power coursing through her, but her full red lips were slightly parted, inviting the devil inside. While dressed quite nicely (a requirement to get tickets into the sermon), a delicate hint of cleavage was pressing upward through her black silk blouse, propelled by her ample bosom. Her waist was slim and her hips tapered just perfectly . . . the Son of God himself would have been captivated . . .
There was a time he would have used his influence and power to bring her to her knees to do something other than pray . . . these sheep were so gullible. But he was in his fifties now and not in the best shape of his life, and there were other . . . difficulties. But looking at that beautiful girl leaning forward, breathing in whatever he dished out, looking as heavenly as can be, ignited a passion in his mind, though his body was slower to respond. That girl was so much his type!
---------- --------------
After the show . . .
---------- --------------
The good Reverend heard a knock on his door, then one of the stagehands poked his head inside.
“Reverend, there’s someone here to see you,” the young man said with an amazed grin. He had been there long enough to know of Mr. Chilton’s “appetites.” “I thought you’d like to meet with her!”
Normally, Charles would fire the young man for such insolence, but he also had a gut feeling . . .
“I’m always ready to meet a member of the congregation,” he said, changing back to his show voice.
Then, at his door, there was the angel. Her eyes, now open, were a brilliant blue . . . God, Charles loved blue-eyed blondes!
“Hello Reverend Chilton,” the girl said, her eyes wide with admiration. “Thank you for meeting with me! I’m such an admirer of all your good work!” she continued.
“Have a seat,” he said with a snake-oil-salesman’s smile. “I don’t get to meet with younger people nearly as much as I’d like these days. What can I do for you?” he asked, staring hungrily at her shapely calves as she crossed her legs all nice and lady-like.
“I . . . oh gosh, I don’t know how to ask this . . . it’s so embarrassing . . .” she started.
“It’s alright, Ms. . . . I’m sorry, it’s Mrs. . . .” he started noticed a quick flash of light from a ring around her finger.
“Eve,” she finished for him. “Eve Smith. And it’s not Mrs. quite yet. I’m engaged,” she added, looking a bit sheepish. “That’s . . . that’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I’m supposed to be getting married next month but . . . I have questions. I read that you used to be a marriage counselor and . . .” Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, “I’m so scared!”
“Scared? Scared of what?” he asked innocently, knowing full well what it was. He had indeed once been a marriage counselor, something he had used to his advantage. Young women from conservative backgrounds often had an underlying fear of what would happen once the knot was tied.
“I . . . my fiancée is . . . experienced. I know this, but I love him anyway. I’m not . . . I’m afraid . . .”
“Ah, I think I see. You’re afraid that you might not be able to live up to your wifely duties,” he said soothingly, his brain exploding like fireworks and his blood beginning to boil.
“Yes,” she gasped heavily, looking relieved that she wouldn’t have to say it. “I want to be a good wife to him, and don’t want him to stray once we’re wed.”
Charles’s mind was in overdrive. ‘This is too easy!’ he thought. She was exactly to his taste and looking for carnal knowledge. If he could just get her back to his generous estate . . . “Dear Eve, I think that what you need is some . . . safe experience.”
“What?” Eve said, looking alarmed. “But that would be . . .”
“No, it’s alright,” Charles replied. “You would be doing it FOR your husband to be! As long as you keep that in mind, your soul would remain pure! But it can’t just be with anyone . . . certainly not someone prone to sin. If you could find someone more . . . virtuous, you could . . .”
“What about you?” she asked suddenly.
He tried not to smile. ‘Dumb as a fence post,’ he thought gleefully. “Do you really feel comfortable with that idea? I don’t have much experience,” he lied extravagantly. “My days of participating in such events are behind me . . .”
“So you don’t think you could do it?” she asked, hope dwindling in her eyes.
Rev. Chilton suppressed a flash of anger. “I am capable of it, of course. I would be willing to teach you what little I know.” ‘I am SO getting laid tonight!’ the man thought. But he realized that he might need a little physical pick me up because while the mind was willing, the body wasn’t what it used to be.
“I . . . I’m not on the pill though,” she whispered, looking downward. “I don’t want to get pregnant.”
“Don’t worry. We can stop somewhere and I’ll pick up something that will make it all safe.” Chilton was happy. Things were working out perfectly. He could refill his prescription and pick up some insurance all at the same time. And the dumb bitch didn’t even know what was going on!
--------------- ---------------
A little while later . . .
--------------- ---------------
Charles Chilton pulled his BMW up to a Walgreens that was actually on his way home. Eve had suggested it, knowing it to be mostly empty at that time of the day. Thankfully, there weren’t many cars in the parking area. Charles had called in his prescription en route and was assured it would ready when he arrived. He got out of the car and went inside.
Eve watched him, a smile playing across her lips. She got on her cell-phone and started dialing numbers.
---------- ---------
Inside . . .
---------- ---------
Charles Chilton had found a box of condoms quickly, but the middle-aged pharmacist seemed to be dragging his feet. The man looked oddly familiar, but so many of the lower rung of society blended together. But he had been waiting there for fifteen minutes at least as the pharmacist seemed to have lost his prescription. Then he heard a number of footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and gasped. Standing there was Eve, but not the Eve he had left. She was dressed in much skimpier clothing and garish makeup. Much like a hooker might wear.
“Hey babe! What’s takin’ you? I charge by the hour ya know!”
Charles Chilton was stunned. He couldn’t help but be baffled as Eve strolled over to him, her leather miniskirt almost riding up enough to give him a peek at what he had been longing for. She grabbed him and placed his hands on her ass.
“What are you doing?!?” he asked, totally perplexed and highly alarmed. Just then, a man with a camera walked in, looked a bit confused himself. Chilton recognized him . . . he worked for a local tabloid and had harassed Chilton before. At that exact moment, the pharmacist returned and quite loudly stated . . .
“Here ya go, Mr. Chilton. Here’s your Viagra.” The pharmacist thrust the bottle into Chilton’s face.
The reporter looked like he had just won the lottery. A dazed and confused evangelist was standing before him, his arms wrapped around a prostitute with a bottle of Viagra clearly displayed in front of his face with his name on it, and a box of condoms pressed against the hooker’s ass. He quickly raised his camera and shot a picture just as the hooker turned her head away. It didn’t matter though . . . Chilton was the prize!
Chilton babbled incoherently, dropping the condoms and rushing outside, trying to cover his face as the photographer shot off a roll of film.
“Eve” smiled wickedly. She turned to the pharmacist, who was glaring out the door.
“Hi Dad,” she said smugly.
Her real name was Alice. Fifteen years earlier, her father and mother had gone to one Charles Chilton for marital advice. Chilton had seduced her mother, which had led to the ruination of her family life. Her father hadn’t told her what had happened until she was much older (she had been six at the time). He had gone through hell, and probably wouldn’t have survived some of the later years without the support of his daughter.
When she had finally found out, she had vowed to even the score with Chilton. She had seen her opportunity when he began making waves as a televangelist. She had to let him build himself up before tearing him down. She had found out about his affairs by using a private detective. She had learned of his Viagra prescription by rifling through his trash. She knew her mother hadn’t been the only one that Chilton had taken advantage of, so she found out exactly what kind of girl he liked, and had strove to create a character he couldn’t resist. She had become “Eve,” and she had tempted the serpent right back.
She had directed him to the pharmacy where her father, a willing participant in her plan, was waiting. He kept Chilton in the store so that Alice could call the photographer and get changed. In a week, Chilton would be a pariah . . . His fall from grace would be hard and swift. His career would be over. He’d be lucky to get a show on public access, and she doubted anyone would want to be counseled in their marriage by a man with Chilton’s soon-to-be scandalous past.
Alice gave her father a quick hug, happy that she saw a feeling of justice playing across his normally loving features.
“Now go change into somethin’ decent,” her father said with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want someone gettin’ the wrong idea about you.”
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Guest
Guest
'holy' shit EA
hugely funny.. still giggling. youre a sicko...no wonder why i lurve ya!
great job!
hugely funny.. still giggling. youre a sicko...no wonder why i lurve ya!
great job!
Evil Alpaca
Phat'n'Phluffy
- Joined
- Nov 7, 2004
- Posts
- 7,865
vella_ms said:
Back at ya darlin'! I loved the "electric chair" joke! You're wonderfully, amusingly disturbed!
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Guest
Guest
ABSTRUSE said:Okay, almost finished one....hopefully have it later.
*tapping fingers*
you can only keep me waiting for just so long, missy
Blackie Malone
BlackHeart
- Joined
- Jan 28, 2005
- Posts
- 2,162
bumpercise
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