By jasonewells


Thursday - 4:00 pm to 12:00 am

“I need a black dildo. One that’s thick, but not too veiny.” That’s the type of request I answer everyday. “Back of the store on your left” I say with absolute disdain.
As I look at this poster child for herpes simplex walk off to quench her fantasy of a black cock, I can’t help but wonder how the fuck I hit bottom so fast. I was once the man with a plan; you could even say I was ‘normal’. I had a white collar job, a fiancé who loved giving oral, and a turtle. Now the only thing left from my former life is that turtle, Mandingo. My life is now run by sexual deviants, bull dykes and the utterly lonely.
Jennifer, my ex, had a strange obsession with sex stores and the people who frequent them. She holds a masters in sociology, so everything is a social experiment or research to satisfy her whorish and pretentious intrigue. You could probably tell that I’m a little jaded by the whole experience. I mean I can’t even look at the blue dolphin dildos without crying because dolphins were her favourite mammal.
Sobbing sack of shit.
Those are just some of the words that I would use to describe my present emotional state. I am now a tour guide for those who enjoy the odd key party and high colonic.
Have to stop whining about my present position.
I stop working to look over at a customer in front of the bondage section. I can hear the faint sound of grunting coming from this F.U.P.S. (Fat and Useless Piece of Shit). Unfortunately, I can now see that his right hand is shoved down the back of his corduroy pants and from the movement of his hand it looks like he’s fingering his ass. This type of thing happens on a daily basis and the only way to fight that type of fire is with fire. So, I grab the phone and press the trusty paging feature and go to work. “Attention shoppers, Attention Shoppers, would the gentleman in the bondage section please, stop fisting his ass. Again, would the fat gentleman in the bondage section cease and desist with all anal activities. Thank you and enjoy your shopping experience.” I slowly hang up the phone and watch, as the now embarrassed fat man slowly walks toward the exit. Before he leaves in disgrace, the F.U.P.S. gives me the finger with his left hand and still digs into his open orifice with his now infamous right. I just wave and smile graciously as he tries to fit his fat fucking body through our door.
The clock in the store, shaped like a vulva, now reads 11:30 pm (In fact, the clock actually queefs every half an hour). Almost time to exit this pit of hell and re-enter my life which is comprised of infomercials, turtle excrement and Hungry Man dinners.

Friday - 2:00 pm to 10:00 pm

I arrive at work with an uncomfortable case of gut rot. I guess it must have been the Hungry Man Salisbury steak I had last night, it’s repeating on me. If anyone was wondering what a single depressed man with lack of any emotional or physical attachments does at night, I’ll let you know. It varies from a state of drunken catatonia to acts of vague sexual improprieties, usually involving an athletic sock or a photograph of a past love (most times with a hole cut out that just fits an average size penis).
I find a note from my boss stating that I have to trash a bunch of magic stick vibrators because of a large electrical discharge that occurs when any liquid breaches the outer ‘Feels like real skin’ plastic shield. Vaginal and Anal Electrification, I bet that they don’t have that in the manual.
Every choice that a person makes is based entirely on circumstances. Before me, I have the choice to be a good employee and throw these defective products out or keep them on the shelf and wonder what 100 volts will do to a person’s libido. Circumstances being as they are I am forced to choose the latter. Fuck it, why should I care if some guy gets his rectum torched, I’ll get fired and my boss will be sued. Believe me the fucker deserves it. The boss or ‘Boss Hog’ , as I have sweetly named him, is a sweaty ‘put his dick in any hole available’ type of person. Every time he stops by the store I have the feeling that he is eyeing my ass. The guy is a sexual malignancy looking to spread and I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I do have a nice ass.
I hear a voice that is very familiar; in a whiny tone I hear “Look at this! A blue dolphin dildo. I love dolphins… I have to get it!”. I look up to confirm that it’s her. It is, it’s my ex, Jennifer, and she is accompanied by an unknown male companion. She’s looking as gorgeous as ever, with her long black hair and trademark butterfly hair clips. The gentleman caller has red hair, red fucking hair! I didn’t think she was one of those people who enjoyed red pubic hair. I have a couple of moments to decide whether or not to speak to her. I gather the courage to do it, to actually approach her, show her that I’m okay, that the break up didn’t fuck me up. Then, she leans over to Carrot Top and plants an open mouth kiss on him. That’s the moment where all my courage disappeared and I panicked. I couldn’t let her see me, I have to hide, and I have to get out of here. The only idea I came up with was a disguise. So, I grabbed a leather submissive mask from the display case and quickly put it on. It felt kind of comfortable, which frightened me. I regain my composure just as she and Carrot Top walk up to me. The two give me a strange look, as if I was going to pull a hamster from my ass. I begin to ring up their purchases, trying not to make eye contact with the two of them, when I notice that they have picked up one of the defective magic stick vibrators. I pick it up and ponder whether I should just come right out and tell her. “Jennifer, it’s me. I work in the sixth level of hell and by the way the magic stick will pump 100 volts into a person’s nether regions.”. Both of them just stand there, in awe of my frightening appearance and behaviour, figuring out how to leave without incident. My head snaps back as I come out of my moral coma, “Sorry folks. I just like the way this feels. It’s great for stimulating the prostate.”. I can’t believe that those words just came out of my mouth; Jennifer seemed relieved when I spoke and Carrot Top quickly paid their balance and hustled the both of them out of the door. As I watch her leave once again, a gender bender walks up to me and asks the price for nipple clamps. I sigh and retire to the stockroom.

Sunday - 2:00 pm to 8:00 pm

You’d be surprised how many people come into the store on a Sunday. Most stop by in their church clothes, tweed jackets and flower dresses surround the place like a middle class cult. I arrive in a daze, anti-social and exhausted from the night before. You see, last night I received a call from Penny, a friend of Jennifer’s. She informed me that Jennifer and a male companion were taken to hospital; the reason was unknown to her. She thought I would want to know and gave me the name of the hospital. I thanked her for her kind gesture and hung up. I stood, for what seemed like hours, in shock and fear. I thought that for sure that the police were on their way to arrest me for criminal negligence. They would bust the door open with their battering ram, cuff me and beat unmercifully for electrocuting my ex-girlfriend’s vulva. That idea really didn’t scare me, what worried me was the police finding me in this pathetic apartment with Hungry Man dinners scattered across the floor, half obscuring Jennifer’s pictures, all of them with a circular hole cut out. Maybe I should clean up. Maybe I should just go on the lam. Yeah, go to the store grab some product and sell it on the road. Selling rubber, foam and latex phalluses to the modern mullets. I would become somewhat of a rural hero, bringing the big city’s multiple orgasms to the less fortunate. Yeah, a kind of perverted Robin Hood. But right now, that’s only a dream. I have real problems that I have to face, like how to find out Jennifer’s medical condition. I knew the hospital staff wouldn’t give me any information because I wasn’t family. So, I just had to become family.
That is when I gave birth to Uncle Cooter and Aunt Cookie. I went so far as to create factious back-stories for the two. I guess I thought it would help me get into character.
When I thought I was prepared, I phoned the Emergency department. After I was on hold for about fifteen minutes, an adolescent voice answered;

Todd: Emergency, Todd speaking may I help you?
Cooter: I want to know about my Jenny!
Todd: I’m sorry sir you’ll have to be more specific.
Cooter: I’m calling to see how my niece Jennifer Wilson is.
Todd: One moment. (typing could be heard in the background)
Cooter: Son, will you hurry it up a bit.
Todd: Yes. Here it is. Jennifer Wilson was admitted four hours ago.
Cooter: Boy, I know she’s there. I want to know how she is and what happened.
Cookie: (trying to put on my best female voice, it came out sounding like a cross between Kermit the frog and Angela Landsbury) Cooter! Let the boy speak.
Cooter: Mother. Get off the phone I’m handling this.
Todd: Well, Cooter, sir…. Ms. Wilson is in good health. She had a procedure earlier and she’s resting right now. Would you like to speak to her nurse?
Cookie: We should speak to her nurse.
Cooter: Damn it! Cookie get off of the phone. I don’t need no nurse fillin’ my head with useless nonsense. Todd here can tell us the basics. Right?
Todd: Yes of course. (typing can be heard again) Hmmm.
Cooter: Hmmm? Hmmm what Todd?
Todd: I mean no disrespect but she had a procedure involving the removal of an object from her….
Cooter: Her what damn it!
Todd: (whispering) Her vagina.
Cooter: Are you sassin’ me boy?
Todd: No. Definitely not.
Cookie: Oh dear me. What was it dear?
Cooter: Yeah, what was it?
Todd: (still whispering) It was another person.
Cooter: WHAT! You tellin’ me she had a human being in her cooch?
Todd: No. Of course not. A man’s penis got stuck up there.
Cookie: How did that awful thing get stuck?
Todd: It says that they were in a pool together fuucc…making love and the water pressure and suction caused him to get stuck.
Cooter: Huh. That’s some crazy shit.
Cookie: Thank you dear you been most helpful.

I hung up with a smile on my face. Karma is a bitch.


Created: May 07, 2010


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