Big Bang For The New Year?
“Boring?” he asked. Carson chortled to himself, scattering empty beer cans as he pulled on the pulley chain link. The suspension of the Ford F-150 militarized groans as it was relieved of its heavy burden. “I’m going to show him Boring.” The “she” in question was Karen Foley, fifty-something kilograms of pure sex – the kind of woman who could reach into a man’s underpants with the suggestive movement of an eyebrow or gouge-out her brain by leaning forward in a skirt too short, or a low waist top. What was at the bottom of the low waist top and under the skirt too short had led to the abandonment of a perfectly good marriage of ten years and three children.
Carson knew he was destroying the life he had built so quickly – but he didn’t care and he hadn’t once regretted what he had done.
What was strange: it was not like him. Carson regretted All. It was a skill that made him perfectly qualified for his work as a custodian of the American nuclear arsenal.
Steady, boring and balanced were all the qualities required to deal with nuclear weapons … and these are qualities that pre-Foley Carson had shown in abundance.
Post-Foley Carson opened another box, trying to catch the whistling stream of white beer foam that launched into the darkness of the back yard, highlighted by the neighbor’s Christmas lights. Carson scolded his neighbor’s party music, then smiled as he watched the second hand of his Breitling sweep through the final moments of 2016. “Not long now, my beauty,” he said, patting the big cylinder lying on the grass.
After chugging the beer in one go and sending another down his throat to keep the first business, Carson carefully balanced a golf ball on his latest garden ornament, took a bloody swing with his beloved Wilson Staff Triton driver, tripped on his own legs and knocked himself out on the menacing metal cylinder lying on the lawn.
“What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight? It was the voice that intimidated Carson’s brain in what was meant to be consciousness, rather than the violence of the tremors.
“Dunno,” he said honestly.
“You’ve been drinking! You know you’re not supposed to do that with your medication. The vehemence of the accusation caused Carson’s head to recede with such unexpected acceleration that his brain bounced painfully from inside his skull.
“Calm down,” said Carson. Remember through the pain that her life had been boring before Karen Foley. There were doubts: inevitable given that the woman was twenty years her junior; doubt that sixteen years of prudent savings had been set on fire in an irresistible cocktail of sex and drugs and more sex and more drugs and even more sex and even more drugs.
This way of life was going to hit a wall of financial bricks … and when he did, Carson knew that Karen Foley would pass like a sex wrecking ball.
But Carson didn’t care.
Carson cared nothing but Karen Foley. Everything in it was perfect, as if Carson himself had been in the workshop when God had set out to choose the parts that would constitute Karen’s perfection.
It wasn’t that she was perfect in a sense from the Playboy centre-forward; it was just that she was perfect for Carson. His laughter was more contagious than measles; his smile warmer than nuclear batteries. Carson’s thoughts and dreams had been infiltrated to the point where he could hardly function as a human being. He had become Obsessed… and then she had kissed him.
Or he had kissed her.
Anyway, it had been a washing machine with a kiss, and once Carson had kissed those lips covered in cocaine, he could no longer tell the difference between dreams, fantasies and reality. It was a beautiful way to live a life.
Dreams, fantasies and Reality.
“I have a present for you.”
“Is it about six inches long?” Karen was confident that she knew where it was going and that she was reasonably happy to turn herself in; as long as the rent remained free and there were no other options available… although she had to admit that Carson’s enthusiastic cock was much less of interest now that he had lost his “married” status.
In her heart, Karen Foley knew it was time to move on. She had stayed for a disappointing traditional Christmas. ‘Boring’ was a word she had used; “isolating” was the one she had kept to herself, but how could you describe a Christmas without friends and family? Leaving would inevitably hurt Carson’s feelings, but the reality was that she didn’t care.
“Is bigger than that,” Carson continued, his laughter knocking Karen out of her bubble of thought. Much bigger.”
“Not in my experience,” muttered Karen, helping to drag Carson to his feet. Stumbling once again, Carson face-planted on the grass with his body bent over something big and cylindrical lying on the lawn. “What is that?”
“A B61 thermonuclear bomb,” Carson said, sneering into the grass. “Do you like it?”
“Are you kidding me?” Karen tried to push on the gun with her foot. He showed surprising solidity; the kind of solidity that made Karen step back for fear of blurring the contents of her ovaries.
“Don’t joke,” Carson whispered, rolling on his back after uncompressing his pants.
“Where does he come from?”
“Work.” Carson moaned as he jerked it off his fully erect cock. “I want you to touch it.” Karen swallowed as shock, fear and excitement struggled to take a hold of her slippery soul. She knew there was no future with Carson… and suspected that he knew it too.
This triggered a nagging thought; one question, really: was the guy just crazy enough to drag an actual thermonuclear weapon home from work and blow it up in some sort of sick retaliation to ruin his perfect life? Who knew what distorted justification went through the mind of a recently divorced man who sang something that looked like a badly butchered version of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” while masturbating in his back garden, his body spread abnormally on a weapon of mass destruction.
“Do you know how to trigger it?”
“Do I know how to trigger it?” Carson’s hand stopped moving and he laughed loudly. “Do I know how to trigger it? Oh dear, I practiced That for fuckin’ years.
Authentic Afraid was something of a new experience for Karen, but she recognized “crazy bat-shit” videos of police brutality on the Internet – those that ended with the use of Tasers, batons or bullets. For once a bit of police brutality seemed quite reasonable and she listened with hope for the sirens as she wrapped her fingers around Carson’s cock.
“Not my dick,” he said. “I want you to touch The weapon.” Right now That tone had Bond-villain written everywhere, and Karen found the irrational thrill of glamour squeezing her throat. As Carson continued with her horrible drunk/drugged/singing spitting song, Karen’s mind was filled with one of John Barry’s most dramatic scores and she became a Bond girl: sexually available, ready and ready to save the day. “I want you to lick it. I want you to smear your topless everywhere.
With a flattering camera angle, the Bond Girls could get away with That.
Carson suddenly sat up, as if he were a rake and someone had trodhistod his toes. “He wants to Kiss you, he said lasciviously, pointing his penis at Karen while rubbing her open palm up and down the 12-inch-diameter fissile tube as if it were an oversized sex toy. “He wants to fuck … Each.”
How was that possible?
Karen wasn’t sure… but she found herself inexplicably wet between her legs – either her period had arrived two weeks earlier, she had become angry or she was excited in a way that had never happened before. “Tell me you can’t feel its power,” Carson said.
He could not have chosen a more powerful word recipe. It was a unique combination that instantly unlocked Karen’s panties.
She took a deep breath to help ward off dizziness. The extra oxygen did not help. In fact, it seemed to make things worse.
Karen felt the power.
The rational part of her mind said she was buying time for the police to arrive as she performed a sexy striptease. In reality, she just wanted to get as close as possible to the potential death and destruction that lie in Carson’s garden..
She was naked in seconds and rubbed her sensitive, sex-primed skin against the cold metal casing of the death bomb. “Oh fucking, it’s hot.” Carson moaned as Karen crushed her soft breasts against the relentless steel. “Can you feel his power?”
Karen’s clitoris could feel the power.
Scrambled eggs Had was a concern, but the worry about radiation poisoning fell from Karen’s mind as a fuel tank dropped as she pushed her crotch down on the terrible and dangerous power between her legs and the ground before Back. “Oh fucking, yes! I can feel it!
Carson mauled Karen’s breasts from behind and he screamed nonsense in his ear as he tried to force his cock down his ass. Normally, Karen would have been horrified to have her body treated in this way. She could have rigged it for various guys and Let do it, but inside, his mind would have receded into its safe place while his body got with it.
This time it was different.
This time she put her tail in the air for him.
Carson’s penetrating cock burned like napalm, but she was pleased with the ferocity of her fire in her anal passage as her pussy glided forward on cold, virgin steel. The bond girls didn’t usually take their and this fantasy evaporated, only to be replaced by one where the whole city was going to climb into a cloud of orgasmic mushrooms from Karen’s making.
She wanted to That orgasm one who flashed the whole world with a bright white light, beginning with the space behind his eyelids, and carried away All.
The type of orgasm that resets shebang set.
The type of orgasm that let a broken girl start over.
Tears were already flowing freely as orgasm apparently separated each molecule in Karen’s body as effectively as a supernova seeding from the night sky. “Whoo hee!” Carson brayed, adding her own orgasmic excitement as the contents of her ball bag and prostate ventilated into Karen’s bouncing bottom with the power of a New Year’s fireworks. “Boring?” he asked. Carson slurred. “You call That Boring?
Karen got up, took her clothes and started walking.
She did not look back.
“I call it the end.”
Karen Foley was in the hills when the fireworks began to light up the midnight sky. She turned around and looked at the irregular tattoo of happy flashes and listened to the pops and bangs, waiting for them to be overshadowed by a single percussive roar.
He did not come.
“Happy New Year, I guess.”
Big Bang for the New Year?