by Oblimo
Act 1
Chapter One: There Ain't Nothing in the World
Dee reached into the refrigerator, peeled off the cellophane sealing the wide mouth of the metal mixing bowl, and chickened out.
"I can't do this," he said.
He tipped the bowl and took a long, hard look at the Jell-O inside. The surface shone in the fridge's light but did not shift. The gelatin had already set even though the instructions said Dee still had two more hours to wait.
"I'm not going to wait because I'm not going to do this."
He slammed the fridge closed and stood there for a while. He stomped around the breakfast table to the kitchenette's bay window and shuttered the blinds. After another pause, he ran around his empty apartment, drawing the curtains on every window and double bolting the front door for good measure.
The bowl was back in his hands again. "Okay."
The bowl clattered onto the round, glass top of the little breakfast table. He glared down into the bowl's wide mouth. His wobbly reflection frowned back at him. After a final moment of hesitation, he dropped a hand down into the bowl. It made a loud slap when his hand hit the gelatin and he jerked back, embarrassed. I'm the only one here, he thought. Why the Hell am I embarrassed? The cool sticky stuff almost smooched his hand when he pulled, reluctant to let go. Because it shouldn't feel this good.
He pressed his open palm back into the gelatin. The surface gave but did not break. The tension of the stuff felt, well, delicious. He waggled his hand. The gelatin tried to keep up and parted with another long, lazy, traveling smooch. He rubbed his thumb over the tips of his fingers. They weren't even wet.
"Wow."
So that was what it must feel like. He could write about that. He had even promised to write about that, to write some "goo girl" fiction for some Internet friends. Granted, he could not really call them friends, but they collected and shared as much Internet porn as he did. That created a strange solidarity, an Internet Freaks Anonymous where the twelfth step was drawing or writing your own crazy smut. Their latest discovery? Fantasies of fucking The Blob's hot younger sister. It proved the rule: if you could think it, someone, somewhere on the 'Net was wondering what it would be like to fuck it. Dee knew it as "Rule 34", and Dee considered himself Rule 34's Exhibit A.
But when Dee first sat down to write his newest fic, he had no idea what touching a goo girl might feel like, how to make it sound sexy—or even if it really could be sexy in the first place. Hence, the I-Must-Be-Crazy Jell-O Experiment was born.
Dee grabbed a cookie sheet from the cupboard. He pushed it under the bowl and twirled the bowl upside down with his fingers. He gave it a good shake and peeked under: nothing. He clanked the upside down bowl back onto the cookie sheet and whacked it on the top a few times for good measure. He slowly lifted the bowl. Nothing.
"God damn non-stick coating my ass!" Dee throttled the bowl in both hands, shaking it like a stubborn ketchup bottle. He had paid fifty bucks for the stupid thing!
He felt something in the bowl shift and the whole mass of gelatin, shaped like a giant, rounded gumdrop, plopped down onto the cookie sheet. The sheet juddered and knocked something off the table. Dee sat down on the rickety wicker chair and reached out both hands for the quivering mound. He surprised himself at how easily his imagination turned the rounded gelatin into a tap-worthy ass, or a massive breast.
The object knocked off the table rolled to a stop by his foot. Dee looked down, saw the battered tin of thickening powder, and every thought of sex fled as he recalled the results of the Insane Jell-O Experiment, Phase One: Procurement.
The only place Dee thought might sell what he was looking for was a medical supply store. He found one, SRU Medical Technology. Getting there and back home added 40 minutes to his commute after some emergency Sunday troubleshooting in the corporate server farm. A square, whitewashed, brick building squat in the center of a paved parking lot far larger than it would ever need, out in the middle of nowhere. The only vehicles in the lot were a busted-up, generic white pickup truck and a rose red Morris Mini Coop. Not one of those trendy new ones, Dee noted, but an import at least 20 years old. Well, at least one person in there has good taste, he thought. He slunk through the front door. The bell hanging from the doorframe was loud and jarring.
Petrified, Dee browsed the same aisle for fifteen silent minutes. He wondered, Do people browse in medical supply stores? They know what they want when they come in, don't they? He noticed the doughy clerk staring at him from a stool behind the glass counter. Dee looked at the products in the aisle he had been browsing for the first time: ostomy supplies. Oh, God. So this is what going to a porn shop with your mom must feel like.
Dee shuffled over to the clerk behind counter. A short woman with long, black hair was busy in a supply closet behind him. "Do you sell thickening agent?" Dee asked.
The clerk glanced up. "Excuse me?"
"Thickening agent," Dee explained. "For liquids. You know, for people who have trouble drinking without aspirating?"
"Sure." The clerk slid off his stool. Dee caught the woman's oval face peeking out at him as he followed the clerk down the aisle for food supplements.
The clerk handed him a large tin of something called Thique-It and turned back to the counter, but Dee stopped him. "Does it, sorry, do you know if it works with Jell-O?"
The clerk pivoted on his heels. "What?"
"Does this stuff work with Jell-O?"
After a long staring contest, the clerk asked, "Why would you need to thicken Jell-O?"
"Because…" Dee began, his ears starting to burn. He swallowed. "Well, so the Jell-O stays thick, even after it gets…warm?"
The clerk snorted, plucked the Thique-It out of Dee's hands, tossed it back on the shelf, and marched to the counter without glancing back. Dee realized he was going to puke. Luckily, emesis buckets were in the next aisle. He whirled about, ready to run, only to find the young woman standing right next to him.
"Oh, hey! You're a cutie." She craned her neck up to study his flustered face. "I've got what you want," she said, her dark eyes merry. She led Dee into the crowded supply closet, and pressed a battered, narrow tin into his hand. The yellowed label read, SRU Thickening Agent.
"You guys have a generic label?" Dee asked.
The woman pursed her lips in an inscrutable smile and gave a one-shouldered shrug that could have meant anything. "First time, start with something easy, like chocolate or vanilla pudding. That way, it's hard to mess the mixture up."
Dee did not really understand, but he nodded anyway.
"If you're feeling adventurous," she smiled, "you can try cherry. Or…" Her smile turned wistful, as if her mind were a thousand miles away. "Strawberry-banana."
He asked her the price, but that just brought her out of her reverie. "But not lime," she insisted. "No lime. Too tricky, lime. Oh, how much? You want some? For you, five dollar.
"But no lime!"
Dee stared at the giant lime green gumdrop settling on his bistro breakfast table. He had been so mortified by the SRU ordeal that he had just grabbed the first Jell-O packet he found at the nearest convenience store and fled the place. Of course, when he got home he discovered it was lime Jell-O. There had been no way in Hell he was going back out there, so he made the lime Jell-O anyway, adding extra SRU thickener in case the crazy lady had a point. In the florescent light of his kitchen, the gelatin looked pearlescent and a bit opaque. Must be the thickener, he thought.
Dee looked at the microwave's digital readout: 12:44 AM. Up passed midnight, and on a work night, no less. It was now or never. He grabbed the side of the mound and squeezed.
"Holy shit."
It was pliant but firm, puckering around his palm and dimpling over his fingers. Cool, sticky and
yet somehow smooth. He felt himself growing hard. It's official, he realized. I've got a new fetish. He stood, took off his shoes, and then sat on his knees in the wicker chair, crooking his legs into the chair's back for support. His crotch was now level with the breakfast table, his pants tenting toward the gelatin mound.
I can do this. He pulled his pants and underwear down. The gelatin trembled, maybe from the air blowing through the ceiling vents, probably from Dee's shaky nerves. He could not find his balance. Dee carefully untangled himself from the chair. He grabbed the cookie sheet, one hand on each side, plucked it off the table, and lowered it down.
"I can do this," he said, shifting his weight. His erection pointed straight at the gelatin mound. He could feel the cool air sliding of the gelatin around the head of his cock. "I can do this." The memory of the contempt on the clerk's face, how the clerk's eyes narrowed and dimmed as Dee talked, rose unbidden in Dee's mind.
["…So the Jell-O stays thick, even after it gets…warm…"]
Dee's cock fell. "I can't do this." He dropped the cookie sheet back onto the kitchen table and marched to his bedroom. The door slammed behind him. In the kitchen, the lime gelatin sat on the tabletop, warming to room temperature.
"Motherfucker," it said.
"Late for work," Dee said as he came out of the bathroom the next morning, wrestling with his polyester-blend yellow tie. "Where the Hell are my shoes?" He remembered. "Oh, kitchen, right." He crossed the narrow living room. "Late for work, late again—Aw, what the Hell?"
The gelatin had melted overnight, melted but not liquefied. The thickener apparently had done its job. Instead of sitting in a puddle of green water, the round table was coated in lime green frosting. A thick sheet of the icing had overflowed the glass top and pooled in rolls on the floor, draping the breakfast table in a cloth made from expensive, green ribbon candy. Dee could see one of his work shoes poking out from under the stuff.
He stumbled into the kitchen and over to the table. "My only good pair of shoes." He reached for the black leather heel.
The ribbon candy tablecloth around the shoe plucked itself upward, like a stage-curtain or the ruffles of a prom-dress, and a stiletto-heeled pump shot out from under the table and pinned his hand to the floor.
Shocked by the sudden, sharp pain, Dee did not think to freak out as he took in some quick details. The fuck-me pump bruising his knuckles looked forged from green glass, an accessory for a horny Cinderella trying to spice up her flagging love life with Prince Charming. Before the ribbon candy tablecloth dropped down again, he caught the flash of a long, curvy leg, as green as the pump. Somewhere above his head, a woman spoke, her voice rich and dusky. "You little tease!"
A green shape sprung up and out from the tabletop, reminding dumbstruck Dee of the liquid-metal, killer T-1000 robot from Terminator 2. Daggers of hair in a long, pixie-styled cut framed a heart shaped face with big, glittering eyes, a button nose, and a small mouth. The face glared down as it rose higher on a graceful neck. Narrow but square shoulders humped out of the stretching green mass engulfing the table.
As the figure rose, the ribbon-candy tablecloth synched up, revealing more leg and taking on the appearance of a short ruffled skirt. From his vantage point, Dee could see that the green goop had coated the flat undersurface of the table, extending down into scissoring legs. As if aware he was looking, the green gel right under the table filled out into a pert derrière. Garters flicked down like cilia but no underwear formed beneath them.
That's when the thought, I just might be in trouble, finally crossed Dee's bewildered mind. He lost his train of thought again as soon as the figure's breasts ballooned outward. They bobbled above him, as big as his head.
"I see I've finally started to get your attention," the green girl said, lifting her heel. His hand free, Dee rocked back and fell on his ass. "But I want your full attention," the green girl breathed. She bent down toward him at an impossibly deep angle, draping dainty arms about his shoulders.
She flashed a grin. Her teeth were big, slick, and as green as mint mouthwash. Looking back up at her through the valley of her breasts inches away from his face, his whole world narrowed to a fountain of hair, tits, and cupid-bow lips, all straining and swirling out of milky-green gelatin. Dee's engorged dick pressed painfully against his pants zipper.
"Now," said that fiery voice, "how would you like it if I just marched into the bedroom to sleep the day away, hmm?"
She arched an eyebrow at Dee. He thought for a minute.
"Uh," he said.
She rolled her wide, liquid eyes and hauled him up onto his feet. "Oof!" she said, rubbing a wrist. "You're a skinny fellow." She looked down and flashed that toothy, feline grin again. "Except where it counts, I think. That was harder than it should have been. Why am I so weak? Need energy." She reached back and above her head in a contortion that would kill a yoga master and flicked open the bay window blinds. The light of sunrise flooded the kitchen, and flooded through her. She sparkled like an old fashioned coca-cola bottle. "Oh!" she giggled. "I'm hollow. That explains it. You're not into balloons, are you?"
She arched an eyebrow at Dee. He thought for a minute. "What?"
"I didn't think so," she sighed. "I need more mass." She turned her face to the left bask in the Sun, her head haloed in a corona of limelight. "Well, I have the energy. Enough for now, anyway."
Dee stepped back. Without turning her head, the green girl shot her arms out, grabbing his shoulders in a vice grip. "But I'm just a girl. A fertile girl, a fecund girl, sure, but even a fertile girl…" Her face turned to the left, again, to whip 360 degrees around, and met Dee's shaky gaze. Her canary-eating grin was so wide Dee thought the top of her head might topple off. "…Needs fertilizer."
She arched an eyebrow at Dee. He thought for a minute. "Huh?"
She stamped her feet. "Baka!"
One green arm coiled around his neck, sinuous python-sure, while the other shot down to his groin. The tentacular arm around his neck felt deliciously cool. It sucked and smooched at his skin, looping around and around. The hand topping the tentacle swayed in front of his face for a moment before dipping down to rip off his tie and scuttle under his shirt. "Hey, bright boy," she said, "look down."
Her other hand waved up at him from his crotch, her arm extended out and down like a hose. Five extra digits shot out of the hand, pseudopodia budding from an amoeba. All ten fingers wriggled up at him in greeting. They were all double jointed—no, they had no joints at all—and in split second they were all in his pants. She did not bother with niceties like unzipping his fly. She oozed around any obstacle.
Dee and the green girl gasped in unison. "Ooh, bright boy is a big boy," she said.
Dee tried to edge away but the loops around his neck and shoulders held him fast. Her sticky-smooth fingers rubbed the tip of his cock, circled under his glans, rippled over his shaft, pumped at his root, and kneaded his balls. Dee's knees buckled. His eyes rolled back into head and the room went dark. Somehow her warm breath washed over one ear as her gluey tongue went spelunking in the other. "Coup de gras," the green girl giggled as her left hand completed its lazy journey under his shirt to join the other below his belt. The room filled with syrupy sounds. "This is my Demonic Fifteen Point Fleshlight Palm Technique," her voice whispered into his ear as some other set of hungry lips closed over his mouth.
His over-stimulated cock exploded and her greedy flesh milked it for all it was worth. White spunk swirled across the inner surface of her candy-glass torso. She purred in alien pleasure and let Dee go. He toppled over, out cold. She flowed off the table and her fuck-me pumps went thup-tup as she sauntered over to gaze down at him. His cum pearled and fell like rain within her.
"Fuck all you want," she said, "I'll make more."
Dee woke to the sound of sparkling, girlish laughter.
He found himself in bed, morning sun warming the sheets, and for a moment he believed the encounter in the kitchen had been a dream. He had dreamt much str
anger things before. After all, he had been jerking off to Internet porn for years, so a trip into his unconscious was like a Google Image search with the filter set to "The Goggles, They Do Nothing."
He heard that pealing laughter again. Dee propped himself up and saw a dream made flesh. Well, no, not exactly flesh…
Dee's bedroom was a sparse affair. His university diploma, a framed map of Middle Earth, and a few X-Men and Justice League pinups decorated the cheery wallpaper left by the prior tenant. His pride and joy, his custom computer gaming rig, lurked catty-corner from his bed. Another computer desk occupied the third corner of the room, where he kept his media server PC (a perpetual work in progress) and the generic WinTel box he used for surfing the Internet and telecommuting.
The jellified girl sat in front of the second desk, facing his flat screen monitor. Each helpless giggle shot a burst of concentric ripples through her substance.
There was a lot more to her now. She was solid, an erotic sculpture the color and clarity of green toothpaste gel. Hips flared out from a wasp-narrow waist into a single mass of green goop carved into leggy, curvy shapes ending in two wide tendrils wiggling on the floor and threatening to envelop the chair. When she threw her head back to howl in glee, green ooze would spill over the headrest and crawl down the back of the black task chair only to slurp back up again when she bent over in mirth. Doubled over, her upper body would merge into the lower in wide, lazy rolls. Only her spiky hair—no separate strands, just thick, spiky dreadlocks of gelatin—and the outward curves of her spectacular breasts remained defined. Even in this state, without a mouth or even a face, she could laugh, although the sound was little more than muffled echoes.
An eruption of laughter brought her hourglass figuring shooting back out again. "Oh, my God, I love the Internet. This is just too funny!"
Dee tried to find his voice. His parched throat closed. "What are you looking at?"