Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1

by Kurt Knox

  Grease the grill first (impress her with some sweet dance moves).

  * * *

  Take some time to order your thoughts (get drunk).

  * * *

  Take out a copy of Moby Dick and have a nice read.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  Fo’ reals! You hit the bar and order a Stoli and Red Bull. Time to get tore up. A couple of chugs and you’ve got a nice buzz going. There truly is nothing bad to be said for alcohol.

  What now?

  * * *

  I’ve forgotten all my problems and I feel strong (hit that honey with a pick-up line).

  * * *

  I’m straight-up peacockin’! (impress the honey with some dance moves).

  * * *

  One girl? I want me all the girls! (try your luck with a group of honeys dancing on stage).

  * * *

  Ima have me another drink! (have another drink).

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You drop another Stoli and Red. Your face is numb. Faces are funny. Imagine if we didn’t have faces: where would we put our glasses? Ha ha ha. No, you shut up. *Blarg*

  * * *

  Say, that bouncer sure was running his mouth before. Go tell him off.

  * * *

  I’m a lover not a fighter (go check out that group of girls dancing on stage).

  * * *

  Have a third drink.

  * * *

  Drink an ass-load of coffee and get your ass back in the game.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You check out the talent on stage. Sweet Jesus, these girls is a masterpiece: like Picasso’s Guernica, except instead of dismembered children, red-hot bitches. What’s your approach vector, Captain?

  * * *

  Let’s get this party started! Use a nearby janitor bucket to turn the scene into a wet t-shirt contest.

  * * *

  Actually, that’s probably the drink talking. Reconsider your options.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  Recognize. So what’s it gonna be, G?

  * * *

  Bowl over the fine female with a pick-up line.

  * * *

  Grease the grill first. Impress her with some super sweet dance moves.

  * * *

  Take out a copy of Moby Dick and have a nice read.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You draw back to a booth, take a seat, and sharpen your mind with a passage from Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. If anyone can help you sink you harpoon it’s your main man, Melville.

  Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

  There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.

  Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?

  But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?

  Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.

  To read an unabridged copy of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, why not pay a visit to your local library?

  * * *

  For now though, let’s get you back in the action, Jackson!

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  There’s that fine female from outside again. Better make your play, gangster, ‘cause she ain’t gettin’ any finer.

  * * *

  Bowl her over with a pick-up line.

  * * *

  Grease the grill first. Impress her with some sweet dance moves.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You rock up to the honey and give her a
show of your liquid hips. You bust move after mad move, tearing up the dance floor like Bill Cosby tearing up civil lawsuits. The honey ain’t buying though, in fact — wait — did she just pull away from you? Nah, keep it together, homes, she’s just dazzled, that’s all. That was a complex dance you threw down. A lot to take in at once. That definitely wasn’t disgust on her face. Was it?

  * * *

  Forget all this crunking (seal the deal with a pick-up line).

  * * *

  Just go home.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You go to the bathroom and find the vending machine. The machine has condoms. It also dispenses Viagra. Which would you like to purchase?

  * * *

  Condom.

  * * *

  Viagra.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You make your move on the club honey.

  ‘Baby, do you like rough sex, because I haven’t turned in a polished draft yet.’

  That shit was Shakespeare. The honey breaks into smile and licks her lips, which is hard to do at the same time. She extends an exquisitely tanned hand.

  ‘My name’s Sam, or Samantha for short. Meet me in the back alley in five minutes and let’s get freaky.’

  How you gonna play this?

  * * *

  Give it five then head out there and crush that booty.

  * * *

  You can do better than this perfect ten! Go to a strip club instead.

  * * *

  Flip a coin to decide.

  * * *

  Flip the script instead and head for the laundrette.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You make your move on the club honey.

  ‘Baby, do you like rough sex, because I haven’t turned in a polished draft yet.’

  That shit was Shakespeare. The honey breaks into smile and licks her lips, which is hard to do at the same time. She extends an exquisitely tanned hand.

  ‘My name’s Sam, or Samantha for short. Meet me in the back alley in five minutes and let’s get freaky.’

  How you gonna play this?

  * * *

  Give it five then head out there and crush that booty.

  * * *

  You can do better than this perfect ten! Go to a strip club instead.

  * * *

  Flip a coin to decide.

  * * *

  Flip the script instead and head for the laundrette.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  Very sensible of you, if a little presumptuous.

  * * *

  Head back into the broke-ass dancer with your newfound condom.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You head out back but there’s no sign of the honey. You take a look at your expensive Rolex watch that’s definitely not a Chinese knock-off. It’s been five minutes — what gives? Suddenly there’s a noise. A nasty slurping sound. Chewing and chomping. A shape emerges from the darkness, hairy and four-legged. A racoon? No, not a racoon, it’s too big. Way too big. Holy hell… it’s a freakin’ wolf!

  The beast rises up on its haunches, enormous and coal-black, its eyes glowing with a smoldering glare and its savage muzzle dripping with blood. It’s hella scary. What you gonna do about this dog, dawg?

  * * *

  Arrrrggggghhhhhhhhh! (haul ass).

  * * *

  Ain’t no thang (stand your ground).

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page

  * * *

  Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1, by Kurt Knox

  * * *

  You return to the eye-crime of a stripper. She leads you into a private booth, sits you down and draws the drapes for a private dance. Soon as she has you to herself she lifts up her raggedy T and out come the battering mams. She leans over and starts rubbing them all over you with the enthusiasm of a hobo squeegeeing a windshield. This is Gross City and she’s the Mayor.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, hun?’ she drawls. ‘I got White Russian or Black.’

  * * *

  White.

  * * *

  Black.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn back a page

  * * *

  * * *

  Please turn forward a page