“Nah, I’ve tried,” Milo said, he’d really only tried calling her once and it’d been at least a week. In Milo’s head, if anything was going on, it’d probably be because Kat was mad at him for not keeping in touch. He always sucked at that. Something just wasn’t right. They’d been together forever and as flaky as Kat was, she never just went MIA, at least not like this.
“Dang, son,” Flea said, pretty much hesitating to say anything else.
Flea actually did see Kat. The other day. When he was supposed to go over to Milo’s he ended up at a party. It was at a longtime friend’s house. Flea was binge drinking in the kitchen, doing keg stands all night, and, well, that’s when he last saw Kat. He knew this was true too because he saw her before he started drinking.
She was talking it up with a couple of guys there. Next thing he knew, she was hanging all over them and giggling.
Flea didn’t put it past her that she probably fucked the whole group of them. Maybe even a couple of groups that night. Like some huge gangbang or something. Kat was messed up like that (as far as Flea was concerned) she probably laid on the floor, naked tugging like six dicks at the same time, before letting them all cum on her face. The more Flea thought about it, she probably let em’ all cum inside of her and have like six fucked up mutant trailer park babies at one-time. Kat was a mega skank like that. Milo didn’t see it but he did. He just didn’t understand why he couldn’t see it.
Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe Milo did know and just didn’t want to do anything about it. Maybe it didn’t bother him. But, if he did, Flea didn’t want to be the one to fuck him up like that—but, he wouldn’t mind watching that scandalous slut get her heart broke a couple of times, especially by his best friend who (in Flea’s eyes) owed her a broken heart or two anyway. All those times she let dudes touch her and fuck her in her ass. Milo owed her at least that.
The more Flea thought about it, he kind of wished that Kat would get an STD, like, “Take that you dumb cunt,” Flea thought, but only if Milo didn’t get it.
In Flea’s eyes, his friends deserved way better than that shit.
“Alright, man. Thanks,” Milo said.
“Yeah, dude. Take care. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Flea hung up feeling guilty for not letting him know what he had seen at the party. He just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
Milo hung up itching to get his hands back on his NATARI controller.
Meanwhile, Kat had her hands all over everything. Black and bruised too. Turns out she did let that group of guys from the party fuck the shit out of her that night.
All six of them.
This bitch was low.
And that wasn’t even half of it. After fucking the shit out of those six guys, this other guy, goes by the name of “Pooh Bear” or something on the streets, she goes over there and crashes at his place in lower Hopesfall for like an entire week. She gave him head every night before he went to sleep, or let him tit fuck her and cum on her face, while roaches and junkies crawled all over the floors of his trashy apartment complex.
Kat loved feeding men their dirty pleasures. It made her feel useful and complete.
Flea always hoped that she’d get pregnant. Then she’d have to explain to Milo how big of a fucking cunt she was. It’d been forever since Kat started fucking around behind his back, and, as far as Flea was concerned, it was time to try and put a stop to it. Inside he knew that Milo wouldn’t listen. He never did.
Meanwhile Kat was meeting up with Brad for another booty call. A classy place in Hopesfall called the “Uptown Plaza” there was a coffee shop, a bar, a spa, and a hotel all within the same locale. It was the place that Kat met her dates that had money. She was a fucking goddam regular at the Uptown Plaza.
Flea paced around his place, playing fetch with Snouk, “Go get it,” he’d say, throwing the ball, Snouk’s eight hairy legs running as fast as they could, pouncing on it, and picking it up with his spider mouth, and quickly running back to him as fast as he could.
“Good boy,” Flea would say, pacing around slow dizzying circles, anxieties running like a mother fuck, while Flea started to devise a game plan.
-- Catch this bitch in action
-- Make sure Milo knew what was going on. Enough of enough was enough as far as he was concerned.
Flea was taking matters into his own hands.
There was another party going on tonight. Flea had a strong feeling that Kat would be there. And if she was, he was going to follow her and hopefully catch her in action. He packed a spy bag consisting of a couple packs of cigarettes, three rolls of film, and a vintage Canon 35mm camera.
Tonight was the night.
Chapter 13
Milo was on level thirteen. And, although, he’d been at it for weeks, he was still a firm believer that Pink Planet was still the best game ever.
He’d finished up the last couple of levels strong, too. The one mini-game was of a screen sized clit. Milo had to roll the NATARI joystick around in fast and slow circles as a simulated POV vagina rolled around in clockwise motions on the screen. In the game, Milo had to counter-clock those motions—whilst simulating giving some chick the T. Tonguing her oozing vagina on the screen until it spit a cloud of wet sticky white semen shooting at the screen camera and covering it before it dripped. This was followed by a huge explosion and tons of 70’s ultra-themed porno music, and a screen after a bonus level that read, CUMTASTIC.
Milo fucking loved Pink Planet.
It was the best game ever.
Flea was on some other shit.
It was time to make an appearance at the party.
He grabbed his knapsack, a funnel to bong beers, and saddled up Snouk who was up to weight and more than capable of carrying around someone twice of Flea’s weight.
And they were off.
Flea rode on Snouk’s back down the alleyway between his place to cut uptown to Main Street. From there he’d take that to Wabash to 4th Street to Center Street. That’s where the party was at.
Snouk’s eight legs pumped the shit out of the pavement. He was moving pretty quick. Flea talked to him along the way, riding past a couple of coffee shops. “What’s up hipsters?” Flea said, getting awkward snobbish looks in return because he was riding on the back of a big black spider, “What, you’ve never seen anyone ride a fucking spider before?” Flea said, talking shit. He hated hipsters. He’d read an article in Slime Magazine a couple of days ago talking about how they were the number one clique/fad/group ever in this century to be hated by so many people. Nobody liked them—not the jocks—not the druggies—not the nerds—nobody. They reminded him of straightedge hippies with stupid beards. He couldn’t stand those assholes and their stupid tight pants. “Dudes, I can see your fucking dick through your pants, man…”
People stared at him when he stopped at the light on Wabash Street. He was on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change green, talking to Snouk, while an elderly lady had her window down. She was giving Flea the stink-eye.
“And then she took her pants off, man. She had such a nice ass it was like a scene from that movie—you know that one where the chick totally blows that dude for real, like she was such a good actress and wanted the blowjob to look real… so she really blew em’, you know?” Flea said.
Snouk rolled a bunch of eyes while the lady taunted him, “Fucking freak. Learn how to talk to a spider!” she yelled, as she slammed her foot down on the gas pedal, spun her tires, and burned rubber all the way across the intersection.
“Damn, what crawled up Grandma’s ass and died, man…” Flea said, laughing as he made his way across the street.
The party was at the owner of Murphy’s’ flat. A big ranch on Center Street. Dude knew a bunch of people. Should be a pretty good party, Flea thought to himself.
“Fuck Murphy’s on a Friday night,” he said. A lot of those people were people he couldn’t stand being around. It was going to be like a High School reunion. Flea hated High School reun
ions. He went to one once. Only because he got really drunk and ended up there on accident. Like one of those “where’s my fucking car” kind of moments. He got kicked to the curb after requesting Free Bird one too many times. That and the staggering around aimlessly dry humping chicks legs. He spent the remainder of the evening drunk dialing his ass off around the city in the back of a taxi cab.
Flea and Snouk pulled up outside the house. It was packed full of people to the point where the party was slowly spilling out into the front yard.
Flea pulled Snouk’s leash out of his knapsack and strapped him up around the statue. A fountain that looked like some famous dude without pants on. He had a small shriveled cock that hung out into the air freely. It looked like the water was spraying out from between his butt cheeks.
“Don’t look at that dude’s dick,” Flea said to Snouk, patting him on the head.
Snouk looked sad. He gave him those sad spider puppy kind of eyes, like, “Please, don’t leave me here all by myself…”
“I have to, buddy,” Flea said, reading his expression, turning his back on him, and starting to make his way inside.
He needed to find Kat. He had a very strong feeling that Kat would be there tonight. She might be here already, he thought to himself.
Flea was going to finally catch her.
He walked inside through the front door, passing a group of underage teens trying to get inside, “C’mon we’re with Adam, man…” Their efforts were to of no avail. “Get lost and beat it,” some big looking dude told them. Flea guessed the guy playing bouncer was one of the Alpha Omega’s a local Hopesfall University fraternity. It looked like that kind of party.
The party was bumping inside the house. They had a DJ and everything; people covered every square inch of the place dancing and grinding all over each other like possessed centipedes. This one chick was wearing a bright pink bikini top. This caught Flea’s attention as one of her breasts popped out while she was twerking.
“Damn, girl,” Flea mumbled, but he needed to be staying on task.
He proceeded into the kitchen where a group of frat guys were tilting each other upside down and doing keg-stands, “C’mon, man,” they chanted at Flea, trying to get him to do it.
“Nah, man… I’m looking for somebody,” he said.
Flea looked around the kitchen, noticing there were tons of pretty girls out tonight, “Like fucking cats,” he said.
The kitchen was flooded with hot, smiley party people but still no sign of Kat.
Flea made his way back out through the kitchen into the hallway. He noticed an open door and peeked in. It was the laundry room, not in there, he thought. He made is way back out into the hallway and spotted another door out of the corner of his eye. He made is way shoving through a patch of drunks laughing belligerently, “Show me your dick,” a group of drunk sorority girls were screaming to some guy that looked like a quarterback. He was rubbing his biceps and trying to act swag.
Flea made his way to the basement. He could tell it was the basement because there were a large number of stairs and lots of commotion coming from down there. The stairways lined themselves with more drunks, but something smelled like drugs downstairs.
Flea continued to make his way downstairs as the smell of drugs thickened the aroma between the cement basement walls.
A group of hippie looking people sat in a circle. They were passing around a bong. One girl was chuckling as she passed it to her right, almost dropping it. That shit was getting serious. Flea thought maybe the headband wrapped around her forehead was too tight, and maybe, it was cutting off too much circulation around her head.
Flea wished that he had a photograph of Kat. One that he could pull out of his pocket and ask all these people if they’d seen her around. He knew some of them had to have seen her before.
“You guys seen, Kat?” Flea asked the group of dope smokers.
“Nah, man,” one of them said, while the rest just kind of stared at him like he was an extraterrestrial, “Definitely not, man….” Another said before Flea turned around, shoving his way back up the stairs.
The music was getting louder on the main floor and people appeared to be getting more frisky. He walked past a couple broads tonguing some dude. They had him slammed up against the wall. The brunette of the T three-way appeared to be eating his tongue off, “What the fuck?” Flea said, walking past and noticing some other chick slammed up against the wall and a dude fucking her in the ass, “Right there in front of all these people? Really?” she looked hot from the backside. He thought about watching but he was doing a such a good job staying focused.
Flea made his way upto the second floor. If Kat wasn’t up there, she wasn’t in the house.
He shoved his way up the crowd on the stairs. This house is fucking huge, he thought.
The first door on the left was occupied by a group of girls and guys. Flea peeked in the door—no sign of Kat—but he noticed that there was some sort of group sex going on. Some chick riding a dude laying all weird, while she ate out some other chick, and that chick was blowing two other dudes. This place is nuts, he thought.
He peeked in the next door, thinking, how many rooms are in this place? (Noticing a series of doors past this one lining down the hallway on both sides). This room looked like the same scenario as the last one, except they were all dudes, “What the fuck? This must be the football team gangbang room,” Flea thought to himself, looking away as soon as he realized what was going on. A large pile of letterman jackets were piled up on the floor.
Behind the next door was some drunk chick passed out on the bed and some band geek watching her sleep, “Better not try anything fucking funny, man,” Flea said to him. This sent the nerd running for the hills and into a nearby wall. He locked the door and shut it for her, making a dent in the percentages of her getting date-raped while attempting to sleep in this madhouse.
There were only a couple of doors left in the hallway.
“She has to be here,” Flea muttered to himself, “She has to…”
Two chicks were dog-housing each other’s anuses in the next room. Like poop-dicking each other’s assholes with their faces, “Damn, these nasty bitches are giving each other some of that dirty T,” Flea said, again closing the door and continuing to the next.
The next door opened just as Flea had shut that one.
And guess who came crawling out of it, adjusting her blouse?
It was Kat.
She walked out with Murphy Lee, the owner of Murphy’s.
“Really?” Flea muttered, just as Kat noticed him in front of her.
“Really, what?” Kat asked and continuing, “Hey, man. How’s it going?” she was trying to play the whole thing off. Flea saw her. Flea saw her leaving the room, fixing that short little fuck skirt. She looked nervous.
“What are you doing?” Flea asked.
Kat played it off, “Oh, Murphy here just showed me his vintage coin collection. How have you been? You see Milo, tell em’ to call me back…” Kat smiled and tried to act normal.
“Oh yeah? How are the coins, Kat?” Flea asked.
She gave him that look. She was sweating buckets. The last thing she needed was for Flea to try and make a scene.
“They’re great, you should see em’. Can he Murph?” Kat said, tugging on his shoulder, “Can he?”
She called him fucking Murph. Flea knew that she fucked him. He could practically smell Murphy Lee’s semen dripping out of her butthole.
“Maybe another time baby girl,” he said, “The Murph’s got some shit to take care of,” he said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek.
“I knew it,” Flea said.
“You can’t prove shit, Flea,” she said. ”Get off my shit.”
Kat was livid.
Kat stormed past him, brushing her elbows and shoving Flea into the wall. He got back up off the wall and Murphy shoved him back against it, “Mind your own business,” he said.
“Man, fuck that,” Fl
ea said, feeling like a pushover and a failure at the same time.
Man, fuck a Murphy’s on a Friday or Saturday night, he thought to himself.
He followed them back downstairs but it was too late. They were gone and out the door. Flea could hear the tires squealing out of the driveway.
If there was one thing that Flea could do right—it was fucking party. He walked into the kitchen and said, “Alright, bro. It’s my fucking turn.” A couple of the dudes doing keg-stands cheered, picked him up and flipped him upside down. “Keg stand!” the crowd cheered as Flea chugged away. Although he didn’t get hard evidence of what Kat was doing behind his best friends back… he was starting to feel better already.
Chapter 14
Flea woke up squeezed between two ugly fat chicks. He hadn’t drank for a few days and felt like a shit sandwich. He stood up and puked, “I’m sorry,” he said, to one of them, as his vomit splashed up onto her belly that was hanging out of her shirt. Don’t eat that, he thought to himself, disgusted in what may have happened last night after drinking too much.
Milo was still playing Pink Planet. He was on Level 18 and setting worldwide record breaking scores.
Milo took his first break in weeks to masturbate. All of this sex gaming got him horny as hell, so he took a break to whack at it. He gathered up a stack of nudies and flipped through multiple magazines saving the Molly Methhead sections. This was definitely one of those weird times where he wished he had tentacles or eight legs like Snouk.
The magazine on the right featured an up close and personal lifelike rendition of Molly Methhead’s vagina. She had a soul patch of pubic hair above her wet lips.
Milo placed a much younger photograph of her in the middle. One from her college years where she was less meth’d out. She looked hot as fuck wearing black lingerie. Her cleavage was much more firm. The third and final magazine laid out was on the right, it was one of his all-time favorites; one could simply tell by the way the pages were stuck together. A piece of Molly’s mouth was missing because it stuck to the back of Holly Handjob’s left shoulder on the adjascent page. Milo came all over this page probably well over a hundred times. He even thought about cutting a hole in it, but, this one, it was different—sacred even.
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