Pink Planet

by Jon R. Meyers

  He called Milo, again.

  Still no answer.

  “Fuck! C’mon, man,” he said to himself, getting rather infuriated at the entire situation. His head spun while trying to figure out what to do next.

  He didn’t have his camera—he couldn’t take pictures. Milo wouldn’t answer his phone—so he couldn’t tell him what was going on. It was just Flea and Snouk and Snouk was still chained up outside the alley, spider hissing at a group of teenage bullies that happened to walk by and started making fun of him.

  “Look, guys!” The gingered freckle face said, “This spider thinks he’s a fucking dog or something…” he said, while mimicking the sounds of dog barking at him in his face.

  Snouk rolled his eight eyes and ignored them until they stormed off, unfulfilled, bullies hate that—no reaction whatsoever—it like defeats their purpose. He wanted to pounce on them and eat them, and, he could’ve if he wanted to, but he liked his life with Flea and didn’t want to do anything to mess that up.

  “Want to teach me how to drive a stick?” Kat asked, playfully as she rubbed Brad’s cock from the passenger seat.

  “Sure do, babe,” he said to her.

  “What the fuck?” Flea said, almost loud enough that they could’ve heard him if they were paying attention.

  Kat unzipped Brad’s zipper and his penis popped up, hard, “Looks like a six speed to me,” she said, laughing.

  Brad put his hand on her neck and slouched back in the seat, pushing his hips up in the air to poke her mouth with his dick.

  Kat liked it, “Mmmm,” she said, beckoning for him to do it again, but this time sticking his entire erection into her mouth, and forcing it down her throat until she gagged on it.

  Flea couldn’t stop watching, standing there helpless, thinking Milo couldn’t even get there if he told him about what was going on—he didn’t drive. He was in a real predicament and the best thing that he could think to do was to sit back and watch. He’d have to take mental notes of the events before him.

  In the back of his mind he still thought Kat was attractive. If it wasn’t for Milo being his best friend, he wouldn’t mind tapping that ass, too. So he couldn’t be mad at Brad. She was the problem. But, here he was, watching, waiting, and kind of getting into watching Kat perform sexually.

  Flea started to pretend that he was Brad while he watched. With a bigger cock, he thought. It made him feel superior, like he was the only real “man” in the world. Kat was sucking his dick right now—not Brad’s.

  “Uhhhhh,” Brad moaned, while Kat deepthroated the shit out of his shit.

  “Watch this,” she whispered, batting her sexy, dark eyes at him repeatedly, which seemed to make him want her even more. At least, that’s what Flea could make of it. Kat’s perfect body got heated up in the seat of Brad’s car. She was about to unleash a demon of perversion on him. Flea was jealous.

  He shook his head and tried to snap out of it. He tried to lose focus and not pay attention—he shouldn’t be doing this, and he knew this, but something inside of him had that urge, that sexual desire, that sex craved attention and/or force that was too unbearable to stop. He couldn’t stop watching Kat and he was starting to get an erection.

  Flea started thinking about horrible things in hopes of losing focus. This would force the blood to stop throbbing through his junk.

  He thought about babies being delivered and how gross and fucked up the actual process of child birth is. He thought about how everyone everywhere is always talking about how cute and beautiful it is. Flea thought about how all those people must have been full of shit. It was one of the sickest things that he’d ever witnessed. He remembered being there for one of his friends when she was delivering her baby. He almost passed out and for the entire hour and a half of bloodshed in the hospital—He sat in the corner with his hand over his eyes peeking out occasionally. The more she pushed on that gross little thing coming out of her vag, the more Flea felt an uneasy squirm from his mid-section.

  Flea still had a boner.

  He tried to think of more detail. Mid-wives delivering babies in kiddie pools in people’s basements—and how fucked up just the sound of that is, but nothing, still rock hard.

  It was getting harder as Kat jumped over into Brad’s seat, straddling his cock, and placing it behind her and up between her ass cheeks. Kat dry humped Brad’s cock making it harder, which in return, made Flea get harder.

  Such a nice ass, he thought.

  He shook his head and started to think about dead people. He thought about graveyards. One specific graveyard came to mind. The one he used to hangout and party at when he was in high school. He used to take chicks there to try and get head. Usually this would result in Flea running home crying and masturbating with two hands. Flea wasn’t much of a ladies man, but he still had an erection, and he was still trying to keep his mind from wandering.

  Graveyards.

  Sex in the graveyard.

  Sex with dead rotting corpses.

  Sex with rotten dust infested vaginal infected corpses in the graveyard.

  It was working.

  Sex with grandma inside of her coffin.

  That’s fucked up, he thought to himself. Whatever it’s working.

  Flea’s grandma had the nastiest soggiest tits ever. She could probably use them as snow shoes in the winter. The pale, white flesh rot hung down past her knees and ankles. They smothered her fat ankles and wrapped around her feet.

  And, just like that, Flea finally lost his erection.

  Which, at the moment, was quite the feat because Kat had managed to flip upside down in the car seat, and was sixty-nine face-timing Brad’s cock in her mouth, while Brad licked her asshole at the same time.

  “Fuck it!” Flea said, running as fast as he could back to Snouk. Together they continued strolling around town.

  Flea couldn’t stop thinking about Kat and how upset Milo would be if he only knew what was going on. What could he do though?

  “That’s it!” Flea said, stopping Snouk in his tracks at a stoplight, almost breaking his neck and making half of his legs screech to a smoking halt.

  Snouk made a weird noise and looked at him like, “What the fuck, man.”

  Flea was going to set Kat up. That’s it, he thought.

  He needed to get to Milo’s. By then he’d have it put together—the master plan—the plan of all plans. The plan that would reveal Kat’s inner skeeze to his best friend. A plan so good that it might even bring them closer together too.

  That’s what friendship is, Flea thought to himself, while Snouk rolled his eight crazy spider eyes at him, while thinking, white people problems.

  “That’s what friendship is!” Flea said, screaming it aloud, as some yuppie middle- aged broad looked at him and his dreadlocks and began shaking her head in disgust.

  “That’s what friendship is…” he said, again. He was bringing closure to his thoughts. Bringing the necessary closure within himself with his inner voice. His everything. The space between him and Snouk. The space between space and time. The space between everything. With his own feelings and emotions, and stuff, man. That’s what friendship is. It makes the world go around. It makes best friends come up with master plans to save other best friends and their failing relationships from turning into a never-ending-impending-relationship-doom.

  He was going to finally take down that evil arch-nemesis of a cunt fucking cheat skank.

  “I’ll show you what’s up,” he said to himself.

  Chapter 18

  Flea left Snouk outside and ran inside Milo’s house as fast as he could. “Dude…” he said, barging into Milo’s room.

  Milo paused Pink Planet and turned his head quickly. He scared him. “Woah, what’s up, man?”

  Flea took a deep breath trying to not sound too conspicuous. This was hard for Flea when he got excited.

  “Dude…” he said again.

  Milo replied, “Yeah? What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing,”
Flea said. He was doing pretty good at this acting nonchalant thing so far, “So… How’s the game?”

  “Great, man. Why you being so weird?” Milo asked.

  “Good, good… Uhmmm, yeah, that’s good,” Flea said, looking around for Milo’s phone. He needed Kat’s phone number but he didn’t want to ask him for it. It’d be too obvious. It’d ruin his master plan.

  Milo started the mini-game. Two hot babes sat on a couch with an octopus sitting between them. The octopus had a couple of his tentacles wrapped around them. They were resting on their big tits. Milo pressed the A button. The goal was to see how many times you could smack their tits in thirty seconds or less.

  The score bar in the top right corner collected points rapidly. Milo swirled the joystick up and down, left to right, while bashing the buttons on the NATARI controller, quickly causing smoke to roll off the tips of his fingers. He looked like a pro as he smacked tits with tentacles.

  The octopus’s tentacles continued to fly across the screen.

  “Tee-hee-hee,” the girls giggled, like chicks from Japanese Animation flicks.

  Time up.

  15,699 points.

  “You are a Big Tit Professional” the middle of the screen shone in big colorful bubble letters after beating the mission.

  Flea laughed, belligerently. But, he was still scrolling through Milo’s contacts.

  “Why does he have so many of them?” he said to himself, scrolling through the G’s still.

  Milo turned around and Flea quickly hid the phone under his left thigh, “So what’s up, man?” Milo asked, again. Trying to not be rude as Flea came over and was trying to talk to him.

  “Oh, nothing,” Flea said, inconspicuously, “nothing, man.”

  “That’s cool,” Milo said, shrugging it off, and thinking about how much he really just wanted to start level 50.

  “Play another level, man. I like watching this shit,” Flea said, trying to distract him.

  Milo started level 50.

  Flea scrolled through Milo’s contacts. Greg, Garrett, Geoff, etc. He kind of got jealous as he phished through them. He didn’t really know any of them, and Milo had never mentioned or introduced him to any of them either.

  Who are these people? He thought to himself.

  The opening scene started with a movie sequence.

  “Got it!” Flea said, excited, finally.

  He grabbed the pen laying on the bed next to him, rolled up his sleeve on the grungy flannel he was wearing, and wrote Kat’s number on his arm. 555-5555, he wrote legibly before quickly rolling his sleeve back down.

  He was about to set this bitch up.

  “This game is sweet man, but, I gotta go,” he said, “I forgot I left Snouk in the front yard…”

  “Peace,” Milo said, already drawn into Brandy Bee straddling a set of high class stairs in some sort of penthouse suite.

  She waddled her big ginger ass up the set of stairs, bent over, and grabbed her ankles, as she rubbed her feet before pausing at the top. She stopped to cram her ass into the end of the curvy, black handrail.

  After rubbing her butt crack between the rail, she made her way to the bedroom on her knees, crawling like a cat. The camera zoomed into a hot shot of her tits, dangling out of her black fetish vinyl.

  Brandy Bee made it to the door and knocked. She danced outside of it until a big black guy opened the door. His name was Maurice Murder. He had a nine foot dick, and upon opening the door, it knocked Brandy Bee back on her hot ass.

  She got up off the floor and jumped onto it. She ran across it up to his face and kissed him on his cheek, erotically.

  Maurice Murder ate through her black fetish vinyl with his big lips, “Tastes like a soothing conversation to me, baby” he said, before spitting directly onto her vagina.

  “Uhhhh,” Brandy Bee moaned, squeezing her little pokey ginger nipples while Maurice Murder ate that donk.

  A moment later, she jumped off of his face and back onto his huge cock. It sprung downward like a diving board. It flung her way back up into the air, before she came slam crashing back down on Maurice Murder’s huge dick (who just happened to be tilting it upwards while she was airborne). Upon impact she stretched her vag walls entirely way too much, ripped her vagina open, as torrents of bodily fluids burst out of her vagina and splashed at the screen.

  This wetted Maurice Murder’s huge dick. He snatched her up and slammed her back down on his black penis harder, jamming it all the way up through the roof of her mouth like a NASA project.

  “UHHHHHH! YEAHHHHHH!” she scream moaned.

  “You like that, Bitch,” Maurice Murder said, way creepily.

  “Yes I do, Baby… Uhhhh! Yeah!” she said, rip fucking her clit into a goddamn black oblivion while thinking the following statement, Once you go black, you never go back. And Brandy Bee didn’t want to go back, ever. She loved every sloppy second of it. Like those other white girls that craved those big black and lengthy dicks. Milo wondered why it always seemed like those chicks were fat and trashy though. He could see why black guys liked it because they usually liked the big asses. Fat chicks had big fat asses. Brandy Bee’s ass was nice but not “Black Guy” nice, Milo thought. Who by the way wasn’t a racist. Judgmental, yes. Racist, nope. He never was. People mix that shit up all the time. If anything Milo hated all people. They had too many problems. That’s why he liked robots so much. They didn’t have problems; and, if they did, they were nine out of ten times, human error.

  Maurice Murder kept hard fucking her. “Light as a feather stiff as a board,” he said, jamming his cock into her one more time before she broke in half.

  Half of her held in one hand—the half in the other—Maurice Murder took both halves and slammed them into his mouth and swallowed Brandy Bee whole.

  “I hope that goes straight to my ass,” he said, mad-chuckling into the point tally on the score screen.

  Level complete.

  Flea kicked Snouk into overdrive, “C’mon, boy… C’mon,” he said, kicking him in his side a couple of times. This made him run faster and piss him off at the same time.

  Snouk ran like the goddamn wind.

  Flea got back to his place and ran inside quickly, slamming the glass door, and flipping the sign to ‘OPEN’.

  “Wait a minute… Fuck that,” he said, shaking his head, “I have tons of shit to do.”

  Flea grabbed the phone and lifted up his flannel sleeve and dialed Kat’s number written on his arm.

  “Hello?” Kat said, inquisitively and not noticing the number on the caller I.D. It read, CALLER UNKNOWN.

  “Hey, babe…” Flea said, acting like Brad and imitating his fast, higher pitched nasally voice.

  Kat’s voice was even hotter on the phone. He listened to every syllable she spoke with a deep concentration, “Heyyy,” she said.

  Kat was taking the bait.

  “Hey, Kat… I miss you more than anything,” Flea said, worried that maybe this might not have been the right thing to say.

  Kat bought into it though, “Oh, shuttup, Brad. You don’t really miss me,” she said, giggling.

  She giggled differently than the way she laughed with Milo. She meant it more.

  “When can I see you again?” Flea asked, working up to his master plan.

  “How about tomorrow… at Big Boy? I’m already wet,” she whispered into the phone.

  Flea thought, “That’s hot.” But actually said, “The alley behind that one place like the other day. I’ll meet you there,” Flea said. “Five O’clock.”

  “Sounds good, baby boy, I’ll be there ready to rock your socks off…” she said, “But, hey, I gotta go. See you then, bye, bye, bye.”

  Kat hung up and Flea wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

  She took the bait.

  Now he just had to get Milo to the spot and show him exactly what had been going on this whole time behind his back.

  Tomorrow it was. Hopefully the day that Flea would prove to his best friend what a cheat
ing, conniving little skank slut Kat really was. He was lucky he hadn’t attracted any STD’s by now (if he hasn’t already). Oh no, maybe he has, Flea thought, Maybe he has and just hasn’t told me.

  Flea closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep, but he was too excited to sleep. He decided to stay up late and try to watch The Fleshlight Zone. Which was one of Flea’s favorite flicks ever.

  Hopefully he’d fall fast asleep. Hopefully tomorrow was a better day. Maybe the stars would align and his best friend would shine in the night. Hopefully it was a day of fucking judgment.

  Chapter 19

  Milo was quickly nearing Level 69. In fact, he’d pulled another all-nighter and was only a few levels away. He was blasting through levels like it was nobody’s business. He even acquired a new blister on top of the other blisters that he’d already got from playing NATARI so much. When Milo’s blisters would pop and open up, leaking pus and flesh juice out of them—he’d simply pump a little bit of crazy glue in the wound, seconds later, drying up and leaving a hard surface, in which, this helped him coddle the joystick while playing video games. There was only one other game that did this to Milo, and in his mind, Pink Planet was ten times better than that.

  Milo chugged through a couple of the hottest levels in the game in the past few nights, one of them hosted an orgy. He controlled a swinger that fucked pretty much all the hot broads in the room. He had four of them going, as he threw button combos left and right, while fucking one missionary, while eating one out in his face, while the other two face-fucked everything within their sight. Another featured Don Ronrigo’s asshole (who was the main character in that sequence).

  Another level featured a geisha. He’d always had a weird obsession with the concept of a Geisha, and this one, in Pink Planet was crazy hot. So hot that Milo actually paused the game to lay down on his bed and whack at it until semen flew through the air, and up into his face. He even thought about tasting it as it dripped down his nose toward his mouth, but he felt like it would probably make him puke.