“Did you find anything in town?” asked her husband.

“I found an old laptop that weighs as much as a couple of bricks. Look at this thing,” she pulled the old grey machine out the white plastic bag. “Wow,” he ogled the hunk of plastic. “To think we sent men into space in the same time period that that was produced.”

“Alright, I’m gonna work.” “Okay, babe.” She closed the door to the shadowy den. It was the last place she wanted to work in, but, anywhere else, her husband and the cat would never stop bothering her. He’d badger her with her constant “hun’s” and the cat would insist on sitting on her lap, mewing over and over. To this day, the husband still didn’t know that a cat’s meow was worse than the squeaky noises of Styrofoam rubbing together. She had no clue what her next story was to be about, though her agent pressured her to make something up, she just couldn’t. She was way beyond writer’s block, but was suffering from severe writer’s fatigue.

After working for six months straight to get out some books and make some quick cash, the only thing she was, now, capable of was zoning, as if catatonic, or shopping on Ebay. But this was it. She needed to get back to work. Not everyone had the luxury to work on a writing career fulltime, but she wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, either. Wasted time would put her on the fast track back to the classifieds – back to accounting.

Down the Shrinking Hole was the series of Jonas, who discovered, what he thought, was a sinkhole under his bed. Every night, when his parents thought he was asleep, he’d disappear down the hole, and into the Land of Marbles.

What they didn’t know, her darling husband and aggravating agent, was that she was sick to death of f****** Jonas. If he stood before her, ever, she’d rip his foam head off and shove it up his

bubble gum a**. Then she’d go and light the JackTown Jiggery on fire, as the local puzzle makers, Bok and Don would explode, spattering her with jelly that she’d lick, pleasurably, off her skin. She plugged in the laptop, not expecting much of a show, from the piece of junk. Her Dell having been soaked by the pool earlier, but luckily, she kept back up. “Damn,” she cursed. She’d forgotten to check for USB outlets: The old lap top had none. Deciding she’d just pick up where she left off, she lifted the screen and pressed the on button. Wow, she thought. This really is a piece of junk. The lap top flashed a DOS screen at her, and a line of credits rolled for a few minutes.

But as she looked at the blank screen, she found that thoughts came to her, for the first time in months. She lifted her hands and touched the chunky keys and wrote, “Jonas fled down Bubble Gum Lane, looking for Mack, his two ton truck friend who was actually the size of basketball. “Mack,” called Jonas. “Where are you?” But suddenly, it got dark; the bubbly glass spun blue sky turned royalmidnight. A hot guy in a black suit approached her with a smile. “You look lost, pretty lady,” he said. “She knew she wasn’t, but smiled wide and looked into his eyes.” This look always trapped men. His eyes met hers, his jaw became slack, and his smile faded just slightly. “Can I,” he paused, “buy you dinner?”

She said nothing, but closed her big smile into a purposeful pout, turned her head, never relinquishing her gaze, and walked along the dark street. He followed. In the dark cabin, she poured him a Chivas Regal. “How did you know I like scotch?” He was sweet, she thought. A truly good guy, it was a shame. For a moment, she thought of turning him out. “Well, you should go. I’ve got things to do tonight.” “Well, why? Let’s get to know one another. I’m not dangerous. I won’t try to seduce you, I swear.” She blinked her large dark eyes and nodded her head just slightly. “Jonas,” he said. “My name is Jonas.” “I’m Sarah.”

They sat on her red velvet couch. He touched her thigh, igniting an all over buzzing feeling of her body. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t lie about not seducing her, though it appeared that way. Already, she didn’t want him to waste time only touching her thigh. She flashed him another purposeful pout and looked him in the eyes. If he was going to die, it would be his decision. He moved closer to her, smoothing his hand further up, pushing back her dress, all the way up to the fold of her lower torso. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to draw back. She raised her eyebrows and turned her head just slightly left, while keeping her eyes looking at his.

He pulled down the straps of her dress, displaying her breasts as if on a shelf. She encouraged him by pressing the back of his head downward. This was her way of giving herself time to change without him knowing, for she wasn’t as strong as most men until after. Aggressively, he kissed her all the way down, and then did his best to taste every centimetre of skin. She was hot for it, but, even more so, hungry. Sometimes, guilt changed her mind, but on night like those, her hunger always won. It was a shame, too, for he was a good guy; it was her that was bringing out this side of him. Normally, he would have been a gentleman. Deciding to enjoy him for a little bit, rather than tuck in, she lifted his face to hers and kissed him back. Her lips and tongue caressed him down his neck and

back over to his ear, her favorite snack. Like pigs ears, but only smaller. She licked his lobes. She loved full ones, they were soft and they were the best when fried! Like a French fry, soft in the middle, crunchy on the outside. She sucked his ear, he rubbed her between the legs. She sucked harder; he moaned. She widened her mouth around his entire ear, and tasted a bit of saltysting…

“Hun,” her husband was at the door. “Are you having a good time without me?” “What?” “I hear you moaning in here. Can you get porn on that old thing?” “I’m not even sure if it can get internet yet.”

“What in the world is this,” he asked, as he walked up behind. “She pounded his scrotum with the mallet. To make tender meat balls out of man, one must practically pulverize it.” His lips were peeled back and his eyebrows furrowed into his forehead. “Hon, I don’t think stores are gonna stock this in their children’s section.” She didn’t know what to say. She must have fallen asleep, for she didn’t remember writing those things. She set her finger on the pad and scrolled up fast. There it was, the last thing she remembered: “Jonas was with Mack. They were running around in the Sugar Forest, kicking up sugar storms that cut his skin. He licked his arms, and the sugar stung.” “Look, Hon, we need money, now that I’m out of work. Try to get some work

done…” he said as he walked to the door, gave her one more look of horror, and left.

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