Fuc Mountain

Fuck Mountain, huh? A place for you to fuck away all your problems? That's a laugh, because there's only one problem I have, and that is my dead wife. No way I'm ever going to fuck that problem away.

Maybe if she was alive I could fuck her away. Maybe I could cheat on her by fucking other people so much that she'd leave me. That would technically be fucking a problem away, if my wife were the problem. But she isn't, the fact that she is dead is the problem. And that my friend is one problem I can't fuck away.

Because you can't fuck the dead back to life, in case you were wondering.

Anyway, I enter the first dank shithole bar I see at Fuck Mountain. Inside I see a smoky dame with a seat next to her that's longing to be filled. I pull up next to her.

"Care for a drink?" I ask.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic. I don't drink," she replies.

"Oh... Then what're you doing in a bar?"

"This bar only serves gin. I don't like gin."

"Ok. That makes perfect sense. You wanna fuck?"

"Sure."

And so I pull out my rock hard dick and start fucking her. You may be thinking that it's weird that I'm fucking her in the middle of the bar in front of everyone, but that's the sort of thing that goes down at Fuck Mountain. So it's totally normal that I'm fucking her in front of so many people. Just making sure you knew that and didn't think I was weird. I don't like it when people think I'm weird, it hurts my feelings.

So here I am, fucking this hot broad, my dick going in and out of her, just like the question of who killed my wife goes in and out of my head. But unlike these questions, my dick didn't make this girl cry. At least not in a sad way.

"Is that all you got? Fuck me harder bitch!" She exclaims. And that wasn't all I had. So I fuck her harder, much harder in fact. Thankfully she told me that she wanted it harder, or else I wouldn't have gone harder. I was under the impression women didn't like it so hard and was afraid of maybe hurting her, but now that she had made her thoughts known I was able to fuck her the way she wanted me to. If she hadn't, I would've kept fucking her in a way she wouldn't have preferred as much. This is an important lesson in just how vital it is to make your sexual preferences know instead of just assuming your partner can read your mind.

Anyways I'm still fucking her. She seems to be pretty into it. That's cool. I would feel bad if she wasn't, like I was doing something wrong and should go back to Fuck School. The main problem with that is there actually isn't such thing as a Fuck School, so you got to learn to fuck on your own.

I remember how I learned to fuck on my wife. My wife, she was a great person to learn how to fuck on. Gave me lots of constructive feedback while not putting any undo stress on me to always be perfect. My wife, god I miss my wife.

Back to this girl I'm fucking. I'm putting my dick into her and pulling it out a bit before putting it back in. That's it. I'm not very good at coming up with descriptive phrases to describe sex. I hope that's not going to be a problem for you.

So I do the whole fucking her for a bit thing before finally cumming. Afterwards she turns to me and asks "Was that good for you?"

"Yes." I reply back. "You?"

"That was... ehhhhhh. Pretty good, not great. A for effort though."

"K. Any chance I could ask you another question?"

"Sure."

"Do you know who killed my wife?"

"No. I didn't even know you had a dead wife, let alone one that was murdered. How would I know who killed your wife?"

"Well I just thought you might?"

"Why? Why would I ever know that?"

"I don't know, I just thought."

"Well I don't."

And so that was that. Another dead end in a life filled with them. At least this dead end let me get my fuck on.

Yet another question to add to my growing list. Who killed my wife? Why did I go to Fuck Mountain to find out who killed her? Why did I think that lady who I fucked would know who killed my wife.

And then the answer came so easily to me. The reason my wife was gone wasn't because she was dead, it was because the entire time... I was my wife.

Allow me to explain. There was a time when I used to be a girl, an unmarried girl at that. No guy would have me. I mean there was Josh but fuck Josh.

Then one day a man came to me, claiming to be me 10 years in the future. He'd gotten a sex change and gone back in time so that he could be with me. He asked me to marry him and I graciously accepted. It was the happiest day of my life.

But then 10 years passed and I knew that I'd have to leave him so I could get a sex change and go back in time to be with me 10 years earlier. I didn't know how to break it to him, so I left him a note telling him that I'd been killed and that my murderer was loose somewhere on Fuck Mountain. Hopefully he wouldn't take that personally and he'd go there to look for my killer and maybe get a rebound fuck to help make him feel better.

Then I just realized that the husband I'd given that letter to was me 10 years later after getting a sex change and going back in time. My mind was officially blown. This was a good and well thought out twist and a proper payoff for anyone who has been following along so far.

It's just a shame that I'd never get to see my wife again. But then I realized that I could whenever I gazed into the mirror. Sure, my wife might be 10 years older and have a dong now, but she's still my wife. And that's good enough for me.