Richard Longrod This Is Your Life

EDITOR:

Miriam Belle

CREATIVE CONSULTANTS:

Miriam Belle, John Cobb

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

-"This is, without a doubt, the weirdest story I have ever put to paper. I did my best with the Spanish parts of the dialogue, so please forgive me if I got it wrong ... Enjoy!"

***

Richard lay in bed with his wife Fanny. It was another morning in their simple, every day lives. As usual, Richard was wearing his black silk boxers, his trim muscular body tight even in a state of relaxation. His broad muscular pectorals were firm and like granite. He looked over at his wife and tried to readjust his boxers. The long, thick penis resting against his inner thigh was both tingling and bothersome for him. The bulbous head peeked out from beneath the hem of the shorts like a snub-nosed python, ready for a new day of hunting.

"Sweetie?" he asked quietly.

"Yes?" Fanny yawned and rolled over to face him. Her full 44 FF breasts crested in the motion and then fell to rest on Richard's right arm and part of his chest. The huge tits were smooth and milky white, every so often a faint blue vein visible under the skin. Richard looked down at the two long, thick nipples protruding out at least an inch from her saucer sized areolas. Fanny looked at him, her hand resting on her naked hip.

"Do you think he'll give us a break today?"

Fanny sighed and slowly sat up, her hair already silky and shiny, the dark shoulder length locks full of as much bounce as her impressive bust line. She licked her cherry red lips and shrugged, "Well, ever since he put us here, it's been every day."

Richard sat up a little too quickly and sat on his penis. He winced, his mouth open in a silent "o" of private pain. He blinked, "I mean, it's been two years now and all he does is write us the same bull shit stories."

"I know," Fanny kissed him on the cheek and smiled, "But it could be worse."

"How could this be worse?" Richard asked, his dark handsome features pinched into a sexy scowl.

"He could have written us as mass murderers or talking dogs?" Fanny looked at the ceiling thoughtfully as she cupped her massive tits and massaged them gently.

"Yeah," Richard said, "And he could have written us as intelligent human beings too! But no, I'm the cliché with a 12-inch dick and the perfect Olympian body. I have no character motivation. I have no personality quirks!"

"Yes you do," Fanny reassured him as she rubbed her right nipple back and forth between her thumb and forefinger.

"I don't even have a last name, Fanny!"

"Sure you do."

"What is it then?"

Fanny closed her eyes for a moment, thinking back over their many stories.

"We have to have the same last name, Fanny," he said flatly.

After a moment, she said, "Oh wait. What was that one story where you had to fuck the three women in the Toys 'R' Us bathroom?"

"I think it was 'Adult Toy Store Boogaloo,'" Richard groaned.

"Wasn't that the story where he gave you the last name 'Longrod'?"

Richard pursed his lips. "Richard Longrod?"

"I think it's cute," she smiled.

"Dick Longrod."

He looked at her, "And you're Fanny Luhvsgood-Longrod?"

"I didn't want to lose my maiden name."

Fanny nodded and began applying baby oil to her toned body, starting with her breasts. She dribbled the oil over her mounds and then began slowly rubbing it in with her open palms. The clear liquid rolled down her curves in small streams to her clean-shaven pussy where it collected in her slit and then dribbled down to her ass.

"Fanny, I can't do this today," Richard stood up, being careful not to pull on his cock again, "It's too much, okay?"

"We don't have much choice," she rubbed the oil onto her thighs, spreading her legs out as her massive globes hung down, shining and glistening, "Woo, these are kinda heavy. I think my tits have gotten bigger."

"I can't," he said, "I won't. I'll lodge a protest!"

"A protest with who?"

"When he calls, I'm going to complain," Richard snapped his fingers and went to the closet. He slid the door open and found the space empty. He sighed, "Why can't he just write me a regular wardrobe?"

"Just be patient," Fanny stood up, arching her back and twisting to her side to get the oil on her shapely round buttocks. She almost lost her balance as her breasts pulled her forward. She giggled and righted herself. Her tanned skin was without tan lines as she rubbed the oil in, small moans of pleasure escaping her pouty lips. She looked at him and smiled a sexy little grin.

"You do this every morning," Richard exclaimed, "Why the baby oil?"

"It's sexy."

"Baby face it. We are just delivery systems for a huge cock and ridiculously large tits."

Fanny pointed at him, "I don't hear you complain when the story calls for a tit-fucking sequence now do I?"

"Well no," he admitted, "But can't we have a story with a plot? Just once, a good erotic horror piece or some kind of mind control story?"

"That would be nice," Fanny's eyes lit up as she opened the bedroom window and let the morning light pour in. It cascaded over her sexy body, reflecting off the oil and giving the two gardeners in the front yard a hell of a show. She winked at them and continued her application of the oil. She said, "I've always wanted to be in a vampire story."

"The point here is," Richard rubbed his eyes, "I'm the guy who has to sit with the other characters at lunch and listen to them talk about their incredible stories. Every day they have something new and exciting, adventure and intrigue. Hell, I'd even take domestic melodrama, Fanny!"

"We're all characters on the same site," Fanny began pawing through her dresser drawer. It was filled with halter-tops, short skirts and lingerie. She held up one of the halter-tops, a red one with polka dots. She draped it against her body, "Would this look okay today?"

"How come you get a wardrobe?" Richard gaped.

"Well, he thinks about what I'm wearing more than he does you," she said, "He is a guy after all."

The phone rang and Richard ran over to it, ready to give the so-called writer a piece of his mind. "Hello?"

"Richard, hello. How are you this morning?"

"It's the asshole writer," Richard cupped his hand over the phone, his face contorted in a grimace of pain, and then to his boss, "Well sir, to be honest I'm not v-"

"Good good, glad to here it. Listen, is Fanny with you?"

Richard sighed. "Yes sir."

"Good," the writer said cheerfully, "Now I have a new story for you and this one is a real departure for you and Fanny I think."

Richard felt a spark of hope in his powerful chest. "Really?"

"Yes really. After thirty stories of you and Fanny exploring every possible permutation of every sexual fetish imaginable, except child porn..."

Richard shivered, liking the writer less and less.

"... I've decided that our next adventure should have more of a story to it."

Richard nodded. "You know I agree. And I had a few ideas-"

"Right baby right," the writer cut in, "Look in your closet. You'll find the script and the clothes you'll need. I think this one will be the big time, Richie. Think big."

'One of us does already,' Richard looked down at the trouser snake hanging out the bottom of his shorts.

"Okay then," Richard said, "But can we at least-"

"No time baby, no time," the writer said quickly, "I'm in the Survivor Contest and I have thirteen other stories to finish today."

"But-"

"This one is for nude day, and I think it's gonna be great."

"But I-"

"Cool baby," he said and the line went dead.

Richard opened the closet and found two scripts on the top shelf, along with a smart looking business suit and dress shoes. He grabbed the scripts and took them into the bedroom. Fanny had just slipped into her daisy duke shorts and a blue tank top that barely contained her huge tits. Her large nipples poked out the thin material in small peaks that did nothing but beckon the unsuspecting eye. Her thick, lustrous hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

"Here," Richard handed her the script and then picked up his own and began thumbing through it.

"The title is 'Have Cum, Will Travel,"" Fanny smiled to herself, "I guess that's cute."

"Yeah," Richard snorted, "Right up there with 'Bone-nanza' and 'McClit-tock!'"

"I'm gardening nude today," she read the first page, "And I innocently catch the eyes of two lusty, horny Mexican gardeners..."

Richard sighed.

Fanny looked out the window and smiled at the two men mowing her lawn. She waved and smiled, "Hi Jose! Hello-" she glanced down at the script, "-Miguel!"

From the backyard came the distant reply, "¡Hola señora Longrod! ¡Miramos adelante a doblarte sobre la capilla de nuestro carro y la cogida la mierda viva fuera de ti en varias ocasiones de maneras tu marido estúpido, blanco podría soñar solamente con!"

"What did he say?" Richard asked.

"You boys don't work too hard!" Fanny called, giving her soon-to-be fuck buddies an incredible view, and then to Richard, "I have no idea."

"Tus pechos son humongous, como las sandías mi abuela criada cuando era un pequeño muchacho. Quisiera aspirar en tus entrerroscas, puse mi martillo entre tus tits y la cogida ellos hasta I cum por todas partes ti, tú perra estúpida," came another shout, followed by laughter.

"I'll have lemonade later!"

"¡Tu marido coge vacas y los vestidos dyslexic de la manera de una prostitute masculina!"

"Okay then," she smiled, waved and closed the window, "Such nice immigrant workers."

"Great," Richard flipped through the dangerously thin script, "Now we're into racial slurs and bias. Thank you so much, Mr. Writer sir."

"I was wondering why those guys were out there today..."

"You're going to have a three-way with those guys?" Richard exclaimed and pointed to the scene in question, "You're my wife! Don't vows mean anything to this guy?"

"This coming from the man who fucked my mother and sister three stories ago for a Christmas submission?" Fanny raised a brow.

"Like I could help it," Richard shot back, "He wrote that scene, not me."

"And you hated every minute of it, especially when mom and sis double blew your cock?"

"I am so fucked," Richard moaned, his eyes glued to the script.

"Why?"

"I have sex with four women at work today," Richard said and tossed the script down.

"And you're complaining?"

He went to the closet and started getting dressed. As he put the white dress shirt on he mumbled to himself, "Great. Now I get to sit around the lunch table again and talk about how all I did was bang a bunch of background characters whilst advancing a plot no more substantive than an episode of 'Baywatch.' Everyone else is fighting off aliens, or killing monsters or dealing with social issues of relevance but me? I'm just fucking around..."

Fanny opened her bottom drawer open and reached inside. She pulled out two long dildos, one at least a foot long and the other small, but much thicker. She asked, "Okay, I have to be on the patio naked later on this morning. Which dildo should I be masturbating with? The Flesh Pole or the Tooth Chipper?"

"Why would you be naked on the patio and masturbating in plain view with a dildo? What's the logic to that?"

"Well," she laughed incredulously, "Because Julio and Mario need a way to segue into our group sex, Richard."

"Use the foot long," he rolled his eyes and tightened his tie.

"It stretches my pussy out too much," she admired the mammoth phallic toy and licked her lips hungrily.

"Whatever happened to subtly? To nuance and the slow build of sexual tension? There's gotta be a reason for us to be nude today."

Fanny ignored him, running her fingers over the large rubbery dildo.

As he brushed his teeth, Richard talked to his reflection through a mouthful of toothpaste, "You wanna talk about subtlety? This dickhead's stories have all the subtlety of an Annie Sprinkle performance piece..."

"When are you going to be home tonight?" Fanny called.

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of," she replied, "I mean, you're supposed to walk in on me and the gardeners towards the end of the third act."

"And this spurs me to what?" Richard finished putting his clothes on, slipped into his comfy work shoes and grabbed his briefcase, "Another torrid affair?"

"I guess so," she eyed the last page as she sat on the edge of the bed, "The ending is open for another chapter."

"You wanna know what this pointless cul de sac of a story is worth?"

Fanny cocked one of her brows quizzically, "What?"

Richard opened his briefcase and showed the empty interior to her, his eyes wide and mouth open in mock shock, "Oh, look at that? NOTHING!"

"Really Richard, calm down."

"It doesn't matter if I see you in a threesome with the fucking Frito Banditos out there," he slammed the case shut, "No one cares. The writer doesn't care. He didn't even fill my briefcase with anything! It's just a prop. This story is just cheap gimmick to make a submission for Nude Day and the Survivor Contest. It has no substance! I have no substance!"

"But you have a lovely singing voice," she offered.

Richard stood there for a moment, his mouth agape and heart thundering. Finally, after a long horribly drawn out moment of true despair he left the bedroom, "I'm going to work now."

"Have a nice day," Fanny said cheerfully.

"Fanny," he paused at the door, "Do you have any idea what it is I do all day long?"

"No," she shrugged and looked at him, "What do you do?"

"I have no clue," he shook his head, "That's why I asked."

***

Richard sat down at his desk and tossed the script into his top drawer, where it joined the fifty-eight other erotic stories his creator had conjured up in the last year. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair, his ethnic features smoldering with a faux sexuality he could hardly bear to carry anymore. It was all so fake, so manufactured he wondered what would happen if he threw himself out the window of his sixty-ninth story office? Would he die or would he simply wake up to find himself at the beginning of another mind numbing day with Fanny in that goddam bed and waiting on a script that read as though it had been written by a horny eighth grader?

"I can't even kill myself," he muttered.

He loosened his tie and looked at his desk, trying to determine just what the hell it was he was supposed to be here. He had a stapler, he had two small bottles of white out and a desk planner. There was a sleek black phone and a cup full of pens. On the desk was a wedding portrait of his and Fanny's ceremony (the racy dress she had chosen pushing her impressive cleavage out so that the emphasis of the picture wasn't on the happiness of the blessed occasion but on the fun bags his wife had been graced with). He drummed his fingers on the desktop and looked into the darkened computer screen in front of him.

"Good morning Richard," came a sultry feminine voice from behind him. It was Cathy O'Malley, the secretary for his in-story boss. Having read the script already, he knew that she was going to be tall, attractive and redheaded. She would be wearing a smart business suit, dark in color and a sexy match to her short stylish red do. Her eyes would be a piercing emerald green, sparkling and smoking with an honest midwestern innocence and wanton lust as only a repressed woman could exude. And of course, her lips would be full and moist in a graphic and painfully obvious allusion to her other set of lips, with the promise that would be even more full and moist upon their reveal later on.

"Good morning, Cathy," Richard looked at the drawer holding the script, "How are you today?"

"I'm a little tired," the sexy redhead passed him, her shapely ass at eye level, "But otherwise..."

"Have an interesting weekend?" he said flatly, his eyes sullenly looking at his computer.

"My boyfriend broke up with me," she pouted and sat on the edge of his desk, her nylon encased thighs crossed and offered for the gawking, "He said I wasn't, oh you don't want to hear this..."

"No please," Richard recited, "I am interested. Tell me what happened."

"Well," she looked down, lowering her voice a little, "He said we weren't compatible sexually."

"What a moron," he responded woodenly and opened his briefcase, "Does he not see he had gold in his hand. You're perfect."

"Oh Richard..."

He rolled his eyes as he forced the words out of his mouth, "No, really. It's the truth Cathy. Why, if it were me I wouldn't be complaining."

"You're such a sweet guy," she smiled sexily and put a hand on his, "You're always there for me."

Richard let his head fall on the desk with a resigned thud, "Oh, you know me."

"I was wondering," she glanced down at the wedding picture on his desk. She picked up the gold frame and ran her finger around the edge of it, "Are you busy for lunch?"

"Oh no," his said, his nose flattened against decorative desk planner and voice shoved into a nasal parody, "My wife forgot to pack my lunch."

"Shame on her," Cathy placed the picture face down on the desk, "I'd never forget to make your lunch, Richard."

"That's so kind," he breathed.

"Why don't you meet me in my office later?" she ran her fingers over his neck seductively and brought his head up so she could look in his eyes, "Maybe you can have a bite of my lunch."

"Is it something sweet?" he asked bitterly.

"Oh yes Richard," she whispered, "And warm..."

"Moist?" he closed his eyes.

"So very moist, Richard," Cathy said in his ear, "Something you can nibble on."

"I can't wait," Richard forced a smile on his face and sat up straight, "It's been so long since I had anything good to eat."

"Poor baby," she stroked his cheek and leaned forward, her ample cleavage nearly touching his face, "See you at lunch."

Richard watched her leave, her hips swaying in an erotic tease. His cock was thick and heavy against his thigh as he stood up and managed to walk to the water cooler. He grabbed one of the small paper cups and filled it with cool water and waited for the next irredeemable scene to begin. After a few moments of waiting, in walked Cara Neilson, her long blonde hair bouncing behind her. She looked at him and glared.

"You son of a bitch," she hissed and stood right up next to him, "How can you show your face here after what you did?"

"It's easy," Richard read his lines from memory, "I work here, Cara."

"You slept with my sister," she hissed at him, her wide blue eyes filled with watery tears, "I thought you loved me."

"Look baby," he cringed as the dialogue fell from his mouth like partially chewed sour food, "The heart wants what the heart wants."

"My sister was an only child and you took advantage of her," Cara crossed her arms over her athletic frame, "She doesn't know what love is."

"Who does?" he gulped the water down and looked at her, "Can I help it if she finds me irresistible?"

"But what about us?" Cara leaned in closer, "I thought we had something together?"

"We did," he said and poured himself more water, his mouth feeling dry and cottony, "But seriously, something so perfect wasn't meant to last."

Cara bit her bottom lip and only stared at him.

"Look," Richard gulped down the water and then tossed the cup, "I can't help the fact that I was male prostitute or that I made those snuff films. I can't change the fact that your sister likes having human excrement around as an aphrodisiac. It's in the past now, Cara. I can't change what happened between your sister and me. But I'm a man, and I have needs..."

"I understand," Cara looked away as tears streamed down her face.

Richard blinked, "You do?"

"Yes," she sighed, "I've been selfish."

"Seriously," he snorted, "You buy that lame ass excuse?"

"Yes, Richard," she nodded, "And I forgive you."

"But," he shrugged and held his hands out in open frustration, "It's a load of bullshit. I'm a womanizing asshole who fucked your sister purely for the thrill! Doesn't that make you mad?"