Mushrooms From Outer Space

Mushrooms from Outer Space (With a Side of Pepperoni)

It was far fuckin' out.

Of course, Apple Annie was missing it as usual, having long ago gone inside to burn her incense and chant her incessant mantra.

But not Billy Deerfriend. No siree Bob. He was lying out here under the stars enjoying the show. The clouds had finally cleared and the best Leonid meteor shower in three decades was in full bloom.

Billy took another deep hit off his joint. There must be a thousand of them coming down an hour now, just like that manicured weather dude on TV said there would be.

Some weather. Rocks falling from outer space right onto your doorstep. Another one of Billy's patented shit-eating grins came over his face, as the weed permeated his brain, shutting down those troublesome higher centers once again. Those centers seemed to be reviving with alarming frequency between tokes lately. Billy was beginning to think that Captain Happy might be starting to step on the dope he was selling Billy. The weed did seem to exude a troubling aroma reminiscent of eau de oregano. Billy thought he might be better off putting it on his salad than into his brain. He was going to have to confront Captain Happy about this. Either that or look for a different connection.

But those troubling higher centers were basically all shut down now, and Billy felt that he was communing with those shooting stars from outer space, that he was reading their thoughts and they were reading his. He sent out a mental greeting to his asteroid friends and felt a warm glow as his greeting was returned in kind. Right on your damn doorstep, he thought. Wouldn't that be the cat's pajamas. Even better yet right into your skull, man. There would be no troubling signals from his brain's higher centers then. No siree Bob.

Suddenly one of the shooting stars seemed to turn in Billy's direction.

"Far out," Billy whispered in appreciation to the night sky.

The meteor grew even brighter.

"Far out," Billy reiterated, his verbal capacity, never large to begin with, further diminished by the weed.

Unlike Billy, the meteor grew brighter and brighter. Somewhere deep in Billy's limbic system, a primal brain center finally activated. Suddenly Billy knew where his meteor pal was headed.

"Oh shit!" said Billy in a rare moment of enlightenment. He rolled quickly to his right as the scream of the meteor finally reached his ears. There was a tremendous crash to his left, at the approximate location that his head had just occupied. A spray of dirt and turf clumps covered Billy's face and chest.

Billy slowly rose to his feet and crawled to the small crater in the lawn where he had just been lying. Smoke and steam were still rising from the ground. Billy looked at the glowing rock that lay in the middle of the crater. It seemed somehow alive. He thought he could see things moving in its pores. The rock seemed to send out a mental greeting that warmed his brain, once again happily suppressing those nasty higher centers.

"Far out," said Billy, and reached down to lift his new friend from outer space out of the hole it had dug for itself. He was rewarded with an intense pain and the smell of burning flesh as the two thousand degree heat of the rock incinerated the flesh on the palms of his hands.

"Oh shit," Billy said.

Later they sat as usual on the kitchen floor, both naked as the day they were born, a candle burning beside them. Apple Annie sat in full lotus position, Billy with his legs and ankles crossed. Beside them, the meteorite still steamed in the wheelbarrow they had used to drag it into the house.

Also as usual, Apple Annie had Billy's throbbing shaft firmly grasped in her right hand, squeezing it while she traced the fingernails of her left hand up and down its length. Billy sighed helplessly as her left hand reached down to grasp his balls firmly, squeezing them alternately in turn as her right hand began to pump his stiff organ mercilessly.

"I want to test your control tonight, Billy," she said in the pseudo-spiritual whispering voice she saved for such occasions. "I want you to take my breasts in your hands while I try to milk you tonight. Don't disappoint me, Billy. We are never going to get to the next step if you don't progress."

Obediently, Billy reached out to seize both of Apple Annie's firm and magnificent globes with his bandaged hands. His palms ached at the touch of her flesh, but he slavishly began to knead her tits with his relatively unscorched fingertips as best he could.

In the meantime, Apple Annie leaned forward to take Billy's earlobe in her mouth. She tugged it back and forth and then ran her tongue around the inner workings of his ear, all the while pumping his stiff organ harder and harder with her right hand and squeezing his balls brutally with her left.

"Remember, Billy, the secret to tantra is control. If you want to progress to the next step, to have your lingam in my yoni, you must exercise complete control."

Billy's cock was throbbing now and his balls, squeezed ever more tightly in Apple Annie's teasing hands, aching for release. He did not know how much longer he could hold out.

Despite his best effort, Billy felt a drop of precum emerge from the tip of his shaft. It was immediately detected by Apple Annie's right thumb, which was rubbing its way back and forth over the offending opening in Billy's tool, monitoring him for the first signs of a spiritual transgression.

She immediately withdrew both her hands from Billy's genitals and her tongue from his ear, then held her right thumb in front of his face so that he could witness the offending drop for himself.

"I am very disappointed, Billy. I thought you were progressing faster than this," she told him harshly. She rose and stormed from the room, her naked butt swaying tauntingly back and forth as she climbed the stairs.

Billy's balls ached and his pulsing organ throbbed, pleading for full release.

Suddenly, Billy heard a high-pitched voice somewhere to his right say, "Eat me."

"Excuse me," Billy said, turning his head to the right. He saw a small group of mushroom-like fungi standing next to the meteorite, apparently growing directly from the metal of the wheelbarrow.

One of the mushrooms opened a tiny little mouth. "I said, 'Eat me!'" it yelled in a tiny little voice.

Billy was reminded of

Alice in Wonderland

and the dangers inherent in eating things that invited you to do so.

"What did you say?" he asked incredulously.

Suddenly, the mushroom was transformed into the fictional redhead that was the perpetual subject of Billy's masturbatory fantasies.

She rose from the wheelbarrow, her firm breasts jutting out, her finely defined calf and thigh muscles flexing as she stepped down from the wheelbarrow. She lay down on the kitchen floor and spread her legs, splaying herself wide open for Billy's entertainment and enlightenment.

"What part of 'eat me' don't you understand?" she asked him.

Billy thought he got it now. She was like that mushroom-induced hallucinatory god Mescalito who was the subject of that renegade anthropologist Carlos Castaneda's Don Juan tetralogy. Billy knew a little something about anthropology, having spent two months as preanthropology major over at Clearwater Community College before that bastard Professor Thornstein had failed him on the third retake of the first hour exam, forcing Billy into his present career as a Delivery Associate at Pizza King. Billy thought he knew a few things about hallucinations, too. And at this point, there was little about the phrase "eat me" that he didn't understand given the present context.

He crawled over to his masturbatory fantasy made flesh, dragging his still-throbbing genitals along the tiles of the kitchen floor until he reached the object of his masticatory desire. He took her mound in his mouth without hesitation, as she reached down to grab the sides of his head, shoving his mouth more tightly against her crotch.

She swung her hips up over him to ride his face, grinding her mound into him as he eagerly lapped her cunt. That cunt was so sweet and so warm and so wet and tasted so delicious (dare he say mushroomy?) in his deprived state, that he began to eat it as if there were no tomorrow.

The girl began to rock on his face as he tongued her, lapped her, sucked her and chewed her for all she was worth. She came several times, gushing a pungent fluid all over his face before she lowered herself on him.

Billy could feel the protruding erect nipples of her breasts as they contacted his lower abdomen, sending an electric thrill running through his body.

Then she took Billy into her mouth and began to suck him as he had never been sucked before. Her hunger seemed insatiable, and her mouth strangely talented. It was as though she had two or three tongues, each one capable of independent and very rapid movement. And each one very skilled and thoughtful in what it did. And her mouth seemed impossibly long as she took in Billy's full length and then kept it in without even gagging once. The walls of that mouth seemed to adjust to the exact size of Billy's prick, squeezing it and caressing it alternately as he began to fuck the redhead's sweet mouth for all it was worth. And after Apple Annie's torture, it was worth a great deal.

The mouth and tongues continued to milk him as the girl began to grind her cunt into his mouth even more vigorously. She seized his balls in her hand, using them as a makeshift saddle horn while she rode him like a wild cowgirl. Billy, who began the encounter with a prick already throbbing from Apple Annie's masochistic religious ritual, could hold back no longer. He felt the pressure building in his balls, which were being cruelly squeezed in the redhead's hands. He felt the jism shoot out of him, the redhead's supernatural mouth sucking every drop of fluid from his balls. He bit down on her clitoris in appreciation, but soon found that his mouth held only...

...a mushroom. The girl was indeed Mescalito after all.

He looked around at the kitchen floor. There were mushrooms growing everywhere now.

When he whipped it out to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, it felt a little strange. The hood seemed larger than usual, almost (dare he say it) mushroom-like. His burnt hands, however, seemed to be miraculously healed.

When Billy arose for his morning piss, his worst fears were confirmed. His organ had indeed been transformed into a mushroom. A rather large one though, thank God. That was at least some consolation. And as the urine streamed out of him, he thanked God again for the fact that it still worked. No reason why it had to. Would have been a bummer if it didn't, he thought, the idea of vomiting his urine out through his mouth not a particularly appealing picture.

He supposed he had better make yet another appointment with Dr. Peterschticker. Peterschticker had been the one who got him through that urinary tract infection last fall. Not to mention the gonorrhea back in '99 and the clap in '97. Or the herpes infection and the wart situation and his recent problems in properly performing Apple Annie's increasingly exacting tantric rituals. Peterschticker was the go-to guy, all right. He would know what to do in a situation like this.

When Billy went down to the kitchen, most of the floor and walls were covered with mushrooms. Apple Annie was sitting at the kitchen table, nude as usual, munching down her granola. She didn't seem to notice a thing.

Later that afternoon, at the pizza shop, he noticed Gina Ferrilli, the owner's daughter, looking at him strangely. Her massive tits were hanging halfway out of her peasant blouse as usual. How he longed to hold those jugs in his hands and mouth and run his fingers over her sweet olive skin. But Gina wouldn't give him the time of day, preferring the company of that borderline cretin and Harley-Davidson owner, Rocky Gambino.

Today, however, seemed different. Gina was eyeing him up and down as she rolled the pizza dough, stopping occasionally to wipe the flour off of her hands and onto the already well-decorated upper hemispheres of her sizable breasts.

Finally she wiped all the flour off her hands onto those magnificent globes and her apron, with a final dusting on her very tight and pleasantly ample ass.

"Come in the back room with me, Billy, I have something to show you," she said in that sultry voice of hers.

Billy went into the back room without resistance.

"I think maybe I've been underestimating you, Billy," she said, suddenly reaching for his crotch and grabbing his gonads tightly in her hand. You are a man of greater magnitude than I have given you credit for. I never really noticed this huge bulge in your pants for some reason."

She began to unzip him. Billy's higher brain centers suddenly recovered enough to remember the current state of his organ and he reached to stop her, but he was too late. The cat (or rather mushroom) was already out of the bag.

"Oh my," she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "I have never seen anything like that before, Billy."

Billy was touched by Gina's concern and reached down to stroke her hair.

"I mean it's magnificent, Billy," she whispered. "The most magnificent I have ever seen."

Suddenly, Billy understood. Gina wasn't seeing the mushroom thing that was in fact growing from his crotch, but the massive 14" cock that was the subject of her fantasies. It was the Mescalito thing all over again, only this time Billy was starring in the role of the mushroom.

Gina took him in her mouth and began to suck him like a toddler reunited with a long lost lollipop.

Billy held the sides of her head, stroking her hair as she sucked him. This was what he had always dreamed about. Gina Ferrilli on her knees taking him in her mouth, her gigantic breasts rubbing against his thighs while she deep-throated him. Of course in those fantasies, it was Billy's own cock that Gina was sucking, not some mushroom from outer space. But Billy had to give the mushroom from outer space credit. It felt better than his own cock. He could feel every bump on Gina's rapidly moving tongue and the softness and texture of the inner walls of her mouth as they rubbed against his throbbing, albeit fungal, member.

The sensations were ten times as great as anything he had experienced with his own prick, despite all of the efforts of that selfless medical crusader, Dr. Jonathan Thomas Peterschticker.

Gina released him momentarily to pull her peasant blouse over her head. As he had long suspected (knew for certain actually), she wore no bra beneath it.

She managed to lose the skirt and panties and footwear without taking her mouth off of Billy even for a second.

She did finally pull her eager little mouth off, licking her way up Billy's balls and shaft to make one request.

"Billy, honey, I have something to confess," she said in a quiet voice, "I kind of like it up the ass. Would you mind?"

She climbed aboard the meat-cutting table, lay face down on the table, spread her legs and butt cheeks, and in general "assumed the position."

She looked pretty good, Billy thought, her boobs spreading out beneath her, pressed flat against the wood of the table, her long jet black hair spilling over her naked back, the red eye of her ass exposed, just waiting for him. The pupil of that eye looked a tad dilated, Billy thought, as if it had grown accustomed to such activities. Obediently, Billy climbed aboard her, his massive mushroom cock having no trouble finding its way into her seemingly self-lubricating entrance. He collapsed on her back, feeling her long Italian hair tickling his chest as he began to pump her. Her ass felt even better than her mouth did, the way it gripped him so tightly, the sphincter contracting around him and squeezing him as he battered his way in and out of Gina's helpless body.

She reached underneath him to grab his balls while he pummeled her, which increased the sensations by another order of magnitude. In response, he began to shove his throbbing morel-like member even faster and faster into her ever-so-willing ass. He felt her trembling as if in orgasm and soon the pressure grew too great and he exploded inside her as she squeezed his balls tightly in her hands, milking him for every last drop. Except it felt more like spores than drops, Billy thought. A lot more like spores.

Later they sat naked on the floor, Gina's head buried in his shoulder, her gigantic right breast rubbing against Billy's chest. "That was perfect, Billy. Just perfect," she cooed. "I just wish it could last forever. I am so worried, Billy."

"Why?" he asked her, stroking her hair gently. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's just that Daddy may have to close the shop," she told him. "The mushroom guys are beginning to squeeze him, and I don't think he can afford to operate much longer."

Billy thought about the present state of his kitchen. "I have an idea," he told her.

When he got to Doc Peterschticker's office, he was actually beginning to feel pretty good about things, considering his present circumstances.

Peterschticker was being his usual avuncular, reassuring self. "Don't worry, Billy. I've been in urology for twenty years. Nothing you can show me is going to shock me, so if you don't mind..."

Nurse Swenson gulped. She had seemed more than a little squeamish when Billy had described his symptoms.

Obediently, Billy dropped trou, allowing his fungal organ to spring forth in all its glory.

Peterschickter performed what the Japanese call a

bushuru

(affectionately named for the first President Bush), fainting dead away on the floor, a long stream of vomit issuing from his mouth. So much for twenty years of urological experience, Billy thought.

It was that dark horse Nurse Swenson who proved to be the real trooper, eagerly falling to her knees, taking Billy's new and improved member into her mouth and sucking it for all it was worth.

Days later, old man Ferrilli had to hire hundreds of new delivery persons. The pizzas featuring Billy's mushrooms were selling like hot cakes, and the shop could barely keep up with the demand. Mushrooms were by now sprouting from Billy's forehead, cheeks, nipples, bellybutton and ass. The Nystantin Dr. Peterschticker prescribed for Billy's fungal infection did not seem to be working particularly well. That was to be expected, Billy thought. The treatments appropriate for yeast infections might not work so effectively on fungi from outer space, he supposed. They had offered surgery, but he was kind of growing attached to the mushrooms, especially to the very first mushroom that had sprouted from him. He did not know what he would do without it at this point.

No one seemed to notice the mushrooms much anyway. Hell, half the town was sporting the little critters on their foreheads and cheeks at this point. Apple Annie had especially enjoyed hers. A gift straight from Kali, she called it.

Poor Apple Annie. She had grown so tired that Billy had taken to performing the tantric rituals in her bed. Now she existed essentially as a bed of mushrooms. They grew from her body, her mattress, even the walls. Apple Annie had not moved much in the past couple of days. Billy was not even sure how much of Apple Annie was left anymore underneath all those mushrooms, if anything at all.

Billy was feeling kind of peaked himself as he rang Mrs. Gunnreil's doorbell. Mrs. Gunnreil was one of Pizza King's most loyal customers, and she always asked for Billy.

When she opened the door, Billy saw that she had sprouted two new mushrooms from her temples since last night. She looked tired herself.

"Billy, how nice to see you," she breathed. "Here, let me give you your usual tip." She opened her nightgown, exposing her large firm breasts, each now festooned with mushroom nipples.