Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Or is it? All characters herein are imaginary. Or are they? All events described here are fictitious. Oh, really? All locales described here are real and actual. If you had been to the unnamed places, you would recognize them. But this story is not to be taken seriously. Or is it? All sexual activity depicted here involves human persons at least 18 years old. Really. No host-mothers were harmed in writing this story. Not yet, anyway.
If you have not read the previous episode, you will not get this one.
--06-- (1987)
Your eye is a magic camera lens.
A scene opens before you, a birds-eye view of a rolling hilly landscape with groves of oak trees, threaded by a four-lane divided highway lined with light industrial parks. You are somewhere in California.
Your eye moves toward a nondescript anonymous big-box building, set in a fenced campus of similar big boxes, and through a wall-size mirrored outer window.
You are in sparsely-decorated reception area. Low tables and chairs are set against the tinted glass walls that only allow outwards vision. A long receptionist's desk fronts a woven-wood wall bearing a minimalist corporate logo:
muGen
, where 'mu' is the lowercase letter of the Greek alphabet.
A single door penetrates the wall to the left of the reception desk. Your eye passes through that door. The next room is obviously a security cell with a single vault-like door. Your eye penetrates that door also, into a long corridor lined with anonymous steel doors.
A larger ironwood door is at the far end of the corridor. The door opens for you. Beyond is a spacious office with a large mostly-clear desk and a few uneasy chairs. The poster-size images on the otherwise bare walls are of biochemical structures: protein molecules, DNA strands, crystal diffraction patterns.
Two chairs are occupied by middle-aged white men in light suits. The founder and CEO of
muGen
, who looks nothing like Dicky Attenborough, is being interviewed by a famous doctor-turned-author of techno-thriller novels and screenplays. An LED display on the desk shows the current date and time: 1987-03-05 14:25:10.
Your magic eye passes through the walls and into the adjacent big-box building. Inside are laboratories filled with incompehensible devices, biochemical equipment, racks of computers, enclosed vats and reactors, atomic scanners, all the paraphenalia of modern biomedical research.
A conference room is set amongst the laboratory space. The walls are lined with giant computer display screens. One screen indicates the progress of various projects. Your magic eye roughly translates the project and status codes. These include:
Ichthyyosaur - 035.3
Trannosaurus - 052.7
Sabre-Tooth - 083.6
Woolly Mammoth - 087.4
Greatest Ape - 001.2
Your eye returns to the office at the end of the corridor in the first building. The interview is over. The CEO who looks nothing like Dicky Attenborough is shouting into a telephone handset. He is very displeased at the progress of one important project. Heads will roll. Again.
That project will not show significant progress for many more years.
Your magic eye closes for now.
--07-- (1994)
Chestnut-haired nineteen-year-old Linda Myers felt rather good at the moment. She and her dark wild little roommate Dolores had lured a couple of horny virile varsity baseball jocks to their off-campus Berkeley apartment, on this beautiful clear late-fall Sunday in 1994.
Linda felt two engorged black cocks actively engaging her heated nether holes. She reclined on David, whose radioactive prick was fully embedded inside her expanded anus, while Jamal crouched tautly atop her, sheathed in her vagina, pedal to the metal, shiny side up.
Dolores squatted easily over Linda's wide mouth and rode her questing tongue with her luscious pussy. They moved together in intricate, primal rhythms. A merry time was had by all, yes indeed.
Linda and Dolores normally spent their short weekends this way, although the numbers and genders of their fucktoys varied. They had worked out a proper schedule. Weeknights were for studying, usually, unless some really hot prospects appeared. Short weekends for for fuckfests.
On long weekends and longer breaks, Linda happily returned home, making the four-hour drive through the Napa-Sonoma wine country and across the mountains to the Mendocino coast.
Linda loved being home regularly. She loved the familiarity, and listening to her Grandma Ann's stories, and helping at the family B&B. She loved hearing Daddy Dave and her two moms fucking upstairs when they thought they were being so quiet. For fifty-year-olds, those ancient farts were still pretty hot, yeah!
Linda sometimes spied on them. Their couplings and triplings were so beautiful, so erotic, so many tempos and tones of love, filled with energy and emotion and joy. Sometimes Linda cried as she watched them.
And Linda loved sleeping-over with her friends Ilsa and Chris. These two had wandered for a year after graduation, then returned home, to safe jobs in the lumber company offices, in the building named after Linda's father and brother as a memorial. Ilsa and Chris were endless sources of love and comfort.
"Linda gal, you ever get tired of the big city, you know you'll always have a place with us here."
"I love you both so much! Yeah, my work is there, but my heart is here. I'll always come back to you."
Linda missed her two older 'sisters' who now had lives and careers far away. Nancy practiced law in Seattle. Julie designed microchips in Austin. She only saw them on rare holiday reunions.
No reunion was on hand this long Thanksgiving weekend, just four days of at-home down time.
Besides the comforting sex with her loving friends, Linda decided to focus her efforts on the bed-and-breakfast. This focus led her to the downstairs storage space next to the back porch. In the far corner of that dark hold, she found an old upright steamer trunk.
The trunk had remained there, unopened, the sixteen years since her mother Sue last closed it. The packets and folders Sue had last handled were still atop the contents. These files are what Linda opened and read first. And as her mother had been, Linda was shocked to her core.
Silver-haired eighty-two-year-old Ann Driscoll was still spry and active. Ann was working in her garden again today. Linda walked up to her carrying the dusty manila packets.
"Grandma, please come inside. I want to show you something."
Ann looked up from her plant tending, turned pale, and whispered, "Oh shit, not again."
Linda was shocked even further. She had never before heard her grandmother curse.
"Grandma, is this a put-on or something? Or..."
Before Linda could finish her question, Ann collapsed, breathing hard, her jaw clenching.
Linda screamed, "Grandma! GRANDMA! Oh fuck, oh fuck, GRANDMA! HELP! HELP!"
Linda cradled Ann's still form. Kathy ran from the house to them.
Linda yelled, "Mama Kathy, Grandma's hurt! Call an ambulance!"
The paramedic unit arrived five minutes later and had Ann in the emergency room at Coast Medical Center just seven minutes after that. Ann was in surgery for five hours.
The fatigued surgeon walked through the waiting room door and faced the gathered anxious family.
"Mrs Driscoll suffered a severe CVA, a stroke. A blood clot lodged in her brain and caused considerable damage. We repaired what we could, but much of the damage is irreversable. It's unlikely that she will ever walk or talk again. Worst case, she may be totally paralyzed. I'm sorry. You may want to talk to a staff counselor. I must go now. Again, I am so sorry."
Linda held her two moms and cried.
"Oh shit, oh shit, it's all my fault. I had those old clippings and she just..."
Sue squeezed her daughter tightly.
"Darling, you couldn't have known. No, it's my fault, not yours. I promised never to let anyone know what was in the trunk. I should have burned everything in it years ago. That goddam beast is going to kill my mother after all."
Sue squeezed Linda harder, crying.
"We've got to burn that stuff today, right now. Kathy, Dave, go get the incinerator lit. I'm going to see Mom for a while, but I'll be home soon, and I'm going to throw all that trash into the fire myself."
And that is just what happened. Dave and Linda hauled the trunk to the back. Sue pulled out every scrap of paper and film and cardboard, and fed them to the flames. Then Dave took an axe to the trunk and broke it into scraps of kindling. Those pieces also went into the incinerator. Soon, only ashes remained.
Only ashes -- and one hair-filled envelope that had fallen unnoticed onto the storage room floor and been kicked behind a packing box.
Linda came into the storage space again for a final clean-up before returning to Berkeley. And she found the big fat manila envelope full of thick black hair, the envelope marked KONG.
Linda felt apprehensive. She was not as freaked-out as she had been just days before, but her guts still twisted slightly. On impulse, she hid the parcel in her overnight bag. She took it back to hers and Dolores' apartment. She worried.
-----
Dolores let herself into the shared off-campus apartment that Monday night. She found Linda laying back on the couch, the old envelope in her hands.
"
Hola chica
, how you doing tonight? What you got there?"
"Dolly, this is something that's been eating me. I've gotta tell someone. I trust you. I love you. You've gotta promise that this stays between you and me."
"Hey, I've never seen you so serious. Of course I promise, baby. What's up?"
"We took that 20th Century US History class together. Do you remember the module on the Depression?"
"Yeah, well, some of it. That's kinda ancient history now. They didn't even have TV then!"
"Do you remember the stuff about King Kong?"
