Author's note: The following incidents are probably mostly fictional. All sexual participants are aged 18+. These unconnected standalone A TASTE OF INCEST tales include incestuous and bisexual groups, erotic horror, and bad jokes. If you object to these themes, please stop reading. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's. Your constructive comments are welcome. This is an entry in the 2014 Hallowe'en contest. If you like this, join the 1%ers and VOTE!
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An Taste of Incest: A Taste of Spirits
(are these ghost stories just tall tales? )
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"'Woh, that's fucking amazing! A minute ago your cunt was all dry and scratchy. You just about tore up my cock. Now you're so wet and soft and smooth. That was the juciest fuck of my life! How'd you do it?' 'Well, honey, sometimes I just have to pick the scabs and let the pus run a little.'"
Groans, boos and hisses circled the campfire. Wadded-up paper cups landed on the grinning speaker's head.
"And that's the tale of Sandpaper Sal, a real classic." Franz took a chug from the big bottle of Colt Stout Malt and passed it on. Sara wiped the mouth on her sleeve before slurping her own share and grunting.
"That was no ghost story! You're not real clear on the concept here, are you, boy?"
"Hey, ghosts, sex, bad jokes, whatever. It's not like we have an agenda."
Franz refilled the glass carburetor pipe with Candyland pot, took a good toke, and handed it on. He gasped after holding the lungful for almost thirty seconds. "Yeah," he wheezed, "we're just having fun, right? Hey, how about this one? My daughter has reached that age where she's asking embarrassing questions about sex. Just this morning she asked, 'Is that the best you can do?'"
More catcalls and thrown objects. The black-haired jokester only cackled.
Nathan looked at the fire-seekers and shook his head. The traditional family Hallowe'en party was following its traditional over-the-top pattern.
Nate's acreage of sugar pines next to a national forest made a nice camp-out setting, even if it was just beyond suburban sprawl. They could pretend civilization was more than four minutes away, that they were at the edge of a forsaken howling wilderness, and Wendigos prowled the night, and were-creatures hid behind the cedars and Douglas-firs.
Every Hallowe'en saw the return of a fluctuating cast of family members. Some were regulars; some only had occasional opportunity to gather. All loved the ritual: sit around a campfire, pass along food, drink, and smoke, and tell stories.
"Well, fuck you Franz, you're just as much fun as always, which ain't much. Hey, who's next with the storytelling. It's about around to you now, ain't it, Jaime?"
Jaime nodded at Sara of the flaming red hair. He took another spicy hit of Candyland, held it in, exhaled reluctantly, and started talking.
----- JAIME'S TALE -----
I am not real proud of this now but it seemed pretty awesome at the time.
You know how my little sister Judi was always nuts about supernatural and magic stuff. I do not mean pink-n-pretty Good-Witch-of-the-North dress-up playthings. Not Wicca, either. No, she 'studied' tarot and i-ching and other divinations, and she tried all sorts of chanting and meditation and astral projection and getting in touch with inner whatevers.
Judi and I were both in college. She was busy her first term at Uni. She came home for fall break tired but excited and buzzed too. I had already done a year at Tech here in town and was wired into the place, plus I did not have to stay in dorms -- I lived at home as a commuter student. I was relaxed.
Well, pretty relaxed, anyway. Judi had been bothering me the last couple of years, ever since she started growing a nice hourglass figure and a luscious face. I mean, she was always pretty, even if a bit spacey, but now -- WOW! Her lips were just naturally botox-pouting and her boobs were HUSTLER quality. I know because I compared pictures, heh heh.
I had a perv thing going. For Judi.
Sure, I had girls from school and from town, some girls I had known a long time and was catching up with, some new geek girls in classes who liked attention. No, I was not lonely. It helped that Tech did not push jock-worship. I need not worry about competition from footballers.
But Judi... My cock had been sucked many, many times, pushing its way into many, many mouths past many, many pairs of pursed lips. But none as beautiful as Judi's.
I intended to remedy this oversight, and soon. And Judi showed me how.
Like I said, she came home on break all excited and frothy. She could not wait to tell me about her latest.
"Jimi-jimi," she called out. That's what she had called me since she learned to talk. "You have just GOT to try this! I did it in dorms at Uni and it's amazeballs!"
"Yeah, what's so amazing?" I said nonchalantly. I watched my sister closely and not just all the sexy parts. I watched her expression. I could tell she was about to pop.
"Communicating with spirits, that's what's great! Not just clunky wee-gee board stuff. That's so... stiff, mechanical."
Hey, I was studying mechanical engineering. What is so wrong with mechanical? Although I had to admit I
was
a bit stiff by now, heh heh.
"So instead of a Ouija telegraph-like system, there's séances. I've read about them for a long time, sure, but I never tried one till just a few weeks ago. Real phat! Get the spirit in the room with us, actually talk with them, and sometimes even touch them. Well, I haven't touched any, but some of the girls say thay have."
Oooh, ectoplasm. How... stimulating. NOT! I tried to keep a poker face.
"Anyway, I've done a bunch of séances now, and I've talked with, like, oh, a bunch of artists, even Andy Warhol. Did'ya know Andy was secretly Mormon? No shit, he told me so himself. Said it was the best thing he ever did. Now he has his own planet and everything, and a harem... I didn't quite get what
kind
of harem. I'll ask him next time."
I did not ask Judi why Mr Warhol would return to Earth if he had his own realm.
"And I can't wait to talk to Jean-Michel Basquiat. Andy said he'd bring him tonight."
Basquiat. Oh-kaaay...
Did I mention that Judi is an Art History major? Not art itself -- she has zero talent, all she can draw is flies -- but she is totally soaked in movements and personalities.
"So now I know how to set up a séance, and I can't wait to get YOU into one. There's probably all sorts of stuff you wanted to ask somebody dead, right? Like, oh, I don't know, how about, who was that engineer guy, the one who built the Apple? Woozy or something?"
"It's Steve Wozniak, and Woz isn't dead yet. Anyway, that's electronics engineering. Who would I want to talk to? Somebody dead? I'll have to think on it."
"Well, think hard, Jimi-jimi. We can do this tonight. We''ll just wait till everyone else is asleep. Let's see, we'll need a table and chairs and candles and privacy... your room is bigger than mine and you have your table. So let's do it there, okay?"
That is exactly when I knew how to get her.
"Sure, sounds good. Everybody should be drunk and stoned enough to crash by eleven. We can set up then. Hey, that's around midnight. Should be a good time to catch some spirits. Okay, I'll clear everything off my table for this."
I snickered internally. Oh yeah, I knew just what to do...
I had all afternoon to set things up. I ran a wireless audio-video system off my desktop computer. I worked the video projection through a set of GoBos -- those are lighting templates with a cutout or screen to shape the light. I used templates of a human figure. I aimed multiple GoBo-equipped spots at a corner of the room; their overlapped images looked eerie. The computer supplied faces, clothes, and any other details for the figure, and also projected suitably-distorted sounds.
And who controlled all that? Just me, with the tiny remote hidden in my shoe, to tap-out codes with my big toe. And what voice would feed the distortion system? My own, from the tiny wireless mic clipped to my false wisdom tooth.
I did not take chances. I peered through Judi's notebooks while she showered and saw what artists she was interested in. I noted their names. Back at my computer, I loaded a database of images and voices. I would be ready for almost any artist Judi wanted to contact. I threw in a few engineers, just in case we got that far.
A predicted, the rest of the family drank or puffed themselves into oblivion before the late TV news started. I walked Judi to my bedroom and dimmed the lights. The computer monitor was off but its CPU hummed away quietly, awaiting commands.
I will not bore you with the séance preliminaries. A little this-n-that, yada yada.
We held hands across the table and Judi did some spirit-calling stuff. She called Warhol. I triggered the projector and invoked old Andy. His responses seemed to satisfy Judi. I had him excuse himself fairly quickly. She called Basquiat next and I invoked him too. Yes, now was the time...
"Jean-Michel, are you still making art, now that you're dead?"
I tried not to wince at Judi's dumb question. I triggered the voice distorter and sub-vocalized into my tooth-mic. The shimmering overlapped image seemed to speak.
"Yo Judi, the art is immortal; we are all immortal. The art is continuous, as are we. The art is not something we create but something that creates us. It creates us in spirit and mind and soul and sometimes in body, but not enough, not enough." The projected voice was a harsh, lilting whisper.
"What do you mean, not enough? Not enough for what?"
"Not enough to be material, to be a body, a living body. The material body goes dead and the spirit body lives on but it's not whole, it's missing so much, so much of the material world. It misses what it means to be a human animal."
"What is it missing? How can it ever be whole? Why do you want to be an animal?"
"Not just any animal; a human animal. You know the Moebius strip? You take a strip of paper, and cut it, and twist the ends, and join them together, and now the two-sided paper has only one side. It's gone from two-dimensional almost to three dimensional, but not quite. That's what minds are. Our minds have a half-twist that takes us from the animal to the spiritual, almost, but not quite -- the halfway point is where we're human. To be human is to be animal AND spiritual. But without the animal we're not human. And it hurts; oh, how it hurts."
"What kind of hurt? Is it pain? Can it be relieved?" Judi sounded anxious.
"What is the pain? Imagine all your blood drained from you. Imagine all your love drained from you, all your vision, your nerves, all gone. You are only an empty shell of spirit. No, not you --
*I*
