Read Online Christmas on Crack by ed. Carlton Mellick III - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: ed. Carlton Mellick III
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mitten-covered
hands into the snow, to taste of it and make angels, but turned when I heard
something jingle.
Santa
stood over the bed; I hadn’t seen him arise. Though nude, he wore his trademark
bell-tipped hat at a jaunty angle. A ruddy glow brightened his cheeks; his belly
looked almost jolly. Below it, a long, thin penis curved like a candy cane.
Somehow, I knew it would taste of peppermint. As Santa stared at me —into me—a broad smile enlivened a face
that appeared years younger.
“Not
bad,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “But get on your belly, boy. It’s time to
call me Daddy.”
Edmund Colell is a newcomer in the bizarro scene.
I met him for the first time a couple weeks ago at BizarroCon. My first thought
when I met him was: “This guy looks kind of like if Shaggy from Scooby Doo was
a member of Guitar Wolf.” But after hanging out with him for a while I realized
that the comparison was way off because he didn’t once try to solve a mystery
while shooting flames from a guitar. Outside of his stories published through Verbicide and LegumeMan Press, I hadn’t read much of his work
before he pitched me this story idea. Christmas morning from the perspective of
AA batteries? Where being used in children’s toys is a battery’s idea of having
sex? Which makes Christmas morning the ultimate battery/toy orgy of the year?
In my world, that sounds like a must read story!
So toss
your stocking stuffers aside—nobody likes those fucking stupid wax syrup sticks
anyway—rip open some presents, slide some AAs into your new robot dog, and get
ready to have some fun . . .
THE CHRISTMAS TURN-ON
Bing
Crosby’s “White Christmas” tickles a wet dream out of a lithium battery named
Double, who wakes up next to his sister-brother Discharge. While saying “his”
would normally be silly because Double is intersexed like all batteries are,
he and other batteries are okay with male words. Words are the least of his
worries, because tomorrow morning is the biggest battery orgy of the year:
Christmas! To humans, Christmas means money, toys, videogames, and all kinds of
things people give to each other. The toys and videogames are the most important
to Double, Discharge, and other batteries, because such children’s delights are
where batteries get their sex.
Double
edges closer to Discharge to say something, but then takes a slide back. Both
of their positive ends would be touching if he really tried to talk to
Discharge, and despite being envious of people for being able to have better
gay sex, Double is no gay battery. By frequency and the power of their orgasms,
batteries have better straight sex than people.
After
an hour, Double gets eager for talking again and bumps Discharge once to say,
“Merry Christmas!” Discharge bumps back. “Merry Christmas.”
Double
bumps twice: “I’m ready. You ready?”
“Yes,
very ready.”
“Me
too,” says Double, then he leans on Discharge for a bit to say, “But, I’m still
a little bit nervous.”
“So?”
asks Discharge, throwing Double off. Double rears back and leans on Discharge
again. “I just hope I like the ones I’ll be fucking. I never met any other
batteries.”
Discharge
throws Double off again with a knock. “Stop doing that.”
Double,
getting a cold oily feeling from where Discharge knocked his body, doesn’t
speak to Discharge again and takes a moment to question his sexuality. His
microeyes look around the room and see the other batteries sleeping in their
packs. Sugar plums and bulging prods dance through their heads, Double thinks,
as both sets of his glowing blue nipples swell with horny buzzing. He wipes his
wet dream cum on the plastic above him and goes back to sleep.
In
the morning, Double and Discharge wake up at the same time as big hands pick
them up and rip apart their tiny cardboard box. Both of them tumble into one
hand and wince as their pairs of same-parts bang into each other. Then
hands into the snow, to taste of it and make angels, but turned when I heard
something jingle.
Santa
stood over the bed; I hadn’t seen him arise. Though nude, he wore his trademark
bell-tipped hat at a jaunty angle. A ruddy glow brightened his cheeks; his belly
looked almost jolly. Below it, a long, thin penis curved like a candy cane.
Somehow, I knew it would taste of peppermint. As Santa stared at me —into me—a broad smile enlivened a face
that appeared years younger.
“Not
bad,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “But get on your belly, boy. It’s time to
call me Daddy.”
Edmund Colell is a newcomer in the bizarro scene.
I met him for the first time a couple weeks ago at BizarroCon. My first thought
when I met him was: “This guy looks kind of like if Shaggy from Scooby Doo was
a member of Guitar Wolf.” But after hanging out with him for a while I realized
that the comparison was way off because he didn’t once try to solve a mystery
while shooting flames from a guitar. Outside of his stories published through Verbicide and LegumeMan Press, I hadn’t read much of his work
before he pitched me this story idea. Christmas morning from the perspective of
AA batteries? Where being used in children’s toys is a battery’s idea of having
sex? Which makes Christmas morning the ultimate battery/toy orgy of the year?
In my world, that sounds like a must read story!
So toss
your stocking stuffers aside—nobody likes those fucking stupid wax syrup sticks
anyway—rip open some presents, slide some AAs into your new robot dog, and get
ready to have some fun . . .
THE CHRISTMAS TURN-ON
Bing
Crosby’s “White Christmas” tickles a wet dream out of a lithium battery named
Double, who wakes up next to his sister-brother Discharge. While saying “his”
would normally be silly because Double is intersexed like all batteries are,
he and other batteries are okay with male words. Words are the least of his
worries, because tomorrow morning is the biggest battery orgy of the year:
Christmas! To humans, Christmas means money, toys, videogames, and all kinds of
things people give to each other. The toys and videogames are the most important
to Double, Discharge, and other batteries, because such children’s delights are
where batteries get their sex.
Double
edges closer to Discharge to say something, but then takes a slide back. Both
of their positive ends would be touching if he really tried to talk to
Discharge, and despite being envious of people for being able to have better
gay sex, Double is no gay battery. By frequency and the power of their orgasms,
batteries have better straight sex than people.
After
an hour, Double gets eager for talking again and bumps Discharge once to say,
“Merry Christmas!” Discharge bumps back. “Merry Christmas.”
Double
bumps twice: “I’m ready. You ready?”
“Yes,
very ready.”
“Me
too,” says Double, then he leans on Discharge for a bit to say, “But, I’m still
a little bit nervous.”
“So?”
asks Discharge, throwing Double off. Double rears back and leans on Discharge
again. “I just hope I like the ones I’ll be fucking. I never met any other
batteries.”
Discharge
throws Double off again with a knock. “Stop doing that.”
Double,
getting a cold oily feeling from where Discharge knocked his body, doesn’t
speak to Discharge again and takes a moment to question his sexuality. His
microeyes look around the room and see the other batteries sleeping in their
packs. Sugar plums and bulging prods dance through their heads, Double thinks,
as both sets of his glowing blue nipples swell with horny buzzing. He wipes his
wet dream cum on the plastic above him and goes back to sleep.
In
the morning, Double and Discharge wake up at the same time as big hands pick
them up and rip apart their tiny cardboard box. Both of them tumble into one
hand and wince as their pairs of same-parts bang into each other. Then
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