The Origins of The Unicorned Squirrels

Ever since I released The Overlord Unicorned Squirrels From Mars in 2018 there have been a lot of questions.

The most frequently asked is ‘why did you write the Unicorned Squirrels?’

Clearly such a question is looking for me to tell of the literary influences which led me to tell the intergalactic rodent tale.

Until recently I’ve resisted the desire to answer such a question. However, lately I don’t think I’ve been getting enough attention and in any event there are rumours circulating that I wrote Unicorned Squirrels as a joke!

So, please, let me take you on the creative journey that gave birth to everyone’s favourite unicorned rodents.

The genesis of the story begun when I was at university studying English Literature.

It was late at night and I was alone in the library. Well, not really alone but to be honest the return I was getting for the effort that a member of the rugby team was putting in I may well have been.

It was during Jack’s laboured thrusts that I begun to pay particular notice to the old dusty books on the shelf. This was in part due to boredom but mainly because of the trajectory that Jack’s enthusiasm had put me on.

There was one book that caught me eye (literally) and so fearing this late night library liaison may end in me losing my sight I removed the book.

My fingers slid over the dark cloth board, the cracks and bumps crying out with years of neglect. The marker ribbon frayed and fragile, barely serving its purpose.

The title, which once proudly stood out in gold embossed lettering now meekly sunk into the dark cloth board.

With a little help from Jack I got closer so I could make out the title

Recipes & Poetry Almanac’

The idea behind this publication was to combine cookery and poetry. A detailed recipe would be followed by a number of poems throughout the ages. The length of time it would take you to read the poems is how long you needed to wait for whatever it was you were making to finish cooking.

The idea never really caught on and the series was cancelled after just one volume and never reprinted. It didn’t help that it was printed on highly flammable paper and was cited to be to blame for a number of kitchen fires.

Had I chosen to have my illicit affair with Jack in the canteen then I may have been tempted to rustle up a Lemon Drizzle Cake but instead I decided to read some of the poems.

I gave a cursory glance back at Jack and studying his reddening expression in the gloom of the library I returned to the book to find a poem that would take about a minute or so to read.

I thumbed through the brittle pages and worried that the book would disintegrate I stopped on one particular poem

‘Oh, Look It’s a Squirrel’ by Von Klausenhausen

I never heard of this particular writer before and there is very little information about him on the internet.

What I have subsequently been able to find out is that he was born in 1265 and was very much the contemporary to Dante; indeed they were childhood friends. Hardly any contemporaneous documentation remains but what does gives us a fascinating insight into the relationship between the two.

Klausenhausen’s cheery nature was in complete juxtaposition to Dante’s moodiness. Old school reports refer to Dante as needing ‘to lighten up a bit’ whereas Klausenhausen was described as a ‘optimistic dreamer’.

Their friendship was rather tempestuous and in a postcard Klausenhausen sent to his mother on a school trip he described the tension between them

‘Dante hat mein Käsesandwich gestohlen’ (Dante stole my cheese sandwich).

Sadly, Klausenhausen was to experience tragedy when his father died.

Klausenhausen was raised in a relatively poor household, the only income came from whatever his Father won from wrestling naked at the local tavern.

Strauss Klausenhausen was quite the fighter and well respected. His skills earned him the opportunity to wrestle in Canada in a prestigious tournament .

However, unfortunately for Strauss, an error in translation meant rather than wrestling bare he was in fact going to be wrestle a bear.

A young Klausenhausen had to watch in horror as his father was mauled to death. The family returned home distraught and penniless.

His Mother, in her grief, locked herself in her room and only emerged a few years later to announce she had married the wardrobe.

Klausenhausen’s friendship with Dante had become more strained. The final straw was when Dante asked Klausenhausen to read the first draft of The Divine Comedy. He told Dante that ‘It was too long, made little sense and those studying literature in years to come will despise Dante for even writing such a monotonous prose. Plus it wasn’t even funny.’

Dante did not take the criticism well and declared he no longer wished to be friends and challenged Klausenhausen to write something better.

And so this once great friendship was now reduced to petty rivalry as Klausenhausen set about writing a challenge to Dante.

Oh, Look It’s A Squirrel was to be the first part of an epic narrative poem that Klausenhausen hoped would make Dante ‘shut his moody face’.

The original German title was ‘Oh, Scheiße, es ist ein Eichhörnchen’ which directly translated to English read ‘Oh shit, it’s a Squirrel’.

The poem begins with a man about to start out on a lonely camping trip. Before he steps into the woods he meets a squirrel who is initially friendly. However, as they travel further into the forest, the mood of the squirrel darkens.

The opening line to each verse would begin with ‘Oh, squirrel why..’ The variations that followed represented the changing malevolent mood of the squirrel.

There are clear similarities with Dante’s journey into hell but Klausenhausen brought to his prose his life experiences;

From his cheery childhood optimism

Oh, Squirrel why do you love me so

To his initial friendship with Dante

Oh, Squirrel why do you friend me so

To his falling out with Dante

Oh, Squirrel why do you steal my cheese sandwich so

And finally to the resentment he held to all woodland creatures due to the bear tearing of his Father’s arms

Oh, Squirrel why do you murder me so….you bastard

Sadly Klausenhausen never got to finish the full poem. Following completion of ‘Oh, Look It’s A Squirrel’ he died in a tragic accident whilst helping his Stepfather wardrobe down the stairs.

In her grief of seeing her only son’s crushed body underneath her second husband she burnt her wooden betrothed and spent the remaining years of her life living in sin with a ukulele.

After reading Klausenhausen’s poem I felt numb (although it could have been more to do with how long I had been bent over….or a mild concussion).

I closed the delicate book and turned around just in time to let Jack know that wiping his cock on Tolstoy was not good form.

I had a restless sleep that night, the thoughts of the dark journey into the depths of the forest with just a squirrel for company played heavily on my mind.

The following morning I returned to the library hoping to read Klausenhausen’s work again, this time without the distractions of Jack’s groans.

However, when I arrived, the book was gone. I would have searched for it but there was a fire in the canteen and so we were told to leave.

For years I have searched for this poem that touched me deeper than Jack managed to. Sadly, my search has been unsuccessful.

It seems a shame that Klausenhausen is not spoken of in literary circles as Dante is.

Yet when I was thinking of the perfect antagonist for my story deep in my subconscious he spoke to me.

What Was MetaWrite6000 All About?!

Regular readers and people who may have gone scrolling through might be wondering ‘You know that MetaWrite6000 thing you did? What the hell was that all about?!’

This of course is a fair question and one I will gladly answer.

Prior to the MetaWrite6000 posts my website was in disarray, littered with incomplete stories that had no real semblance of order. I was behind on writing Fell8 and indeed my creativity was at a bit of a lull. I was pretty much on the verge of just saying fuck it and giving up the website.

Then one evening (I probably had drunk alcohol) I thought wouldn’t life be easier if I just could connect something to my brain that would automatically write down all my thoughts.

A quick look on Amazon made it clear this did not exist (or certainly not on Prime one day delivery) but still I imagined how easier it would be for writers if we simply could think a story.

And in that moment of wishful thinking the idea for MetaWrite6000 arrived. A few Jack Daniel’s later and I had a whole project. It was perhaps my intoxicated enthusiasm for the project that led to me ignoring one pretty obvious flaw in my otherwise great plan.

The idea started simple I would create a fictitious neurological aid for writers – The MetaWrite6000.

That was the easy part and I put together the mock adverts and transcripts of early MetaWrite6000 logs.

I also proudly announced on Twitter that I was now powered by the MetaWrite6000. Clearly those who follow me know me too well because no-one really questioned that (or check to see if I was okay)

With the first part of the plan successfully completed (and still unwise to the major flaw that clearly existed) I moved onto Part Two.

This was slightly more complex but the main premise is that the MetaWrite6000 would break my website. I changed my website design and incorporated smashed versions of all my graphics.

I as the author will then end up in some digital coma and effectively be stuck in my website. It was all going to be beautifully meta.

What would then follow is a number of stories where I am the main character. Each story would be broken up with conversations with MetaWrite6000. The conclusion would be my website being put back to normal.

The first story was myself as a stripper forced to give a lap dance to a guy, who if he gets aroused would open the gates of Hell.

There was also to be a story where I would me a Miss Marple type character solving a murder at a country house. There would even be a fantasy adventure where I was not the princess but a warrior goblin.

I would also be paying a visit to Fell8 and Unicorned Squirrels. The idea being that by linking it to my earlier work my entire website would become the story. I could reference the incomplete stories and the out of place posts.

It would become a jumping on point for new visitors to my website and at the end of it should have left it in a better state. Everything would now have a wider purpose of telling a much grander story.

So with alcohol fuelled enthusiasm I set about writing the first part ‘I Meta Girl At The Gates Of Hell’.

I quite like the first part but as it stands it remains the only published part to the wider project.

This is because shortly after publishing the first part that major flaw, you know the one that was pretty obvious from the start dawned on me.

My website had got into the mess it had because I was chaotic which was exacerbated wildly by my work commitments.

Whilst the MetaWrite6000 was an exciting project the chaos and other commitments were still there. I simply could not devote the time it needed to make it work.

I therefore abandoned the entire project before it really got going.

But the early parts still remain on my website as a reminder of the project that could have been.

The Randomness Of Selina Year 2 Day 21 : The Glory Of Writing Twitter

I’ve mentioned it on many occasions but Writing Twitter is a glorious place.

I’d go so far as to say it’s the best place on Twitter with the nicest people you could hope to meet (unless you try to copyright a normal word).

Whilst the occasional troll sneaks in to see what all the noise is about it’s a safe, welcoming community. Strangely for Twitter it has normal people in it.

I spent some time over on the Writing Sub-Reddits. That is a very different place. The responses although potentially helpful are stuffy, often passive aggressive.

I didn’t get the feeling of a community and it sometimes has the feel of a pissing contest.

Writing Reddit is like asking a Professor for help whereas Writing Twitter is like asking your best mate for advice.

Both can give equally good advice but when that advice is given Professor Reddit will engage no further whereas Twitter mate will happily carry on and talk about all manner of insane shit.

Writing Twitter is not only helpful but fun to engage with. But that is the golden rule – You Must Engage!

I see too many writers just use Twitter to promote their books. I question the usefulness of Twitter as a marketing tool anyway.

There is nothing wrong with saying here’s my latest work but there needs to be an even balance with non-promotion Tweets.

Get yourself out there. Respond to questions, engage with threads. It’s not all about the retweets. The level of engagement is entirely up to you and what you feel comfortable with but I would always recommend on some.

When I first got my Twitter account it was not with a view of being a writer. Fortunately I quickly fell in with some beautiful writers of erotica. I participated in their tweets and very soon I was giving writing a go.

So engaging with Writing Twitter can be motivational, fun and helpful. Yes, it can also be entertainingly time consuming and you can spend more time on Twitter than actually writing but we’ll gloss over that bit.

It can also be inspirational and fully engaging with Writing Twitter can unlock that writer’s block.

I’ve mentioned in a previous post that the idea for Fell8 (the story I’m presently working on) came about from a thread of how you would survive the zombie apocalypse.

Even yesterday Twitter threw me another potential story. I responded to a Tweet about what your Detective name would be. It was the name of your first pet plus the name of the last place you went on vacation.

Mine was Squidge Devon (I once was the proud owner of a gerbil).

Within minutes the wonderful Stefanie Simpson (and you really should check out her writing on Amazon and Wattpad) tweeted that it sounds like a 1920s Independent Woman.

Moments later Squidge Devon – Private Eye was born. A 1920s Society woman that solves crimes that seemingly always occur at dinner parties while off her tits on gin.

Therefore if any soon-to-be writers happen to be lurking in the dark corner of the internet and falls upon this post then my one piece of advice is simple:-

To be the best writer you can then you can’t really go wrong by fully engaging with Writing Twitter.

The Randomness Of Selina : Year 2 Day 20 – Erotica Writers Don’t Want To Fuck You

I’ve mentioned it before but it appears some aren’t getting the message.

So, for the benefit of the people at the back let me repeat myself

Erotica writers don’t want to fuck you.

I should just have to stop there and say no more. After all, erotica is a legitimate literary genre then basically you are asking an author for sex.

That really isn’t good form. I mean you might have the opportunity to meet your favourite author at a bookshop. You will probably say to them what the story meant to you, get the book signed and that’s it.

You wouldn’t pause and say ‘Aaand so you fancy nipping out the back for a quickie.’

Yet that it exactly what erotica authors have to deal with on a daily basis, and it can be exhausting.

Many will receive messages that go something like this

– Just read your story. You’re a great writer.

– Thank you very much.

– The sex scenes were so hot.

– Thank you

– I got very aroused

– Okay

– I’m still hard now so…..

Look I know there is a growing sense of entitlement with consumers of entertainment but this really takes it to the extreme.

These horny guys are basically saying ‘How dare you arrange words in a carefully constructed sentence which has led to me having an erection. You are now responsible for it!’

It doesn’t happen in other genres. I stand to be corrected but I doubt that Stephen King gets loads of messages that says ‘That story was really scary. Now you must come round my house, check under my bed and sing my a lullaby until I’m asleep.’

There is a horrifically incorrect assumption that because a female erotica writer writes about sex she must be very much up for it.

If you honestly believe that then get your hand off your dick and listen up – erotica is mainly the work of glorious fiction. They are stories not invitations.

Writers like to engage with readers. It allows them to grow and improve. They just don’t want to see your dick with a request to fuck it.

Respect the writer’s boundaries. Unless a writer has in her bio ‘will fuck for reviews’ then understand the obvious etiquette.

Do not get sleazy in her DMs. Do not assume because they write about sex they are happy to talk about it in detail while you have a cheeky wank.

Just be normal. Just read their work, say if you liked it and leave it there.

We clear?

The Randomness Of Selina : Year 2 Day 19 – Fell8 – A Brand New Cover

Hot on the heels of the latest part of Fell8 I introduce a new cover.

I believe this is fourth cover Fell8 has had since its inception last year.

The first was in the form of an old video cassette. I didn’t keep that as the cover for long. So much so I can’t even find a picture of that cover.

The second cover is perhaps my favourite and I did contemplate returning to it.

The style I was aiming for was of an old school pulp fiction style novel. Indeed, it heralded my short lived mock publishing house Grindotica.

This was the cover for a long time until I revised the covers to all my stories.

I wanted to have the same aesthetic to give it more of a brand feel, and so I created this.

Whilst I liked the clean and basic feel to it, the cover doesn’t really emphasise that in essence Fell8 is a horror story (with a bit of smut and comedy thrown in for good measure).

So I’ve reverted back to a more grubby cover.

However, before I’ve finished Fell8 I would probably have changed the cover a few more times.

Fell8 – The Part With Third Party Penis Cover

There were a number of noises that troubled Lorna.

The ringing in her ears provided an irritating background melody to the other sounds that filled the car.

There was a troubling hissing sound that accompanied thick smoke that rose from the crushed bonnet of the vehicle.

This harmonised with the persistent drip drip drip that came from underneath. Lorna was not the most knowledgeable about cars but even she knew enough to understand that probably was not a good thing.

Her laboured breathing provided a dark lyrical accompaniment as she turned her attention to her fellow occupants.

Veronica was slumped motionless in the front passenger seat. A trail of crimson outlined her perfectly defined face.

Hesitantly, Lorna reached out her hand to try and find a pulse. After, a few moments clumsily pawing away at Veronica’s neck she realised, having never attended a First Aid course, that she had no clue as to what she was supposed to be doing.

Instead Lorna opted to assess whether Veronica was alive by seeing if she looked dead. In the few short hours since she’d been merrily performing fellatio on some guy Lorna had seen her fair share of dead bodies. Admittedly it had been easier then on account of their heads being detached from their bodies.

As Lorna turned to examine Veronica a new noise entered the endless cacophony; a gurgling sound in her stomach. Hunger? Fear? Disgust? Whatever it’s origin she tried to dampen the noise by swallowing hard, although this only seemed to provoke the grumbling fire in her belly.

She stared at Veronica who despite having blood running down her face looked healthy. Rather than a grey complexion, which Lorna assumed would indicate death, Veronica’s skin had a healthy, glowing complexion. She concluded Veronica was not dead, either that or her wedding make-up really was top quality.

Lorna’s attention moved to Elena who sat in the middle rear passenger seat. She equally did not look dead but Lorna’s examination was brief because of what she saw through the cracked window.

It was Them!

The sound of the collision must have alerted the horde who lumbered over to investigate.

A dark shadow descended over the car as these things began to swarm around it.

Now the final, terrible sounds joined the symphony of certain doom. The low moans, clunking of feet on asphalt and flesh hitting metal as they surrounded the vehicle.

Lorna sat perfectly still. Perhaps this was some instinctive survival technique, or it could have been that she had watched Jurassic Park and was hoping if it worked for a T-Rex it might work for these things with protruding cocks.

Her options were limited. Although she had the knowledge and means to kill them there were too many of them. She would hardly have the time to open her mouth before being ripped to shreds.

It was impossible to run away. Even if there were an opening Lorna would be unable to carry both Veronica and Elena.

Should she try and escape alone? This would mean certain death for the unconscious Veronica and Elena.

Lorna wrestled with this predicament. She hardly knew both of them and could hardly be classed as friends; Veronica had never once offered to hold Lorna’s hair back whilst she threw up.

Yet the life that Lorna had known was gone. Nothing made any sense and she took comfort in the normality of having people around. …People who didn’t have large penises and wanted to kill you.

Even if she could escape on her own, Lorna could not bear to face whatever other horrors lay in store alone.

No. She would survive in this strange new world with them or she would die with them.

‘But what if Veronica and Elena are already dead?’

However noble her declaration of a Last Stand with her new found companions, Lorna’s brain clearly thought this was something she should consider before submitting to certain death.

After all the ‘They don’t look dead’ Test was, at best, unreliable. It would be a terrible irony if she allowed herself to die trying to save someone who was already dead.

There had been no time during the collision to have a chat but if Veronica and Elena could talk would they not have said ‘Lorna you go. Save yourself. Be free. Survive the apocalypse without us’.

With her hand on the door handle and plotting her solo escape suddenly a new sound appeared, one that had not been present before. It was low murmurs emanating from Veronica and Elena. They were alive!

Bollocks!

Lorna slumped into her seat and with her arms folded across her chest contemplated which of the three dangers present would be the one to kill her. Would it be the carbon monoxide that begun to fill the car? Or the petrol catching a light and burning them alive? Or would she be torn apart by one of those things that circled the vehicle?

Such was her preoccupation with the manner in which she would perish that she did not immediately notice that the things were moving away from the vehicle.

When she finally did Lorna saw through the fogged up windscreen what had caught their attention; it was the occupant of the other car.

Lorna wiped the glass with her sleeve and watched through the gloom as they descended upon the other stricken vehicle.

This was her opportunity. All she had to do was wake Veronica and Elena and they could make their escape. Although incredibly strong these things were not fast and by the time they finished with the other vehicle there would be a healthy gap between them.

Lorna had contemplated helping the stranded driver but she was hideously outnumbered. She hoped the driver would be able to outrun them, but as she allowed herself to glance back towards the other vehicle she could see the driver was making no such attempt to run.

As Lorna attempted to rouse Veronica she tried to dismiss any further thought of the driver.

You can’t save them all. There will be casualties.

The driver was too far away to communicate but if they could chat maybe they would say ‘Look, it was my fault. I caused the crash with some ropey driving and put you all in danger. My gruesome death to ensure your survival is the least I can do to apologise’

Lorna continued shaking Veronica when suddenly she heard a sound. A sound that cut through all the other noises that had made up this macabre masterpiece.

It was the sound of a woman screaming. Very loudly.

*******

Angie Raines just wanted to start this day over again.

She has heard people in coffee shops complaining about their day but she was certain that she now had the monopoly on really bad days.

Oh your Boss shouted at you? Well mine tried to have me killed.

That project you were working on didn’t go to plan? Well my project was used to destroy humanity.

Angry about that dick who pranged your car and then shouted at you? Well I crashed mine and I’m about to be massacred by abominations of genetics!

Angie could have run, she was junior sprint champion and these things were not fast. But she found herself transfixed by what was walking towards her.

Part of her brain screamed for her to run but the other part, the scientific part, marvelled at these creations.

It’s not possible!

She tried to recall her work, all the tests, studies and theories to realise how these things came to be.

Just prior to the crash Angie believed she could help stop this. She was running into the danger not away from it. But as these abominations neared she realised it was all now a lost cause.

By the time the scientific part of her brain had worked out how this all came to be they were upon her. The other part of her brain took over and screamed loudly.

Angie closed her eyes and awaited death. She probably deserved it. Killed by the things she helped create. There would be a poetry to her demise.

Suddenly they stopped. Their attention drawn towards the other car whose horn blared persistently.

Angie could see a blonde woman leaning out of the drivers window shouting. It was difficult to hear what she was saying over the blaring of the horn, but it sounded like ‘Over here you fucking weird looking wankers.’

The abominations turned and stalked back towards the other vehicle.

******

Stupid idea. Stupid idea. Stupid idea.

Lorna blocked out her brain’s protest as she planted her hand firmly on the horn and shouted all manner of obscenities at these things.

She watched as they lost interest in the other driver and made their way towards her.

Part one of her plan had worked but there was a problem, she didn’t have a second part.

Quicker than she expected they had surrounded her vehicle and begun shaking and punching it, desperate to get to what was inside.

Lorna could see through a gap that the other driver was just standing there.

For fuck’s sake. RUN!

Lorna repeatedly slammed her hand down on the horn, hoping she could get it to say ‘Fucking Run!’

The car violently shook as these things pawed away at it. Then to Lorna’s shock a penis shot through the metal door frame.

After a moment of screaming she knew what she had to do. This was their only chance of survival.

Lorna ran her tongue over her lips and then took the invading penis into her mouth. Within a few moments a shower of blood coated the car, the expected outcome was confirmed.

There was to be no respite. No sooner had one marauding penis been handled then another would appear…and then another, all around the vehicle.

Lorna coped with as many as she could but there were too many for her to deal with it at once. She felt like she was playing some horrifically perverted game of whack-a-mole. A game she had already proven to be quite good at, albeit she had to occasionally pause to prevent herself from throwing up.

One penis penetrated the passenger door narrowly missing Veronica’s head that rested against it. This was enough to fully rouse Veronica from her impromptu slumber.

She looked around, slightly confused. Still in that moment of blissful thinking that everything she’d experienced, from her family being massacred at the wedding to her husband’s head exploding on the dance floor, had all been an horrific nightmare.

However the sight of an angry penis protruding through door was a harsh reminder of what her life was like now.

“Oh hey sweetie, you’re awake” Lorna said, pausing to take another penis into her mouth “Look I know you just woke up but I’m really going to need you to suck on that cock for me”.

Rubbing her eyes and letting out a sigh she dutifully obliged. Together her and Lorna dealt with wave after wave. With each laboured suck blood and brains cascaded down upon the car. The outside no longer visible through the crimson and pink hue that flowed down the windscreen

Elena woke and as if it were the most normal thing in the world helpfully assisted without question.

The sound of blood splashing onto glass and brain hitting metal. These sounds increased in speed and in pitch. Each splash and crash a symphony of success for the three ladies inside.

Then it stopped. All that could be heard was the original hissing and drip drip drip that had opened this morbid melody.

Lorna, Veronica and Elena all looked at each other. Reluctant to open the car door in case any of those things still remained but acutely aware that if they stayed in the car they would probably blow up.

It was Lorna who nervously opened the driver’s door but jumped back as a large glob of brain slid down. She kicked the door open and jumped out, running to the front of the car. She put her hands on her knees and begun to wretch.

Veronica followed next, skipping around the blood and brains in an hysterical fashion. Elena left the vehicle last and seemed rather nonplussed by the carnage.

Lorna examined the car. She saw the amount of holes that had been made and wondered how such a thing could be explained to the insurance company.

– Hi, I need to report an accident

– What happened?

– Well, I was driving away from a load of ridiculously strong guys that have their penis protruding through their trousers when someone crashed into us

– I see

– Then the ridiculously strong guys started making holes in the car

– What with?

– Oh with their penis.

– I see. Well unfortunately you didn’t take out the optional third party penis cover so we cannot help I’m afraid.

Lorna’s attention turned to the other driver who stood motionless, her mouth open.

“Wha…Wha…What just happened?” asked Angie

“Long story” Lorna replied, taking a moment to survey where they were.

“But how did you kill them?”

Lorna smiled. It was probably the first time she had smiled since all this crazy mess begun, but there it was…

Royal King Chicken – The finest chicken place in London.

Lorna turned to Angie “I’ll tell you over dinner”

Fell8: The Part With The Burnt Pork Scratchings

Elena had a lot to be concerned about. She had almost been killed by the man who employed her as a Housekeeper. But having narrowly escaped, she presumed she had found sanctuary in a passing car. However the occupants of the vehicle appeared somewhat reluctant to come to her aid.

Instead the blonde seemed more intent on arguing with the brunette in the wedding dress than coming to her aid.

Elena banged on the bonnet  in frustration. She grew increasingly impatient for the two women to finish their conversation. The tinny clash of her hand hitting metal attracted the attention of these things that wandered around.

She had not even begun to process why there were throngs of men walking around, their penises protruding, carrying out such acts of barbarity.

It weren’t just any men; she knew them. The sight of the kindly old gentleman who trims the hedges crushing in the skull of Mildred from the Woman’s Institute with his engorged member is not something anyone really should see.

Yet the streets of this well kept neighbourhood were littered with the bloody debris of this inexplicable rampage.

Why and how this was all happening would be a question to ponder when she was in a safer place. She’d be in that safer place if the two occupants of the vehicle would stop chatting and open the fucking door!

She smacked her hands down on the bonnet once more and that is when she saw him. More accurately she smelt him first, her employer, lurching towards her, his cock proud and he was on fire.

Elena sighed, taking one final look at the bickering couple in the car. She was going to have do this alone with no help from anyone.

She was used to having to do things for herself. Elena was raised in a rural part of Romania by just her Mother. They were poor but her Mother did all she could to provide for her daughter.

In later years Elena would reciprocate that love by caring for her Mother when her health rapidly declined. When she eventually passed away after a long and debilitating illness Elena wanted nothing more than to get away. Caring for her ailing Mother had taken its toll on Elena and she needed a fresh start.

Moving to London provided her with that possibility; this vast metropolitan city full of opportunity. With her Mother’s passing there was nothing left for her in Romania. It would be London where she would finally live that life she deserved.

That was the plan, at least. Her new life did not begin as she would have hoped; contrary to the story she found the streets of London were certainly not paved with gold.

She got by doing the odd underpaid job here and there but the all to familiar reality of poverty soon struck her. The need to eat pushed her closer to the lure of the criminal gangs who’d want to pimp her out to whatever horny guy cared to pay for her.

Elena resisted the temptation for as long as she could but the hunger in her belly was enough to defeat her wavering sense of pride.  But before she submitted herself to this life fate fortunately intervened.

A friend of Elena’s, indeed her only friend in London, told her of a job opportunity for some well to do family in Chelsea.  It was nothing more than glorified slave labour but, nevertheless,it was a roof over her head and meant she didn’t have to spread her legs to make a living…..Or so she thought.

The family she worked for seemed quite pleasant enough. The husband had his own Consultancy firm so would spend a lot of the time in his office at home. He barely paid much attention to her when she would bring him lunch or clean up.

The wife worked in television and once Elena got used to being spoken to like an idiot they got along just fine. The wife had a patronising tone when speaking to anyone. This was more pronounced when talking to Elena; the wife clearly assumed coming from a foreign country meant there would not be an automatic understanding of the basics of housework.

Nevertheless, the wife knew without Elena she would have to do more round the house which certainly did not suit her schedule; especially on a Thursday when she had Yoga with Paulo.

All was going tremendously well for Elena and then the son came home from university. His intentions towards Elena were immediate and obvious. He wanted to fuck her.

This young lothario intended not to woo her by compliments and avoided actually getting to know her. He was simply going to have her and any resistance would be quashed with threats of dismissal from her job.

Elena therefore submitted herself to his grubby whim. As she lay underneath him she would remind herself of the beautiful home she now resides in and how things could be so much worse.

Occasionally she did allow herself to daydream , that perhaps he would one day lean in and kiss her, tell her he loves her and they would marry so that she would be their equal rather than their servant.

His contorted , sweaty red face was not one of love but of lust. She was merely a preferable option to masturbation. Just an object he could take and use whenever he wanted. Someone he could brag about to his mates at the rowing club.

Elena would get a respite from his horny advances when he returned from

university of if he went travelling. That was enough to keep her sane.

When he was gone she could reflect only on how fortunate she was to have such a good job. Only occasionally,when cleaning his room, would her eyes drift to the bed and she’d be struck by the shame of what he has her do there.

Nevertheless she remained happy and content and then the husband begun showing her some attention. Previously he’d hardly noticed her with only the occasional grunt of appreciation when she brought him a sandwich.

Then very much like father like son he had her. In his study one afternoon his hands began drifting over her legs and without warning they were soon between them. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his groin. Before long she was on her knees pleasuring him.

There was a distinct difference between the father and the son. The latter would be rough, uncaring, cruel. He didn’t care about her.  All he wanted was a living doll to perform whatever perversion he was currently into.

The father on the other hand seemed kinder, more gentler.  He was reluctant at first to give in to temptation, not that Elena ever purposely tempted him.  But sexual relations between him and his wife had become strained, verging on the non-existent.

Their busy lives (and possibly the fact she was being fucked regularly by Paulo) meant intimacy was a thing of the past.  His sexual pleasure now confined to memories and his own hand.  Occasionally, his wife would indulge him but that only sought to prolong his frustration.

He liked it when she sucked him.  Yet any pleasure he derived from having that act performed had eroded. From the moment he entered his wife’s mouth he could only think how it may be months before he would experience that feeling again.

That’s what was on his mind when he noticed Elena in the study.  In a moment of frustrated arousal, he saw her differently.  No longer was she was a faceless employee but a way to relieve his frustration.  She was paid to serve and he needed servicing.

Elena dutifully obliged.  What choice did she have? Not that she had much opportunity to consider her choices, no sooner had he been in her mouth he was out again with the horny deed done.  He rested back in his chair uttering a thousand apologetic words.

The husband’s feeling of guilt was not enough to stop him wanting it again. The daily routine soon become bringing him is sandwich followed by Elena getting on her knees and sucking him off to completion.

Occasionally he’d want it more than once a day.   Any moment alone could see him insist on being in her mouth.  That is what Elena assumed he was after on this night.  Yet something was different.  He was a lot rougher, so much so she thought for a moment the son had made a surprise visit home.

He was pushing against her, she could feel his arousal.  His hands moved up to her throat.

He’s trying to fuck me!

This surprised Elena because not once had he wanted to have sex with her.  In his weird twisted way he had assumed having just oral sex was not really cheating on his wife.

His hands gripped round her throat tighter as he pressed his remarkably hard penis against her.  She would have agreed to have sex with him if he had asked.  But this was not asking.  It felt so wrong.  Elena struggled to free herself from his grip but his hands tightened around her throat.

She was struggling to breathe as his fingers dug into her skin.

No! Not like this.

Through gasps of air she pleaded with him to stop but he persisted. She could hear his low grumbling moans, the staleness of his breath on her cheek as his arousal pressed harder against her, it felt like it could break through the material of her trousers.

Panic begun to set in and Elena flayed her arms and legs, desperate to break free, but he was too strong.

Elena didn’t believe in God, she had seen too many horrific things, her faith eroded away by one tragedy after the next. But in the moments that followed she was prepared to re-assess the existence of a higher power.

When the husband commenced his attack Elena was in the process of washing up. The water from the tap had been running throughout and soon escaped the confines of the metallic sink and flowed onto the floor.

Whilst the husband had strength, he lacked balance and his feet begun to slip on the pool of soapy water that had formed beneath him.

He fell back taking Elena with him and they both crashed into the cooker. The husband attempted to regain his balance, grabbing at whatever he could.  His surprising strength caused him to rip at the cooker, exposing wires and the hissing sound of gas filled the room.

Free of her attacker Elena attempted to escape but found her journey slowed by the slipperiness of the tiled floor.  On hands and knees she crawled to what she hoped would be the safety of outdoors.

The bubbling water flowed defiantly towards the exposed electrical wiring as the husband managed to free himself from the temporary shackles of the cooker and in a similarly haphazard way begun his pursuit of Elena.

She managed to reach the expansive hallway and took a nervous look back. Elena saw the husband crawling towards her, his protruding penis scraping along the floor.  She turned, the knowledge of pursuit offering her a burst of speed.  She could see the front door…her safety and then…….

BOOM!!!!

A fireball swept through the house and sent the fleeing Elena through the front door.

She awoke face first on the neatly manicured front lawn.  Her ears rung and as she lifted her body from the ground she became immediately aware that every part of her hurt.

Gritting her teeth Elena lifted herself up and disoriented she looked on at the street where she lived, the street that once provided such security and comfort was now a war zone.

She rubbed her temples as she witnessed the bloody end of many of her neighbours as these things mercilessly ripped them apart.  She could not move at the sight of the sheer horror of this destruction.

Elena heard a noise from back inside the house and there she saw him.  The husband stalked through the charred hallway on his way towards her.  The flames emanating from his body did little to slow his journey.

Panicking she looked around and there she saw it – the car.  Despite every step causing significant pain she made her way towards it.  She did not look back but she could hear him….smell him. But the occupants of the car would help. They would be her salvation… wouldn’t they?

****

“Why do I have to go out there?” Lorna asked

“Because you know how to kill those things” Veronica offered.

Lorna looked out as this young stranger desperately tried to evade the lumbering clutches of what used to be a man….who was also on fire.

“So do you.  In fact you killed the last one” replied Lorna.

“Well there you go” Veronica said with a smile “It’s your turn.”

Still confused as to how a man can be on fire but still happily able to chase someone Lorna suggested “Maybe we should both go.”

“In case you’ve forgotten I’ve just witnessed my entire family and friends be slaughtered” Veronica replied “I’m still quite upset by that.”

Lorna sighed and gripped the door handle.  She wondered how many times Veronica was going to use that as an excuse.

“Fine…I’ll go” Lorna muttered as she opened the car door.

She immediately ran round to where Elena was and introduced herself “Hi I’m Lorna”

Elena responded very abruptly “What took you so long.”

Lorna was about to respond but the nearing presence of Elena’s flaming former employer alerted her to more pressing matters.  Instead she gave a reassuring “It’s okay.  I know what to do” which was probably more for her own benefit.

Poised on her knees she waited for the right moment.  Ignoring the shrieks of “What the fuck are you doing” from Elena she readied herself for what had to be done.  That’s when Lorna noted the problem.

“Hey…Veronica…Sweetie … There’s a problem” Lorna shouted.

Veronica cranked the car window down slightly and replied “What problem?”

“His cock is on fire”

“Blow it”

“I intend to but I need to put the flames out first…. Do you have any water?”

Veronica searched through the car and announced “No….I think you drunk the last of it.”

Lorna, acutely aware of the presence of the flaming man, turned to Elena and asked “I don’t suppose you have any water do you?”

“Why do you need water for?” queried Elena.

“I just need to put the fire out on his cock so I can put it in my mouth.”

Elena just stared at Lorna and was about to respond when Lorna shot her a look to indicate the urgency of her request.

Elena limped back to the house all the while confused by the request.  The blast had damaged a lot of the interior and water flowed from the kitchen.  Slipping and sliding she desperately searched for a receptacle for the liquid. She could hear Lorna shouting out

“Hurry!”

The erect inferno neared closer to Lorna as Elena searched through the scorched shell that was once the kitchen.

“Anytime now would be great”

In her haste Elena would lose her footing and a sharp reminder of her injuries would soar through her body.

“Quickly!”

He was closer and Lorna could feel the heat emanating from him.  Elena found a pan and begun to scoop water inside it.

“Fucking hurry up!”

Lorna would apologise later for her crude impatience but having got this far already she did not fancy being killed by a guy with a burning cock.

With as much speed as her injuries would allow Elena made her way back out the front.  She saw the husband so close to Lorna.  In desperation she flung the pan and water landed all over the flaming attacker.

Steam rose from his protruding penis and Lorna gave a few quick blows before taking it in her mouth.  Within moments Elena’s former employer lay dead on the floor, his head nothing more than a bloody pulp.

Elena had so many questions but as Lorna retched and puked on the floor she thought it best not to ask them straight away.

“Fuck..that tasted like burnt pork scratchings” Lorna exclaimed “Does anyone have a mint?”

“I think you had the last one” replied Veronica through the crack in the window.

With nothing further said about what had happened Lorna and Elena got into the car.

“Look” said Veronica “These things are all going in the same direction”

All three occupants watched as these lumbering powerhouses with their protruding penises all moved along the same path.

“Where do you think they are going?” asked Elena,

“Who cares” said Lorna as she started the car “If they are all going that way, then we are going the opposite way.”

When you learn to drive you are taught many things.  However, appropriate road etiquette during an apocalypse is not one of them.  Any rules of the road no longer exist and who has the right of way is something that does not need consideration.

It is the ignorance of driving in an apocalypse and the absence of any rules which caused the two cars to collide with each other.