Info Adagio_Sabadicus
22 Mar. '16

I had struck-out with a eighty-three year old debutante down at the Moose Lodge. Her varicose veins looked as if a GPS system had crashed. Three weeks later we suffered the nuptials, followed by the swallows that followed us on our honeymoon to Swank's Motel and Taxidermist. She thought that convenient because it was Income Tax time.

When I first met Zelda, she had told me that her previous husband had a howitzer for a cock. Not to be outdone I showed her a picture of my canary. Then she told me about her ranch, the one in Montana. I have a fucking ranch in my toolbox.

She had an interest in quilting and told me that trait was passed on to her as snatch matching. I later found out that she meant patch, because I don't believe any woman could have droopy lips like her snatch. When fucking her outer lips fluttered. Her pussy looks like a pelican with a goiter.

Entering the motel office, the first question Zelda asked, just as her pawn shop dentures slipped causing a lisp. "Do you have soft corn in the rooms?"

"No, but we have some complementary cheese crackers."

"What if we wish to bump and grind?"

"Then there is a Veg-O-Matic next to the microwave."

The night of our bliss she stood candidly in the door-jam between the ice machine and pop tarts. Dressed in a thigh-high strapless gunnysack of a cross between hemp and burlap. The only thing standing between her knees and the floor were her tits, anchored by nipples the size of Rhode Island, holding up her fishnet hose as if garter snaps.

I was trying to watch a rerun of a 1979 Wheel of Fortune show. Some damn fool ask Chuck Woolery about buying an owl.

Zelda put her arms around me and said, "That's you Hurley."

She wanted to choke my chicken as I was still nibbling on a drumstick. I asked her if she would wait and maybe have some mash potatoes with gravy.

"Your cock, Hurley!"

"Its a just a broiler, sweetie."

She settled for the green beans and asked, "Have you ever had a ménage à trios, Hurley?"

Her memory must be slipping. Just three weeks ago when we met, I was the manager at the Maple Street carwash.

"Oh Hurley, my clit is vibrating and my vulva needs lubed."

"I thought bears only hibernate and that your Volvo had extended warranty."

She put a hickey on my neck, drawing the blood next to my skin. It turned blue and I accused her of being a demon, a pterodactyl from the La Brea Tar Pits.

"Hurley! What the heck does a hickey have to do with carpets... a phantom, maybe?"

I thought she said anthem and stood at attention as my cock gave a half-salute.

As Wheel of Fortune on the TV came to an end, she insisted that I put my penis in her trunk. I had to remind her that we only had overnight bags and not suitcases.

"As you are doing me Hurley, talk to me."

"I am going to spit on my hand."


"I am going to spit on my hand."

"Louder, Hurley."


"Can't you shit in the can later?"

"Now I am going to stick a thumb up your ass."

"I cant hear you Hurley."


"I hope its a bongo drum, Hurley. I remember you saying that your played clarinet in the high school band."

"I may pinch your thighs."



"I ate the fries when you took a shower, Hurley. My landing strip is showing."

"That ain't snow, Zelda, its dandruff."

"Please continue, Harry."

"Its Hurley."


"Now its time for me to put my cock in."

"I cant hear you Hurley."


"I hope its a blue-chip stock like AT&T. Fill me up Hurley."

"What did you say Zelda?"

"Fill me, fill me."

My goal was to satisfy my new betrothed, so I put a handful of antacid pills in her pussy.

"Oh baby, put it in my quiver."

"I don't think I can reach your liver, Zelda."