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It's that time of her cycle. She'll want to be alone. Just her and the precious lay. She's got her work cut out. Don't get me wrong. In ovigarchies like ours I know my place and all. It's just that. What do I get out of it? Now I've off-loaded spermatazoa, I'm surplus to value. That lava has more status. That half-amphibian runt's worth more to her than me. There's she goes to do another load. She'll be after blood feast before long. Then it'll be,

'Och, look after the bairns. It's all ye goat ta dae , ya useless barmpot...'

She's gets lippy when blood thirsty. And the stench. Oozing plasma. Dripping that human filth all over the place.

There's no initiation for this. No preparation. Wham bam thank you mam! Just listen to her. Zzzz. Desperate now. She craves her claret meal. There she goes. ZZZZ zzz z The duvet flipped. She's in.

Is she? ..zzz Was that her? No. Another mother. This one must taste well. ZZz zz He's turning over. And she's out... ZZZ ZZ What's up? She don't look good. Ah! Of course, she can't stand that. Great. Serves her damned right. Garlic. Ha!

Story by:

Phil Doran

submitted at 11:19am

20 May 2009

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