Finish my short story; a game

[Pessimism]

Thread games is a terrible sub-forum, and I like the lot of you better.

Rules:
1. The writing style employed must be consistent (i.e. grandiose and well, rococo if you will).
2. No quick endings or stupid fucking edits (example: as he was walking OH SHIT I TRIPPED AND FELD AND DIED THE END). Death is a fine subject, but you better rock the shit out of it.
3. Don't spend any more than 10 minutes on a piece (other than that, there is no minimum and maximum; quality above quantity)
4. Yes, this is supposed to somewhat be the classiest "gayest/most terribly well written thing" you have ever read.


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The Lonely Homo – by Reginald Wet-Genitals

Not cat or dog nor cute cricetinae could stop the tears that fulled my boudoir. “Woe is me!” I cried, beguiling all the rage and furry that was available to my peremptory effeminacy. My hand rested upon my lap, just as his hand used to after the wild nights we would share at the deciduous gardens in Ramsdale. Now, instead of my passions roaming freely amongst those stoic annuals, I sat here – perturbed and desidiose!

The phone rang, and rang some more. Finally, with the biting loneliness feasting on my inner thighs, and picked up the tail end of my blower and heard those words: “Reginald, this is Bertrand. Please be respectful and mail me my jockies; it's not quite right for them to be in your ownership, and I assure you that my forgetting them in your powder-room was merely happenstance. Now pl-” I couldn't help but interject “Why have you made this a moot point? I must talk with you, we mu-”

“I will hear none of this! You know what transpired, and I shall not speak of it again!”

All at once he was gone, and I - the blathering wreck, felt accosted once again.

 

[mutantllama]

I then started to cry some more, tears fell down my face, then suddenly, a great idea popped into my head! It would make everything feel better! I'd watch some of my favorite fetish videos! I then proceeded to my computer and turned it on waiting for it to boot up. I went into my internet explorer browser and searched "men stomping on other men's dicks with combat boots". Oh how Bertrand would pleasure me with that, helping my strange fetish. Then suddenly my penis became flaccid thinking about what he did, and suddenly I started to cry again..

 

[JontRevolting]

...Upon this recollection of ill repute I became nauseous,nauseous at the levels to which I, the great Reginald Wet-Genitals had lowered myself.Once a lauded member of congress now just another fell guttersnipe with an appalling appetite for my sexual desires.
I sat and thought for a while about the foul deed that I had unwittingly allowed Bertrand to bestow upon the once mighty and proud Reginald Wet-Genitals.'I shall have none of this' I bellowed and stormed off with the intentions of making Bertrand pay...'his blood shall flow and soothe my aching pride and ass'.

 

[Pessimism]

Both excellent, excellent!

 

[Hell Patrol]

As I stepped out into the street on this freezing December night I pulled my jacket over my head. Once before, about a week ago, I had stepped into the street but had left my head uncovered. Never again! The snowflakes brought back painful memories of my overly erotic pet bull. Oh what a mess he would make as I lay beneath him on those days so long ago. But there are more pressing matters at hand. I had arrived at Bertrands...

 

[JontRevolting]

Outstanding contribution...

 

[muzmaze]

...as i sat worthy of the thinking mans statue...i suddenly thought to myself and shouted- "I COULD'VE HAD A V8"!

 

[The Butt]

I decided to walk to Bertrand's living room couch, as I sat, contemplating the lack of delicious tomato beverage, that had been plaguing me for the past few short moments.

"Bertrand... there's something I wish to ask you..."

And with that, we went on for hours with our discussion of the drink.

"It's a good thing, Reginald, then, that I saved one just for the occasion," he replied, with a very wry, menacing grin on his face.

Quicker than I could bat an eye, my pants and undergarments had been tore off me; much to my dismay, I could suddenly feel the discomforting cold of a metal can entering my anus.

 

[Dagon666]

As I walked home later that night, looking much like a cowboy since my ass was aching worse than it had ever ached before, I started to ponder. Why hadn't I killed Bertrand, like I had promised myself to do this very night? I came to the conclusion, that Bertrand was a sex god, and no man, live or dead, could ever make my arse ache like Bertrand could.

But is that really what it all boils down to? Sex? The pleasres of the flesh?

 

[Vimana]

No, the pleasures of the fresh flesh. Old people suck. I would never fuck David Hasselhoff. I heard he has a dragon tapeworm. It's like a tapeworm, except one day, when it's well-enough-fed, it will transform your body into a motherfucking dragon. I hope Hasselhoff's mother is dead already... I will never let the same thing happen that happened to my mother. I haven't spoken her even for a split-second in years... How could I describe her?

 

[Dagon666]

My mother was the most straight woman you could ever imagine. She'd even sit straight in bed, not lay down like a faggot... a faggot like myself.

The day I told her I was gay was a sunny day in May. She had dad tied up to a rack in the basement, and my brother sat ball-gaged in front of the tv, so it was just me and mom in the kitchen. I told her "Mom, I have a confession to make". She needed hear no more. She opended the top drawer and pulled out a knife...