Allan Chism is a man frustrated by marriage. Until the day he snaps and gets extremely horny..... By the way this is all divided into chapters. And this is my first story
THE RUDE AWAKENING
Allan Chism put his 2003 Toyota Camry in reverse, as he exited the parking lot from Cleveland Middle School, his employer. He drove home awaiting a tasty Thursday night dinner from his wife, Alyssa. Mrs. Chism made pork chops for the past seven nights, which weren't her specialty, nor did Allan want to come home to eat them for an eighth consecutive night.
The Camry found home, as it was put in the gear of "Park" in the Chisms' garage. Allan looked up, conversed with God, and said, "I sit through church for two hours, so it's only fair that I sit through a nice meal that doesn't involve the same damn... sorry, I'm just overtaken by this cruel world that forces pig meat down my throat. Just don't let her fix those fuck- sorry, I'm a little excited. I desire something different. Amen." Allan opened the garage door, closed it, and inhaled deeply to smell what was cooking. The smell was too vague, so he decided to take off his jacket and put down his car keys, and inch closer and closer to see what Mrs. Alyssa Chism had been cooking.
A message containing the words "What", "the", and "FUCK" entered Allan's brain. I swear if she fixes the same thing again, I will voluntarily smash my skull with an axe, he thought. It seemed like a kick in the proverbial testicles: waking up at an ungodly hour, teaching sixth graders science for seven hours, staying after school for the tedious board meetings, and coming home to a less-than decent meal and a screaming three year old.
Allan couldn't show his anger to his wife, because she manipulated his entire life. He nicely said, "Honey, don't you think we've had enough pork chops for the week? I mean, you're an excellent cook and everything, but why is there a lack of variety? You are such a great cook with so many foods." Alyssa took her eyes off the cooking pork chops, turned around, and replied, "If you have such a problem with it, why don’t you fix dinner?”
This was Allan’s life reminding him why he is stupid for questioning his owner. Allan sighed, and quietly uttered, "Okay, I was out of line there. I love both of you very much and I would never hurt you." Allan was lying straight through his teeth. If he told her what he really thought, she'd file for divorce and he would have to live with the hobos downtown because she’d suck him dry from alimony and child support money he’d have to cough up.
With each successing night, the pork chops seemed staler. The more Alyssa cooked them, the more Allan was eager to taste his own fecal matter for the sake of having something different. He coated the awful flavor with his Coca-Cola, just to maintain sanity and not rip out his wife's throat for making such an abysmal dinner. "Like it?" Mrs. Chism inquired. "Baby, you've made yet another hit. I don't know how you do it." Allan said as he finished the last scrap.
Allan excused himself from the table, ran upstairs, ran the showers, opened the toilet lid, and vomited profusely. Still feeling nauseous, he grabbed his small flask of vodka and drank till he forgot his life wasn’t his anymore. He then half drunkenly stumbled into the bedroom. Alyssa came in, and plopped herself on the bed after tucking their son, Max, in. Feeling desperate for sex, Allan got the courage to tell his wife, "Honey, it's been a couple of months since we've... you know. And I'm in the mood." She opened her sleeping eyelids slightly, and responded with, "I've been watching Max all day, and I've got work tomorrow. We'll have sex soon, I promise." "Not soon enough," Allan pissed-offingly muttered under his breath. "What was that?" Alyssa asked in a tired, yet angry tone. Allan, feeling guilty, replied with "Nothing, now go back to sleep, my love.”
No food, no sex, all work, and no play, it really made Allan a sexually frustrated, hungry, and sleepless boy. He was so hungry, but there was nothing in the fridge, just a bunch of nasty Slimfast diet drinks. It was two in the morning, and his stomach sounded like the unison of belches that would be heard at a Golden Corral buffet. So, he grabbed a pencil, followed by a college ruled sheet of paper. Allan, the pencil, and the paper combined forces to compile the greatest list of grocery items ever made. Any one else in Allan’s situation would spend fifteen minutes scrambling around their kitchen like a fool, then write down what else to fill their fat asses with while they watched Grey's Anatomy.
Allan's point was far different: he was going to sit down, think to the point where the walls would almost be covered with his brains, get through with teaching early, and march his 26 year old ass straight to Bi-Lo. The pencil met the paper like Harry met Sally. The ideas flooded like New Orleans was during Hurricane Katrina. Words became pictorials for the food that would soon be masticated furiously. Allan had to move the plain white, 8X11 sheet, in fear that his drool would find its way onto his immaculate list, thus destroying his masterpiece.
The seconds came. Then the minutes. Then the hours. What was once one paper for groceries became three pages filled with items to put in his culinary collection. It all ended when he put the dot on the exclamation mark for the "Chips Ahoy!" cookies. A faint sound of the radio came into Allan's ears, signaling for him to wake up. He was already awake, though, as the second he put the dot on the exclamation mark, the voice of Steve Hartline from Mix 104.1 made it audible.
Allan made it through the last six periods. It made him feel as if he went three days without sleeping. He had enough of the insanity. Clearly, his needs weren’t met. Society owed him. It was his duty to give the world of tomorrow a piece of his mind so they won’t become the deprived and depressed failure that he always was. What had science taught him? Science taught him that he could flunk out of Medical school and lose his dignity, and then screw him again by making him earn minimum wage by teaching it in a middle school. Every moment of failure seemed to flash before his eyes as soon as his last class entered the room. Allan got up and spoke in front of them.
“Welcome class, it’s Friday and I know you are all excited to leave this God forsaken hell hole. I was going to teach you about photosynthesis today, but I had an epiphany: science didn’t give me squat in life. It won’t give you anything in life, either. This is no longer Science class you are attending, this is Life Lessons class. Learn it and love it.”
The class stared at him in silence. Allan continued, “Today, a mistake stands before you. My complaint with the system is that the school doesn’t teach you kids anything important. Well, I am. Any questions before I go on?” A boy in the back raised his hand, Allan called on him, and the boy said, “Can’t this get you fired?” Allan responded, “Not as long as I’m teaching you something valuable. Next question.”
“Are you going to teach Life lessons from now on?” A girl in the front enquired. Allan glared at her, “That’s a really stupid fucking question. Of course I’m teaching it from now on! What else am I going to do? Lie and tell you that you all are going to be presidents and astronauts? I’m prepping you for the future, not fantasy. Does anyone have a plausible question? No? Moving on...” He lit a cigarette and began the lesson.
The children started freaking out, one frantically asking, “Don’t you know how bad cigarettes are for you? And the second hand smoke can hurt our lungs!” Allan blew a cloud of smoke in the child’s face and said, “Grow a dick, Timmy. This is life. Live with it.” Allan began with explaining the first unit. “First and foremost, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Some of you will experience the fun of all of this, others won’t. I was a virgin till I was a junior in high school. No one taught me anything about what to do. Sure, I learned what a vagina was, but I never knew what to do with it. Let’s just say that was a really awkward first time.”
A typically shy boy lifted his hand to ask a question, “What about CON-DOMES? Why are they used?” Allan responded, “I’m glad you asked. If you want pleasure, then no fucking way are you going to wear rubber all over your dick. It feels like your cock is sealed from existence. If you don’t want to make a mistake that shits itself in a diaper, then yes, wear a condom,” he paused, tapped his cigarette against an ashtray, and continued, “Now, if you choose not to wear a condom, then pulling out is your option. You know to pull out when you are about to cum- which is the first word of vocabulary that is on your test. Cum is that nasty white stuff that gets your girl preggo. Girls, you need to take a little something called birth control. It takes the pressure off the guy who doesn’t want to wear the CON-DOME.”
Allan wrote some notes on the board for them to copy down, and went on to the next unit, “As for drugs and alcohol- these are very fun, but very dangerous. Just kidding, they aren’t as dangerous as the cops make it out to be. There is a future unit about drug use that I will teach you about later. For now, it will be about drinkin’. Let’s say you’ve had more than a few, you’re at a party, and everyone is either high or drunk. You have no designated driver. What do you do? Call a cab? Call mom and get in trouble? Fuck no. You quit being a pansy bitch, get a hold of your keys, and get behind the wheel. If you see cops, be smart and drive slowly. If you wish to avoid the long arm of the law, take the back roads, since the pigs are least likely to hide there. If you wreck your car anyway, you’re an idiot who can’t hold his liquor.”
At the corner of his eye, he saw the principal walking in. He quickly threw away his cigarette and sprayed the room with Febreeze. Allan improvised, “And that’s when the sun HITS the chloroplasts, which stores energy to make food. This is photosynthesis, people! Every plant goes through photosynthesis! Now class, what is it when plant makes food from sunlight?” Allan put his hand near his ear, and the class enthusiastically repeated the word “photosynthesis” in unison. A smile hit the principle’s face. The principle interrupted the lesson, “Mr. Chism, can I talk to you for a minute?” Allan eyed his class, “Take five, guys. Discuss how you think photosynthesis works and we’ll discuss it when I get back.”
Principal Elliott shook his head with a grin, and asked, “How do you do it, Allan? This is the first time in my twenty years of being a principal where I’ve seen the kids so, well, alive.” Allan humbly replied, “Well, it’s because I love my kids. I want them to have a future brighter than the sun-which gives plants energy to store food as you know, and I’m going to try my best to make that happen.” The principal seemed pleased, “Allan, I have in my hand a one thousand dollar bonus. I want you to buy something tonight that will make you as happy as I am right now.” Allan took the check, stating, “I don’t know if I deserve this! I’m no John Nash or anything. But thank you anyway; I’ll purchase something worth my while.”
The principal walked away, “Have a great day, Allan. Enjoy the weekend.” Mr. Chism returned to class. “Back to what I was saying, those who wreck their cars while drunk are idiots who don’t deserve to live in the first place. Take my uncle for example, fucking idiot drove the main roads and killed himself by running into a pole...” The bell rang. “Alright class, Monday we’ll discuss why it’s unrealistic to expect sex when you’re married because you soon find out women hate sex. Have a great weekend and please don’t tell your parents about this class because they only want to screw you over. See you later!” It was time to get to the grocery store and get some serious items for the night.
DON'T FORGET THE CHICKEN AND THE CHITLINS
"... And your total is 964 dollars and 23 cents," the main cashier said as the last item was scanned. Allan pointed to a box of ultra thin condoms, and interrupted the cashier, saying "Are you bullshitting me? Well, I guess I’ll pay for it. Oh, can I get those extra ultra thin Trojan condoms over there? I don’t want another cock-blocking little shit running amuck in my house. You know, if I can convince my wife that I have blood running through my veins just like she does, I may get lucky tonight.”
Miracle whip? Check. Two percent milk? Check. Chicken and chitlins? Motherfucking check and a half. Some time passed before Allan got all the groceries in his car. It didn't matter if the collection of food in Allan's Camry looked like a truck full of Mexicans on their way to fuck up some old “gringo”, all that mattered was tonight would be the night justice was served.
This was Friday night. Friday was once about getting girls drunk and sexing them to near death, then leaving them without them before they could know why they can’t walk straight the next day. It all used to entail working for hours just to knock Mike Tyson’s psychotic ass out on “Punch Out”. Friday night used to be the time where Allan would drive aimlessly for hours to find a place to get a decent milk shake. He’d stay up through the waking hours perfecting awesome guitar solos.
But not any more, he doesn’t. Fun became a thing of the past once Allan tied the knot with Alyssa. When they were dating, he’d come over to her house, watch a movie, and finger her in the process. Now she invites the neighbors over to talk about their boring ass lives and play monotonous games of Pictionary. Not this time. He pulled out his cell phone and called up Alyssa, “Hey Alyssa, can you tell the neighbors we’re busy tonight? I’m getting really sick of those bastards.” Before she could answer, he hung up.
On the ride home, the song “Allentown” by Billy Joel came on. When Billy sang, “We’re living here in Allentown,” Allan replied, “Damn straight.” It seemed like an omen for that night. Allan thought, If only people were more like me, then I’d think less of bringing my gun into the mall and shooting every damn person that looks at me cockeyed.
He finally arrived home. Now was the time to tell Alyssa what was up. Bitch won’t know what hit her.
Alyssa gave him the same look she gives him when he comes home shitfaced in the middle of the night. "Allan, where the hell have you been?" She said with a feeling of concern and rage. "I've been shopping, baby, and I bought some things for you! All of it was for you!" Allan replied.
He started bringing in the groceries. One after another. They kept coming like Richard Simmons watching a gay porn flick. Alyssa's eyes were open doors. She knew she'd have to cook like a fucker of all mothers.
Pancakes, pizza, tacos, eggs, bacon, and steaks were all being cooked at once with no mistakes. What was missing? Those wretched pork chops. Alyssa was no longer Allan's wife, but rather his slave. Her arms became machine guns that fired bullets of various foods on a plate and into the hands of her master.
Alyssa and little Max watched as Allan devoured through every meal she threw at him. He became full once he finished a plate of pizza rolls and pie. He looked at Alyssa, glanced at the food, eyed her again, and said, "Call the neighbors to babysit Max. All this food is giving me ideas..."
Since the neighbors didn't pick up their phone, Allan dropped his son off at the doorstep of their house. A sticky note on Max's head read, "He's your fucking problem now." Another sticky note on his chest said, "Enjoy your freedom tonight, dickheads."
Once Allan came back home, he announced his arrival. He saw several pairs of his wife's panties leading to the bedroom. Alyssa was a fool for him, indeed. Along the way to the bedroom, he removed his own clothing with every few steps. Then he got to the door, completely naked. He opened the door, and the bed was adorned with cherries and Little Debbie's snack cakes. Alyssa was nowhere to be seen. The rest of the room had almost everything he bought from Bi-Lo that day.
He laid on the bed in a very seductive syle. The bathroom door opened slowly. Alyssa came out in a pink, see through nightie. Her nipples were so visible, even Ray Charles could see them. Allan grasped her hand softly, kissed it, and pulled her toward him.
Little did she know, Allan had a surprise for her. In one hand, he had a turkey baster filled with his favorite sauce, Miracle Whip. In the other, he had hot mustard smeared all over his palm. "Face down, ass up, you're in Allen town now, bitch," Allan commanded. Her face and knees made contact with the bed, and Allan slapped on his rubber gloves. Love doctor was ready to ravish his first patient.
"Now, it's only going to hurt a little," Allan whispered as the tip of the turkey baster was making its way to her anal cavity. Slowly, he pushed. As the nanoseconds went by, his hand pushed further. Then came the squeezing. Some passionate squealing followed. It looked like someone being injected with a vaccine, the way he was operating that baster. He pulled it out, and pressed his lips against her butt cheeks while he rubbed her pussy with hot mustard.
Then he sucked. The Miracle Whip flowed out of her asshole, adding a good, yet funky flavor to the sauce. His erection was like Pinnochio's nose every time a lie was told by the wooden boy.
Allan stood up from his crouching position and stuck his hard junk into her mustard-infested cooch. It added fire to the passion that was building up exponentially since the day they met in high school. Back and forth for several minutes, his dick hit Alyssa's vagina from behind. He pulled out, turned her around, and made her suck his hot mustard covered cock.
Allan was thoroughly enjoying it, but then his night of loving almost came to a screeching halt. He had to tell her, "God Damn, honey, you are almost making me cum! Get off for a second, let's get some more food on you." He took her to the shower to wash off so he could experiment with other flavors.
Allan always had some sort of sweet tooth, so he got a bunch of seedless cherries, whipped cream,and two percent milk. Mrs. Chism came out of the shower, wet in more ways than one. Mr. Chism wrapped a towel around her, and threw her onto the bed. Dirty talking ensued. Alyssa became the harlot she always wanted to be at this point, constantly saying, "Baby rub my clit! Oh my God, fuck me! I'm so fucking horny for your fucking cock, give it to me baby." Allan was addicted to her diction, to a point where he would blow his load if there were any more sexual friction.
The words shooting out of her mouth made him want to do dirtier things to her, like smack the lips of her cunt. He did. He grabbed the cherries, rammed them into where her cherry used to be, and entered his veiny, one eyed monster in for the purpose of stating, "Does this remind you of our third date?" But he wasn't finished there. No way in Hell would he just settle for cherries. The whipped cream was spread all across her breasts, only for Allan to lick it all off.
She wasn't human anymore, just fuckable food. There was no hole that was neglected from delicious chow and beverage. Even her ears had M&Ms in them. Allan then came to a life changing decision: he was going to try anal sex.
In years past, Alyssa never allowed his penis to penetrate her rectum. She allowed for thinner objects like a turkey baster and a small dildo, but not Allan's 7 inch long, 2 1/2 inch wide dong. But unlike the past, she was never this horny and neither was Allan. He poured two percent milk to lubricate the premises. Her asshole gaped like the plot holes in an 80's action film. The dick of Allan stepped in and made its presence known. "OH FUCK," the two said in unison. No matter how far her ass gaped, it was still tight.
Milk splashed everywhere: Allan's stomach, the wall, her dresses, his jeans, and it even put out some lit candles that were nearby. He pulled his junk out so he could dip a cookie in the milk, take a bite, and get his dick back in her. The fucking of Alyssa's amazing ass was so hard, he was unsure if she'd walk again after this night.
All the food absorbed made Allan full to a degree where he was almost sick. His gut started looking a little bloated, so he suggested that he and his wife take the steamy romance to a bubble bath, in fear that she was going to get turned off by his bloated stomach. It worked.
They sat in a bubble bath with candles everywhere, and continued the coitus. She got on top and started riding him. Allan and Alyssa had been fucking all night, and this was the last straw: he was going to finish inside her. Watching her breasts jiggle, feeling her ass cheeks, and looking into the look of orgasm in her face was more than enough to set off his bomb of semen. Mr. and Mrs. Chism passed out in the bath tub.
The morning after, Allan found himself in the bath tub. A fully clothed Alyssa angrily barged into the bathroom, "Allan David Chism! Wake the fuck up! The neighbors called this morning and said they found Max freezing on their doorstep. What do you say to that?"
Allan took a giant gulp of scotch and said, "We can always have another one."