Hot, Mild, or Fire?

Gordon and Jaime left who, as far as Gordon was concerned at this moment in time, the love of his life.

"Alright," Jaime mustered through his stoned excitement, "you done this before, yeah?"

"Absolutely not, sir," said Gordon, "What am I in for? I mean, you know, I've heard stories and what not, but really mate... what am I in for?"

"How about we go find a clearing so you can endure the initial shock."

"Shock my ass! What have you done to me?"

"Just shut the fuck up and come with me."

The two found their way to a sandy clearing devoid of as much chaos as was ensuing in the presence of the masses. Jaime and Gordon sat down, one across from the other, and each lit up a cigarette and began discussing.

"Alright Gordon. So I'd say we dropped about fifteen or so ago, so here's what's about to go down. You're going to trip balls. Your stomach will begin to feel a little flighty, but ignore it. It's normal. Be prepared to see what music looks like."

"Um... alright I guess. Let the good times roll."

The flat, golden sand seemed to stretch on for miles. What was going on in the festival no longer seemed to matter. A sensation of floating entered Gordon's body as Jaime was laid down, face first in the sand, laughing his ass off. Just as the trip was coming on, a stranger wearing a Taco Bell hat approached the two and asked if it was alright if he took a seat. The two obliged, and allowed the stranger to join them.

"So what kinda car do you have?"

"What the fuck dude?" said Jaime as he turned over, spitting out a mouthful of sand.

"What kinda car do you have? I drive a pretty nice car."

"You are car guy," said Gordon, attempting to refrain from laughter as much as he could. His pupils were dilated the size of small marbles, the trip was there.

"Yeah, I like my car," said car guy, busting out of his pocket a jagged crack pipe quickly lighting, inhaling, and exhaling his chemical poison.

"Dude, that's not cool," said Jaime, also barely able to contain his laughter, "So what's with the Taco Bell hat?"

"Well, I work at Taco Bell. I work in the drive through, man, it's great. I get to see so many great cars."

At this precise moment, Gordon and Jaime erupted in laughter, barely able to survey this odd character in the middle of the desert.

"Well dude, we're barely coherent ourselves so it's our guess that you're not as well. But these folks have a rule when new people come about, so it is now your duty to tell us a story."

"Oh great, man, I'm going to tell you a story about my car. It's a nice car."

"Well, tell us about your car, mate," said Gordon through muffled chuckles.

I have a pretty great car, I like it a lot. I was working drive through one day and this guy rolls up with this silver car, so I asked him what kind of car he had because it looked so much like mine, it really did, and I was so excited. He told me it was a silver Elantra and I was so impressed. My car is about a grade lower than his was, but still, I love my car. I drove it all the way here, actually. There were two other people in the car and they had a pretty big order of burritos and potatoes, which I'm usually n-not too happy about, but it was okay because they were in such a great car. S-so I took their credit cards to pay for all the food and I was like... alright guys, any hot, mild, or fire sauce? And this girl asked for a ton of fire sauce, she was so rude. But it was okay because th-they were in such a great car. I gave them plenty of fire sauce and heard them laughing so hard at me as they drove away. I guess I'll never ask about what kind of sauce anyone wants again.

"WOAH," said Gordon, apparently deriving some kind of deep meaning out of the nonsense spewed before him, "It's all about the sauce."

"The sauce is damn right," said Car Guy, "you can't f-fuck up the sauce."

Car Guy takes another hit from his busted pipe, accidentally cutting his lip in the process and a wave of blood ran down his chin.

"WHAT THE FUCK!!! WHAT THE FUCK!! WHAT THE FUCK!" said Gordon, perturbed the the state of affairs involved with his lip.

"Chill man, chill, calm down, and chill," said Jaime, knowing that one little freak out such as this could turn a good trip bad in nanoseconds, "I think it's time you leave, dude. You've got him on a soap box about sauce, you're bleeding all over the place, and this is the kid's first time tripping his ass off."

"You still didn't answer my question, though," said Car Guy.

"Get fucked, is the answer, dude."

And car guy got up and walked away.

Sustained Release.

Claustrophobia lapped at the short hairs of his neck, causing them to stand on end. 

The sickly sweet stench of body heat wafted and tumbled with the cool desert winds, accompanied by the poignant odors of acrid smoke and wet, hidden sex. Murmurs stirred between shouts and cries, dampened and muted in the roar of crackling firelight at the center of the festival. The earth underfoot felt slick with filth. The heat of the effigy warmed the faces of the nameless in the undulating crowd while the thick of their crowded warmth drew sucked sweat from their pores and tickled their flesh. The devil was in them, this night.

Gordon pushed through, frustrated with finding himself separated from a familiar face. Upon chasing a pair of blondes through a midway constructed entirely in sex toys, Gordon had found himself far from the costumed soothsayers den where his troupe had agreed to meet. He bated his concerns with stolen glances and brazen gawks at all the tits left on display, bursting through halter tops and soaked brassieres or simply left bare to shiver in the wind. Tits of all ages, races, and sizes greeted him at every bend. In this duchy of deviance, the breast was queen. 

Gordon's heart swelled and leapt to his throat with the epiphany he was the lone fox in the chicken house, not another man to be seen.

To his right came a voice, gruff and poisoned with years of smoking. "Let me guess, Timmy Tommy. Your birthday is on the fourth of July." The maiden then hawked, then spat.

Gordon gleefully spun in mid-step to face the source of the voice. He discovered a mountain of a woman, whose mass would better describe furniture than a woman of thirty-six, sprawled across a stage of fine linens and silk. Fluorescent bulbs, shaded with rose and lilac, shone down upon her cracked, cratered skin, which glistened with grease. Her stomach bubbled from her frame in rolling hills, the landscape of her torso inexplicably held beneath the aged leather of a corset, which matched her lipstick and eye shadow. She smiled at Gordon with an expression that could only be described as "hungry".

But her breasts.

They rested atop of the bulges of her stomach like folded wings or clay moving down a hillside, the right pressed gently against the linen on which she laid and the left rising and falling with her short, shallow breaths. Her nipples were the size of cookware and wagged in the breeze. They too glistened with grease, but they also sparkled with glitter and tiny stickers of neon stars. A faded - one might even say "rusted - American flag was inked across her chest.

He felt star struck. Perfection, glittering before his very eyes.

"Jeez, kid, never seen a good pair of tits before?" his Duchess flirted. Then hawked. Then spat.

"Only once, though hers were quality to your blessing of quantity," he began.

It wasn't long ago I was living with me mum in a tiny flat in Devon. Me dad had run off with a young tart who worked for 'im in his business but mum never seemed to mind. She was always a quiet woman, sincere and polite but never felt the tick to speak her piece. She was a good lady, though. Looked after me and my brothers, kept us clothed and fed and did all the the good things a good mother should do. She got a job helping girls down at the university deal with women problems, telling 'im what to do with themselves. Good woman, that one.

Only once did she ask one of her students to watch us boys while she tended to her clients. That bird's name was Constance, a real tight piece of work; blonde and curt with the misses but never shy to help whatever guys she was buggering that week roll one out over the misses' landline. Sometimes me and my brothers, we'd listen in, though we never knew what the bloody hell she was on about.

I still don't know what a cream pie's got to do with anything, but 'at's besides the point.

One day, me eldest brother, William, dared me to ask Constance to see her tits. Not wanting to disappoint 'im, I strode right up to the twat and demanded to know what she kept beneath her knit sweaters.

Glory to God, she didn't hesitate to show me. Of course, she gestured for me to get fucked and told me and my brothers that we were creeps, but I think she got a little thrill out of it in the end. 

It was the coy smile, I think.

She never did come back, though.

Oh, Constance, my angel of anatomy, will I never see you again?

A firm hand clamping down on his shoulder brought him out of his memories. He turned to discover Jamie standing next to him, staring in utter shock at the behemoth of breast before him. Jamie caught himself and reached in his pocket, cracking a grin from ear to ear.

"What is it?" Gordon asked.

"Stick out your tongue, old chap," Jamie demanded. Gordon obliged, uncertainty evident in the expression on his face. Jamie quickly snatched a tiny white square from his pocket and placed it on Gordon's tongue. 

"What the fuck?" Gordon shouted, recoiling. "What did you just do?"

"Acid, my friend," Jamie said. "Old chap, you're about to see the very Tits of God."

Apocalyptica

Gordon breathed in the night air, absorbing the combination of sweat, dust, tequila, marijuana and urine. To him, Burning man was a wealth of opportunity, and with love being in the air, the Brit had lust on his mind. It didn't help that a fleet of topless women road past.

"Hey Parker, tell your God, thank you, then ask forgiveness for what I'm about to do."

Parker shrugged off the bordering on blasphemous words, more concerned with how he would approach his new found infatuation.

"Hey Mali, could you tell me more about this Burning Man. I'm wondering why so many people are naked. There's lots of pretty lights an stuff though."

"Sure. Why don't we go check out that giant thing over there. It looks like a chandelier that would belong to Atlas. Reminds me of a story I've been working on."

"Please tell it to me, I want to hear it." Parker pleaded with her, giving her his best impression of puppy eyes. Mali waved off her curiosity, and chose to believe that she was over analyzing Parker's new found friendliness.

Joe, on the other hand, was having trouble not displaying his inner turmoil. The incident with Casey left him uncertain of his own feelings. Thankfully Casey was aware and invited him to watch the fire dancers. Before dragging him away, Casey made it a point to inform the rest that they would meet at the limo at night's end. Jaime wasn't exactly prepared for the scenario and the camping equipment he had his publicist order wouldn't arrive until the following evening.

"Well, alright Parker, it's not done yet, but I'll tell you what I've got."

Makkari was a lonely man. He lived day after day with nothing to show. He worked a job where he received no credit and did a majority of the work. He had no immediate family, no friends to speak of and a love life that would be laughable to most. At work he would dispense advice, be an aid when needed and contribute whenever he could. He followed the rules and never so much as picked a penny up. He lived by the philosophy that he would eventually get paid in full. And that day came.

While walking home, an elderly woman fell and as he assisted in lifting her to her feet, she shot a glance up to him and smiled a wide cheshire grin. She then grabbed her chin, ripping her skin off like a sheath to reveal a goddess within. "You have spent your life in service of others and I sense you want repayment. I will grant you one wish, though you must be wise in choice." Makkari had always known what he wanted, but the wording escaped him. "I've always wanted to be a part of something. My entire life I've spent separate from the world, on my own. I want to be important, I want to feel accepted."

"Your wish is done."

In an instant there was a flash, and it took him a second to quite what happened, then it arrived. It was overwhelming, like trying to fit the ocean in a single glass. Makkari fell to his knees clutching his chest. His eyes swelled with tears, unable to cope with what occurred. He looked around him, attempting to grip just what happened to him. After a brief survey of his surroundings, a laborious task that required focus and paced breathing, he realized why every infintesimal moment he wanted to laugh and cry, love, hate, celebrate and otherwise communicate the dramatic poignancy that filled him from within. The world as he knew it no longer was. All things important to man, anything that inspired, motivated or otherwise affected humankind was no longer present. The world he populated was an emotionless scrapyard, filled with vacant debris. Humanity no longer inhabited the Earth in the conventional sense. It now found a new home within Makkari. Makkari wished to be a part of something, now everything that matters, everything was a part of him.

Parker stood for what felt like an eternity. His palms gleaned from the sweat as his mind raced to fill the void of inter-relational noise. He didn't want to yell, but the place was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Vehicles modified to resemble everything from teapots to mythological creatures. As a tentacled caravan rode by, complete with a shadowy figure and the word "Droogs" scrolled across it, Mali let out a squeal of excitement.

"Do you get it Parker?"