The Day At The Supermarket I Would Never Forget
So. It sure is New Zealand Music Month. To celebrate, I wrote an erotic fan fiction about the Phoenix Foundation (a non-reggae band from Wellington). Probably don't read in a lecture. You might get hot as and bothered as. Enjoy:
The Day at the Supermarket I would Never Forget. by Joseph E. Harper
It was probably the best day of my life. And it was all because I had to go to the supermarket to get more muesli. Now I know what you’re thinking. So what? The Supermarket? What's great about that? We've all been there. But I tell you what. This time was not an ordinary time at the supermarket. This was extra-ordinary.
It all started when I awoke in my king single bed. Summer's lovely hot fingers had long been fading and I had chosen to start sleeping with my deep, navy, blue, mink, blanket as well as my regular sheet and duvet. BIG mistake! I should have realised that it was still March and in the morning I'd be drenched in my own salty sweat. Which I was. I don't even need to tell you that this is not the way I like the start a morning. Especially because I knew for a fact I was running low on lynx body wash and would probably carry around a reminder of my hot hot morning in the way of an everlasting (or at least until I got more lynx body wash) scent or lite-odour. I decided to wear my blue and short-sleeve shirt. It's missing a button so it reveals a lot of my chest. Usually I don't wear it because I don't like to come across as a slut or a floozy. But today I just wore it. I dunno why? I guess I was just feeling a bit spicy. I also wore my black corduroy trousers which are extra tight and my favorite jandals.
I went into my kitchen and I opened my cupboard and I looked inside. I was hungry for breakfast. The previous evening I had hit to local Y with a few buddies and shot some hoops. That level of work-out left me pretty ravaged and hungry. So I was hungry. That's when I saw it. There was no muesli left! How am I supposed to start the day without a big big big big bowl of HUBBARDS BERRY BERRY NICE MUESLI? Talk about bad news. Not BERRY BERRY NICE. If you know what I mean (lol). I decided straight away to get my A into G and head to the supermarket. I don’t know about you, but I find it real hard to start the bay without YCRs (YOGHURT COATED RAISIN's).
The closest supermarket to my house in Waterview is the Countdown up in Pt. Chev. It's certainly not much of a supermarket! I mean it doesn't even have a deli or a bakery. I don't like going there because it gives me the feeling that I'm slumming it. But it IS the closest so I jumped onto my long board and headed in its direction. There was an odd feeling in the air. A feeling of raw and masculine hope. I was breathing it in through my nose and allowing it to run around naked and free and in my lungs. Today felt good in spite of my early foibles.
I got to the supermarket without trouble. I locked my longboard up and went inside. And that's when I saw HIM. Standing a mere 30 foot away from me was Samuel Flynn Scott from wellington rock and roll band, Phoenix Foundations. Don't ask me why he was in Pt Chevalier, shopping for mangoes, but he was. He looked up and I saw his face. Handsome and beardy, he had the look of a man who could drop a man as easy as he could drop a twelver of double brown. He looked at me. "Am I staring?" I asked myself and averted my gaze. I looked up and he was gone. Was it all some lucid and firey dream?
I maneuvered my way to the cereals. No problems. And then I saw my box. And indeed, it was my lucky day. There was only one box left on the shelf and it had my name written all over it. I reached out a tender hand, and then BAM! My hand collided with another. I guess I wasn't the only person who'd run out of muesli. I craned my neck to see who my competition was and, low and behold, standing beside me was that swarthy sack of a man, Samuel Flynn Scott! I had practically been holding hands with him. Without even realizing!!!
"Uh oh." He said, with all the charm of a Sumatran tiger. "Looks like we've got muesli issues on our hands." He shot me a smile. His white teeth were like the ivory tusks of African Elephants. All glory and magnitude.
"I guess we do." I said. Trying to play it cool.
"How about we flip for it?" he said, pulling a coin from his deep pocket. As I looked down I noticed how his tight blue jeans barely stifled his large member. As he flipped the coin, he said, "Heads." The silver 20 cent piece rotated in the air like a Hubble space telescope. I realised though, that Samuel wasn't watching the coin. His eyes, for some reason, perhaps it was the extra chest I was showing or the man scent that was flowing around me, were fixed on me. And if I wasn't mistaken, there was a big amount of lust in them. The coin landed in his palm, but he didn't look down at it. Instead he threw it dramatically to the ground.
"Listen." He said. "I dunno about you. But I don't much feel like this muesli anymore." He winked decisively. "Are you a homosexual?" He asked with an air of expectation.
"Yes." I said.
"Me too." he said. "Feel like taking a walk with me?" He said. I was nervous. I'd never been propositioned by a real celebrity before. "Go on." He said. "Take a walk on the wild side." He said.
"Okay I said."
Moments later we were both on my long board, I in front, Samuel in back. He gripped tight to my waist and I felt the gently throbbing love in his trousers. "You're a good driver of this thing." He complimented.
"Thanks. My dad taught me." I retorted. Maybe it was the warm march air or the scent of gentle pohutakawa, but something came over us. Before we even got back to my home, we were off the long board and rolling around in the bushes like two muscular, naked rabbits. His beard tickled my person and make me tingle like a schoolgirl or a pinscher on heat. Samuel was more man than I'd ever experienced before. He took control. Threw me around like a ragdoll. I was slave to his desire and I've never been more hot or sweaty. It wasn't long before my naked a*#! became his home and we were rocking, in sync, perfectly, roughly but with an inherent gentleness. It was truly a beautiful thing. When he c#$! it was like a small train hitting my insides and I was moved to sweet tender climax. I was a firework, crackling and lighting up the inner workings of my soul and our passions.
Afterwards we fell asleep in the itchy grass. I woke up later, clothed and alone. Samuel was gone, but there was a note. "Thank you." it said. "From Samuel F. Scott." I got up and went home. Carrying only that small slip of paper and the memory of out encounter. Something told me we would meet again. I didn't know when, or where, or why, but I did know it. I also knew, I'd go shopping for muesli more often.
THE END...
(or is it?...)