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Wendy and Racine

Oviedo Hudson wanted to be important. He didn't think he was important and he wasn't important. Oviedo Hudson complained about this all the time. He was twenty six.

“Nobody gives a flying fuck about you Oviedo not even me," his girlfriend Wendy told him over and over. “But you’re harmless, not very demanding and have a big cock that’s fun to suck and fuck. And I like the fact that your crotch smells like oregano and gasoline.”

She often blurted this out while sitting next to him in mixed gatherings of her close friends.

They respected her a lot.

When Oviedo ejaculated it sometimes hit the ceiling or whizzed out the bedroom window. Wendy started to aim his cock like a sperm bazooka and shoot, with unerring accuracy, at passing birds. It was funny. Especially when a bird got hit in the eye, lost its bearings and spiralled down with a splat onto the pavement below or with a splat on the wall of the adjacent building. Wendy became so accurate that there was even an item in the neighbourhood newsletter.

‘Sticky Birds Dead on Pavement Raise Many Questions.’

Sent to a lab for analysis the results never appeared in public.

Feeling complicit, Oviedo occasionally felt sorry for the birds. But not enough to stop Wendy from giving him such magnificent orgasms. His huge cock had attracted many an intelligent woman, some even top politicians and corporation CEO’s. But none compared with Wendy. He knew very quickly that without what she could do to him he had no reason to live. And Oviedo wanted to live. Living, he could still hope for greatness.

Wendy was a Mensa member with an IQ of 187 with four university Phd’s ... Astronomy, Greek Literature, Quantum Physics and one other she refused to talk about. After that fourth degree Wendy taught at Harvard for three years and Cambridge for two but then gave up academia altogether. At the age of twenty.

The big and small of it was that Wendy decided that she just liked to fuck. That fucking was an extremely valuable thing to do. That fucking was an important thing to do. Like death was important.

Wendy’s mom agreed with Wendy and didn’t blame her for wasting so much of the family money on higher education. “It usually takes some experience like going to university,” her mom said, “ to understand what’s important in life.”

Wendy’s family was a happy family. She was one of five children. Her dad worked on an oil rig, " And then brings his own spouting rig home to me," her mom liked to say to her Knitting Club friends. It always left them in stitches.

Her dad was content, loved his children, never cheated on Wendy and liked to brew strong tea. "Nothing like a cuppa tea before or after a good eight hours of fucking, " he'd say around the dinner table. " And during dear, "said Wendy. "And during," he agreed.

The children would pay no attention to such banter any more than children pay attention to anything else that parents say around the dinner table. They knew they were loved unconditionally, that their parents loved one another unconditionally. And as they became of age that they, too, would be able to fuck to their hearts content as often as they wished with mom and dad’s absolute blessing.

" Not too young though,” Wendy’s mom and dad would say; and no one ever did. The fact that the children knew that it was right and good to fuck as much as a person wanted to made them realise that there was no rush. There would be a million chances at the appropriate time.

If God had made women so that they could give birth in a sweet puff-breath of minty air out of the mouth instead of a legs apart, bloody umbilical afterbirth mess, Wendy would have tried to make a kid every time she fucked.

“The only thing more important than fucking and death is bringing lots of children into the world and raising them properly in an intelligent and loving manner and, of course, fighting unrelentingly for freedom and democracy” She said this to Oviedo one afternoon by mistake.

Oviedo stared blankly at a hard piece of snot on the end of his finger then ate it.

The next day, Wendy became a Marxist revolutionary.


Oviedo Hudson, unlike Wendy, was obsessed by sex. He occasionally believed that having a big cock was essential to his being and that the massive bursts of sperm probably indicated that at some point in the future he would attain the greatness he craved.

“You wish,” Wendy would say to him as a punchline after telling his cherished secret to mixed gatherings of her close friends.

Wendy also liked grabbing his big cock because it was fun to control an animal.

“ You’re just a horse, nothing much else”

Waking up after a night of fucking Wendy yawned, stretched, smiled and said, “You’re a very stupid person, Oviedo. You don't even realise that your cock is not yours, any more that my cunt belongs to me. Basic elements just rent a self for a while and fuck to make more of us. Even more morons like you."

She had first said something similar to her religious studies teacher in grade seven. She was asked to leave the room.

Her classmates respected her a lot.


Oviedo was close to coming but Wendy held him back for a few more minutes ... It made her joyful to do that ... then she let Oviedo blast away. Being a bit mischievous she aimed right at his new poster of the Real Madrid football team. Oviedo was livid. Wendy rolled off the bed in raptures of laughter.

Oviedo got up and disappeared petulantly into his rusty little shower. Wendy got up and went for a walk along the lake and then through the park to her cosy flat next to the vegetable shop on Worthington Crescent.

“He really is too much of a megalomanic,” she mused. Stupid she didn’t mind. But stupid plus vanity depressed her. “ Stupid people need to realise they are worthless and show some humility if they want a blow job from me she whispered to herself in the mirror. Her face grinned back with its enormous buck teeth, close set eyes, huge nostrils and elephantine ears.

Wendy loved the way she looked. She snorted, grabbed an apple and started to brew some mint tea.


After his shower, Oviedo had thrown on some old clothes and gone for a double cheeseburger, a large Coke plus super fries covered in extra salt. He decided while staring at a big smiley face of Ronald MacDonald that it was time he did something with his life.

“I want Wendy to be proud of me god damn it. It’s now or never.”

As soon as he finished his meal he went straight home, took a huge shit and stretched out on the sofa to think. He fell asleep to a rerun of the Three Stooges and dreamed of being Alexander the Great leading an army in Leicester Square

" Listen up," he commanded, “Or I'll lay waste to all of you.” People with tickets either paid no attention or spat very expertly in his face. He woke up covered in drool, rolled over, wiped his mouth and stared at an old stain on the back of a pillow.


The next week Wendy was playing the very tiny cock of a FedEx driver named Muhammed Ken O’Brian, who was a mixed race terrorist. “ This thing is like a penny whistle,” she laughed. Ali moaned and hugged his automatic weapon.

After about an hour he came with a dribble, fired several violent rounds from

the Kalashnikov into the ceiling and walls and yelled. “God is Great, Hail Mary!”

Let's hope he's greater than you", said Wendy and rolled off the bed in raptures of laughter. Before Mohammed stomped off petulantly to his rusty little shower she apologised and said, " Listen, MoKo. There's someone l want you to meet."

She had this idea, you see, that if she could get Oviedo and Mohammed both naked at the same time that something unique might happen.


The following Thursday after a dreadful threesome Wendy bumped into a thin young man carrying an armful of university books as she was crossing Melbourne Avenue. The books tumbled into the puddles of the dirty wet street as they both ran out of the oncoming traffic.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry,” said Wendy.

“ It’s just stupid Wittgenstein”, he said.

Their eyes met. Wendy shivered. Wittgenstein had been her fourth Phd.

“I’m Racine. I like to lick and fuck cunts” Nothing is more important than fucking ... except for bringing lots of children into the world and raising them properly in an intelligent and loving manner and, of course, fighting unrelentingly for freedom and democracy”

“ And death,” said Wendy.

“Of course, said Racine.”

Wendy’s heart sank. “I’m afraid that I’m a Marxist Revolutionary,” she said, close to tears.

“Can’t you give that up?” asked Racine. He was monumentally enthusiastic, having renounced organised religion of all types that very Monday.


One month later Wendy and Racine were married and over the years had five wonderful children. Their family was the happiest family that God had ever seen.

This brought Him great relief.


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