Apartment613

Photo courtesy of Jeremy Hanson-Finger

For a year now, The Moose and Pussy has been Carleton University’s best (and only) sex magazine. The magazine, which just published its third edition, features short stories and poetry about that most taboo of subjects: sex! Jeremy Hanson-Finger, one of the Moose and Pussy’s editors, has given us permission to re-publish a story from the latest issue. Here is Leah Mol’s raunchy short story, “Absurdities.”

Warning: This post contains some strong (and explicit) language after the break. If you find that sort of thing offensive it’s best not to click ahead.

When he masturbates, he imagines himself in a bus station.  It’s snowing outside and he’s surrounded by people with white dots all over their black and brown coats, with shiny little droplets in their hair.  He’s sitting inside, on a bench covered in graffiti valentines; sometimes he sees their names in a black heart and he smiles, but usually it says Bobby + Marsha = Forever.  He doesn’t know why he sees these names in particular, but he assumes it’s because he spent his childhood watching The Brady Bunch.  Thinking about this always speeds up his hand and increases the friction.  For a while, he is alone with the crowds and the pink and blue and green gum frozen into the wood beneath him.  Then he sees her.  At first, her face is always clouded by the shadow of her hood, but as she walks inside, her hood somehow slips off and she shakes her hair out from under it.  Their eyes catch, and she walks right over to him, unbuttoning her coat and then letting it slide from her shoulders.  When she gets to him, she leans down (he’s about two inches taller than her, but he’s sitting) and breathes “I want you inside me” into his ear.  Then she unbuttons his pants.  In real life, she’s a nail-biter.  She bites them down to the flesh, and they are disheveled and usually bloody. His hand increases speed. Her nails are a deep red and they’re not too long, but they’re long enough.  She pulls his cock from the hole in his Mickey-Mouse boxers (it’s his fantasy; it doesn’t matter if you don’t find it sexy) and she gets down on her knees.  There are still people everywhere, but their faces melt away, so all he sees are black and brown coats with heads; they have no mouths or noses or eyes.  Everything is blurry except for her head.  All of a sudden, his cock is bathed in warm and wonderful wetness, and he is breathless, and he looks down and her head moves a little faster every second, and he gasps, and there’s brown hair fanned all over his perfectly tanned legs which are surprisingly free of hair, and her lips feel stronger and stronger, holding onto him, and he has no guilt while exploding into her perfect mouth, and in the real world he covers his sheets in come.  He wipes them off with a white towel.

When she masturbates, she’s a whore.  She wears bright blue eye shadow and heaps of black eyeliner.  She has bright red lips and her nails are perfect.  She weighs thirty pounds less than she does in real life.  She stands on the corner of Bank and Somerset and men constantly pass by in expensive coats and limousines.  They all stop and ask her how much and she says no way, José, and they walk or drive away making fists with their hands and grumbling about how someday they’ll fuck her.  Then she sees him.  He’s a drug dealer and he weighs forty pounds less than he does in real life.  He asks her how much, and she tells him that it depends how big his cock is, although, in real life, she would never use language like this.  He grabs her waist with both hands and she’s terrified.  He pushes her back until she hits a brick wall.  Her skirt is short, and the brick is cold, so goose bumps jump from her skin.  He pulls her legs up around his waist and pushes her harder into the wall and it scratches her back and she can’t help but gasp.  His pants somehow fall off of him, and she isn’t wearing underwear, so he pushes himself into her, and his dick is twice as large as it is in real life. After giving her a taste of that, he throws her onto the ground, and he eats her like an animal, biting at her cunt, verging on serious sadism, and as she’s reaching a point where she wants to scream, he thrusts his tongue deep inside her and she grabs his hair and she pulls him even deeper, and in real life, her fingers are sticky and she’ll have to spray some Febreze.

She gets home at five and cooks dinner, and he gets home at six and they eat together and talk about their days.  She had lunch with a new colleague and they talked about where they went to college.  He can’t stand his boss and says he’s thinking about applying elsewhere, but he never will.  They watch television for three hours, and comment on something every ten minutes or so.  They don’t feel strongly about what they’re saying, but they feel it’s nice to communicate.  At ten, they get into bed, and they turn out their energy-efficient lights.  He rolls onto her and thrusts, grunting, sweat dripping onto her face and stomach.  He comes with a weak burst; she doesn’t come at all.  They will never tell each other what they dream about.

If that was as good for you as it was for me; you can find more in the latest issue which is available in select shops around Ottawa. The Moose and Pussy is always looking for submissions. If you think you’ve got what it takes, send them your best raunchy stories. You don’t need to be a Carleton student to get published.