Sugarplum 12

Chapter 1
Remembrance

Chapter Description: a glimpse of the past.

Sugarplum 12

Remembrance

10:45pm on a Thursday night.

The television was humming that day’s news, but the volume was so low that the Asian field reporter’s voice was so quiet she sounded like she was sealed inside a glass jar. Behind her, a 1997 Volvo was on fire, and firemen were dousing it with water to put it out.

But Vern wasn’t paying much attention to that. The bottle of beer in his hand wasn’t that cold anymore. He was sitting at the bar, hunched over the counter. One knee bounced up and down rhythmically in anxiousness. He had the feeling he was waiting for something.

Today was a sub-par day. A hard day at the job, and an even harder day at home. Carrie had just gotten done arguing with him about cleaning the house before she grabbed her bags and got into her car. She was going on a flight to visit family across the country. To take the edge off, he had decided to go to the bar.

Where the hell did Carrie come off, telling him he didn’t do enough work around the house. He worked from 8 to 7 on the job, doing backbreaking work. When he came home, he would eat the meal Carrie had prepared for him, he even washed the dishes. As tired as he was, he knew it was unfair that Carrie should cook AND clean the dishes. Then he went directly to bed after dinner and a shower each night. And Carrie had the nerve to say he didn’t work enough.

How dare she. She worked less than half as much as he did, and she had the nerve to come at him with her feminist superiority “I’m and independent woman” crap. He supported her, and that was a fact. She didn’t have the place to say he didn’t work enough.

But he still loved her. And he knew that Carrie’s bullshit woman excuses weren’t enough to make that go away.

The door of the bar opened behind him and he heard girlish chattering, pounding his already painful headache into deeper prominence. This is exactly what he needed.

He heard the woman walk to a table to his left, and sit down, still chatting loudly and obnoxiously. He looked in their direction to see who was causing his head to pound, and saw three women taking their jackets off and putting their purses down. A brunette sat facing him, and two redheads sitting across from each other.

Vern turned around, the corner of his mouth twitching. He looked up at the bartender who was cleaning a glass in front of him and said, “That’s exactly what the fuck I need.”

“What?s that?” the bartender asked, looking up from the glass with sunken eyes.

“Eh, those three bimbos who just came in. I’m not a fortune teller but I predict an even bigger headache because of them.” Vern downed the last few sips of his beer in one and asked the bartender for another round.

“Are you sure, V?” the bartender asked, “You gotta drive home later you know. I’ll take your keys if you are too sauced to make it.”

“I’m sure, Jacoby,” Vern said, “I will be sober enough to drive. And it’s not like the wife will care if I crash anyway. She doesn’t appreciate what I do for her regardless.” Jacoby handed Vern his next beer and walked away before Vern could say much more. He was a good guy, Jacoby, but he had to deal with enough strangers complaining about their lives day in and day out. Frankly, he didn’t care about Vern’s problems even if he was his friend.

The women must have said a funny joke or something because they began to giggle and cackle in their high-pitched voices again. Vern’s temples gave a violent throb. His teeth grinded from behind the beer glass and he looked over a shoulder at the table.

“Bartender! Another Washington Apple please!” one of the women was saying, looking in Vern’s direction at the bar. She had red hair and equally rosy lips.

As much as Vern wanted to be angry and annoyed, somehow he felt the throbbing in his temple reside slightly. She was beautiful. It seemed as if in she was moving in slow motion, and Vern seemed to forget everything else as he watched her.

Her eyes caught his for a second, and Vern felt his face flush with color. She smiled and turned back to her friends. A few seconds later, the woman looked back over at Vern and smiled. Vern smiled back.

“So Vernon, what do you do for a living?”

“Construction,” Vern said in reply before taking another sip of beer. “So how about you, Becky? How do you get by day to day?”

“I’m a photographer.” said Becky.

Vern stopped. “Wow. That’s pretty interesting!”

“Ah you’re one of the many guys who pretends they’re interested.”

“No I really am interested. I wanted to become a director when I was younger, so I kinda know how it feels to photograph.”

Becky shifted in her seat. “What do you mean?

“Pretty amazing isn’t it? Photographing something... it’s like taking a piece of history and preserving it... keeping it alive long after what is in the picture is gone...” Vern’s voice was trailing off. He was now looking past Becky, not at anything behind her, but his eyes were unfocused, his mind’s eye taking over. Becky got up from the seat across from him and sat in the seat directly next to him. “I don’t know how much different filmmaking is from standard photography, but I know that the detail you can put into a simple picture is staggering.”

Becky’s hand was on his own now. “I guess you really are interested.” she said, and they both laughed.

“Sorry I was kind of getting away from myself.” Vern said before turning bright red.

“That’s alright,” said Becky. She put her free hand on her eye and wiped away a tear. “I never really thought about it that way. I just do photography because it makes me feel good.”

Vern looked at her. “Maybe that’s why it makes you feel good, because you don’t need to analyze it to appreciate it...”

Becky was very close to Vern now. Vern could smell nothing but her perfume now. She moved even closer to him, and whispered into his ear, “Maybe that’s not the only thing that could make me feel good.”

And she smiled at Vern. A creepy little smile that made the hair on the back Vern’s neck stand up.

Becky’s panties were pink. So was her bra. As pink as her lips. Lips which were furiously working their way over Vern’s body. Vern felt his pants being unbuckled. Then unzipped. Then pulled down to his ankles. Becky’s short skirt was soon down around her ankles as well, and she carelessly stepped out of it, making her way to Vern’s bed.

Vern followed her to the bed and grabbed her by the waist. Then he laid her down. And he put his hand in her hair and caressed her neck and worked his way down until his hands were underneath her, and he unhooked her pink satin bra. Slowly he took it off her, and her nipples poked out at him. He kissed her chest and then each breast, focusing on each nipple, and he heard her soft moans of delight.

And he worked his way down. Down over her perfectly sculpted tummy. And he was kissing her belly button. And he was kissing her hips. And he was sliding his hands along her body until they found her pink panties. And he was pulling her panties off.

And her crotch was wet. And soon he was kissing it. He was kissing her over and over and he knew that she enjoyed it. And her back was arched. And her fingers were twitching. And her moans became louder and she was inhaling air in short little bursts.

He kept kissing her. She kept savoring it. And that’s what he wanted. Carrie didn’t like sex anymore. Or at least she pretended she didn’t. Vern’s mind wasn’t on the sex at this moment. In fact, he didn’t even really care about it. His penis wasn’t hard as a diamond and throbbing because he was having sex, oh no. For the first time in a long while, he was making a woman happy, even if it was a woman he had only met tonight, and would probably never see again. He couldn’t make Carrie happy anymore. With anything. Everything he didn’t wasn’t good enough for her, even when he did his best, better than his best.

It’s impossible to make a woman truly happy. That’s just the way life was. And he hated that Carrie was ungrateful for everything he did and tried to do for her. Now come to think of it, he had never had a girlfriend or wife who was every happy. So if felt nice to at least get a woman’s heart racing. He didn’t want this to become a relationship, though. He still loved Carrie, no matter her flaws. He just didn’t know if Carrie loved him.

He continued kissing her. She continued to moan louder and louder and quicker and quicker. Very soon Becky’s legs tightened around Vern’s head, and she cried out loudly and breathlessly.

And before Vern knew it, she had gotten to her knees and pushed him backwards. She ripped off his boxers and forced his knees apart. Then she worked her was down his stomach until her lips closed around his penis. He felt her tongue working vigorously, and felt her suction on his body. And she leaned forward and went further. And his heart began to race.

Then what happened Vern couldn’t remember to well. It was as if someone had cut various seconds of film out from a movie. He remembered the door to his bedroom opening. He remembered seeing Carrie’s face. Then he was on his feet trying to explain. And Becky was pulling on her clothes. And then Becky was storming out of the room past Carrie saying something about “she didn’t know” and then Carrie put a hand up and pointed a finger at Vern. Then he remembered feeling very tired. And Carrie wasn’t talking. She was changing her clothes into pajamas. And Vern’s eyes were drooping and everything went black. He was asleep before he hit the floor with a loud thump.

Then he remembered waking up. Waking up in a soft bed.

A pink bed. And he felt small. And his hair was long. And he wasn’t a man anymore.

Then Vern woke out of his sleep, and looked around to see Anna and Jill deep in slumber next to him. Through the bars of the magic crib, Vern saw a brilliant morning sun shining through the window. And he turned over to feel his wet diaper squish against his body.

To Be Continued

From this point on, I?ll be telling each chapter of the story quite rapidly, as I plan to follow Vern?s growth through the story. Thanks for reading!

(Still yet more to come soon. Leave one or multiple comments. I love reading them.)

(these stories are inspired by the short story Sugarplum written by filthymind at the ARArchive)