Steve's Story

Dave Presents…
Steve’s Story

Being me is defiantly not the easiest job in the world. It’s tough, getting laid every fucking night, but someone has to keep the ladies in this school happy. Shocking as the fact might be, I’m only the tender age of 16. Sitting in my Spanish Two class, I met eyes with the fresh meat as I called them, or some who were ready for round 2 with the Steve. I never knew what it was that had the ladies hanging off me like ornaments strung upon a Christmas tree. Was it the carven body, the sensual blue eyes, the flowing blonde hair? Or maybe I’m just captain of every damn sports team in this school. I suppose girls just like cocky assholes. All in all, I’ve had pussy from blossoming pre-teens to women so old they turned to dust when the climaxing orgasm coursed through their shriveled old bodies. Literally.
Eventually, I had had to get a job just to purchase enough cream to stop the burning from my chafing thighs. But I digress. Up in front, Ms. Withers was screeching away another pointless lecture. She was about 5 feet tall and weighed 400 some pounds. The school had to hire an entire janitor team just to wheel the lard around, a team who played poker in the back of class during the lesson. Every now and then when that foul smell hit the room they would throw dice to see who would have to change her.
“Don’t worry kids,” Yanni would say, “she’s just soiled herself again.”
Rolls of fat the size of watermelons draped over the dolly cart she was confined to. Her yellow cat eyes were the size of pool balls, which flickered around in odd positions. Sitting in her class was like being sentenced to death by Jabba the Hut. Drool lathered her make up encrusted face. Blatantly put she was hideous. I looked up at her and immediately vomited all over the kid in front of me. No one noticed, since this was a usual event since 10 kids had puked at the site of her already. The sight of the abomination was burned into my watering eyes for a few seconds and an odd need to cut myself flooded my mind, but I resisted as usual. Ms. Withers once proudly retold us a story of the gynecologist who gave her last examine. Supposedly, he had gone home and murdered his wife, 3 kids, mother, father, and dog. Then, was found by police in his parlor, he had hung himself with a line sausage links. To prove this, the newspaper article telling the story was displayed proudly on the front board. One could only imagine what horros that doctor could have witnessed.
The lesson had reached another climatic dull, so I looked at the available girls in my class. A blonde hair, blue eyed girl the entire school had nicknamed “AIDS” was sitting two desks down to my right. Large crusting herpes adorned her lips and reached out to her left nostril. She glanced over and made some crude pumping notion with her left hand. Excited by the chance of a little “left handed action” as I deemed it, I penciled her in for next Tuesday. Judging from her crusting lip ulcers she’d be good by then. Another student puked all over his desk as he glanced up from the state of sleep he had been in.
The door to the classroom violently whipped open, breaking the skull of the emo kid who had been “non-conforming” by not sitting in a desk. Mrs. Frippen, the principal whose anal virginity belonged to me, stepped in leading a student behind her. The scrawniest little douche walked in right behind her. He was a new student from the darkest bowels of Silicon Valley. Unkempt black hair lay frazzled atop of his head. Thick dark glasses magnified his soulless eyes and gathering acne. A purple polyester sweater, which had begun to give him hives, covered his pale frail body. To match, a pair of green trousers reaching down to mid-ankle showed off his frilly pink women-socks. The principal told him to state his name.
“Marvin,” he squealed in such a high tone a student slumped over dead with blood and gray brain matter pumping out of his ears.
“This one’s mine,” said Jose, as he claimed his prize. Picking up the dead student, he rushed off to the cafeteria for an afternoon delight.
Marvin was escorted to the desk behind me. Rasping, wheezing breaths tore through my head. My mind snapped in two as he took a huge breath from his inhaler. Picking up my pencil I spun around and jabbed the writing utensil through his eyewear and deep into his eye.
Crying loudly, large bat like wings sprung forth from his back and he crashed through the window.
Ms. Withers bellowed loudly “Steve, see me after class!” Upon this I casually raised my middle finger, she merely shuddered with a hidden passion only I could notice. A slow dread began to wrap around me. My heart began to beat faster till I thought it would explode forth from my chest. Ms. Withers intentions of some sort of passionate endeavor struck me with unmistakable terror. The bell rang like a death toll, and the students shuffled fretfully out.
The pile of dough in front me stared hungrily. She licked her banana thick lips.
“You are a dirty boy, Steve.” She accented each syllable with the force of pounding a nail into a baby’s skull.
“Ms. Withers,” I hesitated, “Seriously, the last time I had intercourse with a lady of girth, I snapped my pelvis in two, and I was on top!” Seeing this little crack had no effect on her I squealed, “Please have mercy.”
“Slaves,” she said, indicating the janitors. “Leave us, lock the doors on the way out.” Yanni and Jose, still carrying his student plaything, walked out, closing the door with a click, it echoed in the empty classroom.
Ms. Withers stared at me with those bulging yellow eyes “Fuck me,” she whispered.
“Wha…What?” I stammered, taking a step back.
“Fuck me!” she bellowed, rumbling the floor and sending several desks flying forward and smashing up against the wall. She produced a remote control from one of her folds of fat. Pushing a button on it, large iron bars came down and barred any escape through the windows.
With horror I watched her get up on her short stub like legs. Bones bent and snapped under her tremendous weight. One of her ribs protruded violently forth through one of her sagging breasts. A pure dread I had never felt before took over me with an icy coldness. Slowly she crept forward, eyeing me as if I were her prey. Frantically, I ran to the door, tugging hardly on the handle, screaming for freedom and mercy. Outside, faintly I could hear the janitors chuckling away.
“Wetbacks!” I shouted angrily. This classroom was to be my tomb. I knew I would die here, die in the throes of passion with a fat chick.
By this the time the large mass of women had made it halfway, an astonishing speed I must admit. A trail of fresh blood was drizzled behind her, from all the wounds of her snapping bones.
I ran to the desk, trying to shelter myself from the horny rhinoceros coming my way. Opening a drawer, I searched for anything to save me. The first one contained nothing but un-graded papers and homosexual pornography. I thought of opening one of those bad boys up, but decided this was no time for such pleasures. Angrily, I whipped open the second drawer, again nothing, except for several used bottles of Preparation H. My last hope was the third and final drawer. A dark looming shadow fell over me, the beast was near and my time was running low. Swiftly pulling open the third drawer, I peered desperately inside. At first it seemed dark and empty, but my hand touched something metallic and cold. Pulling the item out, a single hand grenade lay in my hand.
Suddenly, the desk was lifted high into the air and thrown away. It flew several feet and shattered into several hundred pieces against the nearest wall. Warm dank breath rustled my hair as she heaved heavily from her great effort. She was drenched in an inconceivable amount of blood now. Quickly, I pulled out the pin, and threw the hand grenade at the door. I knew not even an explosion of such magnitude could bring down Ms. Withers, so I chose plan two.
A massive explosion tore through the classroom. I forced my eyelids closed to prevent my eyeballs from being sucked out of my skull. Getting to my feet I dashed out of my newly made escape. Yanni and Jose lay dead in the hallway amongst the debris. Ms. Withers, who was left behind in the classroom, was wailing loudly now that I had eluded her. Thunderous rumbling vibrated the floor as my Spanish teacher made her way to the hallway. A new problem became apparent. The now slain janitors had closed off the fire escapes.
I let out a brief shout as Ms. Withers appeared at the doorway. Pearl white bones had shot out of her shoulders and thighs. She resembled that of some demonic beast of the underworld. Blindly, I stumbled through the fallen debris, down to the closed off fire escapes. Violently, I kicked and beat away at the doors, trying desperately to break it down, to no avail. Ms. Withers again advanced towards me, her thudding footsteps reminded me of nothing less than the scene from Jurassic Park, where the white man got what they had coming. Looking around quickly I noticed the classroom to my left was open.
“Ha,” I thought to myself. “Close the fires doors but leave the classrooms open. Enjoy your tacos in hell Mexicans.”
Feeling an immense sense of relief, I rushed into the open classroom. The lights were still on and I took a quick glance around. “Japanese Studies,” was written on the chalkboard. As I readied myself to crash through the window something caught my eye. An archaic Japanese blade sat encased on a glass display shelf.
A sweet voice sang to me, called to me. This blade was mine to wield. I knew that by running now, I would fail my ancestors. The beast outside must be slain. Smashing the glass case, I slowly unsheathed the sword. Its metallic ring was like the battle cries of a hundred warriors ready for battle.
I lifted the sword in front of me and headed back into the hall. Ms. Withers loomed over me, roaring in some witch language from ages past. Taking no time, my warrior instinct quickly took over me, and I plunged the sword deep into her gut. Wailing loudly, I stuck the sword several inches deeper, and quickly pulled it from her innards. Inflamed guts and remains of young children she had feasted on spilled across the sickly green tiles. Flailing about, her eyes bulged open and she fell down to the ground. Flicking the blade quickly I cleaned it of the impure blood I had just spilt. I had slain the abomination. Sheathing the sword, I tied it around my waist. This blade had chosen me as its master and so I would share this bond of master and sword. Returning to the classroom I started to climb out the window. Taking a quick look back, I saw Ms. Withers, black blood still oozing from the fatal wound I had given her. Feeling no pity, I stepped out into the fresh afternoon.