Hi friends! Today we have Cecilia London guesting, and I almost feel that we can call her a semi-regular! You have to have an excellent sense of humor to be part of the club of ALBTALBS Spoof Stories, and I’m slowly but surely acquiring a nice collection. In fact, we’ve already got four were-specific spoof stories!
Without further ado… welcome back to ALBTALBS were-spoof shorts!
Nice Buns by Cecilia London
The fuck does a rabbit have to do to get a goddamn decent smoke around here? You’d think being immortal, and a rabbit, and a fucking awesome Creature of the Night (hello, ladies!) would get you some fucking benefits but how the fuck was I to know that cigarette taxes were fucking high in Illinois and it’s not that goddamn easy for a rabbit to waltz into a gas station and ask for a pack of Marlboros.
College town. I needed a college town. There’d be girls everywhere, the kind who’d love to get down with a were-hare. Years from now they’d come back for Homecoming and their friends would laugh and say, “Remember when you fucked that rabbit? That was fucking hilarious.” And then you’d ponder just how much weed you’d smoked that night, because no way in hell did you bang a bunny.
Yeah, sweetheart. You did. You had intercourse with Peter Fucking Cottontail.
Okay, not really. I’ll fess up. By day I’m innocent Little Bunny Foo Foo, not misbehaving in the least, but at night I start bopping all the field mice on the head, if you catch my meaning. As a man, you perverts. Jesus Christ, had no idea bestiality was so popular up in here. Minds in the gutter, all of you. Sometimes (after a few shots) I’d let slip that I was really a rabbit, and the woman I was with would just laugh. But other times I’d end up at her place, we’d both be getting some action, then dawn would come and all of a sudden dear sweet Becky is screaming that there’s a wild animal in her bed. No, sweetheart. I might be wild and I might be an animal, but that’s pure were-hare. Add a notch on your bedpost for knocking bunny boots with a supernatural creature, cuz you earned it.
But back to the task at hand. I knew where I needed to go. BIG TEN TERRITORY. I’d been to Champaign. Nice, corn fed college women. Been to Bloomington, where the gals were funny if not a bit daft. Where else? Ann Arbor? Man, if I wanted to fuck pretentious ladies I’d hit some foofy liberal arts college. And I sure as fuck couldn’t go to East Lansing. Last time I went there some drunk sorority chicks tried to hasenpfeffer my ass and throw me on a burning couch. It was getting damn near wintry outside, so Minneapolis was out of the picture. And fuck Evanston. For reasons.
Madison. Fucking Madison. During the day I could hang out on State Street and rummage through all the yummy restaurant leftovers and once the sun went down, I’d hit the scene. I had no idea what the scene was but who the fuck cares? I usually went where the music was the loudest and the cover was nonexistent.
You probably want to know how a were-hare gets by in life, don’t you? It can’t all be backroom hookups, gas station ciggies, and constant drinking. I wasn’t exactly virtuous but I had culture. Standards. Education. I’ve been doing this for a few hundred years. It’s not like I transformed overnight. I’d learned how to sleep during the day, work and study at night, do what I had to do. I had more money than I would ever need but I’d damn well prefer not to throw it at some frat asshole for some lukewarm Coors Light if I didn’t have to. That’s just simple fucking economics.
So, yeah. Madtown. Great city. Took a while to get there…had to hop (yes, literally) on the back of a pickup heading north on I-39. Best part of being a rabbit during the day – people either think you’re cute as hell or you give them the rabid dog look and they leave you the hell alone. Nobody wants to go to the doctor and admit they got rabies from a goddamn bunny.
I decided to lay low until the sun went down. See, my bunny routine is adorable as fuck, but my man game is tight. Lemme go all Jonathan Franzen describing a woman in a book and tell you what I look like. Light brown hair (to match my rabbit fur, of course), chocolate eyes to woo all the ladies, decent muscles (because fuck, I run on all fours half the damn time), and two symmetrical cheek dimples. I got fucking dimples. Wanna fight about it? They get me laid, don’t they? Got dimples on my ass too but maybe that’s too personal. Ladies love a nice ass when it’s attached to a man who knows what he’s doing.
Hold up, that’s not Franzenesque enough. I have, uh, supple thighs, long, fluttery eyelashes, and pert little bunny breasts. My nose practically goddamn twinkles and my lips are…pouty? Yeah, pouty sounds good. Pouty bunny lips to make all the ladies swoon.
Come on, now. I hope you didn’t buy that shit. That’s ridiculous as hell, which is why I, as a logical were-hare, don’t even bother trying to look deep into a woman’s soul and ask myself how she’d describe herself if I was channeling her spirit for the latest litfic I was going to spring on an unsuspecting public. I know enough about women to know that they’re not complimenting their fluffy lady pillows in the full-length mirror every fucking morning.
I’m a goddamn rabbit, people. And I’m an okay-looking guy. The advantage to being hundreds of years old is that you find out what works and what doesn’t. My charm serves me better than my appearance ever will. And I don’t fuck women who are drunk or disoriented. All my shit is consensual, you dig? I’m not here for that. I just want to have a good time, give the ladies something good in return. The Karma of the Bunny or some shit, I dunno. I figure college girls are bound to have some godawful hookups and I want to make sure they have at least one memory they can look back on and say, damn, that was a hella good fuck. We all have missions in life. Maybe this one is mine.
With my charisma carefully tucked in my back pocket, I headed toward Pi Kappa Alpha. Pikes. Yeah, they have a rep. That’s why I went there. Plus it was close to the lake so if shit went south I knew I could find a park or some woods to hide in. Never know when you’ll lose track of time and end up a bunny a bit earlier than planned. I wasn’t exactly one to map the stars and keep track of sunrise and sunset. Too busy living.
Loud music. Decent crowd. Loads of attractive people. That’s the Pike way, apparently. From what I hear in bed, most of the women I bang think those guys are assholes, but free beer is free beer. So I did what I sometimes do – I glanced toward a woman standing in the corner clinging to a Solo cup, looking as out of place as you can get.
Make no mistake, I’m not one of those heroes who’s here to say I want someone who’s Not Like Other Girls, but I feel it’s my duty to spot the ones who need a little help to find their voice. And this woman looked like the kind of friend who’d been dragged to a party by her roommate and abandoned once said roommate found a distraction.
She kind of half smiled at me when she realized I was looking at her. Score. I strode over to her, all manly confidence and maybe a bit of rabbit cute. Never hurts to blend the two.
“Where’d she go?” I asked.
She took a sip of her beer. “Sorry?”
“Your roommate. Where’d she go?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”
I took the cup out of her hand, taking a swig of beer for myself. “She’s a bitch for ditching you.”
She sighed. “I’m just trying to keep her out of trouble.”
I guided her over to the keg, courteously refilling her cup. “Who keeps you out of trouble?”
She laughed and grabbed the cup out of my hand. “I have no idea.”
This chick was all right. Green light. “You wanna get out of here? Take a walk by the lake?”
Her frown made me think I’d overstepped my bounds, but she smiled again. “I don’t know why, but I think I can trust you.”
I chugged half her beer, handing the cup back to her. She finished it off and tossed the remnants behind her. I took her hand. “Let’s go.”
Lake Mendota is incredible. Beautiful. The area around UW-Madison is hilly, gets cold as fuck in winter, and kids slide down the hill on lunch trays when it snows. And this woman turned out to be as charming as the scenery. She was a transfer student, and yes, she had been dragged to the party by her roommate. Hell if I didn’t nail that shit to the wall. She’d spent two years at a junior college somewhere in the boonies of North Dakota but had decided to come to Madison to major in economics before heading to grad school. Shit, she could talk. In a good way. We spent at least two hours sitting on a bench, watching the moonlight skate over the lake. It was the kind of conversation that made me wish we could stay there until the sun came up, to greet the light as it slowly crept into the world. But, yeah, were-hare. If I wanted to make my move, it would have to be now.
I decided to try my best line. Throwback, even. I’ve spent decades as an immortal getting to know trends and tropes and I knew what would work.
“I want to fuck you like an animal,” I said.
She laughed. “Is that the best you can do?”
“We’ve been talking about philosophy, history, economic policy, and our favorite episodes of Parks and Rec. Can’t we talk about sex? Maybe even have sex?”
“I want to feel you from the insiiiiiide.”
She laughed again. “Stop!”
“You don’t know that song?”
“Of course I know that song. Everybody knows that song. I love that song.”
Everybody does, baby. Everybody.
“Let’s get to it, then,” I said. “Wanna fuck like animals?”
I grinned and took her hand, letting her lead me away from the lake and back to her apartment. The ironies of life. I could dig them. Game on, baby. Game fucking on.
How on earth did this all come about, you might ask? Well, my crazy ass mind saw this tweet, and said something about expecting to see were-hare stories … and well, I asked for willing
victimsparticipants, and this is what we got!
— Louise Acheson (@ach0) May 28, 2017
So what’d you think? 😀