If I haven’t already made it clear, my tastes in music are decidedly “unmanly.” Catch me at an unguarded moment when I’m stopped at a red light, and you might see me belting out Taylor Swift’s “Style” like a front-row virgin who hasn’t heard of buttplay, and still thinks sex is all gaspy and sweet-smelling, like in those bunk-ass 80s movies with the “bad boy” saxophone jazz playing crazily in the background.
Which makes me an odd juxtapositon—yeah, I like to sling iron and godDAMN do I love me a good dead baby joke, but I also enjoy diva pop. My latest musical obsesh is Leona Lewis. Holy Odin in Valhalla—she’s got the voice of Mariah or Whitney, minus the demand for blue M&Ms only, or a fresh handful of crack.
GALUMPH! Magic mushrooms go down the pipe, and I slip in a mouthpiece. (when I’m tripping, I like to pretend I’m a psychedelic version of Johnny Mnemonic.)
“Get me hypnagogic,” I hiss.
SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!! I stretch my arms out and let my feet fall back. A second later, I’m rocketing through a whirlwind blast of mandalas and fractals. At that moment, Leona’s angelic voice comes blasting out of my computer, just like I’ve scheduled it to.
“My hands—they only agree to hold your hands;
And they don’t wanna be without your hands;
And they will not let me go—no they will not let me GO!”
It slows my psychonautic spin; I’m back in my San Francisco studio, only the air is drenched in slow-drifting fractals—Leona’s heavenly vocals have manifested as long-winding streams of multicolored ribbons. My lips spread wide in a dreamy smile.
Then, I see shadows pooling across the walls and the floor. Uh-oh—I sit up in my chair. This is NOT good, whatever it is. The shadows start congealing, lashing upward in long, goopy tendrils.
In a matter of seconds, they’ve formed into a recognizable figure:
She’s a lot more foreboding in person. As her unsmiling, man-eater eyes parse my face, I feel my nutsack lurch in fear.
“Kent Wayne,” she hisses. “I see you’ve been cheating on me.”
“Sexual mores have changed!” I blurt. “This isn’t the Middle Ages, where monogamy was encouraged through a survival-borne set of—” I stop talking and cock my head. “Wait—what’re you talking about? We never fucked.”
Her eyes flash with rage. “I meant cheating with your musical selections—you’re listening to Leona, asshole! And it’s called MAKING LOVE! How can you listen to my songs and not know that???”
I shrug. “I’m a weirdo. Admittedly.”
She reaches over her shoulder and grasps the hilt of a giant dildo-claymore sword. As she draws it of its sheath, its rubbery, quivering head pops free with a wet, sucking SHLOOP!
“Hold on!” I bolt up from my chair and scramble back, one hand extended in a let’s-think-about-this-gesture, the other cupping my terror-stricken butt-pucker. “How can you claim to be all girly, yet threaten my colon with a FIVE FOOT DILDO???”
She doesn’t say anything. She simply smiles and starts walking toward me.
Shit—this is NOT what I wanted when I threw a handful o’ magic mushies down my Man Whore gullet! #KentToo, mofos!
So I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Leona Lewis appears in a dazzling blast of gyrating colors; they swirl up and down, side-to-side, in an brilliant manifestation that’d make the Princess of Power go green with envy. When she’s fully materialized, she’s standing erect with her head bowed, her eyes concealed by a band of shadow. In her hand is a giant dildo-sword, just as big as Taylor’s.
The Darth Maul theme song blasts through the air as the two divas engage in a breathtaking duel—shaft against shaft, glans against glans. A deep, didgeridoo-like WOOOM emanates from the dildos each time they bounce off one another.
“Kent is MINE!” Taylor shrieks. “MINE—you hear me, you shitty-vibratoed bitch???”
“You’re old news.” Leona grits her teeth as her arms work in a series of quick, furious pivots, dancing her sword off Taylor’s. “Kent wants the real deal—not some second-rate cheerleader who’s trying to stave off the regret of choosing the dumbass jock over a handsome, brooding nerd who would one day grow into a chiseled, donkey-dicked author.”
“Shut up shut up SHUT UP!” Taylor screams. “SHUT! UP!!!”
In a stunning display of martial prowess, Leona spins left, snatching Taylor’s sword with a slick disarm while transitioning into a spinning sidekick. Her booted heel arrows into Taylor’s midsection, sending her stumbling back with a pained WHOOMPF!
“Advantage mine, cum-slut.” Leona whirls both dildos in an intricate series of circles, then snaps them into guard.
Taylor—now fallen back onto her butt—points a manicured finger at Leona and shrieks, “You’ll pay for this Leona; YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS! SSSSSS!!!” Then she dematerializes in a flutter of bats.
Leona drops the sword and rushes over to me, scooping me up like a bride on wedding night.
“Damn,” she remarks. “You’s a fine looking piece a’ meat, Kent.”
“Leona,” I sputter. “I’ve listened to all your songs, seen all your videos. You’re so pure, so beautiful, so—”
“Horny.” A mischievous gleam plays through her eyes. “Let’s get these pants off you. I wanna see this girthy upcurve everyone’s talking about.”
My mouth works soundlessly. I’ve always thought of Leona as a beautiful songstress that would never have any interest in the ass-smacking, ass-eating, KA-KA-KA-KA, “I’m your dirty slut,” machine-gun style sex that I’m into…
But what the hell. I shrug and smile. “Kent Wayne—professional Man Whore at your service.”
*70s porn theme, sung in Leona Lewis’s beatific vibrato*
Has your old pop favorite become jealous of your new pop favorite, and is now intent on piking you in the butt with a giant, Braveheart-length dildo? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition If you wanna hear me babble on about anything and everything, and strain my FREAKIN’ BRAIN, then here’s a link to my podcast: Strained Brains! It is on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play! Please give it a listen and a five-star review! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization, and last but not least, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
Hold on! I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate! If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish. Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens! In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to! Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy! Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts! 😲💪 😜