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The Rambler in the Park, pt. 2
2003-11-16 at 9:05 p.m.

fiction

The Rambler in the Park, pt. 2

They'd crossed the square and turned onto what the green and white signs designated as Arkham street when they saw the first sign of life.

Unconsciously Ren said aloud, "Of course."

"S. THU LOO'S Oriental Massage".

The sign was bright neon-yellow green letters bordered by pink. Below that sign there was a marquee sign, with an improbable message on it.

"OOMS OR RENT." Fran read.

"Shit." Ren shook his head. "The only fucking place that has a room for rent close by is the hand-job shack?"

Fran giggled. "Come on baby, I've got carpal tunnel so maybe you need a little spice."

He grinned. "No thanks. I'm allergic to MSG."


She was not asian.

The woman behind the counter was nominally anglo by the shape of her face and eyes, and those were a rather oddly pale blue. Her hair was black and cut short, and the first thing Ren thought was that she looked far too hot to either be living here or running a jack-shack. Her chin was slightly pointed, giving her face a heart shape, and she was quite pale.

What broke the overall feeling of sexy strangeness was her smile.

"Hi! Can I help y'all?"

Fran looked at Ren. They both felt a little jarred at suddenly hearing another person speak after the absolute silence of the town outside. Something about the greeting registered as even stranger still with Ren but he only pushed that aside. "Um, yeah. Our car's broken down over by the park. Is there a mechanic nearby that might still be open?"

Her eyes met his and he felt an odd chill. Odd because there was both a frisson of attraction coming from her and because well-the whole situation just had such an air of wrongness about it. "Why no, darlin. I'm afraid old Shub ain't open till tomorrow."

"Shub?" asked Ren, stifling a smile. Country folk and their strange names.

"Yeah. Shub Niggurath has a place over near Al's."

Ren took this to be the Al Azif car dealer they'd passed on the way in. He'd seen no shop with a name like Shub Niggurath on it-that would have surely caught his attention too.

Fran piped up. "I saw that you have rooms for rent?"

The woman turned her weirdly sexy eyes to Fran and Ren was sure he noted a change of some sort. "Well, yes we do, sugar. Got three open upstairs. Only $20 for tonight because of the off-season."

That presumes a season at all. Ren thought. "Okay," he said. "We'll take one. Cable or satellite?"

She looked down and shook her head. "Darlin', electronic things don't fare well 'round these parts. No one quite knows why except it must have somethin' to do with deposits in the mountains hereabout. We don't even get WSB from Atlanta here." she said, referring to the large AM talk station that came out of Georgia's capital city.

The comment about Atlanta had the strange effect of reassuring both of them. They filled out a little registration card, paid, and she walked them upstairs.

As they topped the steps Ren looked left and the woman's voice stopped him. "Oh honey, that's the massage rooms down that way. Room's over here."

Ren obediently followed her, but for some reason his curiosity was piqued. Maybe it was the way the hall darkened in the other direction, and certainly it was the illicit sexuality of it all. Fran shot him a look he couldn't quite read. He wondered if his response to their hostess was so obvious.

She opened a room with the letter D on the door instead of a number and handed Fran the key. "Here ya go darlin'. Now, if y'all need somethin' just phone down to ole Nyarla Jean and I'll be up to help ya. Things is slow now so I doubt I'll have any massage customers tonight."

Fran and Ren glanced at each other and Ren smiled. "Thanks, Nyla Jean. I'm sure we'll be fine. Any vending machines?"

The woman's brow furrowed briefly and she pursed her lips. "Vending-oh, uh, no, sweetheart. They's a little icebox behind my desk down there, and y'all is free to raid it if you get peckish."

"Thanks again." said Ren.

She turned to go. Ren had the door half closed when she spoke again. "Oh, darlin'-its Nyarla. Ny-ar-la. Nyarla Jean Hotep. My family was gypsy a ways back."

"Oh, sorry." he said.

She held his glance a moment longer, just enough for him to be uncomfortable. As if sensing this she smiled and made a little clicking sound with her lips, more appropriate to a middle-aged diner waitress than this strangely sexy 'masseuse' and cornpone hotelier. "Y'all sleep well."

She headed down the hall, turned at the stairs and was gone.

Ren turned to a stern-looking Fran standing in the room behind him. "What?"

Fran shook her head. "Come on, you KNOW what. You had the hots for that one the moment she looked up."

"Oh come on-" he began-

"No. It's not the first time you've let your tongue hang out in front of me like that, Ren. Have some fucking decency."

He looked down, seething. "Excuse me?"

"Have some decency. Don't ogle them where I can see, at least." Fran sat on the large and surprisingly standard-issue king size bed that dominated the room, arms crossed.

"Look, Fran. We're tired from driving, stressed from getting lost, double-stressed from the car breaking down, and triple-stressed from this weird little town. Old 'Ny-ar-la' Jean may be cute but all I want is a good night's sleep and my damned car fixed in the morning. Okay?"

Fran remained silent.

"Look, what the hell do I want with an underfed Bettie Paige lookalike when I've got you?"

That seemed to break her ice a little. It was true, too. There was definitely a little bit of Bettie Paige wannabe in Nyarla Jean's look, and she was quite thin, which was certainly not very Bettie Paige-like.

"Sorry." she murmured.

"It's okay." he said. He sat down beside her. "Hungry?" he asked.

"No." Fran replied. She looked at him. "But I'm incredibly sleepy. You?"

"A little."

The truth was, Ren was nowhere near sleepy. He didn't know why. Maybe it was a compensating thing, or his reaction to stress, maybe it was the last 20-ounce Mountain Dew he'd consumed from their cooler in the backseat of the Hyundai. But he was wide awake.

And damn, he was horny.

Fran's eyes had that half-cast look to them, though. She was telling the truth. She was having trouble holding her head up. "Wow, babe. Let's just lay down."

They lay down. Ren checked his watch. The digits were flashing all 9's. "What the hell?"

"Huh?" Fran leaned over a little to look. "Weird. She wasn't kidding about electronic shit in this town. How do they keep the lights on?"

"Dunno," he said. For the first time he took stock of the room. It was mostly modern stuff. No one had made any effort to make it match the building they were in, which was had looked to match the little town's apparent age, at least civil war if not a little before. The old fashioned features were the clock on the veneer night stand-a large old big Ben wind-up, and the phone. It looked at least circa 1965.

Ren took off his watch and lay it beside the alarm clock, which seemed to have been set recently and was ticking. He took a few minutes to remember how to set the alarm on it but eventually he recalled, as his Grandmother had one of these clocks for years in the bedroom she kept for him and his brother.

By the time he pulled the little button out and double-checked the key that wound the clock Fran was asleep.


The shower didn't help. The bathroom in their room was obviously something added on after the place was built. The shower was only a stall, no tub, and there was one lone little bar of soap that appeared to have been through a few uses.

Ren put aside his inclination to just wet down and lathered up. One thing he had to give S. Thu Loo's Massage Parlor cum-motel, they had killer water heat and pressure. He figured the heat of the water had to kill whatever funk might be left from previous users of the soap.

As he stood there in the rising steam he began to think about Nyarla Jean. He figured there was no harm in this, and it was probably normal. They'd opened the door to the place figuring it for a little jack-off parlor and it had turned out to be a little motel AND jack-off parlor staffed by at least one rather mysterious-looking and sexy young woman.

Even the southern patois, which struck him as a little, well, archaic, was sexy in a way.

He began to imagine her in the shower with him. She'd be pale, but where the hot water touched her skin she'd be pink. Those strange blue eyes looking up at him in this intense way. An intensity that belied the homey patter she'd spun as she took their money and led them to the room. He wondered if she was even from the south.

Her hair wet now, water dripping from the black lashes over the pale blue eyes. Her breasts, slightly small and very pert, the pale pink nipples erect little cylinders.

His tongue circling them, in the heat.

His hard on was throbbing in his hand, and for a moment he felt surprise. Normally sexy fantasies like this were more...conscious. But it was as if this one had grown around him as the steam from shower rose.

He looked down, feeling suddenly dislocated, strange.

A hand, a little smaller than his, was rhythmically pumping his cock. A woman's hand. With black fingernail polish.

He felt her now, the length of her body against his naked back. He turned.

It should have been Fran. Wakened by his shower, feeling perhaps rejuvenated, ready.

It should have been Fran.

Fran didn't wear black fingernail polish.

Fran didn't look like an 'underfed Bettie Paige.'

Nyarla Jean pressed her slick, wet, white body into his, flattening his erection against his belly. Her eyes were locked with Ren's, and their strange pale blue burned into his brain. He felt scrambled, hot, and absolutely choked with need. He lowered his head to her and they began to kiss, her tongue aggressively, greedily probing his mouth.

It seemed the steam from the shower had completely filled the room now and the only sound was the water hissing down on their skins, the only sensations it's heat and their touch.

Nyarla disengaged from Ren and placed a fingertip on his lips as she lowered her head to his nipples. She sucked and bit each one in turn, her hand grasping his dick firmly, pumping ever so slightly. She was obviously some kind of master of this, and he felt somehow both helpless and ravenous as a lusting animal.

His pleasure mounted and seemed to almost weaken him. Her teasing tongue and sure hands were almost surreal in their cleverness.

He closed his eyes, hissing with pleasure.

He opened them to see her, the steam so thick it even obscured her face a little, sliding her lips slowly, painfully slow, over the head of his penis. She worked her way down to the very base, precise millimeters at a time.

Ren leaned back against the slick tile wall, breathing in the steam, hot pleasure coursing from the base of his spine through his throbbing cock. Nyarla was brilliant at this, for whatever reason, and seemed to intuit the rise and fall of his building toward orgasm without him saying anything. He closed his eyes again, groaning low in his throat.

The rhythm of her mouth and fingers became more insistent and he felt the telltale rush in his groin, the sense of opening within, as he thought of it, that presaged orgasm.

He opened his eyes again to see her, a whole rush of dirty thoughts-wanting to see her make him cum in her face, or the expression on her face if she swallowed.

Had she not had him so thoroughly in her grasp at that moment what he saw would have destroyed any mounting orgasm. Her lips were at the base of his cock. But her head was fully a foot away from his scrotum. Her mouth had elongated into nothing more than a...A snout! OMyfuckingod she's grownasnout...

The weird blue eyes looked up into his, and he saw now through the steam that they were glowing slightly.

Momentarily he broke their spell and reached for her, to break the suction she had on him. Her hands rose up and as he watched the fingers lengthened insanely into tentacles, shooting up and over his upper arms. With grotesque speed they wrapped around his arms and he felt impelled backwards-now pinned to the wall by this thing that had just been his best wet dream moments before.

The entire time she kept sucking.

And most insane of all, as his heart seemed to be trying to beat it's way out of his chest and run off of it's own accord, beyond all reason, he realized he was about to cum.

And cum he did. He could feel it as a spasm that seemed to start in his feet and whip up into his groin. It was as if everything was coming out. Worst of all it was so...ecstatic. His muscles seized everywhere, and the explosion moment was prolonged, the immense, sweet draining feeling continued. nonononono, she's taking everything, everything, ogodeverything...

He whipped his head back and forth, spastically, no control.

And for Ren, everything suddenly went quite dark.


He was surprised at the sense of waking. I'm not dead?

He wasn't dead.

But as he began to grasp this, he also became aware of his surroundings. Directly above him was the star choked country night sky. No light pollution where ever he was.

And now, after the little walk through the strangely empty town, the horrible thing in the shower, for the first time there seemed to be movement all around him. Movement and sound.

Voices.

Had Ren had anything in his stomach he would have puked. The feeling of horror was too great, too profound. Everything in his universe was wrong, sickly, strangely wrong.

The voices, and there seemed to be many, were chanting. �Open the Gates! YGNAII THOTH! OPEN THE GATES! I�! Nyarlathotep, I�! I�!�

(�to be continued. At least Ren hopes so�)

(here's all parts to the story...Part 1,Part 2, and Part 3. Finally, here's Part 4.)




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