Curse of the Laughing Fool's Statue

Author's Note: This story has been posted to Literotica. Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

Also, if male bisexuality offends you, kindly hit your 'backspace' key now.

**..**

The fool woke as the gray dawn filtered through the east window. Rousing himself from his sleeping pallet, he found the chamber pot and relieved his bladder. He found his purple tights and pulled them up his spindly legs. His orange tunic was pulled on over his head, then he located his green slippers. Then he found his crown of orange, purple and green and slipped it onto his head.

Cursing the Norse god that decreed that he be no taller than a hunting mastiff, the fool left his small room. He pasted the false smile of an imbecile on his sharp face and scampered down the stone corridor of King Gregor's castle.

"In a hurry for your porridge, are we, dear fool?" the rotund cook inquired, slapping a large spoonful of the bland and mealy porridge onto a platter for him.

He ate with his hands; he was not entrusted with knives or spoons. He was wont to steal shiny things, much as a magpie might.

When his meal was consumed, the fool gave the cook's ample haunches a ferocious swat. With a squeal and a laugh, she chased him from her domain. At the door of the kitchen, the fool declared his undying love for her. His declarations were waved off with a laugh.

King Gregor smiled as the fool entered his great hall, already juggling three balls made from the hides of animals. Queen Isla gave a disdainful sniff, unamused by the fool's juggling abilities.

"Sing for us, fool," Queen Isla ordered.

The fool did possess a thin, reedy voice and did badly sing the song of the Tutite people. The song mentioned the many brave battles and the courageous warriors of the Tutite kingdom. Soon, the queen tired of the fool's braying and squeaking.

"Perhaps a joke, M'lord?" the fool did ask.

"Ah, yes, yes, a joke," King Gregor agreed, smiling benignly.

"As I did happen into my queen's bedchamber, I did note the queen's chambermaid using the bellows of the fireplace to blow the cobwebs and dust from M'lady's most private cleft," the fool stated.

"Oh ho! Because it has not been used in these many months!" King Gregor guffawed. "Well told, dear fool, well told indeed."

"Perhaps it would be used were you not so enamored with the young Squire Rolf?" Queen Isla wished to call out, incensed at the fool's joke and her husband's reaction.

Of course, she did not give voice to this thought; some things were not to be spoken of. Even if it hardly be a secret, even as many of the castles servants snickered behind the backs of the king and queen of their small nation.

"And I did say, 'my! What a cavern you do possess, M'lady.' My! What a cavern you do possess, M'lady. My! What a cavern you do possess, M'lady. And my queen did say unto me, 'there simply is no reason to repeat yourself,'" the fool said, grinning oafishly at the queen's reddening face.

"And?" King Gregor inquired, ignoring his wife's outrage.

"To which, I did say unto my queen, 'M'lady! I did not repeat myself; perhaps there might be an echo,'" the fool said and King Gregor guffawed mightily, slapping his leg.

"I shall be tending to my flowers," the queen stated, rising with a most hateful glare at the fool.

Just as the queen departed, the young Squire Rolf entered and did beg a moment of the King's time. King Gregor dismissed the fool, already untying his belt. The fool did not tarry; none were to interrupt the King's attentions to the young, handsome squire.

"So, my cleft is filled with dust and cobwebs?" Queen Isla asked the four walls of her garden.

The stone walls did protect the garden from the brutal winds of North Sea. Open to the air above, the gardens did receive rainfall, and several hours of sunlight. The rocky soil allowed Queen Isla to cultivate herbs but not many flowers bloomed within her garden. There were no vegetables for the cook to harvest for their meals.

Now, plucking some herbs, Queen Isla wrapped these leaves and seeds and petals into a cloth. Pulling her furs about herself, the queen marched to her chambers, calling out for the cook to bring her a mug of boiling water forthwith.

Queen Isla already had the tome of the ancient Nordic spells and incantations open when the cook entered the queen's chambers.

Muttering the ancient language, Queen Isla dropped a seed of this plant, a petal of that plant, two seeds from another plant into the mug of water. Soon, the room filled with a bitter aroma.

"Your sharp tongue shall be stilled, my hateful little fool," the queen snarled, dropping the last leaf into the cup.

After the smoke cleared, the queen poured the powder from the mug into the palm of her hand. Then marching from her chambers, she searched the castle's corridors for the fool.

She found him in a small alcove, practicing an amusing little dance as he sang a most ridiculous song about marrying a very lovely pig. The fool gave the queen his most charming smile as she approached him.

"Laugh, my little fool, laugh for me," the queen ordered, hurling the powder into his face.

The fool screamed, then suddenly felt his limbs become stiff. His smile faltered on his face as his large eyes looked at the queen's bitter face.

"That is right, fool," the queen said, voice filled with contempt. "You are nothing more than a figurine. A small, insignificant figurine. And, just as the gods did form you from the clay of Tutite's soil, you shall return to that clay."

The fool tried to scream, tried to scamper away. He could not move, could not speak. And as he watched, the queen became larger and larger.

No, the truth was, he became smaller and smaller. Soon, he was as small as the queen's hand.

"Goodbye my little fool," the queen hissed, tossing the fool from the window to the churning waters of the North Sea below.

"Today, the first day of the month of April shall be known as the Fool's day," the queen laughed a bitter laugh. "Now, to tend to one young Rolf, mi'lord."

.***.

Looking around the cluttered shelves of the small shop, Charlie smiled. There was a small clay figurine of a court jester. The three pronged hat was orange and purple and green. The jester's tunic was orange, his tights were purple, and his pointed shoes were green. The figurine's mouth was open in a silent laugh, making Charlie smile once more.

"Come on, little guy; let's see how much you cost," Charlie said, picking the clay statuette up.

"Two bucks," the proprietor shrugged.

In truth, the man was mystified; he'd not seen the little statue before. He was fairly certain he knew each and every item in this store, but that little figure had not been there this morning when he'd dusted the shelves. It had not been there last night when he gave his store a naked eye appraisal before locking up for the day. And, surely, as brightly colored as the figurine was, he would have noticed it.

"Sure, sure; what about this book? Kind of looks like runes?" Charlie asked.

"Now, that? That's handwritten notes; that's the real deal," the man claimed.

Charlie sneezed; the book was covered in dust. The proprietor made some more noise about authenticity before finally naming a price.

Charlie took his latest find home. His mother and father barely looked up from the television when their son came into the living room. Neither parent were very impressed with his latest pile of junk; his mother just reminded him that dinner would be ready in ten minutes.

In his room, Charlie put the statue onto his desk. The book went on the nightstand; it would make some interesting reading; Charlie was learning to decipher runes.

'Make a wish'

"What?" Charlie asked out loud.

There was no response. Charlie looked around but there was no sound. He looked at the figurine of the laughing fool and smiled again.

'Make a wish'

Charlie made sure his door was shut. Knowing his mother would be calling out that dinner was ready at any moment, Charlie focused his attention on the small clay figurine.

"I wish, I wish Bobby would fuck me. I wish we'd become lovers and..." Charlie admitted to the statue.

"Charlie! Dinner's ready; wash your hands," his mother called.

Thinking of the handsome eighteen year old athlete that lived two streets to the north of their home, Charlie could feel his cock beginning to swell. He hurried from his room to comply with his mother's orders.

After the evening meal, his parents returned their attention to the television and Charlie returned to his room.

Last year's High School Yearbook was on his desk. Charlie opened the book and went to the page he'd gone to several times in the past.

There, taking up half the page was a photograph of himself and Bobby. As Charlie had been the team manager, a glorified water boy, the handsome athlete knew Charlie. Also, growing up in the same neighborhood, Bobby knew Charlie. In the photograph, a sweaty, shirtless Bobby had his arm casually draped over Charlie's shoulder.

"Oh God yes," Charlie muttered, rubbing his swollen cock through jeans and briefs as his hungry eyes drank in the sight of Bobby's beautiful body.

His cell phone chimed and Charlie stared, incredulously as a text message from Bobby invited him over. Charlie quickly agreed and took some effort into dressing nicely.

It's not a date," Charlie finally reminded himself as he shined his leather loafers.

"Hey man!" Bobby smiled uncertainly as Charlie sauntered up his driveway.

"So, what you want to do?" Charlie asked, absently picking up Bobby's basketball.

"Shit, I, uh, I don't know," Bobby admitted. "You?"

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Charlie muttered to himself as he did a poor job of dribbling the underinflated basketball.

"Yeah, needs air," Bobby agreed, easily snagging the ball from Charlie's clumsy hands.

"So, uh, your mom home?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed, also trying to dribble the basketball. "Asshole step-father's here too. Why?"

"Oh, I uh, I, I was kind of hoping we uh, you know, could, you know," Charlie said.

"Yeah?" Bobby asked, visibly adjusting his swelling cock in his shorts.

"I uh," Charlie said, adjusting his own swelling member in his dress slacks.

"Car's still all fucked up; last God damned time I ever let Tommy drive, I swear to God," Bobby said, again adjusting his cock in his loose shorts. "Dick said he could drive a stick, but..."

"Yeah, I, just about got enough saved up to buy Kirsten's car; said it just needs new belts," Charlie said, unable to look away from Bobby's slightly distended shorts.

"So, uh, what, what you want to do?" Bobby asked.

You made a wish," Charlie reminded himself.

"I mean, you know, just you know, maybe um, let me blow you?" Charlie braved asking, stepping out of easy reach of Bobby's fists.

"I uh, Dude!" Bobby said, looking shocked.

"I mean, hey, no big deal, just you know," Charlie mumbled.

"Uh. Where?" Bobby whispered after looking around to verify that they were still alone, unobserved.

"There, uh, there's that Budget Motel; right up there on Memorial," Charlie blurted out.

"I got twenty," Bobby swallowed, mouth dry.

"No, no, I got this," Charlie agreed.

Charlie waved away Bobby's money and the two eighteen year old boys silently walked toward the Budget Stay motel. Arriving at the small, slightly dilapidated building, Bobby stayed out of sight and Charlie went in to rent a room for a few hours. Bobby swallowed; his mouth seemed so dry.

Bobby had no idea what had possessed him to suddenly text Charlie. In fact, Charlie made Bobby feel somewhat ill at ease, disgusted. He was pretty sure the handsome blond boy was a faggot and Bobby hated fucking faggots with all his heart.

"Room one twenty," Charlie whispered, joining Bobby again.

Silently, the two boys walked to Room 120. While Bobby looked around, fearful that someone might see them, see him going into a motel room with another boy, Charlie fumbled with the electronic room key. Opening the door, Charlie let Bobby enter first.

Bobby jumped slightly when the door clicked shut. The room was a small, comfortable room. The double sized bed had a fresh comforter on it and the room smelled of the floral scented carpet powder the maid used. On the low dresser was a bulky tube style television.

"Guy said there's movies," Charlie said, clicking on the bedside lamp.

"Oh yeah?" Bobby asked, sitting stiffly on the foot of the bed.

"Yeah, let's see," Charlie said, picking up the remote and turning the television on.

The local news began to broadcast while Charlie familiarized himself with the remote control. Hitting '2' on the keypad, the movie menu popped up. Sitting next to Bobby, thighs touching, Charlie selected 'Gay Male' and hit 'Enter.'

"Huh!" Bobby said as the scene pixelated then cleared to show a young man moaning and grunting as a very large cock thrust in and out of his stretched mouth.

Bobby wanted to protest. Bobby wanted Charlie to quit touching him; he could feel Charlie's leg touching his. He damned sure didn't feel like watching some faggot sucking cock. Bobby's own cock was so hard it ached as he watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the pornographic images on the television.

"I'm, aw yeah, I'm going cum," a deep voice intoned.

"Mm hmm," the cock sucker enthused, letting a very long, thick cock slip from his mouth.

Charlie and Bobby watched as the long, thick cock erupted, coating the cock sucker's face and outstretched tongue with an impossibly large amount of semen.

The scene changed and showed two men in a side by side sixty nine. The two handsome, well-built men alternated between loudly slurping on the thick cocks in their mouths and pulling the cocks out of their mouths and forcefully stroking the cocks.

Bobby seemed to be engrossed in the scene on the television. Charlie took that moment to undress.

While not quite as muscular as Bobby, or Tommy, or many of the young athletes in their school, Charlie was not embarrassed of his body. He certainly was not embarrassed about his six and a half inches of thick meat.

The vignette on the television ended with both young men coating the faces of the other young man with ropes of sticky semen. Sitting up, the two young men then kissed very passionately, faces still coated with semen.

"I would definitely swallow," Charlie insisted.

"Yeah, me too," Bobby admitted as they watched two handsome, well-built men undressing each other.

"What? What the actual fuck? Like fuck I'd ever even suck another guy's whang," Bobby wanted to scream as he absently stroked his throbbing cock through shorts and briefs.

"Oh! Oh damn!" Charlie said as the blond man began to sodomize his brunette companion.

"That, that's got to hurt, huh?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, probably," Charlie said, bravely putting his hand on Bobby's thigh, just underneath the leg opening of Bobby's shorts.

"I uh, yeah, yeah, let me," Bobby said, tugging his tee shirt up and off.

He then kicked his tennis shoes off, not bothering to untie them. Shorts and snug briefs joined the tee shirt on the floor.

"Oh! Oh damn!" Bobby smirked as Charlie gasped at the sight of his seven inches of very thick uncircumcised cock and heavy balls.

While the very vigorous sodomy on the television had Bobby's attention, Charlie wrapped his right hand around Bobby's fat meat. His other hand cupped Bobby's smoothly shaved balls, testing their weight in his hand.

"He gently skinned the thick foreskin back, exposing Bobby's angry looking plum shaped head. Bobby ground his teeth; he was too close to ejaculation and he wanted to enjoy the feelings for at least a few moments more.

"Oh man!" Bobby hissed out as Charlie's hot wet mouth encircled the sensitive head of his cock.

The feeling was excruciatingly blissful. Another man's wet mouth on his cock, another man's hand gently massaging his heavy balls. On the television, one man fucked another man with hard thrusts. Bobby could smell his own sweat and Charlie's sweat.

"Dude, I, aw damn, aw shit," Bobby grunted then began pumping a hot load into Charlie's eager mouth.

"Mm hmm, mm hmm," Charlie enthused, pumping Bobby's cock to coax more delicious semen from Bobby's heavy balls.

"Man," Bobby gently protested, pushing Charlie's mouth from his cock.

On the screen, one young man was sucking one cock while stroking a second cock. Then he switched to sucking the second cock while stroking the first cock. Bobby's cock had never fully deflated; it was very quick to rise again as he watched both cocks erupt in geysers of semen onto the cocksucker's face.

Wordlessly, Bobby lay down on the bed. He motioned Charlie to join him. Laying side by side, Bobby gave Charlie a soft kiss while his hand rubbed up and down Charlie's muscled torso and arm. Then he boldly reached down and gripped Charlie's turgid cock in his hand.

"Sixty nine," Bobby ordered and Charlie eagerly twisted around.

Bobby could not understand what was happening to him. He was not gay; hated gays. He had never ever had any desire to suck another man's cock and would have gladly killed anyone that would have even suggested such a thing to him.

"Mm," he moaned as he took the head of Charlie's cock into his mouth.

He could taste Charlie's soap, a little of Charlie's bitter excitement. Bobby could feel the texture of the velvety soft skin that covered the iron bar as Charlie's cock slid into his hungry mouth.

"Mm," he moaned as he once more felt Charlie's mouth pleasuring his cock.

He swallowed more and more of Charlie's sweet meat, bobbing his head, increasing the suction. He reached his left hand up and gently rubbed Charlie's smooth balls; apparently Charlie shaved his balls.

"Oh God damn yes!" Bobby gurgled as Charlie thrust a finger into his unsuspecting rectum.

Of course, his yelp of pleasure was muffled by the cock in his mouth. He took Charlie's hint and thrust a finger into Charlie's tight little fuck hole.

A moment later, Bobby began to pump another needy load into Charlie's mouth. He added a second finger inside of Charlie's rectum, massaging Charlie's prostate gland. His reward was a mouthful of Charlie's sweet cream.

Laying back against the cheap foam rubber pillows, Bobby felt disgusted with himself. He felt disgusted with Charlie. He felt disgusted as he watched one young man being spit-roasted by two young men on the television. He could feel his cock beginning to swell as the camera focused on the fat cock spearing the young man's greasy anus.

"Need to fuck you, Dude," Bobby begged, gripping his fat cock.

Charlie produced a tube of lubricant from his pocket. He and Bobby kissed, using tongue as Charlie coated Bobby's cock with lube. Then flopped onto his back, head at the foot of the bed. Kneeling between Charlie's legs, Bobby notched the head of his cock against Charlie's resisting anus.

"Augh!" both young men cried out loud as Bobby's cock made entrance.

Not knowing any better, Bobby fucked Charlie just as he had fucked dozens of young women. They flopped onto their backs, spread their legs and he shoved himself into their swampy holes.

Unlike his numerous female partners, though, Bobby felt a real connection with his gay lover. Unlike with his female partners, Bobby wondered how he could pleasure his male partner. He moaned; he could feel Charlie's rectal walls pulsing, squeezing around his fat meat as he pushed himself into Charlie's tight hole.

Gripping Charlie's hard, bobbling cock, Bobby jacked Charlie's cock while he pounded Charlie's tight, hot hole. He could feel his foreskin curl back as he pushed in, could feel Charlie's rectal muscles squeezing, trying desperately to expel his intruding cock as he fucked Charlie hard and fast.

"Oh God, God yes," Charlie moaned as he climaxed, semen splattering onto his belly and chest.

Leaning forward, Bobby licked up Charlie's semen. Then he kissed Charlie. A moment later, Bobby stiffened, groaned, and pumped a thin dribble of semen into Charlie's hole.

"Damn; need a shower," Bobby grimaced at the sight of his soiled cock.

Bobby grabbed his clothes from the floor and scurried into the small, dimly lighted room. With the door firmly shut, Bobby worked his cell phone from his shorts. He called Tommy, laughed about tricking Charlie into thinking he was in love with the blond Team Manager.

"Dude, get Elroy and Moose; meet me in the back of the Budget Stay," Bobby hissed as he twisted the taps to start the shower.

"Hey," Bobby said, stepping out of the bathroom, skin and hair wet from the shower.

"Hey!" Charlie smiled, slowly stroking his fat cock as he watched man-man love on the television screen.

"Listen, need to get me a coke. What you want to drink?" Bobby asked, untying his tennis shoes.

"Oh, uh, Mountain Dew if they have it. They don't have that, then an orange soda is fine. Did you leave any hot water?" Charlie said, getting to his feet.

"No," Bobby said and Charlie laughed as he stepped into the bathroom.

Bobby opened the door to Room 120. Tommy, Elroy and Moose got out of Tommy's mother's car.

"Dude, little faggot's in the bathroom," Bobby said, handing Tommy the room key.

Moose, Elroy and Tommy did not think to ask why Bobby had been in the room with the gay Team Manager. The trio of boys did not even wonder why Bobby's hair was wet; there was no swimming pool associated with the budget motel.

Quietly, Tommy opened the door of Room 120. He put his finger to his lips and the three boys entered the room.

"Aw, would you just look at this shit?" Moose spat in disgust as the television showed three men in a cock sucking daisy chain.

"Dude!" Elroy angrily hissed, waving for Moose to be quiet.

"Wow, that was quick," Charlie called out from the bathroom. "Be right out."

Stepping out of the bathroom, Charlie did not have time to scream before Moose delivered a savage punch to Charlie's mouth. Tommy's kick caught Charlie squarely in the jewels. Elroy's boot struck Charlie in the ribs and the hapless young man went down hard. Giggling maniacally, the three boys brutally kicked and stomped the prone young man.

Bobby did not know why, but he did stop off at the vending machine. He found two dollar bills in his pocket and fed the bills into the machine. He then selected the Mountain Dew Charlie had requested.

"Now, why the fuck I do this?" Bobby asked himself, digging out the two quarters in change from the machine.

He averted his eyes as he walked past Room 120. Exiting the rear parking lot, Bobby walked home.

His mother said something but Bobby did not respond. His step-father did not say anything; Bobby had not expected the man to say anything.

In his room, Bobby put Charlie's can of Mountain Dew onto his desk. Laying back on his bed, Bobby began to cry.

"Dude! What? Huh? What the fuck you crying about?" Bobby asked himself angrily. "Little pussy had it coming."

He relived the feeling of Charlie's wet mouth on his cock. Bobby then relived the feeling of having Charlie's cock, sweet, loving Charlie's cock in his mouth. He relived pleasuring the sweet, handsome young man. He relived the happiness of thrusting himself into Charlie's hole. He relived the feeling of fulfillment he'd felt with his lover, his handsome, beautiful lover.

Sliding the closet door open, Bobby found his twelve gauge shotgun.

Downstairs, Bobby's mother screamed when they heard a loud roar come from her son's bedroom. The step-father raced up the stairs and burst into Bobby's room.

"Don't come up here," he roared down the stairs. "Just call the police. And and ambulance."

.**.

Brooke helped Aunt Pat pack up all of Charlie's stuff. The funeral had been a sad affair; many of the people in attendance were still quite stunned, quite angered over three young men beating a fellow schoolmate to death.

Charlie's odd selection of books when into a box; Brooke had no interest in ancient Runes or mythology or galaxies and universes. The same was true of his music. Besides, Brooke did not have a cd player.

The colorful figurine did capture her eye. Brooke put it into her purse; Aunt Pat said she could have anything she wanted.

"Oh! His leather jacket!" Brooke said, grabbing the oversized jacket before Manny, Brooke's brother could lay claim to the brown leather bomber jacket.

"Why?" Pat asked once more. "Why? Just because he was, because they thought he was..."

Uncle David did not answer. Uncle David just sat, staring at the wall, at nothing. He barely acknowledged Brooke's kiss on his cheek as she left the house.

'Make a wish'

Brooke looked around, startled. She'd heard a thin, reedy voice just now. The television was not on and her neighbors were not home so she could not have heard their television bleeding through the thin walls. She shrugged; it was most likely a passing automobile. She did not know why people insisted on playing their music so loud that it shook windows.

'Make a wish'

"Huh?" Brooke looked around again.

Turning the television on, simply for background noise, Brooke prepared herself a vegan meal. She shuddered as she remembered the disgusting fare they'd provided at the memorial service for her cousin. She honestly did not know how anyone could stomach eating animal flesh.

"Our bodies are not designed to process all that animal product," Brooke said as she added a dash of hot sauce to the legumes. "So unnatural."

'Make a wish'

"Wish I had bigger boobs," Brooke said out loud, giving voice to her most fervent wish.

At five feet, eight inches in height, Brooke was a toothpick. Her chest was a 25AA, her waist was 22 inches around and her buttocks were barely bumps in her jeans; her hips were 23 inches around.

With her thick wavy brown hair and young, innocent face, Brooke was strikingly beautiful. She was also very photogenic. She'd been featured in three adult magazines; each claimed that she was a fresh faced barely legal eighteen year old aspiring model; her actual age was twenty four.

Crasseuse had paid very well for her solo pictorial. They'd tacked another five hundred dollars on when she posed with another flat-chested model, an Asian-American woman. Soiree magazine had also paid very well for an afternoon of posing with three mature men. The men were in their forties and fifties, but had been very well-muscled. She'd enjoyed that photo session and had thoroughly enjoyed what happened after the cameras were put away.

"But still... I had boobs... Huge boobs," Brooke said out loud, even holding her hands out from her rib cage as far as her arms could reach.

"Huge, huge boobs," she giggled.

Finishing her meal preparation, Brooke carried her dinner to the living room of her small apartment. She sat on the couch, plate sitting on the wobbly coffee table. Sooner or later, she was either going to fix the leg, or throw it out or buy a new coffee table.

The local news showed, once more, the hateful three as the laughing young men were arrested for the murder of her cousin. The three handsome young men had no worries as they were shoved into the rears of the police cars.

"Sick mother fuckers," Brooke snarled. "I wish you'd find out what it feels like, you disgusting, hateful bastards."

While Brooke angrily chewed her way through her spicy meal, Elroy, Tommy, and Moose sat in their individual jail cells, glumly chewing their way through a bologna and American cheese supper. Moose looked up from his bag of sour cream & onion flavored potato chips.

"Hey, brother, trade you," he offered, seeing that his cellmate, an obese middle-aged man had a bag of BBQ flavored potato chips on his Styrofoam tray.

"What?" the man spat hatefully. "What the fuck you just call me?"

"Huh?" Moose said stupidly.

The man's first punch went to Moose's jaw. Then, with considerable effort, the man managed to kick the stunned Moose in his jewels. Exerting even more effort, the man managed to kick Moose in his ribs.

"Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck?" a deputy screamed, seeing Moose lying on the concrete floor of the jail cell while an enraged man stomped on the prone man, laughing maniacally.

Before he had time to unlock the cell door, he heard a muffled scream and maniacal laughter coming from another jail cell. He could also hear laughter coming from another cell further down the corridor.

While the police were trying to sort out what had happened in their jail cells, Brooke readied for bed. A check of her armpits and crotch told her she would need to use a razor in the morning. She pulled on a sexy black teddy, a gift from Todd, one of the photographers from Crasseuse magazine. Her last act was to put her bite guard in her mouth; Brooke ground her teeth in her sleep.

Normally, Brooke slept in the semi-fetal position. For some reason, she could not get comfortable; her flat chest ached as the satin material of her teddy rubbed mattingly against her flesh. After flipping from side to side, Brooke finally lay on her back and slipped into deep, contented sleep.

"Augh!" she cried out from a sudden jolt of pain.

The pain had been caused by her chest ripping the satin material of her teddy. She labored to catch her breath; she suddenly had an immense weight resting on her chest. Brooke flailed her arms, trying to dislodge the crushing weight. She groaned in pain when her arms came in contact with her own breasts.

"Oh my God! Oh my God," she gasped out, a slow pall of recognition coming to her.

'Make a wish'

She had made a wish; she had wished for larger breasts. She struggled to roll over; rolling over would remove the immense heaviness from her torso, allow her to get breath into her struggling lungs. Her ribs cracked underneath the weight of her breasts, puncturing her already tortured lungs.

"I wish I..." Brooke burgled, blood spurting from her lips. "I wish my tits were back to... I wish my tits were back to normal."

Slowly, her breasts reduced, much as the air escaping a tiny pinhole in an inflated tire would. But the process was far too slow and Brooke expired long, tortuous moments before her breasts returned to their AA cup size.

.**.

Manny let himself into his sister's apartment when she did not answer his repeated knocking. He smirked, ready to give her grief over forgetting their mother's birthday breakfast celebration.

Her body looked abnormal; Manny had seen his sister's naked torso before. But in all those sightings, her torso had not looked caved in. Nor were her eyes normally wide open, staring unseeing at him.

Returning to the outside of her apartment, Manny made the telephone call to 911 Emergency Services.

The autopsy revealed the method of death but the medical examiner was baffled by the means of death. Apparently, a great weight of some sort had been placed on the victim's chest. But there was no indication of what exactly that weight had been and the police records and photographs did not show any possible explanations.

After being cleared, Manny and Claire, his younger sister cleaned Brooke's apartment. Their heartbroken mother could not bring herself to enter her oldest child's apartment.

"Here, pervert; I know you'll get a whole lot more out of these than I ever would," Claire smirked, finding Brooke's magazines.

"Uh huh; thanks," Manny said, looking at the oddly colored clay figurine on Brooke's nightstand.

As Claire was five feet, three inches with a 32C, 29, 33 figure, none of Brooke's clothes would fit her. She did try on the leather bomber jacket and shrugged as the sleeves ended three inches beyond her fingertips.

"Mine!" Manny smirked, showing that Charlie's jacket fit him perfectly.

He laughed, then showed Claire that there were three condoms in the jacket's inner pocket. Claire shook her head, then continued to listlessly box up her beloved sister's meager possessions.

The clay figurine wound up in the jacket's pocket as Manny rifled through Brooke's nightstand drawers. He made Claire squeal in disgust when he showed Claire the two vibrators, the rather large butt plug and the tube of lubricant. Claire demanded he wash his hands after he threw the toys into Brooke's kitchen trash can.

"Damn, another one?" Claire asked, when Manny pulled out the La Femme Seul magazine from the bottom nightstand drawer. "How many of them did she do?"

"Don't know," Manny mused; the magazine's cover was of heavy card stock and the magazine itself was quite thick.

All the words were in French; Manny vaguely remembered his High School French classes. The heavy magazine joined the three other magazines and brother sister continued to box up their sister's things.

Home again, Manny put the keys onto the dining room table. Telling their mother that all that remained was the furniture, Manny carried his box to his bedroom.

That night, Manny quietly locked his bedroom door then draped a towel along the bottom of the door, to block any light from being visible underneath the door.

The first two magazines were quite well done. The photography was of excellent quality and Manny had to admit, his sister was a very sexy young woman.

'Make a wish'

Manny's head jerked up from the photograph of Brooke, 'Candy' as she was known in the magazine as 'Candy' prepared to lick Jade's pussy. No, the door was still firmly shut. Flipping the page, Manny groaned a little as jade prepared to fuck Candy with an impossibly large strap-on cock as Candy perched on hands and knees.

'Make a wish'

Manny looked up again. His eyes fell on the laughing figurine of the fool. With a shake of his head, Manny shut the magazine and picked up La Femme Seul. Page after glossy page of very attractive women greeted his tired eyes as he flipped through the magazine. Each page showed attractive young women masturbating with fingers, toys, a hand held showerhead.

"Bingo!" Manny whispered, finding Brooke's nine page pictorial toward the end of the magazine.

'Make a wish'

"Fuck! Shut up!" Manny hissed, studying the first picture as his beautiful, sexy sister knelt on a bed, a very fat dong pressing against her bald beaver.

When the third page showed Brooke, 'Viviane' as the magazine dubbed her jamming the very thick dong into her anus, Manny groaned and blew his load onto his belly and chest.

'Make a wish'

"Fuck! Wish I could find a bitch as hot as this!" Manny wished, looking at the next photograph that showed Brooke, Viviane working a second dong into her pussy while the first fat dong was nestled in her stretched anus. "One just as fucking gorgeous, just as hot as this."

While Manny lay in his bed, struggling to transcribe the words accompanying Viviane's pictorial, in a large mansion, Bianca, nee Thomas had a sudden urge to to wax her crotch bare. Sol, her husband said he liked her full dark bush, but suddenly, Sol's desires meant nothing to Bianca.

In the morning, after kissing her husband goodbye as he left for a day at work, Bianca showered, Styled her hair into a thick mane of thick darkwave's and dressed in a designer pantsuit. She had the driver drive her to the drugstore and she wandered the aisles until she found the hair removal section. Grabbing two of the kits, Bianca charged the purchase then had the driver return them to the mansion.

After removing the hair on crotch and anus, Bianca cursed in pain, then forged ahead with her plans, hazy and unfocused as they were. She gave herself an enema, waited ten minutes and gave herself a second enema.

Then, nude, Bianca first searched for the perfect 24AA bra. She decided the scarlet red bra would do; Sol called it her 'whore' bra. She located the matching panties and slithered into them. Smoothing the satin material over her 22 inch bony hips, Bianca decided to dress in a slinky dress of many shades of black.

"Ma'am?" the driver asked, startled when Bianca demanded he drive her to a Budget-Stay Motel on the opposite side of town.

A cell number popped into her head as she settled into the rear of the SUV. Bianca sent the message for the person to meet her at the Budget Stay Motel on Memorial.

'Who is this?' was the curious response.

'Bianca,' Bianca replied, then sent a selfie, making sure to include a teasing smile.

"Ma'am, I really don't think," the driver again stated as he pulled up to the motel.

"That's right. You don't think," Bianca snapped, getting out of the vehicle.

'Room 116,' she sent as she left the office, electronic key card in hand.

"Damn! Guess wishes do come true!" Manny had whistled when he received the selfie.

This mystery woman could be the older sister of his sister Brooke. The black sheath she wore emphasized her flat chest and angular face. The wild mane of dark waves was a few inches shorter than Brooke's wild mop, but this woman was gorgeous, no matter the length of her hair.

'Room 116,' he read and hurried to the Budget Stay Motel. Manny gave no thought to the fact that it had been this very motel that his cousin had been brutally killed. He knocked on the door of the room and it swung open.

Solomon had been enraged when his driver called him and told him of the infidelity his wife had planned. Cutting his meeting with the Sanitation Workers' Union short, Sol grabbed his three most trusted men and they went to the Budget Stay Motel.

"She uh, she's in Room one sixteen," the driver nervously said. "Like I told you sir, I just couldn't..."

"You done good, boy," Sol said, the Polish accent of his early childhood coming through strongly.

For a moment, the African-American man bristled at being called 'boy.' Then he asked himself if there would be any point to protesting the demeaning term.

Bianca screamed when the motel room's door was savagely kicked in. She moved to hide her body, clad only in scarlet red bra and panties. Sol silenced her with a withering look. Then, he silently grabbed her expensive dress from the miniscule closet and tossed it to her. Her face burned with shame as she dressed then left the motel room.

Ten minutes later, a soft knock sounded at the door then a scrawny young man entered the room. The young man had been so eager to fuck Sol's wife, he had not noticed the splintered condition of the door.

"So, you come here to fuck my wife, eh?" Sol asked as two of his men grabbed the hapless young man.

"Wi... WIFE? I, she didn't say nothing 'bout being married," Manny squeaked, terrified.

"That right? Shame she left out such an important little detail like that," Sol said.

The third man, with a nod from Sol, delivered several blows to Manny's face, chest, belly, and sides. The two men holding Manny continued to hold him after he had passed out. Then with another nod from Sol, the two carried the limp young man to the idling sedan.

In the warehouse, they folded Manny's unconscious body and stuffed him into a fifty five gallon drum. The drum was then filled with toxic sludge, leaving just enough room for Manny to hold his nose above the thick hazardous waste. The lid was then welded in place.

That drum joined several other drums destined for disposal in an unauthorized landfill; the reason for Sol's meeting with the Sanitation Workers' Union that morning. The landfill was not authorized, not zoned for the disposal and containment of hazardous waste. There was very real concern that one or two of the drums might leak and the toxins would be absorbed by groundwater and soon make its way to the aquifer beneath the city.

"What?" Sol had shrugged. "Why they add so much chemicals to the water we drink, eh? Keep it safe, eh?"

"Now, to have me a little talk with my wife, eh?" Sol said as the truck carrying the drums left the warehouse.

In the morning, as two of his trusted men carried a large suitcase out of his house, Sol told the two maids, the cook, and the driver that his beloved Bianca, well, she had decided she should take a little trip. She had decided she wanted to see his beloved Poland, pay her respects to his ancestors that lost their lives during the Nazi occupation, then the Russian occupation.

Just as the two men were putting the suitcase into the trunk of the luxury sedan, the circular drive had seven police cruisers scream up, blocking the escape of anyone from the mansion.

Sitting stoically in the interrogation room, Sol let his lawyer do all of the talking. He did not respond when the police detective asked him about his wife's body being stuffed in a suitcase. His eyes flickered momentarily when they asked about Manny's whereabouts; he wondered how they had found out about the boy.

The answer came to Sol as he sat, eating his supper of bologna and American cheese on slightly stale white bread. Looking around, he could see one of his men, his loyal and trusted compatriate sitting and glumly eating his own sandwich.

"Hey, Izzy," he called out.

"Yeah?" Isreal called back.

"You seen Henry anywhere?" Sol asked.

"Naw. You?" Israel answered.

Sol launched into a tirade, spewing Polish curses at Henry, his longest and most trusted friend. While Sol was heaping invectives on his head, Henry sat in the rear of a van, speeding toward the capital of the state.

"My Sophie, light of my life, she got her the cancer," Henry mumbled to the young officer sitting across from him.

"That's rough," the young man agreed.

"I mean, she's only five years old, you know? Too young, too young," Henry said. "And I say to myself, Hey, Henry; maybe she got the cancer from the water huh? Maybe you the one poisoned your baby girl there. Or maybe she got the cancer from the air, you burning that trash huh?"

"And that's when you contacted us?" the young man guessed.

Henry's face grew hard. He stared at a spot above the guard's head, jaw set firmly. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Naw. I made the call when Sol, my friend, my longtime friend, we go way back, Sol, he gives my Sophie this teddy bear. This cheap Teddy bear looks like it's been in a dog fight. My Sophie's got the cancer and he gives my baby girl this cheap teddy bear and it's green. What? Everyone knows purple. Purple's my Sophie's favorite color," Henry said.

"Hmm," the young man agreed.

"And what we done to that boy huh?" Henry went on. "Like we ain't never fucked some girl give us a smile and a nod? Don't ever remember asking none of them if they was married; pussy is pussy, am I right? That boy didn't deserve what we done to him."

"Did Bianca? Did Bianca deserve..." the guard spat out.

"Hey, I had nothing do with that," Henry defended. "Sol calls, says he's got him a problem needs us get rid of huh?"

.**.

Questioning the truck driver led the police to the site where the drums were buried. The EPA descended, all in their HazMat suits. Drum after drum was cut open until they finally found Manny's remains. He was buried in a sealed metal coffin at the expense of the taxpayers.

After the dismal memorial service, Claire took off her knee length charcoal gray dress. Wiggling into jeans and tee shirt, she went to her brother's room, determined to find and hide anything that might taint her mother's memories of her older brother. Their mother held the idea that Manny was a good boy, a sweet boy. Claire was determined that her mother would continue to hold that belief.

"Gross," she smirked sadly as she found the stash of pornographic magazines.

"Manny!" she gasped when she found Manny's stash of marijuana.

In truth, it was not much of a stash. Three small joints, smashed flat underneath his stash of pornographic magazines. She also found his four condoms in the box. Her eyes did open slightly; the box had contained twelve condoms at one time.

Almost as an afterthought, Claire grabbed the ugly little figurine from the corner of Manny's desk. Safely ensconced in her room, Claire set the figurine on her tall dresser. The joints and the condoms were put into a plastic grocery bag; she would dispose of them tomorrow. Tomorrow was trash day. The magazines were placed in the bottom drawer of her tall dresser; she had no interest in any of the magazines, but three or four of those magazines held images of her sister. Claire could not bear the thought of carelessly tossing images of her sister into the trash.

'Make a wish'

Claire looked around, startled. She peered at the door, fearful that her mother, her grieving mother might have seen the filthy magazines in her hand. But the door was firmly shut.

'Make a wish'

You know what? I wish, I wish there would be some kind of justice for Manny," Claire thought.

The guard looked over when Sol suddenly groaned. The young man steadied himself in case this was some sort of trick.

"I, I don't feel too good," Sol mumbled.

"Uh huh," the wary guard said. "Got another twenty minutes out here."

"No, no, I, I don't feel too good; maybe I need to see a doctor or something," Sol mumbled.

"Fine, fine, come on," the guard said, waving to the guard that waited by the door from exercise yard to the interior of the police department headquarters.

With a groan, Sol fell to the ground. Immediately, the four gaurds had their weapons drawn and were loudly ordering the other prisoners to stand back, turn around, face the fence and kiss the fence.

"Oh dear God!" the first guard choked as Sol vomited a foul smelling black fluid.

"Aaiieegh! Oh God, please!" Sol screamed, spewing more of the toxic waste from all orifices.

"God damn! What, what the fuck is that?" another guard demanded, twelve gauge pump shotgun in hand.

.**.

'Make a wish'

Claire paused in her listless studying. Looking up from her Algebra textbook, she again peered at the door. It was still firmly shut. She could hear the television blaring; her mother's hearing was failing but her mother would not even entertain the thought that she might need hearing aids.

'Make a wish'

"You know what?" Claire said to the figurine, scowling at the laughing expression on the fool's face. "I wish you couldn't grant any more wishes."

Claire blinked as the fool's laughing expression immediately changed to a fearful one. Suddenly, the vibrant colors faded. Then a piece of the fool's crown broke off, vanishing. The fool's nose chipped and disappeaered from sight. The slow transformation started slowly but quickly became much more rapid. Soon, the figurine was no more.

.**.

"Heh heh heh," the young man smirked, seeing the figurine of a well-muscled blond man, one hand gripping his turgid cock.

Even though the nude figurine was only three inches in height, including the small pedestal it stood upon, his erect cock was at least one inch in length. The flesh color was a healthy pink, the blond curls were the color of straw and his eyes were a brilliant blue.

"How much?" the young man asked the proprietor of the shop.

"Hmm? That one?" the entrepreneur asked, trying to remember if he'd ever seen the small statue before.

"Tell you what. I'll buy the box of magazines if you throw this little guy in," the young man said, indicating the nine copies of Vöser Junge! Magazines.

The proprietor's mouth tightened in disgust at the covers of the homosexual magazines but shrugged. Money was money and what did he care how this young man got his jollies. With a shrug he keyed the magazines into his ancient cash register, bagged everything and wished the young man a good day.

"Fucking sissy," he muttered as the young man left the store, clutching his find to his chest.

Outside, the young man breathed deeply of the fresh early spring air. The small curio shop had been dusty, even a little moldy smelling. Letting out his breath, he again clutched his precious cargo to his chest and tried to decide, go into another little shop, looking for that next great find, go grab a bite to eat, or maybe go to the park, see if there might be someone waiting in the dank, dark bathroom?

'Make a wish'

The End

**..**

***Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment.

I thank you sincerely for reading my stories.

Likewise, I also thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my words, those that take the time to 'Favorite' my works.

This story is an entry in the April Fool 2025 contest. Please take a moment to rate this and the other fine stories entered for this contest. Thank you.

This is one of those anomalies; there are no characters from any other JimBob44 story making an appearance in this tale.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.

'Make a wish'