Inside the walls of the sweat and smoke stained Natural Sin Bijou, Harlot and Dusty, two third-string pretties, warmed up the crowd with a fuck fest on stage using a black mamba strap-on, freshly devenomed but with a mind of its own. The front row fresh faces were wowed as the beast buried itself in Dusty’s pussy while Harlot stroked until it flared like an iron bar. The back seat locals smoked under the dark red light of electric hula girl candles hanging from the ceiling, waiting for what everyone waited for: Aurora Blaze.

Dusty convulsed as the slick viper was yanked out and shoved in her ass. Everyone cheered and applauded.

Except Hank.

Leaning against the KISS pinball machine, Hank yawned. Pain stitched across the wounds beneath his mummy bandaged face. “Goddamnit.” He chewed a fistful of pain poppers until the fire that was his skin was nothing more than an Indian burn, then swigged a beer left behind by a loser with a weak bladder. As he swallowed his pasty mash, he smelled jasmine and heard the hiss of the acid that had ruined his bragging rights face. He’d find the fucker who maimed him, and he’d nail Aurora Blaze.

“Hey, boys, give it up for Harlot, Dusty, and our man the Mambo King Snake John Lee!” The speakers were screaming Gary’s voice as Hank looked around.

All his boys were gone. New thugs in Mexican Wrestling masks were bouncing the joint. Hank didn’t know what was worse: getting acid in the face or losing his job to a bunch of masked grapplers.

He finished his free beer as fans of the last natural beauty strip joint flooded in wearing costumes. Talent night. Fuck, Hank thought, I don’t miss this. The sad parade of losers and freak fuckers and wannabee performers roll in just like his last night. Three months ago. Ninety days he’d been dead to the world, his old army service paying to keep him alive. Waking up to find his million dollar smile and fuck-me good looks turned into shrivels of puss and scars. Acid in the face the night he was going to nail Aurora Blaze. Who the fuck throws acid in anyone’s face these days? Some jasmine smelling fucktard who couldn’t handle me man to man. He would find the wuss, and than fuck what was his.

A heavy hand slapped his jacket’s shoulder. “Hey, nice outfit, Mummy man.” Another stupid Mexican wrestling mask stared down at him, but the guy’s accent was pure Minnesota.

“Ditto, amigo.”

“Saw you popping. Think you better take your pill party and vamoose. We like our tits and buzzes natural here.”

Five bouncers stood to render aid to this masked yard ape. Hank could’ve dropped him, but five would be a riot. Time to stay free and frosty if he was to get near Aurora. “I’m here for the talent show.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your talent?”

“I’m a magician.”

“Really? Prove it.”

“I can produce assholes out of thin air.” He waved his hands in front of the luchador. “Ta-da!” The bouncer choked him by the tie. “Easy,” Hank coughed. “I’m a comedian. The…” He looked at the losers in the crowd. “…the Human Punch Line.”

The bouncer shoved Hank back. “Buy a drink or hit the bricks, fugly.”

Hank smiled with ruined lips.

The bouncers took their original positions. Hank ordered a rye and ginger from Debra, the cocktail lesbian whose pantyhose hid more tracks than a railroad yard, and she didn’t bat an eye. He chewed another pill. Whoever did this to me is going to be shitting his own teeth for a week, he thought. He sucked back the rye.

Gary, wearing goggles and a garbage man outfit, took the stage, mic in hand. “Welcome to talent night at the All Natural Sintastic Bijou! One lucky winner will get a year contract!”

Hank breathed deep. Smoke, loneliness, but no Jasmine, like the aroma on the stairs to Aurora’s door.

“And, that’s not all!” said Gary. “Our winner will also receive a hot date with our show stopper main event, Miss Aurora Blaze!”

The crowd howled.

“No fucking way,” Hank said. He went to the front desk. Whisper, the chubby moon-faced gasbag, sat covered in Dracula make up and spider web tattoos, reading goth books. “Hey gorgeous,” he said, trying to smile with no lips. “I need a number for the talent show.”

She gave him a glance. “Sorry, handsome, no more.”

Three months ago, she would have paid to eat the peanuts out of his ass crack. Is this how these ham and eggers feel every fucking day?

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”

She put in a book mark. “Depends. Stick out your tongue.”

“What?”

“Bandages clogging your ears?”

He grimaced, then slowly let his long tongue through the bandages around his mouth. As it emerged, she grinned. “Oh, I might have one left. It’s in the alley. Be there in five. Hey, Santo, I’m taking a long break now!”

In the moonless dark of the wet alley, while rats ran and covered the world in shit, Hank stained the knees while eating the tangy fat pussy of Whisper.

“God, oh god, you’re a bad Mummy.” She gripped his bandages head, driving him forward. “Eat that shit until I drip.”

He shut his eyes and thought of Aurora’s flaming red hair and cinnamon skin, the way her candy lips seemed on the verge of sucking yours the closer you got.

“That’s it! That’s it! Now my ass!” She turned. He winced, hiked up her skirt, and plunged in with Aurora tattooed behind his lids. How she wouldn’t fuck anything but the best, and how Hank was going to conquer her like Everest, until she came like a volcano.

“Oh god, enough of this shit,” Whisper shoved his head away and his ass hit wet pavement. She turned, and hiked up hers skirt, and looked over her shoulder. “Fuck me.”

Hank stood, trying not to gag.

“Monster, fucking me.”

He unzipped his fly, bit what remained of his lip, and thought of Aurora through every gooey thrust.

Later, gasping against the wall, Whisper licked her wet lips. “If that’s your talent, we have a winner.”

Hank zipped himself up. “So I get my ticket?”

She reached in her purse and handed a Funville novelty ticket with the number 010. “Mummy, you’re the climax.” She laughed, then left him there.

His wavy reflection in the water at his feet was hideous, the bright security back light hanging above him like the moon’s kid brother. Three months ago, you couldn’t have paid him enough to kiss her cheek. Whoever did this to me, he thought, is going home in a pine box.

He chewed more Vicodin and walked back inside.


Hank surmised his competition: bad magic, shit jugglers, and a buck toothed contortionist that seemed to be the favourite. Hank couldn’t rely on his looks. He couldn’t rely on his fists. If he was going to win, he needed material.

“Boys, it’s intermission,” Gary said as the mop crew ran out to clean the stage. “Half price drinks at the bar, at the bar only. Then, Contestant number ten will take the stage.”

The frat boys, comb overs, trench coaters, and sad husbands club all migrated toward the bar. And there, with a mop and bucket, was Tony Mash. One of his old coolers. God, how the mighty had fallen. Hank cut through the crowd. “Pretty shitty job.”

Tony growled at him, then dunked his mop in the bucket.

“For a guy whose right cross won him fifty large in the back alley of this club not half a year ago.”

“You saw that fight, Bandage head?”

“I set it up.”

Tony stopped mopping. “Hank?”

He chewed another Vicodin. “Didn’t recognize me without my fucking face?”

They hightailed it to the woman’s bathroom, the one only Debra used. It was cleaner than a virgin’s twat and the white tiles were clean enough to be baby teeth. “Jesus, Hank. What the hell happened to you?”

“You tell me. What did they say when I didn’t show up to work?”

“Management said shit. Then they got this new guy. Velvet Puma. He took your job before I could.”

“Who the fuck is Velvet Puma.”

“Some gringo who thinks he’s a Mexican wrestler. His crew wears those stupid luchador masks. Ain’t one of them Mexican. Then they stick me on this shit job, because they know I ain’t got my green card yet. Same wage as bouncing, so I can’t say shit. It’s like a fucking insult, man.”

Hank chewed. “Yeah, life is rough all over.”

“What happened to you?”

He sucked back the crusty spit. “Had a date with Aurora.”

“No shit.”

“Positively constipated. It gets hazy when I think about it. Got to her apartment. Smelled…something sweet, like jasmine. Someone called my name and then.” He hissed. “Three months later I wake up, muscles weak but my dick still iron for Aurora.”

“So that’s why you’re back? Win this stupid ass talent show and slip it in?”

“That, and find out who did this to me. Only reason he’d get at me, on that night, was to stop me from banging Aurora. That means he’s probably one of these shitstain performers. Only way to find him is to win this thing and watch him come out of the darkness.”

“Well, if he does, I’ve got your back. My nose is pretty dead from all this cleaning, but I catch that scent, I’m over it.”

“Thanks, Tony. You’re an amigo.”

Tony opened the door. “But I swear, you should dash some cologne on what is left of your face. You reek like Whisper’s pussy.”

He laughed. “Everyone is a fucking comedian.”


“And, finally, our last scrap of talent for tonight, we have…The Human Punchline!”

Hank swaggered through a handful of boos and a few screams and grabbed the mic. “Ok, ok, you cock jockeys, simmer down. I know you don’t give a wet shit about midgets and cock swallowers and sad fucking magicians. I know I don’t. Not when a few dozen examples of natural beauty are lying behind this curtain. Can I get a fuck yeah!”

“Fuck Yeah!”

“So, I’ll make you a deal. Vote for me and I will get the fuck off this stage right now. If we got a deal, say fuck yeah!”

“Fuck yeah!”

Gary’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Hey, hey now, boys. Our ladies still need a minute to freshen up and give you what you want to see.”

“How long does it take to get naked?” Hank said, and stole some laughs.

“This is a talent show. So I’m afraid that the Human Punchline will put up or shut up.”

Normally, Hank would feed Gary his teeth, but his balls were in a vice. “Ok, ok. Sorry, guys, I tried. Afraid I’m going to have to finish this fucker off.”

He gulped. Let’s see if Plan B works.

“Guys, we all love pussy. Right?”

Cheers.

“We can’t get enough of it. We’d cross deserts, fight wars, and even act like a gentleman if we knew it would score us some bragging rights with a first class natural fuck. Right? None of that surgical cheating, but grade A natural beauty like God and Darwin intended, am I right?”

Mad cheers.

“Man, I wish I was as handsome as all you bastards. I bet your smiles would have these ladies draining your balls like hoovers, right?” Cheers. “Bet the first time you enter a chick is the last time she can think about anyone else during sex, right?” Hoots. “They’d pay for the privilege of eating out of your ass, just so they’d have some bragging rights, can I get an Amen?”

Amen!

“Damn, it must be good to be you. Now me? I’m a sad fucker. Face like shredded cheese stuffed in an ugly box.” Laughs. “Best I can nail are fat goth chicks with a corpse fetish. I’m the Mummy you don’t want to fuck!”

Howls.

“The best I can hope for is a pity fuck from an ugly duck. Maybe I should be slumming in hospitals, pretending to be the dead husbands of hot grieving DUI widows, telling them I’m the ghost of good cocks past, ready for one more ride before heading to see the man upstairs.”

Hars.

“Better yet. Order me up some prime whore and make sure she comes blindfolded. Have her suck me off until I pop, and then that’s when I drop her blind fold. She’ll defy physics by being able to spit and swallow at the same time!”

Cackles.

“Ok, boys, red light is flashing. I’m almost gone. But, hey, admit it. You could vote for the most talented fucker here. But don’t you think the sickest joke that could be pulled tonight is giving Aurora Blaze the pleasure of my company, every fucking night? If you think so, give me a fuck yeah!”

They roared!

“Vote for the Human Punchline and I’ll fuck her for all of you!”

The place was a madhouse. Beers in the air like swords before a Roman triumph. Gary pumped the music and Hank got off stage to a thousand pats on the back and offers for drinks that he waved off until Gary’s voice boomed. “Alright, boys, time to vote. Please fill out the score cards on the tables and drop them off to our lovely cocktail waitresses. One we’re tallied, you get your main events!” The manly friendship vanished as the assorted losers went to fill in the cards.

Hank sat at the bar, hoping to hell plan B worked because he had no plan C. He popped another Vicodin.

“I hear those pain pills make you impotent” said a harsh voice behind him.

“And I hear the best medical advice doesn’t come from behind a bar.”

The bartender wore a Mexican wrestling mask, but was paler than a dead goat. “Think you got a chance with Aurora, huh?” No, Hank thought, I’ve got a second chance, and no one will ruin it. “You’re dreaming with your dick, hombre.”

“Can I pay you to not talk to me, hombre?”

“Like all natural beauties, she’s picky about who she fucks.”

So was I, once upon a time. Hank plucked one of Whisper’s pubes out of his teeth. “So I didn’t get your vote?”

“Nope. The puking magician. I love to see that spic with the crew cut clean up the stage.”

Hank bristled. “Just get me a rye and ginger?”

The bartender snorted, got the drink, and by the time Hank slugged it back Gary’s voice was booming through the air. “Boys, we’ve got your cards and done a count and checked it twice. Now, to announce the winner, give it up for our own show stopping main event. The Alaska Spitfire herself, Aurora Blaze!”

The curtain parted.

And a hundred cocks ached.

Skin like crushed cinnamon and bronze, legs thick and strong and strutting in black and painfully high heels. Razor thin bikini bottom barely hid her sacred slit. Her breasts were just huge enough to be lust magnets but not cyber-big and comical. But for Hank, all of that was a sideshow compared to the raw beauty of her face.

A natural red head. Didn’t colour anything. Ruby lips large and inviting on a whiplash smile that men dreamed would one day drain their every wet dream dry. Doe eyes and sharp eyebrows, mean and sweet. All topped off with a big, bountiful trail of raging red hair that feathered down her back like a blanket she was used to fucking on.

In one long nailed hand was a card. The other a mic.

“And the lucky boy is…” Her voice a deep siren song.

Hank gripped his glass till it shook.

“The Human Punchline!”

Everyone roared. Hank scanned for anyone and anything. But they pulled him to the stage as Aurora sang. “Come on, handsome. We have a date to plan!” He was on stage. She gazed at him like a wild boar over a slain vermin. “Freaky. I like freaky.”

Speechless, he nodded. She took his hand and walked to the curtain, perfect ass bouncing to The Strip as all the gang screamed “Fuck her good!” in chorus.

Sweat unravelled the bandages as she led him past the dressing rooms that stank of bronze tanner, hair spray, and chemical glitter. All the shit Aurora didn’t need. She strutted up the black stairs to her private dressing room and apartment. He’d fucked most of those second raters against this wall, just so she could hear how goddamn good he was.

Now she was leading him up the stairs.

He shot a look back, but only one. Good god, he’d fuck that ass raw given half a chance.

Easy, easy, he told himself. Then popped a Vicodin.

She led him inside a incense laced room of a hundred spices, all doing murder on his skin. He itched, but only adjusted his sweaty bandages. She closed the door then strutted to her make up table, and sat on her stool. “You’re a funny man.”

“I aim to please.”

“Someone else used to say that a lot. A former bouncer here.”

“Excuse me?”

She hit the light on her mirror, adjusted it so he could see his face. Then her reflection smiled. “Howdy, Hank.” She licked her lip. “How you feeling?”

He gulped a Vicodin. “Peachy keen, Aurora.”

“Sorry we had to cancel our date.”

He focused on her and not his blood and sweat soaked rags. “No biggie. Was pretty busy fighting a coma.”

She pouted. “Awful, just awful. But you really fought back, didn’t you?”

No, focus on that rotten face of yours. You can cream your pants in a minute. He took in his ragged, torn lips, the scorched earth policy under his eyes, the bandage around his head that kept falling down like a comb over. “I need to know who did this to me, Aurora.”

“You fought back to be with me. To go on our date. I tell you, I had you all wrong.”

“I’m betting it was one of your admirers. Maybe even someone on staff.”

She sprinkled perfume on. “You’re not just a pretty face who talks shits about girls who augment themselves.”

“Not anymore, I’m not. Some shitheel tossed acid in my face. Someone stole the best of me, someone stinking of lilacs, something sickly sweet, before I could come here I got to your house—”

She stood, turned flawlessly, and smiled. “Poor Mummy. Let’s see what the bad person did.”

She stalked closer and he moved back until his back jabbed the doorknob. “Look, do you have any female fans? Jealous lesbians can be nightmares.” The bandage fell down, across his right eye.

“Just those with eyes, my sweet.” She lifted the bandage. “You’re like a present. Is it Christmas for me, Hank?” She began to unwrap.

He gripped her wrist.

“Let go,” she said, firm and strong.

He did. “Why? Why the fuck do you want to see—” He breathed in.

Sweetness. Jasmine.

“Shh.” She put a finger across his ruined lips. “It’s Christmas morning and everyone else is asleep, but I’m allowed to unwrap one present, just one, before the day explodes.”

He dropped his arms as the bandages pulled at his gummy, new skin and meat with a sickly tug. Be breathed in harder. “You—”

“Almost done, almost got my present.”

The bandage dropped across his chest, rolling down past his hand to the floor. Her doe eyes went wide and wild as she covered her mouth. “Oh god, you are a masterpiece. A real keeper.”

“You did this?” he whispered. He tried to turn his hands to fists.

“You’re so, so…”

“You did this to me?”

“Beautiful.”

She kissed him, thick lips burning against his ruined flesh, tongue licking and teeth gnashing as she smiled. “And you taste like sweet ruin.” She dove in again and his hands flexed at the sides. She did it. She fucking did this to me. She killed all my girl action for ever, killed every bragging right I would ever have, turned me into a fucking joke on stage—

She gripped his cock, an iron rod against his will. “I’m going to drain you like a fucking hoover.”

No. I can’t. She did this to me, the bitch turned me into a freak. She doesn’t deserve to lick the come off your stalk. Be a fucking man about it…

But she was a perfect ten. A natural. A creature out of fairy tales. Wildness danced in her eyes.

And he heard the echo of the boys downstairs. The losers. The pathetic shits. The trenchcoaters and fat fucks who would never ever get a taste of this…

This is my last chance.

He gripped the back of her neck and mashed her into his face as all the Vicodin drained from his system. An agony kiss that sent sick waves of pain through his body—

But he was still harder than tempered steel.

He plucked off her gee string. She gasped. “You want it, my masterpiece? Fucking take it. Just let me see your face.”

He tore off his pants, gripped her ass, and spun so he could drill her against her door. Downstairs, the thumping dance music of Keisha’s entrance tunes blared.

Aurora hissed. “Yesss, get in me.”

He did. For him. For every one of those pathetic fucks down there. He slid every inch into her and she hissed even louder. Her legs synched around him like pythons, heels still on and pointing toward heaven. “Come on, baby. Hurt me.”

It was a masterpiece performance of grinding and power, of alpha dog rutting. He didn’t let her come, he made her come, wet and sloppy as she screamed, mouth contorted in wild pleasure, eyes locked on his horror show face. Once, twice, until he was only three strokes from bursting.

He pulled out and dropped her on her knees. “Now suck it dry.”

Panting, eyes still on his face, she licked her lips and smiled. “As you wish.”

She glared at him. He scowled in pleasure as she worked him over like a master. He looked at himself in the mirror to keep him from coming too fast when the sound coming out of her was more than pleasure, more than sex, something primal and raw

Her eyes glassed, her face elongated into a serpentine form, but still sucked. A sweet aroma filled the air.

She was augmented. A snake job. Oh god, Aurora, not you…

Pleasure took over and he fucked her head until a dirty burst rang from his cock and his asshole puckered tight. As he came in her mouth, pain gave way to a singular burning. A sweet acidity as she spat out his cock and hissed with a forked tongue.

Soon, his cock burned so bad he dropped to his knees.

Aurora got up and strutted back to her chair as he took the fetal position, something wet and sore pulsing out of his crotch. “Now, you’re perfect.” She put on her make up, looking more beautiful than ever, and sprayed perfume in the room until the world was stained with jasmine. “When that heals up, you come back and see me. My masterpiece.”

She strutted over him as pain ate through the pills, and the beautiful world dissolved into ugly before going red and black.

# # #

Beauty and the Punchline by Jason Ridler
originally published in the Winter 2011 print edition

 

 


Jason Ridler has published over 30 short stories in venues such as Brain Harvest, Not One of Us, Big Pulp, Crossed Genres, Chilling Tales, Tesseracts Thirteen, and more. His non-fiction has appeared in Clarkesworld, Dark Scribe, and the Internet Review of Science Fiction. A former punk rock musician and cemetery groundskeeper, Mr. Ridler is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop and holds a Ph.D. in War Studies from the Royal Military College of Canada. Visit him at his writing blog, Ridlerville, Facebook, and on Twitter.

For more of Jason's work,
visit his Big Pulp author page

 

This feature and more great
fiction & poetry are available in
Big Pulp Winter 2011:
Interrogate My Heart Instead

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