Summary: mind control, incest, Mf, minor ff
A rabies mutation has an affinity for different neural tissues. Can we stop
this disease before it spreads to every human on the planet? And do we really
want to?
See No Evil: Contains sexually explicit and politically incorrect material. If you shouldn't be reading this, or if it might offend you, simply stop now.
Legalese: All actors and actresses are over the age of consent. Proof of age is on file. Any similarity of any character, event or place to any actual person, event or place, is purely coincidental. This is all fantasy, and the actors are all professionals -- do not try any of this at home.
Archiving: You are welcome to discreetly repost or archive this, just do not change it, steal from it or claim credit for it.
Live well!
You are now leaving the realm of the known and well-lighted and crossing over into a realm without stability, a world with only potential, a shadowy landscape with--
Oh, you get the picture. The chapter below is a draft chapter. It is subject to change, revision, rewrite or even total deletion (though drastic changes are unlikely). There may even be ungrammatical half-thoughts or notes included below. All this is still copyrighted by Jafar. These draft chapters are given as a courtesy so that those interested in this story can peek on where the author is currently thinking of taking it.
I hope you enjoy the draft(s) and the story as a whole.
1856. In a wagon train 100 miles west of Amarillo, bound in the direction of the setting sun for Galveston.
Anne-Marie Wysteria Jackson stood in the drivers seat of the covered wagon before setting off on that day's travel, eyeing the proud new land under the rising sun out into the distance. "Not long now," she thought, and laid her hand on her belly, "And there will be a new home for us." For her and her unborn child.
A swarthy rider rode up, obviously cocky in his saddle, but still, a man of true passion. He brought to mind the image of a wild, feral wolf, unyielding, uncompromising, having brought down a giant carnivorous bear through his sheer audacity and stubbornness. The swarthy man would be the indigestible parts of the bear that are barfed back up an hour after the wolf's victory feast.
"I am Sancho," he said, his voice low and gravelly, like a hoarse poodle.
"That's exactly my point!" said the sculpted man from the next wagon over -- Doctor Livingston.
This was the central conflict in Anne-Marie Wysteria's life. Whether to go with her romantic side, to ride off with the enigmatic, tempestuous Sancho -- or to go with her reasonable, practical side and allow the earnest and steadfast Doctor Hal Livingston to woo her and provide a secure home for her and her children.
"That is exactly my point, Sancho! What is it that you DO do?"
"Do? I am Sancho!"
"But what do you do?! Why are you on this wagon train?"
"I am Sancho!"
"Please, Hal," she said softly. "Don't make a scene."
Doctor Livingston could not bear to bring his little tulip Anne-Marie Wysteria discomfort, so he held his tongue.
"Hmph," Sancho grunted his victory. "I am ... Sancho!" He dismounted, poured a cup of coffee from the campfire pot, then squatted to sit on a large rock.
Anne-Marie Wysteria's eyes grew wide as she spotted death in reptilian form right underneath her dark hero's ass!
"Sancho!" she cried. "Don't!"
"Hnnngh?" He could not halt in mid-squat, so found himself completing his "sit". "Nnngh!" he grunted in discomfort, hiked up his right cheek, then pulled out the head of the snake he had just sat on. "Hrrrngh?!" He pulled out another length of the snake. "Rrrngh?!" He pulled and pulled, but the snake just kept on coming, like an offensive thread that just keeps unravelling from your favorite black shirt.
Quick-thinking Livingston stepped forward, taking he snake's head while Sancho's eyes grew wider with every additional foot of snake that he pulled from under his ass. Doctor Livingston studied the shape of the head, knowing that poisonous snakes have triangular-shaped heads to make room for the venom sacs, while non-poisonous snakes have more oval-shaped heads.
Sancho finally reached the end of the snake and looked up in fear.
"Well?!" Anne-Marie Wysteria asked Livingston, her voice laden with concern.
Livingston held forward the snake's flat little head, the teeth askew now from the earlier fatal impact. "Poor little thing never even stood a chance. Big ol' fat ass coming down on it like--"
"LIttle?!" Sancho's voice broke. "It is a thousand feet long! All of it under the ass of Sancho!"
"Oh, I don't think it's a thous--"
Anne-Marie Wysteria stamped her foot. "Is it POISONOUS?!"
"Oh, I would think so," Dr Hal Livingston pronounced his evaluation. "I would say that 'Sancho' has only minutes left to live."
"MINUTES?!" Sancho's voice broke again.
"Minutes?!" Anne-Marie Wysteria could not believe it! Her dark lover! Or at least her dark fantasy lover!
"MINUTES?! But what of ... Sancho?!"
"Oh," Livingston dropped the snake's mashed head to the ground, "I'm afraid that Sancho will soon no longer be with us." A tight little smile betrayed his lack of sincerity.
"NO LONGER WITH YOU?! BUT ... BUT ... I AM SANCHO!"
Livingston stepped toward the beautiful eight-month-pregnant widow. "Allow me to comfort you, my little tulip Anne-Marie Wysteria."
"But I am ... SANCHO!" the swarthy man whined.
Anne-Marie Wysteria stepped forward, rolling her sleeves up to her elbows. She would not permit this horrible thing to happen! "Sancho!" she barked. "Drop your pants!"
"No!" cried a female head popping out of another covered wagon. It was Anne-Marie Wysteria's sister Caroline. "You cannot! Remember what happened to mother!"
It was a tragic story, what had happened to their parents. Their father had been shot in the crotch by a vile highwayman and left to die. When their mother rode back, she found him crumpled to the ground. With bold courage, she made a small incision at the wound with a knife the highwayman had left behind. Then she attempted to suck the bullet from the wound before it could kill her loving husband. However, by cruel fate, she had gingivitis, which caused her suction pressure to be inconstant. The bullet came out and tumbled into her mouth and throat before she could stop it. She tried to swallow, tried to cough, but it would not dislodge. Slowly, she dropped to the ground and into unconsciousness.
The bullet had been plugging the wound that it had caused in her husband's femoral artery. Without the bullet, he bled and bled until he slipped into unconsciousness.
It was like some type of bizarre gift of the magi. He had sacrificed the plug in his artery so that she could ... sorry, I mean that she had sacrificed the passageway in her throat so that he could ... no, that's not right, either. Sometimes life is just fucked -- let's leave it at that.
"You cannot!" Caroline called, holding forth the knife that her mother had used on her father and that Caroline had saved all these years. "Remember what happened!"
"I remember!" Anne-Marie Wysteria cried, snatching the rusty knife from her sister's hand. "But I cannot let my lover die!"
"Lover?" Dr Livingston inquired about this new development.
"LOVER?!" Sancho asked, also unaware that he deserved that title.
"Well, fantasy lover at least. Bend over, Sancho! I'm saving your life!"
"Urngh?!" Sancho cried as Anne-Marie Wysteria's firm grip forced him over at the waist. "But--! BUT--! OW! OW! OW! OW! OW! OW!"
Anne-Marie Wysteria smacked Sancho's buttocks. "Stop whining, you girl! I haven't even touched you yet!"
"It is ... the anticipation. I am ... I am ... Sancho!"
"Hey, Sancho," Livingston muttered, eyeing the other man's hindquarters. "Nice ass."
Anne-Marie Wysteria, too, was lost in fascination, lightly running her hands over Sancho's bronze, moulded musculature. His thighs were like tree trunks, his buttocks like two bronze hills, his ... nether regions ... like a ... ratty squirrel's nest ...
"He, he! Ha, ha! Ho! You are tickling Sancho!" he giggled. That broke the spell. Quickly, she sliced twice, one for each puncture mark.
"Aaaaaiiigh!
"Aaaaaigh!"
"Anne-Marie Wysteria! Don't!"
"Tulip Anne-Marie Wysteria! You have moderate to advanced gingivitis, my love! You cannot!"
"I cannot let him die!" she cried out, then planted her lips on his ass and began sucking.
Selena lightly fanned herself with her hand. This was sooooo romantic! What an ADMIRABLE heroine! She refused to let love die!
She took a drink from her water bottle, not noticing the small scum-spot of saliva that slid into her mouth and down her throat.
Eagerly, she resumed reading.
A half dozen children poured out of Auntie Caroline's covered wagon, having heard the ruckus.
"Mother! Don't!" they cried
Anne-Marie Wysteria pulled her face from Sancho's buttocks and spat out her mouthful of blood. She turned to look at her concerned children, her lips and cheeks stained red with Sancho's crimson life fluid.
"Gaaaaaahhhh!!" they cried and scrambled back into the rear of the wagon.
Anne Marie Wysteria sank her face back to Sancho's bronze buttocks. Mouthful after mouthful, she sucked and spat, sucked and spat, until Sancho was weak in the knees.
"I am ... I am ..." Sancho said weakly. "I am ... San--" Thunk. His body collapsed to the ground.
Oh, no! They can't kill Sancho. He is ... Sancho!
Selena gripped the book more tightly and continued to read.
Anne Marie Wysteria stood unsteadily. "I ... am ... dizzy ... Hal ..." She sucked in air deeply, but couldn't catch her breath. "Can't ... can't breathe."
"Those are the symptoms of the venom, my love."
"Did I ... did I at least ... save my dark love, Hal?"
"I'm afraid not, Tulip. Sancho is ... gone!"
Thunk. Anne Marie Wysteria's body crumpled to the ground.
No! The CAN'T kill Anne Marie Wysteria! Selena gripped the cover and pages of the book tightly, throttling it, trying to wring a better ending out of it.
Caroline ran over to Dr Livingston. "Is she-- is she--"
"I'm afraid so, dear Caroline." He wrapped his arms around her to comfort her.
"Good riddance. The way that bitch treated you, Hal. I don't know how you put up with her."
"She WAS a bit of a pest, Caroline."
"I will be SO much better for you, Hal."
"Yes, we will start a new life together."
"We can sell the little brats off at the next settlement."
"Yes, that will be for the best."
Caroline leaned her head into the doctor's chiselled chest as he held her, and they stared off into the rose sunset."
Wow. Selena hadn't seen that one coming!
She closed "Love's Tempest Lost" by Rose Marie de Lion, finished off her water, then walked back, done with her break.
Microscopically, the virus that had been carried by the spittle found tiny openings at Selena's gumline and it entered its new host. Ms de Lion would tell you that, if you had an electron microscope aimed at Selena's head, you would have seen the pathogen shiver with a little viral rapture.
(Meanwhile, in the office bathroom, wholly unaware of the spread of disease occurring two rooms over, Elaine was spreading a contamination of her own. "For a good time," she scratched into the paint on the wall, "Watch Orgazmo by Trey Parker".)