Bob

Author's note:

This is the story of a man's journey into discovering his true self. It is not so much an erotic tale, it's a story of transformation, from shallow to deep, or deeper at least. It is somewhat perverse and the topic of sex is frequent. It is comical yet also philosophical and emotional. I would love any and all feedback as I am planning to continue writing this as an entire book. Thank you for checking it out...

Regards and cheers,

Shaglus

Bob

Bob was tuckered and a bit swizzled after a long week at work. He thought the weekend would never come, yet, somehow, here it was. After leaving the Fiat County Credit Union where he was an employee, a teller, he weighed his options. His first instinct was to head to his favorite bar and just belly up to it, literally, and start drinking. It was tempting. All day he had worked next to Claudette, another teller and his favorite co-worker. Claudette didn't like Bob. She was actually repulsed by him. Bob, on the other hand, loved Claudette, well the way she looked at least, even though she was somewhat cruel to him and would hardly give him the time of day.

Claudette was a recent hire but had been shining brightly in her new position. Bob knew it wouldn't be long before she got promoted. The women always got promoted, at least according to Bob. This didn't mean she would leave the office but she would most likely get her own cubicle which meant that Bob wouldn't be able to work next to her like he did today. He knew she didn't like working next to him but he didn't give a shit. He just wanted to be near her, he could smell her. He swore he could smell her sex. In the car, on the way out of the credit union's parking lot, Bob called his friend Charlie.

"What's up, Bob??" Charlie answered. "Weekend time bra! You headed to the bar? Or are you still dreaming of Claudette?"

"I swear, Charlie," Bob replied, "I can smell when she's ovulating! She's that kind of woman!"

Charlie was Bob's best friend and worked at an architecture firm not far from the credit union. Charlie rolled his eyes when he heard Bob's statement. Bob made these kind of remarks often. Charlie rolled his eyes often.

"Bro!" Charlie said, "You can't smell her ovulation! Your senses are fucked, you're a suburbanite bank teller not a god damned Apache! You're probably smelling your mustache with all those Trader Joe's tuna wraps you eat!"

Charlie then let out a long belly laugh as he often did. Bob initially had a strong urge to get defensive with Charlie and tell him to fuck off but he broke down quickly and soon they were both rolling in laughter. Once they started laughing there was no stopping it. They could snort and bellow for hours. They had done this since they were kids. Bob had known Charlie since he was five years old. Almost nothing had changed in all of that time save for puberty.

"It's not my mustache dude!! Claudette is so beautiful, bro!" Bob told him. "She's perfect. It's like she's machine made. Her ass is so round and sturdy. Her breasts are like Ruby Red grapefruits. She smells like jasmine flowers on a warm moonlit night! Her lips, they're like freshly sliced Roma tomatoes, juicy and ripe! Her coiffed Cleopatra hairdo is unmovable! It's like it's plastered in place! It's like she's a fucking toy doll, man! All she wears are those wispy yellow sun dresses with assorted flowers scattered on them, kinda' like insects on a windshield. The dresses barely make it halfway down to the back of her sultry, tanning booth browned thighs. I'm sure she shaves everything! I bet she waxes her anus, bro! What I wouldn't give to rub my Slavic nose right in her corn hole!!"

Bob's nose was remarkable, but not for smelling. He was oddly deficient in that sense. His nose was remarkable to witness. It wasn't ugly, in fact some women found it appealing. It sat on his face like an angry crow. It was somewhat delicate but retained a touch of manliness. His nostrils were flared like a screaming donkey's might be. He had a trimmed dark mustache beneath his nose. His eyebrows weren't fully joined but close. In the past Bob had been athletic but a few years working as a bank teller had rounded him out. His chest and back had a thin coating of lazy fur as did his legs. His pelvic region and backside were very hairy, hirsute in fact. He had a strange curly mop on his head that he kept somewhat short, almost like an afro.

As far as fashion went Bob was fond of lively, cheap, reject hipster type suits that he could find at the local Marshall's or TJ Max. He had three that were almost identical. They fit him tight. The jackets were always yellow and the pants were a shady, light blue, powder blue. He liked to wear tight Fruit of the Loom white t-shirts beneath his jacket, v-neck style to show off the "pube" like hairs on his chest. He wore yachting shoes with no socks, which could get stinky though he never noticed (I told you about his nose.) He did have a nice ass, or so some of the women he had been with had said. It was bubbly and stuck out prominently. He had strong thighs. His shoulders weren't incredibly wide but they weren't weak either. You could still tell he had enjoyed some athletic moments in his life though the dullness and inactivity of modern life was catching up with him. His eyes were narrow and often looked like slit blood oranges, like he was stoned. And sometimes he was, yet always preferring gummies to ripping bowls of actual marijuana. He liked the watermelon gummies that looked like toxic fish in a nice, rounded tin. They felt sophisticated to him.

"So we gonna' meet at the Tiki Bar, bro?" Charlie queried.

"Give me an hour or so, Charlie." Bob responded. "I was gonna' go there immediately but I'm trying to do my gym thing. I got a membership at the athletic club. It's dope. You and me are getting fat. You should check it out sometime. They got a jacuzzi, two of them actually, they got a sauna, tennis courts, pickle ball, volleyball, weights, pilates classes, yoga! You should see the chicks in yoga dude. There's some sexy fucking babes in there, fra. I'm gonna' go real quick and shake a bit of sweat out and then get in the tub. I feel like I'm pudgy, bro. Oh ya, I already said that. I'll meet you at the Slippery Lotus at 7. Is that cool? Your wife won't mind it being a little later will she?"

"Nah." Charlie replied. "We ain't doing so well. We're doing so bad that she don't give a fuck what I do as long as I ain't home much. But, whatever! Seven sounds good. You'll have to tell me more about Claudette and the Yoga chicks. I haven't gotten laid in over a year. I've got a weird callous forming on my right hand. Is that bad?"

"Whoa, man. That sucks! Ya, that's bad." Bob said thoughtfully. "We'll catch up at the Lotus in just a few. I'm excited to hit the club and get my sweat on. Later."

Bob hung up before Charlie responded not realizing his rudeness. It wasn't really his fault. His primitive mind immediately had drifted back to Claudette and what he supposed was her hairless anus. He could see it in his mind's eye all puckered and pink, no hairs, no blemishes, just a tight little turnip waiting for his wily proboscis to dig into it. He breathed in deeply, vividly imagining the scent of her dirty backside flower. His loins began to stir.

The drive to the club wasn't very far, about seven minutes in light traffic from the Fiat County Credit Union, FCCU for short, or fuck you as Bob liked to say. His now full erection became painful as he traveled.

The club itself was beautiful. There were lots of palm trees and ferns outside. The parking lot and grounds were immaculate, laced with gourmet gravel. Bob had splurged to get the membership. He thought his position in society could be lifted by joining. He knew some of the town's real movers and shakers were members. Now he was too. He pulled his newly acquired BMW electric I3 into the parking lot feeling pretty good about himself.

Now the reader may be wondering how Bob acquired this fancy electric car seeing that he was only a county credit union teller. The car is not cheap. Let the author first make a note that he thinks, and yes he does identify as "he," electric cars are way overrated and may even be far worse than that, in many ways. It gets conspiratorial but let's not digress. He won't expound on those theories at this time though readers may feel free to email him if they are interested in hearing such nonsense.

Bob came to own this car by sheer luck, or fate if you are so inclined, and a bit of primordial courage. An acquaintance at the Slippery Lotus had made a stupid and somewhat impulsive, seemingly nonsensical, offer to him one night whilst the two were imbibing a rather large amount of alcohol.

They had been drinking "Tiki Trawlers" that night at the Lotus, a seasonal specialty on the menu. The drink was a blend of a sturdy portion of rum, crushed ice, loquat juice, a key lime and a yellowfin croaker egg sac that the Lotus' owner would bring in when he got lucky shore fishing along the local beaches. Perch egg sacs could be used, corbina too, hell, any egg fish sac would work as long as the owner, Ferdinand, had caught it. The fish sac was the "trawler" part of the drink which obviously implies fishing. Ferdinand thought it was clever. The drink wasn't very popular except among macho, insecure drunken men, the occasional tranny, or a woman trying to prove she was one of the boys.

On this particular night Bob was drinking with a guy named Gus who had been a long time regular at the Lotus. Gus was a broken down auto mechanic around forty seven years of age, though he looked more like sixty five. No one at the Lotus really believed his stated age and many suspected that forty seven was a lie. Gus always had something to prove and the way Bob acted, dressed and looked had always bugged Gus. Gus was constantly trying to find ways to undermine and humiliate Bob, usually ending in failure and usually undermining himself. Bob had a way about slipping out of trouble and traps and even his own mistakes, albeit somewhat recklessly.

As the story goes, Gus stated that a new client had left a fancy BMW at his shop. It had been there at least two months. Gus claimed that the guy who left it there was a bit seedy, undeniably odd, and had acted strangely around the shop. He had wanted an alignment done on the car and Gus had finished that job quickly. The owner of the vehicle had not returned nor had he left a phone number, the line on the paperwork had been left blank. Bob put the car to the side, under a carport type structure, and just waited. Two months had now passed. Being a curious man Gus looked through the glove compartment and to his surprise there was a title. The title had no signatures on it. Gus was surprised again. By this point Gus was beginning to think the car was his, even going so far as to sign the title with his signature.

As this particular night of drinking continued Bob had started bragging about his conquests in the sexual realm. Bob got real detailed about what he and one of the patrons had done after leaving the bar late one night. Bob called this particular woman Misses Fancy Milf, or MFM for short. She was a somewhat regular here at the Lotus, known to be married, but known to get drunk and go home with younger men like Bob. Bob didn't know this but Gus had had a long time crush on this Misses Fancy Milf. So much so that Gus considered her a good close friend and could get easily offended when someone started bad mouthing her.

"Bro!" Bob said belligerently. "She's wild! Misses Fancy loves my cock! I mean she basically worships it. She rubs her face in my pubes, she licks my bunghole, she'll do anything."

"You're full of shit, Bob!" Gus replied. "I know her well and if that had happened she would've given me all the sordid details you cocky son of a bitch. Don't talk about her that way. I oughta' punch you in the mouth!"

Ferdinand broke into the conversation.

"Guys, Guys, Guys!" He blurted. "No mas! The Tiki Trawlers are making you crazy. Those fish eggs will do that. Especially when they're getting old, like right now. I shouldn't have served them to you, they stink more than normal. I feel like the craziness they make sometimes is the revenge of the yellowfin croaker getting back at me for killing them. They make people fight... Oh look! There's Misses Fancy Milf now!"

Right then Misses Fancy did walk in. She hadn't yet seen Bob nor Gus at the bar yet.

"Before she gets here, I'll make you a bet, Bob!" Gus snarled. "If you eat the rest of his three fish sacs here, old and gritty as they are, and then can bag ole' Fancy Milf, you have to get up close and talk to her, give her a kiss even, and have her take you home, I'll give you that weird fucking electric car that slime bag left at my shop. I've got the title. It's mine. He ain't never coming back!"

Bob recoiled at the thought of eating the egg sacs. He could tell they were off when he tasted the first of the three Tiki Trawlers he had already consumed. He burped lightly, a few eggs rising to the back of his throat as he did.

"Jesus!" Ferdinand howled. "What the hell is that terrible smell?"

"I just burped up one of them rotten caviars you gave me Ferd!" Bob hissed. "Hand me the rest of em!"

Gus interjected,

"You gotta drink the juice from that container too! And hurry up, she won't be talking to that douche over there for long."

Ferdinand reached into the bar condiment fridge and grabbed the short plastic container with fish eggs.

"Oh, my!" He said somewhat reticently. "There's quite a bit of juice. They have to go."

"For the car??" Bob said. "You sure about this? That's a pricey one. I don't know what they go for brand new, but that one hasn't been around long."

"I'm sure you arrogant bastard!" Gus replied. "There's no way in hell she could smell that fish cum on your breath and get anywhere near you."

"And if I lose??" Bob responded.

"Hell, the fish eggs ain't bad enough for ya?" Gus said chuckling to himself. "If you lose you ain't never allowed to touch my sweet Misses Milf, or Rebecca, as she's more commonly known, ever again!"

Bob couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was like a no-lose situation. He had enjoyed his soirees with MFM, but shit, to have the almost brand new BMW? He knew Gus wasn't the sharpest tack in the box, but this was absurd.

"Jealousy." Bob thought to himself. "Only the ludicrousness of jealousy could make a man get involved in a bet this stupid. He better pay up! I'd eat a bucket of them fish sacs for that thing. And Rebecca? I mean she's told me I could do her anytime. She fucking loves me. She won't care what I smell like. Here goes nothing..."

Bob reached his hand out and Ferdinand handed him the plastic bin.

"Take it easy, hermano!" Ferdinand whispered. "There's mucho jugo in there, must be at least a cup of the stuff. And it looks like three and a half sacs. Don't throw that shit up on my floor."

"I want a rum chaser for afterwards, Ferd!" Bob moaned. "Put it on Gus' tab!"

Gus nodded and Ferdinand poured him a chilled rum chaser and squeezed a little lime in it.

"Cuidado, amigo!" Ferdinand whispered as he made a cross over his chest and put the shot on the table.

Bob took the container and put his lips to one of the corners. He raised it and opened his throat. Gus, Ferdinand and some others nearby bystanders watched as an eerie silence filled the room. Everyone watched as the slimy liquid and it's tight clusters of orange fish eggs made their way into Bob's mouth. He looked like a snake consuming a baby turtle. It was like his jaw had unhinged, his large, beak nose raised up like a phoenix, giving a glimpse through the dark, hairy tunnels that were his nostrils and directly into his seemingly empty cranial cavity. One gulp, two gulp, three gulp, four...

Bob looked around the room with a strangely satisfied grin on his face. There was a slime string, slightly yellow-orange in color, that dangled from his chin and down to his white t-shirt.

"That not so bad!" He gurgled as a small bead of sweat formed just beneath his "afro" in the middle of his forehead.

"Jesus, Bob!" Ferdinand said. "You look a little gray. You okay man?"

Bob felt a cold sweat, almost feverish, overtake him. He grabbed the shot in front of him and downed it.

"That should help take the edge off the sacs, bro!" He murmured.

He folded his arms on the bar and placed his forehead upon them.

"You've only accomplished half the bet!" Gus cackled. "Now you gotta' bag Rebecca. Don't look like you could much talk let alone land a babe like her tonight."

The bystanders chuckled and Ferdinand patted Bob on the back.

"That was disgusting Bob!" Ferd said. "You're fucking gross, man. No woman in her right mind would want to get it on with you right now."

"No one said anything about getting it on!" Bob drooled, literally. "I only gotta' leave this place with her! That's the bet you sons of bitches. Just give me a minute... I'm coming around. The rum is working it's magic down there fighting off the dark spirits of them yellowfin croakers! Those evil bastards..."

"They're not evil!" Ferdinand interrupted. "They're beautiful fish. God made them. Do not mock them. They gave their lives for your foolish little bet. Don't upset them. They have powerful spirits. They're not denatured like you and me, like Gus and MFM, like any of the whiny gringo pendejos who come here. They are strong and brave. They are warriors. Don't forget it!"

Bob burped slightly as Ferdinand finished his fish sermon, which was right.

"Oh, good. Pressure release." Bob's left eye went cross as he said it. "That is not a good flavor."

Mysteriously Misses Fancy Milf was still across the room talking with a young surfer kid named Lane who didn't even look old enough to be in the bar. She was rubbing his tan shoulders and pinching his cheeks.

"You better hurry up old sloppy Bob! Rebecca's getting randy and she hasn't noticed you yet. She's touching all over that young surfer kid who comes in. She looks mighty horny tonight. God you stink. You fucking stink. That's horrible." Gus wheezed.

Bob's mind started to reel. He knew he had to make a move soon but he felt that if he lifted his head too early he may end up releasing the contents of his stomach all over the bar. The pressure had eased. He knew all he had to do was to let the "steam" off slowly, consecutively, in increments, little burps and then he'd be able to seal the deal and claim his prize. The cold sweat that enveloped him for a moment was receding. He could see the finish line. He knew he could make it.

"Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappppppp!!!"

It happened in an instant. It was like a sneak attack. One second Bob thought he was nearly out of the weeds and then the next a bomb went off. Bob could feel the whole of his insides rumble and bellow and then blow! There was nothing he could've done about it. People took cover. Gus got the worst of it. He had been close to Bob, leaning in and grinning obnoxiously in his face when it all went happened. That was when Bob projectile vomited directly into Gus' mouth and onto the rest of his face. It was awful. Gus went over backwards choking and cursing until he banged his head on the floor which temporarily knocked him out, which was actually a good thing. Ferdinand took a shot of barf to his right side but luckily had had his back to Bob so that his frontal area remained in decent order.

The stench was overwhelming. The bar now smelled like a dilapidated cannery. Ferd was pissed.

"You stupid bastards!!" He yelled. "Get the fuck out of here! I never want to see either of you again!! My god! I can't believe I let this go on. What else did I think would happen? Please! Croakers, forgive me. I have forsaken you, I have abused you. I understand. Please accept my apology!"