tagSci-Fi & FantasyBride of Kong 01

Bride of Kong 01


Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Or is it? All characters herein are imaginary. Or are they? All events described here are fictitious. Oh, really? All locales described here are real and actual. If you had been to the unnamed places, you would recognize them. But this story is not to be taken seriously. Or is it? All sexual activity depicted here involves human persons at least 18 years old. Really.

--01-- (1965)

Your eye is a magic camera lens.

A scene opens before you, a birds-eye view of a colonial city, a tawdry slum maze in maybe Veracruz or Cartagena or Buenos Aires.

Your eye moves toward a nondescript hotel, towards and through a grimy window.

The room is not large, and its dirty-white plaster and paint are peeling.

One wall bears a calendar of the current year, 1965, topped with a garish color print of a half-naked woman with rather improbable breasts. A crucifix and its torn bloody figure adorn another wall.

Battered wood furniture furnishes the room: chifforobe, narrow table and chair, an old steamer trunk with its labels scraped off, a bedstand, a single bed with bedpan underneath.

The bedstand holds a clay water jug with a chipped cup over its top, and an open bottle of aguardiente, the cheapest raw rum.

A pale man sits on the bed, dressed in worn suit trousers, a shirt that was once white, loose suspenders, a muddy tie. He is old, balding, pudgy, tired.

His trousers and boxers pool around his ankles. Kneeling between his spread knees, a cheap not-young prostitute has his flaccid penis in her mouth, gamely working at his arousal.

He reaches for the rum bottle, drinks, lies back on the bed, and waits for release.

His frayed suit coat hangs on the hard chair next to the table. In the coat pockets are cigarettes, matches, a few bills of the local currency, and his United States passport.

Your magic camera eye opens the passport and reads.

NAME: Carl Phillip Denham
BIRTHDATE: July 14, 1901
OCCUPATION: Impresario

Denham is a restless man. A fugitive. After the dramatic events over three decades ago, with the deaths and damage caused by the great beast he had unwittingly released upon New York City, he has been hiding from police and survivors and lawyers and their hirelings.

Beauty may have killed the beast, but the beast certainly destroyed Denham's life. All that remains of his life is contained in his trunk: newspaper clippings, posters, photos, a big envelope stuffed with shanks of the great beast's hair, other mementos.

Denham is tired of life on the run, tired of everything. He has decided to return stateside as quietly as possible. Nobody will notice if he crosses the border at Nogales. He needs to see the Driscolls. He owes them explanations, and more.

Denham finally ejaculates into the prostitute's mouth. He pays her; she wipes her face, and leaves. Dehnam looks abstractly at his room, not really seeing it. The great beast still fills his mind's eye. He shakes himself, stands, packs his loose belongings into the steamer trunk. He rolls the trunk out the door.

Your magic eye closes for now.

--02-- (1969)

Susan Driscoll yawned herself into near-consciousness. She crawled out from the sprawl of sleeping bodies surrounding her and staggered into the commune’s biggest bathroom. She relieved herself and found her way into the shower. An icy drenching snapped her eyes open. Warmer water finally arrived; she soaped her long chestnut hair and lean body, scrubbing away the night’s residues.

"Shit," she thought, "I could use a good brainwashing right now, too." She tried to remember how many cocks and cunts she had consumed the night before, and the nights before that, and failed.

She did not mind the sex. Sex was just fine and groovy. But jeez, was she the only person here who ever *washed* themselves? The label "dirty hippies" was apparently coined for this crowd.

Sue was born in the last days of World War II. She had graduated from Berkeley with a worthless Liberal Arts degree during the "Summer of Love" and had fallen headfirst into the freaky subculture.

These last two years had seen her drifting among communes and crashpads and rough campsites. The kaleidoscopic life had been fun for a while, but was rapidly growing old and moldy.

"Maybe I should go back home, spend some time straightening out my head and reassessing things," Sue thought. "At least I won’t catch any more lice there."

Sue managed to choke-down a communal breakfast of raisin oatmeal and Mormon tea. She loaded her backpack and started thumbing her way home. Eventually, she arrived.


Jack Driscoll and Ann Darrow had married and built a life for themselves after their terrifying encounters with the great beast. Jack had quit the transoceanic freighters, settled in the sheltered port of a small fishing village on the Mendocino coast north of San Francisco, and bought a small trawler. Captain Jack's life now was solid, not exciting. He liked it that way.

The Driscolls never talked about excitement.

Their youngest daughter Susan jumped out from her last ride, a pickup driven by a grubby and grabby lumber mill worker. Sue hiked down from the two-lane coast highway, through the village, to the built-out grey saltbox where she had been raised.

She walked across the neighboring yard on the familiar shortcut to her front door. A blond woman in the shingled house's side yard looked up from her laundry-hanging task, dropped her work, and came running.

"Sue! Sue! You're back!" Kathy yelled as she embraced and kissed Sue, shoving the pack from her shoulders.

Sue hugged and kissed her best friend hungrily in return. Sue and Kathy had grown up in these two houses, inseparable buddies from kindergarten till the day Sue left for university. When they discovered boys, they had also discovered each other. They taught each other about sexual pleasure during their sleepovers.

Kathy and Sue both liked hunky boys, too. Kathy, then just 17, married a classmate one week after they graduated high school. Dave Carwell had quickly worked his way up to supervising a lumber crew.

Weeks before their first child was born, a drunk driver killed Kathy’s parents. The young Carwells moved from their apartment into the old family home Kathy inherited.

Kathy kissed Sue again and looked into her eyes.

"Sue, your folks are up in Eureka for a few days while the trawler's engine is overhauled. You *are* going to stay with us till they get back, and don't you dare argue! C'mon in, you look like you need a drink."

Kathy linked one arm in Sue's, hoisted the backpack with her other hand, and dragged Sue through her door.

"Shower first, drink later," Sue said. "I have lotsa miles to wash off me."

"We'll do both," Kathy said. She grabbed a screw-top wine bottle from a shelf and pulled Sue to the bathroom.

They stood together under a spray of hot water, sudsing their hair and bodies, rubbing and kissing and laughing, drinking from the wine bottle and spraying sultry shots into each other's mouth.

"Now you're coming to bed, no arguments, y'hear? We have at least an hour before the girls are home from school. Dave sure will be glad to see you this evening, too."

Their lovemaking soothed and fulfilled Sue much more than the communal orgies she had experienced for so long. And Sue avidly awaited Dave's return. On her previous visits home, he was an active and sensitive participant of her sleepovers. She dreamed of his smiling face, his track-star physique, his long cock.

But right now was for Sue and Kathy alone. Their tongues and fingers maneuvered across and into their total landscape, tip-top to toes, to tits, to fingertips, to twats. They 69'd with lazy fervor, slowly drowning in flavor and juice and flesh and lifelong love and hope. They finally rolled apart, gasping.

"Oh shit, look at the time, we've gotta clean up and get dressed, the kids'll be here any minute now."

The pair of cute tow-headed first- and second-graders broke from their cluster of classmates and ran squealing when they saw Aunty Suzy standing in the doorway with their mom. Sue managed to hold one girl in each arm as they assaulted her. They told Sue that she smelled like Mommy. Sue and Kathy just giggled.

Dave arrived after dusk. His sweaty face split into a huge grin when he saw Sue. Dave and Sue hugged and kissed passionately, long and hard. Kathy circled her arms around her best friends and lovers.

"Whew, Dave, you sure do stink! And Sue, you've got kids' slobber all over your face and arms. You two better go jump in the shower right now."

Sue squatted in the shower. She savored Dave's engorged cock, teased with her tongue, and inhaled the rigid rod as deeply as she could.

They shifted. Sue's shoulders slumped against the tiled wall as Dave's groin slammed against her from behind, his balls slapping her tasty flesh, his cock pounding into her love-drenched portal.

They shifted again. Sue and Dave passionately held and frenched each other as their grime and fluids and tensions washed away down the drain.

They emerged from the bath dried and draped in light robes. Kathy had changed into a similar robe, the Carwells' usual eveningwear. After dinner, two animated young girls swarmed Sue in her easy chair, demanding stories and kisses, and yet more stories.

Fatigue eventually triumphed over excitement. Little Nancy and littler Julie were carried to bed.

Kathy and Dave snuggled into Sue on the couch. Their arms were loose around each other.

"Damn girl, we sure have missed you! Me and Kathy just don't feel whole when you ain't here. We're sure glad you can be with us for a while. So, why are you back here? What's actually happened with you? I know you couldn't talk about it when the kids were up. You been having hard times, or what?"

"I feel like I've been royally fucked, and not in a good way. When I left Berkeley, I thought, 'Hey, I'm a grown woman now, I can handle anything.' Fuck that. Here I am, almost twenty-five, and I haven't done piss-all for myself or anyone else. At least I have an idea now of what *doesn't* work for me. So I'm going to stay home for a while, think about possibilities, about how I want to spend my life."

"You're staying here for now? Hot damn! I guarantee we'll help you feel good about yourself."

"I feel five thousand percent better already today, and it's only uphill from here, guys."

"Speaking of uphill, how about we adjourn to the bedroom now? The night's only so long, y’know."

They knelt together in the center of the king bed. They kissed with three tongues, hugging and stroking and smoothing their bodies, feeling and fingering the protruding nipples and penis. Sue lay back with her face covered by Kathy's happy vulva as Dave's mouth pleasured her pussy.

Dave raised Sue's butt and slowly slid his eager cock into her expectant tunnel. They both sighed as they joined. Kathy fell forward to mouth their juncture and Sue's clit. They began an accelerating rhythm.

They fell apart after their orgasms. Dave and Sue bent to worship Kathy's firm full breasts. They sucked gently, steadily. They fingered Kathy's vulva with intertwined digits for two climaxes, then moved down between her legs and continued their oral ministrations.

Sue moved even further, licking Dave's neck and nipples and navel. She swallowed his cock again as he ate his wife. Kathy pulled Sue's legs around and planted her face in Sue's crotch. Their daisychain formed a magic ring, a holy circle, a triangle of love, and lust, and loss of ego and id. They were one organism.


Over the next few days, Sue felt nearly healed. She and Kathy were again inseparable, acting like two moms for the kids and two wives for Dave.

Every day, they joked and laughed and kissed and cooked. Every day, they strained their old one-speed fat-tire bikes with big wire baskets up steep Harbor Road from the cliff-sheltered port to the coastal headlands, and into the nearby lumber-mill town for food and supplies.

"I remember that winter I was back from my first term at Berkeley, and I hadn't kept up with my running. I tried to bike up to the highway from here and I just couldn't make it. I called it the fucking G-O-P Hill: Get Off'n Push. I'm glad now that I've stayed in shape as well as I could. And you still look as good as you did in high school, babe."

"Yeah, I don't sag much, do I? My tits have grown a couple sizes from nursing the kids, but riding up that G-O-P Hill every day sure tightens my legs and butt and belly pretty well. I have to fight off the new guys in town who don't know I'm Dave's. I hope this continues for the next twenty or thirty years, too."

"Baby, you're going to be a beautiful and sexy fuck-hound for about forever. Just stay away from the Cheetos, yeah?" Sue giggled. Kathy kissed her again. Sue kissed back. The outside world faded away again.

Sue was having such fun being full-time with the Carwells! She almost hoped her folks would stay away a few more days. But all too soon, they returned home.

--03-- (1969)

Loading the clothesline must act as a Driscoll magnet. Sue was helping Kathy hang a load of wash when she looked down the road and saw a familiar sight, two walking pea-coated figures with duffels over their shoulders. Sue turned and ran towards them.

"Mom! Dad! Hi! Hi!"

She fell into their embrace as they dropped their bags.

"So you deign to honor us with your presence, do you?" came Captain Jack's gritty rumble.

"Hush up, bub. This girl looks like she needs some at-home time," Ann said, holding Sue's shoulders and critically inspecting her.

"Mom, Dad, it's so good to see you, to be here. Can I ask a big favor? Can I stay home for a while? I'll be useful, I promise."

"Honey, you don't need to ask. This is always your home, always will be. Your mom keeps your room just as it was. And skinny as you look, it sure won't cost much to feed you."

His nearly sixty years sat easily on Jack's broad shoulders. His face and hands were weathered by sea and sun, but his strong frame could have belonged to a man thirty years younger. Ann, two years his junior, also showed decades on her face, but still had the svelte body that drove a great beast mad so long ago.

"When did you get home, honey? What you been doing?"

"I've been staying next door the last few days. Kathy and Dave are always glad to have me. I've just been playing housekeeper with Kathy. But I'll be glad to help in our house now."

"You think I need help here? Ha! Even Captain Jack and his buddies stinking of fish guts can't mess up the place more than I can easily handle. But don't worry, we'll find something to keep you busy."

The older Driscolls toted their duffels into the house. Ann and Sue opened windows; being closed-up for more than a week on this often-foggy coast left a musty smell. Sue went next door, stuffed her pack with her belongings, and hauled it upstairs to her childhood bedroom. She was surprised to see an old black steamer trunk standing upright in a corner.

Ann followed Sue into the room.

"I'm sorry about that trunk, dear. We'd had it in the downstairs storage space but we got other stuff and just ran out of room there. If it's too big in here, we can haul it out to the shed, but it'll probably mildew out there."

"That's okay, I can just leave my pack on top of it. What is it, anyway?"

"Well, let's see, it must have been four years ago. You were in Berkeley. Uncle Carl came by, stayed with us a few days, then said he had to travel some and could he leave it here for safekeeping? We said it would be no problem. But we haven't seen or heard from him since then."

Sue loaded her closet and dresser and desk from her pack while her mother chatted about local events.

After dinner, the Driscolls lounged in easy chairs and talked. Sue regaled her alert parents with a very carefully edited account of her doings since her last visit.

Jack and Ann's expressions barely concealed their thoughts, that they knew she was not telling everything. They had a pretty good idea of what she was censoring. They were relieved that maybe her wild-youth days were coming to a close.

Sue felt cozy and comfy in her own bed. She slept well.


Days followed days. Sue spent most evenings next door, sometimes not returning to her own bed till after midnight. She spent her days re-familiarizing herself with the fishing village and the nearby lumber town. She found old friends, avoided a couple old enemies, and looked for ways to piece together a future.

Fate snuck up on her.

Sue was walking down the town's main street, peering in familiar storefronts, when a voice called.

"Susan Driscoll! Is that you? Come here, young lady."

Sue's old high school English teacher walked up and hugged her.

"I heard that you were back home, dear. How did the outside world treat you? Not so well, I should think."

"Hi, Mrs McCurdy, yes, reality isn't what it's cracked up to be. Or maybe my bad moves caught up with me."

"I've also heard that you might be here for some time. Are you busy? Do you have any plans or prospects?"

"Nothing yet. I can't quite see myself as a waitress or store clerk or secretary, or a fisherman's wife."

"Let me point you toward a possibility, dear. The county library needs an assistant librarian. It would only be part-time work at first, but Dr Cabrilho will retire soon, and with Mrs Matos taking his place, a full-time librarian position will be open. You always liked working in the school library. This could be a comfortable job for you."

"Wow, that sounds like something to look into. Thank you so much, Mrs McCurdy!"

"You are an adult now, dear. You are not my student any more. My name is Mary. And if you really want to thank me, just invite me over for dinner some time. I love your mother's cooking, and we can all chat."

"Sure thing, Mrs... er, Mary. I'll check with Mom and call you when she gives the okay."

"I'll see you soon, Susan. Good luck with the job." They hugged again.

Yes, Sue got the job, and loved it. It suited her hard-won temperament.

Sue spent her first few weeks as a librarian on a mundane task: reorganizing and cataloging the neglected archives, sifting through musty boxes of clippings and ephemera and dusty notes, putting them into some semblance of accessible order.

Sue had once opened Uncle Carl's steamer trunk and saw that it contained mostly folders and envelopes. She had not delved further then. She was curious now. She wondered if the contents might be of some interest.

"Mom, do you think it would be okay if I looked through Uncle Carl's stuff, in the trunk?"

"He hasn't contacted us for years. Yes, go ahead, just don't lose or damage anything."

Sue cleared her bedroom desk. She opened the trunk and leafed through the musty papers. She had a thick notebook of blank lined paper ready to inventory her findings.

She immediately noticed a few large thick unmarked envelopes crammed with something compressible. She opened one and found... hair. Great hanks of thick black hair. Hmmm. Okay, so 'hair' went in the inventory ledger.

Other large envelopes contained railroad and steamship tickets, relics of over three decades' of travel worldwide. The most recent, a Greyhound ticked from Nogales to the lumber town, was dated 1965, just four years earlier. That must have been Uncle Carl's last visit here, Sue thought.

Some folders held brittle newspaper clippings from the 1920s, following Uncle Carl's career as a wildlife photographer and filmmaker and showman. Some large envelopes held film reels, but the age-brittle acetate film stock broke when she touched it. She left the reels alone after that.

The next folder shocked her. Was Uncle Carl really responsible for bringing that great beast to New York? Of course she had read about that disaster, noted in the history books along with the Hindenburg explosion and some terrible fires, floods, and sinkings. This was the first time she had read contemporary accounts.

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