tagSci-Fi & FantasyRandy Randy

Randy Randy

byMysti Fox©

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," Randall Becker said to himself.

Not bothering to put on any clothes, he sat in the big chair, swigging tequila and watching Carrie sleep. Curled up on the couch as she was, with her back to him, she looked amazingly small and fragile. You would never suspect she could rip a guy's guts out.

They had just finished fucking. Randy loved couches for fucking. Couches offered so many more possibilities than beds and he felt a sense of satisfaction that he had now fucked on one that was over a hundred years old. He wondered how many times that couch had seen that kind of action through the years.

It had been Carrie's idea to come here. He had tried to tell her that bikers didn't do bed and breakfasts and they sure as shit didn't go to museums, but here they were. Carrie had insisted and he had to admit he had enjoyed himself, but now, as he sat and watched her sleep, he felt his insides churn.

He wasn't supposed to fall in love perioud, but if he did, he was supposed to fall in love with a hard-core biker chick. She was supposed to be drop-dead gorgeous and have big tits. She was supposed to fuck like a pit bull in heat and never get enough, especially when drunk on her ass. She was supposed to be able to suck the chrome off a kickstand and fight like a man.

Carrie wasn't like that and she wasn't any of those things. She was only average looking, she had little tits and even though she loved sex she wasn't very good at it and he knew he would have a lot more birthdays than he ever would blow jobs.

"This really sucks," he continued to complain to himself. Hell, he was Randall Becker. He was the best there was. All the old ladies said so. He was "Randy Randy" "Hot Rod" or sometimes "Tool." He could fuck like crazy and he deserved an old lady who could too. He was never going to have that with Carrie, but the problem was he didn't care, or more precisely, that he did care

Hell, he didn't even know how he gotten hooked up with Carrie in the first place. It was an accident really. She was slinging booze at one of the out-of-the way watering holes that Randy had never even been to before and he figured she would be an easy mark. He spent all that night and the next two months finding out otherwise and now it was he who was the mark.

At first glance, Carrie wasn't that much different from all the other old ladies. Anyone looking from the outside would just take her for the typical "Biker Chick," but when you got to know her, she was different. She never drank too much, she didn't flash her tits and she didn't do dope of any kind. Another thing a person might notice if they looked carefully was that Carrie didn't have the usual collection of tattoos and piercing like the other girls. She just had the obligatory arm bands; an abstract design she had drawn herself and they were clearly the best Randy had ever seen.

Carrie's armbands were beautiful and Randy hated them, at least the one on her left arm. Cleverly integrated into the design was the name "Top Hat." He hadn't even noticed for a long time, but the first time he did was the first time in his life he had ever been jealous. It had hit him hard and fast and it had hurt.

He had asked her about it, but she said she had been drunk and didn't remember. She told him it didn't mean anything, but Randy knew it wasn't true. Carrie never got that drunk. Randy knew it had meant a lot sometime in the past and it made him crazy sometimes.

It wasn't like he hadn't had his share of women through the years who were crazy about him, but they never made him feel the way Carrie did. He knew he could trust Carrie with his heart and that was something with which he couldn't even trust himself. That's what was different about Carrie and it was scary.

"Well, you're quite the randy fellow aren't you, Randy."

"WHAT THE FUCK!" exclaimed Randy as he jumped up from the chair and spun around in a circle trying to see who was there but saw no one.

"Haven't you had enough of that?"

"SHIT!" exclaimed Randy spewing the swig of tequila he had just taken into his mouth onto the floor.

"What's the matter, Randy? Can't hold your liquor?"

"SON OF A BITCH!" cried Randy, desperately looking around the room, "MUTHERFUCKER!"

"You really don't have much of a vocabulary do you, Randy?"

"Holy shit! What the fuck is goin on?" Randy asked himself, still desperately looking around to see where the voice was coming from.

"My name is Leah."

"What the fuck is this?" asked Randy, reaching out with his arm trying to feel or see something, anything.

"You really are kind of slow, aren't you, Randy Randy. I'm what you would call a ghost, obviously."

"What kind of bullshit is this?" exclaimed Randy, reaching for Carrie and shaking her shoulder to no avail.

"She will stay asleep. I can make people do that."

"I don't know who the fuck you are," growled Randy, as he scurried around the room, trying to spot a microphone or anything to explain the situation, "but somebody's going to get their ass kicked."

"The voice is in your head, but I'm over here."

"What the fuck do you want?" asked Randy, still looking around, now angry as well as surprised and still a little scared.

"I'd like to get laid if you think you're up to it."

"What?" said Randy.

"Are you deaf as well as slow, Randy Randy? I said I would like to get laid if you think you can get it up."

"Sure, I can get it up if I think it's worth it," replied Randy, defiantly, taking another swig of tequila and getting some of his swagger back.

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

"How do I know you're real?" asked Randy.

"Is this real enough?"

"Whoa! Jesus!" exclaimed Randy, as he felt a hot wind in his ear, which again scared the shit out of him.

Instinctively bending his knees to get low, Randy stuck out his arm and spun around in a circle, trying to feel something.


"What? asked Randy.

"Just stand up, put your hand out and move it in front of you very slowly."

"Shit! Fuck! cried Randy as he felt his hand come into contact with something warm.

"You really need to work on your vocabulary Randy."

"Yeah, yeah, you said that already," said Randy.

"Now, try it again."

"Whoa! Far out!" said Randy as he felt the warmth again and slowly began to recognize the unmistakable shape of a woman.

"Far out?...you a hippie or a biker, Randy?"

"You wanna fight or fuck?" asked Randy, distractedly as he busied himself looking for her breasts.

"Nice, aren't they?"

"They'll do," said Randy, as he delighted in his careful examination of what were obviously a large pair of well formed breasts.

"Damn!" exclaimed Randy, as his hand suddenly felt only air again when he reached down and tried to find the real prize.

"No, no. I don't allow anyone to touch my pussy."

"How we supposed to fuck if I can't touch your pussy?"

"Slowly, of course. Now sit back down in the chair."

"Yeah, O.K., alright," said Randy, doing as instructed.

"How's this?

"Damn!" exclaimed Randy, as he felt what was unmistakably a soft hand take hold of his dick and begin to stroke it.

"Now, don't move."

"Oh! Fuck yeah!" said Randy as he felt the sudden warmth of what could only be a set of lips replace the hand, "Fucking A!"


"Wow, you're a pretty good cocksucker," said Randy after the short period of time it took for his dick to get hard.

"Ummm Hummm."

"We have all night you know," said Randy, but was soon disappointed as the lips withdrew, "Oh, come on!"

"That's all you get. Now come over and stand at the edge of the bed...That's it...Just a little closer."

"No one's gonna fucking believe this," said Randy, as he inched closer to the bed. Feeling a pair of heels in the small of his back, he kept inching forward until the head of his dick came into contact with something very warm.

"NO! NO! Not so hard!"

"Jesus!" cried Randy as he felt only air again.

"Try again, only slower this time. That's it."

"Shit, this is fucking great!" exclaimed Randy as he began to get used to the situation.

Finally, feeling his way, Randy was able to distinguish the outline of her body. Putting his hands down on the bed, he braced himself with his arms and began to stroke in earnest, but as required, carefully.


"Softly and tenderly," blasphemed Randy softly with a big smile to the tune of the old religious song, "Randy is fucking."


"So that's what a dick looks like inside a pussy," thought Randy, to himself, as he watched the skin of his dick go back and forth and a little cloud of pre-cum begin to collect around it.

"Ummmmm....Ohh...just shut up and fuck Randy."

"You're gonna come! Bringin it on home baby!" crowed Randy sometime later as the room filled with the tell-tale cries he knew so well.


"Ohhhh!...Fuck!...Aaggghh!...cried Randy a few moments later.


"Oh!...Fuck!...Jesus Christ!...Agghhhhh...Shit! Bitch!" cried Randy as he suddenly felt only cool air again and had to restrain himself, "Do you know how hard that is?"

"I want it from behind too."

"If you weren't a ghost I'd beat your ass," said Randy as he again approached the bed. After feeling his way around and getting scolded again for touching her pussy, Randy managed to get plugged in again and find his stroke.


"Damn this is hot!" said Randy, before settling in for another ten minutes of nothing but moans and groans.


"Agghhhhhh...Ohhhh...Agghhhhhh...Now or never!" cried Randy, doubling his pace.


"Shit," said Randy, after he had come and watched his load suspend in mid-air and then fall onto the bed.

"You really need to work on your vocabulary, Randy."

"Yea, well, I don't need no five dollar words to do a number on you bitch," crowed Randy.

"Oh...I've had better...lots better."

"No way," said Randy, with a little laugh, "They don't get no better than Randall Becker.


"So how did you get to be a ghost?" asked Randy, after he had once again sat down in the big chair and lit up a smoke.

"Oh, the usual way."

"Murdered?" asked Randy tentatively.


"Sorry," said Randy.


"Mind if I ask how?" asked Randy.

"I was one of seven girls over the years. They never caught him."

"I don't know what to say," said Randy.

"Not much to say."

"How old were you?" asked Randy.


"I'm starting to feel really weird about now," said Randy.

"No need. As you can tell, I'm an adult now."

"How old are you?" asked Randy.

"Let's just say I saw one-hundred and fifty go by before Harley ever heard of Davidson."

"Is this where you lived?" asked Randy.

"No, I just like old houses."

"Your name really isn't Leah is it," said Randy.

"No, it's just what people expect. I think it's the most popular name for ghosts."

"An alias, I can dig that," said Randy and they both laughed.

"So what's it like being a ghost?" asked Randy

"Oh, it has its moments."

"Yeah, I guess it would, but really, what do you do, you know, say, in a typical day?" asked Randy.

"I watch. I listen. I know."

"You fuck," teased Randy, obviously trying to lighten the tone.

"That too."

"So are you a voyeur?" asked Randy teasingly.

"My, my, a six letter word."

"Sorry, I got carried away," said Randy.

"I like to watch people make love sometimes, but mostly I know things and I do what I can."

"What kind of things do you know?" asked Randy.

"All things."

"Yea right," said Randy.

"Try me."

"O.K.," said Randy, "What am I thinking right now?"

"Right now, you are hoping it's not true."

"Good guess," said Randy.

"It wasn't a guess."

"O.K.," said Randy, "What else?"

"You're wondering if the police have any clues."

"Oh please," said Randy, "I'm an officer in a motorcycle gang. I'm always wondering if the cops have any clues."

"It's not about the gang."

"Then you're wrong," said Randy.

"No, I'm not."

"It's your show," said Randy, but the distant look in his eyes and the tone in his voice betrayed a certain dread.

"You sure?"

"Go for it," said Randy, but the false bravado in his manner was evident.

"You know how it feels."

"How what feels?" asked Randy.

"To be nine and helpless."

"Can't say I remember much," said Randy, obviously trying to avoid what he was afraid was coming, "That's when I started drinking."

"When you were nine, your parents sent you to stay with your uncle for the summer. Ten years later they found his body at the bottom of a well. His head had been bashed in."

"He deserved it," said Randy.

"I know."

"Jesus," said Randy after a long pause and at a loss for words for what had just transpired between them."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," said Randy.

"As I said before Randy, I do what I can and there is something I would like to do for you."

"What's that?" asked Randy.

"It's about Carrie."

"What about her?" asked Randy.

"You've noticed she's been different lately...a little distracted."

"Yeah," said Randy.

"She's about to leave you, Randy."

"This encounter is really going downhill," said Randy.

"In her purse there's a letter from a man."

"Top Hat?" asked Randy, again tentatively.


"What's it say?" asked Randy.

"It's a love letter Randy."

"I see," said Randy.

"There's something else in the envelope."

"What's that?" asked Randy.

"A ticket to Holdenville...one way...from here."

"Her choice," said Randy defiantly, but unable to disguise the hurt in his voice.

"You have choices too, Randy."

"I haven't had any choices for a long time," said Randy, "I am what I am."

"What you are is a thug, Randy."

"Fuck you," said Randy.

"You did already."

"You done now?" asked Randy.


"You got one more shot," said Randy.

"Everybody's nine Randy. Once you've been nine, there's a part of you that's always going to be nine, but you have to move on."

"What's your point," said Randy.

"You have to tell her how you feel, stupid."

"You mean the old 'I love you and I wouldn't be anything without you' stuff," said Randy.

"Absolutely, all that stupid stuff."

"You ever been on a Harley?" asked Randy, after a long pause.

"Yeah, once in Milwaukee, but he couldn't fuck worth a damn."

"Smartass bitch," said Randy, "I mean the motorcycle."

"No, I can't say that I have. The last thing I rode was a horse."

"You wanna give it a try?" asked Randy.

"Well, I guess I don't have to worry about getting killed."

"How we going to do this?" asked Randy.

"You just start the motor or whatever it is you do and I'll be there."

"You here?" asked Randy, after he had gone downstairs and mounted and started his motorcycle.

"I'm here, on your lap."

"Alright here we go," said Randy, easing the big bike out onto the street.

"Wooooo! Weeeeeee!"

"This is some neat shit, ain't it?" said Randy.

"Neat shit, indeed!"

"This is called a freeway," said Randy, bringing the bike up to speed and feeling the unmistakable tingle of what had to be wind-swept hair on his face, "Time to open her up."


"How do you like it?" asked Randy.

"Can you ride this thing with one hand?"

"Fuck Yeah," said Randy, "Why?"

"Then get your dick out."

"Good idea," said Randy as he eased his dick out of his pants and felt the cool dry air brushing his dick change to a very warm and moist feeling.

"Wuuuuuuuuuuuueeeeeeeeeee! Ohhhhhhhhhh! Fuckkkkkkkkkk!

"Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Fast Fuck' wouldn't you say?" asked Randy.



"Did you see that dirty Biker, Mildred?" asked the old lady of her companion as Randy's motorcycle sped by in the fast lane.

"My word, yes!" replied MIldred, "He had his penis out!"

"Dirty pervert biker," said the old lady.

"Really," said Mildred, "Sometimes I don't think those dirty bikers are even human."

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