CUPIDEROS FEMINIST CHRONICLES 7
FEMINIST CHRONICLE SERIES
HOW TO TELL A BIG LIE PART 2
Political Fiction Short Story
© Copyright Cupideros, Monday, March 21, 2016
Former Sex Worker, Bri “Brianne” Dinwiddle; Tessie “Pinkie” Zange, a Women’s Studies Graduate student; Ava, former high school track star; her best friend, Pazia Katz, and History Graduate student, Monica Poindexter sit in class and listen to Professor Gibson tell a Big Lie with their other How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite Classmates.
Professor Gibson checked her black watch. “Those Big Lies surprised me.” She wore a peach square neck top and her red hair piled on her head in the Gibson Girl style as on her first day of class, and she wore Doc Martins black boots. "You women really are taking to this class learning to move away from Knowledge is Empowerment to Wisdom is Power. And … No other class has this room scheduled.“
"Tell us your big lie, Professor Gibson,” said Ava, the former high school track sprinter.
“I guess I have time. I do have to meet my husband after this class, though.”
“Come On!” said the Native American Girl, wearing another red, black and white geometric designed and blue jeans said, “Lawyers always hear stories. I might as well hear a good one.”
“Yeah,” said Tessie.
Monica waited in anxious silent. She didn’t know what story Professor Gibson would tell, every day in the previous How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite Feminist Class she had a different one, and of a different variety.
Pazia Katz, flipping through her How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite book, wore peach gym shoes, black stretch pants and black top.
Bri “Brianne” Dinwiddle, started putting her purchased book, How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite into her big beige book bag. She wore a sexy heart-shape gold medallion on her neck that dipped into her décolleté of her V shaped top.
All the girls wore gym shoes and pants because they didn’t want to be bothered with modesty. They wanted to use fully their brains for a change and wearing a dress distracted them from thinking solid and clear on matters of importance. And since any single moment might be a Wisdom is Power moment, dresses, skirts, all the girls abandoned for the How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite Class to Professor Gibson’s subtle approval.
“All right. All right. But when my husband shows up, you must all confirm you asked the class to go a little over the scheduled limit. He’s a bit of an egotist. He thinks he is the new John Stuart Mills.”
“Who was he said the bubbly blonde girl?”
“You are all so eager to learn feminism. Google him. Now I want to tell you this story. You can tell me if it is a big lie or not at next week’s class. Feel free to discuss it among yourselves. Professor Gibson cleared her throat.
One day three heterosexual Fifth Wave Feminists running for their lives entered a thick forest; there was a buxom blonde-haired girl, an apple-flat chest brunette and a melon-breasts black hair girl. "Hurry up! Hurry up!” said the black hair girl before those Trans catch us and try to take over our spaces.
“Who made you the leader?” said the brunette, panting now, as she broke her third fallen branch sending a loud “crunch” sound reverberating through the forest. All three of the girls luckily wore pants and sensible tops though the black hair girl wore a square neck, the brunette wore a scoop neck and the blonde wore a sweetheart neck top.
“I did,” said the buxom blonde Fifth waver, struggling to keep up.
“We’re in deep trouble now. I saw a movie when three girls entered a forest … none of them came out alive,” replied the brunette Fifth waver.
“We don’t have time for this negative talk shit!” ordered the melon-breasts black-haired Fifth Wave feminist.
The Fifth Wave girls were all between the ages from sixteen to eighteen, but none of them had entered college yet. They attended a feminist rally by accident called Supporting Women’s Voices in an Age of Rape Culture. Of course, the rally flew right over the Fifth Waver’s head, but the black-hair Fifth Waver managed to remember the name of a Butch Lesbian Feminist who tried to come on to her.
“Tell me again why we’re running away from civilized society into uncharted, uncivilized forest,” said the blonde.
“Oh, Sister,” said the brunette exasperated. “You rape culture civilized, Blair?”
“This Lesbian offered to protect us?”
“Her name,” asked the brunette.
“Butch. I don’t fucking remember. We just to need to avoid those Trans.”
“Fee fi fo fum. I smell some womyn with a "Y” in front of us that will make me cum, Bros,“ said the leader of the Trans, a black neckbeard nonsurgicaly changed male with a dick and no underwear under his black and white checkered dress chasing the women.
All three Transwomen laughed.
"Yeah, Dude Bros, I can’t believe they stupidly ran into a forest,” said the musclebound blond man, also unaltered surgically and wearing a dirty pink dress with obvious beer stains down the front.
“This is going to be easy,” said the thin brown-hair guy. He had sideburns. Also, he wore orange dress with an all-seeing green eye triangle on his lower back. "No witnesses. My male privileged word against her worthless word.“
The leader spoke again. "Tell me again why womyn with a "Y” can’t outrun a man when they are wearing a dress. We’re gaining on the womyn with a “Y” and they are all wearing jeans.“
"Because they are like MKUltra womyn and children used to running through the forest naked,” offered the brown-hair guy with sideburns.
All three-dude bros laughed, made wolf sounds, and focused their attention on catching up to the girls.
“Isn’t this the story of Little Red Riding Hood?” said the blond Trans.
“Better not be,” added the brown-hair Trans. "Bummer ending for the wolf.“
All three of the males laughed and congratulated each other and decided whom they would have when they caught the three Fifth Wavers.
Smacking weak tree limbs aside the black-hair girl said, "That’s them! The wolves in female clothing. I hate men.”
“Fucking Trans,” said the brunette, “They’re running faster in dresses than we can in pants.”
“That’s because they are men and have no sense of modesty,” said the buxom blonde, holding her arms crosswise in front of her breasts. “I was stupid not to wear a bra today.”
“So much for being liberated,” said the apple-breasts brunette girl, pumping her arms fast and weaving in and out between the trees and thick bushes.
“Stop it with the negative talk,” ordered the black-haired girl, “I see her house.”
The brunette started to say, “Oh, my, fucking–. It looks like a giant white marshmallow nailed to the ground.”
“A cotton house!” the buxom blonde shouted. "That Butch Lesbian of yours has a cotton house! We’re seriously doom. I should just lie down on the ground and wait for the Trans to–“
"I said stop that negative psychologist talk. We’ve been mind-controlled to give up all our lives Sisters. But not today. Not for me anyway, keep up if you can.”
The black hair girl dug her toes into the forest of Earth, grass and leaves. She started running even faster. She reached the cotton house first feeling a little bit better that it had a wooden door. On the front of the door read a sign: “The Lez House” in purple lettering.
Right on, her white gym shoes heels, the blonde managed to sprint in front of the brunette, who seemed to get off on weaving through the trees and bushes unnecessarily, drawn by the tiny pink flowers sprouting from the trees.
“At least the neighborhood is pretty,” said the brunette.
The black hair girl knocked on the door. "Butch! Butch! Open up! It’s Adrianna.“
Blair the buxom blonde knocked on the door next, frantically. "It’s fair-headed Blair, Butch,” said Blair,lifting her buxom breasts, offering herself bodily for protection from the Trans, even though Butch had never met Blair at the Feminist event.
The Brunette said, “A fucking Cotton House! I am, so, not begging these lesbian bitches to protect me.”
Adrianna started speaking, “You don’t want to be–”
“Hold your tits!” said a gruff voice of a woman from behind the solid wooden door.
The Brunette questioned in a disparaging tone. "I don’t even think this is real wood. Not preppy wood anyway.“
Several locks opened, and were unhinged, the metal sounds scraping as they pulled the deadbolt back. The wooden door opened.
Adrianna pushed her way in. "You said if I ever needed any help.”
“I meant feminist help–” Then seeing the tempting treat of the buxom Blair and the tube-shaped brunette, Butch changed her mind. "My house is your house,“ and she ogled Blair and the Brunette as they passed, but she showed Adrianna respect.
"Some Sneaky Trans are after us. They want to take our spaces.”
“Wait a second,” Butch ordered, “I believe you, but how do you know they want to–“
"They said so!” , said Blair as if the effort to speak the truth nearly cost her one-hundred power points in some RPG sexist Game, that Anita Sarkensians warned all girls not to play.
“You can stay,” Butch went and looked outside. She looked left and right. She saw no one, at first.
Bursting through the thick trees, the three Trans ran, leaping over bushes, and using their straight shoulders to bump tree limbs out of the way. "There those TWERFS are!“ said the leader, black-hair neckbeard.
"I can’t believe they ran to Lesbians. We want your Cotton Panties! Now!” commanded the blonde.
“Fucking retards. They’re living in a cotton house!”
“Game of Thrones,” all three shouted, running faster toward the door. "Game of Thrones! Game of Thrones!“
Butch calmly watched them running up. She carefully scrutinized them. The line of tattoos all down her left and right arms, matched the clutter of tattoos on the right side of her neck. She gave a short strange smile and a curt nod, like you fucking losers; then she slammed the door. She stepped back and let several fem lesbians throw all the locks on the wooden door, fearing for their lives.
"You ladies are safe with us,” Butch said.
“In a Cotton House?” said the Brunette, turning around and looking at the soft white walls.
“We refuse to adjust our lives for men. Men don’t get to define what our feminism space is like.”
“But–” said the Brunette
Adrianna raised her hand waving the Brunette to stop speaking.
All the fifteen women listened as the Trans swarmed up to the door and started knocking, banging on the door, demanding the three Fifth Wavers be released to them.
“You TWERF Lesbian Cunts give us those three young Fifth Wavers and we’ll leave you alone.”
“Don’t disappoint me!” screamed the musclebound blond. "I didn’t just run through this forest for my health. I came for some throne.“
"Game of Throne! Game of Throne! Game of Throne!” the three Transwomen yelled and stalked around in front of the Lesbian’s cotton house.
Adrianna said, “What do they mean by Game of Thrones?”
Butch replied, “Some douchbag television series where all the women get raped.”
A fem long hair sandy-blonde added, “Repeatedly.”
Blair asked, “Why do you keep watching it?”
A lesbian with platinum hair, but with half of her head shaved on one side, walked into the living room, “Because we keep thinking the men will stop raping the women.”
The Brunette looked sympathetic, “Does it?”
Butch waved her hands, “No but let’s go in the back room. It will take them awhile to get through that door cotton is not so easily breached. Not our cotton panties,“ scoffed Butch.
The cackled of lesbians, butch and fems started laughing
"Where did I put those scissors?” said the brown-hair guy. He reached into his orange dress pocket.
“Give me those!” Ordered the black-haired neckbeard. "Damn these are small but all we have to do is cut the hinges off the door and we’re in their private space–for good.“
"We really don’t want to be–”
“Stop! Adrianna. No one is allowed to say that word in this house?”
“But how can you discuss how things are in the world?” Blair replied, trying not to notice the lecherous eyes of another butch lesbians locking on her hips and breasts. At the same, Blair noticed the scowl on the biting lips of the new butch’s obviously female partner.
“In here, we control our spaces. No Trans are allowed. Other Lesbians haven’t figured out to boot the Transwomen from their spaces, but we have. Trans rape women just like straight men rape women. They act the same.”
“Butch, they are beginning to make progress. It’s small, only a tear, but in an hour they’ll have enough hinges off.”
Butch smiled. "Then let’s get the fuck out of here.“ Butch pointed her tattooed finger that said down with the patriarchy.”
“We’re just going to leave all our strap-ons!”
“I don’t think the Trans want our strap-on. After they are gone, we’ll come back. Damn! I knew we should have built our house on a mountain top like in HerLand.”
“Lesbian HerLand!” all the lesbians yelled.
Blair felt a chill of fear go down her spine. Had she entered a cult just to get protection from men?
The Brunette started heading for the back door, avoiding looking at the square ass lesbians who wore their pants too low on their obviously rounded female hips.
So all the lesbians and Adrianna and Blair and Crissy, the Brunette, ran out the back door and through the forest again.
Butch leading the way. "I know a Bi girl named Martina.“ Butch scoffed and laughed. The lesbians laughed hesitantly.
Butch continued, "She used to be gay, but figured out she was straight after all. I don’t normally like women like that, but she had a wild personality.”
Crissy ran behind Adrianna. Crissy thought. They fucked, but Martina realized she really liked dick. "Martina realized she really loved dick, right?“
Butch jogged easily, hardly out of breath. "That’s right. I can’t stand straight bitches who try to fool lesbians.”
Adrianna bit her tongue. I thought this womyn with a “Y” had our back and she’s just like a fucking prick dude bros only on the lookout for fresh pussy. "I love dick myself. I just don’t want to be raped.“
All the girls, but Butch grew tired when she pointed. "That’s where Martina and her Bucks, Boobs and Boners Feminist girls live.”
The How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite class laughed uproariously. "Bucks, Boobs and Boners Feminist!“
Professor Gibson allowed herself a small smile as she checked her watch. "So when the group reached the glass house of the green, pink, and blue alternate lettering sign reading Bucks, Boobs and Boners Feminist House, everyone shouted, ”It’s worse than our cotton house!"”
Blair felt relieved. Here were some girls she felt true sympathy for. She touched the glass. "Corporate glass. Unbreakable. Or hard to break anyway. And look at that door. That is a solid wooden door. Must be at least four inches thick of solid oak.”
Butch nodded her head and gave a grudgingly agreement. "Yep. Martina!“ Butch yelled in her gruff lower-practiced voice.
Martina stuck her head out of the second-story house, and since the house was entirely of corporate glass not a sight in the place, not an activity-taking place remained secret. Random men fucked women chained to the walls. A group of women lying on their backs read fashion or women’s magazines while their lower torso, hips, pussy, ass and legs stuck through a circle opening dividing the woman in half and hiding her tummy, breasts, shoulders, neck and face from the men. Headshot pictures of the woman hung on the side facing the long line of men waiting to fuck her lower body. In another room, other women read and discussed glossy fashion magazines, point to the woman sprawled on the ground in the ad like she had just been punched in the face and three men, sweaty half-naked, as the girl was, leered over her half-naked form. In a back room, a photography light bulb kept going off, at regular intervals as several girls who looked to be severely underage, spread their legs and crawled around on their hands and knees on an orange bed. At times, older women, in their early twenties would take their place for photographic sessions. In the adjoining room, a man sat on a wooden director’s chair with the sloping leather seat and a megaphone. He directed the men to swarm about the tall big hair brunette for an anal scene. Each of the men taking their turn stuffing their pricks up her ass as the woman tried to cover up her agonizing pain with a painted on director’s directed smile. Finally, all three men tried to stuff themselves in her ass at the same time. In the hallway, several women on their knees in street clothes, short dresses, black tights and three-inch glossy high heels gave assistant directors and producers blowjobs.
Martina came down and opened the door. "What’s the problem? I know a lot of people in this business. I received a call to Paris and do a perfume ad. I have connections, as you can see. Our men will protect us. Come in.”
Adrianna wanted to say something, but Butch took the floor.
“Little problem with the dude bros, Trans.”
“Those guys are so desperate for pussy. I have plenty of girls willing to give them some, free,” Martina paused, she had slick black hair down to her waist and hourglass figure like the movie stars of old.
“I dunno think that’s what their kink is about.”
“They want to stuff themselves in our spaces.”
Martina threw her hand over her mouth. "They want to choke you and fuck you without giving you any respect as a masochist?“
"I’m not a masochist, Martina,” Butch said, her forearm muscles flexing.
“But all women love dick,” Martina started explaining, as a twenty-six-year-old nude girl was carried out of her glass living room unconscious, her hands tied to her feet, “Not what you think–”
“It’s a liquor ad. The ad woman said it has to look real.” Martina laughed. "So we made it real.“
Blair grabbed her stomach almost retching. "What has happened to feminism?”
“This is it honey!” said Martina, as she smoothly combed a long black silky strain out of her right eye. "Isn’t it great, what we third and fourth wavers have done with feminism? It’s accessible to all. We women are finally empowered to fuck and be fucked by men for whatever we want: a stick of bubble gum or a month in a producer’s California mansion.“
"Huh–” Butch started to say something then stopped.
Crissy looked to Blair.
Blair whispered to Adrianna, “We are definitely not safe here.”
“How far away are those Trans? I’ll have three girls kneel on the floor, and when they come in the Transwomen can be men again and rape my three girls.” She giggled.
All the Bucks, Boobs and Boners feminist laughed.
The men laughed. Those capable of laughing who were not moaning from having their dicks deep throated by girls in various positions.
Martina opened the front door she had closed. "I don’t see any Trans?
“There those filthy cunt-twats are, useless dickholes,” the neckbeard, black hair leader shouted.
“Oh, I am so disappointed,” said the brown-haired guy.
The blonde balled up his fist as he ran toward the glass door, “I don’t like to be abused by my bitches. You girls need a lesson”
The men inside the corporate glass house noticed this deeper tenor of voice and all scrambled away, when they saw the Trans in the orange dress.
The women were all alone.
Adrianna looked at Butch.
Butch looked at Martina.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, by the back door. This sprawling glass house is too wide for them to catch us unless they come through the front door.
"Push! Push harder!”
The stalwart young tree began to lean down as the three Transwomen leaned into it,
Finally, the roots crackled and the tree fell.
The three Trans grabbed the tree by its strongest limbs and ran toward the glass door, their battering ram in hand.
When Martina and the Bucks, Boobs and Boners feminist, the Lesbian Feminist and the Fifth Wave Feminist arrived at the next house, they were shocked.
“Now this is a fucking house,” Crissy boasted in enthusiasm.
Adrianna and Blair hugged one another. "We’re finally safe,“ said Adrianna.
Blair spoke again, "I don’t have to be lie down and be–”
“No negative talk,” Butch yelled, she pointed to the sign on the huge wooden drawbridge of the stone castle.
Flashing in bright peach lights embedded in the drawn drawbridge the words read, “House of SUMS (Society for Curbing Uber Men’s Shit). This house is only for Born-Three-Hole Female Heterosexuals, not for Born-Three-Hole Female quitter Lesbians, or Born-Three-Hole Female quitter BIs or Born-Three-Hole Female quitter Transmen or Born-Three-Hole Female quitter Pansexuals. So if you think your skank ass is getting into the safe haven of Society for Curbing Uber Men’s Shit (SCUMS) you quitters got another thing coming?”
Blair said, “Why are they calling SCUMS a house when it is clearly, without question a fucking castle?”
Adrianna, Crissy, and Butch looked at Blair questioning her intellectual capacity.
“Um, I think, it’s a matter of perspective,” said Martina. "See Blair, they are on the inside of their house–protected.“
"Fully protected,” said Eve one of Martina’s main Bucks, Boobs and Boner Feminist helpers.
“You got that right,” said the second Butch lesbian.
Adrianna said, “Now these are feminist!”
“Yeah,” Crissy said, “Like the second wave.”
Blair finally catching on, “I got it. Second Wave Fortress Feminism.”
All the girls took in as much of the castle as possible. The ten-foot moat bubbled with piranhas. Fourteen-foot-high castle walls surrounded the moat on the outside in solid, good old-fashion gray quarry stonework. Women in army fatigues walked about on the top of the castle by the cone roof, carried AK47-machine guns, Kalashnikov automatic rifles, one girl even lugged a bazooka on her strong smaller, but rounded shoulders. The windows had steel-grate decoration across them. A lone girl holding a flaming torch gun kept up her patrol walking around the huge complex guarding the piranha moat.
Each girl used a peach walkie-talkie and in this manner, the girls communicated back and forth on the small devices.
Suddenly the bricks in the middle of the castle unhooked, unlatched and rolled inside as huge ship gunnery machines guns slid out with the procession and efficiency of the finest Roman ships of ancient history. All of these weapons, on all sides of the castle armed, ready pointed three hundred and sixty degrees.
Standing before the moat the girls’ jaws dropping open, hung there, until a square patch of grass Earth swung back, held by a black chain. The woman’s red hair was long and curly. "What do you Fake, Fraudulent, Faux Feminist Bitches Want, Martina?“
The woman had modest breasts, wore a black T-shirt over her muscles sweaty. Her forefinger ready on the trigger of a submachine gun, used most often in crime movies.
“Cut the shit talk, Martina. What do you Fake, Fraudulent, Faux Feminist Bitches want?”
“Now is that how a second waver would treat her younger sister?”
“You Fake, Fraudulent, Faux Feminist Bitches are third and fourth wavers. Not to be trusted.”
Martina sighed. "We’re being chased by Transwomen?“
Gretel remained silent.
Martina cleared her throat and growing less confident said, "We need your protection. Those Trans are bashing down my Bucks, Boobs, and Boners Feminist Corporate Glass House right now with the biggest damn prick in the world.”
“Using a tree as a battering ram.” Gretel shook her head. "What did I tell you? I said use my girl, but no you let a preppy young male architect fuck you up the ass for a free glass house and now you are wondering why we made ours of stone.“
"You got me. I’m dicked. I’m fucked! My loose asshole is so sore,” Martina put her right hand behind her ass. “Please save us, Gretel?” Martina pleaded.
“Those Lesbian Bitches read the sign. They can’t get in.”
“Some of my girls are BIs, Gretel, have mercy.”
“Do you see a church around here, Martina?”
“Do you see a strip club, the church of the modern male around here, Martina?”
“Do you see a sign saying, take in Fake, Fraudulent, Faux Feminist Bitches who will turn their backs on Born-Three-Hole Heterosexual Feminist and try to make us become sex slaves to men or sex slaves to butch-fem, lesbian patriarchy?”
“Lesbian, too, wanted down with the patriarchy!” Butch protested.
“Then why are Alpha-Butch lesbians ordering, controlling, manipulating weaker women, submissive women? You Alpha-Butch Lesbians are no different from Alpha men, except you have tits. And tits don’t turn my Born-Three-Hole Heterosexual Feminist sisters or me on. Got IT!”
Butch’s face turned into a snarl and quickly dissipated when she and the other girls heard the Trans crashing coming through the forest.
“This had better be the last fucking house, Ted,” said the musclebound blond.
The orange dress wearing, brown-hair men with the side beard, said, “Or I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands, Ted.”
Ted grew scared of the man in the orange dress, “This is the last house. You know women. They don’t know a fucking thing about long strategic planning and using aggression to defend their fucking selves. They don’t get our wolf in dress tactics, our wolf in sheep’s clothing. They don’t know what to believe about gender anymore; some of them don’t even know whether they have female bodies anymore; some of them have been so hoodwinked by our Trans violence speaking strategy, that these cunts will lie down and die or be rape for us if we just shout at them loud enough or long enough. Like those three Bucks, Boobs and Boner Bitches back at that glass porno house. Come on,“ Ted continued, scared, "We have them. They are women and women should not fight back. They so desperately want to prove they are women they will not fight back. They worship the ground we men walk on even though every religion says worship no man. We’ve brainwashed them Hoes for two thousand years with that line of sick logic–do not defend yourselves ladies. They rather we do violence to them as in Fifty Shades of Gray than they do violence toward us men. They’ve been persuaded by our evil praying and blood sacrificing rituals to want to be rape and find entertainment in the act. They are so busy fighting against one another; they’ll kill themselves and other women first before they lift a finger toward us. The Lesbians are so fucking selfish and hard up for sex, they rather pervert the ninety-nine percent heterosexual female population to their one percent’s female aberrant behavior; the Bucks, Boobs and Boners Feminist are all bought off with fashion jobs, modeling, television, movies, music, porn, prostitution, and all kinds of sex work. They only stand together as women to birth babies. They don’t need to be in any Society to Curb Uber Men’s Shit to do that. Their cunt spaces are ours for the taking. I bet this next house is made entirely of silk panties.”
The guy in the orange dress, the brown-haired man replied, as they ran, “You had better be right, Ted. You had better be right.”
“We’re Fifth Wavers, Gretel. We don’t know shit. But we’re willing to learn. Just protect us.”
Blair said, “I’m glad you Radical Feminist are clear on what you are and believe. You’re not BI, not lesbians, don’t support homosexuality, don’t support Trans, those Trans want to wipe us out make us relics in museums, you love dick, but refuse to worship it and love yourselves first.”
“Correction, we love the Great God and the Great Goddess first, then we love ourselves, then if they behave right, we love men, then their dicks, but yeah. You maybe got your feminism headed in the right direction. You can come in.”
Adrianna looked to Crissy.
Blair looked to Adrianna.
“Come on Crissy, Blair, we are going in.”
Crissy smiled. "Finally, someone who makes sense.“
Gretel kept her gun pointed to Martina and Butch. She let Adrianna, Crissy and Blair in the citadel of SCUMS (Society to Curb Uber Men’s Shit). "What’s it going to be you Bucks, Boobs and Boners Feminists? You are playing by Radical Feminist Rules or still want to go on your own?”
Martina, in typical Bucks, Boobs and Boners Feminist form, said, “Girls I’m a radical feminist now.”
Quickly all the Bucks, Boobs and Boners Feminist changed.
Una the leader shouted, “Gretel hurry the fuck up. I see the Trans coming. Got one wearing an orange dress.”
“Fucking Illuminati-MKUltra Child-Rape-Torture Bastard,” Gretel growled.
“Nice knowing you Butch and Lost Feminist,” Gretel said, and she lowered the hatch.
“All right! All right! I change. We change. Just don’t leave us out here for PIV with those Trans fuckers.”
Gretel raised the dirt lid back up. "If you go back, I’ll personally wipe you off the face of the earth. That’s the way it’s got to be, Butch. Heterosexual Feminism or Trans PIV dick!“
Butch replied, "Okay.”
Gretel let the Lesbians in, but after watching, them descend the steps she whispered over her pink walkie-talkie to their redhead leader, “Una, I’m sure we’ll have to eliminate those Lesbians in a day or two; so prepare for it. They, too, fucking oversexed for their own damn good.”
–The End of Professor Gibson’s Big Lie Story–
Professor Gibson looked at her watch. "He’ll have to forgive me.“
"I don’t like the way that ended,” Cia said wearing her orange gym shoes today.
The girl sitting on the outside row coughed. "I liked it up to the end.“
Tessie stood up. "You Lesbian bitches only care about yourselves. I loved the story.
Bri "Brianne” Dinwiddle grinned. "You’re right Professor Gibson. We sex workers need to get onboard and support radical feminism.“
Monica Poindexter started to say something, but Professor Gibson gave her a short no, stay out of it head shake. Monica bit her tongue.
Ava, the former high school track sprinter, said boldly, making sure the subject stayed on the positive side, added, "I liked the story. I’m sure it was a big lie, though. You can’t have a cotton house.”
The Native American and the African American and Japanese girl all agreed the story rocked, and Pazia Katz, Ava’s friend said, “That was Wisdom is Power, Professor Gibson. Wisdom is Power.”
Someone started clapping his or her hands from outside the How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite Classroom. "And I thought the story most excellent,“ and Professor Gibson’s husband walked through the door.
All the girl’s jaws dropped.
Professor Gibson ran to her tall handsome, husband who had a fully head of slick black curly hair and she hugged him. She kissed him. "I’m glad you decided to, finally, attend one of my classes.”
“He’s fucking gorgeous,” the girls kept murmuring.
“I didn’t attend, Love Shake.” He kissed her. "I only heard the story part.“
"This is my husband, John Gibson, girls.”
“Nice to meet you, Ava said.
Then the other girls introduced themselves followed suit with nice greetings.
Pizia Katz said, "What’s it like being married to a girl who knows How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite?”
“It is the best experience ever; she always has something interesting to say. More and more, men, given the violent culture, worry about their wives brooding in silence. Not I, because, your professor isn’t afraid to talk to me about anything.”
“We have our arguments, dear.”
“Love Shake those are just the bumps in the road of our journey of love.”
“Awwwwwe,” the class said.
“Next week, you can all tell me if it was a big lie or the truth. Or what parts was a big lie or the truth? Have a good weekend class.”
Professor Gibson grabbed her things, her copy of How to Fly a Marshmallow Kite and left with her husband out of the campus classroom.