Delbert Digbee was very pissed. He liked to be pissed because he could think straight. And he knew he had to think straight because he had lots of rat-fuck thinking to do.
And the reason he had lots of rat-fuck thinking to do was because that high-school reunion was going to take place next Tuesday night when all the Moosers were supposed to have their weekly meeting.
As far as he knew, it was the first Moose Club meeting that had been cancelled because that asshole Harrison Bussey had copped out and said that his high-school reunion was very important to him.
A fucking reunion was more important than the Moosers! That's what Harrison meant, but he just didn't have the moose balls to admit it.
So that was the reason why Delbert Digbee was pissed. And that was why when he came home today he refused to have his wife blow him as was her usual daily task, because he hated to get his prick blown when he was pissed.
Delbert played with his prick as he thought. It helped when he played with his prick while he was pissed because being pissed off was so close to jacking off – like either piss or cum, shit or get off the pot, do something or don't.
Delbert did something. He picked up the phone – placed an order with Elroy Sneezley, brother of an ex-Mooser minus cock, who happened to be an ex-CIA agent who found that running contraband arms was more profitable than being a mercenary far the CIA.
Then he did something else. He picked up the phone – placed an order with Ferdi amp; Lizer pharmaceutical firm in Toledo for three pounds of Spanish Fly.
At first the voice on the other end of the phone sounded skeptical, but Delbert told him in a twangy Texas voice that his cows just weren't cooperating and that he had to have a bigger herd for next year because the meat prices were going up.
Then Delbert was no longer pissed. He had shit and gotten off the pot. Now, he was ready for his wife to blow him.
"Eleanor! Get your fucking ass in here! It's oral time!"
Eleanor wrung out the mop hurriedly, and just as hurriedly hurried into the living room. She smiled at Delbert. "Hi, honey."
"Fuck the hi-honey crap and eat my cock." Eleanor smiled, wiped the Mop 'N Glow stains on her apron, then kneeled before her husband and started oral time with his cock.
No, the Rice Bowl wasn't going to be another New Year's Day event where two football teams get together and bang crotches against each other.
The reason the prices were so cheap was because the owner Ho Fuk Yu kept them that way. Ho Fuk Yu was a very wise old Chinaman.
One of the reasons why he could sell sweet and sour pork for cheap was because he had cheap labor – his family, all thirty-three members of the Fuk Yu family.
In charge of the kitchen was Joe Fuk Yu, Ho's oldest and number-one son. Joe was very short, not unusual for such a tiny race that has so many members, but he was good with a knife and a wok.
In charge of the waitresses was Hum Fuk Yu, Ho's beautiful wife. She was seventy-two, but she looked thirty-three because everybody knows Orientals eat a lot of fishheads and rice so they never age.
Which is one reason why the Chinese people never die; they just fade away.
And, since everybody generally agrees that the Chinese all look alike, there's not much sense in describing the other members of Ho Fuk Yu's horde – other than to say they had typical slanty eyes, slopey heads and buck teeth.
The girls had very big breasts for Orientals – but that's because they had modernized themselves and ate a lot more hamburger than their parents did.
Now, it was Tuesday night at the Rice Bowl.
Usually Tuesday nights were very slow at the Rice Bowl, and it was usually the day that Ho Fuk Yu usually took his clan down to the blood bank so that they could sell their Oriental blood for seven dollars a pint so that they could get enough money to buy one thousand eggs for Joe Fuk Yu to make eggrolls with.
But today they had not given blood. Because they had been very busy preparing enough food for the class of '63's high-school reunion.
Ho, himself, had planned the menu.
There would be lots of rice, which was a very wise thing to make. Because he knew if he made a lot of rice, than those honky folks would get stuffed sooner than planned, then hopefully they wouldn't eat all the mandarin ducks he had bought. That way Ho could save the ducks for Wednesday's blue plate special, and if there was enough rice left over on those plates, then old Joe could always throw it back into the skillet and make a very palatable fried rice dinner out of it.
Very cagey, these Chinese.
Ho had been very pleased when Marina Bussey and Beth Meyers had approached him about renting the Rice Bowl for their reunion. They had paid him cash in advance, which pleased Ho immensely.
What had displeased him most was Mrs. Meyers' dog Hamlet shitting all over his Arabian rug in the foyer.
And he was very disconcerted when his wife Hum had to smile very enigmatically as the Great Dane sniffed around her crotch. And he was downright dismayed when Mrs. Meyers insisted that her dog be allowed to come to the reunion because she didn't have a dog-sitter at home.
Ho had graciously allowed her to bring the dog; after all, they had paid cash in advance.
Now, the Fuk Yu family was bringing out the seventeen bowls of seaweed soup that Joe had prepared using his special recipe of canned spinach and onion-soup mix.
Ho was very happy because everything was moving nicely and he was making quite a profit on the bar bills.
It was a very nice group of people.
Up on the dais was Harrison Bussey, flanked by his wife-fucking friends Harvey Jennings and their wives Elvira Jennings and Beth Meyers, Arnold Meyers, and Beth's constant companion Hamlet.
Marina Bussey would have been up there next to Harrison except that she was taking care of the guest book and greeting her fellow classmates with a set of tits that looked like they had been pumped into her braless cocktail dress.
Since the Bussey's and Jennings and Meyers had been the most popular members of their class, they had naturally assumed the head-of-the-table positions.
The other members of the class of '63 need not be mentioned because they were very ordinary people.
People like Josephine Scrubble who didn't have tits in high school and still didn't have them now. She had zits during high school and she had zits now. Just another somebody with no tits but plenty of zits.
And Benjy Markham, who was noted for selling rubbers to freshmen when he was going to high school, but who was now employed as a quality-control production man at the Trojan Rubber Goods plant.
And Joe Smith who looked and acted just like his name – insignificant.
And there were others in the crowd, but the people at the head table only acknowledged tern when they had roll call and discovered that three people were missing.
Suzy Cocteau was missing because she was on a Greyhound bus that was was late because every man on the bus knew who she was, and she was giving plenty of blowjobs to everybody who knew her. In fact, there wasn't one cunt on the bus other than Suzy's – that was because she had been placed on a bus that had been chartered by the U.S. Navy to take frogmen up to Tweedy for swamp exercises in Lake Tweed.
The other two missing classmates were Tina Morales and Clint Mallory. Nobody knew where they were. And nobody cared.
Things started very passively.
Harrison made toasts to himself, to others at the head table. Drinks were passed around; people gossiped about who was doing what with whom and where and why.
Everybody was very happy.
Including Delbert Digbee who was standing near the projector. He was standing near the projector because he had told Harrison that he would be happy to help Marina with the slide presentation of the Bussey tour through Europe five years ago.
He had also helped Marina make the punch.
And he had also helped Marina relieve the itch she had in her cunt when they had showed up two hours before the reunion.
So he was very happy. Everything was going very smoothly. The projector was all set. The punch was perfect. And the two Mooses that Delbert had secreted in the kitchen were set to go.
Harrison rose from his chair. Announced: "Everybody got a glass of this wonderful punch my wife made?"
"Yessir!"
"I sure do!"
"Wowwee, ain't this fun?"
"Oh right," Harrison said in his best emcee voice. "A toast to the class of '63!"
"Hear! Hear!"
"Yippee! A toast!"
"Speech! Speech!"
"Author! Author!"
Harrison toasted. "May we have health and wealth…" Then he drank very solemnly from his punch-bowl cup.
So did Marina. Only this was her fourth glass of punch. And she was feeling as if her pussy had broken out in hives.
And Josephine Scrubble was feeling queasy in the cunt, too. It felt as if somebody was fingering her pussy. Which was something nobody had ever done or was willing to do. She looked beneath the tablecloth, wondered if one of those sneaky Chinese guys was fooling around with her pussy.
The same itchy-twitchy feeling was in Beth's cunt. She crossed her legs. Recrossed them. Double-crossed them. God, her pussy was going crazy!
Then Harrison announced that for entertainment, the class of '63 was in for a real treat: films of him and Marina as they toured Europe five years ago.
"Hooray!"
"Yippee!"
"Huh?"
Harrison gave Delbert the high sign.
The lights dimmed – thank God, because all the women now had a chance to scratch that itch that was consuming their pussies and clits and assholes.
Then the film went five, four, three, two, one, and there on the screen for all to see was a naked woman.
A very pretty naked woman.
And the naked woman on the screen was saying: "I am a CIA agent. I do not look like a CIA agent. But that's one reason why I am affiliated with the CIA. Because I don't look like a CIA spy."
There were flume gasps in the audience. Harrison was stunned. That didn't look like Germany!
But the girl on the screen looked European because she had tits like the Swiss Alps. And she was pointing to her mountainous tits and saying: "All of you men will be CIA agents. And I am here to show you how spies from other countries operate. Look at my tits. Look at them very closely."
The audience was very quiet now; the men looked very closely at the gigantic tits that looked more like the Swiss Alps than human flesh. The women looked, too – but it was hard for them to look because several of them had grabbed some of Ho Fuk Yu's celery sticks that he had set out as appetizers and were shoving them into their cunts.
"My tits may look very real to you. But watch out! Because within my nipples there are ultra-sensitive, miniaturized microphones. Beware of any woman who does not look like a spy and who has tits like mine and who asks you to go to bed with her and tells you to put your mouth on tits like mine."
The men were drooling now, and Harrison no longer wondered where his favorite footage of Italy was.
Marina pretended to stare at those spy tits, but what she was really ogling was Harvey Jennings napkinned lap. She saw a bulge and she was getting very hungry.
The sensuous spy on the screen now lay down and spread her legs wide. She pointed to her pussy and said: "Now, look at my pussy. It looks like an ordinary pussy. There is hair around my pussy. There is an average-sized clit… right here. And, oooooh, I have a hole right here for a cock."
The men nodded, agreeing with everything the spy instructress said.
Beth was finding some relief for the itch in her cunt, but she didn't know how long Hamlet could keep his tongue wedged in her pussy without taking a breath. Would this be the demise of the Great Dane?
"My pussy may look very ordinary to you, but it is not. Deep – very deep – in my pussy is a trap. Beware of that trap. The trap is very deep in my pussy and it is made to fit around the head of an average-sized cock. By using my cunt-muscles, I can close the trap around the head of an average-sized cock. The trap has teeth like needles, and I can inject truth serum into an average-sized cock while it is fucking me. That is how a foreign agent might extract top secrets from our country. Do not fall for the trap-in-the-pussy trick."
Harrison adjusted his cock because it had changed shape drastically, and he noticed that all the men were doing the same thing beneath the tablecloths.
And he also noticed that all the women were doing the same thing. Christ! What the fuck was happening?
Then the Star Spangled Banner was playing and the spy woman waved a miniature American flag. She waved to the prospective CIA agents and said: "Please do not divulge what you have learned in this film. God bless all of you, and make America safe from foreign subverters. Good-bye and good luck."
The film flapped around the spool several times before Delbert flicked on the lights and turned off the projector.
The light was very bright. And it showed very clearly what everybody was doing.
Maybe it was the suddenness of so much light glaring on them that started a strange sequence of events.
Or maybe it was because the Spanish Fly had reached its zenith and all the women wanted to get fucked.
In either case, an orgy was in the making. And Delbert was very pleased that an orgy was in the making.
And the person who started the orgy was very pleased, too.
That was Marina Bussey.
She stood up, shucked out of her cocktail dress. Screamed: "I gotta get fucked! Somebody please fuck me!"
Harrison was aghast. "Marina! What are you saying!"
Then Marina made a grab for Harvey Jennings' cock, but Elvira Jennings had already beat her to the punch.
So Marina turned around and made a grab for Arnold Meyers' prick. His prick was very available because his wife Beth had her head on a plate of won tons and her ass in the egg foo yung.
And that was when everybody went berserk.
Women grabbed for every available cock, eager to have somebody fuck the shit out of their pussies – pussies were burning with an incessant urge to fuck and fuck and fuck.
They said Mooser Movies because Delbert had brought out his movie camera and was filming this orgy to show at the next Moosers meeting.
And that was also the moment that Suzy Cocteau walked in, her lips, very bruised, both sets of lips, and she was very happy to see everybody.
And she said: "Hi, everybody! Remember me! I'm Suzy Q Cocteau!"
The only one not busy enough to remember her was Harrison Bussey. And he greeted her with his foot-long cock sticking out of his rumpled Hart, Shafner and Marx suit.
And several seconds later, the last two members of the class of '63 walked in. Tina Morales and Clint Mallory. Only her name wasn't Morales any more, it was Mallory. And they were appalled at what they saw.
It made them sick. And they turned around. And left.
The others stayed because they liked being sick.