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For All The Wrong Reasons	By : darqstar Category: G through L > House of 1000 Corpses Views: 4942 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House of 1000 Corpses, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
LEGAL DISCLAIMER:
I do not in any way own any part of the movies House of 1000 Corpses
or The Devil's Rejects. I do not own most of these characters. They
are the property of Rob Zombie, Liongate films, and whoever else
holds a commercial or property license over them. This is fan
fiction, intended for the sole purpose of entertainment. No
one has been paid to write or host this story. No one is paid or
will have to pay to read it.

THIS
CHAPTER DISCLAIMER: Rape,
implied necrophilia, humiliation, violence, and strong language.

Chapter Five

We're
Going To Play A Game”

Otis shut the door behind
Baby, and turned his attention back to me. For the moment, he seemed
to have run out of insults to hurl at me. He pushed the chair away
and walked around me. “Yeah, not bad,” he said, slowly.

I said nothing.

He walked around to the
front of me. Automatically, I raised my hands to cover myself. He
grabbed both of my arms, not viciously, but not gently either. “I
didn't tell you it was okay to cover yourself.”

I put my hands to my sides
and forced them to stay there.

He nodded his approval and
studied me more further, his gaze running over
my naked body “Hmm... Can't
think of what I want to do with you. Maybe it'll come later. Might
help if you talked. Why don't you tell me about yourself?”

He said this last part as if
we had met in a laundromat or something, and we were just passing
time by getting to know each other. I couldn't believe it. He had
me strip in front of him, and now he was playing this game. “Nothing
to tell,” I whispered.

“Oh, I'll bet you have
a lot to tell,” he disagreed. “Ain't met a bitch yet who
couldn't blab up a blue-streak, given half the chance. Say
something.”

I allowed myself to look at
him, to see if I could read what game he was playing. He was just
staring at me, a strange grin on his face. “C-can I have some
water?” I asked.

“Water?” He
frowned as if he'd never heard of the liquid before. “You want
water? Why?”

Did he really mean that, or
was he messing with me? “Because I'm so thirsty,” I
said. “We don't have any water in the basement.”

“Whaaa, whaaa,
whaaaa!” he said, mimicking me in a way I'd imagine Baby could
sound if things didn't go her way. “The poor little
chunky-monkey is thirsty! Give me one good reason why I should give
you anything to drink.”

I should have been used to
him and not be shocked by what he said, but I still was having
trouble with that. Food, water, the basic necessities of life, I'd
never before had to justified my desires for them. Since I was a baby, these
things had either been provided for me, or they were in close enough
proximity that I could get them for myself. I thought of food and
water as my rights, and in my middle-class life, they had never
been in short supply. No one should have to beg for the right to eat
or drink. “Because my throat is dry, and I would really
appreciate it,” I said.

“Because my throat is
dry and I'd really appreciate it.” He mimicked me again,
making me sound pathetic. Then, he advanced towards me. “Listen,
bitch.” His eyes narrowed and his voice became cold. “What
you want doesn't matter a hill of shit to me. Yeah, you're probably
all used to everyone cow-towing to your needs. Mommy and Daddy are
probably so proud of your college-going ass that you could shit in
their mouths and they'd think it was fucking chocolate. But you
ain't home no more. Mommy and Daddy aren't here to save you. All
you've got now is me.”
As he spoke the last
sentence, he grabbed my upper arms, his fingers wrapping around them
tightly, and pushed me back quickly, until the backs of my legs hit
the bed. Then he shoved my chest so I fell sideways onto the bed.
My head hit the wall with a sickening thud. My lower legs had hit
the frame of the bed, so I was half-lying, half-sitting, on the bed.

The bed was filthy with
blood, body-sweat, and other fluids I didn't want to know about.
I'd fallen against something that felt strangely like another person,
lying length-wise underneath the covers. How they had been able to
sleep with Otis' yelling and Baby's cackling was beyond me. Without
thinking, I pulled the covers away to make sure they were all right.

Dull, lifeless eyes stared
back at me. It was a corpse I'd fallen on, and from the looks of it,
she was none too fresh. I hadn't noticed much of a smell in the room
before, but, with the covers back, the stench of rotting flesh hit me
so hard that if I'd had anything in my stomach, I'd have thrown it
up. As it was, I felt bile beginning to rise. This was just too
much. I shrieked and tried to jump up and off the bed, ready to run.

Laughing, Otis blocked me
the moment I was on my feet. “Where you going, Chunky?”

“I gotta get out of
here! I gotta get out of here!” I cried, so horrified that I
didn't care anymore. I was in full-bore panic mode. “I gotta
get outta here!”

“I gotta get out of
here, I gotta get outta of here!” he mimicked. “Good
fuckin' luck, *Dwight Fry, you ain't
goin' nowhere.” With that, he raised one booted leg and kicked
my left knee so hard that tears shot to my eyes and I collapsed onto
the bed, onto the corpse.

Since I had uncovered part
of the corpse, when I landed, I saw her head and shoulders bounce
from the impact and some fluid leaked out of her nose and mouth. I
shrieked again and tried to rise, but this time, the knee he'd kicked
buckled and I fell backwards, yet again, hitting the body and causing
it to move.

The whole time, Otis was
laughing as if this was the funniest thing he'd seen in a long time.
“What's a matter, don't you like my friend? I thought we'd
have a little three-way, what d'ya think? She your type?”

Now I was shrieking for two
reasons: the horror of what was happening, and the realization that
my knee was of absolutely no use to me. Whatever Otis had done when he kicked me was enough to
cripple me; at least, for now. I wondered if he was one of those
crazy Veterans the conspiracy lovers would talk about. The rumor was that during the Vietnam War, the government had given certain soldiers LSD, instead of vitamins, to make them more
aggressive, and then gave them “special” training. All
of these “experimental” soldiers were supposed to be
crazy, aggressive, and well trained in the art of maiming and
killing. I had dismissed those stories as pure, paranoid baloney.
Now I was wondering if maybe they were true.

He jumped on the bed, on top
of me, straddling my torso. The pressure of his landing pushed me
further into the corpse, and, when one of his knees struck the body,
it jerked so violently that, for a
moment, I thought she had been reborn as a zombie. More fluid oozed
out of her mouth and nose onto the dirty sheets.

“SHUT – THE -
FUCK - UP!” Otis shouted, slapping me across the face,
alternating one hand with the other, one strike for each word. Then, he stopped hitting and leaned over me, his knees digging
into my sides. I could feel the heat of his breath, and smelt
alcohol, and other things I couldn't place - and didn't want to,
either. “You're not in Disney Land any-fucking-more,” he
whispered, pressing his crotch into me. Much to my horror, I could
feel him starting to get aroused under the thin, dirty jeans he wore.
“This is my fucking Magic Kingdom here. You can scream
all you fucking want, it won't do you any fucking good. Your Mommy
and Daddy can't hear you, and there ain't any of your ass-backwards
fellow college students dressed up like fucking rodents to hear your
cries either. This is your life, Mama, as long as it lasts. Accept
it.”

I closed my eyes tight, so I
wouldn't have to look at him, or see the corpse I was lying on top
of. I tried to blank out everything going on, because I had the
feeling if I didn't, I'd lose my mind. I had no idea that later I
would be wishing I had lost my mind and never recovered it.

“You ain't getting out
of this that fucking easily!” he cried out, slapping me again.
“Open your eyes, bitch!”

I did as he asked. He was
leering at me. “Don't think you're going to get away with
that, either. No little journey to the center of your mind, none of
that crap,” he said, as if he could read my thoughts. “You're
here and, until you're dead, this is where you stay.” Then,
he leaned over and kissed me.

I'd only had one lover
before, but like most girls of my generation, I had done a fair bit
of kissing in High School and College. But I'd never been kissed
like this before. At first, he was just sort of slobbering all over
my face, in the general area of my lips. This was probably because
my mouth was closed. Finally, he reached over and grabbed me under
the chin, putting his thumb and middle-finger on my cheeks. He
pushed the fingers towards each other, which made me open my mouth a
bit. He then covered my mouth with his and stuck his tongue in my
mouth, rolling it around, licking the inside of my mouth. Yes, I'd
French-kissed before, but not with a psychotic, necrophiliac, maniac.
He certainly didn't care that I might need to breathe, or that
shoving his putrid tongue down my throat might make me want to gag.

When he finally broke off
the kiss, I was gasping for air. Breathing through my nose had
become difficult from all my previous crying. I drew in deep breaths
and tried to ignore the stench of the body I was lying on.

He got off me and climbed
down from the bed, looking down at me.
“You loved that, didn't you?” I wasn't sure if he was
being sarcastic, or if he really thought I could have enjoyed being
mauled.

I said nothing. I
half-expected him to smack me around and insist I give him an answer,
but he didn't. Instead, he grabbed me by the arm and hauled me off
the bed. The moment I put weight on my left leg, the pain was so
excruciating that it folded under me. My right leg wasn't enough to
keep me up so I crumbled to the floor like a thrown towel. He
laughed.

“Don't you move now,”
he said, kicking me in the face. The kick wasn't as hard as he was
capable of, but I felt something explode in my nose and blood began
to flow out of my nostrils. I could taste blood on my tongue and
knew that my mouth and lips were bleeding as well.

I curled up into a ball as
best I could, and wondered what was going to happen next. I heard
him messing around with the bed, and then, he picked me up and threw
me on it. This time, I was positioned lengthwise on the side that
pressed up against the wall. He had moved the corpse so that it was
on the other side of me. Now he crawled onto the bed and spread my
legs apart so he could fit himself between them. Then, he kissed me
again, and started grinding his pelvis into mine. The erection I'd
felt earlier hadn't diminished at all, and, even though he had pants
over it, I swore I could feel heat radiating from it, as if it were
something red-hot that would burn me if it were freed from its denim
prison.

He kissed me for a bit,
while he was dry-humping me. His right hand played with my left
breast, squeezing it, pinching the nipple as hard as he could, and rolling it around in his thumb and forefingers as if it were a screw top he needed to get open.

I know there are women out
there who like having their breasts mauled a bit. I am not one of them. I wanted to cry out in pain, but his
forceful tongue working its way down my throat was a pretty effective
gag.

After enduring this torture
for awhile, he drew his knees up on either side of me, and sat up.
“We're going to play a game,” he said.

I thought about the
three-way he'd suggested earlier with the corpse and shuddered as I
waited to see what sort of game he had in mind.

“If you look, you'll
see that my other friend is right near the edge of the bed,”
Otis said. “In fact, she's really close to the edge.
Now, here's the game. I'm going to lie on my back. You're going to
get on top of me, and ride me like I'm a bucking bronco. You're
going to give it everything you got, 'cause by the time I'm shooting
my demon-semen into you, I want her to have fallen off the bed
because of all the motion and commotion.”

“I can't!” I
quickly protested. “My knee - you really did a number on it.
I'm not going to be able to do that!”

“My knee, my poor
pwecious knee!” he mewled in a mock imitation of me. “Bitch,
save the whine for another time. You can do it, and you will
do it, or you'll really be sorry.”

My knee was still throbbing
and I thought that if I did what he asked, the pain would be
unbearable. “Kill me,” I mumbled, taking a guess at what
'really be sorry' meant, “You're going to anyway.”

“Well, you're right
about that,” he agreed. “But that's not what I had in
mind for now. If you don't want to ride me,
I'll have you help my friend out. She loves a little girl-on-girl
action, and she thinks you're just the one to do it.” He
reached over and grabbed the corpse by the hair and lifted her
slightly. “So, what do you say, my dead little whore? Should
Chunky give you some business?” He shook the girl's head so
it looked as if she were nodding, and then spoke for her in a high,
annoying voice. “Yes, Otis, that sounds fun. I want the bitch
to lick me.” He looked at me. “So, what's it going to
be? Ride me or get real close and personal with Muffy? It's your
choice. I could enjoy watching a couple of whores play, too.”

I couldn't even think of
touching the corpse. I did flirt briefly with the idea of refusing
in hopes that he'd kill me, but I realized that he could also grab my
head and force it onto any part of the corpse he so desired. Maybe
he couldn't make me lick it, but shoving my face into a dead woman's
crotch would be enough. “All right, I'll play,” I
whispered, as if I really had much of a choice.

“Good girl.” He
let go of the corpse. “Sorry, sweetheart, you'll just have to
wait your turn.”

He rolled off me, so he was
lying on the corpse. I sat up and inched my way down to the end of
the bed. When I had given him enough room, he moved over to where
I'd been, and rolled onto his back. I partly expected him to demand
I remove his pants for him, but he wriggled out of those by himself.
Now I could see what he'd been grinding into my groin before,
sticking straight up like some sort of flesh-flagpole. He was
average in size, but at that moment, it looked enormous. I studied
it for a moment, repulsed, while trying to think of how I was going
to do this. Although my former lover and I had played around with
different positions, the mechanics of it didn't really concern me; we
just did what came naturally. With this, not only did I have to
feign passion - I had to wrestle a corpse from the bed.
Since the throes of passion
were about the furthest thing from my mind and I was completely
terrified, I had no idea how I was going to do this. I started
inching my way towards him, trying to avoid the corpse and favor my
knee. I could feel him staring at me, so I tried to hurry it up,
although this was the last thing I wanted to do.
I kept waiting for Otis to
yell at me at me, grab me, or do
something even worse, but he didn't - he just watched me. It was my
left knee he'd trashed and of course, it was my left knee that I had
to lift over to straddle him. I started to do that, moving slowly,
realizing that if I moved too slow, the chances of me being unable to
take the pain were higher and I might end up slamming my knee into
his leg. That would probably really piss him off so he'd hurt me, on
top of making my knee hurt more. So, I
gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and swung my leg over him as fast
as I could instead. It wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it would
be, but when I tried to rest upon it, pain shot through my entire
leg. I gasped and bit down on my lip, which was still bleeding from
the kick he'd given my head earlier.

“That's it, slut.”
He nodded his approval at my efforts so far.

I knelt over him and thought
about what was going on for a bit. This was the most humiliating
situation I'd ever had to endure. Not only was I going to be raped,
but I was going to be the one to initiate it. I was going to have
to ride him hard enough to knock a body off the bed, or else he would
make me do things to the corpse that I couldn't imagine, and then
kill me. If that wasn't enough to suffer, I also had one major
issue before I could even set about performing my own rape.

I wasn't at all excited, and
this created a problem that I wasn't sure how to resolve.

I shifted as much of myself
as I could to my right side and closed my eyes trying to figure this
out. My brain wasn't working quickly either.

“What's the problem,
bitch?” Otis asked.

“Uh ... well ... I'm
not really ready for this,” I mumbled.

“Well, get
ready,” he snapped.

My lower lip trembled, and I
could feel my nose beginning to sting like it wanted to run. It was
still bleeding slightly, too. “I-I don't know how.”

“You for real,
Chunky?” He stared at me for a moment, as if I was making no
sense, then I guess my dilemma hit him. “Oh Christ, woman,
haven't you ever heard of lubricant?”

“Yes,”I said,
“But, I- I don't have any.”

“Sure you do.”
He grabbed my right hand with his, and smashed into my nose. The
bleeding had slowed down from earlier when he'd kicked me in the face
but with this action, it started flowing again, heavier than before.
He held my hand up over my nose for a bit and then pulled it away.
My palm was filled with a combination of blood and mucus. “Nature's
lubricant,” he sneered. “Always ready when I am!”

I stared in disbelief; was
I really expected to use a handful of my own bloody snot to lubricate
myself so I could take him inside me?

I hesitated. Otis got
impatient at my stupidity for not grasping what was so obvious to
him. He reached up and smeared his hand over my face, getting a
handful of mucus and blood. Then, without any warning, his hand shot
down between my legs where he smeared the blood. I almost tried to
jump off him, the movement had been so unexpected.

“See? That's how you
do it.” A mocking smile played across his lips.

He had started this sick
game, and left me to finish it. I took my handful of blood and
wrapped it around his penis, figuring that if he was going to use my
blood on my crotch, it was good enough for his dick. He watched
me, but made no effort to push my hand away. I couldn't believe
that he really didn't mind using my blood and snot as a lubricant,
but then again, this was a guy who had a dead body in his bed. Was
there anything in this world that could freak him out? I doubted it.

Fully “prepared,”
I gritted my teeth and raised myself up to take him and guided him to
the proper place. Pretend this is Danny, I told myself, Danny
was my ex, Pretend it's Danny and you can get through this.

I was about to slide down,
when he reached up and grabbed my hips, stopping me. “Open
your eyes,” he demanded.

I didn't want to, but I
opened them.

“Look at me,” he
ordered. I tried to look at his chin, hoping that would fool him.
“LOOK AT ME!” he shouted. “LOOK ME IN THE FUCKING
EYES!”

I looked up at him. Those
demonically bright eyes of his were staring at me. His gaze locked
with mine. Then, gripping my hips, he slammed me down on top of him.
“Now I own you, bitch - now you're mine!”

Despite the bloody
lubricant, it still hurt like hell. My knee was screaming in
protest too. I froze, gasping, and tried to block out the pain.

“Get moving, slut. I
didn't tell you to stop!”

I did what he requested,
it's not as if I had a real choice. My knee felt like it was being
jabbed by a thousand hot needles every time I moved it, and my mouth
and nose continued to drip blood down the front of me, onto his
chest.

He never did anything. He
didn't grab me, he didn't thrust up to meet me. He just kept
himself stiff and stared at me. Every time I would shut my eyes, he
would yell at me to, “Open them NOW, BITCH!”, but other
than that, nothing. He might as well have been an
anatomically-correct wooden-doll.

The corpse was moving along
with us as I did what I'd been ordered to do, but the mattress we
were on was old and sinking in the middle. With Otis and I on the
bed, we were making that dent even bigger, so the corpse was
rolling towards the middle of the bed rather than to the edge. It
would roll down hitting my right leg and Otis' side. He didn't
notice, or he didn't care, not even when more fluid leaked out of the
mouth and nose of the body, spilling on him.

I knew the corpse wasn't
going anywhere without some help. I leaned forward, putting my arms
down on the bed and shifted some of my weight to them. I waited for
him to say something, but he didn't. I continued performing my own
rape, and, when the body came close, I would attempt to shift it a
bit with my right arm and leg. This meant I had to shift some of my
weight to my left side - my left knee - which, again, hurt like
hell. I never thought that pain could keep rising like that. I
always figured you hit a plateau when your body was taking all the
pain it could handle. That might be true, but I wasn't reaching it
that night. Every time I thought I'd hit the maximum, a more intense
pain would flood over me. With every fresh wave of pain, I'd
squeeze my eyes shut, grind my teeth, and tried to will it away. If
I kept my eyes shut too long, I was yelled at to open them.

I wondered about the need to
have me look him in the eyes, but I now think I know what that was
all about; having to be the driving force in my own rape was bad
enough, but to having to look him in the eyes was double the
humiliation. It also kept me right in the moment. I wasn't able to
imagine myself with Danny, I couldn't even pretend I was with anybody
else. But there was one slight advantage; he was so concerned about
keeping my eyes focused on him that he wasn't paying much attention
to my right arm and leg. Bit by bit, I started pushing them against
the corpse, trying to make it fall off the bed.

In order to make it so that
he would concentrate more on me and forget about the corpse, I sped
things up. As disgusting as it sounds, the blood and mucus was
making things easier, and, much to my shame, my body kicked in with
its own defenses. No, I was not enjoying this at all - rape was rape
- but the body is designed to protect itself, even if that means
lubing up in the right areas.

When I saw that I'd pushed
the corpse close enough to the edge, I took my chance. Gritting my
teeth and still staring Otis in the eyes, I raised myself as high as
I could go, without - dismounting. I
ignored the pain shooting through my left leg and, sliding my right
knee and arm down and out, I pushed the corpse as hard as I could.
I don't know if it was a coincidence, or if Otis had incredible
control, but the moment I was able to give the corpse that one, final
push that sent her off the bed and onto the floor, he grabbed me by
the hips and slammed me down on him as hard as he could. “FUCK
YEAH!” he shouted, and emptied himself inside me.

Tracy, who had been much
more worldly than I, had once told me that every guy in the world has
a stupid orgasm face. No matter how tough, or how masculine he is,
once any guy hits that big O, he will look like the biggest,
goofiest idiot that ever walked the planet. My experiences with Danny had never given me any reason to
doubt her.

I found out that night
that she was very wrong. Otis didn't look stupid or goofy; he looked
as mean as ever, perhaps even meaner, as if orgasms only fuled his
hatred. When he saw I'd managed to “win” at his corpse
game, he grinned then. The grin didn't make him look any friendlier,
or any saner, but it was a grin. “Didn't
think you had it in you, slut, but you did it.”
He pushed me off him, and
shoved me to the side, so I was in the same place the corpse had been
before I managed to “fuck it off the bed” - though I
tried not to dwell on that. I also tried not to focus on my knee,
which alternated between a dull throb and sharp shooting pains, and
my nose and mouth, still aching from the earlier abuse. Instead of
those things, I wondered how he would kill me, and if it would be
quick. I hoped it would be.

“Yeah, all you fancy
little college girls are good for is fucking,” he said. I
guess this was his form of “pillow talk”.

I probably should have kept
my mouth shut, but I didn't. “I'm not a college girl,” I
whispered. “I graduated.”

He broke into an
almost-maniacal laughter. “I stand fucking corrected!”
he snorted between bouts of laughter. “You fucking graduated!
So, what the fuck was your major?”

“Interior design.”

This was even funnier to him
than my graduation. “Interior-fuckin-Design! Well, good for
you, Chunky. Needed to go to college to learn how to paint a
fucking room and hang some fucking curtains? Boy, your family must
be proud as shit and back with you. 'Wow, Marcy, our god-damned
daughter went and got her-fucking-self a god-damned degree in
interior-fuckin'-design! Boy, I sure squirted some good stuff the
day we made her, huh?'” As he talked, the amusement drained
away and was replaced by a raw anger. He turned over to his side,
then rolled to his knees, grabbed me by the shoulders and started
shaking me as he continued his tirade. “I'm not talking about
Fantasy Fucking Island, Bitch-whore, I'm talking about what's real!
This is the real world, bitch! No fancy college, no
white-bread friends drinking coffee down at Denny's, passing around
philosophical bullshit. I'm talking re-FUCKIN'-ality. You have any
clue what it's like in the real world? Do you? DO YOU?”

I had no clue what the best
way to answer that would be. I finally decide that he really didn't
want me to make a claim to being worldly. “No.”

“DAMNED RIGHT YOU
DON'T!” he yelled, still shaking me. “In the REAL world,
you work! In the REAL world, you don't go to no fucking Ivy-
colored college to learn how to make your bedroom all cozy just so
you can stick your fucking head in the fucking sand -”

He continued in this vein
for what seemed like forever, just yelling at me. Most of what he
said didn't make a whole lot of sense. It was as if he was
determined to be angry with me and
certain that I deserved even more of his wrath and anger.

Then, when he'd finished
telling me how useless my life was and how worthless I was and how he
was the one who was supposed to lead the revolution or some-such
other crap, he threw me back down on the bed, grabbed my legs, pushed
them open, then jumped on top of me and pushed himself inside me.
He didn't demand I keep my eyes open and fixed on him this time, he
just rode me fast and hard, as if he was possessed, in a frenzy. I
closed my eyes and twisted my head to the side, trying not to look at
him.

Since seconds were like
hours, it must have been days before he finally spent himself inside
me. He didn't yell this time, he just slammed into me so hard that
for a moment I was afraid he'd shattered my pelvis. Still holding
himself up on his arms, I could feel him twitching inside me, which
told me he was probably finishing up what he'd started.

When he'd finally drained
himself to the last drop, he shuddered and then fell on top of me.
For the longest time, he didn't move and I tried as hard as I could
not to breathe or stir beneath him. I felt his hot breath on my
neck, but otherwise, he was still.

I wondered what game he was
playing - and then he softly snored. He'd fallen asleep.

*****

*Shameless
Alice Cooper Band tie in. If you've heard the song
the Ballad of Dwight Fry
you'll know just how well it fits. And, since this is taking place
in the '70s, it fits the story.

Author's Notes:
I'm caught up with what my beta readers have given me, which means it
might be a bit before the rest will be “published” here.
The story is
completed, it won't be abandoned.

Shameless begging:
Yes,
I might have finished this story, but I'm working on another Devil's
Reject's fanfiction, and I have an idea for at least one more.
However, I'm not going to worry about publicly posting them, unless I
know that there are people out there that want to see what I've
written. So, if you are keeping up with this, I'd appreciate it if
you'd let me know what you think. No, you don't have to write a
stunning review praising me to the skies for my brillant use of the
word “and.” Just a line to say, “Yeah, this is
good, I'm liking it!” is wonderful. By the same token, you're
also welcome to write: “I really don't
like this,” too, of course. Just be warned, if you say
you don't like it, I'm likely to ask why. I don't mind being told my
writing is bad or not to someone's tastes, but I do like to know why,
so I can work on improving.

To Mileni and Anon: thank you for your feedback so
far. I really appreciate it.
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For All The Wrong Reasons

We'reGoing To Play A Game”

We're
Going To Play A Game”