August Moone
Book 3
Sidetrips
Chapter 25
Real Life

	“When walking the streets at night, and there’s no-one around in view;  you can hear a mysterious shuffling creep of the night, something is following you.  
	Tis a strange creature that frets at night, roaming the alleys left and right; and if you should meet this strange creep, just forget what some people have said; the creature may shake your hand clammily, but he’s not necessarily dead.  
	When you sleep a lot of ghoulish nightmares appear in your head; then you wake up and scream a lot; the Creep may be under your bed!
	And at midnight when the night creatures begin to prowl about and the vampires and vultures swoop down about; and the werewolves and fiends screech and howl about; well, the Creeps are out--the Creeps are out.
	…and they are watching you--watching you!”

                                               *****

	It was a stormy and dark night at 13666 Black Bytch Drive. But then, it was ALWAYS a dark and stormy night at the home of Namreh and Winnie Munster. Grandpa Munster stood by the front windows, staring out at the driving rain.  He seemed elated and jiggled his head when the lightning erupted in the bleakness.
	"What a wonderful night," sighed Grandpa. 
	"Isn't it?" smiled Winnie, who had slipped up behind Grandpa.  She wrapped her arms about him, squeezed him tight and nuzzled.
	Lightning flashed brightly again, thunder boomed and goblins scurried about the family crypt taking up space behind the home of Munster.
	“It was an act of witchcraft; an ominous smell in the air.  The heavy odor of fresh bloody mud, and the pelting rain whipped into a frenzied pungent gale; brewed into a bleak hideous cloud.
	Demons tore through the stone fences and trees thrown into the mix of evil magic of wizards and witches, all one; while goblins and other creatures were cast out into the tormenting storm.
	Nimbus clouds poured into the sky like black smoke from a witch’s brew, for indeed it was.  The clouds clashed with the vicious gray ones. 
	The wind howled and there was thunder such as was never heard before but many times thereafter.
	And the trees trembled in the earth, each quivering, shudder in the midst of evil.  Behind each leaf a goblin hid, defying the wrath of its master, though not for long; they were ripped away furiously and lain upon the ground, subject to the whims of the wizards and witches, all one.”
	“Oh Grandpa!” said Winnie, “that was beautiful!”
	The old man giggled at the adoration from his daughter.  (He was actually her father-in-law; details, details…)  He was addressed as Grandfather due to his seriously advanced age, seriously advanced.
	"I think I'll go out and hang out with the guys." The old man in strange garb attire from a time long-long gone.  He wore something like a Coat & Tails, black gloves, an off-white dress shirt, a red vest with boutonnière.  His only jewelry came in the form of a single majestic medallion about his neck.
	"There's a lovely bell-tower down by the central park." He was all agleam and almost jittery.
	"That would be nice," Winnie smiled at him. "Teddy's spending the night at a friend’s and Portia's out on a date."
	"A new date?” he asked in a musing manner.
	His daughter-in-law nodded with almost a sarcastic gleam.
	"She had better be careful and not run up a tract record, I had the same trouble in the Old Country.“
	Winnie nodded and understood.  She patted her ageded father-in-law on the shoulders, guiding him to the door.  The interior of the Munster Manor was--well, unkempt.  But that was it’s charm, dark and gloomy, dreary, and laden heavily with webs and moss.
	“Say hello for me to the boys in the belfry." Winnie touched his cheek affectionately, “Careful, Winnie, I may be old but I’m not broken!” he smiled and a gleam erupted into his coal dark eyes.  He smiled, Winnie smiled and blushed, “Oh Grandpa!” she lightly brushed her hand against the slight bulge he had betwixt his legs.  
	His desire to “hang with some old friends” superceded his desire to “get a little.”  he backed out the double gray oaken door, winked both eyes and “fluttered off” into the night.

	She glided down the short hallway past the stairs into the dusty living room.  Her husband of 25 years sat reading the daily blab.  He frowned as he perused the headlines in the newspaper. He looked up as Winnie entered.
	"Winnie," he said, a half-smile on his face, "What’s happened to all our dust?“  Namreh (his given name, not his social name (which was Arthur) and not his Creation name which was Herman--after his Creator Herman Wolfgang Instien) pounded the arm of the sofa upon which he sat.  A small cloud of dust poofed up.  Namreh seemed disgruntled.
	Winnie cocked her head. "Oh I did," she murmured, “but that new vacuum cleaner that salesman sold me only works in one direction, it sucked nearly all the dust out of the entire house!”
	“Humph!” drawl-smirkeded Namreh, “Some salesman!”
	“Thankfully the dust was collected in the vacuum sack so I was able to dust the house again.”
	“What happened to the salesman, you surely didn’t pay him?”
	“Of course not!” snapped back Winnie, there was a sudden interruption as “Spot”, their pet dragon in the basement, made a sudden grumbling growl followed by a flaming belch followed by a horrendous explosion from the other end.
	Namreh looked to his vampirish wife with awe.
	She smiled back, “He apparently has given Spot indigestion.” she said dryly.
	Namreh looked to his wife with a stoic face, she stared at him, and then they both erupted in a fit of outrageous laughter.  Namreh set down his newspaper and pounded the arm of the sofa. A cloud of dust raised into the air and slowly settled back.
	"It's very quiet tonight," Namreh commented after they themselves had settled down. 
	"We're all alone in the house tonight," Winnie said, in a low tone of voice as she sat down beside her gruesomely sized husband.
	"Alone?" Namreh's eyes of green and brown sparkled. "Well, what do you say we go upstairs and stir up some more dust!?”
	"Exactly what I had in mind." Winnie smiled devilishly.
	Namreh stood and scooped up his flowing lucid wife and stomped his way up the dark and dreary stairs to their boudoir.

                                     *****

	The old church steeple tower by the county cemetery was dark; dark and gloomy--just the way that Grandpa liked it.  He circled far out into the decrepit cemetery with some grave markers marking back as far as the 1905s.
	In bat form he circled the tower and then glided into the open window.  He fluttered up to the wooden truss under the ceiling.  A few other bats were present, they shuffled about, made some chirping sounds that were interpreted as “Good eve!”  “Hello!”  “What’s cooking?” and “Get lost!”  
	(the last was from a pesky red furred bat who resented Grandpa’s presence as a threat to his dominancy over the other bats.)
	Grandpa paid him no mind and chuckled to himself, unlike the other bats, Grandpa could transform into human form and he possessed a few--unique attributes that the other bats marveled over, including the pesky uppity red bat.
	In essence it was best not to fuck with Grandpa Munster-bat, lest one wished to be turned into a newt or a worm stuck inside an apple ready to be pecked on by cemetery birds.
	A puff of smoke and Grandpa transformed into human form, hanging upside-down by his knees from the wooden support. "Marvelous evening," he said, smiling contentedly with glee.  He swayed some with eyes agleam, smiling and peering at the upside down beyond the tower opening.

	                                *****

	A car drove slowly down a back country road with its headlights barely picking its way thru the inky darkness of the sullen night.
	"I-I think we’re lost.” finally stated the driver.  He pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered out thru the semi foggish bleak night.  “I can barely see the road.”
	“This is Calmut Road.” stated Portia, sitting next to her “date” Alvin Marsh.  "You said you would rather for a drive than to that party.”
	“Yeah, I-I said that, huh?” Alvin peered out thru the fogging window.  “W-where is this place you talked about, I-I don’t see it.  I-I don’t see anything.”
	Portia looked out thru her side window, noting the misshapen trees that resembled gargoyles and trolls she smiled, 
	“There’s a bridge just ahead, once over it, there’s a road to the right.”
	Alvin nodded and pressed his somewhat frail body to the steering wheel of his dad’s antique Mercedes and continued onward, following his date’s directions.
	After the bridge there was a road to the “right”, continuing to follow Portia’s directions he drove half a mile until the road dead ended at a large derelict humongous tree.
	Portia got out of the car and embraced the gloominess of the area.  Her pipsqueakish date ambled out of the car, tripped and fell.  Portia came to his aid helping him up.  He brushed off the grimey dirt from his beige slacks and looked hopeless.
	Portia smiled at him to reassure him.  ’I sure can pick ’em.’ she quipped to herself.  She took his impish hand and guided him to the edge of the road.  Here there seemed to be something of a bog. 
	“This is one of the most private places I know.” said Portia.
	Alvin gulped and tried to appear confident as possible, disregarding his initial fright.  The place was private, sure--but a little on the eerie & spooky side.
	Portia held his hand and looked out onto the eerie bog with a kind of admiration.  Alvin became somewhat clammy and apprehensive.  This was intensified when bog creatures croaked, something fluttered, something burbled and something swished by his face.	
	None of this bothered, apparently, Portia.  She rocked on her feet and took in the scenery.  Alvin gulped, sweated, and peered out into the inky darkness.  He could think of other places that were just as remote to go to to be alone.
	Portia slowly moved sidestepping along, pulling her reluctant date along.  Alvin noted a small-small path along the spongy edge of which he tread, the bog gurgled just inches below the overhanging moss, the water therein was brackish and reeked of a pungent smell.  He wrinkled his nose and felt his imperfect eyes itching.
	“Isn’t this better than the party?” Portia quipped cheerfully.
	Alvin looked around, the place was the epitome of being “creepy.” He shrugged, “I-I guess so.”
	Portia kept tight his hand and escorted him to an area where there was something of a vista, a clearing-alcove was here along with a cement love seat.  Portia sat down, folding her dress under her--Portia was a prim & proper sort of girl and wore mostly nearly always a dress of some kind.
	Alvin Marsh settled down somewhat nervously beside her.

                                              *****

	In an unusually graceful move Namreh swept up his vampish wife, cradling her gently before making for the stairs.  He smiled at her, eyes gleaming, Winnie gleamed back, her usually off-white death-becomes her color giving way to a slight reddish hue.
	She wrapped her long limbs about his brusque body, arms latch about his neck.  Their mouths met for a brief peck, their eyes closed and they were surrounded by dead silence.
	Winnie’s nostrils flared, her coal dark deadly eyes narrowed, Namreh seemed mesmerized, Winnie enchanted.  For a long moment they reeled in the special moment, it didn’t happen often.  Winnie leaned up and snuggled into her special mate.  Deep within the brutish rogue something stirred.  Namreh gulped and whisked his demure vamp up the creaky stairs.

                                                *****

	Boggish creatures reached a near deafening crescendo, Alvin seemed rather distressed at the grand cacophony.  His date seemed captivated and undisturbed.  But sensing her companion’s distress level she closed her eyes and outstretched her hands as if stretching.
	Slowly the bog became still (quiet.)
	Alvin gulped and somewhat became more calm, but still…
	Portia leaned back, somewhat snuggling against her somewhat nerdy date.  Clueless Alvin sighed and looked out over the bog, it wasn’t his ideal place to take a date--but then again, his Date Card was kinda empty and ill-used.  
	He did take note of how wondrous Portia smelled, her hair was done up nicely, she wore a pretty dress and she was pretty herself.  Very pretty.  He couldn’t believe that he had lucked up to be asked out by her.  Although she was kinda insistent on the “secretive” part of their dating. 
	But she had explained that if the date had gone badly, then they could part ways and no one the wiser to jeer them about the bad date.  Alvin seemed a little confused about it but let it be and kept the date a secret.
	Suddenly Portia laid her head in a snuggling manner against him, on his shoulder.  No girl had ever done that before!  Of course, no girl had ever gone out with him, either!
	Alvin was in a quandary.  He had a million questions, none of which were suitable for asking at the time.  On a dare (to himself) he reached for and got her hand.  She wore dark gloves, as opposed to the typical white gloves most of the other girls wore.  
	She didn’t run away or slap his face.
	Alvin couldn’t believe his luck, maybe it WAS changing.  So what if he was the captain of the Debate Team, so what if he liked playing chess rather than some ball sport, so what if he enjoyed English Lit over the trendy magazine and television shows?  He was out on a date with a very-very pretty girl.
	So what about the rumors he had heard about her, her and her ultra creepy family.  He didn’t care.  He only saw that she was pretty and she had asked HIM out.  He thought he would go thru high school dateless.
	He pushed up his glasses and Portia sat up, she turned to him, smiling.  There was something amazing in her eyes, he felt a sudden strangeness overwhelm him.  He felt at first faint, then flushed, then a little queasy.  
	‘Easy now!’ he told himself, ‘this isn’t the time to get sick!’
	She was smiling at him.  No girl ever smiled at him, most ran away from him, or threw water on him.  She fluttered her eyes and leaned in.  Alvin leaned back, what was this?  He pushed his glasses up, gulped, his mind going blank.  He felt his bow tie choking him, he felt overdressed for just a simple outing.
	But then her lips, her perfect lips, touched his.
	Alvin fluttered HIS eyes.  ‘Holy shit!’
                                           *****

	Namreh carried his lifemate upstairs pausing at the top to hold his lover tighter and embracing in a longing kiss.  The passion between them stirred deep seeded emotions.  Namreh continued his trek down the dark, dank, dusty hall to their bedroom.  He paused a moment at the door and made some curious sounds of self amusement:  how to open the door while still carrying his wife!
	But suddenly the door opened anyways.
	Winnie smiled.  Namreh smiled and made a chuckle deep within him.  He then gracefully (as gracefully as an 8 foot behemoth can be) whisked into the bedroom, gently depositing his love onto their grand ornate antique four poster bed.
	Winnie waved her hand and the door closed.  It was quite dark in the room, a little cold, too.  Namreh stamped his huge size 30 inch foot on the floor and heard “Spot” the wonder dragon roar (and grumble.)  In minutes the fire breathing non-flying family pet had breathed sufficient warmth into the registers and nicely warmed the bedroom.
	Namreh smiled, chuckled, and beat on is chest stamping his feet in glee.  (the room got a little warmer.)  Winnie not wanting a sauna in her bedroom knew she needed to act quickly lest ole Spot burn the house down!
	
	His arms draped down around Portia's shoulders. The semi-unpopular girl continued her lip lock on the boy, a hand coming between them and down.  Down.  And down some more until coming to his “bulge.”
	Alvin tried to rear back his head in a manner consistent with “breaking a lip lock” but Portia continued locked to him.  Her hand worked on his bulge, finger delving down between his legs to clutch at his testicles.
	Portia felt an almost-electrical tingle as their tongues slid over and around each other; her hand working his young teenage rod. Her chest was tightening; her nipples perking and become stiff and very aroused, if not super sensitive.
	Alvin’s breath quickened. She had a serious latch grip on his manhood, masturbating him thru his slacks.  He began to sweat profusely, his heart beating strongly within his chest.  During the brief lip lock break Alvin gained some control of his senses, what little he had left.  His emotions were in a tizzy, this event with Portia was beyond his comprehension--mostly sense he had nothing to compare it to.
	Alvin’s breath increased, in rhythm and heat index.  His concentration began to fade as the sensations in his penis began to increase exponentionally.  He couldn’t believe what was happening.  What WAS happening.  Seldom did he himself whack his weener, but occasionally he did and received great pleasure from doing so.  But the manner in which Portia Munster was whacking it was beyond belief!
	 His eyes fluttered uncontrollably.  He felt as if though he were no longer in control of his body at all!  Portia began running her fingers of her free hand into his hair.  Alvin’s hands roamed the girl’s back, daring to roam down to the small of her back.  It was all he could do to force his hands back up to her shoulders.
	Soon Portia was straddling him, her movements were so quick (and sly) that he was scarcely aware until it was done.  She grinded her self against him, he saw her nipples virtually poking out of her blouse, there was a huge lump forming in his throat, his “boner” was as stiff as it had ever been.  Scarcely could he breath, formulate a thought, or act.  Portia ran her fingers through his hair, smiled at him.  There was something in her eyes, something--mysterious.
	Methodically Alvin felt the contours of her back, found the clasp of her bra beneath her blouse; the girl continued to deftly grind against him, and then she began undoing the buttons to his shirt.  Out of his mind Alvin watched her do it!
	Is dorky, geeky, bow tie she twisted and plucked free in one fluid motion, she then settled against him for another enduring lip-lock embrace that was lasting.  Alvin felt his gonads stirring its magic liquid, seething thru his penis.  Frantically he began to fight back, but succumbed to the outlandish advances of Portia Munster.  His hands at length came to cup her ass; again his mind flickered on and off, a dastardly deed he had always desired to do.
	The lip-lock was broken by the sudden urge of flagrant desires; their bodies perspiring, minds whirring, lust lusting.  Portia sat back, there was an even bigger mystery forming in her coal dark eyes.  A most wicked smile came to be upon her otherwise angelic face.  Her eyes sparkled and Alvin Marsh was totally unaware of Portia disrobing; removing her off-white blouse.
	So captivated was Alvin that he was not aware of her naked breasts, either; until they were pressed against his naked chest.  She grinded her sex against him as well as her breasts.  The boy was on the “launching pad” and ready to blast off--taking his frapped mind, too!
	Grandpa yawned and stretched, this he could do at home.  He fluttered his wings and shooshed to the open window.
	"Well, fellas," he said, "nice hanging around with you, going to go see who I can scare up before the dawn.“
	The other bats chattered and shuffled about on their various perches.  Grandpa leaped into the bleak night and caught a draft that would support him; his advanced age and all he didn’t have all that gumption enough to sustain prolonged flapping of the wings.
	Grandpa flapped his wings, then extended them in a glide, swooping around the before soaring off over the adjoining cemetery.  Lightning and thunder erupted into the night. "Yeee-hah!" he exalted. He loved to fly in storms--it was invigorating!
	At length he swooped down upon a couple who were scurrying along on their way somewhere to be out of the impending rainstorm.  He brushed the shoulder of the woman, then bopped the man, taking his hat.  The man cussed the “bat”, Grandpa so noted that the hat he had carried off contained a big hairy rat.
	On closer inspection--no, that wasn’t quite so.  Below him the man was infuriated--and rightly so.  One hand he tried to conceal the fact that he was bald--very-very bald.  He was a young man, too--in his late 20s.  His date was semi amused and semi shocked to learn that her date was hairless.
	Grandpa took pity on the bald man and returned to him the hat--but not before leaving a little “surprise” in the hair piece and hat.
	He flapped off chuckling and woo-hooing to a nearby lamppost   where he waited for the storm and took a brief breather.  Back home in the manor he figured ole Namreh was putting it to Winnie.  Grandpa smiled and imagined the scene.  It was such an intense moment his bat dick nearly caused him to fall!
	He took flight again, flapping into a nearby park.  Usually there were always good prospects in the park; but not so during an impending storm.  But all was not so lost, a couple under a covered park bench were deeply embraced and on the brink of getting freaky.
	Grandpa watched them, fluttering right up to the nearest tree to get a eye view.  Despite being a bat, he retained the eyes of his human form.  If he had to contend with bat eyes, forget it, he’d rather transform into a Gila monster or something.
	Nothing more seemed to be happening than heavy petting.  Grandpa grew impatient and fluttered on to see something else.
	Inside a dark bridge in the park two boys in the early teens stood, one had just finished peeing into the creek, the other was merely yanking his yank.  Grandpa hung from an iron support under the park bridge, the boys seemed to be friends, but were embarrassed at what was contemplated.
	Grandpa smiled, he was in a particular mood and having already a massive erection decided it was time to do something to aggravate it further. The boy who had just finished peeing busied himself masturbating, too.  Grandpa eyed the pair and then…

                                                *****

	Namreh set Winnie back to her feet. She glided away from him, spinning slowly on her toes. Her eyes narrowed and a shadow came over her face’ her skirts began to billow as she spun, rising slowly, revealing her luscious-shapely legs. 
	Namreh grinned as he watched; he began to dance a little jig and chuckle. Winnie spun, her dress loosening, flowing wider and wider as her spin sped up. She raised her arms over her head, and the dress flew up, hovering like a spinning top over her head. She stopped short, poised on her tiptoes, with her arms stretched over her head. Her long, black hair whipped around her, barely covering her firm voluptuous breasts.
	Namreh's eyes drifted down her body; her stomach was firm and flat, leading to a mound just above her straight black fur pie.  Her pubes were neatly trimmed into a bat-like shape. Winnie paused; her dress above still hovering; an inviting expression came onto her face; the dress slowly began to drift downward.  Namreh lashed out suddenly, sweeping his wife into his arms as the dress fell away to the floor.  He brought her to him and kissed her hard.
	As his hands roamed over her body touching her breasts, sides, hips and ass, Winnie slyly brushed her hand against his massive (and we‘re talking massive) manhood.  . After a few moments, Winnie slipped away again, leaping fluidly away. 
	Namreh began to fumble with his clothes, pulling them off slowly, his eyes still captivated with naked demure wife.  He  stood beside the bed naked, his massive schlong standing several-several-several inches outward before him--much to the glee and delight of his wife who eyed it as a particular tasty dish.
	She marveled at the schlong wavering before her, ‘My my,’ she said to herself, she cupped the massive testicles and gave a gentle squeeze, her love mate placed his hands on his hips and gleamed, an other inch stretched out the cock even more.
	"Wherever the Doctor found that..." she mumbled. 
	"Let's just not go to the Kentucky Derby," Namreh grinned.
	Winnie smiled and brushed her rose black lips against the pulsing pecker, Namreh tensed up in anticipation of a wondrous feeling yet to come.

                                                   *****

	Alvin twisted and wriggled on the clover as he lay, lay beneath Portia Munster.  She grinded into him, onto him; his manly teenage penis was buried fully into her sex.  He was enthralled, he never believed that he would get so far, especially on a first date!
	Portia’s total nudity filled Alvin’s mind; his body & soul, too.  She was a marvel, he could scarcely believe it, watching her strip off all her clothes, and then to do the same to him, most of the time of which she had his cock in her mouth.
	Though he was a dork, a geek, a nerd, he was well enough wise enough to know that the “act of making love” consisted of a male and female with generally speaking (or so he thought) the male member on top of the female--the atypical Missionary Position.
	But apparently he was wrong, with Portia on top he derived that there was just as much enjoyment as with the other.  Other “positions” came to him that he was curious about--the “frog”, the doggie, sidewinder, around the world, and what the heck was a sixty-niner!?
	His trembling hands danced up and down Portia’s backside, despite the act of making love, being totally nude, he was timid and uncertain just really how far he could go.  What was taboo?  Were there any taboos left?
	Diligently his hands came to Portia’s ass.  A light touch, then he rested his hands on her while she continued to ride him.  The sensation seething thru his loins was beyond his comprehension.  
	He griped her ass, pounding his pud instinctively into his date’s sex.  Portia gyrated all about, tightening her sex as she slid upwards, then plunging down she released the tightness and a torrent of superior sensations enveloped them both.
	Alvin held onto her ass, it was a soft ass, smooth and supple.  Down the contours of the ass he went, delving his fingers into the crack, holding onto the thighs and then the flesh of the ass again.	
	His eyes rested on her bobbing breasts.  He had been captivated by them for a long-long time.  They had “bounce” to them, they were perky, supple as her ass and caused him to whack off repeatedly when in the sanctity of his bedroom or bathroom.
	…and now they were bobbing lusciously before him.
	He was so captivated that he was unaware of achieving orgasm.
	He was so captivated that he was unaware of Portia nuzzling him.
	He was so captivated that he was unaware of being bitten…

	                                     *****

	 Count Von Drake III giggled as he hung from the iron truss supporting the park bridge, beneath two boys were nakedly fondling one another, groping and enticing the unseen vampire bat above them.  His glee and delight overwhelmed and he soon had to join in.  Gently he lowered himself in a glide transforming mid way from bat form to human.
	The two nude young boys were still unaware of his presence, of which was the way he wanted it.  He tapped the tips of his black globved fingers together, narrowed his beady eyes and brought the boys, Sam-12 and Eric-12 into a more enchanting degrading form of love play--the illicit kind.
	Sam, with sandy brown hair, a scooch taller than Eric, eased to his knees and took his friend’s waggling dong.  Neither boy was quite “hard”, but not “soft”, either.  Sam masturbated the schlong, squeezed his friend’s balls, caressed his friend’s ass, then swallowed whole his friend’s cock.
	Eric pumped lightly into his friend’s mouth, one hand on the back of Sam’s head, the other on his hip.  He was in awe, shock, but not in dismay.  His prick popped out and he rubbed the stiffy onto Sam’s face before plunging it back into his mouth.
	Lightning and thunder flashed and made a ruckus, slightly disturbing the two amorous boys.  The naughty Count got their attention back and wriggling his fingers had the first youth, Sam, stand and turn about, presenting his ass to his friend, Eric.
	Eric bent down, spread open Sam’s cheeks and began tonguing the brown-eye.  The unseen creature of the night giggled and pranced in sheer delight and soon the emotions of the two boys was overwhelming.  Eric stood and began poking his friend in the brown-eye, gripping his friend’s hips and plunging inwardly.
	One hump, two hump, three hump, four!  And Eric orgasmed into his friend’s rectum.  He pumped his all, pumping madly; straining, grinding and making the most of it before pulling out.  His cock languished and had begun to go limp.  It still seethed with incredible orgasmic sensations, he flopped it against Sam’s ass and humped his crack before growing weak and having to sit it out on a nearby boulder.
	Sam stood and masturbated, sized up the situation--his asshole was gooey and steaming, his cock was strong and pulsing.  He approached his friend and once more was “received.”
	Grandpa--aka the Despicable Count of Transylvania giggled more and more.  A cold rain had begun, more lightning and more thunder erupted into the bleak night.  He would have otherwise enjoyed it--the storm, but he was in the midst of perpetuating the circumstance of debauchery--the timing of the storm stunk.
	He had little power over directing the storm, he popped his fingers and brought the boys together again, standing up and groping, fondling, caressing and lastly--kissing.  That above cocksucking and butt fucking one another was a biggie.  A big biggie.
	As for an added dirty deed, Grandpa magically casted the boys’ clothes into the creek which was now rising and becoming a small river.  The nude boys would have to scurry home in their birthday suits.
	Grandpa giggled in delight at his latest doings.  He found that he himself had a massive boner going, he assumed his son-in-law Namreh was probably seriously putting it to Winnie--the big lunk!
	A little disgruntled he transformed back into a bat--for easier transport, and fluttered about to see what next he could find.

                                                      *****

	 The moon tried to come out a few times, but the menacing clouds forbade it and darkness enveloped the land.  A cold wind rushed out of the north and sent shivers thru her.  She stood with legs apart calming down from her recent experience.  She stretched, yawned, and began to add “water” to the murky bog before her.
	“Never leave any loose ends.”
	“Cover your tracks.”
	“Think caution.”
	And a dozen other words of wisdom filled her head.  Grandpa’s words filled her, too; he always rattled on about the Old County--which was Transylvania.  There, in the Old Country, the locals only put up with despicable debauchery for so long before they got pissed off and formed lynch mobs out for blood, guts, whatever they could get.
	So, when the maddening peoples had been appeased--after a long absence from the Ones causing the despicable debauchery--it was wise that once the debauchery began again to make certain that “loose ends” were taken care of; like seriously hiding the bodies of victims, making sure you weren’t seen, leave no tracks of any kind or sort, keep out of sight, if any evidence IS to be left make sure it’s someplace far-far away.
	So Portia struggled with moving Alvin’s car.
	It was a heavy piece of machinery and she needed all her strength--and then some, to push it--into the bog.  The bog did a nice job of swallowing the vehicle.  Alvin’s clothes she had placed in the trunk.  She waited until the last gurgle had ceased, the car of Alvin Marsh was now completely submerged never to resurface.
	And Alvin?
	Portia picked up her clothes, using her panties to wipe the blood from her mouth.  Her vampish snake-like fangs had receded properly leaving her with her usual enchanting smile.  There was a slight “feeling sorry” for Alvin, he WAS a nice boy and all.  But he sure tasted good.  And she could only suck the life (blood) out of virgins!  She didn’t know who made up that silly rule, but she abided by it.
	There were slim pickings for virgins at her high school, she had limited choices.  She HAD liked Alvin, she had wished she had met someone else instead, he was a good lover, polite, and treated like a queen.  She could have brought him to Grandpa and her mother and they would have seen that his transformation to the life of the Undead would have gone nicely.
	Oh well.  She turned to look into the bog one more time, Alvin she had secured in his car with the seatbelt.  Rain began to fall, cold and hard.  She imagined that her mother and father were probably still “going at it.” it would be rude to interrupt them.  It was too late to return to the party; besides, by now she knew for sure that there were no more virgins!
	She sighed, farted; caressed her ass and still felt badly about Alvin’s fate.  “A good latte and a hot shower will fix me up.”  she felt the taste of Alvin’s blood in her mouth and surging thru her soul, allowing her a little longer to live on the mortal soil.
	She brought her body together and whispered, “I want to be home.”
	Portia stood in darkness. She reached out one hand, and touched a wall. She followed the wall until her fingers brushed a light switch and flipped it on.  She sat at her dresser for a moment, hands folded on her lap, the dull light of the room gently bathing her nude body.  She nodded to her brush and it rose and began brushing her hair.  
	She was too tired to shower, and it was late anyways.  After her hair was brushed she moved to her bed.  The covers pulled back beckoning her inward.  Gently she slid into the grand ornate bed trimmed in sickly green.  The sheets and pillow were cool to her nakeness.  She longed for Alvin, she was almost pinning for him.  She had acted irrationally, going forward in her attempt to preserve her life by tapping into someone who adored her.
	And despite his geekiness, he wasn’t a bad lover.  He was a virgin, sure, but virgins were the best.  There was no more like him at her school.  And after the party, there would be no more virgins period!
	There were sounds in the house. The scratching from the attic was probably some of Grandpa friends coming home from a night out on the wing. The faint scraping from the basement was probably the family pet, Spot the Dragon.  The relentless squeaking of bed springs was probably her father (Namreh) putting it to her mother (Winnie.) 
	Portia lay still on her bed.  Her tongue lightly pressed against her fangs, well--at least Alvin tasted good!

                                                      *****

	Namreh smiled down to his lovely mate, his eyes gleamed, beats of sweat rolling down his squared head.  He still “pounded” his trunk into her, it caused her to flutter her eyes.  She gripped the mattress, her head clunking the headboard.
	Namreh seemed to be slowing down, his portion of the lovemaking coming to an end.  Winnie, though, was just getting her second wind.  Namreh sat back, his massive fuck pole plopping out of her batty cunt.  He grinned stupidly, closing his eyes.  It was good, very good.  He reeled in it and rested.
	Winnie opened a panel on the headboard and pulled out some wires, old funky ancient house cables to carry electricity.	 A gleam had come over Winnie’s eyes, too.  While her grotesque husband basked in the faint glow of the candles dully illuminating the dank room, Winnie made attachments to her husband; at the end of the wires coming out of the headboard with “clips”, alligator clips of which she clipped to Namreh’s balls--one to all four.
	She, too, clipped an electrical clip to his massive schlong.
	Then to his nipples, ears, and to the electrodes protruding from his neck.  Namreh’s father, Dr. Frankenstein had done a fine job on his creation, Winnie had found that the electrodes provided an excellent source for enticing the gigantic monster.  It was a manner in which to revitalize him and send him--really send him.
	And when he was “sent” he also sent his mate, Winnie--this when he was “in” her via lovemaking.
	Namreh smiled more and more, popping open his eyes when he heard static electricity.  He took note of the electrical connections to his gonads, his nipples, and so on.  He seemed at a loss but then took note of his smiling alluring wife.  She spread her legs wide, draping them over the side of their great bed.  Enticingly she drew a long finger up her “bat cave.”
	Namreh’s cock began to tingle, and not from the electricity--it hadn’t even been turned on yet!  He fussed with the waving of his hands as he was getting quite excited.  He leaned in and brought his phone pole cock to the awaiting love entrance.
	But before penetration, he paused.
	Winnie had her hand on the crank that would release electrical current.  Her husband wavered a finger, “No, no--not just yet.” he said seriously.  He had a plan of his own.
	To another panel on the green headboard Namreh pecked and retrieved from within another set of electrifiable clips.  He made attachments to Winnie’s nipples, her ears, and clit.  Then, a long slender ribbed dildo also equipped with wires came to be.  Generally when Winnie was in a bad way and Namreh was off on a hoot somewhere and Spot couldn’t satisfy her either--she jammed the electrified dildo into her bat cave and had herself a grand ole time!
	Namreh raised his dear wife up by the ankles, forcing her lovely lily white body that was ashen in color like death warmed over to give ample positioning for dildo insertion--into her asshole!
	He made full insertion and then let his wife’s legs go.  He positioned himself on her, grinding his well hung schlong against her, deftly entering her sex without much fanfare.  Winnie wrapped her fingers about the crank and made fifty “cranks.”  Namreh gripped the switch next to it, gleamed to his love and pulled the switch.

                                                  *****

	The couple on the park bench were into heavy fondling.  The boy's hand was slipped up underneath the girl's blouse, and her hand was buried in the boy's crotch.  Grandpa watched as the girl moved her hand up, and expertly unzipped the boy's pants, releasing his adequate teenage cock.
	She gripped it in her fingers, gently stroking the length of it. Grandpa shifted his wings, feeling a bit hornier--as he was still enthralled from his recent doings with Sam & Eric.  The park bench was a covered one, almost concealed by the unkempt growth of ivy.  It was enough to protect them from the harsh elements that were beginning to rage.
	The girl broke off her lip lock with the boy and reared back, undoing her blouse and freeing her lovely young breasts.  She wore no bra.  The boy’s eyes focused on the delightful mounds.  He pawed each one and then went to them as they had obviously been offered.
	The girl tossed her blond hair back, reeling in the enjoyment of been suckled.  She ran her hand thru the thick black mop of hair of her boyfriend, her legs opening a little more, a free hand gripping the boy’s stick and working it into a frenzy.
	The boy took his turn to reel in the deed unto him.  When he leaned back, the girl went down on him; tantalizing his sensitive cock.  She swallowed him whole, expertly again.  The boy cast his eyes to the bleak tormented sky; lightning flashed in his face; a face of pure delight.
	The girl bobbed her head until detecting the pivotal moment.  She pulled up, grinning big.  She then shuffled about and unhitched her skirt piece, shucking it--to reveal the narly fact that she wore no panties, either!
	The girl was in full command.  She straddled the boy and the boy’s schlong quickly disappeared inside her sex.  The boy was no idiot, he gripped the girl’s ass and got with the humping--inasmuch as she humped him!
	Grandpa had had enough of the shenanigans.  He shuffled and ruffled then fluttered off, pulling up for a landing just around the corner from the park.
	The rain storm had made the already dreary town even more dreary and the prospects of seeing/catching anyone out and about were nil.  Not impossible, just nil.  But, there was a young woman of interest.  She wore a beige trench coat, had some legs to her, well poised with an umbrella.  She walked smartly and defiantly.  Grandpa transformed back into human form and stepped out from an alcove of a building;  "Pardon me, miss," he said, genteelly.
	"Fuck off, asshole." the woman said, gruffly.
	Grandpa was ruffled at her sudden harshness and took offense.
	"I only wanted to..." 
	"I know what you want. Wham-Bam-Thank You M’am!  You Shriners are all alike!"
	Grandpa shook his head, he was taken aback at her sudden gruffness, he had hoped for maybe a drink, or a coffee at the local pub just down the block. "You don't understand. I..."
	"Like I said, fuck off!  You suck." The woman said gruffly again, this time in her hand she brought into play a can of mace and a stun gun.
	Grandpa gazed after her a moment, and a strange look came over his face.  "Hmmmm, don’t mind if I do!" he mused.
	His eyes met hers.  She could not break the gaze, she grew a little tense and greatly frightened.  She dropped the mace spray and stun gun, shook her head and then--was totally captivated by the Count’s eyes.
	Count Von Drake led her along the building to the nearest alleyway.
	She was completely submissive as Grandpa worked his finger magic, undoing her trench coat.  beneath there was a knee length dress of emerald green, a gold twisted belt, a pearl necklace with matching earrings.  She was a fetching woman, in her late 20s; tall, too.
	He licked his lips as he watched as the dress was whisked off of her body leaving her nearly exposed to the severe chill of the night air.  It made her nipples perk up and virtually poke thru her soft cottony full coverage bra.  The Count wriggled his fingers and the bra was flung away, too.
	Then slowly--slowly for his sheer delight, her French-cut beige panties slid down her long-long legs.  Grandpa danced a small jig, her pussy was bald!  Her nipples hardened and Grandpa snaked a hand out to touch them, tweaking one and then the other.  He was almost to the point of drooling, from both mouth and cock!
	Once totally naked, he gently moved the woman and placed her against the wall, then; grinning big with delight seething thru his ageded body.  He ran his still gloved hands up and down her nakedness, then--
	Out of his black Tuxedo slacks his prong prodded the woman, her legs were lifted magically so as to allow optimum performance.  She was a high priced call girl, in from the city on vacation.  Grandpa drilled her, filled her, enjoyed her.  The woman pasted to the brick wall thrashed about some but was held by magical restraints.  The foreign object in her money slot did things to her she could not imagine.  She twisted and gyrated and finally gave in--succumbing to the ubiquitous presence of an extraordinary lover.
	The Count gave his all, pumping into her for several minutes before leaving a massive healthy wad of spunk from 350 year old cum producers.  He ahed, farted, came a little more, then engulfed the woman’s breasts.  He leaned back some, gazing at the frapped woman--he drew a finger across her throat.  His beady eyes narrowed.  He understood a little about how his English friend “Jack” had felt during his heydays perusing the darkened streets of London.  There was a strange euphoria unknown that acted as a propellant.  It was more--much more--than a mere sex drive, or lust.
	Then,
	"You're not done yet," he whispered. He tilted her head to one side licked his lips and leaned into her, driving his vampire fangs into her flesh.
	He pressed his clothed body against her nude one.  After withdrawing his fangs from her neck he placed her fingers to the two minute wounds to stop the flow of blood.  In less than a minute the wounds closed.  
	The Count Grandpa Von Drake giggled to himself, then whispered into the woman’s ear,  “Forget.” 
	He hoped to encounter her again, two more “encounters” and he could bring yet another soul into the realm of the dead.  It had been a while since he had done so at last.  Other than being a vampire, he was something of a scientist, a MAD scientist but a scientist nonetheless.  It was this latter affliction that kept him busy and out of the mainstream of perusing the bleak nights of the town.
	Grandpa returned his favorite organ into his slacks and resumed bat posturing and fluttered up to a lamp post.  The woman’s clothing he had magically returned to her person, she clung to the wall a moment, shaking her head to clear it.  She looked around her being very confused, then she retched and gagged before vomiting.
	Thereafter she straightened herself up and decreed never to eat at Smokey Joe’s Bar & Grill again.  She deftly waltzed out of the alley and continued onward towards her motel room two blocks away.
                                               *****

	Winnie opened another panel, her long fingers found a knob she knew by heart.  Her life mate plowed into her love canal, slowly.  His back was arched, eyes shut, he was enjoying himself in a methodical manner.  Winnie turned the knob slowly.  Within her body she felt the slow surgence of electricity.
	Namreh’s eyes popped open, he stared straight ahead before glancing down to his love.  He stared at her, Winnie met his gaze with her coal dead eyes.  Then she turned the knob a little more.  
	There was a “hum” to be heard as the hidden generator elsewhere in the house began to churn more and more.  A faint glow began to envelope Namreh, Winnie moved her legs about his waist, she began to tighten up and twitch uncontrollably.
	She turned the knob some more.
	And more.
	Namreh’s eyes began to flutter.  His pumping action increased, a sickly yellow glow mixed with his normally green skin tone created an odd aura.  For Winnie her death-like skin tone remained the same until Level Six.  At Level Six her skin began to ripple and a curious bluish glow came to her.  Her long butt length super fine hair began to frizz and dance wildly about.
	Namreh was dancing about it, he was locked into position with Winnie’s legs wrapped about his massive frame.  His pumping action was intensifying like the pistons of a locomotive.  The electrical energy flowed and so did their unique love.
 	"Ohhhhhhhhh, Baby," Namreh gasped. 
	"Oh!" Winnie exclaimed as she twitched.
	Namreh held onto Winnie tightly driving deeper and deeper into her body.   At length he began toying with her, although the knob indicator had been turned up to the 9th  position, he pulled most of his cock out of her, then back in again all the way to its hairy hilt. Winnie was meeting each thrust enthusiastically, her hips rocking back and forth under him.  Namreh's thrust-speed increased slightly. Winnie smiled, and increased her pace to accomodate him. 
	Her breathing became shallow; her body tightened.  There were no more clicks/notches on the knob device, they were at the maximum energy output.  The lights of the house flickered, the lights on the street flickered.  Then went out.  The house went dark.
	Winnie rocked her hips under her husband's dynamic thrusts, rubbing her sensitive clit against the base of his huge cock. She was close to orgasm. Namreh was huffing-puffing/puffing-huffing as he continued dynamically to fuck his dear wife; he was a out-and-out steam-engine, thrusting deep into Winnie's cunt. He pushed up to hover above and gleamed down to his demure vamp.  
	Acrid smoke filled the room, burning flesh, searing flesh, burning electrical wires.  Though it was dark w/o electrical lighting, their bodies entwined provided sufficient light; their nudes bodies giving off a bizarre glow.
	
	Portia lay on her bed in the darkness; she had smelt the odor of burning flesh and wires; had heard the ruckus of bed springs, and the loss of electrical lighting gave her what she already knew--her mother and father were seriously going at it.
	Alvin still weighed on her mind.  She fingered her sex, tweaked her nipples and clenched her asshole.  She sighed, she had rushed it--she could have enjoyed him again--and again--and again.  She wasn’t a pro and did not have the expertise in the manner of draining life but keeping it just on the brink of life & death.
	Curiously she wandered if Alvin could be brought back.  Would he be the same?  She didn’t want to make love to a zombie, that was gross!  She figured when her mad scientist grandpa got tired of fucking around on the wing of the town she would ask him about the procedure.
	She listened to the silence.  For the moment--for the moment, it seemed as though her mother and father had “finished” the hellish deed of copulating.  Portia squeezed her nipples harder and began working her cunny into a frenzy itself.  Her grandpa (The Count Von Drake) had tried to make her a lover, a creation like her father was, but with newer more modern technology.  The creation didn’t last and Portia wasn’t enthused.
	But perhaps Alvin could be reanimated.  So long as he wasn’t “zombie-like” she wouldn’t care.

	Winnie's hands roamed his backside, clawing at it with her long maniacal digits.  She then stretched her body outward, arching her back.  She reached back to grab headboard edges.  She pursed her lips, closing her eyes she filled her body with air.  Her hand sought out and found a particular knob inside the open panel of the headboard…
	Hovering above her her lover was locked into a poised position of delight--a broad smile etched on his green slimey face.  Winnie turned the new knob she had found--a small generator-battery, storing some energy for emergency use.  She could think of no other reason for an emergency than what she was enduring.
	Winnie let out a horrific scream; a high-pitched siren as thousands of stored volts of electricity filled her body.  It wasn’t a scream of pain or even discomfort; her body shook violently as the electrical field enveloped her, seethed within her.  She orgasmed. 
	Namreh, began pumping again.  Faster.  Faster.  Faster!
	He was unable to stop.
	Winnie gasped and screamed again. Her contractions slowed and she wrapped her legs and arms about him.  Despite his massive size Winnie could endure his weightish body above her.  But she rolled their bodies to whereas SHE was on top.  Her mate didn’t care, he still pumped madly; Winnie still thrusting, too.
	She arched her back, throwing her head back, her long black hair falling about her nudity.  Namreh smiled with glee and surged himself within her--deeply--deeper.
	Down in the basement near Spot’s cave the generating generator began to whine, a high pitch sort of whine.  It was the backup generator, it began to rock in place and loosened itself from the cement fondation it had been attached to.  It began to sputter sparks and flames, acrid blue and black smoke billowed from the machine; poking his head up from his hovel young Spot giggled and slapped his claws together, his beady yellow eyes enjoyed the firework-lightshow.
	It was shortlived, however; the generator exploded into flames and fizzled to a slow death.
	Smoke billowed from the headboard. Sparks flew all about.
	Namreh's green sweaty balls tightened as finally his cock began to empty and achieve its ultimate goal.  He had cum several times already, but this was the finale cum off.  A blue and green glow swathed the fucking couple. Winnie's hair spread out all in the electrically charged air.
	Winnie had cum, too; she had lost count of just how many times, not that it was important.  But like her husband, the final cum was the finale cum off; deemed to be the best orgasm of their unionship.
	Portia rolled her eyes as her body twitched.  The lights in her room flickered, she heard the outlandish of her mother and father still going at it.  She was a little disgusted and appalled, but then again, intrigued.  She frigged herself into euphoria and dreamed of zombie Alvin.

	Winnie lay nestled under her husband's arm, her naked white body entwined around Namreh's darker, greenish limbs.  There was an afterglow of their lovemaking.  Namreh caressed his wife, slightly feeling of her sweaty sweet ass.  The dildo in her bum hole he removed and replaced it with his finger.  Winnie grinded herself against her love, her love tool.  Namreh consoled her nipples by nipping them.  His cock surged but was “out of order” (for the moment.)  He closed his eyes and his lover lay on him closing hers.

	Count Von Drake fluttered into the manor’s belfry.  He left a messy deposit on the weathered floorboards and bonged his head against the sullen bell.  he cussed it and threatened to put another “crack” in it and then shrink it to the size of a tinker bell.  Thereafter he made his way to his regular perch in the den.  
	He took note of the lack of light and the destroyed generator.
	“Oh no, not again!” he said, “It took my five weeks to repair the last one!”  then, “What are they, rabbits!” he snickered and jeered and then hung from his perch and went to sleep.

	A few blocks down and some over, Teddy Munster was deeply involved with his playmates, specifically Wednesday, Wednesday Addams!

                                                 *******

	“I’ve been watching too much TV.” Chris said to himself.  It was a weird dream to be sure, but--but it had some merit.  It was the manor, that damn manor, Grisly Manor.  He still couldn’t figure if he and Harold had actually gone there or not, or what exactly had happened.  
	He clunked his hand to his head--what was Real, what was Fact, what was fucked up and not real, a dream, a weird messed up fantasy?  He licked his lips and took a toke on a marijuana cigarette he kept hidden for just such freaked situations.  The Munsters he was sure were never like what was in his dream.  Or were they?
	He had never met them and only knew about them from the news stuff.  But--but there was no such thing as vampires--right?  There were no creatures like Namreh Munster, or Winnie.  No such thing as magic.
	But he was reminded about the Pen Flasher.   
	That was different--wasn’t it?
	He sighed, toked, farted, and toyed with cock.
	What was real, what was reality--what was fiction, what was anything!  He didn’t know, he knew that it had woken him up almost screaming.  He got bitched at by his naked friend sleeping with him, Harold.
	Was Harold real?
	Was anyone he knew, Brandy, Suzie, Shelly, his dad?
	He finished off the toke and wrinkled his nose, it hadn’t helped.  He was a little high, but it was a weak joint and didn’t do anything but make him a little hungry.  Disgruntled he plopped into the kitchen and rustled up some pudding and a soda.

                                                 *****

	The following day wasn’t any better for Chris.  The Dream-mare pestered him.  It was weird, just too freaking weird.  So much detail, he couldn’t figure it out.  ‘Too much TV!’ he deemed. 
	He kept the dreammare to himself and busied himself doing actual work, with the chaos of the land settling down the farm was back into production as several larger orchard producers had fallen prey to the radiation fallout, the Mitchell ranch and other smaller independents were now the suppliers for the nation.
	This meant a lot of work and not a lot of time for goofing off.  The trees needed watered and cared for, harvested, and watched.  Machinery needed cared for, repaired, and/or replaced.  It was a tedious pursuit but a worthy one.
	Harold desired (strongly) to boogie back to the Anderson’s, or the Thomas‘, or to Brandy’s, or out to the dude ranch, the Taylors, anybody at all.  But by the time they got free time, it was dark and they were tired.
	Which was okay with Chris, the dreammare of the Munsters bothered him.  He still wrestled with “what was Fact/what was Fiction.”  the Pen Flasher bothered him, too, and he added it to the mix.  He decided that he DID need to get out, to visit those Harold wanted to visit, to touch basis to see--to see--well, to see if they were Fact of Fiction!