Hi, this is my first story in this forum. It's pretty long and starts out slowly, but gets quite explicit later on. Anyway, hope people like it. More chapters coming soon.
PART 1 - THE BAR
Hey there. My name's Audrey. This is the story of messiest fortnight of my life, and it came about because I was sick of my two best friends arguing...
Michelle and Donna. The three of us had been a close-knit trio since we were little kids. We'd shared our deepest secrets, told each other what boys we liked, all of that girlfriend stuff.
Michelle had always been the tallest, most conventionally beautiful of the group. She had a tall, curving body, with blonde hair that fell straight to her shoulders. She always dressed smartly and projected an air of success - which maybe explained why she was currently on the board of directors of a major legal firm.
Donna was shorter, with curly brown hair which she regularly permed. And while this had never been a problem while we were all growing up, lately this physical difference seemed to have been a source of great insecurity to Donna. She dressed drably and hunched her shoulders when she sat. Not that she had any reason to - Donna had a great body and larger breasts than me or Michelle.
Anyway, this all came to a head a few months back, when, after nearly a year of glum single life, Donna picked up a boyfriend. The guy was called Mark: not much in the brains department, and a bit of a cunt personality wise, but he definitely had a well-endowed physique. For a couple of months Donna had some great sex and frustrating conversation, and we got to hear all the juicy details.
And then Michelle stole Mark.
At least that was how Donna put it. Michelle preferred to say that Mark had been coming on to her all night, that she was out at a bar and looking for a good time, that all those things Donna had told them about Mark's sexual prowess had piqued her curiosity - hell, why not try out the goods?
The next morning, she had a crisis of conscience and immediately called up Donna to confess. Donna flipped, swore herself hoarse at Michelle, and confronted Mark later that day. Mark did some swearing of his own, then dumped Donna on the spot.
From here everybody just dug in. Donna absolutely refused to forgive Michelle for what she'd done; and Michelle, who'd been completely open with her best friend, was at first hurt and later angered by Donna's unswervingly judgmental attitude.
I'd done my best to bring the two together: calling them up for hour-long chats about our friendship, childhood memories, relationship advice, that sort of thing. After all, we'd been friends nearly two decades, I didn't want to see us broken up over a loser like Mark. I'd arranged various meetings - at restaurants, people's houses, even parties - and today's was merely the latest. We were at the local pub, it was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and Michelle and Donna were shouting at each other full volume across the table.
"You always take what's not yours," Donna yelled. "What you don't have."
"Bullshit! You don't know how good you've had it. How much I've given up for you." Michelle had gotten so angry by now she was rising in her seat. "You don't know anything."
The other patrons had given up ignoring us and were now openly staring. I just wanted to slink off the face of the earth. I'd never been so embarrassed by my friends. Both of them, so pigheaded and stubborn...
I was getting pissed off.
"You're the most bullheaded person I've ever known," Michelle shouted. "What do you want me to do?"
Donna rose out of her chair. "I don't want you to do anything: I just want to mess you up."
I muttered, "Well, why don't you?"
Wonder of wonders, they stopped arguing and looked at me. "What?" said Donna.
"You mess her up," I said, "and then Michelle messes you up, and then you'll both have it out of your system and we can go back to our normal lives." I said it with that same flat, I-don't-give-a-fuck tone, though some memory was nagging at me at the same time.
"What do you mean, 'mess her up'"? asked Michelle.
Suddenly I remembered it. A wedding we'd been to a few years back - the bride and groom's families hadn't gotten on well, and at the reception, after enough booze had been consumed, a food fight had broken out at the head table. The wedding cake had arrived and before anyone even got a chance to break out the knife cake and icing were being tossed left right and centre. I distinctly remembered the groom's brother picking up a tier of the cake and mashing it into the face of the bride's father.
Everyone else at the reception just sort of watched - none of the other tables had food on them at this stage, and anyway it had been a private argument and we didn't really feel involved. But after the fight was over, the whole mood of the reception changed. Everyone felt more at ease. The tension between the two families seemed to have evaporated in the mess.
And I started thinking hard.
"Well?" said Michelle.
There was a remote chance this might work. And even if it didn't, watching my two friends completely messing each other up would at least be a bit of entertainment after a month's thankless work playing the peacemaker.
"This is what we'll do," I said. "Next Saturday, you both show up at my house. Wearing your best clothes. I'll set an area aside, and we'll have some rules - trivia, or forfeits, or something. We'll use - actually, I'll leave that part as a surprise. And if you two can't be forgiving toward each other after that then, well..."
Michelle had a smirk on her face. "I'm in."
Donna looked more anxious. "I'm not sure. I don't want to ruin any of my clothes."
"Trust me when I say this whole exercise is completely out of my pocket," I said. "Besides, having your clothes ruined will be more than offset by the joy of seeing Michelle in her best clothes, humiliated."
Donna's expression firmed. "Right. Okay, I'm in too."
She and Michelle stared at each other, a little half smile on both of their faces. Both of them too focused on each other to ask what I was planning to do, or what I might be getting out of it.
"Next Saturday. One week from now."
"One week from now," Michelle repeated.
Donna said, "One week from now."
Messy Friendships - Part 1 & 2
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by ghilton » 20 Nov 2007, 12:59
This bit actually has some mess in it! Let me know what you think.
PART 2 - THE KITCHEN
As I left the pub a few minutes later, I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into. It took a few days to dawn on me.
The next couple of days were spent on research.
I still had a cathartic food fight in mind, so I went down to my local supermarket and bought up in bulk. Eggs, in packets of 24. Litre bottles of cream. The biggest cans of creamed corn I could find.
Obviously not all foods were suitable for a food fight: you couldn't do much with a packet of tic-tacs, for instance. I soon found out that deciding what made a good messy food was a very fun imaginative exercise. Milk: was liquid and would show on some clothes very easily. In it went. Syrup: sticky and glutinous and probably very difficult to get out of hair. In went.
Occasionally I'd pick up something like a jar of tomato sauce and think: this stuff reeks. This is too cruel to be used. Then I'd pick up a bucket-sized can.
Treacle, pudding mixture, canned tomatoes, sauces, oils: the purchases went on and on. It took me three trips just to lug everything into the car.
Then I got home and wondered how I should arrange it all.
For a start, it was important that Donna and Michelle messed each other up - I should be involved as little as possible.
A one-on-one free-for-all, all the foods just there and waiting to be picked up, would be problematic: one could dominate the other, be especially vicious. And I was now starting to realize that most of the stuff I'd bought would be best used poured over somebody, rather than hurled violently. And I couldn't see either of them sitting still for their punishment.
So I got out a sketchpad and started writing down ideas. Aluminium pie shells would be good. Buckets with soup ladles. Water balloons full of gunk.
After a couple of hours I screwed up the paper. You can't just engineer a food fight...
Then it came to me. Run it like a messy game show! I could have a list of questions to ask them and if they got one wrong, or their opponent got one right, they got a messy punishment. I could ask them in turn, so the game kept fairly balanced. And if anyone stepped outside the rules and decided to take the initiative, they'd pay a hefty messy forfeit.
While I was thinking this over, another thought came to me: how do they make the slime on those shows? The ones where the losers went into the gunge booth, had a bowlful of colored slime dumped all over them. That stuff'd be perfect.
I went online and found a recipe after a few minutes. The website it came from was pretty weird - I found myself taking an interest in a link labeled 'Galleries', then just printed out the recipe and hit the kitchen.
The recipe called for corn starch, emulsifiers, etc..., all stuff I had in the pantry. I mixed it all up, gave it a good stir with my electric beater, and dipped a finger in to test.
It was far too thick - like cold congealed porridge. I added some water, some red food coloring, and mixed it for a few more minutes. Tested it again with my finger, seemed OK. As I pulled out my finger I looked at how the slime stuck to the skin, sticky but not unpleasant.
Then I decided that I wouldn't be able to get a full sense of how smooth the consistency of the slime was by just dipping in my finger. Had it all mixed properly? What would it be like poured?
I picked up the bowl and swished it around a couple of times. I placed it back on the bench. There was an idea in my head I was doing my best to ignore.
It wasn't working. I knew the only proper way to test this slime was to pour it over myself.
The idea made me nervous and a little breathless. I knew I'd end up messy on Saturday, but still... I suddenly became conscious of my clothing: a cotton blouse over a white t-shirt, and shorts.
I felt my heart beating faster, heard my breath coming a little harder, and realized I was getting excited. What I was about to do: this was naughty.
Quick, before you lose your nerve, I told myself. No time to change to older clothes; I'd just chicken out. I ran to the bathroom, got a mirror and brought it back to the kitchen so I could see the effect of the slime. The kitchen floor was tiled: it would be easy to clean, and again there was no time to lay down plastic.
I gathered up the bowl, sat on the kitchen floor and faced the mirror. Deep breath. I raised the bowl up and started pouring slime over my shorts.
For a moment all I could feel was the weight as slime puddled in my lap. I lifted the bowl out and guided the thin stream of slime over my bare legs. It was runnier than I'd expected. The slime seemed to glide over my skin, rolling where gravity took it, as I coated one knee and then the other, before coming back up the other leg. At the same time I could feel a cold sensation on my groin as the slime started to seep through my shorts.
I took another deep breath, and brought the bowl of slime up to my chest. Eyes fixed on the mirror I watched as I poured slime over my blouse. Slime ran down in ropy pink streaks over my blouse as I felt the material sag with the weight. It was pulling my blouse open and exposing the plain white t-shirt below. I lifted the bowl higher, pouring right over my t-shirt, moving the slime left and right over my breasts. I still had plenty of slime and I kept on pouring, my lap a sodden mess of slime, my t-shirt clinging to the skin and cupping my breasts. You couldn't see it in the mirror but I definitely felt my nipples protruding as they were pinched by the cold.
There was still more slime left, and only one place for it to go.
I raised the bowl directly over my head, watched the mirror, and in one quick motion dumped the lot.
The sensation caught me out: I'd expected it to feel like being drenched with water. Instead the slime umbrellaed off the top of my head, sheeting down so that for a second it was like I was behind a pink waterfall. The slime coated my back, my legs, and rained down on the tiled floor. My hair was a sticky, slime-coated mess, but my face felt mostly dry... at least it did until the slime started dripping down from my hair.
I wiped some slime from my face and gazed at the mirror. I looked like somebody's dessert. Almost every inch of my torso and upper legs were covered in slime. My face was bright pink.
I felt a very strong desire to test more mess on myself.
Gingerly I got to my feet, giggling at the sound of slime dripping from me to the floor. I could feel my slimy clothes clinging tightly to my body. There was a little bit of food left over on the bench, test cases from my earlier brainstorm. Nearest me were two pie shells, loaded with egg whites beaten into meringue. I picked up one and pulled out clumps of meringue with my hands. They felt insubstantial after the slime, but I patted them onto my shoulder and then onto my face, like shaving cream. I took a look at myself in the mirror and giggled some more. I picked up the remaining pie in both hands and pushed it flat onto my face.
The world went dark for a moment, then I blinked my eyes and meringue flicked out of my vision.
Come on, you can make yourself look more ridiculous than this, I told myself. All that I could see close at hand was an open tin of canned tomatoes. I picked it up, sat back down on the floor and poured it all over myself. It mixed in with the slime and meringue to make a truly disgusting mess. The sauce was staining everything.
As I was doing it I started to wake up to the sexual response I was having to the mess. My breathing was harder than ever and my legs felt quivery. Of course once I realized that I knew I had to get even messier, and I dumped the remaining tomato right over my face.
I think that's where it ended, because the strong smell of tomato sauce seemed to bring me out of my trance somewhat. I let the last few drops fall onto me, then set the can down and slowly stood up.
Slowly turning from one side to the other I could only gape at the destruction wreaked on the kitchen. There was stuff on the walls, on the bench, tracked everywhere on the floor... even the mirror was stained. I wiped my feet best I could with a rag, padded to the shower, turned on the hot water and got in, clothes and all.
Several hours later I'd made several more discoveries.
One: cleanup in the shower took an hour alone. I'd have to work out something for when Donna and Michelle were here.
Two: cleanup for the kitchen was more than twice as long. This was gonna need a venue and a lot of plastic...
PART 2 - THE KITCHEN
As I left the pub a few minutes later, I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into. It took a few days to dawn on me.
The next couple of days were spent on research.
I still had a cathartic food fight in mind, so I went down to my local supermarket and bought up in bulk. Eggs, in packets of 24. Litre bottles of cream. The biggest cans of creamed corn I could find.
Obviously not all foods were suitable for a food fight: you couldn't do much with a packet of tic-tacs, for instance. I soon found out that deciding what made a good messy food was a very fun imaginative exercise. Milk: was liquid and would show on some clothes very easily. In it went. Syrup: sticky and glutinous and probably very difficult to get out of hair. In went.
Occasionally I'd pick up something like a jar of tomato sauce and think: this stuff reeks. This is too cruel to be used. Then I'd pick up a bucket-sized can.
Treacle, pudding mixture, canned tomatoes, sauces, oils: the purchases went on and on. It took me three trips just to lug everything into the car.
Then I got home and wondered how I should arrange it all.
For a start, it was important that Donna and Michelle messed each other up - I should be involved as little as possible.
A one-on-one free-for-all, all the foods just there and waiting to be picked up, would be problematic: one could dominate the other, be especially vicious. And I was now starting to realize that most of the stuff I'd bought would be best used poured over somebody, rather than hurled violently. And I couldn't see either of them sitting still for their punishment.
So I got out a sketchpad and started writing down ideas. Aluminium pie shells would be good. Buckets with soup ladles. Water balloons full of gunk.
After a couple of hours I screwed up the paper. You can't just engineer a food fight...
Then it came to me. Run it like a messy game show! I could have a list of questions to ask them and if they got one wrong, or their opponent got one right, they got a messy punishment. I could ask them in turn, so the game kept fairly balanced. And if anyone stepped outside the rules and decided to take the initiative, they'd pay a hefty messy forfeit.
While I was thinking this over, another thought came to me: how do they make the slime on those shows? The ones where the losers went into the gunge booth, had a bowlful of colored slime dumped all over them. That stuff'd be perfect.
I went online and found a recipe after a few minutes. The website it came from was pretty weird - I found myself taking an interest in a link labeled 'Galleries', then just printed out the recipe and hit the kitchen.
The recipe called for corn starch, emulsifiers, etc..., all stuff I had in the pantry. I mixed it all up, gave it a good stir with my electric beater, and dipped a finger in to test.
It was far too thick - like cold congealed porridge. I added some water, some red food coloring, and mixed it for a few more minutes. Tested it again with my finger, seemed OK. As I pulled out my finger I looked at how the slime stuck to the skin, sticky but not unpleasant.
Then I decided that I wouldn't be able to get a full sense of how smooth the consistency of the slime was by just dipping in my finger. Had it all mixed properly? What would it be like poured?
I picked up the bowl and swished it around a couple of times. I placed it back on the bench. There was an idea in my head I was doing my best to ignore.
It wasn't working. I knew the only proper way to test this slime was to pour it over myself.
The idea made me nervous and a little breathless. I knew I'd end up messy on Saturday, but still... I suddenly became conscious of my clothing: a cotton blouse over a white t-shirt, and shorts.
I felt my heart beating faster, heard my breath coming a little harder, and realized I was getting excited. What I was about to do: this was naughty.
Quick, before you lose your nerve, I told myself. No time to change to older clothes; I'd just chicken out. I ran to the bathroom, got a mirror and brought it back to the kitchen so I could see the effect of the slime. The kitchen floor was tiled: it would be easy to clean, and again there was no time to lay down plastic.
I gathered up the bowl, sat on the kitchen floor and faced the mirror. Deep breath. I raised the bowl up and started pouring slime over my shorts.
For a moment all I could feel was the weight as slime puddled in my lap. I lifted the bowl out and guided the thin stream of slime over my bare legs. It was runnier than I'd expected. The slime seemed to glide over my skin, rolling where gravity took it, as I coated one knee and then the other, before coming back up the other leg. At the same time I could feel a cold sensation on my groin as the slime started to seep through my shorts.
I took another deep breath, and brought the bowl of slime up to my chest. Eyes fixed on the mirror I watched as I poured slime over my blouse. Slime ran down in ropy pink streaks over my blouse as I felt the material sag with the weight. It was pulling my blouse open and exposing the plain white t-shirt below. I lifted the bowl higher, pouring right over my t-shirt, moving the slime left and right over my breasts. I still had plenty of slime and I kept on pouring, my lap a sodden mess of slime, my t-shirt clinging to the skin and cupping my breasts. You couldn't see it in the mirror but I definitely felt my nipples protruding as they were pinched by the cold.
There was still more slime left, and only one place for it to go.
I raised the bowl directly over my head, watched the mirror, and in one quick motion dumped the lot.
The sensation caught me out: I'd expected it to feel like being drenched with water. Instead the slime umbrellaed off the top of my head, sheeting down so that for a second it was like I was behind a pink waterfall. The slime coated my back, my legs, and rained down on the tiled floor. My hair was a sticky, slime-coated mess, but my face felt mostly dry... at least it did until the slime started dripping down from my hair.
I wiped some slime from my face and gazed at the mirror. I looked like somebody's dessert. Almost every inch of my torso and upper legs were covered in slime. My face was bright pink.
I felt a very strong desire to test more mess on myself.
Gingerly I got to my feet, giggling at the sound of slime dripping from me to the floor. I could feel my slimy clothes clinging tightly to my body. There was a little bit of food left over on the bench, test cases from my earlier brainstorm. Nearest me were two pie shells, loaded with egg whites beaten into meringue. I picked up one and pulled out clumps of meringue with my hands. They felt insubstantial after the slime, but I patted them onto my shoulder and then onto my face, like shaving cream. I took a look at myself in the mirror and giggled some more. I picked up the remaining pie in both hands and pushed it flat onto my face.
The world went dark for a moment, then I blinked my eyes and meringue flicked out of my vision.
Come on, you can make yourself look more ridiculous than this, I told myself. All that I could see close at hand was an open tin of canned tomatoes. I picked it up, sat back down on the floor and poured it all over myself. It mixed in with the slime and meringue to make a truly disgusting mess. The sauce was staining everything.
As I was doing it I started to wake up to the sexual response I was having to the mess. My breathing was harder than ever and my legs felt quivery. Of course once I realized that I knew I had to get even messier, and I dumped the remaining tomato right over my face.
I think that's where it ended, because the strong smell of tomato sauce seemed to bring me out of my trance somewhat. I let the last few drops fall onto me, then set the can down and slowly stood up.
Slowly turning from one side to the other I could only gape at the destruction wreaked on the kitchen. There was stuff on the walls, on the bench, tracked everywhere on the floor... even the mirror was stained. I wiped my feet best I could with a rag, padded to the shower, turned on the hot water and got in, clothes and all.
Several hours later I'd made several more discoveries.
One: cleanup in the shower took an hour alone. I'd have to work out something for when Donna and Michelle were here.
Two: cleanup for the kitchen was more than twice as long. This was gonna need a venue and a lot of plastic...
by captain sensible » 21 Nov 2007, 00:54
Seeing as you were so complimentary about my story, I'll enjoy being the first to say: Good start, and I'm looking forward to finding out what happens next...
"I didn't know we had a king. I thought we were an autonomous collective."
- captain sensible
- Posts: 77 [ View ]
- Joined: 19 Jun 2007, 16:24
- Location: Plymouth, UK
by captain sensible » 21 Nov 2007, 00:55
Seeing as you were so complimentary about my story, I'll enjoy being the first to say: Good start, and I'm looking forward to finding out what happens next...
"I didn't know we had a king. I thought we were an autonomous collective."
- captain sensible
- Posts: 77 [ View ]
- Joined: 19 Jun 2007, 16:24
- Location: Plymouth, UK
by jammed06 » 21 Nov 2007, 17:10
finally after all the fourm problems i had yesterday i was actually in the middle of replying to this story. its brilliant left me wanting more. which cant be that bad 
james
james
I've upgraded to a "Woody Status" could you?
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