It’s Alive
S.L. Carpenter
Copyright 2013, S.L. Carpenter
Cover Art copyright 2013, S.L. Carpenter
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my friend and partner in crime, Sahara Kelly.
She reminded me that I haven’t really played with characters and gone crazy in a while. Thank you.
I would also like to thank all the people that still read my brand of weirdness.
You fans are the best and coming up to me and remembering something I wrote that made you laugh touches me in all my special places.
Prologue
The lights flickered and popped. Electric wires dangled from the ceiling and smoke rose from the large tub of water in the center of the room.
A loud thud echoed in the room and a wet hand rose from the fiberglass bath and waved, flailing frantically in the air. The fingers grabbed at the rim and as the water dripped to the floor a woman’s voice rang out.
“Oh my fucking God…it worked. It’s alive !”
Chapter One
The constant humming echoed in the dark room. Occasionally it was muffled and then it would hum louder—followed by a moan, just above a whisper. The hum got slower and slower until it fluttered to silence.
“Damn, son of a bitch, just like a man. Thee batteries are dead again.”
Mary popped her head up from beneath the blanket and shook the long dark, flesh-toned vibrator with the little clit massage attachment and lifelike throbbing action. It buzzed and chirped a couple times then died again.
“ Fuck. ” She threw the toy into her nightstand and rummaged around in the drawer looking for something else. There was an array of devices alongside the vibrator. Kitchen utensils, a spatula, hand puppets, a rubber duck squeak toy, some furry handcuffs next to a large jar of petroleum jelly, and a feather duster.
Nothing would work. She had an itch that needed scratching and only a good dose of long and hard man-meat would do the job, it so she decided to go find some. Batteries would be cheaper and less of a hassle, but sometimes getting laid had to be done properly to curb a woman’s appetite. Even if it meant she had to sleep in the wet spot.
She couldn’t lie in bed anymore, being this frustrated and frisky. She was still grumpy that the batteries died in her expensive vibrator at the same time all the other batteries in the house had passed on—from overuse.
Sighing, she acknowledged that she’d never liked the whole dating and bar scene. It usually meant that the men would all be jockeying for position on the stud-meter and the women all wanted to be hit on without letting the men think they were easy.
She didn’t give a shit. She was horny, and she didn’t want to settle for just any man lingering around the bar in a depressed state of self-doubt. She would prefer the one who could fuck like a pornstar.
The pickings were slim at the local bar. Mary wasn’t a regular but could pick the douche-bags a mile away with her loser-magnet. She seemed to always be attracted to losers, so if she saw a guy and was attracted to him, bingo—he was a loser.
She knew she was an attractive woman...five foot eight inches of great curves. Some were paid for, a perfect set. And she was aware she radiated an aura of confidence that came from knowing she was smarter than most people around her.
Being a blonde had made it harder for her in school, because her peers saw blonde and thought she was dumb. Most students in her classes had no idea she was a genius. Comparisons to many brilliant minds of science and medical practice icons became routine in conversations and recommendations. Her testing scores were off the charts. She was a lethal combination of brains and a smoking hot body.
After all of her schooling and hard work, she ended up as Chief Operating Officer at the city morgue. She never had problems being around the dead, or other things associated with her job. But she spent a lot of time alone which only
S.L. Carpenter
Copyright 2013, S.L. Carpenter
Cover Art copyright 2013, S.L. Carpenter
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my friend and partner in crime, Sahara Kelly.
She reminded me that I haven’t really played with characters and gone crazy in a while. Thank you.
I would also like to thank all the people that still read my brand of weirdness.
You fans are the best and coming up to me and remembering something I wrote that made you laugh touches me in all my special places.
Prologue
The lights flickered and popped. Electric wires dangled from the ceiling and smoke rose from the large tub of water in the center of the room.
A loud thud echoed in the room and a wet hand rose from the fiberglass bath and waved, flailing frantically in the air. The fingers grabbed at the rim and as the water dripped to the floor a woman’s voice rang out.
“Oh my fucking God…it worked. It’s alive !”
Chapter One
The constant humming echoed in the dark room. Occasionally it was muffled and then it would hum louder—followed by a moan, just above a whisper. The hum got slower and slower until it fluttered to silence.
“Damn, son of a bitch, just like a man. Thee batteries are dead again.”
Mary popped her head up from beneath the blanket and shook the long dark, flesh-toned vibrator with the little clit massage attachment and lifelike throbbing action. It buzzed and chirped a couple times then died again.
“ Fuck. ” She threw the toy into her nightstand and rummaged around in the drawer looking for something else. There was an array of devices alongside the vibrator. Kitchen utensils, a spatula, hand puppets, a rubber duck squeak toy, some furry handcuffs next to a large jar of petroleum jelly, and a feather duster.
Nothing would work. She had an itch that needed scratching and only a good dose of long and hard man-meat would do the job, it so she decided to go find some. Batteries would be cheaper and less of a hassle, but sometimes getting laid had to be done properly to curb a woman’s appetite. Even if it meant she had to sleep in the wet spot.
She couldn’t lie in bed anymore, being this frustrated and frisky. She was still grumpy that the batteries died in her expensive vibrator at the same time all the other batteries in the house had passed on—from overuse.
Sighing, she acknowledged that she’d never liked the whole dating and bar scene. It usually meant that the men would all be jockeying for position on the stud-meter and the women all wanted to be hit on without letting the men think they were easy.
She didn’t give a shit. She was horny, and she didn’t want to settle for just any man lingering around the bar in a depressed state of self-doubt. She would prefer the one who could fuck like a pornstar.
The pickings were slim at the local bar. Mary wasn’t a regular but could pick the douche-bags a mile away with her loser-magnet. She seemed to always be attracted to losers, so if she saw a guy and was attracted to him, bingo—he was a loser.
She knew she was an attractive woman...five foot eight inches of great curves. Some were paid for, a perfect set. And she was aware she radiated an aura of confidence that came from knowing she was smarter than most people around her.
Being a blonde had made it harder for her in school, because her peers saw blonde and thought she was dumb. Most students in her classes had no idea she was a genius. Comparisons to many brilliant minds of science and medical practice icons became routine in conversations and recommendations. Her testing scores were off the charts. She was a lethal combination of brains and a smoking hot body.
After all of her schooling and hard work, she ended up as Chief Operating Officer at the city morgue. She never had problems being around the dead, or other things associated with her job. But she spent a lot of time alone which only
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