Adam Is Freaking Out Right Now

I recently attended the Bridgetown Comedy Festival in Portland, Oregon which was, as always, an absolute blast. Every show that I did was tonzofun but one show in particular stood out: Competitive Erotic Fan Fiction. I’ll explain what that means for those who have no idea, because I was once like you. Apparently, in the impossibly absurd and nerdy realm of the internet, there exists a medium called Fan Fiction. Fan Fiction is what happens when super obsessive, die-hard fans of a particular program or book or movie decide they’re going to write their own piece of fiction, using those same characters from their beloved choice. Huge fan of “Full House?” You write a piece featuring Uncle Jesse and Kimmy Gibbler. Into Star Trek? Write some Captain Kirk and Spock prose. No one will judge you in the world of Fan Fiction, it’s simply the natural bi-product of being picked last for everything ever.

Competitive Erotic Fan Fiction, then, is exactly what it sounds like. The brain-child of my good friend and sworn mortal enemy Bryan Cook, the show has comics write erotic fan fiction, read said fan fiction before a crowd and then the audience votes on which story they liked the best. Bryan asked me to be a part of the show and the rest is history. Perverted, hilarious history. The show was a smash hit, one of the best, most talked about shows of the festival and my hat goes off to Bryan Cook for the concept. Here, then, is my entry which I read at the show, a tale from one of my favorite shows, “Friday Night Lights.” Please enjoy. And a warning: this is not for the feint of heart. It is, however, for the strong of dick.

The lights had long been extinguished at Texas Stadium on the state’s 5A High School Football Championship game, but in the visitors locker room a team of despondent, taut, nubile, inner-city, young football players refused to leave. By “inner-city” I mean that they were black. A team of despondent, taut, nubile, black young football players with huge dicks refused to leave. They just couldn’t. They were still in too great of shock. They’d had one hell of a season, these East Dillon Lions, Coach Eric Taylor had served not only as an instructor, but as a mentor, as a father figure and helped them all overcome so much – problems with the law, gangs, drug-addict mothers, absentee fathers, those dickhead, rich Dillon Panthers across town, and their shit-head QB Joe McCoy. Fuck that little Joe McCoy. Coach Taylor had steered them through all of it with his mantra, “Clear Eyes, Full Heart, Can’t Lose.” But now they had lost, on the biggest stage in all of Texas nonetheless.

It just didn’t seem fair.

“Hey y’all!” Tami Taylor intoned in her buoyant, Southern drawl as she walked in through the locker room doors. Her massive flesh pendulums heaved against the thin, wet silk of her game-day blouse. It was still moist from the downpour that had dominated the second half. So was her hair. Her lips. Her skirt. Her vagina. That skirt clung to her thick thighs stubbornly, climbing towards aforementioned vagish with every step. She coyly pretended to pull the skirt back down again but she knew what she was doing. Tami Taylor always knew what she was doing.

The players were shocked to see her. Many of them ducked for cover, clad as they were only in towels, having just returned from the showers where they washed their giant, black, game-day cocks.

“Now I know y’all are feeling pretty low right now,” Tami drawled. “But I want you to know that y’all played a great game.”

A few rolled their eyes. Correspondingly, Tami rolled her tongue around the O of her pursed lips.

“Still, Coach Taylor and I have always believed actions speak louder than words…”

She slowly began unbuttoning her blouse. Across the room, already large pythons swelled to anacondas. None of the players knew what to do. This was Tami Taylor, after all, not just Coach’s wife but their school’s guidance counselor. This was no end zone. If they crossed this line there would be consequences beyond six points.

Tami began playing with her giant breasts, exchanging lingering eye-contact with every boy in the room and brazenly listing nouns she found to be like her breasts, mouthing words like “bowling balls” “cantaloupes,” once “jugs like you would play in a back-woods jug band” which the boys found oddly specific but kind of accurate when viewed from the side. Still none of them acted, as she pinched and pulled at her areola, occasionally lofting a giant mammary into her own mouth, and sucking feverishly.

“Oh come on,” Tami protested, bitchily. “Are you boys really gonna be losers twice tonight?”

Fucking dis!

With that she dropped her wet skirt and stood before them, completely naked. Huge, awesome 80’s bush. There she was, in all her glory, Coach’s wife. Their guidance-counselor. Tami Taylor: fuck-siren

Vince Howard was the first to take the field. QB 5. Born leader. He took the ball like the First Team All State player that he was. Tami, in turn, received him like the innumerable crack wide-receivers her husband had coached. Eric wasn’t the only Taylor who knew how to take a few yards. Never ones to let their QB do battle alone, the other boys joined in with fervor, a zealous drive matched only by Tami Taylor, who showed an insatiability that years later, when they were locked in their loveless marriages, with blown-out knees and backs and failed NFL dreams and bills they couldn’t pay, every young man in that locker room would remember with appalling clarity. She always had been good at multi-tasking and this tryst in the locker room was no exception. Each of her hands snapped around a cock like a Lego figurine around a sword. Her mouth, filled with two, three swollen members at a time, while her vagina, pucker-hole and the space between her Texas tits proved fertile nesting grounds for migratory dicks. Tami Taylor made sure every young second-place player in that locker room was satisfied. They, in turn, treated her orifices like a whack-a-mole.

In a way all of East Dillon, Texas grew up that day. As Tony Lucca’s cover of Daniel Johnston’s “Devil Town” blared over sweeping, hazily lit cinematography that the series had become so renowned for, we saw Tim Riggins, crushing beer cans on his forehead, but sensitively, while four, maybe even five just-turned-18-year-old-seniors took turns sucking his dick. He looked out over a green, Texas field, pensively. “Texas Forever,” he said to no one in particular. We saw Landry, now a freshman at Rice University, tying a belt around his neck and dropping his pants, as he was finding new, more adult ways of jerking off in his college dorm room. Match cut to a shot of Laila Garrity fingering herself like a sex-crazed fucking lunatic. Ditto Tyra Collette. God, why would they do that? It seems so superfluous; we hadn’t seen those characters in so many episodes! Still it’s nice to catch up with those characters, and a sweet move by the creators to then match cut to virtually every good-looking girl that’s ever been on the show, lying in their beds fingering themselves, except for the ones having insane lezbo strap-on sessions in college dormitories, attacking new lovers with aplomb and then lifting them off the bed and fucking them while walking across the room so that the duos formed human plus signs.

So nice to see all those characters again.

And as the song swells to a crescendo we see the football players putting their clothes back on, and Tami wiping the cubic gallon of cinnamon roll icing off her face and we know that these boys will leave this locker room men, and never forget the best day of their life. The day they lost the state championship, but the day they won all the glory.

Just then Tami’s daughter, Julie Taylor, enters the locker room. She’s fed up with that pussy Matt Saracen. She’s divorcing him. She wants to stay in Texas. She wants to be like her mom. So she drops her skimpy sun-dress. Her tits are also enormous. She too is rocking a huge, awesome 80’s bush. She has become a woman. Just like her mom. Tami smiles and nods, still dripping donut glaze from her mouth. It’s go time. Round two.

The camera zooms in on her lips, a close-up. She whispers.

“Clear eyes. Full heart. Can’t lose.”

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 18th, 2012 at 12:30 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.