Goldicock: A childrens story for adults. PART I

Work for the week had finally come to an end, and Goldicock, the fair haired hero of the tale, was anxious for some action.  Determined to bed with a companion, only for the evening of course, he makes his way through the onslaught of traffic to his humble abode.  He showers, shaves, changes into his most impressive street garb, and douses himself with a thick layer of cologne, named simply Eau Du Toilet (please, it's the French pronounciation, let's not be uncouth here).  After completing his tasks, Goldicock hops back into his Mazda and heads for the latest happening bar, The Grizzly Gutter (dive bar-sounding names are very happening).  As the sunlight fades, he parks his car just outside the bar, a perfect place for the ultra-classy, well-to-do, weekend warrior that he is.  He stands by the bouncer and quietly slips him a 50 note and the bouncer promptly waves him inside.  What graced his sight next, he could scarcely conceive.  An endless sea of ocean that harkened him to the eternal stream of cars from rush hour, all for the taking.  A brightly lit dance floor adjacent to a bar stocked so well it keep our army occupied and fully sloshed for a month.  Once the wash of euphoria had drained from his mind, Goldicock's eyes locked onto three likely candidates for his evening's plans.  Three luscious women stand seductively by the barman.  Wasting no time Goldicock springs at his opportunity and greets the first woman with a firm, yet playful hello.
   The first woman, a woman marginally taller than he with jade green eyes and piercings sparsely stabbed into her cranium, she constantly eyes Goldicock as they continue in their chat.  Goldicock knows that he struck gold on his first attempt.  Victory is imminent, all he needs to do now is subtly invite her back to his place for a bit of fun.  Although shot down on his attempt for a sexual escapade for the evening, he easily secures her number and a date the following night.  Feeling somewhat defeated, Goldicock heads home to attend to his needs alone.  He finally bunks down in his spacious, lonely bed for the evening, his head aflutter with excitement for the prospect of the morrow's entertainment.
   Waking up feeling refreshed, Goldicock notes the time is two in the afternoon, the perfect time to begin his preparations.  He agreed to meet his date at the happening restaurant down the street from the Grizzly Gutter, named simply Trashbin.  He executes his morning, or in this case, mid-afternoon routine with deadly precision; punctuality is the bedfellow of bunking down, in his mind.  By the time he has his image just so, it is nearly time to pick up his date.  Tossing on his flashiest jacket, he snatches his keys and swiftly drives to his first destination.  Honking the horn twice, a signal agreed upon as the denotation of his arrival, not a minute passes and the woman steps towards his chariot with an alluring gait.  Dressed in a dress that is made more of her own skin than any real fabric, a small twich emanates from Goldicock's lower regions when she bends down to open the door.  He assumes this attire is a good sign, revealing dress always shows a peak level of interest.  Wasting no time, Goldicock hammers the gas and speeds off to Trashbin.  Mere minutes after they leave her apartment building they are parked and at the entrance, awaiting their seats.  He uses this time to make further idle chit-chat with hs date; he wants to appear as interested in her as a person, and not just her body, to further his chances of a carnal convergence.  They finally take their seats and order food and drink.  As the night and drink tally further, it seems ever more apparent to Goldicock that his date would like nothing more than to be ravaged by his mighty weapon.  Forgoing deserts and coffee, Goldicock instead resolved to take his date back home, and assume that he would gain entry, in more ways than one.  Having finally arrived at her apartment, he puts his car in park and looks deeply into the woman's eyes.  Without hesitation, she requests his company for the evening, Goldicock has to subdue the overwhelming excitement that wells up from within; he must not appear overly excited as to appear desperate, after all.  Hastily asking the waitress for the check, he throws down his cash as if it were covered in feces.  The pair now speed off to fulfill Goldicock's carnal desires, or so he hopes.  Reaching her apartment building, she unlocks the door and guides him to her place.  The pair head immediately for the bedroom where they begin to set the mood; they kiss passionately and begin disrobing one another.  Once fully nude, the woman walks over to her bureau and asks Goldicock if he liked things a little kinky.  Goldicock, more than willing to try anything, replied in the affirmative, only to meet face to face with a full body-tight gimp suit.  The pungent smell tell him of her previous sexual encounters and the desperate washing it so sorely needed.  She then proceeds to pull out a giant paddle, this bureau must have belonged to Mary Poppins, he thinks.  It looks as though he has no choice, Goldicock dons the suit and is then beaten senseless with the paddle as she asks him who her bitch is.  The night only got worse from their, but the details will be spared.  As soon as his torture drew to a close, he thanked her for a lovely evening but he really had to leave because he needed to be at work early.  Although the woman refused to listen, Goldicock finally slips out when she begins to dream.  He can only hope next week's girl will be less violent.

Times Long Past [Incomplete]

    I watch a single yellow leaf make its decent from the tree it once called home.  Beyond the seemingly unending  grove of trees, I happen upon a peculiar site.  A solitary, lonely house, dilapidated from years of harsh and unforgiving weather.  The paint is faded and cracked on its melancholy blue exterior.  Its shingles worm from an unrelenting onslaught from Mother Nature's seasonal furies.  As I scan my surroundings further, I see no obvious pathway leading into the woods.  It seems this refuge was abandoned long ago by its inhabitants.  I continue onward, hearing the faint groaning of the foundation; distant cries urging me closer.  When I finally take my first step onto the run down porch, my hand loosely grips the ghost of a banister.  It runs over the course texture as each footstep causes creaky wails of joy from the steps, they seem to welcome my presence. I notice a peculiar shape from my periphery, turn my head, and see the rotten remains of a rocking chair.  Although, unable to rock any longer, I still see it tilting back and forth as an elderly gentleman watches children playing in the yard, while he smokes on his pipe.  I choose not to linger too long on the porch, the din from within the house requires my immediate attention.  As I reach the door, a sudden doubt washes over me.  Just as I begin to turn around and abandon my exploration, a cacophonous squeak from within pleads I come inside.  Immediately, all doubt leaves me and I return to the door; a gate at the threshold of the past.  My hand meets the cold, rough doorknob.  While it now shows years of rust and grime, the grandeur it once proudly displayed glimpses through.  With an appreciative screech, the door swings open.  Greeted by a hallway dimly lit by the large windows covered with thick layers of dust, a rush of air gently pushes me forward.  At my feet, a frayed carpet indifferently requests that I remove my shoes.  Yet, it knows of its disrepair and cuts itself short.  I walk across the carpet and come to a crossroad.  On the right, a set of barren stairs beckon me upward.  On the left, a hallway leading to a void of darkness attempt to coax me further.  Stopping to consider, Robert Frost wells up in my mind.  However, these thoughts are quickly tossed asunder by the voice of reason.  "When you have all the time in the world, why not take both paths?"  I pull out my cell phone to try to light my journey into the abyss hallway, the upper floor can wait for me.  The dull light emanating from my cellphone barely lights my way.  Moving the light around, I spot a continuous set of scenes, barely discernible from years of deterioration, which are then punctuated with a portrait.  Several sets of gloomy eyes softly gaze at me from the wall.  I bring my light closer to inspect the owners of the stares.  A couple now gaze forlornly into the distance, now avoiding my eyes.  The woman, seated in front of her partner, showcases years of strife; each wrinkle on her face tells a story of her struggles.  Her partner, who stands faithfully behind her with an air of pride, almost hides the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  A long and winding scar displays his valor boastfully.  Entranced by this painting, moments meld and I begin to lose task until a fit of moans from the house beseeches me to give it the same affection once more.  Continuing forward the hallway's unwavering path, an opening in the wall invites me inside.  An expansive  room furnished with a scuffed wooden floor, and a piano in one corner.  Enormous windows allow little light to seep through, although still enough to add a vague atmosphere.  My steps echo off the walls, and the piano softly accompanies my steps in time.  As the tempo picks up pace, party-goers fill the room dancing, smiling, and laughing; the room filling up with warmth all the while.  I snap to reality as I approach a wall, streaked wallpaper showing the tears shed from its desolation.  Slowly trudging out of the room, I continue my sojourn.

The Virgin Voyage. AKA: The Dungeon Chronicles

Into the deadly dungeons two souls sent on a quest from their deity.  They venture to reclaim the prized amulet from the evil, and most powerful wizard, Mr. Bun.  We join an orc shaman alongside a fellow orcish barbarian.  Unbeknownst to them, the Master of Ceremonies has something special in store for these two wayward adventurers.  Walking through a dimly lit hallway in front of them appears a minotaur, a testament to how far they have come in their travels.  Thinking quickly, the shaman mumbles a few enchantments, and fires a ray of sleep at his foe.  Tumbling to the ground in a heap of snores, the minotaur is now vulnerable to the barbarian's mighty battle axe.  Setting to work, the barbarian eviscerates the minotaur with one precise slice to the gut, the barbarian -
   "I have a name, you know!"
   "Excuse me?" Asked the Ethereal voice.
   "I do have a name, I'm not just some random barbarian, I'm Bung the Basher and I'd like to be known as such!" The once unknown barbarian gruffly grumbles.
   "Yeah, and I've gots a name too, it's Sodnip the Shaman, and I would like to be known from here on by that name!"  The little shaman squeaked.
   The voice booms, "You know, you two are very well spoken for Orcs."
   In unison, they answer, "Well, we went to finishing school, not all orcs are boorish morons!"
   "Right then, well I'll continue with my story," the befuddled voice quips.
   Having defeated their foe, Bung and Sodnip made their way to the end of the dimly lit hallway.  They come upon a set of stairs heading downwards.  Armor clanking and rustling as they quickly bound downwards, a beautiful oasis awaits them at the bottom.
   "Oh boy!  I could really go for a swim right about now," Bung shouts as gleefully as an orc can while he sprints towards the water.
   "Bung!  Take heed, there may be traps about on this floor!" Sodnip squawks.  However, his cries were in vain, for just as he finished his sentence, and Bung had removed his cloak of magic resistance, Bung steps on a now glowing red square.
   As a bright green smoke billows around him, Bung could only shout out, "Oh, bugger all," for he instantly knew that he hit the most feared trap of them all, the polymorph trap!  Sodnip quickly scans the cloud that envelopes Bung, but sees nothing.  After a short time, the smoke clears and flopping before Sodnip lays the once proud orc, now reduced to a humble eel.  Sodnip walks up to Bung and snidely remarks,
   "Told you so."
   In a fit of gasps Bung finally manages to whimper, "Help!  Toss me in the water you stupid sod!"  Sodnip, groans as he picks up his slippery companion and heads for the shore of the water.  Reaching the shore, eely companion in hand, he feels the slow realization that a slippery tentacle has secured a grasp around his leg.  Sodnip looks just to his left and sees a giant squid pulling him ever closer towards its fearsome beak.  Knowing he was all out of mana, and having no readily identifiable tools to aid him, Sodnip takes the only hope for survival, a brilliant blue potion, and quaffs it.
   Whisps of vapor begin to surround him, knowing full well what he just consumed Sodnip mutters,
   "Well, this is good and bad...  A polymorph potion, silly me."
   The vapors violently whip around his now morphing body.  His extremitites become fins, his face juts out to a point, and rows of jagged white teeth emerge from his widening mouth.  Using his now shark form, Sodnip bites through the tentacle, and the squid reels from the pain.  A small victory, but is little comfort to Sodnip.  The squid now gone, Bung wriggles up next to Sodnip the shark, and through heavy breaths, or whatever eels do in lieu of breathing, gasped, "Well, at least you haven't been eaten!"
    Annoyed, Sodnip notes "Yes.... But, how exactly are we supposed to get this amulet our God wanted so badly if we don't even have apposable thumbs, let alone leave this water!?"
     "Don't worry, in school I read many old fables and I know that we orcs-turned-sea creatures can be very resourceful.  So, I'm sure we'll think of something!"
    After much deliberation, they conclude that the spells must wear off eventually, and would resume their quest once they returned to their natural forms.  However, the Master of Ceremonies decided a different fate for the two of them.  They were to spend an eternity in the dungeons, protecting the amulet from other would-be adventurers unfortunate enough to be sent on the same quest.