Festival Festivities

Okay, so it's Saturday.

I was tired, man. I also still owe you the tear-down of my own horrible Krystal porn. It's coming. Don't be a hater, maaaannn.


We're actually catching up to more recent work, now. This isn't quite chronologically the next thing I wrote, but I already destroyed that with the Krystal nonsense, anyway.

I don't have a whole lot to say about this, except that the species is again borrowed from the lovely work of *morningstar located at http://gerbilfat.tumblr.com/. Specifically, this species:

And again, it spun off from an RP. I'm a master at perverting the cleanly, what can I say?

This is the first of probably many stories with this character set. I'm almost finished with the second one. Here's a snippet to whet your palette:

Nefil watched his older brother whisper, but the words were drowned out by song. Then he watched Nali punch his brother in the shoulder.

“Jonet!” she squeaked, indignant. “She’s sacred!” She followed the first punch with another, then another, but she couldn’t stop herself from grinning as she pummeled the older boy.

“Hey, hey, stop! I can’t help it! Stooop!”

After a final punch for good measure, she shook her head with a giggle. “You’re a dirty heathen. I don’t know why I invite you over.”

Jonet smirked. “Because you like it.”

With a shake of her head, Nali did her best to look angry. “Not at all. You’re terrible.” She leaned back until she was halfway lying on Nefil, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Jonet. “You drag your brother here and leave him all alone with some stranger, then you go saying inappropriate things about the deer spirit. You know what? I’m gonna be friends with Nefil, instead.” Her head dropped backwards, until she was leaning over the younger brother’s arm and looking him in the eyes. “How would you like that, Nefil? Want to be friends? I’m nice to my friends, you know.”

Nefil found himself caught between a giggle and a blush. Her voice was sending tingles through his belly and fingertips, which was definitely weird and definitely hadn’t ever happened before. How could words do that? He decided it must be the tea. He drooped his face over Nali’s and gave her a big grin. “Sure. You gave me tea. We can be friends.”

Nali smirked back. One of her hands trailed up Nefil’s neck, fingertips gracing his cheek and ear before coming to rest on the back of his head. And then in a single, sudden motion, she drew her lips toward his and pulled, forcing his face into hers.

Nefil’s eyes grew wide, then fell firmly closed, a soft gasp leaving his throat as Nali bit his lip. He pressed back, his lips groping blindly, a novice motion that would have embarrassed him without so much tea.

Nali made the most of his motions, nipping and sucking at his lips, drawing another gasp, then another. When she finally pulled away, she watched as his hands clenched slowly into fists, then slowly unfurled, fingertips digging into the dirt. His breath was heavy, his gaze lost, and she gave him a knowing smirk. “No, silly. I’m nice to my friends. Ask your brother. We used to be friends.”

Jonet chuckled and shook his head. Scooting closer to Nali, he reached over and ruffled his brother’s hair. “It’s true. She’s a sweetheart. ” He reached for the cup and emptied the last of the tea pot. After finishing his half, he handed the rest to Nali with a smirk. “You can be her new friend, Nefil, but I still get first dibs.”

Nali took the cup with a wicked grin.

A little long for a snippet, but context is important to this story.

As usual, stay away from this story if you're opposed to graphic sexual content and wallowing in hedonistic joy. But then if you are, why are you here?

(P.S.: All characters in this story are at least eighteen, because I wrote it, and I say so.)

The boat was drawing near to the island. Even in the distance, the young man could already detect the gentle waft of festival food in the air. Sweet or salty, fried or boiled, it was all wonderfully indulgent, the kinds of foods that elders warned the little ones not too eat too much of or they’d get a bellyache.

                Nefil’s arms ached, and he wondered how much longer he’d have to row before another of the young men on the boat would offer to take over. The water had been gracious, thankfully, and for much of the trip they’d had to put little effort into the journey at all. It was just his luck that the current had failed them when it was his turn.

                As if sensing his fatigue, his older brother gestured for the oar. Nefil handed it over without a word, nodding graciously as he slid back into the belly of the boat. The lively chatter that’d passed most of the journey so quickly had died down, replaced by a thick, tangible nervousness, each of the boys on the boat slipping into their own fantasy of how this night would go.

No story this week

I should probably have taken into consideration, when writing my last post, that I'd be recovering from (minor) surgery at my usual post time.

I'll be back with a real post Friday.

Oh, dear god. Star Fox porn. Post 1 of ???.

Alright, so...

I've been really sick. Impending surgery-type sick. Apologies for the late post. My girlfriend and I went to a friend's for the weekend so I could be sick over there instead and eat a bunch of food and watch bad anime.

With everything that's been going on, I totally forgot about my weekly update here. As an attempt to make up for that, this post is actually a five story special edition expedition into my absolutely fucking terrible high school pornography.

Seriously. This stuff is awful. It's about Krystal Fox, which, for the uninitiated, is one of the protagonists from more recent Star Fox video games. Her debut was in a Zelda-style Gamecube title, "Star Fox Adventures", and since I was a derpy teenage virgin I found myself, for some weird reason, compelled to write five stories about her getting busy with the series' titular hero Fox McCloud.

Yup. These guys:

Yeah, really. I'm totally serious. Yes, I'm very embarrassed by this, although not for the reasons you'd expect. I'm more embarrassed by the awful quality of the writing than the fact that I used to have a major stiffy for these characters.

I mean, let's be real here. There's some much, much weirder shit on the internet. And, because this is the internet, and I'll never meet any of you, I'm going to post these stories. I know from experience that there is a very real and active fanbase built around this stupid character and the need for other derpy teenage(?) virgins to beat off to stories and pictures of her. So, to all of you weirdos, here's an awful gift from my teenage self.

All of this being said, you may notice that the title for this post implies there will be more posts. Finding these stories gave me a terrible idea - one I'm going to give a pilot run to while I'm home sick.

I'm going to break down and analyze these awful stories, critiquing them to the best of my current ability. I'm going to rip teenage-me a new asshole.

Why? Fuck, I don't know. It'll be a good laugh.


Alright. With much hesitance, here you go. Enjoy, I guess?

If you do, please don't tell me about it.





1. Moving In

          It had been a couple of days since the events at Dinosaur Planet involving Fox and his team had ended. Krystal had agreed to join the team, and she was moving in to the Great Fox, taking what sparse furnishings she had to her new room and trying to figure out what to do with them. Fox was helping move things, and so far they’d moved a small mattress into the room, and a 2-foot tall drawer, and they were both leaning against the wall side-by-side, the mattress at a small incline to keep it from falling down. The room was already set up as a guest room, and had everything one would need to be comfortable, but Krystal was insistent upon keeping her few belongings, and Fox wasn’t about to argue with her. So they stood in her room, just inside the door, observing the room and discussing where to put her things. Fox was in a regular t-shirt and shorts, with no shoes, and Krystal was in another loincloth and top, similar to the one she wore on Dinosaur Planet.

Jumbo Blueberry Popsicle

It's probably obvious that I wasn't feeling the most inspired when I created a title for this story.

This is going to be the second of the two Rakheem/Reoti stories I'll be posting. Depending on how well they're received, there may be more later, but for now this is the extent of it.

I don't have a whole lot to say about this story except that it's one of the gentler pieces I've done, which is a little ironic given the cast and context.

I'm not finding anything that I feel serves as a particularly good snippet, but anyone following these stories already knows what they're in for with these two.


As a brief aside, I do want to make note of a 'feature' I've added to the blog. On the right-hand side you'll find an email address (puts.hair.on.your.chest@gmail.com) that you can direct any and all blog-related questions to, including questions about the characters themselves. Questions directed to the characters will be answered by the characters, with independent posts written in the first person perspective of whoever the question was asked to.

So if you find yourself wondering something about one of these stories, feel free to drop me a line.



And now, your scheduled programming:

            With the heavy crumple of soiled cloth, Reoti’s baggy, grease-stained top met her bedroom floor. Her jaw gaped shamelessly as a yawn bellowed past her full lips. Her neck, back, and shoulders rolled back in the practiced motion of someone made physically fit by means of cake, alcohol, and enough grueling hard work to make up for both. Twisting and pulling, she contorted in ways that her scaled companion, Rakheem, had tactfully declared bore some semblance to an insect dying in slow motion.

She counted three pops and just two snaps. She paused for a moment, frowning; this was unacceptable. Her head lolled to the side until her tension piqued in a loud crunch. With a satisfied grunt, she reached for the button on her once-khaki cargo pants. Tired fingers brushed against the material beneath, feeling the fine fabric of her classiest set of undergarments--black lace, hemmed to reveal just enough to be titillating while still managing to be frustratingly opaque.