Zombie Pink Page 2

  Soon, Andrea progressed onto bigger and bigger pickles. And now, she was convinced she was quite skilled at the Art of the Blowjob. All she needed was a real dick.

  And certainly NOT Michael Fishman's!

  Now Mr. Sexy Jogger's....that was another story...

  Sure, Andrea had eaten a boat load of pickles. Luckily, pickles weren't fattening. Unlike cum, which Lisa reported was fattening - at least when consumed in large quantities.

  Andrea wasn't exactly sure what "large quantities" entailed. Two blowjobs a day? Ten?

  "And that's if you swallow," Lisa had added. "Otherwise, it's downright rude and disrupts the flow! Plus, it's so messy. Just make sure the guy's clean. You know, no diseases. Yuck!"

  "Yea...yuck," Andrea had agreed, wondering how you know if a guy is "clean" or not, but not wanting to admit that she didn't know.

  There was some humor to be found in it all, though. Andrea had to secretly chuckle the other day when her mom inquired as to where all the pickles were disappearing to. Andrea simply shrugged and suggested that maybe a ghost was eating them.

  "A ghost, hmmm? Well if you suddenly like pickles so much, Andrea," her mom had said, "maybe I should start buying the extra large size jars at Costco."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Andrea didn't really love pickles, of course. She didn't dislike them. But they were merely practice tools to her.

  She did, however, love cupcakes and charm bracelets, and swimming pools and King Charles spaniels and flowers.....all of which she included on her Pinterest profile - Pinterest being something else she loved (all those gorgeous images and creative ideas)!

  But two things Andrea loved more than all the others, were art and mermaids. She loved creating art; beautiful magical flowy pictures... and mermaids provided her with the perfect subject matter.

  Mermaids satisfied Andrea ascetically; their long flowing hair; their big doe-like eyes (not unlike her own) and of course, all the colorful sparkly embellishments she liked to add that looked like little twinkling diamonds....

  As soon as Andrea got her own car, she wanted to buy a bumper sticker that read: I Break for Mermaids.

  She wasn't delusional enough to think mermaids were real, of course. That was as dumb as thinking zombies were real! She just loved the notion of mermaids; probably because she loved water and she loved to swim.

  Andrea's biggest goal was to see the ocean, since she had lived in Illinois all her life and the only place her family ever went on vacation was in Wisconsin. Sure, there was Lake Michigan which was so big it practically looked like an ocean. But it wasn't the real thing, so it didn't count.

  Right now, Andrea was working on a Sharpie marker drawing of a mermaid. She had just purchased a giant pack of pastel Sharpies at Michael's Craft, along with an eight ounce bottle of Mod Podge and a new container of very fine pink glitter. Okay, so maybe she had used up all the money she earned babysitting for her friend Patty's little brother... but it was worth it.

  Her picture was laid out in the middle of the coffee table. The mermaid in the picture had oodles of long dark tumbling hair (the hair was very important!) surrounded by an ocean of dark and light colored blue and lavender flowers.

  The picture was titled: Fiona and the Flower Garden.

  "Zombie mermaid..." Andrea suddenly said.

  Maybe she would draw that next....

  Has anyone ever thought to draw a zombie mermaid, she wondered?

  She would have to consult Google Images.

  But why was she even thinking about zombies?

  That stupid show Dead Heads, that's why!

  The show didn’t seem creepy to Andrea while she was watching and making fun of it with Drew. After all, Andrea thought zombies were as lame as vampires or werewolves - or Freddy Krueger, for that matter!

  But now that she was here all by herself and it was dark out, Andrea kept seeing those evil corpses...she saw their dead staring eyes...cold and soulless.

  So much for delicious Alone Time!

  It didn't help that she kept hearing this weird banging noise on the sliding glass doors. The noises sounded like someone (or something?) thumping on the glass from outside on the patio.

  "Must be those giant beetles!" Andrea announced to the empty room, remembering Drew's entomology lesson about beetles with brain controlling parasites.

  "OH BROTHER!" she shouted, breaking up the silence with false bravado.

  Andrea wished she had a pet cat or dog. Then, not only would she have a little furry friend to keep her company, but she would also have a convenient culprit to blame strange noises on. Except that her mom was allergic to all pet hair. Andrea couldn't even get a gerbil.

  She could probably get a goldfish. But she couldn't exactly blame weird thumping noises on a little old goldfish, could she?

  Andrea decided to go online to get her mind off being creeped out. She had a couple of sites she visited whenever she needed a laugh, like "Museum of Bad Art" and "Funny Walmart Shoppers".

  But her favorite place to go was this site called "Top Secret Confessions". There was never a lack of lame confessions posted, guaranteed to crack her up.

  Sometimes the confessions were obviously fake, like the one written by this girl who divulged she had an extra ear in the back of her head and doesn't want anyone to know... so she always wears hats or hoods to cover it up.

  But most of the time, the confessions seemed real enough. Like the confession written by this guy who claims his girlfriend's butt is really stinky. He really loves her but he just can't stand the smell of her butt and he doesn't know how to tell her that she stinks.

  Andrea really cracked up over that one.

  Or this other one written by this loser guy who claims he buys used panties on the Internet then swirls them around in his own homemade wine to make the wine taste better.

  In Andrea's opinion, that was just too weird for anyone to make up.

  “Damn!” Andrea swore.

  Her stupid laptop wouldn't go online. It was stuck on a white screen with that dumb little circle going round and round and round.

  Andrea hated that dumb little circle.

  “SHIT!" she hollered, snapping her computer shut.

  She couldn't use her phone to go online, either. In order to save money, her dad decided not to pay for the Internet on the cell phone.

  "You have your computer," he told her. "Unless you want to pay the bill...I mean, you're welcome to pay it if you want. Then you can get any feature your little heart desires."

  That was her dad's idea of humor.

  So Andrea settled on watching a re-run of America's Next Top Model. She had the automatic record set up for whenever the show came on.

  Sometimes Andrea, Drew, Lisa, and Patty would get together and binge watch the show. They would pop microwave popcorn and spend the afternoon critiquing all the girls on TV; discussing who was the prettiest, the bitchiest, the most photogenic, etc....

  Of course, Lisa was always the biggest critic, claiming she was far more attractive than any of the girls on the show. Actually, Lisa planned to go on the show. She was currently saving up all her Maybelline money, since she was a salesperson there.

  Although Lisa's idea of "saving up" was not most people's idea, since she was constantly buying make-up, clothes, and hair extensions.

  Sometimes, Andrea prefered to watch Next Top Model by herself. That way, she could just relax and take it all in without the constant interruption of other people. Often, really funny things happened on the show, like the time that super tall girl kept falling down while she was making a Cover Girl commercial wearing roller-skates.

  Although tonight, Andrea wished her friends were sitting beside her. She was starting to think Alone Time was way over-rated. She didn't even feel like drawing. She had that jumpy feeling you get from drinking too much coffee. Only, she hadn't consumed any coffee at all, since she was too lazy to make a new pot.

  Andrea w
as idly wishing they had one of those Keurig coffee makers like Drew’s family had when she heard it again.

  WHOMP!

  It was that weird thumping noise... only this time, it was much louder.

  Andrea almost wished her dad was there, yelling at her to go clean up her "pig-sty" of a room.

  "STUPID BUGS!" she shouted.

  Unfortunately, she had seen this particular cycle of Next Top Model a million times, so it wasn't doing a good job of distracting her.

  Therefore, Andrea decided it was the perfect time to have a Mr. Sexy Jogger fantasy, figuring that a fantasy would help relax her mind and put her in a better place.

  A much sexier place!

  She settled back into the couch and closed her eyes.

  In this fantasy, Andrea is strolling past Mr. Sexy Jogger’s house. She is wearing her brand new white dress with the pink flowers from Maybelline's, and her really cute pink flip-flops with the lavender flowers attached.

  Mr. Sexy Jogger is out in his yard….um, what should he be doing? Okay, he’s spraying some weeds with weed killer out by the street.

  “Don’t breath!” Mr. Sexy Jogger jokes as she walks by.

  “Uh-oh,” Andrea says.

  Then she holds her breath, puffing her cheeks way out.

  “No, I was just kidding,” he tells her. “It’s perfectly safe. Unless you’re a weed.”

  “Whoo!” she exclaims, letting the air out of her cheeks.

  “So you’re a weed murderer and a jogger,” Andrea says, making witty and interesting conversation. “That’s what I know about you.”

  “And you wear cute dresses and water the flowers a lot,” he says, with a twinkle in his eyes. “That’s what I know about you. You really like flowers. Oh. And I think you really like me, too.”

  Then he winks at her.

  Andrea blushes.

  Mr. Sexy Jogger knows she likes him!

  “Want some lemonade?” he asks. “You look like you could use some.”

  “I do?” she asks.

  Then she giggles.

  “Actually, I was just thinking, boy, I sure could use a nice tall glass of lemonade!” she agrees. “You must be psychic!”

  “C’mon, Flower Girl,” he exclaims, leading her inside his house.

  Where’s his wife? Andrea can’t help but wonder.

  Nevertheless, she follows him in, feeling both nervous and excited at the same time.

  “My wife is at her sister’s,” Mr. Sexy Jogger informs her. “Oh, that’s something else you should know about me. I’m married.”

  He leads Andrea into the living room, where he instructs her to sit down on an over-stuffed plaid couch. Obediently, she sits down and waits for him to make the next move.

  Andrea crosses her legs, in order to look more sophisticated. Mr. Sexy Jogger's dreamy velvet brown eyes make a slow smoldering assessment of her bare thighs.

  Andrea doesn't mind. Her legs are very smooth and curvy - unlike his wife’s gross chicken legs. In the fantasy, she has just shaved and moisturized them.

  Suddenly, Andrea feels something happening. She feels it happening down there...

  She experiences this sensation both in her fantasy, and for real...

  It's such a delicious feeling. The chemistry between them is so strong, it’s almost magical! She feels so incredibly alive. All of her senses are on high alert…

  “Yea, I kind of figured,” she says, in response to his comment about being married. “All the good ones are married!”

  Mr. Sexy Jogger, she notices, looks even better up close. Taller, too. Really tall. Like basketball player tall. He makes her feel so small and delicate and...girly. For some reason, she feels so safe with him, like he could protect her from anything.

  Even zombies! If they were real, that is...which they aren't, of course.....

  He has such a strong jaw with just the right amount of stubble so he appears rugged, yet not like a bum. In the fantasy, Mr. Sexy Jogger is wearing a red and white striped polo shirt that really shows off his muscles. The shirt also makes him look prosperous and suburban like he plays golf... and deliciously older.

  Guys Andrea's age, at least in her town, hardly ever wore polo shirts.

  “Hey, don’t go away!” he says. “I’ll get you that lemonade!”

  Then he's gone. Andrea's eyes dart around the room.

  What am I doing here? she wonders.

  What’s going to happen?

  Do I want it to happen?

  I shouldn’t be here. It’s not right. I should just leave.

  Mr. Sexy Jogger comes back with a tall glass of frosty cold lemonade and hands it to her. Then he sits down on the couch right next to her, as in RIGHT next to her! She absorbs the warmth of his body all up and down her side which makes her feel all gooey and melty and wonderful... but also sort of nervous.

  Andrea takes a sip of her icy cold drink.

  “Sensational!” she exclaims. “Did you make this yourself?”

  He takes the glass out of her hand and rests it on the coffee table.

  “Yea," he tells her . “Just for you. I knew you were coming and I wanted to be ready.”

  When he says the word “ready,” he looks down at his crotch. Andrea gasps. There’s a gigantic bulge there.

  “What about your wife?” she asks nervously.

  “She hates blowjobs,” he confesses, just as Andrea suspected.

  “Really?” she says. “That's weird, because blowjobs are my specialty.”

  “Oh yea, Flower Girl?” Mr. Sexy Jogger says, with a dirty chuckle. “Wanna prove that?”

  WHOMP!

  "STUPID NOISE!" Andrea shouted.

  Messed up her perfect fantasy, just when it was getting really juicy...

  Oh well. To be continued later. Right now, she needed something to eat.

  Andrea quickly slipped past the sliding glass doors on the way to the kitchen, averting her eyes so she didn't have to see if an evil zombie was standing outside the door.

  She had to stop thinking like that!

  She was creeping herself out even more.

  Besides, if there was an evil rotting corpse stationed right outside the sliding glass doors, she could always call 9-1-1.

  Andrea had to chuckle as she hunted for ingredients inside the refrigerator. What would she say to the 9-1-1 operator?

  I'm so scared, there's a zombie on my patio?

  Oh brother! They would probably think it was some kind of crank call from a little kid. After all, that's what she would think.

  But what if a zombie suddenly appeared behind her? What would she do?

  Stab it in the head with a sharp knife, that's what! Andrea told herself.

  She eyed her dad's Guy Fieri steak knife set that was displayed prominently in the butcher block next to the sink, idly wondering if zombie's skulls were as soft and squishy as they appeared to be on TV.

  You have to get em' in the brain, Andrea thought, tossing spinach leaves into a bowl.

  Then she told herself she was being ridiculous.

  There was no such thing as zombies, damn it!

  Andrea proceeded to assemble her favorite salad, which consisted of spinach leaves, feta cheese, grape tomatoes, multi-grain croutons and balsamic vinegar on top. She nervously peered out the kitchen window as she worked.

  What the heck was that?

  She thought she saw something move in the small wooded area at the back of the property. There were definitely deer around. They ate the tulips in her mom's garden every spring.

  And yet...she could swear the shape looked more human than animal.

  What if it's a crazy person who knows I'm home alone? Andrea thought.

  That was a more logical thing to fear than zombies....

  Nahhh...this is a safe neighborhood, she tried to convince herself. It's gated. Visitors need to be called in.

  And yet, Andrea wasn't stupid. Someone could ea
sily sneak into the so-called gated community via someone’s yard that backed up to the highway...

  She carried the bowl of salad back to the couch along with a bag of pita chips, a tub of hummus, and a can of coke. Andrea had her balancing act down so well, she sometimes wondered if she should apply for a waitressing job. The only problem was that she was afraid she would burst into tears if a customer was nasty to her and then she wouldn't make any tips.