Amish People: Are
Written by: Alex Sandell
I watched as she ate her Cantonese Black Mushroom Chicken while complaining that it was too cold. The way she slurped the mushrooms into her mouth reminded me of the blowjob she had performed only hours before. It wasn't on me, and it never would be again. She performed it on him . . . the crazy Amish guy with the long beard and gigantic pecker. We met him on the bus, on our way back from the Misfits/Gwar concert she had insisted on attending. The bus was crowded, due to the "$69.00 will take you anywhere" mega-deal that was being offered, and we couldn't find seats next to one another, so she ended up sitting directly in front of me, next to a group of Amish people. What's up with these Amish people, anyway? Why are they always on buses? And are they really supposed to hit on my Cantonese Black Mushroom Chicken loving girlfriend with the innocent smile and bouncy knockers? I mean, she wasn't even wearing a bonnet. Isn't that against the Book of Ma and Pa Ingalls, or something? I never heard of Laura and Mary making any of the "Amish do it better" type comments the long-bearded guy with the crooked teeth and dirty smirk was whispering into my girlfriend's ear. She turned to look at me and I could see by the sparkle in her eyes that she could look past the two foot beard and into the man's soul. He wasn't just Amish to her, he was a funky sex kitten just waiting to be introduced to the comfy, warm spot located right between her legs. That was MY comfy, warm spot, damnit! It was the revolving door I went in and out of hundreds of times every night. It was pleasantly gooey, and sometimes it quivered in a funny way that gave me goosebumps as I moved past its entrance and deep inside of its hallowed cavern. It seemed like a little bit of ecstasy was always residing in that magical spot directly below her pee-hole and straight above her rectum. Each day, it would open further and bring me farther under its spell. Now it just makes me lonely. Without me knowing it, it had been vacated, and was being readied for another tenant to move in. It just used me, every so often, to housesit and water the plants. I wonder what happened? I still thought she loved me when we were at the concert. If not, why would she ask me to go? When Gwar played, "Black and Huge," which was our song, even though I was "White and Small," we smiled and danced a slow dance that none of the moshers would ever be able to understand, or even accept. One guy hit me in the face and said that we should, "take it to the Bon Jovi show." "I love you," my girlfriend whispered to me, ignoring the hit, as I pushed on the welt that was forming on my forehead. "WHAT?" I hollered, not able to hear her over the music. "I love you," she screamed. Before I had a chance to reply, a member of Gwar took out a gigantic rubber penis and sprayed the crowd with gallons of fake semen. We both got splattered. I pulled her into me, and we kissed passionately in a way that made me wish that we could be together forever. Who would have thought that, moments later, we would get on a bus, and fall apart? Stupid Amish geek. After introducing himself with the "Amish do it better" line that he had probably used on dozens of bonnets, the idiot, noticing my girlfriend's mohawk, asked if we had been at a Powwow. "No, we were at a punk show," she replied with a certain erotic bounce in her voice that made me shiver. "Are all punk shows attended by Indians?" he asked with that stupid fake accent Amish people use to sound like they're old-fashioned, or something. "No," was the answer she giggled out, breaking my vulnerable heart in the process. She never giggled at home. She laughed, every so often, and smiled once in a while, but never giggled. "Mohawks are worn by more than just Indians, now," she told him, with a gentle voice that brought tears to my eyes. The Amish guy just stared at her; I could see he was starting to capture her with his bugged-out eyes and weird armpit aroma. That's just when the bus-driver pulled into a truckstop for a ten minute break. He said we could all get some coffee, or maybe a crappy gas-station sandwich. When Amish guy asked my girlfriend if she wanted anything, she said she guessed she could go for "another" cup of coffee. She never asked for a second cup at home! Once he left, I tried to make her giggle, but only succeeded in offending her. "What a dork, this Amish guy is, huh?" I asked. "See?" she replied, "that's why I'm going to have to leave you and start giving him blowjobs - you're too insensitive toward other people and how they live!" "That means you have to suck on his dick?!?" I yelled. Everyone on the bus turned to look at us. "Suck and swallow!" she returned. Everyone on the bus said, "ooh!" I turned bright red. I had finally learned my lesson about public speaking and sat silently until Amish guy came back. I tried to quietly confront him, but he said it was against his religion to talk to people on a bus that aren't Amish. "What about HER?!?" I asked, pointing at my girlfriend. He smiled, grabbed the huge bulge residing in the penile area of his pants, shook it around and said, "she can be converted." Then he winked at me, like George W. Bush. It was terrifying. The rest of the ride I sat and listened to them flirting. It was mostly subtle things such as, "you ever kissed a man whose beard tickles your pussy," but some of them were actually pretty kinky. After what seemed like hours, probably because it was, we got off the bus. I stood up, she stood up and then he offers her his card. "This is my number at the barn, this is my fax number, and I jotted down my private number on the back." Great . . . now they're riding the bus and using the phone. Stupid, stupid Amish sex machines. Just as long as they stay off the Internet. "If you get some extra time," Amish guy says, "you might want to check out my webpage. It's got some great jpegs of my cows and I." My girlfriend kisses him softly on the cheek and says, "will do." We jump off the bus and walk home. The next morning I wake up to her typing. I sneak up behind her and see that she's chatting with someone calling themselves "amish4u." "That's him, isn't it?" I ask, tears welling up. "No, it's not him," she lies. "Oh, so it's just coincidence then," I return. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Alex. Like all the Amish people I'm friends with." I roll my eyes. "Why haven't I met any of them?" I ask. She lets out a giggle that ends in a snort. Did I actually make her giggle? Maybe there IS hope! "He's so funny!" she says. I look and see that he's typed, "are all punk shows attended by Indians?" He's really milking that "joke" for all that it's worth. What a jerk. "I'll be off in a minute," she tells me, "go away." I sit on my Yoda chair and think about how much I love her. I decide to make her a bookshelf and put her favorite doll (one I bought her), on top of it, holding a sign that reads, "I'd grow my beard two feet for you!" 7 hours later, she gets off the 'net, sees my gift, and says that it's "nice," but that she still can't be with me anymore. I didn't even know we were apart; although I admit I was starting to get a bit suspicious when she told me "it's over" before falling asleep. She now tells me she's going out. She says that I might want to sleep on the couch, because she will probably smell like "manure" when she gets home. "Please," I beg, "stay with me. These Amish people are all alike. After you have 7 or 8 of their children, they drop you like they did the 20th century." She doesn't listen. "Maybe I'll just blow him," she says. "Don't wait up." Naturally, I wait up. She gets home 3 days later. The Chinese I ordered us 33 hours earlier has gotten cold, but I still offer it to her. "AWESOME!" she says, running to the table. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!" She digs into her Cantonese Black Mushroom Chicken. "It's cold," she says. "How long ago did you get this? It could kill me if it's too old. You know I'm sensitive to food that's been out for more than an hour or two!" She sucks a cold mushroom into her mouth, it reminds me of the blowjob she had performed only hours before. It wasn't on me, and it never would be again. She performed it on him . . . the crazy Amish guy with the long beard and gigantic pecker. "I know," I tell her, holding back a devilish grin, "I know."
©(Copyright) 1999 Alex Sandell [All Rights Reserved]. If you copy this, without my permission, I'll damn you to Greyhound for all of eternity!
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