लोमड़ी और टी.एच.ई. हास्यास्पद समलैंगिक कहानी

लोमड़ी और टी.एच.ई. हास्यास्पद समलैंगिक कहानी

hoever finds the fox, gets to fuck the fox. These are the 

words written on the dry erase board of my living room. 

There are twenty-five half-naked women in my apartment, it is 

almost two a.m., and the fox hunt is about to begin. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

When a friend needed an extra “girl on girl” story for her live 

storytelling event, I volunteered immediately. I’d been fucking 

girls long enough, so I knew there had to be a story in my past 

somewhere. But a week later, I was racking my brain for a good 

story and coming up empty. Well, there was that time when we 

ran into Baptists while skinny-dipping, but it wasn’t very sexy. 

Then there was that epic Scrabble game, but no. I did remember 

a great story involving my ex and a gnarly yeast infection, but if 

I told that story onstage I would never get laid again.

I think the problem I was having is that cock is always funny, 

all the time, but I take pussy very, very seriously.

I had no story to tell, but the flyers had gone out, and time 

was short. I had no choice. For the sake of science—nay, for the 

sake of art, I had to take matters into my own hands. I had to 

throw a Ridiculous Lesbian Orgy.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. If you construct the 

context for a story, are you actually experiencing the story, or 

just experiencing yourself experiencing the story, thus negating 

the veracity of the experience? If it’s really happening but in an 

artificial context, does it count as “true”? I’m a writer, these are 

the things I think about. Nevertheless, I figured if the story had 

enough hot dyke action, no one would really care if I pulled a 

bit of a James Frey up on stage. 

I’ve never read The Secret, but living in NorCal, you tend to 

absorb it from your surroundings. I think the gist is that you 

send a powerful request out into the universe, and the universe 

reciprocates. 

Well, I emailed out the invitation to the Ridiculous Lesbian 

Orgy and not three minutes later I hear from downstairs, “Hey, 

Allie?”

It’s my roommate, Lydia. “Hey, Allie? My mom’s visiting 

this weekend. It’s cool that she stays here, right?”

My brain screams, “NO! No, it’s not okay! I’m throwing a 

Ridiculous Lesbian Orgy! Your mom can’t be here!”

But then I hear a mild, new-agey voice in my head saying, 

“Allison, you called this into being. You can’t just send it 

away.”

So instead, I say, “Sure, Lydia, that’s okay. No, in fact, I 

insist your mother stay here this weekend.”

I sent out the invitation on a Tuesday. On Friday night, my 

apartment is filled with twenty-five half-naked women, and 

already I consider this a success. 

The ridiculous starts right away. We have Hitachi races, if 

you know what I mean. And we have Hitachi Jeopardy, which 

is very, very difficult. Try conjugating French verbs next time 

you’re having an orgasm. Seriously, just try it. 

If you’ve been to an orgy or play party before, you know 

that there tend to be waves of excitement. There’s the first 

fuck-hungry hump fest that happens early in the evening when 

everyone’s nervous and excited. Then it kind of mellows out and 

everyone ends up snarfing at the snack table or processing in the 

bathtub for a while. The next wave happens rather late, when 

everyone is finally asking for what they really want and fucking 

who they really want to. Freshly bathed and full of hummus, 

we’re approaching the second wave when my friend decides 

that she wants a scene of a fox hunt. It’s the night before the 

royal wedding and everyone’s feeling kind of sentimental about 

Britain, so we say sure, we’ll do that. 

Foxy congregates seven women and starts explaining the 

details of a traditional fox hunt in her beautiful (real) British 

accent. The rest of us look warily to one another saying, “None 

of us signed up for blood-play.”

Foxy assures us that there will be no cutting off of tails and 

stamping foreheads with bloody stumps. Instead, we’ll rip off 

the bandana she has stuck in the waistband of her underwear, 

and then we’ll fuck her. 

And we look to one another and say, “Oh we can totally do 

that. Yes, we’re in. Let’s go.”

She goes on to say we’ll each have a role. There’s going to be 

a hunt mistress and hunters and hound dogs and horses. As she’s 

explaining this, my friend Glo shouts “Wait!” and runs over to 

her bag and pulls out…a bunch of animal hats. There’s a bunny 

rabbit, a panda bear, a tiger, amazingly enough a fox and there’s…

a wolf. Now, you should know I have a penchant for wolves, 

specifically lesbian werewolves, since I spent the past three years 

of my life writing and publishing a novel about them. 

I put on the wolf hat and it seals the deal. I’m in it, finding 

my inner furry and deciding that she’s a pretty rad little wolf. I 

start to growl and bare my teeth. My fingers curl like paws and 

I pull against Tiger’s arm as she holds me in place like the good 

hunter she is. Foxy has us put on strap-ons, so we harness up 

while we whip ourselves into a frenzy, stretching and jumping, 

barking and cheering. At this point we’re all a little fuck drunk 

and drunk drunk, so we start going there…fast. 

We’re blaring trumpets, I’m barking like a big ol’ hound dog, 

we’re shouting and making a hell of a ruckus, when we hear a 

key in the front door.

We are seven women standing in my living room, in bras, 

panties, huge hard-ons and animal hats.

And my roommate walks in with her mother.

We stop. We plaster on sweet smiles and call out “Hi!!!” like 

we’re preteens at a slumber party. 

Lydia’s mom pauses in the living room, takes in the scene 

and waves. We wave back. She says, “Okay! Nice to meet you,” 

and hurries into the guest room and shuts the door behind her.

We launch right back into the trumpet blares and woofing.

We sound the trumpet. Foxy gets a thirty-second head start 

and tears off up the stairs. We hear her heavy footsteps over￾head as she tries to find a hiding spot. The footsteps clatter for 

a bit and then silence.

A thing you should know about my apartment is that it’s 

a rather big loft, but it’s not, say, English countryside big. So 

Foxy gets her head start, but there’s not a lot of places to hide. 

We charge up the stairs en masse, letting the hunt mistress, 

Bunny Rabbit, lead the way. She runs to the sitting room and 

sniffs and waits. Nothing. 

Then she leads us to my office. We wait. Nothing. 

Then she creeps to the door of my bedroom. We listen, my 

wolf ears rotating like little satellite dishes. There’s an intense 

pause. Then with a clatter and an explosion of dirty underwear, 

Foxy bursts from my hamper. She leaps to my bed to try to 

escape, but I’m right there and let my newly acquired animal 

instincts lead the way. 

I grab her around the waist and drag her to the floor. She’s on 

top of me kicking and screaming and biting and punching, but 

I’m holding tight. The girls are screeching “Flip her over! Flip 

her over! Flip her over!” 

Foxy elbows me in the chest as I flip her over, and I get her 

ass in the air and her face is buried in my tits. Bunny Rabbit 

rushes over, grabs the bandana from the back of her under￾wear, holds it triumphantly above her head, then throws it to 

the ground. Foxy fights, but she knows she’s done for. Bunny 

Rabbit takes a condom from the top of my bureau and slowly 

rolls it on her cock. 

There’s a moment of reverent silence as we all realize, Oh 

my. This is a gang bang.

Bunny Rabbit yanks Foxy’s underwear down to her knees 

while I’ve still got her pinned. She struggles against me, but 

she’s surrendering. Her face is buried so deep in my tits that all 

I can see of her face is that fox hat. It’s staring up at me with 

these sweet, brown mendicant eyes. I think, Oh, poor Foxy, you 

should’ve run faster.

Bunny Rabbit lives up to her namesake and gives it to Foxy 

really good, her ears flopping over her face as she humps like, 

well, a rabbit. Then Tiger is up with her hot pink harness and 

dildo, and Foxy groans into my rib cage. Despite the carpet 

burn I acquired in wrestling Foxy to the ground, I enjoy the 

massage on my back as we rock back and forth on a pile of my 

dirty drawers. By now she’s given up fighting completely and is 

just holding on tight as the women take her in turns.

A procession of be-dildoed women take on the fox, punishing 

her for her impertinent running and hiding. In the meantime, 

the rest of the partygoers have crept upstairs, sitting on chairs 

and pillows in a semicircle around my bedroom’s open door. 

One of them is passing around snacks.

Finally, it’s Panda Bear’s turn. She’s excited and insists we all 

call her Mei Sheng. The harness hits her in the right spots and 

she’s moaning more than Foxy is. From my vantage, all I can 

see is Foxy’s little fox face staring up at me. Then cresting over 

her shoulder there’s a little plush panda face staring at me with 

vacant black eyes. I wonder, is this where Red Pandas come 

from?

Foxy’s near her limit but it’s still my turn. I edge out from 

beneath her and roll a condom onto my fingers to give her a 

break from all the cock. I ease my fingers into her. She’s wet 

and gaping. As I milk her G-spot whilst all my friends watch 

through the bedroom’s open door, and the moans and shouts 

of other women echo throughout my loft, I have one singular 

thought: The Secret fucking works.

Talk about declaring something powerfully. The Secret is 

the reason I had twenty-five naked dykes humping in my apart￾ment. It’s is the reason I discovered my inner furry, okay? I’m 

proud of that. The Secret is the reason my besties and I strapped 

on animal hats and cocks and whaled on our buddy until she 

couldn’t take any more. The Secret is the reason I was able to 

get hella laid after I told the story onstage. And you know what 

else? I think the Secret can save the world. Seriously. Because 

I’ve never met anyone else who could convince a panda to mate 

in captivityA procession of be-dildoed women take on the fox, punishing 

her for her impertinent running and hiding. In the meantime, 

the rest of the partygoers have crept upstairs, sitting on chairs 

and pillows in a semicircle around my bedroom’s open door. 

One of them is passing around snacks.

Finally, it’s Panda Bear’s turn. She’s excited and insists we all 

call her Mei Sheng. The harness hits her in the right spots and 

she’s moaning more than Foxy is. From my vantage, all I can 

see is Foxy’s little fox face staring up at me. Then cresting over 

her shoulder there’s a little plush panda face staring at me with 

vacant black eyes. I wonder, is this where Red Pandas come 

from?

Foxy’s near her limit but it’s still my turn. I edge out from 

beneath her and roll a condom onto my fingers to give her a 

break from all the cock. I ease my fingers into her. She’s wet 

and gaping. As I milk her G-spot whilst all my friends watch 

through the bedroom’s open door, and the moans and shouts 

of other women echo throughout my loft, I have one singular 

thought: The Secret fucking works.

Talk about declaring something powerfully. The Secret is 

the reason I had twenty-five naked dykes humping in my apart￾ment. It’s is the reason I discovered my inner furry, okay? I’m 

proud of that. The Secret is the reason my besties and I strapped 

on animal hats and cocks and whaled on our buddy until she 

couldn’t take any more. The Secret is the reason I was able to 

get hella laid after I told the story onstage. And you know what 

else? I think the Secret can save the world. Seriously. Because 

I’ve never met anyone else who could convince a panda to mate