Feds bust Spider Man
By our man who are no stranger to little dicks, Don Pitts
I must begin this tale with a few caveats. This story is 95% true but I’ve changed the names to implicate the guilty. I reserve the remaining 5% as possibly untrue in case US security forces torture me in Guantanamo Bay to reveal the 5% that I lied about. This could change daily.
Some years ago I worked as a biologist on a large Air Force base in Texas trying to restore large areas of plains to the original vegetation because that’s the most healthy ecosystem. As it turned out I couldn’t re-establish the original plants because the original pollinators had been exterminated. This meant I needed someone who knew bugs; a skilled entomologist.
I thought over my contacts, and being a dirty old man, I immediately thought of 'Bobbie.' Bobbie is a PhD entomologist who works for one of the foremost research institutions in the US. More importantly, she's sex on a stick. If I had to spend several days doing bug collections in the Texas heat, the vision of Bobbie in her little cut-off shorts and low-slung blouse, bending over to check a species, was enough for me.
Bobbie’s ability to identify insects and their problems was phenomenal, especially considering that arachnids were her specialty. She did her PhD dissertation on spider dicks. Yes, she was the world’s foremost authority on the spider penis. To you, this makes her a frikkin pervert, but I did my MS thesis on parasites of the black-tailed jackrabbit and my PhD topic would bring out the mob, so to me she was rather normal. A commanding personality, in or out of those sexy cut-offs, when Bobbie entered a room, she was in charge.
Her work was groundbreaking, as often the only way to isolate and identify a spider species is by the penis. Look, just take my word for it, OK? Some species are so small a microscope is required to see any characteristics at all, and even on those that can be seen with the unaided eye, the only distinguishing details are often in the dick.
It took several week-long trips to collect the insects, and the cut-off shorts got so frayed I wanted to add bonus money. Midway through the summer she hired a graduate student who was equally hot, and I was in heaven. We spent our days trapping bugs and our evenings identifying spiders.
That's when I started getting a bit concerned about Bobbie. Every spider we caught had to have its dick examined. It bought a very strange gleam to her eye and, I suspect, a moistness to those shorts of hers. I began to realize that she was getting off on spider dicks. The twenty-two-year-old grad student, Bobbette, who was ambivalent at first, started to glow. When they started stroking the dicks and taking pictures I knew things were getting weird.
Weekends we’d cook out, drink a few beers and talk about work. The conversation would immediately turn to spider dicks. Even my wife, who was a bit concerned at first, was getting into it. I spent hours in the bathroom yelling at my dick to grow large, lateral, feathery extensions and attain a size half my height in length. My wife’s interest in me was waning.
The most alarming thing was the increasingly insane look in Bobbie’s eyes as she described spider dicks in enthusiastic detail. The gleam in her eye had become a permanent leer, demonic, but sexy if you’ve had a few beers.
She would show us very large blow-ups of spider dicks that she'd taken and arranged in a photo album. As we toiled in the field under the hot Texas sun, she’d reminisce about the six years she spent in the rain forests of South America studying spider dicks. The smile on her face as she spoke was making it almost impossible for me to walk straight. Bobbette was so moist I figured she was wanking off almost permanently. Hell, I wanted some of that action!
The writer seeks the Pulitzer, the scientist the Nobel, the entomologist seeks the new species. Personally, I seek that goddam elusive g-spot, but that’s another story. One day it happened. Not the g-spot—I'm still looking for that. No, Bobbie found a spider that defied description. She pulled out her laptop that was linked to every frikkin entomology source in the world. Then she pulled out an incredibly powerful portable scope and yes, went straight for the dick. She had discovered a new species!
Bobbie was one of the most respected scientists in her field. She was on top of her game and the sexiest fox in shorts I'd ever seen. Suddenly, she was on top of me and squealing like a hot Cheerleader on her first date. But this time it was my dick she was stroking! I don’t think she remembers it, but the species was named after me; a great honour in scientific circles.
But let’s keep our cool about this. A few weeks later she was working with Bobbette when I heard similar squeals. Fearing for their safety, I whipped out my binoculars and well, she was on top of Bobbette. Not that I minded her sticking her tongue between the grad student's shaking legs, but she beat me to it. It turned out they'd found another unique species while they were checking dicks and Bobbette was getting a spider species named after her. Very rare for a grad student.
Our history making fortune was so infectious my wife joined us in the field, but not on top of Bobbie or Bobbette—though I can't be sure of that as I was miles away when the third species was discovered. For the next couple of days my wife had a distant, dazed smile on her face, and is probably the only physical education major to have a species named after her.
My own collections continued after the ladies went home, and again I found a spider I couldn't identify. I emailed the pictures to Bobbie, who was also uncertain, so it was time for me to describe the penis. Unimpressed with my uninspired efforts, she emailed back one line: 'When it comes to dicks, you suck.'
At this point I should explain that all my email came through a classified Air Force computer system. As the world’s most paranoid military service, they have programmes, firewalls, scanners, decoders, and hundreds of skilled, dedicated young men and women devoted to keeping the email clean and wholesome. After receiving Bobbie's terse email, my computer slowed to a snail’s pace. It got so slow websites were taking minutes to load. Within two days, my home computer did the same. My telephones at home and work made funny clicking sounds. My postal mail was strangely disheveled.
Bobbie hadn't a clue. About a week later she decided to email me three photos for comparison. The subject of the email was 'Penis Pics.' She attached three photos, and added: See which dick you like best.'
It had been years since I’d been handcuffed, but it's worse when you’re older. I have no idea why my young wife likes it so much. 1700 miles to the east, Bobbie was not handcuffed but reported that she was treated rather roughly as she was led away by several guys in black suits wearing sunglasses. My detention facility was dark, so I had no idea whether it was day or night. I agreed to a lie detector test, mainly to see the light of day. It was night as I was being hooked up to the machine and I saw my wife in the lobby waiting her turn. I couldn't tell if she was handcuffed, or if they’d used the pink fluffy ones she keeps in the bedside table. Our eyes met, we were one, each hoping we wouldn't be asked how entomologists celebrate a new species.
Apparently Bobbie pulled some strings, or spider penis' and we were eventually released. I received a written reprimand for encouraging inappropriate transmissions on a government computer, and was ordered to seek alternate, male entomological consultants.
We didn't see Bobbie for over a year until I had to attend a scientific conference where she lived. My wife accompanied me, and of course we arranged to visit Bobbie at her home. It was a beautiful, two-hundred-year-old piece of period architecture into which we were ushered by her husband, a cultured humanities scholar, who left us in the living room while he got drinks.
My wife was instantly struck by the high, white walls, and the huge black and white graphics on display. She marvelled at the artistic symmetry; then her face went strangely distant. Spider dicks, magnified 10,000 times. I don’t know if she was shaken or just getting moist; but she needed to sit down. We settled on a large, beautiful couch to view the artistry and quickly discovered that this position gave us the best sight of all the biggest dicks. Her eyes strayed to the ceiling above our heads, she gave a startled scream, and muttered: “Oh—my—god!”
I was too preoccupied by all the strange stains on the fabric to see what she was looking at but by the expression on her face I was pretty certain it wasn't an antique light fitting.
Story © Don Pitts 2005. Picture & construction © utterpants.co.uk / 060705