The Moon Yaps "Lisbeth"

>> Monday, July 14, 2014

 (This one's for The Handsome Camel himself.  Sorry.  I am so, so sorry.)

"I want you to know, I'm not like other girls," Professor Van Niekerk said.

"I--I didn't think you were, sir," Lisbeth replied.  "I--I have to admit I, um, I never thought of you as a girl at all."

He admired her.  He couldn't help himself.  She was an admirable woman, a lush body that was curved in all the right places.  That is, she wasn't a hunchback, for example.  She had an ample bosom and wide hips, and an ass that just would not quit (not even if it had an offer that included pretty good benefits).

"Right," he replied.  "I'm glad you noticed that I'm not a woman.  You, of course, are a woman.  And I am a man.  A more elemental relationship than the one between a professor and his star pupil.  A primal relationship, the most basic and fundamental relationship there is.  The one between woman and man, I mean.  Universities weren't invented until, what, the Middle Ages, so obviously the relationship between a woman and man predates that.  You know what I'm saying, don't you?"

Lisbeth put a finger to her red, full lips, and chewed on the tip.  She inhaled, filling out her ample breast, and exhaled, flattening her stomach so that the curves of her hips, breast and buttocks were exaggerated.  Also, she had nice thighs, which seems worth mentioning just so we can be clear that she was extremely attractive and the good kind of curvy (if you're a woman).

But she wasn't just putting her finger to her lips in a seductive, sexy pose so that her curvaceous body could be described; she also had a line of dialogue.  "I don't understand," she said.  "What are you trying to say?"

Professor Van Niekerk stood.  He was a man of low-average height, rotund and bearded, with grey in his full, mussed hair and in his beard.  He looked a lot like a somewhat short, fat lawyer but was, in fact, the foremost English professor in his field in the world, and had never been to law school nor taken the Bar.  His really intense, emerald eyes blazed.  "You, my darling, my sweet, my love!" he exclaimed.  "Haven't you seen the signs?"

"The signs?"

"The way I look at you in class!"

"I'm sorry, I was taking notes."

"The way I hold doors for you!"

"Oh.  I guess I thought you were doing that for the other one hundred and seventeen students in ENG 102."

"The way my heart beats when you pass near!"

"My... hearing's not that good... most of the time."

"The notes I've sent you!"

"I did notice the comment you wrote on my midterm essay on John Dryden.  But I thought you meant 'Fuck me' in the sense of 'This is terrible,' not in the 'Fuck me' sense."

"But I gave that paper an A-triple-plus!  Even when you left out the 'y' in his name!"

"Yes sir, that confused me, so I thought it better not to ask."

"I wrote you a sonnet on the back of one of your exams!"

"No you didn't."

"Alas!  That must be why David Hammond who sits to your left has been giving me such dreamy looks since I returned your class' papers to you on Wednesday!"

"David Hammond sits to my right."

"I meant your left facing you!  Oh, please, I cannot take more of this!  You're a young woman, and everything is new, and I am an old man, and have done so much!  I can teach you more outside of the classroom than any student learns of life within!  By which I mean I'd like to bed you and criticize your technique!  Let me criticize your technique, Lisbeth!  Let me critique you between the sheets!"

Lisbeth appeared startled.  "But I can't!  I can't sir!"

"Don't worry about the ethics board, I have tenure!"

"It's not that, sir.  It's just that I'm not like other women!"

"I know, Lisbeth!  I know!  It's why I want to take you!  Your curves!"

"No, you don't understand!  What time is it?  I have to go!"

She turned, then, but Professor Van Niekerk grabbed her by the wrist.

"Don't go!" he shouted.  "I can't bear it if you go!  I might have to bring down your average if you break my heart!  Let me teach you!  In bed!"

"No!  No!  No!" she cried.  "It isn't that!  It isn't just that!  It's mostly that, but it's something else, too!  I must be home before it happens!  Before--"

"Before what?" the Professor yelled.  "Before this passion overwhelms us, you voluptuous vixen, you!"

"I am cursed!  Let go of me!  I am cursed!"

"Cursed with beauty!  Cursed with youth!  And passion!  And tits!"

"Yes!  No!  Cursed with--no, it's happengrrrrrrrrrr!"

The room was suddenly flooded with light as the full moon rose over the tall buildings outside the window.  Professor Van Niekerk felt Lisbeth's wrist pop and twist in his hand.  Her fair, smooth skin suddenly bristled with soft fur and her long, sexy fingers shrank into tiny paws studded with short, sharp nails.  She was shrinking before his eyes, contorting and twisting as she shriveled.  Her beautiful, round face sprouted fur and jutted out, her nose becoming small, black and moist.  Lisbeth's arms and legs contracted into her body, which lost its feminine splendor and became barrel shaped.

Professor Van Niekerk let go of her foreleg and she dropped to the ground.  Although well-mannered and known for their desire to please, Lisbeth came from a vocal breed and she began to bark and jump at the Professor, but not very high because of her squat legs and low ground clearance.  He backed away, and Lisbeth's herding instincts came to the forefront: she began to nip at his heels, and he backed into a chair and fell over.

It was suddenly too much: the moon-madness was upon Lisbeth now, and she charged forward as fast as her stout little legs would take her, burying her brown-and-white muzzle in his throat.  Professor Van Niekerk wanted to laugh at the way her adorable, fuzzy little face tickled his chin, but then her tiny canines tore into his skin.  Shouting, he threw the small dog off of him and rolled over, but she was energetic and resilient, and hopped on him and pressed the attack, biting and barking until the old man's heart weakened and faltered.

"This is ironic," he thought with his last thoughts.  "Had I brought forth my clan's ancient enchanted Lucerne hammer, Clonngenhommer, from its resting place in the Hallowed Isle of Mirrorlake, I could have fought off this vile lycan-" and then he died before he could think "-thrope."

Lisbeth stood over his body, sort of half on and half off, her short rear legs scrabbling for purchase whenever she put her forepaws on the dead man's large belly.  She began to yap at the full moon, visible through the window beyond the vast urban nightscape of the great city.  She felt a primal urge that the old man could never have fulfilled, and she wondered where she could satisfy the need trembling through her body.  Possibly in a dumpster, if she could reach the doors, or in a trash can if she knocked one over and the lid wasn't tightly secured.  It would be nice to roll in something.  Yes.  Yes it would.


15 comments:

John Healy Monday, July 14, 2014 at 6:32:00 PM EDT  

I think you've managed to get bodice ripping wrong. Try imagining this scene as a book cover. Can you see their faces? If so, then something is off.
I could be wrong. This could be the next big thing. Corgis are huge right now. Tubby middle-aged men are still out. It has all the elements.
Still, I think something is missing. Perhaps she could infect him, and they could go on a campus wide killing spree. That's always popular. Maybe you could introduce a hot were-corgi fighting dean, as a form of tension.
Also, needs more chainsaws.

TimBo Tuesday, July 15, 2014 at 1:33:00 PM EDT  

[This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so be gentle.]

Professor Tim Beau leaned over Lisbeth and kissed her passionately once again when he heard the sound. He loved the way her body's curves moved in all the right ways, in all the right places, as she snuggled against him. She had said that she needed to leave early that evening, her voluptuous lips pouting as she spoke. Her grade in English 102 depended on her pleasing him and she had regularly pleased him since Professor Van Niekerk mysteriously disappeared ten months ago.

"Yo, did you hear something?" asked the young manly Professor his green eyes flashing as he spoke, his raised eyebrows curving as only a masculine man's can.

"You mean that "thorpe" sound?" inquired Lisbeth adjusting her curvaceous body so Professor Tim Beau's ancestral axe wasn't digging into her lovely curved shoulders.

"Yo, I think it came from behind the sofa," said Professor Tim Beau, exhaling from his strong lungs as he spoke in a way that only a young virile man can, "I haven't even looked behind it since I took over the office after Professor Van Niekirk's mysterious disappearance ten months ago."

Professor Tim Beau started to get up but Lisbeth wrapped her long curved legs around him stopping him, "Don't go yet," she pouted, "I have to leave in a minute and we haven't discussed my mark on the last assignment," She was always bringing irrelevancies into the conversation her full lips enunciating each word as her flickering tongue formed the consonants and vowels of the words she spoke.


A groan came from behind the couch. Professor Tim Beau pushed Lisbeth back down and picked up the ancestral axe with his long strongly muscled and curved arms. His Great Uncle Join Healer had given him the axe he had used in the wars all his life when he was a frail, sickly shell of an old man, no longer in full possession of his faculties. Like Professor Tim Beau he had once been a strong attractive man (though not as popular with the ladies) and it sickened Professor Tim Beau to see what he had become, but Professor Tim Beau still accepted the axe with his masculine calloused hands from the broken man and the accepted words he ominously spoke, "Be careful how you use this weapon, used the wrong way it can, gasp, choke, croak." The ancient husk of a former man had died as he spoke.

Axe in hand Professor Tim Beau used his attractive strong green eyes to peer around the edge of the couch which no one had looked behind in the ten months since Professor Van Niekerk had mysteriously disappeared. What he saw caused him to jerk back his well-formed muscular head.

"Yo, there's something very strange here!" he exclaimed to the curvilinear Lisbeth, rubbing his eyes with his athletic fingers. "It looks like Professor Van Niekerk but he's strangely contorting and twisting. Then his bright emerald eyes focused on Lisbeth, the bright light of the full moon just rising through the window, and he saw that her well-rounded body as also contorting and twisting.

To be continued if I ever have time...

Eric Tuesday, July 15, 2014 at 8:48:00 PM EDT  

I totally see myself having a Full Fathom Five opportunity here! So, TimBo, what I need you to do is finish this saga at the earliest opportunity, and I will take all the money you earn from our partnership!

What, you might be asking, do you get from this, if I get all the royalties and licensing? Exposure, Tim, exposure. What every young writer needs. The opportunity to have your work reach a wider audience of readers under my byline!

Chop chop! I don't hear a keyboard clicking!

TimBo Tuesday, July 15, 2014 at 10:41:00 PM EDT  

How dare you insult my art by suggesting I would do it for money or fame? I only write because I am forced by the depths of my being to write. You have insulted that high ideal.

Good day to you sir! Good day, I say!

Eric Wednesday, July 16, 2014 at 5:14:00 PM EDT  

Good news, TimBo! If you agree to my offer, I can promise you'll receive neither!

Now where's my story? I'd like to go house-shopping this evening.

TimBo Wednesday, July 16, 2014 at 10:19:00 PM EDT  

[Okay, you asked for it.]

Just then through the office door burst Dean Katsy carrying her family's ancient biodag, taking in the scene at a glance her sigmoid brain immediately forced her incurvate body (though it was outcurvate in all the correct places) into action. She wasn't like other girls when it came to any kind of action. She was always ready.

“Your axe! Use it on the Lisbeth-corgi!” she yelled throwing herself on writhing and twisting body of her former fiance, Professor Van Niekerk. As his body continued to contort and twist into the form of a corgi she plunged her ancient biodag into his hideous body. The weapon had been honed to extreme sharpness by her family through the centuries and she had no problem severing corgi-muscle and corgi-bone with it.

“I always hated your pudgy lawyerish physique!” she shrieked, “And now as a half corgi you look even worse! Our engagement is off!”

Meanwhile on the other side of the room the attractively handsome Professor Tim Beau had his hands full with the Lisbeth-corgi. Perhaps because she'd had so much more practice transforming her luscious curves into the corgi shape she could do it much quicker. She had transformed herself in a blink and hurtled herself on Professor Tim Beau without giving him a chance to bring the ancient axe that had been in his family for generations into play. The force of the corgi's jump had knocked the very attractive professor onto his back with Lisbeth-corgi on his chest.

“Yo. This little dog is all over me.” intoned the well-proportioned Professor Tim Beau.

Behind the sofa the magnificent Dean Katsy had completely decapitated the hideous half-dog half-ugly man. Unwinding her splendid serpentine body from the floor, grinding her heel into face of her former fiance, she took in the scene on the floor. She couldn't help but notice that even though flat on his back Professor Tim Beau was very graceful and pulchritudinous. He was trying to grab the Lisbeth-corgi by the neck.

“Hold!” the dazzling women called. “The dog! It's not trying to harm you!”

And indeed it wasn't. Whether the removal of life from the grotesque Professor Van Niekerk had caused some sort of change in the atmosphere of the world, or perhaps due to the extremely suave appearance of Professor Tim Beau, the Lisbeth-corgi was no longer bent on the death or the domination of the human race. She was simply trying to lick the dapper Professor Tim Beau on the face.

“Yo-yo. You're right. She only wants to be close to me.” said the gorgeous Professor Tim Beau standing up holding the eager corgi with one hand.

Dean Katsy came around the sofa her large breasts heaving passionately. “I've never seen a man who attracted me like you do!” she said, “You're mine now!” and threw herself into Professor Tim Beau's arms.

In the history of the world there have only been five great love scenes witnessed by a were-corgi and this one was more passionate and out lasted them all.

THE END. [or is it?]

Eric Thursday, July 17, 2014 at 1:00:00 AM EDT  

I'm in the mon-neeeee, I'm in the monnnnnneeee!

TimBo Thursday, July 17, 2014 at 9:15:00 AM EDT  

Your as bad as George Martian, it's all "write it longer, kill off more of the good guys, I'll share the money on the next book". Always the next book.

TimBo Thursday, July 17, 2014 at 9:16:00 AM EDT  

You're. You're. You're Damn it! Why doesn't Blogger have an edit button?

TimBo Thursday, July 17, 2014 at 11:08:00 AM EDT  

Yes, George B.B. Martian, "he" wrote a very popular fantasy series called Game Of Expensive Chairs. It was made into a TV series by HRO. [So I can't spell or do grammar, gimme a break!]

Eric Thursday, July 17, 2014 at 11:50:00 AM EDT  

Oh! I thought maybe you meant George Martian, the recording engineer who produced all those Beetles albums back in the '60s, like Rubber Sole and The Wight Album.

TimBo Thursday, July 17, 2014 at 12:21:00 PM EDT  

Rubbed Sole is one of my favourite dishes, especially when served on a yellow submarine sandwich.

celinejeanjean.com Friday, July 18, 2014 at 3:43:00 AM EDT  

Eric, you owe me a new keyboard, as I snorted tea all over mine whilst reading your hilarious blog post. Let that go on record. I'm sure you can buy me said new keyboard from the extensive royalties you'll earn from TimBo's saga.

All jokes aside, I tip my imaginary hat to you sir, for that fab bit of writing.

Oh and when I read your reply to John Healy, I misread it as saying John Goodman, and I thought you were going to start shouting about rugs tying the room together, telling him to shut the fuck up (Johnny/Donny, it works), and asking whether you are wrong. Because my mind always defaults to The Big Lebowski given half a chance. Although that was a cool bit of reference (as I knew of neither Steve Goodman or David Allen Coe), I'll be honest, I was slightly disappointed.

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