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Q*Bert Erotic Fan Fiction

Editor's Note: Warning: disturbing, more than anything. --The Van Gogh-Goghs

It was the nose. Sure, I can't say the firm, round body wasn't an attraction. And yes, I would be lying if I said orange skin didn't rev my rockets. But it was the nose, that long, luscious, pronged proboscis, that I would see seared across my vision as I woke up, sweaty and hot...fast-fading half-remembered dreams of all the ways he would use that nose on me...

There was plenty of material for fantasy. I saw him in office nearly every day. I was a lowly temp. He was working on the script for his new video game, "Q*Bert 2: Analog Boogaloo," which I'm told was a masterpiece, a grand vision writ large in CMOS chips and assembly language, something that would surely popularize the study of pre-industrial coal societies in the same way that the original Q*Bert game fueled new research into three dimensional geometry. In a word: pure genius. In another: sex pot.

I'd always been wary of approaching the master at work, but when he was nearby my eyes never left those slender legs, that ripe belly, that long hunk of man-meat on his face.

And so, when I was in the elevator and I heard a voice cry out, "hold please!" I felt a little electric jolt of joy when I saw him -- him, him, him!!! -- jog in past the doors.

He was huffing and puffing -- out of shape from summering in Europe, I'd heard. So I decided to seize the conversational opportunity.

"I bet you could have stopped the elevator door from closing with just your nose," I joked. And then I laughed at myself. I'm an idiot. Why would I say something like that?

But he laughed back. "Yep."

"Yessss..." I used my sexy voice.

"Uh, yep. A nose this big is pretty useful."

I began to suck on a finger in a sexy, sexy way. (I tasted Doritos.) "For a lot of things, I bet."

"Mmmmm hhmmmm." He stared up at the numbers above the door.

"Lots and lots of things." And then I winked, but since he wasn't really looking my direction, I decided to kick him in the shin simultaneously. "Ouch, fuck!" He screamed out.

"I never thought you'd ask!" I cried out, stripping my clothes with one hand and pressing the elevator stop button with the other.

He struggled to get away, but having played his game endlessly, I knew all of his movement patterns. There was no way for him to escape my hungry grasp. Firmly sitting upon his terrified face, and during the next four minutes I experienced a greater joy than any simple boy such as I deserve.

The next four months, after I was fired for assault and sexual battery, were filled with court appearances and appointments with a shrink. I only saw him occasionally, rushing to or sitting in court behind his bodyguards. I'll always have my memory of our forbidden love. But especially precious to me is my videotapes of him on the stand as I cross-examined him, shouting "liar!" each time he denied harboring a secret love for me. You could tell from the way he recoiled in horror that he was hiding something. At the very least, I knew.

Since I've been fired, I've spent my time reprogramming the Q*Bert coin-operated game in the garage. Sure, it's no "Leisure Suit Larry." But let me say, the new "hot tub" level I added is really fucking hot.

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