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Monday, February 6, 2012

Zapocalypse – The Midnight Special by D. Dye

Who knew that two lesbians stranded in some hick-ass town deep in the swamps of southern Georgia would become local legends, heroes in their own right? Gina and Ginger sure as hell didn’t.

But that’s exactly what they became on the night of The Midnight Special.
Battling redneck hypocrites on a nightly basis at the diner was bad, but battling those same inbreds turned zombie was a whole different breed of stupid. Yet with their iPods jacked up and blasting Creedence Clearwater Revival, that’s just what they’re doing: kicking some serious zombie ass!
With half the town looking out their backdoors and the other half dreading that bad moon a'rising, Gina realizes she and Ginger have been thrust into a fight for the town as well as their lives.


Zapocalypse – The Midnight Special
By D. Dye

Ginger and I had feuded with our neighbors for what felt like eons, though it's only been the few months we've lived here. Why here, in this fine-ass (pfft!) municipality of Ewahitchka, Georgia? Because when Ginger threw the dart at our dorm's big wall-map, the damned thing landed here. And, on the Monday after graduation, so did we.
We'd packed up our beloved collection of the best damned horror movies of all time. Movies like The Creature from the Black LagoonThe BirdsFriday the Thirteenth and of course, The Night of the Living Dead. The real one, the one that was black and white and still raised chill bumps.
When we rolled into town, the first thing I’d said was, “They're coming for you Gingerrr!
 She slapped my shoulder. But the town had that feel. That great-grandparents' hometown kinda feel. Everything was so dated. Stale. Like it had died a long time ago.
But we'd planned financially for x number of miles and were running on fumes. Until we'd worked a few months and stashed more traveling money, our options were limited.
The two brutes in the apartment above the one next door were named Butch and Sundance. Really. I pictured their dads getting drunk together during a Western movie marathon. These two backwoods rednecks couldn't grasp our need to see the country first hand; they bragged—leering—they'd never needed to even cross the county line to find what they wanted. Nope, they were bred and born here, were related to every other body in town, and knew who was knocked up before the doctor did.
When Ginger and I moved in, those boneheads immediately set about trying to get in our pants. On our second night in our new place, they'd brought over a case of Old Milwaukee, their beer bellies, and way too much hope, judging from the pack of condoms sticking out of the front pocket of Butch's overalls.
We didn't even open the door.
A few days later, snickering together at what their faces must look like, Ginger and I lounged on our semi-private patio in our skimpiest bikinis and took our own sweet time massaging in one another's tanning lotion. Of course, we ended up in a heated make-out session. When I stripped off Ginger's suit and the men got a good look at her tawny muff, they probably drooled enough to fill a hot tub in the landlady's apartment beneath.
Knowing we had a jealous audience was secretly really turning me on. The fact that Ginger was mine, and those two bohemians could only watch—fuck yeah, that got me wet. Ginger winked and spread those silken thighs wide as she thrust her perky, rose-colored nips skyward.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. They're wrong. That picture was worth a million!
When I slowly encircled said nip with the tip of my tongue, rolling the little perfection to firmness, I heard multiple moans. Count Ginger's as one and I could guess where the others came from. But when I began gently nipping the taut buds and caught Ginger's heady scent, any thoughts of others just vanished.
Hell, I was squeezing my own thighs together in harmony with Ginger's gyrating hips. While I made oral love to her ample tits, I walked my fingers down her belly, then farther still through her perfectly coiffed thatch. The ginger-hued hairs glistened like magic under the falling sun.
Creedence Clearwater Revival's Pagan Baby was softly playing as the late-summer wind caressed my own bared skin.
Could life get any better than this?
Just as I started kissing my way down Ginger's lithe body, a huge bubbling-wet belch erupted, stopping me dead in my tracks.
Disgust iced my hot fantasy of being watched while I fucked Ginger. I looked up to see Butch on his balcony, wiping his mouth with a meaty forearm and flipping a chicken bone into the golden sky. Beside him, Sundance gaped at us, his beer-bottle nudging his mouth like an eager brown cock.
We flipped them off and huffed inside, but not before Ginger shot off something along the lines of pinkie-pricked inbreds.
Ever since, the guys had worked hard to make our lives hell. First by accidentally backing over our garbage can. Then by deflating our tires, which we couldn't prove. But we knew it was them.
But the real kicker? As much as those two inbred assholes might hate the notion of living next door to two lesbians, it sure as fuck didn't stop them from peeping on us any chance they got. The pervs.
Of course, half the town shot us the side-eye whenever our shifts at the diner coincided, as if thinking we would just break out and start getting jiggy right on the spot. We'd kinda figured when we moved into this shotgun town we might end up the center of attention for a bit.
Between Ginger's bright red hair and my own blonde-streaked black, we'd always stood out in a crowd. Mainly Ginger, with her curvaceous body, bright hair, green eyes, and snappy attitude, versus my borderline Goth look and rather snarly attitude, or so everyone kept telling me. Personally, I called it truthful, and if people couldn't take that and called me snarly, it wasn't my damn problem.
Ginger liked to call it our chance to educate the less fashion-fortunate. It was more than that. It was our challenge to their attitude that as Ewahitchka went, so went the world.
Such was life anywhere, I supposed. Some dickhead would always be ready to cause trouble. Experiencing this gorgeous countryside was worth dodging a few snipes here and there.

* * * * *

The diner's bell jangled, goosing my nerves and oh, did I have a headache building. The all-night movie-and-sex marathon had been fun, but damn was I paying for it now. I’d gotten off yesterday and gone home to find Ginger curled up on the sofa and waiting for me with two cold ones, a large bowl of popcorn and three of the latest horror releases. Color me stupid, but curling up with Ginger while escaping into the world of trolls, banshees and vampires, had seemed like heaven on earth.  Feeling like hell the next day—today—hadn’t even crossed my mind.
 Raucous admiration broke out all around. I glanced over my shoulder, although I didn't need to; the catcalls told me it was Ginger, arriving to start her shift.
If we hadn't been desperate for work, we would have been right back out the door the second we'd laid eyes on the skimpy uniforms—Daisy Duke shorts and white, low-cut, eyelet-lace blouses paired with outlandish red cowboy boots. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and this job paid the bills. Barely. Truthfully, the way Ginger filled hers out, and the fact I got to watch her working in it . . . well, that almost made the sleaze-to-please uniform worthwhile.
The fact that Ginger wore her sheerest bra tonight only added to her appeal; I could just make out her areolas. Her tips would be good tonight. I could scarcely take my eyes off the mouthwatering visuals.
As if she sensed the intense scrutiny, Ginger blushed. Because I knew her contours so well, though, I saw the slight shadows where her nipples hardened.
I shook my head, trying to clear the images of the previous evening from my mind. Of Ginger sprawled out across our bed, spread eagle like the most bountiful of buffets. Her trimmed mound and glistening labia just beckoned to be orally adored, and oh, how I had adored. I knew I could never get enough of Ginger's unique scent or taste, like spiced honey, sweet with a hint of the exotic.
My nipples knotted painfully. Um, yeah, now was so not the time to remember last night. I focused a moment on Alice, the other waitress, who was a font of wisdom to anyone unfortunate enough to get trapped into listening to it.
On weekdays, when the factory kept workers until eight at night, the blue-haired crowd predominated and the wolf-whistles weren't so bad. On weekends, Bob opened the back room, where the pool tables were, and the diner became more of a bar. A few beers made these good ole boys belligerent and brazen. As Alice put it, all the good sense their mommas had beaten into them up and flew the coop.
"Hey, baby, how's the evening going?" Ginger asked while marrying the ketchups.
"Typical shit, new night." I shot back a few Tylenol, praying it would relieve the monster headache gathering weight at my temples.
Two infernal chimes alerted me that my orders were up. Ginger's slap on my ass, however, brought about a smug smile as I sauntered over to collect the food. Ginger knew how to wring a smile out of me, no matter what.
Man, but how did I ever got so lucky as to find Ginger? I would never know, but I thanked the karma gods for looking out for me every day.

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