Milked By The Yeti Again, part 1
By Callie Press
The Sequel to Moctezuma Johnson’s Milked By The Yeti serial
Introduction by MJ
I’d be remiss not to slightly plug this frigid little snowed-in chestnut by Callie Press. First, why the fuck are we writing this one wank wonder trash? Well, it’s kind of an inside joke about how we are wasting our precious time worrying about plots that few people care about and Milked by the Yeti was our code for that type of plotless story. Milked by the Yeti the concept took on a life of its own when I we kept saying we should write it, she should write, we really should write this. So on Thursday, I think, I outlined it and wrote the first part. Each day I added a part until I had four parts, a beginning middle and end, and the first “book” (it’s only on this site) in the Milked by the Yeti Series. Callie said, you should write Milked by the Yeti Again. Why don’t you write it? Voila. Most of my writer friends would say they were going to do it and then hem and haw, complain, wax poetic about a thousand other things like a literary Larry David, complain some more, but not Queen Callie. A few hours later and presto. Excelsior! She has a knack for pounding (words). So let me step aside and give the mic to Ms. Callie Press who I cannot thank enough for inspiring me to throw the kitchen sink at the page and who I think is on the brink of a special kind of stardom. I’ve had the absolute pleasure of taking a peek at some of her upcoming writing and she’s about to rip your panties off and stuff down your throats (in a good way, natch!).
Please clap your hands for Callie Press…
My process is different, but surely equally abnormal, if not outright broken-headed crazy…I just make them real in my mind and watch them, then explain what I saw as well as I’m able (and yes, I do it in Word, even though I am teased by some people about using stone-age technology).
So once I go back and re-read the original for the third time, I’ll watch them for a while in my still-hydrocodoned-to-oblivion state and then, with no break you can see but which amounts to a huge pause in this document to me, I’ll bang out the first draft of the first installment and slap it onto the blog right here, unedited, uncorrected, rough draft serial. Like Mark Twain, only smuttier, and with those Hemingway sentences that leave no room for misunderstanding. Yeah this sentence was edited away, sorry. Anyhow. So that’s what you’ll be reading as soon as you get past this line!
Milked By The Yeti Again, part 1
by Callie Press
The man wore a bright red turban with an enormous white and yellow feather in it. It matched his clothes and outrageous mustachios. He was straddling Lena, who was on her back on a cot. Her forearms were trapped at her sides by his thighs. His brown hands were clenched around her throat and he was shaking her. His hands were brown because he was an Indian man named Vivek. He was shaking her so hard so that her head seemed ready to snap at the neck. He was also yelling.
“Where is my Radika!” he kept yelling. He shook Lena so hard her big tits threatened to erupt from the button-up shirt she had been sleeping in.
“Help! Natasha! Vlad!” she cried.
“Where is my Radika! I know you saw her!” he yelled right in her face. Shake, and again.
Natasha rushed in, followed immediately by Vlad. They both hurried over to the smaller man and pulled him off of Lena as deftly as a horny nerd virgin trying to unhook his first bra—that is, poorly and awkwardly with no apparent success.
“Where is my Radika!” he yelled again, right in Natasha’s ear.
She rolled her eyes and open-hand slapped the man right in the mouth. “You shut up with that, Vivek,” Natasha told him. They finally got him completely off of Lena. Natasha gave Vlad a look and Vlad nodded, implying he had a good hold on Vivek. “Why do you think Lena would know where Radika ran off to?” Natasha asked.
“My Radika did not run off! Radika was looking for her!” he yelled and nodded at Lena.
“Vivek, stop yelling!” Natasha yelled.
“I’m sorry for yelling!” Vivek shouted. “She is my world! My darling! I must know why she is gone so long!”
Lena shook her head and rubbed her neck. “I don’t know anyone named Radika,” she lied truthfully. “Get away from me. Get out of my tent!” She looked at Vlad. “Can’t you do something with him? Arrest him? Beat him up at least?”
“It’s their camp,” Vlad told her. “They fleece tourists from this camp who come for the mountain. Maybe we should just forget this happened, eh Vivek?”
Just then, her tent lifted up and flew off into the distance, disappearing behind other tents just like Lena’s. A massive roar erupted from the mouth of the giant, shaggy brute that was hovering over them all. This beast the color of the snow blotted out the sun and cast all four of them into a shadow. He was a mountain of terrycloth virility made of Osmond teeth. His dreamy, freaky eyes cast over them and landed on Lena, who met his stare with a glazed, open-mouthed expression that made her beautiful face look pretty stupid.
“Is that the fucking Yeti?” Natasha asked, her long blonde locks flying sensuously.
“Let’s run!” Natasha said as she grabbed Lena’s arm and tried to get her on her feet.
“My god,” Vlad said as he wrestled awkwardly with Vivek, “He must have left to find you as soon as he woke up from his… post-coital nap!” Both of them just wanted to get unentangled. They fumbled over each other until Vlad gave Vivek a powerful shove toward the Yeti. Vlad got to his feet and Vivek stumbled right at the lumbering tower of white fur.
The Yeti stepped forward and struck Vivek with his leg-sized, steel-hard erection. It hit Vivek in the side of his head like a mule kick, and sent him ass over applecart into the next tent. That tent collapsed in a heap with people struggling under it, and it instantly caught fire from the overturned oil lamp.
Then the Yeti grabbed Lena’s shapely ankles in one massive hand and pulled her away from Vlad and Natasha as easily as a bucktoothed mama’s boy pulls the wings off flies.
“Lena!” cried Vlad as Lena receded from their grasp. “Fight him! It’s as if he thinks he can discard you, and take you back whenever he wants!” People were screaming now in the tent, and trying to find the staked-down bottom edges so they could escape the clinging flames. Vivek was unconscious atop it.
The Yeti slung Lena over his shoulder and turned away. He ran off toward the woods at the foot of the mountain, but as they watched, he disappeared. His fur and hide had the power of illusion in the Himalayan snow as well as any gnome or chameleon or Las Vegas magician or trickster god of the Native Americans, Crow.
Natasha sighed and looked at Vlad resignedly. “I guess you should go get the truck again. And maybe find a gun this time.”
“You know why I don’t like guns! No,” Vlad said firmly.
Natasha turned away from him, staring in the direction the Abominable beast had disappeared to with her Lena. “Just get a gun.”
Vlad left to get the truck and a gun.