WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS COLUMN IF EASILY AROUSED!
It’s not often I’m shocked, but this week I found one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever came across on the Internet. Researching various porn sites for a ‘maxi-series’ I’m working on, I found a seedy prose fetish site for sick comic-book enthusiasts and a short sex story which just absolutely turned my fucking stomach.
We’re all aware of the growing comic-book porn fiction starring well-known creators, but it’s always been relatively tame in the past. Maybe Catwoman’s Ed Brubaker as a handsome plumber doing a little overtime for a bored housewife with his heavy tool. A short story, perhaps, featuring JLA’s Joe Kelly as a transsexual cop busting a gang of lesbians who planned to corrupt some impressionable cheerleaders. But not this. We shouldn’t have to put up with trash like this. Comics are for kids, for fuck’s sake. Creators are human being too. Please, please, please stop putting this kind of muck out there because it really upsets me and, frankly, I’m getting a little turned on by it too.
I genuinely don’t want this new fetish to reach a wider audience, but I feel it’s important that you recognize this kind of thing when you see it. Perhaps then you could contact someone in authority like a nice policeman or maybe someone at the DC booth who might actually do something about it. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT become aroused by the extract which follows. It’s really a reputation we could all do without now that the industry is finally experiencing some kind of upswing.
THE DAY I JACK KIRBIED MY NEIGHBOUR’S JEMAS
We sat out on the patio, and Roger was wearing only shorts. Barbara was wearing a short skirt and no Kuberts, and a blouse that barely covered her Alessis. Suddenly, out of the blue, Barbara turned to me and asked, “You really like looking at my Carlins, don’t you?” I swallowed.
“Well, yes, I mean no, I mean, you know, they’re just right there and all —”
“Yes, she has magnificent Quesadas,” said Roger. “I just love to suck on those big, fat Ditkos.”
“And you suck my Brubakers so WELL, Roger,” she said.
I could feel my nine inch Palmiotti begin to throb in my shorts. Damn, I thought, this conversation was getting way out of hand. “See?” Roger asked, leaning over and pulling her top apart. Both of her Waids were suddenly free, her hard, pink Dillons fully exposed. Roger leaned over and flicked his Ellis out, licking first one pink, hard Wieringo, and then the other. “Like this,” he said, moving his lips on one John Cassaday, sucking it into his Garth. I watched in fascination as Barbara closed her eyes and leaned back, thrusting her Scott Campbells forward. I could hear sucking noises coming from Roger’s Peyer. Then he pulled away from her, and looked at me.
“You’d like to suck those Zimmermans, huh, George?”
I nodded. What else could I do? “Well, come and get a nice Perez.” I moved my chair over and moved my Fabry to one of Barbara’s Milligans while her husband Sienkiewiczed the other one. I took it between my Sprouse and pressed on it with my Augustyn, moving my Liefeld over and around the large, hard Todd. She moaned, and Roger reached down and lifted her Mahnke. There wasn’t much of a Casey to lift, and she spread her Dixon, giving him access to her hairy Allred. He pulled his Alan Moore away. “She likes having her Romita Junior licked, too, and her Portacio.” I pulled my Lee away from her Valentinos. “I bet,” I said. “Show him, Barbara,” he said.
She stood and pulled her Azzarello off. She sat on the rickety patio table, lifting her Winnicks and spreading them. Roger leaned forward and stuck his Hitch into her puckered, pink Ross, and I moved my mouth to her Smilin’ Stan Lee. I licked up and down her Byrne, and then parted it with my fingers. Roger suddenly pulled away and looked around. “Maybe we should go into the house with this,” he said. We wound up on the living room floor, the three of us naked, Roger’s massive, uncircumcised Millar sticking straight out from a bundle of dark brown Claremont. His Geoff Johns were fat and hairy, full of wrinkles, hanging low from the heat. “You lay on the floor,” said Roger, almost as if directing a show, “and Barbie can get on top of you, and I can kneel between her spread O’Neills. You Seagle her McFarlane while I Marz her Cavalieri. She’s always wanted that, and here’s her big chance.”
I lay down, and Barbara lay on top of me, her wet Morrison gliding right onto my swollen Quitely. She began moving up and down a little, and then I felt Roger’s big Dave Gibbons press against mine, and I could actually feel him inside her, pushing against my Mike Cotton. Barbara screamed and moaned and jerked as we both Loebed her, Roger’s big Jim Robinson sliding in and out of her Dunbier, her wet Frank Miller sucking on my Layman with each movement she made. I didn’t have to move at all. I could feel my orgasm coming on, and my legs began to quiver and shake as I felt Roger’s Scott McDaniel press a membrane close to my Smith, rubbing against it, turning me on like never before. I reached around and grabbed Barbara’s Faerber, moving her up and down on me. I Ron Marzed amidst my own moans and spasms, and I know that Barbara Fegradoed right after that. Roger pulled his Brian Michael Bendis out of her Macchio and it throbbed and shot Bruce Jones onto her Jemas, and then on my Immonen.
Barbara moved off me then, laying on the floor beside me. “Well, didn’t I tell you she was a hot piece of Kirby?” I nodded, too exhausted, but still too turned on, to talk. We became even closer friends after that, and shared many a Schreck together. They moved to another state, but once in a while, we go on a vacation together. She’s still the same old Levitz, Roger says with an evil grin. But, she’s only a Levitz with the two of us. Imagine that.
Visit Mark Millar on the Web at www.millarworld.biz.