(We were kicked out of that forum because we had so much fun writing stories.)

It all happened so quick, placed on an entangled electron, instantly transporting us to a lab, impressive. We looked around and were rushed into a cubicle. Two orderlies dressed in hazmat suits pushed a hypodermic needle in our arm. One orderly mumbled. “The DNA switcher will wear off in a few hours.”

 

A gruff looking bald, middle-age research scientist suddenly appeared and said, “You must not write anything down the information will be encoded in a specific neural network in your brain and retrieved only by us.”

We signed the contract for fifty thousand dollars each by one of the wealthiest surreptitious research organization, known only as DNA-S.

We immediately found ourselves on top of a crystal chandelier.

“Where is my fly skirt?”

Lady Anya looked down, “They gave us balls!”

“I only got one.” I started swinging my hips attempting to rid that appendage.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get sore.”

“I’m trying to shake it off…its not comfy.”

Suddenly, we smelled the most wondrous aroma smell ever smelled, and soared down on a turd pile, next to the gold embedded with ruby’s chamber pot. Crawl around we did, buried our faces deep inside such ecstasy, such rapture… ready to lay my eggs.

“What are you doing?” Lady Anya said still deep in a trance.

“Laying eggs.” I whispered.

“You can’t lay eggs… those sons of bitches turned us into males”

“I want my fly skirt back!”

Instantly an invisible force pulled us off our turd pile, and placed us on the ceiling.

“I think I know were we are, look down, recognize anyone? Lady Anya said with a most mischievous grin.

Four naked bodies lay face down on silk covered tables, massaged by the most beautiful women, so gifted with unbeknown perilous sensuous fingers, relaxing the shoulder muscles and such, so much pleasure, their minds entrenched with pure bliss.

Sir Robert suddenly jackknifed off the table, grabbed his loincloth and ran.

Knowing something was amiss, Sir Brian, Sir Dave and Sir Tommy followed suit.

They made it to the 8ft barrier and with such an adrenaline rush, effortlessly jumped over the wall into the shark infested water. Out swam the sharks, and barely able to drag their bodies onto dry land.

They sat stupefied.

Sir Robert kept shaking his head, “Damn…they were not… it’s all a mistake it…

Sir Brian wished he had some of his tainted Rye whiskey, “Oh man, shit happens…it was a drake!”

Sir Dave, eyes rounded to a point of popping out. “I didn’t like it!”

Sir Tommy said, “Let’s not tell the Ladies.”

The Kingdom Snitcher ran to King Gerald, and whispered. “Awesome Al hired Wizard Willard and had the four pure bred horny drakes of yours temporarily turned into beautiful harlots. Invited four of your subjects for a massage and and I think Awesome Al has a jealousy problem and…

“Enough!” roared the King. He was very fond of the men. Called one of his generals and had him fetch Awesome Al, pronto.

Meanwhile…the DNA switcher not yet full deactivated, Lady Anya and I flew over a town looking for all the shit houses we could find.

That fifty thousand dollar check bounced, all that sniffing and scratching around acting like a scatologist. what a waste.

Anya said to  Helene, “male fly testes are internal to their abdomens 🙂 

http://www.earthlife.net/insects/anat-abdomen.html

( Four hours later someone reported our story as spam and we were banned from posting at LinkedIn for a month.)

Dang, he didn’t want to add to our story as we procrastinated on the Procrastination Forum. Though we did become cyber friends later.

Francoise

WELL, ANYA,HELENE AND TOMMY as you clog up the pages all day lond long with subjects which may amuse you but bear no relevance to the question asked would it not be a good idea if you started a page of your own and could indulge in your fantasies all day long without inflicting your games on the rest of us..You are allowed your fun, but why should it be at the irritation of others, I am not even talking about the lack of consideration towards the other members. .

Helene Thomas

Love you too, Francoise, you sly little rascal you.

Francoise

Helene, for once I am the one having a laugh at your expense! What is a father? dont know!………………………..

Helene Thomas

Love you too, Francoise…you spelled don’t wrong 🙂