A Comedy of AR's

by: Sammderr | Story In Progress | Last updated Jun 16, 2024

Chapter 48
It's the BLOB !

Chapter Description: Images for this story can be found at the following web...... https://sites.google.com/view/comedy-ars-characters/home

When I opened my eyes, I saw something hideous.  It startled me.  And I wasn’t sure if it was a living creature.


In my exuberant state as a post-pubescent fourteen-year-old, my brain was highly susceptible to wild imaginations … and right now, my brain had transported me back to 1958’s Hollywood B-movie, a monster thriller staring Steve McQeen, called “The BLOB”.


The Blob was directly above me and I was frozen with fear.  I reached over with my left hand and nudged Sammantha’s shoulder. 


She responded with a muffled, “Hmmmph.”


I hit her harder.  “Mom, look up!  It’s the Blob!”


She opened her eyes and looked at me.  “Derrek, you’ve been acting weird all night.  Now what?”


I pointed again.  “Up there! Look!”


Sammantha finally gazed at the ceiling of our hotel room and exclaimed, “Jesus H. Frickin Christ!”


Yes, there was a blob on our ceiling … a big blob.  And some of it was hanging down like a suspended runny nose.


“Do you think it’s alive, Mom?”


“Derrek, you’re fourteen now … time to take off your ‘stupid’ hat.   That blob is what blew out of your penis last night.  No wonder I couldn’t find a mess on you.”


“Can you take a picture of it?”


“Just a picture?  I think we should contact the Guinness Book of Records.  This ceiling is seven feet above our bed.  That has to be a record for the world’s greatest vertical cum shot ever.”


“Do you think there’s a category for that, Mom?”


“Probably not … but we could check the internet.”


“Oh yeah … If it’s on the internet, then it has to be true.”


“Okay, sorry sweety, but it says here that an American named Horst Shultz shot his vertical load 12 feet 4 inches high.”


“Wow, that’s five feet more than me.”


“True, but yours was stopped by a ceiling.  If it wasn’t there, you probably would have topped off at around 15 feet.”


“Mom, should we try again in front of the Guinness judges?”


“No, sweety, I think we should eat breakfast and go scuba diving.  Are you still horny?”


“At fourteen, I was a walking boner.  I think that’s why school was so difficult then.”


“Well you do have some hair on your putz … mixed with a bit of glitter.  And your voice has that teenage ‘twang’ to it, not yet a man, but I can see that my little boy is growing up … for a couple days anyway.”


“I feel clumsy, though.  I’m so heavy now … as much as you.”


“Sweety, since the Point DuJour’s are not hosting breakfast this morning, I think we should get dressed.”






I never got tired of the hotel breakfast buffets.  I loved the scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes.


“Derrek, what’s going on … You’re eating for three or four people.”


“I’m a teenager now, Mom.  This is how much I always ate.”


“So you’re telling me that for a teenage boy, pigging out is not a luxury, but a necessity?”


“For me it is … So Mom, what are our plans for today?”


“We’re renting our own boat with a pilot and dive gear.  They know the best secluded diving spots for our purposes.”


“Is he going to watch us?”


“I frankly don’t care, sweety.  And once we’re more than ten feet down, he won’t be able to see too much anyway.”






It was a short ride to the tourist docks in the port of Charlotte Amalie.  Sammantha led me to one of the dive shops that specialized in private charters.  Sammantha explained our desire for privacy and we were introduced to a particular boat owner with leathery skin and a scratchy beard who definitely fit the look of a ‘skipper’.


“Hi folks, I’m Melvin Mantooth.  I’ve been running charters here in St. Thomas for over twenty years.  How can I help you?”


Sammantha inquired, “Did your man at the desk explain what we were looking for?”


Melvin broke into a wide grin.  “Yeah, you want to get fucked underwater … not a problem.  It’s $900 for a charter, and believe it or not, I get a lot of requests for that. 


“So you’re perfectly okay with it?” she asked.


“Absolutely, dear … Would you like me to enter you from the traditional missionary position … or do you prefer that we do it doggy style? … Would you like me to eat your pussy first? … Do you like your tities squeezed like melons?  Is there a particular number of orgasms you’re looking to achieve?  Oh, and there’s no extra charge if you want to suck my cock.”


“Wait, wait, wait!” Samantha answered with alarm.  “No offense, Melvin, but I wasn’t planning on having sex with you.”


The man quickly glanced over in my direction and nodded his head.


“Ohhhhhhhhhh, so you’re a cougar, are you, eh?  I see … You want to make it an extra-special treat when you rob this poor lad of his virginity, don’t you?  And I’ll bet he’s your son, too.  You want to train the lad on the proper techniques on how to be a good little mother-fucker, don’t you?”


“Mr. Mantooth,” Sammantha said curtly, “I don’t believe that’s any of your concern.”


The skipper nodded.  “Would you two folks like to take a seat while I call the authorities?”


“What?!!” she shouted.


“Haaaaaaaaa, I’m just messin’ with you folks,” he replied.  “You are good to go.”


Then he put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Hey kid, do you know why mermaids wear seashells over their boobs?   Because they outgrew their B-shells.”


I replied, “Ba dump dump.”  (like a drum)  This guy was acting more like Gilligan than the Skipper.


“And always remember, kid … The absolute best gift that a lad can give his mom on Mother’s Day … and make it really extra special … is to fuck her brains out.”


This time, I sighed, “Okay.”


“Well, let me get your diving gear out so you folks can get ready while we motor out to a really nice secluded spot that no one ever goes to.   It’s shallow, and it’s got a cute little shipwreck down on the sand … some party boat that hit the rocks in 1975.”


“Does that sound okay to you, Mom?” I queried.  “Yogi Berra would call it ‘déjà vu all over again.”


“I’m not concerned, sweety … Skipper, I think we’re ready to shove off.”








We arrived at a familiar dive spot in about 20 minutes and were pleased to see that Gladstone’s yacht was nowhere in sight.


“No fins?” asked skipper Mantooth.


“Nope,” Sammantha answered.  “We won’t need them on this dive.”


“I suppose not,” he replied.  “Well, since you can’t speak underwater, let me give you some extra hand signals you may need down there.  Now point your first two fingers sideways and that looks like the letter ‘F’.  So when you move your hand back and forth, that means ‘faster, faster’.   Okay, and when you put up the palm of your hand for the stop sign, you just trace your other finger diagonally across it to say ‘don’t stop’.  Now the two of you show me.”


Both of us successfully mastered the sign for ‘faster, faster, don’t stop.’


“Okay, now when you flip the bird with your middle finger, that always refers to the boy’s cock.  So you just point your finger to wherever you want his penis to go … so if you want it go in your mouth, you just do this, see …”


“Skipper, skipper,” Sammantha interrupted.  “I’m sure we’ll be able to figure out that part on our own.”


“Okay, but I need to remind the boy that when you suck on your mommy’s tities, you got to remove your air supply and keep blowing bubbles outward.  If you hold your breath, you could die, and I’m serious … Now tell me kid, are you circumcised?”


“I am, but does it make a difference?”


“Oh yeah, big-time.  You’re lucky.  A lot of these uncut boys go diving and don’t realize that the water, at depth, creates a suction that makes it very difficult to pull back their hoods … and pardon the expression, but that makes trying to have sex a bitch.”


I asked the skipper, “Are there any dangerous critters we should look out for, like sharks?”


“We don’t get too many sharks around here.  Once in a while we get Lemon sharks, but they’re more like dogs, just curious.  No one’s ever been killed by a Lemon shark.  Just don’t put your hand in its mouth.  But for what you’re doing, you ought to keep an eye out for parrot fish.”


“Why’s that?”


“They’re called parrot fish because their beaks are so strong, they can crush coral into sand.  And to a parrot fish, those wiggly, waggly penises look just like a coral polyp, one delicious meal.  We’ve had reports on the island that some male sex divers have returned to the surface with a new nickname … ‘shorty’.”


I cringed.  “Mom, do we still want to do this?”


Sammantha tried to reassure me.  “Yes, sweety, but we’ll mind the critters while we’re down there.”


She looked back at Mr. Mantooth.  “Skipper, could you kindly avert your eyes for a moment?”


“Most certainly, my lady … Enjoy your dive … And to the boy, be a man, lad … You’ll know what to do.”


We quickly got naked and stood at the back end of the boat.  For the record, we both knew that the skipper was sneaking some quick peeks at Sammantha’s incredible nude body.  I’m glad he wasn’t looking at my gangly teenage body, although I’d have to say that if my body had a testosterone gauge, the needle would still be indicating ‘full’, not withstanding the BLOB I created.







End Chapter 48

A Comedy of AR's

by: Sammderr | Story In Progress | Last updated Jun 16, 2024


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