The Vaudeville

by johannespunkt

…or How She and He Killed, Erotically, an Officer of the Law

Here is some erotica featuring heavy references to lyrics by the Mountain Goats. I have forfeited explanations.


In their neutral meeting place, the Episcopalian churchyard, He and She melted like plastic. “Your mouth is sweeter than wine,” one of them said to the other, and the other filled in the rest of the line. They were a mess of limbs and clothes and genitals. It was nothing compared to the mess inside.

Twisting Her body so Her smart black beret fell off, She bent back to open the glove compartment and brought out a fully-charged vibrator. He snatched it from Her and threw it out the window. “I know you’ve come to take my toys away. But that was impulsive and stupid.” She got off Him and they looked hard for what they’d lost. It was painful to admit it, but they couldn’t find a thing.

Down there in the dark, between the debris that collects on car floors, was a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms.

They found a direction again. She had Her young hand on His face. She kissed Him and ripped fistfuls of hair from His beard. He ran His nails up Her fishnets and brought His hand down again along with Her panties. They caught around Her feet. For fifteen minutes with His hand under Her skirt, Him watching the juice drip down His arm, Her orgasm became a physical shape in the backseat with them until it popped like a fallen glass bauble. Her bones all became pudding.

The near-electric tension must have broadcast on the hard-to-find stations on the AM-band, because somehow the cops found out. Sounds of another car rolling into the parkway. “I know that you’re not wearing a wire,” She said and trailed Her hands down all the places He could possibly conceal a wire. He kissed Her back. Hearts in their throats. The feeling when the cop car flipped its lights on was one of blinding light and rapture. They knew they were not the ones meant for eschatology. The servant of the pharaoh came up to their car. And they stared out the window. He breathed on the glass, waited for it to clear.

He stepped out. The police officer saw that He had His cardigan on but His cock out, and he was about to say something. That was when She garrotted him from behind. They had to smash the headlights to shut them off; for a brief and glorious moment the ground was soaked with yellow and blood-red bits, like a kaleidoscope. Then all was dark.

“I’m not going to jail again,” She explained.

“As long as we play our cards right … it’s a good thing we already have an almost perfect alibi.”

She, skirt and hair and not much else whipping in the wind, got down on Her knees. Stray syllables were gurgling from Her throat one at a time. “I have poor impulse control,” He said and came. Jizz slugs crawled out of Her mouth and down the curvature of Her chin and neck, disintegrating violently.

Hail Satan.