Weekend Pleasures

He spends his weekend masturbating a bit, but mostly watching Star Wars on DVD. With me wrapped around his semi-hard spunk-javelin, with his mind full with images of flying lesbians descending through the mottled, pearly-white ceiling, and displaying such tiny vaginas, he makes a noise:

- Mrwahh!

It sounds like the noise Chewbacca always makes:

- Mrwahh!

In fact, he thinks, furiously beating the crap out of his best mate, with me, does Chewbacca make any other noise than:

- Mrwahh!

It’s the noise he makes when he’s losing at chess to C3PO. It’s the noise he makes when he’s reunited with the tortured Han Solo. It’s the noise he makes when strangling Lando Calrisian. It’s the noise he makes when he sees a dead animal tied to a tree.

Perhaps, he thinks, whilst picturing the fisting of the innards of an anus of a fat whore from the Estate, Chewbacca has no other form of expression. How frustrating: Han Solo says to Chewbacca,

- Heh Chewwie, it’s your birthday in a week. I was wondering if you’d like a new blaster? Maybe a new ammunition belt? Perhaps a weeks holiday in beautiful Benidorm? A meal of infinite meat in the restaurant at the end of the universe?

- Mrwahh!

- What was that? You’d prefer – one of the space rocks we picked up in the Asteroid belt?!

- Mrwahh!

- But Chewwie, they’re just worthless pieces of junk. Sure you wouldn’t prefer something a bit better, more expensive say, than that? Perhaps a nice, snazzy hat or helmet, encrusted with rare jewels?

- Mrwahh!

- What was that? Space rock? Not a night with one of Jabba’s dancers, say?

- Mrwahh!

- Space rock it is. Same as last year.

- Mrwahh!

His pleasure-stick is throbbing now, like a taxi waiting. Spin that meter, he says to me, the driver, spin it. The passenger will jump out in a minute, he says, and your hands will be full of little silvery coins.

But, he thinks, the passenger wants somewhere to go, something to jump into. And wait – what genitalia does Chewbacca have? I know he’s a bit hairy – but where is his meat plunger? Chewbacca! He thinks, picturing the little minx, you have no penis, and what’s a little downy hairy anyway, you dark-eyed temptress! You princess of sluts! You pulsating vision of feminine loveliness!

- Mrwahh!

answers Chewbacca, at the same time he does.

- Mrwahh!

Perhaps, he wonders as he ejaculates up across his t-shirt, that’s what Mrwahh means:

- Give me a penis!

Chewbacca’s being beaten at chess, and he tries his luck with C3PO:

- Give me a penis!

And C3PO gives him the game instead. That’s not what he wanted! Or when reunited with Han Solo, or as Lando Calrisian frees him, he thinks: at last! He has brought me a penis! Or, at last! He has freed me to fit a penis on me!

- Give me a penis! Mrwahh!

he cries. Perhaps some intonation is possible, and when he sees the meat tied to a tree, he reaches out to get it, uttering:

- Mrawahh!


- I have for myself found such a fury penis!

(The pleasure stick has gone soft now, fyi.) And then reality returns, after such an orgasm of optimism, and she, Chewbacca, laments:

- O aberration after aberration, world will you not just give me a penis?

pronouncing it,

- Mrwaaaahhhhhhhh!

But Chewbacca, that darling, will never have a penis of her own. So she fights with her fists at anything. Me too, so fuck off, you.