Hardcore XXXXXXX Freezer Sex, Guarenteed to Heat up Your Hot Summer

by Arthur R. Mullen

Simone the fishstick was an early riser. Mornings usually meant coffee and the paper at the local cafe. Evenings broke sherry with the fishstick folks, and sometimes fireside chats with her new friend the Frozen Pack of Flounder.

“Vanderkamps stock is down,” said the Frozen Pack of Flounder.

“Again?” said Simone, lowering her spectacles. “I thought that they caught some fat fins off Nova Scotia.”

“Mostly porpoise,” said the F.P.o.F. with charm. “You know I'd like to find a schooner and eat it.”

“My dear Flounder, the schooner the better.” They both laughed. Simone raised the glass of wine to her lips and sipped heavily. She could feel her inhibitions slipping away.

“You have luscious lips,” said the Frozen Pack of Flounder. “Even for a stick of dead fish.” He put his arm lightly over her shoulder. “You know, I've always wondered what it would be like to stick you.”

“I am a fishstick. Nothing more, nothing less. I cannot be sticked,” replied Simone with a giggle. She looked away, shrugging his arm off her shoulder. “I can only be eaten, best if with tartar sauce.”

“I've got some tartar sauce if you're interested baby,” said the Frozen pack.

“Do you want to get saucy?” He caressed the breaded crumbs on her side. “You like this, do you not?”

“It's so strange, Frozen pack... I have never been caressed by anything but teeth and tongue.”

“We will get to that later,” the Frozen Pack of Flounder said daringly.

“You have a tongue and cheeks?” she innocently interjected. Simone had never such a peculiar pack of frozen flounder.

“Come here and find out.” The Frozen Pack of Flounder hoisted Simone on top of him. “You want it, do you not?” he whispered into her ear. Simone was not sure about what to do. This was not her place, here, by this fire, with this aristocratic pack of frozen fish, even if he was handsome and smooth. The rest of the fishsticks were in a box behind her. They trusted the Gordon's fishermen, why couldn't she be like them?

I must resist, thought Simone. Oh, but I cannot. “Your breath is like chowder,” she murmured.

“Thank you, my love.” He rolled his pack of flounder completely onto her and began a slow, rhythmic love hump. Despite the crackling fire they were both completely frozen. No one's saying it was easy.

“Fantastic!” yelled Simone. She threw herself at him. He muffled her.

“Ah my darling. You are the best stick of fish I've ever stuck.” He rolled off her and made googling eyes.

“Thats not tartar sauce,” said Simone, worriedly.

The Frozen Pack of Flounder replied proudly, “Its my white clam sauce.”
“Ugh, do people eat that?”

Eventually the fire grew dim and the sherry was put away. The Frozen Pack of Flounder was eaten the next day.

As for Simone, well, she accidentally rolled behind the fridge and stayed there for thirteen years, until the fridge was finally moved for cleaning and a cat darted in and snatched her up in its paw. In all that time she'd never forgotten that one evening, that one time by the fire. The bumping, the pumping, and oh that hunk of frozen flounder.