Formaldehyde and Nitrous Oxide

When I first humped Norma Jean she was working in the library and had five of her front teeth missing. I was hunting down a book on taxidermy and she walked me over to the correct aisle. She leaned over to pull out the Taxidermy Guide Third Edition and I gave her keester a little tap.

            “What’d you do that for?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You grabbed my but.”

            “What? I did nothing of the sort. Is that the book. Is it by Roger Tinsley.”

            “Um. Yeah. This is the one.”

            “Do you like taxidermy?” I asked.

            “Not particularly. I like those big moose heads they have at the ski lodges.”

            “Have you seen the ones at Timberline?”

            “That big brown bear having sex with the mountain goat?”

            “Yep. I did that one.”

            “No way. That’s cool.”

            “Why don’t you come by my studio?” I asked. “I got a super cool one I’m working on. It’s a mold of a caveman, homo habilis, plowing the turds out of a pteradactyl.”

            “We’re not really allowed to see patrons socially.”

            “Think of it as research. You’ll be able to file the books in this section a little better.”

            “OK. I get off at four.”

            “I’ll come get you.”


I pulled up in my van at 3:58 and she was standing next to the book drop. I slid the door open and she jumped in.

            “It’s pretty cool back here. Are these reel sheepskins?”

            “That’s right, and it spins too.” The entire back of my van was a five foot diameter tube padded in sheep pelts. When I flipped a toggle switch the whole thing rotated lengthwise.

            “Where we heading?”

            “Didn’t you want to see my studio?” I asked.

            “I didn’t really care where we went. I just wanted to see you. See what you were like.”

            “Well, you like ice cream?”
            “I love ice cream. You like the Dairy Queef?”

            “Yeah. Their dipped cones are amazing,” I said. I revved up the van and burned out in the parking lot. She laughed.

            “Don’t do that, I work here.”

            “Oh sorry, I was just trying to impress you.”

            “How fast your car is doesn’t impress me.”

            “What does impress you?”

            “This rotating cylinder of sheepskin is pretty cool.”

            “You want to get ice cream and then turn that thing on?”

            “Sure, but no funny stuff.”

            “Of course not. I’m a church going man.”

We pulled up to the DQ but the drive up was completely packed. We went inside and waited for the cashier.

            “Welcome to Dairy Queef, how can I help you?”

            “We want two dipped cones,” I said.

            “I don’t want one of those anymore,” said Norma Jean. “I’ll have a poonblaster Gizzard.”

            “So one dipped cone and one Gizzard. What type of cone did you want, chocolate on vanilla ice cream?”


The cashier went to the machines and whipped up our desert. Meanwhile, back in my pants, the General was starting to tingle. “Stop that,” I said. Norma Jean was trying to stuff a spoon in my butt. I swatted her hand away.


            We walked back to the van with our ice creams and I saw a pallet of whipped cream canisters in the back alley. I pulled the van up and heaved it into the back.

            “What’s that?”

            “Buzz bombs. We’re gonna have some fun today.”

            “I don’t do drugs. Just so you know,” she said.

            “These aren’t drugs. It’s just laughing gas. Nitrous oxide. The same shit your dentist gives you. It’s actually good for you.”

            “You’ve tried it before?” she asked.

            “Of course. We did a shitload in college. I was the whippet king. One time I was under the gas for two straight days. Got straight A’s that quarter.”

            “How do we do it?”

            I drove to a secret spot overlooking the ocean.

            “What do you think of this view?” I asked.

            “It’s great. When can we try the buzz bombs.”

            “Hold your horses, little woman.”

I backed up the van and flipped open the rear doors. We crawled into the sheepskin tube and finished our ice creams. I took two of the canisters, shoved them into my nose, and let the nitrous pour into my brain. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuk.

            Time slowed to a standstill. The floor started spinning. Norma Jean pulled off her top and her tits were twisting in opposite directions. My hog stretched down to my ankle and looped around my leg, constricting the bloodflow to my foot. I tried to stand up but my other leg was shaking.

            Norma Jean was bouncing up and down. “Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii Wwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnntttttt tttttttttooooooo ttttttttttrrrrrrrrryyyyy.”

She reached for a bottle in slow motion and pressed it in her nose. The canister went off and whipped cream shot everywhere. It oozed from her mouth and out her tear ducts. She keeled over backwards and started laughing. The floor was slowly spinning. We rolled around bouncing off each other. Her hard tits scratched my cornea. Finally my nitrous hit wore off and I returned to my normal motor functions. Norma Jean had passed out. One boob was wrapped around her neck and then other was between her legs.

            I spun into my captain’s chair and started the engine. Norma Jean woke up and blew the cream out of her nose.

            “Holy shit, what happened to me?”

            “That’s nitrous for you. Kind of crazy huh?”

            “Yeah. I want to do it again.”

            “Fine, but not here. Let’s go back to my place and we can try it again in my studio.”

            “With all the dead animals watching? No thanks.”

            “Trust me. It’s really funny. I get stoned down there all the time. Plus there’s a bunch of formaldehyde. Have you ever smoked cigarettes dipped in formaldehyde?”

            “No. Is it like whippet?”

            “Totally different, but almost as good.”

            “Sure. I’ll try it.”


We walked back into my taxidermy studio and I uncorked a bottle of formaldehyde.

            “Take a whiff of this shit.”

            “Oh damn. Smells like an old folks home.”

            “What? This is good stuff. I’ll pour some on a sock and you can hold it to your nose.”

            “Wait. Lets hump on top of that squirrel pelt,” she said.

            I couldn’t say no.



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