Jazzmin Flush (88)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (88)"

   Mister Merlin Pope felt like retreating himself; indeed, Jazzmin would not be swayed by bizarre temptation to fit within her asexual self his portion--all is relative in persona.  Moreover, she was probably a "stick in the mud" in the bedroom anyway, preferring the regularity of lovemake, not the pulsating grind of two feline beasts laying the lovepipe and receiving the differing effects of euphoric ecstasy.  Thus, he ditched her.  Just like that, Pope wended his way elsewhere, not minding that he anchored Jazzmin in the Pacific Northwest, a ways away from the City of Angels, abandoning her to the same poverty she was so welcome with.  He knew she would find passage back to her eclectic sanctuary of non-human friends, though they were human--just perverted, in Pope's opinion, by the Divine Spirit of Truth and re-fabrication.  Yup, he exited.
   Jazzmin awoke near a dumpster in a bucolic area of monstrous Oregon, hearing the rural sounds of friendly folk getting their java at the energy station; plus, picking up the perpetual manufacture of Twinkies.  In this futurity, they have a strawberry Twinkie full of anti-oxidants and all the rest that gelled your body to symmetry, making it a better houser for the Holy Spirit Itself.  And Jazzmin knew Pope was not coming back, not in the meantime--she was glad she didn't "put out", for it ran the polite and docile cerebral-rapist away from her.  She relaxed.  Found Thomas' arctic wolf, canine telepathy.  He communicated, knowing her ordeal:  "Get a strawberry Twinkie, and I'll find a way up to the Duck State and pick you up babe."