Trish's monster the after years

Story by ojcme622

Hey guys, I have an update for the old story that I started a while ago. Already posted it in F3, but I decided to post it here too.

Here's my old story in case someone wants to read over it. I couldn't remember where I was going so I decided to start fresh.

http://www.futanaripalace.com/showthread.php/4449-Trish-s-Monster

Trish couldn't stop laughing at loud at the sheer absurdity of her graduation gown. It looked ridiculous, considering the massive meat that was behind it. It failed its job horribly, showing prominently her limp cock for all the world to see. “Fuck'em if they can't take a joke.” she said, feeling a lot more confident now.

Years ago she would be self conscious about her situation, trying in vain to cover whatever possible. Now she didn't care; she would let it all hang out if it wasn't such a gross violation of the dress code. She had changed a lot in the years since high school. Having to do a lot of stuff away from home tends to do that for you.

“Damn sis, does anything look bad on you?” Her brother Steve was standing at the door, watching her try her goddamn graduation gown on for like the umpteenth time. He had decided that since his new band Warfighter hadn't really caught on with the general public he'd spend a little time hanging out with his favorite sister. Her roomates were a lot more civil than his own, and he generally enjoyed being around her after 4 years of basically not being around her while she studied her ass off.

“I dunno, I bet that Margret Thatcher would look bad on me,” Was her reply back.

“She looks bad anyways. Come on, try to be serious for once.”

She smiled devilishly. “Says the guy that flipped off an entire audience and then stopping your act after performing for one song.”

“I thought they got the message” His smile was getting pretty devilish too.

Her eyes suddenly got caught in the hardest roll of her life. “God, why do you even bother to try being the best drummer if you don't take your band seriously?”

“It's fun. Besides Trish, you know you enjoyed it.”

She decided to stop the conversation for now. He would just do this endlessly, not listening to an ounce of reason. He changed too, but he got a lot more goofy after his favorite drummer basically committed creative suicide and signed onto the worst band in existence. Well, the worst band in existence in Steve's mind. Chris Pennie was no more, and while the band Dillinger Escape Plan was still doing insanely well, their drumming was not really as awesome as it used to be. No one could fill like Chris Pennie, even Gil Sharone had a problem just being as par as he was.

“Don't be so nervous, Trish. It's not becoming.” Steve said to change the subject. “It's not like no one's seen your massive wang at the school before. Just let it fly, I'm sure no one will bother you.”

“Thanks, but I don't want to be on the evening news tonight.”

It's been years, and Trish had decided on her future. It was going to be some form of engineering, she knew. She quickly stuck onto biomedical engineering because it seemed interesting and there seemed to be a lot of jobs forming around that field. It seemed, for the most part, a lot more interesting than the fields that her friends were deciding to go into.

“You don't seem to want to see me,” Steve blatantly stated. “Do you want me to go?”

“What makes you say that, bro?”

“Well, you aren't immediately sucking my dick after being away from me for so long.” Another chuckle from Trish. He can be such a dork. He continued. “Anyways, where's the bathroom.”

“Through the hall, on the second right. It's not like this place is THAT big. I'm sure you can figure it out.” He did.

“HOLY SHIT!” He said from the room. Trish ran over to the closed door.

“What's wrong.” Steve stuck his head out the door. “It's actually clean!” He said with wide eyes. This made Trish never want to see where he lived ever. He quickly ducked back in. Trish can just imagining him staring at the place like he was in a candy store.

“A side effect of living with a bunch of girls, asshole. We tend to clean up after ourselves.”

“Then explain this monstrous collection of didoes on the fucking coffee table in here.” Before, he was doing his best to maintain a conversation through the paper thin walls of the dorm room. But now he was on a mission. To emphasize his point he decided to grab one and use it like a light-saber. Fucking waja motherfucker.

“Alright, those are my roommates'; who you'll probably never meet because they're mostly moved out by now. He was bored with the first one and decided to pick up another one.

“This one is almost like yours. Here, hold your out so I can measure you.” He held out probably th

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