Unfinished Novel by Joshua Ferris: The Expectant Virgin

Our humble bookshop was lucky enough to receive a special unfinished manuscript from an unnamed book world spy. Take a first peek at this slice of action from Joshua Ferris's upcoming blockbuster,


THE EXPECTANT VIRGIN!

He reached into the jar of cream with three curled fingers and drawing out a dollop of the greasy stuff, he slathered it liberally over the congealed and coagulated flesh of his paramour.

"Myron," she cried playfully. "Watch out. You'll tenderize me!" Myron chuckled and puckered his lips, ravenously lapping at Mildred's extended index finger until his tongue reached the emerald that he had bought her after their last standoff. He told her, "Listen Gladys, I mean Mildred, if this is going to work out, you're going to have to muscle up to the bar. I don't have the time to deal with boy-like girls. I'm a man's girl and mean to stay that way!" Mildred and Gladys both sighed and began to rub each other's special parts with an unguent of green. Myron laughed once again and did a cartwheel, but slipping on the cream, ended up in the fireplace. To mask his embarrassment, he cried "Ta Da!". But the girls knew different. They giggled in derision and Myron, removing the poker, stood up and with moist eyes, told them that they were cruel and that he had been a homeless waif at one time. "And you both know that!"

When the shooting was all over, they all lay on the floor playing dead. Those possums! I wish you could have been there. I was the fly on the wall, until the professional swatter came along, but I lived to tell this tale and so much the better for it. I can't think of when I had so much fun and that's the truth. Would I lie?

Unfortunately, now I lie prone atop the glistening heap of Ponds that dislodged from its jar, flopped onto the nightstand where I idiotically landed. Now what? Keep your fingers crossed. Myron may save me yet. He's not such a bad egg and he has been given a bum steer. More about that later.

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Gritting his teeth at Dorinda, Myron submerged his hand in the jar of coagulated blood and flung it at Velma's exposed forehead from roughly three meters to her left. "Now hold still, you wildcat, and let me get off that grease," he spat.

"I think you got some coagulated blood between the pleats of your pants," mewled Dorinda. "Perhaps I can be of service," she sang out musically.

Shaking her long, musk-colored mane, Velma sprang from her chaise lounge and landed in a heap at no one's feet.

"Herb and Humberto are less than two blocks away," Myron growled. "Get your hose back on and give me a kiss quick! Not you, Velma," he sang out tunelessly.

With the dream of a whisper on her lips, Dorinda sailed out from the apartment, her hose trailing behind her like twin legs.