Biebz in Da Haus (Or, Aesop's a Fucking Bitch!), Part I

Thanks to a week-long, intensive diet of fibrous carbs and bloody protein, Mark deposited the largest turd in the history of mankind into the bottom of the lone Port-a-Potty servicing the Cedarville 10K's starting line. On top of which he added ten silky squiggles of cum like a horny pastry chef, his shit-log a double-chocolate eclair accented with his second hardy load in as many hours. He wiped himself five times, four of which were superfluous thanks to the plywood consistency of his constitutional, then popped out of the john. And would've shit his pants if his intestines had anything inside them, as he gazed upon what could only have been a ghost.

The boy was the same height as Danny. The same build. The same hair color but cropped short. He even looked around skittishly like Danny used to and wiped his brow nervously with the back of his hand the same way. Mark walked - no, glided without moving his legs - over to the boy. But before he could say a word - could he say a word? - a collective scream went up from the thousands of runners and spectators. He looked to the stage set up to the side, right next to the Port-a-Potty. And watched Justin Bieber moonwalk across it, the singer's eyes fixed on his feet as he made his way to the microphone. Instant boner.

Mark looked back to the doppelganger, but the boy was gone - Mike, his boss, was in his place, his pasty, orange-haired legs dangling from his well-worn black shorts. Mike waved. Mark shook his head. Then nodded. And readjusted his cock in his running shorts so that it was vertical and lay behind his fanny pack. He quickly swiveled his head once more at the sound of a bark behind him. But it was just Detective Jorge T. Vinos, who quickly ducked his head behind his short, fat hand.

"Yo yo yo, what up Cedarville?" Justin yelled, his perfect bowl of hair unmoving in the slight breeze that pushed the heat through the crowd. "Now, boyeeee, I was supposed to sing The Star-Spangled Banner" - the crowd booed - "but I gots somethin' better for yous playas" -the crowd cheered- "Hit it, Scrappy!" And he broke into an acoustic version, played on the electric keyboard by his right-hand thug, Scrappy, of "One Less Lonely Girl," which, of course, for all the world reverberated through Mark's ears as "One Less Lonely Mark."

The men, women, boys, and girls jumped up and down, bobbing their heads, the pavement growing slick with their joyous pubescent and elderly tears. Mark jumped along with them, every hop higher and higher, his eyes fixed for Danny Raleigh's reincarnation. But to no avail. So as Justin hit the last run-on chorus, he slid his way between this fat girl and that old guy here and there until he was at the front of the mass of runners. Feet from Justin, he froze and watched as the singer hit his final note, then bowed to the roar of the audience...and threw a wink his way? Mark pushed his fanny pack against the head of his tiny cock, wetting his waistline.

"Yo yo yo, Cedarville in da house!" yelled Bieber, who then gave the microphone to Harry Papp, the Cedarville Runners Club Chairman.

As the man gave his thank-yous to various organization, individuals, and parasites, Mark watched Justin in the background as the singer got a drink, punched Scrappy in the arm a few times, laughed with his mom, adjusted his baggy jeans several times...and threw him another wink?, all without his hair moving one iota. Until a girl next to him read his mind: "He's so hot!" she screamed. "Yeah," yelled Mark, "I'd eat the corn out of his shit!"

He watched as those nearest him recoiled, their faces scrunched up, mumbled "Ewwww's" escaping their throats. Before he could say anything else, Harry Papp was at his side, jumping up and down. The tiny old man pushed his taped glasses up his nose and laughed. "See you guys at the concert," he said. "Oh, wait, no I won't - I'll be in the front row!"

"Dick!"

"Fucker!"

"Arrogant prick!"

Harry nudged Mark. "Like any of you have a chance." He laughed.

But Mark said nothing. Instead, he watched Justin Bieber tip-toe to the front edge of the stage, hold aloft the starting gun, pull the trigger...and throw him yet another a wink? "See ya," he said and took off, his cock harder than it had been all morning.