Rating: NC-17 (Graphic Sexual Content)
Classification: MSR, X
Spoilers: Vague references to episodes through Season 7.
Summary: "What exactly constitutes 'the X-File of all
"Think 1958. Think Steve McQueen. Think pink."
"You don't mean..."
"Yes! There's been a Blob sighting! How cool is that, Scully?"
Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and AD
Kersh are the property of Chris Carter, FOX and 1013
Productions. I'm not sure who owns the rights to the theme
song of the 1958 version of The Blob. Can't imagine anyone
wants to claim it. Including me. So, no copyright infringement
intended. This is for fun, not profit.
Author's notes: Yes, I'm parodying my own fic "The Case of the
Reluctant Pathologist" here. And no, it is not the least bit
necessary to read that one first...or ever. As a matter of
fact, if you've already read that one, this one is nothing
like it. To be honest, they are diametrically opposed and
mutually exclusive -- kinda like Mulder and Scully's taste in
literary entertainment. Reluctant Pathologist was for Scully.
This one is for Mulder...and all of you other closet smut-
lovers who have disks full of smut that you claim isn't yours.
THE CASE OF THE EXUBERANT G-MAN
Beware of the Blob!
It creeps and leaps
And glides and slides
Across the floor,
Right through the door
And all around the wall,
A splotch, a blotch.
Be careful of the Blob!"
-- Theme song to the movie The Blob, by Burt Bacharach and
Mack David, 1958 (To hear it, go to
Outside Assistant Director Kersh's Office
"Mulder, sit still."
"He's trying to kill us, Scully." Mulder thrust his hands
into his armpits in a useless attempt to still his twitchy
"Who's killing us?"
The crease buckling Mulder's brow peaked his eyebrows,
corrugating his skin with fidgety frustration.
"What are you talking about? Kersh does not want us dead. We
haven't done anything wrong."
"Then why are we here?"
"Maybe he has an X-File for us."
"Come on, Mulder, what terrible ulterior motive would spur
Kersh to call this meeting?"
"Meeting? Are we having a meeting? We've been sitting here for
"He's a busy man."
"He's laughing at us, Scully. He's sitting in that office of
his laughing his ass off while we wait out here cooling our
heels." Mulder stood, thinking he might pace. Then he
immediately changed his mind and dropped back onto the bench
beside Scully. He let his head fall back against the wall with
a resounding thud.
"Mulder, are you okay?"
An impatient muscle jittered along his jawbone and his Adam's
apple bobbed helplessly in his throat.
"You watch, Scully. He'll keep us waiting out here until I
have to pee so badly I won't be able to concentrate on a word
he says, or more likely, until I can't hold it any longer and
I go to the men's room giving him just the excuse he needs to
partner you with someone else and send you off to a place like
New York City on an X-File that doesn't at first appear to be
an X-File but turns out to be a particularly dangerous X-File
and your new partner's lackadaisical behavior winds up
getting you killed or worse."
"You know what I mean."
"You're more paranoid than you claim. Do you have to pee,
"Only when I think about it." He hitched uncomfortably in his
"Shoulda gone before we left." She smiled and then, hit by a
ripple of sympathy, patted his sleeve. "Go pee, Mulder."
"No. I'm not leaving."
"It'll only take you a minute...won't it?"
"You weren't in the men's room when Kersh called me out on
that case, Mulder. You were sitting right in front of me in
"All the more reason to increase my vigilance." Pinching his
eyes shut, he thumped the back of his head twice more on the
wall. "I'm sure I can hold it."
"Want me to try to take your mind off...things?"
He opened one eye. "What did you have in mind?"
"I could sing a song."
"Ughhh!" The eye closed again.
"I don't sing *that* badly."
"How about a story?" Hope hanging in his voice, he
straightened in his seat to face her.
"I don't know, Mulder, I've never been much of a storyteller.
You're the one with a gift for fabrication."
"Scully, when it comes to entertainment, my standards are none
too high" he reminded her. "It's not the intricate plotlines
that hold my attention."
"You don't actually think I'm going to sit outside our boss'
office and recite a ribald tale, do you?"
"Do you know one?"
Scully plucked an invisible speck of lint from her jacket
before smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirt. "I know
more than you think I know."
Mulder's restless limbs stilled. Shooting her a hungry look, he
licked his lips.
"Give it up, girl," he urged.
"Mulder, this is really not the time."
"This is the perfect time. I need a diversion, Scully. Come
"Arghhh!" His head hit the wall again. "If you get yourself
killed in New York, don't blame me," he warned.
"Mulder, I fail to see how your full bladder and my refusal to
spout smut add up to anyone's untimely demise."
"Cause and effect, Scully. You heartlessly deny me a
distraction from nature's call, causing me to abandon you to
the nefarious whims of our boss and, next thing you know, I'm
bringing flowers to your grave every third Sunday of the
"You'd bring flowers to my grave?" She looked pleased.
"If you tell me bawdy tale, I'll bring flowers to your bedroom
She carefully considered his offer. "Roses?"
"I like roses."
"They're not always that easy to find, Mulder--"
"I'll find the damn roses. How does your story start?"
Already mentally arranging her bouquet of beautiful yellow
roses, Scully settled comfortably in her seat. "Like any good
story, Mulder, it starts with 'once upon a time.'"
"You're sure this is gonna be lewd, lascivious and immoral?"
"Hey, Scully. Hope you packed your suitcase because we've got
the X-File of all X-Files to investigate." Mulder greets me at
the office door, his mood characteristically exuberant.
**"This is about me?"**
**"Isn't everything, Mulder?"**
**"Right, right. Then what happens? I throw you on my desk
**"Hey! Who's telling this story?"**
**"Sorry. Go on."**
"What exactly constitutes 'the X-File of all X-Files,'
Mulder?" I try to slide my arms from my jacket sleeves but
Mulder catches my collar and neatly hitches the coat back up
over my shoulders. He pats the fabric into place at my neck.
"What's the greatest movie monster of all time, Scully?" He
looks pleased as punch.
"He was a man, not a monster. Guess again."
"Mulder, I don't want to--"
"No, but getting warmer."
"One more guess. I'll even give you a hint. It wasn't a plant
and it wasn't an animal."
"Herbie, the Love Bug?"
"No, no. Think 1958. Think Steve McQueen. Think pink."
"You don't mean..."
"Yes! There's been a Blob sighting! How cool is that, Scully?"
**"Scully, you know what I like! I'm turned on already."**
**"I thought this might be just your cup of iced tea."**
**"Throw in a naked redhead and I'll die a happy man."**
**"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. There's plenty of time
for that later."**
**"A little foreplay first, huh, Scully?"**
**"In literature it's called a 'prologue'."**
**"Potato, potahto. Continue."**
It's not that I enjoy bursting Mulder's giant pink balloon --
I don't -- it's just that there is no way a fallen meteor has
deposited a shapeless, flesh-dissolving mass on Earth once
again...uh...for the first time, to wreak havoc on an
unsuspecting public while the creature...eh, entity...uh,
stuff grows larger and larger with each victim it absorbs. In
short, there is not now, nor has there ever been any such
thing as the Blob.
"There is no such thing as the Blob, Mulder."
He's ready for my argument. He hands me an e-mail.
Sent: Monday, Oct 23, 2000 1:34 AM
Subject: It's back!!
Hello -- Agent Mulder, I know you're a very busy man, what
with the alien takeovers and everything, but the citizens of
Phoenixville, PA, are in desperate need of your immediate
expertise. The Blob has returned. Yes, you read that
correctly...I said the BLOB has returned. By way of proof, I'm
sending a video clip as an attached file. As you can see from
the clip, the creature has absorbed my best friend Dave. I'm
frightened for my life. I'm frightened for all of our lives.
Please help. --Fred Dukes
"May I see the clip?" I ask. Mulder responds with a flash of
white teeth and a nod. He draws me in front of his computer
where he plays the clip.
In the short video, we see and hear a dark-haired young man,
whom I'm guessing is the now deceased Dave, sitting at his
keyboard playing a game with his cyber pal Fred Dukes, our
nervous e-mailer, whom we can't see because he's on the
receiving end of the transmission. We also can't see the game
they play, but I don't think that detail is very important
when compared to the real life threat rearing its ugly head
behind Dave. I'm speaking figuratively, of course, because
there actually is no head; there is a looming mound of
reddish-pink slime, expanding like a wad of preteen's gum over
the shoulders of our hapless victim. Although Dave seems to
have the upper hand in his computer game -- if I'm reading his
smirk correctly -- he isn't destined to become the winner.
When the swell of slime folds itself over Dave, giving him a
frosted cake appearance, he looks startled. The expression is
fleeting, however. At least our view of it is fleeting. In the
wink of an eye, the pink mass engulfs Dave. His arms thrash a
bit. Then he inadvertently pulls the mouse from its keyboard
and the screen turns blood red before fading to black.
The clip is definitely strange. I'll grant Mulder that much.
But of course there's got to be a rational explanation.
"Before you say anything, Scully, let me tell you I've been
doing a little research."
"Research. On the Blob."
"My sources tell me that the Blob is an amorphic life form
that could be from another world...or could very well be a
manmade organism engineered as a biological weapon. As you're
probably already aware, it appears as a reddish, amoeba-like
organism and acts like one, too, by seeking out food,
enveloping and then digesting it. It's an incessant
carnivorous feeder with an animal level of intelligence. It
cannot be reasoned with -- only destroyed."
"And how does one go about destroying the Blob?"
"Well that can get sticky, to say the least. The Blob has
three means of attack: it can lash out at its victims,
striking like a whip; it can grab its victims with elastic
arm-like appendages; or it can envelope them, as we just
witnessed with Dave."
"Can't we kill it with the freezing technique Steve McQueen
used in the movie?"
"Scully, that was just a movie. This is real life."
Sometimes I fail to notice any significant distinction.
"So, where do we find this alleged Blob?"
"Phoenixville, Pennsylvania. I've already requisitioned a
PART I: IT CREEPS AND LEAPS...
En Route to
While Mulder drives, I open my laptop and log into the
Intelligence Network Gateway to see if I can learn anything
about our e-mailer Fred Dukes. It's a good bet I'll find him
there -- Mulder's sources tend to be varied, unconventional
and at times less than savory.
"What is it, Scully?" Mulder stops whistling his endless
rendition of The Blob theme song, although his manic fingers
continue to beat out the cheery rhythm on the steering wheel.
"Fred Dukes is a professional criminal, former circus performer
and a government agent."
"That's what he claimed when he was arrested for OUI in 1998.
He also claims to be affiliated with the 'Brotherhood of Evil
"Never heard of them."
"Arch enemies of the X-Men and the Hulk."
"I'm getting the picture."
"Fred is unusual in more ways than his club membership, Mulder.
He's six-eight and 425 pounds."
"Whoa. Um, Scully, what exactly did Fred Dukes claim he did
while performing in the circus?"
"He didn't say, but I think it's safe to assume he wasn't one
of the Flying Wallendas."
Fred Dukes' Residence
Two Hours Later
Faced with a 425-pound, six-foot-eight-inch-tall giant of a
man, I suddenly feel like Alice in Wonderland after she downed
the bottle labeled "Drink Me." Even Mulder looks diminutive
next to this guy. Fred Dukes literally fills his own doorway.
And even more astonishing than his larger-than-life size is
the fact that every square inch...er, every square foot of his
body is tattooed with menacing-looking comic book characters.
Well, all the parts that show. And I'll be honest here, I am
trying to imagine the parts that don't show, because the parts
that do are really, really...cool.
"I've got a tattoo, too" I tell Mr. Dukes. "You wanna see?"
"Scully!" Mulder pulls me to the side of the tiny front step.
"We're Federal Agents, Scully. We represent the US Government.
We're here on business," he hisses into my ear.
"Mulder, we're chasing the Blob."
"What's your point?"
"My point is there are some cases that can't be taken too
"A man has died."
"Allegedly." I smile at Fred and mouth the words, "Just a
"We're here to prove or disprove that fact, Scully, not to
play show and tell with our tattoos."
"You don't have a tattoo, Mulder. And from the way you're
acting, I'm beginning to think you may have a touch of Tattoo
"It's quite understandable. I mean, after all, Mr. Dukes
tattoos are really very..." I peer around Mulder for another
peek. "Impressive." Mulder is suddenly looking awfully pale
and I wonder if he's going to be sick to his stomach, but then
I think it's not so much that his pallor is pasty in an
unhealthy sort of way, but more that he's just plain plain --
in an unaesthetic sort of way.
"I do not have Tattoo Envy," he insists.
"Most people don't want to admit it at first--"
Mulder turns away from me and flashes his badge at Fred Dukes.
He exposes his gun, too, in the I'm-exposing-my-gun-without-
actually-exposing-my-gun way that he has. He's posturing, of
course, in a thinly veiled attempt to make himself feel in
charge of the situation. Oddly, it works...on Dukes and on me.
Looking at Mulder's cute little serious G-Man scowl, his
perfect uninked skin, not to mention that damn sexy let-it-
all-hang-out weapon, I realize I prefer a guy with a trench
coat and Federal ID over a large -- and I really do mean LARGE
Is it always this hot in Pennsylvania or is it just me?
"I'm Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner, *Agent* Dana
Scully." He gives me a quick look. "We're from the FBI. Are
you Fred Dukes?"
"I am. I appreciate you taking my e-mail seriously, Agent
Mulder. Come inside." Mr. Dukes ushers us in. It's amazing but
he really is quite graceful for a man of his size.
Fred Dukes' apartment is even more colorful than the man's
enormous tattooed biceps. Quite the movie buff, Dukes has
decorated his walls with posters of...well, they're all of
"I see you're a fan," Dukes says when he catches me
scrutinizing his art collection.
"Most people don't know this, but blob movies are more
numerous than one might think." He grins, his multiple chins
folding up like an accordion. "This is the original, of
course." Gesturing at the 1958 marquee, he points at Steve
McQueen squinting through very young eyes while the Blob
devours a dining car in the background. "And this next one is
The Creeping Unknown, 1956. Not really a true blob movie--"
"There must be more than two dozen blob movies represented
here!" blurts Mulder.
"Yes! Plus Flubber, of course."
"First Spaceship on Venus. I loved that one. 1962?" Mulder
"I see you know your blob movies, Agent Mulder."
"Well..." Mulder toes the candy apple red carpet, pride
pinking his cheeks. "I'm no expert. It's just a hobby with
"I've been fortunate enough to see the original Blob movie
more than 700 times in the Colonial Theatre right here in
Phoenixville where the movie was filmed. There's nothing quite
like sitting in that dark theatre with a big box of jujubes, a
jumbo cherry soda and The Blob." Fred Dukes' eyes roll back in
his head and I feel like I'm watching something a heck of a
lot more personal than I care to see. "Maybe you'd like to
take Agent Scully to tonight's late show?" Dukes waggles his
eyebrows and nudges Mulder with a fleshy, tattooed elbow. "You
can borrow my lifetime pass."
Mulder is more than tempted by Dukes' offer. He shoots me a
"We're Federal Agents, Mulder. We represent the US Government.
We're here on business."
"Scully, we're chasing the Blob."
"And your point is...?"
"My point is criminals often return to the scene of their
"Mulder, that Blob was a movie Blob committing a movie Blob
crime. This Blob..." What am I saying?
"The Blob is the greatest makeout movie ever, Scully," Mulder
informs me and he and Dukes nod at each other in manly
"How do you figure that?"
"Remember how the movie starts, Scully?" my hound dog partner
quizzes. "Falling stars. Cool cars. Lusty teenagers. Lots of
Dukes rubs his tattooed hands together and licks his beefy
lips. I'm feeling a tad queasy.
"Let's investigate the real-life crime first, Mulder. We can
talk about extra curricular activities later."
Mulder is predictably agreeable. I gotta admit it's both a
happy and sad truth that Mulder is equally turned on by the
ideas of necking in the back of a dark theatre and
investigating a legendary creature like the Blob. There are
times when this works to my advantage, then again, there are
times when I am left feeling more than a little frustrated.
Need I mention the mothmen vs. the wine-and-cheese-in-a-
Florida-hotel-room disappointment of 1997?
"Mr. Dukes, can you take us to Dave's house?" Mulder asks.
"You're standing in it."
Mulder looks as confused as I feel.
"Dave and I share this apartment," Dukes goes on to explain.
"His room is...uh, was back there."
We follow Dukes down a narrow poster-lined hall to a back
bedroom, wondering as we walk why Dukes and Dave found it
necessary to play a game over the Internet when they lived in
the same apartment.
"In here." Dukes ushers us into Dave's room with a wave of his
I'd thought I'd seen the archetype of nonconformity when I
first entered Mulder's basement office. And then I visited the
Lone Gunman's "publishing house" and realized how wrong I'd
been. Now, standing at the threshold of Dave's unconventional
bedroom, I'm beginning to appreciate the conservative, almost
ho-hum, quality of the Gunman's quirky warren. Where do I
begin to describe this place? The several thousand Star Wars
action figures -- in situ? Or maybe the life-sized cardboard
cutouts of the Hulk, Spiderman and the Green Hornet standing
next to the bed? At least two-dozen chessboards, set up and in
various stages of play, are scattered about the floor like
throw rugs. An Alf doll sleeps on the pillows...next to a half
dozen Barbies dressed like Barbarella. Planet of the Apes
masks hang on each bedpost. And the computer equipment! It's
everywhere. On tables, chairs, the floor, the bed. Bet there's
a hard drive or two on the back of the toilet, although I have
no intention of checking.
"Cozy," I say. Of course, Mulder's like a kid in a candy
store, picking up action figures and ogling Spiderman. I can
tell he wants to try on one of the apes masks. "Don't," I warn
and his fingers drop from Cornelius' hairy head.
"Where was Dave sitting when he was absorbed?" Mulder asks,
launching into investigative mode.
"Here," Dukes indicates a chair facing one of the room's many
Circling the chair, Mulder bends for closer inspection. Nose
practically to seat, he squints and sniffs. One long index
finger picks at a lump of pink residue. He eyeballs the gummy
morsel clinging to his nail. He smells it. Tastes it! Ugh, the
things this man will put into his mouth. I was horrified the
day he lapped Reverend Findley's blood off the end of his
finger. Fake or real, why would he want to taste it?
"Jujube," he announces and continues his search. Spying
another patch of pink, he surprises me when he dons rubber
gloves and scrapes the sample into an evidence bag. This must
be the real deal. "Blob droppings." He waggles the bag.
I'm about to respond when Mulder's eyes widen. He's looking
past me and Dukes, into the hall. I turn, hoping to see what's
startled him, but there's nothing there when I look.
"Did you see it?" Mulder's voice is two octaves higher than
normal and he's lunging past me. He shoves the evidence bag
into my hand and lurches out the door. Head swiveling left and
right to inspect both ends of the corridor, he makes a choice
and jogs away. Dukes and I follow. We find Mulder already
backtracking, heading toward us once more but ducking into
each open door along the hallway. His expression becomes more
and more disappointed with each room he inspects. "It was
here," he insists. "I saw it. It was here in the hall." He
paces away from us again.
Oops. Shouldn't have asked him that. If there's one thing
Mulder can't tolerate it's not being believed -- by me.
"I'm telling you, I saw it, Scully." He glares at me, eyes
"Well, what did it look like?" I ask stupidly, thrown by my
own faux pas. He continues to glare. I amend my question.
"What was it doing?"
"Creeping. Kind of. Or more like leaping." He paces back to
Dave's door. "It jumped from here to there." He points to
first one side of the doorframe then the other.
"Jiggled. Sort of."
"Don't pretend to believe me if you don't, Scully."
"Well...I didn't see it, Mulder."
"That doesn't mean it wasn't there."
"Mulder," I say carefully, "Given the suggestion of a
particular image, the human mind can't help but see that shape
"We're not talking about a propane tank that happens to look
like a fat little white Nazi storm trooper. We're talking
about the Blob."
"A pink amorphous creature that happens to look like...this
carpet." I dig my toe into the psychedelic-pink, Spy-Who-
Mulder crosses his arms. "Jane believed Steve."
"In the movie, Scully. Jane Martin believed Steve Andrews when
he said he saw the Blob...despite the fact that she hadn't
seen it herself."
"As a matter of fact, Jane was willing to stand behind Steve,
the two of them together against an entire closed-minded town,
against the world if need be. She trusted him, Scully. She
believed him. She believed in him."
Dukes clears his throat. "Agent Mulder, I believe in you," he
admits, his voice watery with heartfelt emotion.
Double oh brother.
"Mulder, you know very well I believe in you. I always have."
"But, you're comparing me to a fictional character. This is
real life. You said so yourself just this morning."
He knows he said it. He never forgets anything. Even so, he
continues to frown and as usual I attempt to get us back on
"Mulder, let's get your sample analyzed," I hold up his
evidence bag, "and then..."
He's not listening, his attention drawn to something on Dave's
"Wellllll, what have we here?" He stoops to pick up a
newspaper, half buried beneath a cluster of fallen chessmen
and a scattering of comic books. Skimming the headlines,
Mulder's expression lightens; his slanting grin produces that
seldom seen dimple I adore so much in his left cheek. "Take a
look, Scully." He proudly displays the cover of the
Phoenixville Times and taps his finger on a small story ringed
by a coffee stain in the lower right corner. "'The Blob
Sighted in Schuykill River: Toxic Alga, a Fish Killer, May
Also Affect Divers.' This sounds like a lead." His exuberance
has returned. "Come on, Scully. We're going to drop off that
evidence bag at the Field Office and then interview the
reporter who wrote this article."
PART II: IT GLIDES AND SLIDES...
"Ms. Anita Corseault?" Mulder asks, displaying his badge as we
crowd the reporter's incommodious cubicle. Ms. Corseault's
eyes widen at the sight of Mulder's official ID. She drops her
yogurt spoon and raises her hands above her head. Mulder
smiles in an attempt to allay the woman's unfounded fears.
"I'm Agent Mulder. This is my partner, Agent Scully. We're not
here to arrest you, Ms. Corseault," Mulder tells her. "We're
here about an article you wrote." He pulls Dave's newspaper
from beneath his arm and presents the story and her byline.
"You did write this, didn't you?"
"Um...yes." She lowers her arms.
Ms. Corseault resembles Lois Lane, from the top of her big-
roller 1950's brunette hairstyle right down to the sharp
pointy tips of her tweed-covered ice cream cone-shaped
breasts. She manages to look serious and naive all at the same
time -- in other words, she's a Mulder Magnet. He's
immediately drawn to the combination of her apparent
intelligence and vulnerability. Heck, *I* can hardly keep from
falling in love with her earnest doe eyes all but hidden
behind her solemn horned-rimmed glasses. I draw the line when,
under the guise of nerves, she coquettishly bites her bright
red lower lip. Mulder, however, is rendered speechless.
"Can you tell us more about the 'blob' you mention in your
article?" I ask, tugging the newspaper from Mulder's frozen
"Um...certainly, Agent...Scullery was it? Would you like to
"Scully," I correct her. I take a chair and Mulder nearly sits
in my lap when he misses the seat next to me. It's pretty
obvious I'll be asking all the questions when Ms. Corseault
locks her tractor beam doe eyes onto Mulder and, dammit, his
adorable dimple appears once more. Twice in one day and
neither time for me.
I rarely get jealous, really. Well, okay there was that one
little twinge when I first saw Mulder in the arms of Phoebe
Green. And Bambi Berenbaum set off a few itsy-bitsy warning
bells. Diana Fowley...wellllll, yes, of course, her. No one
can blame me there. That was a trust issue. It's also true I
didn't much care for Karin Berquist, wanshang-dhole-woman. Or
Melissa "soul mate" Riedal-Ephesian. And Detective "horny
beast" White managed to tick me off quite a bit as well. Hell,
I disliked the damn Jersey Devil, for that matter. Fine, fine,
fine...so I get jealous. Wouldn't you? Let's face facts.
Mulder may not be Man of the Year, but despite the nose, he is
rather hot looking. Attentive, too, when he's not ditching me.
And sweet in his own self-centered way. Trustworthy. Polite.
Perhaps not necessarily dependable but great in bed. Hooooo
boy. So sue me if I'm a tad territorial. I love him, flaws and
all, so just back off Ms. Lois Lane!
"What caused the toxic alga in the Schuykill River?" I ask.
"A dinoflagellate, the alga thrives in phosphorus-polluted
rivers along the East Coast and was discovered in 1994 at
Pennsylvania State University ERRI," she says without taking
her eyes off Mulder.
"ERRI?" I ask.
"Environmental Resources Research Institute. The ERRI
Schuykill River Aquatic Laboratory is located here in
"Dinoflagellate?" Mulder finally speaks and the way his tongue
curls around the word makes it sound obscene...in a consensual
sort of way.
"That's right, Fox." All right, perhaps she called him Mulder.
"The organism, named Pfiesteria piscimortuis, which means
'fish killer,' may be the most aggressive toxic microorganism
discovered in polluted U.S. waters since the mid-1980's."
"Fascinating." Mulder licks his lips. "W-what does it do?"
"A transmuting half-plant/half-animal organism, Pfiesteria has
killed millions of fish in rivers along the East Coast and
caused temporary memory loss in several of the University
lab's researchers. It attacks by secreting a toxin that
paralyzes the victim's nervous system. Then...the organism
sucks away its victim's flesh." Now Ms. Corseault licks her
"Why do you refer to it as 'the Blob'?" I try to interrupt
their gaze-fest. Ms. Corseault takes so long to answer I think
at first she doesn't hear me.
"The alga causes a brownish-red discoloration of the water and
has remarkable predatory capabilities -- rather like the
actual Blob. It's been blamed for several massive fish kills,
including one that wiped out a million migrating menhaden."
"Where exactly in the Schuykill River might we find this
"P. piscimortuis favors sewage outfalls. Check the
Phoenixville Water Treatment Facility."
Ms. Corseault's reference to the sewage plant withers Mulder's
enthusiasm. The memory of a swim with Flukeman in an
underground vault at the Newark County Sewage Processing Plant
bobs to the surface of his mind. Not a career highlight, to be
"Don't worry, Mulder," I say, my voice low and sultry and
juuuuust loud enough for Lois Lane to hear, "I'll draw you a
nice warm bath when we're finished with our little
investigation." Now I lick *my* lips.
One Hour Later
Sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie flapping in the Pennsylvania
breeze, nose crinkled in disgust, Mulder is at his finest.
He's hot on the trail of a legendary creature from outer
space, passionately poking his head in and out of every sewage
pipe on the Chester County shore of the Schuykill River. We've
followed the railroad tracks along the waters edge from the
Phoenixville Water Treatment Facility all the way north to the
Bridge Street Bridge. Although we've seen no sign of any
dinoflagellates or the Blob, Mulder's enthusiasm has not waned
and it's his staying power that I find so sexy. That and the
cutest smudge of...whatever it is that paints his cheek and
chin. His five o'clock shadow, the dirt on his hands, his
tousled hair looking as if he's just climbed out of my bed,
all combine to make him the damn handsomest man I've ever
seen. I'm telling you, if he sweats even one more drop of
those irresistible masculine Mulder-pheromones of his, I
cannot be held responsible for grabbing his--
"Scully, take a look at this!"
Wobbly kneed, I join him. He's crouching over...
"That's a golf ball, Mulder."
"I agree it looks like a golf ball. But think back to the
movie. The Blob fell to Earth inside a meteor that looked very
much like a golf ball."
"I don't think it said 'Titleist' on it."
Mulder plucks the ball from the ground. He runs his thumb over
the tiny letters, scraping them with his nail.
"Damn it." Brow wrinkling in disappointment, Mulder's
enthusiasm has finally waned. "What are we doin' here,
Scully?" he whines.
I crouch next to him, putting us eye to eye. "We're hunting
for a killer," I remind him.
"Without a body, we have no idea if Dave is actually dead or
alive. For all we know, Fred Dukes' video clip was a skillful
computer animation." Mulder collapses boneless onto his back.
Sprawled in the Phoenixville weeds, he scrubs at his eyes with
his hands. "I hate being wrong."
"I know," I sooth, rubbing my hand up and down his breastbone.
"I'm usually not."
"I know that, too."
"I suppose you wanna go back to DC."
"Not particularly. We haven't exhausted all the avenues of our
He opens one eye to peer at me.
"Mulder, by morning we'll have the analysis on the sample you
took from Dave's bedroom." I run my hand across the bulging
ridge of his ribcage, feeling the hard curve of bones beneath
my palm. His stomach rises and falls beneath my fingers.
"Tonight we'll call your buddy Chuck Burks to analyze the
video clip, see if it's genuine. Then tomorrow we can check a
few of the Blob's most likely hangouts."
"Well, it needs to eat and it eats people. Because it grows
larger with every person it consumes, it'll need to hunt
increasingly more often to satisfy its escalating appetite.
It'll be drawn to places where crowds of people congregate."
"Scully..." Mulder takes my hand in his, stilling my caress
across his abdomen. "You talk as if the Blob actually exists."
"You said you saw it." I squeeze his fingers. "I believe you,
He smiles, presenting me with his adorable dimple. All for me
this time. "I love you, Scully."
I lean over and kiss his lips, avoiding the unidentified
streak on his chin. "Besides, Mulder, Kersh paid for a
perfectly good room at the Phoenixville Motor Inn. No point
letting it go to waste." I kiss him again. Ooooh, his lips
feel nice under mine.
I can tell from the frantic fingers kneading my back, all of
Mulder's lost enthusiasm for this case is returning ten-fold.
Gotta admit, my exuberant g-man recovers quickly for such a
"Two rooms," he mumbles against my mouth. "Kersh is under the
mistaken impression that our partnership is still platonic."
"And to think the man works for the FBI. Doesn't inspire much
confidence in the Bureau's investigative abilities, does it?"
I inch my fingers below Mulder's beltline.
A high-pitched whistle and a resounding thump startle us both.
Another golf ball has landed in the weeds not two feet above
Mulder's head. We turn to face the Phoenixville Country Club's
ninth hole on the green across the river. What the...? Sliding
and gliding down the fairway in pursuit of a golf cart and a
screaming foursome is none other than the Blob.
PART III: THROUGH THE DOOR, AROUND THE WALL...
En Route to the Phoenixville Country Club
"Buckle up, Scully," Mulder advises and shifts the car into
One of the preeminent perks of being an FBI agent -- ranked
right up there with the gun, the badge and the federal parking
permit -- is the occasional opportunity to legally drive above
the speed limit. Mulder takes advantage of this particular
privilege as often as possible and today is no exception.
True, we're trying to save lives, but Mulder would enjoy our
top-speed joyride every bit as much if no lives were at stake.
As always, he weaves expertly in and out of traffic, riding
onto the curb when need be and running red lights, ignoring
the mayhem we leave in our wake. He doesn't look worried. He
doesn't break a sweat. Brakes screech all around us, horns
blare. Mulder is unconcerned. His face is a mask of calm. When
the road opens, he floors the gas, accelerating the car. With
the likes of 175 horses racing beneath the hood, the car's
engine roars and so does the blood in our veins. Mulder's
fingers tighten on the wheel. He squints in concentration. We
cross the railroad tracks at ninety miles an hour and the car
becomes momentarily airborne. It's then, with all four wheels
off the ground, I glance at my determined partner and glimpse
the obvious bulge of protuberant exhilaration tenting his lap.
Hoo hooo! I knew it would be there. Always has been at such
"Doesn't your flagrant arousal while chasing mutants ever
embarrass you, Mulder?"
"Why? Should it?" he asks, risking a glance in my direction.
"Does it seem appropriate to you?"
"Dunno, Scully, but I'm feelin' pretty damn proud." He grins
with satisfaction and returns his focus to the road.
My opportunity to gawp at his straining trousers is all too
brief -- another short flight through the air and we hit the
ground hard; the strangely satisfying impact causes us both to
grunt with relief.
"Pedestrian," I warn.
"I see him." Mulder jerks the steering wheel hard to the
right, than back to the left, averting disaster by the skin of
our teeth. He aims the speeding car at the narrow Bridge
"Rush hour traffic," I observe.
"Not a problem."
Always good at getting in and out of tight places, Mulder
adjusts his speed and plunges head-on into the squeeze of
traffic. He nimbly steers between the bridge's two confining
lanes. Focused, intent, and confident, Mulder drives his V-8
hard and fast down the centerline. I feel more than a little
thrill as the tires vibrate beneath me. My purse tumbles from
my lap and I'm too distracted to worry about my rolling
lipstick and bouncing pair of handcuffs.
"Hold onto the dashboard, Scully," Mulder advises.
Oh my God, an extra-wide load blocks the far end of the
bridge. Some kind of modular home perched on the back of a
flatbed truck has inched forward and blocks two-thirds of the
passage, leaving barely enough room for an undersized compact
let alone Mulder's full-sized, hard-driving sedan. However,
already past the point of no return, Mulder waggles his
eyebrows at the challenge and thrusts the gas pedal to the
"Oooooooohhh!" I yell as Mulder scrapes between the flatbed
and the bridge rail. The screech of metal on metal is
deafening. Mulder's side mirror snaps off and spirals through
the air somewhere behind us. He lays on his horn and let's out
a lusty whoop of delight.
Across the bridge and on the other side, Mulder is jubilant.
He yanks at the steering wheel and heads us south toward the
"How was it for you, Scully?" he asks.
"I'd give it a seven."
"A seven? Why only a seven?"
"I'm deducting two points for the lost mirror and one for the
ruined paint job."
"No pain no gain, Scully. You gotta expect a little wear and
tear if you wanna play hard."
The Phoenixville Country Club looms into view. I scan the
links for any sign of the Blob. Something pink and billowy
ripples beyond the Club House.
"There it is," I state the obvious. Mulder's already seen it
and drives the car straight through the members' parking lot,
across the first tee, and around the outdoor swimming pool to
the service entrance behind the Club House. Scattering golfers
and spitting turf into the air, the car spins 180 degrees
before lurching to a standstill beside a giant slippery pink
mass that threatens to engulf a bread truck parked at the back
In one fluid motion, Mulder is unbuckled and out of the car,
his weapon drawn. Never quite as quick on the draw, I stumble
out of the passenger door and grab for my gun, although what
protection a gun will be against the Blob, I'm not sure.
And I guess it really doesn't matter because Mulder's arms
have dropped to his sides; he points his weapon limply at the
ground. I've never seen a man look quite so frustrated.
"It's not the Blob, Scully," he moans as if in pain, our
rescue attempt aborted.
No it isn't the Blob. It's the flapping pink sails of a hang-
glider's parachute, draped delicately over the bread truck.
The wayward skydiver, unhurt and not the least nonplussed, is
extricating himself from the envelope of bright satiny fabric.
He gives us a friendly wave and Mulder holster's his gun.
"Scully--" he begins, but then suddenly shuts his mouth. He's
staring past me at the Schuykill River Aquatic Laboratory
approximately a hundred yards beyond the chain link fence that
separates the golf course from the lab. I'll be damned. Fred
Dukes is entering the lab's rear door, a dripping bucket
dangling from each fist and a very suspicious look on his
tattooed face. His head swivels left and right before he
disappears into the building.
Mulder wastes no time. He clambers up the chain link fence and
vaults over the top as if he's been training for the Olympic
pommel horse competition for months.
Humph. Now, if you think it's tough to run in heels, try
climbing a chain link fence in the things. Ruins the toes.
Yeah, yeah, I know I should just pick up several dozen cheapo
pairs at Pay Less rather than shelling out hundreds of dollars
per year on fine Italian leather, but let's face it, I'm vain
about my footwear. Cursed with short little legs, my high
heels are the only things that raise me anywhere near to
Mulder's eye level and there's no way I'm giving them up.
Besides, I'm fully aware of the fact that Mulder ogles my
calves when I wear heels even though he employs every covert
espionage technique he ever learned in stakeout school. And
the higher my heels, the more excuses Mulder finds to walk
behind me where the view is unobstructed and he thinks I can't
see him raking my legs with his insatiable stare. So
practicality be damned. I happen to like the attention.
I grab the fence and scramble up, scuffing my leather uppers
and trying to look at least a tad lady-like when I haul one
stockinged leg over the rail. My prince charming isn't waiting
at the bottom to catch me if I fall -- or even to look up my
skirt. He's running full tilt across the lawn to the lab's
Pennsylvania State University
Environmental Resources Research Institute
Schuykill River Aquatic Laboratory
Mulder waits impatiently for me to join him outside the lab.
Gun drawn, he wants me to cover his back. I flash him my "why
the gun?" stare and he points the barrel of his Sig Sauer at
the pink-tinged water slopped onto the pavement beneath our
feet. My raised brows silently ask him "what is it?" to which
he mouths the word "Blob."
I'm not sure I agree but I take up my position as rear guard
nonetheless and we enter the lab.
Inside, the hall is unlit, suggesting no one is around.
Glistening pink tracks running the length of the hall would
indicate otherwise, however. We follow the trail, tiptoeing as
carefully as possible across the splattered tile. The wet
prints lead us to an open door at the far end of the corridor
where light spills across the spotted floor like a welcome
Believe it or not, I actually enjoy this part of our job.
Along with the high-speed chase stuff, sneaking around dark
buildings after assorted evildoers is downright invigorating.
After years of practice, Mulder and I have become quite adept
at communicating without speaking, slipping quickly into our
pursuer personas and knowing exactly when to wait and when to
move. It's at times like these we're so in sync I feel as if
we're a single person, two parts of a whole, and the fact that
our purpose is for the good of mankind is just the icing on
Mulder lunges across the threshold, arms extended, weapon
fanning side to side. God, he's so damn sexy when he stands
like that, feet spread wide for balance, knees slightly bent,
nostrils flaring with each panting inhalation. Forget
everything I just said about the "good of mankind" crap. The
real icing here is on my beefcake partner. His steady hands
grip his gun, his jaw clenches causing the muscles to tighten
and ripple along the bone, and his eyes smolder with eager
anticipation. Hoo boy. Of course, I don't allow my fleeting
fantasies to interfere with my professional performance.
Mulder's backside...er, *back* is safe with me.
Mulder steps forward into the room and, after a quick scan of
the hall behind us, I follow. The room is empty, although
Dukes' two buckets sit sloshing on a counter beside a
microscope. A computer screen glows on a desk across the room.
Mulder paces the room's perimeter and shrugs when he finds no
way out other than the door I'm guarding.
"Check the water," Mulder whispers and nods toward the
microscope. "I'll backtrack, search the rest of the building."
I don a pair of latex gloves and prepare a slide for the
microscope. A drop of pink water spread thinly across the
glass reveals an active universe of minute marine life beneath
the lens of the scope. Tiny organisms dart from one end of the
slide to the other. Voracious pink dots swallow their more
colorless neighbors and then expel a brownish tint like a
visible burp after each bite.
"P. piscimortuis, I presume," I murmur to the organisms.
Remembering what Anita Corseault said about the creatures'
paralyzing toxins and the resultant memory loss experienced by
the University lab's researchers, I do my best to avoid
spilling any of the stuff on my skin.
"What did you find, Scully?" Mulder has returned.
"Well, it's not a plant and it's not an animal."
"I think Anita Corseault called them dinoflagellates. No sign
of Fred Dukes?"
"The Tattooed Wonder has left the building, although I can't
imagine how. One thing's for sure, he's not hiding in a broom
closet somewhere. What do you suppose Dukes was doing with
this contaminated water?"
"Hard to tell what motivates a professional criminal, former
circus performer and affiliate of the 'Brotherhood of Evil
"Maybe we can find an answer in his computer." Mulder crosses
the room to sit at the glowing monitor. Prompted for a
password, he starts guessing. B-L-O-B. Nope. P-F-I-E-S-T-E-R-
I-A. Wrong again. J-U-J-U-B-E.
"Mulder, now you're just being ridiculous--"
So we are. Data fills the screen. Latitude and longitude
coordinates, journal entries, maps and what amounts to a pink
pushpin stuck in the Earth's polar cap.
"They retrieved it, Scully. For whatever reason, the Blob has
been brought back from the arctic and samples have been
released into the Schuykill River."
"Mulder, the Blob was abandoned at the North Pole in the
"Maybe that's just what they want us to believe."
"Who is 'they'? You're not suggesting the existence of a
secret Blob/syndicate/government consortium are you?"
"We've heard of stranger things."
"Fine. Skip the question of 'who.' Let's move on to 'why.'"
"The Blob would make a pretty nifty weapon, Scully. Disguised
as the natural by-product of Twenty-First Century industrial
pollution, the Blob could be covertly unleashed in the coastal
waters of every developed nation. Its toxic memory-robbing
attributes would soon paralyze all the leading world powers."
"A few forgetful anglers and a vacant lab assistant or two
hardly qualifies as world paralysis."
"We're only seeing the beginning here, Scully. Dukes and his
cohorts are still in the testing phase."
"Which brings us back to my initial question. Who are Fred
Dukes' cohorts? Are we talking about the Brotherhood of Evil
"I doubt it, although I'm not ruling anything out at this
point. There's enough evidence here to bring Dukes in for
questioning though. Maybe we'll know more after our
"All right, Mulder. I'll call the local PD for backup. You
bring around the car."
PART IV: A BLOTCH, A SPLOTCH. BE CAREFUL OF THE BLOB!
(They call this part of the story a "climax" for a reason.)
Phoenixville Motor Inn
Long story short, Fred Dukes was not at home when the
Phoenixville PD, Mulder and I came calling. After crashing his
colorful gates and finding the place empty, the police chief
issued an APB and then sent us all on our merry way. Mulder
wanted to cruise the streets, ask around, arguing that Dukes
is the kind of guy that stands out in a crowd and someone
somewhere was certain to have seen him. I told Mulder I was
tired. So he switched tactics and suggested a stakeout. "You
can nap in the car," he said, "while I watch for Dukes'
return." I argued we'd be better off getting a good night's
sleep, starting fresh in the morning. So then he said... Never
mind, I promised a long story made short. Suffice to say we
returned to the Phoenixville Motor Inn.
Battling the staid taste of mundane America, PeeWee Herman,
Elvis Presley, Hugh Hefner and Tim Burton most certainly
joined forces to decorate the rooms at the Phoenixville Motor
Inn. My first clue comes when Mulder hands me the room key
dangling from a fist-sized, rainbow-haired troll doll dressed
in a tiny gold bikini. A flower-shaped peephole gapes at me as
I unlocked the door.
"Room 13?" I ask, not feeling particularly lucky.
"Better than 666."
I'm not so sure. I open the door to the wavering glow of
matching lava lamps -- vacillating sentinels that guard the
enormous round satin-clad bed that fills the center of the
room. On the far wall, a holographic mural depicts Mount
Kilauea. The spewing volcano shoots the Earth's molten core
from its elongated cone and the fiery ash sparkles like Fourth
of July fireworks in a seemingly endless loop of repeated
"Hoooo. Nice digs." Mulder brushes past me and tosses our bags
next to the tropical fruit-inspired bureau while grass-skirted
hula girls in the velvet painting above the bed smile at us,
seemingly delighted we've arrived. Their twins watch from the
mirrored ceiling over our heads. Ignoring the happy wahine,
Mulder grabs a sequin-studded ice bucket and heads back
outside to the machine several doors down. I try to make
myself at home.
Kicking off my scuffed shoes, I curl my toes into the cotton-
candy carpet. Does everyone in Phoenixville own a pink shag? A
hell of a rug salesman must have passed through this town
gleaning a small fortune from the carpet-buying townsfolk.
Clicking on the TV, I'm treated to moans of sexual pleasure.
On screen a Japanese menage a trois ties themselves into a
knot on a bed that looks alarmingly like the one in this very
hotel room. Trying another channel, I find a Texas foursome
nearing the point of simultaneous orgasm. The women are
wearing ten-gallon hats and the men have on cowboy boots, but
otherwise all four are nude. The next station airs an
infomercial about portable "neck massagers." Hmm. Interesting
design. I consider writing down the 800 number, but then
remember my "neck" has felt pretty darn nice ever since Mulder
and I started regularly sleeping together.
I turn off the television and rattle through a curtain of
multi-colored beads that divides the bedroom from the
bathroom. Finding an arrangement of complementary soaps and
lotions spread like a banquet on the counter, I sort through
the vast selection for something unperfumed to wash with. My
hand closes around...Motion Lotion? Jeesh! I uncap it and take
a sniff. Papaya. Not bad. I quickly recap the bottle when I
hear Mulder return to the outer room, ice rattling noisily in
"Wanna soda?" he asks and I hear the hiss of an opening can,
followed by the fizzing gurgle of a carbonated drink as he
fills a glass.
"Sure. Whatever you're having."
His response is lost in the splash of water from the faucet as
I twirl the knobs. I bend close to the shell-shaped sink and
rinse my face. My mascara spirals down the drain, painting the
flesh-tone bowl with a grayish question mark. Closing my eyes,
I scrub my skin. It feels good to clear away the day's
frustrations while washing off the dust and sweat. I begin to
relax and look forward to a nice romantic evening with Mulder,
although given our surroundings -- stimulating to the point of
sensory overload -- "romantic" may not be the correct word.
This little love nest may be more conducive to "humping like
bunnies." Searching blindly for a face cloth, I'm startled
when my fingers bump into Mulder's arm. His sudden proximity
causes me to blink soapy water from my eyes as I try to bring
him into focus.
"Here." He sets down his drink and dabs at my face with a
towel, gently wiping away the stinging soap. "Sorry. Didn't
mean to sneak up on you." He kisses my clean cheek. "Mmm. You
smell good." He leans toward me for a second kiss.
"You don't." I can't help but frown at the dirt marking his
stubbly chin and cheeks. "Maybe we should both take a shower."
"Together? Why Agent Scully, what would AD Kersh say about
your laissez faire attitude toward the Bureau's strict anti-
"He'll be so pissed when he finds out we're in Pennsylvania
chasing the Blob, I doubt we'll have to worry about breaking
any rigid do-not-touch regulations."
"In that case..." Mulder slides the top buttons of my blouse
from their tiny holes. "I might as well touch."
As soon as Mulder's fingers slip beneath the collar of my
undone blouse, my knees go weak. When he dips into my
cleavage, I can't hold up my own head. Chin thrust skyward, I
expose my neck to Mulder's caresses and he obliges with his
lips, dragging his mouth from my chin to the clasp of my bra
where he swirls his tongue in wet circles between my breasts.
Ooooh, this would be sooooo perfect if only his hair didn't
smell like raw sewage.
"Shower, Mulder," I moan.
"Nnnnnnnn...if you shower with me." He reluctantly pulls away,
dragging his tie from his shirt collar and toeing off his
Nodding my consent, I turn on the shower and test the water.
Steam billows toward the ceiling.
"Allow me," he insists when I start to unfasten my skirt. He
deftly unzips my zipper before shrugging out of his shirt.
"You can do mine," he suggests and thrusts his pelvis at me.
If he thinks I'm going to decline, he's crazier than most
people think. Without hesitation I reach over and draw his fly
downward, causing the teensy-weensy teeth of his zipper to
pop, pop, pop like the slow-motion tick of a Baby Ben. And
while I'm right there, I press my knuckles into his groin to
test the sincerity of his request. Mm hm, pleasantly rock
solid. Pushing back against my fingers, he croons the chorus
to the 1960's Monkees' hit "I Wanna Be Free."
"Let it all hang out, Mulder. Or stick out, whatever the case
No need to ask twice. He scrapes his trousers and boxers off
his legs and lobs the crumpled bundle through the beaded
curtain. His socks follow one at a time like two fuzzy
grenades. He then faces me in all his naked glory. Believe me
when I say a leaner, sexier, more engorged man does not exist
anywhere on this planet. And I love the way he's pointing at
"You got my back?" he asks and steps past me into the steam.
"When do I not?"
I yank off my hose and slingshot it out of the bathroom with
"Hurry up, Scully. I need you in here."
Crowding into the shower behind him, I press myself against
his water-slicked back and wrap my arms around his waist. He
slips a bar of soap into my hands. "Wash me," he murmurs
before tilting his face into the spray. "Then I'll do you."
His voice burbles in the gush of water.
I rub the soap between my palms, working up a nice froth.
Starting with his back, I spread lazy circles of foam across
his skin. He leans into my hands as I paint him from shoulders
to buttocks with bubbles.
"Nice," he moans.
"Shampoo," I remind him.
Twin bottles of shampoo and conditioner crowd each other on
the shower's little shelf. He uncaps the shampoo and gives it
"Kinda girlie." He holds it out for me to judge.
"It's strawberry. It's fine," I assure him. When he pours a
reddish-pink dollop into his palm, we're both reminded of the
"It's out there somewhere, Scully."
"If it is, we'll find it."
"Fred Dukes is involved."
"Then we'll find him, too."
He starts humming The Blob movie's theme song while he washes
his hair. I have a hard time holding onto him while he sways
his hips to the song's upbeat tempo. Finally I decide to
simply cup his ass and let his gyrations do all the work.
Head rinsed he turns to face me. "Gonna do my front?" he asks.
I run the bar of soap across his chest and he begins his
rendition of the Blob song once more.
"Hold still, Mulder."
"Do you know the words, Scully?" He continues to dance under
my palms while he sings. "Beware of the Blob, it creeps and--"
I wrap my fingers around his bobbing erection and tug, ending
"Ooooo, yeah, do that, Scully."
"I thought you were going to wash me."
"Keep your hand right there and I'll have you cleaned up in a
jiff." He grabs the soap and frantically massages it between
his palms. When he's worked up a fistful of lather, he reaches
around me and scours my back. He's going way too fast, so I
release the object of both our desires.
"I like it slow, Mulder," I remind him and his rapid motions
"Right. Of course." He resumes at a more languid pace and I
pick up, so to speak, where I left off.
"'It glides and slides...'" he sings, his soapy palms
smoothing leisurely over my shoulders and down onto my
breasts. "'And aaaaall arounnnnnd the wall...'" He spirals
around my nipples, fascinated by the way the suds drip from
"You're so romantic, Mulder. Some women get wine, candlelight
and violins. I get steam, antibacterial soap and you singing
about the Blob."
"You're a lucky woman, Scully." His fingers dip to my thigh.
At first I think he plans to make a hasty foray into our
personal Tunnel of Love, but he surprises me when his hand
continues to travel down my leg and then crawls behind my
knees. His other arm wraps around my back and he lifts me off
my feet. "Clean enough," he announces and carries me princess-
style out of the shower and into the bedroom.
I'm dripping wet, outside and in, when he tosses me onto the
gigantic round bed and crawls into position over me. In the
mirror above our heads I have a fantastic view of his
backside, glistening wet, muscles rippling with every move he
makes. He notices I'm staring past him at the ceiling.
"How's the view?" He glances up. "Ugh. Your ass would look a
heck of a lot better than mine up there."
"I like things just the way they are. Don't you dare flip us
over," I say in the nick of time. "I wanna be on bottom."
"In that case..." He lifts my legs over his shoulders.
Whooooh, I am a lucky woman. This is one of my favorite
positions. Although, with the way the bath water is still
streaming off my hunk of burning love...
"You're dripping on me, Mulder."
A confused look on his face, he glances at his erection.
"Your hair," I clarify and relief transforms his features. Now
grinning, he waggles his head and washes my neck and chest
with his sopping wet hair. "Mulder, stop it. You're tickling
He nips at my ear. Runs his nose along my jaw, up over my chin
and across my lips. "I want a kiss," he says.
His lips cover mine and his tongue slides past my teeth. He
explores my mouth with every bit as much enthusiasm as he
investigates the most extreme X-Files and I love it.
"Ready?" he asks when he finally comes up for air. "Or am I
rushing things again?"
"I'm in the upright and locked position." I hook my ankles
behind his neck.
He braces himself on one arm and with his free hand guides his
absolutely stunning hard on to the gates of my eager inner
sanctum. He's right there. Right on my doorstep.
Ooooh...I...love...this...part. He presses toward me, opening
The phone rings. The goddamn phone rings. Shit.
"Arghh!" Mulder groans. "We can ignore it, right?"
"It might be Kersh."
"It might be a telemarketer."
"It might be a lead."
"It might be a wrong number."
He knows he's going to answer it but even so, out of utter
desire or perhaps sheer stubbornness, he thrusts into me one
time, embedding himself to the hilt for just a second or two
before withdrawing. We both whimper when he pulls up stakes
and stumbles for the phone.
"Mulder," he barks into the mouthpiece, his stiff dick pinched
and twitching in his palm. I've never felt so frustrated in my
life. Not even in the seven years before Mulder and I had sex
together. After all, I didn't know what I was missing then.
Now, I can see exactly what I'm missing clutched in the palm
of my lover's hand. Ooohh lord, that's me glistening all over
the head of his--
"We'll be right there."
"Where?" I demand when he drops the phone into its cradle.
"What about...?" I wave in the general direction of my lap.
"Gotta be later, Scully." He's gathering up his clothes. "That
was Anita Corseault. She says the Blob has hitched a ride on a
En Route to
For the second time today we find ourselves speeding along in
the car at ninety-plus miles per hour with Mulder behind the
wheel. All of his unsatisfied sexual tension gets shoved
against the gas pedal as he races us west on 113 to
Downington, PA, where we hope to intercept the Blob. The
creature has evidently decided to let someone else do the
driving and when Amtrak stopped as usual in Paoli just south
of Phoenixville, the Blob fastened itself to train #43, the
Pennsylvanian. The Amtrak engineer, not knowing he carried a
giant pink freeloader on his roof, pulled out of the Paoli
station none the wiser. It wasn't until a witness spotted the
bright ooze coating the top of the train and called the local
law enforcement, tipping off the Phoenixville Times' Johnny-
on-the-spot reporter Ms. Anita Corseault via the police
scanner, that Mulder and I were alerted to the potential
disaster. So now, we're hoping to rendezvous with the train
and the Blob in Downington -- to do what exactly, I'm not
"Mulder, what are we going to do when we get there?"
"While you were getting dressed, I called Amtrak HQ and told
them not to stop the train. If the train keeps moving, maybe
it'll confine the Blob until we figure out what to do. You and
I will board the train in Downington to protect the human
passengers and kill the creature."
"Protect the passengers? Kill the creature? How do we do
"I haven't worked out all the details of my plan yet, Scully."
"How about this detail then: if the train's not stopping, how
do we board in Downington?"
"The engineer is gonna slow the train down...a bit."
"Enough so we can...um..."
"It'll be fun, Scully. I've done it a million times."
"What exactly have you done a million times?"
"Jumped from a bridge onto a moving train. It's a walk in the
park, Scully. A piece of cake. Easy as pie."
I know he's nervous when he starts spouting clichés.
"A 'million' times, Mulder?"
"Well, once. But it's like riding a bike--"
"I don't believe this."
"Gets the ol' adrenaline pumping, doesn't it, Scully?" He
grins as if risking our lives and being scared shitless are
At this time of night traffic is light and we make faster time
than I'd wish. I know we're getting close when I see flashing
blues in the distance, clustered on a bridge that overlooks
the railway. The police have rigged a series of spotlights to
help us locate our target, as well as opened a section of the
fence that keeps people from...well, from jumping onto or in
front of an oncoming train. I'm really regretting my choice of
footwear. Climbing the chain link fence in high heels earlier
was one thing but swan diving off a bridge onto the roof of a
speeding train raises the bar to an entirely new high.
"You might have mentioned this train jumping thing, Mulder,
before I dressed for one of our average everyday monster
hunts." I pluck at my skirt to make my point.
"You look fine, Scully."
"That's not what I mean. Mulder, I'm not even wearing
"I thought we were in a hurry."
"We were. No underwear?"
"I thought we had no time to spare."
"We didn't. No underwear?"
Almost on the bridge, Mulder stomps on the brake and we grind
and slide to a halt, coming to rest mere inches from the rear
bumper of the county sheriff's black and white. Mulder
launches himself from the car and I scramble to keep up. By
the time I join him, he's already perched on the bridge's
safety rail. All around us I hear shouts of "here it comes!"
And right they are. The Pennsylvanian is hurtling toward us,
its headlights already far too close. Mulder reaches a hand
"Come on, Scully. Piece of cake. I promise."
Lord, I can't believe I take his hand and let him pull me into
place beside him. We sit side-by-side, feet dangling over the
tracks twenty feet below.
"You're sure it's going to slow down?" I ask, my teeth
"Yep. Then it's just a matter of dropping and rolling,
"Isn't that what you're supposed to do in a fire?"
"Yes, but when jumping onto a train, try grabbing onto
something as you roll."
"Such as?" The top of the approaching train looks awfully
"Whatever." Suddenly the train is under us. The roar is
deafening and the bridge vibrates like a souped-up magic
fingers bed. "I'll go first," Mulder volunteers.
And he does. Sliding smoothly from the rail, he plunges feet
first toward the blur of rushing metal below. I hold my breath
and jump after him.
Nothing I've ever done in my life could have prepared me for
the jolt I feel when I hit that train. Nothing. My high heels
smack into the roof and I pitch forward onto my belly,
knocking the wind from my chest and rattling my teeth. My
hands flail wildly in an effort to catch hold of something,
anything, as I skid along the polished metal surface toward
the rear end of the train car. Ooops. Toward the left side of
the train car. Jesus, I'm going to fly off. My arms already
hang over nothing but air. My head follows, and then my
shoulders and torso. My hips are about to join the rest of me
when something warm closes tightly around my ankle and my leg
feels as if it's being yanked from my pelvis.
"I've got you," Mulder yells over the roar of the train. Bless
his heroic heart, he's saving my life, which is only fair
since he's the reason I'm tumbling off an Amtrak car to begin
with. He drags me from the brink of disaster to tuck me
snuggly against his chest for a quick hug. "Told you it was
like riding a bike," he murmurs into my hair.
"N-n-now wh-wh-what, M-m-m-mulder?"
Please don't let me go, please don't let me go, please don't
let me go.
"We take a quick jog to the end of the train, see if the Blob
is still on top or has moved inside."
"I'll go. Here..." He hands me his cell phone. "You call
Amtrak, find out how far to the nearest tunnel."
"T-tunnel? Why a tunnel?"
"I've got an idea." He doesn't explain but rises to his feet
and staggers to the end of the bouncing car. With astonishing
grace, he leaps across the chasm to the next car where I lose
sight of him in the dark. The man has kahones, that's for
I dial operator assistance and have her patch me through to
Amtrak headquarters. A cheerful travel agent answers and I ask
her about the Pennsylvanian and possible tunnels.
"Oh, the Pennsylvanian takes a spectacular journey across the
state of Pennsylvania starting in New York City and ending in
"Tunnels! Are there any tunnels?"
"Well, yes, you start by tunneling beneath the Hudson River in
"West! West of Downington. Are there any tunnels west of
"Well, after you leave the gleaming, modern skyline of
downtown New York--"
"I'm already on the train."
"Then you saw the New York City skyline and the Hudson River
"No...it doesn't...please just tell me if there are any more
"If you're already on the train, you'll soon be enjoying the
gently rolling hills and fertile farmland of Pennsylvania
"No need to get snippy, ma'am. I'm just trying--"
"Look. This is an emergency. Please, please, just tell me if
this train is going to pass through any more tunnels."
"Yes, ma'am what?"
"Yes, ma'am, the train is going to pass through more tunnels."
"I really don't like the tone of your voice."
I swear I'm going to kill this woman if I ever get off the
roof of this damn train without being thrown to my death or
engulfed by the Blob.
"Ma'am? Are you still there?" she asks me.
"Yesssss," I hiss.
"You'll be passing through the Gallitzin tunnels, piercing the
scenic summit of the Allegheny Mountains. That would be in
Gallitzin, of course."
"Scully, this is no time to chat." Mulder has returned from
scouting the Blob. "The Blob's not on the roof and isn't
inside any of the end cars. It must be ahead of us."
"Well, we didn't see it on the roof before we jumped, so it
must be inside a forward car." I power off the phone.
"Any tunnels up ahead?"
"Yes, but why--"
"Some place called Gallitzin."
"Allegheny Mountains. Good, that'll give us some time."
"Ice. We need the Gallitzin Tunnel packed with shaved ice. You
make some phone calls and arrange it."
"Packed with...what're you going to do?"
"Check the forward cars. I'll be back." He kisses me on the
nose and bounds away toward the train's engine.
Who the hell do you call when you need a tunnel full of shaved
A quick plea of help to the West Pennsylvania Field Office and
I manage to delegate the ice gathering responsibilities to an
Agent Banks, who sounds cool, calm and up to the task. He says
he knows of an ice manufacturer in Cambria County. He plans to
get the DOT to transport and unload the cold cargo and ends
our conversation with the uplifting words that everything's
going to be alright because he's dealt with situations like
this before. I'm curious to know more but Mulder is jogging
toward me and Agent Banks has already hung up.
"Scully!" Mulder is flushed and breathless. "You're not going
to believe this."
"Mulder, what the hell could you possibly tell me at this
point in time that would fall outside the realm of my ever-
expanding definition of what's believable?"
"Fred Dukes is driving the train."
"This train?" All right, I don't believe it.
"The Blob is currently riding shotgun in the second car. I'm
thinking it got in through the open hatch I found on the roof.
Dukes must have purposely opened the hatch to allow the
creature access into the train."
"I have no idea, but I sealed the hatch to trap the Blob
"What about the passengers?"
"None left in the second car. And the Blob is fatter than
ever. Someone in the third car must have seen the movie
because the passengers are using fire extinguishers to keep
the monster at bay."
"The extinguisher's CO2 is cold."
"And the Blob doesn't like the cold. That's why I asked you to
order the ice. The only way to stop the Blob is to freeze it
and that's just what I'm hoping we can do when we ram this
train, Blob and all, into the world's largest Sno Cone."
"Ram this train...Mulder, what about the passengers?"
"We're going to detach the rear cars before we ever get to the
Gallitzin Tunnel. Blocking the train's hydraulics will allow
us to disconnect the cars."
"How do we do that?"
"We need to get to the controls in the engine."
"But Dukes is in the engine."
"Well, there is that one little snag. Not to mention..." He
bites his lower lip.
"Not to mention what, Mulder?"
"Uh...when we close the valve, we'll lose all hydraulic
"Isn't that what we want?"
"Mulder, what are you not telling me?"
"Without the hydraulics, there'll be no fluid movement
to...um...compress the brakes."
What the hell kind of plan is this?
"What the hell kind of plan is this, Mulder?"
"It has its up side."
I raise an eyebrow at him.
"It'll save the lives of all the passengers."
"What about our lives, Mulder?"
"I'm working on that. In the meantime, I'll subdue Dukes and
close the valve. You climb down between the second and third
cars and release the coupling--"
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Or maybe we can release the rear cars from the control board
in the engine."
"You're flying by the seat of your pants, aren't you, Mulder?"
"In seven years together, have I ever been wrong, Scully?" He
grins at me and shakes his head. "Not while on the roof of a
Mulder hauls me to my feet. Keeping an arm around my waist, he
holds me upright while we stumble toward the engine. The wind
batters my hair and I blink against the onslaught of dust.
Mulder's solid grip feels like the only thing real here and I
lean into his warmth wishing I'd suddenly wake up in the big
round bed of our Phoenixville hotel, his arms hugging me to
his chest and his soft snore tickling my face. Instead, we
wobble side-to-side, lurching into the dark wind and trying to
keep our balance as we stagger along the shaking railcar.
As difficult as it is to run along the train's slippery roof,
jumping between cars is even tougher. That narrow gap seems to
stretch wider than the Grand Canyon. Mulder makes the leap
look easy, his long legs carrying him gracefully from one car
to the next. Each time he crosses one of these implacable
chasms, he turns to coax me after him, hand outstretched to
provide a link to his safe embrace on the other side.
I'm no weenie, but speeding through the night on the outside
of a train was never part of FBI training camp and I'm not too
stubborn to admit this stunt scares the crap outta me. Even my
years of chasing mutants with Mulder are a cakewalk compared
to this high velocity stroll. I did mention the high heels
thing, didn't I?
I wonder if the Blob can hear our footsteps above its
head...uh, if it has a head. I try to tiptoe, just in case the
thing has hidden pink ears.
"Does the Blob know we're here?" I whisper. I feel Mulder
shrug as he guides me to the cleft dividing the second car
from the engine.
"This is the last one, Scully. All downhill from here."
Mulder's ambiguous proclamation means smooth sailing to him
but portends disaster to me.
He leaps and lands on the engine. I follow without even
waiting for his help. Guess I'm getting the hang of this.
As quietly as possible, Mulder opens the hatch located at the
car's midpoint. I draw and aim my gun at the small entrance,
just in case Dukes is armed and waiting for us.
"FBI!" I yell down to Dukes when Mulder pulls back the door.
"I'm armed! Don't move!"
Mulder climbs through the hatch and plunges into the car,
weapon in hand. Dukes doesn't look the least surprised to see
"Glad you could drop in, Agent Mulder," the big man says, his
smile plumping the tattoos on his cheeks.
"Hands in the air. Slowly," Mulder demands as I join him in
the car. "Cuff him, Scully."
Well, here's the thing. Handcuffs are not made for 425-pound
men. There is simply no way the bracelets are gonna get around
Dukes' thick wrists.
"Uh...Mulder..." I shake my head and show him the cuffs.
Dukes seems pleased we're here. "There's no need to point guns
at me, agents. No one is going anywhere...yet."
"We're taking you in, Dukes. Scully, check the next car. Is
the Blob still in there?"
As hard as this is to believe, the Blob -- the actual Blob --
is pulsing with an angry red glow in the car behind us. It's
pressed against the door that leads to the third car. Wary of
the fire extinguisher-wielding passengers, it doesn't force
its way through to them.
"It's there, Mulder. You were right. The Blob really does
Mulder's not a gloater and he doesn't waste time with "I told
you so." Not even a prideful smirk paints his face. Besides,
we both know he was right when he said he was right 98.9
percent of the time and the Blob is just another notch on his
belt of truth.
"Watch Dukes, Scully, while I close the release valve." Mulder
scours the control panel for the appropriate toggles while I
aim my gun at Dukes. "What's your story, Dukes?" Mulder asks,
flipping switches. "Why did you bring the Blob back from the
"To get even with my brother."
"Fred Dukes was my brother."
"I thought you were Fred Dukes." Mulder pauses in his task to
squint at the big man. Dukes sure as hell resembles the photo
in the ING, right down to the comic book character tattoos
that mark his neck and face.
"I'm Fred's twin brother Frank," he announces and laughs at
our mistake. "Fred made the tactical error of moving in on my
girl. Several months ago I caught him and Anita in the act.
*The* act." He pumps his huge pelvis.
Mulder looks as queasy as I feel. "Not...not Anita Corseault?"
"The very one. Fred's perverted buddy Dave videotaped the
whole thing so they could send it to me and laugh. It was
"I'll bet." Mulder's Adam's apple slides conspicuously in his
"The day I received the video, I cancelled my membership to
the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants and joined forces with their
"Who would be...?"
"Code name BEMAE: The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants' Arch
Enemies. BEMAE is a terrorist group with an agenda to take
over the world. Our plan of domination is ingenious, if I do
say so myself. Our perfect weapon is riding in that car back
there." He nods toward the Blob.
"I assume Fred found out about your plan and that's why you
"Actually, it was Dave who figured it out. Of course he and
Fred both knew that I worked in the Schuykill River Aquatic
lab. After Anita's alga expose, Dave put two and two together.
He and Fred threatened to report me to the authorities. So I
sent the Blob into their apartment one night while they played
their favorite computer game. Dave was the first to go. Then
the Blob ate Fred as its second course. Unfortunately not
before he sent you that damn email clip. But I wasn't too
worried. I figured if you actually showed up to investigate, I
could have the Blob take care of you, too."
"Then why am I still alive?"
"The Blob is a tad unpredictable right now. You may not know
this but it's mating season for Blobs. And because there isn't
a female Blob anywhere on Earth, this one gets more than a
little antsy when it's horny. Flying solo wears on a fella
after awhile, Agent Mulder."
"Don't I know."
"The Blob was in the apartment when you arrived -- you saw it
yourself -- but the damn thing ran off before it absorbed
"Anita Corseault told us the Blob boarded this train."
"Exactly as I instructed her to do. After Fred's unfortunate
demise, she decided she missed Frank Dukes' unique brand of
loving and begged my forgiveness. I'm not a totally heartless
man, Agent Mulder, so I took her back."
"Why did you want us to board the train?"
"To kill you of course. After you followed me into the lab,
you knew too much. Then when you called in the local police, I
had to get out of town -- with the Blob. So why not take you
with me? I figured if you managed to jump on board without
killing yourselves, I'd let the Blob finish you off, once and
"What about all those innocent passengers?" Mulder nods toward
the rear of the train.
"Unfortunate casualties of war."
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Dukes, but your plan isn't
going to work out the way you hoped. First of all, we're
losing the passenger cars." Mulder pushes a button and we feel
a jolt. "Secondly, Scully and I have no intention of becoming
the Blob's next meal." Mulder points his gun in Dukes' face.
"Scully, climb out the hatch and cross to the roof of the
"Mulder?" I have no idea what he plans to do, but he has that
look of near madness he gets when his mind is made up and
nothing I say or do will sway him from his course. Mulder is
nothing if not determined. Reluctantly, I haul myself through
the hatch up onto the train's roof. I peer down at him and he
waves me off. I can be stubborn, too, so I shake my head and
stand my ground...or roof, as the case may be. My job is to
watch his back and that's exactly what I intend to do.
Gun still leveled on Dukes, Mulder crosses to the door that
connects the engine to the second car. He knocks on it and
waggles his fingers. I assume he's trying to get the Blob's
attention. Jesus, he's opening the door!
Wasting no time, Mulder leaps for the hatch and clamors out
onto the roof with me.
"Let's go, Scully!" He grabs my hand and yanks me along the
length of the car. We hear Dukes bellow. I glance over my
shoulder and see his angry tattooed head poking up out of the
hatch. "Jump!" Mulder orders and together we sail across the
break between cars. Dukes has managed to squeeze his thick
shoulders through the hatch and Mulder urges me forward. When
we reach the end of the second car, we're relieved to see the
other cars are gone. We managed to save the passengers after
all. Now if we can only figure out a way to save ourselves.
Shoulda known Mulder already had a plan for that, too.
"Over the side," he says and climbs down the metal rungs that
lead to the train's rear door. When I swing onto the ladder, I
see he's below me looking up under my skirt.
"What? The view is great." He gives me a thumbs up before
disappearing into the car.
When I step inside the train, I see the Blob has moved through
the open door to the engine in front of us where it's swirling
around Dukes dangling legs. The big man is stuck, wedged
tightly into the narrow hatch. He can neither climb out nor
drop back inside.
"Mulder, the Blob is going to eat Dukes! Or at least his
"IIIIIIIIII don't think so, Scully." He casually walks to the
end of the car and closes the connecting door. "I think our
horny Blob may have found a mate." He nods through the glass
and together we watch the Blob pulse with what can only be
described as passion as it envelops Dukes' lower half and
slowly caresses the bulky man's backside. "That ought to keep
them both busy for awhile and we should be at Gallitzin Tunnel
in about thirty minutes."
"Where we're all going to crash and die."
"Scully, Scully, Scully. Would I let that happen?" Mulder
chucks my chin and starts humming that damn Blob movie song.
Pulling a penknife from his pocket, he flashes me his
handsomest smile, wide enough to produce that adorable dimple
of his, and then plunges the knife into the nearest seat
cushion. "Beware of the Blob. It creeps..." -- he yanks foam
from the seat -- "and leaps and slides..." -- he punctures another
cushion -- "and glides across the floor..." -- and then another
cushion -- "right through the door..." -- he points the tip of his
knife at the connecting door, wiggles his hips and moves on to
destroy yet another seat -- "and aaaaaall arooooound the wall, a
blotch, a splotch..." -- until the aisle is full of soft, fluffy
foam -- "be careful of the Blob!" He drags me down into the
This is really quite comfortable. And maybe thick enough to
keep us safe when the train plows into the snow-filled tunnel.
"So Mulder, what are your plans for the next twenty minutes?"
He kisses the bridge of my nose. "I'm thinking this would be
the ultimate make-out moment."
"How do you figure?"
"We're traveling at a hundred miles an hour on a train without
brakes headed for a tunnel full of ice, a legendary monster is
humping a tattooed 425-pound man in the very next car and you,
my delectable morsel of a partner, are not wearing any
underwear. Does it get any better than this?" He pushes my
skirt up to my thighs and rolls on top of me.
He's right. I can't remember the last time I was as turned on
as this. Attribute it to our daring-do, or the fact that we
just saved hundreds of lives, or Mulder's hard-as-a-railcar
hard on -- it makes no difference. With him pressing
vigorously against my pelvis, I'm okay with it.
"Lose the trousers, Mulder."
He raises himself enough to wriggle his pants down to his
knees, all the while plunging his tongue into my mouth. His
hips return to mine hot and silky and I spread my thighs to
welcome him between my ready legs.
"I thought you liked it slow, Scully?"
"There are appropriate times for speed." I thread my hands up
under his shirt and skim my palms across his back. He growls
when I draw my nails through the skin of his shoulder blades.
Sinking his teeth into my neck, he covers my breasts with his
hands and clutches me until I burn from the heat of his grasp.
His hardened groin grinds against my pubic bone.
"Sing the song, Scully," he whispers.
"I thought you hated the way I sing."
"I never said any such thing. Go ahead and sing the Blob
"Is this some kinky variation on talking dirty?"
I clear my throat and he adjusts his position, preparing to
penetrate me on my first note.
"Mulder, I can't. It's too weird."
"No it's not. It's a sexy song." He's holding himself back.
Dammit, I reeeeally want him in me and he knows it.
"Sexy? The theme song to The Blob?" I bite onto his lower lip
and gently tug.
He nods when I release my hold. "Listen to the lyrics, Scully.
'It slides and glides...'"
Oooh! He pushes into me, slooooowly, opening me centimeter by
I practically squeal, my hips bucking to meet his. Sex can be
so undignified. I never once thought of myself as the bucking
"Buck me again, Scully." He draws out of me, deliciously slow
and I find myself aching for his return. "Buck me good," he
murmurs. He thrusts into me and I jerk my hips toward him,
opening myself as wide as I can and enjoying the wetness and
fullness between my legs. It feels as though he's pushed
himself all the way up into my throat and it's wonderful.
He's given up on the Blob song, thank goodness, concentrating
instead on an even rhythm that slicks my thighs and rubs
delightfully on the most sensitive areas of my lower anatomy.
The train vibrates beneath my back and the sensation is so
distinctly erotic, I'm wondering how we might recreate it in
the future. The shaking is ten times more powerful than any
magic fingers bed and the roar of the wheels adds a whole new
auditory dimension to the experience. It's like hearing your
own pulse rush across your eardrums from the outside.
As the beat of the train's wheels picks up speed, Mulder
adjusts his pace to match the quickening tempo. The increased
cadence can only mean bad things for the brakeless train, but
I'm far too distracted to care much one way or another. Heck,
I like this new rhythm.
"How...do you think...Dukes...is making out," Mulder asks,
speaking only on the down stroke.
"Who cares?" I can't believe he can think about anything other
than the incredible pounding between my thighs. I'm nearing my
point of no return.
"Until what?" I panic thinking he means his own impending
"Gallitzin..." he pants, "Tunnel."
Damn. Guess I need to ride my cresting wave now or never.
Mulder, you're on your own. If you make it before we crash, so
be it, but I'm not waiting around for you. Selfishly, I
concentrate on his exquisite thrusts, hammering into me with
the most divine timing. How can this feel so goddamn good? Why
don't we do this all the time? Uh, not necessarily on a
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. I'm...I'm...I'm...there...oh...god...I'm
there, every muscle contracted until it's numb; I'm deafened
by the beat of my heart in my ears; my lungs contain so little
air they've forgotten how to breathe; my eyelids squeeze shut
until the sweat of my lids stings and sends hot, hot, hot
tears gliding down the sides of my fiery face. My fingertips
float somewhere beyond my reach and the explosion in my
abdomen radiates outward like lava -- which sorta makes me
think of that damn mural back in our Phoenixville hotel and
the image of the smiling hula girls brings me back to earth
where I can once more hear Mulder's furious pounding.
"One minute," I tell him when my voice returns. And my
announcement is his cue to pump as fast and hard as he can.
This part is almost as good as the orgasm. I'm swollen and
tingly and numbed and sensitive all at the same time in all of
the right places. I couldn't feel fuller or more content. And
Mulder's animal sounds and masculine smell and biological
frenzy make me believe in a very kind and generous God.
I love hearing Mulder scream my name at a time like this.
His final jolt is massive and I'm confused for a moment when
we slide across the floor and his cry of ecstasy is lost in
the grinding of metal and the crashing of glass. Buried in our
cocoon of foam rubber, we bounce unhurt into the front end of
the train car. The groan and shudder of warping walls seems
endless and I almost think I've gone deaf when the noise
finally subsides. Mulder pulls out of me, spent and wet and
"How was it for you, Scully?" His question rasps from his
"Ten triple plus." I can feel him grin against my cheek.
Rolling off me, he pulls up his pants. I straighten my skirt.
We both dig our way out of the rubble. Ten minutes later when
the Cambria County firemen help us out the train, we see the
engine is embedded into a mountainside of shaved ice. Further
investigation shows the Blob shot straight through the
windshield on impact and froze solid in the snow. A
refrigeration truck waits to haul it away. And Dukes, poor
man, was cut in half by the crash. When his tattooed head is
finally unearthed, we see he died with the oddest smile on
"Clean up looks messy," Mulder says as he scans the aftermath
of our midnight ride. "Hotel?"
"Hotel. After we arrest Anita Corseault for aiding and
PART V: HOME COMING
The Hall Outside Assistant Director Kersh's Office
"And that's the end, Mulder."
"Scully, I gotta say, I reeeeally liked your story."
"Very much. It was straightforward, no hidden meanings, no
pain in the ass parables."
"Actually, the train through the tunnel was a metaphor. And so
was the car chase across Bridge Street Bridge."
"Both delightfully obvious -- not to mention smutty. Sigmund
Freud would be proud. It's those damn allegorical, Alice in
Wonderland type tales that I hate. I tend to get lost in all
"Maybe you're just over-thinking them, Mulder."
"That's just the thing, Scully. We use our brains all day,
figuring out crimes and paranormal puzzles. After a hard day
at work, I prefer to unwind with simple, mindless activity.
The only thinking I want to do is with my little--"
"Mulder, need I remind you we're still at work."
"Oh, right, right." Mulder looked around to see if they could
be overheard. "So what was the moral of your little immoral
"No moral, Mulder. The point was to distract you."
"Never mind. I guess it worked." Scully glanced at her watch.
"We've been out here for almost two hours, Mulder. Do you
think Kersh is even in his office? Maybe we should knock,
take a look inside."
Mulder stood and strode to the door. He gave a brisk knock and
cupped his ear toward the closed room. Giving Scully a shrug,
he opened the door and stepped in.
"Well, whaddaya know."
"What is it, Mulder?" Scully rose from the bench.
"Take a look at this."
When Scully leaned into the office, Mulder indicated the
secretary's desk. A tall vase sat on the corner of the
desktop, filled with a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses and a
tiny card signed in Kersh's handwritten script.
"I'm thinking you're not the only one who's been telling
ribald tales, Scully."
"You don't think Kersh and..."
"I do." He bent to inhale the flowers' soft scent. "I do
indeed. Shall we go?"
"I-I guess so. Don't forget you owe me a bouquet."
"The florist will be our second stop."
"Where's the first?"
"Men's room. I reeeeally have to pee."
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