People, this is your good friend and ally, "Irie" Craig Ellington. I have started this Go Fund Me account to self publish my book, "When Everyday is Friday Night." My monetary goal is set to enable me to get the very best possible self publication for my autobiography. Your donations, no matter how large or small, are so very, very appreciated. Your generosity will not be taken for granted, believe me! I thank you in advance for your kind help. I will keep one and all posted on the progress of the publication on the facebook account created especially for this endeavor. Once again, my gracious thanks and love to one and all who contributed. All the best to you and yours, "Irie."



Working at Mobil on 2nd Street was always a crapshoot. Anyone could pass through, and anything could happen, and usually did. At any time of day or night a very unprofessional atmosphere was on display, and a derelict staff manned the pumps. It was a veritable who’s who of Belmont Shore delinquency. Thomason, Roger, Hegstrom, Campbell, E-Rock, Myself. And the fearless leader whom assembled us, “Two Thirds” Tony Thornton in so called charge. Mostly he could be found at the Copper Door getting drunk round the clock until just before ten p.m., when he would return to the station to empty out the till of cash. This posed a major dilemma, because none of it was ever accounted for, and just who took what was completely undetermined. The embezzlement that went on there reached ridiculous proportions because there was no accountability and zero discipline. Monkey see, monkey do. See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil. It was basically anything goes. Booze, drugs, sex, fraud. They would all show up daily, and it was a free for all from the minute the place opened until the doors were locked at night. A parade of dope dealers, flesh peddlers, speed freaks, and the occasional customer would be constantly coming and going. And to be honest, it was the best job I had ever had. A working environment bordering on criminal, but it sure was fun.







We were mostly all teens, but we had one thirty plus dude named Kevin working with us. One day he excitedly ran in, gesturing wildly for my attention. Something was up. “Dude, dude, Ivy is outside and wants to talk to you!” He was adamit, grabbing my arm and pulling me outside to an awaiting sedan, driven by a fallen woman I vaguely recognized. Yes, I had seen her before, being dragged down the boulevard in tears, mascara running down her face. Her extremely large and vicious looking boyfriend whom would inevitably be sporting a black eye and fat lip did the dragging, all the while screaming at her at the top of his lungs for her infidelities. I would shudder to think what his opponent must have looked like, because dude looked, sounded, and appeared to be one mean mother fucker. And now here was the cause of his problems asking for me. I approached the window and said hello. She sized me up like a piece of meat, and spoke. “Would you like to go to Disneyland with me this weekend? I have two passes I need to use.” She seemed bored. “I don’t even know your name, or who you are,” and I didn’t. She smiled and pulled up her very short mini skirt, revealing a pair of delicious legs clad in white stockings and garters, and no apparent panties. “My name is Ivy, and I’m a dancer at Fritz’s. So do you want to go or not?” I responded to her introduction, “uh, yeah. My name is Craig, by the way.” What the fuck else was I gonna say? The whole station was now standing behind me in amazement, eyeing her like the jackals they were. “OK. I will pick you up here Saturday morning at ten. See you then.” And then she pulled away, smirking. Kevin approached, “dude, you just got the invite to every guy’s dream. That chick is the dirtiest, nastiest whore in town. I didn’t even know that she liked guys!” Little did I know it at the time, but I had just entered into a covenant with the Devil’s spawn. Ivy was on a different planet sexually than anything I had ever experienced before. She was a merciless, lust fueled machine that lived for the thrill of the chase, and destroyed men’s lives as they bowed down and cast affections at her fetish worshiped feet. She was a bombshell rocket with an insatiable appetite for destruction that consumed her prey alive, and they paid for the pleasure. And I was going to the Happiest Place on Earth with her? I thought I had maybe bitten off more than I could chew this time, but what could I do? That was an offer that you could not refuse. I would be banished to homo-town if my friends saw me decline. Anyway, I had little more than twenty four hours to formulate an excuse to sell Mary for this escapade. What kind of lecherous mysogonist had I become? I had a beautiful, smart, sexy sixteen year old love, whom knew no one but me carnally, was devoted and true, and I had just green lighted her heartbreak if she ever found out about my indiscretions. I’m sure Hell had a VIP booth waiting for me. And more than likely, Ivy would be the entertainment.







Inappropriate wouldn’t begin to describe the outfit Ivy employed for our outing. She looked like she was going to work, not an amusement park ninety percent filled with children of an impressionable age, and the other ten percent their protective, overbearing parents. The shock she illicited was beyond uncomfortable, breaking the necks of drooling husbands and fathers, and enduring the fiery death stares of every jealous, disgusted spouse. And it was as if she was completely incredulous to it all, decked out in six inch platform heels and an easily accessible sundress with nothing beneath. In the car she had given me a Marlboro box full of magic mushrooms that some client had tipped her. “You want these? I don’t do drugs,” was all she said. So I ate ‘em. And now here I was, entering one of the most secure, conservative places in all of Southern California. Never the less the earth. And on my arm was the most brazen, lurid, pornographic fantasy of a woman possibly alive. She was a strutting, foul mouthed poster child for lewd, setting women’s liberation back forty years. And somehow I was the focus of her filth driven desire. Blessing or curse? You tell me. Probably a little bit of both, but at the moment, the only curses were coming from the mouths of the mothers who were hurriedly covering the eyes of their questioning children. To make matters worse, or better, the first thing she did once past the turnstiles was enter the candy shop, and purchase the biggest lollipop she could find, to lick and felate for all to see. So, there she was standing in the middle of Main Street USA, a platinum pigtailed role playing Lolita. It was fucking unreal. The reactions were what you would expect, but hilarious in my now ‘shroom filled head. She took my hand and went right to Voyage through Intercourse, err, Innerspace, one of the few rides with a two seater pod to transport the guests. I think she had been here before, because she seemed to know every ride and attraction that allowed any modicum of privacy. In line she was almost demure, holding on to me, seemingly excited in anticipation, and giving the lollipop a workout. That was the dead giveaway, the indicator of things to come. Because as soon as we were seated, her serpent like tounge was in my crotch, my junk replacing the lollipop. She literally raped me. It was as if I wasn’t even there, except for the salacious words she spit into my ear. With one button she was naked and riding me like a well-oiled machine. “Don’t worry, I’m on the pill,” was her mantra. She told it to me seemingly on every ride, right before I smoothly spilled up inside her as she clenched her powerful cleagles down on me. This woman was some sort of perverted Svengali, brain washing me with her fiery tounge, and Stockholm Syndroming me with her sin built body. This process was repeated about every forty five minutes or so, and I can’t say I wasn’t enjoying every perverse minute. Publicly, besides her appearance, she was kind, borderline loving. But as soon as we were alone, it was sexual sorcery defilement on her part. It was as if something was broken in her thinking. She only knew loose and fast, bordering on the sublime. She did nothing but compliment and reassure me on how great I made her feel, however. It was nothing short of a dream. But, if it’s too good to be true, it usually is. I didn’t give a fuck though, I was her personal pleasure dispenser. And loving it!!







When she felt she had sufficiently molested me, we actually did some normal things. Went on rides where people were able to see her hands. Actually, we had a lot of fun. I had become desensitized to people’s responses, and actually was becoming defensive to their looks and hushed remarks. She certainly didn’t seem to care one bit. Actually, she thrived on the attention, and I was the sole benefactor. The more stares she drew, the less inhibited she became. Not that she was inhibited to begin with, but she would filthy it up a notch if she even thought, anyone could see us. She was borderline addicted to the exhibitionism, and got off hard on the voyeuristic aspect of quasi-public fornication. Basically she was game for anything, and she was calling the shots. With a degree of modesty, my mind couldn’t really wrap around what she found acceptable. I’m no prude, so who was I to judge? You couldn’t buy the experience I was being subject to. I mean talk about Fantasy Land, indeed. Anyway, we made it through the day without being expelled or arrested incredibly. As we made our way to the exit, I bought her a Minnie Mouse eared hat, and myself a blinking visor. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek, almost like a gesture of thanks for still respecting her. There was no shame in her game as far as I was concerned. She had just ruined Disneyland for the rest of my life, in a good way. In fact I still haven’t returned, because I want to remember it just as the last time I left. A scorching hot fuck-fest with a libidinous dynamo. For a day at least, it really was the Happiest Place on Earth. Just not in the way that Walt quite intended it to be. Why do these things happen to me? Se La.







The guilt induced paranoia gripped my still ‘shrooming mind as Ivy drove us home. I smelled like a sex dipped vanilla soft serve, and was covered in sweat smeared body glitter. I needed to power wash my wretched soul. Ivy noticed my silence, and wryly spoke, “thank you for going with me today, didn’t you have fun?” She knew the answer to that mind wrenching question. “Yes I did. In fact, way too much. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to look my girlfriend in the eyes tomorrow.” She smelled the fear and vulnerability in the air, and sensing my weakness, pounced. “Tomorrow, huh? You want to spend the rest of the night with me? “



That’s when I saw my opening. “I can’t do that, Ivy. In fact, unfortunately, this can’t continue. I have a beautiful, sweet girlfriend whom loves me very much, and I’m going to be hard pressed to deceive her in light of what I just spent the day doing with you.” And with that confession of angst ridden honesty, the worm had turned. Remember, for Ivy it wasn’t the kill but the thrill of the chase. “Ohhh, that’s so sweet,” her response was more a question than a statement. It’s doubtful she had ever been rebuffed like this before. She looked confused, like when the sun begins to rise, and the vampire hasn’t yet returned to it’s coffin. “Well, here is my number, use it.” She stuffed the bait into my pocket. It couldn’t hurt to have that, right? I tried to justify keeping it. I was only flesh and blood, not made of stone. She parked, and pointed, “that’s where I live, number six. Just call before you come by.” She grabbed me and extended her forked tounge into my mouth once more. Man, this woman was sexual opium. Plying her poison into my system, with the devastating potential of leaving me hooked, broken, and strung out much too far. Just like the trail of empty man husks she marched on, I’m sure. I said goodnight and exited the car. My head was spinning and filled with hubris. I was two blocks from Mary’s house.







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