THE XXX FILES
By Stas’ Wiatrowski

Once upon a there was a street zine called Modern Movement, which like this website had a strong commitment to creative writing. This piece was first published there in 1999 before I had any idea of what slash fiction was, and at a time when Mulder and Scully were at the height of their cult popularity.

So, come with me back to those heady days of the late 90’s, when the world was a simpler place and our two favourite FBI agents had yet to consummate their smouldering passion…


PART ONE
CHICAGO
7.OO A.M. WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 8, 1999

From a distance it looked like any other motorised wheelchair, though it did move at rather high speed. Up close the plushness of the burgundy leather seat was obvious, and the trained eye could see that the spokes of this machine were covered in 24-carat gold.

The occupant of the wheelchair was a plump man with a huge beaming red face and a crew-cut of grizzled grey hair. His smile showed perfectly capped teeth, and what on a fine day like today could only be described as a sunny disposition.

His name was Larry Flinders, and he was CEO of the largest empire of smut in the world. His magazine Humpmeister had spawned spin-offs in adult video, salacious fast food and a franchise of Sir Humpalot Brothels all over the world where such things were allowed, and under a different set of names, where they weren’t.

Once a month Larry enacted this particular ritual: heading off to the same news stand where the delivery of the first issue of Humpmeister Magazine had occurred, back in that decade of Corporate Nooky the 70’s. In the late 80’s a couple of bullets from an irate Fundamentalist Onanist had stopped Larry from using his legs to stroll down here, but he had kept the ritual going in his wheelchair.

The newsstand still looked the same, with the same half-derelict beaver-capped coke-bottle lenses proprietor, who gave nothing but the vaguest grunt after Larry’s salutation

But interacting with the guy behind the newsstand wasn’t why Larry was here. It gave him a glow, and some lead in his still partly functioning pencil, to hear the plop onto the sidewalk of those glossy magazines, with their successful formula of silicone and gynaecology, not to mention the smutty stories and crappy cartoons.

The delivery van was just arriving when Larry got there, and as the back doors opened, for a moment he remembered when he was young and his legs could take him wherever he wanted to go.

And then it all went wrong. The package of magazines was on fire. It fell out of the van like a meteor of cheap shiny paper and acrid smoking wrapping-plastic, and after it out jumped a bunch of men and women, all dressed in the suits and sensible blouses and skirts of the 1950’s.

The newsstand proprietor crouched under the counter while they converged on Larry, grabbing his hands before he could throw the wheelchair into reverse, hoisting him up out of the chair and into the open doors of the van.

Larry screamed and looked around him wildly, but everyone just kept walking. It was only when he was in the van that he realised he recognised some of the people who had abducted him. There, in that Donna Reed outfit was Miss Gangbang 96, and the guy standing next to her the dude who went under the name Longus Dongus, and who had starred in the latest Humpmeister Video production: Thighs Wide Shut. A few others he recognised from recent photo shoots.

He figured this had to be some kind of joke before they all started singing Kumbaya My Lord as they held his head down and poured a vial of strange glowing stuff into his mouth...

The Van vanished into a maze of streets, heading for the old slaughter yards of the city. On the street corner the wheelchair lay on its side, wheels spinning flashes of gold into the morning sun...

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