OK, here goes
Segments in reply folks.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 17:12, 16 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Here goes!
Dan Neville gazed over at his fiancee, sleeping the sleep of the pure. He loved to watch her as she slept; seemingly unpolluted morally and spiritually. A tabula rasa. He was fully aware this was not the case, but in repose Karen's normally mischievous elfin features took on an angelic sheen. On many occasions he had lain awake, watching her as she slept. fascinated that such a beautiful creature would consent to be his.
The beatific air was added to considerably by the fact that she was six months pregnant. This most revered of human conditions, her stomach raised the sheet in delicate fashion. She looked absolutely pure, as if all sins and misdemeanours had been wiped clean.
Dan gazed, rapt, at her sleeping form. her face directly opposite his across the bed. She had drifted off on her back as usual, but her growing tumescense had led her to roll over onto her side for reasons of comfort. Her eyelids fluttered; the swift left and right movemnt of her eyeballs visible beneath the surface as she reached R.E.M sleep.
It was not merely the slight of his partner that kept Dan from achieving his own slumber. The copious rum and cokes he had consumed, as well as a few sneaky lines of cocaine in the toilet at his work party were still having an effect on his system. He had to cross his eyes slightly to fully focus on Karen, and he could still feel a residual tingle in his sinuses from the powder.
Despite promising to stay sober he had succumbed to the lure of the free bar after an hour, becoming bored of both the lime and soda he had been drinking, and the inane chatter of his work colleagues. As always at such functions, any semblance of worthwhile conversation was quickly replaced by office gossip: who was getting promoted; who was fucking who; who was sucking cock for promotion purposes; and who was willing to use such information for their own gain.

*wavy line*
That's one page of A4. Should I go on?
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 17:44, Reply)

On we go!
Karen had agreed to come reluctantly, feeling both tired and unattractive as she approached the third trimester. Dan was used to assuring her she was gorgeous and had never been more attracted to her. This was no lie on his part and Karen had found herself, on occasion, the focus of much male attention; some courteous, most inappropriate. One priapic reveller in particular had leered openly at her bust while slurring that Dan was, "a jammy cunt!", and bemoaning the fact that she had lowered her standards enough to let "that scruffy fucker shoot his piss-weak spunk ino you!"
The night had ended on an even more sour note as it became obvious Dan was way too inebriated to drive home. Karen was forced to do the honours, pushing the seat back so she could accommodate her tumescence comfortably while still reaching the pedals.
Not a word was spoken on the drive home, Dan staring shamefacedly out the passenger window. As they negotiated the city centre, Dan pondered what they were doing, bringing a child into the world. They drove past prostitutes, junkies begging in doorwells, drunks lying in gutters, numerous arguments, and occasional brawls. The corrupt kinesis of a busy Saturday evening.
Wouldn't it be kinder to the planet to stay childless, to slowly but surely, erase the human race from the face of the planet?
Dan's thoughts were diverted from such misanthropic feelings as he glanced at Karen; his pessimism replaced by a surge of paternal affection for the child, his son, that she was carrying.
Rejecting his nihilism as a result of the alochol he had imbibed making him maudlin, Dan relaxed slightly. The relief evapourated swiftly as he caught Karen's eye, the returned gaze startling in its vehemence. She did not look ready to forgive him yet.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 18:11, Reply)

Third installment
Dan sipped from a pint of water at the bedside and wondered at the protean nature of Karen's features, It seemd unfeasible that such a peaceful, untroubled face could all-to-recently have been capable of such anger. All apologies he attempted had been met by a vitriolic response;
"Leave me the fuck alone! We'll talk about it in the morning! Don't be waking me up with a fucking hard-on either!"
Not that Karen had had any time for Dan's advances recently, early morning or otherwise. He knew that some women enjoyed sex throughout pregnancy. Some even had an increase in their appetites. It had, however, become abundantly clear that Karen was not one of these women.
Dan had become aware of a resigned expression on his partner's face, her sighs and moans sounding forced. He had immediately withdrawn on such instances and made a piqued retreat to the living room sofa.
He wondered, "At what stage has our lovemaking ceased to be a symbiotic thing, an act of union." He felt parasitic, like an unwelcome virus invading his lover's body. His job was done, she was pregnant, she seemed to be telling him subliminally. As she was now full, she no longer needed him to fill her.
He knew that such thoughts were misogynistic, and he would never have uttured them out loud to anyone, let alone Karen. He could not help how he felt however, and what he felt like was a spare prick in crude terms.
He remembered the last time she had consented to his touch. She had lain there, barely moving, head turned resolutely from his gaze. He also remembered all too well the baleful look she had fixed him with after the act; an unspoken accusation as his semen cooled on her thighs. An acknowledgement that she had colluded in her own violation.
Dan knew that Karen would allow him to make love to her again, but any short term pleasure was vastly outweighed by the long periods of guilt after the deed. It was as if the little fucker was laughing at him, flipping the bird like a squatter moving into a family home, then proceeding to shit on the floor and chuck the furniture out the window.

"This is my patch now," the usurper seemed to be saying. Dan fancied he could hear the mocking laughter; a reedy Muttley-esque chortle. The kind of laugh one would hear when an inveterate 60-a-day smoker has been told a good joke.
"Hang on a fuckin' minute" thought Dan. The laugh was faint but definitely audible. He clapped his hands to his ears, then removed them gingerly. The sound continued.
"I'm not imagining it!" he thought. If anything, the chortling had gotten louder. Cautiously, he placed his hand to his fiancee's stomach, as if testing the temperature of a hob. He detected a small but constant vibration that ebbed and flowed with each wave of the awful laughter.
"Hee hee hee!" A pause for a whistling, rattling inhalation, then:
"Hee hee hee!"
"What the fuck?" Dan said aloud.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 18:49, Reply)

Chapter 4 - Npw it gets odd
Dan bit his thumb hard, checking to see if he dozed off himself; on the off-chance that the common doubts of the first-time father hadn't manifested themselves as a Freudian mightmare. The pain was all to real, as was the copper taste of blood as his teeth broke the skin.
And as real as the laughter.
Dan cradled his chewed digit as the disembodied voice wheezed, coughed twice, and finally, awfully, spoke.
"Well, someone's in the fuckin' bad books, aren't they?"
The voice was croaky, tar-flecked, and for some unfathomable reason, recognisably Glaswegian. It was also fairly muffled.
Beginning to doubt his sanity, Dan, after a lengthy pause, finally spoke.
"Erm...what?"
The voice swiped back, louder this time.
"Ah said, 'Someone's in the bad books, aren't they?'" then addes, almost as an afterthought;
"Deaf cunt!"
"What are you talking about? Who the fuck are you? I can't hear you very well!"
The voice responded to Dan's litany impatiently.
"Look, if yer havin' trouble hearin' the VERY simple I'm sayin', stick a fuckin' funnel up the bitch's twat or sumthin! Hang oan a wee minnit!"
There was a faint, sloshing sound from Karen's stomach, accompanied by various curses. Dan was slowly resigning himself to the fact that the foul-mouthed, tubercular voice was that of his unborn son. The son that was currently performing a very ill-tempered three-point-turn in his mother's amniotic fluid.
The voice spoke again. Dan subconsciously classed it as an 'It'. Surely nothing he could have spawned could be so foul?
It was clearer, more distinct, and coming from between Karen's legs.
"That better? Echo....echo.....echo! Ha! Fuckin' cool; it's like a sub-woofer or sumthin'!" The horrid voice then broke into some *boom-tish* beatboxing before laughing uproariously and ended with a coughing fit.
"Look," said Dan, for want of a better alternative, "Are you, like, my conscience or something??"
"Conshins? Do ah sound like Jiminy Fuckin' Crikkit, Dumbo?"
"I just thought..."
"I am your SON, moron! I'm here to tell ye a little sumthin' aboot whit ye can look forward tae' a wee try-afore-ye-buy if ye like?"
After five seconds of silence, the voice took Dan's lack of a response as aquiescence. Clearing his throat loudly and causing a Doppler-echo from Karen's vagina, the voice began.
"First off, ma name's Quentin. That bitch's idea; yoor too much o' a soppy cunt tae argue. You'll try tae justify it tae yer mates by sayin' ahm named efter Tarantino,"
Karen and I haven't even discussed names", Dan countered.
"Ha! There'll be nae fuckin' discussion aboot it. She'll tell ye efter ahm boarn.
"She'll have big plans my friend, mark my words. Only the best fer her wee angel. Firm believer in nurture versus nature, that yin. Breast, not bottle. Designer baby clothes. She's have me eatin' pureed fuckin' caviar if they'd thought tae shove it in a Heinz jar!"
"Is it such a bad thing to want the best for your child?" asked Dan.
"Ah, don't get me wrong, DADDY!" that name spoken with enough bile and phlegm to stick to a wall,
"You'd be a good Dad, but she wud be a fuckin' nightmare! Nothin' you could dae wid eb guid enuff fer her wee saint! She thinks she's gettin' Noam Chomsky, Thomas Aquinas, Mother Theresa, Shakespeare, and fuckin' Bono rolled into one. I intend to prove her so very, very wrong!"
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 19:52, Reply)

Oooo! I like this.
It's funny.

Any more to come.
( girlinthehole, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 19:57, Reply)

Part 5
Dan was bewildered.
"Why would you do that when we try to give you the best of everything?"
"The Philip Larkin effect: 'They fuck you up, your Mum and Dad'. Try and push me in a certain direction, insulate me against the big, bad world, shield me from bad influences and I'll rebel. The more you protect me from something, the more curious ahl be aboot it. Simple reverse psychology."
Dan had his head in his hands; whether to block the voice or to aid what he was being told sinking in, he wasn't sure.
"Yer wonderin' whut ye can do aboot his, aren't ye?" Quentin chided. "Maybe it's everythin', maybe it's sweet F.A. It all depends on how willin' ye are to stand up to Miss Fuckin' Hitler there and let me find out things for myself, make mistakes, do the normal shit that any inquisitive young buck does. Dinnae let her try and smother my own instincts.Ye know whit happens when people are denied their own impulses? Priests end up fisting alter boys. And that's jist one example among many!"
"So if I try and encourage a bit of freedom and leniency you might not become, what...a murderer,a psycopath; a rapist?"
"Ahm no' promisin' anthin'! I still think ye's be too much of a fanny to stand up to the wench! Besides, who'll say ahl stop at rape and murder? If ah sneakily wrap the cord around my neck on the way out, I can be forgiven for all sorts of shit it later life. 'Starved of oxygen; not right in the head'.
The voice cackled and coughed again.
"Of course, I might jist devote all ma energy to making jist your lives a fuckin' misery!"
"So you want to keep the element of surprise then, you deranged little bastard?" snarled Dan.
"What would be the fun otherwise?" sniggered the Voice. Dan had entirely decided against Quentin for a name at this point. That name evoked images of a pipe-smoking academic in tweed, strolling beside the River Cam, not some nicotine-addles, sociopthic tramp.
"Ah could be a complete angel," the Voice went on; "Mummy's wee saint. I could be polite to my elders, dae well at schools, never say boo tae a ghost. That is until youse pair o' cunts wake up tied tae the bed wi' me holding a can o' fuckin' petrol and a box o' matches!"
The Voice laughed, coughed again, and was silent as Karen stirred in her sleep. frowning slightly, as if sensing the antagonsism in the air. The Voice was silent, ascertaining that she was not going to wake. When it was sure it spoke again, quietly yet vociferously.
"Dae ye want to keep yer fuckin' voice doon, ye'll wake her up! Ah've got one last warnign for ye. Dinnae even think of having any more after me, got it? I won't stand fer any usurpers. Think on next time ye go near herr....oh hang on, she's waking up!"
At this, the Voice was gone.
Dan thought he could hear the words "Remember what I said" entering his brain, yet negating the usual passage of his ears.
Karen yawned, stretched, and heaved herself upright; peering drowsily at the visibly shaken Dan.
"You okay? I thought I heard raised voices."
"Just nightmares." Dan mumbled.
"They'll be fucking drink demons the amount you piled away tonight," she chided, without rancour. "Anyway, I need the loo. Feels like my waters are about to bust."
She switched on the bedside light and got out of bed. Dan waited until she's left the room and tiptoed after her, his silence abetted by the thick carpet. As she reached the top of the stairs, he came up swiftly behind her.

And pushed.

The END
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 20:39, Reply)

Yes!
The ending is amazing.
I'm really very impressed with this.
( Cawl, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 20:44, Reply)

This is getting really funny.
And here I thought I was reading a soppy, sentimental story. I'm rather enjoying the foul-mouthed sprog.
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Sun 6 Jul 2008, 20:46, Reply)

What Kaol said
I hadn't expected it to end that way, but it was absolutely right.

Very good.
( Moey, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 20:47, Reply)

It's a shame that's
"The END"

I'd like to find out what happens!
( Cawl, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 20:49, Reply)

^^I really like
that sort of ending. It allows the imagination to fill in the rest of the story and take it down which ever route you want.
( Moey, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 20:56, Reply)

Applauds
Best.thread.ever
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 20:57, Reply)

@ Gunter
I agree, but I'd still like to know!
I did a similar open-ended finish to my story www.b3ta.com/questions/offtopic/post192365
( Cawl, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 21:00, Reply)

@Kaol
I think it worked really well there, too.

I know what you mean though... sometimes you want to know what the author had planned and where they might have taken it, but when they do it can be disappointing, if they don't go where you wanted.
( Moey, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 21:09, Reply)

Thanks Gunter
I like to leave these things open for continuation.

I'm really enjoying these b3ta-stories, there're some really talented writers on here.
( Cawl, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 21:23, Reply)