Simpsons Porn Story: Kiss Me Chapter 3

Smithers arrived at my house a couple hours earlier not only to cook the meal but also to bathe and clothe me nicely for the event. Usually I enjoyed being so completely dependent on Smithers, but sometimes I detested it. This was one of those times. I felt so filled with self-loathing and inadequacy. But Smithers didnt seem to notice. He scrubbed my corrugated, old skin with the same tenderness and normalcy he always did.

So, tell me about this woman. Whats her name?

Clara Remington.

Been married?

Once.

Kids?

Not yet.

This answer set me back a bit, but I continued. What does she do for a living?

Shes the curator for the new modern classics museum over on Broadway. Thats how we met, actually. I was pouring plaudits upon the fabulous doll gallery, and we got to talking. She actually recognized me as being the owner of the largest Malibu Stacey collection in the world, and I told her she could come see it sometime, and well, one thing led to another.

I cringed a bit for reasons unknown to me at the time. So, youre quite taken with her?

UmI think so.

We were silent for a long ten minutes subsequent to our discourse, until Smithers asked me, So, are you sure everything is all right, sir? You know that youll always be my first priority, if thats what youre concerned about.

No, thats not it, I replied honestly. I felt a strange heat fill my face and a shiver climb up my spine as Smithers began washing my inner thigh. I quickly said, Thats enough bath for me. Im clean. Now, help me out.

Our evening commenced exactly at 7 when Miss Clara Remington arrived in a beautiful, sapphire BMW and an even more beautiful, sapphire dress. I nudged to Smithers as we watched her walk to the door from the window. I thought you said she was a museum curator. Yet she comes here in a BMW and a dress that could easily pass for Oscar De La Renta!

Smithers laughed. Well, sir, she does have quite a bit of money. She used to be a model. The doorbell rang.

I scoffed. Hm. Well. Answer the door, then.

Smithers gladly did so. I watched with strange anger as he kissed her hello and took her coat. After staring at their brief tte–tte, I made my way to them and proffered the woman my hand. Monty Burns, I offered.

Clara Remington. Its so marvelous to meet you, she said jocularly. And heavens, she was beauteous with her brilliant, tourmaline eyes, platinum blonde hair, and full lips the chromaticity of cherries. Smithers certainly had all the luck when it came to women, the few he actually was with, at least.

Im sure Smithers had told you all about me, I said confidently, well-aware of my friends patent adulation of me.

But then she looked a bit uneasy and answered, Well, umyes, of course. Smithers averted his eyes. He didnt tell her about me? I couldnt believe the event. My ire grew.

Well, sir, shall we commence our dinner?

I sneered and sat down at my usual dining chair. While Smithers was preparing the food on our plates in the kitchen, I decided to have a little slice of conversation and dissertation with Smithers fair maiden. So, youre new to Springfield, I assume? A friendly enough question delivered in a perfectly unfriendly tone of voice.

Well, yes, she answered.

I continued, Where do you hail from?

She smiled. Well, I know now how Springfield townspeople feel about Shelbyville, but I have to admit, thats my hometown.

Shelbyville?! That blasted, fetid hellhole putrid imbeciles somehow mistake for a town?

Hearing my slight upsurge of rage, Smithers rushed in with the food, fretfully tittering as he had seemed to do a lot lately. Heh-heh. Mr. Burns, Shelbyville is actually quite a nice town. Clara and I went there last weekend, and I must say, its wonderful there.

I had had about enough already. Youre only saying that because youre sleeping with the damn fool! Smithers and Clara gasped and stared at me with matching countenances of shock.

I rose from my seat and threw my bib down on the table. Im not hungry. Im going to bed. And I dont need you to tuck me in tonight! I shouted as I stormed off into my chambers.

Oh, Monty, what ever is wrong with you? I wondered as I endeavored with all my strength to pull my covers over me exactly snug like Smithers was so adept at doing. After a five-minute struggle with the stubborn sheets, I accomplished my task and lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling with wide eyes. Even though I managed to tuck myself in without Smithers, it wasnt the same. Not at all. I couldnt fall asleep without his gentle hands touching me once more, without his comforting voice bidding me sweet dreams, without feeling the last smile that I always knew was plastered on his face as he left the room. I sighed.

Something was wrong with me. Something was terribly wrong with me, and I could not pinpoint what it was. Therefore, I had no idea of how to go about fixing it. And even worse, I wasnt entirely sure I wanted to.