Excerpt from Crime Cube: Molly & Pyxxy Do Crimes by Sybil Lamb
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At the back of an alley, between a store that sells shelves and counters for stores and another that’s either out of business or under renovation between a construction dumpster and a corner store dumpster, in the garden behind some old house with oily dirt that grass won’t grow in and several dozen engines, motorcycles and vehicles that probably wouldn’t start even if they had gas in them, was Molly’s 60-year-old station wagon that she lived in. That’s where she took Pyxxy and the cornucopia of meat sticks and crushed-to-powdered Doritos they’d stolen to engage in a strongly pepperoni-flavoured makeout session that lasted for the length of both sides of some rare glam rock cassette tape. Eventually, Pyxxy came up for air.
“I remembered, I remembered!” she cheeped.
“What?” Molly breathed for the first time in 45 minutes. The makeout had been so powerful, she had forgotten that she wasn’t a nebula of lights in deep space.
“I’m Pyxxy Styx cuz I’m a pixie with a stick!” And she flourished her little prick out of the leg of her tiny, frilly green panties. She had this one piece of expensive-looking lingerie contrasting the rest of her outfit of scores from the thrift store drop-off box. “I just got a little prick cuz I’m little,” she added.
“I am in awe of how little you are; you are lit’rally cute as all fuck.”
Molly finally, if a bit gently, took hold of Pyxxy’z prick. Pyx scrambled in return to wrangle Molly’s impressive truncheon from her super-tight pants, then started cuddling and stroking it like it was a pet kitten. “Wow, y’anno I would never have guessed by looking at you that you were this huge! You’re not that much taller than me.”
“According to how biology works, if I was the size of a normal man, then by scale, my dink would have to be like a foot-and-a-half long. Can you believe there was a time when I hated my dink? It was three months ago, when I first applied for HRT. Then they gave me a script and a shot the same day, and we’ve been fine ever since.”
Pyxxy rose up on her knees, her tiny prick and tiny tuft of pink pubes pointing at Molly’s face, and maneuvered herself around so she was sitting backwards over Molly’s lap, perching on her utter dong of an erection like a bird on a tree branch. Molly clutched her soft, warm, pink sun-dappled back close, smushing her into her chest. Molly’s dink, between Pyxx’z legs, poked up and out further than Pyx’z own.
Pyx delightedly held both their dinks together in her tiny pink fingers, laying their heads together. “This is a cool sex move I know called the double dink kiss,’’ she said matter-of-factly, making them kiss as if she’d been putting on a play with stuffed animals that she’d horked a blop of spit onto and made kiss.
♥♥♥
Before long, they were passed out in a tangle of Molly’s T-shirts, smiling with their legs wrapped around each other’s dinks, which stayed rock hard and nearly inside each other all the way to dawn—and then more or less semi-hard till lunch, when they finally got up.
As the sun got closer to setting than having risen, they ate an endless pile of Snickers bars and pepperoni sticks that were always just at arm’s reach as they napped and cuddled on sweat-clammy, cigarette-burn-dotted, understuffed vinyl seats in the back of a car. Then they jerked each other off twice and made out for another hour, and then they ate a whole bag of Doritos dust each.
Then Pyxxy got up to go into the house that Molly’s car was in the backyard of, where the toilet was. On the back porch she found a couple of 60-year-old biker dudes drinking beer n’ fucking around on eBay. The first biker, Lloyd, looked up briefly and nodded at her.
“Nice skirt,” he said. “Looks cold.” And he resumed drinking a long series of small cans of weak beer.
“Your housemate looks like some biker’s grandpa,” she reported when she got back to the car.
“I’m pretty sure that’s actually accurate. Floyd and Lloyd were like the leaders of the Bikers back 26 years ago, and my mom was the Betty of one of their underlings. These days, Floyd lives off selling biker memorabilia on eBay. Lloyd is not legally allowed to work cuz he’s a felon. He robbed a bank in the millenniums.”
“He is way hot for an old guy. I would let him rob me.”
“PLEASE do not hit on Lloyd. He’s basically my mom’s biker big brother. He’s borderline my legal-illegal uncle. He was at my first birthday party. PLEASE DON’T FLIRT WITH HIM! Besides, what can he possibly give you that I can’t?”
“Well, he’s got like 50 tattoos. He must have one for each year alive. And you have none.” She pretended to polish a garbled tattoo of a bow on her wrist.
“Well, you seem to be covered in crappy tattoos!? You must be able to do tattoos. Give me a stick and poke!”
“Hey! Crappy nothing! All my tats actually mean something.” Moll couldn’t tell how serious she was. “Stick and poke yourself!”
“I have almost 20 piercings!”
“Oh, piercings.” Pyx snorted.
“Jesus Kryst, I give up. Not only is he hot, he also has whatever kind of social assistance it is that gives you unlimited cans of beer! I know I can’t compete. Just go to him. Leave me to drown my heartache in pepperoni.”
“You are such a drama-llama-jelly-queen,” giggled Pyx, climbing into the front and falling head first into Molly’s lap, weaving her feet through the steering wheel as she went and turning on the wipers, which made dry scraping sounds cuz there was no rain. “We should try to do a crime that gets us money. Imagine what if we was us right now, but with money? And you owe me a bank robbery for me choosing you over an experienced bank robber.”
“He did ten years for it!” Molly scoffs. “He got out ten years ago, so these days he wouldn’t even jaywalk! He’ll be first to tell you he gets the heck away from trouble, cuz he’s too old to lose any more decades.”
“So it’s on you.”
Molly grasped her hand. “Yes. It’s up to me.”
Pyxxy grasped Molly’s other hand back. Now all four of their hands were holding one another. “It’s up to us!”
“And I got a great idea for us tonight,” Molly went on. You want a robbery? I’ll show you a robbery, baby. The problem with robbing a bank these days is there’s cameras on everything, dollar bills got computer chips in ’em, the fuckin’ sidewalk is taping you for the cops. But I know where there’s cash with no camera on it: third-party ATMs! We monitor an ATM of a closed restaurant near where drunk people are. Lie in wait. We can make a gun by cutting guns out of BULLETS AND GUNS MAGAZINE and glueing them to some cardboard. A fake gun and a drunk guy? Lit’ral money printing machine.”
“Well, I guess I picked the right criminal after all.”
“Pyxxy, seriously for a second, I am so glad you picked me. I can’t believe my luck to have found you. I’m afraid to pinch myself cuz I must be dreaming.”
Pyxxy jumped up and unleashed a flurry of pinches. “THIS AIN’T NO DREAM, SUNSHINE! I’M REAL AND YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME! PINCH PINCH PINCH!!!”
♥♥♥
Four hours later, they were hanging around by a third-party ATM outside a closed Mexican grocery, half a block from a liquor store. They both wore black hoodies and black jeans and kerchief bandanas. Molly was in steel-toes, Pyxxy in neon pink sneakers cuz she only owned pink shoes. The only security was the two grocery store cameras, which they had nudged crooked with a broom. They had spent hours creating fake guns from arts and crafts, and they’d had to go shoplift more mod podge four times. Pyx laughed at Molly for knowing a lot about X-Acto knives but then told her it was awesome that she was such a nerd and didn’t even try to hide it.
As they waited for someone to be going from the liquor store to the bank machine, Molly spray-painted
xXyxy & theG04t <3
across four recycling trash cans with some orange spray paint she swiped from some construction site down the street.
“Aww, that’s sweet!” Pyx beamed. “But it’s gonna get scrambled when they put the recycle bins in a different order.”
“Damn. Yer right.” Moll frowned. “I dropped the paint canister down a storm drain before remembering to number them.”
“It’s the fluorescent orange that counts!” Pyx hugged her and hung around her neck.
The first two guys they decided not to mug, cuz they had like 60 pounds on Molly. Then they decided most people had at least 60 pounds on Molly. Eventually, though, a guy who was at most 175 pounds started the walk from the liquor store to the ATM. He looked like a skater dude pushing 30. They pulled on their kerchief masks and spread out on either side of him. Molly walked up to the dude first.
“Easy, buddy! I don’t wanna shoot you, but I gotta take your money from you. I’m taking a collection for the secret underground uprising. It’s for a good cause. Now that I saw you punch in your pin code, why don’t you withdraw 500 dollars for me?”
“WTF? Are you fucking with me? “He punched cancel and shoved his wallet deep in his inside jacket pocket.
“Hey, you fuckin pig, we don’t care about you! Log back into the ATM, now!”
Skater dude whirled around to see some pink haired girl with a glock that was glaringly about 150% bigger than it should be, and a green-haired one brandishing a weird, small machine gun.
“What is that? Is that a magazine-less Thompson machine gun with a double-barreled shotgun glued to it?” he asked incredulously.
“Why yes! And the stock is from a pre-war longshoreman’s underwater rifle!” Molly proudly began, but Skater was already punching her in the face.
Pyxxy immediately sprung into action like a mouse trap and dumped a whole trash can on the guy. The guy threw the trash can off himself and it flew into Molly, gashing her open at the temple. She was squirting DNA evidence everywhere. With Molly still stunned, the guy punched her again and again.
Pyxxy started screaming, “Fuck you fuck you!” and throwing garbage. She wasn’t sure about the specifics of fighting, but she could at least contribute to the atmosphere and aesthetic. Though, she wouldn’t have put it in those words. They sounded pretty dumb, and Pyxxy didn’t think in words too often anyways.
Then Molly the Goat activated. She hopped in a circle and hop-kicked the guy backwards with both heavy, black steel-toe boots at once. He flailed right through the full-length window of the closed grocery into a stack of shopping baskets. Safety glass pattered cheerfully on the cement. Horrible, shrieking, gargling alarms went off at maximum volume, disturbing everyone within a three-block radius.
Molly & Pyxxy were five blocks away by the time the dude stood up again.
♥♥♥
“You see? That’s why I waited til the guy was only 10 pounds bigger than me,” grimaced Molly while Pyx dabbed at the blood with her kerchief bandana. They were hiding out carefully inside a cardboard dumpster.
“You kicked that guy through a plate glass window. You were amazing,” cooed Pyxxy sweetly. She was enjoying nursing Molly’s battle damage.
“Two days in a row I wanna be a badass, just walking around taking what I want. But at every turn I anticipate failure, which positively manifests it, and so I’m thwarted by people with a better handle on their ego than me.”
“I don’t think you’re a chicken. I like your ego.” Pyx was maybe a bit too much into watching Molly’s blood soak into her kerchief.
“I didn’t say I was a chicken!”
“You are a scary, crazy motherfucker. I’ve seen you run up and go crazy and attack people; I’ve seen you fuck up a dozen jars of relish and four trash cans. There’s like four cop cars looking for us right now. You are a berserker and I’m glad you’re on my side!”
“Forever!” said Molly, a bit too emphatically. “I want to be a fearsome, cold villain for you Pyxxy. I really do, more than anything, but I’m worried I am actually not designed for it.”
“You’re not not a villain! You’re just not an asshole. I am, like, four times the asshole you are. It’s actually pretty weird how little of an asshole you are, cuz you are totally, like, a dirtbag supreme.”
“You just said ‘asshole’ like five times, you are so horny.” Molly smirked.
“Yes, yes I am! This whole crime spree thing was kinda fun and had some real hot parts. It’s probably time to go screw around in your car and quit while we’re ahead.”
“Not now we can’t! We’ve spent a whole day planning this and stuff, and I’ll be damned If I walk away when the money in that ATM belongs to us!
♥♥♥
Five blocks away, they found a fire department with some fire guys hanging out in the garage watching TV. Pyxxy wandered skittishly up to the garage door with a bunch of Molly’s blood smeared across her face. All the firemen rushed over to her.
“What the hell, lady? You all right?” one asked.
“You guys help find kitties? Have you seen my kitty?”
As the firemen pondered this cute, blood-splattered girl acting weird, Molly crept behind them and picked up a fire axe. Pyxxy was so hot and passable when not in full alien uniform. She felt a rush of conflict between pride at how hot a girl she’d netted and sickening jealousy over every corruption of a man who dared talk to her. She made eye contact with Pyx, showed her the axe, and, zippity slipped back out of the station and into a bush.
“Hey, what was that?” said a guy, but Pyxxy tugged the sides of her green panties out the top of her skirt.
“Oh, there’s my kitties! They’re on my panties!”
The firemen were speechless.
“Well glad that’s figured out!’’ she continued, shoving her undies back in her pants and wiping the blood off her face, before suddenly code-switching into a convincing alterna-girl mall-punk between partyings. “Just kidding, y’all! Another wild night! Woo-hooo. Any y’all smoky boys got a smoke?”
One guy gave her one and another lit it. She flirted with them a bit unnecessarily longer. Molly listened from the bush, a slow-boil freak-out building in her chest. What was she even talking about? Complimenting the hoses and saying “hoses” over and over again, trying out different ways she could hold their attention, probably moving her body. Why was she doing this when she didn’t need to? Just when Molly was starting to think she was gonna have to go cause a disturbance to get Pyx outta there, Pyx bounced out and skipped up to the pre-arranged meet spot, exhaling cigarette in a long, thin stream from her little “O” lips.
♥♥♥
When they got back, the original grocery store had a sheet of plywood where the window had been, and the glass had been mostly swept up. Molly & Pyxxy were both a bit let down by the lack of police tape or bloodstains. Well, they’d soon fix that.
Powered by the last of her adrenaline and hell-bent determination to make tonight work or else, Molly axed the front panel off the ATM in 85 seconds of swinging. Pyx extracted a black box that definitely had 20-dollar bills in it, and they were off. Molly even went out of her way to double back and return the blunted, mangled fire axe cuz “We can’t steal from firemen.” Then she flagged down a cab and told the driver, “Just go to the end of the old town expressway.”
Once the cab was moving, she finally relaxed. “That worked out in the end!” she cheered. “The customer care part, now that was admittedly kinda bad. However, I think our in-person donation collection scheme could still have merit? We just need to do better market analysis next time.”
Pyx was impressed by Moll’s ability to talk in code. “Like, we gotta do this in a rich neighborhood maybe?” she suggested.
“Rich neighborhoods have more security guys waiting closer by,” Molly posited. “In fact, that is like the whole reason there even is a police force.”
“I’m not talking about one-per-cent-ers. I mean like, the top-10-per-cent-ers.”
“Well, I guess we could case some spots out and do some recon, maybe.” She Looked at Pyx expectantly. “I mean, if you’re into that?”
Pyx grappled nestled into Molly. “I wanna plot and scheme with you Molly. You are a total psycho and also kind of a nerd, and that’s a recipe for criminal mastermind if I ever heard one.”
“Heh, yeah. Yeah! Told you I was a criminal mastermind.”
“Wait, did we just confess to crimes in front of the cab driver?”
“Well shit, now we did.”
At the stoplight, they bailed out of the cab without paying and ran through a dozen people’s back yards in a convoluted pattern that went north and then east and then south then east and finally north. No one was chasing them, so they got away.
♥♥♥
Soon they were back at Molly’s car. Molly put a tape of just different covers of “Let’s Lynch the Landlord” playing on repeat, and they spread around 20-dollar bills everywhere. Then, they ran the engine to heat the car and sat around in their undies and ordered ten pizzas with garlic bread, spicy wings, loaded poutine, a Caesar salad, veal parmigiana sandwiches, two 2-liters of cherry vanilla cola and a pecan pie. They even ordered personal large pizzas for Floyd and Lloyd, who were slurring wasted reminiscences 48 cans deep on the back porch. Floyd wanted cheese with nothing, and Lloyd all meat.
“Pyxxy I caught myself just now cuz I almost said I can’t believe how wonderful you are,” Molly said, gesturing with a slice of spinach bacon parmesan.
“How wonderful we are,” Pyx corrected, briefly coming up for air from inhaling a triple-cheese calzone.
“But in fact, I can very well believe how wonderful we are. And I swear upon the infinite, endless fascination of your unearthly beauty, Mx. Styx, that by being gay and doing crime at the criminal mastermind level, we shall rise and surge forth to rebuild man in our image and strike down all who… ”
Pyx smirked “Yes, yeah. So are you gonna victory fuck me, or what?”
“My good lady, let me assure you that I can do nought else after tonight but serve upon your little pirate booty the most jolly of rogerings. In fact, from dawn and forward, this alley shall forever sing the ballad of Molly & Pyxxy, the longest, loudest, most brutal symphony of squeaking automobile suspension that ever—”
‘’Too slow!” screamed Pyx, toppling Molly in a tackle. “Somebuddy’s getting topped right now, so bite it.” She shoved Molly into the footwell and squirmed around her body like a jellyfish until their legs were tied in knots, then thrust her lil dinky into Molly up to the hilt. She had to attack Molly’s ass at a 90-degree angle to get her whole lil dink in there.
Molly screamed, “Pyxxy, OMG! I fucking love you!” She wept one tiny, happy tear of joy that squirted out of her at the same velocity as her cum, and with such force it landed in the front seat somewhere.
Pyx was so delighted that she came super hard. “I fucking love you too, Molly!” she squealed out between her lil pink squirts. This wasn’t just hot gay crime sex; this was something amazing and important that filled so much uncertain emptiness inside her, and she hadn’t even taken her turn to get fucked yet.
For hours, they threw each other all over the folded-down backseat. When they finally let exhaustion defeat them, they squirmed around so their sweaty, breathless faces pressed together and breathed each other’s hot breath, lying completely spent with $20 bills and mushrooms and hot peppers stuck to their bodies with sex juices, their eyes using up the last of their energy mentally envisioning happiness rays shooting at each other. Everything was wonderful and just gonna get better.