The Margaret And David Fan Fiction You Will Never Unsee
I’m giving it four stars – David? Rated NSFW.
Every month, writers and comedians come together to share their filthiest – and funniest – stories in Erotic Fan Fiction at Sydney venue Giant Dwarf. Today, Erotic Fan Fiction creator Eddie Sharp shares with BuzzFeed his story about that pair that every Australian secretly ships – Margaret Pomeranz and David Stratton from At the Movies.
“Marvelous, just marvelous. I loved every minute of it.” It was 8.07 on a Wednesday night. Margaret was gushing over the newest offering from Scandinavian director, Hans Molbrach.
“An absolute triumph.” She added, her warm reedy voice cracking with excitement.
“Everything about this film was just spot on. I mean, the scene in the caravan park where Ryan Gosling slow-dances with the stranger in the donkey suit, and we know it’s his wife. It was exhilarating. Four stars from me. David?”
Margaret glanced over at David. His ramrod posture as straight as a schoolboy’s. His nervous hands clasped tightly in his lap. He turned to her slowly. Turning in that way that only David Stratton could. Turning to her with his entire body. His face a wry mix of bemusement and disgust. She could hardly wait.
“I loathed it.”
“Oh David.” Margaret said, goading him on. Laughing with a hoary cackle.
“I’m not a great fan of this director as you know.”
“Oh, I know David.”
What was it about him? He was not her type at all. Growing up on the northern beaches, she had always preferred surfers. Beautiful dumb boys with great tans, big dicks and no opinions. How many nights had been spent in the back of some strange boy’s combie while guys with names like Damo or Rabbit drilled her into spastic ecstasy, armed with nothing but a Cold Chisel tape and a school certificate.
“Self indulgent clap trap,” David went on. “The characters were all completely one-dimensional. I mean, who is this supposed to appeal to?”
Was it a daddy thing? Maybe, there was certainly something about his starchy disapproval of everything she stood for that drove her wild with desire. She found herself fantasising about orgies they could have had with Damo and Rabbit. All four of them going at it in the back of a Sandman. David, of course, would be complaining about the upholstery or choice of music. His chastising of her terrible taste further inflaming the passion and heat of the moment. She yearned to make him really lose his cool.
Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Menopause had done something strange and unexpected to her body. Everything turned her on. Every tiny breeze would magnify and deepen in intensity till she was close to exploding. It was like the opening scene in Blue Velvet when they go below the lawn and white picket fence to show you the bugs underneath. Margaret loved that movie. That was how David made her feel. Like bugs and dirt. Fetid, yeasty and secret.
“On the whole I found this film just incredibly stupid.”
“Well I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” said Margaret, her brain on auto-pilot.
David waffled on doing his best to ignore her. “I felt no emotional connection with the characters whatsoever.”
Margeret parted her mouth slightly. The lights were so hot. She flexed her pelvic floor muscles, grinding her swollen cunt into the base of her chair with such subtlety that would be barely perceptible to the viewers at home.
“That’s all from us this week,” David said.
“Thank you and goodnight,” Margaret gurgled.
The lights dimmed and the credits rolled. David did his best to mime small talk for the cameras. Margaret stared out in to space.
The director chimed in. “Margaret, that last scene was a little … off. Do you want to do it again?”
“Ah fuck it” said Pomeranz and she lit a Gadang and slinked off stage, her oversized tribal wooden earrings clacking together as she walked. She went into the dressing room and immediately removed her underpants, which were soaking wet. She planned to rub them all over David’s make-up chair, covering it in her scent. But David stormed in before she got a chance.
“What the fuck was that all about?!”
“You make me so furious!” she said. “Did you even notice that I was wearing new earrings today?”
“Yes. And I found them contrived. What’s that you’ve got in your hand?”
“This?” Margaret replied, “This is me, David. This is my womanhood. Acknowledge it!”
She screamed, jamming her sodden bloomers in his face, forcing the wet gusset into his mouth.
“What does it taste like?” she screamed. She tasted good to him, earthy, like couscous and chai tea. But he wouldn’t let her have the pleasure.
“Like piss,” he mumbled through the fabric.
“Bullshit!” she said, plunging his face down into her ladygarden.
“Repulsive,” David said, licking with glee and enthusiasm. He then turned her over and thrust his throbbing rod inside her.
The strokes of Stratton’s lovemaking were what you would expect from the man. He was efficient and relentless. Hardly breaking a sweat. Margaret even thought she could hear him counting: Ah 1,2,3. Ah 1,2,3.
Margaret’s pendulous breasts thwacked together with every stroke like two socks full of marbles. Thwap thwap. The slapping together of her breasts and the clacking of her earrings created a symmetry of movement that drove him on, excited by the powerful effect his thrusts had over her body.
Clack clack clack / Thwap thwap / Clack clack clack / Thwap thwap.
Without warning Margaret reached around and forced two fingers into his anus. “Stop that, what are you trying to do, you stupid woman?” David said, scolding her hard. And with that she came, great waves of pleasure causing the two of them to collapse in to each other as they panted in spent ecstacy.
Then David stood up quickly, meticulously fixing himself before striding out the door, not saying a word. Margaret lay in the dark, grinning to herself.
As usual, the next Wednesday night Margaret opened the show. “Well coming up this week we have the new film from Lars Von Trier called Nymphomaniac. David do you have any thoughts?”
“Oh god, where do I begin?” He said with a wry smile.
Margaret shuddered in anticipation.