Harry Styles may have escaped One Direction to impregnate dinosaurs as a Jurassic World park ranger, but he could not outrun Bella’s desire.
There he was. Harry Styles: Jurassic World park ranger. Bella had frantically Facebook-searched for dinosaur stuff the minute she found out Harry had quit One Direction to follow his real passion: making dinosaurs do it. Harry’s band may have become extinct, but he’d brought his bad-boy sexpertise onto an island full of horny dinosaurs, and now Bella was on that island and so was Harry!
“You must be Bella,” mouthed Harry’s moistened lips.
“Please, call me Anastasia,” she flirted.
Their eyes locked just as Harry hoisted up the bolt-on turkey baster full of glistening, hot stegosaurus semen and exhaled, “Do you wanna do it?”
“Oh God, yes!” she screamed, throwing off her jacket and flinging herself onto the Jeep’s hood in a squatting position. “Ready!”
Harry, confused, yell-whispered, “Okay, well, the stegosaurus is over here, so . . . I’ll show you how to breed them, I guess?”
Bella sheepishly climbed down off the patrol vehicle and picked up her jacket. She wanted to play hard to get, but Harry was making it so, so hard. She had to keep herself under control. She had to change the subject.
“So, do you make music anymore?” she asked.
“No. Dinosaurs, like all primitive living things, hate boy-band music,” his fleshy mouth quivered. “Plus, if they realize you’re lip synching, they’ll kill.”
“You’re so brave, Harry,” groaned Bella.
Flames shot out of the stegosaurus inseminator as Harry pressed the button on the remote control with a lust that could only be described as carnal.
“Didn’t they used to do this in a lab?” shouted Bella over the belching of the diesel engine.
“Yeah. I shut that lab down,” roared Harry through tender lips. “Nobody likes watching test tubes do it.” He winked.
Oh my God, he’s so smart and funny! thought Bella.
The sexual tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Luckily Harry had a machete. Bella couldn’t control herself any longer! She slammed the piping hot jug of dinosaur sperm to the ground and tackled Harry, but, y’know, erotically.
“Maybe our passion will finally inspire these pandasauruses to do it,” panted Bella, clutching his boy-band body. “How do you do it, Harry?” she begged.
Harry looked away, embarrassed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I only dated Taylor Swift for two months.”
Everyone knew Harry was a bad kisser, but worse still, everything he’d ever learned about making love was either from watching spiky-tailed creatures fuck-wrestle or from dating supermodels and celebrities who were contractually obliged not to let anyone touch their hair, skin, lips or bodies. Harry tossed off his backpack and began thrusting his groin uncontrollably. It looked like he was trying to go in more than one direction 😉 at once. Bella just hung on for dear life as Harry repeatedly slammed his Jurassic World onesie into hers. The watching pandasauruses panted uncontrollably with unquenched desire, but Bella’s passion was not only dying, it was about to become extinct. The whole thing just seemed so choreographed. They’d been at it for what seemed like forever, but what exactly they were doing, she wasn’t quite sure. Harry was hopping up and down furiously while Bella, hanging upside down over one of his shoulders, finally demanded to know why they were still both fully clothed.
Harry stopped and just stared into the distance.
“I don’t know how to love you, Bella — I’m just a scientist!” he screamed in a dramatic pose learned through years of boy-band drama training. “If we were dinosaurs I’d know what to do to do you,” he said, gently pointing one finger to the heavens while slowly bringing the other one down over his heart.
At that very moment, a panicked voice crackled through the walkie-talkie. “Militant benefactors of the Creationist Museum in Kentucky have broken through our defences! They’re trying to plant cave-mannequins in the dinosaur displays, Harry!”
“Bella, those creationists are passionate about denying us our dinosaur display’s accuracy . . . and our desire. I have to go.” He shouted, “I’m still Harry Styles: Jurassic World park ranger!”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” she said. “Yeah. No. I’m good. Yeah. Very satisfied. Definitely. I’m almost too satisfied! I got this inseminating love plunger all figured out for the stegosauruses, so . . . you can go.”
“Okay. Ciao, Bella,” said Harry as he drove away in his motorized glass Zorb ball, the sound of “What Makes You Beautiful” fading into the distance.
It was all over.
Her fantasies of being a sexually drenched dinosaur in Harry Styles’s heavy-petting zoo had turned into a PG-13 nightmare. Her sex life now had . . . no direction ;). Unfulfilled and still fully clothed, Bella adjusted her sunglasses, peered over the top of her shades at the grey walkie-talkie in her hand, and slowly pressed the transmitter.
“Dispatch. It’s Anastasia. Are there any sexually perverse billionaires on this island?”
The voice crackled over the radio. “Just those Christian invaders.”
Ever so slowly she spread the hot, wet SPF 50 over her supple skin, pulled out the Jurassic World ball gag she’d bought in the gift shop, and pressed her lips against the speaker: “Christian? Perfect.”