Sloppy Seconds Read online

  James followed her all night, watching tricks fuck her in her diseased ass for whatever change and lint they found in their pockets. No amount seemed too small. At her age, she was probably grateful that anyone wanted to fuck her, let alone pay for the privilege.

  He watched her blow a homeless man in the park for a cigarette and stagger out, semen drooling from the corners of her lips and down her chin as she smoked a Marlboro down to nothing.

  He watched twelve college jocks ejaculate into a 40 oz. bottle of Old English and then giggle themselves silly as she drank the entire concoction down. As far as James could tell, she earned five dollars for the feat.

  She ended the night with a bukakki festival as eight or nine Mexican construction workers from a nearby high-rise project jerked off on her. Her face was still a white mask - covered in globs of thick cum that dripped from the tip of her nose, chin, cheeks; bubbling from between her lips with every breath, and even dripping from her eyelashes - when James pulled alongside her. Still, he loved her, even with her ancient features obscured by half a pint of dick snot. Even with cum bubbles popping in her pie-hole as she smiled that toothless smile of recognition when James herded her into his car.

  "I knew your daddy, you know?"

  "Yeah, I know."

  "I used to watch you sniff my underwear while your daddy drilled me in the ass."

  "Yeah, those were fun times."

  He took the octogenarian whore back to the roach-infested tenement that she called home, reeking of urine and burning cocaine. She passed out on the mattress which sat naked in the center of the one-room apartment, and James turned to the pile of laundry on the other end of the room. He knelt down and rummaged through it for underwear.

  He pulled silky, satiny, and cottony things from the piles of sweaty clothes and pressed them rapturously to his face. He dragged his tongue across the smooth folds of fabric in long luxurious strokes, wincing at the bitter, tangy cheese-and-horseradish taste of feminine discharge as he lapped up the crusty white stain from the crotch of her undergarments.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled the heady pheromones wafting from the sweat stain around the waistband, the meaty whiff of steaming feces from the lumpy skid mark in the seat of the panties, and he tried to imagine her beautiful vagina leaking sluggish, sallow drips of yeast infection and venereal disease into her satin thong as diarrhea oozed from her loose, heavily-traveled rectum.

  As he picked yet another pair of underwear from the pile (this one with a used maxi pad still stuck to it as if bandaging a copiously-bleeding wound) and began licking the bloody pulp from the cotton as if it was his last meal on earth, James thought of sliding his tongue between her flabby, mottled ass cheeks and into her dilated anus.

  He looked over his shoulder. She appeared to have stopped breathing. Then he closed his eyes and remembered how sexy she'd been in her sixties. He'd love nothing more than eating the old whore's asshole.

  James slid her skirt and thong off. She didn't stir. She had either passed out in a narcotic fugue or passed away completely. James was too preoccupied to check for a pulse. He knelt and put his tongue between her sagging butt cheeks, grinning from ear to ear. He was in heaven.

  Along with the taste of Astroglide and chunky liquid excrement, he imagined tasting his own lineage, the sweat and semen of several generations of ancestors who'd ejaculated into her diseased bowels.

  He could taste his grandfather's syphilitic penile drip like spoiled sour cream as he traced her puckered anus with the tip of his tongue, his great grandfather's juicy viral warts, the gangrenous tissue from his great uncle's running ulcers and chancres that had blossomed like bullet holes up and down the length of his rotting cock and smelled like death and raw sewage. His father's gonorrhea foamed out of her asshole in a thick curd like aged cottage cheese, and James eagerly consumed it all. Within her weathered anus lay decades of tradition - his birthright.

  Even in his delusional state of romantic bliss, James realized right away that he might have picked the wrong asshole to eat. He stared down at those pale cheeks spangled with suppurating pimples. Bedsores leaked pus in virulent ooze that caught in the whore's ancient ass hairs and glistened like morning dew. The angry red outbreak of herpes blisters rupturing in a halo around the over-used asshole - stretched to the circumference of a soda can - erupted in an inflamed nest of blood and shit-slickened hemorrhoidal tissue, boiling up from her ass like a bunch of raspberries.

  James's stomach reversed its flow. He regurgitated into her asshole, which funneled into the distended rectum like a flushing toilet. Then it promptly clenched tight and spat it back at him. The woman's saggy buttocks parted and released a spray of yellow vomit and liquid, brown offal in a deluge that rained down his face like a mudslide. He was in deep shit now.

  After wiping his face as clean as he could with a pair of the whore's semen-stained nylons and regurgitating several more times, he finally worked up the nerve to try it again. As he neared the steaming mess of infection and disease, he tentatively stuck out his tongue and touched it to her anus. He pinched his nose and pushed his tongue deeper to the slippery wet warmth of that withered ass.

  At that moment, he had discovered the true meaning of love: eating shit and calling it candy.

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  Alive

  Fourth Place - 2005 Gross-Out Contest, New York City

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  "...I shall greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children." - Genesis 3:16

  Johnny was a cannibal with an insatiable appetite for human flesh... and he just happened to work at an abortion clinic.

  Each night, he clawed his way through the red bio-waste bags, feeding on bits of ground and shredded meat from the piles of mangled fetal corpses; bloody hamburger spit out by the vacuum used to extract the unwanted parasites from their mothers. Their tiny pureed forms looked like chunks of dough covered in cranberries, or squashed cherries suspended in Ragu - like a watermelon pushed through a meat grinder. He gobbled it up in fistfuls, making a slurping and smacking sound as he greedily sucked down the stringy ropes of premature flesh that drooled from his goatee in bloody gobs, like a fat kid in a pie-eating contest.

  Occasionally, he performed back-alley abortions for the local crackwhores using a wire hanger and a pair of tongs to remove fetuses, piece by piece from the diseased vaginas of their mothers - as late as eight or nine months into their pregnancies, when their bellies had gotten too big even for the perverted johns who liked their whores ready to drop. The babies came out in chunks that looked like red marshmallow melted over a campfire. Sometimes he wouldn't even wait until their mothers weren't looking before he plopped the chewy morsels into his mouth. If they would let him, he'd suck the afterbirth right out of their syphilitic cunts and chew it up in front of them. It was his greatest joy in the world.

  Most nights, however, he contented himself with garbage.

  The rubbery meat and stringy, sallow fat tissue tasted like veal or raw calamari as he slurped umbilical chords out of the strawberry pulp of afterbirth and amniotic goo like strips of overcooked linguine. He bit through skulls that burst in his mouth like over-ripe fruit and sucked out the jelly-like gray matter. He didn't mind the maggots swimming in the stew of flesh and blood any more than he did the other undulating vermin. He slurped them up as eagerly as he did the various limbs and organs floating in that pulp of blood pudding.

  But today, there was something else in there... something moving. He could hear it chewing its way from the bottom of the bio-waste bag even as he ate his way from the top. Something in there was alive. Johnny scooped aside the diminutive body parts until he located one still writhing with the spark of life. It was little more than half a fetus; a torso and a head. Yet it was alive.

  It growled and gnashed its teeth at Johnny as he stared in amazement and prepared to pop the mewling creature into his mouth. That's when Johnny noticed the entire
bag was moving. Hands, feet, heads, disembodied organs, all undulating with life. He could even feel the half-digested remains he'd devoured crawling within him. He felt tiny teeth, feet, hands, fingers, toes, and parts he shuddered to describe scratching and biting their way back up his esophagus, struggling to be free. They were wriggling in the back of his throat.

  He regurgitated coagulating blood and partially digested meat again and again, trying to rid himself of them. But he'd eaten so much. Pounds and pounds of undead fetuses that were now hideously alive.

  Alive inside of him.

  "In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children" the Lord commanded.

  "Damn kids." A great roiling began in his loins. He doubled over with a nauseating agony that twisted in his guts like razors. A spray of fecal matter crawling with living abortions erupted from his asshole and slid down his pants legs. He watched a fingerless hand attached to the shoulders, neck, and head of some mongoloid Down Syndrome baby wave to him as the toothless face grinned up from the puddle of liquid excrement.

  "I wouldn't give two shits for a damn kid." He crushed the thing with his boot, enjoying the satisfying pop of its malformed head as it ruptured against his heel like a balloon filled with Jell-O. But he did give a shit, and it would be his last as the rest of his resurrected dinner scampered out of his rectum, dragging along his entire intestinal track.

  And just as the Old Testament had prophesized two millennia ago, Johnny screamed in agony and sorrow as he brought forth children.

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  Felching The Worm

  Second Place - 2007 Gross-Out Contest, Toronto, Canada

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  The worst part about sucking a dead dog's ass is the maggots, and the hair, and the fact that they don't bathe, or use toilet paper, and after they've been dead for a while, they get all bloated and start to leak, especially in this heat. Now I know you're wondering why any motherfucker would want to suck a dog's ass, a dead one at that. mean, it ain't exactly sanitary; the putrescence that leaks out of these things is stupefying, smells like a portable toilet and tastes about as good. Just imagine licking maggots out of a public toilet and you can almost approximate what I was going through.

  But you'd understand if the soul of your dead wife was trapped inside the rotting corpse of a Great Dane, and the only way you could set her spirit free was to suck it out through its ass.

  Okay, I'm not sure that's true. That's what the voodoo priestess said, but she could have been fucking with me. The thing is, my wife always had a thing for getting her asshole eaten out and now that she's dead, it's only gotten worse. Man, she's insatiable! How'd she wind up with her soul stuck in a dead dog? It's a long story involving a voodoo priestess with a thing for getting gang-raped by Great Danes. None of my business normally, but she was also bi-sexual - tried to seduce the wife and family pet. I got pissed off and kicked a little ass. My dog wound up dead and my wife trapped in her body. I don't even want to talk about it. It's still a sensitive issue for me.

  Thing is, she's no less sexually demanding now that she's roadkill than when she was a three hundred and fifty pound nymphomaniac with an addiction for the soul pole.

  And I have to admit. I do miss my dog.

  So what it amounts to is me with my lips pressed against Queenie's puckered anus while it oozes liquid feces, farts putrescent gases, and seethes with maggots wriggling across my tongue and into my moustache like a scene from Night of the Living Dead... only with house pets. Dingleberries of dried excrement dreadlock the matted hairs lining her furry buttocks. Festering bedsores and herpes blisters pockmarked her ass cheeks, the latter from a prostitute I'd hired who wasn't entirely candid about her sexual history.

  From within her rectum, a hideous infestation of pinworms boil out of her asshole like a pot of overcooked rice... as I first discovered while thrusting balls deep into her bleeding anus, plundering her bowels. I have to have a little fun too, don't I? It isn't all about her needs.

  Blood trickles from the torn mucus membranes lining her colon where I dug a tunnel through her, ripping her wide until rectum and vagina merged into one ragged hole, crawling with legions of worms - the same hole I am now licking like a bowl of cake batter.

  Queenie did not make a sound, didn't so much as wag her tail as I plunged my tongue deeper into her bleeding, maggot-ridden anus. I rose for air and once again replaced my tongue with my turgid flesh, throbbing with an urgent erection. I know; it seems a bit weird that this shit turns me on. But I haven't fucked a single bitch since my wife's interment in this canine carcass and I was horny as hell.

  I itched and squirmed as the riotous swarm of vermin migrated up my shaft, across my wrinkled scrotum, and into the dank moistness of my own ill-washed anus. Their corybantic undulations through my feces-flecked hemorrhoids sent shivers up my spine that drove me to the most violent orgasm I'd had in months.

  I withdrew my exhausted organ from my inamorata's nether regions and stared in horrified awe at the sea of maggot-like parasites swimming through my semen as it spilled from her dilated asshole in thick custard-like dollops - squirming, squiggling life that dribbled down her ass-crack and plopped onto the floor.

  "How much do I love her?" I grasped Queenie's tail once again and lifted it to reveal her anus, still slimed with gobs of coagulating man-juice and alive with a feverish colony of writhing pinworms.

  "How far would I go for love?" I wondered.

  Then, without another thought, I buried my face into her buttocks and wriggled my tongue into that unctuous, suppurating hole. And with a loud wet "SLUUUUUURP!" sucked her asshole clean worms, semen, blood and all.

  I loved her that much. Dead or alive, she was still man's best friend.

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  Gigolo Crackwhore

  Second Place - 2008 Gross-Out Contest, Salt Lake City

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  Antoine was a ninety-two-pound anorexic masochist... and the most popular crackwhore in the leper colony. His asshole had been stretched wide enough to pitch a baseball through by his long list of clients with cocks fattened by growths and lesions.

  An overzealous back-alley proctologist had widened it further in an attempt to surgically remove his hemorrhoids that involved an apple corer and a filet knife, leaving his anus gouged out - raw and pink - like a half-eaten ruby-red grapefruit. The only plus was that the constant irritation of a prolapsed anus was now all but a memory. He could now take two cocks in the same hole without so much as a grunt. D.P. in a leper colony was no small feat.

  Now, sex with Antoine was like stirring a bowl of chili with a toothpick. However, the sluggish, steady leak of excrement and semen from his distended, vandalized anus like a river of melted s'mores did little to detract from his charms.

  "Come on, baby. Let's get to fuckin'!"

  Antoine rolled his eyes and joined his septuagenarian trick on the bed.

  His client, Mikey, was one of the oldest fuckers in the colony. At seventy-six, he had so much nerve damage from decades of leprosy, infected appendages that had been rotting for months with gangrene literally dropped off of him during sex. Luckily, Antoine was used to it.

  Mikey popped two Viagaras and a heart pill and began stroking his misshapen cock to an erection. There was a wet chafing sound as sores and blisters ruptured, leaking blood and pus between his fingers while his palsied hand busied itself trying to raise the dead. Finally, his withered cock - which resembled some sort of wounded sea slug - began to stiffen and elongate in the old man's hand.

  "Come on now, youngin,' suck my cock! Suck it like you love me!"

  The ancient john's bulbous dick was festering with an advanced case of syphilis and the length of his member was pockmarked with raw, bleeding sores, blossoming like infected bullet holes and leaking a stream of clear liquid that smelled like last season's still-hidden Easter eggs. Syphilis had likewise rotted his nose off, leaving a ragged crater oozing snot o
ver his mouth.

  Mikey's eyelids blistered with a cranberry cluster of herpes sores, as did his anus and scrotum - resembling the inside of a pomegranate and swollen to the size of naval oranges. His mouth was so full of herpes that he could barely speak, and his tongue looked like some kind of pork rind. The few teeth that remained in his rotting maw were black with tartar and cratered with cavities from smoking meth and eating Twinkies. His breath smelled like he flossed with roadkill.

  Antoine felt as if he were about to fuck something from a Brian Keene novel or a George Romero film. Mikey looked like he missed his own funeral, wandering around with his gangrenous erection and waiting for someone to take enough pity to cremate him.

  Such was the state of politics in the colony that this old, perverted corpse was both the town mayor and the church's most respected member. Antoine had once given the diseased fossil a blowjob in the confessional booth. Afterward, he promptly washed his mouth out with holy water while stammering his "Our Fathers" and "Hail Marys."

  Mikey had once been over six hundred pounds and, though he'd lost the weight, folds of loose, wrinkled skin hung in long, billowy sheets from his body, turning his arms into bat wings and his torso into a sagging avalanche of flesh. In order to get to the man's penis, Antoine had to lift the long flap of skin draping from Mikey's belly down to mid-thigh and duck under it like he was crawling beneath a blanket. The skin enveloped his head as if it had been submerged in a vat of flesh-toned taffy.

  Antoine hyperventilated as the meaty perspiration and body heat created a stifling sauna, choking him with body odor and humidity. He struggled beneath the hood of skin, trying to move it aside, while gasping for air and growing more claustrophobic by the second. Finally, he tossed the skin to the side and sucked in a huge breath like a drowning man rising from the water, exposing the man's deformed organ to the light of day.