Pick A Hole
WARNING: This blog is of a graphic nature and reader discretion is advised. What I’m saying is, this one is really gross so don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing. Okay, you’ve been warned.
Lance and I are sitting at Starbucks in Los Angeles California. I’m sipping on a Carmel Frappuccino and getting ready to enjoy something they call a “Red Velvet Whoopie Pie.” The sunshine has me in a good mood; the air is abuzz with positive energy and pulsating with life. For some reason it reminds me of the time I fucked a fat chick.
Her real name will be omitted to conceal her chunky identity; we’ll call her “Moonbeam.” She was an all around unpleasant woman. One might even use the word repulsive. Sex with her felt like borderline bestiality. In fact, I’m sure I broke a few state laws by merely entertaining the thought.
Moonbeam was a corpulent Goth chick, which means she wore all black, wrote awful poetry and collected dead flowers. The stink of her clove cigarettes only partially masked her horrendous body odor. She stunk like a wet burlap sack filled with mayonnaise and diarrhea. The added stench of the cloves was simply gut twisting.
Her personality was as equally unattractive as her physique. She was caustic, sulky and stupid to boot. “Why don’t people get me? Gawd, people are sooo dumb.” She would whine. Moonbeam spent her parent’s money at Hot Topic as a form of teenage rebellion and patted herself on the back for it. Little Miss Moonbeam was as obtuse as those she ridiculed.
I had quite a different idea of teenage rebellion. At the time, I was wildly unstable and would earn approval or dislike through over-the-top crude antics like: self-mutilation, ingesting copious amount of any drug, eating rotten pizza slices I found outside in the rain, or vomiting on things to horrify others. One time I even grabbed a piece of cat feces from a litter box and bit into it, smiling and spitting the grit all over.
Are you still with me? Well, I spit it out…I did… Anyway, my thoughts were thusly, If the world thinks I’m a freak then I will show them what a freak is. So I wasn’t even drunk when I decided to fuck the blubbery bitch; Moonbeam was just a check on my list of abominations to commit.
The fat girl and I arrived at my place late… well, a grocery store I lived in at the time. (That’s another story all by itself.) My roommates were asleep and lucky for them. They wouldn’t have wanted to know the crimes against convention I was committing in the next room.
The lights went out before the sex began. They had to be off if I was going to maintain even a semblance of an erection. If I had to finger my way around her lumpy frame I didn’t want to have to see it too. It was bad enough alone I was touching it.
The heavy breathing Moonbeam didn’t waste much time. She rammed her round face into my flaccid penis. She sucked it half hard then pulled away. She stared at me with Betty Davis eyes while slobbering like Cujo. “Come here and fuck me.” She ordered. I shook my head in defiance. I grabbed her short black hair and thrust her head back down on my shaft. Now I was having misgivings about this course of action and calculating possible escape scenarios.
Five more minutes drained from the room before the moment of dread arrived. She finished up with the blow job business and demanded some dick. Even I wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen. She rolled over me and plopped on her back. After the jelly under her skin quit swaying and jiggling I penetrated her. It was far more clinical than romantic. Her vagina was unpleasantly wet, like someone blew their nose into her cunt.
I attempted to fantasize about celebrity women. Christina Aguilera was touching herself in my mind. Meanwhile, I remained hunched over a sweaty bean bag in a black bra. The living bean bag shrieked her guttural orders at me once again, “Choke me!” The fantasy dissolved and reality struck me in the face like a brick.
“I don’t want to choke you.”
“Come on, choke me. Don’t be a little pussy.”
She grabbed my hands and placed them upon her gullet. I say “gullet” because I’m assuming that’s where she stored her fish. I began to get annoyed by her insistence so I squeezed her throat with an honest bit of malice. She gasped for oxygen. I squeezed harder. I wonder if she could sense the menace in my eyes. She struggled for air. I used both hands and pushed and squeezed. Her had bobbled off the wall. My pelvis ceased to thrust and a moment of powerful psychosis overtook me. I enjoyed the violence far more than the sex. Her eyes rolled into her head.
A voice popped into my consciousness. “Jesus, don’t kill her buddy.” I loosened my grip. She coughed and her face seemed bright red, even in the darkness. I couldn’t bare to stare at her grotesque features any longer. “Let’s do this doggy style” I said. Moonbeam complied by rolling her hideous body over, laying on her belly like a beached whale baking in the sun. Once completely on her stomach she pushed her rotten backside up. A stench wafted into the air with the movement, it was nauseating.
My once half hard cock became a dead muscle. I took my thumb and pushed the head of my sad dick into her throbbing cum catcher. The act was forced and horrid. Christina Aguilera consumed my thoughts again. Her apparition kissed my lips while I humped the pile of slop in front of me. With the aid of my fantasy I finally managed a full erection when suddenly… THUNK. It felt gritty… very odd.
I slid my member out of her. I heard a loud pop and the smell of wet shit hit my nostrils. “Ah, pick a hole!” she snapped at me. Oh God, it was unbearable; it was too much for me to handle. With all the gross things I’ve done out of rebellion and loneliness, even this crossed a line. It actually turned my stomach. It took everything in me not to vomit the contents of my belly into her gaping anus.
I dismounted then dismissed Moonbeam as politely as I could. She rolled off the bed and landed on her side. She struggled to get to her feet. Much like watching a calf try to stand up for the first time. She waddled to the bathroom while picking at her ass like there was a fresh scab in it bothering her.
The bathroom door shut and I quivered in her absence. I was ashamed thoroughly with my actions and began racking my brain on how to get her out of the apartment. First things first, I had to get dressed. I flipped on the light switch and a brand new problem became illuminated. My bed was soaked with blood. Not a drip drop or dribble of blood but the mattress was drenched. A little pool even formed in the center. I looked down at my penis and it was dripping with blood as well. My cock looked like it had just crawled out of an ultimate fighting match.
I stood there perplexed, naked and rubbing my chin. Pondering what the appropriate response should be to this. In the distance a toilet flushed. A moment later Cujo hobbled back into the room. I pointed to the bed which seemed like where the Manson Family massacre took place. “What the fuck is that?” I asked.
“Oh, you must be big. It looks like you ripped me.”
“Bullshit, you’re on your period.”
“No… I’m not; I’m telling you, you ripped me.”
“I’m not John Holmes, you menstruating mother fucker!”
Present day: Jazz music fills the Starbucks creating a pleasant environment. My Frappuccino is almost gone. Only a splatter of whip cream remains. I haven’t even taken a bite of my Red Velvet Whoopie pie. I push the cake over to Lance. Want some red pie? “Sure” he says. He picks up the pastry and shoves the entire thing into his mouth. I think I’m going to be sick.