Ampu-titties soon became my nightly haunt. I went there for three consecutive weeks. Marie agreed to meet me outside of her work because she loved guacamole and assumed someone with such a tremendous avocado fetish couldn’t be a bad guy.
For our first date, I took her to dinner at a taco stand. A seven-foot-tall blonde Amazon with piercing blue eyes and a Mexican accent served us a plate of fetus tacos, which, according to her, were made with the softest meat available. She said she had all the equipment, and grew the fetuses herself. Marie was a tad skeptical but after a few minutes she wolfed down half the plate along with a whole bottle of hot sauce.
With full bellies and jolly hearts we went back to my place to make sweet, sweet love. Afterward, staring out of my second-floor window and listening to the agonizing screams that came from the Genital Mutilation and Erotic Maiming Center downstairs, Marie told me how she had lost her left leg in an accident involving an experimental depilation cream a friend had talked her into trying.
I explained that with a salamander DNA procedure she could grow it back. She laughed at my naïveté and said her stump was a goldmine. I nodded like a bobble head doll and stared at the moonlight reflecting off the perfect curves of Marie’s amazingly smooth and round trio of natural breasts. Looking at her, I realized how some mutations, when placed properly, can be a wonderful thing.
Marie was very clear with me from the start that she would not stop dancing or encountering men in cyberspace. Blinded by love, I agreed. Her job was not something to be worried about. But a few weeks after we started seeing each other on a regular basis I realized it had truly messed her up.
One night she pulled out a thin dildo covered in Brillo and asked me to use it on her. When I refused, she told me to get on my back. That’s when one of our pre-sex staples began. She rubbed herself against the coarse hair on my belly. She rubbed herself hard. After that got started, she couldn’t get going without the chafing action.
Right about that time I developed a painful pimple. At the beginning, the thought crossed my mind that it could be the result of all that hardcore rubbing. Maybe Marie had caught a virus on one of her cyber-romps. When the thing caved in and sprouted teeth, Marie decided I should keep my shirt on while we made love. Feeling self-conscious as hell, I agreed. She used my leg instead.
When Philippe started talking, he sometimes interrupted our conversations. Marie always found his disruptions witty and cute. If she was around and Philippe bitched about being hungry, Marie would whip something up or at least get him something from the fridge. The few times I jokingly mentioned something about it, she defended her actions by saying that Philippe did the chewing but the food was really for me. Without skipping a beat, Philippe would always chime in his agreement. My stump-obsessed, trio-of-breasts-addicted brain let me believe it was all about me.
Over time, all of my neighbors met Marie. She learned to keep her stuff tied down or locked up so that the klepto roaches couldn’t get to it and our life as a couple fell into a blissful normalcy that I truly welcomed. Regardless of how full of psychopathic pleasurebot rapists, underground organic food growers and disgruntled buyers my day happened to be, going home to a glorious, three-breasted nymph that would kiss me tenderly and beg me to lick guacamole off her stump was more than enough to keep me going.
At work, my friend Tony kept making fun of my new-found good fortune. Tony worked at the Rehabilitation Center where I took the folks that had broken the law. Standing 6’4 and tipping the scales at 295 pounds, Big Tony was a bodybuilding enthusiast whose dreams of going pro had been killed by the same procedure he thought would take him to the top.
Tony once read in a bodybuilding magazine that pros were undergoing treatments with naked mole rat DNA. The creature’s efficiency at oxygen intake, ability to alter its metabolic rate, resistance to cancer, lack of body hair and capacity for pain endurance made them the perfect mammal to mix with a steroid freak. Unfortunately, since Tony couldn’t afford to get the Heterocephalus glaber injections from a MegaCorp treatment center, he wound up injecting some shit he got through the Internet that turned out to be common rat DNA. The end result was a coat of grey hair he couldn’t get rid of, constant hunger, pointy ears and big front teeth at the end of a mouth that protruded a few inches from his face.
At the Rehabilitation Center, Tony was in charge of administering punishment to incoming subjects. Since I generally had nothing better to do between texts and thoroughly enjoyed the big rat’s company, I usually hung around and helped him dish out whatever chastisement the regulations said applied to a particular criminal act. I did it so often that I had memorized some of the most common crimes and their penalties.
Not buying anything for more than a month got a person tied up and their head put inside a box full of hungry badger mice.
Selling anything and refusing to give MegaCorp their half would get someone a two-inch steel pipe shoved up their ass followed by a cup of molten lead.
Raping or stealing another citizen’s registered pleasurebot begot castration by a fat one-eyed dominatrix called Bella whose methods changed depending on her mood.
Trying to escape from a licensed MegaCorp agent, such as me, would cost you a foot. We would get it by placing the conscious prisoner’s foot inside a Plexiglas cube filled with saw-toothed maggots. The grubs would eat the foot through to the bone, which we’d clip with bolt cutters afterward.
Regardless of the task at hand, Tony usually found time to make fun of me. According to the rodent man, trusting a woman was as brilliant as sipping on a mercury and cyanide shake. In his misogynistic opinion, women were as dangerous as a hungry, rabid dog, as trustworthy as a pedophilic snake and as useful as a handful of mucus.
Tony’s comments would usually send Philippe into a fit of laughter that could last up to an hour. At the time, I took it all as friendly jabbing and smiled at his comments or told him he needed to get laid more often. Nevertheless, sometimes the Tony’s words would float back to me when Marie was feeding Philippe or when she asked him if he was hungry while I was trying to talk to her about something else.
Then, on a day that had started like any other, Tony’s ideas about even my woman being an evil, shiftless monster came to be illustrated.
Ever since Philippe had made its toothy, hellish way into our lives, Marie and I had made certain arrangements to keep the awkwardness out of the bedroom as much as possible. Besides me keeping my shirt on, we had politely asked Philippe to remain silent. As an extra measure, I sometimes covered him with duct tape, but Marie put an end to that immediately after she found out. Also, Marie’s rubbing was done mostly on my thighs rather than my gut for fear of bumping into Philippe. Unfortunately, one drunken night all precautions were thrown to the wind and everything went to hell.
We had gone to see a performance by Motora, one of Marie’s friends from Ampu-titties. Motora climbed on stage and chopped off parts of her anatomy while reciting a powerful and poetic monologue about the impossibility of eternal love. She would name an unfaithful lover and then chop off her pinky finger with a butcher’s knife. She’d then explain how testicle size directly correlates to the capacity for faithfulness and slice off one of her white breasts. After cursing the absence of a father figure in her life and blaming that deficiency for fucking up all her relationships, she chainsawed off her foot.
The performance was noteworthy and messy. Her message got across: love is incoherent, whimsical and dangerously erratic. For her big finale, she blamed her own selfishness for her inability to love and, after a whimpering elucidation of how love is nothing more than a series of chemical reactions, she stabbed herself in the chest with a sword. Blood spurted out of her mouth as she screamed the word love over and over again, crumpling to her knees. The crowd went nuts and everyone walked home with nice things to say about the performance and a bit of blood on their clothes.
Upon reaching the apartment, we decided to have a few drinks and watch the madness on in the street below. Afte
r knocking back a few and watching a guy beat a smaller man to death by grabbing him by the ankles and smashing him repeatedly against the wall, Marie decided to take off her prosthetic leg. The sight of her naked, sweaty stump turned me into a wild man.
I jumped on her, kissed her neck and carried her to bed. My tongue ran over every single pressure ridge the fake leg had left on her stump. Heavy petting followed and soon Marie was choking me with her panties while rubbing herself with the hairs on my belly. The rubbing grew wilder than ever and she twisted her lacy red panties around my throat tighter than usual.
Drunk and happy, I remained oblivious to what was going on until Marie began screaming passionately, her stump thumping against the side of my torso as if she was the victim of an epileptic fit. I stared at her in bewilderment as she clenched her eyes, bit her lower lip until blood ran down her chin and came in a trembling frenzy.
Marie collapsed on my chest gasping for air and then bounced back up with a distorted face that spoke volumes. I could see fear, anger and disgust jockeying for position on her delicate features.
With a swift move, Marie climbed off of me as if suddenly realizing I had the plague. As she separated her body from mine, Philippe’s heavy, wet tongue slipped out of her and fell on my belly with a loud thud comparable to that of a dead octopus falling from a second story window. The slimy appendage immediately retreated into the hole it had come from.
Silence invaded the room. I felt frozen. I wanted to make sure what I thought had gone down had actually gone down. I turned to Marie. She was standing by the bed holding her hands to her mouth.
“Baby, what the hell just happened?” I asked, feeling like I was drowning.
“I don’t know,” she replied with a trembling, broken voice.
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know? Did Philippe do something to you?” My voice was rising but there was nothing I could do about it. Anger was blurring my vision and my heart climbed up to my throat where it proceeded to break all known speed records.
“I think…I think Philippe was inside me.”
“Inside you? What…? Why didn’t you stop him?”
I felt infuriated, betrayed, violated and abandoned. Gulping air in fast, short inhalations that were making me dizzy as fuck, I saw Tony’s head hovering above the bed as warnings cascaded from his open mouth like mud sliding down a steep hill.
A scream from the street entered the apartment and broke the spell.
I got up, looked down at Philippe and took a swing. The uncomfortable angle prevented me from putting a lot of power behind the punch but it was enough to send me back a few steps. I felt no pain and Philippe didn’t complain. I took another swing. Harder this time. It made contact with the yellow, crooked teeth. My knuckles were sliced open and blood began to pour out of Philippe’s diseased gums.
“You know this is useless, you bloody wanker!” screamed the mouth.
“I’m going to kill you, you ungrateful, backstabbing son of a bitch!”
“Stop it!” yelled Marie.
Surprised by her guttural scream, I was thrown into inaction and silence.
“We need to calm the fuck down and figure out what just happened here,” said Marie as she balanced on her one leg.
“I know what happened here. This arrogant fucker put his fucking tongue inside you!”
“Honey, I don’t know…” Something in her voice triggered a thought: she had let him do it.
“Shut the hell up, you gimpy slut! Get the hell out of my house this very minute,” the spit that came flying out of my mouth felt like acid. I could taste blood.
Marie looked surprised and hurt, as if my eruption was the least probable consequence of the preceding events. She stood there, balancing on one leg and looking at me with eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. “Is that what you really want?” she asked in a resigned voice that almost made me feel guilty.
I thought for a second before replying. “I need to think about what just happened. I need some time alone.”
“What you need to do is get her bum back in bed, you pillock,” piped Philippe.
“Shut the fuck up right now, Philippe! Marie, leave. Please. Now.”
Marie nodded slowly and hopped over to where her prosthetic leg was propped against the wall. The sight of her voluptuous ass bouncing around and the stump doing its little circular motion with every jump was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. The sound of breaking glass told me my heart had just shattered.
Marie threw on her dress, picked up her things, slapped the prosthetic leg on and left the apartment without a word. I sat on the bed and listened to the rhythmic tick-tock of her high heels as she descended the stairs and exited the building. I kept listening as the sound grew dimmer and finally disappeared somewhere in the night.
I fetched a drink and pulled my buzzing head out of Marie’s underwear. The panties flew and landed on a corner. It took less than a minute for the kleptomaniac roaches to make them disappear through a hole in the wall.
The rest of the night was a long, dark fog punctuated by painful shrieks that came from varying distances and climbed up to the window to remind me that the damned world was still out there, that monsters were feeding and that everything around me was as real and the pain in my chest.
Sleep finally took me just as day began to break and a gigantic winged platypus flew over the city in search of breakfast.
The morning after the debacle, I was awakened by screams coming from the Genital Mutilation and Erotic Maiming Center downstairs. By the sound of it, Screw, the owner of the place, was apparently sawing somebody in half with a rusty handsaw.
I envied the pleasure and pain that guy or girl was receiving. Walking to the window, I noticed the splattered blood and brain matter left behind on the wall from the guy used as a baseball bat the night before.. The gore on the wall was his only legacy. I wondered what mine would be, but the thought dissipated quickly.
It was Saturday and the prospect of spending two days holed up in a small apartment listening to Philippe ask for grub and dealing with the klepto roaches was not something I could manage without eating a bullet or trying to get rid of the mouth in my stomach with a steak knife. Knowing that eating a bullet would probably hurt, I decided to seriously contemplate the second option.
Very near to where Philippe began, my nervous system stopped being mine and belonged to the mouth. I couldn’t feel him chew, talk, move or swallow. If I managed to cut around it while remaining inside Philippe’s pain zone and out of mine, there was a slight chance of cutting him out in a few minutes.
With a scary resolution burning behind my eyes, I got up and grabbed one of the knifes I had under lock and key in the kitchen (I didn’t want to find out what the crazy-ass klepto cockroaches could do if they got hold of weapons).
Using the sharp tip of the knife, I gently poked at my gut right below the belly button. Pain shot up all the way to my brain. Half an inch lower, the blade pressed into flesh but my brain received no pain signals. I pushed in a little deeper and the skin gave in, bouncing out a little and engulfing a quarter of an inch of blade.
“Hey!” screamed Philippe. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Ah, so you felt that. Good. I’m getting rid of you once and for all.”
“Are you off your fucking trolley, mate? You can’t do that!”
“We’re going to find out if that’s true in a few minutes. Would you mind keeping your bitching to a minimum while I do this, please?”
“Listen, mate, getting rid of me would be bloody suicide.”
“Sure,” I said as I began a slow sawing motion that dug the blade in a little deeper.
“Hey! I’m fucking serious, you crazy cunt. I’m connected to your stomach!”
Philippe’s words rang true. I would feel full after he ate. The slimy bastard was right. I pulled the knife out. Blood leaked, slow and warm. It was time to rethink the plan.
In order to get completely rid of hi
m, I would have to dig to my stomach and sever whatever connection Philippe had to it. How deep I could cut without feeling pain was anybody’s guess, and even with drugs to numb the pain, there would still be bleeding to deal with. Suddenly, getting rid of Philippe sounded like major surgery. Precisely the kind of shit you just don’t do at home.
“Alright, you win,” I said in a defeated voice.
“I never thought you’d get this bloody crazy, mate. Is this over that trollop?”
“Yeah, man, you stepped over the line with that one.”
“That slopper had her minge over me for a few minutes, mate, what the hell did you expect me to do?”
“How about put up with it and keep your ugly snake-tongue to your own damn self?”
“Come on, mate, that’s water under the bridge! Can’t we just forget the whole thing ever happened and get ourselves some fry-up?”
“No, Philippe, we can’t. What happened happened and the next time I see her, awkwardness is going to drown any attempt we make at having a normal conversation.”
“Then don’t see her ever again! I’ll tell you this, mate, and don’t get all pissed again, that bird wanted me ever since she first set eyes on me. She’s no good for you. I think you’re going to be better off without her.”
“No,” I replied. “It’s not that easy. She broke something. She shattered what we had for nothing. She played with me. That’s why she didn’t quit her job after we started seeing each other, because she liked what she was doing with all those random guys in cyberspace, she got a kick out of making all of them go apeshit with her show, too.”
“Then get rid of her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Bump her off!”
“I couldn’t, she’s…”
“She’s a two-timing, one-legged moose, mate. In fact, if you don’t kill her, she’s bound to come crawling back into your life. Before you know it, she’ll be grinding on my lips again and making you bloody miserable. Next thing you know, that cunt will be gangbanging the klepto roaches!”
Gutmouth Page 3