Sloppy Seconds

"Scrumptious." I dipped a finger into that frothing maw, stirring a creamy soup composed of what I could only guess was the semen of perhaps a dozen men, mixed with the discharge of an advanced yeast infection, and tinged pink with menstrual fluids. I licked my fingers clean and winced at the taste - which resembled spoiled caviar - as I prepared to gobble the fat woman's vandalized pussy. I lapped at it tentatively and then sucked on those bloated cunt lips; my face covered in the cocktail of rotting fluids, eagerly ingesting whatever disease had killed her.

"Delicious." I shivered as illness and death bathed my stupefied taste buds.

I pulled out my knife and sawed at her cunt with the dull blade. Cutting off a choice piece that suppurated from bleeding sores and looked sort of like a barbecued pork skin, I bit into it and felt the blisters and corpuscles rupture in my mouth, splashing across my tongue and churning the bile in my stomach into a tidal wave. My eyes rolled back in my head as I shuddered with ecstasy.

"Scrumptious!" I repeated, delirious with rapture.

Just then, the fat woman's body convulsed.

"Is this fat bitch still alive?" It seemed an absurd question, but no more absurd than my own cannibalistic, necrophilic fat fetish.

A superstitious guilt made me wonder if perhaps my postmortem perversities had somehow reawakened her desire and in doing so, reawakened her from death as well. I stepped back as the corpse undulated. Her huge, gelatinous stomach looked like a sack of cats heading for the river as something within it struggled its way toward freedom. Impossibly, her thighs spread even wider and the gases of decay belched from her fetid, half-eaten twat in a stifling cloud, causing me to gag and cough but curiously adding steel to my erection.

Another great burping noise emitted from between her thighs followed by sticky-wet, squishy sounds as her cunt regurgitated a full-grown woman of pornographic proportions onto the floor at my feet.

She had perfect breasts like flesh-coated cantaloupes, the waist of a twelve-year-old, a tight little ass that wobbled gently high on her back, blonde hair down to her waist, a clean-shaved pussy, and big blue eyes like an Irish Setter. She slid out of that grotesque blob of putrescent fat in a stream of pus and goo, followed immediately by a yard of stringy wet afterbirth.

They say that inside every fat woman is a skinny woman screaming to get out and somehow, this one had just escaped, I thought.

I stared in slack-jawed amazement at the wide-eyed Barbie doll curled up on the floor, splashing around in a noxious pool of filth and rot, and then at the chunky red stew of steaming blood and afterbirth. My erection was straining in my pants with the power of death. I had two options now: I could fuck either one or both of these bitches; the fat dead corpse or the svelte young, living Barbie doll.

The funeral director wouldn't return until morning and no mourners were expected for this carnival sideshow prostitute who'd died gagging on rhinoceros semen live on digital camera before the eager eyes of an internet zoo sex crowd. And of course, no one even knew about the Miss Nude America who'd been trapped inside of her.

I dragged my eyes voraciously over that perfectly-shaped Venus recently evacuated from the loins of a bloated corpse, and then at the dead thing that still lay upon the gurney with its thighs spread wide. It took me a second to decide before I turned my back on the mindless newborn centerfold to finish my meal.

Panty Pudding

Second Place - 2003 Gross-Out Contest, Kansas City

James was in love with a ninety-five-year-old crackwhore who'd serviced the men in his family for nearly five generations. She was little more than a skeleton with wrinkled and mottled flesh wrapped loosely about her brittle bones. Her hair was all but gone save for a few white follicles clinging stubbornly to her crinkly, liver-spotted scalp. Her mouth was a hollow crater, devoid of teeth and with gums that shrank back against her jawbone. Her withered breasts were two empty bladders hanging from her chest, drooping past her naval like cue balls in tube socks. Her ancient thighs were a maze of varicose veins from which shriveled skin sagged like gooseflesh. Between them, her labia hung like dried, crinkled curtains of jerked beef in a withered tangle of flesh down to mid-thigh. Her ass was just a narrow coccyx draped in a translucent film of blue-veined skin.

Every ounce of beauty she'd ever possessed had been leeched out by decades spent on her back and knees. And James adored every age-ravaged inch of her.