It was a fucking stump, amputated about two inches from his elbow. “It itches,” Barney said, scratching the smooth, pinkish-white flesh of the stump end with his other hand. “I try to fucking scratch it; try to forget about it but the itchin won’t go away, Taco. I’m sorry, man,” he was getting teary-eyed, “me and you was great friends. I should have been more friendly back there but it won’t stop itchin, man.” He then began rubbing his thick patch of blonde pubes, reaching down as if he had a clit and was rubbing it as he said, “My pussy itches, too; they gave me a pussy over there, Taco. I got a tight hairy pussy now and that’s why I’m into hairy girls so much because I’m one of them now. Those fucking ragheads over there got an evil Arab moon that turned me into a goddam werewoman!”
“N-no . . d-don’t, Barney. Don’t rub your hairy pussy like that, not here. It ain’t right. You went over there and fought a war for us, dude, and it shouldn’t have to come to this.” Somewhere I heard the spirit of a future pubic-hair donor breaking; a soul screaming “I want to eat a man’s cum now; I have been too long resisting”. It sounded like a crawdad whispering into a little girl’s ear, “I have my claws in your vagina. I will take out a pearl even though it is filled with your blood and shit and all you have to do is lick my taco shell, my pretty little hairy pussy that the Arabs gave me”
“I’m about to suck one of them queers’ cocks and let em fuck my hairy pussy, Taco, it itches so bad.” Barney was sitting up on his knees, looking at me wild-eyed and rubbing his arm stump against his pussy as he spoke. “I’m about to let em fuck me, I tell ya, just so it won’t scratch no more. My scratchin has reached its arm’s end. My girlfriend left me from all the scratchin. I can’t get laid by a girl anymore, Taco, fucking look at me!”
“How’d it happen?” I asked, not knowing what to say but realizing I was in the presence of a very morbid masturbator. “I was patrolling Highway 5 in Baghdad with two other soldiers,” Barney began. He was using both his limbs now. With his good hand he was rubbing his “clit” against his arm stump. “A bomb on the side of the road went off. I felt like I was being sucked out of the vehicle. The Humvee filled with black smoke and I just started yelling and screaming because my whole upper torso went numb. I looked at my mangled fucking right arm—the same goddam arm you said I was JERKIN OFF with in the store front the other day. I was just scratchin it!— and it was just hanging there lifelessly. Next thing you know I woke up in the hospital at Baghdad International Airport. My lieutenant, company commander and 1st sergeant were looking over my bed. “Will I ever get to fire my rifle again?” I asked them and all three of them bursted into fucking TEARS!!
“Your penis didn’t survive,” this rag-headed surgeon told me later. “We saved the very tip of it for you to use as a clit, and dug a nice, tight hole for you to stick the barrel of your gun in should you decide you want to end it that way. Otherwise, you’ll have to live your life with what I guess you Americans might call a “pussy”.”
“I spent all that night lying in my sweat-soaked bed,” Barney continued, “my rifle barrel jammed inside my new, fresh fucking hollowed out cunt as I rubbed my dick head clit with my arm stump and fucked myself over and over, jamming that gun barrel in and out of my hairy twat so hard as I looked above at the ceiling and howled at it as if it were the moon, wanting to pull the trigger and let the bullets shoot through my pussy and blow out my brain but . . . . it felt so good rubbing my dick head clit that I started screaming in pleasure and then passed out for what I guess was a couple days.
“Oh god . . uh . . uh . .,” Barney then muttered, doubling over as, with his good hand he rubbed his clit violently and squeezed out of his vagina a tiny drop of what looked like sour cream and hot sauce mixed together, evidently all he had left in him from jerking off in the booth all night and all alone.
“Here, man, c’mon,” I said, reaching out my hand for my friend. Instead, he offered me his arm stump and I grabbed it; felt it; it was smooth, soft and yet hard from the bone beneath. Rough and yet soft; pink; white; raw and bruised, smeared with Barney’s cum and sweat and sour cream. As I pulled upon it to get Barney standing up I would be lying if I said Barney's pussy didn’t give me a hard-on because it was covered in bushy, blonde hairs. Barney was standing now, looking at me sadly, embarrassed and exasperated. I said to him, “Pull your pants up, soldier. I’m gonna mop up your cum for ya.”
That night I couldn’t sleep, disturbed by what I’d seen of Barney’s sad situation. At around 2am I was finally beginning to nod off when I heard my phone ring. Figuring a bill collector wouldn’t call at that late hour I went ahead and answered it. To my horror and rage the voice on the other end said, “Hey, do you want me to suck on your cock? I found your number on the bathroom door of the porn store on Maple. Bring me a baggie of your pubes and I’ll suck your cock all night long and give the proceeds to Taco Cow.” After that, I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping that night at all , so I sprang out of bed and figured I’d get an early start at work. I could wipe my phone number off the wall, sweep and mop the arcade and scrub some cum just to get away from all my troubles for awhile.
I was stumbling around the apartment, looking for my keys, though, when there was a horribly loud, violent banging upon my door, like someone was trying to beat it down. I hesitated, my heart thumping, not knowing who the hell it was, banging like that—obviously it was someone looking for trouble. Hurriedly, I slapped some pants on, took a deep breath and answered it, intent on facing whoever this fucker was. It was my apartment complex’s assistant manager, Ron Gleason, who I always sensed was a fucking psychopath. My Chinese landlady always hired these single, male desperate losers to be her assistant. They basically just performed simple maintenance and kept the hallway, lounge and surrounding outdoor property clean. Ron was a short but extremely wide, stocky guy with a square head, short black hair and large, crazy brown eyes. I’d had a few exchanges with him in the past and I could tell he didn’t like me. He knew I worked at a porn store and I had seen him a few times sitting in the lounge reading a Bible while he waited for his clothes to wash in the laundry room. He probably needed the Bible to keep him from drinking booze. He had the leathery, red face of an alcoholic and was the general, icky sort of guy you didn’t want to be around. After a couple times of being friendly, saying, “Hey what’s up?” as I passed him on the highway or the hallway, just to have it returned in silence and a cold stare, I felt he was just a sexually frustrated, awkward and lonely alcoholic dick—and I always felt he had a temper and carried lot of pent-up aggression.
“I’m sick of having to clean up your fucking trash, you faggot! This one has your name and apartment number right on it! I found it in the lounge this morning!” Ron screamed at me, sticking this piece of paper in my face. It was a bill from Taco Heaven, one of the many which they sent me every single day to try and intimidate me.
“I don’t remember leaving that anywhere,” I said. I was freaking out on this guy. I knew he was a psycho but there’s no way an assistant apartment manager should be talking to a tenant he doesn’t even know this way, virtually attacking them. I always paid my rent, didn’t cause any problems, and Ron was being “unprofessional” to say the least.
“It was sitting on the table next to the coke machine!” Ron said. Then I remembered. I’d gotten a soda in the lounge right after getting my mail outside yesterday. I’d set the bill on the table momentarily and just forgot about it. “Look mother fucker!” Ron continued. “You goddam pervert, if I see one more piece of your fucking trash out in the lounge I’m kicking your ass.” Then he shoved me in the chest. I was stunned, watching him walk down the hallway. My immediate reaction was to grab the skillet off my stove and start chasing him, not letting myself be bullied around; then I checked myself.
For the past three years I’d been trying to do things the right way. Keeping a job; paying my rent; paying my bills the best I could; not drinking lately; staying out of trouble; and why should I risk getting called the cops on for a getting in a fight with this jerk out in the hallway? So I let him go, figuring I’d tell my land lady on him and have her deal with him for now when all I wanted to do was beat his brains in with the skillet. I looked at the Taco Heaven bill in my hand and wanted to kill someone, my mind haunted by Barney’s hairy blonde pussy and how beautiful I thought it was and about how I just dreamed, in my short sleep, that I was fucking it and it felt so good. Wanting to just forget about that for now and trying to keep my composure, I found my keys atop a pile of spank mags beside my bed. As I was about to head out the door my phone rang again and I stupidly answered it:
“Don't you want me to suck your cock? The city’s poor really need your pubic hairs.”
It was 3am and I was walking down the highway to work. I live in a small, one-story rectangular apartment complex that used to be a motel. It’s right behind a bowling alley and located just outside the city limits, so I have to walk down a stretch of highway about a half-mile to get to and from work. As I walk along this highway I am often heckled by people—you learn a lot about people as a whole when they are driving by you at 40mph and can say whatever they want and get away with it. I always have a backpack on, so people think I am a hitchhiking bum going to California when I live just down the road. So they are always eager to honk at me; and wave at me; and shout profanities at me, insults; treat me like some loser when they are such winners because they have a vehicle and I don’t. You learn a lot about people when they are free to take their aggressions out on someone they don’t even know, just because they can. People are pieces of shit and I know that now. I see it every day, grown men in suits who will turn you down for a home loan then an hour later be crawling on the floor where I work, looking for a cock to suck and licking cum, anyone’s cum from the floor. People behind the wheel of an SUV with a family and good job as a plumber or factory worker, preaching family values and morals then shouting insults at some lone stranger on the highway for the simple satisfaction of it, because it makes them feel good. At some point in my mind, I think, their semen became sour cream; their blood became hot sauce; their sick, flopping penises transformed into a green jalapeno and the shit that squirts from their wretched hairy asses became taco meat seasoned by the sins that they swallow and try to hide in their stomachs but a perceptive person can still see that their souls are hairy tacos, the kind you buy at Taco Cow and the kind which are still making my intestines scream.
