:Tongue In Rotten Cheek: Love Prose


I glide my latex covered hands over the blackening, sodden, casing of my brand new lover. Bits of decayed flesh, mingled with the excrement of maggots and other rot-eaters, cling to the grooves on the palms and fingertips. I long, like a starved man, to put them in my mouth. Shifting my weight, knees now on either side of the sunken torso, I lower my plastic covered frame to rest atop my Love. Cradling the mangled, oozing, skull, my loving gaze is met by the hollowed eye sockets exposing the remains of brain and optic muscles. I breathe in, slowly, taking in the sweetest, richest, most heady aroma I have ever known. Though familiar, each body has its own unique notes to add to the perfume of decay. As I inhale, I can, nearly, taste what I desire most. I am teasing myself far too long. I am far too tense and my heart pounds with fear, anxiety... shyness. The first time with any new lover is, always, both intoxicating and exciting... as well as nerve wracking. When faced with such complete beauty one feels inferior; the desire to please, more intense. Willing myself to relax, I begin to smile with a certain giddiness reserved just for them. I lean forward, my chest upon fragile chest, and dip the tip of my tongue into one of the shallow caverns in the skull. I taste salt, rot, mud... a sweet, tender, medley of all that is organic, all that is life. After sucking, gently, my lips trail to where the mouth should have been. Few teeth, still, remain intact and I use them as my guide to locate the shreds of tongue left just behind them. I find nothing aside from thick, insidious, sludge. It coats my lips, my chin, and runs like rancid honey down my throat. My lover is smiling. Continuing to let my mouth be bathed in the secretions, I slide my own hips down to meet a wetter, more padded region. Aside from the occasional, sharp jutting of a pelvic bone, this area feels much like the softest down pillow concealed within the thinest casing of rubber. The coils of the intestines have sunk into each other, their gasses long escaped and the elasticity, nearly, shot. I grind my hips into its abdomen, feeling the organs slip and collapse beneath my weight. Sliding my hands down, tearing the last barriers of the chest cavity away. I bury my forearms, deep, beneath it's ribcage so I can grip the knobby spine for support. My mouth keeps working at its face until I wear the rotten flesh down to the bones. The harder I grind myself into what's left of its organs and pelvic bone; the harder I suck at the remaining bits of gore left to cling on the jawbone. Its skull fails to keep hold on the spine and rolls back, slightly, caught in the earth. The way the body gives under the pressure of my hips causes me to rock faster and harder, not wanting the body to lose its form before I am done. Bones were easy to come by, but it isn't every day that one can have this level of privacy with a human being in such a prime state of decomposition. The unfortunate thing was is that I never was able to love them more than just once. I was, simply, too intense of a lover for their fragile bodies to handle for long. Removing one arm from inside the chest cavity, I pulled one loose-jointed arm up against my chest and shoved the two, remaining, stiff fingers in my mouth. I continue to bury my hips into the wreckage of the weakening form and I feel the thighs begin to detach, with a meaty rip, from the pelvis. The left lef shifts to the side and I am, nearly, there. I grind even harder and feel the right one give way and the delicate ribcage buckles beneath me... and, finally, I came. As always, I think to myself, "And they say a dead lay is a bad thing?"