Crust

I spent a summer deep in orgy porn. Each day scoured the net for new vids. For a conga line of fornication in a funhouse hall of mirrors. I blew yellow loads that pooled in the chipped out divot of my navel. They festered like trash juice at the bottom of a bin. Sluiced out and stuck to unkempt pubes. Then I used old undies to sop hot seed. Blue briefs crusted in cum. The stink of expired semen always at my side.

I was alone and felt no need to be decent. Just me and a dog in an empty home an hour east of San Francisco. This spot so far from the rest of my world. Each day I shot my wad then left the undies out. I wasn’t despondent but still dove through the sugary depths of pleasure. Empty calories for an endless hunger.

Over time I plummeted through infinite iterations of that same drug. Quick hits to come unstuck from earth. From the malfunctioning mind that filtered my reality. I guzzled Four Loko in the sun. Posted ads for NSA sex. Responded to a million seeking the same. I sucked caffeine and starved myself. Used a hand to ignite the cum drug in my pants. Came to see my cock as a crack pipe ever ready with rock.

Over the course of two months I put at least hundred loads into the cheap blue briefs. Perhaps double that. I was bored and horny. Alone. Living the routine of a sex-hungry hedonist. Shoot a load. Walk the dog. Swim in the pool. Load the orgy then shoot again. It was fun but empty, the soft ache of absent pieces ever present.

I talked to others long distance but knew no one there. Was just a year out of college. Not far enough past a painful breakup. One whose tendrils sapped the nutrition from my soul for years. I had enough cash so needed no job. No need to intersect my life with reality. And so I felt untethered. Hollowed out with nothing real to refill me. All semblance of structure now stripped away.

I didn’t know it at the time but this was the start of a near decade long scramble from one place to another. My mind too anxious to embrace permanence. To stop the battle between flight and rooting down for something real. Ever in fear those roots might falter. Never take. Just best to pluck and replant on a whim.

As I grasped for meaning I turned to outside connection. Deployed new methods to let someone special into my life. Dug deep to uncover anyone that ever liked me. Made stabs both desperate and not to latch to another.

I texted a girl who’d read my writing. Talked to my first ever girlfriend. To my most recent ex. Arranged Skype hangs. Scrawled letters. Thought of old flames and where the world might take me. Logged on and unloaded loads. Nothing stuck but the glue that shot from my body.

Over time the undies turned crusty and rank but still I used them. A method of convenience. No real reason or thought behind it. Just funny and weird to recycle this bacteria ridden cloth. Shoot and wipe. A dozen bodies fucking. So many people on screen as I withered in a huge, empty home.

I felt drawn to these images. To their primal noise and chaotic frenzy of fucking. To the burst of endorphins that only release could bring me. After that I evened out. Dipped down. Lying in wait for the need to rise again. To make an excursion outside myself. To embark upon a planet of pleasure. Each visit brief and abrupt. The time on its surface never enough.

One day I caught the canine with my rotted undies clenched between her jaws. Saliva mixed with cum now come uncrusted. I commanded the dog to drop my rank rag but she thought it a game. Tug of war. Snarls and death grips. Her head swinging as I pulled the demonic cloth. In time I freed them from her grip. Examined the damage. Viscous ooze on ripped threads. Cum melting in my hands like candy.

With regret I fed this shredded mess to the trash. Learned my lesson. Orgy rags now came from toilet paper. Were erased after each use. Pleasure flushed down the shitter. That handle plunged so many times. The need to shoot never ceased. Never phased from digital to physical.

I found myself longing to close a hole that couldn’t be filled. Not by rags. Not by bodies. A million of each not even close to enough. Still, I shoveled orgies of pleasure into this endless pit. Poured it onto my heart. My soul. Each piece of my being. I didn’t know it but they held no bedrock at their bottom. Just a sieve. And so I chucked on more and more and more. Each drop pinged for a second then sifted out to ether.


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