BAGS OF TWEASH FADE, SILICONE FUCKTOYS ARE FOREVER.
Brandon Burcher @perverse.cowboy
Maturing is realising that the best pleasures in life are the ones you afford yourself. It was for that reason that to mark my twenty-seventh birthday this year, I bought myself a sextoy.
This wasn’t anything like those stiff flesh toned LoveHoney dildos you secretly buy once you get access to UniDays in sixth form. This one was a beast, a Twisted one to be exact.
I’d gotten my hands on Twisted Beast’s 19.5” Asmodeus, a hefty but challenging toy that made my arsehole wince from the moment I first laid eyes upon it.
Now I’d taken some big boys in my time, the largest of which being eleven inches in the back of a 4×4 in a Cambridge industrial estate a week before my GCSE maths exam; but the determination I felt within me to take as much of that demon blood silicon as I could felt like something I could cross off my bucket list.
For three weeks she sat wrapped in her velvet storage bag in my wardrobe amongst my jackets. I needed a free flat for the evening before I could take a crack at rearranging my interior plumbing.
Then the opportunity finally came. A free house on a Saturday night. One flatmate at work til 6am, the other at a squat party in Camden til god knows when. It was finally time to meet the king of demons.
I’d already cracked one out the moment I crawled into bed but I’d yet to prepare the bottle of X Lube needed for proper good sodomising.
I grabbed a half litre bottle of water that had been sat in our living room for a while and proceeded to make a batch.
“Two capfuls of powder into a 500ml water bottle. Shake hard for twenty seconds. Let it sit for ten minutes before shaking hard again. Then let it sit for twenty minutes.” Check, check, check.
To pass the time I listened to Lana Del Rey’s Ultraviolence and reminisced about when that album first came out and I was but a youth. I wonder if in the future that a young Hackney Prick envisioned, it included the self-annihilation of his colon at the hands of a half metre hulk.
The second timer rang and I grabbed the lube, a towel, and the toy, before trotting off to the tub. I locked the door behind me, still fearful of a flatmates return.
THUD!
The toy shook the acrylic as I stripped naked in front of the mirror. I laughed to myself and said aloud “here we go!”
I rearranged the toy so that it sat propped up between my legs. That way I could properly lubricate the limb before ramming it upward.
Unscrewing the lid of the water bottle, the first clump of fisting lube spat out. It had the same consistency as wallpaper paste. The aerated bubbles spattered throughout the lubed webbing like gossamer on a cold autumn morn.
Another clump flew out, this time filling my right palm with its weight as I slathered it on the toy from tip to base. Whilst I’d not envisioned taking all of it in my first sitting, I wanted to see how far I could go before tapping out.
Then another. This time I plastered the slack liquid into my arse with a good ol’ four finger salute; taking a big huff of pentyl nitrate, before grabbing my ankles and thinking of England.
After a solid half hour of play, I tried applying even more lube. As a wise old fister once told me, when it comes to fisting, there’s no such thing as too much lube. However, as I was unfamiliar to the powers of said ointment, I began to cascade and slip about the tub like a penguin on ice.
The stringy mess attached to every surface, coating my legs, feet, and arms in its silken form. I tried to stabilise myself then suddenly 10” of the toy shot forth from me like someone had just pressed eject in my cockpit.
Looking like I’d just taken Peter Parker’s 10 day load, I reached for the tap and washed as much of the muck from my paws as I could. I reached for my phone. “how to dissolv x lueb” I ham fistedly punched into Google. No results.
“Did you mean: How long does it take for X Lube to develop?” “NO! I wanna know how to scrape this shit off so it doesn’t block the drains!” I thought to myself. Maybe this should’ve been a pre-sesh question so I could grab a serving ofsalt in advance (a trick I later learned from a fellow perv.)
“Fuck it” I said. I’ll just shower it off with hot water, that should help. Slowly I rose from the tub, fearful of slipping and cracking my head like Mila Jovovich in the opening scene of Resident Evil.
I had imagined what my flatmates would think if they returned home to find the bathroom door ajar, my lifeless body wedged between the bog and the sink as congealed blood, cum, and lube dressed the walls; the object of my demise still suction cupped to the tile.
After a further twenty minutes of scrubbing my forearms and taint, I had prized my body of all that gelled mass.
I clambered into bed. With my hole being stretched beyond belief, I took a deep breath; half satisfied with what had just transpired in my upstairs loo
It was a welcoming experience to spend my weekend abusing a hole that wasn’t my left nostril. And with the money I saved from not splurging my income into bags of powder, I’m gonna go buy some Crisco.
Bags of tweash fade, silicone fucktoys are forever.