Punching the Clown

It started in the usual way when he was about twelve: with his hand. It felt okay, amazing even, but it never quite compared to the warm wet pocket of a woman, which, of course, he wouldn’t know until two years later, when he would lose his virginity to the trailer trash girl down the street. She tasted like Smirnoff ice and cheap cigarettes that she bought from the corner store. No one carded the sixteen year old; no one thought they needed to validate her age when her breasts hung like a thirty year old used up hooker. Her teeth were already stained from years of tobacco use, but he wasn’t focused on her teeth as he discovered the greatest feeling known to man.

That’s when his addiction began. Once he knew what the warm and gooey inside of a woman felt like, he spent every waking moment trying to recreate that sensation. He tried going back to his hand when the slut dropped him and went onto her next pimply-faced project but it just wasn’t the same. He tried to add in lotion, but the bottle on his mom’s bedside table smelled like the inside of a nursing home and nothing killed his desire faster than images of wrinkles, denture cream, and long-forgotten hard candies floating through his mind.

So he had to get creative. Foods were simple enough to experiment with; he was a growing boy so no one in the house blinked an eye if an entire jar of peanut butter went missing. But he found that peanut butter in a jar was too stiff compared to the slippery shelter that haunted his dreams.

Pineapple was next. He didn’t know why he wanted to try it, with its prickly outside. His mother had bought two at the farmers market on Saturday. When everyone sat down at the dinner table to partake in cottage cheese and slices of the first pineapple, he imagined filling the hole where the core had existed. So he waited for everyone else to go to church the next day (he was excused from attending as a surly teenager), and he snuck down to the kitchen to core the second pineapple to the right size.

There’s an enzyme in pineapple that disintegrates flesh. 1/10

So he kept it safe with non-organic materials for a bit.

The end of a trumpet was difficult and cold, and left his brother confused at what leaked out of his instrument during “Turn the Beat Around”. 3/10 would recommend.

Silly putty molded nicely, and heated up really well. Unfortunately, it became too smooth and caught his skin roughly. 7/10

Soon, it became a game. As he eased into his twenties, nothing was off limits. The occasional girl would enter his bed for a few months and the desire to explore would abate. But the moment she inevitably left him, he was at it again, with a tube full of the Orbeez balls. Those were perfectly slippery and slightly gooey but didn’t grasp him the right way. 8/10

There was a nice pipe that provided just the right amount of pressure if he pressed downwards while he worked it, but his roommate became too suspicious. The pipe next to his bed stand could easily be explained away as a security defense but the roommate was uncomfortable. 7/10

Jello was nice but broke apart easily. The red jello in particular would dye his skin into a rod of fury. Orange made him jaundiced and scared the ladies. 6/10

But one day…one day he found the best…fit, so to speak.

He was twenty-five and visiting his parents during Christmas break. The whole family was there to exchange presents and light the tree and participate in other ordinary traditions expected of a Midwestern family. His parents had purchased a new couch.

He noticed it the moment he walked into the decorated living room. Its texture was so soft and its structure was so firm. There were multiple pillows that could easily be arranged in the most pleasurable position, from his past experiences. It was gray.

He waited until everyone else went to the Christmas Eve Service before he approached the couch. He was considerate enough of his parent’s purchase and placed a towel between the cushions to prevent…spillage. He fashioned a hole and filled it with lube from his last girl. She liked the strawberry kind.

As he stripped down in his parent’s living room, he gazed upon his latest object of desire and knew that this was going to be good.

And it was. Oh, it was. It was the first 10/10 he had ever felt, and he let out a tiny moan as he desecrated the main focal point of the living room.

There was a sound behind him of a quick gasp, and he whipped his head around to see his entire family standing in shock just inside the doorway.

“Elizabeth forgot her gloves.”

8/10.