Bodil - Boar Girl

[From 'Ugens Rapport' (the Danish equivalent of 'Penthouse'), November 10 1980 page 26, 27 and 34. Includes 2 pictures of Bodil at the interview, and one of her entertaining some pigs in a stable.]

Raped, seduced, punished, sexually degraded and exploited by everyone... From 17 year old beauty to "THE BOAR GIRL"...

SHE HAS WASTED HER BODY BUT SHE HAS KEPT HER SOUL...


"Verbally more dirt has been cast at me, than the dirt the boar work comprised..." Just 17 years old. Beautiful and lithe. Seducingly pretty. That's the way Bodil took Denmark 10 years ago.

Newspapers and magazines had full page articles on the beautiful girl, that all alone ran a big farm and breeding centre with boars. Especially the last part appealed to people’s imagination. Swedish, Norwegian and English magazines also had pictures of the "farmer" that looked more like a model than a farmer. Bodil was a pretty, healthy rural girl, that any association of small farmers could be proud of. Marriage proposals came in large numbers. But Bodil said no. She loved her animals. Her farm. And said to a big magazine: “I don't have the time for love”.

The future looked bright for the beautiful Bodil with the heart of gold then. Rich and handsome men wanted her. She could choose a future that even a princess would envy her. 10 years later. I'm sitting in a small hotel room somewhere in the north of Zealand with Bodil.She seems nervous. Diseased. She is incessantly fingering something on thetable between us. Cigarettes. The lighter. But most frequently the glass of Schnapps (45 % liquor). Her legs are fat and swollen. Her clogs have lots of dirt stains. Her clothes are dirty, worn through and doesn't suit her. Her once so perfectly shaped body now looks vulgar and awkward, marred by 30 excess kilos (60 pounds). Her teeth are in a terrible state due to neglect. Her smile is no longer that of a model. The hair is unwashed and thinning. Obscures the once beautiful face. We leaf around in her scrap book. Looking back on the good old days, when the future looked bright for Bodil, when there was hope. A tear emerges in her eye, as the memories well over her. It is quickly chased away by another swig of the mug.

Bodil Joensen. You might not recognize the name. But you know her professional name. The Boar Girl. The beautiful young woman who fucked stallions, boars, goats and dogs, and became a star known all over the world. Millions have been grossed on her movies. She has made 4 full-length features, around 40 low-budget movies and starred in innumerable photo series in magazines, as well as performed in hundreds of live-shows. Few people have brought so much hard currency to Denmark by so simple means. As the then happy Bodil once amiably put it: A naked ass can be just as fine as an academic education.

Today Bodil wishes she had not left the school after 7th grade, though. She is today left with the pain. But without money. The millions that have been earned by the porno industry with her as merchandise has not got to her. She didn't get rich money wise. But on experience. But that won't pay any bills. That's why she's now work as a hooker in Copenhagen. Fighting against severe illness and rotten looks, she has now had her klinik [one woman outfit, traditionally in a low rent apartment in a seedy part of town] for a couple of years.

'Look at me' she says, and displays herself. 'There aren't many men that get wild looking at me. In my situation it's very hard to turn down even the most disgusting propositions. For me staying alive in the hooking business is hell'.

As I watch her sitting there in the chair with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of schnapps in the other, I can't decide: Is it the end of an adventurous life I look at. Or is it the beginning of a human tragedy. I recall a passage from Steen Steensen Blichers "Diary of a rural parish clerk" [a Danish classic]. The parish clerk encounters the love of his youth, Miss Sofie,years after she eloped with the archer from the Tjele estate. She has been a prostitute and is now a drunkard, working in the turnip fields of another estate. The parish clerk writes in his dairy about her: Wasted, Corrupted, Lost. These 3 words sums up Bodil's look on herself.

'The most bitter thing is that I've done my best' She says, then adds 'The best I could, just wasn't good enough'.

Bodil lives in a little wrecked cottage in the north of Zealand with a man and their daughter. The newspapers have accused her for maltreating her animals. They now belong to her man. She has nothing to do with them anymore. It still hurts. She loves animals more than anything in the world. Bodil was born in Hundige [town 8 miles from Copenhagen]. Her father was a shipmaster. She didn't like the school. She'd rather play with the animals. Although she didn't do her homework she got fine grades. She dreamt of being a vet. Her parents divorced. She moved around with her mother. She attended eightdifferent schools.

The turning point in her life came when she met a pederast. Bodil had had a very strict upbringing by her puritan mother. And she wasn't soothed. She reproached her that she had nearly been raped. At the police station they made her say naughty words, when she reported it. And her mother beat her up for doing it when they got home. She was locked away in the attic. For several days she had her food brought to the attic.

'Mama wouldn't dine with me. I was a dirty slut because I had been assaulted.'

Bodil was shocked and reacted as defiantly as she could possibly dream of. 'I said to Mama, that when I grew up, I'd fuck boars. I couldn't think of anything more naughty. And she was so shocked that she thought that I was allied with the devil'.

Bodil got a job on a farm, and later at a breeding centre with boars. During this time she often went for walks in a forest. Here she met a married logger, who filled her up with schnapps and popped her cherry. She never saw him again. Bodil was only 15 when the nice logger fucked her behind a log. She liked the work at the boar breeding centre, and at 17 she rented a farm, a truck and the boar "Rascal" for 400 crowns. Bodil was now doing the job she had wanted to punish her mother by doing. A work she soon discovered that she was very fond of.

Newspapers and magazines had large articles about the beautiful, animal friendly girl, that regarded helping boars into sows rather normal. Marriage proposals arrived in huge numbers. But Bodil said no to everyone. Also to the naughty proposals. Many farmers thought they could pork Bodil while her boar porked his sow. She didn't have a nice reputation, even though she always said no. Gossip started.

"Verbally more dirt has been cast at me, than the dirt the boar work comprised" Bodil says, and quivers in disgust thinking of the men. "Nine out of ten wanted to fuck me. Their wives hated me. Maybe that's why my breeding centre had a lousy economy".

Bodil had received many modelling offers. And a day when she couldn't find the money for the rent, the truck etc., she went to Copenhagen. She went to a porno manufacturer and offered her body.

Bodil was very inexperienced then. And found her new way of making money strangely exciting. "After the loggers single effort nothing happened until I was 17. At 17 I fell in love with a married man." Bodil says. "We had it all right sexually. But we weren't kinky. More like beginners". "I rode a lot on horses in those days. Attended derbies all over the country. I dreamt of a career as a horse(wo)man. One days I was thrown off a horse. And had a bad back. My friend couldn't then fuck me in the missionary position, as he usually did. I suggested he fuck me from behind.

"I found myself in a studio and had to make love to a man, a girl, a negro and a dwarf. The dwarf really took me by surprise. He had an enormous cock. I don't know how I could force myself to do it... but I earned well, and soon I could do it without any inhibitions. Like doing the dishes. Sometimes I even enjoyed it. The dwarf startled me. He had an enormous cock. I was impressed when he finally got it in".

They couldn't use the same girl in all their flicks, so there were less and less work. 'It was my own idea to start the animal-stuff." Bodil continues as we look at pictures from her stable. "I had masturbated boars by hand. Put rubbers on stallions. Where is the limit? Stallions, dogs, boars, bulls and goats now became my film lovers. During that time I know millions was earned on my flicks worldwide. I starred in 4 full-length features. "Why do they do it?", '"Sex en gros", "Pornography" and one more that I cannot even remember the title of'. Letters from all over the world flooded her.

"My acts turned more people on, than I had imagined. One day Japanese TV crew arrived. It was an exciting period. But what did I get? A small derelict cottage without running water. But with gas and electricity, though. While others spent fortunes on my special talent. I'm a trifle bitter".

Bodil still has the dog Lassie, by her called 'Denmark’s best lover'. The bastard has starred in two films. And lots of photo series. Lassie has fucked around 25 women, and Bodil doesn't know if it has ever fucked another dog. Problems with the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals occurred when Bodil started performing live with Lassie. They thought Lassie suffered. "But they should have seen us working! We performed to the song "Je t'aime" - the naughty French one. As soon as he heard the music, Lassie stormed to the stage. He was always ready and horny".

"The other animals haven't suffered either", Bodil assures us. "You can only use a male animal when it wants it. Me being naked doesn't tempt the animal. But a female animal of its own species in the vicinity always get it going. Otherwise I've applied cunning hands. But I can't tell if the other way is cruelty. That is, a man fucking a female animal. But I don't think so.

"Once we shot a movie with a man and a cow. He was standing on a wooden box behind her. She chewed cud as he fucked her. Suddenly the box collapsed, and he ended up lying in the filth underneath her. She looked back with a surprised look on her face. As if she wanted to say: What a brutal orgasm.

"After a film with me and a bull, a lady phoned me and scolded me vigorously. She felt sorry for the bull. Said that I should use a broom stick if I was that horny. I explained to her that the bull weighed 700-800 kilos. So the harm my horniness could do it, was probably limited".

Bodil received many offers in those years. Married couples would like to come and see her, in order for the wife to try a stallion. And the man to try Bodil. "But I was afraid to let other women do the same with the male animals as I. It requires a special technique. When they cum, their glans swells up, and it can split your vagina. I have had some stitches once I didn't pull it out in time.

"But the many offers told me that there was money to be made outside the porno business. I welcomed more and more men. And then I opened a massage parlour in Copenhagen. I've still got it, even though I look disenchanting.

"Many of my regular costumers from the good old days still come to see me. They just pay. Talk with me for a while. Then leave. Without touching me. I'm very happy that they come. But it hurts my female vanity that they don't touch me.

"It's often people with very special wishes that contact me". They have no inhibitions telling "The Boar Girl" about their "perversions" if the special wishes can be called that.

"I once had a man who wanted to play dog. He took all his clothes off. Then I put a collar on him, and walked him down Vesterbrogade [Street in the red light district of Copenhagen] with everybody watching. He crawled on his knees and hands. And pissed on the pavement.

"A police car pulled up, and they followed us for a while. I thought we were going to be arrested for indecent behaviour. I definitely felt like running away. I looked cautiously at the officers. Obviously they didn't know what todo. Suddenly they started laughing and drove off. I was relieved. And my "dog" gave me a thankful lick".

Before, Bodil was known for her happy soul. Disease and poverty has put an end to that. But now she laughs out loud as she remembers the dog walk. The schnapps has also given her a helping hand. In the past she didn't drink. But she has always been smoking. Up to a 100 cigarettes a day. The 35 year old Bodil has for 15 years made a living doing sex of any description. Apart from beatings and torture she can do it all. But she's not very hot blooded. She's not the man eating she-animal men believe she is.

"I've never had an orgasm with a man I couldn't talk with. Men I've been just a little in love with" Bodil explains. "Once I fucked with two men. I got them to my bed, and made them fuck me at the same time. That's the only occasion on which I have been as horny as my reputation.

"The animals have never satisfied me either... Neither has the shifting partners in live shows. Only the nice regular customers on the klinik have seen me have an orgasm.

"There was an occasion where I have been very horny, though I didn't feel much sympathy.

"It was a young couple. He claimed that she had been unfaithful to her. I should help him punish her. We hung her in her arms from the ceiling and took her clothes off. She was small. But very shapely. Especially her tits were good. He scolded her. Hit her with a whip. Put needles in her nipples. Once in awhile he caressed my naked body as we stood right in front of her. We got on the bed, and deliberately made a very long foreplay with lots of kisses, terms of endearment and groping. I took in his cock very very slowly, making sure she saw every centimetre of it. He told her how lovely it was. What a good mistress I was. And how lousy a cunt she was compared to this.

"I was very turned on by this act because I could see on the beautiful young girl that she enjoyed it. She squirmed and moaned as if she had an orgasm, when I and her husband finished fucking, thrusting hard and screaming with delight.

"Quickly he untied her. They dressed. Took each others hands. And hurried home with a quick goodbye. I think they headed home for a wonderful night".

Bodil smiles thinking about the good times. Bodil is reaching the bottom of the bottle. She has turned 20 cigarettes into smoke within the last hour. Suddenly she gets very grave. Has troubles controlling her voice. It's not only the effect of the Schnapps. She's not well. Neither physically, nor mentally.

'Things went completely out of hand when 'Spot' died. I started taking sedatives. But when someone referred to them as 'loony-smarties' I threw them in the fireplace. Instead I started drinking and eating excessively. I gained 30 kilos. Doesn't look well on something that was going downhill anyway.

"'Spot' was a real german Sheppard that I got from an animals hospital 10 years ago. She had been beaten. She never became anything but a little, weak dog. I've never been able to talk to other girls. I've always been with men. 'Spot' was my female friend. She understood what I said. Was happy when I was happy. Was sad when I was. When we were alone in the house without light and heat we went to bed together. Shared a biscuit. And then we talked, until we fell asleep. "'Spot' is the only living creature that has loved me for being just me. She didn't expect to get anything back. She soothed me when I was ill. I've experienced a lot with 'Lassie', and like him a lot. But it'll never be the same as with 'Spot'. 'Lassie' has been unfaithful to me. He's an every-girls-dog. 'Spot' was mine. Completely mine. That's why I had such a shock when she died. And started drinking, and eating myself fat in no time.

"I live with my man for 10 years and my eight year old daughter. Still I feel like the loneliest human being now that 'Spot' is dead.

"In those days I earned easy money in a tough line of work. I fell and fell. 'When will I reach the bottom?' I often ask myself these days. When I look in my scrap book, see myself as a handsome girl in love with the world, it's like looking back on my future. "I have always had the will to get the best out of each and every day. It hasn't been a success. I didn't have skill and luck required to do this. Now it's too late. I can't go back and change the things..."

Bodil finishes off the bottle. Crumples the cigarette packet, and throws it in the wastebasket. There is no more water of life (Aqua vita = water of life = Schnapps) in the bottle. She throws it away. The boar Girl is also used up. How much is left of the human Bodil Joensen? Not much if I am to judge by the last two hours of conversation. When I drive her home to her house in Grevinge hills [place 10 miles from Copenhagen] I have to drop her off just before we reach the driveway. She staggers the last metres to her cottage. Half the roof is missing. She has got something in common with her home. They both need to be restored.

===

[Bodil died January 3, 1985 from alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver]

Up to my elbows in it

From: bobv@gummint.Gov (Bob von Buelow)
Newsgroups: alt.tasteless
Subject: Up to my elbows in it
Date: 16 Feb 1993 21:42:36 GMT


There have been a lot of second hand accounts of blood-and-guts here, usually starting off with something like "My wife is a medical examiner's assistant in Sheep-dip, Oklahoma and she said she once saw ...". And some of the first hand stuff is kept at arms distance. Or we are insulated by a Buick Roadmaster from the true essence of a fresh roadkill. Those great
I-was-eating-lunch-while-hip-deep-in-a-cesspool anecdotes are way too few and far between. Well I'm here to give a first hand account of up-to-the-shoulder in blood, guts, and shit. So get out your dinner, sit down, and enjoy.


*** Bunny-hugger alert. *** Better skip this post if you think it is just possible that Walt Disney was a naturalist.

*** Realist alert *** Take the Cane Toad test. If you not only would aim for those little devils, but would stop and inspect the results of Goodyear-meets-amphibian continue reading. If not, well, let's just say you've been warned. This post contains NO fiction.

Step 1: I kill it. Simple physics really. Get a 125 lb. whitetail deer to absorb 2500+ ft/lb of energy -- from a 30-06 rifle. I'd skip this step except the damn things won't hold still for the rest of the procedure unless I do this first.

variation a). it falls to the ground immediately, stone dead

variation b). it staggers around and you are obliged to give a second physics lesson.

variation c). it falls to the ground, but doesn't die. This way you get to walk up to it and administer the coup de grace eye-to-eye with your dinner-to-be.

sub-variation c'). One young man didn't understand that the coup de grace should NOT be administered from point blank range, in the ear, with a 30-30. The results were spectacular when we got there to load his prize in the truck. The eyes were bugged out a good inch-and-a-half, and with the tongue hanging way out it looked like something out of one of today's Ren and Stimpy cartoons.

Step 2: This is the good stuff. Now here's what I do next. Remove very sharp knife from sheath. Cut balls and penis of deer off, trying not to get piss all over everything (it dulls the knife). Discard -- no time for little games now! Carefully cut open the stomach from crotch to
rib cage. The first real joy now awaits as the internal gasses gently waft up to my nose. If I was real lucky the bullet ripped open the stomach and the partially digested deer-meal adds immeasurably to the joy of the moment.

Step 3: Now, taking a good grip on my knife I rip open the rib cage right up the middle as far up the neck as possible. If things are going well there should be blood at least to my elbow by now. And the blood is nice and warm too! Great on cold days to warm my hands up! If things aren't
going well some of the blood will be mine. Cracking a rib cage with a really sharp and hefty knife requires some force.

Step 4: Reach in with both hands and cut the windpipe way up in the neck. This is really fun. I am up to my elbows in mangled guts and lungs, I can't see what I doing, and I have a real sharp knife near my fingers. Proceed to rip the lungs from the back of the carcass. Everything should
now be held in only by the pellet-release-tube. Reach in and squeeze any remaining deer-shit out the rear. Cut the intestine and all the guts will fall out in a neat pile. (A.t.ers could save for later use.)

variation a). lift the whitetail's tail and give our friend a *complete* ream job (I know, I know, some a.t.ers will want to stop and do a rim job first) with the knife and push the resulting plug in before dumping the guts at your feet.

Pick out the still warm heart and save. Makes a good breakfast sliced thin and pan fried.

Step 5: Back at the ranch, string this guy up. I prefer head down, but others hang it by the neck. When the carcass cools a bit, RIP the skin off this dude. Now is the appropriate time to chop the head off too!

variation a). I like to remove the antlers by using a hack saw. Place the head in a vice and tighten until the jaw bones crack. Starting at the back of the head cut forward thru to about
eye level. About half the time I cut right thru the eyes. The brain is now open for . Pick brains out of the plate left attached to the antlers, or let maggots do the cleaning for you, both methods work just fine.

The rest is just a simple cut-thru-muscle-and-bone-and-call-it-meat operation. It does take a while to lose the blood-and-guts smell no matter how hard or often I wash my hands. Thank goodness. I know for a fact that there IS such a thing as true blood lust.

A second helping of venison hash anyone?

Now back to your regular scheduled programming.

--
Bob von Buelow Mars Observer Planning and Sequencing Element
bobv@gummint.gov - standard disclaimers apply -

Home Penial Self-Surgery Procedure

Subject: Home Penial Self-Surgery Procedure
From: gbernath@usa.edu (Gregory Bernath)
Date: Sat, 5 Mar 1994 00:20:20 GMT
Organization: your education tax dollars at work
Lines: 282


I once chopped pieces of foreskin off my penis with a pair of cuticle scissors.

Now that I've got your attention, I'll go back and tell the whole story. Apologies if it gets a little lengthy, but this yarn deserves to be spun well.

BACKGROUND

After I was circumcised as an infant, the wound was not taken care of with sufficient diligence, and it healed incorrectly. Portions of the raw edge of the remaining foreskin bonded to the glans, a little bit above the lower edge of the glans. This left a series of "skin bridges", basically sections of foreskin which can't be retracted, because they are fused to the glans at one end and the shaft at the other. These varied in width from about 1/16" to 1/4", and were attached off and on over about 2/3 of the circumference.

This was never a major problem. It was a long time before I even realized it was abnormal. Everything functioned properly, but there were a few minor problems with it which made me wish I could fix it. Mainly,

1. It was a cosmetic defect -- it didn't look good.

2. It was tough to keep clean under the bridges -- I had to swab it with a Q-tip now and then to knock down smegma buildup.

3. Some of the most sensitive parts of the glans were hidden under relatively insensitive chunks of foreskin, robbing me of the proper stimulation which was mine and every man's birthright.

Over the past few years, I'd been thinking of getting it corrected, but there were problems. Doctors cost money, and I didn't have it, and student insurance sure wasn't gonna cover it. Plus, the thought of some strange doctor chopping at my peepeehead gives me chills.

Now, all a doctor would do it sterilize it, numb it, cut it and bandage it. "Hell, maybe I can do that!", I thought. The problem was how to kill the pain. I experimented with cutting myself (with an x-acto knife), but seeing as it always hurt like hell before I even cut anything, I never went through with it.

Recently, I came back and studied the situation. Again, the problem with the self-surgery approach was dealing with pain. There had to be some way of numbing the area, but how? One winter day, it hit me. If cold can make fingers go numb, then cold can also make a ManTool[tm] go numb. With this in mind, I pioneered a the "home penile self-surgery procedure".

SURGERY KIT

Cuticle scissors (1 pair)
Rubbing alcohol (1 bottle)
Antibiotic ointment (1 tube)
Anti-bacterial soap (1 bottle)
Gauze pads (lots, various sizes)
Ice cubes (iodine added to water for sterility)
Clean Washcloth (freshly laundered with lots'o bleach)
Well-lit work area (the kitchen table)

PROCEDURE

Wipe down work area with alcohol. Clean penis with soap and water, then with alcohol. Wash hands thoroughly. Soak scissors in alcohol.

Holding the ice cube with the washcloth (to prevent your fingers from going numb), apply the ice cube to the target area. Hold for 5 to 10 minutes, until area is numb.

Using the cuticle scissors, sever the skin bridge as closely as possible to its connection with the glans. Then sever the foreskin end of the bridge in such a location as to leave an even edge on the foreskin.

Use gauze pads and direct pressure to stop the bleeding, then apply antibiotic ointment and bandage.

THE OPERATIONS

Though the operations are not painful if done correctly, the healing process is a real pain in the ass. It also takes a certain state of mind to be able to cut your own flesh. I would kind of put myself into robo-man zombie mode for the operations, in that I never dwelled on what I was doing, I just mechanically plodded through all the steps without thinking about how totally gross it was.

Since the ice cube could only numb a small portion of the penis, and since I could only tolerate so much trauma to my dick in one session, it took 6 separate operations, spread out over a two week period, to cut/remove all of the skin bridges.

Operation #1 (Day 1)

The test cut. I chose a small thin skin bridge, about 1/16" across. I held the ice cube on for 5 minutes. The ice caused a peculiar kind of "cold ache", but it wasn't that bad. I gingerly made the cuts, and sliced through with no pain at all. There was some minor bleeding, but because
of the speed at which I worked, I had finished and had the gauze on it before the wound had any chance to bleed significantly. After about 10 minutes the bleeding was stopped and I bandaged it up, no problem at all. Only a tiny little speck of flesh had been removed, rather unimpressive looking.

Operation #2 (Day 3)

Operation #1 turned out so well, I decided to go for big game this time. The target was the mother of all skin bridges, about 1/4" across and very thick and meaty.
Again, I made the preparations and applied ice for 5
minutes.

I made the first cut along the glans, and was surprised at how much I had to bear down on the scissors. This skin was surprisingly tough. I finished that cut, and then turned my attention to the cut on the foreskin side. Wanting to get it done quickly, I decided that two large, powerful snips should do the job. I bore down and made the first cut, and realized with a shock that IT HURT LIKE HELL.

Well, it turns out that due to the thickness of the skin bridge on that end, the cold hadn't penetrated deeply enough, and it hadn't gone numb. So, I was left with a problem. I had a half severed bit of foreskin hanging off me, and no anesthetic. My only recourse was to finish the
cut. I thought, "Shit. This will hurt.". So I lined up the scissors, closed my eyes, and as quickly and powerfully as I could, I made the snip. My prediction was correct; it did hurt (don't you hate when you're right about things like that?). I managed to avoid shouting out, instead opting for a few simple gasps and whimpers.

I resolved to hold the ice on for much longer in future operations.

Being that this was a bigger cut than the first, it bled much more profusely. It took about 20 minutes of direct pressure and a lot of gauze until I could staunch the main flow. Even then it kept oozing blood for a few hours. I spent the rest of the evening with nothing on below the waist, sitting in front of the TV with a few brews (this became standard procedure for all forthcoming operations). Any motion tended to make it break open and bleed again, so I moved around very little. I was functioning (that is, walking) almost normally again by the next day, but it took about 5 days before this one completely stopped oozing blood.

As I gingerly hobbled back into the kitchen for another brew, I spotted IT, the severed hunk-o-foreskin that I had left on the table. It was of fairly good size, about 1/2" by 1/4" and maybe as thick as a piece of bacon. Suddenly, strange thoughts entered my skull, and a raging
mental battle between good and evil ensued.

EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."
GOOD: "Don't do it!! That's gross!!"
EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."
GOOD: "Stop thinking about it!!"
EVIL: "You know what you must do. Eat it. It is your destiny."
GOOD: "But that's cannibalism!"
EVIL: "So what?"
GOOD: "Cannibalism is shunned for a reason! It spreads diseases!"
EVIL: "Look dipshit. It's your own fucking flesh. Any diseases in there, you already got."
GOOD: "But it's SELF-cannibalism!"
EVIL: "So is chewing on the piece of skin you bit off your fingertip. BFD."
GOOD: "But this is weird, deranged and perverted!"
EVIL: "Exactly"
GOOD: (Hauls its sorry whupped ass away and shuts up)

So, I ate it. Turns out it was very tough and chewy, kind of like biting a little piece of rubber. I chewed for about 5 minutes, but didn't make any progress on breaking it down, so I swallowed it. It had a little bit of blood flavor at first, but after that it had no flavor at all; rather disappointing in that respect. Maybe I should have cooked it.

Operation #3 (Day 10)

A medium sized cut. I held the ice cube on much longer (10 minutes instead of 5), so there was no problem with pain. Not nearly as much bleeding, but still a respectable amount.

A word about erections: they were a bad thing. Any hard-on would tear the wounds open and start them bleeding again. This would be a problem for about 3 or 4 days until the wounds had healed sufficiently. Basically, I had to spend a long, long time without even thinking a nasty thought. Of course, when I was asleep I had no control over the process, which would always result in me waking up with a dick that hurt and bloody bandages. I was really lovin' life at moments like these.

Operation #4 (Day 12)

Another medium sized cut, but with the added bonus of having a small vein (about 1 mm in diameter) running through the skin bridge. Now, the blood supply for the penis mainly runs through blood vessels buried deep inside. When you get down the the small vessels, the
circulatory system becomes more of a spiderweb, with redundant paths going to every point. So I knew it wasn't actually dangerous to cut it, but it was still a kind of psychological obstacle. I expected this one to be a heavy bleeder, and I wasn't disappointed. It took about a full hour of direct pressure to get the severed ends of the vein to close up. Otherwise, not too much of a problem.

Operation #5 (Day 14)

I was planning on more time to let the others heal, but due to changes in the way skin tension was being applied to the remaining bridges (because I'd cut some others away), one small bridge was getting a lot of stress and starting to hurt. So I chopped it quick and easy, no real problems.

Operation #6 (Day 15)

The problem with operation #5 was that it just transferred the stress to the next bridge down the line. So even though I had about 3/4" of flesh left to cut, I resolved to do it all at once in one last cutting frenzy.

Due to the size of the operation, it took a while to complete (maybe 1 minute total), which gave the blood a chance to flow. I had to stop a few times and wipe away blood so I could see what I was doing. Strangely, this didn't bother me at all. It seemed perfectly normal that I
should be wiping up copious amounts of blood flowing from my bleeding pecker which I had sliced open myself. Actually, it seemed kind of cool at the time, which led me to speculate at the time that I had gone insane, which I also thought was pretty cool.

Anyway, except for the excess blood which had dripped on to the chair, it went quite well. The only thing that really grossed me out was when I noticed I had blood all over my hands. If any psychoanalysts want to analyze that tidbit for me, feel free, though I really don't care.

The wounds are now completely healed, and the results are good. Mainly:

1. There are no scars to speak of, just a few bumps on the glans. This is because I didn't trim the flesh quite close enough in a few spots. They kind of resembling little warts. I thought about going back and trimming them off, but I kind of like 'em now. After all, it's not everyone
who has the privilege of appearing to have warts, with actually being diseased.

2. Without the skin tension holding things back, total dick length has increased by 1/4". (Of course I've measured the length of my dick. Like you haven't?)

3. It's a great topic for dinnertime conversation. Women generally seem to find it quite interesting. Men generally turn kind of pale.

With my newfound surgical skills, I've been contemplating a few more self-surgical procedures. You know, mole removal, wart removal, nose jobs, the whole vista of cosmetic surgery. I'll need some help for that mole on my back, which means training an assistant. Ah,
the future looks interesting indeed ...
--
Greg Bernath gbernath@usa.edu

[LONG] Joys of Rimming

From alt.tasteless Mon Dec 12 18:04:59 1994
From: jimmo@kimber.uk.moon.com (Jim)
Subject: [LONG] Joys of Rimming
Date: 5 Dec 1994 10:21:58 GMT
Lines: 128
Distribution: world


Are you sitting comfortably?


It all happened last summer. It was an arid day in Jaipur when I was there. I roamed the streets at a leisurely amble, trying to scratch my gusset through my trousers because the sweat that lubricated my buttocks was itching like buggery.

Anyway, as I scuffed a dusty path through the streets of seedy backwater Jaipur, I noticed some local prostitutes. Unlike a significant proportion of whores in north India, these were not eunuchs. It all started as a religious thing, castration. However, now woman-wannabes become eunuchs for fun and for a source of income. Basically, here is what happens. First, the genitals (penis and scrotum) of the eunuch-to-be are tied with an inch wide strip of material, making the genitalia protrude further from the abdomen. Then, after prayer (well advised prayer too), the headeunuch (I can't remember what the name for him/it is) takes a large, sharp kitchen knife and slices off the genitals. Without an anaesthetic, of course. The groaning, contorted mass that gibbers in agony on the ground is left without medical treatment as it is up to the Gods to decide whether he lives or dies (through bleeding to death).

If the eunuch lives, the pulpy genital remains are plopped into a hole in the ground. Now, if you've had a wedding in India, you will know that the eunuchs come to the wedding and have to be bribed to go away otherwise they will lift their saris and show off their vertical smiles!

Anyway, I digress. There were these prostitutes and, by God, they were decidedly ropey looking hags...a full double-antler on the moose-scale! But they had two redeeming features:

1. They were very, very cheap.
2. They would do absolutely fucking ANYTHING for money.

Point 2 put life in my heat-striken love sausage. So I picked the leastscabby one and waved 100 rupees at her. Ha! She was MINE!

Er, at this point I should mention that there are some stunning women in those parts of Asia, not just the orient. I say that before you think I am implying that this scabid, moth-eaten old fuckrag is the norm over there.

Still, I went back to her shack (a mud and corrugated iron structure setback from the heat) and got to work.

I sat on the, er, collection of hessian sacks that served as a bed and positioned her in front of me. I reached round her waist and untucked the fold in her grubby cotton sari that holds the whole damn thing on. I took the free end and passed it round her waist...about four damn times, then over her shoulder. Then it just fell away.

I stared in awe at her. She assumed that was because I found her attractive so she smiled at me. Her smile basically entailed the retraction of the rubbery, flaky skin around her mouth to reveal a couple of yellow stumps in swollen, blood-stained gums. Her breasts hung like pool-balls in a pair of stockings. Her malnutrition had produced a cute little pot-belly, like the
ones you see on the "feed the starving" newsreels. I ran the tips of my fingers up her ricket-bent legs, over her thighs and across the two bits of flappy kebab-meat that hung from her vagina like curtains in a dolls house. Fascinated, I parted the distended lips to see small semi-white spots peppered across her labia. They looked rather like large mouth ulcers. I don't think they hurt her much because when I touched the tip of my tongue to one of the tart summits, she didn't flinch. The taste of her lips was decidedly sharp, rather like the negative pole of a 9v battery! As I was indulging in the yeast-feast, an idea dawned! So I stood up, turned her around and pushed her down into a kneeling position on the ramshackle bed. I clasped a wrinkled buttock in each hand and splayed them apart, revealing one of the most filthy sphincters I have ever seen! Evidently, this old trollop had been suffering from dysentry! I gawped at her anus, which puckered and dilated in rhythm with her breathing. Moist traces of semi-liquid stool lined the inner wall of her anal crater. Tastless I may be, but my tongue is not! I grabbed a bit of her sari and have the whole cheesy area a quick wipe, leaving a musty brown skid across the material.

Okay, I thought, time for me to indulge in the most tasteless rimming I have ever, ever given. I leant toward her waiting cornhole, pausing only to catch my breath as a pungent draft of anal exhalation wafted out to meet me. It would take more than a fetid fart to stop me! But, as my
lips encircled her nether-kisser, the fart that escaped previously was obviously not alone. There was just a little follow through. No sooner had my tongue rasped across the anal squid-ring than I felt a tiny warmth spread across it. This warmth was swiftly followed by a taste that is damn near undescribable. You know how some things taste like other things smell? Well this taste was exactly like the smell of a pile of rotting vegetables and cheese. A cheese with more blue veins than a tourniqued cock!

I had to withdraw. I scraped the surface of my tongue across the underside of my teeth, as if to remove early-morning post-beer tongue-carpet. I spat into the grey dust. There, intertwined with my sputum, was a string of pale brown excrement. I felt the bile in my stomach rise up my gullet with that kind of nausea that signals an unstoppable barf. Desperate to maintain my balance, I leaned against the wizened rump of the prostitute. She was, of course, off balance with her ass stuck in the air and she fell onto the bed. The vomit was starting to push between my fingers like meat through a free-flow mincer and I had to let rip. I regurgitated a bitter and bilious curry-based chunder over her sprawling nakedness. I couldn't really tell but I thought I
saw, through bleared teary eyes, a visage of disgust on her face. However, she must have thought this was what she was being paid for and so, with a decidedly aggrieved look, she tentatively started to smear the vomit over her breasts.

I found this incredibly sexy! Without a word, I rolled her over onto her slightly bloated belly, which made a slight squelching sound as her gut displaced the exhumed contents of my stomach. I reached between her legs and scooped a handful of cooling retch over the tufts and crevice of her backside. Then, after hastily unbuttoning my cotton pants, I climbed on top of her. The stench was damn near erection-withering! Anyway, I nuzzled the muzzle of my member against her sphincter and rubbed in gentle circles to pick up some lube from the bile. It stung a bit, actually. I pushed forward and slid into her rectal tract with too much ease, the kind of ease that says "Hey Boy! This ain't her first time up the shitter!"

Basically, there ensued a truly tasteless butt-fuck which doesn't need description as I'm sure you all know. :-) Anyway, it was the withdrawl that really did me in! After I pulled out, I looked down at my exhausted bijja and a opalescent sheen of blood, sweat, bile and the odd skid. To cap it all, there was a soft khaki pinnacle of bugger-mud on the end! I paid the crone Rs. 500/- and bid her farewell.

Jim.

King Shit

King Shit (by Checkered Demon 1, circa 1991)

All these excrement stories are stirring up memories of a fine foul day, some 12 years ago, when my little brother decided to give anal birth to the biggest turd I have ever seen.

I was raised, in typical appalachian style, as poor white trash without running water. The outhouse is the center of many fond and wondrous memories for me; spiders, the combination of summer heat and the overpowering stench of centuries-old feces and urine allowed to fester, wasps, billions of biting flies, freezing cold winters, and little or no privacy available. But then, I am tasteless. My brother is not.

To his little-kid brain, the outhouse was a place of great terror and fear. He had been stung, as I remember, one time while trying his first on-my-own poop. He was terrified, and decided that the shitter was a BAD place, and little kids didn't even poop in bad places. So, with that knowledge, he decided. "I am not going to poop anymore."

My parents and I first noticed his odd behavior four days into his Ironman Sphincterclench Endurance Competition. He seemed to be sick, as he would occasionally get glassy-eyed and stand in deep concentration. Mom was concerned, but didn't say much other than "Are you feeling well? Are you sick?"

He was fine, he just hadn't shit in four days. And, his little-kid brain had neglected to realize that if you don't want to shit anymore, you must AT LEAST cut down on the amount of food you intake. If anything, he doubled the amount of food he ate, since he was not going to have to poop anymore.

He tells me now that day four was the worst day. After that, his butt seemed to enjoy the vacation, and didn't mind letting its work pile up, so to speak. Days five and six passed without much difference, but his odd attacks seemed to be more frequent and of a little more intensity than before, but a lot briefer. Mom really began to get worried. She thought he might be epileptic.

Day seven rolls around with a force that would not be denied much longer. Struggle and strain though he did, my brother decided that it was better to do that than ever have to dump anymore. He tells me that at this point, he had decided to poop again, but was afraid to, because of what might actually come out of his butt. (His brain, most likely). And the final clincher, he has an anal spasm during a vacation bible school meeting, and they bring him home because THEY think he is having an epileptic fit. I would wager that my anus would have puckered up about that time as well. Also, I'll bet that several of them thought he was going to speak in tongues, and kiss a rattlesnake, or somethinglike that.

Mom would not let him talk his way out of this; the truth had to come out. He confessed his crime against nature, and said he would start shitting again if Mom swore she wouldn't punish him, and that she would take him to the doctor if anything... unusual happened to him while he was excreting. She agreed, under the condition that he use a potty chair in the house, so that we could run to his side and laugh hysterically if something happened. That last bit wasn't strictly a part of the negotiations, but that is what happened.

By God's grace, I happened to be in earshot when the ThunderFudge(tm) decided to part company with my brother. The actual sounds went something like; " oh. Oh. OH. ow. Ow. OWWWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWWW!OWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWW!!!"



Oh, the humanity of it all.

I knew that he could hear me if I snickered, so I tried to suppress the urge, which, as we have seen in the last few paragraphs or so, urge suppression does not run in my genes.

I laughed out loud.

Repeatedly.

Louder each time.

He was pissed, but then, I wasn't the one who had decided to pinch a loaf for the rest of my life.

He and Mom then left to apply some medication to the area, leaving me wondering if I ever had children, would I ever have the inner strength to cope with a son as brain-dead as this one?

I snuck a peek into the storage room they had been in. What I saw astounded me. The butt-monster had run the length of the pot, a good seven inches, and then formed an L-shape and continued upwards for another solid (heh) foot. Towards the end of the process, my brother must have stood, to be able to fully excrete this DungO'Death (tm). It was smooth-surfaced, and looked like it was about five inches around. It was about the same color as mahogany.

It was taken to the outhouse, and laid to rest 15 feet below the surface of the seat. It didn't even break when it impacted with the mound; instead, it just sank in, like the King Shit that it truly was, ruling over all the other worthless pieces of shit around it. Nobility suited it well.

My brother recovered, eventually developed something similar to intelligence, and later on we both moved out of the house. That particular outhouse was abandoned, and another was constructed. But I still think of King Shit, covered now by many others, still the greatest one of all time.

A herpetological horror

Subject: A herpetological horror
From: ksm@abb-sc.abb-sc.com (Ashley)
Date: 25 Jun 93 19:39:50 GMT
Organization: Kaos Laboratories
Keywords: venomous lizard, penis, hemotoxic venom.
Lines: 56


As a result of the little kitchen knife incident, a friend of mine and I where discussing interesting ways to loose your penis. He mentioned a person who got snipped by a snapping turtle while pissing in a river. Then I remembered something I read about in a herpetological journal some
time ago. Thought it might be appreciated here.


>> Haven't heard of one of those yet. I did hear of a fellow who somehow
>> got bitten by a gilla monster on the schlong though....
>
>Aren't they those black and red poisonous things?

Big, fat, ugly, slow, venomous lizards. Black and pink nocturnal desert dwellers in the american south west. Hemotoxic poison. Somehow some joker got bit on the dick by one. Haven't any idea how, but I suppose the gilla monster probably crawled inside his sleeping bag just before sunrise. When the wake-up woodie appeared, the lizard saw it and bit.

Now to understand what must have happened to this guy, we need to know a bit about the poisons in reptile venom. There are two kinds, neurotoxic and hemotoxic. The gilla monster has a hemotoxic venom. Hemotoxic venom destroys blood, prevents oxygen from reaching the cells,
the tissue dies, huge blood blisters form, the nerves in the area die causing local loss of motor function control. If the venom gets to the heart in high enough concentrations, the heart tissues and muscles deteriorate and the heart fails. Nausea, delerium, immobilty, vomiting, hallucinations. That's the effect of a viper bite. It's usually survivable, although it can
cost you a limb.

Now imagine a big lizard with a hematoxic venom biting someone's dick. Instead of the clean, long, hypodermic like fangs like a viper, the gilla monster has poison sacks in his gums and grooves in the teeth. He bites, clamps on, and begins working his jaws. He does not let go. So he
*grinds* the poison in. Slowly. You usually have to kill a gilla monster to get them off you if you get bit. And they don't die easily, nor do they let go when they are dead. The jaw muscles lock.



Now imagine the effects of the hematoxic venom on this guy's penis. The amount of blood in a penis is pretty big, so the blood blister would be huge and it would come quickly since the swelling would prevent blood from leaving at the normal rate. It would continue to swell until the blister burst. No oxygen to any of the cells in the spongeotum, so you'd have necrotic rot in a matter of hours, and the blood that did leave the penis would go straight up to the heart. Dying in terror, nausea and delerium with a big lzard chomping on your dick, while your dick swells up with discolored blood, oozes, explodes and rots.


Gilla Monsters. The ultimate blow-job.

________________________________________________________________________
Ashley, a psychotic, depraved and reprehensibly morbid individual.
"My sex life is defined by the thin line between a love
ksm@abb-sc.com tap and murder with a blunt instrument."
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cunt-rag

From: cunt@cc.tut.fi (Lauhanen Rauli)
Subject: Cunt-rag
Date: 31 Jan 1995 17:31:03 GMT
Summary: Why not Kleenex ?
Keywords: Cunt`s, Their rags, Their smell, Punishment, Bible, Anal thunder.


I wonder how usual is this habit around world. The thing I'm talking about is "vittu-ratti". It's popular here in Finland especially among women in countryside. Vittu-ratti is used to clean cunt after their twat has been washed or processed any other way. I was quite impressed to saw one in my friends SO's bathroom last weekend. And that cunt was _so_ raunchy that she even haven`t tried to hide it by any means. Stupid cunt. Anyway, that rag gave me the best wank for months, not to mention her increased probability to get pregnant now. What ever will happen, I'm proud and happy I did that, because if somebody is _this_ stupid she deserves to be surprised in a most humidiating way.

Now, are only finnish women this tasteless, or is this maybe a global habit, exposing that almost every woman in this planet is a stupid cunt in a need of a violent spanking ? I'm interested about this phenomena only among white race. Dagos, spics and niggers can wipe their cunt anyway they like.

Rauli ?
--
Rauli Lauhanen