It happened again...
THE HUNGRIEST SPHINCTER IN SAN FRANCISCO
The day after my article about the Ass-Light Man appears in Ooze #9, Mr. Butt himself comes into my booth for the second time. If you don't remember, I work in a strip club in San Francisco where you have to feed quarters into a slot to see the show. Some of our patrons are a little strange.
"Uh... you look familiar. You've been in here before, haven't you?" I ask him. He tells me his name is Mark. He's got the briefcase of toys with him again and this time I pay closer attention to it. I want to figure out the details I might have missed last time out of sheer astonishment.
He quickly strips off his clothes and proceeds to put his ass against the glass wall again. Although his cock is still quite soft, he manages to get it all the way into his ass, just like the good old days. I guess if the anal chasm is yawning enough, it can accommodate just about anything. He then fists himself, but that's old news to me by now. Perhaps sensing he has to top his previous performance, he starts in on a show that makes all those urban legends start sounding a little more believable.
He reaches down and fishes an eggplant out of his briefcase. Not a Chinese or Japanese eggplant, but an honest-to-goodness big Italian eggplant. I don't know how he does it, but he pushes it all the way down his rectum, making it disappear into his ass where it winks at me like a bulging purple eye.
"I've masturbated with vegetables from time to time, too," I tell him.
"Oh, you know..." I hesitate, feeling woefully inadequate, "carrots, zucchini, bananas..." "Bananas?" With a gleam in his eye, he produces a banana from his bag of tricks. An extra-ripe, pungent specimen, the kind that's used to make banana bread with. He then hangs his ass over the edge of the seat, and pulls over a garbage can.
He peels the ripe banana and puts it in his ass. (That's one.) He peels another banana and puts it in his ass. (Two.) The smell of bananas is beginning to permeate my almost airtight booth. I can only imagine how overpowering the stench must be on the other side. He peels yet another banana and puts it in his ass. (Three.) Again, he peels another banana and puts it in his ass. (Four.) I think he actually comes somewhere around here.(Five.) He peels another banana and puts it in his ass. (Six.) Then like a baby with a mouthful of food, his rectum delivers the pureed mess, glurk glurk glurk, into the trash can. Actually it's more like the "extrude" function on my Dad's pasta machine.
"So do you do this stuff when you're at home?"
"Oh, yes, it was my wife's idea, actually."
"Does she stick this much stuff inside her, too?"
"You two must be a blast at the farmer's market."
Later, in the dressing room another dancer named Mirage tells me she's not impressed. The last time she saw Mark, he used 12 bananas. His performance was single-handedly responsible for her subsequent inability to eat them, and the debilitating potassium deficiency that resulted from this.