Ghost Story

This is a story about an old friend of mine, by the name of Simon.

Simon was fat. He was bald. And he was a dirty beast.

I was just 12 years young at the time, nubile, supple. Simon used to tell me I had a mouth that could suck water out of a running garden hose.

I was like, “That doesn’t even sound like a compliment, Simon. It sounds like you’re saying I do the bare minimum with blowjobs. Like, I just put it in my mouth and wait for the cum to start spraying.”

And Simon was like, “You think your suck skills are better than that? Prove it.”

And I was like, “Siiiimon. Come on. We’re just pals. And I am but 12 years young. No sex stuff! Besides, you have jaundice or something, and I don’t know if that’s contagious.”

And he was like, “Well, sorrrrry, fuckin’ princess. I didn’t know you were so pure.”

And I was like, “Well, I am. I am a little angel, and I’m gonna be a virgin forever and ever.”

And let me tell you, this drove Simon absolutely wild. He began to weep. He was drooling like crazy, and his tears came out thick, possibly semen. His cock was so hard, it ripped through his pants and popped out, spewing joy mucus. Fluids were dripping from everywhere imaginable. I was like, “Simon! Get it together, man.”

And he was like, “Austin, you are such a beautiful angel, and it is torture to know I will never be able to touch you. How can I live like this? With so much burning desire? It is obvious what I need to do. I need to eat my genitals. Pass me my chainsaw.” I passed him his chainsaw.

He pulled the starter rope. Burruppapapapapa. Burruppapapapapapa.

The chainsaw started whirring and he pressed it against his left outer thigh, just below the hip, cutting off his entire leg. I was like, “I thought you were just taking off your genitals, this seems really excessive.”

And he said, “I haven’t eaten all day, I may as well have a full meal.” Then he kept cutting, past his groin and across his other leg, until he was completely separated into two pieces.

“Pass me my knife and fork.” I passed him his knife and fork.

And he began to eat, the entire bottom half of his body. As he shoveled in the leg fat, his mouth seemed to expand, his cheeks ripping open into a huge grin. His final bite was a scrap of scrotum skin, and then finally, he bled out, and died.

Moments later, a translucent version of himself began to rise from his corpse. “Simon, oh my god, you’re a ghost,” I said.

And he replied, “Simon died a long time ago, my friend.”

And I was like, “I don’t think so. It like literally just happened.”

He stared back at me with his tiny eyes, his oversized mouth agape and dripping, the fat of his neck blending into his airborne torso, with his jaundiced skin now taking on more of a greenish tone.

“Simon Slimhauser is dead,” he said. “You can call me…

"Slimer.”