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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/593131-To-Be-Sick
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Gothic · #593131
A small look into the secrets of a woman's taste.
          Maurine was sitting alone at a creaking table in the back of the most disgusting place she had ever been in. It seemed to have been a very prominent bar, in it's heyday, but now was frequented by various types of rednecks, white trash, and idiots. On a daily basis, she'd come down to the same chair to observe her surrondings, but mainly she wanted to be alone. No one she knew would ever set foot inside such a revolting establishment. The floors creaked, the roof leaked, and the waitresses all smelled of the same melange of STDs, cigarettes, and urine.
         The irony of the entire thing was that these drunken assholes were her clientele. They were the ones who bought those dirty rags covered with pictures of her tits. They were the ones who sent in those idiotic letters about how they had managed to insert their own dicks into the goat they had been keeping in the backyard by accident, of course. They were her fans. Maurine figured that half of them were undressing her with their eyes all the time, but the other half didn't need to do so much work, they had the pictures at home.In about and hour she'd be off to make more dirty pictures for them to beat off too, but for now she would just relax.
         After she knew that everyone had had their eyeful of her, she averted her emerald-green eyes toward that hideous bar floor, looking for something. She studied it carefully, looking over every last detail, until she finally found it. Maurine had found the largest snail she had ever seen. She plucked it up, with he thumb and forefinger, and began to look its slimely body over. A long cold string of ooze traced from the creature to the ground, from which it had been so rudely plucked.
         The thing squirmed in an utterly futile attempt to crawl away from its sultry captor, but she'd have none of that. She knew that the thing had probably been crawling in either shit or drunkard vommit, but the possibilty of both was more likely. Things like that didn't bother her though, they really only made the catch all the more amusing. They gave it character. This snail had been to hell and back, and it even brought some of that stench with it.These things only made it more...appetizing.
         Without letting a single second slip through her finely manicured finger, she tossed the slimey bar-thing into her mouth, signifying it's entry with an almost muted moan of pleasure. She knew that snails liked the dark and the wet, so she held it there, on her tongue, for a brief moment before sending a hard and malicious molar into the poor thing's shell, though making sure not to kill it. She wanted the condemned beast to live for a little while longer. It was even still alive when the muscles in the back of her throat damned it to spend it's days in her stomach.
         Upon bringing her head up, she noticed that one of the waitresses was staring at her in a fashion that reminded her of countless B-horror movies, and even the one she had been in, "Sleep of The Dead". Maurine stood and slowly paced her way toward the fearful woman. She eased to that quivering ear and whispered "And he was delicious too," following it with a small lick. The woman screamed. The rednecks hooted and hollared, happy to see abit of "Girl on girl" action.
         Later on, at some shoot, she was still thinking about that woman. She had run it through her head a million times, and it always gave her satisfaction. Her name was probably something like "Rosie" or "Edna", and she probably lived in a trailer in the sticks. Rosie would come home that day, still in a state of shock, and sit next to her alcoholic husband. She'd try and tell him what happend, but he'd be too busy watching the tellivision, or possibly even looking at pictures of Maurine, to even care. Rosie wouldn't be able to tell anyone, because they'd all be sure she was making it up. That kind of power amused Maurine.
         It was Maurine's turn to pose, but she told Danny that she had to do one last thing in the bathroom to be perfect. After some annoyed ranting on his part he let her go and do whatever it was she had to do, if it was, as she said, for the good of the pictures.
         The entire bathroom was empty, which was good for Maurine, she would have hated for anyone to have to watch what she was about to do, accept that little bitch Rosie, of course. Maurine quietly locked the door to one of the stalls and stared at the toliet seat. In a moment she was bent down and retching, trying to aim her mouth at that passageway, where all shit is destined. Soon enough a mass of partially digested animal bits flew from her mouth. There was abit of a baby canary, some portions of a pair of slugs left and one horrible half of a frog leg from when she had decided to try her own take on French cuisine. "A girl needs to stay thin, ya know," she commented before flushing the vile mixture down the comode.
         Before she left the stall, though, she noticed something on the floor next to the toliet. The realization that this was the snail she had just eaten was pretty normal, but the realization that it was still alive amused her to no end. She truely had a degree of control over animals, and even humans. That's all she had wanted. Maurine left the bathroom shortly after that. Danny would bitch about her taking so damn long, but she needed to look her best.
                   
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/593131-To-Be-Sick