Red Fez and Pancakes

RY EXPLAINING TO TWO PARAMEDICS that the reason your dick is stuck in the cadaver of an old woman is because she didn’t want to die a virgin. I know that sounds like the motto of everyone who practices necrophilia, but before you start thinking I’m some twisted pervert, I need to go back two months.



Julia came into my life via the back door: she was a proctologist and I’d been suffering with haemorrhoids. I’d been getting them on and off for months and I was referred to Julia by my local GP. She was drop-dead gorgeous. That’s not an exaggeration—it was sickening how pretty she was. The first time I saw her, my arsehole actually opened a little. It was like when someone startles you, or creeps up behind and lifts you up unexpectedly, your arse just lets out a gasp, a small little gesture of shock, and that’s what happened when I saw Julia.

While she took my details and medical history, I examined every part of her. She must have been in her late twenties, blonde, but not natural blonde. She had dark roots matching her eyebrows. They say if you want to know the colour of a person’s pubic hair, look at the eyebrows. They were like two black comet tails arching over planets of azure. Her nose was slight and rounded at the tip, and her lips could stop a train. She got up from her desk, and I saw that her skirt fell just above the knee, her legs slender and the colour of toffee. I noticed a splattering of beige freckles being sucked into the cleavage of her ample breasts like stars into a black hole. Two stud-sized nipples guided her around the office like fleshy divining rods. When she told me to drop my trousers, I felt blood rush to my cock. Luckily, I have never developed well in that area so my cock just appeared average in size when I bent over the chair.

She was gentle and I appreciated that because the last thing you need when you’ve got a swollen anus is an enthusiastic finger. Apart from once letting a girl lick my perineum, no woman has ever been that intimate with me. During the examination, I made a terrible joke about the difference between Rocky Balboa and proctologists, which wasn’t very funny and was slightly offensive, but Julia took it in good spirits. There was talk of a haemorrhoidectomy. Julia tried to explain the procedure but I couldn’t help wondering how many points that word would get you in Scrabble. She prescribed me some ointment and I was to come back and see her in a week.



I spent that week squatting over the toilet applying the cream and wondering what to say to Julia when we next met. I thought that I would play it cool, but when someone is staring at your anus, it’s hard to be anything but awkward. “The cream is working”, she said, “and the piles are shrinking. “

After the course of ointment was finished, I assumed Julia and I would go our separate ways and I’d just be another arsehole to her. While bent over the chair, I asked her, “Do you enjoy Mongolian food?” I turned back and caught an expression that seemed to say she was a little disturbed that Mongolians would even be cooking. I tried to reassure her that they weren’t handicapped and that Mongoloid and Mongolians were two different types of people. ”I know,” she said. I began to fill the silence by telling her how health and safety regulations would probably restrict a Mongoloid person from even entering a professional kitchen.

Julia told me to pull up my trousers and when I finally sat down again she wouldn’t look me in the eye. I was told to continue with the cream and everything should be okay. As matter of precaution, she scheduled another appointment for a month’s time.



I began to worry that if my haemorrhoids disappeared I’d never see Julia again, so I stopped taking the cream. I began a low fibre diet. Actually, I cut all fibre out of my diet. I would read for thirty minutes at a time while sitting on the toilet, and then spend an additional ten minutes straining to have a shit that I didn’t need to take. I sat on the cold kitchen floor whenever I could and ate processed foods.