Extracts torn from forgotten books
by David Bussell
“Danny’s mum sticks dildos up her fanny.”
That’s what the kids shouted at him in the playground. If only their taunts were a misrepresentation of the facts, but no. His mother stuck dildos up her fanny. Not only that, she wrote about it. For a living. She was paid to test sex toys and review them on her blog – discuss their merits, debate their value for money and grade her orgasms out of five.
Needless to say, it was an endless source of humiliation for Danny. Couldn’t she write about something else? Anything else! Holiday destinations, beauty products, cruet sets, anything but inserting rubber objects into her genitalia.
Danny confronted her about it one day – explained what the kids at school were saying.
“They say you stick dildos in your fanny.”
“Tell them they can say what they like,” she said. “Tell them those dildos are what put food in your mouth.”
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Danny did not tell them that. Instead he trotted out the time-honoured, “I wish I’d never been born,” then slammed his bedroom door with a mind to give the Earth a new fault line.
Danny decided he’d had enough of the playground taunts. If his mum wouldn’t get herself a normal job he’d just have to resort to sabotage, so Danny waited until she’d gone to bed then crept into the spare room where she kept her collection. To the ottoman that had once served as his toy box but now contained her treasure trove of substitute sex organs.
Danny lifted the lid of the ottoman with a gloved hand and went to shovel its contents into a bin liner. He recoiled though as something reached back at him from within – a closed fist, black yet gleaming in the wan light. The fingers of the fist opened with a rubbery squeak and the palm set down on the edge of the box. There was a terrible groan as the arm flexed and boosted the top half of a creature from inside.
A great lolling head emerged, a sickening assemblage of dildos in every shape and size. Its tongue was a rabbit vibrator, forked and quivering with a cobra’s hiss. Its barrel-like torso was a balloon animal of ribbed schlongs. Its legs a sinewy cluster of rubberized members packed tight as a tube of spaghetti. As it slithered from the ottoman and raised itself to its full height, a thick tail swished in its wake, a fused pair of double-enders.
Danny attempted to crawl away but the creature snaked out a black hand, grabbed him by the ankle and began to drag him towards the box. He clawed at the carpet but it did him no good. The creature was relentless. An unholy mélange of counterfeit phalluses that sought not to create life like their flesh counterparts, but to do the very opposite. To take life. To unmake it.
Danny used to say he wished he’d never been born. Danny was about to get the next best thing.
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