Lizzis' Afternoon
Lizzi sat on the passenger side of the El Dorado, her eyes closed, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless
line, and bore the motion of the car
as best she could. Her plans for the day had gone completely off
track, and now, the ride back to
the house was making feel even sicker than she had on the boat. She was glad when they left the freeway. It
meant that the long car ride was
almost over. Good. She breathed
slowly, deeply and carefully. Michelle glanced over from the
drivers seat. "You're
awfully quiet, Hon." she said.
"Mmm...? Oh, I'm sorry." Lizzi answered. She opened her eyes
and pasted on a smile. Steeling
herself for conversation, she made a highly understated admission.
"I'm just feeling a little... you know...kind of..." She put
her hand on her stomach and stuck
out her tongue. "Blecccch!
That boat ride kind of got me. I mean, I liked it, it was great. Your friends were great. Especially
Shannon. I'm just... not a very
good traveler, I guess. "
Michelle took her foot off of the gas, letting the car slow down,
and started to pull over.
"Need to get out and walk around, a little?" "Mm mm." Lizzi shook her
head. "I could put the top
down, if you need air."
"You don't have to do that." "Want to drive? That might help." "No. Really. It's OK. I don't feel
really SICK sick, like, like I'm
gonna, you know, throw up, or anything. Besides, we're almost home, anyway." She swallowed. "I just...
wouldn't have eaten so much, if I'd
known we were going."
She smiled, feebly, hoping that Michelle would take it as a gesture
of fortitude. Actually, the grin
reflected her own amusement and,
naturally, she and Michelle had sat together. Being around so many gorgeous models had done its
thing on Lizzi, pretty fast. All
of them had been flaunting their charms, their rosy nipples showing through their thin little tops,
their tight buns squeezed into
tighter retro-seventies hot pants, God. There were even a couple of strands of Irish red pubic hair
sneaking to view, here and there. To top
it off, Michelle had been covertly slipping her hand down between Lizzi's thighs all through the meal.
Before long, she was well worked
up. Then, the last of
the party showed up. That was when she saw Shannon. Michelle noticed that Lizzi kept looking at the girl, and
wasn't quite sanguine about it.
She shouldn't have worried. Lizzi wasn't a coquette. Besides, it got around fast that Shannon wasn't into girls.
Lizzi had liked her,that was all.
Literally "liked" her. Everybody had. The other girls were top drawer, sharp, friendly and,
gorgeous, but Shannon put them all
in the shade. In the shade! Hell, in the fucking DARK! Next to her, they came off like a pack of
cannibalistic androgynes. She was... generous! That was the
word. Exactly. She was from Iowa.
Adel, the town was, Lizzi remembered. A farmers daughter? If not,
she should have been. She was that incredibly sexy, wholesome
type that those words conjured, in
popular myth, tall, and stunning, like some huge flower. Generous. That really said it, physically, as
well as in her attitude. Her smile made Lizzi think of one
of those passive martial arts, like
Tai Chi, or something, soft, powerful, and completely disarming. She
had heart braking
"breeders" hips, that smoothed into long Betty Grable legs. Her breasts were an invitation to
pleasure. They had the kind of
nipples that were always going slightly hard, beneath her bra and blouse. They begged to be kissed and
sucked and caressed, by a lover, by
herself, Onanisticly, and, by the cooing, suckling babies that
would come, eventually, when her
salivating womb was flooded with seed.
In a 'Forties movie, she would have been cast as the golden hearted Salvation Army girl, who didn't know
that she was drop dead beautiful.
Still, she had to know, Lizzi thought, or she wouldn't have been
trying to be a model. Shannon a model! Never happen. As
beautiful as she was, her look was all
wrong, for the '90s. Nor could she ever cultivate the right "I'm
too cool to fucking bother"
attitude. She could be an actress, if she had the talent. Yeah, an actress, easily. But not a model. She
was too damned sweet, so sweet,
and so special that she had completely ruined Lizzis fun.
Michelle broke into the girls reverie. "You really did put it away, Sweet
Thing. Even on the boat. I saw you
knock off a whole quart of milk." "Yeah." That gave Lizzi a jolt. She didn't know
that anybody had seen that! She
thought fast. "I was...kind of seasick... I thought milk was
supposed to be good for a sick stomach." "Oh, Honey! That's for heartburn or ulcers, not nausea!
It's a miracle it didn't make you
vomit!" "I didn't know
that," Lizzi lied. It wasn't a miracle to her. It was an aggravation. On the way out, she'd
gulped down the milk, as part of her
plan. Then, she'd had to scrap the fucking plan, and now she was
paying for it. "You always eat like that, and
look at you, Miss Hardbody," Michelle said. Staring straight ahead, she lowered her voice. Lizzis
upset stomach and routinely
liontine appetite brought to mind something that had been bothering her, lately. "Listen, Lizzi. I've been meaning to talk to you. You
eat like three people, and you
look great." She turned and looked at the girl. "You're not doing anything dumb, are you? You know,
like some girls do... when they
like to eat, but... they want to stay thin?" She kept shifting her attention between Lizzi
and the street, waiting for an
answer. "What?"
Lizzi looked at Michelle. "Oh, no! God, no!" she said, after a moment, catching the meaning. "I
hate throwing up!" That was an absolute lie, but a white one. She wasn't bulimic. "I just, you know.... do a
lot of exercise... keep in shape. And I've always had a big appetite." She smiled, put her hand on
Michelle's leg, and squeezed. "I love you," she said,
meaning it. "I'm OK! Really!" She turned away and, leaned against the top of the cars
door. "But, you know, I kind
of wish you hadn't said that, right now." "Sorry I brought it
up." Lizzi turned around and
looked at Michelle, wide eyed. Michelle gave her a questioning look, then caught on. They both giggled. Lizzi
leaned back and closed her eyes. "Ohhhhh..." She could still
feel the motion of the boat.
'Up and down... up and down... Up and down, and all around.' Lizzi had read that somewhere. In some
story, or novel. A girl was
getting ready to throw up, and kept chanting that to herself,
mentally, while her lunch, a
peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a warm coke, sloshed around in her stomach, "in an extremely
nauseating way". 'Up and
down, and allll aaarrrooundd.'
Now, thanks to her own efforts, and the wild card that Shannon had dealt into the game, Lizzi was in the same
position, stuck with a big load of
sloshy stuff that clearly did not like being where it was, and felt
as though it was getting bigger
and more unstable with every perceptible
motion of the car. She hadn't expected it to stay with her for this long, but, since it had, she did hope
to get home with it. She didn't
want to get sick all over the car, or on the street, in front of a
bunch of strangers. Michelle concentrated on
her driving, hoping that she'd gotten a
truthful answer. A couple of minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of their rented house. Lizzi
picked up her purse and leaned
over to Michelle, giving her a birdlike peck on the lips. "I gotta go," she said. Michelle stared as the girl slid of her
seat and headed for the house. Her
face had been cool and clammy when they'd kissed, and she looked pale. Plus, that had to have been the
most half hearted little goodbye
they'd ever shared. Lizzi's kisses were never dry. And she hadn't
wasted any time getting out of the
car. She watched her hurry along
the walk way and up to the front door. She was certainly wasn't acting as well as she said she felt.
Well, if she was nauseated it
wouldn't be any wonder. All that rich food and all that running around, the stress of meeting
everybody, and then the boat ride,
and what had happened with Shannon. And drinking MILK! Michelle shuddered. "The poor little thing." She smirked at herself for being a
worrier. She was obviously just
reacting to her own pathological fear of vomiting. Besides, Lizzi'd probably be all right, now that she was
out of the car. Even if she wasn't,
the worst that could happen was that she'd go into the house and throw up. That was no fun, and Michelle
was more than sympathetic. She'd
rather have fallen backwards down five flights of concrete stairs, blindfolded, than barf up half an
olive. But if it was going to happen, it'd just have to happen, that
was all. She couldn't do anything,
except get sick, herself, if she hung around. She put the El Dorado into reverse, and backed out onto the
street. Lizzi went into the living
room, walked over to stereo, and the touched the "on" switch. That soft, Bosa Nova stuff that
Michelle liked came out of the
speakers. "Well, am I gonna
do it, or not?" Actually, she
was certain that, if she tried, she could fight down the urge. She'd have to work at it,
though... and... would it really be
worth it? She'd be bloated and miserable for the rest of the
afternoon. Getting her stomach
empty would be a big relief. And she could EASILY make that happen. THAT wouldn't take much work, at all. She'd actively wanted to throw
up, earlier. That had been the heat of
the moment. Now, alone, and facing the reality, she was scared of
the idea, but not so much so that
she could ignore the tingle in her crotch. There were some stomach medicines in the bathroom, but
they never seemed to do her any
good. Once, she'd tried some of that fizzy stuff, and it had almost immediately heaved her guts
out. "There's your
answer, if you want it." Then she remembered how rough unbuffered aspirin could be on her
stomach. Michelle kept a big bottle
of the cheap, generic kind in the night stand. "Pop two or three of those... and then chug down
a big glass of warm water... "
She decided to get undressed while she thought about it. Shedding
her bra and pantyhose would at
least make her more comfortable. First,
though, she found a rubber band and gathered her hair into a pony
tail, just in case. In the bedroom, she began stripping off
her clothes. She looked at herself
in the vanity mirror. She could
actually see the bulge of her
stomach. She looked at it, in the manner of a doctor, who'd
unmistakably identified the cause
of a medical problem. She thought back to breakfast and lunch, to the restaurant, the ice cream parlor and,
finally to the boat. She put her
hand on her belly, and pressed, lightly. Immediately, her nausea strengthened by a corresponding amount, as did
the agitated feeling farther down.
She took her hand away and swallowed. Her eyes went to her dark blond triangle. "You've got a one track mind, Girl." "That's what got me into
this." She rubbed her
stomach, again, once more teasing her sickness. She closed her
eyes and let her hand slide down to her mound. "If you broke your leg, you'd probably grab the nurses
ass in the emergency
room." "Only if she was
hot, and if she threw up on me." She'd always been aroused by the sight or the thought
of someone vomiting. She
remembered, from when she was a teenager, looking up "nausea" and "vomit" in the dictionary,
the way the other girls did words
like "penis". 'Nausea: The sensation of impending vomiting. A
sickness at the stomach, with
loathing for food, and an inclination to vomit.' 'Nauseate: To cause nausea.'
'Nauseous: To cause, or to affect with nausea.' 'Nauseated: to be affected with
nausea.' 'Vomit: To disgorge the contents of the stomach through the mouth.'
"Uuuulllltttthh... I feel like I'm maybe gonna disgorge." The house
felt awfully warm, all of the
sudden. Naked, she went out to the patio and lay down on the porch swing. Her position increased the pressure on her stomach, and the
motion reminded her of the rocking
of the boat. She closed her eyes. The sound of the artificial waterfall that was part of the fish pond
increased the effect. "I AM gonna throw up," she
said, aloud. The realization mashed down on every emotional button in her head. Every single one. Her
forehead was sunnenly beaded with
cold moisture. She felt the leaping butterflies, and rubbed her stomach, again, not quite for comfort, but
slightly hard, and more than
slightly masochisticly.
"Shit..." she sighed, letting out a deep breath. This wasn't
what she'd wanted. Her thoughts drifted back across the
afternoon. Toward the end of
the meal, she'd stepped off to the ladies. As she was coming back, the captain had shown up. Eavesdropping, she'd
had heard him propose taking
everyone out for a ride, to get used to the boat, before they actually had to go to work. She had gotten a
crazy, sexy idea. Her kind of
"sexy" that was.
She was going sailing with a bunch of the hottest mannequins in the business. Right after lunch... She
practically came standing up, when
she thought of all of them all hanging over the rail, offloading
their cargo, with their sassy
little tushes sticking straight up in the air. Nothing in the world could get her off more quickly. "Wooooooofffff!!!!!" Would any of them get sick,
though? Well, they might...if they had some help...
She'd intended to wait until they were well at sea, and then start whining about how sick she was feeling.
If it looked as though it was
working, she'd have really gone to town. "Did anybody else have the fish? Did it taste all
right? I shouldn't have eaten so
much of it! What if it was spoiled?
Oooohhhh.... I KNOW I'm
gonna get sick, NOW!" With
any luck, enough of that would have gotten to somebody, and that would probably done in somebody else,
and then, well... But, if it
hadn't, she'd been willing to go even farther. Some people could be talked into puking. But, some
need little extra shove... sort
of... an example... She
wasn't immune to motion sickness, by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn't give a fuck! That was
the thing! She'd gone back to the
buffet and refilled her plate, piling on macaroni salad, curried chicken, salmon mousse, coconut cream
pie, cheese cake... She even
remembered wishing that there'd been beef stroganoff! God! Even she
was appalled, now, thinking about it.
Still, if it had worked... When
she knew that it was going to come up, she wasn't going to demurely retreat to the head, or the stern of
the boat. Oh, no. She was going to
let it catch her by "surprise", and unload all over the middle
of the deck, right in front of
everybody, as noisily, as messily, and as
ostentatiously as she could. That'd have done it, by God! Then, when she was "all
better", and the rest of them were on their knees, laughing at the water, she'd be there for them, all
sympathy, all understanding, all
soothing, caressing...WANDERING hands... Oh, it would have been hot!
She'd been all primed and ready, as they'd motored away from the harbor. Then, Shannon had come up to her,
eyes damp, shoulders hunched, looking
terrible. One arm was pressed against her midriff, just below her breasts, the other held a wadded
kleenex to her lips. Her upper lip was
drawn back from her pretty white teeth, in that unmistakable look.
Her face was frighteningly pale,
making the pinkness of her mouth absolutely startling.
Automatically, Lizzi had reached out to take her arm, and lead her
off to the privacy of the head.
Then the girl whispered to her.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..." The unmistakable terror in
her voice made Lizzi draw
back. "I've never been
on a boat, before... I didn't want to... I hate getting sick! Why didn't they tell us we were
going, before they let us eat?"
She began to cry, silently.
Lizzi should have loved hearing those words from such a beautiful girl, but the fear in the lost little voice
melted her. Her plan had gone
straight overboard, and she'd spent the rest of the trip comforting
the other girl. It hadn't been easy. She'd had to choke
back her own self inflicted
sickness, which had been almost out of control, by that time. If she'd gotten sick, or even excused
herself and disappeared into the
head, Shannon wouldn't have been able to take it. She'd held on, though, and gotten
both of them through it. After they'd
docked, she'd had two of the other girls walk Shannon around the
marina green for a few minutes.
She and Michelle had left right away. Michelle had been in a strange mood. She really was bothered by all
of the attention Lizzi had paid to
Shannon, but, she was proud of her lovers
kindness, too. She, herself lived in terror of seeing anyone throw
up. She'd kept her distance. "Ohh...SHAAAANNNNONNN.... "
Lizzi thought. "Why did you have to be so scared? Or so nice?
If you'd been a little bit brave, or a little bit bitchy, I wouldn't have felt so sorry
for you. We'd both be fine, now."
She rubbed her belly. "Maybe we'd even have had some fun..." She closed her eyes and let the swing do
its thing on her, the way the boat
and the car had. Back and forth... Back and forth...up and down... "Up and down, and allllllll
aaarrrooouuuuundd." "You
really are enjoying this," she thought. She doubled her other hand into a fist and pressed against,
forcing it against her solar plexus.
She thought of the girls on the boat, but only for a moment. Then,
she was back to Shannon. "I'll probably throw up,
Lizzi..." She loved remembering
the words. She tried to imagine how the other girl had felt, on the cruise. "I'll probably throw up,
Lizzi..." She lay back and
let her legs relax, one sliding down into the space between the seat and the back of the lounge, the other
sliding off until her foot touched
the floor. She looked down at her naked belly touching it with one hand, the other draped
across her forehead. "I'll
probably throw up, Lizzi..."
She sighed. "I'll DEFINITELY throw up, Shannon." She began to tickle herself, between
her open legs. "Pretty
fucking soon, Shannon."
"Pretty fucking soon, Shannon... Fucking pretty Shannon,
soon."
"Heeeeeeeeeeeee!!" There were all kinds of reasons why that
wasn't going to happen, but was
pretty good word play, for a girl with a sick tummy, and it drew moisture to the place that she was touching. She
began to masturbate, in
earnest. "I wonder if I have
time for this," she thought. "Fuck time," she whispered. She didn't have to move from the swing, if she didn't want
to. If something happened, she
could clean it up. It'd be easier, here than if she tried to get to the bathroom and didn't make it. God, though, there was gonna be a lot
of it. And all that milk. She'd
thrown up milk, before. She'd never forget it. She wondered if the
whole quart was still in her
stomach, or if some of it had already gone further down. Then she realized that the milk was the last
thing she'd had, so it would still
be there, even if some of the other stuff
wasn'te. It would be the last thing to go, the regular way. Now,it
was going to be the first. She'd
have to throw up a whole quart of slimy,
lumpy curdy yellow stuff, before anything else came out of her
mouth. "I'm really
gonna make a mess," she thought, squeezing her breast, bringing both her sickness and her
climax even closer. Then, she
realized that, though the concrete would be easy to clean up, the
fabric of the couch wouldn't be.
She rolled over onto her stomach and leaned her head over the edge of the seat, feeling the blood sing
in her ears. She drew up her knees
a bit, to gain better access to her privates. She was surprised at how slippery she was, inside. "I'll probably throw up,
Lizzi... I'll probably throw
up, Lizzi... I'll probably throw
up Lizzi..." She kept
playing back the words, over and over in her mind, as she worked on herself. In spite of her
better nature, she couldn't help
wishing that Shannon had thrown up. While they were leaving the
harbor, Lizzi had gone for a pee,
and had discovered the "head". It was fucking incredible! It was a little
compartment, a bit bigger than a phone
booth, all paneled in polished teak. There were shiny brass rails and fittings, everywhere. The floor was
done in those cute little, old
fashioned, white tiles that looked like honeycombs. The bowl was the best part,
though. It was brass, too, and had a
varnished wooden seat, and an old fashioned hand pump. The name plate was a white porcelain oval with a blue
eagle painted into the glaze.
Everything was spit and polished.
"What a BITCHING place to puke!" she'd thought, at once. Now,
she wished that she could have
taken Shannon, alone, into the little private room, and knelt with her, their bodies crowded together in the
tiny space, while the stunning
girl threw up every last morsel of solid in her stomach, and every last splash of hot, tangy liquid that her
body could produce. She'd have been sick herself, then,
surely. The motion, and the
confinement, the smell, just the raw, sexual excitement would have done it for her, and they'd have filled the
shiny brass bowl together, their
mouths gushing, pouring twin streams thick, and body warm, until they were exhausted, unable to move,
afterward, and lay there, sweating, in
the tiny, humid little compartment... "Ohhhhh...Shannon..." Lizzi rubbed herself,
frantically... "What if a
girl like that, a healthy, strapping, beautiful girl like her, ate everything she could hold, then got
sick... vomited... lost everything
to nausea..." Her
fingers worked inside her, furiously. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi...I'll probably
throw up, Lizzi... I'll probably
throw up Lizzi..."
"I'LL PROBABLY THROW UP, LIZZI!!" "Get to the bathroom, you idiot, her thinking brain
screamed at her, from behind the
dancing fire in front of her eyes, shrieking to be heard above the twin stoirms in her guts and
loins, above the "SLAP!
SLAP!SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!" of her thrusting hand. "You've got to
sit up, at least!!" She threw back her head and arched her
back, rising up from the swing,
then slammed back, down, hard. Her belly took the full impact. Her climax came at the very same
moment. She couldn't give in
to it, without losing the concentration that was keeping her from being sick, and didn't try. As the pleasure
tore through her, she breathed,
convulsively, and saliva poured into her
mouth. She slid off of the seat and hit the floor on her hands and knees. It was going to happen! At the last instant, she got
another wild inspiration. She
stood up and bolted from the patio,
charging through the house. It was so
exhilarating that she almost laughed. How classic, dashing for the bathroom, the way people did, in those
last giddy, panicky seconds before
their mouths filled with hot, ruined food, when the false hope of winning the battle with nausea had been
held for too long, and the only
choice they might still have was deciding where to be sick, and only
if it wasn't too late even for
that! She got to the toilet
in time, leaned over, and let her mouth go slack. She coughed and gagged, but didn't retch. Disappointment
made her almost frantic. She
turned and grabbed the water glass that was sitting on the sink. She filled it, took a deep
breath, and raised it to her lips.
She almost managed to get it all down, in three big gulps, but the
last of it went down the wrong
way. She choked. Immediately, the glass
refilled, then overflowed. A thick torrent of hot, white curds gushed
up all over the back of her
hand. She lowered the glass and
emptied it into the bowl. its contents hit the water, next to the more powerful stream that was pouring out
of her. Again, she thought of
Shannon, of what it would have been like, to have, gone into the head with her. The glass slid from her
slippery fingers and rolled across
the floor. "Oooooohhh ...
Shannon... " she thought. "Have you ever thrown up milk?" Suddenly, she was filled with a primal
loathing for the milk, and the way
it felt inside her, for the hard curds sliding over her tongue, for the way they tasted. It was more than
nausea. She hated the milk. She
hated the water that she'd drank. She was glad that it had come
right back up. She wanted
everything to come up... wanted to see all of it splatter into the bowl. She was furious that it hadn't,
before... afraid that it still
wouldn't. The sound she made
was as much a scream of rage and frustration as a retch. Still, it triggered the second wave, and she knew
that she didn't have to worry.
When it ended, all of the milk was gone, and the rest of it was coming up. It tasted different,
it even sounded different, hitting
the water, and in the way it sounded, coming up, the lumps of solid interrupting the flow of air from
her throat... coming up with a
gargling sound, not smooth and flowing, like the milk... But it was good... SO GOOD Getting rid of it, at
last...and the best part was that
there was more...she could tell...
She thought of Michelle, then. She wanted her there, with her, her comforting hands caressing her back and
belly, kneading her hard nippled
breasts, slipping into her. She felt like a witch, because she knew
that seeing her like this would
make Michelle sick, and she knew that the
woman hated to vomit. She was wishing for something that her lover detested, but she couldn't help it. She
wanted both of them, together,
filling the bowl. She
let her mouth fill, again and, again, savoring the stinging tang, the cresting and flowing, her muscles
flexing like a huge hand,
squeezing everything out of her. Finally, too exhausted to stand,
she fell to her knees, her arms
draped across the rim of the bowl.
She must have been finished. She knew that she couldn't hold much more, surely.. No, she wasn't. It didn't
matter... It wasn't bad... not at
all... vomiting... throwing up...not once you gave in to it ...
like seduction... But was it
seduction, if you didn't have a choice? If was forced on you... But, if you wanted it to happen? If it was
your own body, doing it to you? If
it felt so good... It was all right, then, wasn't it? She couldn't make up her mind... She had no mind
left... It was dissolving in her
sickness... Everything came to her from through a thick, cottony haze, as though she were semi-conscious, not
far foom some unimaginably wild
and violent public event... A riot, in Times Square, on New Years Eve... All noise and motion, and
power... but...remote...the
blurring jets of semi liquid swirling in the bowl felt no more connected to her than if they'd been badly
focused images on a movie screen.
She was only sensation... All she could do was feel and hear and smell ...The desperate primal noises, the
scents were more personal than
sexual excretions... coming, as they did, from even deeper within her. Deliriously, she worried that she might slump forward,
into the bowl and drown . She
tightened the grips of her hands on the rim, as she strained, again, weakly and, finally, dryly. Sometime later, she realized that
she was lying on the cool floor. The
pale green ceiling swam just beyond the focus of her vision. Coming to herself, she smiled. She recognized the feeling of her
emptied stomach beginning to
settle. The sensation was as unique and characteristic as the nausea which was its
counterpoint. "Ohhhh!!!!!!!! That's
better!!!!!!!!" Her voice was raw and nasal. She sat up and looked into the toilet bowl, breathing in the
heavy scent that wafted up from
it. She cleared her throat, and
realized that her nose was stuffed. She got some toilet paper from the roll, and blew into it. On the
third try, she rid herself of a
large wad of mucous. She looked at the paper and saw an undigested shred of lettuce, amid the
snot and puke. "That's
the only part I really hate," she thought, wadding the tissue. Shakily, she stood up and threw
the paper into the toilet. She drew some
more lumpy mucus down from behind her soft palate, leaned over, and
spat them into the bowl. She found
the glass and washed it, then rinsed her
mouth. She picked up her
toothbrush and loaded it with paste. As she brushed her teeth, she stood, absently
gazing down at what had been
inside of her. Her club sandwich and macaroni salad floated, placidly, chewed and partly digested,
but plainly recognizable. The
clabbered Haggan Daas pineapple sundae, curried chicken, salmon mousse, coconut cream pie, cheese cake, there
was even the little sprig of
parsley that she'd chewed, waiting for Michelle to take care of the check. Snaking through all of it was a
brown ropey string that had to be
that one chocolate truffle... God, what a persons stomach did to
food. "Especially anything
with milk or cream in it," she remembered, seeing all of the yellow-white curds.
"And you carry stuff like that inside you, most of the time. There's something to think
about!" She spat toothpaste
onto the wad of toilet paper that floated on her puke, and rinsed her mouth with water from the glass. She
squirted the water out of her
mouth, trying to sink the toilet paper. The contents of the bowl rippled as she watched. She turned on the faucets
and waited until the water ran tepid, then washed and dried her face. She reached back and pulled the
rubber band from her hair, tossing
it onto the drain board. She
picked up a brush and went to work on her hair. As she was finishing, she noticed that she was
feeling sweaty. She didn't want to
take a shower, so she rubbed on some deodorant, and dabbed perfume
on the insides of her wrists and
behind her ears. She dropped Murine into
her reddened eyes, and dabbed on a bit of make up, to cover her pallor. She looked into the mirror,
satisfied. She turned back
to the toilet, not moving for a long time. She noticed that her ears were still ringing, a
slightly, and thought of how she'd
sounded, being sick. Some day, she was going to have a recorder going, while she vomited. It would be great to
have a tape that she could pop
into her Walkman, as a surreptitious accompaniment to some of Michelle's fantastic tongue work. She reached down
to flush the toilet.
"NO! WAIT!" She
had to have a picture, first. She ran and got her Polaroid, then leaned over the bowl and took three
shots. She lined them up on the lid
of the toilet tank, and went to her hiding place to get the others
from her diary. She came back and
put them together with the new ones, which were beginning to show up. "The color's a little different, this time...This
is more orange looking." It was hard to tell if there was more,
this time, because she'd done it
in the toilet. Last time, it had been in the laundry sink, but, she finally decided that her record from
last summer was intact. At last,
she did flush the toilet, and watched the water flow in over everything. The level rose up and
dropped, swirling down the throat of
the bowl in a spinning stream. She turned away only after it had
all washed down and the bowl had
refilled. Before she did, she pulled the
handle again, to get the last bit of oily residue, and the little flecks that the first flush always left
behind. She gathered up her
pictures and left the bathroom, leaving on the light, so that the fan would take away the smell. With
everything safely put away, she
slipped into bed, for a nap.
She thought about. The only unsatisfying thing about her
relationship with Michelle was her
lover not being into throwing up. She'd never even be able to tell her about what had just happened, without
grossing her out. The most she
could do would be to mention it, casually, in passing, during their pillow talk. She imagined herself, quietly breathing
the words, "I DID throw up,
while you were gone, Michelle." Even this would have to wait until after the
lovemaking. She moved and felt
dampness on the inside of her thigh. She wondered if she'd somehow been sick on herself. When she checked,
though, she found that the moisture
was pure sexual arousal. Wow, she was hot. She and Michelle were going to have a good time,
later. She was touched,
again, thinking about their conversation in the car, but she really wasn't bulimic. She was, what was the word?
Emetophylic! She made a conscious effort to relax and drift off to sleep. She
wanted to be rested when Michelle
got back. Maybe her earlier plans had blown up, but the day wasn't over, and Michelle was coming back.
She had a whole new set of
plans. Plans. Somehow, that
got her back to thinking about Shannon. It was funny, but now that she was home, in the bed that she and
Michelle shared, she realized that
she had utterly no desire to sleep with
anybody else. She probably never would. It felt nice. She rolled
over onto her side and found
Michelle's pillow. She hugged it, smelling the scent of her lovers hair and cologne. They belonged
together, the two of them, and
they belonged here, in the city, doing exactly what they were doing. Go back to Iowa, Shannon. Go back and look up one of
the dozens of local studs who must
still be pining away for you, and fill up your life with multiple orgasms. That would work for you. It really would. I can tell, just by the way it
felt, being around you.
But keep in touch. Have a bunch of babies, and write me long,
poetic, clinically detailed
letters, telling all about your morning sickness.
midnight whispers
Thursday 28 June 2018
Lizzis' Afternoon
Lizzi sat on the passenger side of the El Dorado, her eyes closed, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless
line, and bore the motion of the car
as best she could. Her plans for the day had gone completely off
track, and now, the ride back to
the house was making feel even sicker than she had on the boat. She was glad when they left the freeway. It
meant that the long car ride was
almost over. Good. She breathed
slowly, deeply and carefully. Michelle glanced over from the
drivers seat. "You're
awfully quiet, Hon." she said.
"Mmm...? Oh, I'm sorry." Lizzi answered. She opened her eyes
and pasted on a smile. Steeling
herself for conversation, she made a highly understated admission.
"I'm just feeling a little... you know...kind of..." She put
her hand on her stomach and stuck
out her tongue. "Blecccch!
That boat ride kind of got me. I mean, I liked it, it was great. Your friends were great. Especially
Shannon. I'm just... not a very
good traveler, I guess. "
Michelle took her foot off of the gas, letting the car slow down,
and started to pull over.
"Need to get out and walk around, a little?" "Mm mm." Lizzi shook her
head. "I could put the top
down, if you need air."
"You don't have to do that." "Want to drive? That might help." "No. Really. It's OK. I don't feel
really SICK sick, like, like I'm
gonna, you know, throw up, or anything. Besides, we're almost home, anyway." She swallowed. "I just...
wouldn't have eaten so much, if I'd
known we were going."
She smiled, feebly, hoping that Michelle would take it as a gesture
of fortitude. Actually, the grin
reflected her own amusement and,
naturally, she and Michelle had sat together. Being around so many gorgeous models had done its
thing on Lizzi, pretty fast. All
of them had been flaunting their charms, their rosy nipples showing through their thin little tops,
their tight buns squeezed into
tighter retro-seventies hot pants, God. There were even a couple of strands of Irish red pubic hair
sneaking to view, here and there. To top
it off, Michelle had been covertly slipping her hand down between Lizzi's thighs all through the meal.
Before long, she was well worked
up. Then, the last of
the party showed up. That was when she saw Shannon. Michelle noticed that Lizzi kept looking at the girl, and
wasn't quite sanguine about it.
She shouldn't have worried. Lizzi wasn't a coquette. Besides, it got around fast that Shannon wasn't into girls.
Lizzi had liked her,that was all.
Literally "liked" her. Everybody had. The other girls were top drawer, sharp, friendly and,
gorgeous, but Shannon put them all
in the shade. In the shade! Hell, in the fucking DARK! Next to her, they came off like a pack of
cannibalistic androgynes. She was... generous! That was the
word. Exactly. She was from Iowa.
Adel, the town was, Lizzi remembered. A farmers daughter? If not,
she should have been. She was that incredibly sexy, wholesome
type that those words conjured, in
popular myth, tall, and stunning, like some huge flower. Generous. That really said it, physically, as
well as in her attitude. Her smile made Lizzi think of one
of those passive martial arts, like
Tai Chi, or something, soft, powerful, and completely disarming. She
had heart braking
"breeders" hips, that smoothed into long Betty Grable legs. Her breasts were an invitation to
pleasure. They had the kind of
nipples that were always going slightly hard, beneath her bra and blouse. They begged to be kissed and
sucked and caressed, by a lover, by
herself, Onanisticly, and, by the cooing, suckling babies that
would come, eventually, when her
salivating womb was flooded with seed.
In a 'Forties movie, she would have been cast as the golden hearted Salvation Army girl, who didn't know
that she was drop dead beautiful.
Still, she had to know, Lizzi thought, or she wouldn't have been
trying to be a model. Shannon a model! Never happen. As
beautiful as she was, her look was all
wrong, for the '90s. Nor could she ever cultivate the right "I'm
too cool to fucking bother"
attitude. She could be an actress, if she had the talent. Yeah, an actress, easily. But not a model. She
was too damned sweet, so sweet,
and so special that she had completely ruined Lizzis fun.
Michelle broke into the girls reverie. "You really did put it away, Sweet
Thing. Even on the boat. I saw you
knock off a whole quart of milk." "Yeah." That gave Lizzi a jolt. She didn't know
that anybody had seen that! She
thought fast. "I was...kind of seasick... I thought milk was
supposed to be good for a sick stomach." "Oh, Honey! That's for heartburn or ulcers, not nausea!
It's a miracle it didn't make you
vomit!" "I didn't know
that," Lizzi lied. It wasn't a miracle to her. It was an aggravation. On the way out, she'd
gulped down the milk, as part of her
plan. Then, she'd had to scrap the fucking plan, and now she was
paying for it. "You always eat like that, and
look at you, Miss Hardbody," Michelle said. Staring straight ahead, she lowered her voice. Lizzis
upset stomach and routinely
liontine appetite brought to mind something that had been bothering her, lately. "Listen, Lizzi. I've been meaning to talk to you. You
eat like three people, and you
look great." She turned and looked at the girl. "You're not doing anything dumb, are you? You know,
like some girls do... when they
like to eat, but... they want to stay thin?" She kept shifting her attention between Lizzi
and the street, waiting for an
answer. "What?"
Lizzi looked at Michelle. "Oh, no! God, no!" she said, after a moment, catching the meaning. "I
hate throwing up!" That was an absolute lie, but a white one. She wasn't bulimic. "I just, you know.... do a
lot of exercise... keep in shape. And I've always had a big appetite." She smiled, put her hand on
Michelle's leg, and squeezed. "I love you," she said,
meaning it. "I'm OK! Really!" She turned away and, leaned against the top of the cars
door. "But, you know, I kind
of wish you hadn't said that, right now." "Sorry I brought it
up." Lizzi turned around and
looked at Michelle, wide eyed. Michelle gave her a questioning look, then caught on. They both giggled. Lizzi
leaned back and closed her eyes. "Ohhhhh..." She could still
feel the motion of the boat.
'Up and down... up and down... Up and down, and all around.' Lizzi had read that somewhere. In some
story, or novel. A girl was
getting ready to throw up, and kept chanting that to herself,
mentally, while her lunch, a
peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a warm coke, sloshed around in her stomach, "in an extremely
nauseating way". 'Up and
down, and allll aaarrrooundd.'
Now, thanks to her own efforts, and the wild card that Shannon had dealt into the game, Lizzi was in the same
position, stuck with a big load of
sloshy stuff that clearly did not like being where it was, and felt
as though it was getting bigger
and more unstable with every perceptible
motion of the car. She hadn't expected it to stay with her for this long, but, since it had, she did hope
to get home with it. She didn't
want to get sick all over the car, or on the street, in front of a
bunch of strangers. Michelle concentrated on
her driving, hoping that she'd gotten a
truthful answer. A couple of minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of their rented house. Lizzi
picked up her purse and leaned
over to Michelle, giving her a birdlike peck on the lips. "I gotta go," she said. Michelle stared as the girl slid of her
seat and headed for the house. Her
face had been cool and clammy when they'd kissed, and she looked pale. Plus, that had to have been the
most half hearted little goodbye
they'd ever shared. Lizzi's kisses were never dry. And she hadn't
wasted any time getting out of the
car. She watched her hurry along
the walk way and up to the front door. She was certainly wasn't acting as well as she said she felt.
Well, if she was nauseated it
wouldn't be any wonder. All that rich food and all that running around, the stress of meeting
everybody, and then the boat ride,
and what had happened with Shannon. And drinking MILK! Michelle shuddered. "The poor little thing." She smirked at herself for being a
worrier. She was obviously just
reacting to her own pathological fear of vomiting. Besides, Lizzi'd probably be all right, now that she was
out of the car. Even if she wasn't,
the worst that could happen was that she'd go into the house and throw up. That was no fun, and Michelle
was more than sympathetic. She'd
rather have fallen backwards down five flights of concrete stairs, blindfolded, than barf up half an
olive. But if it was going to happen, it'd just have to happen, that
was all. She couldn't do anything,
except get sick, herself, if she hung around. She put the El Dorado into reverse, and backed out onto the
street. Lizzi went into the living
room, walked over to stereo, and the touched the "on" switch. That soft, Bosa Nova stuff that
Michelle liked came out of the
speakers. "Well, am I gonna
do it, or not?" Actually, she
was certain that, if she tried, she could fight down the urge. She'd have to work at it,
though... and... would it really be
worth it? She'd be bloated and miserable for the rest of the
afternoon. Getting her stomach
empty would be a big relief. And she could EASILY make that happen. THAT wouldn't take much work, at all. She'd actively wanted to throw
up, earlier. That had been the heat of
the moment. Now, alone, and facing the reality, she was scared of
the idea, but not so much so that
she could ignore the tingle in her crotch. There were some stomach medicines in the bathroom, but
they never seemed to do her any
good. Once, she'd tried some of that fizzy stuff, and it had almost immediately heaved her guts
out. "There's your
answer, if you want it." Then she remembered how rough unbuffered aspirin could be on her
stomach. Michelle kept a big bottle
of the cheap, generic kind in the night stand. "Pop two or three of those... and then chug down
a big glass of warm water... "
She decided to get undressed while she thought about it. Shedding
her bra and pantyhose would at
least make her more comfortable. First,
though, she found a rubber band and gathered her hair into a pony
tail, just in case. In the bedroom, she began stripping off
her clothes. She looked at herself
in the vanity mirror. She could
actually see the bulge of her
stomach. She looked at it, in the manner of a doctor, who'd
unmistakably identified the cause
of a medical problem. She thought back to breakfast and lunch, to the restaurant, the ice cream parlor and,
finally to the boat. She put her
hand on her belly, and pressed, lightly. Immediately, her nausea strengthened by a corresponding amount, as did
the agitated feeling farther down.
She took her hand away and swallowed. Her eyes went to her dark blond triangle. "You've got a one track mind, Girl." "That's what got me into
this." She rubbed her
stomach, again, once more teasing her sickness. She closed her
eyes and let her hand slide down to her mound. "If you broke your leg, you'd probably grab the nurses
ass in the emergency
room." "Only if she was
hot, and if she threw up on me." She'd always been aroused by the sight or the thought
of someone vomiting. She
remembered, from when she was a teenager, looking up "nausea" and "vomit" in the dictionary,
the way the other girls did words
like "penis". 'Nausea: The sensation of impending vomiting. A
sickness at the stomach, with
loathing for food, and an inclination to vomit.' 'Nauseate: To cause nausea.'
'Nauseous: To cause, or to affect with nausea.' 'Nauseated: to be affected with
nausea.' 'Vomit: To disgorge the contents of the stomach through the mouth.'
"Uuuulllltttthh... I feel like I'm maybe gonna disgorge." The house
felt awfully warm, all of the
sudden. Naked, she went out to the patio and lay down on the porch swing. Her position increased the pressure on her stomach, and the
motion reminded her of the rocking
of the boat. She closed her eyes. The sound of the artificial waterfall that was part of the fish pond
increased the effect. "I AM gonna throw up," she
said, aloud. The realization mashed down on every emotional button in her head. Every single one. Her
forehead was sunnenly beaded with
cold moisture. She felt the leaping butterflies, and rubbed her stomach, again, not quite for comfort, but
slightly hard, and more than
slightly masochisticly.
"Shit..." she sighed, letting out a deep breath. This wasn't
what she'd wanted. Her thoughts drifted back across the
afternoon. Toward the end of
the meal, she'd stepped off to the ladies. As she was coming back, the captain had shown up. Eavesdropping, she'd
had heard him propose taking
everyone out for a ride, to get used to the boat, before they actually had to go to work. She had gotten a
crazy, sexy idea. Her kind of
"sexy" that was.
She was going sailing with a bunch of the hottest mannequins in the business. Right after lunch... She
practically came standing up, when
she thought of all of them all hanging over the rail, offloading
their cargo, with their sassy
little tushes sticking straight up in the air. Nothing in the world could get her off more quickly. "Wooooooofffff!!!!!" Would any of them get sick,
though? Well, they might...if they had some help...
She'd intended to wait until they were well at sea, and then start whining about how sick she was feeling.
If it looked as though it was
working, she'd have really gone to town. "Did anybody else have the fish? Did it taste all
right? I shouldn't have eaten so
much of it! What if it was spoiled?
Oooohhhh.... I KNOW I'm
gonna get sick, NOW!" With
any luck, enough of that would have gotten to somebody, and that would probably done in somebody else,
and then, well... But, if it
hadn't, she'd been willing to go even farther. Some people could be talked into puking. But, some
need little extra shove... sort
of... an example... She
wasn't immune to motion sickness, by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn't give a fuck! That was
the thing! She'd gone back to the
buffet and refilled her plate, piling on macaroni salad, curried chicken, salmon mousse, coconut cream
pie, cheese cake... She even
remembered wishing that there'd been beef stroganoff! God! Even she
was appalled, now, thinking about it.
Still, if it had worked... When
she knew that it was going to come up, she wasn't going to demurely retreat to the head, or the stern of
the boat. Oh, no. She was going to
let it catch her by "surprise", and unload all over the middle
of the deck, right in front of
everybody, as noisily, as messily, and as
ostentatiously as she could. That'd have done it, by God! Then, when she was "all
better", and the rest of them were on their knees, laughing at the water, she'd be there for them, all
sympathy, all understanding, all
soothing, caressing...WANDERING hands... Oh, it would have been hot!
She'd been all primed and ready, as they'd motored away from the harbor. Then, Shannon had come up to her,
eyes damp, shoulders hunched, looking
terrible. One arm was pressed against her midriff, just below her breasts, the other held a wadded
kleenex to her lips. Her upper lip was
drawn back from her pretty white teeth, in that unmistakable look.
Her face was frighteningly pale,
making the pinkness of her mouth absolutely startling.
Automatically, Lizzi had reached out to take her arm, and lead her
off to the privacy of the head.
Then the girl whispered to her.
"I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..." The unmistakable terror in
her voice made Lizzi draw
back. "I've never been
on a boat, before... I didn't want to... I hate getting sick! Why didn't they tell us we were
going, before they let us eat?"
She began to cry, silently.
Lizzi should have loved hearing those words from such a beautiful girl, but the fear in the lost little voice
melted her. Her plan had gone
straight overboard, and she'd spent the rest of the trip comforting
the other girl. It hadn't been easy. She'd had to choke
back her own self inflicted
sickness, which had been almost out of control, by that time. If she'd gotten sick, or even excused
herself and disappeared into the
head, Shannon wouldn't have been able to take it. She'd held on, though, and gotten
both of them through it. After they'd
docked, she'd had two of the other girls walk Shannon around the
marina green for a few minutes.
She and Michelle had left right away. Michelle had been in a strange mood. She really was bothered by all
of the attention Lizzi had paid to
Shannon, but, she was proud of her lovers
kindness, too. She, herself lived in terror of seeing anyone throw
up. She'd kept her distance. "Ohh...SHAAAANNNNONNN.... "
Lizzi thought. "Why did you have to be so scared? Or so nice?
If you'd been a little bit brave, or a little bit bitchy, I wouldn't have felt so sorry
for you. We'd both be fine, now."
She rubbed her belly. "Maybe we'd even have had some fun..." She closed her eyes and let the swing do
its thing on her, the way the boat
and the car had. Back and forth... Back and forth...up and down... "Up and down, and allllllll
aaarrrooouuuuundd." "You
really are enjoying this," she thought. She doubled her other hand into a fist and pressed against,
forcing it against her solar plexus.
She thought of the girls on the boat, but only for a moment. Then,
she was back to Shannon. "I'll probably throw up,
Lizzi..." She loved remembering
the words. She tried to imagine how the other girl had felt, on the cruise. "I'll probably throw up,
Lizzi..." She lay back and
let her legs relax, one sliding down into the space between the seat and the back of the lounge, the other
sliding off until her foot touched
the floor. She looked down at her naked belly touching it with one hand, the other draped
across her forehead. "I'll
probably throw up, Lizzi..."
She sighed. "I'll DEFINITELY throw up, Shannon." She began to tickle herself, between
her open legs. "Pretty
fucking soon, Shannon."
"Pretty fucking soon, Shannon... Fucking pretty Shannon,
soon."
"Heeeeeeeeeeeee!!" There were all kinds of reasons why that
wasn't going to happen, but was
pretty good word play, for a girl with a sick tummy, and it drew moisture to the place that she was touching. She
began to masturbate, in
earnest. "I wonder if I have
time for this," she thought. "Fuck time," she whispered. She didn't have to move from the swing, if she didn't want
to. If something happened, she
could clean it up. It'd be easier, here than if she tried to get to the bathroom and didn't make it. God, though, there was gonna be a lot
of it. And all that milk. She'd
thrown up milk, before. She'd never forget it. She wondered if the
whole quart was still in her
stomach, or if some of it had already gone further down. Then she realized that the milk was the last
thing she'd had, so it would still
be there, even if some of the other stuff
wasn'te. It would be the last thing to go, the regular way. Now,it
was going to be the first. She'd
have to throw up a whole quart of slimy,
lumpy curdy yellow stuff, before anything else came out of her
mouth. "I'm really
gonna make a mess," she thought, squeezing her breast, bringing both her sickness and her
climax even closer. Then, she
realized that, though the concrete would be easy to clean up, the
fabric of the couch wouldn't be.
She rolled over onto her stomach and leaned her head over the edge of the seat, feeling the blood sing
in her ears. She drew up her knees
a bit, to gain better access to her privates. She was surprised at how slippery she was, inside. "I'll probably throw up,
Lizzi... I'll probably throw
up, Lizzi... I'll probably throw
up Lizzi..." She kept
playing back the words, over and over in her mind, as she worked on herself. In spite of her
better nature, she couldn't help
wishing that Shannon had thrown up. While they were leaving the
harbor, Lizzi had gone for a pee,
and had discovered the "head". It was fucking incredible! It was a little
compartment, a bit bigger than a phone
booth, all paneled in polished teak. There were shiny brass rails and fittings, everywhere. The floor was
done in those cute little, old
fashioned, white tiles that looked like honeycombs. The bowl was the best part,
though. It was brass, too, and had a
varnished wooden seat, and an old fashioned hand pump. The name plate was a white porcelain oval with a blue
eagle painted into the glaze.
Everything was spit and polished.
"What a BITCHING place to puke!" she'd thought, at once. Now,
she wished that she could have
taken Shannon, alone, into the little private room, and knelt with her, their bodies crowded together in the
tiny space, while the stunning
girl threw up every last morsel of solid in her stomach, and every last splash of hot, tangy liquid that her
body could produce. She'd have been sick herself, then,
surely. The motion, and the
confinement, the smell, just the raw, sexual excitement would have done it for her, and they'd have filled the
shiny brass bowl together, their
mouths gushing, pouring twin streams thick, and body warm, until they were exhausted, unable to move,
afterward, and lay there, sweating, in
the tiny, humid little compartment... "Ohhhhh...Shannon..." Lizzi rubbed herself,
frantically... "What if a
girl like that, a healthy, strapping, beautiful girl like her, ate everything she could hold, then got
sick... vomited... lost everything
to nausea..." Her
fingers worked inside her, furiously. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi...I'll probably
throw up, Lizzi... I'll probably
throw up Lizzi..."
"I'LL PROBABLY THROW UP, LIZZI!!" "Get to the bathroom, you idiot, her thinking brain
screamed at her, from behind the
dancing fire in front of her eyes, shrieking to be heard above the twin stoirms in her guts and
loins, above the "SLAP!
SLAP!SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!" of her thrusting hand. "You've got to
sit up, at least!!" She threw back her head and arched her
back, rising up from the swing,
then slammed back, down, hard. Her belly took the full impact. Her climax came at the very same
moment. She couldn't give in
to it, without losing the concentration that was keeping her from being sick, and didn't try. As the pleasure
tore through her, she breathed,
convulsively, and saliva poured into her
mouth. She slid off of the seat and hit the floor on her hands and knees. It was going to happen! At the last instant, she got
another wild inspiration. She
stood up and bolted from the patio,
charging through the house. It was so
exhilarating that she almost laughed. How classic, dashing for the bathroom, the way people did, in those
last giddy, panicky seconds before
their mouths filled with hot, ruined food, when the false hope of winning the battle with nausea had been
held for too long, and the only
choice they might still have was deciding where to be sick, and only
if it wasn't too late even for
that! She got to the toilet
in time, leaned over, and let her mouth go slack. She coughed and gagged, but didn't retch. Disappointment
made her almost frantic. She
turned and grabbed the water glass that was sitting on the sink. She filled it, took a deep
breath, and raised it to her lips.
She almost managed to get it all down, in three big gulps, but the
last of it went down the wrong
way. She choked. Immediately, the glass
refilled, then overflowed. A thick torrent of hot, white curds gushed
up all over the back of her
hand. She lowered the glass and
emptied it into the bowl. its contents hit the water, next to the more powerful stream that was pouring out
of her. Again, she thought of
Shannon, of what it would have been like, to have, gone into the head with her. The glass slid from her
slippery fingers and rolled across
the floor. "Oooooohhh ...
Shannon... " she thought. "Have you ever thrown up milk?" Suddenly, she was filled with a primal
loathing for the milk, and the way
it felt inside her, for the hard curds sliding over her tongue, for the way they tasted. It was more than
nausea. She hated the milk. She
hated the water that she'd drank. She was glad that it had come
right back up. She wanted
everything to come up... wanted to see all of it splatter into the bowl. She was furious that it hadn't,
before... afraid that it still
wouldn't. The sound she made
was as much a scream of rage and frustration as a retch. Still, it triggered the second wave, and she knew
that she didn't have to worry.
When it ended, all of the milk was gone, and the rest of it was coming up. It tasted different,
it even sounded different, hitting
the water, and in the way it sounded, coming up, the lumps of solid interrupting the flow of air from
her throat... coming up with a
gargling sound, not smooth and flowing, like the milk... But it was good... SO GOOD Getting rid of it, at
last...and the best part was that
there was more...she could tell...
She thought of Michelle, then. She wanted her there, with her, her comforting hands caressing her back and
belly, kneading her hard nippled
breasts, slipping into her. She felt like a witch, because she knew
that seeing her like this would
make Michelle sick, and she knew that the
woman hated to vomit. She was wishing for something that her lover detested, but she couldn't help it. She
wanted both of them, together,
filling the bowl. She
let her mouth fill, again and, again, savoring the stinging tang, the cresting and flowing, her muscles
flexing like a huge hand,
squeezing everything out of her. Finally, too exhausted to stand,
she fell to her knees, her arms
draped across the rim of the bowl.
She must have been finished. She knew that she couldn't hold much more, surely.. No, she wasn't. It didn't
matter... It wasn't bad... not at
all... vomiting... throwing up...not once you gave in to it ...
like seduction... But was it
seduction, if you didn't have a choice? If was forced on you... But, if you wanted it to happen? If it was
your own body, doing it to you? If
it felt so good... It was all right, then, wasn't it? She couldn't make up her mind... She had no mind
left... It was dissolving in her
sickness... Everything came to her from through a thick, cottony haze, as though she were semi-conscious, not
far foom some unimaginably wild
and violent public event... A riot, in Times Square, on New Years Eve... All noise and motion, and
power... but...remote...the
blurring jets of semi liquid swirling in the bowl felt no more connected to her than if they'd been badly
focused images on a movie screen.
She was only sensation... All she could do was feel and hear and smell ...The desperate primal noises, the
scents were more personal than
sexual excretions... coming, as they did, from even deeper within her. Deliriously, she worried that she might slump forward,
into the bowl and drown . She
tightened the grips of her hands on the rim, as she strained, again, weakly and, finally, dryly. Sometime later, she realized that
she was lying on the cool floor. The
pale green ceiling swam just beyond the focus of her vision. Coming to herself, she smiled. She recognized the feeling of her
emptied stomach beginning to
settle. The sensation was as unique and characteristic as the nausea which was its
counterpoint. "Ohhhh!!!!!!!! That's
better!!!!!!!!" Her voice was raw and nasal. She sat up and looked into the toilet bowl, breathing in the
heavy scent that wafted up from
it. She cleared her throat, and
realized that her nose was stuffed. She got some toilet paper from the roll, and blew into it. On the
third try, she rid herself of a
large wad of mucous. She looked at the paper and saw an undigested shred of lettuce, amid the
snot and puke. "That's
the only part I really hate," she thought, wadding the tissue. Shakily, she stood up and threw
the paper into the toilet. She drew some
more lumpy mucus down from behind her soft palate, leaned over, and
spat them into the bowl. She found
the glass and washed it, then rinsed her
mouth. She picked up her
toothbrush and loaded it with paste. As she brushed her teeth, she stood, absently
gazing down at what had been
inside of her. Her club sandwich and macaroni salad floated, placidly, chewed and partly digested,
but plainly recognizable. The
clabbered Haggan Daas pineapple sundae, curried chicken, salmon mousse, coconut cream pie, cheese cake, there
was even the little sprig of
parsley that she'd chewed, waiting for Michelle to take care of the check. Snaking through all of it was a
brown ropey string that had to be
that one chocolate truffle... God, what a persons stomach did to
food. "Especially anything
with milk or cream in it," she remembered, seeing all of the yellow-white curds.
"And you carry stuff like that inside you, most of the time. There's something to think
about!" She spat toothpaste
onto the wad of toilet paper that floated on her puke, and rinsed her mouth with water from the glass. She
squirted the water out of her
mouth, trying to sink the toilet paper. The contents of the bowl rippled as she watched. She turned on the faucets
and waited until the water ran tepid, then washed and dried her face. She reached back and pulled the
rubber band from her hair, tossing
it onto the drain board. She
picked up a brush and went to work on her hair. As she was finishing, she noticed that she was
feeling sweaty. She didn't want to
take a shower, so she rubbed on some deodorant, and dabbed perfume
on the insides of her wrists and
behind her ears. She dropped Murine into
her reddened eyes, and dabbed on a bit of make up, to cover her pallor. She looked into the mirror,
satisfied. She turned back
to the toilet, not moving for a long time. She noticed that her ears were still ringing, a
slightly, and thought of how she'd
sounded, being sick. Some day, she was going to have a recorder going, while she vomited. It would be great to
have a tape that she could pop
into her Walkman, as a surreptitious accompaniment to some of Michelle's fantastic tongue work. She reached down
to flush the toilet.
"NO! WAIT!" She
had to have a picture, first. She ran and got her Polaroid, then leaned over the bowl and took three
shots. She lined them up on the lid
of the toilet tank, and went to her hiding place to get the others
from her diary. She came back and
put them together with the new ones, which were beginning to show up. "The color's a little different, this time...This
is more orange looking." It was hard to tell if there was more,
this time, because she'd done it
in the toilet. Last time, it had been in the laundry sink, but, she finally decided that her record from
last summer was intact. At last,
she did flush the toilet, and watched the water flow in over everything. The level rose up and
dropped, swirling down the throat of
the bowl in a spinning stream. She turned away only after it had
all washed down and the bowl had
refilled. Before she did, she pulled the
handle again, to get the last bit of oily residue, and the little flecks that the first flush always left
behind. She gathered up her
pictures and left the bathroom, leaving on the light, so that the fan would take away the smell. With
everything safely put away, she
slipped into bed, for a nap.
She thought about. The only unsatisfying thing about her
relationship with Michelle was her
lover not being into throwing up. She'd never even be able to tell her about what had just happened, without
grossing her out. The most she
could do would be to mention it, casually, in passing, during their pillow talk. She imagined herself, quietly breathing
the words, "I DID throw up,
while you were gone, Michelle." Even this would have to wait until after the
lovemaking. She moved and felt
dampness on the inside of her thigh. She wondered if she'd somehow been sick on herself. When she checked,
though, she found that the moisture
was pure sexual arousal. Wow, she was hot. She and Michelle were going to have a good time,
later. She was touched,
again, thinking about their conversation in the car, but she really wasn't bulimic. She was, what was the word?
Emetophylic! She made a conscious effort to relax and drift off to sleep. She
wanted to be rested when Michelle
got back. Maybe her earlier plans had blown up, but the day wasn't over, and Michelle was coming back.
She had a whole new set of
plans. Plans. Somehow, that
got her back to thinking about Shannon. It was funny, but now that she was home, in the bed that she and
Michelle shared, she realized that
she had utterly no desire to sleep with
anybody else. She probably never would. It felt nice. She rolled
over onto her side and found
Michelle's pillow. She hugged it, smelling the scent of her lovers hair and cologne. They belonged
together, the two of them, and
they belonged here, in the city, doing exactly what they were doing. Go back to Iowa, Shannon. Go back and look up one of
the dozens of local studs who must
still be pining away for you, and fill up your life with multiple orgasms. That would work for you. It really would. I can tell, just by the way it
felt, being around you.
But keep in touch. Have a bunch of babies, and write me long,
poetic, clinically detailed
letters, telling all about your morning sickness.
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