HISTOR-RECTUM-ME

[marc.garrett]

HISTOR-RECTUM-ME


I remember looking at a horse turd when I was a slip of a lad; my family was
on holiday. We, my mother, father, sister and I, spent our family break
mostly wandering around the countryside on enforced walking adventures. I
recall it vividly and the cottage we were staying in did not have a
television, which caused much stress for my sister Annie and I. we were
immensely disturbed of the fact that we were missing all our favourite
children's programs.



Dad was keen on walking and always said that it would do us the world of
good if we followed suit. Annie and I were not as infused by the idea but he
still dragged us out into the painfully boring, countryside all the same. I
never did appreciate the nature scene; there was never any people to
accidentally bump into, no policemen for mimicking silly walks. Not enough
streets and houses for us to play knock down ginger in, no shops to steal
sweets from, just very slow tractors.

Anyway it was a scorching hot day in the year 1976, the Indian Summer. There
was a draught across the whole country and we were roasting like bacon under
the blazing sun. We came across this field and there it was a massive turd
and it smelled wonderful. Flies buzzed around our heads as we all flicked
them aside. The horse that had laid the shit stood proud, it was taller than
my dad and he was six foot odd. Everyone laughed and made the usual jokes
about the size of the horse's dick as it hung, unselfconscious, vulnerable
and bare. I was more interested in its droppings, hypnotized as another turd
escaped from the horse's ass and plopped onto the dry grass, scorched by the
sun.
It fascinated me so much so that my father had to drag me away from the
scene as I moaned loudly. He had a different agenda planned, so we had to
carry on with the days booked mission, the family's official expedition.

That night in our rented cottage a few hours after everyone had finally gone
to bed. I sneaked down the stairs out of the back door and followed the lane
for a while, until I came across the field where we had seen the horse
earlier that day. My small frame climbed over the steel gate and jumped into
the field. There was no sign of the creature so I began collecting as much
horse shit as possible and placed it all in one big pile. After spending
about half an hour building a heap of horse shit in the middle of the field
I decided to undress.
It was very warm and the excreta glistened under the silvery, shine of a
crescent moon. My naked, white body stood above the mass, pausing
apprehensively. I took a deep breath and smelled the aroma on my hands and
stood still captured by the moment, excited and nervous at the same time. I
slowly knelt and dipped my hands into the half-crusty, slimy solution and
then dipped my nose into it. Then immersed the rest of my body into the
abundantly large amount of horse-shit.

As I rolled around in it, experiencing its voluptuous stickiness, my mind
flashed back to the memory of my father's mud wrestling videos. Of course he
was not aware that I knew of their existence, but you know kids, they can
instinctively discover all the best hiding places.

I stumbled across them on one of my 'seeking out the family secrets',
adventures. Amongst numerous nude magazines, condoms, straps and other
strange and fascinating objects I found three videotapes. The covers
displayed females fighting in mud; these images immediately caught my eye. I
ran downstairs, drew the curtains so no one could see from outside and
placed one of the videocassettes into the video player. The video player was
not like the digital ones that we use theses days, although it was exactly
like the one they had at my school. It was big, clumsy, and noisy and it
didn't always work. This time it did work and the visuals that appeared onto
the screen at first made me laugh. The sight of full grown naked, woman who
were probably the same age as my mother, throwing each other around in mud
seemed hilarious and pointless at first. Suddenly my attention focused on
the mud that the two females were playing around in. A close-up of one of
the women's buttocks filled the screen. I paused the frame and looked more
in detail at the image before me; I began to feel a slight tingle in my
bones. I could just make out her bum-hole as her bare ass was covered in
mud. Then it hit me; they were fighting in pretend shit.


After this revelation my interest for excreta became an obsession, my
attention for shit references started go wild and innuendoes flourished, as
well as taking the odd sneaky trip to my parents bedroom when the rest of my
family was out. Television was my lifeline in my youth, there were plenty of
films and adventure serials on the box that gave me constant information and
pleasure, feeding my new found very secret hobby. The Amazing Adventures of
Tarzan was one of my favourites, serialized on BBC1 every Saturday morning
and Tarzan always seemed to in some kind of kinky scrape. He would be
half-naked, swimming and splashing around in dense, insect, infested water
and looking pretty sexy, or he would be wallowing in my most cherished
medium - mud. Whenever I saw someone being swallowed by quicksand on the
television, my nerves tingled and I would imagine that it was shit and that
it was I who was in it, with my naked, vulnerable flesh being engulfed.


http://www.furtherfield.org/mgarrett/shit.htm