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You Said a Mouthful

The first time a woman told me she actually ate feces, we were both in our twenties. She was a Jewish blonde with that sexy Gloria Steinem look and that Jewish American Princess attitude. When we were introduced to each other, she seemed eager to go out on a date with me.

It was after we had seen a movie and eaten dinner in a nearby diner, and we were in her Flushing apartment, she told me, “I don’t usually go out to diners, but I made this exception just for you!” I felt special when she said that.

We made out a little—drinking wine on her brown couch, when she said, “You can give me a foot massage but you better be good at it!” Her friends had told her that I used to attend the Eulenspiegel Society, a sadomasochistic organization. “You know one of my goals is to become a dominatrix!” I just nodded my head, concentrating on giving her a good foot massage. And then she began her confession.

David Huberman You Said A Mouthful

“In order to be a good Superior Mistress, you have to experience being submissive. For a while…” She trailed off. “You know, you are good with feet! Do you enjoy my high arches?”

“Yes Mistress,” I said wimpy-like.

“Good. Now where was I? Oh yeah. I was with my lover Carlos. He’s from South America. Real good-looking guy. How I loved his cock!” She was getting excited, and I was beginning to get real horny too. I was now ready to give her my patented Huberman ‘toe/tongue’ job. I hadn’t gotten the signal from her to get down on her toes, but I felt it was going to happen. I was thinking, “Just hold off for a few minutes,” I said to myself. It was obvious she wanted to finish her tale.

“So Carlos tied me up. He was skilled in all those bondage scenes and I was loving it! He had just finished fucking me anally then said, “Honey, how about I shit in your mouth?” Without hesitation I said, “Yeah Baby. Do it!”

Shocked, I stopped my foot massage. For a few seconds I didn’t say anything, and then I blurted out, ”You ate his waste matter”?

“Yes Huberman, from his ass to my mouth!”

I hastily got up. “I gotta go now,” I said.

“Why is that, Huberman? Because I ate shit? It’s shit, Huberman, not your wimpy waste matter.”

“I know that,” I said. “But that’s not the reason I’m leaving. I don’t care if you ate poop.”

I mean I was pretty shocked that she confided in me.

“But the real reason,” I continued, “is you called me by my last name. Anytime a woman calls me Huberman, I know she won’t sleep with me.”

As I was walking out the door, the Gloria Steinem lookalike bellowed back, “I was offering you erotic enslavement, bondage—the door to your soul, Huberman—but you’re an asshole!”

The second time I had a woman tell me her ‘Fable of Toilet Love,’ I was already in my mid-thirties, and I believe the woman was too. She was the personal assistant to a Hollywood movie star during the late nineties. I still remember the starlet’s name, but for obvious reasons she will remain nameless. As for the woman herself, I actually don’t remember her name. Just as well. I don’t want to be sued for money I will never have.

With a pixie-like haircut and a nice tan the way only Irish-Italian women can get, she was a Billy Joel song come to life—an ‘Uptown Girl’ in a skimpy black lace dress and beautiful open-toed Italian shoes. We were skipping and hopping all over the West Village after an AA meeting—making out here and there like a couple of kids, until finally ending up in Washington Square Park. It was an early evening in the month of June—perfect weather. We were curled up together on a park bench ‘getting busy,’ when breathlessly she said, “I know you’re a kinkmeister but I have an amazing story to tell you.”

Déjà vu had come over me but I didn’t know why. All I could say back was, “No, I’m not kinky. Why did you say that?”

She rolled her hazel eyes at me and said, “Oh come on. You keep looking at my feet. It’s not such a big deal, but puhleeze—you’re not a straight-laced guy. I know men!” She paused and said, “Look, forget about all that. I wanna tell you my story…”

I nodded in expectation and responded, “Yes, okay. Confess away.”

Without hesitation she revealed all. “It was a few years ago with a lover of mine. We were in a Las Vegas hotel whooping it up. We had hash oil, the best champagne. Moet and Chardonnay. We were hardcore fucking then we took a break.” Then she turned to me abandoning her far-away eyes. “David! Will you stop looking at my feet! You men with your foot fetishes!”

I shuddered at the thought of not looking. So I stammered back, “Uhh okay, okay.” The hard-on is on hold. “Go on with your tale.”

Her face was flush with emotion. “Where was I? Oh yes…so we took a break and started smoking the hash oil again with tobacco. Then my beau said, ‘Let’s play some role playing games.’ It was amazing! Then after a while my darling asked me to fulfill his wildest request. ‘Honey, I want to take a dump in your mouth!’”

Well, there went my woody. It wilted right down to the size of a cashew. I immediately pushed her off me. Her sexy toes no longer attracted me. “Sorry about that.” She hadn’t taken a dive, having caught herself in the nick of time. “This is a little shocking.”

She straightened herself up and said, “Well, you didn’t have to shove me off your lap like that.”

“I’m sorry but these are pretty weird confessions you’re telling me. By the way, his name wasn’t Carlos, was it?”

“Nooooo…you wouldn’t know him. He doesn’t move in your circles.”

“Oh yeah?” I said defiantly.

She continued with her story. “No bondage for this routine, but I am willing to try it! So I got on the floor in one of my Yoga positions, and Mister Anonymous—I won’t say his name—took a dump right into my mouth!”

She took a pregnant pause, as if a mania had entered her soul, and she was reliving that bitter moment in time. “The smell, Huberman. The most horrible smell I have ever perceived. And the taste—what a horrible, horrible taste! Like nothing I’d ever encountered before. The whole experience liberated me! In a way, it made me the woman I am today.”

I nodded sheepishly. “Yes. I guess it would at that. Well, I imagine all good things must pass.” “Weep wow” I heard in my head as I started backing away.

“Where are you going?” she called out.

“Somewhere…anywhere…just not here. “I want to be by myself for a while.”

And then I hightailed it outta there.

–David Huberman


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4 thoughts on “You Said a Mouthful

  1. Good your were able to make two convenient high-tail, great escapes. You — as we all have –lived and learned.
    No thought of coliform (i.e., fecal type) bacteria, only fetal quandaries, of the
    gestational (i.e., pregnancy), emotionally sane type.
    You know me. Down with l’il J.B.

  2. Good you were able to make two convenient high-tail, great escapes. You — as we all have –lived and learned.
    No thought of coliform (i.e., fecal type) bacteria, only fetal quandaries, of the
    gestational (i.e., pregnancy), emotionally sane type.
    You know me. Down with l’il J.B.

  3. Let’s say, you defined your boundaries during the story experiences. These were paths you chose not to take. It definitely has a vibe of real- raw life.

  4. the foot fetish really does squick out a certain kind of person more than the shit fetish. i think it connotes timid, wimpy men, who are not transgressive enough to really arouse a woman.

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