I Loves You, Piggy

by Alon Greggori

Gay taboos are hardly taboos at all. Have a gay best friend? You know that we like to kiss and tell and give you the nooks and crannies of even the most explicit encounters. Water sports? Bloodletting? Sadomasochism? No problem. Sit down and we’ll have kombucha over it. But have you heard of Scat? No? That’s because it's probably the only true taboo left. And now it’s here for you to read. I wrote it, but you clicked it.

I ate lots of avocado toast and danced to post-modern pop star, SOPHIE, that day. I  hoped a good idea for a character would come to mind, but I mostly just ate avocado toast. It was like most times I tried to follow a writer’s morning routine, or whatever that means. My laptop was littered with dozens of unx’ed porn tabs. There were tabs that showed my last attempts at adulthood, my school portal, maybe a bank statement, but mostly just shirtless Arab guys getting tickled.

After I stuffed my mouth with enough toast, I washed it down with blueberry pre workout (it’s nothing short of a legal version of meth that makes things fast and beautiful.) I did a last looks in the mirror, wiped the blue from my lips, fixed my hair however it wanted to let itself get fixed, and slipped on my running shoes.  I always wanted to look my best even when I was mouth breathing and covered in sweat and snot. I breathed harder and heavier when I ran past boys to simulate sex sounds.

On the second mile of my run, Grindr messages interrupted Robyn’s ‘Honey.’ Pig emoji messaged me, “Hey man. Nice pic.” He wasn’t so bad himself. Buzz cut, pink lips. We were both looking, my runner’s high was a potent aphrodisiac.  I was given specific instructions to not shower, to not wear deodorant, and to preferably still be drenched in my sweat. But natural scent wasn’t really a fetish I subscribed to— my clinically treated hyperhidrosis and body odor were targets for my Catholic school bullies to hit, not to mention my weight at the time, my unkempt hair. I learned to keep those parts of me hidden, or erase them completely.

It was only until college that I glowed up and men wanted everything from me. They wanted relationships with me. They wanted my time and attention. They wanted me. It was a thrill to be seen, finally, but I found myself hate-fucking most of those college guys. I imagined my bully’s eyes in theirs. It’s really less morbid than it sounds. Most the time, it made for better sex.  Although I never fully worked out my attraction to assholes; my craving for a man to put me back in my place of shame.

Piggy peeked out of his window from a small apartment. He was much shorter in real life, his picture had given me a stunted perspective of his height— photographed from the waist up, his eyes were pointed to his nipples in his mirror selfie. A shit-grin smile that oozed sexual prowess was the only thing that translated.  How many times did he shift, pose and repose, to make his body look like he wanted it to? His head not too big for his body like it clearly was now? His movements made him seem like a different person too. He darted around with insectile-like bursts, whipped his head fast, blinked irregularly and for no reason.

Piggy talked a lot but small. He gave me a quaint tour. “My sister stays in that room, but she’s never really around,” he told me, “my room is over there.” On his bed, I smiled too much. I kissed him to fill the silent spaces.  Piggy looked at my crotch and pulled my pants down. Sucked my flaccid penis once or twice and lost interest. He turned me over and buried his face in my ass. Inhaled deep. My eyes went big. Wow. I’ve been eaten out before, but it usually made me squirmy and ticklish. This was too intense to be playful. “Have you emptied out today?” I dropped the nervous laughter.

Piggy laid a towel on his carpet with the calm of a masseuse. He laid supine. “Sit on my face,”  I stayed at the edge of the bed. “Come on.” I slid my underwear completely off and went to him. A mirror was propped in the corner of his room, my reflection, a cross between horror and disgust. My naked body, awkward and imbalanced on his face.   “Come on baby give me your shit.” My face sunk in the mirror.

Have you ever tried to pee while someone watched you?  It’s very difficult. Now imagine taking a shit directly into a man’s mouth.  I pushed and pushed but there nothing came out. I “emptied out” as I usually did after my runs so hardly anything came out. How was I supposed to know? He slid his finger in and out like fishing for quarters in a coin return. My face turned red and then slightly purple, a big vein snaked down my forehead. I felt lightheaded.  Until finally, it all came out. It rushed like lava.

Piggy stayed on the floor and swished my insides around in his mouth. I go up and watched him from the edge of the bed. He flashed a smile, his teeth and tongue stained an artificial, arctic blue from the pre workout. He pointed to and puckered his lips.

“Um can you just, you know, rinse with Scope?”

Piggy,  took a big gulp before he could speak.

“Yeah, sure,” unsurprised by my request.  At least he was polite enough to not talk with food in his mouth.

“I’m sorry I’m just not used to this.”

“No worries, baby!”

While Piggy was in the bathroom, I laid on his bed, a mixture of feelings washed over me. I couldn’t believe what I had done. But did I have reasons to be ashamed? Piggy loved it, he wanted more than I could give.  I knew it wasn’t for me almost immediately. But why didn’t I stop?

It was on the fateful day that I discovered a darker part of me that craves power, total domination, to have a man under me like that, it was unlike any other thrill. I wanted to make him feel less, worthless, like those boys made me feel in school. But Piggy felt rewarded, he returned from the bathroom and laid next to me. “I like you. I want to see more of you.” I nodded in a numb stupor. His words faded into the background. Something about how sweet my shit tasted.  He had no idea of my real intentions.

Since the day I left Piggy’s place, I have been hyper aware of my asshole. Do you ever remember that you have a tongue and how weird it feels in your mouth? It was like that but I never forgot the feeling of my asshole. It is its own entity now, omnipresent. My scat encounter had left me imprisoned in my mind, but not from what you might think The grotesqueness wasn’t what bothered me so much as the uglier parts of myself that I discovered in the process. Perhaps taboos are scary because if we scratch their surface, we can find different sides of ourselves, sides that others may find shocking, strange, uncomfortable. But all a taboo is, is a truth that has yet to be discovered. Do you know your truth?


Cover Image by Reva Ochuba