Okay a show of hands, please.  How many of your remember Gross Stories 
Volume 1?  My god I'm ashamed of every one of you who actually stopped 
wanking long enough to put their hand up.  Well, many people who read my 
tale of Slim, the pig-fucker have requested that I produce another 
installment in the series.  So here it is:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Debbie was awakened by a horrible sound.  She found herself sitting 
upright in bed, completely disoriented.  Had it been a nightmare?  Some 
unspeakably hideous thing had just happened and she grasped mentally to 
clear the panic from her head and piece together what it was.
  No, thought Deb, it wasn't a nightmare.  She'd been soundly curled up, 
lost in a warm and comfortable dreamland when the ear splitting blast had 
forced her from that state.  It had been next to her.
  Deb looked down at her boyfriend.  He was lying prone, next to her on 
the bed.  Her nostrils curled back in disgust as realization hit her.  This
had been one of Mike's early-morning surprises.  Lately, they were 
happening with increasing frequency.
  Mike's eyes opened and he groggily looked up at her, an expression of 
blissful relief upon his face.  He focused on Deb's look of shocked 
repulsion and, when he realized he was the cause, shot her his trademark 
lunatic grin.
  Debbie was not amused.
  Mike slowly rolled over in slow, almost comical fashion that might 
remind one of a bear coming out of hibernation.  "God-damn", he sighed, 
"That was one to remember!"
  "That was the most disgusting thing I have ever had the displeasure of 
having happen to me!", Deb snarled as she moved for the opposite side of 
the bed.  She tried to put as much distance between herself and the 
source of her disgust as possible, hoping to get away from him before 
the terrible stench that invariably followed one of Mike's gaseous 
eruptions permeated her delicate nose.
  Too late.  Before she even had both feet on the floor, the smell hit 
her with full force.  She choked back nausea and moved to the doorway.  
It did little to help.  Last night before bed, Mike had wolfed down a 
triple-fried egg sandwich smothered in picante sauce.  The post-digestive 
odor of such a culinary nightmare was not something mere mortals were 
likely to evade.
  She glared at her boyfriend from behind watering eyes.  He was lying on 
his back, still grinning with pride and satisfaction.  He had his fingers 
interlocked behind his head, elbows pointing out to either side, enjoying 
the warm feeling his flatulence always left him with.  This wasn't just 
the inner-peace that came with a great accomplishment, this was actual 
tangible warmth.  A glance at the windows proved it.  The glass was 
completely fogged up from the sudden rise in temperature and humidity.
  "Mike, I think you need to see a doctor or something.  This is the third
morning this week that I've had to be rudely awakened by your gas!"
  "Are you kidding?!?", he said, enjoying Deb's reaction almost as much 
as the feat that had prompted it, "Nothing brings more pleasure into my 
day than starting it off with a nice, juicy blast of methane, Baby!"
  Deb wasn't willing to endure the befouled air of the bedroom a second 
longer.  She headed for a nice shower, leaving Mike to wallow in the 
stink he had created.
  At breakfast, things had calmed down.  They quickly had their morning 
toast, exchanging only a few sentences before putting their dishes in the 
sink and leaving for their respective jobs.  On the way out, Mike noted,
with no small amount of disappointment in his voice, that little 
olfactory evidence of this mornings air-pollution remained.
  Deb stared him right in the eye, and in a serious and unwavering tone 
one might ascribe to a prophet fortelling the end of the world, said, 
"Michael, let me just say that if you continue to do that, one of these days 
you're going to wake up and fart your guts right out."
  The image of such an event kept Mike giggling all the way to work.
  It did not, however, deter him from making the morning release of 
intestinal-pressure a morning routine.  As weeks passed, scarcely a 
morning went by where Deb did not find herself being startled from 
slumber by flatulence of legendary proportions.
  One moment, she'd be snuggled up against the warmth of her pillow, and 
the next, she'd be scrambling from the room in mortal fear of the vapor 
that erupted from her boyfriend's rectum with such force that it caused the 
immense, pasty-white mounds of bloated fat that passed for his buttocks 
to flap and reverberate like the end of an overfilled balloon when it is 
let go of.  Mike's gas was a truly frightening thing that began as a low 
ominous gurgling deep within his massive gut and ended in a thunderclap 
that had the presence of a sousaphone player putting every ounce of 
effort he can muster into letting fly one long, drawn-out bass-note from 
his instrument.
  The noisome aroma these daily blasts brought with them as they tainted 
the air, was a marriage of the pungent sting of sulfur one normally 
associates with swamp mud, and a very fecal scent of decay, not unlike 
raw sewage.  It hung in the air like a physical entity and as Deb became 
more and more familiar with its presence at each daybreak, she would 
always remark, as if it gave her comfort to envision, "I swear to God, 
Mike, one of these mornings one of those farts is going to blow your guts 
clear out your ass into your underwear!"
  One fateful morning, Deb awakened without the aid of Mike's anal 
outbursts.  It was Thanksgiving weekend and he had nowhere to be.  
Debbie, on the other hand, wanted to get her turkey into the oven bright 
and early.  As she began to thaw and prepare the bird, she realized that 
this was the happiest she'd been in a long time.  The thought of being 
out of range when her boyfriend's normally unavoidable release of 
bowel-pressure hit, filled her with delight.
  As Deb began to remove the giblets from what would later become dinner, 
an idea hit her.  It was such an inspired thought, that she stopped in 
mid-evisceration of the turkey and grinned as she turned the idea over in 
her head, examining it from every angle, not unlike a conniosseur savoring 
a fine red wine at room temperature.  This was just too wonderful to pass up.
  Still grinning from ear-to-ear, she crept back into the bedroom with 
the turkey's internal-organs in hand.  Mike was sleeping in his usual 
facedown position and she had no trouble carefully sliding a 
heaping handful of warm poultry-guts into his boxers.
  Back in the kitchen, Deb went about her food-preparation, eagerly 
awaiting Mike's reaction to her little joke.  She felt like a young child 
on Christmas morning, scarcely able to control her eagerness for what was 
soon to come.  After what seemed like hours, it happened.  This morning's 
blast was no disappointment.  The previous evening's 4 bowls of chili, 
heaped high with cheese and onions caused Mike's sickening emissions to 
spring forth with the power of an explosion.
  The windows rattled.  A book fell off the shelf.  Surely this had 
disturbed tennants in every neighboring apartment.  It had such power 
that, even though she was in the kitchen, her nose was assaulted by the 
conceivably lethal vapors.
  Mike breathed a great sigh of relief and, yawning, rolled onto his 
back.  He distinctly felt a wet and stringy presence beneath him.  His 
eyes snapped open.  The shriek of terror that he unleashed was even more 
violent than the noise he had let out just moments before.
  Forcing her smirk into a look of concern, Deb rushed to the bed.  It 
was empty.  There was no one else in the room, unless you counted the 
rancid stench that could weaken the knees of even the most seasoned 
waste-disposal engineer.  She whirled around, wondering where he'd gone.
  She found him in the bathroom.  He stood in front of the mirror, a 
shade whiter than linen.  He was shaking slightly, and huge beads of 
sweat rolled down his face.
  "Is there something wrong, honey?", Deb cooed, trying to mask her 
pleasure at how well this was working.
  In a trembling voice, Mike whimpered, "Holy shit, Deb!  Holy shit!  You 
were right.  All those times you said it would happen and today it 
finally did.  I woke up and farted my guts clean out!  But by the grace 
of The Lord, and these two hands, I managed to stuff them right back up 
in me!"

--
AThousandLipsAThousandTonguesAThousandThroatsAThousandLu| Allen Wintermute
ngsAThousandWaysToMakeItTrueIWantToDoTerribleThingsToYou| P.O. Box 4827
--------------------------------------------------------| San Jose, CA 
finger wmute@netcom.com for PGP public key.             |       95150-4827