Edward Lee: Header 2

Case Piece remained unable to speak.

What he viewed was, indeed, a human being, a naked human being, and one who had to weigh over 300 pounds. She—Melda—sat on a broad bench, elephantine legs parted, while beneath the bench sat a bucket for the manifest purposes of elimination. An extra-wide wheelchair had been folded up and set aside; Case Piece easily deduced that that’s what was used to wheel her in here, and the handicapped elevator was the mode by which she was actually admitted into the motor home. Rolls of pallid fat seemed stacked upon more and more rolls where her lap should be, but half-covered by two flat slabs of still more fat which were, of course, breasts. Each horrendous slab was the size of a ten-pound flour sack but with nipples akin to bologna slices; and from the nipples sprouted veins like some organic Van de Graaf Generator.

The woman was, in all, a human hulk, pale as mashed potatoes, cellulite-riddled: a female Jabba the Hut with bunned brown hair and a sprawling pubic wedge the size of a third of a pizza. The bench that this unfortunate person sat upon…bowed slightly against the mammoth weight, and the previously noted smell which wafted off the pile of flesh was, at best, becoming unspeakable. Ankles swollen by acute diabetes-related edema were connected to big, strangely curved feet whose skin seemed off-pink and pin-prick tight. Toenails, inches long, resembled corroded bamboo shoots. No navel was visible, for the fat-rolls, while her bulbous, multi-chinned face looked like a relief pressed into a massive white pile of baker’s dough.

Unnoticed when juxtaposed with this living spectacle was a digital video camera on a tripod, several lights, and sundry other equipment.

“See her legs?” Paulie said.

Case Piece looked, still speechless. Melda’s shins and thigh-bones seemed slightly curved, and there was something about her hips that appeared oddly and quite abnormally splayed.

“Melda ain’t never walked in her life,” Paulie said. “Some off-the-wall bone disease or some shit. But it’s that same disease that makes her special.”

What’s so special ’bout a giant, fat, honkie ghetto cow? Case Piece thought, queasy just looking at her.

Now Paulie’s grin seemed bright as a tensor lamp. “Ready for the cool part? Huh, Case Piece? You ready?”

“I—”

“Melda, show Case Piece what makes you special,” came the order.

“Oh, sure, Paulie!” the catastrophic woman piped. She reached under her knees and, with some effort, pulled up and spread her massive legs.

“That some fuckin’ poo-putt groaty motherfuckin’ shit, Paulie!” Case Piece wailed without conscious forethought because, see, the unruly pink seam of Melda’s vagina was, like, almost a foot long. “This scary bitch got the giantest fuckin’ pussy in the world!”

“Aw, shit, Case Piece. You ain’t seen nothin’, ” and then Paulie directed, “Okay, Melda. Open wide…”

Melda released a deep, sub-octave groan while simultaneously pushing her stomach muscles out. As the gargantuan belly very slowly expanded…the gargantuan vagina very slowly opened…

It opened to an aperture the circumference of a common cereal bowl.

“Ain’t that somethin’, Case Piece?”

Case Piece now had his hands over his face; he was trembling. “Paulie! That woman got a motherfuckin’ impossible fuckin’ pussy, man! That the scariest shit I ever seen! Shit, man! You could put a fuckin’ bowling ball in there!”

“Not quite. We tried. See, we don’t just make snuff flicks, we make all kinds of gross-out flicks for the underground perv market. You name it, we do it,” Paulie boasted. “Wet-flicks, nek-flicks, scat-flicks, torture-flicks, kp, farm animals, shit like that. And giant pussy flicks.”

Cristo added his two cents. ‘Believe it or not, there’s guys out there who get turned on seein’ gross-out stuff, and they pay to watch flicks of women gettin’ things stuck up their cunts.”

“We shoved all kinds of shit up there,” Argi added. “Greased coconuts, cantaloupes, jars of fuckin’ mayonnaise, loaf of pumpernickel…”

Cristo recollected, “Oh, yeah, and that head of napa, head of cabbage, head of iceberg lettuce—”

‘Fuck yeah!” Paulie’s memory kicked in. “And, like, that time Bam Bam Jr. stuck four rolls of polenta up there, oh, and then that big ball of Edam cheese. And, fuck, I swear I remember us packin’ a beef brisket in her once, too.”

“Naw,” Argi said, “I think it was a rump roast, boss.”

Paulie reflected with a nod. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a rump roast, and I also think we stuffed up a seven-pound fall squash.”

Cristo clapped and blurted, “And, shit, that time when Argi didn’t like the rotisserie chicken he got at Boston Market ’cos it wasn’t brown enough!”

The three mobsters howled laughter.

“Anyway,” Paulie calmed down. “That’s the kind of dudes there are out there; they pay to see gals with giant pussies get stuff stuffed up ’em.” He put an arm about Case Piece’s shoulder. “Now, I want you to look hard at that pussy and think about what else might fit up there.”

Case Piece, now nearly in tears, looked paralyzed at Paulie. “Not a…not a…huh-huh-huh…”

“A human head? ” Paulie cracked his hands together. “Bingo!”

“But-but-but-but…that’s fuckin’ impossible!”

Paulie shrugged. “Doc, tell Case Piece why it ain’t impossible.”

Forlorn at the prospect, and fairly gagging at the smell, the good Doctor Prouty began, “Melda suffers from two regrettable maladies, one congenital and one post-surgical. We’ll start with the latter: Melda is approximately 40 years old now, and in spite of her, shall we say, uncomely physical appearance and the obvious vaginal abnormality, there have been men in the past who’ve actually had the fortitude to partake in intercourse with her—”

“Some guys’ll do anything for a nut, huh, guys?” Paulie said, then he, Argi, and Cristo laughed.

“Indeed. And just as women in ghetto-environments are wont to do, she’s had many children, all in the interest of advancing her food voucher allowance and subsidized housing credits. However, immediately after the birth of her first child, some 20 years ago, complications demanded a surgical procedure known as an episiotomy: the bottom of the vaginal fissure was cut just enough to allow the newborn head to pass. Afterward, the incision was stitched up but pressure from subsequent births caused the episiotomy to tear open again. One can only re-stitch episiotomy incisions so many times before they begin to…gape. The result is a vaginal pass considerably larger than that of women so unafflicted, a condition called enlarged aggravated introitus .” Prouty had to steady himself, deliberately averting his eyes from what Melda continued to display. “The second condition, a congenital one, is a very rare and unfortunate maladaptation of the bones known as Anberg Syndrome, identified by the famous Latvian physician and medical researcher, Dr. Nora Anberg. Anberg Syndrome affects only one in one hundred million women; hence, the rarity. A corrupt gene mechanism arrests the proper ossification process of infantile bone development—exclusively, the bones of the legs and pelvis. In other words, Melda’s legs and hips aren’t fully calcified, they’re more the consistency of cartilage and therefore flexible. This of course precludes Melda’s ability to walk but it also affords her a ‘variable pelvic spread.’” Prouty now took a wizened breath. “So, given the combination of Anberg Syndrome and the enlarged aggravated introitus, the endeavor to insert an entire human adult head into Melda’s vaginal barrel is quite easily achieved…”