Splatterhouse

Story Submitted by John:

Roughly a year or so after breaking up with Mark, I unexpectedly received a call from him.  Our break-up had been mutual and I didn't have any hard feelings.  He asked if I'd like to get together for coffee. I agreed, and picked him up later that evening.

I asked where he'd like to go, and he suggested we pick up some to-go cups and drive into the mountains. It was getting dark and the dead of winter, but I went along with the idea, as it was something different.

We chatted about little things as we wound our way to the top of the mountain overlooking the city, catching up on what we'd been up to over the past year. Life had been hard for Mark, and I was glad I could cheer him up a little.

We parked and finished our coffee as the sun disappeared completely. The conversation lulled, and Mark leaned in for a kiss. Soon, we were making out, and Mark suggested we go further. I asked him where he wanted to go, since we were an hour from the city and it was 15 degrees outside.

"Let's just do it in the car," he said.

I'm a big guy – 6'1" and 225 pounds at the time – I drove a Toyota Paseo that I didn't so much get into as I put on. The back seat was tiny, and I knew we'd never fit back there. While I thought about this, the much smaller Mark removed his clothes and squeezed on top of me in the driver's seat. Soon, he was riding me like Seabiscuit.

Things were hot and heavy when Mark suddenly stopped. I asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's... it's my stomach..." Mark replied, and lifted off of me. As he disengaged, I felt liquid splattering all over my crotch. I looked down, and it was like someone had dumped a serving bowl of chocolate pudding in my lap.

Mark groaned and slid off to the passenger seat. I looked around frantically for something with which to clean myself, but there was nothing in my car, not even a newspaper. I opened the door and waddled around to the trunk with my pants around my ankles. In the trunk, I found a bucket of handy-wipes for mechanics, the kind with pumice in them.  I did my best to clean up in the cold with half-frozen, scratchy wipes.  Mark was fully dressed and having a smoke, avoiding all eye contact with me.

The mood, obviously, was killed. We were both quiet on the way back to town. I knew he was embarrassed, and when I dropped him off, I tried to explain to him that I didn't have any hard feelings.  "Shit happens," I said, trying to make light of the situation.

Mark meekly nodded and took off.  I never heard from him again.