Einstein's Tongue

Einstein’s Tongue


“I wish there was a way to go into the future, contact the next Jimmy Cremins and test the theory that he was reinseminated by Derrick Johnson and Alice Cremins.” Dr. Yuri Chavchavadze said to the diminutive Dr. Albert Einthoven .”

“Mebbe der iss.” Einthoven said. “Vee haff zee journals of Doktor Hans Sebelius, und he proffieded owa staff vis zee keys to understanding time ass un linear dimension. Einstein vass right, und vee haff zee teknology to zend von owa two of you into zee future to contact yowah young man und test yowah hypothesis.”

What began as skepticism of an untested and extremely futuristic understanding, ability, and technology concluded with the California team plan to use it for their research. The procedure was christened “Einstein’s Tongue.”  That revelation opened up an investigation by Dr. Chavchavadze, who with Dirk Murray, Derrick, and Dr. Beth Slothower, went to New York, the Einthoven Foundation and their Manhattan Project for application of the fantastic procedure. 

Why did you call the phenomena “Einstein’s Tongue?” Yuri askied.

“Effa see zat famous fotograf of Einstein’s tongue?” Einthoven asked. “Venn vee first kondukted zee trip, vee vent to Einstein’s howse in Neu Jersey und aksidentally teleported into hiss showah. Let me tell you zat correlation betveen penis und tongue is relatiff, und zat little man vass vell endowed! Ja, he had a really big dick; dick un lange. Vee took a fotograff of him in zee showah vithout hiss knowing about it. Heah. Look fowah yowaself!” The black and white picture showed the horny little physicist rinsing a fat penis of more than nine inches length, and a journal he kept showed a fascination with the fetishes of vore and macrophilia. Vee vatched him use dat talent vid zee bois und gerls im zee nastiest vehs. Zee genius vass und grossen pervert!”

“Damn!” Dirk said. “Who would have thought?”

The three days Chavchavadze, Slothower and Derrick were sequenced twenty one years into the future through cyclotronic critical, cascade bombardment by Higgs Boson antimatter to use unified field force of black hole paradox singularity, empowered by Hadron II to strip mass from their DNA and for them, shift the dimension of time. Their three days spent twenty one years in the future lasted just thirty minutes relative to Dirk, who waited at the Einthoven Foundation, reading from Sebelius’ journal. The three travelers stepped into three separate HB teleporter pods. A low hiss swelled in crescendo to a roar and then reverse sonic boom of an explosion, followed by a deep flash of darkness. Dirk peered into one of the pods and immediately felt a hollow, almost sickening sensation in his gut, like he was gazing into an eternity. The Higgs boson antimatter snuffed out mass, space, light, and time to rend contents of the pod into a black hole singularity.

Alone, somehwat disturbed, Dirk sat down to read.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =


“There was no DNA left in the bone samples we examined, until we found one small pocket deep inside the right femur, and from that tissue and the sample you provided, we confirmed it was Jasper.”

Dr. Cornelius’ words resounded in the mind of Dr. Hans Sebelius. Why would Jasper do this? What lured him to enroll in the FRE Fan Ready to Eat program, and end up in the toilet of teenage heartthrob Zac Efron?

Hans spent thirty years with Jasper’s carefully extracted remains in a box on his desk. The acid-scarred, lifeless bones were a grisly reminder of that day, when he flew to Los Angeles and met Carter, Cornelius, Schaeffer, and other Manhattan Project scientists who converged at the Disney Studio in Burbank. The investigation traced Jasper to the FRE program, and to California, where he was assigned as a meal for his idol, Zac Efron. The team arrived one day too late, and confirmed that Jasper was Zac’s breakfast on 22 March 2009. Fortunately, the star had not yet taken his morning dump when the team of scientists confronted him.

Disney suspended the scheduled film shoot that day, when Efron went with the men to their West Coast lab in Pasadena, where positron emission tomography revealed the digested remains of one dimensionally shifted fan in Efron’s descending colon. However, the Disney Company didn’t incur a loss, as sequences which did not require Efron’s presence were rehearsed and shot. Disney executives were happy to release Efron for the day, as the elder Sebelius was a significant share holder in the EuroDisney branch of the company, and compensated them for the loss in production.

Efron felt a little strange when presented with a photograph of Jasper, and was asked if he remembered the young man. It was the first time anyone came after the fact, to follow up with interest in a fan he consumed. While he could not recall having seen the face, his coach did confirm Jasper’s enrollment and scheduled submission as the star’s breakfast. It was a crap shoot whether the remains in Efron’s colon were the young Sebelius, and the only way to confirm that was to harvest the idol’s feces and recover the remains for testing.

Efron, like many young hopefuls, first worked at the Canoga Park operation, which was the world’s largest motion picture porn studio. The parent company, aware of the squeaky clean, wholesome image that brought billions of customers to their parks and movies worldwide, carefully shielded and distanced themselves from the Canoga Park studio. However the profit margin from Canoga Park was the highest of all the company umbrella projects, and the lure of that money was too strong for CEO Michael Eisner.

When the MP team took Efron into the studio, where his defecation was recorded on camera, it was like a step back to old days at Canoga Park, where the star participated in a number of porn shoots before his breakout role in the wholesome arena. He knew how to give a show.

He posed on the table, on hands and knees, deliberately flexing his anus for the camera, as he felt the big turd move down into his rectum, warming his bottom, and signaling his perfect virgin anus to slowly gape open with a hissing yawn. He barely pushed, putting just enough pressure by abdominal squeeze to move the turd ever so slowly into the opening, and begin the sticky, crackling exit from his warm ass. When a few inches of the knobby, solid waste struck out from Zac’s overstretched anus, he stopped pushing. Cameras clicked, as he showed total control over the digested remains, changing position with the thick turd tightly held by the wide, thin lipped grip of his anus. The movement squeezed too hard, and the solid, knobby pieces dropped to the table.

Zac assumed a new position, and gave a little grunt and push, so the next thick part began its slow, controlled slide from the tight squeeze of his ass. The stretched pink lips pulled sticky strands of bile-stained mucus over the fissures and knobs, each embedded with the skeletal remains of the meal seen in the PET scan. As the thick part left Zac’s body, gravity and peristaltic ripple of his collapsing rectum pushed the mass faster, until it zipped out with a sticky thud onto the table, leaving some residue clinging to the curly hairs around the star’s anus. Efron gave a few final squeezes as his anus contracted into its normal, tight-lipped slit, and a thick, pasty sludge of fecal material scraped off by the rectal squeeze spewed from the anal slit like decorative icing for a cake.

The young star’s buttocks flexed as he rose upright, and pushed the smooth pads of muscle and fat into the provocative round curves that sexually aroused guys and girls around the world. They closed to hide his anus deep in the hairy cleft, indifferent and superior to the thick, compressed log of waste left behind to cool on the set table.

All of Jasper’s bones were found and catalogued. Even the little anvil, stirrup and hammer bones of his inner ears, although there were badly deformed from exposure to stomach acid.

Sebelius never forgot that day, or the words of Dr. Cornelius, and joined the Manhattan Project in pursuit of the most fantastic scientific research of all time.

Sebelius reasoned that time could be controlled by intersection of two simultaneous dimensions and universes, where time and antitime would converge in a kind of maelstrom, with a reversal effect in the respective dimension. For Sebelius, it meant an ability to travel back in time. If the effects actually merged, time would be annihilated, But gravitational force could be used through careful vector direction, to create a maelstrom focused on an isolated area, or even an individual, where time was reversed. The effect would last only as long as the vortex was intact. Once dissipated, the effect would evaporate like vapor in dry air, with normal time restored. Time Antitime Convergence was the only way to recover Jasper, before he enrolled in the FRE program, and was passed through the unforgiving, relentless ripple of mechanical peristalsis and chemical digestion in the powerful stomach of his favorite idol.

The box remained on Sebelius’ desk for an important reason. Thirty years earlier, Efron sat at a cafeteria dining room table at that exact spot, where he consumed the young man.. Now, after careful testing that proved the massive complex of incredibly powerful cyclotronic technologywas sensitive enough, they were ready to implement the technology, focused on the box.

As the stream of energy loops bombarded the uniform point in space and time, the two universes became so hot, all subatomic particles were stripped, and the overlapping space became densely opaque. 300,000 microseconds later, the space cooled enough so the particles coalesced into atoms once again, rendering both universes simultaneously visible, and all the events of the location for thirty years were seen, each in its own peculiar transparency overlapping each other, in reverse order from the other. As the subatomic string loop chronometer approached the morning of March 22, string loop bombardment was slowed. The wispy trace image of the young Efron appeared, as he entered the dimensional maelstrom in reverse and sat down at the table. Sebelius watched the shirtless, muscular belly of the star, knowing at that moment, his son was inside the star’s stomach. There was no distention of the belly, or any other outward sign of the boy.

Efron belched in reverse, and even the sound was faintly audible in the fantastic swirl of the two dimensions. Then in the most fantastic sequence, the star’s Adam’s apple rose, the floor of his mouth below his jawbone dropped, and the feet of his FRE that day slowly emerged from his lips, posed in the embrace of a swallow.

“Are you getting this?” asked Sebelius to the camera crew.

“Yes sir. We are watching it both in real time, and delayed time, to make certain the image is fixed.”

Not until the boy’s face was visible, was the maelstrom brought to that momentary stop, which would dissipate the effect as real time resumed. When Jasper was gripped in the fleshy hand of his idol, another team stood by with the Teleportational Photon Transfer, perfected at the Neils Bohr Laboratory in Copenhagen, and exchanged Jasper for another unknown FRE. Once the quadrillions of energy loops of the two boys were fully exchanged, the event was brought to a stop.

Dissipation was instant. The transparent image of the young Efron was gone, and the dining room table was again, in real time, Sebelius’ desk. Jasper sat in the box, a five inch tall young man of twenty one years age, and the only person ever recovered from the finality of digestion, through the fantastic antitime work of his father.

“Welcome home, son,” said Hans.

“Where am I?” Jasper asked.

“You’re home, safe. You were recovered from your bad decision to enter the FRE program.

“How?” asked Jasper.

“There is too much to tell. But for right now, you are here, and safe, and in a few minutes, we will have you just exactly as you were.”

Ahead was the simple administration to reverse the dimensional shift of the FRE effect, and Jasper would be fully restored. Sebelius and the team left the room, to make preparations for that, leaving Jasper alone, sitting on the box.

Jasper had the residual memories of Efron, because following digestion, his remains were distributed throughout Efron’s body, adding muscle mass to his physique, becoming two copious productions of semen ejaculated from Efron’s stiff penis, into Vanessa Hudgen’s vagina, and most importantly, the star’s brain fats and chemical storage of memory.

Dialogue from 17 Again streamed through Jasper’s mind. However he knew he was wrong for the time, and while his father’s wishes were fulfilled, they weren’t his. Jasper lifted the lid of the box, and went over to the keyboard and microphone of his father’s computer. On the screen was the complex schematic tree of the procedure, in history, of the event just transpired that brought him to this restored state, and point in time. Jasper knew how to read, insert code, undo it, and to make certain there was no attempt at restoration again, he changed one coordinate number, substituting the variable l for 1. Clever lad.

He stretched over the keyboard, tapping Ctrl with his left foot, and F5 with the right hand, knowing that initiated the Undo sequence, with a voice command. He returned to the box, and shouted “Engage!”

When Sebelius and the team returned, just a few minutes later, Jasper was gone. Sebelius never suspected Jasper’s cleverness, and assumed the boy had attempted conventional escape. He implemented a facility-wide search that yielded nothing.

Jasper was once again at March 22, 2008. But substitution of l for 1 put him in a different box.

When Ryan Scheckler lifted the lid, and Jasper looked out, he could not believe his luck. Scheckler lifted Jasper from the box, and with a bright twinkle of his bluegreen eye, said, “Goodbye Mr. Breakfast.” Jasper looked around the room in his brief, last glimpse of the outside world, and saw he was in Ryan’s bedroom. He looked down to watch the young athlete’s sexy belly pulse with a deep breath. Ryan opened his mouth, exhaled humid morning jock-breath over Jasper’s body, and dropped the young man on his tongue. Scheckler salivated and positioned Ryan, and when it felt right, swallowed.

Jasper felt Scheckler rise off the bed, as his abs flexed and squeezed, contracting the tough, slimy, hot stomach muscle around him. It was the second time Jasper had been in an idol’s stomach. He remembered the uneventful last minutes in Efron’s stomach, as that idol spent the morning in studio, only recording a voice track. Scheckler was out the door, skateboard in hand, to practice a special trick sequence, filmed on the bowl set in the Universal back lot. Digestion in Ryan would be a lot more eventful, complete, and fun, or so Jasper thought.

Scheckler’s belly squeezed and flexed as he rode his board from slope to slope in the deep bowl, each time twisting to initiate a new trick that brought wild cheers and applause from the crowd of extras’ gathered around the set. Deep inside his belly, the pool of digestive juices shifted back and forth, only occasionally sloshing, as the powerful muscle gripped Jasper tight, Rippling peristaltic waves swept the foamy juice over him for extraction of the protein Ryan needed for replacement of what the rigorous skateboard workout took. It didn’t take long before Jasper was dissolved into a gurgling soup, noisily squeezed into the jock’s hungry intestines.

Back at Sebelius’ lab, the systematic search produced no results, and Jasper was not recovered. Sebelius sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen, exactly as it was left, when he noticed the slight discrepancy of a replacement l for 1. When he looked more closely, he realized this history showed an Undo command, and he realized that Jasper, more tech savvy than he realized, returned to March 22 + 1 or l, 2009.

Why did his son want so badly to be digested?

Hans Sebelius tried to imagine the feeling and sensation of submission in another man’s stomach. He pulled from his drawer, Jasper’s copy of The Odyssey, with its dog-eared pages of the chapter where Odysseus met Polyphemus. Sebelius read again, having read ten thousand times in attempt to understand;

“To this Polyphemus gave me but a pitiless answer, 'Stranger,' said he, 'you are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me, indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do not care about Jove or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so much stronger than they. I shall not spare either yourself or your companions out of any regard for Jove, unless I am in the humour for doing so. And now tell me where you made your ship fast when you came on shore. Was it round the point, or is she lying straight off the land?'

"He said this to draw me out, but I was too cunning to be caught in that way, so I answered with a lie; 'Poseidon,' said I, 'sent my ship on to the rocks at the far end of your country, and wrecked it. We were driven on to them from the open sea, but I and those who are with me escaped the jaws of death.'

"The cruel giant gave me not one word of answer, but with a sudden clutch he gripped up two of my men at once and dashed them down upon the ground as though they had been puppies. Their brains were spillt upon the ground, and the earth was wet with their blood. Then he tore them limb from limb and devoured them. He swallowed them up like a lion in the wilderness, flesh, bones, marrow, and entrails, without leaving anything uneaten. As for us, we wept and lifted up our hands to heaven on seeing such a horrid sight, for we did not know what else to do. When Polyphemus had filled his huge stomach, and had washed down his meal of human flesh with a drink of neat milk, he stretched himself full length upon the ground among his sheep, and went to sleep, belching lumps of human flesh in his slumber.”

Sebelius reached down to reposition himself, having been inexplicably sexually aroused. He was too traditional, and never connected his arousal of the moment with imagery of the literature. He didn’t even think about it. As far as he was concerned, it was his plumbing just going through one of the many daily diagnostics of erection, He was unaware that his son Jasper had the same fascination and arousal through vore, and through the FRE program, found a way to make the fantasy become his reality. Sebelius fucked so many women all his life, he lost track. He was too traditional, and never realized he too, was a vorarephile. That was never a word with a definition in his vocabulary. For someone so astute and well versed in his science, he was unaware and oblivious to the cause for his own sexual arousal.

He tracked the replacement l for 1, and each one branched off into a different direction, any one of which could have been taken by Jasper.

In two more years of search, Sebelius followed the program branches and trunk to the root that lead to Ryan Scheckler, and found a picture of the young man reclined on his bed, with a familiar FRE box on the desk behind his pillow. Sebelius stared at the washboard of abdominal muscle surrounding the young athlete’s navel, imagining his son writhing and squirming inside as Sheckler’s stomach overpowered and digested him. It was the best new lead he had.

He went to his database, and discovered Scheckler was living less than a mile from the lab, and following his early career as an athletic movie heart throb, became an entrepreneur who opened a chain of restaurants on the California coast.

He pulled out his cell, and contacted Scheckler, introduced himself, and asked if he could meet. It had been years since anyone contacted Scheckler about his early days as a motion picture star, and he was flattered, and interested, that not only would somebody remember, but an older, distinguished man like Dr. Sebelius.

Sebelius arrived and knocked on Scheckler’s door. The big dude who opened the door was a bear. Only the twinkle of his bluegreen eyes and corners of his lips bore any resemblance to the photo of the young star on his bed, with the FRE box on his desk that Sebelius saved.

“Come in,” invited Scheckler, dressed in his running shorts and net T. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked. Sebelius declined the offer. “Please sit down, then,” said Scheckler.

Sebelius looked at the man’s big, bearish belly, more of a weight lifter than a runner or gymnast, imagining his son inside under massage and cover by frothy bubbles of hot stomach acid as he submitted for a second time, to digestion by another man.

Scheckler’s arms, thighs, and butt were big, and packed with huge, solid muscle that rippled with the flex of his movements.

The two men sat on plush, white leather chairs, with a view out the glass doors at Mt. Wilson. Sebelius continued to look at the fat, round belly protruding below the big mounds of pectoral muscle, hanging over the waistband of his shorts as testimony of the countless number of meals once so firmly massaged and converted to complete, total submission in its hot depth, one of whom he was certain was his son.

“What can I do for you?”

Sebelius pulled out a picture of Jasper, handed it to Scheckler, and asked, “Do you remember this boy?”

Scheckler looked at it, and shook his head no. “Sorry.”

Sebelius pulled out the photo of Scheckler on his bed, with the FRE box on the desk, behind his pillow.

“Do you remember this?” Sebelius asked.

Scheckler looked at it as Sebelius explained. Scheckler listened, fascinated by not only the aspect and research, but the intense love the father had for his son, to dedicate his life and work toward finding him.

“My son Jasper enrolled in what was called an FRE program, and I think was assigned to you. See the box on the desk. Do you remember what was in that box?”

Scheckler looked wistfully at Sebelius.

“Yeah, I remember this. It was a little dude my trainer gave me as part of a special protein diet. I didn’t want to eat the dude, but was told I had to. I didn’t want to eat him in the cafeteria, so I took him back to my room. He asked me to swallow him whole, because he wanted to feel me digest him alive. We talked for a while, and he convinced me it was what he wanted. I think I said something like ‘so long Mr. Breakfast. Lemme see that other picture again.”

Sebelius handed Scheckler Jasper’s picture.

Scheckler looked, but could not remember the face. “I don’t think I looked at his face, Dr. Sebelius. I just did what my trainer said to do. I remember being in a shoot that morning too. Did I eat your son?”

“I believe you did,” answered Sebelius.

Scheckler rubbed his hands over his very hairy, bearish belly, feeling a little sorry for Jasper.

“Would you do it again?”

Scheckler stared at the scientist, trying to read his intention.

“Why?” he asked.

Sebelius told Scheckler the story of his research the FRE program, his discovery of Time Antitime Convergence, and Jasper’s recovery from Zac Efron, only to lose him again. He was 99% certain Jasper was eaten and digested this time by Scheckler.

“If I can’t get my son back to be with me, then I want to be with him.”

Scheckler looked at the scientist, and asked, “How?”

Sebelius explained the procedure, and that he was prepared to follow his son.

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I am begging you. I can’t bring him back again. The risk is too great.” Sebelius went on to explain in greater detail.

“We can do it right now,” said Scheckler.

Scheckler stared at the scientist, and saw through the years of study and research, that made him one of the greatest living minds. His training in theatre allowed him to recognize the genuine image of love, so strong and deep, which was no act, but the real thing.

He relented, and told Sebelius he would try.

Sebelius pulled from his pocket, a small metal cylinder with a strange lens on the end, and aimed it overhead at himself. Instantaneously the space between his subatomic particles was dimensionally reduced, and his clothes dropped in a pile onto the floor.

The astonished Scheckler watched, as Sebelius crawled out from the tube of his own pant leg, and stood up.

“Please do it one more time. Eat me too. I just want to be with Jasper, and if he is part of you, then I want to be part of you too.”

Ten minutes later, Scheckler stood at his kitchen counter, hands on the decorative Mexican tile, listening to the active gurgle in his stomach as Dr. Hans Sebelius submitted himself to digestion. Like son, like father. . .

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

“Want me to take care of that for you?” Sally Slothower, Beth’s younger sister asked as she sat down beside Dirk and put her hand on the huge, hot bulge in his pants, covering the potentially embarrassing stain of precum that seeped through to make an erotic wet spot.  Dirk put the journal down open on the face to not lose his place as Slowthower kneeled between his knees and began a massage that led to oral stimulation, and because of Dirk’s huge penis size, the couple consummating with a five minute fuck.

Twenty one years into the future, the time travel trio found Jimmy Cremins, a junior at Columbia University. Jimmy was not exactly the same Jimmy Derrick ate, digested and converted into semen with which he reimpregnated Alice Cremins twenty one years earlier. On campus he was nicknamed Jim Steed for his resemblance to the famous porn star Jake Steed. Some thought Jake Steed might be his real father, since he didn’t at all look like Stanley. He had a reputation aside from being a fine athlete and scholar, for a huge penis and monster ejaculations. He was for a while in the stable of D&D Enterprises studs, before moving to the east coast and enrolling at Columbia.

“Jimmy Cremins?” Derrick said as he approached the lad in the courtyard between the library and Pupin Hall. Jimmy stared at Derrick.

Cremins was almost speechless because he recognized his old family friend. But Derrick was a very tall and very large young man, not the middle aged man he knew in Pasadena who occasionally dropped by to see Alice and Stanley. “Mr. Johnson? Is that you? Is that really you? How did you do that?”

“Jimmy, we’re here because we need your help. We know more about you than probably you do yourself. Your deepest, darkest, most secret thoughts and dreams, and we’re here to try and better understand them.  I want you to read this.” Derrick handed him the page from the Rouse edition of The Odyssey. Jimmy read, and then sat down on the stone bench to read again, and again, because ever since he first read that passage in high school, he predictably became highly sexually aroused. Within one minute, the healthy, plump bulge in his Dockers became a combination chick lure and embarrassment. Jimmy shifted several times for comfort in a futile attempt to conceal his obvious excitement and arousal.

He looked at the page, at Slothower, and at Derrick, eyes in confused bewilderment.

“You know?” Cremins asked?

“Not exactly Jimmy, but we have a theory,” said Beth Slothower, “and we’d like to test some aspects of it. Shall we go somewhere a little more private, with discretion, where we can talk with you, and perhaps collect a sample of your semen?”

“Uh, yeah. I live pretty close, on W 112th Street. “

As they walked down Broadway, Sally could not help but notice Derrick’s features in Jimmy. Her motherly instinct, combined with the fact one of her children was Derrick’s confirmed what the tests would later prove. That Jimmy was reinseminated, and this time the fused product of Alice and Derrick’s DNA, with minute scattered fragments and traces of Stanley’s. At his apartment, Slothower began to seduce and arouse Jimmy for the semen sample they needed, and then asked Derrick to take over while she conducted the psychological interview. Jimmy stopped Derrick and asked him or Dr. Chavchavadze to do the interview, because he felt uncomfortable being touched sexually by a male. Furthermore something seemed uncannily familiar about Derrick, and if he did allow a male to touch his penis, Derrick would be one of the last males he would allow.

“It’s like you’re too close… like you were my dad or something,” Jimmy said. Derrick and Slothower exchanged glances for a fraction of a second with intrigue about how eerily and uncannily accurate that remark was.

“Why did you get an erection from reading that passage?” Derrick asked.

“I don’t know, Mr. Johnson. But the first time I ever read it, in high school, I got the hardest boner I ever had, and it’s been that way ever since.”

“Do you like how Odysseus fooled Polyphemus? Do you like the Cyclops? What turns you on about it?”

For a long time Jimmy stared at the ceiling while Slothower masturbated his hard, throbbing penis. He closed his eyes as if the deepest ecstasy, and then said,

“It’s the stomach that turns me on.”

“Yes, go on,” Derrick said.

“It’s like I’ve been there before. I remember being trapped in a stomach waiting to be digested. I was trying to escape, but the way out was a tightly closed hole up in the roof I could not reach, and I knew that was my only hope. I looked down the other way and saw that hole, and knew it was no escape. It was the wrong way to go, and only bad things happened down there. I felt the hot walls of his stomach constantly flex in effort to push me down into his lake of gastric juices which I knew would begin an unimaginable oblivion for me. It was slippery and sticky to the point of tackiness. Every time the stomach flexed with a contraction, I was squeezed closer to the gastric lake. On the other side I could see into the hole of oblivion, knowing that was the way out only if I wanted to submit, be digested alive, and pumped into the intestines and transformed into shit. I didn’t want that. I didn’t consent to it willingly. But that couldn’t have happened, right? It’s just a nightmare- a fantasy, right? Once you’re shit, there isn’t any coming back from that. Right?”

Jimmy stared at Derrick, who drew his lips back in a wide smile and showed his uniquely gapped, perfect teeth. He seemed to remember those teeth too. He’d seen them many times growing up when Derrick came over to spend time with Alice and Stanley. But for some reason he could not fathom, he remembered seeing them from the inside. Derrick’s tongue seemed strangely familiar.  Then as Derrick opened his mouth in a wide yawn, showing the boy the deep portal to the dreadful abyss of his stomach and digestive system that so easily overpowered and dissolved every victim he swallowed, Jimmy trembled with a fear he didn’t understand.

“May I see your penis?” Jimmy asked.

“My penis?”  Derrick answered.

“Yeah.”

Derrick tugged on his sweats and pulled out his penis for Jimmy to see. The irrational fear he felt gazing into the gaping maw of Derrick’s mouth was calmed by sight of the big penis that twenty one years earlier, delivered his reknitted DNA through Reinsemination into his mother.

“I remember a dream I had shooting as cum from a dick just like yours, Mr. Johnson. I felt myself being squeezed really hard, deep down in the base of that penis, and then travelling up through a warm, slippery tube where it was all dark, Then I tumbled briefly across some space and landed on a really hot, soft, gooey wall and I stuck there for a while. Then it was like I was oozing and flowing and I disappeared into this sucking drain, went down it and lodged in a nook where a giant ball rolled over me and crushed me against the nook. When I awoke, it was like I was in space, very close to a fuzzy planet that was sucking me in, and then I exploded. That’s all I remember. “

“Have you had that dream more than once?” Derrick asked.

“Mr. Johnson, I have that dream and more all the time. It’s like you’re inside my thoughts. When I am alone, I think about being ejaculated, or digested, or urinated, or defecated, and I feel like all those things have happened to me before.”

“Sure Jimmy.”

“It’s kind of gross.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I think about being defecated.  I’m a turd. I don’t start out that way. It starts when I am swallowed. I drop into his stomach and even though it is dark, I can see where I am and what is happening. I see the bones of a previously eaten victim laying in a shallow pool of juices, and these waves of muscle appearing in the stomach wall below me, slowly rippling toward this hole where I know really bad things happen. I try to move to a safe spot, but those muscular waves get closer to me each time, and then when I am caught in one, I can’t resist and it pushes me down toward the hole, and into this lake full of bones. I realize they are human bones, and it isn’t water. I have a really bad feeling I should not be there. Scared, I pick up a bone to use as a weapon, or a tool for escape. But in my hand it turns into a paste I wipe on the stomach wall. In that moment of distraction, I forgot about the next muscular wave, but it is too late. I turn to look, feeling it come on, to discover the whole stomach is now contracting around just me, and I am gripped in hot, sticky slime while I feel the walls squeeze and crush me, and suffocate me while secreting a slimy ooze of acid and juice I feel tingling and burning on my skin. I realize if I don’t escape, what happened to that poor soul whose remains are still fizzing in the hot gastric juice will happen to me. But there is no escape. I grossly underestimate how powerful is his stomach, and that to him I am nothing more than food to be digested.

The remains of the skeleton I was beside are crushed and I hear it being squeezed, violently pumped from his stomach into his intestines. I smell the bile and gall flooding his duodenum to neutralize the stomach acid, immediately immersing the bone paste in a froth of bubbles that rumble and gurgle as they are squeezed on down into the awaiting oblivion of his intestines. But even though I resist, or feel myself resist, there is nothing I can do about all the things that happen to me. When his stomach pumps me into his intestines, I spin, like I am on a swing or monkey bar high in the air, and the centrifugal tumbling calms me down and puts me to sleep until I enter that part of the dream where I am in the guy’s butt. I wake up too late, and realize I was digested.  It feels really hot and sticky and I remain cradled in the grip of his rectum and try to go back to sleep. But I can’t. I feel him squeeze me harder and harder until I begin to slide. I slide around a corner and see a bright light through a hole. As it gets bigger and I am squeezed closer to it, I realize it’s not heaven, and I’m not going to see God, but instead, it’s his anus and I am his turd. As I emerge through the hot rim of his anal lip, I see his scrotum, hung like a hammock holding two testicles so close I could reach out and touch them, but I can’t. I can only look. I see his big dick too- and without being disrespectful Mr. Johnson, it kind of looks like yours. It’s a really big, thick, and heavy.  I can’t move on my own.  He is in total involuntary control how I am moved, and he holds me there, panting from desire for relief not because he needs a moment of rest, but so I have to look at his reproductive sexuality. All I can do is look in one direction as I’m being squeezed through his anus, and that stare is focused on his penis. I am in awe and envy of it, thinking that he did this to me, and he’s gonna use me for fucking. I know parts of my body he took are trapped there in his nuts, being turned into sperm, and will spew out of that penis as cum, and then piss. Then I fall into the water, float for a moment, then slowly sink. That’s when I wake up.”

Chavchavadze recorded the interview conversation, and used a UFP tricorder to perform multiple scans of Jimmy’s brain, bone structure, and his testicles.

“I never told anybody about this stuff before. I always thought it was kind of kinky and weird, and I kept it to myself. In fact, that is why I came here and majored in Psychology. I have been looking for some answers about why I have these particular recurring dreams. I have them all the time! When I am with a girl, I pretend her boyfriend is a turd in my butt, and as my testicles ramp up to cum, I tell him I’m fucking his girl and am about to cum, and there is nothing he can do to stop it. I pretend my cum is him and because my dick is in his girl’s pussy, she is in control and trying to coax my dick to give him up. When he’s being squeezed from my ass into the toilet, he will get one last look at my balls and dick, knowing the night he spent in my stomach was his last, that I made the cum I’m, about to ejaculate from his body, and I took his girl for my cum dump until she’s knocked up, or used up. I’m still a sophomore you know, so I have a lot to learn. But you know, telling you about this stuff is kind of a weight off my shoulders. I don’t feel so alone, or different. You guys know don’t you? That’s why you look so young and strong, Mr. Johnson. Isn’t it? How did you do that? Are you something like a time traveler?”

Their conversation and interview went on into greater detail and depth as both Derrick and Yuri asked Jimmy more detailed and specific questions about being swallowed, digested, ejaculated, urinated and defecated. It was like an interview with a sentient turd, or a bowl of sentient piss, still hot and foamy and with total awe and admiration in pride with the penis that just released it.

Meanwhile Slothower was seduced by Jimmy, succumbing to the power of his mesmerizing penis and submitted to a total and complete fuck that surprised him and ended when Jimmy pulled out to ejaculate on the cougar’s face.

Jimmy produced 1.72 ounces of semen when he ejaculated on Beth Slothower. “I bet you’re popular on campus because of this big dick of yours,” Yuri Chavchavadze said as he carefully scraped the sample semen into a test tube from his happy colleague’s face

“Yeah. I can pretty much find a fuck anytime I want or need one.”

After the interview, conversation, sex and the scan, the three went to Tom’s Diner for lunch, and then back to Pupin Hall for an HB cyclotronic residual memory dump and scan from the tricorder, for research in  what the scientists believed was information retention in the atomic and molecular chains of Jimmy’s DNA. With a record of that, plus his interview testimony and the sample of semen he provided, they were able to test measurable samples and observations to confirm that this Jimmy was the Reinsemination of the original Jimmy whose DNA was digested in Derrick’s stomach, but which retained information and memory which caused the fetish sexual arousal from vore this Jimmy knew and loved.  But the tests only verified what Slothower’s motherly instinct and Derrick’s fatherly instinct intangibly knew. Through Derrick’s stomach and penis, this Jimmy Cremins was living proof that life went on almost eternally, and that digestion wasn’t the end of the life of the poor creature trapped in the stomach, but simply its control over the process; a change in its direction; a fork in the road where part of it went into the testicles for conversion into sperm, and the remains to the anus where it was disposed of, useless to the body.

But, there was a catch. Duvall and Yuri believed only males could do this. Digestion in the female was for the victim, final. But Beth Slothower wasn’t so certain digestion by a female was the end of the line for the victim. She went on in research to hypothesize and ultimately test, that there was a quality and property of mother’s milk the baby would digest again, and through that, pass on from the mother, information and subconscious memory of an eaten and digested victim.  That would mean digested victim information and memory was stored in molecules and atoms of testicle fats of the males, and in molecules and atoms of breast fats of the females.

But would that information be passed and retained in a different mother, or did it require insemination and pregnancy of the victim’s original birth mother? So many questions!  Every answer seems to provoke three or four more possible questions.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

“How was your trip?” Dirk asked when the trio emerged from the HB teleporter. “Did you find Jimmy Cremins? Did you get the information you wanted?”

“Oh yeah, we sure did,” Derrick said.

Suddenly the team heard a squeal from the teleporter pod used for Derrick. The door opened and a tiny, miniature pig no larger than a mouse ran out.

“What on earth? Derrick said. “Where did that come from?”

“Vaht did zee haff for lunch?” Dr. Einthoven asked.

“A BLT sandwich at Tom’s Diner.”

“Zat is zee DNA from zee pig you ate as bacon in zat sandvich, tventy one years before it vass slaughtered for your sandvich. Venn zee molecular assimilation reconfigured your pattern, it recognized zee bacon in your stomach from DNA of zee pig, und etvas assimilated und reconfigured separately. Good sing fowah you it did! ”

“Incredible!” Derrick said. “Why is it so small?”

“How much bacon vass in zat sandvich you ate? Zee DNA can be restored, but zee mass cannot. Zat is another thing about vich Einstein vass right!”