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Classixxx: Metamorphodick

Monday, 1 September, 2014

Words by Brendan McDougall
Illustration by Sarah Layton

Every issue, Brendan McDougall takes a classic literary text and fills it with graphic, explicit, filthy, transgressive, don’t-show-your-grandma sexiness. Keep it under lock and key.

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a big, horrible, veiny cock. He lay on his fleshy back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his two large, wrinkly balls, flopping either side of the shaft that used to be his legs.

“What’s happened to me?” he thought. It wasn’t a dream. His room, a proper Media_metamorphosis_198x842human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table — Samsa was a travelling salesman — and above these hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine, housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa. She sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer. He looked at the lady for a while, and a strange sensation came over him. Slowly, he felt his head being pushed into the wall, and his torso felt like it was stretching itself out lengthways, kind of like the way a dog shakes a little when it stretches out its spine. It felt nice – he didn’t really remember the last time he had felt so nice. He noticed that if he kept looking at the lady’s muff, he just kept stretching out more. He stared at her muff, and noticed a weird throbbing where his abdomen used to be. He looked down, and saw a big blue vein that seemed to be pumping blood up and down his shaft. The weirdly spaced hairs on his oversized balls were standing on end, and slowly he felt he could no longer look downward, as he was so stiff that all he seemed to be able to do was press his one slitted eye against the headboard. He wanted to keep looking at the lady’s muff, but he was stuck. He started to roll side to side, slowly, slowly building momentum until the great big balls slapped against the mattress. It hurt Gregor, but in a way that made him sweat excitedly. He imagined what it would be like to crawl up into the lady’s muff and surprise her. How she would shriek and he would jump out from under the muff to let her breathe and then dive back in again, repeating this same action faster and faster – playing hide and go seek in the pretty lady’s muff. He imagined hiding his face deep into the lady’s muff and opening his eye and twisting around, faster and faster, until he would get stuck there and the lady couldn’t get him out of her muff. And she would be screaming in some strange paroxysm of terror and delight and grabbing at his balls to pull him out with spit on her hands to get better grip and then she would give up and try to pull him out of her muff by his balls with her teeth and…

… Gregor’s head exploded. He felt the balls squeeze and saw a white, salty light for a few seconds. He shuddered in ecstasy. After rolling around a bit he blinked a few times and the white liquid cleared from his face. It was everywhere – all over the sheets and the headboard and even the walls. Gregor felt his skin shrivel and the balls flopped down again. He suddenly felt very tired. He felt like he should thank the lady with the deep, warm muff, but no, he was too tired, and he could thank her in the morning.

There was a knock on the door. As he faded into blissful, cum-soaked unconsciousness he recognised the harsh German tongue of the chief clerk from his office. But he was just so tired.

 

He awoke in the evening, slightly itchy, slightly aching, but well rested nonetheless. The room smelt like decaying fish and pollen. He rubbed his eye on the sheets to get rid of the stinky off-white stuff that seemed to be clouding his vision. As he blinked he noticed how much he needed to piss, so he opened up his eye and out sprayed urine in crazy, unexpected directions. He blinked some more. As his vision cleared, two figures materialised in the moonlight shining in through the window. He recognised his mother’s face first, her wrinkly old lips seeming to move in slow, dripping disbelief.

“I’ve never seen one so big,” she said. She jangled the chains on her wrists.

“Mmmmmhhmmmmmm,” his father mumbled through the rag that was shoved roughly into his mouth. He was perched on all fours, eyes wide. Probably his leather collar was too tight. Gregor knew his parents were pretty repressed—Christ, everyone was, but he never would’ve expected this. His dad pounced at him with a growl, but his mother tightened her grip on the leash and he whimpered. She tested the taser in her other hand and sparks shot into the air.

“It’s ok Gregor, we don’t mind, really,” she said. “Sure, money’s tight, but at this point my pussy’s tighter.” She jumped on him and began sucking at the loose skin covering his eye. His father spat out the rag and began chewing on one of his balls.

It was then that Gregor realised that it was inevitable that, giant cock or not, he was probably always going to get fucked.