Sploshing For Fun and Profit

I remember a drunken night I had a few years back. It involved a very obese pockmarked hideous cruisin’ pervert dude, an extremely attractive but a bit weird and creepy male childhood friend, and myself. This was the first time the fairies of gay destiny had ever assembled us together in one place.

The whole situation happened when my childhood friend Lee and I were at a party, and being the EXTREME party animals that we are, we got TOTALLY BLASTED and were in no condition to leave the party when it ended.

Cue the fat pervert. In he waddles, wheezing something to the effect that we were in NO condition to go back to our houses and that he lived just a couple of blocks away and so we should really just “crash at his pad.” Yes, I remember him using that exact phrase, and I remember he was talking a lot like Pauly Shore way past the point when Pauly stopped being “cool.” But honestly, how could I not accept that offer? A morbidly obese nerd trying to be Pauly Shore and obviously cruisin’ to take advantage of our nubile, intoxicated nether-parts.

We leave the party with our new wheezing monstrosity who is offering us a place to “crash” but who really just wants us to fall asleep between the place where his stomach flops over his extremely shrunken wiener. It wasn’t much time before this man coerces our bombed-out asses into some kind of sexual activity. It was oddly reminiscent of the episode of Diff’rent Strokes when Dudley and Gary Coleman get lured into the pedophile bike-shop owner’s house with promises of cookies and candy. But this man was an older version, and I was not a black midget orphan. I digress. Truth be told, at first I thought he just totally wanted Lee out of the picture to shove his little ding dong into my very-asleep orifices, but in retrospect I’m pretty sure he wanted a piece of Lee’s hot ass for himself as well, although he’d never admit it. Another closet homo.

I, sadly, start to sober up, and then Lee completely passes out, and my stomach sinks when I start to come to the horrible realization that I am now pretty much a prisoner in this fat geek’s “pad.” It was totally a “pad,” too. I remember he had a flat-screen TV WAY before they were popular, and he had like eighteen computers. It was a really faggy, geeky house. He had terrible DVDs. As soon as I saw that he had the Fight Club boxed set next to a copy of Requiem for a Dream, I already knew way more than I needed to know about him and immediately wanted to jump out the window. I quickly grabbed his bottle of Maker’s Mark (ugh) and guzzled it just to stop feeling so dirty.

Looking around, I did notice there might be a plus to this whole endeavor. I noticed photo lights in his house and several cameras and photo stuff. I was really into photography at the time, and usually if you’re able to get a fatty in front of the camera, you can’t go wrong. And what do fat gross men like more than jacking off their tiny peni with two fingers while being lonely and crying…but food? This obese monstrosity would not have to busy his two little fingers tonight. I had some plans of making him a very happy fat man.

I quickly forged through fatty’s pantry, throwing cans and pasta bags around like a mad scientist. He asked me what the fuck I was doing. He was obviously upset because I was fucking with his precious food. But from talking earlier with him in the night I had told him of my various photo projects and that I was currently in college for photography, so I told him we were going to take some amazing photos. And that is what we did.

I started to open every can, looking at the consistency of the particular substance inside. I told him that we were going to take some photos with this stuff and he obliged, and who the fuck wouldn’t? I was about to fulfill his every fantasy (in my superficial mind...fat people *heart* food/sex), and little did I know that I was about to invent something that I never knew had an actual name or crazy following at the time. All I knew is that we were going to have fun taking photos. The only fuss Baby Huey put up about the food/sex was the mess, but luckily he had a tarp to cover the floor. He said he used it for camping, but I really think he was a bed-wetter. He just seemed like the type. Don’t ask me what the type is. I guess it’s fat.

I wake up my attractive companion Lee, and in his half-dazed eyes he had a look of terror mixed with surprise mixed with interest when he saw the tarp on the floor, me topless, and about ten cans of food open and noodles cooking on the stove. I told Lee we were going to take some photos. He looked even more perplexed but interested nonetheless. Like I said, he was a creepy pervert himself.

What followed were hours upon hours of sliding around all over each other covered in every type of food substance that fatty had in his house - and I don’t think that I need to address the fact that we all know about those fatties and their food. Theyz keepz themz kitchenz stock’d. I got about a half-gallon of baked beans dumped all over my ass. That was my favorite part. It made for an AMAZING photo, and the beans were extremely fun to play with. They were sooo tasty and slippery, and if you think about a can of baked beans and the possibilities with these things, they’re endless. I mean, these slippery little bastards can get into about any nook or crevice you could imagine. And then add an obese person into the mix and you have sooo many folds and orifices, I bet Baby Huey alone could hold about three pints of baked beans in his hot-dog neck alone....OH, the fun we had!!! And to top it all off, it was all photographed.

I’m not trying to do product placement here, but I can’t help it. We had SpaghettiOs, mac and cheese, Spanish rice (which I think was responsible for later burns on my asshole), tabouli, spaghetti with red sauce, cheese, bologna, raw eggs...it was a Gourmand Feast!!! A fatty’s wet dream and also the source of many of my wet dreams thereafter.

We shot about eighty photos of our naked food pervert fest. At the time I was in art college and was trying to dream up a way to convince my teachers that photos of a fat man slathered in spaghetti, noodles going in and out of his folds, or my breasts with scrambled eggs on them could pass as some sort of college project. My particular teacher at the time was not one for conceptual perversity, which was what I tried to sell it as. Now, I know that she was just a stupid twat and that I thought up, without even trying to, a totally real fetish that not only exists, but has its own erotic magazine and is followed and practiced by hundreds of thousands of pervos all over the world.

This terrible college professor of mine who claimed to know everything about all types of art did not even find my idea amusing. I remember that she was supposed to refer each of her students to some artists to look at. The only one she could possibly come up with for me was Annie fucking Sprinkle. Don’t get me wrong, she’s fine, but HELLOOOOO...I had made up “sploshing” on my very own. Sploshing is amazing. It involves eroticizing, bathing in, and slathering yourself or others with food. It is so fun.

There is even a British magazine called Splosh! that has been around for about twenty years. In this adults-only magazine (which almost never contains any nudity), it is very common to see a large woman’s clothed ass COMPLETELY covered in baked beans. WHERE HAVE THESE PEOPLE BEEN ALL MY LIFE?? At the fetish dungeon where I work, we made one of my favorite regular toothless trannies into a human cake for one of the girl’s birthdays.

The trannie started to say that this was not the first time she “sploshed” and that she’s played with all types of food. I was so intrigued. I covered her in whipped cream and cupcakes and even lit candles onto her. We made a GIGANTO mess. I jumped right on top of her, and frosting went everywhere.

Some of the ladies were a bit concerned because there was cake and frosting everywhere and this was in the “sexy bedroom” room. But now it was COVERED in blue frosting and cake. I really did not give a shit, and my only concern was that I did not have enough sticky cake and mess all over myself. OOOH, how I longed for baked beans and spaghetti. When the cupcakes and goo went down the trannie’s panties, it was a sight to see. The frosting had this strong blue dye in it that made it look like she had shit a Smurf.

After this I researched sploshing more and realized that there are entire role-playing scenarios that involve people making a huge mess. Now, just like any fetish folks, sploshers take their fetish very seriously, but the whole basis is on slapstick comedy. Scenarios such as “The clumsy waitress who drops the spaghetti all over the most posh lady in the restaurant” are played out. There are videos and sequential photos that tell these slapstick stories. Like I said, it is somewhat rare to find a lot of nudity in a splosh spread - it depends on where you look - but most sploshers get a bigger kick out of very well-dressed ladies totally ruining expensive outfits by getting them completely messy. The “victims” in the photo or video scenes are never upset that they get messy. The conclusion is usually a shot of them covered in whatever substance, shrugging their shoulders and smiling as if to say, “Oh well, it happens” and suggesting that they actually seemed to enjoy the entire “accident.”

This entire idea of these scenarios is absolutely hilarious to me, and the throwback to slapstick humor is unmistakable. The Three Stooges, Benny Hill, and even pies in the face and my clown fetish play into this one. It’s all about fun and letting yourself go. It has been speculated that it was sprung, as many fetishes are, from childhood’s forbidden desires. The fact that we are encouraged never to throw food or play in the mud or get our shoes dirty - all this stuff is so taboo when you’re a kid, and adults just want to go back and do all the things they were forbidden to do as children. That’s why the image of a very sleek high heel smashing into a cupcake is so fucking appealing. Think about it. It makes sense.

I have only had one sploshing session so far. It sucks. I NEED TO DO IT MORE. I’d totally even just do it for free in my personal life. Last week I came into work and saw these stains all over the floor in one of the bedrooms and inquired what they were. One girl told me that they had a session a previous night where this guy just wanted raw eggs thrown at his ass, and it ended up ruining the carpet. She looked pissed. I was pissed as well - not because of the mess, of course, but because I wasn’t there to throw eggs at this man’s ass.