“Egg” by severiN & chimerA Egg was as cold and still as a marble sculpture. He had neither name nor family.  There was nobody there for him. No gentle grunt to welcome his return from his hunting and gathering, no opposite sex object to club over the head and drag by the hair into his cave for a night of rough rutting. Egg had stalked across the thorny terrain, for the last few nights, exposed to the elements of northern Europe. The thick second skin of encrusted mud and clay that covered his powerful, squat body cracking and powdering with each step, each bend of knee, each duck and dive. Did he have a notion of self, and of loneliness?  Perhaps at some genetic level, some meme inherited from whatever he had come, may have activated periodically.  But he had no sense of birth or of family, of companionship. He’d never had company by which to gauge his solitude.  He knew only one thing - Egg. * * * * Egg had found what he was looking for; big and smooth – his mouth came alive with root juices that dribbled down his muddy beard as he anticipated the moment he could have them in his manky grasp. Egg watching was a perilous task, mother dinosaurs being so maternal, so protective. He couldn’t believe he had found a nest full of them unattended. A nest full of unattended, uneaten eggs. Caviar. Suddenly, an egg rocked on its cradle. Egg’s mud-caked cock jolted softly as the blood was redirected to the drive shaft. His sex engine started burbling with accelerating sickness. Another egg jumped in its nest. Ever so softly, Egg moved one inch forward... He stood, captivated, his body pulsing with excitement, his dirty hair standing to attention on the back of his neck.  His senses sharpened, aware of the tiniest noises of creatures snuffling in the dirt for bugs, minutes away.  He moved slowly, his footfalls not making a sound on the dirt beneath his feet, not making a sound as a jagged stone pierced the flesh on the sole of his foot, his blood mixing with the dried earth and making a ruddy soup. He heard the shell of the first egg crack and his eyes widened, body trembling with delight as the baby dinosaur stuck its snout out of the cracked egg, thick pink tongue licking the yolk-sac contents from its scaly face.  It was too much for the Egg and he let out a low moan like a pining wolf.  Lucky for him, mommy was nowhere to be seen. Egg licked his lips in anticipation of the reptilian flesh he knew would soon be on his skin, beneath his filthy fingertips, on his slavering tongue. It was the sheer physical size of the dinosaur eggs that always took him by surprise. As he reached down to pick up the mewling dinosaur baby he realized that perspective had conned him again. This was the biggest dinosaur nest at which he had ever attended a birth. He took the first born in his arms, and it was like lifting a teenager; the crenulated skin slippery with egg yolk, studded with body thorns the size of side plates, the geology glowing with a rich palette like a Chagal, bruised like Schiele’s emaciated damsels of the night. The skin that physically breathed – you could see the portals all along the left and right flank like tiny rectum holes, pursing like they were ready to deliver their first turd. A noise in the trees and he heard, and smelled, the mother returning from whatever had distracted her. The baby dinosaur in Egg Watcher’s arms began to fit and foam at the mouth at the sound of his maternal protector, its stubby clawed feet gouging through the clotted shell of caked on mud and filth he wore like a suit or armour. All he could do to quiet the babe was put his bearded, foul smelling mouth over its soft beak. Its writhing neck was twitchy as a trout and the bubbling saliva it foamed tasted like Ambrosia, thick and stale and perfect. The dense bubbling spattered against the roof of his mouth as the individual spittle spheres popped. A strong perfume exuded from the breathing holes down either flank, an aroma greasy as eucalyptus milk. The baby dino’s serpentine tail whipped and lashed at the back of Egg’s powerful, hairy thighs. He didn’t give her a name – not yet. Egg carried his dome-headed ornithopod into the thick undergrowth of ferns and roots before he could be seen eloping with his bride.  * * * * Egg returned to the dark dankness of his rock dwelling.  With the dino-baby weighing him down he stumbled over the remnants of dead fires, the tinder-sticks strewn like discarded old bones, the ash like cremation remembrances.  He set the creature down on his bed of fur skins; it wiggled its huge ass to make its self comfortable, settling down on the warm bed to take a nap – or so it thought. Egg drooled as he looked at he dinosaur; even though it was an infant, it was a powerful beast, its body covered in danger and pain for anything that approached it.  That was just the way Egg liked them. He wanted some of that thick frothy drool from the beast’s mouth so he could lube up his cock.  He tore off his stinking animal skin clothing in a frenzy, and bravely dangled his man-meat in front of its face, knowing that the rows and rows of tiny little razor-keen teeth could make steak tartar out of his manhood. The dino-spit dribbled onto his cock, the froth tingling as the little bubbles burst on his stiff flesh.  He began to glide his hand along his proud shaft, his palm tingling from the creature’s saliva too.  He moaned, at full-tilt now – the touch of his own hand just wasn’t enough. Egg scrutinised the dino-baby’s body for an interesting texture or orifice.  He ran his rough, damaged hands over the beast’s skin, feeling each and every difference in texture and pliability, touching each pencil-sharp spine – then he saw what he wanted, gazing at the thing of beauty, grunting his caveman equivalent of oooo baby at the little dinosaur. Above the dino’s tail was a bulbous mass - like a gigantic, puss-filled boil.  The pustule had an opening and soft, silky folds leading to what delights he didn’t know yet.  These boil-lips secreted a scent like wild flowers that reminded him of rolling down a hillside in summer once, catching the aroma of each and every bloom he tumbled over. * * * * Egg got up from the floor to attend to his ‘pot’ of turtle stew. As he moved to the ‘pot’ (the cored out shell of an earlier turtle meal) his new mate followed him close by, the way a new-born duckling follows a farmer ... its slightly forward pointing eyes the mark of a true hunter took in every domestic detail. Ever watchful, ever curious. She chuckled with glee as he hungrily gobbled down the tasteless scum-topped broth and trotted over for a taste. Egg offered her a skewer of turtle meat but the Troodon-like beauty nibbled him on the corner of his mouth until he nearly vomited. Then he did. She leapt at the warm pool of turtle bits, slurpin’ and lickin’ up the lover’s puke, turning quickly to her new lover, wanting more. Egg was gobbling at his bowl of broth, scraping up the leftovers with his dirty, scarred hands. In came his new love, her soft beak scraping at the puke trickle. He pushed her away and she stood there, in her corner of rejection, in her eyes a soft tear. Egg did a double-take – he had never seen such a reaction from one of the beasts before. This erotic treasure house was a real catch. He pounced upon the shy-looking thing and neck wrestled her to the dusty floor, grunting and hacking up gobs of phlegm, which he shot into her Betty Boop eyes. Before she could tear out his belly with her hoof claw, her pinned her skinny legs behind her and focussed all his hunger on the boil blister thing she was guarding with her coiled up tail. He nosed in like a Terrier digging out ferrets eventually teasing the blister to pop all over his thick tiger tongue. He tasted decaying flesh and fresh flowers, he tasted worm food and the delicacy of embryonic morsels.  He tasted something that was utterly fowl to him that made him want to heave up his undigested turtles and something that, for the first time in his life made him want to cry.  He tasted love and loss. The little dinosaur fought him as he desperately tried to get his member to the pustule.  As big as she was, her new-born’s stamina could not match his.  She crumpled, exhausted, defeated, to the floor and let him have his way.  Big greasy tears welled up in her eyes as she whimpered softly, wishing there was some way she could tell him not to do what he was about to do. He plunged his stone-hard cock into the juiciness of the pustule – his eyes rolled back into his sunken brows, his jaw hung slack and his tongue fell, dripping grunts and saliva, from his mouth. Something other than moist folds like cunt-lips were working on him.  The sensation was like hundreds of tiny little tongues all licking his cock at once.  The pustule began to bubble over with effervescent lubricant and the sweet smell of rotten fruit and dead meat emanated from the hole.  And then there was a noise, coming from the hole, a noise that sounded like a high-pitched version of those scavenging bastards, the Pterodactyls.  She was crying because she knew what all of her kind carried in their pungent pustules – a horror so unkind that the sharing of love was a shameful act of betrayal. But she never got to fulfil her parasitic prophecy of horror for, out of the blazing daylight, ran into the cave, screaming and waving spiked clubs and sharpened antler horn,  like a pack of hunter lions came the one-breasted Valley warriors. Bedecked in garish body flavours, mountainous hairdos of stinking dogshit and crow feather and blinding skin colours that had even Egg backing away in shell-shocked disgust. He didn’t even see one of the Valley Warriors tearing several of the dino-baby’s in-blister progeny of kaleidoscopically carapaced parasites from his seeping groin, the rod partly gnawed through. Entry to his innards imminent. Egg couldn’t watch what they did to his love, the beast he considered his wife. Christ, they were a chemical bond of sinless need. The last he saw, they were carrying away her hacked off head. He could see the hypnotic eyes going out, his image in her occluding retinas. But she would remember him in eternity, her spirit would carry his love and the remembrance of his exquisite turtle-flavoured vomit, carry the ghost of his caresses and kisses. These things that carried him and his love off were hideous to Egg.  He hated them, passionately.  He choked on tears of frustration and grief as they made him eat a broth made from the rendered bones of his darling dino-girl, her sweet taste both delicious and bitter at the same time.  But there was something fascinating about them even in their acute repulsiveness.  Their one, huge breast in the middle of their chests captivated him, reminded him of the big bulbous eyes of his scaly beauty, the milky secretions from their nipples reminding him of her shining glutinous tears. What was he to do?  How could he allow himself to be held captive here by these beasts, these hunters, butcherers and consumers of his Ladylove?  But he was their prisoner; no escape.  The memory of his wet-eyed wondersaur would never leave him; her loss would be ever-present and he would always be reminded of his dark reflection in her irises, each time he saw these brutal murderesses - a thought that both kept him alive and slowly destroyed him.  Having loved and lost, having given himself to the rightful one, and now surrounded by hundreds of these strange creatures all craving his attention, Egg, our Watcher, was still alone. © 2003 Alex Severin and Hertzan Chimera The following was an excerpt from Severin and Chimera’s controversial new collection “Boy Fist Girl Suck” available through Shocklines. www.hertzanchimera.com www.alexseverin.co.uk www.boyfistgirlsuck.co.uk