Slipping Through The Wetlands – Chapter Five

Welcome back! My in between Wetlands post was supposed to be complete, but it’s taking longer to put together than expected. And I figured you’re all on the edge of your seats waiting to find out what Helen’s asshole looks like.

Before that, I thought I’d share that today I had The Great Hummus Explosion of 2013 at work today and my skirt looks like I was in the center of a circle jerk. Absolutely enthralling information.

Oh, and this was the chapter that Sebastian did a dramatic reading of, so if you have the pleasure of knowing him, feel free to hear his voice in your head while you read this.

I’m alone with the device in which the pictures of my wound are saved.

Helen is a little nervous about checking out her pictures. I would be too. She turns on the camera and opens the photos folder.

It shows a photo of a bloody hole. The flash has cast light deep inside. My ass is wide open. There’s nothing to suggest the closure of a sphincter.

If your ass cheeks just clenched reading that, you’re human. I can’t imagine what that must feel like, and I’m sure it totally sucks.

I can’t make out any crinkled, red-brown skin of a rosette. Actually, I can’t make out anything familiar at all. So this is what Notz meant by “wedge-shaped incision.” Poor description. I’m appalled at my own asshole – or rather, what’s left of it. More hole than ass.

How many times has the word ‘ass’ been in this blog post so far? A shit ton, I’m sure. More to come, my friends!

So: I’ll never be an ass model.

No ass model will ever be as good as Bender.

I love how even in situations like this Helen is able to overcome her fears. It must be awful sitting there staring at what used to be your ass, and here she is attempting to make light of the situation. Good for her!

Yikes. You can look right in. I feel much worse now that I’ve seen it. The pain comes back suddenly, too.

Why did she want to see the pictures again? She wonders if she’s holding the camera wrong, and describes the opening some more.

I have to let the skin grow back. How long will it take? Weeks? Months? What do you have to eat to help the skin of your ass grow? Mackerel?

This is one of my favourite lines in the whole book. Seriously. I shouldn’t be laughing at her deliriousness, but mackerel? So random!

Do they want me to push a dump past open flesh?

I was wondering this too. Honestly, I would not want to take a shit with an asshole like that. Can somebody please count how many times ‘ass’ is in this post? I’m too lazy but I’m so curious.

Helen wonders how long she can hold her shit, and then laments that if she does that it will get bigger and harder and worse to pass. She’s hoping the hospital will give her something to make her constipated.

I push my SOS button.

That’s such an awesome and fitting name for that button.

Help! I need constipation!

Helen flicks through the pictures while she waits, and notices that there are little red pimples next to the wound. She feels around her ass and feels the bumps, irritated that she didn’t notice them before. She resolves to improve her sense of touch.

Where did these pimples come from? Allergies? And I allergic to butt operations?

That would be the icing on the cake.

Helen inspects the photos again and realizes that it’s razor burn, likely because they shaved her before the operation. She theorizes that they don’t even use water or shaving cream, just quickly rip the hair out ‘chop-chop’.

They’re even more unceremonious about shaving than I am on my own. I used to not shave at all. I thought there were better ways to fritter away the time in the bathroom.

I like this. Women’s bodies are automatically high-maintenance in this society, with the need to be smooth and plucked and wrinkle free. I love that Helen dismisses all that with ‘better ways to fritter away in the bathroom’. Of course, I’m pretty sure she’s hinting at her showerhead masturbating. Which I’d definitely rather be waxing my entire body than doing that.

Until I met Kanell.

Helen talks about this Ethiopian man that showed up one day at the fruit and vegetable stand that she works at. Her racist boss was incredibly rude to him, so Helen tracked him down after the exchange to apologize. I love what this says about her character. She does a lot of fucked up things, but she still does care about other people.

“Hi. I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I was ashamed of the way my boss acted.”

“I could tell.”


We laughed together.

Then I got nervous and couldn’t think of anything better to say than: “I’m going back to the stand.”

“Are you shaved?”


“I asked whether you were shaved.”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Because I’d love to shave you sometime. At my place.”


“Right after work. Whenever the market closes.”

So let’s make this clear, dear readers. Never, under any circumstances, should you ever say yes to this. I thought this was common sense, but I’m thinking anyone who has a daughter is wanting to lock her up right about now. What grown man asks a teenager to come to his house to shave her? This is exchange made me panic over Helen’s naivete.

She accepts his address and tries not to think about her ‘impulsive date’ over the rest of her shift, in case she chickens out. Which would likely be a good thing. At the end of the day, she goes to his apartment and buzzes. The door opens and she stops in the entryway.

The mechanical arm that closes the door is set too tight. There’s a screw someplace in it that you can loosen so the door closes more elegantly. My father taught me that. If I start coming here often, I’ll bring a screwdriver sometime and fix it.

Some would say that this paragraph should have been edited out. It’s random and seemingly useless. But this is just another wonderful little gem of character development. Helen notices the problem, because her father once taught her to fix one. She’s proud of this knowledge, and wants to be able to use it. It’s actually very sweet.

It also gives a tiny bit of information about her father, because now we know that he taught her at least one useful thing. Instead of fixing a door by himself, he took the time to teach her just in case she would need to do so in the future. I like Mr. Memel already and I haven’t even met him. He seems like a better parent than the mother.

I hike up my skirt and wriggle my hand into my underwear. I stick my middle finger deep into my pussy and leave it in the warmth for a moment before taking it back out. I open my mouth and stick my finger all the way in. I close my lips around my finger and pull it out slowly. I lick and suck as hard as I can in order to get as much of the taste of the slime on my tongue as possible.

And that sweetness we talked about is totally gone now, thanks Helen. At least we got a little reprieve.

There’s no way I can spread my legs for some guy – to get thoroughly eaten out, for instance – without knowing myself how everything looks, smells, and tastes down there.

Okay, I hate to admit it, but she has a point here. I’m not saying we all need to walk around jamming our hands in our lady parts, but it makes sense that you should know what’s going on down there before expecting someone else to dive in. In a normal person’s case, this would be by being clean, and not rubbing your pussy all over dirty toilet seats. Much safer, nicer, and easier, I think.

She talks about how she’s inspected her pussy from every angle in the bathroom mirrors.

A woman sees just a tuft of hair sticking up and two bumps hinting at the outer labia.

A man sees a gaping, hungry mouth with knots of flesh all over it.

That’s just… just a horrible description of a vagina.

[…] I want to be the first to know how my slime looks, smells, and tastes. And not just lie there and hope everything comes out alright.

I’m too busy being grossed out right now to point out again that she has a point. Wait for it…

Whenever I go to the bathroom I dip my finger into my pussy before I piss and do the same test.


I dig around, scoop out as much slime as possible, and sniff it. For the most part it smells good – as long as I haven’t eaten a lot of garlic or Indian food.

There needs to be a word for when you simultaneously laugh and make a noise of disgust. Somebody invent that, please, because I’m doing a lot of it.

The consistency varies a lot. Sometimes it’s like cottage cheese,


other times like olive oil, depending on how long it’s been since I washed. And that depends on who I want to have sex with. Lots of guys prefer cottage cheese. You wouldn’t think so. But it’s true. I always ask in advance.

Okay, official poll. I am 99.99% sure that most guys do NOT prefer cottage cheese. Please somebody reassure me that I’m right. Because NO.

Then I suck it all of my finger and slurp it around in my mouth like a gourmand. Most of the time it tastes good. Except once in awhile when the slime has a sour aftertaste. I haven’t figured out what causes that yet, but I will.

Are there people this enraptured with their genitals? Like, there’s masturbating a lot, and then there’s this.

The test has to be conducted every time I go to the bathroom because I often run into the dilemma – or unexpected pleasure – of spontaneous sex.

Well, when random dudes can just pick you up at the fruit stand, yeah.

Even in those situations I want to be up-to-date on my pussy’s slime production. Helen leaves nothing to chance.


Only when I know exactly what’s going on with my beloved, precious slime can a man slurp it up with his tongue.


Gollum’s got nothin’ on Helen.

I’ve done the taste test and am happy. I’m ready to be looked at and tasted. The smegma has a bit of age to it, a truffle flavor, and that makes guys hot. Usually.

I should have kept my mouth shut, smegma is worse.

Helen goes upstairs, quickly to show how excited and curious she is. Because that should be the first thing on her mind. He kisses her on the forehead and sets her up in the living room on a couch covered in towels. Probably a good idea, considering this chick spews all over the place all the time.

Kanell completely undresses her, and lays her down at an angle on the couch, like she’s at the gynecologist. Then he gets naked, much to Helen’s pleasant surprise.

His nipples are hard and he has a partial erection. He has a very thin cock with an acorn-like tip, and it dangles to the left. That is, to my left.

Gentlemen, this is what goes through a chick’s head when she sees you naked for the first time. You’re welcome.

He has a loaf of bread tattooed on his chest.

Ahhhaha what? Is he a baker?

The shape is more like a round sourdough than a loaf of rye or multigrain bread.

Well, now that we’ve got that cleared up.

Gradually my breathing calms down. I get used to unusual situations quickly.

I can see that, Helen, but it’s probably not a good thing. Adaptability in general is cool, but this guy may still want to murder you. Bread tattoo or no.

He leaves the room and returns with a miner’s lamp on his head.

Just throwing that out there.

I have to laugh and tell him he looks like a Cyclops. We’ve just been reading about them in school. He laughs, too.

Way to remind us that you’re still in school, that added back that extra layer of squickiness to this whole endeavor.

He puts a pillow on the floor and kneels on it, saying he doesn’t want to get calluses on his knees. Then he dunks both hands into the hot water and rubs it onto my legs. Aha. He starts all the way down at my ankles, moving upward.

Still not convinced.

Kanell very dutifully shaves Helen’s legs.

Fairly quickly, both legs are naked. He says I should have my armpits done the same way. Crap. I was already looking forward to having my pussy shaved. If he’s even planning to do that.

Kanell sprays shaving cream onto Helen’s armpits and shaves them, even though they’re deep and he has to pull the skin tight. She watches the miner’s light and notices that he looks at her tits, especially the right one with the ‘snake-tongue nipple’. Gah.

“And now,” I say, patting my hair covered pussy.


Kanell wets pretty much her entire pelvic area.

He looks closely at the cauliflower. A shaving obstacle course.

Just in case you forgot what this looked like.

Then he sprays shaving cream on all the dampened areas. It tingles on the labia. Zhhhh.

Love the sound effects. He starts on her thighs, and then stares at her bellybutton for awhile, and decides to leave the hair up there.

“[…] I’ll take a little of the sides so we’ll have a long, dark stripe down to the split. Then from there all the way back, everything is coming off.” He doesn’t look me in the eyes, but talks instead to my pussy.

It answers: “Understood.”

Is it in bad taste to use LMFAO in a blog post? Because that’s what I’m doing right now.

Kanell ‘mows the lawn’ to make a strip above her labia, and then shaves everything very thoroughly. He gets to the back.

He asks whether the bulges on my butt hurt.

“No, no, that’s just hemorrhoids that have worked their way out. If you’re gentle, I think you can shave right over them.”

I love how casual she is. ‘That’s just my cauliflower, it’s all good.’

The shaving of my crack made my pussy produce a lot of slime.


“Do you want to fuck me now?”

“No, you’re too young for me.”

So getting a teenager naked and shaving her whole body is totally okay, but fucking her is out of the question. Okayyyy…

“Too bad. Do you mind if I fuck myself here then? Or do I have to wait until I get home to come?”

“Please go ahead. You are very welcome to do it here.”

“Give me the razor.”


Sex toys exist for a reason, guys.

I’d like to step aside for a moment and just say thank you to the translator of this story for spelling it ‘come’. Nothing says juvenile erotica like ‘cum’.

I hold the blade end and shove the handle into my wet pussy. The handle’s not as cold as I expected. Kanell’s hands have warmed it up.

Is there anything that Helen won’t put in her pussy?

With rhythmic motions I let the handle glide in and out. It feels like the finger of fourteen-year-old.

That’s disgusting, thanks.

I rub the handle hard between my labia, back and forth. Harder. It’s the same motion as cutting bread. Hard bread. Forward, back. Forward, back. Sawing. Sawing. Deeper.

Does anyone actually masturbate like this? No, don’t tell me, I actually don’t want to know, thanks.

She asks Kanell if she can have the lamp, and he puts it on her head. Then he leaves the room, because chicks need privacy, you know.

Ooh la la, shaving’s got me hot. I lay the razor on my stomach and stroke my smooth-shaven, naked labia with both hands. Dear nonexistent God are they soft. Soft like kid leather, soft like avocado pits.

There’s those avocadoes again. Yay.

Helen comes, and notices how hot it is in the room. She dresses and Kanell returns, and they make a weekly date of Saturdays after work to have a shaving party.

“Good. That’ll give me a week to grow the hair back for you each time. I’ll give it my all. See you then.”

This girl is fucking funny.

That was the first time I shaved. Or rather, that I was shaved. Anyway: my first shave.

TL;DR. I’m lying, I obviously did, but I shouldn’t have.

Helen says they usually meet every week, but sometimes Kanell isn’t home, so she has to go two weeks, and it is an itchy hell. So she does it if he doesn’t, but she’s not as careful. Hence the anal lesion.

Shaving myself is stupid – I’m spoiled in that regard now. I’m used to being shaved. I think that if men want shaved women, they should take over the shaving. Don’t saddle the women with all the work. In the absence of men, women wouldn’t care at all how hairy they were.

Hear, hear!

The best arrangement I can imagine would be for men and women to shave each other in whatever way they find most pleasing. That way each would have the exact hairstyle that got their partner the hottest.

I kind of like this idea. It would take a fuck of a lot of trust to let another person at your junk with a razor, but it makes sense if the other person is the one looking at it all the time. Although this can also be achieved through communication. And I’m talking about actual relationships, not dudes that you meet at a fruit stand.

For me, it’s all about just getting it done. I shave myself fast, zigzagging all over the place, and rip myself to shreds. I’m usually bleeding afterward, and the open razorburn bumps gets infected. Whenever Kanell sees that, he scolds me for treating myself that way. He can’t stand it.

If only he knew where you were now, and why.

But even I’m not as careless as the person who shaved me before the operation on my ass.

And thus concludes chapter five. A long slimy ride, for sure.

Next time we find out about Helen’s copious drug use, a traumatizing event from her childhood, and how she likes to use eyelash curlers. Jolly good!


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