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By Heath Carra

Her tits smelled like cum. It was hot. She hadn’t drawn the curtains for weeks. The rank odour of baby shit and sperm was killing me.

She obviously didn’t mind.

She spread her lips, stuck out her tongue.

“Jesus,” I whispered. I thought she was going to lick my face.

She laughed and sucked her tongue back into her mouth.

I grinned.

She spat down between her swollen globes and massaged the saliva into her damp chest.

I think she realized I didn’t like her.

She leaned over and spit on my face. I jerked my head away.

She laughed again.

The baby was crying in the other room.

“Fuck,” she said. She looked at the ceiling and put her hands over her nipples as I licked the saliva from my lips. I needed a shower.

She came back in five minutes with the naked baby hanging from her right tit. She sat down at the foot of the bed with her legs spread so far apart I thought for a second she was going to stuff the baby back inside just to keep him quiet. She had just finished taking his dirty diapers off. His ass was still dark with shit. She didn’t know what to do with a baby. She grinned.

“What?” I said.

She flicked her eyes down at the baby and then looked at my dick. She made me think of apples, anything red like tomatoes, blurry crimson velvet.

I closed my eyes and planted my hands over my face.

“Come on,” she said.

“Forget it! I need a drink. I’m dying in here. This whole house smells like puke and shit!”

I opened my eyes and there was one of those big tits. She had dropped the baby in the semen soaked sheets. The nipple pushed inside my mouth like a breath. I nearly swallowed it.

Christ! She was fucking me again.

I twisted my face away from her tit and looked at the bawling baby to my left.

“Look after him,” I said.

“In a minute.” Her voice was tight, frantic, out of breath.

She left the baby with me. He lay there pissing himself. I wished I could have opened a window or turned on the television or something. I couldn’t roll to my left because of the baby and I couldn’t roll to the right because of the puke.

“And I’m hungry, too!” I shouted at her.

I could see her in the bathroom. She lifted the lid of the toilet and sat down. I could hear the stream racing into the toilet water.

Heath has had half a dozen short stories published in the last couple of years and has started writing a novel a Ouija board told him he should write.

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