Sweety Pie

Sweety Pie heaved over the ball of dough and loved it more than he’d loved anything else that had ever existed. He was naked from the waist down. He was wearing his apron that was littered with dried pieces of dough that he called “The Friends”. Sweat ran down his forehead like a salty stream and the uncooked dough that was perpetually in what hair he had slowly floated down this stream and some found their way into his mouth. He let these friends in and almost got hard as he swallowed them, but he knew to control his penis. A hard cock could ruin a good loaf and few bakers knew this. Sweety Pie was the best baker in town.

Ring ring at the door and someone walked into the shop. Goddamn, Sweety Pie, that was the best loaf of bread I’ve ever had, said the voice.
Sweety Pie loves his bread, said Sweety Pie.
So do I, said the voice and Sweety Pie didn’t even bother to look up. His flaccid penis had now been rubbed all over the uncooked dough and he was working it over with his hands. He came across numerous pubes but he left them. They were also friends. Hand me one of those loaves, said they voice and Sweety Pie looked up from that same piece of dough he’d been working on all morning. It was an old man. His face was familiar but names didn’t come to Sweety Pie so readily except for hers. He passed a loaf to the old man and took the money. Keep up the good work, son, said the old man as he left the shop. Sweety Pie stopped and thought about it. Son? Had that been his father? None of it mattered so he went back to massaging the shit out of the dough.

Another customer. Hey boy! I want some pie, said the voice.
Sweety Pie is making bread.
Pie! Your bread has pubes in it.
Christ, give me some bread then, said the voice. It was an elderly woman. Sweety Pie brushed the few hairs he still had on his head out of his eyes. Sweat had adhered them to his face. He handed a loaf to the old woman and she snatched it from his grasp. How much? she said.
Four dollars, said Sweety Pie.
You sure do charge for those pubes you filthy fuck.
GET OUT HOW DARE YOU SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT FRIENDS, said Sweety Pie and the old woman threw the cash at his head. He was digging dollar coins out of his eye sockets when he heard the ring of the shop bell that signified the old woman’s departure.

Sweety Pie was picking friends from the apron and adding them to the dough when she turned up. Time to go home friends, said Sweety Pie.
Who are you talking to? she said.
I like your bread.
Sweety Pie loves his friends.
You know what? she said.
I want more friends in my bread, she said and Sweety Pie looked up. It was her, alright. He knew that voice but pretended he didn’t. She made him nervous and his dick extroverted. Sweety Pie knew that baking and hard dicks did not mix. I want more of you in the bread, she said.
You. A piece of you, she said and left. Sweety Pie stood there and stared at the shop entrance. He picked a friend off the apron and ate it.

He rode the wave of confusion that she had left him with like he had ridden his mother’s sister on his forty-fourth birthday. Delirious and sweaty. What the fuck did she mean? More of him in the bread? He already put all his friends into every goddamn loaf he baked. His dough was always overflowing with pubic nourishment that no other baker in town was willing to offer. After all, it was heartbreaking to part with one’s friends. Sweety Pie was always prepared to go the extra mile for his customers. Especially her. That saucy bitch. He took a knife from the drawer and went about adding more of himself to the bread.

The first customers noticed something different about Sweety Pie when they went to pick up their daily bread that next morning. Not only did the bread have a red colour to it, Sweety Pie was missing his ears. What the fuck have you done to yourself? said the old man.
Sweety Pie tired, said Sweety Pie.
Because you’re goddamn bleeding to death, said the old man.
Give me my fucking bread you fucking weirdo, said the old man and he left. Sweety Pie collapsed behind the counter and blood continued to leak out of him like a busted pipe. Another customer entered the shop. WHERE ARE YOU? YOU MOTHERFUCKING RETARD? yelled the old woman.
Sweety Pie go to sleep, said Sweety Pie from the comfort of the shop floor. He got up to serve the old woman. Fuck off, I don’t want no AIDS, she said and left the shop without buying a thing.

Sweety Pie cauterized his ears before he went to work on the dough for her loaf. He hadn’t sold anything that contained his minced ears and it made him angry that no one wanted to eat his friends. That’s what they were for. The motherfuckers in this town were rude. He was making a special loaf for her.

By the time she showed up for her loaf, Sweety Pie had nearly bled to death. What have you done? she said.
Sweety Pie put more friends in the bread.
What? she said. She looked around the shop and her stomach churned at the sight of all the blood and the multiple red loaves. This retarded baker had really escalated the situation. What the fuck have you done? she said and Sweety Pie handed her a bright red loaf that had his severed cock sticking out the top like a submarine’s telescope. He was supporting himself on the front counter. IS THIS YOUR DICK??! she said.
Best friend, said Sweety Pie.
More of Sweety Pie in the bread.
Oh, you misunderstood. I just meant for you to jizz in it, she said and left the shop without buying the penis submarine loaf that he had so painstakingly crafted. Sweety Pie slid to the floor and slipped out of consciousness. He didn’t have the energy to cauterize his wound.

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