Anaphylactic Peanut Penis

He hated them. He hated them all with their cackling bullshit. The laughter was hurtful and mean and he wanted revenge. Mother never said it would be like this. She had loved him with everything she had had and she had made all her friends love that peanut between his legs. His legume of love. It was an actual peanut. He had been born with this abnormality and he had functioned quite well within a society he wasn’t ready to share everything with. But then he met a woman and she laughed at his cock for what it was and wouldn’t even lick it. He offered to pour salt on it and this just made her laugh more. He asked her to leave and stood there staring at the open door with his pants down for three hours after she had left. Depression flooded through him like the effects of a date rape drug flood through the veins of an unsuspecting slut who is out to get lucky, but not with that guy. He wanted to down a beer and eat his own cock and be done with it.

Date after date and his thoughts became murderous. If he couldn’t find one, he’d kill one and see if it scratched his itch. He met this one at a cafe and instead of showing it to her and wasting all that time explaining, he decided to throw it on the table from the start. His words, not his peanut phallus. She beat him to it though: I have something you need to know I’ve fucked a horse and it’s on the Internet.
What’s yours?
Hang on. You fucked a horse?
My cock is a peanut, he said.
A peanut.
Well that’s no good, she said.
No, it’s not that. I’m allergic.
Yeah. My throat swells. I’d die, she said and they both finished their coffees and went their separate ways. Was a peanut allergy a thing? Mother had never said so and none of her friends, the aunties, had choked to death. Even when they had surrounded him on their knees as he twirled around them, their tongues out like thirsty dogs, grazing that spinning legume dick and savoring it like hungry and homeless animals. Had they lied?

Fury so intense it gave him diarrhoea. He wanted revenge so badly. Some dickhead had once told him that life was unfair. Well, fuck unfair. It was time to get his. With his phone in hand, he searched for peanut allergy dating sites. He signed up for one and dropped his phone into the bowl, between his legs. It was now covered in shit and like his peanut penis it was now useless.

The first date was picked from the ranks of the severely allergic. It did not last long. In fact she died before they had even exchanged words. He had mistakenly walked past her and the scent of his legume love sausage must have drifted through the microscopic gaps of the fabric that was his underpants like Mother’s cooking would drift through the house at the same time every night. His date thrashed around on the footpath. She was being choked out by Death. He stood there amazed at his own powers and shouted out that lipstick was for whores. Ambulances could be heard in the distance and he high fived Death on his way through the crowd that had gathered to watch the woman die.

He decided to challenge himself for the second date. She came from a list that was called “kind of allergic”. So when did you realise you were allergic? he said.
Oh, it’s not really an allergy, she said.
What the fuck does that mean?
It’s means I don’t like peanuts.
Well that’s no good to me, he said.
I don’t understand, she said and he told her to look behind her and while she was turned he punched her in the back of the head. She went over and landed on the floor face first. There were gasps from the other customers in that little restaurant. He left feeling robbed.

Bitches from the moderately allergic list were sifted through next. He chose her because she liked cats. He hated cats and her liking them gave him one more reason to off her like the bigot she was. He turned up to the date in a track suit and she was wearing a dress. Blue. She looked good and part of him looked forward to rubbing his dick all over her body while she choked on whatever the fuck caused anaphylaxis. Was it love? He didn’t know anymore. Hours of bullshit. Mindless chatter about crap he had to pretend he was interested in. He was the funny guy. She laughed and if she’d had a coin handy and rubbed it over his skin she would’ve seen that underneath it all he was a cunt. Taking a piss in the men’s room he kissed the mirror because she was a slut. A few jokes and she had agreed to go back to his. Winning.

The struggle was intense. He forced her head into his peanut head and the obstructed breathing started instantly. She wheezed like busted bagpipes and pushed herself away from that grotesque legume of love and he laughed. He pulled her hair and then rammed her head back into his cock. Death stared her in the face through the eye of that tiny cock that wasn’t a cock but something that most people should enjoy with beers. She bit it off. He screamed. Her airways closed up and she could no longer breathe. Death gently led her away while he was bleeding out. Blood with the pressure of a fire hose painted his walls. I’ll come back for you, said Death. He could only lie there, eyes open thinking about how much Mother and the aunties had lied to him. They were all the same, goddamn women.

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