Darling Redditors, I have a confession to make.

I too, keep a piece of year-old, furred ribs in my cars.

Sometimes, when I feel lonely, or sad, or the weight of the world becomes too much to bear, I shall slip out in the middle of the night, and enter silently into my car.

With nervous hands, and a rapid pulse, I dig my hands into my glove box, and produce this beauty from the glovebox.

I run my fingers over it's uneven surface, dig my hands into the soft, rotting flesh, and, with my fingertips, feel the bones. Oh, what a wonderful blend of the sense! Such yielding softness, paired with such resonant hardness. I feel my loins stirring, faintly aroused by the light touch of this sensual delight.

To my nostrils, I bring these rips. Ah, that old familiar pungent smell, the smell of meaty decay, seems so sensuous in the cold night air. The maggots emerge, peeping their pearly heads through it's skin, and I find myself yet more aroused. The old familiar fire in my stomach burns softly, like it once did on other lonely, silent nights, as my bare thighs rub against the leather seats.

My heavy breathing reverberates around the emptiness, and seized by a burst of hope, of almost sacred exaltation, I sink my teeth into this matter. The taste of ammonia, coupled with the squelch of maggots bursting between my teeth! Oh, how I wish you could experience the wonders that I felt at that moment, the world seem to compress into this mouthful.

And I sat, for another hour or two, gradually building up to a climax, one so powerful that I could hardly stifle my moans, at the great fear of waking up my grandchildren.

I exist! I am here, caught in this moment of ecstasy, suspended in a beam of brilliant light, with nothing by my ribs and I!