Being a vegetarian.

Several years ago, I had two uncles, both in their forties, nearly die of heart attacks within a few months of each other. Soon after, my father, who was in federal lockup up for tax evasion, had bypass surgury as well. So the writing was on the wall. Heart disease was probably in my future.

I decided to do something about it. In addition to quiting cigarettes and caffeine, I also changed my diet. Too much of the meat I was eating was bad for me (fried chicken, red meat, processed stuff full of nitrates, etc). I figured going vegetarian was the way to go.

I'll be honest, I didn't really research this lifestyle choice as much as I should have. I had very little knowledge of how to combine foods to form complete proteins and other stuff like that. This left me feeling rather lethargic.

This lethargy permeated all aspects of my life. I wasn't as sharp or engaged as I usually was. My mind was kind of foggy and I experienced a general lack of motivation. The worst part of it was that it hit my sex drive particularly hard. After more than a decade of waking up rock hard every single morning, I was suddenly only getting a half-chub at best. Being in my twenties, this was extremely depressing. I mean, my boner was part of my identity. Without it, I was only half myself.

In time, however, I managed to modify my diet in such a way that I felt relatively normal again. I wasn't entirely the same, though. My virility had not recovered as I had hoped it would. Sure, I could still have sex easily enough. There was a bit of a lag, though. Like my boner had a turbocharger, but it was slow to spool up. When it finally got going, things were ok. But, again like a turbocharger, it sort of ran out of steam near the upper limits.

I learned to live with my erectile difficulties, however. At the end of the day, not having a heart attack in my forties outweighed my penis difficulties. I was doing pretty good right up until I slipped up one night.

I had been drinking with my grandmother. We got pretty hanmered. She ended up ordering buffalo wings from the pizza place down the street. The way they were slathered in hot buffalo sauce awoke something deep inside me. Suddenly, I had a powerful lust for meat. I swear I was practically drooling. My mouth was wetter than a fourteen year old girl's underpants at a Bieber concert. My grandmother was nice enough to share then with me. I probably ate a dozen wings before passing out. It was the most beautiful sleep I had experienced in months.

When I awoke the next morning, rather than feeling shitty and hungover, I instead felt born-again. I got up, went to take a leak, and just farted like crazy. Fearing that the force of the farting had torn my asshole assunder, I checked for blood. It was clean, but incredibly stinky. Smelled like a squirrel climbed up my asshole, gave birth to a bunch of baby squirrels, which then died and were left to rot inside me for a couple weeks and methane gas had built up in my colon all the while. As a vegetarian, my shit literally did not stink. It was eerie. But after those chicken wings, the fumes from my ass stung my eyes so much that I actually had to open a window.

After leaving the bathroom behind, I entered the kitchen to find my Nana making breakfast. Eggs were frying. The aroma of bacon and sausage were in the air. At that point, I knew I was done. I loaded up on all of it. Easily the most satisfying breakfast of my life. But it was nothing compared to how satisfying the ensuing poop was.

During my post breakfast nap, I was arroused by a rumbling in the depths of my digestive tract. You know that "butterflies" feeling you get when you're excited or nervous about something? That was happening in my colon. My anus was as giddy as a schoolgirl. I got out of bed and something heavy "shifted" inside me, kind of like going around a turn in your car too fast while carrying an unsecured bowling ball in your trunk. I tried to work some peristalsis to kind of shimmy the massive ball of digested chicken meat and buffalo sauce and breakfast foods back up north, but it was quicky evident that it had passed the event horizon of turtle-heading, the one from which no turd can escape. I felt like a woman who had been pregnant for thirteen months. My poo baby was ready to be baptized, whether I was ready or not.

Imagine that your ankles have handcuffs around them. The chain is no more than six inches. Imagine you have to walk around like this. That's what it was like when I made the pilgrimage from my bedroom to the bathroom. If I opened my legs anymore, my undies would have been immediately filled with a steaming load of pudding.

I got to the bathroom and inched my pants down. In one motion, I was on the toilet. Multiple poop logs spewed out my ass. Upon splashdown, my cheeks were soaked in shit-water. I didn't care. I felt like I had just expelled an angry demon from my body. A fire demon, judging from the burn. That buffalo sauce had singed my brown eye. It didn't matter. The sense of relief was overwhelming. I sat there, crying, for about twenty minutes after I was done. "This is what people must feel when they are told that they've been cured of cancer," I thought.

I wiped just once. Upon inspection of the initial "fact finding expedition," I made the decision to abandon the use of toilet paper. There were only two and a half rolls left, after all, and tbat clearly was not going to be enough. A shower was the only sensible course of action.

A brilliant choice followed by a horrible one. I decided to glance at the offspring I had birthed. Looking into the cesspool I witnessed a brownish, orangish, reddish mound of feces with splatter patterns around the inside of the bowl. It looked like the dried period blood of a thousand tampons mixed with Hormel Chili (the kind with beans). I almost fainted. Even now, I still see it in my dreams.

Despite this furious dump, I felt amazing. I felt like a crisp apple. I felt like a fresh towel. I felt like a fully-charged Dust Buster.

And I wasn't the only one who was feeling lively. My dick. Would not. Stop being hard.

I jerked off but, instead of resting and basking in the post-fap afterglow, as was tradition, I was compelled to keep stroking away. My erection never faded. My turbocharged donger now was twin-turbocharged and intercooled. No lag and it kept pulling hard right up to the redline. The Germans would be proud.

After climaxing for what must have been the fifth consecutive time, I cleaned up and watched TV. About twenty minutes later, I noticed the Captain was rock hard and ready for another go. I couldn't believe it. I set about beating it harder than a pinata at a Mexican little League party. An hour later, while relieving the mail, the same. Then once before and once after my evening bubble bath. And a final time before retiring to bed. So a baker's dozen for the day.

It was clear that the meat was to blame for my reclaimed sex drive. I thought about going back to being a vegetarian for a minute. Thought about the heart disease in my family and all. At the end of the day, though, my erection won out. The grand meatless experiment was over.