E R N I E ' S   H O U S E   O F   W H O O P A S S

My Thing About Vomit" by Ralph T. Castle

[Reprint of a confessional published in the 1970s.]

It may seem perverse, even to readers of this newspaper, that anyone could have a fetish about vomit. On the few occasions when I have confessed my special interest in this subject, I have been told, flatly, that it is disgusting and there is something wrong with me. But ever since I was sixteen years old I have been aware that there can be special erotic feelings linked to vomiting, and the act has become part of my favorite sexual fantasies.

It all started when I was sixteen, with some teenage friends outside the school auditorium where a typically boring dance was taking place. In the space of three hours I managed to drink three-quarters of a gallon of wine (with frequent pauses to piss against the wall). I became too drunk to stand.I then are a whole packet of Ritz crackers, and then started throwing up. I will always remember the almost creamy consistency of the vomit resulting from the crackers dissolved in the wine and stomach juices. My friends were disgusted to see me literally rolling around in my vomit, as if I were getting off on it in some way. What they didn't notice was that, as drunk as I was, the experience gave me an erection. In fact I think I might even have reached orgasm, but I passed out soon after the stomach spasms were over.

I thought about this experience a lot and realized it was the primal thrill of gushing, of giving forth, which turned me on. It was like ejaculating but much more dramatic. And vomiting brought me into an intimate contact with the juices of my body that were normally contained and hidden. This, and the sense of turning myself inside-out, was exciting.

So I tried to make myself vomit again, a few days later, while sober this time. Unfortunately, it has never been easy for me to vomit. I had to keep prodding the back of my throat with my finger, and when I finally managed to bring up a mere cup full of vomit the muscle spasms (which I had hardly noticed while I was drunk) were so painful that they ruined the experience for me. Consequently I abandoned the subject for a while, though I retained a special interest in any movies which showed people vomiting, and I thought about it quite a bit.

Then, when I was at college, I was dating a girl who was a yoga student and claimed to have mental control of all bodily functions. I suddenly said, "I bet you couldn't make yourself vomit just by thinking about it," and as I spoke I had a vivid image of the juices flowing from her mouth, and I realized, rather guiltily, how much it would excite me to see this and, if possible, touch and taste her vomit as it came out.

She was a competitive person, so she accepted my challenge--provided that I would promise to take her out to dinner afterward (!). She went into the bathroom and kneeled down with her head over the toilet. For the next fifteen minutes there was an endless, tantalizing series of stomach spasms as she tried to will herself to vomit. I crouched with my arm around her, my hand surreptitiously touching her breast. I felt unbearable anticipation mixed with fear, as if something forbidden and dangerous was about to happen. And then, finally, she did it. I saw the rich brown liquid flow out of her very pretty mouth.

Then, while she was still gasping for breath, I couldn't stop myself from seizing her and kissing her passionately, so that I could taste the vomit. I pushed my tongue into her mouth and the tip of it touched little food particles and partially digested remnants of the lunch she had eaten with me just a few hours earlier. The intimacy was beyond anything I had experienced with her in our relationship. However, to her the whole experience was repellent, and she pushed me away, saying that there must be something wrong with me. She refused ever to vomit for me again, and stopped seeing me soon after that. My biggest regret was that I hadn't asked her to vomit into a dish; as it was, she had quickly flushed the toilet, taking all the evidence of the special moment away.

I found it predictably difficult to meet any other women who shared my interests. A year or so later I was seeing a very overweight girl who had tried every slimming diet there was. I suggested hopefully to her that if she made herself vomit after dinner each night, she would quickly lose weight. She didn't like the idea, so I had to keep insisting on it, telling her rather cruelly how fat she was. She agreed to my plan, just once. This time I prepared properly for the scene. I covered the kitchen table with a towel, and I set a large white porcelain mixing bowl in the center. I draped another towel across my girlfriend's large breasts, as a napkin. She looked as if she was about to enjoy a feast--except that the bowl was empty, and in fact she was about to PROVIDE the feast!

She tried to back out at the last minute, and it was I who had to touch the back of her throat--an act which seemed just as erotic, to me, as pushing my finger into a woman's vagina. While I tickled her throat with one hand, I masturbated surreptitiously under the table with my other hand, and when she finally threw up I came at almost the same moment, in a mutual rush of juices that made me flinch and cry out, the spasms were so intense. Luckily, she was too aware of her own discomfort to realize what was happening to me. By the time she recovered herself and wiped away the dribbles of vomit from her chin, I had mopped up the evidence of my orgasm and was quickly clearing away the bowl of liquid. I had quietly stage-managed her diet during that day, insisting that she ate a lot of beets for dinner, and some rare roast beef--so that when the vomit came up, it would be a very pretty purple-pink color.

That night, I waited for her to go to sleep, and then I crept out to the kitchen and poured her vomit into a large glass jar. I brought the jar back into our bedroom and stood it on the bedside table. It gave me a very special guilty thrill to go to sleep beside her with that jar of her very essence, captured and bottled, standing close by. I felt I had stolen away something altogether more precious than any act of a normal sexual nature would have given me.

Unfortunately she woke before I did and when she saw what I had done, she was so disgusted she terminated our involvement immediately. It was all I could do to stop her grabbing the jar of vomit and pouring it away. Later, I confess I indulged in a very perverse act: I used some of the vomit as lubricant on my hands, and masturbated with it. I remember how the white come looked amid the sticky purplish vomit--which, by this time, was actually beginning to turn brown, since I discovered vomit does not keep for very long, even when refrigerated. It goes brown and starts smelling very bad.

In the next few weeks I tried again to make myself vomit, now that I realized how arousing the whole subject could be. But the act was as physically painful as ever, and in any case it was a poor substitute compared to what I had experienced with my girlfriend. So I turned to prostitutes. Inevitably, they refused to have anything to do with me, when I told them what I wanted. Their attitude was that they would do various kind of perverted sex, if they were paid enough, but vomiting was nothing to do with sex. It was plain disgusting, and they couldn't do it no matter how much they were paid. Actually, I think it was simply that any person, no matter how degenerate he or she is, needs to find someone else in the world they can despise for being even more degenerate. And that's why the prostitutes despised me rather than cooperate with what I wanted.

Then I had a stroke of good fortune. By a complete fluke--a wrong number phone call, in fact--I met a girl called Tina who had come to the city from the Midwest, thinking she could get rich here. She had gotten very disillusioned, had ended up selling encyclopedias door to door, had even failed at that, and when I met her she was broke and hopeless, living in a sleazy little apartment in a very bad neighborhood. Tina turned out to be one of the least attractive women I had ever met. When we talked on the phone she sounded sexy, but when I saw her I found she had extremely bad acne, her face looked perpetually blank (her mouth literally tended to hang half open), and she was incapable of keeping up any sort of intelligent conversation. My first impulse was to try and leave as tactfully as possible. However, she mentioned that, in addition to all her other troubles, she had gotten pregnant. One thing came into my head at this point: MORNING SICKNESS!

To my great excitement I learned that Tina was, in fact, suffering from morning sickness, and since it had only recently started, she expected it would go on for another couple of weeks. So I decided I had to spend that night with her, even though I found her physically repulsive. She had no objection--she seemed to have no will of her own, in fact, which excited me, because it implied I might persuade her to vomit for me more than once.

I spent a very difficult night with her, and was only able to have sex by closing my eyes and picturing what delights dawn would bring. Then I woke in the morning and felt her slipping out of bed to go to the bathroom. I ran after her, just in time to stop her closing the bathroom door. I insisted she should vomit into the sink, not the toilet. She tried to resist, but I just took charge, and she was too submissive and too overcome by nausea to do much about it.

I managed to put the stopper into the drain while her stomach heaved, and then, gloriously, all the juices flowed. There was not a lot, because most of the food in her stomach had been digested and moved down into the intestines during the night. However, to my eyes the liquid that did come up had an almost golden color, and I marveled that it looked so attractive to me, while she, the vessel from which the liquid flowed, was so ugly!

As soon as she had vomited I kissed her deeply and savored the bitter taste. Then, wanting to see how far she would go, I asked her to suck my cock. She agreed rather reluctantly, and kneeled down on the bathroom floor. The idea of her mouth, wet with bile and stomach juices, around my cock, was so erotic that I came almost immediately. After my orgasm I asked her to leave me alone in the bathroom for a few minutes. When she had gone, I locked the door. I then found a sponge, soaked it in the vomit, and rubbed it all over my naked body. This brought back my feelings of sexual arousal and within minutes I was asturbating to another orgasm, wrapping the vomit-wet sponge around my cock as I came.

From then on I spent every night with Tina. She soon suspected that all I really cared about were our morning sessions, but she was such a lonely person she never refused me. After all, I was just about her only friend, and I gave her money and brought food each time I visited her. I, of course, was experiencing pure bliss. I told Tina that she had not been eating enough, and she should have a midnight snack before she went to bed each night. By this ruse, I was able to increase the volume of the vomit that she produced each morning, and I was also able to alter its color and taste, though not very predictably. One morning after she vomited, I touched it with my finger and licked it, and it tasted so special to me it seemed too good to waste. So I bottled that morning's batch and insisted on cooking dinner that night--a beef stew, into which I slipped at least a cup full of the vomit I had saved. Actually the culinary experiment did not work very well; the result wasn't very nice. But the idea of what I had

Her morning sickness ended soon after that, and she summoned enough courage to refuse me when I hinted that she should force herself to continue vomiting just for me.

So I left Tina, and for the past couple of years there has been no one willing to satisfy my particular desires. This is a pity because there are many more kinky things I would like to do. For instance, if I ever met a woman who shared my fetish I would have her wear a small glass vial on a thin gold chain around her neck, and in the vial would be a little sample of her vomit, which we would renew each day. It would be like a window into her inner workings, her essence. It would also be a very special and exciting secret between us, as to what the liquid was.

Also I would like to experiment more with different diets to produce different colors and textures of vomit, with different aromas and tastes. And I would be interested in group-vomiting experiments. These are just a few of the many topics which come to mind. I do not know why I have this special obsession. I have no other special needs, and my sex life is otherwise normal enough. I know I would dearly love to meet anyone else who has a similar interest in this much misunderstood subject, so that we could explore it together and satisfy each other in the process.

[This text was originally published about 15 years ago. There is no information on the fate of the author since then, so please, all you girls looking for someone who'll really appreciate your puke, save your energy--do not write to me asking for Mr. Castle's address and phone number.]