The seconds ticked slowly by and turned into minutes. Eric's mind raced in circles fruitlessly as he contemplated his impossible situation.
His life was over. Any future prospects, school, work, a girlfriend, a wife, children...goals, future...all wiped away. He needed to be wiped away, Eric thought ruefully. Wiped up and flushed down the toilet like the cumstain he was. Though it'd take more than a few paper towels to clean up the mess he made...
A cumstain. A mess. In an attempt to pass the time, Eric mentally rattled off all the names for jizz he could think of: semen, spunk, spooge. Seed. Baby batter, man milk. A load, a wad, a pearl necklace. Many more bizarre ones he'd giggled at on the schoolyard, like wiener sauce and penis colada. And now, a new name for the stuff...Eric.
Am I doomed to just lie here and slowly go insane? he wondered. He had heard stories about sensory deprivation and solitary confinement, what it did to a person's mind. But Eric was no longer a person, either. And, he reminded himself, his senses were anything but deprived. His cummy flavor was all around him, inescapable, musky and thick and gross.
The grass nearby rustled and a stray cat bounded out of the brush. Not paying attention to where it was going, it stepped in Eric, giving him a jolt. The startled cat quickly lifted its paw and stepped back. It bent to sniff at his gelatinous form, then recoiled and gave him a wide berth as it disappeared. Its pawprint in his crusty surface remained. Eric found himself wishing the cat could somehow go for help, but reminded himself how beyond help he was.
What COULD happen to me at this point? he considered. Am I still potent? If a woman came along right now, scooped up a big handful of me and stuffed me into her cooch, could I impregnate her?
The thought was...stimulating. Eric imagined the woman, dressed in a fancy evening gown for some reason, stepping out of the weeds nearby. She would kneel beside him, run her polished fingernail through his film, cutting it in swirling patterns. She'd dip her finger into his creamy center, bring it to her lips, and taste him with a sensual moan. She'd reach down with both her hands, cupping a big handful of him, scooping it into a thick helping. She'd lie on the ground and pull back her dress, revealing that she wasn't wearing any panties. Aiming her pussy skyward, she'd spread its lips wide with one hand and drizzle him into herself with the other, like a baker decorating a cake with frosting. And she'd go back for more again and again, until her womb was overflowing, and excess Eric ran down her taint and pooled in the cup of her asshole...
A leaf stuck in Eric's surface, interrupting his daydream abruptly. What the hell was he trying to accomplish? If cum could think, he mused, then he had certainly been getting lost in that mentality...
Then again, why shouldn't he? That's what he was now, wasn't he? And it was such a waste, lying and rotting in an empty field. He hadn't gotten to do any of the fun things cum should be able to do. In his minds eye he pictured himself enveloped in darkness, waiting with anticipation...then feeling himself sloshing back and forth faster and faster until orgasm rocketed him out into the light, where he'd splatter all over a woman's tits, or a man's ass...he saw himself filling a mouth, looking out of it past uvula and teeth, a huge tongue urging him downwards with a lustful "mmmmm."
He imagined filling a condom, being fired from one tight space into another, parts of him clinging to someone's dick while the rest of him pooled in the reservoir. The world outside would be a dull blur through the thick rubber. The condom would get peeled off unceremoniously and thrown into a trash bin, and some of him would leak out of its halo...for some reason the thought didn't disgust him, and was somehow enticing.
He wondered what his sperm count was. He'd never really learned about that, back in...the place where he used to learn things. That place. Why couldn't he remember it? Ah well, it's not like there was anything else he needed to know.
He. Who was he? He he, he. The word was funny, and sounded like laughter. The cum giggled to itself. Trouser gravy, wank paste, nut butter...
Hours passed, and the jizz on the ground daydreamed in a haze as it crusted over further.