Seducerella's Hairy Taco, Part 3:
"The Unholy Taco Transformation"
I tore myself away from staring at Seducerella's cross and breasts and saw a horrible sight. Out of El
Taquito's mouth was spouting sour cream, squirts of ruby red salsa and bits of seasoned hamburger exploded from between his
lips as he coughed and gagged, holding his throat with one hand and rubbing his belly with the other. Soon he was doubled
over on the ground, trying to scream but his throat was too full of the golden white light of the taco he had so impudently
swallowed whole. Like Satan, he had wanted it all for himself, thinking he was too gorgeous to share the shining sheen of
sublimity that radiated from the Mystic Taco I represented and which dwelled in the hearts of all those who partook in the
sacrament. Like the dirty, damnable red devil of old he wanted it all for himself, to take it all in one bite and now, like
Satan, he was paying a horrible price. I watched in awe as he began to cough up a flood of salsa and sour cream. The black
hair on his head became crispy emerald green leafs of lettuce. His skin slowly began to dry up like a lizard's. But it
wasn't scales that were forming on his skin, no, his flesh was turning into a crispy tortilla shell! Holy Fuck! His eyes
appeared as red miniature cherry tomatoes, so good for putting in tacos but so bad when they become your eyeballs. I notice
his pubic hairs had turned into shreds of golden orange sharp cheddar cheese as this once successful, popular and beloved
entertainer was turning into a HUMAN TACO before my eyes! HAHAHAHAHA!!!
The communal love had been too much to be eaten in one bite by one man. No man, not even the Great El
Taquito, could hold so much golden, radiant love in his belly so it began to seep out through his muscles, turning all of his
tendons into ground beef. His heart began twisting, contorting into a packet of store-bought taco seasoning as his veins
became filled with sweet salsa. He looked up at me, his mouth foaming white, rich sour cream. His eyes were tomatoes and
his skin was a crooked, contorted patch of connected bits of light yellow corn taco shells. He was holding out what was left
of his hand to me and I wanted to take it. I wanted to take his hand and forgive him for his transgression but I wanted to
EAT him even more. Suddenly I felt this overpowering, seductive hunger scream through my veins and enter my soul. I watched
as members of the crowd succumbed to their satanic, unholy appetites. Two men began pulling leaves of lettuce from El
Taquito's head, putting them in their mouths and swooning as they did so, even more so than when they partook of my taco
communion! And that was the trick, that was the lie. The quick fix, the temptation of taking everything in at once for an
instant gratification rather than nibbling on the taco, working slowly and diligiently towards a goal of completion rather
than taking shortcuts. El Taquito had met the devil at the Metaphorical Butt Crack Crossroads
when he saw me fucking the hairy pussy in the stands during his show. Instead of accepting that we all should
share, he went the wrong direction, he took the path of selfishness, self-centeredness and un-hallowed hubris and he was
paying a mighty price.
So would my lost followers who were on the ground with him , nibbling on his taco-meat-muscles
and chewing on his balls which were now chunks of cheese. I watched women, like maenads, covered in salsa as they ripped off
their clothes and began chewing on El Taquito's Mexican sausage brain, laughing as they looked at me, chunks of greasy,
slobbering pork smothered in hot sauce, falling in hunks of unclean filth down their bare chests and rolling down their
breasts. My own spiritual hunger was getting the best of me. Despite the horrific sight of El Taquito, his mangled lettuce
leaf hair and crumbled up flesh that revealed bones so brittle they looked like shucked corn cobs, I wanted to eat him,
partake of his corn chip flesh, feast upon his sour cream semen that squirted now from his taquito cock. Like the gruesome
sight of a slain Christ upon the Cross, despite the horror and the death and the screaming, contorted grimace of Jesus' face
dripping blood from the throbbing torture of sick thorns as he looked up to the clear blue sky and saw nothing but despair, I
looked upon him and lusted for forgiveness. For grace. And the power to proceed in a life which had hitherto seems so
hopeless, in El taquito's agony I saw glory. I saw something to fill my belly, to feed my hunger because I was weary of
working so hard, eating only one or two tacos a day and receiving NOTHING!
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