all of Patty is talented

  “Unnh!  You’re putting too much grit into these -- things!” Patty says, her toes flexing against the rough concrete rail as she raises herself up.

        “It’s the same formula as always,” Freddy says.  They’re talking softly so that the crowd around them, watching from behind the little fence, can’t hear.

        “I feel like I’m -- shitting out -- unnhh! -- a porcupine.”

        “You exaggerate.”

        Patty exhales and lifts her butt off the top of the prong of white clay.  It’s softened now, after three minutes in her rectum.  As Freddy points out in his presentation, the rectum is the body’s warmest region, and his special clay has been calibrated accordingly, along with Patty’s unique ability to knead it with her internal muscles.  He carefully lifts the softened clay with both hands and adds it to the horse’s head.  Today he’s making a horse, from the neck up.  Last week it was a rhino.  Next week it will be a dog, if nobody does a request.  Freddy is really good and between the two of them they pull in about two hundred dollars of tips every week.

        Patty lowers herself onto the next prong.  People cluster around behind to see it disappear into her anus.  This is the fifth one.  There are four more to go, in a row to her left.  She’s squatting all the way down now and with her big toe she presses the button on the timer.

        “Another thing -- you clean me out too much at the beginning.  Why go so high up?  I can taste that orangey stuff in the back of my throat.”

        Freddy, ostentatiously dressed in white smock, suit, nice shoes and beret, looks down at his nude assistant.  “Again, you exaggerate.  We can’t have sculptures smelling like poop, can we?  Anyway, you’re supposed to look up and answer questions.”

        Patty’s eyes flash but she looks up with as even a glance as she can manage.  Faint ripples on her hard concavity of a tummy evidence the skilled workings of her pelvic floor muscles.  She had to practice at home for many hours before she got this right.  Now she sees a couple of friends from her block and waves with a nod of her head.  Now, Mr. Laughton, her English teacher, who comes up.

        “Miss Kowalski, that was an excellent essay you submitted yesterday.”

        “Thanks -- unhh.”  A yellowjacket bee has arrived to do a reconnaissance of her pubic hair.  The best thing is ignore it, not that she has any choice.  Fortunately it leaves before the timer goes off.  Patty grunts as she excretes prong number five.  She stands up and stretches, gripping the rail with her toes, giving the crowd a glorious view of her nipples, big and wind-stiffened in the chilly air, her concave tummy, the goose pimples on her butt, then sidles over to prong number six.  This feels bigger than the others -- Patty always complains to Freddy that he makes these things too big -- but she’s not going to interrupt her teacher.

        “Where did you get that material on Jefferson?” Mr. Laughton says, watching idly as with a wince Patty sits and forces the too-thick prong through her stretching sphincter.​

        “American Sphinx.  It’s in the -- library online.”

        “Oh I’ve heard of that.  A good book?”

        “A lot of g - good information -- ” the bee has returned and is flitting against her nipple -- also she feels the softened clay inside her in danger of splitting in two and she flexes her puborectalis muscle to put it back together -- “but b - boring.”