I AM DICK by Matthew Vaughn

ENDLESS STATIC feed: 01:51:70 - 01:68:21

Feb 09, 2026

I walked into the room and immediately saw the body on the floor. I didn't know how long it had been there, but judging by the black goo puddling underneath it, I'd say for a good while.

It was weird I couldn't smell it. With as long as it had been decomposing, I thought there would be some lingering odor in the room, but there wasn't. Maybe all the coke over the years had just destroyed my nose.

The rest of the room seemed untouched. The chairs were right side up, books were neatly set on the bookshelves. There was a small table next to the couch that had two TV remotes on it. It was as if this guy just laid on the floor and died. But how long had he been dead?

Looking around the flat surfaces of the room, I saw a little dust, but nothing more than the normal amount. No cobwebs were dancing in the corners, indicating it had been a long time since anyone had cleaned.

I knelt down next to the body and examined the black goo. At first, I thought his body was breaking down into a thick liquid, but up close, his skin wasn't melting. His face was turned so that his cheek lay flat. The black goo was leaking from his eyes, mouth, and ears, like it lived inside him, lying dormant until the man laid upon the floor. The puddle was huge and surrounded his entire body. I imagined it was also escaping through his urethra and anus, possibly his belly button, too.

With two fingers, I touched the substance. It was waxy, like tar, but not as sticky. I brought my fingers to my face and tried to smell it, but my nose failed me again. I couldn't smell shit if the room was covered in it.

I touched the black substance with my tongue. It was bitter and salty, reminding me of cum. Not my own, but the taste triggered thoughts of past experiences sucking cock. I scraped my tongue along my teeth, trying to peel the taste off.

Next to the guy’s head was a drink can. The same black goo was overflowing from the opening, pouring down the sides. I picked the can up and examined it. It was black with a white skull on the front. In red letters, it read Mother Fucking Black Skull of Death. It was an energy drink. I knew it well. It was once pulled from stores after an incident in a small Kentucky town. The can wasn't part of a relaunch though, because it still had the naked lady sitting on the pile of skulls on the backside. I was pretty sure they did away with that image after another incident with a model at a horror convention. If I recall correctly, they never found all her body parts.

I tried to smell the contents of the can even though I knew I couldn't smell shit. Confirmed, I still couldn't smell shit.

I took a drink from the can. It still tasted like cum, but mixed with cough syrup this time. I quit drinking energy drinks a while back and I forgot how much I loved that cough syrup taste. It reminded me of many late-night adventures filled with coke and hookers. Hopefully, it wouldn't kick-start my addiction again.

The black goo spoke to me, not with words, but with a sensation inside my brain. It told me what I needed to do, unlocking a memory I didn't know was locked away. It was nothing new to me. I’d been there a hundred times before. This is what I did, this is how I operated. Setting the can down, I looked at my wrist and saw the time. It was getting late. I needed to get a move on. It was time to get to work.

I rolled the body over onto its back. The entire front of him was coated in the black goo. I didn't recognize the man. I didn’t know why he was chosen, but it also wasn't my place to ask those types of questions. I grabbed the man's mouth, sticky with goo, and pulled on it. His lips and cheeks moved like silly putty. I could stretch his mouth and form it how I wanted, as if he had no bones inside his face. It put me in mind of claymation characters and the way their mouths moved, lips flapping wildly from just the power of their voice.

I stretched his mouth hole open and stepped inside the dead man. I pulled his lifeless face up around my legs, having to jump a couple of times to slide fully into him, like putting on a snug pair of pants. The goo helped by making his bones soft and pliable. I tugged and adjusted until his lips were pulled so thin they resembled little red strings around my waist, and I kept pulling until his entire body was covering mine like a skin suit.

My head now protruded from the dead man's mouth, his stretched lips wrapped around my neck as if he was a snake swallowing me whole. I reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet to see who I was now. Richard Richardson. What a stupid name. It’s like being called Dick Dickson. Or Penis Penison. Why would someone do that to their kid?

I stripped off all of Dick's clothes and giggled when I saw his cock. It was bigger than mine, which made it easier to fit mine inside. It felt like a glove two sizes too big. Better than going the other direction and having it squeeze the shit out of my dick, I thought.

Naked, I walked into Dick’s bathroom to shower. I needed to wash all the black goo off the body. I pulled his head up and over mine, like a hood on a coat, and his teeth clamped down against my scalp. I turned on the hot water and climbed into the shower. All Dick had to clean himself was a bar of soap on top of a little claw shell dish. I tried ignoring the wild hairs growing from the bar, but I was still a little grossed out by it. I manned up and washed his body with it anyway.

While in the shower, I cranked one out real quick. There's nothing like the feel of your dick inside someone else's dick. It’s like jacking off with a condom made of flesh and blood, like a squishy glove.

Once I had Dick all cleaned up, I rifled through his closet and found a somewhat decent outfit to wear. His shirts were a little too bright for my taste, but I’m Dick now, not me, so I had to deal. I couldn’t always wear a black shirt and pants when I was trying to be someone else. I could go back to those once I was me again.

Walking back into the living room, I glanced at the dark spot on the floor and saw the can of Mother Fucking Black Skull of Death. I reached down, picked it up and licked some of the black goo on the outside, smacking my lips as my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tilted the can and took another drink. It was still very good.

I could feel the black goo as it flowed through my body, like someone poured a thick syrup down a set of tubes. My feet felt it first, then the sensation rose up my legs. When it hit my pelvic area, my cock stiffened inside those brown slacks of Dick’s. I tilted my head back as the black goo rose even higher, until it felt like it was swelling around my brain. Only then did I feel complete, like I was now Dick. I pulled at Dick’s face, and his stomach and arms. He was definitely attached to me now. The effects of the black goo would soon wear off, but for now, I was Dick and I could walk comfortably out of that apartment living as Dick.

I spotted the car keys in a bowl on the counter and snatched them up. Hopefully, Dick drove something nice and not a hooptie, because a long drive was in order.

Matthew Vaughn is the Splatterpunk Award nominated author of Bowery, Mother Fucking Black Skull of Death, Hellsworld Hotel, and 30 Minutes or Less. With his brother, Edward Vaughn, they edited and compiled The Classics Never Die! An Anthology of Old School Movie Monsters for their own press, Red All Over Books.
He lives in Shelbyville, Kentucky and is the father of five little children, yet he and his wife are just big kids too. By day he maintains machines and robots, by night he is a writer of bizarro and horror fiction.
Follow him on Substack.