In 2006, when I was first profiting from the exciting market of deranged perverts who’d buy anything that came out of or off of me, a guy named Archie asked to buy my shit.

Although I was somewhat new to this world, I had already sold several pairs of used panties, socks, tampons, toenail clippings and a bottle of piss. I had quickly come to the realization that there wasn’t anything so revolting that there wasn’t a some guy out there willing to buy it. In fact, it seemed the more revolting the better. So, by the time I got this request I wasn’t so much shocked as I was wondering what had taken so long.

I told Archie I’d sell him my shit for $100 which, at the time, seemed like a huge amount of money. He agreed and after he paid I proceeded to prepare his package in my sister’s living room one day while I was house sitting. I remember squatting over an open tupperwear container thinking this was just the sort of unique, perverse memory I would cherish forever.

Archie was quite the study case. He used to write me long winded emails about his shit eating pursuits. Here’s a sample from the mail vault:

“Dear Ceara

I have bought 202 pee/poo packages here on ebanned (yes, i do keep score. i even weigh the contents so i’ll know how much FEmale waste i’ve eaten over the years), and YOU are only the second at ebanned i’ve been willing to pay this much for. About half the GIRLs get $20 for the pee and $20 for the poo. The rest get a flat rate of $50 for both. YOU are, by a very large margin, much sexier than most of the ebanned GIRLs, so i have no problem with YOUR $100 fee demand. Based on looks alone, YOU are so obviously worth it.

i’m telling YOU all this just so YOU understand that W/we both have requirements necessary for a smooth, happy and successful business relationship. i’m not a newbie shit eater. i’ve been an on-going, enthusiastic, and serious total toilet for GIRLs since the mid 60’s. Before becoming old and ugly, i frequently had the privilege of receiving my fecal fix directly from its divine source. Those were truly the “good ol’ days”

W/we live on opposite sides of the continent. i’m in Georgia. How nice it would be if YOU were only down the road. i could get the shit still warm and fragrant instead of 2 or 3 days old. Still, if it’s from an attractive GIRL; GIRL shit is GIRL shit, and i can’t imagine ever being so stupid as to decline the honor of eating any i can get my mouth on. But obviously the quality of fresh shit far exceeds older shit. As YOU can probably imagine, shit has an extremely short shelf life. Pee, surprisingly, is pretty durable. menstrual products have the shortest safety margin. In hot weather they can go dangerously bad in a day. Spit goes bad quickly too. Sweat is weird, often it gets better for several days before either going rancid or becoming odorless.

i am plenty knowledgeable about all aspects of FEmale products and consider myself a true connoisseur. It is no lie or exaggeration when i say i’ve consumed in excess of two tons of FEmale excrement over the past 42 years. If i included non-excrement stuff, it would be nearer to four tons. YOU can see that this is no passing fancy for me. i live to be a toilet for GIRLs. Life would truly be pointless if i were cut off. the odd thing is, as i’ve aged, i’ve become a good bit more picky. In my youth i would eat the shit of almost any GIRL who was willing to share, but now, in my cranky old age, i need the youth and beauty i see in GIRLs like YOU. i feel i’ve earned it.

In the past 42 years i’ve invested over $150,000 in my shit eating pursuits. Naturally that’s money well spent, but as my life runs out, i want my final days to be a big time and glorious event. That’s why lately i’ve narrowed my suppliers down precipitously. I’ve paid my dues and put in my time, and as grand as it all was, i want only the best from now on. When i’m sitting around in my rocker on the porch of some old folks home, i want to remember the faces of GIRLs like YOU and let my imagination fill in the odors and taste YOU were willing to share with me. i want and need memories like that to sustain me in those final days.

-Archie”

Lovely, isn’t he?

Archie was so specific about how he wanted his special treat to be shipped that he mailed me the supplies himself so that all I’d have to do was leave my deposit, seal it up and expedite it to him. When I got his package, it contained multiple layers of ziplock bags, an air tight tupperwear container, a $100 bill and a small keep sake: a flat piece of art glass that had a rainbow sheen like an oil slick and 3 dancing women depicted on the front. I thought it was one of the ugliest things I’d ever seen. Like some tacky gift you’d give an old lady along with a gaudy broach. I immediately threw it away.

In retrospect, I should have kept it, as hideous as it was it’d would have made a great conversation piece.

It’s no secret that I’m kind of an odd girl. I get psyched over things that are bizarre and gross. Selling my shit did nothing for me sexually and while the money was nice I mostly I just liked the fact that I could say that I did this unique, fucked up thing once in my life. It wasn’t something I cared to sell regularly. At least not for just $100, which was increasingly becoming less money in my POV.

I continued to get these sorts of requests, but guys would always balk at the obscenely large price I was now charging and refuse. No big deal. That’s the beauty of having multiple, lucrative revenue streams; if I don’t really care to sell something, I can charge whatever I want. If the client doesn’t want to pay, so what? I’ll make 6-figures anyway. Considering this, I assumed I had priced myself so far out of the market that I’d never sell my shit again.

That is, until last week when a regular client of mine, Marid, inquired about buying my poo.

It came as a bit of a surprise coming from him. Up until this point, he had commissioned only soft-core, lesbian make out videos from me with specific women he picked out. They were all pretty tame and not within my fetish niche (or personal interest) but he always paid so exceptionally that it was worth it. I was always figured his tastes were rather mainstream.

So, I quoted him a price. Marid haggled. The indignant femdom in me held firm. I don’t like my clients thinking my prices are, in any way, negotiable. How dare they. Fuck em. I don’t need their less-than-my asking price money. I was ready to write the offer off completely and move on.

But, as I went about my day, reality started to slowly seeping in. I really thought about what he was offering; what it could pay for, my financial goals, how big of a dent it’d put in my mortgage, my upcoming 8 week trip. There’s a side effect to making far more than enough money to live comfortable; you sometimes forget the value of it. I had to consciously remind myself that even though it was less than than what I was asking, it was still a lot.

And so for the second time in my life, I agreed to sell a man my shit.

This time, for $4,000.

.

…

…..

It’s a surreal feeling. After 9 years, I never thought I’d sell my shit again. I certainly never thought that as I aged in an industry that sustains itself on the life blood of youth, would the value increase 40x.

Marid paid promptly, as he always does. From there, my experience was not unlike the first time: I packaged the contents in tupperwear, then locked it in tight with vacuumed sealed bag. I included a container of piss in there as well, because sometimes true generosity strikes me. The entire thing was expedited and on his door step the very next day. He contacted me right away to say thank you.

Marid isn’t as detailed and colorful in his emails as Archie was. In fact, when I asked him what he did with the contents, he only admitted to enjoying the smell. But as I pried further, he confessed to touching and tasting it as well,

“Just because I’m crazy about you.”