The Devil's Avocado: Ramblings of a Madman

By Nathaniel Bell

This book is half memoir, half meditations.

It was written so that I could unburden my soul, and look at my own life in an objective fashion. It was also written so I could pass on some of the universal secrets I have learned in my long years of research.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543924725

Nathaniel Bell

Nathaniel Bell is a survivor of schizoaffective disorder, leukemia, and alcoholism. While navigating multiple health crises in his 20's, he played college football as a quarterback and studied theatre at UC San Diego. After graduating in 2014, he pursued an acting career in Los Angeles and worked as an acting instructor. He also fell in love with directing and screenwriting, working on several personal projects, including a short pirate film, Mercy Lost. Today, Nathaniel lives in Glendale, California and is grateful to be alive and thriving, and he continues to follow his passion for writing, acting, and filmmaking. You can find out more about him and his work at nathaniellbell.com.

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The working title of this book was Masturbatory Phenomena, which while clever didn’t really suit the content, so The Devil’s Avocado was chosen instead.

This book took a few dozen Natrinos, a butt load of southern comfort, four cases of redbull, a massive pile of Pepto-Bismol, several sleepless nights, one dingy hotel room, and no small amount of courage to write.

What this book is; it a collection of wild tales and opinions about myself, many of them unbelievable, and all of them 89% true. Some details are slightly different due to an imperfect memory, and of course any good story deserves embellishment, which is an ancient literary tradition. This book doesn’t have much in the way of structure, and is rambling and disjointed. Most of the stories are simply tangents of tangents. A lot of them are incomplete and don’t fully explain themselves. I have edited it a bit to make it a little more polished, but it will be left mostly in its current state. My own brain is a rambling thing, so if the purpose of this book is to give the reader insight into my character, then the book should reflect the author.

What it is not: this book is not a traditional memoir. You will notice it contains precious few details about my childhood, except of boy scouts, which were the only happy memories from my childhood.

I wrote this book for an audience of one: me. I wrote it for my own benefit, to get some of the weight of my soul onto paper so I would be less troubled by it.

Others may read it if they wish. This book is not sugarcoated to make me look better, but instead explains things as the really happened. Doubtless, some of my stories my surprise or shock you. There are a few that reflect quite poorly on my character. Judge me if you must, but know that I have since made my peace with what I am, and you should too.

It should be noted that no real names are used in this book. Every person mentioned is indeed real, but I have substituted nicknames.

Before you begin, know this: at the end of your existence, all you are is a collection of stories. If you are lucky, some of your stories will live on in the hearts of those you love.

You owe it to yourself to make your story the best one ever.

Let us begin.

I decided to put the most shocking chapter first, on the grounds that anyone who can get through it without judging me forever will find the rest of the book quite enjoyable.

I will tell you the tale of the Atlanta incident.

I used to travel to various tradeshows and conferences for work, all of them boring as fuck. On Halloween of 2012, I found myself in Atlanta Georgia. Wanting to get out of my skin for awhile, I did something that even for me was unexpected: I went on backpage and found a dominatrix.

Actually, there were two of them, call them Ishtar and Dagon. Unlike the country club dommes that infest the scene up there, these two were young and hadn’t obeyed the law a single day in their lives. After some emailing, we agreed on a two hour double domme session, for a price that would have fed an African village for a year. The fact that I could do this is yet more proof of how much the first world rocks.

The dungeon was a unit rented in a gated apartment building. I had great trouble finding it, and eventually one of them had to meet me out there, in full dominatrix attire, to the shock of some white collar dude who lived there. The dungeon was shared amongst several domes and rented out as needed to each, so it seldom sat idle. This is a clever business model.

They made me strip on the porch and enter the building on all fours, which is to be expected with these things. They asked me what kind of session I wanted, and I replied that I desired an open ended session and that I would tell them when I’d had too much. Being gangster ass bitches, they were cool with that.

The session started with them slapping my face and making fun of my penis, which is admittedly small. This is pretty tame stuff by fetish standards, so soon I was wanting more.

Regrettably for me, the girls weren’t really into ass worship, which is a shame, as it’s my favorite kink. Something about kissing and licking a gorgeous set of female hindquarters sends me to my happy place. We all contemplate the divine in different ways. Ishtar let me do a bit, but told me that men liked getting rimmed more than women.

I told them I wanted something more extreme. To that end, they bound me to a saint Andrews cross, and Ishtar got a whip. Not some soft, playful flogger, but a legit bullwhip. I told her I didn’t want a little play whipping, but a full on, no holds barred flogging like you’d expect to see in roots. (That work was 90% plagairism, 10% hyperbole, and 100% suck). She was initially skeptical, but I told her I was tough, would tell her when I’d had enough, and promised not to sue. She thought about it, shrugged, and went to town on me.

Now, if you’ve never been whipped for real you won’t understand, but for those who have you’ll know it is the greatest sexual experience on this earth. The first seven or eight strokes were admittedly unpleasant, but after that your back goes numb, and in a desperate effort to cope your brain floods itself with a massive quantity of endorphins. The high is equivalent to 3 grams of pure cocaine.

After twenty or so strokes, Ishtar stopped. I could have taken more, but by this point my back was starting to bleed and they were worried about possible liability issues. It’s one thing to sink deep into the depths of sexual depravity, and quite another to invite the wrath of the trial lawyers. Those guys will fuck you more than the most deviant nympho who ever lived, although that being said I’d definitely be interested in meeting that chick. Imagine the stories she could tell.

For a change of pace, Dagon. set in with a little CBT, or cock and ball torture. Given the sensitivities of the tissues involved, it is easy to produce extreme pain with minimal force. This is best done by a skilled practitioner severe damage can result. If you’ve never had an Asian chick with really strong hands and acrylic nails give you a Jesuit handshake, then you simply don’t know what pain is. Even Genghis Kahn would have shed a tear. My gallbladder attack was but a sneeze in comparison. Sensing that I was past my limits, she softened things up a bit by hanging a 12 pound dumbbell from my tender nutsack.

At this point, with me bound, my back bleeding and my testicles in unspeakable agony, they decided to take a break by making out with each other. I don’t know how long this went on, but the universe died and was born anew before they looked at me again.

The released me from my bonds, only to rescuer me bent over a bench. Perhaps they felt I wasn’t violated enough, as Ishtar put on a massive strapon and told me to suck. Now, I’d never sucked a dick before, but I’d watched a lot of blowjob videos, and given her skill with a whip I wouldn’t think of letting her down. I sucked that big rubber cock like the fate of the universe depended on it. I swallowed all 10 inches. It is an odd sensation when a straight guy with no experience suddenly learns he can deep throat cock like a pornstar. Ishtar remarked that she could find me a boyfriend who would be very happy with me. At this point, had a guy appeared I probably would have blown him just to get on her good side. It’s not every day you impress a professional with your blowjob skills, and while I am proud of this fact, perhaps it is not something worth being proud of.

It should be noted at this point that Ishtrar had a major forced bi kink (making a straight person have sex with someone of the same gender) herself, and I will admit that this has always intrigued me. Had we had an opportunity for more sessions, it is entirely possible I would have let her break me down to the point where I was willing to have sex with a man. Not many people know this, but most straight men have this fantasy, and for most it remains a fantasy.

About this time, Dagon also strapped a dildo on, lubed it good, and shoved it forcefully into my tender, virgin asshole. I tried to tell her to stop, but at the same time Ishtar shoved her cock down my throat, so my protests came out as gurgles. Resigned to the fact that I was being brutally raped by two sadistic lesbians, I meekly accepted my fate.

Most people are aware that women have a G spot (to all you nerds out there, learn some basic female anatomy. It’ll help). Men have one also. It is the prostate gland. It is best accessed by anal sex. The feeling of a big cock made of Chinese rubber and filled with phthalates slamming into my prostate was simultaneously extremely pleasurable and quite painful, which is everything a good dominatrix session is all about.

It ended fairly well, as I exploded everywhere after a short time. Regrettably, Dagon collected my load and put it in my mouth and made me swallow. I was so violated at this point I didn’t have the strength to resist. Swallowing semen is not the worst thing, as it is creamy with no real taste, but the act of doing it was quite emasculating. After all, most ancient cultures viewed homosexuality as having levels. For example, in Ancient Rome getting oral sex from a man was acceptable, but the man doing the sucking was just a faggot unworthy of any respect.

Ishtar handed me her filly thong and told me: you have welts all over your back and a sore ass. Put on these panties and enjoy the rest of your conference.

I slowly waddled back to my car, leaving the two of them to go to their Halloween party and get thoroughly fucked by other men. A little known fact is that professional dominatrices usually have a super alpha boyfriend who treats them like shit. A wiser man than me once said that you kiss her ass, and he fucks it. Perhaps it is because they are so dominant for work that in their spare time they need to be controlled. For those not in the know, all sex workers, strippers and dommes also have a personal life. She goes home eventually and watches Netflix in her sweatpants like the rest of the universe.

A separate but similar incident occurred in Baton Rouge Louisiana. Now, Louisiana is much like Somalia, in that it is a lawless third world country. There are some great parties to be had there, easily the best in north America. Some hopelessly obtuse fools think Vegas is the spot, but it’s too expensive, the chicks are all plastic, and they have pesky things like rules. Reno is better, but southern Louisiana will give you anything you desire at a discount. Personally, I call that a win.

As has happened so many times, I was in a strip club. There was a charming young lady selling shots. Now, for those not in the know, many strip clubs have a chick called a shooter girl. She walks around with a tray with usually 18 to 24 little test tubes in a holder. They are cheap and made with cheap liquor, and usually cost $2-$5. The advantage is that the shooter girl doesn’t have to go on stage and doesn’t do dances, so if you keep buying shots she’ll hang out with you all night. F your planning on getting wasted anyway, this is a good method for keeping an attractive woman around to chill with. Besides, I have yet to meet one who didn’t have interesting stories. I’ve hung out with an appalling number of them, and was engaged to one for a time.

This particular shooter girl in Baton Rouge was something special. In order to do her justice, I must tell you a little about myself.

Some men like boobs. Some men like eyes. Some men like feet. I, for one, am an ass man. Put a great female butt in front of me and I will plot as to how I can talk her into letting me swirl my tongue around her naughty hole. I know a bottom is a delivery system for poop, but kinks don’t have to make sense. In particular, a big booty white girl always makes me weak. Give me one of those, even if only for a short time, and I can usually find a reason to live.

To sidetrack a bit: the United States navy, in total, has about 9 million tons of displacement. This counts everything from the giant nuclear powered aircraft carriers to the dingy that takes the admiral around on inspections. Picture you condensed the navy to a barbell, gave it to a girl with freakish genetics, and had her squat it all day every day for 10,000 years, and that girl still wouldn’t have as nice an ass as the woman in this story.

The shooter girl came over and we did a bunch of shots. I’ve always preferred shooter girls to strippers, because they don’t have to gon on stage and as long as you keep buying shots you can keep them all night and talk to them. Sex with a beautiful woman is a wonderful thing, but it is fleeting. On the other hand, a conversation that makes your soul expand lasts forever. That’s how I roll. After all, I don’t particularly enjoy sex, but I live for stories. If you can share with me a tale I’ve never heard, or a concept I’ve never considered, then you will hold a special place in my heart until the breaking of the world.

After I was buzzed enough, I told the Girl With The Impossible Hindquarters about my ass fetish. She was intrigued. She said we could go back and do dances, and she would just sit on my face the whole time. Naturally I agreed, because you come across a perfect ass but once in a lifetime, and you must take advantage.

Before I knew it she’d spent the entire night sitting on my face and the club was closing. She had spent most of the time looking at Christmas cards on her phone. As it was summer, I never did figure this one out. I asked if I would ever see her again. She said for $1,000 she would come to my hotel room and I could kiss and lick all night, and then she would kick me in the balls many times as a going away present.

To make a long story short, the next night was spent with very little air. She had a thing for wrapping her legs around the back of my head, forcing my face into that glorious ass, and holding me until my lungs were bursting and visions of death danced in my eyes. Given how strong she was, I couldn’t dislodge her if I tried, and twice I thought I was actually dying and tried to get her off me, to which she laughed. Obviously I was hopelessly in love.

This was also my first experience with a golden shower, which I won’t say to much about, except to say that while it was not my thing it wasn’t all that bad either. She seemed to like it, and it was nice and warm. Kind of like a human powered hot tub.

This chick also put on some music, and set the session to the album