The girls I work with over the summer in The Bay’s Ladies Accessories Department decide that they want to have a “wild” night. They think it’s a good idea to take me out with them.
I know I am headed for trouble. One of these blonde, casual-wear, nubile braindeads is my floor manager. I like her. She’s nice, in her context. When we’re at the swank club, I know the bartender. I fucked his roommate and later the same night, him. He sends free drinks our way. The girls I am with finally catch the attention of some oversized, jock-frat-Bay street boys and, hell, I know I am in for a hard time picking up.
My floor manager swings her long blonde hair over her back revealing her Wonderbra breasts. I introduce myself as Eugene. I can’t compete with blonde and breasts without the quirk.
Blondey smiles and flirts. Me–I puke on Jare’s shoes and drag him to the door by his tie, screaming, “What? Don’t you wanna have a good time?”
Work. Big Boss Blond calls me into the office. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
“You’re cray-zeee!” she squeals, and it hurts my fucking head but at least I still have a job.
She smiles, and asks me how my night with Jare went. I defer.
“How was your night with ah…guy?”
“When we went home, he told me he loved me.”
Maybe it’s that I’m hung, or maybe it’s that she seemed to like me all cray-zeee-like, but, whatever, I decide to tell her the truth.
“Jare bent me over my kitchen sink and asked if he could ass fuck me.”
Blondey stares blankly. I’m in for it. I’ve crossed the goddamn line. I rewrite my resume in my head.
She’s staring, earnest, saying nothing, and then. . .”I wish someone would say they wanted to ass fuck me.”
Jesus Christ! My world is exploding. I have a thought deeper than I’ve ever had. I have an Epiphany.
Gay men and porno whores have hoarded all ass action. And sure, I may seem biased because I belong to the latter category; I love to suck cock and have a landing strip groomed into my bald eagle snatch, but Blondey’s words kick me in the kiester and I see the light:
Everybody loves the ass fucking!
One: 1992. Scott Yang.
The first time I let a hot rod ride up my homo zone, I was a born again virgin. I wanted sex, but I didn’t want it to count. Ass fucking seemed like the only solution for keeping me pure.
I went to the washroom after it was all over. When I stood up to flush the toilet, I made a crucial mistake. “Don’t look down” is a rule that applies as well to heights as it does to ass virgins’ first trips to the washroom post-fuck. Before my hand could hit the silver release handle on the tank, the view in the bowl made me pass-out and I rapped my head off the porcelain.
Scott Yang was bopping up and down playing guitar when I finally came-to. Before helping me off the floor, he put away his guitar and shoved modeling pictures of himself in my face. He was having a blast. I asked him to take me home.
Fuck The Asshole. Do Not Be The Asshole.
Two: 2002. The second time. Richard Riley.
I got around to desiring the sweet meat between my cheeks again in the first year of my MA. What can I say? My mind frame was akin to that of the giggly Porky movies’ sorority girls in pink teddies or hot pants and nipple popper tank tops; I was just waiting for the right man to show me the ropes of a new fucktastic experience. Being a near novice to the whole thing, there were physical effects I did not expect.
Richard and I were taking a shower, and I felt like exploring my newly ravished anus. My hole was goddamn huge! I screamed at Rich, “Holy shit, dude! I could shove a Nalgene bottle up my ass.”
I panicked. I thought my asshole would never return to its formerly pursed perfection. What did it mean to have a constantly open orifice? Would I be able to hold in my farts? Did I need Depends?
Do not Panic. Things Return to Normal.
Three: 2002. Walter Kerns.
When Walter and I were driving to Halifax, he turned his attention from the road to me. We were sharing one of those road-trip moments of regretful honesty.
He told me that while masturbating he had once taken an English cucumber up the ass. It really got him off. I was baffled that anyone could get that many inches of food uphis shit shaft.
Later, when Walter bought me a bright pink vibrator, I couldn’t resist the urge to make him hurt so good. I got him to beat-off while I massaged his insides with my fuchsia cock engine.
Walter bought a John Cougar Mellencamp CD the following morning.
Straight Men Like Things up Their Asses. It Is Fun for Everyone to Put Things up Ass.
Excerpted from Porny Stories