The dream. There it was again.
As always. It had been a week since last, and Eva had hoped he had been rid of it. But no, it was not to be. He dreamt of it again, of men all around him, some hairy, some clean-shaven, some smiling, others frowning with evident dissatisfaction, all gazing down at him as he sat on the floor, his own gaze aligned with their pricks, all around, a forest of throbbing totems, veiny and eager for some release, for a liberation, a rebirth of sorts. Fragments of memory from that dream flashed before his eyes; wet, glistening pistons shifting in and out of his arse, his mouth releasing uncouth, lewd moans that were not his own—and then he, sitting on a plastic blanket of some sort, cold against his buttocks, with semen drivelling colder still between the cheeks, told the men to spend on his face; and they gushed like broken fire-hydrants, squirting their warm spending across his face. While they did, he touched himself.
He woke with an erection.
He always did.
Guilt and shame he felt. Something must be done, he thought, to stop those perverse dreams from reappearing; was it perhaps a product of his own lack of sexual experience? He had never gotten laid, it was true, nor even been close; truth was, he had never kissed a girl, and aged sixteen, he found this a great injustice, both due to his own immaturity and the entitlement that therewith followed, and from experience; all the people he’d gone to school with, they had bragged of their own exploits hither and thither, and their salacious serial relations were truly impressive – if they did in fact relate anything but their own immature fantasies, but this thought did not occur to him – as far as he was concerned, they were unquestionable facts of life. Perhaps this denial of harmonious heterosexual activities had forced his mind to wonder in those warped ways, towards fantasies he dared not otherwise entertain, or he’d be besieged by guilt and shame even worse than what the dreams brought on.
Still, he had woken up with an erection. Actions had to be taken—he hurried off to the bathroom to take care of it before getting around to his morning routine—a bit later than usual, as it was Sunday and thus no school. Though at first his fantasies were harmless and as vanilla as they came, a big-breasted sow of a woman, older than he, sucking his cock, until, without prior notice, just prior to climax, the fantasy warped in the most reprehensible ways; becoming a long-haired brunette, a boy, a flat-chested man, muscular chest and all, arms possessing a vicious drummer physique, and the boy stood up – and the momentum of the wank being what it was, he could not stop it nor the fantasy as they unravelled – and then, for a brief second, he thought it’d be a neat thing to try; to rub his cock up against another boy’s; then he came, and he blushed and felt the unhallowed guilt and shame of generational demands filtering down through the aeons like a blood curse. Dismissing his wicked fantasy, he went on with his business as usual, trying to occupy his mind with more wholesome things.
When this was done, he checked his mobile phone. He had received a text message, and read this. At first he wasn’t sure who had sent it, and felt quite unsure, but soon the memories came rushing back to him like a tsunami drowning coastal settlements in the wake of an earthquake.
Encourage by a friend – rather an acquaintance – he had on Friday attended the live of said acquaintance’s underground visual band, and when he accompanied the friend back stage after the show, he had met some very—he wasn’t sure what would be the right word for them. Eccentrics? But this was the music field, everyone was an eccentric, right? Or something in that direction. But even for this field wherein horny prepubescent boys do little more than chase after the leaky and yeast-spilling semen-craving vaginas of the despicable sub-human cattle known as “bandgirls” (was that even his own thought? Didn’t he want to fuck one, too?) who despite being seen as little more than burdensome sperm receptacles whose only use was the disposable income of their parents who ceaselessly pampered them, were eager as starved piranhas for backstage passes, and would do anything for bedroom access.
Alas, something was quite different with these characters; they weren’t the usual standard-fare bandmen, who regardless were dime-a-dozen, pretty but faceless, thoughtless little things, with interest as far-ranging as carpet licking and the old fashioned vaginal intercourse. But just what was different with those people, Eva could not tell; when he was introduced to them by his – friend – he had immediately forgot their names, as mesmerised as he was by their most enchanting and exquisite weirdness. The leader of the bunch, a brown-haired boy, seemed the most alluring of the lot; filled with a sort of odd perverse energy he positively electrified the entire room the moment he entered; he wore a loose shirt, and pulled it up in passing to scratch the skin around his navel, showing a remarkably muscular belly, beckoning with its eerie potency.
Why could he not remember the name? Oh, well. When Eva had introduced himself, as Eva – his stage-name, as it were - the boy had smirked.
“That’s a girl’s name,” he had said. But it wasn’t taunting, a mere matter-of-fact statement; a fact that he seemed to find endearing.
The boy had proceeded after a brief conversation lamenting the poor weather, as it had been raining for most of the lapsed week, stating that he found the fact that one was forced to pretty much remain indoors dreadfully boring, as he liked to be out in the open. This last word he had put undue stress upon, as if trying to hint at something, but no elaboration or continuation was offered.
He had asked if Eva played any instrument, and Eva said he did indeed play guitar, and bass too if he had to, though he had never played any lives, merely played with friends, over at some other’s house, which had a well-insulated garage nestled under the house itself. Assured that Eva at least had some limited ability to play – he seemed not to care if Eva was any good or not – he had invited him to play together. That was tonight. The boy had assured it wouldn’t be anything embarrassing, and that regardless of his abilities, the others were sure not to be any better or worse, for they were all amateurs and had very little in the way of experience. It was more of a loose, improvisational kind of event, he assured the worried Eva, who by the boy’s enthusiasm was under some pressure to agree. He did not want to disappoint.
He had dressed up for the occasion; sporting a shiny, white PVC kimono with a black obi and black knee-high chunky-heeled boots he came to the event. Dressing in such a fashion, he hoped, would give an enticing and good impression (with the girls, his mind stressed defiantly). His long, blonde-bleached hair had been tied up in two large bunches with black frilly hair-ties; his fringe was cut straight, just above his eyes, and his eyebrows were drawn with thin black lines, and eye-shadow quite heavy, cheeks given a pale foundation to match the hair and white attire. Black lipstick and an accompanying black spiked headband crowned his head when he was done, and he slipped on a black thong underneath the kimono. If some girl saw it... maybe she’d like it. He went over to his guitar-case and picked it up. His parents were out as they often were, who knows where – they didn’t even go out together. Why they stayed together was a mystery, the answer to which was as elusive as the “answers” to non-questions such as the meaning of life itself. Thus, he was off.
The event was held in the basement of a corner shop in a relatively quiet area. On his way to the place from the nearest metro station, he saw only a handful pedestrians strolling leisurely on the narrow roads, most of which were residential; and as he arrived, he found the venue even smaller than he had anticipated. There was a stage, or rather, part of a room separated from the rest by cheap wooden fencing, and the atmosphere was warm and oppressive, and the foul stench of cigarettes haunted the hallways reprehensibly. Back stage, which was but an adjoining room – perhaps it had been some manner of storage or a basement flat in the past – was accessed through a door from the “stage”, having no other access, and its dirty smoke-haunted walls and ceilings were covered in lazily drawn signatures of past little-known bands with nonsense-names and their forgotten members, all of whose spilled drink had left permanent discolouration on the shabby floor. The activity level was low when Eva arrived, and the clock on the wall informed that he was early. To be safe, he checked his mobile phone, picking it out of his handbag, and found it in agreement. He put his guitar-case down in a corner of the small room, and sat down upon an worn but nevertheless inviting red leather couch, and waited, browsing in the meanwhile some generic young-musician’s magazine that lay on the worn teak table positioned before the couch. By some idiotic article therein contained he was consumed when finally the door shut hard behind him and he was quickly stolen back to reality thereby; he put the magazine down, throwing it on the table, and felt the movement behind him. He had yet to turn around when he felt something warm very close to his head, and before he knew it, hands were upon his shoulders and another man’s breath, smelling faintly sweetish, traces of some recently consumed candy, wafted in his face.
“I’m glad you came!” he said.
It was the brown-haired boy; and slipping into the back of the room behind him was his taller friend, with the longer, darker brown hair with a few blue and green extensions, and some third-rate filler-character, a generic red-haired bandman, a package of cigarettes in one hand, and a large bag in the other; protruding from the half-unzipped bag was a pair of drumsticks, for which reason Eva assumed he was the drummer. The brown-haired boy leaned in close and smelled his cheek and hair.
“You smell good!” he said, “I want to eat you.”
Eva looked at him with surprise.
“Not in a creepy way,” the boy continued upon seeing Eva’s countenance, “of course. Unless you don’t find that creepy. Do you like it? Does it make you wet? You sure dressed up nice.” The boy’s hands played over his shiny-wrapped chest, and he felt the boy’s tongue slip against his ear, before he stood up. “Hey,” the boy called, “look – look what I wear!”
He had sure gone for something awfully slutty this time. He had a small hat to the side of his head, tied under his chin, and a black buckled PVC corset wrapping his waist. His nipples were exposed, and he had a chain attached to a ring in each; below, he wore a pair of PVC shorts, skimpy, and a pair of knee-highs, almost identical to Eva’s, in fact. The outline of his cock was readily apparent in the front of the outfit, seemingly not restricted by any underwear; he turned around, brandishing his buttocks.
“See! Sexy, right?” The shorts had two holes so as to reveal each buttock while obscuring the cleft. The fine line between the supple, sensuous skin and the shiny plastic fabric was certainly—sexy? Was that the word on his tongue? Sexy... for the girls, maybe.
“I guess,” was all Eva feebly managed to say.
The boy came toward him with a glinting hint of something in his eyes, but he was thwarted mid-way through by the arrival of some other participants, including his friend, the one with the longer hair.
“Boye!” that one called.
So that was his name. The brown-haired boy, Boye. It seemed fitting, somehow. Long-hair dragged Boye away and into a corner and seemed to talk to him, though Eva couldn’t hear over the noise of general commotion which now filled the room as more people arrived, and someone turned on some dreadful background music.
Boye returned after the brief intermission. “Did you bring your guitar?”
Eva nodded in the direction of the case, propped up against the wall. “There.”
“Good. Can I look at it?”
“No reason. I just wanted to look at it. Can I?”
“I suppose there is no harm to that,” replied Eva, “you aren’t going to do rip out the strings or anything, right?”
“Now, why would I do that? I’m not crazy or anything!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” long-hair interjected. “Let’s face it – something’s not quite right with you.”
“Shut up, Diasy! You’re going to give Eva here a bad impression of me. That’d be regrettable, wouldn’t it? Now that he’s dressed up so nicely... truly a fetish item.”
Eva blushed with embarrassment but did not feel altogether disagreeable; rather, he felt appreciated.
Diasy looked at him as he combed his hair before starting to throw off the drab stuff he had sported upon arrival. He ignored Boye for the moment, and spoke to Eva: “Don’t worry about him. He’s weird, but he’s not dangerous, unless he gets in one of his moods. But that won’t happen when I’m around, so you’re safe.” He looked at Boye.
“Hey!” the latter said with some brattish annoyance convulsing his mien, “see! You keep doing it! He’ll be scared of me now, and I won’t ever get to cuddle up to him then! How can I work my charm on him when you’re telling him I’m some kind of dangerous freak? I’m not going to just up and use anyone as a bidet or anything. Besides...”
“Besides?” Diasy queried.
“I forget what I was going to say.” Boye paused. “Did you bring that sexy-as-fuck outfit I told you to?”
“I did. That’s why I came wearing this drab stuff. Not sure I want to run around town showing my bulge.”
“I know you do. But—I’d find that a tad too embarrassing.”
“We’ll have to work on that.”
Diasy turned back towards Eva. “He is harmless, as you can see, if you know how to handle him. So don’t be scared. He won’t bite.”
“I’m right here,” Boye interjected. “Now, dress.”
“Weren’t you going to play with Eva’s guitar?”
“Right!” He scampered off towards the corner of the room, where it stood propped against the wall, opened the case quite gently and brought it out.
White, polished lacquer; Boye handled it with care, it seemed, until he started rubbing himself against it; pushing the bulge in the front of his shorts against the guitar’s back, almost as if he was trying to mount it; a scene from a nature documentary.
“You said you weren’t going to do anything funny with my guitar!” Eva objected to the weird and inexplicable treatment his precious was facing. “Stop that!”
“What? You’ve never heard of guitar-rubbing? It’s a time-honoured tradition, why, it’s something all the big names in the biz do. It’s good luck. Can’t be without it! On the plus side, your guitar’s back will smell of me, so every time you strike a chord, you’ll think of me.”
Now, that was certainly a weird thing to say, but perhaps he was telling the truth. It could also be something weird he was the only one doing. Eva didn’t see anyone else trying to copulate with their guitars in the room, for example, though all the others seemed quite adjusted to Boye’ eccentricities and were far from aghast. But that last part—think of me?
“Are you coming onto me?” Eva asked outright.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.” He gave a big and strangely honest smile. “Here’s your guitar.” He handed it over to Eva, once more with surprising care and mindfulness. Someone who handed a guitar with such care was surely no threat, right? “Are you good? With the guitar I mean...”
“No,” Eva said, “I’m rubbish.”
“Oh.” Boye paused. “But I don’t know if you are able to judge your own skills well. Not that your skill matters much tonight. It’s just for fun. It’ll probably sound like a pack of those nasty hairless moles that exist in the desert raping a snake. Or vice versa. Whichever’s noisier. Some newbies are playing before it is our turn.”
So they waited.
The band playing before was not as bad as Eva had hoped, and he felt somewhat under pressure when they returned from the stage. He took his guitar, and followed the others; Boye, Diasy, the drummer, whoever he was. He had never played with them before, but that wasn’t really a problem; they all just improvised a mess; Boye sang, but how much of it was audible over the obnoxious grating of their disharmonious instrumental work was hard to say; though, to be fair, it sounded no less bad than the act before or the two others that followed; Eva had to remind himself that it was for fun and nothing else. Diasy had dressed before they took to their stage, donning a black, all latex outfit with red accents; a maillot like long-sleeved top, with round red-accented openings for the nipples, laced along the outside edge of the arms decoratively; garters connected to stockings and on his feet chunky-heeled pumps. A red zipper, red-lined too, ran from the crotch to the arse, though it was, at least for the show, kept zipped up; even when Boye randomly decided to turn to Diasy and lick his nipples on stage. Eva felt an erection rise under the folds of his warm, sweaty kimono, but pressed his guitar against it to keep it unnoticeable.
When they were done, they went back into the “backstage” room, meeting on the way the white-faced group that played in their wake. Diasy slipped down on the sofa, quite exhausted, and Eva followed the example.
“I am wasted!” Boye said loud, sipping a beer.
“That’s your first for the night, you’re hardly drunk. Not that one notices much of a difference,” Diasy interjected. People came and left, passing through the room like children through a catholic womb.
“What! I am drunk! Hey, hey! Let me suck your cock!”
“Who cares? Everyone’s a whore here anyway. Not like they wouldn’t put it in an arse if they had the chance, right? They are like Tiger sharks, only it’s about fucking instead of their diet. They’ll fuck anything. Even if they aren’t fags, they’ll fuck a boy if he’s cute, right? So what if they see us? Let me!”
“Well, fine,” Diasy said and reached for the zipper, pulling it down slowly, sensually; when it was down and a nest of trimmed brown hairs protruded, he reached in and pushed the cock towards the centre, until it fell out, large and thick and fully erect. “But what about Eva here?”
“Hmm,” exclaimed Boye and drew a thoughtful mien, “he could put his in your arse while I suck you?”
Eva blushed profoundly. “What—why?”
Boye laughed. “He asked why! Clearly he doesn’t know what to say. You can tell he’s embarrassed and feels uneasy. Not surprising.”
“Not with how you are,” Diasy added. “It would intimidate anyone, even corrupt government officials.”
“But I bet he has a fine cock,” Boye said, “reach in there and pull it out. I want to see it. Then sit on it! I want it going in and out of your antsy little hole while I suck you...” Boye reached with his hand down across the bulge on his tight, shiny shorts and rubbed it slowly. “Eva’s fine with it. I can tell he wants it. I feel the universe in agreement.” Then he smirked.
Eva’s cock was stiff under the folds of the kimono. The pressure of sexual arousal commanding, he pulled the front aside, until his cock was visible. He had almost forgotten the presence of others in the room – but a brief glance around shewed that none seemed to pay them any mind, apparently this was commonplace in this the very muddy bottom of the underground no-one-cares indies scene – and Diasy leaned over the moment he saw it’s sizeable well-proportioned form, spat on it and licked it until his scentful saliva dripped down the length like lubrication gel.
“Pull my zipper a bit more,” Diasy said, to Eva, standing with his back to him, his arse almost in Eva’s face, resolute buttocks, soft... Eva touched one as he reached for the zipper, right at the bottom, against the perineum, felt the skin tighten with goose bumps from the brush of cold air; he pulled at the zipper, up, until gradually came into view that elusive cleft between the buttocks.
“Won’t I hurt you?” Eva wondered. He couldn’t believe he was going along with this like it was nothing.
“I’ve done this a lot, silly,” Diasy said. “Come here, Boye, get your treat.” Eva put his hands on either of Diasy’s latex-sheathed hips as he lowered himself, impaling himself on the flesh-syringe. He was apt at landing in the right place, with astounding dexterity and skill, he lowered himself right on top of Eva’s cock, which slipped in with only a token initial resistance. Before long, it was in to the hilt. Eva’s eye’s rolled and he made a silly grimace, let out a strange, repressed effeminate moan. Diasy’s rectal muscles quivered, and he began to move himself up and down upon Eva’s prick; Boye approached, a sliver of drool hanging from one side of his mouth as it opened, like the jaw of some gargantuan prehistoric shark in a museum it yawned and like one of those might swallow a young whale it enclosed with a seemingly insatiable hunger the entirety of that rigid penis.
Boye spat the cock out, and licked it, before he spoke. “Eva,” he said, “do you like butts?”
Eva blushed, and Diasy upped the speed of his riding as if to tease him into an embarrassing confession. “I... I...” he stuttered nervously, “lo—“ then he paused, stumbling on his tongue, before he continued, “I love butts! Ah! This is my first time... I never stuck my cock in an arse before... or had anything in me...”
Eva couldn’t believe he was even saying that last part, and after he realised what it was he had just said, and the idea that someone might take it to mean he... wanted to feel... a cock up the arse? Then he blushed ever more deeply, his eyes trembling nervously. They might well fancy him a pervert of some sort.
Diasy kept riding him rough while with each bounce he’d shove his prick into Boye’s slobbering mouth; Eva more heard what happened than saw it himself.
“We’ll get to your arse soon,” Boye said during an intermission in his fellating. For some reason, it made Eva even more aroused to hear that, and thinking of it; he spent inside Diasy’s rectum while wincing and trying to avert it; but it was no use. The point of no return had been passed, and jets of spend shot out within.
“He came,” said he, “too soon.”
“Well, get off his cock then,” replied Boye, “and I’ll stick in you to make up for that. Then Eva can suck you as I fuck. You know I can keep fucking indefinitely! Even if I come! I’ll stir up Eva’s spend inside you...” Boye’s hands pulled down his shorts, brandishing the royal lance. It was no wonder Diasy’s arse had given way so easily if he had recently received that trunk-like appendage, swaying from its own weight as Boye grabbed a solid hold of it, spat on it, and pushed it up against Diasy’s sphincter where he now sat next to Eva with his legs up. Boye leaned in and pushed his erection home. Diasy’ moaned.
“Come here, suck it,” Boye said while he looked at Eva and just began to thrust. “Suck it slow and gentle. I take it you’ve never sucked cock before. But there is a first for everything. You’ll be great at it before we’re done with you.” He gritted his teeth in a wicked pervert-smile, and Eva leaned in. Diasy’s cock wasn’t big, it was smaller than Eva’s by some margin, but it looked inviting and—was that an appropriate word for a dick?—cute, even adorable. It was wet with Boye’s saliva, and taking it in his mouth, Eva felt his own cock begin to twitch and harden once again, so soon after orgasm.
The taste was a hint of urine and the sweetish hint of Boye’s saliva, and something else; some seeping seminal fluid, mayhap, transparent and clear and smooth to the touch, Eva took most of it in his mouth, spat it out, and then teased the glans with his tongue, as he had seen in the films... mostly straight porn, of course, the sort you trade for in school classrooms on home-made DVDs with an innocuous little title slapped in a corner that suggests it’s something that isn’t embarrassing, a computer game, what-have-you, something along those lines; he had seen porn, of course; and he had been aroused when he saw it, it was true—did that make him a bisexual then? If he also enjoyed this, licking and sucking dick; or had his arousal been from the idea of being the woman in the pornographic videos? Treated as an object, a sex tool; not the most respectful or kind of things to imagine, but nevertheless thoroughly arousing. Consumed by these thoughts he kept on sucking while Boye fucked Diasy’s arse until Diasy came in his mouth. He felt the warm, sticky spendings shoot out from the slit-like opening and fill his mouth. It felt weird, a bit slimy. His own thing stood at full-mast again, and he rubbed it against Diasy’s thigh; the latter noticed it and laughed, then reached for Eva’s head and pulled it closer. Their noses passed close, and then their mouths met like docking space stations; they exchanged saliva and some of Diasy’s spend which still floated around in Eva’s mouth; their tongues reaching out for one-another, swirling within each other’s mouth. They both swallowed.
Then Boye pulled out of Diasy, suddenly and without warning.
“I’ve handled you to satisfaction, right?” he said, looked at Diasy, while Eva and he parted lips; “now, as I said before, it’s time to give Eva’s arse some attention too.”
“But!” Eva objected suddenly when he realised the intention Boye had of ramming that enormous member up his virgin arse, and in his mind he saw the virgin steppes of Kazakhstan cultivated by endless maize fields under the supervision of Khrushchev’s campaign for food self-sufficiency; natural lands spoiled and the fertile black soil overgrown with neat rows of plants swaying like waves for the wind; “it’s so big! There’s no way it will fit!”
“It’s not that big. It will fit. I’m sure you’ve taken bigger shits than my dick before. But I am going to show mercy – I always have some lube with me, should I need it to savour an untrained bum.” He stood up and turned, went off and returned briefly with a plastic bottle of some lubricant. “See? I’m nice.”
“Won’t it hurt?” Eva asked, and even as he asked, he repositioned himself; his knees on the seat, his arms over the back of the sofa; his arse up in the air; he pulled aside the shiny sheets of his white kimono and revealed his plump bottom.
“A little,” Boye said, “I won’t lie. But it will feel good, too, and I will be gentle, okay? It won’t be bad. I know how to fuck arse. I’m adept.” Eva felt the cold slimy lube drip down between his buttocks. Diasy nuzzled his way under his kimono and soon engulfed his cock, licking it clean of his own arse-juices, and sucking it voraciously, much like one of those milking machines they have for the cattle on farms.
“I’m going in,” Boye stated, and Eva felt the warm head press up against his hole. He parted his legs somewhat more to accommodate it easier. “It’s okay, right?”
“Ah,” Eva moaned, “yes, yes, push it in more, I want to feel it... I can take it, I think...”
“Yes, dear, you can take it! Everyone can take it! They must just have the will! Every anus has the skill!” Boye had not even used his fingers to ready his arse for the arrival and unholy communion; but he pushed on nevertheless, slowly and cautiously. Eva felt the lube drip down along his perineum, down along the back of his sack, towards Diasy’s greedily sucking mouth. Eva arched his back a bit more, and it slipped in a bit further, forcing him to moan. Goose bumps formed on his back and he trembled. Boye backed his tool out bit, before driving it again in, and doing this, he gradually sunk it like a stake into the heart of a vampire into Eva’s dilating anus.
“Almost in,” Boye stated. “Just a little bit more.”
He pushed on. It stung slightly, but the pain was bearable; it added an almost pleasant sensation to the experience. Diasy’s diligent sucking produced as soon as Boye began rhythmically driving his gargantuan thing in and out of Eva’s recently virgin arsehole another orgasm.
Diasy swallowed it effortlessly before backing out from below. Boye’s fucking did not hesitate.
Diasy got off the sofa, and walked around the back of it, and turning around so that his arse faced Eva, he pulled apart the unzipped aperture. “Here, something for your oral fixation,” he said, “lick my arse.” The cleft yawned open in front of him; Eva opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue. On the other side, Boye plunged deep into him and pushed him forward, so that his face ended up burrowing into the cleft. His tongue prodded at the slimy hole where his own and Boye’s dicks had both ventured forth to the pleasurable world inside; it smelled of sweat and something else strong but not unpleasant mixed up with a tinge of latex, and his tongue soon slipped in beyond into the Tartarus-black gulf; warm and slimy his tongue twisted and dug at that semen-laden cave, making Diasy quiver cutely and letting slip a whimper. “That’s good—!” he said, “I love getting my arse licked by someone so eager!”
Eva could not quite believe it himself. Just this past morning he had been plagued by an uncanny dream where he was raped unwittingly; yet, here he was, and at the very least he was an extremely eager participant; he had even encouraged Boye to put it in his arse. What had happened to him? Clearly, some mental barrier, some lingering guilt-complex had collapsed like the Berlin wall; a dam had burst, flooding the low-lying delta with a wave of deep, hideous perversions, now to forever drown out the pretences towards anything else. Everything else was a sham. To live for the cock; such was his lot in life.
Diasy pulled his arse off Eva’s face.
“Do you think you can get it up again?” he asked having turned around. He frigged his erection as he spoke.
Between the thrusts of Boye’s pole up his rear, Eva replied: “It’s already almost there.”
“Great!” Diasy said and walked back around and positioned himself just like Eva right next to him. “Mount me while Boye fucks you!”
“Let’s make him happy,” Boye said and his hands reached forward over Eva’s chest and helped him get onto his feet, with Boye’s prick still within, moving teasingly, gradually rising Eva’s own cock once again to full mast. Boye helped him take a two steps to the left, and pushed him down over Diasy’s back. Eva aimed his cock at the hole he had just licked before; this time it slipped in even easier.
The hole was wetter now, with both his own spend and saliva therein; his cock slipped in and out easily as a finger in a pie. Sloshing sounds resonated within the now nearly empty room; some straggler sat at a chair and smoked a cigarette, whose blueish toxic fumes rose towards the ceiling like fungal spores dispersed by the wind, whose mind seemed elsewhere and not at the outrageous sexual unravelling so close by. Strangely enough, Eva felt no shame, even as Boye’s huge rod withdrew and stabbed into him again and again; each thrust reproduced as a thrust of his own; Diasy’s eyes were closed and his grimace one of wicked delight, a sliver of drool fleeing from one corner of his half-open mouth; Eva could feel it drip down on his hand, which grasped Diasy’s; warm and manly.
Boye suddenly pulled out on a whim. Eva stopped his thrusts, too. Diasy craned his neck and looked at them.
Boye looked thoughtful, eyes up in the ceiling. His hand gripped his cock. “We’ll have to reorganise this,” he said, “what if...” he paused briefly before seeming to have a marvellous epiphany. “Ah! I know! It’s time to show Eva the ultimate womanly pleasure! What say you, Diasy? Just turn around, sit down on the sofa, and let Eva take it up his arse. Then I’ll push mine in beside yours.”
“You mean a double-penetration?” Diasy asked, sweat ruining the make-up on his face, giving him an unkempt look. His hair had become somewhat messy and tangled, too.
“Yes, of course, what else?”
“But—” Diasy objected, “you haven’t given me that for some time... and now Eva gets it at the first encounter!”
Eva thought it sounded like it might hurt, but he was horny and in a warped mood, and the prospect seemed unequivocally enticing.
“Don’t be jealous, dear, I’ll give you some too.”
“As soon as possible. Maybe Eva can participate. That’s okay, right? We’ll both be fucking him, our lewd juices mixing within his rear, our cocks rubbing against one another, hot and slimy...” Boye’s voice trailed off into dreamy heights before he returned from planet Spendy Bottom. “Right? Let’s do this!”
Diasy moved forward and let Eva’s prick slip out of his arse, turned around (so that he faced Eva) and sat down. Eva, assisted by Boye, put his knees on either side of Diasy’s thighs, and Boye aimed Diasy’s cock right into the target slot, where it effortlessly slipped into the empty void left by Boye’s colossal phallus.
“Here I come!” announced Boye merrily and Eva felt his wet, warm length press up against his tailbone, pushing on Diasy’s prick. Inch by inch, the thing slipped in, and the sensation was weird, the way it pushed Diasy’s prick aside inside of him made him feel as if ejaculation was imminent, even without touching his own cock. Diasy began to slip out, and as he did, Boye pushed in; thereafter, for a while, they each took their turn, alternating who slipped in and slipped out, like the mechanics of some machine whose movements was directed by a complicated clockwork arrangement.
“Keep in, Diasy,” Boye requested, and this time, Diasy did not pull it out as he began to push in; both at once, Eva thought, was it even possible? Would he split open? There was pain, searing; he gritted his teeth; his eyes closed, opened, met Diasy’s orgasmic expression; Boye pushed in, reached zenith; Eva spent. It came from deep within, gushing forth, white and sticky it shot out and dripped down over Diasy’s latex-sheathed belly.
Diasy laughed. “He spent!” he said between the giggles, “hands-free!”
“I’ve only heard about those in stories,” Boye said, pulling out, pushing forward; “I never knew they were possible. I guess he has some particular perverse trait in him, that makes it work. Never worked for me...”
“But have you ever experienced the ultimate womanly pleasure yourself?” Diasy quizzed.
“It’s true, I have not,” replied he. “Perhaps, one day... I can come now, any minute, can you?”
Through it all, Eva said nothing. Even now, his prick had barely deflated fully when it began to grow stiff again, albeit slower than on the previous occasions.
“Let’s try to time it,” Boye said, “so that we come, as close as possible to simultaneously within this just-recently virgin slattern.”
Thrust, thrust. Shove, shove. Wet noise.
“Okay, I don’t think I can keep it much longer!” Diasy exclaimed and winced below Eva. “I’m going to go any second now! Just one... or two more...— ” his coherency ended abruptly and slurred off into the inarticulate moans of the savage, the primordial sex maniac.
“Good, good,” said Boye and took a deep breath, shoved his prick in, once more, again, and then another time. Eva felt Diasy twitch, eyes rolling back in their sockets before he closed them entirely, facial muscles moving like the earth during an earthquake, convulsing as the seed was spilled within. “I’m just going to come, too, ah,” Boye went on, and then he thrust one last time, his humungous snake burrowing inside to the hilt, and there he stopped, moaned gutturally, and let a few more half-arsed thrusts out, as if to release from his length all the spend that was left. Then he begin to pull out. Diasy’s slackened piece was dragged out in the course of action, and when the thing was out, Eva rolled over.
“You won’t be shitting right for a week,” said Boye. Eva looked up at him. He was smiling. His hand pulled on his cock leisurely, even though it was no longer hard. It hung like a trunk or a horse’s cock the second after a glance at a receptive, horny mare, still in that borderland where blood remained in it, swaying heavy and ponderous with each touch. “But that’s all good and well in arse-fuck land.”
Whatever that meant, Eva thought. He was spent, in more ways than one. Exhausted. Eager for rest. He wasn’t even sure how he’d get home... occupied by such thoughts, he fell asleep.
How he had come home he did not know, nor did he have any clear memory of last night. He remembered the gig, and the sex, but only vaguely, as one might remember a weird dream; details are not readily apparent, but instead appear only as misty silhouettes; as might be inferred the existence of lightless bodies in the dark corners of the universe due to how their gravity might affect observable objects such as stars; in this manner, and queerly detached, he recalled the various debaucheries of last night. Now, Eva lay supine in his bed, and as he looked up on the wall clock, he saw it was just going on one, past noon. The house was quiet. His mum was out, and father, probably working unpaid overtime on this Sunday like so many others; as always, he thought. It was rare that they spent much time at home.
He rolled over in his bed. He was wrapped in the duvet, and had no clothes on. That was weird. Something else, too, was weird. It took a while before it sunk in. He reached down towards his bottom with his hand, and found his fingers hitting something hard and plastic. A plug, yes, there was no doubt about that. He had no memory of how that got there. He rolled to the side – it made his bottom feel weird – and climbed out of the bed. He saw quickly – due to its vibrant red colour – a paper fragment with text on it laid out on his desk, under the lamp; it was lit, as if someone had hoped he’d wake before it got light and see it illumined thereby. On closer inspection, he was able to read it.
You were so exhausted! We had no choice but to help you home. It said on your guitar case, the address – no funny business there, we didn’t stalk or anything! Yes, we brought back your guitar too. No one was home when we dropped you off in the morning. Me and Diasy stuffed you in the bed – you were cute! You even snored! We decided to give you a little gift. Of course, should you ever want something else – call me any time! Night, day, whatever; I’m always available for you!
Below that, was a phone number scribbled down, followed by a heart.
Eva’s prick stiffened as he read.
Would Boye mind if he called right away? It had been some time, had it not?
Before he had time to finish that thought, he picked up his phone from the bag and dialled the number from the note. A signal went by, then another, and then Boye’s voice came through the aether from the other end, across telecommunication masts, relay stations.
“Eva!” he said before Eva had even said a word. “I was hoping you’d call soon. My balls itch.”
“My hole itches,” Eva said, “it must be filled.”
“The gift, then? I mean... the plug?”
“It’s not a cock, is it?”
“It’s not. Want me to come over?”
“Yes. Right away. How soon can you be here? If it’s too long I can’t keep myself from frigging. But if you’re fast, I’ll wait...”
“That’s fine. Come!”
“In more than one sense of the word, right? I’m on my way.”
The line went dead.
Eva went and put on his boots; the ones he wore last night. Someone had placed them leaning against the bed. He would have to find something to wear... He opened his closet, and rummaged through the various – mostly PVC – shiny band outfits he had. He decided on a white, tight mini-dress; it was revealing; it just barely covered up to nipple-height, a circular opening over the abdomen, for that erotic touch, as well as a pleated mini-skirt. A pair of elbow-length gloves, white, open at the end with a string around the middle finger, as well as a high neck corset went with the outfit. He touched up his make-up – it was a mess after last night’s debaucheries – and just as he was finishing, the doorbell rang.
He scurried to the door and opened it eagerly. Boye stood on the other side, with his stage outfit from last night. His hair looked a bit messy. His vast tool formed a copious half-erect bulge clearly outlined in his tight shorts. He smiled at Eva.
“That’s a nice outfit,” he said, “it makes my balls itch even more. Doesn’t help I haven’t showered for a while. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, no,” Eva said, “Come in, come here, and fuck me. I need to get fucked. I think I dreamt about it, too. Getting fucked, I mean.” He dragged Boye in through the door, and closed it behind him, then dragged him into the living room. He fell to his knees on the living room floor, and pulled down Boye’s shorts immediately, and licked the underside of his meaty, warm and strongly aromatic balls. Boye’s cock inflated quickly wrapped by his fingers which gently frigged it lengthwise while Eva suckled at his testes like a piglet at the side of a sow.
He let them slip out, and licked them with his tongue. Then Eva said, “I still have the plug in.”
Boye grinned down at him. “Show me,” he said. “You naughty little thing.”
“Ah,” Eva moaned and got on all fours on the floor, arching his back, brandishing his rear like a cat in heat, the skimpy skirt flailing up, intermittently covering and uncovering the base of the black plug. “Take it out...”
“I shall,” Boye said and slapped Eva’s buttocks before grappling the flared base of the plug and began slowly turning it at the same time as he pulled it backwards. “Your hole will be like a cave when this comes out! And probably – soiled! Nasty! You vile little slut-boy!” He continued twisting it. Eva winced as the widest portion gaped the anus wide and then – there came a plop and he heard the plug fall down onto the wooden floor. Boye laughed and said with a coarse, gangster-voice: “I don’t think my cock will be enough to fill this! But don’t worry, I have a few tricks up my sleeve!” At that, Eva felt Boye’s warm fingers slip over his backside, over the buttocks, rubbing in the wet slime of used lubricant that had leaked out; Eva felt, too, the little, new hairs on the back of Boye’s hand, how they tickled and teased; and then he began to push, all at once, the whole group of his fingers into the yawning insatiably hungering maw of the arse.
“Just a little bit further...” Boye said dreamily before the hand disappeared to the wrist inside. “There, it is in! I’ve never seen someone with such an hungry arse, who was until a day ago a virgin! The appetite is astounding! It’s virtually a black hole! Amazing! I’ve never fisted anyone before!”
And then, the house of cards crumbled.
Everything came rushing back in that moment, as the thin door to the living room from the hallway slid open.
Too late, Boye, taken by surprise, began to withdraw his hand from Eva’s arse. But it was big, and pulling too fast would be painful – or so Eva assumed at the very least – so it did not go fast enough.
Still with a sliver of drool escaping from one side of his mouth and a flustered expression, his gaze met his mother’s. He must have blacked out then; out of embarrassment or some merciful short-circuit of his brain, for he remembered nothing more of the scene; he sat on the bed in his room, his slutty attire covered by a light blue towel.
His mother was shouting at him.
“—and what will they think? That we did something wrong. To get such a useless son...” And it went on and on, derisive, unpleasant. “To have our son turn out like that,” he snapped up, words on an incomprehensible string; the flutter of the universe. Then she made a dramatic pause, consumed by thought. Her eyes were sad, as if someone had just died; and seeing it made Eva loathe her. So what if she was his mother? This was no way for a mother to act – surely? Regardless of the... embarrassing circumstances.
“Well, Sasaki, you can’t stay here. I’ve already called your father...”
“And I’m sure it would be even worse for you to be here when he gets home.”
Eva looked up at her. There was not a hint of sympathy or any feelings in her cold gaze. Her face looked older than it ever had; but he thought it was shame and the fear of no grandchildren that bothered her. There were those who accused those who did not have children, for whatever reasons, of being selfish; but what is more selfish than the desire to breed? It is not for the well-being of the future that the child is born; it is to satisfy the parents. The child, to many parents, is much like an expensive inventory item, a prized painting hung in the living room, above the sofa, lit by special lamps; a show-piece that encapsulates the realisation of themselves. They are ashamed if their child is not how they expect, if the usual expectations cannot be fulfilled; the grinding, soul-upheaving rituals of human life, mired in a morass of social mores. Many parents would rather their child die than be defective; though, naturally, they feel much guilt about this realisation – as they should. His parents had been absent much of his life; they were like background characters, their concern for him had always felt distant. Was it any surprise then that their rejection of him on grounds of his sexual proclivities was so sharp and so callous? He was an accident to begin with, wasn’t he? Careers and an uncertain future, everyone felt it, even in the high of the 80’s before the bubble burst like a vast inflamed and pus-filled boil; the rush of life, the speed increasing perpetually, until people were worn down to shambling icons devoid of content.
“And where do I go?”
“I don’t know,” she said, as cold as ever, totally devoid of the least hint of affection. They were his parents, but it meant nothing. Their diseased blood filled his veins, but it was nothing. Blood means nothing. Family without any familiarity means nothing. “And I don’t care.” Her words, even so, like knives. He was close to crying. Not of shame, not any longer; but out of sadness, for himself, and for all the orphans and de-facto orphans of the world; strangers to their own parents, but cattle in this great sinister game show.
“What about my things?”
“I can’t take them all at once.”
“We’ll put what you can’t take to a storage. I’ll give you the address. Whatever you leave there after a month will be destroyed.”
“I’ll leave you to gather your things.”
She walked out. Just then she seemed like the most barbaric monstrosity; someone who would have succeeded beyond expectations as the supervisor of some military medical experiments squad. Movements like a robot.
The door closed.
He began to gather as much as he could carry.
Leaving the house, he closed the gate to the garden behind him and walked onto the street. Around the corner, pissing up against the wall of the neighbour’s house, stood Boye waiting.
He saw Eva. “Sorry,” he said, “I just had to go.”
“So did I,” Eva said. Boye looked at him. It was clear what he meant, with a suitcase in either hand, what had transpired.
“Well, you can stay with me and Diasy. If you want.”
“Sounds good. Do I have to pay?”
“With your arse,” Boye said and smiled, “maybe. If you consider that payment.”
Eva blushed and smiled.