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Bring Back Asbestos

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                “You know, it really does replenish your skin,” Adam moans, his back arching as his thin hips are hoisted against the anonymous man’s crotch, grinding against his spread cheeks. The denim scratches over his hole but it sends a thrilling spike up his spine. The cold bite of the man’s zipper makes goosebumps spread over his flesh. Jeans are such a good invention. He turns the ATOMIC SOAP packaging in his hands and grins. Splayed on his shitty apartment bathroom tiles, he seems more preoccupied by reading the cardboard packaging than by the fact that he’s about to split open on one of the biggest dick’s he’s ever encountered.

                “In the case of nuclear fallout, using this kind of soap,” Adam, his radio announcer’s voice as sophisticated as ever, recites his praise. “Packed with thorium chloride and radium bromide, completely prevents against the adverse-effects of—ooooh.”

                A finger slides up his hole. He presses his cheek against one of the checker-board tiles, cool beneath his hot flesh, and he removes his glasses from his face. “I mean, it also produces a radiant glow. Look at my skin. I’m free of acne scars and dark marks. Do you see even a sign of—”

                “Shut the fuck up,” the man instructs. His voice crawls like gravel as his purple cockhead pokes at the tight pink ring of boy-cunt that Adam has ready for him. Rearing up on his knees and bending over Adam’s body, the tanned man looks through the sink’s shelves. They should just fuck in the bedroom, but Adam’s insisted a roommate might return any minute. But Adam isn’t making any effort to be quiet, his mouth open and swollen and macerated with spit, moaning like some worthless prostitute into the tiles, where a pool of drool is collecting.

                Retrieving a tub of what he assumes is Vaseline, he makes the mistake of passing the container in front of Adam’s eyes, spurning another tangent about this X-Ray Gel and how, in the event of an A-bomb attack, slicking your skin with this miracle slop will prevent any and all contamination.

                “Then I guess your asshole’s gonna be fine in case the Japs decide to bomb us here and now,” the man grunts, smearing it all over Adam’s tight little pussy. The gel is a florid green and as transparent as aloe vera. It doesn’t really make it all that appealing sexually, but he looks back at Adam’s face, his slick chin, that extraordinarily long tongue of his, those pretty eyes, those prettier eyelashes. Decides his asshole does look good, after all, and slicks his own dick up in this cancer goo.

                When the head begins to breach his hole, Adam wheezes out a laugh, showing off his straight, white teeth, so big and shiny. He says, dreamy, his leg splayed, “Aw, fella, you do me real good.”

                “Wanna fuck up your guts. God, can you see me in your fuckin’ stomach?”

                Adam’s head hangs down to look at himself, on all fours, his own dick hard and dripping, his flat stomach above it indented by this guy’s cock. He groans at the sight. He likes himself being fucked more than he likes anyone doing the fucking. He knows how cute he is, how tight and supple his body is. He knows he’s a pinup, bait for these ex-World War Two fuckers trying to get their rocks off. He knows how much he looks like those pretty underaged civilians in the Eastern front. He knows how pathetic and easy he looks, impaled on a dick, his skinny leg hoisted up, holding himself on his hands, his face moistened with sweat and spit.

                All the spit is his, though. He hasn’t been kissed tonight. He has a penchant for drooling. Although he’s not inhuman by any means, he has an extraordinarily long tongue. He can lick the underside of his own chin.

                “I bet you’d drink my toilet water.”

                The man suddenly slaps a hand over his drooling mouth and slides the length of his throbbing, blood-hot dick to the root, making him shake and rolls his eyes back. God damn.

                “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

                “Oh, baby.” He clenches around him, works him with his asshole, laughing deliriously against a palm that tastes like sweat and iron and salt. The cock in him twitches—he can feel it twitch—and feels used. Craning his neck back, he stares at him, his vision half-blurred without his glasses. Lashes wet and sticking together in clumps, he says, “You know those Japanese windsocks?”

                “I will crush your windpipe if you don’t stop talking,” the guy grits out, fucking him brutally in short jerks, that tight hole snapped around his cock as tight as a clinging rubber-band. He pushes a thumb to it, and Adam squeaks.

                “It’s like one of those. My asshole, that is. And your dick is the wind.”

                The guy pulls out. Adam whines, indignant, like he’s just had something near and dear to him ripped out of his hands. Like the Atomic Soap or whatever the fuck. “No! Keep fucking me! I’m sorry, I’ll shut up.”

                The guy wraps his hand around his throat and squeezes. Adam’s knees slip for purchase on the tacky tiles, and he whines, “I mean it,” his voice strangled. He puts his own hand over the one on his neck and opens his mouth wide, letting his long tongue slip out and fall over his chin. As if that’s at all sexy. The guy seems to think so, or he doesn’t want to waste his time, because he puts his dick back at his hole and pushes in, thinking nothing of Adam’s comfort.

                It feels so fucking good. Adam wants to tell him, to praise him. But he keeps his big mouth shut, hangs his head down between his shoulders to watch himself be fucked, filled by that monstrous dick. His face is contorted into a goofy smile and his knees lift from the floor as he’s fucked. He’s so amused by the very sight of his own body being used.

                Also—he really likes the wetness of all of this. His hole, glowing with that X-Ray lube or whatever the fuck. It makes him really horny. Tingles, sloshes inside him. Maybe a little too much. He’ll have to shower after this. The guy’s thrusts get erratic, the slap-slap-slap sound increases and he feels the guy rear up once on his thighs, pump his seed into his asshole, and fall over him, panting. Somewhere in there, he’s felt himself cum. Probably. There’s a little pool of white beneath him.

                The guy pulls out and puts a hand on his ass-cheek. “Fuck,” he heaves, thumbing his hole, watching his own seed leak out of him, trickle down those tight, angelic balls of his. “Good pussy right here.”

                Adam decides that he can talk now. “Do you think the worst thing ever would be to die in one of those fiery mushroom clouds of atomic power? I think of it all the time. I think a worse way to die would be in an airplane, babies crying around you. You’re so cramped in an airplane. I’d like some more freedom.”

                The guy’s getting dressed, ignoring him, and Adam goes on and on, laying in a puddle of their combined cum, babbling on, even when the guy pulls on his leather jacket and leaves the room. He sighs, laying in his feverish-hot body heat and then he sits up, aching.

                Crawls over to the tub and starts running the water. He adds NUCLEAR SOAP FLAKES to the steaming water and pulls himself in.