Sexual Paradigm, Part 1: Narrative
by Epaphus and Wrestlr
Disclaimer: There's sex, sodomy, and maybe a few other minor perversions in
this. If you don't like that sort of thing, go elsewhere. Everybody in the is
legal age. Parts of this may be autobiographical, or it might be all fiction—
who can say?
Copyright - 1999 by Epaphus and Wrestlr. Permission granted to archive if and
only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the
file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without
the express permission of (and payment to) the authors. This paragraph must be
included as part of any archive.
Comments to epaphus@mindspring.com and wrestlr@iname.com
* * *
Sexual Paradigm, Part 1: Narrative
Friends can get really annoying after one AM. At least I thought so as the
conversation moved from Eric’s pathetic love life to Nicole’s crush on one of her
English professors. Dante sat across from me, listening intently as Nicole’s
dialogue transmuted itself into a discussion of poetics. Dante’s aura
shifted as the opportunity to argue queer discourse settled itself among the low
lights and mustard-painted walls that personified this coffee house called the
Poppy Asylum.
“That’s what I love about Dr. Stine’s shit,” said Dante. “When you read about her
loving the taste of her on another woman’s lips, you know she’s a fucking
lesbian. You can’t read her and say she’s not a dyke. She’s and
everything she writes is homosexual. It can’t be denied.”
I decided to pick up the conversation, which meant that I had to turn the focus of
it onto me. (I have a bad habit of doing that.) “I was in class yesterday and we
were discussing Ginsberg’s ‘America’ and just as we finished reading the last
line--you know, ‘America, I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel”--this guy
behind me had the nerve to say, “Queer can mean unusual or different, right?’
God, I was so pissed. We had just spent an hour talking about how one of the
poem’s issues was heterosexism and he completely wiped all that away with one
stupid heterosexist statement. I was so fucking pissed. The whole class could
tell I was just about to blow.”
“Why is that such a big deal?” said Eric. Unfortunately, Eric was straight, but he
wasn’t the bad kind of heterosexual; he was the good kind, the accepting kind,
the witty/cultured/intelligent kind. However, he had managed to stop the entire
flow of the conversation. We all just looked at him. Even Brandon, who was
straight as well, didn’t know what to say. Nicole was bisexual and living with a
man; her jaw slowly dropped despite her allegiance.
“Eric,” I finally responded, “the guy looked like Dilbert.”
* * *
Usually, when you read a text you start at the beginning and read until the end,
but life isn’t really that way. Think about the last time you fucked a boy. You
started by removing his clothes, and maybe he your cock and maybe you
sucked his. You put a rubber on and you pushed your cock deep into his ass,
slowly, and he tensed up and seemed to hate it for the first few minutes. Soon,
he began to enjoy it, and you began to pound harder, until the head of your cock
tingled and your balls tightened up. You pulled out quickly and ripped the
condom off because that’s what they do in pornos, and you jacked your cock off
until your sprayed all over the other guy’s ass. He leaned back against you
and stroked his own cock until was dripping down his wrist. You kissed his
neck as he shot even though you didn’t give a shit about him. Think back on that
event. Do you really remember it in that order? You probably don’t. You
probably remember random moments that have become merged and incoherent.
* * *
Casually bringing his cup to his lips, Eric waited for a moment before
responding, “Well, can’t a person find something within a text that suits his or her
own needs? Aren’t all texts open to interpretation and deconstruction?”
It was obvious that Eric was playing the devil’s advocate, but I went along with
his game. “Not if it denies the obvious origin of the text or its extremely apparent
or even obvious theme.”
"People are always trying to suppress the voice," said Dante. (The
conversation seemed to be moving again.) "They’re still trying to deny
Shakespeare was gay. They take the lines from Sonnet 116, ‘If this be error and
upon me proved, I never writ nor no ever loved,’ and they try to say he was
talking about male bonding. Bullshit!"
I looked at him and smiled. (I really liked him.) He was bursting with energy and
even the fact that most people in this coffee shop were straight didn’t stop him
from speaking up and speaking loudly. As they talked, I slowly played with the
ring on my left hand. There wasn’t a ring there, but I ran my right hand’s fingers
over my left ring finger as if there would be something there.
"Well, Shakespeare’s debatable," Nicole said. "It’s not like he ever stood up and
said, ‘I’m a fag,’ or anything. Not like Marlowe."
"Okay," Dante said, "Maybe Willie’s debatable, but not Ginsberg. He belongs to
us, and fuck that breeder for trying to take him away. I’m surprised Alain didn’t
stand up right then and there and scream out, ‘I’m being repressed! I’m being
repressed!’"
I smiled at him from across the table. Neither of us really cared that we were
sitting in a straight environment, but still, we had remained reserved and
respectful throughout the entire evening. We really had been going out for a
month. Being reserved was the natural thing to do, but that didn’t seem
interesting anymore, so I said, "I really want to kiss you right now." I allowed a
dramatic ellipse to pass. "Maybe it’s because of what you said. Maybe it’s
because I love you. Maybe it’s because I know your mouth will taste like
chocolate and coffee."
* * *
Kissing him for the first time reminds you of chocolate. It’s not that his kiss is
like chocolate or like those candies in the cute silver foil. It’s that when you kiss
him for the first time, you think about chocolate. You don’t taste chocolate, but
you think about it. You think about the way it melts slowly on your tongue and
how each time you taste it you feel a strange sensation in your chest that seems
to affect the way you breathe. When you kiss your boyfriend, you feel that way.
* * *
They think about the cold walk back to Dante’s place before taking the first step
out the door. The early morning isn’t really cold, especially for October, but they
both notice how sharp the wind feels and how they can both smell the dry odor of
dying leaves.
"This ..." says Alain, "this is my favorite time of the year. It’s the moment when
the coming of fall makes the wind scare you like a demon, and the scent of death
is carried on a wicked breeze. I love this one moment when I get that feeling for
the first time each year."
* * *
He kisses you, and you think about the first time. Not the first time you kissed,
but the first time the two of you had sex. You wanted to take things slow. He
wanted to take things slow. He pointed to the fill-length mirror and said, “I want
to hold you while you make love to yourself.”
You knelt before the mirror, passively looking at your erection, protruding toward
its own reflection. Dante knelt behind you and pressed his naked body to your
back. You felt his erection pressed firmly against your asscrack, pointing up
along your spine. He kissed your neck, and you watched in the mirror, and his
dark bangs caressed your shoulder. His right hand moved to your wrist, and he
guided your own right hand onto your drooling cock.
He looked up into the reflection of your eyes and nibbled at your ears. He
whispered, “You’re so beautiful,” as he guided your hand up and down your rigid
shaft.
You turned your head slowly and cupped his lower lip in your mouth, it in
to press against your tongue. You stopped and looked directly into his eyes,
breathed softly, “Dante, I could fall in love with you.”
“Keep stroking your cock.”
You said, “I still want to take things slow.”
He exhaled into your ear, “When I first kissed you, I thought of chocolate. You
made me feel the way I feel when I eat chocolate.”
He bit gently into your neck and you shot onto the hardwood floor.
* * *
Every time I write like this one, I pay close attention to the way my
breathing makes my chest expand and relax. It’s the same when I get fucked. I
can’t help thinking about the way I breathe as some guy’s cock (maybe Dante’s,
maybe yours) slides rapidly along the soft passages inside my body. I think
about my teeth clenching and the burning sensation coming from my ass as
you/he pound(s)/ram(s)/piston(s) your/his powertool into my flesh. It’s not a
linear experience. It’s not monologic. It’s a multiple experience that I can’t even
view through one set of eyes. (Every time I write like this one, I pay close
attention to the way I feel when I get fucked.)
* * *
Pull your cock out. Slide your boxers/Calvins/jock down past your knees. Run
your left hand up your stomach, to your chest, rubbing the fresh against your
skin before it has even exploded from your cock. With your right hand, squeeze
your cock firmly and watch as a lonely drop of precum emerges from the slit. Let
it slowly pour out and drip down the head of your dick, until it falls onto your
thumb. Use it to wet your cock. Squeeze more fluid out and lick your fingers.
Taste the salt. Use your spit to make your cock more slick. Stroke it slowly as
you read, twisting your palm around your own prick’s most sensitive spot.
* * *
Alain and Dante fall onto the bed and kiss frantically as they clumsily pull at
each other’s leather jackets. “Wait a minute,” says Alain as he pulls his lips away
from Dante’s gluttonous mouth. “Take your clothes off for me,” he says. “Take
them off as if I were paying you to do it.”
“Give me ten bucks.”
Alain fumbles into his pocket and pulls out the bill. Dante snatches it from Alain’s
hand and shoves it into his jeans as he stands, leaving Alain stretched out on the
sheets, alone.
Dante walks slowly to the chair opposite the bed. With his back to Alain, he slips
his leather biker jacket past his left shoulder and down his arm. He lets it slide
past his other arm as it drifts to the floor. His beige flows like water from
his traps, down his powerful lats, to his slim waist. He turns around, clutches his
shirt’s hem, and pulls it past his tight abs and overworked chest.
The hits Alain in the face, and when he pulls it eyes free of it, Dante is
standing by the chair with one boot propped up on the seat. Dante is bent at the
waist as he seductively unties the laces on his left Doc Martin with long pulling
strokes. (The image is in profile. Dante’s abs curl in and his lats drape over his
ribs like folded wings.) Dante removes his left boot and sock, then repeats the
action with his right. The scene reminds Alain of a dirty movie. Dante walks
forward as he unsnaps his chrome-and-leather belt.
* * *
“Reading basic genre is such a bore,” said Nicole. “Writing it must be
practically hell.”
“Not really,” said Dante. “I know hell, and writing genre is nothing like it because
at least genre can be disrupted.”
I loved listening to Dante; he always argued everything. Every time someone
made a simple statement in his presence, he would warp their argument into a
paradox and disrupt the intention behind their words.
“You can take any genre,” he continued, “and disrupt it simply by following the
guidelines of that genre and including them in a highly disrupted, non-linear
narrative. Take Gothic literature. All you need is some blood, a dark castle, a
vault or a tunnel, a hunchbacked servant, a curse, and you’re there. How
you write it doesn’t matter.”
“But, that’s still genre,” Nicole said. “It’s not any real disruption of language.
It’s still familiar. It’s still just a repetition of pre-existing texts.”
“So? The context may be familiar, but the narrative style is different. All
alternative fiction doesn’t need to be meaningless or completely
unapproachable.”
* * *
Alain sits up on the bed and looks directly into Dante’s crotch as Dante pulls his
jeans and underwear down. Alain licks the head of Dante’s cock a few times
until a saltiness sticks to his tongue. He traces his hands slowly along Dante’s
firm ass and pulls him forward until his cock is probing all the way down Alain’s
open throat. Alain pulls himself back several inches until that cock’s head rests
on his tongue. He brings the cock back in, careful to keep his lips tight and
pushed forward. When the cock hits the back of his throat again, he gags a bit.
His whole body quakes for a moment and his tongue vibrates.
“I like it when you choke on my cock. It feels good. Do it again.”
Dante pulls his cock almost all the way out and slams it back in. Alain gags at
the final moment of the thrust. (Dante repeats the action.)
* * *
“Don’t be silly. You can have meaning and still write something fresh,” Nicole
said.
“So why must it fit within the confines of a genre? For example, Alain’s working
on a homoerotic piece that’s totally disrupted. I peek over his shoulder while he’s
at his computer and get hard after just a few sentences--and it’s not the sex that
does it. It’s the structure. It’s completely dialogic while still strictly focusing
on hot sex with lots of cocks and balls and all over the place and
fucking and until they shoot their big wads on each others’ faces. It’s
genre, but it goes beyond its genre because the text is multivoiced and totally
aware of its own existence as well as its own categorization. Alain’s even got
this weird repetition of left and right going in. I think it’s political, maybe
Marxist. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter because my point is that the shit is
genre, but if you read it, you’d want to fuck Alain the way I want to fuck him
right now--not because of the sex, but because of the style.”
Everyone remained quiet when he finished and only nodded their heads. I think
Nicole wanted to say more but didn’t. I think it was because Dante was
defending me and they didn’t want to cross a defensive lover. I think I really love
Dante for that; I think I really love Nicole, Eric, and Brandon, too.
* * *
I really like the way he sucks my cock. He isn’t professional or anything, but he
is sincere. I’m kind of big, and he gags when I push too far. I like that. It feels
good and makes him seem innocent and vulnerable. He’s vulnerable and I think
I love him because of that. I love pounding my cock into him as he struggles to
keep me happy. At first, he had a hard time even getting his mouth around my
shaft. It’s not that I’m huge, but I’m bigger than he was used to. He’s getting
better, but it really doesn’t matter. He’s a good because he loves to
do it; he really loves to do it. When he sucks my cock, he remembers that it’s
part of me and makes love to it because he loves me, and I can feel the
difference.
He does another thing too. He always keeps his lips tight and pushed forward.
The firmness feels better. He’s pretty and I like seeing his full lips around my
cock. He did it that way the very first time he me off. He does it because
he knows I’m watching.
* * *
Get on your knees in front of Alain and frantically pull at his buckle and the fly
of his jeans. Roughly pull his hard cock out and hold/squeeze/stroke it in your
right hand while you feel his tight chest and stomach with your left. Say, “I love
your cock,” and when he replies, “So shut up and suck it,” fall in love. Pull his
jeans down a little more to free his balls, then lick down his shaft to his nuts as
the faint taste of sweat makes you just a little dizzy.
When he says, “Keep my cock,” shove him back onto the bed and shout,
“Fuck you! I’m in charge here.” Grab his calves and roll him over onto his
stomach. When he tries to crawl up the bed, away from you, grab him by the
back of his pants (notice how smooth the skin of his ass feels against your
clenched fist) and grab his left arm and twist it behind his back, pinning him to the
sheets. Say, “Lift your right foot.” When he doesn’t, push his arm up toward his
shoulder and say, “Lift your foot, you little fucker!” When he does, take off his
shoe and his sock, and run your hand down the top of his foot, down his ankle, to
the hair on his shin.
Say, “Now, your left.” Apply a little pressure to his arm to remind him of what will
happen if he doesn’t obey. After you remove that shoe and sock, cup your
mouth around his smaller toes and suck them sadistically, a few at a time.
(Notice how he doesn’t squirm, even though you know he wants to.)
* * *
“Mind if I come over tonight?” I asked softly. Even I knew what would happen
next.
“Not tonight,” Dante answered. “I’m really tired.”
We stood outside Poppy Asylum and I noticed how the night smelled a little
different. It was late, and I pushed my hands into my pockets, more from
insecurity than the cold.
“What about tomorrow?” I asked.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore.” Dante looked down the street.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Good night, Alain.” He walked away with his head bowed a bit, and I felt horribly
alone, standing in front of the coffee house door.
* * *
Tell Alain not to move. Tell him not to try to get away. Release his arm and
smile at how passive he is. Pull his over his head and tear his jeans down
his legs, leaving him naked and vulnerable. Look at his milky and almost hairless
butt. (A thin layer of hair glistens on the surface.) Move forward and
press your lips against the skin. Bite a little. Gently force his thighs open and
move your tongue up and down his crack until you lick his sphincter. He loves it.
Make him love it more.
* * *
“I want you to fuck me.” That’s what you want to say. You would say it, but you
know it would make him stop eating your ass. He keeps pushing his tongue into
you, and his hands keep kneading the muscles of your butt. You don’t want him
to stop, but you want him to fuck you. You want his cock buried so far up you
that you feel his pubic hair scratch your ass as his balls slap against yours. You
want to feel his prick pounding your prostate gland. It’s amazing. It’s like an
orgasm that never stops. When he rams his cock into you, you feel your own
cock wanting to explode, but it doesn’t—not yet. The sensation goes on.
Sometimes he fucks you so well, so roughly, your cock sprays all over your
chest without you even touching it. You love when that happens. Dante’s such a
god; you want him to fuck you right now.
* * *
Leaning forward, Dante presses his body firmly against Alain’s back. Dante
kisses his neck and the lobes of his ears and whispers, “Do you want me to fuck
you?”
Alain shifts his body a little so that Dante’s cock presses against and almost
inside the crack. “I don’t know. Is that what you want?”
“Fuck, yes. I want to fuck you so badly, my balls hurt.”
Leaning forward, Dante presses his body firmly against my back. He kisses my
neck and ear lobes and whispers, “Do you want me to fuck you?”
It’s such a fucking stupid question. Of course I do. I shift my body a little so
that his cock presses against my crack. His cock pushes in, touching my butthole,
and my stomach twists as if his cock is already inside of me. I do my best to
control my breathing and say, “I don’t know …” It’s such an act. He doesn’t even
need to ask. He says something else, but I barely hear him because by now he’s
pushing his cock against me a little harder without letting it go in, and my timeline
shifts as my mind focuses on something in the future.
* * *
I hope you’re still stroking your cock. I really want you to get off on this page.
Not too fast, though. I don’t want you to yet. You’re not supposed to
until the climax. But keep stroking your cock gently and keep the sensations
building throughout you body, so that when the time comes, you’ll be ready to
explode.
* * *
There is a true aesthetic to sex. There’s an inherent beauty to not only the act
itself but to the way it looks from a distance. The vision of Alain and Dante, lying
on the bed, pressed together, is one which captures the viewer’s libido and
sends him into a realm of ecstasy that rivals the nirvana that Dante and Alain
(themselves) experience. It has to do with the way the light shines off the layer
of sweat sticking to their skin. It is in the contour created by the shape of Alain’s
well-defined back and ass as it fits accurately into the groove created by Dante’s
torso and hip. The connecting point seems to be where Alain’s ass forms into
the space made by Dante’s pelvis. It is the very center of their bodies. The
pivot, from where their balance and grace is first born.
* * *
Be careful to wear a condom every time you have sex. Apply some lube to
your cock and roll the condom gently over your rod. Put a generous amount of
lube on your latex-covered prick and stroke it downward to get the air bubbles
out. Put more lube in your hand and wipe it onto and into the other guy’s
asshole. Push your middle finger into the opening of his ass, slowly. Be careful
to follow the natural pathway of his flesh. Loosen his ass up gently, moving your
finger in and out, in and out, as if it were your cock. Run your hand along his
balls and cock on occasion to really get him in the mood. Getting him in the
mood is more important than actually loosening up his ass. If he wants it really
badly, he’ll open right up for you. Keep playing with his ass, fucking him lovingly
with one/two/three fingers, until you know he absolutely needs your cock inside
him. This is the way he’d want you to do it. This is the way I’d want you to do it.
You should wear a condom every time you fuck because even though you’re only
reading and its not reality, literature can get really dangerous.
* * *
Leaning forward, Dante presses his cock/prick/dick against the opening of
Alain’s ass/soul, which Dante can’t see because Alain is lying flat on his
stomach. But Dante can feel the flesh opening up down there as he pushes his
prick inside. At that moment, Alain feels cast out into some other realm even
though he tries to hold on with just a single breath. It is a gasp and with it,
everything changes. Alain’s whole existence is focused on the pressure in his
bowels. Dante eases his cock in another inch as Alain chokes on one more gulp
of air. (The process is repeated until Dante is buried into Alain up to his pubes
and Alain’s tight muscles begin to relax and reality reshapes itself into something
more familiar.)
“Fuck me!”
Dante begins to move his cock in and out, in and out, gently, until the resistance
inside Alain’s ass goes away. Alain pushes himself up until he’s on his knees
and his ass is in the air, wide open to Dante’s approach. Dante takes advantage
of this free access and grabs onto Alain’s smooth obliques. Dante
thrusts/rams/shoves/stabs/pierces/plunges/propels his hard cock into Alain’s
essence/ass/soul almost cruelly, yes (cruelly), until a frenzy is reached where
both of them forget themselves.
“Oh, yeah! Fuck my ass, Dante!”
Dante lifts his right hand and slaps it down against Alain’s rear. Air gets trapped
between the hard-worked skin and tender flesh at the last moment of contact,
when molecules explode outward from the rapidly decreasing space as a wave of
force is generated which thunders in their ears. Alain grunts, and Dante spanks
him again.
He reaches forward and grabs Alain’s hair in his left hand, Alain’s shoulder in his
right. Dante pulls Alain up to a kneeling position and forces his head back by his
hair. Dante nibbles his neck and ear lobe and whispers, “I fucking love you.”
* * *
Everything seemed to slow down a bit, and the conversation became harder to
maintain. Nicole said her good-byes; Eric and Brandon wandered off for a
smoke. Dante and I got up and walked to the door. When we stepped outside, I
remember how the air was cold, but it didn’t bother me because the air smelled
crisp, even unique, as the beginning of fall always does.
Dante stopped outside the door and reached into his pocket. “Uhmm, Alain, I
have something I’d like you to have.”
“I want only you,” I said. “I only want you and me walking through this cold night
while demon winds carry the stink of death along a wicked breeze.” (He likes it
when I talk like that.)
He smiled and pulled his hand out clumsily and fidgeted until a single silver band
sparkled from between his fingers. He extended it toward me and said, “Would
you wear this for me?” He took my left hand and slid the ring onto my wedding
finger. “This isn’t like a marriage or anything,” he said. “It’s more like a
promise, if that’s okay.”
A basic silver band. An engraving on its surface: “Dante’s.”
I looked up and smiled, and Dante said, “I got one for myself too. It says
‘Alain’s.’” He handed it to me so that I could put it on him.
The ring fit him perfectly, as did mine. “How did you know my ring size?” I asked.
“I paid attention during Pride, when we first met, while you were trying on all
those rings. By the way, are you coming home with me tonight?”
I felt really lost for words, so I simply nodded. Yes.
* * *
Even the air seems to pound as Dante pumps Alain’s cock with his right hand
as he continues to pump his own cock into Alain’s ass. He holds on to Alain’s
hair with his left hand and whispers again: “I really fucking love you, Alain. Do
you love me too?”
“Yeah.”
Dante tugs harder on Alain’s hair. “Say it!”
“I love you.”
Dante tugs again. “Say you fucking love me!”
“I fucking love you!”
Dante bites down hard on Alain’s neck as begins to fill his condom. Alain’s
cock releases/shoots/gushes his own cum/spunk/jizz in an arc, through the air
and onto the bed. A lot of it pours down Dante’s wrist as he continues to pump
the fluid out of Alain with his tight grip.
* * *
Did you yet? If you haven’t, you should now. I told you to start stroking
your cock a while ago, and now I want you to explode. Stroke your cock faster
and think about fucking Alain’s ass with your rock-hard prick. Or think about
fucking me instead. Think about pounding your cock into my tight ass. Think
about making me all over my own chest. Shoot your all over my
face/chest/page. I fucking love it when you like that.
* * *
Smoking seems to be the appropriate thing to do, so Dante places a Marlboro
in Alain’s mouth and lights it with his Zippo. Alain’s vision is still a bit blurry
and he is just beginning to recognize the illuminated shapes in the room. He
breathes in the smoke as he thinks about the repetition of texts and the social
construction inherent in this act. Dante interrupts him by taking the cigarette from
his mouth and kissing him, pulling the smoke from within Alain using his own
lungs. Alain feels something like a denouement as Dante takes a hit from the
media/Marlboro and breathes the smoke down Alain’s throat. Dante completes
the kiss and whispers, “I love being in your narrative.”
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