Sexual Paradigm, Part 2: Numbers
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 - 2000 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 2: Numbers
9 inches of solid cock pound inside my ass and Dante's breath hits hard
on my ear. He pushes on the backs of my thighs to lift my ass a little
more. He's got me just where he wants me, and he straightens his back and
legs to take advantage of my vulnerability. My ass is completely open to
him as my knees bear down against my shoulders. He slides his cock
effortlessly all the way in and all the way out of my bowels, and his
breath gradually transforms into a loud rasp.
He relaxes then, and brings his own knees down to touch the mattress.
He releases the pressure on my thighs, and I lock my ankles together to
make a circle, a wedding band, or better yet, a cock ring. He pushes
gently into me and pulls out slowly, allowing me to tighten my ass-ring
purposefully around the head of his cock.
Without my realizing, he finds some secret pivot and begins to rotate
his hips slowly, causing his dick to etch circles into my flesh in the
opposite direction. He only stirs his cock inside me a few times, because
he knows it drives me crazy.
Throughout this entire session, I keep my right hand wrapped against my
slick cock. It wants to burst, but I won't let it. I just slowly stroke
it as Dante's fucks stroke my prostate, simulating an orgasm with a
never-ending flow. My precum drips down my smooth-shaven balls and sticks
to the dark trail of hair on Dante's stomach.
He bends his back and brings his lips close enough for me to kiss. I
do. As my tongue slips inside his mouth, he rams a single hard thrust into
my depths. My mouth gapes open even though I know I can't breathe. He
sucks in my lower lip and retracts his cock only to ram it in again. I
choke on one breath, on one moment, and I can't hold back any longer. I've
stopped stroking my cock, but it's throbbing with blood and the nerves
covering it are overloaded. His mouth moves against mine. His tongue
pushes in. I still can't breathe, and he starts stealing what little
oxygen I have left. His cock pulls back and I think, Oh, God, no, but he
buries it again.
* * *
2 rock their shirtless bodies against each other as a sea of other
men swirl around them, with only the metaphor to give them substance. In
their center, the relentless pounding from the speakers sends hard rhythmic
vibrations through Alain and Dante. They move together, in time with the
sound, and their sweaty skins slide against each other, chest to belly.
Their separate denim scratches against their thighs. Only the crotches of
their jeans remained locked together, keeping their hard cocks, despite
every motion, anchored concurrently beneath moist barriers of hard fabric.
Their hair falls in matted bangs, almost in their faces. Every inch of
them is drenched and you can't even tell that Alain is because the
sweat has turned his ashen hair to a dark, shiny brown. It's easy to tell
that Dante's long bangs are black; the sweat just makes his hair look
slicker, more reflective. You notice they're both muscular. Dante is just
a little bigger. He stands an inch or two taller and weighs a few pounds
more.
Alain runs his hands along Dante's lats, and Dante cups his palms behind
Alain's neck, pulls him into a deep and violent kiss. Dante licks a trail
of sweat down Alain's neck as Alain's eyes turn over at a stripper on the
stage.
* * *
"7 years," says Dante, "is supposed to be the normal life span of a
relationship. I'd be happy to make it past seven months."
Because of his lack of experience with relationships and his
heterosexuality, Brandon reaches for something positive to say. "You and
Alain have already been going out for six. One more can't be that
difficult."
Nicole ignores Brandon and takes a different approach. "What's wrong,
honey?"
The three of them sit in a small and empty amphitheater, eating lunch.
Dante flicks a piece of bread at a sparrow and says, "It's just that he
requires so much attention. I feel if I turn my back once, he'll run off
to someone else."
Nicole stares at him while she tries to muster more sympathy and fails.
"Yeah, and?"
"What do you mean, 'Yeah, and?' If I leave him alone for more than
fifteen minutes, he's grinding all over some coked-up slut."
"Dante, maybe this is your problem. Maybe you should give Alain some
space. He really loves you, and you know what they say: if you love
something, let it go."
"And if it doesn't come back," chimes in Brandon, "hunt it down and
shoot it."
"Great," Dante mutters. "I have a serious love problem, and all you
assholes can come up with are stupid cliches."
* * *
19 bucks isn't a lot for a Saturday night. But what the fuck; it was
only the first show. It doesn't matter anyway. Some things are more
important than money. That's right; I don't give a shit about the money. I
make more money doing porno anyway, but I don't give a shit about that
either. It's the experience that matters to me. There's something really
spiritual about dancing in front of a whole club full of drunken,
whacked-out queers. I like the way the in the front row don't blink
as I pull the strings of my G down just a little to tease them. It's like
that in a small arena. I have more power than God. Of course that's not
true, but it sure feels that way.
You know, I used to wait around for Mr. Right to show up. I used to
think he'd be one of the on the dance floor, and he'd come up to me,
slip a hundred through my string, just an inch from my cock, and then our
eyes would meet. I realize it's corny, but I really thought our eyes would
meet and then we'd both know. Yeah, I know.
Well, now I wait around for God to walk in and show me who really has
the power around here. What, you think that's crazy? It isn't any more
crazy than waiting around for Mr. Right. That's for sure.
* * *
3 thrusts and I'm outside myself. I grip the base of my cock and dig my
fingers into my pent-up balls, but I can't stop it from happening. explodes from my slit, and a guttural yell blasts from my lower throat. My
eyelids clamp down, exerting pressure on my skull. I can't feel Dante's
lips anymore, and the taste of his mouth is replaced by the saltiness of my
own cum. I feel it fall, a burning hail, against my chest and face and
tongue. The milky raindrops subside and I feel my slowly drool out
onto my stomach. I keep my eyes closed as another blast of warm fluid
strikes my cheek and neck. This time I know it isn't mine.
* * *
"6 months is pretty good for a relationship," says Nicole, "but,
honey, you're gonna have to take things slow. You and Alain aren't yet, and you'd be better off if you gave him a little space. So what if he
flirts with a guy or two? So what if he even goes on a date? Give him
time and space to figure things out. If you two are meant to work out, you
will."
"Nicole," Dante asks, "what would you do if you had a girlfriend and you
found her chewin' on some other bitch's clit?"
"I'd kick the cunt's ass! But you and Alain are different."
* * *
15 minutes pass before I begin to worry. I leave the drinks at the bar
and go looking for Alain. I walk toward the bathroom, scanning the crowd
as I go. My progress is slow, even though I'm in a hurry. Walking in this
club reminds me of swimming in the ocean; you pound your strokes against
the waves, but the tide keeps pushing you back. You can swim in place for
eternity until fatigue drives you to swim the other way.
* * *
1 guy dances onstage while a throng of stand frozen below. He
bounces his cock inside his G-string and drops to his knees so another guy
can stuff another dollar bill inside. Alain watches the muscles ripple
down the stripper's abs. He continues to press his body against Dante's to
keep him from realizing what's really up. Dante notices anyway but decides
it's better to just say nothing.
The stripper turns his back and peels the strings of his G down and out
from his ass. A patron inserts a bill where the string had just been.
Alain notices the smile on the stripper's face, as well as a playful glint
that suggests to everyone that he's just been bought.
Alain continues to grind against Dante. The erection in his jeans is
obvious, but Dante's cock can't be felt. Alain takes one more look at the
guy on the stage and tries to remember where he's seen him before. He
starts to remember as he turns his attention back to Dante and grips his
mouth in a sudden kiss.
He pulls back roughly. "Dante, can we rent a tonight?"
"What kind of movie?"
"Can we rent a porno?"
"Sure--whatever you want." Dante kisses him again.
* * *
12 fuck greedily on the screen and mindlessly synthetic music
whispers through the room as Dante rolls a condom down my anxious cock.
We've lost interest in the video, though we're unthinkingly in the process
of mimicking its content, and I sprawl naked on the bed as Dante straddles
my chest. I lick his cock and whine a little because I can't get it into
my mouth. Dante squeezes some lube onto my protected cock and wipes his
fingers along his own crack until they push gently into his fiery hole.
Dante finger-fucks himself for a moment and I feel a sense of triumph as I
finally get my mouth around the head of Dante's dick.
But just as I do, Dante pulls back and pushes my cock into his ass. My
disappointed whine is quickly swapped with an unexpected moan of rapture.
* * *
17 gave me their numbers tonight. I think that's pathetic. I
can't stand it when they chase after me because they think I'm some god.
I'm a fucking porn star and a stripper and an occasional hustler, and they
only want me because they believe I'm some super-stud. You know what a
stud is? A is a who's young, buff, and beautiful, and only good
for one thing: fucking. I'd like to think I'm good at more than just
fucking, but just try to convince my audience of that! They want me either
because they think they can buy me or because they think they deserve me. I
go for it, but every time I end up asking myself, what is it that I
deserve?
* * *
16 bucks is a lot to pay for two beers and a couple of shots, but it
really isn't too important. Alain and I never go out much, at least not to
clubs. So, I'm waiting patiently by the front bar for Alain to come back.
I look at my watch, strain to see the long hand in the darkness. It's been
over ten minutes. I look into the dense sea of on the dance floor and
worry. After a few more nervous minutes, I ask the bartender to watch the
drinks while I track down my boyfriend.
* * *
10 inches of pure cock jut out at Alain as he pulls the sweaty G-string
down past a set of freshly shaven balls. It's a beautiful sight, and Alain
runs his lips along its length until he tastes the musky flavor of the
stripper's nuts. He pulls back, opens his mouth, lets the cockhead bounce
against his tongue. He flicks that tongue against the underside of it a
few times before he swallows the stripper's cock whole. It nudges back his
tonsils, but he subdues his gag reflex and slowly eases back, relaxing his
throat into a more comfortable position. The stripper moans; his breathing
is hard and controlled. Alain takes pride in that. It's as if each
contraction of the stripper's diaphragm has a purpose and, if not for
concentration, Alain might make this forget to breathe.
He doesn't have much time, so Alain quickly pulls his head up and down
the shaft of the stripper's cock. He keeps his throat tight and his lips
firm, and he rotates his head from side to side to increase the stripper's
pleasure. Using this method doesn't take long; less than five minutes
later, the stripper pulls his cock out and blasts numerous strips of onto the floor.
The club music can barely be heard in this dingy "dressing room." Alain
climbs to his feet, and the stripper kisses him. He smiles, says, "My
name's Jeff. What's yours?"
"Alain."
Alain strains to hear the song playing beyond the black-painted door,
but he's lost track of how many songs have passed. Alain kisses Jeff again
and hurries out the door, anxious to get back to Dante before he realizes
that something's up.
* * *
5 buttons is all it takes before start waving dollar bills at him.
He turns his back to them and unfastens the remainder. He looks over his
shoulder and drops one side of his shirt. The go crazy. It isn't the
sight of his flesh that ignites their libidos; it's the lusty glint in
Jeff's eyes that gets to them. It's the promise that they'll get something
more for their dollar than a flash of his pecs or a close-up of his thigh.
His eyes tell them they'll get a lot more, and that's how Jeff gets his
tips. Not from showing flesh or putting out, but from making promises he
doesn't intend to keep.
* * *
"20 minutes!" Dante raises his wrist so that Alain can see the
incoherent symbols on his Fossil. "You're telling me it took you twenty
minutes to find your way to the fucking bathroom!"
Alain stands at the urinal, staring blankly at Dante. He tries to
forget that the bathroom is crowded and that every queen in there is
watching. "Well," he says softly, eyes wide open and lower lip pushed
slightly forward, "there was a long line." He lowers his head a little but
keeps staring directly into Dante's eyes. "I asked you to come with me.
You could have held my cock for me while I pissed." Alain looks down into
the urinal, and his cock is already half-stiff.
Dante steps behind him, reaches around, taking Alain's cock into his
hand. "I'm sorry, baby. I missed you."
"I missed you too. Why didn't you come with me?"
"I wanted to get us some drinks."
"Did you?" Alain rolls his head back on Dante's shoulder and smiles: he
can feel Dante's denim-clad erection pressed against his ass.
"Yeah. They're waiting up front," whispers Dante.
"Cool. Sweetie, will you shake it for me?"
Dante grabs firmly at the base and flicks a few last drops of off
the end with a series of quick spasms. He runs his hand along the cock
twice before putting it back in its Calvin Klein home.
* * *
11 crowd around Jeff as he leaves the stage. He pushes past them,
always smiling, and heads for the dressing room door. He winks at the
security guard as he enters the safety zone.
Inside, he falls into a soft chair, wipes the sweat off his chest. It
won't be long before he has to go back out again, so he stands up and roots
through his stuff until he finds his next outfit.
He pauses momentarily as he watches the black door open in the mirror's
grungy reflection.
* * *
4 lie on the ground in a circle, each other's cocks. I
slump back against the headboard while Alain rests his head in my lap. I
stroke his hair with one hand and lift the box with the other. Farm.
"Hey, Alain, isn't that the stripper from the club tonight?" I say.
"Yeah--that's Jeff Kane."
"You know, they should have at least titled this Ranch. It would
have sounded better."
"I don't think the producers cared. Besides, there's probably already a
Stud Ranch."
"Even so, there's nothing innovative about the narrative."
Alain sits up. "What?"
"There's no disruption of anything. It's just a repeat performance of
all the porno in the past."
Alain laughs. "I don't think the producers cared about that, either."
"They should," I reply dryly.
Alain continues to laugh until he kisses me gently. "I love it when you
talk like that. Post-structuralism really turns me on."
"Do you love me, Alain?"
The mood seems to change into something more serious. The ass-pounding
image of Jeff on the screen transforms into random images of light, and the
grunts and groans mix with the tacky music, forming something inaudible and
unimportant.
Alain lowers himself onto my chest. "I fucking love you, Dante." I
don't respond, and I can tell that Alain feels an abstract tightening in
his chest. He looks past the reflections of light in my dark eyes, and the
full importance of the moment impresses itself on him. "Dante, I love
you." He kisses me slowly, with caution.
"I love you too, Alain."
* * *
13 beers seem to bounce inside Alain's bladder even though he only drank
three. "Dante, I gotta go piss. I feel like I just finished off half a
case."
Dante stops dancing and kisses him on the forehead. "You better go
then."
"Do you wanna come with me?"
"No--you go ahead."
* * *
"18 years from now, you're gonna look at me and say, 'Nicole, you were
right,' and then you and Alain are gonna invite me to your place in the
mountains to spend Christmas with you and your kids."
"Nicole, we're all gonna be really fucking in eighteen years. I
don't think it'll matter whether Alain and I are still together 'cause by
then we'll both be too to even get it up."
"There are some things more important than sex, Dante. And besides, you
guys can get those inflatable implant things."
"Oh, that's a nice picture, Nicole! Alain and I squeezing each other's
nuts to pump up. Hell! cock would probably make my dentures
slip."
Catching his cue, Brandon blurts, "You should probably take them out.
It'd be a lot easier that way."
* * *
14 stand in line in front of Alain. There are more inside the
bathroom, but he can't see them. He leans against the wall as the stripper
walks past him, covered in sweat, still wearing that zebra-striped
G-string. Some follow him, but when he brushes past a security guard
and disappears behind a door, they turn away.
A bottle crashes at the other end of the hall. The security guard runs
past Alain toward a fight in the process of breaking out.
Alain looks back at the defenseless door and imagines walking in there
and begging the stripper to let him suck his cock. Dante would never know,
and maybe the stripper might want to see him again.
Alain stares at the door another moment, before the line in front of him
moves a bit as exit the restroom to check out the fight. Alain turns
away from the door and steps inside the restroom to wait his turn.
* * *
8 inches of his lover's cock slide into Dante's ass as he lowers himself
down until his balls press against the flat of my abs. The television
casts an eerie glow on Dante's skin; the abstract flashing makes him look
like a spirit or even an angel as he raises and lowers himself on my eager
cock. Dante looks like he's in ecstasy as he pushes his ass all the way
down my length. He tells me how much he loves the feel of me inside him.
He grinds on my erection, and his own cock points stiffly in the air.
I massage his chest and abs, and take his cock into my hand and stroke
it gently. I can feel the pre-cum ooze out and slick my palm as I twist my
hand around the head.
"You're cock feels so good up my ass, Alain."
"You're so hot, Dante. Your ass is so hot."
"Oh, fuck, Alain! Fuck!"
"I love you, Dante. I really fucking love you."
Dante reaches down by his calf and grabs another rubber. "Don't yet," he tells me. He takes his cock from me and strokes its impressive
length a few times. "I really want to fuck you back. I want to pound you
with my big ol' cock."
I smile, and Dante tears open the package. "Anytime, Dante. Anytime."
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