Eunuchs and Nymphomaniacs

by AnonYMous

  She had probably decided to leave well before she announced it because she’d already managed to gather up her harness and cuffs. How had she managed to do this without me noticing? It had been a two-person job to get the fucking thing installed but presumably retrieving it was easier. All the sexual paraphernalia squirreled away well in advance of her announcement and when she did announce it she did so in a way that preempted debate.

  After a heavy sigh she decided to clarify.

  “I wanted to get double penetrated but one of the guys went soft.”

  “Oh,” I said, terrified she was going to accuse me of the same thing. “That’s actually insulting, considering how beautiful you are.”

  But secretly I understood what her ex must have been going through. He was expected to continue fucking her even as he felt the cock of a stranger nudge against her butthole and yes, his balls. Their cocks would have been separated by a membrane no thicker than a heavy-duty condom. I’d go soft at the very thought of such a scenario. And having established that he had lost his erection are we not to assume she went ahead and fucked the stranger not just in front of him but instead of him.

  How humiliating. How vicious of her to have set that up. She had already told me the intention behind the sex party was to find a guy to fuck that she could use as emotional leverage to end the relationship. But now it was beginning to sound like she had sprung a sexual ambush on him. The sex party was the perfect scenario to achieve a number of goals. Try out some new cock. End her relationship. Wordlessly demonstrate her reason for ending the relationship.

  “I’m sorry, I know you’re a writer and you like to talk about things and we can meet for a coffee later if you like, but I can’t do this right now, I’ll take my Mormon self out of here.”

  The Mormon reference threw me.

  “I’m not as wild as I pretend to be, I was brought up very conservative. I can’t do this. I thought I could.”

  My mind raced trying to think of something that would at least encourage her to stay and talk about it.

  “Can I at least have a hand job?”

  I was incredulous at the idea of all that sex being taken away in bags and ballet shoes. She looked at me standing there naked and nervous like I had just stopped her in the street.

  “I don’t think so,” she said kindly. “Especially since you seem to like not coming so much.”

  She twirled once in the open doorway and when it closed she was gone.

  I SUFFER FROM PREMATURE EJACU … OH SHIT SORRY

  #TheOxygenThiefDiaries

  Burrrrrrr

  Later that night I was busy trying to externalize the frustration sown by Lucretia when my phone vibrated on the bed beside me and my poor embattled hard-on twitched instinctively at the name on the screen.

  MARIAN

  She had some fucking nerve calling me after ignoring me for … was it two months? I summoned one or two of the more sexually explicit memories we’d created in the same bed on which I lay and took great pleasure in letting her go to voice mail. For an ill-informed millisecond I thought I might call her back and convince her to have phone sex but I somehow made myself hear sense over the roar of my midriff—we had never been compatible on the phone.

  Instead I selected from my mental library a memory of her knelt astride me with her apple ass basically in my face letting me caress it while shamelessly showing me the open seam of her carefully curated cunt. Meanwhile my remembered Marian stroked and teased my cock in the same way I was now stroking and teasing it. Ahh yes it was a classic moment. And all the more erotic for her knowing the effect the pose had on me. She always knew exactly the effect she had on me. Sometimes when I couldn’t come she’d take my hand and just place it on her ass knowing from experience that this would finish me off in seconds.

  “Ohhhhh arghhhhhh arghhhhhhhhhh …”

  An obscene montage of freshly occurred Lucretian moments superimposed themselves onto some of my favorite moments with Marian to inspire an eruption from somewhere deep behind my balls, releasing what felt like a startled flock of doves into the night. In my just-come state her voice message was more soothing than I had a right to expect.

  Fittingly enough the first word out of her mouth was Sorry but then her voice trailed away into something muffled and half-said, which, after not hearing her voice for so long, was mildly panic-inducing as it seemed I was to be robbed of my moment, but then she returned as if breaking surface from underwater: “… I was traveling for some of it, but anyway I don’t have a lot to say for myself, I just wanted to call and apologize and I miss you too. Hope you’re well.”

  I miss you too? This was her reply to a voice mail I’d left four months earlier.

  I wanted to be elated.

  I felt like I should be.

  But this was just the same old bullshit. Wasn’t it?

  Within seconds I was able to convince myself that the reason she hadn’t contacted me for so long was because she found it too painful to hang out with me. She didn’t need to apologize, I was just happy she called. But I decided not to respond because I couldn’t bear the idea of getting her voice mail and then the agonizing countdown to her response. If it came at all. I was sick of being rejected by her. I resolved not to fall back into it all again. I would find someone new. Maybe I could still salvage Lucretia. But then, rather eerily, as if sensing my reticence a text arrived reiterating the sentiments in the voice mail: I mean it, if you have an inclination for dinner some time, fish and chips, on me, if not, that’s okay too. It was such a luxury to hear from her twice in the same day. It felt significant. It was significant. Wasn’t it?

  Even so, I savored the luxury of snubbing her. I so rarely got the chance.

  * * *

  On one particularly cold and miserable day the sky was the same color as the pavement and just as empty. I was hopping from foot to foot to try to keep warm. Appearing from around the corner a vaguely familiar-looking man accompanied by a stylish-looking Asian girl. When they got closer I could have sworn it was Val Kilmer. He was presumably staying at the Laurence Hotel.

  He squinted at my signs.

  “So what’s all this about?” he said, picking up my book and flicking through it.

  As I began my spiel he looked everywhere but at me. It was as if he was waiting for me to recognize him. I stuck to my pitch until he interrupted me, probably out of boredom.

  “A friend of mine had a pottery stand like this in New Mexico, where I live, I sat out with him one day and he made five thousand dollars in an afternoon.”

  “You’re very welcome to sit out here with me,” I said.

  It was the first time his eyes met mine. For a moment I thought he might say something like “You wish,” but he just looked away, offering me a new angle of his famous face. Like I was a camera. He was undeniably chubbier than I remembered him in Heat and The Doors but it was him all right. The Asian girl looked longingly into her phone as if she would have preferred to climb into it rather than wait for Val to finish up with his latest distraction.

  “Anonymous, huh? I get it. What would you want for something like this?”

  “A mere twenty dollars,” I said, already feeling the heat of self-laceration that I was actually in the process of selling a book to Val Kilmer and I had let the battery in my phone die. If all I ever got from being out on that fucking street was a photo of Val Kilmer buying my book it would have all been worth it. But no, it was not to be. I would have preferred if he hadn’t stopped at all. Now I would have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact I didn’t get a photo of what was the equivalent of a UFO landing to ask for directions.

  “Bit steep for a paperback isn’t it?”

  But even as he said it he was already turning to the Asian girl, who was fishing out a $20 bill from her anime-festooned purse. I couldn’t even muster a smile, I wanted to leap out of myself, depart the flaccid casing I referred to as myself, and leave it there on the street deflated, crumpling, evacuated. But I h
ad nowhere to go, no one else to be. I had been handed a gift from the universe only to have it snatched away by an asshole that looked very much like me. Look at what you almost had, I heard a sarcastic voice say. A trolley of delicacies trundling past a starving man. Maybe I had hallucinated the entire thing. A celebrity mirage brought on by attention deficit.

  Val handed the book to his friend and walked away.

  Opening her bag and slipping the book inside gave her the perfect excuse to wait till he was three paces ahead before following him. The moment they disappeared around the other corner I felt an urge to shout. I should have at least pitched my Beowatch idea to him. I could have dressed it up as a movie if he was even slightly interested. Relocate it to the Gulf of Mexico. As Greenwald terrorizes the American holiday-makers it’s up to the local team of lifeguards to step up. Couplets that borrow from LA rap. Set it in a post-apocalyptic future. Surreal. Kitsch. Timely. Educational. Kendrick Lamar. Donald Glover. Rooney Mara. Dakota Fanning. Michael Fassbender. Marion Cotillard. Val Kilmer. Hoffa would have a cameo of course. Like the wizened Robert Shaw character in Jaws, he’d seen it all before. Hats-And-Socks-Tom, who was packing up early, had a question.

  “That was whatshisface right?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell me you got a picture?”

  I looked at him as if to say, Do I look like a fucking idiot?

  * * *

  I had to hide how happy I was to see her.

  After all, it had been a while and I still didn’t know if there were going to be any surprises.

  Carefully, we told each other how we were doing.

  “I’m not going to pretend I didn’t see that award you got,” I said, and instead of acknowledging the enormity of the compliment, i.e., that I was willing to admit I’d been checking her Facebook page, she began to complain about how horrible it had been creating a series of sculptures for the Holocaust Museum. How she’d had to work on-site four floors below ground, and how there were no toilets and once down there she’d had to listen to recordings of survivors describing the horror of what they’d been subjected to over and over and over again. Within minutes of us sitting down she was on the verge of tears. Compared to her, I felt so healthy and happy I might have been Californian.

  She said she’d made $30,000 out of it.

  “I know you make much more than that, but for me, I’ve never had that kind of money.”

  I hadn’t updated my expression since her unburdening seconds earlier, so I was still looking sympathetic when she told me how much she’d made. Suddenly I was guilty of denigrating the sum she had suffered so much to make. And not only that but she’d had to split it three ways. I didn’t dare ask why. I already knew about her existing business partner but there was now a third? She seemed too delicate to withstand any sort of normal conversation. All that could be hoped for was an imitation of two people talking. And so that is was what I strove for.

  “I’m a mess,” she said.

  But she looked pretty fucking good to me. In her artsy tweed jacket and shorts over tights she looked like a girl I’d be proud to be on a date with. I got the impression she was coming on to me but the feeling couldn’t be trusted. The last thing I was going to do was make any sort of romantic overture, not after all the beatings I’d already received. After dinner we strolled aimlessly through the dappled streets of Park Slope. The fact that we were walking in the opposite direction of her apartment indicated a willingness on her part to spend more time with me than was necessary. And was she walking closer to me than usual or was I imagining it? All the other times we’d met she was overly conscious of the space between us. As she repositioned a wayward strand of hair, her sleeve brushed gently against mine, making me aware of her famous personal scent. It smelled like home.

  I wanted to hide behind her hair.

  A hunted animal behind a waterfall.

  I realized I was happier in that moment than I’d been since … well, since the last time we’d met. I wanted to say something but it was too risky. I might open up yet another can of Blurt ’n’ Cry. I needed to get away so I could leave on a good note. Or at least a note I had played as opposed to continuously dancing to her tune.

  But she wasn’t ready to go yet.

  It seemed important that I be told she’d instructed her sister to forbid their mother from calling on her birthday. She didn’t want sympathy for being alone on such a special night. Surely this was her way of letting me know she was still single and that there was still a chance we could get back together. She also mentioned casually that the lease expired on her apartment the following month and she’d be looking for a new place. My cue to invite her to live with me?

  “Oh and Derry says hello.”

  This was a huge vote of confidence.

  A proxied greeting from her sanctified sister was as good as a papal blessing. When we eventually got back to where I’d locked my bike she was up for even more.

  “So, what would you like to do now?”

  This inferred that up to that point, I hadn’t been doing what I wanted. An accurate assessment because what I really wanted to do was paste her against the wall and fuck three years of frustration out of me and into her but there was no way I was letting that beast loose.

  “I better get going,” I said, grateful that I could pretend I had to get up early to get a spot on Prince Street. She shuffled her feet and stepped forward into the warmest hug we’d had in a very long time. I patted her back, afraid to breathe, in case I inhaled her mind-bending scent and begged her to take me home with her. I leapt on my bike and rode away. When I got home there was an email from her: Sorry if I seemed a little off tonight … I just had a breakup that was shocking and unexpected.

  LESBIAN IN MAN’S BODY SEEKS GAY MAN IN WOMAN’S BODY

  —Craigslist, BDSM/Men Seeking Women

  I felt an overwhelming, self-preserving urge to put something, or more accurately, someone between me and the realization that Marian had been in a relationship. I was terrified of finding out more. If she’d just broken up with someone it meant she’d been in a proper relationship of some kind. If this was true I’d need someone to fall back on. But I wasn’t going to waste time with proper girls anymore. It was exhausting having to pretend you wanted a relationship just to get laid. It was a waste of time. Love made the sex better but it required so much lying it wasn’t worth it. I’d venture into the BDSM side of things. At least they were honest.

  They just wanted sex. Unconventional sex.

  I was late for a lunchtime meeting with a twenty-two-year-old stylist called Caitlin. Unexpectedly coquettish, she actually blushed when I sat down to what quickly turned into an interview to decide whether we’d have sex once a week, preferably after nine PM, in my apartment, where I’d be expected to spank, paddle, and whip her with equipment she’d provide.

  Never before was I so nervous before an appointment.

  In her photos she was raven-haired and pale skinned and even if she didn’t live up to them in real life, the explicit sexual self-assurance of her language and the clarity of her intentions was worth investigating.

  I became tortured by the idea that I’d fumble what was certain sex. On a normal date there was no predetermined menu of sexual activity. You weren’t shown in advance what you might not get. But in this case, what I was being interviewed for was so clearly delineated I’d be left in no doubt what I had failed to achieve.

  I was relieved she asked questions because it removed the pressure to converse. She received my answers with slow, careful nods as if wary that a sudden movement might startle me into running away. Her general demeanor inferred I was doing well. All her questions related to my writing. She was obviously not about to be spanked, paddled, or whipped by anyone who wasn’t up to her creative standards. I mentioned I’d written a play and because she continued to show interest in it I ended up telling her the entire plot. I had never been so tense about pitching a story because I knew that if it was well received I wo
uld be rewarded with the sort of sex I had until then only fantasized about. When I finished talking she gave no indication that she found the twist at the end in any way clever or even interesting.

  Instead she began telling me about herself.

  As a freelance stylist who provided props and clothing for shoots and plays she worked mostly with theater directors and photographers. In fact she had just wrapped on a job for Creepyhehe’s new line of gothic lingerie.

  “I’m wearing a sample under my coat.”

  Her eyes held mine for a significant second before we both looked up to see that my hand was in the air calling for the check. Where had that confidence come from?

  My cock was in charge now.

  As we strolled across the park she repeatedly brushed against me, and each time she took longer to pull away again. I decided I might as well be rejected here as anywhere and stopped her not far from where Marian and I had first kissed. She let her coat fall open and encouraged me to maul what I found inside. Interlacing strands of black silk, crisscrossing two beautifully caged breasts.

  “You live nearby, right?” she whispered.

  We had excellent, nasty, sweaty sex. She deliberately gagged on my cock. Such a dirty mind. For instance she licked her own juices off my face, unthinkingly, like a human version of Barney the dog. This had a massive effect on me. And she opened her legs proudly, like a porn star, no hesitation or embarrassment whatsoever. Her girlish face glowed happily and her tongue protruded slightly between her lips like a girl who hadn’t yet been told it was impolite, or having been told, didn’t care. I went down on her lovely clean-shaven slit and used every trick I had to ensure she came.

  “Yessss-uh.” She said it like it had two syllables.

  Then she made me come with her hands and mouth and giggled at the good of it as I enunciated my joy for the entire neighborhood to hear. We lay panting for a while until she sat up and actually gave me a high five before agreeing to come back again the following week.