The Syntax of Seduction

by Carlos Malenkov

"You see, John, some of my visitors are a bit curious about exactly what it is men of my orientation do. What gay sex involves. Maybe one in ten is inclined to explore the matter further. It's entirely voluntary, of course."

  "Well, Bill, as long as I'm here . . . I guess . . . "

  "Go on."

  "I . . . well . . . I'd like to ask about anal . . . about anal sex. I've done it with to girlfriends a few times, but I'm interested in improving my technique. And . . . I always wondered what it feels like on the receiving end."

  "I imagine you're aware, John, that if done properly there's little or no pain for the receiving partner. Lubrication and relaxation are, of course, critical. Did your girlfriends enjoy it?"

  "Some of them didn't care for it, but Joanne, once she became used to it, loved it. It got so she didn't even want to have normal sex any more."

  "Normal? It's as 'normal' as any other expression of sexuality, John. Anal sex in all its guises, whether hetero or gay, has been around as long as mankind has walked the earth. The anus is loaded with nerve endings. An extra bonus for men is that the prostate is accessible from there. You haven't really experienced sex until you've felt a prostate orgasm roll over you like an earthquake. Some people, men and women both, consider an anal orgasm the ultimate sensual experience. Now, what specifically can I help you with?"

  "Do you have any pictures of it being done, Bill?"

  Johnny examined the grainy black-and-white close-up photos. He knew what an erect penis disappearing into the darkness of an anal sphincter looked like. After all, he'd done it enough times to some of his own partners. But to see a guy taking it in the ass, his balls hanging down and dick visible in front . . . now that was really something. Come to think of it, his own dick was starting to get a little . . . well, hard. He was starting to feel lightheaded.

  "You're sure it doesn't hurt?"

  Bill's hands were gently massaging him -- rubbing and kneading his buns. Johnny lay facedown on the couch, a small pillow under his chin and a towel under his loins. He was gradually loosening up. His butt cheeks felt warm and soft, soft, soft as butter. Now there was something -- a fingertip? -- circling his opening. Slippery, warm, hot. "I think I'm ready," Johnny said.

  A few minutes later Johnny was carefully inserting a small butt plug into himself. Bill stood behind him, guiding his hand.

  "Easy does it, John. Sure it's lubed, but don't force it in. Press outward gently, as if you were having a bowel movement. That helps relax the sphincter muscles. There you go. It popped right in, didn't it? How does it feel?"

  "Strange. Kind of like having to take a shit. It doesn't hurt, but I feel the stretch. Interesting, actually. I think maybe I could get used to it."

  "The stretch and the feeling of fullness is all you really get from this type of plug, John. If you want the liquid friction sensation, the authentic 'getting fucked' feeling, you might want to try a dildo."

  Feeling adventurous, or maybe newly liberated, Johnny opted for a medium-sized dildo.

  "Not bad. Not bad at all. Would a dick inside me feel like that, Bill?"

  "Pretty much. With a toy, though, the electricity is missing. Having a real, live, warm human being on the other end of what's penetrating you counts for something. Believe me, it does."

  "I'm . . . I guess I'm willing, Bill. If I don't give it a shot now, I'll forever be wondering what I've been missing. You'll be gentle with me, won't you?"

  Now Johnny felt the warm tip of something firm and unyielding touching him down there. There was a slight pressure. Gently, but insistently Bill was entering him. He could visualize his asshole dimpling inwards as Bill began to push his cock into him. His butt cheeks separated as Bill's strong hands spread them apart.

  Relax. Inhale. Hold.

  He pushed outward slightly, imagining he was emptying his bowels, and his anal sphincter loosened. His entrance opened wide, and his being split asunder. A large and glassy-smooth shaft slid up into the core of him, entered his dark tunnel and he was for the first time joined with the flesh of another man. Bill was fucking him, fucking him in the ass and things would never be the same.

  Stretching. (Being pulled apart, widening.) Liquid friction. (It was all happening inside him, inside his most secret place, inside his ass.) A rippling, flowing fullness in his lower gut as Bill slid further up into him. Deeper. Feeling Bill's thighs press into his cheeks at deepest penetration. Feeling Bill's weight press him facedown into the bed he was bending over. Feeling Bill thrust and withdraw and the shrieking pressure building up inside him. Feeling the convulsions rip through him as he lost control of his own flesh. Feeling his hole spasming against the hard cock embedded deep within him. Feeling his own cock throbbing, then spurting. Feeling the wetness of his own discharge on his belly. Feeling the wetness inside him, way up inside his ass, as Bill came deep inside him, deep inside his deepest depths.

  The sheer intensity of it all frightened Johnny. It hadn't been like this when he had made love to a woman. There had been no thunder, no clash of cymbals, no loss of self. He liked women no less, so probably he hadn't become gay . . . he didn't think. But he had been struck by lightning, and things would never be the same. He was a different person now and he knew he'd be back. Back to Bill. Back to having his ass fucked.

  * * *

  FOOL'S GOLD

  Who wins . . . in Love? Who cries tonight? Who's left behind? And who, who is lost? -- Nan Moravia, Love Lost

  It's sad when a woman, a loving, passionate woman awakens in a cold, empty bed with no one there to embrace her, to hold her in his arms. To love her.

  There was this one woman. She was the saddest case of all. She knew what she wanted, but it just wasn't hers to take.

  "I don't know why you, of all people, think it's so disgusting."

  "Lisa!"

  "It's not as if it's unnatural. It's just something men do. Some men."

  "Look, watching live acts . . . gay men doing those twisted things to each other . . . doing each other in the ass for gosh sake. And you say it turns you on? You, sitting right there up front, gawking at the action and getting spattered with all those nasty body fluids?"

  "Yes! It's the sheer intensity of it. The pungent stench of anal sex and those grunts of pure, bestial lust. The heat radiating from iron-hard cocks and fire-rimmed buttholes. The smoke generated by the friction of hard flesh pounding into a violated sphincter. The power, the power that comes from tabus being shattered, traditions torn asunder. Those beautiful, achingly beautiful young studs with their tight little buns, and those tight little buns being violently ripped open, penetrated. Fucked! And, sometimes, sometimes, I wish it was me up there in the spotlight. Bent over. Taking it in the ass. My ass."

  "It's a waste of time talking to you, girlfriend. I hope you realize how totally freaky your obsession is before you get hurt. Badly."

  "You're a fine one to talk, Mandy. You with your coke and meth habits."

  "Well, at least I'm not a fuckin' pervert . . ."

  She didn't know his real name, of course. They called him Gold on stage. Gold! As in Fool's Gold. And, what did that make her? The fool?

  He could have been a movie star, he was so strikingly handsome. His profile wouldn't have looked out of place on an ancient Roman coin and a solidly-proportioned well-muscled torso showed the effects of intensive weight training. Physically, he was the very model of a virile stud. And, Lisa had to have him. One way or another.

  In the live acts, Gold usually played the top. He'd swagger onstage, slap the bent-over bottom on his spread-open bottom, and ostentatiously strip off bikini briefs, revealing a long, hard, throbbing erection. Then, of course, he'd proceed to slowly and lovingly bury it, an inch at a time, in the writhing and moaning bottom's bottom. The audience loved it.

  Lisa found it even more exciting when the tables were turned. When Gold was the one being swived. Such a magnificent ass he had! And, if only . . . if only he would open it up for her, let her penetrated him with a ten-inch silicone c
ock or even a fist! She would die and go to heaven.

  Then there came that one magic night when things fell into place as if they had been scripted by a sympathetic director. Gold was high that night. Sky high. There had been rumors that he used some sort of weird drug cocktail to enhance his performance. Not that there was anything wrong with his normal performance, but because he wanted to juice it to totally unreal levels. Anyhow, there he was, standing by her table after the show, glassy-eyed, and a bit unsteady on his feet. "Grab onto my arm and I'll help you," she said.

  Lisa just happened to be in full body-armor that night. On the outside, butch -- totally butch -- in a hardened drag-king outfit that gave her the look of a wannabe-tough punk dude with slight fem overtones. Underneath, breasts plastered down by elastic stretchy stuff and hips flattened by a wire-reinforced corset band. She even wore (just in case!) her fave dildo with its base firmly socketed inside her woman-hole. It made a nice bulge where the legs met on her skin-tight pants. "Nice," Gold whispered hoarsely, staring straight down at her crotch.

  "My place or yours?" she asked. Her faux-masculine voice quavered only a little.

  "Oh, why not yours? Mine is such a train wreck. I assume you have a decent selection of, well, libations and such."

  "Why don't you come on up and see?"

  He did come on up, but as it turned out, he didn't see a whole lot. Lisa's place was illuminated by flickering blue fluorescents, and someone unfamiliar with the layout could end up stumbling around and bumping into various exemplars of allegedly antique chairs and tables knocked together from either butcher block or scrap lumber and orange crates (it was hard to tell in the dim light). Gold stumbled around a bit before she managed to guide him toward a plush sofa. She pressed a glass part full of a cloudy amber liquid into his hand. "Wait here," she said.

  The light seemed even dimmer by the time she came back. His head was spinning around in tight little circles and he had the distinct feeling that he'd need to upchuck before the night got much older. But, there she stood, only Gold still hadn't the faintest suspicion that she wasn't a he, only that there was this ravishing half-naked creature bending over a beanbag chair directly in front of him and -- wow! -- what a great-looking ass sticking up there in the air. And, Gold, falling back on his tried and true rule of thumb in such situations, began unbuckling his metal-studded belt. Hey, when you've got a fuckable ass staring you in the face, the only thing to do is fuck it. Right?

  Lisa, breasts tightly bound up in gossamer and with rampant dildo occluding her female opening, was more or less ready to receive him. She had lubed up her back passage, and if things went well, Gold wouldn't be able to tell the difference between her asshole and a man's. She hoped.

  It hurt. In his doped up state his aim was a bit off the mark and his cock couldn't quite find its way in. Lisa had to guide him with her hand and he groaned as he rammed all the way into her with one violent lunge.

  "Ouch, damn you! My asshole is fragile! Treat it with respect, asshole. Where's your fucking technique?"

  "Sorry. My head's a bit muzzy. What was in that fucking drink you gave me?"

  "Never mind that. Just tend to business. But gently, please."

  It got better after that. Quite a bit better. The excitement was starting to build from the fullness up in her gut, and from the slippery friction and in-out push-pull at the entrance to her ass. The feeling was nice, yeah, even better than when she masturbated with a dildo up her butt. Real nice. She reached between her legs and began moving the silicone plug embedded in her pussy in and out for clit stimulation. Yes, indeed. Yes! And then she felt the throbbing and the wetness high up in her ass. Gold was coming. Yes!

  Then she smelled the characteristic stench of anal sex, compounded of various parts of stale semen, used-up lube, and shit residue from her rectum. That tipped her over the edge.

  She was swept away by a tidal wave of sensation and the spasms of a MegaOrgasm began building. Her entire body was shuddering and she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. She blanked out for a moment, only to be drawn back by the sound of his voice.

  "Damn!" he said. "I could have sworn . . ."

  "What?"

  "Never mind."

  He abruptly withdrew from her and her ass felt empty. She felt empty inside, vacant, as if something had been suctioned out of her soul. Gold had given her something, all right, though under false pretenses. But, maybe he had robbed her of something, too.

  Later that night -- and it might well have been a dream -- he was on hands and knees facing away from her, forehead grounded, presenting his spread-apart naked ass. The vulnerable brown-rimmed hole winked up at her. She sank the dildo into him, slowly, all ten inches of it. He moaned, and they orgasmed together. So this is what it's like, being a man.

  He was snoring away on the sofa, covered with her best quilt. Probably staining it with come and used-up lube, but hey, that was the cost of doing business. Time to wake him and trundle him downstairs into a taxi. It would be getting light soon and she didn't want him to take too close a look at her. Especially since he might have already suspected something . . .

  "And, that's pretty much the size of it, Mick. I haven't dared take him home again, though I have been ringside at a couple more of his shows. He's stared at me real funny like, but hasn't actually come over to talk to me. So, all I'm left with is the memories of that one night."

  "Be happy you have even that, my dear. It was stone cold hopeless right from the start."

  "Don't you think I know that? But, I couldn't help it. I can't help it, even now. I still desire him, or anyway my body does. I'll probably never see him again, and it's like a part of me has died."

  Yes, I've known Lisa for quite a while. Almost as long as I've known Gold, in fact. But, she doesn't know that. And, neither does Gold. It seems that I'm a mutual acquaintance of the both of them and they're both still in the dark about it. And, that's probably for the best.

  I first met Gold quite a while back. Only, he wasn't Gold then. He still called himself Bronze and he was a bodybuilder, just like me. That's how we got together, actually. At the gym.

  The moment I saw him I knew I had to have him. I had this sudden raging need to smell him and taste him and, yes, feel him inside me. Yes, I wanted him in my ass. Me, the guy who didn't much care for bottoming. Me, Mr. Top himself. Me, the guy whose cock had feasted on a thousand asses.

  Well, hooking up with him wasn't exactly rocket science. I was in better shape back then and all it took was a look at my muscular ass in those compression tights to start him drooling. Later that same night he was inside me, pumping. Pumping his iron into my flesh.

  It was damn good while it lasted. He wasn't much on technique -- he developed that later as part of his professional act. But, no matter. He was long and he was hard and he could last a good half hour if he put his mind to it. Wore my ass out, in fact. And, in between, he let me fuck him a few times. Tight, his ass was tight inside. Prime A-1 quality meat.

  It didn't last, though. For all that wonderful bod and hard, hard flesh, the guy was just plain dumb. Couldn't think his way out of a paper bag if his life depended on it. In fact, in an IQ competition between him and a box of rocks, I'd put my money on the rocks. Pity.

  Yeah, I've known him all these years. Still get together with him once in a great while, just for old times' sake, you understand. And, to have that wonderful cock massage the inside of my ass, of course. A pretty nice feeling, as Lisa found out. But, Gold doesn't belong to her, just as he doesn't belong to me. He doesn't belong to anyone. Not even to himself, I sometimes think.

  "So, you found your happiness, finally?"

  "I wouldn't call it that. Contentment maybe."

  "And, when's the wedding date?"

  "Later this summer. You'll get an invitation, of course, Mick."

  "I can't believe it. Wild little Lisa, married to an accountant. A nice whitebread boy from the Jersey suburbs. An intelligent, affable fellow making a decent liv
ing, who's putting on a teeny bit of weight around the middle and who can't see a thing without horn-rim glasses. A geek, in other words. But, a nice geek, of course."

  "Well, maybe he isn't an Adonis or a fireball in the sack, but you know, there's more to a man than that. At least he can hold up his end of a conversation, and he's kind and considerate. And, he's housebroken. Unlike a certain fine fellow I used to know . . ."

  Well, that's the story. Lisa settled for what she could get, rather than ruining her life running after what was out of reach. And, she landed a husband. A soulmate of sorts, I guess. So what if Merle's belly hangs over his belt and he has an ass that's as fat as a middle-age woman's? So what if he's 20 years older than she is? So what if he has a rancid body odor and he's so totally repulsive physically that she has to shut her eyes and grit her teeth when they make love? At least she doesn't have to wake up in a cold, empty bed.