I was trying to be good, I really truly was.  Then Joey walked up to me in the gas station wearing a black ribbed shirt tight enough to show the hard, nubby nipples on his pecs.

“Hey Nate,” he said.  What was I supposed to do?  I said “hey” back.  “Long time no see,” he said, getting really close to me so our conversation wouldn’t carry into the store.  The place was bustling, as usual – the Sheetz on Market Street is sort of the hub of my small town.  “What have you been up to?”

Since…, I thought.  Since the night I’d trashed my relationship with my sister, probably for good, by sleeping with him.  “I’ve been alright,” I said.  “How about you?”

“Good,” he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his track pants, inching the waist of them low enough so that his taut, white stomach showed.  “I thought maybe you’d went back to the city.”

“Nah,” I said.  “Still here.”  Of course I’d known that Joey was still around.  About a month ago my mom had mentioned, casually, that my sister was seeing “that construction worker again, that Joey.”  She was mercifully in the dark about me and my sister’s falling out, and I sure as shit didn’t see a reason to go into specifics.

“I got a job up at the hospital,” I said.  ”Just admissions, paperwork and stuff.  It’s good.”

“Cool.  So where do you live?”

“I was staying with my parents but I just got a place, right down the street from here, actually, in the old opera house building.”

“Cool,” Joey said.  He looked around then back at me.  “So, like, what are you doing later?”

It was the moment I’d both anticipated and feared.  Despite the guilt that had sometimes made me physically ill over the past four months, I still wanted him.  Dreamt about him.  Jacked off thinking about him.  And yeah, I’d even driven past his parents’ trailer more than a few times, just to make sure he was still around.

“Nothing,” I said.

“I’m supposed to go to this party, but if you –”

“Joey – you comin?” called a voice from across the store.  Joey looked back toward the door and I followed his gaze to Roger Eli, a guy who’d been a couple years ahead of me in school.  Joey turned back to me.

“I want to stop by later tonight,” he said.  “What apartment?”

I found myself saying “Four-oh-two.”  Joey nodded and turned and strode to the door where Roger waited, holding open the door.  They walked out together, and I put my pint of Ben & Jerry’s back in the freezer and headed home to wait.

***

What I came to realize in the next few weeks was that Joey was an insatiable sex hound who seemed attracted to me possibly for the sole reason that I was willing to get it on as often as he was.

He showed up at my door a little after midnight, that first night, looking drunk and half horny, half apprehensive.  But it was less than a minute before we were full-on making out.  He fucked me against the kitchen counter, pounding my ass with an intensity I’d forgotten from our last encounter.  We hardly talked, just boned away until we both blew, he in the condom up my ass and me all over the cookie sheet I’d used to make garlic bread earlier that evening.

And later, after I’d reheated the rest of that bread and we’d eaten it with some leftover pasta and a generous amount of cheap wine, he fucked me again – this time in the shower, and bareback, and we came together as he held me fully aloft, my legs wrapped around his waist and his arms under my thighs, hoisting me up as he plowed his dick into me.

And the next morning (I’d made him sleep on the couch) he woke me up by coming into my room with a big old boner in his boxer briefs, which he stuffed in my ass for the third time in six hours.

So I filed my guilt away to the back cabinets of my mind and got it on with him, the best lay of my life.  We fucked at least once a day.  I gave him a key to my place.  Sometimes I’d come home to find him naked in my bed, boner ready and waiting.  I’d hop on and ride him before I even ate dinner.

Then one Friday when he’d come over with a case of beer and the intention of fucking me all night, he told me “Your sister’s been wondering where I am all the time.”

We’d just had a shower and were sitting on the couch watching TV, passing a joint.

“What did you tell her?” I said.

“Well she knows my mom is sick.  I tell her I’m over there helping them out, but she must know something’s up cause my mom said she saw Trish’s car going past a couple times when I was over here.”

“Fuck,” I said, blowing out a hit. “You don’t think she suspects anything, do you?”

“No way,” Joey said.  He set the roach on the coffee table.  “She – she never talks about that night.  Even though I apologized for it and all.  She’s caught me cheating on her before with Jen Ericksen.  I think she thinks I’m with her.”

“Fuck,” I said again.

“I’m careful.  I always park in back when I come here.”

“I know.  Still.”  I was stoned and the full gravity of my situation was hitting me way too hard.  I must have been sitting there lost in my own thoughts for a good while, cause Joey finally called over to me.

“Hey,” he said.  I looked at him, laid back on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, his hard cock tenting up the crotch.  I reached over, and pulled down the waistband.  Joey’s breathing got faster.  So did mine.  I got between his legs so his cock was in front of my face.

“Does Trish suck your cock?” I said.

“Sometimes,” Joey said.

“Does she suck it as good as me?”

“No way,” Joey said.  I went down on him, a few passes, sucking just as well as I could – no teeth, deep throat, tongue sliding hard against the underside.

“Tell me more about what she’s like,” I said when I came up for air.  My cock was hard and I humped it against the couch cushion as Joey talked.

“I have to beg her for it.  She doesn’t swallow.  And she goes too fast, like she’s trying to get it over with.  Not like you.”

“Does she play with your ass?”

“No way,” Joey said.  “She would never go back there.  She won’t even let me do that stuff to her, she thinks it’s dirty.”

I rubbed my finger along the slot of Joey’s asshole.  He quivered, his nuts tightened up into his body.

“Do you eat her pussy?”

“Yeah,” Joey said breathlessly.  I had his slick cock in one hand and my other hand was under his nuts, my index finger pressed against his tight hole.

“Does she like it?”

“Yeah.  But she doesn’t get the way you do when I eat you out.”

“What about when you fuck her?”

“It’s not like it is with you.”

“How so?”

“She doesn’t give it back to me as good.  Sometimes she just kinda lays there.”  I pressed my finger tighter to his hole.  His cock was harder than hard.

I said the words I’d thought a million times before but hadn’t had the gall to say. “I want you to fuck me like you fuck my sister.”

“Yeah,” Joey said, rising from the couch to kiss me.  He threw me on my back, hard, then grabbed my ankles and yanked my legs up and over my head, spreading my ass wide.  He went down on me, voraciously eating me out, until I was wet enough and he could slide a finger inside.

“Am I tighter than her?”

“So much, man.  Her pussy doesn’t even compare to your ass, it’s so fucking tight.”  Joey fingered me slowly, steadily.  He bent down and took my cock in his mouth, making a couple of breathless passes before coming back up.

“Do you ever think of me when you’re fucking her?”

“Sometimes,” Joey said.  “Once I fucked you right after I fucked her.  You sucked my cock right after it’d been in her pussy.”

“Oh fuck,” I said, my dick pulsing and my ass clenching down on Joey’s insistent finger.

“You like that I fucked her right before I fucked you?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I drop more loads in you than I ever do in her,” Joey said.  “Cause I know I can do anything with you, cause you’re as dirty as I am.”

Joey took out his finger.  He positioned himself, his cock to my hole, and slowly he slid it home.  We fucked so slow, cause we were both so close.  He fucked me slow and deep and we kept a steady stream of filthy talk between us, all of it about my sister.

Later, I had him on his stomach, on the bed, and I was eating him out – his favorite post-sex, pre-second-round activity.  Sometimes I’d eat him out for an hour, just burying my tongue in his hairy butt while he ground his cock against the bed.

“You like my tongue in your ass?” I said.

“Yeah,” Joey said.

“You want more?”

“I dunno…”  To that point I’d never done anything with his ass other than finger it while I sucked and rimmed him.  But that night he was ready for the whole nine yards.

I grabbed his hips and pulled his hips back so that he was on his knees, his ass raised up.  I knelt behind him and put my cock against his crack, pressing against it.  Joey moaned.

“I want to fuck you,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Fuck me.”  I lubed up.  I took my time.  I loved that, even after all we’d done together, even after all he’d done with other girls his whole life, I was taking his virginity.  When I was in the whole way I gave him time to adjust.  I reached underneath him – his cock was rock hard.

“You like it?”

“I do,” Joey said.  “I like you in my ass.”  I slowly slid out, then back in.  Joey groaned.  “Fuck me,” he said, so I grabbed hold of his hips and had my way.

“You can’t get this from Trish,” I said.

“Fuck no,” Joey said.  A few more pumps inside him and I had him screaming “Fuck me!” at the top of his lungs, which I did, until I blew what felt like the biggest load of my life, up inside the ass of my sister’s boyfriend.

***

They continued, our epic all-night suck-and-fuck fests, for another week.  And then it happened.  I ran into my sister at the supermarket.  And Joey was with her, manning the shopping cart.  I tried to turn around but it was too late.  I pushed my cart down the aisle, hoping I could pass them by with a minimum of drama.

She saw me then.  She was shocked.

“Hi,” I said.

“How dare you even talk to me,” she said, “after what you did.” 

She continued in that vein, admonishing me, her younger brother, in a way that, despite its intensity, was familiar.  This time I was a seducer, the violator of her innocent boyfriend.  I stood there, half-listening, suddenly seeing it for the self-protecting fiction that it was.

Because there was Joey, beside her.  He was stooped low, hanging on to the cart for dear life.  Yeah, I’d fucked up.  I was quite probably deranged, and a pervert.  But if I was ever going to figure anything out it wasn’t going to be there, in the cleaning products aisle.

So I walked away, her sneering judgments fading until I was around the corner and out of site.  I’d abandoned my cart, left it sitting right next to them, and I wondered if Joey would do something with it or just leave it where it was.

Just after the final bell rang and we’d all scuttled into our seats Mr. Christianson shut and locked the classroom door.  That was strange.

Stranger still was that the girls in Mr. Christianson’s eighth-period science class had been asked to report to Miss Latham’s room down the hall, while we boys were in our usual classroom.

Mr. Christianson faced us.  “So,” he said, rubbing his hands together.  “Are we ready to get started?”

“What are we doing today?” asked Jimmy Cowalski.

“Yeah, why aren’t the girls here?” said Dan DeMarco.

“And why’d you lock the door?” said Anthony Mackelis.

“Okay, okay,” Mr. Christianson said, holding out his hands to silence us.  He began lowering the window blinds.  “Today we’re going to continue the lesson we’ve been studying for the last three months:  biology.”  Dan DeMarco and a couple others groaned.

“Now, now,” Mr. Christianson said.  “Over the course of the year we’ve discovered a lot about the inner workings of the body – the digestive, circulatory, and nervous systems.

“But equally important to understand is the outer realm of the body.  The skin is, after all, the body’s largest organ.”  Dan DeMarco snickered at the word “organ.”

“Now all of you are young and your bodies are still developing,” Mr. C continued.  He faced us, resting his butt against his desk.  “My hope today is that, by examining the body of a man who’s already gone through these changes, you’ll be able to better understand how a fully-adult male’s body looks and functions.”

I shifted in my seat, unsure of where this was going.

“I’ve locked the door because this is a private lesson, and I want all of you to feel absolutely comfortable.  This is our time – a safe space for us to explore and question and study.   Feel free to ask or try anything that interests you, no matter how ‘out there’ it seems.

“With that in mind, I don’t want anybody to judge anyone else.  Everybody’s questions here are valid – we won’t make fun of anybody for thinking a little differently or saying or showing things we aren’t accustomed to.  Is that understood?”

“Yes,” everyone said.  I think they were just as perplexed as I was.

“Good,” Mr. Christianson said.  “I want you to gather around me in front of the class – that’s right, Dan, even you in the back.  Sit on the floor, on top of a desk, wherever.”

When everyone had found a place, Mr. Christianson kicked off his shoes, then took off his socks.  “Now I’m going to get nude.  Nobody should be alarmed.  The naked body is natural, it is how we were all born,” he said as he removed his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt.  Everyone got quiet.  Mr. Christianson folded each piece of clothing as he took it off.  When he undid his belt and started undoing his pants, you could have heard a pin drop.  Mr. C wore little red briefs.  He took those off, too, and his long, floppy, blond-haired dong swung into view.

He stood back, allowing us to take in every inch of him.

“Now I don’t want to sound full of myself, but I’ve been told that I have something of an ideal male form.  I exercise regularly, which accounts for my lack of body fat, and the definition in my muscles.”

He really did have a nice body – solid and muscular without seeming over-worked, with a light smattering of blondish hair that fanned across his bulging pectorals, flowed down his flat, toned stomach, and ended in a thick thatch of pubes.

“You’ll notice all of the hair on my body – torso, arms, genitals, legs,” he said as he walked among us so we could get a closer look.  “If anyone would like to feel it, please do.  Anthony?”  Anthony Mackelis reached out and felt Mr. C’s chest.  He ran his hand down Mr. C’s stomach but stopped short of his crotch.  Mr. C came over to me.  “Nate?”  I touched his warm, broad chest and ran my hand down his stomach but, like Anthony, I stopped short of touching anything else.  Mr. Christianson moved on.

“Body hair is a secondary sex characteristic, and is something some of you might have already – Kuzac, you perhaps?”

“Huh?” Mike Kuzac said, looking up from staring at Mr. C’s cock.  Kuzac was something of a jock and didn’t wasn’t very adept when it came to academics.

“Do you have much body hair?”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Kuzac said.

“Would you mind showing the class?”

“I guess not…”

“Then come up here, please.”

Kuzac ambled to the front of the class and stood next to Mr. Christianson, who instructed him to take off his shirt.

“I’m sure I don’t have to point out the differences to you,” Mr. Christianson said, indicating to Kuzac’s wide chest and the dark swaths of hair that covered it.  “This is thicker, darker body hair, much more copious than mine…” he added as he ran a hand through it; “…including great volume of it across the stomach and abdomen.”  He hooked his finger into the waistband of Kuzac’s shorts.  “May I?” he asked.  Kuzac looked confused, but nodded.  Mr. Christianson yanked down the waistband of Kuzac’s shorts to reveal his dense crop of pubes.  “And it continues all the way down to the genitals.”  We all craned our necks to get a better look.

“Notice that Kuzac’s nipples have become erect.  This can be due to different factors – temperature of the room, a breeze, or even human touch,” he said, flicking his finger over Kuzac’s erect tit.  “Kuzac, if you do the same to my nipple, you’ll notice the same effect.”  Kuzac did so, and Mr. Christianson’s pink nipple puffed up.

“Thank you Kuzac,” Mr. Christianson said, and Kuzac went back to his seat, still shirtless.

“Now we’ll spend some time on the genitals – something I’m sure you’re all familiar with,” he said, smirking.  Everyone chuckled.

“The adult penis varies in size and shape.  There is no right or wrong size- all function in much the same way.  You’ll notice that my penis hangs fairly low, the head going past the testicles.  I am circumcised, probably as many of you are.”  He took his cock in his hand and gently stroked it.

“Notice that as I become aroused, the blood vessels in my penis fill, making the penis fatten and considerably increasing its size.

“Don’t be put off by what is, admittedly, an exceptional endowment.  Not many men can claim a penis of comparable length and girth, not even many of your fathers.  But the size will give you a good opportunity to take a comprehensive look at the erection and what it is made up of.”  Mr. Christianson approached my side of the group.  He held his hard-on in his hand and presented it for our perusal.

“Note the thick, tubular veins that run along the organ,” he said, tracing them with his finger.  “Note as well the smaller, spider-like veins – you may need to lean closer to see.”  We bent forward.  Chucky Sorensen reached his finger out to touch one of the veins, and when he did Mr. C’s cock jumped upward and almost hit his face.

“Sorry about that.  Don’t be afraid to touch it and explore.”  We each did in turn, hefting it in our hands and feeling its length.  I was sort of amazed by the feel of it, so hot and heavy.

“As we’ve studied, the testicles are where our actual sperm cells are stored,” Mr. Christianson said as he approached the other side of the class.  “I’ve refrained from ejaculating for a week so that you’d get a better look at the testicles when they are heavy and full.”  Several of the boys – including Dan DeMarco – hefted Mr. C’s nuts in their hand.  Mr. Christianson’s dick was still hard.  It hung heavily out from his body and had a pearl of precum at the tip.  When Kuzac went to hold Mr. C’s nuts, the tip of the teacher’s cock made contact with his arm.  When Kuzac pulled his arm away the precum stringed out into the air between Kuzac’s arm and Mr. C’s cock.

“Sorry about that,” Mr. Christianson said.  He used his finger to break the string, then he casually popped his finger into his mouth.

“Weird,” Dan remarked.  “You can eat that stuff?”

“It’s a matter of preference, really, but yes, anybody can.”  Everybody looked to Kuzac, who was holding out his precum-spotted arm.  Kuzac shrugged, brought his arm to his mouth, and licked off Mr. C’s precum.

“Seems okay,” Kuzac said.  Anthony reached out for the precum that remained on Mr. C’s dick head and licked it off of his finger.

“Cool,” he said.  Then everyone wanted to try.  Mr. Christianson seemed amused but he complied, parading his dick around the room, squeezing upward from the base to produce more juice so that each boy could get a taste.

“Don’t worry,” he said once he ran out.  “There’ll be lots more.”

He went to the front of the class again.  “Now I want to ask for a volunteer.”  I was feeling brave, and curious about what was coming next, so I raised my hand.

“Nate, fantastic.  One more.”  To everyone’s shock, Dan DeMarco raised his.  Dan never volunteered for anything.  “Nate & Dan then – perfect.  Come on up, boys.”  We approached the front of the class and stood next to each other.

“I was hoping we could get you boys to demonstrate for the class your own sexual development.  Can I have you remove your shirts and pants?”

I looked to Dan, but he’d already started undressing.  It felt weird to strip with everyone watching, but having Mr. Christianson totally nude and hard next to me made it seem more normal.

Dan took his underwear down then off so I did the same, and we stood there naked.  Mr. Christianson walked around us, looking us up and down.

“We really couldn’t have had two better volunteers to compare and contrast.  Note first how Dan’s muscles are developed and shaped…” he said, running his fingers along Dan’s bicep, “…his chest already exhibiting hair growth.  While Nate’s body still retains its boyish appearance with lithe musculature and smooth skin.”  Mr. C ran his rough fingers down my abdomen.  I couldn’t help it – my cock started to rise.  Mr. Christianson took note and said, “Dan, if you also wouldn’t mind achieving an erection?”  But Dan’s cock was already stiffening, and soon both of our cocks were at full attention.

“Note the contrast in their genitalia – Nate’s is obviously quite thick and long, with plenty of loose skin and a bulbous head.  Dan’s is shorter in stature and skinnier.  Note how Dan’s erection is rigid and upright, while Nate’s still hangs at an angle.”  As he explained this his hands were all over us, holding our cocks, reaching under our balls, caressing our stomachs.  I was kind of wishing he’d never stop, but he eventually thanked us for volunteering and sent us back to our seats.

Dan didn’t put his clothes back on so neither did I.  I noticed his cock wasn’t going down, either.

“Okay, class, let’s examine the lower half of the male body,” Mr. C said, gesturing toward his pelvis and legs.  “Notice the definition in the various muscles – thighs, quads…”  He turned around.  “Glutes, ham strings, calves,” he continued.  “Note the classic ‘v-shape’ of the back, tapering at the waist; as well as the rounded, muscled appearance of the buttocks.

“I don’t imagine any of you boys have given much thought to your rectums, except for being the place where we evacuate our bowels.  But as you grow into your sexual development you’ll find the anus can be a powerful source of sexual stimulation.  And it’s worth examining anyway just to understand how they work.  So…”

Mr. Christianson climbed atop his desk and got on all fours with his backside to us.  “Please, get closer, gather around,” he said.  He had a well-developed butt for sure – smooth, rounded, muscular.  He lowered his chest to the desk and spread his ass as wide as possible.  His asshole was pink and fresh-looking and he had a brush of light blondish hair running down his crack.  “I showered just before class, so I should be clean as a whistle.”  Once we were all near to his butt – Dan DeMarco, who’d been the last person anyone would call a brown-noser, practically had his face in Mr. C’s crack – Mr. C continued his lesson.

“Obviously the pink, slick area is the anus.  The ring of muscle there is known as the sphincter.  Notice how it changes when I tense…”  His butthole squinched up.  “…And relax.”  It went slack.  “The sphincter is quite a bit tighter than most give it credit for.

“Dan, would you grab that tube on the desk next to my bag?  I want you to apply that to your finger, and then to my anus.”  Dan grabbed it, and smeared the gooey stuff all around Mr. C’s hole.  “Now push the tip of your finger right to the entrance – ah – that’s it.  Are you getting a feel for how tight it is?”

“Yes,” Dan said.

“Push a little harder,” Mr. C said, and the tip of Dan’s finger slipped inside of him.  “Awww…that’s perfect.  Now feel the difference between when I bear down…”  He paused.  “…and when I relax.  Do you feel it?”

“Yeah, it’s really tight,” Dan said.

“Let the other boys try,” Mr. Christianson said.  We each did, one at a time.  I noticed that the more who tried, the deeper the fingers were disappearing into Mr. Christianson’s hole.  When Kuzac stuck in his fat finger, Mr. Christianson’s cock – which was half-hard and hanging between his legs – oozed out a string of precum that pooled on to his desk.

Now Dan and I weren’t the only ones aroused – most of our classmates were pitching tents.

“It is really tight,” Jimmy remarked on his turn.

“Yes, but you’d be surprised at what the sphincter can accommodate.  Obviously, just as it can stretch to allow the exit of feces, it can allow the entrance of objects just as large or larger.”

“Like how large?” asked Dan.

“Well, many homosexuals choose to have intercourse via the anus.  So yes, the anus is pliable enough to accommodate an erection.”

“No way!” Dan challenged.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” Mr. C said.  I thought I’d seen everything up to this point, but I was wrong.  As Mr. Christianson gave him instructions, Dan lubed up his cock and climbed on to the desk behind our teacher, lining up his cock with Mr. C’s butthole.

“Go slowly,” Mr. C instructed, and we all watched, amazed, as Dan sank his cock into our science teacher’s hole, the inches disappearing until the lower half of Dan’s body was mashed right against Mr. C’s.  Mr. Christianson groaned.  His dick let out another small stream of juice.

“Does that actually feel good?” I asked.

“Indeed it does,” Mr. C said breathlessly.  “Some pain is normal, too, but the rectum is full of nerve endings – there’s lots of feeling.  I’ll bet it feels pretty good for you, too, huh Dan?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Christianson.”

“Feel free to give it a few pumps.”

“If I do that I’ll cum…”

“Then by all means.  But if you wouldn’t mind, please pull out when you’re ready to ejaculate and do it on my back, so the rest of the class can observe.”

But Dan, who’d already started pumping Mr. Christianson’s butt, had passed the point of no return.

“I’m c-c-cumming,” Dan stammered.  His eyes rolled back in his head and his face twisted up.  Dan grunted, breathing hard.

“That’s it, that’s fine,” Mr. C said as Dan lost it.  “Did that feel good?”

“Yeah,” Dan said.  Mr. C instructed him to pull out.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t do what you asked.”

“It’s okay, Dan,” Mr. C said with some disappointment.  “We’ll just have to have somebody else try.  Would anyone like to volunteer?”

Everyone’s hands went up.  Mr. C, dedicated educator that he was, let everyone have a turn.  I went close to last.  Even after all the dicks that Mr. C took into his ass, it still took him some time to relax his ass to accommodate my dick.

“See class, this is really putting it to the test,” he said after he’d instructed me to inch my way inside, slowly, a bit at a time.  Once I was balls-deep he groaned, a little louder than he had with anyone else, which sort of made me feel special.  I tried to put on a good show, too, working my hips slow and steady and giving Mr. C lots of time to feel it stretching him.  When I was ready to cum I pulled out as instructed.  I shot a ton – all over Mr. Christianson’s back, shoulders, neck, and even the back of his head.  He was covered with all of our loads.

Mr. C seemed beside himself as I pulled out.  He stood up and the two boys who hadn’t had a turn to fuck him voiced their disappointment.

“Now, now, we only have limited time,” Mr. C said.  “You all did great.  Now would anyone be willing to help me achieve orgasm?”  He had us all kneel in front of him.  We took turns stroking his big, dripping dick.  Some of the boys got into eating his precum again and were licking it right off of his cock, which he seemed to like.

“That’s it, that’s it…I can feel my orgasm beginning to approach.  Notice my testicles pulling up tight against my body…that’s good Dan, stroke right below the head – here it comes, I’m going to lose it – Ah!  Fuck!”

His dick swelled up until it looked like a mini torpedo and then he let loose with a shower of cum.  I mean it went everywhere, in our hair and on our faces and all over our clothes.

Luckily we had an emergency shower in the back off the classroom with a drain under it.  It was supposed to be used for chemical accidents, but Mr. C said we could use it to clean up.  We all took turns going under the stream.

Meanwhile, Mr. C took a sample of his sperm off of Dan’s neck and applied it to a glass slide.  He put it under the microscope and we each got to see what sperm cells looked like.

I watched them wriggling around like little tadpoles, and I felt awe for the miracles and mysteries of life.

West Virginia summers were always green, but it had been two years now since we’d been on our own, and Deep Hollow was positively choked with it.  Green was overtaking all the houses, and ours was no exception. Vines had started to creep under the back door.

We’d found a whole stack of clean blankets and sheets when we first found the house on Spring Street, and a good stock of canned food and water. But all of it was gone now, and the towels were just as filthy as the rest of the place. So I suggested to Haley that it was time to move to the west side of town.

“That’s where everybody else is, anyway,” I said. Haley got an anxious look on her face. She put down her magazine – Vogue, with a water-crinkled cover.

“What about all my clothes? I can’t even imagine moving all of this stuff.”

“Just leave it here! It’s only like a fifteen minute walk over to where Donovan and those guys are. I mean, this whole house can be our personal closet, if we want. We can take our time moving it.” Because, I didn’t add, we had all the time in the world. Nothing but time, really.

I walked down the street to the rancid market (as Haley had dubbed it, due to the stench from rotting vegetables that were melting on the shelves during the first year) and found a pallet on wheels that we could use to transport the generator.

I took the long way back home, past the old junior high school. A dark, stone building, it loomed imposingly above the road.

I heard a voice call “Hey!” It was Timmy, waving at me from a window.

“Come up, man! Come check out my place!”

“Okay,” I said, but I hesitated. The junior high school building had always kind of creeped me out. All those shiny dark hallways; the huge, echoing auditorium. Just the thought of the dusty basement gymnasium and the locker rooms where I’d once changed for gym class made me shiver. I took a deep breath, and ascended the steps.

It was quiet when I entered, but the wind whooshing down the hall had a voice of its own. I felt dizzy, like I was entering a past life.

“Timmy?” I called out. For a minute my voice just hung there, racing down the halls like a ghost.

“Up here!”

He had made his home in one of the classrooms on the second floor. I had to admit, it didn’t look so bad. He’d hung all kinds of posters and cool stuff on the walls and had put a bed in the middle. He was making bongs out of chemistry equipment and there were some half-finished ones on the teacher’s desk.

“Doesn’t it creep you out to be here at night?” I asked.  I couldn’t imagine trying to sleep in a place that had a hundred empty rooms.  Timmy just smiled.

“Sometimes I’m sure I hear people,” he said. “You know the teacher’s lounge on the fourth floor?”

I did. It was the only thing on the forth floor, the highest and deepest point of the building.  It wasn’t really a floor at all. A flight of steps from the third level just stopped at a tiny green room, where the teachers used to smoke.

“I don’t ever go in there, man,” Timmy said. “I try to avoid the third floor, too, actually. I only go up there if I absolutely have to.” He said he was growing pot on the roof, and his favorite thing to do was to smoke it in the principal’s office.

“We’re moving, if you want to come help us. We’re trying to get this one house near Donovan’s place,” I said. Timmy perked up. I always thought he might have had a thing for Haley, but he was too shy, and I supposed Haley just hadn’t noticed him yet.

Timmy threw a chemistry bong in his knapsack and I all but bolted for the door. I only felt better when the place was out of my sight.

I told Timmy my theory about how buildings retain the souls of the people who have lived in them, how they become their own entity.

“You know those storage spaces on Rt. 428?” Timmy asked.

“The ones with all the orange doors?”

“Yeah.  Has it been tapped yet?”

“I don’t think so. We could hit that up on our way, maybe get some stuff for the new place.”

“Yeah. There could be anything in those storage spaces. Little capsules of people’s entire lives.”

When we got home Haley had made some mac & cheese with tuna, so we all sat down and ate. Timmy said hi to her, but for the most part they pretended not to notice each other. I thought that was kind of sweet.

“I guess I’m all packed up,” she said. “I guess.”

When we left the sun was getting lower in the sky. The world sure looked beautiful that way. It always made me feel strange but comforted. We walked down the middle of the sun-dappled road in a procession, the green trees high above.

We got to the mini-storage place and set our stuff down in the parking lot. I looked down the row at all these spaces, all these lives that I would never lead. I got this feeling, sad and nostalgic. It had something to due with the dying afternoon sun. It was a heavy feeling and I stood with it.

***

It was twilight when we ran into Donovan and his friends skateboarding underneath the railroad overpass.  At first I just saw his friends, grinding against the concrete ledges that separated the sidewalk from the street.  Those boys always made me feel a little uncomfortable.  But they just nodded at us, and Haley and Tim went right up to them and started talking.

Donovan was sitting on one ledge, his close-cropped head silhouetted against the purple darkening sky, the orange cherry of his cigarette floating over the bottom half of his face.

“What brings you guys over here?” Donovan said, engaging my hand in a complex shake that I awkwardly tried to follow.  He took a drag off of his cigarette.  I could see his face better now that I was close, his soft eyes and handsome jawline.  He glanced at the pallet.  “Moving?”

“Yeah, Haley and I.  The Spring Street house was getting too run down.”

“You know there’s a place on Walnut – the old Palmer place.  Ron and I were just there the other day.  It’s pretty sweet – working fireplace, or good enough to where we could get it working.  Wine in the cellar.  We took a couple bottles but there’s a bunch left.”

“That sounds good…”

“Plus it’s right down the street from me.  It’ll be nice to have you guys around – it’s like we never see each other.”

I heard Haley laughing and I glanced back.  The boys were hovering around her.  Tim had borrowed somebody’s board and was trying to do an ollie.  The boys were smiling and so was Haley and I was hit with how long it had been since I’d seen her relaxed.  I knew we’d made the right decision.

That was the best summer of my life, or at least since we’d been on our own.  All through July things blossomed and grew.  Tim and Haley got closer; he all but moved in with us and left the school building to its own devices, moving his pot plants to the woods of the old playground behind our new house.

Because we were by the playground we’d sometimes see the younger kids, and the older girls who’d sort of adopted them.  I liked having kids around and so did Haley.  She’d invite them up to the house.

We organized huge block parties, people would come from all over town.  We’d stay out all night playing release, building campfires out in the woods, and setting off fireworks.

Donovan would often mention journeying to the city.  He said it would be good to find out what was out there.  Plus we were running out of gas for the generators, and we needed to act.

We put it off until September, when the weather started to cool and we couldn’t avoid it any longer.  We woke up early one morning and just decided to go.  We wrote a note in chalk on the street and left by way of our backyard, which led to the path beside the river.

The path ambled between the river and the railroad tracks, through the unknown and barely-seen backyards of other towns like Deep Hollow, all rough and weedy and hiding rusty swing sets and dead cars on blocks.  We saw a few faces poking out of windows and backdoors but nobody greeted us.

Late that evening after we’d been walking all day we found a string of abandoned rail cars sitting on the tracks.  There were a few coal cars but the last car was white, made of fiberglass.  I’d never seen anything like it.  It looked like a refrigerator car or something.

There was a ladder and Donovan climbed up the side.  He lifted a hatch in the top and looked it.  Then he turned to me, giving me the strangest look.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” he said.  He dropped into the car and I climbed up to see.  Inside was a room, a bedroom.  The walls were painted a warm off-white.  There was soft carpeting on the floor, a bed on one side complete with pink bedspread and a pillow; a dresser next to the corner with a lamp on top of it.  There was another ladder leading down in.  Donovan tried the lamp.  It turned on.

“Battery operated?”  I said.  I took one last look at the darkening night sky, the trees rustling in the breeze, then I dropped in.  The place felt instantly comfortable; it smelled like sheets hung out in the sun.

“Magic-operated,” Donovan said with a grin.  He opened the top dresser drawer.  “Money,” he said.  The drawer was filled with twenties, rolled and crushed up and stuffed inside.  He opened the next one.  It was filled with nightgowns and underwear, all clean and folded.  The last drawer had nothing but a little round stuffed thing, a pillow the size of a coin.  It was a dark and brilliant red, a smooth rounded disc with a divot in the center.

“A red blood cell,” I said, and knew Donovan had been thinking the same thing.

“Wonders never cease,” he said, laughing as I put it in my pocket.

We slept there, the night air flowing down from the hatch and swirling through the sheet.  I slept amazingly – no dreams.

But when I woke up we were moving.  Donovan was on the ladder with his head sticking outside.  He waved to somebody.

“What is it?”

“It’s another train; they’re hooking on to us.  Hey!” he called out.  I heard a response but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“They’re from the city,” Donovan said when he went back inside.  We were rumbling along at a clip.  “They were picking up these cars anyway.  They said we could ride along.  They seemed cool.”

“What did they look like?”

“Strange.  Kinda grungy.  But friendly.”  I climbed the ladder to see for myself.  There was an even longer line of cars ahead of us now, and kids were hanging off the sides of them, wearing dark clothes and bandanas and sporting dirty hair and piercings and stuff.

As we neared the city the sky got darker and the river got wider.  We started passing factories and old smoke-stained buildings.  Along the river were huge heaps of slag and leftover metal parts.  The city kids were everywhere, picking through it, hauling some of it with construction vehicles.

We rounded a bend and I saw the city skyline.  But what I saw straight ahead shook me to the core.  There was a huge metal beast rising into the air, at least fifty feet from the ground.  I must have gasped because Donovan squeezed past me and stuck his head out next to mine.

“They must have built it,” he said.  It had thick pipe arms that draped down to the ground, holes where its eyes should have been and a lifeless face.

“Why would they want to build something like that?” I said.  Donovan didn’t respond.  I guess I knew the answer.

The train slowed and we got out.  The kids were friendly enough, but also distant in a way.  You could tell they were caught up in their pursuits, and it was pretty amazing and overwhelming.  They were working as one, creating a vast menagerie of these metal beasts.  Most were smaller but no less fierce, all of them battling in the wasteland of the industrial riverside.

We asked a dread-headed kid where we could get some food and he pointed to a large house clinging to the hillside.  We climbed up a steep rambling row of concrete steps to get to the top.  The house was full of kids eating cafeteria style.  The food was good, grains and vegetables.  I gave the red blood cell pillow to one of the girls serving the food.  She had dark hair and a sweet face but there was a toughness and solidity to her.  She softened as she looked at it, held it to her heart.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.  I considered what it would be like to live here, what mysteries lay in its abandoned office buildings and skyscrapers.

We stood on the porch overlooking the riverside, the huge beast poised above it all.  It leaned forward with its arms, empty head cast to the horizon, ready to continue.

Two construction cranes hovered over it, screaming tall into the sky.  And as we stood there, one of the cranes began to tip over.  Screams came up from the river valley and multiplied as it came crashing down.

One day this would happen.  A speaker would appear in the clear blue sky.

Just like that, one moment it is there and one moment it isn’t.  Her eyes catch it and she takes in her breath sharp and fast, her eyes fixated in pure horror.

It is brown, cube shaped, and looks like a p.a. speaker, like one you may have had hanging in the corner of your junior high school.  It is huge, menacing, and suspended there clear as day for all to see.  Everyone cries, because they are scared and confused and nobody knows how it got there.

It would look so menacing, the skewed angles of the speaker against the flat azure sky, looking like an instrument of God’s judgment.

But people would get used to it eventually.  It would become a fact of life.  You shut the door, step out onto the sidewalk, and there it is—that speaker, looming over you, looming over us all.

Then, just when everybody was getting used to it, it would start to make a sound.  Just a low sound would emerge at first, an ominous hum.  It would barely be noticeable.  It would gradually get louder and louder, and people would think it was the voice of God.  Then a horn would sound three times.

Soon, a pattern would emerge.  On cloudy days the sound would be reduced to a low buzz, so even if you can’t see the speaker, you know it’s still there.

Then the clouds would break, the sun would burst forth, and the speaker would release a sound so soaring and majestic, that it would stop us all in our tracks.

We would come out of tall buildings and under bridges to look at it, and again we would cry, but we would cry because it was so frightening and beautiful.

And in the countryside the sound would follow the sunshine, spilling down from the sky over rolling green hills and pastures, and everyone would take their pills and smile and everything would be so happy, radiantly happy.

“I’ve been having these weird dreams about my mother,” I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a green butterfly yo-yo.  ”I’m screaming at her, yelling into her face…I wake up in this horrendous blind rage…”

I let the yo-yo unwind on its string.  There’s nothing I can do with it because we’re speeding along in Tina’s car at ninety miles an hour. I let it roll down, flaccid on the floor.

“In the dream I’m telling her she’s smothering me, that she’s trying to protect me and it’s useless, there’s nothing she can do to help.”  Tina reaches over from the driver’s seat and massages the back of my head.

“Don’t worry, baby,” she says, “everything’ll be alright.”

“No it won’t,” James says from the backseat, but we ignore him.  I feel Tina stroking my head and I try to think happy thoughts.

***

When we get to the shore it is dusk, the world covered over in an orange syrupy glow.  Tina is the first one out of the car, she runs down the sand and James and I chase after her, laughing.  We tear off our clothes and dive into the ocean, swimming out until we’re floating above the ground.

Back on the sand, Tina throws her legs in the air and frames the world between them.  James stares out at the horizon, mesmerized by the ocean.

“There are whole other worlds under there,” he says, “thousands of ships and debris, miles and miles of places and things that we can’t understand…”  James is drifting, his mind is taking him places he can’t help but go.  ”More nuclear bombs than ever before,” he’d said earlier. “How can anyone be so naive as to think we won’t use them?”  I stand up and lead the way to the boardwalk.

Now it’s dark.  The boardwalk teems with life, ghost beach people who are here one week and gone the next.  We reach the entrance to the amusement park and Tina notices a girl sitting on the ground.  The girl looks weak and destitute, nearly on the verge of tears.  Tina goes over and talks to her.  She leans in, brushing stringy hair out of the girl’s face.  She reaches out and grabs hold of the girl’s dirty hand.

“She wants to come with us,” Tina says, ushering the girl in front of her.

***

We ride the Ferris wheel, Tina and the girl in one little car, James and I in another.  We’re on a giant neon wheel spinning in the night.  It rises up, comes back down, but doesn’t go anywhere.  James and I watch Tina and the girl getting closer, then making out.  The girl is young, but she seems to know what she’s doing.

James sighs and leans back into his seat.  I put my hand on his thigh and he doesn’t move it away.

***

We walk toward our hotel, the four of us.  The night seems darker and quieter than before, there seems to be an ominous hum in the air.  Hotels tower over us, concrete monoliths of little stacked rooms.  There’s no sign of life anywhere.  We enter our hotel, and the place looks deserted.

We’re all nervous.  James taps his foot in the elevator as Tina dotes on the girl, smoothing out her stringy hair and staring at her longingly.

“Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” she says.  She turns to the girl.  ”So perfect…”

There seems to be something wrong but Tina is trying not to acknowledge it.

“Let’s go up to the pool,” she says to me.  Then to the girl:  ”There’s a pool on the roof, isn’t that cool?  We can go swimming in the pool on the roof.”  The girl smiles; she’s eager to please.

***

We go to the pool on the roof and we get naked.  Tina lays the girl onto the concrete and caresses her as if she were something sacred, holy.

James whispers to me, “so much for innocence…”  He puts his tongue in my ear, I turn around and we begin.  We’re male animals, with nothing to lose and little to gain, so we grab, eat, suck, and devour each other.

Tina has her head between the girl’s legs, licking and nibbling delicately.  She lays her palms on the girl’s taught skin, cupping her small breasts.  The girl stares up at the starless sky.  Her eyes widen.

We hear it before we see anything.  The sound gets louder, like an air conditioner kicking in, so loud that we can’t ignore it anymore.  We look up from where we are and see it coming toward us.

The girl starts screaming.  Everything goes cold. Tina pulls us close, lumps us together and tries to wrap us in her arms.  We watch the sky and await our immediate destiny.

You will drive/walk/bike/whatever out to a gas station.  It doesn’t really matter where it is, that’s up to you.  Personally, I’m going to choose one that’s out in the country, in a rural place that I have never seen before.  I’m going to try my best to get lost, and actually, I would suggest that you do this too.  The further away you are from your own recognizable environment, the better.

Then, ditch your car/bike or whatever at the gas station, and hang out for a while.  How long you hang out is up to you.  What’s important is to get a feel for the people who are passing through.  There will be a lot of them, transient people in the middle of where they came from and where they are going.  You’ll be looking for an approachableness in them, though this depends on your comfort level.  Hopefully, you’ll know who you’re looking for when you find them.

So, approach these people.  Let’s say, for instance, that they are goth teenagers who’ve stopped for cigarettes and 20oz bottles of soda.  Now you have to work up your courage, and you’ve got to strike up a conversation.  One idea is to ask them for directions, or for the time, it doesn’t really matter.  Just open up an avenue, and see where it leads.

You may strike out at first, and that’s okay.  Not everybody is going to be receptive to a stranger approaching them, and that’s okay – we want to weed those people out.  It’s important for the final outcome.

So say you strike up a conversation with these fictional goth kids.  You ask them their names, you tell them yours, you tell them you’re from out of town and don’t know the area very well.

You do not lie to them, in all things you must be genuine.  You do not choose them because you find them funny or amusing, you do not look down on them.  If you are brave enough to approach someone or someones who do not share your life experience – say rednecks for instance, or gansta-type black people – you treat them with respect and a healthy curiosity.  If you look down on them, you may as well give up then and there.  You’re not going to get anywhere in life or in this project.

While you are talking to them, try to envision their lives, try to imagine where they are headed, what they are doing, who they are.  These people exist in your world, but at the same time, they don’t – they have their own worlds, which we want to know about.

Now, here comes the tricky part – you somehow need to integrate yourself into their evening.  I’m not totally sure what they key is to doing this.  I imagine it will be easier for some people (and with some people) than it will be for others.  Drugs might be a good way – tell them you have a joint, or a blunt, and you’re wondering where a good place to smoke it might be.  Tell them you’re in town for the night, you’ve got a case of beer in the car and you’re looking to get fucked up.

These are sneaky ways, and if drugs aren’t your thing, you could try an approach that may be more admirable, and may even yield better results:  tell them the absolute truth.  Tell them who you are, and that you are interested in them as people, and you would like to know what their lives are like.  Tell them it is for something you are writing (and resolve to make that true, afterwards), that it is an experiment, that you don’t want anything from them, that you aren’t around to cause trouble, that you just want to observe.  See where that gets you – if it works, I think you’re in for an incredible night.

So you somehow get in with them.  Now, sit back and enjoy the ride.  Observe, but don’t judge – watch, but don’t be a voyeur.  Participate.  Let them know who you are.  Let your curiosity run amock.  Maybe they’ll think you’re crazy.  Maybe they’re crazy.  Maybe it’ll get bad.  That’s a risk you run, but hopefully you should be able to determine dangerous types during the initial contact.

Where will you go?  Out onto a country hillside in the dusk, smoking from somebody’s bong they just picked up in the big city?  Out to a club you’ve never been to before, or invited into somebody’s home?  These are adventures – you are an explorer, really, an explorer into other people’s lives, and it’s just as valid as somebody who would dive to study the ocean floor or fly into outer space.  You’re exploring the inner space, the inner lives of people you see everyday but never know.  And your purity of spirit in this operation is critical – it is the only thing that will see you through.

Now comes an interesting part – seeing how your initial fantasy of their lives stacks up to the reality.  My personal fantasy is of kids who live fully, wildly, with no thought for tomorrow, with rules and rituals all their own.  Maybe some of this is true – savor this, but let it go – do not try to hold on to any beauty, it’s slippery and dangerous.  Do not let your fantasy get in the way of what is real.

Similarly, observe the harsher truths of their lives, but don’t dwell on them.  They may be poor or sad, they may live in ways that make you uncomfortable, ways that are fundamentally unhealthy or even abusive.  There may be sadness, even fear, but there is sadness and fear in every life – it is no more the truth of their lives than what is good.  What we need is the entire picture.

Live it, live to tell about it.  Lose yourself in the process.

But before you go, invite them into your life.  Inform them of the party, which we will have at the end of the month, when you have hopefully completed at least four of these explorations.

We will all gather in a large hall, all of us will get together, and we will share what we’ve gained.  Not in formal terms – we won’t sit down and introduce each other.  But we will know each other, and our new friends will, by extension, know all of us.  We’ll create a network, a self-contained thing.  Most likely, there will be impossible connections between completely disparate people.
We will have created a new world that night, something that will live on in the experiences of all of us.  And if we’re willing and open to this, it could be a beautiful thing, a life-changing thing.

First, you find an old house.  Ideally, you buy it.  Maybe it’s on a dead end street by an old factory.  Maybe it’s out in the country, all alone under trees on a sprawling, green property.

You don’t live in it.  Or you could live in it for a while, but you’d have to restrict your living space to a small part of the house, and eventually, you’d have to phase yourself out.

You decorate this place in a particular way.  Maybe you only furnish it with things from thrift stores.  In my version, I make everything appear as though it’s from a bygone era, like a lost seventies dream.  Shag bathroom mats that look like rainbows.  A corkboard on the yellow kitchen wall.  A refrigerator magnet that looks like a chunk of chocolate.  Weird green candles melted onto a heavy wood table.  Pink stuffed animals with crusty matted fur.  Stuff like that.

As you furnish it, you begin to create an imaginary family who lived there.  You designate rooms for certain people.  The parents would probably have the largest bedroom, and maybe there’s a room for a son and a daughter.  Or maybe a broken family lived there, like some deadbeat parent who never was around, and the kid just took over the place, inviting all of his friends to stay there and trashing the place.  Then again, maybe he cared for it, and made it into a private teenage paradise.

You’re furnishing the place according to might have lived there, but since you’re buying everything from thrift stores, you’re getting this nostalgic, weathered effect, which I think is important.  I don’t know.  I guess you could buy all new stuff, make it really modern and sterile…but I’ll get back to that.

So now you’ve created a living space for these people.  The next step is understanding who they are.  You have to create an entire life for them – letters, diaries, old telephone bills, recipe books…everything.  You have to create this family out of thin air.

They will have secrets, and you will know all of them.  The youngest son may have a trunk full of things that are important to him, but only you will know why they are important.  To everyone else it’ll seem like enigmatic junk.  But you’ll know.  You’ll write a journal for him, you’ll write his life.  The daily mundane realities of his everyday existence.  The first porno magazine he ever saw.  Who picked him up from school on Monday the fifth and how he got to the roller rink that Friday.  Everything.

It’s a lot.  You need to know the parents.  Letters they wrote but never sent.  Books that they underlined passages in.  Why?  Things, so many things that one accumulates in a single life.

And secrets.  Interpersonal relationships – the deeper, the better.

I’m not sure what it all adds up to…but wouldn’t you want to see it?  Once you had it all created, all laid out, you could invite people there.  Or, you could just leave the door unlocked and let people find it.

The house would be stuck in time, as if the occupants left one afternoon and never returned.

They could snoop through the detritus of this imagined life, pick and prod through these people’s things and get to know them, create this grand story that you’ve conceived only through what you’ve left behind, these certain clues, pieces to the puzzle.

It would be meditative.  It would be voyeuristic, for sure.  You could put on a record if you wanted to, and the music would sound through the dead house.  Other than that, the silence would be key.  The house would have a pervasive sense of uneasiness – you’re not supposed to be there.  You are an intruder, but you are also the key to keeping all of this alive.  It doesn’t exist without you, only you can put it all together and bring these people to life.

In my original conception, the house is messy, like a Gummo house, just gorged on stuff, filled to the brim with things left behind.

But let’s suppose, like I mentioned earlier, that you make this into a contemporary story, a house with all modern furniture and new settings.  That might make it even creepier.  Secrets would be even more hidden, more heavily buried.  You’d feel like even more of an intruder, creeping around perfectly shined and polished places, looking under glass tables, trying to draw clues from master shopping lists and Wal-Mart receipts.

Things might be buried in the garden there.  Holes in the floor.  Cobwebs in the basement…yeah, I like that.

I guess what I’m getting at is the idea that our lives are just a construction of certain things, materials and memories, and that when we’re gone it’s only the stuff that remains.

But I think memories remain, too.  I think, if done properly, you’d be able to feel the people in the house.  You’d birth a ghost.  The hairs on the back of your neck would stand up, there would be a presence there.  You will have created a story, a life, and not a virtual one.  Something tactile.  Something you could feel.

In these trying times, when the very notion of a democracy is beginning to seem like fiction, it’s important to remember the little things that unite us all as humans. Like our ability to express ourselves creatively, or our capacity for love, or the fact that each and every one of us has an ass.

Yes—an ass. An ass that can be stimulated, penetrated…and loved. What could be more democratic than the concept of ass-fucking? Everyone has an anus, to use in any way they see fit. And just like the democracy that we are currently enduring in America, everyone can get fucked.

Yes, I do believe there is something quite beautiful in the fact that each and every human has the right and the ability to have their sphincter pounded into oblivion. Ass sex can be a tremendously exhilarating and transcendent experience. It allows males to feel what females feel—to be prodded, invaded. On the other hand to get fucked is to feel the power of enveloping another human being, of drawing them into one’s self. Ass sex just might be the ultimate weapon in the battle of the sexes.

Not to mention that it bridges the gap between cultures in a world where diplomatic relations between countries are strained to nearly the breaking point. Ass sex has always been quite prevalent in Arabic cultures, and think of how many lives could be spared if, instead of terrorizing other countries with bombs or other forms of attack, we could all just fuck each other in the ass and get out our aggression that way? It is a dream that I have.

Straight white men, are you listening? You are the ones who run this world, after all, and maybe it would be beneficial for you to feel how things are at the other end of the stick, so to speak. Perhaps it would do this world a bit of good if you got your girlfriends to peg you, or at the very least, bought yourself a nice rubber dong and slid it up your tight holes.

Vaginas are great, really. I mean, pussy definitely trumps ass in certain obvious areas (less muss, less fuss), but when you get right down to it, isn’t pussy fairly exclusive? Only one half of the population has one. The vagina is an elitist orifice, and elitism has no place in a democracy, at least not in my opinion.

The way I see it, if you really believe in enduring freedom and want to make the world a better place, you should be willing to make sacrifices, and one of those sacrifices should be your ass. If you are a true and proud American, and you believe in democracy, then there is no way you can not believe in the unifying and leveling force that is the anus. You’re either for us, or against us.

So everybody—black or white, rich or poor, female or male, your anus is essentially your badge of freedom and democracy. Remember, freedom isn’t free. Let’s show those terrorists and haters of democracy our strength by taking it up the ass like the powerful nation we know we are.

Remember to take it slowly, and God Bless America.

Start by standing in front of the mirror. It’s important to free your mind, so think: Your body could be better—you should work out. Then know:  If you joined a gym, you’d stay motivated for a week—a month, tops—and then you’d quit. So why bother?

Teeth could be whiter. Cock could be bigger. Beyond that, though, study your mannerisms. Slight lisp?  Short stride?  Hair too perfect or not perfect enough?

All of these things are important, especially if you want to get laid, and surely you do—you’re gay. You’re sex-obsessed and you fuck indiscriminately. And even if you aren’t fucking anybody, you’re surely thinking about it.

Remember this around relatives, workmates, people with small children. Nephews, young students—boys who are just beginning to bloom. Their parents know what you’re thinking. You can’t wait to get your hands on that impressionable flesh; you want to pound it into submission, so it’s soft, malleable, ready to be molded into a replica of yourself.

The gay agenda has little to do with social acceptance or pride—it’s about sex. Pure selfish hedonism. To you, morality is a thing of the past.

You probably have HIV (don’t even try to pretend it’s something other than a gay disease), which you contracted despite the fact that it’s completely preventable. You probably have genital warts and herpes and are on your fifth round of crabs. This is par for the course. Let’s just come out and say it:  You deserve it.

Why? (You’ve got to be kidding me.). Because you weren’t careful enough. Because you don’t have self-control. Because you can’t admit your culpability.

Maybe you’re a self-identified bisexual, or worse, you label yourself “queer.”  Give it up, this notion that sexuality is fluid, or permits a plethora of activity outside the bonds of standard, binary forms of attraction. You’re a faggot. Own up to it.

Of course, if you like to fuck other guys, it’s not the act itself that’s turning you on, other than the satisfaction you get from symbolically possessing masculine aspects that you’ve denied in yourself. (For this we can surely blame your father, who never taught you to play baseball.)

Hey, maybe you and I can devise some semblance of a relationship and pretend that we’re in love?  Maybe this will provide a brief respite from the crushing knowledge that we are, in fact, über-narcissistic men-children, forever slaves to a thumb-sucking mommy complex, destined to die in loneliness and despair because we can never love anyone as much as we love ourselves?

Anyway, we won’t bother with condoms. Do you really, ahem, respect yourself enough to try and protect yourself from a disease that—heavens forefend—you don’t already possess?

Please. Surely anyone would consider it an honor to receive an STD that might hasten their departure from a world in which they attempt to normalize behaviors that are obviously unnatural, a world in which they exhibit a denial bordering on psychosis, a world in which they do not see that men were given a penis and women a vagina for a reason, a world in which homosexual behavior violates the very fabric of human existence and the universe. Sex isn’t supposed to be fun.

But you willfully ignore this and go on with your fetishist and sadomasochistic games. Sure, tell yourself that you’re only role-playing, when deep inside you know that the very things that turn you on are a mirror of your hatred for yourself. You want to get slapped around because you deserve to be slapped around—you want to be punished for the sinful life you’ve chosen (yes, chosen) for yourself. You fetishize straight guys, masculine guys, because in your heart you know that that’s what you’re supposed to be.

So go ahead—cum. Enjoy that fleeting moment of pleasure.

Isn’t it depressing to think of all that you’ve just wasted?  Instead of taking part in the beautiful creation of life, you’ve resigned yourself to a state of suspended adolescence in which you espouse the futile and vile notion that the gay “lifestyle” is somehow “normal” and “acceptable.”

Your precious seed of life has become little more than excrement, to be eventually shat out of one’s bowels and cast into the sewer, the sewer where our kind most assuredly belongs.

But then you already knew this, all of this, and more.

It started out with me telling Seth how much I hated lube.  I do hate lube – the smell, the feel, all tacky like half-dried glue.

“But I guess it’s a necessary evil,” I concluded.  “For butt sex anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Seth said.  “I’ve gone without it.”

“With who?”

“With McConnell.”  That was the first shock of the night, because McConnell – at least as far as I’d known – was straight.

“Wait – who got fucked?” I asked.

“I did,” Seth said, and that was the second shock.  Now I’d known that Seth was bi like me.  I knew he liked to fuck ass, too (hell, we’d fucked some of our gay friends’ asses as a team).  But I had no idea that Seth had let anyone – let alone our strapping straight friend McConnell – slide a cock up his tight frat boy butt.

It was a bit much to process at the club on a Saturday night, our girlfriends dancing twenty feet away.

“So wait – okay…and you and McConnell didn’t use any lube?”

“Nope.  Well, not the stuff that comes out of a bottle anyway.  He ate out my ass for over an hour.”  The bartender overheard that and gave me a confused look.

“So you just used spit?  I don’t believe you.”

“Where there’s a will…,” Seth said.

“I had no idea you took it up the butt,” I said.

“Oh, c’mon.  It’s not like I’ve done it all that much.”

“So you’ve taken it more than once?”

“Yeah…”

“From who else?” I asked.  Seth clenched his teeth.

“Dougey,” he said.

“My brother?” I said, just before I toppled my beer and our girlfriends returned and the night blurred away.

***

The next thing I knew I was waking up in my apartment.  My girl had already left for work.  I stumbled into the living room and found Seth crashed on the couch in his Calvins.  When he woke up I tossed him a beer.

“So McConnell’s fucked you, my goddamn brother’s fucked you…”

“What’s your point?” he said.

“Why haven’t I ever fucked you?”

“Why haven’t I ever fucked you?” Seth countered.  We gulped our beers in silence.

“Remember Marcus?” I said.  “He used to take it from both of us, all night long.”

“Mmm hmm,” Seth said.

“He kept his ass shaved; totally smooth – said it felt better that way.”

“I have to agree,” Seth said.  “I shave mine.”  He set down his beer, and as I watched he lifted his legs and slid off his briefs.  I caught a glimpse of his half-hard dick,then he hooked his knees in his elbows and spread his ass.  “I haven’t shaved in over a week, though.  See?  It’s growing back in.”  He rubbed the bristle around his little pink hole.

My dick was completely hard by the time he lowered his legs and pulled up his undies.  “Your ass isn’t real hairy from what I remember…” he said.

“No,” I said, tweaking my boner through my pajama pants.

“Lemme see,” Seth said.  I grabbed the waistband of my pants and stripped them off, bringing my knees to my chest.  I spread my ass so he could see.  I always thought I had a pretty sweet ass – dudes love to eat it out – so I wasn’t shy about showing it off.

Seth came over to me.  “It’s a little hairier than I remember,” he said, and ran his fingers along my crack and around the rim of my hole.  “You’ve never, ever shaved?”

“No,” I said, out of breath because the feeling of Seth fiddling with my butt was kind of driving me nuts.  My cock started leaking juice against my abs.

Seth tapped his finger against my asshole.  I involuntarily clenched down but Seth kept his finger there, massaging until I relaxed.  “Careful, that’s a tight, virgin ass,” I said, which was actually a lie, but that’s a story for another time.

Still keeping his fingertip against my hole, Seth got down on his knees in front of me.

“Let’s see how tight you are,” he said, and wet his finger in his mouth.  He brought it to my butthole again, and this time pressed it in.  As soon as the tip sunk inside I clenched up tight.

Seth seemed impressed.  He sunk a little more inside, and I whimpered a little.  Having a finger up my butt was a pleasure I’d denied myself for too long. “That’s pretty fucking tight,” he said.

“Tighter than you,” I said.  Seth gave me a look.

“Is that right?” he said, and aggressively shoved it in up to the second knuckle.  I groaned.  Seth massaged that insanely horny spot deep inside of me, and I felt like I was going to cum spontaneously.  He pumped his finger deep a couple more times before unceremoniously yanking it out.

“So you think just cause I got fucked a few times I’m loose as a goose, is that it?” he said, slipping off his briefs.  His dick was just as leaky as mine.  He sat back on the couch.  “C’mere and test me out,” he said, lifting his legs to expose his ass again.  “Do it.”

I kicked my pajama pants off of my feet and went over to him.  His ass was spread wide, pale pink and unblemished.  I could see why McConnell would have wanted to tongue his butt for an hour.

“Did my brother eat you out too?” I asked as I knelt in front of him.

“Yeah.”  I put my hands on Seth’s round, smooth cheeks, letting the tips of my fingers graze his crack.

“When did you guys hook up?  When we went camping?”

“Yeah,” Seth said.  “That day we went on a hike and you guys stayed at the cabin.  We went skinny-dipping in the lake and Dougey was complaining that he hadn’t had his nuts milked in a month.”

“So you offered to bend over and help him out,” I said, touching a finger to his hot hole.

“I told him he could pump it into me if he lubed me up first with his tongue.  Guess he was horny enough to give it a try.”

“So you’re gonna tell me you didn’t use lube that time, either?”

“Nope.  We didn’t have any.”

“I always knew my brother was a freak.”

“Not much less freaky than you.  Anyway, quit changing the subject and test me out.”

“Hold on,” I said, getting my face close up to his butt.  He smelled clean and musky.  Seth laughed.

“Oh I know what you wanna do.  Go ahead, man.  No one’s gonna know but us.”

I reached out my tongue to get a taste.  One was all it took.  Pretty soon I had my tongue buried in Seth’s butt as far as it would go.  I’d never put a tongue in any of my girlfriend’s asses, but I liked this.  It was sort of like eating pussy except more illicit and low-down.  Seth was loving it too, putting his hand on the back of my head and wriggling around, moaning.

I backed off and pushed my finger into his now well-lubed hole.  Seth grunted and clenched down.  It felt tight enough to me.

“Told you,” Seth said.  I worked in my finger to the next knuckle.  “Oh fuck that feels good,” he said, and I shoved it in the whole way.  I pumped in and out, watching his asshole stretch around my finger.  Then I slid it out.

“Yeah, you’re still tight but that doesn’t prove anything,” I said and stood up.  Seth lowered his legs.

“Well, how about this:  My cock is bigger than yours, right?” he said, nodding his head at my bobbing boner.

“Yeah,” I said.  I don’t hold any illusions – Seth’s cock hangs past his balls and is thick as a beer can.

“So if my ass is as tight as yours, which it is, it should hurt just as much to take your smaller cock in my ass as it would for you to take my bigger cock in your ass.”

“Huh?” I said.

“I’ll go first – I’ll slide my dick into you, then you slide your dick into me, and we’ll compare the pain.”

“How?”

“Facial expressions or whatever.  C’mon – it’s obvious when somebody is in pain.”

“I guess…” I said, totally confused, but willing to play along because I was so damn horny.

“You first then,” Seth said.  He had me get up on the couch and spread my ass like before.  He knelt down in front of me and started eating me out.  It felt so good I couldn’t stand it.  Seth ground his tongue into my hole like he was working out a knot.  Then he stood up and waved his dick toward my face.  “Get me good and wet,” he said.

The only time I’d ever sucked Seth off before this was when I’d lost a poker game sophomore year.  I found I kinda liked working his big dick.  I relaxed my throat and let him shove it deep, his balls slapping my chin.  When it was good and sloppy he took it out.

He grabbed hold of my ankles and propped my feet on his shoulders.  “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I said.  Seth pressed his cock to my hole.  At first it felt like there was no way it would get in there, but I managed to relax and Seth popped the head inside.  I gasped from the sharp, burning pain.

“You alright?” Seth said.  I nodded and tried to breath.  When I’d relaxed a bit Seth pushed in some more.  After a certain point the pain faded.  In fact it began to feel really fucking good.  He shoved it deep and my cock juiced again.  “Oh man, you’re leaking precum like crazy,” Seth said.  He swabbed some off my abs and tasted it.

I clenched my ass down around Seth’s hog just to show him what I was capable of.  Seth didn’t miss a beat.

“I’m not saying this isn’t a tight piece,” he said, slowly pumping his cock in and out.  “But just because you haven’t been fucked as much as me doesn’t mean my ass is played out.”  Seth ran his hands all over my body as he worked his fat cock inside me.  I leaned forward to watch his thick meat slicing into my stretched hole – it almost didn’t seem possible. Seth ran his hands up his own smooth chest, pinching his nips and looking blissful. He was getting pretty worked up when he abruptly stopped and slid out.

“Your turn,” he said.  I was a little disappointed, actually, cause I’d been enjoying it.  But then Seth flopped onto the couch on his stomach and raised his ass in the air, and the notion that I was going to get to fuck that sweet butt got me going all over again.

I ate him out some more then Seth spun around to get my cock nice and wet.  I couldn’t resist reaching over his back to finger his hole a little.  Seth moaned around my cock.  I got behind him again, and holding tight to his bum, I slowly pushed my cock against his hole.

Seth moaned when the head went inside.

“That didn’t sound painful,” I said.

“It does hurt, believe me.  But it’s a good hurt.  Just give me a sec.”  I couldn’t see Seth’s face so he could’ve been bluffing, but the fact that Seth’s asshole felt snug around my cockhead could not be denied.  I got more of my cock inside, then he was taking the whole thing like a champ.  Broken in by my big-dicked brother or not, Seth’s hole gripped my cock like a vice.  But I wasn’t quite ready to concede.

I gave his ass a nice slap.  I watched the way Seth’s sweet cheeks hugged the sides of my hog.  The small of his back was arched upward; his butt cheeks bounced in waves with each thrust.  I tried to slow down but I just couldn’t get enough.

“I’m gonna cum in you, dude,” I said.

“Hey, no fair,” Seth said breathlessly.  “I didn’t get to cum in you.”

“I’m sorry man, I gotta cream in you.  It’s too late…”

“You fucker…just do it.  Fuck my ass.  Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”

“Fuck yeah, man.  Shoot that load.  Gonna cream you…Ah!  Fuck!”  I held on tight to his hips and slammed my cock inside of him.  I dug it in deep, holding still while the first shot of load spilt out of my balls.  It felt like a gallon of cum was being released, shooting deep into my best buddy’s ass.  Seth was jacking himself off and from the way his asshole was clenching around my cock I could tell he was cumming too.

“Holy shit,” he kept saying as we lost it together.  I collapsed on top of him.

“Well, I guess that settles it,” Seth said between breaths.

“Settles what?”

“My ass is so tight you could barely hold your load back, for one thing.  And we didn’t use any lube.  So I win.  Twice.”

“Whatever, dude,” I said, rolling off of him.  “That test couldn’t have been more unscientific.”

“We could bring in someone else for an unbiased opinion,” Seth suggested.

“Like McConnell?” I said.

“Or your brother,” Seth said, just before I clobbered him with a sofa cushion.