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xmag.com : December 2001: Muscular Ass

I knew when I saw your eyes across the room that we would share a bed this evening. We both came from out of town, attending a boring business convention in a hotel conference room. And then our eyes met as if by accident, unleashing ten thousand years of hidden animal secrets.

I always love it when I know I'm gonna score.

Smoky bar. Demon jazz. Hot whisky splashed over cool rocks. Fresh cocktails and stale peanuts. Soft laughter, seductively arched eyebrows. Dirty suggestions, foul innuendos. Yeah, I'm married, too, but who cares? What they don't know won't hurt 'em! Carpe diem! We finish our drinks, swallow a couple of pain pills, buy some paper towels, and retire to your hotel room to order a few porno movies on the TV.

You tell me all about your childhood and then remove your clothes. You look approvingly at my tattoos and piercings, and I at yours. My wolflike eyes appraise the sensuous garlic-bulb shape of your hips. Your shaven pubis resembles the finest Cornish hen ready for its "stuffing." Your mammoth breasts are a twin pair of football-stadium domes, the fullest nippled flower of your womanhood. Your shrublike hair bears the exotic tropical scents of a really good shampoo and conditioner. The aroma that billows from 'tween your legs is not so bad that I can't handle it.

"We are sex-positive, of this we are positive."


Our tongues lock together like warring octopus arms. Your frail, understanding hands massage muscles I didn't know I had. My toes curl with erotic tension. We push and grunt and throw each other around the room. Like a sleeping warrior, my maleness awakes and shakes off its slumber. You run your hungry tongue over the most sensitive areas of my penis such as the corona and the frenulum. You nibble on my manhood with the finesse of a professional fellatio-giver, being careful not to bite it. When you stimulate my testicles, I feel tempted to scream with pleasure.

I gently lick the run in your stocking. Your anus puckers as if winking at me. Your well-lubricated vulva beckons me to enter it. You dig your long, catlike fingernails into my muscular ass and mount me like you're the tire and I'm the axle. My cock is a veiny slab of dumb, probing instinct. Your vagina is a whirlpool of tangled emotions, churning, straining, yearning to be set free as I plop my massive rod within you.

My cock is now at full size, all seventeen and a half inches of it. To say my cock is diamond-hard would be unfair, because diamonds are far softer than this. You gasp as I first enter you, but enter you I must. I knock down your door like a DEA battering ram.

Your vagina gobbles up my cock like a hairy, toothless mouth giving me a blow job. I'm in you, in your heart, between your legs. Daddy's little girl and mommy's little boy are doing something nasty, and the priests and nuns better not find out, or we're both gonna get a spanking. I drill your viscous hole like Jed Clampett seeking to strike some Black Gold, some Texas Tea. You ride me with the aplomb of the most seasoned bronco-buster as I lovingly rub whipped cream and strawberry marmalade on your smiling nipples. Our desperate bodies smack together with the sound of someone slapping a dead trout against a wooden board.

The sweat rolls from your body like hot Jamaican rain off a tin shack. You suddenly jerk back your neck with whiplash ferocity and howl with pleasure, disappearing into a milky white ocean of my cum. You have a million orgasms which, like invisible angels, would all fit on the head of a pin.

When I cum, I shoot my soul into you. My sperm and my spirit now inhabit you. We become one and melt into that strange night. Futuristic lovers teetering over an erotic horizon. Yin and yang, entwined. Plus and minus, reconciled. Plug and socket, feeding electricity to one another. We are sex-positive, of this we are positive.

Maybe there's a difference between making love and fucking, but for now we can't tell.




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