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The State of It All -- State Farm's Jake Finds Gay Love

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He was standing at the kitchen counter angrily piercing the wrapping of his Hungry Man when the baseball bat came through the window with a loud SMASH . He dropped his fork and ran to the dining room. He saw a couple of boys scattering, running away through the neighborhood, down the streets, through yards -- doors slammed. “Shit…” He surveyed the broken glass scattered across the the floor. The evening wind gently stirred the sheer curtains. He took one step forward and a shard pierced his foot. “God-DAMNIT! Fucking worthless kids.”

Justin was already in a mood. His wife was out at a function to “network,” which Justin knew just meant she was going to get drunk, flirt with other real estate agents, and then call him to come pick her up. He was so sick of taking care of her. He wasn’t a man who expected his wife to constantly cook and clean and maintain a certain weight. His mom raised him single-handedly after his father left, so he knew the the unfair burden women often take. But in his marriage, it was almost as if he was expected to be that perfect wife.

Becky constantly harangued him about his weight, his receding hairline, the meals he cooked, and his lack of charisma. He had gained weight, sure, but his tendency towards depression — an inheritance from his father, or so his mom had claimed —  made him rely on food as comfort. He started to take antidepressants, but that only increased his appetite. Becky thought he was weak for needing the pills, so he settled for his big belly and melancholia. He couldn’t do anything about his receding hairline, though Becky constantly suggested plugs. He tried Rogaine, but it just caused a severe rash, which caused Becky to make her most hurtful comment when drunk one night, “You’re so ugly, Justin.” He didn’t let her know he cried the entirety of that night in bed, his body shaking at his sobs... What am I doing?

As for his charisma, he never was an extrovert. The personality quizzes he took always identified him as an introvert, though he didn’t need a quiz to tell him that. At first Becky was attracted to that, but like the other women he dated, they soon tired of his inability to successfully socialize. “I can’t bring you anywhere,” Becky would say. The only person he felt that ever appreciated his quiet ways was his old friend Ryan, from high school. They could spend hours in silence and feel as if they were having the richest of conversations. But after that one night, they could never share each other in silence. The feelings surged in his chest at the memories. He shook them off and started the cleanup.

He swept up the shards and went to his desk. This wasn't the first time he had to call the insurance company for damages to the house. One morning he'd woken up to find the siding of his house damaged, only to later discover it was Becky, drunk, the night before.

They had house insurance through State Farm. The agent who helped them earlier was a nice enough woman. Bad about returning phone calls, but seemed, to Justin, competent enough. 

“Hello, is Alyssa there?”

“No, she has actually left us. All of Alyssa’s clients have been transferred over to our new agent, Jake. Let me transfer you to him. One moment, please.”

“Thank you.” He held his cell phone and looked at his bored reflection in the foyer mirror. I am fucking ugly, he thought. He shifted his weight to find a more pleasing angle, then winced as pain shot up through the foot cut by the glass. 

“Shit. Goddamnit.”

Justin heard a laugh through the receiver. Then a deep, but friendly voice. 

“Haha, hello? Is this Justin? Sorry, sir, I didn’t get a last name.” 

“No, no. That’s fine. Hi, is this Jake?”

“Yes, this is Jake. I apologize for the mix-up with Alyssa. It’s been a messy transition of clients. But how can I help you?” 

“Oh, no, that’s really not a problem. Sorry if I sounded frustrated, I just stepped on my foot and there’s glass. Well, that’s what happened. It sounds so made-up” he laughed, “but a baseball bat came through my window.”

Jake laughed in response, “Well, you’d be surprised all of the claims we process. Usually though it’s the baseball, and not the bat that breaks the window.”

“Yes, haha, that’s exactly what I thought.” 

“Well, that’s not a problem. Is there a time that’s best for me to come by?” 

“Would sometime… this evening, be okay?”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem. We know many of our customers think it’s an inconvenience for us to come by -- haha, well our most considerate customers -- for us to come by in the evening, but it’s just part of our job. So do you want to say, an hour from now? Is that… yeah, that will be around 7:15-ish?” 

“Yeah, that’s great. If that’s not an inconvenience.”

“Not at all.” 

“Perfect. My wife is gone for the evening anyway, so it’ll just be me.” 

A pause. “Okay, perfect. Well, I’ll see you in an hour, Justin.” 

“Thanks.”   

As the sun set began to set, the evening cooled, and a breeze coming through the broken window brought the smell of the dawning fall. Justin had planned for a night in. The TV dinner, and some TV. He was in a stained t-shirt, and some old running shorts. No underwear. Maybe I need to put on some underwear before Jake gets here. At the thought of Jake and his voice, Justin’s dick stirred. He smacked himself in the face before he could feel anymore and he went soft. He undressed and looked himself in the mirror. A hairy chest, a belly, unkempt scruff around his face, droopy eyelids. A caveman, Becky would say. An oaf.  

He took a shower and made sure to avoid his crotch to avoid any excitement. New boxers, better shorts and a clean t-shirt. He looked in the mirror again. Better, he thought. Ugh, why the fuck do I even care?  

He returned to his uncooked meal and put it in the oven and watched some TV. His heart was beating fast and he kept looking out the hole in the window. A couple on a casual stroll walked by and confusedly looked in. Nosy-rich-fucks, Justin thought. He looked at his watch. 7:08pm. He looked outside again and a red sedan was parking along the curb. Fuck. 

He decided he’d act like he hadn’t noticed. He worried over many, if not all, interactions with other men. He just didn’t see eye to eye with guys. His mom always used two words to describe Justin: quiet and sensitive. Why is he not performing to academic standards, his teacher would ask. He’s quiet and sensitive. Why doesn’t Justin have any friends? He’s quiet and sensitive. Why hasn’t Justin had a girlfriend yet? He’s quiet and sensitive. Maybe he needs a male role model, someone would suggest to his mom. No, would come his mother’s swift reply: he’s got me.

The knock at the door. Justin’s heart beat faster. He hoped Jake wouldn’t be like the manly-men who usually came for repairs to the house. The plumber that came by last summer kept on sneering at Justin’s lack of plumbing knowledge. “Why the fuck do I need to know how to change the ‘flapper’ or ‘handle arm’ of a toilet?” he’s ask his wife. “You could at least try to be a little masculine and learn some handy-work,” came Becky’s response. 

Justin opened the door. A beaming face greeted him. Justin’s shoulders suddenly relaxed. “Hey, are you Justin?”

“Yeah, and you’re Jake, right?” 

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind me parking on the curb.”

“No, not at all. Sorry, come in.”

“Beautiful night. So where’s the damage?”

“Right through there.” Justin pointed to the dining room.

Jake walked before him. Justin surveyed Jake as he walked ahead. His red State Farm polo tucked into his khaki pants. His ass was big and was snug in his pants. Justin pretended not to notice that fullness.

“I’ve cleaned up the glass for the most part.” 

“Aww, man.” 

“What?” Justin didn’t like to hear the disappointment in his voice. 

“It would have been better for the claim had we had the shards as they were right after the accident, but it’s really not a problem.” Jake looked up and smiled at Justin. The last soft streams of evening light fell over his face. All was dark in the rest of the room. Jake’s smile made his chest swell. The roundness of his cheeks and his button nose made Justin’s hardened face soften. Ryan had made that same face the night Justin last saw him.

 

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After Justin and Ryan’s high school graduation, his mom threw him a small party that was mostly attended by family, one or two other friends, and Ryan. Justin didn't drink out of respect for his mom, as her father and Justin’s dad were both alcoholics. But Ryan did. After everyone left late in the afternoon, Ryan and Justin helped his mom clean up, then she went to bed for her shift early the next morning. They went to Justin’s room and laid on his bed like they normally did for hours upon hours. Faint evening light pressed against his blinds and the A/C unit silently hummed.

They were talking about what they wanted to do now that they were “men” ready to be sent out into the world. Justin said he hadn't a clue, but Ryan began elaborating in his excited drunken voice a detailed life with college, a marketing job, and some kids. “Haha, that's awesome, Ryan. I'm jealous you've got it all figured out. I'm just grasping at straws.” Justin, smiling, turned to Ryan. Ryan was frowning and his eyes were brimming with tears as he stared up at the ceiling. “Wha-what's wrong?” asked Justin. 

“None of that is even worth it if you can't be there with me.”

Justin froze. What could he say? 

“I'm not… are you…?”

He continued to stare at Ryan, whose breath quickened. Without breaking eye contact, he inched his face closer and closer to Justin’s. He kissed him. 

Justin suddenly felt dizzy. Without meaning to he let out a moan… he couldn't. He grabbed Ryan by the shoulders and pushed him back.

“No. I can't. My mom…”

He couldn't finish. But he didn't need to. Ryan stood and left the room. Justin sat frozen and heard the front door slam shut.

“I'm not…”

 

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“Do you have any material to temporarily cover the hole?” 

“Where?”

“The window,” said Jake, not indicating the annoyance the question deserved.

“Oh yeah, of course, the window." He laughed in embarrassment. "Sorry, the window. Also worrying about my wife. She hasn't text in a bit. A little distracted.”

A pause. “Yes, I hope she’s fine.”

“She's at a real estate networking function. She attends them fairly frequently. I don't mind, gives me a little time alone haha, away from the wife.”

“Yeah. My ex actually used to attend those.”

“Maybe my wife knows her. What's her name?”

A pause. “Oh… his name.” Jake shifted uncomfortably. 

“Oh cool. Yeah, maybe she knows him.”

Silence. Jake blushed. “Yeah, lemme just take these pictures right now and take some of your information and I'll be on my way.”

“I'll leave you to it.”

Jake grabbed a slim silver digital camera from his pants, but it dropped it as soon as it came out of his pocket.

He bent over to pick it up. His ass. Its fullness, like the seams of his khakis would break.

“Fuck.” Jake pulled up and grabbed at his hand. He turned and looked with a concerned look at Justin.

“I apologize for my language. I think I just got a shard…”

Justin saw blood streaming down Jake’s finger.

“Oh fuck, man. Lemme get you a paper towel or something.” 

“Thanks.”

He brought in some paper towels.

“I have a first-aid kit in my car. I don't think I have tweezers though.” He looked up from his hand to Justin. “Would you mind?”

“Oh shit, yeah, of course. It's up here.” They walked up the stairs.

“Is it still bleeding pretty bad?” Justin looked over his shoulders. Jake’s eyeline was right at Justin’s ass. He looked up quickly.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad but I think it's slowing.”

They continued through the upstairs hall. The light was off in the hall and in the bedroom as they passed into the bathroom. Justin flicked the fluorescent light on. He opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the hydrogen peroxide and the tweezers. His swift movements knocked over a bottle. Jake reached down to pick it up. They both looked at it: Justin’s bottle of lube.

“Whoa hahah sorry about that. Shit, that's embarrassing haha.”

Jake blushed. “No, haha I mean, guys need what they need.”

Justin blushed.

He grabbed Jake’s hand and unfurled his injured finger. He carefully starting searching for the shard. He could hear Jake’s breathing stop and small whines strain in his throat.

“Haha I hope this doesn't hurt.”

“It hurts a little, but I don't mind it.”

Justin looked up, but Jake continued to direct his eyes downwards.

After what seemed to be an agonizing hour, Justin located the shard and extracted it.

“There we go. Here’s the culprit.” He showed Jake the tiny shard then poured the peroxide over the wound. He loved watching the chemistry of the bubbles and the blood. He grabbed a bandage and bound it around the finger.

“Thank you.” Justin looked straight into his eyes. A smile spread across his face. His eyes seemed to twinkle beneath the light.

Justin flicked off the light and began to head through the bedroom. “Yeah, when I was cleaning up I was scared a shard would…”

He felt a tug at his hand.

“Yeah?”

The streetlight broke through the window and fell over a silent Jake.

“Is everything okay?”

Jake rushed forward and put his lips to Justin’s. Jake pulled away.

“I'm… SO sorry.”

Without a word, Justin grabbed the back of Jake’s head and pulled it back towards his lips.

Their bodies pressed and rubbed  together as they made out. Slowly, and deliberately at first, then with an intensity unknown to Justin. He couldn't help but moan as Jake dug his tongue down into this mouth. Justin could feel Jake’s dick hardening against his khakis. He moved his hands from behind Jake’s head down to his ass. He grabbed at the thickness. Jake sharply inhaled in response.

Without warning Jake dropped to his knees. He burrowed his head deep against Justin’s crotch. He then began to unbutton his shorts. He ripped them down. Justin’s hard cock popped out of the fly of his boxers.

Jake plunged his mouth over Justin’s cock.

“Ohhhh fuck…” Justin moaned.

He then ripped Jake up from his knees. The look of bliss on Jake’s face then began to look confused.

Justin dropped to his knees and began to lick the fly of Jake’s khakis. He slowly undid his belt, then the button. He unzipped the pants, all while looking up at Jake’s round face.

Justin saw the outline of the hard cock against the white briefs. He grabbed at the band of the Hanes and slowly inched them down. His cock bobbed up as the briefs passed over. A drop of precum gleamed in the weak light.

Justin looked at the dick with a want he'd never known in life. He slowly, but with some trepidation, let the cock slide into his mouth. He was dizzy at the sensation of this hard bit of man throbbing inside his mouth. He'd never experienced the euphoria of a hard cock in his mouth.

He licked and sucked with such hunger. He pressed his nose into the dirty blonde hair surrounding Jake’s dick. He loved the smell. The sourness of this man. This is what I've always wanted , he thought.

He then wrapped his hand around the shaft to get more precum. He noticed Jake’s stomach begin to tremor.

“I'm gonna…” Jake began to moan.

Do I want it? Justin began to wonder. Yes, fuck yes I want this come. He began to pump the shaft even harder. The vein below the dick began to throb.

“Here it is, I'm coming I'm coming…”

A huge gush of warm saltiness flooded Justin’s mouth. His eyes rolled into his head tasting this man. He swallowed and desperately tried to pump more out of the dick.

“Fuck… you're one of these expert married cocksuckers, I see.”

Justin licked his lips. “Actually, that was my first time.”

Jake was pulling up his underwear and khakis. “Are you serious? Your mouth was amazing. I thought you'd been doing this for a while.” He tucked in his red State Farm shirt. “This isn't your first time, right…”

Justin didn't like feeling as if he'd been in a vulnerable position. He got up from his knees and pulled up his shorts. “Yeah, it was, but let's not talk about it.” He avoided eye contact.

His phone buzzed against his pocket. Eight texts from Becky. The euphoria he felt, that high, suddenly plunged into that familiar place of shame he felt so hard in his chest.

“I'll let you out.”

“Oh okay. Are you okay?”

Justin didn't respond. He kept walking. Down the staircase then his hand on the door.

“Okay,” Jake said, without hiding the frustration in his voice. “Here's my card. I'll call you tomorrow. Thanks.”

Justin wouldn't look up. He shut the door and the tears suddenly, predictably came. He darted upstairs and into the shower. The hot stream allowed Justin to feel as if his hot tears were just the water scouring his skin.

He dressed and drove twenty minutes to the civic center. Becky was sprawled out drunk on a bench. A half-smoked cigarette was stuck in her fingers. He picked her up and buckled her up in the backseat. He parked in the garage and lifted her tiny body up the stairs and into bed, slipping each high-heel off.

And he laid down in bed beside his snoring wife. He thought of the kiss. Jake’s lips. His faint cologne. The odor of his dick. The taste of it against his tongue. But it was the kiss he kept returning to. Elation, yes. And then the face of Ryan came to view. The memories and sensations of his friend coalesced into the look of betrayal that Ryan left him with.


Why didn't I follow him?

Chapter Text

Ryan left Jake one year ago yesterday. That morning Jake woke to an empty bed, and an increasingly empty apartment. Jake started in the bathroom and saw the plunger, the toilet brush, and the organic shampoo and conditioner were gone, the loofah and the shower caddy too. He opened the cabinet above the toilet -- the double ended dildo still sat there. Ryan’s DVDs (more than half the collection) were gone from the IKEA media tower, and most the books, leaving a faint dusting around the absence. Bare shelves. He sighed.

“I drove all this way, out of my way, to talk to some guy, a married man, that blew me and shut up. That shame, yes.” Jake put on his right blinker at the red light -- CLICK click CLICK click CLICK -- looked left, one car drove by. He followed close behind and continued his soliloquy.

“Yes, yes, in some sense I am turned on by that shame. I’ve dealt with that, I feel.” Three years of therapy. Once a month the first two years and twice a month since last year.

He turned down the radio and adjusted in his seat. Moisture of the come left un-sucked was damp in his briefs. The flash of Justin’s eyes looking up from his knees with Jake’s cock in his mouth. The red of the taillight in front of him brightened. Jake slowed. Justin’s eyes had looked sleepy as he sucked. Eyelids puffy, like he hadn’t slept. Justin’s attention to Jake in those brief moments was lazy and furtive.

Justin’s sucking wasn’t passionless. Unbridled, yes. Unlearned, yes.

“Mine probably was his first dick. Huh. He swallowed too. That’s admirable.”

He turned into the drive-thru of a Taco Bell. “I’m so fat.” Two cars ahead sat against the setting sun. “He was fat too.” He smiled.

Ryan was thin but Jake loved men big. Bellies hanging over belts. Pants down, and you have a belly over the band of briefs. A flat ass, or round ass, but always big fat ass.

One car in front of him. “I’m gonna want five burritos but I’m only going to get four burritos. Four burritos. Four burritos.”

He pulled at his wallet. It fell beneath the door and his seat. His fingers searched the space. A crinkle -- a receipt. Long hardness -- a pen. Cool and sticky, round -- a coin.

The car before him travelled the distance to the window. His turn.

“Hi, how are you?” The speaker asked. The previous order: 6 taco, 4 burritos, Baja Blast -- $12.61.

“Hi, I’m well, and you.” He still strained and reached for his wallet.

“Go ahead when you’re ready.”

“Hi I want four bean burritos and one triple-layer nacho.”

“That’s four beef burritos and one triple-layer nachos, correct?”

“No.”

 

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Over the burritos Jake thought, biting into them: Ryan Bartholomew, Ryan Bartholomew, Ryan Bartholomew. I’d be Jake Bartholomew née State. Jake Bartholomew-State. He crunched the chips of his nachos to break up all of the softness and mush of the burritos.

He switched the TV on and turned the volume down low. He started his Tuesday podcast loud and put it on a shelf. He turns the stubby lamp on and the tall thin lamp on, the overhead fluorescent light that took a while to fully brighten too. He walked across the front of the TV and turned the A/C knob to low cool. Flicked up the switch for the wobbly fan. He walked back across to the table.

The Summer's Eve commercial spooking women with the scent of their own bodies.

Jake was on his third burrito. He unwrapped it like the warm precious thing it was, his accomplice in avarice. Paused his podcast and pulled up Instagram and searched for Ryan. Jake blocked him, but still had access to his the entirety of picture library.

I always hated that openness . Like he always had one foot out the door . One sexy leg for everyone to admire. He always had to be considered by others in their minds. Doubleness. Me, his anchor, a fixture in the furniture of his life and the gay multitude outside for whom Ryan had to be an option. He was unmoored now.

Commercial for Hershey's products. A dad and daughter at a diner and the workers conspire to provide a memory.

Jake said he’d eat half of the fourth and save the rest for later, but left sitting on the kitchen counter Jake just ate the rest. He went through the trash process. Wrapping the smallest bits of trash into the next incrementally larger piece and so on and so forth until he got to the bag and crumpled that up and threw it away.

He pushed off his pants and saw the spot on his white briefs near the head of his penis where the rest of the come soaked the cotton fabric. If he saw that on another man’s underwear, and if it was precum and not postcum he’d burrow his head right into that crotch.

What was it about that location around the dick? The climate and topography of the middle part of the man -- the site of his locomotion and the source of his will. The soul is almost a continuum from crotch to heart to head. Large thighs like John Steinbeck California valleys. Humidity. Fecundity. Gravity pulls at the fleshy extrusion. You go beneath the balls and follow the cord, vas deferens , the hidden duct, and there’s the hole. A organizing site, collecting desire -- gay thoughts and wants pool there. A duality paired with the penis. Presence and absence. A whatness and a noneness create a vacuum by choice of priority.

Commercial meant to be a candid conversation with an older woman and her two daughters about some sickness.

Jake pulled off his red State Farm shirt and his undershirt. His sagging chest. He reached below his dick and rubbed his hole through his underwear. He thought about Justin and Jake penetrating him, causing a lower internal contraction -- a shifting.

The labor and mess of dildo play prevented it becoming a common number in his masturbatory repertoire. But he missed Ryan tonight. Justin’s sucking in the dark reminded him of the shared solitary pleasure of double dildo penetration. On all fours, with butt to butt. Or both backs on the bed and legs spread like rabbit ear antennas matching as at the seams. We a mirror of one yet two. External to both, one dick that’s passed back and forth, hither and thither, to and fro. Where is the man that pierces? Just two men and a phantom dick.

Jake pulled out the topsy-turvy purple double dick and spread a thick coating of lube over one head and half the shaft. Flicked the lights off and lied on his bed. Legs spread and he began to maneuver the dick in.

Unf unf unf unf unf unf.

His mind was like fingers scattering over a rolodex of men’s faces as he recalled them in shadowed and usually a drunken gel lens. He usually topped them, but he liked to imagine the gay host seeking revenge and succeeding by plunging their dicks into him. It was submerged a good five inches (probably around twelve to thirteen centimeters)

Wet beads of sweat sat on his forehead and his face flushed. His arm wouldn’t reach across the span of his body and to the other end of the dildo. His body wouldn’t bend. His vertebrae could find a place to fold at a hinge but his belly was too big. In one last heave to grab the other end of the dlido that receeded into the darkness the entire thing was propulsed out. A shot in the dark. He heard it hit the canvas backing of his couch and land onto the tile.

He stroked his dick and let the dildo sit there on the tile for knowing the water based lubricant would dry to nothing. From the rubber it would evaporate into thin air. His balls bounced and slapped his thighs where they met. Jake couldn’t settle on a face and the effort of attention to the rhythms of his prostate like aligning a pipe for clearance for his orgasm propulsed come. Only the faces were sticky enough to stay on the screen. He couldn’t keep the bodies or dick there. Angry faces floated disembodied. He dug his middle finger -- fuck me ! -- into the hole and let that be the unseen dick. Never do you simultaneously see the face of the man and his penetrating dick. Only orally can you get the dick to appear and disappear in view while keeping the expressions of pleasure and anger of the other in frame. He decided to keep Ryan as the one that topped him this session, which made his heart a little sorry for Justin that he’d be excluded from his orgasm, or anything else for that matter. Jake knew of his wife. Ryan would tell him of that horrible Becky Dubois.

Jake State wouldn’t bridge that connection for Justin Dubois. Jake’s body, his hand up-and-down on dick, disappeared. Yes, yes . Back again, and yes, yes, his orgasm was beginning to bloom at the core. It’s here! He pumped harder and harder. Draw it out like lips on a tube and the flow will come. Gush and gushing. A celebratory wave dizzied Jake’s mind. And then he shivered, and then, incrementally bigger, he trembled and this grew into a laugh.

 

Hahahahahhaha


In the same space and time, after the orgasm event, Jake State entered the post-come world. Libidinal grief of Ryan was gone. Now Justin was a warm possibility that vaguely waxed in his mind. Tomorrow! Goodnight.

Chapter Text

Like floaters perpetually drifting in and out of the periphery of sight, populating the visual field, Jake State and his dick crowded Justin’s sensual perception. He woke and peed and saw Jake’s dick projected onto his dick. Erotic curiosity dug his nose into his boxers and he smelled Jake. Justin was glad his body produced the same sights and smells as Jake’s. The presence of him on his own body. Boner of my boner.

Becky woke up. Justin woke up earlier to Becky’s stench. Halitosis from alcohol, and fleshy odor from her pits and dirty hair. He turned over and she finally left looking pristine and seamless, a discrete body plodding across the floor and down the stairs and into a car and off to make sales and give people their own spaces in houses.

When Justin’s isolation was signaled by a car’s engine roaring from below, he kicked down the sheets and pulled down his boxers. Tossed the boxers like a pizza pie onto his face and sniffed. Jake State. Doughy like batter, the man smell. He peed and saw Jake’s dick on his. Justin jumped back into bed.

His tears last night were nothing compared to the usual deluge. He cried when he thought of his mother now gone and how that absence knocked at his presence. The physics of the universe rule that voids pull. We see this in black holes. And Justin’s mother’s death left empty space that pulls by a thread began (begot) with Adam (atom), then/and/or Eve and Jacob’s Ladder down to Justin’s mother and then Justin.

On his back in bed Justin spread his legs in the air. His pasty thighs dusted with black hair shook as he lifted them into the air. He was thrilled to be alone with his asshole. All along his life his hole was there like a cellar door unopened, hidden beneath a rug and a chest. The investigation began with routine hygiene. He was fastidious about his ass. The more he rubbed the more he liked to rub and the rub brought on more rubbing. The middle finger circled around the rim and went up and in.

This was during his third year of marriage to Becky, right after he was laid off from his job and he spent hours eating and showering and masturbating. Sex waned after the first year of marriage and sexual fulfillment became a solitary, rather than a mutual endeavor. Justin would wait until Becky was gone in the morning, his cock throbbing beneath his body. He’d jack off. He didn’t want to imagine Becky’s gratification. What a repulsive woman!

Justin relied on the projections of other women at first, but men slowly began to slip in and monopolize his stroking fantasies. Ryan, his friend. That night when Ryan left, Justin rewrote the evening; Justin stops Ryan and they kiss. Justin flips over his body on the bed and Ryan reaches around his waist and undoes the button of his blue jeans. Zips his pants down and Ryan’s face hovers above his ass--an electric presnece. The tongue licks his loose striped boxers and Ryan pulls at the fraying elastic band. Justin’s ass exposed! The ass unveiled. A frame close-up on a sheet-covered object and then swish and the reveal.

And Ryan kisses in soft pecks Justin’s goose-pimpled cheeks. And Ryan gives little nibbles on the ass. And Ryan spreads open Justin’s ass and there the seam of being, the teeny asshole. Ryan’s tongue gives quick taps to test. Justin moans. Very very funny how minor flesh contact causes surges of breath and red flush on face. The tongue strikes. Like lightning. Like a whip.

On his haunches, Justin rocks back for more tongue on hole conact, more more please sir I’d like some more. Pull back -- Ryan recedes backwards in the room’s general night darkness. Suddenly. The gooey tip taps Justin’s hole. A Wilhelm scream bubbles in his hard middle chest. It escapes. And then plunge plunge plunge. Woohah woohah. Fun jaunty sex shakes and shivers the bed. The existential contours of sex wear away. Phew! Two young men--maybe healthy, who’s to say--exchanging, transacting, concentrating, opening, shoving, doing, no-reflecting, dull hard life expanding and filling every pit and pore. Pop pop pop!! Primordial goo pop pop pop on the surface of the soupy water.

*VRRRRRRRRRRR VRRRRRRRRRRRR*

Justin’s vibrating cellular phone pulls him out of the flush of his thoughts and feelings. He looks over and sees Jake calling him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Justin. This is Jake, from State Farm.”

“Hi Jake. How’re you?” The precum on his forefingers cools by the ceiling fan’s air whipping.

“I’m well. I was just wanting to call about your claim.”

“Yes.”

A pause. Jake’s voice lowered. “And to apologize for my conduct last night.”

“No don’t apologize. Please don’t. I enjoyed it, frankly. I’m a little ashamed. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Yes, I understand completely. I’ve been at this for much longer. I don’t want to presume you’re new to any of this, but that seemed to be my understanding. What I gathered from our brief interaction yesterday evening.”

“Yes, that would be an accurate estimation of my current station, in terms of being out, coming out, whatever. I might be bi, I don’t know.”

Jake’s voice reinvigorated Justin’s boner and propelled him to give his voice a suggestive edge.

“I honestly couldn’t resist after seeing you bend over all that broken glass.”

Jake’s brain dealt with erotic tone of Justin’s image, but also seized at the sharpness of broken glass. Ouch. But his dick stirred anyway beneath his khakis. He gave an appreciative sigh. Cubicles to his left and right would just read it as frustration.

“Justin. I would like to see you again. Is that possible? Again, I want to respect your current situation and the boundaries of your union with your umm your wife. But…”

“Yes, you may. How about tonight?”

The suddenness. The immediate acquiescence took Jake aback. “Yes, yes. I have to check on one claim at 7 but afterwards?”

“Yes, where? There’s a Chili’s nearby.”

“Yes, I’d like a burger.”

“See you at 8 then?”

“Yes,” replied Jake. “See you at 8.” He hung up.

The anticipation made Justin’s dick rock hard. Just two up-downs and spew spew spew! Tonight is the night, everything's gonna be alright!

Chapter Text

You can’t outthink thought, but a sound or push or sharp scent sets you onto new horizons. Jake parks his car in the Chili’s parking lot in the soft dusk. The freeway overpass up and to the left sheds whipped air and the thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum of tires over bridge tresses. 

He closes the sedan door and is already really hard, sensing the surrounding environment’s animation: slamming car doors and the surging, unspoken rush of blood: the night has for him possibility. He walks past trucks and suburbans and sedans. The roundness of the surrounding cars is reminiscent of Justin’s full ass. He points his dick down in his khakis. His middle chest feels hard, too, but he likes how the ground pushes lightly back at his feet through his loafer soles. Something hard is good sometimes. The door handle is the shape of a chili pepper. He doesn’t like that, but he doesn’t think it. Fake bronze cast. The door gives.

He walks in and hears the gnawing rush of the dining room conversations. Canned film/sitcom ting-ting- “I have an announcement”-silverware clanging. What entrance wouldn’t be complete without a lonely, brave protagonist entering into an unwelcoming space; but, the place is built to be welcoming; but, the patrons don’t care about Jake--they truly don’t! There are designers who know about inviting lighting. I don’t think there’s anything too designing -designing about what they’re doing. At least the designers. Maybe corporate. No response from Justin just yet. 

Jake sent a “Here.” Plain and simple. “Here” isn’t too sticky of a message. It says, “I am direct. I am unattached. I am considerate.” Or so it seems. But he didn’t think about this either. The host had an unpleasant busy look on her face, but gave a half smile that was too tense in the nose--too close to a wince to be truly friendly. She didn’t say anything for like, I don’t know, a whole minute. The rolodex of “who am I?” cycled through. “Am I nice? Shy? Confident? Who have I been for this week? I failed at nice. I guess it’s fine to be aggressive. It is fuck-ing ridiculous to not say anything for so long I wasn’t immediately going to demand a table it really doesn’t take that long to address me and say ‘wait one second’ but here she is not fuck-ing saying anything.” She, bending her knees for menus, maintains eye contact and says, “What’s your party of? How many?” Jake gives a soft smile, “Just two please. A booth.” I’m One Conspiratorial Bitch! 

His belly is too big for the booth. An inch of clearance. A Diet Coke, please . His soft smile sends that “please” aloft into the air! The waiter should be misted by that appreciation of her labor, just drenched.  

OH MY GOD. Out of nowhere the cascading thrill of meeting Justin again! Above the low walls that divide the booths, Jake sees Justin’s confused, concentrating face looking about the room. The dopiness of his face is too cute: he’s helpless. He knows nothing about his identity, and I can help; so, he’s mine! Or at least I can make some claim to him by sex, his need and secretive desire. Cum-threads thread them together by now--lovers bound by cum. Justin’s eyes finally met Jake’s, and Justin’s face full released.

 

***

 

“What can I start you with?” The waiter’s pen was at the ready.

Be my butch little babe and order a beer , Jake hoped inside.  

“Uhhhh I’ll just have have a Coors Light.” 

Jake never ordered beers at restaurants; he never wanted to answer any follow-up questions he couldn’t supply. But this was a man—a dopey, pudgy, dark-under-eye circles, balding man—who fit the world like a glove. At least in public. Jake had had the opportunity to see the underbelly of that straight-man confidence, a cold sad lining of hope, despair, and want. And here it was before him, the vulnerability opening before a shared basket of bottomless tortilla chips.

“Thanks for meeting up with me,” said Jake. 

Justin responded with an unexpected and subtle look of soft but frank indignation. He leaned in towards Jake and quietly said, “Did we immediately have to meet in public like this?” He protectively pulled his dark green unbuttoned shirt across his plain white shirt while noticing a salsa stain.

Jake felt the reproof but also the pull of Justin’s fat, pouty lips. He gulped and the Rolodex flipped in his mind: who am I? Who am I to this person? Who can I be to this person? 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think anything of it. And I thought you were fine with meeting like this?” 

“I am. Really. I’m just really confused. I didn’t want to go to your place and just fuck around because… well, for a lot of reasons.” He took a big gulp of beer and continued. “I didn’t want to treat you like that. I don’t want to treat myself like that and… well, even accepting all of that makes me think I’ve accepted the fact that one: I have feelings for men, two: I cheated on my wife, and, I guess, three: I’m cheating on my wife with a man.”

Although the content of his speech intended discretion, Justin spoke with abandon Justin noticed only in heterosexuals. A lone businessman at the table over gave the two a furrowed brow.

Jake tried to think his way through the unfolding labyrinth that Justin… Driven by desire, and armed with intuition and his knowledge of heterosexuals, Justin ventured down a corridor.

“I didn’t say anything about feelings. I hope you don’t think that’s why I asked you here. I don’t think this is a first date. I just thought you would be more comfortable meeting somewhere public.”

 Justin gave an injured look and said, “You don’t feel anything?” Dead End. Jake will try another path.

“What do you mean? Of course I do.”

He hated balancing what was felt and what was said. He wanted to grab Justin and take him away--where? Who knows? To the End of Time? Its beginning?--and take care of him and be taken care by him, but he had to be the gay older brother who, Aladdin-style, shows him the world. To act in a way dissimilar than his gut felt like a true deception to a man he was confident was his now and to be his forever. You have to lie to get what you want.

“Well, Justin, how do you feel?”

For the first time the entire night, the careless confidence that Justin brought to the world drained from his face and body.

“I want to feel what I feel. I want to feel more of it. And I’ve wondered if what I feel is because I feel something specifically for you or if it’s just that I want to be with men and haven’t known until the other night.” 

Well, maybe he’s not mine. I’m of course a launching pad. BLAST OFF, BITCHES! Seven light years to interstellar queerness.

But then...Jake felt something warm and clammy on the top of his hand. He looked up from his black bean burger and met those sad, round eyes and looked down to see Justin’s hand upon his own.

“But I’m pretty sure it’s actually you.”

 

***

 

Becky snored loud alcoholic snores. The bright white light bathed Justin in a new home. He text Jake from the moment they left each other’s company before the Chili’s foyer. Justin felt the contours of his body and self reinvigorated by Jake’s attention.

“Can I have you tomorrow?” asked Jake.

“Yes :)”  


Chapter Text

Pen, paper, computer, coffee cups, file folders, door handles. Every object Jake touched, saw, smelled, tasted was infused with a vibrancy, with new properties and qualities unveiled from contact with Justin. As if a god was a great magician and, with a viol à! , pulled the heavy sheet that blanketed everything since Ryan left.

And now Jake loved his phone so much! Before Justin, it pulled him, dragged him, from room to room--it was so fucking heavy--but now it seemed to lift his hand by its own magnetic pull. Now, now, now. Pop, pop, pop, every second a new text populates. The past was hazy and sour. The future was opening the door to his darkened apartment once, twice, thrice, until the end of time. But every corner where three points met...well, shit, it was for him! Now!

Customers could scream at him, AND OH--THEY DID!, claiming claims, but he took it like a good pounding. Pain, suffering, anxiety, annoyance...he flipped that shit over and saw the other side. Pain becomes pleasure, suffering becomes thriving, anxiety to certainty, annoyance to engagement.  

And Justin. In a world that is already heterosexually his, objects became obstacles, and most things began to frustrate; Jake should be here; Jake should be mine! Becky still invokes disgust and hatred. But he practiced his Alpha and put away the Beta like a beloved winter jacket. Oddly enough, he wanted to fuck his wife more. So, he did. They were on separate planets when he was in her and when she enveloped him. The mostly sexless marriage of facedown, darkened, or drunken sex became razor sharp with intensity and attention. They made eye-contact with each other through the entire session but looked through and past each other to someone else. The flopping of Becky’s boobies Justin vaguely associated with Jake’s fat ass when he would eventually fuck it. Becky saw the sharpness of Justin’s jaw and projected onto it her new NSA guy, who she’d fuck in every house she would show the following day, masking the vaporized juices of their lovemaking in lavender scented Lysol.

So, when they decided to meet up again after that fateful night at Chili’s, Justin was going to show everyone how he would have his when, where, why, how, and with whom he wanted it.

The two were going to meet at Jake’s place after his shift ended at 8:00pm. Justin scrubbed his body to the point of scarring. Shame? Fastidiousness? I DON’T KNOW--YOU DECIDE! He doused his body with his half-empty bottle of GAP cologne. The alcohol stung his body. He shoved the bottle of lube into his ass and squeezed. Before it could leak out, he put on a pair of navy blue boxers. He put on a pair of khakis, a charcoal gray t-shirt, and his favorite plaid, green overshirt. His pinky toe stuck out of a hole on the side of his sneakers. Need a new pair . His hair? Eh, fuck it, he thought.

Justin sat down in the den. His attention barely clung to the home improvement show playing on TV. Finally a text at 7:52pm from Jake.

“Hey, going to be a little later tonight than expected. My manager left for an emergency, so I’m going to have to stay here until 10. :/ sorry about that. Will that work for you?”

Without one hesitating thought, Justin rose from the La-Z-Boy like an automaton, grabbed the car keys, and began his drive to the State Farm Customer Service headquarters.

 

***

 

Becky, Destroyer of Homes, was fucking the New Guy. On her back, she stared up at the tacky ceiling fan spinning above the bed. The prick was inconsequential to her. The New Guy was holding onto her like post. As he continued digging into her, she said, “I think Justin is cheating on me.”

A muffled, “Huh?”

“I don’t know, he’s just so happy now.”

The guy couldn’t fucking care less, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Becky grabbed him gently by the throat. The gesture could be confused as soft, sexy play, but she said, “What the fuck kind of line is that?”

He instantly came. She threw him off her and said, “I gotta clean up and get home.”

As she walked to the bathroom, she grabbed her purse and shut the door.

She reached into a side pocket of her purse and pulled out a vial. She scraped the tiny vial up her leg and collected the semen that dripped down from her vagina.

To say the least, Becky’s paranoia knew no bounds and steadily grew like tendrils of a poisonous plant. Would I ever need everything from these men? Who’s to say? She wouldn’t let me know her background, but whatever it was, it taught her to approach the world with mistrust and thirst. Everything could be milked, extracted, sucked, tasted--all to whet the appetite for more, to know more to get more. 

She needed to get home to put away this sample. She had ignored Justin for years now. Somehow, despite the fact that he was, at least financially worthless to her now, she was sad to say she needed him in another way. Her past was one of detachment. People swept in and out of her life with startling celerity, she felt Justin had been something certain and familiar. And that’s something. And I could lose him, she thought. Sad-eyed, dopey, Justin.

“Can I text you later?”

Without answering, she put on her pantsuit and walked out of the room, the house, and into her car as if leaving the false walls and imaginary ceilings of a movie set.

 

***

 

Justin hadn’t text back. Fuck, I’ve lost him . These gay-straights (straight-gays?) were prone to wander. His phone buzzed. He flipped it over: a text from Justin! He swiped his phone open and read: “I’m here.” Does he think I’m at my place? He’s stupid but not that stupid.

“Whoops! Sorry I’m not there. I’m still at work.”

“I know. I’m here.”

“What?! At State Farm?”

“Yeah, I’m in the parking lot. Can you let me in?”

Jake walked out of his cubicle and past others to the window. Among the spattering of night shift workers’ cars was Justin’s, headlights ablaze.

“Yeah, I will. One sex. *sec”

He couldn’t wait for the elevator so he bolted down the musty, dark stairwell and into the foyer. Justin’s figure, illuminated by the neon lamps outside the building, startled Justin at first. Aroused him, and blood gushed and rushed to his dick. Sad-eyed, dopey Justin tried to open the door before Jake got to him. With a smirk, Jake opened the door for Justin and silently led upstairs.

Jake looked above and around the field of cubicles to see if anyone was left in the office. The night workers had a room to their own, so his suite was abandoned. They rushed to his cubicle. He forgot that he kept a tiny framed picture of Ryan hidden behind a file stand. He quickly put it face down and beneath the folders before Justin has the chance to see. When he turned around, he felt Justin’s hand grab the back of his head and pull his lips to his.

Jake always thought that sex was an attempt at an existential venn diagram. Well, he thought sex was a physical approximation.

Their tongues dove deep into each others’ mouths and throats. They greedily gasped for air and for each other. Hands swept over bodies. Wanting the skin, the thickness for themselves (for each other?). Sad-eyed Justin pulled Jake towards him. He stepped backwards and rested his fat ass on the desk. So far, they’d only managed to untuck Jake’s red polo and ruffle their hair (oh, and precum was soaking their underwear). Jake leaned over Justin who laid back onto the desk, knocking the monitor over and crushing the keyboard. 

Justin pushed him back. Jake furrowed his brows. Justin grabbed Jake’s head between his two hands and pulled it towards his own. He turned Jake’s to the left and leaned in. Right into Jake’s ear Justin whispered, “I want you to fuck me,” and licked inside his ear.

Justin unbuckled his belt, undid his button and unzipped his pants. As Jake watched, he pulled down his pants and readjusted his dick as it painfully throbbed against the white seam of his fly. Justin lifted his legs into the air to pull his pants and underwear up and off. He forgot to take off his sneakers so he briefly struggled with his shoes.

What a fucking idiot. MY idiot. Jake helped Justin with this shoes, pants, and underwear. Justin’s belly was too big for him to easily bend to his feet, but as soon as his cumbersome khakis were off and thrown to the ground, Justin spread his legs open with the greatest ease.

Jake was light in the head at the sight before him. With this shirts still on, lying on his back, Justin’s bare, thick and hairy legs were spread wide open and his hard cock stood up in the air. The remaining fluorescent lights glowed off the precum dribbling off of Justin’s cock.

“C’mon,” Justin bossily said. He spread open his ass. Jake looked at the dark hair that surrounded his asshole. He winced from how tight his underwear was becoming against his everhardening dick.

“Do you need any lube or…”

SHUT the fuck up and fuck me!” Justin commanded.

Jake threw down his white briefs and shoved his cock deep into Justin.

Justin loudly winced in pain and threw his arms back behind him to support himself against the felt cubicle wall. Justin’s eyes squeezed shut as Jake dug his cock in even deeper. For being a chubbier guy, Jake kept his seven inch hard dick, and inch by inch he entered Justin. Once fully in, he felt Justin’s asshole relax. Justin began to moan in pleasure. His sad eyes opened and he stared looked at Jake with what can only be called love. 

Jake began to pull his dick out, only in order to put it back in, but Justin began to protest. “No, no, no, no, I need you in me. Stay in me for a bit.” He grabbed Jake’s ass and pulled it to get more of Jake’s dick in him. Justin whimpered as it went back in. For a minute, Justin just laid there with his eyes closed, occasionally shaking in pleasure. His asshole sporadically tightened and relaxed. 

As Jake looked down at Justin he thought, Poor thing. My poor thing. He didn’t know he needed cock. He’s going to be dependent on my dick. He didn’t even know.

“Okay,” Justin suddenly said. “You’re gonna need to pound me now.” And Jake immediately began to pound Justin as hard as he could.

“Oh!” Justin said out of surprise as Jake slammed his cock inside. “Oh oh oh oh ohoh errggggg.” His “ohs!” transformed into guttural grunts. His eyes slid upwards as Jake’s full cock stroked his ass and slammed against his prostate.

Moaning and grunting, Justin managed to get out, “I...love...this...I...want...it...harder” and Jake complied. The files on his desk began to slip on to the ground. Justin’s head slammed into the dividing cubicle wall with every one of Jake’s thrusts. His once solid and throbbing dick went soft and flapped against his fat stomach as Jake barreled into him. The wall started to lean more and more into his neighbor’s cubicle as Justin was essentially transformed into a battering ram. His moans and whimpers grew louder and louder until Jake finally leaned over, grabbed his precum-soaked briefs and shoved them into Justin’s mouth.

“I...love...this…” came Justin’s muffled cry. “I...love...this...and...I...love...you…” And with that, Jake delivered his final orgasmic thrusts into Justin and sent his sad-eyed little battering ram into the wall that finally collapsed beneath the weight and force of the brutally pounded Justin. Cum poured out of Jake’s cock onto his desk. The moment Justin arrived in the other cubicle, cum oozed out of his limp dick and puddled in his dark pubic hair. 

After a moment in which they both regained their breath, Jake leaned over his desk and looked over to the other cubicle to see his white briefs blanketed across Justin’s face. 

“You love me?”

Justin pulled the underwear off his face. He looked up to Jake and said, “Yes,” and reached behind his back and pulled out the framed picture of Ryan. “But who’s this?”


Chapter Text

With one eye open, Justin looked to see if his wife was asleep. He heard soft breathing and the slow, steady movement of the quilt rising and falling. Shifting, he leaned in and gave a quick sniff. Her normal stench. Alcohol. She was drenched in the stuff when he returned from his beautiful pounding from Jake. But, he smelled the subtle whiff of an unfamiliar alcohol: cologne? Not his. The complexity of the scent--deeply rich with a cutting sweetness--suggested a higher quality cologne, well above the the forty bucks Justin was willing to spend.

Despite that cheapness, Justin had always noticed the cologne other men wore. When a man, especially a clearly well-dressed man, walked by, Justin would brace for the breeze that came with his passing and the scent it carried; and, like a dumb dog, Justin would probingly sniff-sniff. And this, my friend, was a rich man’s cologne. The fucking cheating slut. Justin knew the irony of his judgment but for him, hypocritical condemnations never really clicked; two things can be true at the same time, and, if you have no stock in the moral realm, what’s it to you if your takedown of another can be said of you? Who enforces this shit? N-O-B-O-D-Y.

What is there to do? What can I do? Kill the man? Fuck the man? Why am I more jealous of Becky now that I’m in love with Jake? And fuck. Who is this Ryan guy? He looks exactly like my Ryan, well, my friend Ryan, my old friend Ryan. This guy had a different last name from high school and that was years ago. I guess I can hardly recognize the classmates that add me on Facebook, so maybe I just think it’s Ryan because the name Ryan. I didn’t pry too much, really. Jake didn’t want to seem to talk about it, but I got enough out of him to know this Ryan didn’t grow up or graduate from my high school. I hated to see my entrance into his life couldn’t immediately close the door on that old love, but at the same time, despite proof to the contrary, I couldn’t help but feel jealous of Jake for having this Ryan. So, am I jealous of Ryan because of Jake or jealous of Jake because of “Ryan”? Oh boy, this gay new world is sure confusing!

TELL ME ABOUT IT, SISTER.

Becky heard the sniff-sniff.

The dumb fuck thinks I’m sleeping. FUCK, I love him so much. He’s so pure and innocent. I know what he’s doing alright…but yet he still remains so clean and unknowing. Really like a child. A child has the vaguest sense of what is wrong or right. Children only know good and bad through external validation and confirmation and that’s the same with my sad-eyed Justin. With kids there’s a world beneath the world in which they walk around. Is that the same for Justin? Does he really just walk around beneath the world the rest of us share? We all say yes to the way things are and the way we think things should be but that all is of no consequence to Justin. It’s of no consequence to me, either. But I am on top of all of this while he’s at the bottom. I’ve got my arms outspread above the expanse of the earth and Justin is just rooting around the earth like a dumb little pig. All this being said, I have no designs other than my own protection. And I do have to protect myself against what might happen with Justin and this other person. If it’s another woman, then I’m fine. But, if it’s finally a man, I might finally be done for.

And Becky cried a single tear that night while her husband, lying awake beside her, imagined the awesome pounding he took earlier that night. Is his cum still in my ass?

And, somewhere, on the outskirts of town, prowled Ryan, deep in the woods, fucking a married man. The skin on the back shifted and he realized it had finally happened: they’ve met. He pulled the moaning man off his cock, turned him around, shoved him to his knees, came all over the confused face, and smacked the man’s face with everything he had.

 

***

 

The following morning Becky swore she saw cum dripping down her husband’s leg. Like wife like husband, I guess, she thought, bracing herself against the despair the grew now that her fear had finally be confirmed: he’s fucking men, and not only that, he’s getting fucked by men! Woe is me, my sackcloth is finally rent. I could be hallucinating, of course. She heard the shower turn on. He had closed the door but left it unlocked. Becky got out of bed and swiftly walked to the bathroom door.

Waiting to hear the shower door open and snap shut, she opened the door to a crack. And cracked open also was her husband’s ass! What was he doing down there?! He was spreading his ass and digging in his fingers. Sure, maybe to soap down everything in there, but, well, no, he’s slightly moaning now. My god, my husband loves anal.

I can’t believe how much he loved anal, thought Jake State, distractedly typing at his desk.

Am I gay? Am I bisexual? Justin wondered. I’ve heard the these words; I’ve feared these words. The shower poured over his body. Enjoying the sensation of pressure in my anus doesn’t necessarily mean gay/bisexual, right? Straight men enjoy that, right? And my wife can’t penetrate me or another woman can’t do that, right? I guess some women could, either through biology or artificial means. I don’t think men that self-pleasure through masturbation are gay. So, if I self-stimulate my anus with my finger or a phallic instrument, that also would not be gay, right? I’m not gay for wanting to kiss a man’s lips, right? Other men in other countries and cultures do that, right? Out of love, too, right? So that does not make me gay. So, if you combine the wanting to combine the two non-gay acts of kissing the lips of another man and being penetrated by a phallic object (well, I guess in this case it is the literal phallus), that would still be, in total, not-gay, right? Would this combination be additive or multiplicative? UH-OH, a negative times a negative is a POSITIVE! I am POSITIVELY gay!

Before his mind’s eye came visions of himself jock-stapped, leather-bound, bound&gagged, booty-shorted, little-briefed, mesh-briefed, speedoed, popperfilled, bulging-briefs, circuit-queening, coked-out-of-mind, cigar-smoking, etc. etc. etc.

His frown turned upside down: FUCK YEAH!