“How does a fellow get to be gay? I might not know all of the ways or the proper explanations, but I know of one way that’ll turn anybody gay and that’s to be married to a chick like Ellen. Yeah, Ellen, that’s the bitch’s name. I ought to know, because I was married to her for almost three years, and a hell of a marriage it was. Maybe I wouldn’t have made the mistake if I’d known more about women at the time that I married her, but I didn’t. Hell, she was the only woman I’d ever been to bed with more than once. I’d balled about four cunts before I met up with her but they were all one-night stands. Ellen, she seemed a little different and I guess I fell for her act.
“You know, people believe a lot of stuff about artists, about how we all don’t do much except slap paint on canvas and ball every babe in sight. Maybe that’s true for some artists, but I never knew one that it fitted. For me, anyway, after I’d been standing in front of an easel for five or six hours in a row, sweating my balls off and trying to figure out some way of getting what was in my head down onto canvas, I wasn’t ready for anything but a long time in the sack. And I do mean alone! I thought painting was damned hard work and I’ve never known a painter who didn’t agree with me on that, if on nothing else.
Continue reading Novel of Anal sex 1.
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Fantasy, Anal and Erotica
I sat on the bed, and viewed the marvel before me, close enough to reach out and touch. A sweet oval face, framed by long blonde hair. Long blonde eyelashes too, around massive pale blue eyes, sparking with life and personality. A button nose. Thick, pink, kissable lips. Moving down, a slender neck, high collarbones, and oh, such breasts! Large – maybe the size of grapefruit – and perfectly shaped, hanging deliciously from a pale chest.
Further down, a smooth belly, tapered to a narrow waist, with the slightest wisps of the longest golden locks poking out to either side. Then wide, flared, feminine hips.
And just at the meeting of long, lithe, shapely legs, a proud, erect penis, mirroring mine a few feet away from it. Hanging just below the engorged member, the unmistakeable wrinkled skin of a scrotum, slightly distended by the testicles it contained.
I looked back up, from those male genitals, across the perfect feminine body, to those shining eyes. I saw the hope and fear at war there, the desperation, the entreaty. And I made my decision.
Sleeping with Beauty
I was late, of course. By the time I arrived at the court, I was greeted by an eerie silence, walking through rooms and rooms of people sitting, slouching, laying, all of them sleeping as if frozen in time. I slowly paced the long hallways, quiet rooms and courtyards, stripping off more and more layers of my gown until I was completely naked, enjoying the freedom, the feeling of a cool, light breeze on my breasts, safe in the knowledge that nobody could see me now as I set out to enact my revenge.
It started many years ago. The king and queen had tried long and hard to conceive, and despite all their efforts, the queen remained . Fearing the ever-growing unrest of her husband and being cast out on suspicion that she might be barren, she grew more and more desperate. And so, late one autumn night, I heard her faint tapping on my door.
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