DAMAGED - A Bad Boy Romance (87 page)

I’m standing calmly, and I take a slow, disinterested sip of champagne. My hair is longer now, and has grown down to my lower back, where it grazes the top of my black suspenders. I’m wearing my favorite leather thigh highs, the ones with spike heels and tiny red chains around the ankle, plus a long, long string of real pearls that falls down between my bare breasts and to my belly button.

I’m tipsy, but not overly so.

For a moment, I have stepped back from the fray, standing apart from the mass of bodies in front of me, some dancing, some breaking off into slower moving groups of two or three, some already heavily twisted into each other… patches of light catch on their naked bodies.

He is at the center, and as he makes eye contact with me, a deep, knowing glance erupts on his face. He smiles a small, private smile. I return one of my own. The music is good tonight,
very
good, and I let my head fall back a little as I enjoy it, enjoying also the summer air on my half-naked body, and the cold, wet crystal glass against my fingertips, of the near-bursting perfection of this moment, seemingly held in suspension all around me. The yacht is far from the shore now, floating in inky blackness, only the lapping of water reminding us that we’re still technically on planet earth. A familiar cry breaks me out of my daydreaming.

The woman in front of me is being fucked to within an inch of her life.

Her entire face is flushed red, the color extending far down onto her chest and to her two swollen nipples. She’s writhing like something possessed, as though she’s about to combust into flames at any second.

“She won’t come until I tell her she can,” says her tormentor to me. He flicks a sweat-damp fringe from his face and pummels into her with more urgency.

“What do you think – should we let her come?” he says through strained breath, flashing deep, laughing brown eyes in my direction.

I smile.

A year ago, I had only seen this man in pixelated images. He had been nothing more than ink on a newspaper for me and now …now he was sweaty and deep in a yelping woman who seemed to be melting before our very eyes.

“Well…?” he asks again.

Kai looks beseechingly into my eyes, her hair damp and disheveled and her lovely face contorting with pleasure.

“No, fuck her a little more” I say, and smile.

I lock my eyes with hers, savoring that sweet moment, and blow her a little kiss. It’s a bit mean, sure, but I’ll make it up to her later.

- THE END -

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A Gay Romance Of Cosmic Proportions

I had been working my cock into a frenzy for the last four days. I know that’s a bit excessive, but I was almost there. If I could only push past the thrill of orgasm long enough to connect with the rest of the cosmos, I knew that I’d be able to achieve what I was looking for.

Nirvana.

Enlightenment.

Satori.

Auto-Masturbatory-Tantric-Bliss.

For sure there was something I was missing. I gave up the no anal rule I had been given so long ago. I figured that you had to be able to ground yourself somehow, and the whole point of working with this type of sex magic was to have a firm grasp on your body. No better way of doing that than burying a finger in your ass.

I had never been with a man before, and each time I was with a woman, there were so many different relationship aspects to keep in mind — not to mention the pregnancy issue. Ultimately, it felt better just to focus on myself, and figure out my own sexuality. On the other hand, I was lonely, and I hoped that I would be able to meet someone soon. I knew all relationships were likely full of conflated drama and problematic interpersonal emotional exchanges. Just seemed like every time I ejaculated that I was wasting a critical resource that could have been gifted to another person.

There was something driving me forward. This was my fourth session in one day. Each time I would get close to orgasm, and then back off again — edging my way toward my goal. There was a part of me that truly felt like I might be able to connect with the divine if only I had the right mindset while approaching orgasm.

I figured it was like suicide.

You know they say that you can’t commit suicide unless you have a completely pure state of mind, otherwise you end up in a hell realm with ten thousand other miserable fags — each one wanting to off themselves for one reason or another. The loophole for this sort of thing appeared to be in the realm of non-attachment. If you were able to die without being attached to anything in the earthly realm, then you were good. The problem was that most people were attached to things — different psychological blocks, or relationship hang-ups, etc. Then, when you offed yourself, you ended up becoming inadvertently connected with the very thing you were trying to escape the whole time.

I think it’s like that for orgasms as well.

The whole time you’re thinking about shooting your load, then you shoot your load, and it’s all over. Maybe if you’re lucky, you break a sweat, or get a bit of a cardio workout. If you’re even luckier, then you don’t have to wash shit off of your fingers, when you’re done. You might even feel motivated enough to eat your own jizz. All of that is to say that masturbating without an objective is kind of anticlimactic in and of itself.

Not to mention porn. Don’t even get me started about porn. You masturbate while fantasizing about some hot bodies on a computer screen, and then when you ejaculate your soul gets flung out at the screen and tied up with all of those other people lusting after that fucking incubus you’ve placed before yourself on your laptop.

We’ve reached the core of the subject: where do you place your soul?

Sex is centered around this single basic question. These are the fundamental principles of sex magic.

I was certain that if I could just figure out exactly how it worked — what sort of things I were supposed to focus on, then I could bring something beautiful into my life. I was looking for something that would change the way I experienced reality forever.

My favorite thing to focus on was the different colors of my chakras. I would start inside of my asshole, and picture light filling up my entire body, one color at a time. I wanted the light to go up my shaft, and all the way up my spine until it was bursting out of my head. Ideally, at that point, I would be connected with the entire universe. I’m pretty sure the rest of my life would be taken care of from that point onward. Once you are able to transmute your body into a divine entity during sex, the rest of life has to be pretty well managed. I figure both attitude and personality adjustments were implicit in a transformation of soul.

I pictured myself as a sexual monk. I wanted to be someone who knew the inner ways of sexual enlightenment, and could then teach people.

“Come to me,” I thought, while stroking myself. “Let me fill you with light, and show you the keys to the kingdom.”

I didn’t even fully grasp how arrogant I must be to believe that I could transfer enlightenment through my cock.

The only problem was that before I could push myself through into the final stages of visualization, I would inadvertently blow my load. What can you do when you shoot holy cum all over yourself but lick it off, and wish that you had someone else to include in your practice?

At this point in our story, it’s important for me to introduce Thomas, the Moli Faerie.

Like all good rave kids, Thomas had long given up a strict masculine conception of self. Thomas’s pronouns had been changed to “Ze / Zir”. Regardless of the fact that I have seen Thomas’s junk bounce up and down at a nude dance hall, I still wanted to be respectful of
zir
decisions. Regardless of the pronouns in operation, I still preferred the name, “Thomas the Moli Faerie.”

At any rate, Thomas was known to sell the best drugs available to the LBGTQ community. The MDMA Thomas sold was primo. What made the deal even more sweet, was that if you were a new customer, you got to be baptized by Thomas’s “Faerie Juice.”

Just one of the perks of hooking up with a drug maven, I suppose.

I hadn’t made a purchase from Thomas yet, but the standard offer was to get down on your knees and open your mouth. At that point, Thomas would offer you a powdered cock to snort and suck clean. Supposedly it was bitter, but useful if you didn’t have the money up front. The offer was only available to newcomers, and I had been keeping that possibility in my back pocket for some time now. I figured that if I was high on pure ecstasy, I could probably get in touch with my sexuality enough to find God.

My plan seemed reasonable. I didn’t have anything else to do that evening except continue to lick my own frustrated cum from my hands. The decision had only taken me a few years to form into an actionable plan. Realizing I had nothing to lose, I got dressed and left to Thomas’s favorite haunt,
“Lectricland”.

I threw on some tight and trendy clothes -- as best as I could muster under the circumstances. I stopped by the mirror in the bathroom on my way out the door to fuck with my hair for a bit, and then sighed defeatedly. My outfit wouldn’t fool anyone, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change the fact. I’m not really a clubber, and I’m definitely not ‘scene’ material.

I left my apartment. My hands still smelled like semen, but I figured that was probably for the best.

“Pheromones for Faeries,” I thought.

Whether celestial bodies or green traffic lights, all things luminous seemed to shine for me that evening. There was a distinct feeling in the air that tonight was the night that might change everything. At that point, I wasn’t sure whether or not the zeitgeist of the moment was fate or desperation, but it didn’t seem to matter much.

My emotional wave was strong, and I was committed to riding things out -- however they might end up.

Like so many other itinerate, vampy faggots I got my start in this business by sucking cock. It wasn’t long before I was giving it up the ass to homo-normative, macho types while they begged me to call them princess. I’d slap them in the ass, keep topping them, and pull their hair in warning.

“If you so much as lose a single drop of cum that doesn’t end up in my mouth I will never fuck you again,” I told them. “Every single other man in the city will know exactly how worthless and disgusting of a bottom you are. I’m the fucking princess in this relationship.”

You had to be firm with biker types. That’s the only language they understand. Naturally I videotaped the whole thing, and streamed it online. Main goal was never to give a fuck, and always to get my fix. Realistically, they probably got a kick out of being publically owned. Degradation is the fantasy life of those fuckers.

I’m a self - styled incubus and cum vampire. On a decent night, I can drink deeply from the fountains of about twelve or thirteen cocks. Others might have me beat in that regard, but I’d like to point out one difference between myself and those whores you might be thinking of — I deal purely in seduction, not cash. As trivial as it may sound, I find that when money becomes tied up in an exchange of unmitigated lust, it only serves to detract from the currency of exchange. I have my eye on more pristine sustenance. Money is a holder of value, and I want all of that value to be stored within the sperm when it lands at the back of my throat.

Worship is how you get the most out of your victims. You make their prayers saturate inside of the sperm before you swallow; it’s a neat trick. You don’t get much better than that in terms of potency for sexual fluids.

If you’re confused, try to think of things in terms of a celebrity. Sure, they get paid great money to be a public whore. Unless they move in toward prostitution in the first place, they don’t usually get paid to have sex. Of course, a celebrity is not at a lack for people who are willing to sexually worship their bodies. The fact that a celebrity is sexually desired by so many people is a major component which fuels the power of their image.

Most people don’t think of this in the same way as I do, but my eyes have been baptized by cum enough times to understand true reality when I see it — True Celebrities are those who understand and implement sexual vampirism in its most potent form.

I figured out the mechanics of my game, and made no pretense of it. Consequently, in the circles I ran, they called me Stoker.

My only problem is that I was getting a bit tired of my usual form of play. The thirst for that which is unique is an unfortunate aspect of my game. Conquering weak willed people is only exciting for so long, and then you need to move onto more difficult prey.

I needed to find some thrill beyond the ordinary seizure of spiritual power through subversive cock-sucking methods. I needed to find someone who would literally worship me. I wanted to get someone to fall in love with me.

I’ve deliberated about this sort of thing quite a bit while testing the waters. I suspected that the most potent source sperm had to be fresh from the body of someone who truly loved you. Most people that I fuck don’t love me. I deal most commonly in the realm of lust. In order to test my theory, I needed to find sincere, to the core, I offer you my soul, love.

Usually that type of love requires a commitment, but I knew where I could get that kind of love for less than 20 bucks a hit. One of my rules for personal play was never buy sex, because when you do that you tend to cheapen yourself. I thought that maybe this once… it might be worth the front cost in the name of experimentation. All I needed to do was find that candy-flipped queer, Thomas. Then I could pick an easy mark, and let the chips fall where they may.

“Lectricland, here we come,”
I thought to myself while slicking my hair back in the mirror.

Cute little skulls and bats adorned the outside of my mirror, and I thought my jet black hair looked stunning against the fabric of my suit. If I could suck my own cock with any sort of efficiency, I probably would. I had a much more fun directing my attentions toward others. I enjoyed the feeling of having another soul wrapped around my finger — or dick for that matter. The sense of control was delicious.

I snapped my teeth at myself in the mirror, and grinned at the sight of my own pearly whites. Narcissism had to be my favorite game of all time; I was damn good at it.

***

I walked into the club like
“Everybody want’s to be like me” / “Everybody wants to get with me”
. Riding the high of my own attitude, I swayed my ass while I wagged my finger at the gawkers.

“Sorry hun, Looking for someone special, and it ain’t you,”
was the message written on my heart.

I was in absolute control, and I loved it.

I didn’t have to say any of these things, that was the beautiful part. When you’re on your A-Game, you don’t need to put up or put out for anybody. The world revolves around your dick, and that’s all there is to it. Even if it’s not true, our society is so pathological that people find those sort of characteristics to be magnetic.

“Lost in the wilderness, let my cock show you the way,”
I thought to myself, while half-scanning the densely populated and colorful floor of
Lectricland.

I knew who my mark was, and I knew I wouldn’t have to try too hard to point them out. Never hurts to put out a few positive vibes though. As long as the show was for future potential victims, and not for my own ego. One of the primary rules of running the show in a social context is that you can’t ever sip your own cool-aid.

Know what I mean?

The moment you start believing in your own shit, is when you get lost. The whole point of being able to project a belief system was so that I could sway those around me who are more weak willed into becoming subservient to my direction. If I started to believe my own shit, then I would be forced to make implicit ethical decisions based on the values that I had propagated. People who lived with a core set of values were fools, as far as I could tell.

Thomas, for example, was a fool.

Thomas the Moli Faerie was flamboyant as fuck — it was part of the dealer game. The only problem was that Thomas was a weak fucker when it came to screwing other people over. You always knew where you were at with Thomas, even if it only took a glance in the eyes. The first hit was free with a blowjob, and each one after that was $25 a hit. What most didn’t know is that Thomas had a weakness for being fucked in the ass. If you know how make an asshole beg for your cock, you can get the person to commit to anything. Once a promise has been secured, it would take a person of more flexible moral fiber to back out.

Promises, therefore, are for fools with no clear sense of direction.

Thomas may have been flamboyant, but when you beg to be fucked up the ass -- let’s just say your stash gets
raided
. Thomas’s real problem was the belief in a karmic system of exchange. A lot of dealers went in for that sort of thing. Personally, I think it’s because they like to feel like they’re in control, concerning the possibility that they might get busted, and their entire career would be trashed. Dealing with the unknown can be a scary thing, and if you’re not prepared for it adequately, you can do a lot of stupid shit.

I took a deep breath, and sipped on my first top shelf whiskey of the night. Some hopeful tranny bought it for me, and was chatting me up like a fly in my ear. I found it was better to accept the gift, and then proceed to offer exactly nothing in return. Not even my attention. Encouragement them only gives them hope, and there are always others who are dying to buy you a drink, or get you loaded in exchange for that
special
sort of attention.

“Speak of the devil,”
I thought, as the liquor burned its way to my stomach.

On the other side of the room, a young man with a rainbow colored afro was fist pumping his way from the back entrance of the club. An entourage of twenty heads were following him, and all but one of them was held back by the velvet rope which separated the high-class rooftop garden patrons from the dance floor proletariat.

“Never made you bend over on the roof before, Thomas,”
I thought to myself while pouring the remainder of the lowball tumbler into my mouth.

The glass slammed down on the counter, and I licked my lips. There would be a crowd of people to perform in front of, and this was going to be interesting as hell. I made my way through the dance floor and over to the stairwell. Before I left, I laughed out loud; that queer who bought me the whisky was still trying to speak to me as I walked away.

“Some people never learn,”
I shook my head and grinned; this was going to be
fun
.