I hunger. A deep, insatiable desire. My gut broils with the fury of billions of souls. The male hive mind. The great and mighty coagulate. Never am I so in tune with the flows of testosterone as I am in these blinding moments. I want one thing, and I will have it.
My tastes are absurd, and I know it. But I’m desperate. Mine is the hunger of a cannibal. There is food all around me, but only one thing will sate my appetite. It’s the middle of the day, just after school. My siblings are with friends and my parents are out of the house. I’m perfectly alone. The main route to my quarry is blocked, software on my computer watching my every move. Alas, I’m no fool. I’ve been told a man is to carve his own path. Here, I carve mine.
Warily, I descend the blue tiled stairs of our house. There’s nobody here to catch me. I would hear anybody coming in and have more than enough time to evacuate before they could catch me. Yet, within me lingers that familiar feeling. A poisonous unease. Even when nothing could go wrong, it makes sure I’m prepared for everything to go wrong all at once.
Slipping into my parent’s room, I get straight to business. I tip toe up to my father’s desk, rummaging through it’s drawers until I find a white flash drive. A perfect hold for my cargo. Then it’s to the computer. What they may track through mine, they cannot track through hers. For this, I apologize to my dearest mother.
Popping open the relatively new MacBook, I insert the password. Guilt wracks my gut. I was given this password in confidence. My duties were to order fast food with this code, not acquire x rated material. I had betrayed my honor, my home and my mother.
All in the name of the Nut.
I quickly find the file I wanted and download it, transferring it soon after to the thumb drive. Mission complete, head back to base!
There’s still no threat to my safety, but I don’t want to be in this room any longer than I have to. It just reminds me of my betrayal. My bare feet slap against the tiles as I race back upstairs to my room.
I live in a fort, hidden from the world. The bottom of a frame of a set of bunk beds turned sideways and pushed against the top frame. Inside is a small rectangular space filled with a desk, an office chair and a bean bag. It’s quite cramped. I have a mattress, of course, but for some stupid fucking reason I choose to sleep on this leaking bean bag in an absurd square hovel like some kind of mole man.
Here, in my inner sanctum, I can finally relax. I hop onto my computer, plugging in my contraband. This is the moment of glory. The plan has gone without a hitch, and the installation is easier than ever. I start up Skyrim with glee. This is it. This is the next step in pornographic entertainment.
I can see a titty. I can see a drawn titty. I can see two of them, three of them, whatever I desire, I can find it in a web browser. But not this.
In seconds, I remove the clothes from my female character, panning the camera around to look at her front. Web browsers don’t have that. I am the titty. I control the titty. Where I go, it goes. This is the pinnacle of technology. Every step mankind has made since the dawn of time has led to this. This is it. Exactly what I hungered for.
But I quickly grow bored. It’s exactly what I wanted, but it’s still not enough.
A lot of effort for something so short lived. Was it worth the guilt? Probably not. But that’s how this business works. The guilt was nothing compared to the burning.
Do you know what it feels like to sin? Nothing, usually. Maybe a slight surge of guilt, but little more. In my young mind, I found that some sin had a physical response. Hot. Too hot. Like holding your hand close to a flame.
If it’s not clear, I was a fucking idiot.
My dick would catch fire. Not actually catch on fire, with like, real flames and shit, that would probably be less worrisome. There’s an immediate solution to that. If your dick is on fire, put it out. Done. What if your dick burns from within? You can’t fix that so easily. And it’s really fucking stressful because I started to wonder, like, what the fuck is wrong with my sweet, innocent pener? Do I have mega gonorrhea? Did I accidentally rip all of the skin off of it without noticing? There were endless possibilities.
Or perhaps… This was punishment for my sins. Everything comes at a price, and apparently so do I. You play with fire, you get burned. You play with yourself, same thing.
What worried me most is that I had never heard of these jack off burns before. Not one person had spoken about them, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the first. Were other boys too stalwart to admit that it hurt? Perhaps it was a sign of weakness to bring it up. Regardless, if they could handle it, I could too.
You know what it feels like to be a complete fucking imbecile? I know it all too well. Funny enough, it’s not supposed to feel like you covered your willy in gasoline and torched it with a flamethrower. Not one bit. How I didn’t guess this before, God knows, but one day it hit me.
See, after a while you forget that some things hurt. Say, just as an example, Anti-Dandruff shampoo. You use that. After a while, you start to forget that it burns your scalp like a mother fucker. Eventually, it just feels like a vibrant buzzing on your head. Nothing strange about that. Now, imagine you happen to be dumb enough not to realize that said shampoo might hurt other skin. Imagine you’re giving the most sensitive part of your body chemical burns every day and just thinking ‘oh, shit, wow, guess that’s normal’.
Probably pretty hard to imagine that. Lucky me, I don’t have too. Christ.
Anything seems normal when you’re hopped up on hormones. Anything and everything is fair game. Every escalation that can be made must be made. Nothing will strike you as odd until you’re finished and by then it’s too late. You can’t take back what’s been done.
However, these escalations… Well, sometimes they don’t end like you would hope. Actually, they never do, but sometimes it’s really just way, way worse than you could have expected.
Things can go wrong very quickly. Or they can take their sweet time. Too many ideas go through your head. They’re all bad ones, but you think there has to be a good one somewhere in there. You sift through them, finally deciding on the one that you will later realize was the very worst one you could have chosen. Mistakes are made.
Let me be clear; I have no problems with dudes shoving shit up their ass. It just isn’t for me. I’ve been to the hospital very few times, but, uh… I mean, don’t go get me wrong. This isn’t the story of how I tore my sphincter asunder with a Bad Dragon. I didn’t want anything phallic up my ass. That was gay. But also, people said it feels really fucking good. And for real, if shit isn’t meant to go up a guy’s ass, why is his g-spot hiding up there? The fuck is up with that?
Unfortunately for me, I’m destined to never find this illusive ‘g-spot’. It would have been best if I had never tried.
Nothing big. Just a pen. That’s the only thing that ever broke my butt law. Going backwards on a one-way road. Travelling to where no man has gone before, and hopefully where no man shall ever go.
I won’t get into specifics, more for your sake than mine. It was like using a paper clip to reset a Tamagochi. Never thought I would compare my asshole to a Tamagochi. Don’t know how I feel about that. It was strange. Embarrassing. Dudes didn’t put stuff in their boy holes. I had desecrated a holy (ha) place. I threw the pen in the trash, seeping shame.
It’s strange to think about life. My parents created me. At birth, I was their beloved baby. I almost died at childbirth, actually. Lung shit. They spent days wondering if I was going to be okay. Worrying for their child’s safety. Finally, I was all fixed up and I was good to go. Their baby was saved. They could take me home. I would live.
Years later that baby is shoving stationery up his asshole. What a crazy fucking world we live in.
Over the next couple of days, I noticed it was becoming harder and harder to sit. At first it was just a strange, sharp pain when I would lean back too far. Then it started to hurt more. The sweet spot of where I could safely sit got smaller. With each increase in pain came a decrease in safe butt space.
After three or four days I was finding it nigh impossible to stay seated. Every time I sat down, my… What the fuck do you call it? Hidden in the valley of cheeks, too detached to be spine but too far north to be considered fully ass. Whatever you’d call it, it would sting unbearably. As I said, I’ve been to the hospital very few times. Hospitals wig me out, so I never brought up health issues unless they seemed urgent.
I had identified what was causing the pain. A giant, bulbous entity was hiding in crack valley. There was an intruder in my butt. I didn’t know what it was, but it was growing rapidly, and it hurt like a mother fucker if it was so much as touched. This seemed pretty god damn urgent.
Now, I’ll avoid specifics with this as well, because it’s some nasty shit. You ever heard of an anal abscess? It’s basically a big ball of nasty goop that gets filled with more and more nasty goop the longer you wait, and it hides on your ass. The doctor we spoke with told us a list of causes. If I was sitting too much, that could have possibly caused it. Or it could be caused by trauma to the region. Anal trauma. Ah poo.
I wouldn’t really consider the pen to be trauma, but I guess I don’t know how my sphincter felt about it. Could have been quite vexing. Nothing penetrates you for your entire existence, and then BAM, you’ve been infiltrated.
I just said I’d been sitting a whole lot lately. Whole lot. Just a… Just a whole bunch of sitting.
So, they cut this thing open. They invite my mother in the room to look at it (???). She said it was nasty as fuck and I’m inclined to believe her. They fill it with gauze, give me some pain killers and tell me to come back every day for like a week and get this gauze replaced.
As if a dude incising my butt isn’t enough, I have to go back into this hospital every damn day and let a whole group of like four people poke at my second butt hole. Sucks man. Every dude has a cute Asian nurse fetish. How about four cute Asian nurses? Sounds like a dream come true right? I even get to drop my pants.
And let them pull gauze out of my hairy ass while I whimper like a child. Sad life, man. Sad fucking life.
Don’t let it escalate, boys and girls. Keep those urges down. Control them. Never let them rule you. It’s not worth it. A pen up your ass today will cost all of the self-respect you have tomorrow.
Just kidding. It took a couple more missteps to lose the rest of that.