The Dispute

"Sometimes a man has to use force in order to protect that which he loves," said Mark.

"That's true," I was forced to admit; "but there must be more to it than that. I believe that you are fascinated by force in itself, for its own sake. Why else do you study the art of war in time of peace?" I asked.

"In time of war it is too late," he replied; but by answering my question literally, he was deliberately evading the main thrust of my argument.

I decided to try a more direct line of attack. "Well, that's true, too. But there must be some attraction in it for you. If it's the national defense which concerns you, there are plenty of other people who are already in the service of our country; and if you were to resign your position at West Point, your place would quickly be filled by someone else. What's the attraction for you in a military career? Did you never outgrow playing with toy guns and tanks?"

"I like real ones better," he said. "I love to hold a gun in my hand, to feel all that power packed into my fist. It's a beautiful thing."

"So you want to play soldier when you grow up; the toys just get bigger and better. But being in the Army is not a game, you know. The life is so regimented," I argued. "Or do you like having to snap to attention and do as you're told, every time a man with a pair of chevrons on his shoulders walks by? A lot of good having a gun does you then."

"I won't be saluting a corporal, he'll be saluting me," Mark said indignantly. "But I have no objection to the principle. It's discipline that makes the Army strong. Men can't think in the middle of a pitched battle, or they're lost. They must be trained to obey without thinking, so that the men who command them can mount an organized attack. So all the guns and tanks in the world are powerless without discipline. And by submitting to the authority of his superior officers, a man actually gains power, because the Army is made stronger, and that strength is, by extension, his own. So I don't mind following the orders of my superiors. Besides, a man of ambition and ability like me will be able to advance in the ranks to a position of responsibility, where he'll have many other men under his own command."

"So you admit then that it's the power that you want," I said, seizing the advantage. I felt that I had touched him on a point on which he was sensitive and so provoked him into dropping his guard.

"Maybe so. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Isn't there? Sure, force may sometimes be necessary. But that's no reason glorify violence. It's not glamorous, it's brutal and uncivilized."

"Maybe," he said. "But there's a part of man, brutal and savage, made to compete in the struggle for life, that enjoys contests and the thrill of victory. It may be primitive, but the instinct can't be denied or suppressed. A man wouldn't be a complete man without it. Besides, without this male competitive instinct, there wouldn't be any civilization anyhow: there would be no drive, no ambition, no creativity. So it's only natural for a man to be attracted by force, power and domination."

"Well, that's all very well, but the way you speak this pseudo-Darwinian language and talk about sexual behavior appropriate to male gorillas, you make it sound like you're really saying that wanting to be a soldier makes you more of a man."

"If that's the way you want to put it. Certainly a military career is a manly occupation."

"But that's ridiculous, Mark," I said, thinking at last to deliver the decisive blow. "If you think it's natural for men to be domineering, then you must also believe that all women are naturally weak and submissive, and long to be subordinated to their men."

"Well, of course," he replied. "They'd never admit it, obviously, but it gives them a little thrill when you let them know you're the boss. I should know; that's how I get all the girls."

I felt a peculiar twinge of jealousy in response to this remark. Mark was, of course, very popular with the girls, naturally, since he was tall, and boyishly good-looking in his own way, as well as being very athletic, and not because of an overbearing attitude like this one; on the other hand, I was quite inexperienced, and so I felt I could not answer this argument without revealing my own ignorance.

"You can't really mean what you're saying," I protested weakly.

"I can prove it to you," he replied calmly.

"How?" I demanded.

"Well, to begin with, I'm much bigger and stronger than you are-"

"Oh, come now, Mark," I said. "You're not all that much bigger than me."

"Let's compare," he said, jumping up from his seat beside me on the couch. "Come stand next to me, and let's see who's taller."

I did not know how I had allowed the contest to shift to a ground on which he was clearly superior, for there was no disputing his greater stature. Somehow, from a position of advantage, I had fallen to one where he had the upper hand. However, I could not withdraw from his challenge without losing more ground, so I slowly rose to confront him.

Mark, at six foot two, was well above average height: indeed, I realized, he really was strikingly tall. The contrast was even more marked, because I am short, though well built for my size. Yet, it was only a matter of a few inches, I thought, giving myself the benefit of the doubt by mentally adding an inch to my own height. But when he strode up to me, I found I had to look way up to meet his gaze. He made me feel physically awkward. He towered over me. Those inches, seeming few, made a more significant difference than I had realized, or admitted to myself. He grinned, and a twinkle lit his eyes, when he saw that he had made his point.

"And see how broad my shoulders are," he said, stepping back to give me a better view. I felt unaccountably relieved, as though his proximity were a burden from which I had been released.

I disliked being forced to participate in his scheme of self- aggrandizement, but I could not help but turn my eyes as he directed. Actually, in my critical appraisal, he was not very broad-shouldered. In fact, for a man of his height, which, as I was now forced to admit, was very great, he was quite slender. I thought that his boyish figure, with his long, slim torso, narrow waist, and big buttocks, had an almost effeminate curvaceousness that was quite attractive. For after all, since he was so much taller than me, he had by proportion a couple more inches across the shoulders. I was beginning to perceive just how large a man Mark really was, now that I had been led to make the observation.

Then he said, "And see how big my hands are," thrusting a hand out for my examination. It was simply huge, incommensurately large even for a man of his newly acknowledged build and stature. But despite its ungainly size, it was well-made, strong and manly. The fingers were thick and handsome: the thumbnail broad, yet brief, pared close to the quick, the lunule almost entirely obscured by the untrimmed cuticle. Except for the smoothness and pallor of the skin, it was a hand that deserved to belong to a manual laborer.

"It's huge, Mark," I said, hoping that he would let me continue admiring it. But instead, he grinned a big manly grin that showed his teeth. Then he seized hold of my wrist and guided my hand to his biceps, saying, "But you don't have to see it only; here, now feel how strong I am."

I marvelled at how thick his arm was; my fingers hardly spanned it, and the flesh was solid, hard as a rock. I pinched the muscle to test its firmness, but it was unyielding. Thus, I was astonished to learn that this was its relaxed condition, for he flexed it, and a huge rigid knot formed under his sleeve.

"And here," he said, moving my hand to his breast. One fingertip accidentally rested on a nipple, which I found to be erect. Embarrassed, I moved it and cupped the hard round tumulus of his pectoral muscle in my palm. He flexed it and made it bulge for me, and though his shirt I felt his flesh rippling with power.

Impressed in spite of myself, I asked, "Do you work out all the time, Mark?"

"No," he answered; "I get enough of a workout from playing racketball."

Of course racketball was the sort of game that would develop precisely the muscle groups Mark had permitted me to feel, and he had no doubt achieved his place as captain and star of the racketball team through many hours of hard practice. I knew that he was quite fast on the court as well, especially for a man of his size, and so I imagined that his legs were as powerful as the rest of his body. I wondered if he would let me feel them too.

"You're pretty strong," I said admiringly, reluctantly withdrawing my hand from his breast.

"Well, then, I think I've proven my point," he said.

"What point?"

"Well, you've admitted that I'm bigger and stronger than you, and that you like me better for it. Just think how much greater the effect on you would be if you were a woman. You would find yourself submitting to my authority, and you would like it, and you wouldn't even realize it was happening as you did it."

I was very disturbed by this speech. Something in it made me quite uncomfortable. I had been perfectly frank and honest with Mark, openly admitting my admiration for his large build and athletic physique, and he had taken advantage of my frankness and turned it against me, and with such success that I was left with no more cogent reply than to sputter, "Oh, Mark, how can you say such things?"

"Do I need to give you a more personal demonstration?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I demanded defensively.

"I'll show you how to get a girl, if you want to see how it's done. The main thing is not to let her realize that she is being seduced, or she'll get her defenses up, and then you won't succeed. So to start with, you might flatter her a little, to lull her suspicions. Find something nice about her to remark about. For instance, you might admire her cleavage," he said, tapping me on the breast with a heavy index finger. "Your chest is so hairy," he said. He twirled the hair of my shaggy breast with his coarse fingers. "You should show more of it." His fingers, so clumsy and awkward to look at, deftly opened a few buttons and spread my collar, exposing my bosom. "There, I like that. That's much better.-Meanwhile, as you begin to gain her confidence, you start taking advantage of it, taking small liberties with her, not so great that she becomes alarmed and resistant, but imposing yourself physically on her in subtle ways. This part is very important," he said, stepping closer and laying a large hand earnestly on my shoulder. "You need to make friendly little gestures that build up a sense of warmth and friendship. For instance, you could touch her hand, or her arm," he said, illustrating both of these suggestions with his free hand. "Now she likes you and trusts you, but the physical contact is working subconsciously to generate that warmth that she feels. You can take advantage of that to push her limits, before she starts thinking of setting boundaries. You know," he said, putting his arm around my shoulders, "I wouldn't tell my secrets to just anyone, but we're such good friends, and I like you so much, that I'm glad to give you this advice.-By this time, of course, you're past her defenses, having gradually accustomed her to your impositions. Now you can make your intentions more explicit. For instance, you could give her butt a pat, like this," he said, moving his hand to my buttocks, fondling them, giving them a little squeeze. "I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, by the way?" he asked.

"No," I lied.

"Good," he said, pressing himself closer. "If she lets you get away with that, you might try to cop a feel." He touched one of my nipples and prodded it, as though illustrating his point. I could feel it getting hard under the stimulation. "At this point, you see, she may think of protesting, but if you've done your work well, it's too late for that. She's been too permissive, and by the time she becomes aware of it, she's already responding to you sexually. If she protests at all, it will probably be weakly, as even she realizes that she doesn't really mean it, and she doesn't really want you to stop. Though you still have to force her to admit that." He put his hands on my waist and drew me to his chest. He looked down on me and said, "Do you see how it works, now?"

"Stop," I said, half-heartedly.

"Don't fight it," he said. "Submission is its own reward. Give in."

"To what?" I whispered up to him.

"This," he said, and bent down to kiss me.

I grabbed his hand and tried to push him away, exclaiming, "Pervert!" But it was too late. His wonderful thick fingers insinuated themselves between mine, and his massive hand, because of the enormous disparity in size, enveloped mine utterly.

The touch of his hand repelled me, for the skin was cold and clammy, thick yet supple, like wet leather. I shuddered, and a thrill of revulsion coursed up my arm and through my body until it jumped from the very tip of my penis like an electric spark, jolting it from slumber, and setting it in motion, stirring uncomfortably in my trousers. "Oh, Mark," I exclaimed in surprise, half involuntarily trying to withdraw my hand from his grasp: "it's cold!"

"It always is," he said, tightening his grip on my hand, so that I was forced to endure the crawling sensation engendered on me by the touch of his cool, damp flesh. My penis writhed and swelled, yawning and stretching as it awoke.

Guiltily, I met his eyes, and in the smirk that parted his pale, thick chiselled lips I read his knowledge and triumph in having provoked this response in me. There was a gleam in the rich, lucent depths of his dark eyes. To my increasingly hormone- colored vision he looked so handsome when he grinned like that, his jaw so firm and massive, his brows so thick and strong, that I marvelled that I had not perceived it sooner. My glands discharged their secretions into my bloodstream like a cannon firing, making my ears ring.

I tried to regain control of myself. It was all too plain that the strange and powerful feelings which had been affecting me since the beginning of our conversation were merely the initial manifestations of nascent homosexual desire. I was revolted to discover this perversion in myself, and I determined to suppress the corruption he had stirred in me. But the harder I tried to ignore my constant awareness of his huge hand touching mine, the more intensely I concentrated on halting the growth of my rapidly stiffening penis, the more swiftly it proceeded, and I could not stop the physiological response of my body to his touch, and soon I was in the possession of a full erection.

I could feel his thick, coarse fingers between mine, and I thought again of the monstrous size of his hand, and I was overwhelmed with desire. Slowly I lifted his hand to my mouth, and pressed my lips to the pallid skin, covering his great knuckles with my fervid kisses. Now Mark held me with his eye. A smile spread over his finely sculpted lips, and he said, "So that's the kind of thing that gives you a hardon, is it?"

Not trusting myself to speak while he touched me, I nodded. I knew that by this admission I was giving myself wholly over into his power; but I could not help myself.

Then he disengaged his hand from mine in order to reach out and stroke my face. Taking my chin with his mighty thumb and forefinger, he raised my face to his and said, "Don't be afraid. I'm your friend, and I'll take good care of you."

Then his hungry mouth came down again on mine, and melted my hard lips; his invasive tongue probed me, tasting of galvanic currents. I put my arms around him and felt the strength in his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, and heavy buttocks. There my hands rested, clutching his powerful gluteus muscles, and I drew myself tight to his chest and surrendered.

At length he released me from his kiss to catch his breath. "You liked that, did you?" he asked, grinning.

"Oh, yes, Mark," I said. "You're so big and strong, Mark, now that you've made me see it, and I'm glad."

He replied, "Good, I'm glad you feel that way, because now I'm going to take you the rest of the way."

I said, "A manly man like you, you'd do that-make love to me, like a queer?"

"I'm man enough, if you're woman enough," he said.

"Please, Mark. I'll try," I begged.

He laughed. "We'll see," he said. "Take your clothes off now," he commanded.

Willingly I obeyed. He began to undress too.

First he began to lift his shirt off over his head, exposing his hard, flat belly and showing his navel. His torso seemed to go on forever, it was so long, especially as he took his time and paused to stretch his muscular body luxuriously. Under his arms the hair grew rich and black, proclaiming the fertility of his body; but his chest was bare, and when he at last lowered his arms, I saw that not a hair marred the solid, bulging curve of his pectoral muscles, nor concealed the small but perfect rose-colored disks of his aureoles, with teats so stiff and protuberant that I wanted to suck on them, as if his breasts, with their hard curves, were like a woman's.

But then at last he finished slipping the sleeves off his strong, round arms and he tossed his shirt aside. His arms were thick and athletic, with muscles made for powerful swings of the racket, and mighty strokes on the ball. On arms like these, hands as large as his almost belonged.

Then he kicked off his shoes, and unbuckled his belt. With a smile, he opened his fly and let his trousers fall to his ankles, sliding down over the heavy muscle of his massive thighs and calves. His smooth white legs were thick and powerful, but short in proportion to his size and stature, so that apparently only the enormous length of his torso could account for his great height. His figure was indeed unusual, and I found it powerfully attractive.

Stepping out of his discarded pants, he next quickly stripped off his socks, which brought to my attention the fact that his feet were as disproportionately large as his hands, and I stared in delight at his broad, handsome toes. I was surprised to discover this new form of perversion in myself, but the masculine beauty of his overgrown feet gave me such pleasure that I was glad to encourage the development of this new fetish in myself by indulging it.

As I was thus wallowing in my own degradation, Mark dropped the final veil from his unadulterated maleness, and lowered his briefs. His penis, at last freed from constraint, sprang forth from his body, straining rigidly forward, like a prize racing stallion champing eagerly at the bit. Handsome, thick and long, with a slight upward arch, it protruded eight full inches from his body, and must have been nearly two inches across. The broad mushroom head, swollen and thick with desire, was so splayed out that the pink skin, stretched taut over the hard, tumescent glans, glistened with a waxy sheen. It looked like a marble pillar in a temple, with its scrolled capital, inspiring worship.

Surmounting this majestic column was a curly black wreath which seemed to grow like a jungle over a vast area of his lower abdomen, as though to compensate for the hairlessness of all the rest of his large body; below, two enormous testicles overburdened his scrotum. This, then, was the center of sexuality from which maleness radiated through every thick limb of his body. The secretions which flowed from his groin informed every inch of his flesh.

"Oh, Mark! It's huge!" I said, painfully aware of my own penis, which I could not hide, for I was by now as naked as he. My penis stood treacherously at attention, saluting my captor, to whom it had betrayed me, at last openly acknowledging him as its superior officer. Now it was my friend Mark whose colors flew at my masthead instead of my own.

"One of us had to be bigger," he said, "and it looks like I'm the one with the big gun. That's why I'm the man around here, and you're the woman. Lucky for you, I'm man enough for both of us, don't you think."

"Oh, yes, Mark!"

"Then come here, and get what's coming to you, pervert," he said.

I ran to him in my eagerness. His body was warm against mine; his strong arms shielded my nakedness from the cold drafts of the room.

As we met, our distended penises clashed awkwardly like lances; where they touched, they gave off sparks of fiery pleasure. Mark's eyes flashed too, and his breathing was heavy.

"Oh, Mark, I love you," I said. "Let me feel how strong you are."

I put my hands on his breasts, touching the smooth, creamy skin, and feeling the swelling curve of thick muscle with which he bulged. I touched the pink tips of his nipples and felt the hardness of his erect but barren teats.

The manly beauty of his body filled me with the ache of longing. I touched his shoulders and marvelled at their strength and breadth, and at the luxuriant growth of his body, as my friend towered over me, like a giant, smiling handsomely.

I felt the narrowness of his slender waist, and the wide curve of his hip, and the rich, heavy muscles of his buttocks and thighs, so thick and powerful, yet so smooth to the caress of my fingertips. His beauty tormented me, because I wanted to have it all; to see it only, to feel, even to hold the flesh of my enormous friend, did not satiate me.

I loved the cool touch of his huge, damp hands on the fevered skin of my body. He hefted my buttocks in his massive palms, and stroked my thighs and felt the hair on my legs. He seemed to like the hirsuteness of my body a great deal. He put his hands to my breast and ran his fingers through the thick tangled mat which covered it so profusely.

"Quite the man I've mastered here," he murmured appreciatively. "Small, yet virile," he said.

I felt a sense of pride in my own body for his interest in it. "Oh, Mark, you make me feel like a man," I said.

"I see that," he said, his eyes flicking meaningfully to my throbbing penis, which so traitorously betrayed the shame of my secret desires.

"That's not what I mean," I reproached him. "It makes me feel like a man that you like my body enough to take it for your own."

"Oh, yes, I see. Yes, this is all mine," he said.

Wherever the moist, clammy skin of his huge, thick fingers touched me, it sent a thrill of pleasure through me. I was intensely aware of his tremendous hands as they roamed over my body; I felt as though every last inch of my person were being violated, all my privacy utterly invaded. He groped and grasped as though I were a thing, his possession, and I belonged to him almost as completely as I longed to. I burned for his manly body and huge hands.

"Take me, I'm yours, Mark," I muttered.

In response he bore down on me and drove me back to the couch, where he threw me on my back and straddled me with his mighty thighs, kneeling over me. He kissed me.

The he laid a massive hand on my inflamed penis and began to stroke it. Waves of intense pleasure coursed through my body. The damp coolness of his touch on the burning skin of my penis seemed to exacerbate the effect. I gasped and shuddered, and tried to push him off me, my hands against his breast. "Oh, no, Mark, not like this," I begged. For I suddenly saw, as though quite detached from the situation, his large body poised over me, naked and virile, his manhood exposed, huge and male and threatening, springing forth from its dark nest of sexuality with twisted, perverted desire, and I was disgusted by the corruption to which I had nearly succumbed in allowing myself to come to this position. When I saw the lewd, lascivious grin which illuminated his handsome features, I knew that I had to resist him. But he was so big and strong, and somehow I could not summon the strength of my own body to set against his, and so I was forced to submit to the humiliation of being masturbated.

"Yes, yes," he said, "you love getting jerked off, don't you. Go ahead and fuck my hand with your cock, pervert. This is the closest you'll ever come to knowing what it's like to be a man." His monstrous hand continued remorselessly pumping waves of pleasure up from my groin to well through my being, and I felt overwhelmed by the mounting tide of delight. I observed helplessly that the struggles of my body had lapsed into the steady rhythm set by the strokes of his fist; my hips bucked and heaved so as to thrust my penis again and again into the sweetness of his grasp and I no longer wanted anything but to yield. The pleasure raged through me in a torrent; nothing else mattered; submission was all. A mighty affirmation flowed through me as I accepted it, and a dam burst inside of me, and a great cry poured from my mouth. The great tidal wave of pleasure crashed over me, inundating me with a sensation beyond delight; I was swept away and drowned by the flood, my consciousness dissolved away, and I dissipated silently in the fathomless waters of oblivion.


When awareness of my surroundings gradually returned to me, I saw him sitting beside me, calmly licking the seed I had spilled from his massive thumb and fingers. He saw that I was watching him, and said, "I never saw a man come before."

I felt neither regret not desire. It was as though all volition had been momentarily washed out of me, leaving me filled instead with a placid sea of contentment. Mark's nostrils flared. "I could tell that you liked it," he continued.

"Oh, yes, Mark," I said, dreamily, still suffused with warmth.

He said, "You know what comes next, don't you? Are you ready to go the rest of the way with this now?"

I knew that there was still something more I wanted. I was not completely satiated. He was so beautiful that I wanted to give him everything, my very being. "Yes, Mark," I said.

"It'll change things, you know," he said. "You'll never be able to go back if you change your mind. I'm giving you this one last chance."

"Fuck me, Mark," I said. "Please."

"All right, then, faggot," he said, "I'll fuck you up the butt, since that's what you want."

His penis seemed huger than ever to me, the bloated head swollen nearly purple as if with rage, the rim thickened and reddened. The coarse blue vein along its side twitched and throbbed angrily. I marvelled to think that I could receive this huge instrument of his wrath in my own body. The musky scent of his pubic hair tantalized me with the knowledge that I would soon feel it tickling against my buttocks.

He smeared the sticky white semen which remained on his hands like a cooling unguent over his enraged penis. Some of my sperm had splashed his chest and thighs, and this too he collected and applied to his penis. "If you were a woman," said Mark, "your cunt would be dripping with love juice, your body drooling in anticipation of having my woman-pleaser stuck into it. But man juice hot from the spigot makes a good natural lubricant too," he said.

So great was Mark's state of excitement that at trickle of crystal clear prostatic fluid had leaked from the mouth of his penis and dribbled down the huge shaft; a drop of the viscid fluid hung off it in a long, drooping strand. It made me long to press my lips to the flaring lips of his vast, dilated glans and taste of his virility, to drink my fill of his body's discharge direct from the flowing fount of his manhood; I could hardly wait for him to deposit his sperm in my bowels.

He gathered up the transparent rope of prostatic fluid and mingled it with the semen he had gathered, spreading it on his penis. Then he spat on his hands and wiped the saliva on his penis, adding it to the lubricating fluid.

"Lie back now," he said.

I lay back obediently. He moved to my side, his monstrous penis cleaving the air before him like the figurehead on the prow of a ship. My thighs parted as though instinctively to receive him and he entered into the hairy cavern formed between them. Then he lowered his mighty frame onto me, covering me with his large, athletic body, and our inflamed loins met in a savage parody of heterosexual intercourse, black pubic hair tangling with black pubic hair.

He kissed me again, and I arched my back deliriously in order to meet his lips. Then, with a cold, damp, thrilling touch, he slipped his heavy hands between my cheeks and applied the remainder of the slimy mixture of effluents he had made to my anus. Then he hooked his elbows under my knees and hoisted me onto his thighs. I was very uncomfortable, having my legs forced open so wide. I gripped the pale smoothness of his thick, powerful legs to steady myself. I shifted my weight as best I could and presented my buttocks to him.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, Mark," I replied.

"All right then, here comes my cunt-spreader."

Holding my waist with his huge hands, he began pushing with his hips to shovel the blunt spade end of his penis up between my buttocks and into my rectum, stretching my anus, forcing it to receive him. Despite his efforts to lubricate himself, the pain was great, for his penis was not small. "Relax," he commanded me, but while I welcomed his triumphal entry, my body resisted his violation, and I could not control my sphincter muscle. But I clenched my teeth, and he firmly applied his strength, until the muscle yielded, and then at last the monstrous rigid shaft was within me, penetrating me with his manhood.

"That didn't hurt, did it?" he asked.

"No," I lied.

"Good. You've made my dick so hard that your tight little asshole is the only thing that can relieve it."

Then, slowly and carefully, he began to guide his shaft in and out of me with sinuous movements of his hips, while his immense hands caressed my buttocks. His well-lubricated penis slipped almost completely out of me before plunging again easily into the mysterious depths of my being with each slow, expert thrust. I felt as though I were being turned inside out. The sensation was overwhelming; it sapped my will and left me totally passivated, as though his manhood filled me completely and left me no room for myself.

"This is how a real man takes what he wants," he said, breathing deeply. Steadily, deliberately, he ploughed his furrow, taking his desire on me, riding me for his delight. Then gradually his excitement began to grow on him. His breathing became ragged. His fingers clenched on my buttocks. His thrusts were coming faster now; I moved my pelvis in time to his strokes, matching his rhythm, in order to receive his hardness deeper within me and increase the pleasure, and he responded by increasing his exertions, his muscular haunches bucking and heaving athletically, driving his shaft home again and again. By this time he was nearly sobbing with pleasure, gasping for air and heaving his mighty chest. He moaned deliriously, his penis steadily churning into me. From the mindless, mechanical laboring of his hard, sweaty body, I knew that it had fallen into the grip of reflex, and that Mark was no longer in possession of it.

His hands clutched convulsively at my buttocks, and his hips flew, and then suddenly he was crying out, "Oh, God, oh God, oh God," and his body ejaculated spasmodically into me, sowing his seed in the row he had hoed, until his spurting penis exhausted itself, and my bowels were full of his semen; and then he collapsed, as though all the strength of his strong, manly body were drained into my flesh. He lay inert atop me and I bore his weight.

After a while, he rolled off me, leaving me with a hollow feeling inside, and went to the bathroom to clean himself off.

For a moment I wondered how I had let him do this thing to me; to have submitted voluntarily to him was an abdication my manhood, his sodomization of me an irrevocable abrogation of it, a shame that could never be eradicated.

But then he returned, bearing a towel for me to wipe myself off with; and when I saw how tall and strong and handsome he was, and I remembered how it felt to have his penis inside me, I knew I was glad. For he had shared his manhood with me, though he had sullied it in the very act of doing so; and my manhood, though violated, was increased for having shared his.

written by anonymous

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