The Stench of the VoidMature

"I believe," began the black-haired one, "that it was that blond cheerleader in Glee, the one who's not pregnant, who once said, 'Did you know that dolphins are just gay sharks?' "

"Hah-hah, haeh... hah," this elicited a guffaw from his dark blond companion. "Blake, she also claims to have seen a misogynist the time she pulled her hampstring."

"Yeah, well, I don't agree with her," said Blake. "About the dolphins. I've met just as many predatory and bloodthirsty gays as I have of the dolphin variety."

"I much prefer swordfish and seahorses."

"Me too... I think,' said Blake.

"And women," said CJ, speaking for himself.

"But you see, Junior, Fernando's a shark."

"Fern? A shark? Seriously?!" CJ raised his eyebrows. "As my sister once said of my nephew's father, 'Sure, he's an ax-murderer, but he only ever uses the spray-on kind of ax'," he paused, paying no attention to the eavesdropping redhead seated behind Blake who let out a partially stifled laugh at that moment. "They're back together now, by the way."

"Jolene came around again? He must be quite happy now."

"I'm surprised you remember my sister," admitted CJ. "But I digress. What exactly makes Fernando a shark? I didn't know sharks could be romantic."

"The romance is gone. He's got a butcher's touch now. The kind that makes a guy feel like a piece of meat. And I don't mean that in the tender, succulent, destined-to-go-down-your-throat way."

"You feel objectified?" offered CJ, hands gesturing openly.

"Hell yeah," confirmed Blake, arms folded. "Raw meat. And when he sings to me now, the meaning has... uhmm...  faded and waned. The lyrics of his songwriting lacks depth these days. I... I think the magic is just... gone!"

"And you're sure it's not just... all in your head?" CJ tapped a finger to his temple.

With an angsty pout, Blake shook his head slowly. "He's a cheater, for one thing," he confided, his face becoming slightly red with anger. A no-good, lousy cheater? Why? he wondered. What did I do wrong?

"I didn't know you'd been dating such a stereotype," said CJ. "Did you catch him? Or is it just suspicion boiling in you?"

"No, I found some disturbing evidence the other day," Blake told him. Drunk bastard...


Instrumental dance music was playing from the large, padded headphones that hung around his neck.

"--is so weird.
Am I sleeping?
Is this a dream?
... No!"

It was just three days ago. Friday, February 19th, 2010.

Clap-clap. His keys jingled, as he continued to bellow the lyrics as he stumbled through the front door of his dark apartment.

"Am I a mouse?
Am I... an elephant?
And I have just...
Sliced your tongue!"

It was something Brazillian, probably Cansei de Ser Sexy. There was a harmonica playing.

He shut the door behind him awkwardly, finally giving the other tenants a break from the noise. It was, after all, late.

But he continued to sing along,
"So tell me,
Hey-hey hey-hey,
Hey-hey hey-hey,
Do you want to drink some al-co-hol?" 

And proved to be a drinking song. Great, I could already smell it on his breath as I retreated deeper into the shadow of the hallway. My socks were silent on the hardwood floor, and he didn't even notice I was there.

"I'm just a girl,
But I've got a very strong punch,
And I have just...
Broken your nose!"

I found the song blatantly quaint and obnoxious, though slightly amusing.

"Am I a horse?
Am I on fire?
Am I the curse?

His roommates were still out partying.

"So tell me,
Hey-hey hey-hey,
Hey-hey hey-hey,
Do you want to drink some al-co-hol?" 

There was streetlight pouring in the window of the bedroom. I quickly backed into his open closet before he could see that I was in the room. I wanted to surprise him!

"So tell me,
Hey-hey hey-hey,
Hey-hey hey-hey,
Do you want to drink some al-co-hol?" 

Yup, he's pretty drunk. Perfect, I thought to myself.

The music went on alone for a bit. And then he shut off his iPhone's music player. I watched him undress himself. The tight leather pants came off first. And I could see through his briefs that he was partially aroused.

Good, that'll make my job easier!

He unbuttoned his peach-coloured dress shirt. It had white, horizontal stripes. His tanned skin glistened in the dim light that came from the window at the side of the room.

"Alcohol," he muttered. That was the name of the song.

He bent over and pulled one sock off while leaning on the other foot, and then did the other. As he did this, I got a full view of his behind. It made my lips water.


"And this is where my story stops being sexy, CJ."

Cameron Jr. Archvale moved his head back, off his hands, elbows off the table, and leaned back with a pensive look as he waited for me to continue.

"Try to keep your lunch down," Blake warned his friend. Then he dropped his voice to a low whisper.


So there I was, enjoying the view. His back was sculpted finely under a tight wife-beater. Yes, CJ, a wife-beater. How appropriate.

There was a moist stain in the crack, upon the white of his briefs. At first, I assumed it was a moist poop stain. After all, he'd just gotten over the flu. I somehow managed not to catch it. But his hygiene is usually perfect. This drunk brute was something different. And I admit, I kinda liked it.

He lay chest down on his queen-sized bed, spreading out with a stretch. His head to the side, his eyelids drooped.

I approached with stealth. The bed barely made a sound as I climbed onto it, hunched over the gap between his legs. He was so drunk that I'm certain he did not noticed me. Not until I placed one hand ever so gently upon his lower back beneath his undershirt. There were soft, fine, curly black hairs there. I caressed him there, and goosebumps spread up my arm, across my shoulders and down my spine.

My body felt so cold. And yet my cock twitched eagerly. It hadn't noticed it until then. As I had, it had snuck up.

"Fuck me," he murmured. And that's not what he usually says. In fact, it was a word I'd only ever heard him use when he's angry. Usually he says, 'Make love to me, Blakey-boi.' But not tonight.

I sniffed the air, and he smelled like he'd been masturbating and dancing his sweet butt off. He needed a shower bad. His sweat had a fruity musk that night that I'd never smelled before. I could barely smell his deodorant as I massaged his back, sniffing his pits.

And I admit, it all really turned me on.

I shed my t-shirt and tossed it onto the floor. All I was wearing was a pair of tight,  plaid, blue and black boxer shorts, and two rainbow arm bands.

I ground myself against his left calf and he muttered to me, "Fuck me again, you sexy satyr."

I ripped them open, a tear straight down the middle, exposing his buttocks. I cupped them in my hands and spread them. In the dim light, I didn't see the drip lines.

I stuck a finger in, and realized then that he must have used an enema to wash it out. How thoughtful!

He moaned as I stuck it in further. Sure enough, there wasn't a grain of poop there. Just sweat. Or what I thought was sweat.

To be honest, I'm ashamed of what I did next. We'd never done anything like it. But I'd seen it in porn. I thought it would arouse him. And it did. I stuck my head between his cheeks, and... my tongue went right in.

"Mmmmm," he moaned.

Immediately, I pulled back. I was perplexed. What the hell am I tasting? Why the heck is he so loose? I spread them wider and there it was, like a black iris staring back at me.

"Yeah, baby," he said, his body relaxing."

It opened, revealing its true nature. There was a huge, gaping hole as empty as my fist was round. My thoughts reeled. The chill returned with ferocious intensity. I backed off the bed, muttering to myself in shock.

It wasn't anything I could do.

Well, that stain I'd seen earlier wasn't what I thought it was. I'm damn sure of what it was. The nose knows. Dried blood, wet with dripping ejaculate. It smelled something fierce, worse than a guy with no fruit in his diet. It was like a dirty, sweaty horse that had rolled in battery acid.


"Woah, woah, deeeetails, man. Forget I asked about the hole. I get the picture," CJ said, stopping his friend in mid-sentence. "You're sure it wasn't caused by an animate object?"

Blake shook his head.

"A fist?"

"No. Not even his own fingers ever go there. More like two guys at once. In the same hole."

CJ's brow was clenched thoughtfully, lines crossing his forehead. Feedback was churning, unspoken, in his mind.

"And if that's what he wanted to experience," continued Blake, "then maybe he could've... I dunno... negotiated something with me? Geez."

"You're not bipenal," said CJ. "Threesomes are overrated."

"Bi-what? Look, after staring into that abyss, I've got a question on my mind," confessed Blake. His voice wavered cautiously, "What's the supposed difference between a relationship and two close friends having sex?"

The End

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