By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
"Have you ever seen a man topped?" asked the gay male executive editor of an online magazine.
"Have YOU ever seen a nine-pound, 21-inch baby come out of a bleeding raw pussy?"
I bit my lip and didn't say it, as I was working on my competitiveness and would take it to therapy. So I thought to myself, "He's gay, but he is still a guy," taking a whiff of him over the phone. He needed to change his socks. MEN. I shook my head and acted bored for a moment until he said that he wanted me. HE wanted me. This gay executive editor wanted me to write about a straight woman's reaction to gay porn.
"Well, I've seen gay porn. Really, really I have." Once I was editing a video in a primo porn production company and behind me on many screens were hundreds of handsomes being sucked, pulled, inserted, and duplicated.
The editor, whom I'll call Edward, gave my deposition a second thought and added, "Well, I'm sure you have imagined."
I tried to remember my fantasies of men being topped, and I recalled fantasizing about Jesse Helms pulling his teeth out and gumming the chocolate off my twat as he is topped by Rush Limbaugh. "Yeah," I said to Edward. "I have thought about it."
"I'll call my video house and get you some tapes of bears, boys . . . will you watch s&m?" He said it with his voice lowering an octave. He sounded paternalistic, and I have always had a daddy thing. "I'll watch s&m, Edward," I whispered.
I fell in love with HIM right then and there, as he was selecting the gay porn FOR ME!!! Edward is such a guy! He does the ordering and picks up the check. I could hear him say, "Take off your clothes NOW, BITCH." And I would. I love it when my Edward gives orders. Edward selecting the tapes for me. That he couldn't think of any other straight woman but me to write the piece. It was all so very romantic.
Trying to get the tapes in my hands heightened my passion. In the following two weeks I would run over to HIS office, calling on my cell phone to HIS voice mail. It was all so exciting and he is such a guy, a dick, never available. Keeping me waiting.
Finally he e-mailed me: "I hope the quivering male flesh will be worth the wait." I wanted to blush but breathed in at the next line: "Beast, I mean Best."
And then on second thought he wrote, "PS: rather I should say beast."
My beast. I wanted to watch BEASTIE. Boy male beasts with tails and gills and claws. Beastie boy male manes satisfying their Beastie bodies thick hair extra limbs limp then hard their erections like volcano waves triple beast cocks balls by the dozens taking damsels in distress or dukes or ducks or dicks. WHO CARESit's my beast, my BEAST baby, beast.
A triangle had to happen.
And it did when Edward assigned his intern to deliver the tapes to me. BIG GUY EXECUTIVE EDITOR TOO BUSY TOO BUSY WORK MAN DICK DAD STUD WORK MONEY BUSINESS POWER DICK.
There was a knock at my dressing-room door. "Ms. Finley? Someone is here with a package that must be PERSONALLY delivered, HAND DELIVERED."
"Why, let him in, by all means." My voice became Blanche Duboisand she did fancy Stanley, that beast!
The intern was delivering my trousseau, the copies of gay porn. I instantly imagined the exchange as a metaphor for the gay male editor who had assigned the piece standing over me, holding his golden genitalia and saying, "I insist on hand delivery." And I respond with fire in my eyes, "Let him in, by all means," as I open myself and wrap my long legs over the beast shoulders and he mounts me and I become his animal.
I looked through the tapes for some titillating titles. I noticed that the labels had been worn off by the wear and tear of sweaty palms, overuse, cummy handsand I felt disgusted. But then I felt a thrill. Each label had its own libidinal quality, its own labia feel. The tape, the image going in and out in and out by male hands larger than mine holding their cocks, boylike or bruisers, and then I felt all the men either alone or watching with another as a way to connect or just get off, to get off, to cum.
I desired their sex with self, their moment of jerking either to get the day started or to end the day or to feel for a moment their hot cum through their fingers, washed off like a baby, a baby alone. Not too intimate, this is close enough. I see you selecting the tape, I see you putting it in, I feel you getting comfortable, holding yourself holding yourself, I wish I could hold you for you, carry your load. . . .
I wanted to hoard the labels from all the video porns and have their need their need carried in my purse like a tampon, like a phone number of a long lost lover.