This story includes elements that may be disturbing for some readers. It is intended for adults only.
Copyright, Boy Mercury X, 2024.
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WILDE LOVE
I'd been a writer for several years at Wilde, a digital lifestyle magazine with a bent for adult interests, meaning erotic literature and non-fiction. The glossy features about travel and design gave some cover of refinement to the more explicitly themed pieces. Wilde prided itself on droll wit, urbane style and sophistication.
Wilde had a swanky office, a feature of which was a full wall mural of Oscar in a garden, painted by a famous artist who did the most gorgeous flowers. Across the mural in all caps gold leaf lettering was our slogan, taken from Oscar Wilde's quote about the truth, RARELY PURE AND NEVER SIMPLE.
A visiting celebrity author - you've heard of her - once scrawled her name in lipstick on the mural. The poor staff managing her visit didn't know how or even if to stop her. But the savvy owners afterwards hyped it, adding a clear glass cover and an array of lipsticks for the use of any celebrity writer or artist who visited, so they could add their name to the wall.
My boss was Adam Jeffers, an old school editor who came off as everyone's dad. He was a good looking, sturdy guy with short blond hair thinning a bit at his crown, and some handsome stubble of his jawline, flecked with white whiskers. He didn't fuss about his appearance, but he had a look that conveyed his authority and maintained it.
People variously called him AJ or Jeff, depending on their relationship or mood. I called him Adam, or when I felt brazen, Boss. We had a different relationship than the mostly younger staff, as I was closest in age to him, we'd worked together the longest and I could get away with more, most of the time.
"Kid, we need to talk," he said, stopping by my desk as I quickly changed the browser tab on my laptop.
I'd been dreading this a little. Between Adam at work, and my husband Will at home I felt I was dodging trouble all day every day. It was almost a relief to think it finally happened.
"As I'm sure you know," he said, in his office, "your work is suffering. You're distracted. You're missing deadlines, and what's worse you didn't even realize you had them. You look addled half the time. You on something?"
"What? You mean drugs? No. No no. Not at all."
"Okay, that's good. Anything you want to talk about?"
I sighed. I liked Adam but this wasn't something I could say to him.
"Kid," he continued. (I liked that he called me a kid.) "I'll tell you what my old boss told me about having direct reports. Their lives are their business, he told me, don't get mixed up in them. You tell them your expectations and you let them figure out how to live up to them. But I like you, and I like your work even better, when you're on the ball anyway. So if you want to talk, I'll listen."
"Well, it's personal and kind of embarrassing."
"You shit your pants or something? Because otherwise, I'm open to listen."
"Okay. If you really want to know. I'm in love."
I could have said I was in love and it made me uncertain, unsteady, like it always did.
He sighed. "You're married."
I nodded. "And it involves sex."
"Does this maybe have anything to do with James Austen?" he asked. (Boom!)
I was dumbstruck that he knew about James Austen
"It's complicated," I said.
"Well. Start at the beginning."
"I met my husband Will in a cafe. It was my first week in a new city where I'd moved for a fresh start. I happened into a spot where he was a bit of a regular. We were seated next to each other at the bar and he commented on some items as I studied the menu. I asked about his favorites and he asked how I liked what I ordered. We had a few laughs, exchanged contact information and things just went from there.
"We started hanging out, going to movies together, and checking out new restaurants. To be honest I didn't see him in any sort of romantic light at all. I enjoyed his company, but I thought of him as a sort of sweet nerd of a guy, with his round glasses and dowdy oversized hoodies, and his penchant for Lord of the Rings and the original Star Trek.
"It all seemed safe, because the one thing I did not want was a boyfriend. I didn't want to be in love. That was part of the point of moving, to start fresh without being bound by those relationships.
"I had one aspiration, which was to write. It was the only thing I was any good at, and the only thing I wanted to do. I was years out of college, but at my university I won the creative writing award every year. We had one of the few accredited creative writing departments in the country, and I still won, and I wasn't even in the department, just an English major.
"The fly in the ointment was always boys. I'd had a few boyfriends, and every time I fell for a guy I'd lose my writing edge. It was like I could have the ambition to be a good writer or to be in love, but not both at the same time. So by the time I met Will I was resolved to a solitary life so I could be a good writer.
"Maybe it was the change of seasons and the shedding of cold weather clothes, but in the spring I started to notice that under his dorky clothes there was a fine body going on. I could see the muscles in his arms as we shed winter coats and sweaters. And as it got to be summer I could see how his chest filled out his t-shirts, and what a nice butt he had. I knew he had weights in his apartment, but I never thought he really used them. He never said anything about working out, though in retrospect there were a lot of things he never talked about. But it wasn't just his body. I started to realize how cute his face was and how his smile and laugh made me feel.
"Despite my best plans, I started to fall for him, and things escalated on a predictable pattern. All I could think of was how adorable he was. I was distracted and off-kilter, and didn't know how to be with him. And I felt certain he had no interest in me because he'd never said anything otherwise. I felt elated and hopeless at the same time all the time. I was lovesick.
"One night we went to a revival of Purple Rain. We made small talk in his car afterwards and I asked if he'd met any guys he was into. He said there was one guy he was interested in, but nothing more. He was driving through downtown where those big industrial orange cranes mark the way along the waterfront shipping docks, and we were both quiet. My heart was pounding and I asked, `Is it me?'
"He just smiled and reached over to let his hand rest on my thigh. We didn't say another word the whole way to his place. I'd been there dozens of times, but this time we kissed. We tore off our clothes and kissed some more. I was in pretty good shape because I've always been long and lean, but I thought he looked amazing. We sucked each other's cocks and kissed some more, and when his cock was good and slicked up with saliva I pulled him close so I could get him in me. I think it took him by surprise, maybe because I was so aggressive, or because of how easily I took his whole dick. It's a good size, and fat too. But I wanted him in me desperately. Or maybe because just as I was getting the head in, I literally said. `Just so you know, I'm not looking for a boyfriend.'
"He held my legs apart and wailed into me as I ran my hands over his gorgeous chest and belly, with him filling me. Who knew the nerdy guy was such a hot fucker? He had me seeing stars and begging him to cum in me, which he did. His face was so sweet and handsome when he did. It took less than a minute for me to cum too, with him still in me, him gasping as my ass tightened on his dick. And all I could think was that I didn't want to ever stop doing this with him.
"We'd been a couple ever since.
"My writing took a back seat, but I could be creative in my work. And I was in love.
"For the first few years we fucked like crazy. We fought too. Dumb kid stuff because we were dumb kids. One day we got into an argument - I don't even remember why. But when we had our make-up sex I was fucking him his back on the sofa, and I'm on my knees, balls deep in him. And I can tell something's off. His responses are all different. More intense, but also his mouth was open while I was thrusting into him, and the way he was breathing and looking at me was so pleading. And I swear it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I just shot in him. Caught even me by surprise, and it's my dick.
"Then he pulled me close by my hips and said, `Stay in me. Just like this.'
"I had just cum so I wasn't rock hard, but I stay there and my dick doesn't quite go down because it feels so good. He's grinding his ass around it and gasping. He strokes his cock once and then again and he fucking erupted in cum. We'd been together maybe three years and I'd never seen him do anything like that.
"Later on what he told me was that when he bottomed before he enjoyed it but it was uncomfortable too. That was news to me. Can you believe it? Three years and not a word about any discomfort. But anyway, he said that particular fuck just reoriented something in him, like there'd been a knot before that we just unraveled, leaving just a straight line inside him from my dick to every good feeling he could have."
"That's a very beauty-full story," said Adam. "I hate to think how you're going to tell me you fucked this up."
"Will had been baking for a while," I continued. "We had this idea of opening his own place, A little cafe with a basic menu where he'd make a selection of goods every day, and package some to take home. His parents floated him the money, I made enough to balance things out, and we opened the place.
"The thing is you don't know how hard it is to run a small business until you do it. The initial excitement turned to a long, hard slog. He loved baking and was amazing at it. His biscuits are the next closest thing to an orgasm. But the business is so unforgiving, even if you do everything right. Like if there's a snowstorm and you have no customers for a few days, you still need to pay your people and your bills. The stress was incredible.
"It happened so gradually we could hardly see it, but bit by bit it took over our lives. We were like a threesome: me, Will and the cafe, and none of us were getting what we wanted out of it. We were tired and shut down. To sedate ourselves, I later realized, we were overeating and over drinking. We got out of shape, and then really out of shape. I looked awful and felt worse. I was so uncomfortable in my own body it felt like I was wearing a costume I couldn't get out of. And we sure as hell weren't having sex.
"I still thought Will was totally hot. It was me I felt bad about. Sometimes I wanted to fuck him so bad, but I looked so bad compared to when we met. I worried he'd think I looked awful and I couldn't do it. It got easier to just jerk off separately when the other wasn't home."
Adam rubbed his hands over his eyes like I'd given him a headache. "Jesus Christ. The gays. Do you want to know how many straight men could have sex and not take it because they're feeling fat? None. Zero!"
"Well..."
He threw his hand up as if to salute, but touched his thumb and index finger to make a 0 shape.
"ZEE-RO."
"Well. Anyway, I continued, "This is where James Austen comes in.
"We weren't having much sex, and we reacted in different ways. Will did by using sex toys. Dildos and things. They started big and got bigger. He's always been the physical one of us. I started writing smutty stories. I used to write them as a teenager, sometimes all night long, getting so horny, jerking off and then destroying them."
"A loss to the literary canon," Adam smirked.
"I didn't say they were great. But in a way I was writing again. Not the way I'd always intended. And we were both were engaged in our own sex lives, parallel to, but not with each other."
"Did Will read these stories of yours?"
I nodded no. "Never. He knew I was writing them, just like I knew about his toys. But he never expressed any interest. It's funny too, because he's a voracious history reader. It was like he'd read about every detail of the lives of every Roman emperor, understood their motivations and desires and follies, but had no curiosity about his own husband's. Or maybe he did but never said it.
"I started publishing my smut stories, online and through some self-publishing, under the name James Austen. And what got me off more than the stories was the response I got from readers. Some were crazy and some were dirty and some were sweet. But I felt a connection with them I wasn't getting at home. I love Will, but he's not a big communicator. But my fans were. And the more I wrote the more I was gratified."
I took a pause. "I even had a kind of cyber fling with a co-writer once. It was all just words on screens, nothing real. But still."
Adam shrugged. "Shit happens."
"But how did you find James Austen?" I asked.
"I'm a well read person," Adam answered. "And maybe you forgot, smut is our stock in trade. We just call it erotica. I like to know the market."
I never knew really if Adam was straight or gay. I assumed the former. And I never knew when he was bullshitting me, even right then.
"But how did you know it was me?"
"You think I couldn't recognize your typos when you haven't had proper editing? Jesus. Nobody else on this green goddamn Earth uses `copious' that often."
"Did you like what you read?"
"A little too literary for my tastes. A little self indulgent. You'd have a much bigger readership if you'd just do some straight up feel good sex stories. It's like you're trying to make people eat their broccoli before they get dessert."
"I know," I replied. "I don't make it easy for people to like me. But Will did, or at least used to."
"The one about the fighter and the reporter, that was fun. Fun smut stories are good."
"Actually, that was my take on Pride & Prejudice. See..."
"Kid, please." He held up both hands. "Back to your life."
"So even though we loved the cafe, running it took a toll. Things went on that way for a long time. I hate to tell you how long. When we finally sold it we pretended to be sad, but really we were relieved. Will got a good deal out of it and work doing recipe development.
"I'll never forget the day we signed it over, I had nothing to do because that had become my time to review the books, and all of a sudden there were no books. So instead I just went for a walk at the lake near our house. It was spring and the cherry blossoms were in bloom, all pink and gorgeous. I felt something bubble up in me I hadn't felt for so long. It was joy. I started trotting and then running. I'd never really run in my whole life, but I had so much energy I just had to. When I stopped I was breathless and laughing out loud."
I held up my tattooed forearm. "I even got the flowering cherry sleeve for that day.
"I went home and I kissed Will like I hadn't kissed him in years. We were free. And we got back so much time back. You never know how many hours you have in a day until you sell a struggling business.
"We got married, because by then we could. We started to put all the time and effort we'd put into the cafe into ourselves. Will got his gym membership, which made him happy, and I started walking the lake every day and then running. We started cooking and eating better, and feeling like ourselves again. And all our old lust for each other was renewed.
"We weren't kids anymore, but we looked better than we ever had. As far as I was concerned, Will was the hottest guy I'd ever seen. We had sex for the first time in a long time, and I couldn't believe how good it was.
"`Husband' was the sexiest word I could think of, and I swore I'd never go back to how things were, ever."
"How long did that last?" Adam asked.
"A while," I answered. "And it was good while it did. Maybe we were both a little stuck in our habits, him with his dildos and me writing smut. And Will had gotten a little further out there."
After a long pause Adam gestured with his hand to proceed.
"So this involves some real sex stuff," I cautioned.
"You think you invented some sex something I've never heard of before?" Adam asked. "That I'll be shocked?"
"He wanted to try fisting," I said, waiting for a wince on Adam's face, but he looked as neutral as ever.
"That wasn't my thing," I continued. "We tried it a few times but my heart wasn't into it. It just felt like my hand was another sex toy that I just happened to be attached to. The whole act lost any of the intimacy we had left.
"I thought if I resisted it would be a passing thing for him. But it wasn't. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Will is such a sweet guy, but he likes a physical challenge. And I could see, looking back, how he's always done them quietly - like his working out when we first met, but never mentioning it once.
"And our sex life faltered again. We were so good and so happy in every other way, I guess I was just resolved that that was how our lives would go. I thought maybe you can't have everything.
"So how long has it been?" Adam asked.
"A long time," I answered. "And I was attracted to him the whole time. But we just couldn't seem to get it together.
"Kid, Maybe you're not thinking about it right," he offered. "Maybe this is just a different kind of intimacy, or maybe even more intimate. Like you're the one giving him this extreme pleasure, and it's in your control. To be honest, I wouldn't put a hand up my rear end, but if I did it would have to be someone I'd trust completely. How much more intimate does it get than that?"
"That's true," I replied. "I've kind of wondered that too, more recently."
I sat with that for a moment before I continued.
"So he kept up his sex toy stuff, and sometimes when he got into heavy dildo play while I was out I'd know about it because there'd be a lot of towels in the wash. Those big ones take a lot of lube and make a mess. And when I'd pull the towels out of the dryer to fold them, it would just kind of gall me. I have zero problem with a spouse jerking off, but this was so elaborate it made me feel like this was my competition. Towels.
"I'd come here every day and walk by Oscar Wilde. There he was, an infamous buggerer who ended up in jail for committing `the love that dare not speak its name', which I could barely stop speaking, between my work writing and James Austen stories. I dared speak it non stop, I just couldn't do it.
"I swear, some days I could feel his eyes judging me. Really? This is what I went to gaol for? It's come to this then, has it? How drear.
"I never thought I was especially good looking, but I had boyfriends before Will, and I still get hit on some and then, so I guess there's something there. Mostly it was the writing that drew guys in. But Will is something else. He just gets better looking and more sexy. Some older guys our age who are fit get this worn kind of overworked look. But not Will. He's in great shape, muscular but he still has this softness about him, like he's... plush. He has this arched back, and his chest alone I could write a book on. And his smile just kills me." I sighed.
"And more lately, maybe because it's spring again and the cherry blossoms are out and everything, I've just really longed for him. I thought we were done with that part of our lives, but I look at him and lust after him like I'm a dorky kid in high school and I'm spying on a hot jock in the locker room. Sometimes I jerk off thinking of him and fantasizing." I had to put my face in my hands. "I'm jerking off fantasizing about my own husband."
"I've just been kind of crazy for him, all over again. And it's distracting as fuck. I think about it at home, I think about it at work. It's all I can do to not just grab him and fuck him on the spot, like when he's cooking or getting home from the gym or whatever. I sometimes want to bend him over and have a dozen guys fuck him one after another and dump their loads in his ass, and I want every one of those guys to be me.
"So I just started writing more smut stories, just to express all this desire."
"That's why there's so much new James Austen output?" Adam asked. "Kid, sometimes there's a new one every day."
"Yeah," I answered. "And why I've been messing up at work. My heart's not in it. I feel lovesick and distracted. I'm writing James Austen smut instead of getting my job done. I'm screwing up everywhere."
"You're screwing up because you're in love... with your husband?"
"I guess so," I answered. "I'm sorry."
I'd lost my confidence. It was like when I first fell for him.
"Well, to be honest I'm relieved. All that new smut content, I thought you were setting up a side business. So kid, what's the problem? Why don't you just go home and bang the lucky dude?"
"I don't know. I don't know how any more. I don't know if I can satisfy him, or if he even wants me in that way. I'm hung enough, but not sex toy sized. Not like his toys. And I feel like I wasted so much time. Is there even a point to trying again?"
"Ah jeez kid," Adam sighed. "He's your man. He loves you and he loves to get boned. Why do you make everything so hard?"
"Maybe I could tell him how sorry I am. I could ask if he's still into me."
Adam shook his head. "How can someone write like you but be such a numbskull? In what world is remorse and self doubt sexy? You want to get laid, not forgiven.
"Where's your defiance? I know you have it. I've seen it. Sometimes so much I wanted to knock you down a peg or two.
"You tell him how hot he is. Tell him you can't keep your hands off him another minute. Tell him how all that muscle is driving you crazy. You told me. You write it. Just tell him.
"Don't you think he wants to be wanted? Everyone does, but him maybe more than most. What do you think he's working out for? To get noticed. And the one guy in all the world who ought to do that most is playing hard to get. Butter him up. Not literally, but literally too. What muscle bottom doesn't want to be treated like a piece of meat?"
"I don't know."
"Kid, let me tell you why I hired you. I talked with some guys you worked with before, off the record. One said he didn't know if you were a good hire. He said you were uneven, sometimes you could be brilliant, and other times your stuff needed work. So I hired you. You know why? Because writing that needs some work I can fix. But brilliant? I can't get a writer from good to brilliant. That shit's hardwired, it's there or it's not. So if I can get the brilliant out of you some of the time I can fix the rest.
"You need work right now in your life just to get to decent. But you have the brilliance. All that you just told me? You have this hot guy who fell for you and has stayed with you, and even when he's not getting it from you he's not out screwing around. He's satisfying himself with toys that can't do what you can do.
"You gotta get into his head. Most of this is psychological anyway. Let him know you see all the work he put into that rack and all the other parts. Gratify him. He doesn't have a sex toy that can tell him how hot he is."
"Isn't that a little manipulative?"
Adam shrugged. "Meh. We all manipulate each other some. In this case those words have the virtue of also being true.
"That story I just told about you being sometimes brilliant? Didn't that give you a little rush? You didn't feel a boost, didn't want to hear more? Of course you did. Because it played right into the things you want to be valued for.
"Go home and give that to Will. Go get your man."
"Okay," I replied. "Adam, thanks. Can I buy you lunch?"
"I would," he replied. "But I've got a huge boner right now and I ought to just sit for a while."
I came into work the next day, walked past the painting of Oscar Wilde in his flowery garden and invited myself into Adam's office.
"So I tried what you suggested," I told him. "When I got home Will was prepping dinner. He greeted me in his usual pleasant way. For a guy who can take a dildo the size of an arm, he has the most wholesome affect you can imagine.
"I said Hey to him, struggling to think of how to broach the topic.
"Tell him how hot he looks, dummy, I could hear you say. Show him.
"I ran a hand from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. `You look so hot.'
"He turned to smile at me. `Well. Thanks. You're cute too.'
"I didn't say you were cute,' I ventured again. I said you're hot. Off the walls, head turning, porn worthy, hot.'
"So a rocky start. But Adam, I could see you give an encouraging nod, as if you were standing there, like the ghost of Hamlet's father."
Adam sighed. "Kid. What'd I tell you about the literary allusions?"
"So," I continued, "then I told Will that if he was still into the fisting thing, I'd like to give it another try, if he'd be into it.
"He looked at me again, surprised. `That's...intriguing.'
"Yeah Will,' I replied. I know it didn't go so well when we tried before. But if you want to, I want to try again.'"
Adam interrupted me. "Didn't go well?"
"Well like I said, my heart wasn't in it the first times we tried. And then after a long while we tried again. I guess I was expecting more kissing and making out and something vanilla at least to start. But things had really... progressed since the last time I joined him.
"He had a whole set up in the closet of this little basement room we use for home gym stuff, and he'd pulled it out for this session. There was a blanket on the floor and towels and he had the heat turned way up. And by then he had a lot of dildos. Literally dozens, in so many sizes and shapes. It was kind of a lot to take in. I felt like I was dropped in the deep end without learning to swim.
"I did my best, but I couldn't breathe. He had this whole system down that had developed without me. I felt left out and left behind. I never said anything negative about it, but he could see it in my face.
"And then we stopped trying."
Adam let out a deep sigh. Poor guy, this couldn't have been what he thought he was in for.
"So Will has this shame thing. He always has. He thinks it's a generational thing, that guys our age were raised being told being gay was wrong. But I don't have it. If anything, I have more of a pride problem."
Adam snorted in agreement. "Other side of the same coin though."
He had a point too. I guess Will and I were a match that way.
"And even though I don't get it, I know it's there. So I told him I realized my response last time we tried this might have played into his shame and I never meant that to happen.
"He said he understood I didn't mean that. He said it's more that he always has this feeling that he doesn't deserve to get the things he wants. Or even to want them. But that doesn't stop the wanting, it just makes him feel bad, and even worse when he gets what he wants. It's one reason he's so secretive about these things."
"`Every prison that men build is built with bricks of shame,' wrote Oscar Wilde," Adam quoted.
"It is like a prison, isn't it?" I asked. "I told him it made me ache that he'd felt undeserving. I wished he didn't feel it. But if he did, there was no dark place he could go that I wouldn't go too, to bring him back."
"That's a good line. Think of it on the spot?"
"Yeah. And as you say, it has the virtue of being true.
"I told him I wasn't just willing to try it again. I wanted to do it. To him. With him. And it wasn't BS. It was true. I thought a lot about what you said the other day about the intimacy of it, and I could see myself in it that way. Thank you for that."
Adam nodded.
"Look', I told Will, I know I've screwed up some in the past. I'm not going to beat myself up over it. But right now I'm looking at you, and you're just fucking gorgeous. You know that, right? And it would be so hot to see you get off that way. I don't care what I did before, I don't care if I deserve it. Sorry but not sorry if that's selfish. I want to see you get off in that way. I want to see it in your face and your body, and I want to be the one who helps to get you there. You're irresistible.'
"So he said he was interested and could he process a little. It was a lot to take in."
"Not bad," said Adam, which was just what my vision of Adam said at the time. "Not bad at all."
"Thanks Coach," I said to Adam.
I strolled into Adam's office and he raised his eyes to read my affect.
I sat down straight across from him and grinned "To paraphrase the immortal words of Charlotte Bronte, Reader, I fisted him."
He put his face in his hands. "You're killing me." He looked up. "But go on."
"So on Saturday Will was in the bathroom so much I thought either he had a colonoscopy coming up, or he was getting ready to be reamed. I don't know if you know but what he likes takes some cleaning out time and preparation."
"So I gather," said Adam.
"And sure enough, about three pm he said to me that he was going to go downstairs to play with some toys and asked if I wanted to join him. I tried to not fall over myself getting to my feet, I was so excited.
"He'd switched up the home gym room, like he did last time. There was a 12 cup measuring glass filled with a gooey liquid lube, a bunch of huge dildoes - and I mean huge - all laid out on a blanket, with a bunch of towels piled up for clean up. He asked if he could describe everything and why it was there, and I said sure. This was more than we'd ever communicated about it before, so that was great.
"He dropped his shorts and was wearing just a jockstrap, in which he looked amazing. I knew this from last time, but he liked to keep his junk in there so as to not be distracted from what's going on his rear. We're used to thinking of our dicks as our main pleasure point, but this is about a whole different part of the body, like a bonus pleasure center most of us never even use.
"He got on his knees, facing the wall mirror so we could both see everything. He said what he usually does is to use whatever dildos he's pulled out from smallest to largest, to stretch himself out. He picked up the smallest dildo, which was clear and some kind of silicon I guess, and bigger than any human cock, but modest compared to the others. He dipped it into the lube, which was like super elastic liquid. He positioned it under his rear and let it slide into him.
"I was so turned on by the sight of it entering him like it did, in one smooth movement. But the real turn on was how he changed as it entered him, the pleasure just sort of flowering on his face and a soft sigh coming out of his open mouth. He looked so good I didn't know how I'd make it through this without just shooting in my shorts.
"He kissed me, and it was nothing like the going-to-work-see-you-later kiss. I mean he kissed me like that dildo opened a channel through his whole body, just radiating heat and fervor I haven't felt from him in years.
"I'd asked him if he stretched earlier to prep for that and he said no. He was just that good at it. That made me leak precum like crazy and we kissed more while I played with his tits and he worked his hips to fuck himself on the dildo.
"He asked if there was another I'd like to put in him, so I got behind him, and chose the next largest dildo. This was huge. I dipped it into the lube and pressed it to his hole, unconvinced he or anyone could do this. It took some effort and a hit of poppers and some writhing of his hips, but with me holding it in place he slowly worked his way down until he reached the base.
"I could picture an imaginary Adam there coaching me on. That's it, he said. Hold it for him, give him something to push back on.
"So I did, letting him work it in and out of himself, listening to his sounds and watching his body communicate so I'd be better able to help. I realized I could put the base against my own crotch to hold it in place or the push into him, like I was fucking him with it, and I could tell from his groans he was really into it.
"And I didn't feel excluded. Not even a little. I was just so turned on by seeing all the pleasure that it gave him - that I gave him - and how it showed in his body.
"One thing is I always thought fisting and giant sex toys seemed kind of sleazy and desperate. But Will looked incredible. He was so athletic about it. And I could hear you saying to tell him.
"I leaned in close to the side of his face and said `That shame stuff you were feeling... that was so wrong. You're incredible.' And I kissed him hard.
"Will said he'd like something larger, and that could be my fist.
"I put on a nitrile glove and dipped it in the lube, which trailed as I moved my hand to his ass. I held my hand out flat, four fingers together and began to slide into him, in and out to the widest point where my knuckles are. With every slide in, the knuckles pushed a little more into it. He took a hit of poppers and pushed back against my hand, and with a little pressure the knuckles passed through the tight ring of his sphincter, and then it just slid in. That moment felt incredible.
"My hand - my whole hand - was in him, and he pushed back, letting it sink into him, past my wrist and beyond. His face was flushed and his breathing was deep, and he was saying `Fuck, oh fuck...'
"And Adam, I could feel his heartbeat all around my hand like it was my own. And I was so hard.
"You still okay hearing this?"
Adam waved me on.
"I realized that even with a glove, my hand was so much more sensitive than my dick. I could feel so much I could almost visualize it. I could feel every contraction in ways my dick couldn't. I mean even though we use our hands for everything in life, they're still so sensitive."
"I guess that's why we read Braille with our fingertips, not our dicks, right?" Adam smirked.
"And I realized your dick is just the shape it is. But your hand can be so many different shapes, like fingers tight, palm down or a fist, and even that can change. And the length is only limited by what he can take. If he wants a little more dick than you've got, you're SOL, but a little more arm? There's always a little more.
"Then I realized because my forearm is tattooed I could show Will how deep I was in him, and I made a mental note of which flower we stopped at so I could show him later. Like we were really doing this together.
"Will told me how to turn my hand, to pull back almost to the meat of my hand, because he likes the stretch so much, and when I understood what he liked, and the limits, I took charge.
"I shoved him down so his chest hit the mat, and held him there, pinned like a butterfly, while I fucked his upturned ass with my fist just the way he liked it best. I plowed him and told him hoe fucking hot he was, with weight on him, and how I wanted to use every part of his body. He was groaning and begging for more, and I gave it to him.
"I'd like to see a toy that could do that.
"He was so close then. Let him get up on one arm to give him access to his cock with his free hand. I added my hand to his, letting him do the real work but wanting to be part of getting him off in every part of his body. When he came, the contractions around my hand were incredible. It was more than anything I'd ever felt around my dick.
"But the real deal was his face in the mirror, looking back at me when he came. He was so beautiful and that was the hottest thing of all. And I'd gotten him off that way.
"After that I eased my hand out of him and we kissed. He was sweaty and breathless and handsome, and I told him to never dare be ashamed of that, because what he did was incredible.
"He asked about getting me off. Honestly I'd barely thought of it. I told him I wasn't ready, and maybe I would be later. But I was so content in the moment"
"So after all that you didn't get off at all?" asked Adam.
"I did get off," I answered. "Just not with my dick. I was deeply satisfied, and I didn't want anything to change that, not even cumming. And then we kissed for a long time and then cleaned up."
Adam sat back in his chair. "So you're in the fisting club?"
"It's funny," I replied, "but no. Not really. I'm not into it. I'm into it with Will. I'm into doing it with him. The way he does it, and the things it does to him. I'm deeply into that."
"Well good job, kid," Adam said. "So I can assume you're back on the job?"
"I'm back," I said. And I meant it.
"James Austen going to write a little novella?" he asked. "Fist & Sophistication? That's kind of the story of you two."
"Adam, you're worse than me," I groaned, and we laughed together. "We'll see."
I could see a little love story. Maybe a wilder love than I would have once imagined.
I stood up taller than I had in a long time. I felt my center of gravity again.
Adam sized me up with his eyes, and I could tell he saw the change. "Get out of here. Tomorrow we start again."
In 1895, the Marquess of Queensberry left his calling card at Oscar Wilde's club, the Albemarle, inscribed: "For Oscar Wilde, posing somdomite [sic]." Wilde, against the advice of his friends, initiated a private prosecution against Queensberry for libel, since the note amounted to a public accusation that Wilde had committed the crime of sodomy.
Queensberry was found not guilty, as the court declared that his accusation that Wilde was "posing as a Somdomite [sic]" was justified, "true in substance and in fact". In April 1895, Wilde was arrested for "gross indecency" under Section 11 of the Criminal Law Amendment Act 1885, a term meaning homosexual acts not amounting to buggery (an offence under a separate statute). Events moved quickly and his prosecution opened on April 26, 1895, in which Wilde pleaded not guilty.
On May 25, 1895, Wilde was convicted of gross indecency and sentenced to two years' hard labor. The judge described the sentence, the maximum allowed, as "totally inadequate for a case such as this", and that the case was "the worst case I have ever tried". Wilde's response of "And I? May I say nothing, my Lord?" was drowned out in cries of "Shame" in the courtroom.
Shame. Wilde later wrote "He does not win who plays with sin in the secret house of shame." They've tried to shame us all along, and have never stopped. Well fuck that. They can kiss my gay ass.
Imprisoned, Wilde was not, at first, even allowed pen and paper. He was released from prison on May 19, 1897 and sailed that evening for Dieppe, France. He never returned to the United Kingdom. He spent his last three years impoverished and in exile. He took the pen name Sebastian Melmoth, writing long letters describing the brutal conditions of English prisons.
Wilde died of meningitis on November 30, 1900. He was buried outside Paris, but in 1909 his remains were transferred to Père Lachaise Cemetery, inside the city. The modernist angel depicted as a relief on the tomb was originally complete with male genitalia, which were initially censored by French authorities with a golden leaf. The genitals have since been vandalized, and their current whereabouts are unknown. In 2011, the tomb was cleaned of the many lipstick marks left on it by admirers, and a glass barrier was installed to prevent further marks or damage.
The epitaph on his tomb is a verse from his Ballad of Reading Gaol, reading in part,
For his mourners will be outcast men, And outcasts always mourn
With my daybag over my shoulder, I stopped in reception, where the painted Oscar Wilde stood in his garden, surrounded by the signatures of writers of smut and erotica, the gold leaf letters reading RARELY PURE AND NEVER SIMPLE.
I'd taken for granted the rights he could not have dreamt of in his lifetime. I'd squandered the liberties to the very things that landed him in jail and in exile. My smutty stories. My husband - not a secret lover in hiding, not an outcast, not a shame, but my husband, who I loved and who loved me in return. I'd failed in many ways, but would do better.
I asked the receptionist for a tube of lipstick. She was hesitant - they were only for visiting authors of note. But there was something in my affect that put some weight into the request.
I opened the lipstick and used it to sign my name on the glass front of the mural. James Austen. Writer of gay smut.
I capped the tube, kissed my fingers and pressed them to Oscar's face.
"Thank you, thank you," I whispered. "For another chance."
I went home, where I hoped my husband would be looking forward to my return.
- END -