SEXIS WRONG

Juan is a guy in his late twenties. We met, as I often meet
play partners, over the Internet. The first time he showed up
at my door, I was more than a little dazzled by his good looks,
trimly buffed body, and stunning smile. And by how much he
liked to get fucked.
Though he’s a busy guy, today he’s made some time to come
over after work.
“Hi, papi,” he says when he walks in. His smile’s even more
amazing than I remember. “It’s good to see you.”
It’s good to see him, too. It’s good to look down and see
him sucking my cock. It’s good to pry apart his asscheeks
and taste his hole. (And Juan has a very, very pretty hole.
Remember, I’m a connoisseur.)
And, most of all, it’s good to have my “son” Juan ride my
dick. I do enjoy being on top, but as I suggested to Daniel, I
also love to lie back and feel a guy ease down on my hard-on,
and that’s just what Juan does. I look up into his dark eyes as
I feel his sphincter relax, his delectable ass open up for me.
“Ay, papi,” he gasps. “It’s so big.” (I’m not boasting here,
only reporting.)
We shift positions so I’m hitting his prostate, over and over
and over again.
And it’s Easter all over again.
So is the rectum a grave?
I remember the first time I fucked ass. It was with my first
boyfriend, my first, tritely tragic love. I’d read
an erotic novel, a rather good one as it happened,
that explained how anal sex was the
ultimate joining, a momentous pledging of devotion.
So when I tried to jam my dick into Jim’s unready ass, when
things collapsed into tears, neuroses, apologies, it all seemed
so damn fraught. We broke up soon after, him leaving me to
get married; I’m assuming his wife never did him with a dildo.
But who knows?
I do not, oddly, recall the first time I got fucked. I do remember
this cute, curly-haired insurance salesman who used to
come over to my place in the Haight, many years ago, and
pound my ass till I was ready to beg him to stop (though I’m
hoping I never actually begged him).
Back then, I used to think I was doing a top a Real Big Favor if
I let him use my ass. What can I say? I was young and foolish.
I think I’ve learned a lot about sex since then. Buttfucking in
theory and practice.
Well, yes. Insofar as the body itself is a grave. Insofar as all
our pleasures are mortal. Insofar as the corpses we sleep
If the ass is a tomb, it’s like the one
Jesus allegedly was left in.
with are, ultimately, ourselves. And, yes, insofar, as the Buddha
said, as our pleasures are what bind us to these pieces of
walking meat we call “I.”
But, at the risk of, oh, a thousand more incarnations or so, I
find myself unable to stay away from the amazing beauty, the
life force, of a good fuck. Hell, I’m not even trying very hard.
Because if the ass is a tomb, it’s like the one Jesus allegedly
was left in: It may seem like a dead end, but it’s a portal
to transcendence, too. And if that transcendence is fleeting,
equivocal, even stupid, well….
Nothing says “trapped in a body” quite like anal sex does.
And nothing else better says, “What the hell?”
The transformational powers of anal sex are immense. What
had been a functional aperture becomes a site of pleasure,
replete with multiple meanings. It’s positively alchemical.
Dross into gold. Asshole into pussy. Shit into glory. Magic,
pure magic. And beauty. Beauty, beauty, beauty.
HOORAY FOR SODOMY 299