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I got up and walked to the bar, getting another round of lager when I saw
Clair. Clair is a cute girl from our course, a bit smaller than I, about
5'5. Her body seemed to be perfect and her tight top covered some nicely
shaped breasts. She smiled at me when she saw me and I made my way through
the crowed to meet her.
"Hey Clair, how you're doing?"
"Fine Tom, and you?"
"I am great, just thirsty. I am getting another round. You want to join us?"
"Sure... I am waiting for Sandra, she should be here."
"Haven't seen her, Clair." I reply.
"She's late, as always."
THE BOOK OF ASSES
Part I
Positions
For beginners at anal intercourse, the "spoon position" works very
nicely. This has the inserter lying on his/her side behind the
receiver, facing the receiver's back. The receiver draws the legs up
part way toward the chest. The inserter curls up tightly behind and
holds on to the hips of the partner, perhaps parting the buttocks
to aid entry. Depth of penetration ranges from medium to fairly deep.
The classic ass fucking position is "bent over." The receiver
bends over forward with legs spread slightly apart, and presents
the buttocks for insertion. This particular position works either
standing up or down on hands and knees. It often helps for the
receiver to recline forward over a bed or padded piece of furniture
with his/her entire weight supported. This takes the stress off
the muscles of the lower back and buttocks and helps sphincter
relaxation for ease of insertion. Depth of penetration is deep.
There are two variations of the "straight-up" position. Both partners
may stand erect, with the inserter behind the receiver as before,
but neither bends over. In similar fashion, the receiver may lie
flat on his/her stomach on a bed or padded surface, with the active
person lying atop the partners back and inserting from behind. A
pillow under the receiver's hips facilitates insertion. Depth of
penetration is medium to deep and the insertion angle results in
direct stimulation of the anterior anal/vaginal wall, with its
many nerve endings -- or prostrate, dependering on the sex of
the receiver.
The anal "missionary" position has the receiver lying on his/her back
with partially bent legs pulled up far toward the chest. The inserter
grasps the partner's ankles, pulls the legs over his/her shoulders,
and leans over, face to face, toward the partner. The receiver must
usually guide the penis of his/her lover into his/her own ass. This
position provides exceptionally good anal/vaginal wall or prostate
stimulation for the receiver and permits kissing. Some call this
configuration "doing it in the family way" for its similarities
to the classic "missionary" position. Depth of penetration can be
very deep, and this may cause discomfort for the receiver if the
inserter has an exceptionally large penis or dildo.
A variation of the above "missionary" position has the inserter
sitting. The receiver lies on his/her back, but with his/her ass on
the lap of the inserter, and legs draped high over the inserter's
shoulders. If the inserter is sufficiently agile, he/she can
simultaneously perform fellatio on the receiver (assuming the
receiver is male, of course). Depth of penetration is shallow to
medium, but the angle of insertion is "unnatural," and this makes
for unusual sensations. The penis contacts the anal/vaginal wall
or prostate, as with the previous position.
There are at least two varieties of the sitting position. (1)
The inserter may sit in a chair or on a sofa, while the receiver
lowers him/herself down on the inserter's lap, facing away. (2) The
inserter may lie down flat on his/her back and the receiver sits
down on him/her, again facing away. This is another good beginner
position, since the receiver controls depth of penetration.
The "T position" has the receiver lying flat on his/her back with
knees drawn up and perhaps a pillow or two under the lower back
for elevation. The inserter lies down underneath the the bent legs
of the receiver, but at a right angle. There may be a significant
difference in comfort for the receiver, depending on which side
insertion occurs. Depth of penetration is medium.
The face-to-face standing position requires practice and considerable
agility on the part of both partners. The receiver raises a leg to
waist level, which the inserter grasps and holds. This pulls forward
the buttocks and anus of the receiver, and makes insertion from
the front and underneath just barely possible. Shallow penetration
at a strange angle is probably the best that can be hoped for,
but that this is even possible is rather remarkable.
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Val's next girlfriend, happily, was into ass play. (He had made damn
certain of that before they got too deeply involved.) It didn't take
much persuasion for her to try anal. Their first attempt was rather
pathetic in its clumsiness and not much fun for either of them. Too eager,
too impatient . . . he had pushed too hard trying to get into her back
passage. Too little lube. She was too dry and it hurt a bit. He came
while still stuck fast in her outer ring.
Marsha took him firmly in hand after that. She had done some reading
and judicious asking on the methods and techniques of ass fucking.
"Val, dear Val. Let me guide you through this. You'll do it exactly as
I say, and you'll be patient, too . . . or I'll chop off your . . .
"First, we need a higher quality grade of lube. Not that cheap shit you
got at the corner drugstore. And we won't skimp on it, either.
Next, you'll turn me on with pussy stroking and clit sucking before
I let you anywhere near my asshole. Make me come once or twice. Three
times is even better.
"Finally, listen. Listen to me. Me! The boss. When I'm ready to let you
stick anything into my ass, I'll let you know loud and clear.
"Yes! That's good. I'm going to lean forward and bend over those pillows
and stick my ass into the air. It'll be totally open to you.
"All right. Prepare me with a finger inside, and plenty of lube on it,
don't forget. Now two fingers. Twirl them around. Stretch me. Loosen me
up. Lube me up inside. Now lube yourself up. Slather it on. Get ready
to slide in now. Ready?"
Boy, was he ever. He positioned himself at the entrance to her ass and
pressed forward gently. The dick head slowly disappeared, and with a sort
of liquid pop, he was past the entrance. There was almost no resistance
now, and he slowly slid in deeper. Inch by inch, his shaft submerged
into her darkness. The front of his thighs bumped against the curve of
her buttocks. He was all the way inside.
At first it didn't feel all that different from cunt fucking, though the
fit was somewhat tighter. Then it hit him that he was doing something . .
. dirty . . . forbidden, and a wave of heat almost made him faint. There
was a powerful electric current surging through him and he was locked
rigid in ecstasy. He let his entire weight rest on her back and buttocks,
totally immersed in her.
Marsh sure liked it. She came right away, and the rhythmic squeezing
of her asshole on his cock sent him right over the edge. He howled
in delight.
A trickle of his come leaked from her asshole as he pulled out of her.
There was a small smear of brown on his tool, and a pungent shit-smell.
All of that was a major turnon and he was immediately ready for another
go.
While it lasted, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But
it was an argument over money, of all things, that broke them up. His
parting words were: "Well, your next boyfriend may not be as cheap as
I am, but will he be able to keep your ass happy?"
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I had just finished my shower for the night and decided to check my
email, when I heard a knock at my door. Not thinking about how I was
dressed, panties and a long t-shirt, I went to see who it was. I opened
the door and saw it was HIM! I opened my mouth to speak but HE quickly
placed HIS hand over my mouth and spun me around, clasping me to his
chest before I could move. He shut and locked the door behind us and
walked me into the living room with his hand over my mouth. He then
reached into his pocket and pulled out a bit gag and forced it into my
mouth, tying it tightly. He then pulled out a length of rope and pulled
my hands behind my back and tied my wrists together tightly, with my
palms facing out.
As he stepped in front of me I noticed a large blue bag slung over his
shoulder. He set it down, reached inside and pulled out several lengths
of rope. The first he used to tie my ankles together tightly, then
snuggly wrapped the second around my arms at my elbows, pulling my
shoulders back and pushing my chest out. God, I was getting so hot
feeling his hands one me. What was going to happen to me! I soon found out!
After tying my elbows tightly, he wrapped the third length of rope
tightly around my legs just below my knees. He then reached up and
RIPPED my shirt off, exposing my breasts! My God he was going to rape
me. My pussy was already getting wet! He then reached down and tore my
panties off, leaving me naked in my living room. I was glad my room mate
was gone for the weekend.
I was then forced to my knees and he pushed my head to the floor, my
ass sticking up in the air. I felt so exposed! I heard him rummaging
through the bag he had brought, and wondered what was next! I felt
something slowly slide into my hot, wet pussy. It was a dildo! It
stretched comfortably as he eased it in. It felt wonderful! He looped
two ropes under my body and over my shoulders, then I felt two more
drape over my ass and up to my shoulders, where he pulled them tight;
setting the dildo snuggly into my pussy, and pulling the two ropes
tightly down my ass. God I felt so helpless and wet in this position. He
could do anything to me and I wouldn't be able to resist.
I couldn't see what he was doing as he rummaged through his bag, it
took him a minute or two to find what he was looking for, and then I
felt a clod touch to my little rosebud. He was sliding a butt plug
slowly up my ass! Oh, God he knew I was a little anal slut! It must have
been 4 inches long, as he slowly penetrated me. I then felt him pull the
two ropes snuggly over its base to make sure it did not come out. God
this was so frustrating. He hadn't said a single word since he had
arrived. What was going on? What was he going to do?
I then realized the dildo was a vibrator, as he slowly turned it on
high. Oh God it felt wonderful in my pussy. I groaned even more as I
felt the plug start to vibrate in my ass. This was wonderful torture!
How long was this going to last. I was getting so turned on and hot!
What was he doing? I realized that he had turned on the TV and placed a
DVD in the player. He sat down on the couch in front of me, leaned back,
and placed his feet on my back. He was using me as a foot stool, while
he watched a movie! I turned my head to look at him and he finally
spoke, "Don't move! Stay absolutely still or I will spank you sweet
ass!" He then reached into his bag and pulled out a blindfold and placed
it over my eyes so I couldn't see what was happening. I then felt him
push something into my ears. He had put ear plugs in, I couldn't hear or
see anything! This was getting so wild! The vibrators were starting to
drive me crazy and it was getting hard to sit still. I couldn't help
myself, I arched my back slightly as I felt a small orgasm come over me.
I felt his feet leave my back, and then a sharp pain on my ass as I felt
something spank my ass! He was whipping me with a belt! Oh, it felt so
good as he spanked my ass hard 10 times. I bet I had a wonderful red
glow to my ass after he finished. He warned me not to move!
I couldn't tell how long I kneeled as he watched the movie. Every time
I moved or shook from my orgasms, he would spank my ass 5 times with the
belt, I was getting so hot and frustrated, my ass was starting to twitch
with excitement. Time just seemed to flow together and I lost myself in
the pleasure of the vibrators and the whippings to my ass.
I don't know when he moved behind me, but I suddenly realized the plug
was gone from my ass and his cock was slowly sliding in its place! Oh,
it felt so wonderful. I felt his groin press tightly to my cheeks and
realized he was buried completely in my ass. He stayed for a few
moments, letting me adjust. Then he started slowly pumping back out then
in again. I felt so full with the dildo humming away in my pussy and his
hard cock buried in my ass!
He slowly built up speed until he was pounding my ass hard! God it felt
wonderful! He kept pounding and pounding into my hot ass. I finally
couldn't take any more of the throbbing in my pussy and the fullness in
my ass and came! My ass squeezing his cock tightly over and over again
as I felt him release with me!
I woke up a few minutes later cuddled in his arms. He was rocking me
gently and nuzzling my neck as I drifted off contently in his arms.
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It sickened him. His new girlfriend had an obsession with "the anal
thing." Now *that* he had never done. It had overtones of filth and
perversion. It was the way queers had sex! And yet . . .
She did have a nice behind. He loved to run his hands over its sweetly
flowing contours. It was a classic, fully rounded and padded model,
unlike the skinny boy-butts fashionable nowadays. He got hard just
thinking about it.
Why not? If she wanted it that badly . . . But, damn, that was where
*poop* came from. The thought of sticking his cock into that disgusting,
stinking hole --
"Hobbie, do I have to beg? I *need* it there. That's the only way I've
ever been able to come. At least *try* it. If you love me . . . "
Love. The magic word. He knew raging passion, but love? What the hell
could that be? Maybe . . . maybe what he was starting to feel for
Carla. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
"Yes, Hobson, I'll wash thoroughly. I'll even do an enema to clean out
inside. No trace of my shit will contaminate that pristine cock of yours."
It wasn't as if he'd never seen her anal sphincter before. There it
was, staring him in the face, as he entered her doggie style. Winking
at him. Round and puckered, with a reddish brown tinge. The doorway to
the tunnel that led all the way up into her pipes. Into her central core.
Decision time. She was on hands and knees, naked buttocks within an inch
of his throbbing erection. Which entrance? The slit that had so recently
welcomed him into its familiar, velvety splendor? Or the (ass!) hole,
hiding dark mysteries?
He plunged into her.
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"These jeans make my ass look big!"
Her voice came from somewhere behind me. I was standing in the aisle next
to Women's Wear. The lady posing in front of the full-length mirror at
the entrance to the dressing rooms seemed to be talking to herself. Other
than me, there was no one in her immediate vicinity. And yes, the jeans
were a bit tight on her. In fact, she was literally bursting out of
them. Bottom-heavy, she was, and her ass would look big under *any*
circumstances, tight jeans or no. It didn't just *look* big, it *was*
big -- big and lush and pear-shaped. That ass, that huge beautiful ass,
was the fulfillment of every erotic fantasy I had ever had.
She was looking back over her shoulder. She was looking *straight at me*.
She had caught me staring! My guts turned to jelly and I started to turn
away. Where was the nearest exit? But . . . was that a hint of a smile
on her face? A mysterious smile. Yes. Making fun of me? Or . . .
She was beckoning toward me. *Me?* I pointed at my chest and she nodded
vigorously. Well, why the hell not? I slowly made my way toward her.
"You. Yes, *you*. I saw you looking at me. What's the matter, guy? Never
seen a fat bottom before?"
"Well . . . none quite as nicely shaped as yours."
She began laughing, then slapped me on the back. It damn near knocked me
over. She was several inches taller than I was, and had to outweigh me
by easily a hundred pounds. Just that big ass of hers alone must weigh
nearly as much as I did. But I felt no pain. In fact, I was gawking in
open admiration at her bouncing breasts as she laughed. Her blouse was
a bit tight, too.
"So, what do you think? Should I buy the damn jeans?"
"Oh yes, definitely. They fit you like a . . . I mean, they show off
your figure to perfection."
"You admire a classically voluptuous woman, do you? That being the case,
I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Fiona."
She paid for the jeans, and we agreed to continue our discussion in a
more congenial setting. For example, over dinner.
"Best meal I've had in ages." Well, not actually the best, but at least
as good as I'd gotten in the fast food joints where I'd been eating all
too often lately.
"I enjoy cooking for friends." She was humming under her breath as she
cleared the table. "Would you like some dessert?"
I'd like that luscious pear-shaped ass for dessert. Now, how to phrase
that delicately?
"Why thank you, Fiona. Do you have anything sweet?"
"Chocolate fudge and . . ."
"And?"
"And, well . . ." She blushed. "I know this is only our first date,
but . . . "
"But?"
"But I just can't wait. I'm sorry, but I seem to have fallen in lust
with you. Why don't we have *each other* for dessert?"
"You just *had* to pick the most expensive item on the menu, didn't you?"
That big ass of hers looked even better in the flesh. Bare-naked flesh.
It felt good, too. I couldn't keep my hands off it. Those round, juicy
globes were a work of art.
She had what was once called an "hourglass" figure -- full breasts
tapering down to a shockingly slim waist, then flaring out to wide,
generously upholstered hips framing that glorious ass. Looking at her rear
view in the flickering illumination of the bedside lamp, I could almost
picture her as a mythical centaur, with a humanoid torso growing out of
a massive equine rump. Those wonderfully sculpted haunches! Now she was
down on hands and knees, and those magnificent globes, like twin moons,
completely dominated the heavens. Later, hours later, as we lay in
each other's arms, she told me she measured a full 56 inches at the hip,
that is to say, around the ass.
That ass. I couldn't keep my hands off it. I savored the soft, cushy feel
as I fondled it. The warm, fleshy resilience of her buttocks as I entered
her from behind (which turned out to be her favorite position). The
freshly powdered scent of wanton femininity tickling my nose when I rubbed
my cheek against her plush bottom. I wanted it, all of it. I wanted to
plumb its depths. I had a sudden raging desire to *fuck* that ass.
In those early morning hours, as we lay entwined, I whispered into her ear
the details my fascination with that magical, wondrous ass. I hinted at
my dark hunger to explore its hidden richness, to insert myself into its
mysterious interior. Her body spasmed in my arms. For a moment I thought
I had offended her, that she was shaken by disgust and outrage. But she
was only laughing softly. She kissed me moistly on the lips, then made
a mock farting sound.
"My hot, passionate lover. I've opened my most private self, my private
parts, my very *cunt* to you. Do you think I'd deny you my *ass*? As it
happens, having it up the ass is one of my . . . my secret masturbation
fantasies. It's just that I've never found a man I've wanted to realize
it with. Until now."
There just happened to be a tube of "XE-41 Industrial Strength
Recreational Lubricant" in the top drawer of her dresser. Just behind
several stacks of panties. Very curious. Could be she had already
rehearsed her little fantasy, possibly with the active participation of
a silicone sex toy or two . . .
She knew the moves all right. Her heavenly gate, the entrance to her ass,
dimpled inward, then relaxed and dilated as I gently entered into her
innermost mystery. She was hot and buttery-slick inside and I glided past
her sphincter ring with no resistance. She groaned, then reached behind
and pulled me farther into her. I began a slow pumping rhythm of long,
deep strokes, and shortly afterwards felt the contractions rippling
out from her depths that meant she was having her third orgasm of the
night. She cried out softly and called my name.
My name? What name? What *was* my name? Who was I? I couldn't seem to
remember. My identity, my past existence prior to seeing her at the store
. . . had flickered out, faded . . . didn't exist. In fact, I didn't
exist . . . except as a figment of imagination, Fiona's imagination. As
consciousness dimmed, the last thing I heard was:
"Yes, yes! My most successful creation -- a highly detailed demon
lover, a phantom conjured out of a dream. You! You are a creation of my
imagination. You don't actually exist in the flesh . . . yet.
"Somewhere, somewhere out there, perhaps among the readers of this very
story, there is someone who can fill your role, someone who can love
me as I'm truly meant to be loved. Someone who believes that there is a
big-assed Fiona out there waiting for him . . . somewhere. Someone whose
belief is strong and unwavering and who will not despair and lose faith
if at first he doesn't find his Fiona in Women's Wear. Someone who will
continue searching -- searching until that day when he hears a voice
ask whether the jeans make her ass look fat . . . "
The bedroom light comes on. There! On the far side of the bed. Is that a
faint indentation, as if perhaps a man had slept there? Possibly. Over
there, by the clothes closet, in front of the full-length mirror,
a woman is struggling to pull a pair of too-tight jeans over her ripe
posterior. She is crying softly and calling out a name.
Whose name? Yours.
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I had a dish washing job back then. It was the summer of '65 and I had
just graduated from Northeast High. Viet Nam was starting to heat up and
sooner or later a draft notice would arrive in the mail. Meanwhile, I
figured I could earn a couple of bucks and maybe, maybe even lay enough
aside to pay for a semester or two at the state college. Not that I
cared much about school or book learning, but I didn't much care about
anything else either. Until that summer.
There were two of us back there in the dingy backroom of that dingy
roadside diner. The wheezing ceiling fan periodically annointed us with
blasts of dust and dead flies. Dense clouds of rank-smelling steam gave
the place its distinctive atmosphere. We called it the Swamp.
I was the one in charge of the pots, scraping congealed grease off the
heavy cast-iron griddles and frying pans, and cleaning the remains of
cement-hard mashed potatoes out of dented aluminum cauldrons. Marnie
did the plates and silverware in a chipped ceramic sink the size of
a washtub. The ancient electric dishwasher sometimes lent a hand --
on the infrequent occasions when it was working.
Marnie was probably still in her early thirties, but she looked older.
Much older. Her hair was starting to streak gray and her face was
wrinkled and a bit leathery. She had been married twice and had three
brats in school. She didn't have much in the way of formal education,
but she was surprisingly well-read and had a lively intelligence.
Ah, the conversations we had. I felt completely at ease in her presence.
I could talk to her about anything without worrying about making an ass of
myself. There was more to the world than baseball and hot cars and girls,
and Marnie was the one who first gave me a glimpse of wider horizons.
"You really oughta stay in school, Dave. How're you gonna make
something of yourself unless you put something inside that empty head
of yours? You're smart, I can tell. Why're you wasting yourself in this
shitty little dump of a town, anyway?"
"Because, well, I was born here and anyway where'm I gonna go?"
She just stood there and smiled. She had a luminous smile.
Well, we got to be quite good friends. I told her my troubles and even
got to the point where I could talk about girlfriend problems with her.
Girlfriend problems? I wished I had them. Girls had been avoiding me
like the plague. Unsurprisingly, I was still a virgin. Virgin? I had
kissed a girl exactly once, and that was more of a brother-sister kiss
than a passionate one. For that matter, I was still kind of fuzzy about,
you know, the "birds and bees" stuff. This was back in the early 60s, you
see. The Dark Ages. Before universal sex education. Before Universal Sex.
"Dave, look. You're not ugly or anything. It's just that . . . well,
it might help if you took a shower every once in a while, and maybe even
brushed your teeth. You know, take care of yourself, show a little pride
in your appearance. Learning a few of the . . . what we used to call
'social niceties,' that might not kill you either."
I didn't know quite what to make of that, but gradually it got through
my thick skull. I stank and had bad breath. And I was a clod. That might
just explain a few things.
It stung. I gritted my teeth as I scraped the remains of half a dozen
Blue Plate Specials into the plastic trash barrel. *I stank.*
"Oh, it's not all that bad, Dave. You're young. You'll learn. By the
time you're my age, you'll probably have gone through quite a few wives
and girlfriends. And besides, underneath several layers of dirt -- and
your youthful ignorance and clumsiness -- you're actually kinda cute."
"Damn it, Marn, you're just saying that to take the edge off the kick
in the the teeth you gave me a minute ago. Damn you! Damn it all! Just
about all the girls I've ever known think I'm poison, and you're saying
it's all my own damn fault. How the bloody hell do you expect me to feel?
Grateful?"
"I'm sorry. Dave, I have an even worse flaw than body odor and bad
breath. I'm an insensitive bitch. A bitch! You're basically a good
guy. And you're my friend. We've helped each other over many a rough spot
in these few weeks we've known each other . . . and here I am crapping
all over you. Now *I* feel like shit."
We stood there silently for a few minutes -- I scraping away at an
encrusted pot, and she industriously scrubbing a sink full of dirty
dishes. Then she turned around and looked at me. She had a twinkle in
her eye.
"Let's see if I can make it up to you in a small way. Hold on to your
hat."
She turned around, and then, and then . . . dropped her skirt, bent
over . . . and flashed her bare behind at me. Christ, those full round
globes! I couldn't stand it. I had to do something. I had to --
At that very moment we heard loud footsteps in the hall. Mr. Biggins!
"Bigshot" Biggins himself, head fry cook and owner of the joint. When
the door creaked open, we were both busily doing our jobs, sudsing away
merrily as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Well, that was pretty much the end of it. Marnie continued being friendly,
but that was the last of her bare ass that I saw that summer. She coolly
rebuffed any suggestion that we might . . . whatever. It was as if nothing
out of the ordinary had happened that one hot and sultry afternoon in
the backroom of the diner.
All the rest of that summer it tormented me. Those plump buttocks, and
that mysterious line of shadow in between, and just a hint of red. I
could see it with my eyes shut. That magnificent naked ass. If only . . .
We went our separate ways, Marnie and I. The last I heard of her, she
had remarried and moved out west somewhere. I hit the books. Hard. The
more I heard about the fun and games and jungle fighting out Nam way,
the less I wanted any part of it.
That ass. Those bare cheeks haunted me. That gleaming round ass popped
up in my dreams and I found myself obsessing about it when awake. My
fantasy of the "perfect woman" had an ass like that. The hell with the
rest of her, just as long as she had that *ass*.
Well, I finally lost my virginity to a woman with a big, plump ass like
that. Livia was a grad student at school.
Yeah, I wound up in college after all. For a while I considered studying
mechanical engineering, of all things. Why not? After all I had gotten
pretty good at fixing the balky old dishwasher at the diner. But by then
I had discovered a special aptitude for finding hidden patterns in stone.
I began to sculpt.
Livvy and I were lovers for about a year and I almost fell in love
with her. I would have, too, if it hadn't been for the memory of Marnie
. . . and Marnie's ass.
Later on, I ended up getting married. Twice. And in between times I had no
lack of girlfriends. I had learned my lessons well, you see. Exceedingly
well. But I never found happiness. I was always in search of the perfect
ass. It eluded me. I had by then concluded that Marnie had the patent on
perfect asses.
And so here I was. Founder of the "Buttock Art" movement. My
"double-cheek" sculptures, the ones with an uncanny resemblance to a
bare female posterior, had become quite the rage. They were on display
in a fair number of museums and galleries. In fact, I *owned* four of
those galleries. By age forty, I was worth a couple of million. I had
achieved every one of my goals in life. Except one.
And then *she* dropped into my life again.
I was the guest of honor at the opening of my exhibit at the East River
Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. The centerpiece was a two thousand
ton slab of gleaming alabaster that I had managed to jackhammer into
a passable semblance of -- you guessed it -- stark naked female buttocks.
There was special attention to detail on this one, all the way down
to the exquisite pucker of the foot-wide sphincter, not quite coyly
concealed within the massive cleavage. It had drawn raves from the
critics . . . and snickers of disbelief from the public.
Someone was circling the sculpture, staring at it intently from all sides.
Whoever it was, she certainly had a nicely filled-out butt. Come to think
of it, that ass in those too-tight slacks looked strangely familiar . . .
"Marnie!"
"Dave . . . Dave. You've come a long way, I see."
She didn't look a day older. Well, maybe her face had collected a few
more wrinkles and her breasts drooped a bit lower, but that *ass*. It
was still the same ass that had launched a thousand sculptures.
"Thanks to you. You broadened my outlook and gave . . . gave purpose to
my life. I'm grateful."
"I did? Why yes. Of course. You think I didn't recognize that hunk of rock
over there? It's me, my own . . . ass. Right down to the very dimples. I
think I ought to be flattered, but I can't help wondering if the part
of my anatomy that I sit on really rates a monument. Just think, my ass
has been immortalized. Gosh."
"Well, Marnie, there are asses and there are asses. And yours just
happens to be the finest one in existence . . . and I missed my shot at
it back then. To my eternal regret."
"Dave, we all have regrets. I certainly had my reasons for not wanting
to get involved with a kid half my age back then. Don't think I wasn't
tempted. I'm not made of stone, you know. But . . ." She turned and
favored me with a mysterious smile. ". . . You know it's never too late."
In an uncharacteristic fit of sentimentality a few years back, I had
bought the Greasy Spoon Diner from old man Biggins when it finally
came time for him to retire. I had wanted to preserve a local landmark
. . . and an icon of my lost youth. It was where I had gotten my first
notions of Higher Truth. And now that's where Marnie and I were headed.
A well-known technique known to artists is to restage -- literally
recreate -- certain pivotal events in one's life. And that's what we
were about to do. Recreate one certain pivotal event.
It was still dank and steamy there in the Swamp, the backroom of the
diner. But it was *our* place. Ours. Marnie had laughed when I had told
her where we were going.
There she was, bent forward over the sink. She had dropped her drawers.
Once more. Again her bare globes taunted me with their voluptuous charms.
Now those charms were mine for the taking. And old man Biggins wouldn't
be walking in on us this time. He was resting his weary bones in a resort
somewhere in the Florida Keys.
"I've been waiting for this for ages, Dave. My ass is yours. All yours
after all these years. If you still want it (need I ask?). Do what you
will with it. Take it. Take it all. Now."
I had thoughtfully arranged everything. The classy ambience. Complete
privacy. And, of course, lube.
I slid right into her. Into her hot and welcoming tunnel. Her back door,
of course. I wasn't about to content myself with pussy when I could
have her ass. Her marvelous, luscious ass. I was finally *making*
her ass. The only ass that had ever counted.
It was the best sex I had ever had in my life. It must have been good for
her too, because she looked in my eyes, smiled, and kissed me lovingly
when we were done. Then she pulled up her skirt and I buckled up my
belt. And we turned around and washed the sink full of dirty dishes.
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