The Dreams of Men

"Now you strip."

You say, "Not yet. All you have to do is make yourself upside down and let gravity work for you. Put your head down here on the couch cushion, and put your ass up here where your head normally goes. Relax. Let your legs fall over the back of the couch."

"No, this is stupid."

"You'll have a fabulous orgasm, you'll see."

Against my better judgment I get into that preposterous position. My upside-down eyes implore you. A single drop of pre-cum falls from my dickhead onto my belly button.

"Good!" you say.

"Please. Please, Wendy... Do me!"

"Now raise your legs and let them fall to either side of your head."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"That's... too personal!"

"I promise I won't judge you."

Bob, this is the lowest you've sunk.

WENDY:

You do as I say. Your legs and torso make a strange sort of inverted 'W'. You're asshole is exposed to my gaze. It's amazing how quickly men lose their sense of shame.

"Now stop struggling and let your legs fall where they want to go. The weight will pull your pelvis toward your face."

With suspicion you let it happen.

"Unnggg..."

Your torso begins to fold, bringing your dick closer and closer to your face. One foot, ten inches, eight inches, five inches to go...

"UNNGG! It hurts!"

"Little more, Bob! Yes!"

Three inches, two inches-- So close! Bob you are so fucking close! I was so wrong about you.

BOB:

Oh my fucking back. My dick is almost in my face.

You put your hands on my ass.

"Let me help you, Bob."

You push down, and I bend impossibly far in the middle. Then...

Mumph! There's a dick pushing against my teeth!

"Open your mouth!" you tell me.

I do and she pushes again and I feel a dick sliding on my tongue. And at the same time my own dick feels so good! Ahhh!

"You did it! You're giving yourself a blowjob!"

This feels good. That's wrong!

She's so happy for me! She slaps my ass over and over.

"Unnnhhh!"

Oh God I'm getting myself off!

"Keep going Bob!"

You lunge for the table for something. You draw your fingernail across my ass – no, not your fingernail, something scrapy, scraping all over my bare ass... That feels good!

"Ooooh!"

Do I want more? Yes I want more! Suck more!

Slow down... No go more, more!

You go back to the table. My dick doesn't taste so bad... Sandra...

You stand over me. A flash barely seen through my closed eyes, a click and slick whir.

The Polaroid! I don't care!

Oh my delicious dick!

You put down the Polaroid. You unzip your pants and put your hand down the front.

WENDY:

"Go Bob! Don't stop!"

The rest is for pleasure. I frantically work spirals on my clit.

"Go Bob!"

I hold the grail by your chin, but I won't catch any tonight.

"Oh!"

BOB:

Yes... You come too... Yes.

"Annhhh!"

Get that fucking cup away from my face!

"Grrruuhmm"...

WENDY:

Oh!

"Oh!" Swirl my sloppy lips! Sweeerrrl.

BOB:

Oh dear God I must stop-- I'm-- I'm coming!

"Unh!"

Slop!

"Unh!"

Salty sweet sloppy!

WENDY:

FUCKING – ball heat – Fucking! Coming!

"Gwowl! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck shit!"

BOB:

"Unh!"

My tongue globby slap salt!

"Unh!"

Slip glob – drowning!

"Gack!"

Cough. Ohhh!

"Ohhh!"

Cough.

"Oh Wendy!"

Cough. Gulp. Gulp Gulp.

WENDY:

Mother.

"Fucker! Fucker..."

Twist flat fucker...

"SHIT!"

Guuuuhhhh...

"Shit! You did it!"

You did it, Bob.

"You did it, Bob."

BOB:

Pant...

"Unh!"

Wendy... come...

"Wendy..."

Sleep. Hug. Sleep.

WENDY:

Oh, my fucking fucking...

"Bob..."

"Bob, you did good, Bob."

Pant.

"I had you all wrong, Bob. You did it."

BOB:

I fall over on the couch. Alone. Violated.

"Come down here, Wendy."

Soothe me. It's all right.

WENDY:

I pat your head.

"You did good."

BOB:

You zip up your pants and put your shit in your purse.

"Stay!"

WENDY:

"Gotta go."

BOB:

"Please stay."

So tired. I want to fuck you. After sleep.

WENDY:

"You're famous Bob."

I get up and get the fuck out the door as quick as a jack rabbit.

************************************************************

Five months later, in a trendy San Francisco art space, Wendy Horenstein was enjoying her opening. Knots of connoisseurs passed among her S&M photographs of men and women in every possible combination; most were there for titillation, but some were actually buying.

One work of art failed to draw much attention. Which saddened Wendy since it was her favorite, one which she really put her heart into, one which she really enjoyed creating.

It consisted of sixteen Polaroid photos in blonde-wood frames, laid out in a semi-circle; cheap stand-up frames, the kind lonely white-collar workers array on their cubicle desks to display their homely children. And in front of the frames were sixteen identical shallow cups on pedestals, made of onyx-colored glass.

The photo on the far right depicted a man propped upside-down on a couch, his balls at the top of the photo, bearing the name "CARL" written in black marker across his ass, his legs falling to either side, giving the impression of a demented white frog. In the center of the photo jutted his small, erect penis, pointing towards his open mouth further below, and not reaching it by a good eighteen inches. And in the onyx grail in front of the photo, in the belly of the shallow cup, a white trail of what was obviously a shot of sperm rested there in permanent stasis, sprayed over with a thick clear acrylic.

The next photo to the left was similar: A man in folded position showing his butt and nut-sack (though his head had a big bald patch in the middle, and on his ass was written "BRYAN"), desperately trying to suck his own dick, and missing by about FIFTEEN inches. And the grail in front of his picture had a few drops of indefinitely and artificially preserved jism.

And so on down the line, from right to left, men in an impossibly humiliating position, trying to auto-fellate themselves, but missing, and instead their cumshot being captured by an improbably ornate cup and thus preserved for eternity, proof of their lacking in the area of male endowment. Carl, Bryan, Wei, Steve, etc. were laid out thus.

But moving toward the left of the art work, the photos depicted men much closer to their goal: JIMMY (or so his ass read), straining with hysterical might, a mere three inches from putting his mouth on his own cock! And then PETER, remarkable Peter, so close to auto-sucking that one could almost cry in empathy for him; she remembered his session well; Peter, despite his apparent shyness managing to loosen up in front of Wendy, and show her how his tongue was a mere inch away from his dickhead. But even for dear Peter, Wendy was forced to (and this pained her greatly, since she was so close to orgasm) capture his wad of come and preserve it on the Grail of Shame.

And then came Bob, dear triumphant Bob, who managed to surprise Wendy with his extraordinary suppleness and unexpected size. After fifteen unsatisfying men, Bob was finally the one who had mastered auto-fellation, and Wendy repaid him by coming for the first time since she was a adolescent girl.

And in testament to this fact Bob (whose name was written across his ass: [LEFT CHEEK] B, [CIRCLE AROUND THE ENTIRE ANUS] O, [RIGHT CHEEK] B) 's Grail of Shame was a Grail of Honor!, blank and shiny and black, devoid of all semen trails, since the semen was all caught in his mouth. Bob, the culmination of so much desperate striving, marked the left-hand side of this demented series.

Wendy entitled her masterwork:

THE DREAMS OF MEN