By Simon Traum
Indoor weather. A glowing blue cloudmass in the vague shape of a crown brushes up against the ceiling, the sealed room's main source of illumination. Occasionally, flashes of sea-green lightning escape its indigo depths, sending our shadows strobing around the walls like the speeding windows of a passing train.
Darren is stretched out, lying naked before me. His upside-down eyes look up past me, staring at nothing. The other three surround him, playing his body like a musical instrument. They're tuning him up, tuning him in. His torso has become translucent, revealing not the expected innards, muscle, bone, intestine, but instead multicolored shoals of lights shifting and swimming through the black space inside him.
Caleb moves his large body forward between Darren's legs, lifting them out of the way and inserting his stiff cock into Darren's unresisting asshole. The dark spaces within him flush pink, like dye pushed through water. Colored vibrations shiver through Darren's blissed-out body like the wobbling shockwave ripples in a warm bathtub. The cloudmass flashes red-orange now as Dan and Karl stroke their hands over the surface of Darren's body. His cock jerks and his body contorts in pleasure.
My own dick is sticking straight up in the air in front of me, hovering over Darren's inverted face. His open mouth looks too good to pass up, so I tap my swollen cockhead against his lower lip. He responds by licking it once, and a shocking filament lights up between my prostate and my skull. He licks it again, then sucks it into his mouth, moaning as Caleb begins to fuck him. I place my hands on his shoulders and push my cock down his throat. The veins in Darren's pulsing erection are glowing cobalt blue.
This is the back door to Heaven, the dark heart of the lightning. I'm picking up the scent of jasmine mixed with ozone and sweat, the sideways acrid taste of yohimbe. The prickly shiver and spark of static electricity over the skin's surface. The unpredictable twin influences of Doctors Frankenstein and Strange mix here in the flash-punctuated undersea gloom.
The four of us are guiding Darren's nervous system into a more receptive state. Biofeedback machines blink and buzz, crowding the edges of the space. A red light slides down the spectrum into the deepest of blues, signaling a similar slide from Darren's alpha state to theta. A whistle emerges into a low, comforting drone, indicating that Darren's pulse has stabilized in his altered state.
Caleb pushes inside again and again. The cloud on the ceiling negative-flashes in a deep violet hue. I pull my hard, dripping dick out of Darren's gasping mouth, stroke it a few times, then feed the veiny rod back between his lips, feeling pressure building in the soft air around me.
Then I feel a large, warm hand fall on my back, another one sliding around my waist from behind, caressing the hair on my stomach, distancing me from the group-trance the others are still in.
I hear RJ's voice in my ear. "I'm going to pull you out of this, Gus. Caleb can take over. I need you."
RJ telling you he needs you can be interpreted in more than one way. If you're lucky, it means he's about to get naked with you. As it happens, we're both naked already, so it seems as if it might be a good sign when he grasps me around the waist with both big arms and hauls me backwards out of the room. My head's spinning, and I can feel an immediate loss in atmospheric pressure as he pulls me into the brightness of the corridor. I can't get my bearings, holding on to RJ's hairy forearms, hard-on jutting out in front of me, wagging.
RJ turns me around to face him. My eyes are refusing to focus, but I hear him tell me, "Hang on. I know you're disoriented, just stay loose. I'll ground you quick."
I fall backward into the safety net of his arms and he lowers me down onto an ottoman, then straddles my hips and sits back onto my engorged prong. He sinks to the base of my straining hard-on, which gulps involuntarily inside him, then flexes his glutes around it. I snap immediately into focus, staring fascinated at RJ as he leans forward, plants both huge hands on my chest, and starts riding my dick up and down.
"Ooohhh, Goddd!" I groan. I've been skirting the edge of orgasm for the last hour or so as part of the exercise; I was beginning to think I wasn't going to come. Now I know I'm going to, and soon. In the blinding white blur of the hallway, I throw back my head and, gasping, shoot what feels like whole galaxies into RJ's beloved, furry, clutching rectum, as one of the most magnificent men I've ever seen expertly diverts my much-delayed orgasm up his own reservoir.
I feel almost deflated with satisfaction. "I love you," is out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
"You said that last time," RJ smiles. He gets this a lot.
"I meant it then, too," I sigh, helpless. "If I thought you'd allow it, I'd never leave your bedroom."
"I suppose we could get together for another session sometime," he avers.
"How about now?" My dick is still stiff up his ass. Frankly I can think of nothing I'd rather do than wear myself out fucking his hole.
"I need you somewhere else right now," he tells me as he stands up, pulling himself off my prick, which jerks as if it can't understand why it's all on its own again. "Come on, you horny fucker. I'm sending you out of the Station for a while, on a field trip of sorts. I think you'll enjoy this."
My name is Gus. I'm 33 years old; been married, divorced, no kids. I used to be an undercover vice cop, but luckily I found something more meaningful to do with my life.
I am currently employed by the last organization I was paid to infiltrate, a sex-yoga training center for men. It's called the Station, and I experienced an awakening there last year while half-heartedly looking around for evidence of prostitution. I went back to my superiors on the Force, hoping no one would spot the change in me, and reported that there wasn't anything wilder going on than nude meditation. I waited three weeks, then turned in my resignation, citing mental incapacity. I just couldn't get my head around turning ordinary people into criminals over something their bodies clearly need. Hell, if not for the badge, it could be me ending up in a cell.
These days, what I do is more akin to the Laying On of Hands. We call it Hedonic Engineering. I help other guys discover and use their bliss centers. Most of this is done while naked and very aroused. Orgasm, while not expressly discouraged, is frequently unnecessary as one falls into deeper bodily rhythms of pulsating sensation. Time dilates. Personality rotates into subtle, new configurations. Sex and yoga are used in conjunction, as a consciousness-change agent.
Obviously, the combination is pleasant enough to become habit-forming.
One of the many perks that come with working at the Station is the opportunity to get into closer proximity to RJ. RJ, as we've already seen, is the tall, dark, built, hairy, hung, and unbelievably attractive man who runs the Station. RJ's charisma is powerful enough that it's not unusual for me to find myself agreeing to all kinds of things I don't understand. Kind of like now.
"Do you know what a heirophant is?" asks RJ.
"No," I admit.
"How about a fetich?"
"You mean like kink, bondage?"
"That's limiting it a bit. Look it up when you get the chance."
"So what's a herrophant?"
"Heirophant. Or mystagogue. The word literally means 'to show the Holy'. I want you to be my vehicle for the transmission of a catalyst. What we're doing here is a kind of experiment in community outreach. We're going to release a selective viral aphrodisiac to the general populace."
I have no idea what he's talking about.
The object is sitting in my hand and I still can't tell what I'm looking at. "What does it look like to you?" I ask, glancing up at RJ.
He just grins suddenly. Then he tells me, "It's called a MacGuffin. It looks a little bit different to everyone who comes in contact with it. It hasn't been activated just yet, so it doesn't look like anything."
"When does it get activated?" I wonder.
"Whenever you feel like doing it," RJ answers.
"ME? How do I do that? I can't even see it clearly!"
"It becomes activated by a combination of belief and purposeful handling. In other words, you'll have to take it for a test drive to make it work."
"But how-- I don't even understand this thing!"
"My advice is to decide on a suitable target, then hand the object to him under some pretext. The accompanying hallucination is programmed subconsciously. He'll see what he wants to see. To reset your own nervous system, you'll have to perform some deep breathing with a mental visualization of a pentagram. A few minutes of meditation wouldn't hurt, either."
"Where did you get this? Is this even safe?"
RJ starts laughing. "You're getting entirely too worried about this, Gus. Look at what I just pulled you out of in there; you see weird, spooky stuff here all the time. Trust me, you're gonna like this. If you really want to see the object more clearly, do those exercises I just told you about."
So I do. I drive back to my condo, break up some bodily tension and meditate for fifteen minutes concentrating on a pentagram. When I look back to where I'd placed the object earlier, it now resembles a small booklet.
I walk over, pick it up. The front cover is printed in a bold blue font in five different languages, only one of which I am able to read and only three of which I've ever seen before. The part I can read says clearly: Third Mind IndustriesTM (MG7779311) INCARNATION INSTRUCTIONS AND SERVICE GUIDE FOR ONE (1) READYMADE (MALE-Male) HOST-BONDING (SEXUAL) MACGUFFIN.
I flip though the booklet. A hodge-podge of incomprehensible languages swim by until I find something I can make sense of. The text is so jargon-heavy that I can only decipher about half of it. "The short-term neural symbiote employs a variety of talismanic, hallucinatory interfaces with host for ease of use, in conjunction with a powerful backbrain stimulant to lower inhibitions." Okay, I think that's more or less what RJ told me. "After one (1) complete cycle, MacGuffin symbiote is ready to move on to next interface." Cycle? Interface? What does the thing do?
Realizing I'm hungry, I put the booklet back down and go to rummage through the kitchen, discovering that what little food is there has gone off. Guess I lost track of time at the Station.
Nothing for it, but to order out. I find the drawer full of takeout menus, select an option that looks good and low-maintenance and order a pizza while I scan the booklet some more. "MacGuffin re-charges (unlocks doors/facilitates access points) during bonding cycle interface," catches my eye. So does "gathers momentum and force at points of circulation."
I lose track of time all over again flipping through the almost incomprehensible instructions. I feel like I'm missing something, but I'm also getting a series of mental images that seem to be cued from the text itself. A vision of electrical impulses jumping across synapse gaps is almost irresistible, coupled with a connected image of bodies magnetized together, and brief flashes of what seems like the brain's two hemispheres singing love songs to each other.
I'm beginning to think I'm out of my depth again, setting the booklet down when there's a sudden knock on the door. Opening it, I'm confronted by a short, stocky, good-looking guy in his early 20's wearing a ballcap with a slice of pizza embroidered on it. His wide build almost fills the doorway.
Why didn't I see this coming? Of course.
His eyes take me in in much the same way that I'm checking him out. Then he realizes he's staring, drops his eyes and pulls out a receipt. "Uh, Mr Roode?"
"Yeah," I answer, "large with everything."
"Yeah," he rejoins, glad to be able to follow his script. "That'll be $14.76. Cash, right?"
"You'd better come in," I tell him, patting my pockets. "I left my wallet in my other pants. Close the door after you," I instruct him as I head into the bedroom, where I pick up my wallet and the MacGuffin.
I hand him a twenty. He counts back my change.
I hand him the object. "And this is for you."
He stares at it at first, like he can't see it clearly either. Then his fingers close around it and he slips it into his pocket.
He has a funny, amnesiac expression on his face when he looks back up at me. "I wanna suck your cock," he blurts. His eyes widen as he realizes what he's just said, and he starts blushing and trying to salvage the situation.
"Dude, I'm sorry," he says, shakily. "I don't know where that came from..."
"No problem at all," I announce, unbuttoning my pants and taking out my half-hard dick. There's a very noticeable relief visible on his face as he kneels on the carpet.
He doesn't waste time, just shoves my dick as far into his mouth as he can. He's nervous, but good at it nonetheless. This guy's got a mouth built for blowjobs. He's got me moaning before I realize it's me.
He pulls his wide face out of my crotch. "Am I doing it okay?" he asks.
Panting, I answer, "You're doing fine. This your first time?"
He licks up the underside of my shaft, sending an electric shiver up my body. "Hell, no," he tells me, "I fool around with my wrestling buddies all the fuckin' time. We take care of each other."
"Nice," I mumble approvingly. "Bet they like that a lot."
"Them and me both. My name's Rob," he says, turning his cap around backwards, and then he's bobbing on my now-rigid crank again.
"Fuck, that's good, Rob," I breathe. "Are they expecting you back at the restaurant soon?"
"Mmmph, thanks for reminding me," he drools as he draws back a second time. "Look, dude, you're hotter than fuck. I can suck you off if that's what you want, but I'm up for more if you are. I'll just call in and tell 'em I've got car trouble so they won't give me any more orders tonight."
"Get on the phone," I say, stripping off my shirt. "Let's do the whole tour."
Rob tackles me onto the bed as soon as we're out of the living room, and our clothes. Pinning me down with his thickly muscled body, he kisses me hard, thrusting his rough tongue hungrily past my teeth as the pizza gradually gets colder in its box on the kitchen counter.
The guy's as good at kissing as he is at sucking cock. He's got this amazing huge mouth that seems to eat mine alive. I just ride his tongue until he comes up for breath.
"God, you're gorgeous, dude," he mumbles, almost too quietly to hear. Then he spears me with an appealingly vulnerable look. "Please tell me you like to fuck and get fucked."
"You came to the right place, Rob," I grin back at him. "Looks like you're as versatile as I am."
"Man, you should meet my buddies. Shit, they'd shoot off just looking at you."
"I thought you wanted a cock up your ass."
"Oh fuck yeah!" He flips off of me, landing on his elbows and knees on the mattress, great big ass in the air. "But I wanna suck it some more before you stick it in me." With that, he's inhaled my hog back down his throat again, leaving me reeling and gasping, holding onto his big shoulders for stability.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter as he slurps his way over my bone. I can feel it getting harder against his sliding tongue. He thrusts one arm down between his kneeling thighs, stroking himself as he sucks me, giving me a fantastic view of his huge glutes. There's no way I can resist leaning forward and running my palms over them, squeezing, separating them, running one finger down his crack. Rob moans and wriggles his butt in abandon as I do this. He's turned into quite the pig, I note with some satisfaction.
Licking my finger, I reach back and slide it inside his butthole, which practically blooms around it, inviting it in, then clamps down on it. Rob squeals softly and then grunts as he continues servicing me. He's obviously ready to fuck whenever I am, his sweating, heaving body flexing between my cock and finger.
I pull my rigid erection out of Rob's mouth and he looks up at me quizzically, one strand of saliva trailing from his open mouth to my cockhead.
"Bring that butt over here," I say.
"Fuck yeah, dude," he grunts, turning himself around and spreading his asscheeks with both hands. The view is amazing. Rob's got one of those monumental, oversized butts that just calls your fucking name. I run a thumb up the moistened cleft, and Rob winks his hole at me. "Fuck me, Gus, please," he whines. Not for the first time, I recognize that I really love my life these days...
Rob's a talker when he gets turned on. In fact, the only way to shut him up is to put a dick in his mouth, and even then he moans and mewls around it. This is not really a problem, since the walls are soundproofed, and Rob's got a very sexy voice. His string of cooed encouragements drive themselves up an octave, taking on a gravelly quality when I slide my prong up his back passage. He keeps up a delirious monologue as I start fucking in and out, sounding even hotter as we get more wound up. Whatever he gets up to with his friends, he's learned how to breathe right; I'm impressed. He also knows just how to grip me with his ass, almost sucking me off with it. For his age, he's entirely too good at this.
He looks back over his left shoulder at me, grunting. "Uhh, uh, uh... Is that ass treatin' you right, dude?" he asks, breathlessly toying with me. He can see damn well it is, but I decide he needs a better view.
Pulling out of his rectum, I tell him, "Get on your back." Again, he doesn't waste time, flipping over and holding his thick legs up out of the way, eagerly grinning at me.
I slide my cock back in and he groans, "Yeah, dude, that's what I want. Push it back inside where it belongs. Love you inside me. Goddamn, you feel good! Uh! Uh! Uh! Yeah, fucker, fuck my ass! Fuck me harder!"
I lean back, pumping, and grab hold of his thick, hard cock to stroke it. He knocks my hand away. "Fuck, man, don't do that! Uhhh! Don't wanna come yet. Fuck me, fuck me..." His large hands roam up my sweating torso and he whines, "God, you're gorgeous" again.
A little later, he bends me double on the bed and pushes his thick tool inside me. He gets all the way in, then collapses over my body and lets his hips move rapidly, rabbit-fucking me while he growls filthy nothings into my ear. "God, dude, you're too fucking hot. Fuck yeah, take it all. Uhh, love it inside you, feels so good! Uhhh! Uh, uh, uh, uhhh!" My hands hold onto his lightly furred, flexing thighs.
My hard cock's trapped between our stomachs, and I can tell from the sensations that it's about to go off. "You're gonna make me come," I tell him hoarsely.
"Uhh, fuck yeah," he grunts again as he increases his speed. "Wanna fuck it outta ya!" He's screwing me hard enough to drive us both across the bed, sheets and blankets bunched up over my shoulders. In the split second before I come, I gaze up at his heavy, straining body, and he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen, working hard to make sure I feel as good as I can. It's hard not to get a little attached.
Then I'm spraying my spunk over both of our bodies, whimpering uncontrollably as his fat snake nuzzles against my prostate.
He freezes, his entire body turned to warm stone. Between clenched teeth, he grates, "Oh, shit, here I go," and I can feel him unloading inside me, shuddering. "Oh God..."
My hand on the back of his sweating head, his lips and tongue graze my neck, sending bright waves of prickles through me.
I dig the object out of his pants' pocket later while he's in the bathroom, replacing it with another twenty dollar bill in case he misses it. I don't know when the cycle ends or starts, but I want to see what happens when I give it to someone else. I've just slipped it out of sight when Rob comes bounding back into the bedroom, all camaraderie and horny enthusiasm. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.
"Dude, I feel fucking great!" he informs me. "You gotta let me see you again! If you want, I can set up a group thing with my wrestling buddies. They'll love you. There's four of us; we're all horny as fuck. Dude, I swear we'll have you feeling so good."
There's no way I'm turning that down. "If they can keep up with you, bring 'em on," I answer. I give him a way to contact me, briefly wondering if I'll be bringing him to the Station before too long. Is this why RJ sent me out with the MacGuffin? Am I recruiting?
Then Rob's kissing me energetically on his way out the door, wiping out any train of thought I was having, swearing to all that's holy that he can't wait to work me over with his friends. I can hardly help smiling. Even if he gets his cool back and forgets all about me, I've still made out pretty well tonight.
And I'm not done yet. I've still got the MacGuffin.
RJ was right. I've been having a great time. It's been days and I still haven't been back to the Station.
I've been making it into a game lately to circulate the object, then intercept it again before I lose track of it. It seems I can form at least temporarily-lasting sexual bonds with guys who would be difficult to break the ice with otherwise. Not that they're all strangers to man-sex, but there's usually that dubious question of access, especially in public. I tipped an Uber driver with it and ended up riding for free in addition to getting the guy to screw me in the back seat, cute little nervous tics and all. I handed it to a large, immaculately-suited man in a crowded elevator, and he took me silently back to his office, locked the door and fucked me over his desk. Then there was the three-way I arranged on the fly in a country-western bar.
This wasn't part of my instructions, but RJ never said I couldn't do it, either. If he asks, I'll tell him I was making sure it worked right. He might buy that. I've noticed that when I hand the object to someone, I see it the way he does; apparently so does anyone else who sees it right then. But they don't have to see it for it to work on them; it's general proximity is enough to make guys loosen up a little more than normal. I wonder about the trajectories further traveled by the erotic currents the MacGuffin has been stirring up. I'll see some of these men again; many I won't. Where do they go from here?
Sooner or later, I know I'll lose the object. Or it'll lose me; I'm still not sure it isn't self-aware. It's designed to circulate by itself, according to the booklet. It's just such a buzz watching guys under its influence, losing their heads over each other. Its function appears to lie somewhere between the tiny advice-giving devil on your left shoulder and Dumbo's magic feather, which helped him to fly.
It can look like anything. You can conceivably find it anywhere. It could be the next chair you sit in, the next doorway you walk through, the next magazine you pick up. It could be one of the green ones in your next bag of M&M's, unlocking you from the inside. Handling it makes your fingers tingle. Every time I let go of it, I can feel it getting stronger, almost jumping out of my hands.
And anyway, RJ promised I could make a beeline for his bed as soon as I got back, if I have any energy left. Since it's RJ, I probably will.
But first, just one more cycle. I can feel it guiding me, like a divining rod, seeking out nascent buzz zones, emerging sexual access points. Who'll it be this time?
I'm aware that there are some psychologists who would refer to what I'm doing as "reward-seeking behavior." Personally, I call it paradise-addiction, and I'm fine with it.
I walk the streets of Heaven, horned, looking for opportunities, potential. Stopping sometimes for food or sleep, MacGuffin burning a hole in my pocket...