By Simon Traum

At some point, when a quiet place has been reached, there occurs some final instruction. An understanding is implanted deeply, on a level that cannot be reached via conscious thought. It's in the body, and the body still knows best. This understanding is difficult to describe accurately with any existing language system, although it is possible that ancient Sanskrit might come the closest. Some might call this understanding Pantheism or Animism, but it's more inclusive than that. Think of reality as being made up of links in chains that connect many levels of existence. We stand on one link at a time, but all the links are connected, and we travel constantly. No, see, that's not it at all. Maybe there's a reason it's so difficult to talk about, to communicate; like it's a way of protecting itself. You can't give away a secret you can't verbalize in the first place.


Midnight in the Station.

Nobody here keeps anything like regular hours, so it may not last, but at the moment, it's quiet. Half-darkened halls seem to elongate to twice their illuminated distance. The sound of the air conditioning kicking on and off periodically marks time as the night crawls by.

Employing more subtle means of ambulation, hardly touching the ground, something roams the estate, unnoticed by the other inhabitants.

If the Station can be described as an orgone battery, it could also be described as a puzzle or as an engine made from an interface between inanimate, moveable parts and organic, biological components. When these components (aka persons) change or alter themselves or their patterns (one moves out - another moves in, takes their place, experimentation and wanderlust provoke new combinations all the time), perhaps sometimes the engine runs more smoothly than at other times, the puzzle seems to configure itself into a newly different and more powerful shape. At the Station, orgone becomes concentrated enough to build up a surplus charge, almost becoming tangible, acquiring the characteristic imprints of those who recently manipulated the medium, like ectoplasm. This etheric orgone, stamped with the faces and actions of those who revved its engines in this spot, or nearby, collects in various places about the grounds, barely self-aware but driven by vague memories of what was really important.

Deep in the churning blue-green glow, gliding half-visible, like spirits in a bottle, disembodied desires long for connections not yet made. A spiritual scaffolding hangs out on the peripheral edges of mundane reality (if such a beast could endeavor to show its face here at all). And whatever walks there isn't clearly delineated enough to walk alone, but it hungers still. Horny ghosts, hidden aspects of the still-living (in most cases), blindly seeking the physical release that was granted them some time ago.

Those who see to the Station's daily operation know all about this, have known for years. There are instructors and hired staff, many of whom are kept sequestered in areas the trainees never enter. Several years ago, this was not the case; but it was decided, after two repairmen from the outside were caught half-naked and fucking insanely in the basement, that access to the general public should be restricted to those who had received or were receiving some level of training. These intangible entities have a way of determinedly driving the organic beings around them into the sexual embrace as a means of reliving the thrill themselves.

Almost unbearably attuned to erotic emanations of any sort and somewhat unhampered by locality in the quantum sense, they still remember the concepts of restriction and delayed, but promised, gratification. In avid anticipation, they roam the halls and rooms, unseen but felt. Spreading out, they create and drag behind them chains they use for other than the traditional spectral purpose. No, these links are for the living, the unquestionably present.

There's no point talking about numbers where these spirits are concerned, not being whole, being mixtures of characteristics swirling like smoke through each other. This undifferentiated invisible mass pushes a collective snout forward, following the unmistakable psychic aroma of sexual activity. Teenage lightning. The place only seems quiet; everyone's busy. The smell is undeniable, irresistible.

There are potential connections contaminating the air in a gridlocked network like pheromones. This way. Over here. Getting stronger. Focusing on a particular space, passing through an unopened door. Getting closer to the three bodies inside, feeding hungrily on their sensations as they provoke each other to wilder heights.


Against all of his expectations, Chump is fucking RJ, who lays on his back, big legs curled around Chump's shoulder and hip. Caleb watches from across the room, his furry body naked, stroking his stiff erection.

Chump swore for weeks after his Initiation that if he ever got his dick in RJ again, he was gonna screw 'till he got tired, come or no come. He's making good on that promise now, nose-breathing to keep from getting too excited; wanting to see if he can make RJ walk funny afterward. Chump's cock is like concrete. He twists his hips, watching RJ wince and suck air through his teeth. Fuck yeah. He follows it up, pounding quick, and RJ squeals, big hairy pecs heaving. Chump's cock gets even harder, loving the sensations of RJ's grasping fuck-tunnel. He pulls a breath in through his nose, smelling sweat, testosterone and lubricant. As far as he's concerned, he's died and gone to fucker's heaven.

Caleb confirms this by positioning himself behind Chump's pumping ass and pushing his big, hard dick inside slowly. "Aah, yeah, stud," growls Chump as his rectum is forced wide around Caleb's pleasure-tool. He bucks his hips repeatedly, moaning in unison with the two men he's now servicing, feeling fucking incredible. The three of them sound like dying water buffalo. Caleb's huge, furry arms encircle Chump's smooth, freckled chest. He can feel Caleb's beard and bushy chest hair brushing against his flexed shoulders. It's the last straw and he comes, howling, as Caleb holds him from behind and RJ fondles his sides.

The howling subsides to whimpers and Chump falls forward into RJ's arms, kissing the big guy as Caleb keeps fucking him from behind. Chump moans into RJ's mouth, ass muscles squeezing Caleb's thick tool as he pumps.

Caleb pants desperately, "Tight ass, man. Uuh! Gonna come..." Then he's sprawled on top of both of them, groaning as his seed releases inside Chump, who can't stop kissing RJ. When RJ puts his hands on you, you don't want to be anywhere else.


Delicious, but can't stay here all night; something's happening down the hall, something not so well-developed as this. Unseen, vaporous blue-green tendrils lightning jag down to where the pleasure-alerts are going off. These two are just getting started, their energies still tentative, clumsy but enthusiastic.


Ignacio and Gus have discovered each other accidentally, the best way to find out you're attracted to someone. Ig's facial scars had Gus staring before he could stop himself, and Gus is the prettiest guy Ig's seen since he arrived - even better than RJ. Neither can take their mesmerized eyes off the other before they're kissing passionately, Ig's big brown hands exploring the dark-haired territory under Gus's shirt. Here we go again, Gus thinks, considering himself the luckiest man in the world. He had a job once, some task he was supposed to perform about a hundred years ago. He stopped thinking about it several days back.

Unknown to the both of them, their embrace is compounded by succeeding layers of ghostly orgone chains, securing them to each other, feeding on their endorphins, stoking them up for more. The spirits are willing. The flesh will leak. Both Gus and Ig feel a distinct increase in energy around them, but neither says anything about it, each concentrated on the other.

"Fuck me?" asks Gus, hoarsely.

Ignacio nods but doesn't want to let go, enjoys kissing Gus too much to stop. They've taken their cocks out, squeezing them together. Thinking about it a bit, Ig decides he'd like to spend a little time with this one. "Why don't we go to my room?" he suggests to Gus, who looks at him with puppy eyes, nodding. They trail wistful blue ghosts behind them up the hall.

Falling onto Ig's bed, they roll around kissing, pulling each other's clothes off. Gus drags his tongue along the inside of Ig's big biceps and into his armpit. Ig winces, grunting, and holds Gus's face there with his other hand. His mammoth dick is swaying in the air, bumping Gus in the stomach. Gus gropes for it, grabbing hold and stroking. Ig rasps, "Oh fuck," and lets go of his head, allowing Gus to hone in on the uncut, veiny hog.

Gus licks and kisses the shaft, then shoves the fat flesh tube as far down his neck as it'll go, which is pretty much all the way. Ig gasps, holding onto Gus's flexing shoulders. Gus tries to grin around the thick tubesteak but his lips are stretched taut. He concentrates on sucking, thoroughly digging the sounds Ig makes as he gets serviced. He can't even talk any more, just grunts in ascending scales as he pushes on Gus's shoulders to guide his rhythm.

Ignacio's nowhere near coming, even with this pretty white guy sucking his bone. Fuck, he looks good doing it though. He keeps looking back up at Ig with those devastating eyes.

Gus takes the cock out of his mouth, dragging his tongue up and down the shaft's underside. "Uhh!" grunts Ig. "Feels great!"

"I want your load," Gus begs.

"Not gonna get it," Ig tells him, enjoying the tease. A somewhat twisted smile appears on his face, and he shakes his head. "Nope."

Ig has no idea; he's still pretty new. Gus has been hanging out with Will, learning his tricks. "See about that..." he grunts, climbing on top of Ignacio's larger body. Getting himself into position (he's been lubed for awhile now), he sinks down onto Ignacio's huge crank and works his ass muscles the way Will showed him. He really gets off on looking at Ig, but he needs to close his eyes to concentrate; he's been issued a challenge.

It takes about two minutes before Ig's breathlessly crying uncle. "Okay. Okay, you win!" He slams his palms down onto Gus's pumping thighs, trying to stop him. "Shit, ease off, lemme fuck you some before I shoot!"

Gus flips his eyes open, and he can feel himself falling for Ignacio. Ig sits up and lowers Gus's back to the bed; driving his hard erection balls-deep into Gus's rump. Gus's eyes go wide, staring adoringly up at Ig, wondering what that thing is on his head - Has Ig got a halo? Over the next few thrusts into his ass, Gus decides he must be seeing Ignacio's aura: It's like violet fire coming off his body, with blue dots at the edge, dancing in whorls. Wide-eyed, Gus puts one hand into it; and he can feel the energy field as he moves through it before he comes into contact with Ig's heaving chest. He notices he's got an aura, too, like a blue-green blaze.

Ig's cock suddenly hits him in his best spot twice in a row. Gus's teeth clench shut as more pleasure flows through him than he can contain. He cries out, feeling like Ig's cock is fracturing his pelvis. Panting, out of control, he wonders if this is what giving birth is like. He can no longer tell pain from pleasure in the white-hot rush. Fuck, he feels like he's disintegrating below the waist as his body reinvents itself from the inside, opening like a blooming flower. Has this happened before?

He looks up at Ig pounding his ass, and he can't remember who he is, but he feels something reptilian rising beneath the damage, roiling itself to the surface. Something organic, but made entirely of energy shoots repeatedly up his spine, from his distended ass to his spinning head, lighting him up like neon within. Linking to his breath, it flows a little higher each time. Even Ignacio feels it; like dicking a wall-socket, but somewhat nicer.

Ignacio's no longer quite sure what he's stuck his cock inside - This is like fucking an erupting volcano! - but he thinks he might be falling in love with it. Invisible to them both, sentient fossils surround them in the orgone they're supplying with their actions, yanking phantom chains to pull the lovers closer together; an infinite regress of obsessive pleasures. There's something kind of indirectly claustrophobic about the wanton press of spirit forms on living, working, sweating bodies, but it just seems to make Ig and Gus want each other more, forgetting any outside world.

Ignacio can feel his balls getting ready to burst. He could come right now, watching Gus pull gorgeous faces while Ig bones him. But one of the passing phantasms crawls around his shoulders, licking an earlobe with a stray idea. Now's the time. He almost nods to himself as he pulls out of Gus with a pop, holding the base of his throbbing tool, squeezing. God, he's so close...

He plants one large palm in the middle of Gus's hairy chest, holding him down as he crawls over and on top of him. Grabbing Gus's leaking cock, he pushes the head at his own butthole. He takes a deep breath and pushes his ass down onto it, letting it inside before he can change his mind.

It hurts at first, but he knew it probably would, so he's prepared. Within a couple of minutes, he winds up really liking it, supporting himself on his arms to let his ass ride it. He stares down at Gus, who looks about ready to shoot. Good. So's Ig.

Ignacio grooves his butt down over Gus's prick. He leans forward to lock eyes with Gus, easily the best-looking guy he's ever seen.

"You're getting my cherry right now, uhhhh!" he informs Gus in the split second before Ig hits him in the face with the first shot of his load. Gus's hands are locked, rigid, to Ig's hips as Gus's own orgasm overtakes him.

While some of the Station's spectres are content with this scene, others sense something of a rarer vintage that's been steeping for several days. This is Ambrosia to the ghosts, who in addition to an appetite for sexual energy emissions, have over time discovered that a certain emotional loading of a situation adds a distinctive spice to the overall flavor. More succinctly, frustrated passion suddenly overcome is a delicacy to these entities, an event wholly rarer than the puppy love being explored by Ig and Gus. The desired outcome will require some legwork on the part of the presences, so they trail their chains and fetters after them as they seek out the trajectories of the passions they intend to exploit.


Jacob's alone in his room, lying naked on his bed, huge cock in his hand. He strokes himself idly, thinking about Trent. This is happening rather frequently lately: He's been seized by thoughts of Trent, followed quickly by almost insanely huge hard-ons. Hell, the last two guys he fucked here, he was actually thinking of Trent the whole time. Wouldn't it make more sense to think about Trent while he fucks Trent? He's pretty sure that's what his friend Hank would advise. Trent's already gotten Jacob off twice, effortlessly. Maybe Jacob's dick has a new favorite.

A passing apparition leaves a light blue thought behind in Jacob's head, something to stir the depths. Jacob sits bolt upright. What the hell's he doing here, stroking his own dick for? This is the Station, damn it; there's got to be some way of getting Trent's angel-face back between his hairy thighs. He storms out into the hallway naked, rigid cock sniffing the air in front of him, thinking to himself that this is getting to be a habit...

Trent rubs absent-mindedly at his denimed crotch. He's at loose ends, wandering the halls. For the first time in a week and a half, there's nobody lining up to put their hands or mouth on him. He wonders vaguely what's up, then realizes that in the non-stop sexual activity of the past few days, he's been passed around like a party favor, which has been fun, but not really under his own control. Trent, looking like he does, and being pretty agreeable, has gotten used to accommodating other people's desires for him. This is the first time since he arrived that he's been left to his own devices. The question arises: Who would be Trent's first choice to scratch his itch? The answer comes back with no hesitation: Jacob.

He feels his insides go soft and warm at the thought of the big, cute, hairy stud, and his cock gives itself a quick pump up in circumference. Yeah, Jacob; that's the stuff, he thinks to himself. Every time he gets near the guy, he gets a rush through his whole body. Now, how does he separate Jacob from whoever's servicing him at the moment?

As luck would have it, Jacob shows up just then, padding into view, looking around, completely nude and rampantly erect. Yeah, Trent thinks, he's exactly what I want...

Jacob spots him. "Hey," he says, "I've been looking for you."

"That's good," Trent returns, pulling his fly open, "because looking like that, I'm gonna have trouble keeping my hands off of you."

They increase speed as they approach, locking mouths as they get within range like ships approaching each other on water. True to his word, Trent's hands explore everything they can reach on the hulking muscle-boy. Jacob feels like he's turning to gold wherever Trent touches him.

Jacob reaches down to stroke Trent's erect dick, sticking up from his open fly. He watches his own hand clutching the huge, pretty member. "I wanna suck it," he mumbles, looking Trent in the eye.

"Go to town," Trent tells him.

His own horsecock is sticking straight out as he kneels in front of Trent, sucking the fat glans into his mouth. As he descends, taking the girth inside, Trent's head falls back in bliss, arms flexed, his hands over Jacob's ears.

"Oh yeah," Trent gasps as Jacob eagerly saws back and forth on the mammoth meat, saliva leaking out the sides of his mouth. "Oh fuck, you're good! Ooohh! Oh god, baby! Fuckin' suck my cock..."

Jacob hums around the satisfyingly thick tool as he works it. He can taste Trent's salty pre-come. It makes his own cock get harder, and he growls around the shaft as he gulps at it. He feels incredible, and he's doing everything he can to make Trent feel incredible, too.

Trent, for his part, is working his mnemonic pretty hard, trying not to shoot, but Jacob's doing everything right and really getting under his skin. He pushes Jacob away before he hits the crisis point. Jacob stares up at him in confusion. "Why'd you stop me?"

"Fuck, you're too hot." Trent's glistening tool is jerking in frustration of its own. "You're gonna make me shoot too soon."

Jacob reaches for it. "Gimme that load!"

Trent backs up, waving his erection at Jacob, who launches himself at the other big guy, tackling him to the floor. "Gotcha, fucker!" Pinning Trent to the ground, he reverses himself so he can swallow Trent's dick again, groaning hungrily. Trent sees he's got access to Jacob's huge tool, which is swaying next to his face. That's more like it. He grabs the cock and rakes his tongue along the shaft. Jacob moans and a drop of pre-come escapes the tip before Trent's shoving the entire monster into his greedily sucking mouth.

They're both slobbering over each other's hard-ons contentedly when Trent gets tired of fighting it and lets himself unload gorgeously into Jacob's mouth. It just feels too good to stop and Trent loves coming with a cock down his throat, so it's especially great when he discovers that Jacob's shooting, too. He can feel Jacob's big body shaking and swelling under his hands as he takes Jacob's sweet load.

Once they get over their respective climaxes, they look around themselves, as if bewildered by their surroundings.

"Why are we doing this on the floor in the hall?" asks Trent.

Jacob grabs Trent's head, kissing him, holding him tight. "I don't care where we do it," he tells the pretty man.

"My room okay?" Trent inquires, lips nuzzling Jacob's hairy collarbone.

"Fine with me." Jacob's big hands have wormed their way up under Trent's shirt, fingers on warm skin, buzzing from the contact. "Just don't say we're done."

"We're not. Come on."


Trent lies on his back on the edge of his bed, staring up at Jacob in rapt adoration. "If it gets you off, I want to do it," he asserts huskily. Naked himself now, he raises his muscular legs, exposing his pulsing asshole, fat erection lying over his stomach. "I want to turn you on, make you horny."

"You do. God, you do." Jacob shakes his head, trying to clear it. He still wants Trent so badly that his head spins and he can't think straight periodically.

Trent's hands explore Jacob's body, guiding him closer. He scissor-locks his legs around Jacob's waist, one lubed hand stroking Jacob's horsedick. He loves the feel of it, but he wants it inside even more. "Come on, big guy. Fuck me," he murmurs, and Jacob's eyes get wider. He's adorable like that; Trent can't resist sitting up and kissing him. They stroke each other's cocks for a while, then Trent lies back again. "Push that big fucker up my butt. I want you so fucking bad."

Jacob lines his cock up, and pushes inside steadily, inexorably. "OOOHHH, FUUUUCK!" Trent sings, white-knuckling the edge of the mattress. His huge cock twitches in midair, stiff and pointed back at his face. Once Jacob begins moving in and out, Trent's prong erupts, spewing jizm across his belly as he sobs. Jacob keeps fucking, fucking the come out, enjoying the sensation of Trent's fuckchute chewing on his invading prick.

"Oh, fuck! Don't stop," Trent sobs as his horn fountains onto him. Jacob nods - he had no intention of quitting anyway - and rubs Trent's load into his heaving 8-pack, holding him in place with that hand while he screws. Trent's utterly sensitized by his orgasm; he can't even think as Jacob continues to over-stimulate his insides. He just pants deeply, staring back into Jacob's eyes where he's connected with something he can feel, but not quite understand. It's like his soul is being drawn out into Jacob, but it feels too good to try to hold onto it. He lets it go, his gaze helplessly drawn to Jacob's sky blue eyes.

Jacob thrusts into him again, feeling much the same sensation as Trent. He can't look away from him as he pushes in and pulls out. He can feel something of himself slipping away inside the older man, and it feels so good he decides that Trent can have whatever it is, as long as he doesn't make him stop. Trent's body jerks with Jacob's pumping, but they've only got eyes for each other.

And around them, feeding, unseen chains of green ether fading into ultraviolet where disembodied phantom phalluses jerk uncontrollably in row upon row like a Giger painting. THIS is what they wanted, what all the work was for. A colorless, bony hand yanks a smoky chain and both Jacob and Trent feel an insistent tug inside, are suddenly quite certain that they cannot live without the other one. Reeling each other in, spurred by the horny emanations of past intercourse, they're forging a profound bond that neither consciously fathoms. But the still-living erotic ether knows exactly what's going on. A connoisseur of such matters, this is how it gets its jollies.

One of the transparent cocks ejaculates, the ghost of an orgasm, the memory of a touch. Trent heaves a deep sigh, and Jacob feels drawn toward him like a magnet, laying a palm along Trent's sweating jaw.

"Your cock feels so good," Trent moans. Jacob, still staring into his eyes, feels himself falling with nothing to hold onto but Trent. He only recognizes his own orgasm after the fact, having collapsed heaving onto the other man, whose still-hard sausage is trapped between their stomachs. It twitches, growing stiffer against Jacob's furry washboard as their tongues wrestle. Jacob reaches down for it, squeezing it and staring back at Trent. What the fuck time is it? Who knows?

Trent asks, "Think you can come again?" He can't believe their dicks are still hard; they ought to be unconscious by now.

Jacob nods, "Yeah, I think so." He's starting to think that might be a little strange when Trent pushes him over to the side of the bed, bending him over it.

"Good," growls Trent, "so can I!" He rubs his thick tool up and down Jacob's hairy butt-crack.

Jacob pushes himself back from the bed at Trent. He moans, "Aw, yeah, Trent, fuck me good! Make me come, uhh!" He grabs his own horsecock, whacking it against his thigh, whining.

Trent doesn't have to be told twice. He steadies his cock, aims it at Jacob's pucker and begins pushing it in.

Jacob loses it. "Oh, fuck, man, that's - Uh! - that's so fucking nice, baby... Aaah... Oh god, stud, open me right up... Uuuuhhhhh! Ah god, oh fuck! Yeah, pound it, just like that.... Ahhahahahhh, fuck!"

Trent, pumping hard, stares down helplessly at Jacob's huge, flushing back. "I'm coming again, man," he pants, "You fucking hot fucker, you're making me shoot again, huuuhhhhh!" He moans, as if in pain, as honey pours from his stiff horn.

Jacob follows right after, ejaculating what seed he has left onto the bedding trapped beneath him, bellowing, shaking.

He feels Trent laying himself down over his back, kissing his neck. "I think I might be in love with you," Trent confesses before he knows he's going to.

"I think I might be pregnant," Jacob says into the mattress, completely exhausted, but happy. Their cocks are still hard, but he's done. If Trent wants more right now, Jacob will have to punch him out.

"Goddamn, that was hot!" breathes Trent, slipping out of Jacob's rectum. His arms snake around Jacob's still trembling torso, holding him tight from behind. "Do you always wander around stark naked when you're horny?"

"Yeah, it's been getting that way," Jacob admits. "It gets results."

"Fuck, yeah, it does," Trent chuckles. "It makes a hell of an impression, seeing you approach with that big hard-on. My mouth was watering."

"So was mine," confirms Jacob. Then, before he knows he's said it, "Don't let go."

"I won't. I like touching you too much to stop, big guy.

"Mmmm." Jacob luxuriates.


It was good for the ghosts, too. Satisfied, having discharged the unbearable bit of their residual existence through the physical vessels of various horny mortal bodies, they lose some of their more anthropomorphic characteristics, drifting away into inchoate formlessness, mere potential. The solved puzzle falls back to pieces. Like a post-coital erection losing the blood flow that fed it only moments before, they deflate and lose substance, reducing to a vague blue haze that absorbs itself into the walls and fixtures, sparking here and there, vibrating silently.

Waiting for next time.


Simon Traum

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