Behrouz Gets Lucky by Avery Cassell

Author:Avery Cassell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BEHROUZ GETS LUCKY
ISBN: 9781627781718
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2016-01-25T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

STUFFED

There used to be a transman in his midthirties from Noe Valley who would post in the Craigslist Man-for-Man section on a regular basis. There his photo would be, shot from the waist down, his hairy thighs spread, his bits glistening proud and hard. The title of his post demanded, Fill my Hungry Holes. I admired him relentlessly. I didn’t have a flesh cock that I could fill him with to the top and back the way he demanded, so I wrote him a fan email instead. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to growl to my lovers to fill me until whatever they were stuffing in my cunt and my ass was squirming out of my mouth, my heart. I never heard back from him, but I thought about bumping into him at Dolores Park or Tartine, he prowling and I outwardly complacent, but inwardly from the same insatiable tribe. I would never recognize him unless he stripped, spread his legs, and demanded that I fill his hungry holes.

I like to get stuffed. I mean I love to get everything filled like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Fill my mouth, my cunt, my ass, my pisshole. I don’t care what you stick in there, although I have my favorites, the ones I keep close to my bed. I love the cold, battered, 24-inch-long heavy metal chain, each oblong link sliding in one by one, the edges pinching my tender flesh, and me tasting the metal as it fucks me. I’ve been known to jam two eight-and-a-half-inch-long silicone Outlaw dildos into my ass, bigger than I thought possible, first one, then the other layered on top sliding in smoothly and filling me. I like to fill my pisshole with the delicate length of a long cool metal sound, opening me slowly, and reminding me of all the secret places that can be possessed, all the wet caves.

Then there is the gleaming stainless-steel ball hitch that we bought at Tractor, Farm, and Fleet last winter. It was snowing and we were desperate to find something to fill me up for the holidays. We grabbed it right before they closed at 7:00 p.m., Eartha Kitt huskily crooning “Santa Baby” over the scratchy loudspeakers and Lucky’s hand clenching my overall-clad ass as we worked our way through the line of exhausted last-minute shoppers. Even now, my nipples are tender hard as I hunch over shivering, my asshole twitching, thinking about that planetary sphere sliding into my ass like the moon into orbit. We’d bought the stainless-steel hitch in Ohio during our visit to my daughter and grandchildren’s home.

It was fifty-three degrees in San Francisco, with the kind of dank spitting rain we’d get sometimes that was somewhere between foggy and raining, but not quite either. I looked down through the velvet curtains in our library bay window to see whether the cars had their wipers on and what folks were wearing. Dressing for the moody San Francisco days was never easy, so we looked for clues in the street.

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