Date: Thu, 25 Apr 2024 10:03:34 -0700
From: Boy Mercury X <boymercuryx@gmail.com>
Subject: Wilde Love

This story includes elements that may be disturbing for some readers. It is
intended for adults only.

Copyright, Boy Mercury X, 2024.

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I hope you enjoy the story, and I'd love to hear from you.



WILDE LOVE


1.


I'd been a writer for several years at Wilde, a digital lifestyle magazine
with a bent for adult interests, meaning erotic literature and
non-fiction. The glossy features about travel and design gave some cover of
refinement to the more explicitly themed pieces. Wilde prided itself on
droll wit, urbane style and sophistication.

Wilde had a swanky office, a feature of which was a full wall mural of
Oscar in a garden, painted by a famous artist who did the most gorgeous
flowers. Across the mural in all caps gold leaf lettering was our slogan,
taken from Oscar Wilde's quote about the truth, RARELY PURE AND NEVER
SIMPLE.

A visiting celebrity author - you've heard of her - once scrawled her name
in lipstick on the mural. The poor staff managing her visit didn't know how
or even *if* to stop her. But the savvy owners afterwards hyped it, adding
a clear glass cover and an array of lipsticks for the use of any celebrity
writer or artist who visited, so they could add their name to the wall.

My boss was Adam Jeffers, an old school editor who came off as everyone's
dad. He was a good looking, sturdy guy with short blond hair thinning a bit
at his crown, and some handsome stubble of his jawline, flecked with white
whiskers. He didn't fuss about his appearance, but he had a look that
conveyed his authority and maintained it.

People variously called him AJ or Jeff, depending on their relationship or
mood. I called him Adam, or when I felt brazen, Boss. We had a different
relationship than the mostly younger staff, as I was closest in age to him,
we'd worked together the longest and I could get away with more, most of
the time.

"Kid, we need to talk," he said, stopping by my desk as I quickly changed
the browser tab on my laptop.

I'd been dreading this a little. Between Adam at work, and my husband Will
at home I felt I was dodging trouble all day every day. It was almost a
relief to think it finally happened.

"As I'm sure you know," he said, in his office, "your work is
suffering. You're distracted. You're missing deadlines, and what's worse
you didn't even realize you had them. You look addled half the time. You on
something?"

"What? You mean drugs?  No. No no. Not at all."

"Okay, that's good. Anything you want to talk about?"

I sighed. I liked Adam but this wasn't something I could say to him.

"Kid," he continued. (I liked that he called me a kid.) "I'll tell you what
my old boss told me about having direct reports. Their lives are their
business, he told me, don't get mixed up in them. You tell them your
expectations and you let them figure out how to live up to them. But I like
you, and I like your work even better, when you're on the ball anyway. So
if you want to talk, I'll listen."

"Well, it's personal and kind of embarrassing."

"You shit your pants or something? Because otherwise, I'm open to listen."

"Okay. If you really want to know. I'm in love."

I could have said I was in love and it made me uncertain, unsteady, like it
always did.

He sighed. "You're married."

I nodded. "And it involves sex."

"Does this maybe have anything to do with James Austen?" he asked. (Boom!)

I was dumbstruck that he knew about James Austen

"It's complicated," I said.

"Well. Start at the beginning."




2.


"I met my husband Will in a cafe. It was my first week in a new city where
I'd moved for a fresh start. I happened into a spot where he was a bit of a
regular. We were seated next to each other at the bar and he commented on
some items as I studied the menu. I asked about his favorites and he asked
how I liked what I ordered. We had a few laughs, exchanged contact
information and things just went from there.

"We started hanging out, going to movies together, and checking out new
restaurants. To be honest I didn't see him in any sort of romantic light at
all. I enjoyed his company, but I thought of him as a sort of sweet nerd of
a guy, with his round glasses and dowdy oversized hoodies, and his penchant
for Lord of the Rings and the original Star Trek.

"It all seemed safe, because the one thing I did *not* want was a
boyfriend. I didn't want to be in love. That was part of the point of
moving, to start fresh without being bound by those relationships.

"I had one aspiration, which was to write. It was the only thing I was any
good at, and the only thing I wanted to do. I was years out of college, but
at my university I won the creative writing award every year. We had one of
the few accredited creative writing departments in the country, and I still
won, and I wasn't even in the department, just an English major.

"The fly in the ointment was always boys. I'd had a few boyfriends, and
every time I fell for a guy I'd lose my writing edge. It was like I could
have the ambition to be a good writer or to be in love, but not both at the
same time. So by the time I met Will I was resolved to a solitary life so I
could be a good writer.

"Maybe it was the change of seasons and the shedding of cold weather
clothes, but in the spring I started to notice that under his dorky clothes
there was a fine body going on. I could see the muscles in his arms as we
shed winter coats and sweaters. And as it got to be summer I could see how
his chest filled out his t-shirts, and what a nice butt he had. I knew he
had weights in his apartment, but I never thought he really used them. He
never said anything about working out, though in retrospect there were a
lot of things he never talked about. But it wasn't just his body. I started
to realize how cute his face was and how his smile and laugh made me feel.

"Despite my best plans, I started to fall for him, and things escalated on
a predictable pattern. All I could think of was how adorable he was. I was
distracted and off-kilter, and didn't know how to be with him. And I felt
certain he had no interest in me because he'd never said anything
otherwise. I felt elated and hopeless at the same time all the time. I was
lovesick.

"One night we went to a revival of Purple Rain. We made small talk in his
car afterwards and I asked if he'd met any guys he was into. He said there
was one guy he was interested in, but nothing more. He was driving through
downtown where those big industrial orange cranes mark the way along the
waterfront shipping docks, and we were both quiet. My heart was pounding
and I asked, `Is it me?'

"He just smiled and reached over to let his hand rest on my thigh. We
didn't say another word the whole way to his place. I'd been there dozens
of times, but this time we kissed. We tore off our clothes and kissed some
more. I was in pretty good shape because I've always been long and lean,
but I thought he looked amazing. We sucked each other's cocks and kissed
some more, and when his cock was good and slicked up with saliva I pulled
him close so I could get him in me. I think it took him by surprise, maybe
because I was so aggressive, or because of how easily I took his whole
dick. It's a good size, and fat too. But I wanted him in me desperately. Or
maybe because just as I was getting the head in, I literally said. `Just so
you know, I'm not looking for a boyfriend.'

"He held my legs apart and wailed into me as I ran my hands over his
gorgeous chest and belly, with him filling me. Who knew the nerdy guy was
such a hot fucker? He had me seeing stars and begging him to cum in me,
which he did. His face was so sweet and handsome when he did. It took less
than a minute for me to cum too, with him still in me, him gasping as my
ass tightened on his dick. And all I could think was that I didn't want to
ever stop doing this with him.

"We'd been a couple ever since.

"My writing took a back seat, but I could be creative in my work. And I was
in love.

"For the first few years we fucked like crazy. We fought too. Dumb kid
stuff because we were dumb kids. One day we got into an argument - I don't
even remember why. But when we had our make-up sex I was fucking him his
back on the sofa, and I'm on my knees, balls deep in him. And I can tell
something's off. His responses are all different. More intense, but also
his mouth was open while I was thrusting into him, and the way he was
breathing and looking at me was so pleading. And I swear it was the most
beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I just shot in him. Caught even me by
surprise, and it's my dick.

"Then he pulled me close by my hips and said, `Stay in me. Just like this.'

"I had just cum so I wasn't rock hard, but I stay there and my dick doesn't
quite go down because it feels so good. He's grinding his ass around it and
gasping. He strokes his cock once and then again and he fucking erupted in
cum. We'd been together maybe three years and I'd never seen him do
anything like that.

"Later on what he told me was that when he bottomed before he enjoyed it
but it was uncomfortable too. That was news to me. Can you believe it?
Three years and not a word about any discomfort. But anyway, he said that
particular fuck just reoriented something in him, like there'd been a knot
before that we just unraveled, leaving just a straight line inside him from
my dick to every good feeling he could have."



3.


"That's a very beauty-full story," said Adam. "I hate to think how you're
going to tell me you fucked this up."

"Will had been baking for a while," I continued. "We had this idea of
opening his own place, A little cafe with a basic menu where he'd make a
selection of goods every day, and package some to take home. His parents
floated him the money, I made enough to balance things out, and we opened
the place.

"The thing is you don't know how hard it is to run a small business until
you do it. The initial excitement turned to a long, hard slog. He loved
baking and was amazing at it. His biscuits are the next closest thing to an
orgasm. But the business is so unforgiving, even if you do everything
right. Like if there's a snowstorm and you have no customers for a few
days, you still need to pay your people and your bills. The stress was
incredible.

"It happened so gradually we could hardly see it, but bit by bit it took
over our lives. We were like a threesome: me, Will and the cafe, and none
of us were getting what we wanted out of it. We were tired and shut
down. To sedate ourselves, I later realized, we were overeating and over
drinking. We got out of shape, and then really out of shape. I looked awful
and felt worse. I was so uncomfortable in my own body it felt like I was
wearing a costume I couldn't get out of. And we sure as hell weren't having
sex.

"I still thought Will was totally hot. It was me I felt bad
about. Sometimes I wanted to fuck him so bad, but I looked so bad compared
to when we met. I worried he'd think I looked awful and I couldn't do
it. It got easier to just jerk off separately when the other wasn't home."

Adam rubbed his hands over his eyes like I'd given him a headache. "Jesus
Christ. The gays. Do you want to know how many straight men *could* have
sex and not take it because they're feeling fat? None. Zero!"

"Well..."

He threw his hand up as if to salute, but touched his thumb and index
finger to make a 0 shape.

"ZEE-RO."

"Well. Anyway, I continued, "This is where James Austen comes in.

"We weren't having much sex, and we reacted in different ways. Will did by
using sex toys. Dildos and things. They started big and got bigger. He's
always been the physical one of us. I started writing smutty stories. I
used to write them as a teenager, sometimes all night long, getting so
horny, jerking off and then destroying them."

"A loss to the literary canon," Adam smirked.

"I didn't say they were great. But in a way I was writing again. Not the
way I'd always intended. And we were both were engaged in our own sex
lives, parallel to, but not *with* each other."

"Did Will read these stories of yours?"

I nodded no. "Never. He knew I was writing them, just like I knew about his
toys. But he never expressed any interest. It's funny too, because he's a
voracious history reader. It was like he'd read about every detail of the
lives of every Roman emperor, understood their motivations and desires and
follies, but had no curiosity about his own husband's. Or maybe he did but
never said it.

"I started publishing my smut stories, online and through some
self-publishing, under the name James Austen. And what got me off more than
the stories was the response I got from readers. Some were crazy and some
were dirty and some were sweet. But I felt a connection with them I wasn't
getting at home. I love Will, but he's not a big communicator. But my fans
were. And the more I wrote the more I was gratified."

I took a pause. "I even had a kind of cyber fling with a co-writer once. It
was all just words on screens, nothing real. But still."

Adam shrugged. "Shit happens."

"But how did you find James Austen?" I asked.

"I'm a well read person," Adam answered. "And maybe you forgot, smut is our
stock in trade. We just call it erotica. I like to know the market."

I never knew really if Adam was straight or gay. I assumed the former. And
I never knew when he was bullshitting me, even right then.

"But how did you know it was me?"

"You think I couldn't recognize your typos when you haven't had proper
editing? Jesus. Nobody else on this green goddamn Earth uses `copious' that
often."

"Did you like what you read?"

"A little too literary for my tastes. A little self indulgent. You'd have a
much bigger readership if you'd just do some straight up feel good sex
stories. It's like you're trying to make people eat their broccoli before
they get dessert."

"I know," I replied. "I don't make it easy for people to like me. But Will
did, or at least used to."

"The one about the fighter and the reporter, that was fun. Fun smut stories
are good."

"Actually, that was my take on Pride & Prejudice. See..."

"Kid, please." He held up both hands. "Back to your life."




4.


"So even though we loved the cafe, running it took a toll. Things went on
that way for a long time. I hate to tell you how long. When we finally sold
it we pretended to be sad, but really we were relieved. Will got a good
deal out of it and work doing recipe development.

"I'll never forget the day we signed it over, I had nothing to do because
that had become my time to review the books, and all of a sudden there were
no books. So instead I just went for a walk at the lake near our house. It
was spring and the cherry blossoms were in bloom, all pink and gorgeous. I
felt something bubble up in me I hadn't felt for so long. It was joy. I
started trotting and then running. I'd never really run in my whole life,
but I had so much energy I just had to. When I stopped I was breathless and
laughing out loud."

I held up my tattooed forearm. "I even got the flowering cherry sleeve for
that day.

"I went home and I kissed Will like I hadn't kissed him in years. We were
free. And we got back so much time back. You never know how many hours you
have in a day until you sell a struggling business.

"We got married, because by then we could. We started to put all the time
and effort we'd put into the cafe into ourselves. Will got his gym
membership, which made him happy, and I started walking the lake every day
and then running. We started cooking and eating better, and feeling like
ourselves again. And all our old lust for each other was renewed.

"We weren't kids anymore, but we looked better than we ever had. As far as
I was concerned, Will was the hottest guy I'd ever seen. We had sex for the
first time in a long time, and I couldn't believe how good it was.

"`Husband' was the sexiest word I could think of, and I swore I'd never go
back to how things were, ever."

"How long did that last?" Adam asked.

"A while," I answered. "And it was good while it did. Maybe we were both a
little stuck in our habits, him with his dildos and me writing smut. And
Will had gotten a little further out there."

After a long pause Adam gestured with his hand to proceed.

"So this involves some real sex stuff," I cautioned.

"You think you invented some sex something I've never heard of before?"
Adam asked. "That I'll be shocked?"

"He wanted to try fisting," I said, waiting for a wince on Adam's face, but
he looked as neutral as ever.

"That wasn't my thing," I continued. "We tried it a few times but my heart
wasn't into it. It just felt like my hand was another sex toy that I just
happened to be attached to. The whole act lost any of the intimacy we had
left.

"I thought if I resisted it would be a passing thing for him. But it
wasn't. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Will is such a sweet guy, but
he likes a physical challenge. And I could see, looking back, how he's
always done them quietly - like his working out when we first met, but
never mentioning it once.

"And our sex life faltered again. We were so good and so happy in every
other way, I guess I was just resolved that that was how our lives would
go. I thought maybe you can't have everything.

"So how long has it been?" Adam asked.

"A long time," I answered. "And I was attracted to him the whole time. But
we just couldn't seem to get it together.

"Kid, Maybe you're not thinking about it right," he offered. "Maybe this is
just a different kind of intimacy, or maybe even more intimate. Like you're
the one giving him this extreme pleasure, and it's in your control. To be
honest, I wouldn't put a hand up my rear end, but if I did it would have to
be someone I'd trust completely. How much more intimate does it get than
that?"

"That's true," I replied. "I've kind of wondered that too, more recently."

I sat with that for a moment before I continued.

"So he kept up his sex toy stuff, and sometimes when he got into heavy
dildo play while I was out I'd know about it because there'd be a lot of
towels in the wash. Those big ones take a lot of lube and make a mess. And
when I'd pull the towels out of the dryer to fold them, it would just kind
of gall me. I have zero problem with a spouse jerking off, but this was so
elaborate it made me feel like this was my competition. Towels.

"I'd come here every day and walk by Oscar Wilde. There he was, an infamous
buggerer who ended up in jail for committing `the love that dare not speak
its name', which I could barely *stop* speaking, between my work writing
and James Austen stories. I dared speak it non stop, I just couldn't *do*
it.

"I swear, some days I could feel his eyes judging me. *Really? This is what
I went to gaol for? It's come to this then, has it? How drear.*

"I never thought I was especially good looking, but I had boyfriends before
Will, and I still get hit on some and then, so I guess there's something
there. Mostly it was the writing that drew guys in. But Will is something
else. He just gets better looking and more sexy. Some older guys our age
who are fit get this worn kind of overworked look. But not Will. He's in
great shape, muscular but he still has this softness about him, like
he's... *plush*. He has this arched back, and his chest alone I could write
a book on. And his smile just kills me." I sighed.

"And more lately, maybe because it's spring again and the cherry blossoms
are out and everything, I've just really *longed* for him. I thought we
were done with that part of our lives, but I look at him and lust after him
like I'm a dorky kid in high school and I'm spying on a hot jock in the
locker room. Sometimes I jerk off thinking of him and fantasizing." I had
to put my face in my hands. "I'm jerking off fantasizing about my own
husband."

"I've just been kind of crazy for him, all over again. And it's distracting
as fuck. I think about it at home, I think about it at work. It's all I can
do to not just grab him and fuck him on the spot, like when he's cooking or
getting home from the gym or whatever. I sometimes want to bend him over
and have a dozen guys fuck him one after another and dump their loads in
his ass, and I want every one of those guys to be me.

"So I just started writing more smut stories, just to express all this
desire."

"That's why there's so much new James Austen output?" Adam asked. "Kid,
sometimes there's a new one every day."

"Yeah," I answered. "And why I've been messing up at work. My heart's not
in it. I feel lovesick and distracted. I'm writing James Austen smut
instead of getting my job done. I'm screwing up everywhere."

"You're screwing up because you're in love... with your husband?"

"I guess so," I answered. "I'm sorry."

I'd lost my confidence. It was like when I first fell for him.

"Well, to be honest I'm relieved. All that new smut content, I thought you
were setting up a side business. So kid, what's the problem? Why don't you
just go home and bang the lucky dude?"

"I don't know. I don't know how any more. I don't know if I can satisfy
him, or if he even *wants* me in that way. I'm hung enough, but not sex toy
sized. Not like his toys. And I feel like I wasted so much time. Is there
even a point to trying again?"

"Ah jeez kid," Adam sighed. "He's your man. He loves you and he loves to
get boned. Why do you make everything so hard?"

"Maybe I could tell him how sorry I am. I could ask if he's still into me."

Adam shook his head. "How can someone write like you but be such a
numbskull? In what world is remorse and self doubt sexy? You want to get
laid, not forgiven.

"Where's your defiance? I know you have it. I've seen it. Sometimes so much
I wanted to knock you down a peg or two.

"You tell him how hot he is. Tell him you can't keep your hands off him
another minute. Tell him how all that muscle is driving you crazy. You told
me. You write it. Just tell him.

"Don't you think he wants to be wanted? Everyone does, but him maybe more
than most. What do you think he's working out for? To get noticed. And the
one guy in all the world who ought to do that most is playing hard to
get. Butter him up. Not literally, but literally too. What muscle bottom
doesn't want to be treated like a piece of meat?"

"I don't know."

"Kid, let me tell you why I hired you. I talked with some guys you worked
with before, off the record. One said he didn't know if you were a good
hire. He said you were uneven, sometimes you could be brilliant, and other
times your stuff needed work. So I hired you. You know why? Because writing
that needs some work I can fix. But brilliant? I can't get a writer from
good to brilliant. That shit's hardwired, it's there or it's not. So if I
can get the brilliant out of you some of the time I can fix the rest.

"You need work right now in your life just to get to decent. But you have
the brilliance. All that you just told me? You have this hot guy who fell
for you and has stayed with you, and even when he's not getting it from you
he's not out screwing around. He's satisfying himself with toys that can't
do what you can do.

"You gotta get into his head. Most of this is psychological anyway. Let him
know you see all the work he put into that rack and all the other
parts. Gratify him. He doesn't have a sex toy that can tell him how hot he
is."

"Isn't that a little manipulative?"

Adam shrugged. "Meh. We all manipulate each other some. In this case those
words have the virtue of also being true.

"That story I just told about you being sometimes brilliant? Didn't that
give you a little rush? You didn't feel a boost, didn't want to hear more?
Of course you did. Because it played right into the things you want to be
valued for.

"Go home and give that to Will. Go get your man."

"Okay," I replied. "Adam, thanks. Can I buy you lunch?"

"I would," he replied. "But I've got a huge boner right now and I ought to
just sit for a while."




5.


I came into work the next day, walked past the painting of Oscar Wilde in
his flowery garden and invited myself into Adam's office.

"So I tried what you suggested," I told him. "When I got home Will was
prepping dinner. He greeted me in his usual pleasant way. For a guy who can
take a dildo the size of an arm, he has the most wholesome affect you can
imagine.

"I said Hey to him, struggling to think of how to broach the topic.

"*Tell him how hot he looks, dummy,* I could hear you say. *Show him.*

"I ran a hand from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. `You look
so hot.'

"He turned to smile at me. `Well. Thanks. You're cute too.'

"`I didn't say you were cute,' I ventured again. `I said you're hot. Off
the walls, head turning, porn worthy, hot.'

"So a rocky start. But Adam, I could see you give an encouraging nod, as if
you were standing there, like the ghost of Hamlet's father."

Adam sighed. "Kid. What'd I tell you about the literary allusions?"

"So," I continued, "then I told Will that if he was still into the fisting
thing, I'd like to give it another try, if he'd be into it.

"He looked at me again, surprised. `That's...intriguing.'

"`Yeah Will,' I replied. `I know it didn't go so well when we tried
before. But if you want to, I want to try again.'"

Adam interrupted me. "Didn't go well?"

"Well like I said, my heart wasn't in it the first times we tried. And then
after a long while we tried again. I guess I was expecting more kissing and
making out and something vanilla at least to start. But things had
really... progressed since the last time I joined him.

"He had a whole set up in the closet of this little basement room we use
for home gym stuff, and he'd pulled it out for this session. There was a
blanket on the floor and towels and he had the heat turned way up. And by
then he had a lot of dildos. Literally dozens, in so many sizes and
shapes. It was kind of a lot to take in. I felt like I was dropped in the
deep end without learning to swim.

"I did my best, but I couldn't breathe. He had this whole system down that
had developed without me. I felt left out and left behind. I never said
anything negative about it, but he could see it in my face.

"And then we stopped trying."

Adam let out a deep sigh. Poor guy, this couldn't have been what he thought
he was in for.

"So Will has this shame thing. He always has. He thinks it's a generational
thing, that guys our age were raised being told being gay was wrong. But I
don't have it. If anything, I have more of a pride problem."

Adam snorted in agreement. "Other side of the same coin though."

He had a point too. I guess Will and I were a match that way.

"And even though I don't get it, I know it's there. So I told him I
realized my response last time we tried this might have played into his
shame and I never meant that to happen.

"He said he understood I didn't mean that. He said it's more that he always
has this feeling that he doesn't deserve to get the things he wants. Or
even to want them. But that doesn't stop the wanting, it just makes him
feel bad, and even worse when he gets what he wants. It's one reason he's
so secretive about these things."

"`Every prison that men build is built with bricks of shame,' wrote Oscar
Wilde," Adam quoted.

"It is like a prison, isn't it?" I asked. "I told him it made me ache that
he'd felt undeserving. I wished he didn't feel it. But if he did, there was
no dark place he could go that I wouldn't go too, to bring him back."

"That's a good line. Think of it on the spot?"

"Yeah. And as you say, it has the virtue of being true.

"I told him I wasn't just willing to try it again. I *wanted* to do it. To
him. With him. And it wasn't BS. It was true. I thought a lot about what
you said the other day about the intimacy of it, and I could see myself in
it that way. Thank you for that."

Adam nodded.

"`Look', I told Will, `I know I've screwed up some in the past. I'm not
going to beat myself up over it. But right now I'm looking at you, and
you're just fucking gorgeous. You know that, right? And it would be so hot
to see you get off that way. I don't care what I did before, I don't care
if I deserve it. Sorry but not sorry if that's selfish. I want to see you
get off in that way. I want to see it in your face and your body, and I
want to be the one who helps to get you there. You're irresistible.'

"So he said he was interested and could he process a little. It was a lot
to take in."

"Not bad," said Adam, which was just what my vision of Adam said at the
time. "Not bad at all."

"Thanks Coach," I said to Adam.



6.

I strolled into Adam's office and he raised his eyes to read my affect.

I sat down straight across from him and grinned "To paraphrase the immortal
words of Charlotte Bronte, *Reader, I fisted him*."

He put his face in his hands. "You're killing me." He looked up. "But go
on."

"So on Saturday Will was in the bathroom so much I thought either he had a
colonoscopy coming up, or he was getting ready to be reamed. I don't know
if you know but what he likes takes some cleaning out time and
preparation."

"So I gather," said Adam.

"And sure enough, about three pm he said to me that he was going to go
downstairs to play with some toys and asked if I wanted to join him. I
tried to not fall over myself getting to my feet, I was so excited.

"He'd switched up the home gym room, like he did last time. There was a 12
cup measuring glass filled with a gooey liquid lube, a bunch of huge
dildoes - and I mean huge - all laid out on a blanket, with a bunch of
towels piled up for clean up. He asked if he could describe everything and
why it was there, and I said sure. This was more than we'd ever
communicated about it before, so that was great.

"He dropped his shorts and was wearing just a jockstrap, in which he looked
*amazing*. I knew this from last time, but he liked to keep his junk in
there so as to not be distracted from what's going on his rear. We're used
to thinking of our dicks as our main pleasure point, but this is about a
whole different part of the body, like a bonus pleasure center most of us
never even use.

"He got on his knees, facing the wall mirror so we could both see
everything. He said what he usually does is to use whatever dildos he's
pulled out from smallest to largest, to stretch himself out. He picked up
the smallest dildo, which was clear and some kind of silicon I guess, and
bigger than any human cock, but modest compared to the others. He dipped it
into the lube, which was like super elastic liquid. He positioned it under
his rear and let it slide into him.

"I was so turned on by the sight of it entering him like it did, in one
smooth movement. But the real turn on was how he changed as it entered him,
the pleasure just sort of *flowering* on his face and a soft sigh coming
out of his open mouth. He looked so good I didn't know how I'd make it
through this without just shooting in my shorts.

"He kissed me, and it was nothing like the going-to-work-see-you-later
kiss. I mean he kissed me like that dildo opened a channel through his
whole body, just radiating heat and fervor I haven't felt from him in
years.

"I'd asked him if he stretched earlier to prep for that and he said no. He
was just that good at it. That made me leak precum like crazy and we kissed
more while I played with his tits and he worked his hips to fuck himself on
the dildo.

"He asked if there was another I'd like to put in him, so I got behind him,
and chose the next largest dildo. This was huge. I dipped it into the lube
and pressed it to his hole, unconvinced he or anyone could do this. It took
some effort and a hit of poppers and some writhing of his hips, but with me
holding it in place he slowly worked his way down until he reached the
base.

"I could picture an imaginary Adam there coaching me on. *That's it,* he
said. *Hold it for him, give him something to push back on.*

"So I did, letting him work it in and out of himself, listening to his
sounds and watching his body communicate so I'd be better able to help. I
realized I could put the base against my own crotch to hold it in place or
the push into him, like I was fucking him with it, and I could tell from
his groans he was really into it.

"And I didn't feel excluded. Not even a little. I was just so turned on by
seeing all the pleasure that it gave him - that *I* gave him - and how it
showed in his body.

"One thing is I always thought fisting and giant sex toys seemed kind of
sleazy and desperate. But Will looked incredible. He was so *athletic*
about it. And I could hear you saying to tell him.

"I leaned in close to the side of his face and said `That shame stuff you
were feeling... that was so wrong. You're incredible.' And I kissed him
hard.

"Will said he'd like something larger, and that could be my fist.

"I put on a nitrile glove and dipped it in the lube, which trailed as I
moved my hand to his ass. I held my hand out flat, four fingers together
and began to slide into him, in and out to the widest point where my
knuckles are. With every slide in, the knuckles pushed a little more into
it. He took a hit of poppers and pushed back against my hand, and with a
little pressure the knuckles passed through the tight ring of his
sphincter, and then it just slid in. That moment felt incredible.

"My hand - my whole hand - was in him, and he pushed back, letting it sink
into him, past my wrist and beyond. His face was flushed and his breathing
was deep, and he was saying `Fuck, oh fuck...'

"And Adam, I could feel his heartbeat all around my hand like it was my
own. And I was so hard.

"You still okay hearing this?"

Adam waved me on.

"I realized that even with a glove, my hand was so much more sensitive than
my dick. I could feel so much I could almost visualize it. I could feel
every contraction in ways my dick couldn't. I mean even though we use our
hands for everything in life, they're still so sensitive."

"I guess that's why we read Braille with our fingertips, not our dicks,
right?" Adam smirked.

"And I realized your dick is just the shape it is. But your hand can be so
many different shapes, like fingers tight, palm down or a fist, and even
that can change. And the length is only limited by what he can take. If he
wants a little more dick than you've got, you're SOL, but a little more
arm? There's always a little more.

"Then I realized because my forearm is tattooed I could show Will how deep
I was in him, and I made a mental note of which flower we stopped at so I
could show him later. Like we were really doing this together.

"Will told me how to turn my hand, to pull back almost to the meat of my
hand, because he likes the stretch so much, and when I understood what he
liked, and the limits, I took charge.

"I shoved him down so his chest hit the mat, and held him there, pinned
like a butterfly, while I fucked his upturned ass with my fist just the way
he liked it best. I plowed him and told him hoe fucking hot he was, with
weight on him, and how I wanted to use every part of his body. He was
groaning and begging for more, and I gave it to him.

"I'd like to see a toy that could do that.

"He was so close then. Let him get up on one arm to give him access to his
cock with his free hand. I added my hand to his, letting him do the real
work but wanting to be part of getting him off in every part of his
body. When he came, the contractions around my hand were incredible. It was
more than anything I'd ever felt around my dick.

"But the real deal was his face in the mirror, looking back at me when he
came. He was so beautiful and that was the hottest thing of all. And I'd
gotten him off that way.

"After that I eased my hand out of him and we kissed. He was sweaty and
breathless and handsome, and I told him to never dare be ashamed of that,
because what he did was incredible.

"He asked about getting me off. Honestly I'd barely thought of it. I told
him I wasn't ready, and maybe I would be later. But I was so content in the
moment"

"So after all that you didn't get off at all?" asked Adam.

"I did get off," I answered. "Just not with my dick. I was deeply
satisfied, and I didn't want anything to change that, not even cumming. And
then we kissed for a long time and then cleaned up."

Adam sat back in his chair. "So you're in the fisting club?"

"It's funny," I replied, "but no. Not really. I'm not into *it*. I'm into
it with Will. I'm into doing it with him. The way he does it, and the
things it does to him. I'm deeply into that."

"Well good job, kid," Adam said. "So I can assume you're back on the job?"

"I'm back," I said. And I meant it.

"James Austen going to write a little novella?" he asked. "Fist &
Sophistication? That's kind of the story of you two."

"Adam, you're worse than me," I groaned, and we laughed together. "We'll
see."

I could see a little love story. Maybe a wilder love than I would have once
imagined.

I stood up taller than I had in a long time. I felt my center of gravity
again.

Adam sized me up with his eyes, and I could tell he saw the change. "Get
out of here. Tomorrow we start again."



7.


In 1895, the Marquess of Queensberry left his calling card at Oscar Wilde's
club, the Albemarle, inscribed: "For Oscar Wilde, posing somdomite [sic]."
Wilde, against the advice of his friends, initiated a private prosecution
against Queensberry for libel, since the note amounted to a public
accusation that Wilde had committed the crime of sodomy.

Queensberry was found not guilty, as the court declared that his accusation
that Wilde was "posing as a Somdomite [sic]" was justified, "true in
substance and in fact". In April 1895, Wilde was arrested for "gross
indecency" under Section 11 of the Criminal Law Amendment Act 1885, a term
meaning homosexual acts not amounting to buggery (an offence under a
separate statute). Events moved quickly and his prosecution opened on April
26, 1895, in which Wilde pleaded not guilty.

On May 25, 1895, Wilde was convicted of gross indecency and sentenced to
two years' hard labor. The judge described the sentence, the maximum
allowed, as "totally inadequate for a case such as this", and that the case
was "the worst case I have ever tried". Wilde's response of "And I? May I
say nothing, my Lord?" was drowned out in cries of "Shame" in the
courtroom.

Shame. Wilde later wrote "He does not win who plays with sin in the secret
house of shame." They've tried to shame us all along, and have never
stopped. Well fuck that. They can kiss my gay ass.

Imprisoned, Wilde was not, at first, even allowed pen and paper. He was
released from prison on May 19, 1897 and sailed that evening for Dieppe,
France. He never returned to the United Kingdom. He spent his last three
years impoverished and in exile. He took the pen name Sebastian Melmoth,
writing long letters describing the brutal conditions of English prisons.

Wilde died of meningitis on November 30, 1900. He was buried outside Paris,
but in 1909 his remains were transferred to Père Lachaise Cemetery,
inside the city. The modernist angel depicted as a relief on the tomb was
originally complete with male genitalia, which were initially censored by
French authorities with a golden leaf. The genitals have since been
vandalized, and their current whereabouts are unknown. In 2011, the tomb
was cleaned of the many lipstick marks left on it by admirers, and a glass
barrier was installed to prevent further marks or damage.

The epitaph on his tomb is a verse from his Ballad of Reading Gaol, reading
in part,

*For his mourners will be outcast men, And outcasts always mourn*

With my daybag over my shoulder, I stopped in reception, where the painted
Oscar Wilde stood in his garden, surrounded by the signatures of writers of
smut and erotica, the gold leaf letters reading RARELY PURE AND NEVER
SIMPLE.

I'd taken for granted the rights he could not have dreamt of in his
lifetime. I'd squandered the liberties to the very things that landed him
in jail and in exile. My smutty stories. My husband - not a secret lover in
hiding, not an outcast, not a shame, but *my husband*, who I loved and who
loved me in return. I'd failed in many ways, but would do better.

I asked the receptionist for a tube of lipstick.  She was hesitant - they
were only for visiting authors of note. But there was something in my
affect that put some weight into the request.

I opened the lipstick and used it to sign my name on the glass front of the
mural. James Austen. Writer of gay smut.

I capped the tube, kissed my fingers and pressed them to Oscar's face.

"Thank you, thank you," I whispered. "For another chance."

I went home, where I hoped my husband would be looking forward to my
return.



- END -