Thursday, August 2, 2012


One man’s ass is the center of the known universe.

Henry Rogers is bored with his job, bored with his life of comic books and sex toys, and bored with his prospects, until the day Jarvis Poule walks into the adult book store where he works. Poule is entered in the Guinness Book of Records as the man who has taken the most dicks up his ass in one year. He is also Henry’s hero, but the sex shop night manager is too tongue-tied to strike up a conversation, until Poule’s admirers begin to take liberties that threaten his livelihood. Henry has to call on all his reserves of courage if he’s to take on the bullies and save Jarvis’s butt.


It’s funny how life can change on a whim. I suppose that’s a cliché, but if I hadn’t been working that night I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I like the new genetically modified me, although I’m not sure I’d be up for eating a genetically modified burger if it was made from some of my body parts. But nobody’s likely to eat me so I thank modern science that I have a life, because it wasn’t always that way.
It began the day I was born, like all good stories do, though I’ll skip the details of the first twenty-seven years and get to the point, the part that you’re interested in. I need to sketch in a little about me first, though.
I suppose many people would see me as a loser. I prefer to call myself a dreamer. I’m not your typical nine-to-fiver, that would bore me rigid, whereas if I’m bored rigid I prefer it to be up my ass. My asshole is the center of my known universe. I’m always looking after its needs and not always as fussy as I should be about what I feed it. Cock, tongue and cum is its usual diet, occasionally silicone in the form of a dildo or else plastic in the form of a vibrator, much less often a fist or part of a foot.
So sue me, I’m adventurous.
If I don’t have your usual stultifying job, what do I do? I can proudly boast I work in an adult book store, a sex shop, four nights a week. I work the night shift from 11pm to 7am, Thursday through Sunday. It doesn’t pay all that well, just enough to pay for my bedsit, my food and utilities with enough left over for cultural pursuits to feed the mind. Graphic novels. Comics, if you like. Particularly those about superheroes.
I sit behind the counter of Anything Goes, the city’s premier adult bookstore, where most of my late-night customers are sex workers of all persuasions who hire our back rooms by the hour to avoid doing their business in the streets, or late partying gay boys who want to top up their supply of poppers. Anything they require in the way of harder drugs, I direct them across the street to the porn cinema where the ticket seller does a nice side trade in recreational substances for which you need a prescription.
Don’t get me started on that shit. I can’t afford a criminal record.
The job offers me every opportunity to indulge my predilection for cock as well as supplying me with an endless procession of porno DVDs and magazines of all persuasions. You also get to meet the most interesting people, as well as the most delicious cocks and asses. Especially after the bars close and the gay boys who haven’t found a partner make their way to the store to relieve themselves through the ‘ventilation’ holes carved in the porno booth walls or via their own hands.
I like to think of myself as a social worker and many’s the time I’ve been down on my knees, my mouth glued to the glory hole as some anonymous punter squirts his load down my gullet, or else I back my hungry ass against the knob protruding from the adjacent cubicle. I don’t do sex, I do quickies.
You may think that there’s not much satisfaction in that but I’m here to tell you quantity beats quality every time. Not that I haven’t done quality as well but quality takes time and patience, something I have in short supply. Time takes me away from valuable moments that could otherwise be spent reading comic books.

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