I know that many poets and writers and artists and mailmen have already waxed and whined philosophical concerning the mystery of the butt-plug pony-tail so please forgive me, dear reader, if I make this little journal entry in satiation of my own self-indulgence. This is painful for me to write, really, for it centers upon a very private part of me; a part of me which holds many secrets and up until now has only been talked about in hushed whispers amongst my closest friends, all of them primarily in my head, of course. This obscure part of me I speak of; this recondite and seldomly spoken of part is a rose of many petals, a little lotus flower and an awful, despicable gateway into my darkest, abysmal recesses. DEEP inside me we will go tonight, dear readers, because the part I am talking about is my asshole. My fucking pooper. Christ, that was really hard to say.
I don't know how women do it, really, make their assholes appear so endearing. To most men a woman's asshole is generally thought of as "cute," inviting, a little taboo sweet tart that, if you are actually able to see one up close you should consider yourself very lucky. I think I like doggie-style best as a sexual position and this is for the sole reason that I get a good look at a chick's august and awe-inspiring asshole while I am pounding into the pussy. While I pound into the pussy in this position I am often oblivious to the sensations surrounding my cock, being so mesmerized by the allurement of the woman's little brown SHIT-HOLE because my mind, itself, is often full of such shit and scatological spit so as to incessantly make me ponder obsessively over such messy things. That fucking endearing female WITCH HOLE that captivates me and seduces me as I imagine that all these lost male souls are trapped inside the girl's ass, saying "Help me! Help me! I'm trapped inside her ass and you will be too if you don't quit looking at her butt-hole while you are fucking her!" Inside the girl's witch hole are all the trapped souls of those who have gazed at such a glorious, secret and endearingly intimate sight for too long! A wonderful girlie's hot, tight asshole winking at me as I pound the pussy and I say "Yeah," and I say, "WHOA!- where the hell did my heart just go?"
It's up your ass, babe; it's up your ass. (Hee! Hee! I can be so charming sometimes!) That old saying, when you ask someone the whereabouts of an item you are looking for and they reply, "If it was up your ass you'd know!" really isn't true. Many women are walking around blind to the knowledge that they have all these ethereal, non-corporeal whisps and twists of former lovers' hearts up their asses. Inside these women's dark, sanctified rectums reside tormented male souls screaming to be released from such a hellish purgatory of poop. But this entry isn't really about a woman's ass. It is about MY ass, my own little private Idaho, I mean, ASS-HOLE, and now is when it really gets hard to talk about. I am actually sitting here right now with a butt-plug up MY ass as I type like a little faerie boy and the reason is, ironically, that I need to remind myself that I have to be a MAN about things right now. God. This is so hard to talk about. This topic SUCKS! AAAAAAAH! Hee! I will finish it anyway, though, I promise you. I think I will have to divide it into 2 or 3 different "acts," or something; this is really bothering me tonight, talking about such a very private thing.
I know that every time I masturbate morbidly, I summon the SUCCuBuS. It is demoralizing, how this whispering invisible glitch of a witch keeps my cock hard and my spirit down as I stroke my gorgeous stiffie and reality is never to be found. I will kill this witch for she has turned me into a sniveling, bald and broken whiny little bitch(and, oh yes, the bold words rhyme, and how clever). I’m putting the Butt-Plug Pony-Tail deeeep into my ass right now, as my face contorts and I snort and cry; tears drizzle from my eyes because it hurts so bad to be wearing the tail I see humans walking around with all day.
Fucking tails. Every one has a fucking tail. I see them bouncing against the ass of the mailman. I see a little tail dragging the ground as two masturbators at work stand in a dark corner talking to one another. But it is not just the masturbators where I work. It is the teachers, the firemen, the nurses and the pastry chefs and they all have fucking TAILS, dear God, why am I sitting here typing this with a fucking BUTT-PLUG deeeeep inside my ass? It is a special butt-plug which I got from work. It has this long, cute little pony tail attached to it (made of some sort of thin strands of plastic, or whatever), so when you put it into your asshole it looks like you are a cute little horsey! Hee! Hee! When I saw this special butt-plug I knew I just had to have it, to perform some ritual, to do battle with the sinful, sickly siren of a white, hateful whore who lies deep in my heart; makes the blood GUSH to my cock as I see your gorgeous face on the computer screen and it makes the shiny red (tasty!) Eucharist squirt from the palms of my hand because you are a SUCCUBUS, plain and simple. Look at me now, woman!!!- I have a horsey’s tail!.
I went to a party a couple months ago at this gay couple’s house. They were a couple little twinks, a lot younger than me, actually, but they invited me to their house. I was drunk when they invited me so I just came over to have a little fun, watch a movie, even though they weren’t the types of dudes I generally hang out with. These gorgeous, cute little twinks!- they made my heart warm, really; they made this Masturbat giddy if only for a few hours! We were flopping around, dancing, singing, drinking cheap wine and acting like ANYTHING but men. I imagined the three of us, me with these two little tender chickens, out on the prairie. We’d all have butt-plug pony-tails shoved into our asses, making little horsey noises and dancing around, swatting each other’s asscheeks and life would be so grand! With suede elfin boots! Listening to Shakira. Saying “right on” to one another. Giggling like girlies and never even dreeeeeaming of trying to prove our “manhood” to our buddies or to any sort of woman!
Such a powerful symbol to me, really, this “Man Wearing a Butt-Plug Pony-Tail”- and it makes me think of Picasso paintings I’ve seen. Those pictures of young, naked boys riding horses in the open air. Who wants to be a fucking man? You know what? I sure don’t. I get pretty tired of it, really, thinking of all the things I have to do to impress my buddies or to woo a girl; to be “sexy”; to get a good job, to get a car, to do aaaaaaaaaanything but what I want to do or what I’ve been doing lately, that is, sitting here drunk and with a butt-plug pony-tail up my wretched, stinking ass, typing on a computer about how I don’t want to be a man! Ha! That’ll sure impress the girlies! And I fully understand these male youngsters, really, who “get the gay,” or whatever. I fully see the allurement of riding on the prairie, saying ”fuck the responsibility; fuck the standards of the masculinity,” – just get naked and saddle up a horse a ride FREE, little doggies! Men without women but not having to be masculine.and getting naked and getting on a horse and living FREE, I said!- with my balls flopping and by ass-cheeks fully visible to the gorgeous young lad who rides behind me! Butt-fucking one another. Loving one another. Listening to fairie tunes in the forest at night and, by day, loving our own leotards. HAHA! Maybe we could even go on a quest for the RING!
This goes a lot deeper than sexuality for me, really, because I just don’t like HAVING TO CONFORM TO ANYTHING, so I will sit here, fucking the succubus, jerking my cock, dancing with the dead in my head and the dick of your dog in my mouth right after I just put a fire-cracker up its ass. This SuCCuBuS that I hate, that I fuck, that I love and who rules me. This Christ whom I crucify but who always resurrects in the form of my perennial, unending Angst of Morning Wood!. Ah! You should just seeeee my cock in the morning! It is so lovely! So hard and so spry it is, bouncing up and down like a little dandelion in the wind! Then the illusion swiftly ends with that first despicable piss. I beging playing with my own witch-hole, a finger in my ass and a hand on my cock, stroking it with all I got. I kill women. I kill women all the time in my writing, in my artwork, in my head, and THIS IS WHY. Because the succubus drives me crazy; Christ drives me crazy. The idea of GLORY, ironically, drives me so crazy that I am often an anxious, neurotic pile of flesh, blood and bones hardly able to brush my teeth, I shake so bad at being able to see the Holy Spirit Behind My EyeS. I only fuck the succubus because I don’t want to be a man; and I don’t want to be a man because I can use my cock for whatever the fuck I very well WANT, thank you! I don’t haaaaaave to yearn to put it into your hot, tight wet pink hole, you little wench! And put your titties back in that bra, young lady! Maybe I have better things to do with my cock than want to stick it inside YOU- did you ever think of that?
But unfortunately I realize I MUST be a man right now. I don’t have “sexuality” issues; I know what I am. I am a morbid masturbator, a unique species without gender, really, though my penetration (in all the different ways in which this word can be applied) is, for the most part, directed toward the holes therein found in the likes of the female species. I would change, “cross the fence,” or whatever, except for the fact I can only engage myself in the talk of male assholes for so long. Female butt-holes are cute. I’ve already conceded to that fact. So fuck it. Fuck the pony- tail butt plug; fuck Picasso’s horsey fantasies; fuck writing in this journal about my asshole (so disgusting, and I must apologize) and concentrate on doing the things a man must do to get a chick to lift up her possum tail for me again. I’ve let my fantasy life and own miserable condition lately turn me into this creepy crawling creature who doesn’t even have a PRAYER of getting the sort of girl I want to fall in love with me. I want a phlebotomist. She’ s nurse now. I met her when I used to donate plasma. She has beautiful brown, doe-like eyes and I quit drinking on her birthday. But voodoo alone won’t get me through this plight. I must also pull out the butt-plug from my ass. Here I go . . . . YUCK! Ewwwwwwww . . . . it’ is covered in my own SHIT! HAHA! Imagine that!
