Before anyone starts castigating me for being homophobic, allow me to state that I am not. This is a work of parody, and if you take yourself seriously enough to be offended by this extremely mild, tongue-in-cheek mockery, permit me to suggest that you ease up on the coffee and indignation.
For context, this was originally a forum post intended to be framed by a larger effort in collaborative fiction. Enjoy!
He lay on the bed in his jockey shorts, watching Julie emerge from the bathroom. She wore nothing but a t-shirt, and a short one at that. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and he observed with interest the play of light reflecting off her smooth buttocks, and as she turned towards him, the soft curls of her short pubic hair outlining the mound beneath, barely hiding the top of what he knew from his Human Anatomy class (and many gigabytes of Internet porn) was the emerging cleft of her labia. Her breasts pressed against the fabric of the thin shirt, creating shadows and molding the cotton into new and intriguing shapes as she walked towards the bed in the small, cheaply decorated motel room. She observed him observing her, and smiled slowly at him from under the lock of hair that had fallen across her brow. He smiled back, feeling himself responding to the clearly seductive glance.
He had recently found himself spending a lot of time with Julie, a friend of his from a stripper bar he frequented. In his desperate need for approval and love, he had turned his considerable charm and the contents of his wallet on her and, after spending almost every evening together for the last few weeks, she had suggested that they spend the night together in a hotel.
She sat on the edge of the bed near him, half turned towards him, her cotton-lined nipples poking out invitingly. He felt himself stiffening in reaction to her closeness. He had been waiting for this moment for the last month, and he was pretty damn horny, but it felt good to hold himself in a state of anticipation now that he was certain they were finally going to do the dirty dog.
‘Mmmm,’ she sighed, closing her eyes and twisting her body back and forth a little. ‘My back hurts. I could use a massage.’
‘I think I can accommodate you,’ he said with a little smile, lifting himself into a sitting position. He reached out with one hand and touched her arm, stroking it lightly. ‘Why don’t you lie down?’
‘I think I’ll just take this off,’ she said, opening her eyes and slipping the t-shirt off over her head, dropping it to the floor in a sultry heap.
He watched her through lidded eyes as she knelt and stretched her naked body out face down on the bed, the muscles of her back rippling gently as she swept her hair to one side, turning her head and resting it on the pillow facing him. Her buttocks rose gently where they joined her legs, and he thought he could almost smell her excitement, or perhaps that smell was just the natural aroma of the room itself. Either way, his oversized, vein-enwreathed penis was becoming engorged, filling his lower belly with a warm anticipatory sensation. He leaned over and brushed the back of his hand along the ridge of her spine, and she breathed a murmur of encouragement, goose-bumps appearing on her skin in the wake of his touch.
He placed one hand on her lower back and leaned over, his lips almost touching her ear. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said in a low voice. Eyes closed, she smiled in acknowledgement. He got up and walked over to the small backpack he carried with him everywhere, and drew out the small bottle of baby oil he had brought in anticipation of a romantic interlude, or barring that, at least maybe a handjob.
Returning to the bed, he positioned himself next to her with his legs under his body and poured a small amount of oil into his open hand. He placed the bottle on the nearby nightstand and rubbed his hands together, warming the oil between them, and then slowly began rubbing them up and down her exposed back, from her shoulders down to just above the swell of her buttocks, which began to barely clench and relax in a slow rhythm as he continued the stroking movements. He could feel her breathing, her back slowly rising and falling under the firm contact of his hands.
His palms firmly against her skin, he found the muscles beneath and carefully massaged them, first pressing gently, then moving his hands with light pressure down her sides, where they finally slid over her firm, taut ass. He was beginning to feel a little warm. Stipples of sweat stood out on his forehead like crystalline bubbles of heretofore unslaked lust, at last in sight of fruition.
He kneaded her smooth butt with his open hands, pulling her cheeks up and apart and then releasing them to circle over the soft skin, concentrating on relaxing the quivering musculature. After a few moments of this, he ran one finger down into her crevice, resting the fingertip lightly against her anus, where it pressed gently for a moment, then slipped down further to move against the opening of her moistening vagina. As his finger probed, moving back and forth against her lips, she moaned and twisted slightly on the bed, clenching the sheet in both hands, her breath coming in little sighs and gasps.
He took his hands away, eliciting a soft sound of disappointment from her partly open mouth, and reached over to the nightstand for the bottle. Pouring more baby oil into the palm of his hand, he turned back to her and slathered the lubricating oil over her butt and upper thighs, his hands briefly disappearing between them as he spread the clear liquid over the skin of her legs. He closed his eyes with pleasure as he slowly and firmly pushed his palms up over her ass and up to her shoulders, following the lines of muscle on either side of her spine, then moving down her sides and hips, repeating the motion again and again in succession, her rear end rising slightly to meet him with each gliding pass of his hands.
Then, flattening his palms against the insides of her thighs with firm pressure, he spread them apart, exposing the glistening cleft at the juncture of her long legs, the swollen labia open ever so slightly, revealing the secret folds within. He moaned softly and, the blood pooling in his lower abdomen, reached out to touch her again, sliding his finger lightly along the silken warmth of the pink opening until her lips parted and the stroking finger gently, slowly penetrated her.
Unbidden, Horace’s face arose in his mind, and he imagined his lithe body lying on the bed before him, shuddering and writhing under his touch. This is wrong, he thought. In an instant, his growing desire had turned to ashes, his firm erection wilting as his mind repeated the words over and over again, this is wrong, wrong. His heart felt leaden and heavy in his chest, and tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of Horace’s sweet face; his slender, almost completely hairless body. He shuddered and withdrew his outstretched arm, one tear spilling out over his lashes and dropping to the sheet. He struggled to prevent himself from crying, the thought of Horace no longer able to be denied.
Forehead wrinkling in consternation, Julie opened one deep brown eye and looked back at him to see why he had stopped touching her. ‘Babe, why did you stop?’ she started to say, and then she noticed the tear on his cheek and his trembling chin. She turned on her side and faced him, placing a hand on his thigh.
‘Rupert, what’s wrong?’
He met her eye, still struggling for control over the sobs that wanted to burst free from where they burned in his chest. Another tear slipped out, paused for a moment on his cheekbone, and fell like a white dove that has suddenly been teleported to the planet Jupiter. She felt him trembling under her hand.
He put his face in his hands, unable to say a word. They sat like that for some time.
Eventually, a soft snore told him that she had fallen asleep, her hand still resting on his leg. He gently removed it and stood up. He turned off the light and sat in the chair by the window, curling his legs under him. He stayed that way for the rest of the night, alternately watching the sleeping girl and looking out the window, his eyes troubled and far away, until he too finally slept, huddled in the chair like a young boy caught all unawares by the sandman after watching television long past his bedtime.
The next day, after masturbating furiously, he told his parents he was gay.
Four years had passed since Rupert had openly admitted his sexual preference, and he felt like he had lived a whole lifetime in those years. So much had changed while he performed his tour of duty with the Imperial Space Marines, good and bad, that the person he had been when this all started was nothing more than a shadow on his memory. He had been so naïve, so hopelessly idealistic; he had never before been able to understand why happiness had been so elusive. He had pursued it with incredible single-mindedness, questioning every preconception and assumption, until his head was full of the structure of belief he was slowly building from the ancient ruins of his childhood. Holding up this complex edifice was the absolute belief that happiness could be the only purpose of life.
Biological life, he reasoned, had only one fundamental mandate: to survive and propagate itself, reversing entropy in a way no other phenomena in the known universe could accomplish. Life is singular in its organized response to quality, that indefinable concept which fits into neither the subjective nor objective frame of reference but which nonetheless drives every action and desire, and indeed the forward motion of evolution itself. This idea was formulated as he swept his coherent light gun through a school during a raid on Proxima k/3, instantly incinerating hundreds of screaming children. He laughed at the irony; on Proxima, evolution had been cancelled.
But the biological mandate of survival could not explain love, ambition, beef jerky, or any other human imperative that fell outside of the emotions and instincts that could be traced back to the need for survival of the organism and its progeny. The realization of happiness, the most basic if unstated goal of each individual representative of the human race, could not be considered necessary for brute survival. Every sane decision and pursuit of every person everywhere had happiness as its final intention.
The only explanation for the existence of love was that there was a higher mandate than the purely biological one built into the human animal; a directive to pursue a condition that made of life not merely a continual attempt to escape from fear, pain and hunger, but a passionate adventure and an unyielding effort towards fulfillment and inner peace.
For Rupert, who had rarely known happiness, its realization was more than a desire, it was more like a holy war, mobilizing every aspect of his intellectual powers to capture it and embody it in complete subservience and mastery over it. He lived to take every breath in absolute joy, to make every day a celebration of existence, each moment a unique treasure to be cherished and experienced with no trace of pain or fear or guilt.
After all the cogitation, the agonized livejournal posts, it seemed incredible that it could be so simple, but Rupert could not dispute the incontrovertible fact that for him, happiness mainly consisted of sticking his penis into other men’s butts.
The Imperial Space Marines provided happiness in seemingly infinite quantities.