Title: ZAP!!!
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Blog Entry: 12.00 Normal 0 false false false EN-GB X-NONE X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";} Zap!!! Hot and horny young man, age 21, 6ft 4”, blond, short hair ( No.2), green eyes, 14 stones, athletic built, well-hung ( 8 1/2” x 5.5”) , non smoker, WLTM to fuck you 24/7. Guess what. I’m every gay man’s wet dream. Pity I had to start like that, isn’t it? But what other choice did I have to catch your attention? None I should say. For, to be honest – what do you expect from a gay story? Right – you’d be expecting a plot based on a chain of not necessarily probable events leading to numerous steamy encounters between two promiscuous, incredibly beautiful well-to-do and professionally successful hunks in their early twenties exercising their manhood in numerous steamy encounters between likewise young incredibly sexually potent and beautiful specimens of the male physique until they finally meet and find in each other their perfect match and the story ends with the tacit implication that, contrary to common experience, no way will their passion for each other ever wither away and die as a consequence of age or simply the abrasive experience of sharing a life under the same roof and the same bed with the same somebody else. Am I correct? I knew I was. What we all want is a raunchy fairy tale that uplifts our hearts and cocks, don’t we dears? And how could you expect that to happen if the true fairy princes were not young and beautiful but average-looking middle-aged or even older queens, especially when sex is involved? You couldn’t. Am I right, luv? Of course, I knew I was! But don’t you worry - nothing wrong with that, chick. If there is anything truly revolting, it’s old people. I bloody hate them! Every one past his thirties should be safely locked away in the geriatric department or taken straight to the vet to be put down. Out of sight, out of mind – yeah, that’s the ticket. I think, we can all agree on this, can’t we dears? I know, I know - it all sounds a bit harsh, doesn’t it? But let me ask you, when was the last time you actually took notice of a bloke older than thirty, not to mention a geezer even older than that? Come on, let’s be honest, shall we? See, you can’t remember, can you? And rightly so! Therefore, for arguments sake let me jog your memory and tell you what you would have seen if you had cared to look. But beware; it’s not going to be nice! Ready? Sure? Alright then, close your eyes and brace yourself. Here it comes - behold the wretched sight: bristles sprouting from his nostrils, ears and nose, a hairline that has receded to his shoulders whence it spreads like a grey moth-eaten shaggy carpet over sagging pecs and a pendulous potbelly, and over his back down to his flabby, wrinkled buttocks. Get the picture? A real turn off, isn’t it? Not sure? Never mind, I haven’t finished yet … - are you sure you want go there? Alright then! Let’s get to business. But remember, you asked for it, so don’t complain! Here goes! Imagine your head buried between spindly legs festooned with thick varicose veins, licking sour-smelling shrivelled-up balls and sucking a chronically flaccid, urine-dribbling appendage even an overdose of Viagra and a generously applied dosage of Wick VapoRub cannot resuscitate to the joyous state of tumescence. Makes you wanna puke. Am I right? I knew I was, but don’t laugh! Soon enough it’ll be your turn! The clock’s ticking. Never mind how young you are now, how healthy your diet, how regular you exercise, or how well-developed and toned every single muscle in your whole body may be, soon the day will come when you too discover your first grey hair - never mind where. And you’ll know it’s over and that you can do f... all about it! You may shave or dye your hair from your pate down to your tootsies as often as you want, lavish anti-wrinkle cream on your face and dick five times a day and put curlers in your pubes every night before you go to bed - nothing will save you! You’ll be a dead man walking, and the only six-pack you will ever again lay your hands on will be the one containing the cans of beer you guzzle down, one after the other, day in and day out, whilst watching the soaps and live-TV till the grim reaper releases you from your miserable existence. So what, if you don’t mind me asking, are you waiting for? Why not end your life now while you are still young and desirable? Think! What have you got to lose? Those years of fun still left to you, you suppose? You must be flipping joking! Have you ever thought about how few and fleeting these moments of youth are compared to the endless decades of misery, loneliness and slow decay sure to catch up with you soon, as they do with everyone else? You have? And you still intend to wait rather than save your dignity and take charge of your own destiny? Because you’re scared, you say? Rubbish! Nothing is more terrifying than growing old, believe you me. Just imagine your beautiful strapping body slowly turning into a corpse! No need to be scared of death then, is there luv? Promise - cross my heart and swear to die, it’s easy as pie. Just run a hot bubble bath and sit in it with your favourite hairdryer cradled in your lap, plug it in and ... ZAP!!! Or try the internet. What the ancient gods refused to grant, the internet with its chat rooms and countless websites of gay dating services has bestowed upon us - the gift of eternal you. Truly, truly I say onto you, blessed are those who readily eschew reality and abandon their dignity, for theirs will be Paradise Regained, or unlimited sex till death do us part, not only for the OAP. No matter your preferences, sex on the internet is instantly available, cheap, safe, clean and hassle-free - no personal baggage guaranteed! A few clicks with the mouse, a couple of lies that come easier with routine and experience typed in and the game is on - a jerk and a squirt, time to move on to the next, indefinitely! No need to worry anymore about age, STDs, messy body fluids soiling the sheets, or to sweat hours in the gym and waste money on cosmetic surgery and creams, or how to get rid of that piece of trash you picked up last night without even having to offer him a cuppa. “O brave new world that has such people in’t!” And this is how and where my story began - only a short while ago. On the internet, where everything is possible. I wasn’t looking for sex, believe you me. I was too shagged out from the night before I had spent in my favourite chat room on www. I- love-cock-pay-as-you-cum.com. Well, we all know what it’s like, don’t we, dears? The next day, I mean, after too many drugs, drink, and sex, and in the end popping Viagras like Smarties, to keep the fun going, if you know what I mean. Woof, woof! When I woke up in the late afternoon, I can tell you, I was in agony - a splitting headache, my stomach churning, both my hands and my dick covered in blisters. No way was I thinking of sex. I swear it, on my mother’s grave - bless her smelly cotton socks! I was trying to recover and forget my pains and aches surfing the net for a cheap holiday in Sitges, Mykonos or some other gay fuck resort, when all of a sudden this beautiful, strapping young man popped up. Gobsmacked, my face glued to the screen, blood rushing into my nether regions I gawked at this apparition slowly surfacing from a crystal clear mountain lake. Once fully emerged he started walking towards me - butt-naked, exquisitely toned all over, drops of water glistening in the last rays of the setting sun on shoulder-length auburn hair and smooth deeply tanned skin - no tan-line! - and the toothiest smile I ever saw on his face - till he stopped in front of me so close that I felt his moist pubic hair tickle the tip of my nose. I sneezed, bumping my nose against the screen. “Sorry, mate,” he said, “I didn’t mean to.” Still awestruck with the sudden presence of this beautiful creature, I slowly unglued my face from the screen, rummaged in my drawer for the box of tissues I always keep there handy for my internet orgies, grabbed a bunch and meticulously wiped the screen to clean off the snot, buy some time and regain my speech. “What’s up? Cat got your tongue?” “No, it’s … Oh, it’s nothing, I ..., where was I, uhmmm …., oh yes, …, who are you?” I mumbled, finding it difficult to speak with my face again glued to the screen and my nose nuzzling his pubes and bits. Try it yourself and see what it’s like! “Can’t you see, Rhys? I’m a fairy.” He seemed somewhat surprised. “So am I,” I responded, looking up and smiling hopefully, my dick trying hard to escape the confinement my jeans, never mind the excesses of the previous night. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean, I am a real fairy, one of the fair folks, you know?” “Oh, that kind of fairy,” I said, mildly deflated. But I’m not the one to take no for an answer quickly. You never know, do you? “By the way, how come you know my name?” I asked trying to sound still interested. “Do you remember the young hedgehog?” “What hedgehog? What are you talking about? “The young hedgehog you picked up at the side of the road and fed through the last winter. Remember?” “Well, uhmmm … Oh yes, sure, the young hedgehog! Why?” “That was me.” “You? Are you pulling my leg?” Remembering the poor prickly bugger crawling with lice I instantly backed away from the screen. You never know, do you? I was itching all over, I can tell you, never mind which end. “Yes, that was me. We fairies are all born in the shape of some animal, see, and only when we reach adolescence our bodies transform ….” “Uhmm …, wow …, how very intriguing …, no, never heard of it …., but …., uhmmm … what can I do you for?” I asked, absent-mindedly scratching my crotch and readjusting the furniture. I was getting bored. “I wish to thank you. You saved my life. If you hadn’t … “Oh, don’t mention it. I am very pleased to meet you,” I replied, again feasting my eyes on those well-toned abs and exquisite bits I just couldn’t wait to get my hands on. “I can see that,” he said looking disapprovingly at my bulging crotch. But don’t get me wrong! You may look but not touch! Remember that!” “Well thanks for appreciating my help. Anything else?” I snapped, irritated about this sudden anti-climax. I hate cock-teasers! “You know I was right in the middle of…” “Oh, I’m sorry for having disturbed you, but I have come to offer you a gift to show my gratitude.” His hands were empty, and no way – he was butt-naked, remember? - could he have any pockets to hide it. “What kind of gift are we talking about?” I asked warily. Suddenly, there it was, right in his hand. I couldn’t tell where it had come from, this wand he held in his right hand. It looked like a gold-speckled cerulean snake, hissing, sputtering and spouting sparkling stars. “Wow!” I said, slightly unnerved and backed off a bit further. “Hold on a minute! You’re not going to turn me into a toad or something for saving your life, are you?” “Please forgive me for startling you. I keep forgetting you human fairies are not used to magic. But not to worry, I’m not here to turn you into anything. I’m here to grant you your dearest wish.” “Which is …? “To find your perfect match.” “How would you know?” “Trust me.” He quickly flicked his wand. Again it hissed, sputtered and spouted sparkling stars while he reached out, took my hand and drew me into the screen. Within a split-second I was standing right beside him facing the lake. Another flick with his wand, and there was a boat shaped like a swan. Crossing the lake we headed towards the opposite side formed by a high rugged cliff. The boat penetrated the rock as smoothly as a cock slips into a well-lubricated bum hole. A moment later we arrived in a vast, brightly illuminated cave, its walls covered with shelves reaching from the bottom to the dome-shaped ceiling. Everything was very neat, smelling slightly of antiseptics, the shelves tightly stacked with rows on rows of labelled silver cylinders and cases of various sizes. “What is this place?” “My gift is to grant you three chances to find your perfect match. Everything you need you’ll find in these containers on the shelves. Look around, and choose well. And don’t forget, Rhys, after the first choice there are only two more left!” “Uhmm.., great…, uhmm …., sounds alright to me, but… ” Clearly he did not belong to the chatty tribe of fairies. Before I could continue, he again flicked his wand. After the usual spluttering and spouting of sparks there suddenly was a magic carpet, hovering right in front of us about three feet above ground. “Wow …., makes you wonder what more surprises he has got up his sleeve,” I muttered under my breath, gawping suspiciously first at this carpet, then at him. “All this magic can be a bit unsettling for a Muggle, you know?” I tried to joke, while keeping a wary eye on him and his wand. But he took no notice. “Sit down,” he ordered, pointing at the magic carpet. It can read your mind, or whatever other part of your body may direct your actions” – again he looked at my crotch in that censorious way of his. “It’ll take you exactly where you’ll find what you are looking for.” “But ….” “No buts! Trust me!” Obviously, time was up for any more questions. He was still holding up his wand, and there was no telling what he, with one flick, could do to me if he lost his rag. I most certainly didn’t want to end up a toad, warts and all, for my inquisitiveness, if you see what I mean. So I kept my gob shut and, without further ado, climbed onto the carpet while he sat down behind me. It actually turned out really comfy - the carpet I mean - a bit like a memory mattress or whatchacallit, if you know what I mean. And off we took. Slowly rising till we arrived at eyelevel with the top shelves, we made a full roundtrip keeping close enough to the shelves that I could finally make out the writing on the labels. Unfortunately the letters were in runes, but I didn’t dare say a dickey word, for obvious reasons, remember? Suddenly the carpet stopped. “You may look into as many containers as you wish,” my little fairy boy said, pointing at the long row of boxes and cylinders on the shelf, “but you won’t have any need of that.” “It’s you I want, shoving it up your cute little ass and….” “Oi, get a grip and stick to the rules!” he snapped before I could even finish what I was thinking. I felt embarrassed, and that really got my goat big time. Who was he - a bloody fairy or Big Brother watching you? “Oh, it’s you who can fucking read my mind, not the bloody carpet, is it?” “Watch your language, and focus on your quest! Choose a box and check what’s in there. You will find exactly what you are looking for. Trust me!” But how can you focus on anything whilst sitting so close to such a tasty piece of meat and your dick painfully straining and chafing against the fabric of your jeans? You try it, see what it’s like! “Rhys, may I give you a piece of advice?” There was a ring of empathy in his voice, I’d grant him that. “Alright, …, but none of that wand flicking this time, if you know what I mean.” “Not to worry, mate. I just remembered reading in one of our books on sexual education that – let me quote it – ‘the most efficient remedy against an instrumentum paratum plantandis civibus in an inappropriate situation is to imagine yourself counting sheep.’” Well, that seemed all Greek to me. But considering the context I got the drift. Well, what my cute little fairy boy didn’t seem to know was that I had a special fetish. Otherwise he wouldn’t have recommended counting sheep - but we don’t want to go there, do we dears? Anyway, I followed my hunch and, since sheep were no good to me, I decided to envision myself sitting on a beach, counting grains of sand. That should do me.... Or so I thought. However, before this therapeutic activity could take any effect, my thoughts began to wander, as they do when I get bored. My counting was suddenly interrupted by a vision of this Moorish Castilian hunk I had been bonking on the beach on my last trip to Spain. He was walking towards me, all brawn and no brain, in his wet, tight and skimpy bathers ... “Well that doesn’t seem to be any good either, does it,” the fairy remarked dryly. Fucking hell! Caught red-handed again! And the way he leered at me strongly suggested he did know about the sheep, that fairy bastard! He sure was beginning to cheese me off big time. “Bloody hell, how can you be so fucking rude? Can’t you see how hard I’m trying …?” “Hard,” he said, looking sternly at my bulging crotch, “is the very word. But chill out bud, will you! Can’t you make sense of the message your body is giving you?” “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” “That you should do what you always do.” “Which is …? “Follow HIM.” “Follow whom? I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about - are we getting religious now?” “I’m not talking religion, all I’m talking about is your favourite toy, Rhys, the hub of your gay identity, or in plain English, your fucking prick you dickhead – excuse my French. “ Obviously, he was getting to the end of his tether - time to back off now. “You mean, you won’t mind …?” I asked demurely. “No! Not at all. Go ahead and do what you’ve been meaning to do since you first laid eyes on me – drop your jeans and free Willy, for god’s sake! HE has always governed your life since you started fooling around with your playmates in the sandpit. Go on then, follow HIM!” If you ask me, I wasn’t really surprised about this sudden turn of affairs. Hadn’t my gut feeling been telling me from the beginning that what he really wanted was me to shove it up his cute little arse? Why else should he have approached me as the harbinger of my good fortune without a stitch on, not even to cover his bits? Obviously, he was acting out an elaborate erotic fantasy playing the prude, like, to drive me absolutely mad with desire before he would finally kneel down and offer his cute little bum to my eager ministrations. I was so aroused my hands were trembling and my mind was too preoccupied with imagining how I was finally going to screw his brains out I wasn’t paying any attention to what I was doing ... “Ouuuuuch!! Fucking hell - that hurts!” My scrotum had got caught in the zipper. Hopping about, bleeding like a pig and screaming my fucking head off, I completely forgot that I was still on this magic carpet hovering in midair at least 60 foot above ground, towards which I suddenly found myself diving headfirst, my right hand still pulling the zipper - its teeth chewing ever deeper into my balls - and my left hand instinctively stretched out to break the fall, when my flight was abruptly brought to a halt with a jolt, which dislocated the joint of my right hip. The fairy had had the presence of mind to grab my leg. “That was close,” he scoffed, ignoring my screams. Hope it’ll teach you a lesson!“ Gentle reader, put yourself in my position and consider how you would feel. I was still hanging face-down between the carpet and the cavern’s floor, bawling and almost fainting with the terrible pain shooting up from my chewed-up balls and dislocated hip - and this snotty fairy bastard, instead of pulling me up, had the bloody cheek to deliver a sermon! “Shut it, and pull me up! Now!” I growled. “Before I’ll do that you must say, I’m sorry and promise to behave!” Clearly, the bastard had me by the short and curlies - and no doubt he was enjoying it. “Yes master.” Oops! I just couldn’t believe I had said that. What was happening to me? Till now it had always been me who got his rocks off by playing the cruel master, you know, like shitting and pissing on some slavering bloke, watch him lick up the mess and then stuff dirty old socks, skidmarked underwear and used condoms into his cakehole for afters till he almost choked and grovelled for mercy. And, if anybody previously had had the cheek to suggest that one day I too would discover the joys of masochism, I would have thumped the shit out of him and knocked his chompers so deep down his throat he could nibble his haemorrhoids to remind him who was the alpha male. But here I was - dangling in midair suspended between life and death, suffering excruciating pain from my savaged balls and disjointed hip and chastened like a naughty little boy by this gorgeous fairy bumboy without being able to do fuck all about it. And, to my considerable surprise, I was having such a whale of a time my dick had reached the size of Cerne Abbas’ ithyphallus and was tumescing toward the moment of truth. “What was that? I can’t hear you, Rhys. “I’m sorry master, I promise to be good.” “Speak up, you useless oversexed piece of trash! Whispering doesn’t count!” he hissed, giving my disjointed leg an encouraging jerk. “I’m sorry master, I promise to be good!” I bawled at the top of my voice almost crazy with the mixture of lust and pain shooting up from my balls and hip. “That’s better! Well done, luv. But you must say it three times, or you’ll stay where you are! We fairies, you know, are very partial to the number three. And don’t you bray again like a donkey someone kicked in the frigging balls. Make it sound like you truly mean it,” he finished, yanking my leg once more to make sure I knew he meant business. After yelling my third apology and pledge to good behaviour at the top of my voice, my mind suddenly turned blank, a shudder went through my entire body … I had creamed my pants. And everything went black. When I came to, I couldn’t remember how I had got back onto the carpet. Surprisingly, except for a bump on the back of my head and a splitting headache, I was not in agony anymore. Cautiously I shifted my right leg - no pain. Then I gingerly moved my hand down to check the state of my crown jewels. And - lo and behold - whatever ravages the zipper had wreaked upon them they were completely gone. However, remembering the moment of exquisite bliss I had just experienced I wasn’t sure whether I should rejoice about or rather rue the fact that I was restored to my previous condition – except for my thumping headache, of course. “Stop fiddling about and sit up. I had to take the liberty to finish your job and take your trousers off before I could cure your ailments. But,” here he looked at his wand and then at me with a hideous smirk on his face, “I just had to knock you out first. Hope you don’t mind the bump on the back of your head.” He paused, suddenly recognising that I was taking advantage of the fact that he was standing upright and straddling me on both sides with his smooth well-turned legs thus regaling me with an entirely new delicious perspective of his shapely buttocks and stunning bits. Lifting his wand he balefully glowered at me, but continued as if nothing had happened. “Since you are awake now, let’s get on with it, shall we?” “Yes, master.” “Cut the crap, Rhys, or I will turn you into a toad. I’m sick and tired of you making a prat of yourself. None of this would have happened if you had listened. But we never do, do we, if it comes to taking anything on board we don’t want to hear. But you had better stick to the rules now, else you’ll forfeit your last chance to receive my gift. Therefore, prick up your ears and mark my words! Get a grip on your oversexed imagination or the game is over! I am not your toyboy. Got that?” Bloody hell, he was really getting on my tits! I certainly wasn’t enjoying his lectures anymore. He sounded too much like my mum wearing her fucking maternal powersuit - and who knows when she didn’t. I’m sure she even slept in it - bless her sticky knickers! Mothers! Good grief, how I detest them! Always telling you they want your best, but don’t you give it to them! Ever! “Yes, mother! As you say, mother! Let’s get on with it, mother” I hissed. “Cut the cheek. Just make sure you’ve finally got the message!” Nursing the bump on my head I retorted that he had literally hammered it home - no need to repeat it. Shame upon him! What a waste of youth and beauty. But there we are. Some people just don’t know what’s good for them. Never mind, I’m not in the habit of wasting time and energy on prigs like him, especially when I already have a plan how to get what I wanted anyway. After all, it shouldn’t be too difficult for a while to keep my cards close and pretend I stick by his rules. Even people like me with a healthy sexual appetite, or an oversexed imagination as he called it, need some time to recharge their batteries after so much excitement. Or so I reckoned - honest to god! “So it finally seems you have got the point.” I almost jumped out of my skin. Again I had completely forgotten that he had this dirty habit of reading everything going on in my mind. So much for keeping my cards close! “What point?” I asked playing the innocent. “That you’ll get exactly what you wish,” he answered. “And as you deserve,” he added under his breath. But I have sharp ears, and I must admit, hearing it didn’t exactly put me at ease… “So what are we waiting for, I haven’t got all day, you know?” he said resuming his seat behind me. As I had already mentioned, the carpet was comfy. But, obviously, it was not the deluxe model and clearly too small for two passengers to provide enough space not to invade each others’ comfort zone. So as soon as he resumed his seat behind me and I felt the warmth of his gorgeous body so close to mine I just couldn’t help the instant familiar stirring in my groins – my dick was rearing its head like a spitting cobra poised to strike. “Oh, here we go again,” my fairy boy sneered, “I can’t believe you’re real. But never mind, this time it actually comes in handy. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’ll have all the time and opportunity you want to …...” “Just tell me what I am supposed to do!” I testily intercepted another bout of his sermonizing while the carpet did another round, this time slowly descending. “Choose the container your dick points at, and you’ll be exactly right,” he ordered. I hated that snooty tone of his voice, but, no doubt, if I didn’t pull myself together now and shut me gob I would spoil my last chance to receive his gift. Meanwhile the carpet had stopped within arm’s reach of the shelves at medium level between the floor of the cavern and the ceiling. It turned out to follow the fairy’s instructions was easy as fuck. The entire length of my willy was already straining towards a single box slightly bigger than the size of a child’s coffin. I pulled it out – it was less heavy than expected – and carefully placed it between my legs. My todger twitched and tapped against it as if to confirm I had made the right choice. Nonetheless, I still had my doubts. No way a box this size could contain a fully-grown man. Had he mistaken me for a kiddy-fiddler, or was this fairy just taking the piss by presenting me with a giant dildo? “What’s written on these labels,” I asked to prepare for the expected disappointment. “The sell-by and use-by dates, as required by health and safety regulations,” he sighed. “But stop fussing, will you? Just look for the arrow, pull the seal, follow the dotted line and remove the lid. Got it? ” I nodded, quickly followed his instructions, pulled off the seal, lifted the lid, instantly slammed it down again and jumped back. I almost shat myself - my dick had shrivelled to the size of a baby peanut. “Bloody hell, what the fuck is this?” I shouted shoving the box as far away as I dared without toppling it over the edge of the carpet. “Get off me first!” “What?” “You’re sitting on my lap if you haven’t noticed. Hadn’t you just agreed to finally stop being a pest?” “Oh …, uhmm …, yeah, really sorry, uhmm, … didn’t mean to …, it just scared the shit out of me,” I stammered wiggling my arse off his lap and moving away from him as far as I dared without getting too close to the box. “Tell me what’s going on here! What is this place? A Tesco for cannibals and ghouls, Frankenstein’s lab or what?” “Sort of,” he sniggered. “What? Stop pissing me about …, or…, oh, hold on a minute,” I felt cold sweat breaking out and trickling down my back, “am I to be the next to be butchered here and my flesh sold by the pound?” “It’s alright bud, chill, and I shall answer your question,” he sighed. “But tell me first, what does it look like?” He sounded like an exhausted parent responding for the umpteenth time to the same question of an inquisitive toddler. “Like a human torso.” “That’s correct. Nothing to worry about then, see– everything’s above board.” “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you saying trading in human body parts like Burke and Hare has become a legal business like selling pork chops and steaks?” “Hold your horses bud and let me explain! All these boxes and cylinders you see on these shelves contain human body parts or, more precisely, replicas of…” “But they look like so real…” “That’s what they are meant to.” “Uhmmm …., but just assuming what you say is true, how does that fit in with your gift? When you promised to find me my perfect match, I certainly had expected a bit more than just the replica of a human torso, and ….” “And rightly so! It’s all in there. You just haven’t bothered to check. We produce and assemble the parts of all our products according to our customer’s respective visions of their respective perfect match. All our goods are of the highest quality and guaranteed for life to remain exactly as you have chosen them to be. Obviously, they come with a complete health and safety certificate and, of course, all the relevant official documents to blend in as normal citizens in every environment once they are put together and have come alive. Yours, incidentally, is the British version. Since we know that your people love spending their bank holidays on tinkering with DIY jobs, you have got the DIY Perfect-Match Assembly Kit so you can put your dream boy together at home following our detailed fool-proof instructions. Therefore, if you would care to take another look … .” “You mean …?” “You’re such a wuzz,” he scoffed, “just trust me and take another look. Perhaps it’ll make it easier if you try to remember what exactly you saw before you slammed the box shut again.” Well, there was a thought. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes …. The instant familiar stirring in my groin was all it took to follow the fairy’s advice without any further delay. I speedily pulled the box closer, grabbed the lid, chucked it over the edge of the carpet and feasted my eyes on ... “Oi, there is a £70 on-the-spot-fine for littering …” “Oh, shut up, will you? I don’t give a flying fuck about your bloody red tape. I’m looking at the most exquisite specimen of male anatomy, and you try to bloody spoil my fun with your ludicrous litter laws. But hold on a minute, there is something oddly familiar about this here. Haven’t I somewhere seen this tiny birthmark before, there you see, directly underneath the line where the pubes start? Unfortunately, the outline is slightly obscured and I can’t quite make it out …. Uhmm ..., may I?” “Certainly bud, this time you may not only look. Feel free to touch and do with it whatever you want with a reasonable amount of decency, of course.” “Cheers, sounds like a real treat. Never groped or fucked a corpse before.” “Well, you won’t have to, if you can wait until you have assembled it and it comes to life,” he sneered.” But it’s up to you, and remember, there is always a first time, isn’t there, dear? Go on then, it’s all yours!” Well, the way he leered at me, I could tell I was in for another surprise. But I just couldn’t wait any longer to finally get my mitts on this stunning piece of masculine beauty. Temptation proved stronger than any of my previous qualms about playing with something that looked like a left-over prop from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Nothing could stop me anymore or, as dear old Oscar put it, “the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” So I yielded, cautiously, at first - never trust a fairy’s promise, especially if they said they’d give you exactly what you want - I gingerly parted with my fingertips the downy pubes till I could make out the exact shape of the birthmark. Bingo! I was right - I had seen it before. Like the pieces of a puzzle, it all came together - the birthmark shaped like a hedgehog, these superbly toned pecs, abs and exquisite bits awaiting my eager attention. They all looked familiar because their original was sitting right behind me. And if the front was of such a stunning likeness, what about the backside … As if in confirmation of these cerebrations, my todger twitched merrily, oozing a blob of this extremely versatile translucent lubricant so pertinent to the execution of my next mission. I was so aroused I had lost all sense of decency - if I ever had had any - grabbed the torso, rolled it over and found myself drooling and dribbling precum upon the exact likeness of the fairy’s firm and shapely buttocks. The walls of the cavern reverberated with my cry, “Well done Watson!” when my throbbing manhood penetrated into the heart of darkness, pumping away like the piston of a highly tuned racing car, ramming it home, home, home, home …., till I came with a vociferous primeval grunt and collapsed on the back of the cyber- fairy. Spent, still panting and gasping for breath I was unpleasantly roused from the throes of post-coital bliss by the sudden sound of splintering wood followed by the heavy stomp of combat boots and raucous voices shouting - “Armed police, drop your weapons, don’t move!” When I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by a squad of armoured coppers pointing guns at me. “What the …” “Shut up, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can be used in court as evidence against you ... Well, as you can imagine, it was most embarrassing. I was in such a stupor from shock they had to lift me off the object of my recently slaked desire, put a blanket around my shoulders before handcuffing and taking me to the station, where they told me they would keep me as a suspect of murder and indecent assault on the body of a deceased. When I told my solicitor what had happened, and that I couldn’t remember how I suddenly ended up in my own bedroom, he just he goggled at me as if I had lost my marbles. So what? I didn’t give a flying fuck! He gets paid for pleading his clients’ case, not his personal opinions about them. But I didn’t argue when he advised me only to tell the interviewing officer I had got this doll, as he kept calling it, from the internet, and to keep the rest of my story to myself, else I might end up in a nut house. I don’t know what took them so long. But after twenty-four hours of languishing in the dungeons - where I had a couple of exciting foursomes with my cellmates, although unfortunately neither had the stamina to match my needs - I was informed that forensics had ascertained beyond doubt that the alleged corpse was some kind of a sex toy made of latex and silicon and that therefore there was no need to detain me any longer. I could go home a free man. They even had the courtesy to return the remains of my “toy” in a bin bag and offer me to pay compensation for the damage it had suffered during the autopsy if I sent them a copy of the receipt Well, one look at the numerous stitches criss-crossing the torso on both sides so that it really looked like a specimen out of Frankenstein’s laboratory and I knew it was of no use to me anymore. Knowing the fairy had the guts full of me and I would never see him again my one and only chance to finally find my perfect match was irretrievably lost. So what? It probably would never have worked anyway. I just couldn’t imagine having a relation with anyone for longer than a week, no matter if he was a genuine human being or a cyber fuck-buddy fresh from the fairies’ production line. What I wanted was sex 24/7, variety and the thrill of the chase, not routine, personal baggage and responsibility for somebody else for the rest of my life. And I would get what I wanted, as usual, because I was young and hot, as I could tell by the look one of the PCs on duty gave me on my way out of the station. It was the strapping young officer with the tight little bum I had fancied from the beginning of my short-term enjoyment of HM’s hospitality. He emerged from behind his desk, pulled me aside and recommended that next time – and here he winked lasciviously - I should be a bit more discreet and make sure all the curtains are properly closed. But no, he couldn’t tell me who had reported me – “a matter of confidentiality, you know?” But, and here his voice dropped into a husky whisper, “what about popping in for a cuppa, later on when he was off duty.” Well, maybe he had orders from his superiors to do whatever it takes to prevent me from suing the station for use of excessive force and unlawful incarceration. Who cares? The prospect of finishing this rather disagreeable episode by bonking this good-looking stud of a PC certainly made my day. Not that I had any need for further information anyway. I sure knew who had called the coppers – no one else but that lecherous old queer next door. Only a short while ago, I had cheesed her off big time. After numerous attempts to stop her disgusting advances I had finally decided enough was enough. Time to teach her to take no for an answer! I faked a sudden change of mind and suggested a tryst somewhere at the other end of town. When she finally arrived after a two- hour’s trip through rush hour traffic at the place I had described as a discrete little hotel where you rent rooms by the hour, it turned out to be a nursing home for OAP with a nurse and a wheelchair waiting for her in the front porch. After that she never spoke to me again. But she kept watching me and thus had probably spotted the body parts strewn all over my place and me humping a limb- and headless torso and phoned the police. Good grief, there is no limit as to what old geezers may do if to refresh their desiccated erotic imagination for a good wank! Never mind. In the end, unlike that sad decrepit fag, I was still a strapping young lad with a future to look forward to. I had better things to do than waste my time on giving her the bollicking she well deserved for getting me into trouble with the coppers. So I just gave her the finger when I spied her peeping again from behind her curtains. I had just finished taking a shower and put on some smellies and my best pair of Calvin Klein shorts when my gorgeous PC arrived. Clearly, he did not belong to those time-wasting poufs who insist on having that silly bit of pre-coital small talk to keep up the pretence of being interested in you as a person. As soon as he had closed the door and made sure the curtains were drawn, he whisked off his uniform jacket and shirt, unbuckled his belt, dropped his trousers ... Before you ask, no, he wore no underwear! And, yes, his dick was big and hard as a salami. Roger!! My shorts came off quicker than it had taken me to put them on. Well, what can I say? He was hot, I was hot, and we both, like rutting animals, were quickly fully engaged in the old game of grope and clutch. Sensing his mouth and tongue caressing my nipples and slowly moving downwards to my tumid manhood aquiver with excitement I was approaching my moment of consummate bliss, when he suddenly stopped, jumped up and off me, his face contorted with an expression of extreme disgust and started calling me a fucking fake and all the efs and ces under the sky whilst hurrying back into his uniform and making for the door. But before he closed it he stopped, turned around, one last time, his eyes looking daggers, and hissed, “I’m not a fucking gerontophile.” Those were his last words. I was completely flabbergasted about this unexpected turn of events. I simply didn’t have a clue what had triggered this anticlimactic turnout of events. Well, to be honest, I didn’t even know what the word meant he had used to tell me what he fucking was not. So I googled it and when I found it I just couldn’t believe my eyes. Apparently, he reckoned I was a superannuated fag. Abso-fucking-lutely preposterous! To call me a fake! Me ! What cheek! If anyone here was a fake and phony it was him strutting about and flaunting his big sausage as if he was King Priapus himself and then not only utterly failing to get it up when action is called for but, to put the icing on the fucking cake, to have the bloody cheek to blame his lack of virility on me claiming I was far too old for him, the lying bastard! But, although I found my own interpretation of what had happened quite convincing, a trace of doubt remained. I berated myself for my almost pathological fear of growing old, but all I tried to appease my doubts proved to no avail. I just had to make sure. So I retraced in front of the mirror every inch of the path his lips and mouth had taken down from my nipples to my nether regions... And found .... Jesus’ bollocks! It just couldn’t be, could it? I mean, I was twenty - have been in my early tweens for so many years to be quite sure of it. I fetched the magnifying glass filled with trepidations, still hoping against hope that my eyes had been misled by my rampant paranoia about growing old. But alas! It was not only “it” that I thus discovered – it was THEM!!! – four grey pubic hairs ... - no doubt the advance guard of a massive army poised to swarm all over my body had invaded the very privacy of my private parts! Bastards! No way would I give in so quickly. I would pick up the gauntlet and fight this invasion tooth and nail. I frantically grabbed my pair of pincers, drew a deep breath, carefully took aim, then seized and plucked them out, and burnt them one by one. Time to chill out! But, no, I had won this battle, but deep down I knew I had lost the war even before it began. All I had gained was a short reprieve. They would soon return. No matter how many I plucked out they would come back in ever increasing numbers till they finally covered my entire body. My life was over. Or was it? Well, there still was the internet ... Pensively I studied my body in the mirror imagining the ravages the inexorable process of aging would soon wreak upon me. No, if the truth be told, cybersex offered no satisfactory prospect anymore either. The very thought of myself covered in grey hair like bigfoot, caressing my progressively decaying body, fondling my flaccid manhood .... It turned me right sick, it did. It was time to follow my own advice. What else was there to do? Well, and this is how my story ends. I’m having a good soak in my state of the art Jacuzzi, cradling in my lap my favourite pink hairdryer plugged in for action while my left index finger is poised over the switch of the power point ready to flip it as soon as I’ve finished recording my tale ….. ZAP!!!
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