Marination

I wasn’t the same, after going there the first time. I don’t think anyone can be the same, in there. I had always had a kinky side before, but I had no problem with vanilla sex either–I just liked sex! I suppose it wasn’t a surprise that I’d end up at Pigtown eventually. I think…all of us will, at some point. After that night there, I was still the same person on the outside–the handsome daddy bear, nicely muscled, successful, high achiever, all of the good stuff…but inside. Inside I felt like an entirely different man, and I had no words I could use to articulate it. Nothing could get me off anymore. It’s not that I wasn’t horny, understand–it’s that nothing appealed. None of my usual porn did anything for me, none of my usual fuckbuddies. I was so frustrated, but I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t cum for days, and then weeks, no matter how much I tried, and while…I thought Pigtown might give me an answer, I was too terrified to ever go back there again.

After nearly a month of desperation, and self-reflection, I could finally articulate the problem. Everyone on the outside now fell within two groups. On one hand, there were the men I was now attracted to–young, innocent, preferably questioning or straight. Their…lack of experience thrilled me, made me want to ruin them, but none of them would tolerate anything extreme, if they would tolerate gay sex at all. In the other camp, were the freaks. The men who would willingly satisfy all of my perverse desires, but none of them, no matter who they were or what they looked like, were the least bit attractive. How could I possibly bridge that gap? How could I fall in love with a man in the first group, but force him into the second, so I could actually be satisfied? The answer, as happens sometimes, came to me in a dream.

There was an intern at my work, who I’d befriended, a young man by the name of Timothy. Sweet, twenty-two, straightish but without anyone significant. He liked me, I think, as a bit of a proxy father, and oh fuck, did I want him. I wanted to ruin him, but how could I? In my dream one night, I found myself in complete darkness, but not within a void. There were scents of smoke, piss and beer. The thump of bass from a dance floor somewhere nearby, and as I watched, a man emerged from the darkness. I couldn’t see his face, just his body. I could smell him, the musk and sweat and cum crusted on his skin. That cocky smile, the bulge in his rubber shorts, those fucking nips begging me to tear into them. I knew him. I didn’t need to see his face to know that, but he was…so perfect, and before I could ravage him, I woke up, sheets full of cum, screaming Timothy’s name at the ceiling.

The next night, I suggested the two of us go get a drink together, so we could discuss his career goals and further education. I told him that I knew the perfect bar for us. We arrived at Pigtown, and he knew what the place was as soon as we stepped inside, and he tried to leave…but I shoved him in, watching the freaks pull the clothes from his body, dragging him deeper into the club, and…and I left. I didn’t want to see what would happen to him, until it was finished. Let him marinate for a few days–maybe a week, and then he’d be ready for me. Perfectly corrupted…but I don’t think he’ll satisfy me for long, a night or two at most. I’ll have to make offerings at Pigtown’s altar regularly, I think, if I’m going to stay sane, but if that’s what it’s going to take, then that’s what I’ll do.