Good Vibrations Magazine

“Nice pecs! Nice buns!”

“Nice cock!”

Celine and Julie had rented a gay video. Their husbands, Astérix and Bruce, were out of town on boring business trips. So, just for a lark, they took a trip to the local adult bookstore. Giggling like schoolgirls, they made their way past the dildo display to the shelves of videos.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Celine. “Let’s not get a straight video. Every time Astérix brings one home, the men in it are so… yucky.”

“Indeed,” said Julie. “That Jeremy bloke makes me want to barf.”

“And,” added Celine, “we won’t have to look at all those silicone tits.”

And so they found themselves in the gay video section, browsing through titles like Stud This and Powertool That.

Back at Julie’s, they nuked some butter-flavored popcorn, lowered the lights, and shoved Big Boys Get Buggered into the VCR.

“Yummm, he is big,” Julie tittered. “It would take two Bruces to add up to that.”

But Celine was transfixed by the sight on the screen: Kris Randall’s cock, in tight close-up, was oozing pre-cum. Oozing, that is, until handsome Vin Stroker licked it off. Stroker ran his tongue around the swollen head of Randall’s dick, then swallowed the shaft in a single gulp.

“Merde!” said Celine. “Did you see that?”

“I bet Bruce wishes I could do as well,” marveled Julie.

“Gay guys sure know have to have sex, all right.”

Julie nodded. “And gay men have such…”

“Big muscles?” asked Celine.

“Well-trimmed pubic hair.”

“Look at that one’s. It looks like Hitler’s mustache!” Celine giggled.

The camera had pulled back. Kris Randall was face-down on what was supposed to be a workbench in a car repair place, his muscular legs and perfect ass pointing toward the camera’s eye. Vin Stroker reached for a grease gun.

In the usual porn-actor monotone, Randall unconvincingly begged his costar to take it easy, but the nozzle of the grease gun slid up inside his hole like a Pokémon card into a kid’s pocket.

“Oh my God,” said Julie. “He’s putting his fingers up the guy’s ass!”

“I don’t think,” said Celine, “that I ever could do that to Astérix.” But she had a broad smile on her face and her hand had found its way to the crotch of her shorts.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” It was Casey Somebody-Or-Other, playing the garage owner. He’d walked in on the sight of Stroker sticking three fingers up another man’s butt when he should have been tuning up the Lexus in the corner. But Casey couldn’t have been all that angry; he reached down and started kneading his cock through his blue mechanic’s overalls.

“Oh my!” said Julie, when Casey pulled out his dick. “It’s even bigger than the other ones.”

“I hope they both fuck that guy on the bench.” Celine was a bit surprised to hear the word “fuck” coming out of her mouth; she never said such things when Astérix and the kids were around.

“Face it, darling,” said Julie, “you wish you were that guy on the bench.”

Celine reached for the remote and, free hand on the jog-shuttle wheel, made the men on the screen do her bidding, freezing in their tracks, backing up, then slowly going forward again.

“Hee hee,” said Julie.

“I feel,” said Celine, “like the tables have been turned.” And Julie knew just what she meant.

Celine was rubbing herself vigorously through her shorts now, not caring if her friend noticed. “Mmm,” she said, and closed her eyes. She felt great.

“Celine? Celine?” Julie’s voice was surprisingly faint. Celine opened her eyes. She was no longer in Julie’s comfy, almost too-clean living room, but in a dirty garage smelling of brake fluid and sweat. And right in front of her were three naked men having sex.

Casey had stripped off his coveralls and was kneeling on the rough wood workbench, fucking Kris Randall’s mouth. Randall, on all fours, gulped the big dick down greedily. And Vin Stroker, sweat rolling down his lean, muscular body, was pounding into Randall’s wide-open ass.

Celine couldn’t believe her luck. She moved closer; her nostrils were filled with the smell of male sex. She reached out and put her hand on Stroker’s shoulder, running her fingers over the slick flesh. But Stroker didn’t notice her at all. Her hand reached his well-muscled ass, which flexed as Stroker plowed Randall. But there was still no response, not even when she gave his butt a playful slap. It was if she wasn’t there. And then she realized that, as far as the men were concerned, she wasn’t.

She felt a little hurt at first, but then decided to take advantage of her invisibility. Squatting down, she watched Stroker’s cock, shiny in a jet-black condom, slide in and out of Randall’s lubed-up hole just inches from her face. Her hand was deep inside her shorts and she was playing with her swollen clit, keeping perfect pace with the fuckstrokes before her eyes. If Julie could see her now…

Julie! Celine glanced back over her shoulder, and there, in a little floating window, was Julie, as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope. With her free hand, Celine waved, and Julie waved back.

Celine clambered to her feet and went to watch the blowjob up close. Randall had an intent look on his face as he deep-throated Casey’s enormous cock. When Casey said, stiltedly, “Yeah, suck that big tool, boy,” Celine giggled, but Randall didn’t.

She moved beside Kris Randall’s naked kneeling body, rubbing her fingers over her soaking-wet cuntlips as she watched him getting used from both ends. Then she pulled her damp hand out of her shorts and grabbed on to Randall’s cock. He didn’t seem to notice, but as Celine jacked him off, he moaned louder and sucked harder.

The pace accelerated. Above the sound of flesh against flesh, Celine heard Julie’s voice. “They’re almost done,” the faint voice said. “Come on back before the video ends or you’ll be trapped in there.”

And at that moment Vin Stroker growled, from between gritted teeth, “I’m fuckin’ gonna come.” He pulled out of Randall’s ass and tore the condom off just as Casey pulled his cock out of Randall’s mouth. In perfect synchronization, the money shot exploded. Stroker’s cum sprayed over Kris Randall’s back and ass, Casey pumped his wad onto Randall’s pretty face, and Celine felt the insistent throbbing of the dick in her hand as the third man shot his load. And, without even having to touch herself, Celine came, too — big, sharp, shuddering waves that started in both her brain and her cunt, then drenched her body, leaving her happy, exhausted, spent.

She looked back at Julie’s small face in the distance and, right before everything faded to black, she shouted just one thing at the top of her lungs: “Tell Astérix I’m staying here!”

Simon Sheppard is the coeditor of Rough Stuff: Tales of Gay Men, Sex, and Power and author of the forthcoming collection Hotter Than Hell and Other Stories (Alyson, 2001).