“Hello, my name’s Sean.” Everyone seated around the circle responded resoundingly and in unison, Hello Sean. “My doctor tells me I have an addiction to sex, which for me is entirely debatable.” Bernie, who was the support group facilitator, smiled and nodded knowingly. “Addicted or not, I’m the first to admit that my ass has become a big pig with a big appetite, and I need to do something about it.” Nervous feet were shuffling. “And, by the way,” I added, “my pig is single. That’s part of my problem.” My introduction flopped into awkward silence. All the members of the support group were looking at Bernie, who had been a sex addict in the seventies, when being a slut was considered inconsequential and liberating.

“Thanks for coming today,” Bernie replied. Ten minutes into the meeting and his armpits were already dark with sweat. “I’m not sure I totally understood what you were getting at, Sean.”

“Sorry. Bad sense of humor, I’ve been told.”

Seated next to me, a strapping leather daddy nudged my elbow and regrettably stretched out my introduction. “Well you’ve come to the right place, Sean. I’d slop your pig, no problem,” he said, laughing. The leather daddy’s laugh was robust and infectious. Everyone else laughed too, except Bernie, who smiled obligingly.

“Behave yourselves boys,” Bernie scolded.

The last man to introduce himself was seated directly across from me in the circle, slouched back on his chair, legs open, faded jeans stretched tightly over his mouth-watering crotch: the mesmerizing bulge of heavy male genitals. At one point, he caught me staring, which was embarrassing given the fact that I wasn’t supposed to be entertaining carnal thoughts regarding my fellow group members. The only rule of the support group, painstakingly covered by Bernie before the introductions, was that members were strictly prohibited from engaging in sexual activity with one another.

“Can you tell us your name, sir, and what brought you here today?” Bernie asked the man whose crotch I’d been ogling.

The man cleared his throat and sat up in the orange, plastic chair. For a moment, his hand contemplated the dark stubble of his shaved head. “Ah, well, it’s a little complicated, I guess,” he said, looking down at his feet, which were clownish in dusty work boots. “Let’s just say that I’m doing it for my wife.” He stopped speaking and sat there smiling uncomfortably at Bernie. The support group was open to gay and bisexual men. “Oh, and the name’s Mike, by the way” he said, pointing at his nametag. Everyone responded resoundingly and in unison, Hello Mike. Everything about Mike was controlled by testosterone—the way he talked, his smoky voice, the sharp, demonstrative gestures of his proletariat hands.

With an inviting tone, Bernie asked the group, “What makes a sex addict an addict? What are your thoughts?” The leather daddy beside me, his hair slick with citrus mousse, raised a gloved hand. “Yes, Omar,” Bernie said. “Go ahead.”

“We’re addicts because sex is a-“dick”-tive.” Omar formed quotation marks with his leather-clad fingers as he emphasized the pun. I thought it was amusing, but I was the only person laughing.

“This is supposed to be serious work people,” Bernie said.

Personally, I wasn’t sure there was any such thing as sexual addiction, but after nearly getting caught by mall security with a cock up my ass in the men’s washroom, Dr. Gupta, my psychiatrist, convinced me that a support group for sex addicts would be worth exploring. “You’re an intelligent guy,” she said. “You’re a lawyer, for God’s sake. Think of the legal consequences, if nothing else. You’re addicted to sex,” she said factually. Addicted to sex? Cock wasn’t the same as drugs or alcohol. To make matters worse, I had recently gotten fucked without a condom. Twice. “Not using a condom makes the chance of a long-term, intimate relationship even more unlikely,” Dr. Gupta pointed out.

Since Mike had spoken during his introduction, I barely followed anything anyone was saying. There were engaging revelations about foolish affairs and sexually transmitted infections, but my mind was distracted with various scenarios, all of which ultimately involved Mike’s cock up my ass. After an hour of empowering confessions, Bernie asked the group for any final thoughts. A bi-curious twink named Ethan, who was holding a soaked Kleenex, piped in. “What’s different about being part of a support group for sex addicts,” he philosophized, “is that we’re both the addict and the substance, if you know what I mean. It’s sort of like sending an alcoholic to an AA meeting and expecting him to tell all his problems to a room full of liquor bottles.”

“That’s interesting,” Bernie responded, rubbing his sparse, gray goatee. “I must say I’ve never thought of that before.”

“Yeah, Sean here,” Omar said, still flirting, pointing at me with his thumb, “would definitely be a bottle of Peach Schnapps.”

Bernie cleared a little impatience in his throat. “Okay guys, let’s focus.”

“I’d prefer to be Crown Royal,” I replied, flirting back. The support group broke into clusters of restrained laughter and brief, whispered exchanges. Immediately, Bernie grabbed the reins. “Excuse me people. Focus. Please” He made a time-out sign with his hands and shot Omar a look. “You know, I was just thinking that before ending tonight, it might be interesting,” he suggested, “if we all went around and briefly said what kind of liquor we’d be if we were addicted to alcohol instead of sex.” The whole group sat there looking at him. He might as well have made the suggestion in Swahili. “Do you know what I’m asking?”

“I don’t know about anyone else,’ Mike said, “but I’d like to have a bottle of Canadian Club right about now.” Everyone laughed, not because it was exactly funny but because Mike had been so quiet throughout most of the meeting and now his sexy, confident voice was barreling through Bernie’s arcane suggestion with something that made sense and actually sounded appealing by this point in the meeting.

After Bernie dismissed us, I lingered outside the Anglican church, where the support group was meeting for free. I sat on the cold, concrete steps, planning to stop Mike on his way out. I decided at the break that I would introduce myself but had not yet mustered the courage. Finally, Mike pushed open the door and stepped into the bitter January night, alone, adjusting a toque on his shaved head, standing beside me on the steps of St. Paul’s beneath a full moon. My heart could have raced a thoroughbred. Not a single word would come to my brain, let alone my mouth, other than Please fuck me. Mike pulled a pack of cigarettes from one of the many pockets in his camouflage coat, the kind worn by duck hunters. He looked at me, acknowledging my interest with a smile, my asshole puckering spontaneously. Please fuck me.

“You smoke?”

“No. But thanks.”

“No prob. You don’t mind if I do?”

“No, not at all. Please do.” As he was lighting his cigarette, holding it tight between his thick lips, I decided, right then, that Mike was going to fuck me.

“Damn cold out here,” he said, exhaling, his breath mixing smoke with the brittle, cold air. Mike looked Hispanic or possibly Middle Eastern, but with luminous green eyes. “Supposed to be minus 30 tonight with the wind chill,” Mike said. “Hopefully, it stays that cold tomorrow.”

“You like winter, I guess.”

“Fuck no. I could use a day off. I’m in construction. We don’t work when it gets this cold. Not in Toronto anyhow.”

Here was my opportunity, never mind that Bernie might banish me from the support group. “I just live down the street,” I said. “We could go hang out at my place, if you want, for a drink or something, to get out of the cold for a minute.”

Mike grinned at me like a delinquent boy. “You think I’m that easy?” he said. The sexual energy was palpable. “Besides we’re not supposed to be having sex with each other.”

“Forget Bernie,” I said. “Besides, who said anything about sex?”

“You want to grab a beer maybe instead?”

“Woody’s?”

“Sure.”

At Woody’s, the beer was transforming Mike into a talkative person. He rambled on about his three athletic sons, all under the age of ten and blonde like Janet, their mother. As soon as he finished one beer, I signaled the waiter for another. By the time the third Blue was down, Mike had confided that he was dyslexic. He was also half Cree, half Finnish. He didn’t say which parent was which, just that they were both alcoholic assholes. When he was barely eighteen, he enrolled in the Canadian navy, quitting three years later to make more money as a construction worker after Janet had been severely injured in a car accident. “Been in construction ever since,” Mike said, “I can’t believe it’s been almost twenty years. Actually, I joined the support group on the wife’s orders,” Mike said, explaining that, a few weeks earlier, Janet had caught him cheating for the third time. The first time was with her cousin from Orlando, Peggy. The other times, she caught him fucking men: his hockey buddy John and then, most recently, a hotel bartender at the Cuban resort where they were spending their winter vacation. “I like to fuck, I won’t deny it,” Mike said. “Pussy or ass, doesn’t much matter to me.” Fortunately, Janet didn’t know about the numerous other times when Mike’s cock was feeding a needy, nameless hole. “I’m such an immoral bastard,” he said with what sounded like true regret. “I love Janet to death, but I need more than one pussy. A guy needs to play. You know what I’m saying?” The ends of Mike’s sentences were beginning to slur. “I think I need another beer,” he said, “You got me talking too much here.” I wondered if Bernie would say Mike was addicted to alcohol as well. I turned the conversation to the support group, porn playing everywhere on the televisions over our heads, Mike’s hands distracted, checking out my body, giving me little jock punches and pinches on the arms and chest. It wasn’t long before his hand was sliding down my back, coming to rest nonchalantly on my ass.

“Nice ass,” Mike said, staring blankly at one of the televisions. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my ass or the ass that was getting screwed by a giant black dildo in the porno. Standing that close to him, I could smell a day of hard labor on his body. I moved closer and took a deep breath in. On the way to the bar, we’d joked about breaking Bernie’s rule about no sex between group members. Now Mike was making his intentions clear, nearly grinding his fingers through the denim over my asshole.

“One of us will have to quit the group,” I said, “if you keep doing that to my ass.” Mike’s fingers were massaging my hole. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’ll have to be you,” he said.

“Why me?”

“Because I promised my wife I’d finish the group. My marriage depends on it.”

“Well, I’m certainly not about to become a marriage wrecker, now am I?” I pushed my ass back into Mike’s hand. “You want to get out of here? Go to my place for some fun?”

Mike hesitated for a moment. “I’m just wondering what the wife would be thinking. She’s expecting me home before the streetlights go on.” Mike looked at me and rolled his eyes. He bit his lip and looked down at his feet in sincere contemplation. I was afraid that the whole opportunity might collapse right there beneath the weight of Mike’s guilt and second thoughts. He grabbed my ass and winked at me. “Okay, let’s go,” he said.

“You sure? I don’t want to cause any problems with your wife.” Mike didn’t seem completely sure. There was a hurried look on his face.

“No problem man.”

“What about Bernie and the group?”

“Forget Bernie.”

“Okay. Excellent. So let’s go then.”

It might have been because Janet was waiting for him to get home that Mike didn’t waste one second once we got to my place. Just inside the front door, as I was bent over untying my shoes, his hand went straight for the prize, gliding under my jeans, under my briefs, scoring a birdie in my hole.

“Nice,” he said, one of his fingers already inside me. “I like shaved hole.” Mike reached around and loosened my belt with the other hand. In a second, I was leaning forward on the wall, my jeans around my ankles. Mike’s hands were cold still from being outside, but they were warming up fast as he slapped my ass. He held it open and looked in. “Fucking sweet,” he said, juicing up a ball of saliva in his mouth. He spit with mock disdain and started rimming me, his tongue like a small, gentle dick inside me. In and out, in and out, my cock already oozing.

“Of fuck, yes. Yes.”

“You like that?” Mike asked, coming up for air. I turned around to undress him, and suddenly we were necking. Mike slurped my tongue and bit my lips. I could taste my ass and cigarettes on his mouth. He worked his tongue over my neck and down to my chest. He tortured one nipple until I could take it no longer and then moved over to the other, back and forth, biting them like a spiteful parrot, scraping his five o’clock stubble like he was intending to spark fire on my nipples. I stopped Mike’s mouth and hands long enough to lift his t-shirt over his head.

“Very nice,” I said, running my hands over his smooth granite pecs. With my tongue, I followed the black, hairy trail from his navel to his pants, which I unzipped with my teeth. Mike pulled an enormous, uncut cock through his fly, standing tall and resolute, reporting for duty. I started with the ample foreskin, pulling it over the head with my lips, sucking on it like a happy baby. My tongue searched his piss slit for precum and licked the shaft like it was Heavenly Hash. Mike’s cock was wrapped tight with sturdy, purple veins. At least nine inches. “Go right down on it,” Mike instructed. He fucked my throat with the full length, burying my nostrils in his unkempt, earthy bush, holding my head down until the gag reflex subsided.

“Fuck man, you’re going to make me cum soon,” Mike said, punishing my tonsils.

“Maybe it’s time to move into the bedroom,” I suggested. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Where’s your washroom?” Mike asked. “I need to piss first.”

“Piss on me.”

Mike looked surprised but interested. “You’re into that?”

“You’ll see.” I had the plastic sheet in my bedroom closet, ready to throw on the bed for golden showers. Getting pissed on by Mike was going to be my second baptism. With the mattress covered in plastic, I lay down naked on the bed and Mike stood over me, aiming his semi-erection directly at my head.

“Turn over,” he said. “And open your ass.” Lying face down on the bed, I stretched open my asshole with my fingers to let in the raging stream of hot, beer piss. Mike moaning with pleasure and relief as he emptied his bladder.

“Please fuck me,” I begged. I was actually begging. Mike yanked me back by the hips until I was on all fours, my ass positioned right at the edge of the bed, where he was standing, pumping up his hard-on with spit. “There’s some lube on the night table,” I said, reaching back to take his cock in my hand, rubbing the head against my impatient hole. You could have taken a pulse on my hole.

“You got any condoms?” Mike asked. I reached into the drawer of the night table and tossed him one. “Ah, I’m not sure this will fit,” Mike said, examining the package. “Not to be conceited or anything.”

“That’s the only kind I’ve got.”

Mike proved himself right as he tried unrolling the condom over his monolithic fuck spear. He could barely get it unrolled halfway. “No luck,” Mike conceded proudly, but with disappointment. “And I guess no fuck.”

“Oh fuck, no. No. I need your cock up my ass.” Instantly, Dr. Gupta’s voice was lecturing inside my head, telling me to make the responsible choice, to stop now and try something other than fucking. Like what? Suck on Mike’s big toes? Beyond all reason, after using condoms religiously for years, after seeing more than one friend get sick, suffer and die, I didn’t care. “Just fuck me for a minute,” I said with resignation. Mike was married to a woman and exclusively a top. Dr. Gupta would have pointed out that I was making assumptions and rationalizations that, in the end, amounted to denial and self-destructive behaviour. “Don’t cum inside me,” I added.

“Of course not,” Mike replied, already grinding his raw meat at the back of my rectum. He was a merciless fucker, especially after he had a hit of poppers, which I also kept conveniently in the night table.

“Let’s try it on my back,” I said, wanting to see the wild in Mike’s eyes as he fucked me.

“Sorry man. I only fuck guys doggy style.” I wasn’t about to argue. By that point, his cock was commanding every cell in my body, including the ones in my brain. He buried his cock deep in my ass and left it there to throb. My rectum squeezing and throbbing in return.

“Oh fuck, yeah that’s good,” Mike said, pushing in a little further, punishing my prostate.

“Let me ride it,” I offered.

I started rocking back and forth, riding Mike’s horse, his pendulous balls knocking against mine, the friction of raw cock spiking a delirious fever in my body. Mike’s skin slick with sweat, mine with sweat and piss. The air filling with male sex: sweaty cock, piss, dripping armpits, my freshly fucked ass. Mike pinned me face down on the mattress and started pounding from that position. The harder he fucked me, the more I wanted it. He was grunting loud Neanderthal syllables, speaking to the animal portion of my brain, which was ravenous for raw meat.

“Oh man, I’m getting really close,” Mike warned. “Where do you want my load?”

“Feed it to me,” I said urgently. “In my mouth. Don’t cum in my ass.”

Mike pulled out quickly and flipped me over on the mattress so that he was kneeling on the bed near my head. He scrunched up his face, clipping short, erratic breaths, on the edge of a powerful orgasm. I opened my mouth in anticipation, jerking my cock like a jackhammer. Mike’s rich, copious load landed in my mouth, on my left eye, some of it sliding in a clump down the side of my nose. I sucked the last precious drops out of Mike’s cock as my own sprayed a row of white beads into the air.

“You’re covered,” Mike said, proud of his contribution.

“Tastes good,” I said, licking some of Mike’s cum off the top of my lip. “That was quite the load.”

“Glad you liked it. You want some more piss?”

I didn’t say a word. I just lay there on the bed, my mouth open like a blind nestling, as Mike filled it with piss. “It’s all that beer you bought me,” he said. The plastic sheet was on the floor by now, but it didn’t matter. Mike’s flaccid cock released a second shower of bliss that splashed out of my mouth and trickled in warm rivulets down my neck. When he was finished draining his bladder, he shook out the last few drops of piss on my face and said, “I have to go.”

By the time he was lacing up his work boots at the front door, I was already fretting about the fact that I’d allowed him to fuck me without a condom. “You didn’t cum inside me, right?”

Mike zipped up his bulky, camouflage coat. “No. Not a drop.” He had his hand on the door handle.

“And you’re totally clean?”

Mike looked annoyed. “I’ve never been tested before if that’s what you’re asking me.”

I looked at him. “You don’t know if you’re positive or not?”

“Sorry man, I assumed you were cool with it.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Dude, you’re the one who asked for it raw.”

At the second meeting of the support group, Mike wasn’t there. It felt like my heart was in the toilet. Before he left my place, I had wanted to ask for his phone number. I didn’t even know his last name or where he lived, except that it was somewhere in the Beaches. All week long after the first meeting, I debated whether or not to continue with the support group. “You shouldn’t be worried about how any of this affects Mike,” Dr. Gupta argued at my weekly appointment. “You should be thinking of yourself and your needs. You should go to the second meeting and let Bernie know what’s happened. I’m sure he’d allow you to continue. And you’ll need to be tested for HIV,” she hastened to add.

I needed to see Mike again. That was the reason I went back. I wasn’t sure why, but he was under my skin. I couldn’t get him and his cock out of my head. Omar and Ethan and all of the others were there, but Mike was not. Bernie counted heads and asked if anyone had heard from him. I kept looking at the door, believing that, any second, he would come rushing in directly from work in dusty boots. After waiting another five minutes, Bernie said, “Before we get started, is there any unfinished business from last week’s meeting?” Ethan, who had spent a good part of the first meeting in cathartic tears, promptly raised his hand.

“After the first meeting, I really didn’t think I was going to come back,” Ethan confided, “but then I realized it was just fear. I was afraid of being in this group. I came back because I realized how much sex has taken over my life and how much I need this group,” said Ethan, “I’m just so grateful that the group has come to me at this point in my life.”

“Well we’re very glad you came back,” Bernie added, in a rush to comfort Ethan. “It takes a lot of courage to be here.”

“Hell, I just came back so I could feed Sean’s pig,” Omar interjected, purposely changing the tone with his hilarious laughter. Bernie gave him a pointed look of disapproval. There was an empty chair across from me in the circle, where Mike should have been sitting, legs open, his beautiful cock and balls on display.

“Thanks Omar,” I said, tempted to confess. “My pig’s been fed.”

 

© 2006 Duane Williams - Contributor's Bio