Nobody's Business by Dante Davidson

Nobody's Business by Dante Davidson

Description

"Nobody's Business … is a man's account of his anal sex fetish that includes not only a hot re-telling of some of the women he's enjoyed taking, but also one about losing his own anal cherry to a gal who liked to peg. This is one of those stories that make you wonder why there aren't more male authors represented in adult anthologies."

Originally appeared in the anthology Naughty Stories from A to Z.

Excerpt:

The summer after graduating college, I had an “ass fling” with a beautiful girl. From the first time I laid eyes on her, I knew we were going to fuck, to do it the way I like—hard and raw, skin connecting with skin. Charlene Miller was twenty-four, built slender but with corded muscles. Her golden hair fell forward over a sun-kissed face. Light played tricks in her eyes, turning them from gray to silver in a second. She shined, no question about it. She had an innocent quality that drew people to her.

And she had an ass that made me dizzy.

Whenever she wore her tight, faded jeans, I would lose myself in instant daydreams starring her tied down to my bed and me wielding my mammoth hard-on. I wanted to fuck her, but I also wanted to watch her being fucked, to see her face grow flushed, her eyes shut tight with the confusion a pleasure that decadent would bring. I had visions of slipping off her well-worn Levis, of oiling up her asshole with my spit and ravaging her from behind.

Charlene worked in a Beverly Hills office building that houses movie studios, a modeling agency, and the record company that produces my band. She served coffee and sweets in the downstairs café. All of the men in the offices went crazy for her, but Charlene paid no particular attention to any one of them. This added to her appeal. Because she didn’t care, the guys flirted outrageously as they slipped extra dollar tips into the blue jar by the cash register. They stretched out her name, “Charrr-lie,” smiling as they said it. You could picture them in her bed, saying it. You could visualize them in the back of her red convertible Cadillac, sighing as her hungry mouth got busy. “Oh, Charlene, yessss.”

But I won. I’ve relaxed in the back seat of Charlene’s car. I’ve smiled as I’ve said her name the morning after. I’ve stroked that glossy hair away from her forehead. I’ve been the boy in the bed.




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