From the novel Operaville: Dream Lover

Still, astoundingly, I’m awake. And here is why: all the way home, I have thought of nothing but my non-functioning dick, and finally I have landed in a spot where scientific research is possible. Not only that, in my current position – my face scrunched against the couch cushion – I am looking directly into the regions beneath my coffee table, where lies a DVD titled Conversations in Cum. This groundbreaking documentary records the efforts of Sir Harry Broadstaff, who manages to interview and film a series of eager, buxom models while fucking them. For whatever reason, the sight of a randy twenty-year-old trying to assemble cogent sentences as her producer’s schwanz slides in and out of her pussy (duly recorded by regular downward pans) is enormously stimulating. Who says men can’t multi-task?


And this I know about my own physiognomy: I achieve my most vigorous erections precisely when I’m nearly dead to the world. So I roll myself onto the floor, take the DVD from its case and crawl like the dog that I am to the player. Soon I am naked on the couch, stroking a film of Vaseline over an enormous stiffy. Maestro Broadstaff is conducting three varieties of intercourse with a stuttering, eye-crossing, lip-chewing brunette from Arizona.

Take that, o ye gods of erection! But it’s not enough to just get the hard-on. After my irritating failure with La Diva, I’m determined to keep this one going. I work myself toward the point of ejaculation – can actually feel the sperm working its way up my shaft – and then I back myself down with light, calming strokes.

Then I fall asleep. When I awake, Sir Harry’s got a Romanian redhead, taking his broad staff from behind as she discusses the political significance of Vaclev Havel. The power-nap has diminished my erection not a whit. I work it harder, like a tennis player approaching the net, then slowly back it off. It’s now gaining that special brand of rigidity that comes from long-term stimulation.

And then I fall asleep. This time it’s a slender Italian woman with long black hair, the young Cher without the schnozz. She steps into the room, spots the producer’s cock and says, “Now that’s what I’m looking for!” She’s wearing a little black dress, the kind you see a fancy fundraisers. I’m expecting the standard fellatio, but instead she takes ahold of the penis, positions it beneath the hem of her dress and slides her way down.

This one is so good that I can almost feel it myself. She bucks and slides, throws her head back, grabs at her small tits. It's all too much. I put my hands around her hips, I reach underneath to grab her ass and then I gush inside of her for a long, long time. She lets out a husky shout, shakes on my dick like a madwoman, and then I fall asleep.