Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Fifty Shades of Tay

Beach 1 is crowded with hard bodied teens, thick, meaty throngs of human bodies sunbathing and frolicking in the shallow clear water of Georgian Bay. The boys have their hair gelled up to the heavens, and the women have their cell phones caught in their thong strap. Everything is frozen in the vice grip of youth.

On this day, July 2nd, the busy Canada Day long weekend, one can smell in the air hormones being cooked by the relentless midday sun. There are so many young Italians it’s like a tsunami hit the Jersey shore, the detritus washing up here in Wasaga Beach.

A short distance westbound up from the main beach, the sticky hot air still languishes over at Beach 2 like gasoline, but it’s less dense with people, and more family oriented and pet friendly. The saliva inducing aroma of wieners roasting on portable BBQ’s wafts through the air. Golden retrievers romp in the water, chasing toys. Small children sit and allow gentle waves to lap against them.

Two women, both fit and attractive, a blonde and brunette, are lackadaisically lobbing a Frisbee back and forth, the plastic disc hitting it’s apex and then fluttering down into the others’ eager outstretched hands.

Invariably, the blonde throws an errant pass and the Frisbee lands by the feet of a tanned and toned gentleman in his early thirties. He patiently bends down at the knees, the proper way, and picks up the hard red orb.

“Good thing your friend doesn’t have the best arm in the business,” he says, “Or I wouldn’t have had the chance to introduce myself.”

The woman would normally rebuff any advances from strangers, whether at a nightclub or the beach, but there was a magnetism and warmness to the man’s smile that was difficult to resist. She takes the Frisbee and smiles, “Thanks.”

“My name is Mr. Shade,” he says and extends a friendly hand before she can turn around and toss the Frisbee back.

“Anna,” she says. His large hand envelopes hers and he shakes it with just the right firmness. She looks into Mr. Shade’s azure eyes. He had an air about him, that however friendly, he commanded respect, and there was a line not to be crossed. She sensed a vague allure of his power just being in his presence.

“What would you say, Anna, if I told you to meet me here tomorrow at the 19th St exit to Beach 2, thirty yards or so behind me.” he threw a thumb over his shoulder, “At exactly 2pm?” Mr. Shade says, not breaking eye contact. “Do not bring any change of clothes or any other amenities, all will be provided. Simply swim out to the buoy that is in line with 19th St., about one hundred yards into the water. Can you swim, Anna?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Good. You’ll have no problem reaching the buoy. I will pick you up in my boat and take you aboard. The next stop is my home on a private island that I own where we will have dinner. How does that sound, Anna?”

Anna barely picks her jaw up off the sand to mutter in astonishment, “Okay.”

Mr. Shade continues on his walk, nodding in polite acknowledgement to Anna’s friend before blending into the hordes of beachgoers in the horizon. This guy seemed to be one cucumberously cool number.

The brunette jogs up to her friend and says, “Anna, OMG, who was that guy? Can you say hot! He give you his number or what?”

“Umm…not exactly.”


Telling herself that this whole thing is absolutely crazy, Anna arrives at the 19th St. entrance to Beach  with nothing but the two piece number she has on. It’s her favourite bikini; a spaghetti stringed blood red number that shows off her ass, bouncing every time she took a step.

She surveys the stretch of shore laid out before her, another top drawer day at the beach, shrugs, and makes her way into the water towards the buoy. It’s another beautiful day and the water is bath warm. Gaggles of beachgoers jump into the small waves and enjoy the day, oblivious to Anna, who is wading deeper and deeper into the bay.

She is out so far that her tippy toes can’t reach the bottom anymore, and proceeds to swim at a leisurely pace out to the buoy. Momentarily, she brings up her left arm to check her wristwatch, the three other limbs forced into picking up the slack.


Anna took in a gulp of air, plugged her nose, and submerged herself in the warm clear water. She sunk and sunk until her feet hit the spongy floor and she grinded them in, fogging up everything around her. She held her breath for what seemed like an eternity in hell, until she could barely take it, though it was in reality only thirty seconds, and pushed her lithe, honey flecked legs up and she shot up out of the water like a missile.

She wiped the water out of her eyes and squinted into the horizon. There seemed to be a form materializing in the distance--only a vague speck, quite possibly only inside her mind. Anna vigorously rubbed her eyes this time and focused again. Definitely, without a doubt a man standing up at the wheel of an aerodynamically sleek mid-size yacht, his open collared shirt flapping wildly from sheer centrifugal force. Must have been hitting the speed hard, his boat was sharply going up and down over each tiny swell, the largest waves being no more than three feet on a windy day. A face was emerging on the figure but it was hard to read. Dark sunglasses provided an alibi for the eyes.

There he was, getting closer all the time, his stone cold and steel jawed frame standing tall, a cool hand wrapped around the top of the steering wheel. Effortless. He was going so fast even his taught, defined abs appeared to be rippling.

Anna checked her watch: 2:00pm on the nose, and it was now definitely one-hundred percent clear to her that it was Mr. Shade behind the wheel. He slowed the boat down and turned exposing the name, S.S. Dinoman. She could climb up the steps.

Mr. Shade is right there to present her with a towel. “Here you go,” he handed the towel over and gave and caressed her upper right arm. “We’re due back at my estate shortly, my dear.”

“Okay--so, is this your house where you live all year? Or is it a summer house or something?”

“I reside there most of the year, yes. A couple trips sprinkled to various locales here and there. Europe. The Orient.”

Mr. Shade went to the wheel and took control of the metal beast, revving the engine and then taking off, jolting Anna back into a plush leathered seat. It was too loud to talk even if she wanted to try standing up and tightrope walking over to him. They were going so fast she was pinned to her seat, unable to lift an arm, like when she was twelve, riding The Scrambler at Centre Island with Daddy.

Shortly thereafter, perhaps twenty minutes, though feeling like more because Anna’s mind was left to follow the possibilities of the evening to their own fantastical conclusions. Mr. Shade was slowing down and guiding the boat into a dock, with nary another boat in sight. He helped her off the boat onto the old rickety dock. The dock was so thin that Anna had to trail a few steps behind Mr. Shade.

“Which do you prefer, Anna? Chanel or Hermes?”

“Oh, ahh…I’d say Hermes--no, Chanel.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have Gerard make the arrangements for the gown.”


“Yes, he’s my assistant. You will be meeting him shortly. A lovely fellow.”

They made it ashore and walked through a narrow gap in the shrubbery and the resplendence of Mr. Shade’s estate assaulted her eyes for the first time. It was difficult to take in all at once, this palatial monstrosity of a home. There in the middle of a circular driveway was an opulent marble fountain that, upon closer examination, contained coy.

Ohhh…I love coy,” Anna exclaimed, running up for closer inspection.

“Yes, they’re imported from Japan, but not since the tsunami. Not the cost so much as the radiation.”

“I see.”

“This is Gerard,” Mr. Shade said, alluding to the older black gentleman with a head full of short curly pubic like hair. He was impeccably dressed, standing rigid at the arched front door and greeted Anna. “Well hello there, ma’am,” Gerard said congenially with a blinding smile, “Please follow me…”

Gerard took off at a healthy pace down a cobbled path to a nearby door with Anna trailing behind. She looked over her shoulder, besieged with a tinge of anxiety, and through a window she could see Mr. Shade ascending a spiral staircase. Anna shook her head at the impossibility of it all and let a wry smile spread across her face. What have I got myself into now, she thought.

Gerard opened the door and she entered the room. It appeared to be a sparsely decorated single room apartment. There was a t.v., couch, and kitchen. The only thing that seemed out of place was the sequined black Chanel dress hanging on a hook attached to the bathroom door.

“Please get changed and meet me outside at your leisure and I will escort you to the dining facilities.” Gerard bowed and retreated out the front door.

“Okay, then.” She shut the door and had a look around the apartment. How many other women have been in this position before, a Chanel, or Dolce & Gabana dress hanging languorously on the bathroom door? She kept that nasty thought at bay, consumed with the moment, of how a great story it will be to tell her friends.

The black dress fit her impeccably, hugging her hips just so and ending mid-thigh. She looked absolutely ravishing. Anna had her back to the mirror and turned her neck as far as it would go and checked her butt in the mirror.

She exited the room, and upon hearing the door opening, Gerard spun around to escort her to dinner. “You were just waiting out here all this time?” She inquired.

“That’s what I get paid the big bucks for,” Gerard said with a smile. Anna smiled back and they made their way towards the main house.

“So what does Mr. Shade do exactly to have such a nice place?”

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that. I’m sure he’ll explain it better to you over dinner, ma’am. All I can say is, be a little careful ‘round him. Sometimes…he’s not hisself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

She let the matter drop, following in silence behind Gerard.


Anna walked into a dining hall with a large table, Mr. Shade seated at one end and fifteen feet across the table, the vast majority of which was empty mahogany, there was a plate and utensils set. She went to her seat and settled in.

It looked delicious. Quail and ribeye with asparagus and a small serving of roasted potatoes.

“Smells great,” Anna offered up. While setting the napkin on her lap she added, “Could you please pass the salt?”

They both smiled at each other from across the expanse, worlds apart.

“So…what do you do exactly to afford such a luxurious place?” Anna asked. Mr. Shade wasn’t exactly a chatty Kathy.

He methodically placed his knife and fork down on his plate. “You’ve seen Jurassic Park, right?”

“Sure--I loved that movie! Do you dig up dinosaur bones or something?”

“Not exactly--I’m a paleo-geneticist, actually.”

“Oh. That sounds fun…”

“I am involved with extracting DNA from fossils that have been preserved in amber and ice. You’d be surprised at how close I am--rather, my team is--to being able to regenerate dinosaurs from extracted DNA.”

“Wow, I always thought that was just sci-fi.”

Mr. Shade swallowed a bite of quail. “Yes, it would appear that tomorrow is here today.”

Dinner was finishing up, Anna leaving most of the potatoes because she’s on a low carb diet. Anna loves potatoes almost as much as life itself. When she was younger, when Daddy was still around, he would buy her a large poutine from Sonny’s. It was as big as her head but she was always determined to finish it, even if she never did.

“Anna, dear, can you please stand over by the Manet and tell me what you see?” He said, referring to the large painting of a nude woman reclining on a bed, her wonderous breasts jutting out. A black servant is presenting a fresh bouquet of flowers, perhaps a gift from a potential suitor.

“I really like the black cat! I love kitty cats. I have one called--”

And at that very moment the floor disappeared from under her, one giant tile gone, just like that, and Anna fell, fell, fell.


Anna was sliding down a tunnel that reminded her of Wild Water Kingdom, twisting in an industrial tube this way and that, a serpentine journey through the bowels of the Mr. Shade’s humongous house, going deeper and deeper until she came out the bottom, free falling for ten feet, and landed on two mattresses stacked on top of each other.

She was unharmed but the Chanel dress was ruined.

A soft, “What. The. Fuck,” escaped her lips. Her heart was thumping in her throat and she could barely swallow. The enchanted evening had taken a decidedly unexpected turn. She knew something didn’t seem quite right about Mr. Shade but not what was laid out before her: some kind of sex dungeon.

She scanned the room and it just about knocked the architecture out of her knees. Hung from the walls were dildos, mouth gags, different whips for flogging--some frilly and some sturdy, metal studded handcuffs, leather padded tables with all manner of belts and laces for restraint. One of the tables was right in the middle of the room, if that‘s what you could call it--it looked more like a deranged dentists chair made with black leather.

Anna was a proper Ontario girl. She had boyfriends and even once tried to put it up her ass but it hurt too much and she told Lloyd to stop, and he did, thankfully. Nothing beat a good old missionary orgasm, but somewhere inside her there lurked a dirty girl waiting to get out.

As Anna was running her red fingertips along the end of a whip, she felt a presence behind her and turned around to see Mr. Shade standing robustly in nothing but a pair of skin tight boxer-briefs. Her eyes immediately locked onto the sizeable bulge emanating from his underwear. Anna blushed when she looked up into Mr. Shade’s steely blue eyes but he remained stoic and under control of his emotions.

“Glad you dropped by,” Mr. Shade said.

“Oh my god! What the fucking hell is wrong with you!” Anna screamed at him. “You’re…you’re not gonna rape me or anything are you?”

Mr. Shade chuckled, “No, Anna, I wouldn’t do that to you. I simply want to…play. Don‘t you like to play, Anna?” He asked rhetorically.

Mr. shade went over to one of his S&M props hanging on the wall, went for a whip fit for a light flogging, but decided first on a mouth gag, a simple one with an orange rubber ball, the kind used in floor hockey. He brought it over to her

“Hold still while I strap this on.”

She wouldn’t open wide for the gag at first, her nerves tightening every muscle in her body into complicated knots, so Mr. Shade jabbed a finger into her side just hard enough to get Anna to gasp and he popped the gag in, fastening the leather buckle in back of her head. Anna squirmed and made guttural sounds in place of words, but Mr. Shade had a firm grip on her. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Shh-shhh…” He cooed into her ear. “Nobody‘s going to hurt you, dear. Haven‘t you wanted to journey through hidden corridors?”

Mr. Shade ripped open the top of the Chanel dress to expose Anna’s youthful mammaries. He began sensuously rotating his fingertips over Anna’s nipples and alternately giving each breast a nimble pinch until they hardened. She was still struggling, but slowly her groans of anger became indecipherable from moans of pleasure. She couldn’t help grinding her ass into his groin. She’d never had a ball gag in her mouth before and she kept biting down on to it hard, but there wasn’t much give in the hard orange plastic ball. There was pain in her gums and it almost felt good to bite down hard into the ball and shoot lightening bolts of discomfort from the root of her teeth up to her brain; anything was better than the dull throb.

With a hand still tweaking one of her nipples, he disengaged his left hand and headed south for her vagina. Anna was so scared and turned on at the same time, she was half-thrilled and half embarrassed-to-death when his hand went into her panties and found that she was sopping wet. He circled her clit for a moment, gyrating his hips into her backside, and slid in two fingers with slim steamy resistance. She practically collapsed into him and he cradled her with his body, supporting her deadweight, and like a furious piston he plunged his index and middle fingers into her repeatedly.

They had a rhythm going, Mr. Shade dry humping Anna from behind and finger-banging her roughly, not letting Anna squirm free.

After a couple minutes of their bodies writhing together, Mr. Shade, in full control, breaks the embrace and tells Anna to get on the table in the middle, the main one.

She is panting uncontrollably.

“What are you, what are you gonna do to me, Mr. Shade?” She asked, visceral fear quivering in her voice.

“First, I’m going to strap you in. Lay down on your back.”

Anna couldn’t see any means of escape, the room was claustrophobic because she couldn’t see a door, knew there was no way to physically fight with Mr. Shade.

She didn’t even know some abdominal muscles existed until she looked at his Adonis-esque stomach. There was no other options but to do what he said.

He strapped her arms and legs into his special chair which was like some ungodly piece of foreign gym equipment, her legs spread eagle, arms above her head.

He took a pair of scissors and cut through the tattered Chanel dress, angling one of the blades so he could cut without snipping. Anna lay naked totally exposed. Naked as lunch. She futilely writhed her body, trying to free herself from the apparatus but it was no use, the leather manacles were too strong.

Mr. Shade walked over to the wall and pulled off a large purple dildo. Amazing how the eyes of those who are gagged can express so much with the eyes. It was a regular missile shaped sexual device except the base was large and square. Mr. Shade opened a drawer and pulled out a set of controls, setting the dildo down on top of a table. He pulled up the antenna on the controls and pushed the thin knob up with his thumb. The dildo roared to life, pulsating like a jack hammer. He pushed it up all the way and the dildo became a hummingbird, the motion so fast that it was all a goddamn blur. Satisfied that the sex machine was in working order, he carried the thick, eight-plus-inch rod over to Anna who was laying still, coming to the painful realization that when shackled and under someone else’s control, it’s best to conserve your resources.

Her eyes were drawn to the thermos thick bulge in his pants and then to the equally large purple dildo. She surmised what was about to happen, or at least the gist of it.

Mr. Shade squirted a dollop of KY onto the tip and spread it around the top half, leaned over Anna almost like the purple cock was his own and flicked at her clit with the bulbous purple tip.

“Anna, regrettably you’ve fallen into the velociraptor enclosure and it’s inhabitants are very, very, starved for attention,” Mr. Shade whispered close to her ear, a single strand of hair fluttering in the wind of his wistful whisperings.

He plunged the dildo into her boiling meat cauldron, a slight moan passing through her lips under protest from her better judgement. He gradually amped up the dildo, holding the controls with one hand and nudging the knob upwards, the device slamming into her faster and faster, his taught forearms flexing, holding the base of the dildo in place by her vagina. The dildo motor was buzzing at its highest speed, stretched to its motorized limits, like a blender trying to chop up walnuts, and Anna was screaming, her face lined with both hate and inexorable pleasure. She bit down harder on the gag, her gums radiating waves throbbing with heartbeats of pain.

Mr. Shade produces two nipple clamps and attaches them to Anna’s pencil eraser hard nipples and lets go, the springs relentlessly pressuring themselves back to their point of origin, and Anna shrieks, an unleashed, feral feminine wail; it was the kind of impulsive scream a woman does when no ones around.

“Velociraptors love nipple clamps. Yeah…you like that prehistoric penis don‘t you?”

Anna was absolutely delirious; she was screaming, “I’m cumming!” but it came out more like, “Ahh Ahh Eng!” Her face contorting into shapes of sheer madness, frothy rivulets of saliva cascading down the gag. Mr. Shade lowered the intensity a notch and grabbed her neck hard, but not too hard, right while she was cumming her guts out, having a life shattering orgasm, the kind a woman remembers her whole life.

Mr. Shade unbuckled the gag in her mouth to let her jaw rest. Anna was clearly not used to this type of lovemaking and it must have been hard for her to relax her jaw and not bite down too hard. The poor thing.

“Now you’re going to get the real thing…my slice of Veloci-meat.” He doffed his boxer briefs, revealing an impressive semi-erect clean cut penis and climbed on top of Anna, guiding it in slowly.

“My god, Mr. Shade, it barely fits…”

“Don’t worry, my dear--somehow life always finds a way,” he says to her, brushing a few sweaty strands of her beautiful brown hair that were plastered to her forehead.

Anna was squirming with renewed vigour now that Mr. Shade was really fucking her. Her manacled limbs possessed by demons, as Mr. Shade’s cock shot into her, each thrust like a dagger into her guts; he was pounding against her pelvis so hard their moistened bodies created a suction cup sound adding to the cacophony of grunts and moans.

“Jesus!” Anna screamed, “If you’re gonna fuck me this hard…” Mr. Shade was pumping as fast as his well defined body would allow, grinding his hips so every inch of his massive rig got right up into Anna…“The least you could do is tell me your first name.”

He bit down onto her neck, almost hard enough to draw blood and gnawed for a moment, then answered, “It’s Chrisanto.”

“Chri” -- thrust! -- “Santo” -- thrust! -- “Shade” -- thrust! -- “The 3rd” -- THRUST!


Chrisanto Shade stopped plunging his turgid cock into Anna and pulled off the nipple clamps, exposing her raw, red, puffy areolas. He placed a tender kiss upon each one and gently played with her clit. “You want out of these shackles, sweety? Okay--we’ll release you from your prison,” he cooed.

“Chrisanto is an unusual name for an all-Canadian, blonde hair blue-eyed man such as yourself.”

“How observant of you, Anna. Wise beyond your years.” After a brief pause of looking into the distance, which happened to be a shiny full body latex rubber suit that zipped 360 degrees like a body bag, he added, “My parents are not originally from this land. They’re from Valencia, Spain. I was put up for adoption by my biological parents. Apparently, I was born in Sarnia, but the records were destroyed in a fire. A real bad one. It was a smoker. Some patient out front in his gown huffing in tobacco. He started it--that’s what the newspaper said.”

“Oh, you poor thing, Chrisanto, but can you please get me out of these things? It‘s killing me,” Anna pleaded. “I…I wanna go home.”

“We’re not done yet, I’m afraid,” Chrisanto said, making his way over to the wall and pulling down a whip. “You’re going to get a lashing now, dear.”

As she whimpered, he positioned her on all fours; doggy style. The table is tilted down, jutting her ass out, proffering it, like two gigantic kidney beans. “If you move,” he grabbed a handful of ass, “It’ll be twice as bad,” he warned.

Anna was shaking, maintaining a white knuckle grip on the sides of the table.

“Though I have only Canadian blood, it has over the years become poisoned with Spanish blood. Little by little. But now it courses through me and I’m rather a tad bit like Zorro. Now I must whip you and then take you from behind.”


Chrisanto snaps the whip against Anna’s supple bottom and she lets out a scream. “Not soo hard, Mr. Shade,” she pleaded futilely with him. Individual strips of vessels that had burst were slowly becoming visible on her ass, forming delicious strips of flesh bacon. Chrisanto went nuts with the whip snapping over and over in quick succession, wearing out his arm, until there were rivulets breaking through the wall of skin and leaking down her cheeks, pooling on the cold hard dungeon floor. “Oh my god! Why are you torturing me?” Tears were streaming down her face which was now red and puffy from crying.

“Can I please go now? I’ve had enough. I won’t tell anyone about your secret island or how you fucked me as a velociraptor. I promise…” She was whimpering in a pathetic tone.

As soon as Anna muttered the word, ’velociraptor’ there was a twitch in Mr. Shade’s left eye, and he went rigid, almost like something was taking hold him, invading his body. His lower jaw was trying to gyrate itself from the clutches of his face; a frothy drool was trickling down his chin and he was dripping sweat.

“I…I…I can’t fight it,” he barely managed to get out.

Mr. Shade seemed to have metamorphosed into some manosaur, a velociraptor violently attacked Anna and started biting at her neck, going for the jugular. Instinctively, Anna slapped at each side of his head, futilely trying to fend him off. Chrisanto, or Mr. Shade, or whatever he was now, arched his back and let out a high pitched screeching warble, and dug in hard onto her chest, right where her necklace was. He went at her like a pig at a trough, trying to eat her alive. A gaping wound was forming in her chest, the all consuming panic of life and death setting in for Anna.


Another body landed on the mattress in the corner of the room.

It was Gerard!

Mr. Shade didn’t notice, he was too busy tearing up her chest to get at her innards. Anna was feeling light headed, losing the battle against the velociraptor, and she almost laughed, daydreaming that she was only a small herd type of dinosaur roaming in a prehistoric field picked off by a predator; this is the cycle of life.

Gerard ran full bore at Mr. Shade and body checked him off Anna, Mr. Shade flying into the wall, crushed into the boards like a hit from Scott Stevens. Momentarily dazed, Chrisanto was in the process of shaking it off, slowly getting to his feet.

“Anna! Pull that huge black dildo hanging on the wall over there, like a lever,” Gerard was imploring in his baritone, “It will open the door. You gotta make it to the boat. I hid an extra pair of keys under the in the compartment between the two front seats. There’s no other way off the island! Go Now! Hurry!”

Anna rose to her feet, clutching her chest, her body naked, greasy with sweat and smeared with blood. She hobbled uneasily towards the black dildo jutting upwards at an erect angle from the wall.

Meanwhile, Mr. Shade jumped from the S&M torture chair and landed directly on Gerard. Both men collapsed in a heap on the floor but Gerard was limp, his head having hit the corner of the torture chair on the way down. He lay there like an injured hadrosaurid. Salivating, Mr. Shade laid into his neck and started tearing the flesh apart, Gerard turning a chalky ashen colour as his life essence dissipated from his body. Mr. Shade was sloppily eating from his neck gash as Anna stood on her tippy toes and grabbed the large black dildo with both hands, not able to get her hands around the girthy circumference of this monumental dildo, yanking it down with all her might, like the Price Is Right wheel. There was an electronic beep and an adjacent door that appeared to be part of the wall opened up into a darkened hallway.

She tore into the hallway until her eyes adjusted. There were doors on either side. She had to go up to escape his mansion. Luckily, up ahead there was a stairwell and she hopped up the steps taking two at a time. The door opened into an opulent foyer--the front of the house. It was lit upstairs and Anna noticed large human size abstract paintings and stuffed animals scattered throughout the room--a Grizzly bear in mid-roar, a prowling cheetah, and a schnauzer, perhaps a beloved pet. She smacked the small sturdy dog off it’s podium, the furry creature falling to the floor on his side but remaining in its standing position.

She was feeling faint, losing too much blood. It was running down her arm that she kept clutched to her sucking chest wound. With her free hand she opened the arched front door, a foot thick of pure mahogany, and ran out into the humid summer night, not bothering to shut the door. There was a thick layer of fog caressing the air and she could barely see. She jogged in a random direction, enveloped by clouds. They entered through a clearing in the trees that lined the property, so she had to find it somehow. All she could think about was the glory of seeing the boat tethered to the dock, like winning the best prize in the Showcase Showdown. She’s got a ticket to ride.

Somewhere behind her she heard the screeching wail of the velociraptor. A drawn out screech of longing, of a hungry predator lusting for flesh. A new wave of panic set in now that her pursuer was done with Gerard and she was now the only other living prey on this godforsaken island. Her breathing was becoming louder, quicker, shallower, blood still gurgling out of her chest wound. She was hopelessly groping through the trees dying to stumble onto the dock. Spider webs were collapsing across her beautiful face, and normally this would drive her crazy, but she wilfully ignored them considering the circumstances.

Miraculously, she emerges into a clearing, the full moonlight playing against her chestnut hair. The entrance to the dock was right in front of her. She almost couldn’t believe her luck, again, considering the circumstances. Anna scampered down the rickety dock, the boards croaking and swaying under her weight. In the stillness she could hear the trickle of her blood hitting the boards. The boat was now in view, beckoning for her to escape to freedom. She slowed down and awkwardly tumbled into this steel horse. In the darkness she used her hands as eyes, palms splayed, feeling around for the compartment where Gerard hid the extra set of keys.

She opened the compartment between the two front seats and after a few stabs at the ignition, the key went in and she gave the yacht a little gas. The engine roared to life.

A tentative wave of relief flooded her as she carved the boat away from the island and out into the darkness, cascaded in fog. She didn’t know what direction she was heading, just away, far far away.

From the shoreline she heard a roar that hit levels no human was capable of making.


Her breathing was almost too shallow to support life, her extremities tingling and numb. Was she just going to keep going in one direction until she runs into shore…or a rock? She eased up on the gas, tried to stay focused, though there wasn’t much to be focused on.

Anna mustered a feeble, “help!”, barely audible if there had been anyone else on the boat let alone someone on land. It was becoming clear she was dying alone from a sucking chest wound in Georgian Bay. What’ll her family think when she’s discovered naked in this blood soaked opulent yacht, just drifting to nowhere on the S.S. Dinoman. There will be a full investigation, the federal police called in. Lord knows the local Wasaga Beach police aren’t equipped to handle much more than brawls on the beach and speeding through community safe zones. Her mind was too clouded to put together that the police would link the boat to a one Chrisanto Shade, the enigmatic white-latino Paleo-geneticist who has a sprawling mansion on his own private island.

The engine began sputtering, running out of gas; she couldn’t see the gauge anyways. Fumes in the gas tank and fog on the water. Everything is so blurry.

Anna fell back into the captain’s chair and let out a sigh--with the exhalation a waterfall of blood poured out of her chest. This is how it ends.

There was nothing left to do. No further measures could be taken.

Anna took the blood stained fingers of her right hand and slid them down her exposed torso, leaving a viscous snail trail. She started caressing the circumference of her clit. She couldn’t remember anything from before this night, nothing at all to fantasize about. She could barely remember who she was.

All she could do was stick two fingers in, knuckle deep, and think about how mysterious Mr. Shade was, even though he had a predilection for acting like a dinosaur. For a while there, before he tried eating her, he fucked her so good, it was like heaven-- nothing could top it.

She was wetter than Georgian Bay; her slimy fingers sliding in and out of her pussy like a pneumatic drill. She moaned softly, the yacht lolling up and down on the calm waters. She grabbed the back of the plush leather head rest and dug her nails in.

Her voice travelled across the silent bay, echoing against the jagged rocks…the last words she would ever mutter on this earth, blood oozing out of her chest and womanly juices leaking out of her vagina, “Uhh…I’m cumming!”

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Will Nature Make A Man Of Me Yet?

When I was in grade 6 I sat in a group with five or six other students but two of them became my bestest friends for the year. One of the guys was Darius Ali, a clean cut nice looking kid with an infectious laugh from somewhere in the West Indies who came to Canada as an infant; he’s got the brown skin but not the funky accent, so when he says, “It’s total gridlock!” it sounds just like any other white kid from Ontario. Which is sad. My other friend, Quac Tuan Do, was a recent Veitnamese immigrant who barely spoke a lick of English. To add to his discomfort he had bad skin and teeth that even Shane McGowan would recoil in horror at; A veritable dental graveyard. It was bad enough he was dealt a bum hand from the neck up, but to also be in a country that is wholly foreign and only have the most basic grasp of the language was just cruel.

Somehow, we got along fine with Tuan and whiled away the hours busting balls, joking, and maybe learning a thing or two. We laughed so hard that we wished we could stop because it hurt our faces.

We were all just beginning puberty and I had almost no hair on my body (except my head) to speak of. My arms and legs and most importantly, armpits, were lily white and hair free. There are no words to convey the jealousy I had of Darius for the swaths of thick dark hair underneath his arms and also, albeit to a lesser extent, the hair on the back of his hands and the small tufts of hair that grew on the joints of his fingers. I couldn’t believe it! Boys get hair there? Oh, will nature make a man of me yet? I looked at my baby bottom smooth hands and wondered every night when hair would start sprouting. I’d close one eye, squint, and tilt my hand horizontally, but natta--not even one lousy mosquito leg. Shit, I’m still looking.

Tuan, though he didn’t possess much of the language, was a natural comic--he conveyed sarcasm with a subtle twinkle of his eyes, something he learned deep in the jungles of Vietnam, I supposed. His specialty was drawings. He would draw self-portraits and give himself the biggest, vein-bursting, bulbous penis that you could possibly imagine fitting on a single notebook page. It was his way of connecting with his new classmates. While Mrs. Zarana was conducting a lesson he’d surreptitiously slide his binder over to Darius and Tuan would giggle at Darius’ reaction while I waited for Darius to slide it over to me. Every drawing was a variation on the penis-with-a-man-hanging-from-it theme. Look, there’s Tuan using his dong as a firehose to put out a blaze at the CN Tower; look, there’s Tuan at the beach with a gaggle of bikini clad beauties applying sun tan lotion to his cock. Ah, the universal language of laughter.

Every now and then, Mrs. Zarana would separate us, when our rowdy antics became too disruptive to the natural course of learning basic grammar (maybe that’s why I only recently conquered they’re, their, & there). But the next day we’d be seated right back at the same crude circle of desks pushed together. Mrs. Zarana could sense that Tuan got along with me and Darius and she didn’t want to plop him down at some other group and worry about his assimilation being disrupted. Ironically, Tuan became the one to assimilate Darius and myself--dun, dun, dun--

Into porn.

As the school year progressed the three of us took the next step in our relationship and started hanging together outside of school. Tuan told us to come by his house one weekend because he had something to show us. It was a quaint townhouse in a newly developed section of Brampton, but the Do’s, or the Tuan Do’s, or the Quac’s, had successfully carved out a slice of the Canadian Dream for themselves. Darius and myself immediately headed downstairs to Tuan’s small unfinished bedroom that only had three walls, which means no door, and took a seat on his bed while Tuan rifled through his sock drawer. He produced a VHS tape and popped it in his VCR.

Darius and myself sat in silent anticipation while Tuan fast-forwarded through the opening credits. Unrecognizable names flashed by in the blink of an eye. As soon as two actors, a man and a woman--a vivacious, busty woman--appeared on the screen, Tuan let go of the fast forward button and took a seat on the bed with us. The quality of the camera along with the hairdos and clothing told us me this was a dated film; probably the early 80’s. The three musketeers sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, and watched the bedroom scene unfold. I can’t speak for Darius but I for one had never seen a porno before. My interest in girls was only starting to blossom--I had a crush on a couple girls in school, but the crushes were still in prepubescent bloom, bursting with the colours of wholesome innocence. I didn’t even know what I liked about these girls; there was an overall pleasant sensation that swept over me when thinking about them compared to all the other girls.

The actors began sucking some serious face. Real dirty, too: inappropriate groping and way too much tongue. Not at all like Kelly Kapowski kissing Zach Morris. Shortly thereafter the embrace was broken but instead of cutting to commercial, or the next scene, the camera focused on the woman, who on a whim decided to disrobe. This is odd, I thought. She doffed her impossibly tight tank top and the cameraman zoomed in on her embarrassingly large fake breasts, mathematically round, with pencil eraser nipples. All six of our eyeballs collectively bulged out of their sockets and we laughed at the shock and impropriety of it all. It was all so brand new.

There was a quick cut and now the woman was sloppily fellating the guy and we all burst out laughing. This guy had such a massive purple headed donger, we just couldn’t believe it! Wow! So that’s what girls do with our penises? Take it down their throat to the root and gag all over it. What a life! (Though I was steadfastly focused on the woman sucking on the dick I couldn’t help but notice the man had a thick thatch of hair under his arms and I said a silent prayer to the armpit hair Gods)

She worked at his junk more and more frantically until he leaned back and with a final emphatic moan covered her face with a dollop of his gobbledegook while she sat at his feet, relieved the whole sordid affair is over.

The video quality squiggles and fuzzes--another scene coming into focus. The setting is an Oktoberfest event somewhere in Switzerland or Germany. There is a whale of a woman laying on a table with her dressed pulled up while four men in lederhosen, merrily swing one of their smaller, naked, brethren back and forth, one man per limb, heave-ho-ing him into this beast of a woman. Did not see that coming when I woke up that morning. Memories!

Predictably, we broke out laughing at this unlikely scene, too. What a way to be introduced to sex. In my young mind, I thought that if I eventually married an obese woman, I’d need four good friends to help me have sex. It would be an expensive honeymoon.


It was late summer, early September, right before school starts again. We were young, dumb, and full of marijuana. And cum.

Jessie and myself were smoking his dad’s pot that he grew bushels of on his farm. Jessie skimmed a little off the top. But when you skim from 30 pound bags, well, it fills a large Ziploc bag. For stoner kids with limited financial means it was a blessing of the highest order that we had a renewable resource of the stuff.

Freshly baked and looking for something to do, we absent-mindedly thumbed through the classifieds section in the Star. I came across an ad that was soliciting male ‘performers’ for an upcoming adult film. First timers were welcome; no experience necessary. Call Mirna. Hmmm…this seemed interesting.

“Why don’t you give ‘em a call?” Jessie asked mischievously. It seemed good for a laugh, so I picked up the phone and told the lady on the other end that I was an eighteen year old man looking to get into the ‘business’. No, I didn’t have any previous experience I told her. The call was short and curt, and an interview was set for the following day. I scribbled down the address and hung up the phone.

I looked over at Jessie, “You’re looking at the next Dirk Diggler,” I said with a smirk. “I have to be at some house in Scarborough tomorrow at 10am. Think you can drive me?”


Being warm blooded, heterosexual suburban teenage males, how could we not be fascinated by the strange and distant land that is pornography; porn stars didn’t even seem real to us. They were some type of subspecies with a sheen of sleaze, living the high life in the California sun. FTP. Fuck. Tan. Party. Shit, it’s better than grade 10 general math.

The next day Jessie picked me up and we left the ‘burbs of Brampton en route to the GTA’s mildly retarded gay cousin with a chinstrap: Scarborough (I hope the Galloway Boys don’t read this). Jessie sparked up a joint and offered it to me but I declined, wanting to be clear headed for my big interview.

“I changed outfits three or four times in my room before you showed up. I don’t really know what kind of clothing is appropriate for a porn interview.”

“You look fine, dude, relax…even if it does look like you‘re auditioning for a Christian Mingle commercial,” Jessie said, but I was still unconvinced. I had on jeans and a long sleeve grey sweater. “I think it gives me a ‘boy next door’ quality,” I said, trying to convince myself, my nerves torn and frayed. I knew I was in over my head on this one. What was I doing? I just wanted to get stoned with Jessie and watch The Simpsons or Mr. Show. Why am I going to some sketchy house in Scarborough for a porn interview? What the hell am I going to do if I actually get the job? Morph into Tay D. Trousermeat?

Dreams of living in the hills of Hollywood were dancing through my head--doodooloo-doodooloo-doodooloo-doodooloo). And there I am, high-fiving Ron Jeremy as we skewer a former playmate of the year, looking out at the mirage of twinkling lights below, the City of Angels.

We’re almost there; I flip down the visor mirror and contort my face in faux orgasm, practicing my cumsies face. Not bad. Not bad at all, kid.

“I guess I’ll need a catchphrase when I shoot my load…”

Jessie offers, “Oh yeah! Swallow my unborn kids!”

I contemplate some alternatives until we arrive at a nondescript townhouse. In a dramatic tone, I warn Jessie that, “If I’m not out in half an hour call the cops.”

I skip up the steps and pause at the door, lick my index finger, then thumb, and smooth out my eyebrows. I take a deep breathe…exhale, and open the door, now entering the point of no return. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim interior; no immediate signs of porn sleaziness and debauchery. I didn’t see any other aspiring ‘performers’ in the living room, I seemed to be alone, which made me feel half an inch taller. The last thing I wanted was to walk into my first porn interview, the rookie, and find ten knee-bucklingly handsome guys with bulges in their boxer-briefs, thick as thermoses, sizing me up and taking me apart with their eyes.

I walk up to the receptionist, who was right out of the top drawer, and say, “Hi, my name’s Taylor, I’m here to see Mirna at 11.” She looks me over with no emotion, her eyes like a dead china doll, then looks at her computer screen to confirm the appointment, and with her gaze still planted on the screen, tells me to have a seat.

I saunter over to a leather couch and plunk myself down into a well worn ass groove. The t.v. is on without sound and the whole living room of the house is uncomfortably silent. What is on the t.v. you ask? It was not CP24 but hardcore porn, of course.

I sat in silence and kept one eye on the generic boy/girl scene and one on the cute secretary. Got two eyeballs full. What is a boy to do? I was much too nervous to even think about achieving wood, not that I was trying to. Pornography’s powers are rendered impotent when experienced with others. It’s a decidedly solo sport--like tennis. Just You vs. Penis. The semi-awkward silence is broken by the sound of the front door opening. Great… I’m thinking, some competition. But the way this man walked in, so casually, and said hi to the receptionist, calling her by name, I knew he was not vying for my job. Seemed like he was important, maybe calling the shots around here. He was a dead ringer for Luis Guzman, the short, pudgy Latino actor from Traffic and Boogie Nights. He oozed both sleaze and chest hair. Around his neck was a large gold chain with Jesus on the cross, and believe me, the saviour needed a machete if he was to make it out of this jungle. He glanced in my direction and I managed a feeble nod of the head, praying to god that I’m not inserted into some interracial threesome scene with him, but Porno Guzman didn’t acknowledge me. Okay then. I turned back to the t.v. and pretended to be enraptured by the proceedings. I was glad the sound was off, because the fake plastic woman was screaming her lungs out at what I’m sure was ear-piercing decibel levels. I quickly checked my right armpit to see if I was sweating. No pit puddles. Okay. Good.

“Taylor?” A shapely, exotic woman appeared in a doorway wearing glasses and sassy business attire, the skirt just that much shorter and her top with just one too many buttons undone.


I sat down opposite her in the office, and by all appearances it was like any other job interview, except in this case there was no way to forget my resume. Mirna got right down to it. She asked me if I would have trouble maintaining an erection while on camera with a crew watching mere feet away.

“No,” I lied, or at least it felt like a lie; I’d never had sex on camera before, so technically it wasn’t a lie, only a sound guesstimation.

Mirna goes on to tell me that because of my age, thin build, and meek attitude, I would be perfect for an upcoming boy-next-door type movie. She grabbed hold of her screen, and with some effort turned the fifteen pound box monitor to face me. “You’ll be working with Gia,” she said.

I gazed at this airbrushed silicone beauty, fake as the day is long. Whoa, whoa whoa. I’m supposed to stick my D in her P? I start getting excited, like I’ve made it into the business, and I blurt out that I’ve acted before, only in high school movies, but still I got an A. I can memorize lines, I’m totally your man.

“Because you have no experience, we’ll have to set up a photo shoot just to see what kind of chemistry the two of you have.”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely, a photo shoot is definitely in order.”

“How does next Tuesday sound?”

“Oh, next Tuesday’s fine. Terrific.”

“Great. It will cost $500 so we can have a professional portfolio of you for future projects. Is that a problem?”

It was like thinking you won Lotto 649, and even after checking the numbers over and over, the floor plan of your beach house complete, only to find that it was a prank pulled by your friends. My heart sank into gut.

“Oh, okay,” a pause, mulling it over, “I have to pay for the photo session?”

“Yes, because you’re new to the business and you don’t have a portfolio yet. Once you do that, you’re set, and you can get work with us and launch a career.”

“Right. Okay. Tuesday at 11am.”

I just wanted to get the F out.

I left the office and the house, smiling at the receptionist on my way out, feeling more like the chump next door, and into the golden summer sun. Bet she thinks I don’t know the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad! I was so confused. Was this a scam or a legitimate business? If she thought I was perfect for an upcoming part, why would I have to pay? Aren’t they supposed to pay me? Tom Cruise doesn’t pay to be in Mission Impossible does he?

I opened the passenger door to Jessie’s car with mixed emotions and stained pits. Sitting idle in the car for the last half an hour he was clearly eager for me to spill my guts.


“Well, I don’t know for sure. They want me to be in some movie but I have to pay $500 for a photo shoot because I don’t have any kind of portfolio.”

“What!? Dude, that sounds like total bullshit. You‘re not supposed to pay. They pay you-- for like, sex and stuff.”

“Yeah, it does sound suspicious. I have an appointment for Tuesday but there’s no way I’m going to pay them $500 for this,” I say, pointing at my naughty bits. “They got their priorities all jumbled. I’ll cancel tomorrow.” Resigned, I stare out the window while Jessie puts the car in reverse, putting his arm around the back of my chair, checking the traffic in back of him.

All roads lead to Brampton.

I look one last time at the door of the house where all my porno glory lies, a blinding Stargate to another universe.

It’s back to the ‘burbs, school starts on Monday.