When an Anus Comes a Knockin

It was a habit. An unbreakable habit.

At first a couple times a month, A. sought out these arrangements. After a while it turned into every weekend. Then it was one or two anal sessions a week. Then every other day. Until at last, 3–5 times a day he was seeking out anal sex with random girls.

You would think with such a voracious habit that he’d run out of asses, except that no - -A. lived in London City, the anal capital of the western hemisphere.

Rubbing antihistamine lotion on his prick for the fourth time that day, A. reappraised his situation.

Was this really how he had planned to live his life? Lost in the infinite throes of backdoor hedonism?

Of course not. Then again, nor had A. ever planned to end up a workaday number cruncher. In a younger age he had dreams, of course, dreams just like anyone else. Of being a fireman, an air traffic controller, CEO of a startup, professional day trader, ice cream man…

But as the seconds of life leak out, such dreams grow rusty and fall to disabuse; and pretty soon they are left for other people to dream, and your only remaining urge is to shoot your baby cheese inside the slack anus of professionals for a reasonable ppm*.

It is a brown and slippery slope which leads from dreams to sodomy.

Not that A. had regrets. In fact, he rarely felt much of anything at all. Perhaps that is what this anal quest had been about all along - he had been searching for a real sensation in the deepest crevasses of strangers. He had yet to find it.

A. gazed listlessly at the ruddy stain drenching his white satin sheets, which he’d likely never get out. Why were they always bleeders? Perhaps it was due to his size. Yet such a conclusion was little solace - the folks at Bed, Bath & Beyond were beginning to treat him with suspicion. He’d have to buy sheets from Amazon from now on, even if they were inferior in quality…

He was awoken from such thoughts to the toot of his doorbell. Strange - was the arrangement here already? He hadn’t even ordered her Uber yet. Strolling casually to his apartment door, A. was not prepared for what awaited him on the other side.

“Hel - ”

SQUELCH.

A’s eyes glazed over. He could not bring himself to accept what stood there in front of him.

SQUELCH. SQUILCH.

But there was no doubt about it. He had opened his door to a giant butthole.

✱ PPM: Pay Per Meet. The price an escort charges for sex.

“But how can a butthole exist without its surrounding cheeks?” A. pondered. It seemed implausible, yet there it was: an asshole opened into reality itself. And it had come to pay him visit.

“Why me? What… What do you want?”

SQUALCH, the hole rasped.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand…”

Squilch, squalch, squelch, squilch… The butthole approached. A. quickly took a few steps back and hid behind his door.

“Please,” A. whimpered. “Just tell me what you want.”

How could a hole communicate anyway? Didn’t that assume it had thoughts? Or at the very least, feelings. Perhaps A. could talk to the anus like a dog. It did seem to possess a degree of sentience, if rudimentary.

A. thought for a moment.”Wait right there.”

Squilch? The butthole said.

Moments later, A. returned with his electric piano. The butthole peered at the device curiously.

A. switched on the keyboard and hit the first key.

Peep.

The butthole jumped slightly.

“Hmm,” A. said. “That’s not quite right.”

He changed the instrument and tried again.

Plllpph.

The butthole twisted in a manner suggesting recognition.

“Good! Alright, how about this?”

A. started up a drumbeat and began to play adlib…

Pleep.. Ploop ploop pleep.
Parp.. Parp parp poop.
Plorp plorp.
Plorp plorp plorp.
Plump.. plump parp pip splurp.

The butthole gave off a high-pitched toot. It was working!

Squelch.. Squilch squalch squalch, the butthole said.

Several hours of proto-communication later, A. and the floating anus had achieved a rapport.

“Alright,” A. parped out on the keyboard. “You may enter my apartment.”
But what he had failed to remember was the anal arrangement he had scheduled for that very afternoon; and when the girl in question rang A’s doorbell, it almost caused the butthole to jump out of its ethereal skin.

“Oh crap, my 3 o’ clock anal is here.”

“I don’t understand English,” The butthole tooted.

A. repeated the sentence on the keyboard, in response to which the butthole regarded him coldly.

“What?” A. said.

“You have a perfectly good butthole right here,” it said. “Yet you choose to order in.”

“Wait. Are you saying, you want me to… buttfuck you?”

“I mean…”

“But I don’t even know your gender.”

“Gender?”

“Anyway, more importantly, what if I stick my dick in your - hole - and can never retrieve it? How do I know my penis won’t get evaporated in the Anal Zone, or whatever is in there.”

“Anal Zone? How rude of you to suggest such a thing! Parp.”

The translation for ‘parp’ was not yet in A.’s vocab, but he figured it was an expletive of some sort.

“Since you are a hole in the fabric of reality,” A. tried to explain, “it’s logical to assume that you are a conduit to oblivion.”

“I resent that accusation.”

“Anyhow, I have to answer the door.”

“Suit yourself.” The butthole pouted. “But I bet she has a loose asshole. Parp.”

Upon opening the door, A. was both intrigued and disgruntled to find himself in the presence of a 6/10*. Had he known beforehand, he would not have agreed to this arrangement’s exorbitant ppm, which was at least 20% above the going rate.

✱ Here, 6/10 does not refer to the traditional attractiveness scale but rather A.’s ‘ass score’, a heuristic developed over the course of hundreds of encounters which evaluates a partner’s anal potential based on facial and body features.

“Uh, hello,” The arrangement said meekly, sensing something off about A., who failed to hide his consternation. It wasn’t just that he had found himself on the verge of afternoon anal with a six, but also the inconvenient truth that his living room was currently occupied by an interdimensional butthole which spoke in farts.

“Hi there,” A. said with his £15,000 smile. “Listen, something came up and– ”

“If you’re backing out, I’m still going to need that ppm.”

A.’s polished dentistry began to quiver. “Yes, of course.”

Relief washed over the arrangement’s face, which only added to A.’s humiliation as he reluctantly pulled out his wallet…

PARP.

“What was that?” The girl asked, trying to peek around A.’s shoulder into his apartment.

“Oh, my grandfather is here to visit. He has a wee bit of a gas problem.”

TOOT. PLUMPMPH.

“Ah,” The arrangement said, suspicion darting across her eye.

What right did she have to suspect him, anyhow? A. thought. And the more he thought about it, the more irate he became. SHE was the one engaging in deception, putting those obviously doctored photos out there which had made her look FAR more promising as an anal candidate! Yet A. was the one who had to stand here and defend himself, and pay for the privilege! Why it was enough to make him… Enough to make him…

PRRMPPPPPPHHHHH.

“Oh my– ” The arrangement gasped, frozen in horror.

A. slowly turned to witness the butthole hovering behind him like some kind of flatulent specter.

The girl, slowly unfreezing, opened her mouth again. This time, A. knew from experience, she was about to scream.

But A. was wrong. She did not scream - she vomited–all over A.’s brand new H&M wool blend overshirt (teal).

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The girl finally screamed, as the butthole proceeded to gape wider. The more the girl screamed, the more A. grew irate. And the more A. grew irate, the more the hole gaped.

“What - What is that –“

PLOOOOPPPMMFFFFF the girl’s predictable response was then drowned out in a hot stream of liquid shit, rocketed straight from the anus directly down the girl’s wailing throat.

“Arlugrhgglurgh glrulgh,” spat the arrangement.

“Alright, stop!” A. commanded the butthole. “She’s choking!”

But the butthole could not understand A.’s human speech and would not stop flooding the paralyzed girl’s lungs with its interdimensional slurry.
Pretty soon all there was left on the corridor outside A’s high-scale apartment was a sloppy pile of brown toilet water and the 6/10 corpse of an expired escort.

A. said via the fart keyboard, “What am I going to do now? My life is over… They’ll hang me for this!”

“Relax,” The anus tooted. “We can hide the body in the infinite oblivion which resides within the confines of my anal space.”

“Oh, thank god.” Lifting the girl’s lifeless body into the floating hole, A. watched it dissolve into a fluid, then a gas. he mopped up the remaining brown water and closed the door of his apartment. The asshole winked at him, but A. said nothing, merely sitting down and resuming his habitual routine of scrolling through potential arrangements…

“What’s got your ass in a knot?” the butthole said.

A. shot an annoyed look at the orifice. “What do you think? Had I actually fucked you, my dick would have evaporated. I KNEW there was an Anal Zone!”

The hole stretched itself into a cheeky grin.

“Don’t just smile at me,” A. said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

The butthole shrugged. “Parp.”