War of Hearts, War of Farts - An Original Story

War of Hearts, War of Farts
	12:01, Easter morning. I sit alone, waiting in the foyer for her to enter. She had been working all day in the law office of Mr. John Greebly, moving from file to file all the live long day. What I would do for her to sort my cradenza is equal to that which a monkey would do for five minutes with Amanda Bynes. She is one of them, I just need proof... Where was I? Ah, yes, her bosom. The size of the sun and the moon with the radiance of an angel.
	A knock at the door. I look at the door, sweat, I realize that she may be put off by the fact that I have trespassed by breaking the glass of her back window to enter her foyer. I must hide. Must wait to strike. To strike with my heart and my soul. Door opens. It is Greebly. I let out the smallest of whimpers; a whimper that floats and floats, as if it is a leaf falling from a tall tree in the fall. Is Greebly alone? No. She follows him, bottles of wine in her hands. Greebly smiles at her with a smile that would churn the bowels of the devil. My heart boils. 154 degrees. Need a Pepto Bismol. No time, Greebly draws close to her. Far too close. She whispers with a softness and calmness in her voice that makes my chest feel as if it is a gong being beaten by a Chinese fellow. She lets out the faintest words into Mr. Greebly's ear:
	“I want your Garfield, Mr. Greebly. Let me file your papers, right here.”
Mr. Greebly smiles, once again. He grunts and lets his prickly, brown, disgusting lips touch her succulent, robust pucker; I have had enough.
	I jump from behind her curtain and announce my presence. She stares at me with wonderment, I have forgotten that my long, curved masterpiece is exposed. I had been fluffing all the while their interaction was occurring. I could not help myself. I quickly sheathed my Arabian sword, but I could tell she wanted my weapon drawn. Drawn and ready for a war. A war of the hearts, a war of the farts. Greebly takes a step in my direction, he remembers me from the long days we spent together in the Bombei sun, I had been his masseuse twelve years prior to this... incident. I looked into his eyes and he into my cock; he recognized what he saw. I had hoped the copious amounts of liquor he had consumed that day would make him forget. Forget what we did. Forget about... our past.
	It was 2001, June, Bombei. I had been a masseuse for only the wealthiest of customers, I was the best. Mr. Greebly was in Bombei for the weekend for a business trip. Little did he know, he would be doing that business with me. He laid down on my table, dick first. The sweat dripped off his back as if it was racing towards the folds in his chest. I wanted those folds for myself. I never found myself attracted to a man before, but there was something different about Mr. Greebly. Something about him that made me want to lay him out on my table and fornicate those folds right out of him. As I rubbed the oil on his back, he let out a slight, playful giggle. An invitation? Would I take it? How could I resist. I began rubbing the oil down his sides, seeping into his pores, fingers trembling.
	Another giggle? Was he enjoying himself? I know I was. I let out a giggle of reassurance, letting him know I was listening. Listening to his desires. Naturally, I flipped him over, to reveal his hidden treasure. I looked at him and he at me, an exchange of looks, a green light. I began to move the oil towards his Taj Majal, up and down, left and right, his tower grew tall above the foliage. His large, demanding hands reached up towards my sweating nipples, rubbing them ever so slightly. They grow harder than the surface of a boulder. He grows harder than my nipples, my smile grows in response.
	All of this growth, all of this appreciation, all of this passion. I had never shared such a moment of complete ecstasy with another man in my life. I hoisted myself atop the massage table and straddled him like a clidesdale. His hands slid down from my chest sausages down towards my cheeks. My ass cheeks. He pinched left, he pinched right, I smiled and moved my face close to his. Leading tongue first, I invaded his fortress with such violence that Ghandi would lead a protest against it if he knew of it. His hands moved to the sides, still grasping my anus cakes, revealing the gaping hole of mystery that had been hiding beneath. He moved my trembling, smooth body up, my hole near his brisket. As it entered my flood gates, my tongue flew down the twisting, winding tunnel known as his throat.
	His hands grasping my hips, gyrating the whole of my body, up and down, up and down, such swiftness. I cried out:
	“claim my kingdom, plant your flag!”
He didn't seem to like this. He stopped, lifted me up, nearly above his chest. Floating there, I looked down at him. An expression of undescribable anger danced across his face like a ballerina moving across a stage. Frightened. I was frightened. I grabbed him by the dick, moved his joystick, and all was made right.

He came.

	Back to the present, her foyer, him infront of me. I stare into Greebly's eyes and-... Wait, that wasn't the same man as the one I met in Bombei.... Nevermind, forget that last anecdote.
	Anyway, the girl. She stands before me next to Greebly, whom I DID NOT have sex with in Bombei, and stares at me. Her tongue licks the surface of her lips, making them shine brighter than Howie Mandel's head. She does not want me to leave. She wants my tool in her belt. She wants me.
	She turns to Greebly and he asks her who I am.

	“a friend of ours”, she whispers.
	“No, he's not”, Greebly snarkly replied. “He will be soon.”

	She began to remove Greebly's belt, but left him to finish the job. She was now captivated by the mystery that was me. Staring at my eyes, and then my erection, back to my eyes, she moved towards me. I swallowed the glottle that had been resting atop my tongue and prepared myself. Prepared myself to climb the mountain top. HER mountain top. As she slowly rubbed her long, slender fingers along my pants, I felt more connected to her than I did with that gentleman in Bombei whom I do not know the name of. As she unzipped my corduroy, she said her first words she would ever say to me:
	“Take your socks off, we need traction.”

	I obeyed her request, removed my socks as she removed the rest of my linens, Greebly stood in the corner, preparing himself for war. A war of the hearts, a war of the farts. We were now all completely nude, head to toe. I had been perspiring so much that the tip of my head, my OTHER head, had been glistening with beads of sweat. Greebly drew closer to us, she looked him up and down. I did as well. His folds were not nearly as appealing as the man I knew before. Long before. She was the lion tamer and we the lions, ready to follow her orders. She finally grabbed my long, angled shaft with her left hand and a small duffel bag on the ground with her right. She removed a small, black object, I couldn't be quite sure of what it was. I was too focused on what was happening... below.

	Handing the object to Greebly she firmly said, “you film.”

	With a huff of anger, Greebly begrudgingly agreed, grabbing the camera with his left hand, his cock with his right. I can't imagine the cinematography will be terribly imaginative. It is, after all, hard to film with only one hand. Now we begin.

	She rubbed the back of my neck with the inside of her palm, I slowly moved my fingers to the sides of her breasts. Greebly liked this. I did too. As I squeezed her milk sacks with my giddy, shaking hands, she grasped my flesh flute harder than anyone had ever grasped it and began to play. She could have been playing Beethoven's 1st string quartet in F minor for all I knew, I just know I liked it. As she cocked my cum gun, I long for the moment that her lips finally meet mine. Soon? I hope. She begins to move us toward the pool table sitting in the corner next to her collection of Dugey Howser collectors items. Thrusting my body atop the green surface, she lets out a hunters roar. A hunter about to eat it's prey. I. Was. Her. Prey. She threw her body on top of mine, slid down, slowly, lower, lower, lower... Bulls eye. Her large, welcoming mouth engulfed the barrel of my pistol. I closed my eyes and reveled in my success. For so many sleepless, drunken nights I had dreamed of this moment, the moment I would finally be with her on a table with another man filming. As her head moved north and south, to each pole of my axis, I heard Greebly let out grunts, wishing he could join in on the festivities. This was a party of two. He was trying to make it a “Three's Company” situation. What he didn't know was that he was Janet. This was just me and her. I grabbed her hair, played with it in my sweaty palms and grunted with delight. As this seemingly endless ecstasy continued, I peered out the door window that rested twenty feet north of me. A man. The mail man. How long had he been there? Had he seen it all? But, mail isn't delivered on Easter! She was, after all, currently engulfing my garfield as we made eye contact, we had been discovered.
	I gave him a smile, what else was I to do? Was he only here to deliver a package and continue on his way? Yes. Yes, he was here to deliver a package. A packaged addressed to me. My smile was perceived as an invitation by the mailman, he entered our domain. She didn't seem to mind, gesturing him towards us without even a glance in his direction. I was able to read his name tag: Jim. Jim... I remembered that name from somewhere... Then it hit me. The last time I had ever felt this good was in Paris...

	Paris, 2006, my apartment. I had commissioned an artist to paint a portrait of me for my girlfriend at the time. The painter's name? Jim. I stood nude in-front of his large, blank canvas. My girlfriend at the time loved nudes. He stared at my body, impressed by my Silvester Stilone-esque physique. He couldn't tear his gaze away, he was entranced by the endless abyss of beauty present on MY canvas. I could see that all he wanted was to stroke his brush across my vast chest, make me his art, make me his. He finally grasped the handle of his brush and placed it in the paint. I tried to maintain my position, to maintain my sexuality. Sweat, once again dripped off my rippling abs, I could not fight it for much longer. Neither could Jim. He threw the canvas to the ground in a moment of pure passion, I leapt off of the pedestal I had been ever so gently poised upon and ran towards his warm, welcoming embrace. His arms surrounded me, protecting me from the dangers around us. My tongue touched his, then I ventured south. As I made it to his grand canyon, he had found his way mine. I felt his fingers squish the extra skin surrounding my round bottom, it felt fierce. Then it happened. The moment that would rock my world for the rest of my life.
	His finger began to burrow into my anal cavity, followed swiftly by the handle of his brush rushing to the edges of my abyss. I threw my head towards the heaven and let out a loud scream, I had never felt quite this way before. My hands had somehow -during all of this- found their way to his man-scaped statue and had been fluffing it all the while. After his brush had found a home within my bowels, he really began to get creative. Grabbing me by the legs, brush still up my ass, he held me upside down and began to ram his eiffel tower into the end of the brush. Did I like it? Yes. I did. I wanted him to go faster, faster, even faster... When it was all over, I laid there. Paint everywhere. Canvas ripped in half. I immediately called my girlfriend at the time and told her things weren't going to work out. It looked like a ravaged war torn field in that apartment. Caused by... a war of the hearts. A war of the farts.
	Could this mail-man standing before me be the same Jim I had boned previously in the city of Paris? As he drew closer to me and her, my excitement grew. I finally saw his face as he stood before us.

This was not my Jim.

	Never the less, “new Jim”, as I now refer to him, began disrobing himself and grabbed hold of me from behind. She moved up, now genitals to genitals, and he grabbed my legs, pulling them up to reveal my hole. My... hungry hole. As she laid a top my body, staring into my eyes, our lips finally touched. Slow at first, then with faster succession. It was wonderful at first, and then I felt it happen... Jim's pleasure rod had entered my shuttle, not intending to get off for at least 3 stops. He had a large package in need of delivering, indeed. Package received. Now, I lie there with lips locked with her and Jim within  me, not knowing what to focus on. I tried, hard as I could, to focus on the lips of the one I so desired, but... Something drew me to Jim. Greebly seemed to enjoy the addition of the mailman, his beating had now come to a constant, fast tempo in the corner. Then the most untimely event occurred; whilst in the middle of our passion, a knock at the door. I look up, taking a breather from my interactions with her. Jim continues. I like Jim.
	I look at the door as Greebly goes to answer it, still nude. A man. Could it be? I peer closer, I know this man. The man steps in out of the shadows of the outdoors, the sound of laughing children at the easter egg roll next door can be heard. It does not bother me. Door closes, man steps in, Greebly gestures him toward me. Our eyes lock. It was her husband, the man I had only heard the name of before; Antonio. The six foot, glistening fellow made his way, slowly, to the action occurring on the pool table and it hit me; I definitely knew this man. This time I was certain, we had met before... In a not so different situation.

	Spain, 2009, the interior of a church. I had attended a mass whilst visiting Barcelona, I had been interested in the art. Knowing what little spanish I knew, I was somehow still captivated by the sermon delivered by a one, Antonio. I stayed long after the service and prayed. Prayed to God that I would be able to resist me sinful desires. It was not the sermon itself that had driven me to tears during the service, it was the man delivering it. 6 feet of perfection, he approached me in the empty church and I looked up at him, he seemed so tall. He spoke slowly and passionately, he was thinking the same thing I was.

	“Como estas?”

Was this Spanish?

	“Me llamo-... Me llamo-”, I could not even get myself to utter my own name, I was so taken by his aura. No more words were needed, I made my move before he could utter another word.

	Rising from the bench in the center of the large church, my lips met his. He did not fight it. He embraced it. Before either of us were aware, we were both completely nude on the altar, him ontop of me, my mouth embracing his large member, his mine. I looked up in the midst of this and made eye contact with Jesus, hanging on the wall above. I could feel all at once the devil within me, as well as Antonio.  Were the two so different? Moving in perfect harmony with one another, me and Antonio fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle. He rubbed his hands across my bare, shaved chest. I closed my eyes and completely submitted to his power, to the Devil's power.
	We continued in this manner for nearly an hour, back and forth, I following his lead, like two dancers doing a perfect tango. When Antonio was through with me, he said something that would change my life forever. His large, moist eyes met mine and he uttered:

“La polla huele a hierbas.”

	Those words stuck with me long after I had returned home, the most romantic sound ever to go through my ears. It was not until much later that I learned the meaning:

“Your cock smells of weeds.”

Was this good? I'll never know.

	Was this Antonio I had met that fateful day in Barcelona now back in my life? She smiled at him, greeting him and welcoming him to join our... gathering. I recognized that chest, those arms, that face, and then... I saw the large snake hanging between his legs. That was not the cock of MY Antonio. This was not he... Anyway, we all continued, Antonio entered Jim's ever so willing opening behind, I continued my lip locked journey with her with Jim attached to my tail. Finally she grabbed hold of my meatey member, which I had not yet pushed into her crevices, and she forced it in.

She was ready.

	My little Elvis was hungry, hungry for her peanut butter and banana sandwich. As my little boy hugged the insides of her wall, she began moaning and groaning, the sounds I had longed to produce from her. Jim was doing well, too. Greebly began moving closer, he so badly longed to join, but she gave him a look of disdain and he continued filming. For a time, to amuse himself, he balanced the camcorder atop his dick. What a talent, he is.
	I rammed my rod into her as hard as I could, I wanted to fire my cannon right into her. I so badly wanted to reach that moment of pure bliss, I increased my speed. Jim, reading off of me, increased his speed as well. We all bounced, melded together as one. Me, Antonio, Jim and her, all bouncing like a large bowl of sexy jello. To an untrained eye, it would look like some sort of battle. A war. A war of the hearts and a war of the farts.
	My speed kept increasing, I tried and tried to unleash my fury into her but something was wrong. My rod slowly began to recede, losing strength. I went faster, regained it's former strength, and banged the life out of her...

literally.

	Amidst my immense fucking, my attempt to blow a load unwilling (or unable) to blow for her, she had suffered a fatal heart attack. Her heart had fought and lost in this, the war of the hearts and the war of the farts. We all stopped all at once, looked at her corpse lying before us on the now wet, dark pool table.
	Me, Greebly, Jim and Antonio exchanged looks of worry, and then a look of mutual understanding. She had lost her life in this battle, but she would want it to be seen through to the end. So, despite the loss, we found the strength to fight on, without her. We removed her body from the wet, cum covered table and placed her body in the corner of the room.
	After a moment of silence, we knew it was time to finish this. Greebly placed his camcorder on the ground, approached us, and placed my hands within his deep, mysterious folds.
	We all turned around, asses facing one another and contracted into one another, ass to ass to ass to ass. The built up gasses we each had acquired were all at once released and the fart to fart had began.

	It took a mere matter of minutes after she was gone for us to finish the job. Together, we all fit together just as I had fit with the other Antonio in Spain; like puzzle pieces.

	We fucked the day away and left, just like that. Left her alone in her domain, alone to wallow in her own filth.

	I'm not gay, though. I promise. It was just a sacrifice I had made in this, the war of the hearts, and the war of the farts.

THE END