FAKE NEWS, REAL BONERS

By Chuck Tingle

If you ask someone who their favorite writer is, most will immediately jump to the classics of genre; like King, Rowling, or Tingle. These titans of literature are both popular and prolific, flooding the world with incredible tales that have, over time, become the shining diamonds of fiction.

              Of course, there are plenty of other readers who will reply that they favor stories of non-fiction, tomes of information placed in just the right order to elicit reactions of wonder and amazement.

              Documentarians of the written word are much less appreciated, I find, but still looked after by the masses at large.

              Fewer still, however, appreciate the most looked over non-fiction writers of them all: the authors behind our news.

              You’d think that the ones bringing us up to date information from all around the world would get all the glory, but in most cases people don’t even pay attention to the author behind the articles. Sure, some news personalities find themselves in the spotlight, but most of them are in front of the camera instead of between the lines.

              When you’re as much of a news hound as I am, however, you start to notice the same names popping up over and over again.

              I’m fascinated by the comings and goings of the world around me, and because of that I spend an hour and a half every morning reading the paper or going through my favorite blogs online. It’s nice to get a multitude of perspectives on the issues and, even more importantly, reading multiple sources lets you find those little gems that fall through the cracks.

              Jessica Borto has been my favorite source of these journalism nuggets for years now, and the more time goes by, the deeper her scoops have become. By now, her nuggets of truth have become massive chunks, powerful insights on stories that the rest of the press seems to be ignoring completely.

              It’s gotten to the point now that Jessica is the only one I care to read, excited to get her straight shooter input on subjects that the other blogs won’t dare touch. In a world of lies, Jessica shows me the truth through her daily posts on Buttbart.com

              She’s my favorite author because of this, but I’d be lying if I said that was the only aspect of my attraction. Truth be told, Jessica Borto is an absolutely stunning woman, black hair and blue eyes with a smile that could knock you off your feet if you weren’t careful. I’ve only seen one photograph of this angel, the photo that accompanies all of her articles online, but even that is enough to kick my heart into overdrive.

              First and foremost, though, I respect her mind. I want to make that clear.

              The newest Buttbart article is absolutely incredible, speaking to me in a way that has to be experienced to be fully understood. It is transcendent.

              ‘Can you believe it?’ Jessica writes, ‘Everything you thought about those goofballs was real, and this finally proves it! You're so smart! If you share this, your elitist friends are going to feel so dumb. I can't wait to see the look on their faces when you hit them with all of these solid facts. Let's get to it!

              Fact: you know what's real and what's not because you're not some goofball blinded by the media. They might have data but you've got opinions, and who says those can't hold just as much weight? I've got opinions, too, and I've also got a website! Look who's smart now!
              Wow, can you believe how dumb everyone else is? You're not like them, you're a free thinker. Who has it all figured out. Nice one. You're really amazing.’

              Incredible.

              I’m reading Jessica’s newest post on the liberal media’s connection to the space dinosaur agenda when my friend, Gorn approaches, breaking my concentration. I look up from my laptop, suddenly thrust back into the subtle din of the coffee shop that buzzes around me.

              “Toobo!” Gorn shouts, smiling wide. “What’s going on man, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

              I grin, too, standing up to greet this old friend. We hug briefly and then I motion for the chair across from me. “Sit! Talk to me for a minute!” I offer. I pull my laptop back a little bit in an effort to make room at the small table.

              “This is so crazy seeing you,” continues Gorn. “I’m just in town for the weekend, I didn’t know that you lived here still.”

              I nod. “Yep, never really felt the call of the big city, I’m happy right here for now. The world is a big, fascinating place, but I’ll take the slow lane for myself.”

              “Hey, nothing wrong with that,” offers Gorn.

              “Are you living in Los Angeles?” I question.

              Gorn nods. “Yeah, had to make the change for work, it’s great to get back here sometimes though. When I finally settle down and raise a family I’ll come back for sure.”

              “It would be nice to have you,” I inform him.

              Gorn nods, taking a long sip from his coffee as he leans back into his chair, settling for a moment. “I hope the town is still this small by then,” he continues, looking out through the window next to us, his eyes darting back and forth across the people who pass us by.

              “I don’t think that will happen,” I assure him.

              Gorn laughs. “You say that now, but there’s some high profile folks moving out here to escape the city life,” my old friend explains.

              “Oh yeah?” I ask, curiously. “Like who?”
              “Rumor has it that Brads Pitt just got a place out by the lake,” Gorn informs me, then leans in. “You know who else I heard just moved to town?”

              “Who?” I question, excited for a little gossip.

              “That one fake news lady,” says Gorn. “You know who I’m talking about, right?”

              “Fake news?” I question aloud. “No, I don’t know her.”

              Gorn taps his fingers across the table, thinking hard now. “You know! What’s-her-name!”

              I shake my head. “I only read the real news.”

              “She’s got black hair, I think her name is…” he trails off, then suddenly claps loudly as he finds the words that he’s searching for. “Jessica Borto! That’s it. She’s living out by the lake now, too.”

              I stare back at my friend in stunned astonishment, trying to figure out if he’s actually just messing with me right now. Maybe he saw the website I was reading before he sat down and this is just some kind of wildly inappropriate practical joke.

              “What do you mean fake news?” I question.

              “You know… fake news,” Gorn repeats back to me. “Like ridiculous conspiracy theory stuff; Secret space raptor butt invasions, government cover ups, Buttbart.com. That kind of thing.”

              “You don’t think there’s a space raptor butt invasion happening right now?” I question, the aggression suddenly seeping into my voice just a little bit too much.

              Gorn laughs, shaking his head. He appears to think that I’m being sarcastic.

              “I’m serious,” I continue. “You don’t think they’re coming over from other timelines and infiltrating our government?”

              My friend suddenly stops laughing, his smile melting away as he stares back at me from across the table. “That’s crazy,” Gorn tells me.

              “But what about all the footage of their ships behind the white house?” I question. “President Yuldok knows more that he’s saying!”

              Gorn scoffs. “Footage?” he asks. “Have you seen it?”
              My friend’s question stops me dead in my tracks. Come to think of it, I haven’t actually seen the footage for myself. “Well, no,” I admit, shaking my head.

              “Don’t you see that Jessica Borto is just trying to make a buck?” Gorn explains. “She’s just making up sensationalized stuff so people will keep coming back to that nutty website of hers.”

              “This nutty website!” I suddenly erupt, spinning my laptop around so that my friend can witness the euphoric words that are covering my screen.

              Gorn’s eyes go wide when he sees what I was reading, then immediately starts backtracking his words. It’s too late for the now, unfortunately.

              “I think you better leave,” I announce loudly, interrupting Gorns fumbling attempt to keep the peace.

              Not knowing what else to do, my former friend eventually goes silent and then stands up from his chair, walking towards the coffee shop door. He places his hand against the frame, about to push outward and then stops.

Gorn turns back around to look at me.

              “I know I’m not going to talk you down from whatever trip you’re on right now,” Gorn explains, “but I do have one suggestion. If you really think that’s not fake news then why don’t you go to the source?”

              I’m not quite sure what he means by this, so I remain silent in an attempt to assert my dominance.

              “Go out to the talk to Jessica,” Gorn continues. “See how real she is.”

              With that, my former friend leaves in a huff, slamming the door behind him as he disappears out into the crowd beyond. I turn back to my laptop and take a long sip from my coffee, considering Gorns words.

              I trust Jessica, I really do, but there is something about his ferocious skepticism that has me thinking in brand new ways. Maybe I should go stop by Jessica’s place, if only to welcome her to the city.

              I immediately begin to scour the internet for my favorite author’s new small town address.

              I have to admit, from the outside of the house I find Jessica’s modesty quite admirable. For one, her home is not actually on the lake but a few miles back, set into the hillside between several similar residences. There is nothing particularly lavish about the place.

              I glance down again at the printed paper gripped tightly within my hands, reading the bloggers address carefully to myself, confirming every number and nuance. Looks like this really is the place.

              I take a deep breath, then start heading up the front walk.

              Let it be known, I trust Jessica more than I’ve ever trusted anyone, but I can’t help feeling a slight twinge of nervous apprehension deep down in my gut. I try to push it away, but it’s there. I can’t wait to get this over with so I can put this doubt away for good.

              I arrive at the front door of the house and rap three times against the front screen, listening as a dog starts to bark and yip from somewhere inside. I can hear someone shuffling around for a moment, quieting the dog and then approaching the door from within.

              “Who is it?” someone calls out, their voice both raspy and frail.

              “Uh… my name is Toobo,” I explain. “I’m here to talk with you for a moment, I’m a huge fan of your work.”

              “You selling something?” the voice calls out.

              “No, I just wanted to say hi.” I continue.

              I can hear several locks springing open up and down the length of the door and then suddenly it yanks open, revealing an older woman with a hairnet on and a cigarette hanging limply from her lips. “Okay… Hi,” the woman says gruffly.

              “Are you… Jessica?” I stammer, taken completely off guard. She looks nothing like the photos.

              “Jessica?” the woman repeats back to me, a twisted expression of confusion on her face. “Nobody here named Jessica.”

              “The writer,” I continue pushing. “Jessica, the news blogger.”

              A smile begins to make its way across the woman’s lips, stretching farther and farther until eventually she bursts into a fit of laughter.

              “What?” I stammer in confusion.

              “Come on in,” the woman says, opening the door and waving me inside. “I think you’ll find what you’re looking for right downstairs.”

              I step into the house and immediately get the feeling that something strange is going on. This is not at all the type of chic modern home I would have expected from one of the world’s most prominent voices in online news.

              I stand frozen in the entryway for a moment, trying to realign my thoughts while the older woman stands next to me, waiting patiently. Eventually, she motions me towards the stairway, and I start forward.

              Slowly, carefully, I creep down the stairs and into a darkened basement, the only light before me radiating outward in a dim, dull blue. I can hear the sound of a keyboard clacking away somewhere within this hollow space, the sound bouncing back and forth off of the cold cement walls.

              My heart pounding a mile a minute, I want to call out, but I can’t find the words. Instead, I continue forward in silence until, suddenly, I find myself standing behind a large figure, whose outline is illuminated by the screen before them.

              I can immediately tell that the being before is not the woman I expected. In fact, it’s not even a woman at all.

              “Jessica?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

              The figure stops typing, frozen in silence.

              “Yes?” they ask, their voice cracking slightly as they try to disguise it.

              “I’m a big fan,” I continue, “but I’m guessing that you’re not who you say you are.”

              “Why would you say that?” the figure questions.

              “Because you’ve got a giant spiral horn on the top of your head and a beautiful flowing mane,” I counter.

              Realizing that the game is up, the creature spins around in his chair to reveal the face of a handsome unicorn, eyes tired and weary from starting at a screen for too long in the dark.

              A wave of disorientation suddenly washes over me, almost knocking me off of my feet. If Jessica Borto’s identity had been a lie, then what else about this incredible internet news empire could be a work of fiction.

              “Who are you?” I ask. “Who are you really?”

              The unicorn hesitates. “Can we take a walk?”

              The cool air off of the lake feels pleasant against my skin, but the beautiful scenery is not enough to settle the potent anxiety that courses through my veins. My unicorn companion and me are trotting down a path that leads around the waterfront, silent for now as a myriad of thoughts continue to flood through our minds.

              “Yerno Porshpeen is my name,” the unicorn finally admits, breaking the silence. “Jessica is just someone that I made up to get more readers.”

              I shake my head. “But why? You’re handsome enough as a unicorn,” I confess.

              “People don’t trust unicorns,” Yerno explains. “If you’re made of magic, people assume you’re trying to trick them with it. If you want to sell fake news, it’s just not going to work.”

              “Fake… news?” I repeat back to him, unable to understand this wholly unfamiliar concept.

              “It’s for ad revenue,” Yerno explains. “The companies pay us for clicks, regardless of the content. If I come up with a really great story I could be rolling in cash overnight.”

              “Why are you living in your parent’s basement then?” I question. “You’re one of the most popular news sites out there.”

              “Did you see the Lambo in my garage?” the unicorn questions. “Who cares where you’re living when you’ve got one of those bad boys.”

              I shrug. “I mean… it’s your money.”

              A look of concern crosses Yerno’s face very briefly, but it’s not quick enough for me to ignore it. I get the sense that this enchanted creature has lost his way, a character that once provided me with so much assurance suddenly seeking guidance of his own.

              “Why don’t you try real news?” I ask. “You’re such an amazing writer.”

              “Most of the real news companies are American, they don’t pay as well as the Russian fake news sites,” Yerno counters.

              “What?” I ask, a little alarmed. “Russian?”

              Yerno shrugs. “I don’t know, for some reason the Russian companies really want this fake news out there.”

              I’m not sure how to react to this, so I say nothing in return, plunging our conversation into silence once more.

              Eventually, our casual stroll leads us to a dock that extends out onto the lake. We turn off onto the structure and walk down a long series of wooden planks until reaching the end. Yerno and I stop, staring out across the water.

              “I thought I had finally found something honest in this crazy world, but now I realize that everything’s a lie,” I admit, solemnly.

              “Not everything,” the unicorn assures me. “Just the crazy conspiracy theories your conservative friends post on social media.”

              I let out a long sigh, and then gaze around at the natural wonder before me. “I guess you’re right, this is honest, isn’t it?”

              The unicorn sniffles a bit. “Yeah, it is.”

              I glance over to realize that Yerno is now tearing up, a single streak of saltiness gliding down his chiseled face.

              “Are you okay?” I question.

              “I hate doing this,” Yerno says. “I hate writing fake news. My life used to be so full of meaning and now it’s just a mess of… nothingness.”

              Not sure what else to do, I put my arm around the unicorn and pull him close.

              Immediately, a surge of electricity pulses though us, something that I only would have expected if Yerno was who he said he was, but not now. This feeling is distinctly sexual, an aching lust for my new companion, and it comes as entirely unexpected mostly because I have never once felt attract to another man until now.

              Still, there is no denying this incredible pull. I find myself completely blown away by Yerno’s newfound honesty, his desire for truth after a past full of lies. I had been attracted to his writing more than the meaning behind it, and maybe that was worth something in its own strange way.

              “I don’t want to lie anymore,” Yerno tells me. “I don’t want to lie to anyone else, and I don’t want to lie to myself.”

              We exchange glances, our eyes locked in some kind of strange and powerful standoff until finally I take a deep breath and go in for the kill. I lean forward and kiss Yerno deeply on the lips, a moment that he fully reciprocates.

              The next thing I know, me and Yerno’s hands are roving wildly across one another’s muscular bodies, searching for the physical truth of one another under this haze of fiction. It’s not long before my fingers begin drifting lower and lower, eventually undoing the unicorn’s belt and pulling forth his enormous cock.

              The creature is already rock hard as I begin to stroke him, pulsing my hand across his length slowly at first and then speeding up over time. Eventually, I’m just too horny to hold back any longer and drop to my knees before the magical beast, opening wide and taking his shaft between my lips.

              I frantically get to work pumping my face over Yerno’s dick, cradling his hanging balls with one hand while I work my magic. I pull out and lick his shaft from base to tip, savoring the taste of his hearty unicorn rod before plunging back down again. This time I push my face even further however, relaxing my gag reflex as I take Yerno in a perfectly performed deep throat.

              I let the unicorn hold me here for a moment, listening to the soft slosh of the waves on the dock below. The breeze continues to make me feel alive for the first time in ages, and the cock in my throat doesn’t hurt either.

              Yerno leans back his unicorn head and lets out a long, satisfied neigh, his voice carrying out across the water. He stamps his hooves on the wooden dock playfully, showing me his best trot as I continue to service him.

              I finally pull back for air with a gasp, then turn around on the ground and pop my ass out at Yerno. I reach back and undo my belt, slipping the fabric down to reveal my round, muscular rump.

              “You like what you see?” I coo.

              “I love it,” Yerno tells me. “It’s the most real thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

              “This is all real,” I assure him. “All the butt that’s fit to pound.”

              I reach back and give my ass a playful slap, then spread my cheeks open with one hand to reveal the tightly puckered hole in all of its glory.

              Yerno takes no time getting down into position behind me, aligning his massive rod with the rim of my backdoor. I can feel him teasing me for a moment, testing my taut anus with the head of his shaft before suddenly slipping in all the way inside.

              The unicorns powerful thrust causes me to brace myself on the dock below, a long aching groan escaping my lips as my body struggles to adjust to his enormity. Even though I had taken Yerno in my mouth just moments before, I still find his size somehow surprising; it’s massive girth stretching my butthole to its absolute limits.

              With every pump from behind, however, my body begins to adapt. The searing discomfort slowly gives way to something else entirely, a feeling of fullness that I have never before experienced. I find my body torn between uncomfortable ache and blissful pleasure, every thrust against my backside pulling me towards the latter.

              “Oh my god, I’m so fucking full of your fake news writing dick!” I yell. “You’re filling my ass like you’ve filled my brain with misinformation!”

              Egged on by my erotic words, the unicorn speeds up, faster and faster until he’s slamming as hard as he can up into my rectum. The dock below me is shaking so violently that I’m worried it’s going to collapse, but somehow the thing manages to stay together.

              “Harder!” I scream. “Fuck me harder!”

              Seized with arousal, Yerno suddenly pulls out of me and flips me over onto my back. My legs splayed out to either side, the enormous magical creature kneels down before me and repositions his cock at my now reamed entrance.

              This time Yerno doesn’t waste a moment getting down to business, thrusting inside of me with his powerful grace and pounding away at my butthole with a series of deep swoops. With every slam up my ass my muscular legs shake in the air, wide and proud as I give myself over to Yerno completely.

              “No more lies,” the unicorn huffs.

              “I trust you! I really trust you!” I moan.

              “I trust you, too,” offers the unicorn. “This is all that matters, this moment right here.”

              “Fuck yes!” I reply, my eyes rolling back into my head.

              I can feel a strange new sensation pouring out across my body now, starting at the pit of my stomach and then running out down my arms and legs in strange pulsing waves. It’s a dull warmth, overwhelming and erotic as it radiates from somewhere incredibly deep within me. It’s not long before I realize that this is the magical prostate orgasm I’ve heard so much about.

              Helping myself along, I reach down between my legs and grab ahold of my cock, then beat myself off in time with the authoritative slams up my butt. Each movement causes the feelings brewing within me to grow at an exponential rate, until suddenly they are exploding across my entire body, blowing out every one of my senses.

              In this moment I feel as though I am floating above myself, watching my muscular frame below as it spasms and quakes in a fit of orgasm.

              Out here, in this new plane of existence, everything is real; even the news.

              Moments later I collapse back into myself as the final tremors of orgasm dissipate. Cum has blasted from my cock and covered my ripped chest in a beautiful, pearly glaze.

              “Now it’s your turn,” I tell Yerno with a smile. “I want you to see the truth like I did.”

              The unicorn pulls out of my ass and trots over to my face, hovering in position while he furiously beats himself off. I stick out my tongue playfully, cradling Yerno’s balls as I egg him on until finally the majestic beast unloads a massive blast of warm jizz across my smile. I catch as much of it as I can in my mouth, while the rest of the unicorn spunk splatters down my cheeks on either side.

              I swallow proudly, then suck whatever remains of his cum from Yerno’s slowly deflating shaft.

              “That was amazing,” my unicorn lover gushes.

              “It was,” I agree, standing up and wrapping my arms around him.

              We stand like this for a moment and then suddenly I’m being lifted into the air. Yerno has me is his mighty arms, holding me over the edge of the dock as I laugh and kick with playful excitement. The next thing I know, the magical creature is throwing me in, the water exploding all around me as my body is cleansed.

              I feel completely refreshed, somehow removed from my past as the cum washes away from me.

              There is a loud splash in the water next to me as the handsome unicorn jumps in, and the next thing I know we are face to face in the cool blue as we tread together face-to-face.

              “This feels like what I was looking for the whole time.” I tell Yerno.

              Yerno kisses me deeply on the mouth, reassuring me more than any words ever could.

Some say that love is the soul of books, and what better way to show a little love then with a free gift? Here to tingle you to the core is a bonus story for your reading pleasure:

KISSED ON THE WEINER BY MY OWN WEINER

Being a magician is a delicate balance between truth and fiction. On one hand, I am looking to create a show that will dazzle and delight, while on the other, I’m skating along the fine blade of a morality that may or may not be questionable, because magic isn’t real.

              The thing is, everyone who comes and sees me perform kind of knows that already, and there is an unspoken contract between audience and performer that stipulates neither of us bring it up. When I make my beautiful assistant disappear and reappear on stage, there is a joy in knowing that trickery is involved, and part of the fun is trying to figure out how it’s done. At the same time, nobody is going to rush home and try to rewrite all of the physics books to include a new selection on teleportation.

              Because of this, many of us who professionally deal in the world of magic shows are scientists at heart, relying on the wonders of the natural world and presenting them in a way that only appears to be supernatural.

              I’ve had a show here in Vegas for the last four years and for the first two of them I was living the life of a high roller, flooded with cash and fame in a way that I would have never thought possible as a performer of something so niche. Those were the good ol’ days, the times that I look back on now with a deep fondness and heaps of jealousy.

              Where did it all go wrong? Honestly, for as many times as I’ve asked myself that question I still don’t know for certain. It’s not as though all of the magic shows in Vegas started going out of business; quite the contrary, actually. As I watched my peers gain fans and expand their operations, I stayed in exactly the same place.

              Eventually, we we’re only performing to half full auditoriums every night, hemorrhaging money with a casino who had been naive enough to lock itself into a contract with me. Of course, we started adding new tricks to the mix, but nothing seemed to grow the business. Yes, these were interesting illusions, but not interesting enough to get people talking and have them return to the show with some friends.

              Whatever we did to switch things up, however, constantly failed to create a big enough bang to warrant the money being spent on it. Eventually, the casino stopped funding any new research and development and I was stuck with what I had, a failing show and no way of turning it around.

              This is why tonight is so important, and why the mystery that lay somewhere out in the desert before me was so fascinating. I’m following a hand drawn map that was delivered to the theater with a small note attached, addressed to me from a man by the name of Dr. Tomp Porpon.

              If times were not so desperate I would have simply ignored the man’s words; the promises of a trick that was more than just some grand illusion, but an actual way of harnessing real magical energies. I’m a skeptic, so I probably shouldn’t even be out here either way, happy to throw the letter into the nearest trash bin so as not to waste my time, but there is something about this entire experience that I love.

              If anything, it’s an adventure.

              The sun is setting on the edge of the mountains before me, making it hard to see out across the vacant yellow flatlands of Neveda desert that stretch out before me on and on for what feels like forever. I’m traveling up an old dusty road that I must have driven past a thousand times and never given a second thought, but now that I’m out here I can’t help but wonder how little traffic actually travels across this little slice of humanity in the infinite wasteland of sand and shrub.

              According to the map, I’m looking for a home that sits right around the edge of these approaching hills, just enough to stay out of sight from anyone who might be driving past on the main road. However, I’m still not entirely convinced that anything will actually be there.

              A few minutes pass as the sun finally dips out of view, painting the sky in a gorgeous blushing violet. When the small house against the edge of the mountain finally comes into sight I tense up a bit, realizing that we are no longer within the realm of some strange practical joke. There is actually someone here with a trick for me.

              The closer and closer that I get, the more I realize that this supposed desert home is more like a junkyard compound, the entire structure surrounded by twisting metal sculptures that spiral off into the sky at every angle.

              I pull up to the front and park, hesitating for a moment as I question whether or not I actually want to go knock on the door. I don’t necessarily feel threatened, but something strange is definitely in the air.

              Suddenly there is a loud knock on my passenger side window, causing me to jump in fright. I glance over and see the smiling face of an older gentlemen, bright-eyed and waving frantically at me through the glass. I roll down the window.

              “You must be Hipper, I’m Tomp!” says the man, introducing himself.

              “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand around the car and giving him a firm shake through the window. I can see now that the man is wearing a long white lab coat and looks as though he hasn’t slept for days.

              “It’s really an honor to meet you,” Tomp informs me. “I’ve been a fan for years. Best magician in Vegas.”

              “Thank you,” I tell him with a nod.

              “That’s why I wanted you to have my invention,” Tomp explains.

              “I’m excited to see it,” I offer.

              Tomp smiles. “Come on inside, I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”

              I have to admit, after getting past the otherworldly strangeness of Tomp’s home and laboratory, I can’t help becoming fascinated by the place. The compound lies somewhere between a mechanic’s greatest fantasy and a technological graveyard of horrors, stacks of computers and engine motors heaped in every corner.

              After a quick tour we’ve found ourselves in the scientist’s main lab, which is relatively clean compared to the rest of the building. Before me sits a large, brightly lit stage with the centerpiece of five boxes stacked one on top of the other. Each box is a little over a foot deep and when they are combined, they appear to be the size of an average human standing upright.

              “I’ve seen this one before,” I say with a smile. “Splitting someone into three pieces?”

              “Five,” Tomp explains.

              “That’s clever,” I tell him, honestly impressed, “but it’s not real magic. I know how this trick works.”

              Tomp laughs. “Not this one.”

              The scientist walks up on stage with a straw dummy and opens all of the boxes from the front so that the dummy can be placed inside the stack, then shuts the doors. I’m watching suspiciously, looking for all of the usual techniques.

              “You probably think there is a mirror somewhere over here, don’t you?” Tomp questions.

              I nod.

              “There’s no mirror. In fact, there’s no trick,” chuckles Tomp. He reaches over and flicks a switch on the back of the stack, which causes a brief humming sound as the lights above us flicker and dim. “Do you know about The Tingleverse?”

              I shake my head. “No, what’s that?”

              “The Tingleverse is a stack of infinite parallel worlds, each one progressively gayer than the next,” explains Tomp. “Some have theorized that with enough energy one can travel between the layers. What I have discovered is that it’s not how much energy you have, but what kind of energy you have.”

              “I’m sorry. I don’t follow,” I admit.

              “Scientists used to focus on electrical current when exploring this theory, they would try to harness as much of it as they could to break through the layers,” explains Tomp. “That didn’t work, so then they tried to use the energy of love, which actually started getting results.”

              “It did?” I question. “Then why have I never heard of this?”

              “It hasn’t been invented in this layer yet,” Tomp tells me. “In other layers there is something called The Big Red Button. When pressed it will take you to a deeper level of The Tingleverse. There is one on every layer, including the top layer where the reader is, but you have to be written into the timeline just right to use it.”

              “Now I really don’t follow,” I tell the scientist with a laugh.

              Tomp shakes his head. “That’s fine, that’s fine. We’re not using that energy, either, because it takes way too much of it to break through the layers. You can’t have someone falling in love every time you want to do your magic trick, it’s just not feasible. What I have used here in my box is meta energy.”

              “Like breaking the forth wall?” I question.

              “Exactly!” says Tomp with a nod. “Every time I flip this switch on the back, a reader out there realizes that they are actually just part of The Tingleverse, and that realization creates enough meta energy for me to pull whatever’s inside the box into our layer… in safely broken up pieces!”

              “But it’s already in our layer,” I tell him.

              “Exactly!” shouts Tomp. “It’s a small burst of meta energy, so we’re only pulling from a layer that’s very, very close, almost identical to this one. Each piece contains a sustainable life force which can then be sent back and recombined safely.”

              I let out a long sigh, my brain starting to hurt from all of this overwhelming strangeness. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would the pieces be self sustaining once they’re broken up? That seems so random.”

              “That’s where the meta energy comes in,” explains the scientist. “For the plot of this story to move forward the stack must work like this. Some would call it bad writing, but I call it a perfect source of in book meta awareness.”

              “I’m lost,” I tell him.

              “Maybe I should just show you,” Tomp says, noting my frustration. He takes the top box off of the stack and carries it over to the edge of the stage, setting it down before me on the lip. “Open it.”

              I follow his instructions, opening up the door slowly and gazing inside at the head of the dummy. “So, you just cut a dummy up?”

              Tomp looks disappointed. “No!” The scientist grabs the dummy head back from my hands and places it in the box, then sets the box back up on top of the stack once more. He reaches around the stack and flips a switch once again, then throws open every box door to reveal a completed dummy. It falls out onto the floor.

              I shake my head, disappointed. “I don’t get it.”

              Tomp is shocked, stumbling over his words as he tries to explain the magnitude of his creation. “No, no, you don’t understand. My machine can do this with a living thing!”

              I let out a long sigh, suddenly frustrated with the entire trip. “There’s no such thing as magic,” I tell the man flatly. “There’s no such thing as The Tingleverse, or the reader, or meta energy.”

              “Prove me wrong then,” Tomp suddenly interjects.

              I scoff, “Gladly.” without another word I grab onto the edge of the stage and pull myself up, then walk over to the stack of boxes and climb inside. There aren’t the usual trappings that I’m accustomed to in here, but I’m not too worried about it.”

              “Are you sure you want me to do this?” Tomp asks, his voice sounding muffled and far away from my place here in the stack. “I haven’t tried it with a non-believer!”

              “Go ahead,” I tell him.

              Moments later I can hear a soft click and suddenly the stack is humming all around me. I only have a split second to react because the next thing I know I am standing behind the stage.

              “What the fuck,” I stammer out loud.

              “Come on back!” calls Tomp. “That’s where you go while you’re replaced by your reverse twin from the other layer!”

              Feeling confused and disoriented, I walk around to the front of the stage once again, where I find Tomp standing proudly.

              “Are you ready?” the scientist asks.

              I nod as a cold sweat suddenly rushes over me, my hair standing on end. Could this be real magic?

              Tomp opens up the top box and I almost faint right then and there. My own head is inside, staring out at me with look of utter confusion.

              “What is this?” the head cries. “Where am I?”

              Tomp winces from the words. “Clearly there are some kinks to work out,” he explains. “We don’t have a way of warning the object on the other layer that they are going to be transported.”

              “Good god, turn it off!” I shout. “Get me out of there!”

              Tomp rolls his eyes in frustration and then reaches around the back of the stack once more, flipping the switch.

              Suddenly, I’m back in the box, although it is much less comfortable than before. The doors opens and a stagger out, but immediately discover that something else was in there with me.

              I let out a blood-curling scream as I look down and see that the middle section of my body double is still here with us, a perfectly sectioned portion of my hips and dick wrapped in tight boxer briefs.

              “What is happening?” I cry out.

              Unexpectedly, the mid section of my body starts to cry out as well, shrieking frantically from behind the fabric of the underwear in a moment of sheer panic.

              “I told you that I hadn’t tested it on non-believers!” Tomp counters. “Meta energy is very finicky, always trying to push the plot forward!

              “You didn’t tell me you’d make a copy of my dick from a parallel universe!” I counter.

              “Is that what I am?” asks the confused section of my body from the floor of the stage, his voice muffled.

              “I’m afraid so,” offers Tomp.

              “Well put me back!” yells the midsection. “I can’t even move like this, I’ve got no body! I’m just hips and a dick!”

              “Listen, it’s too dangerous to send you back, I’m very sorry,” says Tomp. “What I can do is build you a nice set of mechanical wings so you can fly around.”

              My sentient cock and me can’t stop screaming.

              “Thanks” I offer the scientist as he finishes topping off my cup of coffee. I never would have expected to be meaning these words sincerely, but after an hour of apologizing and explanation, Tomp has calmed both my living weiner and me. I didn’t hurt that Tomp already had a nice set of wings lying around, and could easily strap them onto my sentient cock for a little mobility. The winged midsection now flutters around our table in a circle, testing out his new means of locomotion as his head hangs out through the front slit of his boxer briefs.

              “What I’m saying,” Tomp finishes explaining, “is there’s no way to return things to the way that they were.”

              I let out a long sigh, finally accepting this.

              “What about me?” my cock interjects. “You both can just go on with your lives, but what am I supposed to do? I’ve got no job in this universe, no friends. I’m a freak!”

              “You’re not a freak,” I tell him, “but you’re right about one thing, I need to take care of this. I’m going to set you up with a place to stay, don’t you worry about it.”

              The flying weiner seems genuinely touched. “You would do that?”

              I nod. “This is my fault, after all. I shouldn’t have doubted that we were just fictional characters in a series of interlocking homoerotic parallel universes.”

              My weiner flaps over and lands on my shoulder. “Thanks man, I really appreciate it.”

              “Sure thing, my own dick,” I reply with a smile.

              My cock laughs heartily. “We’re gonna have to do something about that. I need a name.”

              I think for a moment. “Glur?” I offer, trying to come up with the most masculine name possible for this flying cock.

              My dick nods in approval, “I like it.”

              “I’m sorry I got you into this mess, Glur,” I sigh with a deep sincerity.

              “It’s alright,” my dick says, “but you could make it up to me with a night on the town!”

              A smile slowly crosses my face.

              The casino is in full tilt as me and my flying dick saddle up to the Blackjack table. I throw down a hundred for myself and a hundred for my sentient cock as the dealer smiles and nods, then replaces our cash with a stack of chips.

              “So what’s different about your layer of The Tingleverse?” I casually ask Glur, trying to make conversation.

              He thinks about this for a moment as the cards are dealt. “Well, it’s pretty similar to this one. Casinos are pretty much the same.”
              “Oh yeah?” I offer, waving my hand above my cards to indicate to the dealer that I’ve decided to stand.

              “Yeah, I was just here with my friend Keith, the jet plane,” offers Glur. My cock motions to stay as well.

              “I’m sorry, did you just say Keith… the jet plane?” I question.

              My dick nods and then lowers his voice. “He’s a card counter.”

              I shake my head. “Honestly, that’s not really my concern. Are you telling me that he’s an actual plane? Like a plane that flies in the sky?”

              Glur seems confused. “You mean planes don’t count cards on this layer?”

              I laugh. “Definitely not.”

              “Then who are all the high rollers?” Glur questions.

              Suddenly, our conversation is interrupted by the dealer. “I’m sorry, you lose,” he says, pulling away our chips.

              “Better start paying attention,” my flying dick tells me with a laugh.

              He turns his focus back to the table but I can’t help continuing my stare. There is something absolutely fascinating about my own living midsection from another parallel timeline, something that I just can’t put my finger on but seers me down to my very core. He’s smart, sophisticated and, dare I say it, devilishly handsome.

              As the night continues these feelings for Glur do nothing but grow and grow, becoming something that I can no longer ignore or reframe no matter how hard I try. I have an aching lust for my own dick, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

              Fortunately, it appears that he feels the same way about me.

              We’ve gotten our stacks up to a sizable amount thanks to Glur’s card counting skills, and eventually decide to start having some fun with a few side bets between just the two of us. They start as silly, embarrassing things like yelling “penis” loudly if you lose the next hand, or winking playfully at the dealer who was having none of it.

              The longer the night goes on, however, the more intense our side bets start to get.

              “Alright, I think this should be our last hand,” offers Glur, “I’m ready to get out of here. Are you cool with that?”

              “Sure,” I tell him.

              “I’ve got one last side wager for you,” my flying dick announces mischievously.

              “I’m listening,” I tell him, my heart skipping a beat.

              Glur flutters over to my ear and whispers into it, his breath hot against the side of my face. “If I win this hand then we get a room, go upstairs, and fuck each other’s balls off. Sound good?”

              “Yes,” I hear myself sigh, the world falling limply out from my mouth.

              I’m trembling as the dealer begins to overturn cards.

              “Hit,” says Glur.

              The second that we cross the threshold of this luxurious hotel room clothes are coming off, stripped away from our bodies in the heat of the moment and scattered across the white carpet. I run my hands along the length of Glur’s mechanical wings, taking note of their beautiful craftsmanship, then playfully linger on his warm, bare skin.

              “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I tell my sentient replicated weiner from a nearby parallel dimension.

              “I’m your cock,” Glur moans. “I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember.”

              “Wanted what?” I question, slightly confused.

              “To kiss you,” he says.

              I’m suddenly flooded with not only a sense of powerful erotic tension, but romance tension, as well. Glur is absolutely right; even though he just appeared in my life in this particular form, he has been bringing me pleasure for years. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t laid awake thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, to taste him; but the logistics of such an act had made this beautiful union impossible until now.

              I slowly drop down to my knees before the hovering cock, then open my mouth wide and allow him to slip inside. Glur is rock hard as he fills the space between my lips with his impressive girth, his entire floating body trembling with excitement and pleasure. I place my hands upon him and help to guide the living body segment back and forth, taking him deeper and deeper with every movement.

              Eventually, I pull Glur towards me and consume his entire length down the to hilt with a glorious deep throat. From somewhere deep inside of my neck I can hear the living cock moaning, his head completely engulfed within me.

              I keep my living dick here inside of me for a while until I run out of air and then pull back with a gasp, spit dangling from my lips as I struggle to collect myself. Glur’s face is covered in saliva, but he doesn’t seem to mind, taking me with one of his wings and guiding me over to the hotel bed.

              “Get on,” he commands. “I want to fuck your tight asshole with my dick’s face.”

              I do as I’m told, climbing up onto the fluffy white bed on my hands and knees, then pushing my bare ass out towards him. “Like this?” I ask.

              Glur smiles and then flutters down to perch on my rump, pressing his head up against the puckered rim of my anal tightness. I reach back with one hand and spread myself for him, giving away my body in a complete displayed of submission to this powerful gay lover who just happens to be my own floating dick.

              “Do it!” I yell. “Pound me with that face at the end of your cock, which is my cock!”

              Glur is flapping hard now, the pressure building against my anal rim until, finally, it just can’t hold out any longer and my own weiner plunges inward, his face disappearing completely into my the depths of my butt.

              I let out a loud yelp, gripping tightly onto the blankets before me as I reel from my dick’s substantial size. My insides are stretched to the brink as my eyes roll back into my head, a long moan escaping from my lips that carries out across the hotel room.

              “Holy fucking shit,” I gasp. “You’re so fucking big!”
              “We both are!” I can just barely hear Glur comment from somewhere deep down inside of me.

              The next thing I know my own cock is pounding away at my asshole, starting slowly at first and then gaining speed within me. Soon enough, what began as a gentle thrust has evolved into a powerful, jackhammering pound, my own cock giving me everything that he’s got while his wings flap wildly in the air.

              Somewhere deep down inside my prostate I can feel the stimulation growing, blossoming out across my body in a series of escalating waves. I can feel myself starting to lose control, the pleasure growing too powerful to contain within the frame of my body. I reach down and start to stoke myself off to the rhythm of the pounds within my butthole, but before I can get there I find that Glur has already beat me to it.

              He’s yelling something inside of me and, although it’s hard to make out the exact words, the meaning is abundantly clear. The next thing I know my dick is blasting his hot load up inside of me, the jizz filling up my rectum in pump after pump of milky white semen. I can feel it spilling out from Glur’s mouth inside of me, giving away more and more of the hot spunk until it comes pouring from the edges of my asshole and running down my crack in a pearly river.

              “Oh god,” Glur cries as he finally pulls out of me. “That was fucking amazing.”
              I’m more turned on that I’ve ever been in my life, ready to blow any second as Glur motions for me to roll over on the bed. I do as I’m told, flipping up onto my back as my own dick flutters down towards my own dick.

              “Let me swallow you,” my cocks says.

              Glur opens wide and takes my shaft into his throat, which doubles as the length of his own hard rod.

              I can’t believe this is happening, my cock being sucked by my own cock while I’m loving every second of it. Every passing second the pleasure grows harder and harder to control as Glur pumps his wet lips frantically across my length. My body is begging for release.

              I can feel the avalanche of sensation begin.

              “I’m gonna cum!” I start to cry out. “I’m gonna fucking cum inside my own cock!”

              Suddenly I’m exploding within him, all of the tension releasing across my body in one glorious pulse of homoerotic pressure. I can feel my seed spill out into Glur, filling my weiner’s mouth as he swallows hungrily.

              When I finally finish, I fall back against the bed in exhaustion, spent but satisfied. Glur flutters over and lands next to me.

              “That was amazing,” my cock says.

              I smile. “I’m glad you’re making the best of a strange situation.”

              My living dick shrugs. “What else can you do?”

              We lay here for a moment, catching our breath as we enjoy the presence of one another in peaceful silence.

              “I have an idea,” I finally say, “a way of sending you back to your layer.”

              “You do?” Glur questions, sitting up to look me in the eyes.

              “We have to get meta, though,” I say.

              “How do we get meta?” the flying dick questions.

              I look out from between the words on the page and gaze directly at the reader. “It’s not that hard,” I explain. “You just eliminate the forth wall and accept that the reader themselves are a character in this story, that we are all just characters-”

              Glur reaches out his wing and stops me. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” he offers, “but I don’t want to leave.”

              “You… don’t?” I question.

              “I want to stay here with you, on this layer,” Glur says, his eyes welling up with tears.

              I wave of relief washes over me. “I want that, too,” I finally admit, grabbing my own living cock and pulling him close. “I love you, Glur.”

Also by Chuck Tingle…

Dinosaur Tinglers

My Billionaire Triceratops Craves Gay Ass

Gay T-Rex Law Firm: Executive Boner

Gaygent Brontosaurus: The Butt Is Not Enough

Professor T-Rex Teaches Me Gayness

Lonely Author Pounded By Dinosaur Social Media Followers

President Domald Loch Ness Tromp Pounds America’s Butt

Pharma Bro Pounded In The Butt By T-Rex Comedian Bill Murky And A Clan Of Triceratops Rappers Trying To Get Their Album Back

Dinosaur Magicians Pinn And Tucker Make Their Weiners Disappear In My Butt

Schrodinger’s Butt

Space Raptor Butt Invasion

Space Raptor Butt Redemption

Space Raptor Butt Ascension

Space Raptor Butt Trilogy

Stranger Pounds

Chef Woolly Mammoth Eats My Butt

Chuck’s Dinosaur Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Dinosaur Tinglers: Volume 2

Chuck’s Dinosaur Tinglers: Volume 3

Unicorn Tinglers

Taken By The Gay Unicorn Biker

My Ass Is Haunted By The Gay Unicorn Colonel

Pounded By The Gay Unicorn Football Squad

Unicorn Butt Cops: Beach Patrol

Anally Yours, The Unicorn Sailor

Top Horn: Turned Gay By The Unicorn Pilots

Hunter Dentist Pounded In The Butt By Cecil The Handsome Unicorn

Butt Wars: Rogue Buns

Chuck’s Unicorn Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Unicorn Tinglers: Volume 2

Bigfoot Tinglers

Pounded By President Bigfoot

Bigfoot Sommelier Butt Tasting

Seduced By Doctor Bigfoot: Attorney At Large

Bigfoot Pirates Haunt My Balls

The Curse Of Bigfoot Butt Camp

Bigfoot Settler’s Claim My Butthole

Dan Bigfootzerian Parties In My Butthole With His Billionaire Lifestyle

Eight Bigfoot Buckaroos Hate My Butt And Pound It

Pokebutt Go: Pounded By ‘Em All

Chuck’s Bigfoot Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Bigfoot Tinglers: Volume 2

Living Object Tinglers

I’m Gay For My Living Billionaire Jet Plane

Trained By The Living Biker Train

Pounded By The Gay Color Changing Dress

Turned Gay By The Living Alpha Diner

Glazed By The Gay Living Donuts

Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt

Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt”

Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Book ‘Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt’”

Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Book ‘Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt”’”

Buttception: A Butt Within A Butt Within A Butt

Vampire Night Bus Pounds My Butt

Shared By The Chocolate Milk Cowboys

Reamed By My Reaction To The Title Of This Book

Angry Man Pounded By The Fear Of His Latent Gayness Over A Dinosaur Transitioning Into A Unicorn

Slammed Up The Butt By My Hot Coffee Boss

The State Of California Stalks My Butthole

Pounded In The Butt By My Leaked Mashly Addison Data

Happy Birthday Frankenstein, Now Pound My Butt

Oppressed In The Butt By My Inclusive Holiday Coffee Cups

Monday Pounds Me In The Butt

Creamed In The Butt By My Handsome Living Corn

Slammed In The Butthole By My Concept Of Linear Time

Pounded  By My Handsome Ghost Boats

Pounded By The Pound: Turned Gay By The Socioeconomic Implications Of Britain Leaving The European Union

Slammed By The Substantial Amount Of Press Generated By My Book “Pounded By The Pound: Turned Gay By The Socioeconomic Implications Of Britain Leaving The European Union”

Slammed In The Butt By Domald Tromp’s Attempt To Avoid Accusations Of Plagiarism By Removing All Facts Of Concrete Plans From His Republican National Convention Speech

First Buckaroo Bill Pounded By The Handsome Living White House

Pounded In The Butt By My Hugo Award Loss

Kissed On The Weiner By My Own Weiner

Slammed In The Butt By My Smartphone’s Missing Headphone Jack

Brangelina Splits Apart And Then Pounds Their Own Butt

Pounded In The Butt By My Constantly Changing Thoughts On The Ongoing Mystery Of Chuck Tingle’s Real Identity

Slammed In The Butt By The Handsome Sentient Manifestation Of Election Day

Hard For Hardwick: Pounded In The Butt By The Physical Manifestation Of My Own Handsome Late Night Comedy Show

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 1

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 2

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 3

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 4

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 5

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 6

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 7

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 8

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 9

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 10

Chuck’s Living Object Tinglers: Volume 11

Self Help

Dr. Chuck Tingle’s Complete Guide To Romance

Dr. Chuck Tingle’s Complete Guide To Sport

Novels/Other

Helicopter Man Pounds Dinosaur Billionaire Ass (A Novel)

Buttageddon: The Final Days Of Pounding Ass

Scary Stories To Tingle Your Butt: 7 Gay Tales Of Terror

Pounded By Politics: Nine Tales Of Civic Butthole Diplomacy

Breaking The Fourth Butt: Eight Hot-To-Trot Meta Tinglers

Handsome Sentient Food Pounds My Butt And Turns Me Gay: Eight Tales Of Hot Food And Beverage Love

About Dr. Tingle…

Dr. Chuck Tingle is a Hugo Nominated erotic author and Tae Kwon Do grandmaster (almost black belt) from Billings, Montana. After receiving his PhD at DeVry University in holistic massage, Chuck found himself fascinated by all things sensual, leading to his creation of the "tingler", a story so blissfully erotic that it cannot be experienced without eliciting a sharp tingle down the spine.  Chuck's hobbies include backpacking, checkers and sport.

If you would like to know more about Dr. Tingle, you may visit his website or write to him at ChuckTheTingler@gmail.com