The Anal Tits
Keli was walking down a New York street when she found an anus. She saw the anus in the gutter, the way seasoned bums spot quarters, but she didn’t pounce the way bums do. She stopped, discreetly made sure no one was around, and picked it up. The anus was about the size of a quarter, pinkish-brown, slightly puckered. Keli couldn’t tell if it was male or female.
Keli gave the anus a sniff. She didn’t want to put anything dirty in her pocket or purse. The anus looked clean. If anything, it smelled faintly and pleasantly of almonds. Keli hadn’t noticed any “Asshole-Scoop Killer Strikes Again!” headlines at the newsstands she’d walked by.
A paperboy with a maroon turban on his head whistled at her. “Goodness me! Nice ass, Miss!”
That would’ve been enough to make it a good morning. Then she found an anus.
Things hadn’t been going too well for Keli, lately. She’d broken up with her boyfriend, whom she really liked. Actually, he broke up with her, which made it even worse. Then she got fired from her job at a restaurant because some asshole customer complained he saw Keli scratch her ass before picking up his order, and didn’t stop by the washroom first to wash her hands with soap and water, as mandated by law. The customer said he was offended. He felt nauseated, he said, and not only refused to pay his bill but threatened a lawsuit. Keli was fired on the spot. OK, maybe she had scratched her ass. Everyone does, now and then. She hadn’t scratched her ass on purpose, just to be gross. Besides, she kept her ass scrupulously clean. Keli was sure her ass was cleaner than most of the customers at Marlon’s Fish Shanty.
Keli loved long, hot showers. She’d probe her rosebud with a soapy finger or two and feel it glisten, afterwards.
Keli was on her way to a job interview. There was an opening for a receptionist at a hot shot ad agency on Madison Avenue. She’d put on her most minimal mini-skirt. Her blouse was a white oxford-cloth button-down shirt from the Boys Department of a venerable menswear establishment, also on Madison Avenue. She wore it buttoned up all the way.
Keli had no bosom. She barely had nipples. Pencils laughed at her whenever she took the pencil test. Passing, in Keli’s case, would’ve meant that the pencil found somewhere to stick, for a change. The sound of pencils hitting the floor made Keli cry. Her tiny breasts swam around in padded A-cup bras from the Junior Misses department. Polite salesladies called Keli a “classic late-bloomer”, but she’d given up hope that she’d ever develop. ‘But I’ve got nice legs,’ she thought, to console herself. ‘And a great ass.”
Keli had always led a rewarding sex life. She’d been introduced to anal sex by a caring, sensitive lover, a guy she’d met on a weekend trip to Miami. But Keli knew that bustlines were important, especially for receptionists. ‘They’re the first thing a client sees,’ she thought.
‘The clients won’t be able to see my butt or legs ‘cause I’ll be behind the reception desk. If I get the job, that is.’
The starting salary was above average, and the Help Wanted ad said there were good opportunities for advancement. Advertising was an exciting field, and she wouldn’t have to deal with finicky, neurotic restaurant patrons.
Keli put the anus in her purse for good luck. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘I really hope I get the job. I want this one, bad. I need it.’
Keli got the job. The nice man in charge of human resources at the ad agency said he liked her smile and her sincere, friendly, can-do manner.
The human resources guy was gay. Keli could tell because he was a bit too neatly dressed and groomed. He also wore a rainbow lightning bolt earring and a leather bracelet that said HONCHO in silver letters. But something about the gay human resources guy really turned Keli on. She almost asked him if he’d go on a date with her, despite his being gay.
‘Now there’s a guy who could appreciate my boyish figure,’ she thought. ‘Not like that jerk Derek who dumped me ‘cause he wanted a girlfriend with big tits.’
But in the end, she decided asking the gay human resources guy out on a date wouldn’t have been professionally appropriate.
To celebrate her new job, Keli stopped by the feminist sex shoppe on her way home. The personable butch lesbian salesperson urged her to try out a new vibrator design called the Magic Bunny. When she switched it on, Keli heard a voice.
“Fuck the dumb bunny!” the voice said. “Go for the one with the anal probe. The anal probe, understand? The biggest they’ve got!”
“Excuse me?” Keli asked the salesperson.
“I said the bunny’s ears flicker and flutter the clitoral hood and upper labia, as well as the clitoris itself. The missile-shaped design provides mild, non-aggressive, non-dominant penetration, to produce a satisfying holistic orgasm experience…”
“I thought you said, ‘Fuck the bunny!’”
“Sister, if you’re going to disrespect our merchandise, or if this is your idea of a male-type come-on, I’ll have to ask you to leave our establishment.”
“I must be hearing things. I’m sorry. Please give me the one with the anal probe. No, the bigger one.”
“Uhm, this model requires a three-day waiting period. Just kidding! But seriously, what’re you doing tonight? I mean, aside from…hey, just kidding!”
Keli thought her new black dildo-vibe looked like one of the threatening new nightsticks the cops were using. The instruction manual recommended water-based lube. Lots of water-based lube. Fortunately, Keli had plenty of water-based lube. She opened a bottle, plugged in her new toy, lay back, spread wide, and was just about to blast off when she heard, “Hey! What about me? Lemme outta here! I gotcha that job you wanted, didn’t I?”
Keli thought, ‘I got a job, but I’m losing my mind. Maybe it’s because I masturbate to excess, or worry too much about my small bosom.’
“You want tits? Why’ncha just say so?”
The voice came from her purse. Keli remembered the anus she’d picked up. She went and got it.
“OK, let’s get busy, gorgeous.”
“What? You’re nothing but an anus.”
“That’s right. I am an anus. An anus is your boyfriend now.”
The anus was masterful.
Though a mere muscular ring of flesh, he loved her deep and hard. The anus understood Keli’s animalistic desires. After a long, slow series of gut-wrenching orgasms and anal-gasms, Keli thought she really had lost her mind.
“Please, sweet anus,” she begged. “I can’t cum any more.”
“Oh yeah? I was just getting warmed up. Listen, before you konk out, let’s take care of your wish. There was something you wanted…”
“Tits! Oh, I want tits, anus. I want big, flopping tits!”
“Sure you do, kid. Same as any woman does. But you know the old saying: I do something for you, you do something for me. I guess you know what I’m talking about.”
“Oh yes, lover. I mean…yes, anus. I’ll do anything for you. Anything.”
“You’d do it even if I weren’t about to give you boobs, though, wouldn’t you, Keli?”
“You know I would, anus. I’m all yours. You swim, I rim.”
“Oh, I dunno. It rhymes.”
Keli said no more. She let her tongue do the talking.
Keli soon felt a tingle in her mosquito bite-size nipples. The fuzzy sensation spread to her armpits and ribcage. She licked harder. The anus moaned and cursed like a death row inmate. The swelling sensation in Keli’s upper body grew. Keli groaned, and spread her legs. She was about to cum yet again. She pinched a nipple to boost her climax, and got a handful of tit.
Slowly, without missing a tongue-lash, she brought her other hand to her chest and felt another tit, just as big and full and warm and wonderful. For the first time in her life, Keli hefted and squeezed her massive boobs. She pinched her outstretched nipples. She felt a trickle, then a squirt.
“Oh my God!” the anus said. “Look the fuck out!”
No need to describe what happened next.
Keli took a long, hot shower and felt good as new. Since she didn’t own a bra, Keli didn’t wear one on her first day at work. She put on the loosest boy-shirt she had, but still had to leave most of the buttons undone. Newsboys, construction workers and taxi drivers whistled and hooted as Keli sloshed and bounced and sashayed up and down the streets of New York. A cop made the international jack-off gesture with his nightstick.
“Hey, doncha know you could get arrested for showing off tits that big? Huh-huh-huh…just kidding. But not really, though.”
The friendly gay human resources director at the ad agency took one look at Keli and tore off his gay earring and bracelet. He threw them in the nearest wastepaper basket. Then he tore off his shirt and tie and shredded his Stonewall T-shirt. His hairless chest rippled over 6-pack abs. He asked Keli out on a date, begged her not to take his request as sexual harassment or inappropriate, unprofessional behavior.
“Sure,” said Keli. “I’d love to go out with you.”
She didn’t think he’d mind that she already had an asshole boyfriend.