Kiss My Ass
Hot off the keyboard is Kiss My Ass, the latest ebook from Alison Tyler, and – yup! – it’s all about anal. Kiss My Ass features six sexy stories from Jax Baynard, Sommer Marsden, Alison Tyler, Sophia Valenti and yours truly.
My story, ‘Strangers in the Bathhouse’, centres on two guys in an Istanbul hamam. Did I ever mention I like wet men? Well, this steamy piece of fiction features two of them getting it on. Metin is a cold, sneery top. Paul, my narrator, likes to sub. So it’s m/m – but really it’s just me with a dick.
I found it enjoyable and hugely interesting to write, in part because writing about male characters engaging in powerplay is very different from writing femsub, my usual. I found myself not worrying about how (or how much) to reassure readers that Hey, she’s fine, she likes it rough. My characters, as two men, start on a level playing field; they have gender equality. So I was freed of the anxiety that some readers might interpret the story as reaffirmation of women’s position in society; freed of the need to show, explicitly or implicitly, that these people are equals together, enjoying a kink where they play at being unequal. Basically, I could just get on with the fucking.
Here’s a snip:
The wing was empty, three marble basins on either side and one at the far end, their gold taps glinting in the haze of faint steam. Paul was heading for the furthest basin, not knowing what else to do, when the approach of plastic sandals made him turn. At the head of the wing, Metin emerged as if from a cloud of dry ice, a leanly muscled god of a man whose springy black chest hair was matched by a feathered line running from his navel down into his peştamal. The wrap, like the sandals, was standard hamam-issue and identical to Paul’s. At a distance of several feet, the two men faced each other. Their boners might have been hamam-issue too.
Metin hollered over his shoulder, his call met by another, then he vanished for a moment, reappearing with a plastic yellow A-board which he stood at the opening of the wing. So that’s how it works, thought Paul. That’s how you get privacy. Metin sauntered through the mist and gestured to the basin, again speaking words that went straight over Paul’s head. Metin’s meaning was clear though: he was ordering Paul to fill the basin.
He was ordering Paul.
Suddenly, the two men had a common language. Paul fixed the plug and turned the tap, blood pulsing in his groin as warm water plunged into the basin’s depths. Metin took a step closer then gripped Paul’s face in a hot, mean hand, pinching his cheeks as he glared. Words slid from his mouth, sadistic glee twisting his lips and sparkling in those petrol-green eyes. Paul didn’t understand the words but he knew what the man was saying. He was telling Paul what he was going to do with him, was telling him he was no-good scum, he was trade, filth, fucktoy, faggot and he was going to get down on that floor and suck Metin’s big, hard dick then beg to take it in his greedy rent-boy arse. Paul stared back into Metin’s eyes, his cock pulsing with the fury of lust. Metin edged closer, still snarling his obscene incantation, and Paul’s draped cock nudged his hip, and Metin’s nudged back.
Without warning, Paul found himself being forced down. He struggled, stubbed his toe on the marble, unsure of the direction Metin was pushing him. Water flowed over the lip of the basin then the rippling pool was rearing towards Paul, gold tap flashing past his eyes, and he clutched the edge of the basin as the shock hit him in the face and his world went blurred and muffled. Metin kept a firm hand on the back of Paul’s head, holding him underwater as panicked bubbles streamed from Paul’s mouth.