By Torrey Kurtzner
Williamstown, Massachusetts.
It was summertime in Williamstown, and humidity had entered the chat. Young adults at the neighboring Williams College trudged through thick air while attempting to enjoy the season of sunshine. In response to their efforts, Mother Nature awarded them the gift of heat stroke.
Just outside the college’s orbit was a cul-de-sac of houses sheltering professors. A majority of these professors ditched the muggy vibes of the East Coast for the tropics, and in their absence, hired sitters to look after their pets. Roughly ninety-nine percent of these sitters were college students. The remaining one percent were deadbeat losers on the brink of self-destruction. One such deadbeat loser was named Tony.
If Williamstown represented sophisticated intellect with money to spare, Tony was anything but. The mustachioed dirtbag awoke in his Subaru Crosstrek, windows closed, heat smoldering. A dirty glass pipe lay on his dashboard, reminding him he had hotboxed his vehicle the previous evening. Gasping for air, he sprang out of his driver’s seat and collapsed to the pavement. The sun beat down on him like a champion prizefighter.
“Christ,” Tony moaned. “I gotta learn to park in the shade.”
He weakly rose to his feet and entered the lavish home he was assigned to protect. Once inside, a vile smell assaulted his nasal cavities. Tony furrowed his brow as his mouth contorted in revolt.
“Smells like death,” he thought.
His assumptions were correct. Richard, the homeowner’s cat, lay deceased in a litterbox. Just like Elvis, the feline died while answering nature’s call. Tony wasn’t sure what to do. Eventually, he took a photo of the crime scene and sent it to the homeowner.
“Sorry to bother,” his text message began. “But I think Richard might’ve passed on.”
After reporting Richard’s tragic demise, there wasn’t much of a reason for Tony to stick around. He was given instructions from the homeowner to bury the feline, lock the doors, and leave for good. Tony reflected on his fifteen-year stint as Richard’s pet care provider. The assignment was always meant to be temporary. But fifteen years later, it was the only significant work he managed to score. Tony attended college for writing and aspired to be a humorist. Despite publishing a handful of stories, he never managed to attract the right attention. At thirty-two, he was jobless, broke, and living out of his car when he wasn’t pretending to be a local in Williamstown. Now that his cash cat was dead, any semblance of security was gone.
Tony panted in his car as the sun’s rays slowly cooked him alive.
“What to do?” he thought.
In a moment of weakness, Tony scratched his genitals. Suddenly, a metaphorical lightbulb illuminated. He reached below his belt and grasped his package.
“Alright,” he sighed aloud. “I’ll go into smut.”
If one wishes to enter the smut industry, it helps to have an archive of NSFW content at the ready. And what better place to harvest NSFW content than the vacant home of a wealthy college professor? Tony cautiously re-entered the house belonging to the professor and proceeded to document his nude body throughout their impressive estate. His slutty creativity particularly flourished in the kitchen, where he made himself an impromptu omelet under immaculate lighting that emphasized the contours of his muscular figure.
While sautéing the eggs, a bead of hot oil sprang from the pan and attacked Tony’s genitals. Although not incredibly painful, the location of the burn triggered a memory from previous sexcapades.
It was Tony’s first time in the sack. He was older, in his mid-twenties, but this was not by choice; rather, by circumstance. An ugly mullet from high school was enough to keep suitors at bay. There was also his lack of confidence, provoked mainly by the presence of his foreskin, which society deemed unattractive. By the time he reached twenty-three, Tony mustered enough confidence to pursue intimacy with another person. Ironically, the woman who took Tony’s virginity didn’t care about his foreskin.
“It’s natural, I like it,” she warmly complimented. “Also, your dick is fat!”
“R-really?” Tony shyly inquired.
“Absolutely!” she laughed. “You could be a porn star with that thing! Thickem McDickem, over here.”
That day, a metaphorical seed had been planted within Tony’s mind. But when it came time to plant his seed, he failed. The coitus lasted a long while, and the kind woman seemed to enjoy Tony’s efforts. But he couldn’t feel a damn thing. If he had to describe the experience in one word, it would be numb.
“Wow,” the woman gasped. “You’re practically a racehorse! How long did we go for?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” Tony laughed uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious about his inability to climax.
The woman sat up in bed, watching and watched as Tony attempted to bury his discomfort.
“Hey, did you cum?”
Tony shook his head.
“That’s okay!” she comforted. “It might not happen the first few times. Which is totally normal.”
“And to think, going into this, my biggest fear was premature ejaculation,” Tony quipped in an attempt to lighten his mood.
“That’s ironic! Well, don’t overthink it. Want to try again in a few?”
“Okay, sure.”
The duo tried a few more times. Alas, Tony never came.
“Maybe it’s your foreskin,” the woman mentioned. “When you’re hard, it doesn’t pull down easily. I can’t access the sensitive areas that would normally stimulate pleasure. Does that make sense?”
A dejected Tony nodded. In the following years, he would try his hand at intimacy several more times, each encounter leaving him with the same feeling of numbness.
After several hours of content farming, Tony procured a nifty package of starter smut that would easily last him a full calendar year.
“Time to launch an OnlyFans,” he muttered to himself while starting his car.
Tony drove to the Williams College library, where he proceeded to erect a Google Doc titled ‘Smut Business.’ In a hunched posture evoking Igor, he feverishly typed an outline for his impromptu business. He occasionally shot hurried glances behind his shoulder, ensuring no onlooker could parse what he was doing. The paranoia worked in his favor. By the end of the day, he launched his OnlyFans, aptly titled ‘Hardcore Smut on a Shoestring Budget with Thickem McDickem.’
Tony made the Williams College library his base of operation for ‘Hardcore Smut on a Shoestring Budget with Thickem McDickem.’ Although the location wasn’t ideal for privacy, it was open to the public and offered free, lightning-fast Wi-Fi. More importantly, he could access the Wi-Fi from the parking lot via his iPhone, which would make uploading NSFW content a breeze. The plan was in motion. But would it be a success?
OnlyFans proved lucrative, although not to the heights Tony had imagined. His clients varied in age and sex, the statistics of which never ceased to amaze him. Take user GareBear1949, for instance. The elderly gay man in his late seventies was Tony’s most reliable customer, sending daily tips when Tony needed them most. Occasionally, they discussed content.
“Any plans for more nude ASMR videos?” GareBear1949 asked.
“I’ve got ten more in the chamber,” Tony confirmed. “Planning to release one a month, but if you want to purchase them ahead of time, we can work something out.”
“Fantastic. What were you thinking price-wise?”
“Well, the videos are ten minutes apiece, and I charge ten dollars per video. It would be an even hundred for the remaining ten vids.”
“Splendid. I’ll message you the cash. Thanks, Mr. McDickem.”
Tony blushed. He hadn’t gotten used to folks referring to him as ‘Thickem,’ let alone ‘Mr. McDickem.’ Nonetheless, a hundred bucks was a hundred bucks. Rather than use the money for food or shelter, Tony decided to invest in a chest mount harness for his cellphone. With this contraption, he could film stable POV sex scenes with a willing partner. The addition of penetration content would undoubtedly take his business to new heights.
Upon securing the chest mount harness, Tony spent the next several weeks searching the area for fellow adult content creators. His journey started on Reddit, arguably the most toxic website known to man. Despite the red flags, smut artists were known to use the platform for advertising their services, so Tony persisted. It didn’t take long to find his first willing collaborator, a twenty-something woman who went by the moniker ‘Sam I Slam.’
Tony’s mind raced as he drove to Sam I Slam’s apartment in North Adams. The last time he had sex was over two years ago. It was a rebound hookup following the end of Tony’s longest relationship to date. The experience, much like his first time, left him feeling numb and unable to climax. He also had a difficult time achieving an erection, an issue that had never occurred before. Although it wasn’t hard to understand why he couldn’t maintain, Tony had just entered the smut industry. If he wished to perform on camera, he’d need to address his malfunctioning hardware.
Rather than proceed with a circumcision, which would expose the sensitive glans required for achieving an orgasm, Tony settled on the cheapest ED medication he could afford. His reasoning was multifaceted. Firstly, he didn’t have the time needed to recover from the circumcision. Secondly, he didn’t have the insurance or money to cover the procedure. Finally, and most importantly, he was terrified and embarrassed. Tony’s relationship with his foreskin was complicated. Although he conquered his high school anxiety to engage in intimacy as an adult, the shame was still there. And once the theme of numbness became apparent, that shame evolved. Finding it impossible to address his dilemma head-on, Tony chose to live with it.
When the uncircumcised smut artist arrived at Sam I Slam’s apartment, he was quick to detect palpable tension. Sam I Slam paced the outer portion of her apartment and gave Tony a courtesy wave. Within the apartment, Tony could see a male snooping through the blinds, trying his damnedest to go undetected. When their eyes met, the male quickly jumped away from the blinds. The sound of a slamming door could be heard moments later.
“Thickem McDickem, I presume?” asked Sam I Slam.
“That’s me,” Tony chuckled nervously. “But you can call me Tony. Are you Sam I Slam?”
“In the flesh. But you can call me Sam.”
Sam noticed Tony was already wearing his chest mount harness, with his iPhone strapped at the ready.
“I see you came prepared,” she quipped.
Tony blushed. He preemptively chose to wear the harness over his clothes, a decision he now regretted.
“Yeah, I’m not sure why I put it on over my clothes. I guess it makes more sense to wear without clothes.”
“In other words, naked,” Sam laughed. “That checks out.”
Organic laughter from both parties followed. Tony let the moment breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a playful conversation with anyone. Living in a prolonged state of financial and mental despair has a way of breaking a person’s spirit.
Sam beckoned for Tony to enter her apartment. Upon entering, the peeping male from behind the blinds officially made his presence known. He appeared uneasy, not unlike a volcano on the verge of erupting.
“I’m not comfortable with this, Sam,” the tense male stated.
“Babe, we talked about this,” Sam whispered in an embarrassed tone.
“NO, you talked, I stammered helplessly, like the heartbroken fool I am!”
“For the hundredth time, this isn’t an affair. It’s sex WORK. You remember work, Tom? It’s that activity you haven’t done in TWO YEARS.”
“It’s not my fault I’m disabled!”
“Bullshit! You have generic back pain like every other asshole on the planet!”
“I HAVE DEGENERATIVE ARTHRITIS OF THE SPINE!”
“Oh, I’m SO SORRY,” Sam mocked.
“You want me to get the MRI scans?! Wait right here, I’ll get the MRI scans! Let’s see you downplay science!”
Sam rolled her eyes and collapsed onto a nearby couch as her partner disappeared. Tony awkwardly cleared his throat.
“You seeing anyone?” Sam asked without looking in Tony’s direction.
“No,” he replied bluntly.
“Smart.”
Sam rose from the couch.
“This may come as a shock, but I don’t see this working out. At least not right now.”
“That’s okay,” Tony assured.
“I don’t see myself staying with him much longer. I really need the money.”
“Same. Well, if things change, you have my information.”
Sam’s partner re-entered the room, wheeling a projector.
“Alright, who’s ready to analyze FACTUAL pain?”
Sam shot Tony an annoyed look. In return, Tony playfully raised his eyebrows before exiting.
Although brief, Tony’s interaction with Sam proved memorable. Sadly, the spat she had with her partner reminded Tony of his last meaningful relationship. Despite never reaching their levels of cattiness, Tony’s failed relationship suffered similar tribulations within the communication department. As their strong bond slowly unraveled, he struggled to understand why. Was his numb relationship with sex to blame?
Strangely, Tony never revealed the symptoms of his condition to his partner. Instead, he attempted to inject as much artificial passion into the activity as he could. But were his efforts too performative? Did they lack authenticity? For many, intimacy is a sacred act that reinforces the bond shared between two lovers. If Tony’s partner felt his numbness during their lovemaking, perhaps she questioned the strength of their bond.
Tony sighed. The relationship was ancient history, but he couldn’t shake the past. And he couldn’t shake the shame.
“I’m deserving of this,” he concluded. “It will always be my burden to carry.”
With Sam presently out of the picture, Tony continued his search for a willing collaborator. He eventually discovered ‘Busty Bertha,’ a woman specializing in the curvaceous MILF aesthetic. He met the woman at her cute farmhouse hidden within the forests of Williamstown.
Tony approached the front door and knocked. He was taken aback when a burly middle-aged man answered.
“Thickem McDickem?” the brawny gentleman inquired.
“Mm-hmm.”
The muscular man extended an open palm. His arms were thick and hairy, barely contained by a flannel shirt.
“The name’s Dennis,” the man stated. “You’ll be fucking my wife today.”
Tony hesitantly shook Dennis’s hand.
“Wonderful,” Tony trailed off. “You’re not going to watch, are you?”
“Well, not technically. But I will be in the backyard splitting timber. If I catch a few glimpses, no worries! Just my curiosity getting the better of me.”
“Okay, then.”
Dennis picked up an axe and disappeared into the backyard. Shortly thereafter, Busty Bertha greeted Tony at the door wearing a skimpy silk bathrobe.
“Hi, Thickem!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Come on in! The bedroom is all set up for filming.”
Busty Bertha led Tony into her home.
“What do you think of my humble abode? The vibes were distressingly redneck before we arrived. Think Texas Chain Saw Massacre on steroids. Nothing a little TLC couldn’t fix.”
“You have a lovely home. And an understanding partner.”
“Dennis is wonderful. Men like him are hard to come by.”
The pair reached the bedroom. Expensive lighting equipment was strategically placed throughout the room, as were several cameras. Tony took in the expansive setup. He then glanced down at his cheap chest mount harness.
“Your setup is insane,” he complimented. “I feel like a fraud by comparison.”
“Nonsense, Thickem! I’ve been in the game for years. You’re just getting started and have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m glad you brought your harness because I lack a POV setup!”
Tony blushed as Busty Bertha activated her cameras. The whirring sound of recording equipment filled the room. With her back turned, Tony reached into his pocket and slyly retrieved an ED pill. As he swallowed the pill, the sound of splitting timber could be heard. Tony glanced out the window and saw Dennis in the distance. When the axe-wielder caught Tony’s eye, he smiled and waved. Tony awkwardly waved back.
Busty Bertha seductively approached Tony.
“Shall we?” she inquired.
Tony nodded, and the sex commenced. Busty Bertha’s passion was evident, and Tony tried his best to match her energy without the aid of stimuli. He utilized visual and auditory cues to determine the cadence of his thrusting. When Busty Bertha moaned, Tony followed suit. From his perspective, the ruse seemed to be working. But when it came time for the money shot, Tony couldn’t deliver.
“Is everything okay?” Busty Bertha inquired.
“Yeah, totally,” Tony lied.
He started to get dressed as Busty Bertha remained seated in bed. She appeared equal parts confused and embarrassed.
“Well, you were wonderful,” she sighed. “But I fear I didn’t live up to your expectations.”
Tony took note of Busty Bertha’s lethargic state. Guilt-ridden, he sat beside her on the bed and came clean.
“Bertha, you were breathtaking. It’s just that-”
Tony trailed off. A lump developed in his throat.
“I can’t cum.”
“You can’t cum? As in, you can cum, but not now? Or-”
“Never.”
“NEVER?”
Tony nodded.
“Not once.”
Busty Bertha’s mind shattered into pieces.
“My God! That’s tragic, Thickem! Does it have anything to do with anxiety?”
“I don’t think so. It’s more to do with my foreskin. It’s too tight to retract during sex.”
An epiphany dawned across Busty Bertha’s face.
“You know, I thought that was a little strange,” she began. “But not in a weird way. Just different from what I’m used to. No wonder you can’t cum. All your pleasure points are shielded behind a stubborn chunk of skin.”
“Yeah,” Tony chuckled while failing to hold back tears. “It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting.”
“Far from it!” Busty Bertha comforted. “How could you think that about yourself?”
“Because it’s true! It’s bad enough having foreskin in a world where no one finds it appealing, but I got stuck with an inoperable fold! I get zero pleasure from sex. ZILCH. It’s arguably the most intimate activity you can share with a person, and I’m numb to all its magic.”
“I’m so sorry, Thickem. That’s immensely frustrating.”
“Please, call me Tony. And yeah, it is frustrating. Every relationship I’ve ever been in has fallen to the wayside because I can only take things so far without it being obvious. No one wants to be with a genetically deformed, unfeeling robot.”
“Hey, sex isn’t the most essential ingredient to a healthy relationship. That’s communication. When you tell your partners you have this condition, what do they say?”
“That’s the thing,” Tony sighed. “I’ve never really told anyone. The only person who put the pieces together was the first woman I ever had sex with.”
“Well, there’s your problem! Why have you never said anything?”
“I don’t know. Part of me worried they wouldn’t understand. It’s hard to be vulnerable when you’re self-conscious about the subject. What will they think? How will they respond? Will they mock me to my face? Behind my back? A combination of the two? Will they still love me, or will they think less of me? I find it’s easier to lie and hope no one ever notices the facade.”
“Honey, with all due respect, the facade is very evident.”
The duo partook in polite laughter.
“Follow-up question,” Busty Bertha declared. “Have you considered getting a circumcision?”
“Yeah.”
“…And?”
“You’re going to think this is so stupid.”
“Try me. Are you afraid? Because that’s natural.”
“Well, yes. But it’s deeper than fear. Have you ever felt obligated to carry a burden?”
“Like, a guilt-ridden burden?”
Tony nodded.
“As far back as I can remember, I’ve felt like an outsider,” he divulged. “Like a malformed puzzle piece, unable to cojoin. And that’s not a feeling exclusive to my sex life. No matter where I go, what I do, or who I meet, I’ve struggled to make a connection. It’s as if the numbness I feel during sex follows me outside of the bedroom. I can’t shake it, the shame. It’s become a part of me.”
“But it doesn’t have to be. You could get a circumcision tomorrow, and everything could change. All that shame, gone in a flash.”
“I see your point…”
“But?”
“But what if I go through with it, and it doesn’t change anything? Then what?”
“Cross that bridge when you get there, Tony. For now, wouldn’t it feel good to take a proactive step?”
Tony pondered the thought. He couldn’t recall the last time he acted proactively. It seemed he’d been living in limbo for as long as he could remember.
“Okay,” he exhaled. “I’ll see it through.”
Busty Bertha presented her pinky to Tony.
“Swear on it?”
Tony smiled and conjoined his pinky with Busty Bertha’s.
That evening, Tony logged onto OnlyFans and uploaded his sex scene with Busty Bertha. An hour or so later, he received a message from GareBear1949.
“Dipping your toe into penetration, I see. I normally don’t watch man-woman content, but this was alluring stuff.”
“Thanks,” Tony replied. “Glad you enjoyed.”
“And how about you? Did you enjoy?”
Tony wasn’t sure how to respond. Part of him wanted to come clean. Another part wanted to prolong the facade.
“As much as I could’ve, I suppose. Performing on camera isn’t easy.”
“I bet. Did you not film a money shot?”
“We did,” Tony lied. “But that portion of the footage was lost. Corrupted files, or something.”
“That’s a shame. Oh well. I’m sure it was extraordinary.”
A wave of shame crashed over Tony as he stared helplessly at his iPhone.
“Yeah, it was something else.”
Tony used the money he made from the Busty Bertha collab to secure an appointment with a urologist. On the day of his appointment, he arrived wearing discreet clothing in a foolish attempt to go undetected. The shame followed him to the operating table, where not even the aid of anesthesia could subdue his humiliation.
Once the operation was complete, it took six weeks for the scar tissue to heal. During week four, he received a call from Sam.
“Hey, I saw your video with Busty Bertha,” she reported. “Great work! My partner and I split up a few weeks ago. It took longer than I would’ve liked for him to get all of his crap out of my apartment, what with his ‘crippling back pain.’ Anyway, if you’re still game to collab on a scene together, I’m down.”
Tony adjusted a bag of ice atop his crotch.
“I’m game,” he winced. “But I am recovering from surgery at the moment.”
“Oh no! Is everything okay? Did my shitty ex give you his fake back pain?”
“No, but I can still visualize the MRI scans,” Tony joked.
“Ugh, that fucking guy. So, what’s the deal?”
Tony froze. He knew Sam watched the video with Busty Bertha, which meant she knew about his foreskin. Eventually, he’d have to address the procedure, whether he wanted to or not.
“I got a circumcision,” he revealed with deep regret.
“Oh wow! That’s huge!”
“Yeah.”
Silence pierced the receivers of both cellular telephones.
“So, does it look bigger?” Sam jested.
Tony cackled with laughter.
“Yes, but that’s not the reason I got it done. It’s hard to explain over the phone. Nothing bad or disease-related-”
“Good to know,” Sam interjected.
“Right? But yeah, long story short, I couldn’t feel pleasure during sex due to my foreskin being too tight.”
“Really? Like, no pleasure whatsoever?”
“Bingo. Completely numb.”
“What about cumming?”
“I wouldn’t know what it’s like.”
“Get out! You’re a smut artist, and you’ve NEVER climaxed?”
“That’s my shame.”
“Damn. Looks like it’s up to me to make your first orgasm memorable. The pressure IS ON!”
“No, no, no. Don’t start thinking like that. The pressure’s all mine to bear.”
“Well, are you excited?”
Tony hesitated.
“I don’t know. I’ve endured this numbness for so long; part of me fears it’ll stick with me. I just want to feel normal.”
“Hey, you are normal. More importantly, you were normal before. Normality is not measured by sexual enjoyment. Normality is measured by character, and while I don’t know you too well, I think your character is admirable. Bold of me to say, I know.”
“Super bold,” Tony smiled. “I appreciate that. It goes beyond pleasure, though. Take dating. I struggle to connect with people past a certain point. I’m great at conversing. I love to be present. But when it comes to intimacy, I can’t hang.”
“I can see why that would be frustrating.”
“Yeah.”
“But now that you’re cut, you never know. All your troubles could disappear. This could be a new lease on life.”
“That’s the hope.”
“How long of a recovery time?”
“I’ve got two more weeks to heal, then I’ll be ready.”
“Great! When you’re ready, just reach out, and we’ll pencil something in. I’m looking forward to it!”
“Me too,” Tony replied.
For once, he couldn’t tell if he was lying or being truthful.
After two weeks, Tony’s circumcision scars were no longer painful to the touch. To celebrate, he attempted masturbation, an activity that had failed to elicit pleasure in the past. Foreign sensations provoked Tony as he cranked his updated hardware. But these sensations didn’t evoke pleasure. Rather, it was akin to a pesky tickle, and he wasn’t amused. Determined, Tony pressed onward. The longer he worked his shaft, the less prominent the tickling sensation became. Eventually, he felt nothing. He glanced down at his genitals. The skin was raw, overworked to a red hue. Tony wept.
The following day, Tony contacted Sam to initiate a collaboration. He hoped the act of intercourse would spur an orgasm where masturbation had failed. Suspense filled the air on the night of their shoot as Tony paced Sam’s bedroom, his breathing heavy.
“Looking forward to this?” Sam inquired, clearly sensing Tony’s discomfort.
“All day,” Tony fibbed while clasping his hands together. “It’s been the only thing on my mind.”
“Just making sure. I’m ready when you are.”
Sam patted a vacant space on her bed, gesturing for Tony to join her. Tony popped an ED pill for good measure and joined his scene partner. As they began, the uncomfortable tickling sensation returned. Tony triedattempted to overcome hisembrace the discomfort and trick his mind into enjoyingliking the act. Sadly, it never worked. Mid coitus, Tony broke down.
“I’m sorry,” he quivered. “I can’t take this anymore.”
He pulled out of Sam and paced the bedroom. Tears filled his eyes as he tried and failed to gain composure. Sam rose from the bed and gently guided Tony to the floor, where the pair sat for some time. Eventually, Tony’s heavy breathing lulled.
“Are you okay, Tony?” Sam asked.
“I think I had a panic attack,” he replied in a hushed tone. “You must think I’m a freak.”
“Please don’t say that. It’s not true and you know it.”
“Then what am I? I know that’s a lofty question, but I’ll be damned if I have the answer.”
“Well,” Sam lingered. “Have you ever questioned your sexuality?”
“I enjoy the company of women. Always have.”
“But not in a sexual way?”
“I guess not? Like, I love platonic intimacy. Enjoying each other’s company, being there for the good times and bad, that kind of thing.”
“As for sex?”
Tony scoffed.
“Sex might as well be Latin. I can’t comprehend it. I’ve tried so hard to learn to love it.”
“You can’t force love, Tony. You either enjoy it or you don’t.”
Tony hung his head in shame. Sam lifted his chin with her fingers.
“But that doesn’t make you a freak,” she soothed. “And it doesn’t make you unlovable.”
“What kind of person could love someone who doesn’t experience sexual feelings or desires?”
“An asexual.”
Suddenly, an orgasmic epiphany bomb detonated within Tony’s mind.
“Ohhhhhh,” he expressed. “Shit, I’m not a freak! I’m just asexual!”
“Exactly! You may be numb to sex, but you’re not numb to love. You just need to look for it in different places.”
From the floor, Tony leaned his naked body against Sam’s mattress. He gently held his friend by the hand and looked her in the eyes.
“Thank you, Sam. I am so sorry for wasting your time.”
“You didn’t waste my time. We might not be scene partners anymore, but we can still be friends!”
“That would be wonderful!” Tony beamed. “Gee, I guess my foreskin was just a MacGuffin this whole time.”
“The ultimate misdirect!”
“And the real orgasms were the friends I made along the way!”
The pair giggled and shared a platonic embrace.
Later that evening, Tony removed the Busty Bertha collab video from his OnlyFans page. He then proceeded to post the following update to his subscribers:
“Greetings from Thickem McDickem.
“After a little soul searching, I have decided to take down my scene with Busty Bertha. Please don’t get it twisted, there’s no beef between us. She’s an excellent artist and an even better friend. The decision stems from my recent discovery that I am asexual. Effective immediately, I am halting production on penetration content. However, I’m not leaving OnlyFans. The money’s too good, and it sure as shit beats working a standard nine-to-five. Future content will be solo, focusing on the glorification of the male form, which means plenty more naked ASMR videos (you’re welcome, GareBear1949).
“Regarding my asexuality, this discovery was YEARS in the making and couldn’t have been possible without the guidance of Busty Bertha and Sam I Slam, two visionary creators I am honored to call my friends. If you appreciate what I do and want to give back, please consider showing them some love.
“Finally, I’d like to offer some advice that’s done me a world of good. It’s never too late to figure out who you are. To be different is not a badge of shame; it’s a badge of honor. Embrace your individuality and disregard the burdens that hold you back. These traumas do not define you. Rather than force yourself onto a scene, find a scene that gets you. And above all else, when in doubt, jerk it out to yours truly, Thickem McDickem.”
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