Who wins ... in love?
Who cries tonight?
Who's left behind?
And who, who is lost?
-- Nan Moravia
Love Lost

It's sad when a woman, a loving, passionate woman awakens in a cold, empty bed with no one there to embrace her, to hold her in his arms. To love her.

There was this one woman. She was the saddest case of all. She knew what she wanted, but it just wasn't hers to take.

"I don't know why you, of all people, think it's so disgusting."

"Lisa!"

"It's not as if it's unnatural. It's just something men do. Some men."

"Look, watching live acts... gay men doing those twisted things to each other ... doing each other in the ass for gosh sake. And you say it turns you on? You, sitting right there up front, gawking at the action and getting spattered with all those nasty body fluids?"

"Yes! It's the sheer intensity of it. The pungent stench of anal sex and those grunts of pure, bestial lust. The heat radiating from iron-hard cocks and fire-rimmed buttholes. The smoke generated by the friction of hard flesh pounding into a violated sphincter. The power, the power that comes from tabus being shattered, traditions torn asunder. Those beautiful, achingly beautiful young studs with their tight little buns, and those tight little buns being violently ripped open, penetrated. Fucked! And, sometimes, sometimes, I wish it was me up there in the spotlight. Bent over. Taking it in the ass. My ass."

"It's a waste of time talking to you, girlfriend. I hope you realize how totally freaky your obsession is before you get hurt. Badly."

"You're a fine one to talk, Mandy. You with your coke and meth habits."

"Well, at least I'm not a fuckin' pervert..."

She didn't know his real name, of course. They called him Gold on stage. Gold! As in Fool's Gold. And, what did that make her? The fool?

He could have been a movie star, he was so strikingly handsome. His profile wouldn't have looked out of place on an ancient Roman coin and a solidly-proportioned well-muscled torso showed the effects of intensive weight training. Physically, he was the very model of a virile stud. And, Lisa had to have him. One way or another.

In the live acts, Gold usually played the top. He'd swagger onstage, slap the bent-over bottom on his spread-open bottom, and ostentatiously strip off bikini briefs, revealing a long, hard, throbbing erection. Then, of course, he'd proceed to slowly and lovingly bury it, an inch at a time, in the writhing and moaning bottom's bottom. The audience loved it.

Lisa found it even more exciting when the tables were turned. When Gold was the one being swived. Such a magnificent ass he had! And, if only ... if only he would open it up for her, let her penetrated him with a ten-inch silicone cock or even a fist! She would die and go to heaven.

Then there came that one magic night when things fell into place as if they had been scripted by a sympathetic director. Gold was high that night. Sky high. There had been rumors that he used some sort of weird drug cocktail to enhance his performance. Not that there was anything wrong with his normal performance, but because he wanted to juice it to totally unreal levels. Anyhow, there he was, standing by her table after the show, glassy-eyed, and a bit unsteady on his feet. "Grab onto my arm and I'll help you," she said.

Lisa just happened to be in full body-armor that night. On the outside, butch -- totally butch -- in a hardened drag-king outfit that gave her the look of a wannabe-tough punk dude with slight fem overtones. Underneath, breasts plastered down by elastic stretchy stuff and hips flattened by a wire-reinforced corset band. She even wore (just in case!) her fave dildo with its base firmly socketed inside her woman-hole. It made a nice bulge where the legs met on her skin-tight pants. "Nice," Gold whispered hoarsely, staring straight down at her crotch.

"My place or yours?" she asked. Her faux-masculine voice quavered only a little.

"Oh, why not yours? Mine is such a train wreck. I assume you have a decent selection of, well, libations and such."

"Why don't you come on up and see?"

He did come on up, but as it turned out, he didn't see a whole lot. Lisa's place was illuminated by flickering blue fluorescents, and someone unfamiliar with the layout could end up stumbling around and bumping into various exemplars of allegedly antique chairs and tables knocked together from either butcher block or scrap lumber and orange crates (it was hard to tell in the dim light). Gold stumbled around a bit before she managed to guide him toward a plush sofa. She pressed a glass part full of a cloudy amber liquid into his hand. "Wait here," she said.

The light seemed even dimmer by the time she came back. His head was spinning around in tight little circles and he had the distinct feeling that he'd need to upchuck before the night got much older. But, there she stood, only Gold still hadn't the faintest suspicion that she wasn't a he, only that there was this ravishing half-naked creature bending over a beanbag chair directly in front of him and -- wow! -- what a great-looking ass sticking up there in the air. And, Gold, falling back on his tried and true rule of thumb in such situations, began unbuckling his metal-studded belt. Hey, when you've got a fuckable ass staring you in the face, the only thing to do is fuck it. Right?

Lisa, breasts tightly bound up in gossamer and with rampant dildo occluding her female opening, was more or less ready to receive him. She had lubed up her back passage, and if things went well, Gold wouldn't be able to tell the difference between her asshole and a man's. She hoped.

It hurt. In his doped up state his aim was a bit off the mark and his cock couldn't quite find its way in. Lisa had to guide him with her hand and he groaned as he rammed all the way into her with one violent lunge.

"Ouch, damn you! My asshole is fragile! Treat it with respect, asshole. Where's your fucking technique?"