I read a magazine article about the paintings of Martha Diamond. One picture in particular caught my attention. “Giant Yellow Hogan.” Many of her paintings were of buildings, so I was pretty sure “Giant Yellow Hogan” referred to the Navajo hut and not to the wrestler Hulk Hogan, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if the artist was at least aware of the wrestler. I wouldn’t have minded asking her about it. At first glance, though, the painting made me think of the top portion of a giant yellow pencil. The tip looked about to break off. Probably the very next word, the very next letter, and that would do it for the pencil tip. The pencil would need to be sharpened. Did Navajos use pencils? Did they have pencil sharpeners? I suspect the typical pencil sharpening was accomplished with a knife. I imagined an old Navajo with a sharp knife, but in my mind he was carving some sort of artifact out of almost buttery soft wood, maybe a bird in flight or a bounding deer.

But the painting was obviously not of a bird or a deer and probably not of Hulk Hogan. Probably not of a pencil, either. It could have been the top half of an erect penis. Such is the way my mind works. I had no desire to suck Hulk Hogan’s penis. The painting, the more I considered it, was anti-erotic. It didn’t instill in me the least sexual desire.

And then a little time passed, and I got to thinking about what was inside this Giant Yellow Hogan, and I recoiled at the thought it could be Hulk Hogan. Hulk Hogan masturbating. His big hand working his big cock. Making himself come. Hot seed shooting out.

I needed to verify that inside the Giant Yellow Hogan was not Hulk Hogan.

I decided to take an accomplice on my portaling: Stuffy, the stocking stuffer elf I’d ordered a few weeks ago. He’d just arrived that morning, knocking at my door, dressed in a Santa’s helper outfit, or maybe it was a Santa outfit.

After a glass of milk laced with Amaretto and six hazelnut cookies, Stuffy agreed to be my partner in the portalling expedition.

Turned out Giant Yellow Hogan was empty, or if not empty then the same inside as outside, except now Stuffy and I were inside. It was hot. I took off my scarf. Stuffy preferred to keep his clothes on, not because he was shy, he claimed.

I asked him if he would like to masturbate, and he said he’d prefer if I sucked him. I had been hoping that would be his preference. His cock was big and even bigger after I shifted a finger through the slit of his suit and edged it into his bottom. His cum was plentiful, thick and buttery and delicious, with just a hint of hazelnut.