I should have known better than to go out walking this late in the evening, as my most oppressive moments of cosmic dread typically happen when I’m all alone in the middle of the night. This is the time that I’m usually thinking about my tiny place in the world, or what it will be like to die.
“Or whether or not you’re in a Chuck Tingle novel,” my existential dread interjects.
I nod.
“Well, does this answer your question?” the sentient emotion says with a laugh. He pats the edge of the hot tub next to him, beckoning me forward.
I do as I’m told, slipping into the warm water next to the emotion and accepting my fate. “I can’t believe it,” I finally murmur, staring past my own simmering dread and out into the waters beyond.
“It’s hard on most people,” offers my living existential dread, “I mean, nobody wants to find out that they’re in a book.”
I just shake my head, the weight of my despair almost too much to bear.
My personified looming breakdown puts his hand on my shoulder, trying his best to offer support. “Listen buddy, I know I’m your perceived oppressive weight of cosmic reality, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to live for anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I finally ask.
“Well like, look at it this way,” my existential dread continues, “even though you’re just a tiny part of an infinitely big universe, you’re also infinitely important compared to an atom. You could have been born a tree, or a rock.”
“Born?” I counter.
“You know what I mean,” my dread struggles to explain, “the fact that you’re even able to experience an existential crisis at all means that you’ve been blessed with the ability to do so. For every argument that you’re small and meaningless, there’s an equal argument that you’re unfathomably important.”
His words actually do give me some solace. “You’re right,” I tell the sentient emotion.
“To get to this point, an infinite amount of choices had to be made, going back billions and billions of years,” my dread explains. “If you really think about it, we’re both so fucking lucky to be here, there’s a hundred billion to one odds of that happening; probably more, actually. So it’s like, sure, you’re a character in a book, but the number of character who never even got to exist is endless.”
“That’s so heavy,” I offer, finally coming to terms with my own infinite impossibility.
“I think that maybe it’s time you started looking at all the positives in this situation,” suggests my dread.
“Like?” I question.
The personified emotion grins wryly and then leans in, kissing me deeply on the mouth.
My first instinct is to pull away, still trying to deny the truth of what I really am, but the longer that we remain locked together, the more I can feel the desire for this personified horror burning inside of me. I’ve never had a gay experience before, but now I understand that it was only a matter of time before the homoerotic portion of my story began.
Soon our hands are roaming across one another’s muscular bodies, caressing and touching with a frantic enthusiasm. The sentient feeling is more toned that I could have ever expected, clearly hitting plenty of hours at the gym when he’s not filling me with a crushing depression and cosmic fear.
Eventually, my wandering hands begin to drift lower and lower, below the bubbling water and under the waistband of my living emotion’s shorts. Here I find the sentient dread’s enormous shaft, rock hard and ready for my grip to be wrapped tightly around it.
I grab ahold and then begin to pump slowly, watching as the my living emotion leans his head back and lets out a long, drawn out groan. My hand moves slowly at first, then faster and faster with every successive pump until I am beating him off frantically, the sentient dread writhing with pleasure.
Eventually, I just can’t take it anymore, standing up from my seat next to him and taking the living feeling by the waist. I guide him up so that he is now sitting on the rim of the tub, his massive, engorged shaft shooting up and away from his swirling body for the world to see. Now that I can get a good look at it, I am even more shocked and amazing by the rod’s size, a formidable tower of sexuality.
I open my mouth wide and take his entire girth, pushing down as deep as I can and then gagging slightly as my dread’s cock reaches the steadfast border of my gag reflex.
“I’m sorry,” I gush, coming up for air in a wild sputtering mess. “I’ve never sucked someone off before.”
My existential dread has a playful chuckle. “You’ll get the hang of it,” he says, completely sincere.
I collect myself and then take the emotion’s shaft between my lips one more time, bobbing up and down as my mouth becomes accustomed to his length. I move in a series of slow, deliberate bobs at first, making sure to relax my throat as much as possible until finally pushing down and, somehow, allow his massive cock to slip past my previous limits.
Before I know it, my face is pressed up against the sentient dread’s rock hard abs, his shaft completely consumed in a perfectly performed deep throat. I open my eyes and gaze up at him, then wink playfully.
“That feels so fucking good,” my own suffocating astral dread tells me, placing his large cosmic hands on the back of my head and holding me here for a moment.
I can tell that he enjoys this control over me, keeping me here for as long as I can possibly manage and then finally letting up at the final second, just moments before I’ve run out of air.
Now I’m completely overwhelmed with erotic compulsion, ready to completely give myself over to this amazing otherworldly manifestation. I stand
