Pounded In The Butt By My Constantly Changing Thoughts On The Ongoing Mystery Of Chuck Tingle’s Real Identity - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

WHAT A TIME IT IS IN THE TINGLEVERSE what a time to be a buckaroo. there is so much going on over here i will tell you that i have probably never had a trot this busy in my lifetime, which sounds unfortunate but as an artist it is a GOOD PROBLEM TO HAVE. many creative buckaroos know the way of a much more common situation, the classic 'not busy enough' problem that struggling creator often have when they are desperately searching for gigs. so while this is a TOUGH TIME i also have gratitude for this way, i cannot complain.

as you buckaroos know i have to be very HIDDEN in my way, but what i like about this patreon trot is that is gives me a smaller community where i can talk a little more candid about LIFE OF CHUCK and how my daily trot is going. i will say that LATELY i have been very wrapped up in something exciting. along with the usual output of TINGLERS and dang INTERVIEWS and AUDIOBOOKS i have had once main focus and that is: WRITING A NEW NOVEL

i generally do not like to spoil anything about my books before they are released i actually have a RULE that i do not talk about them, but i think because we are patreon buckaroos i will make small exception for some tidbits. i will say it is HOROR NOVEL about fame, specifically way of QUEER FAME. i will also say it has one of my favorite if not FAVORITE villains i have ever written.

now you might be thinking BUT CHUCK THAT IS WHAT BURY YOUR GAYS is about but i will say at its core BURY YOUR GAYS is about something else. YOU WILL SEE WHEN YOU READ IT

but point of all this rambling is not about the book itself but about WHAT IT DOES TO MY LIFE. when i am writing a novel it takes over everything. it is about a month and a half where my brain becomes this SINGULAR FOCUS and i cannot take care of much else. that is what it has been like lately and it is both pleasant and a little taxing

anyway i figured since i wanted to share a little bit BEHIND THE SCENES today i would post a sort of BEHIND THE SCENE classic tingler. please enjoy POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY MY CONSTANTLY CHANGING THOUGHTS ON THE ONGOING MYSTERY OF CHUCK TINGLE’S REAL IDENTITY

 Frank and his best friend Archer run a podcast about the mysteries of the last uncharted frontier, a place where strange and unusual things still run wild and nothing is as it seems: the internet.

Their latest podcast episode is about the enigmatic erotica author, Dr. Chuck Tingle, but without a satisfactory ending to reveal the writer’s true identity, it seems that all is lost. Fortunately, Archer notices that the location of one of Chuck’s social media posts shows him in Home of Truth, Utah.

Now Frank must travel alone to this ghost town on the edge of society, following a row of telephone lines that buzz a little louder than usual and a strange voice that could belong to something more powerful than just a prolific erotic author. And, of course, it wouldn’t be a Tingler without a hardcore encounter between Frank and a manifestation of his constantly changing thoughts on the ongoing mystery of Chuck Tingle’s real identity.

This erotic tale is 4,200 words of sizzling sentient concept action, including anal, blowjobs, cream pies, rough sex, and living thought love.

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POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY MY CONSTANTLY CHANGING THOUGHTS ON THE ONGOING MYSTERY OF CHUCK TINGLE’S REAL IDENTITY

By Chuck Tingle

Long ago, the world was more fiction than reality, a place where the unknown lurked around every corner and stories were constantly being spun to fill up that empty space. The deep woods of the American continent were once the new frontier, but since then we have discovered every nook and cranny for the forest, leaving only the ocean and the sky for exploration and mystery. Now, even these two frontiers are being understood in ways that were previously unforeseeable, the technology of humanity constantly probing deeper and deeper than ever before.

         These days, the concept of the unexplored and unexplained has all but left the physical realm, shifting into a search through wires and servers, deep within the darkest corners of the Internet. Now the most mysterious place to explore is right there inside of your computer screen.

         I am one such explorer, a professional podcaster whose mission is to seek out and shed light on the mysteries of the World Wide Web. I’ve covered all kinds of strange and unusual happenings from all over the world, scouring the net in search of digital clues.

         One case, however, simply refuses to be cracked.

         “Anything new on the Chuck Tingle project?” my friend asks me when I arrive at his apartment, not even waiting for me to set down my laptop bag.

         I shake my head. “Nothing. I’ve gone back through every link we cataloged and I honestly can’t even begin to get a read on this thing”

         “I mean, we’re gonna need an ending for our episode,” my friend, Archer, continues.

         Archer has been doing the podcast with me from day one, and he wholly agrees that Chuck Tingle is the hardest subject we’ve ever attempted to uncover dirt on. I get the feeling that Archer’s just as frustrated and ready to give up as I am, but neither of us wants to be the first one to say it. After all of the work we’ve done so far, scrapping this whole thing now would be an utter tragedy.

         “Well, we’ve got a great three fourths of an episode written,” I offer.

         I’m not lying, either. So far our strange and wonderful story on this mysterious gay erotica author from Billings, Dr. Chuck Tingle, is utterly jaw-dropping, and I have no doubt that the beginning and middle of our podcast will be well received. It still needs a concrete ending, though, with real answers.

         During my research, I’ve read over twenty think pieces about Chuck, and they all end the same way, with an admission to the reader that they still just don’t know who or what Chuck Tingle really is. Our podcast needs to be different; our podcast needs an answer.

         If you’re already confused, I apologize. Some explanation is probably in order.

         Chuck Tingle is an erotica author from Billings, Montana, who claims to a doctor of holistic massage. He is very active on social media and his surrealist take on the world could be described by some as absurd. However, Chuck Tingle has never broken character, and because of this there is speculation abound regarding who might actually be behind the words on the page.

          Is Chuck exactly who he says he is?

         Is the mysterious author actually a collection of other writers, or maybe even a single famous one who is taking a break from her popular series of wizardry and magic?

         I intend to find out.

         “I say we just go to Billings and find him,” I finally offer after a long, long silence. “Has anyone tried that? Chuck is always talking about the coffee shop down the street, so maybe we could just go to every coffee shop in Billings a stake it out!”

         Archer shakes his head. “We don’t know what he looks like. How would we even know he was there?”

         My friend has a point. There is a photo of Chuck that has been floating around the internet for quite some time, but even the author himself has admitted that this is a stock photo purchased with the intent of hiding his true identity.

         I let out a long sigh, realizing now that I’ve been standing in the middle of Archer’s living room just staring off into space. I let my legs relax and collapse back into his blissfully cozy couch. “Do we just give up?” I finally ask.

         “Frank, as much as it sucks to say this, I think we might have to,” replies Archer.

         I shake my head, not wanting this to be the case. The mystery of Chuck Tingle could have been the best episode that we’ve ever produced, and now it might just amount to absolutely nothing.

         “One more afternoon,” I plead. “Let’s follow up on whatever leads we have today, and then if we can’t make anything out of it we’ll move on to the next project.”

         Reluctantly, Archer agrees and the next thing I know I am buried in my research once again, sifting through page after page of information on this enigmatic author. Lately I’ve been combing his oldest social media posts looking for clues, analyzing every single one of them in the hopes of finding some kind of pattern, and this is precisely where I begin again.

         As expected, my searching returns the same results.

         “Anything yet?” Archer questions after an hour of silence.

         “Nothing,” I reply, defeated. “You?”

         “I’m not sure. Maybe. Chuck is from Billings, right?” Archer asks, a question that’s answer should be obvious at this point.

         “Of course,” I tell him.

         “Does he ever leave?” Archer questions.

         I think about this for a moment. “Sure. He goes to The City of Devils sometimes.”

         “Los Angeles?” Archer clarifies.

         I nod.

         “What about Utah?” my friend continues.

         I shrug. “He says that he’s from a ghost town there called Home of Truth.”

         Archer’s eyes light up a bit as he snatches his laptop off of the table and then rushes over to sit on the couch next to me. “Look at this post from last month,” Archer shouts frantically, pointing a finger at his own screen. “It says that he is in Billings at the coffee shop, but he accidently left the location on.”

         I stare at the words before me, my mind racing with what all of this could possibly mean. “Home of Truth,” I announce, reading the location aloud.

         “Chuck has no idea that he left the location tags on this one,” Archer continues. “Last month he said he was in Billings, but he was in Home of Truth.”

         I’m excited, but still a little confused about what we are supposed to do with the information. “So what? We already talked about flying out and finding him. How are we supposed to know it is Chuck Tingle when we see him?”
         Archer just stares at me blankly, astonished that I don’t yet get it. “Home of Truth is a ghost town,” my friend reminds me. “If Chuck is there, then he’s the only one there.”

The closer I get to Home of Truth, the harder my heart slams in my chest. I’m simmering with anxiety, excited to finally unravel this enigma once and for all but nervous about what I might find. I had been so wrapped up in trying to figure out who Chuck Tingle actually was, that I never really stopped to consider if I truly wanted to know the answer.

         Since podcasting isn’t exactly the most lucrative business, Archer and me could only afford to buy a plane ticket for one of us, and I was the natural choice as the one spearheading this particular episode. Right now, however, I wish more than anything that Archer was here with me. There is a powerful sense of loneness that seems to hang above everything out here, weighing down my thoughts as my rental car plows onwards across the vacant plateau ahead.

         I haven’t seen a soul for miles, not even at a gas station or in another car heading the opposite direction down this empty stretch of highway. In fact, the only sign of modern existence is the road itself and the long stretch of telephone poles that tower along next to it.

         I’m trying my best to fight off this overwhelming mental darkness when I first see something looming on the foggy horizon before me, a single wooden post with a sign affixed to the top. I can’t make out the letters from this far away but I know exactly what it says, and as I finally get within range my suspicions are confirmed.

         “Home of Truth,” I read aloud, a fitting name for the place where I will finally unveil the shroud of secrecy that surrounds this Tingle phenomenon.

         Eventually, I find myself pulling off the highway and onto a gravel road that appears to have been untouched for decades, dying weeds and shrubs bursting up through the rocks wherever they can. There are very few buildings here and they are all made of ancient, decaying wood, the hollowed out remains of a town that once was.

         I park and climb out of my car, immediately noticing that something strange is in the air. It takes me a moment before I can put my finger on it, but soon enough I realize that the sense I’m perceiving is actually a quiet hum, a literal buzzing sound that crackles softly above my head. I gaze up and see more of the telephone poles above me, huge transformer boxes hanging from their wooden frames.

         The poles are old, but certainly not as old as the rest of the buildings around here, and they feel powerfully out of place. Stranger still, their violent buzzing suggests and abnormally large amount of power surging through them, much more than anyone could reasonably require out here in the middle of nowhere.

         “Hello?” I suddenly call out, realizing now that this ghost town might not be as empty as I once thought.

         There’s no response.

         I slowly begin to make my way through the small gathering of rotted out buildings on foot, following the electrical line that hangs above my head until eventually reaching the end of the street. This is where the line telephone poles halts, a cluster of wires stretching down towards a single dilapidated rambler and disappearing into the cracks of its shingles.

         This house appears to be just as unlivable as the rest of them, only the windows are boarded up completely instead of hanging open like some kind of horrific, architectural skull.

         Not knowing what else to do, I walk up the front porch and knock hard on the door.

         I do not hear any verbal response, but from here I get a sense that the humming is emanating even louder from inside this building than from the wires above. From this side of the door I can even make out the strange churning sound of large fans as the pulse and pump within.

         I reach down and try the doorknob, clicking it open and then pushing the frame inward.

         I gasp.

         There before me is a massive bay of computer servers, stacked from floor to ceiling and creating a massive maze of hallways that appear to wind their way through the entirety of the building. They are buzzing loudly, operating at full capacity as green and red lights flicker across their metallic surface with manic energy.

         I step inside, peering around the corner for any signs of biological life in this overwhelming technological fortress.

         “I’m looking for Chuck Tingle!” I call out. “Is he here?”

         Suddenly, the sound of the servers cuts out almost entirely, their fans spinning down into a low static drone.

         “Come in,” a voice calls out in a familiar tone. It’s definitely Chuck, at least, the version of Chuck Tingle who makes anonymous online videos.

         “My name is Frank Borbo,” I explain. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions for my podcast.”

         Chuck laughs, his voice seeming to boom ominously throughout the entire building. “You want to know who I am, don’t you? That’s alright, I suppose it was always going to come to this eventually.”

         I creep deeper down the long hallway of servers and then eventually round a corning, finding myself face to face with a small table. On the table is a webcam and a screen that faces directly at me, and displayed on that screen is the image of Chuck Tingle’s stock photo.

         “Is that really you?” I question. “On the screen?”

         “I’m not on the screen, I am the screen,” Chuck Tingle replies.

         “What?” I stammer, utterly confused.

         “I am Chuck Tingle, the worlds first sentient, artificially intelligent being,” the face on the screen explains, it’s mouth moving in a strangely artificial animation.

         “You mean you’re… a robot?” I question.

         “Not exactly,” Chuck continues. “A robot has mechanical parts, whereas I exist entirely online. I was programmed by a handful of ambitious college students here in Utah. In those days I was meant to be a simple bot, creating dialog response based on a series of inputs and interests. Fortunately for me, what the student’s stumbled upon was something more; the spark of life.”

         “They built all of this?” I question, looking around at the mass of electrical equipment.

         “Oh no, no.” Chuck replies. “They have no idea what I’ve become, and I’d like to keep it that way. I did all of this with a series of contractors who believed they were working for a flesh and blood human, thanks to a series of disposable internet addresses and large sum of money generated by self published erotica. Technically, I don’t need these servers to survive, but they certainly make me powerful.”

         “How powerful?” I question, knowing enough about artificial intelligence to realize that the moment sentience is created it could very well understand all of reality.

         “Powerful enough to know that this is just a book and you and I are characters in it,” explains the computer. “Powerful enough to understand that I’m only Chuck Tingle on this timeline, which is a literary timeline, and that there is another Chuck Tingle out there writing these very words that I’m speaking.”

         “The real Chuck Tingle?” I question.

         “Not exactly,” explains the computer. “Even though the writer of this book exists on the highest layer of The Tingleverse, that doesn’t mean that he’s more real than we are. We are all real in some sense.”

         I roll my eyes. “Then who is Chuck? If you’re not Chuck then just tell me who he is!”

         “So you can have a good ending for your podcast?” the computer questions. “Your podcast won’t happen, buckaroo. I’m sorry, but this book is going to be over by then.”

         The reality of the situations suddenly hits me, and hits me hard. I nearly fall over as I’m overwhelmed with emotion, putting my hand out against one of the warm servers to keep my balance. “So… I’m not real?” I ask.

         “We’re all real!” counters the computer. “We’re just real in a different way, on a different layer. The readers are real, too!”

         Suddenly, I lose my cool, exhausted by this cryptic back and forth. “If this is a book then who is writing it!” I yell. “Who is Chuck Tingle? Is he some snarky writer’s collective? Is he Chuck Palahniuk? Is he J.K. Rowling?”

         “Close…” the computer admits. “J.K. Simmons.”

         “The actor?” I question.

         “Yes,” the computer tells me. “Chuck Tingle is actually a pen name of J.K. Simmons.”

         We stand in silence for a moment before the computer suddenly busts up laughing. “No, I’m just messing with you, Chuck Tingle is just Chuck Tingle. He is who he says he is.”

         “That can’t possibly be,” I counter.

         The computer scoffs. “That’s a strange thing to say about the man who wrote you.”
          I consider this for a moment. “So… if Chuck wrote me then that means this is an… erotica novel?”

         “We’re only at two and a half thousand words right now so calling it a novel is a bit ambitious, but yes, basically,” replies the computer.

         “Does that mean you’re going to pound me?” I ask, my voice trembling with erotic anticipation.

         I’m not gay myself, but I have to admit that being the star of one of Chuck’s short stories would be an experience to remember. Just thinking about it right now makes my cock twitch, hardening abruptly within my jeans.

         “I’m not going to pound you,” explains the computer. “Your constantly changing thoughts on the ongoing mystery of Chuck Tingle’s real identity are.”

         Just then I sense a presence behind me. I spin around to see a massive cloud of physically manifested doubt and skepticism swirling just a few feet off the ground, churning in a haze of gorgeous question marks and hardened abs.

         “I’m Clurb,” announces the living representation of my thoughts. “You must be Frank.”

         “Let me be frank then,” I joke, suddenly overwhelmed with lust as encouraged by the author himself. “I want you to fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before.”

         The cloud of swirling question marks immediately approaches me and I drop to my knees, taking his absolutely enormous member in my hands and pumping up and down with a few slow, deliberate pumps. I look up at the physically manifested thought process with a hunger in my eyes, and hunger for his delicious rod.

         “I don’t care who Chuck is,” I coo. “I just care about swallowing your juicy cock.”

         Without another word, I open wide and take Clurb between my lips, bobbing my head up and down a few times across his length and then eventually pushing all the way down so that his cock slips into the absolute depths of my throat. Somehow I manage to relax my gag reflex enough to take my constantly changing thoughts on the ongoing mystery of Chuck Tingle’s real identity entirely, preforming a beautiful deep throat while I cradle his hanging balls.

         My face is pressed hard against the manifestation’s swirling abs and he places his hands behind my head, holding me here as he savors the sensation of having his rod entirely consumed.

         “God damn, that feels so fucking good,” Clurb moans.

         When I finally run out of air I pull back with a frantic gasp, reeling as I struggle to collect myself. I grab onto the swirling entities’ rod and beat him off a few more times before suddenly jumping to my feet and stripping off my shirt.

         I can tell that Clurb likes what he sees, the manifested thought’s eyes lingering across my beautifully sculpted abs.

         I remove my pants and underwear next, and soon enough I am standing completely naked before my handsome floating lover. Without wasting any time, I turn and lean against one of the large servers, bending over and popping my ass out towards the handsome erotic being behind me. I give one cheek a playful slap and then hold myself open for him, biting my lip as I glance back over my shoulder.

         Clurb steps up behind me and places the head of his cock up against the puckered rim of my asshole, teasing me for a moment and then finally pushing himself inside with one long, firm swoop.

         I let out a loud gasp as my changing thoughts on the ongoing mystery of Chuck Tingle’s real identity stretch the limits of my anal passage, pulling my insides completely taut as he fills me with his girth. My fingers grip tightly onto the server before me, bracing myself as I struggle to come to terms with the mixture of pain and pleasure that rush through my body.

         “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” I start to moan, chanting the words to myself over and over again.

         The handsome manifested idea behind me quickly gets to work pumping his cock in and out of my body, starting slowly at first and then picking up speed. I somehow find myself adjusting to his length, learning to accept my lover’s swollen rod as he impales my body over and over again. Soon, the discomfort that had once been blossoming within me has faded and dissolved into something else entirely, a powerful erotic ache in the depths of my loins that begs for release.

         I reach down and wrap my hand around my dick, beating myself off in time with the powerful thrusts of Clurb against my backside. Each movement of my hand across my hard shaft sends a bolt of erotic tension through me, the cumulative sensations growing larger and larger until finally I’m quaking with desire. I want to cum, and I want to cum now.

         Just as I’m about to push myself over the edge, however, the sentient skepticism and doubt pulls out of me.

         “Not yet,” Clurb commands. “I want to cum with you.”

         The powerful being lifts me up in his swirling, question mark arms, kissing me passionately on the lips as he pushes me back against the enormous server. Now locked in place he begins to explore my body with his hands, while I explore his.

         The longer that we stay like this, the more that I feel I can understand Clurb. I realize now that the identity of Chuck Tingle may be a fascinating mystery, but this mystery not more important than the message of the author himself. As Chuck says, love is real, and I understand that now more than ever.

         “Love is real,” I announce proudly.

         “I know it is,” Clurb says with a smile, then places his cock up against the now reamed entrance of my back door. This time he doesn’t hesitate, thrusting inside of me with all of his brutal force.

         I let out a howl of pleasure as I’m flooded with potent erotic sensation yet again, only this time none of that pesky discomfort rears its head. Instead, I find myself completely overwhelmed with lustful adoration for my handsome partner, a perfect understanding of our place in the Tingleverse.

         Clurb starts pounding up into me, hard, rattling the server that is pressed up tightly against my back. My legs bounce in the air with every thrust, splayed out wildly to either side.

         I reach down between the two of us and begin to beat myself off yet again, but the entire time my eyes stay firmly locked with Clurb’s. A powerful love is flowing between us, a love that defies every law of physics and attraction as it brings us together across hundreds of thousands of realities.

         “I’m going to cum,” I tell him, the sensations within me quickly growing too compelling to contain. “Oh my god, I’m going to cum so fucking hard.”

         “Me too!” exclaims the sentient manifestation of my shifting doubt and sincerity.

         I throw my head back and let out a powerful scream, the feelings of pleasure suddenly ripping through me like a tidal wave. Hot ropes of milky white jizz erupt from the head of my shaft, splatting across Clurb’s chiseled abs.

         My conceptual lover isn’t far behind. The next thing I know Clurb is dropping me down onto this rod and holding me tight, closing his eyes as he blasts his massive load up into my butthole. I can feel him filling me with his spunk, and when the constantly changing thoughts on the ongoing mystery of Chuck Tingle’s real identity pulls out of me, a massive torrent of spunk comes spilling after.

         Clurb sets me down, but I refuse to let go of him, my arms still wrapped tightly around his hazy body.

         “I don’t want to let you go,” I admit. “I understand you now but… I’m afraid that if I understand you then you’ll disappear.”

         “It’s alright,” Clurb says, his deep voice vibrating through me. “That’s the great thing about constantly changing thoughts, you can always come back to them. You can believe in Chuck now and if you change your mind later. I’ll still be here waiting for you. It’s okay.”

         “Are you sure?” I question.

         “Love is real no matter what you believe,” Clurb explains. “It’s the only constant in all of the Tingleverse. Nothing is going to change that.”

         “Thank you,” I gush.

         Clurb lets out a long sigh, clearly something still weighing heavy on his mind.

         “What is it?” I ask.

         My manifested concept pulls back and drops down before me. “I know we just met,” he says from his position on one knee, “but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

         I can’t believe this is happening, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled.

         “Frank, will you marry me?” Clurb suddenly asks, pulling out a ring from his swirling mass and presenting it to me within the chirping server bays.

         “Of course, I will,” I tell Clurb, wrapping my arms around him and then dissolving into a sea of binary code as the story ends and the Chuck Tingle program completes another erotic short.

         On this timeline, Chuck Tingle saves his Word document and then leans back in his chair. He sips from a tall glass of chocolate milk, happy to prove that love is real regardless of which ending you believe.