Turned Gay By The Existential Dread That I May Actually Be A Character In A Chuck Tingle Book - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

aw heck do i love the spooky season it is probably my favorite time of year. as buckaroos know i am a horror fan and the fact there is a whole month dedicated to a single GENRE is kind of amazing to me. it is not like may is SCIENCE FICTION MONTH or dang march is HISTORICAL FICTION MONTH. only thing that comes close is ROMANCE around valentines day which is pretty dang neat but hardly has the kind of turn out you see for halloween, i mean buckaroos get their halloween going all october long.

as i have talked about before i like to get up and go on my morning trots up the hill or around the neighborhood. these days i wake up and do this EVERY DAY at six AM bright and early before the sun comes up and during this time i get to see the neighborhood SCARESHOWS. neighbors have all kinds of skeletons and ghouls hung up there is even a pumpkin man that talks to me when i trot by and i will say it still makes me jump every time.

but none of these scary ways really SPOOK me deeply. i am not actually afraid of ghouls and vampires i just find them handsome and kind. what spooks me is EXISTENTIAL DREAD and questions of existence. BIG PICTURE STUFF like the endless cosmic void

so for this spooky season i thought i would post a story about that VERY SUBJECT. this is one of my favorite tinglers and also a buckaroo fan favorite. i hope it can give you both a REAL SCARE and some REAL JOY to go along with it.

please enjoy TURNED GAY BY THE EXISTENTIAL DREAD THAT I MAY ACTUALLY BE A CHARACTER IN A CHUCK TINGLE BOOK

Brad and his wife, Carrie, are all set for a beautiful San Diego vacation, free from the oppressive anxiety of the modern workweek. Things take a turn for the strange, however, when Brad reads the latest Chuck Tingle book and slowly begins to doubt the universe around him.

Were they always staying at the Butt Point Suites? Or was the original name of their hotel Sandy Point? Is the man at the front desk unrealistically handsome? And what are the odds of them ending up in room sixty-nine?

As things begin to unravel, Brad is force to face his deep existential dread in this erotic philological thriller, culminated in a hardcore hot tub encounter with his personified cosmic anxiety.

This erotic tale is 4,800 words of sizzling human on gay personified emotion action, including anal, blowjobs, rough sex, and existential dread love.

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TURNED GAY BY THE EXISTENTIAL DREAD THAT I MAY ACTUALLY BE A CHARACTER IN A CHUCK TINGLE BOOK

By Chuck Tingle

Learning is great and, at the end of the day, the pursuit of knowledge is something that makes us all human. In a grand, cosmic sense, our own sentience and desire to learn is the most beautiful creation of the known universe.

What are the chances that all of this space dust floating around and exploding at random could eventually, given a billion or so years to sit around, become full of thought and life. That these rocks and meteors could one day become something out of nothing, single cells organisms that evolved into tiny micros and then early fish, lizards, birds, mammals and so on. Now we have the means to pursue knowledge, taking evolution into our own hands for the first time in the history of life on Earth.

As a fan of erotic author Chuck Tingle, I suppose this is why I’ve never found his stories to be as ridiculous as my friends did.

Who is to say that the universe couldn’t have ended up full of gay butts? So what if the airplane can talk?

Long, long ago, there was a moment when a tiny spec of nothingness became something, where life blossomed in a place that it had never been before. I’m not going to comment on why this happened, but we all know that at some point it did. This begin said, is it really so crazy to think it could happen to an entire plane?

Again, that’s the great thing about learning. This is a wild philosophy that I’ve created on my own and shared with my friends, who can take it or leave it. If they take it, then my knowledge on the subject of evolution and astrophysics has been contagious, and I can’t think of anything more beautiful than that.

But now we’ve come to the heart of the matter, the terrible, hidden tragedy of knowledge that few people even consider until it’s too late. There are some things you just can’t unlearn. This lesson comes to me in the form of short story by one of my favorite writers, Chuck Tingle.

As I said before, I’m a huge fan of Chuck’s work, although I am dubious about the idea that he is a real man out there in Billings, pounding away at the typewriter to create a seemingly endless supply of gay erotica. I’m not gay, myself, but I read it for the laughs, and it’s sometimes hard for me to believe that anyone could truly get off to Chuck’s typical sexual staples; chiefly dinosaurs, unicorns and bigfeet.

Then again, there are thirteen billion people out there in the world. If you can think of it, then there’s bound to be someone turned on by it.

My fandom of Chuck was all well and good until one day everything changed, because one day the words of this brilliant Montana man taught me a lesson that I just wasn’t ready for.

I’ve just left town with my wife, Carrie, for a short weekend trip down the coast to San Diego. We both work in online marketing and our eyes and brains are fried from the constant glow of laptop screens. This weekend is supposed to be a break from all that, a chance to recharge by the beach just a few hours south of Los Angeles, and so far so good. I’m not even checking my phone as I relax in the passenger seat, staring out the window while the traffic slowly dissipates into brilliant swaths of lush palms on either side of the freeway.

I take in a long breath and then let it out slowly, hoping all of my anxieties from the workweek will drift away with it.

“Where are we staying again?” my wife asks. “Sandy Point Suites?”

“I think so,” I tell her, “you want me to start mapping it?”

“We’re getting close,” Carrie says with a nod. “Go for it.”

I pull out my phone and open my E-mail, checking to make sure that I’ve got the name of our destination correct. I do, but I also can’t help noticing another unopened message that sits patiently waiting for my attention.

‘Have you seen the new book from Chuck Tingle?’ the title reads. It’s from a friend back at work.

“What’s that?” Carries questions, glancing over. “New Chuck book?”

I nod. “Keep your eyes on the road,” I tell her, only half joking.

Both of us are huge fans of the author, and often find ourselves doubling over with laughter at the erotic audacity of his titles alone. We trade pictures of his covers back and forth at work, trying to out do each other with every progressive gay literary masterpiece.

“Well, read it!” Carrie offers.

“The message, or the book?” I question.

“The book,” my wife continues, “we’ve got another hour or so before we get to the hotel, I bet you can power through it. Then you can tell me what happens!”

I laugh. “I thought this was going to be a technology free week!”

“Well, I’m curious now, Brad” my wife explains.

I consider this a moment, then eventually pull out my phone and open the E-mail. Just as I thought, it’s a link to Chuck’s latest work of brilliance, which I promptly download and dive right into.

Of course, an hour might not seem like long enough to devour an entire novel, but Chuck’s work is short and sweet, right to the explicit point.

This novel is titled Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Book ‘Pounded In The Butt By My Book “Pounded In The Butt By My Own Butt”’” and it is essentially a Russian nesting doll of gay anal pounding. The story is about a knight and a wizard battling it out with one another, commanding armies of hunky Chuck Tingle characters, but it quickly turns quite meta when the author himself is written into the story. This is Chuck Tingle at his best, and I’m thoroughly enjoying the read until I get to a part about the true depths of the Tingleverse.

All of Chuck’s books take place in a realm called the Tingleverse which, as far as I can tell, is a tight collection of very gay parallel universes. As the book describes, each layer is more erotic and absurd than the next, and while some characters are aware they exist within this strange, infinite existence, many of them do not.

The book ends with the revelation that the world of the reader is also part of the Tingleverse, the outer shell of an onion that appears to be endlessly deep and achingly gay.

I find the book to be thoroughly enjoyable until I reach the ending, at which point I can’t help feel a sharp chill run down my spine. I realize now that I’ve stopped chuckling to myself, instead deeply focused on the terrifying words of the page before me.

“What’s wrong?” Carrie asks, breaking my concentration.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, collecting my senses. I glance at the car’s clock and suddenly realize that an hour has passed in what seemed like and instant. Not only that, but we’re parked in front of our hotel, completely motionless.

I hadn’t even noticed.

“How was the book?” Carrie continues to prod.

I shake my head. “The ending was kind of weird, he says that we’re all part of the Tingleverse, like… me and you.”

My wife laughs. “That’s funny.”

“No,” I protest, then readjust, “I mean, yeah, I guess. Something about it just feels kind of weird. Like, what if Chuck’s telling the truth, what if we really are just characters in a Tingler?”

Carrie glances around. “I don’t see any dinosaurs or unicorns,” she scoffs.

I let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Suddenly, someone appears next to my passenger side window, causing me to jump in shock when I notice him. The man leans down and smiles, then opens the door up for me. He’s the valet.

“Oh my god, you scared me,” I admit to the man as I climb out of the car.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the valet offers with a nod. He walks around the vehicle and opens the door for my wife, as well, who then hands off her keys and grabs her bag from the backseat.

I gaze up at the massive, beachfront hotel before us, marveling over its architectural beauty. Regardless of my strange moment in existential crisis, I know this is going to be a fantastic weekend of rest and relaxation under the warm California sun. I just need to chill the hell out.

As my gaze drifts down across the entrance of the hotel, however, I suddenly freeze, my breath catching in my throat. At first I think that my eyes must be playing tricks on me, but as my mind struggles to wrap itself around the meaning of these unusual letters, I am eventually forced to accept the reality of this bizarre situation.

“Is that the name of the hotel?” I stammer, barely able to find the words. I feel sick to my stomach, a wave of nausea washing over me.

“Butt Point Suites?” my wife asks, walking up behind me.

I’m utterly dumbfounded. “I thought it was the Sandy Point Suites,” I protest.

“I mean, why would they call it Sandy Point Suites if it’s on Butt Point?” Carrie questions.

I finally tear my eyes away from the giant letters that taunt me from above the lobby doorway and look to my wife. “You’re not fucking with me?”

“How would I be fucking with you?” Carries asks.

“So that I think we’re part of the Tingleverse?” I explain.

My wife cracks a huge smile. “What, you’re afraid that everything is going to turn into one giant butt?”

I suddenly realize how silly all of this is and let out a long sigh. Butt Point isn’t that strange of a name after all, and the idea that my entire existence could be nothing more than the erotic musings of a Billings madman is more than a little absurd.

“You’re right,” I finally say. I put my arm around Carrie’s waist and pull her close, taking in the fresh, sea air for a moment before heading inside.

The two of us walk up to the counter where a rather handsome man waits, smiling and nodding as we approach.

“Welcome,” the man says, “checking in?”

“Yes,” I tell him, then remove my credit card and hand it over.

The man takes the card and then begins to type rapidly into a computer before him, a cascade of potential reservations flying across his screen.

Me and my wife have no problem waiting patiently as this handsome guy goes about his business, but the longer that we stand here in silence the more I can’t help noticing just how handsome he actually is. It’s not all that unusual to see abnormally fit men around these beach communities, tanned and toned and ready for Summer, but something about this guy seems just the slightest bit off. His attractiveness is, somehow, unnatural.

I glance over at my wife to see if she notices, but she’s checking out the lobby decor at the moment, completely oblivious to my homoerotic crisis.

I look back up at the man checking us in, his high cheekbones and incredible, chiseled jawline. There is sweat forming on my brow and my hands are trembling, despite my most valiant efforts to stay calm in the face of such a powerfully disturbing situation.

What if the book was telling the truth? What if I’m just a Chuck Tingle character?

I take a deep breath and remind myself that the Tingleverse isn’t real. If it was, would I really be married to my beautiful wife? Wouldn’t there be hung dinosaurs and talking planes everywhere?

“Alright, you’re all checked in,” announces the man suddenly. He hands my credit card back, along with two room keys. “You’re on the top floor, room sixty-nine.”

I just stare at him blankly. “Seriously?”

The man glances down at his computer, double-checking with a vague hint of confusion on his face. “Yep, room sixty-nine, the Butt King Suite.”

My knees almost buckle right then and there, but I somehow manage to stay upright. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

I can feel Carrie’s hand on my shoulder, a concerned touch as she tries her best to calm me down. I didn’t realize how loud my voice had gotten, but instead of lowering it I push ahead.

“It’s not funny,” I yell, pointing at the man before me who stands in utter silence, shocked by my aggression.

“I’m so sorry,” my wife interjects. “It was a long drive.”

“No!” I protest. “You really want me to believe that we’re staying in a room called the Butt King Suite?”

“Well, this is the Butt Point Suites,” Carrie interjects.

“And it’s room six-nine?” I cry.

“It’s gotta have a number, why not that one?” my wife replies.

I glance over and notice that one of the hotel security officers is standing in the lobby doorway, his hand on a canister of pepper spray that hangs at his belt. This has gone too far, I tell myself.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, “I just read this book and I’m a little shaken up.”

The man checking me in nods to security, calling them off. “It’s fine, I understand,” he tells me generously.

“It’s just, everything seems so gay,” I admit.

Suddenly, a whole team of handsome young football players burst into the lobby, shouting and cheering as they slap each other on the ass with playful enthusiasm. They are all shirtless, with boyish smiles and an intoxicating, vibrant charm.

The next thing I know I’m sitting up in bed, gasping loudly as my eyes fly open to reveal the posh hotel room surrounding me. It takes a moment to gather my bearings, but I eventually realize that this must be the King Butt Suite.

Carrie, who had been standing by the window and staring out across the endless black ocean, runs over to me. It’s evening now.

“You’re awake,” my wife gushes.

I turn my head to look at her and wince as a bolt of pain shoots through me. “God damn,” I groan.

“Don’t move baby!” my wife instructs. She reaches back behind me and fluffs the pillow, then carefully helps to guide me back down. “You hit your head pretty hard, I thought I was going to have to move you to the hospital soon.”

“I hit my head?” I question. “How?”

“I don’t know!” Carrie admits. “We were just standing in the lobby and suddenly you started to yell about our room, and then this college football team pulled in and the next thing I knew you were on the ground. You fainted.”

I can remember all of this, except for the fainting part, but something about these memories seems like a surreal dream. It’s hard for me to reckon with just how erotic everything had seemed.

“We’re not in a Chuck Tingle book, are we?” I ask my wife.

She laughs. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”

I close my eyes and let the relieved smile creep out across my lips. I can’t believe how ridiculous I’ve been acting, how one little book could so insidiously creep into the depths of my subconscious.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I hope I didn’t ruin our vacation.”

“Just get some rest,” Carrie instructs me. “I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

I listen as my wife walks about the room, closing the curtains and shutting things down for the night. Eventually, I can feel the covers and sheets pull back, and the body of my lover slide into bed next to me.

She cuddles up close and for a brief moment everything is fine, but the longer that I lie here next to her, the more my anxiety slowly begins to creep back.

Carrie falls asleep quickly, but I’m not quite so lucky. Soon, the minutes turn to hours, a cascade of ever expanding time that I simply cannot escape from. I feel like I’ve been here forever, trying to will myself to sleep and growing more and more frustrated with every half hearted attempt.

There are only so many sheep that a guy can count.

Fortunately, one thing that all of this rest has taken care of is the pounding ache on the back of my head.

“Are you awake?” I ask my wife, softly, already knowing that she’s passed out and unable to respond. My attempts at a little company are futile.

Carefully, I pull away from Carrie and climb out of bed, deciding that the only way I’m going to get any shuteye, at this point, is if I’m completely relaxed. I now remember that the hotel has a hot tub, and if it’s not already closed down for the night then it could serve as the perfect means to chill me out.

Once I maneuver myself out of bed, I pull on my swimming trunks then slowly, quietly, sneak out of our room and into the cool night air.

The entire hotel grounds are lit up beautifully, string lights cascading from palm tree to palm tree throughout the main courtyard, which sits open to the beach on one side. From here I can see the illumination glittering off of the water, dancing in the waves as they pull away from shore in a never ending exodus.

This is nice. This is really, really nice.

I walk along the open hallway and eventually find some stairs, which take me down to the level of the courtyard. It’s surprisingly empty, not another soul in sight, but I suppose there’s no reason to be out this late when you’re just here to soak up the sun.

Still, I can faintly catch the hot tub bubbling and frothing from where I stand. I follow the noise across the lush landscaping and eventually round a corner to find the Jacuzzi, lit from within by an eerie blue glow.

“Hey there,” comes a deep, soulful voice.

I stop, squinting through the darkness at the lone figure who sits peacefully in the bubbling cauldron.

“Hey,” I offer, “mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” the man says.

I take a few steps closer and then, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I freeze. The figure relaxing in the tub before me is not a man at all, but a swirling ethereal manifestation of my suffocating existential dread.

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 up on the seat in front of him and turn around, looking back over my shoulder coyly as I pull down my swimming trunks. The oppressive dread’s eyes are locked onto my muscular ass, and I can tell that he likes what he sees.

“You want to pound me?” I ask, bending over a bit and then reaching back with both hands to spread my cheeks wide. “You want to plow this tight gay asshole?”

My sentient cosmic fear nods enthusiastically.

“Good,” I tell him, and then slowly lower myself down onto his erect shaft.

It takes a moment to align the head of his dick with my puckered back door, his rod teasing the entrance before I push down onto him and let out a powerful moan. I can feel the tightness of my butthole expand around him, stretched out as far as it can possibly go while he impales my body.

My dread begins to lift me up and down across his rod with his massive, muscular arms, fucking me in a graceful chain of firm swoops. He is deeper within my anus than I ever knew was possible, our bodies now completely connected like pieces of a beautiful butt puzzle.

“Harder” I demand, reaching down and grabbing ahold of my own rock hard shaft. I begin to pump along with the movements of the living emotion below me.

My existential dread speeds up, pounding me harder and harder with every thrust until eventually he is utterly throttling me like a feverish anal jackhammer. My hand continues to pulse along with him, immediately causing the first sensual hints of orgasm to begin working their way through my body.

“Harder! Harder!” I continue, screaming now. Now that I’ve learned I’m simply a character in a Chuck Tingle novel, I don’t care who hears me. “Pound me with the weight of your oppressive, existential cock!”

“You’re existence is both meaningless and powerfully important!” yells my cosmic dread.

Suddenly, I find myself cascading over the edge of a mighty orgasm, my entire body surging with pleasure as a hot load is expelled from the head of my cock. It blasts out into the bubbling waters of the hot tub, then is swept away like the currents of time as they cascade and tumble through the universe. I realize now that my existence is just like the cum in this hot tub, fleeting but beautiful, a firework in the darkness after several billion years of nothing but lifeless space dust.

Suddenly, I am content, completely at one with myself and the world around me. I pull the cock from my asshole and spin around, kneeling down before the handsome sentient feeling as he towers above me.

My existential dread beats off with a furious intensity, throwing his head back and roaring loudly into the sky. “Every moment since the beginning of time had lead us here!” he screams.

My oppressive astral dread unleashes an absolutely massive load of hot, pearly jizz across my face, splattering over me in a pattern reminiscent of the stars in our tiny, insignificant galaxy as it drifts farther and father apart. I stick out my tongue and catch as much of it as I can, swallow hungrily, and then finish with a smile as my dread’s final ejection comes tumbling down.

“That was amazing,” I tell him, my face completely covered in warm spunk. “I feel like I’ve finally come to terms with you.”

“That’s good to hear,” my oppressive dread tells me, “but unfortunately this is where our story ends.”
 “I know,” I tell him with a smile. “I know.” I climb up out of the water and wrap my arms tightly around the muscular sentient emotion, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry that it has to be like this,” my dread tells me.

“At least we’ll end together,” I inform him, “and besides, if I’ve learned anything from the last Chuck Tingle book I read, we’ll probably be back soon enough as other people.”

“Or things,” the living emotion interjects.

“Or dinosaurs,” I offer.

“That sounds really nice,” my dread tells me, no longer quite as dreadful as I once thought.

“Are you ready?” I ask him.

My sentient emotion nods.

I come to terms with my existence and the story ends, for now.