celebrity, ass worship, ass kissing, facesitting, ass licking, buttsniffing, face-farting, analingus, scatology.
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WKRP in Cincinnati was popular on television because of its comedy and also because of Loni Anderson, its voluptuous blond star. What many people don’t know is that the series was created from an actual radio station, a station where I served as a work-study schoolboy intern a couple of years before WKRP aired.
Our staff was much like the tv show. In fact, Loni Anderson was so much like our Loni that I never knew if they might be the same person. I only saw the television show after our family moved to a small rural town with terrible reception.
I had become fascinated with radio technology and its faceless anatomy which seemed perfect for my shy nature and skinny, awkward appearance. Radio seemed to like the great equalizer.
When WKRP had an opening for a school-aged intern, I was called for an interview by Andy Travis and twenty minutes later I was welcomed aboard WKRP in Cincinnati (not our real call letters). Everything seemed perfect! Everything, that is except for the temptation of Loni’s round ass.
She was five-foot six, early 20’s, self-assured, gorgeous, and her conical knockers had every man’s attention, that is, except me. I hardly notice girls boobs. Even before I could tie my shoes I was an ass freak (though not anal sex). And, Loni’s rear-end was divine and otherworldly! It hypnotized and magnetized and otherwise stupified.
I wanted so much to kneel behind her and praise her glorious glutious and fondle and kiss those round butt cheeks. That’s all I wanted! I didn’t want sex or a blowjob or anal intercourse. Just kneel and praise and kiss her goddess ass that was a visual Disneyland of images that I would have put into our family album had I the gumption.
But–come on–who was I kidding? I was a skinny schoolboy and she was the ultimate fantasy. I would never kiss her ass! If ever I dared talk to her she would laugh and I would whimper away in utter humiliation! The only way girls like her noticed yard-turds like me was with the scoff of their upturned noses.
It was almost noon on a Thursday when things changed. Loni commanded that I come to her desk before telling me to follow her. She began walking toward the “Girl’s Lobby” and while she walked–yes, you know–my eyes were on that amazing butt–that amazing, rolling, billowing butt, so inspiring that my head created new lyrics to that nationalistic anthem, “America”:
Oh beautiful, ‘bove spacious thighs,
Like amber waves of grain,
Those rolling mounds of majesty,
I kneel ‘n’ to you I praise.
Oh Loni-lass I’ll kiss your ass,
I’ll press my lips to you,
And crown your cheeks,
(With) raving speech,
[big finish here – retardendo – crescendo!)
From cheek to di-vine cheeeeeeeek.
So yes, I stared at Loni’s butt. It seemed like slow motion how each cheek danced alone yet both cheeks danced together.
We entered the lobby and she said, “Relax Alexander (I dislike my first name, Byron). After some small talk, she stood and walked to the counter. She returned with a soda.
“See? Just like that!”
“Wh . . . What?” I stammered.
“Every time I walk you stare at my ass, don’t you Alexander? It’s okay. Men stare at my boobs all day long. You don’t see me getting mad at them, do you? So why wouldn’t it be okay for you to look at my ass? In fact, maybe you would like to look at it right now?”
If I was too young to have a heart attack, then why were my insides quaking?
She stood. “Do you want to look at my ass, Alexander?”
“YES!” my mouth blurted. “I mean, yes.”
“No! With words. Tell me with words.”
Should I? What if it was a trick. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was the opportunity of a lifetime, like radio. No–better than radio. In fact, to hell with radio!
“I . . . I want to look at your butt.” I said it! To Loni! The butt-goddess.
“Oooooo, well since you want it, then kneel!” Slowly, she began turning her body. My insides melted. Her butt . . . it was . . . turning . . . toward me. It was full and round and perfect. And when she had turned her back to me fully, it was just three feet front from my face! THREE FEET! I wanted to dive forward and kiss and knead her buttocks. I wanted to speak words of love and devotion to them. I wanted to . . .
“Do you like what you see?”
“Y . . .Yes . . .,” I babbled. “Your butt is . . . is . . . amazing. Heavenly. Divine. Like not even from this planet!”
She cooed. “Well, I do like hearing those things.” She sat down. “Alexander, a million men will worship my boobies, my feet, my pussy, and yada-yada-yada. A million men. But, I don’t have anyone to worship my ass. But you–you will worship my ass, won’t you, Alexander? Won’t you?”
Lust made my head nod.
She laughed. “Alexander, isn’t it good to admit it? Isn’t it good to know that’s where you belong? What if I gave you ten minutes to worship my ass? Wouldn’t you be grateful, Alexander?”
She stood. “Now, I will turn and you WILL kiss my ass, won’t you? Here . . . ” she said pointing to the outer flanks of her skirt-clad buttcheeks. “You will NOT kiss toward the center. “Kiss Alexander! Kiss right here. KISS . . . MY . . . ASS!!!”
Her words drew my head forward and I kissed. I kissed Loni’s ass! Again my lips pressed and her butt flesh depressed and I meshed my lips into the fine knit fabric and I reverently kissed and kissed.
After several minutes, she pointed to her right buttcheek and I kissed for what seemed like ten minutes before she pushed me away.
“Alexander, do you like kissing my ass?”
“Yes” I blurted. “Yes!”
“MMMMmmm, I like that. But, enough for today.”
What? She couldn’t just end it! But she did. She returned to the office and behaved as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t think straight yet there she was laughing with others as if the day was routine.
Two days later, she pulled me aside. “Stop what you’re doing. Follow me.”
Elation filled me. Would I again be kissing her ass? My face followed her rolling derriere and in minutes, I was kissing and kissing and loving every second. I felt honored. I was the one kissing Loni Anderson’s ass. Other guys might date her or even fuck her but I was the one she had chosen to kiss her ass!
She smiled. “Alexander, do you understand that there is no reason for you to be with me unless it is to worship my ass? I mean, your face and my ass are the closest we can get to a match but still, your face is unworthy. You do understand those things, don’t you?”
I assured her I did.
“It will be a little different this time.”
“Different?”
She tugged her thin autumn-colored skirt upward until her bulbous bottom appeared and I saw her thin, white, bikini panties and the bare butt flesh they could not contain. She pointed to that flesh and said, “Kiss Alexander. Kiss my butt cheeks wherever the panties don’t cover. KISS MY ASS!”
My lips were instant in melding to her left buttcheek and I could feel the heat of her body while my lips felt the coolness of her butt flesh. I kissed and kissed on both sides and when our time expired, she briskly pushed my head back, spread her skirt down. But she didn’t move. She stood with those magnificent mounds before me.
“Praise my ass, Alexander. Speak to it!”
I leaned close and told her ass that it was the most beautiful in the entire world and none could compare and I wanted to worship it day and night and–
“That is enough!” she commanded and she left the lobby.
The next few times were similar until a Wednesday afternoon when I received a small envelope. My body convulsed as I read her note within:
“My place. 7pm tomorrow. 3360 Sherman Place, #317. Don’t fucking be late!”
I had no idea what to expect nor how to dress. I waited an hour outside of her building. I wondered. I trembled. Dammmmmmmmit, she was taking over my existence. But, I couldn’t help myself. I doubted anyone could.
I rang her doorbell seven minutes early. She liked my promptness and equated it to worship. She was wearing a light blue nightie with white lace. Only with particular movements could I see her light blue and very thin panties. She offered a soda. I declined. She said the night was important and I wondered why. She said my worship would be tested. She stood. She turned. She pulled up her nightie. She pointed to the bare flesh at the sides of her thin panties and said, “Kiss! Kiss Alexander!”
I kissed and kissed and kissed some more, until she pulled away.
“I told you that tonight is a test. It’s important that you pass.”
She led me to her bedroom. Bedroom! Loni’s bedroom! I was the loser-of-all-losers yet I — me — ALEXANDER! — I was in Loni Anderson’s bedroom! The men at the station fantasized about such things, but I was there! She sat on a cushioned footstool and told me to kneel and her eyes went side-to-side to study my face.
“Alexander, this will be different. This is about . . . well, something more.”
I didn’t understand.
“It’s about . . . It’s about smell. Alexander, you must smell me. You must smell my ass. And, you must tell me you love it even if you hate it. Do you understand?”
“Wh . . . .”
“Smell, Alexander. It’s about smell. You can’t worship my ass if you don’t love the smell or at least tell me that you do.”
Smell . . . Smell her ass? What?
“I don’t mean just one little sniff. I mean, S-M-E-L-L me. Will you?”
She described the details of how it would be done, the position, the placement of my nose, the manner of sniffing. She got on the bed and she dropped to her elbows and knees. With her back slightly arched, and her ass spread, the darkness of her cavern could be seen through her light blue gossamer panties. Her index finger pointed directly to the center of her pantied bottom and she said, “Sniff Alexander! Smell me! Put your nose right in that ‘pocket’ and sniff my butt! Do it. Do it! Sniff my butt!”
I couldn’t believe it, but I pushed my face forward and I watched the image of her rear-end enlarge as my face neared. I brought my nose to the crux of her spread ass and I pushed into that open pocket. I didn’t push in far, just slightly into that pocket of tented air and I . . . I sniffed. I sniffed her butt.
The very thought was so nasty. Smelling someone’s ass? It was so dark and wicked and depraved. It smelled so anal-like yet with some kind of co-mingled sweetness of femininity.
“Smell, Alexander! Smell. Mmmmm” Her voice sounded dreamy.
There was something about it, something I couldn’t explain. It smelled awful, but it was drawing me in. Like being addicted to something offensive yet craving it all-the-more. The stink somehow pulled my nose back in and I sniffed her butt again and again! What the fuck was wrong with me? It was filthy and nasty yet I had to have it. And, something that stimulated me immensely was that I was . . . I was sniffing Loni! I was sniffing Loni Anderson’s butt!
“Well,” Loni said, “you are into it, now aren’t you? Just sniffing up a storm. You love it, don’t you? Tell me! Convince me!”
I couldn’t stop smelling her. “Yes Loni. it . . . (s-n-i-f-f-f-f-f) smells better than anything!”
Maybe other men were all more manly and cool than me, but I was the one who was with her so that made me better. I was experiencing something almost no other man would experience. I was smelling her most private and intimate smell! She had chosen ME to sniff her butt and not others!
Until then, I had thought that kissing her ass was the ultimate, but smelling it was a thousand times greater. I just could not get enough!
The next few times we were together, I kissed her ass and after I begged satisfactorily, she let me sniff her butt and I did so like some rabid, infected animal.
When she hadn’t invited my face to her ass for a few days, desperation got the better of me. At the end of one workday, I waited for everyone to leave and I meandered to Loni’s desk and I knelt beside it and I put my face on her seat and I sniffed. I sniffed her chair. Okay, I know that’s weird, but I HAD to have her butt scent in my nose. Unfortunately, the seat smelled mostly like cloth.
The next time we were together, I pleaded for her to let me smell her ass and she laughed at how far I had fallen. When she offered it to me, I was behind her in a flash and I kissed and I sniffed and my body shook and I moaned as soon as I smelled it. I loved it so much! I was in heaven, inhaling the scent of an angel.
“Alexander . . . ” she started. “Alexander, do you love my ass, because if you love my ass, then you should prove it more than you have.”
I had no idea what she had in mind but it didn’t take long to find out.
Her thumbs hooked into her panties and she yanked them halfway down her thighs and she commanded, “Kiss, Alexander. Kiss . . . inside! Kiss me . . . you-know-where.”
As usual, I was uncertain.
Her index finger pointed and she said, “There, Alexander. Right there! Kiss me. If you love my ass Alexander, then kiss my ass hole! Kiss it!”
Was she serious? Put my mouth . . . “there”? Kiss her . . . “there”?
Bold people cause weaker ones to do their bidding and even though I had NO desire to kiss her ass hole her command ruled me. It seemed like a dream. She nudged the back of my head. My face moved closer. Her anus looked like the bullseye of a target and I knew that despite my utter revulsion, my lips would press to that small nasty ring and they would kiss it. My lips meshed with Loni’s anus and they locked themselves to her heated and most private and intimate place and they kissed and kissed.
I was overwhelmed by the fact that I had kissed that . . . that place . . . that my mouth was locked tightly to the very place where Loni . . . where Loni Anderson . . . well I mean, where she shit! What in the hell had happened to me? It was depraved yet it was true.
Perhaps that is when I realized that Loni and most girls are superior to me and the truth is that, not only is it appropriate for me to kiss their butt holes, but I need to understand the privilege it is to kiss them “there”.
And I realized something else: By the end of that time first time of kissing her ass hole, I was falling in love with it.
She invited me to her place once or twice a week to worship her ass with k sniffing and kissing her ass hole and I was always as eager as I was early. On one of those nights she surprised me when she asked, “So, do you want to have sex with me?”
“Wh . . . What?”
“I asked if you want to have sex with me.”
“I . . . I . . . “
“I’m talking about ‘our’ kind of sex.”
It was apparent that I didn’t understand.
“I’m talking about your tongue having sex with my ass; that kind of sex.”
Stick my tongue up her ass? I would do anything to keep sniffing her butt but, my tongue up her ass?
“Listen, I’m not asking you to fuck me like a real man. All I expect is for you to fuck me like an ass worshiper–with your tongue up my butt. You stick your tongue up my ass; you tongue-fuck my asshole; I masturbate; I orgasm. We both go away happy.”
I was dizzy with confusion. Like I said before, Loni’s butt stupefies.
She continued. “I get a fab orgasm and you get to put your tongue where no man has ever had his tongue — right up my butt! How could someone like you ever want anything more?”
Five minutes later, she was on her elbows and knees and after smelling and kissing her ass hole for ten minutes, my tongue followed her directions. It began slithering up into her entrails and it fucked her for what seemed like 20 minutes while her fingers diddled her clitty and she cried out and shook and dropped to the bed while my tongue popped out of her rectum.
I couldn’t believe I had done that–put my tongue deep up her ass. I could only imagine what my tongue . . . nevermind.
But, I was hooked on her. I just had to make her happy because I craved the smell of her ass so much. I told her that often and one night while my nose was eagerly inhaling her nasty/sweet nether scent, she said, “Well, I do like that. But Alexander, there is something more,” and she introduced me into off-putting task of smelling her farts. Fortunately, they were few and far between but she required that each be smelled and complimented in gratitude because farts were the way her ass “kissed” me.
A month later, she told me to come over. Her apartment was dim, lit by one small kitchen light. She sat across from me at a small table with her face not smiling. For the first (and only) time I could remember, she seemed nervous.
“Alexander, I have learned something. For all that you have done to worship my ass, it isn’t enough.” She rubbed her palms on her bare thighs. “I know people who are into this sort of thing seriously. They are ‘lifers’ with ass worship. They told me that we are at a crossroad here.”
“Crossroad?”
She fidgeted. “Yes, either we do this right or we shouldn’t do it again.They say truly is only one true way to prove that you truly, ultimately worship my ass.”
“One . . . What?”
She leaned across the table until her face was close to mine. “Alexander, if this wasn’t necessary, I wouldn’t talk to you about it, but they say unless we do the ultimate in ass worship, then we might as well have done nothing in ass worship and I think they are right.” She squirmed. “So, there is . . . there is one last thing we must do.”
She sighed and looked away. Then, she looked deep into my eyes in the shadowed room. “Alexander, you must . . . ” She looked away again, then back to me.
“You must . . . this is so hard, but . . . Alexander, you must . . . you must eat my shit.”
It had to be a dream. What the fuck?
“You can talk to them yourself. There are no alternatives. Alexander, to worship me, you . . . you have to do it. You have to. You have to eat my shit.”
My head rumbled like a thousand banging cymbals. “You don’t . . . You don’t . . . Not your . . . Not your . . . actual shit.”
Her face tightened. “Yes Alexander. I actually do mean that. I must shit and you must eat it.”
“That’s . . . That’s . . . “
“Insane? Bizarre? Inhuman? Yes I know. I’ve thought of those things. But real ass worshipers all say the same thing. If you haven’t done it all, then you’ve actually done nothing. The only way you can truly worship a girl’s ass is to go all of the way and that means you must be willing to eat her shit which means you must eat my shit.”
She gave me a few days to consider and decide. I had to have Loni’s ass but how in the hell could I ever eat shit? I had to do it because I had to have her ass but it was insane to even consider something so vile. While mental anguish was my enemy, the clock was my deadliest villain because she expected my answer and she wouldn’t wait much longer.
The problem with addicts is that we can’t help ourselves even to our own detriment and I found myself saying “yes’ to her inhuman demand. She seemed almost as hesitant as me on the phone but when I went to her apartment two days later, her eyes seemed filled with some kind of lust-filled energy and she babbled about things the “real” ass worshipers had told her.
Her smile seemed wide with anticipation and she did her best to reassure and comfort me. “Actually, this will be fun, Alexander. Once you get into it, you will see. Now . . .” she said as her acrylic nail grazed my nose. “Now, I know something that will help you relax.”
She went to her bed, got on all fours, exposed her spread ass with thin panties, and said, “You LOVE sniffing my butt, Alexander. So come . . . come and sniff it. Sniff my butt and the rest will happen as it is suppose to.”
I never could resist smelling her and my face was between her butt cheeks in just a few seconds. I sniffed and breathed in and inhaled and savored and, as usual, I could not get enough. And she was right because it took my mind off of what was to come and I did indeed relax.
Then, the moment of my final demise came. She put a white plate on a wooden chair and after a few sips of wine, she bent over it and I watched Loni Anderson shit! Amazing! She laid out something bigger than, but similar to, a brown banana. It smelled. My head shook. It was nasty; so nasty. It was shit! I could never . . . I would hurl! But, it was Loni! It was Loni Anderson. It was her shit.
“Actually Alexander,” she said as she knelt beside me next to the chair, “I have become quite enamored with this idea of you eating my shit. I know now that it truly is the ultimate and I do believe them when they say you should be thankful that someone like you gets to eat the shit of a girl like me. Don’t you agree?”
She had to be kidding. Yet, I also knew it was true.
“And, you want to keep sniffing my butt, don’t you? Then, don’t you see? The only way that someone so inferior can be with me is for you to worship my ass and the only way you can do that is to also eat my shit. See, it all fits.”
She used a knife to separate an inch of the nasty thing and she brought it before my face with a fork. “Lots of people eat shit, Alexander. More than you think. Just be glad that it is MY shit you get to eat and just be thankful that I let you.”
Her smile was beyond deviant; it was devilish.
“Now . . . open your mouth, Alexander.”
I felt my face tighten.
“Alexander, You love my ass don’t you? You want to keep smelling it, don’t you? Then, open your mouth! If you eat my shit, I will let you smell my ass.”
She pushed the shit toward me and jabbed the prongs against lips. My mouth obeyed. She smiled. She pushed her shit into my mouth. She jumped up and leaped behind me and wrapped both hands over my face and she held my nose and mouth shut.
“Eat it! Eat it Alexander! Eat my shit! Eat it!” She laughed with diabolic glee. “Eat it, Alexander! Eat my shit!”
I didn’t know if I could have resisted more. I didn’t know if perhaps I was born to eat shit. I didn’t know if I was afraid of losing her. What I did know was that her shit was in my mouth and I was doing what I was told.
She leaned close and whispered. “Eat it! Eat my shit Alexander! Eat it!”
I hate to describe this in much detail but I can’t omit that her shit was mixing with saliva and turning into some kind of sewer stream and that stream was more vile than I could ever describe. I felt sick; nauseous. It was horribly disgusting and I realized that I would much rather eat it than have it become a melted cesspool in my mouth. So, that is why . . . it’s why I began eating it, and in so doing, I resigned myself to what was probably inevitable all along.
Loni didn’t take long to show the glee she had in watching and how it made her felt goddess-like and worshiped. “Actually,” she whispered, “it turns me on! A lot!”
After several sessions, I adapted. I didn’t like eating it but I craved Loni and sniffing her butt and the more I ate, the more she let me sniff. After a month, I was able to eat an entire plateful. I had become accustomed to the whole eating thing. I also gained a greater appreciation that it was Loni . . . that I was eating the shit of the one-and-only Loni Anderson. Although the thought of eating her shit was disgusting, I had a great sense of pride that I knew what her shit tasted like and no other guy could say that!
She had a variety of techniques for doing it, sometimes shitting all over my face, then moving it to my mouth, sometimes shitting right into my mouth, but most often, she shit on plates and fed it to me with a fork. I am only estimating her, but in the five months that we did it, I ate Loni’s shit more than fifty times. Fifty!
When our family moved 100 miles away, Loni and I were distressed. We managed to get together a few times in the following few months and each time, she gave me what I wanted most which was sniffing her butt and I gave her what she had come to love the most, eating her shit. Then, she disappeared. Maybe she made it to Hollywood to star in WKRP; I just don’t know.
When WKRP finally aired, I knew that guys all over the world were lusting for her and her big boobs. I knew that millions of men wanted to fuck her or even just have a dinner date with her. And all along, I felt so smug because despite being a scrawny and unconfident school boy who still couldn’t talk to girls, I had the satisfaction of knowing that I was better than all of those men.
Let them strut and pose all they wanted but NONE of them would EVER be able to match the intimacy that I had with her. None of them would EVER be able to say even one time what I could say with great pride fifty times: “More than fifty times, I ate Loni Anderson’s shit and I put my nose in Loni Anderson’s ass and more than fifty times, I sniffed Loni Anderson’s butt!”