To Run Away from the Body By Robert S. Costic
Robert Costic has written a collection of fairy tales, "Flamethrower Fairy Tales," a novella, "Kepler's Revenge," and a collection of aphorisms, "Lightning Words," and has translated fairy tales by Theodor Storm and Friedrich Hebbel from German. All are available as ebooks everywhere.
I hate myself every time I have sex, and I wish my body wouldn't torment me with its carnal demands. Throughout my life I have vacillated between a hard-won celibacy and a lapse into debauchery. My last attempt to avoid succumbing to sinful temptation was, ironically, because I had a boyfriend, but not even that worked.
You see, years ago I met a nice man named Simon, and Simon found me attractive and wanted to date. I liked him. He was smart and charming, and I would have even fucked him, in spite of my feelings about penetration, but it turned out that he was a total top. I'm a total top, too, so we never fucked. For most other relationships this may have spelled doom but I was actually relieved. We continued to date, we became boyfriends, and we moved into an apartment together.
Mind you, it wasn't as if Simon totally gave up trying to fuck me. Often we would be spooning in bed, his cock poking its way into my butt cheeks, but I would always squeeze my sphincter tight and bar entry. If he went so far as to lubricate his dick I would roll over and pretend to fall asleep.
Sometimes I felt bad for him, and his shenanigans in bed made feel like it was failing an obligation, even though I know I had every right to deny my body if I wished. So one day, to relieve the pressure for me to perform for him, I told him that we could end our monogamy and have sex with other men. He didn't seem too pleased with this idea but resigned himself to its reasonableness.
Coincidentally, around this same time I began to see a guy named Rick who wanted to be my sex slave. He deep-throated my cock and liked it when I electrocuted his balls while I fucked him. It was the only way he could cum. He had a little taser-like device that he instructed me to insert on the underside of his scrotum, and when the current rushed through he would shoot cum up to his face involuntarily. I liked timing it around the time that I would climax, as it would also make his sphincter squeeze incredibly tightly around my dick.
For months I saw this sex slave right after work so that Simon wouldn't miss me for too long. When I reached home Simon would always be there, and as far as I could tell he never made any effort to have any sort of sex with other men, although he eventually did stop bugging me for a fuck. I felt like we had comfortably settled into a rhythm that captured the best parts of our relationship. I made a latte for him every workday morning, I took him to church every Sunday, and after church we would go to a local park to feed nuts to the squirrels.
My sex slave initiated me into a fetish club in which his companions did all sorts of activities to each other, electrocution being the least of them. There, in a red-lit dungeon that smelled of sweat, he would have us tie him spread-eagle against a wall and have us whip him one at a time and then tickle him for a good hour. I refused to tickle him until I put vinyl gloves on, because I didn't want to smear any blood on my hands.
Simon and I were together for five years and I thought we could keep this up. Maybe we could buy a house, have children, and grow old together. But then last year we went to a Christmas party. It had been a long time since I last seen many of the friends who were there -- after all, between Simon, the sex slave, and all the organ recitals I had to give at my church I didn't have any free time -- and in honestly I sort of dreaded being there, as I don't like the silly chitchat that's a requirement at most parties.
My old friend Brent strolled up to me, glass of wine in hand, clearly inebriated, and said hello. "How are you and Simon doing?" he asked.
"Fine," I said.
"I heard you guys had opened your relationship since that last time I saw you."
"Yes but nothing much has been coming of it so far," I said.
"Really?" Brent said. "Because Simon has been getting around."
"He has?" Simon never told me anything, never evidenced doing anything other than patiently wait for me at home.
"Yeah, he's fucked probably a handful of the guys here at the party, and there's one guy in particular that he's been seeing. Apparently they get really down and dirty. Simon slaps him across the face and calls him a slut and a whore and electrocutes his balls to make him cum and then pisses all over him and leaves him in a puddle of piss. Yeah, I never knew Simon had such a filthy side to him, but word's been getting around."
"What?" I still couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What's this guy's name?"
"Rick, I think," Brent said. "Do you know him?"
That night I broke up with Simon. I didn't mention what I had heard at the party, and I didn't blame him for anything. I merely stated the obvious. We were sexually incompatible and would be better off seeing different men. Simon was not thrilled with my pronouncement but didn't fight me on the matter. We made plans to separate.
For me personally the real problem was that the relationship had failed to keep me from living sinfully. I thought living with Simon would make me a better person, but in the end it only made me worse. So my plan in the aftermath of this tragedy, what I look forward to for the future, is to join a monastery. There's one in England that I'm hoping will accept me. I've looked around here but no monastery in the United States will accept me. It's all for the best, anyway; when I visited that monastery in England the monks there were so smart and charming.