Robert Costic has written a collection of fairy tales, "Flamethrower Fairy Tales," and a novella, "Kepler's Revenge," and has also translated the 19th century German writer Theodor Storm's fairy tales and ghost stories. All are available as ebooks everywhere.
Robby noticed the stranger, sitting next to him in the steam room, checking him out, eyeing his nearly naked, sweating body, so Robby leaned in and kissed the stranger on the mouth. The stranger reciprocated with an electric passion. His towel slipped from his waist and erect dick. They embraced, they felt each other, and they kissed some more. They did not exchange a word.
Later, after they had finished and showered, Robby pulled a sheet out of his Moleskine from his locker, wrote down his name and phone number, and passed it to the stranger, who took it with a smile and a wink. They dressed, gathered their belongings, and left separately. They did not exchange a word.
For the rest of the day Robby fantasized about that adorable stranger at the steam room who was such a good kisser.
The next day Robby received a text message. "Hey, it's Deutsch from the steam room. It was nice meeting you. Would you be up for lunch on Friday?"
"Sure," Robby texted back.
For the rest of the day Robby fantasized about that adorable stranger at the steam room who was such a good kisser.
On Wednesday evening Robby went out drinking with his friend Jeremy at a gay strip club, one of those wonderfully sleazy establishments where the muscular, waxed dancers didn't care much about putting on a show but were happy to dangle their bare dicks in the patrons' faces. The club was hosting an amateur night in which patrons could compete as best dancer for a $500 cash prize. On a whim Robby signed up for the competition.
Within in an hour a drag queen brought him and eight other contestants into the dressing room so they could prepare. Everyone took off their clothes, and as Robby surveyed the room he hoped for a kind of pre-show orgy, but he was surprised to find that most of the contestants were focused on actually preparing for the competition. Without interacting with or even acknowledging the others at all, the contestants were jacking themselves off, looking at porn on their smartphones, using flesh lights, putting on cock rings, and practicing their splits.
"There's no way I'm going to win this," Robby thought.
The moment of the competition approached. The contestants strutted out of the dressing room naked onto the catwalk facing a dance floor full of drunk and applauding patrons. They danced. Patrons gave them tips. And then the drag queen running the competition had the audience members applaud for their favorite contestants. Robby placed fourth.
By the time the competition ended and Robby returned to the bar, his friend Jeremy had drunk so many rum-and-diets that he could barely put a sentence together. Robby left the club with him, grabbed a cab, took Jeremy home, and then headed to his own place. Having failed to kiss even a single man that night, Robby fingered himself, jacked off, and then, having come, rolled over to fall asleep.
The next day Robby received another text from Deutsch. "Hey are you still up for lunch on Friday?"
"Sure," Robby replied.
For the rest of the day Robby fantasized about that adorable stranger at the steam room who was such a good kisser.
The next day Robby met Deutsch at a restaurant for lunch. Deutsch looked as adorable as ever, even if this time he wore business clothing instead of a towel. They sat at a table decked in white linen, they ordered sushi, and they drank tea. "I have to confess," Deutsch said, "when you gave me your phone number I didn't think at first I was going to text you. But then I thought, `This guy must be something else. Who would give their number on a sheet from a Moleskine notebook?'" And he laughed.
"Well I'm glad you did," Robby said.
"Me too," Deutsch said, "but I was reluctant because I'm actually married."
"You are? To a man?"
"No, a woman!"
"A woman!" Robby's heart sank.
"Yes, we've been married nine years."
"Nine years! Do you have children?"
"Yes, a four year-old boy."
"Jesus." Robby's heart sank. "So are you bisexual?"
"Well to be honest, I really kind of prefer men."
"So why did you text me then? Or want to get lunch?"
"Because, like I said, the Moleskine, haha! But also, I have to admit, in a way it was a dream come true. I rarely ever have something like that happen. There was another time in the steam room, and a time when I was in crew back in college, but I can count on my hands the number of people I've kissed. You're my type of man, I thought you looked so beautiful, and there was something about you that wanted me to know more about you."
"Well..." Robby was momentarily at a loss for words. "I'm very, very gay. I've had boyfriends, I recently competed at amateur night at the local gay strip club--"
"Oh I think I've been there once! How did you do?"
"I placed fourth. Anyway, and as a hobby I write gay erotica--"
"You do? Can I read it?"
"Yeah, I just send it to a website call Nifty.org."
"You should send me a link to your stories. I want to read them sometime. And I want you to write a story about me sometime. In fact, I authorize you to!" And he laughed.
"You do?"
"Yes, I'd love that."
"Why?"
"Because... I think about it all the time, but I rarely ever act on it. It would make me happy to see my gay alter-ego living out there somewhere, even if it's in a fictional world."
Robby thought about Deutsch and all the things he had fantasized about doing with him before they had this unfortunate conversation at lunch -- how they would've dated, kissed, explored each other's bodies, played with each other's erogenous zones, made love to each other -- and how none of that would actually ever happen.
"I'll see what I can do."