Date: Mon, 14 Apr 2014 09:06:13 -0400
From: Robert Costic <robertcostic@gmail.com>
Subject: The Movement of Spit

The Movement of Spit
By Robert S. Costic

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.

-----

"Want to fuck?"  These were the first words the cashier at my local
supermarket said to me when I finally reached him after waiting in his
queue for ten minutes, pondering the wisdom of ancient Greek
philosophers.  The only thing on my mind had been to have my groceries
checked as expeditiously as possible and pay the total for him, so I
was taken aback by his frank question.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Here.  Right now.  On the counter.  Are you game?"

"Are you joking?  Here, in public?"

"Yeah, no one cares," the cashier said.  "I blew the manager just an
hour ago, and I've fucked everyone else who works here at one time or
another.  You're the hottest guy I've seen all day, and I've yet to
get my rocks off."

My mind, once occupied by food and Plato, raced to consider the
situation.  Here was a young man who looked quite attractive in spite
of wearing the tragically unflattering supermarket uniform, including
a blue apron on which was adorned a lapel that simply stated that his
name was David.  He had a lean, handsome face with a mischievous smirk
and lively blue eyes that contrasted sharply with his black hair.
Here was someone I did not know at all -- I had no clue as to whether
we'd even be sexually compatible -- but between his fearlessly perverse
desire for public sex and his alluring face, which if nothing else
tempted me to kiss it, I felt inclined to surrender to the temptation
that he presented me.  I considered the wise words of the philosopher
Kavliargis, who said, "The penalty of refusing to participate in sex
is that you end up fucking with your inferiors," and thus told the
cashier David, "Sure, okay."

"Come up," he said, and we climbed atop the counter, bumping into my
apples, oranges, cat food, and soda cans until we kissed and embraced.
 Such an outrageously public sexual advance was outside my comfort
zone -- I felt scared -- and so if anything I lunged myself forward in a
frenzy, hoping that by propelling myself ahead as quickly as possible
I could overcome this fear that presented itself.

The woman behind me in the checkout queue blurted out, "I can't
believe you're doing this!  Again!  Look at all the checkout queues.
I've already been waiting over ten minutes.  Do you expect me to just
to move to another queue and start waiting all over again?  It's
unacceptable for you to be taking up my and the other customers' time
fucking on the checkout counter all the time."

But we paid no attention to her.  I was busy tonguing my beautiful
cashier as he unbuttoned my shirt and squeezed my nipples.  He was a
good kisser, someone with passion but who could also show some
sensitive delicacy.  I was reminded by the famous saying of Glossatis,
"Kissing is the movement of spit to reach the soul for the education
of its virtue."

David threw off his apron and his shirt to reveal a beautifully
slender torso with a patch of black hair between the nipples that then
trickled down like a stream from a lake to his nether regions, which
at this point still hid inside his pants.  He searched frantically
around the counter, and to my surprise he grabbed the gallon of milk
that I had brought, opened it, and poured it over his face so that it
rushed and splashed over his chest and everywhere else.  I kissed him
and tasted the milk, sometimes licking it off his chest, considering
the words of Galaxos, "At the touch of milk everyone becomes a poet."

Everything moved so quickly, at this point I forget when we had become
completely naked, but somewhere among the kissing, the groping, and
the milk our clothes were being shed piece by piece, and there we
were, among the customers and other employees, completely naked,
erect, our bodies against each other.  At one point I may have heard a
cashier call out over the intercom, "Price check in aisle four," or
the muttering of some disgusted passerby, but I was too enthralled
with this sexual adventure to care.

With a turn of his body David presented his ass to me and commanded,
"Fuck it."  But I couldn't do it just yet.  His cheeks were so
beautifully full and round, but also strong and firm, and the hole in
between them was such a neat, discreet sliver, I wanted, as the
philosopher Opisthia put it, to "taste the sensitive lips of the well
of men's figs," and so grabbed the cheeks with my hands and inserted
by tongue between them into his hole.  David moaned.  His hole
tightened reflexively, but as my tongue caressed and lubricated him he
loosened so that I could eventually reach all the way in with no
difficulty.  He was in a state of ecstasy, and I would have been, too,
if I hadn't been so keen to replace my tongue with my erection.

It so happened that I actually intended to buy condoms that day, so I
grabbed the box of condoms I had brought to the counter, slipped one
on, spat on it, and slowly entered into him.  He took it well, even
holding my torso with one hand to guide me inside.  For a fleeting
second I pondered what I was going to do with my groceries once this
was all over, especially now that I had lost my gallon of milk, but
the thought past once I had reached all the way inside of him so that
my testicles pressed against his taint.

As Peosinus stated, "Fucking is the body talking," and my body talked.
 Both of our bodies did, as I enjoyed the inside of him and he enjoyed
having me.  We alternated between slow and fast, between intensity of
feeling and the savoring of it, and we began to sweat so that when our
bodies made contact they slid against each other, the friction
nonexistent.  But it came to the point that he wanted it to reach its
climax.  "Do it," he said, "go all the way.  I want you to cum inside
me."  And so I increased the tempo of my thrusts, holding him by the
shoulders, my erection growing larger and stiffer.  It began to
generate that burning feeling right before the release, so I warned
him in a whisper and then did, shooting in several great pulsing
spurts that thrust as deep inside him as possible, and he jacked off
and came, his ejaculation shooting across the counter.

Exhausted and panting, we kissed, tasting each other once again, but
at that moment we were reminded of the woman who had been waiting
behind me in the queue, the one who had complained earlier when we
began to kiss.  She was there the whole time, and after we had reached
our climax and were in the middle of our affectionate embraces she
said, "Excuse me.  Are you done?"