Date: Tue, 15 Mar 2016 18:41:11 -0400
From: Robert Costic <robertcostic@gmail.com>
Subject: To Run Away from the Body

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.