On his first cautious trip to a pre-Stonewall gay bar, Barry meets an old man who tells him about a remarkable encounter from his own youth.
Peter sighed, smiling at the recollection.
“Every morning waking with that man was different, but special.”
“I expect it was.”
“Not just because of the sex, mind you, though that was… remarkable. It was the intense feeling that I was utterly at ease, utterly comfortable with this man, this miracle boy filled with seemingly supernatural power. It was almost distressingly intimate, being with him.”
“Did he ever explain any more to you?”
Here his face revealed something for a moment—frustration, and a bit of wounded pride.
“No, he was very adept at leading me away from such investigations.”
“That’s sad,” I said, drinking the last of the excellent spirits Peter had bought us.
“Ah, it was, but it also was not.”
I arched an eyebrow.
On the fourth morning, my lover awoke, having woken as a very youthful, compact Asian gentleman with long straight black hair. By features and skin tone, I would have suspected Thai or something in the southeastern part of that world. He was beautiful, but in this form a little delicate and young, verging on effeminate. He smiled at me with brilliant white teeth and a twinkle in his dark eyes, as he moved to straddle me.
But as he rolled out of the sheets, he caught himself, and me, by surprise, because of all the forms I’d seen so far, this one had by far the longest prick I had ever seen. It looked especially outsized on his slim frame, but he was at least a foot long and it appeared only half hard.
“I have rarely been so gifted,” he said, his eyes bright with wonder.
“I think that gift is for both of us,” I said. But in practice, I found I could not take his girthy prong as I wished to, and so instead I filled him. It seemed his body loved nothing more than being fully plugged with my cock, and his own far larger one reached remarkable size under the stimulation. I was so caught up I nearly forgot, but the scientist in me needed to know.
That body was only 5’3” tall, but his penis was 14 and a half inches long, and looked utterly massive on him. He wasn’t particularly girthy, proportionally, but he more than made up for it. I’d no sooner recorded the measurements (and others as well, in the name of science) than my own arousal got the better of me.
But after breakfast, he said he needed to go away for a few days and hoped I’d be here when he returned. I said I hoped so too—I was feeling slightly hurt—but he promised to find me again, saying only that he knew we would find each other again. We chose a special phrase from Shakespeare so we’d know each other.
He was gone for 10 days, and I had all but given up hope of finding him again. After the first three days, I resigned myself to being at his whim, and wrestled with hope and resentment in oscillation. Free of the cloud of his presence, I began to ponder how his miraculous body might have worked. I sought clues in Ovid, in other legends. Was he an incubus or a succubus? A mythic beast? A lost soul or a doppelganger? I sought clues in the classics and in other more esoteric tomes near at hand.
And then, as I walked from my apartment one evening, I heard the voice in the dark say our words.
“Oh, that this too too sullied flesh should melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew…”
The voice was low and accented slightly; its owner was an absolutely massive man, nearly seven feet tall and looking of Russian or Slavic descent. He looked like he might lift cars for fun. I would wager his arms were larger around than my waist.
“Sorry I had to leave you.”
I hugged him fiercely and kissed him deeply.
This time he was there for 16 days, and grew accustomed to his presence. Yet, our lovemaking was slightly less fierce, because I grew somewhat irritated that he never told me about himself. I assumed it was due to his changing form, at first, but as I grew to know him better, I began to see him as hiding something deliberately from me. My mind simply would not let it go, but he seemed to intuit precisely how to distract, evade, and otherwise misdirect me when I’d pushed.
And then, nearly a month after I met him, John woke up with the body of a fraternity pledge in a college. This was the first time he’d made me uncomfortable (because he looked like one of my students and surely people would assume the worst), and I confessed as much. He had a wistful look to him, and he sadly nodded.
“It’s time for me to go, Peter,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s it? Must you leave?”
“Yes. I am truly sorry. One day, Peter, it will make sense to you. I promise you that.”
“Will I hear from you or see you again?”
He seemed to weigh his options carefully. “Yes, but not like this. We’ll keep our code phrase, so you’ll know it’s me. But it will be some time.”
In fact, six months passed before I stopped pining for him. But in my loss and suffering, I found a focus. I began researching the mystery of my friend, wading through the literature and the extensive mythological possibilities, and eventually turning my focus to the physical changes I’d observed. All in my spare time, of course, because I was on tenure track and had other duties. Progress was incremental at best. I set it aside when I realized it had been a year—and then I picked it up again when a random phrase in a scientific journal triggered a thought. On and on that went, for five years, then ten, and as my lovers came and went.
But none of them were him. Or maybe they were, but he didn’t tell me—somehow that would have been even worse.
“Worse than what?”
Peter had grown pensive suddenly, and his eyes darkened. “Him being gone, I could just about cope with, but the idea that he might still be around, but unwilling or unable to talk? That was starting to gnaw at me.”
“No, not quite. It was a profound sense of missing something, I think. I did sow my wild oats, in a restrained fashion, but I never again had the sort of profound connection I had with that mysterious John. My work gained a hidden purpose, to understand my mysterious lover. And so I spent years, decades, doing just that. Of course I was very careful to avoid muddying the waters or mingling my search for myths and legends with my cutting edge research. At least until I had tenure! Even then, I conducted much of it under several aliases. But it was slow going for many years. You must of course remember that this was a long time ago, and the state of the art was far removed from what we take for granted today.”
“Of course,” I said.
“So much has happened since we split the atom, no? We shall soon land on the moon, they say. Remarkable times indeed.”
“Hear hear,” I said.
“But two things happened this week. One, I was diagnosed with terminal illness. There is no escaping that fate that isn’t more horrible than dying. And two, I completed my research. What I’d seen was, physically, possible with the correct circumstances. And I think I might know what they are.”
“In theory. In practice, well, we’ll find out. Very soon.”
It was a fascinating story, but I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Still, I’d passed a few hours in pleasant company, with some excellent whiskey, and it hadn’t cost me a dime.
“So… not to be indelicate, Peter, but why did you tell me that story?”
“Because I needed to tell someone. And because you looked cute and lonely, and you reminded me of myself when I was your age.”
“I’m not really lonely—” I began.
“Barry, please don’t take offense, but I know the look all too well. It’s the same one I’ve had for the past four decades, if not longer.”
I blushed. He was right.
“A little advice, then. Don’t sell yourself short—there is someone out there who will see more in you than you expect, and who will draw out the best in you. And you’ll find him, or he’ll find you. Even if it’s not forever, it’s usually worth it.”
“Well, I’m glad to have met you, Peter. And I’m really sorry about the diagnosis. I hope you’ll survive it.”
“If I do, I’ll let you know. Thanks for being a friendly ear, Barry. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
About ten minutes after he left, as I nursed the last bits of my whiskey and the bar noise wound down a bit, I felt a presence behind me.
“Excuse me,” said the bartender. He had the look of a young professional—well groomed, average but fit build, clean shaven, piercing blue eyes and dark blue-black hair. Glasses that reminded one of Clark Kent. “May I join you for a moment?”
I honestly have no idea if I responded, but he sat anyway, with a glass and the special whiskey. He made an inquisitive gesture, and I nodded, so he poured a little more for me and some for himself.
“Won’t Peter be cross with you for sharing his expensive rare liquor?”
“Possibly,” he smiled disarmingly. “But this is my bottle.”
“It really is quite good,” I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Barry, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said before wondering how he’d known. “And you are?”
“Call me John.”
I raised an eyebrow… but no, that was silly. Peter’s story had filled my head with fantasies.
“So, how do you know Peter?” I asked.
“I know him better than he realizes,” John said. “And for longer than I care to think about.”
“Oh yes,” he said, smiling.
“Did he tell you about…”
“I know all about his illness, and about his mystery man,” John said. “And about his research.”
Ah, that explained it. Peter was an eccentric, a looney, spinning tall tales and being humored by the staff.
“It seems so far-fetched,” I said. “But who am I to say what is what?”
“He’s on the right track. Almost there,” he smiled.
“Well, good for him. I guess he’s hoping that what he learned might cure his illness?”
“Oh, much more than that. He has a surprise or two waiting for him. Listen, I’ve just got off work, and I’ve been watching you all night. You’re handsome and I think we might hit it off.”
I blushed again.
“Barry, I have some of this very good stuff left, and I’m off work, and I’d rather share it with a handsome man than drink it alone. Do you live nearby?”
And so I found myself, at the end of this very strange evening, in bed with a very frisky stranger, who was delighted to show me many ways two men might please each other. He was a generous lover and paid me so many compliments as I fumbled my way through, that I found it hard to deflect all of them. But by morning, my hesitation had fallen away, and I had learned much, and had fun. I knew it would probably end immediately after breakfast, because we had barely talked, at least not about anything important beyond the moment.
But when I woke the next morning, the slim Clark Kent I’d spent the night with was gone, and an athletic blond man with muscular arms was holding me tight.