Mishegas 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.
Steve Schuler, one of the henchmen for the local Jewish mob, sat back and listened while his uncle, the owner of a bagel shop, complained. "Look across the street," he said. "They're building a new bagel shop right across from me. Who do they think they are, butting into my territory? The chutzpah! It isn't right. You need to do something about it."
"What do you want me to do?" Steve asked.
"Destroy it. Make it disappear. Make it look like an accident. Wait, no. Don't make it look like an accident. I want you to send a message, not to fuck with us."
That very evening Steve drove up next to the rival bagel shop, jumped out of his car, and threw a bomb that crashed through the front glass door of the shop. The bomb exploded, broken glass, fire, and smoke out onto the street. The roof of the shop collapsed, smothering the destroyed contents of the building.
Unfortunately for Steve, who was not very observant about the surrounding neighborhood, a performance was just letting out of the theater just halfway down the block, and patrons of the arts, aglow with the thoughts the show provided them, were streaming out on the sidewalk just as Steve threw the bomb. They all could see the dramatic spectacle, and within moments some of them were on their phones dialing 911.
Steve dashed back into his car and was going to drive home, but he soon received a phone call from his uncle. "You schmuck, what were you thinking? You aren't safe. They have your license plate. If you're in your car you need to ditch it and hide for a while." So he ditched his car, took the subway to the bus terminal, and paid cash for a seat on a Peter Pan bus to Bangor, Maine, where the Jewish mob had a safe house for members on the run.
Almost all of the people on the bus looked like ex-convicts or other people on the run. Steve sat in the back next to a giant, burly black man who looked like he weighed 300 pounds. The man eyed Steve and Steve eyed the man, but they didn't exchange any words and didn't bother each other. Steve sighed with relief when the bus rolled out and started making its eight-hour journey.
For the first few hours Steve stressed himself by dwelling on his fear of being caught, but then something caught his eye. By now it was late at night, and the only light was from the passing cars and the highway streetlights, but suddenly he noticed that the man next to him was staring at him and conspicuous grabbing onto his crotch.
"You want it?" the man whispered.
"What you got?" Steve said.
The man slowly unzipped his pants so as to make as little sound as possible, reached in, ruffled with his boxers, and unsheathed a massive, thick, semi-hard dick. He began to pull on it and stroke it to harden it up further.
Steve licked his lips.
"Wanna suck it?" the man said.
Yes, of course Steve did. He went down and engulfed it in his mouth, swallowing it up all the way to the shaft, and then taking it back and forth, sucking on it, giving attention to the head, and wetting it with his saliva. The man repressed a groan and held with his massive hands onto Steve. Steve worked his mouth on the dick with a gradually quickening tempo until he reached a frenzy that untapped the man's magic elixir. With several great spurts the man shot his cum into Steve's mouth. Steve swallowed it all, and when he sat back upright he looked at the man with a devilish grin.
"That was hot," the man said. "Are you staying in Bangor?"
"Maybe," Steve said.
"Give me your number. Wouldn't mind fucking your brains out sometime."
"Give me yours. I'll call you."
They didn't talk for the rest of the trip, and in the end, when they parted ways, they merely threw each other a gruff bye. But a week later, after Steve settled into the safe house a short walk away from downtown, he called the man. "Meet me off of route 202, exactly one mile out from Perry Road. The man did so, finding himself in the woods, and when he stopped his car and looked around he saw Steve out among the trees, beckoning him to come.
The man came to Steve, who told him, "Lets go out a little bit farther. My ass is already lubed. I want you to stick it in." They walked some more until they were out of sight of the highway, at which point Steve lowered his shorts and presented his buttocks to the man.
"Aww shit," the man said admiringly. He took his cock out of his jeans and slipped it in Steve, who took it with ease. The man pounded into Steve, thumping his pelvis against Steve's buttocks, until he unloaded more cum into him. He then kneeled down and licked the cum out of Steve's sphincter as it leaked out and then tongued Steve on the mouth to deposit it there.
"You're one hot fuck," the man said.
"Thanks," said Steve.
"Want to make this a regular thing? I love playing with you."
So they became regular fuck buds, meeting at moments of Steve's choosing at various public places around Bangor. They enjoyed each other's bodies, and Steve enjoyed in particular taking this stranger's big cock and making it squirt into him. His frequent sexual encounters with him was by chance what ended up saving him one day, because when he made his way home after a night of intense sex he found several police cars in front of his house and a couple of his Jewish mob friends sitting in the passenger seats.
Steve turned around and walked downtown, eventually finding a bar. He called his fuck bud. "Hey, I wouldn't normally ask you for a favor, but I just lost my house and I need a place. Could I stay over at yours?"
"Sure," the man said, "come right over."
Steve was there half an hour later. "What's your name, again?" he asked.
"You never asked before!" the man said. "It's Ray."
They fucked that night on Ray's bed, even though they had fucked just hours before outside of a warehouse. It was still intense, and in the end Ray unloaded several more shots of cum into Steve. This time after they finished they cuddled and fell asleep.
Steve stayed the next day, and then the next, and became a permanent presence at the house. That was all right as far as Ray was concerned; he found Steve incredibly sexy and enjoyed having him around. It felt natural. They spent much of their time together doing the comfortably banal activities of a couple long together, eating breakfast together, watching television together, cleaning the house together, and so on. The months passed, and soon a year.
One evening while they ate dinner Ray told Steve, "I have to tell you, with you staying here all this time, and with all the hot sex we've had, I've fallen in love with you."
"I love you, too, Ray," Steve said.
"I was wondering: would you marry me?"
"Marry you?" Steve said. "That would be impossible."
"Why?" Ray asked.
"You aren't Jewish."