Love Stories to Blush Your Heart

Di sini gw akan share beberapa cerpen ato kutipan novel dari buku-buku gay atau roman koleksi gw.

enjoy!

"Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t," I cursed, lunging, too late, for my cell phone as it dropped, kerplunk, into the clear blue water of the toilet bowl. I quickly retrieved the water-, urine-, and Clorox-soaked device and flicked it on. To my utter dismay, a dead screen stared back at me. Apparently, cell phones don't like to be dunked in water, urine, clorox, and whatever other chemicals were in the bowl-which, of course, made the two of us. I cleaned my arm and the phone phone off, and tried to collect myself.

Only I was beyond collecting.

Normally, I don't talk on the phone while peeing. Normally, I back up the information from my cell phone onto my laptop. Normally, I don't have to plunge my arm into a toilet bowl at two in the morning.

And normally, I don't meet the man of my dreams at a gay bar. Nightmarish man, yes, most definitely, and repeatedly, but not dream men. No sir, no-how. Which is why I was standing over my toilet bowl at two in the morning - I don't pee in bars, being pee-shy and all - calling the man of my dreams, whom I'd met only three hours prior. In retrospect, the call probably could have waited until morning, but I figured he'd find it romantic that I called him so soon after we clicked. Okay, yes, he might have found it a tad desperate, as well, but I was looking at my glass, like my toilet, as being half full.

Anyway, I dropped the phone on the second ring, before anyone had picked up. Kerplunk it went, as did my heart, my stomach, and several other bodily organs. You see, his phone number resided solely in my phone, unless it was backed up on my computer, which, of course, it wasn't - what with it being two in the morning and me just getting home.

I tried to remember his phone number, but to no avail. I dialed quite a few combinations of what I thought the numbers was, because, yes, besides being romantic, I was also, sadly, a tad desperate; but all I got were a bunch of pissed off people who weren't thrilled at being woked up at two o'clock on a Sunday morning. And one guy who was seemingly as desperate as I was and promptly invited me over.

I declined politely. (Okay, I let him jack off on the other end first. I mean, I had woken him up, after all.) And then I sank to my knees, with head in hand, and cursed, once again, the evil of modern technology - in the olden days, a good three years ago, I simply would have gone out with a few Post-it notes and a pen.

"Okay, Chuck," I said, though, generally speaking, I didn't converse aloud with myself. "What are your options here?" I began ticking off a short of list.

"Number one. Forget about him. There's other fish in the sea." Only my bait was quickly dwindling with each passing year, and the fish were getting smaller, stinkier, fatter. Besides, he was The One. I felt it down to my very bones.

I know that most guys have a type they go for: tall, short, hairy, mascular, young, old, white, black, a mix of all the above. But my type has been, up until now,elusive,for I sought the nearly extinct normal guy - not too tall, not too short,cute but not conceited, well educated, drug free, in decent shape without being too gymnified, as I like to call it, with a good head on his shoulders, thoughtful, respectful, and, here's where it gets tricky, monogamous. Maybe I'd been fishing in the wrong pond all this time, because the desirable species of the fish clearly wasn't biting.

Stuart, that's the guy's name, Mister Right instead of Mister Right Now, was all this and more. We met in the quiet corner of the bar. He was sitting alone, I was sitting alone, and we struck up a conversation. He'd never been there before, hating the scene even more than I did. Three hours later, with my heart being pitter-patter, I had his number and the most memorable, depest, longest, lip-numbing kiss I'd ever had in my life. He was everything I'd been fishing for, plus a whole buried treasure to boot - the catch of a lifetime, in other words.

So, Number One was out. There was no forgetting about him. Even if I tried, I couldn't. Not those soft lips, not those sparkling blue eyes, not the soft hand that stroked my index finger as we sat there those several hours conversing.

"Two," I continued. "Keep dialing phone numbers untill I reach him." I mean, I did have what I thought were the most of the numbers firmly in my head. Eventually, I'd find him. Then again, I thought I had the phone firmly in my hand befor it fell in the toilet, and look how that turned out. Besides, how many men could I bring to climax over the phone before that got old and boring? "Nix on Two."

I knew what Three was before I said it. But it was a long shot, I'd left the bar shortly before closing time. it was sure to be shut tight upon my return. And, even if it were still open, Stuartwould certainly have left already. "Three," I groaned, putting my coat back on and trotting down the stairs and out to my car. "Back to the old fishing hole I go."

The bar was indeed closed, but several men who had lingered were headed to their cars as I drove into the parking lot and scanned it. And there he was, opening the door of a brand new, blue BMW - icing on an already delicious cake.



I hollered, I yelled, I screamed,"Stuart! Stuart, wait!" But I was too late or too far away. He screeched out of the other end of the lot, and out of my life. I tried to run after him, but running after a Beemer - you get the picture. He was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Fu*king toilet," I said with a sigh, and headed back to my car, only to find I was no longer alone.

"Hey," a guy standing by my driver's side of door said.

"Oh, um, hey," I replied, not in the mood to deal with anything or anybody.

"You looking for Stuart?"

My heart raced. Was I being offered a second chance? A lifeline? A blow job? At least my priorities were in the right order.

"Yes, actually, I am," I replied, breathless.

"He's not worth it, you know."

Ugh. Again my stomach sank. Now what was going to go wrong? "Not worth what?" I asked, afraid of his answer but curious nonetheless.

"Dating. Chasing after. Fu*king. Take your pick."

Um, sadly, those were my picks. I neglected to say this to him, though. "I just had to tell him something, that's all. But, if you don't mind me asking, why is he so low on your favorite person list?"

"We dated. briefly. Guy's a dud. Boring. Boring. Doesn't go out to the clubs. Doesn't party. Would rather go to a museum than a mall. And worst, worst of all..." Oh god, what? What in this guy's meager opinion, could be worse than someone who doesn't like to shop? "Worst of all, he's monogamous. Can you imagine?"

Bingo! Bingo!

"Ugh," I said, with a fake disgust. "What a loser. So then, again, if you don't mind me asking, why did you date him, however briefly?"

"Guy's got a big dick."

Man, my karma must've been royally fu*ked. i must've killed kittens for a living in a previous lifetime to deserve this. "yes, well, thanks." And then, with a last ditch effort, "Do you by any chance have his phone number, or address?"

"Sorry, bud, I never made to his home, and I tossed his number a long time ago." He paused and leered at me. "But if it's home address you're after, feel free to come over to mine."

Tempting as the offer was - not! - I declined. I was holding out for Stuart. Crazy as it sounded, when you know you've met Mister Right, you know you've met Mister Right. And if you can't reel in the big one, you might as well row the boat back to shore. Too bad for me the water was so rocky and my boat had sprung a leak.

I reached for the door handle, and then a thought popped into my already addled brain. A glimmer of hope. "Which museum?" I shouted at the guy, who was now at his own car.

"Huh?" he shouted back.

"Which museum does Stuart like to hang out at?"

"All of them. Goes to one every Sunday. Like I said, boring!"

I nodded my thanks and hightailed it out of there. "Every Sunday," I said, again talking to myself, which I hoped was only out of anxiety and not a new habit of mine. "Today is Sunday"

Now I only had one problem - well, one more on a growing list, besides having to buy a new cell phone. Did I mention I live in the city? New York City, to be exact. An awful place for fishing for normal guys - but not for museums. The city is awash in them. It could take endless Sundats for me to find him, if ever. What were the odds of going to the right one on the right Sunday at the right time?



Then again, I'd already beaten the odds once simply by meeting him in the first place. If lightning were going to strike twice, I would be standing out in the rainstorm with a big stick of metal held up in order to attract it. In other words, I wasn't giving up, not yet, not by a long shot.

Stuart was out there, somewhere, and I was going to find him.

I raced home, flicked on my computer, and Googled New York City museums. And there went that kerplunking stomach of mine again. There were dozens to choose from: the American Folk Art Museum, the Museum of Television and Radio, the Ukrainian Museum, the Queens County Farm Museum, the New York Transit Museum, the Queens County Farm Museum, the New York Transit Museum, the National Lighthouse Museum. You name it, there's a museum for it. And virtually all were open on Sundays. thankfully, so was the Museum of Sex, which opened at eleven, and was the third on the long list I compiled for the next twelve weekends of museum visits.

If I couldn't find Stuart, at least I'd brush up on my African, Tibetan, and Judaic art.

"No," I said, admonishing myself. "I will find Stuart. I will!" Great, not only was I talking to myself, but now, I was shouting to myself. This must be how the other New york crazies got started.

So, with a new determination, I ate breakfast, showered, grabbed my list, and ran for my front door.

And there, on the other side, was Stuart.

"Stuart!" I practically shouted. Okay, I did shout it, which I think sort of scared the hell out of him. "What are you doing here?"

He backed up an inch, blinked, then said, "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by. The Children's Museum of Manhattan is just up the block. That's where I was headed."

I knew that. It was first on my list. My karma wa sback on track. "Um, yeah," I said, staring at him, wondering if I was dreaming. Then again, I still hadn't gone to bed yet, so that was unlikely. "But how did you find me? How did you know where I live?"

He smiled, a glorious, eye-crinkling smile. "Well, silly, you told me. Last night. Remember?"

I thought back... Stuart, chitchat, blue eyes, hand-holding, address, kiss. Fu*k, I did tell him my address. With all recent turmoil, I'd plumb forgotten.

"Of course I did. And here you are." I was almost at a loss of words, for there, truly, he was. In glorious flesh, and just a scant few inches away from me.

"Oh, but you're on your way out. I'm sorry. I didn't have your number, or I would have called first. It's just, well, I wanted to, um, say hi, you know, again." He was nervous, and oh, so adorable. "Well, I won't keep you then. Maybe some other t-"

"No!" I shouted, scaring him back another inch or two. "I wasn't headed anywhere." He pointed to the coat in my one hand and the list in the other. I dropped both to the floor. "Oh, just to the store." I stared down at the long list. "To do some grocery shopping. For dinner."

The smile returned to his face, and a red flush rose up his neck and across his cheeks. "Yes, well, um, that's actually why I stopped by."

"To take me grocery shopping?" I was slaphappy from exhaustion, or I wouldn't have asked a stupid question.

"Um, no. Well, I could, if you wanted to. But no. I was going to ask if you wanted to do dinner. I know a great seafood restaurant nearby. if you like fish, I mean."

"Fish!" I'd have to stop doing that in the future, I knew, but at least I was no longer shouting at just myself. I stepped forward, and reached out my hand to his. "I mean, yes, I love fish. And, yes, I'd love to do dinner."

"Really?" he asked, taking my hand in his own and pulling me toward him.

"Really. And I love children's museums too. All kinds of museums, for that matter. Tibetan, African, you name it."

And then the lips, those soft lips, were once again upon my own. And the perfect kiss from the night before was somehow miraculously bested.

"Well then," he said, when we'd come up for air. "Seeing as you don't need to go grocery shopping anymore, can I interest you in a trip to a museum?"

I squeezed his hand and shut the door behind me. "Lead the way."

Which he did.

And my fishing days were gladly and forever over.



Rob Rosen lives in San Fransisco with his handsome partner, Kenny. He is the author of Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love and the forthcoming Divas Las Vegas. His short stories have appeared in numerous journals, magazines, websites, and anthologies.
www.therobrosen.com

wow.. keren banget ceritanya ^^ sumpah kereeeeeeeennn...

share lagi donk vin story laen ^^

buset ini udah lama bgt br d baca sekarang.... hahahahaha

hohoho iya br sempet buka2 nya skrg ^^

gpp lah, lebih baik telat drpd tidak sama sekali.. :p

Gw juga baru baca . . .
bagus ceritanya . . .

suka banget sama kata2: "Mister Right instead of Mister Right Now"