AUTHOR BIO
Mike S. Wilson lives with his cat Snickers, works and occasionally writes in Des Moines, Iowa. He has been writing for several years and is a member of the Iowa Poetry Association. He has published two volumes of poetry books and won an award in a poetry competition. His long-term goal is to publish several full-length novels.
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The Human Touch
By Mike Wilson
© Mike Wilson 2009
“Away now – enough!” Tim ordered, pushing the robot off his waist. He was seated in his recliner at home, enjoying, or rather, tolerating the oral attentions of his SexMate 3000. He had spent a lot of cash on the AI unit, even laying out extra for the optional celebrity faces. “By your wish, honey,” intoned the SexMate, and it shifted itself down and away. “Recharge and shutdown!” Tim ordered. The slender male unit backed itself up to a wall, jacked into the power outlet, then shut itself down. Tim pulled his cotton shorts and jumpsuit back up, impatiently.
Even though citizens of an earlier time would probably consider it a miracle to have a robot with humanlike skin and the facial features of any celebrity one chose, Tim was used to it. A head job by the current superstar music or tri-vid star just did not do it for Tim anymore. Because he knew: it just was not real. The first several times it was a rush. Then for a while it was just relief. Today Tim was impatient. 5,790 GalCredits and three months later he was ready for something new. He was a bit disgusted with himself, but hey, a guy had to try things, didn’t he? He went to the ‘fresher, cleaned up a bit, then left his cube to go take a walk in the Commons.
Only a few floaters were out today, so the skies were mercifully clear and quiet. He walked along the common way, hopping on and off a couple of mover-belts. Soon he was in the Commons, a large park area complete with trees, fountains, raised flowerbeds, and what passed in this day and age for a gay cruising area. Tim lingered around some of his favorite orchids. He glanced around occasionally, and he saw the guy. This was the third time Tim had seen him here. The dude seemed interested in him, judging by the surreptitious eye contact. It could not just be the flowers, could it? Tim was working his way up to a “hello” when the guy beat him to it.
“I see you like orchids too. Aren’t those pretty?” spoken in a slightly effeminate voice. He was average-looking, and about Tim’s height.
“Well, hi. Yes, I think too many people overlook Phalionopsis. They can be quite beautiful.” Tim said.
“Oh, a connoisseur. Say, I’ve seen you out here before, you know…” and he gave Tim a meaningful look. It could only mean one thing.
“You too. You know what goes on here besides the flowers, I take it…”
The man moved closer. He had some great-smelling scent on. Tim had made up his mind on the spot to get this guy in his cube.
“Hi, I’m Gregg. And you are…”
“Uhm, Tim. I’m Tim.” Flustered, he proffered his hand. Gregg shook it and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Tim. Listen, would you have a place to get out of this hot sun? My cube is ten kilometers away. I mean, we could go there if you like, but…. I hope I’m not being too bold?” He finished.
“Uh, no. No, I’m just out of practice, you might say. If you like, we can go to my place.”
Gregg put his arm around him. “Well, I’m glad to hear you aren’t too experienced. That might spoil it for me. Tim, I’m going to rock your world.”
“What?”
“An old expression. Let’s just say I am a very, very skilled masseur, and my oral talents are utterly peerless.”
Tim caught his breath, managed to say, “Excellent. Let’s go.”
They headed back to Tim’s residence and spent a very intimate and enjoyable time together. The human touch provided more pleasure than any machine.
They sold their Sexmates on ebay.
Creepy Destinations
by Mike Wilson
© Mike Wilson
Andre, a simple peasant, had only one thing on his mind as he crept along the east wall: “Andre creep… Andre creep… Andre creep.” His muscular body crunched hapless twigs and plants in his path. In his mind behind his repeating mantra was his ultimate goal: the low point in the wall which he could clamber onto to sneak a short distance beyond, there to gaze at his beloved once again. “Andre must be quiet… Must not be discovered… Andre creep…”
Soon he reached his goal and leapt upon the wall, just wide enough to accommodate him. He brushed his long blond locks out of his bright blue eyes. If he had been well born, properly attired, he would have been considered quite the catch. As it was, his handsome features and physique were wasted on a simple peasant . He didn’t trouble himself with such thoughts. He was lowborn, and resigned to his fate. But he did have this particular attraction to other males, one which could get him driven out of the village entirely at the merest mention. Most times, he held his tongue and endured. This attraction, however, was so powerful, it would not let him rest. So he felt he must steal secret nighttime gazings upon his beloved: the princely son of the local food merchant.
He stealthily crept up to the part of the wall where a bedroom window faced out from a stylish town manor, fished the wooden crate out of its hiding spot, and raised himself up to the window to gaze once again at his beloved prince, the object of so many fantasies. Aha! The young man had but a few candles burning, and was undressing for bed even as Andre gazed longingly. He watched as Tamarind Second, heir to a growing produce and meat empire, stripped off his silken shirt, and tugged down his breeches. Nothing underneath!
His virile manhood sprang free, half-erect and perfect in its dimensions. Andre was so taken by it that he let out an involuntary gasp, loud enough to be heard through glass.
Tamarind turned toward his window and saw a person outside looking right at him. He cried out, “What the…? Hey you… Get off our wall, you creep!”
Andre was mortified. But he was intelligent enough to know, now was the time to beat a retreat. Tears of shame rolling down his cheeks, he managed to turn and dart down the wall a ways, then leapt off and ran into a wooded area. All he could think of was his beautiful, beloved fantasy man: brown silken hair, parted in the middle; those green eyes that had gazed piercingly right at him. And that gorgeous mouth with ruby lips had called him a creep!
Andre trudged home, whimpering in agony. “Tamarind called Andre a creep… Andre nothing nothing but a creep… Andre creep…”
Pizza Boy
by Mike Wilson
© Mike Wilson 2009
It was almost pathetic, Randy thought, how that guy threw away his job. He just couldn’t seem to keep his hands off himself. In the kitchen, making pies, or out doing deliveries. He was even caught fondling himself in the public restroom at the Pizza Plaza. If that was not embarrassing enough, a customer saw him doing it in a delivery car. He was warned. But he just had to test it. When the manager barged into the back stall of the restroom again yesterday, there was Chris, pants down around his ankles, going at it for all he was worth. A short time later, Chris lost his job. “Get some help. You’ re sick, kid. We can’t have this around here; I’ve got a business to run!”
As Randy went through his workaday routine, waiting on pies, grabbing a couple of boxes, addresses, then out the door for deliveries, he couldn’t shake the images. He had twice caught a glimpse of Chris doing his thing. Chris was so blatant, as if making a point to society at large. What point, it was hard to say. But the images stayed with Randy, inflaming him with curiosity and a desire to explore.
He was waiting at the counter. The manager said, “Randy — here are two for you. Tickets on top.”
“Thanks, Jason.” Randy grabbed the boxes, put them in a warmer, and hurried out. When he got into his car, he paused, groped himself a few times, then started his engine and headed off to make his deliveries.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Randy got ever bolder in his self-explorations. He unzipped and drove pants down to his deliveries. He pleasured himself at times in broad daylight. One evening after dark he did it in a customer’s driveway. The door to the house opened, and he hastily collected himself and did the delivery.
Finally, one day while he was stopped at a red light, unzipped and beginning to play with himself, he heard a honk. Pulled up next to him was Jason, looking furious. He pointed: “Pull over.”
Later that day Randy was fired. “Why do I have to hire a bunch of perverts!” Jason yelled at the remaining crew members milling around the kitchen of the Pizza Plaza. He kept ranting a while, then eventually calmed down and began dispatching them all to their various duties. One younger employee, Rob, was assigned to deliver a couple of pies to a fraternity nearby. As he headed out, warmer in hand, he was thinking, “Wow, a fraternity. Bet there are some hot guys in there. Too bad about Randy.” And he groped himself a couple of times before getting into his car and heading out.
GAY FLASH FICTION 