A Simple Twist of Fate

Glen Thomkins smiled to himself as he stared at the screen of his computer monitor. The spell check function of his word processing program had just finished scanning his latest short story for the second time. This time it showed no errors. Glen double-checked the options on the Literotica Submit Page that he had selected. He clicked the Preview button, then after giving his story another quick read-through he submitted it for approval.

For just over a year Glen had been trying his hand at writing erotic short stories that were published online. He had read enough of them to be familiar with the tropes and machinations that many of his favourite authors used. And after reading enough of what he considered very poor attempts at writing he felt confident that he could do just as well -- if not better than some. The story that Glen had just submitted was his eighth submission, and so far he was pleased that many of them had been well-liked by readers, judging by the positive feedback he had received. This was all the encouragement that he needed to keep writing. Besides, it filled a yearning or emptiness inside him that he could not quite intellectualize, but felt nonetheless.

Glen pushed himself away from his computer desk and went out to his kitchen. It was a Tuesday night and he had nothing to do now that he had submitted his latest story. He opened the fridge and ran his eyes over the contents of the shelves. After passing over a bottle of peach juice and one of Pepsi, he reached for a can of beer. It was nearly eleven-thirty and Glen thought that some beer might help him to sleep.

Returning to the living room, Glen tilted his head to the left and scanned the titles on the spines of his compact disc cases. A bittersweet smile appeared on his face when he sawTime Out of Mind. He pulled the jewel case out and placed the disc in the tray, then started it. He sat down on the couch and pulled at the tab of the beer can he was holding. It opened with a hiss and he took a gulp as he listened to Bob Dylan sing about being sick of love, yet in the thick of it.

"Amen, Zimmy," Glen mumbled to himself as he brought the can back up to his snarling lips. He closed his damp eyes and began singing along to the music as his mind wandered back four years into the past.

###

Glen knew from experience that it took about four days for a story he submitted to Literotica to be approved. As the fourth day approached he always grew impatient to see his newest piece of writing appear on the web page. Then came the anticipation of feedback from readers. Often it was terse, but encouraging, although some of it had helpful criticism. Glen read them all and replied to all readers who provided an email address for him to contact them. To Glen, this was an integral part of contributing to the website. He had even made a few online friends as a result of it.

That Friday when he arrived home from work at Weaver's Hardware Store Glen immediately went to his computer. He booted it up and smiled proudly when he saw that his story was listed amongst the new ones on Literotica. He quickly scanned it, then clicked one of the gold stars to rate it -- giving it a 5 like he always did, and hoped others would. Next, he checked his Hotmail account to see if he had received any feedback.

When Glen saw that he had received three pieces of feedback on his story he smiled. The first reader chose to remain anonymous, so Glen couldn't reply. The second person had given his name and email address. Glen saved that correspondence so he could reply later. Glen read the third piece of feedback, then checked the email address and name of the sender. His jaw went slack and his heart began to race. In disbelief, he read it again:

Great story. Lots of emotion for the reader to relate to, and hot, hot sex. Thanks for yet another top quality submission. Please keep writing. Stephanie

"Holy crap... Steph...?" Glen muttered to himself, his eyes riveted to his computer monitor.

After staring at the return email address to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him, Glen gave his head a shake. He knew that address as well as he knew his own. He had sent dozens and dozens of emails to it years ago. It belonged to Stephanie Calvi, an ex-girlfriend of his, and the one great love of his life. She was a junior high school teacher in Guilford, or at least she was when Glen last knew her. That was four years ago.

Glen pushed his chair away from his computer desk. He folded his arms across his chest and began tapping his upper lip with his forefinger as he thought. He wasn't surprised that Stephanie was able to relate to the story he had written, or especially to the female character in it. The fact was that the female protagonist, Keri, was based entirely on Stephanie -- from her physical appearance, to her taste in music. Writing that short story for Literotica had been a cathartic process for Glen. It was a way for him to hopefully exorcise some of his inner demons regarding Stephanie. In writing his story he was able to have the male character say things that he knew he would never get the opportunity to say to his ex-girlfriend. But now as he re-read Stephanie's email he began to reconsider this long-held assumption.

A groan escaped Glen's mouth as he weighed his options. His initial reaction was to reply to Stephanie and tell her it was he who wrote that story. But he wondered what, if anything, he had to gain by doing this. Then he asked himself what he had to lose. His relationship with Stephanie had ended amid much acrimony, and since then he'd had no contact whatsoever with her. He had thought of her countless times since then, and even allowed himself to dream about a reconciliation between them. But those dreams and longings had always vanished like smoke when he told himself that she was undoubtedly no longer single -- perhaps even married. Even if she wasn't, he could not imagine her wanting anything to do with him ever again.

Glen got up and went over to his stereo. Reaching towards the shelf of compact discs on the wall he pulled outOh Mercy and placed the disc in the tray. The room instantly became filled with the sound of Dylan's raspy voice. Glen paced the floor for close to fifteen minutes, thinking about Stephanie and trying to decide how to respond to her feedback, if at all. Once he grew tired he sat down on the edge of his couch.

Tears welled in Glen's eyes as he listened to "Most of the Time". He wiped them away with the heel of his hand, then got up and returned to his computer. He stared at the feedback email that Stephanie had sent, then began typing:

Hi Steph... This is probably going to come as a shock to you, but it's me, Glen... Glen Thomkins. I've been writing these stories for a while now. Thanks for the feedback. I'm glad that you liked my story and hope that all is well with you. Take care.

Glen/epiphora79

Glen read and re-read what he had written several times before sending the email. Once he had sent it a feeling of near dread washed over him. He imagined Stephanie replying to tell him to go to fuck-off, or worse. For a while he thought that maybe the kindest thing she could do was to not reply at all. He went to the fridge and brought out a can of beer, then sank into the couch once more as he gulped it down. His mind was in turmoil as thoughts of the past and the possible future swirled inside his head. Dylan's voice was still coming from the stereo speakers. Now he was singing about seeing a shooting star and a fire truck leaving hell. Glen felt as though he was in hell too, but one of his own design.

###

When Glen returned home from work the next day he was half-way to his computer desk even before the door closed behind him. Nervousness and apprehension filled him as he waited for his computer to boot and for his Hotmail Inbox to appear on the screen. His heart lept when he saw that Stephanie had replied to his email. The subject was simply "HI!". Even that much seemed friendly and promising to Glen. He clicked on the link and read her email:

Hi Glen... Yes, I was shocked when I found out that it was you who'd written those stories. I've read them all. You're a very good writer. I never knew you had this talent, but I hope you continue to pursue it. You could probably make a career out of it. I'm doing fine and hope that you are as well. I'd like to see you sometime, if you want. How does getting together at Joe's Java for coffee sound? Let me know, okay? Steph

Glen smiled as he read Stephanie's email for the third time. His heart was racing as he quickly typed a reply, thanking her for the email and saying that he did want to meet her for coffee sometime. He tried not to sound too eager or hopeful, but found it difficult because he was. Once he had sent his reply to Stephanie he made himself supper, although he did not feel much like eating.

That evening Glen watched TV, or at least stared expressionless at the screen for a few hours. He checked his email three times, hoping that Stephanie had replied. Each time he returned to the couch, disappointed. By the time eleven o'clock had passed he decided to go to bed and face yet another sleepless night, haunted by ghosts of his past. But first, he wanted to check his email one last time.

Glen's face broke into a wide smile when he saw that Stephanie had replied to him. Her email was brief, simply asking if he could meet her the next evening at seven at the coffee shop where they had spent many weekend afternoons together. Still beaming, Glen quickly typed, telling Stephanie that he would meet her tomorrow night and was looking forward to seeing her. Then he went to bed, feeling happier and more hopeful than he had in years.

###

The smell of coffee filled Glen's nostrils as he stepped inside Joe's Java the next evening at fifteen minutes before seven. The room was crowded and filled with the sounds of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine. Glen's eyes scanned the patrons as his pulse quickened. After five or more seconds he saw Stephanie sitting towards the back of the cafe. She was wearing bluejeans and a white blouse with a tiny floral pattern. Her curly brown hair was longer than when Glen had seen her last. When her hazel eyes locked on him a smile instantly appeared on her pretty face and she waved at him.

Glen quickly walked towards the table where Stephanie was sitting. His smile widened and his heart accelerated with each step. For a few moments he stood beside her, speechless, as his eyes moved over her. She looked even more lovely and captivating than she did four years ago. Glen felt a lump in his throat.

"Hey. I'm glad you came," Stephanie said, looking up at him.

"Me too," he replied with a nervous laugh, then looked back towards the barista. "I'm going to get a coffee and I'll be right back," he told her.

As he stood at the counter waiting for his coffee Glen turned back towards Stephanie three times. Each time he saw that her dazzling eyes were still on him and her face was adorned with a smile. Glen held his mug of coffee tightly as he returned to her table and sat down opposite her.

"You're looking good," she said.

Glen shrugged self-consciously. "Thanks," he said. "You look great, as always."

Stephanie blushed and took a drink of coffee. "Thanks. It's amazing what a little makeup and a curling iron can do," she said with a laugh.

Glen felt his nervousness begin to wane as he listened to her voice and admired her beauty from across the table. "Your hair is longer," he said as he ran his eyes over her curly brown tresses.

"Your's is thinning," she teased.

"Thanks, Steph," he droned. "You're a peach."

Stephanie grinned and her hazel eyes flickered. "You used to say that I tasted like one -- like the girl in that Dire Straits song about expresso," she said.

Glen shifted uncomfortably in his chair at her mention of their intimate past. His blue eyes left hers and he stared at the coffee mug he was clutching.

"Oh, c'mon, Glen," she said. "There's no point in trying to pretend that stuff never happened, because it did -- it was great too. At least it was for me."

A smile slowly returned to his face. "Yeah, it was," he said as his mind became flooded with memories.

Stephanie peered into her old lover's blue eyes. She had forgotten how bright they were, but seeing them shine for her after many years stirred emotions in her that she had suppressed for a long time. "Are you still a big Bob Dylan and Tom Waits fan?" she asked.

Glen chuckled. "As long as I have a heart beating in my chest," he said.

Stephanie smiled, reassured by the familiarity of him. "I boughtClosing Time about six months after... after we broke up," she confessed with a bashful smile. "Just because "Martha" reminds me of us, or at least gave me some hope."

"I haven't listened to that album in years," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Because you don't like it, or..."

"No... because I can't stand the pain," he told her, his eyes darting away again. "If I never hear "Lonely" ever again, it'll be too soon."

"Didn't you learn to turn the pain off, like Bob Dylan?" she asked, only half-jokingly.

"If Bob really learned to turn it off, like he claims, he wouldn't have written those songs about Sara that he did," he scoffed. "Songs are like my stories -- they're fantasy."

Stephanie reached across the table and gave her former lover's hand a soft squeeze. Her brown eyes met his and she flashed him a feeble smile. "But your stories have more than a kernel of truth to them," she reminded him. "You turned me into one of your characters, remember? I re-read them all after I found out you wrote them. I can see so much of you in them, Glen. I'm surprised I never suspected you'd written them long ago."

"Well, like they say: write about what you know," Glen said. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. "Did you like them?" he asked.

"Of course I liked them. But I guess you already know that," she said. "And I liked them even more after I knew you'd written them."

"That surprises me," Glen replied with a nervous laugh.

"Probably about as much as I was surprised when I found out that you wrote them," she replied. "Some of them are kind of... kinky. That one about breast bondage was really hot though. I never knew those sorts of things interested you. I feel like there's a part of you I never got to know."

"Well, it's not the type of thing you always admit to, right?"

"Yeah, you're right," she agreed with a nod.

"It's too bad we couldn't have been more open about this stuff when we were together," Stephanie mused aloud. "Things with us could have gotten a lot more... interesting." She shot him a foxy grin as she brought the coffee mug up to her moist lips.

"It's too bad that we couldn't have been more open about a lot of things," he said, then felt guilty. "No -- I take that back. It's too bad that I couldn't have been more open about a lot of things. But I was so scared that if I was too honest regarding some of the reasons why I wanted to end it that it would only hurt you even more." He frowned and avoided her eyes. "But that doesn't matter anymore," he muttered.

"It's okay, Glen," she said reassuringly. "And it does matter -- you matter to me. You always have. I can't imagine you not mattering to me, even if we're not in touch with each other."

"Thanks, and I hope you know I feel the same. I think of you so much, Steph. You wouldn't believe some of the stupid things that remind me of you," he said, then fell silent for a bit. "I'm glad you're not bitter about it all either," he added in a solemn voice.

"How could I be? We had some great times. That's what I choose to remember," she told him.

"Yeah, me too," he breathed. "But, if I had to do it all over again..."

"I hope you'd do it all over me," she interjected and let out a brassy laugh.

"You haven't changed a bit, Steph," he said, giving his head a shake.

"I feel like I have," she said. "It's been four years, Glen. You can't tell me you haven't changed at all. We'll both be thirty soon. I'm beginning to feel old."

"You don't look it," he told her.

"Oh... how do I look then?" she asked as she leaned back in her chair.

Glen thought for a moment as he ran his eyes over her. He felt the beginning of an erection and said "You look the same... great -- lovely as ever."

"Now I know you've changed -- or at least your eyesight has," she said. "I'm getting crow's feet and my boobs are starting to sag."

Glen let out a sharp laugh. "That's 'cause they weigh a ton, Steph. I think I sprained my wrist holding them up one night," he said, feeling his cock throb harder.

"You always did like my tits, didn't you?" She giggled as she straightened her back. Her clit jumped and she could feel her cheeks getting warm.

"Yeah..." he said as his eyes moved towards her chest.

Many seconds of silence fell between the couple until Stephanie said "It's so good to see you again. I've thought about you so many times, and wanted to call, but... I guess I was scared you'd hang up on me, or that a woman would answer the phone. I don't know which would have hurt more."

"I know what you mean. I've thought about you too. I even picked up the phone a few times and punched in a few numbers, but always chickened-out for the same reasons," he said. "Even when I emailed you I was scared you'd reply and tell me to go to hell, or just not reply at all."

"I was shocked when I read that email, but in a good way," she said. "Thank god for Literotica."

"Yeah, here's to writing smut," Glen said as he raised his coffee mug to her.

Stephanie laughed as she knocked her mug against the rim of his, then took another drink of coffee. "Can I ask you something?" she said.

Glen grew nervous and apprehensive when he heard her request, but was not going to deny it. He knew that he couldn't deny her anything. "Of course," he told her.

"Didn't it feel weird writing a story about a character who was essentially me?" Stephanie gave him a puzzled look as she posed her question.

"No," Glen said immediately, then became quiet as he thought for a moment. "This may sound weird, but it made me feel connected to you -- like I was getting my one opportunity to say things I knew I'd never get a chance to say face to face."

"Like you were writing from your soul to me from you -- to paraphrase Bob," she said with a dim smile.

"Exactly," he said. "I'm glad you sent me that feedback, and included your email address too."

"So am I," she said with a grateful sigh. "I'd read your stories before, but this one really touched a nerve and I had to write to tell you how much I liked it."

"Thanks," he said.

"Don't thank me," Stephanie said. "I ended up doing myself a favour." She glanced at her watch, then up to him again. "I should get going in a while. I've got test papers to correct and hand back for English class tomorrow."

"Okay," he said. "It was great to see you again, Steph. Can we, ah, get together again sometime for coffee?"

"Of course. You're not going to get rid of me so easily now that I've found you again. Are you still living at the place on Montague St.?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said with a quick nod.

"Alone?" she said with a sly smile.

"Yeah... I've been alone for four years," he said.

"I'm single too," she said flatly.

Silence fell as Glen and Stephanie's minds began to race and fill with possibilities. He took a drink of coffee, gazing at her from over the rim of his mug. She gave him a shy smile and pushed her hair back over her shoulders.

"I'd like to stop in some night," Stephanie said nervously.

Glen's mouth tightened. "Steph, I... ah... are you sure that's a good idea?" he said.

"I think it's a great idea," she said and grinned.