It was dark, it was raining, the narrow country road was heading nowhere, and on the radio, there was something about demolishing the Washington Monument to build a 50-foot tall golden statue.
"Turn that junk off!” Stacy told his boyfriend Pontius. “I’m tired, I’m cold, and I’m not in the mood.”
“She was actually my Grandma’s bff. They recorded an album together.” Pontius didn’t like to talk about his family much, because it was so complicated – and seedy. It seemed like someone with a grudge against his granddad, world-famous Evangelical preacher Eli Gemstone, showed up every single year. There were kidnappings, murders, assassins on bikes. He actually met Stacy when the guy was shoot by a serial killer targeting Grandad Eli.
Pontius pulled up the “Greatest Hits” album his phone and sighed as she began “Two Doors Down.”
It had been a bad day from the start. Well, not waking up with Stacy in his arms at the Charlotte Hilton. Breakfast was ok. But the last session in the Queer Youth Conference was bogus, all about handling internalized homophobia and religious guilt. It was 2026. Who felt guilty about being gay or bi anymore? They wouldn’t have gone at all, but they promised to report to Uncle Kelvin, who was running the queer youth ministry at the Salvation Center.
They got a late start, and then they had to detour around Columbia, and then they took a wrong turn onto an endless country road in rural South Carolina. No mile markers, and the GPS wasn’t even working.
Crunch! A flat tire. Of course! Stacy pulled over to the side of the road.
“Do you have roadside assistance?” he asked.
“Sure. but…no bars. I can’t call.” He hesitated. “ I’m a poor litle rich boy – we had drivers, chauffeurs, and auto mechanics on staff, so I never learned how to do anything but get gas – maybe. I don’t suppose you know how to change a flat tire?”
“I don’t know,” Pontius said. “When I look at you, all I can see is how hot you are.” He drew Stacy in for a kiss.
“Hey, didn’t we pass a castle a few miles back? We could stop by and see if they have cell phone reception. Or maybe they have a land line.”
“A castle in South Carolina, Stace?”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s part of a Medieval Times restaurant, or a miniature golf course. Anyway, unless you have a better idea….”
The “castle” was more like one of those counry mansions built by the robber barons in the 19th century, all Gothic spires, with a central tower and a greenhouse dome. When they knocked, a middle aged man, balding but with long blond hair, answered the door and said “Hello” in a weird faux-British accent.
“Hi, I’m Pontius, and this is my boyfriend Stacy."
He stared. “You can call me…Riff Raff.”
“Underdog role playing -- cool! So, Riff Raff, our car broke down. Could we use your phone to call a tow truck?”
He continued to stare. “Hmm…I think you’d better ask the Master about that.”
The Master? Pontius nudged Stacy. Were these guys into a BDSM master-slave relationship?
He led them through the parlor, past a huge assortment of Goth relics – stone gargoyles, a statue of a bear, a skeleton in a coffin. The Master must be a Heavy Metal rocker.
“You’re very lucky that the Master is home tonight. Usually he’s out with his…um…affairs.”
“You’re lucky!” came a voice from above – It was a woman with frizzy black hair, dressed in a maid’s outfit, sliding down the staircase bannister! “I’m lucky, we’re all lucky, ha ha ha!”
When she got to the base, she curtseyed. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Huh?”
“Magenta! My name is your favorite color, Magenta! Lke pink, but sexier!”
“Oh – I was going to say blue,” Pontius told her. “I’m digging the French maid outfit, but your accent is slipping. It sounds Eastern European.”
“It’s Transylvanian! We're aliens from the planet Transylvania." She paused expectantly. Did she think they would be surprised?
"Cool," Pontius said, covering a yawn. "My brother dated Jimmy Olsen, who works for the Daily Planet, and one time in Metropolis he introduced us to..."
"Shall we continue?" Riff Raff interrupted. "It's astounding -- time is fleeting. Madness takes its toll."
Through two more knicknack-filled rooms and into a space that looked like a ballroom.
“The Master will be down presently,” Riff Raff said. “He’ll want you out of those rain-soaked clothes.” He started pulling off Pontius’s shirt, and unzipping his pants. The maid Magenta did the same with Stacy.
A blond hunk fumbling with his shirt? His cell phone had bars now, but calling a tow truck could wait….
Stacy was not as enthusiastic about Magenta. “Wait a minute – I’m gay! Could I get Riff Raff? My boyfriend Pontius is bi – maybe he’ll be into the French maid scene.”
She sneered. “Transylvanian maid. But you can relax, femme boy. I just like to watch. In another dimension, with voyeuristic intention, well secluded, I see all.”
“Ok, then, we’ll both take Riff Raff,” Pontius said. He reached down and tried to fondle his crotch, but the blond dude pushed his hand away.
The Sweet Transvestite
With a loud clank, an old fashioned elevator descended, and out came a hot guy in a dominatrix outfit, with fishnet stockings, high heels, pearls, glam makeup and an old-time movie star hairdo. Pontius nudged Stacy “Dibs.”
The Master began to sing: Don’t get strung out by the way I look – don’t judge a book by its cover. I’m not much of a man by the light of day…
“Don’t say that,” Pontius interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being femme. Actually, I prefer femme boys.” He put his arm around Stacy.
“Um…ok….I’m just a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania..”
“Not cool, dude,” Stacy said. “Those oldster terms are offensive. You’re a drag queen, not a transvestite, and it's transgender, not transsexual. And how can everybody on a whole planet be trans?"
“It's just to set the mood, ok? My planet is actually named Trafalgador."
Pontius held out his hand. "I'm Pontius, and this is my boyfriend Stacy."
"Charmed. My name would be too complicated for your tiny human minds to comprehend, so you can call me Frank. Frank N Furter.”
Pontius and Stacy both started giggling. “You’re an advanced alien species, and that’s all you could come up with?” Stacy said.
“Do you have a brother named Meat Loaf?” Pontius asked.
Frank glared at Riff Raff. “Um…have you met my boy toy, Rocky? When I was just a horny young thing, I built a man...with blond hair and a tan. He’s good for relieving my…tensions.”
Rocky was a silver fox muscleman, in his 50s, wearing only a bulging golden jockstrap. He flexed as he walked.
Stacy nudged Pontius. “Dibs.”
Rocky held out his hand and grunted.
"I'm afraid my man is nonverbal. I never could get the esophagus right, but everything else works. A deltoid and a bicep, a hot groin and a tricep makes me...shake. Makes me want to take Charles Atlas by the..."
“We have a flat tire, “ Pontius began. “We came in to use your phone, but we have bars now, so we can be on our way. Unless…” he said hopefully.
Frank began to sing:
Why don’t you stay for the night? I could get you both rooms. We could listen to some Dolly Parton tunes. Or if you want something visual, that’s pretty groovy, We could take in an old Steve Reeves movie. “Who?”
Stacy looked him up on his cell phone, and showed Pontius. A muscle hunk from the 1950s! “Yeah, let’s do that.”
They watched
Hercules Unchained (1958), with Rocky shadowing the action like in a midnight move. Riff Raff didn’t watch, but occasionally Frank summoned him for more popcorn or soda.
It’s not healthy hereWhen the movie ended, Pontius expected someone to suggest a three way. Or a four way. Maybe he could screw Magenta the French Maid – er, Transylvanian Maid -- while watching Frank screw Stacy. Wait, Stacy wasn't into ladies. He could screw Riff Raff while Frank was sucking Stacy. Wait, Stacy wasn't into femme guys, either. This was getting complicated.
But no one suggested anyything. Frank yawned, said something about needing his beauty sleep, Rocky grunted, and they disappeared. Riff Raff took their arms and led them to separate blue and pink rooms.
“That’s ok, we’re a couple,” Pontius told him. “We can sleep together.”
“I’m afraid the beds are too small to accommodate two such…strapping young men. You’ll have to part, and reunite for dinner. It’s at 3:00 am.”
Aliens had dinner in the middle of the night, after sleeping for a few hours? Well, when in Rome…
More after the break. Caution: Explicit.
