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Michael was back, just as I had hoped. The apartment door closed behind him as he approached the mountain of clothing piled up in the corner of the room. The veins in his arms were bulging. His legs were enormous, thick as tree trunks. His quad muscles flexed with each step he took toward me. I tried not to look between them like I did during our last book club meeting—it wasn’t easy.
God, he’s so hot, I thought to myself. More than hot. He’s a dream. And he reads! He’s absolutely perfect for me. And damn, his dick is beautiful—shit, I am not looking, not looking! I told myself I wasn’t going to ogle this time. But, come on, just look at it. Then his gaze caught mine. The chiseled face spoke. “Natalie, right? Is it okay if I sit here?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. I moved over a bit to give him more room to share the love seat with me. I took a sip of tea and carefully placed it down on the coffee table in front of us, right next to my book—this week’s read was a classic novel by William Gibson.
I felt the weight of his athletic body shift the balance of the sofa, causing it to creak just a little. I adjusted myself a bit. If he glanced at my body at all, he didn’t make it obvious. After several weeks of meetings, I was already getting more comfortable being naked. It was seeing all the other nude people that still took some getting used to. The setting wasn’t supposed to be sexual.
I looked down at his feet, and damn, they were nearly twice the size of mine. Michael reached for his copy of the book, flipped through the pages and sighed. “I have a confession to make,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“I’m totally behind. I didn’t read the assigned chapter this week.”
“Oh, no big deal. I’m way behind too,” I lied.
“Guess we’re both sorta screwed.” He laughed.
I looked at the clock. Jules was running late. She was my roommate. She was in charge and had also named our little reading group the Naked Speculative Fiction Book Club, where we had in-depth discussions of science fiction and fantasy novels each week—and, as the name suggests, we all did it sans clothing.
“How’s that tea?” Michael asked. For a moment I think I sort of felt him checking out my legs as he pointed at my mug… I think.
“Oh, not bad. Could be stronger.”
“Think there’s any Starbucks coffee in the kitchen somewhere?”
“I don’t know. Want me to go check?”
“Sure.” He winked. “But make sure it’s Starbucks, okay? I don’t drink anything else.”
“I’ll see what we have.”
I returned a couple of minutes later. “We’re in luck. Two pods of Italian roast left.”
“Perfect! Books, naked people, and Starbucks coffee. What could be better?”
I couldn’t agree more. Some time went by. More small talk. A few more of the regulars arrived and the living room started to fill up. People were taking their seats and I was getting a little antsy waiting for the whole thing to start. I don’t know if it was the coffee or the hot guy, but my legs were getting all restless and jittery. Michael must have noticed, because he was looking right at my feet. “I like your pedicure—the color is sexy,” he said.
I nearly melted. “Thanks,” I said. “Just got them done this morning.”
We flirted a little more, but Jules, our fearless book club leader, had yet to arrive.
“Hmm—is she ever this late?”
I shrugged and then checked my phone to see if she had texted me. Nothing.
“Maybe she went to the store to pick up more Starbucks coffee,” he said. And then he took a big gulp from his mug and gave me an awkward grin like he was trying to be all cute.
Jeez, again with the coffee, I thought. You know, he’s sexy and all, but if we ever dated, this dude would totally try to convert me from tea to coffee. I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Hey, I don’t think she’s going to show—what do you say we grab our clothes and get out of here?”
My face got hot all of a sudden, but I tried to keep it cool on the outside. “Um, sure. It’s not like we even read the chapter anyway,” I said, feigning a laugh.
So I found my bra in the corner and dug around for a bit to retrieve my panties under the mess of stuff.
I got a nice view of Michael’s butt as he slid his jeans back on. He was still shirtless and turned around and smiled again as if to say he noticed me checking out his ass. “Wanna head to my place?” he asked.
Damn, those dimples in his cheeks, those teeth, his amazingly toned pecs, those chocolate-brown eyes… I couldn’t resist. “Absolutely,” I said. “Just let me get my shoes on, and we’re out of here.”
So, I followed him out, and we walked down the block to his car. It was freezing out, but under my coat, my entire body was so warm I’d begun to sweat.
“Do you like hot tubs?” he asked.
“Do I like hot tubs?” I felt a tingling sensation just considering the question. “Love ’em,” I said.
“Great. I have one at my place.”
I was stoked. Was I really about to do this? Jules will probably be upset that I bailed. But come on, being naked in a hot tub with Michael sounded way better than discussing cyberpunk tropes with Jules and the rest of her grad school Lit friends.
“Awesome,” Michael said, “and then afterwards we can maybe stop and get more Starbucks coffee.”
Again with the freakin’ coffee. “Actually, I don’t really drink caffeine so late, but we’ll see.”
“Oh, well it’s okay. Starbucks has hot chocolate, or you can get chai, or maybe even decaf, or you know what, nothing beats a nice warm scone after a little—”
“—um, hold on…” That’s when it fucking hit me. Goddamn it. “Michael, ugh, you sexy sponsored piece of—”
I ripped off my headset, tossed the gear on my bed, and rubbed my eyes. “Jules, are you out there? I told you not to mess with the settings on my thing!”
Of course she was nowhere to be found. Probably still out shopping. Like I needed a damn naked Starbucks ad-boy trying to get in my pants.
Shit, now where’s my tea? I took a sip—ah, still warm. I turned off the VR set, put my PJs back on, picked up my copy of Neuromancer and decided to get a jump start on next week’s reading.
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AUTHOR BIO:
Franco Amati is a speculative fiction writer from New York. You can find more of his work at francoamatiwrites.com or subscribe to his poetry newsletter Garbage Notes at francoamati.substack.com
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WHY WE CHOSE TO PUBLISH “Naked Speculative Fiction Book Club”:
This is author Franco Amati’s second appearance in Fabula Argentea (“Robot on a Nude Beach”—Jan. 2022), but the nudity concept here explores a totally different theme and takes us in an unexpected direction with an ending that leaves us chuckling.
It’s not easy to pull off this kind of story, making the reader believe one thing, when the truth is something else. That usually requires an unreliable narrator, but Natalie is a totally reliable narrator. She’s just left out one important bit of information, which isn’t her fault. She knows exactly what’s going on, and there’s no reason she would mention everything was VR.
We applaud the author’s ability to pull off this surprise so convincingly and so naturally. And we’re sure Franco Amati’s choice of Gibson’s Neuromancer for the club’s current reading material was no accident.