Bobby and the Beast: A Gay Twink Romance Fairy Tale

All the Good Ones Are Married or Gay

The midday sun beat down on a farm on the outskirts of a small village. The old farmer, a widower, worked the fields as he did every day. The dry earth created mini dust clouds as he trudged through the paths between rows of meager vegetables.

He couldn't remember the last time it rained which meant that he was forced to carry heavy buckets of water back and forth from the stream in order to keep the plants alive. At first, he had used water from the well by the little farmhouse, but the well had run dry from the drought.

When one of the farmer's tools broke, he sent his only son, Bobby, into the village to get a replacement.

As Bobby walked through the village square and greeted them kindly, the villagers gossiped about him.

"Most farmers are blessed with a house full of strapping boys to help them work their fields. Can you imagine that poor farmer only had one son?" said a lady with a fancy hat as she carried a loaf of bread from the baker.

"I know," said her neighbor who'd accompanied her for the walk to town. "Look at that young man's slight build. How could he possibly do the heavy lifting and other manual labor required by farm chores?"

"He's a nice enough young man and he tries his best to help his father with the work and the animals. But let's face it, farming is no work for a twink like Bobby!"

"Look at his fair complexion. It's as white as the bread you're carrying. He couldn't possibly stay out in the sun for long hours to work the fields."

They clucked their tongues disapprovingly and walked on to their next errand.

Bobby the Twink, as he was known around the village, much preferred the world of books, both reading them and writing poetry in blank ones. As soon as he was dismissed from the table, he'd read a quick chapter or two until chore time. He'd read by candlelight long past his bedtime each night. He loved all kinds of stories, but those involving swordplay, magic, and brave princes were his favorite.

Bobby paid the blacksmith for the tool and slipped it in his pocket. He walked to the next shop down. He stood outside the bakery window looking at all the delicious sweets. His mouth watered when his eyes rested on a plate of chocolate cupcakes smothered in creamy frosting. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that it had been forever since he'd eaten a baked treat.

"I'll buy you a cupcake," said a deep voice behind him. A thick meaty hand holding fanned-out bills suddenly came between Bobby and the window.

"No, thank you. That's very thoughtful, Gary, but I have to get home to the farm," Bobby replied.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I'd recognize your voice anywhere."

"Never heard one so manly, I bet," Gary boasted.

"Indeed," Bobby replied more out of politeness than being impressed by Gary's masculinity which oozed out from every pore in his body. Bobby decided there was no need to mention Gary's big reflection in the bakery window.

"What are you up to today?" Gary asked. He didn't wait for an answer. He just kept talking about himself – as usual. "Me, I just came from hauling logs for fun. That gave me a great workout today. I think my biceps got an inch bigger than yesterday." He shoved his arm in Bobby's face and flexed. "Go ahead, squeeze it and see for yourself."

"That's OK, I believe you, Gary." Bobby moved out of the way, putting some space between them.

"Where are you going?" Gary asked.

"I didn't think there was enough room for the three of us there," Bobby told him.

Gary pointed to himself and then to Bobby. He counted to two on his fingers. "Three?" he questioned.

"Me, you, and your ego," Bobby said dryly.

Gary paused for a moment. Then he laughed because he could tell from Bobby's tone that it was supposed to be a joke. However, Gary didn't get it. He had no idea what was supposed to be funny.

"See you around, Gary," Bobby said walking down the street.

"Wait!" Gary called out, following him.

Across the street, two girls watched the scene between the two young men. "I wish that dreamboat Gary would pay me half the attention he pays to that silly twink!" said a girl with her long blonde hair in a braid with a pink ribbon on the end.

"Just our luck, the hottest guy in town happens to like other guys! What's a poor girl to do?" responded her friend as she smoothed the wrinkles on her floral skirt.

"I know, right. You know what they say, all the good ones are married or gay!"

"These days, they're gay and married – to each other! Speaking of that, how many times has Gary asked Bobby to marry him?"

She twisted her braid around her finger like a golden wedding ring. "Five? Eight? Ten? I've lost count!"

"I can tell you, he'd only have to ask me once. Can you imagine falling asleep against that strong, hairy chest every night?"

"That handsome face being the first thing you'd see every morning and the last thing before you went to sleep at night?"

"And with all the money Gary's family has, never having to work a day in your life?"

"Ahh," both girls said at once with a deep sigh. They stared across the street at Gary letting their imaginations run wild.

Gary trailed after Bobby. "You know, Bobby, your father isn't getting any younger."

"Not one of us is," Bobby replied.

"Yeah, well, what I mean is, it's getting to be a lot for him to handle that farm. If you and me got together, I'd be there to help out. I'm sure you could use a real man like me around." Gary stood tall and puffed up his chest. "Or better yet, my family is very rich. We could live anywhere. Who needs a farm? And-"

"And I'm going to be late getting this tool back to my father. I'd better hurry." Bobby waved and sprinted away before Gary had a chance to react.

* * *

The farmer knelt in a patch of vegetables pulling weeds when Bobby returned. Somehow, the weeds had no trouble growing during the drought, but the father and son could barley keep the vegetable plants alive.

"What took you so long in town, son? Did you stop by the bookbinder's shop?"

"I wish! No, Gary cornered me on the street – again."

The farmer stopped his weeding. He shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looked at Bobby. "You know, son, I'm not going to be around forever. You could do worse than a big, strong, healthy, and wealthy young man like Gary who wants to take care of you."

"Ugh!" Bobby plopped himself down in the dirt next to his father. "You're right that Gary is strong and wealthy. He's also conceited, stuck-up, insensitive, rude, pushy, and probably several other adjectives I'm too tired to think of right now. Besides, can you imagine what my hair would look like if I was with him?"

"Your hair?" his father questioned.

"I'd never be able to get near a mirror to fix it because Gary would spend every spare second in front of them all – probably at the same time so he could enjoy different angles – admiring himself!"

"OK, OK, you win, enough talk about Gary – for now."

"Thank you, father," Bobby said. "You must be starving. I'll go in the house and start supper."

"First, I want you to see the pumpkin."

Bobby perked up. "You said it died at the beginning of the drought."

"Well, it wasn't doing too well and I didn't want you to be disappointed. But I've been giving it extra care. I've pinched off all the competing buds and brought that vine its own bucket of water from the stream every day."

"And?" Bobby asked excitedly.

"Come and see!" His father stood up. He brushed the dirt off his pants and led his son to the far end of their property where Bobby hadn't been in months.

"Oh, it's huge!" Bobby said when he saw the giant pumpkin growing on the vine. "I can't believe I didn't see it from the house. It must weigh hundreds and hundreds of pounds. A prize winner for sure!"

"I think so too. That's why I'm bringing it to the agricultural fair."

"That's so far away. Such a long journey," Bobby pointed out.

"It will take several days to get there because I'll have to go so slowly to protect the pumpkin from damage. I'm going to hitch up the wagon right now and bring it over here. I'll need your help to hoist this beauty into it. I'll keep the wagon in the barn tonight and leave first thing in the morning."

"I'm sure you'll get top prize, father."

"We'll save all that prize money for your future. Well, most of it, I think there will be enough to buy you some new books, both to read and some blank ones to write in."

"Thank you," Bobby said as he hugged his father.

"I want to bring you back a souvenir from the fair as well since you'll have to stay here to tend to the farm while I'm gone."

"No, that isn't necessary, father."

"I insist. You're such a good son. I want to bring you back something that will bring a smile to your handsome face."

Bobby truthfully didn't want anything. However, the twink could see the look in his father's eyes. He knew how much it meant to his father to feel like he was providing for him, especially since their earnings from the farm had been so meager the last few years.

Bobby tried to think of something that would cost very little and be easy to obtain. The perfect idea came to him. "Father, it would be nice if you brought me a rose. Our rosebushes didn't bloom this year because of the drought. I've been wanting to write a poem about a rose. It would be so nice if I had a fresh one to look at for inspiration."

"A rose it is, for my talented son," the farmer declared happily.

The two of them got right to work on getting the pumpkin ready for the big trip.

* * *

Two days into his journey en route to the agricultural fair, the farmer sat in the wagon seat holding the reins, letting the horses trot along at their own pace. He missed his son, but he trusted him to work hard and take care of the farm in his absence.

The farmer felt something cool on the back of his hand. Could it be? He looked up in the sky and saw a dark cloud rapidly overtaking the sun. Another raindrop landed directly on his upturned nose.

All at once, the heavens seemed to open up, letting loose an ocean's worth of rain. The wagon wheels started to kick up mud behind them as they rolled along. The horses neighed their complaints of having to travel through the storm.

The farmer soon realized that the rains were out of control. The wind whipped by him, stealing his hat. It flew high up into a tree, far beyond his reach.

He scanned the area for shelter for himself, the horses, and his precious pumpkin cargo. There was nothing but the open road and the forest surrounding it.

He came upon an arched wooden bridge that spanned a rising stream. As he neared it, he urged the horses onward, but they protested. They sniffed the air and refused to take another step.

The farmer snapped the reins, but it did no good. The horses whinnied, but didn't budge. He carefully jumped off the seat and walked alongside them. He smoothed their wet manes. "Now come on, ladies, there's nothing to be afraid of. I'll lead you over the bridge myself."

The farmer held the reins as he led the horses. They pulled back, not wanting to follow his lead. He couldn't imagine what had gotten into them. They never acted like this before.

With the help of some carrots he produced from his pocket, the farmer was finally able to get the horses to step onto the bridge. Their hooves clip-clopped on the wooden planks, a sound that could be heard above both the pounding rain and the rushing water beneath the bridge.

"There, now, we're halfway already. See, ladies, that wasn't so bad." He gave them both an extra treat of an apple he had saved for them.

As the horses gratefully munched on their snack, a surge of water came rushing around the bend in the stream. The farmer had no time to think, much less put a plan into action.

The first wave washed over the edge of the bridge. It rose as high as the farmer's knees. A second wave followed it. That one crested over the bridge's railing, a height equal to the farmer's waist.

The bridge made a rumbling sound which was, fittingly, quite similar to thunder. The water in the raging stream rose even higher. The metal screws holding the bridge's main structure to its support beams on both ends loosened. The wooden beams creaked as they swayed back and forth.

A third wave drenched the farmer, his wagon, and the two horses completely. Then it swept the entire bridge and its occupants into the stream with it!