markwildyr.com, Post #73
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Last week’s post pushed some buttons. Had some feedback on my personal email. Wonder if I made a mistake by providing that address? Is there any way to give posts a like? If so, appreciate it if you'd do so.
This week’s offering is a two-parter and comes right from my imagination. I’ve never tried anything like this, nor would I know how to if I wanted. Hope you enjoy.
Dave Albano was the object of my desire, the genesis of my dreams, and the likely reason I was a closet gay. He was the first person—only person, really—I felt physically attracted to.
We were best friends through high school even though he went football while I went soccer. He got tangled up with a bunch of girls at school, but I only fooled around half-heartedly for appearances’ sake. I stood beside him as best man when he married a perky gal named Charlotte and waved them off on their honeymoon.
I became his confessor when the marital troubles began, sitting at his side and listening to his litany of woes. I was there the night he got drunk and raised hell to the point she called the cops. He never laid a hand on her, but he sure tore up their house. They released him into my custody. He slept away the spell of Madam Alcohol beside me in my bed that night, exquisite torture. I sat quietly at his side as he wept over the inevitable divorce.
It couldn’t go on like that. I had to do something… anything. I had no idea of what that something would be, until I sorted out my dirty clothes after we’d taken an overnight hunting trip. There, wadded up with my stuff, were two of his shorts. One was baby blue; the other, dove gray.
Those two skimpy garments gave me an idea. Hell, I could do it! I was an electronics engineer, wasn’t I? I tossed all the dirty clothing in the washer and headed out the door to get what I needed. It took three stops, but by the time I was back home to put everything in the drier, I had it pretty well figured out.
For two hours I wove an invisible web of fine wires among the cotton fibers of those briefs. Making certain there were no exposed ends to scratch his flesh, I attached a microchip. Finally satisfied with the job, I slipped on the baby blue pair and grabbed the small rheostat dial that excited the wiring… and hopefully, Dave Albano. Dialing up the rheostat, I sighed in pleasure as a comfortable warmth suffused my genitalia. I eased the control higher; my flesh reacted to tiny electrical impulses just as the phone rang.
“You sound funny,” Dave said when I answered.
“Ran up from the basement to catch the phone,” I lied.
“Rick, I can’t find my underwear. Did I get them mixed up with yours?”
“Yeah, they’re in the laundry as we speak. You’ll get them back cleaner than you left them.”
“Great! I’ll be right over. Since the divorce, I’m down to three pair.”
“Charlotte took you for your shorts, too?”
“Damned near,” he said with a sour laugh. “We had a fight one night, and she starched every pair I owned. I ripped them up and bought me a three-pack, and that’s all I’ve got left. You’ve got two-thirds of my entire supply of underwear in your washer right now.”
I thought quickly. The thing I had rigged up wouldn’t survive more than one washing. But if I got him another three pair, I’d have over five-sixths of his shorts rigged for action. If I couldn’t attain my goal with those odds, then it wasn’t going to happen!
“Uh, I was on the way out the door. Wash out your one pair for tomorrow. Come over after work and we’ll have a pizza. You can pick them up then. Okay?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Faced with a full evening of work, I raced to the mall and prowled around until I found the brand he wore…expensive fuckers for such tiny rags …and bought three of them. Back home again, I threw the new underwear in the washer and waited impatiently until they were clean and dried. Then I wired them up, seriously considering inscribing "Intel Inside" on them. I didn’t, of course; they weren’t computer chips, just small, controllable power supplies.
Damn, I loved being around Dave. Talk was easy, and even the short stretches of silence were so comfortable I never wanted our visits to end. The next evening as we sat in my den and swigged cold Coors, he scared me when he said he thought he’d switch to boxers so he’d feel loose and free all the time, but he was only joking. We’d both worn jockeys and athletic supports all our lives and weren’t about to change now.
Dave let his surprise show when I brought out five pairs of shorts and tossed them in his lap. “Damn, did they mate and multiply?”
“I felt sorry for your wretched ass being so raggedy, so I picked up some more for you.”
“These are brand new?” he asked, holding up a pair.
“Brand spanking,” I answered.
“Then how come they aren’t in the store wrappers?”
“I don’t know about you, but I don't wear my shorts until they’ve been washed. They’ve been through the washer and drier.”
After he excused himself to try on a pair, he returned and invited me to dinner as thanks.
That evening at the Chez Charles, I waited until we finished dinner before nervously slipping my hand inside my coat pocket and fingering the control mechanism. While he ordered aperitifs, I twisted the dial a fraction.
“Enjoyed that,” Dave said later as he leaned back and patted his flat belly. “Haven’t had a good steak since the divorce.” He shifted in the booth. “Man, I’m getting horny as hell. I need to find me something!”
Here it is, right here! I didn’t say it, of course, but man, my mind was shouting it!
“I’ve been living like a monk for the last few months, but tonight, old Davy’s ready for some action. I mean really ready!” His eyes went straight over my shoulder and sort of glazed. “Like with that!”
Turning in my seat, I saw a big, busty blond in a tight sweater and short skirt approach the cashier.
“Rick, my friend,” Dave said with a loopy grin. “You’ll have to excuse me. Call you tomorrow night.” He tossed some bills on the table to cover the tab and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder as he rushed off to give the erection I’d generated to a woman! Well, at least my contraption worked.
Well, that didn’t work out, did it? But there’s more story to come, so don’t give up hope.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
And now my mantra (yes, it’s mine, even if I borrowed it from Don Travis): Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.