by Lissa Kasey
“We tend to make our expectations reality,” I agreed. “Even if that isn’t a good thing.”
Micah nodded.
“Then maybe another time.” For now I need to focus on being normal, even if that was a day to day struggle. “You said something about boxes?” I reminded him.
“Right. Sky, look after the store for a few minutes, please?”
“Of course,” she said and stepped up to the register like she was ready for a line that hadn’t appeared. I followed Micah through the doorway. There was a small storeroom, a bathroom, and a little side room with a table dressed up in scarves and pagan symbols, then there was a door and stairway leading down. Micah took the stairs, and I followed. We came out at a mudroom sort of area, boxes stacked near the door. There were only six, but they were fairly large.
“I need these put in the storeroom so I can start sorting,” Micah said, shifting through the boxes. “It’s one of the downsides of having an upstairs shop. I’m always hauling boxes.”
“I’ve got this,” I assured him and picked up the first box, heading up the stairs with it. Of course my bravado didn’t last long as the boxes were pretty heavy and by the fourth trip my hip ached. When I brought the last box up I was a little sweaty and thankful to be back in the air-conditioned shop. Micah was already opening boxes and sorting things into stacks. I could hear voices coming from the shop area and glanced out to find a handful of customers at the register all talking excitedly about a tour.
“St. Louis Number One tour,” Micah said. “I only do them once a week as it’s a drive to that location, but they are always packed since I’m only one of four tour guides allowed in the cemetery. Everyone meets at the church nearby. There’s one early evening, and usually a smaller one after dark. Thursdays are my night in the cemetery. It’s one of the busiest since people always seem to make weekend dinner or club plans.”
“Okay,” I acknowledged, remembering reading about them. “Will I need to find a ride to get there?”
“I usually take an Uber, which we can share if you’re okay with that.”
“Sure. Why is the after dark one less people?”
“For safety, mostly. The graveyard is very old and has a lot of uneven surfaces and jagged corners. There’s a checkpoint in and out which does a headcount. As the tour guide, I’m responsible for all my clients. So if someone vandalizes something, even by accident, like tripping over something and breaking it, that’s a ding against me. It’s why the day group is limited to twelve and the evening to six. Some of the other cemeteries have had issues with people being shot or mugged, but security is pretty tight at St. Louis Cemetery Number One. There’s only one way in and one way out, and a checkpoint with guards. It’s also still an active cemetery with bodies being added as a lot of the plots are family owned. I think there was a ceremony yesterday. People like doing the night one because the atmosphere is different, psychological mostly.” Micah glanced up at me from his box sorting. “You ever been?”
“No, but I’m pretty new to town.”
“That’s right, Lukas said you guys are from North Carolina. I bet it’s an adjustment.”
“Humidity is the same. Culture is a little different here, almost European?” I couldn’t think of a better word for New Orleans. “Adjusting to civilian life has been the harder part,” I said. “Relearning how the world works in some ways. Almost twelve years is a long time out of the real world.”
Micah studied me for a minute. “I think having people shooting guns at you is pretty real.”
“It is, but the military is about taking orders, looking at everyone with suspicion, and praying you survive each day. The outside world is a little less intense. More talking and less gunfire.”
“Sometimes,” Micah said. “I think it depends on what part of society you’re in.” He picked up a stack of books and began to sort them.
I opened another box and it took me a few seconds to make sense of the contents. Dildos? Sex toys? Glass sculpture-like sex toys? Alien impregnator kit?
“Um?”
“Oh! I was waiting for that,” Micah said. He put down his stack of books and stepped to my side to dig through the box, pulling out not one but three big boxes that were the “Alien Impregnator Kits” of various sizes.
“What the fuck?”
Micah laughed. “It’s a thing. Someone asked me about them, if I could get them and would stock them. I have a whole section of adult stuff. Regulars shop it mostly; the rest don’t notice.”
“I didn’t notice it. And who wants to be impregnated by an alien?” There were jelly sort of eggs that went inside some sort of phallic device which then was inserted and… “Is that even safe?”
“The eggs dissolve,” Micah said examining the box. “I’ve heard some great reviews, especially from gay men. My ex’s new boyfriend is the one who wants to try it. I thought I’d ask him after they have a go.”
“You’re friends with your ex’s boyfriend?”
Micah shrugged. “Our break up was sort of a play of life events. We didn’t fit anymore. He still makes videos with his new boyfriend. Timothy has a great cock, and people love watching him. Can’t fault him for that.”
I gaped at him. Maybe my filter wasn’t so broken. Maybe I was around the wrong people. “Great cock…” Though I did remember him from the videos with Micah.
“It was actually one of his best features,” Micah grinned.
I frowned at him, comparing myself. Was I even on the radar?
“If you’re into toys, I can give you some recommendations,” Micah said as he picked up the box and entered the shop, which was blissfully empty. I hadn’t noticed a sort of floating bookshelf in the back before, with a curtain behind it, enclosing a narrow doorway. Micah walked through it into a small lighted area. There was a glass case filled with elaborate cocks of all shapes, colors, sizes, and materials, from glass to steel. Was that even safe?
The walls were filled with pegs of hanging toys, plugs, vibrators, beads, lots of leather gags and jock straps, and dildos of a thousand sizes. The room was the size of a large walk-in closet, and held more sin than I thought a southern boy like me could handle. And I was so turned on at that moment. “Holy fuck.”
“We have that too,” Micah pointed to a dildo which looked like it had a cross on the end. “Exorcism style.”
“Do I have to… would people ask me… I don’t even know…”
Micah put his hand on my elbow and squeezed. “Only regulars come here for toys, or people who Google our shop looking for them specifically. Anyone comes in asking, direct them to me. I know a lot about this stuff.”
That comment had me thinking of him in a lot of compromising ways with some of the more interesting toys including now an Alien Impregnator Kit. “Um…”
Micah blasted through the box fairly quickly, even finding a place for the two new glass dildos that looked more like art than sex toys. He noticed my gaze fixed on the case and said, “Those are one of a kind. I actually have two that I love. They’re safe, easy to clean and warm to your body temperature fairly quickly.”
“I’ve never…”
“Played with adult toys?”
My face felt like it was on fire. I was a gay man dammit. Had more than my share of one-night stands both fucking others and being fucked. It shouldn’t send me in a twist to see some toys. “No.”
“Not even a fleshlight?” He pointed toward the display on one wall. There were at least ten different kinds. I’d watched a handful of videos of him play with those.
“No.”
“A prostate stimulator?” He asked hopefully as he pointed out a few curved metal rods and some odd shaped clips.
“No.” I wasn’t even sure I’d ever had my prostate stimulated, but my cock was rock hard. Not thinking about what those toys could make me feel, but what they could do to him while I played with him. Fuck.
Micah sighed. “Gay men are so sexually repressed.” He glanced at me. “Oh, sorry. I guess
you could be bi or pan. I didn’t ask. Some guys who watched me claimed to be straight, pretending I was a girl while they jacked off. Splitting hairs if you ask me.”
“I’m gay,” I said, mouth dry, watching him bend over to adjust a display on the wall. “One hundred percent gay.”
“Well if you decide you want to try something let me know. Employees get a thirty percent discount on regular merchandise, but a forty percent on adult stuff. Sky buys a ton, but I’m not sure she’s ever used any of it. She’s more of a collector. My ex still gets the discount even though he only works a few nights a month.”
I was still stuck on his first sentence: if you decide you want to try something let me know. I wanted to try a lot of things, on him. Fuck. Was my face on fire? It felt bright red, and my cock throbbed. Would it be odd to rub one off in the bathroom? Probably. Funny how I’d worried for months that my dick was broken, libido had got up and left after the attack on my team, but now… Fuck.
“Alex?” Micah asked. “You okay?”
“Honest?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“I’m totally turned on. First time in a while. Like I thought I couldn’t anymore, but…”
Micah looked stunned. “Really?” Then he frowned. “I guess being at war can do that to anyone.”
It was that night with that thing that really broke me. And the death of my teammates. Now it was him turning me on, not being home or looking at some goofy sex toys. It was the idea of him. The fantasies a couple of videos had sparked in me, combined with his quirky casual attitude about sex and his smile. “You’re not bothered?”
“No. But I lived most of my life overseas, so the American taboo on sex never really had a hold on me. Sex is fun and enjoyable. It’s an act of consenting adults having a good time. Not something to be ashamed of. Does it upset you that your body is choosing now to react?”
“No. Just surprised… I mean I know physically there was nothing wrong with me. The doctors said it was likely psychological from…” He didn’t need to know all the gory details. “My therapist said that time would help heal some of the emotional blocks…”
“That’s good then, right?”
“Sure.”
“Do you need to step out for a few minutes?”
No. I was a grown up. Could control my urges and all that. “I’ll be okay. I’ll maybe put some stock away to get my mind clear?”
“Okay. Let me give you a little tour of the shop so you can start putting things away and getting familiar with the layout. People ask a lot of dumb questions, but most of the questions are where something is.”
“Knowing is half the battle,” I said with a bit of snark.
Micah smiled, seeming to catch my G.I. Joe reference. “I guess so.”
Chapter 3
The shop layout was pretty easy since it was so small. Thankfully focusing on the layout gave my cock time to calm the fuck down. The register counter housed expensive jewelry, all custom artist pieces that were one of a kind. There was a wall of T-shirts and other commercial junk like mass-market voodoo dolls, incense, mugs, and plaques with funny sayings. That stuff sold well and needed constant restocking, Micah informed me. All made in China shit. Cheap knock offs that the tourists loved.
The rest of the shop was more interesting, with a bookcase full of local authors, wicca guidebooks, and a few hard to find old grimoires—which were locked behind glass on the top shelf. There were a lot of local artist items. From hand knitted shawls, and voodoo cat toys that benefited charities, to glass art, and metal sculptures.
Putting away the mass-market stuff was easy. Finding room for new artwork I left for Micah since he had a box of what looked like copper pounded jazz musicians standing about a half foot high. They were kind of cool, but I didn’t see a single open shelf space to fit them.
There was a section of hand-crafted candles and soaps. Vials of essential oils, small containers of handmade lip balm and lotion. Even a section of prayer shawls and one of a kind shoulder bags decorated a corner near a mirror.
I found myself intrigued by a small section with a bulletin board marked with “Have you seen me” posters. There were dozens of posters, even a stack shoved in a folder almost an inch thick, fastened to the board. ‘411 Mysteries’ the top of the board read in bold letters. A handful of books displayed on the shelf below it indicated it was a big thing, though I’d never heard of it before. I picked up one of the books and read the back. People gone missing without a trace in state parks for no reason. Small clues tied them all together, bodies found miles away, or even across the country, without shoes or clothes. People turning up months later with no memory of where they’d been; survivor tales of wolfmen feeding children berries. It all sounded like fiction to me.
“Feel free to borrow any books you want to read,” Micah said as he added a few more to the stack beside the one I was looking at. “I do have copies of almost all of them in back that I keep for lending. Sometimes they get damaged, sometimes they never come back.”
“I’ve never heard of this before,” I said to him, holding up the book. “411 mysteries…”
“Wildlife parks are beautiful and dangerous places.” Micah gave me a tight smile. “Interesting reading, right?” He walked away, and I wondered what that meant. I flipped through another of the books, this one was categorized by names of the missing. Stories of the lost. Most of them actually were categorized that way. It was the fourth book contents page that I was rustling through that I found midway down the page, “Micah Richards.”
I blinked at it for a moment, thinking I had to be seeing things. Only when I turned to the section, there before me was a picture of a “Have You Seen Me” poster with a photograph of a younger looking Micah on it. It had been dated over two years ago. Shit. Was that the thing that had changed his course? Was it polite to ask? I put the book down and returned to stocking, trying not to think too hard as endless questions cropped up in my brain.
A thousand horrors ran through my head of what might have happened to him lost in the wilderness. He looked healthy enough now. No external scars I could see. But I knew better than most that not all scars could be seen with our eyes, and the ones crisscrossing our souls were often the deepest of wounds.
There was a rush of customers sweeping through after five, and I stood beside Micah at the register while he explained how the system worked. It was actually an easy custom application. Items were scannable with a little QR code that Micah had been ticketing items with as he unpacked them. There was even a section for the tours, which was a little more complicated than a scan and pay system. Names had to be entered, IDs checked, and electronic passes issued via email. People were actually pretty friendly, and more than a handful bought art, despite the high price tags. I packed things up while Micah chatted. Sky came and went with customers, disappearing into the little back room for a while before both emerged again, sometimes the expressions were glowing, other times grim.
By quarter to six all the boxes were put away, including a new handful of books in the locked cabinet, of which only Micah had the key. The foot traffic had died down and Sky was at the register.
“Take a break,” Micah told me. “There’s food down the street if you’re hungry, or feel free to park your butt in one of the chairs in the back. I’ve got to run two blocks over to pick up some books I won in an estate auction.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” It wasn’t dark yet, and the streets seemed bustling.
“I’m good. Take a break. Sky will handle the register. If she gets backed up try to help out. I should be back in thirty minutes.”
I nodded and headed to the backroom and the large reclining chair stuffed in the corner. A break from people was nice, even if I hadn’t been forced to socialize much. The bookcase beside the chair was stuffed with copies of titles from the shop, including the book with Micah’s story in it. I grabbed that one and flipped it to the section on his disappearance. He wouldn’t have it in the store if
he didn’t want people to know, right?
I settled in to read. It started off with a story of a hiking trip with his boyfriend. The retelling made it sound like they had been very much in love, and while his boyfriend, Timothy, had been an experienced hiker, he was also ten years Micah’s senior, and Micah had never been camping before. They’d only been out a day when Micah vanished without a trace in a public area with very clearly marked hiking trails.
Timothy claimed to have only turned his back for a few minutes. The small group of friends they’d been with had spread out over the area very quickly to search. And when that yielded nothing, authorities were called. Apparently, it had been a rather sizable manhunt, search and rescue there within hours with helicopters and bloodhounds. They found nothing. No footprints or discarded clothing. No sign of a struggle, and the police dogs couldn’t find Micah’s scent.
The police treated Timothy like a murder suspect, searching his bank records, home, car, and interviewing everyone who had known them. The media vilified him, even airing details about their videos despite the fact that neither man had ever shown their face in any of them. Ostensibly, Timothy had been very careful to protect both of them from the public, but the media had disregarded all of that for the sake of sensational news.
The whole case sounded horrifying, suspicious, and plain weird. Seven people had gone on that trip including Timothy and Micah. All of them had been hiking that day. All of them remembered that Micah was near the back of the group with Timothy, as they all attested to seeing his bright blue jacket many times when they looked back. The trail had been a wide hike up, no cliffs, ridges, rivers or lakes, for some distance, just trees and boulders. Then Micah was gone.
Missing for over three months, presumed dead, until he showed up across the country with no memory of where he’d been, in the same clothes, missing his shoes and phone. The phone was never found, signal having died months earlier in an entirely different state. Fuck.
I’d gotten to the interview section of the report when I heard Sky’s voice raised in the front, and jumped out of my chair like my hair was on fire. It was a tone of distress, and even though I couldn’t make out the words, I still rushed to her aid.
