Gary's Children (Shingles Book 2)

by Rick Gualtieri

  Gary's Children

  Shingles: Book 2

  Rick Gualtieri

  Authors & Dragons

  Contents

  1. STRESS RELIEF

  2. CUSTOMER SERVICE

  3. DINNER DATE

  4. THE SPANK BANK

  5. CUBICLE PORK

  6. HARD DRIVE

  7. DAYCARE NIGHTMARE

  8. NO DEPOSIT, NO RETURN

  Stay in Touch

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About Authors & Dragons

  1

  STRESS RELIEF

  Gary Handler was a stressed out guy. But where others turned to a variety of methods to combat the pressures of life—yoga, sports, chemical enhancements, maybe a pet to unburden their shit upon—he simply relied upon his right hand.

  This made perfect sense to him. There was no need to contort his body in strange and painful configurations, he sucked at most sports, and potentially pissing off drug dealers seemed to be far more stressful than whatever their wares promised to fix.

  He did own a cat—a so-called gift from a coworker looking to unload some unwanted kittens—but, at best, that was a wash when it came to Gary’s emotional stability. Mr. Chunks was basically an asshole, like most cats and, as such, was far more inclined to worry about his own well-being than his master’s.

  Fortunately for Gary, he had a solution to the majority of life’s worries, and all it cost him was $12.99 a month and a box of tissues. For that low, low price, he was granted access to the F*ck-Axis portal and the dozen or so adult websites it linked to.

  It was a veritable cornucopia of pornography, a home for almost any perversion the mind could envision: anal, bukakke, celebrity phone leaks, gangbangs, retro, cream pies, facials, and so much more. And it was all tasked with the awesome responsibility of making Gary’s days just a little more tolerable than they might have been otherwise.

  It filled the void in his life that a girlfriend might have, which was fine because Gary didn’t have one. Hadn’t had one for a while now. The anxiety and expense of making another human being happy was bad enough, but working up the nerve to actually talk to most women, well, that alone was enough to send him running to the bathroom for a session of self-management. Gary already had more than enough issues without worrying about the added stress of striking up a conversation with a total stranger.

  His job was fairly routine, the same thing day after day. It would have been mostly sedate had Gary’s boss not designated him the office whipping boy. She was a bitch and a half most days, enough so that he often had to rub one out immediately upon returning home for the evening, even before tossing dinner into the microwave. The ensuing rush of endorphins was usually needed to counterbalance whatever she’d chosen to rag him out for that day.

  So it was for Gary, day in and day out. A life spent mostly under the radar, doing what needed to be done, and spanking his crank enough to ensure he was ready to start it all over again the next day.

  The problem is, all routines eventually get old. For some hobbies, such as model making, where patience and precision are key, this might not have been an issue. But for Gary’s favorite pastime, in which a certain level of excitement was vital to achieving the desired payoff, boredom could be near disastrous.

  As a result, one night Gary found himself surfing through F*ck-Axis’s many categories, with soft dick in hand, desperately searching for something new and titillating to pique his interest.

  He clicked onto redhead college sluts—a small, infrequently updated category—hoping to find some new ginger pretending to be a barely legal student while her muscled hunk of a professor offered her an easy way to improve her grades.

  No. Watched it last week.

  Her stretch marks are older than me.

  Holy crap. She looks just like Aunt Beatrice. Well...

  “Jesus Christ, Chunks, get the fuck out of the way,” he groused at the overweight calico cat as it stepped onto his laptop keyboard and blocked his view of the screen.

  The damned thing only wanted attention during the most inappropriate times. So far as Gary was concerned, it was a testament to those who believed animals were stupid, unthinking creatures. If he were someone’s pet, the last thing he’d want to do is be rubbed by a hand doing what he was trying to do right at that moment. Yet there the stupid feline was, clamoring to have his ears scratched.

  After several seconds, during which it was made painfully obvious that Chunks’s perseverance greatly outmatched Gary’s ability to ignore him, he gave in and rubbed the cat’s head. He was careful to do so exactly four times. Chunks was a fickle beast. Three scratches wasn’t enough, but dare to pat his head five times and you’d be nursing a bandaged hand for the rest of the week.

  Having received his desired attention, the cat wandered off to do whatever it was that cats found important—like maybe licking his own asshole—leaving Gary alone again. Sadly, he noticed with a downward glance that the interruption had caused him to lose whatever meager momentum he’d achieved.

  This called for drastic measures. Gary wasn’t big into docudrama porn. It was all idiotic scenarios presented as if they weren’t completely staged. But, sadly, his normal fare didn’t seem to be getting the job done this evening. He considered his options and settled on PBall Bangers—a website that purported to take unsuspecting ladies, all of whom looked like hookers, out into the woods for a round of paintball. Once there, the organizers would somehow convince them to lose their clothes, which would inevitably lead to bare asses being shot with paint pellets and much fucking in the forest.

  Gary had played paintball once, several years back. So far as he could tell, the very last thing he would have considered doing—with little plastic pellets zipping past at hundreds of feet per second—was whip his dick out. Yet, the PBall Bangers somehow never failed to bag, or bang, their quarry.

  Fine, suspension of disbelief it is.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Gary’s happiness was a long time coming that evening, and not because he was in the mood for it to last. He’d seen all of the good vids before, and the only new one starred an overweight porn star trying and failing to act like a naïve coed. It took some serious effort and a lot of squinting on his part, but finally, with a tired sigh of release, he got the job done.

  Finished, he grabbed some tissues to wipe off his hands and the laptop screen. He was preparing to shut down for the evening when an advertisement caught his eye.

  Most porn site ads were bullshit: pills guaranteed to make your dick bigger, dating sites full of nothing but other desperate guys, or crappy webcams manned by creepy goth couples. This one, however, was for a sex toy called the Jacklight 2.0. It was a masturbation device designed for men. The ad claimed it to be every bit as satisfying as a real woman, but far easier on one’s wallet.

  Gary thought back to his last girlfriend. Mandy had been anything but satisfying, especially once she decided that fucking several of his now ex-friends was far more to her liking.

  That thought soured him. He gave one more look at the screen, the advertisement promising that the Jacklight was just like being in a relationship, only better because it never complained and you could toss it in a drawer once you’d had enough of it.

  If only, he thought, before shutting down for the night.

  2

  CUSTOMER SERVICE

  What a fucking day!

  Mondays often sucked for Gary, as they did for most of those in corporate America. But this day had sucked extra hard, not helped by the fact that his boss had chewed him out over a tiny accounting error. It was like she purposely kept her eyes p
eeled for anything to rag him out for—even shit that didn’t cost the company a dime. And each time, he just stood there and took it, like a good little bitch.

  He thought back to his disappointing meat massage the night before. Hopefully the new week brought new and interesting content for him to peruse. He definitely needed it.

  Gary stopped at the red light and turned his head, knowing what he’d see. The building stood there, the same as it did every day, staring back and silently mocking him for being a gigantic pussy. Titty City Bang Bang was the largest sex shop in town. It was always adorned with signs advertising lingerie, sensual oils, DVDs and, of course, “adult novelties”—aka fuck toys.

  Most of the time, a small group of persistent protesters stood outside its doors. So far as Gary could tell, they seemed to have nothing better to do than complain about a business that, despite their protest signs to the contrary, probably didn’t count young children as its clientele.

  Today, the parking lot was surprisingly empty, save for a few scattered cars.

  Either there’s a PTA meeting tonight or the liquor store is having a two-for-one sale.

  Gary liked to pretend the protestors were the main reason he’d never stopped and gone in. Trying to cross a picket line of angry soccer moms calling him a pervert was not how he cared to end an already frustrating day. It didn’t matter how many flavors of edible underwear the store claimed to carry, it wasn’t worth the hassle.

  Problem was, they weren’t there at the moment, so Gary’s excuse went right out the window. There was nothing to stop him from taking a left and going shopping—nothing except his own embarrassment. It was fucking ridiculous, and he knew it. He wasn’t a goddamned teenager. Even if the counterperson did judge him, something that would be hypocritical considering what they sold, why the fuck should he care? He was a taxpaying adult.

  Yeah, that was it. There was no reason to feel shame. He wasn’t hurting anyone. He could walk in there with his head held high, buy whatever the fuck he wanted, and use it however he...

  The light turned green, and Gary continued toward home, his resolve disappearing quicker than his foot could hit the gas pedal.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  What had started as a disaster of a Monday rapidly became a fucking train wreck of a week. Five full days of being shit on at work, enough that he was tempted to wear a rain slicker to the office come the new week. As much as that sucked by itself, it had been followed by four nights of disappointment. He’d tried scouring the web for new videos, skimming mainstream movies for fuck scenes, even soaping up in the shower while imagining his right hand was a hot date. The only rewards he’d gotten for his troubles: an excess of unreleased stress and a chafed dick.

  Come Friday evening, Gary was practically crawling out of his skin with the need to spit some venom out of the one-eyed cobra. He desperately needed to forget this week and relax.

  He stopped at the familiar red light on the way home and tried to keep his eyes focused straight ahead. But he knew it was there, silently calling to him. Every day the pull of Titty City Bang Bang had gotten stronger. He hadn’t seen the throng of idiots outside with their picket signs all week. Either they were taking a break or had found some other dipshit cause the world needed saving from.

  Their absence, combined with his desperation, had emboldened his subconscious.

  You’re an adult.

  You can shop wherever the fuck you want.

  It’s your money, so spend it however you choose.

  Almost as if his upper half had a mind all its own, he found his head turning in the direction of the store. Only a few cars sat in the parking lot of the small strip mall. It was the perfect time.

  No! I can’t do it...

  Gary’s thoughts trailed off as he saw there was a new sign hanging in the blacked-out one-way windows.

  Jacklight 2.0—now in stock! Only $49.95. Get Jacked Up Today!

  Something stirred deep inside of him, and not just in his pants. It was as if fate itself were calling to him. Maybe that was what he needed, new physical stimuli to go along with the mental—albeit hopefully not like that one time he’d gotten his prick stuck in the vacuum.

  The light changed. Gary meant to keep driving, but it was as if his arms became detached from his brain, like having an out-of-body experience. He watched, fascinated, as he put on the turn signal and began to turn the wheel.

  I’m actually going to do this!

  He pulled into the parking lot and purposely picked a spot that made his destination appear ambiguous.

  Maybe this won’t be too bad. Hell, they’re probably happy to have the business. Will probably give me a “rent ten movies, get one free” card.

  Bolstered by desperation masking itself as bravado, Gary turned off the engine and got out of the car. He walked up onto the sidewalk and then looked both ways, as if there were morality police scoping out the strip mall and making note of his presence.

  Oh, this is stupid.

  With a sigh of disgust at himself, Gary turned right and headed toward the front entrance of the sex shop. He passed an old brown BMW parked up against the curb and was just about to reach for the door when he stopped dead in his tracks.

  No. It can’t be. You’re just imagining it.

  Almost against his will, he turned back toward the Beemer, his eyes dropping to the license plate reading “GT*W00D.”

  He knew this car, dreaded watching it pull into the office parking lot every morning because it meant his torture was about to begin. It belonged to his boss, Laura Wood. She was here and, judging by where she’d parked, she was inside.

  Why her?!

  Despite knowing that it was after hours and he was free to do as he pleased without needing or wanting her blessing, he abruptly made an about face and headed in the other direction.

  Gary was about to step off the sidewalk and race back to his car when he realized how that would look. He wouldn’t be fooling anyone, especially his boss if she happened to step out and catch him. It would be obvious where he’d been headed, and it would be even more painfully obvious that he’d pussed out. If there was one thing that was even worse than society judging him as a pervert, it was being judged as too big of a pussy to man up to being a pervert.

  Rather than retreat to his car, he continued walking, heading toward whatever store sat next to Titty City Bang Bang. Truth be told, he had no idea where he was going. Though he’d passed the sex shop nearly every day since it had opened, he’d never bothered to notice the adjoining businesses. In essence, their flashier neighbor served as almost the perfect camouflage for the other shops sharing retail space with it.

  He reached the door. For a moment, he was certain the place was empty as the windows were all soaped up. But then he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the coast was still clear, and when he looked back, he realized it had simply been a trick of the light.

  A dirty sign advertised the storefront as “Pop’s Stuff,” whatever the hell that meant. It didn’t matter. Gary stepped inside. A bell jingled above him to mark his passage.

  He’d been hoping for maybe a convenience store. If so, he could pick up something innocuous, like a pack of gum, then be on his way, content that if anyone saw him, they’d know for certain that he was far more interested in fresh breath than videos featuring double penetration.

  Sadly, there seemed to be nothing convenient about Pop’s Stuff. At first glance, Gary thought he’d accidentally stumbled into the home of some crazed hoarder, or perhaps the remnants of a failed estate sale, but then he saw the dingy price tags stuck to each item and realized he was in some kind of pawn shop.

  “Help ya, son?” a gruff voice asked.

  Gary actually jumped, wondering whether one of the ancient wares lining the shelves had achieved sentience and was talking to him. But then he saw someone stand up from behind the counter.

  The proprietor was an old man with far more hair growing from his nose and ears than atop his head. He’d definitely
seen better days. The stained wife-beater he wore just barely covered his oversized gut. To Gary, he looked more likely to be guzzling shoe polish in the back of an alleyway than manning a shop.

  “You deaf, boy?”

  “Err, no,” Gary replied. “I was...just looking around.”

  “Uh huh.” The old man coughed, then hocked up a disturbing amount of phlegm, which he spat behind the counter. “Let me guess. You was looking to grab some wanking material at the store next door, but saw your wife passing by and ducked in here instead?”

  Sweat began to form on Gary’s brow at how eerily close the sloppy old bastard was to hitting the bullseye. “No.”

  “It’s all right, kid. Happens all the time. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. I know how people are. We all got urges.”

  The way the man’s eyes lit up when he said “urges” sent a chill down Gary’s spine. He had little doubt that if this place had a basement, there were probably people tied up down in it. “I’m serious. I popped in to...find a gift for...my dad. He likes vintage things.”

  The truth was, he had no idea what his father liked or if he was even still alive. He’d walked out on Gary’s mom when Gary had been six and away at summer camp. Young Gary had returned home to find all trace of the man gone and his mother refusing to acknowledge he’d ever existed. But this geezer didn’t need to know that.

  “Well, that’s a breath of fresh air,” the shopkeeper replied. He stepped around the counter and approached Gary. “Got any ideas what he likes?”

  “Um, I figured I’d just browse.”

  The old man eyed him up for a moment, almost as if peering through his lies and into the cowardly soul beneath. That or he could have just had shitty eyesight. “Name’s Pop. This is my shop.” He let out a laugh, as if that were the funniest joke ever told. Gary, for his part, offered a polite smile in return.