Pop held out a hand, which Gary reluctantly took. “Pleased to meet you, youngster. Now, I don’t mind you looking around. Do it all you please. But, take no offense if I stay close. Too many folks have sticky fingers these days.”
Gary disengaged from the handshake, noting that if there were any sticky fingers to be had in this shithole, they were attached to Pop’s hands. If this place had any hand sanitizer in stock, then he’d just made a sure-fire sale.
Not wanting to let on that the old man’s first impression of him was right, Gary began to browse. The more he explored the crowded aisles, the less he got the impression that this was a pawn shop and the more he began to wonder if Pop spent his nights emptying out trash bins and lining his shelves with their contents.
“Hey, your pappy is sure to like this one,” Pop said unhelpfully, holding up a lamp shaped like a salmon.
“Dad was always more of a tuna guy,” Gary muttered, hoping the old man eventually got bored and wandered away. At the very least, he tried to keep tabs on where the exit was at all times, in case Pop got a little too friendly.
God, what a dump. I’ve been in gas station bathrooms that are cleaner than... Gary’s thoughts trailed off as an item caught his eye. It seemed as if a ray of sunlight was shining through the one clean spot on the window panes and illuminating the object like some treasure in an Indiana Jones movie. There it sat, a brilliant glowing shaft of metal topped with a rubber opening.
Is that a...?
“You got a good eye, ace.” Pop put a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “It’s like that old jingle they used to play.” He began to clap. “Jack on.” Clap. “Jack off.” Clap. “Jack on, jack off...with the Jacklight!”
“Um, I think that’s actually the theme for the Clapper.”
“Is it now? Well, you may be right. My mind ain’t what it used to be.” Gary leaned in for a closer look, but Pop wasn’t finished yet. “Hell, I actually had the clap once. Itched like a motherfucker too. But anyways, what was I saying? Oh yeah! They sell the newer versions next door for fifty bucks a hit, and idiots actually pay that. You know the old sayin, don’t ya?”
“Old saying?”
“Yeah, a fool desperate to wank is soon parted from his money.” Again, Pop laughed as if he were certain he was just biding his time here until his comedy career took off.
Gary didn’t answer, lest he incriminate himself. But at the same time, he couldn’t take his eyes off the Jacklight sitting on the shelf before him. It was what he’d stopped here for...well, not actually here, but did that really matter?
“Only $11.99, in case you were wondering,” Pop said, leaning down so that his bourbon-soured breath caressed Gary’s ear. “A bargain if ever there was one.”
Gary couldn’t help himself. He reached out and grasped hold of the metal tube, noting how it was almost as if it were made for his hand. It was a bit heavier than he expected and, upon closer inspection, he noticed it didn’t quite match what he’d seen in the advertisements. He sighed in disgust. Probably a cheap Chinese knockoff made of mercury. Would probably give him blood poisoning, assuming it didn’t shatter into razor-sharp pieces around his dick first. “I don’t think this is a...”
But Pop was right there to take it out of Gary’s hands and hold it up to the light. “You got yourself a sharp set of peepers on you, champ. This here ain’t that new piece of shit. This is the original Jacklight 1.0, a vintage pleasure device if ever there was one. Believe me, they don’t make them like this no more. It’s special.”
Something about the tone of his voice caught Gary’s attention. “Special?”
Pop let out a quick nervous laugh as if caught telling a secret. “What I mean is...this baby is made of aircraft-grade aluminum, not that cheap-ass plastic they use nowadays. Hell, you could beat someone to death with this without leaving a dent. And the tip...” He turned the vaguely vagina-shaped opening at the top toward Gary. “...pure vulcanized rubber. I hear they used an actual porn star’s twat for the mold, and not one of them stretched-out old whores, a fresh bitch, so it’s nice and tight.”
“Really?” Gary asked, instantly fascinated that this man, who barely looked cognizant enough to tie his own shoes, was so knowledgeable.
“Yes, sir. This puppy was built to last. If there’s ever a nuclear war, there’ll be only two things that survive: roaches and this. Not that any of us will still have dicks to shove in it by then, but you get my drift.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And it’s not just for show either. Believe me. This fucker works. Tight as a mouse’s asshole and smooth as a spit-shine from a hair lip. Guaranteed to make a fella squirt his baby juice faster than a fresh-squeezed grapefruit. Got an extra deep reservoir, too, so you can go for weeks without emptying...”
“Wait,” Gary interrupted, “how do you know all this stuff? You haven’t used this, have you?”
Pop smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “Of course not! Never touch my own wares, that’s my motto...err, anyway, I’ll tell you what. I like your face. Today only, $9.99. You won’t find a better deal to make you squeal. Or at least your papa won’t.”
“Huh?”
“Your dad, you said you were looking for a gift for him.”
“Oh, yeah. Dad...will love this.”
“Let me guess, yer mom’s a frigid bitch?”
Gary considered things and nodded. It was probably the closest he came to telling the truth since he’d stepped into this dung heap of a shop.
“I know how it is,” Pop said with a laugh. “Sounds like my ex-wife. Let me tell you, she could make a dick wilt faster than a popsicle on a hot sidewalk. Come on, let’s go to the register so I can wrap this up for you, real discrete like. Your pa will be none the wiser.”
3
DINNER DATE
Gary was feeling quite pleased with himself as he drove home. Sure, Pop’s idea of discrete had left a bit to be desired. He’d wrapped the Jacklight in a single sheet of dirty newspaper so that it resembled nothing other than a wank toy wrapped in newsprint.
That was okay, though. By the time he’d escaped Pop’s clutches, his boss’s car was gone, leaving Gary a straight shot to his own vehicle with nobody the wiser. It had all worked out perfectly.
True, he’d probably want to give his new toy a good bleaching before using it, maybe boil it, too, just to be safe, but he had the entire evening to do so. He could order dinner and, by the time it arrived and he ate, he would be ready to settle down and get to know his new buddy Jack a bit better.
Gary was feeling in a fine mood, better than he had all week, as he pulled into his apartment’s parking lot, but that all evaporated in an instant as he spied the turquoise hatchback sitting in his normal spot.
“What?! You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said to no one but himself. “That’s not for another...” Gary looked down at his phone and felt his heart sink. He’d completely missed that it was the first Friday of the month. It was his one concession to his overbearing mother, one night sacrificed so she’d leave him alone the other twenty-nine days. That meant she was waiting inside, probably stewing over the fact that he was a few minutes late.
Why he’d ever given her a key was beyond him. It’s not like he could even count on her to take care of his cat if he went out of town or anything. She hated Chunks. Amusingly, he hated her even more, purposely taking a piss in her pocketbook whenever she sat it down where he could get to it.
It was the stupid cat’s one saving grace.
Gary considered driving on, maybe finding a cheap motel he could hole up in for the night. But he knew that would only set her off. She’d probably call the cops and try to file a missing person’s report, as if he were still twelve and late coming back from the park.
He took a deep breath, steeled himself for the unpleasantness to come, and pulled into the spot next to her, being careful to ease himself in since, of course, she’d parked with the ass end of her car way over the line.
Without
thinking much of anything, other than hoping the hours passed quickly, he grabbed his package off the seat and headed inside.
♦ ♦ ♦
“You’re barely picking at your food, Gary,” Mona Handler chided. “Show a little appreciation for all the time your poor mother put into making this.”
“Sorry, Mom,” he responded. “Long week at work.” He took another bite of what was obviously a quick Rice-A-Roni side dish, alongside fried chicken that he was certain was bought pre-made at the store.
Still, it was better than last month’s “meal,” a putrid, watery stew that was still trying to gnaw its way out of his digestive tract. At least with this, he wasn’t likely to spend the rest of the weekend praying for death on the shitter.
“That’s your problem, too much work. You need to go to church. Spend more time praying to the Lord and less to your paycheck. Do that and good things will follow.”
“I’m pretty sure my landlord doesn’t accept Bible tracts in lieu of rent, Mom.”
“The good Lord will provide. And not just money. Give your life to Him and He’ll send you a good woman, one to care for you just as I once did.”
Crap, here it comes. Gary had heard it before, nearly every time she visited. It was her monthly guilt trip, painting herself as a saint who coddled him to her bosom when he was sick, sacrificed everything, and whose heart broke whenever he strayed from God’s good graces.
He remembered his childhood somewhat differently—the constant haze from her chain-smoking Pall Malls, extended trips to Atlantic City with her bingo group, and a kitchen counter covered in two-dollar scratch-offs instead of food.
However, he didn’t dare counter her tirade with the truth. He’d tried that before, and all it did was encourage her to stay even longer. His best bet was to shut his mouth and let her exhaust her batteries. Then, when she was finally tired, she’d bid him a crocodile-tear-filled goodbye before leaving to spend the next month complaining to her friends about what a screw-up he was.
Even though this was nothing new, Gary could still feel his blood pressure rising as she continued to expound upon his shortcomings. His thoughts turned to his new acquisition and the quiet evening he’d envisioned breaking it in. It was almost like being stood up for a date, but worse since his mother was still talking.
Sadly, he made the mistake of turning his eyes longingly to where he’d unthinkingly dropped the Jacklight when he’d walked in—atop the pile of unopened bills near his front door. There it sat, almost mocking him from inside its thin newspaper shell.
“Are you listening to me, Gary? What are you staring at?”
He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, as his mother turned to follow his gaze, panic set in. Why hadn’t he left the damn thing in his car once he realized she was here?!
Gary took a deep breath and steadied himself. He was just being paranoid. She wasn’t going to notice it. Even if she did, it was wrapped up. There was no way she would...
“What’s that on top of your mail?”
Fuck my life!
“Nothing. A gift.”
“For who?”
Shit! “Wow, this chicken is awesome, Mom. You outdid yourself. You really need to give me the recipe.”
His mother wasn’t so easily distracted, though. Nor was she apparently bothered by little things like personal property or keeping her nose out of other people’s business, especially where her son was concerned.
She crossed the room and picked up the wrapped sex toy. “Are you giving someone a flashlight as a present? And is this your idea of giftwrap? I swear, Gary, I raised you better than this. Go grab me some tape and a grocery bag. Let me see if I can fix this.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Gary said, rising from his seat. “You don’t have to. It’s a...gag gift. For a...friend at work and...”
Mona tore the flimsy newsprint from the device and held it up to the light. For a moment, she appeared perplexed, as if she had no idea what it was. She turned it over in her hands, as he watched in horror, then finally stopped and stared at the rubberized end as if expecting it to talk back.
Finally, realization dawned in her rapidly widening eyes. She dropped the Jacklight as if it were a live rattlesnake, causing Gary to cry out in panic.
“Don’t, you’ll break...”
The toy hit the floor with a heavy thud and lay there undamaged.
Huh. Pop was right. It was built to last.
“Gary, explain yourself. What is this...THIS filth?!”
He should have stood his ground, acted nonchalant, but he was already on the move to pick it up. It was in his hands, cradled protectively, before he realized he’d even done so. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh? And what do I think?”
“That...it’s...” He had nothing.
“I know what that is. I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re going to use that to TOUCH YOURSELF!”
Gary knew he should shut up, lower his head, and take the lecture that was coming—like that time when he’d forgotten to empty out the garbage in the bathroom, and she’d found an industrial-sized tube of personal lubricant sitting there staring out at her.
But the way she’d said “touch yourself” struck him as funny, and before he could help it, the corners of his lips had turned up in the slightest semblance of a grin.
“You think this is funny?!” she cried. “You think spitting in the face of the Lord with your penis is a joke?”
Oh shit. “No, Mom, I...” He trailed off, desperately trying to keep from laughing.
“Do you know what happens when you touch yourself, Gary? Do you?!”
The truth was, he did, quite well as a matter of fact, but he didn’t think it would be wise to give his mother an in-depth play-by-play.
“Have you never heard the commandments, Gary? Thou shalt not kill!”
What?! “Kill? Mom, It’s not like I beat someone to death with it.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your seed, Gary. Every drop you spill in the name of personal gratification is a child that won’t live to be loved by its parents...like I loved you.”
It was moments like this when he wasn’t surprised that his dad had walked out on them. Nor did he particularly blame him for doing so. “Mom, I think you’re being a little...”
“Don’t you dare try to tell me I’m overreacting, young man.”
He could see by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t to be dissuaded. He remembered it well. He’d seen that same look right before his senior prom, the subsequent lecture on dirty girls drilled so deep into his head that he actually asked his date, during a slow dance, if she had gonorrhea. Needless to say, he hadn’t gotten an opportunity to find out one way or the other.
And now, here it was again, when all he wanted to do was spend a nice evening jerking off and bothering nobody. Gary didn’t often lose his temper, especially around his mother, but he found himself growing more ticked off by the second.
“You know, Mom, it’s a hell of a lot better than leaving some kid without child support. Is that what you’d rather have me do? Fuck some woman, knock her up, then go on my merry way to fuck some more?”
Mona narrowed her eyes at him. “God will punish you,” she hissed, pointing a fake nail at his chest. “He will curse you, both for your insolent tongue and your sinful...seed spilling.”
That was enough for him. He grabbed his mother’s coat and bag and walked to the door. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. I’m glad you could drop by. Now, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I need to drop my pants and see about dropping a load.”
His mother’s eyes opened wide, and she looked like she was about to tear into him again, but instead, she simply followed. “I worry about you, Gary.”
“I know, Ma.” He opened the door to let her out and handed over her things.
“I’ll pray for you!” she said bitterly. “For you and all the children you’ve flushed away like unwanted goldfish.”
Gary blinked
several times, unsure of what to say to that, then muttered, “Goodnight, Mom.”
She turned and began walking away but stopped about halfway down the sidewalk to reach into her purse. Her hand came out clutching a dripping wet pack of cigarettes. She spun to face him, her teeth gritted in anger. “Your goddamned cat...”
“Let me guess. You’ll pray for him too.” Gary shut the door before she could say anything else.
4
THE SPANK BANK
To say that Gary was stressed following his mother’s visit was an understatement. The only thing that would have made this night worse was if the rent were due.
Wait, it’s the beginning of the month. It is due. Fuck!
Scratch that, the only thing that would make it worse was if his boss pulled up and knocked on the... Knowing how fate was treating him that particular evening, he decided not to finish that thought.
He was almost shaking from the ordeal, but then he felt a comforting weight in his hand and realized he was still holding the Jacklight from when he’d picked it up. There it sat in his palm, almost as if it were smiling up at him. He stared back at it for several long seconds, mesmerized by the device. Pop was right. There was something special about it.
That was all fine and well, but he’d settle for it taking his mind off the disaster of a week he’d had.
Without any further hesitation, Gary walked to his bedroom and turned his laptop on. It wasn’t long before he’d navigated to some of his favorite vids, pushed his pants down around his ankles, and got to work.
For all the things that had gone wrong that day, Gary was happy to realize that Pop hadn’t been bullshitting him. The Jacklight was tight, warm, and...oddly moist. Strange, but it didn’t detract from the experience at all. Hell, even the thought of Pop in all his greasy, overweight glory couldn’t stop him from achieving the nirvana he’d so desperately sought.
Gary's Children (Shingles Book 2) Page 2
