2000-12-18 - 22:34:17
The Little Red Pouch

The Little Red Pouch

J.C.'s microwave keeps flipping the switch downstairs. It would seem the electrical wiring in the basement suite is archaic. He called me down earlier this evening, suggesting that we run an extension cord out to the plug-in by the washer and dryer. Sounded fine to me.

Once we'd discussed this, visited a bit, I came back up the stairs.

"Queerscribe," J.C. called out, his voice a strange whisper.

I walked back down, sucking up another look at him in a tight white muscle shirt and silky blue soccer shorts. "What's up?" Oprah blared on his TV.

"Um, is this yours?" he asked, his voice a hushed song, a fiery red satin bag in his hand.

"No," I said, eyeing the crimson pouch. "What is it?"

He handed it to me. "It was tucked under the chair here when I got home from work," he explained. "I thought maybe you were hiding it or something." I grabbed onto whatever was inside, its phallic girth unmistakeable to my fingers.

It was a black dildo, complete with buxom balls.

I snorted. "Yeah, as if I'd wander into your suite when you weren't here and leave this lying around, eh?"

J.C. laughed. Oh, how his uproariousness replenishes me!

Then a suspicious, impish look shaped his face. He wandered up to his VCR, pushed 'play'. Dick prodded butt, close-up, pre-empting Oprah.

"That guy," he chuckled, shaking his beautiful head.

That guy was Kyle, who'd been, um, left to his own devices this morning after J.C. went off to work.

And what a fabulous device it looked to be!

As I retraced my steps back up the stairs to my own domain, I called back down to J.C., "And hey, if that treasure does not belong to Kyle, should it remain unclaimed, it's mine, eh?"

One last delicious laugh tickled my ears.

Previous | Next