Don't Try This at Home

by Ellee Hill

  As the last of those helping me to move left, I quickly locked up and ran upstairs. I sought out my box of goodies, stripped off, and headed on a mission: to christen the bathroom.

  Armed with my Prostate Massager in one hand and my silicone based lube (much more suitable for the shower) in the other, I entered the bathroom with great anticipation. I experienced my first complete, no chance of interruptions, “me” time. My massager took a little longer than some of my other toys to get into place, due to its size, but ohhh myyy Godddd, it was so worth it. Turning it on to a medium setting, it wasn’t long before I was groaning with pleasure as it vibrated inside me, and my hand was flying over my one-eyed spitting python quicker than a piston on a car engine.

  My favorite appendage had been known by many aliases over the years, dependent on the film or series that I considered prominent. Some of those names included Thunderbird 6, my Jolly Rodgerer, Captain Peacock, Lightsaber, the Cock of Narsil, Wand, and, of course, The Staff of Power.

  DURING the following eighteen months, I lived the life of a single male, having my selection of friends over for the odd party. We’d usually end up having saber duels in the garden. In a fight, I liked using two Yoda sabers; they were shorter than the Darth Vader or Luke Skywalker ones and more easily wielded. We’d reenter the house later with bruised knuckles and sore asses from where the lightsabers had struck.

  Invariably, by the end of the evening, Dino would end up humping someone’s leg; I really should’ve gotten him neutered. Maybe it was the fact that we always ended up half pissed and watching porn, needing to either adjust our trousers or cover our reactions with a pillow. Given the sensitive nose on my poor pooch, I was positive the pheromones given off by us guys had a damaging effect on his canine psyche. It was Nick, though, who usually ended up being the one Dino humped. Perhaps he was a dog in a previous life, because he sure as hell was a dog in this one; shagging what he could, when he could, whether it be male or female.

  I remember once a group of us were out at a club in Birmingham and Nick had had more than a drink or two. He approached us, drunk as a lord, announcing proudly that he’d be leaving with two girls. I personally shuddered at the thought of mounting two girls, but to each his own. Ben and Wally—the straight guys in the team—shouted “way to go, Nick!” and waved him on his way. At that moment, Matt spotted the girls looking in our direction, excitedly waiting for the “Stud” of the hour. Don’t get me wrong, folks, I have some pretty damned fantastic larger friends, and I haven’t always been in the tall-and-thin-hit-your-head-on-the-ceiling club either, and I sure as hell ain’t Brad Pitt, but damn, those girls would have made Barney Gumball look like a model. I know beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, but Nick must have been wearing beer goggles when he paired up with them. I thought about “saving” him, but knowing what a horny fucker he was, I let him go.

  The next morning, I got a “please rescue me” call. You should have seen him when I pulled up at the bus stop in Wythall! As he staggered toward my car, he looked as though he’d been given a riding he’d never forget. They’d obviously made good use of his “disco stick,” and I hummed the Lady Gaga tune to him as a reminder. By the look of him, though, this encounter would go down in his scrapbook as more of a “Bad Romance.” I pissed myself laughing at the dishevelled sight before me. The poor bastard was shook up, but it was his own damned fault, and we ripped the shit out of him for it for a long, long time.

  Among other things, I treated myself to a new double bed. I’d have loved to have a queen, but, A, it wouldn’t have fit in my room, and B, it was sooo difficult in the UK to get a queen-sized wrought iron headboard. Oh well, at least with a double there’d be no room for him to escape when I finally managed to nab myself a boyfriend.

  My new bed only just fit into my room along with my wardrobe and cabinets, but at last, gone were the days of my feet hanging over the end of the bed… I now intended to hook them somewhere else. The bed had drawers, too, which meant I could store all my toys within arm’s reach. I celebrated the purchase by watching my favorite *cough* film *cough* on my laptop, which was placed on the bedside table, and hooking my feet under one of the bars on the headboard while using my anal beads. I used them so often that I kept them stashed at the front of the drawer. I could find them blindfolded in the middle of the night if I had to. Mmmmmm, blindfolded, one of my growing lists of kinks.

  Like most parents, mine often popped in. Knowing this, the cross every T and dot every I engineer in me made sure we had an agreement in place that they never just “popped in” without a phone call first. But their regular visits were great, because Mom being a mom always cleaned downstairs for me. Bless her; she knew never to venture upstairs unless it was to use the bathroom.

  For a while they badgered me on the state of my carpets. They were right, of course. Again. At times, I wondered when I’d get to be right. Did it come with age? Or did you have to be a parent first? If so, I could be screwed. Okay, that’s a debate for another time. Getting back on track….

  The previous owners left the carpets and curtains, and they were beautiful when I first moved in. But to be honest, fawn carpet with a dog and a bunch of partying men didn’t stand a chance of faring well. Coffee and beer rings stained the carpet around the settee, and the odd paw print on the main run-through just wouldn’t vacuum out. On occasion, it looked like the runners from the London Marathon used my house as a detour from the given route. I never let my mom see it like that—hell, she’d have handcuffed me to their car and taken me back to their place.

  “R-Time” had come. Yep, the time had come to do the R word—renovate. My house needed a makeover; it was time to make it truly mine.

  A few weeks and many samples later, I decided on my color scheme. I painted the walls mushroom—it was warm, but not girly—and ordered a red, hard-wearing carpet. I made arrangements with the carpet shop that one of their guys would do the fitting, but that I’d remove the current carpets and ensure all or most of my furniture was out of the way. With the exception of a couple of larger items, I did all the moving on my own. The last thing I wanted was to have anyone, and I meant anyone, seeing my very aptly named “bottom” drawer. I also wanted to do some things on my own, just to prove to myself that I could. Yes, even beanpoles have muscle. Our center of gravity, though, is a little higher, making furniture shifting somewhat backbreaking.

  I’ll never forget the day my mom explained to me about bottom drawers. Here in the UK, the term “bottom drawer” is a common expression. It is not always a drawer, or the description of a physical position within a dresser—sometimes it’s a box or cabinet—but either way, it’s somewhere that you save things for your life after you get married or leave home.

  However, to this gay guy, it meant so much more, especially given the uses for the toys I keep in my “bottom drawer.”

  My mom made a comment once about her bottom drawer to Dad. After our talk, everything clicked into place. I so never want to investigate hers. God only knows what I’d find in there; I was positive it would scar me for life. Thinking about it, she might not want too close a look at mine either—there might be a thing or two in there that would scar her for life! If not her, then definitely my dad.

  My toys were sacred and personal to me, especially considering where they went and what they stimulated. The closest of my friends knew the items I had, but not even they had actually seen them. The only people who had ever seen my stash were two of the few boyfriends I’d had over the years during and since University. They were the only ones who lasted long enough for us to venture into toys as a couple. It’s also where I discovered the sensual side of being blindfolded and cuffed to a bed. For me, it was only effective when in a relationship; the thought of not knowing what your partner was going to do, and trusting them enough to do something special and erotic, was both mind-blowing and pure bliss.

  THE day came for my carpets to be fitted. The van pulled up outside and I ran to open the door. Wh
at greeted me had me stumbling over every word that exited my mouth, almost spouting complete gibberish. The guy looked familiar, but while I remembered the boy… what stood before me was the completely delicious, muscle-clad, boxer-dropping, smiling man. He was slightly shorter than me, but oh my, had he grown! The sparrow had morphed into a golden eagle.

  So stupefied by the magical green emeralds commonly and most insufficiently known as eyes, I fell right into my old teenage habit of “Yoda-speak.” An Adonis before me there is… inadequate before him I feel. He’d filled out very nicely… everything about him was just more. His brown hair seemed richer, his green eyes deeper, his muscles bigger. Just the thought of that mouth had me twitching in my pants. It was a good thing that I was wearing one of my long, baggy shirts; else, the situation would have been even more embarrassing.

  He obviously didn’t recognize me as he held out his hand for me to shake, announcing, “Andrew Stapleford.”

  I already knew who he was… he was the first addition to my teen spank-bank. To borrow an American phrase, at school he was the traditional “jock who always had a girl hanging off each arm.” Though in later years he seemed to stick to one girl called Sam. At school he’d been lithe and athletic, always on any team that was picked to represent the school. He was the one everyone cheered for in the closing stages of a race.

  Shaking his hand in return, I introduced myself before taking him on a tour of the house. I used every chance I got to check out his ass, which was pert and, like the rest of his body, well-toned. Of course Dino, in typical doggy style, ran up to him and immediately smelled his balls.

  I was mortified but managed to put on a brave face and an embarrassed laugh, saying, “Well, that’s dogs for ya. Come on, Dino, let’s get you outside.”

  By the time I returned, the tide of pink rising up my neck had begun to subside.

  Thankfully, Andrew was relaxed over it all, saying that he’d been greeted in many different ways since he’d been carpet fitting and Dino’s reaction was mild compared to some. The funniest being a house bunny that kept trying to fuck his foot.

  After the offer, acceptance, and consumption of a cup of tea, plus a few pleasantries—ahh, what would England be without sharing a cuppa. It was traditional and the solution to all happy, awkward, or tough situations. If the Daleks had drunk tea, I’m sure intergalactic relations would have been much more cordial—Andrew got to work on the one room I had managed to completely empty. Everything else was going to have to be a conveyer belt of temporary homes for my stuff until it found its final and original resting place.

  As he finished one room, I’d move items from another into it. I’d already arranged the order of events in my head beforehand. I was surprised at the amount of junk I’d accumulated in just eighteen months. I know they had the best intentions, but it felt like all my relatives used me as a private dumping ground for all the items they secretly didn’t want, not to mention my own inability to throw something out just in case I had use for it later. I even had a “man drawer,” where I kept old keys, phone chargers, bulbs, ugh, the list goes on. So I took the opportunity to do some sorting, knowing that if I put that stuff back in its hiding place, I’d never throw anything out.

  Andrew got the spare room done first. Then, while I was emptying my room of its final odds and ends, he did the lounge. I could hear the banging of him working, manhandling the carpet and getting it into place, and I couldn’t help but wonder what else he could bang and manhandle into place. I had to get my brain out of the gutter and focus on other things in order to survive the day.

  The drawers from my bed were already in the garage, safe and covered, ready to be returned to my room after dark. My wardrobe was on the landing, along with my TV and other electrical bits and bobs. Everything else I couldn’t find a temporary home for was in the bathtub, covered by towels.

  Looking around, I realized that if you wanted the bathroom, you’d have to complete an Olympic obstacle course to get there. Now that’s something I wouldn’t mind witnessing; exactly how limber was my Adonis of a carpet fitter? Maybe I should feed him a few more cups of tea and find out….

  I was about to move my bed when Andrew came in, offering me a hand because he’d finished downstairs. The sight before me had me swooning. He’d removed his shirt and was standing before me in low-slung jeans and his vest top, showing off every muscle in his torso. And sin of all sins, he held his hammer in his hands. My eyes glazed over and my mouth went dry before the word “lemons” popped into my head. My arid mouth pooled with saliva, enabling me to think, talk, and return to the present.

  I first learned of the Lemons technique at school. I was waiting for my French oral exam, quietly sipping a bottle of water that seemed to be evaporating before it reached my throat. Mr. Barns, my teacher, noticed my discomfort and suggested that I take a deep breath and think of lemons before going in. Apparently, thinking of lemons was supposed to make your mouth salivate. Unfortunately, that’s not where my mind went. I already knew of my mother’s reading habits; she preferred sword and sorcery and corporate espionage books with an over the top dose of slash. She always said that she no longer wanted to read about a man’s hands on another woman’s girl parts—she’d read plenty in her past, and all the scenes became “same o’ and boring” after a while. Of course, “lemons” means something totally different in the world of X-rated writing. Therefore my brain went in another direction completely… it almost made me spit all over the helpful Mr. Barns.

  During the previous couple of days, I’d manhandled furniture and removed the carpets. My bedroom had been the most difficult, because it was still occupied, so I had used the cut and yank method of extracting the rug from my room. In the morning, before Andrew arrived, I had stripped the bed, taking it all downstairs to be washed throughout the day.

  There was only the base of my bed left to move, but it was an awkward thing, so I graciously accepted his help.

  The minute we upended the bed, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. There for the world to see, but most embarrassingly, Andrew, was a blindfold, a pair of black leather cuffs, and the box to my Rhino Vibrating Butt Plug and Prostate Massager. I wasn’t sure if I was thankful or not that the equipment itself was missing from the box. The cuffs and blindfold had obviously gotten snagged on the box, but how that found its way under the bed, I didn’t have a damned clue.

  Way to go, Michael, you have effectively announced you are gay to the straight high school heart throb. I bet he’ll finish the job pretty fucking quick now.

  We stared in shock at the items, like a couple of gaping fish, for what seemed like minutes. Eventually, my brain kicked my ass in gear, and I swiftly gathered up the items and disappeared out of the room quicker than a greyhound out of the traps. I headed down the stairs into the garage to put them permanently out of sight.

  While down there, I took a few deep breaths to steady my nerves and decide what I was going to do. By the time I made it back to my room, my brain chose to block out the whole event and act as though nothing had happened; however, the heat radiating from my face would have rivaled an electric hob on full.

  A few coughing sounds were made and we both got to work moving the bed. Once out of the way, there were still some odds and ends to move, so Andrew announced that it would be a good time for him to go have some lunch and he would see me in half an hour.

  A ham and cheese toasty and a cup of tea later, I calmed myself down and even had a little snicker about it. I knew the boys would bust a gut laughing at my humiliation… and if ever Mom found out—oh my God—she’d probably e-mail the encounter to all her friends, with the gay ones at the top of the list.

  When Andrew returned from lunch, there wasn’t a lot more I could do until he finished. I played with Dino and took him out for a walk. On my return, I found my manners again and made a drink for him. Andrew was very gracious, making polite conversation while he finished my room and started on the hall, stairs, and landing.
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br />   The more we talked, the more my heart returned to normal. Ironically, we got on well. With what he saw upstairs, it seemed to break down a few barriers. Andrew divulged that he had followed into his father’s business, and they subcontracted their services out to several carpet companies. It was his trade that gave him his physique, not the gym bunny scenario.

  The guy was really witty, making me laugh at some of the things he’d seen via his job over the years. Whereas I found entertainment by losing myself in a world of fantasy, he got his kicks from people-watching and power tools. I couldn’t help making the comment that all my power tools were slightly smaller and came with batteries. He missed the nail in the floor and hit his thumb. Internally, I laughed at the thought that at least we both now had something throbbing that wouldn’t be going away in a hurry. I had to leave the room for a short while, though, when he stuck said digit in his mouth and sucked—words cannot do justice to the place my brain went.

  Eventually conversation resumed and he confessed to enjoying action movies. Ahh, common ground… movies. Some of the guys in those action movies were hot with a capital H, especially Jason Statham; he could tie me up with one of his shirts any day. We both agreed that Statham was brilliant, but I was guessing for very different reasons.