Don't Try This at Home

by Ellee Hill

  Movies dominated the conversation for a little while longer, until phase two of my mortification: when Andrew realized that he knew me from school. I was sure I’d be the topic of conversation and laughingstock at the next school reunion. I didn’t mind a good laugh, but some ex-students were guaranteed to be homophobic. At the very least, I expected it to be all over Facebook. I could do one of two things: laugh or cry. What the heck? If the post didn’t come from Andrew, one of my closer friends would probably post it. I might as well laugh it up until the next disaster came along to divert their attention away from me. It looked like I would not only be out of the closet, but out and proud to the world. It had to happen sometime.

  Eventually, Andrew finished up, packed up, and left with a “See ya.”

  That evening I worked late returning all my belongings to their rightful places. I ached like hell at the end, deciding to take a long soak in the bath before falling asleep to Lord of the Rings. The film carried on into my dreams, though in my version, the character Éomer—the delicious actor Karl Urban—was replaced by Andrew.

  Mom always said that things happened in threes, which meant that there was still one more disaster to come. I just hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as the previous two.

  How wrong was I?

  A couple of weeks passed and my friends were just getting over my encounter with Andrew, the amazing carpet fitter. I endured many cringe-worthy jokes, the best of them being about a Welshman who only fit woolen carpets. You really don’t want to know what the punch line was. Wherever you went and whatever you did in the UK, there would always follow a joke about a Welshman and sheep; the Welsh even made jokes about the Welsh. The other jokes my so-called mates came out with were even worse.

  Dave, who I’d known since school, remembered Andrew. After his description of the dark-haired delight, they all vowed to request Andrew’s services as and when they needed someone to bang something to the floor in their places.

  Surprisingly, nothing surfaced outside my closest friends regarding my toy fuck-up.

  IT WAS Saturday afternoon and all was quiet. My parents had already visited in the morning, so my house was tidy. They were much happier now that it had had its makeover. They would have helped, but I was sneaky and did the main parts while they were away on holiday. I’d also taken Dino out for an extra-long walk. Contrary to popular belief, greyhounds didn’t need miles of exercise a day; they were essentially couch potatoes. Therefore, taking Dino out for an hour meant that he was shattered and out for the count on the settee, to the point where only a rocket up his ass would shift him. Or the knowledge that garlic, bacon, and sausage was in his tea, which was not due for another few hours.

  I’d been viewing a few new videos on my laptop and was feeling rather horny, so I took off upstairs for some special “me” time.

  Rummaging around in my bottom drawer, I eventually found my toy of choice; Wood, my waterproof dildo. He had a suction cup at the bottom that allowed him to be attached to most surfaces, especially those in bathrooms. He had a particularly impressive wand, too. I’d quite happily get fucked by Wood anytime. The totally immoral thoughts going through my brain added new meaning to the terms “Quaffle,” “Bludger,” and “Golden Snitch.” Ohhh, if only I had the chance to let my carpet fitter score a goal with his Quaffle; it would make the game of Quidditch so much more interesting.

  Fifteen minutes later I was under the water, playing my own version of Quidditch. I had lathered up, played, pinched, prepped, and was impaled on my Quaffle. I lost myself to an angle that had my rock-hard playmate rubbing over my Golden Snitch, sending me into oblivion, while I stroked my one-eyed basilisk with such enthusiasm that he was mere seconds away from being sick. Unngghhh soon, soon..

  Bang, bang, bang.

  I was unceremoniously brought out of my state of nirvana with such force and surprise that I lost my footing. I grabbed hold of the shower curtain to stop myself falling, but it was to no avail. I was going down. Unable to release my arms from the curtain to cushion my fall, I screamed as I hit the floor, shoulder first, pulling the curtain, rail, and all its attachments to the floor with me.

  I felt something at the top of my arm give, shooting pain through my shoulder and arm, just before the curtain pole struck my head, sending me into darkness.

  THE next thing I knew, I could hear my name being called. It sounded distant. “Michael… Michael…. He’s coming round.”

  Groaning, I opened my eyes slightly to a bombardment of questions. “How do you feel? Are you in any pain? Where does it hurt? What happened?”

  I was sure all the questions were asked at a slower pace, but I felt like I had the hangover from hell, with my head underwater, breathing through a diving bell. All the sounds were tinny and echoed.

  It took me a few minutes to regain consciousness properly, amid mutterings of the pain in my shoulder. Soon after, I felt a prick in my arm and the pain subsided, which in turn made me more centered and lucid.

  Groggily surveying my surroundings, I saw two paramedics and, of all people, Andrew hovering over me.

  “What happened?” medical man number one asked.

  Well, I’d have thought that was pretty damned obvious, but I answered anyway. “Fell out of the shower.”

  At which point everyone looked toward the shower. A few seconds later, their faces returned to me, and I could see that they were desperately trying to smother laughter. Andrew bit his lip and moved out of the way, giving me a clear view of the unit. There before me was my dildo, stuck to the wall, out and proud, for all to see.

  Ohhhhh, just kill me now!

  I let my head fall back to the floor, closed my eyes, and wished the world away.

  After they assessed my injuries and concluded that I had a suspected dislocated shoulder, maybe a broken arm, and a possible concussion, they asked if there was anyone I wanted to contact.

  That most definitely brought me back to life, and I gave them a resounding “no!” There was no way on earth I was going to let anyone else see what happened, so Andrew graciously put Dino in his kennel and locked up while the paramedics got me into the ambulance. The entire time I could see their professional faces dropping, trying not to snicker before regaining their composure.

  Andrew followed the ambulance to the hospital, where another round of laughter hit my ears as the paramedics quietly explained what they suspected happened. I just wanted to get it all over and done with.

  After many hours that included way too much prodding, questions about my bowel movements, a series of X-rays, and having to repeat my embarrassing story at least a thousand times (and, of course, having to witness the barely concealed mirth on the faces of the hospital staff), I was advised that I had a dislocated shoulder, bruising over my arm and shins, a concussion, and a nasty bruise on my temple where the pole had hit me.

  Thankfully, my reactions were improving by the minute and I would be allowed home, provided there was someone who could stay with me for a day or two. I could have stayed in overnight, but given the circumstances of my incarceration, I wanted out of there ASAP.

  Given that it was near eleven p.m., Andrew volunteered his services, telling me, if I had no objections, he would stay. The look on his face told me not to argue. He did give me a choice—not that I was in any state to protest.

  Andrew kindly drove me to my house, and boy, I must have looked a sight, wearing a set of scrubs the hospital had loaned to me.

  He explained on the way back how he’d knocked on my door several times, then heard me scream, closely followed by a loud crash. Apparently, this had sent Dino into a barking frenzy and him into a panic. Andrew had scaled the fence at the side of my house and gained entry through my back door, which had been unlocked. I tended to keep it that way during the day when I was at home.

  He had found me in the bathroom, unconscious. Unable to get a response, he had called an ambulance. The rest, as they say, was history.

  Andrew’s strong arms circled my waist as
he helped this groggy beanpole to bed, jokingly suggesting that I didn’t need a shower, as I’d had one earlier. Bastard. Too tired to argue, I let Andrew take care of me and Dino before he retired to the spare room. Thankfully, I always kept the bed in there made up; my friends frequently stayed over, especially after a boy’s night in.

  I should have offered him some pajama bottoms, but I didn’t own any. I would have offered him a T-shirt, but it was the height of summer and would have been too hot. Plus, the thought of him naked in the room next door did more for my dreams than any film. Part of me felt guilty at accepting the help of essentially a stranger, but a bigger part of me was lapping up the attention Andrew was paying me. Especially now that the painkillers had kicked in, and a little voice inside me was saying, “Go with it.” Fuck the traditional pool boy; I had a carpet fitter in the house.

  In the morning, he woke me with a cup of tea and some toast. Such a sweetheart. As soon as the morning rituals were completed and I was settled downstairs, Andrew asked if we could have a talk.

  Being no dummy, I realized it had been Andrew banging down my door that caused me to startle and slip. However, I was curious as to why he’d come back. I expected to discover that he’d left a tool or something at my place, though I’d found none.

  It was a good thing I was seated, because Andrew’s confession that he’d turned up to ask me on a date blew me away.

  The man of my dreams was gay and wanted me to go on a date with him. Me: Michael “Olive Oyl” Hilliard. There was a God (even if he came in the form of a scientist)!

  Apparently, he had been attracted to me when he first saw me, but didn’t realize I was gay until he saw the toys in my room. Once he’d seen them, he couldn’t stop thinking about me or them.

  The incident in the bathroom had scared the shit out of him. He felt very guilty at what he believed he had caused, but part of him was glad. It meant he was able to spend more time with me, and show me that he was more than a brute with a hammer. He also confessed that the dildo on the wall had a very big effect on him, if you catch my drift.

  Internally, I was fisting the air, shouting “Yessssss, the man likes toys!!”

  AFTER that day, I discovered that he definitely had a hammer, and it found its way to my mouth and rosebud many a time, as did his plump, sumptuous lips. And as far as his piston action was concerned… Andrew was the “Flying Scotsman” of the modern era.

  This brings me to the present day and the knowledge that my long-term boyfriend and partner, Andrew, has kept me waiting long enough. Unable to go find him due to the fact that I am blindfolded, cuffed to the bed, and harder than a granite dildo, I shout out his name.

  The bed dips, and I hear, “Do you have any idea how delicious you look?” with pure lust dripping from his lips.

  Trying to sound coy, I answer, “I have an idea. What are you going to do about it?”

  His strong hands glide up my thighs, his thumbs paying particular attention to their insides.

  “Well,” he purrs seductively, “I thought I’d start by fulfilling a specific fantasy of both yours and mine.” At this, the effect of him pressing a button on the remote is felt from my prostate to my perineum. My Rhino.

  I can do nothing but gasp at the intensity and arch my back, pressing it into myself further.

  “I thought I might play a little with Thor’s hammer,” I stammer through the current that is deliciously setting my senses to alert. Andrew accedes to my request by straddling my thighs and sliding his leaking, mushroomed head along my leg.

  “Come here, big boy!” I command.

  Andrew complies, crashing his lips to mine, with the promise of something bigger that would satisfy my other hunger later.

  Goodnight, everyone. It’s time for me to stop talking and start playing….

  TAYLIN CLAVELLI lives in the United Kingdom, about fifteen miles south of Birmingham, with the world famous Cadbury’s Chocolate just about a neighbor. She’s married with children and loves her family with all her heart.

  Her love of books has been a long-standing affair. Taylin likes nothing better than to lose herself in an imaginary world. Favorite authors include Wilbur Smith, David Gemmell, and David and Leigh Eddings.

  Outside of writing, her interests include martial arts (she’s a 2nd Degree Black Belt in Tae kwon do), horse riding, and movies, all of which facilitate her love of a variety of genre movies. Her action heroes include Jet Li and Tony Jaa. If pressed, she’ll admit to thinking the first appearance of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl to be the greatest screen entrance ever. Her all-time favorite movies are Star Wars and Lord of the Rings.

  The simple things in life that make her day are:

  Laughter—especially that of her children.

  The smell of lasagna cooking—it makes her mouth salivate.

  The dawn chorus—no symphony ever written can beat the waking greetings of the birds.

  GOOD FOOD GONE BAD

  Venona Keyes

  “UMPH….” As I slowly regained consciousness, I rubbed my eyes and my hand flopped onto my chest.

  “Shit!”

  The searing pain woke me up, and I recalled what happened last night. I threw back the covers, jumped out of bed, and promptly slipped on the aluminum bowl of baking soda paste. My ass collided with the floor—the many damp washcloths littered about didn’t cushion my fall one iota. “Fuck, dammit, shit!”

  “You really are a dumbass,” came a muffled voice from my left. “You rubbed your eyes and touched your chest, didn’t you?”

  He was right. Damn it. Colum was always right.

  Asshole.

  I scrambled and slipped on the floor again. And again. And through it all, I heard Colum laughing and snorting into the pillow. His barely suppressed glee did not help my pride at all.

  “What is so fucking funny?” I tried to gain some traction in my blind scrambling and promptly slipped and hit my elbow on the footboard of the bed. “Fucking hell!”

  “You’re fucking funny, Scott.” Colum had turned his head from the pillow and watched me struggle. And it pissed me off. My eyelids were on fire, my eyes watering like fucking Niagara Falls, my nose producing a steady stream of snot that was now running down my face, and he was having a laugh.

  Fucking great. Five years in a relationship, and this is what I get. No empathy. No sympathy.

  “I’d… I’d… help…,” he gasped between bouts of laughter, “but I can’t get off the bed!” This was quickly followed by, “Ow, ow, ow, ow, shit!” Colum was in pain too.

  Serves him right. Asshole.

  I finally managed to stand up. Arms outstretched and flailing like a blind Frankenstein, I struggled to find the bedroom door. I had only one thought: a fresh tomato, cut in half, placed on the affected area, would calm the heat of the hot pepper burns. We’d tried all the other home remedies last night, and I wasn’t exactly going to put the baking soda paste on my eyes.

  But before I could make it to the kitchen, I hit my foot against the corner of the living room couch. The blunt force trauma to my three middle toes had me bending over, wincing and once again cursing the new pain that coursed up my foot and directly to my brain.

  “Fucking damn….”

  Colum was still in pain, but his laughter was now louder than his gasps.

  “D-did you stub your foot?”

  Damn sadist.

  My eyes burned even more when I squeezed them shut with the new pain. “Ahhhh!” I rubbed my already burning eyes.

  Colum was now howling with laughter. I realized Colum released natural painkillers with his misplaced mirth. Endorphins. Fuck. If the pain wasn’t so bad, I’d join in on the laugh track too. Now I was pissed. Glad to be of some fucking use to my partner. At least I hadn’t knocked my dick and nuts into the dining room table.

  Yet.

  Mind over matter! Mind over matter! Isn’t that what I fucking teach my classes?

  I took t
wo deep breaths.

  Pain, pain, go away.

  Two more breaths. Dammit! Will the pain away.

  Pain, pain, GO AWAY!

  I clenched my teeth as I repeated my mantra. Or maybe I would just die right then and there. Oblivion was beginning to sound good.

  Visualization. Picture the healing rock. I pictured myself stubbing my foot on the healing rock.

  Great.

  I rubbed my abused toes to soothe the dull throbbing. They, too, began to burn. Shit! The only good thing about the burn was that it did help with the throbbing pain.

  Just great.

  I groped my way to the kitchen. Very carefully. As thorough as I was, every corner, counter space, and surface having been scrubbed and bleached, with my luck I would find that one tiny slick spot I missed last night after our little folly.

  I found the tomatoes where I’d left them—on the counter near the fridge. Where the hell was the butcher’s block with the knives? I was ready to tear apart the damn tomatoes and smash them into my eye sockets when I heard Colum’s voice.

  “Here.” He put half of a neatly cut tomato into my left hand.

  I placed the tomato half over my eye and immediately felt some relief. Colum, still chuckling, led me over to the kitchen chair, sat me down, and gave me the other half of the tomato for my right eye. I winced as I shifted off the huge bruise that had blossomed on my right buttock.

  Colum snorted.

  “What’s so damn funny?”

  “We are. After last night, I’m surprised you didn’t elbow me, squish the tomatoes, or clock me in the nuts.”

  I smiled and began to laugh.

  “So much for the food-themed sex weekend.”