Spatula
by adam
"Bob Vila, the man who can work an Allen wrench 45 different
ways!"
-From a commerical ad for "Home Again"
Peter Tale had a very hard time talking out loud. He
wasn't bad looking. Any self respecting deviant would have gladly raped him if he wandered
into a wooded area at night. He wasn't boring. Any under paid high school counselor could
have made their salary with his list of phobias, fears and obsessions.
He was just quiet enough, just dressed differently enough, just nervous
enough to make him the One. The One the girls laughed out loud at when he walked by their
lunch table. The One spent his free periods, not in the locked woodshop getting blow jobs,
or outside smoking weed in the car park, but with the school nurse asking about her
children. The One had to avoid halls where the boys hung about in just in case he and his
books were taken and flushed.
One was the loneliest number.
While around him young romance flourished and flaunted he did not
follow suit. Girls carved hearts into their locker doors with names and demolished their
virginity's. His lack of interest in seeing anyone nude made even himself wonder.
It wasn't until the day he was fucked with the handle of a screwdriver
by a homeless man that his life really changed.
Peter had startled the trespasser when he had been sent to the furnace
room on an errand for the nurse. His panic subsided after the initial shock of someone
other than himself pulling his denims down. It had never occurred to this Tale that
anything would ever be in his Tail. After a short while he found he was biting down on his
Swatch Watch so no janitor would hear him and make the man cease. The motion of the thick
hand grip of the tool caused his once apathetic cock to stiffen against the concrete
steps. The hot splash of his own cum shocked him.
After the homeless bloke dropped off to sleep Peter stared at the
screwdriver for a very long time. He buttoned his denims and headed up the stairs. The
world was suddenly alive with objects and shapes he had never noticed before. He flexed
his hand on the smooth metal shape of the heavy door handle. The long wooden pole of the
mop gave him pause. The shiny stapler that sat on his professors desk transfixed him.
That night he went into his father's shed and sat for many hours gazing
up at the rows of pliers, hammers, hack saws, levels, gouges, files, nail guns, sand
belts, crow bars, wrenches and drills. Who needed soft limbs and lips when you could have
the cold gleam of metal handles and hard worn plastic. They beckoned with the scent of
motor oil burned onto a crankcase.
Peter lay a hand on the leaf blower. It was as erotic as the smell of a
boiler room. Panting uncontrollably, he grabbed a wrench and locked himself in the loo
with the water running. The feel of cold metal sliding into his body made him bite the
chrome towel rack.
As the days went by Peter lay secluded in his room breathlessly
watching home improvement programming while masturbating. He had complex and filthy
fantasies starring Bob Vila shingling a roof. After school he started to go to local
hardware stores and straddled himself on utility ladders while he listened to patrons
discuss dowle circumferences. When this was no longer enough he skipped school to take the
train to a place so wondrous he doubted its existence.
Upon entering the automatic doors of Home Depot he promptly came in his
trousers and fainted.
He awoke sometime later and secreted himself in the carpet rolls until
the warehouse closed.
Peter discovered the kitchen ware department. Rubbermaid, Tupperware,
machine safe, microwavable, Teflon, Pyrex, non stick and all his. He ran naked down each
aisle and sucked each display faucet while spanking himself with a spatula. He did lewd
things with a garden spade and a turkey baster under the ceiling fans.
He walked as if within a perfect dream through the infinite maze of
power tools and light fixtures. But despite his bliss he was still the only One there.
A noise.
Peter crept around a fire ant display and saw a most incredible sight.
A young man his age was spread on a pile of grass seed bags wearing nothing but a tool
belt and work boots. He was wanking off vigorously with WD-40 and a length of copper pipe.
Their eyes met.
They both found a sturdy plywood work horse and lived happily ever
after.
the end