Larry

Here's a silly little short story I wrote tonight, after deciding it wasn't yet time for bed and going to the jazz bar by myself.

It's kind of a sequel to The Pedometer (see short story 5/07/2005)

I've always believe that the first thing that you see in the moring sets the tone for the day.
So there's a spot next to my bed, above my alarm clock, that is the host of a carousel of pictures and quotes, placed to fill my morning blank slate with optimism and purpose.
Right now the picture depicts a middle-aged gentleman, bald, portly, and completely naked except for a ball-gag and two large electrotrodes applied at the nipples.
I look at this picture every morning, and I see POWER.
Now I'm not talking about the electric power that, based on his expression, is coarsing through his body at the moment of capture.
no no no
He represents something entirely different than the erotic implications of electricity.
He personifies freedom.
He, Larry, as I have grown to call him, had been emancipated from the chains of societal mores, the shackles of convention and reputation, free from any boundaries or restrictions.
Well, besides the ball-gag.
"Larry" has achieved a freedom few of us can even imagine. He has reached a plane of consciousness, one of absolute truth and beauty. pure self-acceptance.
The man does not have a comb-over.
Every morning I greeted my day with aspirations to be 100% myself, not caring of the judgments of others, and every night I hung my head as I faced his picture, unworthy of his pained, unblinking gaze.
Last saturday was particularly bad, I wore uncomfortable shoes to an uncomfortable bar and felt it was I who had the problem when rejected by a tall, overly made-up blonde.
I still had so much to learn, and I knew just who I could learn it from. I vowed to meet Larry, and I intended to devote the coming sunday, and every day afterwards, to making that dream come true.
Now I've never been one to underestimate the power of the internet, especially when it comes to the location of aging sexual deviants, but I worried that Larry might prove ellusive. Maybe he lead a double life, maybe The Picture was just a fleeting image, a forgotten moment.
Maybe the man would hesitate to discuss the chain of events that ended with him gagged, erect, and in considerable self-induced pain.
Yeah, and maybe the Trojan Horse wouldn't work, but they fucking tried it anyway, didn't they?
So I brewd a pot of strong coffee and set down to business.
Sure, there were a few points where I wanted to quit, where I wanted to exit those horrible chat rooms and discontinue the young, supple alter-ego I had created. But you can't run a marathon without dropping some sweat.
It was some time around sunrise on monday morning when a shot in the dark lead turned up the man I so desperately sought. He lived in New Hampshire. His name was, indeed, Larry. The connection was beyond the realm of science. Truly I had found my mentor.
On Monday I booked a flight. On wednesday I made first contact. A week later I had set up a meeting, feigning the role of an East Coast party organizer. "It's not just a party," I told him, "It's a way of life."
So yeah, I met Larry. And yeah, he taught me a lot. Lubricants, for example, double as conductors, although in the case of a car-battery, this is seldom advised.