Friday, November 2, 2012

Fifty Tints of Beaver (Chapter Two, Part Two)

Fifty Tints of Beaver
Chapter Two
Part Two

I’ve never been one for new technology, but today was the day I was going to try.  I eagerly go down in the basement.  God, look at all the cobwebs down here.  No one’s explored these regions in years.  The metaphor slaps me in the face like an overused metaphor.  It’s kind of unpleasant under here.  I see why those cleaning products are so popular.

I snap out of my thoughts when I find what I’m looking for.  An old brown box.  I slip my fingers between the soft, damp edges of the top.  I peel the worn cardboard away and reach both hands inside.  I grab blindly and sloppily until my fingers stroke a keyboard.  My old IBM laptop.  This is from an older time.  When me and Al were all over each other.  Three, four times a day.  When my muscles were firm and agile.  Before my skin was beginning to loosen around my bones.  Ugh.  I can’t think about it.  My butt bumps the concrete wall, and I barely feel it.  Plenty of padding there. 
I haul the laptop up the stairs and back into the kitchen.  While I plug it in, Arabelline swats at the cord.  I kick her away.  Bad kitty.  She’s right back at it.  I kick her away again.  Bad, bad kitty.  She falls on her side, fully exposed to my abuse.  Stupid cat.  I plug my little internet adapter into the side of the laptop.  Now I know why I bought this thing.  So how do I find the mailman?

The computer tells me that I need a network to get on the internet.  I’ve never had a network in my house.  This is so stupid.  So cold.  So passionless.  I click around on some things on the screen.  Something called “Sillybus” pops up.  When I click on it, the old IBM laptop connects to the internet.  Okay, so apparently that’s a network. 

I go to the web sites that I know are popular with Stefan.  I look on the  There are plenty of pictures, but no way to find the newly discovered object of my fantasies.  Hmm.  I know.  I’ll look on the postal service website.  Nope.  Plenty of slogans there, but no pictures of mailmen.  The internet leaves me deeply unfulfilled.    

Then I notice a folder on the computer desktop I’ve never seen before.  It’s called “Sillybus.”  So, that’s what this network thing is.  I click on it, and it opens to show me pictures, documents, and videos with names I don’t recognize.  These aren’t my files.  Should I open them?   I look at the names, but they’re all just numbers.  101111.  011312.  123111. 

I close the folder.  Even if I’m burning on the inside right now, I’m not a criminal.  I’m not going to spend my time looking through someone else’s files.  To distract myself, I order some more assorted creams from the company I’m loyal to.  Loyalty is so overrated.  The website asks me if I should sign for them upon delivery.  I check “yes” and continue to click around.  My mind wanders.  I see the mailman coming to my door.  I invite him in.  His shirt catches on the door frame, on a splinter.  “Let me help you,” I say, and tear the gentle fabric away with my teeth.  He puts his hands on my hips and presses against me.  I bite his neck, my incisors sinking in as he moans and throws me to the couch, rolling my sweatpants down from the waist while he buries my face in the cushions.  I love that he can see me, but I can’t see him.  I feel docile.  Take me.  I’m yours.  Ravage me.  He tears my panties away and has his way with me.  My shirt is still on.  I can feel the button of his pants against my softest womanhood as he finishes.  This is exactly what I ordered. 

When I refocus on what I’m doing, I realize that I’m clicking through the “Sillybus” folder again.  I’m choosing a file.  021211.  A video comes up on my screen.  Oh my God.  This is . . . she’s . . . this is Jill and Richard!  I recognize my next door neighbors, a young married couple that’s always fighting.   They keep their shades down an awful lot.  Now I know why.  God, look at you in lingerie.  You look good.  I click through other files in the “Sillybus” folder.  My screen is flooded with pictures and video.  Sometimes Jill is behind the camera, sometimes Richard.  Sometimes neither of them.  Then, I come across a video labeled “110212.”  Oh my God.  These numbers are dates.  And that’s yesterday.  I click.  Another video.  This time, both Jill and Richard are in front of the camera.  He’s wearing a suit, and she’s wearing a short skirt and white button-up blouse.  The camera shakes.  There’s a giggle.  Oh my God.  Who’s with you?  Some third person is filming!

The screen goes black.  Arabelline has pulled the computer cord out of the wall with her paw.  Aggghhhh.  Stupid cat!  I shove her aside with my foot again.  I plug the computer back in.  The screen boots up, but when I get back to my computer desktop, the Sillybus folder is gone.  Agghh.  Stupid, stupid cat!  I look for it everywhere, but I don’t know enough about computer to find it.  Or maybe it’s just gone.  Eventually, I close the laptop and go back to fantasizing about the mailman, which leads me to recess into the living room.  I really can’t take much more of this.

No comments:

Post a Comment