My Bad Boy

 

Today’s lesson in anal/rectal arts and crafts is never to use kevlar line as part of a butt plug.

My Bad Boy teaches me these things. He called me up 24 hours before show time to make a butt plug performance prop. Talk about pressure, I would have liked a week to work on this. With test rides on the girlie, who is not his girlfriend, he got to do this gig.

I got the fool’s love for my Bad Boy. He is the last man who got me to drive a car. Never boring, he’s like riding a roller coaster. Once that bar comes down you are in till the end.

Kevlar line, glass beads, plastic Easter eggs. My mini Dremel tool, electrical tape and a darning needle. Bad Boy feeds me beer, weed and candy-corns. I go to work. I didn’t like the first one. Too loose. Images of tangles….bad, bad, bad. Because the first thing is safety. I would have felt really awful if I made this thing and they ended up in the ER because of some fault of my craft.

I started stringing together another one. Bad Boy is squeezing the sealed eggs hard in his fist, to make sure nothing breaks apart. He wants more beads between the eggs. The next one is tighter, but long. The length of his forearm long. I had to ask, “Does she, ah, do this butt performance thing often?” Late into the night I had made a shorter tighter butt prop. Smoked a last bowl and went home. I had a hard time getting to sleep. Waiting for a phone call from the ER. I knew he was downtown, testing this thing out on her.

Oh the butt toy. Easter theme. For the payment of a debt, dues, fees. “Here let me pull that out of my ass for you.” Toy eggs from a child’s basket to be filled with money and candy corns. It’s going up her ass with a ring on a string.

The phone call came mid-afternoon the next day. Damn thing broke inside of her. Kevlar is strong but in only one direction. Cuts easy when under tension. He gave it a pull and it popped. No panic on her part. She just went to the bathroom, shit it out, then flushed it. Oops, I don’t think those eggs are good for the sewer system.

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So it’s off to the hotel room to make another. Because the show must go on. Thicker woven dacron line, shorter, tighter, stuffed, sealed and tied off. This is a private party and I’m just a techie. But I wish I could have been there.

 

To see her in baby blue crotch cutter dress, easter basket, and white stiletto heels. To be backstage and watch their faces when she dropped to all fours, flipped around and started wagging her ass in the air. With that ring hanging out.

Bad Boy treated the team to a sushi dinner the next evening. We were all hugs and kisses as we put our pro on the plane back home. The performance had gone flawlessly. My Bad Boy now a Spenard God. I had fun with one of the weirdest tech calls ever. And I got to take home all the unused eggs, beads and candy corns.

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One Response to “My Bad Boy”

  1. dawnrunsamok Says:

    I admit that at first you left this poet speechless; then, after I came out of vapor lock, my poor, violated brain scrambled all over itself trying to find a suitable reply and all it could come up with was: “Ass-Rabbits! ASS-RABBITS!!”
    Once I could think again, I realized that you got both sushi and swag…Nice Gig. Giggity!

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