Date: Mon, 27 Jun 2005 18:08:20 +0000
From: Gray Suit
Subject: The Aventures Of Tom Traveler And His Amazing Remote Controller
DISCAIMER-This story is to be posted only on free Adult Story Sites and is
total fantasy about a slub named Tom Traveler and a strange magical TV
remote which allows him to physically interact with fictional characters
and real life personalities via his television set. Characters and
descriptions from the TV shows and movies which appear in this story belong
to the various artists, creators and distributors who retain the rights and
ownership of their product, not to me...the scenes where I allow my
character to play with them are indeed all mine, though. This story, the
first in a possible series, explains how Tom first found the mystical
device and on his first TV fantasy trip met James Carville on Jay Leno's
The Tonight Show. This series contains strong homosexual content (so
be-gone homophobes!) and if you're into anti-pretty-boy middle-age
celebrities, suit fetishes and mind control that's not taken at all
seriously, then this is the place to be. Since I've never met the people
named here, I'm not saying that they are secretly gay or interested in sex
outside of marriage in real life...this is TOUNGE-IN- CHEEK HARMLESS
FANTASY FOLKS-besides it's not like they have any say in the matter anyway,
because once Tom points his magic Remote Controller at them, their cocks
and minds are his as long as the TV is on!
THE ADVENTURES OF TOM TRAVELER AND HIS AMAZING
REMOTE CONTROLLER By Gray Suit
PART ONE : HOW IT ALL BEGAN
Tom Traveler slumped deeper into the old recliner in his
second floor bedroom and stared at the objects he gripped tightly with his
hands. One hand held a very tall glass filled almost to the brim with V8
Strawberry Banana Splash, mixed with an extremely heavy amount of vodka. In
the other was an open bottle of his Aunt Maisey's extra strength
prescription sleeping pills; the pills were apparently working their magic
on his elderly guardian this very moment, since Tom's storming angrily and
noisily into the house at around eleven pm on this warm evening in late
July had failed to awaken her from deep slumber on the living room sofa.
Tom had graduated high school in June and like all
graduates had a wide choice of career options available to him now that he
could move forward and build himself a life using the tools learned from
more than twelve years in the Fairview PA school system. But at twenty(he
was held back in grade school and graduated late), the only thing Tom
wanted to do was continue working at Big Fat Burger, a low paying job he's
had since ninth grade, with no desire to enter college or even check out a
trade school. He lived rent free with his sixty eight year old aunt, who
had taken him in after his parents died in a plane crash when Tom was seven
years old. Aunt Maisey was never one to show much affection, and Tom
couldn't help but feel the elderly woman resented the fact that she had
been stuck with taking care of a teenager all by herself, her husband
Lumley having drowned over two years ago while fishing on Manoa Lake. Now,
these days she acknowledges Tom's presence with grunts and uninterested
queries regarding his comings and goings, spending much of her time laying
plastered in a Shelly-Davis Wine induced haze on the couch in front of the
TV watching soap operas and trashy talk shows, financially supporting the
both of them (before Tom finally came of age to control his inheritance
himself) from the insurance money she received from her late husband and
Tom's parents. In this environment, the only ambition Tom had was to get
up, watch some morning television, go to his part time job, come back home
and then park himself back in front of the TV up in his bedroom. It was
routine, it was boring and it was just the way Tom liked it. Watching old
repeats of "Law And Order", "Police Story" and other shows and lusting over
all those middle aged Suit Daddies and Lawyers was his personal nirvana; it
was what Tom lived for because he just wasn't sexually attracted to anyone
in his hometown, so he imagined getting fucked by DA Ben Stone or blowing
veteran actor Jackie Cooper guest starring on "Police Story" playing a
veteran homicide detective or police captain. But the nasty incident
tonight at Big Fat Burger's pick up window had struck him like a bolt of
lightning, illuminating the way he was living his life with painfully sharp
clarity. Walking home from the fast food joint Tom, despite mentally
cursing Doug and blaming the source of all his problems on everyone but
himself ultimately, after sifting through his own internal bullshit, had to
face the reality that at this time in his life, he was just plain tired of
all the petty crap he'd been taking from all the so-called "cool kids" for
so long. He was tired of always being that weird nerd everyone snickered at
while growing up and sick of all the speculation, whispers and giggles made
behind his back while he was a senior at Culver High; tired of a life that
would never live up to that fictional world he observed on television,
never being able in real life to meet any of those sexy mature men who were
on the crime dramas he loved to watch. He was pissed off that now he would
be known as the town fag because he had made the mistake of confiding in a
one time friend (who Tom suspected was the source of the fag rumors), and
finally he was just sick and tired of being lonely old Tom Traveler,
mediocre high school graduate, mediocre burger buster and a Big League
Loser in fucked up, mediocre Fairview, PA.
So Tom decided to finally do something about it and by a
quarter after eleven pm was sitting alone in his room holding the vodka mix
and the bottle of sleeping pills. He shifted his eyes towards the dark
screen of the TV sitting on the dresser before him. He scrutinized his
reflection in the gray smoke colored glass and saw a thin, unexceptional
boy with short dark hair and black horn rimmed glasses staring back at him;
an emotionally wounded boy reeling from the blows of those savage
accusations which had been hurled at him earlier that evening in front of
everybody by someone he had once considered to be his friend. He brought
the vodka and Splash mixture to his lips and after taking a long, slow
gulp, whispered quietly, "Fuck you Doug." He settled back in the recliner
and closed his eyes as the soothing intoxicating rush from the strong
concoction began to wash over his body.
"Fuck all of you," Tom muttered and brought the open
bottle to his mouth, ready to dump as many of the pills down his throat as
he could take in one gulp. But before he could ingest one single pill, the
room suddenly was filled with the loud noise of static coming from his TV
which for some inexplicable reason had popped on all by itself, and above
the din floated a deep, silky voice which was directed right at Tom.
"Come on Burger Boy, you don't really want Aunt Maisey to
find you chocked to death on your own vomit do you? Hell, in her present
state of mind, she wouldn't even notice that you're gone...well, not until
your lazy corpse begins stinking up her home. Besides, I'm about to offer
you an opportunity to rise above your pitiful lot in life without even
leaving the comforts of your bedroom."
Tom dropped the bottle of pills onto the carpet and
stared at the source of the haunting voice...it was coming from his
television set where from within the static field, a large pair of
cartoonish looking blue lips smiled back at him. Tom looked down at his
drink, then back the television.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you Burger Boy," the mouth
continued, the loud static suddenly reduced to a quiet background hiss of
white noise with the deep rich tones of the voice floating above it. He
warily glanced at his drink again before slowly setting it down on the
night stand between the chair and his bed.
"It can't be the vodka," Tom muttered to himself, "So
either I've finally gone completely nuts, or I'm actually hearing my TV
talk to me!"
"Oh you are quite certifiable Burger Boy, but believe me
when I tell you that I'm no vodka induced hallucination and even though
you've done quite a number of stupid things in your life and will no doubt
do many more if you choose to stick around, I don't want this here really,
really dumb thing you plan to do to be your final act. Besides, you'd more
than likely just screw up your swan dive into oblivion anyway and wind up a
hapless suicide chump, recovering in a mental ward somewhere under constant
observation; Doug and his retard friends would just love getting that bit
of news about you now wouldn't they?"
"W-What do you know about Doug...or about me for that
matter?" Tom asked, shaken to his core by tonight's bizarre turn of events.
"I know you told him something you shouldn't
have...don't you know that boy's a self loathing closet queen and is going
to hide his eh, proclivities behind the mask of a righteous home town
homophobe who will only feel good about himself by making the life of the
only open queer he knows-that's you B Boy-absolutely miserable?"
"What do you mean-Doug's not gay! A-And neither am-"
"Don't you dare say you're not gay you fucking little
liar!" the lips thundered, and turned the color of a bright, fire red
flame, suddenly filling the entire screen with its anger. Then just as
quickly, the lips shrank back down to normal size, returning to a sapphire
blue hue, smiling broadly, bright with sincere apology.
"Hey, listen...Doug is a confused and repressed little
fag who will never admit to himself or anyone else that he likes boys quite
a bit more than he likes girls and would stomp anyone into the ground who
said that he did. But that's his problem and anyway in about twenty years
or so, after he's saddled himself with an annoying wife and a litter of
juvenile delinquents, he's gonna wind up making weekend drives over to
Philly to pick up rough trade in dirty backstreet alleys. Besides, wasn't
there a reason you felt comfortable with him in the first place to even
tell him about your, eh, attraction for certain types of television folk?"
Tom had first met Doug over the summer before their
senior year and he thought back to when he and Doug were friends and hung
out; in fact it was in this very room last October where they often spent
time watching TV and drinking beer, Doug usually sitting in the recliner
while Tom, deferring his favorite chair to his new buddy sat on his bed,
that everything changed. On that day they were watching, as usual, a repeat
of one of the syndicated crime shows, this one being NYPD Blue on TNT, and
one of Tom's favorite character actors, John Finn, a middle age stud of
Irish descent who over the series' history had made several guest
appearances was on once again, this time playing a shifty character named
Jimmy Matloe who had been nick-named Jimmy Socks by his buddies because as
a teenager he had sweaty, smelly feet. At this point in the story's plot,
he was being interrogated by Detective Andy Sipowitz about his alleged
participation in a neighborhood robbery that had gone tragically wrong.
"And Doug said that he wondered if after all these
years the guy's feet still stunk," the mouth said softly. "Then you sort of
absently commented that it wouldn't matter to you because given the
opportunity and the right amount of booze, you'd gladly sniff his big, bare
feet anytime and anywhere."
Tom jumped forward in the recliner, stammering, "H-How
did you...you...I was just thinking a-about...what the hell?"
"It's all in the mind, Burger Boy," the mouth answered
with a grin. "Everything starts in the mind, don't you know! So old buddy
Doug really laughed when you revealed that little gem didn't he...called
you a gross sicko, like it was a joke. But you continued on because hey,
this was good old Doug here, and you admitted that if the guy was as hot
looking as John Finn, what was the big deal? Then Doug began to bait you,
didn't he, although you didn't realize what he was doing because deep down
even though it wasn't spoken out loud, you really thought Doug felt the
same as you did about some of the men on all those crime shows you two
loved to watch together-at least some of the comments he had made when his
guard was down led you to believe he did."
Tom frowned as he remembered Doug encouraging him to
elaborate upon how he felt about Jimmy Socks and Tom gleefully admitted
that actor John Finn was the type of middle aged, bald headed stud who had
between his legs the magic inches that counted and that no matter what
character he played or better yet, if Tom ever got the chance to met him in
real life, Finn was the type of man he would gladly sniff and lick from
head to toe, under the right conditions. And although Finn was his favorite
straight sex idol, he was not the only one: there were actors Dann Florek
playing Don Cragin on old Law And Order repeats and currently on Law And
Order: SVU in all his bald head and suspenders glory, and Jamey Sheridan as
the police captain from Criminal Intent whose suits always emphasized the
big gun hanging between his legs; John M. Jackson as Admiral Chegwidden in
his crisp white Naval uniforms from JAG and Mitch Pileggi as AD Skinner
from The X Files in his white shirts and dark ties were two authority arch-
types Tom always got the raging hornies over. And the fact that he was able
to admit out loud that what made him truly happy was being able to turn on
the tube and invite all those suit and uniform wearing daddies into his
room, all those great character actors from TV shows and movies both
classic and current, all bald and balding, gray and graying, hairy chests,
hairy arms, legs, ears and noises, paunchy guts, thin frames, both short
and tall with large ears and big noses, those really masculine looking men
who he labeled The Handsomely Homely had unfortunately allowed Tom to be
oblivious to Doug staring hard at him, seething with anger until he
suddenly leapt out of the recliner, his face as crimson as a beet and
glaring down at Tom who rolled off the bed and stood up puzzled by Doug's
hostile reaction. When he questioned Doug's demeanor, asking didn't he find
men like that hot as well, Tom received a vicious sucker punch to his
stomach from his former buddy.
"Man, I always knew there was something a little off
about you," Doug had sneered, "Always! I thought you were just some loopy
little geek with a beer and TV jones... but...this? Oh, man, you better
stay the fuckin' hell away from me queer! Come near me again and a gut
punch will be the least of your problems, you hear me?"
"And that was that," the mouth said. "So
sad...punched in the gut and the longest friendship you've ever had...eh,
what was it, five, six months? Anyway, the unique TV bond you once shared
together now shattered, all that money you spent buying beer wasted for all
the good it did you, and then for the rest of your high school senior year
you endured the nasty whispers, the taunts and the obscene messages and
rude, crude pictures about you written on the walls of the school's boys'
rooms; but you were never directly confronted publicly...that is, not until
tonight, huh?"
Tom had always tried to avoid Doug after the incident in
his bedroom which had not been hard to do since Doug had made a point to
always snub Tom or throw him venom filled kisses and hate filled glares
both in and outside school. At Big Fat Burger, whenever Doug came in or
drove by the pick-up window, Tom always excused himself and found someone
else to fill the order. But tonight had been different; even by BFB's busy
standards, this night's customer flow had been extremely heavy with both
kids and adults hanging out in the fast food joint's picnic area and
parking lot due to the humid evening. There was also a steady stream of
pick-up business and Tom had been stuck at the window for most of his
shift. Then over the speaker came a familiar voice placing the next order
and Tom knew who it was immediately, even though he had not seen her in
over five months. Before moving to near by Darryl last February, Carolyn
Davies although not a close friend, was someone who always had a kind word
for Tom and they even shared a History project in December despite people
no doubt whispering nasty things about him in her ear, and he really missed
the smiles and hang-in-there reassurances she always directed towards him
whenever they saw each other.
From the menu intercom, Carolyn recognized Tom's voice
and was generally pleased to hear him and the two struck up a short
conversation catching up on events before she pulled up to receive her
order. Tom was all smiles in anticipation of seeing Carolyn once again, but
when her blue convertible pulled up to the window, his face fell when he
saw Carolyn was not alone. There were five more people in her car, some of
the faces aside from Carolyn's he knew, the three in the back seat he
didn't, but the one face he did know, to his regret, belonged to Doug who
sat between Carolyn and Bill Sawyer in the front seat smirking up at his
former TV viewing pal, his arm around Carolyn's shoulders.
Tom didn't know what made Doug lash out at him on this
particular night when he had passed up so many other opportunities in the
past. Maybe for Doug it was seeing someone he knew personally being
friendly towards Tom, but whatever the reason, the usual dirty looks and
faux kisses he aimed at Tom would not be nearly hurtful enough tonight. So
while Tom handed over Carolyn's order, Doug glared hatefully at him and
suddenly very loudly asked Tom if he still had a hard-on for Jimmy Socks.
Tom froze, almost spilling the cardboard tray of soft
drinks. Bill asked who was Jimmy Socks and Doug proceeded to tell them all,
very loudly about Tom getting the hots for this character, a man, from NYPD
Blue, how he bragged about wanting to smell the dude's stinky feet and how
this character wasn't the only guy on TV Tom was throwing a boner over.
"Oh, yeah! I mean, there's nothing ol' Tom here would
like better than to suck on some TV detective's musty old Johnson, now
ain't that right ol' buddy, ol' pal?" Doug asked even louder and rising
himself up to sit on top of the front seat's back, swiveled around, making
sure anyone within ear shot could hear his spiel. He then turned back
towards Tom, an evil, satisfied smirk upon his smug face and watched Tom
wilt from embarrassment.
"Tommy boy just loves watching TV so he can wack off
to all those old guys," Doug continued. "Told me that there's no finer
thing to do! He even said that if I was thirty years older, decked out in a
cheap suit, he'd just love to set up a buffet in my lap and dine all night
long! But that punch to your gut set you on the right road away from my
pecker, didn't it faggot?"
Tom handed over the rest of the order, feeling the
chill from the co-workers who had heard Doug's rants and watching some of
the teens milling around the burger place look in his direction, pointing
and laughing as they spoke among themselves while Doug slid back down in
the seat, a look of triumph on his face knowing he was the source of Tom's
public humiliation.
But as bad as all that was, nothing devastated Tom
more than the harsh, disappointed look Carolyn was giving him now, a look
that fused loathing, shock, anger and pity into a hard little bullet of
pure betrayal which she aimed straight at Tom's heart where it struck its
mark with a force strong enough to shatter the image he had created in his
mind of how other people perceived him.
"You can't even deny it, can you?" Carolyn asked after
scrutinizing Tom's face, which was colored red from shame.
Tom lowered his eyes, unable to meet her fierce, intense
stare. "I-I didn't come on to Doug...he's lying about that," he replied but
Tom was suddenly cut off as Doug placed his foot over Carolyn's to loudly
rev the car's engine.
"Get your foot off me Doug," she said looking over at
him. Carolyn turned back to gaze towards Tom, waiting for him to look at
her. When he finally met her green eyes, she frowned angrily at him.
"And to think I once believed there was something
worthwhile in you, that people didn't understand you and were just being
mean," she said softly, almost to herself. "You're nothing but a disgusting
pervert Tom Traveler."
And as Carolyn, Doug and the others pulled away, Tom
could hear "faggot" and "pervert" rising above the laughter from the kids
in the lot. Even his co-workers looked at him differently now, smirking
while he continued to work his shift.
Tom didn't own a car and whenever he tried to borrow Aunt
Maisey's old '95 civic it was like pulling teeth so he usually walked home
from work, but tonight had been the longest walk of his life. He'd ignored
the occasional car driving by with some smart ass kid inside lamely
taunting him, shouting things like: "Hey faggot-Mr. Ed's got something
long and hard for you in the barn!" and "I hear Matlock wants you to look
through his legal briefs!" and "I bet you'd love to help Barnaby Jones with
one of his hard cases you fruit!" Tom had been forced to finally view
himself through the eyes of others, seeing himself not only as that strange
loner boy who always kept to himself, but now as the queer kid, that loser
homo and although a side of him was ashamed to be labeled so blatantly,
there was a part of him that was quickly growing defiant, allowing him a
way to deal with the ridicule. Yes, he really got off on watching middle
aged suited men on TV, but so what? It wasn't like he got sexually excited
by thoughts of torturing, raping and killing women or that he lusted after
little kids or stole the neighbors' pets for roasting over open fires. It
was true Ben Stone's suits and suspenders, Adam Schiff's grumpy, rumpled
suit granddad chic and CSI's Captain Brass' straight laced three buttoned
suit Las Vegas police detective attire got him harder than Britney Sprears'
boobs, J Lo's cheeks or Halle Barry's smooth chocolate body ever could but
again-SO WHAT?
Well, he was stuck living in the conservative, regressive,
narrow minded little town of Fairview, PA for one thing and there was also
the very hard fact that those fantasy TV professionals, the only type Tom
could feel any sort of sexual attraction for, would be forever unattainable
to him; this is what finally brought into sharp focus what his realistic
options actually were. He was a twenty year old virgin pinning away for
something he could never have and the idea of now being mocked daily by all
the town kids who heard his secret desires exposed was a thing Tom realized
he could not bare.
"So now you want to stop the world so that you can jump
off," the mouth said. "Hey, say that you do succeed in pulling off this
suicide trick-is this the way you want it to end? Do you really want Doug
and all the other intolerant dolts already laughing at you to win?"
Tom snorted, rolled his eyes at the TV and scooped up
the pills that had spilled out of the bottle and sat back down in the
recliner.
"Oh, I get it; now you're going to tell me that I have
so much to live for, is that right Mr. Hallucination? And now I'm taking
the coward's way out by bailing instead of sticking around so that maybe
someday I'll contribute something truly keen and neat-o for the betterment
of all of Mankind, right?" Tom derisively snorted again and muttered,
"Figment PLEASE!"
"No, no, but perhaps I can offer you an incentive to
stick around so you can stand up to the Dougs of this world, hell to just
stand up on your own two feet. How about I just go ahead and give you what
you truly desire?"
Tom placed the refilled pill bottle upon the
nightstand next to his neglected drink and stared suspiciously at the
smiling lips.
"What do you mean, give me what I desire?"
The static field on the TV faded away to reveal a still
shot of actor Michael Ironside wearing a dark charcoal colored suit
standing in a police department's office. Tom recognized the scene; it was
from the mid 1990's movie "Murder By Night" where Ironside played an
aggressive police lieutenant investigating a series of unsolved hammer
related homicides. Tom preferred Ironside a bit older with no hair on top,
but the actor always looked good in Tom's eyes no matter what his age.
"How about being with him, and I mean in a sexual way?"
the voice asked flowing seductively from the TV, the mouth nowhere to be
found on the screen. "-Or maybe this guy?"
The next shot was of actor Ed Grover as gruff Lt. Brubaker
from an episode of the 70's cop series BERETTA, wearing a loosen wide, loud
pattern tie, ugly print shirt and what Tom thought was always sexy on a
middle age man with a paunch--even if it was redundant--which was the
wearing of both a belt and suspenders. The Lt. stood in his office with
his hands on his hips, a scowl on his frustrated and over worked beefy
unshaven face wearing a pair of tight tan polyester slacks which displayed
the compact but thick cock bulge behind his fly rather impressively,
negating the need for wearing either the belt or the suspenders since no
way could those tight pants ever come down, not without some help.
"And what about him?" the voice continued, and this time
there was a still shot of actor Dann Florek as Captain Cragin from an early
second season episode of Law And Order where he sat behind his desk with
tie loosen and without his jacket on speaking to his two lead detectives,
leaning far back in his chair with his legs widely spread open to display
quite an ample bulge at the crotch of his light brown pants. Tom fondly
remembered that particular episode because there weren't that many
opportunities for Cragin crotch shots, especially one this fine which made
it quite clear to anyone who was on the look out for such things that the
Capt. was a man who had a really big set of balls on him; Tom had been very
grateful to the director of that episode for providing what Tom called "the
money shot", because he had did some of his own shooting later on that day,
fantasying about what it would be like under that man's desk, taking in the
close up sights and smells of that hard working police Capt.
Then the screen was filled with picture after picture of
actors well known and not so well known who never failed to get Tom's cock
to rise, people like Terry Bradshaw, Murphy Guyer, Paul Dillon, John
C. Reilly, Colm Feore, Terry O'Quinn, Hrothgar Mathews and Xander
Berkeley. And pictures of men, who Tom believed based upon how well they
filled out their pants, were blessed with an extra large gift from the Man
Upstairs, actors like Ed Harris, Telly Savalas, John Ireland, Wendell
Corey, Richard Jenkins, Dean Norris, Steve Cochran, Harris Yulin and
Geoffrey Lewis. All of the actors were wearing suits with and without
jackets from various decades, portraying detectives, cops, docs and lawyers
from TV and movie crime dramas, all of them either standing or sitting in
poses designed to illuminate, in the most flattering of light, what
sprouted between their legs. And there were so many more pictures of actors
from different stages in their careers flashing on the screen now, shots of
Lloyd Bridges, Tommy Lee Jones, Lance Hendrickson, Enrico Colantoni,
Marshall Bell, Dan Butler and Robert Duvall to mention just of few; there
were in fact so many faces on the screen now that Tom began to get dizzy
from the strobe like effects of the slide show. The images stopped abruptly
on a full head shot of John Finn in uniform, his bald head surrounded by a
fringe of short cropped dark hair, playing a prison guard from the Clint
Eastwood movie "True Crime", his piercing eyes looking over his wire rim
glasses directly at Tom, his masculine intense Irish good looks radiating
from the screen in wave after wave of sensual heat with a three dimensional
realism that caused Tom to lean back into the recliner from under the
weighty stare of Finn's dark, sexy eyes.
"Shit..."Tom muttered, watching Finn's face slowly
break apart into static, on top of which floated the blue lips again
smiling broadly at him.
"Did you like the show, Tom?" the mouth asked. "You
ain't seen nothing yet! Here, let me demonstrate. First, pick up that
remote in your lap."
Tom glanced down and noticed a TV remote mysteriously
lying in his lap. He looked over and spotted the remote to his own TV
still on the nightstand. He picked up and examined the new remote,
noticing subtle differences between this one and his own familiar
device. There were fewer buttons for one thing and the top half contained a
wire mesh rectangle which resembled a microphone, and a LCD screen.
"Actually, it's quite simple to operate," the mouth
began. "You have the normal pause, rewind, fast forward, play and stop
functions like on any standard universal remote. But you also have an enter
and exit button which has a different function on this particular unit as
well as a command feature, and I do mean command B Boy; then there's
buttons "G" and "P". "G" stands for ghost mode and "P" stands for phantom
mode. Have you grasped the importance of these functions yet?"
Tom looked at the shinny black remote, not sure how to
answer the blue mouth and a puzzled look came over his face.
"I'll explain," the mouth continued. "By pressing the
command button you can actually mind control whoever you want just by
speaking into the microphone, just so long as they're on TV. The ghost mode
doesn't really make you invisible, it just allows your presence to sort of
slide off the minds of anyone observing you so that you and your actions
will not register and it'll seem like you're not even there. Now the
phantom mode is a different kettle of fish because it will actually alter
your molecular structure allowing you to pass through solid objects like
walls and doors, which will come in handy for surprise entrances and quick
exits. Personally, I think those two modes are redundant features, because
if you master the controls correctly, no matter what you do, your subjects
won't even remember what was done to them anyway, but I didn't make the
thing, I'm just its promoter."
"W-What the hell are you talking about?" Tom
impatiently asked. "And what do I need another TV remote for? How will this
thing give me what I want?"
The lips smiled smugly and answered in a low, deep
gush. "Oh Tom, I thought you'd never ask!"
PART TWO: THROUGH THE TV SCREEN
The screen went dark for a few seconds, and then
flashed back on. Tom was watching a broadcast of The Tonight Show with Jay
Leno. On stage was comedian Robin Williams, wearing a god awful purple and
white checkered suit, who had just moved over to the couch, leaving the
chair open for Leno's next guest.
"So now, please welcome that feisty political
strategist," Leno began. "Feisty? I don't think that's the word I'd use to
describe this guy; loud, opinionated, even a little crazy maybe, but
feisty...naw, feisty just doesn't fit. He is known in some circles as the
Ragin' Cajun and to others just a raging pain in the ass, but regardless of
how you feel about him, there's no denying that he is one really smart
fellow, so ladies and gentlemen, Democrats, Republicans and all those in
between, please welcome James Carville, The Ragin' Cajun!"
A tall, bald man with high check bones, squinty eyes and
a wide smile walked through the curtains onto the stage and Tom suddenly
remembered that he'd seen this episode before and the reason he remembered
it so well was because when Carville sat down to be interviewed, he sat
with his legs widely spread apart and Tom had drooled at the sight of that
man's obviously huge bulging crotch.
For Tom, older actors were not the only ones he lusted
after. There were TV newscasters, sport coaches, umps, officials and team
managers as well. There were also quite a number of politicos who wore
their suits rather nicely: Senators John McCain and George Voinovich were
two such politicians, and George Bush Sr. when he was CIA Director, Vice
President as well as President was another one, along with Howard Dean,
Bill Bradley, Rudy Giuliani and the man he knows loves blow jobs, William
Jefferson Clinton. But James Carville was one of those studs Tom labeled
Handsomely Homely who always got Tom's juices flowing, with his sharp
angular features and bald head although lately, Carville had begun to look
a little thinner than normal and now shaved his head so that he was
completely bald. But this Leno show was originally from 2002 and back then
Carville was slightly heavier and he still had a ring of short graying hair
surrounding his bald dome. He also didn't wear his glasses back then, and
was sexually fashion challenged, wearing what looked like a suit bought
right off the rack(for Tom, seeing a guy in a cheap or tight ill fitted
suit was always more sexy then a guy wearing Armani or decked out in the
tailored loose baggy suits currently in fashion). Carville was wearing a
white shirt, dark burgundy tie and a light brown polyester suit, the tight
slacks very form fitting in the crotch which show-cased his very large eggs
and fat, meaty sausage which rose up big on the left side of his lap when
he sat down.
"Man," Tom said in a low whisper, lust thickening his
voice. "Just look at him...what I wouldn't give to bob my head up and down
in that man's lap!"
"Then, why don't you just go and do it Tom?" the voice
suggested above Leno's and Carville's stage banter.
Tom lifted the remote to his face, realization slowly
dawning on him. He looked hungrily at Carville then back at the remote.
"No way!" Tom exclaimed with excitement. "You mean with
this remote I can..."
"Enter whatever program is on the TV? Yes, that's the
sole purpose of the Remote Controller, you silly boy. If you press enter,
you'll be placed right into the program, even if it's a live broadcast, on
tape or on film; pressing exit returns you to your room. You can control
the scene just like a tape in a VCR, fast forward, reverse; if you pause
the action you can still move and manipulate objects and people at your
whim. And like I said, the command function will allow you to set the
course of the action by instructing the participants to do whatever you
tell them to...cool eh?"
"So cool," Tom whispered.
"Here's some advice for you Burger Boy. You can only
pause a scene for five minutes which will be counted down for you on the
LCD display, and once the time limit expires, the scene will start up
again. Also before you enter a scene, it's a good idea to use the ghost
mode or you might give the people an unwelcome surprise. Like I said, think
VCR when using the remote, like pressing play if you want to restart a
scene ok? So, are there any questions? Are you ready then to embark upon
your first journey into Television Land?"
Tom stared nervously at the Remote Controller, his hand
shaking slightly with anticipation.
"T-This can't really be happening-can it? I mean, this
has to be some whacked out dream, right? This just can't be for real!"
The voice took on a cool, challenging tone as it
answered, "Press "enter" Tom, then see for yourself how real you think it
is."
Tom stood up and as he watched the show unfold, Leno
having just asked Carville something about him completely shaving his head
and Carville raising both hands up to touch what little hair he had left,
Tom pressed "enter" and felt-nothing. However, he discovered that he
suddenly was no longer in his room, but instead stood in a brightly lit TV
studio standing directly in front of a very surprised Robin Williams, Jay
Leno and James Carville, who in particular was staring at Tom in utter
shock, his hands still touching both sides of his head.
Tom heard loud gasps from the audience behind him and
saw movement off to his left from security and studio staff.
"Hey," Leno started, "What the hell are you doing-"
Tom, remembering the Remote Controller's functions
quickly pressed "pause". The studio fell silent and everything was frozen,
just like a video image still frame and Tom was amazed as he walked about
the stage looking at the camera people, the audience and the band members
standing as still as statues, touching everything within his reach. Wild
excitement crept over his body...he actually felt the heat from the hot
lights, and the solid floor beneath him. He walked behind the couch and
Leno's desk and examined the stage more closely, moving the curtains,
feeling their texture and noticed that they stayed in the position he moved
them to. He got a close look at the back drop, touching the plywood and
plastic with his fingers; he then walked back over to stand behind
Carville, his arms still raised. Tom leaned down to sniff deeply at
Carville's left arm pit through his suit. He could vividly feel and smell
the material of the suit jacket as well as Carville's own deodorant and
slight arm pit smell-he doesn't wear cologne, Tom discovered, which was
fine by him, because he always believed that a man's natural scent should
be enough anyway.
Tom quickly stood up, excitement racing all over his body,
and shouted out loud: "SON OF A BITCH! Blue Lips-it's real! Goddammit, IT'S
ALL REAL!" He slapped the remote against his thigh, staring in disbelief at
his surroundings when he suddenly remembered the pause time restrictions
and began to think about how best to use the command feature. After a
moment he pressed the "command" button, faced the audience and spoke into
the microphone.
"Everyone watching will not remember seeing me appear out of
the blue, nor will you notice me on the stage and anything that happens up
here that may seem out of the ordinary will seem perfectly normal to you,
no matter what you may see or hear."
Tom turned back towards Leno and his guests. "The same goes
for you guys. But you James, you are going to be especially suggestive to
all of my orders, doing whatever I tell you, as if it's the most normal
thing to do...no matter what it is."
He moved over to stand directly in front of Carville, the
bright stage lights shinning off the thin sheen of perspiration from his
bald head. He looked at the LCD screen and saw that he had about forty four
seconds left. Moving in closer so that he was now standing between
Carville's widely spread legs, he continued with his instructions.
"While you will feel and hear everything I do and say to you,
you will continue your conversation with Jay. And, eh...every time I
say...eh, liberal, you're going to get really horny, your sexual desire
will increase and you'll get the biggest, hardest boner that you ever
had...your sexual urges will be totally pure focused lust, and whatever you
feel me doing to you, the level of ecstasy you'll experience will be
intense, like nothing you've ever experienced before."
Tom glanced down again at the LCD screen and saw that twelve
seconds remained. He stepped back from Carville and just as the final
seconds ticked away told him, "Man, I really want this to last, so no
matter how much you'll want to cum, you can only do it when you hear me
say...eh, say...Mary Matalin...yeah, only after I say Mary Matalin will you
be able to let go and shoot the moon!" And then, like a video tape the
scene started up right where it had left off.
"-here, oh...eh, what the heck was I saying?" Leno asked,
puzzled that his train of thought had been derailed. He looked over at his
guests hoping to get an answer. "You asked James about shaving his head,"
Robin Williams answered stiffly, not bothering to hide his absolute boredom
with the interview, wanting to be elsewhere. While the conversation
continued, Tom stared at Carville and the others for a moment, still amazed
that he was actually standing unobserved on The Tonight Show stage in front
of a man who Tom, over the years, ever since first seeing "The War Room"
had jerked off over, fantasizing about him in his head, dreaming about what
it would be like to suck him off, and now he was about to find out for
real.
"James," Tom said, giddy as a kid in a toy store, "Stand
up-continue looking and talking to Jay, but face forward-and take off your
jacket and toss it to me."
And without missing a beat, while Leno asked him how he felt
about the current political climate, Carville stood up, turned his head
towards Leno, slid off his jacket and tossed it over to Tom and then
preceded to answer Leno's question. Tom brought the jacket up close to his
face and deeply inhaled the familiar scent. Damn he smells so good, like a
real man Tom thought, starting to feel his cock throb in anticipation.
"James, place your hands on your hips," Tom commanded, "And
thanks for remaining an unapologetic, opinionated, hard headed liberal!"
And while Leno and the audience was laughing over a funny
comment Williams had just tossed out, a somewhat perplexed expression came
over Carville's face, followed by a slight smile which turned up the right
corner of his mouth.
"Liberal...liberal...liberal..." Tom uttered and at the sound
of each word, he noticed James Carville was suddenly finding it harder to
concentrate on Leno's questions, becoming agitated and slowly thrusting his
hips forward. Tom looked down at Carville's crotch and discovered
Carville's ability to concentrate was not the only thing that was getting
harder.
"Holy...shit," Tom muttered in amazement, stepping over
towards Carville, whose body still faced the audience, while his head was
turned towards Leno. Carville stood in front of his chair, a crooked half
smile on his face, hands still firmly on his slowly thrusting hips and
whose tight pants were now tented out by what appeared to be the biggest
hard on Tom had seen in his life; truth was, aside from his own modest
boners, this was actually the only other hard-on he'd ever seen in real
life because up until now, the only sex Tom had experienced was in his head
and by his own over worked hands. And now, here he was face to face with
one of his fantasies and about to learn first hand how it felt to engage in
hot, sweaty sex with another human being-a real man, and by the looks of
it, a really hung man at that! That being said, for his very first time, he
wanted to go slow, so Tom decided to keep it simple-feel the man up and
just give a blow job this time out on his first maiden voyage into sexual
activity. So he kneeled down in front of Carville, the man's snug pants
barely able to contain the huge cock pulsating behind the straining zipper,
and Tom hesitantly reached out to touch the big bulge; curiously it felt
both spongy and solid, stretching upward to the left towards Carville's
belt. Then, becoming a little bolder, Tom ran his hand up and down the
thick, warm shaft, and then squeezed it tightly through Carville's pants,
his Carville fantasy finally coming to fruition.
"Ohhh, momma, momma..." Carville moaned closing his eyes
to allow the waves of pleasure to wash over him, carrying him upwards to a
sensual peek he'd never reached before.
"Yeah," Leno prattled on, "Speaking about mothers, just
what does your momma think about her son's political notoriety and does she
get along well with her quite out spoken conservative Republican
daughter-in-law?"
Tom had placed the Remote Controller and his glasses on
top of Carville's jacket on the floor earlier and was now rubbing his face
all over Carville's bulging cock, indulging himself in the feel of the
thick, rubbery hose and the strong scent coming through James' pants, the
front now damp from pre-cum stains left by the horny man's heavily leaking
cock.
"Momma's...momma's...MOMMA'S ALRIGHT WITH EVERYTHING!"
Carville shouted, singing it like it was a lyric from The Doobie Brothers'
song "Jesus Is Just Alright With Me", and the audience laughed louder as he
began to thrust his hips faster and more aggressively against Tom's face,
pounding so hard that at one point Carville's boner made solid and painful
contact with Tom's nose and Tom had to quickly pull back from the sexually
intoxicated strategist in order to avoid another mild collision.
After a moment Tom leaned back further, looking up at
Carville who was being engulfed by lust and need; he smiled and ordered the
man to stop moving his hips. A loud audible whine of disappointment could
be heard from Carville above the din coming from the audience, which was
now laughing over Leno's comment that while politics could make strange
bedfellows he would bet a soggy two dollar bill that it was not nearly as
strange as the bedfellowing that probably went on in the Carville-Matalin
bedroom.
"James," Tom said, moving forward on his knees so that
his face was now mere inches away from Carville's warm, damp crotch, "I
want you to drop your pants." Tom got a close up look at Carville quickly
reaching down to unbuckle his leather belt.
"Ahhh, slowly, slowly, don't want to rush it," Tom
directed and watched with hungry eyes as Carville took his time opening his
belt, leisurely pulling the strap through the buckle, letting it hang open
to jingle softly. Tom leaned backwards a bit as Carville undid the fastener
to his pants, grabbed the tab to his zipper, and gracefully slid it down
over the lump his dick made in his boxers. Then with his pants pooled
around his ankles, standing there in light blue boxer shorts, his shirt
tails now covering his bulge, Carville placed his hands back upon his hips
and continued talking to Leno, sprinkling plenty of moans throughout his
answers, about how well his family got along with his wife Mary, despite
the couple's strong contrasting political differences.
Tom scooted back over to him after taking in the comical
sight of James Carville standing in front of an audience wearing a white
dress shirt, tie and boxers, with his pants down over his shoes and socks
like he was in a scene from some slapstick movie, and then after
instructing him to place his hands behind his back, proceeded to pull down
Carville's blue (and heavily stained) boxer shorts. What greeted Tom's
nostrils was the very strong, musky man-scent of sex flowing out from
Carville's bushy crotch. And what greeted his lustful eyes was the man's
long, heavily veined, thick pole of flesh, its' tip dripping with sticky
pre-cum; the rod was well over twelve inches long and as wide in diameter
as a super-sized plastic bottle of aspirin. The cock, below which hung a
huge pair of gray, hairy balls, jutted out from between Carville's white
dress shirt, after Tom had to unbutton some of the shirt buttons, sticking
straight up like a pole despite its thick girth and Tom believed that he
had possibly found the answer to the question that had to be on most
people's minds when speculating on what was the secret "something" other
than love that held together this particular marriage between two such
divergent and opposite political animals. When you watched Carville and
Mary Matalin going at it on some televised pundit shouting match circus of
a talk show, you sometimes didn't know how much of a hate-love fest you
were going to get, because along with arguing with each other over
something like the place of government in the lives of private citizens,
they both fiercely came to one another's defense if any outsiders dared
take personal pot shots at them, and it was pretty obvious that the two
loved each other very much-it was just that Tom had now discovered for
himself exactly how much of James Carville there was for a person to love.
Tom stuck his tongue out to lick the dripping tip of
Carville's cock and found his first taste of male meat not too bad,
something he was determined to get used to along with the ever present
masculine crotch odor he was sure to find down between the legs of all the
future Suit Daddies he planned to sample and he quickly began to swallow
more of the fleshy tube. It was difficult for him to take all of Carville
into his mouth without gagging, so after a while he settled upon using his
tongue to wash the cock and balls, mixing his spit with the heavy amount of
pre-cum and sweat already lubricating the man's big dick. After Leno took a
commercial break, then came back to finish his interview with the horny
politico, Tom and Carville hadn't wasted a single minute during the break,
having established a very satisfying rhythm together, with Tom licking and
sucking on the cock head while using his hands to jack off the slimy stalk
as Carville, now allowed to face his head forward, his hands still clutched
tightly behind his back, deeply thrusted himself to and fro after Tom gave
in and permitted the man to rock his hips after observing Carville's
trembling body and the expression of dire frustration upon his sweaty face
over being ordered by Tom a while ago to not move.
Tom was like a man who had been lost in the desert for
days suddenly stumbling across a rich, exotic oasis and now he damn well
was going to drink his fill of James Carville, determined to suck him
completely dry when he believed that the man couldn't hold back any longer.
Carville was loudly grunting and moaning like a beast in
heat while still, as ridiculous as it may seem, trying his best to, under
the circumstances, carry on the interview with Leno, who now asked him,
"James, if all you're going to do is grunt out your answers, just how far
do you plan to go in the political strategy arena? You have to be able to
communicate and AR-TIC-ULATE your positions clearly to be persuasive to
your clients, don't ya think?"
Carville, his unfocused eyes now mere slits, with his
mouth hanging open slightly, drool dripping from the corners, made an
effort to glance over towards Leno.
"H-How's-how's this-ohhhhh-this f-for...oh, goddamn...for
a-a-artic-u- lation," Carville gasped, quickly taken under by the undertow
of his raging sexual pleasure wave and shouted out at the top of his lungs:
"I AM SO FUCKING HORNY!!"
The audience erupted with applause and shouts as Tom
continued to suck on the sweet, pungent man meat, sensing that Carville had
passed the point of no return long ago, but was unable to release his cum
because Tom hadn't given him permission yet and although the elegant
torture was pleasurable beyond anything the political strategist had ever
felt before, it was still cum-denial torture and soon Carville groaned
aloud, "Please, let me cum, let me cum, let me cum," over and over again
while Tom jerked and sucked even harder on his crimson colored cock.
"Say, we're going to have to take another commercial
break pretty soon," Leno piped in, "And as much as I'm enjoying the
exhibition you're putting on for us, exactly how much longer are you going
to be fella?"
"OH GOD I WISH I KNEW!" Carville whined in frustration.
Tom, his own cock now hard as a rock which he had been
massaging ever since he first started working on Carville, pulled his mouth
off the man's dick while continuing to jack the long stalk. At first Tom
planned for the man to cum in his mouth so he would know what it felt like
to swallow and taste Carville's juice, but he then remembered that there
was another guy-one special Irish guy-whose cum he wanted flowing down his
throat for the first time instead. So he stood up still jacking off
Carville and looked into the man's perspiring face, his head tilted
backwards, his expressions shifting between intense pleasure and intense
discomfort. Carville was breathing hard and drenched in sweat, massive dark
stains dripping down from under his arm pits, his chest and down the back
of the once crisp white dress shirt and he was so ready to explode that Tom
knew he had to finally let the man cum or else cause serious damage to
those enormous, straining cum-filled balls.
Tom's hands moved like a piston up and down Carville's
cock and he leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Put your hands behind your
head and tell Jay that you're about to give everyone the money shot they've
all been expecting, James."
Carville clasped his hands behind his head and rolled it
from side to side, his eyes unfocused and bright as he told Leno, between a
slew of "ohhhs" and "ahhhs" exactly what Tom had ordered him to say.
"Hey folks," Leno said, "Let's count him down
then...Ten! Nine!"
Tom stepped behind the moaning and humping Carville and
reaching around, placed both his hands on the sex addled man's upright
cock, jacking it faster and faster while he rubbed his own hard cock
against Carville's muscular ass and the audience, in unison with Leno
loudly continued the countdown. "-Seven-six," they shouted while Tom felt
his own cock burn with desire each time Carville pressed back hard against
it.
"Five-four,"
Carville was muttering something unintelligible which to
Tom sounded like a mixture of mangled French, English slang and...something
else, while Tom continued to savagely pump the slick, thick dick.
"Three-two-ONE!"
Tom whispered "Mary Matalin!"into Carville's ear, feeling
his own orgasm suddenly take hold of him, slowly filling his underwear with
cream and he had to grip Carville's cock hard to stabilize himself. And it
was a good thing too that he had something to hold on to because all at
once the man staggered forward a few paces, then stood still, shivering
from head to toe. Carville shouted out a stream of incomprehensible
gibberish which sounded like a cross between a sci-fi alien war cry and a
rebel yell, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut hard as his
cock shot thick ropes of cum everywhere about the stage.
"BLAST OFF!" Leno cried who stood up and began clapping
along with Robin Williams and the entire studio audience, which was now
giving Carville a standing ovation, its clamor filling the air with
whistles, cat-calls and chants of "Car-ville! Car- ville!"
And through it all, the man continued to shoot reams of
thick, white cum which landed on the floor, the couch and the desk. Tom's
hands were covered with the stuff, not to mention he felt like he was
carrying quite a load in his own pants-the bald strategist hadn't been the
only one to experience an awesome orgasm on that stage. Carville staggered
over to his seat and heavily plopped himself down, exhausted with his pants
and shorts still down around his ankles, his hairy legs spread wide, his
big cock now softening slightly and dripping cum into his pants like a
leaky faucet.
Jay, still standing and applauding, glanced over at
Carville sprawled back in the chair recovering from his orgasm, smiled and
said: "Now I know what they mean when they call you the Ragin'
Cajun. Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for a quite impressive James
Carville in awe-inspiring action!"
While the audience wildly clapped and cheered, Tom was
laying in front of Jay's desk basking in his own after-glow from a most
incredible experience. He had not only given the one and only James
Carville a blow job live on TV(even if it was a taped repeat broadcast), he
had also managed to give himself an orgasm unlike anything he'd ever felt
before and without even opening his pants! He reached over for Carville's
jacket, putting back on his glasses and grabbing the Remote Controller he
then stood up.
After glancing over at Carville one last time, who Tom saw
was now looking directly at him with a broad grin and then flashed him a
quick wink, Tom smiled back at him and pressed the "exit" button-and found
himself back in his bedroom sitting in the recliner. The TV was still on
where a car commercial was just ending and the sponsor spot gave way to The
Tonight Show. Tom sat up suddenly as he watched Jay Leno say good-night to
his quests and noticed that everything on the show was the way it should
have been before he made his foray into show biz: Carville was still
wearing the brown suit, jacket and all, that he had on from the beginning,
and the set was not covered in cum...in fact everything was quite normal,
as if nothing at all had ever happened.
"Goddammit," Tom said with disappointment. "It was just a
fucking hallucination after all-it wasn't real!"
Just then The Tonight Show dissolved into static and the
blue lips reappeared on the screen.
"Hey there Burger Boy, I trust you had a deliciously
fabulous time?"
"It was only a fucking illusion, nothing but a dream!"
"Maybe...but tell me, what's that in you're lap?"
Tom looked down and noticed draped across his lap was-
"Carville's suit coat!" he exclaimed. He raised it up to
his nose and inhaled. Yes, Carville's scent was still there. He even
noticed a few tiny pearl colored spots on the lapel-some of Carville's cum
had landed on the jacket where it still clung stubbornly.
"B-but, how could this be his jacket? I clearly saw him
still wearing it!" Tom questioned.
"Do you doubt that's James Carville's coat?" the lips asked.
"Well-no, but..."
"And do you doubt that you currently have a load of cum
filling your briefs at this very moment?"
Tom quickly became aware of the uncomfortable sensation of
wearing damp, soggy underwear. He stared at the coat, and touching his damp
crotch slowly leaned back into the chair clutching the souvenir suit jacket
and shaking his head, puzzled by the paradox.
"I-I'm so confused," he confessed with a heavy sigh.
"Oh, you are that B Boy, but don't sweat the strange stuff,
because like I said, it's all in the mind, and with some effort the mind
can accomplish some quite amazing things and you can too-all you simply
have to do is believe in your own crazy ass self, visualize what you want
and set your mind to achieve it!"
Tom thought back on how Carville's cock tasted in his mouth,
how it had felt and smelled like and how he had actually made the man have
one soul shattering orgasm on the air, not to mention experiencing his own
nut-bursting release. He smiled and said, "I want to go again-hey, where's
that remote?"
"Ahh, well now," the lips said, "Here's the catch my damp
little friend."
Tom eyed the TV with apprehension and asked, "What do you
mean by 'the catch'?"
"You see, once you exit a session, you have to wait a period
of time before you're able to use the Remote Controller again. It has to
recharge itself; it takes a hell of a lot of energy to alter reality, don't
you know. And you B Boy, you are the source of that necessary charge! You
are now linked to the Controller, and as you put a more concerted effort
into living your life, you create enormously powerful waves of energy which
can be picked up by the Controller, energy which can be used to feed your
fantasies and give you the chance to travel the airwaves again. Do you hear
what I'm saying? Do you get it? Sitting around on your butt, hiding from
the world, feeling sorry for yourself doesn't get the Controller back up to
full charge. But don't you worry, because if you do all the right things,
and I believe you will you little cock-hound, the Remote Controller will
come back once it's fully charged and if you adhere to the time limits."
"Time limits? You didn't say anything about goddamn time
limits!" Tom said angrily. "Just tell me when it'll appear again!" And he
felt that it could be quite awhile. The blue lips smiled broadly and began
to slowly fade as it answered, "Ah, well that is the million and one dollar
question now, isn't it Tom Traveler; what do you plan to do to take your
life back, eh? When you figure that out, it may reappear next week. Or it
might take up to a month, a year; it will most assuredly return in its own
sweet time. Meanwhile, might I suggest that you get out there and face the
taunts-there're just words anyway-- and struggle to get mentally stronger
and zap the Controller with Life Force, because trust me Burgher Boy, you
ain't seen nothing yet!"
And just like a TV shutting down, the lips vanished into the
static field which proceeded to shrink down to a tiny pin point of light
which then slipped away into the smoky darkness of the television screen.
"Fuck," Tom muttered, "There's always gotta be a gimmick." But
his hand gripped James Carville's suit coat and he brought it up to his
nose again-and yes, it still reeked from the essence of Carville.
"Well. Hell, maybe it won't be so bad having to wait," Tom mused, and
figured it was worth learning how to deal with the homophobic crap and
stand up to anyone who had a problem with who he was or what he liked, just
so long as he got more TV time with the Remote Controller.
He made room in his closet and hung up Carville's suit
coat and made the decision to collect more souvenirs from his upcoming
journeys. And there would be more TV trips for sure, because starting next
week, Big Fat Burghers was going to be history and he was going to look
into that loading dock opening down at Walsh Ind. which was only a block
and a half away from his house and paid a lot more than BFB. Maybe with
him having that sort of job it will get the Life Force energy waves flowing
from him big time.
Tom then flipped upon his bed and picking up the TV
Guide, began scanning for movies and TV series featuring his favorite Irish
character actor. He remembered hearing something about a new crime drama
called "Cold Case" which John Finn was co-staring in coming on in the fall,
and he made plans to check it out once the new TV season started.
"I don't know how long I'll have to wait," Tom said out
loud, speaking to his silent TV, "But however long it'll take, when it's
time to travel again, I think I'll first drop by a certain cold case police
squad's office because I'm sure that I'm going to have a strong hankering
to kiss a big ol' bald headed Blarney Stone all over!"
TO BE CONTINUED.