ST Neave

....likes writing....

TOYS

by
 
S T Neave

 

Once upon a time, when I was a boy, I had this wonderful toy, only it wasn’t really a toy, though it became my toy, and after some time it became my most favorite toy.  Now this toy; was in fact a blanket, a blue babies security blanket, like the sky, only baby.  The toy blanket itself was made of soft cotton; the borders were made of super soft satin.  It had four corners, each one different from the next: three were rounded and dull. They were very soft and felt great all over, but one corner was sharp, pointy, and tight.  I would rub the edges against my cheeks and eyelids, the pointy satin edge in places the duller corners could never reach.  A spark would run through my body, down through my toes, and I’d float.  The spark would bring me somewhere; things happened here (unexplainable things).  I was granted wishes when I reached this place, true wishes (million dollar wishes and world peace are not wishes, they’re a pipe dreams).  I’d wish a brother to walk in the door, or ice cream; and every once in while I’d wish my hardest for a Bucky Dent baseball card. 

These are not rants, I’m sane, these things took place, it’s true.  They really did.  I would grab my toy blanket and slowly stroke my cheek with the coolest, softest edge.  I would continually switch the edge I used, to make sure the edge was cool and soft.  I would stroke, slow, slow, slower, softer; the softer I went would help for the wish to come true (though I did not realize this until years later).  I’d be so happy, with my little toy blanket.  It was always there, good or bad.  I would use my toy blanket when I hid from things.  Under my bed behind boxes, filled with dolls, when bad would come looking t get me. I’d hide under the bed holding the toy blanket with my legs crossed so I wouldn’t pee. I’d be hiding, rubbing that toy blanket so hard.  I’d be rough and nervous.  I’d almost never switch the edge and I’d almost always wind up beaten, crying.  I’d wipe my runny wet nose with the cotton, the tears with the edges, and cover myself from cold.  After a long time my toy blanket was too small and it stopped covering me; but I’d crawl in a tight ball, packed, and find a way for my toy blanket to cover every inch of me.  My blanket wasn’t warm, not really.  It was see through.  That’s why I’d cover my self, sometimes, so I could see through.  When covered by most blankets you’d be blind, but not with my toy blanket.  You could see just about everything through the toy blanket. 

There were so many good qualities to my toy blanket, yeah, the wishes were great; but it was the other things.  The security I felt when covered, an under the bed friend, the love and unconditional understanding.  I never experienced such a thing, not since, not ever.  Maybe it was because I was so young?  Maybe I transferred all of my love onto the blanket?  So what!  The fact was, and is, that I love/’d that blanket; like I never loved nothing!

I would later forget the toy blanket.  Lose it.  I wouldn’t realize it until it was too late, but that’s what’s life is all about (my life, anyways).  And that’s what’s this is all about:  A story about my toy blanket and all the loveliness that came and went with it.

So I was young and growing; things were different from when I was small and little.  As you grow, all around you forget.  You forget.  The attention goes.  There is no more holding and kissing, they put you down and forget to pick you back up.  Things looked different, everything went zoom, super-fast.  The attention that you crave is forgotten.  After a time you don’t even remember it being there.

Everything starts to move, and when you are in the movement, you just go with it.  It’s very hard for you to recognize the movement as you go through it.  (Being in it).  This story is written years after the fact.  I’ve had time:  plenty of time to realize all that was.  I’ve had the time to remember what it is I’d lost.  I wished for attention.

It’s crazy, youth is a wondrous thing, really, really wonderful, everything: every tree, every color, every day, every second is new and hot and burning, You want more and you crave newness.  All the stuff that was is left cause you’ve already done it, no matter how special it is you move onto newer stuff, just because it is new. That’s how it happened.  I was bored and craved, more.  What I had wasn’t good enough.  Rubbing soft I’d wish, and wish for more.  The sparks came.

I met a girl, a beautiful young girl, with gold all over her hair and eyes.  My love was transferred, from my toy blanket to my boy toy.  She did everything for me.  She made me warm and told me special things, left little wet kisses on my face and body.  Warmth would pass right through my toes.  She would lie on top of me, cover my eyes, specks of golden light would trickle in, making my eyes burn; just a little.  There was so much happiness.  I could live like this forever (and I planned to), all this love.  Why would I need anything else?  I wanted nothing but the love of this lovely boy toy.  I forgot friends and family.  I had it all. 

My toy blanket was now nothing more than a crumbled up ball on the side of the bed, squished between the mattress and the cement wall.  But I didn’t care, I didn’t remember.  I was in a new world where a warm body would cover and protect me.  If bad came, now, I’d have my boy toy to stand with me, she was strong and real pretty, really very nice looking and she loved me!  She’d always be around to look after me; giving me all I wanted, and this is all I ever wanted.  And it went this way for a very long time, I don’t even remember how long, we just flew by happily. All I wanted I had.

I could think of nothing in the past.  I was going forward.  My toy blanket was no more.  I’d forgot about it being crumbled in a ball, squished between the mattress and the cement wall.  All the magic was gone, I’d forgot.  I believed in destiny.  My love was fate; my boy toy had been delivered to me.  I never realized that something like love could never be natural and real.  I could never allow anyone credit.  I t was all owed to me and my boy toy, we made it all work, this bliss, this world of beauty was for us, by us.  No one could take it away.

As the years stretched and more and more time passed things would change, they always do.  The gold did not shimmer so bright; the specks of light did not burn my eyes, no more bolts of heat running anyone.  I was distraught, and sickened by all this.  What had happened?  And what could be done?  I sat and cried and worried, alone.  I wasted a long time thinking about all those lovely days lying with one another, the depending, the need, and then, and then I remembered.

I don’t know if it was the depend or the need but my toy blanket came to me.  I was years removed from it.  Where could it be now?  I hadn’t given it an ounce of attention for years.  Where was it? 

I ran to my boy toy, explained all I ever had with my toy blanket: the love, under the bed scared, warm with light.  It all came.  I told her all it ever gave me.  The need I felt for it.  How it had always saved me.  My need.  How it was everything she had been before she ever had been.  She smiled and listened.  Not a word, she just let me tell her my story about my special toy blanket.  I really told her everything; it all came up, the security, comfort, friendship, and love, so much love.  I even told her about the magic.  She listened, not a word from my smiling boy toy, until I was finished.  She asked me questions after I told her everything.  She’d ask the same thing forty different ways.  She wasn’t smiling.  She said I was keeping something, not telling her all it was.  I told her I could never do that.  I’d never keep anything.  She was all and everything.

I explained how I could use my toy blanket to save us, it could return us to our place, make us whole and how warm blood could run through us again.  I went back, back to my home, years had passed since I had been there; boy toy came with me.  She held me the whole time; she wanted to see my toy blanket and what it could do with her own eyes.  It did not take a long time.

I ran into the home, forcing my release.  My boy toy ran after me.  I went up the stairs, right to my old bed.   Nothing seemed to change.  I jumped on the bed, ripped up the covers; my toy blanket was not there.  I checked to see if it was crumbled in a ball squished against the old worn out mattress and the cement wall, it wasn’t. I jumped off the bed and stared, my boy toy ran in and asked me a question I did not hear.  I quickly went to my knees and pulled the boxes filled with old dolls out from under the bed.  I went under the bed, sticking as much of my frame under the bed.  I didn’t fit anymore.  My hands blindly searched the darkness under the bed.  I finally felt the cold satin corners.  It was now under the bed, hiding in much the way I did when bad came for me.  It was as cool, soft, and secure as ever.  I automatically smiled, big; my love had never changed.  I turned with my toy blanket to look at my boy toy, I showed her.  Before she touched it I shook off all the dust that had settled on it.  She touched the satin and then asked how it worked.  I wanted to show her.  I shook it out again, to release anything I’d missed and then I went down on the worn out mattress.  I lay on my side, in a ball, with my knees to my chest.  I closed my eyes, tight, and slowly stroked face (eyes, ears, cheeks and mouth) the power was too much.  My whole body shook.  I needed to stop. I had to take my hand and rub my face roughly to get the tingle off of me.  I was smiling, so happy.  My boy toy wanted to know if it had worked, I said it hadn’t.  I’d have to continue.

I explained to her that I’d have to go through the powerful pleasure tingle.  I told her it was too much to bear.  My boy toy wanted to try, I said “NO! You’d never be able to.”

She would never be able to get it going, I’d try again.  Slow around my cheeks, slowly over my nose, slower past the mouth, to the chin, around and around, slowest by my eyes.  I could fell the sparks generating energy.  I could feel my body rise. I had the power back and I wished.  I wished so hard; for my boy toy and I to forever be together; forever and ever and ever.

I must have been at it a long time because when I open my eyes I had the taste of sleep in my mouth and it was pitch black outside.  It just seemed like a long time had passed.  My boy toy was sitting up next to me, stroking my head, softly. She smiled to me.  I just knew that it had worked.  I raised myself to kiss her and she me.  We kissed and we could, both, feel the love bubble and burst all over us. I told her it worked (she knew).

I told her we would be always and forever.  She tried to smile bigger but tears came through, poured down her cheeks and off her face.  I tried to wipe them but could not keep up.  I looked for my toy blanket. It had always been there to catch my tears when I cried; stopping the wet tears from soaking my face.  It had always comforted me. 

I looked around the bed and it was not there.  I stood up.  I checked to see it was between the old worn out mattress and the cement wall, it wasn’t. I began to feel a fear in my stomach.  I went to my knees, to check under the bed.  I put as much as I could under the bed and felt around in the darkness.  I could not fell it.  I was almost entirely under the bed and I could not feel it.  It was not there. My neck started to get hot.  After all this time apart I did not want to lose my toy blanket again.  How could I lose it, now? I looked everywhere, hot, while my boy toy cried and I found nothing.  

I turned to my lovely crying boy toy.  She did not look at me.  She just cried, heavy.  She was golden again.  The sparks burned my eyes for the first in a long time.  She looked at me through her red, wet, devil eyes: “I killed your toy blanket!  How could you ever love me if you love another?”  And we cried, together, happily ever after.

 

  The End.
 

GREEN, BROWN, and YELLOW STAINS

by 

ST Neave

 

I’ve lived underground, alone, for along time.  I seem to like it that way.  I rarely have any visitors, really never, to be honest.  I never want anyone to come here, I’d never want them to see all it is I have here. It’s very personal, the place you live.  So I live alone with few friends, fewer visitors.  My place is really drab.  I do get a ton of nice light, in the afternoon the sun pours in, covers everything, you can actually see the dust, lots of dust, floating all around the bedroom/living room(my bedroom doubles as a living room).  At night the dust is invisible but during the day when you change the station or move a map dust flies up in your eyes and lungs.  I can’t get rid of the dust no matter how much I try.  I mop and dust and use wet rags; nothing works, nothing.

I don’t even have anywhere to go.  All I have is the bedroom/living room, a walk in closet and the bathroom.  The closet has no room.  I’ve got that shit packed to the hilt.  I swear I don’t even know what the fuck I’ve put in there. I swear I only deal with the walk-in closet when I’m drunk.  I’ve thrown a ton of dirty cloths, hats, sporting equipment, pictures I no longer want to look at, old toys, baseball cards, drums, love letters, books, belts, magazines, building blocks, a dog collar, small shoes, stick up air fresheners, hangers with stuff on them and hangers with nothing.  There are a lot of things in that closet and I’m really always too tired to clean it up.  So the closet is a problem.

I was always disgusted by the bathroom, as well.  There is no window, no ventilation.  There is a stink that hangs in the air, it’s wet, and green with mildew.  In the winter the water is always cold, the summer it’s hot.  I can’t get the stains out of the tub and sink.  The toilet is old and always runs water.  The bowl is a horrible brown color.  I’ve bleached that goddam bathroom a million times.  I’ve worked on it but those fuckin stains stay there, I could never get rid of them.  And I’ve tried, I really have.

My place sucks, no man should ever live underground, not the way I do.  If I had another room or a kitchen to cook in. Another room to put some of the clutter in.  My bedroom/living room is almost impossible to sleep in because of the goddam dust, whenever I lay down and close my eyes I see chunks of dust, big balls of it floating to me and then in me and then I’m up, choking and gagging.  So there is no rest in my place underground.  I never go to that closet, there’s nothing I can get there.  It is so packed I couldn’t even fit one of my feet in there, I can’t see the floor anymore.  I don’t even bother stuffing it, there’s no room.  To be honest my bedroom/living room began to fill with some of the same stuff  I stuffed in my closet.  There was  nowhere to go, except the bathroom, so I started to spend more time in the mildewed bathroom.  I kept the seat down so I’d never have to look in.  In the winter I’d put a towel down because the tiles were cold, during the summer the cool tiles felt good against my legs.  I bought a transistor radio (for $2) from the old lady next door and listened to it on the floor when I was at home and relaxing.

There was another reason I started to sit in the bathroom, besides the dust and clutter.  There was something else; all that other stuff was an excuse.  There was really only one reason for me to move into the bathroom.  There was only one reason and it’s not really easy to talk about.  There was one reason for me to spend all my free time on the floor in the bathroom.  In my bathroom I had a friend, she happens to be less than a human but we are still friends.

We have not always been friends.  She’s actually a spider; I always hated spiders (I call her “she” because she lays eggs and from what I remember, from biology, spiders are assigned a specific sexual assignment; no hermaphrodites, like Sea Horses).  There were many times I wanted to kill her, she was so vulnerable.  It would have been so easy to squash her but I’d always think about it and by the time I’d figure it out I’d forget to do it.  The impulse would just, poof, disappear.  Maybe it would have been better if I followed my impulses, killed her.  I didn’t, so my choice was made and I have to live with it, now.

I’ve described my living situation, so I think it would only be fair to explain hers.  She lives, like a rag, worse than me, I’m sure.  She lives in a 12x40 windowsill that has been painted shut.  (I was always curious as to how she got there, I never did figure that out.)  She lives between the J&J Baby Shampoo, my deep conditioner, soft soap, and a bar of soap in a soap dish the old lady next door gave me.  There is, of course, the mildew that hangs around, the bad smells, and the green, brown ,and yellow stains that breed everywhere.  I’ve tried to clean but it didn’t work.  I tried a hundred times harder once our relationship started but I was unable to get any of the scum up, it had been there too long.  The colors are terrible and the smells are awful, I just hope she is unable to smell it; that would  terribly embarrassing.

I actually found her when I was trying to get the muck out.  I was bleaching the bathtub and I saw here, she was working on her web.  I could tell she didn’t even notice I was there or maybe she did and was being coy.  To be honest, the first time I tried to kill her.  (I didn’t mention it earlier because I didn’t think you’d understand.)  I poured bleach all over her, it wiped out the web and she was washed away.  I forgot all about her and her web until two days later, she came back.  I saw her building a new web, I was going to kill her again, or at least try to but I was in a hurry that morning so I decided to kill her at a later date.

I’m in a hurry most mornings, so I don’t normally have the time to kill.  Maybe that’s the reason why she lasted so long.

Now, I would never harm her.  I actually swat flies in the air and squash bugs on the floor; pick them up and then bring them home to her.  I leave them right by her web,  when I lay them down by her web she doesn’t move, she waits.  Though when I come back the food is always either gone or wrapped and saved for later.  She is very neat and tidy.  The best roommate I ever had.   My only problem is I don’t understand her, it would be a perfect relationship but I know I can’t and I know I never will; and that’s a hard pill to swallow.   You see she understands me, entirely, and I can’t even get her name.

I won’t name her.  I’ve thought about it but I can’t.  You see she isn’t just some pet or doll.  She’s so much more than that.  Not that I even know what exactly she is, I just know that my spider is special.  I’ve seen her life for the past year.  I’ve seen her eat and sleep and give birth.  I took her eggs to the park so her kin could enjoy an open life away from my grimy bathroom.  I didn’t feel that it would be fair for the children.  There was no need for them to live in such squalor.  She chose to live with me, they never asked for it; so I freed them, cause in forty years I will not be held responsible for their defeated lives.  The park may turn out to be a harsh place but I won’t feel the need to provide for those children.  I don’t think she cared all that much.  Spiders don’t really have a bounding relationship with kin.  They aren’t like humans, we bond with everything.  When my spider dies, and it will, I’ll be crushed.  I know I shouldn’t dwell on her death while she is still here.  I know I should celebrate our bright shining friendship.  I should be thankful for all those beautiful webs she has spun.  I should be happy that she is there everyday, no matter what.  But she will die and I will be terribly upset.  I am very attached to this spider.

I should have fuckin killed her when I had the chance!  I know, I know that sounds awful, disgusting, sadistic, but those of you who understand love and mind will certainly agree.  How can’t they?  To have this feeling that I need, I need a fuckin spider!  A SPIDER!  I know it’s not normal, I know I’m a funny, queer fellow.  I know all this, I really do.  I have a spider.  I had no one.  No one was around, except maybe the little old lady next door but she doesn’t count.  Her family is MIA; I’ve never seen anyone of them.  Whenever there’s a problem she bangs on the wall.  I know there’s no one else but me.  I know I’m all she’s got.  She fuckin tells me so.  It’s so sad.  All she has is me, and she tells me so.  My spider would never do that.

She’s seen me naked everyday, she’s watched me wash my ass, I’ve jerked off in front of her, rubbed my whole body, fucked up, drunk, pissing in the shower.  And you know what?  She never once judged me or my actions, she just wants me here.  She never yells or pouts, the old lady always wants, more, more, more.  I can’t keep up.  She’s so secure with herself, not like anyone I know.  All she does is spin that beautiful web, day and night, the web; always getting bigger.  It’s wonderful.  I wish I could join her, hug, no words, just action. 

Though if I were to touch her the way I wished she would surly die.  So I’m stuck, I want her love, I do, and I’m sure she gives it.  I just can’t feel it.  I need feelings; humans need feeling.  So I sit on the floor and stare, she doesn’t mind.  She’s incredibly comfortable.  That’s what I want.  I really do want that but I can’t.  I cannot have what it is I want underground, I will never have it.  All I have is this hole, a bedroom/living room packed like the walk-in closet.  I can’t enjoy a thing, so I sit and stare at the spider, in the smelly stinking bathroom, at a fake friend who never gives.  Only I do!  I give!  And I’m tired of it.  You know what?  I’m getting very excited and I need to calm down some.  This occasionally happens to me, I start ranting, going on and on about things I can do nothing about. At times like this I’ve been told to empty my head and breathe?  (I don’t always get the best advice, I’m sure.)

 

    The End      
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