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The Drawer Horror

Some years ago I was visiting an old friend in Florida. This pal (A large man who is actually “a sensitive little forest flower.”) loves boats and boating and maintained two, count ‘em, two homes in Florida set up for boating.

The first home was his main base in Ft. Lauderdale. It was a three-bedroom two-bath operation with a swimming pool, an office, and a long boat dock where he kept “the big boat.”

The second home was a smaller house set up on stilts down in the depths of the Florida Keys twenty miles above Key West with two bedrooms, one bath, and a boat dock on a canal where he kept “the little boat.”

Since he used the Keys only now and then throughout the year he decided to rent it out. In time he rented the house for a year to a well-vetted dependable man with good references. When I visited him that lease was up and he and I went to the Keys house to check it out. A day or so before we arrived my pal had a house cleaner go in and change all the bedding and spiff up the rest of the house.

When we got there I went into the guest bedroom to unpack my things into the chest of drawers. As I opened the bottom drawer I found the renter or one of his guests had left some underwear and t-shirts in the bottom drawer. Under them, the same person has left behind a large, realistic, and battery-powered dildo in a plastic bag with some suspicious smears on the inside. Moving the switch around inside the bag without touching the dildo I determined that the batteries were, to say the least, fresh. Like Elvis’s King Creole that dildo was “jumpin’ like a catfish on a pole.”

Even though he is a manly man my pal is also a very sensitive little forest flower. The least hint of some sort of object that had spent party time somewhere inside a person’s body fills him with shivering, visceral loathing. My pal took one look at my “discovery” and walked shivering into the kitchen. He returned with his hands in rubber gloves holding a pair of kitchen tongs.

He gingerly picked up the bag containing the dildo with the tongs and then, holding it as far away from himself as possible, walked down the stairs to the carport and dropped the offensive package into the garbage can. He then dropped the tongs into the garbage can. He then removed his rubber gloves, dropped them in the can, and then – still shivering with loathing and muttering to himself — went back upstairs and took a long hot shower followed by an emergency cocktail. Like I said, “sensitive.”

Because I was an old friend who understood and deeply respected his “dildo issues,” I promptly snuck down to the garbage cans, retrieved the dildo in the bag, switched it to off, and hid it in my luggage.

Several days later, with the dildo incident forgotten (except for my pal’s repeated declaration he would NEVER EVER rent out the Keys house again), we returned to Fort Lauderdale. After arriving my pal announced he was going to run to the store to pick up some groceries. I nodded and waved from my perch on the couch in the living room and watched him drive off down the street.

Then I got up and took the bagged dildo out of my luggage and went into his office. I slid open the drawer on the right-hand side of his desk and emptied its contents, hiding them in the next drawer down. I then placed the bagged dildo into the empty drawer and turned it on. Closing the drawer I was pleased to note a faint but perceptible hummmmm and vibration from the desk.

Then I went back out to the couch, picked up a magazine and waited.

Soon my pal returned with a bag of groceries. Nodded to me as he came in.

“Hey, man, there was a phone call on your office line. Probably left a message.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.” Walks into the office.

My mind says, “Wait for it… Wait for it…”

Suddenly a most unmanly scream comes wafting out of the office into the living room. My pal appears, trembling, pale, and shocked. “Out!….. Get. It. Out.  Now….. Please… I’m begging you.

Weeping from laughter, I walk into the office and glance down into the open drawer where I can see the powered up dildo shaking and moving in a circle on the bottom of the drawer. I pick up the bag by the corner and display it to him. He is glowering at me and standing by the back door pointing to the garbage can. I go out and ceremoniously drop it in…. vibrating all the way down.

He’s back in the kitchen. Boiling water. It will take three quarts of water and two scrubbing with Brillo soap pads until he’s satisfied that the drawer in his desk is finally purged of Dildo Cooties.

In a couple of days, I leave. The next year I’m back. In his office one day I absently pull open the right-hand top drawer of his desk. There’s a liner on the bottom and nothing else in the drawer.

As I said, my pal is a very sensitive little forest flower.

Comments on this entry are closed.

  • Callmelennie September 3, 2019, 9:41 AM

    Screw the dildo! How did Lurch end up in outer space?

    (Hmm … that first part may need a rewrite)

  • Gor September 3, 2019, 1:30 PM

    That’s cruel, man. Funny, but cruel.

    Someone I know had this happen to them at Shannon Airport in Ireland. They were first to check in for the flight to the US, and indeed were the only ones in the line. Her bag went on to the conveyor next to the agent. Suddenly he looked up, looked at the bag, and said, “Your luggage is making noise.”

    I am told that she blushed hotly and knew instantly what the problem was, and that it wasn’t her electric toothbrush. The bag was taken back, and she managed to reach inside, locate the object, unscrew the end and remove the batteries, all by touch alone. The agent waited patiently, and when she was done, attached the routing tags.

    At that point the security agent approached from another direction. She asked the travelers to bring their bags to her station. She then conducted a search of the bags by touch alone, and was quite specific that she didn’t want them open, just unzipped. She satisfied herself, thanked them and they headed into the secure portion of the airport where the gal ordered a double Irish coffee (which had been invented at Shannon Airport many decades earlier).

    I suspect this is not uncommon for airport folks.

  • Forest Flower September 3, 2019, 2:35 PM

    Recently saw this STO, and never in my 50+ years noticed how much that stalactite looks like a big…

    There are still forest flowers to be found.

  • Morgan K Freeberg September 3, 2019, 3:16 PM

    Pure evil.

  • steve walsh September 3, 2019, 3:36 PM

    I think you have posted this before, doesn’t make it any less funny. Women, and soy boys, don’t get this sort of thing that male friends do to each other.

  • Auntie Analogue September 3, 2019, 5:39 PM

    Let him who is without sin cast the first Ben Wa ball.

  • Nori September 3, 2019, 9:59 PM

    Lurch is the whiter shade of pale Stargate SG1 Teal’c. In appearance,at least.

    MST3k does a killer version of “Outlaw of Gor”.
    …Suddenly,I’m envious of those structures! Calling Dr Freud…

  • H September 4, 2019, 5:23 AM

    Reference Freeburg’s “pure evil” comment above: whatever else are friends for?

  • RosalindJ September 4, 2019, 7:42 AM

    I’m still mildly surprised your friend didn’t throw away the tongs and gloves used in the first eviction. Good on you for not missing a chance to prank him!

  • James ONeil September 4, 2019, 10:17 AM

    Reminds me of a rather adolescent prank I pulled years ago when I was an adolescent in south Florida.

    Myself and some friends were camp counselors at a summer camp in the piney woods next to the glades. Some of us had driven over to Homestead for a wild evening at the Dairy Queen. On the way back, on the dirt road leading in to the came was a road killed rattler, that if my memory from over 65 years ago is correct, was 8 feet long (OK, honestly, I’m sure it was at least a five footer.). I thoughtfully cut off it’s head, took it back to camp and carefully arranged it on the body of my buddy sleeping in his bunk with tail and rattle in his face and the neck handing down so he couldn’t see it was headless and hence fangless. Well, we shook Charlie’s bunk a bit to wake him and waited with baited breath for, what we were sure was going to be a delightful show.

    Charlie awoke enough to note the snake, the tail and the rattle, and said; “Oh God, either I’m dead or I’m dreaming.”, closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

    Sigh, my pal was not, by a long shot, a very sensitive little forest flower.