The Adventures of Stevie #51
These stories were told to me by friends and other people. Some of them
are true. Some of them are only partly true. Some of them should have
been true. LOL
My first post about Stevie ("Call me Stephen!") was when he was 12 and
in summer camp and was told by another camper. This was from a time
before computers would fit on a desk and when people communicated with
friends in other countries by actual letters sent through the postal
service. When children did this those friends were called "penpals".
Carlos is Stevie's penpal in Argentina and knows English. This is a
fictional contrivance to enable Stevie to tell us his stories because
he isn't here in person. I think.
All characters are fictitious, even if some of them might have names
that belong to some actual people, or act like people we know.
Stevie's school is for gifted children who don't fit in regular schools.
The stories may not be posted in chronological order.
Stevie has just turned 12 in this story. It is Spring of year 2 of his
special school.
The Adventures of Stevie #51 "A Nose for My Trouble, Part 2"
Dear Carlos,
I was through the ventilation ducts and into the room I had to be in.
I looked around some with the light, and saw my target file cabinets.
I decided to wait for them to do last. I went to the safe, and saw it
was a simple dial combination type. I thought, before I was going to
work on it, I would snoop a little to see what I could find which might
help. There was a picture of a woman on his desk. I opened the frame
and saw some numbers on the back of the picture, which looked like a
set of dates. I hoped for his sake, the guy who's office I was in, they
weren't the combo to the safe. They were, and the keys to the file cabs
were in it! It pays to check for idiots on board, before doing extra
work you don't need to. I got what I was supposed to get, and stuffed
them in a bag. I put everything else in the office back to the way it
was. Whatever the reason you are there for, it's a good idea to leave
as little evidence behind as possible about you being there, and what
you did.Then I got my rope from the other bag, tied the hook on one end
and swung it to catch on the edge of the duct opening. I tied the other
end of the rope to the duct grill cover.
I climbed up the rope, and slithered over the hook into the duct. You
probably never tried to do that, but let me tell you, is sure isn't
easy, even when you have lots of room. I didn't. I got more scrapes and
bruises. I thought "Pretty soon, I'm going to have a whole collection
of them. I wonder if we should take pictures and ask for compensation?"
I made it to the first turn, and the bag with the targets got stuck
going through. I had to backtrack to free it, and then my jock got
stuck on a screw tip. I couldn't get it unstuck. There wasn't enough
room to work around my body to free it. I slithered out of it and moved
forward, pushing the bags in front. I was NOT happy! The second turn
wasn't as bad. It was worse. When you slither on metal which has screws
which stick out of it, you are going to get scraped and scratched. If
you can raise yourself up a little, you can avoid the worst of them,
but with the size of my monster, there was still a problem. It dragged.
And snagged. It REALLY hurt. Let me tell you, you don't want to yell
while you are inside a narrow ventilation duct, not if you value your
hearing, and mine hurt. I got my injured monster loose, and made myself
ignored the feeling. I wiggled to the shaft opening, and tied the rope
which was still hanging there, around me. Then I used the radio to tell
them above to have a blanket and first aid things ready, and I was
bringing up the targets. Then I told them to pull me up.
The way up wasn't much fun. They don't make these shafts and ducts
for naked kids to play in, for sure! They pulled me out of the opening
on the roof, and I gave the bag with the targets to a waiting agent,
after father said I could. I had the blanket around my shoulders
because it was cold for a skinny naked kid, but it didn't cover
everything, so I didn't try to make it. There were a lot of lights on
me while the medic cleaned me up and covered me with bandages. It was
funny how he didn't quite know what to do about the scratch on my
monster.
I decided to have some fun. I thought I deserved it. I stared at my
scratched monster and yelled a real bad word, and shouted, "My dick!
It's cut up! I had plans for it tonight!" Some people laughed. So I
kept going with, "Now I have to get a new jock, and it's almost
impossible to make it them fit right." More laughter. Father was
succeeding at not smiling. Just barely. He knew I was playing to the
crowd. I wanted them to think I was a midget adult, and not a little
boy, for security reasons. Then I said to the medic "Here, gimme that,
if you're so scared of my dick," and I took the antiseptic from him and
put it on the cut there myself. It stung! More than the other cuts did,
combined. The agent in charge went up to father and said "The targets
are verified. Good work." Father didn't say anything to him, but
motioned him to me. The agent refused to even look in my direction. I
wasn't going to let that go.
I signaled to father I was going to take action. He signaled back to
make it not permanently disabling. I agreed, even though I didn't want
to. Father walked away. I moved in front of the agent, but not too
close. Then I dropped my blanket behind me, and made a very loud karate
scream to get everybody's attention, and stepped toward him and jumped
up in the air to just above his head and laid out flat in the air, then
while I was up there, I twisted my shoulders, and then brought my feet
around a split second after that on the way down, like a high speed
corkscrew propellor, so my heal whipped sideways across his face so
fast it would smash to bloody bits anything it hit. His nose was in the
way, just like I planned. It didn't stay. It exploded sideways across
his face in a bloody mess. Then I landed flat on my feet in a ready
position, like I was ready to do him some more damage if he asked for
it. He backed away and grabbed his face again like it was getting to be
a habit. Father was ready to shoot him if he went for a gun. I guess he
knew better, because he didn't.
Why did I hit him there and not someplace else? I didn't want to hit
his jaw. Father already did that, and I had to do something which
wouldn't put him out of action, but I wanted make him remember it every
time he looked in a mirror. I think he is going to remember to treat us
special consultants a little better next time. If he gets a next time.
The hardest part of my attack wasn't the kick, it was the landing.
Usually, you fall pretty bad from that kind of jump kick. The best you
can do most times is a break-fall, or try to roll out of it. I knew he
wouldn't be able to see it, but that wasn't a problem. It was for his
men. They knew some fighting stuff. I wanted them to know I was better,
and not to mess with us and defend their boss, so I did the most
difficult landing possible, a ready position foot plant, like they do
in gymnastics with what they call a "perfect dismount". I landed it
rock solid, and I know I impressed his men. I owe it all to Chad, who
patiently taught me how to do that. It worked. They showed us a lot of
respect, and that's not easy for a short naked skinny 12 year old kid
with thick glasses, with a gigantic dick, who's covered in scratches
and scrapes, to get from those hard professional tough guys.
I let my control go away, in the car on the way back. I hurt. I was
really tired, and I didn't like the whole situation. I told father all
that. I dripped some tears. I told him I was going to have a lot of
bruises and some strains, but couldn't take a warm bath to help them,
because of the cuts. What I really needed was a professional massage
like Tommy could do. Right then we stopped at a drug store to get some
candy bars I asked for, for energy, instead of waiting till we got
home. Then we drove a long time home. I didn't pay much attention to
what was happening. I was too tired and sore to care. I was thinking
"Why was I so excited to go on this job? Adventure is what happens to
OTHER people. While you are in one yourself, it is NOT a good time.
What's fun about wondering if you are going to get stuck in a
ventilation duct and roasted like a marshmallow when a building burns
down around you? Or be dropped down a shaft? Nobody could have rescued
me. There are nicer ways to die. It sure isn't fun to get injured,
either! There is absolutely nothing exciting about any of it. It's just
hard dangerous work, and then I get treated worse than dirt by the guy
who's ass I just saved. I don't like it one xxxxxxx bit!" We got out of
the car and went into our building, me being still wrapped in a
blanket, and wrapped in a bad mood too, to our apartment door. Tommy
was there! Father must have called him from the drug store.
Tommy grabbed me gently and said "How badly are you hurt"? I said
"Worse than your test, and all over, but I don't think anything more
serious than a strained shoulder. I wasn't paying attention to my body
at the time, and I'm too tired to check it now. I can barely move. I'll
live, but not with too much fun for a while." He said very firmly
"We'll see about that," and carried me inside, and laid me on my bed.
The kids weren't living here, and the housekeeper was gone for the
night. It was just us three. Father went to his office to write his
part of the report we would send in later, and Tommy made me feel
better. Much better. The little scratch on my monster wasn't as bad as
I thought. Tommy proved it.
Your friend,
Stephen
--
Grant
|
|