I told Bubbles, “No, I haven’t been naughty with my genitalia.”
“Later, if we find that you do, you’ll be punished.”
Good grief.
Once the paperwork had been completed, signed and affixed with my fingerprint, I was led out of the room, down a hall and then down a flight of stairs. Passing through several sets of locked doors we came at last to a room that was cluttered with boxes, stacked floor to ceiling and several rows thick. In the middle of the room was a table, and on top of the table was a yellow laundry basket.
Bubbles ordered me to strip.
So, this is where Rémy gets buggered with a nightstick, I thought, and pretended not to understand.
“I said, Strip!”
I took my time, neatly folding each piece and placing it in the yellow basket, until I was standing with my back against the wall in my white skivvies. Had I known I was going to perform sexual favors, I might have worn a more alluring pair of shorts with, say, a cupid motif or “kiss marks” on them.
“Everything,” Bubbles said, coming within an inch of my nose. He raised his gaunt, acne-scarred face, and glared at me.
I might have had a good six inches and thirty pounds on the guard, but he had the law and the authority of a nightstick. I kicked my shorts off and tossed them onto the pile in the yellow basket.
Bubbles then told me to pull on the tip of my penis, to make it taut. I did. He then told me to yank it to the right, the left, and finally upward to prove that I had neither pearls, nor piercings, nor spare change in there.
I was then ordered to turn around, bend over and spread my cheeks. Ah, what I would have given to squeeze out a sparrow’s egg right then and there as Bubbles peered winsomely up my virgin derrière.
Rokuban: Too Close to the Sun and other works are available in e-book form and paperback at Amazon.