(No "action" in this part, FYI)
Rodder walked down the street, enjoying his cigar. He paused at a corner and waited for the light to turn...
When he stepped off the curb, he looked down at his feet - and saw he was wearing black tights. He could see his stomach muscles, clear as day. Chiseled. He could only imagine what his ass looked like. The material was stretchy, and came all the way up to his face, like a hood. Big, fluffy bathroom slippers were on his feet, with little pig-snouts and curly tails.
He wasn't sure, but it looked like he was in San Francisco. All of a sudden. It happened all the time.
A yard or two ahead of him, the rod bounced in the air.
People couldn't help but stare. Some of them whistled or clapped. He was totally used to that. It made him angry, at first, but after it had happened enough times...
No one ever touched him. If somebody did try to pull something, blocking his path or poking at him, the rod would just make the asshole disappear. There was no end to its creativity.
He felt like a pet, being walked.
If only, he thought for the millionth time...
He never looked at spam. But this one e-mail kept showing up, and it looked like any other ad. He deleted it with all the rest of the unsolicited crap - until the day after she left.
He'd drank himself right back into being sober... numb, exhausted, and swearing off relationships forever. And there it was again. The ad.
"Ready for REAL fun? Get the rod." The picture of it sucked. He thought it was a rock. Smaller than his pinky, light gray, with one end narrower than the other.
It was the text of the e-mail got him. Do it all. Life-changing power, on your side. Try it for thirty days, and you'll never go back.
He remembered slouching there, staring at the screen. Thinking of Jessica, and Lashondra before her. Feeling sorry for himself. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be happy...
After a while, he reached over and laid his hand on the mouse. Click here - that's what the button on the screen had said. So he expected to see a web page open.
And he clicked on the button.
Two or three seconds later, there it was. Floating over him...
He'd given up on finding a way to get rid of the damn thing. Almost a year, now, and it was still cooking up things for him to do -
He turned a corner, and saw Wade. Standing there in a cop's uniform, full riot gear. He held a clear shield with one hand, and with the other he was pulling little pieces of paper out of his pocket and dropping them on the sidewalk. Littering.
"There he is," Wade yelled, nodding.
Rodder walked over, and he couldn't help but grin at his buddy. Checking out the badge...
Wade snickered. His hair was long, but it must've been stuffed under the helmet. He lifted the visor. "I need coffee."
"Me too -"
Tall paper cups appeared in their hands. They even had the little cardboard sleeves... Wade looked around, and started heading for a flat concrete ledge. Rodder followed, sipping his coffee. It was incredibly good. Exactly what he wanted.
"Oh, damn," Wade groaned, after he sat down and had a sip. "Excellent. Thanks, rod."
It hovered in front of them, and a white glove appeared at the narrow end. Rodder tensed up, but that time it was only a hologram. The glove made an "OK" sign and vanished.
"You are so lucky," Wade said.
"No, I'm not," Rodder shot back. "Moron."
That envy always pissed him off, because he told Wade everything. And the asshole still wanted to trade places with him. What made it worse was that the rod hardly ever did something really embarrassing to Wade, like it was always doing to Rodder. No wonder he wanted a rod of his own. Probably it was conning him bigtime, so he'd be eager to click on the damn link in the e-mail. And then he'd be stuck, too.
As it was, the rod hijacked Wade a couple times a month and brought him to Rodder - who'd never asked it to fuck up his friend's life too. And it always made sure he had a good time. Rodder hated that...
His clothing changed - and he looked down to see a judge's robe.
Wade took his riot-shield and threw it out in the street. It vanished before it hit the ground. No one seemed to notice.
With a happy sigh, his gloved fingers reached into the cop-jacket and pulled out a good-sized joint.
"Bad cop," Rodder muttered. The cigar disappeared from his fingers.
"Real bad," Wade shot back. "I'm really gonna get it. Ain't that right?"
The rod rocked slowly, its usual way of saying "yes".
Wade crowed with delight, and lit up. Rodder drank coffee and looked around. Nobody else even glanced at them... so the rod had made them invisible again. No sounds or smells would give them away.
"I wonder why we're here," he said to Wade, taking the joint.
"I'll bet you do," his friend wheezed.
"OK. Tell me."
"Uh-uh. It's a surprise."
"Shit."
"No way. A good surprise."
The rod wasn't moving. So Rodder gave it the finger, and had himself another toke.
They walked two or three blocks. Turning onto another street, their clothes changed again.
"Oh," Rodder said, looking himself over. "Okay."
They were bike messengers. Spandex, tats and piercings...
Rodder looked at his forearm, and saw three letters branded there. ROD.
"Whoh," Wade laughed. He stuck out his tongue. There was a silver ball sitting on it. Pierced. He was trying to see it... "Howh can nybuddy geh yooos to thihss?"
"Beats me," Rodder said. He scratched his forehead - carefully, because his fingers found a bunch of rings piercing his eyebrows.
Two bikes appeared in front of them.
"I get duh bwue wunn," Wade barked, hurrying over to it.
They pedaled a few blocks, and skidded up to a half-dozen people sitting around a fountain. Names were coming into Rodder's head as he looked at each one. And they acted as if they'd known him and Wade for years.
After another joint, their beepers started going off.
It was a hell of a day. Rodder had to admit that. Flying like a tornado, playing with the traffic. A stop at another park for espresso shots and two more joints, laughing easily with the other riders over shared jokes. Riding elevators to the top of ridiculously tall buildings, with eyes on his sweaty, tattooed body. Scornful eyes, usually - but sometimes they were thoughtful...
Sitting at the top of a hill, watching a sunset that looked as if the sky was on fire. Wade rolled on up, and Rodder was even happier. They gave each other a hard high-five and shared a joint until the sun crept under the ocean.
"I'm starving," Wade said as they rolled back down to Market.
"Me too. What do y-"
"Watch it!" But the car came out of nowhere. From the alley? Rodder felt something tug him backward -
The car knocked his bike out into the street. He hung in the air, watching the front tires roll over it. The brakes shrieked.
Wade looked up at him, squinting. "You okay?"
Rolling his head around - and it hurt. Pulled muscles, maybe. his neck -
Then the pain disappeared.
"Uh... Yeah."
"The rod. It saved you."
"Oh, fuck. His shoes touched the sidewalk. "I wouldn't have been on a bike today, except for the rod."
Wade shook his head. They watched the driver of the car get on his hands and knees, and look underneath it.
"Jackass," Rodder snapped.
The guy didn't react. Eventually he looked around, but the rod had them hidden again. He didn't even see them.
"Let's go," Wade suggested.
Suddenly, they were indoors.
Sitting at a table. Crystal centerpiece, soft linen tablecloth. There were big windows with a great view of the bay.
Wade was wearing a dark grey suit. Rodder's was blue. He smelled good, and his hair wasn't plastered to his head with sweat.
The suit fit him as if he was born in it.
A waiter came up, with a tray. Giant steaks...
"I could get used to this," Wade said with his mouth full.
"It's playing you."
"Bullshit."
"The monkey cage," Rodder reminded him. He still had nightmares about that one. Some zoo, in Europe. Locked in with the orangutans... "Going over fuckin' Niagara Falls in a barrel."
Wade shrugged.
"Fun with electricity. Shoved up my dick -"
"Alright. I get it."
"No, you don't. That's why you're so fucked." He reached for the wine bottle. "It's giving you all the great stuff, Wade. Trying to rope you in. You can't fall for this shit."
"I know. I believe you."
"Dammit. Every day, Wade. You know what I'm talkin' about? Stuck on a glacier, no food... Whips. Being roasted over a campfire. All kinds of sick shit happening -"
Wade's eyes had that faraway look. With everything I've told him, Rodder thought, he still wants to be me. The rod leading him around. Every day a party.
Shit.
They stood outside the restaurant.
The name and location of a hotel came into Rodder's mind. A room number. Wade studied the sidewalk for a few seconds, and grinned.
"Gotta go," he said.
"Don't look so happy about it."
"What a dick. I have a disciplinary hearing at ten."
Rodder studied him. "You hate that shit, Wade. S&M."
"Do I? Because right now, I can't fuckin' wait to get there." He giggled. "Bad fuckin' cop. Remember?"
"Uh-huh. Have fun."
"You know it." He waved at a taxi. "See ya - oh, fuck, I won't see ya tomorrow. Hee hee."
"Yeah, we'll see how funny it is, twenty-four hours from now."
"Cool." As he opened the door of the cab, Wade was in the police uniform again. He saw it, and winked at Rodder. "Later on, then."
"Later."
Rodder watched the taxi roll off, and he sighed. "I wanna get laid," he said to himself -
And he was. Just like that.
A beautiful Asian woman was straddling him. Naked. She was staring at his crotch. He looked, and saw another piercing. Straight through. It made him cringe...
But he was already hard, and it didn't hurt. The woman was mesmerized by it. She squealed happily, touching the chrome, turning it slowly.
A smutty growl came out of Rodder from deep down in his chest. He could feel the grin on his face. It was that big.
They bounced - and he realized they were in the back of a limo. But that was all the time he had to look around, because he wriggled closer and guided his cock inside her, carefully. Hardware and all.
An hour later, he stood on the sidewalk in front of his hotel, watching the limo drive off. Diplomatic plates. She didn't speak English, but from every other indication he figured it was at least as good for her as it had been for him. His whole body throbbed dully in the most wonderful way. He was wearing leathers - the rock star look, very expensive.
The rod hung there, in his line of sight.
"Thanks," Rodder said. Out of habit, he added sarcastically, "I guess."
Something slid between his fingers. Rodder lifted his hand and saw a cigarette there, already lit. Nonfilter. The rod didn't let him smoke very often. He took a drag, very grateful.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" he said to it. It didn't move. "Huh? You got something really intense planned for tomorrow?"
The hologram-glove reappeared, and gave him a big, theatrical "thumbs-up" gesture.
"Ah." He nodded. There was no arguing with the rod. It never did him any good.
Room 1422, he thought suddenly. Well, maybe it'll at least let me get some fuckin' sleep before the main event begins.
When he opened his eyes, the rod was sitting in the air, over him. Same as most times...
All of the piercings were gone. But not the tattoos - or the brands. That worried him. But not for long. Physically, Rodder felt great. He fumbled for the remote control for the TV -
The rod projected big red digits. 11:27.
He nodded at it, and coughed a few times. There was a knock on the door, but he relaxed after a second or two because he just "knew" it was room service, with the breakfast he didn't order. He pulled the sheet loose from the bed and went to the door. Food, perfectly timed, and it'll be exactly what I want to eat - because the rod just slips into my head and puts the desire there...
When the waiter turned to leave, Rodder naturally found a ten-dollar bill folded up in his hand. The tip.
He sat down on the bed, and lifted the cover - oh, fuck yeah. Canadian bacon and huevos rancheros, and a bagel. Kona coffee. It was precisely what he wanted, right then.
He devoured it, trying to appreciate the irony. "A pack of Camels is exactly what I'm gonna want after this," he told the rod. "That's what I call fun."
It wagged from side to side. No way.
Rodder frowned. "Fine. If they had shown up, I would've known I was in for some truly epic shit today. I always am, when you're too nice to m-"
A carton of cigarettes landed next to him.
His heart seemed to stop, right there. Looking at it. Ten times the insanity he'd been fearing.
Then a ghostly hand rubbed his hair, and the carton disappeared. Just messing with him.
"Dammit, rod..."
His plate disappeared, and an ashtray was there instead. A box of matches -
And Camels. Already open. Maybe half a pack left.
It had some really weird ideas of what "fun" was. Rodder had decided it was more interested in its own enjoyment than his. He was just the sucker who belonged to it. Definitely like a pet. And any second now, he could find himself locked in the centrifuge at the astronaut training facility, or mining diamonds in South Africa. Hogtied and dangling over the mouth of a volcano somewhere...
He got up, took the cigarettes and went into the bathroom. A copy of today's Denver Post was sitting next to the toilet. News from home.
After he showered, he propped himself up in bed and watched TV. But he couldn't stop thinking. The rod threw ideas in there, too. Fuck. It loved to mess with his head.
The longer it let him relax, the more concerned he got. What was coming? The rod was really stalling today... Rodder thought about getting out and doing something - well, trying to get out - but there wasn't anything that sounded all that appealing, and he was really comfortable just lying there. He still had a few cigarettes left.
"Oh, hell yeah," he mumbled. Whatever it was going to do to him next would be monumentally big.
About an hour later, he heard another knock on the door. It woke him up. He'd dozed off...
And this was not room service, or the maid. That was clear to him, somehow. He sat up and took his time lighting a cigarette before he got up, because the odds were good that whatever the rod was about to do to him, it wouldn't let him smoke. It could be a month before the damn thing let him have another cigarette. He was determined to enjoy it, and he didn't even stand up until the knocking was repeated, softly.
Taking a big-ass drag, he unlocked the door.
A table was sitting there. Folded up.
A massage table.
Rodder whimpered.
His hands reached out, and brought it inside the room. He watched them set it down past the end of the bed, go back and lock the door again, helpless to make them stop.
But he took another long tug on the Camel, so that part was all right -
It promptly made him spring the cigarette away, in the direction of the TV. The butt disappeared in midair.
The table started to unfold. A big pouch floated out from between the halves. The legs swung up, and clicked. Rodder could only stand there, with his hands on his hips, watching it.
The table turned over. He'd seen it before. There was no little... padded pillow, that ring on the end, to support his head. But the table was longer than he was. It had lots of extra rings soldered on it, down each leg and on the edges way below the pad. There was a hole near the middle of the table, about the size of a melon, but Rodder couldn't quite remember why it was there.
The pouch unzipped. A small, thin box floated out. Some kind of black wood. The lid creaked as it opened...
One after another, shiny gloves came to life.
"Rod," he whined.
They were black. Similar to rubber, but with a texture that was impossibly slick. he'd never seen the material - well, before it started fucking with him. But since then, he'd seen gloves like these a few times. Maybe it was the same gloves each time. Impossibly smooth, and nimble -
His body walked up to the table. Nothing he could do about it.
Rodder laid down and shifted around until he was comfortable. His arms were over his head, though. He couldn't pull them down.
"Aw, shit..."
The cuffs floated up. No big surprise. He at least wanted to squirm... but the rod wanted him to lay there, all relaxed. So that's what he did.
As the gloves put the restraints on him, he looked over at the rod. It was hovering there in front of his eyes, as usual, past the table. Supervising...
Maybe half the time, the massage was normal. An hour, maybe ninety minutes. The other times -
Rodder gulped. "Can I at least have one more smoke?"
The rod didn't move.
Its gloves pulled each strap nice and tight.
He laid there, all spread out, with the right side of his face on the cool vinyl pad.
His cock and balls were surrounded by air - the hole was there, carefully measured, so he couldn't hump the pad to get himself off. That wasn't allowed...
The gloves did everything slowly. So thorough, it drove him absolutely nuts.
Two of the gloves brought white plastic bottles. Massage oil.
Rodder knew, from all the other times, that he could yell all he wanted and no one would come. The table wouldn't even shake, as if it was made out of rock.
A sudden urge hit him. He needed to piss - and it happened, automatically. Rattling against plastic... caught by a container of some kind.
The rod wanted him to be free of all distractions. He knew the score.
A thin snake of oil started winding over his shoulder blades. Fingers lifted his hair and pressed it against his head, so other gloves could slide bobby pins up to hold it there.
"Fuck," he sighed. He just knew it was going to be a long massage.
Those oddly perfect hands started rubbing his shoulders...
I am not going to enjoy this, he thought. I refuse -
And immediately, he was groaning with pleasure. Rodder loved the way the gloves moved. He couldn't think of another place on earth he'd go, right then, even if the cuffs weren't keeping him down. And they made it so much better. He had no choice in the matter.
His cock twitched, with some idea of what was in store for it. And the thoughts were irresistible. Talented hands, rubbing him all over. He was gonna love this. All afternoon. Oh, yeah.
After an hour, he was so blissed out he couldn't have gotten up even if the straps disappeared. The gloves were so fuckin' good at this...
He was proud of his arms - and especially his legs. Solid, taut muscle under the kneading fingers.
Rodder was drooling. He didn't care.
The gloves started over, working on his neck - and it felt even better. He'd wonder if there was some limit to how much pleasure he could take, and then gloves would surpass it each time.
The table disappeared - but not the legs. He blinked at the straps, still pulling tight. Trying to move, it was still hopeless... but his body was supported, somehow, as if the pad was still under him.
And the gloves could rub the front of his thighs, now... creep down to his chest. He giggled. Gravity was gone.
The rod was still there. He smiled at it. "You're making me love this. Aren't you?"
It nodded.
"Thought so."
The narrow end pointed down, and Rodder looked -
A pack of Camels was under his head. On the floor. Ashtray, matches... and one cigarette was sticking out of the pack.
He stared at it. "You son of a bitch."
The rod didn't move.
Rodder wanted that cigarette. He groaned softly.
The gloves rubbed his thighs - just massaging. Professional as anything. Even so, Rodder was half out of his mind with the need to cum. If the fingers jacked him off, he'd hate that - and if they didn't...
"Hey," he panted, "Let me talk to Wade."
Nothing happened.
After a few seconds he added, "Please?"
A cell phone appeared. It slid next to his head. Ringing -
"Rodder?"
"Wade."
His friend made a seriously relieved sound. "I can't take any more of this."
"Tell me about it."
"You were right," Wade croaked. "Okay? No rod for me. It's too much. Too fuckin'... much."
"Are you still, uh -"
"Yeah! What time is it?"
Rodder looked over at the curtains. "I don't know. Night-time."
Wade started to whimper, and laughed a few times. "Shit. It's all too wonderful, you know?"
"Yeah."
"Too much."
"What's going on there?"
"What isn't going on here? They're merciless -"
"Chicks?"
"Yeah."
Gloves slid up Rodder's biceps, and back down. He just had to moan. "Where are they now?"
"They walked out, right when the phone showed up."
"Uh-huh." He stared at the cigarettes. "They lettin' you smoke?"
"No. You?"
"Shit... You think if maybe I started to cry, the rod would give me one?"
"Give it up, dude. It's on to you."
"Fuck..."
"Enough already. Hey, rod - I know you're listening. Tell 'em to let me go. I'm sore."
Rodder chuckled. "Remember this, asshole, the next time you think about getting your own rod. This is my world."
"Too much."
"I know." There was nothing else he could say, really. "Stay tough, Wade. At least you get to go home soon."
"Fuckin' rod..."
"Yeah. Don't forget this."
"I won't. I hope not - but hell, it'll just make me forget whatever it wants me to forget."
"So you're gettin' the picture."
"Fuck."
The fingers started pinching Rodder's neck, gently. Sides, and the back. It felt so good. Distracting -
"G-gotta... go," he panted.
"Oh, shit - they're coming back. Here I cum."
Rodder grunted. He couldn't speak. It was almost as good as sex. He couldn't move...
Sex?
The phone disappeared.
He wanted a cigarette almost as much as he wanted to cum.
The gloves brought him something else, instead. A Leather loop...
It was buckled around his scrotum, stretching his nuts a little. Enough.
"Oh, now," he raved -
But they did what he knew they were going to do. Oily fingertips, stroking so softly, down the entire length of his cock.
And others, playing with his nipples.
Time just slowed down to a crawl.
He whined and moaned so much, his throat was starting to hurt. The rod didn't care. It could fix that.
The gloves were so fuckin' good at what they did. They took their orders from the rod...
It hung there, under his face.
Hours and more hours.
The need to ejaculate had driven him insane. He was positive of it. Rodder couldn't remember how to speak. Thoughts crossed his mind, but the whole mechanism of getting his mouth to move was too much.
When the water bottles showed up, he'd drink - like a machine. Same with the food. But the rod would finish making him eat, or piss... and he hung there, totally obsessed with the idea of shooting his spunk, too dazed to move.
But the gloves kept moving.
He woke up in bed, lying on his back. No restraints. The room was dark...
Every dream was filled with epic sex. Orgies, marathons. There were no words to describe how badly he needed to cum. And finally he could get the damn ball-spreader off. Three or four pumps, and his agony would be over. He reached for his cock -
But his arms stopped moving.
Thick steel manacles blinked into existence, right over his belly. They caught one wrist, then the other...
Rodder watched his hands go further away - no! - and saw an enormous hook appear above the headboard. The manacles moved until they were as close as they could be -
A chain appeared, between manacles and hook. Giant links. Rodder tugged, of course. There was no slack. The distance had been calculated perfectly.
"Oh, no... fuck..."
A bottle, instantly over his chest, opened. With pills in it.
One blue pill, floating to his mouth.
"You wouldn't," he said to it. Then he looked at the rod.
It floated a little closer, and he opened his mouth wide. The pill flew in. His body swallowed it, almost eagerly, and he couldn't stop himself...
But he had a plan. Surely he could roll over enough to rub his cock on the sheet -
Cold... metal. Both ankles - he looked, and saw another set of manacles. That chain disappeared off the foot of the bed. Now he couldn't roll over.
The rod wasn't going to let him cum. He yelled at it anyway.
Cigarettes, ashtray and matches reappeared by his side. All Rodder could do was whine at them.
An hour later, the bed was soaked with sweat.
It was official, as far as he was concerned. He'd never needed to cum that much. Not ever before. Oh, there were moments when the urge wasn't at full strength, but they were getting few and far between. Rodder just couldn't even comprehend the idea of going another thirty seconds without relief.
That was when he felt something touch him. His head flew up -
The rod.
He shook his head, growling out a sound of pure misery.
But it slid, gently, around the tip of his meat. Lifted off, and coasted down the shaft... around, halfway. And back up.
He tried to thrust his hips. Helping it. But that didn't work.
It kept moving, and he had to let his head slam back down. The pillow was almost squishy. His hair was dripping...
The rod kept wandering around, there.
And he moaned. It felt fantastic. If it would only speed up...
Later, he coughed... and realized he must be awake.
Cigarette. He had a cigarette in his mouth. The fire between his legs was far more important, though. He tried to take a drag, but his body didn't follow through with it.
The rod was still dancing on him.
He breathed through his nose. A good drag would've been phenomenal, but he couldn't do it. The rod was seeing to that.
And it wasn't about to let him cum. Oh, fuck.
The cigarettes kept coming. He might as well have been asleep, for all the good they did him.
Rodder begged, in his mind. And he knew it was paying attention. It always did.
The rod was tracing under the sensitive edge of his glans. Moving at a snail's pace. His breathing was shallow, because the contact felt so ridiculously good.
Just get it over with, he thought vaguely. I can't take this much - You're literally driving me out of my mind. Let me take a drag. I've gotta smoke. Please, rod.
Please...
He woke up again.
Manacles - gone! The tight leather wasn't holding his balls any more, either. Rodder lifted his hands -
Gloves. On his own hands. The massage gloves.
He didn't fuckin' care. Down they went. As he closed his fingers around his cock, a loud yelp burst out of him. His crotch was slippery...
He just held himself. So relieved -
And he looked at the cigarettes.
"Fuck you," he said triumphantly, and got himself a smoke. It was possibly the best damn cigarette he'd ever had. Putting both hands to work, he arched, and grunted.
Something was wrong.
The lube - aw, it wouldn't...
After a few strokes, Rodder was fairly sure. That one cream. It reduced sensitivity. He knew what it felt like, because the rod had used it on him a few times before. Its gloves must've slathered it on while he slept.
But he had some serious motivation - from within. Taking mammoth tugs on the Camel, he worked savagely at his cock...
By the time he snuffed the cigarette, he was sweating again. But Rodder kept at it, staring at the rod as he did.
About five minutes later, he showed it what he had.
After that, he must've dozed again.
Two roast beef sandwiches showed up right after he yawned himself awake. No cigarettes, though.
Saying nothing - and trying to think about nothing in particular - he took a long shower, jacking off as slowly as he could manage. Even then, the climax brought him to his knees.
When he finally got out of the bathroom, he was angry at the rod. Not that it mattered...
The clothes he'd worn when he walked in - two days ago? Three? - were laid out on the bed. There was a thong, too - navy blue silk - but he ignored it. His cock was going be sore anyway.
After he was dressed, the rod had him sit down on the foot of the bed. The remote slapped into the palm of his hand, and the TV turned on.
A cigar sat comfortably between his back teeth. He drew on it. Not bad.
"Alright, then," he said, looking at the TV.
His pants moved, and he grunted suddenly. After thinking it over, he unzipped the leather jeans.
Shiny blue material covered a respectable bulge.
Something was about to happen. He knew it as soon as he stepped out of the hotel lobby...
The rod was moving faster than usual. Skipping through the air, almost. So damn happy with what it was going to do next. It dove toward his nose, and he batted at it reflexively. Rodder was seriously needing another cigarette -
The sky changed. All the buildings were gone. The air was bitterly cold.
Rodder looked down, and saw air. Under him. No...
He was on the top of a mountain. Unbelievably steep angle. Big rocks, and trees which had fallen over.
A snowboard was under his feet. The boots he wore were bright green, and they were locked to the board somehow. They matched his thick nylon jacket and pants.
"You've gotta be kidding," he said, looking at the rod. He didn't want to look down again. It was homicide. Nobody could make it fifty feet down that incline without smashing into a boulder or a tree. Hell, maybe just fly right off the damn edge -
Something shoved him.
"Nooooooo -"
And down he went.
Screaming all the way, Rodder flailed his arms and tried to... fall. He couldn't tip over. The board stayed right on the snow trail, which barely looked wide enough at times. It sprang over gulleys full of sharp rocks, turning him all the way around - or flipping, and landing perfectly. Picking up speed.
He pissed his pants.
The ride continued.
It seemed like a long time later when the board had stopped moving. A sheer dropoff was about six inches away.
Rodder stared, and finally got up the nerve to see if his boot would lift up. It did. He put it down, so carefully, on the snow. Then the other one.
And he fainted.
Next thing he knew, it was nighttime. He sprawled in a hot tub, with a beer in his hand and a cigarette hanging from his lips.
"That was not fun," he told the rod. "You owe me. Bigtime -"
"Hello?" a high voice said behind him.
After a second, he realized the rod had never talked, out loud. So he turned around...
An absolutely beautiful blonde stood there.
Wow, he thought. Good one, rod -
"Are you the guy who shot the beam today?"
Rodder had no idea, but he desperately wanted to be that guy.
His head nodded, thanks to the rod. Up and down. Looking at her tits, he completely forgot how to speak.
"Wow," she said. "You're crazy."
He gave her a big smile.
"Why don't you get out of the water... and show me what else you can do?"
He starred in a West End musical, amazed at what how fast his feet could move during the dance numbers.
He was strapped to a hangglider - by his limbs - and floated over Oahu for an hour or two that just refused to end.
He hopped up on stage in a strip club and fucked a dancer from behind, while a bunch of rowdy drunks clapped and whooped...
He sat in a raft in the middle of the ocean - he never learned which ocean - caught in a straitjacket and leg-irons.
He was dipped in wax, spanked and caned on the floor of an Australian factory.
He got high with the members of a insanely popular rock band and ended up sitting in for a couple sets during their gig in the Kingdome, playing rhythm guitar.
He was tied to the pilot's chair of a mini-sub, putting around the wreck of a large ship which turned out to be the Andrea Doria.
He arrived at a nudist colony on the night of a big swingers' party.
He flew a helicopter through narrow canyons with lethal, jagged rock faces.
He spent days in a sensory deprivation tank, gobbling speed, with chains keeping him spread-eagled and the rod tucked behind his right ear... filling him with happier thoughts whenever he started to freak out.
He watched bad porn movies, guzzled booze and smoked a ton of weed in the back seat of a stretch limo, wrapped almost completely in duct tape.
He did a bungee-jump from a ridiculously tall bridge, hands cuffed behind his back... hanging far above the water for a good half-hour while the wind made him swing and turn.
He wound up in a luxury box overlooking the NBA championship game - but he didn't get to watch because the massage table was also there, and that time the gloves brought a cock pump and an enema kit.
Go to Part 2
14feb03