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Growin' Our Own (page 3)

Computer Nuts

By: Rodger Beasley, (Fiction. No living intelligent individuals are represented in this writing)

I got up from the table, where I had meticulously and methodically laid out the parts to the computer that I was in the process of dismantling. There were about eight nuts holding the cover on and maybe a half dozen on the inside holding various components in place. Putting in a new modem did not appear to be an overly daunting task.

I stretched and glanced through the window at the outside thermometer. It was reading -5 F; a cold temperature by most ways of reckoning. The Road Dogs MC had ridden the X-Mas toy run a couple of weeks back at +15 F. They are a hearty bunch - leathers, parkas, snow pants, face masks, mittens and frosty breath - damn glad it wasn't this cold then. Of course the six inches of new snow now blanketing the ground would have posed an additional problem.

The ringing of the phone took me from the window. "Hello."

"Grease, this is Blade. If you aren't too busy I could use a little help."

"No problem. I'll be right over." I'd known Blade long enough to know that he doesn't ask for much.

My pickup was parked in the garage with the block heater plugged in. Starting it wouldn't be a problem. The snow was squeaking and crunching under the tires as I backed onto the street and headed toward Blade's. The unplowed roads were slowing me down and providing ample time to ponder what Blade could possibly need on a day like this. It wouldn't be about his bike. He'd bring something like that up during a regular bullshit session or simply ask over the phone.

I wondered if someone had died. He'd called me the day that he found our friend Crazy incoherently wandering through town. Crazy took the last ride shortly afterward. I had scattered his ashes from an overpass into a steel laden gondola car as it trundled toward the acrid smoke and steam of the iron recycling center. I didn't know of anyone being sick; so dismissed the thought.

I turned onto the street where Blade's sixteen by eighty mobile home sat. It struck me as ironic that he was back in a mobile home. He'd had a long marriage until two years ago when a divorce changed his level of prosperity and his perspective. His ex had pushed her midlife crisis into the high life. She depleted his bank accounts then dumped him for a suit she'd met through the internet personals.

I pulled into Blade's driveway, put the pickup in park, and stepped into the snow. There was a glimmer of movement behind the ice covered window panes. I headed for the door.

Blade pushed on the door, ripping free from the grip of the icy build up at the leaking seals, it opened.

"Grease get in here. It's cold enough out there to freeze the balls off of the proverbial brass monkey."

I felt the warmth and heard the furnace running. The damn thing probably never got a chance to shut down. "How's it going Blade?"

He let his eyes dart over to his live in girlfriend. "Not too bad. Glad you decided to pay us a visit." She gave me her usual nod of contempt and disapproval, then went back to her Tai Chi exercises. It was surreal. She was standing in that trailer, wearing a purple beret, listening to something that sounded like Ravi Shankar and making odd gestures. Fuck, maybe she was trying to stay warm. I couldn't figure out what Blade was doing with her.

She didn't ride and treated his friends as if they were a simian sub human species. It was just as well. He had removed the passenger pegs from any bike he had ever had and been a solo rider for as long as I had known him. "Hon, Grease and I are going out to the shed." Her stare was as frosty as the ice covered window panes. We moved toward the back door. Blade put his shoulder into the door, pushing it free from the icy grip of yet another set of leaking seals.

Blade had put a couple of storage sheds, the kind guys rent for five hundred a week up on the hill during Sturgis week, end to end and insulated and wired them. The far end had a double door and a ramp where he pulled his bikes in for maintenance and storage. We shuffled through the snow to the closer end, with the walk in door. Blade unlocked and opened the door. We stepped into his warm and inviting private world.

The dank earthy sweet smell of pot plants, growing in a stand alone closet he'd converted to a greenhouse greeted my senses, providing a welcome relief from the snow and ice covered outside world. Blade didn't do much toking. He grew the pot primarily because it was illegal. It was a way for him to stay in touch with the outlaw part of his personality.

The bikes occupied the far end. The green house took up the middle. I took a seat across from an old kitchen table littered with porn magazines, papers, receipts, misc. parts and tools. In the middle of the disarray sat a beat up five year old computer that I'd given him some six months ago. It had taken more than a small amount of persuasion to get him to even look at it since his ex had used one so successfully in her re-mating game. He' been doing all right with it, as far as I knew, using it to price bike parts and web surfing to the various biker pages.

Blade took a seat at the table, picked up a sheaf of computer print outs, and handed them to me. The nature of his problem, if not the depth, started to become evident when I finished reading the first line.

SEXY INTERESTING LADY LOOKING FOR FUN!!!!! SCREEN NAME DREAM WHIP:

Age: 38 - Height: 5'4" - Body type: slim/athletic - Race/Eth.: white - Religion: Christian - Education: some college - Occupation: professional - Marital Status: prefer not to say - Income: prefer not to say - Children: no never have had - Drinking: yes occasionally - Smoking: no - Health: work out daily - Fav. Music: blues/classic rock

What I like to do: dance, ride horses, ski, watch nascar, ride motorcycles ....... I will try most anything once.... I would also like to say that I am not looking for marriage. I am looking for fun and lots of it, lets celebrate.

I glanced at the next page and saw where Blade had replied to her add. " Blade, I don't know where this is going. Would you mind if I put a little of that flake you have laying over there in my bowl and light up while I read this?"

"Nah, help yourself."

I packed myself a small bowl, lit up, and sat back to read.

DEAR DREAM WHIP, I am a male, older than I want to be. I was married for too long. I have been divorced for over three years and have had one girl friend companion since. I fit the profile of what you are looking for, so thought that I would drop a line. I am fit and work out regularly. I have a Harley Softail. The riding here is seasonal but I get as much as I can. My friends call me Blade.

DEAR BLADE, Thank you for your reply. It was nice of you to respond. I am living in Federally City. Where are you at? I do not feel that it will pay off to start an on line relationship with someone that lives too far away to meet with.

DEAR WHIP, I live in Barter Town. It is two hundred and fifty miles east of you. That doesn't seem like it is too far away to ever meet. It snowed about three feet over here last night.

DEAR BLADE, Three feet of snow or three inches? Oh hell, men don't know how to measure anyway. They are always telling women that three inches is six! (Blade you are supposed to laugh at that). I am putting off x-mas shopping. I hate the crowds when I shop but it is going to have to be done. Yuck!

DEAR WHIP, You are right it was three inches of snow that was a mistake, although the size situation that you mention is a matter of perception.

DEAR BLADE, A matter of perception or deception?

DEAR WHIP, It is most certainly a matter of perception. It is like this. When you stand on a ladder and look down it always seems farther to the ground than when you look up. A guy spends all of his life looking down at his dick. A gal spends most of her life on her knees, looking up at a guy's dick.

DEAR BLADE, You are crazy, but I like it. I have a couple of digital boudoir pix. They are a little risque but I have more on than when I sunbath. I will e-mail them to you.

DEAR WHIP, I got the digital pictures. You are a good looking gal. Are you seeing anyone at this time?

DEAR BLADE, I have been seeing a guy that I met on line, but it hasn't went anywhere. He says that he needs to like and respect a woman before committing to having sex with her. He took me dancing last night. When he brought me home I respected his wishes and left him at the door with a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

DEAR WHIP, So you left him at the door with a peck on the cheek. The asshole deserved it. He sounds like a loser shooting you a line of shit. If you had invited him in, dropped your bloomers and shook your ass in his face, he more than likely would have shot his wad all over himself. I want you to know up front that I think two consenting adults can and should have a good time anytime both are willing. At my stage of this game called life I don't want to be pulling on some long drawn out kid style line of bullshit to have a sexual encounter.

DEAR BLADE, Can you find a way to send me a digital picture of yourself?

DEAR WHIP, The attached digital picture is one that a friend took just this morning. I hope that I meet with your approval.

DEAR BLADE, You are a good looking man. I am sure that we will get together and see how it goes.

I read through the next several pages in complete amazement while casting an occasional glance at Blade. He was sitting at the table fiddling with a panhead carburetor. In all of the years that I had known him I had had no idea that he was capable of such bullshit. The more I read the deeper it got. It didn't take either of them very long to get to sharing sexual intimacies on line.

DEAR WHIP, I am starting to feel like an animal in heat. It feels good, kind of like we have started some kind of on line foreplay.

DEAR BLADE, It makes me feel horny as well and brings me to this question. Does one have sex with a person based on what they feel for them in the printed word? I can not believe how sexy I feel after reading your e-mails. You have me reaching for my vibrator. I went into the ladies room at work and masturbated after getting one of your e-mails in the afternoon. I can not see that I will be declining physical contact when we meet.

DEAR WHIP, When we meet the eye contact will let us know if we want physical contact with each other. Lets meet at seven pm on the nineteenth in the lounge of the Shady Side Inn. They have a pool and a jacuzzi and are a half way drive for each of us.

I read the last communication.

DEAR BLADE, I will be in the Shady Side lounge at the arranged time. I am looking forward to an evening of fun. Dream Whip.

"Yeah, but it worked."

"Care to tell me anything about that evening?"

"I don't know where to start. She was everything that she claimed to be. There wasn't any false advertising on her part. She looks how some of those semi nude babes on the pages of the biker magazines will look when they get to her age if they are lucky."

"Okay she is hot looking. So what happened?"

"Plenty. That is why I asked you over here for some advice. We are a couple of the lucky ones. We survived the Nam era in one piece, physically if not mentally. I spent ten years using weed and speed to stay ahead of the reaper. What did I get for that? Nothing. Every time that I came down, crawled up off of the floor, and looked in the mirror he was standing back there looking over my shoulder. I spent the next ten years trying to drink my way ahead of him. I'd sober up, look into the mirror, and there that fucker was still looking and no farther back than when I'd started. So I spent the past ten years busting my ass to be a good hard working family man. I stayed relatively clean and sober and provided a good life for Red and my daughters. What did I get for that? I'll tell you what I got for that. I got fucked over, used damn near up, and discarded. I look into the mirror and there that cock sucker with the hood and the scythe is. He is breathing down my neck. His grinning is turning my hair gray and to top it off the fucker is gaining on me."

"Damn Blade, you aren't taking this aging thing too well."

"How am I supposed to take it? Am I glad to have survived to this point? Yes. I have lived a ten year increment for each of our three closest buddies. The ones that came home in body bags and flag draped coffins. No one is supposed to die before they are twenty one and certainly not like that. I need ten years for myself. I want to put Dream Whip on the back of my bike and spend those years outrunning that relentless fucker with the scythe and the hooded cape."

"You know, don't you, that you will lose that race."

"Yeah, but I am going down at full throttle."

"If this gal is as hot as you say she is, what about your ability to keep some hard leg from taking her away when you start hauling her ass around?"

"I'll deal with that when the time comes. I may be older, but I am a hell of a lot smarter. If not now, when?"

"What about that gal you've got in the trailer?"

"That is the problem. I know that she doesn't understand the biker side of us and there is no love lost between her and the guys but she is good hearted and nice to me. When you leave she will pull something healthy and tasty out of the oven or off of the stove. She will start talking about expanding the garden next spring and how much fun we will have working in the yard. I know that she loves me, but to stay with her at this point in time is to stop and wait for the reaper. As much as I care for her I do not think that I can do it."

"What the hell have you been telling her while you've been chasing this other skirt?"

"Some women believe in lying men the way seven year olds believe in Santa Claus - because they want to. I took Dream Whip up to the motel room the night that I met her, bent her over and kissed her soft, hungry, waiting lips. I felt the heat, and tasted the sulfur and brimstone of the Reaper's home turf. It overwhelmed me and I knew the race was on. I can not stop now even if I want to. He has me locked into the race."

Blade turned back to the battered old computer and started web shopping for passenger foot pegs and sissy bar pads. "Blade I am going to head for home and think some of this over. I will go around the outside. You needn't bother coming out into the cold."

"Okay. Thanks for letting me vent. I'll be okay."

The county had plowed the roads while I was at Blade's. The drive home was faster. I parked my pickup in the garage, plugged in the block heater, went inside and returned to my computer project.

There they were, just as I had left them. Eight nuts from the case and six nuts from the inside.

[Note: For those of you that have read Loose Nuts in Vol.#1 edition two of Bud Life or have read the three part Busted Nuts series Vol.#1 edition 10, 11 and 12, let me take this opportunity to apologize. Computer Nuts should, sequentially, have been between those two stories. For those of you that have been having the good fortune to be either getting high and or getting laid or something equally as important rather than reading Bud Life submissions, it really doesn't matter. Computer Nuts is a story of its own.]

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