Took a shot at writing a short fictional story. I’d love to ..
🕑 Added 2023-04-17 21:37:46 +0000 UTC
Took a shot at writing a short fictional story. I’d love to know what you think. I’ll consider writing more parts and additional stories in the future based off of your feedback. Enjoy!
MAN CARD REVOKED
It was a normal Sunday afternoon and I was just hanging out at my apartment playing video games. I was in the middle of the game and was only three kills from victory when I heard the doorbell ring. I couldn't get up now as I didn't want to sacrifice winning the game.
“Who is it!?” I yell.
“Jared, with Robertson Electric”, I heard in a deep, professional voice.
“One minute!” I respond, with my eyes still glued to the tv screen.
Right as I scored my next kill, I heard a firm knock on the door.
“I said give me a minute!” I shout, as I returned to my virtual reality.
This company had already cancelled on me once and they were 15 minutes late to this appointment, so ironically, I found amusement in keeping him waiting.
Again, right as I get my next kill, “BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!” he continues to aggressively knock in a slow consistent rhythm.
“HOLD ON!!” I screamed with annoyance, as I turned to the door for emphasis.
As my eyes returned focus to the screen again, I realized that I had died in that short temper-fueled moment. I throw the controller down and storm off the couch to answer the door. As I open the door, I say in a tough, stern voice, “WHAT ARE YOU DEAF OR SOMETHI…”
My voice gives way, as I’m face to chest with a giant man. He must have been at least 6’8” and smelled like the worst combination of BO and cigarettes I could ever imagine. I had to take a couple steps back to breathe and look up at his face. As my eyes gazed upwards past his enormous chest, I noticed a bunch of tattoos on his neck, followed by a bushy, but well maintained beard. I continued up until i met his eyes. He looked me in the eyes with pure anger, and I guarantee he could smell the fear that I was emitting. I froze there in fear and fascination of this man for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t think of what do say or do when all of a sudden he finally said, “You’re having a problem with your lights, right?” in a professional, unfazed manner.
“Y.. ya” I muttered.
“Okay well, can I come in?”
“Y.. ya sorry. Come in.”
I held the door open as he walked past me. He was a very rugged looking, handsome guy, well built and large all around. Must have been in his mid 30’s, I imagine. The next thing I noticed was the track of mud he was leaving from his boots, but I decided to keep my mouth shut this time, knowing this man could destroy me with ease and being fortunate he hadn’t done so already.
“So what's the problem?”
“My bedroom light isn’t working anymore” I explain, as I lead him to my bedroom and flicker the switch to no avail.
He goes directly to a metal cabinet on the wall and opens it up. As he’s doing this, I look down at the track of mud he’s leaving and I lost my cool.
“For the record, you guys are really unprofessional. First you guys don’t show up for the Wednesday appointment and then you show up late today and track mud all over my floors.”
He finishes up in 5 seconds and looks me directly in the eyes as he walks past me intentionally stomping more mud onto my floors. He flips the bedroom light on and just stares at me, almost in amusement.
“Seriously? A flipped circuit breaker and you’re calling for help?” he chuckles.
“How am I supposed to know that?” I said. “I’m not an electrician like you.”
“Any respectable man would at least check the circuit breaker before calling for help” he laughs. “How old are you, like 30??”
He was spot on. I was 30 years old and I didn’t even think to try resolving the issue on my own. I instantly got flashbacks of the time I called roadside assistance for a flat tire and the guy laughed at me for not being able to change my own tire. I felt emasculated by this man, but I continued to stick up for myself to the best of my ability.
“I’ve just been really busy with work recently” was the only excuse I could come up with to ease the humiliation.
He looked around the messy apartment and at the tv displaying the game I had been playing and mocks me, “Ya, looks like you’ve been really busy!”
As he continues his gaze around my apartment, he notices something that catches his eye and starts to walk over to a pile of clothes on my bedroom floor.
“NO FUCKING WAY” he says as he approaches and bends over to pick up a pair of used Fruit of the Loom briefs. My heart sinks in embarrassment as he displays them to me by twirling them on his finger.
“You wear fucking tighty whities!?” his voice booms with amusement.
I was fully embarrassed, and it showed. I just stood there speechless. To be fair, the question was rhetorical in the first place, so there was no point in answering. He approached me and grabbed me by my shirt collar and lifted me in the air until I was at face level.
”What are you deaf or something?” he asked.
He reeked and I swear I could taste his breathe.
“N.. no I just ran out of clean boxers, dude, I swear!”
“Prove it.” he said, as he dropped me to the ground. “Prove that you’re not a little tighty whitey wearing bitch boy. Drop em!”
I was trembling in fear. I refused to do so, which resulted in a hard gut punch that left me gasping for breath on the floor.
“Alright, let’s do it the hard way” he says, as he rips my joggers off completely and throws them to the corner of the room. I was left squirming on the ground trying to cover up my dignity as this beast of a man towered over me laughing hysterically.
“Oh my god, what a fucking LOSER! Does your mom still buy your underwear?” he jokes.
Im already on the verge of tears when he orders me to stand up.
He rips my shirt off of me, leaving my 5’8” scrawny torso fully exposed in just a pair of Fruit of the Loom tighty whities and tube socks. I swear he was casting a shadow over me as I pathetically tried to cover my crotch.
“What a fucking dork!”
He wastes no time spinning me around and grabbing a hold of my waistband, as I brace for something that I haven’t felt since high school. He slowly lifts the back of my briefs giving me a wedgie until I’m dangling in the air by his grasp. He bounces me several times while laughing at my discomfort and ignoring my agonizing pleas to stop. He carried me, still dangling helplessly by my briefs, to a pair of towel hooks on the bathroom door. He looped the legs holes through each hook and stepped back to admire his work.
There I was, fully suspended in the air by my tighty whities, legs kicking and arms flailing frantically in an attempt to break free. I looked up and heard, “CHEESE!” as he began recording my embarrassment. He walked over to my underwear drawer to notice that it was filled with perfectly folded tighty whities and laughed.
“Looks like we’ve got a lot more training to do bitch boy!” as he slingshots a pair of briefs right over my face. “Ive got other calls to go to, but I’ll be back later with some of the other guys so you can make your formal complaint in person.”
As I hung there, completely humiliated and emasculated, he grabbed a six pack of beer from my refrigerator and left.
