Copyright© 2016 by Cuentista
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A sixteen year-old high school junior comes across a box of old electronic gear at a yard sale. In it, he finds a piece of equipment that seems to have some very unusual properties. That item leads him on a journey into forbidden territory.
For people my age, sixteen or thereabouts, hi-tech electronic gadgetry is a way of life. To us, there’s no mystery to it, we’re not baffled by it and we don’t regard it with any sense of awe. It just is. Unlike many of the older generation, we don’t feel intimidated by bits, bytes and all the other jargon that goes with using computers in all their forms because we grew up speaking the language.
I hear my Grandpa George talk about when he was a boy back in the thirties and forties. They didn’t have televisions or computers or satellites, and I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like. I mean, what did they do to occupy themselves back then? I even asked him about that once and he gave me this odd look and said something about how I might try thinking outside my own narrow little world. Then he laughed and told me that with a little imagination and a touch of ingenuity, people back then somehow managed to get by. For entertainment, they’d go to the movies or maybe a band concert in the park, and they’d sit around the radio in the evening after a hard day’s work and listen to programs for an hour or so. He rattled off a list of popular radio shows that were his favorites like “Our Miss Brooks”, “Fibber McGee and Molly”, “Nick Carter, Private Eye”, “The Shadow”, “Jack Benny”, and a few others. I’d never heard of any of them.
Anyhow, I bring up the subject of high-tech toys because of something that I somehow got myself involved in last summer after school let out for vacation. I say electronic gear, but I’m not entirely sure what it is to be perfectly honest. I can tell you it didn’t do what it was supposed to do - no, it was way beyond that.
I’m about half way through my junior year now, so it all began about seven months ago. Now, I don’t expect you to believe a word of it. I’m only chronicling this story now because someday I hope to run across someone who will take it seriously and I don’t want any important details to slip through the cracks, and I’m publishing it online so that it’ll be officially documented and time-stamped as my story. Online publishing is a lot less hassle than applying for a copyright. Besides, I hope someone out there who has had a similar experience reads it and gets in touch by e-mail. I’m pretty sure this, or something like this has happened to someone else, but I have no idea who, when or where. I’ll explain why I think that later.
So here goes:
For starters, a few facts about me: My name is Bobby Gardin (pronounced Hardeen). Well, actually my whole name is Juan Alejandro Roberto Gardin, but nobody calls me any of those names except my abuelita, Dad’s mom. My dad was born in Barcelona, Spain and my mom was born in Denver. And yeah, I learned to speak Spanish at my folk’s insistence. I’m in my junior year in high school and I suppose I’m reasonably popular with the other kids. I play football in the fall, do track in the spring, and I’m on a swim team in the summer. Because of all the sports, I’m in pretty good physical condition. Academically, I’m good at math and the sciences, and I hope to study engineering in college, although I’m not sure yet exactly what branch of engineering I’ll wind up in. I think I’m pretty good looking, but maybe that’s just teenage narcissism talking.
We live in a medium-size town on the western side of the Colorado Rockies where Dad is a mining engineer and Mom is an attorney. It’s not like a full-time legal practice and she doesn’t always have regular office hours. Sometimes she goes to her office downtown and sometimes she works from home. I guess by some people’s standards we’re pretty well off, but I’ve never felt like we were anything like stinking rich. But then I suppose wealth is a relative thing.
Anyhow, to get on with the story, a couple of days after school let out for the summer, my friend, Sean O’Grady and I were out cruising the back roads around town in his new pickup. Well it isn’t new, really; his dad had just bought a new Tundra and gave Sean his old 2011 Tacoma. Of course I was green with envy because I was still getting around town on my bike. My folks said we’d discuss buying me some motorized wheels when I turned eighteen and was heading off to college. They don’t believe in spoiling their children. There are two of us by the way, me and my sister who’s a year younger and a big part of this story.
So Sean and I were a couple of miles out of town on Mesa Road when we drove by this run-down old farmhouse. The place was badly in need of paint and a lot of general repair work. There was a hand-painted sign nailed to the gatepost that said:
EVERYTHING MUST GO!
There were a few sticks of furniture and several boxes scattered around in front of the porch and some people were shuffling around picking through it. I got the impression somebody must’ve died and the family was just trying to unload everything.
I looked over at Sean and said, “Hey, let’s go back and check it out. There might be some good stuff.”
“What? Why would you want to go rummaging through someone else’s old useless crap? It’s just junk, man! Why else do you think they’re trying to sell it?”
“Maybe, but maybe not. C’mon, Sean, we got nothin’ better to do. Hell, it’ll only take five minutes to see what’s there. We might find some long lost thing that’s worth a fortune. You read about that kind of stuff all the time where someone buys a dusty old painting that’s been stored in someone’s attic for decades, and later it turns out it’s an original Renoir or Monet or something.”
“Right! As if!”
“Turn around, Sean. I wanna check it out.”
“Alright, alright! Don’t get your panties all twisted in a knot.”
So Sean does a U-turn and we go back. Of course he was mostly right - it was pretty much all junk; old clothes, cheap furniture, mismatched dishes and flatware, that kind of stuff. I was just about to give up any hope of finding anything useful when I spotted another box up on the porch, so I climbed the three steps to take a look. It was just a bunch of old electronic parts; you know, the kind of stuff that accumulates when you replace old computers, audio and video components with a newer model. It was a tangle of wires, connectors, plugs and three or four remotes. I thought I might be able to use some of it, so I picked up the box and looked for a price tag. I figured they’d probably want something like five bucks for the whole box. There wasn’t a price tag, but there was a printed note taped to the side of box that said, “If you’re interested, come see me.”
That seemed odd, but what the hell. I turned to see if I could spot the owner and damn near stepped on her foot because she was standing right behind me, way inside my personal space.
Startled, I took a step back and said, “Oh, excuse me, ma’am. Are you the one selling this stuff?”
She was this really short, round woman, maybe five-foot nothin’ and probably in her late forties or early fifties. What I first noticed was the enormous boobs that stuck way out in front of her. They were stuffed into a sweatshirt that looked stretched to its max. She wasn’t ugly or anything, but she had kind of weird look about her; kind of mysterious and haunted, if you get my meaning. And her eyes were strange, too. They were really large and such a deep brown that they looked almost black. I guess her dark eyes, her coal-black hair and her very pale skin gave her that haunted look. She was so pale that at first I wondered if she had on theater makeup or something, but I don’t think she did.
So anyhow, she says, “Yes, I’m the one selling this stuff. You want to make me an offer on this box?” She had an odd accent but I couldn’t place it; maybe Eastern European or something.
I looked at the open box, then back at her, trying my best not to stare at her chest. “Um, well I don’t really know how much of it I can use. I just like to tinker with stuff like this, so I just thought I’d kinda wade through it and see what’s here. Would you take five bucks for all of it?”
She got this odd look and smiled up at me. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Uh, Bobby Gardin. Why?”
“I just like to know with whom I’m doing business.” Then she laid the palm of her hand against my face and said, “Well, Bobby Har-deen, what would you say if I told you there might something in this box that’s extremely rare and valuable?”
I jerked by head back because I wasn’t expecting her to touch me. And here’s something weird; her hand was ice-cold even though it was a hot day, and my face felt kinda tingly where she touched it. Honest! I’m not making this up! It was like being touched by something dead! Not that I’ve had a lot of experience with that.
I looked in the box again and couldn’t see anything worth much at all. I shrugged and told her, “I don’t see anything but a bunch of old electronic stuff. What could be so valuable?”
She gets this little hint of a smile on her face and says, “Ah, but it would only be valuable in the hands of the right person, someone who could master its secrets. I wonder if you’re that person, Bobby Har-deen. Something tells me you are.”
Well things were definitely starting to turn really strange, so I figured it was time to leave. I set the box back on the small table and said, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, ma’am, but I guess I don’t want it all that bad. Thanks anyway.”
I started to step around her and make my escape, but she put her hand on my chest and stopped me. And I mean STOPPED me! It was like walking into something anchored in the ground. And like before, it felt cold and it kind of tingled where she touched me. She laughed and said, “Now Bobby, where’s your spirit of adventure. Tell you what: I can see you’re an intelligent young man with a curious mind. I’ll bet you’re the kind of guy who enjoys fantasizing about lots of things, aren’t you? What if I let you have this box for say, two dollars. Does that seem fair to you?”
By that time I didn’t really want it, but she seemed so bent on me having it and I was getting so anxious to be somewhere else that I said. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”
I started to pull my wallet out of my back pocket, but she grabbed my wrist with a surprisingly strong (and cold) grip and said, “No Bobby, don’t pay me now. I’d like you to take your time examining what’s inside and see if you can find something useful. If you do, you can come back later and pay me the two dollars, Okay? I wouldn’t want you feel like you got cheated.”
“Ma’am, that doesn’t seem right, but if that’s what you want, I guess I can do that. I’d really rather pay you for it now, though.”
“Later, Bobby. Later. You take this box home with you and enjoy what’s inside. I think you may find something very special.”
Well I gotta tell ya, that was just about the strangest person I’d ever run up against. I’m kind of embarrassed to admit it, but I was afraid of that woman. I mean, I don’t believe in witches or anything, but if I did, she’d be right up there on my list of likely suspects. At the very least, I thought she was certifiably crazy. A Gypsy, maybe?
On the way back home, I told Sean about it and he said he thought the old girl probably just had poor circulation, and as for touching me, she just had the hots for some young blood. He laughed at me and joked that if I went back to pay her and she was alone, she’d probably drag me into her bedroom and screw my socks off. The thought made me shudder.
When I got home, I carried the box upstairs to my room and shoved it under my bed where I keep all my to-do stuff. Mom hollered that dinner was ready, so I went down to eat and didn’t even look at it for a couple of days.
It was the next Saturday afternoon and I’d taken a shower after doing about two hours of yard work in the blazing sun. I sat on the side of my bed in my boxers wondering what to do for the rest of the day since Sean and his folks were over in Carbondale doing a big family reunion thing. I wasn’t coming up with anything especially interesting, so I reached down and pulled the box of old electronic parts out to see what was what. By that time, I’d assigned my first impressions of the woman to an over-active imagination. She was definitely weird, but she was probably harmless.
Like I said, it was a jumble of wires, plugs, connectors and stuff. I separated it all out and wrapped the wiring with rubber bands. I found a couple of USB connectors that I could use and put them in the drawer by my MacBook. There was an old portable CD player with earplugs that still worked, and two 3-gig thumb drives. There were three old remote controls, two of them for Sony TVs. We didn’t have Sonys at our house and I doubted they were any good anyhow, so I tossed them in the trashcan. I figured I’d already got my five bucks worth out of the box.
The third remote was a Logitech programable universal remote with a USB connection. I checked and it had batteries, but who knew how old they were. I figured I could go online and download what I would need to program it. I had a Samsung flat-screen in my room hooked up to a decent Yamaha sound system, and I figured with the universal remote I could probably control everything.
As I was figuring out all the buttons on the remote, I was pushing them one at a time. When I pushed the “menu” button, I heard a noise and looked up to see that my TV had turned on.
That’s weird! Even if it was already programed for a Samsung TV, it shouldn’t turn on unless I selected the source and hit the power button.
Then I looked back at the TV screen and couldn’t believe what I was seeing! A line of print had appeared that said: “HI BOBBY. ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR INSTRUCTIONS?”
I pushed the “menu” button several more times, but nothing happened. I tried turning off the TV with the “power-off button” and got the same results. I wound up pushing every single button on the remote, but the message just sat there. I began to feel a sense of anxiety rising in my chest. This was just TOO weird!
I set the remote on my bed and took a couple of steps toward the TV to turn it off, even unplug it if I had to, but then the message changed. The screen went blank for a couple of seconds, then came back with, “Push the ‘Guide’ and the green buttons and hold for five seconds.”
I sat back down and picked up the remote, found the two buttons and held them down. Again, the screen went blank for a few seconds, then filled up with text. As I read it, I felt my jaw dropping open with each line.
I won’t repeat it all word for word, but I’ll give you the general idea. It said the remote was equipped with some special functions that would only work if it was being held in my hands. MY hands! According to what I was reading, living creatures with advanced brains, i.e. humans, were extremely sensitive to the electronic pulses emanating from the remote. Certain combinations of keys, when held down simultaneously would evoke certain specific behaviors. From what I could figure out, it had to be me holding it because the frequency of the electrical signals coming from my own brain and through my hand was what activated it. The process was that I’d hold the remote, hold down certain buttons and think about what I wanted to happen. The remote picked up my thought frequency, translated it into an electronic beam and stimulated the target’s brain in a certain way that made him or her more inclined to behave in a way that I suggested to them.
All of a sudden it soaked in that it was all a joke and I started laughing. I don’t know how that woman had done it, but she’d managed to put one over on me BIG time. I mean, this was fairytale stuff. How could she expect me to buy into it? Even so, I was impressed with how sophisticated the programing in the remote had to be to broadcast actual text onto the TV screen. How had she done it? Or maybe it wasn’t her; maybe she was just the agent who delivered it. Since the text on the screen referred to me by name, I decided it had to be somebody I knew from school, probably one of the science nerds in computer class. But how they could know that I’d stop at that yard sale, or even climb up the steps onto the porch to see what was in the box? It was beyond me. I wondered if Sean was in on it.
I stood to walk over and turn off the TV, but before I took two steps, the message changed again. Now it was a list of combinations of remote buttons and what kinds of behavioral changes they might affect. Seems that certain combinations of buttons affected different areas of the brain. One combination might stimulate hunger, a different one might stimulate fear, another joy, and one combination initiated sexual stimulation. Naturally, that’s the one that got my attention. Being sixteen and in a frequent state of arousal, it jumped right out at me.
“Man,” I thought to myself, “somebody has one hell of an imagination!”
How many stories have you read on this website about mind control and getting some girl, some object of your lust to do exactly what you want her to do. Well, the list didn’t specifically say I could do that, but it sure as hell implied it in so many words.
Now I was beginning to think that whoever had programmed this remote and dreamed up this game was some kind of a perv. I mean a joke’s a joke, but JESUS! I’m no angel and I’ve had my fair share of sexual fantasies, but I was brought up to respect people’s privacy and I sure as hell would never actually impose myself on a girl without her clear and conscious consent. That’s just creepy! And very likely to get you shot, or at the very least, hauled up in front of a judge!
I turned off the TV with the power button on the back and I was just about to toss the remote into the trash when it again occurred to me that, regardless of the bullshit message, there had to be something pretty damned interesting inside it that made it work. I decided to take it apart later and try to figure it out. I set it aside and got dressed to head down to the mall to see if I could scare up a couple of friends.
When I climbed onto my bike to head for the mall, I got to thinking again about that strange woman. I hadn’t paid her for the box of junk and I felt like I needed to square that up even if it was only two dollars. I didn’t like the idea of owing her anything, so I headed west to ride out to the farmhouse and pay her. If she wasn’t at home, I’d just slip it under the door.
I rode and rode along the same road Sean and I were on when we saw the yard sale sign, but I couldn’t find the farmhouse. When I was three or four miles out, I decided I must have missed it somehow and turned back toward town. I slowed way down when I got to where I thought the house should be, but there was nothing. No house, no gate, no sign, no nothin’! That had to mean I was on the wrong road, but I’d have to wait until Sean and his family got back to town before I could ask him to steer me in the right direction.
Damn! I would have sworn it was Mesa Road! How frustrating.