Balls of Steel

6:11 P.M., Sunday, June 7, 2020

PLUR-MAkKikM, just outside Honolulu, HI

Paula Akron, fourteen years old today, stared at the box sitting on the dining table. It had been there while she ate her cupcake and drank her Sprite-and-wine. Her boyfriend, Paul Macon, stood nearby, as did her legal guardian, Ted Michaels.

The box was wooden, put together with pegs, not nails, and each peg had a tiny brass screw. She’d seen that design before, and checking under the hinges she found what she expected to: the letters ‘PM’ burned into the wood. They were small, but clear.

Turning to her boyfriend, the birthday girl tapped the still unopened box.

“You made this!”

“I made the box,” Paul said, “to Ted’s specifications. I have no idea what he’s put inside of it.”

Paula looked at the box again. It was about a foot and a half by a foot and a half, and about a foot tall (50 cm by 50cm by 30 cm). Deciding she had no chance to determine its contents by looking, she picked it up.

Or rather, she tried to. This thing was heavy! Last year, Ted had given her a hammer and a pair of tongs; this box felt like it was full of hammers.

Suddenly the girl’s eyes went wide. Lifting the two latches on the front, she opened the box and gave a delighted, very girlish squeal. Quickly, Paula began removing items from the box, naming them as she did.

“A half dozen, no, eight canisters; cans of powdered ... let’s see. Ah, two kilos (about 4½ lb) of 1084 powder and two of 1095, oh and here’s two of VG10;⁽¹⁾ a dozen bottles of Liquid Paper;⁽²⁾ oh wow, bars of 1084, 1095, 15n20, oh, even some VG5.”

Paula began setting these canisters, cans, and bars of metal aside. There were even a couple of chunks of heavy steel cable. Next, she pulled out a clear plastic bag of large screws, such as a carpenter might use.

“Now that,” the young teen girl said, “is going to make some beautiful Damascus. I might...”

Paul interrupted to say, “Well, everybody knows there’s nothing you like better than a good screw.”

The girl laughed out loud. “You’re damn right.”

Paula reached into the box and pulled out another bag, this one full of ball bearings.

“Now I’m just like my boyfriend: I’ve got balls of steel.”

The boy gave her a funny look. “Um, thanks? I didn’t realize I was that brave.”

“Oh yeah,” the girl nodded. “You think I forgot about the cane spider? Or the way you pulled the knife on Ted? Or about...”

“OK, OK,” Paul laughed. “I’m really brAVE.”

Ignoring the squeak in his voice, he gave Paula a hug.

“At least for you I am, always.”

There were ball bearings of various sizes, and a few old bicycle chains. Paula could hardly wait for her next session with Denise, the master smith teaching her this fascinating skill.

There were other presents (Paul gave her a surf-suit to replace one she was outgrowing), and phone calls from various friends. Paula even got a letter from each parent, wishing her well and regretting that, since they were still in prison and would be for some years, they couldn’t watch her grow up. The young girl shed a few tears over that.

There was talk of when COVID would blow over, and concerts could start again, and all the things that the couple and their legal guardian would normally talk about. Later that night, the kids headed back to their treehouse home, but what happened next I can’t tell you, because Paul is still thirteen ... for another four days.

Gives Me Wood

6:41 P.M., Tuesday, June 11, 2020

PLUR-MAkKikM, just outside Honolulu, HI

Paul Macon, now finally fourteen years old himself, turned his attention to his present. There was no box: various types of wood were simply stacked on the table. Paula had forged a metal ribbon two months ago, had formed into a bow, and it now sat on top of the tallest stack (walnut). Paul announced his treasures as he found them.

“A couple of burls; looks like a few planks of cherrywood; maple; koa, of course; this is probably ebony; another burl...”⁽³⁾

The boy turned to Ted.

“Thanks, man. Now, usually it’s Paula who gives me wood...”

The girl gave a snort of laughter. She was glad she had swallowed her tea a split second earlier, because it really wasn’t fun to squirt hot Earl Grey out the nose.

The boy was checking out the supplies again. Already, he was imagining a vase turned from one of those burls, and there was a railing post on the treehouse deck which needed replacing. Would it be worth it to cut, glue, and turn a new post from both maple and walnut? He would need to ask his own master craftsman, Gregg.

There were cupcakes again, and talk of the convention in Texas they had attended in the past, but which was canceled this year. Well, next year they’d go.⁽⁴⁾ There was talk of the upcoming election, of who might win the White House, and if whoever won would be able to get anything done.

Paul also got letters from his parents, serving five years now of what had been a twenty-three-year sentence, but which Ted’s lawyers had managed to get down to thirteen. Though the teenage boy had promised himself he wouldn’t cry, it was arguable that he did.

That night, as Paul Macon, now fourteen years old, got into bed with his girlfriend, Paula Akron, also fourteen years old...

For the first time, let’s join this couple in their lovemaking.

They were already naked, of course. Clothing was hardly worn at PLUR-MAkKikM, and it had been that way since before the two young lovers had come along, hiding on Ted’s land as nine year old fugitives. Oh sure, the place had gone textile for a little while: there were kids around. But before long, it was back to the habitual nudity, kids and all. So, there was no time spent undressing, but rather the teens jumped right into bed.

“Darling,” Paul started, “you are so se-EXy. Damn.”

Paula managed not to giggle, as she had done often when the boy’s voice first started changing, a year and two months ago. The two had not been touring, due to COVID, and Paul suspected that if there had been a tour it would have been canceled, what with the male half of the duo squawking and squeaking at random. It was beginning to settle down, and it seemed Paul Macon was going to wind up a baritone.

With a sigh, he tried again. “You’re sexy, and I love you, even if I sound like an audio glitch when I say it.”

“I love you too,” Paula said, “and I’m getting to like that grown-man voice of yours. And if it still changes sometimes, well, you’re fourteen.”

“Fourteen and legal,” Paul nodded. “At least for you. We’re no longer outside the law when we do this.”

“Legal for anybody nineteen and under,” Paula corrected. “At least here in Hawaii. Michiko could do you, all nice and awful lawful.”

The boyfriend chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind that, but right now...”

He took his girl in his arms and kissed her. Hands roamed, tongues played, and hearts beat faster. There was the typical adolescent urgency one might expect in lovers this age, but there was none of the typical adolescent nervousness, youthful hesitancy, or immature uncertainty. They’d been doing this for a while; they were comfortable with each other.

Soon, kisses ventured beyond the mouth to necks, earlobes, and Paul soon had one hand around a youthful butt-cheek and the other holding a still-developing breast. Not having a third hand, and already kissing and licking Paula, he seized her other nipple in his lips and sucked just the way she liked. Her moan let him know that yes, she liked it as much as that first time, when ... but I can’t talk about that time.