Today, Dear Readers...A Fable of a young boy becoming a young man.
An explicit little fable, so the Catholics and Baptists might want to give this one a pass.
Recovering Catholics, Agnostics and Full-Blown Atheists should be safe.
Little Johnny lay on his memory foam mattress, his head cradled on his goose-down pillow. In his youthful hands his tablet played an old American International movie- "Tarzan and the Valley of Gold" starring- in Little Johnny's opinion, the quintessential Tarzan- Gordon Scott.
Little Johnny marvelled at Gordon's bulging biceps and stalwart calf muscles. He stared at the small piece of leather that covered the actor's man bits. Gordon's toned, tanned, tawny body rippled in the African sunshine. His hair shone black/blue like Clark Kent's did in old Superman comic books. More dark blue than black.
~he sighed~
"Time to douse the lights!"- his Mother called as she passed his bedroom door at the far end of the upstairs hall.
Little Johnny hit the pause button.
"I will Mom. Just five minutes more! Please!" He cried.
"Oh My Dear, It's always five minutes more with you young man"-she chuckled. "All right but no more than a half hour now!"
Little Johnny knew his Mom was losing it day by day. She was getting so old. She was almost 40...
He called back "OK Mom. Thanks!"
Little Johnny hit the play button and watched Gordon "Tarzan" Scott swing effortlessly from tree to jungle tree, his huge chest and triceps glistening with jungle sweat.
"Oh Yum!"- growled Little Johnny out loud.
He was that excited!
He imagined himself safely cuddled beneath one of Gordon's huge bicep muscles as he swung from tree to tree. Little Johnny's hair all disheveled from the force of the ape man's swing.
"Oh Double Yum!- he couldn't take his eyes of the loin-cloth clad man.
Soon, Little Johnny eye's grew heavy and shutting off his pad, his lids fluttered, closed and soon he found himself in sleepytimeland.
Although he was in a deep sleep, the movie continued to roll in his mind, only this time he was the director, producer and co-star. He had just finished shooting a scene with the famously, rugged Scott. They took a break and sat beneath the shade of a towering coconut palm.
Little Johnny felt the African heat and beads of sweat appeared across his brow while he sat in his director's chair. His shirt clung to his upper chest. The heat was oppressive.
Gordon Scott stretched out on the Jungle floor near his feet. Much to Little Johnny's surprize, Gordon had removed his leather loincloth and lay facedown on a huge, rough towel.
"Shite and Damn"- Little Johnny thought. He was near ready to explode. The Tarzan of his dreams lay at his feet and yet he was butt up. No man bits to be seen. What was a fellah like Little Johnny to do? A producer could he in fact order him to turn over? Was that harassment or just a thing. Scott was an employee after all.
"Think Little Johnny. Think"- he muttered. A few moments later he had an idea. He picked up a palm frond that lay next to where he sat and gentle brushed Mr. Scott on his back and rump.
He stirred, a massive arm stretching down to his buttocks to swish away whatever it was that brushed against his perfectly tanned skin. Eventually it was not enough and the huge, muscular body rolled over exposing it all.
"Oh Goodness!!"- squealed Little Johnny. As he did so he felt complete release.
Suddenly his eyes popped open and there he was- much to his chagrin, laying in his little bed in his little bedroom feeling spent. He must have squealed out loud in the night for he heard his mother coming down the hall.
"Are you all right Little Johnny? Have you had a nightmare or something?"- Mother cried out to him as she opened his bedroom door.
There Little Johnny lay.
Alone.
With the memory of the ape man's private bits burned into his memory.
Mother flipped on the light switch near the door and looked down at her son.
"Oh My"- she exclaimed. "Little Johnny!!"
It didn't take Mother long to realize what had happened to Little Johnny. His bed sheet resembled a camping tent with the centre pole rigidly in place.
"Oh no. I can't...I mean...I, I!" she screamed for Father to come and look.
Poor Little Johnny lay there, warm tears rolling down his cheeks. Was he a man? Finally?
Father pushed Mother aside and gazed at Little Johnny's "tent-like" impression.
Father was impressed but didn't say a word to Mother except-
"There now Mother, off to bed you go, I will take care of Little Johnny's "problem".
Mother walked out of Little Johnny's room backwards and scurried down the hall.
Little Johnny meanwhile was thinking awfully hard about Jesus as he tried to return to his normal physical state.
It didn't work.
All he could envision was Christ and his twelve male friends splashing around in the Dead Sea. The cotton shifts they wore, soaked with salty water leaving nothing to the imagination.
Stop. Stop. Stop! Little Johnny was yelling at himself in his Little inside Johnny voice.
Father sat down on the edge of Little Johnny's bed but not too close to "it"- the Phoenix Rising!
Father thought for a moment then offered-
"Little Johnny, you must have had a, um, well- a dream. Yes, of course. A little night dream about....um...with...well all young men...you see..."
Father stumbled.
Little Johnny hardly paid him mind. Now, he was madly thinking about church and coffins and cancer. Anything to start a new slideshow rather than the one currently playing in his mind.
Little Johnny hoped this "thing" would subside like an ocean tide.
He thought on...The Queen, Glen Close, Stephen Harper, Jason Kenny, Pamela Lee Anderson. Nothing was working.
Nothing!!
Father held his head in his hands and mumbled something that sounded like a pagan ritual.
Little Johnny's thoughts continued- Princess Anne, Doug Ford, Jesus's Mother, The Supremes. Nope. Nothing worked to disengage his flag pole. If he were Jim Carey this would be hilarious!
Eventually, Father's head looked up from his hands
"Now Son. Little Johnny. Son. This, this, this predicament you have yourself in. Ummmm... Were you dreaming son?
Little Johnny mumbled a faint- yes.
"Well, there you have it. You were dreaming of, of girls. Maybe young, pretty girls- of legal age of course. You know son, the type most politicians prefer!"
"No Father, that's not quite who I was dreaming of..."
"His Father was perplexed.
"Well, who then?"
Little Johnny knew he had to say it. "Well, I was dreaming of Gordon Scott."
There. He said it.
"Who?"- asked his Father.
"Gordon Scott. The American International movie star who was the quintessential Tarzan of the Jungle! The one with the black hair, big biceps and bulging calves"
His Father stared at him square in the face. Then square at his "predicament". Then back at Little Johnny's face.
He slapped the top of his legs as he stood up from the side of Little Johnny's bed and said-
"Son, just remember, it doesn't matter where you put it, just make sure it's wearing a little hat!"
