DISCAIMER-This story is to be posted only on free Adult Story Sites and is total fantasy about a slub named Tom Traveler and a strange magical TV remote which allows him to physically interact with fictional characters and real life personalities via his television set. Characters and descriptions from the TV shows and movies which appear in this story belong to the various artists, creators and distributors who retain the rights and ownership of their product, not to me...the scenes where I allow my character to play with them are indeed all mine, though. This story, the first in a possible series, explains how Tom first found the mystical device and on his first TV fantasy trip met James Carville on Jay Leno's The Tonight Show. This series contains strong homosexual content (so be-gone homophobes!) and if you're into anti-pretty-boy middle-age celebrities, suit fetishes and mind control that's not taken at all seriously, then this is the place to be. Since I've never met the people named here, I'm not saying that they are secretly gay or interested in sex outside of marriage in real life...this is TOUNGE-IN- CHEEK HARMLESS FANTASY FOLKS-besides it's not like they have any say in the matter anyway, because once Tom points his magic Remote Controller at them, their cocks and minds are his as long as the TV is on!
THE ADVENTURES OF TOM TRAVELER AND HIS AMAZING
REMOTE CONTROLLER By Gray Suit
PART ONE : HOW IT ALL BEGAN
Tom Traveler slumped deeper into the old recliner in his second floor bedroom and stared at the objects he gripped tightly with his hands. One hand held a very tall glass filled almost to the brim with V8 Strawberry Banana Splash, mixed with an extremely heavy amount of vodka. In the other was an open bottle of his Aunt Maisey's extra strength prescription sleeping pills; the pills were apparently working their magic on his elderly guardian this very moment, since Tom's storming angrily and noisily into the house at around eleven pm on this warm evening in late July had failed to awaken her from deep slumber on the living room sofa.
Tom had graduated high school in June and like all graduates had a wide choice of career options available to him now that he could move forward and build himself a life using the tools learned from more than twelve years in the Fairview PA school system. But at twenty(he was held back in grade school and graduated late), the only thing Tom wanted to do was continue working at Big Fat Burger, a low paying job he's had since ninth grade, with no desire to enter college or even check out a trade school. He lived rent free with his sixty eight year old aunt, who had taken him in after his parents died in a plane crash when Tom was seven years old. Aunt Maisey was never one to show much affection, and Tom couldn't help but feel the elderly woman resented the fact that she had been stuck with taking care of a teenager all by herself, her husband Lumley having drowned over two years ago while fishing on Manoa Lake. Now, these days she acknowledges Tom's presence with grunts and uninterested queries regarding his comings and goings, spending much of her time laying plastered in a Shelly-Davis Wine induced haze on the couch in front of the TV watching soap operas and trashy talk shows, financially supporting the both of them (before Tom finally came of age to control his inheritance himself) from the insurance money she received from her late husband and Tom's parents. In this environment, the only ambition Tom had was to get up, watch some morning television, go to his part time job, come back home and then park himself back in front of the TV up in his bedroom. It was routine, it was boring and it was just the way Tom liked it. Watching old repeats of "Law And Order", "Police Story" and other shows and lusting over all those middle aged Suit Daddies and Lawyers was his personal nirvana; it was what Tom lived for because he just wasn't sexually attracted to anyone in his hometown, so he imagined getting fucked by DA Ben Stone or blowing veteran actor Jackie Cooper guest starring on "Police Story" playing a veteran homicide detective or police captain. But the nasty incident tonight at Big Fat Burger's pick up window had struck him like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the way he was living his life with painfully sharp clarity. Walking home from the fast food joint Tom, despite mentally cursing Doug and blaming the source of all his problems on everyone but himself ultimately, after sifting through his own internal bullshit, had to face the reality that at this time in his life, he was just plain tired of all the petty crap he'd been taking from all the so-called "cool kids" for so long. He was tired of always being that weird nerd everyone snickered at while growing up and sick of all the speculation, whispers and giggles made behind his back while he was a senior at Culver High; tired of a life that would never live up to that fictional world he observed on television, never being able in real life to meet any of those sexy mature men who were on the crime dramas he loved to watch. He was pissed off that now he would be known as the town fag because he had made the mistake of confiding in a one time friend (who Tom suspected was the source of the fag rumors), and finally he was just sick and tired of being lonely old Tom Traveler, mediocre high school graduate, mediocre burger buster and a Big League Loser in fucked up, mediocre Fairview, PA.
So Tom decided to finally do something about it and by a quarter after eleven pm was sitting alone in his room holding the vodka mix and the bottle of sleeping pills. He shifted his eyes towards the dark screen of the TV sitting on the dresser before him. He scrutinized his reflection in the gray smoke colored glass and saw a thin, unexceptional boy with short dark hair and black horn rimmed glasses staring back at him; an emotionally wounded boy reeling from the blows of those savage accusations which had been hurled at him earlier that evening in front of everybody by someone he had once considered to be his friend. He brought the vodka and Splash mixture to his lips and after taking a long, slow gulp, whispered quietly, "Fuck you Doug." He settled back in the recliner and closed his eyes as the soothing intoxicating rush from the strong concoction began to wash over his body.
"Fuck all of you," Tom muttered and brought the open bottle to his mouth, ready to dump as many of the pills down his throat as he could take in one gulp. But before he could ingest one single pill, the room suddenly was filled with the loud noise of static coming from his TV which for some inexplicable reason had popped on all by itself, and above the din floated a deep, silky voice which was directed right at Tom.
"Come on Burger Boy, you don't really want Aunt Maisey to find you chocked to death on your own vomit do you? Hell, in her present state of mind, she wouldn't even notice that you're gone...well, not until your lazy corpse begins stinking up her home. Besides, I'm about to offer you an opportunity to rise above your pitiful lot in life without even leaving the comforts of your bedroom."
Tom dropped the bottle of pills onto the carpet and stared at the source of the haunting voice...it was coming from his television set where from within the static field, a large pair of cartoonish looking blue lips smiled back at him. Tom looked down at his drink, then back the television.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you Burger Boy," the mouth continued, the loud static suddenly reduced to a quiet background hiss of white noise with the deep rich tones of the voice floating above it. He warily glanced at his drink again before slowly setting it down on the night stand between the chair and his bed.
"It can't be the vodka," Tom muttered to himself, "So either I've finally gone completely nuts, or I'm actually hearing my TV talk to me!"
"Oh you are quite certifiable Burger Boy, but believe me when I tell you that I'm no vodka induced hallucination and even though you've done quite a number of stupid things in your life and will no doubt do many more if you choose to stick around, I don't want this here really, really dumb thing you plan to do to be your final act. Besides, you'd more than likely just screw up your swan dive into oblivion anyway and wind up a hapless suicide chump, recovering in a mental ward somewhere under constant observation; Doug and his retard friends would just love getting that bit of news about you now wouldn't they?"
"W-What do you know about Doug...or about me for that matter?" Tom asked, shaken to his core by tonight's bizarre turn of events.
"I know you told him something you shouldn't have...don't you know that boy's a self loathing closet queen and is going to hide his eh, proclivities behind the mask of a righteous home town homophobe who will only feel good about himself by making the life of the only open queer he knows-that's you B Boy-absolutely miserable?"
"What do you mean-Doug's not gay! A-And neither am-"
"Don't you dare say you're not gay you fucking little liar!" the lips thundered, and turned the color of a bright, fire red flame, suddenly filling the entire screen with its anger. Then just as quickly, the lips shrank back down to normal size, returning to a sapphire blue hue, smiling broadly, bright with sincere apology.
"Hey, listen...Doug is a confused and repressed little fag who will never admit to himself or anyone else that he likes boys quite a bit more than he likes girls and would stomp anyone into the ground who said that he did. But that's his problem and anyway in about twenty years or so, after he's saddled himself with an annoying wife and a litter of juvenile delinquents, he's gonna wind up making weekend drives over to Philly to pick up rough trade in dirty backstreet alleys. Besides, wasn't there a reason you felt comfortable with him in the first place to even tell him about your, eh, attraction for certain types of television folk?"
Tom had first met Doug over the summer before their senior year and he thought back to when he and Doug were friends and hung out; in fact it was in this very room last October where they often spent time watching TV and drinking beer, Doug usually sitting in the recliner while Tom, deferring his favorite chair to his new buddy sat on his bed, that everything changed. On that day they were watching, as usual, a repeat of one of the syndicated crime shows, this one being NYPD Blue on TNT, and one of Tom's favorite character actors, John Finn, a middle age stud of Irish descent who over the series' history had made several guest appearances was on once again, this time playing a shifty character named Jimmy Matloe who had been nick-named Jimmy Socks by his buddies because as a teenager he had sweaty, smelly feet. At this point in the story's plot, he was being interrogated by Detective Andy Sipowitz about his alleged participation in a neighborhood robbery that had gone tragically wrong.
"And Doug said that he wondered if after all these years the guy's feet still stunk," the mouth said softly. "Then you sort of absently commented that it wouldn't matter to you because given the opportunity and the right amount of booze, you'd gladly sniff his big, bare feet anytime and anywhere."
Tom jumped forward in the recliner, stammering, "H-How did you...you...I was just thinking a-about...what the hell?"
"It's all in the mind, Burger Boy," the mouth answered with a grin. "Everything starts in the mind, don't you know! So old buddy Doug really laughed when you revealed that little gem didn't he...called you a gross sicko, like it was a joke. But you continued on because hey, this was good old Doug here, and you admitted that if the guy was as hot looking as John Finn, what was the big deal? Then Doug began to bait you, didn't he, although you didn't realize what he was doing because deep down even though it wasn't spoken out loud, you really thought Doug felt the same as you did about some of the men on all those crime shows you two loved to watch together-at least some of the comments he had made when his guard was down led you to believe he did."
Tom frowned as he remembered Doug encouraging him to elaborate upon how he felt about Jimmy Socks and Tom gleefully admitted that actor John Finn was the type of middle aged, bald headed stud who had between his legs the magic inches that counted and that no matter what character he played or better yet, if Tom ever got the chance to met him in real life, Finn was the type of man he would gladly sniff and lick from head to toe, under the right conditions. And although Finn was his favorite straight sex idol, he was not the only one: there were actors Dann Florek playing Don Cragin on old Law And Order repeats and currently on Law And Order: SVU in all his bald head and suspenders glory, and Jamey Sheridan as the police captain from Criminal Intent whose suits always emphasized the big gun hanging between his legs; John M. Jackson as Admiral Chegwidden in his crisp white Naval uniforms from JAG and Mitch Pileggi as AD Skinner from The X Files in his white shirts and dark ties were two authority arch- types Tom always got the raging hornies over. And the fact that he was able to admit out loud that what made him truly happy was being able to turn on the tube and invite all those suit and uniform wearing daddies into his room, all those great character actors from TV shows and movies both classic and current, all bald and balding, gray and graying, hairy chests, hairy arms, legs, ears and noises, paunchy guts, thin frames, both short and tall with large ears and big noses, those really masculine looking men who he labeled The Handsomely Homely had unfortunately allowed Tom to be oblivious to Doug staring hard at him, seething with anger until he suddenly leapt out of the recliner, his face as crimson as a beet and glaring down at Tom who rolled off the bed and stood up puzzled by Doug's hostile reaction. When he questioned Doug's demeanor, asking didn't he find men like that hot as well, Tom received a vicious sucker punch to his stomach from his former buddy.
"Man, I always knew there was something a little off about you," Doug had sneered, "Always! I thought you were just some loopy little geek with a beer and TV jones... but...this? Oh, man, you better stay the fuckin' hell away from me queer! Come near me again and a gut punch will be the least of your problems, you hear me?"
"And that was that," the mouth said. "So sad...punched in the gut and the longest friendship you've ever had...eh, what was it, five, six months? Anyway, the unique TV bond you once shared together now shattered, all that money you spent buying beer wasted for all the good it did you, and then for the rest of your high school senior year you endured the nasty whispers, the taunts and the obscene messages and rude, crude pictures about you written on the walls of the school's boys' rooms; but you were never directly confronted publicly...that is, not until tonight, huh?"
Tom had always tried to avoid Doug after the incident in his bedroom which had not been hard to do since Doug had made a point to always snub Tom or throw him venom filled kisses and hate filled glares both in and outside school. At Big Fat Burger, whenever Doug came in or drove by the pick-up window, Tom always excused himself and found someone else to fill the order. But tonight had been different; even by BFB's busy standards, this night's customer flow had been extremely heavy with both kids and adults hanging out in the fast food joint's picnic area and parking lot due to the humid evening. There was also a steady stream of pick-up business and Tom had been stuck at the window for most of his shift. Then over the speaker came a familiar voice placing the next order and Tom knew who it was immediately, even though he had not seen her in over five months. Before moving to near by Darryl last February, Carolyn Davies although not a close friend, was someone who always had a kind word for Tom and they even shared a History project in December despite people no doubt whispering nasty things about him in her ear, and he really missed the smiles and hang-in-there reassurances she always directed towards him whenever they saw each other.
From the menu intercom, Carolyn recognized Tom's voice and was generally pleased to hear him and the two struck up a short conversation catching up on events before she pulled up to receive her order. Tom was all smiles in anticipation of seeing Carolyn once again, but when her blue convertible pulled up to the window, his face fell when he saw Carolyn was not alone. There were five more people in her car, some of the faces aside from Carolyn's he knew, the three in the back seat he didn't, but the one face he did know, to his regret, belonged to Doug who sat between Carolyn and Bill Sawyer in the front seat smirking up at his former TV viewing pal, his arm around Carolyn's shoulders.
Tom didn't know what made Doug lash out at him on this particular night when he had passed up so many other opportunities in the past. Maybe for Doug it was seeing someone he knew personally being friendly towards Tom, but whatever the reason, the usual dirty looks and faux kisses he aimed at Tom would not be nearly hurtful enough tonight. So while Tom handed over Carolyn's order, Doug glared hatefully at him and suddenly very loudly asked Tom if he still had a hard-on for Jimmy Socks.
Tom froze, almost spilling the cardboard tray of soft drinks. Bill asked who was Jimmy Socks and Doug proceeded to tell them all, very loudly about Tom getting the hots for this character, a man, from NYPD Blue, how he bragged about wanting to smell the dude's stinky feet and how this character wasn't the only guy on TV Tom was throwing a boner over.
"Oh, yeah! I mean, there's nothing ol' Tom here would like better than to suck on some TV detective's musty old Johnson, now ain't that right ol' buddy, ol' pal?" Doug asked even louder and rising himself up to sit on top of the front seat's back, swiveled around, making sure anyone within ear shot could hear his spiel. He then turned back towards Tom, an evil, satisfied smirk upon his smug face and watched Tom wilt from embarrassment.
"Tommy boy just loves watching TV so he can wack off to all those old guys," Doug continued. "Told me that there's no finer thing to do! He even said that if I was thirty years older, decked out in a cheap suit, he'd just love to set up a buffet in my lap and dine all night long! But that punch to your gut set you on the right road away from my pecker, didn't it faggot?"
Tom handed over the rest of the order, feeling the chill from the co-workers who had heard Doug's rants and watching some of the teens milling around the burger place look in his direction, pointing and laughing as they spoke among themselves while Doug slid back down in the seat, a look of triumph on his face knowing he was the source of Tom's public humiliation.
But as bad as all that was, nothing devastated Tom more than the harsh, disappointed look Carolyn was giving him now, a look that fused loathing, shock, anger and pity into a hard little bullet of pure betrayal which she aimed straight at Tom's heart where it struck its mark with a force strong enough to shatter the image he had created in his mind of how other people perceived him.
"You can't even deny it, can you?" Carolyn asked after scrutinizing Tom's face, which was colored red from shame.
Tom lowered his eyes, unable to meet her fierce, intense stare. "I-I didn't come on to Doug...he's lying about that," he replied but Tom was suddenly cut off as Doug placed his foot over Carolyn's to loudly rev the car's engine.
"Get your foot off me Doug," she said looking over at him. Carolyn turned back to gaze towards Tom, waiting for him to look at her. When he finally met her green eyes, she frowned angrily at him.
"And to think I once believed there was something worthwhile in you, that people didn't understand you and were just being mean," she said softly, almost to herself. "You're nothing but a disgusting pervert Tom Traveler."
And as Carolyn, Doug and the others pulled away, Tom could hear "faggot" and "pervert" rising above the laughter from the kids in the lot. Even his co-workers looked at him differently now, smirking while he continued to work his shift.
Tom didn't own a car and whenever he tried to borrow Aunt Maisey's old '95 civic it was like pulling teeth so he usually walked home from work, but tonight had been the longest walk of his life. He'd ignored the occasional car driving by with some smart ass kid inside lamely taunting him, shouting things like: "Hey faggot-Mr. Ed's got something long and hard for you in the barn!" and "I hear Matlock wants you to look through his legal briefs!" and "I bet you'd love to help Barnaby Jones with one of his hard cases you fruit!" Tom had been forced to finally view himself through the eyes of others, seeing himself not only as that strange loner boy who always kept to himself, but now as the queer kid, that loser homo and although a side of him was ashamed to be labeled so blatantly, there was a part of him that was quickly growing defiant, allowing him a way to deal with the ridicule. Yes, he really got off on watching middle aged suited men on TV, but so what? It wasn't like he got sexually excited by thoughts of torturing, raping and killing women or that he lusted after little kids or stole the neighbors' pets for roasting over open fires. It was true Ben Stone's suits and suspenders, Adam Schiff's grumpy, rumpled suit granddad chic and CSI's Captain Brass' straight laced three buttoned suit Las Vegas police detective attire got him harder than Britney Sprears' boobs, J Lo's cheeks or Halle Barry's smooth chocolate body ever could but again-SO WHAT?
Well, he was stuck living in the conservative, regressive, narrow minded little town of Fairview, PA for one thing and there was also the very hard fact that those fantasy TV professionals, the only type Tom could feel any sort of sexual attraction for, would be forever unattainable to him; this is what finally brought into sharp focus what his realistic options actually were. He was a twenty year old virgin pinning away for something he could never have and the idea of now being mocked daily by all the town kids who heard his secret desires exposed was a thing Tom realized he could not bare.
"So now you want to stop the world so that you can jump off," the mouth said. "Hey, say that you do succeed in pulling off this suicide trick-is this the way you want it to end? Do you really want Doug and all the other intolerant dolts already laughing at you to win?"
Tom snorted, rolled his eyes at the TV and scooped up the pills that had spilled out of the bottle and sat back down in the recliner.
"Oh, I get it; now you're going to tell me that I have so much to live for, is that right Mr. Hallucination? And now I'm taking the coward's way out by bailing instead of sticking around so that maybe someday I'll contribute something truly keen and neat-o for the betterment of all of Mankind, right?" Tom derisively snorted again and muttered, "Figment PLEASE!"
"No, no, but perhaps I can offer you an incentive to stick around so you can stand up to the Dougs of this world, hell to just stand up on your own two feet. How about I just go ahead and give you what you truly desire?"
Tom placed the refilled pill bottle upon the nightstand next to his neglected drink and stared suspiciously at the smiling lips.
"What do you mean, give me what I desire?"
The static field on the TV faded away to reveal a still shot of actor Michael Ironside wearing a dark charcoal colored suit standing in a police department's office. Tom recognized the scene; it was from the mid 1990's movie "Murder By Night" where Ironside played an aggressive police lieutenant investigating a series of unsolved hammer related homicides. Tom preferred Ironside a bit older with no hair on top, but the actor always looked good in Tom's eyes no matter what his age.
"How about being with him, and I mean in a sexual way?" the voice asked flowing seductively from the TV, the mouth nowhere to be found on the screen. "-Or maybe this guy?"
The next shot was of actor Ed Grover as gruff Lt. Brubaker from an episode of the 70's cop series BERETTA, wearing a loosen wide, loud pattern tie, ugly print shirt and what Tom thought was always sexy on a middle age man with a paunch--even if it was redundant--which was the wearing of both a belt and suspenders. The Lt. stood in his office with his hands on his hips, a scowl on his frustrated and over worked beefy unshaven face wearing a pair of tight tan polyester slacks which displayed the compact but thick cock bulge behind his fly rather impressively, negating the need for wearing either the belt or the suspenders since no way could those tight pants ever come down, not without some help.
"And what about him?" the voice continued, and this time there was a still shot of actor Dann Florek as Captain Cragin from an early second season episode of Law And Order where he sat behind his desk with tie loosen and without his jacket on speaking to his two lead detectives, leaning far back in his chair with his legs widely spread open to display quite an ample bulge at the crotch of his light brown pants. Tom fondly remembered that particular episode because there weren't that many opportunities for Cragin crotch shots, especially one this fine which made it quite clear to anyone who was on the look out for such things that the Capt. was a man who had a really big set of balls on him; Tom had been very grateful to the director of that episode for providing what Tom called "the money shot", because he had did some of his own shooting later on that day, fantasying about what it would be like under that man's desk, taking in the close up sights and smells of that hard working police Capt.
Then the screen was filled with picture after picture of actors well known and not so well known who never failed to get Tom's cock to rise, people like Terry Bradshaw, Murphy Guyer, Paul Dillon, John C. Reilly, Colm Feore, Terry O'Quinn, Hrothgar Mathews and Xander Berkeley. And pictures of men, who Tom believed based upon how well they filled out their pants, were blessed with an extra large gift from the Man Upstairs, actors like Ed Harris, Telly Savalas, John Ireland, Wendell Corey, Richard Jenkins, Dean Norris, Steve Cochran, Harris Yulin and Geoffrey Lewis. All of the actors were wearing suits with and without jackets from various decades, portraying detectives, cops, docs and lawyers from TV and movie crime dramas, all of them either standing or sitting in poses designed to illuminate, in the most flattering of light, what sprouted between their legs. And there were so many more pictures of actors from different stages in their careers flashing on the screen now, shots of Lloyd Bridges, Tommy Lee Jones, Lance Hendrickson, Enrico Colantoni, Marshall Bell, Dan Butler and Robert Duvall to mention just of few; there were in fact so many faces on the screen now that Tom began to get dizzy from the strobe like effects of the slide show. The images stopped abruptly on a full head shot of John Finn in uniform, his bald head surrounded by a fringe of short cropped dark hair, playing a prison guard from the Clint Eastwood movie "True Crime", his piercing eyes looking over his wire rim glasses directly at Tom, his masculine intense Irish good looks radiating from the screen in wave after wave of sensual heat with a three dimensional realism that caused Tom to lean back into the recliner from under the weighty stare of Finn's dark, sexy eyes.
"Shit..."Tom muttered, watching Finn's face slowly break apart into static, on top of which floated the blue lips again smiling broadly at him.
"Did you like the show, Tom?" the mouth asked. "You ain't seen nothing yet! Here, let me demonstrate. First, pick up that remote in your lap."
Tom glanced down and noticed a TV remote mysteriously lying in his lap. He looked over and spotted the remote to his own TV still on the nightstand. He picked up and examined the new remote, noticing subtle differences between this one and his own familiar device. There were fewer buttons for one thing and the top half contained a wire mesh rectangle which resembled a microphone, and a LCD screen.
"Actually, it's quite simple to operate," the mouth began. "You have the normal pause, rewind, fast forward, play and stop functions like on any standard universal remote. But you also have an enter and exit button which has a different function on this particular unit as well as a command feature, and I do mean command B Boy; then there's buttons "G" and "P". "G" stands for ghost mode and "P" stands for phantom mode. Have you grasped the importance of these functions yet?"
Tom looked at the shinny black remote, not sure how to answer the blue mouth and a puzzled look came over his face.
"I'll explain," the mouth continued. "By pressing the command button you can actually mind control whoever you want just by speaking into the microphone, just so long as they're on TV. The ghost mode doesn't really make you invisible, it just allows your presence to sort of slide off the minds of anyone observing you so that you and your actions will not register and it'll seem like you're not even there. Now the phantom mode is a different kettle of fish because it will actually alter your molecular structure allowing you to pass through solid objects like walls and doors, which will come in handy for surprise entrances and quick exits. Personally, I think those two modes are redundant features, because if you master the controls correctly, no matter what you do, your subjects won't even remember what was done to them anyway, but I didn't make the thing, I'm just its promoter."
"W-What the hell are you talking about?" Tom impatiently asked. "And what do I need another TV remote for? How will this thing give me what I want?"
The lips smiled smugly and answered in a low, deep gush. "Oh Tom, I thought you'd never ask!"
PART TWO: THROUGH THE TV SCREEN
The screen went dark for a few seconds, and then flashed back on. Tom was watching a broadcast of The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. On stage was comedian Robin Williams, wearing a god awful purple and white checkered suit, who had just moved over to the couch, leaving the chair open for Leno's next guest.
"So now, please welcome that feisty political strategist," Leno began. "Feisty? I don't think that's the word I'd use to describe this guy; loud, opinionated, even a little crazy maybe, but feisty...naw, feisty just doesn't fit. He is known in some circles as the Ragin' Cajun and to others just a raging pain in the ass, but regardless of how you feel about him, there's no denying that he is one really smart fellow, so ladies and gentlemen, Democrats, Republicans and all those in between, please welcome James Carville, The Ragin' Cajun!"
A tall, bald man with high check bones, squinty eyes and a wide smile walked through the curtains onto the stage and Tom suddenly remembered that he'd seen this episode before and the reason he remembered it so well was because when Carville sat down to be interviewed, he sat with his legs widely spread apart and Tom had drooled at the sight of that man's obviously huge bulging crotch.
For Tom, older actors were not the only ones he lusted after. There were TV newscasters, sport coaches, umps, officials and team managers as well. There were also quite a number of politicos who wore their suits rather nicely: Senators John McCain and George Voinovich were two such politicians, and George Bush Sr. when he was CIA Director, Vice President as well as President was another one, along with Howard Dean, Bill Bradley, Rudy Giuliani and the man he knows loves blow jobs, William Jefferson Clinton. But James Carville was one of those studs Tom labeled Handsomely Homely who always got Tom's juices flowing, with his sharp angular features and bald head although lately, Carville had begun to look a little thinner than normal and now shaved his head so that he was completely bald. But this Leno show was originally from 2002 and back then Carville was slightly heavier and he still had a ring of short graying hair surrounding his bald dome. He also didn't wear his glasses back then, and was sexually fashion challenged, wearing what looked like a suit bought right off the rack(for Tom, seeing a guy in a cheap or tight ill fitted suit was always more sexy then a guy wearing Armani or decked out in the tailored loose baggy suits currently in fashion). Carville was wearing a white shirt, dark burgundy tie and a light brown polyester suit, the tight slacks very form fitting in the crotch which show-cased his very large eggs and fat, meaty sausage which rose up big on the left side of his lap when he sat down.
"Man," Tom said in a low whisper, lust thickening his voice. "Just look at him...what I wouldn't give to bob my head up and down in that man's lap!"
"Then, why don't you just go and do it Tom?" the voice suggested above Leno's and Carville's stage banter.
Tom lifted the remote to his face, realization slowly dawning on him. He looked hungrily at Carville then back at the remote.
"No way!" Tom exclaimed with excitement. "You mean with this remote I can..."
"Enter whatever program is on the TV? Yes, that's the sole purpose of the Remote Controller, you silly boy. If you press enter, you'll be placed right into the program, even if it's a live broadcast, on tape or on film; pressing exit returns you to your room. You can control the scene just like a tape in a VCR, fast forward, reverse; if you pause the action you can still move and manipulate objects and people at your whim. And like I said, the command function will allow you to set the course of the action by instructing the participants to do whatever you tell them to...cool eh?"
"So cool," Tom whispered.
"Here's some advice for you Burger Boy. You can only pause a scene for five minutes which will be counted down for you on the LCD display, and once the time limit expires, the scene will start up again. Also before you enter a scene, it's a good idea to use the ghost mode or you might give the people an unwelcome surprise. Like I said, think VCR when using the remote, like pressing play if you want to restart a scene ok? So, are there any questions? Are you ready then to embark upon your first journey into Television Land?"
Tom stared nervously at the Remote Controller, his hand shaking slightly with anticipation.
"T-This can't really be happening-can it? I mean, this has to be some whacked out dream, right? This just can't be for real!"
The voice took on a cool, challenging tone as it answered, "Press "enter" Tom, then see for yourself how real you think it is."
Tom stood up and as he watched the show unfold, Leno having just asked Carville something about him completely shaving his head and Carville raising both hands up to touch what little hair he had left, Tom pressed "enter" and felt-nothing. However, he discovered that he suddenly was no longer in his room, but instead stood in a brightly lit TV studio standing directly in front of a very surprised Robin Williams, Jay Leno and James Carville, who in particular was staring at Tom in utter shock, his hands still touching both sides of his head.
Tom heard loud gasps from the audience behind him and saw movement off to his left from security and studio staff.
"Hey," Leno started, "What the hell are you doing-"
Tom, remembering the Remote Controller's functions quickly pressed "pause". The studio fell silent and everything was frozen, just like a video image still frame and Tom was amazed as he walked about the stage looking at the camera people, the audience and the band members standing as still as statues, touching everything within his reach. Wild excitement crept over his body...he actually felt the heat from the hot lights, and the solid floor beneath him. He walked behind the couch and Leno's desk and examined the stage more closely, moving the curtains, feeling their texture and noticed that they stayed in the position he moved them to. He got a close look at the back drop, touching the plywood and plastic with his fingers; he then walked back over to stand behind Carville, his arms still raised. Tom leaned down to sniff deeply at Carville's left arm pit through his suit. He could vividly feel and smell the material of the suit jacket as well as Carville's own deodorant and slight arm pit smell-he doesn't wear cologne, Tom discovered, which was fine by him, because he always believed that a man's natural scent should be enough anyway.
Tom quickly stood up, excitement racing all over his body, and shouted out loud: "SON OF A BITCH! Blue Lips-it's real! Goddammit, IT'S ALL REAL!" He slapped the remote against his thigh, staring in disbelief at his surroundings when he suddenly remembered the pause time restrictions and began to think about how best to use the command feature. After a moment he pressed the "command" button, faced the audience and spoke into the microphone.
"Everyone watching will not remember seeing me appear out of the blue, nor will you notice me on the stage and anything that happens up here that may seem out of the ordinary will seem perfectly normal to you, no matter what you may see or hear."
Tom turned back towards Leno and his guests. "The same goes for you guys. But you James, you are going to be especially suggestive to all of my orders, doing whatever I tell you, as if it's the most normal thing to do...no matter what it is."
He moved over to stand directly in front of Carville, the bright stage lights shinning off the thin sheen of perspiration from his bald head. He looked at the LCD screen and saw that he had about forty four seconds left. Moving in closer so that he was now standing between Carville's widely spread legs, he continued with his instructions.
"While you will feel and hear everything I do and say to you, you will continue your conversation with Jay. And, eh...every time I say...eh, liberal, you're going to get really horny, your sexual desire will increase and you'll get the biggest, hardest boner that you ever had...your sexual urges will be totally pure focused lust, and whatever you feel me doing to you, the level of ecstasy you'll experience will be intense, like nothing you've ever experienced before."
Tom glanced down again at the LCD screen and saw that twelve seconds remained. He stepped back from Carville and just as the final seconds ticked away told him, "Man, I really want this to last, so no matter how much you'll want to cum, you can only do it when you hear me say...eh, say...Mary Matalin...yeah, only after I say Mary Matalin will you be able to let go and shoot the moon!" And then, like a video tape the scene started up right where it had left off.
"-here, oh...eh, what the heck was I saying?" Leno asked, puzzled that his train of thought had been derailed. He looked over at his guests hoping to get an answer. "You asked James about shaving his head," Robin Williams answered stiffly, not bothering to hide his absolute boredom with the interview, wanting to be elsewhere. While the conversation continued, Tom stared at Carville and the others for a moment, still amazed that he was actually standing unobserved on The Tonight Show stage in front of a man who Tom, over the years, ever since first seeing "The War Room" had jerked off over, fantasizing about him in his head, dreaming about what it would be like to suck him off, and now he was about to find out for real.
"James," Tom said, giddy as a kid in a toy store, "Stand up-continue looking and talking to Jay, but face forward-and take off your jacket and toss it to me."
And without missing a beat, while Leno asked him how he felt about the current political climate, Carville stood up, turned his head towards Leno, slid off his jacket and tossed it over to Tom and then preceded to answer Leno's question. Tom brought the jacket up close to his face and deeply inhaled the familiar scent. Damn he smells so good, like a real man Tom thought, starting to feel his cock throb in anticipation.
"James, place your hands on your hips," Tom commanded, "And thanks for remaining an unapologetic, opinionated, hard headed liberal!"
And while Leno and the audience was laughing over a funny comment Williams had just tossed out, a somewhat perplexed expression came over Carville's face, followed by a slight smile which turned up the right corner of his mouth.
"Liberal...liberal...liberal..." Tom uttered and at the sound of each word, he noticed James Carville was suddenly finding it harder to concentrate on Leno's questions, becoming agitated and slowly thrusting his hips forward. Tom looked down at Carville's crotch and discovered Carville's ability to concentrate was not the only thing that was getting harder.
"Holy...shit," Tom muttered in amazement, stepping over towards Carville, whose body still faced the audience, while his head was turned towards Leno. Carville stood in front of his chair, a crooked half smile on his face, hands still firmly on his slowly thrusting hips and whose tight pants were now tented out by what appeared to be the biggest hard on Tom had seen in his life; truth was, aside from his own modest boners, this was actually the only other hard-on he'd ever seen in real life because up until now, the only sex Tom had experienced was in his head and by his own over worked hands. And now, here he was face to face with one of his fantasies and about to learn first hand how it felt to engage in hot, sweaty sex with another human being-a real man, and by the looks of it, a really hung man at that! That being said, for his very first time, he wanted to go slow, so Tom decided to keep it simple-feel the man up and just give a blow job this time out on his first maiden voyage into sexual activity. So he kneeled down in front of Carville, the man's snug pants barely able to contain the huge cock pulsating behind the straining zipper, and Tom hesitantly reached out to touch the big bulge; curiously it felt both spongy and solid, stretching upward to the left towards Carville's belt. Then, becoming a little bolder, Tom ran his hand up and down the thick, warm shaft, and then squeezed it tightly through Carville's pants, his Carville fantasy finally coming to fruition.
"Ohhh, momma, momma..." Carville moaned closing his eyes to allow the waves of pleasure to wash over him, carrying him upwards to a sensual peek he'd never reached before.
"Yeah," Leno prattled on, "Speaking about mothers, just what does your momma think about her son's political notoriety and does she get along well with her quite out spoken conservative Republican daughter-in-law?"
Tom had placed the Remote Controller and his glasses on top of Carville's jacket on the floor earlier and was now rubbing his face all over Carville's bulging cock, indulging himself in the feel of the thick, rubbery hose and the strong scent coming through James' pants, the front now damp from pre-cum stains left by the horny man's heavily leaking cock.
"Momma's...momma's...MOMMA'S ALRIGHT WITH EVERYTHING!" Carville shouted, singing it like it was a lyric from The Doobie Brothers' song "Jesus Is Just Alright With Me", and the audience laughed louder as he began to thrust his hips faster and more aggressively against Tom's face, pounding so hard that at one point Carville's boner made solid and painful contact with Tom's nose and Tom had to quickly pull back from the sexually intoxicated strategist in order to avoid another mild collision.
After a moment Tom leaned back further, looking up at Carville who was being engulfed by lust and need; he smiled and ordered the man to stop moving his hips. A loud audible whine of disappointment could be heard from Carville above the din coming from the audience, which was now laughing over Leno's comment that while politics could make strange bedfellows he would bet a soggy two dollar bill that it was not nearly as strange as the bedfellowing that probably went on in the Carville-Matalin bedroom.
"James," Tom said, moving forward on his knees so that his face was now mere inches away from Carville's warm, damp crotch, "I want you to drop your pants." Tom got a close up look at Carville quickly reaching down to unbuckle his leather belt.
"Ahhh, slowly, slowly, don't want to rush it," Tom directed and watched with hungry eyes as Carville took his time opening his belt, leisurely pulling the strap through the buckle, letting it hang open to jingle softly. Tom leaned backwards a bit as Carville undid the fastener to his pants, grabbed the tab to his zipper, and gracefully slid it down over the lump his dick made in his boxers. Then with his pants pooled around his ankles, standing there in light blue boxer shorts, his shirt tails now covering his bulge, Carville placed his hands back upon his hips and continued talking to Leno, sprinkling plenty of moans throughout his answers, about how well his family got along with his wife Mary, despite the couple's strong contrasting political differences.
Tom scooted back over to him after taking in the comical sight of James Carville standing in front of an audience wearing a white dress shirt, tie and boxers, with his pants down over his shoes and socks like he was in a scene from some slapstick movie, and then after instructing him to place his hands behind his back, proceeded to pull down Carville's blue (and heavily stained) boxer shorts. What greeted Tom's nostrils was the very strong, musky man-scent of sex flowing out from Carville's bushy crotch. And what greeted his lustful eyes was the man's long, heavily veined, thick pole of flesh, its' tip dripping with sticky pre-cum; the rod was well over twelve inches long and as wide in diameter as a super-sized plastic bottle of aspirin. The cock, below which hung a huge pair of gray, hairy balls, jutted out from between Carville's white dress shirt, after Tom had to unbutton some of the shirt buttons, sticking straight up like a pole despite its thick girth and Tom believed that he had possibly found the answer to the question that had to be on most people's minds when speculating on what was the secret "something" other than love that held together this particular marriage between two such divergent and opposite political animals. When you watched Carville and Mary Matalin going at it on some televised pundit shouting match circus of a talk show, you sometimes didn't know how much of a hate-love fest you were going to get, because along with arguing with each other over something like the place of government in the lives of private citizens, they both fiercely came to one another's defense if any outsiders dared take personal pot shots at them, and it was pretty obvious that the two loved each other very much-it was just that Tom had now discovered for himself exactly how much of James Carville there was for a person to love.
Tom stuck his tongue out to lick the dripping tip of Carville's cock and found his first taste of male meat not too bad, something he was determined to get used to along with the ever present masculine crotch odor he was sure to find down between the legs of all the future Suit Daddies he planned to sample and he quickly began to swallow more of the fleshy tube. It was difficult for him to take all of Carville into his mouth without gagging, so after a while he settled upon using his tongue to wash the cock and balls, mixing his spit with the heavy amount of pre-cum and sweat already lubricating the man's big dick. After Leno took a commercial break, then came back to finish his interview with the horny politico, Tom and Carville hadn't wasted a single minute during the break, having established a very satisfying rhythm together, with Tom licking and sucking on the cock head while using his hands to jack off the slimy stalk as Carville, now allowed to face his head forward, his hands still clutched tightly behind his back, deeply thrusted himself to and fro after Tom gave in and permitted the man to rock his hips after observing Carville's trembling body and the expression of dire frustration upon his sweaty face over being ordered by Tom a while ago to not move.
Tom was like a man who had been lost in the desert for days suddenly stumbling across a rich, exotic oasis and now he damn well was going to drink his fill of James Carville, determined to suck him completely dry when he believed that the man couldn't hold back any longer.
Carville was loudly grunting and moaning like a beast in heat while still, as ridiculous as it may seem, trying his best to, under the circumstances, carry on the interview with Leno, who now asked him, "James, if all you're going to do is grunt out your answers, just how far do you plan to go in the political strategy arena? You have to be able to communicate and AR-TIC-ULATE your positions clearly to be persuasive to your clients, don't ya think?"
Carville, his unfocused eyes now mere slits, with his mouth hanging open slightly, drool dripping from the corners, made an effort to glance over towards Leno.
"H-How's-how's this-ohhhhh-this f-for...oh, goddamn...for a-a-artic-u- lation," Carville gasped, quickly taken under by the undertow of his raging sexual pleasure wave and shouted out at the top of his lungs: "I AM SO FUCKING HORNY!!"
The audience erupted with applause and shouts as Tom continued to suck on the sweet, pungent man meat, sensing that Carville had passed the point of no return long ago, but was unable to release his cum because Tom hadn't given him permission yet and although the elegant torture was pleasurable beyond anything the political strategist had ever felt before, it was still cum-denial torture and soon Carville groaned aloud, "Please, let me cum, let me cum, let me cum," over and over again while Tom jerked and sucked even harder on his crimson colored cock.
"Say, we're going to have to take another commercial break pretty soon," Leno piped in, "And as much as I'm enjoying the exhibition you're putting on for us, exactly how much longer are you going to be fella?"
"OH GOD I WISH I KNEW!" Carville whined in frustration.
Tom, his own cock now hard as a rock which he had been massaging ever since he first started working on Carville, pulled his mouth off the man's dick while continuing to jack the long stalk. At first Tom planned for the man to cum in his mouth so he would know what it felt like to swallow and taste Carville's juice, but he then remembered that there was another guy-one special Irish guy-whose cum he wanted flowing down his throat for the first time instead. So he stood up still jacking off Carville and looked into the man's perspiring face, his head tilted backwards, his expressions shifting between intense pleasure and intense discomfort. Carville was breathing hard and drenched in sweat, massive dark stains dripping down from under his arm pits, his chest and down the back of the once crisp white dress shirt and he was so ready to explode that Tom knew he had to finally let the man cum or else cause serious damage to those enormous, straining cum-filled balls.
Tom's hands moved like a piston up and down Carville's cock and he leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Put your hands behind your head and tell Jay that you're about to give everyone the money shot they've all been expecting, James."
Carville clasped his hands behind his head and rolled it from side to side, his eyes unfocused and bright as he told Leno, between a slew of "ohhhs" and "ahhhs" exactly what Tom had ordered him to say.
"Hey folks," Leno said, "Let's count him down then...Ten! Nine!"
Tom stepped behind the moaning and humping Carville and reaching around, placed both his hands on the sex addled man's upright cock, jacking it faster and faster while he rubbed his own hard cock against Carville's muscular ass and the audience, in unison with Leno loudly continued the countdown. "-Seven-six," they shouted while Tom felt his own cock burn with desire each time Carville pressed back hard against it.
"Five-four,"
Carville was muttering something unintelligible which to Tom sounded like a mixture of mangled French, English slang and...something else, while Tom continued to savagely pump the slick, thick dick.
"Three-two-ONE!"
Tom whispered "Mary Matalin!"into Carville's ear, feeling his own orgasm suddenly take hold of him, slowly filling his underwear with cream and he had to grip Carville's cock hard to stabilize himself. And it was a good thing too that he had something to hold on to because all at once the man staggered forward a few paces, then stood still, shivering from head to toe. Carville shouted out a stream of incomprehensible gibberish which sounded like a cross between a sci-fi alien war cry and a rebel yell, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut hard as his cock shot thick ropes of cum everywhere about the stage.
"BLAST OFF!" Leno cried who stood up and began clapping along with Robin Williams and the entire studio audience, which was now giving Carville a standing ovation, its clamor filling the air with whistles, cat-calls and chants of "Car-ville! Car- ville!"
And through it all, the man continued to shoot reams of thick, white cum which landed on the floor, the couch and the desk. Tom's hands were covered with the stuff, not to mention he felt like he was carrying quite a load in his own pants-the bald strategist hadn't been the only one to experience an awesome orgasm on that stage. Carville staggered over to his seat and heavily plopped himself down, exhausted with his pants and shorts still down around his ankles, his hairy legs spread wide, his big cock now softening slightly and dripping cum into his pants like a leaky faucet.
Jay, still standing and applauding, glanced over at Carville sprawled back in the chair recovering from his orgasm, smiled and said: "Now I know what they mean when they call you the Ragin' Cajun. Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for a quite impressive James Carville in awe-inspiring action!"
While the audience wildly clapped and cheered, Tom was laying in front of Jay's desk basking in his own after-glow from a most incredible experience. He had not only given the one and only James Carville a blow job live on TV(even if it was a taped repeat broadcast), he had also managed to give himself an orgasm unlike anything he'd ever felt before and without even opening his pants! He reached over for Carville's jacket, putting back on his glasses and grabbing the Remote Controller he then stood up.
After glancing over at Carville one last time, who Tom saw was now looking directly at him with a broad grin and then flashed him a quick wink, Tom smiled back at him and pressed the "exit" button-and found himself back in his bedroom sitting in the recliner. The TV was still on where a car commercial was just ending and the sponsor spot gave way to The Tonight Show. Tom sat up suddenly as he watched Jay Leno say good-night to his quests and noticed that everything on the show was the way it should have been before he made his foray into show biz: Carville was still wearing the brown suit, jacket and all, that he had on from the beginning, and the set was not covered in cum...in fact everything was quite normal, as if nothing at all had ever happened.
"Goddammit," Tom said with disappointment. "It was just a fucking hallucination after all-it wasn't real!"
Just then The Tonight Show dissolved into static and the blue lips reappeared on the screen.
"Hey there Burger Boy, I trust you had a deliciously fabulous time?"
"It was only a fucking illusion, nothing but a dream!"
"Maybe...but tell me, what's that in you're lap?"
Tom looked down and noticed draped across his lap was-
"Carville's suit coat!" he exclaimed. He raised it up to his nose and inhaled. Yes, Carville's scent was still there. He even noticed a few tiny pearl colored spots on the lapel-some of Carville's cum had landed on the jacket where it still clung stubbornly.
"B-but, how could this be his jacket? I clearly saw him still wearing it!" Tom questioned.
"Do you doubt that's James Carville's coat?" the lips asked.
"Well-no, but..."
"And do you doubt that you currently have a load of cum filling your briefs at this very moment?"
Tom quickly became aware of the uncomfortable sensation of wearing damp, soggy underwear. He stared at the coat, and touching his damp crotch slowly leaned back into the chair clutching the souvenir suit jacket and shaking his head, puzzled by the paradox.
"I-I'm so confused," he confessed with a heavy sigh.
"Oh, you are that B Boy, but don't sweat the strange stuff, because like I said, it's all in the mind, and with some effort the mind can accomplish some quite amazing things and you can too-all you simply have to do is believe in your own crazy ass self, visualize what you want and set your mind to achieve it!"
Tom thought back on how Carville's cock tasted in his mouth, how it had felt and smelled like and how he had actually made the man have one soul shattering orgasm on the air, not to mention experiencing his own nut-bursting release. He smiled and said, "I want to go again-hey, where's that remote?"
"Ahh, well now," the lips said, "Here's the catch my damp little friend."
Tom eyed the TV with apprehension and asked, "What do you mean by 'the catch'?"
"You see, once you exit a session, you have to wait a period of time before you're able to use the Remote Controller again. It has to recharge itself; it takes a hell of a lot of energy to alter reality, don't you know. And you B Boy, you are the source of that necessary charge! You are now linked to the Controller, and as you put a more concerted effort into living your life, you create enormously powerful waves of energy which can be picked up by the Controller, energy which can be used to feed your fantasies and give you the chance to travel the airwaves again. Do you hear what I'm saying? Do you get it? Sitting around on your butt, hiding from the world, feeling sorry for yourself doesn't get the Controller back up to full charge. But don't you worry, because if you do all the right things, and I believe you will you little cock-hound, the Remote Controller will come back once it's fully charged and if you adhere to the time limits."
"Time limits? You didn't say anything about goddamn time limits!" Tom said angrily. "Just tell me when it'll appear again!" And he felt that it could be quite awhile. The blue lips smiled broadly and began to slowly fade as it answered, "Ah, well that is the million and one dollar question now, isn't it Tom Traveler; what do you plan to do to take your life back, eh? When you figure that out, it may reappear next week. Or it might take up to a month, a year; it will most assuredly return in its own sweet time. Meanwhile, might I suggest that you get out there and face the taunts-there're just words anyway-- and struggle to get mentally stronger and zap the Controller with Life Force, because trust me Burgher Boy, you ain't seen nothing yet!"
And just like a TV shutting down, the lips vanished into the static field which proceeded to shrink down to a tiny pin point of light which then slipped away into the smoky darkness of the television screen.
"Fuck," Tom muttered, "There's always gotta be a gimmick." But his hand gripped James Carville's suit coat and he brought it up to his nose again-and yes, it still reeked from the essence of Carville. "Well. Hell, maybe it won't be so bad having to wait," Tom mused, and figured it was worth learning how to deal with the homophobic crap and stand up to anyone who had a problem with who he was or what he liked, just so long as he got more TV time with the Remote Controller.
He made room in his closet and hung up Carville's suit coat and made the decision to collect more souvenirs from his upcoming journeys. And there would be more TV trips for sure, because starting next week, Big Fat Burghers was going to be history and he was going to look into that loading dock opening down at Walsh Ind. which was only a block and a half away from his house and paid a lot more than BFB. Maybe with him having that sort of job it will get the Life Force energy waves flowing from him big time.
Tom then flipped upon his bed and picking up the TV Guide, began scanning for movies and TV series featuring his favorite Irish character actor. He remembered hearing something about a new crime drama called "Cold Case" which John Finn was co-staring in coming on in the fall, and he made plans to check it out once the new TV season started.
"I don't know how long I'll have to wait," Tom said out loud, speaking to his silent TV, "But however long it'll take, when it's time to travel again, I think I'll first drop by a certain cold case police squad's office because I'm sure that I'm going to have a strong hankering to kiss a big ol' bald headed Blarney Stone all over!"
TO BE CONTINUED.