Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

M

AX

wasn’t at all what Randy expected of an antiques dealer. Even

the shop front blew his mind. When Randy thought antiques, he
thought rocking chairs and doilies, not classic movie posters and little-
dolly-wets-her-pants. Thinking back, it’s not like Max even sounded
old on the phone. Randy just assumed he was old because of his
profession. He came to the shop expecting to meet with some old dude
in a bow tie, but how could he complain when Max turned out to be
young and incredibly buff?

“I’ve got a seller in the back right now,” Max called out as Randy

kicked snow from his boots. “I’ll be with you in two minutes.”

“No problem,” Randy replied. His voice sounded way too high. It

was embarrassing. He pushed it down and tried again. “No problem.
I’m early anyway.”

Max nodded and rushed back into the room at the rear of the

shop. As Randy looked around, flipping though vintage bumper
stickers and counting the Felix clocks, he felt a hell of a lot more
nervous than he had on the way over. He had such trouble interacting
with cute guys now. He never used to.

A woman in a hippie skirt and plastic jewelery stepped out of the

back room. Flipping her long brown hair behind her shoulder, she
called out, “Okay, well I’m outta here. Thanks, Max!”

“Thank you,” he called out with a low chuckle.

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She threw her head back, laughing as she walked past Randy. She

didn’t take a second look at him, which was always a relief. “Bye bye,
beefcake!”

“See you next week, draft-dodger,” Max teased as he returned to

the shop floor. Looking Randy up and down with a broad smile on his
lips, he tapped the glass counter. “Come and show me what you’ve
got.”

Show me what you’ve got? Clinging to his shoebox, Randy felt like

a kid trying to sneak a pet rat past his parents. He couldn’t bring
himself to look a smoking hot guy like Max in the eye. His lungs
seemed to rattle as he walked over. He felt like his gait wasn’t wide
enough, but he was afraid of knocking something off a shelf and
having to pay for it. Money was tight; that’s why he was there.

When he set his shoebox down on the counter, he accidentally

looked up. Max was squinting at him like he’d done something wrong.
“I can give you an appraisal, but, just so you know, I can’t buy anything
without a parent’s permission.”

A wave of relief came over him. Apparently, this cute shop owner

liked to joke around with all his customers. Fine. Randy knew how
young he looked. He laughed along, even if it was at his own expense.
“Yeah, very funny, man.”

Max smirked and tilted his head slightly, but he wasn’t laughing.

“No, I mean I can’t purchase goods from anyone under eighteen.”

As relief brewed humiliation, Randy chuckled nervously. He

might as well have taken his box and gone straight home, but that
deep, commanding voice in the back of his mind told him, Don’t pack it
in! Be a man, Randy! “No worries there. I’m probably older than you
are.”

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

Laughing, Max leaned back on the stool behind the counter and

ran a large hand through short bleached hair. “I seriously doubt that.”
When he smiled, his eyes glinted like tinsel on a Christmas tree. He
challenged Randy, “Go on, then. How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“No way,” Max said, crossing his huge arms in front of his black

T-shirt. His laughter wasn’t mean-spirited, just incredulous. But, hey,
if Randy were in his shoes, he wouldn’t believe it either.

“Yeah way, man. How old are you?” he asked, feeling somewhat

like an impudent teenager. Why did he ask? What did he care?

“Thirty-eight,” Max admitted.

Randy shook his head when he realized he’d been staring at

Max’s chest, with its gorgeous, surging muscles amply visible under
his tight cotton T. He didn’t know what to say next. All he could think
to do was tear the guy’s clothes from his flesh, but moves like that
tended not to be socially acceptable. Certainly not in antiques shop.

“So, what have we got here?” Max finally asked, removing the top

from the shoebox. An awed smile broke across his lips as he gazed
inside. “Sweet! I wish I saw more of these babies. Where did you get
them?”

Caught up in Max’s giddiness, he replied, “My old boyfriend gave

them to me for Christmas about four years ago.” Randy gasped when
he realized what he’d just said. Girlfriend. He meant to say girlfriend,
even if that was a lie.

When Max looked up from the shoebox, everything seemed to

happen in slow motion. His eyebrows cocked in positions of definite
interest. His eyes were ice blue without seeming cold. “Nice
boyfriend.”

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

“Yeah,” Randy agreed. The words came racing past his tongue.

He had no idea where they came from or why they were so insistent.
“Yeah, Brent was a really nice guy. He broke up with me; I didn’t break
up with him. We’d still be together if it was up to me, but, you know,
these things happen. We’re actually just getting back to being good
friends again now. Anyway, before he dumped me, he gave me all
these toys. For Christmas. I said that already, didn’t I? I did. I know.
Sorry, I’m talking too much. I’ll shut up now.”

Max sat with a huge smirk on his face and his back impeccably

straight. Randy still couldn’t get over how huge his arms were. They
looked like two great big snow-white cocks.

“You know, I saw this thing on TV, on a science show,” Randy

started up again. Why the hell was he still talking? He tried to stop
himself, but no use. In fact, the more resonance he developed in his
voice, the more he enjoyed listening to himself speak. Even if he had
nothing relevant or even interesting to say. Like right now. “Do you
know where the word muscle comes from? It’s from the Greek….”

“That sounds about right,” Max interrupted with a deep chuckle.

Thinking back, Randy said, “Actually, maybe it’s from Latin. One

or the other. Anyway, the word muscle comes from the word for
mouse, because they thought writhing muscles looked like little mice
running around under your skin.”

Max flexed his biceps and in seconds Randy’s packer was wet

with lube. He could feel it drooling down Mr. Limpy as Max turned his
fists in and out. Mice the size of raccoons raced back and forth under
his white flesh. Randy had to wonder how much of his arousal was
attraction and how much was jealousy. Fuck, he’d give anything—
anything—to look like Max. Why couldn’t he be a tall, hot muscle-god?
It didn’t seem to matter what Randy lifted, he never put on muscle like

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

that. And he was starting out with a distinct disadvantage.

“It does look like mice, doesn’t it?” Max replied, interrupting

Randy’s unachievable reverie of throat-fucking the muscle hunk.

“Yeah, entomology’s funny,” Randy said. He didn’t want to, but he

felt himself pressing up against the glass case. He was so damn juiced-
up, he let himself writhe a bit against his silicon piece. It felt so good.

“Etymology,” Max corrected.

“Huh?” It’s not that he liked to get off on his own packer,

especially not in public, but Max’s ripped body made him horny as
hell.

Max stretched his arms far out like a witch on the rack. His

muscles twinged as he extended his fingers before bringing them back
in and shaking them out. “Etymology is the study of word origins,” he
said. “Entomology is the study of insects.”

“Oh,” Randy replied. He could feel his face turning red from

embarrassment, and that made him feel like an even bigger fuck-up.

“It’s a common mistake,” Max went on. “People are always

mixing up those two words.”

Brains and brawn? Randy was becoming seriously interested in

this guy. If he offered him the big bucks for his box of toys, Randy
might have to proposition him on the spot. “So, what do you think?
Are they worth anything?”

“Worth anything?” Max chuckled, picking one of the wind-up

toys out of the box and setting it on the glass countertop. “Where did
your boyfriend say he got these from?”

“I think he said they were German,” Randy replied, picking up his

favorite of the little toys—a weird-looking gnome guy with a toadstool

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

for a hat.

“Yeah, they’re German. That’s a definite.”

Setting the gnome dude down on the countertop, he wound the

key and the little guy’s arms and legs flailed like an epileptic troll. “His
grandfather brought them home after the war. World War Two. That
was long before Brent was born, obviously.” Randy trapped the gnome
in his hands before it could throw itself off the counter. “Brent was
pretty pissed when his grandpa died and only left him a shoebox of
toys. They were really close.”

Max laughed, throwing his head back and clapping his hands.

“Some inheritance!”

“Yeah, that’s what Brent said.”

“No, I mean it,” Max went on. “Zero sarcasm here. If my

grandfather left me a box of pre-war Schuco wind-ups, I’d have
opened up my business years sooner.”

A thrill of a chill went down Randy’s spine. “So, you’re saying

they’re worth a lot?”

When Max dug into the shoebox, he smiled like Cheshire Cat

from Alice in Wonderland. He lined up seven of the strange little men
side by side on the counter. “I guess you know who these guys are.”

Randy picked up the first gnome, armed with a pickaxe, and

wound him up. As he chopped a path across the counter, Randy said,
“They always reminded me of, like, a cult of murderous leprechauns
or something. Don’t you think they look sort of evil?”

“No,” Max scoffed. Using a toothpick-like pointer, he drew

attention to its pink painted-on lips. “Look at that darling little face.
He’s smiling at you! How could you think he was evil?”

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It seemed odd for a man with so many muscles to use a word like

darling. Randy smirked. “I don’t trust people who seem happy. I figure
they must either be really stupid or have something up their sleeves.”

“That’s too bad,” Max replied. His expression was pitying, like he

took him a little too seriously. Although, Randy meant what he said.
Smiley faces bugged the shit out of him. “All right, I’ll give you a hint.
What if I told you this set was missing one figure?”

With a shrug, Randy said, “Dude, I have no clue. Brent never

mentioned what they were supposed to be.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to give up until

Randy figured it out. “Just one figure,” he went on like a grade-school
teacher. “A female figure. Seven little men and….”

“Snow White!” Of course! He felt like a total moron not guessing it

right off the bat. “Snow White and the seven dwarves.”

“Am I right in thinking you don’t have Snow White anywhere?”

Thinking back through the years, Randy tried to visualize the

shelf in Brent’s bedroom where he’d put them after his grandfather
died. “No, I don’t remember ever seeing a Snow White. What about all
those other little ones in there?” he asked, pulling a fuzzy rabbit from
the shoebox.

“Oh, those are nothing,” Max replied, waving the rabbit away.

Randy put it back in the box. “The animals are a hundred. They all run
okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, though he’d never actually played with them.

When Max bent forward to turn the keys on each of the seven
dwarves, his intense man-scent smacked Randy in the face. It was a
physical aroma, raw but clean, like a hot, soapy shower at the gym.
Once that scent invaded his lungs, he didn’t want to breathe out. He

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

wanted to keep it inside him forever.

A slight wave of guilt passed through him when he realized he

was selling off Brent’s inheritance. Was it really awful of him to get rid
of the lot for… wait, how much? A hundred bucks just for the animals?
He didn’t think he’d get that for the whole shoebox.

“If you had the Snow White, I could hook you up with a buyer

who’d give you ten for them all. It’s too bad. He won’t purchase an
incomplete set.”

Randy mulled the words over, but couldn’t make sense of them.

“Give me ten… ten what?”

“Ten thousand,” Max replied without looking up from the last of

the gnomes.

Was this place in the twilight zone or something? It was a box of

toys, for Christ’s sake! With a pronounced gulp, Randy squeaked a
syllable and then stopped to push his voice back down. For someone
who didn’t want to seem like a total moron, he was doing a mighty
fine job of it. “Ten thousand dollars?”

Max looked him up and down with a forgiving smirk.

“Remember, that would be if you had the full set, which you don’t.” He
must have been thinking, Not another one of these schmucks! What
does he think this is, Antiques Roadshow? “That missing Snow White’s
going to cost you. I can offer five thousand.”

If he’d been sitting, Randy would have fallen off his chair. As it

was, he grasped the counter to stay upright. This had to be a joke.
Someone was setting him up. There was no other explanation. A
bunch of stupid toys couldn’t possibly be worth so much.

Randy was utterly at a loss for words, which seemed to make

Max think he’d caused offense. “Oh, I’m sorry. I always assume

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

everybody wants to sell. Were you just looking for an evaluation?”

“No!” Randy cried. He clutched at his chest, but of course he

couldn’t feel his heartbeat under so many bulky layers of clothing.
“No, I definitely want to sell. Jeez, I was just hoping for enough to get
my mom a cordless drill for Christmas. With fifty-one hundred, I could
fill a workshop.”

Winding his way through the animals, Max asked, “Fifty-one?

Your math’s off, little dude.” Counting up the “cheap” toys, he said, “At
one hundred a piece over here, you’ve got a good sixty-five coming to
you, if you’re sure you want to sell.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” Randy said, suppressing the urge to do his happy

dance all around the shop. This must be what brides felt like on their
wedding days—like they were set for life.

“Good,” Max replied, so calmly Randy wanted to shake him. Kiss

him? Maybe. “Honestly, there’s not much to these little guys, but with
the holidays coming people will snap them up like nobody’s business.”

Kiss him? Definitely.

Reaching across the counter, Randy grabbed Max by the scruff of

his thick neck. Everything went slow-mo as he leaned in for the kill.
When his eager lips came within two centimetres of Max’s, the
muscle-god turned his head downwards while Randy was still moving
forward. He smacked Randy’s chin with his nose, causing him to look
down just as his chest met the lineup of toys. In one swift motion, Max
put his hands out to guard the wind-up windfall, but in the process his
built forearm met Randy’s chest.

He’d never moved so fast in his life. In fact, Randy could hardly

fathom how he’d managed to get from one end of the shop to the
other—without breaking anything—in about three seconds. All he

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

knew was that he couldn’t catch his breath. His whole body seemed to
be shaking as he shielded his chest with his arms, staring with alarm
at a very still antiques dealer.

When Max spoke up, Randy was sure he knew everything. “I’m

really sorry, man. I didn’t mean to…” he chuckled nervously. Was that
a nervous chuckle? Or was Randy reading too much into it, as usual?
“Just protecting your treasures.”

It seemed like ages before he could breathe again. How could

Max possibly have felt anything? He couldn’t have. Randy was bound
tight as the foot of a Chinese empress. God, what a terrible comparison.
Why would he think a thing like that? He must have picked it up online
somewhere, from one of those forum-lurking degenerates. Why was
everybody an ass-face except him? He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just
a little jumpy. I don’t get as much sleep as I should these days.”

Max placed each toy gently back inside the shoebox before

grabbing a photocopied form and his checkbook from the back
counter. A checkbook? Damn it. He figured it would be two hundred
bucks tops for the shoebox. He’d get a couple fifties and be on his way.
He’d have to think on his feet now. “So, if we’ve got a deal, I’ll just get
your personal information, and we can finish up our transaction.”

Transaction. Trans-action. God, he knew. He knew everything.

Randy could feel the sweat trickling down his pits and wetting his
binder. But how could he take off with sixty five hundred hanging in
the balance? He was overreacting, as usual. How could Max possibly
know?

“Name?”

“Randy,” he replied softly.

Max chuckled as he leaned over the form. “I know your first

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

name. What’s your last name?”

“Oh,” he hesitated. He cleared his throat and tried to hit a deeper

pitch, but his alarm raised it up and up. “It’s Venner. V-e-n-n-e-r.”

“Address?”

Randy sounded like a girl when he replied, and that made him

hate the process. It almost made him hate Max for asking the
questions, but not quite. There was something about Max that seemed
really accepting. He walked a little closer to the back of the shop, so
that he reached the counter just as Max announced, “All right, now all I
need to see is a piece of photo ID, and I can write you a check.”

The sweat that had all but evaporated came back like a tidal

wave. Randy went corpse-cold. How could he get around showing ID?
He didn’t want to leave without a check in hand. The price seemed too
good to be true. He pushed his voice down. “Actually, funny story. I
don’t actually have any photo ID. I don’t drive, so no license, and I
don’t travel, so no passport.” He tried to sound smooth as he chuckled,
but he knew he was coming across as criminally nervous.

“Okay,” Max said with an understanding nod. “Well, legally, I do

need to collect personal information and see ID in order to make the
purchase. Do you have, like a student card and a credit card, or a… I
don’t know. What’s in your wallet? ”

A sense of desperation overcame Randy as he realized he’d

never get his hands on the money for his mom’s Christmas gift. The
last thing he wanted to seem was argumentative, but a sense of
irritation built like a volcano in him until he burst with, “Why do you
need to see my ID? I don’t get that. What, you don’t believe Brent gave
that stuff to me? You think I stole it or something? Is that what this is
all about? Because I am not a crook.”

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Dammit! He didn’t mean to throw a Nixon quote in there, but it

certainly colored Max’s reaction. Instead of getting all self-righteous,
he just laughed. “Yeah, man, I know, but that’s the law and I have to
follow it. For all I know, you could be an undercover cop looking to
bust me.”

His kind gaze softened Randy to the point where he couldn’t bear

to argue. But what could he say? If he claimed he’d left his wallet at
home, Max would just tell him to go and get it. Anywhere else, he’d
have been long gone, but there was something encouraging in Max’s
demeanor. The more he looked him in the eye, the more Randy
thought this might be a safe place. His friendly gaze sparked the image
of the hippie woman leaving the shop as he’d arrived. She was very
tall, with broad shoulders. Max had called her a draft-dodger, hadn’t
he? Vietnam was way before his time, of course, but even Randy knew
only men were drafted to war. Only men would have come up to
Canada to dodge the draft.

In an ultra-casual motion, Max picked up his toothpick-pointer-

thing. He tapped at the plastic sign indicating which credit cards his
shop accepted. Behind the sign, on the old-school cash register was a
sticker that made Randy’s heart jump. At the top of the decal was a
rainbow flag, and on the bottom there was a familiar pink triangle
containing the transgender symbol of a Mars arrow, a Venus cross,
and a combination of the two all joined by a central ring. In the middle
were the words “Friendly Space.” Randy stared at the sticker. On the
one hand, it was a clear indication Max had read him. Why else would
he have uncovered the sticker? If boys could cry, he would have cried.
Instead, he bit his lip and suppressed the hurt. And, God, did it ever
hurt when someone could tell he was FTM.

On the other hand, he had to feel indebted to Max for his class.

Instead of just calling him out, he’d displayed some subtlety. He’d

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given Randy the opportunity to disclose or not to disclose. He had a
choice, and the gentle and encouraging look in Max’s eye made the
whole situation a little easier to handle. Not that it was easy easy; he
wondered if he was being set up, but couldn’t bring himself to believe
any trans-basher would have that friendly space sticker up in his shop.
His mind showed him a slide show of every negative situation that
could arise out of disclosing, but in his heart he knew Max was a good
person. He knew Max wouldn’t hurt him.

Wiping his sweating hands on his cargo pants, he grabbed for his

wallet and slid out his folded-up passport.

Surname/Nom: VENNER

Given Names/Prénoms: JENNIFER ANN

Nationality/Nationalité: CANADIAN/CANADIENNE

Date of Birth/Date de naissance: 24 APR / AVR 1977

Sex/Sexe: F

He held his breath as he handed it over to Max. Somewhat

ashamed and somewhat bashful, he said, “I haven’t changed it yet.”

Max took a look to confirm and then passed the ID back to

Randy. His voice was smooth and receptive when he asked, “Why
not?”

As quick as he could, Randy folded it up and shoved it back in his

wallet. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Just… everything costs
money, you know?”

Nodding, Max said, “One hundred and thirty seven dollars, last

time I checked.”

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Randy looked straight up at him, trying not to seem too shocked.

It was just a really random figure to know with such precision. “Yeah.”

“I have an ex who’s trans,” he said. Randy felt a smile growing

across his cheeks as Max walked toward the back room. He offered an
inviting nod and went on, “I still have strong ties to the community.
Want to sit down for a coffee? I know how hard it is to find allies in the
big bad world.”

“Sure!” Randy cried before thoughts of rat poison and Arsenic

and Old Lace clouded his vision. Why did he have to be so suspicious of

everyone? Because there were people out there who could and would
do him real harm, given the opportunity. He had to protect himself.

The back room might have once looked spacious—like on

blueprints—but was now overrun with boxes and stuff. In its own era,
before houses on this street had been converted to shops and offices,
this room had probably been the kitchen of a family home. Back in the
corner, there was a vintage fridge. The dingy window looked out onto
a snow-covered garden. From the trellises and structures, he could tell
it was extensive in the growing season. “I’m not much of a gardener,”
Max explained. “When I bought this house, it came with so much land
in the back that I rented out gardening plots to apartment-dwellers up
the street.”

“That’s a good idea,” Randy said, pondering what he might

possibly be able to rent out. Probably nothing.

“Yeah, and they say money doesn’t grow on trees.”

Randy smiled as Max retrieved two mugs from the cupboard.

One was shaped like the Roadrunner’s head. The other was pinky-
beige with a penis growing out the side for a handle. He thought he
should find that one funny, but it seemed inexplicably jarring. “I’ll take
the Roadrunner,” he said. “Unless it’s yours.”

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“Well, they’re all mine now,” Max replied, pouring out two cups

of coffee. “The handles on these novelty mugs break off like nothing.
Lots of people will come into the shop, they’re looking at a mug, and
the handle just comes off in their hands. I glue them back on, but the
value is so low I just end up stocking my kitchen with them. I’ve got
more mugs than I can handle. Cream and sugar?”

“Black is good for me,” Randy replied.

Max handed him the Roadrunner, laughing, “Once you go

black….”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. When Max offered him a seat at the table by

the window, he sat in the one padded vintage chair that wasn’t piled
sky-high with papers and crap. It felt so cozy to be sitting in a warm
kitchen with Max. “Hey, I can just picture that cock snapping off in
some guy’s hand. He must have gone beet red.”

Topping the penis mug with cream from the fridge, Max nodded

toward the window. “No, this little guy was a gift from one of my
gardeners, Mrs. Pham. Older lady, but she just loves me.” Picking up a
pile of file folders from one of the kitchen chairs, he looked all around
for somewhere to put it. There were already masses of papers
everywhere, so he tossed it on the floor. “All summer she was trying to
set me up with her granddaughter, saying, ‘If Huong is going to date
white boys, I should be able to choose which ones.’”

“Oh no,” Randy chuckled, sipping his coffee. Very gourmet. Good

stuff.

“Yeah,” Max said with a giving smile. “And I kept making my

excuses, but this lovely woman had tunnel vision: I was going to date
her granddaughter. That was that. So one day, I finally had to say, ‘You
know, Huong sounds lovely, but I’m gay. I date men.’”

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When Max paused to sip from his penis mug, Randy asked,

“What did she say?”

He placed the mug down on the 1950s gold-specked tabletop,

smiling as he swallowed. “She didn’t say anything at the time. She just
kept on gardening with a scowl on her face. I thought she’d pack up
her magic beans and never come back to my garden.”

“Did she?”

Taking another sip, Max nodded. “After the weekend, she came

back with this thing. Found it at a flea market, she said, and thought of
me right away. ‘Because you like the boys’. It was hilarious. She was
just glowing, with this impish look on her face. It was great.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sometimes people really surprise you. That

was like my mom when I sort of came out to her.” When he said those
words, came out, he looked down into his coffee, but when he’d
finished his sentence he looked up to find Max nodding. “I mean, she
probably sort of had a sense for a long time. We still live together and
everything, so there’s a lot of interaction there. And, you know, a lot of
the ‘guy stuff’ I grew up doing was right there alongside my mom. All
the sports and the fixing stuff around the house, you know? I learned
all that from her. So she understood, when I told her how I felt. I guess
I knew she’d understand and that’s why I was so okay with talking
about it. I wasn’t even all that surprised when she said she’d had some
of those same feelings, just not so strong as me, I guess.”

“Sounds like a good mom you’ve got there,” Max replied, absently

running his fingertips along the penis-handle on his mug.

“Yeah,” he said. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling at the

thought of her acceptance. “She’s really great. That’s why I decided to
sell those toys Brent gave me. I wanted to get her something
incredible for Christmas. Bagging groceries for a living, you know, the

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money’s tight.”

“I hear that,” Max replied. When he got up and walked to the

counter for a top-up, Randy realized his Roadrunner was still almost
full up. He took another sip. “Try being an entrepreneur. You spend
the first few years of your business working fourteen-hour days seven
days a week and still owing everybody else money. You kiss your
social life goodbye when you take on a business, that’s for sure. I’m
only at the point now where I could even consider either taking on
staff or finding a good guy.”

“Unless the staffer and the guy were the same person,” Randy cut

in. “Then every workday would be like a date night. God, wouldn’t that
be awesome?” It was only after he’d said it that it struck him how he
sounded. A little like, You can hire me and date me. How’s about it? Max
must have thought he was totally desperate.

But Max seemed to be mulling over something altogether

different as he fixed his coffee with cream. “So, how do they pay you at
your work, if you haven’t changed your ID yet?” The question made
Randy nervous… or embarrassed… or something like that. He didn’t
want to answer. He didn’t answer. Max returned to the table. Sitting
across from Randy, he asked very casually, “Do you still identify girl at
work?”

Ashamed. That was the name of the feeling Randy had tapped. “I

pretty much dress the same, except I don’t bind. It would just be so
weird because I’ve been working at the same supermarket since high
school. I’ve known some of those people for like fifteen years, and they
all call me Jen. It was one thing explaining the whole situation to my
mom. I don’t want to have to explain myself to a hundred other
people. I don’t want to go to work fearing for my safety, you know?”

“I know,” Max said right away. “Oh, you’re preaching to the choir,

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

man. But, I tell you, once my ex—his name was Jack—once he started
on T and really got chin-deep into the whole thing, he became so much
more comfortable in his own skin. It works wonders, having that piece
of ID with your chosen name on it and having those hormones
coursing through your body.”

“It all just seems so huge, you know?” Randy said. “The

hormones, the ID, the telling everybody I’m a guy now, and then
surgeries if I go that far. I definitely want top surgery, but I don’t know
about bottom. It’s dangerous, I hear, and sure I’d have a penis, but it
wouldn’t work. And everything’s got a price tag on it.”

Max nodded. “Well, you know, some things are covered by

Medicare, but you’re right—not everything. And, hey, you’re sixty-five
hundred dollars richer today, remember. Go ask your friend Brent
what other toys he’s got squirreled away. Maybe we can put a few
more dollars in your many pockets,” he chuckled, pointing his penis
mug down at Randy’s cargo pants.

But Randy was off in fairyland. “How did your guy, Jack, get

through it all?”

“With my help,” Max replied. He laughed, shaking his head. “That

sounded way too self-congratulatory, but you know what I mean: it
helps to have friends you can rely on. Yes, Jack lost some friends along
the way, but he gained others through a social support group
downtown. He was lucky to work with a doctor who really understood
trans folks. I’m not saying he was shooting sunshine out his ass every
day of the week, but his transition was smoother than some peoples’.”

With a surge of jealousy toward this unknown Jack, Randy said,

“Wow, I wish I had someone like you in my life.”

“Well,” Max began, shrugging his deliciously huge shoulders. He

looked out the window. It had started snowing again outside. “I know

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

we just met, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking up a cause
here, but if you want my support, you’ve got it.”

When Max reached his hand across the table, Randy was

overcome with an emotion that could only be described as love. Christ,
he couldn’t be falling for this guy. Why, when he’d only be rejected?
But, then, there was Max’s palm face-up on the table. Maybe it wasn’t
an offer of marriage, but it was obviously an offer of something. Now
Randy didn’t know if he ought to shake it, slap it, or slip his own hand
into it. He stared at that palm until it reached up, grabbed his arm, and
shook him. “Okay, fine,” Max laughed. “I’ll take my support and give it
to some other trans guy in need.”

“No,” Randy cried. He sounded so whiny. Pushing his voice down,

he said, “No, I want your help. I need someone who knows the ropes,
because I really do want to push forward.” Setting his Roadrunner
mug down on the table, he reached over to place his hand on Max’s.
“There’s so much I don’t know, and you know how it is out in the
world of guys: you always need to be the best. You can’t falter or ask
questions. You always need to be in command, be authoritative.”

“You don’t have to,” Max countered, flipping his palm around

until they were holding hands. “There are all different ways of
expressing masculinity. Look at me—I play with dolls for a living—
and do you think anyone would ever accuse me of not being a man?”

“Hell, no,” Randy replied, eyeing his great chest. “But look at your

muscles. That’s what gives you the Olympic edge.”

Max shrugged like they weren’t a big deal. “Once we get you on T,

you’ll put them on like wildfire.”

“Is that what happened with your Jack?”

A reflective smile melted across Max’s lips as he gazed out to the

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

back garden. He slipped his hand out of Randy’s. “The testosterone
changed Jack in more ways than one, but that was okay. He was
becoming more himself.” Throughout the pregnant pause that
followed, Randy drank his coffee and watched Max’s face as he
escaped to the land of memory. Finally, Max continued, “I won’t say
the T turned him straight, but it really brought to the fore a newfound
love of boobies and pussies and all things related to skirt-chasing. It
was hard for me, at first. I felt like I’d helped him so much along the
way and suddenly he was leaving me high and dry. But, you know, we
all experience our progressions in life, and I guess that was Jack’s.”

Randy stared into his coffee for a while, wondering if the same

thing would happen to him. He didn’t think so. He hoped not. If he was
going to be attracted to girls, wouldn’t he have been there already?
“Most of the trans guys I chat with online say they went through a
period of seeing themselves as butch dykes before realizing they were
trans. That never happened for me. I never liked girls. I didn’t even
like being friends with girls when I was a kid.”

“Oh, I played with the girls when I was a kid,” Max said. “My mom

thought it was cute. My father hated it.”

“Nope, no girls for me. Even when I was in high school, I hung out

with the boys. But at that point, I didn’t really know how I fit in with
them yet. I was pretty slutty. I liked it though, because I felt… I don’t
know… it’s hard to describe,” Randy said, thinking back through the
years. “At the time, I kind of saw them as gay for sleeping with me. I
liked to take it from behind and picture myself as a kind of a twink
bottom with a totally flat chest taking it up the ass. I mean, I was
pretty flat-chested anyway, so it wasn’t much of a stretch, but I
remember feeling like I was initiating all these ‘straight’ guys into a
different world. But, you know, we’re all so immature in high school.
Now I can’t even imagine what I’d do in bed with a guy.”

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

Max’s eyebrows seemed to rise for a split-second before he could

get them under control. “Can’t you?”

Randy looked back at him with a crooked grin. “Why? Do you

have any suggestions?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a proud smile. “First off, you need to

know where your no zones are. I mean, you need to be able to
communicate to your partner where you aren’t comfortable being
touched.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Randy said, picking up his coffee. “Everywhere.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” Max laughed. “By everywhere, is it

safe to assume you mean your chest and your…” When he paused to
clear his throat, Randy chuckled. The bashfulness seemed so
uncharacteristic. “Lower parts?”

Randy nodded. “Yeah.” He brought the Roadrunner mug to his

mouth before deciding he really didn’t feel like any more coffee. “It’s
weird. It’s like I want a boyfriend, but I don’t go for it because… I don’t
know….”

“You want a guy who sees you as a guy,” Max suggested.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“But you know you’ll have to disclose soon enough, and you’re

afraid he’ll stop seeing you for who you are.”

“Exactly!” Randy cried. He couldn’t believe there was someone

out in the world who understood him so well after knowing him for
only half an hour or so. There was an instant spark, an instant affinity,
and he wondered with all his heart if Max saw it too. “And on the off-
chance I found a guy who saw me as a guy, what are the chances he
would be able to respect my need not to fuck? It just seems like that
could never happen, you know? And I don’t want to be the trans guy

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

who runs around sucking every cock on the block. Anyone can hand
out blowjobs. I need to know a guy respects who I am, you know?”

With a caring smile, Max said, “Oh, I understand completely, little

man.” Max looked him straight in the eye with a gaze of absolute
honesty before saying, “I mean it. I understand what you’re going
through.”

This time, Randy held out his hand, setting his mug off to the

side. Max placed a much larger palm on top of his and left it there. His
smile was so open and giving, Randy wanted to jump him on the spot.
Of course, the body he pictured doing the jumping had no boobs and
no pussy. It was a guy’s body—flat where it ought to be, and
protruding in one particular place. What he wouldn’t give to feel Max
suck his cock… the cock he didn’t have. And that was exactly the
reason he didn’t like thinking about sex.

“You know,” Max said, observing the obvious sadness in Randy’s

face. “Sex doesn’t have to mean one man fucking another man.” He
brought Randy’s hand close to his mouth and slowly kissed each
knuckle. Randy thought his heart would explode if his throbbing
lowers didn’t get there first. “Sex can be anything from a lusting gaze,
to calling a guy up and telling him what you’re going to do to him
when you get together, to….” Looking up at Randy, Max flattened out
his fingers. “Have you ever considered how many body parts guys and
girls both have? I mean, even cocks and clits have the same origins in
the womb.”

“Yeah,” Randy considered. How could all this possibly be

happening? What exactly was happening? “But how does that help me
now?”

When Max ran his fingers along Randy’s, he just about jumped

out of his skin. It felt so damn good, being touched like that. But what

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

felt best of all was knowing Max knew his secret and still saw him as a
guy, through and through. “Well,” Max said, bringing Randy’s fingers
close to his pouty pink lips. “Everybody has fingers. And I happen to
have firsthand knowledge of how great it feels they come in contact
with a warm mouth and a fierce tongue.”

“Oh,” Randy panted, absolutely breathless. His mind was a mess.

He couldn’t think what to say.

“Has anybody ever sucked your fingers, Randy?”

His whole body throbbed like a hard cock, not just at the mention

of finger-sucking, but on hearing his name spoken by that gorgeous
set of lips. “No, never.”

“Do you want me to?” Max offered. His smile was so accepting,

and so giving, Randy couldn’t have said no if he wanted to.

“Please, yes,” he moaned as Max slipped the tip of his index

finger into his coffee-hot mouth. He nearly flattened himself on the
1950s kitchen table as Max sucked his finger all the way in, right to
the knuckle. The warm, pulsing sensation of his tongue made Randy
ooze with juice. Max was about the hottest guy he’d ever seen, and
there on the other side of the table he was slipping Randy’s middle
finger into his mouth. Sliding his gorgeous lips all the way to the
knuckles of those two fingers, he slid his tongue between them. When
Max licked that crease between finger one and finger two, Randy
couldn’t contain himself. God, yes. Suck it!

“You like that, do you?” Max asked, grinning even with two

fingers in his mouth.

“Fuck, yeah,” he roared, clawing at the table. “Give to me.”

Max sucked his fingertips, running his bottom teeth against the

pads. It was the warmth and the wetness that made it so good.

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

“Should we go for three?”

“Fuck, yeah!” Randy repeated. He was too consumed by pleasure

to think up something original to say. But there was enough
originality in this whole situation to make up for it.

Wrapping his mouth around three fingertips, Max slid his tongue

down their underbellies. That strong slab of hot flesh undulated,
rising up and around his wet fingers. It felt so incredibly good, Randy
couldn’t keep himself from moving his hand in and out of Max’s
receptive mouth. He couldn’t get over the hot sensation of firm fingers
penetrating a gorgeous guy. He’d never experienced anything like it
before, like he was giving it to Max and Max was gladly taking it. Even
so, he knew Max had ultimate control over the situation. All he had to
do was stop and leave Randy high and dry.

Max held Randy’s hand in both of his and took his pinky into his

mouth. Four fingers got their due in that warm, wet hot tub of an
opening. Max was a godsend. Nobody else could have shown him this
kind of pleasure without disrespecting his identity. But, then, the
disrespect would have negated the pleasure anyway. With Max, his
body went wild until he was writhing in his chair. More than that, he
realized he was growling and panting and moaning—wearing all the
vocal accoutrements of the highly orgasmic. The more Max sucked his
fingers, the harder it became to keep himself from shouting, “Fuck,
yes! God that’s good. That feels so good!”

In the distance, a set of bells jangled, and it took a few seconds

before Randy realized someone had entered the shop. Sliding wet
fingers from an incredibly hot mouth, Max pressed Randy’s hands
between his and said, “I’m sorry. I totally lost track of the time. Will
you stay right here while I deal with this appraisal?”

Randy nodded, his mouth hanging wide open. Where would he

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

go after such an intense happening? Though, as Max went into the
shop, he did get up to wash the hot saliva from his hands. He listened
in on their conversation. The seller’s voice was jarring. He was glad to
be hiding in another room. “Guess business isn’t going too well for
you, eh?” she jabbed at him.

Max’s voice hardened a tad. “Why do you say that?”

She cackled in response. “No customers!”

“I guess your vast powers of perception didn’t enable you to

make out the closed sign in the window,” he replied. “Mondays, I only
do appraisals and appointments. The shop will be open tomorrow,
and you can see for yourself all the customers I get in here.”

Listening to their conversation, Randy felt irritated on Max’s

behalf. He hated the condescending way that woman talked to him.
Empathy. God, he really was falling for Max, wasn’t he? But he judged,
from the way Max looked him in the eye through the whole finger-
sucking thing, that he felt the same way.

“God, I just wanted to punch her,” Randy said, coming out into

the shop after the woman left.

“Yeah,” Max considered, “but punching people is seriously bad

for business.” Stretching out his arm, he pulled Randy in close for a
side-by-side hug. “What really got me is that she’s kind of right. People
don’t want to shop in bricks-and-mortar stores anymore; they want to
buy stuff online. I wouldn’t even know how to start expanding my
business.”

“Seriously?” Randy asked. He thought every relatively young

person now bought and sold stuff online. He’d done both about a
million times. “I could set you up easy. Want me to?”

Max looked at him with a nearly blank expression. “You know

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

how to do all that stuff?”

“Dude, everybody knows how to do that stuff.”

“I don’t,” Max admitted.

With a forgiving chuckle, Randy said, “Okay, everybody but you.

Are you registered with a shipping company?”

“No….”

“Okay, I’ll get you set up with a business account. That’s the first

step. Then I’ll just have to create a website for you….”

“You know how to do that?” Max asked, still with an air of

disbelief. “It all seems so complicated.”

Randy shook his head. “Trust me, it isn’t. We’ll set you up on

auction sites and… oh God, what else? I’ll look into other avenues.” He
realized his heart was hopping in his chest just like it had when Max
took his fingers in hand. He’d never been so excited about the
prospect of helping someone’s business.

A pearly smile streaked across Max’s face. “Do you think you can

get all this going in time for the Christmas rush? I can’t even imagine
the money we’d make.”

“It’ll be a lot of work, but yeah,” Randy said. His heart was racing.

“Wait… we?”

“Well, yeah. Of course,” Max replied. He was beaming with

excitement too. Randy could tell by the look in his eyes. “You think I’m
looking for slave laborers? No way. I need a web guy, and I’ll pay you
what you’re worth. Can you start right away?”

He couldn’t believe the whirlwind of happenings. In one day, he’d

gone from grocery girl to web guy. The excitement was overwhelming,
like an ice cream headache coupled with a sugar high. “Yeah,” Randy

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

gushed. “I mean, I’ll have to quit the supermarket, but I can work with
you around my shifts until my two weeks’ notice is up.”

Max gave him an approving nod. “I like a man with professional

integrity. Very classy.”

Looking up into Max’s gorgeous face and caring eyes, Randy

couldn’t control his appetite. He took a chance. Standing up on his
toes, he kissed the muscle-god-slash-antiques-dealer full-on. He’d
already met Max’s mouth, but not like this. Randy always considered
kissing the most intimate act in existence. To put his head in
someone’s hands and his tongue in someone’s mouth seemed so
private, he could never kiss in public. Max leaned down as their hot
tongues mingled, only breaking away to say, “Wow.”

“Wow,” Randy repeated. His heart was definitely about to

explode.

Max leaned against the glass case. “You’re a good kisser. That

made me weak in the knees.”

Randy smiled, standing upright and erect. “So are you.”

They stood at the back of the shop, gazing at each other like a

pair of grade-school boys who’d put a tack on the teacher’s chair. They
were in on something, and in on it together. “Oh,” Max said, shaking
his head out of dreamland and back to business. “I still need to write
you a check.”

“That’s right,” Randy recalled.

With a sigh, Max said, “Now, tell me, who should I make it out

to?”

Tricky. After all the encouragement and offers of long-standing

support, Randy really wanted to speed up his transition. First thing
was first: he’d change his name. Officially. “How about this,” Randy

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

said. “Make out one check to Jennifer. It should be enough to cover the
one hundred and thirty seven dollar name change and a really great
Christmas gift for my mom. Make out the rest to Randy. That way I
can’t cash it until I’ve changed my papers and my accounts.”

“Great idea,” Max said, writing them out. “That way you know

you’ve got a big, fat check waiting as your reward.”

“Exactly,” Randy replied, watching him work. He couldn’t believe

all the papers everywhere. Picking up the page with his girl name and
address on it, he asked, “Wait, do you not enter any of this information
into a database or anything?”

Max shot him a sheepish grin and shrugged. “If you want to take

on that task, you’re welcome to it.”

“I just don’t know how you can stay organized without a

computer,” Randy chuckled as Max handed him the checks.

“If you want to get me organized, you’re welcome to that task

too.”

Randy laughed out loud as he considered the word, “Organized.

Organ-ized….”

Catching his drift, Max smiled. “If you ever want me to organ-ize

you, just say the word.”

“If any man does, it’ll be you,” Randy said, inching toward the

front door. It wasn’t idle flirtation, either. He really meant it. “Anyway,
man, I’m going to take off and quit my job. I’ve never gone there
bound, but I guess I’m feeling extra confident. Today’s a new
beginning, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Aw, shucks,” Max replied in mock-bashfulness. “I’m a minor

player.”

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Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

“No, man, I’m serious,” Randy went on. “I just came here looking

for money to buy my mom a great Christmas gift. You’ve given me the
money to buy a new life and a job where I can work as myself.”

Taking Randy by the arms, Max squeezed his growing biceps.

“You forgot the most important part.”

Randy took a hopeful breath in. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Max replied, leaning in to plant a hot kiss on his lips. “I’ll

give you support. I’ll give you encouragement. I’ll give you a hand to
hold and lips to kiss and so much more, if that’s what you want.”

He couldn’t move, except to say, “I do.”

With a chuckle, Max said, “Christmas came early this year, huh?”

Randy nodded. “I’d better write Santa a nice thank you letter. He

brought me the one gift I never thought I could have—a great,
gorgeous guy who understands me inside and out.”

Giving Max’s hand a firm squeeze, Randy made his way out of the

shop. Sure, some people on the bus stared at him, but he was
confident they were just jealous of his mile-wide smile.

30

Got

Mistletoe Madness?

The Dreamspinner Press 2009 Advent Calendar is available at

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com.

There’s a reason guys growl for

G.R. R

ICHARDS

erotica. You would

never know it by the love of public television documentaries and great
food in high end restaurants, but G.R. pens some of the world’s
steamiest guy-on-guy stories. G.R. is no stranger to a bed damp with
sweat or the sweetness of bodies pressed against each other. Next
time you feel the urge, pour yourself a glass of fine red wine, play
some sultry background music, and join G.R. Richards in a world
where all the guys get to play… and all the rest get to watch.

Visit G.R.’s web site at http://www.grrichards.webs.com.

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys ©Copyright G.R. Richards, 2009

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of
the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any
means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal
prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally
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Released in the United States of America
December 2009

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-330-8