The trunk

by Cris Kane

A homeowner is surprised when he opens a trunk left behind by the previous resident.

The airy upstairs bedroom was empty, except for the battered metal trunk near the windows. Dane had noticed the case when the realtor showed him the place, but he had assumed it, like all of the dusty relics cluttering the house, would be gone once he took ownership. All of the old lady’s other belongings had been cleared out, so it seemed strange that the movers would have overlooked the large steel box.

Dane pulled out his phone to call the real estate agent, but hesitated. He’d watched enough of those TV shows like Antiques Roadshow where people found something weird and old tucked away in a garage or a basement or an attic, only to have it valued in the tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. If the old lady’s estate mistakenly left something valuable behind, wasn’t it technically his property now? “Finders keepers,” Dane thought with a smirk.

He started to muse about what sort of treasure might lurk inside of the trunk. Probably just some mothballed dresses from the Fifties or a jumble of knitting supplies. Dane found it hard to imagine that an old maid of 85 could have stashed away anything that would interest him. The house itself had barely interested him, being too old-fashioned for his taste, but he was persuaded by its location. In the past few years, the neighborhood had been gentrified, and gents were just what Dane was looking for. Based on the prevalence of rainbow flags and gay bars in the area, he figured his odds of finding a partner had to improve.

Up until this point, Dane had established an unfortunate pattern of becoming hopelessly hung up on one hot guy after another, only to discover they were straight. Or at least that’s what they told him. He knew he wasn’t exactly anyone’s dream-come-true with his nasal voice, bony frame, and curly red hair which no barber in his 26 years on earth had managed to shape into anything remotely flattering to his disproportionate facial features. Living where the population was 95% gay, at least guys would have to come up with more creative rejections than “Sorry, I’m straight.”

Dane knelt down on the bare hardwood floor and pushed against the metal box. It didn’t budge, so Dane realized it wasn’t empty. He placed his hands on the latches which held the lid shut. The locks were tight and slightly corroded, and looked like they hadn’t been opened in a very long time. Although braced for disappointment, Dane nevertheless felt his heart flutter in anticipation. He popped the latches and raised the lid. The rusty hinges squeaked.

When he saw the contents, Dane leapt back in fright, jamming his wrists on the floor as he braced his fall. The list of things he might have expected to see had not included the broad muscular back of a human being.

Dane gasped, covering his mouth to stifle a scream. Was the previous owner a murderer who left behind a corpse stuffed in a trunk? It had to be a recent kill, as the pale body looked healthy, and there was no stench of decomposition. Dane squeezed a hand into the front pocket of his skinny black shorts and struggled to pull out his phone.

Suddenly, the metal box shifted and rattled and a sleepy grunt emerged from inside. Dane’s joints locked, his brain lost the capacity for rational though, and his lungs took a breather. The only organs still operation were his eyes, which widened as the contents of the trunk struggled to climb free.

Rising into view first was that wide back, followed by a pair of well-developed arms. Manly hands gripped the edges of the trunk, hoisting the torso upward and revealing a full head of wavy blond hair. The escape artist flung his back against the short side of the box and inhaled deeply, as if he had been deprived of oxygen for an impossibly long time. His hairless pecs rose and fell, and some color infused his skin. The hidden treasure was a fit young man, fully intact, clearly alive, and apparently naked.

Another one of Dane’s organs stirred to life.

Once he had caught his breath, the man in the box grabbed his legs to untangle them from whatever ungodly yoga pose would have been required to wedge this body into such a confined space. First the left, then the right leg sprung free, draping limply over the edge of the case. His head fell back and he placed a hand over his eyes to shield them from the daylight streaming through the windows. From his parched throat emerged the faint words, “Too…much…light.”

Dane snapped out of his stupor and scrambled tentatively across the floor toward the windows, adjusting the shutters to reduce the outside glare. Back pressed against the wall, Dane slowly boosted himself, first to a crouch, then to a fully standing position. He could see the entire contents of the trunk now, including the large limp package below the young man’s waist.

The blond hunk rubbed his eyes, sweeping away the accumulated crud at their inner corners, then raised his head and smiled, dreamily sighing, “Dolores.”

But when his ghostly blue eyes fell upon Dane, his body jerked and the metal case skidded half an inch backward. “Where’s Dolores?” the young man demanded, his scratchy voice cracking from lack of use. His left arm slid down to cover his exposed penis.

“I don’t know!” Dane shrieked with fear. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man in the crate swiveled his head and took in the empty room. His shoulders sagged and his facial expression drooped. “Oh, my,” he said sadly, “she died, didn’t she?”

Dane now dimly remembered the name “Dolores” from the paperwork on the house. He nodded in confirmation.

The mystery man pushed his hands against the box and boosted himself to a standing position, momentarily forgoing modesty as his cock swung down between his beefy thighs. When he reached his full height, he stretched his arms high with a yawn, his fingertips nearly touching the ceiling. He tilted his head back and forth and side to side to relieve a crick in the neck. Dane could hear the gritty grinding of bone against bone from across the room. Finally, he stepped out of the box, offering Dane a full profile view that revealed the man’s firm ass cheeks. The man placed both of his hands over his genitals and asked softly, “You wouldn’t have some pajama bottoms that I might borrow, would you?”

It took a good ten seconds to piece together the question inside his boggled mind. His brain kept getting stuck on the word “bottoms”. When he finally realized what he had been asked, he stammered some nonsense syllables, then raised a finger to excuse himself from the room and staggered into the hallway. He opened up one of the moving boxes and rummaged through the contents for anything resembling pants. He pushed aside handfuls of bikini briefs and Speedos, all of which would have looked ludicrously tiny on the big naked man in the bedroom. He finally grabbed a pair of electric-blue lycra running shorts which Dane had never been brave enough to wear in public. He rushed back into the bedroom and stretched out his arm.

The man examined the shorts quizzically, then turned his back to Dane as he clumsily stepped into the snug tights. It didn’t even occur to Dane to turn away and offer the stranger a moment of privacy. His eyes remained glued to the man’s glutes as the clingy blue fabric slid its way up their curves.

The man turned back toward Dane, his thick cock bulging inside the lycra, angled upward to the left. “I must say, I’ve never worn a girdle before. I’m not sure why the ladies complain so much. It feels rather nice.” The man looked at Dane, studying his features. “So, are you Dolores’…nephew, perhaps?”

“Huh?” Dane was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the man’s well-proportioned physique and that outline in his shorts. “Uh, no, I just bought the house after she…well… I’m sorry, who…or what…are you?”

The man looked embarrassed. “Of course. I should explain myself. You see, I come with the house.”

“You come…? I’m sorry, what? What were you doing in that box?”

“That’s where I stay when I’m not needed.” The man said this with a smile, as if it were perfectly normal.

“Uh…huh. So how long have you been in there?”

“That depends. What year is it?”

It took Dane a few moments to come up with the current year. Upon hearing it, the young man frowned. “Oh, dear. The last time I saw Dolores, she did seem to be slipping a bit. I fear she must have forgotten I was there.”

“Okay, I’m having trouble processing all of this. What…? Who…? Why…?” Dane couldn’t form a coherent question. “What’s your name?”

“I answer to whatever you please. Dolores called me Oscar. It was the name of a boy with whom she was smitten as a child, I believe. I am a servant, of sorts. What you might best describe as a genie, although the term is not entirely accurate as it applies to me.”

“A…genie. So, what, you’re going to grant me three wishes?”

“Oh, no, there is no limit on the number of times. But I can grant only one wish.”

“Only one wish?”

“Yes, but…this is a bit awkward…I only…do…what I mean is…my only service is…” The nearly naked man seemed surprisingly embarrassed, before eventually blurting out, “I make love.”

Dane burst into laughter. “The fuck you do!”

“Yes, that I do,” said Oscar, a bit surprised to hear such salty language. “I and others of my kind are descended from Eros. We exist to provide erotic pleasure.”

“So you…provided erotic pleasure…to this old lady Dolores?”

“She wasn’t such an old lady when she moved in,” Oscar said with a wistful grin. “It was my pleasure to bring some joy and comfort into what seemed like a very lonely life.” He studied the gawky young man across the room and could see much of that same loneliness in Dane. “Alas, I fear I cannot bring you the same comfort.”

Dane snorted and shook his head. “Figures. Even a fuckin’ genie…”

“Excuse me, ‘Even a…even a genie’ what?”

Dane looked at the buff demigod and said with disappointment, “You’re straight, right?”

The young man from the trunk smirked. “I’m whatever you wish me to be.”

Dane looked leery. “Seriously?”

Oscar looked a bit embarrassed. “I do admit, it has been quite a while, but yes, I have provided pleasure and companionship to male masters on occasion.” Encountering a man who was not embarrassed to admit an attraction to another man was, in Oscar’s long experience, something of an anomaly, but perhaps a sign of progress.

Dane bit his lip. “So you’re okay with sleeping with guys?”

Oscar smiled as he slid his hand across the smooth surface of his spandex shorts, cupping his fingers around his developing erection. “Much like wearing this girdle, I find it unexpectedly pleasant.”

Dane’s grin grew into a full-blown smile. He wondered how much those experts on Antiques Roadshow would tell him a find like Oscar was worth. But Dane knew the answer.

Priceless.

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