Vintage Toys For Lucky Boys

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

MAX 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.

2

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

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.”

3

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.”

4

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

5

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

6

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?”

7

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

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