Uniporn Season Is Over

And I’m devastated to have missed out on the action

“I’ll scrub it off in the spring,” I mutter, tucking my bird crap-covered Adirondack into the outdoor cedar storage bin. Another summer has Houdini-ed into one more year to scratch off the Been There Done That list.

Looking over the fence my jealous eyes linger on the still, glassy waters of the neighbor’s pool. A chipmunk with cheeks the size of the skimmer scurries beside the stack of lawn chairs. The crow our neighborhood calls Batman drills into some beer nuts intentionally discarded for him.

“I wonder when Christopher will get around to deflating his best unicorn buds?” My hubby asks, hands on his hips, looking much like a magazine model glancing off into the distance. If that poser had legs the size of toothpicks, a basketball stuffed above their belt, and was advertising flannel shirts and paper-thin Toronto Maple Leaf pajama bottoms.

“Well, you know how he and his wife are really into that kinky stuff!” My husband nods and we chuckle. We wouldn’t trade in the wonky folks who inhabit the house beside us — even for our own inground and their poolside “It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere” flashing neon sign over which we regularly drool.

“Why are they staring at us?” whispers the larger one, its flaccid rainbow horn sinking into its left nostril.

“They always do that, Prism,” declares the second, shorter and more robust. “But remember how they gawked that time Will Hull dragged along his golden swan?”

A leaf, slightly paler than the goldfinch perched on the branch beside it, begins a graceful pirouette towards the ground. Pushed by the artic-coated breeze it catches in Prism Treasurefinish’s neck handle.

“Damn, Arc-en-ciel,” sighs Prism, suddenly aware of the chill of the concrete below. “It’s that time of year again!”

“I loooove this time of year!” squeals Arc. In response to the shrill sound the goldfinch trips, sending half a dozen half-green maple leaves on their final voyage. Several adhere themselves to Arc’s slick, wet middle.

The first time this thing humans called Fall happened, Arc was shocked. He’d more than enjoyed his Spring Fling, staring into emerald grass as fingers tenderly pushed on his nearly see-through nozzle. The hot breath filling his orifice had caused ripples throughout his entire body.

But this — this was different.

“It might hurt a little, but you’ll get used to it,” Prism had whispered to him as Christopher lifted him from the frost-covered patio. “Good luck, my Friend. God of plastic speed.”

There had been no pain involved.

“Use the warm water, honey,” yells out the wife. “That cold hose water might shrink it!”

“I have to make sure I put you away clean,” moans Christopher as he rubs wet, soapy water over Arc’s entire body. This was more thrilling than being tossed into the refreshing pool water. A gentleness lulls Arc into an almost sleepy state — until Christopher’s calloused hands push up against Arc’s butt and in and around his now-hard nozzle. “And next I need to dry you off.”

The towel flicks are playful and yet with enough force that Arc feels several sighs squeeze out of his firm horn.

“How does Prism think this is painful?” he wonders, as the last droplets of water are flicked from the base of his neck.

“You’re being such a good boy!” purrs Christopher, pressing his lips just below Arc’s ear and then wiggles his tongue up into Arc’s black line of lips. “Are you sure you don’t want in on this, honey?”

Arc is glad the wife shouts ‘No!’ from where she is hanging laundry on the clothesline. A band of what Christopher wears under his sweatpants hovers in the space below his t-shirt and Arc wishes he was in his topless summer garb. Arc prefers the palm-tree littered apparel everyone calls “bathing suits”. That way he can stare at Christopher’s bare chest — a body part he has heard is quite popular on Unipornhub.com.

Spying those cottony brief thingies on the clothesline has Arc’s heart racing more than the time Christopher’s kids threw him head-first off the diving board.

“I’m going to get every last drop out of you,” Christoper assures him, tapping his horn rhythmically in circles. His fingers fiddle about Arc’s nozzle, sending prickles up his plastic spine. With constant squeezes, Arc feels his innards start to implode.

“Wow,” he whispers, barely able to think more than that three-letter thought. The best part is when Christopher, still grasping Arc’s nozzle, curves his lanky body on top.

“I will absolutely empty you out, Arc-en-ciel,” Christopher declares, straddling Arc’s broad back. Every part of Arc’s insides are spilling out onto the pavement.

“Are you almost done, hon?” asks the wife, laundry basket on hip. Staring at her man, a grin smeared across his stubbly face, she suddenly wants in on the action. “Can I help you?”

With the wife’s hands wrapped about his throat, and Christopher’s weight on his back, Arc understands what he overheard at the adult bonfire a few nights ago. La Petite Morte. At least it’s only 6216 hours until Pool Opening.

“Guess they’ve finally given in and had their way with those buggers,” says Hubby, a thumb arched towards the neighbor’s yard. With a smile that lights up even his eyes, Christopher is pancaked into a chaise longue, his lips alternating between a beer and a cigarette. He barely has enough energy to wave a greeting.

©Jennifer J. McDougall 2021

Thanks, Christopher Robin for the inspiration. Maybe I’ll also earn “Top Writer In Uniporn” status.