Date: Fri, 22 Jun 2007 18:24:52 +0000 From: Timothy Stillman Subject: Mr. Show and the Electric Boys in Blue Mr. Show and the Electric Boys in Blue By Tim Stillman (Responses are very much appreciated) The crowd waited. The air was generated with electricity. Everything was pop and snackle. Everything was the stage, with the boys and girls massive audience. And their tongues held at the wonder degree, tip out, ready poised, licking their lips. The boys had hard-ons and the girls felt cozy in their dates' arms. There was thunder in the background. It didn't matter if it was heavenly thunder, or part of the droom droom sound machines, base and metallic and black sounding fervent colors. Still and blossoming. Everyone has heard so much about Mr. Show and the Electric Boys in Blue. Never seen, not before or after performance. Not ad with their pictures. No teen mags had stills of them. Mr. Show was attuned with the logic of a dream/nightmare. He was more than a suggestion of magic presto poppo, as the girls fondled their boy friends and the boys put their hands hard or soft of steady or moving round or back and forth on their girls' breasts. This should be noted--every one of them was naked. Their clothes left at the door. Some made out, and some licked and some fucked. Five hundred of them, and in larger venues, vastly much more. They were not with themselves or each other even as sex had its way in one time or another. They were grinding and gyrating, and naked butts were in the air and humping up and down in cadenced rhythm as the music machines started and clocks on dicks were not looked at and timepieces on pussies were taken out of their snatch and tossed aside. The show was starting, and life outside, there had been a life outside?, where?, how?, when?, no one could remember--the scent of the auditorium was the scent of poppers and downers and acid and marijuana for the old timers of fifteen or so..This was a pageant of sex, and the music rumbled and ticked and screamed and anointed and cajoled and bit back and biting back fleeced no one of the two hundred dollars it cost per head to get into the joint that of course smelled also of sex and perspiration and anticipation and suggestion. As their bones started to vibrate with the computerized melodies that spun out the old secret dreams from the young not secretive audience---it was as though the music hurt all their inside fears, the old memories that said catch me if you can, and tree climbing, and girls in pastel dresses and boys trying to get an eye full under those dresses. And boys so secretive they thought they would die of it. Their pressing wonder and if cock invaded cunt, or ass took cock, or lips nibbled nipples, or lips nibbled cocks, inside was the brain screen--inside where the pubic hair could not protect, inside where life was a different ball game, and Mr. Show knew and Mr. Show knew where the parental diaphragms were tossed aside by the boys and girls who watched as Mr. Show in a hail of corny brimstone strode out onto the stage. And he was massive and muscular and his face had these darting penetrating eyes, send up for tomorrow, for those eyes have seen it for what it is and it is a farce, for it is to laugh. Mr. Show was laughing at the kids as the blue and pink and green spotlight blighted him and he blighted it right back. There was never kidding in Mr. Show, even when he was eviscerated by some newbie at "Rolling Stone," Mr. Snow dodged around this pointed question, and found it not pointed it all, but made of rubber with an easy to dart and parry with tip. And Mr. Snow stopped the fear mongering the intrepid reporter in his late teens and blonde as blond strawberry field forever hair, asked him this about morality, and that about what really happens at a Mr. Snow show, and shouldn't some member of the press be allowed in any way--- And Mr. Snow on the stage now, remembering when R.S. was in its glory and thinking man have they copped out or what, used to be such Hunter Thompson daring do, and now it's just a bit too you will forgive damned polite and inviting and chuckly and friendly, Mr. Snow wearing a cocktail dress all bright satin, and pretending he could see the audience beyond the lights, with his laser directed red contacts, and he screamed like a tree might scream if it had seen the other side of the world, while no one else had, and it had to warm someone and the odd man out was us. He clutched his necklace pearls and threw the large real pearls on three strands right into the mob of the shrieking foot stamping kids hooting and high and dizzy and standing on their seats and holding each other by the genitals and squeezing hard, it's the Electric Blue Boys way, they sang, the famous Boys in Blue Song, that had topped the charts for over a year and in the deeply depressed, said to be going out of business CD labels, that was really saying something too. Mr. Show's bull horned voice screamed louder than the kids' and then the kids found themselves covered with nets that suddenly caromed down on top of them. Some five kids were caught, here, some three, there-- --The nets pulled the audience screaming afraid terrified drunk high delighted dying throwing up masturbating wondering where this piece of tail I was just doing went, needing to go home, needing to go to the bathroom, and then the Electric Boys In Blue marched onto the stage and the kids held in the upper center of the air in their nets suddenly forgot everything that was going on, especially what the fuck am I in a net for?, and the electric boys in blue were painted blue and their hair was blue and they were naked and a cadre of horny boys with dicks that stuck way out and pubes that had been shaved. The music was percussion and beat and bombast and horns and drums that beat the ear drums about half inside the skull and made some actually bleed---and the boys were fourteen and fifteen and they had these poke out butts that just made you want to chew on them, and their bodies were swans in repose, swans in grace and swallow. They seemed unreal, these electric boys in blue and of course they were not real, certainly not, because the guided cable cord and the big plug the cable cord was tightly screwed into on the electric boys in blue's backs kind of gave away the secret-maybe or maybe not--the fans were screaming up there in the air and the electric boys in blue took off and--flew--with their arms straight and pointed into the air, their naked hard boned hard coated bodies arrowing up to the cages and kids trying to scream or wave or shake their cages the most or the loudest or the strongest.. ...But the electric boys in blue cared for no one but themselves and their audience, but their audience inches or ft. away, and made passion and hard boiled boy sex between each other--there for this blue penis being sucked way down by his boyfriend metallic sheen plastic on faces and bodies as Mr. Show clapped his massive hands and the boys turned round and round in green and red and blue snow cones of light--and every round they made they were doing sex to the different boys and their different body parts--ohmigod--the cum unleashed that night-- -By the blue boys and by the audience and no one cared anymore if they stayed in those crazy nets forever, some of the less mentally less wasted among them, caressed the dim thought that they were going to be offered up to the electric boys in blue at the show's end-that they were going top suck and fuck with them every night and every day--that this had not been done in every show as cameras went off from the ceiling, and from the floor and from the sides of the walls, all showing the naked stoned kids with their hard -ons or their wet clits, very clearly, very accurately, god bless these digital cameras--all the pictures would be sent clandestinely to all the kids later on, and told, never tell a soul, or this shall appear on the computer room door for the whole fuckin' world to see-- But for now they felt in on the joke, in on the joy of never having to leave the electric boys in blue and the girls got to suck a cock here and there as a blue electric boy would fly over to her cage, or a boy would get to fuck a blue boy if one came close to his, and in their cages there was a sad resonance--something of market places vast distances away but not as far back in history as one might think--they felt the eyes of the electric boys in blue, except their eyes were kindly blue eyes, they were not threatening, they were comforting, they felt like sleep feels the moment it comes and you have finally again decided to trust it and down you go-- --But other eyes fell on them in cages, up in the air of market places, sound of buyers, and chicken squawking and pigs bleating, and children in real cages, children being cadged not from the black market or secret shadows, but from the government approved selling of flesh for fun and profit, and the sick heat and the sick songs in their bellies and the lack of anything of music or happiness or safety, nothing but horned hands chuckling, touching, measuring like a goose bought for Christmas dinner, and there was the horrible smell of dust and mutated creatures in white linen with such sweat spots on them, here at the end of everything. Bright hot horrible sickening sunlight that sucked the marrow out of them. Here for the end of dreams that never happened in the first place, as heads were measured by hands that hated, and the children in the nets in the electric blue boys auditorium came back to themselves and the present, and my God, did they ever feel fantastic? My God, did they ever love Mr. Show with his many cables down there linked to the electric boys in blue in the air as he controlled them as someone controlled the ropes linking to the ground in a circus wire walking act, and sure he was and certain he was and his boys in electric blue were wizards. They never got coils tangled. They danced in the center of the air. They leaped over the cages with such beautiful blue finesse and slow motion it seemed, and made sex with one another above the nets as the boys and girls got to look with eye popping wonder at them from this viewpoint, the boys balls bouncing just above the nets, the free wheeling hard -ones and the making them soft again and furling white, and then making them hard again--- And the nets went up and up and the kids grasped for the electric boys in blue--oh Mr. Show please don't let it be over, we were having fun, it was great, our parents will pay you anything if you will let us stay--and the nets went mercilessly upward connected by cable wires to guides at the now opened ceiling of the auditorium, and the electric boys in blue went back to the stage and to Mr. Show where he let the cables drop and the electric boys in blue collapsed into a heap until the next show, legs and arms and heads and necks akimbo before being added to or oiled or spruced up a bit-- --As the naked kids were in a series of huge nets and dumped into trampolines in the midnight alley, and their clothes for them waiting on the side, just take what you like and clothed or the more daring, unclothed, beat it toward home, as Mr. Show waves his hand and the auditorium lights dim and he stands there with the blue glowing of his exceedingly well detailed and moving and real as real could be unreal and that far better, he stood their contemplating, now alone, and thought tonight's show did all right. They would be pulling out to Buffalo before the morning sun. As Mr. Show bowed to no one and said, softly so only he could hear it, "I hope you enjoyed my show."