In On the Action

Jamie stumbled down the stairs, yawning and scratching his hair. He stopped all three activities in the kitchen doorway to stare at Lamar’s actions in the breakfast nook. “Son of a hound. Just when I think I seen you do everything, you pull a new pervy action out’a your hat.”

“And what,” Lamar said with a superior sniff, “is so pervy about this?”

“A grown man playing with dolls? Where do I start?” Maybe he should start with how Lamar had the dolls positioned. He gestured uncertainly. “Them two doing to Ken what I think they’re doing?”

“They’re trying to. My next book has a four-way sex scene and I need to test the logistics. Can you get four pumped-up dudes on a couch together and which limbs have to go where? Since you never want to help me with my writing—”

“I try to stay out of the research phases.”

“Hence my need for action figures.”

“Yeah, he’s getting some action, all right.”

“But is it plausible? See, Ken here fits perfectly between Randy and Batista, but then where does Trips go? And if I try to fit Randy’s legs around Trips, it doesn’t work. Too much thigh muscle. See?”

“You named them?”

“They came with names. These are WWE action figures. Got the whole bunch at a yard sale. Best ten bucks I ever spent.” He plopped a cardboard box full of dolls on the table. “These boys have helped me create literary history. I’m forever in their debt.”

“You’re working out sex acts with dolls.”

“That’s the unromantic way of putting it. I prefer ‘utilizing visual aids.’” He set his “visual aids” in a semicircle around the box on the table. “This is Randy Orton, Batista, Triple H, the Macho Man—he’s old school—Undertaker and Stone Cold Steve Austin. Austin usually plays the dom because he’s bald.”

“Who’s the little guy in the mask?”

“Rey Mysterio. He bottoms.”

Jamie pulled a final doll from the box, a naked plastic female with My Little Pony hair glued on its face and in several strategic places. “A woman? Really?"

“That’s Shapeshifter Barbie. My sister made her. My publisher might want me to write a ménage. Gotta be prepared.” He picked up the Undertaker doll to study it. “Y’know, ’Taker here reminds me of Sergei. I think I’ll paint him white and give him to Gypsy for Christmas.”

“Poor Ken,” Jamie remarked, rubbing a finger over the doll’s plastic brown locks in sympathy. “He looks so scrawny next to all these body builders.”

“Yeah. I got a soft spot for old Ken. Strip off the clothes and he looks just like a naked snake.” Lamar tugged down his PJ bottoms to demonstrate the similarity. “When I was a little squiggler, I thought that was neat. Dolls made just like us.”

“He don’t look so much like you right just now,” Jamie remarked dryly.

“He doesn’t?” Lamar glanced south. “Hola! Where did you come from?”

“You want to put that away? I ain’t had breakfast yet.”

“Now that it’s out, we might as well use it. C’mere and get into position. You’ve got more flexible parts.”

“But there’s only one’a me. You said you were writing a foursome.”

“I’ll figure out where the others go later. Okay, Ken—he’s Raoul in the story—”

“Ow! I think I just crushed Randy Orton.”

“No loss. He’s a little bitch. I never liked him anyway. I need to get a John Cena figure. Come with me to the swap meet on Saturday?”

“You’re not just a perv, you’re a loony perv.”

“I’m a snake. We’re twisted. Now drop those trunks. In the story, Master Marlon has his way with the virginal Raoul. That just became you. We're going to work on this scene until we get it right." He danced the bald action figure in front of Jamie’s face. “And that’s the bottom line, ‘cause Stone Cold said so.”