Barry assembles the Altar of Yoni, and Gloria stops by
The 'Altar of Yoni' chair fortuitously arrived on the Friday afternoon, after I'd returned from the campus, but hours before RoseAnn was expected home.
I opened the apartment door to two unkempt men pulling the chair up the steps on a two-wheeled dolly. I looked over their shoulders, expecting to see 'Jane Austen's Revenge' in big bold letters on the side of the truck, announcing our kinks to all our neighbors. But their van was only a delivery service with a nondescript 'something brothers' name stenciled on the doors. Discreetly packaged, the chair looked like any other recliner, wrapped in multiple layers of plastic. A box of parts came with it, identified only by the words 'accessories', 'box 2 of 2' and a few numbers. I supposed it would contain the foot supports and kneeling pad.
The men offered to unpack it, but I asked them to leave it in the bedroom and dismissed them with a ten-dollar tip.
The chair looked like any other recliner, except for brass inserts where parts were to be bolted onto it. When I opened the accessories box, however, out spilled a pile of steel rods, hinges, bags of bolts and washers, the kneeling pad, and the two platforms. Every three inches or so along the platforms were attached rubber crescents, whose function, I now knew, was to hold a woman's heels at whatever angle allowed best access without her feet slipping. Looking at the rubber crescents, and wondering which ones RoseAnn would use, caused my cock to stiffen in my shorts.
The book of directions turned out to be a nightmare. The figures were all labeled in Japanese, and the text was a terrible translation, I assumed, from the Japanese.
'
To need tool like screwdriver Philip, plyers, bent wrench lined up
.' Easy enough to understand.
'
Foot 1. Rod 22 two kinds one side or other side the same, enter coupling 45. Twist nuts.
'
Well, there was no way I was going to twist my nuts doing this. I decided to just experiment. I turned to the last page, where I hoped to find a picture of the fully assembled chair. I found it, all right--the chair in the photo was in use by a Japanese couple. The woman lay with her eyes closed, her mouth open in ecstasy. Between her legs, the man kneeled, his face half hidden in the biggest forest of pubic hair I'd ever seen. As he knelt on the lowered pad, his penis thrust uselessly into a large opening in the front of the chair, which appeared to have been left uncovered specifically to frustrate the man, should he try to stimulate his engorged cock on the fabric. I hadn't noticed this feature at the store, and I smiled at the cleverness of the engineer who'd designed this contraption, this 'Altar of Yoni'.
Using the pictures and my own mechanical sense, I gradually deciphered the structure, sometimes having to back up several steps to insert a neglected washer or locking pin. The kneeling pad was connected by spring hinges to the chair; when not in use, it folded up against the chair, covering the gaping hole in the front.
I was still struggling, but with success in sight, when a female voice came from the living room. "Hello? Barry? Is anyone home?" I glanced at my watch. Four-thirty. Who would that be?
I finally recognized the voice...Gloria!
I jumped to my feet and raced from the bedroom to intercept the red-headed beauty in the kitchen. I was still semi-erect and felt my face flush. "Oh, hi! You surprised me. Where did you come from?"
"I was beginning to think I had the wrong address, what with the 'Perez' nameplate, but I looked through the window and saw your briefcase on the table."
