In my previous Literotica story, 6R, I received several comments, some good, some of critical critique. I appreciate each of them. The old adage, the customer is always right, still as a ring of truth. In Guardian I made changes allowing me to retain my style and values of writing while respecting the tastes and opinions of valued others.
The devil is in the details and I consider them necessary for a rich, interesting read. Although there is plenty of sex, it is supportive of the main tale. If you are looking for only a slam bam as the story's only or central issue, then you will need to go elsewhere.
As is 6R, Guardian is a long, continuing story, currently with twelve chapters written and a minimum of at least four more. Unlike 6R, which I submitted in its entirety, I will be submitting a chapter of Guardian once or twice a week. The chapters are a continuation of the story's theme and purpose and are not designed as stand alone. You will need to read the previous chapter
Guardian is self-edited, so any mistakes are mine.
The bracketing of the symbol asterisk (*----*) denotes mental thoughts or telepathic communication.
With the exception of the harem aspect and submissive tendencies, there are no deviant sexual practices, unless you consider, I do not, anal as deviant. All participants are eighteen years of age.
Hope you enjoy. Please rate and leave a comment.
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Guardian Ch. 01
"Sold!, To number #9!" The auctioneer announced.
With that I became the owner of the contents, sight unseen, of abandoned storage unit #53, the last unit to be auctioned today.
*About damn time!*
Not a happy camper, tired, hot, sweating, thirsty, even with the abstinence of fluids, beginning to feel the need to empty my bladder I was very uncomfortable. On top of all this my worn out body was screaming abuse from standing for hours on the concrete drive.
I was part of a group of bidders and onlookers at AS Storage. When a storage unit's payment gets in arrears more than six months, with all notices and legal procedures followed, the law allows the storage company to auction off the unit's contents to recoup lost revenue.
Units were auctioned without knowledge of the contents, making for higher bids on the chance the winning bidder may be fortunate, discovering high dollar items. If it was known the unit housed junk, bids would reflect such. The lure of possible riches drew many and kept bids high.
AS Storage, one of largest of the many scattered in and around Atlanta, had over 1000 units and about once a year, held an auction for the delinquent units. AS Storage's last auction was eight months past and today there were six units available.
Auction notice, made in local newspapers, usually drew a curious crowd. Most were hesitant to shell out the necessary cash for most likely a cheap pig in a poke. The serious bidders were a core group who made their living buying and selling used items. I was one of the latter, an owner of a thrift shop, 2nd Hand Treasure.
I made these types of auctions once or twice a quarter, with a successful bid about 10% of the time. I never found in anything of great value but often there were items which made it a worthwhile endeavor, re-selling even mundane items for a profit.
*Hope it proves to be worth the effort and money.*
Always a concern, the question lingered over the value of my purchase. I always set an amount to bid, not to exceed. #53 was the last unit to be auctioned and competition, having already made successful bids, was not fierce. I purchased the unit for less than expected.
Typical of Atlanta even for mid-October, the weather was hot with the humidity close to air temperature. Standing on the concrete in the heat for a couple of hours had drained me of energy and accentuated all the usual pains and issues of my 73 year old body.
I suffered from sciatica and neuropathy, along with old injuries and overweight, carrying around 300 pounds on my 6"4" frame. I had always been fit and active even into my early to mid-sixties but was in a classic Catch 22, the extra weight aggravated the health issues causing a serious reduction in any type of physical activity not absolutely necessary which encouraged additional weight gain.
Joining the United States Army at 18, a couple of years later I became a Ranger with 75th Ranger Regiment, headquartered Fort Benning, Georgia.
After 24 years I retired with the rank of Master Sergeant and joined the Atlanta Police Department where I spent the next 20 years. At age 66, I retired from the APD.
I meet and married Annie, my lovely bride of 23 years, a couple of years before leaving the army, and planned on enjoying retirement by traveling, fishing and gardening with her. This was derailed with her cancer diagnosis, an extremely aggressive carcinoma which claimed her within 6 months of detection.
Annie owned and operated a thrift shop, 2nd Hand Treasure, inherited from her parents, which we had planned on selling after my retirement, was where I first met Annie.
I decided, although never a big money maker, to keep the business open and run it for several reasons. It kept her memory fresh and me from sinking into a serious despondent funk. I remodeled a backroom into an efficiency apartment and moved into it, leasing our three bedroom ranch.
With my Social Security, two pensions, lease money and store proceeds I was financially stable, not rich but comfortable. If only my health was the same. Those who mouthed about the golden years did not know their ass from a whole in the ground.
I tiredly made way to the stodgy, dark haired, AS Storage manager, standing by a folding table loaded with a clipboards holding bid applications and transfer ownership forms. I extended my bidding ticket, No. #9, which he checked against his paperwork. I had received the bid number after filling out the application and paying the bid fee.
"No. #9?" he questioned.
*Dumb ass. Why all the questions, I know you remember me.*
Irritated I handed him my Georgia driver's license, verifying I was the person listed on the application, as I stated, "Rex McMurdy."
Matching the information he traded my DL for cash in the exact amount of my bid, presenting me a receipt and a documentation of valid ownership of Unit #53's content.
"Mr. McMurdy you have 24 hours to clear the unit. If you are not able in this time frame, let us know and a temporary rental arrangement will be arranged. Failure to comply will result in the unit being secured and you shall be charged a month's storage for the release."
I nodded and returned to my panel van and drove to the unit. I cut the unit's lock with bolt cutters and lifted the roll up door, locating and flipping the light switch.
As the single fluorescent light dimly illuminated the inside of the 10' x 20' unit, I was disappointed.
*Damn!*
It was empty except for a row of stacked cardboard boxes along the back wall, usually indicative of household junk. Opening a few, my original assumption was confirmed. In the corner was a small, plain, wooden chest, about the size of a shoe box.
*With hope eternal, maybe it is full of treasure. Crap in one hand and wish in the other. See which fills up faster.*
Lifting the chest, that hope went south as it felt empty. Lifting the chest lid I saw a single, dull gray, metallic, smooth sphere a little larger than a baseball, nestled in a mound of crumpled newspaper.
Picking up the sphere I was struck by two things; the extreme light weight, all out of proportion to its appearance, and its warmth to the touch.
For a moment it felt like the sphere, becoming warmer was attached to my fingers, then the feelings were gone. Moving it between my hands I it didn't feel tacky or an increase of temps.
*Strange!*
Given the poor lighting, I held it up close to my face, for a cursory look, but did not see any markings or anything suggesting what it was or its value.
Sighing I accepted the fact I was going to take a bath on this transaction.
*Sometimes you eat the bear, but more often, the bear eats you. No need to cry over spilled milk. The upside was I don't have to load a bunch of stuff, a blessing given how I was currently feeling.*
I placed the sphere back in chest, and carried it to the van, placing it on the front bench seat. In 15 minutes I moved all the boxes, none heavy, thank goodness, to the back of the van and left AS Storage.
Close by, stopping at 7-Eleven, I emptied my complaining bladder and bought a bottle of water.
A couple of times en-route home out of the corner of my I thought I saw the chest lid appear to raise a little but attributed it to the jostling movement of the van and the cold air blasting from the air conditioner. Once, resting my hand on the top of the lid, for a moment thought I felt a gentle upward push, but the pressure receded and I removed my hand.
Around 4pm I parked at my shop, located in Smyrna Georgia, part of the Atlanta Metropolitan area and carried the chest inside. Feeling washed out and fatigued, I decided to leave the boxes for tomorrow to go through.
2nd Hand Treasure fronts Hayes Street with diagonal customer parking, bordered on the right by a drive leading to a rear, personal parking area. I share the drive and parking area with an adjoining business, Bean & Bake, a coffee shop and bakery. On the other side was a used book store and across the street a laundry. It was a quiet suburban retail district.
My shop occupies the front of a one story building with the rear divided into a storeroom and a small, one bedroom efficiency apartment. In addition to a small bedroom was a bathroom with a shower, a common room, containing a kitchenette with a bar serving as dining room table and living room.
Dropping the chest on the table beside my recliner, I went to the bathroom to take a much needed piss. The bottle of water, drunk on the way home, needed release.
*What a relief!*
Another age issue, you never pass up a bathroom. Normally I visited the bathroom at least once an hour, often multiple times. Knowing the lack of facilities at the auction I had severely limited my fluid intake since getting up. Instead of my usual four to five cups of strong black coffee, I only had one, early on. In addition to the coffee, I normally drank a quart or more of water during the morning.
Today, less than a cup and before arriving at AS Storage I had stopped at the 7 Eleven to empty my bladder. Even with that precaution I was near my limit when I left AS Storage and stopped at the mini mart.
While relieving my kidney pressure, my thoughts returned to the mystery sphere. I had a vague memory of a story from some forty years ago about another mystery sphere with strange properties being found in Florida. At the time there was speculation it was extraterrestrial. I did not give it much thought, although believing in UFOs, singularly concentrating on being best I could be, a top notch Army Ranger.
Another tenuous recollection, from about the time of my transition from a soldier to a policeman, was the report the Florida sphere was some kind of industrial valve.
*If memory serves, the Florida sphere differed from the one I had in two respects, being considerably larger, the size of a bowling ball, and much heavier.*
Leaving the bathroom I stopped at the kitchenette and made a cup of coffee with the Keurig. With a mug of coffee I sat down in the recliner, took off my shoes and reclined, feet raised. I took a sip of the hot coffee, placing the mug on the end table beside my chair and turned on the lamp sitting on the table.
I picked up the chest and sitting it in my lap opened the lid, retrieving the sphere. Under the bright light of a lamp I closely examined the sphere. I could discern no joint or markings but was able to detect five faint scattered dimples, overlooked at the unit.
Rubbing one of the indentations, the sphere momentarily glowed a pale blue, rotating slightly.
