Lucas Holloway smoothed his beard with his hand as he thought, a habit he'd developed since it'd grown long. He appreciated old things and old ways and decided months ago long facial hair befit his style. Abigail, his wife, thought it looked terrible. But what could she do? She married this guy because of his uniqueness, creativity and charm. A long straight beard and a pork-pie hat were just the present affectations of the Lucas she loved.
"Hey Abs?" called out Lucas. "Come look at this thing."
Abby stepped around milk cans and vintage furniture carefully to join her husband. "What is it?" she asked curiously.
"A radio, I think." said Lucas. "Looks like a radio anyway- from maybe the 1940s?"
The object on display had a burled walnut case and brown Bakelite knobs. There was a yellowed dial selector but no apparent built in speaker. Instead, there were two pairs of headphones hardwired into the box. Each had a cracked leather-covered metal band at the top and old rubber-padded speakers mounted on sliding chrome gimbals.
"It's cool, isn't it?" said Lucas eagerly.
Abigail eyed the device warily. She was sure they didn't need more useless junk, but knew Lucas wouldn't be leaving today without it. "Oh, it looks nice." she said tepidly. "What does 'Electro-mancer' mean?" she asked, pointing to the gold-leafed lettering between the knobs.
"A brand-name I guess. I never heard of it, but I really like the lightening bolt logo," said Lucas as he dug in his pocket. Deciding he had enough cash, he picked up the box and took it to the front of store. The old guy behind the counter looked up from his book and smiled when Lucas approached.
"Say, do you know if this works?" asked Lucas.
The old man's eyes flicked down at the radio, and said, "Son, I doubt it. Most folks are just gutting old radios and putting in more modern electronics." He paused looking at the device, and said, "It sure looks good, doesn't it? They just don't make 'em like that any more."
Lucas swiped a little dust off the top of the burled box, and said, "Yeah, maybe not, but will you take $40 for it?"
---
"Lucas?" Abby called down the basement steps. "I'm going to take a bath now."
"OK," replied Lucas, sounding distracted.
Abigail frowned. Her husband never passed on an opportunity to join her in the claw-foot tub. She sighed and called down again, "Come join me, if you want..."
"OK, in a little bit." was the mumbled response.
Lucas was barely aware his wife had left the top of the stairs. He sat at his workbench frustrated. He had been fiddling with the Electro-mancer for hours and could not get it to turn on. Its perforated pasteboard back lay on his bench as he wiggled the glass tubes inside. While he had no electrical knowledge, he figured these old radios were built like tanks. Surely, he could figure this out.
Trying once again, he plugged the decrepit two prong plug into a wall socket. Still nothing. He twisted all the knobs on the front of the case, but nothing changed. Exasperated, he whacked the walnut box with the flat of his hand, sending it sliding across the bench about a foot.
Suddenly, the old vacuum tubes came to life and cast a orange glow across the top of his workbench.
Lucas leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard as the Electro-mancer hummed. He carefully shifted the box till it faced forward. The dial selector was now a warm cream color. He twisted a knob and the needle moved around the dial, pointing at numbers that didn't resemble any radio stations he'd ever seen. Finally, he picked up one of the headsets and slipped it over his head. The old rubber pads settled comfortably on his ears. As he turned the frequency knob, he heard static, hiss and, abruptly, music. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Hey sugar, buy a girl a drink?" asked the woman.
Lucas eyed her coolly. That silky dress rode her curves like a Lincoln on a twisty road. A real knockout. He wondered why a dame like that would be chatting up a lunk like him. He called to the bartender, "Hey Ace, get this cookie a drink. Oh, and make it the good stuff."
"Mmmm," purred the woman as she sidled up next to him, "A man with taste. I like that."
The dame's kisser was bright red and she had emerald green peepers. They flashed at him like a busted traffic light, but Lucas ignored the warning and dropped his fedora on the bar. He eyed himself in the mirror behind the bourbon bottles, smoothed the hair on his temples with his palms and adjusted his tie before turning to the girl.
"They call me Lucky. What's your name, doll?" he asked with a toothy grin.
The bartender slid a highball in front of the girl and stepped away, wiping his hands on the towel tucked into the drawstring of his apron. She twirled the swizzle stick in the glass and took a sip. Lucas was dazzled when she swung her twin torpedoes around, still nestled in their slings but ready for action. Yeah, she was one dangerous dish.
When her lips parted, Lucas suddenly felt like he hadn't eaten in a week. The girl asked coyly, "What do YOU want to call me tonight, dreamboat?"
Lucas tossed a greenback on the bar, plucked up his hat and took her by the elbow. As he guided her to the door, he said, "I say we call you a cab."
---
Luke's Adam's apple hovered over her, handsomely synchronized with each thrust. It's funny she never really noticed it before, but now that he'd shaved off that awful beard, it seemed very prominent to Abby. It sat nested between those pronounced neck muscles that terminate at the beautiful divot on the apex of his chest. She watched it move as he swallowed or groaned, echoing the ebb and flow of adrenaline coursing through her body with each stroke.
Abby felt a shudder ripple through her, followed by a much larger wave that seized up her legs and stomach muscles. She scrabbled for a purchase in his damp, lower back to pull him in even deeper. Sensing her climax, Lucas increased his speed and intensity to finish strong. Suddenly, he stiffened and shook like from an electrical shock- and then melted onto her. He rolled over, dragging his still-pulsing cock out of Abby and lay next to her flat on his back, breathing heavy.
"Wow," said Abigail. "That was... amazing!"
"Yeah, we were cookin' with gas," agreed Lucas.
Abruptly, Lucas rolled off the edge of the bed and began to dress. Abby crunched up on her elbows and watched him tuck away his package into a pair of boxer shorts. He expertly pulled a white wife beater over his head and down over his shoulders and torso. It clung like Saran wrap. His pants were olive, high-waisted, pleated and cuffed- and cinched with a thin, copper buckled, snake skin belt. A cream colored, spread collar camp shirt left just enough of his collar bone exposed to draw an appreciative grin from Abby.
"I'm liking your new style," said Abby.
Lucas wrinkled his brow, gave her a wink and said with a chuckle, "Oh, just stuff I found at the five and dime."
'Well, that wasn't true,' thought Abby as she watched Lucas throw a jacket over his arm, swipe back his thick curly locks and square a grey fedora on his head. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and said, "I'm going out to get some smokes. I'll catch you later, baby."
Abigail lay naked in the bed and stewed about what her husband had become. Frankly, Lucas had always had a gritty style and she was pretty sure you wouldn't find clothes like that in discount stores. With the beard gone, his smooth shaven face seemed more direct, more chiseled, more ... masculine. His hair was cut high and tight on the sides, but with a mop of curls on top. This was both vintage and very sexy. More than appearance, it was like his whole personality had changed.
This all started when he brought home that walnut box. That 'Electro-mancer.'
Earlier, Lucas had pulled her panties off with his teeth and tossed them aside. Abby rooted around on all fours among the bed sheets to find them. God knows what happened to her bra. "Lucas, I don't know what's gotten into you, but I'm going to find out." she mumbled to herself.
"Oh, and when did you start smoking?" she asked rhetorically.
---
The short windows of the basement cast harsh sunlight on the workbench. The burled walnut box sat gleaming in a pool of it. It's braided power cord sat coiled neatly along side. Abby clutched her robe about her neck as she pondered the machine. It looked like an old-fashioned radio, but the markings on the dial were unfamiliar and the guides around the knurled knobs were worn away. There was a three position knob that she guessed the power switch. Well, she thought, let's just see what happens.
She plugged in the Electro-mancer and twisted the power switch to the right. The dial immediately glowed and the box began to hum. She tilted the device and turned the other knobs hoping for sound, but there was nothing but the buzz of ancient electrical circuits. Realizing the headphones probably needed to be worn, she shook her head and said, "Duh, Abby." Surprised at how well it fit over her head, she adjusted the headphone gimbals till the rubber pads sat perfectly on her ears and she could hear static.
Abby turned the selector knob till she heard music, soft romantic music. Her eyes rolled up into her head and her arms dropped to her sides. The robe she wore fell open and her bare skin glowed in the reflected light from the workbench.
There was a tap at the bathroom door. "I got us some more bubbly." said the man.
"Oh, don't come in yet," said Abby as she pulled the silk stocking over her foot and up past her knee. "I'm still dressing...," she said modestly. She snapped the dangling ends of her garter belt to the stocking and tugged to make sure it was secure. It matched the other leg, so she turned her attention to the bustier. Viewing herself in the vanity mirror, she admired how it served up her breasts. "He's gonna love this," she said to herself.
Abigail brushed and pinned her up-swept, platinum blond 'do, careful to leave a single, curled lock that bounced seductively past her right eyebrow. While she applied her favorite shade of red lipstick she squinted and blinked, appraising her mascara. She pressed her lips together to spread the color evenly and checked her teeth. There wasn't even a trace of red.
When Abby emerged from the bath, she was wrapped in a peach colored satin dressing gown with a white feathered collar and was perched on white, heeled sandals adorned with matching feathers. She strolled casually past the man relaxing in the arm chair with a rocks glass in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.
"Oh, honey, would you make me one of those?" she asked.
"Sure, baby," he said as he stuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
"You don't care for champagne?" asked the man hunched over the bar cart.
