Collecting Women Summertime Hobbybyandtheend©
Walter needs a hobby and turns to collecting women to satisfy all of his needs.
The weatherman reported that it was going to be another long, hot summer. With no one to talk to and no one to go anywhere with, Walter remembered last summer, the first friendless summer without his mother. Isolated where he lived with the closest neighbor more than a mile away, his mother had been his only friend. He dreaded having to live through another lonely summer alone. He wished he had a girlfriend. Only, looking much like Deputy Barney Fife's twin, his chance of getting with a woman was slim to none.
Yet, Walter was a good man, a God fearing man, a Christian man, but a crazy man. He lived in the house that his mother left him, when she died last year. Wanting to share his life with a woman, he didn't like living alone, but what choice did he have? He was ready for a wife but what did it matter, the women in town thought Walter weird. When he looked in the mirror, who would blame them? He looked weird and definitely he acted weird. If Forrest Gump was a real person, he wouldn't say weird is what weird does. He'd say, weird is Walter.
Maybe if he had something to occupy his time, especially over the long, hot summer, his most difficult season to be alone, he wouldn't feel so lonely, but what? Maybe if he had the interest of a woman, he wouldn't seem so weird, look so weird, act so weird, and be so weird. In the way that Brad Pitt and George Clooney was his heroes, his wish was to be normal just like them. If he couldn't look like them, he could act like them. He could talk like them and walk like them, but that was as far as he got. Trying to talk and walk like Brad Pitt and George Clooney made him look and sound even weirder. He'd be better off if he just acted himself.
Unable to find anyone to love, he gives up on women after the end of every summer. This year, was different. With his mother gone, he had more motivation to find someone to have some summertime fun. With the cold weather coming, along with the amount of snow that they get where he lives in upstate New York, northwest of Buffalo, by the great lake, much like a squirrel, he gathers his provisions and hibernates in his home like a bear, until the spring thaw. This year, the first winter without his mother, if he was lonely living through the winter with just his mother in the house, he couldn't imagine how lonely he'd be living without her and living alone.
Giving up on women every year, if he couldn't find a woman to love him and to live with him, then he needed to find a hobby to pass his time, but what? He overheard Jimmy, his mechanic at the gas station, talking about his hobby. He collects diecast cars. From what he said about them, he has a lot of them. Only, not even owning a car, other than the old Oldsmobile that his mother left him, he didn't like cars, so much. Not very mechanical, his mother did most of the repairs they needed, because of their speed and power, he was afraid of automobiles. He knew how to drive, but he had no place to go and even if he did have a place to go, afraid to give the car some gas while driving it on the highway, he drove as slow as molasses. He was the only one in town who routinely got a ticket for driving too slow.
"I must have a couple hundred cars, all different scales from 1/64 to one, to a Pontiac Trans Am that's 1/8th scale. The Trans Am is my only plastic model. The rest are metal. I dunno, I just like collecting them," said Jimmy. "It's fun to look at them all lined up in their plastic display cases."
Not much of a car buff, Walter wasn't the die cast collectible car type either. Then, when he was in the sporting goods store buying a pump for his bicycle tire, he heard Ray talking to the sporting goods store owner about his extensive gun collection. Ray was a hunter, a real man's man, a manly man, a macho man, and a genuine he man. Maybe, he thought, if he collected guns, he'd be a real man, just like Ray. Only, just as he feared automobiles, he feared guns, too. They hurt his ears, even just when watching them shoot one another on television. He always turned down the sound when they showed the shooting scene.
"I have plenty of rifles and shotguns, but I just started collecting handguns and pistols. I have everything from a .22 caliber to a .45. Once in a while, I like taking a different gun out to the gun range and firing it."
Even though he tried to like them, even though he walked over to the display case to look at them, Walter hated guns. He never even held a gun. The thought of even firing a gun scared him to death. With his clumsiness, no doubt, he'd drop the gun and shoot himself. For sure, if he had a gun, as a safeguard from firing his gun accidentally, he'd be more like his counterpart, Deputy Barney Fife and keep his one bullet in his shirt pocket, instead of in his gun.
Still, after hearing Jimmy talk about his diecast car collection and Ray talk about his gun collection, he figured that having a hobby was his ticket to having some summertime fun, something he never had, even when his mother was alive. She never wanted to do anything or go anywhere. Who knows, maybe he'd kill two birds with one stone and find a nice woman who shared his hobby. That would be swell. With no lapses in conversation, they'd have plenty to talk about then.
Even Steve, his mailman, collected stuff. Whenever he drove by Steve's house, it was obvious that he collected lawn ornaments. At Christmas time, Steve had so many holiday lawn decorations that parents would drive their kids all the way over from the next county, just to see his manger, Santa Claus, and reindeer exhibit. He thought about collecting Christmas decorations, that is, until he thought about the electric bill. He could barely afford the bills that his mother left him with now. Unless they had something to do with him finding a hobby he'd enjoy and finding a woman to love, he didn't need to have any more expenses than he had already.
Walter didn't collect anything. With use it up and wear it out, and fix what's broken, before buying anything new, as his motto, nothing interested him enough for him to spend his hard earned money on things he didn't want and on things he didn't need. He didn't even know what to collect but he figured that if he collected something, in the way that Jimmy, Ray, and Steve collected things, having a hobby wouldn't make him feel as lonely. Only, not knowing what kind of hobby interested him, what was there for him to collect? Always feeling left out, it seemed that his friends were already collecting the good stuff.
Living way out in the boonies, his mother's house was just the way she had left it, but then, when he thought about it, he realized that even she collected stuff. She collected Hummels and thimbles. He forgot about those. He could continue her collection of Hummels and/or thimbles, but that didn't interest him, in the way that it, obviously, interested her. Now that even his mother collected things, maybe it was time that he collected something, too, but what?
He saw on television that some people collect twine, paperclips, antiques, baseball cards, even buttons. Walter thought long and hard about what he could possibly collect but, except for women, nothing interested him. He liked women a lot, but they didn't like him. The closest he ever came to a woman was his mother and his blowup doll, Gabby, named after an Italian woman, Gabriella, who appeared on a poster that his uncle had bought him, as a souvenir, from Italy. He really liked Gabby. She was beautiful and the poster of her hung on his bedroom wall for years.
Other than collecting women, he didn't know what else to collect. Laughing at the mere thought of it, certainly, he couldn't go around town collecting women. When they showed up missing, then what? Besides, how would he even get them to his house without someone seeing him? Collecting women would be wrong. Wouldn't it? He couldn't just snatch someone off the street for the sake of collecting them. That would just be too weird. Wouldn't it?
Yet, he liked the idea of collecting women and the thought of collecting women stuck with him. The more he thought about it and the more he dreamed about it, the more he liked it. Realistically though, how could he go about doing such a thing? How could he even think about doing such a thing? The idea of collecting women was ludicrous and only made him feel weirder than he was already. He filed away the idea on his back burner and only thought about it again, when he was sleeping and dreaming about having an entire collection of women.
Then, he thought, instead of collecting women, he could collect pictures of women. Yeah, sure, why not? He could buy himself a digital cameras and take candid photos of women and collect those. He could blow them up, print them out, and paste them on his wall. Yet with the stalking laws of today, especially for someone who looked like him, they'd probably think he was just another pervert and arrest him.
Besides, collecting photos of women, instead of collecting real women, just wasn't the same. With only having their one dimensional images on paper, he couldn't feel the women or talk to the women. Not even in the way that he has sex with his blowup doll, Gabby, and in the way that he routinely had sex with his mother, he couldn't have sex with mere photos of women in the way that he could have sex with real women. Only, back to the original question, who would want him? No women wanted him in the way that he wanted them. They'd want him if he looked like George Clooney or Brad Pitt, but he didn't look like either of those celebrities. He looked like his weird self.
Even though the thought of taking photos of women excited him, he couldn't have a conversation with a photo. After a while, just staring at photos would surely be just as frustrating as staring at his Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie posters that were prominently displayed on the ceiling of his room over his bed. Even though he pretended they were watching him, even though he pretended they wanted him, and even though he masturbated over those photos, it wasn't the same, as if they were in the room and in his bed with him. Sad and lonely, he needed a real, live woman.
With a different one on his arm every time he saw him on television at a premier or a party or a restaurant, he wished he were George Clooney. Good old George was never lonely and never without a woman. He wished he were Brad Pitt. What a lucky man he is to have had been married to both of his fantasy women? At first he remembered thinking how dumb Brad was to dump Jennifer, but after he hooked up with Angelina, definitely that was a step up the love and lust ladder.
If even only as a sexual fantasy, he thought more about collecting real women again. Only, if he started collecting women, especially collecting women against their wills, that's wrong. Isn't it? He could go to jail for kidnapping. Couldn't he? People would talk. Wouldn't they?
Especially when women started turning up missing, they'd definitely notice that. There'd be a manhunt or, in this case, a woman hunt looking for the lost women. Yet, what if the women were agreeable to being collected? He wondered what kind of woman would allow him to collect her? Surely, no woman would agree to be collected by him, unless she was drunk, drugged, hypnotized, or just as weird and crazy as he was. Except for the lunacy, all the other conditions would wear off, being drunk, drugged, and hypnotized. Then, what?
He thought about all those religious cults that collected women over the years. Maybe if he had a religious cause, women would flock to him and allow him to collect them. Yet, there wasn't anything that he believed in enough for women to want to be collected by him. Besides, he was a terrible public speaker. If he was rich enough, as rich as one of those Arabs in Dubai, he'd have a whole collection of women, his own personal harem. Only, he wasn't rich.
Then, he thought, what if he collected women that no one else wanted and no one would miss? There must be some women that he could collect that no one would miss and that no one would care were missing, once they noticed them gone. He sat down and made a list of all the women that no one would miss and he was surprised by the long list of women that no one would care if they had gone missing.
His first woman was Darlene from the town council. She was as annoying as she was ineffective. No one liked her but they all voted for her because she always ran unchallenged. No one else wanted the job. Living in such a small, one horse town, there really wasn't much need for a town council or a town council woman, for that matter, especially one who was so annoying. Except for her, they didn't have a town council and except for the same pain-in-the-ass complainers, no one showed up at the town council meetings. Definitely, she'd never be missed.
On the pretense of giving her a campaign contribution, he decided to invite her over for coffee to talk to her about her impending campaign and, as quickly as that, he collected her.
"Do you collect anything, Darlene?"
"Well, since my husband, Bob, died, with all the free time that I have on my hands in only caring for myself, I have a collection of quilts. Since my children moved away to start their own lives, making quilts keeps my mind occupied. I like making them and it takes me such a long time to make one that I can't bring myself to give them away or to sell them, so I just hang them on the wall, put them on my bed, or store them in my old, hope chest. I really haven't thought about it, until now, but I guess, I do collect them."
"Would you like to see what I collect, Darlene?"
"Sure," she said. "What is it that you collect, Walter?"
"It's better if I show you, than tell you," he said getting up and escorting her down his cellar.
His Daddy, afraid that Khrushchev would nuke the United States, built a bomb shelter back in the late fifties when they were popular back then. His father stocked it with provision in the early sixties when the Bay of Pigs was a threat with Russia wanting to put missiles in Cuba. No one knew that Walter had a bomb shelter beneath his house. People who built them didn't make it known that they had one, for fear that the neighbors and other townsfolk would overrun them should there be a real emergency. After his Dad died, his mother had used it as a giant pantry. Now, it was the perfect place to store his prized collection of women.
"Where's your collection, Walter? There's nothing down here but concrete walls and food items. Is that what you collect, Walter, Campbell soup cans? Why you're a regular Andy Warhol, aren't you?"
"No, that's silly. I don't collect soup cans. You're my collection, Darlene. My first. I collect women and I'm collecting you."
He grabbed her and she struggled.
"Let go of me, you filthy pervert."
"Best you not struggle, Darlene. I don't want to hurt the very first of my collection. You're worth more to me unmarked, unscratched, and not bruised."
With the adrenaline and the lunacy surging through his body, easily overpowering her, he had the strength of a much bigger man. He chained her ankle to the wall with a long enough chain to give her free reign of the cellar, access to the restroom and to the downstairs kitchen, that he had stocked with plenty of food, bottled water, and a microwave oven. But for a computer, a phone, a window, and a way to escape, everything was there for her comfort and convenience, including a small television and a bed. For sure, he'd have to buy more beds, if he wanted to add more women to his collection.
Just as Jimmy with his collection of diecast cars, Ray with his collection of guns, Steve with his collection of lawn ornaments, even his mother with her collection of Hummels and thimbles, and now Darlene with her collection of quilts, as a lover of women and a collector of females, it was part of his hobby to experience what he had collected. A short, pear shaped brunette, he took pride in taking a personal and special interest in everything he collected. Before leaving her to herself, forcing her to kiss him, he touched and felt Darlene everywhere she hasn't been touched and felt, since her husband, Bob, died several years ago. He touched and felt her everywhere he hasn't touched and felt a woman, since his mother died.
Taking his time undressing her, he was happy that he finally found a summertime hobby that he truly enjoyed. Unzipping and removing her dress, slip, bra, pantyhose, and panties, she was naked but for the clothes that collected around her ankle. He'd worry about that later. He'd either have to cut them off or unchain her to remove them. He decided the former was better than the latter.
As would Jimmy look at his diecast cars, Ray look at his guns, Steve admire his lawn ornaments, his mother view her Hummels and thimbles, and Darlene view at her quilts, he stared at Darlene. She had B cup breast with brown nipples and an untrimmed bush of pubic hair. He couldn't wait to feel her everywhere and he did. He loved touching, feeling, and caressing her breasts. He loved sucking her nipples. Had he known it would be this much fun, he would have gotten into collecting and collectibles years ago. Only, he couldn't collect women with his mother still alive. For sure, she'd be jealous that he was having sex with someone other than her.
He quickly removed his clothes and forced her to have sex with him. He kissed her, while fondling her breasts and moved her hand down to hold and stroke his penis.
"I like your titties, Darlene. You have titties just like my mother's titties."
"Please, Walter, I beg you to let me go."
Finally, but not without a struggle, he had intercourse with her but, before he was about to cum, he pulled out his cock and made her blow him, so that he could ejaculate in her mouth, something he always did with his mother and missed doing, after she died.
"Open your mouth, Darlene. Blow me."
"No Walter. I didn't even do that with my husband."
"Well, you'll do it with me because if you don't blow me, Darlene, I'll hurt you and if bite me, I won't treat you as nice as I'm treating you now. If you struggle and give me a hard time, I'll never let you go. Best you do whatever I want to do to you."
When he was finished with her, he gave her one of his mother's nightgowns to wear.
Next on his list, he collected Phyllis, a tall, slender redhead from the school committee. Much like Darlene, in that she was a committee of one, she was another annoying woman that no one would miss, for sure. Ever since she banned praying in schools, forbid the Pledge of Allegiance before class, and prohibited the fun, childhood sport of bullying, no one liked her. Just as he did with Darlene, he invited Phyllis, a divorcee, over for coffee on the pretense of talking to her about the school system.
With two women in his collection, already a fine collector of women, he had his way with Phyllis, too, after chaining her to the wall and before giving her his mother's nightgown to wear. His favorite thing to do was to feel them through their clothes, while kissing them. As he had with Darlene, he had fun feeling Phyllis through her clothes, before undressing her. A little younger than Darlene, she was prettier and he enjoyed touching her where no man has touched her since her husband left her for a younger woman.
When he was done feeling her through her clothes, he reached around behind her and unzipped her dress, removed her slip, unhooked her bra, and pulled down her panty. Hers was the first red bush he had ever seen. He touched her, fingered her, and licked her before having intercourse with her. He had no idea that his summertime hobby of collecting women would be so much fun.