And the many things he makes

The nerd inside of Mark made a noise somewhat akin to the one the nerd he’d made of Stacy… made… It sounded a little like “Squeeeeeeee!”.

The room they had been led into was fairly enormous, as rooms go. Yet it felt almost overwhelmingly crowded. Every single inch was covered in some form of diorama, construction or self-propelling masterpiece. Miniature train tracks clickity-clacked here and there, weaving between valleys and volcanoes, castles and oceans. Model figures of endless different scales battled their way across every imaginable time-period and science fiction or fantasy trope. Giant robots swang their great limbs in looping arcs toward each other eternally. Whatever black magic or engineering allowed them to do so hidden cunningly from sight. Colossal lizards tore down cities. Clockwork skyships circled false suns. It all just amalgamated into one great nerdgasm of a wet dream. The hoard of some tinkering dragon whose wealth was simply unimaginable.

The two teenagers walked out into this vision of heaven in a daze, unable to even begin asking the questions that frothed at their mouths. In the centre of the room stood a sort of control hub. A raised platform with several switchboards covered in flickering lights and peeling, homemade labels. Next to this was a small and shabby basket, in which sat an equally small and shabby dog. He was chewing away at something, and… because everything else was too much to take in… that was what they focussed in on.

“Is that…?” Stacy asked, not quite sure she was really seeing the shape she recognised.

“Oh, err… yes, well… we had so many old stock prototypes lying around… and it stops Roger getting hold of anything else…” The old man had followed them, but now turned a little red himself. Shuffling a foot as he faced a probe into areas he obviously hadn’t quite expected so soon.

Mark was having trouble connecting the dots. “You have loads of prototype… buttplugs… just lying around…?!”

Their host now looked like he thought he was being accused of something, he huffed a little defensively. “Well, yes... It’s the family business, you see. Started by me and my wife, what? Forty years ago now. She was a very… rambunctious woman, all the way up until the day she passed. She always told me she was glad we found some real use for my skills with mechanics and moulding…”

Stacy gave Mark a glare. One that he accepted guiltily, but wasn’t entirely convinced he deserved… how was he supposed to know? Still… the girl took up their joint apology.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to pry… but it’s your actual job to make sex toys?! I never even thought about the fact that that had to be a thing!”

The bearded man didn’t seem too off-put, possibly helped by the still clear view he had of Stacy’s nubile curves. He smiled at her admission. “Well… I’m retired now. My daughter’s handle the business these days, though I still drop in to help with any design problems once in a while… You’d be surprised how complicated it can be just getting something to vibrate at one end more than the other, at varying speeds… or at some of the special orders some of our more… prestigious... clients ask for. It makes my little hobby projects look trivial tobe honest.” He gestured around the room at said ‘hobby-projects’ as they whizzed, flew and clattered around in cycling magnificence. Mark and Stacy were beginning to realise just how impressed they were by this unassuming character of a man.

They spent several over-excited hours exploring his creations and asking excited questions about both these and his previous career. It would seem his wife had been quite the overt and proud sexual trendsetter, insisting that she be the first test subject for all their innovations and ideas. “She was the brains, I was just the hands” insisted their host, several times over. Stacy was fascinated by this woman whose entire life had been devoted to finding another orgasm. The girl was near-devastated that she would never get to meet her. By the time they realised how long they’d been there, and replied to several anxious missed calls from Peter, they had made fast friends with ‘Mr Fred Standsted’. He had promised to allow them back to visit with their own model-making buddy, very soon… and had winked conspiringly at Stacy after she had made her own, private request when Mark was distracted. Thus they gathered up their almost-dry clothes and headed out into a still-dripping world in high spirits, ignoring the odd raindrop. This misadventure having born rather more fruit than either of them could quite believe.