The Adventures of SingleContext-Man: Vol. 1
“Oh my god! It’s so big!”, she gasped.
He chuckled confidently.
“Uh ha. Well, of course it is.”
He had just taken his head scarf off and his bulbous, glowing, bald head caught the moonlight. There was baby-making music playing in the background and his abnormally giant cranium pulsed in conjunction with the 808s coming out of the stereo system. She couldn’t take her eyes off the source of his power.
He began taking off the rest of his clothes.
“Oh wow! And your dick is a pretty nice size, too.”
“Wow. Thank you. I actually really appreciate that.”
“It’s just like, look at you. Look at that head of yours. I’m just—you’re so handsome… I just don’t know what to—“
He pressed his finger to her lips.
“Hush.”
He took that same finger and slid off the strap on her left shoulder.
“Now come here, girl.”
The next morning he woke up with a smile on his face. Blinking his eyes open, he turned over to look at the woman sleeping in his bed. She was fast asleep. With his eyes finally adjusted to the morning light, he looked up and on the ceiling was a taped 24 by 36 inch poster of Soulja Boy, staring back at him.
“Yes, sir. You already know.” he said strongly.
Immediately, he hopped out of the bed and darted for the bathroom to start his morning routine.
The bathroom sink was lined with all kinds of products, but they were neatly organized from smallest to largest in terms of bottle size. He hummed a tune as he brushed his teeth in strong, vigorous strokes until he had to gargle and spit.
Then, in a near-single fluid motion, he swept through his entire skincare routine with utter precision, plucking bottles and returning them to formation. He splashed ointment dollops onto his palm in perfectly proportioned amounts, and covered his skin with different substances until his face bore a dense, natural glitter. He took one look in the mirror at himself and smiled.
“Yessir. You already know.”
Lastly, he moved to an abnormally wide tub at the end of the line of bottles. He spun open the top and scooped out a creamy lavender-colored gunk, working it between his hands. He smacked the substance onto his oversized bald head, sculpting it like icing on top of a cupcake, and then massaged it through until it was absorbed by his brown, glowing scalp. Another look in mirror.
“Yessir! You already know.”
He then brushed through his luscious beard, took one last look in the mirror, smiled, and started off.
He pulled up to work in a small, efficient electric vehicle. Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he spun them around his finger—via the keyring—5 times before exiting.
He sat down in a row of empty spectator seats, right next to Hecky Nawlings, the star player for one of the best teams in the biggest American sports league and one of the most famous men on the planet. Hecky was sitting courtside at a private players’ practice, the morning before a big game.
He thrust his microphone into Hecky’s face, to which Hecky didn’t much flinch.
“So, Hecky, how do you do it?”
“Well, you know. I just stay in my lane. It’s all about the work, for me. I think about everything I’ve been through, all the repetition and hard work, which centers me to my purpose in between those lines and just, well… I just play.”
“Mmmmm, beautiful. And for the fans who hear that and go ‘That guy is just like me.’ You know, the ones that look to you for motivation. What do you have to say to them?”
“Keep at it. Whatever you’re doing. Just stay focused, and keep at it. Keep going. That’s life.”
“Spoken like a true champ. Thanks so much for doing this, Hecky.”
“As always, my friend.”
Before leaving, Hecky gave him a hearty fist-bump and rubbed the top of our journalist’s head. On this contact, the large head glowed with warmth and then it pulsed to the same pattern as the Grindin’ beat. Smiling, he got up and moved to a nearby table and began to type away frantically into his laptop, transcribing what he learned from Hecky’s interview for immediate publication.
BRRRRRMMMMP!
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game.
He hurried from his courtside media seat to the post-game press conference room, where most of the room was waiting for Hecky to arrive.
Hecky, fresh from an amazing performance and a clutch team win, entered the room, stretching his legs comfortably at the podium. From the podium’s point of view, there is a hand feverishly waving above a big ass bald head, hoping to catch more attention than the other esteemed journalists in the room.
“You, sir, with the extremely large head,” ordered the podium manager, noticing this activity.
“Hecky, it’s me again…”
“My guy! Long time, no see,” said Hecky.
“Haha! Good one. Hecky, before the game, you said something along the lines of ‘Just doing my thing and staying in my lane’. I thought that was the key to tonight’s win. But frankly… I’ve been covering you for what feels like my whole career and your message has hardly changed much. Is this still a good way to describe your feelings about your performance, even after all these years?”
“Why, of course, yes it is. And thanks for that question.”
“Do you have any more to add?”
“Well, yeah. I would say I just try to keep at it, every single day, and take what they give me out there. I trust the hard work, and I just go out there and leave it all on the floor.”
“Mm-mmmm-mm! Well said!”, our protagonist shouted.
“Haha, my man.”
“Thank you, Hecky.”
“Anytime, brotha.”
“1…
2…
3…
4…
5.”
He counted the number of keyring spins and then put the key into the ignition, while humming the same tune he hummed brushing his teeth that morning.
He drove home from the facility as the moon rose higher into the night sky.
Pulling into the driveway to his house, he noticed something was off.
“Wait, that’s weird.”
One of the bulbs on the lighted-path to his front door was flickering on and off. He turned the car off and got out to check it out. Before he got a few paces, he gasped.
“Fuck!”
He quickly ran back in the car, sat down in the driver’s seat and frantically spun the keyring 5 times. He could feel his head vibrating and his adrenaline rising. He closed his eyes tight and waited for the ringing sensation to subside. After a few moments, he took a deep breath, gathered his belongings and scurried into the house.
“Honey! I’m here.”
A distant female voice registered his arrival:
“Okay! How was your day?”
—as he took the time to take off his shoes and put his things down in their designated spots by the front door.
“You already know! Another one for the books, what can I say? Hecky was phenomenal today.”
The voice, coming from an upstairs room, still shouting:
“Oh, of course. Isn’t he great every day?”
“You can say that again!”
Once he was free of all his work things, he reached for a large head scarf on a nearby hanger and wrapped it around his enormous scalp, covering every inch of it comfortably.
“Were you able to get something to eat on your way home?”, the distant voice asked.
“Yeah, they had food in the media room I was able to get my hands on!” he shouted back.
There was a slight pause in conversation.
“Well. Whenever you’re ready, sweetie, I’m up here!”, she offered.
Once he got to the top of the stairs, he could hear a soulful tune floating through the cracked door to his bedroom.
“There you are. Are you ready?”, he heard from the other side of the door.
“Oh, you know it.”, he responded.
As he flung the bedroom door open, a curvy silhouette was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her shape was only legible courtesy of the moonlight backlighting her.
“Welcome home, hubby.”
He walked over to her, and stood above her. Even in the flat darkness, he could tell she was giving him the most seductive of eyes.
“You already know… wifey.”
He proceeded to take off his head scarf.
“Oh my god! It’s so big!”, she gasped.
He chuckled confidently.
“Uh ha. Well, of course it is.”
His bulbous, glowing, bald head caught the moonlight. The baby-making music playing in the background caused his abnormally giant cranium to pulse in conjunction with the 808s coming out of the stereo system.
The woman—his wife of 9 years—couldn’t take her eyes off the source of his power. And just like that, they got right into their nightly ritual.
He began taking off the rest of his clothes.
“Oh wow! And your dick is a pretty nice size, too.”
“Wow. Thank you. I actually really appreciate that.”
“It’s just like, look at you. Look at that head of yours. I’m just—you’re so handsome… I just don’t know what to—“
He pressed his finger to her lips.
“Hush.”
He took that same finger and slid off the strap on her left shoulder.
“Now come here, girl.”
He threw his wife back onto the bed and they proceeded to make love, holding each other tight as they stared directly into each other’s eyes.
“Fuck me harder!” she yelled.
He grunted.
“Look at you with this big ass fucking head!” she followed up.
He grunted again, but deeper this time.
“You fuckin me, ain’t you?”, she asked, looking deep in his eyes.
“Damn right, baby. Now look at my shit!”, he jawed back.
“Oooh! Yeah??”, as her eyes darted upward.
“Don’t take your eyes off my shit! You hear me?”
“Hell no I won’t!” she screamed, eyes fixated on his endless scalp.
“Matter fact, hold my shit while you ride this shit!”
She dug her grip into the firm flesh of his gigantic head, palming it like a basketball, and off that action, it warmed and glowed red with sensation.
“Fuck yeah, I’m holding this big ass head of yours while you fuckin me like this!”
“Now lick it!”
“Lick this shit??”
“Yeah, lick it!”
She licked it.
He let off a deep, deep grunt.
It went on like this for ~7 more minutes, before he finished and they fell into each other’s arms, exhausted.
Deep, deep breaths filled the air as the married couple, post-event, settled into their respective sides of the bed, ready to fall asleep.
As he drifted off, his eyes gradually closed. But just as they were almost fully shut, he noticed a dark figure moving around in the room.
He jolted himself awake.
It was his wife, almost out the door.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you in bed?”, he asked.
“I’m just feeling a little restless, I’m gonna go downstairs and watch some TV.”
“Wait, what do you mean? After—you know, the thing—we usually fall asleep here until morning.”
“Yeah, yeah I know sweetie. But, tonight I wanted to try something else tonight before I fell asleep.”
“I’m sorry I don’t understand. We’re supposed to stay here—in the bed—until tomorrow morning. That’s just how it works.”
“Baby, I’m gonna be here in the morning when you wake up.”
His head, still slightly red from the activity, started to vibrate from stress. He closed his eyes in agony and started to take some deep breaths.
“Okay, okay, okay. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”
She walked back around to her side of the bed, and got under the covers.
He sighed, and before long he fell into a deep, well-earned slumber.
The next morning, he awoke, but he wasn’t smiling like the previous morning.
Something felt different.
He turned over and his wife next to him was wide awake staring directly at the ceiling. She looked at him and gave a hesitant half-smile, as if to appease.
He rolled out of bed—neglecting to look up at the ceiling—and made his way to bathroom, groggily moving through his morning routine. By the time he came back out, his wife was no longer in the bed.
He arrived at the facility, hoping to make the most of another private players’ practice before a big game, but after waiting for an hour: Hecky was nowhere to be found.
He questioned a few of Hecky’s teammates, but they did not have much to add about his absence. On the opposite side of the court, other media members, also looking for a pre-game soundbite, speculated about the mysterious absence amongst themselves.
“He must be saving his energy! Hecky’s not one to skip out on pre-game.”, he shouted across at the other journalists.
They all looked his direction, offered no response and went back to their conversations.
He sat quietly in the empty row and practiced his keyring spins until it was game time.
Post-game, Hecky lumbered into the press-conference room, seemingly anxious and jittery. Before he even had a chance to get settled, all the hands in the room jolted to the ceiling.
“I just want to say a few things before we get into any questions,” Hecky offered.
The hands lowered back down. Except for one.
Our bulbous-headed protagonist pushed against this and kept his hand raised and frantic, hoping to get some special treatment.
“That means you too, brotha,” Hecky said aloud.
His hand slowly lowered.
“I wanted to explain my poor performance tonight as well as address some other…important… happenings in my life.
And… well…
That’s because, effective immediately, I am shifting careers.
I no longer want to play this game.
My athletic prowess has taken me to new heights, and I am thankful for all the blessings it has afforded me, but it’s time to hang it up. This context you know me in has served its purpose. Rather, it has run its course. I will be taking some time for myself and consulting with my family to decide which of my side interests I will pursue next.”
A wide-eyed, frantic hush fell over the media personnel in attendance. The most popular player in the game had just sworn against the sport he single-handedly popularized and was pivoting right before their eyes.
“I’m sorry this is coming so abruptly, but I felt there was no need to prolong it any further. I want to thank the fans, the media—many of whom I have great relationships with—and most certainly my peers and fellow players. I hope my path can be informative for those who may be going through something similar.”
All of the hands in the room shot up, while pulsating camera flashes punctuated this surprise historic moment.
“No further questions,” said Hecky firmly, as he walked off the podium.
Every single member of the media rushed after Hecky, who made a swift path towards the exit of the stadium. The entire room of journalists, photographers and team security emptied and spilled out into the hallways, following the commotion.
Except for one.
There he sat, slack-jawed and still. The large, bulbous dome sitting above him had lost its color, and it’s shape looked more shrunken and deflated than usual.
“What…..”
Stuck in a state of shock, he stared off into the distance, murmuring to himself, unable to process the news he just heard.
“I… don’t…
… understand…
wh…at….. do I do…
…. now….?”
TO BE CONTINUED
