Lincoln Loud loved comics. Fucking loved them. He read at least two a day and was always scheming ways to make money so he could buy more. He would rake lawns, pet sit, and even set up the occasional lemonade stand, putting Lola and Lana behind the desk to bring in the customers; it's amazing the inflated price people will pay when their piss warm drink is coming from two cute little girls saving up to get their puppy a major surgery. Lol. Adults are suckers for kids, animals, and sob stories. Combine the three and you have a winning formula that's sure to rake in the bucks. Of course, when he did that, he had to cut Lana and Lola in, and they were expensive af, especially Lola. Lola's head was bigger than a GoldenEye 64 character's and she had it in her brain that she was God's greatest gift to humanity. If you wanted her help with anything, it would cost you…big.
It was worth it for the most part. All he had to do was fill a few pitchers with Country Time he bought at Dollar General, add some extra sugar to throw off the taste so no one would recognize it, and pass it onto his sales team. He'd usually make a solid twenty bucks out of the deal, and if you slice a Jackson just right, you can get a whole lot of comic books out of it.
His favorite series was Ace Savvy, but that pretty much went without saying. Anyone who knew him was well aware of his love for the fantastic AS. Ace was just tops, as the kids of Pop Pop's generation might say. He was everything Lincoln wanted to be - strong, loyal, handsome, rich, and, most of all, popular. Lincoln tried to copy Ace where he could and if he was presented with a challenge or obstacle, he would stop and ask himself What would Ace do? Usually, the answer was Beat someone's ass and make a wisecrack. Lincoln wasn't very physical, so he typically skipped the first step, but he totally did the second. He had been working on his wit and dry humor, and was convinced that he could write one liners for the comics and no one would ever know that the author was an eleven year olf kid with white hair and chipped teeth. They'd think it was some grizzled Hollywood comedian with a few Comedy Central specials under his belt.
Anyway, Lincoln loved Ace Savvy but loved all comics, even the ones his mother brought home from work. Mom was a receptionist at a dentist's office and always brought him comics about Timmy Tooth, the masked purveyor of dental justice. In each issue, Timmy fought Gingivitis-Man, The Cavity, and other themed villains. It was dumb and hokey, but being a lover of the art fortm overall, Lincoln liked them enough. See, when you're really into something, you're more likely to be accepting of its less than stellar examples. For instance, Lucy loved horror movies, so she was more likely to be tolerant of bad horror movies than Lincoln would be, and he was more tolerant of lame comics than the next guy would be.
A lot of people are like that, Lincoln had discovered. Oh, they might like to think that they have exacting standards and impeccable tastes, but there's usually one thing they're totally biased about. Clyde and his dads were artsy-fartsy snooty types who liked to call themselves "cultured" but they'd routinely watch shitty Adam Sandler movies from the 2010s and laugh until they cried. Did you know that Howard McBride's favorite movie was Jack and Jill? Yes. The one where Adam Sandler plays a guy and a girl. It's the most retarded thing ever but the guy loved it. Howard had an engineering degree from CalTech and virtually lived in art galleries and natural history museums. You'd expect him to be into black and white arthouse cinema or foregin films, but no, he like dumb, mindless comedies.
That wasn't exactly the same thing, though. Lincoln's point was this: Fans of something tend to be more forgiving of their favorite genre/media's poorer entries. There were many comics out there that Lincoln didn't particularly like, but couldn't be too hard on them.
How he felt about subpar comic books wasn't the hot topic, however.
Not directly.
Many comics have pages and pages of ads in the back, usually for novelty toys that have a reputation for not working. Vanishing cream, joy buzzers, that kind of thing. Lincoln loved those things almost as much as he did comics. He rarely had any extra money after buying comics to order anything, but when he did, oh boy. The last thing he bought was a Mr. Magical Magic Kit ("Impress and amaze your friends!"). It came with a little beard and wizard hat, and he wore it around for two days straight as he tried to hex his sisters. None of his spells worked, though Lola did fall down the basement stairs; he wanted her to turn into a frog, but he would take what he could get.
One Saturday afternoon, Lincoln caught the downtown bus in front of Flip's and took it to the mall. He had spent a good two weeks doing random tasks for neighbors and saving his pay; he had a wad of fives burning a hole in his pocket and an ice cold Flippez in one hand. The driver made him dump his drink before he got on and Lincoln almost decided to just wait for the next bus, but it wouldn't be here for another half hour. He sat u[ front and played a game on his phone during the ride. A crazy lady in rags sat across from him, rocking back and forth and talking our of her head, and Lincoln kept one eye on her just in case she flipped out and started stabbing people.
The bus finally reached the mall and Lincoln got off. The mall wasn't very busy at that hour, but it was never very busy. Gen Xers loved hanging out at the mall when they were young, but kids today did other things, like play video games, read fan fiction, and self-loathe. You expect them to hang out with friends? LOl what friends?
Anyway, Lincoln hit the comic book store and got the latest issue of Aryan Ace. Aryan Ace was an alternate universe franchise where Ace was a Nazi and helped Germany win World War II. Lincooln wasn't a huge fan of Nazi-related stuff but he followed it anyway. Look, Lincoln knew Nazis were mega pricks, but they had become such a stock villian that every time he saw them in a movie or a video game, he rolled his eyes. Oh, wow, Nazis…again. How exciting.
Prize in hand, Lincoln retired to the food court and had a slice of pizza. He paged through the comic as he ate, skimming paragraphs and glancing at complex artwork. He skipped to the ads at the back and scanned them, looking for something interesting.
On the very last page, he hit the motherlode. His brow furrowed and he leaned into see better even though his vision was perfect.
The ad was for a hypnosis kit.
Wow! Cool! Hey, Kids! Put a spell on all your friends and family!
The text beneath invited boys and girls (wow nice gendered language, bigot) to "put everyone under your command and make them do your bidding muhahahaha." Yes, they literally spelled out the cartoon evil guy laugh. Cringe. The black and white picture showed what looked like a normal briefcase filled with random junk including a pocket watch that, Lincoln supposed, you could swing in front of someone's face to mezmerize them.
Lincoln had never really given much thought toward the validity of real life hypnotism, though he was naturally a skeptic. Regardless, the promise of being able to put people in a trance and make them do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, was too good to pass up. Later, at home, he tore the ad from the comic, filled out his info, and shoved it and thirty dollars into an envelope. Monday morning, on his way to school, he dropped it into the mailbox. When he got to the building, he had breakfast with Clyde and told him all about his new purchase. Clyde just shook his head. "I don't know why you go in for junk like that."
"It's not junk," Lincoln said defensively.
"Yes it is," Clyde said. "None of it ever works. Remember those X-Ray glasses?"
Lincoln did. They were flimsy and blurry. They were supposed to let you see through girls' clothes, but they were so jacked up that he couldn't even see his own nose. "So I got a bad pair," Lincoln said dismissively, "that doesn't mean anything."
Sighing, Clyde shook his head. "Okay."
The bell rang, and Lincoln slammed his milk. "I thought you'd be a little more supportive of me, but I guess I was wrong."
Before Clyde could clap back, Lincoln rushed off, dumped his tray, and went to class.
At the end of the day, Lincoln went home, checked the mailbox, and groaned because there was nothing for him. He knew there wouldn't be, but stiff, a guy can hope, can't he?
That word - hope - came to define the next six weeks of Lincoln's life. Every morning, his excitement would drag him from sleep and he'd check the front porch just in case his package came in at an off hour. Every time he poked his head out the door and saw nothing waiting, his spirits would crash and he'd slump his shoulders in disappointment. For the rest of the day, he would sit literally on the edge of his seat and watch the clock, counting down every eternal second until he could run home and check.
Every day that it didn't come in. Lincoln got a little more frustrated/ Finally, he was so worked up that he paced the floors at all hours and couldn't bring himself to think of anything else. He woke with hope every morning, but by bedtime, he was resigned to the fact that it had been lost in the mail and would never come.
"You just have to be more patient," Clyde said one Saturday afternoon.
They were sitting side by side on the swings at the park, their shoes making little circles in the mulch. Lincoln's fingertips absentmindedly traced the heavy plastic wrap covering the chains - safety first - and his eyes pointed down at the tops of his sneakers, a look of anguish painted across his face. The sky was overcast and the foliage - beginning to bud with the first green blossoms of life - shimmered in the warmish breeze. The clean smell of flowers scented the air and the laughter of little kids playing on the equipment found Lincoln's ears.
"I've been waiting forever," Lincoln moaned and threw back his head. "I'm losing my mind over here."
"Don't think about it," Clyde said.
Oh. great, that was a fantastic idea. How come I didn't think of it? That was like telling someone with cancer to stop being sick, or Donald Trump to stop being Lincoln could control his excitement, everyday wouldn't be an orgy of suspense. "Okay," he said. "But first, you stop being black."
"I can't control the pigment of my skin," Clyde said matter of factly.
"And I can't control this," Lincoln said.
Clyde looked at him. "Dr. Lopez says controlling your emotions is -"
"I don't care what she says," Lincoln said and sighed deeply. "I only care about getting my Hypno-Kit."
A gust of wind blew, making Lincoln's cowlick flick back and forth. Booooooing! He turned to Clyde and narrowed his eyes against an errant ray of sunshine that had somehow broken free and shone through the cloud cover. "Wanna go to Gus's and split a pizza?"
"You read my mind," Clyde said and got up.
Though he was kind of dismissive, he tried to take Clyde's advice to heart. He filled his days with meaningless make work. He played through his library of vide games, storming the beaches of Normandy a dozen different times and slaying scores of zombies. Nazis and zombies. Can't I shoot anyone else in the face? Vietcong? A game where you get caught by the VC and wind up eating maggots in a bamboo cage next to John McCain sounded like fun. Or a Civil War game where it took you five minutes to load your gun between every shot. Those games would be billion selles.
Maybe he should design them.
For the next two days, he wrote and rewrote plotlines for both games. In the Civil War one, you fought as a Union soldier (since it would be canceled on sight if you played as a Confederate) and engaged in battles from First Bull Run to Gettysburg. If you beat the game without dying, you'd get modern day upgrades like tanks, APCs, and bazookas. Show General Lee who's boss with a freaking rocket launcher. He finally tired of it all and borrowed a book from Lucy. It was called No Sanctuary and the author was some guy named Richard Laymon. Richard had a bad habit of calling butts "bums" and for some reason that he couldn't explain, that grated on Lincoln's nerves. He gave up because he couldn't concentrate: His mind would go back to his Hypno-Kit and the fact that he didn't have it yet and his mood would sour.
In late May, it finally happened. He opened the door and a brown box with the Amazon logo on it greeted him. His heart jogged into his chest and he wiggled his fingers like Homer Simpson trying to decide which donut he should eat first. Is this for me? He bent over and spun it around.
It was!
His Hypno-Kit was finally here!
Yay!
Picking it up, he carried it to his room and shut the door behind him. He sat cross-legged on his bed, used a thumb tack to cut the tape, and opened the box. He reached in and removed the Hypno-Kit with religious reverence. In his mind, a beam of bright, heavenly light broke through the ceiling and bathed the Hypno-Kit in its brilliance. A chorus of angels chimed in, and Lincoln bowed his head as if to pray. He sat the Hypno-Kit on the bed and carefully opened it, making sure not to rip the box because he really liked the artwork on it. This is awesome. It should really be in a frame.
He slid out the contents of the box and fanned them across the bed. The first thing he went for was the instructional booklet: HOW TO HYPNOTIZE PEOPLE. It was full of neat tricks and tips that would help him in his quest to make Lana and Lola bwok like chickens. He said earlier that he would make Lola fall down the stairs or something, but that was just talk. He was a good dude, he wouldn't hurt anyone, he'd just make them do silly things to amuse him.
What would he do first? He could make Luna do a funny dance, or command Lola to roll around in the mud and oink like a pig. Oooh, what if he had Lisa walk around on her hands and burp the alphabet? Lisa was so stuffy and formal that she'd never do anything so "crass" on her own. He wouldn't make a video of it or anything but the thought definitely crossed his mind.
Before he did any of that, he had to learn his stuff. Getting up, he went to his closet and rummaged around until he found the pieces of his Mr. Magical Magic Kit. Donning the cape - blue with yellow stars - and the fake goatee, he went back to reading. He needed someone to practice on, a test subject. He didn't imagine any of his older sisters would help him, but he knew someone who would.
Done reading, he went downstairs and found his guinea pig crawling around the living room in a diaper and nothing else. He bent over her and smiled broadly. "Hey, Lily!"
She sat up, beamed, and slapped her meaty legs in excitement. He looked around, made sure no one was watching, and plucked her up from the floor. He stole up the stairs, went into his room, and shut the door with his foot. He sat Lily on the bed and plopped down across from her. She looked curiously around as though she had never seen the inside of his room, and Lincoln held up the pocket watch. She looked at it and cocked her head. She reached for it, and Lincoln pulled it back. "No. Just look at it. See how pretty it is."
He began to swing it back and forth and Lily tracked it with her eyes. "You are getting sleepy," Lincoln intoned in a deep, dramatic voice. "Very sleepy. Your eyelids are heavy and your brain is starting to get foggy."
Lily's eyes drooped and a ribbon of drool oozed down her chin. It was working! "When you hear the snap, you will be under my control. You will do whatever I say. When I snap twice, you will wake up."
The toddler's head nodded and she fell into a light, snoring sleep. Lincoln held his breath and snapped his fingers.
She whipped her head up and stood (rather, sat) at attention like a soldier awaiting orders. Her eyes were misty and unsettling. Not knowing what to do, Lincoln made her do I'm a little Teapot. She got up, jumped off the bed, and went through the moves, one hand on her hip and the other up like a spout. It was adorable af, but Lincoln felt like a heel for hypnotizing a one year old, so he snapped twice and brought her out of it. To make sure she was good, he ordered her to do a summersault. She just laughed at him.
When she was gone and he was alone again, he sat there and stared down at the Hypno-Ki in utter amazement. He did it. He actually did it. He could hypnotize people. Clyde told him that the Hypno-Kit would be junk just like all the other stuff he'd bought from the back of comic books and even though he denied it, on some level, he agreed. It probably would be junk. He held out hope, though, and holy wow, his hope really paid off this time.
Suddenly, he had great power in his hands.
And with great power comes great responsibility.
Over the next couple of days, Lincoln practiced diligently with his Hypno-Kit. He brought it to school on Thursday and sat up shop in the cafeteria during lunch. Clyde didn't believe that it worked so he volunteered to be put under. Lincoln swung the pocket watch back and forth and Clyde fell under his spell. Lincoln made him drink milk, which he hated. The instruction booklet said that it was "almost impossible" to make someone do something that they wouldn't normally do under hypnosis. That, apparently, only applied to serious things. Like, he could probably make Luna play classical music (which she didn't really like), but he couldn't make her kill somebody.
Interesting.
The world of hypnosis was a fascinating place and there was so much to learn.
Lincoln checked out a few books on hypnosis from the library and read them all. When he first bought the Hypno-Kit, he was just going to use it for fun. Now that he was getting good at it, he planned to make a career out of it. He would work hard, learn his craft, and become a famous hypnotist. He could get a job at the circus and travel around the country demonstrating his skills. He might not become rich but it'd be an awesome way of life. Lincoln had always liked carnivals and would love to be apart of one. Maybe not forever, but he could certainly get his start there.
Realistically, it probably wouldn't happen, but it was fun to think about.
On Sunday afternoon, a few days before school let out, Lincoln was sitting on his bed with his Hypno-Kit in front of him and read from a book on hypnosis. He was just turning a page when a knock came at the door. "Yeah?" he called.
The knob twisted and the door popped open. Lynn, dressed in red shorts and a red jersey with the number 1 across the chest came in. "Hey, Linc," she said, "wanna ball?"
Lincoln grimaced.
Being the jock of the family, Lynn loved sports. Sports was to her what comics were to Lincoln; she played every sport known to man and obsessed over each one, even the obscure sports like rugby and lacrosse. Every day it seemed, she tried to drag one of her siblings into a game of football or basketball. Lana would sometimes play with her, but for the most part, their sisters turned her down. Feeling bad for her, Lincoln usually agreed to play a round or two with her, but she always started abusing his sympathy. She would hit harder than she had to, become super aggressive and competitive, and cheat even if she didn't have to. Which she never really did. Lincoln was awful at sports and would trip himself up with his buttery fingers and his fear of being drilled in the nose. Lynn made fun of him for this, but every time she whipped the football at him, he'd cringe and put his hands up in front of his face. She called him mean names, but come on, who wants to have their nose and jaw broken by a line drive down the center?
Anyway, Lincoln grudgingly played football with her on occasion, but today was not going to be one of those occasions. "I'm kind of busy right now," he said.
Visible disappointment crossed Lynn's face. Her shoulders slightly sagged and she groaned. "Come on, please?"
"Maybe later," he said. "I really need to finish this book today. I only have a hundred pages left. It'll probably take me a while."
If everyone left him alone, he'd be able to finish the book in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. He didn't want her to know that, though, because if she did, she'd start pestering him again, and frankly, he just wasn't into the idea of playing ball today.
Lynn let out a frustrated sigh and dropped onto the edge of the bed, making the mattress bounce. Lincoln rolled his eyes. Looks like she was going to pester him regardless. "What are you reading about that's so important anyway? It's the weekend. I know it's not homework."
"Hypnosis," Lincoln said.
Lynn arched her brow. "Hypnosis?" she asked.
"Yeah," Lincoln said. "You know, hypnotizing people."
For a second, Lynn just looked at him…then she burst out laughing. Lincoln's face dropped into a frown and she laughed even harder. "What?" he asked.
"That stuff's not real," she said.
"Yes it is," Lincoln retorted. "I've done it before."
"Sure you have," Lynn said dismissively.
"I have," Lincoln said. "I could do it to you right now."
Lynn threw back her head and let out a sharp ha. "I bet you can't."
"Okay then," Lincoln said and sat his book aside. He cleared his bed and nodded to the spot in front of him. "Come on down."
Rolling her eyes, Lynn knelt in front of him. "You're gonna fail."
Lincoln took out the pocket watch and held it up. "We'll see," he said.
"If you actually hypnotize me," Lynn said, "you can do whatever you want to me."
The first thing that came to Lincoln's mind was something dirty, and he inwardly cringed. Ew, why would you think of that?
Pervert.
Anyway: "Now keep your eyes on the watch." He began to swing it, and lowered his voice to the low, comforting drone of a psychiatrist. "You are getting sleepy. Your eyelids are heavy, your mind is fuzzy. Your head is starting to nod and the only thing you can think of is sleep."
For all her bluster, Lynn went out like a light; before he was even done speaking, her chin was pressed to her chest and she was snoring deeply. LOL told you. "When I snap my finger, you will obey my every command. When I snap twice, you will wake up."
She said nothing.
So Lincoln snapped.
Lynn's head whipped up and she stared into space with vacant eyes. Lincoln had heard the phrase "the lights are but nobody's home." Until now, it was just that, a saying. Now he saw it before him, literally. Lynn's lights were on but she wasn't there. "Are you hypnotized?" he asked.
"Yes," Lynn said. Her voice was low and slurry.
"Call me papi," he said and snickered.
"Yes, papi."
Lincoln's face turned red and his eyes bulged from their sockets as he stifled his laughter. She was totally at his mercy. He could make her do anything. She said so herself.
Alright.
What did he want her to do?
An idea came to him and his heart started to race. Maybe it was wrong and maybe he was a terrible person, but he'd always wondered what a girl's chest looked like. His mouth went dry and he swallowed. "Show me, uh…show me your breasts."
He expected her to hesitate, but instead, she lifted her shirt without protest. She was wearing a sports bra beneath that did little to flatter her figure. Lincoln's heart raced and his hands shook. He wanted to see them bare. You know, send bobs, open bobs as my Indian-American readers might say. He started to ask her if he could touch them, but stopped himself. She did say anything, after all.
Licking his lips, Lincoln leaned in and cupped her breasts through her bra. They were small and yielding, firm yet somehow soft. His heartbeat picked up and the Log began to twitch. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and tried to force his hands back. This had gone far enough. Too far, in fact. Instead, he slipped his hands underneath her bra and closed his hands over her tiny tits. Her erect nipples mashed into his palms, and both mounds of girl-flesh jiggled with the rhythm of her own heart. Lincoln was at full mast now and his breathing was beginning to become ragged. He grazed his fingrertips over Lynn's nipples and they seemed to grow harder. She was digging it.
That gave Lincoln the courage to press his lips to hers. Her sweet breath filled his nose and his chest constricted. He trapped her bottom lip between his and, throwing caution to the wind, swept his tongue into her mouth. He swirled his tongue over hers and gave her breasts a light squeeze; she didn't respond at first, but then she kissed him back. He laid her on the bed, straddled her, and pillaged the inside of her mouth, all of his reservations gone in a burst of dumb animal instnct. He took her face in his hands and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. Lynn's breath quickened and her eyes closed, a look of bliss settling over her features. He trailed kisses from the corner of her mouth to the side of her throat. Her skin was smooth and salty, and the smell of her hair clean and inviting.
Lincoln was not planning this and had no idea where he would take it or how far it would go. Like any boy his age, he was horny af and often thought about girls. Sometimes he would do it so much, imagining all the things he wanted to do to them, that he got hot and shaky and had to masturbate. If he had been in his right mind, he may have stopped at shoving his hand down the front of her shorts and feeling the moist junction of her thighs; he may have stopped at sucking her nipple; he may have even stopped at rubbing his bare cock on her stomach (leaving a slime trail of precum behind). The fact of the matter was: His mind was gone.
Dick in hand, Lincoln rubbed his tip up and down Lynn's slit, looking for her opening. When he found it, he pushed his hips forward and penetrated her. She sucked a sharp intake of breath through her teeth and raked her nails across his back. She dug her heels into the mattress, tossed her head back, and grimaced at the sting of him breaking her cherry. Lincoln had been dreaming of this moment for what seemed like years, but he never could have imagined how good it felt. She was tight and wet and her body formed to his. Her walls stroked his dick as he began to thrust back and forth, and her heavy breathing urged him on. He kissed the side of her neck and her collarbone, slamming deep into her and loving the way she quivered and shook.
He pinned her wrists to the mattress, nibbled her ear, and rutted her like a dog, getting faster and faster as his passions rose. He was going to bust and no amount of thinking about baseball would stop him. He didn't want this moment to end but he couldn't control himself/.
When his climax hit, he pulled out and came on Lynn's stomach, painting long, thick ropes of silver across her flesh. Spent, he fell against her and fought to catch his breath. The realization of what he had done began to sink in and dread filled his stomach.
Maybe she wouldn't know.
Yeah, she was hypnotized.
First, he cleaned her up with a wipe, then he ordered her to get dressed. When they were sitting across from each other on the bed again, in the same position they had been in before, he snapped his fingers twice and she shook her head. Lincoln's heart jackhammered into his ribs as he waited to see if she remembered. "Hey," he said nervously. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I just got fucked."
Lincoln choked. "Oh, uh, that's funny. I did have you do some yoga so -"
"No you didn't," Lynn said. "You had sex with me."
Lincoln's heart dropped into his stomach and he looked at her like a deer in the headlights. Before he could speak, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulled his lips to hers, and kissed him deeply. Shoving him away, she got to her feet and left, pausing at the door to look sexily over her shoulder. "Maybe we can do it again sometime." Her grin widened. "Papi."
Then she was gone.
For a moment, Lincoln just sat there…then he picked up the box the Hypno-Kit came in and kissed it.
Best. Purchase. Ever.