SILKY’S
SAGA
A
tail of tale
By izzy ess of inverness
In the beginning:
Sylvester, “Silky,”
Weinstein arose at exactly 6:42 am, as he had for nearly 50 years. He lived in a beautiful old house on Minerva
Avenue, a short curved street near the intersection of Finch and Bathurst. He had been the only child and treasure of
Jacob and Sarah Leah Weinstein, immigrants to Chicago, between the first and
second world wars. They had been lucky
to leave at that time from Hungary and Czechoslovakia, respectively, inasmuch
as none of their hundred or so relatives who stayed made it past the
anti-Semitic pogroms of Eastern and Western Europe, during WWII. Silky remembered his parents waiting
anxiously by the phone when he was six, and no one called. No one wrote or otherwise communicated with
them; they were all dead or missing, permanently.
Silky was
pampered. He was by nature passive. He avoided confrontations and certainly
avoided fights and conflicts with kith and kin.
In particular, he avoided Bobby Wayne, a Catholic boy who taunted him
with being the killer of Jesus, no matter how logically he presented arguments
that Jesus was crucified by the Romans, namely King Herod, because he was
touted as being the King of the Jews and was a threat to the authority of Herod
in the Palestinian areas. Waynie managed
to take his lunches and his lunch money just about every day at Hyde Park
Public School. In Finch Street Secondary
School, Waynie was watched by the school monitors for his aggressive behavior
toward many of the Jewish students, who were rapidly becoming the majority of
the students at FSSS. Moreover, some of
the Jewish students could beat up Robert Wayne if he threatened them. Sylvester became a top student. He could have chosen anything as a career;
his marks could have gained him entry into medical school or law school, had he
pursued these avenues. Instead, he
graduated summa cum laude as Valedictorian of his graduating class of
1950. The Weinsteins were very proud that
day when Silky gave his speech and accepted his honours diploma and several
cash prizes, and large trophies, for his efforts.
In June of 1950, he
started his six year apprenticeship with Barclay, Barclay, Barclay, Barclay and
Smythe, a prestigious Chartered Accountancy firm on LaSalle Street, half a
block from the Chicago Trade Building which housed the Chicago Board of Options
Exchange for stocks, bonds, options and commodity futures. The CBOE was the only exchange that was open
24 hours. BBBB & S owned a seat,
which would eventually cost $250,000, in the 1980’s, some five times more than
a seat on the NYSE.
Silky became a top
employee of the firm. He expected an
offer to be a partner and part owner.
This was not forthcoming since the Barclays were all related. Morris Barclay was the patriarchal owner,
operator and CEO of the firm. He had
offered partnerships to his three sons, Robert, James, and Charles, and one
son-in-law, William Foster Smythe, who had married Morris’ only daughter,
Felicity.
Morris genuinely
liked the handsome Silky. He was
meticulous, accurate and always on time.
He accumulated, and kept, many grateful clients who were impressed with
his intimate knowledge of the CBOE and the other exchanges in Chicago, and
around the world. Silky graduated with
honours from the Accountancy apprenticeship.
He was rewarded with an office of his own; it wasn’t a corner office,
but it had a direct view of the CBT building and LaSalle Street.
At age 50, just in
time for a mid-life crisis, Sylvester was saved by a new computer programme
which kept his interest. It charted
stocks, options and bonds automatically.
He liked the look of the bar graphs showing high, low, opening and
closing prices on everything. It could
change the intervals and period of time for each entity. He printed relevant charts for his customers
and included them as part of his service.
His clientele numbers rose gradually.
Mr. Morris Barclay paid him his highest compliment, ever: “Sylvester, I
wish I had another daughter to offer you.
Would you consider taking my wife?
If you take her off myS hands, you’ll become a partner, immediately!”
Silky was not very
silky with women. He would start to
stammer and look helpless when meeting someone new, especially if she was
beautiful and friendly. In high school,
Sally Strumpette, a loose canon, approached him in the school yard and said,
“Hi, handsome! Wanna fuck?” Stunned, Sylvester had allowed her to drag
him off to a tree where she diddled him and with her hand and he managed to get
his hand into her wet vagina. He was
overall not impressed and certainly upset by the lack of cleanliness about
everything about sex, so far. Sally had
been his only sex mate in high school and that was just the one time.
In the middle:
Otherwise, Silky was
good at Onanism and played with his thingy often, in the shower. His parents tolerated his long showers as
they were aware of his social phobia and sexual inhibitions. His mother once opened the shower door, on
purpose, thinking she could teach him something, and also help herself,
inasmuch as her husband was not performing well, sexually, lately. Subtly, her husband encouraged her to try
Sylvester… Without a word, Silky’s
mother undressed and got under the shower with him. Silky was pleasantly surprised about his
mother’s lovely breasts and big brown nipples.
Sarah Leah noticed his stare and knelt in front of him. She messaged his wee-wee to a surprisingly
large erection and she smiled broadly.
She took the head of his organ into her receptive mouth and artfully
tongued it. Silky came in an instant,
gasping for air. His mother stood and
presented her derriere to her son. He kneaded
her soft bottom and put his newly erect penis in the crack between her
buttocks.
Sarah reached under
her pubis and guided her son’s penis deeply into herself. Grinding and grunting, the mother-son pair
came to a rapid, exciting climax, sure to have been detected by the
father-husband. In fact, the
father-husband became aroused. He
stripped and joined his family in the shower.
Sarah Leah was happy to have him there, especially with his unusually
hard and long penis. Jacob led Sarah to
their bed and screwed vigourously on top of the covers. Silky was led by Jacob to the master bed
room. Sarah was on top of Jacob. She was presenting her ass to Silky who
accepted the invitation. Mother, father
and son rocked and rocked until all of them was satisfied. When Sarah disengaged herself from her men,
she lifted her arms in the air, triumphantly.
Jacob and Silky sucked on her nipples, Silky right and Jacob left. She climaxed several more times and the men
were aroused, anew. In turn she did a
wonderfully slow blow job on each of them, causing a lot of joyful screaming.
A family encounter
became the Saturday night ritual for the Weinsteins. Sylvester expressed reluctance to continue
when he entered FSSS. Except for an
occasional Passover and Chanukah orgy, that was it for Sylvester’s sexual
activity, except for Sally, that one time, of course. At the time of his graduation, the Weinsteins
indulged in their happinesses with a final orgy before he became an apprentice
at BBBB & S.
Morris Barclay’s wife,
Julia, was a stunning beauty at age 48 when she approached Silky, one hot
afternoon in August, 1966. She said, “My
Morris said you might be interested in having a drink with me. He said you were interested in advancement
and ownership. He also said you were the
best in the company, far outstripping all our sons and our one son-in-law in
numbers of paying clients. He said you
were a whiz with stocks, options and bonds.
Morris and I are separated. I’m
living in that large glass apartment house near McCormack Centre, on the shore
of Lake Michigan, at 26th and Lakeshore Drive. It’s apartment 2012, the penthouse. If you’re hetero, are you free tonight?”
When Silky appeared
at Julia’s roof-top apartment, Julia was naked.
She had the body of a model, half her age. Her breasts were large and her brown nipples
were huge and erect. She’d shaved off
her pubic hair, so that Silky could see clearly, a red clitoris, erect and
pointing right at him. Julia reached for
him and ripped open his shirt. She
unbuckled his pants and pulled them down, taking his jockey shorts and pants to
his ankles. Silky stepped out of his
clothes. Julia led him by his erect
penis to the bedroom featuring pink silk sheets. She pulled him onto and into her and started
thrusting. Silky met her thrusts with
his own. A glorious climax was had by
them both, simultaneously.
In one of the
endings:
If truth be told,
Jules and Silky were like matches made in the germaphobic heavens. They were both squeaky clean in their habits,
and their thinking. Silky looked and
acted like her son-in-law, Smythe, whom she had bedded many times. Julia looked like Sarah Leah Weinstein, who’d
introduced him to loving sex and pleasures, with his father, Jacob. Morris Barclay looked and acted like a
pig. He and his three sons were like
pigs, unkempt, food on their shirts, railroads in their underwear, unbathed,
unshaven, greedy, gluttonous, lustful, slothful, proud, and all the rest. The Barclays hired women for the firm who
would put out for them. Julia knew that
her liaison with Silky was Morris’ way of keeping Silky from resigning and
taking his clients with him. Silky
thought of Julia as his goddess, surrogate mother and keeper of the germless
environment of the pink bedroom that drew them like a magic spell. Smythe, surreptitiously, came around and
joined the happy couple, as did the Barclay’s only daughter, Dinah. The four of them spent many hours ensuring
all was neat and clean and perfect.
Jules was the directrix of the foursome, threesome or the twosome. Part of every encounter was the ritual bath,
or Mikvah, as Sylvester had aptly dubbed it, consisting of olive oil, vinegar
and cut up tomatoes, oranges and limes.
Every Saturday and Sunday, the ritual of bathing, before and after
sexual delights, included gold ornaments, myrrh and frankincense, the latter three
imported from Oriental Kings of Tibet, Co. Ltd., a Triumvirate of Lamas who
would visit those that were destined for kingships and kingdoms, queenships and
queendoms, on a clean, organic, green Earth, improved, by far, as it was in
Heav’n.
Two years went by
without Sylvester’s salary increases, benefits or partnership
materializing. Au contraire, Julia’s
budget was reduced and Smythe was demoted to clerk, as the other Barclays’
gofer, and was awarded minimum wages without any of his previous benefits. Silky’s percentages were reduced despite his
huge and growing loyal clientele, most of whom urged him to quit and form his
own accountancy firm, The Silky Solution, Co. Ltd. During those two years, Jules, Silky, Smythy
Baby and Barclay Girl, grew closer and more intimate. The Three Wise Men’s stuff was added to the
rituals and Mikvim of Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The Barclay Hazzerim put the screws to the
four squeaky-clean, anointed lovers, legally insuring that none of them could
quit and form a new company.
The Barclay coffers
filled to overflowing. Barclay was able
to build a secret playboy hutch in an old building on South Martin Luther King
Drive, the erstwhile South Park Drive, that still had many majestic brownstones
still standing and recently renovated and soaring in value, after the initial
sales by the City of Chicago for one dollar plus all the back taxes. In their new Barclay Hutch, the Hazzerim were
able to build a pen/sty for their sloppy, enriched female employees and invited,
and not invited, paying, paid and non-paying female guests, in which to
sloppily fuck around.
Sylvester and Jules
and their two paramours could not forgive the sins of their fathers and
brothers. Festering hatred ate away at
the four lovers. Growing complacency
flourished within the Hazzerim.
In the end:
As it turns out, all
of the foursome’s habits included daily weights, and meticulous data kept, at
exactly the same time, after a morning thorough, cleansing shower. Secretly, the foursome worked on the new computers’
advanced chart building programmes for the benefit of all the Silky customers
and loyal fans. Sylvester’s popularity
grew. Many widows and divorcees handling
unfamiliar, very lucrative portfolios of stocks, bonds and options, of their
deceased and abandoned spouses, many of which were souses, fell in love with
Silky and his trio of squeaky-clean-cut Sulkies. Though he and they were often tempted to take
them on as lovers, only Smythy and his wife would sometimes indulge.
Finally, Julia
Barclay filed for a legal divorce from her slob of a husband, Morris, the seven
deadly sinner, pimp and multi-womanizer.
The pig had cleverly sequestered all his assets in Havana and claimed
severe poverty. Judge Sower, a secret
mistress of Moriss’ handed over half of Julia’s assets, menagerie of expensive
pets and a substantial permanent alimony, plus half Julia’s future earnings to
her secret lover. “Unfair!” shouted
Jules in court, while under her breath, “Fair at twice the price!” Happily, she moved in with a happy Silky.
Sylvester, “Silky,”
Weinstein arose at exactly 6:42 am, as he had for nearly 50 years. He boarded the RTA surface and subway train
that was still operated in part by the original Burlington and Northern
Railroad, at exactly 8:02 am. At 8:30,
he was at his smallish desk in his smallish office, overlooking LaSalle,
preparing to consult with Harry Gilbert Nussbaum, Theodora Gilder and Mildred
Maude Tuttle, at 9:00, 10:00 and 11:00 am, exactly, for exactly 55 minutes,
each. He piled their charts in order, on
his desk, ensuring that the stock, bond and option charts were up to date and
in order of importance to Harry, Teda and Modern Maude.
By noon, Silky had
surreptitiously inputted the complete dates and records of weights of the Four
Barclay Perfect Puritans. He diddled the
controls to pick out Monday mornings’ and Sunday evenings’ weights as opening
and closing prices, and had the computer calculate the weekly highs and
lows. He was thus able to generate a
weekly bar chart on each of the four lovers.
By 5:00 pm, he had four beautiful charts. He printed them and tacked them to his bulletin
board, where he frequently tacked the index charts of the TSE, NYSE, NASDEQ and
the CBOE. One week later, he noticed,
with some unusual excitement, that they were similar to the TSX 200, the OTC
400, the S&P 500 and the FTSE 700.
The next week, he lined up the charts and the weights. They were exact. The next week, they were still exact. To four decimal places, the weights of the
four lovers matched exactly the prices on four different indices. The bar graphs on semi-log charts were
virtually superimposable!
Slowly, the Four
Perfect Puritans realized the potentials of Silky’s charts. “We need to test this,” Silky said. “We could destroy the Barclays by bankrupting
them. We could make trillions for ourselves
and move to take over an island in the Caribbean.”
The quartette of
conspirators sat down at the kitchen table with the charts provided by
Sylvester. Each confirmed the validity
of the data and the accuracy of the recorded weights. Each recognized the fluctuation of his or her
weight and how it correlated exactly with the charts of the indices from the
USA, Canada and England. They decided to
gain weight first and see if it had the desired effect on the indices. Silky had eaten similar meals from the beginning
of his association with the Barclays.
The others had a very good idea of how to modify his or her diet to gain
some weight for a week. Their
obsessive-compulsive personalities made it possible to seek perfection in their
testing of Silky’s hypothesis that the stock market was controlled by their
weights. Of the mechanism, he was not
sure and none of the others could offer an easy explanation. “It’s just a fact, whatever the reason. And, if we can use it to make money, why
not?!” They all agreed and helped each
other make plans to modify their diets for a week to gain two or three
pounds. Sylvester easily adjusted his
diet for the week, having three eggs instead of two for breakfast, three pieces
of bacon instead of two and three slices of toast instead of two. For lunch, he would order a cheeseburger
instead of a plain burger, two orders of fries instead of one and a real coke instead
of a diet one. For supper, he would have
two baked potatoes, with three pats of butter, instead of one and two
respectively. He would have a double
helping of Kraft’s Macaroni and Cheese, instead of a single one and he would have
three scoops of ice-cream with chocolate sauce instead of his usual one scoop
without any sauce at all. Similarly, the
Smythes and Julia made similar increases for a week.
It worked like a
charm. At the kitchen table the next
week, they checked Silky’s charts and their weight charts. Sure enough, each gained from five to six
pounds, exact to a thousandth of a kilogram, and the markets closed with an
increase of five to six points, exactly to the cent, to match the weights of
each of the co-conspirators.
Simultaneously and spontaneously, they all cheered for Silky. Three of them tackled him and put him on the
table, ripping off his clothes. Julia
and the Smythes stripped and jumped on Silky right there on the table and
exuberantly coupled and re-coupled for more than an hour of good times. This was distinctly impulsive behaviour,
different for each of them. They
reverted to their squeaky cleanliness and together cleaned up the big mess and made
everything perfect, again, as per their usual compulsiveness. A bit sheepishly, they spent the night
together on top of Julia’s pink silk sheets and Silky’s king-sized waterbed,
after an unusually rousing round of, “For he’s a Jolly Good Fellow!” All of them noted later that there was a
distinct increase in potency, all around.
At their usual
breakfasts, the next morning, in the kitchenette, our quartette planned to lose
weight for the next week. Each,
meticulously, reduced their diets in a reasonable manner, aimed at losing about
ten pounds or about three kilograms for the week. It was successful, again, in causing a ten
point drop in all four indices, as predicted.
They all agreed to try some money, the next week. Each contributed ten dollars to the
kitty. Smythe calculated which options
to buy for maximum profit. The next
week, they counted it up; they had made a clear profit of over ten thousand
dollars!
The next week, the
profits were over a million dollars after each lost about twenty pounds for the
week. It was time for the big
plunge. Silky sold his parental home for
over a half a million. The others liquefied
all their assets and together they had over a million dollars to invest. Using diet and thyroid pills, purging high
colonic enemas and induced vomiting, each of the quartette of conspirators lost
over a hundred pounds, collectively, and caused market drops of over
twenty-five index points.
Had they lived, they
would each have been multi-trillionaires.
Each died on Friday after the markets closed. Cremation of their bodies caused a market
crash of major proportions. All markets
around the world fell to values no more than three percent of their peak
values, just a week before the crash.
None of the quartette
members had changed his or her will.
When the trillion dollar accounts were discovered, Morris Barclay
claimed it all. He was awarded almost
all of it except for a few million for court costs. The judge was the same woman who had royally
screwed Julia in favour of Morris.
No one knows who
controls the stock markets of the world, today.
Maybe it’s you, dear reader. Have
you checked your weight, lately?
THE
END
© izzy sommers, md
Welland, Canada
May 31, 2013
