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 26^th 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