The Adventures of Low Jones

The Adventures Of Low Jones: Yeoman Is Not Alone


As he walked towards her porch, he didn't notice that he wasn't fully dressed for the occasion. He had the tuxedo jacket on, but he wasn't wearing any pants. And the cumber bun was strapped over the jacket, rather than underneath. And while his boxers were showing, his tube socks with the yellow stripes at the top were pulled all the way up to his knees. Not usually the best way he'd meet his match made in heaven. But for some reason, this didn't even phase Yeoman. Probably because he was about to make out with the girl of his dreams. He was about to make out with Jenna.

He rang the doorbell and anticipated her opening up the door to accept the rose that was ever so tightly held between his upper and bottom lip. He held it so tightly, yet so delicately. And when she would open the door, he would take the rose from his mouth, get on one knee and hand it to her gently. He heard someone creep up to the door and start to turn the knob. This was it. What he yearned for. The plot of his fantasies. The highlight of his night. She opened the door and she looked immaculate. She had on a light lip gloss, with only a modicum of make-up. He got on his knee and handed her the rose. As he stood back up, he made his move. He brought his head toward hers. Tongues were a waggin' and lips were about to touch. As Yeoman crept ever so closely toward Jenna's mouth with his, he felt a huge void ready to be lifted. His mouth was two inches away from hers. His tongue tried to creep out of his mouth early, like a false start, but he was able to pull it back in and puckered his lips like only he ever could. Her lips were like two melons sitting on her mouth. They were ripe and juicy. He went for it. As his lips devoured hers, he noticed a small, black, hairy mole where he never saw a mole before. But then again, he was never, ever this close to Jenna's face before. He was fulfilling his dream, but at the same time, watching this black blemish bounce up and down in front of his eyes. He was taken aback and although it killed him to do so, he pulled away. As he pulled away, his kitten, his dream girl, his reason for living on God's green earth didn't look quite the same. Her blond hair was cropped short and wasn't blond anymore. Her beautiful smile was corrupted with yellowish teeth and peach fuzz on her lips. Yeoman screeched in horror. Why was he kissing Enrique Iglesias?

He yelled again, "Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He awoke in a cold sweat as he jumped up into sitting position from his night of deep sleep. That damn Enrique Iglesias dream again. It was the kind of dream that just pissed you off. You were excited, doing something you wanted to be doing. And then bam! Enrique Iglesias shows up. Usually Yeoman was dreaming of eating a cheeseburger, or watching the Ricker put someone in the Urinal, which was his favorite move. But this time, Yeoman was about to make out with the girl that he has been saving his saliva for all his life. And rather than Jenna being on the receiving end of his best pillow kiss brought to life, it was damn Enrique Iglesias. He hated Enrique for it too.

Just as he was about to go back to sleep, Yeoman snapped back into the night that was. The reason he was dreaming about Jenna was because he finally was within inches of her. He was Low Jones and he was a sexy beast. He and Jenna finally locked eyes on each other. Jenna looked into his eyes. Well they were Low Jones' eyes, but since it was still him, possibly his eyes, and she smiled. And as he thought about the night that was, he jumped out of bed and went straight to the mirror. As he turned on the light, he could already tell something was different. The way his fingers felt flipping the switch was different than how he remembered last night. They felt chubby rather than swift and lithe. As he glanced into the mirror, he was disappointed. He wasn't Low Jones anymore. He was simply Yeoman Highsmith. And he was buck naked. Buck naked and hairy.

As he slumped back into bed, he didn't even wonder why he was bare ass naked. He was just so sad that his transformation was nothing more than a one time thing. Nothing more than a whisper in the wind.

"Yeoman, time for breakfast!" said his mom.

The early morning wake-up call surprised Yeoman as the morning came way too fast for him. But since he wasn't much of a night owl, he probably should've expected to be tired. It was tradition for his mother to make Saturday morning breakfast. It was also tradition for him to take his chocolate chip pancakes smothered in maple syrup and plop right in front of the television to watch early morning cartoons. But first, he had to find some clothes. The leopard skinned underwear was near the bottom of his bed sheets yet he didn't even remember taking them off when he went to sleep. He never slept without clothing before. He always had on a full set of pajamas. Sometimes when it was cold, he still wore the pajamas with the footies. He threw on some shorts and a shirt and walked out of his room ready to attack the stack of pancakes he knew was waiting for him. Even though Saturday morning pancakes always put a smile on his face, he still had an empty feeling for some reason. He kind of wondered what it would be like eating pancakes as Low Jones. He pictured himself with sun glasses on being too cool to sit with his parents. He thought the pancakes would even taste better with Low Jones' taste buds. He sort of wanted to live for the moment. He liked being Low Jones. He wondered what it'd be like being in school as Low Jones, playing sports as Low Jones and yes, even eating breakfast as Low Jones as silly as that sounded.

After he finished three stacks of pancakes, his father asked him why he was so glum. His father loved to use the word glum. Yeoman wondered why he never used sad or depressed. But anytime Yeoman had a problem his father simply would ask him why he was so glum. Glum sounded like a good word for his feeling at this moment. He wasn't sad. He didn't have a right to be sad. He just had one of the greatest nights in his life. And depressed was what he felt when Steve Sanderson gave him a wedgie so bad that he had a rash for three weeks and had to be on an all liquid diet. Right now, he was simply feeling glum.

He decided to give his dad what all fathers want from their kids when they ask questions. Anything other than, "It was ok," or "I'm fine." He decided to open up like never before. He was full of emotion and if details were what dad wanted, details were what he was going to give him.

He started, "Well dad, after such a horrible afternoon yesterday, I had a really good night. The kind of night that simply makes you forget about the afternoon that was. But for some reason, I'm not as excited as I should be I guess." He continued, "I crossed paths with the one girl in the world that I would do anything just to be in her presence. Just to smell what type of shampoo she uses, even the dandruff kind. Just to get close enough to see the dark pupils in her eyes dance as they focus on my eyes. Just like Lionel Ritchie sang, "Just to be close to a you... girrrrrrrlllllll," Yeoman sang in his greatest singing voice.

"I see son," said Yeoman's dad. "Is she hot?" he asked in a way that made it seem like he never referred to a woman's beauty by a temperature in his life.

"Dad, she's gorgeous, but what do you care?" Yeoman shot back.

"Well son, I just figured that if you were going to sniff her dandruff, that she must be Farrah Fawcet beautiful," said the old man while he snorted with laughter.

"Dad..." said Yeoman who was feeling as if he shouldn't have opened his mouth. However, he liked being able to get this off his chest to someone other than Tony.

Farrah who?" replied Yeoman.

"Farrah Fawcett. She was the hottest thing going in my day. Until I met your mother, I thought I was going to hump, I mean marry Farrah," said the elderly Highsmith in a rather promiscuous moment.

"Dad, we're talking about me here, not talking about your fantasies with Ms. Leaky Fawcett," he sarcastically added.

Yeoman's father noticed a sincereness in his son like he'd never seen before. For all Papa Highsmith knew, his son didn't even like girls. Yeoman in his eighteen years had never had a date. Yeoman would blush whenever his dad even brought up the idea of going out with girls. For a while there, Papa Highsmith was worried that his son didn't get the Romeo gene. All the male Highsmith's had it. Even the male Highsmith's who weren't all that handsome were able to marry very beautiful women. Papa Highsmith was quite the dapper dan in his day. He was a Bogart of sorts. Always hit if off with the women. Was hated by the guys. A ladies man they called him. He liked to call himself Orenthal Highsmith, after one of the biggest ladies men in his day. But everyone else just called him Handsome Highsmith. And now, he could pass off that nickname to his only son.

"Dad....dad....dad...," Yeoman at first yelled, with each "dad" getting progressively louder. But Papa Highsmith wouldn't budge. He was just staring into the sky. His head was in the clouds. And he was smiling, for his only son was now the ladies man like he was. Well maybe not the ladies man, but at least he liked girls. Yeoman didn't understand why his father wasn't listening to him. He just figured his dad was thinking of Farrett Fawcett, or whatever her name was. And Yeoman grabbed his plate, swished down the last of his milk, and walked directly to his room to change so he could talk to someone else about this. And that man was Tony "Fly Catcha" Santo.

Yeoman cleaned himself up. He noticed that while as Low Jones, he wasn't all that hungry. Or maybe he didn't think about food. But as he transformed sometime during the middle of the night back to his chunky self, his appetite actually increased. Three stacks of pancakes? He couldn't believe he ate the entire batch of pancakes his mom, Betty Highsmith, made all by himself. She didn't say anything about having to make more just for his father. She probably just figured that since he was late out for the first time in his life that didn't have to do with his all night wrestling video parties, he probably just wasted a lot of energy. But all that eating had him bursting at the seams. And it was mother nature calling. Mother nature was telling him that he better open the latest Observing Wrestling Newsletter because he was going to be in the bathroom for a while.

After his trip to the can, he got himself ready to go to Tony's. He was still bewildered at what had happened and since Tony was so darn smart, he figured he should go to Tony's house to solve the mystery that was his secret life. He jumped on his banana seated scooter, put on his rusty helmet and held in his hands, what he thought was the key to his secret. The leopard skinned thong underwear that he still couldn't believe he fit over his bulbous rear end. He studied the underwear for a second and noticed that it wasn't all stretched out like he thought it would be. It was actually in perfect condition. Then he took a whiff. Perfectly clean smelling. There was definitely something wrong with that. He prided himself in being able to sweat so hard that his underwear smelled like old bus seats. But not this morning.

For some reason, Tony was out on his front porch waiting for him.

Yeoman approached him and said, "Tone, what's up man. I'm freaked out."

Tony stood there just laughing at his old friend. He was actually giggling so hard that he was bouncing up and down.

"What in the blue hell do you think is so funny man?" said the still shaken up Yeoman.

The old friend said, "I can't believe you still wear that small helmet that barely fits on top of your head. And what's up with the racer goggles? You're riding a banana seat scooter."

"Tone," Yeoman replied, "when's the last time you had women falling all over you?"

A surprised Tone said, "Um, good point. But remember, I'm handsomer and I always will be."

"Right Tone, can we go inside?"

The boys went inside Tony's house. Tony's house was a regular family style house. It wasn't the biggest, or the best furnished, but Tony's parents were hard workers and they did the best they could. But Tony's room on the other hand was paradise for a high school boy. It was lavished with the latest gadgets, the best video game systems, and most importantly, the best porn collection money could buy.

Yeoman was anxious to talk to his best friend. Tone could tell that he needed his best bud, his partner in crime, the Tito to his Michael. Well not actually Tito because he and Yeoman weren't brothers, but since Tony felt that his greatness couldn't be surpassed by his buddy, sometimes he felt like Michael. The most talented buddy a guy could ever have. And since he doesn't remember if Michael ever had a best friend, Yeoman might as well have been Tito. But Michael did have the pet rat. Ok, Yeoman was the Ben to Tony's Michael. That's the best analogy of them all. Tony was a star.

"Tone! Tone! Tone! Are you listening to me? Why are you staring at that old Michael Jackson poster? Didn't you get that poster in like 1984?" Yeoman yelled.

Tone awakened from his stupor. "Huh? Oh, what's up. Hey! Don't you ever mess with MJ. The essence of cool."

Yeoman finally had his attention. At least he thought he did. Every once in awhile while he was talking to Tone, Tone would twitch and kick his right leg out and throw his left arm up.

"Tone, let me just come out and say it. I'm as confused as I've ever been. Last night was great, don't get me wrong, but how do I know what was real and what wasn't. How do I know when Low Jones begins and ends? Is it simply the thong underwear?"

Tony replied, "Dude! What are you worried about? Owwwwww!"

Yeoman couldn't believe that Tony was practicing Michael Jackson dance moves and even screaming MJ's signature screams while he was spilling his guts.

"Dude! Come on, I'm serious. Think about it. I've never done anything crazy in my life. Well except that one time I snorted that potato bug up my nose to argue your theory that brain freezes didn't necessarily come from cold drinks. Man, that was the most ticklish brain freeze ever. Anyway, last night was a first for me. Rebellious Yeoman. What's next? What is next?"

The ever down to earth Tony said, "It was one night. And you have no idea if it will ever happen again. Have you tried those tight thong underwear on again?"

"Nope," Yeoman replied. "I'm way too scared."

Tony pulled out his microphone. The dreaded karaoke machine. His father was a karaoke superstar. The Jedi of all karaoke singers. And Tone did love to hear his voice coming out of speakers as well, just not in front of people. He was a shy guy socially at school or around others, but put the man in front of a karaoke machine and he was the life of the party. Well his own party. The One Man Fly Catcha Party. He had never belted lyrics in front of Yeoman in his life. He was a hummer not a singer. But tonight would be different. His best friend in the whole wide world needed something to help him with his fears.

"I'm going to play you a song that will take your fears away. Ahem. Let me clear my throat. Me, me, me, me me."

Then he did something with his throat that sounded like he was about to cough up his large intestine.

But now he was ready. The song started. Yeoman had heard the tune before, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then Tone started singing.

Another day has gone
I'm still all alone

Yeoman started to recognize it more and Tone started singing in a higher singing voice.

How could this be
You're not here with me
You never said goodbye
Someone tell me why
Did you have to go
And leave my world so cold
Everyday I sit and ask myself
How did love slip away
Something whispers in my ear and says

It was on the tip of Yeoman's tongue, but he didn't get it until Tony went to the chorus. And Tony went into it big time. He put the microphone on his mic stand and threw his arms out at his side with his palms facing the air.

That you are not alone
For I am here with you
Though you're far away
I am here to stay
You are not alone

Tony kept on singing, but Yeoman figured it out. It was You Are Not Alone by Michael Jackson. Yeoman loved it, but not as much as Tone. But Tone sure knew how to make a guy feel better. As the chorus came again, Yeoman started singing with Tony.

I am here with you
Though we're far apart
You're always in my heart
You are not alone

For some reason, after he sang the lyric, "You're always in my heart", the music stopped. And Tony stopped singing. Yeoman continued with the, "You are not alone" but after that he stopped as well. He then looked over and noticed a seething Tony.

"Look what you did!" Tony yelled. "You sure know how to ruin a masterpiece chubby boy."

"Tone!" Yeoman screamed. "I get it. No matter what, if it's right, I'll be with Jenna, whether I'm Low Jones or not. Man, you sure know how to fix things Tone."

"You got that message out of that song?" Tony asked his chubby faced friend.

"You didn't?" asked Yeoman.

"Uh, I don't think that's what MJ was singing buddy old pal. I think he was sort of saying that even if you never get to be with Jenna, she'll still be in your heart. But he doesn't know about Low Jones. Being Low Jones, you might actually get the girl," said the glass half full buddy.

"Tone, you're simply the greatest," shouted Yeoman.

"That's why I'm Michael, and you're Ben," Tony added.

"Huh?" Yeoman vocally intoned.

"Don't worry about it buddy, don't worry, everything will be just fine," giggled the Fly Catcha.

"Tone, I need a hug," whispered Yeoman.

Tony went outside his bedroom door and looked around to make sure no one was there. He then walked back in his room and shut the door. As he slowly put his arms around his big buddy, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth because he knew what was coming. Yeoman gave the most suffocating hugs in the history of hugs. He had these bear like arms and simply puffed his cheeks out, held his breath, and hugged until there was no tomorrow. And since Tony was such a good friend, he sucked it up. That's what friends were for. For good times and bad times. He'll be on his side forever more. Because that's what friends are for.

"Just don't grab my buttcheeks this time on accident please?" pleaded boney butted Tony.

As Yeoman was squeezing the breath out of Tony's lungs, he was thinking about his next step. He needed to figure out the key to all of this. Why was he the chosen one to become Low Jones? And he and Tony would figure it out tonight at his favorite place in the world. They would go to the wrestling arena to watch the Ricker defend his title against Sheik Ali. And he couldn't wait.