Former BMOC and playboy Lionel H. Carrington III is Caspar Meek's bête noir and doesn't even realize it . Though they met a couple of times in college, Lionel doesn't even know who Caspar is. However, Caspar envies and resents Lionel. Having accidentally found an opportunity to neutralize Lionel's potential as a rival, Caspar takes advantage of it.

Lionel H. Carrington III was everything that Caspar Meek wasn't. He was wealthy; Caspar's family was of modest means. He was handsome; though not actually ugly, Caspar was plain-featured. He was athletic, a 4-letter man in college; Caspar was clumsy, poorly coordinated, and awkward. Lionel was urbane and suave; Caspar was as awkward socially as he was physically.

On the minus side, Lionel was a poor-to-mediocre student, moderately intelligent but intellectually lazy. Though his family could afford to send him to the best schools, his grades never justified it.

Caspar had an IQ of 170. Voted "Most Serious" and "Most Studious" of his class at The Proctor School, which Lionel had also attended, Caspar was regarded as a geek who was much more interested in science and technology than in girls . This was not true. Caspar divided his time nearly evenly between study and heterosexually motivated masturbation.

Caspar had one conspicuous advantage over Lionel, though he had never gotten far enough with any of the girls he dated for them to discover it. Caspar was exceptionally well hung. His penis ranged from 6.5 inches long flaccid to 8 inches long when erect, but only a comfortable, easily accomodated 1 1/6 to 1.25 inches in diameter. Lionel, as Caspar discovered in a gym class they shared in college, was hung like an 11-year-old boy: 2.25 inches by ~1/2 inch, flaccid, of course.

Throughout prep school and college, Caspar never scored with a girl. Lionel, on the other hand, as BMOC, made out like a bandit, to hear him tell it, anyhow. Whenever Caspar got interested in a girl, damned if Lionel didn't hit on her and charm her away from Caspar whom he usually didn't even notice inasmuch as Caspar seemed to blend in with the wallpaper.

So, though Lionel had been getting laid fairly often since his freshman year at Proctor, Caspar was still a virgin 3 years after his graduation, Summa cum Laude from State, and was still making love to "Mother Hand and her five talented daughters".

Lionel, as a 4-letter man and a star football player, was allowed to squeak through with a C- average and was awarded his degree in Business Administration. His real major had been in partying and he pursued that avidly after graduation. Caspar put in another year on a M.S. and was snapped up by the Department of Defense and put to work on a project so secret that even its name was classified Top Secret.

Unbeknownst to either of them, both young men had taken apartments in two high-rise apartment buildings around a corner from each other and no more than 60 feet apart. Lionel's apartment faced north with a balcony on the back or south side. Caspar's was two floors higher and faced east, so that the window of the back room overlooked Lionel's balcony.

Caspar never had overnight guests and, therefore, didn't use the back bedroom as such, but rather as a storeroom and workshop. Inasmuch as he couldn't see the point of air-conditioning a room that he didn't use, Caspar often let the back room get very hot and stuffy in the summer.

One hot evening in July, when he went to the back room to fetch a calculator which had better log tables than the one he was using, Caspar decided that the room needed to be aired out. He opened the west-facing casement window, stood before it, enjoying the cool breeze, and looked out. On a balcony two stories lower

on the apartment building he was facing, a man was sunbathing in the nude.

Normally, this would not have attracted his attention, but the face was altogether too familiar. It was Lionel Carrington. Until that moment, Caspar had not realised that they lived anywhere near each other. Suddenly, he found himself staring directly into Lionel's crotch, at a pair of plum-sized balls, atop which rested a teeny little weenie.

Ah, what he would give to have a powerful industrial infrared laser right then. One brief burst would vaporize those balls before Lionel had any idea of what was happening. Visualizing the effect in his imagination gave Caspar a boner. However, of course, he did not have an industrial laser. They are bulky, heavy, expensive playthings and he had no reasonable excuse for buying one, even if he could afford it.

It occurred to him, though, that microwave radiation could be just as effective as infrared and he did have a powerful radar transmitter, part of a radar set he had bought from a government surplus warehouse for peanuts, planning to make a radio telescope from it. He had not been able to transport the original dish and had not, to date, been able been able to find a suitable smaller one.

He had no need for the transmitter for his radio telescope and it stood over in a corner of the back room covered with a tarp. He remembered vividly the day that an unimaginative number-cruncher of an engineer named Larry Lancia had pulled down the bowl of an operating radar set using the same model of transmitter, and looked into the feed horn to see if it was moving. He screamed and fell to the deck holding his mouth. He had melted his silver fillings and a second or so later would have fried his brain.

Yes ! With a few minor modifications that transmitter could easily be made to deliver a brief but devastating burst of radio-frequency energy that would explode Lionel's balls. Caspar ripped his fly open, grabbed his whang and frantically jerked off, shooting a wide puddle of cum onto the floor.

After resting for a few minutes and cleaning up the mess, Caspar began to estimate what the transmitter would be called upon to do. This he could calculate in his head. he quickly estimated that it would take about 60,000 calories to vaporize Lionel's balls and however much of his dick that happened to get in the way.

The pulse should be very short, too short for Lionel to react to it or move before his balls ceased to exist. About 1/100 of a second should be about right. To do the job, the pulse would have to have an energy of 1.5 million watts. Of course, the tubes in the transmitter couldn't supply anywhere near that much power for any length of time, but for a hundredth of a second, they could, especially considering that they would only have to do it once.

One such pulse would be all it would take to cause Lionel's balls and, probably, most of his dick to vaporize in a great steam explosion. This thought so excited Caspar that, visualizing in his mind's eye the powerful scalding explosion of Lionel's balls, he rushed into the bathroom and jerked off again into the toilet.

Feverishly, Caspar worked on into the night, modifying the radar transmitter. The transmitter was connected to the "dish" by a tubular wave guide basically a piece of stainless steel tubing which would be moved about to facilitate hookup to the "dish".

Among the odds and ends stowed in his workroom, Caspar had a Leupold rifle scope which he attached to and aligned with the wave guide so that he could aim the radar pulse at Lionel's balls as accurately as he could aim a rifle at them. According to Caspar's calculations, the pulse would be about 9 cm. wide when it reached Lionel's balcony, just wide enough to cover his scrotum and deliver all of its energy to Lionel's balls. The centering screws of an old finder telescope mount could be used to jockey the wave guide about to aim it precisely at its target.

Caspar retired to his bed and soon fell asleep with visions of exploding testicles dancing in his head. In the morning, Caspar opened the window, aligned the radar transmitter with it, and aligned the wave guide on roughly the spot on the deck chair where he expected Lionel's balls to rest. Once Lionel had settled himself in his deck chair, Caspar would only have to tweak the adjustments to aim the radar pulse directly onto his balls.

As expected, at noon on Saturday, Lionel Carrington III stretched out in the nude on his deck chair in the summer sunlight. . A very little tweaking centered the cross-hairs directly between Lionel's balls. The time had come . Caspar pulled his boner out of his shorts to avoid cumming all over them.

He warmed up the transmitter and held the remote switch in his right hand. When he pushed that button, Lionel Carrington III would become a eunuch. He pressed the button. The results exceeded his wildest expectations. There was a momentary blue flash in Lionel's groin followed by an almost deafeningly loud explosion .

Through the telescopic sight, Caspar saw the flash and then a rapidly expanding cloud of steam containing numerous small red lumps and steaming drops of blood.

Caspar shook violently as he spurted a torrent of cum onto the floor. He had the presence of mind, however, to release the switch and trundle the transmitter back into the darkness .

Lionel's scream of agony followed immediately upon the explosion and continued as a long, loud, anguished shriek. As the steam and smoke cleared. Caspar caught sight of a smouldering, steaming, blackened, dark-red hollow where Lionel's genitals had been. Lionel was scrabbling desperately on the deck for his cell phone which had fallen off the table to his left. He had no attention to spare for the apartment building sixty feet ahead of him.

Caspar silently closed the casement window and backed out of sight but still to a point where he could see and gloat over his handiwork. Let the police try to figure

THAT out !

It was done ! Lionel was no longer a competitor. Now, Caspar could be the man he had always wanted to be: suave, urbane, stylish, and oh-so-sexy. Caspar was leafing through an issue of Gentleman's Quarterly , bending the corners of pages which showed outfits which fitted his new self-image, when he heard the ambulance and police cars pull up to Lionel's apartment building. Caspar wondered idly how the evening news would cover it.

Coverage was very scant, only that multimillionaire playboy Lionel Carrington III had been seriously injured by an explosion on the balcony of his apartment shortly after noon and had been rushed to the ER at St. John the Baptist Hospital where he was listed in stable condition after emergency surgery.

The police offered no explanation for the explosion because they had none that made sense. Not that there was any lack of theories within the department. The explosion was variously attributed to a bomb, no remains of which could be found;

some kind of meteorite which had completely vaporized; a particle of antimatter from interstellar space; or ball lightning (no pun intended) out of a clear sunny sky.

No witnesses to any of these events could be found. Lionel himself had been dozing with his eyes closed . No one else reported seeing or hearing anything before the explosion. The meteorite hypothesis was the most popular though it was rejected by Dr. Manke, the astronomer at the University, on the grounds that its approach would hardly have been silent.

After ordering some stylish new clothes from a gentlemen's tailor uptown, Caspar

busily disassembled the radar transmitter completely and stored all of the components in drawers and boxes in his workroom, until the chassis was completely stripped. He noticed, however, that the solder looked too bright and fresh on the terminals from which parts had been unsoldered. He wanted it to look as if the transmitter had been disassembled long ago.

Caspar pondered the matter for a moment and then grinned. Among his chemicals, he found a box of "flowers of sulfur". Carefully re-heating each terminal, e dusted the solder lightly with sulfur which immediately reacted with the lead forming dark lead sulfide. The terminals now looked as tarnished as if they had been unsoldered twenty years ago. Chuckling at his own ingenuity, Caspar removed the excess sulfur with a hand vacuum. There was now no evidence that the radar transmitter which he had used to obliterate Lionel's genitals had ever existed.

This effort proved to be unnecessary as the police never even asked Caspar if he'd heard the explosion. But, if they had suspected him, they could never have proved a thing.

Evil triumphs more often than we would like to believe. In his new threads, with a new identity, as Caspar Doux, with an authentic French accent, for he spoke French fluently, Caspar made the singles scene. Relieved of the inhibitions fostered by his inferiority and persecution complexes, now both laid to rest, Caspar became the ladies man he had always wanted to be and charmed many ingenues and quite a few more experienced women up to his apartment and into his bed.

Poor Lionel, on the other hand, never returned to his apartment, but retired to his family's estate in upstate New York , his curious fate remaining an unsolved mystery.