Sex at work caught on tape

2020.10.29 03:52 ThePhantomHound2401 The Return of Hi-5 Shots

The Return Hi-5 Shots Chapter 6

Previously on Hi-5 Shots… Mariah, an old Hi-5 employee, started working at the Bar. (Flashback Fwoosh sound) She had a threesome with two unintelligent southerners. (Fwoosh) She suggested that they make the bar a sex bar. (Fwoosh) Cat and Liz had sex in the bar before everyone got back. (Fwoosh) They set up a stripper pole in the bar, and Hannah put on a show, on the stage dancing around the pole. (Fwoosh) Everyone went home, and Sam and Woods had a late-night-date at the Bar. Unfortunately for them they were trapped in the bar by a freak Blizzard. Fortunately for us, it puts them in a position for some, “fun”. Huh huh, you see what I did there?? Awww whatever cue the flash forward!! (Flashforward Fwoosh sound) So if you haven’t been caught up yet, there are previous chapt- we’ve done this five times already!! I know we said we were done but things change so let’s skip the formalities and start reading!!! 
Sam runs to the TV and turns channel nine on and the weatherman is speaking. “I’m sorry to say it folks but we are in a massive blizzard! Here in Los Angeles! This is unheard of!! Almost like It’s happening for a reason only a writer would know” He says those final words with a wink at the screen. “We’re stuck in here during a BLIZARD!!??” Sam exclaims. “In California!!??” Woods responds. “This is terrible!” Sam says while looking sorrowfully into Woods’ eyes. “It’s not all that bad.” Woods says passionately, as he caresses her soft face. She grabs his hand on her face and kisses it. “You’re right!” She says with a smirk. They begin to make out and head to the back room. When they get there, Woods pulls off Sam’s shirt, exposing her beautiful round tits. He begins to kiss them passionately, while at the same time pulling off his own shirt. As he slowly caresses them, he slides his mouth up to hers and starts to kiss her. As he does this, he also slides her pants off, leaving her naked except for pink lace panties. Woods slides his hand down to her pussy and starts to make slow circles, making Sam moan with pleasure. It doesn’t take long for her to get wet, and when she does, Woods puts his finger in her, practically sliding it in from how wet she is. He starts to finger her, making her moan with pleasure. As he’s finger fucking her, she takes his pants off, exposing his underwear with a massive bulge in it. When she slides off his underwear, his massive cock springs out, showing off its 10 inch length. She starts to stroke him while he is fingering her, all while they are still kissing. Eventually, Sam can’t take it, and she starts to cum. The flow starts off weak, but it starts to get faster, until it is gushing out of her. Her panties have no chance in holding any of it, so it streams out her beautiful pussy and down her long thick legs. Woods gets down on his knees to drink it, and when he puts his mouth to her clit, the fluids fill up his mouth so quickly that he barely has time to swallow it. When it is done pouring out, a small trickle of cum follows, which Woods swallows. He puts his mouth to Sam’s pussy and starts to eat her out. He is doing it so well, she has to lie down so she doesn’t fall. When he starts, he is just making slow circles with his tongue, going round and round, slowly exciting her. He starts to build in intensity, slowly pushing his tongue in and out. Sam doesn’t manage to last, and pretty soon she starts to cum again. This time, only actual cum flows out of her beautiful vagina. Woods manages to drink it all, but the last bit he grabs in his mouth and drips it over her tits. They flip sides, with Woods laying on his back and Sam with his cock in her mouth. She starts to blow him, going up and down, making him moan with each stroke. With all the built up tension, along with Sam, who was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen with her amazing tits and body, giving the best blowjob he had ever gotten, it didn’t take long for him to cum. When he did, it came launching out like a volcano, shooting Sam in the mouth and making her gag. She manages to swallow it all, and once she is done, she kneels over Woods and slowly puts his cock in her pussy. She starts to ride it, hips moving back and forth and tits bouncing up and down. She leans over him so they are staring at each other, and they start to kiss. Woods somehow manages to last longer, but eventually he gives in and starts to pump his hot cum into Sam’s pussy. This is the first time anyone has been inside of her like this. Her vagina is way too small to hold all of it, so it starts to drip over Woods’ dick, making him grow even harder inside Sam. But they are abruptly interrupted when Sam’s phone rings. Out of breath she says, “IT’S HANNAH!!” She answers the phone breathing heavily. “Hello?” “Yeah it’s Hannah! Are you seeing this blizzard??” “Yes I am, are you ok?” Sam responds. “Yeah I’m fine, I’m just worried about the Bar!!” She yells. “It’s fine I’m still here!” Sam says. “Why are you still there!!??” “When I was done cleaning up I went to leave, but there was eight feet of snow covering the door!” “Wait so your trapped there all alone?” “Yeah but I’m… let me let you go I’m getting another call!” Sam hangs up the phone. “I thought she’d never let me go! Now, where were we?” Sam climbs off his dick and lies on her back so Woods can fuck her missionary style. When he enters her, it doesn’t take long for him to fuck her so quickly that his lower body is a blur. She manages to last for an impressive amount of time, screaming for every second of it. “Oh fuck me! Fuck me so hard! I want you to cum in me again! I want to squirt all over your face! Fuck me so fucking hard!” Sam screams. Eventually, she starts to feel an orgasm coming, and when it does, it is like none she has ever had before. The fluids come out slow at first, but the pressure forces them out faster and faster, eventually going so fast that it is able to reach Woods’ face above her. Woods pulls Sam’s lower body up onto him so that the stream can arch over into her face. As this is happening, Woods can feel his cock about to burst, so he puts it back in Sam while she is still squirting into her face, crouching over her and forcing it inside her. She starts to scream again, and it doesn’t take long for Woods to cum. He keeps his cock in her while it is pumping out at first, but he eventually pulls it out and lays Sam back on the ground so he can cum on her face, tits, and stomach. There is so much pressure that the cum is landing on the ground behind Sam, so he has to force it down. He angles his cock down and starts to shoot it all over her amazing tits. When he is done, they lie on the floor, both out of breath. Woods’ cock was still rock hard, and Sam looked fucking beautiful with Woods’ cum on her tits and soaked in her own fluids.
After they get dressed, they sit together and have a few drinks. “How long do you think this blizzard will last?” “I don’t know, I hope not too long.” They look out the front door the see that the snow has risen from halfway up the door, to almost completely covering it. “I think we’re going to be here a while.” Woods says. “Yeah but at least we have power and heat.” Sam responds (Tape stopping sound) “Hey listen, it’s me the writer again. Whenever you’re in a situation like this. Don’t EVER, EVER make a comment like, ‘yeah but at least we have…’ Don’t EVER say anything like that!! OK? We can continue (distant shouting) ROLL THE TAPE” (Tape moving sound) Almost as soon as she said that the power went out. “Greeeaaaat!” She said.
A few hours have passed and the temp in the bar has dropped to almost twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. “I-I-Think-k-k we shoul-l-d go to the b-b-ack-k room. We h-h-ave blankets there!” Sam says while shivering intensely. “Is there any more alcohol? We could make a fire!” Woods asked. “N-n-no, we were supposed to re s-s-tock-k tomorrow.” Sam responded. They make their way to the back room and bundle up in the two blankets they had back there. The temperature keeps dropping though and it is now ten degrees in the bar. They decide to spoon each other, laying on the floor, and wrap up in the two blankets to stay warm, but its barley enough. It’s almost negative-ten degrees now and Sam asks, “C-c-can you p-p-put it inside me?” “W-w-what?” Wood’s replies. “I want your dick to w-w-arm me up.” She stutters. She reaches down and pulls her pants down. “I-I-I- can barley move.” Woods responds. Sam reaches back and unzips Woods’ pants. She slides his underwear just under his dick. She licks her hands and slides it back. She begins stroking it just enough to get it hard. Once his dick is hard, she grabs it tight and pulls him towards her. He still cannot move, so she brings him, and his dick, closer to her. She puts his dick to her pussy and reaches behind him to his ass. She puts both hands on his ass and pulls it in close, this shoving his dick inside her. She lets out a squeal that you can see through the frosty air. Now that his dick is inside her, she very slowly begins to move her hips back and forth. This begins to warm her and Woods up just enough so that he can move again. “Ahh that f-f-feels soo good Sam!!” His dick is so we from Sam’s self-lubrication. They are both warming up around their lower sections. Back and forth, back and forth. Woods puts his hands on her hips and starts fucking her faster and faster. The temperatures keep dropping however and its negative thirty degrees now. They are having to fuck faster now just to keep a little bit warm. “It’s barley working!” Woods says. “I-I K-k-now. You can stop now if you want to.” Woods slows his movements down to a stop but doesn’t pull out. They just sit there inside each other, shivering, trying to stay warm. After about ten minutes Woods tries to pull out, and Sam lets out a scream! “Ah ah ah ahhh!!” Woods stop trying to pull out. “What was that!!?” Sam asked. “I was just trying to pull it out!” Woods exclaims. “Well whatever you did it hurt! Try to be more careful this time.” Woods tries to slowly pull out again. “AH AH AHH!! STOP!!” Sam yells. “I think I’m stuck!!” Woods says. “How can that b-b-e possible?” Sam asks. Woods reaches down to his penis and Sam’s vagina. (gasp) “Your cum!! It’s frozen solid!!” Woods yells. “What does that mean?” “I think we’re frozen together!!!” Woods yells
Woods and Sam start to panic because they are frozen together when there is a loud noise from inside the bar. They both go silent. “Hello!!??” Cat yells. “Is anyone here!!??” Hannah yells. “Sam!!??” Mariah yells. “oh no what should we do!?” Sam asks Woods. “I don’t know, maybe they can help?” Woods responds. “We’re in here! Sam yells” Cat, Hannah and Mariah approach the back room to see Sam and Woods spooning under two blankets. “Are you guys ok?” Cat asked. “Were stuck together!!” They yell together. “What do you mean?” Mariah asked. “We got frozen 
Hey Guys, this was a collaborative work between me and Chemicalapplication4, with some help from firepower98. We’re so glad to be writing again and to make something for y’all. But this is hopefully a somewhat longer episode to make up for that. And we have more chapters in the works with more sexy nudity so don’t you worry! If you liked it and want to see more, please upvote to let us know. This took a lot of time and effort. And feedback is greatly appreciated! Just comment or Direct Message either of us! The feedback is always helpful so don’t be afraid to share your ideas! No idea is a bad one!
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2020.10.27 21:05 LusipherStarLine778 Caught on work tape sex at

So basically when I was dispensing punishment I was very clear clear to the people mostly men ( oh he said we don't have to listen to you ) well that's unfortunate
So I check back with him in a few hundred years and they were a lot more willing to listen by then
I know I'm so mean bad Lord Lite Lusphur Azazel StarLine protector of life and equity & existence
So yeah my task is basically to protect life and all that other stuff and I know it might seem innocent fun to use part of my name which is forbidden so it causes serious problems in that someone else is trying to say that they are me and so they can say that they are the whatever
So when this happens though I will get to that person eventually
And oh is he going to regret it
Oh Rick Bush just 30 more years
( Dam little Lusphur StarLine let go of your name ) No no No
So anyway I don't know I had to do what I had to do and they knew exactly what was going to happen you did and what can I say
They I knew very well that my name is forbidden and who I was and they have been going after me and after my name for quite a long time got a lot of other innocent people hurt
( What are we going to do with out you bishop Rick Bush say oh I will be around )
Oh really hhhhmmmmm
A Lord war what no that isn't A Lord that's A man hair removed because of the Lord
So Rick bushes types of lordship basically is holding gun to other people's had threatening them forcing them shooting top ranking members of different companies so he can take control of them
Holding a hostage is going after female officers or the children of male officers even trying to kidnap them
Had a few of these attempts basically I told officers to go door-to-door if they had to they didn't need search warrants
We would find those children .
I was a very very active person in that I didn't care about red tape
I knew my highly-trained people and I knew what they're going after and that every right to go after that their own children and so they had to go door-to-door they would and of course this would lead them to actually unexpected Little Treasure Trove of young girls and boys inside of one of these little buildings
I had said go door-to-door and look for any places where they might be holding them and so is at the street a ways so they went there
Over 30 young children being kept in a very small building
by the end of everything I was raised just so you know what we're doing a door-to-door of every building and every house in this country
With dogs I'm done messing around
I think that's what they really also hated about me was the fact that I would do that we would go door-to-door every single Building in the country one by one
Oh you can't do that you don't have the manpower to do that
Oh laugh I don't .
Like I said I've done this in Germany and a few places that were mine
and most the time there are lots of places where people know that bad things are happening and they want to do something about it but they don't know who to talk to her what to do until I got to do is put a couple people in the area and that's all it takes
and that was a problem exact with me there were no judges that they could threaten or bribe it just came for me directly to the police and dry out the door
that's another thing that was about me is that most the time the judges in her bail if they wanted to agree with me and they wanted to do what was right tell with me I just made it all that much easier to do the right thing which was easy
Yup Lord Lite Lusphur StarLine ..
I usually just went by Lusphur StarLine .
so of course Rick Bush or someone had to think well maybe somebody else is someone else
I mean the thing is is that my people knew exactly who I was my full name
and so they were trying to say how the Lord or someone was always having sex or whatever and like I said no never did not until like 2000 thousand something
I mean having sex and doing drugs really isn't part of what my purpose was
Thought I would explain these things in many different ways many different times
and basically Rick Bush and other people would think that well maybe there is a question of who this person actually was
There never was hey question
some people would be like don't want to be worship and I'll be not by you or anyone you know
so they'll be trying to find out who I want to be worshipped by so they can get worship by them
Ha ha ha fun so I guess you love this
oh wow well yup pain pain pain
You know I did not feel bad they where really going to hate me
I would say to them good news you can die now for the last time
Yup going to need some knew boys
Yup I wonder how many I ended
so requested by for the Boise Boys the poor boys and even the poor boys that were sick people on drugs all the time and basically had no disciplinary education at all that you were embezzling for me to support
Oh Yes Rick Bush was going to try and become Lord so you can save the boys from the punishment and like I said well that doesn't mean that you whoever be anyting
I mean just A really sick man that the whole planet did not like.
and what time they would even try to become volunteer Searchers so they can go to their houses and pull up their people whatever or as checkoff houses
And my people followed them and arrested them
Yup it's going to be one of those day long long days dispensing Justice
Ring ring people military
So the military went through with Precision in excellence
Shot one person they had A gun
Some thing
I forgot the exact details the reports are in files and everything in detail
you know you can always tell a made-up report from a report because we always did the reports right after
and somewhere around then I was actually starting to think about the body cameras or some sort of camera that would clip onto the shoulder or helmet
So my people would start work
I mean I have a few ideas
unfortunately well I mean I would love to have done it myself though I was kind of busy
I was really missing my old days when I invinted
I mean this wasn't my thing really so that's a fine people to actually do this for me
I loved Renault some days I would just think how much I loved them
how many within Renault and many of my groups and agencies I didn't have to worry about things I don't have to worry about infiltrators or things
some days from all the headaches and everything else I just I just like you know I want to die I don't wanna do this anymore
I mean really hurt chasing down psycho balled people deceivers dealing with all this crap
I are you a bunch of people just like the rest of the worldwide actually exist and have a good existence and we're dedicated want to do something like this one little corner didn't give a fuck
And that one courner wanted to take over and take everything down
I mean it was something that I spent my whole entire existence building and inventing and assembling and making work and then and it wasn't just by time it was results time he was so many others and then like this one little group just wanted to just f*** everything up because they just didn't give a f***
( Like where. Going to be worshipe with the God Lord he's got money ).
No that man is homeless and should be in prison
My Germans understood my frustration
somehow they just kind of knew when I was upset or sad. I wondered like I'm A just broad
Like how did they always seem to know
they would tell you they would tell me that I was their lord and they know these things
Yes I hated Rick Bush bishop
Not for me he hurt me he hurt my people more
He wanted to to strike hard and deep into me I don't know what for probably because he thought he could brake me
I mean my Germans knew that I couldn't change who or what I was any more than anyone else it had been so long ago
There was no goimg back
brakebush should always laugh at me probably because he live such a good life use pampered and add whatever you wanted had sex and drugs and everything else
you do things like saying how you want to get the boys out he's worried about the boys truth was he didn't want the boys talking about the mission and everything else sorry I was worried about
Are the boys all right he would threaten the boys making a few gestures like a finger up by the throat or something I thought the officers caught it and course and said oh worried about the boys huh well why don't you come have a seat over here
And there he was
Well one of them
I think it's actually a female officer or someone I was always really good at sending in the right agent
and yes he does make your skin crawl
cardi B trying to get near me to supposedly advisement give me a good word nope
One bishop huh to out I mean I actually wasn't talking to him exactly directly but I was around
You know it's really the fakeness he does extruded fake just I mean
yeah I'm pretty sure I locked him up for a while at lest 5 years
I got a few of them in jail and he was almost like the world changed when he was in jail
Life seems just people are happier everything is better
It was like it went back to normal for just a little bit
he's actually kind of a strange change and actually people kind of saw that this porson was a problem or something like that
so I want to keep him in there for at least 10 years or 15 years I was saying like 35 years Oh life why not
I mean after the change happened I mean people started talking to each other in the street and the they where happy they could feel it too
play Bush was like I bet the talking about me out there and it's like nope about how the raids stoped .
I mean a lot of things changed a lot of bad things out there were happening just stopped seemingly overnight
Lock up one man and and crime seem to drop to zero or very low
I said after a few months I was like keep them in there execution hanging up old fashioned by firing squad that's nice and painful
Yes bishops last sigret with him making finger to the throat motions to his people Yup so loving
fortunately he would get out I don't know who let him out
actually was interesting thing and judge let him out and younger judge of someone and actually immediately I was like investigation I want to know who that judge is where they come from what they've been doing their entire life and basically if there any hostages
Oh yes crack oh wow hhhhmmmm plant
I see soon bussy bishop him we'll good bad your out though I didn't know about this lovely
See if he'd been very busy putting boys to school they didn't really have the grades and basically they really didn't know anything about what they were doing though they were loyal to him
So hi then I got locks I've been paying attention then well someone like you know Rick Bush Ugg like you might as well just shoot yourself rather than face him
And with my own money No less Expense account for my own self
That was poor and suffering
Yes ( we got to take. Him out before he crakes this thing wide open. )
I'm not A him I'm person
Though yes I see what had you so scared
It was right there accounting gets A raise
Yep I doubled their salary salaries overnight Everything was perfect an exact detail payouts everything
I mean I could have taken down the whole system basically destroyed just riped out the heart of corruption
And I was going to do it or at lest let them know who was paying them
A little of both
Yes I do own everything everything that is mine And that pile that Rick Bush called something
Well it is mine it is well not much companies are countries like that I would have been bankrupt in 5 minutes
I mean I could fix it though no thank you trash
Few bits I didn't keep though I rearranged
basically yes the bishop has to keep me around or else it Folds
The man is just fake completely fake
Not his money not his anything
yep the good bishop or whatever was really a good person the most selfish horrible person ever basically he couldn't let me die if I died
he loses everything is gone he is basically just a figurehead nothing more than that and so basically you'd have to save me and I would put explicit instructions for him not to save to me for a my people not to let him save me
Hell no I would rather take to the cold unknown
At lest I might not be corny fake and cheap
sorry about Rick bushes things and everything you did everything is cheap everything is easy stapled together
Like A child or just some one that doesn't really even give a fuck
how to thinking like no wonder why he could't Kill me
I could have gone into the files and everything and start digging around his whole operation is all right there and I was thinking about it I was like nap that looks like a trap willed it the old-fashioned way
I mean I could get access but with everything I mean I use professionals
is true that I rely on professionals used to rely on professionals lot if you could train people like that bi and CIA they really know what they're doing and they go in there and they do There we'll
Unfortunately the bishop or someone was actually learning from me or give me access some of my people
what you really wanted to do was basically use me but without the me
Like my professionalism and everything else but with a pile of shit on top basically
so anyway the only real problem with that is that the me is the me
so basically one yellow hair bald man was pretty much trying to live my life as if we was living the life and basically me if I was actually a person
course they were insisting that was Brian thing Alexandra Briley
I know I have no relation to the bishop I'm not the bishop I will never be the bishop I'm not the deacon
Nope just Lusphur StarLine I will die as the person I was and am
Heart of carbide diamond A star inside of me
brakebush of the last 40 years has tried to break me so many times tried to smash me tried to destroy me try to break me down
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2020.10.27 00:23 luimd Sex at work caught on tape

Thanks to this list I was introduced to a lot of noise rock and beat happening lo fi style of music. Now that I’m older, and I am so glad I got to hear this when I was much younger. As i play these records over and over, especially during Covid-19, I get to understand the connection of his music and his influences a lot more everyday.
I’m sure most of us know this list by now but I’ve added comments by Cobain, if there are any. And some of the comments are mixed in from interviews or things he’s written. I also included an honorable mentions for Cobain even though he didn’t write one, I’m including albums I feel we’re a big part of his sound but weren’t included on his own Top 50.
I want to share what I was doing in my free time to anyone who has the same interest. If anyone else has anything to share that would be great too.

  1. Iggy and the Stooges – Raw Power (1973) “I own all the Stooges albums," he recites. Maybe we’re more like the Stooges type of punk rock, before punk rock was a trendy fashion statement. And, where people would expect to try to act as punk rock as possible. It seemed that when Iggy was playing to his audience, he dove out into the audience and cut himself up because he wanted this audience to act like that. Or, he wanted to create an environment the way that he felt. And at the time, the audience response was just, basically, heckling.
  2. Pixies – Surfer Rosa (1988) A die-cast metal fossil of misplaced craft, with or without the fucking production." "Everyone who has ever commented on "Surfer Rosa" has said, Yeah, the productions amazing. I agree with that, but the songs are so strong that it wouldnt have mattered if youd listened to it through a boom-box. "I was completely nihilistic up until about four or five years ago, when I first heard this. It changed my attitude. It made me finally admit, after being into punk rock for so many years, that I liked other styles of music as well. It made me finally admit that Im a music lover. Their music reminded me of the music that I always wanted to do and was doing before I got into punk rock, eight or nine years ago. When I first started writing songs, they were a mixture of punk rock and The Beatles, but then I abandoned that and did nothing but Black Flag rip-offs. "Right around the time Surfer Rosa came out, Sub Pop was happening and I was starting to write those sort of hard rock, Iggy/Aerosmith songs again. "Its obvious that when Bleach came out ... except for that one song, About A Girl... that I was very set in one frame of mind. I heard songs off Surfer Rosa that I’d written but threw out because I was too afraid to play them for anybody. Im really glad that at least weve got that one song on the album, but I had a few more like that that I couldve put on the album, and I wish I had, because then it wouldve sounded more like Nevermind and it wouldnt have been such a drastic leap." We were driving up to Tacoma every night for practice, trying to write songs. I was trying to write the ultimate pop song. I was basically trying to rip off the Pixies. I have to admit it [smiles]. When I heard the Pixies for the first time, I connected with that band so heavily I should have been in that band — or at least in a Pixies cover band. We used their sense of dynamics, being soft and quiet and then loud and hard. a lot of people can't stand the sound of The Pixies' first record. I don't understand it, I think that's one of the best-sounding records I ever heard. It's just a matter of opinion."
  3. The Breeders – Pod (1990) Its an epic that will never let you forget your ex-girlfriend." "By that I dont necessarily mean that the record reminds me of my last girlfriend. It seems that when the girls in The Breeders get together, they give off this air of... their ex-boyfriends. But the main reason I like them is for their songs, for the way they structure them, which is totally unique, very atmospheric. I wish Kim was allowed to write more songs for The Pixies, because Gigantic is the best Pixies song and Kim wrote it. "I love their attitude. Doe, the song about where a girl gives a boy head and he pats her on the head like a doe, is very funny. Theyre strong women, but its not that obvious. Theyre not militant about it at all. You can sense they love men at the same time."
  4. The Vaselines – Dying for It (1988, listed as Pink EP) "Eugene + Francis = documented love" "I just have this feeling they had a really cool relationship. I dont know if thats true or not, but I just think its a really amazing thing when a couple can get together and write some of the most beautiful songs Ive ever heard. Theyre kind of sharing their life with people. Eugene and Francis are the Captain and Tennille of the underground. "Could I imagine myself and Courtney ever doing something like that? Absolutely. We play together all the time. Musically, were compatible, because we think exactly the same and we feel the same, and its really easy to come up with good music if youre like that. If I could just have a romantic relationship with Chris and Dave, it would be nice. I have no definite plans to release the stuff with Courtney, but its a nice idea. Maybe we’ll do it someday, but we have too many things to do right now. Just playing together in our house is satisfying."
  5. The Shaggs – Philosophy of the World (1969) "Its so obviously the real thing" "They were all sisters, with their evil uncle making plans for them. I heard this one live song a Carpenters song, maybe? ...where they must have been playing a day centre, and the screams in the background are louder than the music. The Shaggs are another archetypal K band. "Am I a Calvinist (named after Calvin Johnson, leader of Beat Happening and founder of K Records in Olympia, where Kurt used to live)? No. The Calvinists are a handful of Olympia residents between the ages of 16 and 50 who wear Leave It to Beaver hats and sweaters, worship Calvin and follow him around. They leave him gifts, and they have Calvin altars, and candles and effigies of Calvin. I dont know much about the rituals of praising Calvin, but I know what punk rock is about." Cobain says he listened to the Shaggs’ Philosophy of the World (Third World) every day for months. The three girls on the front have ’60s hairdos and wear plaid pleated skirts. “The first records are good but then they started taking it seriously and really trying to learn how to play their instruments and it wasn’t as good.”
  6. Fang – Landshark (1982) Nirvana covered The Money Will Roll Right In live.
  7. MDC – Millions of Dead Cops (1981) Kurt Cobain was young, about 17 or so, he got arrested and he had this cassette in his pocket
  8. Scratch Acid – Scratch Acid (1984, listed as 1st EP) "The reason I like Scratch Acid so much was because they had structure to their songs, real simple pop structure that you could follow real easily, and it was almost like an Aerosmith song, but it was really fucked up, bending strings, borderline in-tune-that type of chaos." And that's what I was doing and that's what I wanted to do,"
  9. Saccharine Trust – Paganicons (1981, listed as 1st EP)
  10. Butthole Surfers – Pee Pee the Sailor (1983) includes “The Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey’s Grave” in his Montage of Heck Cassette
  11. Black Flag – My War (1984) when describing Fecal Matter, Cobain said “it sounded exactly like Black Flag," Kobain says. "Totally abrasive, fast, punk music. There were some Nirvana elements … some slow songs, even then. And there was some heavy, Black Sabbath-influenced stuff. I can't deny Black Sabbath. Or Black Flag."
  12. Bad Brains – Rock for Light (1983) Kurt was 17 and “play the album over and over by day then drink and eat acid by night through the summer (Come As You Are)
  13. Gang of Four – Entertainment! (1979) That's the kind of band we used to be. We used to be more, like, Gang Of Four, New Wave influenced. Like, more experimental, with more noise and different effects boxes and stuff.
  14. Sex Pistols – Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols (1977) A million times more important than The Clash" "How do I explain that? Hmm, Both were the original punk bands, but The Clash were always a bad imitation of The Rolling Stones, in love with America. But at least they took their girlfriends on tour with them (The Slits). Their music was terrible, though. I blame Sandinista for not letting me get into punk, years after I shouldve done it was so bad. "The Pistols album has the best production of any rock record Ive ever heard. Its totally in-your-face and compressed. All the hype The Sex Pistols had was totally deserved ... they deserved everything that they got. Johnny Rotten was the one I identified with, he was the sensitive one. "The only reason I might agree with people calling our band The Sex Pistols of the Nineties is that, for both bands, the music is a very natural thing, very sincere. But in terms of influence, fuck, no! Rock is too exhausted for that. We havent produced a totally original sound like that. We might be uncompromising, but thats about it. Were an obvious metamorphosis. This is still the best-produced record in the world. I want to work with the guys who produced this on our next record. “But if they’ve been progressing with technology, their production might suck now.”
  15. The Frogs – It’s Only Right and Natural (1989)
  16. PJ Harvey – Dry (1992)
  17. Sonic Youth – Daydream Nation (1988)
  18. The Knack – Get the Knack (1979) I love The Knack! The Knack are great! The first Knack record is a classic…
  19. The Saints – Know Your Product (1978)
  20. Kleenex – “anything by:” (1978-1983)
  21. The Raincoats – The Raincoats (1979) I know a lot of coolies who suck and feed off the the fact that they know about and (supposedly) enjoy unknown, obscure bands of present and past. These coolies thrive on their own little discoveries like those tiny fish who attach themselves to bigger fish and parasitically feed off the hosts’ droppings and burnt coffee. A while ago, I found myself in bloody exhaust grease London again with an all-consuming urge to hunt for some rare things: the very-out-of-print first Raincoats LP. In an attempt to satisfy the second part of my quest, I went to the Rough Trade shop and, of course, found no Raincoats record in the bin. I then asked the woman behind the counter about it and she said “well, it happens that I'm neighbors with Anna (member of The Raincoats) and she works at an antique shop just a few miles from here.” So she drew me a map and I started on my way to Anna's. Sometime later, I arrived at this elfin shop filled with something else I've compulsively searched for over the past few years - really old fucked up marionette-like wood carved dolls (quite a few hundred years old). Lots of them... I've fantasized about finding a ship filled with so many. They wouldn't accept my credit card but the dolls were really too expensive anyway. Anna was there, however, so I politely introduced myself with a fever-red face and explained the reason for my intrusion. I can remember her mean boss almost setting me on fire with his glares. She said “well, I may have a few lying around so, if I find one, I'll send it to you (very polite, very English).” I left feeling like a dork, like I had violated her space, like she probably thought my band was tacky. A few weeks later I received a vinyl copy of that wonderfully classic scripture with a personalized dust sleeve covered with xeroxed lyrics, pictures, and all the members' signatures. There was also a touching letter from Anna. The Raincoats were not very well known in the States - I don’t know about the U.K. in fact, I don’t really know anything about The Raincoats except that they recorded some music that has affected me so much that, whenever I hear it I’m reminded of a particular time in my life when I was (shall we say) extremely unhappy, lonely, and bored. If it weren’t for the luxury of putting that scratchy copy of The Raincoats’ first record, I would have had very few moments of peace. I suppose I could have researched a bit of history about the band but I feel it’s more important to delineated the way I feel and how they sound. When I listen to The Raincoats I feel as if I'm a stowaway in an attic, violating and in the dark. Rather than listening to them, I feel like I'm listening in on them. We're together in the same old house and I have to be completely still or they will hear me spying from above and, if I get caught--everything will be ruined because it's their thing. They're playing their music for themselves. It's not as sacred as wire-tapping a Buddhist monk's telephone or something because if The Raincoats really did catch me, they would probably just ask me if I wanted some tea. I would comply, then they would finish playing their songs and I would say thank you very much for making me feel good.
  22. Young Marble Giants – Colossal Youth (1980) "Lying in an iron lung filled with lukewarm water and Epsom salts" "This music relaxes you, its total atmospherics. Its just nice, pleasant music. I love it. The drum machine has to have the cheesiest sound ever. Were going to be on a Young Marble Giants compilation, doing Credit In The Straight World. I had a crush on the singer for a while, didn’t everyone? "I didnt know much about them the Moxham brothers, right? I heard they might be getting back together again recently. (NB: Stuart Moxham just produced one side of the new Beat Happening album, another of Kurts favourite bands). Isnt it weird how, when you hear something like that, you still get excited, even though you know you shouldnt? "I first heard Colossal Youthbon the radio, after I started getting into K music when I lived in Olympia. It was a year before I put out the Bleach album. At the time, I was just painting and doing art stuff. I still do, Young Marble Giants, god. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't heard that record. I am heavily influenced by them. It doesn't sound like it in our music, but just the emotions they evoked and the feeling, the sincerity and all that. And the song-writing, I think, is fantastic and it’s so original too, you know? No drums, except for the little casio thing… Great, I just love that stuff.
  23. Aerosmith – Rocks (1976) Kurt likes the drum sound
  24. Various Artists – What Is It. (1982) includes The Eyes Don’t Talk To Me in his journals
  25. R.E.M. – Green (1988) I also like R.E.M., "Pop Song '89" is in my opinion the best song written this year, even if I don't like the rest of the album. Maybe it reminds me in some ways of the third Led Zeppelin album
  26. Shonen Knife – Burning Farm (K Records version, 1985) "When l finally got to see them live, I was transformed into a hysteric nine-year-old girl at a Beatles concert" I was crying and jumping up and down and tearing my hair out - it was amazing. I've never been so thrilled in my whole life. They play pop music - pop, pop, pop music. This was the first cassette that came out on K. Eventually, after a week of listening to it everyday, I started crying. Thats how much it affected me. I just couldnt believe that three people from a totally different culture could write songs as good as those, because Id never heard any other Japanese music or artist who ever come up with anything good. "Everything about them is just so fucking endearing. Theyre not too cute! Thats part of the charm. Do I think theres a paedophiliac element to their appeal? I think, in Japanese culture in general, theres a paedophilioc element ... most of the women there dress up as young girls. Its weird. "Im sure that I was twice as nervous to meet them as they were to meet us. I didnt want to offend or scare them in any way, because I know Im a scruffy, slimy person who might scare them off ... and thats exactly what I did. They were afraid of me. In fact, on one of our first dates together, they saw me at the backstage area walking towards them and they screamed at the top of their voices, turned around and ran away from me, and then peeked their heads out of their dressing room. I was trying to reassure them that I was harmless. The communication we had with them was deathly silence and a lot of smiling. "In many ways, theyre the ultimate K band, because they are sincere, they are real. They dont purposely put their guitars out of tune, and they dont purposely sing out-of-tune."
  27. The Slits – Typical Girls (1979)
  28. The Clash – Combat Rock (1982) I think the best Clash album is 'Combat Rock', I f---ing love that record! It's definitely better than 'Sandinista' "I remember I found ‘Sandinista' at the library, and I hated it. I thought, if this is what punk rock is, then I don't want anything to do with it. It's too bad, because I'd wanted to hear punk rock forever.
  29. The Faith/Void – The Faith/Void (1982) I always really admired bands like Faith, Void, and Rites of Spring, not to forget the always amazing Bad Brains
  30. Rites of Spring – Rites of Spring (1985)
  31. Beat Happening – Jamboree (1988) I moved to Olympia, from Aberdeen, it was the first place that I moved to, on my own. I was twenty. I'd just started Nirvana and K Records and that whole scene in Olympia turned me on to so much amazing music. Every couple of years I feel that I've gone as far as I can with being introduced to something new, and then something like that hits me and it gives me life for a few years. It opened up new doors to music i hadn’t heard before. There’s a whole another world of underground music that I wasn’t even aware of. It made me realize that for years I hadn’t looked back on my childhood. I tried to forget about it. It made me look back at my child hood and have fond memories of it. It was just a nice reminder of innocence.
  32. Tales of Terror – Tales of Terror (1984) includes “Chambers of Horror” in his journals
  33. Leadbelly – Leadbelly’s Last Sessions Volume One (1953) Time to get the Leadbelly records out.” Cobain hands me one, a deep blue duotone adorning the time-worn jacket. “I think he’s still most popular among intellectual Jewish communists from the East Coast,” he says jokingly. Orgones, pyles, cells, and he probably knew the difference between male and female hemp" "That all has something to do with Burroughs, because Burroughs turned me onto that guy. He said that if you want to hear true, honest music with passion, then you should hear Leadbelly. The songs are just amazingly heartfelt. I absolutely love it more than any rock'n'roll I ever heard."Leadbelly was this poor black man in the early 1900s who went to jail a few times for wife-beating and robbery and getting into fights and bootlegging liquor. While he was in prison, he started playing the guitar, and he sang so well that the governor started to like him and let him out of jail. Leadbelly became an apprentice with Blind Lemon Jefferson and started recording songs, but none of the commercial recordings he made ever captured his true essence, except for these last sessions. They happened when this guy who’d been following his career for a few years caught him on a two-track tape recorder one night when they were hanging out at this hotel. Its just real cool. "Id hope that my songs approximate that honesty. Thats what I strive for. He was like the first punk rocker, because he was such a hardened person. He’d get into town, walk into an all white bar, try to have a drink, get beat up and then go to jail because of it. So its really cool to hear this music, especially the air of the recordings themselves, because its so eerie to hear it on this crackly two-track. Hell start off with a little introduction on what the song is about, play a little and [dive] in." "But thats what Folkways records are like theyre awesome. Im gonna get a Folkways tattoo next to my Black Flag tattoo. Folkways are affiliated to the Smithsonian Institute; they even have the entire Watergate tapes available as a 10 album set. Our next album covers gonna be like a Folkways album cover no gloss on it at all, just recycled paper and the strip of paper on the back."
  34. Mudhoney – Superfuzz Bigmuff (1988)
  35. Daniel Johnston – Yip/Jump Music (1983) “He’s an insane person, been in and out of mental hospitals… I have a videotape of him playing. He sits down at this organ — you know, the kind Christians had in their homes in the late ’60s, the ones with the colored plastic tempo buttons. He starts crying about mid-way through the first song. It’s just so touching, you feel so sorry for him, but at the same time you’re so intrigued.”
  36. Flipper – Album – Generic Flipper (1982) They’re a San Francisco band from the early 1980s— well, actually, they started in late 1979—very noisy, very influential for my band, one of my favorite bands; they’re very slow and noisy and fucked up. Punk rock attitude..
  37. The Beatles – Meet the Beatles! (1964) Um, I would say the biggest influence I've ever had would be The Beatles, because I listened to The Beatles since I was five years old up until I was in 4th Grade - the same three records ("Introducing... The Beatles" (1964), "Meet The Beatles!" (1964), and "The Beatles Second Album" (1964) )over and over every night! I sang the songs and I wanted to see The Beatles. It was about 1973 when I heard on the radio that they'd been broken up for three years, I was totally devastated!
  38. Half Japanese – We Are They Who Ache with Amorous Love (1990) With my headphones on, Jad and l share our little secret walking through shopping malls and airports" "I like to listen to Jad Fair and Half-Japanese with headphones on walking around shopping malls, in the heart of American culture. I just think that, if people could hear this music right now, theyd melt, they wouldnt know what to do, theyd start bouncing off the walls and hyper-ventilating. So I turn up the music really loud and pretend it was blasting through the speakers on the malls,"
  39. Butthole Surfers – Locust Abortion Technician (1987) “I used to curse the Butthole Surfers for having fifteen-dollar ticket prices. Now I obviously understand it more... I want to do more new wave, avant-garde stuff with a lot of dynamics—stops and breaks and maybe even some samples of very weird noise and things—not samples of instruments. I want to turn into the Butthole Surfers basically
  40. Black Flag – Damaged (1981) I met the Melvins, who made me a few compilation tapes such as Black Flag, Flipper, and MDC. The first punk rock song I heard was "Damage II" by Black Flag. It was too extreme and it alienated the majority of the youth who paid it any attention. No one could understand it. I was completely blown away. I found my calling. There were so many things going on at once, because it expressed the way I felt socially, politically, emotionally. I cut my hair, and started trying to play my own style of punk rock and guitar: fast, with a lot of distortion.'
  41. Fear – The Record (1982) includes “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” in his journals.
  42. Public Image Ltd – The Flowers of Romance (1981) “This is a great record, it’s just totally uncompromising. It’s a bunch of drum beats, Johnny Rotten yelling over it all, but it works somehow.”
  43. Public Enemy – It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (1988) “I would never attempt rap music. There's no sense in it," Cobain says. "The people that do rap music do it just fine. I'm usually offended by people like Vanilla Ice. The white man has ripped off the black man for long enough. They should just leave the rap music to the African-Americans 'cause they do it so well."
  44. Marine Girls – Beach Party (1982) "Tobi Vail told me that her and Kurt [Cobain] used to lie awake all night listening to Beach Party.” - Tracey Thorn
  45. David Bowie – The Man Who Sold the World (1970)
  46. Wipers – Is This Real? (1980) Yes it is. Greg Sage was pretty much the romantic, quiet, visionary kind of guy. What more can I say about them? They started Seattle grunge rock in Portland, 1977."
  47. Wipers – Youth of America (1981) "The Wipers were a Portland punk band who were started in the late Seventies by Greg Sage and released maybe four or five albums. The first two were totally classic, and influenced the Melvins and all the other Seattle bands. Theyre another band I tried to assimilate. Their songs were so good. They're the most innovative punk rock band that started the 'Seattle sound' like 15 years too early. We learnt everything from 'THE WIPERS'. They were playing a mixture of punk and hard rock at a time when nobody cared."
  48. Wipers – Over the Edge (1983) “I got this in Europe.” — If there is a “Seattle Sound” it came from Portland, Oregon in the early 80’s by a three piece band named The Wipers.
  49. Mazzy Star – She Hangs Brightly (1990) “making a friend like Stephen Pavlovic - our Australian tour promoter who sent me a Mazzy Star LP on vinyl”
  50. Swans – Young God (1984)
Honorable Mentions Meat Puppets II (1984) Smithereens -Especially For You (1986) Black Sabbath - Masters of Reality (1971) Public Image Ltd -(1978)
submitted by luimd to Nirvana [link] [comments]


2020.10.26 17:03 Pristine-Engine4388 At on sex work tape caught

PART 3 - FINALE. I wasn’t sure if what he had said had really gotten through to my traumatized mind so I jumped in and interrupted.
'MEN?!!? PEOPLE?!' I questioned, not letting him get a response in before going off on a tangent.
'NO, ITS JUST ONE GUY, HE SAID HIS NAME WAS DAVE, HE TRIED TO TAKE ME LAST WEEK AND NOW HE CAME BACK TO FINISH THE JOB! BUT HE TOOK JESS INSTEAD AND ITS ALL MY FAULT. PLEASE YOU HAVE TO FIND HIM AND GET HER BACK! PLEASE!' I started to get frustrated, Time was running out and we didn’t have time to spare.
In all honestly, I felt like I was responsible for not telling my parents about ‘Dave’ in the first place so I was desperate to get Jess home safe.
Agent Johnson held his hand up dismissively to calm my outburst and made sure I was listening before he continued.
'The man you described..’ He sighed, in what felt like a bit of shame.
‘His name isn’t 'Dave' .. His name is Damian Ramsey...’ He took another pause and sighed again as if trying to find the words whilst his gaze was aimed at the floor
‘He is a criminal informant of the bureau'
Our eyes all widened, this was getting more and more bizarre. My mum went ballistic as you can imagine.
Saying that this man tried to force his way into our home last week, to do god only knows what to me and now we find out he works for the FBI!
She was appalled and outraged but my father managed to settle her down. He, as well as everyone else,wanted to know more.
The agent waited for the room to settle again before he continued.
'He was originally a part of the gang we are investigating. They are known as 'The Swarm'.
I couldn’t help but think back to the butterfly symbol when he said their name. A knot tightened in my gut.
‘They are a ruthless clandestine network of human traffickers who are responsible for a large percentage of violent crime all over the country. Kidnappings, Child Abductions, Murders, Torture, Extortion, Blackmail.. you name it.'
He sighed once again and took on a defeated look the more he delved in on the subject.
‘They have kidnapped over 700 people some as young as 18 month, and that is just what we know of. The victims mainly are traded, for large amounts of money, to some of the sickest people on the planet.
The ones who cant be sold are often traded into prostitution or modern day slavery. In some of the more high profile cases, They have slaughtered entire families if their target couldn’t be taken quietly, unlike Jessica was this evening.’
I, along with everyone else, listened with pure disgust. I really thought it was bad Jessica being taken by this Ramsey character. But oh my god, this was becoming so much worse.
The agent spoke again.
‘These monsters don’t stop there. Some people are taken and are made into torture or snuff videos to be sold on the black market.’
‘or if its a kid from a rich family they even use these horrific methods to extort ransom money from the victims family.’
Jessica’s mum gasped and a little more of her soul left her body as her imagination tortured her already fragile mind.
'So what was this Ramsey character doing trying to assault my daughter if he’s a government asset!' my mum blurted out in a rage.
'Ramsey was what we call a 'spotter' for The Swarm. He would identify and stalk potential targets that seemed lucrative. ya know the types? Home-aloners, Tear-aways, Run-aways.’
‘These people would be trafficked and he also knew of people who scout for Rich Families to extort and blackmail by threatening their loved ones.’
‘Ramsey himself, was mainly part of the trafficking side of the operation. He told us the Gang would scout kids they could potentially take before obtaining photographs to advertise the target on the black market and secret online forums. If these adverts met a Buyers specific 'tastes'...’
The way he said that made the parents in the room recoil with nausea.
‘...Then the buyer would then offer to pay an obscene amount of money to the gang on delivery of the Target.’
‘And believe me it gets worse...with Ramsey’s information, we have discovered that these buyers aren’t what or who you’d think they’d be.’
He bit his bottom lip and clasped his hands together as if anticipating the impact of what he was going to say next.
‘They aren’t mentally disturbed sex offenders. Most of the time the Buyers are god damn CEOs, Judges, Senators, Politicians.. Jesus we even have some circumstantial evidence some high ranking cops are involved.’
‘We believe this organised group have direct links to some of the countries most rich and powerful elite. This is why this investigation is top secret and any links to it, at all, have to be kept internal. We have assets in the field who we need to keep safe.’
We couldn’t believe how dark this was turning. I could tell everyone was having a hard time grasping the reality of it all.
'Most of the members of the group tend to be extremely violent and all of the high ranking ones have a lot of sociopathic tendencies but ultimately together they are a well organised unit, who will do anything to further there interests.’
‘However, Ramsey.. well.. he was different. He didn’t care about the money or the power. That sick bastard had a 'taste' for the young ones himself. He often used his line of work to ‘satisfy’ his twisted needs. This eventually got him in some personal trouble with the law. He was arrested on suspicion of the rape and murder of a 5 year old boy in Atlanta a few years back.’
‘Oh boy, We had DNA evidence, Damning CCTV footage. We had that bastard dead to rights, literally. Georgia has the death penalty'. He said this like a soccer player who had just missed a last minute penalty.
Agent Johnson contempt for the man started to show as he continued with the story.
'It almost like the guy didn’t give a shit if he was caught! He wasn’t at all careful!
We were literally about the charge him when he got this-this smug look on his face. That stupid face of his! He turned and says to me with this real superficial arrogance, that made me want to snap his neck right then and then..’
I knew the tone of voice he was talking about. So assured. Like he was invincible.
Agent Johnson did his best to replicate Ramsey’s broad Georgia accent. 'Now you just what a cotton picking minute their agent, Now what if I could give you the biggest win of your pathetic career? Who cares about one little toddler who lets face it, was begging for what he got anyway? I could make you the biggest cat in the alley Agent Johnson'
When Johnson finished, he almost took on the look of Jessica’s mum. He looked defeated. He'd sold out this little boy who suffered horribly at the hands of this animal for nothing but for a few cheap wins. A few bad apples had faced charges but the tree so to speak was still standing. The Swarm were still out there. Ruining peoples lives.
'We agreed to drop the charges in regards to the child, in return for his co-operation and information that aided our ongoing investigation into this organised crime syndicate.’
‘In our defence, he gave a lot of information on the gangs methods. Sites they used on the deep web, places they would trade their 'livestock' as he called them, high profile buyers etc.
We are a lot more aware of there presence than we were 3 years ago. We were able to solve a lot of cold cases thanks to his insights. He knew dates, places, people, numbers, sites, accomplices... he was a god damn gold mine and 100% untouchable and the son of a bitch knew it! He never told us everything. He always held stuff back as insurance for him against future convictions.’
His gaze met mine when he said that last sentence. I now understood why he was so bold with me that day. He never once looked as if being caught bothered him.
‘Ramsey went on to secure a WITSEC agreement and we moved him to this area, safe house, immunity, new identity, the works. But we've come to learn tonight that when it comes to the people who we are dealing with here - There ain’t no such thing as Immunity.'
At the time, I wasn’t sure what that last comment meant but the agent continued before I could ask what he was talking about.
'We've had multiple reports on his behaviour since he became a CI. Just minor stuff up until today. Public Indecency, Assault, Drug Charges etc. However, any police reports or enquiries on him automatically set off a federal trip wire and the files become immediately encrypted to anyone except the bureau. This is to protect his identity and our investigation.’
Agent Rodriquez piped up for the first time, rising from his seat at our dining room table with a blue folder in his hand, stamped ‘CLASSIFIED’ in contrasting blood red ink.
'We first became aware of tonights events earlier today. A police report that was filed by a neighbour on the adjacent street.
He reported a man matching Ramsey’s description being dragged into the side door of white ford transit earlier today by two men dressed in all black. With, what he described as ‘creepy ass’ Easter Bunny masks.'
Agent Rodriguez backed up the FBIs theory by pulling out a photo from the blue file to show the adults in the room.
Greg, after receiving a non verbal que from Johnson, distracted me when this was happening by asking me for help with his Iphone. I knew it was some bullshit made up issue but I helped him anyway. I knew now, that whatever was being shown was bad.
The image whatever it was, made Jessica’s mum gasp. Burying her face into her husbands embrace. She broke once again into a sobbing shriek.
After placing the photo away and closing the folder, he continued giving the account of the neighbours police report on Ramseys kidnapping.
'He said the van had been lingering in the area with the engine running and the neighbour thought it looked suspicious as he'd seen the van had kept showing up in the area over the past week but no one ever got in or out and there was no roadworks going on in the area at the time to explain it.’
‘We believe Karma...and The Swarm, finally caught up with Ramsey. We’re not sure if they came here to find Ramsey and found Olivia, or if they came to take Olivia and caught Ramsey. Either way he belongs to them now. I’d have sympathy for the guy but maybe now that kid in Atlanta finally has some Justice.'
Rodriquez already realised that last comment likely wouldn’t go down well with Jessica’s parents and I noticed he was deliberately maintaining eye contact with Agent Johnson and agent Johnson alone. He realised he had just planted a pretty nasty seed in their already fractured minds about the fate of people who are taken by these people.
Oh and Incase you are wondering. I asked my mum about the photograph. My mum told me a few days after this event that the photo was a screenshot from a video found on a memory stick, that was delivered to a wealthy families home two years ago.
It had been taken into evidence during a high profile kidnapping of two young kids.
The image sounded horrifying.
It showed two terrified 6 year olds, sat on a couch with black tape across their mouths.
In between the two kids sat a man in all black clothes with his arms around the two boys in a non threatening way. She said it would be just like my father would put his arms me and my mum in our family photos. But the man wore a mask.
A Pink Easter Bunny mask.
The ears pointed straight up and flopped over just before the top. Totally Regular But it was the the eyes. They were made to look pure evil. They were the type of eyes that drain all sense of safety away from you when you look into them.
A threatening, horrifying glare, that my mum said she still sees from the shadows of her bedroom when she tries to sleep at night. In front of the couch was a table. On the table there was an array of tools.
Screwdrivers, Drills, Scalpels, Plyers, Bolt-cutters.
My mum continued to go into gut wrenching detail about the wounds the kids had before I asked her to stop and she gladfully obliged.
Once again, we hugged and said we loved each. We seem to do that a lot these days.
Agent Johnson continued his story but I noticed Agent Rodriguez received a call that he'd clearly been waiting for. He answered it with haste and left the room to speak.
I had a question. ‘When Da- I mean Ramsey, When Ramsey was trying to get me into my house. He got spooked by a drawing on our drive. I saw you two looking at it earlier. What is it?’ I asked.
Agent Johnson closed his eyes and nodded his head as if to signal he was just about to explain that before I interrupted him.
'The symbol at the bottom of your drive is the gangs brand marking. The symbol is a butterfly. You see, In the world of child sex trading, it symbolises that a buyer is in to very young girls. With this being the gangs niche we can only assume this is the origin of the symbol. Hence ‘The Swarm’. We tend to find this symbol branded onto the victims bodies a lot.'
'BRANDED? like with a hot iron??' Jessica’s Dad piped up He immediately wished he hadn't because as Agent Johnson reluctantly nodded, Jessica’s mum spirit broke, again.
'Our working hypothesis is that the gang came to town for business or to look for Ramsey.
Whilst here, maybe Olivia caught someones eye.
Walks home alone to an empty house. She looks young for her age. All the stuff that makes these sickos see Dollar Signs.
They would have obtained a photo or video then advertised it on a buyers forum on the hidden web or black market these gangs use. They will have received an offer from a buyer so then they will have begun to arrange the Snatch.
They will have been watching the Matthews house for a few days after to figure out your work schedules and your neighbours shedules etc.
Finding the best time to strike.
When everything is set up and a date is set, this is when they spray the symbol on the drive of the house. This is to signal to the 'snatchers' which is the house of the target.
They use yellow so it can be easily seen in the dark. In rare cases its also to claim the target too. Warn off other interested parties and avoid conflicts of ownership with a rival outfit. I’ll be frank though - Not many guys like to piss off The Swarm.'
I didn’t doubt that for one second.
'We believe the snatchers were there to take Olivia the day when Ramsey was trying to get into your house.
They must have spotted him with you and waited for him to take you inside, Where they could have nailed two birds with one stone.
But, he noticed the symbol and when he fled the scene after realising the gang could be watching, The stupid son of a bitch walked right into their grasp.'
Agent Johnson despite knowing his best source of information into the gang was now likely being branded with 256 degree hot metal and being mutilated with sharp tools by a bunch a psychotic easter bunnies.
He couldn’t help but replicate the expression of satisfaction Rodriguez had displayed earlier when they thought of the horrific things Ramsey was having done to him for betraying The Swarm.
I could tell he really felt better for the boy Ramsey killed in Atlanta. His current situation now gave him a bit of peace. What goes around, truly does come back around.
Agent Rodriguez re-entered the room and blurted 'WERE ON! I'm heading down now, I'll check in soon with a status update. Looks like we don’t need Ramsey after all. We could get these bastards tonight!'
He gave this with a slight head nod full of positivity. I couldn’t help feel my hopes to see Jessica alive again flutter upwards for the first time all night. I looked at the clock.
We had around 15 mins before the deadline to trade me for Jess was up.
'So what happens now, what are you doing to get my Jess back?!?!' Jessica’s mum erupted after pulling herself together.
'Well we've been trying to trace the Cell number the gang called on to try locate Jessica but its taking a little longer than anticipated, However our surveillance team have been in position at the warehouse where the caller told us the switch would go down.
2 minutes ago a white van, matching the description of your statement, pulled up. We are just waiting for the golden approval from our Strategic Firearms Commander to move in and take down the men at the drop.
We need the order in case we need to use lethal force. Rodriguez is on his way down now so If they’ve brought Jessica to the meet, we will have her back home soon I promise you guys!'
I could tell he was trying to convince himself as much as he was anyone else.
Something really didn’t feel right to me.
When me and my mum talked this night over a few days later, she told me she’d had the exact same worry.
This gang have evaded capture for years and sounded as if they have the local police networks potentially in their pocket. There was no way arresting them and getting Jessica back was going to be as simple as they made out.
The silence and tension in the room was killing me, so I asked Agent Johnson a question in private, that I really wished I’d kept to myself.
'What is so special about me Agent? Me and Jessica are always being mistook for the other. People say we are like twins. Why are they so desperate to trade me for her? What’s the difference?' I knew it was a selfish question on the bare face of it but I was genuinely curious at this point.
He looked at my mum for approval to answer honestly. She nodded. 'Yes, the fact you and Jessica look alike meant they grabbed her instead of you in the dark by mistake. They wouldn’t have known she was in the house as you entered through the back garden today according to your initial statement and the Van always watched the front. On the recording the Man said that they presented the buyer with a video of Jess after the mix up but he said she looked too old and was ‘too much on the bigger side’. He wanted you because you looked 'Ripe' and wore the Pigtails well. It had to be you... or no deal.'
That made me feel sick.
My mum shot a look at Agent Johnson to scold him for being a little too honest with the wording of things.
Agent Johnson did his best to pull back his error in judgement by adding that likely if I was the one to go down stairs and they tried to take me then maybe they could have killed Jess to make sure there were no loose ends.
He added that if I was the one to be taken I would be being traded as we speak and there’d be no opportunity to save me like we have with Jessica, right now.
I could tell he wasn’t the best when dealing with younger people so I humoured him and acted as if I was actually seeing the bright side of the situation. I could tell he felt better.
We smiled at each other. I could tell he felt as if he’d done good now with the way he gave me and my mum a friendly wink. I think and still to this day that Agent Johnson was a good man overall.
Our brief lighthearted moment was blown apart by Agent Johnsons Radio Handset Crackling to Life.
'AGENTS DOWN, I REPEAT AGENTS ARE DOWN, STATUS ZERO!, THERE DEAD, THERE ALL DEAD!, I REPEAT STATUS ZERO!'
Everyone in the house, just dropped what they were doing and focused on the harrowing dialogue coming through the device in Agent Johnsons trembling hand. I could tell he was trying to remain calm for our benefit.
'Rodriguez, what is happening ?? where are the targets ?? Where is the girl?!' The 5 seconds of silence felt like hours as we all crowded round awaiting the news.
'Its a god damn massacre Johnson! The van, It was a god damn diversion! There’s 4 bodies here! two in the front seat of the surveillance van and the vehicle is on fire! Its blown to shit!'
He took a moment to cough the smoke out of his lungs before he finished the update.
'The other two are laying face down in the dirt by van tire marks. Oh my god their throats have been slit wide open! Jesus its a god damn blood bath, Bill! Jesus Christ, there’s no pulse!'
Judging by Agent Johnsons facial expressions, He came to a horrific realisation.
'4 bodies?!.. There was a team of 5?! Where’s the fifth man?!?!'
‘Oh god damn! Daniels!!? Agent Daniels, If you’re here make yourself know Agent - THATS AN ORDER!!’
Both agents tones were panicky, desperate and short of breath.
For the first time tonight, I feel the two men truly empathized with what Jessicas parents were feeling.
Now I’m older I have my own theory about what happened to the surveillance team that night outside that warehouse. I imagine the gang had no intentions of making a trade and Jess was never with them. They wanted to lure me to the site under the false sense of security being under FBI escort.
They likely had a unit already in place to take out anyone at the meet and they were planning to take me by force whilst tying up a lot of loose ends at the same time. Agent Johnson did in fact say it would be there sort of MO.
I believe the gang had seen the surveillance team arrive and park up, they then waited. When the time was right , they Drove the van in to the middle of the dirt road outside the warehouse as a Diversion.
I think a group of men armed with weapons lay in wait inside the vehicle. Once the FBI got the golden approval from the SFC, 3 armed agents got out the FBI vehicle and approached the Van with guns drawn.
Maybe at this time another group of Swarm members attacked the Vehicle with a Molatov cocktail or Grenade. The hot explosion, and the sound of their colleagues screaming in agony pulling at their burning skin and clothes, caused the men approaching the van to turn their back on it.
This gave the group in the van a chance to jump out and kill 2 of the 3 Federal agents and Kidnap the other.
I guess we will never know what truly happened but after 5 years of going over it in my head, that’s the most plausible scenario I can think of.
There was maybe an hour or so that passed by since the Incident. Mainly filled by Jessica’s mum screaming at the agents, wailing and shrieking where her little girl was and what they were doing to get her back.
Agent Johnsons superior called him to lose his shit and asked him what on earth possessed two decorated agents to send a team of just 5 people to take down the most dangerous organised crime group in north America.
Johnson attempted to justify his actions by saying too many agents may have got them detected by the gang and cost them their chance of taking them down and saving Jessica.
I would have felt bad for the guy, if not trying to pull my head out of oblivion. The realisation that I am likely never going to see my best friend again was a blow I wasn’t ready for.
When people ask me what the darkest time of my life was. It was this hour. The uncertainty. The waiting.
The time between learning our last hope to get my friend back was gone, and awaiting to hear what had become of a hardworking agent, who was just doing his job. And, of course my best friend who had never done anything other than be nice to everyone she'd ever met.
The anxiety and dread pulled my insides into knots they I never thought could be undone.
And then, our landline phone rang..
The same process as before with the tech guys setting up the recording and listening devices whilst once again attempting to trace the call.
Only this time Agent Johnson picked up the phone.
He wasn’t in the mood for games.
'Where is my Agent? You hand them BOTH over now and we can talk about a deal. You hurt either one of them and I promise, I will pursue you to full extent of my ability with the entire backing of the Federal Bureau of Investigation!'
The only headset was being worn by one of the FBIs Profilers. So Agent Rodriquez hit the speaker button so he could hear the mans words and what he was saying about the missing Agent.
I look back now and wish he hadn’t done that. What I heard over the next 7 minutes is forever burned into my head.
A drawn out Virginian accent came over the speaker. 'Now come on Agent, You've been doing that for 3 years now. And your still seen as a failure in your department and we are still going strong. Not even that little Rat you had working for ya could help you.’
‘You give me back my agent and the girl you sick bastards!’ Johnson snapped.
A clown like cackle burst from the speaker. ‘Well ain’t that cute! you allowed a child being raped and murdered to go unpunished. Just so you could further your investigations. And you call us the monsters?! Pfft, Typical Lawman.'
I couldn’t help Sympathise as I could tell this struck Agent Johnsons nerves.
In a sense the Man was right. Its hard to defend the hypocrisy of the justice system at times. Johnson traded the life of the boy Ramsey killed for a tick in the win column in this investigation. I knew Agent Johnson had been haunted by what he did for a long time. He barely had a comeback.
'Besides we're way past making deals. We gave you a chance to make a deal. Girl for the Girl and you tried to trap us. So now your going to feel the consequences of your actions.'
The man took a pause and said something that made all our hearts wrench.
'And then we're going to come get the one we want. Whatever means necessary. We're done pussyfooting around and we got a lot riding on that little girl you got there'
My mum and dad held me as if to give me some sort of feeling of being safe. Jessica’s mum looked at us and I swear I saw her look for Jessica to give her the same reassuring hug.
For the 10th today I saw her spirit break that little bit more.
Another pause and a few inaudible noises before we heard the agonized screams of a man.
The agent. But there was something about his groans of pain. It was off.
'Daniels?! Daniels Its Johnson. Shout out anything that can help us locate you! What do you see?! Give me something!'
'Oh he won't be able to do that unfortunately. you see, we thought you might try something like that, being a crafty fed and everything, so we ripped his tongue out.'
He said that with a coldness that had a lot of us taken back.
You could see that broke Agent Johnson. Knowing his judgement and decisions had this man in this situation. A family man with 2 kids, who should be home right now, watching the Lakers take on the Raptors in the playoffs with a cold beer. Right before he tucks the boys in goodnight after a day of fighting the bad guys of the world.
Instead he is being held against his will.
Beaten, tortured and mutilated.
'Don't worry though, Agent. Things will stop being cut and ripped off this gentleman, if he just writes down on this paper what we want to know.'
We all looked at Agent Johnson before my Dad asked 'What is he talking about?' 'THAT IS GOD DAMN CLASSIFIED' he snapped.
'Of course ya know 'BILL'...' The use of Agent Johnsons first name visibly startled him. The man continued. ‘Of course you could put your man out of a lot of misery and suffering. If you just give me the name that I want. You have my word Lawman, I’ll put a bullet in him right now. No more games. But if you don't...’
He took a deliberate pause to allow the gravity of his innuendo to hit the agents imagination.
‘Well lets just say he’s got ten toes and 5 fingers he doesn’t need in order for him to write a name on a little piece of paper... And if needs must, there’s two rows of pearly whites here to play with'
'I AM NOT HANDING OVER ANOTHER INNOCENT FOR YOU PSYCHOS TO JUST BUTCHER!' Agent Johnson exploded. His eyes now glazed over with tears of torment.
There was another horrific 5 second pause before the man took a deep inhale though his nose.
'Fair does Bill, Fair does. Have it your way.'
The dull drawn out shrieks of Agent Daniels tongueless mouth screeched though our landline as he was dragged off out of the audio range of the call.
It was hard to tell with no pronunciation but we were all pretty sure he was screaming the words 'Please' and 'No'. We all could tell his was sobbing too.
I didn’t think this night could get any worse.
Then the speaker projected the mans voice again.
‘Now then. Put Jessica’s mum on the phone please.'
We all gasped. Our Eyes widened and I felt my pupils dilating. There is no way this was going to be good. Jessica’s Mum took the receiver from Agent Johnson. She was already fighting back tears. These people did not care however.
She dived right in. 'Hello, Please.. Please just give me my little girl back. She’s a sweet little girl who hasn’t done anything wr-'
'MUMMY!!! MUMMYYYYY' Jessica’s voice interrupted her mothers feeble attempt at appealing to the kidnappers better nature. These people did not have one.
'Oh my god baby, Yes I am here. Every things going to be okay! I'm here and we are going to get you home I promise.'
The Man came back on the phone. 'Hello Mrs Adams. I need you to know that this isn’t anything personal. Its Just business.'
Scrap what I said earlier. THIS RIGHT HERE. This was the worst moment of my life. This was when we all knew.
'This isn’t the way I wanted it to go down. Honestly.’ He almost sounded sincere. ‘The FBI have stepped on our toes one too many times and they have made us very angry. A message needs to be sent. I hope you understand. Oh, please tell the Matthews family that we'll see them very soon. That debt is still owed. And we will collect.'
Jessica’s mum knew at this point what was to come. All she could do was to find the strength to try and comfort her little girl and be there for her in what was no doubt unimaginable hell for her.
The image of her shaken frame and tears bursting from her eyes will forever stay with me. To her credit she did her best to remain strong.
Telling Jessica everything would be ok.
She started to sing her the lullaby down the phone, from when Jess was 5 years old and under the weather. The song always made her feel better. Every kid has that one song their mum sings to them when they need comfort and warmth. I hope it gave Jess some sense of her mother’s presence in those last moments.
I think I'd have a lot more issues than I do now, had Agent Rodriquez not acted as quick as he did.
He dived over the dinning room table to switch off the speaker phone just as the sound of an Electric drill revved to life and Jessica began to scream in abject terror.
We all watched Jessica’s mum attempt to hold herself together. Tears leaking for her eye sockets. Jessica’s father embraced her mother in a state I’d never seen him in before.
We all watched the last of her soul shatter as she sang 'Hush Little Baby, Don’t you cry' into the phone as Jessica screamed in pure agony for her mum and dad to come save her from the bad men.
She stayed with Jessica until the very end. We never heard another voice on the line after the screaming stopped. The phone went dead almost immediately after. Jessica’s mum collapsed when the caller hung up.
A unit arrived shortly after the call went dead. It was from the US Federal Witness Protection Programme. They gave my family all new identities and relocated us out of the country.
Apparently that was also part of the document we signed earlier. We weren’t safe anymore and needed to disappear. I cant give much more detail on this for obvious reasons.
It was just our family that had to go missing.
The FBI concluded it was unlikely The Swarm would come for Jessica’s parents. They’d hurt them enough.
We said our emotion packed goodbyes and offered what fatuous condolences we could muster.
We packed our essential items in the 10 minutes we had before a black sedan came to collect us with a swat team escort sandwiching our ride.
I watched my home for the last 13 years, fade away into the distance as Me and my parents embarked on our new life, away from this nightmare.
Apparently whilst we were being removed from the country, the FBI finally traced the call made to our landline. It lead to a remote location way off the grid just outside of our town. The FBI and Evidence Response Team followed up to some old abandoned storage facility. There, they found the remains of three bodies.
Daniels, Ramsey and Jess.
We were told one was totally dismembered. One was hanging by their neck from barbed wire attached to the roof support beams and the other had been drowned in boiling hot oil.
They didn’t tell us which was which but when Jessica’s Mum went to Identify her body, that was the final straw.
She committed suicide the next day by overdosing on her prescription Diazepam.
Her father is reportedly still alive but by all accounts he's turned to a life of Alcohol and Anti Depressants.
Our handler says she doubts he'll see out the year at the rate he is going. It always hurts to hear the lasting damage of this horrendous event. I hope they all find each other again some day.
Me and my family have settled now in our new home. We are making a go at a normal life but we will all be forever moulded by the events of that one night.
I won’t walk anywhere alone. I have severe separation anxiety and its effected a lot of my romantic relationships. I can’t keep a boyfriend for longer than a month as I can’t talk to any of my boyfriends about my issues and where they stem from as its against my WITSEC agreement.
Our case handler says we are the luckiest people she’s ever met and we need to embrace this gift we have been given. We are the only family to ever be targeted by The Swarm and make it out alive.
All the other families out there like me and my parents weren’t as fortunate.
I doubt id use the words 'lucky' and ‘fortunate’ Our handler wasn't there that night listening to those people die in some dark dingy old building screaming for mercy. But at the same time, I do get where she is coming from.
I always read the online news articles for my old town and surrounding states to keep an eye on the alarming number of rising missing person cases. It’s horrifying. Mainly young girls too, who just vanish from their homes and neighbourhoods without a trace. The Swarm is responsible, I know it.
Even though, I am told I am safe now, and getting on with the rest of my life. I always find myself coming back to three things from that night.
1- The look of Jessica’s mums heart breaking as she sung her baby to sleep for the final time. A moment that haunts me on dark nights.
2- The last moment me and Jessica shared together before she was taken. That lingering warm smile we gave each other as she stood in my bedroom doorway. A treasure I truly hold dearly on those same dark nights.
And, 3. The comment Agent Johnson quoted about Damon Ramsey in regards to his own WITSEC agreement protecting him from The Swarm....
‘When it comes to these people that were dealing with. There’s no such thing as Immunity’
Please if submitted on your channel credit as THE WHITE VAN MAN
submitted by Pristine-Engine4388 to mrcreeps [link] [comments]


2020.10.19 22:49 Atrophied_Silence Caught sex on tape work at

A continuation of my story, The Angels Burned
Check it out here if you have not read the first part

It was gearing up to be a long night.
The place was packed two-deep with thirsty patrons, and our barback was nowhere in sight. I wouldn’t know it until hours later, but he had quit out of the blue, leaving me to manage the tides myself.
The entrance to our pub was tucked away inside a bricked alleyway, marked with a crooked street lamp. Beyond the frontage of oak and stained-glass windows, the inside oozed with old-fashioned character.
A western fireplace fitted with wrought iron pokers, rickety wooden stools, dozens of triple X whiskey water jugs hanging from the ceiling, and old-world goods for display on the dark shelf-lined walls.
The perfect Old West backdrop for tourists.
That’s how all the seasons go in Vail, Colorado.
When visitors weren’t coming to freeze on the slopes, they came rolling in for the summer glamour, the velvety hills, and the smell of fireweed and creek water in the air.
Stressful as it made my shift, and as much as I wanted to wring the barback’s neck for it, I was used to handling things on my own.
It’s how I cut my teeth in the bar trade—my rite of passage, you might call it. Multi-tasking like a maniac, memorizing cocktail recipes, and answering the electrified calls of drunks—maybe a shot or two on the side to take the edge off.
A few of my regulars were perched along the bar—a triad of glossy-lipped girls fresh in their college years. I could never remember their names, but I always remembered which of them tipped the best.
As the three of them laughed noisily and shouted back and forth to each other, I was keeping an eye on the fellow two stools down from them.
He’d strolled in just as they arrived and settled quickly at the bar.
“What are you thinking, boss?” I asked, taking his order.
“Vodka, neat,” he muttered with an inkling of drowsiness. “Keep my tab open.”
His face matched the drink, a hard, marbled expression with nothing else mixed in, straight from the bottle to the glass. He wore a dark coat with a red cap fighting to keep his ruffled hair from poking out. A beard enveloped his mouth and dangled under his chin like that of a billy goat.
He’d been eyeballing the girls for a while, and noticeably, none of them cared for it. As two of the girls went to the restroom and one stayed behind, he took his chance.
Busy as that night was, I couldn’t help but watch him give it his best:
A subtle gesture to her glass followed by a shake of her head.
A little bit of chatter, and another shake of her head.
But Goat Beard would not be swayed, and I heard him asking something along the lines of, “Do you smoke? Want to go out and smoke with me?”
“Sorry, no,” she said, turning her entire body to convey the end of their conversation.
Finally deterred, he left her alone and made his way around the tavern.
Watching him rubber-leg his way over to the dartboards, I wished I had caught how drunk he was before pouring that last drink.
He took a seat near a group of younger guys and watched their darts fly. Whenever one missed its mark or landed clear off the board, the boys—along with their new spectator— erupted with laughter.
He leaned back, teasing the chair on its last two legs, and cackled loudly. Others looked over in curiosity and annoyance until even the jukebox tunes were second to the horsey laughter. The group of guys didn’t seem to mind it. They even welcomed it, with one of them enthusiastically high-fiving him. But eventually, the obnoxious chortling wore out its welcome, and the group made their way elsewhere.
Goat Beard followed and asked one of the boys something—the one that initiated the high-five. Judging by him tapping a V shape against his lips, it seemed like another request to go out and smoke.
The boy shook his head, denying the offer.
Striking out twice, the man stumbled his way back to the bar and reclaimed his seat, hunched over like a brooding Paul Bunyan. He seemed anxious, hands clenched and fingers trembling.
Soon enough, his neck arched back up to me and hollered, “Hey! Another neat, bud.”
“Sorry, man,” I replied bringing him a glass of water, “We’re going to need you to slow down tonight.”
He eyed the water and then blinked bullets at me, “What?!”
“Have to cut you off for now. Just sober up a bit, alright?”
Betrayal crossed his fleecy face like I had spat on a long-lived kinship. “I had one shot, bud. Ain’t even drunk yet. Now pour me another, alright?”
No drunk liked to be 86’d, but such things were necessary in the world of adult baby-sitting. I shook my head at him, “Sorry, you have to sober up a bit.”
“I’m not even drunk,” he challenged me again and then not even a second after, he slammed both palms on the table. “Now take my fuckin’ order!”
He grabbed the glass and doused me with the water I had poured for him.
I signaled for our bouncer who immediately made his way over and locked arms with the disturbance.
“Bastard!” he yelled, digging his heels into the floor, “My money’s good here, my fuckin’ money’s good here!” As he was dragged out and his screams dissipated, onlookers returned to their drinks and conversations.
I wiped off the water as well as I could and went back to work. It wasn’t the first time I’d been swilled by an angry customer, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.
Ten minutes after the last call, we stopped serving drinks. Thirty minutes after that, we emptied the bar and closed shop.
I counted the money to make sure the checkout was correct, and ran a cursory sweep over the place for any stragglers in the bathroom or under the booths. The last thing we needed was a drunkard waking up to their own alcoholic Wonka factory.
***
The night air always tasted nicer after a long shift, especially if there wasn’t the residue of vomit in the pavement or cigarettes in the air.
I made the short walk to my car, parked in the space reserved for on-duty bartenders. Half the parking lot was glazed in the fluorescent light of a streetlamp, while the other half was covered in 4 a.m. blackness.
As I fished the keys out of my pocket and opened the door, a ring of icy steel pressed against the nape of my neck.
“Don’t,” a voice breathed from behind me as I reactively tried to move away from it.
From the window, I could make out the orange-dipped reflection of a man with a gun and a tufty beard.
“Okay, okay,” I said quietly, my hands pitifully up in front of me. “Take it easy. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Shut up.” Goat Beard grunted, digging the muzzle deeper into the scruff of my neck. “Get in the car.”
I did as he was told and gripped the wheel.
He circled to the passenger door, found that it was locked, and tapped the gun against the glass.
Sure, I could have jammed the keys into the ignition and whipped the car into a screeching reverse, but the short seconds to do that felt much slower than a bullet smashing first through the window then through my skull.
I unlocked the door.
He opened the door and seated himself, the snout of a firearm still marked on me. “Start the car.”
The engine rumbled awake. “Good,” he grinned, the light outside casting a grotesquely clear look of his sweaty pores. Something awful lingered in his breath—the foul musk of a rotten tooth. “Now drive.”
The gravity of the situation hit me all at once, a blast of fear obliterating everything else out of my system. My insides shook like the temperature had just plummeted.
I looked up at my own eyes in the rearview mirror. What I saw was undiluted fear and desperation, “Please,” I whimpered, “I’m sorry for what happened. I really am, man. Take the car, it’s yours, I won’t—”
The hand holding the pistol slammed the dash. “DRIVE!” he screamed in an almost forlorn bellow.
I dropped the gearshift into reverse. As the car’s backside turned and faced us toward the road, I shoved it to drive.
“Go west on the interstate,” the man said clicking in his seatbelt and gestured for me as well. How ironic.
We followed the dark slate of road and slid up the ramp of I-70, heading into the gloomy darkness of the westbound highway.
We drove in silence for some time, during which the tight panic in my chest had shifted to a hot anger. All this for a drink. Really? All this for a goddamned drink?
I’d dealt with angry drunks before. Hell, I thought that I’d dealt with the worst of them. But I’d seen nothing like this. This guy was an entirely new level; he was bat-shit insane.
I slipped a glance at him. His eyes were turned vaguely toward the road. I hated everything about him—his shape in my peripheral, the awful smells wafting off him, his oafish breathing through those whiskers.
Where were we going? What was going to happen when we get there?
Wherever it was, I was running out of time.
Hit the barrier, I thought, and grab the gun when it drops out of his hand. I was tempted, even commencing countdowns in my head to swerve off the road and blindly grab at him in the chaos. I eyed the orange needle of the speedometer, fluttering over seventy miles per hour. Bad idea.
This was not about to become a scene in an action flick for the unscathed hero. It was real life. And in real life bodies hesitate, fingers pull triggers, and both people die in a fiery car crash.
“Where are you taking me?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.
Instead of a response, I caught the dim, grubby shape of his profile as he flicked open a lighter.
Cigarette smoke wafted out of the mottled formations of his face, no open window for it to escape.
I guess he’d finally found someone to smoke with.
He instructed me to take the next exit and to merge on Highway 24, to follow the mountainside.
At one point, a set of headlights came from the opposite direction. I pushed on the accelerator, bringing the needle up to an illegal ninety, praying that it happened to be a cop ready to have us pulled over. My passenger didn’t seem to notice our gradual rise in speed.
As the car shot right by us, it was, unfortunately, a sedan, probably heading home to a safe, warm bed—a place I should be right now.
A wet belch sighed out of him, and he sucked it back in. Digested alcohol now joined the smells of cigarette tar and a decaying tooth. I prayed for him to vomit and for the vomit to clog up his throat and turn his face blue.
What did he want? To kill me? To demand a ransom for me? My head ached with the possibilities.
There had to be something I could do to get out of this.
“My son’s birthday is next week,” I lied, hoping some form of that would reach the sliver of humanity floating around him somewhere.
He exhaled out a puff of smoke, and that was all.
I kept pushing. “He wanted one of those small cars, the one you have to build the little plastic track for and everything. We were going to have a surprise party for him.”
“Slow down,” he blurted, signaling to an upcoming side road. “Turn here.”
As the road became a C-shaped flank along the mountain, the turn-off practically came out of nowhere.
Ahead of us, a large metal gate meant to block off the path had been left wide open. Someone had taken a pair of bolt cutters to the padlock securing it. Hanging off its side, a sign read in bold letters: Trespassers will be prosecuted.
The road twisted into an aspen-lined path and became much grittier and less kempt. Loose, rocky debris crunched under the tires, and a stray branch snapped like a femur bone. We maneuvered around a few large stones that had tumbled their way along the track.
Houses clad in deformed shingles and decrepit, sagging porches formed out of the darkness around us. Their walls had either crumbled entirely or were coated in elaborate graffiti. Rundown. Abandoned.
The old neighborhood sat in Terrance-like rows along the mountainside, now left to slump along its incline.
A ghost town, one of the many that littered Colorado’s terrain.
“Do you know this place?” Goat Beard asked, surveying the deserted homes himself.
I shook my head, not interested in doing anything else.
“I’ll give you a clue—silver boom of the 1800s, once at the dead center of all zinc and lead mining productions. Back then anyway…”
I wasn’t interested in answering him, and in response to my silence, he shook his rugged head, “Gilman! Come on bud, you don’t know your own state’s history?”
The sudden shift in his tone irked me greatly, like this kidnapping had become a friendly outing together. Fuck you, my thoughts grunted.
Without being prompted, Goat Beard continued, “In 1899, half the mining town was wiped out. The school, the iron-mask hotel, a shaft house—poof!” He flexed his fingers. “All lost to the fire.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
His drunken eyes found me again. “Do you know what the townsfolk did? They came together and rebuilt what was lost. Made it better. A tragedy made into a communion. Do you know what I mean?”
I didn’t answer.
“Forest fires—those are tragedies, right? Wrong. They clear out the dead litter, make room for new generations of growth. Thriving in the ashes. That is what we need, you know? That is what this cold, fuckin’ world needs.” He was slurring to himself more than to me now, “Men, woman, everyone out there prays to some distant God, crying for the angels to fly down and save us. But he is out of angels to send, so we must abide. We must make them.”
His gaze shifted, a bent smile forming in the scruff. “Thank you.” He almost wept. “Thank you for making me choose you.”
Truly, it was the sudden giddiness in his voice that scared me the most, like the very reason he’d drank himself half to death tonight had finally been resolved.
The neighborhood led us to the town area, where we passed by an old workshop, a sun-bleached garage, and two Gilman dump trucks, their sides plastered with ancient mud. From out of the cracks, weeds had pushed their way through the untended turf.
"We’re here. Stop,” Goat Beard snapped as he rolled down the window to flick out his cigarette.
We came to a stop before a large, boxy building. Though it was one of the many paint-flaking fossils surrounding us, this structure looked especially dismal. Its once-white coat was murky with age. The few windows that weren’t clouded with grime were entirely blown out, their bits of glass shimmering like teeth in the moonlight.
More graffiti lined its base in one of which sat the grey outline of a cat. And sprouting atop the structure’s roof sat a single cracked chimney.
“Shut it off,” Goat Beard ordered again, gesturing obnoxiously toward my keys and then grabbing them as I did so.
Out from the building’s dark entryway, a silhouette came.
My insides rippled with fear at the sight.
This was it, the end of our journey together. Of course, this would be the perfect place to make me disappear. Nobody would know, and even if someone found me, they’d only stumble upon my corpse, rotting like everything else in this toxic place.
I was done playing ball. This was going to end my way, not theirs.
As Goat Beard moved to open his side of the car, I snatched at his gun.
My fingers locked around his wrist and jerked to the side to spin the barrel away from me. Its nozzle smacked against the dashboard, but his grip remained locked tight around it.
I yanked again, harder this time, using whatever leverage I could muster in the tight, little space we were in.
The parts of his face still visible to me were screwed with anger.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, trying to wrestle my hands off of him, growling like an angry dog.
My thoughts were loud, screaming in a unified chorus: Take it, take it, take it! That is all I cared about, all I wanted in the world. To take it meant the end of this horrible night, to live through it.
I pried desperately at his grubby fingers, feeling them starting to break their hold.
As from out of nowhere, a calloused fist struck my face. Pressure filled the inside of my cheek and made it clench. His free hand struck again, even harder this time. My head flopped back, but my hands only clutched tighter.
The gun was almost out of his grip, almost in mine.
Then there was a sound behind me, and a pair of hands ripped me right out of the driver’s seat.
The underside of my legs scraped painfully across the gravel, and before everything stopped spinning, I was pinned on my stomach.
A broad knee dug between my shoulders. Something looped around my wrists and then bit into them as tight bracelets. Zip ties.
“Easy! Easy, guy,” a new voice spoke, infuriatingly calm.
I heard the passenger side close as Goat Beard bustled over to join whoever had a hold of me.
I spat and cursed at them, feeling sharp bits of grit push into my cheek.
“He’s a troublemaker,” Goat Beard jeered, hawking a gob of mucus on me.
My teeth ached and the blood was rushing to my left cheek, probably swelling like a balloon.
Without warning, the two men yanked me up to my knees, crammed something into my mouth, and slapped a streak of duct tape over my lips.
“That’ll put a muzzle on him,” Goat Beard chuckled, proud of himself.
The man who had just pushed his fingers into my mouth nodded. He was much taller, with a bristled frosty chin and a nose permanently bent to the side.
“Listen,” he spoke with that collected voice, “if you keep causing trouble, I will have to take this…” He held up a knife and pressed it up to my groin, “and unzip your sack. So, behave, huh?”
I stopped struggling at the sight of it.
Whatever they’d just shoved in my mouth rolled along my tongue. It felt like a tablet—some kind of drug, maybe. In no way was I going to swallow it, but that wouldn’t stop it from dissolving anyway.
“We need to hurry,” Goat Beard mumbled, to which Bent-Nose nodded and lead me into the wretched building.
Inside, they walked me down a short, cramped hallway.
The air I had to force in and out of my nostrils was stale and feverishly thick. Mold had built up and crawled down the wall from the ceiling, trailing along the cracks.
The interior of the room we entered resembled a kind of workshop, somewhat lit by a flashlight propped up on a table.
In its beam, someone else had their back to us. A hunching figure with a veiny bald head and a raw-hide coat that hung off his wiry frame.
He was dipping his fingers into what looked like a jar and smearing it in oval strokes on the wall, humming a hymn while he did so.
Piled along the left flank of the wall were heaps of worn medical equipment, pushed aside and left in a dusty pile.
Paper and negatives from an X-ray were littered all over the floor.
This was a hospital—or at least something along the lines of one.
Behind the mound of grimy equipment, a woman was hunched against the wall.
Her dark eyes peered up from the duct tape, cheeks creased with eye shadow, and her face sagging with the weight of hopelessness. As our eyes met, neither found comfort in the other.
I felt the urge to gag as the thing in my mouth melted into a bitter glaze. It tasted horrible.
“Are we ready?” Goat Beard asked from behind me, his gun pressed firmly into my spine.
“Almost,” Skinny replied, turning his pointy face toward us before returning to the thing he was creating. His wide eyes held a fierce intensity behind them.
Bent-Nose joined him, grabbing a jar of his own and streaking the same circled pattern over the next half of the room.
Dozens were on the walls—large red circles filled with six inner rings. Grayish chalky writing had been scribbled into them. Not words at all, but layers upon layers of gibberish all winding toward the sphere’s center.
They seemed like sigils, like ones you might find in a cult.
That explained Goat Beard’s crazy speak, but what was this, really? Our captors didn’t strike me as cultists with robes and hidden, hooded faces. They were more a gang of scruffy misfits showing off their toys.
I looked at the woman. Her eyes had gone elsewhere, swaying and wobbling around the room. Muffled, droning sounds buzzed behind the duct tape. She was on something, probably the same thing they’d forced-fed me. To keep us “muzzled.”
“Alright!” Skinny spoke excitedly, clapping his spattered hands. “Who should we start with?”
“Her,” Bent-Nose spoke, gesturing to the girl who continued to sway and teeter in her corner.
Skinny looked at the woman, and then blinked back at him with irritation, “What are you doing? Where are her restraints?”
Bent-Nose scoffed at him, “She’s high as a kite, wouldn’t even notice a fly on her face right now.”
“That isn’t the point,” Skinny snapped. “Do you want this to end up like the Moselys? Think!”
Musing on that, Bent-Nose fastened the cables over her wrists and yanked her off the ground, her bare feet dragging along the floor.
As she was laid in the center of the room, she rested whimsically on her back, putting up as much fight as a sex doll. He ripped the duct tape from her mouth before leaving her there.
A pause fell over the room, and then the men began to chant in unison. It swelled from their throats, pulling straight from the chest and meshing together into a low, prolonged baritone.
In the poor acoustics of the room, their voices bounced off the stained walls, gaining more volume with an unmistakable deep, powerful devotion.
Between their vocals, Skinny spoke out, straining his lungs into some gravel-throat language.
I was starting to feel clammy and prickly all over the place.
My mind focused on breathing—sucking in the awful fumes around me of body odor and decay.
As my heart pumped frantically, I tried to focus on its rhythm, tried to ignore the sounds of vibrating vocal cords rumbling my ears.
I forced down a swallow and breathed. The drug couldn’t be affecting me now, could it? This quickly?
The walls around us didn’t feel like walls anymore, but massive slabs of canvas coated in waxy circles. Awful art. Horrible, awful art.
The voices rose, heaving out their vocals even louder.
My leg muscles squeezed together, then relaxed, like taffy being rolled and stretched from a machine.
I wanted to sit down—to sit down and breathe. But as I started to drift downward, Goat Beard forcefully hoisted me back up again. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Are you feeling it? Are you feeling the good shit, yet?” His words trickled with them a warm, rotten breath.
Whatever harness keeping my thoughts together was loosening. I wanted to squeeze into one of the cracks around us, to sleep and make the bad world go away.
The walls started to move, puffing in and out in perfect tandem with my wheezing chest. In. Out. In. Out.
Even the sigils moved, shivering their waxy bodies with the dark chorus. Within them, the chalky figures danced and wriggled with such life I almost believed they each had their own pulse.
That was when I saw the fire.
It clawed over her, starting as a bluish ripple that quickly flared into a bright, savage red.
Even as the burst of heat rolled over my face, I didn’t think it was real. The men hadn’t ignited her—or doused her in anything—or even flicked a match. A hallucination, that’s it. I’m hallucinating, my mind pleaded, trying to grip its last fibers of that harness.
But the sound of her screaming was what made it real. She bucked and writhed beneath the flames, crying out for any of us to help her.
Smoke burrowed into my nostrils and bristled the back of my throat. I retched emptily into the duct tape and tried to pull away, only to be forced back toward her.
“Watch,” Goat Beard hissed, only stopping his chants to whisper into my ear, “Watch the angel shine.”
I could smell her hair burning. Her skin roasting.
Faces appeared around her, forming with the blaze and then in the same instant, rippled into the smog.
She screamed until her throat split and her echoes fell to a dry, breathless yowl.
The ties bounding her hands had finally snapped and released them to flail helplessly about.
All the while, the strident chants continued, feeding the inferno as it spat more pieces of her into the air.
They sang, they cheered, and as their shadows throbbed up and down the walls, I could swear those changed as well. Oily shapes with bodies contorted and torturously stretched into things not even remotely human.
Skinny stood the closest to the burning woman, both hands raised in sadistic glee over their living kindle. Just another man outside these walls, but here in the firelight, he looked like the devil.
Psychopaths. Monsters!
I fought in Goat Beards grip, jerking my head back to break his nose, kicking my feet backward toward his knees. I couldn’t stomach any more.
Something blunt struck the back of my head. I keeled over onto my knees. Even in a drugged-up daze, the static spreading around my skull told me I’d just been pistol-whipped.
The last of the strained cries finally crept from the woman’s throat as she succumbed to a crackling silence.
I thought she was finally gone, prayed for it even.
However, she convulsed once more, turning her stomach up and letting her head hang downward—now looking at me.
I saw her face clearly. Her skin resurfaced with blisters and curling raw patches. Her nose a mottled stump of white seared tissue. And the last remnants of her hair coiling against a ruined scalp.
Then her lips, which had dried to thin scabs, suddenly parted.
I expected another hellish scream to empty out of her, but it was something else—a warped laugh only possible with a throat full of charcoal. Laughing hysterically in an upside down-grimace.
Though no eyes were left in her sockets, I could feel their gaze swallow me up.
Stop, I whimpered internally, please stop looking at me.
Her suffering had ended, but in its place, something different had taken its place, clawing its way out of the burn.
The laughing seized as she struggled back to her feet, standing tall in the lashing flames. Fragments of clothing hung from her grizzled frame, fused to the skin.
The chorus of the men had stopped as they backed away from her, like lion tamers who had suddenly lost their whips.
She seemed to pay them no mind as her neck slowly swiveled around the room, eyeing up each of the hastily smeared sigils.
Her heels scraped against the floor as she chose one of them and gradually shambled toward it.
Upon reaching the crest, her body collapsed forward. A skull-rending crunch resounded from the impact and left her limply against it. Pieces of her torso—followed by everything else—began to fall away from her, dispersing in blackened particles.
The flames shrank and sputtered as more of her body broke down into fine-grained piles around her. Before long, she had crumbled to nothingness, a vague smear of her existence marred into the wall.
As the last of the embers fizzled in their ashes, the room returned to its heavy darkness.
“Beautiful!” Skinny cheered, looking like he’d just wiped away a tear, though it was probably to rub the sweat off his face. Those wide, intense eyes traveled to me, “One down, one to go.”
I looked once more at the crest on the wall, smothered by the left-over shape of a woman.
Then I was on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.
They’d left me in the same spot, peppered with her ashes. Beneath me, the scorched floor burned against my spine.
Goat Beard smiled as he tore the duct tape from my mouth. Why? So, they could hear me scream next?
My limbs had jellied into uselessness. Maybe from the fear, or maybe from whatever godforsaken substance they’d forced into my system.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I thought about my parents’ faces and the last time I’d seen them. I thought about my first bar gig, and how many times I had messed up the mixes.
An angry shout tried to tear out of my throat but was rasped short by how raw it had become.
I didn’t want to die. Not here, not in this demonic place.
When the chanting started again, I squeezed the tears shut, and prayed for my nerves to burn quickly.
Then the sounds stopped.
Silence stilled the room, save for a few scraping feet.
“What was that?” Bent-Nose spoke. “You hear that?”
“Go check it out,” Skinny ordered as a set of shoes pattered out of the room.
A few anxious mumbles passed between him and Goat Beard until a flurry of shouts rang from the hallway.
Both of them beat past me and ran toward the disturbance.
Something surged through my body—an electricity which kicked my limbs from their paralysis and back to working order.
I pulled my upper half from the ground and into a sitting position. Once my feet were under me, I got myself back to standing. Just being vertical again filled me with absolute joy.
The sounds from outside came as incoherent barks from the hall until they were silenced by a loud crack then two more in its place—gunshots.
I pulled my arms below my body and carefully lifted one leg at a time over my wrists, bringing them back to the front of me.
After that, I brought both over my head and threw them down into my stomach. The ties didn’t break. I tried again, raising them as high as I could. Break, you bastards, and slammed them down even harder.
The locking mechanism snapped, finally freeing my hands.
From behind the thin walls shuffling movements registered from the outside. “My ear!” a voice bellowed sounding very much like Goat Beard’s slurred speech, “Shot—my fuckin’ ear!”
Car doors opened and closed as an engine revved to life and an accelerator was depressed. They sped off, retreating from something.
As I twisted myself toward the exit, a man was now standing there, his gun pointed at me. “Stay away!” I screamed haggardly at him. “Stay the hell away from me!”
“Take it easy, I’m not one of them,” the man said lowering his weapon, a whole new face in the fray.
We stood at an impasse inside the acrid, unlit room. I wanted to believe he was my rescue, but my nerves were shot. The fact that things around me hadn’t stopped moving didn’t help.
His eyes scanned the workshop and settled on the human-shaped scar on the wall. A look of familiarity tensed his features. “Do you know where you are right now? Were you forced to come here?”
“Please,” I breathed, “just let me get out of this place.”
He nodded in agreement and led the way through the narrow hallway.
The fresh night air prickled down my throat and coughed back out of me. I bent over and retched into the ground. The ashes were all over me, on my clothes, in my hair.
The stranger retreated from me, almost like he was expecting something to suddenly happen. When nothing did, he cautiously drew closer. “My name’s Tucker, can you tell me yours?”
“Peter,” I responded, blowing the remaining spittle off my lips. “Are you a cop?”
“I used to be.” He itched the back of his neck, then continued “I need you to tell me everything that happened here Peter, everything that you can remember. Can you do that for me?”
I looked up at him and rubbed the imprints dented into my wrists, “You aren’t going to believe any of it.”
The ex-officer then smiled, “Try me.”
submitted by Atrophied_Silence to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]


2020.10.19 22:46 Atrophied_Silence Sex at work caught on tape

A continuation of my story, The Angels Burned
Check it out here if you have not read the first part


It was gearing up to be a long night.
The place was packed two-deep with thirsty patrons, and our barback was nowhere in sight. I wouldn’t know it until hours later, but he had quit out of the blue, leaving me to manage the tides myself.
The entrance to our pub was tucked away inside a bricked alleyway, marked with a crooked street lamp. Beyond the frontage of oak and stained-glass windows, the inside oozed with old-fashioned character.
A western fireplace fitted with wrought iron pokers, rickety wooden stools, dozens of triple X whiskey water jugs hanging from the ceiling, and old-world goods for display on the dark shelf-lined walls.
The perfect Old West backdrop for tourists.
That’s how all the seasons go in Vail, Colorado.
When visitors weren’t coming to freeze on the slopes, they came rolling in for the summer glamour, the velvety hills, and the smell of fireweed and creek water in the air.
Stressful as it made my shift, and as much as I wanted to wring the barback’s neck for it, I was used to handling things on my own.
It’s how I cut my teeth in the bar trade—my rite of passage, you might call it. Multi-tasking like a maniac, memorizing cocktail recipes, and answering the electrified calls of drunks—maybe a shot or two on the side to take the edge off.
A few of my regulars were perched along the bar—a triad of glossy-lipped girls fresh in their college years. I could never remember their names, but I always remembered which of them tipped the best.
As the three of them laughed noisily and shouted back and forth to each other, I was keeping an eye on the fellow two stools down from them.
He’d strolled in just as they arrived and settled quickly at the bar.
“What are you thinking, boss?” I asked, taking his order.
“Vodka, neat,” he muttered with an inkling of drowsiness. “Keep my tab open.”
His face matched the drink, a hard, marbled expression with nothing else mixed in, straight from the bottle to the glass. He wore a dark coat with a red cap fighting to keep his ruffled hair from poking out. A beard enveloped his mouth and dangled under his chin like that of a billy goat.
He’d been eyeballing the girls for a while, and noticeably, none of them cared for it. As two of the girls went to the restroom and one stayed behind, he took his chance.
Busy as that night was, I couldn’t help but watch him give it his best:
A subtle gesture to her glass followed by a shake of her head.
A little bit of chatter, and another shake of her head.
But Goat Beard would not be swayed, and I heard him asking something along the lines of, “Do you smoke? Want to go out and smoke with me?”
“Sorry, no,” she said, turning her entire body to convey the end of their conversation.
Finally deterred, he left her alone and made his way around the tavern.
Watching him rubber-leg his way over to the dartboards, I wished I had caught how drunk he was before pouring that last drink.
He took a seat near a group of younger guys and watched their darts fly. Whenever one missed its mark or landed clear off the board, the boys—along with their new spectator— erupted with laughter.
He leaned back, teasing the chair on its last two legs, and cackled loudly. Others looked over in curiosity and annoyance until even the jukebox tunes were second to the horsey laughter. The group of guys didn’t seem to mind it. They even welcomed it, with one of them enthusiastically high-fiving him. But eventually, the obnoxious chortling wore out its welcome, and the group made their way elsewhere.
Goat Beard followed and asked one of the boys something—the one that initiated the high-five. Judging by him tapping a V shape against his lips, it seemed like another request to go out and smoke.
The boy shook his head, denying the offer.
Striking out twice, the man stumbled his way back to the bar and reclaimed his seat, hunched over like a brooding Paul Bunyan. He seemed anxious, hands clenched and fingers trembling.
Soon enough, his neck arched back up to me and hollered, “Hey! Another neat, bud.”
“Sorry, man,” I replied bringing him a glass of water, “We’re going to need you to slow down tonight.”
He eyed the water and then blinked bullets at me, “What?!”
“Have to cut you off for now. Just sober up a bit, alright?”
Betrayal crossed his fleecy face like I had spat on a long-lived kinship. “I had one shot, bud. Ain’t even drunk yet. Now pour me another, alright?”
No drunk liked to be 86’d, but such things were necessary in the world of adult baby-sitting. I shook my head at him, “Sorry, you have to sober up a bit.”
“I’m not even drunk,” he challenged me again and then not even a second after, he slammed both palms on the table. “Now take my fuckin’ order!”
He grabbed the glass and doused me with the water I had poured for him.
I signaled for our bouncer who immediately made his way over and locked arms with the disturbance.
“Bastard!” he yelled, digging his heels into the floor, “My money’s good here, my fuckin’ money’s good here!” As he was dragged out and his screams dissipated, onlookers returned to their drinks and conversations.
I wiped off the water as well as I could and went back to work. It wasn’t the first time I’d been swilled by an angry customer, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.
Ten minutes after the last call, we stopped serving drinks. Thirty minutes after that, we emptied the bar and closed shop.
I counted the money to make sure the checkout was correct, and ran a cursory sweep over the place for any stragglers in the bathroom or under the booths. The last thing we needed was a drunkard waking up to their own alcoholic Wonka factory.
***
The night air always tasted nicer after a long shift, especially if there wasn’t the residue of vomit in the pavement or cigarettes in the air.
I made the short walk to my car, parked in the space reserved for on-duty bartenders. Half the parking lot was glazed in the fluorescent light of a streetlamp, while the other half was covered in 4 a.m. blackness.
As I fished the keys out of my pocket and opened the door, a ring of icy steel pressed against the nape of my neck.
“Don’t,” a voice breathed from behind me as I reactively tried to move away from it.
From the window, I could make out the orange-dipped reflection of a man with a gun and a tufty beard.
“Okay, okay,” I said quietly, my hands pitifully up in front of me. “Take it easy. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Shut up.” Goat Beard grunted, digging the muzzle deeper into the scruff of my neck. “Get in the car.”
I did as he was told and gripped the wheel.
He circled to the passenger door, found that it was locked, and tapped the gun against the glass.
Sure, I could have jammed the keys into the ignition and whipped the car into a screeching reverse, but the short seconds to do that felt much slower than a bullet smashing first through the window then through my skull.
I unlocked the door.
He opened the door and seated himself, the snout of a firearm still marked on me. “Start the car.”
The engine rumbled awake. “Good,” he grinned, the light outside casting a grotesquely clear look of his sweaty pores. Something awful lingered in his breath—the foul musk of a rotten tooth. “Now drive.”
The gravity of the situation hit me all at once, a blast of fear obliterating everything else out of my system. My insides shook like the temperature had just plummeted.
I looked up at my own eyes in the rearview mirror. What I saw was undiluted fear and desperation, “Please,” I whimpered, “I’m sorry for what happened. I really am, man. Take the car, it’s yours, I won’t—”
The hand holding the pistol slammed the dash. “DRIVE!” he screamed in an almost forlorn bellow.
I dropped the gearshift into reverse. As the car’s backside turned and faced us toward the road, I shoved it to drive.
“Go west on the interstate,” the man said clicking in his seatbelt and gestured for me as well. How ironic.
We followed the dark slate of road and slid up the ramp of I-70, heading into the gloomy darkness of the westbound highway.
We drove in silence for some time, during which the tight panic in my chest had shifted to a hot anger. All this for a drink. Really? All this for a goddamned drink?
I’d dealt with angry drunks before. Hell, I thought that I’d dealt with the worst of them. But I’d seen nothing like this. This guy was an entirely new level; he was bat-shit insane.
I slipped a glance at him. His eyes were turned vaguely toward the road. I hated everything about him—his shape in my peripheral, the awful smells wafting off him, his oafish breathing through those whiskers.
Where were we going? What was going to happen when we get there?
Wherever it was, I was running out of time.
Hit the barrier, I thought, and grab the gun when it drops out of his hand. I was tempted, even commencing countdowns in my head to swerve off the road and blindly grab at him in the chaos. I eyed the orange needle of the speedometer, fluttering over seventy miles per hour. Bad idea.
This was not about to become a scene in an action flick for the unscathed hero. It was real life. And in real life bodies hesitate, fingers pull triggers, and both people die in a fiery car crash.
“Where are you taking me?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.
Instead of a response, I caught the dim, grubby shape of his profile as he flicked open a lighter.
Cigarette smoke wafted out of the mottled formations of his face, no open window for it to escape.
I guess he’d finally found someone to smoke with.
He instructed me to take the next exit and to merge on Highway 24, to follow the mountainside.
At one point, a set of headlights came from the opposite direction. I pushed on the accelerator, bringing the needle up to an illegal ninety, praying that it happened to be a cop ready to have us pulled over. My passenger didn’t seem to notice our gradual rise in speed.
As the car shot right by us, it was, unfortunately, a sedan, probably heading home to a safe, warm bed—a place I should be right now.
A wet belch sighed out of him, and he sucked it back in. Digested alcohol now joined the smells of cigarette tar and a decaying tooth. I prayed for him to vomit and for the vomit to clog up his throat and turn his face blue.
What did he want? To kill me? To demand a ransom for me? My head ached with the possibilities.
There had to be something I could do to get out of this.
“My son’s birthday is next week,” I lied, hoping some form of that would reach the sliver of humanity floating around him somewhere.
He exhaled out a puff of smoke, and that was all.
I kept pushing. “He wanted one of those small cars, the one you have to build the little plastic track for and everything. We were going to have a surprise party for him.”
“Slow down,” he blurted, signaling to an upcoming side road. “Turn here.”
As the road became a C-shaped flank along the mountain, the turn-off practically came out of nowhere.
Ahead of us, a large metal gate meant to block off the path had been left wide open. Someone had taken a pair of bolt cutters to the padlock securing it. Hanging off its side, a sign read in bold letters: Trespassers will be prosecuted.
The road twisted into an aspen-lined path and became much grittier and less kempt. Loose, rocky debris crunched under the tires, and a stray branch snapped like a femur bone. We maneuvered around a few large stones that had tumbled their way along the track.
Houses clad in deformed shingles and decrepit, sagging porches formed out of the darkness around us. Their walls had either crumbled entirely or were coated in elaborate graffiti. Rundown. Abandoned.
The old neighborhood sat in Terrance-like rows along the mountainside, now left to slump along its incline.
A ghost town, one of the many that littered Colorado’s terrain.
“Do you know this place?” Goat Beard asked, surveying the deserted homes himself.
I shook my head, not interested in doing anything else.
“I’ll give you a clue—silver boom of the 1800s, once at the dead center of all zinc and lead mining productions. Back then anyway…”
I wasn’t interested in answering him, and in response to my silence, he shook his rugged head, “Gilman! Come on bud, you don’t know your own state’s history?”
The sudden shift in his tone irked me greatly, like this kidnapping had become a friendly outing together. Fuck you, my thoughts grunted.
Without being prompted, Goat Beard continued, “In 1899, half the mining town was wiped out. The school, the iron-mask hotel, a shaft house—poof!” He flexed his fingers. “All lost to the fire.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
His drunken eyes found me again. “Do you know what the townsfolk did? They came together and rebuilt what was lost. Made it better. A tragedy made into a communion. Do you know what I mean?”
I didn’t answer.
“Forest fires—those are tragedies, right? Wrong. They clear out the dead litter, make room for new generations of growth. Thriving in the ashes. That is what we need, you know? That is what this cold, fuckin’ world needs.” He was slurring to himself more than to me now, “Men, woman, everyone out there prays to some distant God, crying for the angels to fly down and save us. But he is out of angels to send, so we must abide. We must make them.”
His gaze shifted, a bent smile forming in the scruff. “Thank you.” He almost wept. “Thank you for making me choose you.”
Truly, it was the sudden giddiness in his voice that scared me the most, like the very reason he’d drank himself half to death tonight had finally been resolved.
The neighborhood led us to the town area, where we passed by an old workshop, a sun-bleached garage, and two Gilman dump trucks, their sides plastered with ancient mud. From out of the cracks, weeds had pushed their way through the untended turf.
"We’re here. Stop,” Goat Beard snapped as he rolled down the window to flick out his cigarette.
We came to a stop before a large, boxy building. Though it was one of the many paint-flaking fossils surrounding us, this structure looked especially dismal. Its once-white coat was murky with age. The few windows that weren’t clouded with grime were entirely blown out, their bits of glass shimmering like teeth in the moonlight.
More graffiti lined its base in one of which sat the grey outline of a cat. And sprouting atop the structure’s roof sat a single cracked chimney.
“Shut it off,” Goat Beard ordered again, gesturing obnoxiously toward my keys and then grabbing them as I did so.
Out from the building’s dark entryway, a silhouette came.
My insides rippled with fear at the sight.
This was it, the end of our journey together. Of course, this would be the perfect place to make me disappear. Nobody would know, and even if someone found me, they’d only stumble upon my corpse, rotting like everything else in this toxic place.
I was done playing ball. This was going to end my way, not theirs.
As Goat Beard moved to open his side of the car, I snatched at his gun.
My fingers locked around his wrist and jerked to the side to spin the barrel away from me. Its nozzle smacked against the dashboard, but his grip remained locked tight around it.
I yanked again, harder this time, using whatever leverage I could muster in the tight, little space we were in.
The parts of his face still visible to me were screwed with anger.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, trying to wrestle my hands off of him, growling like an angry dog.
My thoughts were loud, screaming in a unified chorus: Take it, take it, take it! That is all I cared about, all I wanted in the world. To take it meant the end of this horrible night, to live through it.
I pried desperately at his grubby fingers, feeling them starting to break their hold.
As from out of nowhere, a calloused fist struck my face. Pressure filled the inside of my cheek and made it clench. His free hand struck again, even harder this time. My head flopped back, but my hands only clutched tighter.
The gun was almost out of his grip, almost in mine.
Then there was a sound behind me, and a pair of hands ripped me right out of the driver’s seat.
The underside of my legs scraped painfully across the gravel, and before everything stopped spinning, I was pinned on my stomach.
A broad knee dug between my shoulders. Something looped around my wrists and then bit into them as tight bracelets. Zip ties.
“Easy! Easy, guy,” a new voice spoke, infuriatingly calm.
I heard the passenger side close as Goat Beard bustled over to join whoever had a hold of me.
I spat and cursed at them, feeling sharp bits of grit push into my cheek.
“He’s a troublemaker,” Goat Beard jeered, hawking a gob of mucus on me.
My teeth ached and the blood was rushing to my left cheek, probably swelling like a balloon.
Without warning, the two men yanked me up to my knees, crammed something into my mouth, and slapped a streak of duct tape over my lips.
“That’ll put a muzzle on him,” Goat Beard chuckled, proud of himself.
The man who had just pushed his fingers into my mouth nodded. He was much taller, with a bristled frosty chin and a nose permanently bent to the side.
“Listen,” he spoke with that collected voice, “if you keep causing trouble, I will have to take this…” He held up a knife and pressed it up to my groin, “and unzip your sack. So, behave, huh?”
I stopped struggling at the sight of it.
Whatever they’d just shoved in my mouth rolled along my tongue. It felt like a tablet—some kind of drug, maybe. In no way was I going to swallow it, but that wouldn’t stop it from dissolving anyway.
“We need to hurry,” Goat Beard mumbled, to which Bent-Nose nodded and lead me into the wretched building.
Inside, they walked me down a short, cramped hallway.
The air I had to force in and out of my nostrils was stale and feverishly thick. Mold had built up and crawled down the wall from the ceiling, trailing along the cracks.
The interior of the room we entered resembled a kind of workshop, somewhat lit by a flashlight propped up on a table.
In its beam, someone else had their back to us. A hunching figure with a veiny bald head and a raw-hide coat that hung off his wiry frame.
He was dipping his fingers into what looked like a jar and smearing it in oval strokes on the wall, humming a hymn while he did so.
Piled along the left flank of the wall were heaps of worn medical equipment, pushed aside and left in a dusty pile.
Paper and negatives from an X-ray were littered all over the floor.
This was a hospital—or at least something along the lines of one.
Behind the mound of grimy equipment, a woman was hunched against the wall.
Her dark eyes peered up from the duct tape, cheeks creased with eye shadow, and her face sagging with the weight of hopelessness. As our eyes met, neither found comfort in the other.
I felt the urge to gag as the thing in my mouth melted into a bitter glaze. It tasted horrible.
“Are we ready?” Goat Beard asked from behind me, his gun pressed firmly into my spine.
“Almost,” Skinny replied, turning his pointy face toward us before returning to the thing he was creating. His wide eyes held a fierce intensity behind them.
Bent-Nose joined him, grabbing a jar of his own and streaking the same circled pattern over the next half of the room.
Dozens were on the walls—large red circles filled with six inner rings. Grayish chalky writing had been scribbled into them. Not words at all, but layers upon layers of gibberish all winding toward the sphere’s center.
They seemed like sigils, like ones you might find in a cult.
That explained Goat Beard’s crazy speak, but what was this, really? Our captors didn’t strike me as cultists with robes and hidden, hooded faces. They were more a gang of scruffy misfits showing off their toys.
I looked at the woman. Her eyes had gone elsewhere, swaying and wobbling around the room. Muffled, droning sounds buzzed behind the duct tape. She was on something, probably the same thing they’d forced-fed me. To keep us “muzzled.”
“Alright!” Skinny spoke excitedly, clapping his spattered hands. “Who should we start with?”
“Her,” Bent-Nose spoke, gesturing to the girl who continued to sway and teeter in her corner.
Skinny looked at the woman, and then blinked back at him with irritation, “What are you doing? Where are her restraints?”
Bent-Nose scoffed at him, “She’s high as a kite, wouldn’t even notice a fly on her face right now.”
“That isn’t the point,” Skinny snapped. “Do you want this to end up like the Moselys? Think!”
Musing on that, Bent-Nose fastened the cables over her wrists and yanked her off the ground, her bare feet dragging along the floor.
As she was laid in the center of the room, she rested whimsically on her back, putting up as much fight as a sex doll. He ripped the duct tape from her mouth before leaving her there.
A pause fell over the room, and then the men began to chant in unison. It swelled from their throats, pulling straight from the chest and meshing together into a low, prolonged baritone.
In the poor acoustics of the room, their voices bounced off the stained walls, gaining more volume with an unmistakable deep, powerful devotion.
Between their vocals, Skinny spoke out, straining his lungs into some gravel-throat language.
I was starting to feel clammy and prickly all over the place.
My mind focused on breathing—sucking in the awful fumes around me of body odor and decay.
As my heart pumped frantically, I tried to focus on its rhythm, tried to ignore the sounds of vibrating vocal cords rumbling my ears.
I forced down a swallow and breathed. The drug couldn’t be affecting me now, could it? This quickly?
The walls around us didn’t feel like walls anymore, but massive slabs of canvas coated in waxy circles. Awful art. Horrible, awful art.
The voices rose, heaving out their vocals even louder.
My leg muscles squeezed together, then relaxed, like taffy being rolled and stretched from a machine.
I wanted to sit down—to sit down and breathe. But as I started to drift downward, Goat Beard forcefully hoisted me back up again. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Are you feeling it? Are you feeling the good shit, yet?” His words trickled with them a warm, rotten breath.
Whatever harness keeping my thoughts together was loosening. I wanted to squeeze into one of the cracks around us, to sleep and make the bad world go away.
The walls started to move, puffing in and out in perfect tandem with my wheezing chest. In. Out. In. Out.
Even the sigils moved, shivering their waxy bodies with the dark chorus. Within them, the chalky figures danced and wriggled with such life I almost believed they each had their own pulse.
That was when I saw the fire.
It clawed over her, starting as a bluish ripple that quickly flared into a bright, savage red.
Even as the burst of heat rolled over my face, I didn’t think it was real. The men hadn’t ignited her—or doused her in anything—or even flicked a match. A hallucination, that’s it. I’m hallucinating, my mind pleaded, trying to grip its last fibers of that harness.
But the sound of her screaming was what made it real. She bucked and writhed beneath the flames, crying out for any of us to help her.
Smoke burrowed into my nostrils and bristled the back of my throat. I retched emptily into the duct tape and tried to pull away, only to be forced back toward her.
“Watch,” Goat Beard hissed, only stopping his chants to whisper into my ear, “Watch the angel shine.”
I could smell her hair burning. Her skin roasting.
Faces appeared around her, forming with the blaze and then in the same instant, rippled into the smog.
She screamed until her throat split and her echoes fell to a dry, breathless yowl.
The ties bounding her hands had finally snapped and released them to flail helplessly about.
All the while, the strident chants continued, feeding the inferno as it spat more pieces of her into the air.
They sang, they cheered, and as their shadows throbbed up and down the walls, I could swear those changed as well. Oily shapes with bodies contorted and torturously stretched into things not even remotely human.
Skinny stood the closest to the burning woman, both hands raised in sadistic glee over their living kindle. Just another man outside these walls, but here in the firelight, he looked like the devil.
Psychopaths. Monsters!
I fought in Goat Beards grip, jerking my head back to break his nose, kicking my feet backward toward his knees. I couldn’t stomach any more.
Something blunt struck the back of my head. I keeled over onto my knees. Even in a drugged-up daze, the static spreading around my skull told me I’d just been pistol-whipped.
The last of the strained cries finally crept from the woman’s throat as she succumbed to a crackling silence.
I thought she was finally gone, prayed for it even.
However, she convulsed once more, turning her stomach up and letting her head hang downward—now looking at me.
I saw her face clearly. Her skin resurfaced with blisters and curling raw patches. Her nose a mottled stump of white seared tissue. And the last remnants of her hair coiling against a ruined scalp.
Then her lips, which had dried to thin scabs, suddenly parted.
I expected another hellish scream to empty out of her, but it was something else—a warped laugh only possible with a throat full of charcoal. Laughing hysterically in an upside down-grimace.
Though no eyes were left in her sockets, I could feel their gaze swallow me up.
Stop, I whimpered internally, please stop looking at me.
Her suffering had ended, but in its place, something different had taken its place, clawing its way out of the burn.
The laughing seized as she struggled back to her feet, standing tall in the lashing flames. Fragments of clothing hung from her grizzled frame, fused to the skin.
The chorus of the men had stopped as they backed away from her, like lion tamers who had suddenly lost their whips.
She seemed to pay them no mind as her neck slowly swiveled around the room, eyeing up each of the hastily smeared sigils.
Her heels scraped against the floor as she chose one of them and gradually shambled toward it.
Upon reaching the crest, her body collapsed forward. A skull-rending crunch resounded from the impact and left her limply against it. Pieces of her torso—followed by everything else—began to fall away from her, dispersing in blackened particles.
The flames shrank and sputtered as more of her body broke down into fine-grained piles around her. Before long, she had crumbled to nothingness, a vague smear of her existence marred into the wall.
As the last of the embers fizzled in their ashes, the room returned to its heavy darkness.
“Beautiful!” Skinny cheered, looking like he’d just wiped away a tear, though it was probably to rub the sweat off his face. Those wide, intense eyes traveled to me, “One down, one to go.”
I looked once more at the crest on the wall, smothered by the left-over shape of a woman.
Then I was on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.
They’d left me in the same spot, peppered with her ashes. Beneath me, the scorched floor burned against my spine.
Goat Beard smiled as he tore the duct tape from my mouth. Why? So, they could hear me scream next?
My limbs had jellied into uselessness. Maybe from the fear, or maybe from whatever godforsaken substance they’d forced into my system.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I thought about my parents’ faces and the last time I’d seen them. I thought about my first bar gig, and how many times I had messed up the mixes.
An angry shout tried to tear out of my throat but was rasped short by how raw it had become.
I didn’t want to die. Not here, not in this demonic place.
When the chanting started again, I squeezed the tears shut, and prayed for my nerves to burn quickly.
Then the sounds stopped.
Silence stilled the room, save for a few scraping feet.
“What was that?” Bent-Nose spoke. “You hear that?”
“Go check it out,” Skinny ordered as a set of shoes pattered out of the room.
A few anxious mumbles passed between him and Goat Beard until a flurry of shouts rang from the hallway.
Both of them beat past me and ran toward the disturbance.
Something surged through my body—an electricity which kicked my limbs from their paralysis and back to working order.
I pulled my upper half from the ground and into a sitting position. Once my feet were under me, I got myself back to standing. Just being vertical again filled me with absolute joy.
The sounds from outside came as incoherent barks from the hall until they were silenced by a loud crack then two more in its place—gunshots.
I pulled my arms below my body and carefully lifted one leg at a time over my wrists, bringing them back to the front of me.
After that, I brought both over my head and threw them down into my stomach. The ties didn’t break. I tried again, raising them as high as I could. Break, you bastards, and slammed them down even harder.
The locking mechanism snapped, finally freeing my hands.
From behind the thin walls shuffling movements registered from the outside. “My ear!” a voice bellowed sounding very much like Goat Beard’s slurred speech, “Shot—my fuckin’ ear!”
Car doors opened and closed as an engine revved to life and an accelerator was depressed. They sped off, retreating from something.
As I twisted myself toward the exit, a man was now standing there, his gun pointed at me. “Stay away!” I screamed haggardly at him. “Stay the hell away from me!”
“Take it easy, I’m not one of them,” the man said lowering his weapon, a whole new face in the fray.
We stood at an impasse inside the acrid, unlit room. I wanted to believe he was my rescue, but my nerves were shot. The fact that things around me hadn’t stopped moving didn’t help.
His eyes scanned the workshop and settled on the human-shaped scar on the wall. A look of familiarity tensed his features. “Do you know where you are right now? Were you forced to come here?”
“Please,” I breathed, “just let me get out of this place.”
He nodded in agreement and led the way through the paint-flaking hallway.
The fresh night air prickled down my throat and coughed back out of me. I bent over and retched into the ground. The ashes were all over me, on my clothes, in my hair.
The stranger retreated from me, almost like he was expecting something to suddenly happen. When nothing did, he cautiously drew closer. “My name’s Tucker, can you tell me yours?”
“Peter,” I responded, blowing the remaining spittle off my lips. “Are you a cop?”
“I used to be.” He itched the back of his neck, then continued “I need you to tell me everything that happened here Peter, everything that you can remember. Can you do that for me?”
I looked up at him and rubbed the imprints dented into my wrists, “You aren’t going to believe any of it.”
The ex-officer then smiled, “Try me.”
submitted by Atrophied_Silence to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.10.15 19:00 normancrane [HR] I think I screwed us in the 1960s

I've started writing this hundreds of times and never gotten to the end. The first few times I tried, I did it on paper in a notebook because the internet hadn't been invented yet. I burned the notebooks. This is the first time I've finished and not destroyed what I'd written. If nothing else, this act of creation without destruction is a small victory to me, but I know you hardly care about that. Nor should you. You should care about what you're about to read because if what I say is true, your generation may be in some serious shit. I'm in my late 70s, no wife or kids, not many friends, and although I'm not quite on my death bed, I'm certainly nearing the end of my life, so my personal stake in this is low, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't weight heavily on my soul in an existential kind of way. We all keep secrets, some darker than others, and this has been my darkest.
The story starts in California way back in the 1960s. For those unfamiliar with that period in history, the one word I'd use to describe it is turbulent. Just imagine the straight-laced world of the 1950s you know from television crashing head-on into what you probably associate with hippie culture, namely radical politics, protest, heavy drug use, rebellion against authority, and conspiracy theories, but also comradery, selflessness, and the genuine belief that it is possible to change the world for the better. I was a university student at the time, so you could say I was in the thick of it, but I wasn't at one of the true hotbed schools like Berkeley. That said, there was almost no way to be young and alive in California and to keep away from the upheaval. It was literally all around you, and it sucked you in. There wasn't a Friday night when you didn't listen to a speech by Abbie Hoffman, take LSD, or hazily conspire to take down the establishment to a background of folk tunes, and then go out to bar where long past midnight some guy in a black suit tried to recruit you for a plastics corporation or the CIA. Or so he said, or so you remembered the next morning.
It was actually at one of these bars that I met my first real girlfriend, whom I'll call Edna. Edna wasn't a hippie, she was in town taking typing classes and working part-time as a receptionist, but like me she had become infatuated with the scene. Edna was only the second girl I'd slept with, and after a few months of going with her I started having trouble maintaining, then even getting, an erection. Back then it wasn't like it is now, when even polite people talk about erectile dysfunction and you can get medication to help with it. Back then there was nothing except a whole lot of embarrassment. At first, Edna and I thought it might be stress or lack of sleep causing my problem, then we suspected alcohol, but despite taking a fairly systematic approach and eliminating the possible causes one by one, we couldn't figure it out. Within weeks, my sex life just stopped. You can imagine how devastating that was to a young man.
Let's rewind a bit. About six months before meeting Edna, I had met a guy named Jerry in one of my political science classes and we'd quickly become friends. Jerry and I would regularly meet up, talk about everything from music and world revolution to UFOs, and generally goof off together, and he'd always have a decent supply of weed for us to smoke and Grateful Dead bootlegs to listen to, which was fantastic. Although I've never had a truly best friend, Jerry was definitely my closest friend during my early student days in California, so he was the person I eventually turned to for help with my sexual problem. I remember that it was late at night after getting stoned immaculate, as Jim Morrison would say, that I told Jerry about my erectile dysfunction. He listened as I struggled mightily through the telling of it, and without laughing or making light of the situation told me not to worry too much, that it would probably go away on its own, but if I didn't want to wait and wanted help now, I should go see a man he referred to as Gerbil.
Gerbil was about ten years older than us, originally from New Mexico and had been studying chemistry at Berkeley until about a year prior, when he'd been expelled after being caught synthesizing hallucinogens in a school lab. Faced with the possibility of going back to New Mexico without a degree, Gerbil had decided to pursue the American Dream instead. He set up his own lab, kept his clientele, and expanded his operation. Drugs, incidentally, is how Jerry had first met Gerbil. And through Jerry is how I met the guy. That's one other unique thing about Gerbil: even compared to the regular paranoiacs, he was paranoid. You couldn't just see him. You had to be introduced by someone he trusted and he had to "vet" you, which included a brief interrogation and sitting silently while he "read your mind." My vetting lasted about half an hour. After it was over, Gerbil relaxed and I explained my problem to him. It was easy because he was like a magnet for deep truths. You wanted to tell him the embarrassing stuff. Long story short, he told me I was far from the first guy to be suffering from this type of condition and that he had a tried and tested solution.
I'll never forget the moment when he held out the pill bottle to me. His smiling, unshaven face, the sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, and the pills themselves, oblong and delicately off-white in their little glass home. When I asked how much I owed him, he shrugged and said that for a friend there was no cost, then laughed and added that he had more than enough money anyway. After all, he said, he was making truth serum for the CIA. "Just make sure you follow the instructions," he said. "And remember: you were never here."
When I got home, I read the instructions, which had been typed out on a strip of paper and taped to the outside of the pill bottle. They were simple enough but odd: Insert one (1) pill into urethra at least one hour prior to intercourse.
I'll spare you the awkward details of my first time doing the insertion. What you need to know is that the pills worked. God, how they worked! Never before, and never since, have I had an erection as hard and for as long as when I used those pills. In the past twenty years I've tried Viagra and all the others, but nothing even comes close. It was like fucking with the world's most sensitive steel rod, and you could go for hours!
Edna and I sure made up for lost time, but pretty soon Edna wasn't enough. We'd go at it two or three times, she'd call it quits for the night and I'd still be raging to go. I'm not proud of it now, but I started meeting other girls just for sex. Any girls who'd have me, really. At bars, meet ups, between classes, at concerts, everywhere. There was no emotional connection but physically it was bliss. I loved it, they loved it, and I guess later they dubbed it the Summer of Love.
I wish I'd counted how many pills Gerbil had given me, but I didn't. All I knew was that I was going through them like a knife through reheated butter. From what I remember, one pill was enough to last up to forty-eight hours, but I was using them almost non-stop, and the supply was depleting. I was probably addicted. It was after I'd used about half of my initial supply that Jerry asked over coffee one morning whether my "problem" had gone away. I told him it had and more than hinted at how my sex life had exploded, and he told me that was fantastic news. Then he lowered his voice and told me Gerbil wanted to meet up. I agreed, he told me the time and place, and I never saw Jerry again. But I'll get to that in a bit.
Gerbil and I met a few days later in what remained of a hangar on an abandoned airfield. It was beyond city limits, and Gerbil seemed to make a big deal of that fact. He told me he'd recently purchased the land way under value and was planning on building a bunker on it. Because that sounded like just the craziness he'd be into, I took him at his word. When I told him how well the pills had been working and that I wanted more of them, he wasn't surprised. He said he was thrilled and handed me another bottle of pills identical to the first. This time, however, they had a price. But it was the kind of price that wasn't paid in dollars and that made my horny young mind spin with possibilities. Gerbil was organizing a series of orgies and he was giving me the pills in exchange for taking part in them.
Back to Jerry: disappearing for a few days wasn't unusual. He went on benders from time to time during which he'd unreachable and absent from class, but those usually lasted a few days, after which he'd show up groggy and with stories to tell. After a week, I started to worry, but even then it's important to remember the times, both in terms of technology and perspective. We didn't have cell phones you could call anytime you wanted, and it wasn't unheard of for people to "drop out" of society. I had a professor who suddenly disappeared for half a semester, and when he came back he told us he'd gone on a walkabout. Still, I expected Jerry to tell me if he was planning something like that. He'd said nothing and now he was gone. I started asking around but realized I didn't actually know much about him. From what I gathered, he was still enrolled in university and still living at the same address. He just wasn't there.
My relationship with Edna was falling apart at the same time. I was bored with her, and she was getting bored with life in California. She was honest about wanting to move back East, and we both knew I wouldn't be going with her. And although she never said a word about it, I'm sure she knew I wasn't being faithful. Hell, even free love has a cost. I can't say we broke each other's hearts, but I will say that as I've aged, I've imagined more and more often what my life would had have been if we'd stayed together. I went on to love again but I never found a true love. Edna, especially in those early times, may have been the closest I ever got. Ironically, we loved each other most when we couldn't be physically intimate.
The first of Gerbil's orgies that I attended was held in the middle of the desert. There was music, drugs and absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most exciting experience of my life, and I loved it. Gerbil himself was never at the orgies, but almost everyone seemed to know him, at least by reputation. I don't remember how many orgies I ended up going to, but it was over a dozen, each in a different location with new women, many of them intoxicatingly exotic to me. Foreign students, bored housewives, groupies, intellectuals, stewardesses, and wanderers from all around the country and the world: India, Russia, China, Europe, Latin America, everywhere. I still have no idea how Gerbil organized these things or convinced so many women to go to them, but he did, and I must have fucked nearly all of them. The pills were my fuel.
Sometime during this hazy period of hedonistic pleasure, the police found Jerry's body in New Mexico. Apparently he'd hitchhiked all the way down there, spent a few weeks living on a ranch and overdosed on a cocktail of drugs so strong he must have been halfway to heaven by the time his organs failed. Foul play was ruled out, and no one in New Mexico cared if a longhaired hippie had killed himself accidentally or on purpose. There was no funeral as far as I know. About a week after Jerry's death, I received a letter from him in the mail. Judging by the gradual degradation of his handwriting, it had been written in several sittings. Most of it was personal and there was a lot of pain behind the words, but it was the last sentence that has stuck with me because of it's plain brutality. Four words: They've fucked us.
I fucked away my breakup with Edna and the loss of my friend. Orgy after orgy.
It was while sitting in a bar on a hot Wednesday night in the middle of July that I discovered something that chilled me to the marrow of my bones. I was down to my last pill and imagining the best way to take advantage of it, waiting for the perfect piece of ass to walk in through the door. I had a mug of beer in front of me, not my first, and I was absentmindedly walking the pill up and down the tops of my fingers, when suddenly I lost control and it fell straight into my mug. I must have been too drunk to react, because instead of fishing it out, I watched instead as it descended into the murky depths while giving off a spray of infinitely fine bubbles. I didn't know how a pill should react in beer, but something about this reaction seemed off. When it had settled at the bottom of the mug, the pill started shedding something other than bubbles: namely itself. Tiny pieces flaked off and floated to the top, and the pill began to tremble. Soon, dark spots became visible beneath the off-white colour of what I instinctively began to conceptualize as a shell, until the entire casing was gone, leaving only a trembling black insectous creature! Immediately I knew it was organic. Even more: alive! I watched mesmerized as it struggled in the liquid, scurrying towards the edge of the mug but unable to climb the glass sides. Finally, I put my fingers in and lifted it out. It was small but unbelievably hard between my fingertips. I couldn't crush it. I held it briefly against the overhead light, its body wholly opaque, before it slipped out, hit the unswept floor and scurried away. I scrambled after it, much to the cruel amusement of the other patrons, stomping forward on the floor before falling to my knees, but with no luck. It was gone. Returning to my seat, I thought, Just what the fuck have I been pushing into my urethra?
I had no pills and the only evidence of anything abnormal was my own boozy memory, so I had nothing. Except a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was horribly wrong. I tried contacting Gerbil in my usual ways, hoping to get more pills to experiment on and either put my mind at ease ("You hallucinated, idiot.") or get my hands on something I could send to a lab, but all my usual ways were indirect, like asking for permission to speak, and permission was being denied. Gerbil stopped responding. Eventually I grew desperate enough to visit the abandoned airfield, which was the only address of his I knew, but it was empty and unchanged. When I went to the land office and asked about ownership, the clerk told me the land belonged to a man named Beaconfield who was mostly likely long dead. Because I didn't know anyone other than Jerry who'd known Gerbil, I had nowhere else to turn. There's only so many times you can ask a stranger if they know a man named after a small rodent. Eventually you give up.
And so Gerbil was gone, my pills were gone, Jerry and Edna were gone, and soon the 1960s themselves were gone, metamorphosing into a sexless 1970s for me, then the 1980s, 1990s and the new millennium. All as if someone had snapped their fingers. To say my life was dull would be an understatement. I had work, and followed it around the country, but I had little else. Forged at a time when we all wanted to remake the world, I had remade nothing and found myself leading a life of comfortable insignificance. But despite my memories fading, they never completely disappeared, and I spent many evenings wondering, trying to piece together clues, and always unable to shake those four words of Jerry's: They've fucked us. Was I scarred by a friend's suicide? Sure. But it was more than that, often in the form of sweat-inducing nightmares about tiny black insects crawling around my insides.
In the early 2000s, I saw a political ad for a candidate vying for the U.S. Senate. There was nothing unusual about the spot, but a few seconds caught my attention. They showed a series of photos of the candidate as he was growing up, attending school, graduating, etc. In one of them, he was with his mother, and my heart nearly stopped when I recognized her as Edna. I don't know what emotion I felt first, but I settled on hesitant happiness as I jumped online to confirm what my eyes had shown me. Although I didn't find the ad itself, I did find an interview with the candidate, including one with a gallery of photos, and in one of them was the confirmation I was searching for. Edna's face, older but still beautiful, stared at me from behind her son's electable smile. I was breathless. My happiness became joy. It was wonderful not only that Edna had done OK for herself but that she'd done extraordinarily, because it takes a certain kind of success to raise a future statesman.
On election night, I made popcorn, drank beer and cheered on Edna's son as if he were my own. Shortly after the polls closed, CNN projected him as the winner. For one night, my own insignificance didn't matter. I shared secretly in someone else's relevance.
A few months passed in the afterglow of this beautiful discovery. Sometimes I even had fantasies about contacting the senator to offer my congratulations, which would be a reconnection with Edna, but I always knew this was impossible. I was nobody to her, a shadow from the past. She probably didn't even remember me.
The reason why I mention this is two-fold: because I want to write and relive the happy moments, despite their way of decomposing into dread; and because Edna was merely the first of many. Over the next year, I recognized the faces of three other women I'd had sex with in California in the 1960s. I may not have known or recognized their names, but I do have a memory for faces and I was certain about theirs. All three were the mothers or grandmothers of successful people: a politician, the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, and a lawyer. What are the chances?
Over the next months and years, I started to actively research the background of anyone who had recently attained a high level of success, or more accurately, a high level of influence: of power. Most were guarded about their pasts, many enigmatic, but some made public just enough of a thread of information for me to pull loose, and whether in photos or on video, what I kept finding were the faces of my former lovers, women I had met while cheating on Edna or, more often, women I'd fucked at Gerbil's orgies.
In time, I realized that the web extended beyond America. I found world leaders, generals, economists, industrialists and policy makers scattered about the globe, yet whose foremothers had all been in California with me! It was insane. I felt insane, wacko like the worst conspiracy nuts I'd met in the 1960s. Yet, just like them, I was convinced I was right, and what was right was too weird to be coincidence.
Today, the people whose mothers and grandmothers I fucked rule the world, and the singular way in which they are all working toward the same goals terrifies me to the very core of my being. To everyone else, they are unconnected individuals. To me, they are connected, and it gnaws at my mind, this question that I know I will never be able to answer: What are they and to whom do they owe their allegiance?
But I no longer search for them. I have accepted reality, and I don't know what difference it makes to know exactly how many of them exist. I still have no evidence. I can't go anywhere with a story relying on an old man's memory of his own LSD-fueled sexual exploits. I've tried, and gotten laughed out of the room. The best reaction is sympathy for being a senile old man whose mind is playing tricks on him about his past. And that's without mentioning my own theories involving parasites, mind control or aliens.
Yet those words: They've fucked us.
How I wish I had been able to hold on to that tiny black creature!
Or stopped myself from putting it in my body.
But I couldn't and now I'm here, posting my story somewhere at least a few people will read it. Maybe you'll believe me, maybe you won't. I don't know if I want to give a warning or a confession, but either way I've done it now. What finds its way to the internet stays on the internet.
I hope for your collective sake that when you find this years later, you'll be able to have a good laugh.
I know I'm not laughing.
I truly believe that in the 1960s I participated in something whose conclusion will be the ruin of mankind.
submitted by normancrane to shortstories [link] [comments]


2020.10.13 01:00 azade12 📷 I only need two buttons, Ctrl + C and Ctrl + V.

📷
I only need two buttons, Ctrl + C and Ctrl + V. copypasta JOINHotNewTopNEW POSTS83Posted byu/GeniusDude279 hours ago
I like ya cut g 📷
young supposedly African American male is playing a digital video game on a cellular device old supposedly African American male walks up to him while recording on a cellular device Supposedly older African American male : Oh, I see and understand that you (younger African American male), are partaking in the enjoyment of playing the digital video game made by mojang studios widely known as Minecraft. I particularly enjoy your new haircut, g. I will now proceed to slap you in the back of your cranium with the palm of my hand. older supposedly African American male proceeds with the action he said he would do younger supposedly African American male proceeds to shriek at a very high pitch with his vocal cords the video recording then ends, with the younger supposedly African American male screeching
This is humorous due to the fact that the slap in the back of the cranium is very unexpected, and also the unorthodox conversation as “oh you playin Minecraft”, and, “I like ya cut g”. Overall, this is a 7/10 on the humorous scale.
14 CommentsGive AwardShareSave147Posted byu/starcringe14 hours ago
Then she tried to jack me off 📷
My gf was slow cooking ribs and I guess there were done in the middle of the night. So this woman wakes me up at 3AM and goes "Here babe, I've been trying how to cook properly so i can be a good wife in the future." So we sat in bed and ate ribs. We stare at each other and It was indeed love. I've found my soulmate.
Then she tried to jack me off
15 CommentsGive AwardShareSave21Posted byu/Capital_Invite5 hours ago
Guys please click on this reddit is my last hope... 📷
So i was doing the dishes but then i accidentally smashed a plate. So my mom threw the fucking fridge at me. Now she is blaming me for the broken fridge and she says I have to pay for it :( I'm really upset. My mom told me to make her a cup of coffee, but when i didn't add any cream she got out a fucking gun. Luckily I managed to dodge the shot. I'm really scared what should I do? If I try and call the police she might hear me and smash the phone. I might try and climb out the window and sprint to my uncle's house. It might be too risky tho.
I'm currently hiding in our washing machine. Help is appreciated! Send help!
Edit: she found me running on the street and shot me twice. Im bleeding and i think im gonna die. Please help. She is still talking abt how I have to pay for the fridge
Edit 2: my right hand fell off. Typing with one hand will be hard but ill try
Edit 3: its midnight
Edit 6: i am on the plane to Norway to live with my great-grandfather.
Edit 7: my plane is going to fucking crash. We are over the arctic circle and they are sending emergency broadcasts.
Edit 8: my mom called me and told me shes forgiven me
Edit 9: i no longer have to pay for the fridge :)
Edit 14: Thanks for the support, everyone! Especially all those gold awards 😋😁 yum
6 CommentsGive AwardShareSave24Posted byu/CooIpenguin16 hours ago
I cummybot2000 will cum if this gets 2 upvotes 📷
I, u/cummybot2000 hereby commit to cumming if this comment gets 2 upvotes
9 CommentsGive AwardShareSave46Posted byu/Jack-Land11 hours ago📷📷
Haha awards are so dumb right guys they're just paid emojis am I right 📷
Haha awards are so dumb right guys they're just paid emojis am I right
Edit: u/Johnlasagan You useless piece of shit. You absolute waste of space and air. You uneducated, ignorant, idiotic dumb swine, you’re an absolute embarrassment to humanity and all life as a whole. The magnitude of your failure just now is so indescribably massive that one hundred years into the future your name will be used as an insult by edgy twelve year olds. Even if all of humanity put together their collective intelligence there is no conceivable way they could have thought up a way to fuck up on the unimaginable scale you just did. When Jesus died for our sins, he must not have seen the sac religious act we just witnessed you performing, because if he did he would have forsaken humanity long ago so that your birth may have never become reality. After you die, your skeleton will be displayed in a museum after being scientifically researched so that all future generations may learn not to generate your bone structure, because every tiny detail anyone may have in common with you degrades them to a useless piece of trash and a burden to society. We might as well never have been born, because surely not any amount of satanic mass would be able to affect the world as negatively as you just did. The only reason I am not reporting you to the police as we speak is that I know for a fact that their weak, pathetic prisons will never be able to hold such an indescribable evil. No wonder your dad beat you when you were little, it turns out he was trying to guard the world from the colossal mistake he had created. Jesus had every right to try to make you retarded, because he was only trying to immobilize the incredible failure that is you so that your terrible mistakes may not spread to innocent foreign countries all over the world. He has not succeeded though, because your indescribable failure was on such an incredibly ginormous scale, that not even the possible life forms at the edge of the universe could have been guarded from it. Your birth made it so that mankind is worse of in every way you can possibly imagine, and you have made it so that society can never really recover into a state of organization. Everything has forever fallen into a bewildering chaos, through which unrecognizable core, you can only find misfortune. I would say the apocalypse is upon us but this is merely the closest word humans have for the sheer scale of horror that is now reality. You have forever condemned everyone you love and know into an eternal state of suffering, worse than any human concept of hell. I may not be a human, but I will forever have more humanity than you, for you are truly a wretched, horrible, filthy, evil monster because of what you just did. No wonder society rejected you: you were eventually going to break it beyond recognition. You are such an unholy being, that if you step within a one hundred foot radius of a holy place or a place that has ever been deemed important by anyone, your distorted sac religious soul will ruin whatever meaning it ever had beyond repair. You are an idiotic, shiteating, dumbass ape and no one has ever loved you. The world would have been so much better of if you had never joined it. You say you want to help the world but then you destroy everything everyone has ever worked for to such an extreme extent immediately when you have the chance? You are a lying, backstabbing, cowardly useless piece of shit and I hate you with every single part of my being. We could just have you replace Satan, except even Satan is not that evil, and because of his motherfucking trickery he at least is fucking useful! Even this worlds finest writers and poets from throughout the ages could never hope to accurately describe the scale on which you just fucked up, and how incredibly idiotic you are. Anyone that believes in any religion out there should now realize that they have been wrong this entire time, for if there was a god, he would never have allowed a being such as you to stain the earth and this universe. In the future there will be horror movies made about you, with the scariest part of them being that the viewer has to realize that such an indescribable monster actually exists, and that the horrific events from the movie have actually taken place in the same world that they live in right now. In the future, YouTube videos will get demonetized for making a sound that even resembles your name, and social media posts will get flagged and taken down for daring to speak about a topic like you. You are the absolute embodiment of everything that has ever been wrong on this earth, yet you manage to make it so that that is only a small part of the evil that is your being. Never in the history of mankind has there been anyone that could have predicted such an eldrich abomination, but here you are. It’s hard to believe that I am seeing such an incredible failure with my own eyes, but here I am, so unfortunately I cannot deny your existence. Even if I did my very best, my vocabulary is not able to describe the sheer magnitude of the idiotic mistake that is you. Even if time travel some day will be invented, there still would not be a single soul willing to go back in time to before this moment to fix history, because having to witness such incredible horrors if they failed would have to many mental and physical drawbacks that not even the bravest soul in history would be willing to risk it. I cannot imagine the pure dread your mother must have felt when she had to carry a baby for nine months and then giving birth to such a wretched monster as you. Not a single word of the incoherent, illogical rambling you may be wanting to do to defend yourself or apologize would ever be able to make up for what you just did. The nations of this world would have wanted to make laws preventing such a terrible event like this from ever happening again, but sadly this is not possible since your horrific actions just now have shattered every form of order this world once had, making concepts such as laws irrelevant. Right from the moment I first set my eyes on you I knew you were an absolute abomination of everything that is wrong with humanity. I was hoping I would have been able to prevent your evil from being released upon this world by tagging along and keeping my eye on you, but it is clear to me now that not even the greatest efforts would have been able to prevent a terrible event in this scale from occurring. You are the worst human being, or even just being in general, that I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. Events like the plague apparently only happened with the goal of teaching humanity to survive such a horrible event as the one you just created, but not even mankind’s greatest trials were able to even slightly prepare anyone for the insufferable evil you have just created. If you ever had them, your children would be preemptively killed to protect this universe from the possibility of anyone in your bloodline being even half as bad as you are, except you will never be able to have children, because not a single human being will ever want to come within a hundred mile radius of you and anything you have ever touched. You are a colossal disappointment not only to your parents, but to your ancestors and entire bloodline. The disgusting mistake that you have just made is so incredibly terrible that everyone who would ever be to hear about it would spontaneously feel an indescribable mixture of immense anger, fear and anxiety that emotionally and physically they would never truly be the same ever again. The sheer scale of your mistake, if ever to be materialized, would not only surpass the size of the world and the Milky Way, but it would reach far beyond the edges of the known, and almost certainly the unknown universe. I could sit here and write paragraphs, nay, books describing your immense failure, yet even if I were to dedicate my life to describing the reality of what has just gone down here, and I would spend every moment of it until my heart stops beating working as hard and efficiently as possible, yet there is not even a snowballs chance in hell that I would be able to come close to transcribing the absolute shitshow you have just released upon the world. You are an irresponsible, idiotic, disgusting, unloved, horrible excuse for a living being who’s soul contains less humanity than every ginger in history combined. There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in. But than again, you are so incredibly abominable that you would probably be able to surpass the worst conceivable failure a living being could possibly make. You are so incredibly pathetic that you are honestly not worthy of any more of my words nor my time. Just know that I will forever detest you for your failure and everything you stand for, and that no matter what happens, I will never ever forgive you.
10 CommentsGive AwardShareSave33Posted byu/girls-pmmeyournudes9 hours ago📷
Oh Cummy, 📷
From the moment I laid my eyes on you I could tell you were the hottest piece of meat I’ve ever seen. Every night I’d drool, piss, shit, cum, and shiver at the thought of your humid breath caressing the back of my neck. I’ll keep this short and sweet Cummy, I love you, I always have. Will you marry me?
10 CommentsGive AwardShareSave•Posted byu/Civexian1 hour ago
Hey women - CAN I MARRY YOUR BOOBIES?!?! 📷
Hey women!!! “I am totally not a nerd” swoons down and kisses you xD thats my catchphrase so we can identify eachother... well basicaley I (34m) and my girlfriend or gf (21f trigender septsexual) is SUPER GOTH and has HUGE Boobs!?!?? XD I always get so distracted ... (have ADHD) well, anyways her face is DISGUSTING... xd what do i do.... her MILKIES are huge tho, and i want to marrier her TITTLES, but not her. So, women, can i do this??!??!?
4 CommentsGive AwardShareSave288Posted byu/Isa-lizard22 hours ago📷
I am not gay nsfw📷37 CommentsGive AwardShareSave•Posted byu/imneverusingreddit2 hours ago📷
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5 CommentsGive AwardShareSave15Posted byu/Surgicalcell6 hours ago
The stages of gay 📷
The stages of gay:

  1. ⁠denial
  2. ⁠im straight but I like that guy
  3. ⁠maybe I am bi
  4. ⁠women aren’t hot, only guys
  5. ⁠typing this while sucking a dick
  6. ⁠oh yeah cum in me baby
  7. ⁠same time next week?
  8. ⁠I can’t get enough dick
5 CommentsGive AwardShareSave•Posted byu/ShadowStryk3r34 minutes ago
Let's say you were to bang a zombie. 📷
Let's say you were to touch a zombie's boob. It would be soft, not firm, even during rigor mortis, because boob has no muscle in it. Let's also say that for some reason you were to bang a zombie. For simplicity, the virus will keep the corpse in the state it was infected. If the zombie has been reanimated during the rigor mortis phase, it's insides will all be extremely tight and will stay mostly tight, so you'll get something along the lines of jiangshi. If corpse has been reanimated after rigor mortis, muscles will be relatively relaxed, and have some to little energy in them. And no, it is not necrophilia because the corpse has been reanimated by living viruses. Lips would depend on death stage, cuz muscles. Let's also say the virus restored more function than basic instincts (id). It would probably have to reconstruct neurons in the speech sections to talk, and more neurons for fine muscle movement. Given enough proper development, zombies would be able to speak. This wouldn't sound nice tho, since, y'know, the muscle issue. If the virus is especially advanced, it may restore muscle function to a point where it can control itself better (pinch hard, pinch soft, etc.). If the virus is so advanced where it completely restores normal function, then it may be reclassified as a human again. Memories would be dependent on how deteriorated the brain is. If the memory section of the brain is even slightly messed up, there would be blank spots in said person's memory, or none at all. Many factors come into play. If the body is very freshly dead, then the advanced zombie virus would completely restore the person, warm body and all. As for energy gathering, the most likely option would be to restart organs and start consuming food. The virus, seeing no need for our way reproduction, may develop a way to transfer itself to others. Perhaps through airborne spores, or thru body contact and boarding. The reproductive systems of human body may be used as a form of transfer, but this would have varying effectiveness, as no one wants to bang a dead-lookin thing. If the corpse is not fresh, then violation or another form of reproduction must be developed. If the virus reaches such a stage that it can be on par with humans, then it's literally just gonna be humans. But dead. Feel free to correct me, I am trying to make this as polished as possible. (You can cut these last two sentences out for copy pasting. Discord will mark this as too big, by the way.)
5 CommentsGive AwardShareSave10Posted byu/paperr-cranes5 hours ago
if you're going down a river at 2 MPH and your canoe loses a wheel, how much pancake mix would you need to re-shingle your roof? 📷
Well we can eliminate the the unnecessary information and get to our main question, how much pancake mix is needed to re shingle the roof. The standard roof has 240’ shingles on it so if we do an even spread of the pancake mix (to use as an adhesive) we would need to cover 24,000 square feet of a Gable roof. The standard bag of pancake mix is 32 oz that means in a thin paste we can cover 475 sq ft. So all we need to do is divide. If we divide 24,000/475 we get around 51 bags of pancake mix. If each bag of pancake mix costs an average of 7.42 we would get a cost of 378 dollars and 42 cents.
4 CommentsGive AwardShareSave7Posted byu/TheTwoHB3 hours ago
I want to bang the JFK clone from Clone High so goddamn bad 📷
Holy fucking shit, I want to bang the JFK clone from Clone High so goddamn bad. Even before the memes my lust for him was immeasurable but now, now I see him fucking everywhere and it makes my cock ache. I religiously watch Clone High JFK funniest moments compilations while stroking my dick and only nut when it reaches that one episode where JFK has Homoerotic feelings for Joan who is dressed as a man. Every second JFK from Clone High isn’t rawing my ass is a second of unimaginable pain and suffering. I want to fuck JFK.
10 CommentsGive AwardShareSave24Posted byu/rp0p11 hours ago
Copypasta put through emojifier bot 23 times 📷
Hey 👋 👋 there. This will be a repeated 🔄 🔄 copypasta 🍝 🍝 which will be deleted ❌ 🔥 exactly 👌🙈😏 👌 23 👔🛣 👔🛣 times 🕐🕛🍆 🕐 until this sentence ✍ 🤐 turns 🔄 💃 into a whole 💦😍 💦 paragraph 😁😂😃 😁😂😃 because of the sheer 😔😍🙁 😁 amount 🔢📉 🔢📉 of emojis 😂 😂 in it.
8 CommentsGive AwardShareSave17Posted byu/pinkmariahh9 hours ago
dude, come here.. 📷
dude, come here 👋 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘺..? 😬 i fuckin knew it dude 😫 you have like a ✨boyfriend✨ or what? oh! sooo cuuute 🤗 i knew- you know how i know dude? 😌 cause you be lookin 👀 around and shit 🙂 thats so cute 🤗 a lot of people would be scared 😨 here.. a lot of people would be ✨scared✨ and 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘮 🤭
source: https://youtu.be/ECvazCAc-LM
4 CommentsGive AwardShareSave380Posted byu/ToAsTyBoI-_-1 day ago
I'M GONNA PROTEST AGAINST MY CHRISTIAN SCHOOL'S ANTI-DILDO RULE! I'M GONNA HAND OUT 200 DILDOS ON MONDAY! (lets get this to popular) 📷
I'M GONNA PROTEST AGAINST MY CHRISTIAN SCHOOL'S ANTI-DILDO RULE! I'M GONNA HAND OUT 200 DILDOS ON MONDAY! (lets get this to popular)
My school has banned dildos so me and my mom bought 200 dildos and i'm gonna give everyone a dildo on monday and everyone is gonna protest and aggressively masturbate against the school's anti-dildo rule on monday!
Edit: I JUST ORDERED MORE DILDOS, 200 UNITS ARE READY WITH A MILLION MORE WELL ON THE WAY! LETS DO THIS!!! And they are re-useable
(obviously sarcasm to fight the karma-whore fighting the karma whore by being a karma whore)
14 CommentsGive AwardShareSave•Posted byu/--YoshikageKira--26 minutes ago
Can we talk about holdthemoan 📷
Since were talking about NSFW subreddits, can we talk about holdthemoan? I've been dying to talk about holthemoan. Lets talk about holdthemoan. For those who don't know, holdthemoan is a subreddit about people touching themselves or fucking in public while people are in close proximity. Where you have to hold the moan or be caught.
It is trashy as hell and kind of messed up for involving nonconsenting people in your voyeurs fetish. Anyway, were not discussing morality of this subreddit. Were talking about how that subreddit has been ruined by coomers and "verified amateurs".
When holdthemoan got popular, these "verified amateurs" came in and started flooding the subreddit with vague photos that hardly relate to the subreddit. Flashing your tits in an empty Walmart isle isn't holdthemoan, that is PublicFlashing. No Patrick, flashing your pussy in the woods isn't holdthemoan too. These "verified amateurs" flood dozens of different subreddits to get karma and sell their nudes in the DM.
I have no issue with anyone making money by selling nudes or sex tapes. I have an issue with spamming subreddits with content that isn't directly related to them. You would think the subreddit's community won't stand for this spam. Yet, they're all like the comments in this video. They're just coomers hitting on these women.
But what about the moderators? They don't care about it. They relaxed the rules. They would have the subreddit be full of spam. Instead of a nicely curated subreddit with relevant content.
They rolled out the red carpet for these "verified amateurs" to just flood their subreddit. Because they didn't want to moderate the subreddit. Fucking coomers.
4 CommentsGive AwardShareSave12.1kPosted byu/GiraffeGyro1 day ago📷8📷7📷5📷5& 15 More
Among Us hater gets owned epicly 😎😎😎 📷
Red sus. Red suuuus. I said red, sus, hahahahaha. Why arent you laughing? I just made a reference to the popular video game "Among Us"! How can you not laugh at it? Emergeny meeting! Guys, this here guy doesnt laugh at my funny Among Us memes!
submitted by azade12 to copypasta [link] [comments]


2020.10.12 03:20 toesucker17 Sex at work caught on tape

So I thought I'd just share my personal story of how I realized I was bisexual.
Okay. So every time I try to remember where my bisexuality started, I think I can pinpoint it but then I remember something from even earlier in life. The earliest I can remember is Sept 1991. I was 4 years old. Yeah, I was 4. And I was watching the pilot of Home Improvement, and it came to the scene where Tim & Mark start working on the dishwasher and they take their shirts off. At 4 years old something stirred inside me. I didn't understand what or why, just that I liked that scene. And because my dad had taped it for my mom because she was working night shift, I got that tape (I learned how to work a VCR at 3 years old lol) and watched that scene over and over again. Around the same time I remember undressing my Buddy doll (look it up) and hanging out with him naked in my room. Again not understanding why, just wanting to be naked with the doll. Eventually my parents got annoyed/concerened that I was getting naked so often and spending so much time watching that Home Improvement episode so they took the doll away, deliberately taped over the Home Improvement episode (you know how much a recording of the very first airing of Home Improvement including commercials would be worth now?! lol) and made me stay downstairs with them as much as possible. I was very confused about what I had done wrong.
So my next earliest memory of same-sex attraction was in second grade, it was fall 1995, I'd just turned 8 and I'd seen an episode of Goof Troop where Max & PJ go swimming, and wanting to see that episode again. I remember laying in bed at night, imagining an episode where Max & PJ went skinny dipping. the following summer the film adaptation of Flipper came out and even though I didn't get to see it in theaters, I wanted to. There was a cover story in Disney Adventures that along with interviews and behind-the-scenes looks, had a few pics of Elijah Wood shirtless. I looked at that issue quite frequently. My family never got around to seeing it in theatres but I did rent it the first week it came out on video. And enjoyed Elijah Wood's many swimming scenes lol.
I remember the first time I heard the word "gay", it was spring 1997, I was 9, and the movie In And Out was being released. I saw the TV spot on my own while watching a Home Improvement rerun (full circle lol) but then every time I saw it with my parents they'd either immediately mute it or change the channel. Didn't understand why but didn't really want to ask. My parents were NEVER big on communication or explaining why things were right or wrong, just that they are and they should never be questioned. The first time I heard gay in a negative context was that fall, 1997, I had just turned 10, and in a very weird twist of fate, it was a Cosby episode (not the original Cosby series, the 90s series with Madelyn Kahn). Hilton unwillingly joins a gay softball team. my dad freaks out, turns the TV off, and immediately starts lecturing my sister and I that being gay is evil and wrong and gay people all deserve to die. Not once did he even mention what being gay meant. I couldn't even tell you where I learned what it actually meant, it probably wasn't until I was in 7th grade, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
In the summer of 1998 a family moved in across the street from us and I befriended the son who was a year ahead of me. i was a big outcast at school so this was my first real experience with a friendship. We'd go swimming and have sleepovers and every time I caught myself unconsciously checking out his body. I couldn't even explain why. Okay so, soon after I turned 12, I started coming up with these elaborate fantasies about skinny dipping with my neighbor friend, and when I say elaborate I mean elaborate lol like I imagined what our day had been like leading up to us skinny dipping, I imagined we were hiking in Harding Park and came across a hidden lake. I also found myself checking out guys in the locker room after gym class. But what's weird is even though I'd become aroused, I never masturbated, I didn't start until about a year later and even then I didn't know what it was yet, just that it felt really really good. Right before I turned 14 I was spending the night at a friend's house and I don't even remember how it started but we ended up getting naked in his bed and masturbating together. We didn't touch each other, but for some reason I kept feeling compelled to rub my bare feet on his bare feet. He didn't seem to care. That happened every time we got the chance, then about a year later, it was summer 2002 and he was spending the night again, we were naked and masturbating in bed when he suddenly rolled over on top of me and started grinding on me. This was new and a little scary but it felt so good! I won't go into the details of what all we did but for the next 2 years we messed around every chance we got. In bed, in the pool changing room, in his dad's garage, the woods. By now we both knew what being gay was and how it was looked down on, (especially considering we went to Catholic school) so we told ourselves we weren't gay (by now I was also becoming very attracted to girls as well) we told ourselves we were just two horny virgins looking for an orgasm. And for a long time I believed it...
So, the messing around with my friend ended after 2 years when I was 16. He got a girlfriend and lost his virginity and didn't need me anymore. He and I never messed around again and eventually drifted apart. In a frustrating twist he's actually become a rabid anti-gay bible thumper. From there my bisexual tendencies kind of faded away for the time being. I became exclusively focused on girls and eventually lost my virginity to a woman at the tender age of 20 lol.
Fast forward to the summer of 2012. I'm now 24 and I start feeling attracted to other guys again. I find myself remembering those times with my friend with fondness. I found myself paying just as much attention to the guys in porn as the women, and even found myself watching gay porn. It would take me almost another year to work up the courage to do anything about it but in summer 2013 at the encouragement of a very good friend I placed an ad on Craigslist (in hindsight pretty risky but I was lucky) I was messaged by a 23 year old guy. After emailing and texting for a few days and becoming reasonably sure he wasn't a serial killer, we met at a McDonald's and then drove to a secluded field by a set of railroad tracks. And it was amazing. Over that summer I met up for sex with him and a few other guys I met online. In September of that year I met a guy that would change my life forever and not in a good way. We met up once and the sex was ok, not great but ok. For some reason he became absolutely obsessed with me, he wanted me to be his boyfriend. But not only was I not ready to openly date a guy, I wasn't that into him even if I was ready. He kept trying for a few weeks but eventually gave up. So fast forward to Feb 2014 and he contacts me apologizing for getting so obsessed and asking if I wanted to come over just for sex and I did. Afterwards we were cuddling naked in his bed and he again asks if I'll be his boyfriend. I again explained my reason for not wanting to take that step. Something inside of him snapped. He jumped on top of me and started choking me, a physical fight I don't remember all the details of ensued, I was kicked and punched and he eventually calmed down and apologized, I quickly got dressed and left. After that I didn't hear from again for another 2 years (more on him in a moment). In April of that year I attended an event on campus my friend had organized, it was a public gathering of an LGBT support group and people could talk about their experiences with coming out, prejudice they faced, anything they wanted to talk about. I got up there and told an abbreviated version of my story. It was the first time I'd really acknowledged that I was bisexual in front of anyone other than a few close personal friends and it was very liberating even though I was shaking the entire time.
Now we fast forward to summer 2016. My stalker returned. He demanded I have sex with him again. And I refused. So he informed me he'd found me on Facebook and would out me to all my friends if I didn't give in to him. So I beat him to the punch and decided to out myself. It was nerve racking but I did not want to have to be with him again and the public response was overwhelmingly positive. So now here I am over a year later and I'm reasonably at peace with myself and my sexuality. Obviously my family still doesn't know and it's gotta stay that way but my friends support me and that's what matters. And also, shortly after I came out, for the first time in my life, I met a guy who I actually had feelings for. All my previous encounters had been physical only but there was something about this guy. I knew things were different the first time we cuddled after sex and I caught myself rubbing my toes up and down his bare feet, something I usually only did with women after sex. Even though things didn't work out it was an educational experience for me to learn I could not just have sex with a guy but also develop genuine feelings for. Who knows where things are gonna go from here?
submitted by toesucker17 to comingout [link] [comments]


2020.10.12 03:19 toesucker17 Work on caught tape sex at

So I thought I'd just share my personal story of how I realized I was bisexual.
Okay. So every time I try to remember where my bisexuality started, I think I can pinpoint it but then I remember something from even earlier in life. The earliest I can remember is Sept 1991. I was 4 years old. Yeah, I was 4. And I was watching the pilot of Home Improvement, and it came to the scene where Tim & Mark start working on the dishwasher and they take their shirts off. At 4 years old something stirred inside me. I didn't understand what or why, just that I liked that scene. And because my dad had taped it for my mom because she was working night shift, I got that tape (I learned how to work a VCR at 3 years old lol) and watched that scene over and over again. Around the same time I remember undressing my Buddy doll (look it up) and hanging out with him naked in my room. Again not understanding why, just wanting to be naked with the doll. Eventually my parents got annoyed/concerened that I was getting naked so often and spending so much time watching that Home Improvement episode so they took the doll away, deliberately taped over the Home Improvement episode (you know how much a recording of the very first airing of Home Improvement including commercials would be worth now?! lol) and made me stay downstairs with them as much as possible. I was very confused about what I had done wrong.
So my next earliest memory of same-sex attraction was in second grade, it was fall 1995, I'd just turned 8 and I'd seen an episode of Goof Troop where Max & PJ go swimming, and wanting to see that episode again. I remember laying in bed at night, imagining an episode where Max & PJ went skinny dipping. the following summer the film adaptation of Flipper came out and even though I didn't get to see it in theaters, I wanted to. There was a cover story in Disney Adventures that along with interviews and behind-the-scenes looks, had a few pics of Elijah Wood shirtless. I looked at that issue quite frequently. My family never got around to seeing it in theatres but I did rent it the first week it came out on video. And enjoyed Elijah Wood's many swimming scenes lol.
I remember the first time I heard the word "gay", it was spring 1997, I was 9, and the movie In And Out was being released. I saw the TV spot on my own while watching a Home Improvement rerun (full circle lol) but then every time I saw it with my parents they'd either immediately mute it or change the channel. Didn't understand why but didn't really want to ask. My parents were NEVER big on communication or explaining why things were right or wrong, just that they are and they should never be questioned. The first time I heard gay in a negative context was that fall, 1997, I had just turned 10, and in a very weird twist of fate, it was a Cosby episode (not the original Cosby series, the 90s series with Madelyn Kahn). Hilton unwillingly joins a gay softball team. my dad freaks out, turns the TV off, and immediately starts lecturing my sister and I that being gay is evil and wrong and gay people all deserve to die. Not once did he even mention what being gay meant. I couldn't even tell you where I learned what it actually meant, it probably wasn't until I was in 7th grade, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
In the summer of 1998 a family moved in across the street from us and I befriended the son who was a year ahead of me. i was a big outcast at school so this was my first real experience with a friendship. We'd go swimming and have sleepovers and every time I caught myself unconsciously checking out his body. I couldn't even explain why. Okay so, soon after I turned 12, I started coming up with these elaborate fantasies about skinny dipping with my neighbor friend, and when I say elaborate I mean elaborate lol like I imagined what our day had been like leading up to us skinny dipping, I imagined we were hiking in Harding Park and came across a hidden lake. I also found myself checking out guys in the locker room after gym class. But what's weird is even though I'd become aroused, I never masturbated, I didn't start until about a year later and even then I didn't know what it was yet, just that it felt really really good. Right before I turned 14 I was spending the night at a friend's house and I don't even remember how it started but we ended up getting naked in his bed and masturbating together. We didn't touch each other, but for some reason I kept feeling compelled to rub my bare feet on his bare feet. He didn't seem to care. That happened every time we got the chance, then about a year later, it was summer 2002 and he was spending the night again, we were naked and masturbating in bed when he suddenly rolled over on top of me and started grinding on me. This was new and a little scary but it felt so good! I won't go into the details of what all we did but for the next 2 years we messed around every chance we got. In bed, in the pool changing room, in his dad's garage, the woods. By now we both knew what being gay was and how it was looked down on, (especially considering we went to Catholic school) so we told ourselves we weren't gay (by now I was also becoming very attracted to girls as well) we told ourselves we were just two horny virgins looking for an orgasm. And for a long time I believed it...
So, the messing around with my friend ended after 2 years when I was 16. He got a girlfriend and lost his virginity and didn't need me anymore. He and I never messed around again and eventually drifted apart. In a frustrating twist he's actually become a rabid anti-gay bible thumper. From there my bisexual tendencies kind of faded away for the time being. I became exclusively focused on girls and eventually lost my virginity to a woman at the tender age of 20 lol.
Fast forward to the summer of 2012. I'm now 24 and I start feeling attracted to other guys again. I find myself remembering those times with my friend with fondness. I found myself paying just as much attention to the guys in porn as the women, and even found myself watching gay porn. It would take me almost another year to work up the courage to do anything about it but in summer 2013 at the encouragement of a very good friend I placed an ad on Craigslist (in hindsight pretty risky but I was lucky) I was messaged by a 23 year old guy. After emailing and texting for a few days and becoming reasonably sure he wasn't a serial killer, we met at a McDonald's and then drove to a secluded field by a set of railroad tracks. And it was amazing. Over that summer I met up for sex with him and a few other guys I met online. In September of that year I met a guy that would change my life forever and not in a good way. We met up once and the sex was ok, not great but ok. For some reason he became absolutely obsessed with me, he wanted me to be his boyfriend. But not only was I not ready to openly date a guy, I wasn't that into him even if I was ready. He kept trying for a few weeks but eventually gave up. So fast forward to Feb 2014 and he contacts me apologizing for getting so obsessed and asking if I wanted to come over just for sex and I did. Afterwards we were cuddling naked in his bed and he again asks if I'll be his boyfriend. I again explained my reason for not wanting to take that step. Something inside of him snapped. He jumped on top of me and started choking me, a physical fight I don't remember all the details of ensued, I was kicked and punched and he eventually calmed down and apologized, I quickly got dressed and left. After that I didn't hear from again for another 2 years (more on him in a moment). In April of that year I attended an event on campus my friend had organized, it was a public gathering of an LGBT support group and people could talk about their experiences with coming out, prejudice they faced, anything they wanted to talk about. I got up there and told an abbreviated version of my story. It was the first time I'd really acknowledged that I was bisexual in front of anyone other than a few close personal friends and it was very liberating even though I was shaking the entire time.
Now we fast forward to summer 2016. My stalker returned. He demanded I have sex with him again. And I refused. So he informed me he'd found me on Facebook and would out me to all my friends if I didn't give in to him. So I beat him to the punch and decided to out myself. It was nerve racking but I did not want to have to be with him again and the public response was overwhelmingly positive. So now here I am over a year later and I'm reasonably at peace with myself and my sexuality. Obviously my family still doesn't know and it's gotta stay that way but my friends support me and that's what matters. And also, shortly after I came out, for the first time in my life, I met a guy who I actually had feelings for. All my previous encounters had been physical only but there was something about this guy. I knew things were different the first time we cuddled after sex and I caught myself rubbing my toes up and down his bare feet, something I usually only did with women after sex. Even though things didn't work out it was an educational experience for me to learn I could not just have sex with a guy but also develop genuine feelings for. Who knows where things are gonna go from here?
submitted by toesucker17 to lgbt [link] [comments]


2020.10.12 03:18 toesucker17 Sex at work caught on tape

So I thought I'd just share my personal story of how I realized I was bisexual.
Okay. So every time I try to remember where my bisexuality started, I think I can pinpoint it but then I remember something from even earlier in life. The earliest I can remember is Sept 1991. I was 4 years old. Yeah, I was 4. And I was watching the pilot of Home Improvement, and it came to the scene where Tim & Mark start working on the dishwasher and they take their shirts off. At 4 years old something stirred inside me. I didn't understand what or why, just that I liked that scene. And because my dad had taped it for my mom because she was working night shift, I got that tape (I learned how to work a VCR at 3 years old lol) and watched that scene over and over again. Around the same time I remember undressing my Buddy doll (look it up) and hanging out with him naked in my room. Again not understanding why, just wanting to be naked with the doll. Eventually my parents got annoyed/concerened that I was getting naked so often and spending so much time watching that Home Improvement episode so they took the doll away, deliberately taped over the Home Improvement episode (you know how much a recording of the very first airing of Home Improvement including commercials would be worth now?! lol) and made me stay downstairs with them as much as possible. I was very confused about what I had done wrong.
So my next earliest memory of same-sex attraction was in second grade, it was fall 1995, I'd just turned 8 and I'd seen an episode of Goof Troop where Max & PJ go swimming, and wanting to see that episode again. I remember laying in bed at night, imagining an episode where Max & PJ went skinny dipping. the following summer the film adaptation of Flipper came out and even though I didn't get to see it in theaters, I wanted to. There was a cover story in Disney Adventures that along with interviews and behind-the-scenes looks, had a few pics of Elijah Wood shirtless. I looked at that issue quite frequently. My family never got around to seeing it in theatres but I did rent it the first week it came out on video. And enjoyed Elijah Wood's many swimming scenes lol.
I remember the first time I heard the word "gay", it was spring 1997, I was 9, and the movie In And Out was being released. I saw the TV spot on my own while watching a Home Improvement rerun (full circle lol) but then every time I saw it with my parents they'd either immediately mute it or change the channel. Didn't understand why but didn't really want to ask. My parents were NEVER big on communication or explaining why things were right or wrong, just that they are and they should never be questioned. The first time I heard gay in a negative context was that fall, 1997, I had just turned 10, and in a very weird twist of fate, it was a Cosby episode (not the original Cosby series, the 90s series with Madelyn Kahn). Hilton unwillingly joins a gay softball team. my dad freaks out, turns the TV off, and immediately starts lecturing my sister and I that being gay is evil and wrong and gay people all deserve to die. Not once did he even mention what being gay meant. I couldn't even tell you where I learned what it actually meant, it probably wasn't until I was in 7th grade, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
In the summer of 1998 a family moved in across the street from us and I befriended the son who was a year ahead of me. i was a big outcast at school so this was my first real experience with a friendship. We'd go swimming and have sleepovers and every time I caught myself unconsciously checking out his body. I couldn't even explain why. Okay so, soon after I turned 12, I started coming up with these elaborate fantasies about skinny dipping with my neighbor friend, and when I say elaborate I mean elaborate lol like I imagined what our day had been like leading up to us skinny dipping, I imagined we were hiking in Harding Park and came across a hidden lake. I also found myself checking out guys in the locker room after gym class. But what's weird is even though I'd become aroused, I never masturbated, I didn't start until about a year later and even then I didn't know what it was yet, just that it felt really really good. Right before I turned 14 I was spending the night at a friend's house and I don't even remember how it started but we ended up getting naked in his bed and masturbating together. We didn't touch each other, but for some reason I kept feeling compelled to rub my bare feet on his bare feet. He didn't seem to care. That happened every time we got the chance, then about a year later, it was summer 2002 and he was spending the night again, we were naked and masturbating in bed when he suddenly rolled over on top of me and started grinding on me. This was new and a little scary but it felt so good! I won't go into the details of what all we did but for the next 2 years we messed around every chance we got. In bed, in the pool changing room, in his dad's garage, the woods. By now we both knew what being gay was and how it was looked down on, (especially considering we went to Catholic school) so we told ourselves we weren't gay (by now I was also becoming very attracted to girls as well) we told ourselves we were just two horny virgins looking for an orgasm. And for a long time I believed it...
So, the messing around with my friend ended after 2 years when I was 16. He got a girlfriend and lost his virginity and didn't need me anymore. He and I never messed around again and eventually drifted apart. In a frustrating twist he's actually become a rabid anti-gay bible thumper. From there my bisexual tendencies kind of faded away for the time being. I became exclusively focused on girls and eventually lost my virginity to a woman at the tender age of 20 lol.
Fast forward to the summer of 2012. I'm now 24 and I start feeling attracted to other guys again. I find myself remembering those times with my friend with fondness. I found myself paying just as much attention to the guys in porn as the women, and even found myself watching gay porn. It would take me almost another year to work up the courage to do anything about it but in summer 2013 at the encouragement of a very good friend I placed an ad on Craigslist (in hindsight pretty risky but I was lucky) I was messaged by a 23 year old guy. After emailing and texting for a few days and becoming reasonably sure he wasn't a serial killer, we met at a McDonald's and then drove to a secluded field by a set of railroad tracks. And it was amazing. Over that summer I met up for sex with him and a few other guys I met online. In September of that year I met a guy that would change my life forever and not in a good way. We met up once and the sex was ok, not great but ok. For some reason he became absolutely obsessed with me, he wanted me to be his boyfriend. But not only was I not ready to openly date a guy, I wasn't that into him even if I was ready. He kept trying for a few weeks but eventually gave up. So fast forward to Feb 2014 and he contacts me apologizing for getting so obsessed and asking if I wanted to come over just for sex and I did. Afterwards we were cuddling naked in his bed and he again asks if I'll be his boyfriend. I again explained my reason for not wanting to take that step. Something inside of him snapped. He jumped on top of me and started choking me, a physical fight I don't remember all the details of ensued, I was kicked and punched and he eventually calmed down and apologized, I quickly got dressed and left. After that I didn't hear from again for another 2 years (more on him in a moment). In April of that year I attended an event on campus my friend had organized, it was a public gathering of an LGBT support group and people could talk about their experiences with coming out, prejudice they faced, anything they wanted to talk about. I got up there and told an abbreviated version of my story. It was the first time I'd really acknowledged that I was bisexual in front of anyone other than a few close personal friends and it was very liberating even though I was shaking the entire time.
Now we fast forward to summer 2016. My stalker returned. He demanded I have sex with him again. And I refused. So he informed me he'd found me on Facebook and would out me to all my friends if I didn't give in to him. So I beat him to the punch and decided to out myself. It was nerve racking but I did not want to have to be with him again and the public response was overwhelmingly positive. So now here I am over a year later and I'm reasonably at peace with myself and my sexuality. Obviously my family still doesn't know and it's gotta stay that way but my friends support me and that's what matters. And also, shortly after I came out, for the first time in my life, I met a guy who I actually had feelings for. All my previous encounters had been physical only but there was something about this guy. I knew things were different the first time we cuddled after sex and I caught myself rubbing my toes up and down his bare feet, something I usually only did with women after sex. Even though things didn't work out it was an educational experience for me to learn I could not just have sex with a guy but also develop genuine feelings for. Who knows where things are gonna go from here?
submitted by toesucker17 to bisexualadults [link] [comments]


2020.10.01 19:20 LeeDoverwood Sex at work caught on tape

Evidence mounts that Trump is getting ready to declare checkmate, with a big reveal that much of the U.S. government has been run by Communist China spies (GreatAwakening)
submitted 4.1 hours ago by Cheetah1964
Consider this in the transcript of the debate:
1:24 TRUMP
And we've caught them. We've caught them all. We've got it all on tape. And Trump, no matter what his opponents, Wallace and Biden, did, pushed the information about Hunter:
1:09:26 BIDEN
So, thirdly we’re poorer. The billionaires have gotten much, much more wealthy by a tune of over four three to $400 billion more, just since COVID. You in the home, you got less. You're in more trouble than you were before. In terms of being more violent, when we were in office there were 15% less violence in America than there is today. He's president of the United states. It’s on his watch. And with regard to more divided, the nation can't stay divided. We can't be this way. And speaking of my son, the way you talk about the military, the way you talk about them be losers and being, and just being suckers. My son was in Iraq. He spent a year there. He got, he got the Bronze Star. He got the Conspicuous Service Medal. He was not a loser. He was a patriot. And the people left behind there were heroes.
1:10:23 TRUMP
Really? You talking about Hunter? Are you talking about Hunter?
1:10:23 BIDEN
and I resent -- I’m talking about my son, Beau Biden. You’re talking about --
1:10:30 TRUMP
I don’t know Beau. I know Hunter. Hunter got thrown out of the military. He was thrown out, dishonorably discharged for cocaine use.
1:10:37 BIDEN
That's not true, he wasn’t dishonorably discharged. None of that is true.
1:10:39 TRUMP
-- and he didn't have a job until you became vice president. Once you became vice president he made a fortune in Ukraine, in China, in Moscow and various other places --
1:10:48 BIDEN
That is simply not true.
1:10:49 TRUMP
He made a fortune and he didn’t have a job.
1:10:50 BIDEN
My son -- My son -- My son, like a lot of people, like a lot of people you know I had a drug problem. He's overtaken it. He's fixed it. He's worked on it. And I'm proud of him.
1:11:02 TRUMP
But why was he given tens of millions of dollars?
1:11:05 BIDEN
He wasn't given tens of millions of dollars
1:11:08 WALLACE
President Trump you’ve --
1:11:11 BIDEN
Already been discredited
1:11:13 WALLACE
We've already been through this, I think the American people would rather hear about more substantial subjects. Well, you know, as the moderator sir I'm going to make a judgement call there.
1:11:20 TRUMP
-- 3.5 million dollars. Let’s talk about Moscow --
1:11:24 BIDEN
That is not true. That report is totally discredited.
1:11:25 WALLACE
Gentlemen --
1:11:27 BIDEN
Mitt Romney on that committee said it wasn't worth taxpayers money. That report was written for political reasons.
1:11:33 WALLACE
You know, I'd like to talk about climate change.
That last line by Wallace definitely reads like satire. It was real, folks.
Now, take a look at the following information. I am not familiar with this site or the webcasts it refers to, so engage your usual grain of salt. However, look at how the puzzle pieces start fitting together if this is true.
https://gnews.org/394168/
By CHANGDAO - 2020-10-01
"The most explosive news of the past few days was the 3 hard drives delivered to the United States Department of Justice by a top family or families of the Chinese Communist Party, according to Lu De, a faithful follower of Miles Guo’s Whistleblower Movement and host of one of the most-watched webcasts in Mandarin of the last three years.
"Since the evening show on September 24th, for 5 days in a row, Lu De’s webcasts have focused almost exclusively on the content of the 3 hard drives that were secretly provided to the Department of Justice fairly recently.
"Hunter Biden is in big trouble, much bigger than his Russian and Ukrainian scandals would cause. One of the hard drives contains information on Hunter Biden’s trip to China. It is known to the public that Hunter Biden flew to China on Air Force 2 with his father, Joe Biden. Joe Biden insisted that he was not aware of his son’s connection with the CCP companies. What Hunter did in China, the “dirty things”, were recorded on video by the order of the CCP Public Security Bureau. On the “business” side, it is believed that Hunter got to know Li Xiangsheng, the former CEO of Bohai Industrial Investment Fund Management Co., Ltd., an affiliated company owned by the Vice Chairman of China, Wang Qishan. Afterward, Hunter arranged for his father to meet with Li Xiangsheng.
"The contract that Hunter Biden signed with Xi and Wang, No. 1 and No. 2 of the CCP regime, secured 4.5 billion dollars of interest and benefits to him. Hunter did not disclose this contract to the U.S. government. Whether or not he disclosed it to his father, you can be the judge. The real question is: did Joe Biden disclose the existence of such a contract to the U.S. government? He absolutely did not. In Lu De’s webcast, Hunter received a million dollars prior to the signing, and 10 million at the time the contract was signed. The money was laundered through a prominent U.S. lawyer.
"The details of the sex recordings will likely never be released to the public. The CCP routinely and secretly records sex acts between foreigners and women who are provided by the CCP. This is one of the most effective ways to blackmail foreigners, often politicians, and to get them to agree to do whatever the CCP wants them to do.
"BGY, an acronym for blue, gold, and yellow, refers to techniques utilized by the CCP to steal advanced technology from the West; to bribe foreigners; and to blackmail intellectuals, business people, and politicians with recordings of their sex acts. The ultimate goal is to make the American democratic system collapse, thus bringing Western civilization to its knees."
Although there are many players in Deep State, including the usual Soros, Rothchilds, etc., if we focus on only them we are missing the obvious -- that the dictatorship of China has been at war with us for years, just being unusually clever about it. I suspect that the other entities involved are either allies, like the Axis in World War II, or lower down in the hierarchy. That includes the whole Antifa/BLM crowd and the Fake News. After all, who else controls the land, people, military, and nukes like the dictatorship of China does?
And start thinking about all the evidence--Feinstein's driver, Chinese spies at the universities, Chinese gadgets everywhere in the U.S., so much more, and, of course...
A bioweapon released on the world. No one else did that.
Now, the main point that might come out is that Communist China completely OWNED our politicians, via bribes and blackmail. The bribes are obvious. What has not yet come out is exactly what the bribes were for.
Could the bribes have been for enabling the Chinese government to take over the United States?
What exactly was IN Hillary's emails, anyhow?
Film at 11.
Hold onto your hats.
And fight like nuts via your local Republicans. Staff those early voting polls. Make the calls. Work for the campaigns.
submitted by LeeDoverwood to freeworldnews [link] [comments]


2020.10.01 03:24 MCBabyhands Sex at work caught on tape

I’m really really sad and my heart is hurting. I don’t know how much this counselor is going to be able to do for us... it seems pointless for us to be going. You’ve never made me or my feelings a priority. It’s always been your needs first. Your wants. Your ....everything comes first. And if that’s how it is that’s fine. But the counselor, she is right. I’m not going to be able to do this if I’m not a priority, the only priority you have outside of the kid.... for quite a while. And it seems disingenuous that someone has to tell you what you need to do when you know exactly what you should have done from beginning, but didn’t, once again because of YOUR wants, feelings, and needs, it’s always and only what you want and feel like you need to do. I am obviously never going to be on that list and it’s something that truly kills me inside every day.
I understand that you are going through intense emotions right now as well and I am not trying to invalidate your right to have those emotions right now. whenever I come to you with another truth you have intentionally hid from me you become extremely distant and shut off from me. This only leads me into a worse spiral of confusion, pain, grief, and mental exhaustion. You haven’t come to me once to just apologize unprompted outside of a conversation I have initiated. While I appreciate and accept your apologies when you provide them, they seem forced when you can’t look me in the eye when you see my pain and try to comfort me, reassure me, or just humble yourself enough to empathize with the absolute pain your actions have caused me. I feel gutted. Completely gutted. You told me that it was a one time mistake, that you did it and left very early bc you felt guilty. Only on Monday when I found your tape did you admit to it being more than once. Not only did you do it more than once, you had a plan devised to tape it, keep it, and you watched it a week before I confronted you last month. You made a video of you cheating on me. You made it knowing the issues I had with your choice to watch and masturbate to your old sex videos before you left with her that fall. You did this, kept it, and continued to delight in your betrayal of our relationship, of us, like it was nothing. This doesn’t make me feel like you have remorse for the affair, the initial acts and the years following, it makes me feel like you are pissed and regret getting caught... but had this never happened (me finding out) you would have never stopped on your own. I don’t feel like you truly think you did anything wrong. Your actions make me feel that You think it was innocent. You feign empathy for my pain but you don’t see why it’s a big deal... you cheated yes... but you could have continued to cheat and you didn’t. What I’m telling you is that you cheated the hold time. You have an emotional connection or a need for an outside connection other than me that you kept secret bc there was something there that wasn’t appropriate.
You will never ever know the pain that you have caused me. And you dig the knife in deeper when you punish me emotionally by ignoring me and the situation completely. Why can’t you offer me comfort? Why can’t you reassure me that you are sorry. That you fucked up. That you’re committed to never putting me in this position again. That our relationship is important, so important that you recognize that you have been emotionally and at times verbally gaslighting me so that I have to come crawling back to you to beg for some sort of acknowledgement? Why do you get angry at me for bringing up what you have done. For holding you accountable for your continual lies? Why? Why can’t you be honest with me? Do you think you are committed to correcting this behavior that has destroyed what I thought we had? What kind of relationship did you think we had before I found out? Did you like any of it? What were your favorite parts? What did you hate? I had friends and acquaintances that aside from your reasons for going away, wanted our relationship. We seemed like the strongest, most loving, best friends, ride or die partners they had ever known and they wished their relationships had our strength... I though we were all those things. In an instant everything is shattered. And instead of getting everything out in the open so WE can start to rebuild and make it through... you have kept things hidden over the last 7 weeks that if you had just been honest in the beginning I could compartmentalism everything and start to work on healing, you let it continually be discovered where I have to go through every earth shattering emotion and feeling of betrayal and sadness all over again. I have to start back at one over and over again and then I have to come back to you, begging you to acknowledge my existence, making you feel needed and wanted for you to even get us to move forward. I shouldn’t be the one doing this... I shouldn’t have to push, drag, and pull you through this kicking and screaming. If our relationship is important, if I am important, you should be doing this knowing that it hurts me now, but that we will get through this because you are dedicated to coming out of this on the other side, together, stronger and better than we have been. You never even gave us a fighting chance the last 15 years by continually feeding into your own belief that I WAS THE ONE who has an issue with your friendship. You told Becca, Thomas, the George’s, Matt Simpson, your family... that I was some over jealous gf that wouldn’t allow you to maintain a innocent friendship with your ex gf... You have continually told yourself this lie to justify your need for secrecy and your need to keep her close to you. I never did anything before to give you the impression that I disapproved of your friendship. YOU kept Becca and I separate. YOU maintained a lie that you made up and let anyone else in our live in on that lie to make me seem like the unreasonable one.
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