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  • Strange You Never Knew

    Strange You Never Knew

    Hey – I can be topical.

    Ellie was from Ukraine – Odessa. I worked with her right up until the thing, and what she told me, before and after, well? It’s all been said by a lot of people. It’s on the record. It’s on video. It’s been printed. But no one wants to talk about it. Hell, William Rodriguez said the same thing, and he received several awards for rescuing so many people, he’s been on TV several times over the years, but they ignored – censored – everything he said that didn’t fit the narrative. He even testified, but in private, like the vast majority of people who testified. I guess they couldn’t risk him testifying in public. He might say the “wrong” thing.

    Ellie was maybe sixty and she had just become a grandmother so of course her desk was filled with pictures of her adorable little tow-headed grandson. She still had a bit of an accent. I quite liked her. She was, in fact, the third person from Ukraine I’ve worked with.

    The first Ukrainian I worked with was at the job right after the China Project, in fact, I still knew Tiny when I started working with him. I kind of considered him my “mentor” in a lot of ways – a technical mentor. It was that place, working with him, where I first met Fiancée.

    Of course I had no idea – not a clue – that my boss on the China Project was Chain – not until years later did it become obvious. In fact, he wanted me to become his protégé. Frankly, he was giving me a great opportunity, a promising career, when I was right out of college. But I was too young, too immature, and too rough around the edges to do what he expected of me. I think he was kind of pissed at the end, but I just didn’t understand these things – I just was not from that culture, not from that class.

    So after the China Project I got a regular job at this start up type thing, and I liked that job. When they first hired me on, there was a bunch of red tape at HR, due to complex and rather boring details I won’t get into. My boss, who hired me, was this hot-headed Mexican-American trust fund baby who stumbled into this job – no shit – because the head of the department met him when he was slumming it as a bartender at a strip club. You can’t make it up.

    So I’m having all of these problems with paperwork at HR, and my boss was eager to get me started, because it was a tight labor market, and me, the naïf, wasn’t asking for a lot of money. So after a bunch of delays he says, “follow me,” and I trail behind him as he leads me over to the HR department, where he proceeds to tear a new one into the manager. Eventually, he leaves, and the manager, annoyed, pawns me off on Fiancée.

    She was new, just like me, and after watching her boss get yelled at, as she told me later, she thought I must be “important.”

    She is quite pretty, in a very conventional, feminine way. Blonde haired, blue eyed Irish lass. As I am sitting next to her at her desk, I notice she is a little nervous.

    I guess it was the damsel in distress thing – it was charming, the vulnerability. So I lay on the charm. I say, “oh don’t worry about him, he’s always like that, it’s really no big deal” and I give her a little smile. She smiles back and I see her relax a bit. So she’s doing the paperwork and I just keep making little ironic comments, trying to calm her, make her comfortable, and she would smirk and even giggle a bit. I even thought she was being a bit flirtatious toward the end – I certainly was. So when she sends the email saying everything was good, I made sure not just to email her back thanking her, I actually call her on the phone to thank her, doing the same little ironic jokes routine, and she responded in kind.

    The next day I make sure to find an excuse to walk by her desk and thank her personally, and give her a big smile, and she gives me an even bigger one back.

    I really liked this crowd, I fit in perfectly. This one woman there, Karen, was always big on getting our department to go out after work. I don’t remember – I may have done it myself, or I may have conspired with Karen, but somehow she got invited to go out after work with us. I made sure to sit next to her, and I made sure I was wearing my cool leather jacket. At this point I wasn’t even hiding it, I was flirting, somewhat outrageously. She was into it, she was laughing at all my jokes, we would sort of whisper to each other, conspiring, as everyone else is talking.

    Whatever, I was just really confident about it. So as the night is winding down, I ask her out. “Hey, I had fun. Why don’t you give me your number and we’ll go out sometime?” She smiles shyly and says, “ok,” and I put her number in my phone. Believe it or not, most people did not even have cell phones in those days, but I did.

    I call her the next day and ask her out for Friday. She told me later, she was with a bunch of her girlfriends and they were all doing the bit, saying “awww” and giggling while they listened to her take my call – it made her a little embarrassed but also excited – she was worried I might have heard them in the background.

    We meet downtown and I take her to this fancy place, then I take her to some show or something, I don’t remember. It all goes quite smoothly – she still seems a bit nervous, and I’m a bit nervous, but I just go for it, I was feeling quite confident. We’re sitting on the curb during the intermission and one of those photographer guys comes up and offers to take our picture and gives us two copies. I’m not even lying, we looked like Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke in Before Sunrise – Crazy Bitch always said I looked like him.

    So the first kiss, right after we got the picture, well it was all quite smooth, it felt quite natural. We go back in and finish the show, walk for a bit, and I invite her back to my place. I expected her to decline, but she said yes, so we get a cab. At my place I pour us some wine, we kiss and start making out.

    She didn’t want to put out on the first date, and I, always the gentleman, didn’t even really try – didn’t even really want to in a sense, as I thought it might be weird, it might mess something up, she might regret it, and I was already making longer term plans.

    So I guess around ten I call her a cab – but it never comes. We’re lying in my bed – fully clothed – and both of us are dozing off. Maybe eleven I call again – still they don’t come. I have to call a third time and finally one shows up at like one in the morning. I put her in the cab and tell her I’ll call her Saturday afternoon, which of course I did.

    The next day she takes me out with her girlfriend to something or other, and her girlfriend is sort of teasing her, obviously having been informed in detail about out inadvertent late night together, making all sorts of jokes; “am I the only one who feels a little tired from being out so late last night?”

    I guess it was maybe a week and a half later, after we had gone out four or five times, and spent every day secretly flirting at work, I’m just blunt. I ask her to spend the weekend with me at the most expensive hotel in town. I figure our first time should be really nice. In a crazy coincidence, that very weekend, President Bill Clinton was staying at that very hotel, so there were literal snipers on the roof and crazy security, which just added to the excitement.

    It was great, it all just felt so smooth and so romantic. And after that – I don’t even know how it started. As soon as we got to work, she would send me an email first thing in the morning with one word: a color. Pink. Yellow. Blue.

    Then, about ten thirty every morning, we would go out to smoke a cigarette. We would keep a neutral demeanor, get in the elevator, and as soon as the elevator door closed, I would just grab her and pull up her skirt to verify the color of her panties: pink, yellow, blue. She would squeal with delight and we would passionately kiss. We’d go around the corner to this semi-secluded spot and make out like teenagers. She was always smiling and always laughing at my jokes. Really, the whole thing just made me high, I could not have been happier.

    So maybe a month of this, and this guy, my mentor, the Ukrainian guy, he rolls his eyes at me and says, “hey, if you’re going to make out with your girlfriend, do it in a more secluded spot – I totally saw you two.” I was a little bit embarrassed – well, not really, I guess I was kind of proud.

    Of course these things never stay secret and when my boss found out – probably Karen told him – he accuses me – half seriously, half not – of dipping my pen in the company ink to get all that HR paperwork done and set myself up for a raise.

    I don’t remember how long it lasted but it wasn’t too long until the company went out of business – it was the crash, all those companies went out of business. This was when the first sign of trouble started. Two things.

    She takes me to a party, and I’m just casually talking to this guy and say, “oh, I’m with Fiancée, do you know her?” He gives me a look and says, “oh yeah I know her.” It was a little bit embarrassing, because the obvious implication was that they had dated. No big deal really, but when I mentioned it and said I wish she had told me, she was all apologetic like, but not even really a big deal.

    The second was potentially more serious – but it didn’t really have anything to do with her – it had to do with the guy, my roommate. This Chain motherfucker, ever since I was fifteen, was always trying to get into my personal life. He starts making comments about hearing us doing it in my bedroom, almost like hazing me about it, making comments about how loud she was – or wasn’t. How long it seemed to last. Asking questions I frankly had no interest in answering. “Teasing” me in a way that was plausibly deniable – in a very macho way, trying to be dominant, like he was judging me or something.

    In fact, over the years, this guy would constantly half-jokingly suggest we do a threesome with some girl, or fuck two girls in the same room – he actually said that, “we should like do something in the same room.” At some point I even wondered if this guy was like “bisexual” or something – and who knows, maybe he was. But of course what was really going on is this Chain motherfucker wanted to get something on me – something embarrassing, something scandalous – that he could use as leverage against me. I didn’t figure it out until ten years later, the last time I saw him, when he low-key threatens me: “I know about you.”

    After the place goes out of business we go to Europe, and I’ve already mentioned it. Something had changed, all of a sudden I didn’t feel so confident that she was really into me. It’s not that she was faking it, but it is like she was playing a role or something. That she was acting as she thought I expected her to act.

    So this is what is going through my head when I’m in New York talking to Ellie and she tells me she is from Ukraine. I tell her about my mentor, and Fiancée, who at that point I still expected to eventually move with me to New York. Her hesitation I thought might be that she was waiting for me to officially propose. I was getting cold feet, frankly, not because I had any hesitation – I knew it would work on my end, I was way into her. But I started to have doubts about how much she was really into me.

    So one day I’m looking out the windows and Ellie comes up next to me and says, “oh great view, isn’t it?” I say, “yes it is amazing. But have you noticed all these new police trucks out there? There is even some sort of military vehicle parked over there, see?”

    “I wonder if there is some sort of terrorist threat or something.”

    I mention the whole security badge thing that had just happened, a huge massive reset of all the security procedures.

    Ellie’s face darkens and her eyes go wide. She says, “oh, don’t say that! I was here when that happened last time. You’re scaring me.”

    She proceeds to explain the time the place got bombed back not quite a decade prior. She really did look nervous talking about it, she told me the whole story, where she was, what happened. I try to calm her, reassure her, “oh I’m probably just being paranoid.”

    I want to hold the hand inside you
    I want to take a breath that’s true
    I look to you and I see nothing
    I look to you to see the truth

    You live your life, you go in shadows
    You’ll come apart and you’ll go blind
    Some kind of night into your darkness
    Colors your eyes with what’s not there

    A stranger’s light comes on slowly
    A stranger’s heart without a home
    You put your hands into your head
    And then its smiles cover your heart

    Fade into you
    Strange you never knew
    Fade into you
    I think it’s strange you never knew

  • Such A Strange Numb

    Such A Strange Numb

    It was August. I’m at the mall in the basement of the buildings – it’s huge. I walk into the Barnes & Noble bookstore, to buy a book. I was being a bad customer because I was taking my time. I was limiting myself to one book.

    Eventually I decide to buy James Bamford’s book on the National Security Administration, Body of Secrets: Anatomy of the Ultra-Secret National Security Agency. It had just been published in April of that year.

    I knew all about the NSA. Growing up, I heard the dad joke constantly – “no such agency, am I right? Har, har!” I thought of the NSA as the Special Forces for computer nerds. A little bit older, I came to think of the NSA as a tribe of surprisingly attractive people with waterfront mini-mansions and sexually voracious daughters. One gal I knew from high school – she was a math genius – went to work for them right out of high school, they apparently put her through college. I once wrote a song about her, but we never hooked up because she was dating a guy I was in a band with.

    So over the next week I read the book – it’s really fascinating. One thing is quite odd about the book, it has an appendix that has nothing to do with the NSA. It’s called Operation Northwoods, a Pentagon proposal to stage a “false flag” attack against America to be blamed on Cuba, giving the Kennedy administration an excuse to invade and overturn Castro’s communist government.

    Among other acts of terrorism, the Pentagon proposed hijacking airplanes and flying them into buildings – to include remote controlled military planes painted to look like civilian airliners. They proposed both actually killing people – actually killing Americans – as well as staging fake deaths including fake funerals.

    Apparently, Kennedy refused the plan and demoted the general who proposed it, General Lyman Louis Lemnitzer. Researchers have often noted that the language in the document appears to be more British English than American English; for example, it uses the phrase “go on holiday” which is what Brits say; Americans say “go on vacation.”

    The document is from 1962 and as nothing to do with the NSA – it’s a Pentagon document – so it was weird that Bamford included it in his book on NSA. Some have speculated that Bamford was working with General Michael Hayden, at the time Director of the NSA, and the only man to ever head up both the NSA and CIA, and it may have been him that gave the document – which has never been released before – to Bamford.

    Now I had just gotten the job. It paid great, I working in what to me was a quite prestigious place in a very promising job. I was living in Manhattan, living it up dating all these different women and just generally having a blast.

    So one day, late August I think, I decided to treat myself to lunch at the “sky view” restaurant at the top of the building. Anytime I go to a city I always love to go to those “sky view” places because, well, the views. And this one was the best of all. You could almost see the curvature of the earth.

    I even order a martini – I’m playing it up like I’m the Wolf of Wall Street. I mean, really, I felt like I had “arrived.”

    And more importantly, to me, I felt like I had finally escaped the Chain. As far as I knew, this job had nothing to do with them.

    So I am up there, for lunch, enjoying the view – the amazing view. Sipping my martini, feeling quite proud of myself. I was thinking all sorts of things, but the Bamford book was just sort of in the back of my mind.

    Now I have never put much stock in coincidences or premonitions. I still don’t. But I’m looking out the windows and the thought just pops into my head. “Holy shit, could you imagine if a plane flew into here? It would be like something out of a movie!”

    I get all numb
    When she sings it’s over
    Such a strange numb
    And it brings my knees to the earth

    So God bless you all
    For the song you saved us, oh
    For the hearts you break
    Every time you moan
    God bless you all on the earth

  • Definitely Wasn’t Me

    Definitely Wasn’t Me

    So working with Big Boobies was fun, if nothing else. It didn’t pay shit but it was … cool. It was like having an ulterior motive no one else knew about. Once I made one of them quite suspicious by making a passing reference to some highly illegal stuff, just to see how he would react.

    He reacted as expected.

    And as mentioned previously, Big Boobies wasn’t even subtle about any of it. Sometimes it was a comedy of errors – different people with different motivations all after different things, and everyone is basically spying on everyone else.

    If nothing else, I learned the real structure of certain underground political movements. But frankly I was slumming it – it was a step down from throwing parties for the Chinese ambassador. But the place was full of young women my age, right after of college, so it was way, way more fun.

    This guy though, he hated it – he said I was slumming it too. He also warned me about honeypots, in a certain subtle way, but I just kept stepping in it because – hey – it wasn’t illegal or anything. I’m not sure how they would really “compromise” me – oh, this dude, he had sex with this woman? I mean – even if they had it on video, I’d just have demanded a high quality copy for nostalgia’s sake.

    One thing they can do is make sure you are in a certain place at a certain time – or make sure you are not in a certain place at a certain time. That part is easy. So, for instance, if they wanted to break into your house, they get one to lure you to her place for the night, and of course almost all men will go for it. Especially if you have no idea why you might be a target for something or other.

    So it was fun but sometimes it can mess with your head because these people were genuine fanatics. So having to learn all their political gobbledy-gook – and repeat it back to them in a convincing manner – it takes a bit of practice and eventually you may start to even believe some of the bullshit. But then looking around at some of these people – they aren’t sending their best, folks. Some, I assume, are good people.

    I even managed to get invited to their big annual “secret” meeting and see it all from the inside. Frankly – it is all rather boring. Not even joking, for these people it is like a substitute religion.

    What is it with the narcissism of youth? “I want to change the world..” Have you asked the world if they are interested in your “change?”

    “I want to change society.” That statement simply means, “I don’t want to change myself, I want to make other people change.” Have they bothered to ask anyone else if they want to “change” everything – “society” – just because some ideological fanatic has a will-to-power and no capacity for self-reflection? No wonder these people are often thought of as a “cult.”

    So Big Boobies – I figured out her agenda pretty quickly. And that helped quite a bit, years later, after The Thing.

    I wanted revenge – and I wanted to get into Princess’ daddy’s place. So my experiences with Big Boobies helped with that because I got to get inside the heads of these people – these foreigners – pick up a little bit of the culture, some of the lingo, that kind of thing.

    And by the time Princess came along, I was a seasoned professional. I knew exactly what I was doing by then. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. But I loved the game – on two different levels. First, the obvious physical benefits – hey, I’m a man, I was young, in my twenties. Of course. But also the psychological thrill of it all. It’s just play acting in a sense – that is why they still teach theater in all the elite schools, because it’s all just acting. All the world’s a stage.

    Of course I never meant to hurt anyone, and I never wanted anyone to get hurt. But lots of people got hurt – lots of people got killed. Like, a lot. But that had nothing to do with me. It sure as hell wasn’t my fault.

    So you know there are choices you make in life – sometimes split second decisions – that change everything, forever.

    So right before The Thing I had met Surfer Girl – just a coffee date and some chatting – and at the same time Crazy Bitch. I could have had either, or both – both were interested in some ways.

    So all three of us are hanging out. We just go out dancing and then back to the apartment – we had just gotten the keys days before, Crazy Bitch hadn’t even moved in yet.

    So Surfer Girl and Crazy Bitch decide to share a cab back downtown. But I really, really, really did not want to be alone that night. Not after everything that happened. Not after The Thing. So I’m kind of going into a panic when I realize I’m going to be alone. I don’t know how I finagled it, but I walk them to their cab, and somehow I wind up just dragging Crazy Bitch right out of the cab – I made some sort of excuse to Surfer Girl, who later told me she knew, because, well, because it is obvious. There really are no secrets, people are the same all over.

    But I dragged Crazy Bitch out of the cab, not Surfer Girl, and brought her inside. If I had instead dragged out Surfer Girl, my life would have been a lot different. A lot more normal. Probably with a lot less heartache.

    Hey – I have feelings too. I’m not a monster, Tom, well, technically I am.

    I guess I am.

    I made the choice – I chose Crazy Bitch. Which clearly makes me the crazy one.

    I got an X-ray camera hidden in your house
    To see what I could see
    That man you were kissing last night
    He definitely wasn’t me

    Just because you had your shades down low
    You thought there wouldn’t be no clue
    I got his name, I know his game
    He doesn’t know you know who

    I know when you’re out
    I know when you’re in
    I know where you come from
    I know where you’ve been

    Na na na na na
    I spy for the FBI
    I spy, baby, for the FBI

    I spy for the FBI
    And I spy for the MI-5

  • Come From Way Above

    Come From Way Above

    I’m actually not as stupid as they think I am.

    After that guy approaches Crazy Bitch to offer me a job, I go up there a couple of times but once I figure it out – I ghost him. I don’t want to be babysat, but if they are clear about what I can and cannot say, I’m an obedient servant, compliant, because I don’t have any choice.

    So I actually wind up getting work at this little place in Bumfuck, just a couple of guys, and one of them is this kid named Chris. I guess he’s twenty something, kind of a nerd, smart but funny. He seems to enjoy my company – we go out to the bars, try to pick up chicks, that sort of thing. I introduced him to my nephew about his age and we went out a lot.

    But this kid was kind of weird in a lot of ways. Remember, in bumfuck, everybody is armed. This guy had like six guns in his car at all times. He took me to the range once, it was a blast – I shot all his because I don’t have a gun – at least, I don’t have a gun unless I need one, in which case I’ll get one. But in my situation it always seemed best to just not. That would be an easy charge to get me on.

    That’s the thing: I don’t think they want to kill me. If they wanted to kill me they have had plenty of opportunity over the last twenty years – plenty. It would have been easy and no one would have asked any questions. Instead, they just want me to shut the fuck up – which I did, as soon as they made it clear.

    Ok so one day I’m out with my boss – he is kind of a weird guy. Very thin skinned. Kind of self-conscious about something. Weird, he’s a big tall guy, somewhat charismatic, but I don’t know he had some kind of issue with another guy I worked for there.

    So one day this guy is hanging out with his old friend from way back. I mean really, it’s like a stereotype – this guy is clearly from the working class, and he’s a hard core conservative type. And his friend? Total trust fun kid, so of course he’s a liberal.

    I’m going to the bar to hang out – occasionally there is a babe there – that is where I met Yoga Ass – oh good god when I get to her – Jesus Christ. If you ever get a chance to be with a woman who does yoga, do not turn up the opportunity. Trust me on this one. We’ll get to her later.

    So this guy sees me – I was brand new there, maybe had been working for a week – and he waves me over. I get into it with them but clearly these two have a long history together and even some tension, so mostly I stay out of it. But there is something about me, I can’t keep my mouth shut and I know – I have a knack for it – exactly what to say, the minimum thing, to start trouble. I got it from my dad, he was the same way. A Devil’s Advocate, my mom used to say.

    In any case I was bad mouthing Sigmund Freud, of all people, and this guy’s liberal friend is apparently a fan. I just pointed out that all his stuff is pure gibberish and he wrote it all while high on cocaine.

    So the guy I’m working for is like, speaking of cocaine …?

    We go into the bathroom and start doing keybumps.

    Now anytime I am on cocaine all I want to do is talk about The Thing. You know. But this is a mere ten years later and this dude – I mean he’s a fucking stereotype. Right-wing kind of neo-con, loves war (well watching it on tv at least) and when I explain to him the real deal about The Thing – I mean this guy is offended.

    I’m like – dude, you were thousands of miles away in fucking high school watching it on TV – I was there. He has no right to be offended by what I said.

    But he is one of these brainwashed TV zombies who thinks – I don’t know, I don’t know what these people think.

    See – I’m not political. You know why? Because politics is bullshit. All those politicians you vote for? None of them matter. You know what matters? The only thing that matters?

    The Chain.

    And I gotta tell you – watching Angel on TV doing damage control because of little old me – LOL – gotta say, that was a trip. Your humble correspondent, a genuine nobody, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

    Far more often than I am comfortable with, let me tell you.

    So I am trying to explain to this guy – dude, you have almost everything entirely wrong about The Thing.

    But he’s mad, he assumed I would have to agree with him. So after spilling the beans he just doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

    So the next time I’m hanging out with Chris, I mention this event. Chris apparently does not like this guy, thinks he’s a dick. But he is my boss so obviously I don’t really want to say anything.

    Now Chris apparently has a thing for this woman – let’s call her Windsailer. He mentions her a lot, but also that this chick is a total lezzie. I’m like – dude, you have no chance. Let it go.

    In any case he is telling me she is getting on the Chain.

    For what purports to be a secret society of a type, I gotta say, these people have big fucking mouths. All throughout my life they more or less openly talked about it. As I said previously I assumed it was some sort of psychological trick or whatever.

    So Chris wants to be on the chain too – fucking idiot. So I tell him what I know, and he explains that Windsailer is about to be shipped off to some third world something or other to do something or other – don’t know, don’t want to know.

    Hey – if you people don’t want me to talk – stop fucking talking to me. I never asked a single question of anybody – they just keep telling me shit I never asked about and frankly wish I didn’t know.

    So I don’t know, a week or two later, this dude drive me downtown or something, drop me off, and tells me he is going to meet Windsailer. Interestingly, he doesn’t introduce me.

    But I saw her, from across the road – just once. And she saw me.

    In fact, she made a point to eyeball me. The significance of which did not hit me until, oh gosh, ten fucking years later when this spook bitch decides to contact me online.

    Her tradecraft was shit. I’ve never been trained in any of this shit and I can do a fucking better job – I got a top dude from fucking CNN eating out of my hand, just to fuck with him, in DC once. Not good though because I wound up on the CEO’s fucking voicemail – maybe that is when they started fucking with me, now that I think about it.

    So anyway – it took me five fucking minutes to remember Windsailer – everything Chris told me about her – even the windsailing thing – and I just called her out.

    She was the Nice Cop. I told her I knew exactly why she was contacting me and offered to immediately comply – basically, “shut the fuck up about Angel.”

    But this is the part I honestly don’t get. I had been teasing about Angel for ten fucking years – the very first time she showed up in the papers. And I played up the kinky part – hell, of course, I was totally exaggerating. I mean, it makes for a good story, right? Mostly I just implied things and let the reader use their imagination. Of course they will get it wrong but hey – I’m a story teller, not a whistleblower. I just like making up stories. I’m not, like, a “witness” or have any interest in testifying before Congress or anything crazy like that – hell fucking no. I enjoy being a nobody who writes dirty stories for bored housewives. I don’t have an ego and I’m basically just content with my lot in life.

    What changed? No idea. But it threw me for a loop – and I’ll admit it, I got a little scared. Because this means someone is reading – someone knows who I am. Somebody sent Windsailer to contact me, to feel me out – she even offered me a job. These fuckers always offer me work – hell, even when I think it is someone else, it is always fucking them.

    What changed? Why all of a sudden, out of the blue, I can’t make up stories about Angel anymore?

    So I take down the last month of writing, just to figure out what is going on. Then, Windsailer stops calling – she ghosts me. So I figure, ok, no big deal, maybe I’m just being paranoid.

    But oh no – this spook bitch was just the beginning of my troubles.

    You are my angel
    Come from way above
    To bring me love (To bring me love)

    Her eyes
    She’s on the dark side
    Every man in sight

    You are my angel
    Come from way above
    Love you, love you, love you
    Love you, love you, love you
    Love you, love you, love you

  • So Bad I Can Taste It

    So Bad I Can Taste It

    So whatever I’m like seventeen living for a summer with this dude in (CENSORED) and the (CENSORED) was a common destination. The main thing I remember is just walking around (CENSORED) one day and seeing this beautiful creature.

    She had a cute tiny little nose, and long curly hair. Blue eyes. I don’t know we’re in like a shop or whatever and I notice her. And she notices me noticing her. And she smiles. So, I’m like “uh, hi.” And she’s like “hi.”

    Whatever, we go to this place they would let you buy two hot dogs and a soda for a dollar and a half and wouldn’t mind letting kids hang out there. To seem more “sophisticated” I took her to (CENSORED) a couple of times – that was it.

    Weirdly, I knew her older brother, who lived in the same neighborhood. Yes, I know, everything is a fucking “coincidence” with these people. But this was more significant, because there I was walking around with (CENSORED) (CENSORED) of (CENSORED) – you know, just cause that is what seventeen year old boys do, right? Hell, I don’t even know how the hell I got it. Stupidly, I thought of it as a money making operation.

    So I wind up meeting this girl’s older brother – I didn’t even know it until I was at her parent’s house and see a picture of her with her brother. And I’m like, “that dude is your brother?” She’s like, “yeah, he lives in (CENSORED).” And I’m like, uh, no shit. What a crazy coincidence. Shit, and now that I think of it, he knew Amanda too. What, the, fuck – as I said it is like one big fucking cult or something.

    Anyway this dude – my roommate – was always bringing these “erotica” books from (CENSORED) and while at first I didn’t find it particularly nefarious – I came to think of it as quite nefarious. Because one particular book … how do I explain this? It’s a total diddle book – it is just these various fantasy sexual scenarios that women like to read. Crazy, crazy shit – bitches be crazy, some of the shit that turns them on.

    But I mean … ok. It’s a dark subject. Who the hell knows what makes certain women – if it’s a minority it’s a pretty damn large minority – have this masochistic streak a mile wide? And the … ugh, I hate this word … “community” … is so godddamn politically correct about everything. The PC talking points are to reassure high functioning ambitious women that, no, it’s totally “feminist” to get off on a man having power over you. Whatever.

    But in a non-PC fashion, and thinking of it from a broader perspective … well, think about pimping.

    Seriously, what is a pimp? It’s a man who “runs” a woman’s prostitution career. He takes all her money. How does one lure a woman into such a life? Well – actually – it’s pretty easy. Drugs and alcohol, “love bombing,” and a little bit of violence.

    Here is the thing, a dark and ugly aspect of human nature people don’t like to think about.

    You can torture someone until they love you.

    People often come to love their abusers.

    And if you think about it, this knowledge might be quite useful for certain military-spook applications.

    Do I need to spell it out?

    And while young – as a kid, as a teenager, all this shit was just a bit of transgressive fun. At that age, any girl giving you a little bit of sexual attention is exciting.

    But the older I get, the more distance from everything, the significance of all this stuff began to come into focus. Mostly, because of – well I don’t know, just the biggest fucking political scandal of the last thirty years. And these people? They were right in the middle of it.

    So now I understand what I was witnessing was way more than just a little bit of kinky fun. In fact – frankly – it scares the fuck out of me the more I think about it. I guess that is why I took up anonymous fiction blogging.

    And this is fiction, let me reassure everyone. It’s fiction, and it’s not a roman à clef, either – that would be too obvious. In fact, that would probably get me in trouble. So let me reassure everyone that it’s fiction, all the characters are fictional – I, the unreliable narrator – am fictional.

    Let’s say it rhymes with truth. There’s a lesson here.

    An author I greatly admire once said that “cults” are just groups of narcissists giving each other narcissistic supply. The “cult leader” is a narcissist – however – the followers are not just “innocent victims.” No, their own weak character – their narcissism – is what addicts them to the cult in the first place.

    Of course that is for people who join cults – not people who are forced into them. My whole life story is trying to get the fuck away from these people. I’ve lived everywhere, three continents, and they are fucking everywhere. I assume they are watching me right now, frankly. It just is what it is.

    Fortunately for me – I’m a nobody. Nobody important. Really, I’d hate to be the guy having to keep tabs on me because that has got to be a very, very boring job indeed.

    It was all a big misunderstanding anyway, because I’m fairly certain this guy stole me ID. The whole “decoy” thing. It makes perfect sense, with thirty years of hindsight. That probably explains plenty of weird shit, on my credit report, some woman’s name randomly appearing on my bank account.

    Weird women propositioning me quite out of normal flirtatious behavior. That’s the crazy part. Back in the old days? LOL – what can I say? I took every advantage.

    But later they just started roofie-ing me, to shut me up, when I was being a bad little monkey.

    It almost takes on a religious significance in some way – darkly religious. Because slavery – some people come to enjoy their chains. Some people are not only loyal to their owners, they truly come to love them. They want to please.

    In fact, some people panic when their chains come off.

    Not me – I’m not like that. I hate it. The Little Red Haired Girl obviously hated it.

    But some people I met? I knew? They honestly seemed to love it. If you cut their chain they would get angry and try to reattach it.

    Some people are convinced it is some cool club, something “elite.” But again, that is the narcissism. If you are a genuine sociopath, someone who has no empathy for other people, just completely immune to guilt, it would provide opportunities – the money can be good, and the sex is off-the-chain if you’ll pardon the pun.

    If you have a sadistic streak? You enjoy hurting people, you get off on it? It’s the only place to be.

    Dumb sadists wind up in prison. Smart sadists wind up in powerful positions running the world. And we know sociopaths start to recognize each other early on, as teenagers, and develop an understanding with each other.

    I think the Chain is merely a weaponized form of this – this is, in fact, a military thing – a war thing. It is by nature violent, it is by nature threatening, it is by nature an aspect of waging war.

    This all came into focus during The Scandal, about two or so years after The Thing.

    It was on TV, it was a huge international deal. I don’t think most people really understood it. But I did. Oh boy, I did. It brought me right back to the beginning and made me realize how I was totally surrounded – always have been.

    Imagine finding out your best friend is like a serial killer or something. That’s what it felt like.

    In the arms of another who doesn’t mean anything to you
    There’s nothing much to discover
    Does he shake, does he shiver as he sidles up to you
    Like I did in my time?

    As you wake does he smother you in kisses long and true?
    Does he even think to bother?
    And at night under covers as he’s sliding into you
    Does it set your sweat on fire?

    In the arms of another who doesn’t mean anything to you
    Do you lose yourself in wonder?
    If I could, I would hover while he’s making love to you

    Make it rain as I cry
    Want you so bad I can taste it
    But you’re nowhere to be found
    Now I’ll take a drug to replace it
    Or put me in the ground

  • They Don’t Like Questions

    They Don’t Like Questions

    The fact the FBI got involved means somebody fucked up. The fact it was in the newspaper means somebody really fucked up.

    So my best guess is the Little Red Haired Girl was yanking on her chain. Really, it was a little school yard crush between us. I totally loved her, I thought she was beautiful, and she was really nice to me. I suspect in some ways she thought she was “helping” me, or offering me an opportunity, or getting me into an exciting little club.

    And even with the FBI involved – it could have all just blown over. There was no reason to take me. Who knows what they did with the Little Red Haired Girl – whatever happened to her later, I don’t know, I eventually lost touch with her. I heard some bad rumors but just never spoke with her again.

    But for whatever reason I have no idea they decided to keep me. They put me up for my last year of high school – oddly. They took me out of my environment and put me in a new one.

    This was typical: so one day this dude and I are going to go to Georgetown and just hangout. I think it was called Commander Salamander, this weird shop that had fetish gear and punk rock boots or whatever.

    Remember – I’m fifteen. A kid. So we’re just sort of hanging out on the street and these two chicks walk up to us. This dude talks to them for a bit, I talk to this one chick, ten minutes later we’re in their car driving to their house.

    So this dude is in the other room with his chick, and I’m in the other room with this chick, and she starts kissing me and then, just out of nowhere, starts blowing me. I think it was probably my first time – I almost came in her mouth. But she stopped just short and then I fucked her for a bit.

    I mean – that is not normal, right? Teenage girls do not just randomly walk up to teenage boys on the street, then invite them back to their parents place and have sex with them.

    Apparently their parents were home, or came back or something, so they literally just kick us out the back door. I mean, we had no money, no car, we’re in some rich neighborhood in bumfuck Virginia, no idea how the hell to get back to the Metro. Some combination of walking and hitch hiking – some dude picked us up and drove us to a station. Then we had to wait for like an hour for it to open so we’re literally sleeping on the ground in front of the Metro station for an hour or so.

    I mean it would all be just typical suburban teenager adventuring if it wasn’t for all the (CENSORED) shit. One thing I knew, whenever I hung out with this kid, gals would be on tap. And lusciously aggressive gals at that. Not like a typical teenage girl who might let you kiss her or even let you feel her boobies or whatever. No, this was full on adult sex – including all sorts of kinky shit too. I have no idea if there was some sort of selection effect here, or something quite nefarious, or what.

    How the hell would I know? I was fifteen and frankly from a rather sheltered background. It all happened at once, in about six months.

    In some ways it feels helpful to understand it as sort of a fraternity hazing. It wasn’t like boot camp, it wasn’t quite like being initiated into a gang. But it wasn’t out of the universe of those types of experiences.

    Or – really – a cult. It is like being in a fucking cult.

    I don’t know. Eventually I called it the Chain when I realized it was somehow quite organized – and I was on it not as a matter of choice. I still think it was an accident – the Little Red Haired Girl was being a bad little monkey by getting me involved. But I guess after the FBI got involved they decided to keep me, to keep an eye one me.

    I guess. I don’t know, I didn’t even think any of this shit mattered until last year when I started speculating about Angel.

    It is obvious in hindsight – this kid’s dad, he was the ringleader back in those days. Ultimately it was almost certainly his decision to keep me around, I guess. And the kid told me Angel worked for his dad. I think I did meet her – I’m fairly certain I met her at (CENSORED) back when I was like seventeen, but I really don’t have any strong memory of her, or (CENSORED) frankly.

    But I mean, hindsight is twenty/twenty. I was a fifteen year old kid providing a kind of “service” to this very interesting, very spooky group of young adults. And since I was the kid, I mean, if I got caught I would just go to juvie or whatever, so I was a lower risk. I guess – I don’t know. None of this shit makes any sense, and I wouldn’t even think it mattered to anyone except when I said it – holy fucking shit – they sent out people to fuck with me like you wouldn’t believe.

    So there is something there – what? Fuck if I know, I really don’t know. But then, with the other thing? That cannot be a coincidence, especially because now we know – it’s on the record. They all knew it was coming. They knew the date, they knew the places, they knew the names.

    So they just “happen” to send me there three months before it happens? Did Angel do that? This guy? His dad? My boss – he was nowhere near when it happened. One of these gals? Who the fuck knows.

    Well someone knows, but not me. They can stop worrying about me – I’ve said it, I don’t know shit about shit. I don’t know what to make of it all.

    All I know it makes for a hell of a story!

    If it didn’t matter – it wouldn’t matter. But apparently it matters to someone.

  • Our Lips Are Sealed

    Our Lips Are Sealed

    I knew that Crazy Bitch had just moved from the same city that I had – in fact, I had actually seen her once, maybe three years before, in that city. We were both doing the “walk of shame” apparently, it’s early and we’re both wearing our nightclub clothes. I just see her – with her hair, she is hard to miss. So it just stuck in my mind and one day the memory hit me. We even lived in the same neighborhood.

    So that is just a weird coincidence, right? I’m living with Angel’s friend – “friend” – and Crazy Bitch – who I didn’t know – is living in the same neighborhood. Then she answers my personal ad and, I don’t know, just walks into my life.

    No matter where I go, these Chain motherfuckers are everywhere.

    So one day the guy tells me some woman is going to show up at the house and ask me to work for her. This is quite weird – and he was really weird about saying it, too. He made it very clear, “she doesn’t come from me.” “I don’t know her.”

    He made a weird point of distancing himself from her, almost like he was warning me. I think this guy was under the delusion I knew more than I did – I didn’t know anything about him, or what he did. That was the whole thing – he was a friend from like high school. I didn’t really want to hang out with him anymore. Not that he wasn’t cool – he was very cool, and got invited to a lot of great parties. But you know you just grow out of some people.

    So probably about the time I was working on the China Project he and his girlfriend just magically appear. I help them get a temporary room and hang out with them a bit, but again, I’m trying to have my own life here.

    Eventually, of course, she decides to leave him and move back to wherever she came from. So, of course, I have to let him live in the spare bedroom. It was cool at first but we really didn’t hang out much together, other than the occasional party.

    So this woman … One day there is a knock on the door and I open it and it is this woman. Frankly the first thing I noticed are her enormous breasts. I’m trying not to be rude by staring at them but they are like a foot out on front of her face and quite prominent.

    Piecing it together, as best I can, I think this was the first time they started using me as a decoy. Because as soon as Big Boobies shows up, it’s just, I can’t even describe it. I became quite popular with the ladies quite overnight.

    Tiny had gone as soon as I left the China Project. I started working with Big Boobies at this ridiculous place, I didn’t even consider it a real job, it was like a political internship or whatever. A bunch of young people, kids right out of college, early twenties.

    It isn’t that I was “undercover” or anything like that, it is just a weird place for me to be working.

    Of course, the real target was him, not me, but that was precisely my job – being a decoy, for him.

    I was sheep-dipped – it was perfect. All the people spying on him assumed I was him – we looked alike enough we could use each other’s ID to buy beer. So I made the perfect decoy.

    And he was weird about Big Boobies because she was foreign intel – I don’t think he “knew” it, but he suspected it, and he was right. The weird thing with some of these people is how open they are about it – I assume it is some sort of psychological trick. Especially Big Boobie’s country, all of them are spies, it is the national pasttime.

    She wasn’t even subtle about it. She makes sure to spend the night at my house, and make sure I’m out of the house one night sleeping at hers. I no longer think that is a coincidence.

    But the best looking honeypot, by far, was Texas.

    She shows up and works at this place for like two weeks, speaks to me maybe three times, and her last day, right in front of everyone, she says, “hey, here is my number, call me and come over sometime.”

    Now it isn’t that she was “out of my league” per se, but it is not everyday that someone as stunningly beautiful as her just propositions me out of the blue.

    She’s tall, she has blonde hair and blue eyes, the total bombshell stereotype. You can kind of tell, she is from a wealthy background – I’m be more than willing to bet that Daddy was loaded.

    So whatever, I’m thinking to myself, great. So I call her up, she lives in the neighborhood, I literally just walk to her house. She opens the door, and literally just leads me to her bedroom and lies down on the bed.

    Now at this point, I actually get suspicious. I mean – what? No small talk? No talk at all? I barely even know her name. I had spoken to her at work a handful of times. I’m assuming we’re supposed to, like, get to know each other first, or whatever. But nope, she just wants me to walk in and fuck her?

    I balked – I sensed it. Something was wrong. I ask her for a drink, so we go into the kitchen, and I start with the small talk. She seems surprised – I doubt she had ever had a man turn down sex with her even once. I talked for an hour and left, but promised we’d hang out again.

    Frankly, I should have just gone for it, because I fell for the next one right away. Blondie – good lord, this ridiculous “punk rock” type chick. She dressed like shit but naked, good god, she was a Venus. And I just took advantage of her, hard. Whatever she just had the vulnerability and this lack of self-awareness that brought out the predator instinct. I used this ridiculous trick – we order pizza, I tell her she should answer the door in her bra, to give some excitement to the pizza guy. She is game – it’s funny, but of course the point was to get her used to me seeing her undressed so later that night, it is all smooth.

    And it was all smooth.

    She disappears of course, the next morning, never speaks to me again.

    But now they – whoever “they” are – know exactly how to compromise me, exactly what I am susceptible to.

    It’s all a game – a big fucking game – but they never tell you you’re playing. You have to figure it out yourself.

    Of course, if you do figure it out – for god’s sake don’t say anything about it – ever. I made that mistake – twice.

    The first time they asked me nicely. The second time? They were not nice. I may be dumb but I’m not stupid – three strikes and you’re out. So my lips are sealed.

    Can you hear them?
    They talk about us
    Telling lies
    Well, that’s no surprise

    Can you see them?
    See right through them
    They have no shield
    No secrets to reveal

    There’s a weapon
    That we must use
    In our defense

    Hush, my darling
    Don’t you cry
    Quiet angel
    Forget their lies

    Pay no mind to what they say
    It doesn’t matter anyway

    Our lips are sealed

  • Five Scenes

    Five Scenes

    Rose’s phone vibrated in her pocket, startling her from her thoughts. She pulled it out and saw that it was Michael calling.

    “Hey, Michael,” she answered, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.

    “Hey, Rose. How are you doing?” Michael’s voice was smooth and confident.

    “I’m doing pretty good. How about you?” Rose asked, feeling her heart race.

    “I’m doing great, thanks. Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner with me tonight. There’s this new Lebanese place that I’ve been dying to try.”

    Rose’s heart skipped a beat. She loved Lebanese food, and she had been wanting to try that new place.

    “I’d love to,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “Great! I’ll pick you up at 7:00,” Michael said, his excitement clear in his voice.

    As soon as she hung up, Rose felt a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach. She couldn’t believe she was going on a second date with Michael. She had never felt so alive and vulnerable at the same time.

    She wondered what to wear, feeling self-conscious about her appearance. But then she remembered Michael’s words from their first date, about how beautiful he thought she was. It made her feel special and cared for.

    Maybe this could be something real, something worth taking a chance on. But then she remembered her past relationships, the way they always ended in heartbreak and disappointment.

    Could Michael be different? Could he be the one to break the pattern and heal her wounded heart?

    She took a deep breath and told herself to let go of her fears. She was going to take a chance on love. And who knows? Maybe she would find something truly special with Michael.

    As Rose and Michael walked through the park, the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers. They found a secluded bench and sat down, enjoying the peacefulness of the surroundings.

    Michael turned to Rose and said, “I have to tell you something. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to kiss you.”

    Rose’s heart skipped a beat. She had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. She looked into Michael’s eyes and saw the same desire reflected back at her.

    “I want that too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

    As Michael leaned in, Rose felt her inner goddess start to spin. She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the moment. Michael’s lips were soft and warm against hers, and she felt a surge of electricity pass between them.

    When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless. Rose looked at Michael and smiled, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over her.

    “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” Michael said, his eyes shining with emotion.

    “Me too,” Rose replied, feeling a sense of connection that she had never experienced before.

    In that moment, they both knew that they had found something special. Something worth holding onto and fighting for. And as they sat there, holding hands and watching the world go by, they both knew that their lives would never be the same.

    Rose had always known there was something different about Michael. He had an air of mystery about him that was both alluring and unnerving at the same time. But she never could have guessed just how different he truly was.

    One evening, as they were walking down the street after dinner, Michael suddenly tensed up, his hand reaching for his pocket. “Rose, stay back,” he said, his voice urgent.

    Before she could ask why, a man jumped out from behind a parked car, brandishing a gun. “Freeze!” he shouted, his eyes locked on Michael.

    But Michael was ready for him. He had been trained for this, and he had a weapon of his own. As the two men faced off, Rose watched in horror, unable to move.

    Finally, Michael fired a shot, and the man fell to the ground, dead. Rose stumbled backwards, her mind reeling. “What the hell just happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    Michael took her in his arms, holding her close. “I’m sorry, Rose. I should have told you before. I work for the CIA. That man was an enemy agent who had been spying on me during our dates together.”

    Rose pulled away from him, her eyes wide with shock. “You work for the CIA?” she repeated, her mind struggling to make sense of it all.

    Michael nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to put you in danger. But I couldn’t let that man hurt you.”

    Rose looked at him, her heart pounding. “What does this mean for us?” she asked.

    Michael took her hand, his gaze intense. “It means that I care about you, Rose. More than anything. And I want to keep you safe. But if you can’t handle this, I understand.”

    Rose looked at him, her mind racing. She had always been attracted to danger, and Michael was the ultimate embodiment of it. She knew there would be risks involved, but she was willing to take them for him.

    “I can handle it,” she said, her voice steady.

    Michael smiled, relief flooding his face. “I’m so glad to hear that,” he said, pulling her close again.

    As they walked away from the scene, Rose knew that her life would never be the same again. But she was ready for whatever lay ahead, as long as Michael was by her side.

    He watched her from across the room, his eyes dark with desire. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman, and he knew he couldn’t resist her any longer. He walked towards her, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached her, he took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, his kiss fierce and demanding.

    She responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she deepened the kiss. His hands roamed over her body, his touch igniting a fire within her that she couldn’t ignore. She moaned softly as he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands sliding under her shirt to caress her skin.

    He pulled away from her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I need you,” he said, his voice low and husky.

    She nodded, her own desire burning bright. They made their way to the bedroom, shedding their clothes as they went. When they reached the bed, he pushed her onto the mattress and climbed on top of her.

    Their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, their passion consuming them both. He whispered words of love in her ear as they reached the pinnacle of pleasure, their cries of ecstasy filling the room.

    Afterwards, they lay entwined in each other’s arms, their hearts beating as one. He knew he had found the one person he could never let go of, and he vowed to cherish her always.

    As the elevator doors opened, I stepped out and made my way down the dimly lit hallway towards his door. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my palms were slick with sweat as I raised my hand to knock. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, but I knew that I had to see him again. I needed him.

    He answered the door wearing nothing but a black silk robe, his dark eyes smoldering as he took in my form. I felt my body respond to his gaze, my nipples hardening beneath my thin cotton shirt. He stepped aside, allowing me to enter, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his robe parted to reveal his chiseled abs.

    As I walked past him, he reached out and took my hand, pulling me towards him. His lips crashed onto mine, and I felt a surge of desire shoot through my body. His hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of my body as I moaned into his mouth. I was lost in a haze of pleasure, my body responding to his every touch. When he finally pulled away, I was left gasping for air, my body on fire with need.

    “Take off your clothes,” he growled, his voice low and husky. I didn’t hesitate, stripping off my clothes as quickly as I could. He watched me intently, his eyes smoldering with desire. I could feel the heat of his gaze on my skin as he stepped closer, his hands reaching out to touch me once again.

  • If You Want A Driver Climb Inside

    If You Want A Driver Climb Inside

    I bite my lip nervously as I step into his luxurious penthouse apartment, feeling both excited and apprehensive about what’s to come. He’s already waiting for me, his piercing blue eyes gazing at me intensely as he leans against the wall, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest. His dark hair is tousled and his perfectly tailored suit clings to his chiseled frame, making him look both powerful and dangerously sexy.

    He steps forward and I feel a shiver run down my spine as he reaches out to trail his finger along my jawline, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. “You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you for being late.” My heart races as I realize that this isn’t just a casual encounter – it’s a game of dominance and submission, and I’m powerless to resist his magnetic pull.

    He leads me towards the center of the room, where a plush leather chair sits ominously in front of a towering floor-to-ceiling window. My breath catches in my throat as he takes a length of rope from the nearby table and begins to expertly bind my wrists, securing them tightly behind my back.

    “Good girls get rewarded, but bad girls get punished,” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Are you ready to be punished, my dear?” My body quivers with anticipation as I nod, unable to resist his commanding presence. I know that I’m about to embark on a journey of pleasure and pain, and I’m eager to explore every inch of it with him as my guide.

    He positions me in the chair, my back pressed firmly against the leather, my bound arms unable to move. I watch him as he circles me, his eyes roving over my body, assessing my every reaction. I can feel the heat of his gaze on my skin, and it makes me ache with desire.

    He kneels in front of me, his hands resting lightly on my knees as he leans in to press his lips to mine. His kiss is fierce and possessive, his tongue exploring my mouth with a hunger that leaves me breathless. He breaks away suddenly, standing up and moving away from me, leaving me gasping for air and craving more.

    “Your punishment begins now,” he says, his voice low and firm. He walks to the far side of the room and picks up a flogger, the leather tails whispering against his hand. He turns back to face me, his eyes glittering with a fierce intensity. “Are you ready to submit to me completely?” he asks, his voice demanding and insistent. I nod eagerly, knowing that there’s no turning back now.

    He begins to flog me, the leather tails landing against my skin with a sharp crack that sends jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through my body. I bite my lip, trying to stifle the moans that escape from my throat. I can feel the heat rising within me, the desire building with each lash.

    As the punishment continues, I begin to lose myself in the sensations, the pleasure overwhelming the pain. My body arches towards him, seeking more of his touch, more of his control. He reads my body’s signals expertly, adjusting the intensity of his flogging to match my desire.

    Finally, he sets down the flogger and moves to stand in front of me, his eyes burning with passion. “You’re mine now,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “And I’m not letting you go.” I nod, knowing that I want nothing more than to surrender myself to him completely, to be lost in his world of pleasure and pain forever.

  • Who’s Watching Me?

    Who’s Watching Me?

    So I quit – two weeks notice. Then, the very fucking next day, Crazy Bitch shows up, wearing her skinny jeans she knows I think she looks hot in, and after a year of never speaking to me she just hops into bed with me again.

    But I made it fucking clear: I am leaving. I am leaving New York. I am getting the fuck away from everyone. I’m happy to fuck her, hell, I’d even take her with me if she really wanted.

    But no – she just shows up the second I broke the chain. So that really can mean only one thing, right?

    Thirty days later I was free – or so I thought. Not only was Windsailer – this fucking spook bitch – eyeballing me the second I got established in the new place, I hooked up with Whisperer who, I suspect, was kind of a female version of me. I think she was on the Chain – a more foreign version, let’s say – involuntarily.

    She was a former model – she had been on the cover of fashion magazines, in her youth, had her photographs in the newspapers, just because she was so pretty. She just got swept off her feet by a spooky man, then dumped when she wouldn’t participate in money laundering. But she had certain skills wealthy people often want so was working for the fucking governor’s lawyer.

    But I mean this wasn’t even that half of it.

    It’s been like ninety days since I left New York City. I am in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Crazy Bitch all of a sudden calls me up.

    She says that she was at a job networking event and was approached by a man asking her if she knew anyone who worked in (CENSORED) who might be interested in a job.

    This is crazy because Crazy Bitch doesn’t have anything to do with (CENSORED) – not even close. Not even in the same ballpark. She was like into fashion and stuff.

    She said, “I told him my ex-boyfriend did (CENSORED) – isn’t that what you do? Honestly he seemed more interested in talking about your career than mine.”

    “Do you want me to give him your number?”

    I said, “why don’t you give me his number instead?”

    So I call this guy – I mean it seemed harmless enough. Until he tells me where the job is. I have to be up there, in his office, all through the tenth year anniversary.

    And his office? Well, golly gee, it’s a ten minute drive from the beach house. An easy way to lure me back – to keep an eye on me.

    Because this tiny little beach town is exactly where you have the headquarters of (CENSORED) companies, right?

    And his office? It’s a cut-out, a two person office. Him, and this woman who is an attorney. He doesn’t even work with her, he just “happens” to have the other suite in her office.

    I’m competent at (CENSORED) but it’s not like some guy in fucking New York has to go through the ex-girlfriend of some guy to find out he’s seven hundred miles away and lure him with a huge amount of money to come get babysat until the tenth year anniversary public relations campaign is over.

    It’s heartbreaking to realize it, but Crazy Bitch set me up. Or – and maybe I just can’t admit the truth – she didn’t know she was setting me up. They could have as easily gotten to her.

    I’m just an average man with an average life
    I work from 9 to 5, hey hell, I pay the price
    All I want is to be left alone, in my average home
    But why do I always feel
    Like I’m in the Twilight Zone?

    When I come home at night
    I bang the door real tight
    People call me on the phone I’m trying to avoid
    Or can the people on TV see me
    Or am I just paranoid?

    I don’t know anymore!
    Are the neighbours watching me?
    Who’s watching?
    Well is the mailman watching me?
    Tell me who’s watching
    And I don’t feel safe anymore, oh what a mess
    I wonder who’s watching me now
    The IRS?!

    I always feel like somebody’s watchin’ me
    And I have no privacy
    I always feel like somebody’s watchin’ me
    Who’s playing tricks on me?