Caught naked spy

2020.10.23 18:59 dourdan Naked spy caught

Rise of Hellion ch7: Dreams
Rise of Hellion ch7: Dreams (Barry Pepper fanart fiction inspiration)

Sitting in Tony’s comfortable gaming chair I spun around, trying to jumpstart my brain. “Who or what is Feng?” I asked aloud to the search engine. Yes, I knew I had to type, but I was trying to think of all the possible ways to address the question. This was not Google or Yahoo, but rather the low-security clearance (guest level access) of the TAC archive network.
“Need help?” Tony asked, from his place on the floor. He had been doing pushups, sit ups and other gym class exercises while wearing earbuds. He removed one earphone, awaiting a response.
This of course implied that he had been watching me without my knowledge, which was more than a little annoying. “Nope,” I said quickly as I spun back to the screen, my metal leg narrowly avoiding the side of the desk. I tried different search combinations; Feng- terrorist, Feng- officer, Feng-scientist, doctor, weapons, etc. Unfortunately, Feng is one hell of a common name (especially for people who reach the top of their respective fields.)
In a state of defeat, I slammed on the caps lock key and proceeded to type, ‘F-E-N-G.’ To my surprise that brought about something completely different. “Falcon Element National Guard: project FENG.” I clicked on the link only to see a mostly blacked out document. There were no readable names or dates but there were a massive number of preliminary sketches for various combat-use prosthetics.
“What are you looking up, anyway?” Tony asked, resting his sweaty head on my shoulder.
“I think I found Dr. Frankenstein’s lair.” My mind trailed off. I was at a loss on how to explain my interest in what appeared to be a high-security clearance military organization.
“What’s project FENG?” Tony leaned forward, tilting his head like an owl. With a few blinks of his odd, robotic eyes he took control of the mouse, scanning through pages faster than I could stand to look.
“Will you stop!” I groaned. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“Sorry,” Tony said with a chuckle. With one last blink he put the page back where he’d found it. “The drafts look like early versions of my augmentations. Even here you can see the technical specs for my eyes.”
“Oh?” I smirked. The drawing was too elaborate for me to decipher. “Kinda like a Deadlock 1.0?”
“Yeah,” Tony said, still focused on the schematics of the eye that decorated the front page. “That sounds about right.” The device appeared to have lenses, connected to wires that fed into minicomputers.
I had a feeling the design would work much better with the invention of wi-fi. “Can you get in further, using your security credentials?” Clearly, he could see how much of the information was blocked out, unless his powers somehow allowed him to see through encrypted data.
Tony stroked his fingers over the screen causing the image to warp. Apparently, he could in fact see through encrypted data. “I could give it a try, but first I want some answers, if you please.”
“Ok, that sounds fair,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “How about we go back and forth? You ask a question, then I get to ask a question.”
“Fine with me,” he said crossing his muscular arms. “As long as I get to go first.”
I had a feeling I already knew what he was going to ask. “Sure, go ahead.”
“What’s your relationship with Baron? You know he’s a terrorist, right?” Tony gripped the back of his chair, turning me to face him. “Let me guess: his preferred term is ‘freedom fighter?'”
“That was a lot of questions for one turn,” I replied, never breaking eye contact. He was clearly comparing me to the teenage girls who flee Europe and America to become ‘warrior brides’ in the middle east but end up being given away like participation trophies to potential suicide bombers.
“Let’s start with the first one. Why did he call you his sister?” Tony asked in a way that seemed serious, yet with the genuine curiosity of a nosy younger sibling.
“We’re not related, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”
“Are you asking as my superior?”
“I’m asking as your partner and friend.”
His words brought me a level of comfort. We were in the same boat; augmented bodies being kept alive for the purpose of becoming super soldiers. Perhaps he could be trusted. “Back at the Asia base, Baron was sent to rescue Anya…”
“Toska,” Tony bluntly corrected. “Civilian names are only for friends and allies.”
That was like a rock shattering a pane of glass and I was more than a little annoyed. Not only was he interrupting my story but he had the nerve to tell me who I should or should not consider friends. “Fine then, should I call you Deadlock?” I locked eyes making sure to scowl.
Tony smirked as he noticeably pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “No,” he replied with clear notes of sarcasm. “Tony should work well, considering the complexities of our relationship.” He paused, smiling as if this was all a big joke. “Nicki.”
Because we fucked; I was the girl who threw herself at him and now he thinks he can hold that over me. Great, just freaking great. “Baron was sent by Kitsune,” I continued. “I don’t know if that’s her real name or her supervillain name, but rest assured I don’t consider her a friend.”
“Understandable,” Tony replied in his professional tone. “Please continue.”
I sighed. No matter how much he pissed me off, the sight of Tony’s dark puppy dog eyes made me want to trust him with my life. “When rescuing Toska he was informed about my whereabouts and potential.” At least that was what I heard from Anya when we landed in Russia. “I shadowed Baron for a few days, we went on patrol, smoked some weed and drank stolen sake. He told me about his dreams of leaving the life.”
“The life of crime, working under the Yakuza,” Tony added.
The way he glanced at me with a comically intense face drove home the idea that I was a naive, little girl who loved fairytales. “You don’t believe me?”
“I’m just saying, if he wanted to disappear, why didn’t he? Vancouver is a long way from Asia, he could have easily faked his own death. But for whatever reason he is making the conscious choice to stay employed by the most powerful cartel on the planet.”
The Yakuza is the most powerful cartel on the planet? I really didn’t want that to be true. “I think FENG knows the answer. I believe he, they, or it,” my voice became flustered as I started to doubt my own sanity. “FENG is in possession of two or more individuals whom Baron considers friends, people who I know he would be willing to die for.”
Tony scoffed in disbelief. “You’re trying to tell me Baron is risking his life, to get the battery, on the possibility of saving his friends?”
“You seem to already know his history. Is that motivation so hard to believe?”
Tony closed his eyes, taking a long blink. “Actually no.”
“Upon review of my files,” Tony said still focused on whatever was projecting onto the back of his eyelids.
“Your files?” My focus went to the drawing of the eye. Was his mind even human or was Tony’s consciousness crafted from a series of computer chips?
“Based upon the information in TAC’s database,” he clarified. The event that turned Baron to a life of crime was the death of his parents who were political prisoners on a certain communist controlled island.”
“Fascinating,” I said with a smirk. I knew Baron was a good person. “Is it my turn to ask a question?”
“Shoot.” Tony nodded.
“Is Baron alive?”
Tony paused for a moment and bit his lower lip. “Yeah.”
He did not sound at all confident in his answer. “What does that mean?” I asked. His oddly hesitant tone seemed strange, as if he was trying to spare my feelings.
“I was kind of mentally off that night. All I can remember is fighting; shit was collapsing, burning.” Tony’s calm, cool demeanor was quickly fading. It was clear he felt guilt, maybe even remorse. “All I know is I didn’t kill him.”
That would have to be good enough for now. “Ok, I guess you get the next question. Unless you’re ready to keep your word and log in so I can read the rest of the document.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” Tony replied with a self-righteous grin.
“No to what? You won’t log in or you won ask another question?” With my pregnancy hormones on full blast I was ready to punch him in the face.
“I have the entire document memorized,” he explained in a cheeky manner. “I’d be willing to discuss its contents over-“
“Coffee?” I assumed.
“I was thinking more of a sparring match in the first-floor gym.”
I took a moment to consider my options. Over coffee and junk food I could have coaxed out enough information to formulate a battle plan. But realistically, whatever plan I came up with would require Tony’s help, anyway. And if worse came to worse I would get my opportunity to punch him. “Fine, let’s go. first one to the mat gets to ask the next question.”
That response made Tony smile. “You’re on.”
We both raced for the door, nearly bodychecking each other in the process. At the last possible second Tony let me slip by. To repay his kindness I went for the southern staircase, knowing Tony would head east to the outdoor fire escape.
Neither of us could fly, but Tony’s agility allowed him to walk on water, so I knew he had the win. I could practically picture him jumping down entire floors of stairs. Knowing that, I took my time.
Somehow, Tony had the same idea in mind. When I opened the door, he was just getting in. It would be a foot race to the sparring ring. We both started to run at full speed. I launched off what I thought was a springboard (it was just a wooden stool.) Instead of an impressive tumbling pass, I only managed a half-twist before landing on my back. I was expecting to hit the mat but instead I could feel the air below my body.
Tony had caught my dumb-ass mid-air and was now carrying me like a bride. “Please don’t do that, at least not until the baby is born.”
A whistle blew, followed by slow applause. Someone had been watching.
I looked to the dark audience section of the gym. There were only a few rows of chairs set up at the moment so it was not difficult to locate the source of the noise. A familiar tall Hispanic woman stood up.
“Maverick?” I didn’t know if I should rush in for a hug or be genuinely scared. Tony lowered my feet to the floor, allowing me to stand, but he kept an arm around me. He clearly knew something I didn’t.
“It’s been a while,” Maverick said from behind a pair of dark glasses. She shifted a stack of files in her arms; this was not a friendly encounter; she was here on official TAC business.
“What are you doing here?” I asked nervously.
“Axel filled me in on your escapades.”
Tony placed his hand on my shoulder, physically moving me to stand behind him. “Our escapades.”
“Yes, I assumed as much,” Maverick replied.
I was somewhat insulted. After all, I was more than capable of screwing up all on my own. “What exactly did Axel tell you?”
“That you snuck out and caused close to a million dollars’ worth of damage to a retail warehouse.”
I hung my head like a child facing the school principal. “Sorry Ma’am.” My apology was genuine, but I soon realized that showing weakness was a big mistake.
“My main purpose here is to get some insight on your interest regarding the battery.”
“I don’t know anything about the battery,” I said with a notably anxious laugh. Was I being accused of spying? “And I certainly don’t have an interest in it.”
“While that might be true, you are still in contact with individuals who have a reputation for wanting to acquire said item.”
“The individuals TAC stole it from?” I said the words out loud but somehow Maverick didn’t hear.
“What the fuck?” The tall imposing military officer gripped her head in visible pain. She appeared to be looking around for the source of a sound only she could hear.
“Damn alarm,” Tony said, pretending to look behind him at the fire exit. “Should shut off in a few seconds. “Anyway, you were saying?”
“Axel gave me intel on your relationship with Faust,” Maverick explained, still only addressing me and not Tony.
“You mean like the fact that he tried to kill me?” My voice creaked with emotion.
“He tried to kill you by kidnapping you from the clinic, to place you on the secured roof of the building that just happened to house the battery?”
That cleared up any doubt; she thought I was a spy planted by Kitsune. I had never been more grateful to have Tony at my side. If Maverick had heard my snide comment, there would be little doubt of my allegiance.
Tony took a step forward standing in front of me like my personal bodyguard. “Maverick, with all due respect, if you have something to say just say it.”
I wanted to put my big girl pants on and tell him to stop speaking for me, but the fact that he could address Maverick without fear was kind of inspiring. Did Tony hold rank over her? Or maybe it was just the fact that he could probably kill her with his mind.
Maverick locked eyes with Tony, pausing with an intense, awkward silence. “I will see you both in my office; building 203, room 5409, at fifteen hundred hours. Will that be acceptable, Deadlock?”
Tony nodded. “See you at three pm.” He stayed in front of me until Maverick left the room.
I released my breath, resisting the urge to burst into tears. “Thank you, Tony.”
“No problem. I mean you’re not a spy, right?” He said with a chuckle. “At least not intentionally.”
I knew he meant the last part as a joke, but the reality stung. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said as he patted my back. “just don’t show weakness.”
I nodded, taking a breath to calm down. “What are we going to do?”
“Meet with Maverick, hear her out. I assume Axel is going to be present, but if not I’m sure as hell going to demand it.”
“Because he has our back,” I replied. That made a lot of sense. “So, moving on.”
“To what?” Tony asked, heading for the chairs.
“You got to the gym first, you get to ask the next question.”
“Give me a second.” Tony tilted his head forward, letting his wavy hair fall over his face. He looked like a typical shy, goth best friend from a made-for-tv movie. “Do you trust me?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said with a smile. “Like it or not, we’re one in the same.”
“You’re what I want to be when I grow up.”
That got a genuine laugh from my super soldier boyfriend. “I’m going to try to find Axel before the meeting.”
“Can I come with you?” I asked.
“Sure, I mean if you’re not too tired.”
I’d been expecting him to say no, as I was kind of hungry. “Can we grab a bite to eat, first?”
Might be faster if I go alone. If I can’t get some face time, I’ll just call him,” Tony said as he put his arm around me. “I’ll try to bring back some breakfast.”
“Sounds good,” I said with a shrug.
Tony leaned in close, rubbing his nose to my cheek like a puppy. “Try not to get yourself kidnapped by the evil dragon.” He turned my face, to kiss my lips. “My Princess Peach.”
His soft, tender lips tasted of cool ranch chips and Gatorade. I truly didn’t want to let him go. “Can I ask a question?”
“Sure,” Tony replied as he kissed me again.
“What are we?”
“I never had a girlfriend.” Tony blinked his eyes, his cheeks flush with embarrassment. In that moment he looked genuinely human. “I don’t know what that actually entails.”
“There are no info files on the TAC database?”
Tony laughed. “I really do like you as something more than friends. You’re beautiful and I love just being around you.” He moved his hand to my waist. “And even if the baby isn’t mine, I want to be the one by your side. Because I want to be the one to love you.” He blinked tears from his eyes. “I should go before I embarrass myself further.”
I threw my arms around him, holding him close for one last kiss. “Don’t be too long.”
Tony got up to leave, his eye sparkling with a sense of joy that I’d never seen before. “Don’t go breaking my heart.”
I watched as Tony left out the northern entrance. I took a moment before heading to the West facing exit. Placing my hand upon the cold metal door I knew I should not open it, and yet I did.
That was why I was not at all surprised to land hard on my back, in the middle of a parking garage. “Ow! Fuck!” Looking around, I could see the lot was about half full, not uncommon for a weekday.
“You think they would install security cameras, but I guess the brass doesn’t care if some low rank pencil pusher gets their car broken in to.” The male voice was a cross between the Flower Child and Faust, leaning more towards the creepiness of the latter.
“Hello,” I muttered as I forced myself to stand on my own two metal legs. I was surprised the light weight frame survived the fall as well as it did. I located my target sitting comfortably on the hood of a blue Honda Civic.
His blonde hair was shoulder length, and he wore a jacket that seemed to slip off his half-naked body. That wasn’t even the most distracting part. His skin, although human, appeared to be partially made of a holographic metal. “Are you looking at my fucked-up arm?” The man chuckled as he looked to the side, drawing my attention to the intricacies of the prosthetic.
“No,” I replied in an aggressive yet hopelessly confused tone.
“Kind of hard not to look.” His muscle tissue sparkled with an ethereal, hypnotic glow. He looked like an angel; a digital angel made of led lights.
“I’m leaving,” I said confidently turning away. If I don’t look, he’ll disappear. Yes, that sounds about right.
“So, kid,” he said in a raised voice. “You’re really not going to take my advice?”
“About what?” I muttered, increasing my pace.
“About not being a total pussy and taking what’s rightfully yours.”
“I’m not stealing the battery.”
“why? Because it’s morally wrong? That thing was created as a weapon of mass destruction,” he shouted after me.
“I can’t hear you,” I said, putting my hands over my ears like a small child.
“The first team to unlock it’s secrets will rule the world.”
The cliché sentence caused me to stop in my tracks, doubling over with laughter. “Did you seriously say ‘rule the world’?”
“You don’t buy it?” he asked, still sitting on the car well over fifty feet away.
“No, I don’t. Now leave me alone.”
“Can I ask, what’re you planning on telling Maverick?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I plan on telling her that I want no part of this.”
“This?” He of course laughed.
“Ruling the world or whatever,” I said, throwing my hands up as I attempted to turn away. Every part of my body wanted to run but my brain refused to comply.
“Except you do,” his voice became softer, disappearing on the wind. “Because like it or not you want to know what happened to Noah.”
“No, I don’t,” I replied calmly. “I have a boyfriend; someone who wants to start a life with me.” I’d known Tony for longer than I’d known Noah. He was good, kind, pretty much perfect in every way.
“What about the fact that you’re a blood thirsty little bitch who is tired of bowing down to powerful women; Anya, Maverick, Kitsune- when will it be your turn?”
“When I’m good and ready,” I said sarcastically. I would not be ready; I would never be ready. If Maverick and Kitsune wanted to fight for the title of Queen of the world they were more than welcome to. ‘Go!’ I shouted to myself. ‘Walk away!’ I closed my eyes and started to force myself to move forward. I didn’t hear any footsteps, so in my mind I stupidly assumed he was not following me. When I reached the main road, I was more than ready to take a step forward. I wanted to see Tony; to play videogames eat junk food, and just act like a typical fucked up pregnant teenager.
I froze as I felt a metallic hand grip my shoulder. A rush of cold spread down my arm like someone had just dumped a soda cup filled with liquid nitrogen. Before I could fully react, my blond stalker spun me around and pulled me close for a deep passionate kiss. This was immediately followed by an intense electric shock, preventing me from opening my eyes.
My mind was treated to a stream of images, as if he was transferring a bunch of files in to my brain. What was I seeing? There was a glowing figure, a man made of parts. “Tony?” He looked powerful, mystical, inhuman. The images came faster, creating animated scenes. Tony’s body rippled with energy in the form of blue and yellow light, but in the place of a heart was a glowing orb. No, not an orb, it was a long mechanical stick, connected to a full circuit. I thought I knew what I was about to see; Tony’s augmented body powered by the battery. But if the device wasn’t in his heart, where was it?
The image of Tony turned to face the camera; his eyes sparkled with a sinister glow as he ran his fingers through his hair. The battery was in his brain and what it was doing to him was downright terrifying. However, the worst was yet to come.
The camera pulled out, to show more of the scene. Tony took a knee, bowing down to someone with metal legs. “No, please no.” I was not going to steal a weapon of mass destruction and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stick it in my boyfriend’s head turning him in to my personal attack dog.
“Keep watching,” my stalker said, as he paused for breath.
As if I had a choice in the matter. Even without his mouth on mine, I was still paralyzed, frozen in place as the images continued. Tony was bowed down, his skin shimmering with electricity as a hand reached for his. It was my own blood covered hand. The camera turned as a vision of future me helped Tony to his feet. In one arm was a perfectly swaddled newborn, and on the opposite hip was a machete caked with blood and gore.
Future-me had the biggest smile as she threw her arms around Tony, holding him close in a loving embrace as the world behind them burned.
This could all be mine; I could rule the world with the love of my life at my side, all I had to do was make a play for the battery.
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2020.10.20 21:11 NRMacellar Caught naked spy

(This is the second of three parts of a journal dating back to the year 1910. Upon transcribing it, I have decided that it would be appropriate to post it to this subreddit. The first part of the journal can be read here)
When the thought of such things resurfaced next in my mind, it was not by its own volition, but by the peculiar sight of an odd array of short pedestals lining the road ahead of us. Surveying the surroundings more attentively now, I determined at once that were very close upon the summit of the mountain and that upon these pedestals there sat teal-rusted bronze sundials, astrolabes, and water-compasses, all of which were curiously distinctive from one another. I grew more confused as we passed them by, suddenly aware of how strangely intricate they were, and the weirdness of their placement and angulation upon the earth.
My bewilderment was interrupted by the eruption of two hounds, which barreled out from the bushes and strained against their leashes with their every frothy bark. Mr. Winkler raised his voice now, too, hushing them at once with only a couple words so that they did not even growl at my approach.
Before I had even realized it, we had arrived at a little stable hidden away in a rocky crevice. There, I dismounted the mule, and Mr. Winkler untethered its rein and corralled it. Striding upon benumbed legs, I followed Mr. Winkler onward, where—just around a bosky bend in the path—stood a little cottage that embodied all the aspects of a fairy-tale home. Its walls were wrought of whitewashed wattle-and-daub, and its diamond-patterned windows waxed bright and dim with the dancing oil-wick flames behind them. From one corner of it sprang a smallish tower, the middle of which was belted by a curving, porch-like balcony that was well-nigh precarious in the way that it overlooked the mountainside. Ever since leaving the cemetery, there had swelled within me the impression that this Otto Winkler was less of the stereotypical hillbilly which I had presumed him to be, and something more akin to some hermetic sorcerer straight out of a fable—but at that moment I was utterly convinced that the latter must have been the truth.
Grumbling to himself, Mr. Winkler shoved wide the door to his cottage and pried the boots from his bristly feet. I followed him in. The space within the cottage seemed much bigger than I expected it to be from my view of it while I was outside, but this was due in part to the fact that it was nearly devoid of dividing walls whatsoever, conjoining a rudimentary kitchen, pantry, and bedroom into a single room. A simple cot hugged a windowed wall, the sill of which was occupied by a long double-barreled Greenfield shotgun, its careful polish shimmered very smoothly in the lamplight. Above a wash-bin, I took a special interest in a shelf that was, to my surprise, stuffed to the brim with books and newspapers. The newspapers were, of course, most of the same publication which accommodated the articles of the firm, dating back to an impressive amount of years ago. The books themselves, however, were a much stranger matter. The least noteworthy of these was a great big Mennonite bible and a plethora of outdated almanacs. The rest were labeled in German, but among them, I recognized the names of such obscure and scholastic individuals as Dee, Agrippa, Kepler, and Hermann von Reichenau. Their pages all browned and bindings chipped with over a century of handling—handling, which seemingly continued until that day, as I noticed that a few of them were less dusty than others. I browsed them without laying a finger upon them, composing myself here with as much care as I had in Mr. Hewitt’s general store.
Meanwhile, Mr. Winkler ignited a little fire in his hearth-stove. Once he had kindled it sufficiently, he invited me to join him in his observatory. The observatory was, I soon found, what he called the second floor of the corner-tower of the cottage; he led me up the narrow and winding steps to the top only to turn and disappear back down below, leaving me for a fleeting moment in this rudimentary observatory. With the exception of the mule and the books, it had not occurred to me until then that Mr. Winkler could be the proprietor of any object of significant value—but here in this new room, I discovered a surplus of fine telescopes, spyglasses, mirrors, sextants, geometric compasses, and sundry other implements which I could not name. Naturally, I wondered how it was that someone so simple as Mr. Winkler could have come to possess such an assortment of bizarre devices, archaic tomes, and complex instruments, for he seemed such an unlikely hobbyist of all things astronomical. I was still motionless with befuddlement when Mr. Winkler returned, trudging deliberately up the stairs again, this time with fists full of tankards and tavern-pipes. He nodded toward the door which led out onto the exterior balcony, and promptly I opened it so that we could proceed outside. There, we were afforded the respite of two rocking-chairs, a table between them—upon which Mr. Winkler set the mugs and pipes—and a magnificent view of the Smoky ranges.
Now, it was that particularly phantastic quarter of the hour during which all the earth was inky black with the onset of night, yet in the vast, rugged West, there still lingered the slightest hem of sunlight, simmering around the outlines of the mountains as if it were the tempered fire beating against the sooty legs of a great black witches’ cauldron. The Little Hunsruck valley was a single, plunging gouge between Mount Brandt and two others, one on each end of our periphery. They achieved a much greater height than that which we were at currently, but they were far enough apart that their largeness did not impede upon our perspective and rather accentuated the grandeur of it. And the sky was dark violet and full of stars; it was fuller than I had ever seen it, so full that I could scarcely believe that I was only a couple states away from the places where I lived and worked, leaving me to reflect upon how—less than the space of twelve hours ago—I was riding the trolley through the streets of downtown Baltimore, expecting another consecutively humdrum business day. Yet here I was. I had quite forgotten my responsibility for the case which I was meant to be working; however, the mere personal curiosity which had unconsciously blossomed within me for Mr. Winkler posed the very same questions, bubbling to the forefront of my thoughts interchangeably—though never enough to boil over.
Mr. Winkler offered me a tankard, which sloshed dully with drink. He assured me that it was no infamously-potent moonshine, but rather a corn-squeezed brau more akin to beer, which he often drank with his meals. I accepted it without much delay, and so he and I commenced our intermittent drinking, rocking back and forth upon our chairs, and listening to the breezes which gamboled spirit-like through the encroaching verdure of that high place. The taste of the corn-brau was not offensive, but it was hearty to me as I was not yet accustomed to it. Suffice to say, Mr. Winkler downed the drink ere I had guzzled half of it. And not one to remain idle, he wordlessly took up a compact little fiddle from underneath the table, and, sweeping aside his bountiful beard, cradled the fiddle beneath his chin, and set its bow gently upon its strings. He then proceeded to play the fiddle—languidly and unsuspectingly at first—but as he played on, his drawing of the bow increasing rapidly, transforming the dormant sounds of tautness tested to a real, living melody, resembling nothing short of one of those wild, Hungarian dances echoed across Gypsy bonfires and Tartar steppes. So invigorating was this surprising sound that I felt the pulses within me flared up dramatically, and even he himself leaped up from his rocking chair to twirl about as he played. Several times he jounced in the air, clapping his naked heels together without so much as missing a note and stomping so hard upon the rickety porch-balcony planks that I would have worried that he would topple over the side if it were not that the very sight of him engaged in this queer dance caused me to sputter with laughter.
After a while, however, the effect of the corn-brau diminished, and my lungs could scarcely endure such mirth as his feet could dancing; neither could the strings of his fiddle withstand any further playing. Mr. Winkler set down his fiddle and sank back into his chair, this time plucking up one of the tavern-pipes and lighting the bowl of it with a match from the pocket of his overalls. I traded my unfinished tankard for a pipe as well, and he obliged me with a match for myself, which I, no better initiated in the smoking of pipes than in the quaffing of strong drinks, required his hand to light correctly. Thenceforth, I imitated the way that he bit the end of his own pipe, and the intervals of choppy draws and long, silent whistles, putting forth tiny clouds into the atmosphere.
There followed some idle chatter between us then, partially about the flavor of the rabbit-dung which the pipes had been packed with, and partially questioning the existence of jackalopes, until I, wholly unmediated—perhaps a bit loose-lipped from imbibing—asked once more about whatever an elfin moon was. At this, Mr. Winkler became deathly silent, staring at me with wide, shadowy eyes, and remaining motionless for such a prolonged while that I at first presumed I had somehow offended him. This continued to seem to be the case when he stood up from his chair and, without uttering a word, he turned and vanished back inside his observatory. But I did not hear him descend the steps—rather, there arose the din of rummaging, and soon again he stepped back out, this time with arms full of telescopes and spyglasses. He unloaded about a third of them into my lap, and the rest onto the table between us, save for one certain cylindrical thing; it was no glass at all, but instead a roll of paper. He unfurled it, and I saw that it was nothing other than a zodiac star-chart.
With quivering knees, he restored himself to his seat, first waving one hand over the heavens depicted upon the star-chart, and then his other across the real heavens which stretched out over us. With one trembling finger, he pointed to a certain star amid the zodiac, and then into the air, unto—I could only presume—its counterpart in the cosmos. Nonplussed, but intrigued, I raised one of the spyglasses from my lap to my eye, attempting in vain to align it with his outstretched arm. However, having no real familiarity with such things, I gazed upon the stars, and still knew not what to make of them.
I lowered it and looked to Mr. Winkler for elucidation. With quavering lips, he whispered to me—as if terrified to even speak of such things—uttering only these words:
“Thar she is—a’side the Ursa Major. Look’ee ‘er—twinklin’ like a star, ‘cept she aint. Paw, she knows what she is. She comes, she goes; she comes, she goes, all on ‘er own accord. I ‘spect tomorrow she won’t be there, ye’ll see—she’ll be far off from there, an’ a lil’ closer t’here.”
So, at last, Mr. Winkler had engaged the matter of his case. I was initially disappointed at this revelation, anticipating again only clichés and superstitions to be at the root of his worries; I presumed only that he was on the verge of describing the multifold dire omens which are typically heralded with the various arrangements of the stars in the heavens as we perceive them from lowly earth.
“What happens then? Whatever does that entail?” I asked flatly, still with the spyglass pressed against my eye.
But Mr. Winkler deliberately reached his hand over the lens, blocking my sight entirely.
“Don’t stare at ‘er fer too long. Yer enticin’ ‘er to come quicker. Best t’gnore ‘er. That’s what I should’a done—Gott im Himmel!”
I lowered the spyglass and returned to puffing on the tavern-pipe, acknowledging the graveness and peculiarity of Mr. Winkler’s warning. Perhaps this star—or this elfin moon—was, in fact, an astronomical anomaly, the knowledge of which only Mr. Winkler and the astrologers who authored his books possessed; however, I could not know just then for certainty, for I was no seasoned astronomer, nor had I any modern star-charts with me to be compared to the archaic scroll of a zodiac which he showed me then. Deciding it best to entertain Mr. Winkler’s arcane notions for the meantime, I nodded and egged him on.
“Well, tell me, Mr. Winkler—how was it, precisely, that you discovered this elfin moon of yours?” I asked him.
Mr. Winkler’s eyes shifted anxiously between the shadows of the trees before he stood up and responded.
“Come back inside, mister. Ain’t bode well to talk o’it outta-doors.”
So, I helped him collect his telescopes and spyglasses, and we marched back into the observatory; I could not help but notice that Mr. Winkler was keen to shut the door behind us. As soon as Mr. Winkler had descended the stairs, he swept across the few windows, yanking their curtains wholly shut and dousing the oil lamps in motion, single motion. He knelt again at the hearth-stove and stoked it diligently so that it glowed with only as much light as I needed to follow him down. Perhaps these were genuinely cautionary measures for the telling of such strange things, or perhaps it was his theatrical way of establishing mood so that a sense of dread would augment the validity of his account. The dim firelight of that cottage was, indeed, appropriately ghastly, but unlike with other things which I had experienced upon that mountain thus far, I was more than well-acquainted with ghost stories, so I opted to humor him without another remark. I installed myself upon his bed, and Mr. Winkler remained crouched by the fire as he told his tale.
One night, many summers ago, he had angled his lenses toward the heavens in order to read the signs which it showed him, as was his routine—but this time, there seemed to be a star misplaced, or at least one that did not belong to any constellation which he had seen portrayed in his old books of astrology. He was confounded at first, but after a little thought, he decided that, perhaps it was merely missing from the charts due to its insignificance. And if only he could learn to read the books in full, he would learn that it was among those lesser lights which rarely ever shone through the veil of the earth’s atmosphere, visible only at odd angles and particular modes of climate. However, as the nights passed, and summer succumbed to autumn, he realized that the tiny star did not fade, but rather, shone brighter and brighter—almost as bright as the Steadfast Star itself with a hazy marigold hue. Now he could no longer deny that what he was witnessing was entirely apart from any prior observation recorded in his books. This discovery led to an obsession with the star. His interest, however, was not at all one-sided.
Several nights later, Mr. Winkler awoke in the middle of the night to a queer and wholly unfamiliar howling. Listening to the way in which this howling split the air, he determined that came from somewhere very close to his cottage at the summit of the mountain, and that it must have been the agonized cry of a creature caught in one of his foothold traps; moreover, he figured that, for an animal to make a howl so unfamiliar to him, it must not have been native to Little Hunsruck, or at the very least it was not a creature which he intended to kill and skin. Mr. Winkler was as much an ecologist as he was a hunter, for with his many years spent upon that mountain, he had aggregated in his mind fair estimates for the populations of the various species that lived there, and he was careful not to disrupt it. Roe deer, boar, and black bears were his most common game—as on Mount Brandt there was never a shortage of them—but most of the set free without another scratch, sometimes releasing them in the national forest if they were biologically averse to the rocky heights, or if ever their ilk were in dire need of repopulation. So, up and out of the cottage Mr. Winkler went, taking only his Greenfield with him and not so much as bothering with bringing an oil lamp as he presumed that the distance would very short, and given that the moonlight was very bright that night.
Trudging drowsily and stiff-footed across the sticks and leaves, Mr. Winkler made his way down a sharp decline to a gully where the trees grew thickest. Shoving low boughs aside as he went, he sleepily came to the realization that the gully was much clearer to behold than it should have been at that late hour, for all things were bathed in a faint and familiar marigold radiance. This caused him considerable reluctance, but still, he pressed on, not wholly awake enough to register such things. The howling soon subsided just as he had expected it to with the boisterousness of his approach, but when he lifted the final bough from his view, he discovered the foothold trap utterly vacant. Certainly, its plate had been triggered, but whatever beast was snared by it must have—during the short space of time it took for Mr. Winkler to cover the distance between the cottage and the gully—wrenched the jaws wide to free itself, then vamoosed without a sound. Of course, Mr. Winkler examined the teeth of the trap at once for blood, or fur, or skin, but there was nothing of the sort. Instead, he only found tiny, twinkling sparks upon the plate. He noticed several more floating about in the air above it, seeming to circulate around a peculiarly warm and wispy streak of ether, and looping several times through the air before disappearing into the wan of the woods. Mr. Winkler knew that this was the trail of the creature, but he also knew that whatever this creature was, it could not have been of the natural world. He crossed himself and turned to go back up the gully, resolving right wisely that he should not meddle with the supernatural beast.
When he ascended the summit of the mountain, however, a stranger sight greeted him. The moon hung very low over the Little Hunsruck valley, now; it glowed with an unusual marigold tint and shone so brilliantly through the trees that dense, sun-like beams fell upon the whitewashed walls of the cottage. Most outrageous of all was that the moon appeared well-nigh four times its natural size, rendering the surface significantly clearer to the naked eye—almost as clearly as if Mr. Winkler were gazing at it through his finest telescope. But the features of it were so incredibly dissimilar that he thought it less and less to be the moon at all the longer he stared at it. And the longer he stared at it, the more unsuspectingly watched he felt. There was something alluring about the florid texture of the moon, but by that very allurement, Mr. Winkler knew well enough not to gaze long upon it.
Slowly, he retreated into his cottage, sealing the door softly behind him. He noticed then that the marigold moonlight that penetrated the windows had now an altogether different degree of luminescence than when he had awoken just minutes ago. Tactfully, he closed all the curtains, afraid to cast so much as a single glance back outside. After he had done this, he laid back down in his bed, Greenfield clutched at his side, wondering whether or not his eyes had somehow deceived him, and all that which he had just experienced was a feverish dream—but he dared not peer out again to affirm this to himself.
Eventually, he drifted back into slumber. Of course, when he awoke the next morning, he remembered all that had happened. After a period of great hesitation, he worked up the courage to go back outside. Nothing but the pleasant sunrise met him then, so he even ventured back down to check the foothold trap in the gully. Indeed, it had been sprung, but there were no longer any still-glistening sparks upon its plate or in the air to be seen. He rationalized to himself that its trigger was faulty—moreso, he hoped that this was the case. However, when he referred to his almanac, it informed him that the lunar phase of the previous night had, in fact, been a new moon. More worrisome than this, the next night when he again searched the heavens with his lenses, he noticed that the bright marigold star was missing from its former place amid the constellations.
It did not take Mr. Winkler long to arrive at the conclusion that the star could not be not a star at all, and the moon which hung over Little Hunsruck that night—if its presence was, indeed, all true—was not the same moon which orbited the earth once every day, but some other planet entirely. From the farthest, remotest reaches of the cosmos, this planet had seen Mr. Winkler, and it had come to him—and now it had inexplicably gone.
Thenceforth he referred to the planet as Der Elfenmond; accordingly, he referred to the unknown creature which had escaped him that night as die mondelfe.
This was far from his only encounter with Der Elfenmond. The next year, while he suffered from a particularly ailing spell—throughout which he did not so often nor so thoroughly scour the starry sky for signs—he found himself awoken again in the middle of the night. This time, however, no weird howling had roused him—rather, an incredible brightness which had suffused the whole interior of his cottage woke him, gently prying at the seams of his eyelids until they were wide open. At once, he recognized the marigold hue which had spread over all things, and he knew without that the elfin moon had returned to Little Hunsruck. Not even daring to be near to the windows, he forbore from shutting the curtains this time, instead opting to do nothing more than to grip his Greenfield tight and roll off his bed and onto the floor, slinking then underneath his hay mattress to hide from even the slightest ray of moonlight. For he calculated that, by the sheer, fiery resplendence which permeated his cottage, the elfin moon had come even closer to the earth than it had before.
All throughout the night, Mr. Winkler was terrorized by this undiminishing, unabashed brightness. Moments stretched into hours as gradually, the interior walls of his cottage were invaded by strange and terrible shadows—shadows of devilish figures scurrying about, flying freely through the air, and peering curiously through the windows with marigold spheres of their own for eyes. Occasionally, there could be heard heavy foot-falls upon the shingles of the cottage roof as if Krampus had come early that year, and dreadful howls rang all throughout the night, feigning a familiar agony in corners of the mountain in which Mr. Winkler knew for certain he had not set his foothold traps. But what frightened Mr. Winkler most was the unbanishable desire to peer again upon the elfin moon. Often he thought to himself how much plainer the surface of the planet would appear to him with the magnificent nearness of its proximity to the earth, and of wondrous and otherworldly things he might behold upon it—but still he clenched his teeth and restrained himself from such unnatural urges until the marigold moonlight relented to the gaiety of the dawn. He was not always so steadfast, however.
Once Mr. Winkler’s initial fright had subsided, it was replaced with an insatiable curiosity. The space of a year between his two encounters with the elfin moon suggested that it was cyclical in its reoccurrence, yet the nights of its actual arrival were not congruent with one another. He compared his almanacs and, indeed, they were coordinated in that both instances transpired while the earth’s actual moon was still new; it was as if the elfin moon meant to replace the real moon while its visibility had temporarily declined. Against any lingering fears, Mr. Winkler resolved to watch keenly for the third coming—to gaze diligently upon the stars every evening in search of the elfin moon, wholly prepared with every instrument at his disposal to measure its approach.
He discovered it once more the following summer, glinting dully in the night sky just where he had spied it the first time. The first night, he sketched what he beheld from his observatory, taking care to note the constellations that surrounded the elfin moon and the size at which it appeared. As the nights elapsed, he also utilized his astrolabes to determine the trajectory and velocity of the planet, and often he reviewed his compasses in order to detect any special degree of magnetism which its poles may have had. This Tennessee trapper was, though uneducated and partially illiterate, apparently quite a talented geometrician and physicist.
As the elfin moon neared the earth, Mr. Winkler’s results grew more drastic. He knew that very soon—though he knew not the precise day—the elfin moon would shift intensely toward the earth, hovering very close above it until the break of day, when it would mysteriously recede back into the distant cosmos. And then, the time came.
Mr. Winkler was lounging late upon his porch-balcony, nervously pondering over his fuming pipe whether or not this would be the night, or whether he should simply go back inside and sleep until the elfin moon’s arrival awoke him—as he was already straining against the last fibers of his spirit—when up he glanced, back unto the marigold speck in the night sky and saw that the entire planet had suddenly manifested before him. It shone down upon him with a stinging, phosphorescent flash that well-nigh rendered Mr. Winkler blind. By the time he pried open his eyes again, he gazed upon the curve of an outlandish horizon which hovered perilously close to the summits of the Smoky ranges, imbued with marigold mountains and valleys of its own and ceaselessly vast in its measures.
What followed, Mr. Winkler could not recall—or, perhaps dared not recall. He said only that, for the remainder of the night, he was overwhelmed with the notion that he was, in fact, upon this elfin moon more than he was upon the earth, and that he saw many things which could not adequately compare to that which he had ever seen in books or newspapers. The experience was, he told me, as if a ghostly mare had taken him up onto its back and galloped headlong into an abstract and unrelenting realm of dreams—but I knew by his wide and fiery eyes that he meant not pleasant dreams.
He awoke the next morning, still reclined in his rocking chair, but feeling utterly exhausted as if he had not slept a wink in days; he was starved, parched, and his pulses trembled so sorely with adrenaline that he could scarcely stand straight upon his legs. Somehow, he felt tricked—horribly exploited, unimaginably foolish, and beyond terrified. He wished nevermore to look upon the accursed planet, that marigold elfin moon, but there was deeply instilled in him now the impression that next year, he would, and that he must.
Every year since then, Mr. Winkler has been dutiful to track the appearance and the motions of the elfin moon—only so that he could predict, precisely, which night he should make certain that he was early indoors, and that the curtains were wholly shut, and he was incumbent beneath the mattress when came the planet. This was a grueling process of trial-and-error, as on two separate occasions afterward, he miscalculated the cycle of the elfin moon, becoming unwittingly caught in its staggering brilliance, subsequently spellbound and shanghaied unto alien realms beyond comprehension. In recent years, however, it seemed he finally had the planet figured. For he had succeeded in evading the planet’s luminescence for five consecutive years.
Despite this, Mr. Winkler doubted very much that he would manage to escape it for a sixth year. He was convinced of the notion that the elfin moon had actually grown angry with him for shunning it for so long—for this year, it’s brightening amongst the stars seemed doubly accelerated in comparison to the year previous—and this time, there was no escaping its fury. And that he would be forever married off to this planet, unable to return to the mountains of his proud forefathers as he was permitted to do before. That day, he said, was nigh; Der Elfenmond would come for him ere the week was out.
The moment Mr. Winkler finished, I had no opinion whatsoever of whether this incredible account was true or not. Firstly, arriving at any solid conclusion was generally outside the area of my work in the firm, as its priority was thoroughness in reviewing the accounts of its clientele and conciseness in presenting the case; plausibility, though important, was secondary, and was often decided after sufficient research had been amassed. Secondly, I was quite shocked by the absolute outlandishness of the tale which Mr. Winkler spun for me—even so, that the uniqueness and intricacies found within it counterweighed the sheer absurdity of it all. Moreover, the late hour and the extensiveness of my day had sapped me of all vigor. My reclining upon the bed would have lulled me to sleep sooner had Mr. Winkler’s fearful voice not kept me lucid. Soon after he had relinquished the cottage to silence, weariness washed over me, and I believe I did not so much as nod or grunt in acknowledgment of his words before I slipped into unconsciousness.
(Read the third part of the journal here.)
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2020.10.19 22:01 hunting4pics Caught naked spy

Dylan loved his swimming training. Or at least, his parents thought that was the case. In reality he was there to watch the girls in their tight swimsuits. Dylan was at peak physical fitness, rock hard abs, short jet black hair and the body only a dedicated swimmer could retain.
Most of the girls at the swim club were great to look at but Dylan had eyes only for Megan. She was a year older than him, with long blonde hair and, of course, acted like she had no idea who he was. He would strut around in his speedos, his larger than average balls making for an impressive bulge despite an average length cock, trying to get her attention.
Luckily for Dylan the communal changing rooms were closed for refurbishment, so everyone had to change in the mixed changing rooms, all separate stools but that was fine for what Dylan had in mind. For the last four training sessions he had timed his every move from the end of the session to the changing rooms, in order to try and get a cubical next to hers.
Today was going to be his lucky day, hurrying after her, keeping enough distance that she didn’t notice him but not wanting anyone else to beat him to it. His heart was pounding - he wanted desperately to get that cubicle. He rushed into the cubical, dumped his kit bag on the foot wide bench along one side of the changing cubical.
Finally he had done it, and now the excitement gripped him. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. Now he had made it this far he wondered what his next step would be. Having dreamt of seeing her breasts perfectly projected on the floor in shadow which he could see through the 6 inches of space between the dividing wall and the floor. Or maybe he could get his dick out and make sure it’s silhouette shadow could clearly be seen on the floor between the two cubicles.
First maybe he should double check she was still in there. Carefully he got down onto his knees, quietly and barely daring to breath he lowered his face to the floor. He could see her perfect feet stepping out of her swim suit, it dropped to the floor and the shadow showed her covering up with a towel. Dylan knew she was now fully naked barely 3 feet away, his dick twitched at the idea. Now it was only polite for him to do the same. Yanking down his speedos it crossed his mind to ‘accidentally’ slide them under the gap between the cubicles...but no, that would give away that it was him.
He stood there, his thick cock getting harder trying to think of how he could progress this fantasy. Giving up on the idea that she’d see his cock’s shadow and feel overcome with desire and offer to suck it, he settled for whatever peak of her naked body he could see from his cubicle. This time he decided to risk peeking over the top, standing on the small bench he carefully pulled his head up over the top, craning his neck to get a look at her perfect breasts from above. Just as he got his head over the wall his foot caught his kit bag and nearly pushed it off the bench, he quickly dropped down and grabbed the bag to stop it hitting the floor.
“Fuck” he breathed. That was close. The excitement was too much, he was starting to shake, his dick had even started to soften. It was time to cut his losses and get changed, Megan probably wasn’t naked any more...unless, going under was much safer. He’d do that. Getting down onto his knees again he peered under the wall...but there were no feet. “What the hell” he thought, “surely she hasn’t gone already” crawling on his hands and knees, his ass up in the air his face inches from the floor. He moved closer under the wall just to check she wasn’t sitting on the bench.
Suddenly strong fingers formed an O and closed around the top of his ball sack, tightly trapping his balls into the bottom of his nut sack. In his rush to spy on Megan he must have failed to lock the door properly.
“Trying to perv on me? You little creep! As if staring as my breasts every training session wasn’t enough” Megan was behind him, holding his manhood in her hands. And she was pissed. “I’m going to make you regret ever being born with these balls boy” as she said ‘balls’ she began to yank on them slowly back through his legs causing Dylan to yelp and his knees to rise off the ground slightly.
So far all Dylan had been able to do was splutter apologies, he was so shocked to be found so vulnerable by someone he was infatuated with. More than anything he hated that his dick was rock hard despite the growing pain from his balls. Megan was slowly realising the fully extent of her power over the young stud. “I wonder how sensitive these things really are?” she wondered aloud. “Megan please let them go, I’m sorry, I dropped my speedos I was just checking - AHHH” sensing the lie she had yanked his balls up even higher than before. Dylan was now on his toes and hands with his hips suspended up by his balls as he tried to relieve the pain.
“That’s bullshit babydick and you know it” she spat as she took her hand that wasn’t hoisting Dylan into the air and began to flick his balls one at a time. The nuts were bright red now, pulled far from his body and trapped in the bottom of his sack with nowhere to flee the devastating flicks. Each flick caused Dylan to whimper, pain radiating from his balls, his cock still rock hard and betraying him. “I’m going to teach you a lesson perv, every training session you’re going to come to my changing room for a ‘lesson’, understood?” On the last word she had cruelly twisted his already tender balls to drive the point home.
“FUCK, yes yes of course whatever you say” Dylan screamed out. He was willing to do anything for her to end this torment. Finally she let go and he slumped to a heap on the floor, naked. As Megan turned to leave, she realised maybe he would need a little more incentive to behave next time. “Dylan babe” she said in her sweetest voice, he lifted his head. “yes...?” “I want you to let me punch your balls right now, and if you don’t present them for me i will not only tell everyone about you spying on my while i change, but I’ll tell them how tiny your dick is”.
Fear grew wide in his eyes. His dick wasn’t small, it was a thick 6” but they both knew how much damage a rumour could do. Slowly he lifted himself up to standing, head bowed still fully naked. He was suddenly aware that he was exposed and she was fully dressed. “Hands behind your head and close your eyes, I don’t want you blocking my shot” she said in a sing song voice, brimming with glee.
Weighing up his choices he had no way out, stood there naked, the erection long faded his dick looked pathetic between his newly swollen balls and overgrown pubic hair. He looked Megan straight in the face, saw how beautiful she was, her eyes glinting madly and closed his firmly shut. He heard her giggle and then the most immense pain he had ever felt, her foot lifted him onto the balls of his feet as her kick sailed right into his nutsack. Megan got to see his soft dick fly up and slap his stomach before he crumpled to the ground, a broken man. His balls pulverised between her foot and his pelvis.
Grabbing her bag she left without so much as a look behind “see ya little dick” she called, laughing as she walked off. She learnt from one of the other swimming girls that Dylan had been found fully naked, crying, by the sexy lifeguard she had a crush on, and who she knew for a fact had a much bigger dick than Dylan.
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2020.10.19 14:46 pregnantchihuahua3 Caught naked spy

Hi everyone! I finished reading Krasznahorkai's Satantango a couple of days ago and found it to be utterly brilliant. It was definitely one of the best books I have ever read. It was difficult to parse out what the author was trying to do, but after re-reading passages and taking notes, I have come to my own interpretation of it. For anyone who may have been confused as well, or simply seeking some other viewpoint, I thought I'd post my original blog post here as well! It's lengthy, but I honestly couldn't find a way around that given the book's complexity. I hope to hear your thoughts after! Here's a link to the original:

Satantango, The Novel Explained
introduction Laszlo Krasznahorkai’s novel Satantango concerns itself with the destitute lives of the residents living in a decrepit, rain-drenched Hungarian estate. He writes the novel using winding, multi-part, sometimes page-long sentences that almost act as a dialogue when no one is speaking. Instead, the sentences speak to themselves, discussing the themes, correcting the earlier moments, or arguing with one another. Krasznahorkai expertly uses the plot to set the basis for the thematic material.
On the surface, he is writing a novel about the failed Totalitarian Communist leadership present in Hungary at the time. The story is about those irreverent citizens, living as drunks and cheaters, who live like this because the government is now unconcerned with them as they pose no use following the downfall of their industry. Often, I read about people who question the book’s purpose or writing style. They wonder what it’s about or if the sentences and paragraphs serve any importance other than the author being pretentious. I hope this article gives a little insight into why I believe this book is absolutely important and why it serves a much greater purpose than what may be apparent. This whole article will contain SPOILERS.
the events Before delving into the thematic material to help explain Satantango, it is important to have an understanding of the overarching plot within. The citizens of the estate are living in squalor and perpetual drunkenness. They cheat on wives and husbands, leave their children to prostitute themselves, and drink the mornings, days, and nights away to pass the time. The estate they live on was once some sort of agricultural industry. Now that it is useless, the government has given up on this community, leading to their current state of living. Their indifference leads to the suicide of a young girl, Esti.
Thus enters Irimias. Irimias is literally a government worker – an informer of sorts. But he represents other entities: the totalitarian state, the material form of Satan, or a foreshadowing of a fascist capitalist state. He leads them to believe he is bringing them to a literal Eden, and instead (without their knowledge) tears them from their homes and sets them to work as spies. They believe they are going to work for certain individuals while Irimias builds his Eden, but instead, they will report on those they are working for. It ends with the Doctor of the estate hearing the same ringing bell Futaki heard at the beginning and deciding to write their story.
part 1: nihilism The theme of nihilism is present throughout the novel. Nihilism is the belief that life (or things you do in life) are meaningless – that there is no point in morality, love, or enjoyment. I will use nihilism to set a quick basis for what I believe the purpose of the novel was. Satantango opens and closes with the ringing of a bell. When Futaki hears it in the first few pages of the novel, to us it calls to mind some higher power. It makes us wonder, are heavens gates opening? is it signaling the coming of some angel or prophet? Well, a religious person (or someone who believes in signs) would believe it was a sign from God, but here is what comes to Futaki’s mind:

… and he saw himself nailed to the cross of his own cradle and coffin, painfully trying to tear his body away, only, eventually, to deliver himself — utterly naked, without identifying mark, stripped down to essentials — into the care of the people whose duty it was to wash the corpses, people obeying an order snapped out in the dry air against a background loud with torturers and flayers of skin, where he was obliged to regard the human condition without a trace of pity… pg. 4
Instead of thinking of something beautiful, what comes to his mind is thoughts of death and the meaninglessness of life. He is presented with God and thinks of the Devil. It is almost as if he is seeking this pain, or these “torturers and flayer of skin”.
But who else hears the bell? The Doctor, or the narrator of the entire work. The book ends with him writing down the first few pages of this novel, signifying his authorship or the work. Before getting into his experience with the bell, it is important to see his worldview as well. Far before his hearing of the bell, he sits and watches the people of the town. He thinks:
… he was lost in successive waves of time, coolly aware of the minimal speck of his own being, seeing himself as the defenseless, helpless victim of the earth’s crust, the brittle arc of his life between birth and death caught up in the dumb struggle between surging seas and rising hills, and it was as if he could already feel the gentle tremor beneath the chair supporting his bloated body, a tremor that might be the harbinger of seas about to break in on him, a pointless warning to flee before its all-encompassing power made escape impossible, and he could see himself running, part of a desperate, terrified stampede comprising stags, bears, rabbits, deer, rats, insects and reptiles, dogs and men, just so many futile, meaningless lives in the common, incomprehensible devastation, while above them flapped clouds of birds, dropping in exhaustion, offering the only possible hope. pg. 59
Again, like Futaki, his world view holds on to some meaninglessness of life. He sees himself as a small part of a pointless world, as a speck of time that comes out to experience something insignificant while hills rise and sink before him. He views life as a simple waiting game for death, and that death is “the only possible hope”.
Finally, to drive this point of nihilism home, now I can get at what the Doctor experiences when he sees the bell. Again, it should come to mind that a bell would usually signify something grand and beautiful, but when he arrives at its source, there is some disfigured creature speaking in incomprehensible bursts, and we are uncertain if it is even human. It is not some god ringing the bell, and it is not even the devil. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as we know it is something grotesque, something that is suffering through life performing menial pointless tasks, just as the townspeople seem to be doing.
part 2: the estate Now to tie this theme of nihilism into the bigger picture. Futaki and the Doctor open and close the novel – they present us with most of the book’s philosophy – but they rarely play a big part in the central moments. Esti, as young as she is, already seems to deny the importance or beauty of life, and instead seeks solace in death. She kills her cat and then herself, waiting for a guardian angel to come and take her up. But at one point, in the book’s very few paragraph breaks (and the only one that isn’t breaking for a song or list or prayer) Esti is thinking:
… she could sense their presence without seeing them, she knew they were there, that she was facing them down there, pg. 109
Esti is literally viewing her family and village members from a higher place. She could be acting as the only source of good throughout the book, watching over them from a vantage point, some metaphorical sense of heaven maybe. It is no coincidence that Krasznahorkai chose to break this line up. He wanted us to think on this line as a metaphor or something more important. Down there calls to mind viewing Earth from above, like an angel or a god. She may be acting as a guardian angel over the entire estate, yet as she watches over it all she remembers her mother’s words to her – “There’s nothing for you here!” It sets in motion her nihilistic beliefs; she comes to realize the lies the town and even her brother tell her; apathy sets in. Esti kills herself and the town loses its guardian angel.
The loss of this angel is what gives Irimias a way to enter, but first we see the outcome of this loss at the bar. There are no redeeming qualties expressed in this chapter, just drunkeness, cheating, anger. The rain pours down onto the bar as if foreshadowing some apocalypse. And most importantly, the spiders weave their webs on these still living, breathing inhabitants. The spiders give them a symbolic sense of the dead – yet even they refuse to stay with these “corpses” and their immorality – and then retreat back to their holes.
part 3: the journey As I said, Esti’s death (or more accurately, the failings of the townspeople to protect her) opens a doorway or a purpose for the devil to come into their lives. It calls to mind a sort of Faustian bargain. Maybe an unwilling or an unspoken one for the townspeople, but still similar. They are promised an Eden and so set to destroying their former homes and leaving the decrepit estate. But this is all lies as the devil is wont to do. They are sent out to “work” for certain individuals, believing that one-day Irimias will come back for them to present this Eden. But the devil (or maybe he is simply a minion of the devil) is just using them to learn – to spy for his master, which as presented in Part One Chapter 2, happens to be the Totalitarian bureaucracy of the Hungarian government.
Does this new work give their lives purpose? Will their conditions of living improve? Will they receive some sort of satisfaction with their work, or some hope that something better is coming – an Eden? It is all possible but hard to believe. They had a purpose before on their estate, but once their use had run out, they were forgotten and most likely will be again. Likely, they will revert back into alcohol or some other vice as a means of passing time and forgetting; they will bribe, steal, cheat, and fight. They may hope or set their sights on some other Christ figure, maybe this time one who is not in disguise. But as their story closes, it feels as if that thought is absurd.
conclusion: hope Satantango is obviously highly nihilistic and provides a horribly pessimistic worldview, but it does give hope. Krasznahorkai gives us scenes that provide some solace or comfort that there is something that matters, whether from a religious, artistic, or social perspective. In the scene when Esti’s corpse (or soul?) is rising above the fog seeming to be taken to heaven, Irimias cowers. He is seeing the innocent saved and brought to what is a real Eden. There is light and beauty after death, and maybe that shows him it is possible before death as well. The Doctor finds comfort in writing, in art. He finishes his chapter having possibly found a true purpose in cataloguing the lives of these souls. Or maybe his comfort is in providing some form of social commentary in showing what his country has done to its citizens.
That is what I believe the purpose of Satantango is. It is pessimistic and depressing and bleak, but Krasznahorkai is not saying that life is meaningless or that death is the only exit. He does not think humanity is a pointless dot in eternity. What he is doing is showing what happens when people are forgotten. He is criticizing his government and country for allowing life to reach such low levels. It is social commentary but not heavy-handed, blatant allegory – rather it is art at its peak. It provides us with a tapestry of never-ending thoughts, paragraphs, and sentences, taking stream-of-conscious to a more philosophic and meaningful level. His descriptions of life, sunrises, and rain, are written in some of the most touching and unique prose I have ever read. In his sentences we see beauty in even the most desperate creatures, a light in the dingiest of bars and hovels, and all they need to flourish is a little help.
submitted by pregnantchihuahua3 to books [link] [comments]

2020.10.17 06:08 issathroway999 Caught naked spy

Im sure you guys on this sub have heard this similar story many times, so ill keep it short
United Kingdom
Mom- mid40s Dad - mid 40s Me - 16 Both sisters - early teens
My mom discovered my father was cheating. He'd been video chatting to a woman, sometimes naked. This obviously broke her heart, but my dad hasn't caught on yet. She told me about it yesterday and i was so distraught but i knew it was coming. The constant arguments everyday, my mom venting to me about all the problems and how he doesnt treat her properly, and my dad staying up on calls while my mom is working. I just suspected something, but i didnt want my mom to be hurt so i kept quiet.
My dad is a taxi driver. They're supposed to earn quite a bit of money. The thing is that he doesnt keep a record of his earnings, neither does he tell my mom what he earns. He doesn't give my mom presents unless we pressure him to buy them. He doesnt buy me clothes practically ever. He only took me to buy some nice clothes nearly 2 months ago, the last (first) time being a couple years back. Its always been my mom who's the supportive one.
I would spend a paragraph explaining how good my mom is, but the fact that she hasnt got mad yet says it all.
This is the important part. My mom told me she wants to get him to give each 3 of us children at least £100 each month without fail. Should be pretty simple considering his job, right? Also, we need a way to collect evidence. Im a tech enthusiast so this bit should be good for me.
All i need is a long distance gps tracker to put in his car, and a microphone to put in my moms room to record his calls. I would look for a webcam, but he's basically always naked so I'll pass on that. For a storage device, I've already decided ill get 2x 128GB sd cards for me and my mom, so when we get evidence we can store it on our phones. We dont have a family computer so a usb isnt needed. Lastly, i need a way to spy on his ipad. Apple is good for its security, and i think he knows this. I've tried to convert him to samsung and he doesnt like it, probably because of what the woman told him. He has an iphone 5 which I'm repairing but i dont know if i can do anything to that.
Lastly, am i doing the right thing? I mean he deserves it but i feel like im not doing enough.
P. S. I dont know any technology subreddits so pls let me know so i can post this there too
Tl:dr cheating dad, need spyware
submitted by issathroway999 to u/issathroway999 [link] [comments]

2020.10.06 12:40 math_folder The role of my parents in my porn addiction

One of my early memories as a kid is taking a bath as a 6 year old and having my dad reach for my penis and forcefully stroke it to pull its foreskin back. No, I wasn’t being abused, my backstory is not that fucked up. I had been diagnosed with phimosis, and the doctor recommended a somewhat rudimentary method to deal with it — in the US, circumcision is a common procedure, but we like to keep our hoods where I’m from. Sadly, that moment was probably the closest I have ever shared with my dad regarding my sexuality.
Fast forward seven years and I’m a 13 year old teenager watching TV with my parents. A travel show is on, and it’s set in Florence, Italy. As they venture into the Accademia Gallery Museum, the show’s voiceover shares some trivia facts about Michelangelo’s famous David. “Did you know that he was sculptured uncircumcised, despite being a Jew?”. The word rings a bell but I’m not sure what it is, so I throw out the question: “Circumcised, what’s that?”. I can see my parents stir nervously as they give me a brief answer. “Mm, it’s when they remove the foreskin of your penis, don’t you remember how we dealt with your phimosis as a kid?”. “Phimosis? That’s another word I don’t know”, I think to myself, but I hold on to that second question. Once I know the topic is sexual, I am more comfortable not continuing the conversation with my parents.
As soon as I get back to my room, I google for “circumcision” and “phimosis”. “Phimosis is a condition in which the foreskin can’t be retracted (pulled back) from around the tip of the penis”. “Oh shit, this is exactly what I have”. Whatever my parents achieved when I was a kid had reverted back to its original position, and I had not been pulling my foreskin back for years, unaware that was a problem at all. Now suddenly I realize I have this issue, and from what I’m reading it requires a medical procedure. Well fuck, surgery on my penis. How am I supposed to go about this? It sounds like the first step should be telling my parents, but there is nothing I fear more at this moment.
The awkwardness was too much to handle. I remember hanging out in the living room the following morning while my mom swept the floor around me. The most intense internal debate was happening within myself, trying to gather up the courage to open my mouth and say it. “Mom, remember that we talked yesterday about phimosis? Well, I actually still have it, I just wasn’t aware of it. I think I should get surgery”. I rehearsed these words over and over in my head as my mom wandered around. I made a huge effort to spit it out, but in the end the fear of talking about anything sexual with my parents was too big, and I watched in silence as my mom finished cleaning and headed out of the room. I never tried telling them again, and I keep my foreskin to this day.
My parents and I never had the classic talk about sex. As a teenager, I felt it as impending doom. I always thought my parents would address it sooner or later, because that seemed to be the way things worked. When I think about it, I reckon that presumption was based more on Hollywood and TV than on reality, because I don’t think most of my friends ever had the conversation either. Needless to say, back then it was something that I absolutely did not want to go through. The mere idea of it made me cringe. I guess my parents felt the same way, because the talk never happened and we all continued to live happily in avoidance.
Sex was never discussed at school either. Other than your basic lesson on the biology of genitals, I do not remember receiving any lecture on sexuality. That’s what you get for going to a religious school. Without guidance nor anything close to it, I, like many other kids my age, turned to the worst teacher possible: porn.
I started watching porn as an early teenager and soon developed an addictive behavior towards it. One day, as I opened the browser to watch some porn, I noticed that I could not navigate to any porn site, while normal sites would still load without any issues. Someone had installed a filtering application on the computer. My mom being absolutely technology illiterate, it was clearly the work of my dad. When the filter started getting in the way of actual, non-erotic websites, I reached out to him. “Dad, this filter that you installed is blocking me from a bunch of websites that do not even have adult content”. His reply? “I don’t know what filter you are talking about”. So that was the way it was. When confronted about it, my dad doubled down on his strategy of avoidance. I walked away quietly and eventually figured out how to remove the filtering software from my computer. He never mentioned anything about it nor reinstalled it.
Soon after, I found out where the whole filter thing had come from. One day I randomly noticed an icon on my taskbar that had been there for some time but I had never really paid attention to. When I googled the name of it, it turned out to be a piece of software that allows you to remotely log in to a computer and access its screen. Essentially, my dad was running software on my computer to spy on me as I used it. He must have seen me watching porn and decided he had to do something about it, hence the filter.
I felt betrayed, my privacy completely violated. I felt embarrassed and humiliated. How much had he seen? In my head, I went over all those awkward things I had been doing on the Internet: pretending I was a lesbian on chats, trying to persuade cam girls to strip naked for free, and, of course, hours and hours of watching porn. Had my dad been a witness to all of that? As you can imagine, I never asked him.
Lack of privacy was a constant when living with my parents. My room was never a private space. It wasn’t even fully mine. A third of the storage space was occupied by both my mom and my dad’s things, and they would often come in and out of it to grab stuff without even knocking on my door.
This naturally resulted in them catching me red-handed on multiple occasions. Fortunately, it was never too explicit, as I usually had just enough time to minimize my browser and take my hand out of my pants before they came in. It must have been quite obvious, nonetheless. What would you think if, as you walk into your teenage son’s room, you notice him jumping a little bit out of his desk chair in front of the computer, nervously clicking things away as he switches positions? Yeah, exactly. I guess they settled for not seeing me actually jerk off though, because they continued to do this forever, leaving me in a constant state of alert whenever I watched porn with them at home.
Porn was only one of many ways in which they bumped into my most private moments. When I was entering puberty, my sexual energy was off the roof. I would masturbate like a freaking chimpanzee, whenever and wherever I got the chance. My parents would show up as I was watching TV on the couch in the living room, jerking off under the blanket, the pounding movement in the crotch area suddenly coming to a stop as they walked in. At one point, I’m pretty sure that my mom discovered a very embarrassing erotic drawing that I made as she was going through my stuff to clean my room. And yet, they never acknowledged any of these incidents, not at the moment when they happened nor afterwards. Their response was always the same: silence.
I can only remember one instance where my parents talked sex to me, and it only came recently, in my mid-to-late twenties. After I revealed them I was in my first long-term relationship, my dad took the opportunity as soon as we had some time alone to tell me: “Hey son, now that you are in a committed relationship, you know what you have to do, right? Wear protection. I know you don’t like me talking about these things, but you guys have to be careful”. “A little too late for that” — I thought — “but I appreciate the effort, dad”.
I sometimes wonder what it was like for them during all those years. How aware were they of my habits? Did they have any idea I watched porn for so many hours? Did they ever discuss this among themselves? Were they worried about me? Did they ever consider reaching out to me?
I know my parents love me and their policy of silence was just the only way they knew how to handle the situation. I think I can understand where they come from. Currently in their early sixties, they obviously belong to a very different generation. It was a much more repressed society, particularly in small towns such as those where my parents grew up. Knowing my grandparents, I can only imagine that they never received any kind of sex education themselves. Religion tainted sex as something sinful and loaded with shame. These now-outdated views and the hateful dynamics that little towns often have, where everybody keeps track of your movements and talks behind your back, built a solid wall of secrecy around the topic of sex. My parents remained virgins until marriage and to this day are scarce in how they show affection to each other. They seem to have never gotten rid of the taboo mentality.
Certainly, sometimes this is just a façade, the image that you intentionally project to the outside. My parents do not necessarily have to be prude or repressed just because they seem so. I’m sure they’ve done stuff. I even “caught” my dad watching porn once —or rather, saw a porn site in his browser’s history as he typed something into the address bar— like father, like son. It would be nothing but a pleasant surprise to find out that my parents have always enjoyed a happy and active sex life in the privacy of their room. However, knowing them like I do, it is hard to conceive them having sex more than twice in their life: one to have my sister and one to have me.
Now I don’t want to fall into the trap of blaming my parents for all of my problems, because that would take away from me blaming society as well. All joking aside, I do take responsibility for my issues, but at the same time understand how it can be helpful to analyze some of the different factors that are involved in them. And what you learn about sex and intimacy as you grow up is necessarily one of those factors. How much a poor sex education influenced my problems with porn, I do not know, but I know this: it is my intention to work hard to break the cycle of ignorance and avoidance and educate my future children better about sex. And, in order to do that, I will start by educating myself, by overcoming my problems and reaching a healthy sex life that sets me as a good example for them. Only from that place will I be able to truly provide guidance, to give sound advice and information without being judgmental, and to respect my children’s privacy while allowing them to make their own decisions.
Who knows, maybe someday, when they look ready, I will even send them a link to this post.
submitted by math_folder to pornfree [link] [comments]

2020.09.24 18:54 ANIKAHirsch Caught spy naked

This original list was created by u/BouncyBoob. View the crosspost thread here:

"usa,,,,KC Resident Sentenced to 20 Years for Child Pornography,,
"usa,,,,Female Prisoner Says She Was Raped by Transgender Inmate,,
"usa,,,,felon no longer deemed threat because of gender change,,
"uk,,,,Karen White: how 'manipulative' transgender inmate attacked again,,
"uk,,,,"Female prison officers have been raped by inmates who self-identify as trans women, ex-Tory minister Rory Stewart claims",,
"usa,,,,"In North Carolina, person who identifies as transgender woman found guilty of raping child",,
"usa,,,,Transgender man accused of sexually assaulting woman,,
"uk,,,,Police accused of political correctness after issuing an appeal for a sex attacker WITHOUT mentioning suspect was a man wearing womens clothes,,
"uk,,,toilet,"Transgender woman, 18, sexually assaulted girl, 10, in Morrisons toilet",,
"usa,,,toilet,Target urged to end transgender bathroom policy after 2nd man caught recording women undressing,,
"usa,,,toilet,Bedford Police Arrest Man Wanted for Allegedly Recording Juvenile Girls in Store,,
"usa,,,toilet,Security Guard Arrested For Removing Man From Women’s Bathroom,,
"usa,,,toilet,Shopper Upset Man Allowed To Use Women’s Dressing Room In Ross,,
"usa,,,toilet,Female office worker encounters man urinating in ladies' room and exposing se,,
"usa,,,toilet,Man caught undressing in front of girls at Green Lake locker room,,
"usa,,,toilet,"Man Dressed as Woman Arrested for Spying Into Mall Bathroom Stall, Police Say",,
"usa,,,toilet,Cross-Dressing Man Secretly Taped Women at Macy’s,,
"usa,,,toilet,Cross-dressing sex predator sentenced for Clackamas aquatic park crimes,,
"usa,,,toilet,Police: Calif. locker room suspect used disguise,,
"usa,,,toilet,Police: Man Undresses In Front Of Children In Walmart Restroom,,
"usa,,,toilet,"San Jose sex offender wearing fake breasts, wig arrested for loitering in womens’ restroom",,
"canada,,,shelter,Sexual predator jailed after claiming to be ‘transgender’ to assault women in shelter,,
"canada,,,toilet,University of Toronto Dumps Transgender Bathrooms After Peeping Incidents,,
"usa,trans man,,,Colorado transgender teen pleads guilty to murder in school revenge case,,
"usa,,nonviolent,,"Capital One hacking suspect, a transgender Seattle woman, is denied request to be moved from men’s prison",,
"canada,,,,Transgender activist under criminal investigation after video showing Jessica Yaniv allegedly punching reporter hits social media,,
"usa,,,,Convicted Serial Pedophile Being Released After Becoming Transgender Woman,,
"Thailand,,,,Transgender woman charged with stabbing boyfriend to death,,
"usa,,,,"Protester arrested, accused of starting fire in chaotic Friday night protest",,
"Australia,,,,Child molester released after gender change,,
"canada,,,,Convicted child porn offender pleads guilty to new charges,,
"uk,,,,"Transgender woman, 26, who was jailed after dousing her ex-boyfriend in bleach then trying to set him on fire is spared prison over lashing out at police",,
"nz,,,,Dimetrius Pairama murder trial: Accused apologises to victim's family,,
"uk,,,,Woman who 'bragged about being a paedophile' approached boys at Remembrance event,,
"canada,,,,HUNTER: Serial pedophile Madilyn Harks allegedly bolted while on weekend pass,,
"Australia,,,,Citizen arrest of rapist in robbery,,
"usa,,,,2 teens arrested for murder of mother in Banning Lewis Ranch,,
"usa,,nonviolent,,Person facing felony charges after police called to fight at apartment in Ludlow,,
"usa,,tra,,Ex-Ars Technica tech reporter Peter Bright convicted of soliciting minors for sex,,
"usa,,,,Dartmouth woman sentenced for sexual assault on home-care worker,,
"usa,,,,Man Arrested After Incident In Women's Dressing Room At Montgomery Mall,,
"usa,,,,"Ypsilanti man stabbed with samurai sword after failing to buy marijuana for partner, police report says",,
"Australia,,,,"Man killed in unsolved homicide after $160 drug rip-off, inquest told",,
"uk,,,,"Blackpool woman admits to having more than 80,000 indecent images of children",,
"usa,,,,Pharr woman accused of indecency with a child,,
"usa,,,toilet,Transgender woman told to leave women's locker room,,
"usa,,,,Christopher Ryan Dobbs was convicted of multiple counts of second degree rape and first degree sexual abuse,,
"usa,,,,Investigation into yacht murder of California couple,,
"uk,,,,Five-year restraining order placed on Dagenham woman who “soiled” friend’s knickers,,
"usa,,,,Kathrine Nicole Jett pleaded guilty to one count of attempted receipt of child pornography,,
"usa,,,,Convicted sex offender offers bizarre defense in kiddie porn case,,
"usa,trans man,,,"Transgender man accused in sex crimes, assault on transgender minor",,
"usa,,,,19-Year-Old Accused of Exploiting 2 Children Under 4,,
"Ireland,,,,Man (34) who sexually assaulted child in hospital bathroom is jailed,,
"usa,,,,Convicted sex offender sues over sex change operation,,
"usa,,,,"Convicted rapist re-hospitalized, possibly indefinitely",,
"usa,trans man,,,Transgender man placed on probation for sexual battery of woman,,
"canada,,,,cross dressing convict returns to Whitehorse,,
"usa,,,,"Man who portrayed himself as 'cross dresser' arrested for alleged role in sexual assault, state police say",,
"usa,,,,"Wanted transvestite, sex offender turns self in",,
"usa,,,,NYC rapist who exposed himself in Garden City sentenced,,
"Australia,,,,Brutal rapist gets 9 years,,
"usa,,,,Adrian man gets 7 years in federal child porn case,,
"uk,,,,Cross-dressing torture killer Colin Coats allowed out of jail to attend mum's funeral - but still won't reveal where he dumped victim's body,,
"usa,,,,youens vs state,,
"usa,,,,Retired drag queen' pleads guilty to voluntary manslaughter in fatal stabbing,,
"uk,,,,Sex offender Richard Cullen throttled and battered a young mother to death,,
"uk,,,,cross-dressing paedo Kenneth Larking in Saughton prison,,
"uk,,,,CONVICTED sex offender who murdered a female friend,,
"usa,,,,State vs Lane,,
"uk,,,,Strood sex change pervert won't be jailed,,
"uk,,,,Crossdresser paedophile jailed,,
"usa,,,,Man in a dress charged with indecent exposure,,
"usa,,,,"Naked Peeper Nabbed In San Jose, And He's Apparently Done This Before",,
"usa,,,,Convicted of slaying boyfriend,,
"usa,,,,Cops Arrest Wig and Denim Cutoff-Wearing Suspect In Miller Park Incidents,,
"usa,,,,Pensacola man facing home invasion and sexual offense charges,,
"usa,,,toilet,Man accused of attacking girl in Oklahoma City convenience store restroom,,
"usa,,,toilet,Arlington man trying on women’s underwear arrested for indecent exposure,,
"usa,,,toilet,Cross-dressing man arrested for exposure at Walmart,,
"uk,,,,Child rapist moves in with unsuspecting mum and boy – after becoming a woman,,
"usa,,,,Rapist wants Oklahoma Corrections Department to pay for female hormones,,
"usa,,,,Man sentenced to life without parole for raping children,,
"usa,,,,Former babysitter convicted in Harrisburg child-sex case,,
"usa,,,,Transgender sex offenders pose dilemma in state civil confinement,,
"usa,,,,Man rapist wants to transition in prison ,,"
submitted by ANIKAHirsch to IAMALiberalFeminist [link] [comments]

2020.09.22 21:44 hgtv_neighbor The neighborhood hoarder finally cleaned up his yard. I think he was making room for a cult.

In every little slice of suburbia, quietly tucked away in those “cute neighborhoods” referenced in the real estate pamphlets, there is always THAT house. You know the one. The “shit show.”
Welcome to Saddle Downs. At one time the best neighborhood in town, but now amongst the perfectly manicured lawns and driveways with nary a spot of oil leakage, an unholy abomination that looks like an episode of Hoarders made sweet love to Fred Sanford’s bread and butter elicits sighs and dramatic eye rolling from all who reside here. They wonder out loud “how someone who can afford to buy here could live in that kind of mess. Of all the damned nerve!”
Standing in the driveway--garden hose in hand and meticulously rinsing my yard tools, I surveyed my crab grass outbreak with disdain and BOILED under the surface about what he’s done to this once beautiful collection of domiciles. I know the property values here have completely gone to shit. How could they not? And it’s ME who has to live DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET from him.
The trash. The junk. The 1989 Geo Metro with no hood. The kiddie pool full of slime and frogs. FFS, he has three VCR’s stacked beside the mailbox. Yes…I said VCR’s
And is it so damned hard to cut your grass on Tuesdays like the rest of us?? I want to try the new edger I picked up during a July 4th sale (40 volt, top of the line), but as of right now I haven’t even seen the point. My yard will look like shit no matter what, because of HIM.
The neighborhood association won’t help. If it’s anything other than potholes or barbeques, they have a “hands off” approach to governance. I plan to run for president in the spring.
Anyway…I could feel my blood pressure going through the roof that night, and the plant-based diet I switched to wasn’t doing shit to help bring it down. Something HAD to be done about him…
Ladies and gentlemen, meet Allen.
Mid 50’s, twice married and twice divorced, he works as an I.T. contractor for the state. Being stuck at home because of Covid, I hadn’t seen him outside in months. Who needs to go outside when you have GrubHub and your lawn mower is lying next to the house in 100 pieces? He had made a perfect hermit’s life, intrinsically safe from those of us who only asked for a little bit of respect for the neighborhood.
So, imagine my surprise when at 6pm last Friday evening, he suddenly stumbles out the front door, down the steps, and begins cleaning up his yard. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was so stunned that I forgot the hose was still on until it soaked my favorite pair of Duluth Trading khakis.
I blinked a few times to confirm what I was seeing. Allen was actually cleaning!
I quickly gathered my tools and hung them in their outlined spots on the pegboard my wife, Karen, got me for Father’s Day. Her essential oils business has really taken off lately and she’s starting to spoil me. It’s amazing what people will do for some of her concoctions. She’s got proven anecdotal evidence of the efficacy of her blends. She’s healed everything from spider bites to yeast infections with those little bottles of miracle juice.
I practically sprinted into the house to let her know what Allen was up to. Making sure to sit by the window the rest of the evening, I continued to peek out at my new favorite neighbor during commercial breaks in the Sean Hannity show. I wanted so very badly to go talk to him about it, but I was terrified that interrupting his task would jinx my good fortune.
When I went to bed around 9:30, Allen was still hard at it and showed no signs of slowing.
The next morning at 6:15 I heard the familiar beeps that signal a large vehicle moving in reverse. I nearly fell over trying to slip into my Crocs to get to the porch and have a look. A massive flatbed truck was dropping a 30 foot long dumpster in the yard. Allen was really getting serious!
I couldn’t take it any longer. I had planned to spend the day applying epoxy to my garage floor, but it was Allen’s project I was truly excited about now.
I had to go over there.
Quickly putting on some work quality clothes, I calmly made my way down the driveway and across the street. The yard was already looking better, but it really did have a long way to go. Allen was working like a madman.
He’s about 5’6 and half as wide as he is tall. What remained of his light brown hair was shaggy and unkempt, and he always wore the same outfit; dark gray suit pants, worn out loafers, and one of those silky, short sleeve dress shirts with vertical stripes that were popular in the early 1980’s.
Despite the less than ideal attire for the task at hand, Allen was working his ass off…and so would I. It was clear that absolutely nothing in the yard would escape the dumpster’s insatiable appetite, so without a word I fell in beside him and set to work.
It was a beautiful free-for-all and I was having the time of my life. I practically pranced around the yard, grabbing up anything I felt capable of getting over the side of the giant trash receptacle. Toys, scrap metal, fast food trash, some ugly ass yard ornaments Allen’s ex-wife had set out back in the late 90’s. Plastic frogs and flamingoes, bleached and dried brittle by 20 plus years of sun and weather cycles.
It was the most fun I’ve since the free resort weekend I scored just for attending a time share seminar and buying a share of a sweet villa in Branson, Missouri.
Oddly enough though, after a solid half hour of work Allen hadn’t said a word, or even acknowledged my presence for that matter. I finally broke the ice.
“Hey buddy! Just thought I’d come out here and give you some help. You’ve got a BIG job on your hands here, but it’ll be totally worth the effort. I even have a perfect grass seed blend for you. I came up with it myself after a long battle with clover. You won’t believe how good it’ll look in a few weeks!”
Allen never acknowledged my presence. He just continued, pushing himself harder and harder. His hair was all over the place and sweat had soaked through his clothes from head to toe.
A thought suddenly hit me.
I lightly grabbed him by the upper arm and said “Hey Allen. Did you ever stop last night?”
I pressed further “You didn’t come in at all? You’ve just been out here nonstop?”
It was killing me. I risked ruining everything, but I had to ask.
“Hey man…Why are you suddenly cleaning up after 20 years of neglecting your yard and ignoring everyone who has ever asked you to do something about it?”
Under labored breath, still without slowing even a step or glancing my direction, he said
“They’re coming.”
I inquired further.
“Who’s coming? You having a family get together? Pampered Chef party? Jehovah’s Witnesses stopping by to check on your soul?”
Allen suddenly snapped up, lunged at me and screamed directly in my face.
He abruptly turned and went right back to picking up a large chunk of a broken toilet covered in wet leaves, heaving it into the dumpster and waddling to the other side of the driveway to begin unearthing an old riding mower covered in the remnants of a splintered water bed frame.
I was a bit caught off guard by the aggression. Regardless, I was so happy to see Allen’s grass for the first time since April 22nd, 2001 that I was willing to overlook his anger. Still, though, at that point I felt it best to just go on back home.
I went ahead and started on my garage floor project. I backed my RAV-4 out into the driveway. I didn’t have to deal with Karen’s Volvo because she had an early appointment at the hair salon, then planned to return some things at a department store she felt were dishonestly presented by the salesperson…I think she planned on giving that manager a piece of her mind.
After a few more days of cleaning outside, inside, and having a huge fence built around the yard, Allen’s place was looking great. I decided I would go shake the hands of whatever visitors he was having that had motivated him to take on this glorious project.
As it turned out, I was given the opportunity to do so sooner than expected. Allen’s guests arrived the very next day.
It was an interesting looking bunch that piled out of a few of those monster passenger vans. Upon closer inspection I saw the side of them said “ZIP-LIFE HOLISTICS.” Everyone looked to be under 40 or so, and some of them couldn’t have been much past their high school years. Athletic wear—more specifically, track suits—was the prevailing choice in attire for every single one of them. Each of them wore a different color, though, and when they got out of the vans it was like someone dumped a bag of skittles onto the driveway.
Their energy was boundless. Running, jumping, and shouting loudly with the same enthusiasm I feel when my grass finally reaches the 4.5 inch mark and I get to fire up the Cub Cadet. God I love that mower.
Everyone congregated in the front yard, surrounding Allen and giving him endless handshakes and pats on the back. Allen looked exhausted, but he had put on his best smile for the greeting.
Behind that big smile though, terror filled his eyes.
The next morning at 7:00 on the dot, the cheers began.
They did this OVER and OVER and OVER for a solid 15 minutes, stopping only to cheer and clap.
Finally, they shut it down and bounded off to the van where a woman was handing out leaflets of some sort. They began to sprint off throughout the neighborhood, so after all of them were gone I sauntered over to talk to Allen. He was alone in the yard, dressed in a lime green track suit and doing jumping jacks.
I feigned enthusiasm.
“Hey buddy. How’s it going with the visitors? They’re sure an energetic bunch!”
His attitude had turned a complete 180 degrees. “Oh, hey Brad! Yeah, they’re stupendous! What a great bunch of people. They’re gonna change the life of everyone in this neighborhood. Just you wait and see!”
Despite Allen’s zeal, I was skeptical and still a touch unnerved by the arrival of these health ambassadors. I mean…maybe they could help the neighborhood get back on track. Quarantine had really taken its toll on the midsection and hind quarters of just about everyone in Saddle Downs. Working from home was awesome, but the cafeteria choices were endless now. Eating had become a sport for me by that point.
I figured I could try and get on board. It was just a bunch of over-zealous kids, right?
“Well Allen, I suppose all of us could use some guidance right now…and maybe they’ve got some techniques to help us avoid Covid, right?”
“Oh, most definitely brad. Most definitely. You’ll see.”
That was enough for me for the moment. As I started back to my own yard, I turned back and asked Allen how he got involved with these people.
“I met them on the Internet playing an ORPG game called Second Life!”
I had no idea what that was, but the answer was good enough for me.
I cruised back over to the house, figuring Karen had my kale shake ready to go, along with a little avocado and falafel on toast that would likely NOT hit the spot.
As the day wore on, I kept an eye on things out on the streets of Saddle Downs.
The Lifers, as I’ll refer to them, were going door-to-door with their flyers. Some successfully gained entry to make what I presumed was their sales pitch, while others maintained that huge smile and boundless enthusiasm after being turned away at the door. They did, however, leave a small yellow sticker on the mailbox on the way out.
Allen continued to exercise, with one of the Zip-Life zealots cheering him on.
Eventually a couple of them were on my doorstep. Ugh. It was the first time I had seen any of them up close, and the only way I can describe them accurately is to say…
They dazzled.
The startlingly attractive young man and woman before me had perfectly straight, shockingly white teeth. Their aroma was fantastic, like some perfect blend of sugar cookies and Tide Pods. Clean, and sweet. It was intoxicating.
Their eyes were big, bright and full of life, reminding me of those things that endlessly swirl and put you into a daze while the hypnotist snatches your wallet. The whites were white enough to make me squint, and their irises were vivid in color and matched their track suits. The young man’s orange irises didn’t have that fake look you see with color contacts, either. I think they were legit, which for a split second sent a chill down my spine.
As the young man began his pitch, perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth opened to a mouth that said “Hello sir! I’m Tanner and this is Kylee. We’re friends of your neighbor, Allen Randall, and are representatives of the world’s number one door-to-door health and wellness company, Zip-Life Holistics!”
I have no idea what he said after that. All I remember is smiling dreamily, looking back and forth between their mesmerizing eyes, skin that appeared to have disco balls embedded in its pores, and feeling compelled to only breathe through my nose. I found my feet shifting below me as I pushed open the storm door and welcomed them into my home. Floating in sheer ecstasy, I led them to the couch, where they sat down and produced a flyer for me to read.
At that moment, all I could think of was how much I wanted to please these strangers. How I would do absolutely anything for Taylor and Kylee.
Yes, I’ll sign those forms. Yes, I’ll be ready at 10pm on Friday. Sure, I’ll be eating nothing but raw, organic foods until then. I’ll do everything just as you wish. I just want to be well, for YOU. Thank you for saving me.”
Thank God for Karen. She had been in the Kitchen, live streaming one of her “Super Coupon” videos (she has 152 subscribers…not too shabby, right?) and hadn’t noticed Tanner and Kylee’s entrance until the smell hit her.
“Who’s here? That’s not Gain. That’s Tide. That shit is expensive! Someone needs a coupon lesson!”
She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me starting to sign papers.
“Don’t you sign anything Brad! They’re probably gonna hit your credit card for a hundred bucks a month or something.”
“You kids skedaddle. Didn’t you see the magnet on my car? I blend ESSENTIAL OILS. Do you know what that means? It means get the heck out of my house with your worthless pills, or whatever other malarkey you’re peddling. It ain’t happenin’! Not on my watch!”
The two beautiful, amazing smelling Lifers smiled, thanked me for my time, and gave Karen a little death stare as they made for the door. Karen followed them into the yard, yelling the whole way.
“Don’t you make a face at me! I’ve got your leaflet in the house and don’t you think for a second that I won’t call your manager about these shady tactics you’re using!”
I exhaled sharply and ran my hands across my face to wake up a bit. When I looked back up they were gone…and one of those little yellow stickers adorned our mailbox.
Karen gave me a bit of a scolding after she came back inside, but I did deserve it. It didn’t last too long, though, because she had to get to work on a big batch of potato salad to take to a party at my office. Those people love her recipe.
The rest of the Lifers eventually congregated back at Allen’s house. It looked like they were camping in the back yard, which is probably why Allen had that absurdly high fence installed.
Around 7pm, things got…weird.
Firstly, there was more cheering.
After the noise subsided I could hear a lot of grunting and groaning, and eventually curiosity got the best of me. I grabbed a ladder and made my way up to the roof. Our houses are more diagonally lined up, so with a bit of height I got a pretty clear view of Allen’s back yard.
It looked like they were performing feats of strength.
Some of them began picking up landscaping rocks the size of watermelons, followed by each taking a turn throwing theirs across the yard as far as possible. The best throw was about 15 feet, which was REALLY far for a rock that I would guess weighs around 200lbs.
The winner? Kylee, all 5’2 and 120lbs of her.
After that, some of the men locked arms and legs, building upon each other for some kind of creation. Bodies twisted and contorted, eventually taking the shape of a wheel…complete with human spokes.
One of the women gave them a push, and off they went, rolling across the yard. It was an impressive feat of strength and flexibility…and just a touch unsettling. The wheel made it back around the yard, and several more of the men stood on others’ shoulders on both sides of the “wheel,” eventually revealing themselves to be posts. The entire contraption together became a freaky Ferris wheel. Someone gave it a push, and off it went, slowly rotating on an axis made of the backs of their brethren.
That was both mesmerizing AND freaky, but a big group of the women, however, really pushed the envelope. The men began to chant.
It took a few minutes for it all to come together, but after everyone was in position I was looking at all 20 of the women bent into impossible positions and exercising body control that would require the strength of a herd of elephants. Arms bent backward, shoulders dislocated and twisted in ways that would paralyze any normal person. I felt bile rise in my throat, even viewing it from over 100 feet away.
All the disgusting contortions came together, and suddenly I was looking at a 10 foot tall spider with the entire body and 8 legs made of people who should have been dead from their positioning alone.
And it wasn’t unstable. It wasn’t about to collapse like one of those shitty popsicle stick houses we made in kindergarten. Had it not been so terrifying, it would have been nothing short of magnificent.
And then that spider WALKED…
And then it RAN…
Their bodies were in perfect harmony as “it” ran across the back yard.
More chanting.
Continuing to run with absolute accuracy, they began to emit a clicking sound that I can only describe as “how a spider sounds in a movie.”
My skin was crawling at this point.
Then, as if the situation couldn’t get any more bizarre and terrifying, I watched as that human spider crawled right up the back wall of Allen’s three story house and onto the roof. And when it stopped I realized that before it crawled up the house, several of the men had jumped on and stacked themselves close on the front of the spider body. Their heads were packed tightly together, and their eyes became the spider’s eyes.
And they blinked in unison.
Then it shifted a bit. The legs, the body, and those eyes, rotating around while a few dozen mouths emitted that “tick-a tick-a tick-a” sound. In a side profile stance, facing off in the distance it stood.
It felt as if everything around me had gone silent. This wasn’t just funny, or creepy anymore. It was downright scary. And as I soaked it all in and began to wonder what the hell I was really witnessing, I watched, horrified as every Lifer on that hideous creation turned their head toward me.
And they smiled…
I slept like absolute shit that night. After the spider spent a few minutes twitching around on the roof and looking at me, it/they crawled back down to the yard and disassembled. Eventually everyone settled down and I didn’t hear anything else until early morning when the daily cheering began again.
I must admit, the spider really scared me. When I said those girls got into impossible positions I was NOT exaggerating. I was looking at fully dislocated shoulders and hips, spines twisted up like paper clips, and heads that twisted completely around. These were not normal people.
This routine continued for the rest of the week.
-Wake up and cheer
-Work the neighborhood
-Cheer some more
-Do weird shit in the back yard until dark, including but not limited to
-Relay races (on their hands)
-Professional-style wrestling (without padding)
-Duck, Duck, Goose and Red Rover (with tackling)
-Forming a human snake 50 feet long and slithering around the house for 45 straight minutes, with everyone making a “sssssssssssssssssssssss” sound and flicking their tongues. Then every few minutes coiling up and striking at imaginary things.
They did try to make their pitch to us once each day, becoming more persistent as the week progressed, but Karen always shooed them off. On their Friday afternoon visit she even sprayed them with lavender oil. Tanner looked PISSED about it, too. As the days wore on, though, I noticed the little yellow stickers eventually being removed, and figured my weak minded neighbors were finally giving in and agreeing to the presentation. Not Karen, though. She’s hardcore about this kind of thing.
Four days into this adventure, I noticed something. I had never seen them eating, drinking, or going into the house to use the bathroom. I did see twice a day they were given a shot glass worth of some kind of liquid, which I presumed was whatever product they must be selling
Despite it all, the neighborhood was still running normally. People came and went, cars were washed, and dogs were walked. Mrs. Bush down the street was in her front yard, drunk and arguing with her adult son, who was also drunk, about his chronic unemployment and wasting his government money on “cheap women.”
Friday night, Karen and I were sipping some of our favorite craft beer on the porch when we noticed an abnormally large number of people heading down the street. I recognized some of the faces and others were foreign to me, but they all turned in to Allen’s driveway and formed a line that extended a ways down the street. I suddenly recalled something on Tanner and Kylee’s pamphlet about “being there” on Friday at 10pm. A quick check of my watch confirmed that it was, in-fact, 10pm. Now I was REALLY interested to see what was going down.
I moved from the porch to the living room to watch one of these quarantine MLB games, which was almost as weird as watching the Lifers do their thing. I kept a constant eye on the goings-on at Allen’s though and as the evening wore on the traffic really picked up. For hours I sat there watching neighbors get in line, looking completely happy and relaxed—no doubt enjoying the Scent of sugar cookies and eye candy the Lifers provided—waiting their turn to go behind the gate. Several of the Lifers looked to almost be standing guard there, with more standing along the street in front of the house.
All night long, the cycle was the same.
-Person goes through the gate on one side of the house, followed by a few minutes of silence.
-Horrific screaming, followed by the Lifers clapping and cheering.
-Then the person shuffled out of the gate on the other side of the house, and very slowly shuffled home.
By 2am, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get a look behind that house again, even if it WAS a shitty angle.
I was headed for the roof again.
I grabbed my ladder and began my ascent. As I reached the top rung and my head cleared the roof line, I heard a voice coming from below—accompanied by the very faint smell of sugar cookies.
It was Tanner.
“Hey Brad! Whatcha doin’ up there?” He gave the ladder a little shake.
“I don’t think it’s safe to be up on the roof this late. Why don’t you come on down and go back in the house? Kylee said Karen looks pretty lonely in the bed.”
They were watching Karen sleep??
Now I was angry. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and it was finally time to tell this asshole what I really thought of him and his stupid Lifer friends.
“Tanner, why don’t YOU get the FUCK out of my yard and go back to your weird-ass cult across the street before I call the cops!”
Tanner chuckled and said “Braaaaaaad. YOUR NEIGHBOR, the chief of police is in line at Allen’s right this minute. You know that.”
And then he literally jumped straight up the 30 feet to my roof.
Tanner crouched directly in front of me, grabbed my ladder and tipped me a foot back from the edge, literally holding my life in his right hand.
His orange eyes glowed like two big fireflies in the darkness.
“Brad. Everything is fine over there. It would REALLY be in your best interest to climb back down this VERY unstable ladder and get “the FUCK” back in your house.”
I nodded, scared shitless. My adrenaline surged again as I gripped that ladder with every ounce of strength I had. There was no exit plan here if he let me go, and I am not ashamed to admit that I wet my pants.
“Ok, Tanner. I’ll go back inside. Please, PLEASE move my ladder back and let me climb down.”
And just like that, he returned the ladder to a safe angle, got in a high-dive position and did a gainer off the roof, landing perfectly on his feet.
When I stepped off, he was directly in my face. He did NOT smell like cookies and Tide now. He smelled musty, like an old museum. The glimmer in his skin came and went like static on a TV, and his eyes no longer dazzled. He looked tired, as if he’d used up every ounce of his normally boundless energy.
That’s the last thing I remember.

I woke up on the couch around 7:00. My drool-covered shirt was turned halfway around my torso and one of my socks was missing in action. I felt absolutely awful. Every muscle ached to some degree and my feet felt like they were made of lead. I was completely exhausted, and my back felt like it was on fire. I made it to the kitchen and tried to get my head together. Out of nowhere, I was suddenly ready to MURDER someone for some bacon…or sausage…or a bagel with Lox…or some Lay’s potato chips…or a big glass of sea water. I threw my middle finger in the air and turned in a circle to let ALL the components of Karen’s stupid plant-based diet know what I thought of them. Dr. Ornish could eat a dick…actually I guess he wouldn’t, though.
I practically DRAGGED myself to the window to see what the Lifers were up to.
They were gone.
I was startled as Karen emerged from the hallway, tripped, and fell flat on her face, sending half a dozen essential oil vials flying across the room. I was too tired to even try to help her up.
Groaning, she pushed herself up on her elbows.
“What the hell happened last night, Brad? The last thing I remember is that Kylee girl standing beside my bed speaking in another language. There were bits of English mixed in there. She said something like ‘we are ancient…older than death himself…’ and then something about cows and pigs no longer being sufficient?”
I looked at her like she had three eyes. Not only was I in tremendous pain…I was feeling a little combative.
“What? Are you drunk? Did you put too much lemongrass and ylang-ylang in your tea again last night??”
When Karen is pissed, her voice gets really nasal and her A’s are literally enough to bust eardrums. After my smartass comment, I really had it coming, though.
“NOOOOOOO BRAAAAD! She said it! She said that shit, and the last thing of it I recall is her rolling me over onto my stomach and saying “Thanks bitch. I’ll fill you back up with Marjoram.”
She had managed to stand again, but doubled over in pain and hit the floor once more.
“Ughhhhhh…Damn-it Brad, why does my back hurt SOOOOO BAAAAD???”
I looked down at her exposed back. It was swollen and red, and she had a tiny hole or needle mark just above each kidney. I had the same. What the heck was up there?
Trying to look at my own back, I began turning in circles like a dog trying to sniff its own butt.
“Karen, look at these holes in my back. What’s in that spot?”
She had spent a few years in nursing school back in the day before quitting to sell door-to-door cosmetics, and god only knows what other flavor of the week MLMs that came about.
She thought about it for a moment. “I think it’s the adrenal gland. What the…did they steal our adrenaline???!!!
I helped Karen to her feet, we plopped ourselves down at the kitchen table, and I blacked out.
Three hours later I woke up, my cheek smashed down on the table. Surrounding me was remnants of a bag of beef jerky, a jar of pickles with no juice, and my mouth was caked in what tasted like feta cheese. Karen was on the floor, blocking the doorway threshold and mumbling something in her sleep about not needing a receipt. Peeking out from under the edge of her robe was what was left of the block of feta.
I shuffled my way to the bathroom, stripped off my disheveled and urine stained clothes, and let a hot shower take me away to paradise. God I was thirsty. Karen says the chlorine and fluoride in city water is bad for me, but I didn’t care. I drank it right out of the faucet.
After getting cleaned up, I stepped out on the patio for some fresh air. Many of my neighbors were out and about, moving like they were 100 years old but trying to do the normal stuff--taking walks, washing cars, etc. I gingerly made my way next door to speak with my buddy Mike. He had been out of town most of the week, but I saw him in line last night. I caught up to him as he was checking his mail.
“Yo Mike. How’s it going?”
He looked terrible. “Hey Brad. Man I feel like complete shit. I don’t know what the hell happened to me last night. I haven’t felt this bad since I got completely plastered at your Super bowl party.”
I vividly remember that event. Mike, the 50 year old accountant, attempted a backflip on a dare and landed on his face.
I looked at him quizzically. “You mean you don’t remember being at Allen’s? Going behind the fence for the Zip-Life product demonstration?”
He closed the mailbox and looked back up at me.
“The what? Zip Who? I haven’t spoken with Allen in months. I’d like to kiss him right on the mouth though, for finally cleaning up his property. I wish I had been here to see it. Damn, dude. My back is killing me!”
He turned and raised his shirt, and sure enough… the same swelling and holes in his back.
I told him what I suspected had happened to us, but he had absolutely no recollection of the Lifers ever having set foot in Saddle Downs. I was too tired to press the issue, and Mike didn’t seem to care about the holes in his back. It’s like his memory and even his sense of self-preservation was just…absent.
I ended the conversation and made my way a couple houses down, intercepting a lady named Sandra as she VERY slowly made her way through the morning walk she’s taken every single day for 23 years. We had the same conversation. She had the same marks, and like Mike, had no memory of the night before.
I tried several others and got more of the same. Finally I headed for Allen’s house, banging HARD on the door. When he answered, it was clear that I had woken him up. He was wearing nothing but a pair of old, very undersized boxers.
“Uhhh…hey Brad. What’s up?”
“Allen, I’ve had enough of this shit. What the hell did those people do to everyone last night??”
He looked completely confused. “What? What are you talking about? Who?”
I roared with every ounce of strength I had left.
All of a sudden it was like the light bulb went off. Allen’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. I exhaled sharply, relieved that SOMEONE could finally shed some light on all of this.
Allen jumped through the door, darting back and forth across the porch, giving evil stares to everyone he could see.
As he flew by me for the third time I caught a look at his shirtless back…
There was nothing.
No holes. No swelling. Just a nice, plump back with enough hair on it to sculpt a mowhawk.
And as he ran out into the street with murder in his eyes, naked aside from the underwear hanging halfway down his ass, I knew the story had ended. I wasn’t going to get my answer, because I knew what the next words out of his mouth would be.
Wild-eyed, and practically foaming at the mouth with rage, he said…

My favorite neighbor
submitted by hgtv_neighbor to nosleep [link] [comments]

2020.09.22 13:34 Theartofme4now Naked caught spy

Forward: I've written this is a first personal narrative with the target audience being a female. In my perfect world, I would write this, she would read it and her response would be something like...hell yes. Let's do this! I hope you enjoy it.
Just a Day at the Beach
We took the day to head up to Tahoe and find a secluded section of beach on the East Shore where we could relax, get naked and maybe have some fun in the sun if the privacy and conditions were right. It took some time and we had to hike a bit, but we finally found a nice piece of sand that was tucked away amongst some large boulders that would give us privacy from any onlookers.
We found our spot and spread out large beach towels out on the sand and took a look around and were very happy with our little paradise tucked away in the cove. I looked around and said, "well I don't know about you but I'm opting for no bathing suit today and I hope you're feeling the same way because you know how much I love to look at you." You replied with "Ditto...there is no way I'm getting any tan lines today." At this I caught by breath a little as I started to undress, first taking my shirt off and tossing it aside and then pulling down my trunks revealing my semi-erect cock. You glanced over and said "Wow - you really do get turned on at the possibility of us doing just about anything don't you." I laughed a little and watched you undo your bikini top and let it slide off of your shoulders and then toss it aside on top of my clothes on the side and then slide your bikini bottoms off and kicked them off as well.
After taking you in with my eyes, I walked over to you and gave you a long hard kiss and squeezed your ass and breasts just a little and asked you if you wanted to go for a dip. You replied with a "Sure - let's go cool you off before you get too carried away". We slowly walked out into the water and swam out to some rocks where we stood up in the water and made out a bit while we let the sun bathe us in the chilly water. Before too long we could hear boats getting closer and we figured we'd better get back into our spot if we wanted to keep it private and secluded. We made our way back to our towels where we laid down on our backs, eyes closed knees slightly bent and facing up to the sun. As we were laying there we could hear one of the boats getting closer and heard a couple of voices from one of the smaller boats. We glanced up and we could see an older, but good looking couple looking around and the wife had a pair of binoculars scanning the shoreline and shallow waters for a place to anchor the boat to get ashore. She caught us in her view and said "sorry about that - just looking for some open beach - looks like you two found the perfect spot." Then she followed with "do you mind if we join you? That water in front of your beach there looks to be pretty free of rocks and we can get the boat up fairly close without anchoring it out here." I looked at you and said, I don't mind if you don't, they probably can't stay long since they have a boat - they'll need to leave before too long and get back to the boat ramp they launched from." You replied with "sure - the more the merrier." Which was followed by a coy smile that made me blush a little.
I shouted back, "Sure - come on in." So they started to angle their boat towards the beach and before long they were close and I got up to help them pull the boat up on the sand while the husband pulled the motor up so it wouldn't get caught in the sand. "Hi, were Dan and Dotty - up from South Lake Tahoe. Do you mind if we go nude too?" Not at all you replied as we watched them disrobe and put their swimming clothes on the boat seats" Diane was older, but had great curves, gorgeous tits and shaved pussy and Dan was built with a good Dad bod, tanned and looked to have a pretty nice, thick and trimmed cock. They stepped off the boat with their towels and walked over and we said "Hey - we're Art and Jessie." "We just came up for the day to get away and enjoy some of this warm weather and get rid of some tan lines and perhaps have a little fun so we hiked around a bit until we found a nice spot." Dotty replied with, "well shoot we hope we didn't ruin your fun - but this does look like the perfect spot." "not at all you replied, we're happy to share the space, but I will warn you we may get a little naughty in a bit so hopefully that doesn't bother you." Dan replied "oh hell no, you two look great, we will try not to gawk too much unless that's okay." We all laughed a bit and laid back down on our towels and were just chit chatting about this and that.
After a little bit you could see I was slowly starting to get hard and saw the same with Dan and knew that we must have had sex on the brain. You piped up with "Hey Dotty, not sure how you feel about this, but I've been watching Art steal glances at you here and there and I'm not going to lie, I've been checking Dan out and I was wondering if you'd like to suck Art’s cock and perhaps let me suck Dan's?" At this my breath caught and I heard Dotty reply with, "well thank god, I thought you'd never ask. I can tell Dan's been getting excited looking at you. Why don't you two gentlemen come on over so we can get a nice look at those cocks while we kneel here back to back and have some fun."
Dan and I walk over and you both immediately take our cocks in your hands and slowly start to stroke them and then take them in your mouths. Dan and I are in heaven as we reach down and feel yours and Dotty's tits while you hungrily take our cocks in your mouths. This goes on for a bit and I and so fucking hard and it is getting me so fucking turned on listening to Dan moan when you slurp his cock in and out of your mouth so I pull Dotty's head harder and faster into my cock and really enjoy the rhythm of the motion. As Dotty pulls back to catch her breath, I say "I've got an of craziest fantasies I have is to be able to look into Jessie's eyes while another man is entering her from behind and fucking her. I know we've only just met, But I'd love to see Dan slide that thick cock into Jessie and slowly make her pussy his. How's that sound?"
Dan said "oh fuck, are you sure - Jessie is that okay with you". You replied with "fuck - I thought Art wouldn't even bring it up, but truth be told since the moment I tasted some of your precum I've wanted you inside me." Dotty replied with "OH I love it - but only if Art fucks me as well. I'd like you two guys to take us doggie style so we can make out while you're fucking us. Sound good to you Jessie?" You replied with "oh yes."
Both you and Dotty got on all fours and started kissing each other. I then said "okay baby - look me in the eye right when Dan starts to slide himself into you...I want to see the ecstasy on your face when he does it." You stopped kissing Dotty for a moment while you looked over at me and Dan knelt down behind you. He gently spread your ass open revealing your extremely wet pussy as he guided his cock into you. He looked at Dotty and said oh baby, she is so wet..." At that he slowly slid his cock into you and you bit your lip and his entire length disappeared into you." Once we has all the way in you said "Fuck....Dan, don't be goo gentle, make sure you fuck me good and hard I need to cum all over your cock." At that Dan started to slowly and firmly pound your pussy and you moaned in kind. I immediately slid my cock into Dotty and before long Dan and I were fucking you two nice and hard while every once in a while you two would kiss each other, fondle one another and talk about the cocks inside of you. While we were fucking Dotty said "see baby, I told you they would be a fun couple to hang out with....and you didn't think you'd get to fuck her sweet little pussy." That made me so hot because that meant they spied us and had us in their sights from the beginning. Dan started fucking harder and harder and you responded by bending all the way over and putting your head on the towel to fully give yourself to Dan and you asked him "to fill your pussy up with his cum." Dan responded by fucking you harder and deeper and started groaning "fuck....I'm cumming....I'm cumming.....and you felt stream after stream of cum erupt inside of you." This sent me over the edge and I started filling Dotty full of cum too. There was moaning and gasping between the four of us as we all started cumming....then Dotty said fuck.....I'm cumming too...and you replied.....YES...fuck...more...MORE, I'm cumming.
After a few more minutes of everyone letting their orgasms subside, we all sat back on our towels and took in the afterglow in the warm sun. We kept chatting about what just happened and how Dan spotted you in the water and instantly had his mind set to having you. While we were talking you looked over at me and saw me staring absentmindedly at something and started to smile...which led to a wicked thought.
"Hey Dan, Dotty......this might be a little out there, but I've a favor to ask if you are both game." I look over at you and wonder where is this going? You continue..."Art has always wondered what it would be like to suck a cock and I've just caught him staring at Dan's - right honey." "Oh shit I reply.....well......yes.......I um.......well he does have a nice cock and actually the thought that struck me is that right now it's likely still covered in your juices and his cum......but I'm not sure I'm ready for all that just yet." You reply with - well baby, if Dan and Dotty are okay with it, I'll show you how to suck his cock and if we're lucky we can get him to cum for us." Dotty replied with....."oh Dan.....that sounds hot - what do you want to do?" Dan then replied with "well, why not....I've always wondered what it would be like to have a man suck my cock. On one condition....well...favor as well. Can Dotty record it with her camera phone? I'll want to look back on this often I'm sure." You replied with "sure - just send us a copy as well."
Dan stood up and stroked his cock a little and it was almost fully erect again. We walked over and you had me kneel down with you and said "first things first.....let's make sure you clean his cock off completely....his load was large and I can still see cum on his balls and there's bound to be some of me on there too." You lifted his shaft up and started licking his balls and without thinking I did the same thing - almost ravenously...taking full licks. After we had his cock all cleaned off you started showing me how to take his shaft in my mouth and stroke it back and forth while sliding your lips over it....then you said ok, your I started doing it too and it caught me off guard when Dan grabbed my head and said "oh're a natural....fuck....keep going...." We kept taking turns and we heard Dotty holding the camera shutter as she got herself off watching us.
Dan then said....fuck.....I'm about to cum. At this you replied with "okay, this is the fun part....since this is your first time, we won't worry about swallowing his load just yet, but we will do the next best thing. Look up at Dan, open your mouth, slide your tongue out and you and I will wait like this for him to give us whatever he can...all over our faces and mouths." Dan started stroking hard and faster and Dotty said "shit honey, he looks really cock hungry....make sure he gets cum drunk." Dan didn't need any more coaxing...he started breathing hard and grunting and the first stream shot over your face, the second right into your mouth. Then he turned his rod towards me and shot a stream on my face too and then he took his cock and pulled my mouth into it and take as much as you can.....and so I did....I let him use my mouth and he shot the rest of his load in my willing mouth.....when he was done you grabbed my face and said....perfect - now KISS ME. And so we did.....we kissed long, hard and passionately as his cum was filling our mouths and running down our faces.
Dan stepped back and told Dotty that THAT was amazing........and Dotty agreed that it looked pretty great. You and I sat spent on the towels still kissing. Dotty and Dan said they had to get going, but wanted to get together again sometime. You and Dotty exchanged numbers so we could get the video too and then they went off back to the boat. As they were pulling away and waving I looked at you and said thank you....that was amazing.....I owe you everything. My happiness is all because of you. You pulled me close, hugged me and said "lets go relax on the towels a little. Hey - what did you think, did you enjoy it? Was it as good as you thought it might be?" I replied with, yeah - that was fucking wonder you like sucking cock so much.....and I have to agree....having him cum in my mouth was pretty felt great knowing how hard he was getting off to it." You walked over to the towel, knelt down and got on all fours and put your face on the towel, reached back and spread your ass open revealing your ass and pussy and said "well, if you're still thirsty most of his load that he pumped into my pussy ran down my pussy and onto my ass.....could you clean me up?" I instantly knelt down and spread you open and began licking and kissing your ass and pussy masking sure I got every last drop.
I would love your feedback. I've one other I'm working on, but I think I went off the deep-end with that one so far.
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2020.09.21 23:02 ArcticFinds Caught spy naked

You don’t need to know much about me, other than the fact that I am a microbiologist stationed at the McGill Arctic Research Station (MARS), located on Axel Heiberg Island in Nunavut. For those unfamiliar with the terminology, we’re essentially a dozen Canadians stationed to the northwest of Greenland, where we study any range of scientific matters within the polar regions, ranging from climate change to geology, permafrost content...basically anything dealing with the Arctic.
Anyway, our mission need not concern you. It merely serves as the bookend to a fantastic find I’ve made, yet kept secret from my associates and superiors. I don’t know what would happen to me if I officially reported it, especially now that I’ve published it here. I like my position in the Arctic, and I look forward to coming back for more research. But I think it important that the world knows this record kept secret for nearly a century. If I had turned it in, it most certainly would have never seen the light of day.
While on a jaunt to the southwest coast of the island, which lies along the upper fringes of the long fabled and sought after Northwest Passage, I found a sealed waterproof container. It was stained with muck, encrusted in dead micro-sea life, and had evidently been in the ocean for a very long time. Upon the box lid was inscribed “M.A.E.”. I recognized the container as the type old exploration vessels kept to drop messages into the currents should something go awry with their mission. With my Swiss Army knife, I pried it open and examined its contents. There were several documents, records it seemed. What struck me as odd was that these records were from various different sources. Some appeared torn from diaries or logbooks; others were typed out on loose leaf sheets. A hefty amount were handwritten letters, placed in order of date. Curiosity piqued, I pocketed them and waited until we returned to MARS to make a full examination, lest they be ruined from exposure to the open Arctic air.
Before I relate the contents of the canister to you, it’s important to note that the documents in the container claim to be from an Arctic mission conducted on the other side of the world, beyond Wrangel Island in what was, at the time, the Soviet Union. That it drifted this far in a century’s time to be found by me is in itself a miracle of sea current directions. This container had successfully navigated the Northwest Passage that so many previous Arctic explorers had given their lives to conquer.
Anyway, here is, in full, the contents of said container. I have them now beside me. I’ll upload them in increments, placed in the order in which they had been sealed. Here is the full known history of the disastrous McEwan Arctic Expedition of 1923-1926. For today, we have two documents: a letter and a diary.
Document One: Melvin’s Letter
20 January 1926
My name is Melvin. For the past two and a half years, I have served as chief to a corps of engineers that were sent along by the American Navy with a strangely secretive Arctic survey expedition that partially followed a route previously explored by the Jeanette Expedition of 1879-1881, in the direction of Wrangel Island, located above the Eurasian mainland beyond the Bering Strait. They told us the secrecy was due to the tensions between the budding Soviet Union and our own nation. Not wishing to strain relations over property of the De Long islands to the north of the Soviets, at which we would briefly stop to examine, our government chose discretion for this operation. If successful, then we might be announced as heroes to our nation and the world for a truly audacious scientific survey.
It is quite clear to me now that such a heroes' welcome shall never be held.
While it may be that we were sent to the Arctic in secret for these reasons, a nagging earwig in the back of my mind stresses this is not so, that they knew all along what we were to find here. But I digress; it is all supposition, baseless claims. In truth, I shall never know. I can only ponder.
It is all too evident that the remaining survivors of this mission shall never see our homeland again. For that reason, I am enclosing our entire history within the confines of this container and shall cast it adrift in the strongest current I find. I hope that God and providence may deliver it into the hands of the right kind of people, who shall make our fate and objective known to the world. That our loved ones can know where we’ve gone, especially in the case of poor Dr. Innes -- more on him later.
Before you begin dissecting these records, some more information is in order: we, a group of thirty-three men, set sail aboard the USS John Hatteras in late March of 1923, departing an uncaring San Francisco Bay without pomp and circumstance. After a passage of a month, we arrived with some difficulty at Wrangel Island, where observations were made. Another month of travel through threatening ice floes found us further to the northeast, where we examined the Jeanette and Henrietta Isles before cutting directly northward to the solid Arctic ice sheet. Twelve men remained behind on the Hatteras to seek warmer water to wait out the winter in safety, while us twenty-one men marched a good thirty miles into the ice, establishing our base: a modest assortment of four tents, five bungalows, and two radio towers. We brought with us, along with food and basic survival amenities, fifteen dogs, five cases of books, a phonograph, and enough grog to shake the icicles from a polar bear’s nose. Water would be provided by melting snow and ice regularly.
Now, onto the narratives. At the start of each record you shall find a note from myself, giving a brief backstory to the events related in the respective texts, so that you shall have a full understanding of what transpired.
We begin with pages from a diary kept by our expedition’s leader, Commander Edward McEwan of the United States Navy. For a little over a month, he held down the fort, so to speak, at an isolated shack 67 miles north of our base camp in order to conduct experiments of his own. What he found at that strange latitude, however, goes beyond the puerile understanding of our uncomprehending, earth-bound minds. Perhaps you can make sense of it. I know I cannot.
Document Two: Forward Base Logbook, as kept by CMDR Edward McEwan, USN
20 June 1923
2101 hrs.
I have decided to turn my personal diary into a logbook for my one-man station here at what I have come to refer to as ‘Forward Base’. I’ll not bother recording the findings of the instruments here; that will be for the official record keeping. This is merely an outlet for my thoughts and to keep a record of my personal experiences.
Originally meant for three men, FB had to be reduced to a lone operation due to, I confess, ineffective time management and preparation on my part. Being preoccupied with the management of an Arctic expedition served to divert my attention from this passion project. Simply put, time was not allotted to properly train anyone to handle the weather equipment and establish a daily routine for making observations until it was too late. Placing two men in isolation here was out of the question; one week alone with another man in the far north would serve to drive one mad. Three is a good number to combat such irksome creepings from the mind, and when three cannot be accomplished, one shall do. Now, it is beyond my right as leader of the expedition to ask any man among my crew to undertake such a spiritual, physically taxing, and mental burden, so I shall do it myself. While I may be inexperienced with the operations of the gear, our meteorologist Dr. Worden has written extensive instructions as to their handling for my benefit. At least I am handy with the wireless telegraph!
My second, Dietz (an admirable fellow, one shall never find a man like Dietz, nor be in want of one better than him), along with three sailors from the Hatteras, helped me to tow the supplies for FB sixty-seven miles across the ice. I would have liked to go further, perhaps to a hundred miles, but for all intents and purposes this shall do. Besides, I cannot ask more of the men for this passion project of mine. A week long haul across the ice was enough to win my sympathies and stop short of the goal so that they may return to base camp posthaste.
Weather has been fair these past few days; I hope they shall remain so for their trek back. Perhaps if I were skilled like Worden, I’d know the answer to such things. Dietz and the three sailors shall remain here for the night, and set off in the morning. Having a devil of a time keeping the place warm. Inside temperature at seventy degrees of frost (that’s -40 degrees Fahrenheit for you inexperienced chaps). Lord knows what it is outside, but I daren’t start observations now! I shall begin afresh tomorrow.
21 June 1923
1342 hrs.
Saw the men off at crack of dawn. Dietz wished me well. I told him I’d need it! It shall be a terribly lonesome time, I imagine. Such is the price of progress! First readings went well, although it was difficult to open the door to the shack; two feet of snow drift piled against it in the night. Had we more time, I would have liked to sink the shack in the ice so that the roof is level with the surface. Oh well, perhaps some future explorer will learn from my experience. At least it being above ground provides me with the chance for a window!
This is a lonesome place at the top of the world. I can already feel the walls of the shack closing in on me. I suspect I shall find myself outside a great deal of time to escape the monotonousness.
23 June 1923
0936 hrs.
Near disaster! While doing an inventory of supplies in a small storage space at the rear of the shack, I suddenly collapsed. Some time later (I suspect fifteen minutes, but it may have been longer) I found myself on the floor, gasping for breath. The place was filled with fumes from the blasted fuel burning furnace! I managed to turn it off, but had a deuced time opening the door to the shack. I suspect the heat of the furnace melted ice that had gathered in the cracks, which quickly froze over after the furnace was shut off, sealing me in. I collapsed a second time trying to free the ice to gain passage. After regaining consciousness, I finally succeeded in opening the door and venting the place out. Examining the ventilation pipe, I found it had been clogged by ice, allowing for a fume backup to take place within the shack. I think I have remedied the problem. This would not have happened as severely with a wood burning stove, but alas that would have required towing logs and kindling across the ice. Liquid fuel it shall be.
I have read extensively about carbon monoxide poisoning and must take this seriously. Any real exertion may kill me. I haven’t been able to successfully consume food or water since this happened some hours ago. There is no choice for me but to rest as much as possible. I cannot risk going outside to conduct any experiments until I have ridden this sickness to its end. I hate to begin my endeavor in this manner, but hopefully after a short time I can properly begin my experiments. I have wired base camp to alert them of my predicament. This may be the last time in a while I shall write an entry.
26 June 1923
This is a good place to learn patience in.
1 July 1923
2015 hrs.
After a week of rest, I have recuperated, I believe, to the best of my abilities! I was unable to leave my bed for the first three days and did not succeed in consuming anything without regurgitating it until the fourth day. Though I have not written anything since the 23rd, not much worth noting has happened in the interval. Only a visceral vision I had of a man in the shack with me. I remember he was nude, with a wiry frame not unlike my own, but abominably thin by comparison. His ribs showed distinctly. I only caught a brief glimpse of his face; he was an absolute skeleton. His jowls had retreated into the recesses of his cheeks, and dark circles haloed his eyes. Those eyes...dark as pitch. I wired base camp to ensure they had not sent a relief party, though I knew it impossible on such short notice. Likewise, they assured me they hadn’t. But with an apparition so vivid, I had to be sure.
Shall resume experiments tomorrow.
2 July 1923
1233 hrs.
Awoke to the door of the shack slamming back and forth in the wind. Evidently I hadn’t bolted it days before after clearing ice from the ventilation pipe. I’m fortunate that the wind has been fairly calm; I would not have possessed the strength to close it a day or two ago, and likely would have frozen to death.
Took a bit of skin off my cheek this morning trying to shave. In my groggy state, I neglected to warm the razor in hot water and the frost lining the blade sealed to my flesh like glue. It’s a devilish time to take care of one’s cleanliness here; the supply man forgot to include a mirror among my stores. I have to use the underside of a polished spoon to see my face, and even that is a warped image. Oh well, there are worse fates than the loss of a mirror.
1401 hrs.
Attempted a reading of the instruments outside. Curious depressions in the snow surround the shack, as of footprints made days before. Perhaps a polar bear cub? The drift had rounded them as softly as craters of the moon appear in a telescopic image. It is near impossible to tell what caused them at this point. If a bear, I reiterate my fortune in that the door stayed shut for these few days.
I believe I was a tad optimistic in my health assessment. Stomach cramps, headaches, and back pains continue to plague me; all signs of carbon monoxide poisoning. Feel sluggish. I’ll attempt a walk later this evening. Hopefully the chill air will boost my health and refresh my systems. Shall plant bamboo stalks along the way to mark my path.
You came here of your own free will. By mine you shall remain.
2339 hrs.
I believe something of the strangest calibre has occurred here tonight at the top of the world. I have been sitting for the past hour and a half with my hands inside the furnace, just above the flame, to thaw my fingers enough to write this entry.
As I said, I went outside for a walk. The air had some effect in waking my lungs from their raspy, poison-induced slumber. I felt invigorated for the first time in over a week. I walked for perhaps an hour into the evening, watching the sunset over rolling hills of Arctic snow dunes. This place is a desert, in point of fact, with all the majesty and simultaneous menacing qualities of the Sahara.
After watching the stars for a time in this land beyond artificial light, and counting meteors, I turned back, following the bamboo stalks I had placed in the snow. Now, I distinctly recall walking in a relatively straight direction from the shack on the outset; I followed a specific star to the north. And yet, as I made my way along the trail I marked, I had the unshakeable feeling that I was veering westward, to my right. An hour soon passed, then an hour and a half. Surely, I thought, I should have arrived at the shack? But no matter how many steps further I went into the night, another bamboo stalk appeared from the shadows, illuminated by the beam of my light, steering me ever westward I was sure from the shack.
Once I had been walking for two hours, a nerve-wracking doubt had crept into my mind. Something supernormal must be at play here. I continued to collect the bamboo stalks, intending to use them on later hikes, though I doubted very much if I should take another of such length. I began to think perhaps the ice beneath my feet had drifted rapidly between the time I set off and the present. It wasn’t an unnatural thing to suppose. Afterall, it was not really earth beneath my feet, just hundreds of meters of ice susceptible to drift. That seemed to settle my thoughts for a time, until I came to an inescapable realization: I had collected more bamboo stalks than I had planted on my outbound trek!
With this thought, I finally cut directly east, not bothering to plant anymore bamboo in the ice. A foolhardy thing to do under natural circumstances, but something told me that if I double-backed to the original trail, I was sure to die, left only as a frozen monument in this land of icy wastes.
Adjusting here and there to the best of my orienteering ability, I was at the point of physical collapse before I finally arrived at FB. The lantern that marked the way rose like a benevolent sun; never was there a more beautiful sight in these northern regions. Nature hath no ability like the wick of a Leed Burton lamp.
After gaining entry, bolting the door, and thawing my hands in the furnace, I went to write an account of my strange journey, when I noticed something beyond my own comprehension. The pages of my diary had fallen open to the 26th of June. There, I spied an entry I had no memory of writing. “This is a good place to learn patience in.” It is possible that in my delirium from the carbon monoxide poisoning I had written such a bizarre entry, though I knew even then I had lacked the strength to do so. What I know as fact is that I did not write the entry that appears in this very diary only earlier today!
“You came here of your own free will. By mine you shall remain.”
It is apparent to me that I am not alone here at FB. Someone has gained entry to the shack and written these post scriptums after I had finished my own writings. It occurs to me that both writings took place at periods when the door was unbolted. From this point further, I shall remain in the shack. The experiments are secondary to my survival. However, I will not tell base camp of my predicament. If there is another man here, making such threats, then he is clearly a danger to the expedition, and I will not put my men at risk to pluck me from harm’s way. Besides, the temperature is dropping outside; even if there were no dangerous stranger out there, the elements were enough to make me averse to risking a rescue effort. I’ll keep a sharp lookout, and maintain a ruse via the wireless so that the men suspect nothing.
I hope to God that things return to normal very soon, or that I may meet this adversary face to face and put the matter to rest.
7 July 1923
Not much to report. Licked the mirror problem; my window reflects my face well enough after dark, with the lamplight burning in the background. Significant improvement in shaving ability and hair maintenance. I find cleanliness to be the only uplifting thing here in isolation. If you can’t look good for company, look good for yourself.
At first, I hardly even recognized myself. For one thing, my face was no longer ballooned as it had been in the spoon. Jesting aside, my cheeks were sunken, covered in patches of whiskers I had missed over the past few weeks. My eyes were surrounded with grotesque, sharply violet patches and the pupils a depthless black that even the bottom of the ocean could not hope to rival.
Hopefully I can better take care of my image now that I can actually see it.
9 July 1923
2153 hrs.
A week has gone by without any sign of my mysterious visitor. Until tonight.
I’ve spent the past few days resting, building up my health. My near death on the ice sent me to a relapse of the carbon monoxide poisoning that I almost did not escape. This time, however, I made sure to bolt the door and clear the ventilation pipe regularly.
As noted a few days ago, I solved the problem of a mirror. I never like the feel of an unshaven face, especially in the Arctic. Icicles cling to whiskers as stalactites cement themselves to cave ceilings. The larger and boisterous beards are invariably attached to the frigidest faces.
I went to the window and began to shave, when I noticed a curious phenomenon that rivaled my supernormal bamboo experience. My reflection did not follow my movement. I was not at first scared, merely perplexed. I raised the razor, and did not see any movement in the window. Then, suddenly, as though it were a delayed reaction, I saw my arm shoot up and hold the same position, sans razor.
All at once it dawned on me: the image in the window was not a reflection, for it came from beyond the glass!
I yelped with surprise and fell back into my bunk. The man in the window dropped his arm, and only a slight flinch betrayed his statue-like stillness. He watched me -- he, a naked man upon the ice in eighty degrees of frost who unmistakably wore my face! The image is uncanny; those same sunken cheeks, the violet patches...only the eyes are different, for the entirety of them is a cobalt black, deeper than that of the furthest recesses of space beyond the stars. I speak in the present tense for even now, as I write this, his piercing orbs of night perceive me.
I have tried talking to him, asking what his intentions are in frightening me, even offering him some clothes, but he merely listens. With bird-like agility, his head swivels on his neck, back and forth, as I tramp about the shack. I think he intends to observe me. Not if I can help it!
With some spare boards, a hammer, and nails, I will cover the window. Though I shan’t have much comfort knowing he is still out there. Something tells me he shall last out the night, and many nights to come. So long as he can’t see me, I’ll be fine. I believe.
I sleep in your skin.
17 July 1923
0835 hrs.
The boards have been removed from the windows. I did not do it.
They were not shattered to matchwood by supernatural ability as an imaginative writer of the macabre might fancy, nor were the boards wrenched inward from the outside. On the contrary, I awoke this morning to find them intact on the floor below the window, the nails as straight as when I’d driven them in the frame.
He stands out there, impossibly still alive. His body has ballooned a bit, to approximately my size. No longer is he the skeletal frame I saw in my stupored haze of last month. Nor are his eyes the color of pitch; they are in fact like mine, blue.
I know he removed the boards somehow, but I’ll be damned if I know how.
Perhaps I am damned.
1122 hrs.
By an effort superhuman in will, I looked beyond him to see what I could make of the weather instruments. I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but I’m glad I did. He has tampered with them. I am sure of it. Some of the calibration switches are no longer in the position I left them in on the 2nd of July. What reason could he have for examining the instruments?
2213 hrs.
The beast has been inside! Yet again an entry in the log I did not make, about “sleeping in my skin.” But the door has remained bolted all this time. How did he gain entry? From this point, I shall keep my diary on my person at all times. No more entries by it.
I’ve searched high and low for some kind of port, to no avail. When I concluded my search, I turned around and saw him through the window.
The fiend was smiling.
22 July 1923
1417 hrs.
A breakthrough of sorts. I realized that I had not attempted to talk to him in weeks (Weeks? Is that how long he was been out there?). Something possessed me to try yet again.
“Who are you?” I attempted, fully expecting a rhetorical conversation.
Then, in a voice that was neither howl nor whisper, it said “Your shadow.”
“Where do you come from?”
“I do not know.”
“Why are you here?”
“I do not know for sure...I think I am supposed to replace you.”
With that, I placed the boards back upon the window. I care not if he can remove them, I shall place them up repeatedly so long as it means I no longer have to see his face.
My face.
25 July 1923
0220 hrs.
I awoke outside the shack in the night. It is inside. The door is bolted.
By some incredible ability, he has swapped places with me. I suspect this was how he entered days ago without the door open. In fact, I think it likely he could do it this whole time, that he only withheld such power until now in order to observe my movements to adopt my mannerisms.
To force the door open is an impossibility -- it was made to hold off a storm of titanic proportions. Nor can I force the window in; I still feel sickly from my ordeal last month and the glass is as strong as the door.
A blow from the nor’west has settled in. I haven’t long before I freeze. Minutes are enough to kill a man out here. When I peer into the frosted window, I can see him, working diligently at the weather log. His head reels and rolls on his neck, blue eyes waving to and fro in their sockets, cracked, frost-bitten lips which mirror mine mumbling. What incoherent, unearthly, blasphemous words he is speaking, I have no idea.
What idea I do have is one that shall surely stop him. If he is, as I suspect, made of terrestrial, or at least organic matter, the monster has minutes to live.
I’ll leave the diary in a place that shall be easy to spot so that a relief party may know my fate. I hope that I shall be successful.
Post Scriptum:
27 August 1923
It is with heavy heart that I, Arnold Dietz, write this final entry in Commander McEwan’s logbook of the doomed conception that was Forward Base. After nearly a month of no contact via wireless, a rescue group headed by myself has trekked the 67 miles to deduce what has happened to our undoubtedly brave leader.
Those scribbled initials indeed marked his final entry. Commander McEwan is dead. We found him frozen in his chair, writing a final entry in the weather logbook, relaying the instrumentation readings of the day. It is evident that he died of carbon monoxide poisoning; the stovepipe atop was inexplicably sealed with chunks of ice. How this careless oversight could have taken place is beyond me, as he made special note here of how he monitored any clogging of the pipe ever since his first run-in with its troublesome nature.
It is evident however, from his entries, that he had suffered severely from delusions at the hands of this initial poisoning. It breaks my heart that he should die afraid of his own shadow.
Some of the more superstitious men among our party insist I ought to search for a “second body” in the ice; I take it that they mean to insinuate the body in the shack is not Commander McEwan’s, but that of the thing. Such a notion is absurd, and I shall not entertain it. Besides, I have work of my own to do: from here we are to explore further. Professor Alpeine, our expedition’s geologist, is to take a group northward, and I am to head westward.
If the commander’s entries are to be believed, perhaps I shall find what the bamboo poles were trying to lead him to.
Rest easy, sir. Here I conclude the annals of Forward Base.
Lt. A. D., USN
Part Two available here .
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