Hidden camera women's locker room

2020.11.23 05:36 fainting--goat How to Survive Camping - the hitchhikers

I run a private campground. I have a set of rules to keep everyone safe. Today I’m going to tell you about a rule that isn’t my own and seems like such bullshit that it’ll make mine look like common sense. And it also explains a bit about the old sheriff, because I think I need to better understand why he was angry that I saved him from the dapple-gray stallion, so that we can reconcile.
If you’re new here, you should start at the beginning, and if you’re totally lost, this might help.
I need to explain how these inhuman things got here. Not the ones that were born here, but the ones that have been around for a while. These creatures follow the people of their origin. America has a wide variety of creatures because we’ve had a lot of different groups immigrate here over the centuries. There’s the creatures that have always been here, of course, as this is ancient land for them. The creatures that came with the immigrants, however, don’t have a place they belong and that is why they’re drawn to old land.
We get our share of random roving monsters, of course. Those are rare. Is it possible that we’ll get a monster that came over with Somali immigrants, even though we don’t have anyone of that ethnicity living in town? Of course. Is it likely? Not really. They’re attracted to old land but I think the attraction of land that is lived on by the people who share the beliefs that created them is stronger.
The stronger the presence, the stronger the lure. That’s why we’ve seen more than our fair share of Slavic creatures. One of the prominent families in town is originally from Russia and they don’t just know the stories and traditions - they’ve practiced them down the generations. It’s part of their family history and as they’ve settled here, those beliefs have taken root. They don’t live on old land, but they’re a different sort of beacon. They bring these creatures here and then those creatures end up in or around our campground.
There’s so much focus on my campground as the source of all things evil around here that I think we forget that the other families are responsible as well. We overlook the things they do that could influence these inhuman things.
This incident I’m telling you about could easily have gotten the old sheriff killed, were it not for me being a petulant little shit who had just heard about a certain rule regarding hair.
It was an off-hand remark, made to me on a rare occasion that I visited the house of the family from Russia. Their children were all a bit older than me. The youngest daughter was only a few years more, just enough that she could stay aloof, but not so much that she could ignore me entirely. For a little while my parents invented reasons for us to spend time together. I think they were trying to help me make a friend, as this was after the incident with the man with no shadow and I was quite alone by then. Certainly, it was dangerous for me to have friends, but this family was a bit more canny with these inhuman things than the rest of the town.
Their grandmother was the reason. She retained all the stories and traditions from her homeland and strictly enforced them on the rest of the family. And like all of these creatures, there were rules. Oh, were there rules. Couldn’t bathe after nightfall. Leave out food for the domovoy. Lots of customs around holidays and funerals. The one that I took particular notice of was the one about hair.
All the women in this family kept their hair braided.
It seems unfair, doesn’t it? Rules about how women are to wear their hair echo through the eras, cutting across cultures throughout the world. Here, it can’t be cut. There, it can’t be uncovered. Sometimes it is a restriction of modesty and I think this is the reason we’re most familiar with in the modern age. But in another era and another culture, it was a signifier of class status. And for what we are interested in right now, it was a matter of protection.
Unbraided hair invites in evil.
This is what the grandmother told me, as I sat in their kitchen, keenly aware that none of the other children in the family had elected to come see me. Certainly, they’d said hi when I was dropped on the doorstep by my mother, but then quickly found reasons to be elsewhere, leaving me standing awkwardly on the threshold. Their grandmother took pity on me, and so I sat at a small table in their kitchen, licking my fingers that were still covered in the cookie dough we’d just finished shaping into balls.
I asked her why this was. I think I was asking in a general sense, but their grandmother took it a different way. She sighed and straightened from putting the cookies in the oven and said she didn’t know why it fell to the women to keep everyone safe. It just was. Maybe someday it wouldn’t be, but until then, they all must wear their hair in braids, lest some evil thing take notice and draw close. Perhaps it would steal the woman away, the grandmother continued. Or perhaps an evil spirit would possess her. But most likely, considering how well protected the house was, it would instead lash out at everyone around the family. I was familiar with this, wasn’t I? How these creatures on my family’s campground attacked the bystanders who knew nothing of what evil things we harbored.
When the cookies were done she took the first one off the tray and set it on a platter, then put it out on the threshold for the domovoy. Then she let me take a handful before she called the rest of the children to come have some. I watched them as they entered, the daughters in particular. Their hair was all braided. One wore it elaborately. Another wore it simply. And the youngest wore it carelessly, so that the grandmother smacked her gently with a wooden spoon and told her to rebraid it before it fell out.
The youngest… this story is in part about her.
I try to conceal people’s names when I think there’s a reason to. The old sheriff has a moniker because he’s well known outside the campground on account of having run for office numerous times. I’d rather not connect his name to these stories so directly. Now, while this family’s youngest daughter isn’t well known, I think it’d be best to keep her identity hidden. Just in case. She doesn’t have an easy moniker either, so I’m going to use a fake name.
That’s a lot of words for ‘I’m gonna call her Lisa’, I know.
Have you seen someone beaten to death? I think in our fascination with the macabre we glorify the amazingly creative ways that people can die. The allure of the obscene. I won’t name names, but I’m sure you know which movies I’m thinking of. In humanity’s quest for novelty, I think we overlook the simple horror of a bad death.
‘Interesting’ isn’t necessarily a bad death. There’s plenty of interesting ways to die that aren’t that awful. My own death will likely be interesting, after all, and I hope to find a way to make it a good death, as my grandmother did. But a bad death? That is the kind of death that your body and soul rebels against, the one you initially fight because you know it isn’t your time and this isn’t how you wanted to go. Your struggles are futile and slowly, hope falters and vanishes entirely, leaving you alone with the spectre of your demise wrapped cold around you.
That is the death of the spirit. The death of the body comes next.
You suffer as you feel yourself failing little by little and perhaps you yearn for death, just to make it stop, but it ignores your pleas and takes you on its own time. Not yours. Sooner than you wanted, but also far slower than you crave. This final agency is ripped from your hands and given to a cruel, callous world that treats your will with disdain. This is a bad death.
I figured this out as a child when my mother took me to the morgue for the first time. It wasn’t long after that visit to Lisa’s house, when her grandmother made me cookies. Perhaps my mother thought it was time that I was introduced to this part of the family business, or perhaps she didn’t want to take the detour to drop me off at home first. I was disoriented, because I didn’t recognize the streets she took or the building we arrived at. On account of the number of bizarre deaths that occur in our town, there is a morgue attached to the sole funeral home so that we don’t have to send all of the bodies through the hospital. The police can keep everything local. It’s an unassuming building, set a bit away from the funeral home itself and far from the main road. Easy to overlook. Just a drab building made out of cinderblock.
The interior, however, is a different story. It is heavily protected and I don’t mean by mundane standards. Sure, there’s a security system and some cameras (which I think are fake) and that’s it. But every protection you can think of from every culture is painted, engraved, or hung around the entrance. The funeral home did their research. Nothing dead or undead is getting in or out of this building without their knowledge.
You’re probably thinking, ‘oh wow the funeral home owners must have some stories of their own’ and yes, they do, and I suppose now I’ve cursed myself to write them out someday, haven’t I?
At the time, the building felt cavernous. The lack of decoration on the interior, the austere white walls and the harsh lighting made it seem far larger than it really was. As an adult, I realize that the morgue is little more than a glorified shack with an overzealous AC. There’s hardly any space between the metal table in the middle of the room and the row of shelves on one wall, such that no one can squeeze through when one of the trays is slid out. I remember thinking it would be fun to play in here, to sidle underneath the open slab like it was a bridge I was swimming under, until I realized there was a corpse on it.
My mother didn’t call me over to look, but I was curious, and did so on my own. The body was covered by a sheet and it was lumpy. There were pits and dents here and there. A deflated shoulder. A swoop over the knee, like someone had scooped it out with a spoon. My mother lifted a corner of the sheet to look underneath and I glanced around her, peering past her body towards the corpse that lay beneath. It was mottled and for a moment I didn’t think it was human, that perhaps I was staring at some kind of salamander creature with blue-purple skin. Then I realized I was looking at bruises. Every inch of the body was covered in bruises, the colors ranging from crimson red all the way through purple, blue, green, to yellow. The face was a crushed mass resembling oatmeal and those strange hollows I saw - the shoulder, the knee - were where the bone had been pulverized to the point it could no longer hold the muscle and skin in place.
Mother quickly dropped the sheet. She’d seen enough. This was indeed an unnatural thing, she said grimly. Our family would deal with it.
The problem was, my mother said later, over the dinner table, that we didn’t know what unnatural thing we were dealing with. Some of these creatures are unique in how they kill their prey. Vampires leave their victims exsanguinated, there’s beasts that only eat the heart or the liver and such. But for every creature that leaves a calling card at the morgue, there’s a dozen more that all kill in the same way.
Beating someone to death is a very common tactic for these inhuman things.
The thing that distinguishes it from human brutality is that humans tend to stop when they realize the person is dead. Inhuman things leave their victims without an inch of skin untouched, never dealing the fatal blow until the unfortunate person is thoroughly worked over. This was not the first time my family has dealt with the creatures that do this. I’m sorry to say that a lot of the time we never find what did it and it just goes away on its own after leaving a handful of bodies behind. My parents expected this time to not be any different.
Then, a few weeks later, another body showed up. It too had been beaten to death. This time, the old sheriff showed up at the house. He told my parents that there was a pattern to the killings. The local police got a call about someone trespassing and surprise surprise - it was a camper that had wandered off the campground and wound up in someone’s backyard. They gave them directions back to the campground and let them go walking off.
While they couldn’t be identified by their appearance anymore, their clothing matched the body currently in the morgue. The homeowner had watched them leave after the police officer directed them back towards the campground and instead of walking the whole way, a car had driven up rather soon after they’d left and given them a ride. At the time, they’d assumed it was a friend from camp, but the timing seemed off when the old sheriff reviewed the report.
They’d hitchhiked, the old sheriff decided. Just like the first victim, who had been seen trying to catch a ride some hours before their death.
“Are we dealing with a human this time?” mother asked.
Now that I am older, I know the reason she glanced back towards the bedroom. She was thinking of her gun and her knife and wondering if she needed to slit a throat.
“Could be an inhuman thing that updated its tactics,” my father offered.
The old sheriff intended to find out. He was going to go walking along the road until someone offered him a ride. This caused a brief argument among the adults in the room. My mother insisted that she should go. If it were a human, they’d be more inclined to pick up a woman that they thought would be easy prey. I heard the savage vindictiveness in her voice and knew that they’d be the ones beaten to death this time, if they took the bait. The old sheriff finally won the argument when my dad told her to ‘let him do this’ and she reluctantly yielded.
The old sheriff told me what happened, when a car slowed to a stop beside him and the driver offered him a ride. It was after my parents were dead and I was in charge of the campground. I needed to know the full story, he said, now that I was in charge of keeping my campers safe.
The driver was an ordinary looking man, albeit with a rather fabulous bead and shaggy hair that needed a trim. They chatted a little bit as the driver took him down the roads towards his supposed destination (a dead end road with a police officer waiting, just in case it did turn out to be an ordinary human murderer). The old sheriff began to wonder if perhaps he’d found just a kind stranger to offer him a ride and the hitchhiker theory was no good.
Then the driver jerked the wheel sideways. The old sheriff remembers an impact and then nothing after that. He regained consciousness while he was being dragged through the woods by the collar of his shirt. He remembered thinking, as the man threw him to the ground, that it wasn’t a human after all. His theory was correct.
Then the man picked up a stout stick and began to beat him. His bones shattered under the blows. One eye popped, the other was half-blinded by a wash of blood. His mouth was full of blood and broken teeth. He fought back, of course, but his gun had been taken from him while he was unconscious and the creature was so strong. Far stronger than any human should be. He said that his last cognizant thought was that he was glad he hadn’t let my mother go in his place.
Before he succumbed, he reached up a hand - his fingers crooked and blackened - and clutched helplessly at his attacker. His hand closed on something - a flask of some kind, hanging from a cord off his belt - and the cord snapped. It fell on him, the stopper coming free, and the water soaked his torso.
Instantly he felt whole. The pain vanished. He felt strong - stronger than he had any right to be. And he reached up with fingers that were now straight and unblemished by bruises and he seized the stick and wrenched it out of the man’s hand.
He used it to crack the man’s skull open. The stick cleaved through the bone and into the brain, splattering bits of it across the forest floor.
That was the end of it. For a few days, at least. This time, the old sheriff didn’t tell my parents about the body they’d found. Another confirmed hitchhiker. This time someone from the edge of town whose car had recently broken down and they hadn’t gotten it fixed yet and were just bumming rides from anyone that came past. The old sheriff feared that after last time, my mother would once again insist on going and use the fact he almost died against him in the ensuing argument. Instead, he went walking along the road after only telling his officers. He knew how it would work this time.
If there was a pattern, he reasoned, perhaps he could circumvent it before the inhuman thing wrecked the car. Perhaps that was how the cycle could be broken. So along came the car and it slowed and the window opened and the man inside offered him a ride. The old sheriff got in and took a covert look at the driver.
The same man. Except this time, the beard was longer, and it looked like… there was a face formed out of the curling hair. He told the driver where he was going and as the driver replied that yes, of course he could take him there, the beard’s mouth moved as well in time to the answer.
Unsettled, the old sheriff tried to focus on watching the driver’s hands. Trying to anticipate when he’d throw the wheel so that he could grab hold and keep it on the road.
Well, the old sheriff told me, he succeeded in that much. But turns out it’s a lot harder to stop someone from wrecking a car when they really want to, especially when they’re blessed with inhuman strength.
Things happened much as they had before. The man dragged him through the woods for a bit before seizing a stick and beating him with it. This time, the man had a stick in each hand, and the old sheriff thought he wasn’t going to survive long enough to get a chance to snag the flask at his waist. He said he felt his organs rupture, his lungs filled with blood. He was entirely blinded as both his eye sockets were crushed.
Then, a pause. He felt the man grabbing him by the neck. Checking for a pulse. And he flailed with the last of his strength, he felt his ruined hand smack against the flask, and that small blow knocked the stopper free and the water poured out and onto his chest.
This time, after the old sheriff had cracked his skull in two, he dragged the inhuman thing’s body back to my parent’s campground. They burned it. I was there, watching the sparks, because I always did like a good bonfire and it was easy to ignore what was inside or to stand upwind of the smell of burning flesh.
“This isn’t over,” my mother told the old sheriff as they stood watching. “There’s a pattern here. And since you started it, you have to finish it. Survive the third encounter and kill it once more and that’ll be the end of it.”
The old sheriff said he wasn’t sure if he could survive one more time, but he’d try. I thought it strange that his voice sounded more resigned than resolved.
I wonder if at some point, the old sheriff accepted that he would die from some inhuman thing in an attempt to save another. I wonder if that is why he threw himself inside the vanishing house and why he was willing to sacrifice himself to the dapple-gray stallion. Perhaps it isn’t heroism… but he believes it to be his fate, just as I cannot shake the belief that the beast will be the death of me someday.
As it turns out, he never got the chance.
I’m sure you’re wondering at this point how the hell Lisa fits into all of this. Was that little bit at the beginning with the cookies and the weird rule about hair all just a detour down memory lane?
Do you recall how Lisa was scolded by her grandmother for letting her braid come undone? That was not an isolated incident. For a little bit, Lisa had been in the habit of taking her hair out of a braid once she arrived at school. She told her friends it was giving her a headache and it was fine as long as grandma never found out. I was resentful of her defiance. There were no consequences to it. Not like me, who had to leave the windows shut and ignore the little girl crying outside or we’d all die.
I don’t remember quite how old I was, but I do remember that I was an evil little shit at that age. So a preteen, maybe?
That night, I tattled on Lisa over dinner. I don’t think there was any particular reason. I think I was just irritated that my parents were distracted and not paying enough attention to what I was saying about school, so I decided to stir things up by saying something I knew they’d get upset about. And if it wasn’t me they were upset at, so much the better.
“Lisa?” my mother asked. “Are you certain? How long has this been going on?”
I told her. And as a child, I thought that my plan had backfired horribly, for mother left immediately after dinner and made my brother and I take care of all the cleanup ourselves.
She went to Lisa’s grandmother and the next day, Lisa’s hair was in a braid and it stayed in a braid all throughout the school day. She was subdued and quiet and I felt maliciously gleeful that she’d gotten into trouble.
As I said, I was an evil shit back then. But I was also desperately lonely and resentful of an entire school full of children that were afraid to be my friend. I lashed out however I could.
Honestly it’s astonishing I didn’t get sent to the principal more than I did.
The old sheriff walked along the road for almost a week before he finally had to admit that the man with the beard wasn’t coming back. He didn’t want to admit it, but it looked like Lisa had indeed been the cause of its presence. No one wanted to believe that something so simple as a young girl’s hair could be the cause of such evil.
But unbraided hair invites evil, for those that believe such things. And Lisa’s family is prominent around town with numerous houses owned by relatives. It isn’t a coincidence that the killings began around the same time Lisa began unbraiding her hair and that the hitchhikers were all picked up along the property lines of people with blood ties to Lisa’s grandmother.
The last time I remember seeing Lisa was in highschool, shortly before the end of the school year. She was a senior and her friends were asking her what she wanted to do after she graduated.
“I’m leaving,” she declared, and she reached back and tore the hair tie off her braid. “I don’t care where, but I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.”
Going somewhere there weren’t creatures attracted to her blood. Somewhere that these evil things couldn’t find her, regardless of how she wore her hair. I kept walking down the hallway, but I looked back just long enough to see Lisa, now alone at her locker, hastily putting her hair tie back in before her braid fell apart.
She graduated and she did exactly that. I haven’t seen her since. I can only hope that she’s happy and that she can wear her hair however she wants.
I’m a campground manager. The old sheriff told me this story because he fears that this isn’t over. Perhaps someday the bearded man will return and begin to claim victims again, and that he - or someone else - will have to finish the pattern that was started so many years ago. I think he is also a little angry that my parents intervened. That they went to Lisa’s grandmother and then without a beacon inviting it here, this evil thing lost interest and went away to torment some other town.
I wonder if he carries the guilt of not having stopped it. If he carries the guilt of all those that couldn’t be saved.
I’ve only just begun to question if I’m doing enough or if I’m taking the easy way and leaving a trail of bodies in my wake by doing so. I sleep well enough at night right now, but I’m starting to think that someday this won’t always be the case. My conscience is recalibrating and while today it only has a needle with which to prick me, I fear it may someday carry a sword.
I respect the old sheriff, but I’m not sure I want to be like him.
I called him yesterday. We’re going to meet for coffee tomorrow morning. I’m going to apologize first, but then I’m also going to tell him that he has to think about himself as well. His life is not wholly his own to give away as he pleases. The town needs him. I’m assuming his wife needs him.
And… I need him.
Someone said that he seems like a father figure. And I guess he is. It might be time that he knows that.
This might be the hardest conversation I’ll ever have. [x]
Read the full list of rules.
Visit the campground's website.
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2020.09.24 21:07 ThemThorntons Hidden camera women's locker room

“I wish you’d just fucking die.”

The boy’d already stamped his way up half of the narrow steps leading to his angled attic room by the time the curse left his sneering face. It was but a half-breath later that he heard the desperate gurgle and wheeze of his mother down there in the family room, and by the time he came bounding down and arrived at her side she was already dead, spittle and froth caking the corners of her carping mouth. The funeral was mercifully short and sweet. She was disliked by most and had few friends. Scant family was in attendance, scanter tears shed in her honor. Her own son was not among that demonstrative minority and—though he obsessed day and night, wondering if his muttered curse could have somehow supernaturally triggered her death—any guilt he felt was but a shallow pang at finding that he missed her not at all. Not one bitching bit. He couldn’t even remember what it was that precipitated the fight that led to her enigmatic expiration (it was always something) and in truth the days had passed much smoother and quieter with the truculent nag dead and buried—though the nights were less solid in their footing; his callous father’s already prodigious drinking had been rationalized and justified to dizzying heights in the wake of the harpy’s mysterious and most convenient demise. So in the following weeks as his father disappeared into the bottle only to surface in unannounced fits of Mephistophelean angst, the boy brought himself after much consideration to experiment with this newfound power by conveying that simple string of words to whatever unsuspecting small animals crossed his path, starting with an errant backyard squirrel and progressing to a ratty, tailless alley cat before eventually making a subject of the neighbor’s aging, swayback beagle… but all still stood after he said the heinous words. He began to ponder the mechanics of this mysterious, theoretical gift (if it did indeed exist, as he felt and hoped it did)—how it appeared that only a creature of higher intelligence might comprehend the lethality of the language. Having failed with such lesser forms, he one day braved the gauntlet of commuters and bums and ratchets on the public bus line for a truant trip to the city zoo, and after staring long and hard into the eyes of that most intelligent and chromosomally adjacent of primates, the chimpanzee, the boy finally looked both ways and back over his shoulder once more before stating the deadly phrase to the most cognizant of the troop. He held his breath, waited for the hairy humanoid to drop but… nothing. Perhaps there was no power coursing through him after all, he thought... perhaps it was just the cruelest of cosmic coincidences that his mother was struck down and dead a mere moment after he’d wished aloud for that very event to transpire. On the bus ride home following the failed experiment at the zoo the boy’s eyes fell on a slumbering homeless man and he thought of trailing the wayward vagabond, once awake, to his surely wretched flop where the boy would corner him and state the damning words before running off when his suspicions were confirmed by the old mendicant collapsing to the ground in a gasping, gesticulating heap of soiled linens and atrophied limbs. But no... after once more surveying the bored, sullen faces that populated the bus he decided the hour was not right, the eyes too many. In the meantime the boy attended school by way of corners and shadows and spoke to hardly a soul and even then only if spoken to. During this period of macabre deduction he stuck to back halls and alleys between classes and on the trek to and fro, careful to avoid the husky, meat-eating bully who’d leveled crosshairs on him since the previous summer. He had no idea what it was that provoked the brute to single him out that sweltering August day, only that he was once randomly confronted and had been most days since. And though he would still quickly turn back ‘round a corner or slink between the teeming after-school busses when he saw the swinish punk loping around with his perpetually cocked fist and too-big lips, he secretly fantasized about uttering the same venomous words that precipitated his mother’s otherwise unexplainable widowermaker of a heart attack (according to the befuddled coroner’s report). The rumors were already swirling around his school and neighborhood: “Hey, did you hear? They say the freak poisoned his own mom.” Oh, that particular dirty deed had crossed his mind a time or two, make no mistake. He went so far as to open and peer into the cupboard below the kitchen sink on more than one occasion, taking inventory of the chemicals below and even reading up on them online in the deep dark reaches of the night in an attempt to find the ideal slow killer solvent to be doled out in perfectly miniscule, undetectable increments until they compounded in her body and led her to expire frothing on the floor—an effect he’d somehow seemingly willed into existence without so much as a single drop of poison stirred into her sweet tea which often sat on the counter long unattended. As for the impenitent ogre who haunted the halls and alleys and tormented the boy for the better half of a school year, even after the death of the victim’s mother, he was to meet his maker or the void of nothingness soon enough. It was a Tuesday and the wind blew cold and cutting that fateful afternoon when the bully stepped out from behind a leaning dry-rot garage and hemmed the boy in where the alley met the street, giving the slight teen no passage, shoving him into the overflowing trashcans of the Hmong family that slept six to a room in the corner house with their unmowed lawn that caught breeze-blown fast food litter like flies in a silken web. The monstrosity snatched the slender boy from the strewn, stinking garbage and heaved him mightily into a garage and it was at the foot of its rattling bay door that the boy looked up through eyes bleary with tears and seethed through grit teeth: “I wish you’d just fucking die!” The bully complied. His eyes rolled back into his head as his bastard heart seized. That insolent, thick-lipped mouth watered and frothed as if the brute had broken open a hidden secret chamber in a false tooth and swallowed its deadly contents rather than spill precious secrets—but there was no drug at play here, no secrets to protect—and though still unexplained a phenomenon as it was, this was a moment of confounding confirmation: the boy could indeed slay with words, as evidenced not only in the death of his mother following that most malicious pronouncement but now this hulking, convulsing asshole at his feet. He sprinted the three blocks home on legs swifter than any he’d ever known, buoyed and supercharged by the testimony of his dark power. It was real. He could do it. He had killed his mother, and now his chief antagonizer; both felled by highly unlikely and medically inexplicable acute heart attacks. But toxicology reports and autopsies saw no external agents at work in either death, and though the authorities liked neither his look nor demeanor they could do nothing more than question and release the young psychopath, who more than held his own under their glaring interrogatory lights. Despite the compounding rumors (“he’s a ninja assassin, he trained in Japan on foreign exchange”—“no he’s a witch”—“no I heard from this guy my cousin goes to school with that the freak sold his soul to Satan”), the boy found he now walked the halls proper and held his head high as he did so, no longer did he relegate and exile himself to second class citizenry in that inconsequential temple of social inbreeding they called Grover Cleveland High… for he now held the power. They didn’t have to like him, or respect him, or even treat him with common human dignity for he and he alone had the capacity to quietly, effortlessly kill them all—and as he mulled over the possibility inspiration struck in the form of a flyer advertising the school’s sixteenth annual student talent show. He signed up, and when the brace-faced snob overseeing the roster smirked at the sight of his scribbled “Stand Up Comedy” in the “Talent” column, the boy simply smiled back—for he knew the real joke was soon to play out and it would be on her and all the rest of them too. They were doomed, and their ignorance of this fact he found utterly delicious. In the weeks leading to the show, he kept his nose clean at school and avoided his father at home. He’d taken to breaking into half-built houses in an emerging subdivision down Plank Road, vandalizing them by way of graffiti, broken windows, piss and shit. Late one night he fell under the gaze of an interloping spotlight through a shattered window and arched his back at the stern policeman’s voice that ordered him to “come out of the residence with your hands behind your head.” He did just that, and as the officer fished in his pockets and procured identification the boy felt a sudden urge at further experimentation. He wanted to shorten the command, if possible, and wondered if it would have the same destructive effect if he did so. No time like the present, he thought, as he issued a singular, truncated mandate: “Die.” The constable immediately did as told, as had the others who succumbed to the longform command. His mouth frothed, pupils suddenly disappeared to take stock of the inner workings of his skull and he dropped to the ground so suddenly and at such an angle that his thighbone snapped and tore through both the meat of his leg and his navy blue trousers. The boy stood there, feeling like an old world God of plagues and thunder and floods and his eyes went from the astonishingly white exposed bone and seeping blood to the holstered pistol on the felled officer’s hip. He thought of taking it, but then laughed aloud—what use did a God have for a pistol? The big day arrived. The Grover Cleveland High Talent Show. Following a tackless strip mall boy band and several middling dance crews the boy’s showtime moment had come. His name was called and as he ascended the stage’s aluminum-sheathed steps a rousing murmuration ripped through the crowd like wildfire. “The freak’s doing comedy! Can you imagine?!” He toyed with them at first—before he spoke a single word he stepped to the microphone and adjusted it for height and lingered there, allowing the crowd to continue to sneer and gossip and shift in their seats in blithe anticipation. His eyes scoured the faces, fell on and singled out a handful… there was glacier-eyed Kelly March, a girl he’d had a crush on for four years, since the sixth grade. And Mister Hurd, the barrel-chested gym teacher and rugby coach who routinely shamed him for not dressing out in the boy’s locker room; and there was Miss Allen, the English teacher who once offered kind words of encouragement when he wrote a poem about a fishing trip with his grandfather. He would be sorry to see her go, but this needed to be done. They were, for the most part, a sea of assholes and imbeciles and he figured the world would not miss them at all. Not one bitching bit. He cleared his throat. The crowd fell silent, captivated by the thought of this heretofore seemingly tongueless freak who haunted the back halls trying his hand at humor. Little did they know, it was but a single word he would utter— “Die.” It was comedy at its finest, he thought: set-up and punchline and tag all rolled into one, and as soon as he said the word the crowd went into stitches. For a fleeting moment it actually looked as if they were indeed laughing in unison, so closely did the dance of death resemble that most inarticulate act. But no, they were not laughing. They were dying. In droves—boys, girls, men and women… hundreds of them there in the auditorium, capitulating to his savage command like frothing rabid animals. And then he saw them: half a row of bewildered, horrified faces… The deaf kids. They’d escaped his wrath, not because they were any less intelligent than their dying peers, but simply because they did not hear the command that carried it. Whatever metaphysical work was at play, it relied on auditory perception and thus the severely hard of hearing and the fully deaf were spared. Looking to the right side of the stage he found that their interpreter, however, was not. This was a turn of events he’d not accounted for in his fantasies of mass murder. Panicked, the boy fled. It was not long before they were at the door of his home, the stormtroopers, and he was driven downtown in the back of a paddy wagon with his wrists zip-tied and his murderous mouth plugged with a leather-strapped ball gag. The police of course were familiar with the boy by way of the previous two deaths (though they had not yet fingered him in the mysterious fatality of one of their own), and when a deaf girl who was particularly skilled at the reading of lips told the police her account of the tragedy at Grover Cleveland, they made sure to silence him one way or another when they came for him. Black-hearted, calculating, capable of great evil—the boy was all of these things, but stupid he was not. Once the ball was removed and officers interrogated him with their ears plugged he knew better than to admit to anything, let alone say the deadly words. There was nothing they could do with him, no legal precedent set for such a supernatural occurrence let alone a standard charge to file and thus he was released into the custody of his inebriated father within twenty-four hours. As soon as the front door was closed and the tumblers fell he instructed his worthless, bottle-swimming father to die and the man promptly did so. The boy stepped over his convulsing body and up the narrow stairs to his room as he had after the fight with his mother that started it all. Once there, he fired up his computer and sat down before it and logged onto Chatroulette. The bodies dropped like leaves from a dying tree; an endless revolving door of new faces, new ears to inform with his now singular mantra of death. He grew bored with it, and instead used his web camera to record and upload a simple backlit five-second clip of him uttering “die” to the world. It took a day or so before it went viral, and as it did he sat and drank the last of his father’s cheap vodka and watched the video’s views climb like some sick, runaway stock in a bull market of death. Hundreds, then thousands before the warnings hit—this was no hoax. Once it was common knowledge, a hot ticket item on the twenty-four hour news cycle, they were back at the door. Pounding, firing pellets of teargas through windows as he’d once hurled rocks through those of the half-built houses off Plank Road. With stinging eyes and searing lungs he made his way down out of the attic and into the bathroom where he stared at his reflected countenance as the chaos built around him and the last thing he heard, other than the splintering of the door as the black booted SWAT team breached it, was his own seething voice aimed at the young man in the mirror: “Die.” 
submitted by ThemThorntons to stayawake [link] [comments]


2020.08.09 22:45 welcometosouthapp Hidden camera room women's locker

Welcome to South App #2: https://preview.redd.it/yjkwcmvc22g51.jpg?width=2365&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1aeb599b9653585277e9c705c7d6a935c1a144da
Sunday, August 9th, 2020
“Hall check! Wake yo' dumb asses up.”
Winston wiped the grit out of his eyes and checked his phone. 6 AM. He sucked last night’s Cheeto dust off his fingers and ripped a violent fart, causing Tai to spring up from his bed.
“What was that?!” Tai piped up. “And...what’s that smell?”
“Armadillos,” said Winston, lighting a cig. “Liberal town stinks of ‘em.”
Somebody pounded the hell out of the door. “Winston! Tai! I said hall check!”
“Fuuuck,” Winston slurred, hopping off the top bunk. He smacked his head on the way down, landed on his ankle, and dropped his cigarette.
“And that would be the new R.A.,” Tai sighed, shuffling to his feet. “Voice sounds kinda familiar. Welp, our shenanigans were fun while they lasted.”
They emerged into the bright hallway in pajamas. And to their surprise, every student stood next to their door at attention. Some were swearing. Others were sweating. And strangely, there was no R.A. in sight.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Winston muttered.
“Dude, get to attention before he comes back!” hissed Connor: a lanky, nerdy guy with a bowl cut and glasses.
“Is this some kind of joke?” asked Tai. “Somebody must be playing a prank on us or-"
Suddenly clothes, shoes, snacks, beer bottles, and a sex doll flew out of the room at the end of the hall. “Jackpot!” bellowed a voice from inside. “That’s a fuckin’ minor-in-possession charge right there!”
Then, it occurred to Winston: that voice was familiar. Suddenly, his taser mark burned like Spidey Sense. Winston jogged between rows of trembling students, ignoring the suffering cries of “Don’t do it!” and “He’s bigger than you!” In the doorway, Winston saw him: Lionell the bus driver. He sat with his back turned in a swivel chair, browsing his hallmate’s laptop. He appeared to be making himself right at home, his combat boots crossed on top of the desk.
“Looks like the simps in this room are fond of big-titty goth bitches!” he yelled out, scrolling through the browser history of 4K porn.
Winston took a deep breath. “Hey, uh...Mister Lionell?”
Lionell swiveled around to face him. His eyebrows furrowed like two lightning bolts beneath his freshly-waxed head. “Ah, Winston Panty-Pissin’ Beavers. Care to tell me why the fuck you ain’t in formation?”
Winston would rather swallow his own vomit than his pride. “Uh, yes sir. First of all, I wanna apologize for the way I acted on the bus. I was a bonafide douchebag. But I also wanted to ask: can I please get my gun back? My dad gave it to me, and-”
Lionell shot to his feet. He marched over to Winston like a true Marine. Slowly, he reached into his BDU pocket and withdrew the Colt Single-Action Army, cradling it in his calloused hands like Oliver Twist asking for porridge.
“Is, uh…this whatchu want, Mister Beavers?” Lionell mocked in a high-pitched voice.
“Yeah, man!” Winston chuckled nervously. “I’d mighty appreciate it.”
“Go on then!” Lionell snapped. “Take it. But if you do, I’m gonna charge yo’ ass with discharging a firearm near a public highway, destruction of private property, and attempted hijacking of a motor vehicle! And Lionell’s my government name. It’s Deputy Hardy to you.”
Lionell snatched Winston’s hand and placed the gun inside it. The warm muzzle fit his hand perfectly - exactly why his dad had chosen it for him. And it pained Winston that much more to hand the Colt back to Lionell. Winston had reluctantly made up his mind.
“That’s what I fucking thought,” Lionell sneered. “You’re a pussy, and daddy would be ashamed." Lionell pocketed the gun and marched out of the room, down the hall of petrified students. “Ya know, I’d say daddy shoulda left yo’ ass on a tissue. Then again, why waste a perfectly good tissue, ya dig?”
Lionell reached Room 309 and stepped inside.
“We gotta do something about this son of a bitch,” whispered Tai, as a seething Winston came to attention next to his room.
“Dude, there’s not shit we can do except comply,” whispered Connor, shaking his head. “Most of us have shit in our room way worse than alcohol." Connor pressed his finger against his nostril and pretended to snort cocaine. “Look, the way I see it: we just gotta let the R.A. do his thing. Let’s face it: we’re Lionell’s bitch.”
Holy fucking shit!” Lionell cheered. “I gots me some goodies in this room.” He walked out with a bag of Winston’s hand-cut tobacco, a jar of moonshine, and a few boxes of .45 ammo. But Winston’s anger paled in comparison to the sheer horror on Tai’s face. Under Lionell’s arm was a binder with big, bold letters reading HAWT BOOK. Tai’s eyeballs nearly popped out of his skull.
“He cannot...read...that book!” Tai whispered, gripping Winston’s shoulder.
“Sheesh, dude,” Winston said with a shrug. “Quit your bitchin’. He done took my Alabama moonshine. A few inbreds died making that batch.”
“Mine’s worse, roomie,” Tai’s voice cracked. “Much worse.”
***
Four floors up, Gigi opened her eyes to the sun in her face. She stared up at the ceiling, a visible heatwave cooking the room. One of these days, the paint would melt off the ceiling and coat her entire body while she slept.
Like Winston, Gigi was a member of the Top Bunk Club. And she too had rolled off the bunk and twisted her ankle more than once. On this day she sat up too quickly, feeling a rush of hard cider to the head. She felt herself tumbling down, down, down - landing squarely on the bean bag chair below.
The room spun above her head, her heart pounding in her throat. She slumped over, crawling across the soft, white shag carpet. Gripping the towel rack, she pulled her body up, bent over the sink, and threw up. She flopped onto the cold tile floor, smiling as the nausea left her body.
Somebody gently tapped on her door.
“Sarah?” Gigi called out, her voice hoarse and dry. “Um...can you grab me a Sprite?”
“Oooh, my-a Gigi!” called out an Asian lady. It was Kim Moon: Gigi’s mom. “How are you? Did you have much drink? I cannot wait hear everything!”
Gigi lay in a fetal position, covering her mouth. “M-mom?!”
“Yes, my-a Gigi!” replied Kim. “Please open door for hall check. I am your new R.A!”
Gigi projectile vomited on the shag rug.
Minutes later, Kim was on her knees scrubbing the rug while Gigi sat on the futon. Kim had raided Gigi’s cabinet for rubber gloves, bleach, and an old towel. She aggressively scrubbed the carpet until that one spot was much cleaner than the rest of it.
“Like I always tell-a you,” Kim said, looking up. “Cleanliness next to godliness." She smiled, displaying a row of pale yellow teeth. Her black, thinning hair draped down the back of her neck. She was even shorter than her daughter.
“Um...yep!” Gigi laughed nervously. She sipped a Sprite, pulling her knees to her chest. “So...what exactly is going on?”
“My-a Gigi,” Kim cooed, cradling her daughter’s face in her gloved hands. “My heart-a broke when you leave. I cry and cry, then I finally close up shop be with you!”
Back in suburban Atlanta, Kim ran a small farmer’s market out of a shed on her property. Gigi spent her adolescent and teenage years harvesting vegetables and selling them in exchange for a weekly allowance. Kim always swore that Gigi (or possibly her bratty little sister, Catherine) would someday inherit the house and family business.
“Why-a don’t we start our hall check? I bake-a cookies for all you ladies while we tell story of baby Gigi!”
***
Tai and Winston stood at attention, while Lionell paced the hallway with Tai’s HAWT BOOK in hand.
“I told y’all motherfuckers I done struck gold!” Lionell bellowed.
As Lionell approached, the students’ faces burned red. Lionell stopped in front of the room across the hall. “Now what’s...yo name?”
“C-C-Connor,” said the bowl-cut kid.
“Ah, mah’fuckin’ Connor! That right there’s a hwhite boy name." Lionell flipped through the binder. And while the other students stared in horror, Winston was the only one fighting to hold back a laugh.
“Ah, Connor in Room 308!” Lionell read from the binder. “Pros: tight ass; confirmed six-pack. Cons: probably not bi-curious; probably a top. Overall rating: 7/10.”
Winston exploded into laughter. “Damn, Connor, you’re tied with Fat Will!" William, the chunky neckbeard down the hall, gave a hesitant thumbs-up. In Tai’s binder, Will had also scored a 7/10 for having a size-13 shoe size and being a sloppy eater.
“I ain’t done yet, funny boy!” Lionell yelled in Winston’s face. “I done saved the best for last. The mah-fuckin’ creme-de-la-creme. Wiiinston Beavers!”
“Ha!” Winston interrupted, pointing at the 3/10 Leftward-Sloping-Penis-Rick down the hall. “That means you’re officially in last place, bitch!”
Earlier, Tai had been sweating bullets. But after having his deepest, darkest secrets broadcasted so theatrically, his expression was dull and lifeless.
Winston Beavers: my temporary college roommate,” Lionell read. “Cons: leaves his dirty boots on the carpet, doesn’t wash his sheets, doesn’t wash his scrotum, drinks milk from the carton, everything he touches turns into Cheeto dust, and the room smells like dead armadillos when he’s around.”
Winston stopped laughing.
Pros: good snacks,” Lionell sneered. “Final score: 0.5 out of 10.”
“This is horse shit!” Winston yelled, punching the wall. He stomped down the hall of cringing students. Tai trailed behind while the thunderous laughter of Deputy Hardy faded behind them.
“Wait, hold up!” Tai called out in the stairwell. “Just let me explain."
“Ain’t nothin’ to explain!” Winston shot back. “Apparently, I’m a temporary roommate. So I ain’t gonna show my armadillo ass around Firewater much longer.”
“Okay man, I admit it,” Tai said, throwing his hands up. “I’m not sorry for writing that, but I am sorry you had to hear it. Besides! It’s not like it’s something that can’t be fixed. I have a wide array of hygiene products that’ll help with at least a quarter of the things on that list!”
Winston scoffed like a wild hog. But his expression softened as he mulled it over. “You got any of that...sandalwood cologne?”
“Hell yes I do!” said Tai, perking up. “I’ve got creams, lotions, salves, colognes - you name it! Roomie, allow me to become your personal fabulous assistant! Why, I’ll have you looking spiffy for Miss Claire Dansby in no time.”
“Now you’re talking my language,” Winston said, shaking on it. “Deal.”
They entered the 700 Hall to the sound of giddy laughter. The ladies gathered around the petite Miss Kim, who sat in a stool in the middle of the hallway. Like Kindergarteners, they watched earnestly while the woman held a photo album.
“And dis one,” Kim squeaked, pointing at one of the photos, “is my-a Gigi during first birthday. She eat-a cake, and eat, and eat. She get very, very fat! And you no notice now, because she smaaall as Oompa Loompa now.”
The women howled with laughter while Gigi sat slumped against the wall, wishing she would melt into it.
“And how-a can we-a forget!” Kim gasped. “Dis one is my-a Gigi dressed-a like Neenja Turtle. She has-a Neenja Turtle jammies, Neenja Turtle bedsheets, and even-a Neenja Turtle potty!”
“Sorry Ma’am, we gotta go!” announced Winston, grabbing Gigi’s hand. “Sunday brunch is about to start.”
“Oh!” cried Kim. “Why, hello! Handsome gentlemen stay for my-a cookies?”
But the three freshmen were already out the door.
***
The Chubby Beaver Cafe rewarded Sunday brunch to hungover early birds on campus. A full spread of “Beaverific” entrees: bourbon maple chicken and waffles, crepes stuffed with fresh fruit puree, and virgin screwdrivers (i.e. BYOB). The main attraction: a giant hand-carved ice beaver statue.
But the distraught Winston, Gigi, and Tai were sickened by the thought of fine dining. Instead, they drowned their sorrow in a mile-high stack of bacon on a plate. While they silently munched on sadness and grease, Sarah swept by with a crepe and a screwdriver. She plopped down in the seat next to Winston.
“Helllo, lovelies!” she greeted. Unlike the other three pajama slobs, she wore a long, purple skirt and newly-braided dreadlocks. Sarah was rushing a week early, having spent the night stargazing with a co-ed hippie fraternity.
“What’s with the plate of animal carcasses, bro?” Sarah asked, sipping her drink. “Does a pig have to die for you to live?”
“Fuck it, I’m full,” growled Winston, pushing his plate across the table. Tai and Gigi turned away like dogs refusing to eat.
“Geez, who rained on your parade?” Sarah asked, cracking open a shot bottle of vodka and discretely pouring it into her orange juice.
Winston pointed at the entrance. “See for yourself.”
The freshmen watched a group of men and women stroll into the cafe, dressed in their Sunday-best attire of black tailored suits and dresses. And yet, in context, it seemed like they were marching to a funeral.
“Wait,” Sarah whispered. “That’s the-"
“Campus 5-0,” Winston finished. He stood on top of his chair. “Code red!”
Immediately, every student scrambled to hide their weed, mini liquor bottles, and pain pills. Several students pulled their hands out of their girlfriends’ panties. And the conversation shifted from scoring molly to scoring into the South App Honors Program.
“Wait, that’s the bus driver, right?” Sarah asked, pointing out the freshly-waxed bald head in the crowd. “God, tell me he’s not your R.A!”
“He is, oh God he is!” Tai moaned dramatically. He grabbed a handful of bacon, stuffed it into his mouth, and crawled under the table.
Lionell reached into his pocket and made his hand into the shape of a gun. He aimed it at Winston, shut his left eye, and "fired." Winston didn’t so much as move a muscle while Lionell blew on his hand, placed the “gun” in his pocket, and got in line for waffles.
“Um...I’ve got it worse - tenfold!” Gigi laughed nervously. On cue, Momma Moon approached their table wearing a long, black dress.
“O-a, my-a Gigi and friends!” Kim greeted, folding her hands in front of her waist. “When you-a leave, I unlock your-a door and do all your laundry!”
“What?!” Gigi choked. “You have a key to my room?”
“My dear-a, I need keep an eye on you as your R.A! I not go anywhere! I need make sure you safe and clean. All your thong-a, and even your granny panty.”
With that, Gigi grabbed a handful of bacon, stuffed it into her mouth, and slipped under the table to join Tai.
And now only the two siblings remained. Kim reached over and stroked Winston’s beard. “It’s-a been long time since my-a Gigi have strong American friend take-a care of her. You make sure she-a be good girl while she get teeth degree.”
“Uh, sure thing ma’am,” Winston replied while Kim gave him a boop on the nose with her finger.
“You-a fluffy man. You look handsome if you no fat.”
Sarah burst into laughter, downing the rest of her screwdriver. But Kim picked up Sarah’s empty glass, traced the rim, and placed a finger in her mouth. “Oooh, naughty, naughty. I think you put alcohol in there-a. That means-a I impose 7 PM curfew for week.”
“What?!” screamed Sarah. “You bitch!”
“Oooh, careful,” Kim cooed, picking up a slice of bacon and pointing at Lionell across the room. “If you no comply, I tell big cop man that you minor in possession." She spun around and walked off, nibbling on the bacon like a chipmunk.
Sarah snapped the glass at the stem. “Let’s sabotage these fuckin’ R.A.'s!”
Winston narrowed his eyes, watching as Lionell poured a cup of runny batter into the waffle iron. He rotated the handle to start the timer, and his carb cake began to cook.
“Now’s our chance,” Winston said, springing up from his chair. “Follow me, sis.”
“What about them?” Sarah asked, pointing under the table.
Winston grabbed the plate of bacon and lifted the tablecloth. Tai and Gigi immediately snatched it up like cave trolls, feasting in their underground lair.
“All that pork and they’re skinny as rails,” Winston muttered to Sarah.
“Ah, I see Momma Moon hit a nerve with you,” Sarah teased, rubbing his belly. “Are you out to impress her now? Or is it her daughter you seek?”
Winston scoffed as he and Sarah weaved through tables of hungover students. “Nah, just Claire,” he replied.
“Ah, I knew it!” Sarah laughed. “Your southern damsel in distress. So, you wanna know a secret that only a woman would know?”
“Hit me.”
“It’s gonna take a lot more than good looks to score with a woman like her.”
“Explain.”
“The solution...is that there is no solution. You have to be born into it. Sorry!”
At the waffle station, Lionell lifted the handle and grabbed his waffle, imprinted with the S.A.U. Beaver logo. And as he searched for the maple syrup, Winston dangled it in front of his face.
“Got a wager for ya, Deputy,” Winston proposed, dousing his waffle with syrup while Lionell furrowed his brow. “And the stakes are mighty high.”
“You got ten seconds,” Lionell snarled, “Before I stomp yo’ ass in front of your sister." Sarah took a sip of her fresh screwdriver, middle finger up.
“Whoa, easy tiger,” said Winston. He poured a scoop of batter into the waffle iron and slammed it shut. “I’ll put it like this: you look like you’ve eaten from a pig trough once or twice in your life.”
“You got some fuckin’ nerve.”
“Hey, I have too! Nothin’ to be ashamed of. Your colleague over there called me out on my weight too. You’re an American. I’m an American. So let’s do what we Americans do best: have a good old-fashioned eating contest.”
Lionell paused. He swiped a knob of butter with his knife and slathered his waffle. “Now what’s in it for me?”
“Simple. If you win, you get to give me a 7 PM curfew for a month." Sarah suddenly spat out her screwdriver, clutching Winston’s sleeve. “And if I win, you get the fuck out of my hall.”
A gleaming smile washed across Lionell’s face. Students began setting their phones down to eavesdrop. The waffle iron alarm went off. Lionell swiped the fluffy waffle and dropped it on a plate.
“Aight, Beavers. But I get to decide what we eatin’. Annnd march!”
Lionell snapped to attention, about-faced, and marched down the buffet line. Winston quickly slathered his waffle with syrup and butter, following behind. At the chicken station, Lionell grabbed the tongs and swiped a piece of growth-hormone fried chicken for both of them. Five slices of bacon to top it all off.
That’s it? Winston thought. This is just any given Tuesday for me.
But instead of heading back to a table, Lionell about-faced to the waffle station again. “I ain’t through with you by a damn sight,” Lionell warned. “I’m about to get diabetic on yo’ ass!”
Lionell and Winston cycled through the buffet line, layering the waffles, chicken, and bacon three more times. By now, Gigi and Tai had joined the crowd of gossiping students. When Sarah recapped the challenge, Gigi crossed her arms, containing a large belch in her throat.
“Wow, how can Winston eat all of that?” Gigi groaned. “Is he from this world?”
“You’d be surprised,” Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. “My brother is a bonafide carnivore. Hell, he used to have this YouTube channel. What was it...ah, Feng Shui of the Gut. He’d upload these crazy eating challenges once or twice a week. My parents couldn’t keep a full pantry. And let’s just say it got to the point where they made Winston buy his own toilet paper.
That mental image seared in Gigi’s mind as the two competitors sat down with their two-foot-tall stacks of grease. And since Winston’s gut would certainly be “feng shui’d” this afternoon, Tai thanked God that their dorm bathrooms were down the hall instead of in their room. All eyes were on them. Not to mention, several live video feeds. Winston and Lionell placed their paper napkins on their laps, gripping a knife and fork in their fists.
“One last finishing touch,” Lionell declared. “Waiter! Bring me some ranch.”
Magically, a student worker swept by with a ladle of ranch dressing. Lionell drowned their chicken and waffles with the stuff. The color drained from both Winston’s and Sarah’s face. Even she knew he was doomed.
When Winston was a wee lad in Trinity, he’d grown up pouring ranch dressing on his school pizza, corn nuggets, and hot dogs. But all of that had come to a halt in middle school. One day, he’d brought a cobb salad for lunch to impress the football cheerleaders. And after taking his first bite, he had pulled a long strand of gray hair out of his mouth. Courtesy of a lunch lady who had always refused to wear a hairnet. Needless to say, Winston had never touched ranch dressing ever since.
“Go, fat boy!” Lionell barked.
Winston shook the memory and dug in. He tried to saw the soggy waffle stack with a butter knife. Lionell simply grabbed a handful of food and stuffed it into his mouth. So Winston tossed his silverware aside and went to town. The syrup, ranch, butter, and chicken grease coagulated in his stomach. But he trucked through, sickened by the thought of a sunset curfew. And by now, there was a clear divide in the crowd: the faculty and staff backing Lionell and the students cheering for Winston.
“Gonna beat that bitch ass!” Lionell scoffed between bites.
Lionell was a food machine, shoveling down the first layer like he was born for it. Now Winston could eat his way out of trouble too. But the watered-down expired ranch stuck to the back of his throat. He switched his approach, fetching his napkin and wiping off each piece of bacon and chicken. He scarfed those down with ease. But the longer the waffles sat there, the more they puffed up in size as they soaked in the ranch.
“Fuck me,” Winston groaned, washing his food down with a glass of Mountain Dew. Meanwhile, Lionell looked like a mental patient, his cheeks and chin coated in grease and dressing. Winston looked down at the sweet, salty, gooey, gelatinous pile of batter. His stomach churned as he felt something rise from his stomach to his throat...
“Drink this, bro!” Sarah yelled, tilting Winston’s head back. She poured a steady stream of Pepto-Bismol into his mouth. And now, the flavor of stale bubblegum was added to the milky, tangy ranch. Time stood still. Winston suddenly imagined a tiny lunch lady sitting in that pink bottle. Holding a fishing pole. Casting a fishing line down Winston’s throat. A line made of her own hair.
Winston turned to his side and threw up on the floor.
It was over. Lionell stood to his feet, holding up a clean plate and dragging his tongue across it. Winston panted on hands and knees while Sarah and Tai lay hands on him. Gigi rushed back with a refill of Mountain Dew.
“On the bright side...I got the whole thing on video so we can still put it on your YouTube channel!” Gigi cheered.
“Wh-what? Who told you about that?” Winston looked up, feeling a second wave coming.
Before Gigi could answer, Kim came by with a mop and a bucket full of chemicals. “I clean, I clean! Remember, my daughter: cleanliness next to godliness!”
***
At 6:55 PM Sarah lay on her bunk reading an H.P. Lovecraft novel she borrowed from Evelyn. Gigi was organizing the massive pile of clean panties on the futon, courtesy of Kim. At the age of 18, she couldn’t bear the thought of her mom sorting through the different shapes, sizes, and colors. Once again, she wished lightning would just strike her dead where she stood…
Somebody knocked on the door.
“Oh, looks like curfew check,” Gigi said. “Good thing you’re already in the room!" Without looking up from the book, Sarah flipped her off. Gigi grabbed her comforter and draped it over Panty Mountain. But when she opened the door, it was Winston. He was holding a 6-foot metal pole.
“Howdy,” Winston said, slipping in and closing the door. “I heard you’re part of the Top Bunk Club, so I got ya a safety bar.”
“Oh, cool! That’s very thoughtful of you, Winston! I almost died this morning when I fell off.”
But Sarah saw right through his brother’s facade. “That’s obviously not why he’s not here,” she muttered, bookmarking her place and sitting up in bed. “He’s trying to avoid his curfew. Look, bro, can’t you just admit defeat every now and then? It sucks. But if I’m following the rules, then so can you.”
“Hey check this out, sis,” Winston proposed. He propped the safety bar against the wall and sat next to hidden Panty Mountain. “All I gots to do is hang out here for a little bit, and then we can all sneak out and go to trivia at that pizza joint downtown.”
Before they could consider it, there was a single, thunderous pound on the door. “Winston, I know yo’ ass is in there!” Lionell yelled.
“Shit,” Sarah hissed. “Quick, get in the closet!”
“Hey, I ain’t like my roommate, ya know." But Sarah grabbed Winston’s shoulders and shoved him in, closing the rasta sheet. Gigi took a breath and opened the door.
“Deputy!” Gigi greeted. “Quite the lovely post-curfew evening on campus. What say ye?”
But Lionell walked straight past her into the center of the room. He put his hands on his hips, admiring the clean and tidy living space. Sarah’s prog-rock band posters. Gigi’s bulletin board containing OCD-level to-do lists.
“Ya know, for such a cozy girls’ room,” Lionell pondered, “it sho’ smells like a boy came up in here and took a giant steamy shit.” He eyed the massive pile on the futon and grabbed a corner of the comforter. “There you are! So you think you can do whatever you want like you fucking own South App! Well, you’re fixin’ to have bruises on yo’ knees when I’m through with ya!”
Lionell flung away the comforter, revealing Gigi’s entire collection of panties. Her jaw hit the floor, and Sarah shot to her feet.
“Look, he’s not here!” Sarah asserted. “He’s back over at the cafe for wing night, stuffing his face as usual. Matter fact, he wants to meet ya there for a rematch, if you-”
But Lionell heard none of it. For the first time, the lines on his face softened, and his eyes nearly teared up at the beautiful sight. He picked up a pair of frilly, blue panties and held them in front of his face. Gigi stammered in absolute horror.
“G-get the fuck out of here, you f-fucking asshole!" Gigi spat.
Sarah lunged for the panties, but Lionell’s giant hand shoved her back onto the bed. He whipped out Winston’s revolver and pointed it square at Sarah’s forehead. “Now, now. This is between me and this little Asian piece of ass directly adjacent to me." Lionell casually gestured to Gigi with the gun before pointing it back to Sarah. “Now, Miss Gigi. Allow me to make a proposal.”
Winston watched everything unfold from behind the rasta sheet. With the closet being a few long strides away, he had no opening for a surprise attack. Especially against a Marine. He watched Lionell bring the panties up to his face and inhale deeply.
“You see,” Lionell casually explained to a mortified Gigi, tears welling up in her eyes. “I must admit, you have some mighty fine taste, as evidenced by the smorgasbord in front of me. But all I smell is detergent. Now say you...wore one of these for a few days, and then gave it back to me? Matta fact, how would you like to have your first year of tuition and books paid for? Why I’ll even sweeten the pot!" Lionell tightened the grip on his gun to remind Sarah not to try anything. “I’ll disappear from Firewater, and your two retarded boy-toys will neva have to see mah ass again. Thass right. Gigi Moon, yo’ entire tuition, fees, football tickets - everything paid in full. And you won’t eva have to work a day in a greasy dish pit or stocking shelves at Walmart. All’s you have to do is live with me in my apartment...and be my little yellow-bone slut."
Lionell reached into his tight pants and began touching himself. Winston crouched down behind the curtain. Lionell gritted his teeth, pressing the gun more firmly against Sarah’s forehead. Suddenly, Winston pushed off on his heel, emerging from behind the rasta sheet. As Lionell gasped, Winston speared him in the gut, tackling him to the ground. The gun flew out of Lionell’s hand, sliding under the futon.
“Fuck you, cunt!” Winston yelled, straddling Lionell and throwing punches at the face. Lionell struggled to free his hand, which was still stuck in his tight pants. But he caught one of Winston’s punches and rolled with him on the ground. Now Winston had a 300-pound man on top of him. Lionell struck him repeatedly with a ham-bone fist. All the while, he struggled to free his other hand from his pants.
“I take krav maga, bitch!” Sarah yelled as Gigi and Sarah took turns kicking Lionell in the ribs from either side. But Lionell shook them off like fleas, convulsing with anger in a steroid rage.
“Gigi...the gun,” Winston muttered through bleeding lips. Lionell flung Sarah against the wall, apparently knocking her out. Gigi nodded, dashing toward the futon, while Lionell finally freed his hand from his pants.
“Open yo’ mouth, motherfucka,” Lionell roared. He gripped Winston’s throat with one hand while raising that other smelly, sweaty hand to Winston’s mouth. “You gonna learn today,” Lionell whispered, jamming his entire fist, finger-by-finger, into his mouth. “You gonna taste what it means to be conquered by a motherfuckin’ BBC, you filthy little - *OOOF*!”
Lionell froze, his eyes shooting wide open. And slowly, he leaned to the side, capsizing like a ship. He fell unconscious. Through blurry eyes, Winston saw Gigi gripping the safety bar like a katana.
“Um...turns out that was a pretty thoughtful gift!” Gigi cheered.
***
An hour later, half of Firewater Hall congregated in the main lobby. They gossipped among themselves while a cop car drove off with former Deputy Lionell Hardy. The four freshmen sat on a sofa in the corner, sipping Starbucks.
“Holy shit,” Tai reacted after the others recapped the fight. “That asshole must have been roided up to be able to take all you guys on!”
“Tell me about it,” Winston groaned, pressing his Frappuccino up to his swollen cheek. “I don’t know if I’d be here if Gigi hadn’t gone Mark McGuire on his ass.”
Gigi sipped her Frappuccino as she tried to figure out whether that was the name of a Renaissance painter or NASCAR driver.
“Well, I would’ve saved the day with my deadly roundhouse kicks,” Sarah declared proudly, standing to her feet. “If only Gigi would have distracted him like I asked.”
Gigi took her shoe off and threw it at her. The four freshmen laughed. And interrupting the playful banter was a middle-aged blonde lady with a short bob haircut. She stood on top of a chair and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, I need everyone’s attention, please. I’m Karen, Director of the Resident Assistants Program here on campus.”
“She totes looks like a Karen,” a sorority girl whispered. Another smart-ass in the crowd made a police siren noise with his mouth.
“Why, yes,” Karen continued. “Sometimes known colloquially as the, um...Campus 5-0. Now then! I see we have had quite the eventful evening in Firewater. And that is why I want to address the status of our…unmonitored 300 Hall." Winston and Tai suddenly perked their ears up. “Effective immediately, the 300 Hall will no longer be under direct R.A. supervision.”
Winston’s and Tai’s jaws dropped to their floor as they exchanged goofy-ass smiles.
Karen held her hand in the air to stop the commotion. “Yes, yes. I do want to advise you. That doesn’t mean that there will be no law and order on the 300 Hall. Underage drinking and weed are serious offenses that could have you expelled and put away in prison for the rest of your life. I assure you that the other R.A.’s are liable at any time to monitor the 300 Hall at their own discretion. Have a good night, and be safe.”
Most students began filing back up to their rooms. But an all-too-familiar face pranced up to Gigi and crossed her arms in front of her slim waist.
“Oh! My-a poor Gigi!” Kim cooed, wrapping her arms around her daughter and kissing her forehead. “I wish I still be here protect you from bad man. But it look like mah service no longer needed anymore.”
Gigi tilted her head to the side, staring at Kim’s cheerful expression. Then Gigi slowly panned over to Sarah, whose face tensed up, trying to hold back a laugh.
“What’s...what’s going on?” Gigi asked them.
“It worked!” Sarah snickered. “Oh, my God, it fucking worked!" Winston and Tai stopped discussing hallway Slip-and-Slide plans to listen in.
“I’m so confused?” Gigi laughed nervously.
“Oh, Gigi...you are almost as naive as you are kind!” Sarah said condescendingly. “Why, Kim was never your R.A. in the first place. Alas, t’was all a masterful plan concocted by yours truly. And Kim played the part beautifully, I might add.”
Sarah gave Kim a golf clap while Kim crossed her legs and gave a polite curtsy.
“But Mom! If you’re not my R.A….then who is?”
“I am,” interrupted Evelyn, the front desk security. She set down her book and walked over to them. She was looking a little less emo than usual with her curly jet-black hair. Yet, she still found it in her heart to don ripped jeans and grey painted nails. “Now don’t you worry, kid,” Evelyn said, putting her arm around Gigi’s shoulder. “If you’re gonna smoke and drink, just keep it out of plain sight. If I see it, then you have to share it. Capiche?"
Gigi slowly nodded her head, her throbbing head trying to process it all. “Oh, and one more thing,” Evelyn added. “No threesomes in the bathroom, please. We don’t have HAZMAT suits, ya know. Just keep that shit in the room, and we’ll be good." Evelyn gave Sarah a side-eye. “Unless it’s a female threesome, of course.”
***
Back in the girls’ room, Gigi’s laundry was put away, Winston’s blood was cleaned up, and the safety bar was secured on the top bunk. At her desk, she typed away at her Honors Program admissions essay. Sarah and Evelyn lounged on the futon, swearing at each other over an intense Mario Kart race. And as Gigi tried to form a thesis on why dental hygienists were more important than brain surgeons, her phone buzzed. A text from Winston.
Hey, can you come down here and bring me my gun? My hands are tied right now. It’s under the futon, right?
Gigi walked over to the futon and got down on hands and knees, blocking the gamers’ view of the TV. Sarah scoffed while Gigi crawled under the futon and reached as far back as she could, feeling around for the gun.
“Damn it, Gigi - you messed up my blue shell!” Sarah complained, flinging her controller across the room.
“Aww, don’t fuss at her,” Evelyn teased, staring down at Gigi’s smooth, toned legs that stuck out from beneath the futon. “She’s so fun-sized!”
Gigi crawled out and shot to her feet with the revolver in hand. “Careful what you say, roomie,” she said. “You were knocked out, so you didn’t bear witness to my epic sword skills! I don’t think you wanna provoke a ninja with a gun!”
“You’re holding it upside down,” Sarah sighed.
“Oh.”
Gigi stashed the revolver in her purse and headed down to the 300 Hall. She raised her hand to knock...then decided that, after today, the four of them were officially on a “no-knock” basis.
“Hi, boys!” Gigi cheered, opening the door. Winston sat in a chair in front of the mirror while Tai stood behind him, styling his hair to the side with pomade. Winston was dressed in a white collared shirt, a grey tie to match his dress pants, and snakeskin cowboy boots. “Wow, Winston,” Gigi mouthed in awe. “You look....um, different! Is that sandalwood?”
“Yeeep,” Tai answered, pulling out a razor and trimming Winston’s beard. “Our man no longer smells like a gym locker room. And I’m sure she will appreciate that.”
“Oh...and who might that be?” Gigi asked suspiciously.
“Miss Claire Dansby,” Winston answered, lighting a cigarette while Tai worked behind him. “I reckon we’ll be running into her tonight.”
“Oh, um...cool! Is she going to be on our trivia team? I mean, after today I think the four of us make a pretty good team, but another brain couldn’t hurt!”
Tai and Winston averted their eyes. An awkward silence while the razor buzzed.
“Yeah, Gigi,” Winston trailed off, taking a drag. “There’s been a change in plans. Claire is actually hosting karaoke at a bar downtown. It’ll just be me and Tai tonight. We’ll have to take a rain check on trivia. Sorry ’bout that.”
“I’m his wingman for Claire!” Tai interjected, wiping Winston’s face with a hot towel.
Gigi just stood there as Tai worked his magic, transforming this good ole country boy into a future country star. And as the scent of sandalwood flooded her nostrils again, she knew she had to leave the room. Not because she hated it, but because she was afraid to admit that she loved it.
“Well, in that case,” Gigi began, placing her hand on the doorknob. “I hope you find immediate gratification in crafting twangy southern anthems for a bonafide like-minded Alabama ten! I do regret to inform you that the proper authorities have confiscated your metal-projecting apparatus!”
Blank stares from Winston and Tai.
“I mean...have fun with your woman! And it looks like the police took your gun as evidence.”
Before Winston could respond, Gigi was already in the stairwell, heading back up to her room. Sarah and Evelyn were on their feet with controllers in hand, screaming at Mortal Kombat.
“Get over here, you fucking asshole!” Sarah yelled, mashing buttons.
“I don’t think I shall!” Evelyn retorted in a British accent. “Looks like you’re…frozen in fear!”
Gigi silently walked past them. She sat down at her computer and typed the first thing that came to her mind: My name is Gigi Moon, and I should be in the Honors Program because I have no fucking social skills whatsoever. But tonight, I proved that I can make up for it with my epic ninja skills!
Only 4,963 words to go, she thought.
But very little writing was done that night while Sarah and Evelyn mashed buttons and took turns screaming “Fatality!” at the top of their lungs. Finally, Gigi put her headphones on. She pulled up YouTube and searched for Feng Shui of the Gut. A hundred videos of Winston’s old ridiculous eating challenges.
One of the most popular videos caught Gigi’s eye: I [email protected]#KED UP! STRANDED ON THE TOILET. She clicked Play. Right away, there was a close-up of a younger and skinnier Winston, no older than 16. The camera was zoomed on his clean-shaven face. And yes, he was clearly sitting on the toilet.
Yee-haw, fellers!” greeted Young Winston, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Welcome back to Feng Shui of the Gut. Earlier today, I decided to scarf down a five-pound bag of Sugar-Free Haribo Gummy Bears! I’m sorry, did I say today?" Winston leaned forward until his face filled the entire frame. “I meant yesterday! I’ve been stuck on this (BLEEP)ing toilet for 24 (BLEEP)ing hours!
Maybe it was procrastination that kept Gigi glued to the screen. Maybe it was morbid curiosity. But while Sarah and Evelyn took turns ripping each others’ spines out and lighting each other on fire, Gigi binged through all 100 of Winston’s old videos. Most revealing were dozens of fast food reviews. In these videos, Winston would eat a burger in his truck while talking about politics, religion, and women. He even went on a 10-video spree chronicling his war against a yellow jacket colony at his mom’s place.
When Gigi’s head hit the pillow at 3 AM, she felt as if she knew Winston Arnold Beavers better than she knew herself. Most notably: chicken wings was his favorite food, curry would make him dig a hole if there wasn’t a toilet nearby, and he absolutely positively despised ranch dressing.
submitted by welcometosouthapp to welcometosouthapp [link] [comments]


2020.07.20 16:33 Words_of_Uppercut Hidden camera women's locker room

Part 1 If you haven't read the first part. Here's Part 3

James was becoming annoyed. His phone had been ringing with an “unknown” number for a while now. It was too late on a Friday night for him to care about someone trying to sell him something. He switched his phone to vibrate and tossed it towards the couch. He meandered through the various piles of books stacked haphazardly everywhere around him on his way to the kitchen. He grabbed an unpopped bag of popcorn, tossed it in the microwave and pressed start. While he waited for his snack, he spied a nearby book littered with various marks and read a few pages until the popping sounds began to subside. He dumped the bag in a nearby bowl, grabbed a beer from the fridge, walked back to his recliner and lazily sat down. Ready to marathon his favorite show, he pressed play and shoved a handful in his mouth. His patience finally gave out as he heard his phone vibrating once again. Fed up, he answered the phone and yelled “Whatever you want, it can wait till Monday!” and immediately hung up. He shoved another handful into his mouth with a smug look of triumph and washed it down with his beer. The opening credits were almost finished when a forceful knock came from the door. He paused his show, marched to the door while throwing on a robe and yelled “Whatever you’re selling, it’s not worth your life.” He angrily swung open the door hoping to cause extra shock value in his display. The two figures on his doorstep immediately took the wind from his sails. Before him stood a man with his partner a few paces back. Both had similar height, builds, matching black suits, ties and shoes. Spooks he thought to himself.
The man closest to James spoke, “Are you Doctor James Richard Tyson?”
“You already know the answer or you wouldn’t be here. Who are you and why are you bothering me?” he jeered.
“We need you to come with us immediately.” he said as he gestured to the awaiting car.
“What I need to do is go sit my happy ass back down before my beer gets warm. Who are you and where do you want to take me? Unless we’re going to whore island, my night has already been planned.” James said as he mirrored the gesture to his awaiting recliner.
“This is not an option, sir. You can either come with us or we have orders to forcefully bring you.” With those words, the silent partner behind him stepped closer.
For a moment, James wondered if this might just be a prank, but the demeanor of these two seem way too controlled for two men addressing another man with his equipment hanging out. “I’d rather not be dragged out of here.”
“Perhaps you would like to put on some pants as well, sir.”
James looked down and huffed. The tone used almost made James want to leave as he was. Attempting to mutter as much in protest under his breath as he could, he put on the first pair of pants he found, grabbed his phone, slid his feet into some sandals and triumphantly marched out the front door to the car waiting for him. The ride was short and his escorts made no effort for small talk. They arrived at a nearby field where a helicopter was waiting for him. The spook that greeted him joined him as his silent partner went back to the car.
“I'm going to need your cell phone, sir.” Mumbling under his breath, James handed over his phone. His escort turned it off and put it in his pocket. He then reached over to pull a black cloth from a nearby pocket and unfolded it. “Now I'm going to need you to put this on before we leave.”
“Listen, I'm not paying extra for this.” James tried his best to keep his face straight, but his new friend never flinched. He took the shroud and threw it over his head. He was surprised to see that it was actually comfortable and breathed very well. Shortly after, he heard the motor rev up and they were on their way. James allowed himself to get lost in thought as he wondered what he had been drug out of his home for.
He had no clue how much time had passed before he finally felt his ride pull back to decelerate. “Can I take this off? I'm pretty sure I won’t know where I am now.” The shroud came off and he immediately looked out his window despite his eyes needing to adjust. The helicopter banked and circled a well lit clearing below them. His interest rose as he tried to absorb everything. The clearing wasn’t very large. He could see an o[en area that he assumed would be where they would land. There were several white domes connected by tubes. Most of these domes had multiple walkways between them except for one on the edge which was easily twice the size of the others and had only one connection to it. One way in, one way out. He thought to himself.
As his ride touched down, his travel companion opened the door, then motioned for James to exit first. As soon as they were both clear, the helicopter lifted off. James was greeted with muggy air and what smelled like a nearby swamp. He was led to a woman standing nearby dressed in military fatigues with no name tag or indications of rank. His attempt to speak was halted by her palm held up to him. Her focus was on the clipboard in her hands. He turned to make a comment to his ride buddy only to spin around and find no one else with him. While he impatiently awaited for her to finish whatever needed her attention, James looked around. To his surprise, everyone walked like they had purpose. It reminded him of a smooth running machine. Every person walked with their eyes locked ahead. With purpose. All were dressed in some form of military garb or lab coat. He looked down and let out a laugh at his bathrobe, jeans and sandals. At least I'm comfortable, he thought.
The woman before him finally closed the file she was reading, looked at her watch, and cleared her throat. “Dr. Tyson, you have been brought here to assist based on your profile and specialties. As such, everything seen, discussed or done, including your trip here are classified. If you make any attempt to remove anything from this location, or discuss anything outside of this location with anyone, you can be charged with treason and punished accordingly. Do you understand?”
James did his best to look pensive, trying to see if he could push her patience, but was really trying not to look too eager. He counted numbers in his head, thought about dinner tomorrow, what the color blue tastes like, and anything else to keep her holding that paperwork for him to sign that she was holding out. He looked back down to see she hadn't budged a muscle. If not for her eyes blinking and controlled breathing, he would have guessed her parents were marble and granite. Bored with her determination, he took the clipboard. As he thumbed through the pages, his jaw nearly dropped. He’d signed non-disclosure agreements before, but never anything like this. As he flipped through page after page, he realized they had every possible scenario covered, even his death. Screw it, he thought. There has got to be something here that’s worth it for all this. He handed back the clipboard after signing everything and fought another urge to say something, but realized his charms would be wasted.
She inspected the pages and looked back at him. “Follow me.” is all she said as she turned sharply and walked directly to one of the smaller domes nearby. They walked up a few steps, through opaque, plastic curtains and James is blessed with crisp, sweet air conditioning. He’s directed towards a series of lockers where she points to one. “Your clothes will be kept here. Inside this locker will be attire to change into. Once changed, go through that door, down the walkway and the rest of your party will be waiting for you there.”
“My party? It’s not even my birthday.” He turned only to find that she had vacated as quickly as his travel buddy. He sighed, changed into the heavily starched clothes, which included a lab coat, and made his way down the walkway. The room had a series of fold up tables arranged together with men and women of varying ages and walks of life wearing lab coats strewn around. There was an older man at the front of the table, wearing the same military garb as all the others also without name or rank. The hardened intensity in his eyes matched his skin. He was bent over, reading through a pile of paperwork. Behind him was a series of screens with generic screensavers showing random scenery. The man looked up from his paperwork and eyed James.
“Dr. Tyson, we’ve been waiting for you. Take a seat, and I will begin.” He said as he motioned towards the table. “I will be the point of contact for all of you until we are done here. You may address me as ‘42’.”
“42? Are you serious? Why would…” James was cut short.
“Because for the rest of your time here, I will be your only point of contact.” A small smile formed on the edge of 42’s mouth. “I will be the answer to your universe until you leave this site. Now, SIT.”
“Aye, aye sir 42, sir” James made his best attempt at a salute, but took the hint and wandered over to the chair at the opposite end where, while alone, would enable the best view to read the room.
42 cleared his throat before pressing a few buttons on a tablet next to him. The screensavers behind him switched over to a series of pictures with graphics and orbital data that changed as he spoke.”At 1833 eastern, an object roughly 22cm in diameter entered high earth orbit. It’s projected trajectory would have impacted one of our satellites causing an alarm. Before we could make adjustments to the affected satellite, it’s velocity slowed and direction changed without any detectable collisions.” The slides switched to a small impact site, a void in the ground and another bowl cut into the side of a tree.
“Are those tire tracks?’ James blurted out pointing at the bowl picture of the ground.
42 raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Those are tracks for an off-road vehicle. The make and model of the vehicle cannot be identified as the tires are generic and can accommodate a large variety of off road vehicles. You have all been brought here to investigate this location to determine what caused the impact as well as the spherical void of material missing from the area.”
Murmurs filled the room, but only James spoke up; “So an object ran into something you couldn’t see, impacted close enough for someone redneck to beat you to it, did some yard work, then left and you thought all this was necessary?” He knew there was more, but James’ patience was already gone the moment they pulled him from his show.
42 took a deep breath. He had seen Dr. Tyson’s profile and knew his habit of cutting to the core without edicate was more than evident. This will wipe that smug look off your face. The thought begged 42’s face to mirror the smug look James wore with pride. “The impact itself shows no signs of anything. That’s the problem. There is nothing. The floor, walls, rim, ejecta and rays of the crater contain nothing but native material. The depth and size of the crater, along with the ejecta, do not match what should be present. Any material that we know of that could survive burning up on entry and impact at terminal velocity would cause a completely different site and leave some sort of evidence.”
Finally, another voice spoke up that drew everyone's attention. “So you’re saying, based on the data, after it entered our atmosphere, it managed to slow itself before impact?”
Before 42 could reply, James piped back up again; “I'm still not seeing why you’ve gone through all this trouble. Can we skip all this foreplay and get to the money shot?” The table had multiple looks of disgust at his statement, but the ones of confusion made him smile from ear to ear. Virgins. He laughed to himself.
“That is what you have all been brought here to investigate. As best as we can tell, there were no tools used to dig the hole or used in the “yard work” as you call it. Are there any further…”
James cut him off and was already standing up. “What do we have to do to get out of here and look for ourselves?”
42 motioned the doorway opposite of the one everyone had come through. “Through there, you will find all needed supplies, equipment, and instructions. Follow all protocols. My office will be adjacent to your lab if you need anything. Your living quarters are also adjacent to the lab. If there is anything you..” James was already through the door and nearly jogging for the lab.
Over the next several days, every reading or sample was taken, scrutinized, tested, retested, theory reviewed, argued, and thrown out or questionably accepted. James never got along with his predetermined peers. Tempers flared often with one or the other being held back from physically attacking James. Even though nearly everyone at some point marched into 42’s office and filed their complaint, James was never pulled in or was asked to do anything different. Eventually a cohesive presentation was mostly agreed on, and debrief was scheduled. Knowing he’d finally get to go home, James’ curiosity finally reached his limit and he made his way into 42’s office.
“Dr. Tyson, I see the debrief has been scheduled by your team. Is there something you need?” 42’s made no attempt to hide his annoyance.
“Team? How can you even consider us a ‘team’? I want to know why the hell I was even brought here in the first place? I could give you a list of people who know more than me, have more talent, better qualifications and could have worked with those people without issue. I know you already have or could have that list easily.’
For the first time, 42 allowed himself to laugh. The look of anger on James’ face only fuelled a few more chuckles out of him. “You are absolutely correct. You are far from the ‘best of the best.”
“So why the hell was I brought here? You could have had the same results in half the time!” James fumed.
42’s grin and demeanor transitioned back to his usual hardened appearance. “I’d never have picked you if that was correct. You’re disrespectful, loud, obnoxious, rude, lack organization, and...”
James held up his hands and smiled “Stop! My penis can only get so erect!”
42 sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing, “and you simply can't shut up. However, despite all that, the speed at which your team managed to accomplish their investigation in such a timely manner was because of you.”
“What are you talking about? I've fought, argued and pissed off almost everyone, every day. If anything, I've delayed our conclusion.”
42 leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Get a room of quiet, smart pacifists together, and they will get behind the first theory thrown together that shows marginal logic and reason. With a crowd mentality, someone might have an idea that is similar or is completely different, but will remain quiet as to stay in line with the group. Rather than speak their mind, or suggest an opposing theory, that thought may never be presented. That unspoken theory could be nothing or it could be the final piece to the puzzle.”
James had already begun to pace around in frustration. “Foreplay with your wife must take weeks. What does any of that have to do with me?”
“That’s exactly what you’re here for. You have enough qualifications where they will listen to most of what you have to say. What you don't know, you can grasp easily and understand faster than nearly anyone else. You question without thought. Challenge without backing down. Even if you’re wrong, you make someone prove themself. You’re the wild card. Chaos. In a group like that, if one rises against the crowd with enough bravado, another who may not even share your view, will have a higher chance to voice their own theory. As an added benefit, anger, disgust or anything outside the norm tends to make everyone think outside their safety zone. Without your ability to quickly grasp an idea, tear it apart, and challenge others, it could take months or even years to reach a formidable conclusion.”
For the first time in days, James was speechless. Was that a compliment and an insult rolled together? The past few days ran back in his mind as he began to recall several times everyone had lulled each other into one thing or another. So many times where he had spoken up against a room of agreed nods only to have one of those heads speak up after his objection. He finally snapped back to the present, “What are you? A shrink?”
“I'm here to serve in the capacity as I'm best qualified for. Or I might be the only one able to put up with your bullshit and their bitching.” 42 said as he walked to the door while motioning for James to follow. “Now, let’s see what you all have managed to finally agree on.”
The room was quiet as the two entered. The exhaustion on each face was evident with James being the only exception. Once at the head of the table, 42 addressed the room; “It’s been a long few weeks. You’re all tired of the food, cots, and” he eyed James “tired of being forced to work with each other. I look forward to hearing your results.” 42 sat down in a chair off to the side to give the floor to someone else. Crickets could have echoed in the silence that followed.
James eyed each person he’d worked with looking to see if anyone would finally grow a spine. Not one with a pair of balls? They had all reviewed their findings and even James had managed to agree with the presentation. Out of patience, James let out a loud sigh, stood up, went to the front of the room, tapped a few keys and brought up the presentation. He began as different slides presented themselves on the screens behind him. “Saying this was a pain in the ass would be an understatement. We tested everywhere to find any type of radiation known or theorized that was possible. Only to come up with absolutely nothing. Nothing was the whole theme of this investigation and that is the most amazing part. The craters depth, ejecta and size indicate something dropped from a few stories high. Whatever came down, managed to slow its descent before impact. The only point of interest aside from the few indications of someone in the area are the plants affected by the void area. The void itself is a perfect circle, so that eliminates natural causes. When we looked at the plants affected, there were no signs of tooling. In fact, at the cellular level, the plant cells weren’t even cut. We’ve never seen anything like it nor can we explain how it’s possible.”
“Enough with what you don’t know. Give me your conclusion.” 42 impatience was more than evident.
“Well, I still have one.” James said as everyone sighed or shook their heads. “Based on the light, lack of radiation and how all the matter inside the void is simply gone. I'm thinking the mathematically perfect sphere is a sign of intelligence. We could not recreate this with our current technology. In fact this is possibly centuries from being able to reproduce. All we can say is something hit the ground leaving no trace evidence behind. Some poor sap saw it and got to it first. The prints indicate it was a male by the shoe print and stride length. He took whatever was in the crater, and walked over to his vehicle. Once there, a reaction took place that generated an immense amount of light with no detectable heat or radiation left behind. I believe this reaction was a form of cold fusion. With the lack of tool marks, the cells of the trees and plants look like they were just removed. Not torn or cut. Just broken down. However, the energy released from that much mass being converted to energy would have resulted in an explosion that would have made Hiroshima and Nagasaki collectively look like a cheap firework. My conclusion, that even I can’t believe, is that the void area was somehow teleported and/or converted into energy which was used for something we have yet to understand.”
No one spoke up, but the amount of disbelief in the air was tangible. No one wanted to agree, but there was no way to explain what was witnessed with nothing left behind. James took his seat. 42 sat quietly while he thumbed through the research. Finally, he stood up and walked out of the room with his notes. The room was mostly quiet as some spoke softly to each other. James’ usual desire to screw with all these “stiffs” was satiated because he knew he’d no longer have to deal with them. As if fate had heard his thoughts, 42 entered the room.
“I’d like to thank you all for your time, patience and hard work in this operation. Now you’ve reached the end,” 42 motioned towards a woman coming through the doorway, “
If you all will follow her, you can change back into your personal items and will be returned to your homes.” Without another word, 42 turned back towards his office and walked away.
Outside and in his robe, James hopped into his awaiting ride home. He was disappointed not to see his original travel companion. Once again, this one produced a black shroud for him to wear. James leaned his head forward but maintained eye contact with a smile. “My safe word is ‘apricot’” he said as he winked at his new friend. The man holding the shroud had a look of bewilderment and paused for a moment, nearly dropping the shroud. He seemed unsure as to how to proceed. James couldn’t help but give his most evil smile to push the level of his unease. James held the moment as long as he could until he could bear it no more and started laughing heartily. The man regained his composure and placed the shroud over his head, but his level of discomfort was still apparent. James leaned back as his ride lifted and became lost in his thoughts of the last few days until he managed to doze off.
He woke to the sensation of his ride pulling back to decelerate and descend. His shroud was removed and the bright, late afternoon sun burned his eyes as the door was opened. James was then escorted to an awaiting car where he was quietly driven home. James was too busy with his own thoughts to annoy his driver on the way back as something was bothering him. Some odd thought at the back of his mind he could not place. Whatever it was, it faded when he saw his old friend waiting at his front door when the car came to a stop.
James hopped out of the car and approached the man that had escorted him away with a smile on his face. As the man handed him his keys and cell phone, James piped up, “How many hidden microphones and cameras did you install? If you put any in the bedroom, I want copies. If you hid any in my toilet, send a copy to my doctor and my ex.”
The man tried his hardest to stifle a laugh. “My orders were only to take care of any pets, plants, expired food and trash” he said as he walked past James to the car.
As he opened the car door, James yelled as loud as he could, “So, to be clear, we’re drinking wine and doing backrubs next weekend!?” The slight pause before getting into the car supplied James with an air of satisfaction. He looked down at his phone and tried to turn it on. A dead battery icon popped up on the screen then immediately turned back off. “You could have at least charged it you bastard!” He sighed as the car was already well out of hearing him. James turned and went back inside to inspect what the stranger might have done. As best he could tell, nothing was out of place aside from his kitchen having been cleaned, trash emptied and all the leftovers that were once in his fridge had been vacated. He plugged his phone in and turned on the tv looking to see what all he might have missed out on. The news brought the usual dribble: politicians involved in some scandal or other, crime and the usual puff pieces. His phone powered on and he was inundated with a series of notifications for missed phone calls, voicemails and texts. Dread filled him as he listened and read the missed messages. Really don’t feel like talking to any of you right now. The itch from his mind returned. What the hell did I miss? His train of thought derailed with an announcement from his stomach. Can’t focus on empty. A quick phone call had a pizza on the way. His meal arrived and James dug in like a teen who skipped lunch. With his stomach bloated, he sat in his recliner, laid back and tried to dig through his memories. The effort faded as his overeating gave way to sleep from mental exhaustion and the lack of comfortable sleeping arrangements over the last few days.
James tried to open his eyes to see, but nothing happened to the pitch black. His body had no sensation of form, but he felt like he was floating with no sense of gravity pulling him in any particular direction. His eyes finally open and surrounding him are stars in all directions. The only surreal thing that draws his attention is a large nebula. The colors and beauty of this nebula remind him of pictures he saw coming from the Hubble telescope, but none of them match the sheer detail of what he was seeing. As he stared, transfixed, on the superheated gas cloud, a flash caught his attention off to the side. As he turned to look, another flash envelops him in light and his environment shifted. His feet are on the ground with a familiar sense of gravity below him. He’s in a room with no walls or doors. Diffused light appears to emanate everywhere. The only thing in the room with him is a black cube as big as his fist on the floor. He cautiously walks towards the cube. Curiously, the closer he gets, the bigger it gets. Unfaltered in his interest, he continues to approach unabided. The cube continues to grow, but he can’t seem to close the gap. Every step just makes the cube grow. Eventually, it encompasses his vision, stretching for what looks like miles up and out to either side. Another flash continues to pull him in to explore. After feeling like he was walking for an eternity, the cube no longer looks solid, but a series of smaller pieces. It occurs to James that the cube hasn’t been growing, but he’s been getting smaller. He continues his journey in as the smaller pieces grow in size coming into focus. Noticeable movement from each piece turns his walk into a sprint. Gravity shifts again and he stands between rows upon rows stretching to what looks like infinity. The rows are all copies of James, repeating a series of tasks. Flash. He walks over to a nearby group to look at their work. Broken apart in groups of three, he stands next to their workbench. An object is dropped on the workbench where the first picks it up and pulls it apart. The separation creates a spark of light, but not the random flash that continues to invade his sight. The spark is snatched up by the second and held in his hands. The two separate pieces are then tossed in nearby bins. The third takes pieces from various other bins and as he puts them together, the second pushes the spark in between. Flash. The third places the new piece on a nearby conveyor leading down the infinite assembly line and the three begin the process all over. Of everything that he wants to look at, just that spark of light catches his priority. The closer he gets to the third copy, the bigger he gets. Great, shrinking again. His feet leave the ground as he journeys closer to the assembly process. Flash. He sees something in the light right before the pieces become one. He wills himself closer and smaller. Another flash, but this is followed by a rumbling echo from somewhere else far in the distance. The object inside the spark is getting bigger and more defined, he just needs to continue to push in. Flash followed by more rumbling, but sounds closer, more defined. James takes his eyes off the spark for a moment to look around and finds himself alone with the crackling light. As he squints his eyes, the light begins to fade and a series of random letters and numbers takes its place. With a few more steps, the charters change and move around, culminating into something that feels very familiar. James stands his ground, not wanting to look away or change his view as the lines begin to have form. Another flash obscurs his view for a moment, but is nearly followed instantly with not a rumble, but more of an explosion that sounds like it is both in this room with him as well as his head. The lines are nearly in his face now, but he can’t see it all. Flash, the explosion shakes everything around him as well as the lines before him shaking everything into something cohesive. Wait. Those aren’t random characters. Flash, the entire universe feels like it's about to shake apart. That’s a… Flash, the sound now hurts his ears, but he takes one step back to allow himself a full view. That’s a…a…FORMULA! But it doesn’t make sense… Flash.
James leapt out of his recliner to the sound of his windows shaking. Drenched in sweat, be bent over on his haunches to catch his breath. Another flash outside followed immediately by the familiar sound of thunder brought his pulse back down to normal. A quick step out back allowed the smell of rain carried by the cooler winds to drift around him. He watched the approaching storm. Flash. I love Florida light shows. He thought as he started counting in his head before the thunder clap echoed around him. There was something… The thunder rolled by as a few sparse drops of rain landed on him. Something I was supposed to do… He could hear the rain approaching as it tapped on the trees and streets. What was it? Another lightning strike flashed and flipped the thought he was trying to chew on. “That formula!” He yelled as he ran back inside to his desk which was covered in the usual pile of disorganization. Not wanting to spare a moment while the memory was fresh, he slid his arm across the desk clearing its contents on the floor. He snatached a handful of paper out of his printer and began scrawling down what he could recall. Each time he tried to recall what he saw, some detail or another began to blur. Not wanting to be dissuaded, he wrote every version he could think of. Before long, his desk was covered in a new mess of notes. Once satisfied that everything had been written, James stood back trying to take in the new mess. No matter how hard he scrutinized the information, he couldn’t make full sense of it. Some of the equations he remembered from times he had worked with others on various theories, but other parts seemed out of place. There’s something about this, but I can’t be sure what the hell I'm looking at here. I need help, but who can I call? James snatched up his phone and started scrolling through his contacts. No... No... He’s still pissed... She thinks I'm an asshole. He thinks I'm crazy. She’ll probably shoot me next time she sees me. The list continues until he gets to the T’s. Him! He’ll at least hear me out and can get everyone together. James pressed the call button and listened to a few rings before a familiar and tired sounding voice answered. “Hey Neil. It’s James... Yeah I know it’s been a while... Yeah, still not popular with, well, anyone. I’m sorry for calling this late... Listen, I know you’re probably busy, but you’re the only person I could think of to call about this. I had this dream…”

Part 1 or Part 3
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2020.06.25 20:08 OneWingedDevil28 Hidden camera women's locker room

“Passion.” William Regal stands in the middle of the ring, a single spotlight shines on him as an intimate darkness surrounds him. “Over the years, we’ve seen a revolution. A resurgence. A transition from the likes of Giant Haystacks. Big Daddy. Kendo Nagasaki. We’ve seen trailblazers. We’ve seen hope, we have seen the rebirth of the British independent scene. And it’s time to stop seeing it. It’s now time to live in it. WELCOME TO GREAT BRITISH WRESTLING!” The lights lift, and a sold out crowd in Harringay Arena, London, cheer and celebrate the launch of GBW, also known as Great British Wrestling.
The attention turns to the stage, where English-born band Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes perform the theme song for GBW’s weekly show, Fight Club, called “Fire.”
Our commentary team of Nigel McGuinness and Stu Bennett welcome us to the first episode of GBW: Fight Club. We go through our card for the night, which is presented on the titantron for the fans in attendance. The card includes a first round match in the GBW World Championship tournament, Pete Dunne vs Mark Haskins, and our main event for the GBW Prodigy Championship, where Will Ospreay will collide with Nick Aldis.

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit, and it is a first round match in the Great British Wrestling World Championship tournament!”
The London fans explode for the arrival of the Bruiserweight! This man has carried British Wrestling for the past few years, and he is a certain favourite to become the inaugural champion at GBW’s first PPV event in just two months time. Pete Dunne makes a grand entrance, as he looks to kick off his Great British Wrestling campaign with a huge win against Mark Haskins.
The latter makes his entrance, to a polarizing crowd reaction. He gets into the ring, we get through introductions, the bell rings and our first ever GBW match is underway!
GBW World Championship Tournament – Pete Dunne vs Mark Haskins
Dunne and Haskins have a methodical start to the match, as the crowd ease into the high-octane action of Great British Wrestling. Dunne backs Haskins up against the ropes, Dunne opts to move away in an act of fairness, but Haskins slaps Dunne and takes advantage, he goes for a quick roll-up pin, Dunne kicks out but Haskins maintains the advantage as he takes Dunne down with a leg sweep and transitions smoothly into a side headlock, he taunts to the crowd as they rally Dunne to get to his feet, he does so, irish whip, on the rebound, Dunne connects a dropkick as Haskins falls to the outside!
Dunne rebounds off the ropes, going for a suicide dive, but Haskins leaps up onto the apron and clubs Dunne with a knee, he connects the Sunset Flip, Dunne’s shoulders are down, he kicks out, Haskins goes for a PK Kick, Dunne rolls out of it, he finds himself in a position to hit Bitter End, he goes for it, but Haskins slides out as the two men reach deadlock. The match devolves into a great way to open the first episode of GBW: Fight Club, in a significant spot in the match, Dunne goes for a Bittter End, he launches Haskins into the air, who grabs the outstretched arm of Dunne, and TRANSITIONS INTO AN ARMBAR! A fantastic counter, Dunne finds himself in a precarious position, however, the Bruiserweight uses his initiative, he breaks the grip by snapping one of the fingers of Haskins. Both men get to their feet, Dunne connects a sit out powerbomb for a near fall. The two exchange strikes, Haskins begins to charge up some momentum, he rallies himself, goes for a lariat, but Dunne ducks under it, Haskins rebounds off the ropes and falls into a german suplex from Dunne, he goes for another suicide dive to a retreated Haskins, this time he slides into the ring, Dunne telegraphs it and rebounds off the ropes, Haskins connects a Death Valley Driver, he connects the Armbar but transitions BEAUTIFULLY into a Crossface!
Dunne is able to get to the ropes as his hopes stay alive, Haskins urges Dunne to his feet, he goes for the Star Kick, Dunne dodges, he connects a thunderous forearm, Haskins is stunned, the Bruiserweight lifts him, BITTER END! He goes for the cover, 1…2…3!
Pete Dunne def. Mark Haskins (22 minutes)
What a way to kick off GBW, as Pete Dunne advances to the second round of the World Championship tournament, defeating a solid opponent in Mark Haskins. Dunne celebrates, he extends a handshake offer to Haskins, who contemplates before shaking Dunne’s hand. The Bruiserweight goes to exit the ring…
Haskins pulls him back in, and plants him with a Cradle to the Grave! Haskins begins to beat Dunne down with forearms, a vicious post-match assault as the fans give Haskins nuclear heat. He continues the beatdown, tag team partner Robbie X joining in on the act. Eventually, Tyler Bate and Trent Seven run in! Robbie X and Mark Haskins slide out of the ring and retreat as Bate and Seven tend to Dunne, the fans cheering for the arrival of two of the most influential figures in British wrestling.
Dunne, Seven and Bate stand tall, Pete Dunne advancing to the second round of the tournament after a thrilling match with Mark Haskins, and a potential tag team match between Moustache Mountain and Haskins/Robbie X in the works.

Our next match is set to show off the wide array of fantastic women’s talent at Great British Wrestling, as Jamie Hayter is set to face off with one half of the Medusa Complex, Charlie Evans. Both women make their entrances, Evans accompanied by her tag team partner, Millie McKenzie. The bell rings, and the second match of the night begins, women’s division action.
Jamie Hayter vs Charlie Evans
These two women have a good back and forth match, Hayter portraying a more heel-ish role while Evans gains the support of the crowd as she tries to get her first win in GBW. During her comeback, Evans hits a diving crossbody to the outside, she gets Hayter back in the ring and locks in a Cattle Mutilation, in which Hayter is able to get out of and plant Evans with a Backbreaker for a near fall. The match progresses, Evans goes for a Swipe Left, but Hayter gets out of it. She pushes Evans into the ref, before reaching for a pair of brass knuckles, but McKenzie stops her. Hayter falls into a superkick attempt from Evans, she connects, she goes for a Snapmare Driver, however Hayter gets out of it, SNAPMARE DRIVER! She goes for the cover, 1…2…3!
Jamie Hayter def. Charlie Evans (6 minutes)
Hayter pulls away a huge win here on the first episode of GBW: Fight Club, she celebrates cheekily as Evans quickly recovers, aided by tag partner Millie McKenzie. As Hayter poses on the ramp, McKenzie points to her and says that she’s coming after her. Nevertheless, Jamie Hayter is able to come away with a win in the first match of the women’s division.

One of the most talented technical wrestlers in the world. Ever since the creation of Great British Wrestling, this man has been on the radar as a must-sign talent! Zack Sabre Jr poses on the ramp, one of the largest signings for this brand to date. Zack Sabre Jr has been on the rise, dominating in promotions such as RevPro, and even New Japan Pro Wrestling.
Sabre goes halfway down the ramp, before stopping and looking towards the entrance way. It’s the Grizzled Young Veterans! James Drake and Zack Gibson, the inaugural NXT UK Tag Team Champions, finalists of the 2020 Dusty Rhodes Tag Classic, these two are brash, aggressive, and have unmatched synergy as a duo.
Gibson, Drake and Sabre Jr go down to the ring, looking towards the fans and the camera menacingly. “Zack Sabre Jr! The Grizzled Young Veterans! We will know be known as Union Zack!” the fans cheer the announcement of the new trio. “When I was first signed to GBW, I looked at the roster, and I thought ‘What a bunch of twats.’ However, once I found out that THE BEST tag team in English wrestling had been signed, I saw it as somewhat of a match made in heaven!”
Zack Sabre Jr gains heat from the crowd as James Drake and Zack Gibson tail him, he solidifies the existence of the faction and warns the locker room, Union Zack are going to become the strongest entity in GBW. Having made their message, Union Zack exit the ring and go up the ramp, posing to the fans as the new faction has been created on the first episode of Fight Club.
We go backstage as backstage interviewer Radzi asks British Strong Style about the altercation with Robbie X and Mark Haskins earlier in the night. Trent Seven does the talking, as he says that if Robbie X and Mark Haskins want to face British Strong Style, they can. But it will be within the confines of the squared circle, with the referee and the fans, and they’re going to duel it out like men. The focus then turns to Pete Dunne, who is asked about advancing in the tournament, and either facing Kip Sabian or the Bastard, Pac, in the next round. Dunne says that no matter who it is, they’re going to just be another speck in the path of glory for the Bruiserweight.

Our next match is to show off some of the lower card talent in the division, or some talent that may not be recognised as well. Flash Morgan Webster collides with Paul Robinson in singles action here on the first episode of GBW: Fight Club. This is to be the first in a best-of-three series that is to span the first three weeks of GBW Television.
Flash Morgan Webster vs Paul Robinson
Both men have a fast-paced matchup, not pulling out all of the big moves, remaining conservative and smart in their approach as it is a best-of-three series, so both men will have to think tactically. They have a respectable match-up, Morgan Webster getting the huge backing from the crowd while Robinson uses taunting and more heel-associated antics as the fans begin to learn about two of the most underrated talents in all of Great British Wrestling. Despite Webster’s desperate attempts at a win, he is able to execute a fast paced comeback, but Paul Robinson is able to roll him up and pull away a lucky win in the first match of their best-of-three.
Paul Robinson def. Flash Morgan Webster (8 minutes)
Robinson slides out of the ring, chuckling to himself, as he comes away with the huge win tonight, putting him within arm’s length of winning the best-of-three series and becoming the first number one contender to the Prodigy Championship, which its inaugural champion will be crowned later tonight, when Will Ospreay collides with Nick Aldis in our main event.

In our next segment, Isla Dawn cuts a promo in the ring, commenting on her desire to win the GBW Women’s Championship. She is rudely interrupted by Jinny, who downplays Dawn. Both of these women are then interrupted by Tegan Nox, who receives a good pop, saying that she is rightfully the ace of the women’s division and she would be happy to show down with anyone who thinks they have what it takes. Bea Priestly is the next out, claiming that for so long, she has been underrated, and it’s time for her to finally step into the spotlight. The final person to step out, NXT UK Women’s Champion, Kay Lee Ray, makes the claim that she has been at the peak of her division for ages now and nobody has been able to hold her down. Amidst all of the arguing and chaos, GM of the women’s division, Paige, comes out, and says that in two weeks, all of the women in the ring will compete in a gauntlet match to decide the first ever GBW Women’s Champion, a huge announcement on the first episode of Fight Club!

The next match is a preview of the World Championship tournament matches that are arranged for the coming weeks, as we see two unlikely pairings: Pac and Drew McIntyre face Noam Dar and Kip Sabian. Everyone makes their entrance, Pac receiving a decent pop, while McIntyre receives arguably the biggest pop of the night.
Pac and Drew McIntyre vs Noam Dar and Kip Sabian
The story of the match is the question of which team can synergise the best. McIntyre and Pac have communication issues, while Dar and Sabian work relatively well as a team. In the coming weeks, all of these men will face off with eachother for a chance to compete for the GBW World Championship at the first PPV in two months’ time. Each competitor in the match plays a different role – Noam Dar is the sleazy, likeable figure. Kip Sabian is the high flying babyface. Pac is the dirty heel and Drew McIntyre is the titan. In predictable fashion, McIntyre and Pac dominate the majority of the match, McIntyre hits a Future Shock DDT on Sabian, then hitting a Claymore Kick on Dar and tagging in Pac, who hits a Red Arrow and follows it up with a Brutalizer, as Sabian taps out.
Pac and Drew McIntyre def. Noam Dar and Kip Sabian (13 minutes)
Each man argues with eachother after the match, about the match’s result, and also the fact that they’re facing off against each other in the coming weeks. It ends with McIntyre hitting a Claymore Kick on his opponent, Noam Dar, while Pac and Sabian brawl into the crowd, adding some stakes to their impeding first round tournament clash.

A vignette airs for one of GBW’s new signees, Cara Noir. The Black Swan of British Wrestling looks to prove himself on a large scale, as he will debut on next week’s show to prove to everyone why he has a place in the locker room. Cara Noir is a mysterious figure, and no one quite understands the man, but he always has tricks up his sleeve and he’s a difficult opponent to understand. How will he fare in GBW?

“This main event match, scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit, is for the Great British Wrestling Prodigy Championship!” the London fans pop for the nights main event, as a classic of a match is guaranteed between two men that will be figureheads of the GBW brand.
The fan favourite! The Aerial Assassin! One of the best wrestlers in the world! Multiple time winner of the annual Best of Super Junior Tournament. Former NEVER Openweight Champion. Multiple time IWGP Junior Heavyweight Champion. Will Ospreay is a household name, and he receives a fantastic reception from the fans here tonight, as he looks to become GBW’s first Prodigy Champion.
His opponent has been the cornerstone behind the NWA brand for years now. It seems to be a recurring theme. Wherever Nick Aldis goes, he makes it his own. Impact Wrestling. NWA. And now, it could be Great British Wrestling. Aldis thinks he should be competing for the World Championship, and it’s a travesty that he’s competing for the Prodigy Championship. The best way to back that up, is a win tonight.
We get through the ring introductions and the bell rings, the first ever GBW Fight Club main event!

Will Ospreay vs Nick Aldis for the GBW Prodigy Championship
Ospreay and Aldis shake hands before backing up into their respective corners. In the early going, Ospreay is insistent on utilising his breakneck offence and immense speed to his advantage has he overwhelms Aldis, this is a pace Ospreay has to maintain if he wants to keep Aldis on the backfoot. Ospreay goes for an early Os-cutter, Aldis pushes him away, he goes for a roll-up pin, Ospreay reverses it into one of his own, kick out, Aldis floors Ospreay into a rest hold as he is able to seamlessly change the momentum to benefit himself, a more methodical and slower pace.
The contrast between these two styles is a major point in the match, as Ospreay has spurts of offense while Aldis gets a good share of the offense in. Ospreay goes for a Pip Pip Cheerio, Aldis ducks under, Ospreay lands and rolls, he is met with an uppercut followed by a perfect Michinoku Driver for a near fall. Ospreay mounts up a comeback, eventually dropkicking Aldis to the outside of the ring and hitting a Sasuke Special to the delight of the crowd. Back inside the ring, he hits a 450 Splash for a near fall.
Ospreay goes for the Stormbreaker, but he is not able to lift Aldis, who instead gets out of it, neckbreaker, he ascends to the top rope, supposedly going for his signature elbow drop, however Ospreay springs to his feet, HURRICANRANA FROM THE TOP ROPE, THE FANS GET UP TO THEIR FEET TO APPLAUD BOTH MEN FOR THIS EXCELLENT MATCH! More than anything else, the overarching theme of this match is just a well-told story with selling and good, flawless wrestling on display of all sorts.
Aldis goes for a Diving Crossbody, but Ospreay rolls through and in a huge feat of strength, he connects a Fallaway Slam. He goes for a Hidden Blade, but Nick Aldis moves out of the way, he locks in the CLOVERLEAF! KING’S LYNN LOCKED IN! For minutes, Ospreay struggles, flails, but he has no choice but to ta-, no, he is able to break free from it, he continually elbows Aldis, he launches himself off the ropes, OS-CUTTER! Aldis is staggered, he falls into the grasp of Ospreay, the fans going wild, STORM BREAKERRRRR! He goes for the cover, 1…2…3!
Will Ospreay def. Nick Aldis (19 minutes)
We have our first ever GBW Prodigy Champion! The bell rings to signal the end of the match and Ospreay’s triumphant music sounds, as he is crowned the first ever GBW Prodigy Champion here in London tonight. The fans rise to their feet, cheering and applauding Ospreay for winning this fantastic Fight Club main event, a huge achievement for the Aerial Assassin. After the match, Ospreay and Aldis shake hands yet again, a sign of respect, a standard that has been set for the rest of the matches for the title.
Aldis is respectful in defeat, while Ospreay is proud in victory. To end the first episode of Great British Wrestling Fight Club, he defeats Nick Aldis to win the GBW Prodigy Championship!
RESULTS
GBW World Championship Tournament First Round - Pete Dunne def. Mark Haskins (22 minutes)
Jamie Hayter def. Charlie Evans (6 minutes)
Paul Robinson def. Flash Morgan Webster (8 minutes)
Pac and Drew McIntyre def. Noam Dar and Kip Sabian (13 minutes)
GBW Prodigy Championship – Will Ospreay def. Nick Aldis (19 minutes)
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2020.06.08 08:37 yarikus007 10 OF THE WORLD'S SCARIEST URBAN LEGENDS

The world is full of scary stories and urban myths. But how can you tell if any of this is true? I suggest that you yourself draw a conclusion that this is fiction, and that it is true. and I selected 10 of the most creepy ones.
the text of the story is quite long if you want you can watch a video on this topic
Slender man, or Slenderman
According to legend, a Slender man is a tall, thin man dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. His arms and legs are long and thin, and his face is devoid of features.
Its arms can stretch, and tentacles grow from its back.
When a Slender person appears, the victim loses memory, experiences insomnia, paranoia, a coughing fit, and blood flows from the nose.
If a Slenderman was spotted in the area, then the children would soon be missing. He lures them into the woods, drives them mad, and takes them with him. The children who were carried away by the Slender man were never seen again.
In 1983, 14 children disappeared in Stirling city in the United States. Their disappearance was associated with a Slender man. Later in the library of the city found a picture of an unknown photographer, which was made on this day, and it was allegedly attended by a monster.
In 2014, two teenagers tried to kill their girlfriend because they were ordered by Slenderman. Both girls were sent to a psychiatric hospital: one for 25 years, the other for 40.

The black dog of Meriden

The black dog of Meriden from the us state of Connecticut is a small Ghost dog that leaves no tracks and makes no sounds. According to legend, if you see a Black dog three times, you will die. It appears noiselessly, does not leave any traces (even in the snow), and then just as suddenly disappears.
In the early 1900s, a geologist, Pynchon explored the mountain of Meriden under the name of West Peak. One day he saw a black dog among the trees. As Pynchon turned to go home, the dog disappeared into the trees.
The second time the scientist saw the black dog a few years later in the same place. One of his friends, with whom he went up the mountain that day, said that he had already seen the dog twice.
They wandered until they finally reached the top. But the enemy was waiting for them. The black dog stood in front. Pynchon had turned away only for a moment when he heard a terrible scream. His friend fell and hit the rocks.
In Meriden, the locals told Pynchon about the legend of the Black dog, but He did not believe it. A few years later, the geologist decided to visit the same mountain. He left his apartment at dawn and never returned. His dead body was later found at the bottom of a ravine.

Pasadera

In Brazil there is a legend about a terrible woman named Pasadera. It comes to men who are afraid, or to those who have had a good meal and are lying on their backs — in this position, the victim of Pisadeira is almost impossible to escape.
Pisadeira is a bony and thin creature, with short lower limbs and long dirty hair, a hooked nose, reddish eyes, thin lips, and sharp teeth with a greenish tinge. Her long fingers have wide yellow nails. But even more frightening is the laughter and sneering giggles of the monster. If one hears a distinctive laugh in the night hours, so soon it come to Pasadera. It is the eerie laughter that precedes her appearance.
The monster torments his victim until she suffocated from fright, but still Picadero can leave the person, get filled with fear.

The phantom of the Park Benito Juarez in Mexico

There is a Benito Juarez Park in the small Mexican town of Haral del Progreso. This is one of the attractions of the city, but the Park was laid out on the site of an old cemetery, so it spread notoriety. The city authorities improved the square as much as possible. They installed benches and paved paths so that people could enjoy the beauty of nature. However, according to local residents, the authorities woke up the local spirits and a curse was placed on the place.
Every night in the Park, someone destroyed the benches and disappeared. Then the authorities hired security guards to patrol the area at night.
And then one evening the guard went on duty. Everything was quiet at first. The riots began when the Park was covered with thick fog. The guard heard a woman scream and went to check what happened. When he reached the spot, an elderly woman dressed in a white dress was standing in front of him. The caretaker followed her, and she began to smash and throw benches.
When the guard approached her, he saw that the woman had no legs, she was floating in the air. Suddenly the old woman pounced on him and began to beat him furiously. The guard managed to escape, and the next morning he told about what he saw. Soon after this incident, he fell ill with a mysterious illness and died. The city authorities forbade telling about this story in the media, but the rumor still spread around the city, no one else wanted to be on duty at night. The locals called the Ghost the phantom of the Park.

The girl from the closet

One day, a 57-year-old Japanese man noticed that someone was changing things in his house, food was disappearing from the refrigerator, and at night he was woken up by strange sounds. The man decided that he was going mad, because he lived all alone. The Windows and doors of his house were always closed.
One day he decided to act and installed hidden cameras in all the rooms.
The next day, he watched the footage. In the footage, an unknown woman crawled out of the Japanese's kitchen Cabinet. The man assumed that she was a robber. But the police said that no one broke the locks.
After a thorough search, the woman was found in a small locker. As it turned out, she lived in the house of a Japanese man for a year.

The goat man from Maryland

Many people in the United States associate Prince George's County in the U.S. state of Maryland with a bloodthirsty monster named the goat Man.
According to legend, the monster used to be an ordinary goat breeder. Once his wife became seriously ill, and he had to work tirelessly to help his beloved. But the cruel teenagers decided to play a joke on the poor guy and poisoned all his goats. The family was left without a single source of income, and the woman died.
Grief turned the farmer into a terrible monster, he ran into the forest and began to kill everyone who met him on the way.
According to another version, the goat man is a scientific experiment of the mad scientist Dr. Fletcher. Local residents believe that the agricultural research center of the district conducted prohibited experiments on animals. Once, a scientist experimentally created a half-human, half-goat. The researchers decided to keep it alive for study. But the creature grew up and turned into a cruel monster. He killed several scientists and escaped from the center.
Whether this is true or a myth, but in the 50s of the XX century, strange events took place in the district. In 1958, residents found a German shepherd dead: the dog was torn to pieces, but its meat was not eaten.
In the spring of 1961, two students were found dead in Bowie, northeastern Maryland. The girl and the boy went to the forest at night. In the morning, a local hunter found a car with broken Windows and many deep scratches on the body. The bodies of the teenagers, disfigured beyond recognition, were found in the backseat. The perpetrator was never found.
In 2011, the American horror film "Deadly detour" was released, inspired by the Maryland monster.

Banshee

According to Irish folklore, a Banshee is a spirit from the other world. She appears as an ugly woman to the relatives and friends of the one who is about to die. It is believed that if the Banshee did not cry loudly enough before his death, then in the next world, her screams will be several times worse.
Banshees look like scary women-screamers, old women with loose gray hair, a terrible wrinkled face and skeletal thinness.

The legend of an American girl who took revenge on her lover

In the United States, there is a terrible legend about a girl who took revenge on her lover for unrequited love. In the small town of Stahl, Texas, there was once a small Church surrounded by graves. Next to the Church was a cellar, which was very difficult to find, because it was overgrown with grass.
The daughter of a priest fell madly in love with a neighbor boy, but he broke her heart by choosing another girl. They got married, and his chosen one got pregnant. Soon after the birth of the child, the priest's daughter visited the couple. They welcomed her warmly, but the girl herself looked at their child with hatred.
The priest's daughter suddenly attacked her parents and cut their throats, then she dragged their bodies to the hill where the Church stood. She left the dead in the cellar, and put the living child between them.
The priest's daughter closed the cellar door and died soon after. The bodies in the cellar could not be found for three weeks.
Many believe that the voice of a crying child can still be heard at night near the Church.

The house of the dead in Mexico

In the Mexican city of Monterey, there is a famous legend about an abandoned building called the "corpse house". The strange structure was built in the 1970s, but no one has ever lived in the building.
From the street, the house looks like a structure made of concrete pipes. According to legend, the house was built by a rich couple who had a sick, paralyzed daughter. My father wanted to build a special house that would be suitable for people with disabilities. Ramps that led from one floor to another were included in the design of the house.
The family started construction. One day the girl wanted to look at the house. She began to ride on ramps, her parents were distracted for just a moment, when suddenly her wheelchair flew down the ramp. The girl could not stop, as a result, she flew out of the window and crashed to her death.
Years later, the unfinished building was put up for sale. But no one wanted to buy it for a long time. Once there were clients. They came to see the building with their young son. While the couple were examining the situation, the boy went upstairs, and a few minutes later they heard him scream. On the top floor, he was fighting with a little girl. The unknown woman grabbed their son and threw him out the window. The boy died, and the girl could not be found.
After this story, the authorities fenced off the territory.

Mary Shaw

In 1941, in one of the theaters of the American city of Ravens fair, a certain Mary Shaw performed with her doll Billy. Once one of the audience — a small boy-called a woman a liar. He saw that the woman's lips were moving when he was talking to Billy. A few weeks later, the unfortunate critic disappeared.
Residents of the city and the boy's parents blamed the ventriloquist for his disappearance. Mary Shaw was soon found dead. According to local legend, the ashen family (the boy's family) committed lynching on a woman. They broke into the dressing room, made Shaw scream, and then ripped out Her tongue.
Before her death, the woman wanted all her dolls to be buried with her, there were 101 of them.
After the ventriloquist's funeral, the ravens fair massacre began. And the victims of crimes were those people who raised their hand on the Show. Their tongues were torn out, just like Mary's.
submitted by yarikus007 to scarystories [link] [comments]


2020.05.20 00:11 DeadPalette Locker hidden room camera women's

Hello. This thing happened to me a few months ago; I just need to share it with somebody.

Not getting into CCAD(an artist school) was a big blow to my ego. Since I received that news, my plans of where I might go from here with my life have been shot to shit. Many of my days revolve around halfheartedly documenting the lives of my friends with photography. Perhaps it's that I'm not good, or that such a style of art doesn't appeal to the school. Some might not even consider it art. I'm not sure it is.

With no direction in my life, my parents made an executive decision to take me to preview a college called 'OWU' which is in the middle of nowhere Ohio and, obviously, doesn't have as strong of a photography department as an art school would. Now I don't want to say that 'my parents embarrass me,' but my parents embarrass me. So after much convincing on my part, I took the road trip from Indiana to Ohio with a friend, Andy. The only stipulation was that I had to document my trip.

On the way there, we shot the shit about life, drinking, women, drinking with women; normal high school stuff. It was turning out to be an okay day, but Andy would occasionally bring up photography and college, subjects I didn't want to talk about. Andy may be a good listener, but he doesn't understand how to be sensitive to a situation. So I'd shift the discussion to music, then he'd tell me about new bands I need to listen to, and then I'd promise I would (I wouldn't). The documentation of this trip was supposed to be the total package.

The school, gas stations, where we ate, surrounding areas. I'm not sure if my parents really wanted to know that much about the area or not. I think it's more that they wanted my photography which consists of stage performances of shitty punk bands and general debauchery of my friends over into a constructive realm. This wasn't the way to do it. The first thing I shot was Andy and myself in front of the car on with a timer and tripod. After all, it was technically my first day going to this school (even thought it was just a college tour) and it's tradition to take a picture when you're packed and ready to go. I shot a few other things.

The man at the gas station listening to rap with a Blackletter font 'D' on his shirt, I didn't get it and he wasn't too happy to be shot. A giant dam that had some of those Irish rock walls in the fields below it. Oh, and abandoned farm houses, one can't be a photographer without shooting abandoned farm houses.

It was around noon when I got done shooting those houses and I was tired, and tired of driving. Andy offered to drive while I took a nap. I did just that. I napped.

I woke up on campus, but not in a car. It was hot and humid, as if it had been raining. My shirt was wet with dew and sweat, my cell and wallet were nowhere to be found, and my DSLR, the new D5100 my mother bought me for Christmas was no longer strapped around my neck, in its place was a beat up black Asahi Pentax with a 50mm lens and no lens cover. After finding resistance when cycling forward in the film, I knew I had one roll of film loaded and ready. Some shots had apparently been taken.

The first thing I saw when I came to has a giant building that said "Selby Field 1929." Unsure of how to orient myself after waking up, I just snapped a picture of the monolithic structure that towered above me and walked on to find someone that went to the school. It was only after taking that first shot that the shocking aspect of the situation set in. It was almost as if letting the light and shadow hit the photosensitive film allowed the situation I was in to process in my mind. I desperately patted my pockets again looking for my cell phone and wallet, which I already knew were missing.

The panic was really setting in. I began to think about what could have caused this to happen. I only remember going to sleep in the car. No one was in sight so I headed towards some larger building sure that someone had to be around. It made sense that the streets were lifeless as it was Sunday and shitty outside. This didn't ease my mind. I knew waking up with no recollection of how you got to where you woke isn't good. Talking to somebody wouldn't reveal any good news.

I came to a building with a sign that read "Power House" which looked to be a generator of some sort. Nearing the building, it seemed to give off massive amounts of heat. It could have been that I just started walking and so my blood got circulating, but I started to develop a headache around that place, I even got a little bit of an iron taste in my mouth. Not like a blood taste, but like I had been licking a crow bar that had been left out in the sun all day. As I approached the place in the off chance that some maintenance person would be hanging around, the feeling of iron and sickness intensified. Not wanting to pump my blood any faster than it was going, I tread softly away from the building.

Close to the Power House was a relatively nondescript building, I didn't hesitate to go inside. Somewhere in the chain of command, they'd know I was coming. However, no one was inside. I questioned whether that was normal. They do have a relatively small student body and a good amount of space, maybe people were just practicing elsewhere. Now I'm not sure what held me back from doing this, but I didn't yell out for anyone. About the time I reached the basketball court, I realized I hadn't thought to yell out for someone, or rather, I was afraid to. As if it would be dangerous. I stop dead near the middle of the court not long after shooting it. My creaking might have given away my position as it was a loud and old building.

Then I heard a singular creak. It came from the stairwell I was just in. It wasn't that audible, but in the stillness of the place, a place that seemed trapped in another time period, it stood out like a freshman at a senior party. My heart sunk at the noise, my mind twisted and contorted that minute creak of the wood stairs into a security guard, then to an angry jock, then into a monster, then into an even worse monster. That headache that lingered since I looked at the Power House forced me carefully to my knees. That irrational thought gave way to a more sensible one. 'Maybe it was Andy.' With no recourse, which is a situation I find myself in often, I bit my lip and moved towards the stairwell. As I got close, I heard creaks again, clear and crisp steps going progressively up the stairs. I followed them, to the top, where I found an odd dead end. It was as if something was planned for this floor but not executed.

Looking out the window at the top of the stairs felt strange, it was as if I was looking at some optical illusion with no pay off. Like I was being tricked but everything made sense. The best way I could describe it was like the magician, Teller, stomping out a cigarette and lighting another one when it’s really the same cigarette. The end result was the same but something in the process of the light beams going from the object to my eyes was off. I felt like putty and had the sudden urge to use the bathroom.

Recklessly, I moved down the stairs looking for a bathroom. I found only lockers so I entered the boy’s room. It was so dark that I had to use my external camera flash to find my way at points. Something is off about the photos I took there that I didn’t notice at the time. I was getting ready to piss and rinse off my face with fresh cold water when a loud sound of a locker opening jostled my senses. That sound was quickly followed by the sound of a locker door being ripped off the locker itself.

That door was then thrown far about the top of the lockers and I could vaguely make it out in the dark. Then the footsteps, they moved in my direction with an ever present dragging sound following not far behind. A moment later, another locker door was torn and thrown. I did my best to sneak down another row of lockers.

When I was directly across from whatever was tearing off those locker doors, in another row of lockers, it let out a shriek that quickly died into a huffing, almost panting sound. As I assume its mouth closed, I heard a crackling noise, as if its skin was stretching a massive amount to give birth to that intimidating cry. I lost control of my body and violently shivered at the sound, my face crying against the ground, and I’m not embarrassed to say that after that, I starting peeing in my pants. I was sure this cry was designed to disempowered me while it hunted me down. It continued to tear shit apart and occasionally cry out with increased frequency. In between shrieks, I crawled under the wide locker benches.

As the shrieks round the corner and started making their way back in my row of lockers, their power intensified. They began to fog my thoughts and force my eyes closed. They had the effect of viper poison but in audible form. I struggled to keep my eyes open as it approached my tear, sweat, and piss stains. It stomped on the stains with hooven feet barely viewable under a robe, it drug Andy by one foot. That was the last time I saw Andy. His face looked as if he had been curb-stomped by a gang of thugs, his arms were broken, alluding to a pointless defense of his head and face. I went out then, waking to a pile of puke beside my face an indeterminable amount of time later.

The thing seemed to be gone; a blood trail was left leading out of the locker room as if Andy’s body was a paintbrush loaded to the barrel with alizarin crimson paint. I went back to the bathroom section in the back of the room in a vain attempt to clean myself up. Moving out of the locker room, I saw the blood trail lead to a room in open view of the main entrance/exit, and I heard snoring coming from that room. I tip-toed into the women’s locker room hoping to find another way out of the building. It didn’t take long for me to find a way out, but I was surprised how many women’s shoes were in there. By this point, I figured that the only thing around were that thing, Andy’s dead body, and myself. But here were a mass of women’s shoes.

Once outside of the building, I ran as fast I could, no longer concerned with the creaks and sounds that building made when someone traversed in it. I ended up in a lecture hall. I seemed out of my time period, I’m not used to historical architecture. It was empty and dated, like the hotel in ‘The Shining,’ the one directed by Kubrick. The experience was, for lack of a better word, backwards. When I reached the second floor of the building, I began to wonder what I should do. I could be anywhere on campus but I seemed trapped in another dimension. I wondered why I even bothered going upstairs in such a place. I just documented what happened to the best of my abilities.

Then I heard the front door open. I looked for a place to hide. I entered a single bathroom with a door that lead to a seemingly hidden area. Everything was covered in dust, I shut the door and turned on the light-bulb to find boxes, crates, and a ladder that lead to a whole in the ceiling. The crates had what looked to be old time-y booze, like bathtub hooch. Oddly enough, the boxes had prohibitionist propaganda signs, banners and what not from a long time ago. I didn’t have time to analyze what it was, I just climbed up the ladder in fear that the creature had followed me.

I didn’t waste time documenting where I came out, but it had signs indicating it was the administration building. I was on the first floor, I exited a different building than I entered. I seemed to have climbed up to the first floor of a building from the second floor of another building. I ran north I think, and found a creak. I followed it up the hill, until I saw it in the distance, in a robe, with a goat-like horn coming out of a broken skull. I don’t think it saw me, but I ran. I ran all the way past Selby field to a walking path which I calmed down at. No sooner had I calmed down when I heard someone or something coming up the other side of the path towards me. I turned around and long story short, I ended up in the admin building again.

I wanted to curl up and die. I tried to hide in the men’s bathroom but it was locked, so I checked the girl’s room. I was shocked to find the window area to be an opening to a somewhat familiar sight. I crawled through and tripped. I found myself at the abandon farm house I had shot earlier. The bathroom was gone. I looked around and went up close to the house, which I hadn’t done before. I took one final shot that day from outside of the empty house.

Then I went inside. I tried to check the basement but it was locked. I then checked up stairs. I heard rustling outside. I caught a glimpse of that thing out the back window and freaked. I ran to the other side of the upstairs and saw my car in front of the house. I opened the window and dangled myself outside it to brace for the impact of jumping when it’s shriek dropped me to the ground. I limped into the unlocked car and the key was in the ignition. I started it. I drove off.

I stayed at a hotel. I showered. I had the film developed. Some of the shots I took on my missing camera were on the film in analog form. I filed a missing person report for Andy. But I knew he wouldn’t turn up, obviously.
I did some digging into OWU. I found out about George D. Selby. According to some of the older locals around the campus area, it’s a not so hidden secret that he was a prohibitionist in public, but he ran a bootlegging business behind the scenes. I’m not sure what that has to do with anything but I thought I’d let you know. I suppose I did document the trip. I might have looked up that band Andy told me about if I remember its name. It’s been a little more than 2 months since this happened and I haven’t gone back there, nor do I plan to.
Selby Field 1929
Creepy Bathroom
Dressing Room
Teleportation Mirror
Farm House
submitted by DeadPalette to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.05.01 05:32 the14thaccount THROWBACK: Nicki Minaj Called Me (Part 3/3)

I woke up groggy the next morning. To my relief, the door was closed and I was alone. Comfortable.
I slid on my Buddy Holly glasses. At peace with the solitude around me… until I saw a letter lying on the dresser. The elaborate scribbled scrawl told me all I needed to know: Nicki had snuck in here during the night. Groaning, I grabbed the letter.
There was the schedule literally spelled out for me: gym, shower, interview. Even a curated wardrobe was included.
I put on the tight gym shorts. The red sleeveless shirt. Upon opening the bedroom door, Bobby Helms’s “Jingle Bell Rock” bombarded me. Not to mention this mansion’s blizzard… I couldn’t help but think how some people would find the holiday playlist a welcome reprieve from the Nickimania usually blasting. But not me. I missed the pop music in the face of this seasonal shit.
Then I hit the gym. The treadmill, the crunches. My meager weightlifting. All under those cameras’ red eyes. Not to mention the bizarre wax figure standing in the corner. The one watching me this whole time: a life-size Roman waxwork. Complete with the blonde wig, messy black dress… that deranged scowl.
Out of breath, I faced my reflection. The giant mirror painted me in a flattering but realistic light. Nicki and Ashley had taken care of me, after all. I looked better than ever. Maybe not the Great Value Zac Efron Nicki was hyping me up to be, but hey, what can I say? Even I was impressed my own appearance.
Turning, I confronted the wax Roman. Her fake eyes met mine. Somehow, I was sure she’d moved ever so slightly. Just enough to turn that female gaze toward me.
I then headed for the shower. The warm water soothed me from this Christmas cold. Now I could really get lost in horror thoughts. In my storyteller wilderness.
Relaxed, I stepped back. Looked toward the metal soap holder… then my unease returned. Intensified.
I saw a red light hidden behind the soap bar. One blocked by a narrow glass case. Maybe I was too tired to notice it last night. More than likely too drunk… but apparently, Nicki had eyes on me the whole time.
But I felt aroused amidst the disgust. I couldn’t stop the erection… even when it stemmed from fantasies violating my privacy. But still, where was my dignity? Apparently not enough of it to stop me from modeling in that shower.
In the hallway, the cold hit me hard. Especially when all I had on was the boxers. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” serenaded my chills. Those voices then returned… I looked toward the last door.
The muffled voices came from there. The fateful room’s light still on. I walked up to the door. Grabbed the handle.
“I told you not to go in there!” came that frenetic scream.
Nicki’s hand grabbed mine. I looked into her fiery eyes. She had on the librarian’s glasses. The red blouse. Her hair pulled back in an unassuming ponytail. Her claws replaced by groomed fingernails. “What the fuck, Rhonnie!”
Under the glare, I crumbled. “I was just curious…”
“Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat, bitch!” Nicki tossed my hand back to me.
“Well, what happened?” I asked. Still hearing the voices, I waved toward the room. “What’s that noise?”
Behind a cold gaze, Nicki grabbed my wrist in a death grip. “None of your business. Not now!”
I said nothing. Too scared to respond….
“Now get your ass in that bedroom!” Nicki continued. She motioned toward my room. Savoring her power… “Get dressed!”
“My bad…” I responded. But I still listened to her. I walked into my bedroom. Saw my sweater and red khakis laid out for me.
Bing Crosby’s voice echoed everywhere as I snagged the red trousers. Got ready to put them on.
“And what’d I tell you about going to that room!” Nicki’s voice reprimanded me.
Startled, I looked toward the open doorway. Right to the one-and-only Nicki Minaj watching me get dressed.
“I’m sorry!” I said with a laugh.
“Mmm-hmm,” Nicki replied. She leaned against the doorway. Not going anywhere… and neither was that excited gaze of hers. The one that never left my body. “You best start listening to me, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her hungry eyes, I slid on the pants. “I will!”
I felt her eyes on me the entire time. Nicki never once left this show….
We later got together in the home studio. Both of us in our swivel chairs and with a glass of wine...
The ideas came fast and furious. Some good, some great.
“What about like a sex cult?” Nicki suggested.
“A sex cult?” I joked.
Behind the glasses, Nicki sat up straight. "Is that too realistic?”
I chuckled. “With you, man, anything is possible.”
“We just need to give them something crazy!” Nicki went on. She straightened her blouse. “Like whether it’s a cult or anything crazy I did. Like the pegging, anything hot like that!”
“Awesome. I agree.”
“I’ll be your muse for all things sexy and…” Nicki hunched her shoulders. Angled her head for a murderer’s photo shoot. That killer gaze fixated on me. “Scary."
Uncomfortable, I glanced down at my notebook. “Yeah, there’s so much potential.”
“Oh, definitely.”
I worked up the nerve to face her. Then ask a question that’d been bothering me: “So what was up with the garage?”
Nicki gave me a weird look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean all the weird shit in there? The cars, lockers-”
Nicki scoffed. “Bitch, please…”
“Naw, I’m curious.”
With an indifferent flourish, Nicki waved me off. “Your nosyass shouldn’t worry!”
Like a reporter, I leaned in closer. “So why all the cameras then? The guards?”
Nicki stared at me, her eyes eviscerating my soul. “I done told you, Rhonnie.” She moved in toward my face, holding me captive with that stare. “I value my privacy.”
“So why keep that shit then?"
Chuckling, Nicki leaned back in her seat. “Don’t be so worried, Rhonnie…”
“What?”
Nicki looked right at me. Her inner strength obvious. "I’m a tough girl, Rhonnie! You know that.”
Our brainstorming session ended soon after. To be honest, I had enough macabre material minus the Queen’s input. Even if the session proved entertaining.
That afternoon, I entered the kitchen. And there was Nicki seated on a bar stool. Glued to her phone. The Killers’ “Don’t Shoot Me Santa” the latest on the dancefloor's playlist.
“Hey, boo,” Nicki said to me.
“Hey,” I replied as I grabbed a Dos Equis. “I was just about to start writing. ” I opened the longneck. Still basking in the wine buzz… then I heard more moans and groans. Pleasurable exhalations hitting euphoria…
I looked toward the hallway. Drowning out the Christmas music, Club Staff’s sex sounded closer. Somehow more familiar. I stepped toward Nicki. “Yo, what are you watching?”
Nicki didn’t even try hiding the footage. The HD video of me, her, Ashley, and Kellan engaging in a most wild intimacy. Our own filmed sex tape… For whatever reason, I was on the bottom.
“Whoa, what the fuck!” I yelled.
Cackling, Nicki lowered her phone. “What? I can’t relive the past, bitch?”
“I mean you kept that on your phone?”
Nicki shrugged. “Duh. It’s hot…”
I couldn’t argue. “It’s fun and all, but-"
Nicki stood up and held her phone toward me. Giving me a front row view to a clip of her and Ashley dicking me down with those huge dildos. “If I wanna take a break, Rhonnie, I can. I'm not addicted, bitch.” She then got in my face. A delayed flourish of a finish. I could already smell the wine in her breath. “And I’m the one paying you. Remember?”
I gave her a weak smirk. “Okay…”
“That’s right, boo.”
I waved toward her, annoyed. "So when can I get my phone?”
That wacky Nicki grin appeared. She marched toward the hallway. Her erotica conquering the Christmas music. “Oh, you know the rules, Rhonnie.”
“Well, what about Zoo? When the Hell’s he coming over?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Nicki started. She stopped and faced me. Her smile still on display. “He’s coming.”
“Yeah but when-”
A chaotic vibration interrupted us. Nicki glanced at her pulsating phone.
“Shit, I gotta get this!” she said. She grinned at me. “Don’t go anywhere!”
Left alone, I looked over at the kitchen bar. At all those drinks.
Swept away by The Killers’ Christmas song, I staggered up to the pink wine bottles. Grabbed the biggest one.
Buried beneath the booze were torn scratch sheets of paper. A rainbow catalog veering between construction paper and sticky notes. The font matched the pattern: notes scrolled in everything from pen, marker, to even crayon.
I placed the wine on the counter. Picked up a cluster of messages.
Judging by the writing, no way these were the musings of one person. The handwriting was different on each and every message. The emotions different: Greatest xperience eva! I ain’t ever leaving!! I <3 Nicki Minaj Nickis bitch
Battling the unease, I took another swig. But still couldn’t shake the increasing chills.
Then one pink note in particular caught my eye. Brought about waves of anxiety… and sweet nostalgia. I recognized Ashley’s scrawl immediately. Her excellent grammar: Ashley And Rhonnie Forever! We love you, Nicki!
I put the beer down. Picked up my love’s note. Felt adrenaline rush through me. Heard Ashley’s beaming voice as I read it once more… Fuck, I missed her.
Grinning, I slid the letter into my pocket. A cherished memento from our stay at Nicki’s resort… My eyes then went back to this hidden collection. To the white sheet of paper lying under Ash’s message…
In an instant, my romantic remembrance vanished. All of it conquered by fear.
HELP ME read the scribbled touch of a pencil’s panic. The big, bold letters screamed those words. Underlined for emphasis. The message too terrifying not to be genuine…
I grabbed the piece of paper. Got a closer inspection at the all-too-real horror. The reality that everything wasn’t Utopia. Not for everyone, at least...
I downed the Dos Equis. But my buzz didn’t soothe the restless tension.
My eyes scanned the other notes. This scared detective confirming his instincts: there were just too many subtle differences. Too many eccentricities for Nicki and her personalities to have written all these. Especially now that I had Ashley’s note for evidence.
From the dancefloor, The Killers faded out. And in the brief silence came the many voices. Those muffled shouts and cries…
I turned toward the hallway. The sounds obviously coming from Club Staff. The Forbidden Room. Nicki’s wax museum. Her lair of wild dreams and nightmares.
Still clinging to the eerie note, I sensed my opportunity. Somehow gathering courage amidst the anxiety, I rushed into the dark hallway. Saw the only light here coming from beneath that final door.
The coast was clear. No one was around... Just me and whomever lurked inside that room. And as I got closer, the voices grew louder. More excited.
For once, the fear chilled me more than Nicki’s arctic A/C. But I still kept going. Reached out toward the knob.
The sudden struts of a guitar made me jump. So did Elvis Presley’s crooning… Startled, I looked down the hall. Glaring on at “Blue Christmas” now playing on the dancefloor.
Recovering from the scare, I turned my attention toward the door. Reached out once more.
“Rhonnie, what is you doing!” rang Nicki’s siren cry through the darkness. The Queen’s voice all power and attitude. Just like her firm grip snatching my arm.
Scared again, I whirled around. “Shit!”
Nicki’s smirk greeted me. As did her latest costume change: a black Strokes tee and skintight white pants. With no make-up and a shorter red wig, Onika Maraj looked dressed for an underground rock show. How she changed so fast, how she appeared so quick behind me still remains a mystery to this day. Not to mention where the fuck did she keep getting all these wigs and where did she keep them? But in that surreall moment, I was just glad she wasn’t wearing that fucking strap...
Nicki waved at her shirt with excitement to spare. “You like it? You’re a Strokes fan, right?”
The letter in my hand grabbed my gaze. “Yeah…” I held the message toward Nicki. “What the Hell is this!”
Caught off guard, Nicki’s grin disappeared. Her suspicion set in.
“I found this in the kitchen,” I said.
In a fierce instant, Nicki snatched the sheet. Read the note.
“I just wanna know who wrote it,” I continued.
Feigning indifference, Nicki tossed it to the ground. “It’s nothing, I wrote that shit.”
For once, her performance lacked emotion. Gone was the confidence.. her biggest strength.
I flashed a nervous smile. “No, you didn’t! There’s no fucking way!”
Nicki placed a hand to her temple. Avoiding eye contact. At war with her own invasive thoughts.
“I found the note Ashley left too,” I said. “I found all of them! I mean why’d someone write ‘help me,’ Nicki! Goddamn!”
Nicki stayed silent. There was no word. No explanation.
I leaned toward her. “That’s fucking crazy! I mean just-”
Staying strong in the face of my fake toughness, Nicki looked right at me. “Chill, Rhonnie.”
“But I wanna know-”
“Do you think anyone would ever wanna leave here?” Like a dismissive diva, she pushed me back. “Seriously, Rhonnie?”
Scoffing, I pointed toward the note. “Well, someone did apparently!”
“Just think about you and Ashley!” Nicki then flashed that taunting smile. “Y’all’s asses know you didn’t wanna leave!”
I hesitated in the cold. Let “Blue Christmas” continue through the hallway. The mansion. And deep down, I knew I had no response. Nicki was right.
Sensing my weakness, Nicki took an aggressive step toward me. Her pretty face matching mine. “You know I’m right, don’t you,” she cooed. In a slow lunge, Nicki ran her hands along my chest. Leaned in toward my ear for a sensual purrr….
The memories hit me hard. Flashbacks to the ferocious sex. Me, Ash, Nicki, Kellan. Our weeks of fun. Our thrist constantly quenched in this erotic paradise.
“You and Ashley still wanna come back,” Nicki teased in a gentle tone. She squeezed my ass. And got closer to my lips. “Y’all still miss me…”
I smelt the sweet wine in her breath. The booze helping us both lose control.
“We do...” I said. Now I ran my hands up and down Nicki’s majestic body. Felt along the smooth skin. The plastic… The best implants money can buy.
Our bodies collided. Swaying to the rhythm of “Blue Christmas.” Our souls stirred into a happy hysteria.
Nicki’s grin grew wider. “I missed y’all too…”
She gave me a drunken kiss. And I damn sure returned the favor. Gladly still clinging to my ass, Nicki’s other hand went down toward my crotch.
I lost control. The excitement too much.
“Rhonnie, get Ashley,” Nicki said between kisses. She draped her hands around my neck. “Stay here forevvverrrr…”
Smiling, I looked on at those brown eyes. Their mischievous glint. “I’ll think about it-”
A bombastic beat crushed Elvis’s crooning. Loud and obnoxious. A hip-hop air strike had hit Christmas.
I immediately recognized the song. And immediately cringed.
Cackling, Nicki leaned back. “Oh shit!”
I groaned. “Fuck, ‘Anaconda’? “Really?”
“Yes!”
Amidst the pop assault, Nicki pulled me in closer toward her. Another sloppy kiss accompanied this grating tune. The Queen’s hands went wild over my body. The song getting better as the make-out session continued. The intensity matching the incessant rhythm of “Anaconda.”
Nicki held me back. Her female gaze salivating me. The smile starving for more.
Grooving and shaking to the beat, I gave her a smug, seductive smirk. Pleased to have Nicki’s spotlight. “Hey,” I quipped.
Then Mrs. Majesty made her move. Lunging forward, Nicki was fast and quick. Her hands latched on to my arms.
“Whoa!” I joked.
Crying out, Nicki threw me up against the wall. Her sheer strength sent me into it hard… leaving me pinned to it.
There were some nerves. Not to mention a rising thrill. I turned and looked back at it. At Nicki.
Armed with that madcap grin, she descended upon me. Her fingers itching to grab. Her steps aligned with the song… As if she were pantomiming and acting out her own twisted music video. But that sly voice shined through. Even over the deafening soundtrack. Nicki’s excitement too high at this point...
“Oh my Gosh....” she said in a robotic melody. “Look at her butt…”
I was too drunk to move. But still enthralled… erect beyond belief. Here I was Nicki’s prisoner once more. At her manic mercy.
Smirking in silence, I let her tear off my sweater.
“Oh my Gosh, look at her butt,” Nicki kept singing. Those same lyrics repeated in a sexy mantra… Getting me all the more hot. The collision of the song and Nicki’s performance hypnotized me. I gave in to her fantasy… and my own.
Nicki pulled my pants down. Into the music, I grooved. Shook at her touch. All while she yanked off the khakis, then my tight boxers. I held my feet out, letting Nicki slide the socks off. She had me nude. Just as she wanted me.
Still singing along, Nicki pushed me further down. Bending me over… I felt those white pants fasten against my popped out ass. Felt her fasten those clamps of fingers to my hips.
Swaying to the reckless rhythm, Nicki’s passionate thrusts matched the song. One hit after the other...
“My anaconda don’t!” Nicki hollered. “My anaconda don’t!”
I closed my eyes and moaned. The sensations so amazing. Nicki didn’t even need a dildo to fuck hard. She had too much power as is.
Enjoying the show, Nicki moved my ass back-and-forth. Making me twerk on that crotch. Nicki getting the lapdance of her dreams. Not that I was complaining... Being her personal stripper was nothing new for either of us.
Continuing the concert, Nicki sang in a playful tone. Her voice so energetic and full of delight it overtook the fucking record. And only stopping for those dominant grunts. Nicki leaned in next to my ear. “This dude named Michael used to ride motorcycles…”
My breathing got heavier. In awe of Nicki’s poise. Behind aroused eyes, I watched her grab a hold of my big dick. All while she kept pounding away in this delirious dry humping. Nicki a Goddamn athlete.
“Dick bigger than a tower,” the Queen continued as she tugged on my cock for emphatic emphasis. “I ain’t talking about Eiffel’s…”
Something moist hit my ass. The crashes were repetitive and heavy. Nicki got out of control. A sexbot on the verge of exploding.
I moaned once more. Until Nicki’s hand covered my mouth. But she still kept going. I moved along with her. Shaking my ass to her delight.
“Real country-ass nigga, let me play with his rifle,” Nicki sang. “Pussy put his ass to sleep, now he calling me NyQuil…” In a wild flourish, she licked my face. A serpent’s tongue all along my smooth skin.
And the show went on. Through every lyric, every thrust. I gave in to the rap Goddess’s every move. Not to mention to her amazing stamina. Here I was sweating in the cold. Still erect. Still twerking...
At the fadeout, Nicki’s cackling hit overdrive. Her histrionics natural. She staggered back and gave my ass a passionate smack.
Exhausted, I turned and looked back at the Queen. At her triumphant smile. The colossal wet stain on the crotch of those white pants… An ocean of desire.
Another haunting rap beat started. Nicki’s “Get On Your Knees” began playing. A song reverberating through my mind. My body.
Nicki ran her hands down her pants in a sensual taunt. “Ooh, bring that ass here, baby.”
Gasping for breath, I staggered to my feet. Still naked. Still recovering from being dicked down.
“You should’ve been here all along,” Nicki continued.
I turned my attention to Club Staff. My mystery powered through… even in the post-sex bliss.
Nicki reached toward me. “Come here, baby.”
Avoiding her touch, I stumbled toward the room. Without the strap, at least my ass wasn’t in too much pain.
“Rhonnie!” I heard Nicki shout. “Don’t go in there!”
Over Nicki’s recorded harmonies and all-too-live screams, I could hear those voices. The cryptic chorus behind door number three. I snatched the knob. Glad to find it unlocked.
Behind me, I heard Nicki chase after me. “Bring that ass here!” she commanded.
I swung the door open and rushed inside. Being back in Club Staff ended my drunk disorientation. Not from reflective warmth but from the strange sight sprawling before me…
Nervous, I stopped in the middle of the room. The pink walls were still flawless. The antique jukebox still timeless. And from here I saw the secret room, its door wide open. Ashley and I’s personal suite…
The other wax figures were spread out like a staged party scene. Nicki Minaj by way of the Uncanny Valley. There was nerdy Nicki, tomboy Nicki. All aspects of the artist’s personality.
Both the pink dildo and red blouse were lying on the ground. The glasses she wore earlier. Wigs piled up in a colorful conglomeration. Club Staff now Nicki’s dressing room for all those costume changes. And also the site of her darkest desires.
But these familiar sights did little to soothe my dread. Still doused in sweat, I felt Nicki’s literal drip slide off my ass... Somehow, Nicki had shocked me once more. Scared me with the secrets of her forbidden room.
Open laptops were arranged on all those large tables. Rows and rows of them leading up to a large demigod of a flatscreen. The room featuring an electrical cult ceremony…
What they showed were live feeds. HD footage clearly taken from all these fucking cameras. In rooms I’d never seen. Areas of Nicki’s home and property I never knew existed. Many of the rooms from the sheds out back, I figured.
Strangers stayed on those screens. Attractive men and women, ranging from young adults to senior citizens. But they were all hot… All of them either stripped down or dressed in the nice fashion I knew Nicki picked out. They were her community. The Barbz she really wanted.
Most of these hottiees were engaged in sex. The mics made that much clear. There was everything: missionary, pegging, three-ways, Devil’s Threesomes, guy-on-guy. Whatever your hungry heart desired. Whatever the Hell Nicki wanted.
With several clips taking place at night, I knew the Queen had recorded everything. Not so much for security or surveillance. Just for herself.
In the videos, I recognized a few faces, the bodyguards amongst them. And of course, I recognized Kellan and his large dick. He was in a room of four, using the same playbook me, him, Ash, and Nicki perfected.
The same playbook I saw broadcast on that flatscreen. The footage showed the four of us from just a few months ago. The four of us having the sex of our lives. We must’ve really been amongst Nicki’s favs to be her star attraction…
Sure, I was disturbed. But nostalgia crept in upon seeing us on the silver screen. I gotta say I missed Kellan. Not to mention he was a long way from Trinidad… But maybe to him, the Minaj mansion was home. We did have our fun, after all.
But the romanticism died soon after seeing one laptop showing me in the lair. Showing me right now. In the nude. I now noticed several cameras dangling down from the ceiling, filming my fear.
More vivid glows emanated from the secret room. Undoubtedly there was more where this came from…
I now realized Nicki Minaj was a mirage. A sexially-explicit illusion used to draw in the thirstiest men and women. A Venus flytrap for Onika Maraj’s most depraved pleasures.
But still I needed to see more... Even over the chilling epiphany, curiosity compelled me. I charged up to the secret room. Until a certain singing stopped me.
I whirled around to face Nicki. She stood tall and defiant. Regardless of the striking stain, she didn’t look trashy. She wore that wet vagina well. After all, that crotch certainly didn’t feel like a pussy at times...
And all the while, Nicki sang along to the chorus of “Get On Your Knees.” A sly smile accompanying her flow. Her joy.
An intimate audience, I watched her the whole way through. This was Nicki The Artist and she sounded even better live. More natural. More raw.
As the track faded out, Nicki nodded toward the laptops. “You know they wanna be here, Rhonnie.” She strutted up to me.
Like looking at a much prettier Medusa, I turned to stone. Held in place by the beauty. The charisma.
“No one’s being held against their will,” Nicki continued. She stole an admiring glance at my cock before looking into my green eyes. “That’s their shit cars they left in the garage. Their shit clothes in the lockers. Their shit lives they left behind.”
“But still… it’s not right,” I struggled to say. “It’s weird.”
Soothing me, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “They just wanted to be happy, Rhonnie. That’s all.”
I couldn’t respond. Naked and in front of Nicki, I was conflicted. Torn between the seduction and slavery.
Nicki leaned in closer. “I didn’t want you to see till you were ready.” She caressed my face. Her touch so… warm. “Till you and Ashley were here.” Her other hand clinged to my thigh.
Quiet, I ran my fingers through Nicki’s short hair. “Regret In Your Tears” next on Nicki’s always-appropriate soundtrack. This setlist always in sync with our current mood.
“I didn’t want y’all to get scared,” Nicki went on. Her hand drifted down to my ass. For another sensual squeeze. “That was all, Rhonnie.”
I pulled away from her. “Naw, I can’t…”
Forcing a cackle, Nicki grabbed my arm. Her demeanor drunk, her mannerisms driven by madness. “Rhonnie, look!” She pointed toward the station of so many screens. “I dress them well, they get to live with me!” Selling herself well, Nicki felt along her well-endowed chest. “They get to be with me, baby…” She lunged in closer, inches away from my face. “And that should’ve been you and Ashley!”
Now I yanked my arm back. “No! This isn’t right, Nicki! You’re asking us to give up everything! We’ve got fucking lives, man! I wanna write!”
Nicki’s smile stagnated. “And you can… You can write about me.” She pointed across the room. Of course, right at that huge dildo. “And spend more time with that!” She grabbed on to my shoulders. “Me, you, and Ash. Kellan. It’ll be just like old times, babe.”
“I can’t.” Struggling against that strength, I finally managed to escape her grips once more.
A glower overtook Nicki’s face. “What do you think this is then, Rhonnie!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“This house! Me, bitch!”
Never had I seen her get this pissed. Sure, maybe crazy as Hell. Maybe psychosexual but not fucking angry.
Nicki pointed at herself. ”I’m the reason they wanna come! I bring them here, I keep them happy! They make me happy! I’m their fucking queen, Rhonnie! I make them want me, you understand!” She got in my face. But I was already scared into obedience. “Just like I did to you and Ashley!” She pointed to her head. “It’s in here, Rhonnie.” Immediately, she gravitated to that body. “And all here, baby! It’s got nothing to do with Onika! Nothing to do with me, the girl from Queens! The crazy family, the tragedies. It’s the way I look, Rhonnie! The ass and titties! The sex. Fucking. Sells.”
The height difference didn’t matter. Not now. Nicki stared me down hard. From both lust and anger. The dangerous ends of both emotions. I shivered under that spare. Nicki knowing full well she had me under her spell.
“What’s going on?” a deep voice rivaling mine asked.
We both turned. And well, Nicki’s excited smile contrasted my shock.
There was the man of the hour: Zoo. He stood a few feet away from us. His naked body no longer too surreal a sight in this freaky fortress. He was a handsome guy. Much taller than us. Much more sculpted than me A pretty prisoner both in the past and now. Kenneth checked off most of Nicki’s boxes: tough, thicc, and well-hung. Somehow, him and I had both managed to stay erect. Maybe there was something in the mansion’s air. But now Zoo’s glare stayed on me. The dude likely to break me by hand or dick…
Nicki’s grin hit sitcom levels. “Hey, baby!” she gushed. Drawn to her man, she rushed over and hugged him.
But Kenneth and I’s staredown wasn’t going anywhere.
“Is that the writer guy?” he asked Nicki.
“Yeah, that’s Rhonnie!” she beamed.
They fixated their gazes on me. There we were, the three of us with our dicks hanging out. Well, with Nicki’s lying closeby.
Through the tense silence, all we heard was the Minaj playlist. And the sounds of her prisoners. Their pleasurable moans and cries a constant off those laptops. Of course, I recognized my own exhalations on that flatscreen. God knows what the Hell I was taking in that clip...
Nicki pulled Kenneth closer toward her. Her man definitely lacked her enthusiasm. “He’s the one writing about us, Zoo!” she exclaimed. “And I’m helping him out! He’s gonna make us even more famous!”
“So I’ve heard,” he replied. His hands stayed by his side. Ready for any false move from rhonnie14.
“Ain’t that right, Rhonnie!” Nicki said. Her wicked gaze settled in on me. “You’re gonna write so many crazy stories, right.”
Reaching into the recesses of my soul, I found some half-ass courage. “I’m writing the truth, Nicki,” I finally said. I waved toward the laptops. “I’m writing about all this! The people you got here, the ones you’ve got trapped! Your prisoners!”
Needless to say, Zoo wasn’t amused. His glare now more permanent than Nicki’s glowing smile. But now Nicki was no different. She had no chance at hiding the rage boiling within.
“I’m telling the truth!” I yelled.
Nicki took a ferocious step toward me.
Trying to restrain her, Zoo grabbed the Queen’s arm. “Nicki-”
But nothing could stop her. Not even Zoo’s impressive muscles. Nicki bulldozed on by. Straight for me.
Oh fuck, I thought...
Nicki put a finger to my face. “And do you think anyone’s gonna believe you, motherfucker!”
I stayed quiet. Yeah, I was a chickenshit.
“I’ll just tell them you’re some fucking creep obsessed with me!” Nicki continued. “No one will buy what the fuck some random horror writer has to say! Yo ass look like you’re sixteen anyway!”
Crumbling under her irate pressure, I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s a compliment...”
“Shut the fuck up!” Nicki yelled.
I locked eyes with Zoo. Even he was keeping his distance from her.
“Yeah, listen to Nicki!” he added.
Nicki gave me a light shove. The glare slicing into me like a knife. “So you go write your goofy fucking stories! Pimp my name to the horror crowd! They’ll wanna be with the Queen too, boo! You know that!”
“You got him, Nicki,” I heard Zoo chime in.
Giving me her patented stank face, Nicki walked back toward her husband. Leaving me in an awkward, uneasy state.
I watched Nicki drape her arm around Zoo’s waist. Her outburst now veering toward a manic melancholy. “You should’ve stayed, you and Ashley both!” Nicki said. I saw her grab on to Kenneth’s ass. “Y’all’d have been the Paula Patton and Zac Efron in here. All for me…”
Doing his best to be supportive, Zoo held on to her tight. Caressed Nicki’s shoulder. Anything to stay on her sweet side.
Now Nicki’s performance hit pathos. Somehow, I felt sorry for her. Sympathy even in the face of millions and nothing but pretty people surrounding her.
“Y’all should’ve just stayed!” she said in a trembling voice. The emotions erupted. Shielding her eyes, she turned away.
I took a calm step toward her. “I can’t stay Nicki. We just can’t.”
Both Nicki and Zoo confronted me. They showed their hurt physically. Their wounds within. The dark side of being a social media freakshow.
Nicki showed teardrops. Wearing her usual melodramatic make-up, she’d have resembled a crying clown. But not when she was just dressed as herself… Not when she was Onika. A lonely, young woman simultaneously vindicated and destroyed by her own fucking dream.
Concerned, I ran a hand through my swoop. Kept an appropriate distance from the distraught couple. “What’s this really about, man?” I asked, forcing my voice at a chill calm. “Nicki, maybe you should talk to someone.”
That glare flashed through Mrs. Majesty’s tears.
“You just need to get some help,” I struggled to say. “There’s nothing wrong with that-”
“Help!?” Nicki shouted. She pulled away from Zoo. All her weeping eyes on me. “I don’t need any help, Rhonnie! I need people to fucking care!”
A worried Zoo reached toward her. “Babe.” This was the side of Kenneth I’d never seen. Unlike Nicki, he was no performer or actor. Just a caring husband to one of the most complex personalities in Hollyweird.
Nicki held him back. Instead, her attention stayed on me. The stare sharpened. Her defensiveness a weak disguise for those insecurities galore. “That’s all I want, Rhonnie! I love my fans, the real fans!”
“I know,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“But that’s not what people want!” Nicki cried. The floodgate of tears burst. Here was a woman on the verge of a brutal breakdown. A sad glimpse behind the bravado. Nicki the beautiful diva facing fate and alienation. “They want the big titty bitch! That’s it!” She pointed toward that ‘perfect’ figure. “They don’t care about me! The lyrics or the drive! It’s this! I just want someone to look past that! Someone like you! Lile Ashley!” She snatched Kenneth’s hand in a loving grip. “And Zoo… Y’all need to stay with me for more! For the music!”
Zoo and I made quick eye contact. I imagine we didn’t have much in common other than worrying over Nicki’s mental state… but that was bond enough.
Like a Shakespearean monologue, Nicki continued spilling her guts. The raw emotion on display. Whatever warts and all could be on those perfect physical features. “It’s why I do this!” She waved toward her body. “The surgeries, the make-up! I can’t get anyone to just listen!”
“But Nicki, there’s plenty of us,” I said. “Hell, I like the music!”
“It’s just sex, Rhonnie! Like I told you!” Nicki stared right at me. “That’s all they care about at the end of the day.” She waved toward the laptops. Nicki’s movements so fast and frenetic, her boobs could’ve caused an earthquake. Just as much as her morose expression would elicit heartbreak. “It’s why I don’t give a fuck about those sluts and shrimp-dicked idiots just getting off to me! They can’t understand me like you! Like all the people I bring here can!”
“There’s more of us though, Nicki. I swear! We don’t have to stay here to support you, man. We’re everywhere!”
“I just want them to like me for the music! The talent! Not the sex, not the bullshit!” Lost in her sorrow, Nicki turned away. Wiped off those countless tears. “I can’t do anything as a female rapper… I can’t be a Pac or Ye. I have to be the hot bitch… You don’t understand, Rhonnie. I never wanted it like this!”
Zoo grabbed her shoulder. “Yo, babe-”
Possessed by passion, Nicki swatted his hand away. She screamed aloud. Into the air. Into her own crazed soul. Exorcist Nicki her latest personality. Then those maniacal sights settled in on me. “I don’t need help, Rhonnie! I need supporters! People who like me for who I am! For who I fucking * really* am! I need them with me twenty-four seven, Rhonnie!”
Fighting my own tears, I stepped toward her. “And I do. Ashley and I both-”
“Then stay!”
Nicki’s anguish made me stop. All while it ate me alive. Maybe I knew Nicki more than most. But here I was wanting her to be okay... Here I was desperate to reassure the Queen of hip-hop.
“Stay here forever!” Nicki yelled.
I shook my head. “I can’t, Nicki. I can’t.”
With weary defeat, Nicki shook her head. Each and every tear nothing but bullets piercing into my naked flesh.
Zoo ran a hand along her arm. “Nicki. Hey-”
Nicki stormed out. Off stage and away from her erotic island. She never said goodbye. Never gave me that bright smile. For someone with her talent and dictionary, she didn’t say shit.
Feeling guilty, I watched Nicki adjust her pants. Adjust the stain sticking to her skin… And then she was gone. A gorgeous witch disappearing into the night.
The catchy Nicki tunes still played. Not to mention the enthusiastic voices still blasting off those feeds. But Kenneth and I may as well have stood in silence. So thick the tension was.
He finally looked at me. His stare was smoldering, intense. “Get the fuck out.”
Put on the spot, I glanced around the room. At the sex videos. Then at my own naked body. With a nervous smile, I confronted Zoo. Shrugged my shoulders. “Can I at least put my boxers on?”
I got to put on the nice clothes Nicki stripped from me. Got my bag, got an Uber for LAX, and got the fuck out of there. All on Nicki’s tab, thankfully.
Now I sat alone at the airport. Waiting on a two A.M. flight… All alone in my corner. No one was around me this late. The cold isolation here like a cavern. Not even the Christmas wreaths and trees could soothe me.
Holding my phone, I tried to pass the time. Tried to keep my mind off the bizarre Nicki encounter. I just had to put on Bruce. Now blasting “No Surrender” through my earbuds and into my rattled mind. Scared that playing any Nicki would be a siren call luring my ass back to her place… Her world.
That being said, the long wait left me in reflection. Nicki wasn’t wrong on any count. To quote one of her more obnoxious tracks, we were all just beez in the trap. Caught up in her lore, her talent. And yes, the insane beauty. But what unsettled me most was how she related it to me. You see, Nicki spelled out her personal dilemma. Fuck it, she even related the twisted reality to me. And Nicki was right all along. Regardless of how much she liked creeping on my Reddit porn accounts, she had a point. I had more fans piling in there for a pic I took in seconds rather than a story I poured my heart and soul into. A situation no different than Nicki’s more serious jams getting shunned in favor of twerking and brainless exploitation. Sex sells, man. No matter her personality, Nicki wasn’t wrong about that. Call it my What Price, Hollywood? moment… All courtesy of Onika Maraj.
And through the thoughts, my phone kept buzzing. Now here came call number three from Nicki. I chose to ignore it. I couldn’t face her this soon. Not after the unsettling encounters and her unsettling set-up. After the harrowing breakdown, I couldn’t answer her. I wouldn’t answer that call, I plead to my nervous self in an internal intervention.
And all the while, I texted Ashley. Told her how much I loved her. How I couldn’t wait to see her. Our bond rekindled to first-month glories until she sent me a new text: You should’ve stayed!
I looked on at the message, uneasy.
Then came Ash’s quick follow-up: Go back and I’ll come! :)
The fear returned. Nicki had been hypnotizing me. And apparently, she’d long had Ash under control. “What…” I said.
Overtaking my screen was another incessant call: Nicki. Who knew how drunk or high she was? Much less lonely.
Don’t answer, I reminded myself. Don’t give in.
Forcing myself, I silenced the call. Then sat there in awkward silence. In a quiet dread I couldn’t identify. Or control.
Just when I needed it, Bruce left me. My rallying cry of “No Surrender” gone. My whole Goddamn support system.
I texted Ashley back: Are you sure? I think we should wait, boo…
Her reply appeared immediately: YES! GO THERE NOW, STU-STU!
I stared on at her message. Her demand. Her eager euphoria. Here I was caught between arousal and disappointment. And at the end of the day I had no say in this weird, wild mess. Ash did.
Seconds later came a new text message. Not from Ashley but Nicki: Come back over, Rhonnie
The next SMS bullet hit me: I miss y’all already ;)
Another one appeared: Again
“Shit…” I said to myself. I got ready to ignore the message. This was Rhonnie’s last stand against the impulses. The thirst.
Until my phone pulsated to life. The call so ferocious I almost missed Nicki’s next text: I talked to Ashley!!! <3 :p
And that was when I laid eyes on the caller ID: on my girlfriend’s number. The death sentence to my attempt at defiance. As always.
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2020.04.28 07:32 the14thaccount Hidden camera women's locker room

I woke up groggy the next morning. To my relief, the door was closed and I was alone. Comfortable. Far from Nicki’s aggression. Far from this madness in general.
I slid on my Buddy Holly glasses. At peace with the solitude around me… until I saw a letter lying on the dresser. The elaborate scribbled scrawl told me all I needed to know: Nicki had snuck in here during the night. Groaning, I grabbed the letter.
There was the schedule literally spelled out for me: gym, shower, interview. Even a curated wardrobe was included.
I put on the tight gym shorts. The red sleeveless shirt. Upon opening the bedroom door, Bobby Helms’s “Jingle Bell Rock” bombarded me. Not to mention this mansion’s blizzard… I couldn’t help but think how some people would find the holiday playlist a welcome reprieve from the Nickimania usually blasting. But not me. I missed the pop music in the face of this seasonal shit.
Then I hit the gym. The treadmill, the crunches. My meager weightlifting. All under those cameras’ red eyes. Not to mention the bizarre wax figure standing in the corner. The one watching me this whole time: a life-size Roman waxwork. Complete with the blonde wig, messy black dress… that deranged scowl.
Out of breath, I faced my reflection. The giant mirror painted me in a flattering but realistic light. Nicki and Ashley had taken care of me, after all. I looked better than ever. Maybe not the Great Value Zac Efron Nicki was hyping me up to be, but hey, what can I say? Even I was impressed my own appearance.
Turning, I confronted the wax Roman. Her fake eyes met mine. Somehow, I was sure she’d moved ever so slightly. Just enough to turn that female gaze toward me.
I then headed for the shower. The warm water soothed me from this Christmas cold. Now I could really get lost in horror thoughts. In my storyteller wilderness.
Relaxed, I stepped back. Looked toward the metal soap holder… then my unease returned. Intensified.
I saw a red light hidden behind the soap bar. One blocked by a narrow glass case. Maybe I was too tired to notice it last night. More than likely too drunk… but apparently, Nicki had eyes on me the whole time.
Butt I felt aroused amidst the disgust. I couldn’t stop the erection… even when it stemmed from fantasies violating my privacy. But still, where was my dignity? Apparently not enough of it to stop me from modeling in that shower.
In the hallway, the cold hit me hard. Especially when all I had on was the boxers. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” serenaded my chills. Those voices then returned… I looked toward the last door.
The muffled voices came from there. The fateful room’s light still on. I walked up to the door. Grabbed the handle.
“I told you not to go in there!” came that frenetic scream.
Nicki’s hand grabbed mine. I looked into her fiery eyes. She had on the librarian’s glasses. The red blouse. Her hair pulled back in an unassuming ponytail. Her claws replaced by groomed fingernails. “What the fuck, Rhonnie!”
Under the glare, I crumbled. “I was just curious…”
“Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat, bitch!” Nicki tossed my hand back to me.
“Well, what happened?” I asked. Still hearing the voices, I waved toward the room. “What’s that noise?”
Behind a cold gaze, Nicki grabbed my wrist in a death grip. “None of your business. Not now!”
I said nothing. Too scared to respond….
“Now get your ass in that bedroom!” Nicki continued. She motioned toward my room. Savoring her power… “Get dressed!”
“My bad…” I responded. But I still listened to her. I walked into my bedroom. Saw my sweater and red khakis laid out for me.
Bing Crosby’s voice echoed everywhere as I snagged the red trousers. Got ready to put them on.
“And what’d I tell you about going to that room!” Nicki’s voice reprimanded me.
Startled, I looked toward the open doorway. Right to the one-and-only Nicki Minaj watching me get dressed.
“I’m sorry!” I said with a laugh.
“Mmm-hmm,” Nicki replied. She leaned against the doorway. Not going anywhere… and neither was that excited gaze of hers. The one that never left my body. “You best start listening to me, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her hungry eyes, I slid on the pants. “I will!”
I felt her eyes on me the entire time. Nicki never once left this show….
We later got together in the home studio. Both of us in our swivel chairs and with a glass of wine...
The ideas came fast and furious. Some good, some great.
“What about like a sex cult?” Nicki suggested.
“A sex cult?” I joked.
Behind the glasses, Nicki sat up straight. "Is that too realistic?”
I chuckled. “With you, man, anything is possible.”
“We just need to give them something crazy!” Nicki went on. She straightened her blouse. “Like whether it’s a cult or anything crazy I did. Like the pegging, anything hot like that!”
“Awesome. I agree.”
“I’ll be your muse for all things sexy and…” Nicki hunched her shoulders. Angled her head for a murderer’s photo shoot. That killer gaze fixated on me. “Scary."
Uncomfortable, I glanced down at my notebook. “Yeah, there’s so much potential.”
“Oh, definitely.”
I worked up the nerve to face her. Then ask a question that’d been bothering me: “So what was up with the garage?”
Nicki gave me a weird look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean all the weird shit in there? The cars, lockers-”
Nicki scoffed. “Bitch, please…”
“Naw, I’m curious.”
With an indifferent flourish, Nicki waved me off. “Your nosyass shouldn’t worry!”
Like a reporter, I leaned in closer. “So why all the cameras then? The guards?”
Nicki stared at me, her eyes eviscerating my soul. “I done told you, Rhonnie.” She moved in toward my face, holding me captive with that stare. “I value my privacy.”
“So why keep that shit then?"
Chuckling, Nicki leaned back in her seat. “Don’t be so worried, Rhonnie…”
“What?”
Nicki looked right at me. Her inner strength obvious. "I’m a tough girl, Rhonnie! You know that.”
Our brainstorming session ended soon after. To be honest, I had enough macabre material minus the Queen’s input. Even if the session proved entertaining.
That afternoon, I entered the kitchen. And there was Nicki seated on a bar stool. Glued to her phone. The Killers’ “Don’t Shoot Me Santa” the latest on the dancefloor's playlist.
“Hey, boo,” Nicki said to me.
“Hey,” I replied as I grabbed a Dos Equis. “I was just about to start writing. ” I opened the longneck. Still basking in the wine buzz… then I heard more moans and groans. Pleasurable exhalations hitting euphoria…
I looked toward the hallway. Drowning out the Christmas music, Club Staff’s sex sounded closer. Somehow more familiar. I stepped toward Nicki. “Yo, what are you watching?”
Nicki didn’t even try hiding the footage. The HD video of me, her, Ashley, and Kellan engaging in a most wild intimacy. Our own filmed sex tape… For whatever reason, I was on the bottom.
“Whoa, what the fuck!” I yelled.
Cackling, Nicki lowered her phone. “What? I can’t relive the past, bitch?”
“I mean you kept that on your phone?”
Nicki shrugged. “Duh. It’s hot…”
I couldn’t argue. “It’s fun and all, but-"
Nicki stood up and held her phone toward me. Giving me a front row view to a clip of her and Ashley dicking me down with those huge dildos. “If I wanna take a break, Rhonnie, I can. I'm not addicted, bitch.” She then got in my face. A delayed flourish of a finish. I could already smell the wine in her breath. “And I’m the one paying you. Remember?”
I gave her a weak smirk. “Okay…”
“That’s right, boo.”
I waved toward her, annoyed. "So when can I get my phone?”
That wacky Nicki grin appeared. She marched toward the hallway. Her erotica conquering the Christmas music. “Oh, you know the rules, Rhonnie.”
“Well, what about Zoo? When the Hell’s he coming over?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Nicki started. She stopped and faced me. Her smile still on display. “He’s coming.”
“Yeah but when-”
A chaotic vibration interrupted us. Nicki glanced at her pulsating phone.
“Shit, I gotta get this!” she said. She grinned at me. “Don’t go anywhere!”
Left alone, I looked over at the kitchen bar. At all those drinks.
Swept away by The Killers’ Christmas song, I staggered up to the pink wine bottles. Grabbed the biggest one.
Buried beneath the booze were torn scratch sheets of paper. A rainbow catalog veering between construction paper and sticky notes. The font matched the pattern: notes scrolled in everything from pen, marker, to even crayon.
I placed the wine on the counter. Picked up a cluster of messages.
Judging by the writing, no way these were the musings of one person. The handwriting was different on each and every message. The emotions different: Greatest xperience eva! I ain’t ever leaving!! I <3 Nicki Minaj Nickis bitch
Battling the unease, I took another swig. But still couldn’t shake the increasing chills.
Then one pink note in particular caught my eye. Brought about waves of anxiety… and sweet nostalgia. I recognized Ashley’s scrawl immediately. Her excellent grammar: Ashley And Rhonnie Forever! We love you, Nicki!
I put the beer down. Picked up my love’s note. Felt adrenaline rush through me. Heard Ashley’s beaming voice as I read it once more… Fuck, I missed her.
Grinning, I slid the letter into my pocket. A cherished memento from our stay at Nicki’s resort… My eyes then went back to this hidden collection. To the white sheet of paper lying under Ash’s message…
In an instant, my romantic remembrance vanished. All of it conquered by fear.
HELP ME read the scribbled touch of a pencil’s panic. The big, bold letters screamed those words. Underlined for emphasis. The message too terrifying not to be genuine…
I grabbed the piece of paper. Got a closer inspection at the all-too-real horror. The reality that everything wasn’t Utopia. Not for everyone, at least...
I downed the Dos Equis. But my buzz didn’t soothe the restless tension.
My eyes scanned the other notes. This scared detective confirming his instincts: there were just too many subtle differences. Too many eccentricities for Nicki and her personalities to have written all these. Especially now that I had Ashley’s note for evidence.
From the dancefloor, The Killers faded out. And in the brief silence came the many voices. Those muffled shouts and cries…
I turned toward the hallway. The sounds obviously coming from Club Staff. The Forbidden Room. Nicki’s wax museum. Her lair of wild dreams and nightmares.
Still clinging to the eerie note, I sensed my opportunity. Somehow gathering courage amidst the anxiety, I rushed into the dark hallway. Saw the only light here coming from beneath that final door.
The coast was clear. No one was around... Just me and whomever lurked inside that room. And as I got closer, the voices grew louder. More excited.
For once, the fear chilled me more than Nicki’s arctic A/C. But I still kept going. Reached out toward the knob.
The sudden struts of a guitar made me jump. So did Elvis Presley’s crooning… Startled, I looked down the hall. Glaring on at “Blue Christmas” now playing on the dancefloor.
Recovering from the scare, I turned my attention toward the door. Reached out once more.
“Rhonnie, what is you doing!” rang Nicki’s siren cry through the darkness. The Queen’s voice all power and attitude. Just like her firm grip snatching my arm.
Scared again, I whirled around. “Shit!”
Nicki’s smirk greeted me. As did her latest costume change: a black Strokes tee and skintight white pants. With no make-up and a shorter red wig, Onika Maraj looked dressed for an underground rock show. How she changed so fast, how she appeared so quick behind me still remains a mystery to this day. Not to mention where the fuck did she keep getting all these wigs and where did she keep them? But in that surreall moment, I was just glad she wasn’t wearing that fucking strap...
Nicki waved at her shirt with excitement to spare. “You like it? You’re a Strokes fan, right?”
The letter in my hand grabbed my gaze. “Yeah…” I held the message toward Nicki. “What the Hell is this!”
Caught off guard, Nicki’s grin disappeared. Her suspicion set in.
“I found this in the kitchen,” I said.
In a fierce instant, Nicki snatched the sheet. Read the note.
“I just wanna know who wrote it,” I continued.
Feigning indifference, Nicki tossed it to the ground. “It’s nothing, I wrote that shit.”
For once, her performance lacked emotion. Gone was the confidence.. her biggest strength.
I flashed a nervous smile. “No, you didn’t! There’s no fucking way!”
Nicki placed a hand to her temple. Avoiding eye contact. At war with her own invasive thoughts.
“I found the note Ashley left too,” I said. “I found all of them! I mean why’d someone write ‘help me,’ Nicki! Goddamn!”
Nicki stayed silent. There was no word. No explanation.
I leaned toward her. “That’s fucking crazy! I mean just-”
Staying strong in the face of my fake toughness, Nicki looked right at me. “Chill, Rhonnie.”
“But I wanna know-”
“Do you think anyone would ever wanna leave here?” Like a dismissive diva, she pushed me back. “Seriously, Rhonnie?”
Scoffing, I pointed toward the note. “Well, someone did apparently!”
“Just think about you and Ashley!” Nicki then flashed that taunting smile. “Y’all’s asses know you didn’t wanna leave!”
I hesitated in the cold. Let “Blue Christmas” continue through the hallway. The mansion. And deep down, I knew I had no response. Nicki was right.
Sensing my weakness, Nicki took an aggressive step toward me. Her pretty face matching mine. “You know I’m right, don’t you,” she cooed. In a slow lunge, Nicki ran her hands along my chest. Leaned in toward my ear for a sensual purrr….
The memories hit me hard. Flashbacks to the ferocious sex. Me, Ash, Nicki, Kellan. Our weeks of fun. Our thrist constantly quenched in this erotic paradise.
“You and Ashley still wanna come back,” Nicki teased in a gentle tone. She squeezed my ass. And got closer to my lips. “Y’all still miss me…”
I smelt the sweet wine in her breath. The booze helping us both lose control.
“We do...” I said. Now I ran my hands up and down Nicki’s majestic body. Felt along the smooth skin. The plastic… The best implants money can buy.
Our bodies collided. Swaying to the rhythm of “Blue Christmas.” Our souls stirred into a happy hysteria.
Nicki’s grin grew wider. “I missed y’all too…”
She gave me a drunken kiss. And I damn sure returned the favor. Gladly still clinging to my ass, Nicki’s other hand went down toward my crotch.
I lost control. The excitement too much.
“Rhonnie, get Ashley,” Nicki said between kisses. She draped her hands around my neck. “Stay here forevvverrrr…”
Smiling, I looked on at those brown eyes. Their mischievous glint. “I’ll think about it-”
A bombastic beat crushed Elvis’s crooning. Loud and obnoxious. A hip-hop air strike had hit Christmas.
I immediately recognized the song. And immediately cringed.
Cackling, Nicki leaned back. “Oh shit!”
I groaned. “Fuck, ‘Anaconda’? “Really?”
“Yes!”
Amidst the pop assault, Nicki pulled me in closer toward her. Another sloppy kiss accompanied this grating tune. The Queen’s hands went wild over my body. The song getting better as the make-out session continued. The intensity matching the incessant rhythm of “Anaconda.”
Nicki held me back. Her female gaze salivating me. The smile starving for more.
Grooving and shaking to the beat, I gave her a smug, seductive smirk. Pleased to have Nicki’s spotlight. “Hey,” I quipped.
Then Mrs. Majesty made her move. Lunging forward, Nicki was fast and quick. Her hands latched on to my arms.
“Whoa!” I joked.
Crying out, Nicki threw me up against the wall. Her sheer strength sent me into it hard… leaving me pinned to it.
There were some nerves. Not to mention a rising thrill. I turned and looked back at it. At Nicki.
Armed with that madcap grin, she descended upon me. Her fingers itching to grab. Her steps aligned with the song… As if she were pantomiming and acting out her own twisted music video. But that sly voice shined through. Even over the deafening soundtrack. Nicki’s excitement too high at this point...
“Oh my Gosh....” she said in a robotic melody. “Look at her butt…”
I was too drunk to move. But still enthralled… erect beyond belief. Here I was Nicki’s prisoner once more. At her manic mercy.
Smirking in silence, I let her tear off my sweater.
“Oh my Gosh, look at her butt,” Nicki kept singing. Those same lyrics repeated in a sexy mantra… Getting me all the more hot. The collision of the song and Nicki’s performance hypnotized me. I gave in to her fantasy… and my own.
Nicki pulled my pants down. Into the music, I grooved. Shook at her touch. All while she yanked off the khakis, then my tight boxers. I held my feet out, letting Nicki slide the socks off. She had me nude. Just as she wanted me.
Still singing along, Nicki pushed me further down. Bending me over… I felt those white pants fasten against my popped out ass. Felt her fasten those clamps of fingers to my hips.
Swaying to the reckless rhythm, Nicki’s passionate thrusts matched the song. One hit after the other...
“My anaconda don’t!” Nicki hollered. “My anaconda don’t!”
I closed my eyes and moaned. The sensations so amazing. Nicki didn’t even need a dildo to fuck hard. She had too much power as is.
Enjoying the show, Nicki moved my ass back-and-forth. Making me twerk on that crotch. Nicki getting the lapdance of her dreams. Not that I was complaining... Being her personal stripper was nothing new for either of us.
Continuing the concert, Nicki sang in a playful tone. Her voice so energetic and full of delight it overtook the fucking record. And only stopping for those dominant grunts. Nicki leaned in next to my ear. “This dude named Michael used to ride motorcycles…”
My breathing got heavier. In awe of Nicki’s poise. Behind aroused eyes, I watched her grab a hold of my big dick. All while she kept pounding away in this delirious dry humping. Nicki a Goddamn athlete.
“Dick bigger than a tower,” the Queen continued as she tugged on my cock for emphatic emphasis. “I ain’t talking about Eiffel’s…”
Something moist hit my ass. The crashes were repetitive and heavy. Nicki got out of control. A sexbot on the verge of exploding.
I moaned once more. Until Nicki’s hand covered my mouth. But she still kept going. I moved along with her. Shaking my ass to her delight.
“Real country-ass nigga, let me play with his rifle,” Nicki sang. “Pussy put his ass to sleep, now he calling me NyQuil…” In a wild flourish, she licked my face. A serpent’s tongue all along my smooth skin.
And the show went on. Through every lyric, every thrust. I gave in to the rap Goddess’s every move. Not to mention to her amazing stamina. Here I was sweating in the cold. Still erect. Still twerking...
At the fadeout, Nicki’s cackling hit overdrive. Her histrionics natural. She staggered back and gave my ass a passionate smack.
Exhausted, I turned and looked back at the Queen. At her triumphant smile. The colossal wet stain on the crotch of those white pants… An ocean of desire.
Another haunting rap beat started. Nicki’s “Get On Your Knees” began playing. A song reverberating through my mind. My body.
Nicki ran her hands down her pants in a sensual taunt. “Ooh, bring that ass here, baby.”
Gasping for breath, I staggered to my feet. Still naked. Still recovering from being dicked down.
“You should’ve been here all along,” Nicki continued.
I turned my attention to Club Staff. My mystery powered through… even in the post-sex bliss.
Nicki reached toward me. “Come here, baby.”
Avoiding her touch, I stumbled toward the room. Without the strap, at least my ass wasn’t in too much pain.
“Rhonnie!” I heard Nicki shout. “Don’t go in there!”
Over Nicki’s recorded harmonies and all-too-live screams, I could hear those voices. The cryptic chorus behind door number three. I snatched the knob. Glad to find it unlocked.
Behind me, I heard Nicki chase after me. “Bring that ass here!” she commanded.
I swung the door open and rushed inside. Being back in Club Staff ended my drunk disorientation. Not from reflective warmth but from the strange sight sprawling before me…
Nervous, I stopped in the middle of the room. The pink walls were still flawless. The antique jukebox still timeless. And from here I saw the secret room, its door wide open. Ashley and I’s personal suite…
The other wax figures were spread out like a staged party scene. Nicki Minaj by way of the Uncanny Valley. There was nerdy Nicki, tomboy Nicki. All aspects of the artist’s personality.
Both the pink dildo and red blouse were lying on the ground. The glasses she wore earlier. Wigs piled up in a colorful conglomeration. Club Staff now Nicki’s dressing room for all those costume changes. And also the site of her darkest desires.
But these familiar sights did little to soothe my dread. Still doused in sweat, I felt Nicki’s literal drip slide off my ass... Somehow, Nicki had shocked me once more. Scared me with the secrets of her forbidden room.
Open laptops were arranged on all those large tables. Rows and rows of them leading up to a large demigod of a flatscreen. The room featuring an electrical cult ceremony…
What they showed were live feeds. HD footage clearly taken from all these fucking cameras. In rooms I’d never seen. Areas of Nicki’s home and property I never knew existed. Many of the rooms from the sheds out back, I figured.
Strangers stayed on those screens. Attractive men and women, ranging from young adults to senior citizens. But they were all hot… All of them either stripped down or dressed in the nice fashion I knew Nicki picked out. They were her community. The Barbz she really wanted.
Most of these hottiees were engaged in sex. The mics made that much clear. There was everything: missionary, pegging, three-ways, Devil’s Threesomes, guy-on-guy. Whatever your hungry heart desired. Whatever the Hell Nicki wanted.
With several clips taking place at night, I knew the Queen had recorded everything. Not so much for security or surveillance. Just for herself.
In the videos, I recognized a few faces, the bodyguards amongst them. And of course, I recognized Kellan and his large dick. He was in a room of four, using the same playbook me, him, Ash, and Nicki perfected.
The same playbook I saw broadcast on that flatscreen. The footage showed the four of us from just a few months ago. The four of us having the sex of our lives. We must’ve really been amongst Nicki’s favs to be her star attraction…
Sure, I was disturbed. But nostalgia crept in upon seeing us on the silver screen. I gotta say I missed Kellan. Not to mention he was a long way from Trinidad… But maybe to him, the Minaj mansion was home. We did have our fun, after all.
But the romanticism died soon after seeing one laptop showing me in the lair. Showing me right now. In the nude. I now noticed several cameras dangling down from the ceiling, filming my fear.
More vivid glows emanated from the secret room. Undoubtedly there was more where this came from…
I now realized Nicki Minaj was a mirage. A sexially-explicit illusion used to draw in the thirstiest men and women. A Venus flytrap for Onika Maraj’s most depraved pleasures.
But still I needed to see more... Even over the chilling epiphany, curiosity compelled me. I charged up to the secret room. Until a certain singing stopped me.
I whirled around to face Nicki. She stood tall and defiant. Regardless of the striking stain, she didn’t look trashy. She wore that wet vagina well. After all, that crotch certainly didn’t feel like a pussy at times...
And all the while, Nicki sang along to the chorus of “Get On Your Knees.” A sly smile accompanying her flow. Her joy.
An intimate audience, I watched her the whole way through. This was Nicki The Artist and she sounded even better live. More natural. More raw.
As the track faded out, Nicki nodded toward the laptops. “You know they wanna be here, Rhonnie.” She strutted up to me.
Like looking at a much prettier Medusa, I turned to stone. Held in place by the beauty. The charisma.
“No one’s being held against their will,” Nicki continued. She stole an admiring glance at my cock before looking into my green eyes. “That’s their shit cars they left in the garage. Their shit clothes in the lockers. Their shit lives they left behind.”
“But still… it’s not right,” I struggled to say. “It’s weird.”
Soothing me, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “They just wanted to be happy, Rhonnie. That’s all.”
I couldn’t respond. Naked and in front of Nicki, I was conflicted. Torn between the seduction and slavery.
Nicki leaned in closer. “I didn’t want you to see till you were ready.” She caressed my face. Her touch so… warm. “Till you and Ashley were here.” Her other hand clinged to my thigh.
Quiet, I ran my fingers through Nicki’s short hair. “Regret In Your Tears” next on Nicki’s always-appropriate soundtrack. This setlist always in sync with our current mood.
“I didn’t want y’all to get scared,” Nicki went on. Her hand drifted down to my ass. For another sensual squeeze. “That was all, Rhonnie.”
I pulled away from her. “Naw, I can’t…”
Forcing a cackle, Nicki grabbed my arm. Her demeanor drunk, her mannerisms driven by madness. “Rhonnie, look!” She pointed toward the station of so many screens. “I dress them well, they get to live with me!” Selling herself well, Nicki felt along her well-endowed chest. “They get to be with me, baby…” She lunged in closer, inches away from my face. “And that should’ve been you and Ashley!”
Now I yanked my arm back. “No! This isn’t right, Nicki! You’re asking us to give up everything! We’ve got fucking lives, man! I wanna write!”
Nicki’s smile stagnated. “And you can… You can write about me.” She pointed across the room. Of course, right at that huge dildo. “And spend more time with that!” She grabbed on to my shoulders. “Me, you, and Ash. Kellan. It’ll be just like old times, babe.”
“I can’t.” Struggling against that strength, I finally managed to escape her grips once more.
A glower overtook Nicki’s face. “What do you think this is then, Rhonnie!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“This house! Me, bitch!”
Never had I seen her get this pissed. Sure, maybe crazy as Hell. Maybe psychosexual but not fucking angry.
Nicki pointed at herself. ”I’m the reason they wanna come! I bring them here, I keep them happy! They make me happy! I’m their fucking queen, Rhonnie! I make them want me, you understand!” She got in my face. But I was already scared into obedience. “Just like I did to you and Ashley!” She pointed to her head. “It’s in here, Rhonnie.” Immediately, she gravitated to that body. “And all here, baby! It’s got nothing to do with Onika! Nothing to do with me, the girl from Queens! The crazy family, the tragedies. It’s the way I look, Rhonnie! The ass and titties! The sex. Fucking. Sells.”
The height difference didn’t matter. Not now. Nicki stared me down hard. From both lust and anger. The dangerous ends of both emotions. I shivered under that spare. Nicki knowing full well she had me under her spell.
“What’s going on?” a deep voice rivaling mine asked.
We both turned. And well, Nicki’s excited smile contrasted my shock.
There was the man of the hour: Zoo. He stood a few feet away from us. His naked body no longer too surreal a sight in this freaky fortress. He was a handsome guy. Much taller than us. Much more sculpted than me A pretty prisoner both in the past and now. Kenneth checked off most of Nicki’s boxes: tough, thicc, and well-hung. Somehow, him and I had both managed to stay erect. Maybe there was something in the mansion’s air. But now Zoo’s glare stayed on me. The dude likely to break me by hand or dick…
Nicki’s grin hit sitcom levels. “Hey, baby!” she gushed. Drawn to her man, she rushed over and hugged him.
But Kenneth and I’s staredown wasn’t going anywhere.
“Is that the writer guy?” he asked Nicki.
“Yeah, that’s Rhonnie!” she beamed.
They fixated their gazes on me. There we were, the three of us with our dicks hanging out. Well, with Nicki’s lying closeby.
Through the tense silence, all we heard was the Minaj playlist. And the sounds of her prisoners. Their pleasurable moans and cries a constant off those laptops. Of course, I recognized my own exhalations on that flatscreen. God knows what the Hell I was taking in that clip...
Nicki pulled Kenneth closer toward her. Her man definitely lacked her enthusiasm. “He’s the one writing about us, Zoo!” she exclaimed. “And I’m helping him out! He’s gonna make us even more famous!”
“So I’ve heard,” he replied. His hands stayed by his side. Ready for any false move from rhonnie14.
“Ain’t that right, Rhonnie!” Nicki said. Her wicked gaze settled in on me. “You’re gonna write so many crazy stories, right.”
Reaching into the recesses of my soul, I found some half-ass courage. “I’m writing the truth, Nicki,” I finally said. I waved toward the laptops. “I’m writing about all this! The people you got here, the ones you’ve got trapped! Your prisoners!”
Needless to say, Zoo wasn’t amused. His glare now more permanent than Nicki’s glowing smile. But now Nicki was no different. She had no chance at hiding the rage boiling within.
“I’m telling the truth!” I yelled.
Nicki took a ferocious step toward me.
Trying to restrain her, Zoo grabbed the Queen’s arm. “Nicki-”
But nothing could stop her. Not even Zoo’s impressive muscles. Nicki bulldozed on by. Straight for me.
Oh fuck, I thought...
Nicki put a finger to my face. “And do you think anyone’s gonna believe you, motherfucker!”
I stayed quiet. Yeah, I was a chickenshit.
“I’ll just tell them you’re some fucking creep obsessed with me!” Nicki continued. “No one will buy what the fuck some random horror writer has to say! Yo ass look like you’re sixteen anyway!”
Crumbling under her irate pressure, I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s a compliment...”
“Shut the fuck up!” Nicki yelled.
I locked eyes with Zoo. Even he was keeping his distance from her.
“Yeah, listen to Nicki!” he added.
Nicki gave me a light shove. The glare slicing into me like a knife. “So you go write your goofy fucking stories! Pimp my name to the horror crowd! They’ll wanna be with the Queen too, boo! You know that!”
“You got him, Nicki,” I heard Zoo chime in.
Giving me her patented stank face, Nicki walked back toward her husband. Leaving me in an awkward, uneasy state.
I watched Nicki drape her arm around Zoo’s waist. Her outburst now veering toward a manic melancholy. “You should’ve stayed, you and Ashley both!” Nicki said. I saw her grab on to Kenneth’s ass. “Y’all’d have been the Paula Patton and Zac Efron in here. All for me…”
Doing his best to be supportive, Zoo held on to her tight. Caressed Nicki’s shoulder. Anything to stay on her sweet side.
Now Nicki’s performance hit pathos. Somehow, I felt sorry for her. Sympathy even in the face of millions and nothing but pretty people surrounding her.
“Y’all should’ve just stayed!” she said in a trembling voice. The emotions erupted. Shielding her eyes, she turned away.
I took a calm step toward her. “I can’t stay Nicki. We just can’t.”
Both Nicki and Zoo confronted me. They showed their hurt physically. Their wounds within. The dark side of being a social media freakshow.
Nicki showed teardrops. Wearing her usual melodramatic make-up, she’d have resembled a crying clown. But not when she was just dressed as herself… Not when she was Onika. A lonely, young woman simultaneously vindicated and destroyed by her own fucking dream.
Concerned, I ran a hand through my swoop. Kept an appropriate distance from the distraught couple. “What’s this really about, man?” I asked, forcing my voice at a chill calm. “Nicki, maybe you should talk to someone.”
That glare flashed through Mrs. Majesty’s tears.
“You just need to get some help,” I struggled to say. “There’s nothing wrong with that-”
“Help!?” Nicki shouted. She pulled away from Zoo. All her weeping eyes on me. “I don’t need any help, Rhonnie! I need people to fucking care!”
A worried Zoo reached toward her. “Babe.” This was the side of Kenneth I’d never seen. Unlike Nicki, he was no performer or actor. Just a caring husband to one of the most complex personalities in Hollyweird.
Nicki held him back. Instead, her attention stayed on me. The stare sharpened. Her defensiveness a weak disguise for those insecurities galore. “That’s all I want, Rhonnie! I love my fans, the real fans!”
“I know,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“But that’s not what people want!” Nicki cried. The floodgate of tears burst. Here was a woman on the verge of a brutal breakdown. A sad glimpse behind the bravado. Nicki the beautiful diva facing fate and alienation. “They want the big titty bitch! That’s it!” She pointed toward that ‘perfect’ figure. “They don’t care about me! The lyrics or the drive! It’s this! I just want someone to look past that! Someone like you! Lile Ashley!” She snatched Kenneth’s hand in a loving grip. “And Zoo… Y’all need to stay with me for more! For the music!”
Zoo and I made quick eye contact. I imagine we didn’t have much in common other than worrying over Nicki’s mental state… but that was bond enough.
Like a Shakespearean monologue, Nicki continued spilling her guts. The raw emotion on display. Whatever warts and all could be on those perfect physical features. “It’s why I do this!” She waved toward her body. “The surgeries, the make-up! I can’t get anyone to just listen!”
“But Nicki, there’s plenty of us,” I said. “Hell, I like the music!”
“It’s just sex, Rhonnie! Like I told you!” Nicki stared right at me. “That’s all they care about at the end of the day.” She waved toward the laptops. Nicki’s movements so fast and frenetic, her boobs could’ve caused an earthquake. Just as much as her morose expression would elicit heartbreak. “It’s why I don’t give a fuck about those sluts and shrimp-dicked idiots just getting off to me! They can’t understand me like you! Like all the people I bring here can!”
“There’s more of us though, Nicki. I swear! We don’t have to stay here to support you, man. We’re everywhere!”
“I just want them to like me for the music! The talent! Not the sex, not the bullshit!” Lost in her sorrow, Nicki turned away. Wiped off those countless tears. “I can’t do anything as a female rapper… I can’t be a Pac or Ye. I have to be the hot bitch… You don’t understand, Rhonnie. I never wanted it like this!”
Zoo grabbed her shoulder. “Yo, babe-”
Possessed by passion, Nicki swatted his hand away. She screamed aloud. Into the air. Into her own crazed soul. Exorcist Nicki her latest personality. Then those maniacal sights settled in on me. “I don’t need help, Rhonnie! I need supporters! People who like me for who I am! For who I fucking * really* am! I need them with me twenty-four seven, Rhonnie!”
Fighting my own tears, I stepped toward her. “And I do. Ashley and I both-”
“Then stay!”
Nicki’s anguish made me stop. All while it ate me alive. Maybe I knew Nicki more than most. But here I was wanting her to be okay... Here I was desperate to reassure the Queen of hip-hop.
“Stay here forever!” Nicki yelled.
I shook my head. “I can’t, Nicki. I can’t.”
With weary defeat, Nicki shook her head. Each and every tear nothing but bullets piercing into my naked flesh.
Zoo ran a hand along her arm. “Nicki. Hey-”
Nicki stormed out. Off stage and away from her erotic island. She never said goodbye. Never gave me that bright smile. For someone with her talent and dictionary, she didn’t say shit.
Feeling guilty, I watched Nicki adjust her pants. Adjust the stain sticking to her skin… And then she was gone. A gorgeous witch disappearing into the night.
The catchy Nicki tunes still played. Not to mention the enthusiastic voices still blasting off those feeds. But Kenneth and I may as well have stood in silence. So thick the tension was.
He finally looked at me. His stare was smoldering, intense. “Get the fuck out.”
Put on the spot, I glanced around the room. At the sex videos. Then at my own naked body. With a nervous smile, I confronted Zoo. Shrugged my shoulders. “Can I at least put my boxers on?”
I got to put on the nice clothes Nicki stripped from me. Got my bag, got an Uber for LAX, and got the fuck out of there. All on Nicki’s tab, thankfully.
Now I sat alone at the airport. Waiting on a two A.M. flight… All alone in my corner. No one was around me this late. The cold isolation here like a cavern. Not even the Christmas wreaths and trees could soothe me.
Holding my phone, I tried to pass the time. Tried to keep my mind off the bizarre Nicki encounter. I just had to put on Bruce. Now blasting “No Surrender” through my earbuds and into my rattled mind. Scared that playing any Nicki would be a siren call luring my ass back to her place… Her world.
That being said, the long wait left me in reflection. Nicki wasn’t wrong on any count. To quote one of her more obnoxious tracks, we were all just beez in the trap. Caught up in her lore, her talent. And yes, the insane beauty. But what unsettled me most was how she related it to me. You see, Nicki spelled out her personal dilemma. Fuck it, she even related the twisted reality to me. And Nicki was right all along. Regardless of how much she liked creeping on my Reddit porn accounts, she had a point. I had more fans piling in there for a pic I took in seconds rather than a story I poured my heart and soul into. A situation no different than Nicki’s more serious jams getting shunned in favor of twerking and brainless exploitation. Sex sells, man. No matter her personality, Nicki wasn’t wrong about that. Call it my What Price, Hollywood? moment… All courtesy of Onika Maraj.
And through the thoughts, my phone kept buzzing. Now here came call number three from Nicki. I chose to ignore it. I couldn’t face her this soon. Not after the unsettling encounters and her unsettling set-up. After the harrowing breakdown, I couldn’t answer her. I wouldn’t answer that call, I plead to my nervous self in an internal intervention.
And all the while, I texted Ashley. Told her how much I loved her. How I couldn’t wait to see her. Our bond rekindled to first-month glories until she sent me a new text: You should’ve stayed!
I looked on at the message, uneasy.
Then came Ash’s quick follow-up: Go back and I’ll come! :)
The fear returned. Nicki had been hypnotizing me. And apparently, she’d long had Ash under control. “What…” I said.
Overtaking my screen was another incessant call: Nicki. Who knew how drunk or high she was? Much less lonely.
Don’t answer, I reminded myself. Don’t give in.
Forcing myself, I silenced the call. Then sat there in awkward silence. In a quiet dread I couldn’t identify. Or control.
Just when I needed it, Bruce left me. My rallying cry of “No Surrender” gone. My whole Goddamn support system.
I texted Ashley back: Are you sure? I think we should wait, boo…
Her reply appeared immediately: YES! GO THERE NOW, STU-STU!
I stared on at her message. Her demand. Her eager euphoria. Here I was caught between arousal and disappointment. And at the end of the day I had no say in this weird, wild mess. Ash did.
Seconds later came a new text message. Not from Ashley but Nicki: Come back over, Rhonnie
The next SMS bullet hit me: I miss y’all already ;)
Another one appeared: Again
“Shit…” I said to myself. I got ready to ignore the message. This was Rhonnie’s last stand against the impulses. The thirst.
Until my phone pulsated to life. The call so ferocious I almost missed Nicki’s next text: I talked to Ashley!!! <3 :p
And that was when I laid eyes on the caller ID: on my girlfriend’s number. The death sentence to my attempt at defiance. As always.
[14](https://www.reddit.com/rhonnie14FanPage/)
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2020.04.28 07:17 the14thaccount Nicki Minaj Called Me (Part 2/3)

The shower was quick and painless. Only when I went back to my room there wasn’t the closet catalog to choose from: just the tight jeans and tight black t-shirt already sprawled out on the bed. Already selected by Nicki.
Later on, I walked past the constant cameras. The clothes tight and stylish. Just like how Nicki wanted them. I heard Tom Petty’s “Christmas (All Over Again)” coming from that dancefloor. Nicki’s Christmas playlist a twenty-four hour affair. The club open all night… Only Club Staff wasn’t. Down the hall I saw its door still closed. The lights off inside. Its Nicki soundtrack silent. Her wax sisters no longer partying since Ash and I left.
Ready for the Queen, I journeyed through the labyrinthe. The Christmas maze, the lights. The mairjuana tree. The long hallways and glowing gold records.
I only made one beer detour. One stop amongst the many roadside bars. After downing three bottles of Dos Equis, I felt more relaxed. More comfortable for Nicki and I’s forthcoming conversation.
I saw the open doorway leading to the studio. Leading me to Nicki Minaj. I glanced down at the tight jeans that would surely get her salivating. Took a deep breath. My soul with some hesitation before I went straight inside.
There was the intimate space. The soundproof walls. The live room where Mrs. Majesty made the magic happen. A Trinidad decor was evident in the various colorful trinkets from Nicki’s many travels. The elephant figurines, the kaleidoscopic paintings of various women of color. And of course, there were the notebooks. Dozens and dozens of them scattered about like toys in Nicki’s personal playland. Well, the non-sex toys, that is…
Each open notebook was covered in the rapper’s pretty scrawl. Lyrics both clever and insane. A beautiful madness punctured the pages. Judging by the sheer amount of binders, when Nicki got on a roll, she was a frenetic force. Unstoppable in her drive and creativity.
On the control room table was a bottle of wine. Two glasses already poured. And there sat the Queen on her pink swivel chair. The studio her throne. Her bitch.
Her fingernails were now red claws. A match to the fiery red wig. The make-up vivid but professional. Along with thin wire-rimmed glasses, her beige pants suit was somehow scholarly and bland even with such beauty lying beneath it. Sitting there with a pen in hand and notebook in lap, Nicki looked to be in academic mode. All business inside the studio.
Nicki flashed me a warm smile. “Mmm, those look nice…”
Flattered, I glanced down at the preppy attire. The type of clothes late-twenty-somethings flaunted when they played high schoolers on T.V. And they were a perfect fit too. “Yeah, thanks.”
The two of us looked on at each other. Nothing weird. Just mutual respect… or attraction. The Ronettes’ “Sleigh Ride” the only sound through the silence.
Nicki relaxed in her seat. “Hey, shut the door!”
Following orders, I closed it behind me. Gone was The Ronettes’ harmonies. That was curtains for Nicki’s Christmas playlist here in the soundproof studio.
Using the notebook, Nicki motioned toward the other swivel chair. “Have a seat, Rhonnie. Let’s get down to business, shall we.”
I sat down and rolled the chair closer. Nicki now loomed up over me. Her huge ass undoubtedly helped in the height advantage. Then again, her aura had power, and it always kept the Queen in control.
Nicki waved around the room. “Bringing back any memories?”
“Oh yeah. The interview…” An awkward chuckle escaped my lips.
Behind confident eyes, Nicki watched me. Her claws kept tapping the notebook in a repetitive rhythm. “You know, I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
Through her weak smile, I sensed Nicki’s sincerity. This personality wasn’t manic or aggressive. Not yet at least. “Naw, you’re fine,” I said. “We, uh… we had fun.”
Nicki laughed. “Definitely!” Then she lunged forward, getting closer to me. “But I really wanted a book. I wanted my story to be told, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her female gaze, I hesitated. “And it still can… I’d love to give it another try.”
“Ooh, I’d love that….” Nicki leaned back. “You know, I really love your writing, Rhonnie. I think you’d do amazing things covering the life and times of Onika Maraj.”
Now I was flying high. A horrible actor, I did my best to play it cool. “Well, I’m glad somebody thinks so...”
“Oh, we do! Trust me. You’ve got the talent, baby.”
“I appreciate it.”
Nicki pointed her blood-red finger right at me. “You write movies too, right?” I laughed. “Whoa, shit, look at you!”
“I know my shit…”
“But yeah, I started out with the screenplays. I’ve always been a movie person-”
“So what happened?”
Pausing for a second, I took note of Nicki’s focused gaze. She was interested, alright… “These filmmakers, man. They’re all broke and do a shitty job.”
“Ah…” Nicki took a quick sip of wine.
“It’s a long story. I just… I don’t have an agent, they don’t read shit unless you know somebody. And I’m broke as fuck so I can’t film anything…” Here I was rambling. Rhonnie The Jaded Writer making his grand return. Angry. Talking with my hands. “But that’s why I started the NoSleeps. I actually wrote a couple of novels before that, but I’m just trying to build an audience now.”
“Well, you got me hooked!”.
Even I had to smile. “I’m glad. I just got tired of getting fucked by Hollywood.”
Nicki struggled to suppress a smirk. “Well, hey, at least it was fun when I fucked you.”
Damn, she was clever. I grinned. “Yeah. My best Hollywood experience for sure!” I ran a hand through my swoop. “And Hell, at least you paid me!”
Getting comfortable, Nicki readjusted on her throne. Her tone stayed consistent and precise. Her T.V. journalist performance pretty impressive. “But about the biography, would you be willing to do something else for me?”
“Yeah, uh. What do you mean?”
“Look, Rhonnie, the Barbz loved the story.”.
I smirked. “I guess it has a cult following going.”
Nicki just kept her eyes on me. There was no unwavering smile to offset the seriousness. She meant business. All as her relentless claws kept tapping the notebook... “I did the research. My album sales, the downloads, everything went up after you posted that NoSleep.” In a mic drop moment, Nicki’s hand collapsed on to the binder. “And now I want more!”
“Whoa…” I struggled to say through the excitement. “So you want like a whole series?”
“Preciseleee…”
The shit-eating grin never left my face. Already my mind was racing with ideas. I turned away, disoriented by my life-long dream.
“I’ll pay you as well,” Nicki continued. “You can even go back to Albany, Georgia.” With seductive poise, Nicki leaned in a little closer. “Or Hell, you and Ash can come here.”
I faced Nicki. “So did people really like the story that much?”
“Oh, Hell yeah!”
“Did any of them… believe it?”
Nicki revealed a sly smile. “Some.”
Enjoying the spotlight, I folded my arms. “So fucking crazy… Honestly, I just wanted to tell the truth about what happened… I wasn’t trying to write creepy fan fic or erotic shit. I was just wanting to portray you as accurately as possible, Nicki. I mean Hell, I thought that’d be my only shot at the biography!”
Nicki’s female gaze was starting to appear. “Not at all.”
Still rambling, I threw my hands up. “And then some people found it hot. They seemed more aroused than anything-”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
I gave her an amused look… realizing she was kinda right.
“Pegging’s hot,” Nicki continued. “And it ain’t like those rumors about me fucking men in the ass weren’t around before your story.”
I revealed a smirk. “Yeah...”
Rivaling my own elation, Nicki rolled her chair in closer toward me. “I just want you to do one thing.”
“What?”
“Make it even sexier! Get fucking crazy with it!”
“What… You’re joking, right?”
Nicki pointed at her stone cold glare. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking, Rhonnie!” She gave me a light punch on the arm. And damn, it still hurt… “Just do what I say! Write about all the sex. About how hot I am.” For emphasis, she squeezed her own breasts. “These titties, this ass, the pegging.” Nicki pointed at me. ”Squeezing a guy’s ass or making him strip down, the fucking hot shit, Rhonnie! I need more of that!”
The speech left me in stunned silence. There was a lot to unpack. Amongst the shock and intrigue, there was also disappointment...
Nicki shook my shoulder. “Just do more of that! That’s what we need.”
I pulled away from her. “But why...”
“Why!”
I pointed between us. “I just told you, I didn’t intend to just make you out to be some fucking bimbo, Nicki! I wanted to humanize you. That was the whole point!”
With a subtle smile on her face, Nicki just watched me.
“Like yeah, I told the truth,” I went on. “I wrote about the crazy sex but that wasn’t the point! I wanted to show the world the real you. I wanted them to see Onika Maraj. This was a biography.”
In a twisted taunt, Nicki caressed my face. “Oh, that’s so cute, Rhonnie.”
I knocked her hand away. “No, I mean it!”
Her smile was swiped clean. Nicki now literally got in my face. “And that’s fan-fucking-tastic!”
Scared, I cowered back into my seat. Nicki hadn’t even yelled... she didn’t need to.
“Look, baby, what you’re saying is true,” continued Nicki. She laid a hand in my lap. Dangerously close to awakening my penis... “And I appreciate it, Rhonnie. I’m glad you captured the real me.”
“I tried,” I said. I stole a look down at her hand. “Are you sure Zoo’s cool with this?”
Nicki’s grip got tighter. “Yes, Zoo’s fine, Rhonnie!”
“I’m just saying…”
Like a starved animal, Nicki pulled my chair closer toward her. “You got my vibe well, but that’s not what got me famous, Rhonnie! I wish it was but it wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about? You’re talented as fuck and that’s another reason I-”
“And so are you!” Nicki interrupted. “And that’s my whole point!” Gentle, Nicki’s claws ran along my cheeks… “I was like you once, Rhonnie. I had the talent. The drive, the dedication.”
Rivetered, I watched her every move. Her every emotion.
Nicki sat back in her seat. “But none of that mattered. I got nowhere in my career... I was broke…” She flashed a weary smile. “Those Barbie dreams were far away back then.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Being a female rapper…” Nicki shrugged her shoulders. “You just have to play the game.”
“Sex, the male gaze.” I waved toward her body. “All that shit just to have your voice heard.”
Nicki nodded. But the bitterness didn’t manifest itself in tears or weakness. Just hardened toughness. “I had to play the freak. For every ‘Regret In Your Tears,’ I have to do three or four whackass sex songs.”
Showing support amidst the Queen’s self-reflection, I grinned. “Like ‘Anaconda’?”
Nicki laughed. “What! You don’t like-”
“God, I hate that song!”
Nicki grabbed my arm. “But you see my point, right!”
“I do. Definitely.”
Ruminating on the famed career, Nicki ran her hands along the notebook. Struggled to maintain eye contact. Obviously relieved for the deeper conversation… if uncomfortable. “That’s why I have to do all this shit. To do what I really want I have to shake my ass or flaunt my titties! It’s frustrating, man. To have to write some of these lyrics and keep being the freaky bitch for everyone… I mean for once I’d like to have Channing Tatum or someone give me a lapdance in a music video but that’d scare the ‘straight’ guys watching… I can’t objectify men for the serious money.” She looked right at me. A vague glimmer of defeat in her power. “Just myself.”
The words, the realities left me in a sad silence. I had even more empathy for Onika now. Especially after hearing this requiem for Nicki’s initial rap idealism.
“So you see,” Nicki said. “The sex sells, Rhonnie. That’s all that matters.” She pointed a red claw at me. “And that’s why we need more of it in the stories.”
“But we don’t!” I replied. “You don’t have to do-”
“Listen, if you’re wanting to do this full time, Rhonnie, you gotta compromise!” Nicki yelled in a voice driven by years of rage. Years of industry suppression.
I waved toward the studio. “But look, you have the money! You’ve already played their stupid fucking game!”
Nicki stared at me. The glasses hid any tears or melancholy. Then again, Nicki always hid it well. She had the perfect poise. The confidence necessary for a black woman to climb her way to the top of the entertainment food chain.
“We can just write the truth,” I continued. “You can write the songs you want to write. You don’t have to satisfy this fucking thirst from others who just watch you for the sex. You don’t have to make money off that shit anymore! You can be the great artist you are! The one you were born to be!”
Right before me, Nicki’s creative mind went into contemplation. “At this point, I’ve got no choice,” she said. “I need the money just like anyone else, Rhonnie.”
I groaned.
Snapping into scary Nicki, she lunged toward me. A fiery fervor consumed her. The red wig and fingernails made her a rap Goddess straight from Hell.
I got quiet real quick.
“Don’t you understand! I’ve got no choice, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted. “I’m thirty-seven years old! There’s not much time for a woman in this industry to be the best, man!”
“I know,” I said in a low voice. “I’m sorry...”
More calm, Nicki leaned back. “I’m just glad I can talk about pegging now,” she admitted. “Hell, that’s some progress for female empowerment for you.”
“True… But I just think there’s nothing to lose by focusing more on your artistic vision. You don’t have to keep exploiting yourself-”
“Maybe I want to,” Nicki interrupted.
“What?”
With seductive slowness, Nicki creeped in closer. “Sometimes I like the attention.” She let out a confident cackle. “The thought of all those guys and girls finding me hot… I don’t know.” She bit her lip with erotic emphasis. “It turns me on.”
I grinned. “I’m not arguing with-”
Giving in to her natural theatrics, Nicki collapsed back on the chair. Now channeling her inner Bob Dylan. Her inner eccentric rock star. Letting all those quirks and tics whisk her away. “I mean yeah, it’s frustrating not to get to do my deeper songs all the time. To embrace being the artist I know I am... That’s what I really want, don’t get me wrong.” Holding my gaze hostage, she shrugged her shoulders. “But sometimes it’s sexy to play the star. To be all hot and beautiful... I like it sometimes...” She flashed that beaming smile. “And it gives me money. Power. Certainly helped me get you here.”
Nicki’s hands veered under the notebook. Stacking them on top of one another, she created a literal handmade dick. “It lets me do whatever I want to you, Rhonnie…” Moaning and grunting, Nicki pretended to peg me right then and there. Her thrusts always so aggressive. Even when she was only pretending to fuck me hard…
I couldn’t turn away. Nor couldn’t help but be aroused… Trying not to give in to the steamy sight, I sifted in my seat. Battled my rising bulge. “But still, there’s no way to ignore the money?” I asked. “Do the music that best captures you.”
Ignoring me, Nicki kept on with the imaginary fucking. Her grunts got louder. The Queen clearly nearing her orgasm…
Still I tried to steer us back on track. I moved in toward her. “Just make your own album about you and all these hot guys or you and your relationships,” I continued, my voice louder in an attempt to overpower Nicki’s carnal cries. “Instead of having to exploit your body so much, you can do more songs you care about!”
Cackling, Nicki sat up straight. She clapped her hands together.
“What?” I said.
“You’re funny. God… you’re always funny, Rhonnie.”
I revealed an amused smile. “Well, thanks...”
“I mean it!” Nicki pushed her dangling red hair back. “Oh shit.”
In the cold room, I hesitated. Struggling to stay serious and heartfelt amidst Nicki’s lingering laughter. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging you, Nicki because I’m not.” I felt her stare settle in on me. “You make a lot more than me and still can make great music… I just think you’re better than that.”
“And so are you,” Nicki said in a sharp reply.
Confused, I felt unease surge through me. My goofy smile couldn’t play it off either. “What do you mean?”
Armed with a wide grin, Nicki slowly crept closer toward me. “I told you this last time.” The two of us were now just inches apart. “I know allll about you, Rhonnie.”
Anxiety joined my unease. I now trembled...
“You like the attention too,” Nicki said. “I know you do!”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“I’m just proving my point.” Mrs. Majesty shrugged her shoulders. Her smirk slicing into me. “Sex sells.” She rested a hand on my knee. “You should know that as well as anyone.”
Warm sensations erupted inside me. I felt body heat. As if our emotional therapy session had morphed into a Skinemax porno...
“You’re the one that’s always posting on Reddit,” Nicki teased. “Letting all those horny desperate girls and guys ogle you like that. Jerking off to you... You fucking love it, don’t you?”
She had me. “Yeah,” I admitted.
Nicki now felt along my chest. “Your dick and ass pictures on ladyboners and gaybros. I know you do it, Rhonnie. I know alll about you remember...”
The room finally got hotter…
“Let’s go through those accounts, shall we,” Nicki pressed further. “Ronaldlongdick.”
I smiled at Nicki. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Ronaldlongdick77, unknownhorrorwriter.”
“That one was obvious...”
Nicki’s claws ran wild across my body. Fueled by her desire. Not that I was complaining…
“Bubblebutt4days,” Nicki continued. She let out a soft chuckle. “And rhonnie141414. Hmm, that’s sure discreet.”
“Yeah, that was when I was twenty-four, man...”
“But that’s the thing.” Nicki’s grip settled in on my thighs. “You know that account you deleted. Ronaldlongdick.”
“Yeah…”
Nicki got closer. The two of us now noses apart. “How many followers did it end up with?”
Not wanting to answer, I turned away.
“Come on now,” Nicki taunted. “You know how many, bitch.”
I gave her a defeated smirk. Knowing full well what she was about to say… And how she’d proven this harsh reality: sex sells.
“Thirteen hundred followers, Rhonnie!” Nicki shouted.
The inevitable set in. I nodded along with her. Overpowered by the Queen once more. “I know...”
Nicki purred with delight. “And compare that to your writing, huh? The rhonnie14 sub?” She nudged my chin. “How many?”
“Eight hundred and-”
“Five!” Nicki said with me. Her triumphant laugh blared.
Cornered by Nicki, I shrugged. “Well… you got me...”
“So think about this, Rhonnie. You’re more famous for that dick.” With excited delight, Nicki slid her hands on to my booty. “And that ass than your horror stories...”
“Thanks, Nicki,” I deadpanned. “I appreciate the support!”
Nicki chuckled as she squeezed tighter to my ass. “All I’m saying’s you gotta do what you gotta do to get famous, boo. To make real money.” She ran her hands along my abs. “And now that you’ve been working out, I can go ahead and tell you, you’d make bank flaunting all this on-line. Those down low brothas and thirstyass sistas would be all up on you.”
“Stop it!” I joked. “I can’t handle this many compliments.”
“Bitch, please!” Nicki gave me a shove before sitting back in her seat. “You love that shit and you know it! You know you do!”
“Naw, you’re right... You’re totally right.”
“All I’m saying’s they appreciate your body more than the Goddamn stories! The shit you bust your ass to write, but they’d rather see that big dick and booty than anything else! You gotta profit off that, babe!”
I smirked. “So what are you saying? That I become a male stripper or something?”
Nicki snorted with laughter. “Hell, maybe! But just think about these stories for instance. You mix sex with storytelling like I did with the raps, and you got something that’ll sell, Rhonnie!”
Goddamn, she made sense… I nodded in agreement. “I see.”
“Like this next one, just go crazy with it! You know the Barbz will eat it up. Me pegging this Zac Efron-looking writer and his fineass all over the place!”
“Man, you’re really on this Efron kick lately...”
Nicki readjusted her glasses. “Bieber too. Because y’all fine and kinda look alike. Kinda built alike.”
Genuinely flattered, I probably blushed. “Thanks.”
“But people are fucking dumb. That’s the shit you gotta do to get fans, boo!”
“Naw, you’re totally right...”
Nicki straightened the notebook. “Like write about Ashley pegging you, you showing your dick to dudes on-line. That’ll sell like crazy. More views, more readers. Exploit it!”
“I guess I’ll start now then. With these new stories and all, the series.”
Like a supportive coach, Nicki pointed toward me, hyping me up. “Exactly! You got this!”
Already the wheels were turning. The crazy scenarios I could write about the Minaj mansion.
“You and Ashley can always come back here too,” I heard Nicki say. “I’ll give y’all another vacation...”
I smiled at Nicki. “I bet you would.”
She opened the binder. “Hey, y’all sexy. And I got you dressing in those clothes I like.”
I felt on the shirt’s fine fabric. “Yeah, from like 2008.”
“Bitchhh….”
“But trust me, Ash’s ready…”
“I bet she’s tearing that ass up every night too...”
Playful, I gave Nicki a weirded out look.
Laughing, she flipped through a few pages. “You know I’m crazy as Hell.”
“No doubt…” And then I saw the joint tucked away toward the back of the binder... Pristine California grass. A pink lighter laying right beside it. Holy shit…
“But for real, I wanna help,” Nicki said. She picked up the j. “You need someone dominant guiding you. Like with you and Ashley.”
“Yeah.”
Nicki held the pot out toward me. “You think you can handle it?”
“Shit…” I stood up. “If I can handle what you did to me last time, I can take anything.”
With a Devilish laugh, Nicki flicked the lighter. The flame showcased a wild glint in her eyes. Further revealed the ferocious soul under that red wig...
It turns out I couldn’t handle it. The next few hours were a blur. A gonzo production directed by wine and the strongest pot I ever smoked. Shit got weird. Nicki and I’s conversations ranged from 90s horror movies to heteroflexibility (don’t ask). Our high happiness interspersed with hysteria. Maybe there was a kiss. More groping. I honestly can’t remember...
Hours later, I awoke from the Christmas cannabis. All to the tune of Maroon 5’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over).” Adam Levine’s piercing falsetto a ringing church bell to my haze.
Shivering, I folded my arms. “Fuck…” I muttered. First, I was glad to be wearing the same MySpace-era wardrobe. To actually be in a fucking bed, much less my bedroom… Until I saw who was laying beside me: Nicki herself. She was out cold. Another bottle of wine clasped in her hands like a teddy bear. A Santa Claus hat blended into her wig. Now I realized I had a Santa hat draped over my swoop... But, at least we were both dressed and lying on the covers. Neither of us could get MeToo’d now.
Staying quiet, I snuck out of bed. I slipped around in my socks. My clumsy footsteps drowned out by Maroon 5’s holiday cheese.
I looked toward the open doorway. Out toward where the Christmas concert continued… from Nicki’s personal nightclub.
Glasses slid down my nose. Confused, I took them off… They were the purple Buddy Holly ones. The same pair Nicki gave me last time. I put them back on and looked over at the bed… Toward the resting Queen. Had she taken my contacts out for me? The gesture was odd… but still kinda sweet.
The holiday playlist changed to Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” A pretty melody and even prettier voice. But one that should soothe Nicki to sleep for the time being...
Battling the migraine, I entered the hallway. Curiosity compelled me. Not to mention snacks, man.
I turned and looked down the hall. Toward the fateful Club Staff. Sextopia City. Now there was a light on inside the room… Even a faint chatter I could hear over this Christmas classic.
I took another step toward it. Now I heard multiple, muffled voices. It couldn’t have been the wax figures… Certainly, not Nicki herself. Sure, her range was supreme but not even she could hit those deeper male tones.
Uneasy, I looked on at the closed door. The room taunting me, tempting me. But it was too late for this shit… And I knew once I snuck in there, Club Staff would be hard to leave.
I proceeded through the rest of the mansion. Every clock read three A.M. The munchies made me stop once for those amazing cookies. And to my relief, there was no weed in them...
The barrage of standard Christmas crooners scored my journey. Stuck in the cold and surrounded by the decorations, I could even feel the holiday spirit.
I decided to dodge the nightclub. All the fucking bars. Through windows, I saw those powerful security lights bring daylight to the dead of night. Everything was illuminated. The pillars, the colors. All those fucking cameras. Nicki’s palace a fusion of government compound and wacky art exhibit.
I strayed into corridors unknown. Into yet another long hallway on the first floor. Fuck it, I was already lost in the Minaj maze. Then I saw a pair of wide-open double doors. The clinical lab lighting inside drew me in.
I stepped into the wide, vast space. The garage was fucking freezing... and there were quite a few cars in here. Quite a few crammed shelves and boxes. Only something was off… There was no style. Not a damn thing was pink.
Intrigued, I walked on through. Emulating a cheap detective. Dean Martin’s “Let It Snow!” echoed all around me… only the Christmas cheer was long gone by now. Replaced instead by rising unease.
The cars weren’t necessarily hideous. Just average. Used cars with lots of mileage. None of them any newer than 2016 models. Perfect for a blue-collar neighborhood or modest suburbia. But nothing befitting Nicki Minaj’s mansion.
The boxes and shelves offered more of the same mediocrity. Wrinkled clothes. Bland casual wear comprising of tee-shirts, jeans, and dresses. Nothing Nicki would touch much less showcase. Then there was the shitty jewelry. Obvious fake gold and silver. Yard sale fashion.
Scoffing, I glanced around the garage. Were all these items from the Queen’s pre-Minaj days? Mementos from her beloved past? Or was it just shit she planned on donating?
My handsome reflection caught my eye. I got a good glimpse of the perfect-fitting clothes.
A stained mirror leaned up against a set of rejected high school lockers. All of them with padlocks.
I stepped toward them. Tried yanking on those unwavering locker doors… I leaned in closer, peering through their metal’s holes. Clearly, shit was piled up inside. Hidden away. But why?
The mystery further unnerved me. My fear returned.
Then I heard a louder song: Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas” blared through this mausoleum of a garage. The bells and chimes engulfed me. Trembling in the cold air, I looked toward the very back.
A window showcased Nicki’s sprawling backyard. Not to mention the different smaller buildings occupying the green acres. One larger shed caught my eye.... After all, who else would have a two story efficiency unit?
Much less one with two tall security guards stationed at the front door. Under the bright security lights, I saw the building’s windows were all boarded up. Spastic cameras hovering over it.
“What the fuck…” I said. Battling the nerves, I stepped closer to see another shed had the same set-up of guards and cameras. What exactly was going on...
All the while, no one saw me spying. The Queen’s guards remained silent and still. A 24/7 shield.
I felt a large pendulum bump into my ass… Then felt a pair of thirsty hands grab each cheek. Startled, I whirled around.
“Hey, boo!” rang that hypnotic voice.
There Nicki stood right behind me. Now dressed in casual booty shorts and a red tank top., she was barefoot and missing a wig. Her natural beauty a nice contrast to the trash treasure trove surrounding us. Her smile as enthusiastic as ever.
And of course, there was the strap. From her crotch, Nicki’s pink dildo danged down like a snake… A real anaconda brushing against my ass.
I staggered back out of fear… and maybe some excitement. “Whoa…”
Nicki cackled. “Did I scare you!”
“Uh, yeah.”
Singing along, Nicki swung the dildo to the tune of Burl Ives. To the beat of the “ding…. dong…. ding...” harmonies.
I stared on at her third leg. Intimidated by the size… yet hypnotized by Nicki’s passion. Her magnetism. “Really, Nicki,” I quipped.
Chuckling, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “What? I wanted to surprise you!”
“With the fucking pinkosaurus?”
“Yeah, why not.” She leaned in closer. “You’re the one sneaking out...”
I stole one look out the window. Out toward the guards. The strange buildings. “I just couldn’t sleep,” I told the Queen.
Nicki squeezed my wrist in a death grip of passion. “I can fix that.”
Flashing a smile, I broke away from her spell. “Naw, I need to go lay down. I can’t keep up with you!”
“Maybe tomorrow then?” Nicki teased.
“Maybe!” I then walked through the valley of Christmas music. Right into Burl Ives’ joyous vocals. The entire time I felt Nicki’s hungry eyes watch me. Staring me down hard… Her smile driven by nothing but desire. I forced myself not to turn. The temptation too much… but my tired state helped me persevere against the gorgeous rapper.
“You better be glad I don’t get a shake weight on that ass!” I heard Nicki shout with sadistic glee.
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2020.03.31 14:55 Zephylandantus Hidden camera women's locker room

A/N links are updated. I didn't get my hands on the easy-peasy editor, so this is another phone post and I've had to learn the manual link embedding on Reddit.
I Hope you are All safe in these trying and dangerous times and I wish the best possible outcome for everyone.
Enjoy and let me know where I messed up.
First Previous
Chapter 3
Anna looked around the ships cargo compartment. This was clearly a refurbished dropship, All seats were foldable and fitted into the outer hull. The large area in the middle of the compartment was riddled with eyes for attaching cargostraps and there were telltale signs of atleast five USL armourstations spread out to ensure maximum efficiency.
She turned her head to look D'ree. The S'skii sat in the seat next to her, dressed in her Martian Surface EVA suit. Anna was shocked by the simplicity of the MS suit. It had basic lifesign surveillance and a civilian grade navigational system. No additional modules or configuration modes. She leaned back into her seat and called up her suit UI. She was wearing an ICARUS suit. Originally designed for USL use it had been discontinued due to lack of combat diversity, demilitarised and, according to her mother, made available to the residents at the TOP. It did, however, show signs of its pedigree. Her lifesign monitoring went as deep as blood o2 levels and microbiotic infektion numbers. It also featured immediate threats analysis and even though it carried no weapons of any kind it still had a number of defensive functions. She used the eye movement sensitive interface to investigate the suits capabilities.
On the TOP she had received training in use of EVA suits, but she had never had her own. This one had been stored in a locker at the homestead, with her name on it. Another gift from her uncle and one she loved.
She spotted an option to interface the suit with her bracelet and thinking nothing of it, she activated the interface. Immediately a young female voice rang through her helmet as a digital image of a small pink fluffball roller into her lower right corner of the HUD.
"I can see you're trying to activate defensive suit functions. Do you need help with that?" The voice cheerfully rang out as the Ball of fluffy hit an i visible wall, steadied itself and shook itself. Then it opened a pair of almost offensively cute googly eyes and let the iris' roll to a halt at the bottom of the eyes.
"Erhm, No" Anna said with a clear level of confusion. "I was trying to interface the bracelet with the suit."
"I know, it was a joke." The pink thing muses. "Hi! I'm Trixie, you can call me...well, whatever you want really." It waved at her by protruding a part of it's side in a fluffy triangle and shaking it.
"Eeerr...hełlo?" Anna was missing something seemingly important. "What are you?"
"I am you Artificial Basic Personal(ity) Assistent. By interfacing you USL bracelet with the suit I was activated. Now I'm Pink, Positive and Present." Trixie beamed as the fluffball parodied a salute.
Anna couldn't help but smile. "Hey, D'ree check this out" she said while reaching out to catch her friends attention. Nothing happened. Her arm didn't move and the radio line was silent.
"Unfortunately" Trixie said. "I am a secret between you, me, Entee, your mom, your dad and Commander Harris….Apparently everyone except D'ree." Trixies avatar looked sad, then annoyed. "Let's tell her!" It beamed, jumped up and down a couple of times and clapped exitedly.
"What, even, are you?" Anna tried to wrap her head around the assistant.
"Like I said: I'm your-" Trixie began. "I know" Anna cut it off. "Slightly more technical, less end user oriented please."
"Ah, right" the fluff-vatar popped a pair of hockeypuck glasses on, which did not help the oversized eyes, and corrected a tie that had popped into existence at the bottom of its form.
"I am a personality guided subroutine of Entee. Not him, but I have access to his thought matix. I have been linked into your bracelet since you got it and I have been developing a personality to match yours. For better or for worse."
"So you're an AI?"
"Yes, albeit not an autonomous AI. I am driven by a number of objective routines. The first is to assist you, then to keep you alive and finally, to survive. In that order. Now, D'ree is a friend, you shouldn't keep more secrets than nessecary between friends and I like her. Would you introduce us?"
"I think it would be best to keep you a secret for now, once we get to know eachother better, then introductions can be made." Anna reasoned with herself.
"As you wish. I'll leave you to it then, she looks a bit scared." Fluffball did a small Jump off it's platform on her HUD and waddled over to the other side of the display, pressing its face against the transparent part of her visir.
Anna looked at D'ree, who was sitting in a rigid safety pose, as they had been instructed to when boarding.
"The safety pose is only in case of emergency" she said, making sure she kept a friendly tone in her voice.
"I've never flown before, and having to wear an EVA suit is weird." D'ree had a strained tone to her voice.
"You're doing a lot better than I was on my first flight" Anna mused with a small laugh. "I almost overstrained the liquid reclamation system."
"Sweating is Gross" D'ree remarked. "Liquid dependent temperature management is strange" she remarked as she continued. "S'skii biology is more...logical, we have small airsacks under the scales they act as heatsinks and are automatically vented when we need to adjust temperature." Anna couldn't help but smile, D'ree had completely forgotten that she was scared. "The whole sweating thing is...weird."
"Well, you get used to it, I guess" Anna stifled a laugh, not wanting to upset her friend.
"Besides" D'ree continued. "My suit doesn't have liquid reclamation. It's intended use is surface excursions, not spacewalks. Where did you get yours?"
"It was at the homestead, it's my first suit. On the Terra Orbital the suits were station owned."
"Cool, what was it like? Living on the TOP?"
The girls spent the rest of the trip sharing more of their lives from before they met.
ShitDump
As the dropship touched down on the giant barge that floated around the icy Callisto surface, a single figure emerged from the habitat airlock and moved over to the pilots viewports. The girls were seated in the bay in dead silence, waiting for the signal to go out, or, in case Entee's permission codes were rejected, takeoff.
After what felt like an eternity. The pilots voice rang through their helmet radios. "Allright ladies, you're cleared to depart. Do make sure your suits are properly sealed before opening the hatch and thank you for flying with TEA-TIME air. It has been my pleasure to pilot for you. Have the station manager haul me on LIBERTY when you are ready to depart for LunaScrap."
Their harness locks disengaged, allowing Them to get up from the seats. Anna tested the gravity with a controlled foot tap on the decking and was happy to find it within Earth standart. D'ree, however had to strain visibly to get up from the seat.
"Sandstorms!" She exclaimed. "Why am I so heavy?"
"Artificial gravity" Anna replied. "You've been on Mars gravity for too long. You should get used to it in a couple of days"
"...Days" D'ree muttered dryly as she headed for the hatch.
The girls left the ship and stood in the landing pad and watched it take off into the Callisto night. The figure that had approached the ship walked over to them.
"Greetings and welcome to the ShitDump. I'm Charles Emerson and I'll be your tour guide here."
"You're the station manager?" Anna asked as politely as possible.
"Manager, traffic control, chef, medic, plumber, you name it. I am it." He answered jovially.
"But nobody comes here to practise polite conversation, so let's get down to business." Anna could have sworn the last sentence was semi-hummed to a melody.
"Entee's brief said you were looking for some first grade USL refuse. Here at Callisto, we have the best of the worst of what the USL doesn't want the worlds to know about, including a couple of nasty surprises if they return. Rigged by yours truly." Emerson made a flamboyantly theatrical bow and immediately walked over to a transport barge.
"If the ladies would like to mount up" he almost shouted across the radio. The girls looked at eachother. D'ree shrugged and climbed on to the barge, Anna quickly followed.
"Onward, noble steed" Emerson shouted as he dramatically shoved the joystick forward.
The barge slowly accelerated to a leisurely walking pace.
"So" Emerson began as he turned the barge towards the mountains of scrap that filled the, frankly, giant barge. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"A Hull" Anna began. "With in-atmospheric transport capabilities and preferably Martian approval. No field tech and room for two occupants. Plus a minor list of additional parts."
"Martian approval is going to be tricky, these are military designs, but that is probably a minor inconvenience. But hulls, we can do. Yes we can."
Anna jumped off the cargo barge and headed towards one of the smaller piles. "What is this?" She asked out loud.
"That, is a PEGASUS class experimental single seat fighter" Emerson proudly exclaimed. "It's a prototype, was never put into production. Turns out it had too many flailing limbs to function with a field, add to that that the mobility required meant less armour plating and it basically became a tin can in a minefield."
"Limbs?" D'ree looked at the ship, it was an Arrowhead shaped box, not a limb in sight.
"Yes, well. Someone at RnD got inspired by some old japanese cartoons and decided to give the concept a go." He took a breath. "Come to think of it, it should interface with the ICARUS armour."
"What?" Anna had been clamoring all over the ship while Emerson had spoken. His speech was slow and deliberate so she had ample time to investigate.
"It looks like you're trying to get into an experimental Combat armour, do you want help with that?" Trixies fluff-vatar popped into its place.
"I can?" Anna was holding her breath, trying to balance what she had to do against what she wanted to do.
"Sure, I've already downloaded the control suite, wanna see if she spins up?" Trixie didn't skip a beat and highlighted the Access panel on the HUD.
Somewhere, deep inside the controlled, disciplined mind of Anastasia Krachic Miller Sabron, reason had a bareknuckled fistfight with curiosity and found itself outgunned, outmatched and extremely not-fully-invested in victory.
Anna reached out and activated the panel. A compartment on the side of the vehicle opened and revealed a cradle, Anna scooted into the cradle and felt it latch on to the suits harness points. Her HUD immediately changed to match the craft controls and she found that it was designed to be semi-intuitive. She fired up the powersystems and tapped into the ships life support.
Outside Emerson and D'ree Saw Anna slip into the ship and the hatch close after her. Shortly thereafter the lights turned on along the Hull and the ship lifted itself out of the pile and hovered in place.
"How The Hell did she get it off the ground?" Emerson whispered.
"She's pre-engineering qualified" D'ree offered as an explanation.
"Unless she's a god-damn programming genius, that thing should be dead." He didn't turn his head to give the answer.
"Oooohh, shiny buttons" Trixie was having a field day as her fluff-vatar skipped and jumped around the new interface. "What does this one do?" The pink fluffball pointed at a button labeled 'close quarters configuration'
"Let's find out" Anna activated the mode and the ship unfolded it's limbs and stood upright.
"It's a mech! It's a mech suit!" She shouted.
"I know" came Emersons reply over the radio "No need to shout"
"This is awesome" Anna squealed as she took a couple of steps forward, picked up a derelict hull the size of a carrier and stacked it with one hand on top of the pile it had been lying next to.
"One of the reasons it was never put into production" Emerson continued.
"I...it...is soo powerful. I feel like I could punch through a moon" Anna was ecstatic.
"Yep, there it is, god complex" Emerson sighed. "No man should wield that kind of power" he looked at the ground and shook his head.
"Then it's good that it's just us girls here" Trixie remarked as she applied booster restrictions to the ship, effectively limiting it's capabilities to Annas relative ratios.
"D'ree" Anna remarked as she trundled her new favorite toy around the piles on the barge. "Do you think we can add another seat to this?"
"Maybe, if you're thinking sidecar. But the biosphere won't fit in the hull then." D'ree's voice was all business and no fun. "We might have to find something bigger. But the PEGASUS seems to be a good scavenging tool" she added.
"Good idea" Anna beamed back. The realisation that the prototype fighter wasn't suited for their immediate needs was not as bad when she could use it here. Odds were that she'd be able to return one day and play with it again. "Trixie" the assistant immediately materialised it's fluff-vatar on her HUD. "Can you scan for hulls that match the criteria specified in the document called 'bio-crawler'?"
"Yes, I can" came the answer as the display started flashing Hull recognition patterns across the piles as Anna walked along the pathways. Every hull that was a possible match was highlighted so that she could do a closer, manual inspection.
"Too damaged."
"Too pillaged."
"Too much nope."
"Not strong enough in the structure" Anna was vocal in her inspection results, keeping D'ree in the loop, she linked her cameras feed to D'ree's tablet display. "We need to get your suit upgraded with a proper HUD system, D'ree"
"If the S'skii commune could afford that, I'd have my own suit, instead of a shared one that smells like someone ate cabbages in it." Came the reply.
"What about that one?" She said and pointed at the base of a pile that was longer than it was high.
"That is the remains of the SHIELD" Emerson said.
"No, there, at the base of it." D'ree pointed vigorously in the general direction. Anna dutifully headed over to the pile. Trixies algorithm immediately picked up on the target of the S'skii's enthusiastic gesture.
"Size is within parameters, No structural damage. The hull is compromised, power systems are gone, no atmospheric integrity, basic gravimetric propulsion. It's….perfect" As Anna ran over the Hull D'ree's enthusiasm faltered and the final conclusion came as a shock. "It is?" She asked.
"Yep, it's perfect. I'll need to add some parts to the shopping list to get it running, but it should be doable. Good find D'ree"
D'ree beamed with pride at Emerson.
"So, one GAUNTLET tugboat plus whatever is needed to get it moving and safe." He said. I can do that.
"Could you throw in a mf-generator at 2.2 terawatt and a couple of power transformers for low and superlow voltage?" Anna began. "And preferably an ICARUS for an almost adult S'skii" she added on a direct channel to Emerson. "I'll try" came the public reply.
"Don't forget the solar panels and the wind turbines" D'ree added.
"With a generator that powerful you won't need additional power" Emerson sounded somewhat disturbed. "Unless you're planning to add energy weapons."
"Oh...no additional power generators then. But we need environmental recharge capabilities." D'ree said.
"Could you find a frequency scanner for the generator, Mr. Emerson?" Anna asked from the cockpit of the fighter that was currently making large, lazy circles above the ShitDump barge. "This thing is really fun" she added wistfully.
"Should be possible" Ricardo added as he watched the child-piloted craft do a swoop/barrel roll followed by a loop and a controlled spin.
"Anna, I'm going to call the pilot now. I only have one hours worth of air left." D'ree sounded worried.
"Yea, alright. I'm getting hungry myself." Anna replied as she landed the fighter next to the transport barge. As she exited the craft she saw Trixies fluff-vatar press it's face longingly against her visir as it waved goodbye to the PEGASUS.
LIBERTY
During the flight to the LIBERTY station the girls were updating their rough schematics with their findings. Emerson had promised to find and pack the things and ship it to the homestead. Entee's magic-money fund footed the bill immediately.
As the TEA-TIME touched down in the large pressurised hangar Anna spotted a figure walking towards it. It was a clearly important figure, as it was escorted by two USL marines and surrounded by a group of people who took turns handling the figure tablets, receiving instructions and then scooting off, immediately being replaced by others in a seemingly never ending current. The girls removed their suits and set them to recharge in the ships suit stations.
The second Anna's shows touched the hangar decking the figure shouted "Anna!" And set off in a dead sprint towards the girls, leaving a group of people standing behind with confused looks on their faces. The two marines simply followed their ward without missing a beat.
Anna found herself semi-tackled in a huge, loving hug from the Commander of the USL forces, a hug, which she returned with matching vigor.
"Oh, how I've missed you, little girl" Harris didn't try to hide her happy tears as they ran down her cheeks and dropped onto Anna's hair.
"I've missed you too auntie H." Anna didn't get to see her aunt that often, but when she did, something awesome usually happened.
Commander Harris wasn't related to Anna and Anna knew This. But she had always been a welcomed guest in her mother's home and the friendship between the two women, that had developed from professional proximity, through a devastating loss and then climaxed in mutual reminiscence. Anna had only known Harris as one who brought a smile in her mother's life and her own.
And she always brought the coolest toys. Anna's bracelet was one of them. It was designed and produced by Entee, but since he didn't have a physical form, auntie H got to hand it over. She also gave her the ICARUS suit and even though Anna hadn't used it before, she'd done enough drills on the TOP to know what it could, except for Trixie. Trixie was new.
"You must be D'ree" Harris release the hug, just enough for Anna to turn her head and look at her friend, who stood with a look on her face like Anna had just been familiar and casually intimate with the personification of the defence of the entire S'skii existence in Sol. The USL was revered by the S'skii as the ultimate service, a calling that only the best, most self sacrificing souls could hope to join. Which she, truthfully, just had been.
"Come on over D'ree, she won't bite" Anna beckoned her friend to approach.
"I...I" D'ree didn't budge, she just stood there with a semi-lifted finger and looked like she was trying to mash three languages and a bucket together into a coherent colour in her mind.
Suddenly something inside D'ree's head fell into place. She dropped to one knee and bowed her head. Offered both her wrists, not to Harris, but to the two marines. "Thank you for your protection of the innocent and the alien. I willingly offer my life to mimic your sacrifice. The spawn are sacred, their suggestions are commands and their actions are unquestioned."
Both Anna and Commander Harris dropped their jaws. Anna looked, first at D'ree, then at the two marines. She tried to figure out why her friend was acting that way.
"I knew the Queen Mother had instilled some form of gratitude in her broods for the Mars defence. But This is...religious" Harris said quietly.
Anna looked at the marines. They just looked like USL marines on Mars. Both were sergeants, both wore the standard offworld fatigues with their rifles carried at the ready. Except one thing. One little inconspicuous difference from protocol. Both had their sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows. And both sported a tattoo on the inside of the left forearm. Almost identical tattoos.
Harris followed Annas gaze and smiled.
Then she rolled up her left sleeve and unveiled the same ink. Anna took a Long hard look at it. It was the USL shield, emblazoned with the USL AEGIS. Above the Shield a demon skull with three gashes across the front was placed and above that a blood spatter font read 'HellSpawn' below the shield the spray-on font used on vehicles read 'HARRIS' it was all kept in a red and black adaptation of greyscale colouring.
"I knew the S'skii held protective services in high reverence. So the males would have something to take pride in, but to see this level of reverence in a female is new." She looked at the kneeling alien.
"Rise, D'ree of the Martian Queen Mother. Your offering is wasteful at this time, but recognized." she said with added ceremony. Anna realised that this must be some form of ritual between the HellSpawn and the S'skii.
D'ree lifted her gaze from the floor and stood up slowly, visibly shaking from the experience.
"Thank you" came the quiet reply.
Anna stood between the three USL servicemen and her friend and twisted her head left and right, trying to figure out how to act in this unusual situation. She decided to help and walked over to D'ree.
"Come on" she offered her hand to her friend and as it was clasped in a vice like grip she dragged the S'skii over to the soldiers.
"Auntie Harris, this is my friend, D'ree. D'ree, This is my aunt." Anna did the customary teenage hand flailing to visualize introductions.
"You're related to the USL Commander?" D'ree was clearly starstruck.
"Technically, No." Harris smiled at both girls. "But her mother and I are very close friends and I had the pleasure of learning most of what makes a good leader from her father."
D'ree's head snapped around so fast Anna was worried it would fall off. "Who is your father?" Her voice was almost pleading. "I have spent ten years learning that we are one with humans, that we are brothers. Ten years learning a language that is not natural for our vocal cords. Then I was sent to the school so I could learn about humans. Where I spent five years being alienated and ridiculed. Then you show up. Over the last month I have met acceptance, friendship, laughter and three of the most important beings in the galaxy. The Engineer, Entee and the USL Tactical Commander." Anna reached out for D'ree, who had let go of her hand and was busy gesturing wildly in all directions at once. "Apparently your heritage is of importance. So please tell me, No secrets, remember?" She looked at Anna, every fiber of the S'skii's being pleased for the final piece of the puzzle.
"My father" Anna began calmly. "Was a marine, he escorted the ambassador to the Sovereign Capitol Station." She told the truth she knew.
"Is that way your mother told you?" Harris interjected. Anna nodded and looked at her aunt.
"Your father, Anna, was Damien Miller." Anna was startled when the two marines snapped to attention and D'ree threw herself on both knees and planted her face against the ground.
"And that reaction" Harris gestured towards the three "is why your mother didn't tell you the whole story. You've heard about him from the good your mother wanted you to know. In truth, he was the leader of the ANGEL squad, then he became the Lieutenant in charge of the marine division on the AEGIS. And after that, he became the first Commander of USL. He did not escort the ambassador. He was the ambassador. Your father was on the front line defence against five Sovereign attacks. He has single handedly broken enough laws for the survival of mankind to put him behind bars for a century.
But he saved us, whatever the cost, defeat was not an option for him.
Your father founded the HellSpawn. They, and I, know him as DAEMON."
Anna took a step back. DAEMON was a Hero, one that holovids tried to do justice with over the top effects that critics kept saying were 'understated' the S'skii worshipped him like an avatar of the gods and several religions on Earth had sainted him.
One running joke was that an old hero-actor, who could move the Earth when doing pushups died because DAEMON walked past his house.
That was her dad.
D'ree was crying on the floor. The marines were doing that special salute and Harris joined them slowly.
"But...I'm just Anna." She stuttered. "I...I'm...I"
"You, miss." One of the Marines took a step forward as he spoke in a friendly, but stern tone. "Are his gift. The last thing he gave humanity. An heir."
"I'm just Anna!" She shouted. "I'm fifteen Draegis-damned years old! I won't be some gift, a doll to be wrapped up and hidden away behind a line of soldiers." Her fists were clenched and she had inadvertently assumed the ACT position. "I have a life to live, for me. Not him or you or anyone." Her breathing fell into the rhythm and she caught it easily. The marine took a step back, D'ree sat back on her knees. Harris just smiled.
"And that was his gift to you. Making sure your mother didn't let you grow up with that knowledge. Not that she would have let you off any easier. But his plea to her was clear." Harris reached a hand out to Anna and beckoned for her to get another hug.
"He...planned for this?" Anna was shocked, the implications for someone to be able to foresee events so far into the future was beyond her.
"Not to the detail, but he had the general direction down to a tee." Harris kept the invitation for the hug open.
"You are your own woman as you should be. Carve your own path, form your own future. But know this:" Harris' face became all business. "If you EVER get into trouble. You either find someone with the Spawn tattoo or open the emergency line on your bracelet. Then you say this: 'I could use an umbrella.' just that, nothing more. Got it?"
"Got it." Anna relaxed her pose and reached out to D'ree.
"WARD is live, repeat: WARD is live" one of the Marines was talking into a comm-unit.
D'ree took her hand and held it, softly this time. "You...I...You are…" she took a deep, shaky breath.
"Your Friend" Anna smiled at D'ree. Then she looked at her aunt with a mischievious glimpse in her eye. "And hungry."
The marines immediately fell in behind the commander, Anna didn't notice the additional three marines that fell in behind herself and D'ree as the group started moving towards the galley.
Delivery
Anna found herself walking down to the S'skii section of Landing, surrounded by a plethora of people, all of them stopped as she walked past them. Not a word, just silence. And the stares. The multitude of eyes on her, she could feel them, hear their thoughts.
"She's not that special"
"Why does she get all the attention."
"Just because her mother was a slut with a soldier."
"That's the same jumpsuit she wore yesterday."
Anna jerked up. Disoriented from the dream she rolled left and immediately vacated the bed, horizontally. Hitting the floor shocked her mind into a semi-awake state and she spent a couple of seconds just lying on the cold floor breathing.
The door pinged, it was her mother. "Are you ok in there, what happened?"
"I'm fine" Anna replied with a groggy voice. "Just a bad dream. I'll be down in a few."
"Erhm….ok, I'll make som breakfast." Came the reply.
Anna picked herself up from the floor and headed off to her bathroom. Twenty minute later she walked down the stairs. Her mother was making eggs and toast and the coffee machine was happily gurgling through some freshly ground imported beans.
Anna sat down at the breakfast bar and accepted the plate her mother handed over with a concerned smile.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" The annoyance from the dream shone through Anna's voice.
"No reason" her mother smiled at her. "Wanna tell me about it?" The question was loaded with genuine concern.
"Just a bad dream, nothing more"
"It's just….it's 01:30 in the morning…"
Anna looked at the clock.
"For the love of-"
"Language" the scolding was gentle, but firm.
"Sorry."
"You wanna go back to bed?" Sandrine asked carefully. " We can, it's not a problem."
"No." Anna took a deep breath and reached out for a cup. "Mike kept saying i needed to get my caffeine addiction going. Now is as good a time as any." She smiled.
"Indeed, and as long as that is the only one you pick up, i'm All for it." Sandrine poured her a cup.
"What was LunaScrap like?" She asked her daughter as she watched her nip at the hot beverage.
"We didn't go to Luna" Anna answered as she decided that milk and sugar was needed to make the black cup of liquid bitterness drinkable. "Uncle E had us flown directly to Callisto."
"So you met AZREAL."
"Who?"
"Emerson"
"Ah, yes we met him."
"How is he?" Sandrine sounded genuinely interested and Anna couldn't figure out why.
"He seems a bit crazy, but he looked fine." Anna smiled as she recalled the somewhat eccentric yardmanager. "He's been arming the ShitDump in case they return."
Her mother looked more worried at that remark than Anna would have liked.
"They" Sandrine said. "Aren't the Sovereigns. They are the AEGIS and the ambassadorial ship."
Anna almost dropped her cup. "What, why?"
"That is a long story my dear."
"It's a long time 'till Sunrise."
"That is true" Sandrine laughed. "I'll try to make it short." She shifted to a serious tone and headed towards the sofa. Anna followed her and sat down on one of the recliners chairs.
"Back, before your father and I were a thing, Emerson was the tactical support of the ANGEL squad. His callsign was AZREAL and he was the best out there. All the ANGELS were beyond anyone else in their field. Your father made sure of that." She began as she activated the projectors in the coffee table and the squad was pulled up.
"He screened people to get the best." Anna summarised.
"No. ANGEL squad went through bootcamp together. He set an example with himself, to be the best and the rest of the squad followed. Their first encounter was against the S'skii attack and after that, they trained even harder." She looked at her daughter, to make sure she understood the nature of the squad.
"After the Mars Defence operation Emerson suffered a mental breakdown. He spent some time at the USL psychiatric ward on earth and was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia disorder."
Anna's eyes widened as her mother took a deep breath.
"It manifested itself in such a way that he was convinced that he had failed DAEMON and that he would return to kill him for his transgression."
"But… he is dead. How could he return if he is dead?" Anna looked at the projection of her father. He looked dangerous and serious.
"You need to see why." Sandrine sighed, she didn't look forward to going through the emotional roller coaster that Mars Defence had been for her. But her daughter deserved to see who her father also were, especially since WARD protocol had gone live.
She started the archived recording of Mars Defence.
Anna sat back as the sixty drop pods lit the sparse Martian atmosphere up. She held her breath as they split into three groups, the two smaller groups shifted their path off from the initial trajectory and disappeared out of view.
The third, larger group, finished the drop into a neat circle and a myriad of marines filed out of the pods and started setting up a perimeter. The view focused on one specific marine. His armour had seen action before, it was scarred and well worn. The five marines surrounding him had equally worn armours, with black and red colourations. The rest were wearing new armours. She watched as the Draegis started piling towards the group and she gasped as the first drones made it into reach of the line of marines. She witnessed the horror of being a bystander at a frontline. She watched as the marines applied one tactic, then seamlessly switched to another one, a more effective one and then began to push back the swarm of drones.
Suddenly the line of marines moved back to the circle and fortified it as the drones pushed around and past it. The six veterans moved off to one side and the view followed them. They set off in a tactical sprint a full Seven hundred meters flat out before the marksman broke off and found high ground on the top of a dune. They intercepted a large Draegis dropship and watched as five large Draegis Hunters emerged. One of the Marines, easily the largest of everyone she had ever seen, pulled out a weapon, Anna's first thought was 'bazooka', and evaporated the Hunters. Then two of the others sprinted to the entrance of the ship, covered by the marksman and the two remaining, while the large one sprinted off to the side of the ship.
The two at the entrance breached it and the view changed to the inside where she witnessed why ACT above level four was designated as weaponry. The smaller of the two had more martial art techniques mixed into his style. But the leader, Lieutenant Miller, was pure ACT, at a level Anna could barely follow. He was quick, inhumanly quick and constantly aware of everything around him. She estimated his awareness sphere to be a good ten meters of 360° on All three axis. She could barely manage two meters of 180° on two axis.
The smaller marine was injured as Miller finished off three Hunters. then the wounded marine deployed a directional mine that shredded the remaining Hunters. The Giant Mantis like bugs had been overpowered by two humans. And there had been a decent dozen of the Draegis. The injured marine was collected by the support marines and Miller ventured through a large door where he faced a Draegis Hive-Mind. It screamed at him, she knew there were words, that the sounds had meaning, but the recording predated translation software and it hadn't been added to this version.
Miller jumped at the Hive-Mind, a good eight meters high wasp-like creature and punched it right in the mandibles with his left arm. The insect clasped it's mandibles together and chewed into his arm. The armour buckled under the pressure, but it held.
Then the ship exploded.
'end of recording'
Anna realised she'd been holding her breath, her heart was racing and she felt dizzy.
Sandrine was crying in silence.
Then it dawned on Anna. "He...survived that?" The disbelief shone through her voice as it crawled across several tones in her register, some of them new to her.
"Yes he did" came the short reply as Sandrine gathered herself. "Emerson was the one who called it in. He ordered a body bag and a medevac." She sighed.
"When Damien pulled through Emerson snapped. He had, in his own mind, abandoned a survivor on the battlefield. Not just any survivor, a wounded marine and his commanding officer, squad leader and friend at that."
Anna took a deep breath. "Damm.." she whispered.
"Indeed" came her mother's reply.
They sat a while in silence and looked at the table, the projection still showed the ANGEL squad in full armour.
Their silence was interrupted by the communication system. "Incoming carrier, requesting approach permission. Codename: USL Airborne Delivery System."
Sandrine looked up. "Granted, open the workshop and transfer the location manifest." She instructed.
Anna jumped up from the chair. "Weeeeee" she squealed. She set off towards the front door. "They have to drop it off before we can go take a look" her mother remarked calmly.
Next
submitted by Zephylandantus to HFY [link] [comments]


2020.03.27 08:36 rhonnie14 Camera hidden women's locker room

Part 2
I woke up groggy the next morning. To my relief, the door was closed and I was alone. Comfortable. Far from Nicki’s aggression. Far from this madness in general.
I slid on my Buddy Holly glasses. At peace with the solitude around me… until I saw a letter lying on the dresser. The elaborate scribbled scrawl told me all I needed to know: Nicki had snuck in here during the night. Groaning, I grabbed the letter.
There was the schedule literally spelled out for me: gym, shower, interview. Even a curated wardrobe was included.
I put on the tight gym shorts. The red sleeveless shirt. Upon opening the bedroom door, Bobby Helms’s “Jingle Bell Rock” bombarded me. Not to mention this mansion’s blizzard… I couldn’t help but think how some people would find the holiday playlist a welcome reprieve from the Nickimania usually blasting. But not me. I missed the pop music in the face of this seasonal shit.
Then I hit the gym. The treadmill, the crunches. My meager weightlifting. All under those cameras’ red eyes. Not to mention the bizarre wax figure standing in the corner. The one watching me this whole time: a life-size Roman waxwork. Complete with the blonde wig, messy black dress… that deranged scowl.
Out of breath, I faced my reflection. The giant mirror painted me in a flattering but realistic light. Nicki and Ashley had taken care of me, after all. I looked better than ever. Maybe not the Great Value Zac Efron Nicki was hyping me up to be, but hey, what can I say? Even I was impressed my own appearance.
Turning, I confronted the wax Roman. Her fake eyes met mine. Somehow, I was sure she’d moved ever so slightly. Just enough to turn that female gaze toward me.
I then headed for the shower. The warm water soothed me from this Christmas cold. Now I could really get lost in horror thoughts. In my storyteller wilderness.
Relaxed, I stepped back. Looked toward the metal soap holder… then my unease returned. Intensified.
I saw a red light hidden behind the soap bar. One blocked by a narrow glass case. Maybe I was too tired to notice it last night. More than likely too drunk… but apparently, Nicki had eyes on me the whole time.
Butt I felt aroused amidst the disgust. I couldn’t stop the erection… even when it stemmed from fantasies violating my privacy. But still, where was my dignity? Apparently not enough of it to stop me from modeling in that shower.
In the hallway, the cold hit me hard. Especially when all I had on was the boxers. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” serenaded my chills. Those voices then returned… I looked toward the last door.
The muffled voices came from there. The fateful room’s light still on. I walked up to the door. Grabbed the handle.
“I told you not to go in there!” came that frenetic scream.
Nicki’s hand grabbed mine. I looked into her fiery eyes. She had on the librarian’s glasses. The red blouse. Her hair pulled back in an unassuming ponytail. Her claws replaced by groomed fingernails. “What the fuck, Rhonnie!”
Under the glare, I crumbled. “I was just curious…”
“Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat, bitch!” Nicki tossed my hand back to me.
“Well, what happened?” I asked. Still hearing the voices, I waved toward the room. “What’s that noise?”
Behind a cold gaze, Nicki grabbed my wrist in a death grip. “None of your business. Not now!”
I said nothing. Too scared to respond….
“Now get your ass in that bedroom!” Nicki continued. She motioned toward my room. Savoring her power… “Get dressed!”
“My bad…” I responded. But I still listened to her. I walked into my bedroom. Saw my sweater and red khakis laid out for me.
Bing Crosby’s voice echoed everywhere as I snagged the red trousers. Got ready to put them on.
“And what’d I tell you about going to that room!” Nicki’s voice reprimanded me.
Startled, I looked toward the open doorway. Right to the one-and-only Nicki Minaj watching me get dressed.
“I’m sorry!” I said with a laugh.
“Mmm-hmm,” Nicki replied. She leaned against the doorway. Not going anywhere… and neither was that excited gaze of hers. The one that never left my body. “You best start listening to me, Rhonnie.”
Struggling under her hungry eyes, I slid on the pants. “I will!”
I felt her eyes on me the entire time. Nicki never once left this show….
We later got together in the home studio. Both of us in our swivel chairs and with a glass of wine...
The ideas came fast and furious. Some good, some great.
“What about like a sex cult?” Nicki suggested.
“A sex cult?” I joked.
Behind the glasses, Nicki sat up straight. "Is that too realistic?”
I chuckled. “With you, man, anything is possible.”
“We just need to give them something crazy!” Nicki went on. She straightened her blouse. “Like whether it’s a cult or anything crazy I did. Like the pegging, anything hot like that!”
“Awesome. I agree.”
“I’ll be your muse for all things sexy and…” Nicki hunched her shoulders. Angled her head for a murderer’s photo shoot. That killer gaze fixated on me. “Scary."
Uncomfortable, I glanced down at my notebook. “Yeah, there’s so much potential.”
“Oh, definitely.”
I worked up the nerve to face her. Then ask a question that’d been bothering me: “So what was up with the garage?”
Nicki gave me a weird look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean all the weird shit in there? The cars, lockers-”
Nicki scoffed. “Bitch, please…”
“Naw, I’m curious.”
With an indifferent flourish, Nicki waved me off. “Your nosyass shouldn’t worry!”
Like a reporter, I leaned in closer. “So why all the cameras then? The guards?”
Nicki stared at me, her eyes eviscerating my soul. “I done told you, Rhonnie.” She moved in toward my face, holding me captive with that stare. “I value my privacy.”
“So why keep that shit then?"
Chuckling, Nicki leaned back in her seat. “Don’t be so worried, Rhonnie…”
“What?”
Nicki looked right at me. Her inner strength obvious. "I’m a tough girl, Rhonnie! You know that.”
Our brainstorming session ended soon after. To be honest, I had enough macabre material minus the Queen’s input. Even if the session proved entertaining.
That afternoon, I entered the kitchen. And there was Nicki seated on a bar stool. Glued to her phone. The Killers’ “Don’t Shoot Me Santa” the latest on the dancefloor's playlist.
“Hey, boo,” Nicki said to me.
“Hey,” I replied as I grabbed a Dos Equis. “I was just about to start writing. ” I opened the longneck. Still basking in the wine buzz… then I heard more moans and groans. Pleasurable exhalations hitting euphoria…
I looked toward the hallway. Drowning out the Christmas music, Club Staff’s sex sounded closer. Somehow more familiar. I stepped toward Nicki. “Yo, what are you watching?”
Nicki didn’t even try hiding the footage. The HD video of me, her, Ashley, and Kellan engaging in a most wild intimacy. Our own filmed sex tape… For whatever reason, I was on the bottom.
“Whoa, what the fuck!” I yelled.
Cackling, Nicki lowered her phone. “What? I can’t relive the past, bitch?”
“I mean you kept that on your phone?”
Nicki shrugged. “Duh. It’s hot…”
I couldn’t argue. “It’s fun and all, but-"
Nicki stood up and held her phone toward me. Giving me a front row view to a clip of her and Ashley dicking me down with those huge dildos. “If I wanna take a break, Rhonnie, I can. I'm not addicted, bitch.” She then got in my face. A delayed flourish of a finish. I could already smell the wine in her breath. “And I’m the one paying you. Remember?”
I gave her a weak smirk. “Okay…”
“That’s right, boo.”
I waved toward her, annoyed. "So when can I get my phone?”
That wacky Nicki grin appeared. She marched toward the hallway. Her erotica conquering the Christmas music. “Oh, you know the rules, Rhonnie.”
“Well, what about Zoo? When the Hell’s he coming over?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Nicki started. She stopped and faced me. Her smile still on display. “He’s coming.”
“Yeah but when-”
A chaotic vibration interrupted us. Nicki glanced at her pulsating phone.
“Shit, I gotta get this!” she said. She grinned at me. “Don’t go anywhere!”
Left alone, I looked over at the kitchen bar. At all those drinks.
Swept away by The Killers’ Christmas song, I staggered up to the pink wine bottles. Grabbed the biggest one.
Buried beneath the booze were torn scratch sheets of paper. A rainbow catalog veering between construction paper and sticky notes. The font matched the pattern: notes scrolled in everything from pen, marker, to even crayon.
I placed the wine on the counter. Picked up a cluster of messages.
Judging by the writing, no way these were the musings of one person. The handwriting was different on each and every message. The emotions different: Greatest xperience eva! I ain’t ever leaving!! I <3 Nicki Minaj Nickis bitch
Battling the unease, I took another swig. But still couldn’t shake the increasing chills.
Then one pink note in particular caught my eye. Brought about waves of anxiety… and sweet nostalgia. I recognized Ashley’s scrawl immediately. Her excellent grammar: Ashley And Rhonnie Forever! We love you, Nicki!
I put the beer down. Picked up my love’s note. Felt adrenaline rush through me. Heard Ashley’s beaming voice as I read it once more… Fuck, I missed her.
Grinning, I slid the letter into my pocket. A cherished memento from our stay at Nicki’s resort… My eyes then went back to this hidden collection. To the white sheet of paper lying under Ash’s message…
In an instant, my romantic remembrance vanished. All of it conquered by fear.
HELP ME read the scribbled touch of a pencil’s panic. The big, bold letters screamed those words. Underlined for emphasis. The message too terrifying not to be genuine…
I grabbed the piece of paper. Got a closer inspection at the all-too-real horror. The reality that everything wasn’t Utopia. Not for everyone, at least...
I downed the Dos Equis. But my buzz didn’t soothe the restless tension.
My eyes scanned the other notes. This scared detective confirming his instincts: there were just too many subtle differences. Too many eccentricities for Nicki and her personalities to have written all these. Especially now that I had Ashley’s note for evidence.
From the dancefloor, The Killers faded out. And in the brief silence came the many voices. Those muffled shouts and cries…
I turned toward the hallway. The sounds obviously coming from Club Staff. The Forbidden Room. Nicki’s wax museum. Her lair of wild dreams and nightmares.
Still clinging to the eerie note, I sensed my opportunity. Somehow gathering courage amidst the anxiety, I rushed into the dark hallway. Saw the only light here coming from beneath that final door.
The coast was clear. No one was around... Just me and whomever lurked inside that room. And as I got closer, the voices grew louder. More excited.
For once, the fear chilled me more than Nicki’s arctic A/C. But I still kept going. Reached out toward the knob.
The sudden struts of a guitar made me jump. So did Elvis Presley’s crooning… Startled, I looked down the hall. Glaring on at “Blue Christmas” now playing on the dancefloor.
Recovering from the scare, I turned my attention toward the door. Reached out once more.
“Rhonnie, what is you doing!” rang Nicki’s siren cry through the darkness. The Queen’s voice all power and attitude. Just like her firm grip snatching my arm.
Scared again, I whirled around. “Shit!”
Nicki’s smirk greeted me. As did her latest costume change: a black Strokes tee and skintight white pants. With no make-up and a shorter red wig, Onika Maraj looked dressed for an underground rock show. How she changed so fast, how she appeared so quick behind me still remains a mystery to this day. Not to mention where the fuck did she keep getting all these wigs and where did she keep them? But in that surreall moment, I was just glad she wasn’t wearing that fucking strap...
Nicki waved at her shirt with excitement to spare. “You like it? You’re a Strokes fan, right?”
The letter in my hand grabbed my gaze. “Yeah…” I held the message toward Nicki. “What the Hell is this!”
Caught off guard, Nicki’s grin disappeared. Her suspicion set in.
“I found this in the kitchen,” I said.
In a fierce instant, Nicki snatched the sheet. Read the note.
“I just wanna know who wrote it,” I continued.
Feigning indifference, Nicki tossed it to the ground. “It’s nothing, I wrote that shit.”
For once, her performance lacked emotion. Gone was the confidence.. her biggest strength.
I flashed a nervous smile. “No, you didn’t! There’s no fucking way!”
Nicki placed a hand to her temple. Avoiding eye contact. At war with her own invasive thoughts.
“I found the note Ashley left too,” I said. “I found all of them! I mean why’d someone write ‘help me,’ Nicki! Goddamn!”
Nicki stayed silent. There was no word. No explanation.
I leaned toward her. “That’s fucking crazy! I mean just-”
Staying strong in the face of my fake toughness, Nicki looked right at me. “Chill, Rhonnie.”
“But I wanna know-”
“Do you think anyone would ever wanna leave here?” Like a dismissive diva, she pushed me back. “Seriously, Rhonnie?”
Scoffing, I pointed toward the note. “Well, someone did apparently!”
“Just think about you and Ashley!” Nicki then flashed that taunting smile. “Y’all’s asses know you didn’t wanna leave!”
I hesitated in the cold. Let “Blue Christmas” continue through the hallway. The mansion. And deep down, I knew I had no response. Nicki was right.
Sensing my weakness, Nicki took an aggressive step toward me. Her pretty face matching mine. “You know I’m right, don’t you,” she cooed. In a slow lunge, Nicki ran her hands along my chest. Leaned in toward my ear for a sensual purrr….
The memories hit me hard. Flashbacks to the ferocious sex. Me, Ash, Nicki, Kellan. Our weeks of fun. Our thrist constantly quenched in this erotic paradise.
“You and Ashley still wanna come back,” Nicki teased in a gentle tone. She squeezed my ass. And got closer to my lips. “Y’all still miss me…”
I smelt the sweet wine in her breath. The booze helping us both lose control.
“We do...” I said. Now I ran my hands up and down Nicki’s majestic body. Felt along the smooth skin. The plastic… The best implants money can buy.
Our bodies collided. Swaying to the rhythm of “Blue Christmas.” Our souls stirred into a happy hysteria.
Nicki’s grin grew wider. “I missed y’all too…”
She gave me a drunken kiss. And I damn sure returned the favor. Gladly still clinging to my ass, Nicki’s other hand went down toward my crotch.
I lost control. The excitement too much.
“Rhonnie, get Ashley,” Nicki said between kisses. She draped her hands around my neck. “Stay here forevvverrrr…”
Smiling, I looked on at those brown eyes. Their mischievous glint. “I’ll think about it-”
A bombastic beat crushed Elvis’s crooning. Loud and obnoxious. A hip-hop air strike had hit Christmas.
I immediately recognized the song. And immediately cringed.
Cackling, Nicki leaned back. “Oh shit!”
I groaned. “Fuck, ‘Anaconda’? “Really?”
“Yes!”
Amidst the pop assault, Nicki pulled me in closer toward her. Another sloppy kiss accompanied this grating tune. The Queen’s hands went wild over my body. The song getting better as the make-out session continued. The intensity matching the incessant rhythm of “Anaconda.”
Nicki held me back. Her female gaze salivating me. The smile starving for more.
Grooving and shaking to the beat, I gave her a smug, seductive smirk. Pleased to have Nicki’s spotlight. “Hey,” I quipped.
Then Mrs. Majesty made her move. Lunging forward, Nicki was fast and quick. Her hands latched on to my arms.
“Whoa!” I joked.
Crying out, Nicki threw me up against the wall. Her sheer strength sent me into it hard… leaving me pinned to it.
There were some nerves. Not to mention a rising thrill. I turned and looked back at it. At Nicki.
Armed with that madcap grin, she descended upon me. Her fingers itching to grab. Her steps aligned with the song… As if she were pantomiming and acting out her own twisted music video. But that sly voice shined through. Even over the deafening soundtrack. Nicki’s excitement too high at this point...
“Oh my Gosh....” she said in a robotic melody. “Look at her butt…”
I was too drunk to move. But still enthralled… erect beyond belief. Here I was Nicki’s prisoner once more. At her manic mercy.
Smirking in silence, I let her tear off my sweater.
“Oh my Gosh, look at her butt,” Nicki kept singing. Those same lyrics repeated in a sexy mantra… Getting me all the more hot. The collision of the song and Nicki’s performance hypnotized me. I gave in to her fantasy… and my own.
Nicki pulled my pants down. Into the music, I grooved. Shook at her touch. All while she yanked off the khakis, then my tight boxers. I held my feet out, letting Nicki slide the socks off. She had me nude. Just as she wanted me.
Still singing along, Nicki pushed me further down. Bending me over… I felt those white pants fasten against my popped out ass. Felt her fasten those clamps of fingers to my hips.
Swaying to the reckless rhythm, Nicki’s passionate thrusts matched the song. One hit after the other...
“My anaconda don’t!” Nicki hollered. “My anaconda don’t!”
I closed my eyes and moaned. The sensations so amazing. Nicki didn’t even need a dildo to fuck hard. She had too much power as is.
Enjoying the show, Nicki moved my ass back-and-forth. Making me twerk on that crotch. Nicki getting the lapdance of her dreams. Not that I was complaining... Being her personal stripper was nothing new for either of us.
Continuing the concert, Nicki sang in a playful tone. Her voice so energetic and full of delight it overtook the fucking record. And only stopping for those dominant grunts. Nicki leaned in next to my ear. “This dude named Michael used to ride motorcycles…”
My breathing got heavier. In awe of Nicki’s poise. Behind aroused eyes, I watched her grab a hold of my big dick. All while she kept pounding away in this delirious dry humping. Nicki a Goddamn athlete.
“Dick bigger than a tower,” the Queen continued as she tugged on my cock for emphatic emphasis. “I ain’t talking about Eiffel’s…”
Something moist hit my ass. The crashes were repetitive and heavy. Nicki got out of control. A sexbot on the verge of exploding.
I moaned once more. Until Nicki’s hand covered my mouth. But she still kept going. I moved along with her. Shaking my ass to her delight.
“Real country-ass nigga, let me play with his rifle,” Nicki sang. “Pussy put his ass to sleep, now he calling me NyQuil…” In a wild flourish, she licked my face. A serpent’s tongue all along my smooth skin.
And the show went on. Through every lyric, every thrust. I gave in to the rap Goddess’s every move. Not to mention to her amazing stamina. Here I was sweating in the cold. Still erect. Still twerking...
At the fadeout, Nicki’s cackling hit overdrive. Her histrionics natural. She staggered back and gave my ass a passionate smack.
Exhausted, I turned and looked back at the Queen. At her triumphant smile. The colossal wet stain on the crotch of those white pants… An ocean of desire.
Another haunting rap beat started. Nicki’s “Get On Your Knees” began playing. A song reverberating through my mind. My body.
Nicki ran her hands down her pants in a sensual taunt. “Ooh, bring that ass here, baby.”
Gasping for breath, I staggered to my feet. Still naked. Still recovering from being dicked down.
“You should’ve been here all along,” Nicki continued.
I turned my attention to Club Staff. My mystery powered through… even in the post-sex bliss.
Nicki reached toward me. “Come here, baby.”
Avoiding her touch, I stumbled toward the room. Without the strap, at least my ass wasn’t in too much pain.
“Rhonnie!” I heard Nicki shout. “Don’t go in there!”
Over Nicki’s recorded harmonies and all-too-live screams, I could hear those voices. The cryptic chorus behind door number three. I snatched the knob. Glad to find it unlocked.
Behind me, I heard Nicki chase after me. “Bring that ass here!” she commanded.
I swung the door open and rushed inside. Being back in Club Staff ended my drunk disorientation. Not from reflective warmth but from the strange sight sprawling before me…
Nervous, I stopped in the middle of the room. The pink walls were still flawless. The antique jukebox still timeless. And from here I saw the secret room, its door wide open. Ashley and I’s personal suite…
The other wax figures were spread out like a staged party scene. Nicki Minaj by way of the Uncanny Valley. There was nerdy Nicki, tomboy Nicki. All aspects of the artist’s personality.
Both the pink dildo and red blouse were lying on the ground. The glasses she wore earlier. Wigs piled up in a colorful conglomeration. Club Staff now Nicki’s dressing room for all those costume changes. And also the site of her darkest desires.
But these familiar sights did little to soothe my dread. Still doused in sweat, I felt Nicki’s literal drip slide off my ass... Somehow, Nicki had shocked me once more. Scared me with the secrets of her forbidden room.
Open laptops were arranged on all those large tables. Rows and rows of them leading up to a large demigod of a flatscreen. The room featuring an electrical cult ceremony…
What they showed were live feeds. HD footage clearly taken from all these fucking cameras. In rooms I’d never seen. Areas of Nicki’s home and property I never knew existed. Many of the rooms from the sheds out back, I figured.
Strangers stayed on those screens. Attractive men and women, ranging from young adults to senior citizens. But they were all hot… All of them either stripped down or dressed in the nice fashion I knew Nicki picked out. They were her community. The Barbz she really wanted.
Most of these hottiees were engaged in sex. The mics made that much clear. There was everything: missionary, pegging, three-ways, Devil’s Threesomes, guy-on-guy. Whatever your hungry heart desired. Whatever the Hell Nicki wanted.
With several clips taking place at night, I knew the Queen had recorded everything. Not so much for security or surveillance. Just for herself.
In the videos, I recognized a few faces, the bodyguards amongst them. And of course, I recognized Kellan and his large dick. He was in a room of four, using the same playbook me, him, Ash, and Nicki perfected.
The same playbook I saw broadcast on that flatscreen. The footage showed the four of us from just a few months ago. The four of us having the sex of our lives. We must’ve really been amongst Nicki’s favs to be her star attraction…
Sure, I was disturbed. But nostalgia crept in upon seeing us on the silver screen. I gotta say I missed Kellan. Not to mention he was a long way from Trinidad… But maybe to him, the Minaj mansion was home. We did have our fun, after all.
But the romanticism died soon after seeing one laptop showing me in the lair. Showing me right now. In the nude. I now noticed several cameras dangling down from the ceiling, filming my fear.
More vivid glows emanated from the secret room. Undoubtedly there was more where this came from…
I now realized Nicki Minaj was a mirage. A sexially-explicit illusion used to draw in the thirstiest men and women. A Venus flytrap for Onika Maraj’s most depraved pleasures.
But still I needed to see more... Even over the chilling epiphany, curiosity compelled me. I charged up to the secret room. Until a certain singing stopped me.
I whirled around to face Nicki. She stood tall and defiant. Regardless of the striking stain, she didn’t look trashy. She wore that wet vagina well. After all, that crotch certainly didn’t feel like a pussy at times...
And all the while, Nicki sang along to the chorus of “Get On Your Knees.” A sly smile accompanying her flow. Her joy.
An intimate audience, I watched her the whole way through. This was Nicki The Artist and she sounded even better live. More natural. More raw.
As the track faded out, Nicki nodded toward the laptops. “You know they wanna be here, Rhonnie.” She strutted up to me.
Like looking at a much prettier Medusa, I turned to stone. Held in place by the beauty. The charisma.
“No one’s being held against their will,” Nicki continued. She stole an admiring glance at my cock before looking into my green eyes. “That’s their shit cars they left in the garage. Their shit clothes in the lockers. Their shit lives they left behind.”
“But still… it’s not right,” I struggled to say. “It’s weird.”
Soothing me, Nicki ran a hand along my arm. “They just wanted to be happy, Rhonnie. That’s all.”
I couldn’t respond. Naked and in front of Nicki, I was conflicted. Torn between the seduction and slavery.
Nicki leaned in closer. “I didn’t want you to see till you were ready.” She caressed my face. Her touch so… warm. “Till you and Ashley were here.” Her other hand clinged to my thigh.
Quiet, I ran my fingers through Nicki’s short hair. “Regret In Your Tears” next on Nicki’s always-appropriate soundtrack. This setlist always in sync with our current mood.
“I didn’t want y’all to get scared,” Nicki went on. Her hand drifted down to my ass. For another sensual squeeze. “That was all, Rhonnie.”
I pulled away from her. “Naw, I can’t…”
Forcing a cackle, Nicki grabbed my arm. Her demeanor drunk, her mannerisms driven by madness. “Rhonnie, look!” She pointed toward the station of so many screens. “I dress them well, they get to live with me!” Selling herself well, Nicki felt along her well-endowed chest. “They get to be with me, baby…” She lunged in closer, inches away from my face. “And that should’ve been you and Ashley!”
Now I yanked my arm back. “No! This isn’t right, Nicki! You’re asking us to give up everything! We’ve got fucking lives, man! I wanna write!”
Nicki’s smile stagnated. “And you can… You can write about me.” She pointed across the room. Of course, right at that huge dildo. “And spend more time with that!” She grabbed on to my shoulders. “Me, you, and Ash. Kellan. It’ll be just like old times, babe.”
“I can’t.” Struggling against that strength, I finally managed to escape her grips once more.
A glower overtook Nicki’s face. “What do you think this is then, Rhonnie!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“This house! Me, bitch!”
Never had I seen her get this pissed. Sure, maybe crazy as Hell. Maybe psychosexual but not fucking angry.
Nicki pointed at herself. ”I’m the reason they wanna come! I bring them here, I keep them happy! They make me happy! I’m their fucking queen, Rhonnie! I make them want me, you understand!” She got in my face. But I was already scared into obedience. “Just like I did to you and Ashley!” She pointed to her head. “It’s in here, Rhonnie.” Immediately, she gravitated to that body. “And all here, baby! It’s got nothing to do with Onika! Nothing to do with me, the girl from Queens! The crazy family, the tragedies. It’s the way I look, Rhonnie! The ass and titties! The sex. Fucking. Sells.”
The height difference didn’t matter. Not now. Nicki stared me down hard. From both lust and anger. The dangerous ends of both emotions. I shivered under that spare. Nicki knowing full well she had me under her spell.
“What’s going on?” a deep voice rivaling mine asked.
We both turned. And well, Nicki’s excited smile contrasted my shock.
There was the man of the hour: Zoo. He stood a few feet away from us. His naked body no longer too surreal a sight in this freaky fortress. He was a handsome guy. Much taller than us. Much more sculpted than me A pretty prisoner both in the past and now. Kenneth checked off most of Nicki’s boxes: tough, thicc, and well-hung. Somehow, him and I had both managed to stay erect. Maybe there was something in the mansion’s air. But now Zoo’s glare stayed on me. The dude likely to break me by hand or dick…
Nicki’s grin hit sitcom levels. “Hey, baby!” she gushed. Drawn to her man, she rushed over and hugged him.
But Kenneth and I’s staredown wasn’t going anywhere.
“Is that the writer guy?” he asked Nicki.
“Yeah, that’s Rhonnie!” she beamed.
They fixated their gazes on me. There we were, the three of us with our dicks hanging out. Well, with Nicki’s lying closeby.
Through the tense silence, all we heard was the Minaj playlist. And the sounds of her prisoners. Their pleasurable moans and cries a constant off those laptops. Of course, I recognized my own exhalations on that flatscreen. God knows what the Hell I was taking in that clip...
Nicki pulled Kenneth closer toward her. Her man definitely lacked her enthusiasm. “He’s the one writing about us, Zoo!” she exclaimed. “And I’m helping him out! He’s gonna make us even more famous!”
“So I’ve heard,” he replied. His hands stayed by his side. Ready for any false move from rhonnie14.
“Ain’t that right, Rhonnie!” Nicki said. Her wicked gaze settled in on me. “You’re gonna write so many crazy stories, right.”
Reaching into the recesses of my soul, I found some half-ass courage. “I’m writing the truth, Nicki,” I finally said. I waved toward the laptops. “I’m writing about all this! The people you got here, the ones you’ve got trapped! Your prisoners!”
Needless to say, Zoo wasn’t amused. His glare now more permanent than Nicki’s glowing smile. But now Nicki was no different. She had no chance at hiding the rage boiling within.
“I’m telling the truth!” I yelled.
Nicki took a ferocious step toward me.
Trying to restrain her, Zoo grabbed the Queen’s arm. “Nicki-”
But nothing could stop her. Not even Zoo’s impressive muscles. Nicki bulldozed on by. Straight for me.
Oh fuck, I thought...
Nicki put a finger to my face. “And do you think anyone’s gonna believe you, motherfucker!”
I stayed quiet. Yeah, I was a chickenshit.
“I’ll just tell them you’re some fucking creep obsessed with me!” Nicki continued. “No one will buy what the fuck some random horror writer has to say! Yo ass look like you’re sixteen anyway!”
Crumbling under her irate pressure, I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s a compliment...”
“Shut the fuck up!” Nicki yelled.
I locked eyes with Zoo. Even he was keeping his distance from her.
“Yeah, listen to Nicki!” he added.
Nicki gave me a light shove. The glare slicing into me like a knife. “So you go write your goofy fucking stories! Pimp my name to the horror crowd! They’ll wanna be with the Queen too, boo! You know that!”
“You got him, Nicki,” I heard Zoo chime in.
Giving me her patented stank face, Nicki walked back toward her husband. Leaving me in an awkward, uneasy state.
I watched Nicki drape her arm around Zoo’s waist. Her outburst now veering toward a manic melancholy. “You should’ve stayed, you and Ashley both!” Nicki said. I saw her grab on to Kenneth’s ass. “Y’all’d have been the Paula Patton and Zac Efron in here. All for me…”
Doing his best to be supportive, Zoo held on to her tight. Caressed Nicki’s shoulder. Anything to stay on her sweet side.
Now Nicki’s performance hit pathos. Somehow, I felt sorry for her. Sympathy even in the face of millions and nothing but pretty people surrounding her.
“Y’all should’ve just stayed!” she said in a trembling voice. The emotions erupted. Shielding her eyes, she turned away.
I took a calm step toward her. “I can’t stay Nicki. We just can’t.”
Both Nicki and Zoo confronted me. They showed their hurt physically. Their wounds within. The dark side of being a social media freakshow.
Nicki showed teardrops. Wearing her usual melodramatic make-up, she’d have resembled a crying clown. But not when she was just dressed as herself… Not when she was Onika. A lonely, young woman simultaneously vindicated and destroyed by her own fucking dream.
Concerned, I ran a hand through my swoop. Kept an appropriate distance from the distraught couple. “What’s this really about, man?” I asked, forcing my voice at a chill calm. “Nicki, maybe you should talk to someone.”
That glare flashed through Mrs. Majesty’s tears.
“You just need to get some help,” I struggled to say. “There’s nothing wrong with that-”
“Help!?” Nicki shouted. She pulled away from Zoo. All her weeping eyes on me. “I don’t need any help, Rhonnie! I need people to fucking care!”
A worried Zoo reached toward her. “Babe.” This was the side of Kenneth I’d never seen. Unlike Nicki, he was no performer or actor. Just a caring husband to one of the most complex personalities in Hollyweird.
Nicki held him back. Instead, her attention stayed on me. The stare sharpened. Her defensiveness a weak disguise for those insecurities galore. “That’s all I want, Rhonnie! I love my fans, the real fans!”
“I know,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“But that’s not what people want!” Nicki cried. The floodgate of tears burst. Here was a woman on the verge of a brutal breakdown. A sad glimpse behind the bravado. Nicki the beautiful diva facing fate and alienation. “They want the big titty bitch! That’s it!” She pointed toward that ‘perfect’ figure. “They don’t care about me! The lyrics or the drive! It’s this! I just want someone to look past that! Someone like you! Lile Ashley!” She snatched Kenneth’s hand in a loving grip. “And Zoo… Y’all need to stay with me for more! For the music!”
Zoo and I made quick eye contact. I imagine we didn’t have much in common other than worrying over Nicki’s mental state… but that was bond enough.
Like a Shakespearean monologue, Nicki continued spilling her guts. The raw emotion on display. Whatever warts and all could be on those perfect physical features. “It’s why I do this!” She waved toward her body. “The surgeries, the make-up! I can’t get anyone to just listen!”
“But Nicki, there’s plenty of us,” I said. “Hell, I like the music!”
“It’s just sex, Rhonnie! Like I told you!” Nicki stared right at me. “That’s all they care about at the end of the day.” She waved toward the laptops. Nicki’s movements so fast and frenetic, her boobs could’ve caused an earthquake. Just as much as her morose expression would elicit heartbreak. “It’s why I don’t give a fuck about those sluts and shrimp-dicked idiots just getting off to me! They can’t understand me like you! Like all the people I bring here can!”
“There’s more of us though, Nicki. I swear! We don’t have to stay here to support you, man. We’re everywhere!”
“I just want them to like me for the music! The talent! Not the sex, not the bullshit!” Lost in her sorrow, Nicki turned away. Wiped off those countless tears. “I can’t do anything as a female rapper… I can’t be a Pac or Ye. I have to be the hot bitch… You don’t understand, Rhonnie. I never wanted it like this!”
Zoo grabbed her shoulder. “Yo, babe-”
Possessed by passion, Nicki swatted his hand away. She screamed aloud. Into the air. Into her own crazed soul. Exorcist Nicki her latest personality. Then those maniacal sights settled in on me. “I don’t need help, Rhonnie! I need supporters! People who like me for who I am! For who I fucking * really* am! I need them with me twenty-four seven, Rhonnie!”
Fighting my own tears, I stepped toward her. “And I do. Ashley and I both-”
“Then stay!”
Nicki’s anguish made me stop. All while it ate me alive. Maybe I knew Nicki more than most. But here I was wanting her to be okay... Here I was desperate to reassure the Queen of hip-hop.
“Stay here forever!” Nicki yelled.
I shook my head. “I can’t, Nicki. I can’t.”
With weary defeat, Nicki shook her head. Each and every tear nothing but bullets piercing into my naked flesh.
Zoo ran a hand along her arm. “Nicki. Hey-”
Nicki stormed out. Off stage and away from her erotic island. She never said goodbye. Never gave me that bright smile. For someone with her talent and dictionary, she didn’t say shit.
Feeling guilty, I watched Nicki adjust her pants. Adjust the stain sticking to her skin… And then she was gone. A gorgeous witch disappearing into the night.
The catchy Nicki tunes still played. Not to mention the enthusiastic voices still blasting off those feeds. But Kenneth and I may as well have stood in silence. So thick the tension was.
He finally looked at me. His stare was smoldering, intense. “Get the fuck out.”
Put on the spot, I glanced around the room. At the sex videos. Then at my own naked body. With a nervous smile, I confronted Zoo. Shrugged my shoulders. “Can I at least put my boxers on?”
I got to put on the nice clothes Nicki stripped from me. Got my bag, got an Uber for LAX, and got the fuck out of there. All on Nicki’s tab, thankfully.
Now I sat alone at the airport. Waiting on a two A.M. flight… All alone in my corner. No one was around me this late. The cold isolation here like a cavern. Not even the Christmas wreaths and trees could soothe me.
Holding my phone, I tried to pass the time. Tried to keep my mind off the bizarre Nicki encounter. I just had to put on Bruce. Now blasting “No Surrender” through my earbuds and into my rattled mind. Scared that playing any Nicki would be a siren call luring my ass back to her place… Her world.
That being said, the long wait left me in reflection. Nicki wasn’t wrong on any count. To quote one of her more obnoxious tracks, we were all just beez in the trap. Caught up in her lore, her talent. And yes, the insane beauty. But what unsettled me most was how she related it to me. You see, Nicki spelled out her personal dilemma. Fuck it, she even related the twisted reality to me. And Nicki was right all along. Regardless of how much she liked creeping on my Reddit porn accounts, she had a point. I had more fans piling in there for a pic I took in seconds rather than a story I poured my heart and soul into. A situation no different than Nicki’s more serious jams getting shunned in favor of twerking and brainless exploitation. Sex sells, man. No matter her personality, Nicki wasn’t wrong about that. Call it my What Price, Hollywood? moment… All courtesy of Onika Maraj.
And through the thoughts, my phone kept buzzing. Now here came call number three from Nicki. I chose to ignore it. I couldn’t face her this soon. Not after the unsettling encounters and her unsettling set-up. After the harrowing breakdown, I couldn’t answer her. I wouldn’t answer that call, I plead to my nervous self in an internal intervention.
And all the while, I texted Ashley. Told her how much I loved her. How I couldn’t wait to see her. Our bond rekindled to first-month glories until she sent me a new text: You should’ve stayed!
I looked on at the message, uneasy.
Then came Ash’s quick follow-up: Go back and I’ll come! :)
The fear returned. Nicki had been hypnotizing me. And apparently, she’d long had Ash under control. “What…” I said.
Overtaking my screen was another incessant call: Nicki. Who knew how drunk or high she was? Much less lonely.
Don’t answer, I reminded myself. Don’t give in.
Forcing myself, I silenced the call. Then sat there in awkward silence. In a quiet dread I couldn’t identify. Or control.
Just when I needed it, Bruce left me. My rallying cry of “No Surrender” gone. My whole Goddamn support system.
I texted Ashley back: Are you sure? I think we should wait, boo…
Her reply appeared immediately: YES! GO THERE NOW, STU-STU!
I stared on at her message. Her demand. Her eager euphoria. Here I was caught between arousal and disappointment. And at the end of the day I had no say in this weird, wild mess. Ash did.
Seconds later came a new text message. Not from Ashley but Nicki: Come back over, Rhonnie
The next SMS bullet hit me: I miss y’all already ;)
Another one appeared: Again
“Shit…” I said to myself. I got ready to ignore the message. This was Rhonnie’s last stand against the impulses. The thirst.
Until my phone pulsated to life. The call so ferocious I almost missed Nicki’s next text: I talked to Ashley!!! <3 :p
And that was when I laid eyes on the caller ID: on my girlfriend’s number. The death sentence to my attempt at defiance. As always.
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