Tiptoeing the Line of Consent

“No,” I insisted. “Absolutely and unequivocally. No.”

I studied his face. It looked like he was prepared to accept what I was saying, but somewhere in his eyes I saw what I’d been hoping for. Something I barely wanted to admit, but nonetheless what I wanted most of all: he understood that behind my protestations was a plea to be convinced.

He opened his mouth and I studied his tongue. It was pink and firm and marked with tastebuds. The sheen of saliva on the muscle was both inviting and repelling; I loved how it felt inside me. I enjoyed the sensations it produced. But it left things behind. When he pulled away, I would feel the air on the wetness it deposited. It was cold. Discomforting.

I met his mouth with mine and let his tongue slip between my lips. It brushed against my own and I tasted his saliva. His mouth was still salty and slightly bitter from our earlier acts together. Not altogether unpleasant, but still noteworthy. I assumed mine tasted similar. Continue reading “Tiptoeing the Line of Consent”

Escaphism

“Under every scrap of confining skin is the potential for escape. When life grows from your husk, you, in turn, may be reborn.” -William James Lemaire: Seeding the Verdant World

It had been so, so long since my soulmate had felt anything resembling escape.

We sat and talked about the process that would surely end his life. Our Benefactor, William, had proposed this journey to us at our final meeting. William, who’d given so much of his time and energy to the wretched around him, was generous in imparting his wisdom. He believed my soulmate could be saved – but only if he gave his life to the Verdant World. I remember looking at the swaying trees and long grass around us – trees and grass seeded by the numberless Saved. It was a defining moment.

“Grow what we love in whom you love.” -William James Lemaire: Seeding the Verdant World

I kissed the lips of my soulmate before removing them. He didn’t move. Tears sprouted from the corners of his closed eyes. The sweet taste of his kiss lingered as I poured honey in and around his new mouth. The honey was from bees which had pollinated the flowers grown from other Saved. The cycle was continuing with us. We whirl the wheel. Continue reading “Escaphism”

I’m still traumatized by what happened when I answered that Craigslist ad, part 3

Hello, readers! My name is Rudolph Baylor. I am composing and submitting this narrative of the other night’s events from my, and our, friend’s account for reasons I will momentarily reveal. For the sake of full disclosure, I must admit I am the man with whom he has been working. For those unfamiliar with our time together, please see the mildly-stylized narratives here and here.

Now that we are on the same page, I will provide a bit of personal backstory heretofore unknown to you all.

As I mentioned above, I am Rudolph Baylor. I’m 52 years old. In what now seems like a past life, I was a day-trader who made quite a bit of money in the forex markets during the early growing-pains of the Euro adoption. I’m by no means a King Midas, but I’ll just say I’ve been quite fortunate.

One of the problems with making enough money in a few years to last one’s lifetime is trying to fill the following years with purpose. I ended up doing what many, many people have done when searching for purpose: I trawled the Internet. Most of this trawling was to kill time. I make no effort to hide that fact. As a man uninterested in the hedonia that drives others to seek social and sexual interactions, I sought intellectual stimulation on the World Wide Web. Continue reading “I’m still traumatized by what happened when I answered that Craigslist ad, part 3”

I’m still traumatized by what happened when I answered that Craigslist ad, part 2

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Read part one here.

A little over a year after my experience with the crazy guy who wanted his teeth pulled, I got an email from him. He wanted to pay me a quarter of a million dollars to come back and do more work.

After I read it, I experienced an entirely new sensation: I shivered with horror and nearly came in my pants. $250,000 is a TON of fucking money. No more college loans, no more 1983 Camry, no more 300 square foot apartment. All I’d have to do is meet up with that lunatic again. Well – more than just meet up. I had a feeling I’d be earning every cent of that 250k.

I replied to him and he quickly wrote back. I was to meet him the next morning at the same house. Continue reading “I’m still traumatized by what happened when I answered that Craigslist ad, part 2”

I’m still traumatized by what happened when I answered that Craigslist ad.

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(A horror story about Craigslist.)

The Craigslist ad wanted a male companion for 6 hours. No sex, nothing illegal, and, get this: it paid $10,000. Who wouldn’t jump at 10k?

We met at his house. His handshake was firm. He seemed solidly middle-class; modest home, basic decor, nothing ostentatious. A suburban bachelor pad. After our hellos, he asked if I’d like something to drink. His fridge was stocked with microbrews. Good stuff! I grabbed a Dogfish Head 90 and he guided me to the basement. “That’s where we’ll be working,” he said.

The basement was sparsely furnished. Most prominent was what looked like an old dentist’s chair with a table next to it. The table was covered in a gray cloth. The man handed me an envelope he’d been carrying. $5000. “You can have the rest when we’re finished,” he told me. “It’ll only be a few hours.” Continue reading “I’m still traumatized by what happened when I answered that Craigslist ad.”

The Last Words of an Explorer

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September 9th, 2016

This city is on no one’s map. If it had ever been, those people have long since died. As have their children. And grandchildren. And great grandchildren. And great-great grandchildren. And so on.

Nonetheless, here the city stands. My source was right. My money was well spent. These ancient structures are black tombs. We’ve set up our camp on the outskirts. The city is far too cold.

September 10th, 2016

Charles kept watch while I slept. He claimed to see no signs of life, but sounds kept him constantly alert. Soft sounds. Soft, wet, and unimposing. Sounds which drifted in and out at the limits of audibility, as if they were whispers, but windblown and damp – redolent of dying breaths and last words.

I heard nothing. My sleep was as black as the structures ahead of us. No sounds penetrated the dreamless morass. For a brief moment upon waking, I believed to have been dead.

Today, we tour the city.

Continue reading “The Last Words of an Explorer”

The Squirming Man

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Don’t pretend this is anything other than a suicide note. You are reading the words of a dead man whose body may still be warm.

For the last 40 years, I’ve been terrorized by the squirming man. At this moment, his name means nothing to you. If you wish for that to continue, stop reading now.

The squirming man first visited when I was six. I was in the shower. When I’d finished and pulled back the curtain, he was standing there. Waiting. Before I could scream, my mouth was filled.

To describe the squirming man is to revisit decades of trauma. Regardless, I need to be strong and write about him. I don’t want him to be a mysterious figure. I want my knowledge of him to be out there. I want people to know he exists. People should be ready if he visits them; I have no doubt he will once I’m gone.

Continue reading “The Squirming Man”