Podcasts about motherfuckers

Maddix - Ultra Music Festival, Miami, 2025 (Day 1) 01. Maddix - ID 02. Maddix - ID 03. John Summit ft. HAYLA - Where You Are (John Summit & Maddix Edit) 04. Maddix ft. Fēlēs - My Gasoline 05. Maddix - ID 06. Maddix - Heute Nacht (Sped Up) 07. Ida Corr & 2HOT2PLAY - Think About It 08. Maddix & The Rocketman ft. 2 Brothers On The 4th Floor - Never Alone 09. Maddix & Gabry Ponte - Hellfire 10. Boys Noize - Sireneh 11. Maddix - ID 12. Dimitri Vegas & Like Mike & Maddix & Da Hool ft. Kiki Solvej - Meet Her At The Love Parade 13. Maddix & KIRK - ID 14. The Rocketman - Loca 15. Michael Bibi & KinAhau ft. Audio Bullys - Different Side (Maddix & Lilly Palmer Remix) 16. Maddix - Sound Of The Underground 17. The Obsessed & DBF - Colombia 18. Ramiro Lopez & Spartaque - Shak 19. Maddix ft. Leila K - Open Sesame (Abracadabra) 20. Maddix - ID 21. ID - ID 22. ID - ID 23. Maddix & The Rocketman & DJ Weirdo ft. Dr. Phil Omanski - Young Birds 24. Vortek's - Ao Céu 25. Bountyhunter - Woops (Dimitri Vegas & Junkie Kid Remix) 26. Alex Farell - 90's Motherfucker 27. U96 - Club Bizarre

The gang tries some black cherry faygo, and keep talking about A6A6I5 of Homestuck, now with Muse!Calliope and Jasprosesprite^2. Calliope returns to the land of the living. Karkat and Kanaya visit the queen of monsters. The Freudian slips continue. This episode covers pages 7561 - 7671 of Andrew Hussie's Homestuck, which is best read on the Unofficial Homestuck Web Archive.Get in touch!Leave us a message at our tumblr: https://seriousbusinesspod.tumblr.com

From the basics all the way to the most advanced, this episode will teach you the various meanings and uses of the English word “fuck”.Timestamps:0:00 Intro2:15 Fuck (as a verb)4:54 Fuck (as a noun)8:26 Fuck! (exclamation)18:30 Fuck you!24:26 Fuck this!29:45 Fuck (someone) up34:12 Fuck (something) up37:28 Fuck with (someone)42:35 To be fucked50:36 Fucking (intensifier)57:24 Fuck off1:01:07 Fuck around1:05:53 Fuck (someone) over1:09:08 Get fucked1:12:55 Question word + the fuck1:16:58 Adjective + as fuck1:19:10 Fucking (as a filler word)1:22:11 Fuck around and find out (FAFO)1:28:59 I don't fuck with (someone/something)1:31:42 To give a fuck1:33:47 Fuck my life (FML)1:37:49 Fuck if I know1:39:01 Fucking hell1:39:57 Motherfucker1:42:38 OutroIf you love this podcast and want to show some support, click here

Jackie's lonely deep-space post enjoys delicious company.Based on a post by Alizzia. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Jackie awoke to a twinkling, navy-blue night. She lay still, perceived the idle murmer of gulls and surf, the sweet air, the soft and runny sand against her back. With every little rush of the surf, a liquid touch caressed her. Startlingly chill. Goosebumps prickled her naked form. She pulled a long, resuscitating breath, sat up.She nearly gasped. Out on the surf, submerged to the dimpled saddle of his hips, stood a bare and strapping figure. Head tipped to the moon, he raised and clasped corded hands, stretched. He twisted, hummed as he arched the broad, inverted triangle of his lats. Yawning luxuriantly, he turned, dropped his arms, smiled at Jackie.Jackie's pulse fluttered. She returned the crinkled hazel eyes' smile. The figure blushed a hint, turned a bashful eye to the sea. He approached. Surf split and foamed about his hips, thighs, knees, ankles. All softly corded, olive, and bare.He stopped inches from Jackie's toes, let his gaze drag over her, slow. She blushed in return, twisted a little, pulled and bent her knees to touch. Responding, his eyes flicked to her face, stopped there. Though not a turn of betrayed sentiment showed on his lips, a soft bundle of creases remained at the corners of his eyes, somehow more intense. He lingered on her mouth, nose, eyes, canted his head just a hint. A hoarse, longing sigh rose from his chest.Some melted excitement splashed into Jackie's chest and belly. Returning the gaze in full measure, she straightened her legs, arms, lay back on the sand. She raised a challenging brow.Slow, the figure knelt, touched one knee to the beach, then the other. He straddled just one of Jackie's legs, bent, placed heavy hands beside her head. Jackie could hear the wet sand squish under his weight. He bent ever so close, stopped, just breathed. Not a slip of skin touched between them. Droplets fell from his locks and long nose, fell just inches before rolling down Jackie's cheeks. He smelt of salt and earth.Jackie's lips parted involuntarily, asymmetrically. Never breaking her gaze, she stretched, wriggled just a bit, tilted her groin and chin. She heard the figure's pupils dilate, heard his shuddering breath, sensed his heavy arousal. A small smile of glee split her face. She squirmed in the sand beneath him, like a sea star, free beneath his hanging weight. Then, suddenly deadly serious, she stopped. With dearest care, she shifted just a little, pulled the inside of a smooth thigh to meet his knee. The figure shuddered, shut his eyes. Jackie struck, pushed her lips into his. For a moment, she could taste the warmth, the salt. Then, the world spun.The figure disappeared. The stars went out. The black sky fell away. Jackie awoke to a riveted, titanium ceiling studded with white lights. She flailed momently, gasping wetly. Tubes hung before her face, wet with the spit of her own trachea. Pressure lifted from her wrists, ankles, and abdomen. She began to float from the padded pod where she lay.Jackie's clumsy fingers found rails on either edge of the pod. She held herself within, panted. She swallowed dryly, blinked, surveyed the pod, her white sleep shorts and top, the room about her. After a moment, she groaned in recognition and disappointment. Any arousal she'd experienced had flown with her dream, left her with naught but a sodden crotch in a chilly room."Good morning, Specialist Jaqueline Kent," said a voice, at once sonorous and very dull.Jackie tried to sit up and look over the side of the bed. The inertia of the action strained her fingers. Her hands split from the rail. She floated from the bed, frowned.Across the room was a crop-haired man in red. His cotton jumpsuit strained where it failed to accommodate his chest and back. He had cold, blue eyes and a pointed nose. He held onto a support rail, feet firmly affixed to the vaguely-concave floor in magnet boots."Who the fu..." coughed Jackie, barely audible. She rasped. "The fuck are you?" She inadvertently turned upside down in the microgravity, crossed her arms over her floating tits."My pardon, Specialist Kent. My designation is Sam.""You're..." said Jackie, trying to find a more dignified stance. She failed, ended up sort of weakly kicking off the side wall. She made a face as she clipped the stasis pod, wheeled into Sam. Her face collided with his broad chest. He caught her there. For a moment, Jackie's cheek and nose pressed into him. He was firm, but soft. He smelled of soap and salt."You're a service unit, an organic android?" she said, frowning, as Sam pulled her away from him."Indeed.""Why isn't this place being spun for gravity?" raged Jackie, shuffling from his grasp. Strong fingers released from her upper arms."The habitat is spun for only eight hours of the 24-hour cycle, per regulated health minimums. Generator and battery capacity are prioritized for the lighthouse array, rather than gravity rotors. The next spin commences tonight, in several minutes," said Sam, smiling thinly. "For now, please accept these mag boots.""Fine," said Jackie, cold. She bumped against the wall, struggled to pull a boot on. The other floated away. She made a face, huffed, weak from stasis sleep. "Please, allow me," said Sam. For just a moment, Jackie twisted her face as if to protest, but relented. She moved close, allowed the android to wrap an arm around each of her calves in turn, slip a boot over the foot, and strap it tight. For a moment, she relaxed, felt the long hands wrap near-entirely round her bare ankles. They were firm, but not rough. Sam moved away. "There."Jackie tentatively pushed away, set a foot to the floor, felt it stick. "Thanks," she said, quietly."Allow me to show you around the lighthouse. Afterwards, you may recuperate. It will only take a moment. The station is not large, and I understand by your Company service record that you have served in this role before.""There wasn't an android on my last lighthouse. I do this job because I like the solitude."Sam looked genuinely regretful. "I am sorry. You must understand I was attached to this station by the company. I am their property.""Yeah, yeah," said Jackie, seeing his face. A spike of empathy broke through her grumpiness. "You don't seem like bad company, anyway. What model are you?" she said, as Sam opened the hatch for them to exit."I am a Serault Corporation Ceres-6," he said, stepping through. Jackie followed. The concave floor of the room beyond was double-walled transparent alloy. It acted as a gigantic window out onto the red and purple nebula which the lighthouse was meant to warn of. Along the walls, set so one might look down into the nebula, were leather benches, a few pod chairs, and a bed with microgravity webbing, all somewhat worn. Crimson light played over the white upholstery and sheets.Jackie looked over the living quarters, far nicer than she'd had before. She gaped at the nebula for a moment, watched a streak of magenta light cross Sam's eyes and face. "So, you're one of those white-blooded ones?""My internal serum is a sucrose base. It serves modified roles in all my body fluids. It is indeed an off-white.""Sucrose? A real sweetie, huh?""If indeed it were to be tasted, my serum would taste of sugar." He looked her in the eyes, terribly sincere.Jackie looked away, grinned uncomfortably. "Right. Have any other special features?" she said, sarcastic."As Ceres-6 models are designed for small crew missions, our personality precepts are mutable. We change in reaction or in request to facilitate maximum compatibility.""Ah, well. Good to know." Jackie looked about awkwardly, arms crossed. "I take it this is my room?""Indeed, this is the lighthouse keeper's room," he blinked at her, slow."And where do you sleep?""Though I do not often enter my hibernation cycle, I have a pod in the crew maintenance room we just exited."Jackie suddenly uncrossed her arms, waved one about. "Listen, do you need to stare me straight in the eyeballs all the time? It's freaking me out.""Would you prefer I focus on a different portion of your body?" said Sam. He concernedly looked at her left foot."Like, shit. No. Just let your eyes wander like a normal person, okay?""Understood," said Sam. He glanced at her eyes, then about the room, then down into the floor-window."A little less wildly, maybe.""Yes, Specialist Kent." His eyes flitted over Jackie, focused momently on the nipples poking through her airy sleep top. Jackie crossed her arms, blushed. "And call me Jackie, not Specialist Kent.""Understood, Jackie.""And smile a bit more.""Of course," he said, doing so. Jackie shivered, not from the chill air. The lines which pulled about the android's eyes and nose bridge turned the cold face quite warm. It stayed that way."Well," said Jackie, hesitating. "We're getting on better already," she said, only half as sarcastic as she meant. "Can we continue the tour? I could use a shower.""Of course." He continued to a hatch on the other side of the room. Jackie stepped through as well. They entered a circular room with a ladder in the center. The walls were ringed with computer panels and other hatches."This is the primary communication room. Here, you-""Sam, I know how to use the comms.""My apologies," he said. "This hatch leads to the EVA room. This one to the galley. This one to life support. The ladder leads up to the secondary systems and down to engineering.""I take it life support has the shower?""Indeed.""Great. Anything else?""No. We commence operation tomorrow morning, approximately an hour after the eight-hour spin." He broke off for a moment, canted his head. His eyes trailed over Jackie's bare abdomen, likely by chance. She squirmed, regardless. Sam raised his eyebrows, continued. "The spin, which I believe should commence now."There was a jerk, a hollow whine in the hull of the station, a rush in Jackie's ears. Jackie and Sam slowly settled under the centrifugal forces. Jackie adjusted her shorts, surreptitiously. "I'm going to shower.""There are requisite uniforms and undergarments waiting for you.""Gee, thanks for laying out my underwear.""Of course, Jackie."Jackie shook her head, kicked off the mag boots, stomped to the life support bay. She shut the hatch with a good deal of force. The bathroom was behind a secondary hatch, near the spare air purification tanks and the waterless laundry engine. It was stark, shiny white, floored with nobly grip tiles. There were indeed clothes laid out for her: A red jumpsuit and white boyshorts. Jackie passed them just a glance before dropping her shorts and top. Naked, she passed the small mirror, sneered at her baggy eyes, her body, depilated for stasis sleep.She stepped into the shower. A touch panel reading "Shower Ration: 2 Minutes," met her."Same old station-life," she groaned, punched the Start key.A vertical shower hit from above. Mist quickly filled the room. Jackie moaned for the heat, turned her head and chest to face the stream. Little rivulets poured from her nose, chin, nipples. At these she looked askance, gently surprised. She cupped, rubbed one between thumb and forefinger experimentally, sighed a little. She repeated this with both, sighed a lot. Doing so, suddenly quite determined, she stepped back and leaned back, pressed her rump against the white wall. One hand, the right one, slipped between her hairless legs, which she widened just sufficiently. They wobbled a bit, weak from stasis. She leaned harder against the wall, slipped a middle finger over and through her dripping vulva, split the lips, found it dripping inside, too. The left hand joined, found the clit, elicited a hum, a bitten lip. Several wet seconds later, a groan. Jackie's face tipped upwards. Her thighs twitched. Droplets hit her screwed-up eyelids, her open mouth.The water stopped abruptly. Jackie jerked upright. "Motherfucker," she said, a cry fading into a mumble. She leaned through the steam, slightly pigeontoed, red the touch panel. It said, "Time until next Shower Ration: 18 hours." Jackie rubbed her temples, groaned resignedly. The cold of the station was already seeping into the shower. Quickly, she dried, performed her remaining ablutions, threw on the insulated red jumpsuit over still-aching nipples.Jackie emerged to find Sam in the life-support bay. He was shirtless, jumpsuit rolled at the waste, supine beneath a large conduit emitting steam. Droplets rolled over his long fingers and corded forearms, dripped and slid over an expanse of blond-furred chest. Veins stood out in his neck and arms, swollen from the effort of having just slotted a hefty filter into place. As Jackie approached, he turned."Jackie," he said, emerging carefully from under the conduit. He panted gently, lips parted just a tad. They were pink, creased. Human. "How are we?""I'm fine, thanks," said Jackie, forcibly pulling her eyes to his. She looked for a moment longer, watched a vein pulse on his temple. "If you don't mind me saying, you're damn realistic, aren't you?""I am, on the exterior, functionally and visually indistinguishable from a human man.""Yup," said Jackie, moving to leave."Jackie?"She turned back a moment. "Yes?""Is the station too cold for your comfort?" His eyes brows, cream and near-invisible, were arched in concern.Jackie squinted, raised an eyebrow. "No. It's fine.""Good. And, do make sure to have the appropriate post-stasis ration packs. I have concerns your flight here has left you low on muscle mass."Jackie turned away. "Yeah."She opened the hatch to her quarters, shut it with a huff. One protein pack later, she had stripped off her jumpsuit, dead asleep.Hours later, Jackie woke to a crimson nebulaic glow. She floated, bleary, in the microgravity webbing. The vibrating hum of the spin-rotors had died. Now, there was merely silence. Dully, Jackie moved to turn over under the webbing. As her thighs shifted, she felt a tingling wetness from some dream she couldn't remember. Idly, half asleep, she let a fingertip creep down her belly, trace over the soaked groin of her shorts, begin to prod, massage. She hummed, rubbed her cheek into the netting.Nearby, a hatch creaked open. Jackie jerked awake, hang back her hand, froze."Ready to get to work, Specialist Jackie?"Jackie groaned. "Yup," she said. Sam nodded, smiled, retreated into the comms room. The hatch clacked shut.Only after clambering out of the sleep webbing did Jackie realize her floating tits had been in full view. The Corporation had some odd opinions about bras in space. Jackie shook her head. "Chill, girl. Robot doesn't care."The proceeding five hours were a floating blur. Jackie stood in the comms room, directed ship after ship in non-collision courses around the nebula. The job was a steep and constant series of calls and responses to incoming and waiting craft. Sam assisted."Astroliner 313, after well veer, climb straight ahead five degrees Kepler. Thank you.""Jackie, we have a Corsican military craft requesting expedited access," said Sam."Tell him to follow the greens and stand by for expedite.""EES Pearl River is expressing a complaint.""Send them the docs. They can deal with the Company." She changed channels. "Yes, Arrowtine Sirius, you have permission to take route bravo in five. Thank you.""Jackie, I'm directing Designate 476 to hold. Their cargo requires maximum berth.""Thanks, Sam."Sam smiled thinly at her. He had started doing that more often. His eyes stayed crinkled kindly, when he did. Jackie kept watching him.Abruptly, Sam frowned. "Jackie, we have an error.""What?""New connections are timing out. We have a receiver down from d

Jackie's lonely deep-space post enjoys delicious company.Based on a post by Alizzia. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Jackie awoke to a twinkling, navy-blue night. She lay still, perceived the idle murmer of gulls and surf, the sweet air, the soft and runny sand against her back. With every little rush of the surf, a liquid touch caressed her. Startlingly chill. Goosebumps prickled her naked form. She pulled a long, resuscitating breath, sat up.She nearly gasped. Out on the surf, submerged to the dimpled saddle of his hips, stood a bare and strapping figure. Head tipped to the moon, he raised and clasped corded hands, stretched. He twisted, hummed as he arched the broad, inverted triangle of his lats. Yawning luxuriantly, he turned, dropped his arms, smiled at Jackie.Jackie's pulse fluttered. She returned the crinkled hazel eyes' smile. The figure blushed a hint, turned a bashful eye to the sea. He approached. Surf split and foamed about his hips, thighs, knees, ankles. All softly corded, olive, and bare.He stopped inches from Jackie's toes, let his gaze drag over her, slow. She blushed in return, twisted a little, pulled and bent her knees to touch. Responding, his eyes flicked to her face, stopped there. Though not a turn of betrayed sentiment showed on his lips, a soft bundle of creases remained at the corners of his eyes, somehow more intense. He lingered on her mouth, nose, eyes, canted his head just a hint. A hoarse, longing sigh rose from his chest.Some melted excitement splashed into Jackie's chest and belly. Returning the gaze in full measure, she straightened her legs, arms, lay back on the sand. She raised a challenging brow.Slow, the figure knelt, touched one knee to the beach, then the other. He straddled just one of Jackie's legs, bent, placed heavy hands beside her head. Jackie could hear the wet sand squish under his weight. He bent ever so close, stopped, just breathed. Not a slip of skin touched between them. Droplets fell from his locks and long nose, fell just inches before rolling down Jackie's cheeks. He smelt of salt and earth.Jackie's lips parted involuntarily, asymmetrically. Never breaking her gaze, she stretched, wriggled just a bit, tilted her groin and chin. She heard the figure's pupils dilate, heard his shuddering breath, sensed his heavy arousal. A small smile of glee split her face. She squirmed in the sand beneath him, like a sea star, free beneath his hanging weight. Then, suddenly deadly serious, she stopped. With dearest care, she shifted just a little, pulled the inside of a smooth thigh to meet his knee. The figure shuddered, shut his eyes. Jackie struck, pushed her lips into his. For a moment, she could taste the warmth, the salt. Then, the world spun.The figure disappeared. The stars went out. The black sky fell away. Jackie awoke to a riveted, titanium ceiling studded with white lights. She flailed momently, gasping wetly. Tubes hung before her face, wet with the spit of her own trachea. Pressure lifted from her wrists, ankles, and abdomen. She began to float from the padded pod where she lay.Jackie's clumsy fingers found rails on either edge of the pod. She held herself within, panted. She swallowed dryly, blinked, surveyed the pod, her white sleep shorts and top, the room about her. After a moment, she groaned in recognition and disappointment. Any arousal she'd experienced had flown with her dream, left her with naught but a sodden crotch in a chilly room."Good morning, Specialist Jaqueline Kent," said a voice, at once sonorous and very dull.Jackie tried to sit up and look over the side of the bed. The inertia of the action strained her fingers. Her hands split from the rail. She floated from the bed, frowned.Across the room was a crop-haired man in red. His cotton jumpsuit strained where it failed to accommodate his chest and back. He had cold, blue eyes and a pointed nose. He held onto a support rail, feet firmly affixed to the vaguely-concave floor in magnet boots."Who the fu..." coughed Jackie, barely audible. She rasped. "The fuck are you?" She inadvertently turned upside down in the microgravity, crossed her arms over her floating tits."My pardon, Specialist Kent. My designation is Sam.""You're..." said Jackie, trying to find a more dignified stance. She failed, ended up sort of weakly kicking off the side wall. She made a face as she clipped the stasis pod, wheeled into Sam. Her face collided with his broad chest. He caught her there. For a moment, Jackie's cheek and nose pressed into him. He was firm, but soft. He smelled of soap and salt."You're a service unit, an organic android?" she said, frowning, as Sam pulled her away from him."Indeed.""Why isn't this place being spun for gravity?" raged Jackie, shuffling from his grasp. Strong fingers released from her upper arms."The habitat is spun for only eight hours of the 24-hour cycle, per regulated health minimums. Generator and battery capacity are prioritized for the lighthouse array, rather than gravity rotors. The next spin commences tonight, in several minutes," said Sam, smiling thinly. "For now, please accept these mag boots.""Fine," said Jackie, cold. She bumped against the wall, struggled to pull a boot on. The other floated away. She made a face, huffed, weak from stasis sleep. "Please, allow me," said Sam. For just a moment, Jackie twisted her face as if to protest, but relented. She moved close, allowed the android to wrap an arm around each of her calves in turn, slip a boot over the foot, and strap it tight. For a moment, she relaxed, felt the long hands wrap near-entirely round her bare ankles. They were firm, but not rough. Sam moved away. "There."Jackie tentatively pushed away, set a foot to the floor, felt it stick. "Thanks," she said, quietly."Allow me to show you around the lighthouse. Afterwards, you may recuperate. It will only take a moment. The station is not large, and I understand by your Company service record that you have served in this role before.""There wasn't an android on my last lighthouse. I do this job because I like the solitude."Sam looked genuinely regretful. "I am sorry. You must understand I was attached to this station by the company. I am their property.""Yeah, yeah," said Jackie, seeing his face. A spike of empathy broke through her grumpiness. "You don't seem like bad company, anyway. What model are you?" she said, as Sam opened the hatch for them to exit."I am a Serault Corporation Ceres-6," he said, stepping through. Jackie followed. The concave floor of the room beyond was double-walled transparent alloy. It acted as a gigantic window out onto the red and purple nebula which the lighthouse was meant to warn of. Along the walls, set so one might look down into the nebula, were leather benches, a few pod chairs, and a bed with microgravity webbing, all somewhat worn. Crimson light played over the white upholstery and sheets.Jackie looked over the living quarters, far nicer than she'd had before. She gaped at the nebula for a moment, watched a streak of magenta light cross Sam's eyes and face. "So, you're one of those white-blooded ones?""My internal serum is a sucrose base. It serves modified roles in all my body fluids. It is indeed an off-white.""Sucrose? A real sweetie, huh?""If indeed it were to be tasted, my serum would taste of sugar." He looked her in the eyes, terribly sincere.Jackie looked away, grinned uncomfortably. "Right. Have any other special features?" she said, sarcastic."As Ceres-6 models are designed for small crew missions, our personality precepts are mutable. We change in reaction or in request to facilitate maximum compatibility.""Ah, well. Good to know." Jackie looked about awkwardly, arms crossed. "I take it this is my room?""Indeed, this is the lighthouse keeper's room," he blinked at her, slow."And where do you sleep?""Though I do not often enter my hibernation cycle, I have a pod in the crew maintenance room we just exited."Jackie suddenly uncrossed her arms, waved one about. "Listen, do you need to stare me straight in the eyeballs all the time? It's freaking me out.""Would you prefer I focus on a different portion of your body?" said Sam. He concernedly looked at her left foot."Like, shit. No. Just let your eyes wander like a normal person, okay?""Understood," said Sam. He glanced at her eyes, then about the room, then down into the floor-window."A little less wildly, maybe.""Yes, Specialist Kent." His eyes flitted over Jackie, focused momently on the nipples poking through her airy sleep top. Jackie crossed her arms, blushed. "And call me Jackie, not Specialist Kent.""Understood, Jackie.""And smile a bit more.""Of course," he said, doing so. Jackie shivered, not from the chill air. The lines which pulled about the android's eyes and nose bridge turned the cold face quite warm. It stayed that way."Well," said Jackie, hesitating. "We're getting on better already," she said, only half as sarcastic as she meant. "Can we continue the tour? I could use a shower.""Of course." He continued to a hatch on the other side of the room. Jackie stepped through as well. They entered a circular room with a ladder in the center. The walls were ringed with computer panels and other hatches."This is the primary communication room. Here, you-""Sam, I know how to use the comms.""My apologies," he said. "This hatch leads to the EVA room. This one to the galley. This one to life support. The ladder leads up to the secondary systems and down to engineering.""I take it life support has the shower?""Indeed.""Great. Anything else?""No. We commence operation tomorrow morning, approximately an hour after the eight-hour spin." He broke off for a moment, canted his head. His eyes trailed over Jackie's bare abdomen, likely by chance. She squirmed, regardless. Sam raised his eyebrows, continued. "The spin, which I believe should commence now."There was a jerk, a hollow whine in the hull of the station, a rush in Jackie's ears. Jackie and Sam slowly settled under the centrifugal forces. Jackie adjusted her shorts, surreptitiously. "I'm going to shower.""There are requisite uniforms and undergarments waiting for you.""Gee, thanks for laying out my underwear.""Of course, Jackie."Jackie shook her head, kicked off the mag boots, stomped to the life support bay. She shut the hatch with a good deal of force. The bathroom was behind a secondary hatch, near the spare air purification tanks and the waterless laundry engine. It was stark, shiny white, floored with nobly grip tiles. There were indeed clothes laid out for her: A red jumpsuit and white boyshorts. Jackie passed them just a glance before dropping her shorts and top. Naked, she passed the small mirror, sneered at her baggy eyes, her body, depilated for stasis sleep.She stepped into the shower. A touch panel reading "Shower Ration: 2 Minutes," met her."Same old station-life," she groaned, punched the Start key.A vertical shower hit from above. Mist quickly filled the room. Jackie moaned for the heat, turned her head and chest to face the stream. Little rivulets poured from her nose, chin, nipples. At these she looked askance, gently surprised. She cupped, rubbed one between thumb and forefinger experimentally, sighed a little. She repeated this with both, sighed a lot. Doing so, suddenly quite determined, she stepped back and leaned back, pressed her rump against the white wall. One hand, the right one, slipped between her hairless legs, which she widened just sufficiently. They wobbled a bit, weak from stasis. She leaned harder against the wall, slipped a middle finger over and through her dripping vulva, split the lips, found it dripping inside, too. The left hand joined, found the clit, elicited a hum, a bitten lip. Several wet seconds later, a groan. Jackie's face tipped upwards. Her thighs twitched. Droplets hit her screwed-up eyelids, her open mouth.The water stopped abruptly. Jackie jerked upright. "Motherfucker," she said, a cry fading into a mumble. She leaned through the steam, slightly pigeontoed, red the touch panel. It said, "Time until next Shower Ration: 18 hours." Jackie rubbed her temples, groaned resignedly. The cold of the station was already seeping into the shower. Quickly, she dried, performed her remaining ablutions, threw on the insulated red jumpsuit over still-aching nipples.Jackie emerged to find Sam in the life-support bay. He was shirtless, jumpsuit rolled at the waste, supine beneath a large conduit emitting steam. Droplets rolled over his long fingers and corded forearms, dripped and slid over an expanse of blond-furred chest. Veins stood out in his neck and arms, swollen from the effort of having just slotted a hefty filter into place. As Jackie approached, he turned."Jackie," he said, emerging carefully from under the conduit. He panted gently, lips parted just a tad. They were pink, creased. Human. "How are we?""I'm fine, thanks," said Jackie, forcibly pulling her eyes to his. She looked for a moment longer, watched a vein pulse on his temple. "If you don't mind me saying, you're damn realistic, aren't you?""I am, on the exterior, functionally and visually indistinguishable from a human man.""Yup," said Jackie, moving to leave."Jackie?"She turned back a moment. "Yes?""Is the station too cold for your comfort?" His eyes brows, cream and near-invisible, were arched in concern.Jackie squinted, raised an eyebrow. "No. It's fine.""Good. And, do make sure to have the appropriate post-stasis ration packs. I have concerns your flight here has left you low on muscle mass."Jackie turned away. "Yeah."She opened the hatch to her quarters, shut it with a huff. One protein pack later, she had stripped off her jumpsuit, dead asleep.Hours later, Jackie woke to a crimson nebulaic glow. She floated, bleary, in the microgravity webbing. The vibrating hum of the spin-rotors had died. Now, there was merely silence. Dully, Jackie moved to turn over under the webbing. As her thighs shifted, she felt a tingling wetness from some dream she couldn't remember. Idly, half asleep, she let a fingertip creep down her belly, trace over the soaked groin of her shorts, begin to prod, massage. She hummed, rubbed her cheek into the netting.Nearby, a hatch creaked open. Jackie jerked awake, hang back her hand, froze."Ready to get to work, Specialist Jackie?"Jackie groaned. "Yup," she said. Sam nodded, smiled, retreated into the comms room. The hatch clacked shut.Only after clambering out of the sleep webbing did Jackie realize her floating tits had been in full view. The Corporation had some odd opinions about bras in space. Jackie shook her head. "Chill, girl. Robot doesn't care."The proceeding five hours were a floating blur. Jackie stood in the comms room, directed ship after ship in non-collision courses around the nebula. The job was a steep and constant series of calls and responses to incoming and waiting craft. Sam assisted."Astroliner 313, after well veer, climb straight ahead five degrees Kepler. Thank you.""Jackie, we have a Corsican military craft requesting expedited access," said Sam."Tell him to follow the greens and stand by for expedite.""EES Pearl River is expressing a complaint.""Send them the docs. They can deal with the Company." She changed channels. "Yes, Arrowtine Sirius, you have permission to take route bravo in five. Thank you.""Jackie, I'm directing Designate 476 to hold. Their cargo requires maximum berth.""Thanks, Sam."Sam smiled thinly at her. He had started doing that more often. His eyes stayed crinkled kindly, when he did. Jackie kept watching him.Abruptly, Sam frowned. "Jackie, we have an error.""What?""New connections are timing out. We have a receiver down from d

In this episode, Keith opens up about the rollercoaster ride of building and running his own landscaping business. You'll hear about why he now schedules all his landscaping quotes for Mondays. It's part of a strategy to bring more sanity into his hectic schedule and ensure that he's not just drowning in work but enjoying life. Keith dives into those early days of hardcore hustle when he was grinding seven days a week to keep things afloat. Whether you're in the landscaping business or any other venture, you probably know the strain it can put on your personal life — missing dinners with family and events with friends. That's where his newfound love for batching tasks comes in. By tackling quotes all in one day, he's improved efficiency and reclaimed some downtime. He also doesn't shy away from the challenges—like managing employees, dealing with unexpected problems, and the nerve-wracking task of raising prices. These are real-talk moments that many small business owners face, and Keith shares his journey with humor and honesty. Whether you're a seasoned entrepreneur or starting, Keith's stories about figuring out how to make better money in less time and dealing with the daily chaos of running a business will resonate. He wraps it all up with a reminder to be grateful, stay committed, and always keep pushing forward. So, grab your headphones, get comfy, and enjoy this episode full of real-life insights and inspiration!     Check out these episode highlights: 00:00 - Adopting Batching for Efficiency and Balance 03:24 - Monday Quote-Only System Success 06:28 - "Struggles in Legalizing Small Businesses" 13:14 - "Seeking Rock Star Employees" 14:55 - Launching New Crew: Monday Rollout Plan 20:55 - Newlywed Arguments and Hurt Feelings 24:41- Prioritize Selfishness for Business Success 28:05 - Weekend Motivation and Mike Andes Recognition    Key Takeaways:  Efficient Batching: Discover how dedicating a single day to client quotes can enhance your time management, allowing for deeper focus and increased productivity throughout the week. Work-Life Balance: Transitioning quotes to a fixed schedule has helped reclaim personal time without sacrificing business success, marking a significant shift towards a healthier work-life balance. Growth through Challenges: Hear stories on navigating the complexities of scaling a business, from handling employee challenges to making tough pricing decisions while maintaining a committed and grateful mindset.   Resources and Websites:  Unstrapped Alliance -  https://www.keithkalfas.com/alliance

Strap in for a journey back to the good old days with this Retro Rewind of the Goin' Deep Show, episode 1010.  Kid's Self-Love Session: In this blast from the past, we start with The Kid's undying love for himself.  Balls or Delusion?: The Kid's ex thought she had some balls - oh, how wrong she was. Decor from Hell: Our studio back then was a sight for sore eyes - or rather, a sight to make your eyes sore.  Wally's Wild Hunt: Wally was out in the woods in this episode, not for deer, but for a different kind of game - the human kind. His outdoor hunting extravaganza was all about bagging the ultimate trophy - ass. Love Games: GDub had this brilliant idea where women would compete for our love. Think of it as the original reality TV show, but instead of roses, they're competing for our dicks.  Football Over Family: Wally was clear as day; no woman should dare talk about family shit during an NFL game. He coined the term "Demilitarized Zone" for the top of the vagina - because that's where the peace should start, and the bitching should end. The Trimming Debate: We went deep on whether women should keep things neat down there or let it all grow out.  Fantasy Orgy Train: We entertained the idea of running a train on a bunch of hotties - back when the thought of such debauchery was still novel and not just another Tuesday night. Kid's Offensive Streak: The Kid was on fire, offending every woman in sight. But hey, in this throwback, he finds redemption in the good book, telling every chick to read up on submission. It's in there, so if you're pissed, you can take it up with the Bible, not us. That's the Retro Rewind for you, a look back at when we were even more unfiltered, if that's possible. If you survived this trip down memory lane, you're one of the true degenerates.  Go Deep, Motherfuckers.

Options:Based on a post by FinalStand, in 13 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. ‘Senior Deputy Sheriff Samsonov is a hell of a guy,' Brandy mused.‘Him? No; not at first. Before me, the man had the sexual techniques of a cloistered monk. His cock on the other hand; whoa Nelly!' All three women nodded. ‘I had to train him over the years and he's pretty stubborn with these peculiar ideas about propriety and what locations are acceptable for intercourse.'‘Huh?' That was Brandy.‘In my opinion, if you can escape law enforcement it isn't really a crime.'‘What?' Taliyah.Sigh; ‘is there a place you wouldn't attempt to have sex?' Gayle looked them over. The two teens exchanged looks.‘Where is the weirdest place you've had sex?' Brandy asked the senior sex fiend.‘It is a toss-up between fucking while parachuting and having two orgasms in the Seattle Space Needle.' The girls looked for the joke. ‘Bitches, I don't mind you being centerpieces at a gang bang for the entire football team because of some sort of archaic moral hang-up. I'm glad my boys picked a pair of experienced sluts; I am.'Taliyah's fist clenched. Brandy took a different approach.‘So Vlad really doesn't care that I'm; more experienced?' A K A, nowhere close to virginal.‘No; not in the least. I don't like the fact you two let yourself be used as sex slaves by fuckers you know don't respect you,' Gayle schooled them.‘So you really don't mind me hitting Mik?' Taliyah mentally regrouped.‘Not at all. Some Men need a strong spinal realignment from time to time and don't call him 'Mik'. He finds it insulting and not in a playful way.'‘Do you hit; Mr. Samsonov?'‘No. The man is immune to negative physical reinforcement. Lord knows, I've tried. With their Da, it pays to be simple and direct. I grab his cock and say 'Here! Now!' and get down to business.'Both girls were aghast at both the visual and Gayle's frank honesty.‘And he puts up with that?' Taliyah grunted. Senior Deputy Samsonov was a huge man and could have tossed Mrs. Samsonov around one-handed, or so she had believed. He'd never came across like the cunt-whipped type.‘He's my partner, Taliyah,' Gayle kept 'explaining'. ‘He knows I'm a constantly horny, little slut whose kitty needs petting and I respect his rarely doing anything else I want him to do; like getting my name tattooed on his cock, starting a bar brawl for the shits and giggles, celebrating National Nude Day, or going skinny-dipping in your pool,' aimed at Brandy.‘Have you two had sex in my house?' Brandy choked.‘Twice,' Gayle recalled fondly. ‘Once in the kitchen, bent over the center island; a trifecta; and once in your Daddy's bedroom. I hoped he enjoyed the show on the playback.'‘She really is crazy,' Taliyah looked to Brandy.‘That I am,' Gayle gleefully agreed. ‘Back to the program. Brandy, tomorrow morning before Homeroom, I want you to 'suggest' to Vlad you want double-penetration. He'll ask you if it is my idea, you'll tell him 'no' and he'll believe you are lying to him. He'll go along with it anyway to make sure I don't get angry with you.'‘Will you?' Brandy meeped. ‘Will he?'‘No and no. Your sensuality is pretty physical, Brandy. You'll learn to be a lying, manipulative whore later.'‘You want me to lie to Vlad? He'll be furious with me when he finds out!'‘No, he'll be angry with me for making you lie to him,' Gayle shook her head. ‘Vlad's clever that way.'‘But; you want us to lie to them?' Taliyah didn't believe her.‘Taliyah, any man who believes everything a woman tells him is an idiot. My boys aren't idiots, just inexperienced and hormonal.'‘So you want us to lie to them,' Taliyah confirmed.‘I want you two to use your fucking brains along with those smoking hot bodies; that is what I want,' Gayle clarified. ‘Tomorrow, arrange for the Cheer Squad to meet in the Music Room at the start of 4th period. It just so happens, the Music Room is unoccupied during the 3rd period as well; here is the key,' she handed Brandy a key.‘You have a key to the Music Room?' Taliyah muttered.‘No. I have a Master Key to the school. I took it off that fat bastard former-Principal after he attempted to rape me,' she confessed blithely. ‘I made some copies for contingencies such as this.'‘Now Brandy; you, Vlad and Mikhail are going to skip 3rd period, sneak off to the Music Room and; enjoy yourselves. Take your time. Turn it into one huge seduction. Use that body to make them lose all track of time.'‘Where am I going to be?' Taliyah frowned; her Man was going to be fucking Brandy, damn it! Her aching possessiveness was new and raw.‘You make sure you are the first one to the room at the bell between the 3rd and 4th period. Gather up the girls and sneak them into the room with your key,' Gayle handed Taliyah another key.‘Won't the period bell let them know something's up?' Taliyah wondered.‘What are they going to do? Rip their dicks out of Brandy?'‘Oh no; ‘ Brandy gasped and shook her head. She didn't like that idea at all.‘No. Brandy will tell them the Music Room is vacant for the 4th period as well; so, in theory, they could keep going for another five, or ten minutes,' Gayle said.‘And the other eleven cheerleaders are going to walk into the room, see Brandy, Vlad and Mikhail; ‘‘Perhaps less than eleven, but yes; rushing hungrily to join in; ‘ Gayle interrupted.‘Oh; ‘ Taliyah blinked. ‘They are going to see the three of us and fall magically in love with them; oh.'‘Kind of like what happened to you,' Gayle smirked to Taliyah.‘Wait! Did you have Mikhail and Vlad; or just Mikhail, do that to me on purpose; at the lodge?' Taliyah rumbled angrily.‘No. What I needed to know was written all over Brandy's face their first Saturday together. My boy 'fixed' her something good. You and Mikhail keeping your hands off one another wasn't even a possibility; he was horny, just like you.'‘I swear, if that boy had set me up,' Taliyah growled.‘I suggest scratching and biting to remind him you are unhappy with him,' Gayle provided unlooked for advice and insight. ‘If that doesn't work, try hot candle wax.' The two girls, once again, gawked at Gayle. ‘Or you can pout, whine and tell him he is a big bully,' she spoke mockingly.Taliyah glared.‘Taliyah, you both like rough sex.  I am suggesting you keep going with what works,' Gayle chuckled. ‘Brandy, you keep up the pouting. Be a little less whiney.  Your 'pouty' pisses him off and makes him want to punish you with some hard fucking.'Pause.‘Oh,' Brandy grinned. Pouting = primal sex. check! Taliyah play-punched her, so Brandy pouted at them both.‘That'll do,' Gayle approved.‘What do we do if Vlad and Mikhail decide they like one of the other girls more?' Brandy revisited her panic.‘Fight for them,' Gayle sighed in exasperation. ‘Just like you two should be worthy of fighting over, you should be prepared to fight for their affections as well. I don't mean debasing yourselves. I mean reminding them you are the ones who will make them happiest, inside and outside of the sexual arena.'‘If Mikhail's gaze strays too long, I'll nut him,' Taliyah declared.‘I suggest a Charlie Horse on the off chance you surprise him. Do you really want to put that nut-sack out of commission?' Gayle snorted.‘Ah, good point,' Taliyah nodded; then, ‘How do you do a good Charlie Horse?'It dawned on both girls, like a flash of lightning across a clear night sky, they had been suborned to Gayle Fonteneau Samsonov's agenda; to the point where they were asking the older woman; the hated, feared enemy-bitch; for practical advice. The World had turned upside down.What it means.For me and Mikhail it meant no sex without being privileged to know why we were being punished. Dad came home with our young English teacher, Ms. Blanchard, only to have to drive Brandy and Taliyah back to school to pick up Taliyah's car; so she could drive Brandy home, not me.Alexander didn't have sex either (as far as I could tell), yet was gifted with an attentive Ms. Andrea Blanchard who 'appreciated' his gallant nature. Stunningly, Alexander's infirmity reappeared and Ms. Blanchard felt obliged to dote on him in a confusing flirtatious-mothering style. It took me a bit to figure out there was a fearful nervousness behind her actions as well.The situation was exacerbated by Mom deciding to get naked; ugh; just as everyone else was clearing the table.‘Nik,' Mom purred.‘Huh?' from Dad.‘Here; now!'‘Huh?'‘Sex.'‘We have company, Gayle.'‘And?'‘Quick!' I jumped up. ‘Everyone grab a plate and run for it.'Isabo hurried the children from the room while the rest of us stacked up the plates and serving trays as rapidly as possible before making our own exits. Andrea was flabbergasted. To add to her surreal feelings, as soon as we made our escape, the rest of the house life returned to normalcy. Even Bebe, who had been initially (in her case; weeks ago) freaked out by Mom's eccentric sexual behavior, appeared amused. I left it to Alexander to help Andrea adjust.‘Mom's; eccentric; erratic; and free spirited,' he shrugged.‘So, this happens; ah; often?' she whispered. No one else was whispering, but we understood the impulse.‘Two, or three, times a week,' Alexander admitted.‘; a week?' Andrea gulped.‘Oh yeah,' smirked Mikhail. ‘Don't worry. We understand Mom is beyond unusual. You won't see anyone else doing that; around here.'‘Okay; ‘ she hesitated. Ms. Blanchard caught his pause.‘What my brother is referring to is an earlier, unfortunate episode up at the hunting lodge,' I punched Mikhail as I explained. He chuckled.By the look on Ms. Blanchard's face, she was unsure if she wanted further clarification. Alexander took a slightly defensive posture hovering close by. Bebe, normally so silent around us boys, miraculously came to her rescue.‘Andrea; Mrs. Samsonov is a wonderful woman. She's also off her rocker and everyone in the house knows it. What is important is her true affection for those she holds close is genuine, her dedication is fierce in all she does and her husband and sons carry that intense devotion into their own friendships.'‘Thank you, Bebe,' I nodded. ‘As an outsider looking in; well, I couldn't have possibly said it better myself; being on the inside.'Andrea nodded as well. After all, Mom's insanity translated over to a bloodily beaten, abusive former Principle, five plus beaten students who had harassed her, a school escort, new locks on all her windows and doors, and a completely unsolicited whole house-cleaning.A feminine feline purr rumbled from the dining room. The five of us exchanged awkward looks.‘Ms. Blanchard, have you seen the stables?' I intervened. Her eyes flickered to me.‘No.'‘Great.'Mom's moan faded into Dad's growl. While my Pa was generally oblivious on the uptake and slow out of the starting gate, he was the ‘Hammer of the Gods', once he got going, about 1 hour minimum. Considering we three were most likely going to grow up to be similar in stamina to him; we had high hopes for our long term sexual futures.‘Alexander, why don't you show Ms. Blanchard the stables. Bebe, why don't you make yourself and Ms. Blanchard something to drink with a kick to it while Mikhail gets himself and Alexander something legit to drink,' I took command.‘Why am I involved in any of this?' Mikhail scoffed.‘I have to do the dishes because I was elsewhere; ‘ I reminded him.‘Oh yeah,' Mikhail snorted. Off he went. Bebe gave me a tiny smile before turning and heading for the library and its bar.‘Ms. Blanchard?' Alexander offered to direct the educator outside via another, 'safer' route.‘Oh; maybe I should go?' she hedged.‘Ah; ‘ Mom.‘Your purse is; ?' Alexander asked. We knew the answer. It was in the hallway; right outside the entrance to the dining room. It would be offsetting, or so it might appear. In actuality, my brothers and I had snuck thru the 'danger zone' many times before.‘Let's go see the stables,' Andrea redirected Alexander. I had a kitchen to clean up, so I missed the detailed tour of the stables as well as Ms. Blanchard's decision to spend the night; again.Tuesday.To maintain the illusion of Ms. Blanchard not spending time with Alexander (even though there was nothing sexual going on), we triplets were sitting in her gravel driveway while she ran inside to change and got a few things. 'A few things' meant a shot of vodka. She'd take a breath mint afterwards, but come on now; we were from Russian stock and vodka was our national beverage. It still made Alexander nervous.Mom had taken a different tactic in dealing with Ms. Blanchard's alcoholism. After she and Consuela cleaned up the place, Mom had come back with vodka bottles big and small and hidden them all over her small home; a shot glass with each big bottle. She'd left sticky notes to let her know where each bottle was hidden. I imagined the sticky notes were gone now, yet;The psychology was a shot glass would mean less alcohol per desperate desire to bury her pain and misery. The 'game' would allow Andrea to indulge while not turning her domicile into a drunkard's den. In theory, she could safely have company over now. Lastly, if Ms. Blanchard got too drunk, she couldn't remember where the bottles were hidden, or so the reasoning went.At school, Alexander (with our help) would diminish the root cause of her anguish; the sexual blackmail her students inflicted on her. At 'home', Mom and Bebe were befriending Andrea Blanchard; giving her female friends to connect with outside of the school's still poisonous BBC atmosphere.I was ruminating over that when;‘Do you really believe Mom's bullshit about 'magic dicks'?' Mikhail asked me out of the blue. Alexander was out of the Mustang, sitting on Ms. Blanchard's stoop. Today, Mikhail had ridden his motorcycle over, so I had the car momentarily to myself. I hesitated.‘Fuck,' he groaned. In our triplet group, I was the 'clever' one. We didn't resent our designations;·         Alexander; kind,·         Vlad; clever, and·         Mikhail, violent;because it allowed us leeway in our actions. See, Mikhail could react physically to problems because he knew if he was doing something exceedingly stupid, I'd stop him.If he was being 'too' brutal, Alexander would reign him in. Likewise, if Mikhail's gut instinct was to lash out, we respected it. Sometimes instinct trumped reason. If Alexander was being too sappy, we'd let him know. If I was over-thinking something, either brother could step in. By the time we hit our mid-teens, we couldn't imagine any other way of living.By our 18th birthdays we figured we'd spend the rest of our live together; we were an awesome trio and rightly proud of our co-dependence. Even if we ended up on the run with Uncle Theo, we'd all go down together. It was how we faced the family and our world. The blood-kin Samsonov's weren't the easiest people to deal with. We had Mom to thank for us not quite fitting in.We loved and admired Dad and his family. Mom's upbringing had tainted our way of thinking though. Time and again, Mom skirted, bent, or bastardized the 'ordinary' way of approaching life's pitfalls and pleasures. We three would never truly be 'Samsonovs'. I think Dad knew that as well. The one time an older cousin slipped us a catalog on the best Criminal Justice College programs in Alaska; Dad frowned. The man quietly withdrew his 'suggestion'.In a way, it was a blessing to the clan. Thanks to Mom, we were also gifted with the ability to navigate the machinations of the Samsonov brides and grooms; those folks who married into our lineage. Since they were all somewhat nutty, our ability to separate them when the lunacy set in was appreciated. That way, the rest of them didn't have to become overly confrontational; which was the way the blood-Samsonovs liked it.Being the clever one, I also clued into Mikhail's subliminal anger. He didn't want to cheat to get Taliyah's affections. He might even start trying not to be a jackass around her because of it; making them both miserable.‘Mikhail, you had her on the kitchen counter and backing that ass up against you in the recliner before any 'magic' kicked in. She likes you for reasons which defy even 'magic dicks',' I punched him in the arm.‘Thanks,' he nodded then hit me back. ‘So, what's next?'‘Gang-bang.'‘You really think we are going to pull it off?'‘Yeah. Mom sketched out the general plan to me a while ago,' I nodded.‘Cool. I've wanted to stick my cock down Alondra Lamb's throat ever since the first time I saw her lips part,' Mikhail rubbed his hands together.‘Taliyah is going to whoop up on you if she hears you talk like that,' I cautioned him.‘Yeah,' he grinned like the Heath Leger's Joker. ‘Cool, ain't it?'‘Being slapped by a girl?'‘Nah,' he cavalierly dismissed any misconceptions. ‘Making her angry with me. Then she gets this look in her eyes like she's going to own me; it is a huge fucking turn on.'‘Mom would be so proud,' I muttered.‘Then I'm going to nail Jewel Lafontanté,' Mikhail's eyes shown with relish.‘She's not on the Cheer Squad,' I pointed out.‘Yeah, but she's sexy, smart and thinks she a 'top' bitch,' he chuckled.‘Isn't she dating somebody?'‘So? I only want to borrow her; take her out for a spin,' he laughed. He was a jackass and ambitious and;‘Mikhail, both those girls are Black. Do you have a thing for Black chicks?'‘I like 'em dark,' he mused. ‘Hadn't really thought about it as a preference, but you're right. My Top Ten 'Most Fuckable List is filled with Ladies of Color. I guess that means you get the blondes and Alexander gets the red-heads and brunettes.'‘Top Ten List? You're a pig,' I chided him.‘Grunt, grunt, oink.'To put things in perspective, Alondra Lamb was a medium height, tawny skin Black lass with straight, black hair past her shoulders and a killer body with decent tits, perfect for her athletic body type, and a divine ass.She was also; to put it politely; mentally-underwhelming. Beyond her exemplary looks, she was an above-average gymnast and on most days capable of tying her own shoes; the ones with the Velcro straps. Her hazel eyes were always wide open and her lips pursed in an 'o' unless she was blathering on about something inane and off-topic, or just giggling for no understandable reason.She found simple things amusing (kind of adorable) and didn't 'date' a member of the football team; she barely could remember their names and normally got passed around like a living onahole. I felt sorry for her. Usually, she hung out with Betty Jo Starling (one of the team's other two Blondes) who shared her mentally-endearing qualities. The rest of the squad treated those two rather poorly.In contrast, Jewel Lafontanté was from a new (to Kingston) nouveau riche Black Family. Rumors say her Dad worked for the Government years ago, before setting out and founding his own IT company here in Arkansas. He and his Choctaw wife had retired here in Kingston a few years back. They bought a nice spread and became pillars of the community. Jewel was a late child. The rest of her brothers and sisters were grown, with families of their own. So she was effectively an Only Child, doted on by her aged parents.Jewel was also one of the smartest kids in school, one of the best members of the local studio's Dance troupe and possessed a crippling wit. At 5' 11', she was noticed and her curvaceous and sporty build was widely admired, although when her dark eyes danced with amusement at the suffering her 'diversions' caused, the timid backed away. Her preference for a different hairstyle, or two, every week kept the local hair stylists in business.She was bright, sassy and vicious with her own little group of Black women called the ZPP (Zulu Princess Posse, i.e.  6 rich Black girls and their one token rich White girl). They only dated 'rich' Black guys, yet consistently cheated with impoverished, or medium-income, White underclassmen. They toyed with the boys and finally let their official 'boyfriends' know of the White boy's indiscretions. If you somehow resisted their advances, they lied about what happened instead. Either way, beatings always followed.During Darius' reign, Jewel had kept a low profile from 7:15 to 2:15 pm and hadn't participated in the school's sports religion. No; she'd stayed safely away doing stuff with the other rich kids on the evenings and weekends. Darius must have decided her dad, while old, was an uncertain enough quantity to not screw around with his youngest child.Brief Segway.Beyond my understanding at the time, Jewel also represented another fabric of Kingston/Davis society; those from the post-divide i.e. higher-income families from out-of-State who moved in after the new millennia, both Black and White, who weren't invested in the bitter interracial struggle of the 1970's and took the status quo at face value.They'd moved here when Arkansas State put a satellite campus in down the road and the natural recreation industry gained a regional recognition; sports-fishing, hunting and hiking. A S U Kingston was a Medical Technical School which taught, as you might guess, various programs for technicians in the medical field as well as nursing. Not only did the graduates not normally go on to top tier careers, A S U K wasn't a research university, so the teaching staff, while well-to-do in this rural dystopia, weren't filthy rich either.A S U -K had a small campus with a faculty and student population under 2,000 and was, like the White Middle-class enclave of Sunshine Terrace, its own little microcosm in Davis County. Yep; A S U -K had its own Campus Police Force while Sunshine Terrace had a contracted private security service.Anyway, as Kingston prospered and the Middle Class Whites fled to their own segregated hamlet, these new Blacks moved into Kingston. Likewise, more 'country' Blacks moved in from Davis County as well, further segregating the races. Forty years after Taliyah's grandfather was first elected mayor, Kingston had tripled in size (2,100 to 6,400) while Davis County as a whole was roughly 60% larger (13,500 to 21,700), thus the Town being 'Black' while the County was 'White'.Inside, the town's Black community was another divide and it was best expressed in their 'womenfolk' and what was expected of them. Dominique, for all her power and influence, basically worried about her daughter dating the 'popular' Black guy because this was BBC country and women defined their positions by the masculine auras around them.In contrast, Jewel's mother didn't worry over-much about who Jewel dated, because Jewel was going to college (somewhere else). High school and high school boys were just stepping stones. BBC was still out there, but 'the Modern Black Woman' had developed a host of weaponry of their own. To the outside world, such a distinction made Jewel and her Mamma feminists.Later on Jewel was to qualify that for us; she was a Feminist with a capital 'F'. Whereas Taliyah wanted to own Mikhail's body and soul because he challenged and completed her, Jewel wanted to own us; period; all three of us Samsonov boys.Why?Excuses were for people who needed to explain themselves to their fellow losers. Winners like Jewel 'achieved' and took what rewards they wished.Apparently seeking Equal Rights was a hallmark of the unambitious, being 'just as a good as a man' was settling for less and Racial Equality implied there might be something a White Person could do that a Woman of Color couldn't do better; according to her doctrine. Had they (Jewel, her mom and our Mom) not all been Class-A Bitches, they would have gotten along famously.To be fair, had Mikhail not gone gunning for her, she would have most likely left us alone; but he did. My youngest brother is an asshole at times, as well as relentless, and after so many years having Mom controlling our social lives, he now was sexually 'off his leash'.Resume‘How about we just stick with the Cheer Squad for the rest of the week,' I tried to divert him. ‘Perhaps you might find ten other women enough for you.'‘Nope,' Mikhail shook his head and laughed.‘How about Taliyah's feelings?' I launched as a 'Hail Mary'.‘No,' he kept shaking his head. ‘I'm not boyfriend material, Vlad. Sex is too much fun. I really like Taliyah, but; no. No promises, no lies and no illusions. There is going to be no ring on my finger, or through my nose. I'll hold her hand, and hold her if she's weeping, but I'm not going to mistake sex for friendship, or vice versa. I'm 18, damn it! I want to roam.'The rest of the conversation was truncated by Ms. Blanchard's appearance. Mikhail returned to his motorcycle, Alexander got into the Mustang and she got into her battered, green 1997 Toyota Camry. Off we went. Close to the main entrance of the main building, most of the Cheer Squad was waiting for us. They were dressed in 'regular' clothes; we knew them by their faces.As soon as we rolled up, Rashaan Quinterre and a few of the football team members made an appearance. Taliyah frowned. Her frown only deepened when another cheerleader; this one White, Randi Leigh Upshaw, went into his arms. He did his best to look triumphant. Randi Leigh certainly looked pleased with herself.‘Coach is making Rashaan the new Team Captain,' she informed the crowd.‘Ha!' Mikhail laughed at the couple. ‘Anyone who thinks Rashaan Quinterre is even half the man Darius was, raise your hands.' His mockery was eviscerating. Worse, it took several seconds for several of Rashaan's teammates to raise their hands. ‘You are only Captain because your Daddy is Police Chief, not because anyone thinks you can replace Darius, you loser.'‘I'm going to kick your teeth in, Cracker,' Rashaan seethed. He had six other footballers versus Mikhail and me. How the Cheer Squad would break down was an unknown. Alexander had already deviated for the Teacher's Parking Lot. There were maybe a periphery of forty other students at that moment plus;‘Boys,' softly drawled a voice of an adult I hadn't seen before. He was a Big (as in muscular) White guy with a 'five o'clock' shadow at seven in the morning, unkempt, dark-russet hair, darting, soulless brown eyes and a weathered, sun-creased complexion.Of more critical importance he had my Samsonov Law Dog senses tingling at first sight; he was a human predator. His easy-going mannerisms were deceptive and his leadership skills were exhibited by the aura of dominion he seemed to project over the eight rednecks he had accompanying him.‘Buck!' Misty Dawn Sizemore burst forth from the Cheer Squad and ran up to the lead hillbilly. He wrapped her up in a bear hug while keeping his eyes on the rest of us. ‘I didn't think you were coming back.'‘The new nigger Principle made a deal with my wetback Parole Officer. I graduate and they cut the last three and a half years off my parole,' he replied nonchalantly.'Nigger' didn't go over well at all. It was telling to me that it took Rashaan several seconds to step up into his new leadership role. 'Wetback' on the other hand was just;‘Buck, watch your fucking mouth before you get your teeth kicked in,' Rashaan tried to sound brave, but wasn't very convincing. Buck looked him up and down, then chortled.‘Rashaan, ya ain't no Darius, Nigger,' he sneered. ‘Fuck with me and I'll gut you like the sweaty little piglet you are.' He emphasized his point by casually pushing Rashaan back a step. The light of Justice flared up against the forces of Intolerance and Intimidation.‘Taliyah, who is this latest knuckle-dragger?' Mikhail grinned at Buck.‘Your bad attitude makes you Mikhail,' Buck responded first, grinning. He'd already scouted us out; which made him even more dangerous. ‘That makes you; ,' nodding to me and since I was closer, he moved toward me for the handshake (he tried to break my phalanges and got nowhere), ‘; Vlad cause your brother Alex went hobbling off already. I'm Chester Ray Tooney, but everyone calls me Buck.'‘Hi Buck, I'm Vladimir Samsonov.'‘So, you are the guy who made Brandy's ass 'All Access',' he leered. He hadn't let go of my hand. He was about to regret that.‘Oh, so it is going to be like that then. Buck, I'll give you the same options I gave Darius on Day One. Let's settle this Man-to-Man. I'm challenging you to a duel,' I hadn't let go of his hand yet either.‘A duel?' he muttered as he pushed Misty Dawn away.‘That's a fight between two men with some semblance of rules.'‘Like an M M A bout?' he studied me.‘Sure. You dropped the insult. I issued the challenge. Now you get to pick the weapons, or lack thereof. I then pick the time and location,' I explained.‘Do this a lot?'‘You'll be the first.'‘You are really pissed over me calling Brandy a slut? Everyone knows she was Darius' hoe,' he grumbled. He'd just lost the hand-grinding war. His guys were tensing up even as I was grinding his knuckles together in my grip.‘Don't Vlad,' Taliyah spoke up. ‘Back in the day, Buck was Darius' brother Cyrus's bitch. Holding his hand might make him feel lonely.' She then taunted Buck by adding, ‘Missing Cyrus much while he's in prison?' Buck took the opportunity to sucker-punch me. To avoid the blow, I'd have had to release his hand. Instead, I took the newly proffered arm, channeled his momentum into a hip-toss and planted him on the ground.I had his wrist twisted painfully, his arm locked up and my foot was on his throat. Buck was on his back on the asphalt with a furious expression on his face.‘Motherfucker,' the closest redneck made ready to rush me.‘Take that step and I'll break his arm,' I informed them both angrily. ‘Buck, I'd appreciate it if you would apologize to Brandy now.'‘Get off me,' Buck snarled. ‘I'll fucking kill you.'‘Vlad,' Misty Dawn hesitantly reached for me.‘Vlad, let him up. He's not worth it,' Brandy intervened. When it was clear she was the one I was listening to, I backed off. I even offered Buck a hand up. Oddly, he took it; without the expected sneak attack.‘Duel, huh?' Buck scowled.‘Yeah.'‘I'll think about it.'‘I'm not hard to find,' I stepped aside as he and his group forced their way forward. His departure left Rashaan and his crew staring at me, Mikhail and the Cheer Squad once more.‘Don't worry, Misty Dawn. I wouldn't have let Vlad hurt your cousin much,' Brandy roped in her fellow cheerleader. Brandy shot me a dazzling smile in the process.‘Thanks, Vlad,' Misty smiled my way as well.What was going on? Well Brandy and Taliyah's position as leaders of the Cheer Squad

Approved Affection.Based on a post by FinalStand, in 13 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. Brandy was unlocking the door when I put a hand on her elbow and strongly turned her around. Frustration morphed into confusion and blossomed into happiness as I exacted my promised minute make-out session. Even a colossal distraction as big as the Mayor's family implosion wouldn't keep me from my Brandy-time.Big Bob 'caught' us at it. The door had been opened and the AC was exiting the front door.‘Hands above the belt-line, Mr. Samsonov,' he grumbled in a friendly manner.‘Daddy,' Brandy pouted to her Papa. ‘He's behaving himself.'‘Are you behaving yourself around my daughter?' the Sheriff quizzed me.‘Sir, I'd rather go directly to the 500 hours of community service than answer that question; Sir,' I replied. Big Bob snorted. Brandy rolled her eyes, gave me one last peck then glided past her patriarch.‘I haven't see her that happy in a long time,' Big Bob spoke softly. ‘Whatever you are doing, be a gentleman about it.'‘Ugh; I'll do my best Sheriff Carson, but it's difficult,' I groaned. Bob laughed at me and my 'agony'.‘Take care, Vlad,' he gave one final nod before closing the door. I made a quick call to Mom to update her to our change in plans. Mikhail had beaten me to the punch. She understood I had to hand-off Brandy first, no harm / no foul. She asked me to hang out at Dominque's place for a while because she knew Mr. Malik was a devious, lying rat-bastard and believed he would sweet talk his daughter into letting him back into his wife's proximity.I mulled over handing her the Malik family secret. I trusted Mom. More to the point, I trusted her to respect my decision to want that tidbit handled with care. No cops harassed me on the return trip. I had taken a circuitous route to be on the safe side. The Police Chief might be the Mayor's ally, or he might be a BBC devotee and have a Brutha solidarity moment with Chinedu too.According to their methodology, once he gave her that cock, she'd forgive every other indiscretion. True or not, I was going to try and cock-block that maneuver. I didn't have a plan when I arrived. Something immediately presented itself to me in the form of a Candy Apple Red 2014 Jaguar F Type V8 S convertible.Daddy, or Sugar-Daddy was way generous to the tune of one hundred grand; that was for damn sure. The billow red mane topping that curvaceous frame was a clear indicator the shit was going to hit the fan at the Malik household. Chine was her BBC addiction, but the Mayor was her boss and political mentor.The look she sent me was fearful over her general situation and one of only passing interest, a look I was becoming familiar with. She was yet another hot, sexy piece of filet mignon that didn't fuck White guys. Groan.‘Who are you?' she was polite enough, possibly seeking to delay the upcoming confrontation.‘I'm Vladimir Samsonov, junior Prince of Evil and I'm here to talk with your boss; she's expecting me,' dispelled her protest that the Mayor was too busy for me.‘Riley Pasternak,' she smiled. ‘I don't recognize the accent,' she added as I passed her. She let me ring the doorbell too.Statuesque and voluptuous; that is what I would call Riley. Burnished coppery hair, thick and glossy flowed in waves down to the middle of her back. Well defined brows of a slightly lighter but no less fiery color framed her oval face and enhanced her verdant eyes, pale freckled skin and flushed cheeks.The makeup she chose didn't really enhance her features which said she didn't wear it that often and the scar above her brow confirmed that she was a tomboy.She dressed to be seen, but also to move in whatever capacity needed. The push up black halter was a strong contrast to her pale skin and plumped up her already impressive cleavage.Below it she wore almost too tight hip huggers that had her lush belly just barely spilling over the waistband. Right above said waistband on the back of her hip was a tattoo that red ‘Red Wolf Bitch' for the Arkansas State Mascot. A second one was teasingly just out of sight on the front of the other hip.Drawing away just a bit from the sexy outfit were all the hippie doodles on her pants. It looked as if she'd let a five year old color on them before she put them on, the neon colors seeming to jump off the denim. She completed the ensemble with cork wedges and a tiny red purse hanging by an equally tiny red string from her shoulder.‘I'm from Alaska,' I let her know. The door flew open in seconds, revealing a tumultuous Dominque who slipped on a semi-civil mask when she saw me.‘Vlad, I thought you were going to stop by your place before coming back for your brother,' she addressed me. ‘Ms. Pasternak, get in here,' she was more abrupt with her 'underling'.I stepped aside to let Riley pass. I hadn't been invited in. Dominque took my actions into account.‘Come in Vlad. Go find your brother. I'll talk to you later,' she said.‘Well,' I began once I stepped in, ‘I think I'd be of more use sticking with you.'Dominque slammed the door behind me.‘I won't need you with me,' she corrected me.‘I'm not staying to help you,' I corrected her. ‘I'm staying to make sure Ms. Pasternak doesn't come to some misfortune.' The Mayor didn't seem pleased.‘What does he mean?' Riley looked from her Boss to me.‘Go, Vlad,' she commanded. I was a guest in her home. Barring extenuating circumstances, I was taught to behave.‘Well, nice to see you again, Ms. Pasternak,' I regarded my fellow guest. Off I went, listening for sounds of my brother and Taliyah. I was almost out of sight;‘Where have we met before?' Riley worried.‘Go, Vlad,' my hostess repeated. I kept going.‘The Cineplex two weeks ago,' I said over my shoulder. ‘The Purge: Anarchy.'‘Oh God,' she moaned. ‘V; Vlad is it; please don't leave.'I reversed course. Dominique could tell that ordering me about at this point was useless. The same instinct which had placed me between Chine and her was placing me between her and Riley.‘You fucked him,' Madame Mayor fumed. ‘Worse, you let him fuck you in a public place you; simple-minded bimbo.'‘Listen Mrs. Malik; it; I; he was insistent,' Riley back-pedaled into a wall.‘And you happened to forget he was my husband?' Dominque seethed. I had to admit she looked rather volcanic, her ass, hips and boobs trembling with repressed energy as she got ready to erupt. I maneuvered so I flanked them both, ready to interpose myself if necessary.‘How many times, Riley?' I posed the question. ‘How many times did the two of you hook up?'‘Four, five,' she reconsidered her response. Dominique looked ready to explode. She mastered herself with a great effort of will.‘What is going to happen when your Grandfather, that racist Jew Bastard, finds out you are back to banging big black bucks, Again?' she threatened. Riley blanched. ‘He threatened to disown you last time. This time, he'll do it, Princess. Then you will be nothing more than another in a long line of chunky Cocoa Puff's. No car, no apartment and damn, I'll make sure you don't have a job anymore.'‘Reggie won't; ‘ she protested desperately.‘Whore, you are only fun to be around because your fat ass is forbidden fruit. Senator Murdoch can get a dozen fresher Betties to haul his coal.' I'd go to Mom to explain the jargon flying around. ‘I know for a fact he likes them young.''Betty's' were White chicks. 'Hauling coal' meant taking black dick. Why couldn't people just say that instead of confusing everything with racial slurs? Riley's reaction showed she was playing into that fear; no fortune and no more choice selections of BBC's.‘Umm; ‘ Riley flickered her eyes my way.‘Chinedu already spilled all this secrets,' Dominique lied. She'd spilled them in her rage, but these two women lying and cheating wasn't my primary concern; taking advantage of their wickedness was. ‘He has his own reasons for keeping quiet.' Riley glanced speculatively from me to Dominique.‘Ha,' Madame Mayor snorted in derision. ‘I don't do White boys.' Oh, that deserved some hard fucking; screw the bitch. I was considering what derogatory idiocy was going to vomit forth from my mouth when Riley's phone rang. Absently she pulled it out of her purse. She paled when she saw the caller ID. Dom snatched it away then trembled.I took it out of her hands before she could make Riley eat the device.‘Both of you keep quiet,' I demanded. I answered the phone.‘Baby-cakes, let's hook up tonight,' Mr. Malik oozed his masculine charisma. ‘I feel like stepping out and I want to see you on your knees worshipping my award-winning Arkansas Black Snake, you cock-hungry slut.'He was loud enough so that both women could hear. I pointed a warning finger in Riley's face.‘Sorry, Mr. Baker, but Riley can't come to the phone right now. She's choking down my Slavic salami, but; after I finish with her and your wife, I'll send the tramp back your way; if she can still walk.'‘Wa, huh, wha, Who? Samsonov?, what did you just say?' he blathered.‘I'm kind of busy right now, Sir,' I taunted him. ‘Hold on.' I spanked Riley's flank. She gasped. ‘That was the sound of me smacking your wife's luscious, sweet and highly neglected ass. I gotta go. Your women look famished for some fucking respect and attention. I'm sure you can find a glory hole to entertain yourself at. I'll talk to you in the morning. Bye,' I signed off before he could reply.I cut off Riley's phone then pocketed it. They were both staring at me in utter shock. Dominique's full, plump lips first closed then she opened them to start laughing.‘Boy, Vlad, that was hilarious,' she chortled.‘That was a freebie, Dominique,' I grinned.‘There are two kinds of cheaters; the ones who convince themselves it will never happen to them, and the ones who believe everyone cheats. That allows them to both allow themselves to violate the essence of their relationships,' I glibly stated, ‘It also makes them want to utterly control their partners so they don't end up becoming cuckolds themselves.'‘Mr. Samsonov; ‘ Dominique studied me, ‘you continue to show me you are much more dangerous than you appear.' Taking into account my size, excellent physical shape, exhibited self-control and clear elucidation, I could only imagine I was 'dangerous' for a White guy; what a tight-ass shrew.‘Flattery will get you nowhere, Mrs. Malik,' I politely responded. ‘I don't do older Black chicks; or date used-up girls who only fuck Black guys. One of the three of us has to have some standards.' They blinked; it was the whole 'da White boy thinks he can talk back to us?' bullshit.‘I'll go looking for Mikhail now. You two have fun sharing in your communal 'I've been dicked-over, bent over and forced to suck another woman's vaginal fluids off his cock' Chine-experiences. I pray neither one of you've done Ass-to-Mouth with him; that would turn my stomach. Bye,' I waved as I departed. Dominique grabbed my arm, her fingernails digging in.‘What makes you think you can insult me that way, in my own house?' she lambasted me.‘It is the truth and we both know it,' I shrugged. ‘Somebody needs to start telling the truth around here, don't you think?'‘Get your brother and get out,' she snapped.‘Done deal,' I answered. ‘Riley; ‘ The doorbell rang. From the look on everyone's faces, none of us were expecting a caller.‘Don't you move,' Dom glared at me, ‘and don't you do a damn thing,' she balefully instructed Riley. Off she stormed.‘Gayle, what are you doing here?' Dom greeted my Mom.‘I brought dinner for my boys, Dominique,' she responded snidely. ‘I expect them to be gentlemen and you to not give a damn about anyone but yourself.'‘You've got some nerve showing up on my doorstep,' Dom grumbled.‘Not really,' Mom shouldered her way inside. ‘I've gotten on with my life. I see you've done the same.'‘Bitch,' Dom sizzled yet didn't stop her.‘Kitchen?' my maternal unit asked me. She was holding a wicker picnic basket and a large paper bag in one hand and a covered pot with a pail in the other. I pointed the way. She winked.Belatedly, Dominique slammed the door and stalked after Mom.‘What would ever possess you that I'd welcome you into my house,' she spat. ‘After what you did to Leon; ‘‘Had; do you really want to rehash that right now considering neither one of us has forgotten, or forgiven a damn thing?' Mom countered.‘Leon is still sucking his puree through a straw and pissing in a colostomy bag,' Dominique simmered.‘Mom?' I questioned.‘Oh, you haven't told your boys about what you and Theo did?' Dominque taunted her. Mom wasn't perturbed in the least.‘Vlad, do you trust me?' my Mother asked me.‘Sure. You can be unfathomable and crazy, but I don't think you've ever hurtfully deceive me.'‘Boy, you had better check that naiveté,' Mayor Malik warned me.‘Vlad, the last time Theo and I spent any time under the same roof was here, in Fonteneau,' she used Kingston's old name. ‘Leon Fox, Dominique's brother, and six other Black bulls decided to brutalize me, I was barely alive when I crawled my way back to the road where Mr. Cobb found me,' she relayed in a pleasant tone.‘So you say,' Dom interrupted. ‘It was your word against them and those seven had iron-clad alibis. To you, all Black men looked alike.'‘Think what you want. I identified all seven of them. You dad and the police chief wouldn't prosecute even though I know they were heard around town bragging about it; how they'd 'taught me a lesson'.'‘Mom, what the hell is going on?' I worried.‘Your Great-Aunt wouldn't accept that the police's investigation acquitted my brother and his friends; Because it was Black officers accepting the words of seven Black men, one of them the newly-minted Mayor's son, over a scared, battered child's,' Mom gave a feral grin.‘Yeah, you racist bitch,' Dominique seethed.‘Theo believed me. Aunt Matilda and Theo both believed me and not your chick-shit police force cover-up,' Mom kept smiling though there was not mirth behind it. ‘Theo made damn sure the guilty paid.'‘He damn near beat four grown men to death,' Dom grumbled. ‘One of them was my brother.'‘Vlad, Theo took a fileting knife and a crowbar with him when he rode his bicycle out and hunted those scumbags down,' Mom explained while staring at my host. ‘He found four of them together. He put all four in the hospital.'‘He ended up in the hospital as well,' Mom added, ‘if that makes you feel better.'‘Is that why Uncle Theo ended up in military school?' I inquired.‘He got off lucky,' Dom bristled. ‘Leon; and Roscoe Sumner never left the damn hospital, Bitch.' She turned on me. ‘Rufus never did see out of his left eye again and Martin Cutler still has to walk with leg braces and a cane.'Uncle Theo and Mom; that explained a great deal about her and her twin's relationship. I knew Mom had once broken into his military school/prison to see him. I also knew now that Mom hadn't lied to me; this vendetta was with this entire sick town, not blanket racism on her part.Black individuals in this town had raped her and other Blacks had covered it up. Theo had avenged her and paid for that with five years of his freedom. Had the Kingston's Black police force simply pursued a proper course of justice, then those seven men would have gotten what the law allowed; and be out of jail by now.Maybe that would have helped Gayle Fonteneau's emotional wounds heal. That didn't happen though. That injustice explained why Mom had initially run away from Dad. She'd suffered at the hands of law enforcement and she carried that distrust and disgust with her into her first meeting with Dad.That had to be some awkward emotional gymnastics on her part.‘Oh, come on now,' Mom chortled. ‘Leon is in a nice assisted-care living facility and Roscoe is in a coma just down the hall from him.'‘What happened to Le; your brother, Mrs. Malik?' I asked.‘According to the reconstructive specialist in Austin he was hit 27 times with a crowbar, that's what happened,' she spat at my Mother. ‘Even now his face doesn't look right and he's one step above a vegetable.'‘You took Aunt Matilda's hush money,' Mom gloated. ‘You all did.'‘That doesn't mean your brother wasn't a psycho, racist bastard,' Dom shot back.‘Bullshit, Dominique. Your Daddy made the town accept Aunt Mattie's deal because she was bringing in the Arkansas State Police (ASP) to investigate Theo's defense claims and that would have fried the whole lot of you,' Mom ignored Dom's snit. Seeing my disbelief, she told me, ‘Back in 1986, the ASP had its fair share of White racists.'‘Had those seven not been guilty as sin; ‘ she glared at the Mayor, ‘maybe Theo wouldn't have gone Rambo on this burgh.'‘Enough!' I intervened. ‘This is not helping us with the problem at hand. Right now, all Mikhail and I are worried about is whether Mr. Malik is going to come home tonight pissed off, drunk off his ass, or both.'‘Why should you care?' Madame Mayor turned my way. Mom started laughing which only made the woman angrier.‘Because unlike you, me and most of this town, my boys are decent individuals who actually give a crap about strangers, regardless of their melatonin levels,' she snorted. She made eye contact with Mrs. Malik.‘Don't blame me,' Mom chuckled. ‘I would be much happier of your shiftless shit of a husband came back and beat the fuck out of you and your daughter. To me, that would be poetic justice for what your father let him get away with.'‘No happening, Mom,' I declared. ‘Mikhail and I are eighteen now so you can't make us go home. If he's really a threat; ‘‘And you can't trust the police,' Mom sneered at Dom. ‘Your police force, Dominique.'‘You are one twisted cock-whore,' Dom riposted.‘Seven young men assaulted me,' Mom snarled. ‘Three weren't around when Theo caught up with the other four. ‘Charles Baker was one of them. The other was Demetrius Quinterre. These days he is the Chief of Police.'‘Charles Baker is Chinedu Malik now?' I requested.‘Yeah,' Mom beamed hostility Mamma Malik's way. ‘The fall after 'it' happened, Charles went to Arkansas State on a football scholarship and changed his name to something more 'African'. If he thinks it made it so that Theo couldn't find him, he's sorely mistaken.'‘Where is your crazy brother anyway?'‘Which one?' Mom snorted. ‘I've got a few.'‘Theo, you crazy cunt.'‘He joined the US Army straight out of the academy. He ended up in Ranger School then the Green Beret,' Mom updated her. ‘Now he's a contract killer for God-knows who. You, the FBI and the US military all are curious about his whereabouts.'‘That's; ‘ Dominique looked at me. What can I say? I have an honest face. ‘Do you believe that?' she asked me.‘Madame Mayor, I've talked to the men from Fort Bragg who have come calling. How to put this; Uncle Theo is exceedingly eccentric; beyond what Mom is.'In a normal situation, this would be when the concerned wife asked if her husband was in danger from my lunatic uncle. Not Mrs. Malik. Hell, a martyred husband killed by a violent racist would be a big boost to her career. It would also remove any chance of her hubby blowing up the situation with Riley, thus Riley's Sugar-Daddy. I could almost see the cold, calculating wheels turning behind her eyes.‘That's hardly encouraging. Fine; Gayle, you can get out. Vlad, I'm going to make some phone calls. Why don't you see what your brother has gotten up to,' the Mayor commanded. Mom shot me a wink when Mrs. Malik pulled out her phone.‘Bring home the pot and basket when you leave,' she advised me. She took my arm and pulled me to the door.‘You have your toiletries and fresh clothes in the bag (the big, brown paper one she'd arrived with). Then, as she hugged me, she shoved something into my front, left pocket. That weekend with the Vegas hookers paid off, I recalled the crinkly sound condom wrappers make. ‘For Mikhail,' she whispered. He was being given her 'okay' to any sexual missteps that might happen if we weren't sent straight home.I imagined most teenage boys would be thrilled to have their mothers handing them some condoms and silently wishing them luck. Not me. This was some fucked-up shit Mikhail, Alexander and I had stepped into. Mom turned without further advice and went to Dad's black '2012 F-150' pick-up truck. I closed the door, then went looking for the ladies.Dominique had taken Riley into the living room. The younger woman was sitting contritely on the sofa while the Mayor quietly brow-beat whomever was on the other end of that phone conversation. I spared them a look, knew I wasn't needed, or wanted, so I went for the stairs.‘Taliyah, Mikhail, Dinner's here,' I called up. I remained at the bottom of the stairs until Mikhail showed himself.‘Was that Mom?' he calmly inquired.‘Yeah. She's gone now,' I gave a wry grin. ‘It is safe you two to come down.' A few seconds later, Taliyah appeared.‘What is it?' she was referring to dinner.‘Whatever Kamika cooked for us,' I replied. She shrugged, clearly upset with the past few minutes of her life. She still came down. She'd missed lunch unless you counted cum swallowed, then had cheerleader workouts, horse-riding and a sex-session with my brother. Mikhail was perpetually hungry as was the norm for growing boys our age and metabolisms.The remarkable thing was her reaction to Mikhail and his blasé attitude. He wasn't walking on eggshells, as Alexander would have, or being sympathetic, like me. Mikhail was being Mikhail; Taliyah's problems weren't his concern so he wasn't intruding. If she wanted some emotional input from him, she'd have to do the 'reaching out'.We doled out portions. Taliyah started with three bowls (for the host of baby-back pork ribs) and plates for the potatoes, carrots and string beans. I motioned for two more. She mentally debated my request before complying. Kamika must have packed a family of eight. There was plenty to spare.After the meal was apportioned, I took two plates and a glass of Pomegranate Juice (Taliyah poured for her Mom) and a glass of lemonade for Riley. I juggled the lot as I traipsed into the living room. The conversation stopped when I appeared. I didn't engage either with eye contact, though I could tell Dominique resented me serving dinner to her guest. I retreated with the same grace I'd exhibited entering.The two high-schoolers had attacked the ribs with gusto.‘Hmm; these are some damn fine ribs,' Taliyah waved a freshly-cleaned bone my way. ‘No wonder the men in your family are so damn huge.' Right as the words tumbled out of her mouth, she shot Mikhail a dirty look, daring him to make a snide aside about the size of his cock. Mikhail didn't take the bait.‘Give Kamika a call around noon-time. She'll add a place-setting for you at the dinner table,' he replied after vigorously sucking the meat off his fourth victim. That was the opposite of what she expected a man, a Black man, to say. She'd never had a possibly sexually suggestive chat with a White guy.‘The food's not so good I'd want to spend time with you,' she poked him.‘I'm not hot to re-experience your she-devil bitchiness either, Taliyah,' he teased her. ‘I've got to accept that Brandy's going to keep putting a sappy smile on Vlad's face and that suggests they'll crawl out of bed long enough to get some food.'‘We are never going to have sex again,' she wacked his hand with a fresh rib, leaving a saucy mark.Mikhail licked the sweet substance off while keeping eye contact with the girl. She refused to back down from his provocation. My brother responded by tenderly poking her lips with a fresh rib. She kept her mouth closed yet couldn't keep the smile from her face. She countered by presented piece of meat in front of him. Mikhail caught the offering in his teeth and shook it hungrily.Now I felt like the one who should tell them to get a room. The two began making messes of each other's faces with sloppy feedings of one another before including me in the game. It was so engrossing, we three missed Mrs. Malik coming into the kitchen and catching us at play.‘Taliyah, what, are, you, doing?' her mother clipped off each world.‘I'm keeping the White boys quiet,' the daughter thought quickly on her feet.‘Oh, that's what you call it,' Dominique's eyebrow arched. ‘It looks more like your flirting with them both.'‘What!' Taliyah squalled. ‘I hate Mikhail; Vlad's okay. He treats Brandy like she matters, not the way Darius does. He treats her like a cum dumpster.'‘I thought you wanted to be with Darius?' Dom studied her daughter intently.‘Well; I've changed my mind. His whole attitude; the 'I'm a football stud' is getting too pricey for my tastes,' she clarified. ‘Rashaan has his head so far up Darius' ass that's stopped being funny too.'‘Taliyah, if you stop dating Rashaan, you won't be popular,' mom protested.‘Listen to your mother,' Mikhail agreed. ‘Look how well hooking up with a football star worked out for her.' Waves of furious emotions radiated from mom. Taliyah's reaction was far more direct.‘You bastard!' Taliyah swore before she punched him in the upper arm. She was starting to cry.Chine may have been a raging prick to Samsonov eyes, but he was Taliyah's Daddy.‘Fuck,' he exaggerated. ‘What makes you think; ow,' he recoiled as she began to rain blows down on his upper arm and chest. Tears started to stream down her face as she pummeled my brother who took his beating like a champ.‘You are such a; a; ‘ she stammered.‘Neanderthal?' he volunteered. Two more blows were her response then her attacks lost strength and direction. Mikhail wrapped her up in his arms as she sobbed into the crux of his arm and chest.‘Feel free to hate me as much as you need to,' he held her tight. ‘I'm not that fond of you either.' He kept her close for another minute.‘I'll take her upstairs,' Mikhail told Dominique. He kept an arm around her shoulders to aid her direction and off they went. The Mayor looked my way.‘I don't know what's up with that,' I shrugged. ‘Mikhail really is a jerk most of the time. Heck, he's the biggest bastard of the three of us; the most like Mom's dark side, so I'm not sure what he's doing being nice to your daughter.'‘If he does something to her,' she threatened me. Her eyes went past me to Riley who had come to the open doorway. ‘Don't you start thinking you can be leaving,' she aimed her prodigies' way. ‘I'm not done with you.'‘Besides, he's still out there,' I meant Mr. Malik. ‘He's likely to do something irrational that both of you will regret.'‘Why should you care? You are a Fonteneau,' the Mayor grumbled in an accusatory voice.‘I'm not sure,' I shrugged. ‘I trust my Mom a lot more than I believe your version of events. From what I know of Uncle Theo, if he wasn't sure justice had been done, he'd have come back here already.'‘The fact you are choosing to revisit this tragedy now makes me wonder when I'll see him again,' I tacked on.‘Ah, could I have some more of those ribs?' Riley extended her plate. She needed to finish her veggies.‘All that pork is going straight to those fat hips and big ass, Girl,' the Mayor cruelly teased her.Riley was embarrassed. I stood up from the kitchen table, took Riley's plate, and filled it with the portions of meat Taliyah and Mikhail had left behind. That seemed to mollify her to the point she felt good enough to walk, with her plate, back to the living room.‘You shouldn't be nice to her,' the Mayor cautioned me. ‘She's just another whore for Black Cock. Another White girl freak beneath the sheets.'That the Mayor was likely one as well wasn't something I felt I should bring up at the moment. Instead of arguing, I began to clean up the kitchen, putting the leftovers in Tupperware containers, washing the plates and then the pot and food containers. All the while, Dominique watched me work.‘I thought you had domestic help,' she said condescending tone.‘A) any kind of help is something new to us boys and Dad. B) Mom insists we all pitch in and help out. That means washing cookware and plates after meals, haul fertilizer and taking away yard debris and cleaning our rooms. We have chores.'‘That defeats the purpose of having servants,' she insisted.‘That house is huge, the 'help' could use the help, chores remind us we all need to work together and it teaches us not to take people for granted,' I repeated my Mom's words from our first day in the house.‘Your clan used to be such snobs, looking down on all us Black folks.'‘However the Fonteneau acted was before our time, Madam Mayor; ‘‘Call me Dominique, or Mrs. Malik in my home, Vladimir. You are Vladimir, right?' she said.‘Yes Dominique, I'm Vlad, the middle one. Alexander is oldest, so he's the most mature, I'm the middle triplet, so I'm the best mix of Mom and Dad, and Mikhail is the youngest so he's always out to prove himself.'‘Fascinating,' she responded drolly. ‘Stay out of the way while I deal with Riley. I'll get her squared away then deal with you and your brother.' With that, she walked off to give Riley another huge piece of her mind, rage and frustration. As I was putting up the pot to dry, the doorbell rang. I heard Mamma Malik's heels click on the marble floors as she stormed over to the door.‘Demetrius, what are you doing here?' I heard he say from the door.‘I heard you were having some problem with those Samsonov boys,' he announced. ‘I'm here to make sure everything is okay.'‘You mean my worthless, cheating husband sent you over to make them leave,' she groused.‘He might have indicated they were causing you problems,' the Police Chief allowed. ‘Let me pour those Cornfeds into their car and send them home.'‘No,' Dominique's voice cracked the whip of authority. ‘He is out whoring and drinking and that means he ain't coming home tonight; end of story.'‘I'll leave Oliver with a patrol car watching your place if that is the case,' he tried to mollify her.‘On really,' she mocked him. ‘You, Chinedu and Oliver are all drinking buddies. You and your cronies aren't going to keep my husband's drunk ass from darkening my doorway. You let Chine know he's not welcome here tonight.'‘Dom, you are being unreasonable,' the cop leader cooed. I didn't have to imagine him touching her. The Kingston cops were far too touchy-feely with women.‘Don't you touch me, you poltroon,' she blasted him. I wondered if he even knew what a poltroon was. He knew it was an insult though.‘Listen up, Dominique,' his voice grew low and threatening. That was my cue.‘Madam Mayor, is everything okay?' I stepped into the hallway. Demetrius' eyes latched onto me before turning his sneer the Mayor's way.‘Why, don't he look cozy,' he accused Dominique.‘Buddy,' I wasn't going to call him an 'officer', or 'Chief', ‘Mom just enlightened me to what you and Chine did to her all those years ago. Statute of Limitations may have passed, but don't you think the Samsonov's consider justice to be done.'‘I also know that any crime involving you and a Deputy's son automatically brings in the Arkansas State Police. Cross that portal and you cease being a concerned police officer and become a home invader,' I channeled my father and all his kin going back a dozen generations.‘How about I arrest you for trespassing?' he want for his 'bracelets' while his right hand rested on the ass of his piece.‘My house, Demetrius and I've invited him and his brother in. Believe me, Dem, if you don't hot-foot it off my property then my next call Will be to the State Police reporting You for criminal trespass,' she growled at the cop.‘So, you've become an Oreo?' he mocked her. ‘I can't wait to hear what the town council has to say about that.'‘Consider they are the same crowd who invited Dr. Pierre O'Rourke Jean-Georges to be our Principle for the next ten months; ‘ I began my counter-mock.‘Five years,' the Mayor glowered at the Chief. ‘The school board; which you are on, Demetrius; gave that freakazoid a five year contract.'

Tod and Claire discuss HP Lovecraft's "A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson," which was published in the November, 1917 issue of the United Amateur under the name "Humphrey Littlewit, Esq." and have a couple different takes on this story. Is it self satire? Probably. Is it actually a story about imposter syndrome? Maybe! Is it perhaps the most cosmically horrifying story of them all, since even if you're 200 years old, your life may well be vanishingly insignificant? I kind of think so! Happy New Year, and hope you have a couple hundred more!Oh, you want more Sam Jackson lines? Go to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMLdPE5OoWI - weirdly, it's mostly variations on "Motherfucker" and no Star Wars or Incredibles zingers, but hey.We talked a little about AHA! around minute 10. Come by if you hack stuff and are in Austin.You can text us now. Why? That's between you and your Elder God. Support the showLike the show? Say so with money! Or just hang out with us on Mastodon, at @podsothoth@defcon.social. Or email us at hideous@podsothoth.club. Best thing? Rate us (positively!) in your favorite podcast app. That helps other people find the show!

9.12.24 Pt 1 - Gareth and the team are back! Producer Ryan joins the show with Leigh-Ass Mol, they jump into life of the Irish, Ariana Grande's health, and filtering water from your toilet to drink. The Real Network

Dan watches a catfight among the Goddesses.Based on a post by DustinMidnight, in 9 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Chapter 5It took Dan and Annabelle about an hour to drive to Dan's childhood home. It was an old house, but well-taken care of. The front porch lights were on when Dan pulled into the driveway. He sat for a minute before finally shutting off the car's engine.Dan took a long deep breath and popped his neck. In the passenger seat, Annabelle smiled, clearly excited for what was about to happen.“I can't wait to meet your parents. I wonder what they'll think of me.” She looked at Dan, a placid expression in her eyes.“I'm sure they'll like you.” Dan returned her expression with a bemused smile. He wasn't really sure that was true. His parents were usually friendly, but he wasn't sure how Annabelle might act. It wasn't even that she was a god, it was that she barely kept her hands off him, even with other people around. Oh, God, what if Mom tries talking about grandkids, or notices our rings? He shuddered at the thought.“Well, whatever happens, I'm sure it'll go well,” proclaimed Annabelle. She bounced out of the Challenger, and Dan followed her up the porch steps and to the front door. She stood to the side as Dan knocked, not bothering with the doorbell. It had been broken for a couple of years, and Dad hadn't really bothered to try to fix it. He was getting up there in age, and fighting with electrical work wasn't worth it.The door opened after a couple of minutes. Standing there was a man who looked like Dan, but older with long, graying hair and a finely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. He stood 6'6", taller than Dan, and looked down his nose at the two people at his door.“Hey, Dad,” Dan said. The old man nodded, looked over at Annabelle, and nodded again. Dan sometimes described his father as having the expression of a grizzly bear that looked calm but could growl at any moment.“Dan, how's it going?” With a large smile, his dad's arms opened up as he suddenly gave his grown-up son a big hug. Dan groaned as the tight squeeze pushed some air out of him. Annabelle giggled at Dan looking like he was being crushed by the older man. Soon his father let go of his son and smiled at Annabelle.“And who might this young lady be?” he asked.“I'm Annabelle. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fremont.”“Please call me Gabriel. Mr. Fremont was my father.” He suddenly brought her into a tight hug. As he wrapped his arm around her and picked her a few inches off the ground, Annabelle squealed with delight. Dan was not expecting that. His father put his wife down and then groaned, rubbing his back,“Christ, I swear, Dan, don't get old.”“Well, I'll try not to pick up a box wrong and blow my back out,” Dan said with a chuckle, patting his dad on the shoulder.“That, too. Now, I will say, she is a catch. Look at her. She's so cute you could pick her up, put her in your pocket, and walk away.” He smiled and gestured to the two of them to step through the door. Annabelle giggled while tilting her head. “Honey, is that them?” An older woman's voice called from the back of the house.“Yeah, Sarah, they just walked in,” Gabriel called out. Dan and Annabelle took their jackets off, and Dan's mother walked into the foyer. Sarah was a short, plump standing around 5'4". “Dan it's so great to see you, and same for the pretty lady,” she said. She gave each of them a big ol' hug.“Heavens to Betsy, what have you been eating? Must not be much. You look as skinny as a railroad spike. Come on, you two, get in here. Dinner's almost ready.”Away from the pleasant moment with Demand Annabelle, Vanessa was shivering. Even with her jacket, it was rather cold. She wasn't sure why she was out here. All she knew was Joe had brought them here.“What are we doing here, Joe?” she asked the man who was currently wearing a white business suit.“I told you, we're here to help some people out. Now I need you to trust me on this.” A dashing smile appeared on his face, practically glowing in the dark alleyway. He pointed towards the other side of the street.“Now, I need you to head over there. Just stand around for a few minutes, and you'll see a little girl walking down the street. She's about ten years old, and maybe a little dirty. I want you to keep an eye on her, and when she reaches the crosswalk, grab her and pull her back about fifty feet. That's all you've got to do.” He chuckled and snapped his fingers, pointing toward where Vanessa should stand.“Why?” she asked. “What's going to happen? I mean, seriously, why me, if you know what's going to happen?”The corners of Joe's smile turned up a bit more.He assured her, “Don't question it. It's against certain rules for me to interfere, but for someone like you, such a beauty, you can do something. Don't worry, I'm sure nothing will happen to you.” He chuckled, patting her shoulder. Vanessa screamed, feeling pain ripple through her stomach as though she was being stabbed. She bent over and took heavy breaths until Joe pulled away.“Sorry, I got a little angry. But please, my dear, just do this for me. You'll feel real good about yourself, and you'll be doing a good deed.” He gave her the thumbs up, and his other hand moved through his slick black hair.“If you insist,” Vanessa said. Inwardly, she shuddered, imagining him doing God knows what he could do. Somehow he had gotten her to do random things — move objects around, convince a couple of guys not to work in certain spots. She remembered how just the other day, she needed to seduce this one woman and convince her to invite her back to her place. It was embarrassing; she hated every second of it. By the end of the night, she had snuck out barely clothed.She wasn't entirely sure what this was all about, but whenever she tried going against Joe's wishes, she felt a pain hit her in random parts of her body. It Wouldn't go away until she agreed to do what he said.“Fine, if you insist.” Vanessa bit her lip and hurried across the street as Joe had directed. She leaned against a wall and kept an eye out. Suddenly she saw the petite girl Joe had described. bundled up in a coat, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, she humming a little tune as she walked. As she passed, Vanessa fell in step behind her until the girl got to the crosswalk.That was when she grabbed the girl, yanking her backward in large strides for over fifty feetThe young girl screamed,“What are you doing?! What the heck?! Someone help me!” Her screams were suddenly drowned out by a loud squeal of tires. Vanessa let go just as a car swerved at high speed through the intersection and crashed into a building on the far side with a loud crunch. The car's front end pretty much disintegrated. Vanessa left the girl as she ran back across the street to check on the driver. His face was against the now-deflated airbag that had emerged from the steering wheel, and he stirred enough to show he was alive. She took out her phone to dial 9-1-1.A hand reached from behind her and grabbed the phone. She turned to see Joe Liesmith, who said, “He'll live. His kind, the drunkards, somehow always manage to live. Don't worry.” Joe took a deep breath. Vanessa could have sworn she saw white light emerging from his nose, as he looked so relaxed.“Just what I needed. Plus, hey, you're a hero. If you hadn't pulled her back, that little girl would have died. Now come on. We need to get going. We have a lot of work to do. Hopefully, when this is all over with, you'll be rewarded. You'll get your Dan back.” He chuckled, and handed Vanessa back her phone as the two of them began walking away.Dan and Annabelle were in the middle of their meal, enjoying the well-done steak with baked potato and corn.“So how did you two meet?” his mother asked with a smile as she cut a piece of her steak. Dan answered, “Well, we met at the store. We bumped into each other's cart. I joked that we should exchange numbers, so we could contact each other for insurance purposes. It just kind of happened.” He laughed and nervously scratched the back of his head. He bit his lip while Annabelle nodded and continued the story.“Oh, yes, we ended up meeting at a bar and had a few drinks, and really, it was a magical time.” She picked the ear of corn off her plate, but froze with it halfway to her mouth. Dan noticed her eyes looked milk white. Her face twisted into a horrified expression. Gabriel looked over at her, clearly concerned, and the same for Sarah.“Honey, are you okay?” Sarah asked, reaching over as if to pat her back. Just then, Annabelle began screaming, so loud it could have been mistaken for a Banshee in a fit of unholy rage, echoing off the walls. Everyone else in the room had to suddenly clap their hands over their ears to dull out the noise.She stopped just as suddenly as she'd started, putting the corn back on her plate as she muttered,“I'm so sorry! I— I— ”She grabbed her mouth and ran off to the small bathroom under the stairs. The door slammed with a loud bang, but the sound of vomiting could still be heard from the other side of the wall.“Dan, is she okay?” Gabriel asked.Confused, Dan replied, “I don't know. I've never seen her like this before.” He got up from his seat and walked to the bathroom door, giving it a light knock and asking,“Annie? Are you okay?”“I'm — blurrg! Fine, just give me a — blurrg— minute!” There were a few more retching noises, and eventually the door opened. Annabelle was hunched over the toilet. Dan saw what looked like pure black sludge in the bowl and almost retched himself. “What happened?” he asked.“Something wrong— The natural order was messed with. Someone was fucking with death, keeping someone alive.” She inhaled deeply through her mouth.“Is everything okay?” Gabriel called out from the hallway. Annabelle coughed as she stood up, unsteady on her feet at first, and then snapped her fingers. The sludge that had run down her shirt disappeared. She quickly reached over and flushed the toilet, but the sludge seemed to vanish into thin air rather than go down the drain. The bowl was left clean and sparkling as she closed the lid.“Yeah, just something hit me wrong. I'm so sorry,” Annabelle assured them as she walked back to the table. Dan followed her, surprised at how quickly she seemed to go back to normal. They were going to need to have a serious talk about this when they got home.“Oh, sweetheart, do you think it was something you ate?” Sarah asked as Annabelle sat back down. “We're all eating the same thing now, but what did you have earlier today? Do you need to lie down? We could set you up in Dan's old room so you could rest up a little.”Annabelle smiled, her body now more relaxed.“It'll be okay. I think it might have been something from earlier. But it's passed now. I'm so sorry if I ruined your dinner.”“Oh, it's all right. Just as long as you're okay. I can get you something else to settle your stomach — maybe some saltines and 7-Up? Just relax and take your time. Besides, we can talk some more. Oh, I know! We could get Dan's baby photos of him in the bathtub naked!”“Mom, NO!” Dan shouted in horror. Sarah giggled with her hand over her mouth.“Oh, honey, I wouldn't do that to you. Maybe in the future. We don't want to scare the poor girl off just yet.”“Ha, I don't think he'll be getting rid of me that easily,” Annabelle giggled, as she rubbed her foot against Dan's leg under the table.“Well, is that so? Our home is your home, so if anything happens, we're here for you.” Gabriel smiled as he raised his glass in a toast. The other three at the table drank from their own glasses.After some cake for dessert, Dan managed to move the conversation into the foyer, where Sarah was still suggesting that he and Annabelle stay longer, even as they had their coats on. Finally, he managed to convince his parents that they needed to go.“Please come on by again when you have a chance. Anytime,” said Sarah. Annabelle nodded excitedly.“I might just do that. You guys seem great. And I've got to get that recipe for the rub you put on the steak. It was divine,” she said with a chuckle. Dan rolled his eyes at what was obviously supposed to be an inside joke.“Well, come earlier next time to help cook, and I'll show you all my secrets,” Sarah said with a laugh. Dan sighed as they headed off towards the Challenger. As they pulled out of the driveway, they could see Gabriel and Sarah waving from the front porch. Annabelle waved back.As they were halfway down the block, Dan asked,“So, what happened tonight? I mean, I've never seen you get sick before. I wouldn't have thought you even could”“Just — I don't know what happened. All I know is someone or something messed with fate. Someone was meant to die, but somehow it got interrupted, and that person lived.”“But isn't that a good thing, preventing someone from dying?” Dan asked as he made a turn.“It's not that simple. There needs to be a balance, as fate dictates. That person is kind of a wild card now. Really, when someone messes with fate and prevents a person from dying when they're not a god of death, it can cause chaos and destruction. Last time this happened, it didn't end well,” Annabelle murmured as she leaned back, closing her eyes.“What happened last time?” Dan asked while keeping his eyes on the road.“There were two events in the last hundred years. One of them involved a god of war who felt mercy for a soldier and prevented him from dying by convincing another soldier not to kill him. Turns out that soldier was Hitler, and I think you know what happened there. The other time, it was john Wayne Gacy.”“Yikes, that is bad…” Dan responded as he glanced over at her. She looked so relaxed, seeming to be close to falling asleep. Especially with her current body that toned down her normal beauty and curves, it almost made Dan forget that she was a goddess.“It can be bad, though whatever happens with that survivor, only the future will tell. Going back even further, there have been some good results — but there might be chaos, too. Dan— I think I'm gonna sleep a bit. Wake me up when we get home.”“Of course. Rest up — you've earned it, Annie.”“Thank you,” Annabelle said. She sighed, and her head flopped to the left, almost falling on his shoulder. His heart nearly skipped a beat, but he concentrated on his driving, not even bothering to turn the music on.He drove the rest of the way just listening to the road noise mixed with Annabelle's quiet breathing, occasionally looking over to see the goddess snooze. He finally pulled into his parking space and turned the engine off. He watched her for a minute and couldn't help but think,Maybe it's not too bad, us being married. He sighed, then nudged her a bit and quietly said,“Hey, wake up there.”He shook her on the shoulder, but Annabelle brushed him off. He got out of the car, and as he walked around to the other side, he briefly wondered what it would be like to be a god. With a sigh, he opened the passenger door, extricated the goddess from the seatbelt, and put her over his shoulder. The enhanced strength she had given him was really coming in handy as he carried her off. He brought her all the way to their apartment and put her into bed, taking her shoes off and putting a blanket over her.Dan stayed up a little while longer. He tried watching something on TV, something about mythology, but all he could think about was the goddess in his own bed. He was also worried that something was happening that was messing with the balance of nature. There was a feeling he just couldn't push away — a bad feeling that there was something wrong with the world.In the early hours of the morning, Dan suddenly heard a crashing sound coming from the living room. Dan groaned and looked over, seeing Annabelle still asleep. He got up and walked into the living room. As he turned the corner, he saw the apartment's front door broken open.“What the hell?” he exclaimed, seeing the door hanging off the hinges. As he stood there confused, a creature ran right into him. It growled and screamed as it seemed to scurry along.“Holy fuck! Shit!” Dan screamed.“Where is Goddess!?” It growled as it ran up the wall, clawing its way into the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry, throwing cereal boxes to the floor haphazardly.Dan could see it was a small creature, around three feet tall, with long red hair and black eyes, long pointy ears and slightly reddish skin. It seemed to be wearing a plumber's jumpsuit. It suddenly turned around to hiss at Dan, who couldn't help but scream.He recovered enough to yell, “Hey, quit throwing my food,” grabbing a broom and quickly banging it against a cabinet. The creature hissed at him again, then jumped up and ran back into the living room.“Where is Goddess?!” it growled once again. Dan turned the living room light on to see that the creature was messing with his TV It ripped the back off and appeared to be doing something with the now-exposed circuit boards. The television turned on, flipped through a bunch of channels quickly, and settled on a porn movie.“She's asleep, damn it! Now quit fucking with my television!” Dan grabbed a souvenir baseball from the mantel above the fireplace, throwing it at the little devil. It missed by a mile, hitting the TV square in its flat screen and leaving a crack in the glass. Dan groaned in annoyance and ran at the creature. The goblin met him halfway, lunging at him, screaming, and latching onto his face.“Motherfucker!” Dan screamed himself. He lurched forward, trying to slam it against the nearest wall, trying to get it off him. It wrapped its legs around his face as it once again demanded,“Where is my goddess?!”With its body against his face, Dan realized that he was dealing with a female. A female what? Who knew? He was groaning, and she was grunting as he kept slam her into the wall.He felt her relax slightly, and he managed to pull the little thing off him and throw it out the doorway. He took a deep breath as he saw it bang against the opposite wall of the hallway. Hearing a chuckling sound behind him, he turned to see Bast sitting there in her cat form, her tail swaying.“Why didn't you help me?” he grunted.“‘Cause it was too much fun, and how often do you see a gremlin headbutt a human in the ass?”

What is your preshow ritual, anyway? I stand on one of the high floors, up here– Yeah– And I shoot snot at the tourists. What? Gross. Fascinating. Straight out of my nose. Ah, God, man. You need help. And into the plaza. Sick. Gross. Before every show. [beat] You know, some of those tourists are in your audience. Exactly. Agh. You need help, guy. You're a sick man. What goes around…comes around. Agh. I JUST GOT MY NBC MERCH. Ahh, shit, here she comes. Is she drunk. What time is it? 8:45 AM. She's wasted. Yooooooooooooooooo. What up, californians. What up Sunni. Good morning. Californians in new york, That's fucked up. Happens all the time. It is weird. Shouldn't be a thing. Wasted. You like my sweatshirt? [Saturday Night Live] It's custom. No it isn't. It's SNL. I just said that. THE ‘N' IS FOR– What did you just say? I said. NONSENSE. THIS IS NONSENSE. What. Lets take a break. __ CUT TO: I'm going to stare at this photograph until the image of you is burned into my brain. OKay. Why are we LEVITATING? And then, I'm going to incinerate it with my mind. *gasp* YOU'RE JACKED. I'M WASTED. [meanwhile, at craft services] More cocaine, please. Thank you, very much. You hold yourself together very well. I'm sorry, i'm sorry–i'm sorry–i'm sorry. What in the FUCK are you apologizing for?! I am a telepathic time traveler. I knew that already. Like, in very real life. Does this thing go both ways. [REDACTED] WHO ARE YOU? I forgot, already honestly. [The Office Style Mockumentary] I heard you were looking for Jimmy. I wasn't. He's nuts. I– [This is not a movie about] [REDACTED] I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill him. AMY POHLER No comment. {Enter The Multiverse} Once you master the levitation, teleportation is only a very sight– Jesus Christ. Not quite. I mean. Seth Meyers. What are you doing here. I'm not. Okay. L E G E N D S Why are we levitating? We're levitating. You're just— Goddammit, what the fuck do you want? Looking for this? NO. Well, why not? Cause i dropped it; what the fuck are you doing with it? …I thought you'd be looking for it– Well, I wasn't, because I dropped it precisely where I dropped it on purpose. Why–would you drop something like this? Why wouldn't I? Isn't it the only one of its kind? Goddammit, you fucking suck at everything. I don't suck at everything… You suck at this, specifically–and this is everything. Ah fuck, i lost his cadence. I lost the cadence. I lost everything. Suddenly, i stopped writing in his cadence. It was as if, after all that time, he had simply just– Disappeared. Goddammit. Now what happened. Nothing! Dis/Connect. Disconnected. Why. What happened. The server is down. What do you mean the server is down? I'm the server. Well, it's down. WHAT IN THE FUCKKKKKK. FUCK. FUCK. Now I gotta go find Jimmy Fallon. FUCK MAN, I HATE THIS DUDE. __ FUCK THIS NIGGA. I'M SICK OF HIM. You can't say that. I JUST DID. You're lucky they even invited you back here. INVITED ME? I OWN THE NETWORK. WHAT! Sunni. SINCE WHEN. YOU CAN'T BILL COSBY ME, MOTHERFUCKER. I OWN NBC. THATS RIGHT. SUCK MY BIG BLACK DICK. Sunni! NIGGAAAAAAAAAAAA. [throws liquor bottle through jewelry store window and palms all of the diamonds on display] aaaaaahhhhhhhh — jager bomb. THAT'S NOT EVEN JAGER. Whateva. L E G E N D S Camera 1– Now, look directly in the light… I won four oscars… [for that one] I knew that if Sara was a real person–then Stefon was probably a real person, and eventually, i started to wonder, if also–Sunni Blu was a real person. Who is C'cxell Soleil? DO YOU MEAN I COULD HAVE GOTTEN 10% OFF THIS SWEATER?! AGGHGHHHH GODDAMMIT I HATE THIS MOTEHRFUCKER. Let me try. For what. It's my console. So. I got cheat codes. Let the name expire, Or the game experience spectacular levels of– disacknowledgement . At a certain point i realized that I had never heard the word ‘fuck' out of Seth Meyers' actual mouth. This is levels, man. Please explain to me this series. *shrugs* I can't. [he walked away] GOOD. I tell you, I'm not going anywhere near The Rockefeller Plaza In anything less than my awful, irrelevant, and absolutely mediocre do-not-mind-me and pay-no-attention deficit to— Maybe anything i'm saying, because believe me Tomorrow: Whatever tomorrow is, It's changing. I only came here to delay my suicide maybe by at least one day further. I could hope for a laugh, but an honest one would take better, Than all the mechanics in the world, and maybe even — Some sort of heroic gesture, On my own part, As you know, I've got to be going. Tainted. Damaged. TINA FEY He's a little bit– We think he may be, special, maybe… SUDAKIS He's retarded. Hey! No, literally. What! Come on! All thumbs. What the fuck does that mean, anyway? *two thumbs down* What is the plot of this, anyway? I don't know anymore. I'm either adding to my portfolio or my suicide letter. Pretty fancy suicide letter. (It was a pretty fancy suicide.) There's a deadline. Did you catch any of these? Hey look; I've got my own interpreter. Why are we codeswitching? We're always codeswtiching. Why aren't they codeswitching? They're the code. Who wrote this programming? If you tell me that this– Astrophysicist. Astrophysis–wait, what? I told you don't fuck with Fallon! period! Very heavy emphasis on the delay in negotiating these terms. What do you make of it? Nothing. I'm just- Nothing? That's it. He's ending me. Just like that. Just like that! Are you serious? It's his game. I'm just in it. “Pawns” This, is the most powerful man in television. Why. You'll see. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

What is your preshow ritual, anyway? I stand on one of the high floors, up here– Yeah– And I shoot snot at the tourists. What? Gross. Fascinating. Straight out of my nose. Ah, God, man. You need help. And into the plaza. Sick. Gross. Before every show. [beat] You know, some of those tourists are in your audience. Exactly. Agh. You need help, guy. You're a sick man. What goes around…comes around. Agh. I JUST GOT MY NBC MERCH. Ahh, shit, here she comes. Is she drunk. What time is it? 8:45 AM. She's wasted. Yooooooooooooooooo. What up, californians. What up Sunni. Good morning. Californians in new york, That's fucked up. Happens all the time. It is weird. Shouldn't be a thing. Wasted. You like my sweatshirt? [Saturday Night Live] It's custom. No it isn't. It's SNL. I just said that. THE ‘N' IS FOR– What did you just say? I said. NONSENSE. THIS IS NONSENSE. What. Lets take a break. __ CUT TO: I'm going to stare at this photograph until the image of you is burned into my brain. OKay. Why are we LEVITATING? And then, I'm going to incinerate it with my mind. *gasp* YOU'RE JACKED. I'M WASTED. [meanwhile, at craft services] More cocaine, please. Thank you, very much. You hold yourself together very well. I'm sorry, i'm sorry–i'm sorry–i'm sorry. What in the FUCK are you apologizing for?! I am a telepathic time traveler. I knew that already. Like, in very real life. Does this thing go both ways. [REDACTED] WHO ARE YOU? I forgot, already honestly. [The Office Style Mockumentary] I heard you were looking for Jimmy. I wasn't. He's nuts. I– [This is not a movie about] [REDACTED] I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill him. AMY POHLER No comment. {Enter The Multiverse} Once you master the levitation, teleportation is only a very sight– Jesus Christ. Not quite. I mean. Seth Meyers. What are you doing here. I'm not. Okay. L E G E N D S Why are we levitating? We're levitating. You're just— Goddammit, what the fuck do you want? Looking for this? NO. Well, why not? Cause i dropped it; what the fuck are you doing with it? …I thought you'd be looking for it– Well, I wasn't, because I dropped it precisely where I dropped it on purpose. Why–would you drop something like this? Why wouldn't I? Isn't it the only one of its kind? Goddammit, you fucking suck at everything. I don't suck at everything… You suck at this, specifically–and this is everything. Ah fuck, i lost his cadence. I lost the cadence. I lost everything. Suddenly, i stopped writing in his cadence. It was as if, after all that time, he had simply just– Disappeared. Goddammit. Now what happened. Nothing! Dis/Connect. Disconnected. Why. What happened. The server is down. What do you mean the server is down? I'm the server. Well, it's down. WHAT IN THE FUCKKKKKK. FUCK. FUCK. Now I gotta go find Jimmy Fallon. FUCK MAN, I HATE THIS DUDE. __ FUCK THIS NIGGA. I'M SICK OF HIM. You can't say that. I JUST DID. You're lucky they even invited you back here. INVITED ME? I OWN THE NETWORK. WHAT! Sunni. SINCE WHEN. YOU CAN'T BILL COSBY ME, MOTHERFUCKER. I OWN NBC. THATS RIGHT. SUCK MY BIG BLACK DICK. Sunni! NIGGAAAAAAAAAAAA. [throws liquor bottle through jewelry store window and palms all of the diamonds on display] aaaaaahhhhhhhh — jager bomb. THAT'S NOT EVEN JAGER. Whateva. L E G E N D S Camera 1– Now, look directly in the light… I won four oscars… [for that one] I knew that if Sara was a real person–then Stefon was probably a real person, and eventually, i started to wonder, if also–Sunni Blu was a real person. Who is C'cxell Soleil? DO YOU MEAN I COULD HAVE GOTTEN 10% OFF THIS SWEATER?! AGGHGHHHH GODDAMMIT I HATE THIS MOTEHRFUCKER. Let me try. For what. It's my console. So. I got cheat codes. Let the name expire, Or the game experience spectacular levels of– disacknowledgement . At a certain point i realized that I had never heard the word ‘fuck' out of Seth Meyers' actual mouth. This is levels, man. Please explain to me this series. *shrugs* I can't. [he walked away] GOOD. I tell you, I'm not going anywhere near The Rockefeller Plaza In anything less than my awful, irrelevant, and absolutely mediocre do-not-mind-me and pay-no-attention deficit to— Maybe anything i'm saying, because believe me Tomorrow: Whatever tomorrow is, It's changing. I only came here to delay my suicide maybe by at least one day further. I could hope for a laugh, but an honest one would take better, Than all the mechanics in the world, and maybe even — Some sort of heroic gesture, On my own part, As you know, I've got to be going. Tainted. Damaged. TINA FEY He's a little bit– We think he may be, special, maybe… SUDAKIS He's retarded. Hey! No, literally. What! Come on! All thumbs. What the fuck does that mean, anyway? *two thumbs down* What is the plot of this, anyway? I don't know anymore. I'm either adding to my portfolio or my suicide letter. Pretty fancy suicide letter. (It was a pretty fancy suicide.) There's a deadline. Did you catch any of these? Hey look; I've got my own interpreter. Why are we codeswitching? We're always codeswtiching. Why aren't they codeswitching? They're the code. Who wrote this programming? If you tell me that this– Astrophysicist. Astrophysis–wait, what? I told you don't fuck with Fallon! period! Very heavy emphasis on the delay in negotiating these terms. What do you make of it? Nothing. I'm just- Nothing? That's it. He's ending me. Just like that. Just like that! Are you serious? It's his game. I'm just in it. “Pawns” This, is the most powerful man in television. Why. You'll see. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

What is your preshow ritual, anyway? I stand on one of the high floors, up here– Yeah– And I shoot snot at the tourists. What? Gross. Fascinating. Straight out of my nose. Ah, God, man. You need help. And into the plaza. Sick. Gross. Before every show. [beat] You know, some of those tourists are in your audience. Exactly. Agh. You need help, guy. You're a sick man. What goes around…comes around. Agh. I JUST GOT MY NBC MERCH. Ahh, shit, here she comes. Is she drunk. What time is it? 8:45 AM. She's wasted. Yooooooooooooooooo. What up, californians. What up Sunni. Good morning. Californians in new york, That's fucked up. Happens all the time. It is weird. Shouldn't be a thing. Wasted. You like my sweatshirt? [Saturday Night Live] It's custom. No it isn't. It's SNL. I just said that. THE ‘N' IS FOR– What did you just say? I said. NONSENSE. THIS IS NONSENSE. What. Lets take a break. __ CUT TO: I'm going to stare at this photograph until the image of you is burned into my brain. OKay. Why are we LEVITATING? And then, I'm going to incinerate it with my mind. *gasp* YOU'RE JACKED. I'M WASTED. [meanwhile, at craft services] More cocaine, please. Thank you, very much. You hold yourself together very well. I'm sorry, i'm sorry–i'm sorry–i'm sorry. What in the FUCK are you apologizing for?! I am a telepathic time traveler. I knew that already. Like, in very real life. Does this thing go both ways. [REDACTED] WHO ARE YOU? I forgot, already honestly. [The Office Style Mockumentary] I heard you were looking for Jimmy. I wasn't. He's nuts. I– [This is not a movie about] [REDACTED] I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill him. AMY POHLER No comment. {Enter The Multiverse} Once you master the levitation, teleportation is only a very sight– Jesus Christ. Not quite. I mean. Seth Meyers. What are you doing here. I'm not. Okay. L E G E N D S Why are we levitating? We're levitating. You're just— Goddammit, what the fuck do you want? Looking for this? NO. Well, why not? Cause i dropped it; what the fuck are you doing with it? …I thought you'd be looking for it– Well, I wasn't, because I dropped it precisely where I dropped it on purpose. Why–would you drop something like this? Why wouldn't I? Isn't it the only one of its kind? Goddammit, you fucking suck at everything. I don't suck at everything… You suck at this, specifically–and this is everything. Ah fuck, i lost his cadence. I lost the cadence. I lost everything. Suddenly, i stopped writing in his cadence. It was as if, after all that time, he had simply just– Disappeared. Goddammit. Now what happened. Nothing! Dis/Connect. Disconnected. Why. What happened. The server is down. What do you mean the server is down? I'm the server. Well, it's down. WHAT IN THE FUCKKKKKK. FUCK. FUCK. Now I gotta go find Jimmy Fallon. FUCK MAN, I HATE THIS DUDE. __ FUCK THIS NIGGA. I'M SICK OF HIM. You can't say that. I JUST DID. You're lucky they even invited you back here. INVITED ME? I OWN THE NETWORK. WHAT! Sunni. SINCE WHEN. YOU CAN'T BILL COSBY ME, MOTHERFUCKER. I OWN NBC. THATS RIGHT. SUCK MY BIG BLACK DICK. Sunni! NIGGAAAAAAAAAAAA. [throws liquor bottle through jewelry store window and palms all of the diamonds on display] aaaaaahhhhhhhh — jager bomb. THAT'S NOT EVEN JAGER. Whateva. L E G E N D S Camera 1– Now, look directly in the light… I won four oscars… [for that one] I knew that if Sara was a real person–then Stefon was probably a real person, and eventually, i started to wonder, if also–Sunni Blu was a real person. Who is C'cxell Soleil? DO YOU MEAN I COULD HAVE GOTTEN 10% OFF THIS SWEATER?! AGGHGHHHH GODDAMMIT I HATE THIS MOTEHRFUCKER. Let me try. For what. It's my console. So. I got cheat codes. Let the name expire, Or the game experience spectacular levels of– disacknowledgement . At a certain point i realized that I had never heard the word ‘fuck' out of Seth Meyers' actual mouth. This is levels, man. Please explain to me this series. *shrugs* I can't. [he walked away] GOOD. I tell you, I'm not going anywhere near The Rockefeller Plaza In anything less than my awful, irrelevant, and absolutely mediocre do-not-mind-me and pay-no-attention deficit to— Maybe anything i'm saying, because believe me Tomorrow: Whatever tomorrow is, It's changing. I only came here to delay my suicide maybe by at least one day further. I could hope for a laugh, but an honest one would take better, Than all the mechanics in the world, and maybe even — Some sort of heroic gesture, On my own part, As you know, I've got to be going. Tainted. Damaged. TINA FEY He's a little bit– We think he may be, special, maybe… SUDAKIS He's retarded. Hey! No, literally. What! Come on! All thumbs. What the fuck does that mean, anyway? *two thumbs down* What is the plot of this, anyway? I don't know anymore. I'm either adding to my portfolio or my suicide letter. Pretty fancy suicide letter. (It was a pretty fancy suicide.) There's a deadline. Did you catch any of these? Hey look; I've got my own interpreter. Why are we codeswitching? We're always codeswtiching. Why aren't they codeswitching? They're the code. Who wrote this programming? If you tell me that this– Astrophysicist. Astrophysis–wait, what? I told you don't fuck with Fallon! period! Very heavy emphasis on the delay in negotiating these terms. What do you make of it? Nothing. I'm just- Nothing? That's it. He's ending me. Just like that. Just like that! Are you serious? It's his game. I'm just in it. “Pawns” This, is the most powerful man in television. Why. You'll see. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Of Funerals and Families; Part One In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Victory is neither pointless, fleeting, nor soon forgotten. It is yours.” I have been warned that my Uncle wants me dead. My Aunts want me for; other things." "What do they want?" E asked. It was the whole 'men as a true asset' problem for her. "The whole repository of nefariousness;” Pamela started to explain, but then, "Double Word Score!" Pamela and I exclaimed excitedly then 'high-fived'. Yes, you spiteful Cosmos, I had found my soul-mate and she was a near-octogenarian with a macabre sense of humor; who also had a telepathic ability to know my mind. E looked totally lost in the exchange. "Yes; the whole repository of nefariousness was created to be sterile," Pamela picked up the conversation. "Which makes the very existence of Cáel here very noteworthy; virtually inexplicable," she mused. "What have the labs at Havenstone think of this?" Rachel worried. "I refused to go back in for any more tests," I met her gaze. "But it could be important," E joined in. "I will make it easy on you both; I'm a horrible person. I'm the Head of House Ishara and I elect to not put my fate in the hands of the same people who leaked my very existence to the Illuminati during the first set of tests," I stated. "Which is why I'm here in Chicago burying my Father, in case any of you missed it." "Certainly knowing what is going on is more important than the risk of further exposure," E persisted. She got kudos for sticking to her guns. "Esmeralda, I work for Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services," I responded. "By that I mean I have this nifty little glass table in a corner of her office. Me stressing over my genetics isn't really important. Katrina is on the case and I haven't been out of college for two months yet. If the difference between Havenstone getting in a fight with the Illuminati and keeping the truce is my blood sample, she'll let me know," I added. "As far as Ishara is concerned, Havenstone had an information leak that got a house member killed." "Do you have other family?" E inquired hesitantly. "Blood kin? Not in this country and certainly not anyone I could name," I sighed. "I case you are wondering, there are a grand total of three members on Ishara's roster." "Is the rest of your family safe?" E was trying to sound upbeat. "Safe? Of course they are not safe. They both work for Executive Services, Esmeralda. They were 'Runners' who I inducted into Ishara. They are Amazons of the Host and that means never being safe this side of the cliffs. Friday morning I presented them to our ancestors and they were welcomed as equals; as sisters to those who have the blood of Mycenaeans on their hands," I turned to look out the window. "What was it like?" Tiger Lily inquired. "The induction." "If you are looking for a vision of a stone hall with thousands of war-like Amazons holding me in judgment, you'll be disappointed," I recalled. "I had to create the ceremony from scratch; ash, tears and blood. "I felt strong enough about that instinct I let Desiree slap me until I cried enough tears. With Desiree's knife, I cut myself, they cut themselves and our blood mixed," I finished. "That is not how it is done," Rachel corrected me. "No," I stopped. "It is not how you do it. House Ishara has come back from the void that waits for all those who are dead and have no one living to recall them," I explained. "We are not the other Houses. We are both Love and Oaths and there is a lack of respect for each of those virtues in this World." "I never considered Amazons as overly romantic, but we are true to our oaths," Esmeralda was starting to bask in the openness of the exchange. "I do not doubt the integrity of anyone in this vehicle, except for me," I gave her a weary grin. "The failure of oaths is mine. Ishara was bound by an Oath and has failed in her pledge. You are wrong about the romance and I am sure you have misunderstood my definition. I live for the day when no sons are sent to the cliffs as newborns; Love, Esmeralda. Love." The hush pressed upon us until Tiger Lily pulled up in front of the Hotel Burnham. Rachel, E, Charlotte (from the second GL) and I went in. I wave the others back as I went to the desk. Rachel and Charlotte had grey duffel bags with 'stuff' inside. E had my minimal kit. "Cáel Nyilas with Havenstone," I introduced myself. Yes, I was in 'prison' gear. "Director Nyilas; welcome to the Burnham," he recovered quickly. "Which rooms do you wish to use?" Thank you, Helena, no I'm a damn Director. He twisted the screen so I could see the list. Eleven doubles and a Lakeview Executive Suite with two adjoining Deluxe Suites. "We'll use those," I indicated the Executive/Deluxe/Deluxe. "Very good, Sir," he nodded. "Will you be ordering room service? I'm afraid the Atwood restaurant has closed for the evening." "Sounds like a plan," I looked at his name tag, "Steve, or do you prefer Mr. McCabe?" "Steve will do fine, Director;” Steve started. "I will make it easy on you Steve," I sighed. "Call me Cáel. All this Director crap is for the benefit of people I barely know. I am here, in my hometown, to bury my Father; who was murdered yesterday." Steve paled. "The FBI gave me these spiffy duds. If any law enforcement shows up asking for me, give me a ring first." "Nyilas; from Burnham? I read about that," Steve seemed bemused. "The day shift Assistant Manager is from Burnham too." How wonderful, I thought sarcastically. Steven sensed my waning interest. "Your keycards, Sir; Cáel and my sympathy for your loss." "Steve, never miss a chance to tell your loved ones how you feel," I took the cards. "That is my biggest regret with my Dad. I didn't think about it the last time we talked." Steve gave a final nod. I rejoined my group and headed for the elevator. The rest was a tired blur. The rest of the group showed up, including Pamela. I called Nicole to tell her the situation then called Timothy despite the late hour to make sure he was okay. Timothy informed me that two 'psycho-chicks' stopped by as a kind of 'meet and greet'. I hit the small hotel fitness center with Mona, the fourth member of Rachel's team. It helped. What helped more was the constant reminder that I worked with smart people. Mona's mother was dead as well, killed on an undisclosed mission with the SD when she was ten. She could understand my sense of grief and confusion. We didn't cry and hug. It wasn't something she could do with a man. Give a decade, or two and she might come around. Instead, "Thank you for Constanza," Mona said quietly to me as we exited the center. "I measure a person's life in the lives we save; as well as the ones we take," I enlightened her. Before that moment, I didn't really consider killing people to be all that praiseworthy an endeavor. Today I had been in a situation where my life had been in immediate danger. I was glad the other guy ended up dead. Since I was prepared to keep acting stupidly, I was grateful for those who would murder people so that I could remain both noble of purpose and alive. "She is close to me; she helped me grow up after Mom was gone," Mona opened up a tiny bit. "Aren't you a bit angry with me?" I asked. "Initially, I was very angry. Then I heard your words and I knew you spoke the truth of the matter," Mona exhaled. "She should have died. She deserved death for what she said." "No one;” I started to comfort Mona. "For a member of a Faith that exults in the harshness of martial conflict, you spend an inordinate amount of energy struggling to keep people alive," Mona noted. "I'm glad I helped deal with those Latin Kings now. It was a mission worth doing." "What?" I stumbled. "Didn't Buffy tell you?" Mona regarded me. She smirked. "Yeah, we hunted them down late Sunday night and into early Monday morning. I doubt the few who escaped will ever be back." "Why haven't I; anybody heard about this?" I worried. Mona looked at me somewhat perplexed. "Cáel of Ishara, we always take the bodies of murder victims, cut them up, place them in large drums of acid and ship them to Canada," Mona informed me. "Ah; thanks for telling me that. Let's both agree to not let Buffy know that I know, okay?" I requested. "She'll get an inordinate thrill thinking she knows something I don't." "As you wish, Cáel of Ishara," Mona nodded gravely.  (Tuesday Morning) Sexual addiction is somewhat like military service. It requires you to be alert to your surroundings, think on your feet, follow procedures and; most crucial to me; shows you how to remain functional with minimal sleep. In this case, five hours sufficed to clear out my cobwebs and make me incredibly horny. All of that was despite the layers of upsetting news being placed before me. Executive Services had gone over the feed from the four SD members. Inadvertently, Dad had fought on the 'right' side. The team leader died first. Her back-up put two men in the grave and wounded a third before they tossed a grenade on her. I looked at Charlotte as she gave me the news. We both had a 'what the' expression on our faces. Grenade? I kept doing my calisthenics. The second two-Amazon group killed three attackers on their side of the building then charged the back door. I wondered if Mom's Garden Dragon was okay. It was like a Garden Gnome, except it was a Dragon. Mom was odd that way. The attacking group had blown the front door and entered the first floor. The Amazons in the back decided to shoot out the lock instead. While transiting the kitchen moving forward, the second group took fire; from a Zastava M 21. I was confused. "It is a modern Serbian weapon," Charlotte filled in the blanks. "Dad was killed by Serbians?" I muttered. "No," Charlotte sighed. "No he wasn't." Another look from me as I started my standing push-ups. "That team member was wounded. The shooter was taken down by both of our teammates. At this point, three other attackers moved from your front room to the dining room, pinning our team down. That was when your father broke cover and assaulted the attackers. He had this large lamp and cracked it over the right shoulder of the closest man," Charlotte stated. I knew that light fixture Charlotte was talking about. It was a floor lamp, nearly two meters tall, made of glass and bronze. My physique was from my Father; broad shoulders and powerful arms. That 'large lamp' weighed over 30 kg and, powered by my father's upper body strength, I was betting the guy who was on the receiving end had have some of his bones snapped. "The man screamed in Bulgarian, his two companions turned to see what was happening and the Amazons advanced by fire toward your father," Charlotte continued. "Your father swung again," she looked at me, "connecting with the man's chest. In response, the other two shot him three times. He fell. The second team pressed forward, killing the man your Father wounded and wounding another. The last unhurt Amazon was killed trying to get to your Father while the survivor was concussed by the use of a second grenade. We don't have the video of what happened in the interim. When the last Amazon began moving again, the two remaining attackers had dragged your father out the front door. She pursued and fired. She wounded the undamaged attacker; and one of her bullets ended your Father's life. She was wounded in this last exchange of fire. The two men helped each other to a vehicle and left." I kept working out as I made an acceptable collage of my misery. "Does she know?" I whispered. "Does she; the Amazon? Her name is Sabina. I don't think she's been informed yet," Charlotte answered. "Unless it becomes necessary, don't tell her that her bullet killed my Father," I sighed. "The only thing that is important to me; to Ishara; is that she gave her all as did her sisters. My Father was killed by the men who first shot him. Had they escaped with my Father, they weren't taking him to a hospital, so he was as good as dead anyway. That is all that matters." "Yes Ishara," Charlotte responded with quiet reverence. Knowing nothing of Security Detail's procedure and tradition, I had tossed out an excuse to spare a valiant woman a terrible piece of news. Charlotte's demeanor suggested to me that it would be a kindness conveyed. A few minutes later, Rachel and Tiger Lily came in from their suite. Mona had been my guardian while I slept so she slept now. This was our signal to shower and put on some clothes before the group went downstairs for breakfast. Pamela presented herself as I was getting dressed. Esmeralda's arrival signaled our migration to the ground floor Atwood restaurant. As everyone glided into the elevator, I had a nostalgic moment for Odette. A normal, non-lethal, happy young lady. This all-encompassing seriousness around me was crimping my efforts to find the silver lining in this personal calamity. Ten seconds after exiting the elevator, Nicole angled toward us then we proceeded to breakfast. It took a little jockeying and refereeing by me to get the seating arrangements set. Nicole was on my left then Pamela. Rachel and E were on my right. Charlotte and Tiger Lily were across from me as orders were taken. "How are you holding up, Cáel?" Nicole put a hand on my lap. I had no immediate reply. "Lonely. Sad. Alone. Bereft of anger; it is pointless. I want to scream, rage, tear things up, throw things across the room and hear them shatter; but not really," I confessed. Suddenly, a strange essence infused my core. "No, that's wrong. I am not alone. We have suffered more, lived through worse and never wavered even in the face of death," I said in a ghostly whisper. That was really the last thing I wanted to say. Its origin was from an enigmatic corner of my mind I was resisting venturing into. 'Taking oneself to the cliffs' made a whole lot more sense suddenly. The Amazon prepared her daughters and granddaughters for her absence. She volunteered to make that trek. In her heart, she called out to her Ancestors to prepare them to accompany her on that final journey. That all sounded like comfortable spiritual mumbo-jumbo, safely quoted by a rational man under duress. The abyssal rift in that psycho-babble, makeshift patch over my emotional pain was I felt Vranus and Ishara standing at my shoulders. Vranus because his seemingly endless quest was finally resolved and he and his descendants would at last be welcomed into the halls of their kin. With me, he had succeeded and brought his people home. There was still the matter of the rest; the three sons of Arinniti and the elder warrior. Holy Crap; they were still out there, waiting to be shown the path home. My 'Evenly Holier Crap' moment was feeling the weight of the eyes of Ishara upon me. Not Ishara, the matron goddess of this; my House, but that ancient Amazon who had surrendered her personal name to oblivion to give her followers a sense of unity. No female was solely 'her' daughter; all the women of the house were equal in birth and station. It was that Ishara who stood at my shoulder and, beyond some perverse desire to look behind me to see how sexy she was, I felt I had her; not approval; her mandate. We had to be held to our oaths and would die to a woman (and man) for them. We were to give the Host a second chance to make things right. There would be no retreat. It was not in the Amazon psyche to fight the relentless, remorseless and bloody battle; to risk everything on victory with no thought of failure. It was not something guys were accustomed to, but had been the doom of men down through the ages. Whether too romantic, too stubborn, or too bound to our brother's in arms, men had embraced hopeless causes before; mostly perishing without fanfare yet with the exceptional impossible victory to give us hope. From time immemorial, male kin of the flesh and spirit had piled their corpses one upon the other, refusing the verdict of combat for the sake of brotherhood and every imaginable ideal. It was hardly a trait worth sharing with the sisters. They would understand the pieces; not the result. My lack of political ability would not be disability. I simply had to learn to fight; a lot better than I did at that moment. The echoes of this message inside my head, the chilled air that filled my lungs and balance restored to my heart was bizarrely unfrightening. It would be an affirmation of the 'first directive' oaths all the houses had sworn. It wasn't my place to raise all the 'Runners', or even a single one. It was my duty to initiate the 'Worthy', no matter their number. My actions were mine. I would not shame the other houses. I would not consider their prestige at all. It was not my place in the same way it was not their place to tell me what I could and couldn't do. It was a divine 'Go get 'em' and it felt pretty, freaking awesome. "Cáel, are you okay?" Nicole asked in a worried tone. She squeezed my thigh. I looked down at my hands. I was okay. "Nicole, I have the blood of Ahhiyawa champions on my hands. I feel it's sticky, sickening ichor and smell the copper-laden, metallic odor," I smiled. "I think I'm going to be just fine." "Who?" Nicole was even more concerned. "Someone who screwed with me a long, long time ago. They are all dead, but don't worry about the bodies showing up to bother anyone," I grinned. All the full-blooded Amazons had been very still. The word 'Ahhiyawa' appeared to scare them even more than my haunting actions. To the Amazons, the Ahhiyawa were the Mycenaeans in the time of the Iliad. The problem seemed to be that I had never heard any member of the Host use that term and I was suddenly curious as to why. "You seemed to have went away for a few seconds," Nicole joked lightly. "You do appear better rested, which is good. What is on the agenda for today?" "Get my Father's body, prepare for his cremation, arrange for the last Roman Catholic Church we attended to send somebody to the service and prepare my parent's plot," I ran down. "I imagine the police and feds will want to contact me again," I piled it on. "I want to see my home if the forensic guys let me. What do you think will be aimed at me?" "We'll check up on any family attorney you may have had along with probating your father's Will, if he had one," Nicole assured me. "As for the authorities, let's see what kind of warrants they are asking for before we move beyond a 'denial' defense." "Denial, as in me claiming I didn't do anything because, ya know, I didn't do anything," I gave her a sleepy smile. "How about we eat first?" We ordered, drank our coffee, tea and juices while remaining largely non-communicative. It wasn't until the food began arriving did I realize I'd 'misplaced' Pamela once more. As I tore into a big slab of ham, I looked over my surroundings for the first time. I gave myself a mental pat on the back when I spotted Pamela then the 'big picture' kicked me in the nuts. Pamela was dressed as a server, coasting about the room, filling drinks, getting appetizer and performing the tedious little chores that waiters and waitresses had to pull off flawlessly. The other wait-staff noticed Pamela, but since she was making their jobs easier and not taking their gratuities, they ignored her. They probably thought she was some industry expert. The plates were being cleared away when Pamela returned, back in normal clothing. She dumped a pile of ID's on the table. Nicole picked them up. "Chicago PD; Organized Crime Taskforce," Nicole read off then glanced to Pamela. "ATF, Homeland Security, FBI, FBI, Chicago PD; Homicide, Federal Marshall and Federal Marshall." "What?" Pamela said between bites of her veggie omelet. "I took their identification, not their wallets. Do you want me to go back for those too; and their keys?" "No. We have risked Mr. Nyilas' freedom enough for one meal," Nicole shot back. She took Tiger Lily's empty plate, dumped the ID's on it then covered the pile with her handkerchief. "Hello," this officious young lady greeted us. I'd been distracted by Nicole's malfeasance so I missed the hotel's new Assistant Manager's approach. It was turning out to be a great morning for visitations from my past. This ghost was much younger than the last ones. Our eyes met. It was easy to see that I was the man in charge being the only man at the table. "Director Nyilas, I hope everything is going well for you and your staff this morning," she smiled. "I would also like to convey the Hotel Burnham's condolences at the passing of your father. I too was born and raised in Burnham." I already knew where she'd lived most of her life. Most critically, I very strongly recalled where she'd gone to school; all 12 grades plus K. "Cameron Sanders," I stood and extended my hand across the table. "You look familiar." Of course she looked familiar. Cameron had publically ground my soul into the grit that ants stepped upon. Her verbal rejection had been a pivotal moment in my life. After that day, I had taken responsibility for my life both anatomically and academically. Recall how I had said I was once a 'nobody'. Here was living proof. Cameron and I had gone to the same schools from Kindergarten through our senior years. We'd even shared classes and it wasn't like I could be confused with all the other 'Cáels' we'd gone to school with; because there weren't any. The same goes for 'Nyilas'. I'd been shifting the boner in my pants for three solid years because of Cameron. She had been hot in high school and she was even better looking now; Brooke hot. For a second, my confidence wavered. In that heartbeat, I realized she was just another woman and I was no longer that guy. "Where you an upperclassman at Thornton Fractional North High School?" she queried. "Hmm; do you recall Jenny Forrester?" I countered. Cameron knew her African-American rival, no doubt. The tweak in her smile said as much. "I'm going out on a limb; you look like a DePaul girl." Cameron's eyes twinkled. Her eyes flitted down to where her class ring normally held court. She had taken it off for work neutrality. "How did you guess?" Cameron tilted her hip suggestively. Sex. "So I'm right?" I reposed. I had 'guessed' right because Cameron crowed about her decision to go to DePaul over all her other offers. "I have some family business to take care of, Cameron," I nodded. "Can we catch up later today and figure out where we've intersected before this morning?" Translation: I'm going to screw you. Not 'I want to', but 'I will'. I could normally figure out a woman in an evening. I had a three year backlog of data on poor Cameron. My Pivotal Goddess was an 'upfront' girl. Her façade was bravado backed by the fear of not measuring up; not being good enough. My mistake in High School was approaching her, hat in hand. Cameron felt best when someone took the tough choices away from her. If she didn't lead, she couldn't fail by her way of thinking. Dad had stood by me that night when he came home from work. I was a broken wreck of a teenage boy. Dad hadn't told me to toughen up and he hadn't been sympathetic. All he wanted to know was what I was going to do about it. What was 'I' going to do, as if I could be the master of my own fate. That was my Dad. The next day I started working out, eating better and taking better care of myself. He was dead; still dead yet my feelings over that had evolved. He was with my ancestors now, waiting for me and my sons and daughters. Looking at it that way, he wasn't really gone at all. "I'll see what can be done," Cameron smiled. I was going to eat her up. "Oh yeah, this plate was mistakenly delivered to my table," I indicated Pamela's illegal haul. "Could you see that it gets where it needs to go after we are gone?" Cameron shot me a sultry smile without even giving her task a casual glance. A hideous tip (kudos to Odette) was added to our over-priced bill and the ladies and I retired to our rooms. It was routine heading to our room. Mona waved us to silence. Then the 'bug hunt' began. Like every Amazon persecution of opposing 'life forms', they didn't play fair. The Amazons had placed electronic surveillance in the room before they left so when unwelcomed guests showed up while we ate and Mona 'slept' we could watch where they placed their goodies in our rooms. This was not a matter of throwing a fit and tossing the electronic devices down the garbage disposal. Oh no, not in Amazon battle lore. They found out what frequency your device was broadcasting on and backtracked it. According to Tiger Lily you can use a source point and a handheld device to triangulate the receiver. Then the fun begins. First, keep the original signal going. Put a subroutine of; oh, all kinds of credit card fraud in this case with the video file then call the appropriate law enforcement agency to bust the place. The subroutine would have no point of origin, so the Amazons would be safe. The spying agency would have a headache on their hands. Credit card fraud would require them to confiscate all the equipment because the threat posed was real, even if the tip was now suspect. This was the Amazon equivalent of fixating the enemy at one point; surveillance; while making their real move on another; the funeral. The average Amazon funeral was a private affair. My Security Detail was modifying plans for an Amazon dignitary's attendance of another Society member's funerary rites. Halfway through the deception plan, Special Agents Brock and John showed up at our door. With two law firms (Pratt's and Nicole's) dancing on their foreheads, they were being polite today and inviting me down to be questioned. I asked for Detective Lisa and Investigator Horace to be there. One: I didn't dictate who investigated me. Two: they were under Internal Affairs review. I agreed with 'one'; I would say 'nothing' to any number of highly qualified law enforcement operatives. I might give answers to the two I had mentioned. 'Two' was none of my affair. They could hope for some answers when they chose the review would be over. I was more than happy spending a lifetime not talking to them. Legalize was tossed around to the point Nicole yawned, pointed out none of them were attorney's with the United States District Court of the Northern District of Illinois; damn, that's some letterhead, and they could make no deals, grant no immunities, on their own. There was no talking to be done except for the ass-reaming the Court of Appeals was going to give both the Federal attorney who applied for the surveillance warrant and the judge who signed it. Low and behold, phones began ringing. As a patrol unit was making a raid on a room three floors down, a series of shots rang out. A gun battle ensued between the three armed men in the room, the two patrolmen (women actually) and the entire misfortunate event was caught on NBC Channel Five news. Occasionally I forget I work for fundamentally viciously sick fucks. My 'team' had sent the cops and the news crew to the spot and even supplied the ignorant housekeeper with the room card-key for the cops to break in with; a hotel room is not a private dwelling. Cops break in, do their 'freeze, we are the police' thing, but before the three feds in the room could reply, 'their' computer audio equipment let off a sound of bullets firing and ricochets echoing across the room. Nature took its course after that. The feds drew and both sides began shooting. No one died, but one ATF guy was going off to surgery. They would have all earned Purple Hearts if they had been in the military and a commendation no matter what; had two law enforcement agencies not shot each other up. The chase was on for the news crew who was desperately trying to get their station to show the footage before the feds grabbed the memory cards. Despite having had no part in that fiasco, Nicole immediately clued in that the moment our two feds ran off to help their comrades it was our time to leave. Did we go to the vehicles we came in? No. That would have exhibited a lack of paranoia my guardians would have found appalling. Two new car waited a block away. Had I been better at this game, I would have noticed the lack of functioning traffic cameras around us. Instead, I went begging to the local diocese of the Catholic Church. I plead my case. Mom and Dad were devout, raised me to be a devout Catholic yet when my Mother died, my father had never gotten over the trauma and me, being a young man, hadn't explored my spirituality yet; but I promised I'd get right on it when I returned to New York. The priest who handled the end of life stuff for the Church was sympathetic. He gave me the name of a local priest near my home I could talk to on my return. He also told me that he'd received a moving letter from a nun in Uganda about a deeply spiritual moment she had shared with me years ago, so he was onboard with giving my Dad a Catholic send-off. I wasn't sure if that was a sign to never touch a wannabe Nun again, or a reminder that nun's gave incredibly positive feedback on their sexual misadventures. I went with the latter. A few more calls, the choosing of the proper crematorium and I was through with the first part of that ordeal. Next came the funeral notification and invites. The Union would send some of Dad's closest co-workers and several neighbors said they'd show up as well. Flowers, clothes, wake; well, it couldn't be in my family home. The forensic team was gone and it was free for me to wander through, but the bullet holes and blood might put a damper on the ambience. In the midst of my worries, I got a call. A polite man named Winchell Sokolowsky offered me the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion for my personal use. If there is any doubt, Chicago is Not the city of good Samaritans, the overly polite, or even the casually kind. Chicagoans pride themselves on being tough. We have plenty of good people who help out, volunteer and try to make life easier for their fellow man. That does not encompass giving a random stranger use of a multi-million dollar mansion. If I hadn't already been living in fantasy land, I'd have been busy figuring out which one of my few male friends was pulling this prank of on me, but no. "Can I inquire about the source of this largesse, Mr. Sokolowsky? Take in mind the incredible likelihood of a government agency most foul listening in," I cautioned him. "A family friend," he responded with an amused snort. Yeah, cause my Father's funeral was all chuckles for me. Since crab-women weren't likely to know owners of mansions, this had to be my aunts. Woot. "Thank you sir. My security people will be over to sweep the place before the city, state, or federal governments can crank out another search warrant. Thank you again." "That is not unexpected," Sokolowsky replied. "Until then." Rachel looked at me as if I'd done something absurd. She may have been right. "Did you just accept shelter from an individual we do not know; except that he is certainly part of the Protocols?" she stared at me. "Come on now," I chastised her. "It's for a funerary wake. I'm not taking three hundred of the lads out for a stroll, chasing savages up the Little Big Horn, or an Irishman deciding that Oliver Cromwell is a man of his word." I leaned in and winked to Rachel. "Besides Charlie; I got an angle." Pamela, who just happened to be walking by, gave me another high-five. Rachel was really learning to hate/dread those moments of synergy between Pamela and I. "I am not allowed to kill you and I am afraid I can't kill Pamela, but please don't think I don't want to do both," Rachel ratcheted up her displeasure. "Torn into itsy-bitsy pieces;” Pamela started. "And buried alive!" I finished. Another high-five. "You two are both insane," Rachel despaired. "That's the spirit," Pamela and my comeback to Rachel was in synch once again. To prove I wasn't heartless, I hugged Rachel. She froze, arms at her side, caught between warring impulses. I maneuvered her arms around until her hands rested on the back of my hips then rested mine on the small of her back. "Rachel, I cannot go back to a safe, faceless existence," I whispered as I planted tender kisses on her forehead. "To do so would be a betrayal of; me; Ishara." Rachel let go of her emotions and rested her head against my shoulder. "Why couldn't I be tasked to do something sane; like fight drug cartels, Maoist insurgence, or corporate hit squads in the Amazon?" she sighed. I moved my hands to her ass and gave them a nice fondle making sure to slowly grind her waist against my hips. Humping her would have been a mistake. That was sexual. I was giving her a bit of physical appreciation and nothing more. Rachel tilted her head up, I brought mine down until we were nose to nose. "Promise me you will try to stay alive, Cáel," she sounded almost mournful. "I will make a deal with you," I stated. "If I make it back to New York alive, you will consent to have sex with me." Rachel was confused, suspicious yet aroused. "None of this 'one hour' in some dormitory, or nunnery cell. I want everything; a light meal, some quality touching time and a minimum of two rounds of orgasmic sex." "Ah; not a scratch," Rachel counter-offered. I nodded, kissed her nose and she felt as if she'd won something. Rachel got ready to take us to our next stop. Pamela slipped past me. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," she whispered. I had never used that term out loud before. "That's what I would say," she clarified. She was my evil psychic twin grandmother. It was through a tireless group effort that I made it back to the Hotel Burnham at 4 p.m. Cameron made a show of being busy when I first came back. I was willing to be patient. While she puttered around, I flirted with the desk clerk and one of the baggage attendants; pale skin, blonde hair with freckles and light brown skin, black hair in a Nubian weave. This was the 'professional' lure. By presenting myself as a 'Man's Man' and garnering female adoration, I was clearly not (yet) that into her. The pressure was on her and Cameron didn't like pressure because pressure equated to the possibility of failure. Her advantages which were obvious to every other observer were not certainties to her. Contest time. "Director Cáel Nyilas," Cameron interrupted my joke to the two ladies, "I'm finished up for the day." I gave a quick smile to the women I was about to leave then turned on my personal demon. "Should I wait in the lounge until you change?" "No," I waved off her objections. "You can come up to my suite and then we can go to your domicile for you to change for a night out." Quick visual clue update: she lived at home with her parents yet dated enough that it wouldn't be awkward. It also showed me that she was uncomfortable about going to my room. She wasn't so enchanted she would do something stupid. I had the answer to that. I had made it a public declaration. Not only did my hovering troop had the news, so did her front desk. Nothing bad could happen to her if everyone knew where she was; right? On the elevator ride up it was just me, Cameron, Pamela and Esmeralda. The rest travelled on ahead. She took one rear corner so I took the other. I then let my leather-soled shoes slide down the carpet, lowering my overall height compared to Cameron. At some point, I began back-spinning my feet, pretending to be on the edge of falling on my ass. I smiled at Cameron and her eyes sparkled at the vaudevillian gesture. Know your prey and I knew way more about Cameron than was healthy for any girl. For instance, she loved Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton; more of a Keaton girl. She giggled then came to my rescue. She was wrapping me up in her arms while mine stayed safely away. "You are a bit of a joker," she teased me. "Your beautiful smile makes all that effort worthwhile," I truthfully pledged to Cameron. She sighed so contentedly. Behind her back, Pamela was loading a two-barreled hunting device, aiming at some surface-based, above ground structure with an open top and gave it both barrels while avoiding the imaginary back-splash. 'Looks like herring for dinner,' she mouthed with a wicked grin. Esmeralda was soaking it in. Hadn't I pounced on Rachel a few hours earlier? I was definitely hooking Cameron and reeling her in for some sexual deviant purpose; and Pamela was mocking the whole situation. E turned and faced the doors. "You seem like a really nice guy," Cameron murmured. "I mean that in a good way." "I can't see you as any way, but truthful and kind," I met her cherished countenance. "I imagine even harsh lessons are difficult for you to deliver." There; she had one last chance to figure out the poor schlub she'd crushed at the start of our senior year was me. "Being a leader can be very tough," she moped as she pressed into me. My mumbled offerings of affection and her savage reprisal had never registered with her. I was going to eat her alive. "How about I take care of you tonight?" I requested. She hesitated, not out of fear, but confusion. "Completely relax and I'll make the decisions for this one night. Your mind will be free to enjoy and discard at your pleasure." On most levels, Cameron was seeing this as a date. She was a 'dating' girl. She didn't give up the goodies until date three, if I was exceptionally good; date four, or five otherwise. I was about to dispose of that with a clever case of role reversal. My two staffers vanished as I entered my lakeside executive suite. A splendid view I thought I'd never be able to afford the last day; The 28th of December. I had enough money for a flight and a date picking me up at the airport. Bolingbrook had an inordinate amount of students stay the holidays and, by tradition, the graduating class hosted a New Year's Eve party for those students and the staff. I had told Dad about Havenstone and my infinitesimal chances of that kind of job. That was it. He patted me on the shoulder. There was no pressure to come back to Burnham after graduation if I didn't have a job lined up. It was my home if I needed it. So much was unspoken between us. I could tell he was proud; college; good grades; popular; happy. I shouldn't have taken for granted we'd get a chance to talk later. Back to the joy at hand. "So, what's it like working with your Dad?" I dropped into our causal conversation. I was in the bedroom, door open; really? Why do they put doors on those things? The 'Daddy' question could be taken two ways and I trusted Cameron to take it the worse way; and to be pissed. "My Father didn't get me the job here!" Cameron stormed in and insisted with a nice spirited mare stomp of the foot as emphasis. I 'just happened' to be naked, half turned away and a nice, highly suggestive pair of men's underwear in my hands. "What do you mean?" I was clearly confused. I turned a bit more toward her. Now she could almost see everything. "You; you have scars all over your body," she moaned. "I am a warrior, Cameron. This is the kind of man I am," I gave her a fierce, dominating gaze. "I fight for what I want and I brutally defend that which is mine. Who did you think I was?" Had Cameron been a fighter, that would have been the point she left the room. She was all up-front, bravado and a superior façade over an insecure, parentally driven trophy for their mantel place. My anger faded. It wasn't her fault I couldn't read her signs four years ago. I was still going to fuck her to the afterlife and back, but this time I'd be doing it as an informative journey. "I don't know anymore," Cameron tried to rally some sort of coherent rampart. "Come here," I beckoned her with one hand (the one without the underwear). Cameron shook her head. "Cameron, please believe me, there are things my staff would let me get away with; rape is not one of them. I won't touch you anywhere unless you give me permission." If you are a girl in the room at this point, you are toast. I just made it safe to touch my naked body. Sure, you have clothes on; for now, but not for long. Why? Women desire sex about as much as men do. Unless you are a vapid fashion model with substance abuse issues, men with non-disfiguring scars are an aphrodisiac. Add to that a hard-forged physique and men, sex is there for the taking. "I; uh;” she kept taking baby-steps forward. "I; Pam; Pamela is it?" "Yo," Pamela answered in a bored manner, knife in hand, then, "Whoa now!" she pointed her knife at my equipment. "Sheath that, young man. Put it under wraps right now." "I'm grown man, Pamela," I griped. I also put on my underwear. "Pluck the freaking pebble out of my hand, bitch, and then I'll call you an adult," Pamela sneered. Looking to Cameron, "Anything else Miss?" "No, thank you; no, wait. What do you do for Mr. Nyilas?" Cameron asked. "I'm his psychic medium," was Pamela's sage reply. That supernatural bogusness made Cameron happy. It shouldn't have. "Yeah, I kill his enemies then interrogate their souls," Pamela added with a nod. "It is highly rewarding work." Cameron's mouth gaped. "How about I shut the door and give you two kids some privacy." "What does she really do?" Cameron whispered to me. Part of me wanted to say 'she told you'. "She's my masseuse," I lied. I started putting my pants on (forgetting my socks) then fell/sat on the bed. Cameron came to my bedside. I rolled on my back and highly exaggerated the effort it took to pull them up. Cameron began giggling. "Hey, these are my 'skinny' slacks. I wouldn't laugh at you if our positions were switched." "Really?" she teased me. I laughed and she laughed along. "Cameron, think about it. I'm shirtless and definitely bra-less. I'm pretty sure I'd be too distracted by a multitude of your other assets to snicker," I countered. Cameron blushed and smiled. Ah, the visual image in Cameron's head was her, with jeans, racy panties and nothing else on while I hovered over her, relishing her attempts to conceal her charms. I shuffled back on the bed and resumed pulling my slacks up. Cameron followed, right into the danger zone. "Wait;” she put a hand on my abdomen. "What caused that scar?" So I told her. Okay, I gave her an abridged version of the truth. Fine, I lied like a big dog. I had the amazing habit of stumbling across women in need of saving. I bled for their virtue and honor, racked with intense pain before a violent victory was seized by my masculine hands. I was sure that Pamela and Rachel were hiding just outside the door, retching into waste baskets over the layers upon layers of my tripe. Around wound twelve, I was sure if I had asked Cameron to wear little lamb ears and a bell around her neck, she would have; had one been handy. To be fair, I wasn't fighting off legions of Green Beret. I was doing one better. I was using thinly-veiled caricatures of her High School enemies and nemeses. I was revealing their wickedness and pummeling them for their evil ways. There is a precious look a woman has when she miraculously discovers she is going to have the intercourse she's wanted yet somehow not recognized that need for until that moment. Cameron had that look, straddling me, skirt hiked up to her waist and vulva riding my cock (two layers intervening). We were out of wounds. "The rest are covered up," I explained in a predatory voice. Yes, Cameron was going to have sex and she had no control of events whatsoever and I hadn't even laid a hand on her yet. "Where?" she was suddenly baffled. "Pants," I kept it short and to the point. Cameron looked over her shoulder She reluctantly started to dismount so she could get to them so I made my move. I grabbed her hips in mid-dismount and rotated her around to reverse-cowgirl. Cameron began tugging off my pants with my legs raised high. My stomach crunches kicked in and I leveraged my torso up as well. I deftly moved her skirt up and went straight to the ass massage. Cameron's head shot around, eyes fearful. I had broken my word to not touch her without permission. Yes, I had lied to a girl; Now, I kissed her right on the lips, expertly delivered a delving French kiss and moved one hand to her right breast for an aggressive fondle. Cameron was really getting into it. Her nipples were highly sensitive. Her ass was humping like an over-eager sorority girl pole-dancing on Amateur Night. On cue, Cameron broke free and flew off the bed. "What; you; I thought we were going out?" she whined. She was horny as hell and didn't want to be held accountable at it. "Why are you running away?" I reclined back, solely in my underwear now. I was using my 'I'm disappointed in you' voice. Yes, I was 'guilting' a girl into having sex. Duh. I would never coerce a woman, or take one not in her right mind; that's using forces beyond her control. Guilt? Guilt has a foundation squarely in a woman's mind, just like humor, romance, common interests (feigned or not) and horniness. Girls can control guilt just like any other psychological trigger. It is called being shameless and I ought to know. Remember guys, it cuts both ways. Don't think so? You've had a girlfriend three whole months to the point she's staying over a night or two a week. One night, after your (hopefully) second round, you both discover it is that time of the month. 'Babe (or whatever pet name she has saddled you with), can you run to the store and get me some tampons and pads?' That, by the way, was not a question. She, for hygiene reasons, can't put her clothes on and go out herself. So, you go out to the Quick-Mart at 2 a.m. praying to God that none of your buddies are on a late night beer run and see you with your; stuff. You are not doing this for sex. She's not feeling 100% at the moment. Why are you? Guilt. She was at your place, making your Baloney Pony happy and this happened. You could send her out to the store. Not only is she not the only woman out there, many women understand guys getting freaked out about menstrual products. No, you feel guilty and risk the ridicule of your peers because it is your fault and you are not a dick-wad. And why did she ask you to do something that has nothing to do with you? Women are equally aware that guilt works, Baby. Back to our tale; "I'm not running away," sounded empty coming out of her mouth. "You said; touching." "I think you gave that option up when you crawled on top of me," I leered. "I clearly want to be with you, Cameron. You have given every indication you want to be with me, so I ask you again, why are you suddenly running away?" I kept after her. "I don't want to have sex; right now," again, she sounded weak. "Whatever happens, I go back to New York in two days," I met her shaky gaze. "You can set a time table if you like. The actuality of my life is relentless. I have things to get back to. If you are going to go, then go. I'll head out alone tonight, get a few drinks, come back early and grab some shut-eye," I shrugged. I went searching for my pants. See, she wasn't some random fuck. I wasn't leaving to replace her; making her a failure. I was hemming her in. I had the timeline. I had made my desires clear. There was no negotiation so while she appeared to have choices, she didn't and she knew it. For a girl who had spent so much effort working hard to not disappoint the main masculine figure in her life there was only one thing to do. "I don't want you to think I ever do anything like this," she propped up her morals while stutter-stepping back to the bed. "I feel I have a connection with you." Ah; the 'I have a connection with you' excuse. It would have been so appropriate if she actually remembered me. I pulled her onto the bed, went through the obligatory trying to push me off then we were back to the kissing and humping. Cameron turned out to be a 'use me' girl. That does Not mean abuse, it means she gets off being a responder to her partner's sexual directions. Caress her cheek, jaw and throat and she'd cup my chin, or massage my chest. Cameron was smart and a quick-learner. Her problem was a lack of a sense of adventure and an aversion to taking the lead. With the phantom applause of a hundred other male 'losers' who went to Fractional North High School, I ‘did' the queen who had been beyond us all only four years ago. The erotic twist to all that was with every sense of triumph and pleasure, Cameron mimicked me. Certainly we were both having a memorable time. I had to touch, lick, knead, and fondle every inch of Cameron's body. We both explored our nipple fetish, sixty-nined and engaged in some anal play; no penetration. I completed my first sojourn with the removal of the condom and the blowjob that had been the fantasy of countless hours in my home's upstairs bathroom. Cameron didn't just swallow; she savored and looked like she wanted more. Normally I cuddle beside my partner post-coitus. With Cameron, I lay on top of her at eye level. I put enough weight on her to let her feel pinned without real discomfort. "I have a confession," I gave her a sweaty-faced grin. "What?" she asked then gave me a peck on the lips. "We went to school together; same grade and everything," I enlightened her. "We even talked once." Cameron didn't know what to make of that. "I'll put that in perspective though. Do you believe that if you do something you do your best? Do you believe in craftsmanship?" "Cáel, you are scaring me," Cameron frowned. "Fifteen seconds and you can go," I conveyed with as much calm as I could. "Answer my question." "Okay; yes, I believe in doing your best. I believe in craftsmanship," Cameron played along. "Your words; 'never in a million years'." I related and waited. First there was the uncertainty and fear of the odd course our relationship had taken. It took a few seconds because so few pieces of the puzzle fit. "Cáel Nyilas; it was you; start of senior year; I had been," she muttered. Then came the real fear. "You must hate me." "I thought about it," I said, "but that isn't really me. See, you helped create me. Truth be told, you were only the catalyst. I did all the work." "A great many women helped. They were never a replacement for you. I was taught better than that by my first lover," I continued. "Still, I would be totally different if you hadn't casually annihilated my self-worth that September day." Pause. "Do you like the results?" "You really don't hate me;” Cameron was coming around. "It was high school. We all screw up in high school. According to a few studies, if you don't make a mess of high school, you are destined for failure," I related some real information. "You are getting hard again," Cameron gasped back to being okay with things between us. "Perhaps I should have warned you," I grinned wickedly. "I'm a sex addict." "Hey, Sex Addict!" Pamela shouted into the room. "There are some people out here to see you." "Good people, or bad people?" I shouted back. "Worse," Pamela replied. "The kind of people that want something from you." That was vaguely unpromising. "Cameron, take a shower and we'll talk about dinner when you get out. I think I need to take care of this," I sighed. Off went Cameron to the shower and on went my robe. In the main room, with a variety of levels of sexual tension, were sixteen women I didn't know. The Hotel Burnham has very nice suites, but they are not ballrooms. The room was pretty crowded, with not enough chairs and wall space getting sparse. They were all Havenstone women and I was willing to bet the average age was thirty-five; not my normal crowd. At least I knew why they were all there. Pamela suspected. Rachel and her team were clueless. "Hi, I am known as Cáel Nyilas," I greeted them. "A short history lesson and things will make a great deal more sense, so please be patient." The crowd was not pleased. I was a male and to a woman, the ladies had repudiated the world of men. They were all 'Runners'. It was the presence of Rachel's group that was keeping them civil at this point. "Twenty-five hundred years ago, as the Second Betrayal was ending, there was a small group of males who had proven themselves to the Amazon Host, taken into houses and their names were written on the Amazon Rolls," I started off. "Two of those males and three male children of one of the houses survived the massacre the female Amazons inflicted on their kin." That bought me a moment. Slaughtering your own babies, even male babies, wasn't something they would shrug off. "Well, if you know your Amazon politics, you know that the children of an Amazon who dies while in service of the Host becomes a member of the Host; so on and so on." The implications were sinking in as was the nervousness. "One of those men was a young warrior named Vranus of House Ishara. I am the sole surviving heir of Vranus. We are also here for the burial of my Father, who was murdered Sunday night. The next bit of Amazon politics. House Ishara was an extinct First House," I continued. "Oh shit," was uttered from half-dozen lips as they moved to the next, obvious step. "The succession to the Head of House for any House is elevation by your peers, accepted ritual combat and; the oldest surviving member of the House," I added. "By the Seven Martial Goddess; don't you have to be female? I mean; We are Amazons!" one of the 'Runners' yelled in disbelief. "Do you plan to add more males to your House?" one of the senior members growled. "Two things; it should not bother you one way, or another, and it is not MY House. It is the House of my Ancestor, Ishara. If this is going to be a problem, you are in the wrong room," I met her hostile glare ember for ember. That one headed for the door. "Wait," a fellow 'Runner' grabbed her arm. "You can't be going along with this Marsha?" the departing Amazon snapped. "I don't know this one, but I trust Buffy," Marsha countered. "Ok ladies, so that we are clear," Pamela sighed. "The next one of you to insult the Head of House Ishara, I am going to drag into the other room, kill you and cut you up into giblets for room service to take away," Pamela sounded positively disinterested. "I am not afraid of you," the departing one glared. "That would be a serious mistake," Rachel interjected quietly. Deep breath from me. "Listen, this is a highly improbable incident. I am not asking anyone to embrace the society you have rejected. In fact, I admire you for the strength it took to transition. I also ask you to accept the fact that I DO NOT want to be here, doing this, with any of you," I made one last effort. "Quite frankly, you man-haters scare me; being a man and all. You seem to think I have a choice in any of this. I don't. I am the heir of Vranus. I am the last known living descendant of the Amazon who chose the name Ishara for the sake of her house's unity," I stated. "I don't want to do this, but I'm not the kind of human being who runs away from my responsibilities." "Okay; Cáel of Ishara, why are we here?" Marsha said as she kept the other one from leaving. "Sixty years ago, the Amazon Houses swore an oath to the women who joined their cause. They lied to you. They have not kept up their side of the bargain. They have refused virtually all of you entry into the status as true, full-blooded Amazons," I explained. "And now you are going to rectify that; injustice?" the senior one kept mocking me. "Fine; you and me; one last chance," I sighed. "Look around you. Who do you see? The prettiest, the most pliable, the most power-hungry? If you can point out one woman in this room that doesn't deserve to be a Full-Blooded Amazon, leave now." "You didn't choose any of us," she responded. "Exactly!" I shouted. "I didn't choose any of you to be in House Ishara. Buffy Ishara and Helena Ishara did. Why? Because I don't know any of you, or your sacrifices and worth to Havenstone. I gave that duty to the two; and only two; member of House Ishara who would know who was the most worthy to be in a First House." "We are here to be inducted," one of the silent Amazons voiced with a dream-like quality. "Yes. Barring being rejected by Ishara, you will be inducted at my Father's graveside tomorrow morning," I stated clearly. "How many?" Senior questioned. "This time; twenty," I answered. "I have no agenda and no set number of 'Runners' to be inducted into House Ishara. It doesn't work

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..