It wasn't until he was upgraded to beta version of the AI implant that Jimmy could muster enough courage to talk about it. He sent a message to his friend, straight from his brain to the popular chat app.

“Hey Hugo, see you at the local tonight?”

A few minutes later, a faint buzz in his cranium told him Hugo had replied. 7 pm.

***

“What's up, Jimbo?” Hugo asked after they'd settled with a Schooner each, AC/DC making them yell.

“Not sure how to say this, mate.” Jimmy hesitated, “I have to share it with someone and I thought I could trust you.”

“Of course,” Hugo leaned in, “girl trouble again?”

Jimmy laughed. “Nah, not really!”

“Spill it, then!”

“Earlier this month, I signed up for a cutting-edge treatment–”

“For your introversion?”

“Yeah, but I wasn't sure how to tell anyone because–”

“You're an introvert.” Hugo finished his sentence, then asked. “So, how’s the implant going?”

Jimmy stared at Hugo. “How do you know?”

Hugo didn’t answer. Instead he pointed at the empty tumblers and asked. “Another beer?”

“Sure.”

Jimmy was intrigued. He knew Hugo’s obsession with technology and the barrage of links he sent on a regular basis. Jimmy never acknowledged but read them all. When Hugo came back with the drinks, he persisted.

“Hueg, your articles inspired me to get the implant and I do feel like a new man. I thought I would surprise you–”

“I am… surprised and happy.”

“But how did you already know about it?”

Hugo took a slow, deliberate sip of the beer and said. “I’m the designer of the implant. You’re my first test subject.”

“What?”

“Sorry, the test had to be blind. I was worried if you knew it was me, you wouldn't accept it. But I’m glad you’re alright!”

Mark

Mark, a somewhat withdrawn and reserved teenager, was upset when his father disappeared(?)died. They had never been what you would say was close but he had always been a reassuring presence. His mother, after some time, found a new partner. But Mark couldn’t forgive what he saw as his mother’s betrayal of his father. So, the household was not a happy one, they were forever finding fault with Mark, there was constant bickering as Mark’s mother tried feebly to defend him.Mark’s resentment grew. The situation was becoming impossible for everyone. So it was not long before the adults decided it would be better for Mark to move along. “He was of an age when he should be getting out in the world, making a life for himself”, they declared, somewhat defensively.

Mark worked in an office as a junior clerk and walked to work. If he went by bus he might meet someone he had no wish to speak to! Every day he took the same route, resolutely ignoring or even avoiding all those he encountered. One day, upset by a row at home, he turned aside from his normal route, walked down an unfamiliar street and saw an old man erecting a sign which said "Room to Let - No Pets or Children".

Intrigued, Mark approached and spoke to the old man who seemed to like the look of the young man. He assured Mark that the rent would be very reasonable and explained that since his wife had died remaining there was difficult for him - it stirred memories he preferred to forget. He had to make a clean break and get on with his life. The rent was more to cover costs than anything else. “The Council wanted proof of death! Can you imagine that. The cheek! Rates! - they’re blood suckers, that's what they are!”, exclaimed the old man. “Anyway, you don’t want to know my troubles”, he continued, “You can move in as soon as you like”. Mark suggested that Monday, the following week, would be convenient. That would be April 1st!

And so it was agreed.

Mark was overjoyed at the prospect of escaping the oppressive atmosphere at home, so much so that even his workmates noticed the change in the normally taciturn Mark they were familiar with. So the great day dawned and Mark put his scant belongings in a suitcase and crept out of the house for the last time. He made his way directly to his new room and was greeted by the old man who admitted him.”There’s not much to show you”, he said, “There’s a kitchen unit in the corner behind that curtain, a bit of a worktop and a gas ring - you’ll have to pay for the gas, mind! The lavatory is on the landing but you’ll be the only one in the house, so it's as good as ‘en suite’!” he added. Well you’ll soon find your way around!”, he added ironically. “Well,if there’s nothing else, I’ve got places to go, things to see, so to speak, so I’ll leave you to it”, excused himself, and then left him to settle in.

‘Settling in’ didn't take long for in reality the room was no more than that. A corner was curtained off which contained a kitchen unit complete with a sink, and a work surface holding a gas ring as the old man had said. Surprisingly there was also a note saying "Enjoy your breakfast". Beside it was a strange looking egg, an eggcup and a teaspoon.

Thinking no more about it, Mark popped the egg into a saucepan, added water, placed the pan on the gas ring and lit the gas. It was then he discovered that there were no other provisions in the cupboard. Forgetting to turn-off the gas he hurried to the cornershop at the end of the street where he bought sliced bread and butter to eat with his egg. Dashing back he was dismayed to find that the saucepan had boiled dry. So much for a boiled egg to start the day! Thinking to throw the egg away he glanced into the pan and was astonished to find that the egg was cracked and showed what he could only think was the end of a beak. Moreover there was movement! All thoughts of breakfast immediately disappeared. He watched with concern as the egg ‘hatched’ before his amazed gaze.

The tiny creature which emerged somewhat bedraggled, roused Mark’s sympathy but what should he do? He tried to feed it crumbs but it showed no interest and, surely, a new-born whatever it was, could hardly be fed solid food! Reluctantly, he abandoned it and returned to the corner shop to buy other things he might try.

His first thought was milk, but birds don't drink milk! Yoghurt or cottage cheese might do! When he returned to his room the creature, for he could no longer see it as a bird, had tidied itself up, and regarded him with a sharp, wary eye. He tried it with cheese which it poked at but rejected. Perplexed, but somehow desperate, - after all the poor thing must eat something!, he tried it with a snippet of bacon which he'd actually bought for himself. But birds eating uncooked bacon, who’d ever heard of such a thing? To his considerable surprise it closed its eye and paused, seeming to savour it before tipping back its ‘head’ and engulfing it. Swallowing didn’t really describe the action - one minute , it was there , the next, it was gone. Whatever else it was, it was clearly not a vegetarian!

"I wonder", he thought and returned to the shop and bought some minced meat. Returning once more, he offered a little on the end of his spoon. The reaction was immediate, it stabbed at the spoon then forthwith greedily gobbled the rest, closely examining the spoon in case it had missed a scrap. It very quickly consumed all the meat he had brought.

Having taken the week off 'to get settled' Mark thought of nothing more than how to cope with this strange, uninvited guest. Did it qualify as a pet? Would he have trouble with his landlord? Should he, perhaps, take it to the RSPA clinic? Surely they would know how to care for it. Should he just put it out of the window and leave it to its own devices?

He had no idea what it was, he couldn't even describe it, for it was unlike anything he had ever seen. He was very aware that, from its loud protests, it was desperately hungry and he somehow felt compelled to cater to its needs. No,he decided, I can’t abandon it, I must do the best that I can. Feeling somewhat noble at having made this decision and having finished the minced meat he’d bought, he decided to visit the butcher to see if he could buy any scraps of meat - surely they would be to its taste!

So equipped, so to speak, he returned to his room. Half of the scraps he spread on the worktop. They were 'disappeared' by the creature which was now growing at an astonishing rate - almost right before Mark's eyes. All throughout, it maintained a fixed, unblinking eye on Mark as though fearful that he might try to steal some of its food. Nevertheless, it managed, somehow, to consume what was there without the need to watch what it was doing.

Fascinated, Mark began to offer scraps of meat held in his fingers. These were taken carefully. even gently. at first but more and more quickly and greedily with time. Unintentionally(?) in the wild scramble for food the creature nipped Mark’s finger, drawing blood. At this moment it stopped, blinked its eye, and then peered sharply at Mark, seemingly examining him……

When Mark didn't return to work it didn't cause any alarm. there were countless reasons to explain why, though no-one could think of one, or even bothered! He had never seemed to do anything but occupy a desk, so his non-presence wasn’t important. It could even be seen as an advantage - there was more space!

Eventually, however, people did begin to wonder and enquiries were started. Finally, a 'delegation' paid a visit to his last, known address. The old man, Mark’s landlord, was there, but all he would say was that Mark had moved away without leaving a forwarding address.”It’s nothing out of the ordinary”, he volunteered, “Young people come and go all the time, Footloose I’d call them!” He would say no more.

As they left they did notice a "To Let" sign prominently displayed in the window.

Son

Walks in with herpes sores genuinely taking over his lips to the point it seems like an Alien has won the battle with his immune system

From her knees and hands Mom looked up at him for an answer

"You think this is bad Ma you should see the other fella!"

Ma "Did you?!"

Son look up in thought and this action opened up a sore that had enough puss to have the mom propel back from the vomits recoil

Father "Reminds me of my time in the service" flashes back to being a Navy Corpsmen and asking what the hell happened to a crawling Marine with only body from his ass cheeks upward (with boots somehow being dragged)

"Oh this? You should see the other guy." His laughter powered him through, laughs of a puddle manmade, with only a Kevlar to give a hint of what once was the pink chunky puddle steaming beneath it

Marine: "I passed him and for the last time I decided to crop dust him and since my situation down there is less than ideal I fully shit out a gurgle that I swear caused that puddle to laugh up a little and I think that was Johnson finally admitting he may he owed a purple heart."

Corpsmen: "Yeah that's some real friendly fire you must've caused based on how much is still dusting right now."

Marine "those boots are full of Johnson by the way doc, he said you better have a better remedy this time than to just change his socks."

Corpsme "Full of johnson you say? I'll put one of those on ice for you so you're not fully G.I. joe back home"

Marine "Guess I could use that shrink ray device they tested on base and once you're my 1 semen you just gotta hope I change my socks that next lights out."

I thought I willed myself enough to tell you this, but I didn’t. I did send you the messages but deleted them. I say that it’s because I have said enough through our friendship, but deep down, I know it’s more than that. I am scared. Scared that I would have just opened my heart to you without you grasping the weight. Without you changing, like I begged you to before. Unfortunately, I've always been dramatic. Like I'm always writing my last letter to someone when I tell them my emotions. If these words did reach you that day, I would be scared that you wouldn’t read it all, or you would feel like you didn’t do anything wrong. But that’s not true. We both did something wrong. And I want to address it because I have never been the type to leave without a goodbye. Even if it never reached you, _ _ _ _ _. I found myself in a constant state of yearning. And it's utterly selfish. Because I knew you didn't reciprocate. And I'm over here, wanting more when you didn’t even know. It's like _ _ _ _ _ all over again. And my biggest fear was that we would end like how you both did. In a sense we did, but I was the one who left. I remember when you two were still talking, I sat through it all giving my advice that you agreed with, while I was just like him… In a way. I felt disgustingly greedy. So I am putting an end to it by saying what's on my mind. I am utterly drawn to you. Who you are. I wanted to know more. And I know we've talked about this, how it takes a while to feel something even remotely close to 'love'. I wouldn't say that’s how I feel for you yet, or if you would have ever allowed me too, (I decided I wouldn’t allow myself), but I want you in ways I didn't even know I wanted someone. Not like romantically per se, but in a sense I want to share a connection with you where I just have you confidently. I want to know every little detail with you... It's hard to put into words. When I was on call and we're just talking, it felt so natural. It was so alluring. It just felt so right. The way you’d express yourself so eloquently, so clearly, while I took 20 minutes just to reiterate and get my point across, or the way we’d literally just talk to each other so easy and have the same things in mind, or the way you laughed, because, God it was so lovely, the way we’d joke with each other because it genuinely made me feel warm, or the way we’d share our thoughts without judgement, the spotify jams, the hours we would spend talking without realizing, the way we understood each other, the way you stuck in my mind so pleasantly, the way I knew in my heart that I wanted you, how you became the type of person I try to look for in strangers… I could keep going. But why try to revive what died? Our relationship, I mean. But even now, I still harbor the same feelings. They’re just hurting. But I can’t keep going, because this one-sided attraction isn’t right. It's greedy and selfish. I was greedy and selfish. I am greedy and selfish. For you. But I found myself wanting more. And that's the thing, because it destroyed me. I compared every one of our interactions with how you interacted with others, just praying that something will be different. That something would stick out, implying that you may even possibly feel the same. But my heart hurts when I see that it's just me. And now you were dry with me and wouldn’t even tell me what's going on. It hurt.

You reminded me of warmth.

You remind me of warmth.

But I was too scared to ask for it to stop while it was burning me.

My feelings were bad not only because it was one-sided, but also because it was 'too early' according to your standards. And I could sit on call with you as you explained your thoughts on talking stages or romance, how long it takes, and say I agree with you, but deep down, I knew I was just a hypocrite. And you know what, maybe I did agree with you at first. Not wanting to disrespect people's souls and everything. But if anything, my feelings for you taught me a new perspective. Intimacy doesn't have a schedule. It doesn't have a time limit, or rather a time expectation. It can come and go as easily as the wind. But this wasn’t just the wind for me. It was like the sun, like the warmth I get from it. And I am so cold. And It just felt wrong. Feeling that way when you didn’t. But now that I had time to come to reality, end the delusion, and assess your previous actions with me and others, I realize it wasn’t just me. I feel like you're scared of getting too close to people. Once they show signs of wanting you, you leave. But then when they call you out, you give them all these pretty words with promises that are never followed through. In my mind I feel like you still care for them, but something inside of you is telling you to not get too close. It's not my place, but you were hurt when intimate with someone. And I couldn't see how you wouldn't suffer long-term effects from it. But this is something you should tend to. Because people aren't evil. I knew I wasn’t. I know I am not. That isn’t me trying to convince you, I just want you to see that I am not. But, _ _ _ _ _, it's like it was a never-ending cycle with you. Even with your actions with others. With _ _ _ _ _, he communicated more than once his emotions, and strangely, despite you not liking your friendship, you told him you would be better. People confronted you and you’d just tell them half truth and half what they wanted to hear. And my biggest fear was that you would do that to me. (you did). Because we had talks where I would explain my fear of you being dry, and you would reply with such beautiful words that made me think it would all be okay again. Then you would draw back. It was horrible. It made me feel horrible. Like I was betting on someone who would just leave again, while knowing they would. Because something inside of me was counting on you to change with no proof that you ever would. And I knew, I knew all too well that we hadn't even known each other for two months, but we talked a lot. I told you a lot. Even if you didn’t tell me a lot. So I can't keep using your ideals, the ones where connection takes time, to unjustify my feelings. Because they were very real. And very painful. I crave something I couldn’t have and felt disgusting for even wanting it.

But that was the thing, it was normal. Things happened, and it's not that I didn’t want to get to know you more, it's just that I was already so... well, I don't know the right word, so I will just say this lightly: In love / captivated by what you've shown me, I wanted to know more. And it wouldn't have changed anything. All In all, I desired you. And you fluctuated without a word or proper communication, and with me having been too scared to overstep because it would reveal too much... I can't do it anymore. I couldn’t do it anymore.

Intimacy shouldn't be timed. I felt like you were just scared to be hurt. And that is not because I wanted you, so don't think that. Don't you dare think that. So this brings me to the end of my embarrassing feelings. I needed honesty. I don't know what on, but I was hoping that if you had read the message in time, you wouldn't tell me what you thought I wanted to hear, or what you thought you felt, or should have felt. I just wanted you to tell me the truth. Because I didn't know if I could just be 'friends' with you. I can't be your friend and want you in a way, a way that I don't even know what to label- a way that friends don’t want each other in.

Before I deleted the message, I was hoping you would just block me. It would have made me feel less shitty. But I think now, I would have felt shitty any way it went. Excluding the impossible chance of you feeling the same way. But… let me pretend for a second that you did feel the same and perhaps something started between us. I think… you wouldn’t have changed. You would still put me through this and I would be too scared to tell you. We would both mess up.

Maybe, _ _ _ _ _, we could have lasted in another time period. But life just had to introduce you to me now. And that's what I regret most. Something I cannot fix.

“I am here with an urgent message. Your friend the Golden One has passed on,” Detective Dewalt relays.

“I dreaded this day. A few nights past I felt his spirit in the camp,” Zenith reveals.

“He didn’t die in vain. We know who his killer is,” Detective Dewalt states.

“Good work, Mr. American policeman. Make sure he pays the price your country asks of him,” Zenith confers.

“We will see to it. One thing I care to know is what he was exactly after during his stay?”

“Are the silver mines not enough of a reason?” Zenith asks.

“Respectfully, no. I don’t believe the Golden One was concerned with silver at all. I believe he was after something else,” Detective Dewalt presses.

Zenith stand up from the bonfire and his men rise as well. He motions his legion to stand at ease.

“Come with me,” Zenith urges.

They take a path near the water. Detective Dewalt, and Zenith stand shoulder to shoulder overlooking the majesty of the islands under the Caribbean moon. The stars in the heavenly sky above are the only ones eavesdropping.

Zenith is looking up, “You ask, what he visited us for?”

“Yes. I must know.”

“He came for power,” Zenith growls.

Title: Under the Caribbean Moon.

Genre: Mystery.

Age Range: N/A. Will discuss.

Word Count: N/A. Will discuss.

Author Name: Preston Olson.

Why?: Nothing beats an original crime saga, and nobody beats the criminals harder than the police.

The Hook: Power is a balancing act. Society gives it to criminals or rests it in the hands of would-be criminals. Who's hands are truly clean anyhow?

Synopsis: Major players are evolving and destructing. Evil is lurking from the shadows looking to blot out all of the good Progressive Task Fore 12-Z has done for Chicago. Uncertainty is a challenge that has just been accepted.

About me: My name is Preston Olson, I've written over 12 stories and have published 4 books. 2 in physical form and the other two for sale online. I also run odd man out.

Hometown: Bourbonnais, IL.

Age: 32

I have reached the point where I can sit down. After spending the last four hours working in the back yard and garden, there’s nothing left to complete. The brick walkway is once again weed-free. After amending the soil, the potatoes and onions are planted. Netting is put up. Seeds for beets, broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, peas, peppers, radishes and spinach are nestled in their respective beds or pots. The windchime, rain gauge, garden flags and cast-iron pig (“This little piggie went to the garden.”) have been returned to their rightful spots. The bird feeders and water bowl/birdbath are full. Everything has been crossed off Spring’s To Do List. Quite a productive afternoon. But this wasn’t always the case.

Taking inventory of the work completed, I reflect on the original condition of the fenced-in yard when I bought my foreclosed home nine years ago. The exterior was in rough shape but still better off than the interior of the 106-year-old house. The fence needed repairs. There was no electricity to the deteriorating shed. Railroad ties appeared to be solid but were rotted out underneath. Bamboo had gained a firm foothold among the tree stumps and knee-high weeds. Large rocks were strewn about. At varying intervals, bricks peaked from beneath the overgrown sod. And the enclosed patio was not structurally sound.

Each of the first eight years, when the weather in Virginia warmed, I’d postpone my inside repairs and tackle the most pressing landscaping issues. I’d focus on a major job while utilizing any area not needing attention for planting vegetables. Underbrush, weeds, stumps, railroad ties and seemingly endless bamboo roots were cleared. Now I have more sun exposure. The entirety of a brick walkway was exposed and realigned while the rocks were organized. Now the garden feels more inviting. New roof, siding and electrical wiring for the shed. Now I have a functional workshop. The patio was demolished and replaced with proper steps flanked by permanent storage compartments. Now I have convenient access to the yard. Blueberry and raspberry bushes were planted. Two raised beds for strawberries were set up. Compost bins were started. Rain barrels were added. Now the garden is self-sustaining. These tasks dominated my summers. I looked forward to the day when all the work needed would be finished.

And that day is now. I can prep my garden in just a few hours, leaving the rest of the season to focus on planting and harvesting. The birds, squirrels and lone chipmunk get fresh water and food on a regular basis. Within six to eight weeks, I’ll have a steady supply of vegetables and berries well into September. So, sitting on the backsteps, surveying my private slice of Heaven, I know all the hard work completed the previous years has made everything right in the world now. This is a perfect day.

This is probably the longest I’ve gone without an orgasm since a year ago February. I know it’s a self-induced penance for my stubbornness combined with my mouth getting me into trouble and pissing him off as I seldom had. However, as I pull myself out of the bath and go lie down on the bed to cool down, I want nothing more than to come. I clench my fists, willing them to stay at my side. I can’t help it. I gently let my fingertips glide over my flesh, flushed from the bath. What am I doing? Sure, he hasn’t said that I may not come, I have made that decision myself. Until he feels he wants to touch me again, I will not let myself come. I lie back and close my eyes. I try to will my desire away. I focus on my breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. I need to shut down my brain because all it’s doing is shouting at me now! now! NOW! I try again. Slow my breathing, slowly my heart rate, focus on his displeasure with you. The desire drains away. I lie there, spread eagle, on offering for whenever he chooses to accept it.

A sound wakes me. I open my eyes, but I see nothing. I panic for a brief moment until I hit on the realisation that there is something covering my eyes rather than my eyesight failing me. A small sound to my left and the light smell of sulphur. I strain my ears to pick up any clues, any ideas as to what is happening around me. Then I hear it, ever so slight, the step of a foot, followed by another step. Approaching. Definitely approaching. I go as if to turn towards the sound and it is only then, as I take full stock of my body, that I realise I am now actually tied, spread eagle to the bed. I am helpless to whatever may come.

I wait. Senses on edge Waiting. Not sure where this is going. Then it hits my flesh and I suck in my breath as the unmistakable light burn of hot wax lands just above my navel. I still and wait. Will it be just that one, and then he will leave me here, or is there more to come. I wait in limbo, listening for any sound, any clue as to what might happen next when the next drip lands, just above the other, and another above that one. Part of me wants to jerk away from the drops, but a bigger part of me wants to arch my back to get closer to the heat, to feel that burn that is both pleasure and pain in one little minuscule drop.

Then it begins, in a steady pace, drip, drip, drip, making a trail of hot wax that leads from my navel to the valley between my breasts. As he reaches the apex, I wonder what will come next. I bite my bottom lip, hungry with anticipation, and then I feel it. Not a single drip, but a steady stream of hot wax, tracing in a circle just above the base of my left breast. No. That wasn’t it. Not a circle, a spiral, winding its way around my breast and then going around again. I thrash, and moan and my breathing comes fast and heavy. ‘Yes, yes,’ I beg, I whimper, but not for him to stop, I want more. I want to take whatever he wishes to dish out to me. As the spiral winds upwards, I have no doubt what will be coming soon and just as my mind makes the connection, the stream stops. Then, I wait. ‘Please, sir, please.’ I wish he could see my eyes, see the apology written there as well as my need. Not just for the sweet little kisses of pain, but for him to want me. Drip. I moan louder. Drip. A quick exhale from between my lips, each drop working together to completely cover my very hard, very excited nipple. Then, nothing. I listen. I wait.

Footsteps. He’s moving. Is he leaving? Leaving me here? Tied down? In need? As my mind urges me to call out, to scream at him not to leave me, I know it’s not the right thing to do. That’s not he wants of me. He wants my obedience. I bite my lower lip harder. I can feel the water in my eyes starting to pool. It’s fear of him deciding he doesn’t want me, buried deep in my heart, that fear. The fear that it isn’t me. That I’m not enough.

As my fear starts to spiral in the darkness, the next drop hits. My body is torn between an exhale of relief and an inhale of pain. A strangled sort of hiccup sound comes out of my mouth. With the next drop, my fears clear, everything tunnels in my mind into the one thought. Taking this pleasure, accepting this pain. Each drip seems to fall precisely between the previous drips, creating another trail from navel to the cleft between my breasts, but this time, when the steady stream of hot wax comes, it spirals up and around my right breast, culminating in the single small drops that eventually covers my right nipple. For the first time that night, I hear his voice. ‘Blow.’ I purse my lips and blow as if there is a birthday cake in front of me. As I hear the flame flicker, a drop of hot wax lands on my chin. Either he has taken the candle away or else I was successful in managing to blow out the candle. I lie there, trying to figure out what will come next, but what I cannot deny is the arousal that was already on a slow simmer before I awoke is now rising in temperature with each and every drop.

Again, that strange sound and the smell of sulphur. I place it now. The striking of a match and then, I guess, the lighting of yet another candle. I furrow my brow, confused, uncertain. What now? What next? I’m utterly perplexed when the next drip lands on the top of my foot, I can’t help it, a small yelp escapes before I can smother it. Never before had we put hot wax on my feet. It was unexpected, painful, but good, still good. I brace myself for the next drop and when it comes, just up from the last, the pain seems even worse, and I manage to piece together a coherent thought. When you tense, it’s worse. I coach my body, begging it to relax. He’s going much slower now, methodical. Each drip lands almost on top of the previous one. My body starts thrashing, I’m moaning, but I can’t make out what I’m saying. Begging for mercy or begging for more, I just don’t know, but there’s a steady stream of pleading flowing out of my mouth while at the same time my hips were thrusting upward, hungry, needy, desperate to be filled, used, satiated.

The wax continues its patient, little march up my foot, then my leg, up my thighs and then the drips bend turning in towards - No! Oh good Lord no! Not! Not! Oh fuck no! Please sir, please, no. I can’t get the whine out of my voice, the cracking that comes along with it as each and every drop gets closer and closer. I thrash, knowing how stupid that is but at this point the pleasure from the pain is too much. I can’t stay still. One wrong twist, though, and I’ll be the one to pay.

Then, it stops. My mind is flailing. My body, jerks and arches up. I pull with all my strength against the bonds that hold me. I must touch myself. I must come or else I’m going to explode. Still, nothing happens. Nothing comes next. I tell my mind to calm. As I feel my frenzy start to settle, I feel it. Drip. Onto my right foot. Drip. Just above that one. The endless march up my leg begins on the other side. By the time the wax hits my knee, I’m no longer coherent, I can hold no thought in my head. I kick and pull and thrash and thrust, I writhe on the bed but I’m not trying to get away, I’m trying to get closer. I want the drips to come faster to assuage this desire that is burning through me and on me. As the trail bends in towards my cunt again. I am swearing and begging and promising anything and everything I can think of just please let me come. Again, it stops. It doesn’t matter, I’m too desperate now, too inflamed. I only feel the need, the want, the desperation.

Two fingers slam into my cunt without any warning. I scream as I try to clamp down and hold those fingers there. For the second time that night, I hear his voice. ‘Wet’. My clenching is to no avail. His fingers slide out of me. I feel the emptiness inside me. I scream in frustration. I am in no fit state as I thrash and grind and grunt in need. I feel his hand again, pulling my cunt lips apart, the cool air brushing against my exposed clit. At the same time, he pushes downward with that hand, pinning me to the mattress, far stronger than me. My head flies back and forth against the pillow. As that single solitary drip of searing hot wax lands on my clit, I scream as my orgasm rushing over me, throwing my body skyward as my shoulders dug into the mattress beneath me. Another drip and a whole new wave washes over me. With the next drip, my scream returns, louder, stronger but it’s pure pleasure this time as I come again and again. I lose track of my mind and I fly.

Trash compiled.Hoarders without borders.Theres a fine line between wants and needs.Please tell me.Do I need to be told what i want or what I need?I need a fix.A fix?What’s broken?The line that separates my wants and needs.I recently deleted my EMAILS and it put ASMILE on my cafe,I mean face.Actually that’s usually when I delete when I’m over caffeinated?.You see I’m not a morning person,I cannot handle too much info at once.Then I have my coffee and my brain dry freezes then it infuses and now I can think.

I need to be stimulated to think.

Some people can wake up to silence.

I can’t ,I need a distraction,six or eight hours is enough!

I’m a morning person,when I control the sights and sounds.

An alarming morning Can be a beep and a blink or no messages.

I know it’s just a phone!

I never realized how much my head goes in a spin when I lose my phone!

True story.

Earlier this year,in the morning.Surprise surprise.

I was looking for my phone.

My neighbor calls me.I tell him I can’t talk to you right now,I’m looking for my phone!

He says,well call me when you find it.

I guess my neighbour isn’t a morning person as well.

I‘m here sitting in my chair waiting for my coffee in incomplete darkness and silence.

I turn of my phone to give my eyes a rest.

Shit! I think the lights are gone!

I turn the flashlight on my phone to find my phone.

Wheres that beeping sound coming from?!Aah the smell Of early early morning coffee.

The Three Body Problem

March 31, 2025

Today was my D-Day. Mark and Glynnis both made their decision. As wonderful the previous four months were, there would not be another month (or a day) to enjoy, together.

Glynnis introduced me to Mark and the three of us discovered more than we had originally anticipated. I always wanted Mark. Glynnis wanted me. She referred to me as her “side-piece”. However, she was not interested in Mark wanting me. Glynnis tolerated our times together. She enjoyed the role playing in which we became subservient (a natural position for me) to the orders of Mark. He wanted full control of the both of us. Glynnis wanted full control of me.

I wanted to be always wanted.

If astronomy is any indicator, the Three Body Problem, such as ours, has only one of three possible outcomes. The first, the favorite of Glynnis, was that two bodies orbit each other and the third is ejected into the cosmos, never to return. The second, championed my Mark, was that the three bodies would endure permanent chaos, with occasional periods of stability. The last, my favorite, was that the three bodies would collide, permanently fusing them together, in a spectacular vision, envied by all close enough to watch, and not be consumed by the energy expelled from within.

I lay here, on this bed, alone, forced to accept the only outcome I could not accept. I am an outcast never acquiring the purpose I am singularly designed to fulfill.

Newton could not predict the outcome of the Three Body problem.

What chance have I?

It would be easier to have never met you.

To have never been loved. Wanted. Cared for unabashedly.

Because I hadn't ever had it, so I hadn't ever needed it.

Now I cannot let myself want it.

Perhaps before, when I had my first love in the way that I am yours.

Back when my pale skin wasn't sickly, and my hair was curly and not chemically leached of life.

Back when my heart wasn't hardened and I wasn't all cracked skin and bruises that won't fade.

If you could see the tricks the little magician in my mind pulled,

cruel and unfair to you, you would never look at me the same.

And that thought is the only thing painful enough to draw tears from my apathetic body.

And all I can do is feel the ache, knowing I will ruin this soon.

Will ruin this for you. Because I cannot live healthily, and I cannot accept a love that asks for nothing in return.