Revenge Porn – A Short Story

His favorite was Revenge Porn, though Josh Dunnigan used the photos for a slightly different reason than the uploader intended. He didn’t like the revenge aspect of Revenge Porn, which to some might seem counterintuitive. To Josh though, he saw the photos in their earlier state, a state that, to most viewers, was veiled in dark voyeuristic misogyny. But that’s not how Josh saw them. The malicious, slut-shaming messages that were fastened posthumously to the photos were in reality the result of the entropy created out of their respective break-ups.

The thing that coaxed Josh into to his fetish of choice was his awareness of the immortal preservation of an intimate moment. In that solid, whole section of space-time, cemented in place by the millions of pixels, there existed a nonreplicable moment of intimacy; sometimes even love.

Her eyes. Her smile. Her lust. Her passion.

Josh was already hard and he hadn’t even opened up the browser. He excitedly entered his favorite Tumblr feed and squirted a handful of lotion into his left hand; scanning and clicking with his right. Immediately afterward, Josh would always feel creepy and lonely and pathetic, but in the moment his whole body was charged with the familiar voyeuristic rush aided by the warm pulsing of anticipation. As he tethered himself to the intimacy confined inside the two-dimensional boundaries of the photos, he began to stroke.

He didn’t read the headlines of posts since he found them terribly demeaning and exploitative: cum slut ex takes my load, skanky bitch likes it in her tight ass. Josh tried to pretend that the words didn’t even exist. Instead, he melded with the point of view of the photographer, imagining that he was living out that moment.

Stopping on a photo of a tattooed brunette with loving hazel eyes, he began to stroke faster. Behind the girl, the room was draped in haphazard layers of assorted clothes and he began to cobble together an image of her personality. He was assuming it was her room and not the boyfriends, or maybe they lived together, but in his mind they did not. This was her apartment and she was wild and kinky and messy and passionate. The look in her eyes confessed the desire she felt for the photographer, now Josh. He pulsed even harder. He imagined whispering loving words to her as the moments, birthed by the solitary still photograph but expanding inside his mind, began their imaginary movement. She would talk back to him. They would feel connected to one another.

He stopped.

He was close; too close. So he started scrolling again. There were a bunch of photos in succession that were more sad than they were erotic. He hated ones that featured women who were clearly coerced into the pictures by their significant others. He could always see it in their eyes, that unwillingness, and it hurt him and prematurely started those feelings of being creepy and pathetic and exploitative that usually only presented themselves after he came.

And then he found a girl in her home bathroom. She’d taken the photo herself in the reflection of the mirror and was smiling; beaming. It filled him once again with that longed for feeling of affection, connection, and desire. She had wide realistic hips that he assumed meant she was a mother.

That turned him on too.

She was playfully pulling open her green and black flannel shirt to reveal her, probably milk-filled, breasts that he wanted to caress and snuggle into. Her pastel purple panties hid most of the hip tattoo that was some kind of Chinese symbol. He imagined stroking her womanly hip as he jerked himself with his left hand. He panted and whispered to the image of the woman in her bathroom. He imagined the photo was intended for him. He imagined she loved him.

He stopped again and resumed scrolling and then the anger took him.

It was her!

How could it be her?

He wiped the lotion off his left hand with some tissues by the computer. He pulled his chair in closer and stared calculatingly at the image to be sure. He blew the image up to inspect more closely and then he saw the birthmark.

Anger replaced his lustful voyeurism and he scanned the image for clues.

He knew that apartment. It was that guy he’d warned her about. Josh was sure of it. She’d invited him to that apartment not long after she’d moved in with that asshole. He’d never liked him and now he was overwhelmed with a need to avenge the desecration of someone so important to him. He’d warned her and she’d discounted it as simple jealousy. Of course his concern for her was potently imbued with his unrequited longing but he had been right not to trust that asshole.

He’d heard that they’d broken up recently and that she’d moved to her own place but now she was also on a Revenge Porn site, blowing this repugnant monster.

Josh felt sick.

Should he call her? Let her know that there were photos of her on the internet sucking hungrily on an undeserving cock? He thought and thought, staring into the pixels of an image he’d imagined for years in his mental fantasies. And then he decided what he was going to do. What he had to do.

He pulled his pants up and threw on a shirt.

*                                  *                                  *

He kept buzzing the apartment but it was over 10 minutes before a tired voice answered: “Seriously, what the fuck?”

Even the man’s voice caused the charged darkness to pulse, larger and larger, stronger and stronger from Josh’s insides.

Josh couldn’t bring himself to say his name so he just said, “I need to talk to you.”

“Who the fuck is this?” The man’s voice held it’s own disdain. “It’s fucking 2 in the morning.”

“I saw the pictures you posted,” Josh was pressing the talk button so hard that the bed of his fingernail was a sickly white. “That was wrong. She loved you. I saw in her eyes how she loved you and you fucking posted it for everyone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I saw them. Let me in.”

“No. Go away.”

For the next few minutes there was no response to Josh’s continued buzzing but then a livid voice snarled: “You want me to call the cops you fucking psycho?”

“Sure. Let’s do that. Let’s tell them how you posted intimate photos online without the consent of all of those involved. How about that?”

“What?”

“Just let me in. I wanna talk to you.”

“About what?”

“You heard me. I saw them. I know you posted them. I know it was her and I know they were taken in your room. If you don’t let me in I’m going straight to the cops.”

There was silence for a while and then a mechanical click as the door unlocked.

Josh walked inside and started up the stairs.

*                                  *                                  *

“So I posted them. So what?”

Seeing the man in person almost made him finish things right then but no, no he wanted to wait for awhile.

“You had something,” Josh paused, “someone so special and wonderful and lovely-“

The man cut him off. “Dude, if you came here to preach at me over some pathetic obsession you had for her you can just fuck off right now.”

Josh grit his teeth together.

“She loved you and-“

“Blah blah blah, fuck that sappy shit, loser. She was a fucking sweet piece of ass while I was fucking her and now that we’re not I thought I’d spread a little of her ass around to others. What’s it matter to you anyway? I mean I know you wanted her man, everyone knew you wanted her, including her.”

Josh was silence while the man continued.

“She told me how clingy and psycho you were. She was kinda afraid of you man.”

Josh’s face went pale and he felt like his knees might buckle.

No. She wouldn’t say that. He’s fucking with you.

“She’s special and she’s-“

“A fucking pussy. She was good while I was drilling her, but now I’m not anymore. Now I’m pounding some other slut’s pussy. What of it?”

“I saw her feelings for you in her eyes and you just-“

“Wait, did you jerk off to it?” The man laughed. “You totally did you pathetic freak. You probably finished, felt guilty, and then came over here to take the moral high ground by confronting me but you know what? You’re just as fucking guilty for beating off to it you pervy sicko.”

He’d wanted to wait a little longer but it was involuntary. Josh shot his hand out from his pocket and stabbed the man in the throat with the knife he’d been concealing inside.

The surprise on the man’s face was definitely worth the future consequences he knew would follow shortly.

As the life drained from the man’s eyes, Josh whispered: “she is the most special and perfect woman. You should never have been blessed with the intimacy you so flippantly discarded.”

the weed bull – a short story

“Let’s order pizza. On me,” Nathan saw the expression on Alex’s face as soon as he opened the door.

      Laura leaped over to the computer.

     “Let’s watch something trippy,” Laura suggested. “Oh, we should call Seth and see what he’s doing.”

     She picked up the phone and Alex was amazed at the speed with which she dialed the number. Although they did have enough practice calling the number.

      Seth said he wasn’t doing anything and would be over as fast as he could climb the two flights of stairs.

      “I found this amazing documentary on the biggest things in space. It’ll blow your mind,” Nathan said as he set up the DivX player.

      The opening of the documentary had a series of quick cuts of flying through space, to entering a Black Hole, to jutting in and out of an asteroid belt.

     Alex felt like he was experiencing all of those things and that he was flying through space at ridiculously intense speeds.

      “This was made for people on drugs,” Alex smiled.

      Laura giggled, “I know.”

      “The Cosmic Web,” the narrator began, “is one of the most mysterious and intriguing features of the Universe. Scientists believe that the Universe is held together by a framework of invisible strings of matter with pockets of void spotted throughout. The web is as big as the universe itself, measuring some 14 billion light years across-“

      The image on the screen began panning out from our planet, out through the solar system, and out through the Milky Way, and then faster and faster it raced to finally encompass the entire Universe.

     It did look like a web.

     There were long threads of matter with nothing in the space between.

      Alex suddenly had a crazy epiphany.

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Mokey Then and Now

joelnickel:

Another entry in the Philosophy of Mokey Fraggle

Originally posted on Mokeyism:

The episode blows your mind immediately as you begin watching it.  Doc is talking to his dog, Sprocket, about time travel. “Wouldn’t it be fun to travel in time? Of course you wouldn’t go anywhere because the past and the future are happening here and now in the present. It’s all a question of perception. I thought dogs knew stuff like that.”

They made a model of a time machine and Doc suggests trying it out.  So he stuffs Sprocket in and locks him inside.  Then he begins to shake the machine and says: “and now to press the button to the not so distant future.” But then he leaves. He grabs his hat and leaves with Sprocket still locked in the time machine only to return a few moments later dressed as an old man! He unlocks Sprocket from time machine and says: “Sprocket, where have you been all…

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The Eye of Affluence – A Short Story

The Eye of Affluence – by Joel Nickel

 

They do not understand how closely I watch them. That amuses me. I’ve been watching for centuries; for eons. Watching intently. I have drunk in the complexities of their petty interactions and the tawdry dealings with which they delude themselves by infusing with a kind of elitist self-importance that irks my benevolent sensibilities. They label themselves rulers and that moniker disturbs me greatly. They wrongly believe their adeptness at, essentially, herding their flock makes them worth their indulgence in self-congratulatory excess. Incorrectly, they believe their deeds have been hidden from all save a few like-minded puppet masters who share a space at what they believe is the top. But there is always a layer higher; just as I have layers adjacent to my own. There are those above me who know what I see and those above them too seeing that they see what I see. For one to think anything to the contrary is egotism and incredible ignorance.

For a long span of time I’ve been watching with interest the Randale family. From their beginnings as largely benign moneylenders, I followed the path over generations of scheming and plotting so as to advance their line; and their ultimate cause as they refer to it among themselves.

That amuses me too.

But amusement turned to astonishment alarmingly quickly as their lineage grew darker and their means to attain their desired ends became more and more malevolent and distasteful. Alas, I cannot intervene and that saddens me, though I have long ago released myself from my misplaced guilt and ownership over any sort of responsibility. I can only watch, as those above can only watch me. I watch others too, I watch all, but I watch the Randale’s most closely. Of course, I see ahead too. And I see what is coming for them. That is at least something.

For the time I have watched, I have seen various incarnations of their line engage in acts of barbarous iniquity. Their wanton need to acquire more and more of that objectively meaningless material [in all of its physical and ethereal forms] seems to direct every action, every choice throughout their bloodlines collective narrative. Countries toppled. Empires destroyed. Millions slaughtered. And over what? Simply a concept that exists solely as a means for control.

They cannot see the adjacent levels of reality as I can. They do not see below as they have not seen me above and in their current state they can never ascend. But surely they will descend.

Any who learn of the Randale’s past and current actions and their ultimate cause [and have had the unfortunate fortitude to stand against them] have ascended to meet me before they could alert any others. Or, if they are lucky, the ones who espouse the change so urgently needed are shamed and marginalized into meaninglessness amongst their greater brethren. They are given labels like cooks, conspiracy nuts, crazies, but they are ones who have seen as I have seen and am seeing.

The Randale’s control the information and in the current incarnation, Vermillion Randale, leads the clandestine army of influencers toward realizing his family’s legacy of their ultimate cause. But I know. I know what’s coming. And I shall never see them ascend to meet me. But I will watch them descend below with measured delight. 

Happiness In Slavery – [excerpt] – Miss Ambrosia Skye

Chapter 1

 

Above the door for apartment 406 was a sign that read:

 

MISS AMBROSIA SKYE – TAROT READINGS – PALMISTRY – ASTROLOGY

 

The superintendent hadn’t told her to take it down, but it had only been up a month or so. The interior of the apartment was decked out in New Age décor. She had numerous books on tarot, spiritual healing, angels, the afterlife, and communicating with departed souls; and that was just the top shelf. She was sitting at her kitchen table with a spread of tarot cards in between her and her current clients, Mr. and Mrs. Everett. Mrs. Everett was really engaged and interested in the reading, but it was overtly obvious that Mr. Everett was only there because his wife was.

      Miss Ambrosia Skye drew a card from the deck and put it down on the table.

      She stared at it, intently. “Hmm,” she bit her lower lip for added effect.

      “What?” Mrs. Everett straightened in her seat, coming closer to Skye and her cards.

      “I just drew the Tower Card,” Skye said in a purposely ambiguous tone. 

“Is that a bad thing?”

      “Well,” Skye paused, taking in how alertly Mrs. Everett was drinking in her every word and gesture, and how disinterested Mr. Everett looked, slumped back in his chair. “The Tower Card is very similar to the Death Card–“

      Mrs. Everett gasped.

      Skye continued: “–in that it’s a card of destructive and creative power. Just like a building that is condemned and must be torn down to make way for something new, so too is the purpose of the Tower Card. Is there something old, something that you’re holding onto that you need to let go of before you can move on?”

“That’s funny, isn’t it, David! The kitchen.”

      Trying to hide her surprise, Skye inquired: “Your kitchen?”

“Yes. I’ve wanted to knock out the kitchen wall for years and make it open to the living room so that it’s more of an open concept thing. David always thought it was too expensive, but if the cards are telling you . . .” Continue reading