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How I never got laid.

2020.09.16 18:52 GobboBigBoss How I never got laid.

Ok, this is a couple small stories rolled into one big one, about how I never got laid, ever. Turned out longer than I thought. The last two chapters are the real kicker. Quick side note; I am now a 24 year old dude, prior service member, did 5 years in the Navy, 4 of those on a submarine as a Fire Control Technician. Names have been withheld for privacy reasons, but I bet if you know me and are reading this, well... you know who I am.
Chapter 1: ForeverFriendZone
I was in high school. I was terrified of girls. At least 3 were interested in me, or so I’ve been told after the fact, but I was too stupid to figure that out. The only girl I was interested in was a cute bi-sexual girl (Im pretty sure she was actually just gay and wouldn’t tell me), who led me on and refused to just tell me no, because we were friends. She was at most of the social stuff me and my buddies did, we had a decent sized group. I was so stupid, I kept pining after this girl for about 3 years and ignored every other girl who might have wanted to date me like a moron. We got kind of a thing going, I left for the navy, she never wrote me letters like she said she would when I was in boot camp, but her parents did because they liked me. And thats that for high school.
Chapter 2: Barracks Room Boogaloo
I’m 20, stationed in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. My roommate from A-school (Navy training) and good friend was stationed where I was and was getting married. Him and his fiancé had a best friend who flew out for the wedding to be a bridesmaid. She came a week early. We all hung out that week and explored the island. Me and her hit it off and we started texting. A LOT. With some coaching from a good pal I even got some nudes. Turns out she wanted me. Bad. For the first time in my life I played it cool. I did a damn good job, treated her well but not weird, was decisive, all that. After the wedding day my buddy and his now-wife go to seal the deal. She was staying with them so she used that excuse to call me and ask to stay with me. Boom, party time. She comes over. Then I do the dumbest shit ever, I lie. She asks me if I’ve ever brought girls back to my room before, I said yeah (Never once did I actually have a girl over before this). I WAS STUCK IN COOL DOUCHEBAG MODE, and I was too embarrassed to just say I was a virgin so I acted like a badass, and she totally bought it. All of it. We get naked. She turns the lights off, and... SURPRISE! I have no fucking clue what I am doing, and to top it off, I’m so damn nervous I can’t get my lil sailor to stand at attention! After a ton of foreplay and me not being able to see a damn thing, I finally get this weird half-chub goin, but like Thanos, my destiny was inevitable. This ended poorly. (I may or may not have ‘kissed the gates’, but this also could have been the wrong gate. We don’t talk anymore, so I guess I wont know...)
Chapter 3: 21
Fast forward to a bit after my first deployment. I am now qualified senior in rate (A big deal because I was only an E3, I don’t care if you don’t care, I needed to boost my confidence to finish this...) and I had recently turned 21. My 21’st birthday was incredible, I don’t remember half of it, but the only chance I kind of remember having to get laid that night was with a beautiful prostitute who my buddy saved me from. She apparently shoved her hand into my pants when I offered her a cigarette outside an Irish pub (this was my fifth bar of the night, I was destroyed). This chick was stunning though, I had a picture with her. Thanks good buddy, being raped by a hooker is not a good first time, I chose my drinking buddy well. (You know who you are.)
Chapter 4, Part 1: The Contractor
Later, still in the Navy. My division had some contractors come out to install stuff, and there was this GORGEOUS girl who came out with some dude (Cool guy btw). I was the guy assigned to work with them on the system, and me and her immediately hit it off. In 2 hours of talking and working we decided to get drinks and go dancing the same night, as well as some of my buddies and her supervisor. While we were out fucking around, my buddy was trying to flirt with her. I considered it fair game and Ive always had low self esteem, so I figured what the hell, if he lands it at least someone gets laid. But this girl wasn’t having it. She came up to me after the first bar and said “Hey, wanna go to a strip club?” I was star struck. ‘Im going to marry this girl’, I thought. We all went, and I tried to play it cool and hang in the back. My buddy tried again, got denied, and then she came up to us while we were talking later and moved his ass out of the way to sit with me. Then she bought me a dance from this stripper who caught my eye (Her ass was huge, I couldn’t help it. I am an ass man, through and through, also one of the reasons I was so attracted to this contractor girl). This girl was coming at me on a silver platter, she even watched me get the private dance while I pretended not to see her. Then it all went... so wrong...
Final Chapter: So... So Close
While leaving the strip club, crazy hot contractor girl (Who is Latina btw, my ultimate weakness) tells me she can pole dance better than the strippers we just saw. (I think she got me that dance because she wanted do better and to blow my mind later or something, or maybe she just thought it was hot. Someone help me with theories on this.) My buddy heres this and jumps in (Not the guy trying to steal the girl, he gave up). He says there is a pole at a gay bar and wants to go (He’s gay). So we all go to this gay bar, which isn’t packed but has a decent amount of people. I have never had my ass slapped so many times in 1 hour in my life, aside from that time I spilled coffee on my psycho mom’s notebook when I was 7 (She was crazy, and I got my ass wooped). But bad news! The pole was removed temporarily. Bartender said some dude broke it. Contractor girl was heartbroken! And here is where it all went wrong. Dudes started buying me drinks... a lot. I kept turning them down, they kept doing it anyways... Long story short, I got drunk, made a fool of myself trying to dance at the next place we went to (some dingy club called Playbar). Contractor girl even had this long conversation with me about how nice her hotel room was and how I should “check it out sometime”. I never picked up on that because I was hammered. Supposedly, she was cranky towards me after the club, and we all just... parted ways.
Epilogue: I suck with women. Always have, and will probably continue to screw it up, even if I find myself in incredible situations like these ones. I don’t think Im attractive, at least I know Im not hot, but I do have a peculiar gift when I drink. I can pretty much make friends with anyone. It is like all my poor self esteem crap melts away. Maybe that is how I’ll get laid someday, but here is the rub. After all this, I decided Im going to try and wait till marriage. I have been going through changes, and realized that while it must be awesome, Im pretty sure sex is an important method of establishing a deep connection with someone, and is not to be abused or misused just for pleasure. I consider myself lucky that I am such an idiot with the ladies. I just hope it doesn’t last forever. Hope you laughed a few times and enjoyed a bit of my history. I would love to hear some of yours, so comment away. Take it easy.
submitted by GobboBigBoss to stories [link] [comments]

2020.09.03 21:23 throwawayraddishes I hate 2020 America.

Not here for the inevitable downvotes or shitty comments, legit using this to get this off my chest.
Also, I want to start with something positive: customer service people in America are, by and large, awesome. From the upbeat attendant on the train to the Circle K shop worker who cut his break short to open the door and let me in at 2am, particularly given those people are taking a huge risk just doing their jobs right now, there's no other country (and I've been to a couple dozen) with better customer service.
That said... what the actual fuck is happening in the US right now? I've been back a few weeks after more than a decade away, and srsly wtf.
A 17 year old shot and killed several people. Other people are arguing whether he was within his rights to do so. Last I checked, KILLING PEOPLE IS BAD. Gunfights among private citizens on the streets IS BAD. Who wants to live in a country where this is normalized by arguing over who was right to be shooting at or attacking whom? Supposedly police officers supported his actions. WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?
BLM protesters filmed and posted a video of hundreds of them screaming at a random woman who was having dinner in DC. THERE ARE NO BLACK PEOPLE IN THE CROWD OF PROTESTERS. I think there's maybe one, but it's like fucking "Where's Waldo?" trying to find anyone not white in that video... oh, except the woman being screamed at who looks maybe Latina. Supposedly the BLM organizers supported their actions. WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?
About HALF of all Americans think the virus is fake and wouldn't take a vaccine if it were available. This includes people like my step-brother who think the "Liberal media" invented the virus to get Trump out of office. Like Italy tragically letting tens of thousands of elderly people die because they just didn't have enough hospital beds was all a ploy to get rid of Trump. Like the people wearing hazmat suits in airports in Asian countries just really hate Trump. WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?
Don't even get me started on Q-Anon.
About one out of five profiles I see on dating apps have their venmo, cashapp, wishlist, or mention their onlyfans. So, apparently these people have signed up for a dating app expecting people to just give them money because they took a couple of cute selfies. GROSS. This extends to people I've seen on other social media posting up their venmo on their birthday, and even one "friend" who said, "Venmo me $10 because it's black history month." WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?
"The Sound of Music" (which I've never seen and don't really care about tbh) is banned, while "Black is King" gets rave reviews.
Groups of Canadian citizens are forming up to find and expel illegal American immigrants (let the irony of that one sink in).
In a few weeks it will be necessary to use a VPN to access Chinese social media apps (let the irony of THAT one sink in).
The only reason there hasn't been a school shooting so far this year is because schools have been closed.
Schools are re-opening when nearly 6 million people have contracted the corona virus, and about HALF of U.S. States say they "can't" enforce a mask regulation, even among minors in public schools.
Definitely felt good to get that all out...
submitted by throwawayraddishes to Vent [link] [comments]

2020.08.22 20:21 KT_noir Debunking TeleSUR/Abby Martin on Venezuela's crisis (English post)

Debunking TeleSUAbby Martin on Venezuela's crisis (English post)
Recently, I found an article on TeleSUR, on which Abby Martin 'debunks' supposed misconceptions about Venezuela. In the article, Martin claims that:
"We just went to five different supermarkets and the shelves were fully stocked. And this is all type of neighborhoods, all types of classes. From Nestle chocolates to coco cola products, fish, meat, vegetables and fruits."
Claiming in a pretty unambiguous way, that the situation in Venezuela is not as bad as the media might tell you.
The article also claim that, the actual shortages that are happening, are actually the product of the 'economic war' on Venezuela:
Speaking with Venezuelan economist Pascualina Curzio, Martin discovers that while there are food shortages in Venezuela, these are a product of an "economic war."
And finally, the article claims that:
  1. The current government actually has a pretty much huge public support.
  2. And that there's little evidence of government suppression.
As Martin continues her investigation, she also discovers that there is still huge support for the Venezuelan government — despite what mainstream media reports.
She traverses through the Venezuelan crowds that are marching for President Maduro's government to continue working for the people and is told by one protester: "Oligarchs, listen to this! Always, Always, Hugo Rafael Frias will be in our hearts!" in reference to the late Venezuelan leader Hugo Chavez.
Walking through the sea of government supporters, Martin finds no evidence of the mainstream media narrative of government suppression.
Summarizing the article's arguments, it will go like this:
  1. The food situation in Venezuela is actually pretty decent, not as bad as the media tells you.
  2. The actual shortages are a product of the 'economic war' on Venezuela, not the government itself.
  3. The government has the support of the people.
  4. The government does not commit political repression of dissidents.
Rebuttal of the article:
Lets start with the first, 1# The food situation in Venezuela is actually pretty decent, not as bad as the media tells you.
Rebuttal: To put into perspective how wrong this affirmation is, by 2015 (2 years before this article was released), Venezuela was having a 80–90% shortage rate of milk (powdered and liquid), margarine, butter, sugar, beef, chicken, pasta, cheese, corn flour, wheat flour, oil, rice, coffee, toilet paper, diapers, laundry detergent, bar soap, bleach, dish, shampoo and soap:
The Venezuelan observatory of health says that, in 2015, foodin 2016, 93,3% of homes don’t have enough money to pay for food.
In 2016, 87% of Venezuelans were consuming less due to the shortages (with a scarcity rate of 50% to 80%), and in 2017 (the year of this TeleSUR's article), 83% of Venezuelans were living in poverty, 93% could no longer afford food and that one million Venezuelan school children did not attend classes "due to hunger and a lack of public services".
Venezuela's Water Crisis HERE.
A study of the food security and nutrition crisis in Venezuela HERE.
The economic consequences of Hugo Chavez, HERE
2# The actual shortages are a product of the 'economic war' on Venezuela, not the government itself.
Rebuttal: The causes of this disaster are, for the surprise of absolutely anybody, THE (VERY HORRIBLE) BOLIVARIAN ECONOMIC POLICIES.
The situation of shortages of basic necessities in Venezuela has its history, during the 90's, Venezuela's food production has decline to this day, and during the Bolivarian Revolution, food imports pretty much sky rocketed, making the Bolivarian government very reliant on this.
Information of the previous charts and more of them are here
When Chavez inaugurated price and currency controls, shortages where taking place. (1)
And when Chavez started to nationalize industries, production dropped (1)
Among other factors like corruption contributed to current shortages, for example the military currently traffics with food, the military was involved in schemes to benefit from food scarcity rather than help assuage it, military sellers would drastically increase the cost of goods and create shortages by hoarding products, etc..
Study on the Right to Food Under Hugo Chavez
To finally debunk the notion of 'economic war' as the cause of Venezuela's shortages (and pretty much the entire crisis), one must at the DATES:
In 2016, a year before Venezuela confronted economic sanctions, the country have a hyperinflation rate of 800%, the GDP was shrinking by 19%, Food and medical equipment imports and fell by 70%, infant mortality increased by 44%, etc, etc…
3# The government has the support of the people.
Rebuttal: While Chavez in its time was fairly popular, this is simplistically not the case for Maduro.
In 2013, Maduros approval ratings was between 40% to 50%, popularity that was partly beacuse of chavez endorsement.
In 2014 was in 24% (with 85% of Venezuelans stating that the economic situation of Venezuela was bad) and datanalysis confirmed that 66% of Venezuelans didn't want maduro to finish his 6-year term of precidency.
In 2016, a poll found that 61.4% found that Maduro had become a dictator.
In 2018, meganálisis polls found that 84.6% of Venezuelans surveyed wanted Maduro and his government to be removed from power.
And by 2019, Maduro's popularity has found an all-time low, with a approval rate of just 14%, and Juan Guaido's approval rate at 66%. (1)

(Here for a little more information and Here)
4# The government does not commit political repression of dissidents.
Rebuttal: Starting with journalism, Venezuela has seen a dangerous decline in press freedom, and, in reference to the Freedom House, Venezuela has low score in both civil liberties and political rights:
In 1998, independent television represent 88% of the 24 national television channels while the other 12% of channels were controlled by the Venezuelan government. By 2014, there were 105 national television channels with only 48 channels, or 46%, representing independent media while the Venezuelan government and the "communitarian channels" it funded accounted for 54% of channels, or the 57 remaining channels.
See: The Authoritarian Resurgence: Autocratic Legalism in Venezuela, from Journal of Democracy
According to the National Union of Press Workers of Venezuela, 115 media outlets have been shut down between 2013 and 2018 during Nicolás Maduro's government, including 41 printed means, 65 radio outlets and 9 television channels.
The Press and Society Institute of Venezuela found at least 350 cases of violations of freedom of expression during the first seven months of 2019.
For more information, see Censorship in Venezuela
Conclusions: To summarize the points of this post, it is that, first, there is SEVERE food scarcity and food insecurity in Venezuela and Abby Martins report about it its absolutely lame.
Second, the cause of this crisis is find in government policies, not in sanctions.
Third, the current government has very little to no support from the Venezuelan people.
Fourth, the government has an extensive history of political repression since Chavez, it has only worsen with Maduro.
Abby Martin (whether deliberately or not), obscures all of the previous information, denies the suffering of millions of Venezuelans, and gives misleading imagery and cherry-picks her ''data'' to give very stupid conclusions (TeleSUR is basically pinnacle of cheap government propaganda).
submitted by KT_noir to vzla [link] [comments]

2020.08.03 00:48 Taxi_Dancer MUFFINS part 2/ conclusion)

“Thank God for the California governor,” thought Wilroy Jackson as he stretched out on a chair in the back room of the largest sports clothing store on the ground floor plaza. He put his feet up on the desk, taking a drag on a joint. “Yeah, thank you governor and thank you Coronavirus.”
Two months ago, he had been caught lifting merchandise out of a high end department store in a part of the city where protestors were setting businesses on fire and he hit some mother and her child with his car when he tried to escape. It wasn’t his fault, though. If the cops hadn’t been chasing him, he would have been more careful.
Fortunately, bleeding heart Hollywood social justice warrior types had raised enough in criminal defense funds that Jackson was able to hire Lewis Phagas. Phagas was able to get the looting charges against Jackson dropped and all of the more serious homicide charges were reduced to involuntary manslaughter. Yeah, Jackson still had to do a little time, but that was better than doing life. But even that sentence was commuted when the governor of the great state of California released thousands of non-violent offenders back out into the streets for fear of spreading Covid-19. Jackson was loving life. Thank God for social justice warriors.
Jackson’s girlfriend was an assistant manager of this fine purveyor of high class athletic clothing and shoes and she had secreted him into the manager’s office shortly before closing time and had given him her access card. All he’d have to do is to chill out until about nine o’clock when the building was empty, then take the stairs to the first floor where the store’s stock room was the first one on the left. He’d have to be quick to get in. Janice should have left a cart for him there and all he’d have to do is load up the merch and get out of there. The only danger was that the security room was on the other end of the same floor. But, if the guard was actually awake and paying attention, Jackson would be out the back long before some dumb ass, low end, rent-a-cop could stop him.
Chaz was a bleach blonde young man working at the third floor debt collection company. He was relatively new, having only been hired six months ago, but he had already won two monthly cash awards for collecting the most money for two of the six months he’d worked for the Domestic Economic Management Solutions company, or DEMS for short. On his second month with the company, he recovered over $42,000 on dollars and on his fifth month, he had recovered nearly $53,000. Chaz decided to work a little late tonight, as the end of the month was only a week away and he was in the running to win the monthly cash award again from the DEMS. The only way to get ahead in the DEMS employ was to successfully redistribute that wealth, and Chaz was quickly proving that he represented the best that the DEMS had to offer. He was alone in the cubicle city which, during normal business hours, employed hundreds of debt collectors. Rosa and Rita, the young twin Latina cleaning crew girls, came into the large office lugging behind them vacuums and a cleaning cart. Chaz gave them a friendly wave and a big smile.
“Working late again tonight, Senior Chaz?” said Rosa or Rita, Chaz could never tell them apart.
“Of course, ladies,” he said. “Gotta’ make that money!”
He turned his attention back to the computer inside his cubicle, speaking into his headset. “Look, Mr. Wallace. You already told me that your business was set on fire during the peaceful protests and the bank is going to foreclose on your home, but that has nothing to do with me. Your first priority is to pay off your debts. How hard is that to understand?”
While MS-13 was one of the largest, if not the largest Hispanic drug cartels operating in Los Angeles, they were far from the only one. There were others, like the Los Zetas. Carlo hid just inside the stairwell on the second floor, waiting for Manuel to finish cleaning the offices in the law firm. It took Carlo a few weeks to figure it out, but somehow old, innocent, hard working Manuel was employed as a mule for MS-13, dropping off kilos of coke usually at the piers or dockside. Carlo didn’t know where old Manuel was getting his stuff, but he knew that if he could intercept Manuel and take his stuff before he made another drop, Carlo would make a name for himself with the Los Zetas. Carlo peeked around the corner of the stair well, watching Manuel pass the glass door towards the elevator. He’d give Manuel a few minutes to get to the parking garage, then Carlo would follow.
After a few minutes, Carlo opened the door and stepped into the hallway, looking towards the elevators to his right. Suddenly, a loud crash caused him to jerk his head to the left. A tall, pale, elderly white man wearing a tan suit was thrown through the glass doors of the law firm. His body flew across the hallway and slammed against the reinforced windows which overlooked the plaza. The body slumped down on the ground, but to Carlo’s horror the elderly man got to his knees, clutching a hole in his abdomen where his guts used to be. The man reached forwards toward Carlo with bloody hands and pleading eyes before slumping down, unmoving in a puddle of his own gore.
Carlo bit down on his fist, too shocked to move, when something emerged from the law offices. It regarded the dead Phagas lying on the hallway floor then suddenly looked up, noticing Carlo. Carlo gasped, and then turned, running towards the elevator doors. Hearing the thuds of heavy steps looming closely behind him, Carlo ignored the elevators and instead ran down the hallway, taking a quick right and running past the gynecologist office to a set of double doors on the left. Quickly scanning his access card, he threw open the glass doors and ran inside. Praying that running up the stairs instead of down would slow down his massive pursuer, he took the steps two at a time headed to the third floor. His heart sank when he heard the glass shatter behind him and the thudding of footsteps following him upwards.
Rounding a corner which gave him a split second to look down, Carlo screamed. Although the narrow stairwell was only just wide enough for the monstrosity to navigate, it was actually gaining on Carlo as it bounded up the stairs. Carlo scrambled up to the third floor landing, access card in hand and threw open the door. But before he could step through, a crushing weight came down on Carlo, splintering his spine and upper back and pulverizing his heart and lungs. Blood shot out of his mouth and eyes. Carlo’s body kept quivering, long after he had died.
“Rosa! Rita! Whichever one of you is making all that noise, would you please stop? I’m trying to have a convo here!”
The monstrosity turned to the direction of the noise. Sniffing the air, it stalked down a wide hallway towards an open gallery of hundreds of cubicles, completely forgetting the broken form of Carlo. Chaz was seated in one of the cubicles along a long wall made entirely of glass which faced the hallway. His back was to the entrance to the gallery from the hallway and he was talking loudly into his head set and animatedly waving his arms.
“Look, Miss Thomas,” he said sternly. “Again, I heard you that you lost your job due to the pandemic!” Chaz had given up on Mr. Wallace, the deadbeat who blamed his lack of good business skills on the peaceful protestors. Chaz thought it might have been better if Mr. Wallace had burned down along with his business.
“Yes, Miss Thomas,” continued Chaz. “I realize that you are living out of your car, but you have to put your priorities in perspective. If you don’t pay off this debt that you owe, the DEMS will have no choice but to pursue litigation. Look, Miss Thomas, here is my suggestion. You can sell your car, and use the money to quickly pay off your debt! Then with the money that you have left over, you can get your kids something nice to eat at a McDonald’s!”
Chaz was so close to taking the daily lead. Collecting debts was a highly competitive dog-eat-dog game and Chaz played to win. He just needed this bitch to bite. He’d intended this to be his last call of the night and his blood was up for this kill, so much so that Chaz didn’t notice the horrid thing creeping up slowly behind him. “Miss Thomas, I’m trying to put food in your children’s belly but all you’re saying is that you want to force the DEMS into suing you! Is that correct, Miss Thomas? Am I hearing that you want your kids to starve because your priorities are all jacked up?”
Miss Shaquina Thomas, mother of three children aged 2, 3, and 6, where living in their 2002 Mazda Hatchback on a ghetto corner of Kansas City, Missouri. She had been laid off from her job at the IHOP when the pandemic hit and was reduced to working odd jobs here and there. It barely fed the children and put gas in the car, but it was the best she could do for now. Then this person called from the debt collection agency. She tried to explain that she was doing the very best that she could, but the man just wouldn’t listen and she began to cry over the phone. Miss Shaquina Thomas suddenly heard what sounded like a shriek followed by a large crunching noise over the phone before the battery went dead.
Rosa and Rita had just about completed mopping half of the hardwood floors out in the hallway and were returning to the maintenance closet to dump the dirty water and refill their rolling mop buckets with fresh water and pine cleaner. As they passed the gallery of cubicles, they were met with a sight of blood and gore as something which should not exist was feasting on the annoying young white man who always made snide comments to them behind their backs. Either Rosa or Rita screamed, Chaz would never have known which, and the horror looked up. In two bounds it crashed into the glass wall which divided the gallery from the hallway, but the reinforced glass held. Rosa and Rita abandoned their mop buckets and raced down the hallway as the monstrosity launched itself at the cracked glass again.
Turning right at the end of the hallway, Rosa and Rita screamed as they saw the smashed shell of what was left of their co-worker Carlo blocking the stairway going down. They screamed again as they heard the glass partition behind them shatter, followed by thudding feet following close behind. Running halfway down the hallway, Rita stopped at the elevators, frantically pressing the down button. The monstrosity turned the corner just as the elevator doors opened.
Rita pushed Rosa inside the elevator then jumped in herself just as the black monstrosity leapt. Rita was screaming, frantically pushing the ‘door close’ button, but the doors were slow to respond as the thing crouched outside and made to burst into the cramped elevator space. Suddenly, Rosa and Rita each pulled out a small .380 handgun from holsters which were strapped around their ankles underneath their grey work pants and began firing at the horror just outside the doors. As the doors finally started to close, and the elevator began to descend, the twin Mexican cleaning girls yelled at their tormentor, “Los Zetas, bitches!”
Though confused at what had just occurred, as it was not used to prey escaping, the monstrosity sniffed the air around the elevator doors then turned to the stairwell. Once again stomping on poor Carlo’s body as it passed, the unearthly hunter bounded down the steps, eager to catch up to its prey.
Wilroy Jackson checked his watch and, seeing that it was past 9 o’clock, knew that it was time to get the show on the road. Using the pass card that his girlfriend gave him, he opened the door to the back room which led to the private stairs up to the first floor. Once there, he peaked out the window of the door to make sure that the coast was clear. Then he looked up to the ceiling and spotted the surveillance camera. Jackson had dressed all in white. White sweats. White hoodie. White sneakers. White gloves. When he saw that the coast was clear, he put on a white mask and pulled the hoodie over his head. This wasn’t Jackson’s first rodeo, and he knew that it was difficult to identify suspects who dressed head to foot in white, especially with the low resolution camera’s which most security companies used.
In less than three seconds, Jackson was out the stairwell door, turned right, swiped the access card and was inside the treasure room that was storage room of the sporting goods store. As promised, Jessica had left a push cart for him just inside the door which he immediately began to stack with boxes of Air Jordans, Nike Air and Adidas sneakers, each pair of sneakers costing several thousand dollars each. In less than a minute, Jackson had about twenty pairs of sneakers stuffed into the sturdy plastic cart and soon he burst out of the storage room.
Pushing the cart in front of him, Jackson turned left and raced down the hallway. If the security guard was on his game, Jackson figured that he had a one minute head start on the rent-a-cop. At the end of the corridor, he pushed the cart to the right and continued down the adjoining corner running past the maintenance closet, the water meter regulator closet, an electrical room, and another store stock room. He just had to get past the break room and the stairs on the right and reach the service door at the end of the corridor on the left which led to the parking garage.
Once outside, all he’d have to do is take an immediate right and squeeze himself and the cart between a retaining wall and a concrete pillar and push out from behind the bushes surrounding the first level garage area which then led to the side walk with Flower Street on his right. Just up the street, Jessica had parked the van which they had stolen to make their escape south to get on the Christopher Columbus Transcontinental Highway and freedom. Jackson had just passed the break room. The door to the parking garage was just twenty feet to his left when the stairwell doors to his right exploded outwards. Jackson was thrown against the wall opposite along with about $100,000 dollars worth of high end sneakers. He slumped to the ground and, before he could recover from the shock, felt an incredible pain below his waist, accompanied by a loud crunching sound. Confused, Jackson turned over and pulled himself as far along the ground as his arms could take him, wondering why his legs weren’t working. He died not realizing the entire lower half of his body was missing.
The thing bowed its head, nudging the corpse and sniffing. Suddenly, lifting its head, it froze. It took a deep breath then jerked around and raced down in the direction that Jackson had come from. The horror turned the corner and stopped as it began to stalk the corridor past the break room to its left. Near the end of the corridor, the thing saw a door that was propped open by a sliding chair.
“What?” Bradford awoke with a start, momentarily confused as his world was covered by a suffocating filter of haze grey. He reached up and pulled Schmidt’s newspaper away from his face as he stood up abruptly. He looked at the clock on the wall, showing that it was past 9 o’clock. He’d been asleep for over an hour. He cursed, trying to calm himself down. What could have happened in an hour? Bradford sat back down to view the monitors and was horrified at what he saw.
Monitor 19 showed a man’s ripped corpse bloodying the entrance to the second floor parking garage. Monitor 26 showed the disemboweled body of a thin, older man wearing a tan suit sprawled out on the main hallway of the second floor. Monitor 41 showed someone that looked like one of the cleaning crew guys that Bradford saw earlier, crushed and mangled in the stairwell on the third floor, while what looked to be the remains of one of the office workers was lying in the debt collections gallery on Monitor 42.
Bradford stared unbelieving, throat dry, and eyes wide as he continued to scan the monitors. He knew that he had to call for help, but what would he say? His fingers were too frozen to move, anyway. He scanned the first floor monitors, the floor he was on, and saw two young women dressed in cleaning crew uniforms, running out of the parking garage, both pointing handguns behind then as they ran. Panning to monitor 42, Bradford gulped dryly as he saw the gory half eaten body of a young man lying in the hallway surrounded by piles of bloody sneakers.
Wait, that was just around the corner! Oh my God. That means that…
A hot breath enveloped Bradford from behind, followed by the stench of blood and uncooked flesh. Bradford turned on his chair and came face to face with a terrifying beast of nightmares. The thing stood over him, with a mass like that of a bull, only much larger. It stood on four legs, with its muscular front legs standing seven feet high at the muscular shoulders and ending in massive paws at least a foot and a half across. Its shoulders were as wide as its legs, at least seven feet across and it supported a head that seemed almost too big for the rest of its body. The head resembled that of a bulldog, but four feet wide, with a flat snout and a wide nose, but with an oversized mouth that extended as if on unhinged jaws that revealed dagger-like teeth about three inches long. It had two massive horns which protruded from its temples like a bull and they hung over wide spaced eyes which glowed a fiery deep red.
The body tapered towards the rear and ended at a long, muscular tail. The tail itself ended in a spike which seemed as strong as steel which scraped, sparked and gouged as it waved around the room, randomly smacking into objects and the ground.
Bradford leaned so far back in his seat that it almost fell over. Resting his right arm behind him on the desk to steady himself, Bradford raised his left hand up protectively across his face…
… and smacked the monstrous black beast across its fanged muzzle.
The beast yelped in surprise then turned, fleeing towards the far corner of the room with its tail between its legs. Reaching the corner, the beast turned facing Bradford and flopped down on the floor, plopping its massive horned head down and covering it with both of its massive front legs. Its flaming red eyes peered out from underneath its paws, whimpering pitifully.
“Muffins!” yelled Bradford, standing up and pointing an accusing finger at the hellish beast. “What did you do?” The beast yelped again and covered its eyes as Bradford stormed over to it. The beast kicked its rear legs, trying to back its rear end further into the corner, as if trying to make itself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Still hiding its head under its paws, the beast shivered as it panted and licked its mouth.
Bradford stared down at his poor little friend hunkered in the corner, all shaking and confused. He tried to be angry, but how could he be angry at the little girl? She was just a pup, for goodness sakes, and hellhounds are known to be especially hungry when they are growing pups. Bradford thought back to the cross country journey which eventually led him here to Los Angeles. He had picked up his pale blue, windowless panel van from New Jersey from where he began his drive to his grandparent’s farm in Ohio. It had cost him a pretty penny to ship it from Scotland, and he had managed to get a flat tire somewhere in Pennsylvania in the middle of the night. While he was changing to the spare, Muffins somehow got out of the van and ended up in a restricted US Army training area where the military were conducting some kind of night time land navigation for Cavalry Scout trainees. Fortunately, Bradford was able to attract Muffins back to the van before she ate one of the soldiers, although the local papers did print a short blurb about one of the Army scout trainees being tracked by a Bigfoot. A Bigfoot? Really? Though Muffins had been known to get up on her hind legs to sniff around, no one could mistake her for a Bigfoot. Bradford laughed when he read the story at a local garage where he got his tire replaced. If Muffins really wanted to eat that soldier, she would have found him. What a big mess that would have been!
Once in Ohio, Bradford stayed for about a year with his grandfather and grandmother on their farm in Jefferson. It was one of those communities where most of your neighbors were farmers and homesteads were separated by vast tracks of rolling foothills. Bradford’s grandparents owned a large enough farm and had an expansive enough plot of land in their rural and quaint farming community that a neighbor missing an occasional chicken of goat or hunting dog didn’t raise much of a concern. Muffins was practically just a newborn back then and she only stood as tall as a great dane. Plus, her coat was still a pale grey with streaks of darker grey along her flanks, instead of the pitch black fur that it is today.
It wasn’t until a few weeks ago, when the remains of the runaway Smith girl was found on the outskirts of his grandparent’s property that they got suspicious. The Smith girl went to the Jefferson Area High School and her parents had grounded her when they found out that she was dating the Schuman boy. She ran away two weeks ago and her bloodied clothing and shoes was all that were found on a lonely stretch of road which ran parallel to the eastern boundary of grandpa’s land which led to Mill Creek. Soon after the police investigators left, Bradford’s grandpa began asking questions which Bradford had no good answers for. Why haven’t they seen Scooter, their pet basset hound, for the past week? Why were cows and pigs going missing at their neighbor Winslett’s farm? Most of all, after only a year of living on the farm in, why was Bradford’s dog so big that it was now a full two heads taller than Molasses, grandpa’s Ohio State Fair Blue Ribbon award winning giant steer? And what were those two pointy things growing out of Muffin’s forehead, anyway?
Bradford thought he was doing his grandparent’s a favor by releasing Muffin at night to hunt beyond the boundaries of their farmland, but apparently that would not be a viable solution any more. That night, Bradford went to the ATM in town and cleared out his bank account. He put his clothes in an army surplus duffle bag, before whistling for Muffins and stuffing her in the back of his old but trusty windowless van. Obediently, she climbed in, the van’s rear shocks squeaking in protest. Seeing as Muffins barely had the shoulder room to move, Bradford resolved that, when he could afford it, he’d purchase a bigger van, perhaps even a bus.
They drove south for the rest of the night across the state. After crossing the Ohio border, they stopped in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, where Bradford got a cheap motel room on the outskirts of the city next to a truck stop. The taste of the skinny, crack addicted prostitute that Bradford picked up at the truck stop didn’t agree with Muffins, and she spit out the body parts, licking her butt to get rid of the poisoned taste. Muffins gave Bradford an annoyed look, but he just held up his hands and shrugged. They left Pittsburg right before evening and continued driving south, and the unfortunate residents of a mobile home located on a lonely stretch of land in the mountains satisfied Muffins for a while as they crossed into West Virginia.
They had travelled south through Skyline Drive and the Shenandoah Valley where Bradford allowed Muffins to get out and stretch her legs. Only a lone camper went missing that weekend who probably wouldn’t be found for a long time after Bradford and Muffins had left West Virginia. Westwards they drove, through Kentucky, southern Illinois, and Missouri, Bradford avoiding as many of the major populated towns and cities as he could. In Kansas, Muffins managed to wrangle down a heifer on a lonely field in the middle of the night. She didn’t eat again until Utah, when early one morning Bradford happened to spy a portly, middle aged fisherman pushing a small boat out into the Provo River for a little pre-dawn fishing.
That was, what? Seven days ago?
Bradford put his palm up to his face, kicking himself.
“Oh, Muffins. I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that it had been so long since you had last eaten. No wonder you were so hungry tonight!” Muffins tilted her head, staring at Bradford and whimpering.
“Come on, girl, let’s get out of here. But first,” Bradford walked to the black table, ejecting all of the DVR’s which had been recording the day’s events. Muffins eyed him curiously, wondering if she was still in trouble.
“Here girl,” said Bradford, tossing the DVR’s at the hellhound. Muffins leaped up, easily catching the discs in her mouth. She chomped down on them as if they were crunchy doggy treats, then, with a confused look on her face, spit the broken and chewed plastic pieces out and began licking her butt. Those tasteless crunchy treats weren’t yummy at all. She looked at Bradford, confused.
Bradford picked up the newspaper he was reading earlier before he dozed off. In bold black letters, the headlines of the Los Angeles Times blazed a story about how rioters and looters in Portland, Oregon, were being snatched up by men wearing uniforms and badges and being dragged into unmarked vans. Bradford smiled down at his security guard uniform and badge.
“Well,” he thought to himself. “Here’s a bunch of folks that no one will miss.”
“Come on girl,” said Bradford snapping his fingers and whistling. “Do you want to go on a road trip? Do you want to go to Portland? Come on, girl!”
Muffins jumped up and down excitedly, happy that all seemed to have been forgiven. Her mouth flopped open and her tongue wagged as slobber and spittle flew everywhere. The heavy thuds of her excited bouncing knocked monitors off the walls and toppled computers on to the floor, while her horns accidently dug huge gouges into the walls. Bradford laughed, grabbing Muffins by her scruff and hugging her, saying, “Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?”
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2020.08.03 00:46 Taxi_Dancer MUFFINS (part 1)

“Look kid,” said the older security guard with the slightly pudgy beer belly which threatened to pop out of his dark grey button down shirt. “This job is real easy.”
The name ‘Pontiac Security Services’ was emblazoned on a black and red patch on his left shoulder. Over his left breast pocket was a badge which read ‘Pontiac Security- Reliable, effective, always ready.’ Over his right breast pocket was a name tag which read ‘Schmidt.’ He ran his right hand over his balding head and stretched. “Yeah, kid. This is easy money.”
Another security officer sat on a well padded chair staring at a huge black wrap around desk which faced a grey painted wall that mounted banks of CCTV monitors. Each monitor was labeled with a white number from 1 to 46 and each showed various locations of the surrounding building and grounds. Bradford Kiefer Shaw, the other security officer, nodded slightly as he took in the panorama of monitors and locations. At twenty-four, Bradford was much younger than the veteran security officer, lean, with curly reddish-brown hair indicative of his Scottish heritage. The security office was fifteen feet by thirty-five feet, a large office for a single person, but that was necessary because of the banks of monitors which lined the walls, and although the security office had no windows, it was well lit.
“As you can see, we have forty-six monitors that cover roughly 80% of this complex as well as the parking garage and the main entrances,” continued the older security guard. “The cameras cover the stair wells, access doors to the various departments, break areas, and… well, just read your post orders. In it, you’ll find a list of cameras and what areas they are covering.”
Security Officer Schmidt reached into a drawer at the desk and handed Bradford a white laminated binder marked ‘Pontiac Security Services Post Orders for The Karr Building, 700 South Flower Street, Los Angeles, CA.’ “You said that the camera’s cover 80% of the area,” said Bradford. Since moving to the states a little over a year ago, he still retained a slight Scottish accent. “Will I be expected to go out and check on the other 20% that the monitor’s don’t cover?”
“Nope,” said Schmidt. “You’ll spend the majority of your ten hour shift here in the security office monitoring the cameras. Your job is simply to observe and report. If you see anything unusual, illegal, or dangerous to the building’s occupants you’ll call the emergency contact number and report the incident. Otherwise, the only challenges you’ll likely face is boredom and sleepiness.”
Schmidt checked his watch. He was coming to the end of his shift and this new kid seemed bright enough. He’d be fine on his first night with just a brief orientation. “The room next to the security office is one of the break rooms. There’s actually three on this floor. They have refrigerated drinks, snacks and microwavable meals. Feel free to get yourself an energy drink if you need to. Just, for goodness sakes don’t fall asleep. And if you do, don’t get caught. Most of the day shift people usually leave at around 6 p.m. A skeleton crew might work a little overtime, but all of the office workers need to be out by 9 p.m. It’s pretty much a ghost town during that time and emptier after that. Do you have any questions?”
Bradford flipped over the first few pages of his post orders, eager to familiarize himself with his duties in his new surroundings. “No, I should be good. Stay in the security office, monitor the cameras, report any suspicions or dangerous activities to the emergency contact number, and don’t fall asleep.”
“Yep,” said Schmidt. “Oh, a couple more things, before I forget. The cleaning crew comes in at around six tonight. There are usually four of them, all Mexicans, and they’re usually done by nine. Keep an eye on them when they go through the office cubicle spaces because… well, they’re Mexicans and we don’t want any of the employees complaining that their stuff went missing when they arrive to work in the morning.”
“Ohhh- kaaay,” replied Bradford.
“Seriously!” said Schmidt. “Old Bloody Ned got fired because six computer monitors and a bunch of lap tops came up missing. Turns out, people from the last cleaning company had snatched them up from one of the training classrooms. That cleaning company was run by a bunch of people from Albania. Anyway, we found out Old Bloody Ned was asleep at his post so he was booted from Pontiac Security.”
“I see,” said Bradford.
“Also, before you clock out when your shift ends, you need take the video recording disc out of the mainframe and replace it with a blank one.” Schmidt pointed at another black table to the left of the main desk where the computer towers sat that held the discs which recorded everything the camera’s monitored.
“After every shift, we need to replace the DVR recording disc with a blank one. We keep the recordings for about a month, then purge the data and reuse the blank disc again,” continued Schmidt. “Take the DVR and put it in one of these white plastic sleeves and put it in this ‘OUTGOING MAIL’ basket. Be sure to label it with the date and time of your shift. Then replace it with one of these blank discs in the ‘INCOMING MAIL’ basket. Any questions?”
“Umm, at the end of my shift, make sure that the cleaning crew is out, and replace the old DVR recording disk with a new one before leaving,” said Bradford.
“Correct,” said Schmidt. “And report anything unusual, hazardous or suspicious to the emergency contact number. And, remember, don’t fall asleep.”
“Right, don’t fall asleep, stay in the security office, don’t let anyone in unless I’m told, and don’t come out unless you or anyone else comes to get me,” smirked Bradford in his best British comedy accent.
“Huh?” said Schmidt.
Bradford smiled awkwardly, seeing that his attempt at levity failed. “Monty Python reference, you know, from that movie where they go looking for the Holy Grail and get attacked by a hungry, big-toothed, bunny rabbit.”
“Son, did you pass your drug screening test?” said Schmidt. “Or is that some of that new young people humor that you college aged folks think is so funny?”
Bradford had never graduated college, having only gone to a few community college classes in Ohio before he got bored. “Uhh, yeah. New college humor. Haaaaa…” Bradford said weakly.
“I’ll never understand you young folks,” replied Schmidt, picking up his lunch cooler and an old desk fan, fishing his car keys out of his pockets. “Okay, kid, I’m out. You got the bridge! ‘You got the bridge,’ get it? That’s real Navy lingo there, kid. Maybe you should think about joining the military.”
“I got the bridge. Got it, Captain Kirk!” said Bradford, saluting.
Schmidt swiped his access card at the reader next to the windowless double doors leading into the security room. It beeped softly before unlocking and Schmidt stepped out, mumbling something about back in the day when men were men and girls were girls, Commies were the bad guys, John Wayne was the good guy, and real cowboys weren’t gay.
Bradford decided that he liked old Officer Schmidt. He reminded him a lot of his old, clueless, grandpa back in Ohio. The drive from Ohio had been long and arduous, especially since he had to take a lot of rural highways and back country roads, but here he finally was on the west coast in the great city of Los Angeles. Admittedly, he was tired from the long journey, having arrived in the city only four days earlier, and he had not had a decent chance to catch up on any good sleep. He had used almost the last of his savings to rent a cheap hotel in an equally cheap neck of the city and was living on cans of beanie-weenies and Vienna Sausages, but at least he was fortunate enough to answer an ad on Craiglist for this security officer position on the morning he arrived. Pontiac Security Services was hurting for people to work, as the Covid-19 pandemic was keeping people at home and collecting more in unemployment per week than if they actually got a job. So after a day and a half of security guard ‘training’, Bradford found himself the graduate of the Pontiac Security Officer Institute, Class of 3:51 p.m. Wednesday Afternoon.
It was now Thursday, and Bradford’s ten hour shift ran from 4 p.m. in the evening to 2 a.m in the morning. Normally, his shift would start at 6 p.m. but he was required to come in two hours early today for orientation training for this site. Officer Schmidt’s security orientation training barely lasted fifteen minutes. Bradford began reading the binder which held his post orders. The Karr Building, which stood at the 700 block of South Flower Street, Los Angeles, 90017, was a tall, multi-story, building of dark tinted thick glass. It was built atop several glass fronted stores and was actually connected to a shopping plaza. A parking garage was also connected to the Karr Building which went up to the first three floors of the fifteen story building, including one level below ground. Above the first floor stores and shopping plaza, the building provided sectioned off office spaces for several businesses and services. Pontiac Security was responsible for providing security monitoring for the first three floors above the shopping area and monitoring for the parking garage. The first floor above the shops consisted mostly of maintenance rooms, stock rooms, and storage areas for the shops below. The second floor consisted of legal offices, accounting firms, travel offices, and a few medical practice services offices. The third floor was entirely dedicated to an asset recovery business, a nicer term to describe a debt collection office where dedicated people call the indebted at all hours of the day and night demanding payment.
The other parts of the building were segregated by security locked doors and elevators and only people with the right access cards allowed them access to the different parts of the building. Therefore, theoretically, anyone without the proper programming in their access card would not be able to gain access to a part of the building which they did not have access. Other security services also provided security to the different parts of the building not covered by Pontiac Security, and it was considered taboo to cross into another company’s area of responsibility. Basically, Bradford was only to monitor everything within his scope of responsibilities and let the other security services monitor theirs.
Bradford looked at the rows upon rows of monitors mounted on the wall in front of him, matching them to the list of monitors in his post orders. As it turned out, they were arranged in a very easy to understand pattern. The first six monitors on the top row were cameras mounted on the top floor of the parking garage. The following twelve monitors were located in various areas inside the third floor of the building. The first six monitors on the second row were cameras mounted on the middle floor of the parking garage and the following twelve monitors were located in various areas inside the second floor, while the bottom first six monitors were connected to cameras mounted on the first floor parking garage while the following twelve monitors were located inside the first floor. The last four monitors were set separately, and were connected to cameras which were monitoring the main entrance to the ground floor elevators and stairs. Soon, Bradford pretty much had memorized where all of the cameras were located and which areas they surveyed.
Should anything require particular watching from a specific camera, Bradford simply had to type in the monitor’s number into a key pad on the desk and press the manual control button on a joystick. He then would have manual control of the camera and would be able to track anyone he wanted, alternately zooming in and zooming out as needed. Bradford practiced this by using the monitors to zoom in on the rear end of a particularly attractive young blonde female wearing cut off denim shorts and a pink tank top as she walked from a gynecologist’s office on the second floor and tracked her as she took the elevators to the first floor parking garage until got into her white Honda Accord. He did this a few more times, next following two young Latina and Asian ladies as they walked to one of the break rooms on the third floor, then by zooming in on a fit looking girl walking up the stairs in tight fitting pink Capri pants, white sandals, and a yellow blouse, before he remembered that everything he did was being recorded on the DVRs.
He scanned the monitors for the next few hours, alternately watching the parking garage, then the offices on the second floor, then the collection agency on the third. The security monitoring office was located at the end of a hallway next to a break room on the first floor above all the fancy stores. It wasn’t as populated on this floor as this was were the offices of the store managers were located, as well as building maintenance workers, cleaning custodians, and a few store workers who would bring down more stock merchandise to the store. The collection agency on the third floor was expansive and was divided up into different sections, such as collections, disputes, training, etc. It was a cubicle farm for literally hundreds and of determined people sitting in front of a computer, calling people across the United States and demanding that their debts be settled.
Getting bored, Bradford decided to try to find his vehicle in the parking garage. If he remembered correctly, it was in Lot E on the second floor of the garage as he took control of the garage cameras on the second floor and began searching. As luck would have it, his vehicle was parked in part of the 20% of the areas not covered by the cameras. It was creeping past six and Bradford noticed that it wasn’t getting any cooler in the security office. In fact, it seemed to be getting warmer. He got up, stretched and looked around the office until he found the thermostat mounted on the wall. He looked at the little box and saw that the indictor was at 85 degrees. Underneath the thermostat was a hand written note which read- ‘Thermostat broken. Do not touch. Maintenance has been notified.’ It was dated one week ago.
“Great,” thought Bradford. “That’s why Schmidt had the desk fan. What else he forget to tell me?”
Needing something to cool himself off and keep himself alert, he decided to go next door to the break room to get an energy drink. Walking out into the hall, he swiped his access card and heard the break room door ‘beep’ as the magnetic lock disengaged. Upon entering, he was hit by the refreshingly chilly air of the air conditioned room. Several snack and soda machines lined the pristine white walls. Refrigerators filled with microwavable foods lined a separate room along with sinks and counters on which sat three microwaves. Two men were in the break room, sitting separately at different tables because of the social distancing restrictions. By the look of their light grey uniforms, Bradford figured that they were either part of the maintenance or custodial crew. They looked Hispanic and were speaking amongst themselves until Bradford walked in. A television mounted on the wall was tuned in to a Spanish speaking channel.
He said, “Hello,” and they nodded towards him courteously, although they said nothing. Bradford, somewhat self consciously, walked towards an ice cold soda machine, looking for an energy drink and was surprised to find that the cheapest caffeinated drink in the machine cost three dollars, with the energy drink he was looking for costing even more. He reached into his pockets and pulled out two crumpled one dollar bills and eighty-six cents.
“Things are a little bit more expensive here, ese!” said a young Latino male seated at the table, smiling. The name embroidered on his shirt said ‘Carlo.’
Bradford smiled back, wondering what it was about him that gave it away that he wasn’t a native of LA. “The cup and ice water are free, ese,” said an older Latino man pointing at the separate room with the refrigerators of prepackaged meals and microwaves. ‘Manuel’ was the name embroidered on his shirt.
“Oh, uh, thank you,” said Bradford, sheepishly walking into the next room. Sure enough, there were plastic cups resting inside a cup dispenser next to an ice maker and water machine. Taking a cup and filling it with iced water, he downed it quickly, feeling a little bit refreshed. He drank another cup full, then filling the cup one more time, he walked out. By then, the workers were walking out of the door and Bradford followed them out.
Turning left, he walked back to the security office, swiping his badge and entering. There was no window to the outside to open and the air was beginning to get stifling. Thinking that it really wouldn’t hurt anything, Bradford decided to take one of the rolling chairs in the office and used it to prop open the door. The cooler air from the hallway would help circulate the warmer, staler, air in the room and there was a camera monitoring this hallway to alert him is anyone was approaching. Besides it was nearly 8 p.m. and just like Schmidt said, the building had rapidly turned into a ghost town. Where the parking garage was nearly full when he arrived at 4 p.m. there were now only a handful of cars left.
The water and the open security office door only helped a little bit in keeping Bradford alert, but he found that his eyelids were getting heavy. Bradford finally had to admit that his days of driving cross country and his whirl-wind schedule once he arrived in LA, combined with his lack of sleep, was getting the best of him. He was losing focus, even after he noticed the same fit and petite girl from earlier with the pink Capri’s and yellow blouse leaving the third floor offices heading towards the stairs that led to the parking garage. He wasn’t even interested in turning a camera to follow her as she bounced down the stairs.
Groaning, Bradford saw that it was a little after 8 p.m. He had to find a way to engage himself mentally to stay awake for the rest of the shift. He picked up a copy of today’s LA Times news paper which he figured Schmidt had left behind- because who but old grandpa’s read the paper anymore? Leaning back in his chair, he went to the front page headlines and began to take in the news of the day.
Amanda really didn’t lie to her husband when she said she would be working late. She actually did work late today. It’s just that she told her husband that she would be coming home at around ten, even though it was just after 8 o’clock. Eh, she didn’t care. Her husband was almost twice as old as she was, but he was loaded. She only married him for the money. He knew it also, and it benefitted him to have a pretty trophy wife when he had to go to his stuffy get togethers with other old rich guys with their pretty young trophy wives. Besides, he was almost never in the mood to satisfy her and Danny, the intern at the law firm downstairs, was a sexual tyrannosaur!
Skipping down the stairs, she emerged on the second deck of the parking garage. As she figured, the garage was nearly empty and her sandals clicked and echoed as she made her way to a parking spot which she knew, from experience, was not covered by the prying eyes of a security camera. Her husband had recently bought her an SUV, one of those nice ones with the big spacious back seats, and even had the windows tinted. It was used, but only a couple of years old. She turned a corner, walking past a concrete post and paused. An ugly pale blue and rust colored van had parked next to her SUV. Ugg, she thought. Probably one of the Mexican cleaning crew’s shit mobiles. Usually, they would park their vehicles closer to the entrance of the building. But, thinking that the vehicle might be an added wall to shield from prying eyes, Amanda pressed the button on her key FOB which unlocked the doors. She couldn’t wait until later. She wanted it now, and then later after dinner with Danny, and maybe after that, as well.
Instead of climbing into the driver seat, Amanda opened the rear door of her SUV and took a seat, quickly undid the buttons on her blouse and unbuttoned the buttons on her Capri’s. She didn’t want any clothing restrictions when Danny finally came down to ravage her. She reached behind her, pushing her hands underneath her blouse to unhook her bra when a dark shadow loomed up over the shit van that had parked next to her SUV. Amanda looked up from the back seat, too terrified to scream.
“Dammit, honey will you get off my back?” The elevator doors closed behind a well dressed young man wearing wire rimmed glasses. He didn’t need glasses to see, but it made him look more sophisticated when he worked with the lawyers at the firm of Phagus, Womac, and Klein as a legal assistant. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you. When I say I’m working late at the firm, I’m damn well working late! I’m not cheating on you!”
He threw his dark blue jacket over his shoulder and loosened his tie. “Look, honey,” Danny continued. “I’m working my ass off here trying to make a name for myself and provide for your future and the kids. And how do you repay me? You repay me by accusing me of cheating on you!”
“Of course I’m cheating on you, you fat cow!” thought Danny. “You haven’t been the same since the twins were born. Always complaining and nagging and getting on my back for every little damn thing. And you never lost that pregnancy weight. It’s been, like, one year since the twins were born and you haven’t lost any of the twenty pounds you gained. Hell, you actually added weight and you’re never in the mood. Of course I need a chick who can satisfy me. This young prince got needs!” He wanted to say these things into the phone, but he held his tongue.
It wasn’t his fault that he was a virile stud that was going places while his wife was as listless in bed as a wet sock. He hurried down the hallway to the stairs which led to the parking garage. When Amanda wanted it, she didn’t have time to waste taking off clothes. He looked down at his watch and seeing it was past 8 o’clock, Danny picked up the pace.
“No, honey, I don’t have time to talk,” continued Danny. “Why am I breathing so hard? Because you’re strangling me, that’s why! Oh… oh… is that the babies I hear crying? Why don’t you spend some time taking care of the babies instead of nagging me to death? Maybe then I’ll have the time to come home!” Danny hung up abruptly and shut off the phone in case the fat cow called back. He was out the door and fast walked across the parking garage towards that familiar parking space, a excitement growing in the front of his trousers as he imagined Amanda waiting in the back seat for him.
Danny turned the corner of the concrete pillar which blocked the view of the camera monitor to that particular back corner of the parking garage. An ugly, windowless, rusty blue panel van was parked next to Amanda’s SUV, looking like the vehicular version of the beast next to beauty. Amanda’s soft, white supple legs stuck out from the back seat towards the van, one of her white sandals already on the floor. Looking around to make sure no one was watching; Danny hustled over to the back seat of the SUV, unbuckling his trousers as he went. Amanda was ready to go tonight!
Eagerly glancing down into the back seat, Danny suddenly shrieked. Amanda was lying in the back seat as he’d expected, but her right arm and head were completely missing. Danny’s trousers fell to his ankles as he stood frozen, looking at the decapitated corpse. All of a sudden, a low growl and the thud of heavy footsteps coming from behind him caused Danny to slowly turn around. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was slowly stalking behind him. When he opened his eyes, he shrieked again, ignoring the warm sensation of urine running down his legs. Abruptly, he turned and attempted to run back towards the entrance to the building, nearly tripping from his pants around his ankles. He pulled them halfway up to his knees, turned to see if he was being followed, then shrieked again. Trying to pull his pants up with one hand, he turned the corner around the concrete pillar and began waving frantically at the video camera with the other hand.
Hobbling for everything he was worth Danny successfully reached the doors which led back into the building, but ran face first into the glass creating a loud clanging noise which echoed across the parking garage. Suddenly remembering that the sliding glass doors automatically lock at 8 p.m. he waved both hands over his head at the security video camera mounted on the ceiling just inside the doors before finally remembering that employees could get in after hours by using their access cards. Desperately, he reached down into his pants which were still wrapped around his feet and fished around in his pockets for his access card. Suppressing a yelp of victory, he ripped the card out of his pocket and swiped it over the pad. The doors swung open and Danny heaved himself inside just as his world went black. The last thing he heard was the crunch of his own rib cage and shoulder blades. Metal buckled and glass shattered as something big and black entered the building.
In the section of the second floor which led to the law offices of Phagus, Womac, and Klein, two men stood facing each other across an ornately carved oaken desk. Lining the walls of the dimmed room were oaken shelves similarly carved as the oaken desk and filled with various legal and criminal justice books. A lamp in the desk was the only light, casting harsh shadows around it. A tall, slender, elderly man wearing a tan suit pushed four, small, rectangular packages wrapped in thick plastic towards a smaller man wearing a light grey jumper uniform of the cleaning staff. The smaller man picked up one of the packages, eyeing it nervously. It weighed about one pound, or a little less than half a kilo.
“And this will be the last time, Senior Phagus?” said the man in the cleaning uniform. “This will be the last time? You promise?”
Lewis J. Phagus, senior partner of the law firm Phagus, Womac, and Klein, narrowed eyes filled with contempt at the little Hispanic night laborer standing in front of his desk. However, when Phagas spoke, it was with the same conviction in his voice that swayed many a split jury to acquit an obviously guilty defendant and set them free.
“My dear friend,” said Phagus. “My dear Mr. Manuel Odango, of course I shall keep my part of the bargain. I know the struggles which your family have had to face, and I’m not going to insult you by saying I understand the financial hardships which you face. But I will tell you that I am here to help.”
Phagas leaned in closer. “You just do this one last thing, you just take those small packages to our MS-13 friends down at the Redondo Beach pier, and I’ll do my part. I’ll talk to some of my friends at the DA and file some motions with a few immigration and naturalization court judges that I usually play golf with. Trust me, Mr. Odango, you’ll be reunited with your grandchildren soon.”
Odango nodded doubtfully, but what choice did he have? When his daughter and her children tried to cross the border into southern California, she was taken by human traffickers, forced into drug addiction, and had been sold into prostitution. Thankfully, Odango’s four grandchildren were rescued by the US border patrol and CPS but were now living in the confusing and frustrating red tape limbo that is the United States immigration system. And with Odango being an illegal immigrant himself, trusting this highly respected lawyer was his only chance to save what was left of his family.
“Okay, Senior Phagas,” said Odango, slipping the four packages into the large cargo pockets on either side of his pants. “I will deliver your packages to your friends at midnight, just as we agreed.”
Phagas smiled and nodded, lifting his hand and gesturing towards the door. The dark shadows cast by the lamp framed the sharp angular features of Phagas’s face in such a way that it made him look somewhat devilish. Odango, taking his cue, nodded and turned to leave Phagas’s darkened office and was grateful to emerge into the well lit common area of the law firm. The glass doors to the firm opened automatically for him as he emerged into the hallway. Phagas didn’t trust mag-locked doors, and preferred to lock the doors using old fashioned lock and keys.
The sound of movement attracted the monstrosity as it stalked the corridors of the second floor. It stopped suddenly, sniffing the air then quickly turned as it followed the noise to the main hallway which led to the law firm of Phagus, Womac, and Klein. It rounded a corner in time to see elevator doors close behind a person with a light ‘ding’ sound. The massive thing moved down the hallway towards the closed elevator doors when a part of its form pressed up against a green button mounted on the wall next to it. To the thing’s right, two sliding glass doors opened.
“Fools,” thought Phagas. “Find a way to enslave a person, and they will be your fool for life.” Phagas lit a Cuban cigar as he stood at the tinted bay window of his office, looking outside as darkness engulfed the city.
It was relatively easy to alter evidence documents which would allow a few kilos of confiscated coke to fall through the cracks here and there. The LAPD doesn’t get paid nearly enough for what they do to protect and serve and any opportunity to spread the wealth, including to Lewis Phagas himself, benefitted everyone. Besides, if Odango does get caught, are the feds really going to believe that an illegal immigrant was actually trafficking drugs to MS-13 through a respected criminal defense lawyer?
“Oh, no, Mr. Odango. Tonight isn’t your last delivery, not by a long shot. I’ll give you little bits of hope and little indications that things are progressing, but you’ll never see day two of your journey. You and your grandchildren will be running these deliveries for a long, long time.”
Phagas took a long puff of his Cuban cigar, relishing the smooth rich taste as he exhaled slowly. Suddenly, the dim light of the lamp behind him disappeared as the shape of something massive rising behind him was reflected in the mirror. Phagas blinked at the reflection in the window, thinking, “Did I just grow horns?”
submitted by Taxi_Dancer to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]

2020.07.31 11:14 BackgroundCheetah0 Male vs female strip clubs

I’m curious if anyone has ever been to a male strip club or a female strip club, because I think the difference between the two is a good case study in how men versus women act when in a highly sexually charged environment.
Based on my observations, having been to both and known enough strippers throughout my life I would say that these are the key differences:
Female strip clubs:
This is just a rough generalization of what female strip clubs are like based on my years of going to them. Again, since they are much more common then male strip clubs, you can find a wider variety of them and the rules regarding them can change depending on what city you live in. I’ve been some strip cubs where you can touch the strippers fully nude for only a $20 lap dance and I’ve been to some strip clubs where touching was completely prohibited.
Now on to male strip clubs, which tend to fall into two camps, ones that service primarily gay audiences, and ones that service primarily female audiences. I’ll be talking about the ones that service primarily female audiences:
Now I’m far from being an expert on this but that’s in my general view on the difference between male strip clubs and female strip clubs. I was wondering how many here have ever been to a strip climb before and what their experience/observations were.
submitted by BackgroundCheetah0 to PurplePillDebate [link] [comments]

2020.07.31 06:14 Taxi_Dancer Is That You, Daddy? Part 3 (Sequel to The Parchment)

The auditorium surrounded a large stage where a motivational political commissar stood, impatiently waiting for the children to file in. She was flanked by more compliance officers. Behind her, hanging down from the ceiling was a giant blue American flag with the white hammer and sickle in the upper left corner, and behind that was a large white screen which could be retracted into the ceiling.
The next few hours were filled with the motivational political commissar leading the girls in upbeat patriotic songs, combined with stories of heroism, history lessons of the great Socialist insurrection, and weeks old news videos of the victorious United Socialist States armies marching across Mexico, and Canada, and Europe. And every thirty minutes, the motivational political commissar led the girls in the Pledge of Allegiance. Alexia sat as if in a trance. She cheered when it was time to cheer. She stood and said the pledge when it was time to say the pledge. She clapped when it was time to clap. And she watched, without watching, the videos of the great Socialist victories. But the whole time, all she could hear was Officer Ungoya’s dying voice. “Look away, young-youngs! Look away!”
After dinner, Alexia and her friends marched back to their old, familiar bay. Though tired, they were eager to see if Miya was back in her bunk. Perhaps she was resting, with a big bandage on her face. The image of her friend in such a state made Alexia shudder. But when they got to her bunk, Miya was not there. Her bed sheet had been stripped off and her pillow was gone. And Miya’s clothes were missing from the drawer she shared with Riko, along with the pictures of her beautiful mother. The three friends trudged through their chores, cleaning the bay and preparing it for end of day indoctrination. Alexia had resolved to ask the commissar if she knew what happened to Miya, although Riko and Harley had advised against it.
Surprisingly, the commissar addressed the subject as soon as end of day indoctrination started. Clapping her hands and smiling broadly, the commissar said, “Children, I have some exciting news for you tonight. One of your classmates, Miya 09145 has been given a very special honor!”
Alexia, Harley and Riko looked at each other with dread.
“As you know, you all begin your pre-conscription training at age eight, so that by the age of ten, you can begin preliminary pre-military service! You’ll be doing laundry, washing dishes, helping in the kitchens, digging ditches, emplacing mine fields, watching for traitors, and planting flowers, all in preparation for your actual military service when you turn sixteen!”
“But,” continued the commissar in a hushed tone, trying to build up the suspense, “your little Miya 09145 has shown such…um…. talent and enthusiasm, that the Head Commissar of the warphanage has authorized her to begin her pre-conscription service today! Isn’t that wonderful, girls?” The commissar clasped her hands together, mouth open in a wide, fake smile. The girls in the bay stared unblinking at the commissar, saying nothing.
“But… but…” said Alexia timidly. “But Miya is only five. Her birthday is next week. I have a pair of socks with no holes in it that I was going to give to her.”
“Her father is dead,” snapped the commissar, suddenly, her fake smile disappearing and replaced by a look of contempt. “We are fighting a war, children, and the sooner you realize that and make yourselves useful to the great revolution, the better!”
Alexia’s shoulders dropped and she hung her head. So that was it, then. Miya was right. Her father was dead and now, Miya was gone. Alexia never had a chance to say goodbye, or gift her a pair of socks with no holes in it. Her heart shattered, Alexia thought, “Daddy? Mommy? Where are you?”
Robotically, she, along with the rest of the girls, pledged, and sang, and clapped, and praised, as they had been taught to do by the commissars for as long as they could remember. At lights out, however, Alexia buried her little face in her pillow and cried and cried long into the night. And when the lights abruptly came on in the morning, Alexia’s pillow was still wet with tears.
And so it continued like this for the next few days and weeks, as it has been for an endless forever of days and weeks, except that Alexia felt an emptiness in her heart, not only for losing her friend Miya, but also at the thought that her Mommy and Daddy may have been killed in the fighting. Riko and Harley, who already knew of Alexia’s suspicions that her parents had been killed, and that the person on the other end of the line may not be her Daddy, had done their best to cheer her up. Unlike Alexia, whose parents were conscripted while she was still an infant, both Harley and Riko’s parents were conscripted when they were older, their parents being of low-to-low middle class. Harley said that her mother taught her the code word “big sky”. When her mother called and said the code word “big sky” Harley knew that she was actually talking with her mother. Riko’s parents, who were serving together in the same unit in Sweden, had taught her that their code word would be “blossom” and so Riko knew that when she heard that word, she knew that she was talking with her parents. Alexia, however, never had the opportunity to establish a code word with her Mommy or Daddy and she resolved to find a way to establish that code word with her Daddy next time she spoke with him, if indeed that was her Daddy on the other end. The last Sunday of the month was approaching, and with it, that blessed three minutes in which she could talk with her Daddy.
For the next week, the Children’s Pravda Network strangely wasn’t broadcasting anything new. They simply showed re-runs of old shows. Likewise, The Daily News for Children stopped showing the victorious progress of the Socialist forces, and instead had begun to broadcast cautionary stories of evil capitalists lurking behind every bush, and steps to take to report your parents if they don’t show the appropriate level of patriotism. Harley’s Mommy and Alexia’s Daddy were both serving in Canada, and the two little girls were disappointed at the lack of news coming from there. News from Sweden was also very rare, but Riko managed to keep up a positive spirit, seemingly recovered from witnessing Ungoya dying and returning to her usual jovial mood.
On the morning of the last Sunday of the month, Alexia and Riko made their way down into the sub-basement towards Ms. Mercer’s music class. They were in a cheerful mood, today being the day that they could speak with their parents. Riko was scolding Alexia, telling her that she needed to eat dinner tonight, because that was what Officer Ungoya would have wanted and Alexia resolved to do that. However, as they entered the classroom, the usually upbeat and happy Ms. Mercer’s face was pressed against her desk, her right arm over her head and in her left arm she held what looked like a letter. She was crying inconsolably, whimpering, “They’re dead! They’re dead! My babies are dead!”
More girls entered the room, their smiles and cheerful banter suddenly ceasing as they saw their music teacher’s pitiful state. They watched helplessly as Ms. Mercer fell to the floor, throwing the letter aside and rubbing her eyes with her clenched fists. “They’re dead! My babies are dead!”
Nervously, Alexia picked up the letter and uncrumpled it. Though stained with tears, Alexia could read the smudged words typed in blue ink on the thick paper.
“Mrs. Mercer, Deloris 57754,
We regret to inform you that your twin sons, Private Mercer, Dean 11282A, and Private Mercer, Daniel 11282B, were killed in action in the vicinity of Uppsala, Sweden on - insert approximate date of termination here- . Know that your Nation and your Party grieve with you on your loss, and that your - insert name of Provincial Senior Party Leader here- salutes you in this trying time. Signed- insert name of Army Group Commander here-”
Alexia noticed that Riko was also reading the letter over her shoulder and quickly tried to put the letter away. But Riko’s wide eyes and hands covering her mouth let Alexia know that Riko had read enough. Both Riko’s parents and Ms. Mercer’s sons were in the same army group fighting to liberate Stockholm. At least, that’s where the Daily News for Children said they were last time. Why weren’t they there now? What happened to the army group in Stockholm?
It took some time for the other art teachers to come and assist and even more time for the compliance officers to come down and attend to Ms. Mercer. She was screaming, hitting, and spitting on the compliance officers and calling them names. She blamed them for supporting a government which had destroyed the nation and had sent her children to needlessly die in a country that had officially declared itself neutral. Finally, a warphanage nurse had to come down and sedate the music teacher before they hauled her out of the classroom. The whole time, Alexia was hugging Riko, trying to reassure her that her Mommy and Daddy were fine. Eventually, Riko nodded, forcing a smile and saying, “I’m sure they are okay. They’re Japanese so they make small targets!”
The hours seemed to drag on for days for Alexia, who was alternately excited to speak with her Daddy, but also dreading the idea that it was just a government person on the other end. Keeping her promise to Riko and Officer Ungoya, she did not avoid dinner and gobbled down her meal of a slice of room temperature spam, three slices of a mandarin orange, and a doughy dinner roll, washing it all down with a cup of grape flavored drink.
Walking quickly from the cafeteria to the phone call room, Alexia found that she wasn’t too far behind the rest of her classmates and was only five seats down in the front row of the darkened waiting room. She looked across the row to her left to see Riko seated in the very first seat.
“So that’s why I didn’t see her at dinner,” thought Alexia. Before taking a seat in the room, each girl had to sign in on a call roster with a compliance officer. Therefore each girl was called to a phone on a first come, first served basis. Riko was sitting on her hands and biting her lips, nervously staring at the empty stools and the banks of phones. There were actually enough partitions for twelve children to talk on the phones, but since seven of the phones were not working, only five commissars were seated across the partitions behind the Plexiglas dividers who would be facilitating the calls.
Surprisingly, Alexia didn’t have to wait long and the first five girls were called to the phones. Alexia took a seat at the fifth phone and groaned inwardly as the same, balding, fat, commissar from last month sat staring back at her from across the partition.
“Confirm your name,” said the commissar, his voice crackling through the intercom.
“Alexia 09129,” said Alexia, trying to smile as cheerfully and brightly as she could.
“Alexia 09129,” said the fat senior lieutenant in a bored, dismissive tone. “You have three minutes after the phone rings to talk. Oh, wait. Because you have a penalty from last month for not displaying the proper positive attitude towards the government, your time has been cut to two minutes.”
“Wait…but…” started Alexia, but she stopped herself short at the sneer coming from the commissar. “Oh, okay. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Alexia was again kicking herself in the head, even as the red light on the phone turned green. With less excitement and more trepidation than she had last month, Alexia nervously picked up the phone and said, “Daddy?”
“Remember,” interrupted the fat senior lieutenant, just as he did last month. “If I hear any unauthorized discussion about our current operations or criticism of the government, I will terminate this call immediately. For your lack of proper motivation and positive attitude towards your government last month, your time has been cut to two minutes. Is that understood, Sergeant 47313? Over.”
There was a pause, followed by the faint crackle of static, then the voice on the other end replied, “Yes. That is understood by Sergeant 47313, Commissar Senior Lieutenant. Over.”
Alexia strained to hear the voice of her Daddy. He sounded more weary than last time, and the static was even worse. Was it her Daddy’s voice? She couldn’t tell. Her heart was beating quickly. She had only two minutes to decide if this was really her Daddy she was talking to.
“You have permission to speak with Alexia 09129. Over.” said the commissar, pressing the headphones closer to his ears and hovering his finger over the red ‘CUT CALL’ button.
“Thank you, Commissar Senior Lieutenant,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “Hello, Alexia, how are you? Over.” Alexia’s heart dropped. Her father sounded either extremely tired or, she gulped, extremely bored. The static over the phone made him sound more robotic than ever.
“I’m… I’m fine. Over.” Alexia was reluctant to say the word ‘Daddy.’ Not until she was sure.
Again there was a pause, before the voice on the other end said, “Alexia. Are you okay? You sound troubled. Over.”
Alexia’s mind was a jumble of feelings and expressions to which she had no words. She wished she had a code word. She wished she could believe that this was her Daddy. “What happened to Mommy?” she wanted to scream.
“No. I’m fine,” she stated simply. “How are you? How are things where you are at? Over.”
The commissar gave his same threatening gaze at Alexia, but she ignored him.
“I am fine,” came the response. “We are fine. Our glorious advance is going well. We will be victorious if we follow orders. Over.”
Alexia paused. So robotic sounding was the answer that Alexia believed she was talking to a computer program. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Can you please say that again? Over.”
“Yes,” the voice replied. “I am fine. We are fine. Our glorious advance is going well. We will be victorious if we follow orders. Over.”
Alexia felt like dropping the phone. This wasn’t her Daddy. This was someone reading from a script, to make her feel better and to hide the truth. Her Daddy was dead.
“I need to know,” Alexia said, feeling the heaves of tears beginning to form behind her eyes. “I need to know, please. Is that you, Daddy?”
There was a long pause. Through the static, Alexia could hear heavy, almost labored breathing and sniffles of tears. “Alexia, I must follow orders and say what must be said. But know this, on the day that your mother and I left you, we cradled you in our arms and I swore to you, my little Allie, that no weapon fashioned by man will separate you from my lo…”
“Your two minutes are up Sergeant 47313,” said the commissar. “Alexia 09129, report back to your bay.”
“No!” protested Alexia, weakly. “Please! Please just one more second! Please. My Daddy was going to say something. He was going to say that he lo…”
The uncaring gaze that she received in return told Alexia that it was no use. She got up from her stool and walked towards the door. Her stomach was doing somersaults and she wasn’t sure if she should be happy or not.
“Allie! Daddy called me by the name Mommy always calls me when we spoke on the phone. Allie!” So lost in thought was Alexia that, as she passed behind Riko, she didn’t notice that Riko’s head was down, the phone had dropped out of her hand, and that she was weeping silently.
That night after end of day indoctrination, Alexia dreamed of a small white kitten with long back ears, big almond eyes, and a funny gap toothed smile. The cat jumped from a table and landed with a barely perceptible thud on the floor. Alexia smiled, thinking about how the kitten looked so much like…
Alexia bolted up, looking across from her. Riko’s bunk was empty. In the red light, she saw a shadow walking across the bay towards the windows. Alexia crept out of bed, her lips tightening at the squeaks of the rusty supports as she climbed down.
“Allie?” whispered Harley.
“Shhhhh,” whispered Alexia, pointing to the shadow of the little girl slowly but determinedly walking towards the windows.
Before they new it, the little girl slid the window open and leapt skillfully up the sill. Only Riko could be that agile. The windows should have been secured, but this window was opened during the hot summer months when the AC went down, and the lock to secure the window had been broken. It was never fixed. Harley and Alexia reached out towards Riko, gasping.
“Riko, please,” begged Alexia. “We’ll get in trouble if we get caught.”
Riko stared back impassively from the window sill, her silhouette outlined by the bright, full moon.
“Riko,” whispered Harley. “What are you doing?”
“Those weren’t my parent’s,” said Riko. “They didn’t even sound like my parents and they said… they said… they said they didn’t know anything about ‘blossom.’”
Suddenly, the entire bay room was illuminated by a bright spotlight coming from one of the perimeter guard towers outside and an alarm sounded. Riko turned to look back at her friends, smiling a big, gap toothed smile as a tear fell from her cheeks. Waving, she said, “I miss my Mommy and Daddy.”
Riko spread her arms wide and leaned backwards, allowing gravity to take her as she fell backwards. Three compliance officers suddenly burst into the bay and, along with Alexia and Harley, watched as Riko disappeared over the edge of the open window sill. The light from the guard tower followed Riko as her body fell down to earth and made contact with the cement three stories below. The spotlight lingered on Riko’s broken, but strangely peaceful form for a couple of seconds before shutting off with an abrupt ‘click’ which cast the surroundings in darkness save for the dying light of the moon.
The days and weeks passed in a blur for Alexia. She could not concentrate with her studies and her lack of an appetite made her listless, despite Harley’s attempts to get her to eat. Even electrical prods from compliance batons given by angry compliance officers who noticed Alexia’s lack of proper motivation for the great revolution seemed to elicit a very limited response from her.
The Children’s Pravda Network and the Children’s Daily News even stopped showing stories about the victorious Socialist armies liberating the world. Instead, the news was filled with reports about villainous Old Republic Americans and their Mexican allies crossing the border north into Texas, while Old Republic Americans and their Canadian and French allies were crossing the border south into New York and Minnesota. Alexia also briefly recalled hearing one of her teachers talking in hushed tones about enemy ships from England, France, and Germany setting sail. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered now. Time seemed to pass in a grey haze, a haze that turned completely black when, on the last Sunday of the month, the phone did not ring for Alexia. Her father did not call. It didn’t necessarily mean he was dead, but only a few weeks ago the news was celebrating the glorious Socialist victories in Canada. Now, the enemy was coming here with with an army of Old Republic Americans who still clung to their old and outdated ideas.
“I miss my Mommy and Daddy.” Riko’s last words rang out in Alexia’s head as she sat in the cold, dark, bay and staring at the window which Riko left the earth. “I miss my Mommy and Daddy.”
The warphanage did nothing to fix the broken window locks, even after Riko’s death. In fact, the warphanage workers seemed very distracted as of late. Teachers, faculty, cafeteria workers, even the commissars, military guards and compliance officers all seemed distracted, almost trying to hide an undercurrent of panic. This mattered little to Alexia who, if her Daddy was gone, she had nothing to hope for. She was alone, and she wanted the pain of her loneliness to finally go away. She had no feelings left. She wouldn’t feel anything when the time came.
“Alexia?” she heard Harley whisper her name behind her.
“I miss my Mommy and Daddy,” Alexia whispered as she stepped towards the window.
“Alexia! No!” Harley ran forward to grab Alexia.
At that moment the bay was flooded with light as dozens of booted feet burst through the doors.
“Up, children! Up, children!” yelled the female commissar who led that night’s end of day indoctrination as she stormed into the bay. She held a metal waste paper basket in one hand and was banging upon it loudly with a baton. “Quickly, quickly, quickly! Up! Up! Up!”
Beside the commissar, ten compliance officers stomped in, banging on bunk beds with their batons and rousting the girls from their sleep. No one questioned why Harley and Alexia were already out of bed and they were quickly and roughly hustled out of the bay and into the hallway by fat Officer Butler. Although her face was still swathed in padded gauze, Alexia could see worry, almost fear, in Butler’s beady little eyes. Confused, Harley grabbed Alexia’s hand so that they would not be separated as the throng of sleepy and perplexed girls where half pushed, half shoved outside.
Once in the hallway, Alexia could see that all of the classes were being roused out of their bays as compliance officers and military guards lined the crowds of children into ranks and rows. Like her, most of the girls were barefoot as they stepped out onto the cold concrete floor in their threadbare sleeping gowns. Over the intercom loudspeaker, a metallic voice instructed the children to behave in an orderly manner and listen to their compliance officers. The first ranks of the formation was already marching forwards towards the stairs and Alexia, still holding Harley’s hand as they marched, turned to her friend and whispered, “What’s going on?”
Harley simply shrugged then shuddered as a nearby compliance officer angrily banged his baton against the concrete wall, yelling, “No talking! Eyes forward! Move quickly!”
The hallways, stairs, and corridors were choked with children of all classes as they were directed to make their way down to the main floors and towards the showers. Already, the older classes were stripping off their clothes and hurriedly stepping on the conveyors which took them through the shower system. Alexia and Harley looked at each other in surprise. They had already had their weekly shower earlier in the evening. In all her six years of life, Alexia could never recall having two showers in the same week, much less in the same day.
There was a considerable wait was the older classes were going through the showers first. After a while, Alexia’s class was quickly ushered into the shower bay by harried compliance officers. The children were instructed to remove their garments, but instead of warphanage workers placing the used clothing into separate canvas bins, the children were instead ordered to simply throw all their clothes into giant piles. Alexia stepped onto the shower conveyor with Harley following behind her. Alexia’s heart skipped and she gave a sudden yelp, shuddering as the icy cold water hit her. Apparently, all of the hot water had been used up. The soapy water spray was equally cold, as well as the rinsing spray, but mercifully; the heating driers were still blowing hot air which warmed the severely shivering children.
No sooner had they stepped off the conveyor than they were rushed into the next bay where they would normally be issued a new change of garments. However, instead of the usual rude warphanage workers, the stations which were handing out the new garments were being manned by uniformed military personnel. A large bay door had been opened to the parking lot outside, and standing on her tippy toes to see over the mass of children, Alexia saw that the older classes, after changing into their new clothes, were being ushered outside. The new clothing looked different. It had COLOR!
Still bereft of clothing, Alexia’s class was directed to fall into a single file line to the first station where a female soldier gave each girl a small cloth sack and three pairs of undergarments. Alexia’s eyes opened in surprise and awe as she saw that the undergarments weren’t dingy in color and threadbare, but were pink, and made of a silky fabric. They looked brand new! So shocked that she had been given such an amazing gift that Alexia paused. An impatient compliance officer charged her baton and yelled, “Get moving!”
“Sorry! Sorry!” said Alexia as she moved over to the next station. Here, another soldier was waiting. This female soldier, who was from the Dark Continent, smiled broadly down at Alexia and said, “Don’t worry, little young-young. Don’t let those mean old compliance officers frighten you!”
The soldier handed Alexia a long, light blue gown, and again Alexia’s eyes filled almost with tears. The gown was brand new! It was made of a soft, velvet material and smelled of powder. The female soldier then handed her a second gown and motioned Alexia to put them in her little sack.
“Thank you! Thank you!” said Alexia, suddenly feeling sad. She hadn’t been called ‘little young-young’ since the day Officer Ungoya died.
At the next station, another female soldier handed Alexia an overall skirt made of a deep blue colored corduroy material. The white Hammer and Sickle of the United Socialist States was embroidered over the left breast. Alexia had never seen such luxurious clothing before and she glanced back towards Harley. Harley’s eyes and mouth were also wide open, as if she were in an impossible dream.
The children were gifted with three pairs of knee high white socks. Unlike the older ones which the children were issued which were used, thin, and more often than not had holes in them, these socks where brand new and made of warm, thick, cotton adorned with a knitted flower design. Alexia held her breath, as she never imagined that such a type of socks existed. Finally, at the last station, a soldier passed a pair of light blue sneakers to Alexia. Sneakers! Real actual sneakers with padding and cushions! Is this what the children of upper class citizens got to have?
There were no compliance officers at this end of the bay, just female military soldiers. The soldiers weren’t as mean as the compliance officers, and although they still urged the children to hurry and get dressed, they smiled often. The soldiers directed the girls into a large partitioned section of the bay with privacy curtains hanging from metal frames inside which some of the long benches were brought up from the cafeteria. The girls eagerly reached into their sacks to finally try on their new clothing. Alexia breathlessly put on a set of her new clothes, unbelieving that clothes could feel so soft, comfortable and clean. There were mirrors lining the wall and Alexia stared at herself for a few seconds, admiring how the deep blue skirt fit just right and how it complemented the lighter blue gown that was underneath. The socks were springy and very cushiony and the sneakers felt like pure delight on her feet. Alexia wondered if the little girl staring back at her was actually her, or tone of those bright and pristine posters which the government always displays of the ‘right thinking, loyal, and happy child.’ Tears came flowing unbidden from her eyes as she thought of how Miya and Riko would have looked so cute in these new clothes. Harley came up next to Alexia and spun around, admiring herself in the mirror. “Alexia, we look beautiful!” she said, giggling.
Suddenly, Harley ‘yelped’ in surprise as Alexia reached over and hugged her tightly, finally unable to control her tears. “Do you think… do you think… do you think my Daddy would have thought I looked beautiful?”
Harley returned her hug, ignoring the tears which were staining her new clothes. “Your Daddy isn’t dead, Allie. And, ‘yes.’ He would think that you look beautiful.”
Another female soldier, this one an officer, entered through the curtains along with three other female soldiers. “My, my, my, but you ladies look especially presentable now,” she said smiling. “Quickly get dressed though! You have one more station to go to before we can escort you out the back and to your busses!”
Busses? Harley and Alexia looked at each other in surprise. At the last station just next to the huge open bay doors, a soldier handed each girl two small white cardboard boxes, one marked with a sticker marked BREAKFAST and one marked LUNCH before they were gently hustled outside into the parking lot.
Once outside, a soldier guided each girl into a formation facing a line of about thirty busses. Alexia stared in awe, as these were the biggest vehicles she had ever seen. The doors to the busses were opened and it looked to Alexia that they were waiting to eat as many children as they possibly could. All of the classes were gathered outside and military personnel were calling out names of children and directing them to climb aboard one of the busses. Harley and Alexia stood close, again holding hands. There was a chill breeze in the air as the night was unusually bright, not only from the spotlights in the parking lot and from the search lights in the guard towers, but also from the glow of fires which were set in at least twenty metal barrels near the doors leading into the warphanage. Alexia glanced at the flames dancing out of the barrels as many of the warphanage administrative and clerical workers emerged from the building with stacks of documents which they hurriedly tossed into the fire.
“Give me your attention, children!” Alexia looked forward as the commissar who had awakened them only a few hours earlier stood in front of the formation. Compliance officers flanked the commissar, among them the Officers Butler and Williams. Alexia and Harley were standing in the second rank and, all of a sudden, Alexia felt a chill.
“Listen carefully, children,” continued the commissar. She yelled louder to be heard over the wind and the other commissars who were calling out names at other formations. “You will be boarding one of these five busses, numbered from six to ten! Listen as I call out your name and which bus you will be boarding!”
The commissar began reading down her list. “Betty 00201, bus number seven! Carla 01082, bus number five! Risha 01114, bus number six!”
One by one, as their names where called out, each girl rushed to their designated bus. Alexia realized that for all of them, lifelong friendships were suddenly ending, with girls which they had considered sisters disappearing with just a final wave goodbye.
“Harley 08504, bus number nine!” Harley gasped and squeezed Alexia’s hand before letting go. Sparing one last glance back at her friend, Harley waved, and then ran towards the open door of bus number nine. And, just like that, Harley was gone. Alexia’s shoulders dropped as she wiped her eyes. No tears came out. She was all out of them.
“Ciara 08671, bus number six!” continued the commissar. “Jocelyn 08962, bus number eight! Maggie 09008, bus number ten! Alexia 09129, bus number nine!”
Alexia heard her name, and was stunned beyond belief that she was going to be on bus number nine with Harley. So overcome by her good fortune she hesitated, an open mouth smile on her face. “Alexia 09129, bus number nine! Get moving!” repeated the commissar.
Alexia stumbled forward and scampered towards bus number nine. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m coming!” she said as she shuffled past the commissar. “You still have your head in the clouds, Alexia 09129!”
“Yes! I mean, no. I mean, I’m sorry!” Alexia said as she neared her bus. From near the rear of the bus she could see Harley waving excitedly at her. Alexia slowed down for a second and looked at a plaque mounted next to the entrance of the bus. It read “Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska.” Alexia figured that was their destination, but she had no idea where it was. Alexia skipped up the stairs into the well lit bus and was greeted by the driver, a fat older man with a thick grey moustache. Two female soldiers were sitting in the front two seats and they said in a cordial tone, “Go all the way to the back and find a seat.”
“Okay! Thank you!” said Alexia as she raced to the back of the bus where Harley was waiting. Her whole life, people wearing uniforms always spoke to her in either an uncaring or a rough tone. Alexia had never known anyone wearing a uniform to sound so friendly, or, at least not mean. The bus’s interior was something that Alexia had never seen before. Such luxury! The seats were built on an elevated platform and they were stuffed with thick and comfortable looking cushions. A warming heat was blowing through the vents above the seats which chased away the chill of the night. Surely, thought Alexia, this was a bus that the upper, upper, upper class citizens rode in!
Harley stood up and hugged Alexia as she approached and they flopped back down into their seats. Alexia was right! The seat was the most comfortable she had ever sat in and, for the first time in her life, Alexia didn’t feel like a lower class citizen.
It didn’t take long for the bus to be filled with nearly 100 squealing and excited little girls and shortly, one of the female soldiers seated at the front of the bus stood up and said, “Let me have your attention, children.”
The bus immediately quieted down as all eyes were on the petite, Latina soldier who was in charge of the bus and its passengers. “We will soon be leaving for an Air Force Base in Nebraska. It’s a few hours’ drive from here and we should be arriving there by late tomorrow morning. You may put your bags with your extra clothes on the racks above your seat. You will also find a blanket there for each of you.”
Many of the girls gasped in genuine amazement when the soldier said that there was a blanket for them in the rack above. Children stood up, grabbing blankets and handing them down to their friends. The blankets at the warphanage were barely thicker than the bed sheets and never kept the children warm enough in the winter. The ones in the bus were much thinker, smell fresh, and were soft and green. The soldier smiled patiently and continued. “If you get hungry, you have a box for your breakfast and one for your lunch and if you need to use the bathroom, there are restrooms in the middle and the rear of the bus.”
Although it was still the dead of night, several of the girls opened one of the white cardboard boxes, and the ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s continued. Finally, the Latina soldier said, “Once we get to Offutt, we will escort you to a large hanger and you will be told what to do from there. Until then, keep the noise low and enjoy the ride. We will be dimming the lights because I’m sure you would like to get some sleep.”
submitted by Taxi_Dancer to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]

2020.07.28 10:22 Langston1113 Jordin One foot out of the business

Jordin One foot out of the business
In February of 2018, I was 3 months removed from having relocated from New York City to Chicago. I was still flying back to NYC every other week or so on the company’s dime, and using all my travel stipend on hobbying. My ultra-GFE regulars were all in NYC: Marcela, Natasha, Samantha, and Jessica who had just joined the roster. I had yet to establish regulars in the Midwest.
Because of this, I was used to overpaying for escorts. The standard rate for Latina escorts from the agency back in NYC was $150hh/$200hr. I, of course, poached that talent and made private arrangements with the girls. But $300 per hour for a low/mid-end escort wouldn’t be considered value in hobbying. That’s how much Jordin required.
A good part of this adventure can be told through the texts. She used to write small paragraphs.
Was the whole thing about her having one foot out of the business just a tactic to get guys to pay her increased rates? That’s a possibility. Essentially, it worked on me. She was in my head and the added challenge made it interesting. However in my back and forth with her, it seemed pretty genuine.
  • She didn’t seem eager to book an appointment.
  • She had rules to go along with it.
  • When I missed the date on the following Wednesday, she basically said, too bad.
I had contacted her a day later than I was supposed to, on Thursday, Feb 22nd. At first it wasn’t feasible. But then she texted me back and we could schedule something.
Here’s another example of how the dynamic changes when it’s an outcall instead of an incall, and at my place instead of a hotel. When she reached, she stood on the other side of the threshold, held out her hand, and with a bright smile said, “Hiiii, I’m Jordin!” I wanted her to keep it down because of my nosy neighbors, so I rushed her in. When she finally walked in the door and I asked to take her coat, I was immediately excited when I saw her body - great legs and thighs, and a full set of breasts.
The pics were already verified as legitimate. Still it was great to see her in person.
I think it’s pretty well-established by now that I keep my place immaculate for the sake of the women I have sex with, escort or not. It’s like my ever-present wingman. When I hear them say, “Oh wow, I love your place,” it means the dynamic has just shifted and I have gained an advantage in what’s about to happen that night. I almost don’t have to say or do much after that.
Add some light refreshments and drinks - wine, coffee, or juice; I don’t keep beer in the house - and they become very relaxed and accommodating.
Anyone who writes long texts should probably be expected to be talkative too. We sat and chatted a bit in the living room which is where she talked about getting out of the business and moving on with her life. Can’t remember her mentioning she had kids. She talked about having an overall healthier lifestyle which included her working out and such.
The transition to the sex was simple. “Shall we?” I said. “Sure!” And she popped up from the sofa, put down her drink, and asked me which way to the bedroom.
Home field advantage typically results in her having a better attitude and softening up on the rules a bit. In the initial texts, Jordin was still concerned about germs and bacteria, which was hard to believe given her line of activity. I washed my hands again and brought attention to it, which she responded pleasantly to. “You’re fine, sweetie. It’s the other guys [who don’t have good hygiene] that I worry about, you know?”
Me, I always ask for GFE service; LFK, DATY, and BBBJ. In spite of my advantage, I didn’t expect to get everything on my list. But the inclusion of LFK and DATY was good enough.
Give me “soft and thick” any day of the week and I’ll be a happy man. Her body reminds me of Bella’s, who is also Italian (though mixed with Puerto Rican). I don’t remember the exact sequence of positions. Images of the sex are lodged in my mind, along with the scent of her perfume, and the overall enjoyment of her soft and thick body. It was all of the above - the plentiful kisses on the mouth, sucking on her breasts, kissing her tummy on my way to her thighs then eating her out; missionary, cowgirl, doggystyle, etc, etc.
All very enjoyable.
In the brief text exchange after our encounter, Jordin was still the professional and very much set on retiring from the business. Her ads ran from 2013 to 2017. Eventually, I established regulars in the Midwest who provided GFE services at much greater value. And since she was leaving the business, I didn’t contact Jordin after this encounter.
While writing this post and cross-referencing her number and her pics on EscortIndex, I just saw an ad dated February 2020. Haha! Looks like someone came out of retirement.
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2020.07.27 12:43 27JJulbarium Su-gar Da-ddy Da-ting We-bsites

Su-gar Da-ddy Da-ting We-bsites
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2020.07.18 16:48 Army_Bot Summary For: Weekly Question Thread (7/6 to 7/12)

So my question is a general one to everyone with any input they feel will benefit myself. My question is, do you feel that the position of CSMs and the SMA is useful/fulfilling an actual need? Background: I am currently an E7, about 13 years TIS. I have become more and more convinced that the positions of CSM and the SMA has become detrimental to units and has really lost sight of their original duties. I am currently writing a paper on all of this and wish to get some more insight from others. I would eagerly support the CSM slot being erased from units. Unit Sergeant Majors seemed to be much better when they were not in de facto command positions and many units suffer from them, morale and readiness wise. I can think of many times during my career where the CSMs at certain positions made life far harder and painful than was necessary or needed for any reason. You don’t have to agree or disagree, I simply want everyone’s input.
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I (21F) am trying to enlist in the army reserves as a 68w. I went to MEPS on Monday (20200629). They didnt weigh me till around 1300 so I had put on a bit of water weight. I knew I wouldnt make tape but I was right there on my weight. Got me 3lbs over. That's not the problem though. During my exam i disclosed some scars on my abdomen that I got from falling out of a tree when i was in highschool. It looks pretty bad now but back then the scratches were very minor and superficial. I did not go to the doctor for them and they didnt even really bleed. The MEPS doctor accused me of self harm even though I very adamantly denied the accusation. After talking to 2 doctors and 2 army liaisons and having my lunch withheld from me, they disqualified me for self harm. I am seeking out a waiver and drafting my statement. Has anyone else had to go through this before? Has anyone successfully been enlisted after having such a disqualification. I'm pretty upset but I'm still very motivated to swear in.
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I (26M) am currently active duty Navy E-6 interested in doing a inter service transfer to apply for a 153A Fixed Wing Aviator WO. I'm at 8.5 years of service right now and have my current EAOS/ETS as February 2022. I have already done a little looking around and from what I can see I meet all the requirements including the 110+ GT score on my asvab from when I joined the Navy in 2011. I just got PRK in 2018 and I've always wanted to fly. Any info?
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Hello, I am getting shipped out very soon and my father has been supportive of his only child, but after the Vanessa tragedy, he's asked me how the Army will "guaranty my safety". Being a Latina and a young woman, he is very much worried. I wouldn't want to ask my recruiter as I am looking for honest answers.
My question is, How do I reassure my Hispanic father about my safety in the Army?; What can I do to improve my safety as a woman in the Army?; and Does the Army actually help women when it comes to dealing with sexual harassment, etc? Thanks
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Question for 173rd airborne folks: What’s y’all’s opinion if the 143rd airborne (NG)?
Question for SF folks: During the 2+ year process of earning your green beret, how often and for how long did you get leave/get the opportunity to see family?
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Anybody here of the funny hat type out at 3-60th in Jackson? I want to check on a recruit of mine. Not an emergency, just checking how his training is going.
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So im at the airport to go to basic and the people here have been telling me that their recruiters told them to bring some changes in clothes, but mine just said to bring one change. Should i be worried?
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What are the benefits of being Sapper qualified as a 12A, especially in the National Guard? I'm not a part of a Sapper unit and don't have much interest in completing the course unless I am limited with promotions based on being qualified or not.
Looking at the Engineers Officer Development Model, Sapper is listed as functional training and not much else. Is it bad that I don't wish to go to Sapper unless I'm told I need to or if it's necessary for the progression of my career?
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Did your BAH come in on your first paycheck when you went to basic?
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I've been considering making a go for CID through their Direct Accessions Program and I had some quick questions for any 31D that might be lurking around.
  1. My understanding is that I'll start at E-4 and probably hit at least E-5 before reaching my unit. Y/N?
  2. Enlisted pay isn't that impressive compared to what I could make as an officer, but that's a fair tradeoff considering the experience I'll be getting that transfers over to an 1811 series position with the Feds. That said, is it fairly "easy" for an agent to go to WOCS in their first five years? I see that you need two years of experience at your unit and then more than 12 months left in your contract, on top of the letters of recommendation from your commanders. Just guessing, but since you spend a considerable amount of time training before you even hit your unit does that typically mean you'll have to re-up if you want to become a warrant officer?
  3. CID is pretty small, somewhere between 900 and 1500 agents depending on where you read, and their website says they have agents on every Army installation. How big is the average office? A couple dozen people at most? Smaller most of the time? I've also heard CID is different from big Army in that people tend to be more casual. Are we talking first name basis or just ignoring some of the formalities?
Appreciate any answers. I'm really interested in CID but my recruiter doesn't know many of the specifics and my Google-fu is weak.
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I hope this doesn’t get buried in here but I had a few questions about Special Forces/ Rangers (specifically 18X and Option 40):
1.) I know the army offers 18X contracts should you qualify, does that mean that you go straight from OSUT to selection? Is there any time to prepare after basic or do they assume you’re already prepared?
2.) Same question as above for rangers, but also is option 40 just for you to go to ranger school? Or does that mean you go to RASP and get a chance to become part of the 75th? Essentially how do you become part of the regiment and not just a guy that went to ranger school?
3.) Should you fail out of either, what would you be reclassified as? I assume infantry especially if you do go to OSUT but would it ultimately depends on the needs of the army?
Thank you in advance for your responses!
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Every time I go through the gate I wonder what the guards are seeing on those cac scanners. Is it just "this ID is legit" or what? Just out of curiosity.
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How much will you get paid in basic training if you enlist with a college degree? Is it all automatically E1 until graduation or do you start off higher?
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Anyone here know about the EMPD2 program? I’m looking to enlist as a 68C and then looking to apply to EMPD2 after three years.
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Got a care package from my uncle, he put a code on the envelope but I can't figure out what it's supposed to say. Can anyone translate?
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Throwaway because I'm paranoid - if I think an LHI contractor is exploiting reservists, who do I report that to?
The last time I used LHI for dental, they sent me to this guy and literally everyone in the lobby was a reservist there for their annual dental exam. I went in and he told me I had a bunch of cavities and that I should come back so he could fill them. I told his front office staff no, I'd follow up with my civilian dentist, and they were rude about it but they let me go. On my way out I noticed all these other reservists scheduling followups for other dental problems this guy "found." When I eventually do go to my civilian dentist to follow up, he tells me I don't have any cavities, so this LHI guy was full of it.
Fast forward to the present, command is hassling me because one of my guys is red on dental. I notice he's had to make like 3 followup appointments to do all sorts of work, including extractions and a root canal. I look on his most recent voucher and it's the same LHI dentist I had. So I call my guy and ask him if he felt like all that work was justified. He says, "No sir, but I had to so I could be green on dental, right? I didn't have a choice." He had to take like 3 days off work because he was in so much pain, all because this quack was going to mark him class 3 if he didn't.
To top it all off this dentist is a reservist, so he knows how much pressure there is on us to stay green on all this stuff. I'm pretty confident he's gaming the system to pressure young soldiers to get dental work they don't need because he knows he can get soldiers to say yes and he can get lhi to pay for it.
Is this something I can report? If I did report it, could anything actually be proved or done about it? I know shit like this happens all over the government but it pisses me off
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Fort Sill experience? (Permanent Party)
Given an option to PCS to Fort Sill and wanted to get some opinions on work and leisure life there. Currently at Fort Hood and already been to Riley, Eustis and Korea for reference. Also I am a married SSG (88M) with 2 kids. Any insight is greatly appreciated 👌🏼
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How long after job training and finding out where you’re going to live can your family join you?
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Omg pls help. I'm doing meps tomorrow with a zero percent chance of passing weight and couldn't enlist now if I did
Details aren't important but basically my recruiter got the idea that I would take a combat job, number 2 on my list, and enlist overweight under the arms 2.0 program. I never agreed to this and was wanting to wait a few months to lose enough weight to get my first choice. I honestly didn't even know you enlisted at meps. Was I a dumbass for not asking enough questions? Definitely. But now I am going into meps at 6 am tomorrow morning at 27% body fat, ie. I have no choice of passing weight and wouldn't enlist if I did. I still have SO many questions and a lot of preparing to do. Should I just ask to be tapped immediately so i can go tf home? Should I just shut up and go through everything anyway? As you might imagine i am woefully underprepared for this entire process and could really use some advice.
Side note, I have to wait until after August 15th anyway as im getting married and need to put my marriage license into the system prior to enlistment in order to receive married benefits during basic training
TLDR: I'm going into meps with a 0 percent chance of passing weight and wouldn't enlist now if I did
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I leave for basic training in 20 days and will be going to Fort Jackson. I’m a little worried about the running and how I will make it through it. My MOS is 13F and I was able to secure an option 40 slot. I’m currently 200 pounds and 5’10” but I am going on a very intense diet so I can lose a few pounds before I ship out. Me and my recruiter were working out about 2 weeks ago but had to stop cause another recruit got COVID. Since then I haven’t been working out at all which causes me to hate on myself. I’m am extremely worried about the running portion of the pt because to be honest I can finish a mile without walking. I can get myself up to .75 of a mile but have to slow down. I want to keep my option 40 but I thinking the running part will cause me to lose that since I need a minimum of a 14 min 2 mile. I’m going to start running 5 days a week as much as I can and go swimming at night. I hope this can help me get to the point where I can run a mile and a half before I leave. I don’t worry to much about my strength because I can do 40 push ups right now and around the same for sit-ups. Looking for any last minute tips.
Also had a question about my option 40. Say I lose this due to pt scores. Will I still be able to volunteer for bat or am I going to be a lost cause.
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I currently have 75 credit hours towards a Bachelors degree and after reading AR 350-51 it says that if I have 90 credits towards my degree, I can submit an OCS packet. Has anyone heard of or know anyone who has went through the process before graduating?
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Is it normal/acceptable to be talking to recruiters from multiple branches at the same time? And if so, should you disclose this to the recruiters you're talking to, and how far down the line can you go before you have to make a decision for which one you're going with?
I'm currently trying to decide between Air Force (better quality of life, probably a better culture fit for me personally) and Army (better chance of getting the MOS I really want) and also whether I want to enlist or go OCS regardless of which branch I go into (again, the decision is quality of life and pay vs. guaranteed MOS). As such, a big part of my decision is going to be based on what MOSes are currently available in each branch, but seeing that list first requires taking the ASVAB at MEPS. By the time you go to MEPS, are you expected to pick one branch and stick with it? MEPS is also where you sign the final contract, but is that on a different trip?
Edit: I forgot to mention that I also want to find out whether I can get a Secret/TS security clearance before I make any final decisions, because half the jobs I'm interested in are MI and I'm from a country that's not on super friendly terms with America right now (though I'm applying for naturalization soon and plan on joining after I get my American citizenship).
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Hi so currently I am a sophomore in high school and I am interested in joining the army when I am done with high school. So my question is how can I begin preparing my self for the army? What steps should I take? Thank you to anyone willing to answer!
Edit: I have done a bit of research but I would like to hear from people who go are currently involved or were formerly involved in the US army. Thank you!
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Is the National Call to Service program still a thing? Can you still do this?
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I currently have 75 credit hours towards a Bachelors degree and after reading AR 350-51 it says that if I have 90 credits towards my degree, I can submit an OCS packet. Has anyone heard of or know anyone who has went through the process before graduating?
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Anyone have recruiting experience in the Guard? Worth a punt to get a foot in the door to AGA career broadening assignment?
Edit: Florida
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E4 Medic coming up on my window to reenlist. To any and all flight medics.
1.Do you enjoy the aviation life?
  1. I'm trying to track down whether you go through UT Austin for NREMT-P or is it all at fort sam now?
  2. What tends to be the day to day life for you guys?
  3. I also hear that you are pulling coverage A LOT for jrtc, is it true that you guys can pull coverage 3x a year for Jrtc?
Any info much appreciated.
Edit: Formatting
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How does paying for the chow hall actually work? I've gotten mixed answers. Some people say it comes out of your paycheck, but I've also heard it's an allowance that you get paid in ADDITION to your base pay, so it's not actually subtracted from your pay. Which one is true?
Also how are the chow halls in general? Is the food really that bad? People used to bitch about my school's cafeterias, but I always thought they were pretty good. And are the lines long? I've seen some pictures of lines that look like you'd be waiting over an hour to get food.
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How do branches get assinged to officers in the reserves? I've heard a lot of conflicting info on this.
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Ok, so I’m shipping off to basic soon and they said there would be a two week quarantine before going into BCT, that’s all they told me, does anyone know where we would be staying during the two week quarantine, thanks
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I'm currently in 13J AIT graduating rather soon and I just wanted what is the deal with Airborne school. I heard with all this covid that they have limited everything at Airborne such as no pass no nothing just barracks and training. So I was just wondering if anyone here is currently at Airborne school if you could tell how it us over there.
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Does anyone have information about the 88k mos? It seems like a really enjoyable job, but I can’t find much information about it online or from my recruiter. Any information or insights about the mos will help, thank you.
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Any info on 12Q MOS ? ( ) I’m also thinking about 12R. My plan is after Basic and AIT is to go to Lineman School and I’m just wondering if its even worth to get a MOS related to my civilian Career or get a MOS that has a short training in AIT to get back home sooner
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Could a JAG officer ever get the opportunity to go to Ranger school, and if so, under what circumstances would this be most feasible?
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Does it matter what size my shampoo is that I bring to basic? I have a 1.7 oz travel shampoo
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Does anybody have any clue if there is a way for AD soldiers to access MEDPROS and the PHA Phase One from home without a NIPR line? I don't have access to NIPR b/c of COVID, post libraries and ed center are closed, clinic can't accommodate, and this PHA has to get done.
Just trying to do my due diligence before I start making a thing out of it. Kind of a stupid restriction to have given the pandemic tbh.
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Do I need to know the army song?
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What’s calorie intake like at bct? I’ve been on a very strict 1000 calorie a day diet, I don’t want to pack the pounds from calorie intake shock. I’m already going Because of the tape test
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For quick ship bonus. If you aren't sure exactly what mos you want still and you go to MEPS to do everything but don't sign yet. Can you cheat the system and come back, let's say two weeks later and sign and still get quick ship bonus? Or does the contract expire if you dont do it that day? And they have to configure all your bonuses again?
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Hi, I was granted a medical waiver for the Navy but I am also considering the Army. I am trying to go 17A. My recruiter said OCS is a no-go because of my medical condition.
In my thread here, some have stated that 17A has a different process of getting selected rather than the standard format. My waiver for the Navy limits me to staff corps or RL, in which 17A falls into that category. My recruiter keeps telling me to just enlist, serve a couple years, and then put in a packet for OCS. Any tips or advice on how I can push forward without actually enlisting first? Thanks.
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I have a question, a rather important one. I was wondering if I should join my country's military, or go to mechatronics school?
I've always been interested in the military, since I can remember about me I have loved the military, not what they do but the discipline and willpower they have or gain through training and experience. But the thing is, I'm not a fighter. I'm a pacifist with a strong stomach, also my friends seem to think I'm smart (tbh I don't really believe them, anxiety thing :) ). I also love the concept of battle and the reality of the world it represents(I'm not talking about the movie stuff, but the bestgore stuff.). But at the same time I love building things, I love to get dirty and work with my hands. I see it as art, the ability to create, using only your brain and the tools you have lying around... So if anyone from the military or from the engineering department can shed some light on this difficult decision for me, I would highly appreciate it. Btw I'm 19 at the date of this post, thanks in advance, even just for reading my dumb question. :D.
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I’m not sure if this is the right thread to ask this, but I’m a pre-med college student interested in becoming a field surgeon. I don’t want to talk to a recruiter just yet for fear of being roped in to a contract or something (albeit I can’t shake the feeling that this is what I was meant to do) but I’d really appreciate advice or in detail information on requirements and what it entails (both good and bad).
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Do any of you know if the Army is currently doing 2 year contracts?
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I'm about to enlist as 25S. I heard you can be in either strategic or tactical. Do I have any say in which one I go to? Or can I influence the decision in any way? Like if I do really well at AIT, would I be more likely to get into strategic?
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I just did my JST which was worth about 33 hours, are semester hours or college hours or whatever it’s called still 1 hour to 2 points?
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Took ASVAB, eligible for any MOS, going Reserve and have BA degree + years of tech sales experience.
Seems that 15, 25, 35 series seems the most favored and interesting to me, just wanna make bank in something technology related (seems IT is the best way to go even though I have zero coding/IT experience right now other than basic understanding you get from using a computer).
How do I narrow down my choices?
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So id like to be a ranger but i have multiple citizenships is there any way to get a waiver or do i have to renounce theme for the security clearance?
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How do i read my DLPT score on the SRB? It currently has 20 202006
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I'm currently in my AIT I've been dealing with a lot of challenging situations while here. First, once I graduated BCT I discovered my SHARP report is going to trail then I discover that my grandmother lost her job that she relies on for her insurance for her health issues. She basically has a pacemaker and relies on medicine to stay alive. The cherry on top is my great grandmother is living with my grandparents (who are my guardians) because she's not able to be alone at her age.
I've tried to push through my AIT and I've been here for about a month. I haven't told my grandparents about the pending trail due to everything they're currently dealing with. I'm now missing classes due to the aftermath of the SHARP case (seeing Behavioral Health) and I just want to go home and take care of these things.
I'm at my wits end and I don't think I can keep pushing forward with everything. I love the Army and I'm trying my hardest to keep pushing forward and just graduate that way I can continue my military career. I'm just not sure what I need to to do to be able to go home and take care of these things and continue my training when I'm ready and in the right mindset.
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I saw someone mention in another thread that "you can't get airborne with a medical waiver". Does this mean that you can't get an option 4 contract when you enlist, or you aren't allowed to ever go airborne throughout your whole time in the army (thus disqualifying you from most SOF jobs)? Does the type of medical waiver matter?
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What’s the best way to reach claims for pay missing?
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Anyone know how long it’s going to take for me to get a leave date? I graduated AIT on June 25th. I have finished all my out processing except for finance and transportation. ( I can’t go there until I get a leave date.) Apparently there is a manifest for flights, but my chain of command have yet to tell the graduating class anything about when we are leaving. I know the motto, hurry and wait but I just can’t shake this impatient feeling.
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Hey guys, I have an expected ship date of August 25th to Fort Benning pending I pass meps on Tuesday. I’m 6’1 and 260 pounds. Mostly muscle as I can pass tape. Any other big guys on here that can share their experiences in the army being a bigger soldier than most? Obviously cardio is something I have to work on but I run everyday at least 1.5 miles and 60/120’s every other day. Any tips on that? Thank you!
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I have a four year college degree. Is it possible to do a Green-to-Gold option that doesn't involve going to school again?
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How common is hazzing/sexual assault? I’m 15 and thinking about joining but heard some crazy shit and was wondering was it common or is it extremely rare
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Does it get better? Being stuck in COVID TRADOC has me feeling overly down. I never thought I would feel this useless in the Army.
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Does anyone have any idea what 25u does in the ranger regiment
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Have any generals (or flag officers of other branches) gotten a DUI? I’ve been having an argument with a coworker who seems to think no and I’ve searched with little results. I’ve found Colonels with DUIs but never an O7 to O10.
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I have high blood pressure, but I'm getting it down by loosing weight ( I'm physically fit and can do the PFT). Of course, I can get waiver as there is a waiver for everything. I also have a slight heart murmur, but I've had it my whole life and it isn't causing harm to myself or anything like that. Will that murmur prevent me from getting in or am I going to have try for more waivers which I don't want to.
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I mean in my case it is mostly muscle. I definitely do not have a six pack, and only a bit of a gut. But I get what you’re saying man! I’ve been on the carnivore diet for 4 months now so I barely eat carbs.
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Only 2 days left on this thread but; I want to reclass out of 31B, I really like IT so I’m thinking 25B or being a shamster and going 42A. 3 kids and a Wife so I want to be set up if/when I decide to exit the army. I am promotable to E5 pending points and BLC. I also have 2 years left as a MP and attending college for Cyber Security (my credit I don’t believe will alone me the option to do Cyber Sec in the Army.
I hate going to the field and I hate the weather at bliss. Straight fucking 107 for what seems like 3 weeks straight. If I go 25B am I limiting my duty stations?
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How many traffic violations are too many to join. I have like 30 but none are criminal.
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What does MOS-T mean?
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I’m studying for the ASVAB right now, and I’m just wondering if it’s my understanding that there’s no calculators provided and that you have to memorize almost every single formula in the Math Knowledge (MK) section. Is this correct?
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Leaving OSUT for pre-RASP/RASP soon. My green duffle bags are gonna be heavy as fuck with all the books I've collected here. Am I gonna have to hold them above my head, etc. ? Do i need to worry about lightening the load?
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Has anyone on here opted for the GtG ADO and billed for non-resident tuition costs at your university? If so, were you able to use your orders to bring it down to in-state costs? I haven't gotten orders yet (I will sometime next week) and don't know if they say you are "stationed" in the area you are going to be taking college in.
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Background: I am a 20 yr old E-4 (ready to be promoted, just waiting to be pinned) in the Army reserves. I am interested in going warrant and more specifically a flight warrant.
I have several questions for please bare with me. I plan on talking to a recruiter, I just want to have a basic understanding before I show up.
  1. I understand that it will be a 10 yr commitment, but is that 10 yrs including the training or is it training plus 10?
  2. I know that for technical warrants there are two phases, one like basic and another like AIT. Is this still the case for flight warrants? If so, how long are the phases and what do they consist of?
  3. How difficult is the SIFT test? How should I study for it?
  4. Given that I am in the army reserves in a non-aviation MOS, how am I supposed to get recommendations from a flight warrant?
  5. What is Class the 1A Flight Physical Examination? What does it consist of?
Any help would be great. I still have a few years before my contract is up so I will obviously continue to do some research.
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Anyone at Fort Gordon know if they have AGSUs in stock yet?
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Just did my first PT test at the recruiters and got a 25 minute 2 mile. I know that's bad. Thing is it sucked and was terrible. I've never ran so hard in my life since I was a spry kid. I'm really down right now thinking I'm not going to get better and it's going to be a gigantic uphill battle. Can anyone help me out from their own experiences?
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so what's up with places like the dfac and shopette not letting people walk in sandals w/o socks?
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just curious as to what a fister would do inside a sbct field artillery unit. Mostly curious to know if we dismount alot or if i would be a drivegunner and how field training goes.
I have heard you either dismount a lot and dont really use the stryker or you are mostly inside calling for fire on pre planned targets. Would anyone care to share they’re experiences if your either in a sbct unit or a 13f.
any other helpful information would be appreciated.
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My husband is highly considering joining the army (already talking to a recruiter etc.) I have like a million small questions. Would anyone let me bounce my questions off of them? Dm or on thread I guess? Just super random questions?
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I just commissioned and took my oath recently (forgive me if I sound like a noob). I know I have DCC and BOLC coming up. I was curious at what point will I have access to HRC website? Additionally, will I get to participate in the matching process (AIM 2.0?) of where I will be ultimately going for my first assignment? I am a single male and would love to end up somewhere overseas.
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Any 35Tangos? Sell me on your mos because I'm still trying to decide which mos is for me.
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Veteran here, back in the day there were often murmurings of “swapping orders” with another joe at the end of your AIT. Like if they were same rank and same marital status you could do a 1 for 1 trade. Is this possible or was it an urban legend? I ask because my brother is in basic and I would love if he could be at benning where my husband and I head next; assuming he gets some other mediocre CONUS assignment that someone would trade him.
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Any 35Ps able to tell me what I’m supposed to take from DLI to AIT?
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Is there any way to see which units are going to be deployed when? I'm commissioning next year and would love to join a unit that's going to deploy. If not, how difficult is it for an LT to hop on a deployment?
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Can anyone give me some information on 1st BDE at Fort Carson? How often do you do field training? Overall how do you like being in that bde and any tips for a new soldier out of ait? Thanks!
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Anyone know where I can check the status of my top secret clearance investigation? I tried going on the website where you input all of your info and found nothing. I've already done the interview and my friends have said they gotten a call from an investigator already. So would they ever call me to say I have it or no?
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Are officers required to take the asvab to apply for SF?
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This has nothing to do with the army, but this sub has the most level headed people on the whole site.
What the fuck is going on with these Hitler loving athletes? Is this some cultural thing I wasn't aware of or were these guys targeted some how
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Should I join infantry I wnat to love up fast and not be stuck behind a desk i also think i could be 11x if o push my self idk why I wanna see the shit but i do maybe I'm being to romantic but i wanna join the army to JOIN THE FUCKING ARMY lmk your experiences and your angles I appreciate any feedback
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Can any E4s with dependents stationed at Bragg tell me what their ACTUAL, after taxes, pay is every month, after taxes and all deductions? I have 4 years of service.
I'm in the Guard and trying to plan out my finances (I'm heading to the Q course soon).
There's gonna be SGLI, Tricare Select, taxes, etc etc... if there's anyone who can tell me what an E4's actual pay is I'd appreciate it.
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submitted by Army_Bot to ArmyWQT [link] [comments]

2020.07.03 22:03 Langston1113 [Repost] Sofia (pt 3) - First she let me down, then fucked the shit outta me 3 days later

[Repost] Sofia (pt 3) - First she let me down, then fucked the shit outta me 3 days later
😠 (I'm reposting this because a bunch of my old posts got removed by the Reddit's spam filters.)
The motel in White Plains was my go-to spot for quick meet-ups with girls. I think that’s what everyone in town used it for as well. Hardly anyone stayed there overnight. Instead, they got a room at $50 for 4 hrs whether morning, afternoon, or late night; perfect for a tryst between co-workers at lunch or for a cheating spouse who made up an excuse to come home late or step out the house during dinner. The motel’s staff knew this and ran the place accordingly. They’d scrub the place down between guests in as little as 15 minutes.
When I would be in the office waiting for the next available room, I would see my fellow whoremongers. We all had a look in our eye. Some guys might even exchange a fist bump if one caught a glimpse of the other guy’s fuck toy of the night. There was nothing to hide anymore.
For me, this was the way to get that “outcall vs. incall advantage” without having to use my own place; I had people staying with me so my place was not an option during June - October 2017 of hobbying.
However, whenever I wanted a proper outcall with a trusted escort, I would book a room at a nice hotel. That’s what I did for July 10, 2017 for Sofia after I had met her 7 days before at the motel. I had found a good one, so I was going to have my way with her that night and then enjoy a good night’s rest afterward.
But this turned out to be my first bad experience with her IMMATURITY.
  • Entry: #15
  • Date: 07/10/17
  • Name: Sofia
  • Finished: No
  • Score: 0/5
NO GOOD: She was sick. Kept refusing to engage. Then she quit early, leading to me calling for a replacement the same day.
There’s a lot to write on this post so I’ll summarize this one: She acted like a brat the whole time, was more interested in how the hotel suite looked, asked me to order room service just so she could know how that felt (I got her what she wanted), we sat in bed but she kept toying with me as I groped her, refused to take off her clothes, then finally said, “I’m sick. I’ve got a cold. I don’t feel like it tonight.”
What da fuck??? Why didn’t she tell me she wasn’t going to fuck instead of having me book the hotel ad Uber her over only to pull this stunt?
I wasn’t going to let this hotel go to waste. I went back to the drawing board, same method of scouring through ads, trial and error, dozens of texts, and it was getting very late. Finally, Kathie came through for me. She’s the secretary that had sent over London Jennifer and Susanna. She’s able to convince her girls to go when others call it a night. She got me Veronica at around 2 AM.
  • Entry: #16
  • Date: 07/10/17
  • Name: Veronica
  • Finished: Yes
  • Score: 4/5
Same day as Sofia. A bit older but in good shape (huge ass+hips) and serviceable given the situation. Scared of elevators. Very nice attitude. Ate pussy. She complained about sucking too long hurts her neck. Let me eat pussy (not extra). 2x in missionary, then busted in K9.
Veronica became my go-to filler whenever none of the other girls were available. She looked like the older, homely yet still sexy housemaid, perfect for those with Latina housemaid fantasies. She looked like she came to clean my hotel room; in sweats, sneakers, and a duffle bag. She was also motherly and polite. She was just what I needed for the night - great attitude, nice ass, (I told her to keep her bra on), and she provided the release that I needed.
Back to Sofia, I was so pissed by what she had done. In the week since meeting her, we had already gotten into the pattern of texting often. But after the debacle on the second visit, she bombarded me with texts which I mostly ignored. Somehow I agreed to another visit 3 days later and somehow I booked the fancy hotel again instead of the cheap motel. Man, am I glad I did!
  • Entry: #19
  • Date: 07/13/17
  • Name: Sofia
  • Finished: Yes
  • Score: 5+/5
(Returned from DC after friend’s death straight to the hotel.) BEST ONE YET. Wild. Passionate. Aggressive. Started kissing for the first time (sloppy tongue). Bumped heads accidentally when switching from eating pussy. Extra sensitive especially when eating box. Very loud and verbally urging me, “FUCK ME!” Became a bit aggressive and hurt myself. Finished in K9. Ached afterwards.
This was the first sign of Sofia’s penance was her kissing me instead of licking my face. She did it in the elevator and it was hot and aggressive, especially because we weren’t alone. One of the hotel staff members had gotten in with us. Already, Sofia and I looked suspicious. She came strutting in wearing form fitting clothing and big hoop earrings. She looked totally out of place in the hotel lobby. I tried to rush her through and get to the elevator to minimize the damage.
Inside the elevator, I leaned in the corner and placed her soft ass over my crotch. I figured it didn’t look too bad for the time being.
“How have you been, Langston? I missed you. Did you miss me?”
I played it off. But then she turned around, pinned me in the corner, grabbed the back of my head, and gave me a long, slithery, tongue-y “kiss.” Immediate raging boner. I tasted what must’ve been some kind of candy-flavored lip gloss. She turned back around and planted her soft ass on my crotch again for the rest of the elevator ride. The next few seconds while the hotel staff member was in there with us were dreadful.
After he left, I told her, “Hey, don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she replied.
I pulled her all the way in. We were face-to-face and close enough for another kiss, now my hands were squeezing and lifting her ass for another kiss.
“Don’t make it so obvious. I stay at this place often.”
I went in for another kiss, but she rejected me and started giggling instead. “Let’s wait till we get in the room.” I was like WTF? There were so many of these little childish games.
When we got off on our floor, at first we were walking side by side but then I told her to walk ahead of me so I could admire her ass. I gave her a smack then watched her put on a show as she walked, knowing I was watching.
When I reached the room, I wanted her to know that I was still annoyed with her, but it had no effect on her. She was smiling, giggling, wrapping her arms around my neck, saying my name over and over, tonguing me down then toying with me. Surely, my disciplining was not coming across. She was horny and ready to fuck. But she wanted to admire the suite again. She walked around saying how nice it was as I took off my blazer and shoes.
“Are we going to order room service again?”
I said, “What? No. You should eat before you get here.”
She replies, “But I’m hungry, Langston? I haven’t eaten anything all day!”
I ignored that request.
After a few minutes, we were just about ready to start the action. In this and all subsequent encounters with Sofia, I always made a point to undress her myself and she loved it. Her lower body was simply… “impressive.” I knelt down so that I was at her crotch level, played with her ass a bit and fondled her between her legs through her leggings. Then I pealed the leggings off slowly to reveal her ass. It was beautiful. I rubbed it, kissed it, and pressed my whole face into. This was "ass worship" indeed.
  • We bumped heads while switching positions. She was writhing and convulsing again when I was eating her out. When in a rush to get into missionary, we bumped heads. It was hard enough that we both stopped due to the considerable pain. But in a way, I took it as “good pain.” I grabbed her thighs, scooted her to me, pinned her back, and entered her with force.
  • She liked to choke me. I, of course, did not like it. At one point I tried to choke her back but quickly gave up on it. It’s not my thing; I don’t get any pleasure from it. I struggled to do something with her hands as I continued pumping. She looked up at me with a devilish look and enjoyed seeing me struggle with her.
  • Her disobedience both frustrated me and turned me on. I had to keep her hands away from my neck and face. She would also twist her body around as if she want to fuck, or because she enjoyed the struggle. So it often looked like I was forcing myself on her.
  • There was no such thing as slow fucking. Everything was fast-paced and rugged.
We went through one position and another. I flung her around the bed, sometimes grabbing her by the ankle to drag her from one area of the bed to another, and she kept giggling and taunting me. Cowgirl, reverse-cowgirl, back and forth between them. She bounced on me in a froggy/squatting position with her hands on the headboard while I rested my hands on her knees and we both looked at the penetration.
Sometime in the melee, while I had her folded over awkwardly against the headboard and her ankles by my ears, I pounded as hard as I could. I was actually hoping to break the condom again. She was delighted and started screaming,
“Fuck me! Fuck me, Langston! Fuck me!!!”
We must have given a show to whoever was staying in the next room.
I didn’t cum. Instead, I tired myself out and decided to take a breather. As I pulled out of her and stepped away from her, she was still worked up, frantically rubbing her pussy and twirling her hips - her eyes locked onto mine and a smirk on her face. I thought to myself, “This is one crazy bitch!”
I was angry-fucking her in doggystyle at the corner of the bed with her on it and my feet on the floor. It was just a whirlwind of us switching positions randomly and behaving like wild dogs. I was sweating profusely, was probably dehydrated, and my muscles were twitching.
Still, I kept punishing this girl by ramming into her while she was on all fours, looking back at her ass getting smacked and bounced - she loved how her ass looked.
When I erupted, I grabbed her shoulder by one hand and her waist by the other so I could ram my dick way up to the bottom of her vagina. I unloaded in her with an evil ecstasy. I even hoped that the condom had burst inside of her and my cum was filling her. I didn’t care.
When I slowly removed myself from within her, I was hurting all over. Ouch!!! My legs were trembling, my back was sore, and it felt as if I had torn something in my pelvic region. It felt like I had broken my dick.
I gave her plump, sweaty ass one more smack before I crawled into the bed, clearly exhausted. She was too and she crumbled near me, so moved myself to rest my head on the small of her back, using her ass as a pillow. I was curled up in the fetal position, catching my breath and waiting for my heart to quit pounding. She laughed with glee, proud of herself for what she had done.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay? [Giggles] Are you DYING?”
She got up and went to take a shower. Afterwards, she took her time putting on her makeup. When she came out, I was still collapsed in bed. She walked over and laughed again as I complained about the pain. Clearly she was enjoying the moment. She had me call her Uber, which I did from my back. Eventually, the Uber came and she was ready to leave.
One unforgettable thing she did before leaving:
I was laying on my back with my head hanging over the edge of the bed, my eyes half-open and my mouth slightly open. She walked over, stooped down, and shoved her long tongue in my mouth and down my throat. She swirled her tongue all over inside my mouth while holding up the back of my head.
I didn’t move, neither did I kiss her back. I kept my eyes wide open. When she was done and slowly pulled back, there was a trail of saliva between our mouths. She wiped it and smiled. I just stared at her. She chuckled and walked to the door.
“Bye, Langston. Call me so we can meet up again. You’ll call me, right?” She giggled.
I didn’t say anything. The door closed and she was gone.
Sofia won that round.
submitted by Langston1113 to havingfunhobbying [link] [comments]

2020.06.29 20:57 Kristab77 Become Boyfriend of the Year with the Help of the All-New Girlfriend Box

Become Boyfriend of the Year with the Help of the All-New Girlfriend Box
Launching on July 1st, meet Girlfriend Box - a first-of-its-kind gift subscription service for men to automatically send personalized jewelry gift boxes to their girlfriends on all the big days. Created by celebrity influencer and entrepreneur, Arianny Celeste, the Girlfriend Box offers a beautiful selection of designer style jewelry at a range of affordable price points that can be gifted on a pre-scheduled, subscription basis. Finally, give her exactly what she wants and never forget an important date again!
“For years, I’ve received requests from men asking where to find the perfect gift for their girlfriends,” explains Celeste. “As women, we’ve all had boyfriends who couldn’t remember birthdays or anniversaries to save their lives. So, I created Girlfriend Box as the ultimate solution.”
With Girlfriend Box, men can easily personalize and pre-schedule jewelry gift boxes ahead of time, making any occasion an effortless celebration - rather than a headache. The Girlfriend Box collection features a variety of high-quality designer style jewelry pieces to compliment her style, from runway-inspired trends to timeless classics and boho charm. Users can choose from subscription options that include five specific special occasion dates, a monthly gift, or a one-time gift. Prices for these beautiful accessories range from $41 to $79 per box, depending on the number of items included and the type of subscription.
Rely on Girlfriend Box and never forget an important date again! An easy solution for any gift-giver, Girlfriend Box can help men find the perfect gift for their significant others, moms, or sisters. Even women can find an ideal piece of jewelry for friends and family members and send as a thank you or just because. Learn more at and follow on Instagram @GirlfriendBox for the hottest gifting ideas and brand updates. Girlfriend Box: the new standard for gifting.
About Girlfriend Box:
Girlfriend Box is a subscription jewelry gifting service that takes the guesswork and stress out of finding the right way to celebrate every important occasion. The company was born when founder Arianny Celeste, a self-made Latina celebrity influencer, model and entrepreneur, discovered several of her male fans needed help figuring out what to gift their significant others. Having worked with global brands such as Bebe, Fashion Nova, Guess, and Urban Decay, Celeste hand-picked a selection of designer style accessories she will love and that is perfect for any occasion. Now, never forget an important date again with personalized, pre-scheduled affordable subscription options that include: five special occasion dates, a once-monthly gift, or a one-time present. Learn more at and follow on Instagram @GirlfriendBox to sign up (so you never mess up!). Girlfriend Box: the new standard for gifting.
submitted by Kristab77 to u/Kristab77 [link] [comments]

2020.06.24 14:39 peskymuggles What's Coming Up Wednesday: Private Sequester Mini schedule & looking for

Please let me know if you would like any games added. This is for minis happening after Sunday. List will continue to be updated throughout the week. Cost is $25 USD per person.
Tuesday, June 30th: Blood vs Water 8pm EST
Thursday, July 2nd: Survivor NY players Mini 8pm EST
Sunday, July 5th: International Mini - War of the Worlds 1pm EST
Monday, July 20th: Pride Mini 6pm EST
Tuesday, July 28th: Draft Sequester Mini 8pm EST
Date TBD: First Boots Mini
Date TBD: Sequester Midlife Crisis Edition
Date TBD: Teacher Mini
Sunday, July 5th: International Mini - War of the Worlds Apply here
Monday, July 6th: "One Last Hurrah" service industry worker Mini Apply here
Wednesday, July 8th: Astrological Warfare Mini Apply here
Thursday, July 16th: Fresh Meat Mini (first time players) Apply here
Sunday, July 26th & Sunday, August 9th: Sequester Undercover Mini Apply here
Sunday, August 2nd: RHAP Patron Mini 2 Apply here
Date TBD: 1000 Patreon Celebration Mini (Vets vs Newbies) Apply here
Date TBD: Sequester Love Island Apply here
Date TBD: Battle of the ORG Hosts Mini Apply here
Date TBD: The Hunger Games themed Mini Apply here
Date TBD: Latino/Latina mini Apply here
Date TBD: Disney mini Apply here
Date TBD: Drag King/Queen mini Apply here
submitted by peskymuggles to sequester [link] [comments]

2020.06.13 15:36 LAnative12345 Clare, and now Matt? I'm awake again. My interest is revived!

Within the past 3 months, TPTB have cast a 39 year old woman who, when it comes to finding love on the Bachelor, let's face it, she would have been put out to pasture long ago. And now they've announced a black lead who's never been on a BN show before. We get a woman who's been on the show a million times, and a guy who never has been. I love the contrast.
I have to admit, I'm really excited! We haven't had a complete newbie as a lead in how long? Who was the last lead cast who hadn't been on a show before? Travis Stork? Andy Baldwin? Somebody help me out here.
If TPTB can cast some guys for Clare who are like the guys on "Labor of Love," we might have something here. Those guys are GREAT (mostly).
With Colton, the storyline was virgin. With Pete, it was airplane guy lives with parents.
With Matt's season and cast, I predict the theme/storyline will be: "Mixed." There will be like 5 black women, 5 white women, 3 Asian women, 3 Latina women, and the rest will be biracial or multiracial - white/black, black/Asian, Asian/white, Latina/white, etc. It will be all about Matt finding commonalities with women over feeling "torn in 2 directions" growing up, feeling caught between parents, sides of families, traditions, etc.
Btw, I don't mean to make light of any of this, but TPTB certainly will. And, given the amount of biracial relationships and kids being born these days, it's definitely much more common than it used to be! 🥰
Oh, and also, since Matt is 6'5", there will be at least a few former basketball players, current/former models, maybe current/former beach volleyball players. We need some HEIGHT in this cast.
I also predict that Matt will ask for community service and giving back to be featured on his season. So I picture a lot of dates with acts of service being performed around the community. Bring it on!
submitted by LAnative12345 to thebachelor [link] [comments]

2020.06.08 17:23 Disgruntled_Veteran No Ruckle! Bad! Bad Boy!

So as anyone who has served in the military knows, on most military installations, families of service members often live on post with them. They are often called dependents. These wonderful people can be spouses, children, and other family members that live with the soldiemarine/sailoairman. Often, these family members work on post as office staff, in the PX, or even at one of a number of resturants/fast food joints that dot the post’s landscape.
So there was a young lady who happened to work at a fast food joint on post. She was a young Latina girl who was the niece of a Staff Sergeant who work in Supply or the Motor Pool I believe and was living with his family on post. We will call him SSG. Uncle. Ruckle, ever the lover of anyone or anything female, decided to flirt with her and ask her out on a date. She, for reasons known only to the universe, says yes.
Ruckle then goes to pick her up for their date, in his friend’s car (which Ruckle isn’t allowed to drive because he doesn’t have a license), and is apparently not only told off by SSG. Uncle, but chewed out on the spot. You see, the girl was 16 years old. Just turned 16 years old and had a child that was less than a year old.
So Ruckle, during his chewing out, was asked if he knew that she was 16 years old to which Ruckle, being ever the aspiring Secret Squirrel, decided to lie and say that she told him she was 19. Enter the niece. She is honest and tells her uncle that she told him her age and that Ruckle told her that it wasn’t a problem with him. When the Staff Sergeant asked Ruckle about this, Ruckle again denied this, but upon further questioning, admitted that he did know she was 16. When Ruckle was asked to identify himself and his unit, Ruckle refused to do so. When the SSG. demanded Ruckle’s ID, Ruckle reluctantly handed it over and then identified himself and once again embarrassed our unit. It is hard enough being an MP in the military, but having someone like Ruckle counted amungst your numbers doesn’t help matters.
Now you are probably wondering how I know how all this happened. Well, as you can imagine, SSG. Uncle didn’t take to soldiers trying to sleep with his underage niece too well. He contacted our unit and had a meeting with our First Sergeant. Our First Sergeant calls in our PVT. (should be Sergeant) Ruckle and Lt. Cruz, who was about a week from moving on to his next posting and away from Ruckle.
At Guard Mount, the next duty shift, Ruckle is no where to be seen. However, during our briefing, we have an added bit of information given to us. We receive a special lecture about how soldiers are not to engage in any kind of relationships or sexual activities with minors. We are not told why, but the lack of Ruckle kind of gives us a clue. After Guard Mount, we go to our vehicle and I am riding with Hightower (my favorite posting). He wants to find out what is going on and we go back inside and he asks the Lt. what is up with the briefing. There are two other NCOs (I can’t remember who) also wanting to know what is up. Lt. Cruz states that he can’t talk about it. Thats when Hightower mutters the two words that haunted us all “F***in’ Ruckle”.
Lt. Cruz then tells us that what he is going to say can not leave the room. With a look of utter exhaustion on his face, the Lt. tells us about how Ruckle tried to date and most likely sleep with a minor who lived with her Uncle on post. He then told us about the meeting with himself, Ruckle, the First Sergeant, and SSG. Uncle. SSG. Uncle was livid during the entire meeting, but kept his bearing pretty well we were told. Ruckle was like a kid who is caught with his hand in the underage cookie jar. He tried to deny that he knew the girls actual age, but then fessed up to it. He kept swearing that he was not planning on having sex with her. That they were just going to go for a drive and get dinner.
This brought up the fact that Ruckle was driving without a license. Ruckle had to tell them whose car it was and why he was driving. He apparently didn’t want to look like a loser and borrowed a car from a friend (I don’t know who). After the facts were discovered, SSG. Uncle left and the Lt. and First Sergeant had their turn to chew out Ruckle. Ruckle was relieved of duty and assigned to sandbag filling duty for three weeks, 12 hours a day, with no days off.
We had a three week vacation from Ruckle, but I still fear for what would have happened if he would have gone on that date with her. Ruckle is not the kind of guy who takes young ladies out to dinner and for a nice drive. If it were up to me, he’d have had his junk beat with rubber hoses for a few hours everyday for a month. To the best of my knowledge, he never tried to date a dependent again no matter their age.
Though his story has a happy ending, it does show Ruckle has worse judgement making skills than any of the other stories I have shared. I hope you enjoyed this story. Please let me know which one you would like to read next. I can post either the poker game, the night I watched Ruckle use his “moves” at a diner, or how Ruckle got Chipmunk his name.
submitted by Disgruntled_Veteran to MilitaryStories [link] [comments]

2020.06.02 08:54 Langston1113 Conference Stress Relief (pt 2)

Conference Stress Relief (pt 2)

Maybe I should have done this in chronological order. It’s just that I wanted to get to Reese first because that was more of a fun story. The reason I drove an hour away Tuesday afternoon to a rough neighborhood to meet an escort was because of what happened on Monday night. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great.
There’s also a connection to me posting about Bella just before this. As I was writing this, I thought about this incident and was reminded of how I felt - it was degrading at times and that's not something that a proud guy like myself likes to admit. So, by referencing my convo with Bella from a few days ago, I was subconsciously bringing up a “classy” example of my hobbying to offset what I’m about to write on now.
I aced the presentation on Monday night which was before an audience of a few thousands of people. Since I was the team leader, everything fell on me and I had to carry the team and the weaker members. Walking out of the auditorium among crowds of people, I was still running on the adrenaline that enabled me to put aside anxiety and take charge of the moment, compensating for all that went wrong behind the scenes. Some people in my position would run to alcohol to either celebrate or console themselves, calm their nerves, and head off to bed. Me, well, my drink didn’t come in a bottle.
Finding ANY escorts in that area was very difficult. I sent out about 15 texts to escorts. In (Part 1) I mentioned the initial responses I got - one was a dude, another was too far, another said she wasn’t available, and the rest didn’t respond.
There was one that responded who happened to be reasonably close, so I went with her. Her name is Eve. Her ad said she’s 34 years old but I suspect she was closer to 40.
It was past midnight, I was in the middle of nowhere, yet went out into the dark of night. This time my justification wasn’t about “the illicit nature of it all,” but purely about following my primal appetite and needing to get off.
Adventure #1: Monday night - Eve
When I first walked in, Eve offered me a beer but I declined. She said something like, “You don’t look like a beer drinker anyway.” I was still in my dress clothes minus the suit jacket but with a loosened tie still hanging off my neck and hard-sole shoes on my feet. It’s what I wore for the presentation. I figured it made me look less of a “John” but I may have had that backwards.
For a lady who had just welcomed a complete stranger into her home at one in the morning, she sure was comfortable and fearless. She turned her back to me and had me follow her to the back room. There was a small bedroom at the end of the hall. It wasn’t her master bedroom. Turns out, she was well known in the small town as a service provider. And having men over at 1 AM was very common.
Eve looked homey and average in a good way; like a normal lady from the neighborhood. The pics from her ad are slightly dated but she was still pretty. She was a petite brunette, wore no makeup, and was thin but not boney.
She's among the few escorts I've had who were older than me. She had a good shape and a decent ass, plus dirty feet 😆 - it was Summer time and she walked around barefoot in her house. She wasn’t the voluptuous Latinas I had become accustomed to. But she would do for the night.
I do have a conscience, after all. This is one of those encounters that conjures mixed feelings when I look back and reminisce:
  • Already felt disgraceful about hunting for poon for the past few days.
  • Also about sneaking out after the first night of the conference.
  • I projected my guilt on her and wasn’t very nice to her.
  • She tried to make small talk and I didn’t respond.
  • I asked her to keep her top on because she didn’t have a great set.
  • She’s a smoker and I made a comment about not getting the smell of cigarette smoke on my clothes.
Yes, I’m leaving that in here because I want to admit that I was not much of a gentleman that night to this very nice lady. It was a projection of my discomfort and guilt.
Eve had a slight cold so she kept stopping while giving me BBBJ. She apologized for it and I asked her to keep going. The lovely sensation of a mouth on my bare dick eased my mind and I began to mellow out. I had needed this so badly. Just for the moment I could block out the details of the circumstances. She put a condom on me and began to ride me. But in just a few seconds decided to switch her to missionary. It’s because I didn’t like the sight of what I was seeing. (Yes, I am the asshole. 🙈)
I had her turn off the lights and to lay on the bed. It was mechanical sex, the same one I’ve often said I hate. Except for the BBBJ, there was no GFE. I was completely indifferent, burying my face in the pillow and focusing only on my enjoyment.
Pussy is pussy, and just about all pussy is good one way or another. So I eventually got off and busted.
When walking out into the dark of the night, it went back to feeling a bit degrading again. This happens sometimes, especially with stress fucking when the priority is to get off in order to deal with something else that going on. I told myself, “Fuck it, you do what you gotta do.” I needed that.
Adventure #3: Tuesday night - Eve
#2 was Reese. After Tuesday night’s conference event and all the talking to people that I did, I needed another night cap and thought I could repeat a session with Eve, even just for the BBBJ. This second visit was much better. When done I thought this could be a good routine - Reese in the afternoons and Eve late at night.
I could attribute the changes to things like me bringing better condoms of my own, her no longer having a cold, or the extended time. Yet the biggest change was in me, accepting Eve as my guilty pleasure and just going with it.
This time, I fucked Eve to my heart’s content. According to my recollection, it went about 90 minutes. While inside that house, I didn’t have a care in the world. She was so submissive and cooperative. This time around, I also fucked her in doggystyle, not missionary only like the previous night. I switched between multiple leg positions - mine on the inside or on the outside, one leg up, her on all fours or face-down-ass-up. I wasn’t used to slim girls but still got to enjoy myself.
Since I brought the condoms, between sessions we went back to BBBJ and I put on a new one to fuck afterward. I know escorts who would never do that - once the condom is on, it doesn’t come off again and there’s no more BBBJ. But Eve was so accommodating.
At one point, she took a smoke break and went outside to her back porch to do so all because I had said I didn’t want to have the smell of cigarette smoke on my clothes.
I felt great afterward. I made it back to the hotel and slept well. I justified myself because I had a need and she was fulfilling it - who cares about optics. On Wednesday the next day for the conference’s morning session, I was so relaxed and pleasant on stage and afterward when mingling with the conference attendees. And like clockwork, I was on the road to see Reese in the afternoon. I skipped lunch at the cafeteria and grabbed Taco Bell instead so I could get to her earlier.
I thought the combination of Reese and Eve was a great routine, until I got a text on Wednesday. It was Amber, one of the girls I had texted on Monday that was finally replying. She was the young college student with the hot body. She caused me to change my whole plan. For 2 days, I became obsessed with her... not good.
(Continued in Part 3)
submitted by Langston1113 to havingfunhobbying [link] [comments]

2020.05.26 22:31 Throwawaybayname SF vs. Orange County - my observations

I grew up in south Orange County my entire life, for the past three years I've been going back forth to/from SF for work. No, I don't work in tech.
Women - "home of the 49ers, no not the football team. Where the girls that are 4s act like 9s." I've found this quote to be painfully true. The women in SF are ugly compared to OC. Idk man, must be the water or something. OC does have more of a workout, keeping up with the Joneses, and image culture. Almost everyone gyms here. there are beauty salons on every damn corner. This extends to all races.
Men - the guys in OC have much more swagger and confidence. There is a bro culture here along with keeping an image. I'm 5'8 and I've seen Asian dudes shorter than me pull some hotties. This also extends to all races. SF, tech dad bods.
PC culture - work wise, OC is more upfront and aggressive, it can be douchey at times. SF tends to have "nicer people", though not aggressive, they are grumpier. When I first went up to SF it took some time to adapt and I had to dial down my voice and energy.
Fashion/image - kinda touched on this already. OC ...Designer bags everywhere. SF, puffy jackets. You almost get looked down for suiting up dressing flashy. The style and fashion for guys is pretty bad in OC lol, it's usually too warm to wear multiple layers.
Food in OC, cheaper,more diversity, tastes better. SF is shitty and expensive.
Dating in OC is much better for asian men. Not uncommon for Asian bros to date outside their race. I myself have dated hapas, middle easterner, and Latinas. Plus the women here are beautiful.
Overall, I prefer OC to the Bay Area. While OC can be status and image driven, it does create good standards. The retail and customer service in Bay area is shitty. Not to mention, Bay area is old and dirty.
submitted by Throwawaybayname to AsianMasculinity [link] [comments]

2020.05.12 02:34 Langston1113 Deliveries to Flushing Motel - fat girls fuck you better (cont'd)

Deliveries to Flushing Motel - fat girls fuck you better (cont'd)
For my guys in New York City, I've been recommending finding booking agents and "secretaries" which are small-time middlemen, not big agencies, which usually advertise Latinas that are touring from overseas.
Although I had Maddie and Kathie doing most of my booking, I used another agent that only sent girls to Queens. Since that wasn't too far from my Manhattan office, I would call them to setup some afternoon quickies. Their rates were $100hh/$160hr which was cheaper than Maddie's & Maddie's girls. For those looking for something similar, the keyword in the ad is "delivery."
Here's how their ad looked like (fake pics of course):
This is really about Flushing Motel because it became the site of many of my afternoon adventures. It's where I met up with Sofia for quickies. It was better than the one I used the most up by White Plains. Management knew exactly what was going on. Rooms were $50 for 4 hrs and had mirrors on the walls and ceiling. I have some good memories there.
On a particular afternoon, I had setup an outcall only to have the girl come to the room, take a look at me, and bolted! LOL. I was dressed from work and she must've thought I was law enforcement, or whatever. A second girl from the same agency came. In my notes I wrote down her name as Nicole and she wasn't great. I scored her at 2.5/5 and I didn't get to cum.
I called for a third girl and that's how I met Paola, a Latina BBW that wasn't a looker but turned out to be a memorable fuck.
  • Entry: #67
  • Date: 09/13/2017
  • Name: Paola
  • Finished: Yes
  • Score: 4.5 / 5
Last time I mentioned that this may be a real thing: that due to insecurities based on body image issues, some girls - escort or not - will overcompensate. Kathy then proves that some escorts in agencies will measure themselves with one another. Anyway, whatever the reason, something was at work with Paola and she gave me a great fuck. I don't have much in my journal notes:

Passionate BBW, (Round 2 - same hotel room), BBBJ, great ride.
When Paola walked into the room, I picked up right away that she had that "fat girls fuck you better" complex. You could see it in her eyes that she was trying to impress you, and I took advantage of this. When we got started, I was spread out in the middle of the bed as she gave me her best CBJ, I pretended not to like it and stopped her.
I said, "No bueno." She looked at me momentarily puzzled. "Do it like this," I said. I pulled the condom off so she could keep going, and she immediately dove right in. "Si... si. Bueno." My verbal motivation spoken in my limited Spanish led her to going all out on my dick. She went up and down the side of the shaft, flicked her tongue on the tip, jerked it fast while sucking it.
We put the condom back on and she mounted me in cowgirl. She's a big girl so it felt nice being smothered by all that soft warmth.
Again, she REALLY wanted to impress me. So she started slow, then went faster and faster, and when she didn't think she was doing a good enough job, she surprised me with a deep French kiss. Wow. I grabbed onto her and began fucking her back. I was close and could've busted then itself. But at the last second I decided to extend the fun. I stopped her, had her get off, then put her in missionary.
Honestly, I wasn't physically attracted to her - this was just an afternoon fuck to get off. But her effort impressed me so now I wanted a little more before I finished.
I had her spread out with my arms under her knees and we quickly right back to rapid fucking. Paola was very passionate, breathing heavily and slobbering my mouth as she kissed me, holding my face in her hands while I jack-hammered her. It didn't last long but we both worked up a sweat. I blew my load and was finally satisfied on my second attempt that afternoon.
I got her name but didn't ask for her private number; she was good and had done the trick that afternoon, but she wasn't really a keeper. Nevertheless, I made sure to tell her agent that she was "fantastic."
Fuck yeah. After already having gotten BBBJ and LFK from Paola, I asked the booking agent on a later date just to see what she would say about GFE services. She said, no, the girls didn't.
But they definitely do, in fact, more than independent escorts. That's how the girls make up the money that the agency took in their cut. And, yes, I take advantage of this. If you offer them $40 more, even $20, they're game. It's just that for Paola, because of that "fat girls" complex, her focus was on something else and she didn't upcharge me.
As for doubling up on back-to-back appointments, I did that several times because at $100hh the girls were so cheap. It's because these appointments weren't only for the immediate gratification but also to try them out in search of an ultra-GFE regular who I could make a direct arrangement with.
submitted by Langston1113 to havingfunhobbying [link] [comments]

2020.05.06 21:38 Retil-iH The Case for Cathrine Cortez Masto as Vice President

As the Democratic National Convention slowly gets closer, many of us have started to speculate on who is going to be Joe Biden’s Vice Presidential nominee. Many on neoliberal have whittled down the candidates to about 5 women: Kamala Harris, Elizabeth Warren, Amy Klobuchar, Stacy Abrams, and Gretchen Whitmer. However, there is one candidate that hasn’t been brought up much here: Catherine Cortez Masto. But first, who is Catherine Cortez Masto?
Catherine Cortez Masto is the senior senator from the state of Nevada. She was the first female senator elected from Nevada, and the first Latina to serve in the Senate. Before this, she was a civil attorney in Las Vegas, a criminal prosecutor in D.C., and eventually was elected Nevada attorney general in 2006. She won that election with 59% of the vote at a time when Nevada was trending Republican. She would go on to win re-election in 2014 with 52% of the vote. Her time as attorney general was not without controversy, however. She was the primary defense attorney in Sevcik v. Sandoval, a court case about Nevada’s ban on same-sex marriage. However, she and the rest do the defense abandoned the case soon afterwards, resulting in same-sex marriage becoming legal in Nevada. Since then, Cortez Masto has shifted on her view of same sex marriage, and has written on her website “The recent Supreme Court decision on marriage equality was a landmark decision in the fight for equality, but there is still more work to do. LGBT Americans still face discrimination in housing and in the workplace. We also still have work to do in eliminating discrimination against LGBT Americans in public accommodation, jury service, and education. In the Senate, I will work to end discrimination against every Nevadan regardless of whom they love.” Cortez Masto continued to be Nevada’s attorney general until 2014, when she hit her term limit. This was not the end for Catherine Cortez Masto’s political career, however. In 2015, Democratic Senator Harry Reid announced he would retire his seat instead of running for a sixth term. This opened up the seat to a competitive election in 2016, as Reid’s retirement ment that Republicans had a good shot of making both of Nevada’s senators red. Cortez Masto would announce her run for the Senate soon after, and was quickly endorsed by the outgoing Reid. As she was one of the most prominent figures in the Nevada Democratic Party, she won a large victory in the primary, with 81.0% of the vote. Now, she had to deal with Joe Heck, the Republican nominee. The election was close the whole way, and was considered a toss up on November 8, 2016, but Cortez Masto managed to win, beating Joe Heck by 2.4%, or by 26,915 votes during one of the worst elections in the modern history of the Democratic Party. She would be inaugurated by Joe Biden in 2017. She is still serving today, and became the senior senator of Nevada after Republican Dean Heller was defeated by Democrat Jacky Rosen in 2018.
Now, why do I think Cortez Masto is a good VP pick? Well, let’s start off with the obvious. She can help Joe Biden win a group of voters that are harder to get on board with the moderate platform of the Democratic Party: Latinos. Now, you might be asking yourself “Why would a Latino voter vote for a man who holds large rallies just to hate on them?” You have to consider some facts. First, they are not necessarily voting for Trump. Many simply aren’t voting at all. Another problem is that many Latinos Overwhelmingly supported Bernie Sanders over Joe Biden, which shows a potentially major weakness in Joe’s campaign. Here is my point with all of this: if Joe chooses a Latina woman who has a past of being the first Latina in the senate, he might be able to drive up Latino vote in crucial places like Texas, Arizona, and of course, Nevada. This could result in a blue Arizona, Nevada and Texas, as Latinos usually tend to vote Democratic.
Another reason I support Cathrine Cortez-Masto is because of her political record. According to, Cortez Masto is strongly pro-choice, as shown through her own words and 100% ranking from the pro-choice group Nevada Advocates for Planned Parenthood Affiliates. She wants to stop subsidizing oil companies, as well as companies that take American jobs overseas. She supports the ‘Buffet Rule’ of upper class taxes. She also supported a $1000 tax cut for the middle class of Nevada, and is a major advocate for renewable energy sources like wind, solar, and geothermal energy. She is rated at a 7% by the NRA, and is a firm supporter of background checks, and even sponsored a bill to ban bump stocks in 2017 after the Las Vegas Shooting. Cortez Mastro also wants to provide for an easier path for immigrants to enter the country, and prevent Dreamers from being forced to return to their own countries. Finally, she is opposed to cutting social security, supports LGBT rights, and supports training and arming and training Iraqi Kurds and utilizing air strikes to fight terrorists in Iraq. Her stance on Medicare is not well known, but she did vote to pass Medicare-X into law. I see Cortez Masto as someone who can build on and support the policies of Joe Biden, if she were to run for office in 2024, 2028, or beyond.
My final point in my support of Catherine Cortez Masto is her age of 56, and experience. Currently, Cortez Masto has around the same amount of experience President Obama had before he ran for president. She has been in the Senate for 3 years, and was Attorney General for 14 years before that. I also see her age, at 56, being a good factor, as she is at the age where she is considered by most as not to old or young to serve as President.
In conclusion, Catherine Cortez Masto would be a great pick for Joe Biden, as she is ideologically similar to him, can rally a group of voters Democrats need to win, and is at the perfect age to be president.
submitted by Retil-iH to neoliberal [link] [comments]

2020.04.23 21:52 Langston1113 Ruth “Stallion” is the wrong word; whatever stands for busty, thick/firm thighs, big ass, and thin waist

Kathie & Maddie, two separate booking agents, were sending me all Latinas who usually were from Colombia and Dominican Republic. Although the body types varied a bit, many were the thick, voluptuous type. While some people may not appreciate that, it is certainly my type. Yum! 😋
One such girl was called Ruth. Pardon the use of the word “stallion” - she’s not a male horse. It’s meant to refer to a voluptuous woman, even stocky while still being firm, not fat, and for these Latina escorts, with relatively thin waist.
I think I have a thing for MILFs because of their “motherly” vibe. At first I say it has nothing to do with whether or not they have children. But I’ve recently noticed myself developing a breeding fetish - it’s brand new and very recent. Back when I had Ruth, motherly/MILF-ness referred to how gentle they were and how they took care of you during the session.
During a time when most encounters were mechanical and non-GFE, Ruth immediately stood out. It showed, from a hearty blowjob to cleaning off dick and legs with wet-wipes after I had blown my load. There was also the massage.
Journal Notes: BRUNETTE STALLION WITH MASSAGE. (No Zen) Great attitude. Patient (until we were interrupted). Started with a long massage of my back down to the legs using “tingling fingers.” Gave her a tip to add DATY. Wonderful thick thighs. Finished in missionary prematurely. Have to come back for doggystyle.
Ruth was surprisingly nice as soon as I came into the room. She greeted me with a hug and kiss on the cheek that’s customary with her culture. I don’t remember if I asked for a massage or she offered one. But she did a damn good job with it. This is what I meant by the motherly and caring demeanor. At the end of the massage, she added a treat by running her fingertips up and down my body that felt so good!
When I rolled over, I asked if I could eat her out, and at first she declined. But then she asked how much more I would give her. Typically, I offer $40 extra. I love to eat pussy and get off to it. After I had my fill, I mounted her, getting snug between her warm, wonderfully thick thighs. 🥴🥴🥴 Ahh-ha-ha-aaaah!
Less than 1 minute later, I blew! I felt great but also felt cheated because I wanted to enjoy her much longer, plus I didn’t get to fuck her in doggystyle. 😩😟
So I booked her again as soon as possible. Here are the notes to visit #2.
Journal Notes: STALLION WITH HIPS FOR DAYS. More pleasant and familiar. She enjoyed it—eyes rolling back, moaning. She allowed me to kiss her all over except the lips. I didn’t try but I asked once and she pecked me. Otherwise, we were face-to-face. 1) Short foreplay: caressed and kissed body, ass, and thighs. 2) Missionary with plenty of kisses and compliments. 3) K9: Great view, pillow-soft ass, sometimes the position was off. 3) Missionary pt 2. 4) K9 pt 2: I asked and she quickly obliged. But I didn’t finish because of latex hindrance and time had expired. I asked for 2 hours next time, which she seemed willing to do. She gave me her private mobile number. When leaving she kissed on the lips and was a bit more meaningful than a peck.
LOL. I remember that when I was fucking her in missionary face-to-face, slowly working between her thick thighs, I would tell her how pretty she is and how great the sensation was. She would just look up and say, “Thank you… Thank you,” after each compliment. It was funny now that I think about it.
I didn’t cum this time because me and condoms have a hit-or-miss track-record, mostly miss. The first time with Ruth, I did cum but that was because I wasn’t using Zen.
Things were looking for the possibility of steadily increasing GFE services and familiarity. Already she added DATY and now kissing was becoming more comfortable.
As I’ve done so often, I made a direct arrangement with her. I asked her for a 2-hr session with no mention of doing it separately from the booking agents. She responded by giving me her direct number because she wanted to book it independently to make more money.
Not a problem for me! This also meant she would make it exceptional in order to keep me as a direct customer. As long as I get GFE, I’m a happy camper. This had happened on so many occasions so I was used to what comes next.
But it didn’t work out as planned.
Even so, THESE are the experiences I was used to while hobbying; none of that paranoid, confrontational stuff that you read on these sex-workers-only subreddits.
submitted by Langston1113 to havingfunhobbying [link] [comments]

2020.04.22 02:52 okay_thisisepic I NEED HELP PORTLAND PLEASE, advice whatever my life could be ruined

I'm 17/ senior in Highschool and I was recently contacted by an old friend on Snapchat with one of those colorful images "make cash fast and free". she told me that bitcoin money has been overflowing into her account and she needed somewhere to put it to transfer it and because I would let her use my account she would give me money, she promised 800 dollars and I said holy crap wow. I didn't think of her as a scam because we used to go to the same school and that she has done this many times before with other people, I had my suspicions and called her out for being a scam, we argued and argued (I have screenshots) and she was able to gain my trust by explaining to me how the bitcoin thing worked.
I gave her the information to my ONpoint account (because that is what she requested in order to do her thing) I log in and noticed that she took a picture of a check for 2,300 dollars and thought "holy shit that's a lot of money" (mind you, I'm a 17-year-old kid that works with his dad sometimes)
after the money entered my account she made me use an old cash app that I have never used (my cash app just one I made for fun a while back) and told me to transfer the money from my account to a cash app account and the pfp was some Latina women she said it was a friend of hers and told me to send her as much money as I could, so I did, I found it a bit fishy but she always asked how my day was or what I'm doing and sounded really interested in my life.
I do this with two different checks, one of 2,300 and the other of 2,100 (I had no money in the bank because I don't add money to the bank, I simply have 5 dollars in my savings to keep it open) today I still had 500 dollars left from the second check she gave me that I planned to give to the cash app girl. (I forgot to mention that my dad owns my account since I'm a minor) today me and my dad head over to the bank because he wants to withdraw money or something and I decide to wait in the car. 10 minutes later he comes outside and signals me to come in, me confused walk in and the teller hands me a phone.
The last on the phone tells me if I know anything about a check that has been deposited onto my account for 2,300 dollars. I said "no" because my dad was next to me and I didn't want him wondering why I deposited a check for 2,300 dollars since I never use the bank account. the lady on the phone then says "I know you no more than what you're saying" and It automatically puts a red flag in my head because she sounded mad (I'm very easy to break) I then tell her that a friend added the check to my account and that she wanted me to give it to some other person on cash app and she was going to give me money. the lady once again thinks I'm lying and tells me that I'm in the middle of a federal crime or something and that those checks belong to a church (my heart sank and I start panicking and you could tell i was shaking because I could feel my left handshaking) she goes on and on about that if I don't give the money back by a certain date (I forgot the date) The police will be contacted and I will be thrown to prison. (I have a future, Im a smart kid, I have no criminal record and I'm an above 3.0 gpa in school.. I want to go to university.. what university is going to accept someone sitting behind bars ) I try my best to explain what going on to the lady and she hangs up giving me pretty much what the crime i committed is and how I can get out of it. she said that I owe them 18 hundred dollars and if that's not given then she is calling the police. oh and 2,300 dollars is missing from my dads account to.
she hangs up I walk away and quickly start texting this "friend" of everything I just heard, she claims she knows nothing about it and that I'm going to jail either way which made my heart hit the floor (she also claims that the whole time i wasn't talking to her instead someone hacked her account and that's who i was speaking to) I try to convince her to tell her cash app friend to give me back all the money so I can give it back to the church. She tells me that the account is fake and that she cant contact it.
So I did the first thing I can think of, an hour ago I contacted cash app and told them what's going on.. apparently they have terrible TERRIBLE customer service and that I shouldn't be expecting help from them anytime soon
HERE IS : edit: Im sorry that the screenshots are out of order, I don't know how to fix that
my next option is to contact the Portland police department but I don't know where to begin or how they would be able to help. (I don't know the full name of my friend, I don't even know if it is the real her (most likely not)) How can I get help with this? because of quarantine neither me nor my family have the money to pay this and to top it all off my dad just lost 2,300 dollars for our family
Im not asking for financial support just advice, or if you have any connections with someone who can help like the police department ot something I would be in your debt (lol) if you could help me please, my life could be ruined.. I've never been to jail nor do I want to, I pride myself on being a good person and stealing from a church can be the worst thing imaginable for me ( I'm not religious, that's simply really messed up) mabey you have connections with the portland police department or some fraud assistance (I don't even know if this is considered fraud (I don't even know what fraud fully means))
I'm scared to contact police, I don't want to devastate my mom because both I and my dad agreed on her not knowing
if you cant do neither please share this, I beg you for the love of god please help me, my future is going to be taken away from me because I trusted someone I wasn't supposed to. please help me I'm having a break down left and right please please share this so someone who does know how to help
submitted by okay_thisisepic to police [link] [comments]

2020.04.17 09:23 AbusedCho I [19F] just got kicked out because of my license plate sticker

Before today, if someone were to ask me about my relationship with my nmom (48F), I would say it's alright. In reality, she has been physically and mentally abusing me nonstop since I could remember. From a little kid to a young adult, my nmom caused irreparable torture and trauma.
My mom has beaten me with a metal pole until it broke in two. She has beat with me bamboo sticks until they snapped. She has made me stand on my knees, with my arms out, while she beats and bruises every part of my body. I have tried to end my life because of her. And when I told her I got sent to the hospital because of it, she cried and said I ruined her life (even though I paid for it myself). I got into a car accident last year, and when I called she was crying. Not because I was hurt or anything (which she didn't even ask if I was okay), but because I damaged the car and now it's going to cost money.
And to be honest, that's just the tip of the iceberg.
A little background information before I get started:
- My boyfriend [22M] and I have been dating for over a year. He is the first boyfriend that has lasted more than a few months. He is an absolute sweetheart. He puts my wellbeing first before anything else. Not important to me, but important to the story, he's undocumented.
- My nmother is Vietnamese. Very old school. She resorts to violence if things don't go her way. But when she's not mad, she is asking me to do stuff for her. Also, she screams LOUD. My neighbors could hear her. Literally hitting decibels. People have witnessed some of the abuse.
- I received a car for Christmas (Dec 2019) from my bf's parents. I told my mom in Feb about it and finalized the paperwork (license & registration) March 7th. I even showed my mom the paperwork the day I got it. However, my License plate sticker says 12/20 instead of 3/21
- The reason why I never reported my mom was because of my brother (13M). He has autism. I cannot take care of him by myself and he is afraid of new people. I would feel extremely guilty if he went into foster care because of me. I would take care of him but I am not financially stable at the moment.
- Everything will be typed normally but she screamed every word she spoke -
I was minding my own business. I was on FaceTime with my boyfriend while sewing facemasks and watching Sailor Moon. My mom barges into my room, and says, "do I even have to tell you?"
Confused, because I haven't spoken to her all day. I didn't want to. I don't talk to her unless it's necessary. Because she likes to start arguments out of nowhere, mostly because she has nothing else better to do. She continued. "You LIED to me. you told me you went to the DMV in March, why does the sticker say DECEMBER!!!" and she screams.
I was caught off guard because I don't know how she got triggered into starting this argument. Knowing I did the right thing, I was calm and told her that I have the receipt for when I went to the DMV. But she didn't care. She went off about how I "always lie to her" and that she could never trust me. She started to get aggressive, and I had it.
My boyfriend was starting to get ready to come get me. I showed her my receipt, and just like I said, "March 07, 2020" is stamped on it. However, she said, "well that doesn't explain why the car sticker says 12/20, if you did everything in March it should say March 2021!"
I told her, "Do I look like the DMV to you? I literally know nothing about cars. The both of you have purchased new and used cars before, how do you not know this? You guys literally make me dispute service charges for you because 'you don't know how', so don't expect me to know this."
My edad [50M] was just standing there. Like the present-deadbeat he is.
She came running at me and started to slap and punch me. I tried to block them. I know better not to hit back because with her adrenaline, she could probably kill me. But I am not going to just sit there and let her beat me, so I tried to block it.
My sister [18F] came to check what happened. I told her exactly what happened, but she already knew because she can hear it through the walls. She tried to defend me, so my mom started to hit her. I got in between them and told her to stop. Then she started to hit me again.
Remembering I have the receipt for the sticker in my car, I went to go get it. I open the door and my boyfriend is sitting outside. I grab the paper, and it says that the car was purchased 12/25, so the sticker is valid until 12/20. I showed her and she still didn't believe me.
She told me to go inside but I said no. She went inside to talk to my Dad. She came back outside, and told me to go inside again, adding that she wasn't going to do anything to me. Really though, she didn't want the neighbors to hear. But I yelled out, "no, let the neighbors hear how you're overreacting about a license plate sticker."
She repeated herself. I said no once again. My dad came out and said, "do you want to come inside, if not I'm locking the door." So he locked the door.
My boyfriend is on the phone with the police. My mom comes outside and tells me to stay away from him. She proceeds to tell him that he ruined her family.
The police finally arrives, seconds after he called. I explain the entire situation to them. They were are dumbfounded. The male police officer went inside to talk to my parents. The woman police officer stayed outside with my boyfriend and I.
We talked about the details, gave some background information. The male officer comes back and notices that my mom is very old school. He stated that she does not see the wrong in abuse, despite my sister and I legally being adults. She doesn't understand that even if she's a mom, she can't just do whatever she wants.
The cops went back to the cars for paperwork. My mom noticed they left and went outside and started to yell at me. They were like ma'am. Lol. She ran back inside. We both filed out paperwork. I wrote my story like I had a 1000 word count requirement.
My mom tried to make hints that she was going to tell the cops that my boyfriend is undocumented. (She thinks that he's only with me to use me for papers. But yet he buys her stuff when she needs something and gives her rides home from work)
The woman police officer asked me what was my mom saying to me, and I told her "she's threatening (I asked my boyfriend for permission to tell her and I only felt comfortable to ask because she's latina) to tell you guys he's undocumented." She chuckled and was like, "we aren't going to do anything."
Afterwards, the police told me it would be best if I left with my boyfriend for a few days until everything dies down. The male officer reminded me to only get essential things. They escorted my boyfriend and I inside to grab my things (my room was a mess because I was sewing). As we were walking up the stairs she said, "don't make me tell them." I stopped on the staircase and leaned over the railing.
"Fine, tell them. Tell the entire room what you want to say." But the cop told me to go upstairs so I went. I was running frantically around the house while it was dead silent. All you can hear is the sound of my feet and me freaking out on what to bring. The cop reminded me again essentials only. I run downstairs, but I forgot my anxiety medicine. Finally out the door, the cops told me that I could call to grab stuff again if anything.
My boyfriend offered to bring my sister too, but she didn't want to go.
My boyfriend and I are on our way home. My sister texts me and tells me that shes on the phone with my aunt. They love to gossip and talk shit about their kids. I called my cousin. For over an hour, we talked about what they were saying. My aunt and uncle were defending me about the car. Even then, she still didn't believe them. At this point, even if Mr. DMV told her the truth, she still wouldn't believe me. Not accepting that she was wrong, my mom started to talk about things that in the past. For example, how she caught me having sex a long time ago (she went through my trash when I was at work.) Then she tried to make up that my sister and I would hit her and my dad (????????)
We arrive at his house. I started sobbing again. I thought that I still had some time left to save money before my sister and I had to leave. Why did it have to happen today. I was literally minding my own business. I haven't eaten yet. It was almost 11pm.
Finally, I shower and get ready for bed. My mom spams my boyfriends phone with texts, saying:
"Okay. You call police on me. I did not tell police on you. If I tell them you get arrested. You should know by now you're illegal immigrant. (AS IF SHE ISN'T AN IMMIGRANT HERSELF, BTW) If you make her pregnant, you take care of her."
She texts me:
"I know you [will] have sex with him tonight if you are pregnant I am not responsible for you, You are very stupid they using you because you don't know. Only people I talk to they say the same."
We both decided to just ignore her. We don't have the energy to fight plus, there is no point.
Right now I don't know what to do. At first I thought I was going to cry all night, but I am actually okay. I am worried about my sister and my brother. Every time I get into details about my brother, I start to cry. I cannot imagine leaving him with her. I noticed that she started to groom him into becoming like her. He is starting to get more aggressive and depressed. My parents don't help him with his homework. He isn't receiving the proper care he needs in order to grow. I feel like we as a family failed him. We should've helped him more when he was younger. But I was only a kid too.
Tomorrow my sister and I are going to devise our plan. With the pandemic going on, I don't know what we're going to do. But I just know that I will do my best to support the both of us, no matter what.
TL:DR; Received Car December from bf parents. Told Mother Feb. Got paperwork done March. Today barged in out of no where and started an argument how the license plate sticker doesn't match my story. Accuses me of lying. Throws things out of proportion. Abuses my sister and I. Boyfriend comes gets me. Cops get called. I am out of the house. Feeling worried and anxious, but sister and I are okay.
submitted by AbusedCho to narcissisticparents [link] [comments]

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