I'll come up with something in a minute.

Is anything kinky anymore?

There used to be a trope in TV, movies and books. See if you follow it. A person would open a magazine, look at some photos, whatever and then their eyes would open wide and they’d say something like “Oh my!” and some minor pearl clutching would commence. You’d never see what they were doing in the photo, but it was understood that it was kinky, or athletic, or whatever. The other part of that trope is a woman would say something to a man to the extent of “I’ll do all sort of things other girls you’ve been with would never dream of doing. I can do things to you that you’ve never thought possible.”

Well, haven’t we reached a point where that can no longer exist? I mean… we’ve had internet porn for 15 years now. Even if you didn’t want to see it, some asshole probably sent you a photo of someone fucking a horse at some point in your internet life. Shock sites used to abound (they probably still do, but I haven’t heard about one in a while) but at this point, even something like goatse is considered more of a meme than a shocking image. Is there anything left, without straying into the bounds of non-consensual behavior, that still shocks people? Maybe it’s me, maybe I’ve seen too much and done too much.

Take the secondary trope. At this point, you’d have to get to some really sickly serious levels to do things other girls I’ve been with would never dream of doing. I’ve known some pretty liberally minded girls, but even some of the more vanilla chicks I’ve known are willing to go pretty far if something interesting is suggested. Kinky seems to be pretty mainstream these days.

I’m saying that at this point, to go further than I’ve gone, you’d need to know a fair amount about welding custom pieces, bolting supports into the ceiling and carrying the sort of lubricants you can only get through high-end distributors.
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So, can our generation actually have the flipped open magazine and the people gasping at how kinky it is? Is that a trope which has to die because we’ve all seen worse (or better, depending on your view) than they could have in that sort of thing?

I think we sort of killed kinky. While there is still some discomfort among some groups, and individual people might not be interested, I feel that kink went mainstream a long time ago. Even if it’s not well understood, it’s not hidden away in the shadows anymore. People are rarely caused to faint if they catch sight of a gimp mask anymore.

This is always why I wonder what’s in those unseen photos in those movies. I’ve always wanted to know what’s supposed to be so bad the character couldn’t handle it. What causes the hardboiled detective to clutch his pearls and squeal like a little girl being shown a cockroach? I bet it’s nothing. I bet it’s just a girl in a leather nun outfit fisting a guy in drag or a lama being molested by a state senator. You know, basic stuff, nothing really kinky.

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March 4, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Jack & Jill (Part Nine)

Jack & Jill (A Love Story)

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Read last week’s entry here.

 

 

Part Nine: Ambush

 

            I was asleep, but to claim I was in bed would be a fallacy. I wasn’t deeply asleep and I was deliberately not in bed. As I may have mentioned once or twice, I’ve been accused of being a bit paranoid. The problem with being accused of paranoia is that it’s so often paired with the concept that said paranoia isn’t in some way justified. They say that sleeping in an obscure corner when in a strange place with people you don’t trust is an insane reaction. Besides the fact that you can’t possibly get a good night sleep, people argue, it’s not like someone is actually going to sneak into your room and shoot you. The sound of the three shots firing in the small room which brought me to wakefulness tells me that those people are stupid.

 

            I saw the last shot as a red splotch on the inside of my lids. The bed side light came suddenly on and Daryl found the he had plugged some pillows and interestingly folded quilts that had been left in the closet. I’d gotten to my feet fairly soundlessly, and since the Webley automatic had been right next to my hand I didn’t need to fumble for it. I slipped my left hand to my back pocket where I was keeping a leather persuader.

 

            “What an interesting mistake for you to make.” I said stepping out of the corner and into the center of the room. “Drop the pistol or I’ll render unto you what you tired to render unto me.”

 

            Daryl was confused about what had just happened, the man who he was supposed to have killed was walking out of a corner and pointing a gun at him. He looked at the bed, his gun still extended as if to fire at it. I’m not a brilliant marksman, but at a distance of two yards I can be just as good as Annie Oakley. I closed one eye, pointed the Webley and fired a single round at Daryl’s gun. The bullet caught the barrel of his Beretta and tore it from his grasp, causing a cut on his index finger.

 

            “Ow!” he shouted and sucked at his finger.

 

            “I told you to drop it.” I said. “Would you rather I shot you in the arm?”

 

            “Son of a bitch.” He growled.

 

            “Yeah.” I said and brought the leather sap down on his head.

 

            He fell down and hit his head on the bed side table for good measure. I checked his pulse and found that it was still pumping away, so at least I hadn’t killed him or anything. I pulled my suit coat on, made sure my tie was straight and went to my little bag of naughty things for a couple sets of plastic hand cuffs. One quick zip along his wrists, another on his feet, and a third to hold the two of them together. I wish I’d timed myself to see how quickly I’d managed to hog tie him, but it would be pointless. I would have to settle for the fact that I had in fact trussed him up quite nicely and that the feds would be here soon. I picked up my phone just as it began to ring.

 

            “Yeah?” I asked.

 

            “We’re on the way.” Alice’s voice told me.

 

            “Good.” I said. “With any luck I’ll have everything done before you get here.”

 

            I hung up on her and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. I turned off the light and heard some whispering and then heard someone run out of the house. That left one of them in here with me. I slipped the Marley on my belt, stuffed the Webley back into its holster for reasons I’ll never truly understand, and grabbed a few more of the plastic zip cuffs. Then I started down the hall and to the stairs. Half way down the stairs, where there would ordinarily be a stair for me to sit, the lights went out. Not just the lights in the stairway, all the lights in the house and outside, all at once. I took this to mean that someone decided to cut the lights, but I had just been asleep and the lights hadn’t been on long enough for my eyes to get adjusted. I won’t say that I could see as well as I could with them on, but I wasn’t doing so bad. I heard a few shots fired outside, but my problem at the moment was inside.

 

            When I got down stairs I could hear the rustling. I pulled the Webley out, closed my eyes, and fired a shot into the living room before rolling to one side. The response was that a few shots fired in my direction, but all it did was alert me to where the shooter was and that he couldn’t see very well. I closed my eyes and fired another round at him before slipping through a doorway behind me.

 

            I was in the dining room, I could see crystal candelabras on the table sparkling in what little light there was from the windows behind them. I won’t say that I’m perfect at guessing silhottes, but I could tell Dave when he came into the room after me. He went around the other side of the table, putting himself between the windows and me. I looked at him as carefully looked for me, listening for the breath I was holding. I looked at the table, and the candelabras. If I was nimble, if I was quick, I could jump over those and kick him in the chest, spilling him out the window. I pushed myself against the wall and started to move forward.

 

            Instead of leaping though, I grabbed the table and flipped it up, because that was the less stupid suggestion. I flipped the table and shoved at it, evidently sending Dave through a window if the smashing glass and groan was anything to judge by. A few shots fired, punching holes through the table, but I hit the kitchen door and ignored them. I came out at the back of the house and walked quickly around to see Dave trying to get up in the gloom. I pointed my gun at him, and I could have killed him right there. I’m not sure why I didn’t just pull the trigger, but I didn’t. Instead I reached down and picked up a rock at my feet. It wasn’t too heavy, but it was hard and relatively smooth. I hurled it at him, aiming for the chest.

 

            The rock struck him and he fell over flat on the grass. I ran towards him and gave him a fairly solid kick to the side, which caused something either in him or me to crack. I then hit him as hard as I could on the jaw and there was another cracking sound. I’m fairly sure the second crack was mine, because my hand continued to hurt for the next two days. Another three plastic hand cuffs, another ten seconds, and I was quickly becoming the hog tie champion of Banbury Cross, Georgia.

 

            I heard another two shots and it occurred to me what that sound might be. I started towards the sound and caught the muzzle flash of an old rifle firing and someone in the distance falling down. Another shot was fired and another person from what was clearly a running throng went down. I started towards the shooting, trying to remember how many rounds I’d fired from the Webley already. Terrible thing, to forget how many shots you’ve fired with a revolver, but there it was.

 

            “Stand still you wetback mother fuckers!” Joe shouted as he cycled another shot into what I now saw was an old fashioned Winchester. The gun was raised, but this time all I heard was a click and a swear word.

 

            “Joe!” I shouted to him, finally remembering that I had a gun too.

 

            “The fuckin’ detective?” He shouted and grabbed at the pearl handled pistol on his hip.

 

            I pulled the trigger five times, but it only actually fired twice, answering the mystery question of how many times had I fired it before. He went down with a groan, and when I went over to him to take his gun away, he was still groaning. I’d managed to put two rounds into his midsection, which could mean anything. Probably he wouldn’t die, but who could tell. I looked at the pearl handled gun in my hand and stood up.

 

            I couldn’t sit around here, I had a more important job than this to do. I walked toward the house and around to my car. I looked at the workers as they started to come out from the field. I hoped that something merciful would happen to them, but I couldn’t really worry about that right now. I tossed the Webley and the pearl handled revolver into the back seat of my car and started the engine.

 

            I know, I know, leaving the scene of a crime and all that shit. I had to go before Cole knew anything was up though.

           

            Even in the dark, even having to stop for a doe and her stupid faun that didn’t know about cars yet, it only took me four minutes to get to Cole’s house. I didn’t bother with formalities, I simply smashed out the glass next to the door knob out with the butt of the Marley and unlocked the door. No deadbolt, what kind of security is that? I opened the door, turned on the lights as I went and walked up to the second floor. There was a door with a key lock on it, and that was wrong enough for me to open it up and switch on the light.

 

            She was sitting on the bed, fully dressed with a bag next to her. It was as if she was expecting me to come to get her and if anything was starting to think I was late. She was a cute kid, if perhaps a little mistreated by the last couple of weeks. I took a step into the room and held my hand out to her. She was dressed all in white, and in the gloom I noticed that the room was pretty much white too. It looked like someone had some sort of purity fetish or something.

 

            “Let’s go Jill.”

 

            “Okay.” She said in a small voice and started towards me.

 

            “What the fuck?” I heard from behind me.

 

            The Marley thirty-eight is not a battlefield weapon. It has a two inch barrel which means that it’s only really accurate over distances of a meter and a half. After that I have trouble hitting the broad side of a barn. Add to that the fact that I wasn’t really aiming, and it should be no surprise that all I hit was the wall a good foot away from Cole. The fact that he actually jumped back and slammed the door was a bit of a shock though, but it didn’t leave me staring too long.

 

            We ran down the stairs, out the door, into the waiting car and I would have hopped into the car and driven away if I hadn’t come under fire at that moment. A bullet struck the ground near me and I saw Cole at the front upstairs window with a rifle in his hand. No old fashioned western rifle, but a nice new AR-15 or some such assembly of numbers and letters. I turned and fired the last five rounds from the Marley thirty-eight at the window, which probably just punched a lot of holes into the lower floor if my accuracy with the Marley at distance is to be trusted. I didn’t bother watching though, I get into the Hudson and tore away, and tossed another revolver into my back seat.

           

            “How are you?” I asked, “You hurt in a way that means I need to get you to the hospital right now?”

 

            “No.” She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

           

            “Here he comes.” I said looking in my rear view mirror at the pair of headlights that started to pursue us.

 

            “He’s coming after us?” She asked.

 

            “Yeah he is.” I said. “Don’t worry about it, I can handle him.”

           

            There was another pair of head lights coming toward us though, far off in the distance and I wondered if I hadn’t overestimated what I considered to be a reasonable amount of trouble. Of course this could just be some guy coming home late from shift work, but I didn’t like to assume such things. Paranoia told me it was Dave, slipped out of his bonds and out to help his boss exact revenge. Or maybe Dave didn’t care and just wanted to try a replay of that July night in a more isolated area, to see if I had indeed been lucky.

 

            I tried to decide what to do for a moment and then stepped on the brake a little. I watched at Cole’s Durango came in closer. The other truck was still a way off, but I wasn’t exactly sure if there was a road I could turn down between the Hudson and whatever it would turn out to be. Added to that is the problem that I didn’t know this area. I spent enough times driving around the rural areas of Michigan to know that a dead end is only marked about half the time.

 

            I reached under the dash board for a compartment that had once held three flat bottles of hooch. I opened it and pulled out something that was not a bottle of hooch. I’d sort of known I would need this silenced pistols, but I’d figured it would be a different situation. I’d sort of decided that if the girl told me that her kidnapper had forcibly raped her I would finish him with a quite one behind the ear. If she had gone willingly, I could let the inmates up in Jackson take care of things. With my two revolvers empty though, I was going to have to use at least one if not both of these guns and I really didn’t want to for this purpose.

 

            “Roll your window down and then get down to the floor.” I told Jill.

 

            She did what she was told quickly and without problem. I slowed enough for Cole’s Durango to get on the right side of my car. He kept turning his wheel like he was going to hit us, only he didn’t. He was just trying to shake me up, which is silly really. I’m a tough guy, and he isn’t. I looked at the other pair of headlights, still far ahead, and then leaned over and pointed the barrel of the silenced automatic at his window. I pulled the trigger once and the bullet went through his side window and punched a big spider webbed crack through his windshield. I put my foot down on the gas as his truck skidded to a halt and if I was right about what I saw in the rear view mirror, ran into a ditch. I patted the seat, looking for the spent shell, but didn’t feel it. It must have flown out the window, because I never did find it. No one else did to my knowledge either. That was okay, that was just fine.

           

            “Okay.” I said setting the pistol in my lap. “You can come up now.”

           

            “Where is he?” She asked, looking behind us.

 

            “Shot his window and caused him to wet himself.” I said.

 

            “What?”

 

            “Yeah,” I said and realized that the truck ahead had pulled up to block the road. “It’s cool. You might want to stay low though.”

 

            I drew up close enough that I could see Dave standing in the road in front of his F150. He had a rifle in his hand, and was calling for me to get out, waving the gun to indicate his intentions. I looked at the gun in my hand and opened the door of the Hudson.

 

            “This won’t take but a moment.” I told Jill.

 

March 4, 2010 Posted by | Fiction, Jack | | Leave a comment

Out of Doors

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March 4, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment