Escaping my hiding place - Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

“Sex is one of the most amazingly personal gifts a person can give;

It should be cherished as such every time this gift is offered”

That night I went to work feeling really strange. On one hand I felt utter shame at the thought of anyone finding out what I had made love to that day, but then also that sense of delight at knowing if I ever actually talked to another human being, and they asked

“So JayJay old chap, still a virgin?”

“Why no Sonny Jim I believe my virginity was taken quite some time ago” I could reply

“That’s delightful news, perhaps we should celebrate with a cup of tea and one of these splendid short bread biskets my mother baked for us” They’re bound to say

“That sounds marvelous, must be sure to thank your mother for offering us such a lovely snack to afternoon tea with, on this such a wonderful day” I could exclaim

I also felt really strange physically. I was badly hung over, my head felt like there was a dodgem car race going on inside. My stomach felt like I had swallowed a rat, and to pay me back it was crawling around trying to make an escape by biting and scratching at my insides. The weirdest thing was I also felt strangely great, warm in the downstairs department. Like I had changed in some way, like I had grown physically into more of a man.

As I sat back at work sipping on a can of Dr Pepper, I began to feel happier and happier about my accomplishment. You know how people say they never forget a face? Well I’m not one of those people. I forget faces, I forget every face. Sometimes I wouldn’t recognize people I had known for years. Sometimes I would see my Dad or one of my brothers and study their face, and think “really, do they really look like that, how have I never noticed that big nose?” or something to that effect. Then they would catch me staring at them and would say “what the fuck are you looking at, you dirty, dirty, dirty little boy, you really are a weird twisted little fuck aren’t you”. Well my brothers wouldn’t say that, they would just punch the crap out of me. But my dad would say something like that.

Usually never remembering faces is a terrible thing. Especially when you’re trying to masturbate over the really cute girl you spotted five minutes ago in the ..seven eleven.., and raced home to turn the image into a fun afternoon, but it was already gone. But when you have just lost your virginity to the ugliest women in the world, not remembering her face is a good thing. I was able to turn the image in my mind to what ever I wanted it to be. I started making her a gorgeous older woman, with her breasts still pert and round, and her body with no hair at all apart from on her head. Then I turned the fantasy into the very cute mother of the guy I hated the most at school. And I had put her away gloriously, and could walk around school every day that he treated me like shit with my head held high saying “who cares what you call me, I have FUCKED your mother!”

I did remember some things. I remembered how good it felt to be inside her. I remembered her moaning as I performed oral sex on her. And I remembered that she had told me over and over again that she thought I was good looking. No one had ever told me that before, and she didn’t have to. It’s not like she only said it because I said it first, I was a long way from saying that to her. And she said it like three or four times. So maybe she actually meant it, maybe I actually was attractive. I had never before had a reason to think of myself as good looking, and suddenly I did, and it felt great.

After a while I began feeling really good about myself. This was going to be the start of something good. I now knew for a fact that at least one woman wanted to sleep with me, if I started taking the chance and actually speak to some girls I could get more, and more, and more and more and more, and nice girls too, and young ones, and really young ones, and only slightly older ones. I could become the Caesar of sex, and have sex with a different person every day. I would walk down the street and beautiful women would come up to me and say

“Aren’t you JayJay Domey? Oh my god I have heard about you, you’re supposed to be the best fuck in the whole city, when can I try you out?”

“Well I am booked solid for the next seventeen nights, but I can fit you in after that, unless of course you would like a morning appointment, in that case I have an opening in nine days” I would be forced to reply.

Then, like a cow wandering on the tracks in front of your train and splattering in a million pieces all over the front of drivers window, leaving so much blood on the glass that the driver cant see his way to drive the train anymore, and on the one day your going somewhere where it’s quite important, the inevitable happened. It should have been as obvious to me as the fact that footballers play football, or Politians politionate, or prostitutes fuck. I was a security guard, I was feeling good, I was me, of course something terrible was going to happen to me that night. And it did, and it was fucking horrible.

You know what; I have yet to tell you what I look like. You must have all sorts of different images in your head. So time to spoil those for you now with the truth. I am reasonably tall now, nearly 5’11. When I was in highschool I was always really short and round, but I had a massive growth spurt after I had graduated.

Apart from making me taller this also made me less fat, which was a good thing, as you can imagine. I still had a fat gut, but I can now see my own penis when I am naked, and I’m lucky enough to know that not only is that a pretty disturbing sight, but I can also tell when I have crap looking shoes on. That is all the time.

I have brown eyes, just brown enough to have no character at all. I have a small upturned nose which gives me a lovely piggish look. Well lovely to all the kids at school who could then tease the short round pig looking boy with nothing more than walking past saying “oink, oink”, oh how amazing their imaginations must have been. They even came up with a really imaginative nick name for me “pork boy”, how did they come up with that one?

I have the worst hair in the world. Well actually not the worst, the worst is when your balding with an egg shaped head and only have the back and sides and a few strands across the top. Compared to those people I can’t complain too much. I have the opposite problem, way too much hair. God must have been passing out the hair one day and made more people bald than he meant to, and he didn’t want left overs so he said just whack it all onto Jason ‘JayJay’ Domey.

I also have this really weird shaped head, all bumpy and uneven. Which means short hair looks ridiculas on me, so I am forced to sport a haircut with some length in it. Thing is my hair is so plentiful that it doesn’t want to fall down over itself, it wants to stick up or out, or in, or over, or somewhere. Whatever some of my hair wants to do you can guarantee the rest of the hair will have different ideas. The political scene on my head must be a nightmare. So many different opinions, and all so outspoken! My head is like two protest groups, one anti abortion and one pro choice all mixed in together. So the result is my style choice is mostly really, really gelled down hair with about five or six clumps that refuse to go anywhere but up. Fucking extreme left wing, anarchist, activist, fascist hairs!

Apart from that I am a pretty average normal looking guy; I don’t stand out for anything much, neither good nor bad. I once actually had a girl come up to me after class at school and say “you know what, if you didn’t frown so much you could actually be cute”, to which I responded to by smiling, as you do. Then she said “actually no, you don’t have that nice a smile”. Thank you - that was delightful of you to pay me such a heartfelt compliment.

So I have lost track now. Oh that’s right I was just telling you how a horrible thing happened to me. You must have been curious to know what it was. People are always curious about things like that. Like when you walk past a crime scene all taped up, with police everywhere, and some kind of lump on the ground with a sheet over it. And you want to know what it is. Is it a weapon used in some crime? Or better still a dead baby or a human head? That would be pretty cool. But you can never find out what it is because cops don’t give out that kind of information. They say “nothing to see here”. “CLEARLY THERE IS SOMETHING TO FUCKING SEE OR YOU WOULD’NT OF THROWN A SHEET OVER IT, WOULD YOU?”

Or maybe police sometimes just show up places, throw a bag of dirt on the ground, throw a sheet over it, and tape up the area then tell all the passing pedestrians that there is nothing to see, just so they can see the disappointment and frustration on their faces. It’s always frustrating to want to know something, think its about to come, and then random mundane useless delays come, and people hold off telling you for no apparent reason, and tell you something else completely uninteresting and unimportant. I hate people like that.

So anyway that night started out just like any other night. I spent the first few hours not doing much but sitting back and dreaming of the now beautiful woman I had made wonderful love to only hours before. After I had done my first few rounds I decided to watch a movie. I had brought in a tape I had made of ‘High Fidelity’, starring John Cusak and Jack Black, one of my all time favorite movies. It’s not that often that star characters in movies are people I can relate to. They’re usually so charismatic and successful, and they save the world from disasters and score with beautiful women. But ‘High Fidelity’s’ main characters are all flawed, and their successes are believable. It gives hope to people like me. So once I took in having to pause it every twenty minutes to do rounds, and all the mucking around in between, by the time the movie was over the night was almost done. I only had one more round to do.

I did my last round as I did them always. First I study all nine security camera images to see if anything is happening. Then I walk out of the office and past the main entrance to check that it’s still solidly shut. Then I walk around the inside of the outside walls of the factory, shining my flash light inwards at all the machines and conveyer belts. Then I poke my head into the men’s and ladies toilets and turn the light switch on for a quick check. Then I walk back through the middle of the factory, shining my flash light all around as I walk back to the security office, lock the door behind me and sigh a huge sigh of relief.

It was my last round of the night and so I was feeling both very tired and relieved to have the night coming to an end. Having had no incidents ever yet in my security career and of course none tonight I was feeling reasonably relaxed, at least for me. However as I came out of the bathrooms I heard a noise at the far end of the factory. At first, surprisingly, I hardly notice it, and didn’t react at all. Then I heard it again. It was footsteps! I stopped and quickly turned off my flash light. “Please, please, please, please don’t have seen that” I whimpered to myself. I was crouching right in the middle of the main walkway - looking all around trying to see what was going on. Then I saw a figure walking behind a big machine!

Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum my heart was beating so hard it sounded like Tommy Lee had taken a night off having sex with women like Pamela Anderson, and had instead decided to bring his drum kit into my factory for a bit of a jam. I was convinced that anybody else in that factory would be able to hear it clearly.

Upon this confirmation that there was at least one other person in the factory with me I knew I had to spring into action. I jumped to my feet and ran to my left towards a conveyer belt. Bringing up images of Olympic gymnastics I launched myself at the belt hands first and sprung up into the air. Gracefully I soured as I did a full somersault with half twist before landing face first into the rock hard concrete. I looked back up over the belt quickly as blood started to drip down my face. After being reasonably sure that no one was heading in my direction to get me, at least not yet, I crawled underneath one of the big cling wrap makers.

There I proceeded to crunch up into the fetal position and rock back and forth and began to shake like a leaf in a hurricane. I touched my hand to my face and looked at it, even in the dark I could see how much blood was on it. This made me desperately need to throw up at the site of this horrible injury, but I just couldn’t risk making that much noise. So instead I went through a series of wrenching just in my stomach and throat without coughing. Suddenly the vomit came up, just into my mouth and I held it there briefly tasting the foul mix of my last peanut butter sandwich and the spaghetti bolognaise I had eaten earlier. I then had to get it out quietly, so let it drip out of my mouth slowly next to me on the ground. As it all came out there was a strand of undigested spaghetti hanging from my mouth. I pulled at it to get it free, and discovered that half of it was still caught in my throat. The feeling of it sliding up as I pulled was so intensely gross that it made me suddenly bring up another big pile of vomit into my mouth, which I spat out on top of the last pile. It began to stink awfully badly and I pushed myself deeper into the crawl space I was in to get away from it.

I lay there, still in the fetal position, still rocking back and forth, holding my hands together in a pray like manner. I stayed like that for what felt like twenty minutes listening to all sorts of banging noises going on from all corners of the factory. All of a sudden footsteps sounded really close to me and stopped! Then another couple of steps and stopped. I could tell he was really close to me - and obviously looking for something, but did he already know that I was here?

I had to be quite, no noise at all. So I tried to breathe as slowly and as quietly as possible, iiiiinnnn then ooooouuuttt. Unfortunately I started to breath so slow that I ran out of breath and then started breathing heavily to catch my breath. How cruelly ironic, one of the quietest people in the world suddenly forgets how to be quiet at the first moment of his life when quietness would be a huge asset rather than a huge disability.

This shadowy figure was obviously looking for something specific; I could tell by the way he would take a few light steps then stop for a while, then a few more steps and stop. Like he was looking into every nook and cranny he passed.

I had images running through my imagination of a face suddenly appearing before me and being dragged out like a slaughtered bull after a bullfight, and just like the bull, sliced up into little pieces. After concluding to myself that being found was now inevitable I made the decision that I was not going to go down like that. Not this Kid!

So slowly, as quietly as I could, I pulled my gun out of its holster. Then I moved it up out in front of me and then up under my chin. There I sat, eyes wide open, determined that if a face appeared in front of me I would pull the trigger and take my chances with god and the devil. Unfortunately in my fear I had forgotten that I wasn’t actually allowed live ammunition due to my inexperience, and only had a gun to use in a threatening manner or fire blanks as warning shots. So what I was planning to commit suicide with was actually nothing but a glorified cap gun.

I have no idea how long I stayed in that position because at some point my fear and head injuries caused me to pass out. The next thing I remember was waking up in a manner like thunder and launching up into the air, slamming my head hard in the edge of one of the parts of the machine, with a metallic crunch which I could feel shiver its way through my entire body. As I grabbed at my head in amazing pain, I became aware of a figure standing in front of me and I flinched and started to grab for my gun as my eyes came into focus.

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

“To find true happiness – don’t look at the possessions in your house;

Look only at the possessions in your heart!”

After I moved things started to improve for me. I suddenly had nearly three extra hours a day to spend on fun stuff. Seeing as I didn’t know anything fun to do by myself, I decided that maybe I should use the three hours to do something useful. Seeing as I didn’t know anything or anyone I could be of use to, I thought why not be of use to me. So I thought maybe I should get fit. If I was fit maybe I wouldn’t even be ugly any more, I could be just not very good looking.

So I started going for runs every day after work in the morning. It was a beautiful time to be out. Even in a shit-hole area like where I lived. Things seemed hopeful in the mornings. People were on their way to work, where as my day was over. I got to have people envious of me for the first time in my life. Even if they didn’t know it, I knew it and that was good enough for me.

I got to see people out on the streets, not just the vagrants and prostitutes, and the prostitutes’ clients late at night. But normal people. Young people. Sometimes even attractive girls. Often I would see other people out for jogs or walks and they would smile at me or say hello. That was great, it had been years since a stranger said hello to me, now it happened nearly everyday. I had become part of a group. My first group! I didn’t know any of their names, but I saw them regularly, and they seemed happy to see me.

Also I began to lose weight. I couldn’t afford scales, but I could feel it coming off. I stopped drinking ten Dr Peppers a day and cut back to two or three. I started eating sandwiches at work instead of donuts and chocolate bars. I started to cook at home instead of pizza or Chinese food every night. My health improved out of site, my skin looked better, all of me looked better. It was wonderful.

After a while I even began to appreciate work. I mean what else would I rather be doing? I had been there nearly a year; there wasn’t even a hint of a robbery. So I started to calm down a bit. I started to take videos in and watch them through the night, and only spend twenty minutes or so on porn, instead of the old six hours. And I felt good on my way home, like I had achieved something, actual job satisfaction.

As time went by I got to the point where I made the decision that it was about time I started to introduce other people into my life.

It had been years since I had had a friend, and never even a hint of a girlfriend, but I was ready, I just didn’t know how to go about it. So after much thought I did what lots of really shy gutless people do when they want company, and I put an ad in the ‘looking for love column’ in the local paper.

After reading 50 other peoples ads and racking my brain for hours I was able to come up with this.

20 Year old Single White Male

looking for some companionship.

I work nights so someone who

can meet in the day time preferred.

.. ..

Once you have put an ad in, people could call up and leave a message in your inbox, and then you can call up and retrieve them. I waited two days after my ad went in and called up my box. “You h ave z e ro me ss ages” The computer generated voice jerked out at me. Zero! Are you fucking kidding me?

So I immediately gave up on that. Stupid idea anyway. That was the stupidest thing I had done since year ten when I said hello to the one gay guy at school out of the closet, and spent the next eighteen months hearing the same line five times a day “Jason and James, sitting in a tree, S-U-C-K-I-N-G-E-A-C-H-O-T-H-E-R-S-D-I-C-K-S”. Hilarious isn’t it? I mean what joke isn’t still as funny the seventeen thousandth, nine hundred and sixty third time you hear it?

I began to feel a bit embarrassed that I had even thought of looking for love this way, but I at least felt lucky that unlike school there was nobody around to pay me out about it. Not having a circle of friends does actually have its up point occasionally.

So I spent a couple of weeks feeling as lonely as ever. Until one day I was shoveling through the huge pile of rubbish on my floor and found my ad. I thought “fuck it! I may aswell call one more time”. And to my surprise, I called up and heard “y ou h ave eigh t new me ssag es”. Eight! That’s pretty bloody good.

So I had a listen.

Message 1 “Hi my name is Jessie, I am an 18 year old single mum, don’t worry I am not looking for a new dad, looking for a long term relationship, nothing casual, if you’re interested call me”.

Message 2 “Hi my name is Michelle, I am a 21 year old single mum looking for someone to spend the rest of my life with. Don’t worry I’m not looking for a new dad, my son has one already. If you like what you hear, call me”.

Message 3 “Hi my name is Kathy, I am a slightly chubby, 5’1 size 22 single mum. Hoping to find my soul mate, no one night stands. If your interested call me, and by the way don’t worry, I’m not looking for a new father for my children”.

Message 4 “Hi this is Jess, I think I might have sent you a message already, but if I haven’t I am 18, a single mum, don’t worry not looking for a new dad, just looking for someone to spend the rest of my life with. Please call me”.

Message 5 “Hi My name is Gloria, I am 63 year old, still looking sexy for my age, looking for some younger guys to have fun in the bedroom with, if you like older women, call me”.

Message 6 “Hi my name is Meredith, I am a 19 year old mother of four young kids, don’t worry they have dads. I am sick of one night stands, had so many. I am ready to settle down with someone forever. Call me”.

Message 7 “Hi my name is Nadia, I am a single mum in her early 20’s, not looking for a new dad, they have one, not looking for casual sex, I get that fine myself, just looking for a sweet guy to be the love of my life”.

Message 8 “ Hi my name is Karen, I am a lonely 43 year old house wife, my husband is not interested in sex anymore and I am horny as hell, want to meet in the day for regular hot steamy sex, if your cock is hard, call me soon”.

Hhhhhhhhhhmmmmmm. What to make of that. Well first thing “HOW CAN YOU BE LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WITH AND NOT BE LOOKING FOR THEM TO BE A FATHER FOR YOUR CHILD!” Stupid skanks. Second thought, if I ever become a single mum looking for love, I should make sure any time I meet a guy I should say “what I am really looking for is a new dad for my bubs”. At least that would stand me out from the crowd.

Thought three! Gloria, aaaaaawwwwwweeggggghhhhhh, you fowl disgusting woman.

Thought four! Hmm I wonder how old 43 really is? I started to rack my brain for where I knew some women in their forties. I thought of not bad forty somethings like Meg Ryan or Elle Machpherson. Then it hit me, the over 40 and fantastic edition of playboy at work.

That night I pulled porno magazines all over the floor till I found it, and WOW, I mean not as nice as most of the 21 year olds in there, but not bloody bad. So I gave Karen a call, and we arranged for her to come to my place for sex.

YES. My place for sex! A woman is coming to my place for sex! A woooMAN is COMing to MY Place for SEX! I sang it. I whispered it. I yelled it out the window. I thought about it day and night for two days until she came.

It started with the knock on my door. I slowly opened it, and standing before me was the ugliest women I had ever seen in my entire life. “NO WONDER YOUR HUSBAND ISNT INTERESTED IN SEX ANYMORE” I screamed at my brain.

“Hi I’m Karen, how are you”

“Hi, Jason, I’m good” I mumbled

“What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do” I rambled to the voice in my head

“Come in, I guess” I finally said

Karen was 43, well she said she was, but if that’s what 43 looks like then most of the women in their sixties I have encountered in my life were really lying and only 43. She was fat, not really, really fat, but fat enough. She had a really wrinkly face, which looked old and worn out. She had way, way too much make up on, and you could see the grey roots in her hair line with dark black short hair above. She had on a red short dress which showed off her flabby legs and drooping breasts. But worst of all, and I mean worst of all of any human being in the whole wide world, she had a hair growing out of a mole on her neck which was at least eight inches long, all wriggly curly and sticking straight out. It was like the hair inside of her had found the vessel it was growing out of so hideous it had to escape what ever the cost, but had a much, much longer tail than it thought it had, but yet it pushed on. I almost admired it, so much dedication. This woman was about as attractive as watching your grandmother have sex with a bulldog, and oh my god why on earth did my brain just put that image into my head?

“How should we do this…….Just get straight into it” She finally said after a long silence.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my

God oh my god oh my god” I rambled to my head again

“O…..K” I replied.

With that she proceeded to put her hand behind her back, unzip her dress and slip out of it onto the floor. No underwear underneath - and I thought she looked bad with clothes on!

This was the first live, in the flesh, naked women I had seen. And I started from the absolute bottom of the garbage dump. First thing I noticed was that a 43 year olds woman’s breasts don’t look like girls from Playboy. They don’t look like breasts. They look like two big flaps of skin falling from the chest. Also a 43 year old woman’s vagina doesn’t look like a Playboy vagina. For starters in the magazines the pubic hair is all shaved or neat and trimmed. Hers went nearly all the way to her belly button and was about as bushy as the Amazon. But the worst thing I discovered, now that she was naked, was that the neck hair wasn’t the only hair trying to escape from her through a mole, there were numerous others making their dashing attempt from the milky way of moles to choose from on her body. She was about as nice to look at as a dirty sewer rat in a blender. Then as I was thinking this it hit me, I invited her over, I invited her in, I agreed that we should just “get to it”, I had to go through with this.

About this time she made a move towards me. I thought fast and said

“First the lights”

Thank the lord in heaven above us all for spray painting the window. It was now pitch black. I then summoned up all my twenty years of sexual frustration and fantasies, and just as she began to kiss me and grab me, I started to bring a collage of images in my head from my favorite celebrities, to about ten of my favorite girls I knew from porno magazines. I let myself go and just went for it. I blocked out the hideous image of her from my head and just concentrated on my collage of beauties and just on how it felt.

Soon we were on the bed and she was tugging off my clothes and kissing me all over. It began to feel kind of nice. I began to get semi-aroused and at about that time felt a warm wet sensation on my penis. It was her mouth and she was sliding it in and out, and it actually felt great. I lay my head back and began to enjoy it. I was even starting to feel like I was going to cum soon, until she then suddenly stopped and said “hang on”.

My eyes were shut but I felt the heat of the lamp coming to life by the warmth on my skin. I looked up just as she was returning to position and was holding my cock in front of the long hair on her neck. Holding it in her old wrinkly hands - which suddenly reminded me of my mothers. I gagged.

“Can we please leave the light off please” I said

“Can you please morph into a woman who won’t make me vomit if I have to look at her anymore please” I thought

“I’m shy” I said, hey I didn’t even have to lie

“Sure if that’s the way you like it, it’s a shame though, you are such a cute young boy” she replied

I reached over and switched it off. By this time I had gone completely soft downstairs. Karen rubbed it a bit but it wasn’t going anywhere. Then I felt her crawling over me before suddenly getting a huge pile of hair shoved in my mouth. After realizing what it was I stuck out my tongue and she began to grind herself on my face. Eventually my tongue wriggled its way into her labia lips and I suddenly got a taste of the sour slimy fishy juice coming out of her.

She began to moan loudly and grind harder and faster, while my face was getting scrubbed by her pubic hair. Then when I thought I could handle this no more she suddenly stopped and said

“Right now my gorgeous young lover, you’re going to get fucked”

I had dreamed of someone saying something like that to me for years. I never imagined it could be with someone so incredibly unattractive, but it still somehow turned me on immensely. She crawled back down my body as my cock was springing back to attention. I felt her callused hand grab it before the wet warmth of it sliding inside of her. She started to ride me up and down and it felt unbelievably good. After only about thirty seconds I felt that familiar sensation build up inside of me and exploded my reproductive fluids inside of her. She sat there like that for about thirty seconds more, just with me inside of her. Then she sighed, got up, turned the light on, and began to put on her dress. Before I knew it she was at the front door dressed and saying to give her a call sometime. As she walked out I could see a stream of my cum dripping down her leg.

I didn’t say anything as she walked out, but she stopped herself briefly a couple of times as she walked to the door, like she was going to say something, but then didn’t. As she opened the door she finally turned to me to say something, and said “You really are a handsome boy Jason, I think one day you will make a women much closer to your age very happy”, then she walked out and let the door close behind her, and she was gone.

I sat on the bed for a few moments contemplating what I had just done, I wasn’t sure if I felt good or bad about it, but then that long neck hair flashed back to my brain, and was just not willing to leave my thoughts, and there was only one thing I could think to do to blur this image in my minds eye. So I jumped out of bed, walked the two steps to the kitchen and grabbed a box of wine from the fridge. I then poured as much as I could into the biggest cup I had, and downed it in about three seconds. I repeated this three more times until I started feeling incredibly bloated and started to get the wave of dizziness straight away. I quickly stumbled to my bed and collapsed and passed out in about two minutes, with just one thought on my mind “Please god let her have been through menopause already”, which is not something most guys are thinking just after losing their virginity, but that was one women I particularly hoped I had not impregnated.

As I slept I had the most visually detailed dream of my life. I was walking down a dark foggy forest trail. I was completely naked and there was angry looking ugly dog like creatures lining the path. They were all growling and showing their sharp angry teeth dripping with saliva. I was scared to death, but not embarrassed about being naked for some reason. Until suddenly they all became cartoon like, jumped up on their hind legs, put one hand over their mouths and one out pointing at me, and proceeded to giggle like little school girls. Suddenly my embarrassment hit me like a runaway hippopotamus and I began to run. But as far and as fast as I ran I couldn’t get away from them, so I ran and ran and ran and ran. Then finally saw a light and ran towards it. It got closer and closer until I ran right into it, and was suddenly out in a bright green large open field.

Then I jumped out of the bed, ran to the sink and vomited about five litters of red wine and stomach acid. It kept coming and coming, bright red! I suddenly began to panic that I was no longer vomiting red wine and had moved onto blood. This made me gag harder, and it still came. It was without doubt the most I have ever vomited. I finally stopped and slumped to the floor, still naked, with vomit and saliva running down my chin onto my chest. I suddenly realized what I had done that morning.

“I fucked the ugliest women in the world’ I mumbled out loud to myself, with a groan and a frown.

Then I suddenly grinned a little.

“I’m not a virgin anymore” I said, louder and clearer than my grumble.

Then my smile widened

“I’M NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE!”

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter Two

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ESCAPING

MY HIDING

PLACE

By

David Tieck

CHAPTER ONE

“Sometimes when the mouse is in his hole he is simply hiding from the cat;

Sometimes however, he is in his hole scheming to get the cheese!”

.. ..

.. ..

Drunk with happiness! Like a rookie sailor landing in Amsterdam, about to have his first night on land after six long months at sea, with a bottle of rum in his hand, a thousand dollars in saved wages in his back pocket and more than a thousand red lighted windows to choose between.

.. ..

Serene! Like dancing in a field of sunflowers with birds singing all around and a majestic snow capped mountain casting a shadow over the field to provide protection from the cloudless sun streaked sky.

.. ..

Divine! Like angels floating over the Tuscan country side, and over the sky bound peaks of the church towers in ....Florence...., Sienna and San Giminango.

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Filled with light! Like a Broadway star standing in the spotlight, receiving a standing ovation after his most accomplished performance ever. Hands outstretched soaking in the glory of being so loved.

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Energy bursting at the seams! Like a millionaire standing at the starting line at the running of the bulls in ....Pamplona.... about to fulfill yet another of his life long dreams. Heart pumping, adrenalin flowing, but with that feeling deep down below that he will be a success at this, because he has been at everything else he has tried.

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Smiling! Constantly and consistently like the sunrise, filling the world with amazing colors, every morning, always different from the time before, but always beautiful and often breathtaking.

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These were all ways in which someone absolutely without doubt could NOT describe my life.

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Drunk! I was drunk with cheap red wine, the only alcohol I could afford to drink with enough excess so that I started to see red lights everywhere I looked as I stumbled to find something resembling my bed which I could lay down on, so as not to pass out on the bathroom floor again.

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Serene! I was serene like the constant sounds of bums yelling out gibberish in front of my ground floor apartment window about the world ending, and a how evil spirits were constantly telling them to kill everyone and destroy everything, while there hands were held out hoping to scrape together enough five cent pieces to afford one more hit of what ever drug they were killing themselves with this week.

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Divine! I was divine like the hell hole of the of the neighborhood I lived in, filled with drug addicts, ugly diseased ridden prostitutes, where the devil himself could walk down the street and the only people that would notice would be the drug dealers thinking they had found another customer to destroy the lives of.

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Filled with light! I was filled with light like the Broadway understudy hiding in the dark, dark corner of the back stage being forced to move every five minutes as stage hands moved scenery back and forth past him, watching the less talented but more famous star hog all the attention and accolades once again.

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Energy! I had energy like the teenager on his end of high school adventure, lying in a hospital bed in ....Pamplona.... after being gorged by a bull, trying to figure out if the doctor standing over him speaking Spanish really was telling him that his spine had been destroyed and he would never walk again.

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Smiling! I was smiling like the middle aged house wife coming home to find out that her only child, the light of her life, was murdered, and the killer was her only friend, her husband, and every single thing in the world that mattered to her was gone forever. I smiled so infrequently that it literally hurt my face to bring those muscles into action.

.. ..

These weren’t words to describe me. I used words such as alone, lonely, depressed, low, down and miserable. I felt like a living man in a coffin lying at the bottom of a grave, as a lone graveyard worker starts to shovel dirt on top. Not caring enough to scream or fight my way free. I didn’t want to die, I wasn’t suicidal, but I didn’t care if I lived either.

.. ..

However I had had enough of living that way. I needed to change. I needed to find love. I needed to set goals and achieve them. I needed to find something to be passionate about. I needed to find a reason to wake up in the morning, rather than lying awake all the time wishing I could sleep. I needed to find a reason to leave my apartment and my neighborhood and go to where good things happened and good people frequented.

.. ..

My name is Jason or JayJay to my friends. Well I wouldn’t describe my acquaintances as friends. Really I was only JayJay to my family. My dad’s name is also Jason, and so my family refused to call me Jason. They called me Junior. I hated it. I couldn’t help to think that everyone was laughing at me about it all the time. I don’t know why, I guess I was just paranoid; or just really pessimistic back then.

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Eventually I one day yelled “ENOUGH!” And told my parents and two older brothers that under no circumstances would I ever respond to the name Junior ever again! After years of teasing my brothers finally felt some pity for me.

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This didn’t last long. They all began to come up with other funny things they could call me. Things like ‘little dad’, ‘the young one’, ‘piglet’ and ‘the brother formerly known as junior’. All the while my pleas to simply be called Jason were ignored. Then my oldest brother Michael, yelled out “how about JayJay?” It was meant to be a tease name. But then they all seemed to like it, and it stuck.

.. ..

I hated having another tease name. But secretly I thought it was a pretty cool sounding name. These days you can tell what kind of frame of mind I was in when I met someone by what name they call me. If they call me Jason it means when I met them I was down and depressed and had low self esteem. If they call me JayJay it means I was on a better day and wanting to be cool. Therefore pretty much everyone I knew called me Jason, except my family; to them it was JayJay, often followed by giggles. Although in hindsight I think that their ability to find a crap joke still funny the three thousandth time they heard it is probably more a commentary on their intelligence than their cruelty.

.. ..

In school I was outgoing and popular, one of those boys who everyone from every year seemed to know, I was intelligent and athletic, and a natural leader, so people liked me.

.. ..

However about year eight or nine puberty started to really take hold of the classrooms, and around that time my true inner shyness started to come out, and my popularity plummeted.

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This was largely brought on by my complete inability to talk to girls in any way shape or form; I in fact knew how many times in total I had exchanged more than two sentences each way with a girl by the time I graduated high school. Four! That’s it. I even still remember them.

.. ..

The first - a girl in my class asked if she could borrow a pen, I replied “blue or black?” she replied “I don’t know, what have you got”. I held up two pens and said “this one and this one”. She then said “that one” pointing to the pen in my left hand. My favorite pen! I never saw it again, and was too shy to ask for it back.

.. ..

Second time was at lunch. A girl who I had a huge, huge crush on actually came up to talk to me. As soon as she came my way I began to panic about what was about to happen. Then she said “you’re sort of friends with Josh aren’t you?”, “yeah I guess” I replied. “Well you don’t happen to know if he likes me do you?” She asked. “No, I don’t” I replied. “You dirty slut” I thought.

.. ..

The next one would have been quite a nothing experience for most people but for me was quite special. One day when I was front in line at the school cafeteria a girl came up to me, and sort of flirted with me to try and get me to get her food for her. This I did graciously. Even though I think my two sentences in that exchange were “Oh” and “Ok, I will”.

The last one was a girl in my English class; some would argue the hottest girl in our school. She actually went on to become a part time model, and I have heard a rumor that this progressed to porn movies, I’d love for that to be true, I really hated her guts, and it would be one I would have up on her, plus I’d love to watch of course, she was hot.

.. ..

Well anyway once in class she was due to go next in a speech we each had to present for the class. I was scheduled to go after her, and the class was coming to an end which meant I was suddenly a huge chance of not having to do mine that day. It turned out she had the same thoughts. She didn’t just not want to go next she couldn’t, she hadn’t done the work!

.. ..

So when the teacher announced to the class she would be next, and I would go first the next day, she also used the standard attractive female method of trying to talk a guy into doing something for them and went the flirt route to get me to switch places with her. She was nice to me, and gave me sexy eyes, and promised she would be really nice to me forever if I switched.

.. ..

What she didn’t realize is unlike most guys in the world, my shyness actually well beat out my horniness. Not that I wasn’t horny, I was horny as all hell. It was just that my horniness just couldn’t compete with the awesome strength of my shyness. My shyness was like the best of the best of all sportsmen ever. It was the Muhammad Ali or Michael Jordon of emotions. It could beat horny, flog happy, and shit all over desire.

.. ..

She obviously wasn’t used to someone who could overcome their horniness for her so categorically, so she continued to ask, she pleaded, she begged. She begged like a dog begs for a doggy biscuit to get the taste of its own balls off its tongue. In the end not only did I pull away from number three to a personal best number four, but she failed her speech, I didn’t have to do my speech till the next day (when I failed), but I also had a great memory for those lonely nights in my room alone. This was of course every night. What a great day!

.. ..

The second reason my popularity went off the balcony was the fact that all the boys changed from sports mad lads who you could have an innocent game of WWF wrestling with, with only the occasional broken arm, into sex mad sex feigns who thought and talked only about sex. I just couldn’t relate to them anymore. I mean I was a sex mad sex feign as well, but I was uncomfortable expressing it the way my friends were. Like when a mate would turn to me and say, “Did you see Jenny Browns ass in those jeans today, god I’d love to get my cock up that ass”. I didn’t want my cock up any ass, let alone want to tell people about it. So I drifted apart from all my friends, and one lunch time I actually succumbed to the fact that I simply didn’t have a single person who I could spend the break with, I didn’t even have someone who I could say hello to.

.. ..

My other problem was that I had frequent unpredictable spontaneous erections. Actually you could predict them; it was basically all the time. I pretty much had one long erection from the age of fourteen till I was twenty. Well long in time anyway.

.. ..

Unfortunately for me I came up with a theory early in my erection days that maybe having my penis causing deja-vu to all the campers in the school would lead to the false conclusion that I actually had more manhood than god had naturally blessed me with. This didn’t work. A fourteen year olds erection in his pants looks like a small erect penis, not a large flaccid one. As I’m sure you can imagine this obviously lead to much laughing and teasing. Teasing my favorite! So the rest of my high school life I spent avoiding people, holding books in front of myself, or jumpers, or food, or foliage. And I couldn’t wait to get out. I had no friends, and stayed in touch with no one after school ended.

.. ..

So what do you do when you end school? It’s either work or more school. My social skills were still way too underdeveloped to consider the rat race. So instead I reluctantly found my self enlisting to crawl through the social minefield of the university campus. Fortunately my academic skills meant getting into university was quite easy.

.. ..

Unfortunately I decided to take the expert advice of Jason Senior and I resisted the temptation to try and pursue a career that I could possible enjoy or even love, and decided on a Bachelor of Economics. This, I was told, would provide me with the greatest opportunity to apply for a large variety of equally boring jobs upon graduation.

.. ..

Fortunately and unfortunately however, it didn’t come to that. Instead I struggled enormously at university. I struggled like a heterosexual homophobic young man struggles when two not quite heterosexual young men grab hold of him, kiss his cheek, and tell him that they are about to show him something new. It was just something that wasn’t ever going to work for me.

.. ..

For one thing it was way too people intense for me. It started off with us having to turn to the person on either side of us and introduce ourselves and talk about ourselves a little bit. The shy man’s worst nightmare; and this happened in every class and every lecture. By the forth or fifth time, I had managed to get my routine extended out as long as I could, and had mastered it, and I was able to get out “hi my names Jason”. But I was far from comfortable saying even that.

.. ..

Then with that ordeal semi-successfully completed they gave us the terrible awful news. Every subject had at least one speech, to be given in front of many, many people, and/or a group assignment with two or three of the other somehow amazingly confident people in the class. On top of that, in tutorials we were expected to contribute to class discussion and this discussion would count towards our final grade. That was not going to work for me. I would rather if they had said, “each class will require students to stick needles into their private parts”, at least that would be something I thought I was capable of.

.. ..

Basically I ended up going to very little class. Damn shyness, it really can be a curse. So I lost marks on not being at class, let alone contributing to the discussion. I mumbled out a very, very, very ordinary speech (about the economic multiplier effect on macroeconomic forces, and how that affects microeconomic forces and small business’s and therefore consumers; sound entertaining!), in front of about a hundred sniggering colleagues, before leaving the stage as red and as sweaty as a fat man who has spent five hours in a tomato fight. I skipped my second speech altogether and got only a slightly worse mark than my first speech. I joined three group assignments, contributing very little, unsuccessfully attempting to ride the more outgoing and academically gifted group member’s waves to good marks.

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Then at the end of the first semester I opened up my results envelope and said eight F words. Subject 1 Microeconomic theory, “fail, FUCK!” Subject 2 Macroeconomic theory “fail, FUCK!” Subject 3 Economic Statistics, “fail, FUCK!” Subject 4 Economic History, “fail, FUCK!”

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After about 20 minutes lying on the floor hyperventilating I suddenly felt calm. Then a slight hint of joy. Then a smile appeared on my face. “I’ve failed out of school; I don’t have to go back next semester, I DON’T HAVE TO GO BACK TO FUCKING SCHOOL NEXT SEMESTER, I’M FREE, I’M FREE”.

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This surreal feeling enabled me to tell my parents much easier than I thought would be possible. And as usual they knew just how to bring me back plummeting to earth and splatter all over the footpath. “Ok son well I guess you will be getting a job then” my dad responded. “A job who said anything about a fucking job” I thought “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, and fuck!”

I am also uploading this novel at myspace.com/afleetingforever if you want to leave and read comments check it out there too, and please tell your friends, your enemies too for that matter.

This might be my new blog space

Or it might be ten minutes of wasted set up time, the suspense is killing no one, just like cotton balls