#can you tell my ass never travels down south across the border

[heartsofhounds]

Alright so.. I am so curious

How are y'all interpreting Dahlia? Like what does the actual location look like to you?

[serendipityjxmn]

I Hate You, Park Jimin!

Chapter 10

Words Count: 2.9k

TW: Smut!

Link to Chapter 9

Link to Chapter 11

“This is my apartment.” He said as the door closed behind us.

“Jimin..”

“Hmm?”

“You’re rich.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Uh... thanks?”

“No, I mean, you’re rich rich.”

I felt my eyes were about to sprung out of the socket, trying to rake in the mesmerising view in front of me.

He chuckled. “Why, thank you for the.. redundant information.”

I stood still, still taking in the view when suddenly, I felt his hot breath behind my neck. He nuzzled my neck as his hands started at my arms and went on towards my sternum. I drew a breath. He barely touched me but I was already a hot mess.

“Why don’t we... continue our interrupted progress..” he whispered seductively to my ears.

I bit my lip trying to contain my moan. “Jimin, ah- I am ah- wet.” He went on to kiss my shoulder and sucked on my neck while his hands started to travel lower, onto my breast.

“I can make you even more.. wet.” He whispered and I shuddered.

He groped my breasts hard and my breath started to get uneven. I felt my legs going weaker. He was pressing against me from behind and I could feel his hardened member against my ass.

“Hhng- Jimin no..” My words came out like a scattered mess. His hands continued to head south and stopped to grab the hem of my wet shirt.

“No what? Hmm?” He whispered against my ears making my whole body tingle. He tugged the hem of my shirt and slowly lifted it above my head. He continued to massage my breast while his lips planted wet kisses all over my shoulders and my back. I moaned under his touch. “Do you know how hot you look right now?”

“Jimin ah..”

He bit my neck and I shuddered from the sensation. “Hmm? Yes baby?” His term of endearment sent tingles coursing through my body again. I swore I could hit an orgasm just by hearing his voice. “I hate and love it both at the same time when you wear skirts like this.”

I was confused but it wasn’t for long as his hands went down further and rid my skirt up, half exposing my ass and my panties. His hands slid smoothly in front of me until his fingers grazed my clothed core. I felt my legs go even weaker so I had to hold his waist in order not to collapse.

I was unprepared for his swift movements as his fingers pulled my panties aside, leaving me naked- down there. I gasped and unconsciously arched my body from the arousal that’s consuming me.

He continued to tease me as his fingers circled my clit, grazing it up and down slowly. I felt myself shudder from the unfamiliar yet pleasing feeling.

“Shit- Jimin don’t tease me.” I begged as his fingers continued its torturous act.

I could sense him smirking behind me. He licked my neck and then I just lost it. I pulled his hand, stopping his act and in a swift movement, swivelled him in front of me so that he was now facing me.

He was surprised at my sudden act. I stared down at him lustfully. Screw everything. Screw the border line I made. Screw the walls I built. Right now, I just want him and I’ve had enough of him teasing me.

I pushed his shoulders lightly until he was seated on his sofa. I stared down at him while he responded with a look full of anticipation of my next moves. I had no idea where the courage came from but I stripped myself out of my skirt in front of him. He drew a breath as he took in the sight of me in just my bra and my panties.

I was sure my face was completely red in embarrassment but I was feeling too hot to care. I leaned down and straddled Jimin, my knees on either side of his thigh. I almost moaned in pleasure when I felt the contact between my clit and his hardened member beneath me. He groaned beneath me too but he didn’t touch me.

Oh fuck Jimin. He wants to win. I didn’t want to lose either but I caved when he stared at me hungrily, full of lust. I pressed my lips against his and he kissed me back immediately. Then I felt his hands moved towards my waist, gripping them firmly. The kiss was too passionate and when he finally broke the kiss, we were both gasping for air. He leaned his forehead against mine.

“Hana..” he called me softly.

“Yes-“ I whispered, still breathless.

“Fuck- you’re driving me insane.” He said in a low voice, almost growling. He pressed his lips again against mine. I kissed him back but he released me almost immediately. “Come, I’ll take you somewhere else.” Before I could say anything, he held me firmly by the ass, my legs wrapped around his waist. Our lips completely locked in each other as he brought me across the room. I had no idea where he was taking me as I was too drunk in his kiss, my fingers in his hairs.

He then gently placed me down at the edge of a bed. I looked around. He took me to his bedroom! I was once again in awe with the interior of it. His bed was basically large enough to fit six people. Why do one person needs so much space?

I shuddered, feeling a little cold from being naked and the effect of being in the rain just now.

Jimin realized this. “Cold babe?”

I nodded.

He leaned down, his face only inches from mine as he placed his hands on the bed, each beside me. He then whispered into my ears, “Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up soon.”

The illicit promise in his voice sent shivers coursing through me. I closed my eyes trying to keep myself from moaning merely at his words!

He smirked as he stood back up. Fuck Jimin and his seducing skill.

I then realized that Jimin was still fully clothed. He looked delicious as his wet shirt stuck on his toned body. As if reading my mind, he smirked and started to unbutton his shirt slowly.

I gulped. I mentally fanned myself at the sight in front of me. The divinely handsome man that is Park Jimin was stripping in front of me. He threw his shirt on the floor and licked his lips before leaning down to attack me with wet kisses.

He began with my lips and I was thrown back on the bed as he worked his kisses down on my neck and my chest. I felt his hands went to my back and he managed to unclasp my bra within seconds. He looked up at me as if asking for silent permission. I didn’t say anything but I locked my gaze with him as my hands slowly slid my bra off me.

His eyes slowly darted lower towards my breast. He sucked in a huge breath. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered before attacking my breast. He groped, fumbled, licked and sucked my breasts so good I unconsciously arched my back, my arms wrapped around his head, pulling him closer towards my chest. I could feel the wetness pooling down there.

He had fun playing with my breasts but I was a wrecking mess beneath him. The arousal he caused me was slowly building up and I was desperate to close my legs to create some friction but I couldn’t because he was between me. So I bucked my hips towards him, wrapped my legs firmly on his waist and started grinding myself against his erection.

He lets out a groan and I could tell that I now got his attention. He stopped attacking my breast and leaned backwards slightly to catch a good look at my face. He stared at me and I blushed widely.

“You’re making me go crazy.” He said in a cracked voice and swiftly unwrapped my legs from around his waist. He hooked his hands on my panties but paused for a few moments as his eyes searched mine. “Are you sure about this?”

I stilled for a moment, processing his words. Am I? Am I willing to give this to Jimin? Am I really ready for this? I know for a fact that we were not tied in a relationship and this could merely be a one off thing with him. But it was too late to stop now. I am far too aroused to stop. Jimin knew what he was doing. His sexpertise, his skills and absolute touch made me crave for more. Losing it to someone who knew what he was doing might not be a bad idea.

So I slowly nodded in response to him.

He smiled fondly at me before leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on my lips. “I’ll do you so good you won’t ever regret this.” His words again sent shiver down my spine. How could he be so.. seductive and sexy?

Immediately, he pulled my panties down and I blushed as the fact that I am now completely naked in front of Park Jimin registered into my brain.

“God- you are so stunning.” He said lustfully as his fingers traced teasing lines up and down my thigh. It moved further upwards till it reached the apex of my thigh. The sight of Jimin in between my legs was so arousing I could not possibly be more wet than I am now.

“You’re so wet for me.” His voice low and alluring. His fingers then grazed my clit, making a moan escape my mouth. He continued to rub circles on my clit and I tilted my head back, body arched from the sensation.

Then, without warning, he inserted a digit into me and I gasped from the sudden penetration. He then proceeded to insert another digit into me and I moaned loudly. He plunged his fingers up to the hilt inside me and my body shuddered from the erotic pleasure.

“Ahh- Jimin-“

He started to thrust his fingers into rhythm inside me and I was sure I wouldn’t last long. My feet curled and my fingers gripped the bed sheets tightly. “Moan my name baby.”

“Ahh Jimin ah... it feel so good.. fuck- there! God- Jimin-“ I cried as he hit my G-spot and with few more thrust of his fingers I felt myself reaching climax.

“Come, Hana. Come for me.” He ordered. He increased his pace, thrusting further into me until I felt my whole body convulsing and I cried his name as the surge of orgasm took over me. It was a feeling of pleasure I had never known before.

He slowly pulled out his fingers and I saw my juice dripping from it. I bit my lip in embarrassment although I was still breathless from just having experienced an orgasm.

“That was...” I croaked, I appeared to have lost my voice from constantly moaning and crying his name. I didn’t know I would be this vocal. I had a feeling that it was because it was Park Jimin. “Intense.” I finished.

He smiled and all of a sudden he looked so innocent, an alternate from the Park Jimin that just sent me into an overdrive just now. “Glad you had a good time.”

A thought suddenly appeared in my mind. I pulled Jimin by his arms and let him fell on the bed. I wasted no time straddling him. He was surprised by my bold action and I felt proud of myself. I kissed him deeply and he replied immediately. When I broke the kiss, I stared down at him lustfully. Then my hands started to work around his pants, fumbling around its button.

“Hana-“ he called me. I hooked my hands around his waist band and he lifted his hips, easing me to roll his pants down to his knee.

I gulped as I saw his erection from beneath his boxers. Fuck- it was huge and it wasn’t even out in the open yet. I aligned myself on top of him and started to move my hips, dry humping him. He groaned at the friction between his clothed erection and my naked sex.

“Fuck Hana-“ he cursed as he threw his head backwards, feeling the pleasure.

I was aroused once more from dry humping him. Damn Hana, what happened to you?

Suddenly I felt his firm hands around my waist, holding me down. I looked up at him as he brought his head forward although his eyes were closed.

“Damn it.” He muttered and there’s a flash of painful look across his face. His eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked in panic. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head. He heaved a sigh. “No, Hana.. we can’t- I can’t-“

I stilled. And after a few moments, I whispered, “It’s me... right?” I can’t deny the stabbing feeling in my heart.

He shook his head again, more fervently this time. “No, Hana.. it’s not about you.. it’s just that..” he sighed. “You’re not just one of the many girls. And I know I have done nothing yet to earn your body.” He said slowly.

I’m.. not.. one of the many girls? I tried to process his words.

“I’m sorry.” He said. Then he proceeded to lift me off his lap and gently placed me on the bed. It was now his turn to hover over me. He placed a lingering kiss on my lips. When he released me, he gazed at me softly. “I’ll earn your body the right way.” He said and then he gently tugged the blanket and covered me with it.

Earning my body... what does he means by that? And he mentioned that I wasn’t just one of the girls.. His words melt me and I think I have an idea on why he stopped his acts but I wasn’t entirely sure. Park Jimin... what are you doing to me..?

“Stay here. I’ll go and dry your clothes.” He fixed his pants and raised to his feet before I could say anything. He disappeared behind the door and I threw my body back. I frowned in confusion. Jimin can be so unpredictable at times. It’s so hard to keep up with him.

But on the other hand, God- I can’t believe that just happened to me! I mentally screamed as I kicked the blanket. I flushed as I registered the fact that I just experienced my first orgasm. It was so... good. Jimin sure knew how to work that fingers. I giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Oh shit- Jimin had reappeared into the room and I quickly sat up. He was still half naked and I marveled at his toned body. He had an absolute gorgeous body and his V-line made my mouth went dry.

“Keep looking at me like that and I might just do the things I want to do to you.” He threatened and I bit my lip, both embarrassed from getting caught and enticed by his threat. Sexual threat.

“Or, you might want to consider putting your shirt on to avoid any ogling eyes Mr. Park.” I teased him back.

“Can’t lie but I like getting ogled by you though, Ms. Hana.” He turned around.

“Where are you going?”

“Solving a man’s problem.” He said as he disappeared behind his bathroom.

My mouth fell open. I had no idea how to feel that Jimin is in the bathroom, taking care of his erection. Then I smiled, my thoughts floundering back about the intense orgasm I just had. Park Jimin just saw me naked and made me come to such intense orgasm. How did that happen - I still had problems wrapping my brain around it.

I heard the sound of water gushing from inside and I assumed that he was taking a shower. I pouted as he didn’t invite me. God damn Hana. You have really changed, girl. I bit my lip, caught in my own lie.

Not long after, Jimin finished showering and I stared at him in awe as he stepped out of he bathroom. He looked damn delicious with his wet hair and his towel that hung dangerously low around his waist.

I propped myself on my elbow, body arched as I enjoyed the view. He smirked at me. “You’re ignoring my warning?” He then walked over and crawled his way towards me. I screamed as his wet hair dripped on my face and I quickly pulled the blanket to cover me.

“I told you if you stared at me like that-“ he tugged the blankets and pulled it down towards my waist. “I don’t know what I’d do to you.” He said threateningly. And suddenly, he attacked me by tickling me everywhere. I screamed as I tried to escape him. He continued torturing me and I had to think of a plan. I then pressed my lips against him and pushed him until he fell flat on the bed. I was now completely out of the blanket and was on all four above him, naked. I went down and sat on his lap. Without warning, I grinded against him and he cursed under his breath. My mission worked! He was no longer tickling me. But I grew alarmed as I felt him hardened beneath me. I was almost filled with arousal too so before I succumb to the feeling, I quickly lifted myself off him and off the bed. He blinked at me, trying to process everything.

I winked at him and sauntered my way towards the bathroom. I won this time.

Link to Chapter 11

Posted on 200618 09:29PM

[adventuresoftheordinarysort]

A List of My Fics (By Fandom and Ship)

Hi all! Thought I’d make a list of the fics I’ve written over the years. I’ve done Kingsman, Witcher, and Merlin.

Merlin

Merlin/Arthur

Protect You Anyway

Merlin accidentally reveals his magic to Arthur. It goes about as well as he can expect. Only Arthur is still furious about the lies between them, and refuses to let Merlin back into his role as manservant. So Merlin requests to be made a knight. If Arthur can't trust him to be a friend, at least Merlin can continue to save his life. Their friendship hangs in the balance, and it is unclear whether they are going to come through on the other side stronger than ever, or broken beyond repair.

Across a Dream

Arthur repeals the ban on magic almost as soon as he becomes king, but things don't really change for Merlin. He knows that if Arthur ever found out about the lies, he'd never be forgiven. So he keeps his magic hidden just like he did before. Then to mark the one year anniversary of the repeal, Arthur hosts a ball. Merlin decides to disguise himself, and go to the ball as Emrys to keep an eye out for his friend. The idea is only partly motivated by jealousy. 

Merlin/Morgana

Look Out for Her

Merlin makes a different choice. He teaches Morgana himself. It takes them to a little cottage, and for nearly two years the two of them keep Arthur safe. Together.

Witcher

Geralt/Jaskier

All Unwoven

Jaskier cares for Geralt after they are attacked by bandits. Geralt knows he isn't getting the full story of how exactly they escaped, but Jaskier isn't ready to talk about it yet. But when a bard at a tavern sings a song recounting the events, Geralt gets the full story.

Curse is as Good as A Kiss

Jaskier insults a creature he really shouldn't, but thankfully she is amused by it. In return she grants him a rather interesting gift.

What Happens at the Coast

Before the final trial to become Witchers, the entire class of Witchers is allowed to spend two moths away from Kaer Morhen. It gives them a chance to explore the world around them, and gives them one last chance to back out of training. It is Geralt's turn to explore, and he rides to the coast, and he meets someone.

It’s Been Thirty Years

Geralt and Jaskier have been traveling together for almost thirty years. Jaskier has been flirting with him since day one. Geralt is oblivious to it all. It's really rather annoying.

Navy Blue Isn’t a Color

Yennefer and Jaskier get invitations to attend the masquerade wedding of a royal. Unfortunately, Jaskier slept with the bride several years before, and he is worried about her intentions for hiring him as an entertainer. He brings Geralt for protection, but Geralt doesn't quite grasp the concept on anonymity. A joke goes too far, and Geralt's feelings are hurt. Thankfully Jaskier knows how to make it up to him.

Black Sun Princess

Geralt tells the tale of Renfri to Jaskier, and Jaskier does what he does best. He writes a bop.

That’s Not How Kissing It Better Works

A faerie queen has sex with a human. Almost fifty years later Geralt, and Jaskier have sex. This leads to Jaskier learning something rather interesting about his heritage.

Gen

Friends... Sort Of

Geralt leaves Yennefer and Jaskier alone while he goes on a hunt. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, and chances are they'll kill each other. In the end, it is much worse. They become drinking buddies.

Kingsman

Merlin/Eggsy

Unexpected Inheritance

Merlin inherits a large estate in the Scottish Highlands, completely out of the blue. In order to renovate the property he must leave behind London. Doing so, also means he has to leave behind his daughter Abby's nanny.  Eggsy gets kicked out when Dean blames him for a deal gone south, and now he needs a new job so he doesn't spend the rest of his life on Jamal's couch.

Harry/Eggsy

By the Sword and Ring

The last thing Eggsy expects upon being chased out of his village, is to wake up in a nomadic village. Soon he finds himself in a world of magic as he trains to be Lord Hart's battle mage. With war brewing on the border, he is drawn inexorably closer to evil itself.

Eggsy/Jamal

We’re Getting Married

Eggsy gets it into his head to make a quick buck by sending out wedding invitations to local millionaires, and billionaires, and selling off the expensive wedding gifts he's given. Jamal agrees to be listed as the husband-to-be on the invitation.  All is going according to plan until Harry Hart RSVPs yes. Then Eggsy, and Jamal are left scrambling to pull a wedding out of their asses.

Might Need Glasses

Eggsy gets a job at Kingsman tailors, but can't get passed the point in his training where he needs to thread a needle. Harry suggests he might need glasses. Jamal has a particularly strong reaction.

One Day

Growing up Jamal and Eggsy always said they would move out of the estate and live together. Maybe in a house made of cheese. Eggsy intends to make it happen.

Harry/Merlin

Why a Toad?

Harry and Merlin’s twenty-seventh anniversary is fast approaching. Merlin knows exactly what to get his husband as a gift this year. It just takes a little adventuring to find it.

A Thief at Hand

The enterprising Dean Baker has started butting into Kingsman territory. While it would be fairly easy for the Kingsman to wipe out his network it would be messy and expensive. So they host a peace summit in the hopes of distributing territory enough to keep Baker out of their hair. In the process, a young thief is traded over to Kingsman.

Harry/Merlin/Eggsy

There Go the Lights

Eggsy is home late because of a rain storm sweeping through London. When he gets home, the power goes out. Thankfully he has Harry, and Merlin to keep him warm.

Devil Makes Three (High Seas Pt. 1)

Merlin was betrayed thirty years ago. Now he has finally caught up with the man who betrayed him, and the crew they worked with. When he gets taken prisoner, his world view is challenged by a young man he meets, and things get complicated.

Getting Back what was Lost (High Seas pt.2)

Merlin has been with the Kingsman Pirates for some time now. His relationship with Harry, and Eggsy is strong. Eggsy wants to give Merlin back a piece of what he lost during his time in the Navy. (You do not need to read part one to understand this part.)

Days of Future Flowers (co-author @anarchycox)

Set sometime in the future, Eggsy's implants and mechanical body parts need upgrades and care that he just can't afford. He does a few shady things and catches the eye of the cops. He runs and eventually hides in a flower shop of all places.

It will be the best mistake of his life.

Roxy/Gazelle

Climbing the Social Ladder (Social Season Pt.1)

Lady Roxy is destined to marry Princess Gazelle’s cousin, a dreadfully boring man. Despite this her visit to the kingdom has been quite pleasant. Except for that dreaded heat.

For the Love of a Country

Roxy is ready to take her rightful place on the throne, now that her grandmother is stepping down. The catch? She must marry first, and there's another woman coming for the throne. Can she navigate the political coup, and emerge with her heart intact? (A Princess Diaries 2 AU).

Roxy/Gazelle/Tilde

A Celebration of Marriage (Social Season Pt. 2)

Princess Tilde was once dear friends with Princess Gazelle when they were children. Although they eventually drifted apart, Tilde can't turn down an invitation to the upcoming wedding of her dear friend Lady Roxy and her old friend Princess Gazelle. However, Gazelle's 'traditional celebration' the night before the wedding is more than Tilde bargained for.

Tequila/Eggsy

A Time-Like Curve

When Eggsy is little he sees a painting in a gallery that looks oddly like someone he knows. When he grows up he learns about Kingsman. An agency of time travelers intent on keeping history from being destroyed.

Eggsy’s First Rodeo

Roxy drunkenly participates in the office's holiday party raffle. Her prize? An all expenses paid trip to a Kentucky Rodeo. She drags Eggsy with her, and as he finds out; Tequila does more than get you drunk.

Merlin/Roxy

The Fire of Winter Nights (ao-author @anarchycox​)

English lady Roxy finds herself kidnapped and sold but the people who buy her are very different than the ones who took her. With the new people she finds friendship, hope, and maybe romance with the Chieftain Merlin.

Merlin is very enamoured of Roxy, but he has promised to return her to England come the spring. But each day he knows that it will be harder to let go.

Harry and Eggsy are so desperately in love with each other, and neither says anything sure the feelings aren't mutual.

It is going to be a long winter.

Roxy/Tilde/Eggsy

Tiny Dancer

Eggsy has been out of the whole dancing scene for a while and has very little intention of ever getting back out there. No matter how his friends and mother push him. When Roxy needs a partner for a performance at a charity event, Eggsy finds his good nature leading him back to the stage.

Gen

Bound by Your Word

Roxy runs afoul of a demon-worshipping cult. When she’s caught trying to dismantle the organization, they attempt a summoning ritual. Nothing goes as planned.

[jessknightintrouble-blog]

Captives Of The Cartel (2)

Chapter Two: The Interrogation of Hannah Masters

  Despite the dreadful predicament her latest assignment had found her in, Hannah had managed to doze off in her bondage and did not hear the door to the study open again. The young captive jerked into life when she felt hands start to unravel the tape over her eyes and blinked in the onset of sudden, blinding light. Sophia Elliot �� bodyguard and butler of Lady Clara McCrystal -  had ventured to the windows and pulled back the curtains fully. Broad daylight streamed into the room and Hannah’s exposed eyes streamed in the brilliance of it. She looked frantically to the window to see if any passers by were looking in but then remembered that she was being held on the first floor; overlooking McCrystal Park. No-one would possibly be able to see her.

Her thoughts came thumping back to the here and now as she felt Sophia undo the ropes binding her to the chair. The overbearing figure of the bodyguard pulled Hannah sharply to her feet, and then swiftly undid her leg ropes.

  Hannah’s legs were almost dead; incredibly unsteady with all the time she had been tied up and she knew that if she tried to attack her kidnapper or break free in any way she’d have no chance. In any case, her arms and hands remained tightly bound.

  Sophia sneered at her captive and stood Hannah up straight, took her by the shoulder and pushed her towards the door of the extensive study. Hannah had little choice in the course of the journey as Elliott shoved her out further; through the doorway and down a short flight of stairs to the main hall of McCrystal’s Mansion.

  It seemed to Hannah like an eternity since she had broke into the mansion grounds; crept in through the window in the utility room by the back woods and up these very same stairs. In actuality, it was merely a few hours. Still, it was surely long enough for someone at the agency to make a move to get her back?

  Elliott was determined to keep Hannah moving. She pushed her on, down a yet narrower back stairwell to the basement pausing to pick up a riding crop from a hook on the way. The basement was huge; cavernous and centuries old, with brash, white emulsion on the walls and a high vaulted ceiling.

  On one side of the basement was an enormous wine rack about half-full of dusty bottles, but facing it, and more ominously, was her Ladyship; standing on a wooden step ladder in the dead centre of the room looping a rope pulley over an old butchers hook in the timber joist. Lady Clara was immaculate; clad in jodphurs and long leather riding boots with a white satin blouse and her dark hair swept back from her face. As she was hauled into the room, Hannah screamed uncontrollably into the gag and her body shuddered at the thought of what horrors lay in wait for her.

  “Ah, my dear Hannah. How nice to see you again. You slept well I trust?” The Lady gave her a smile that would have been quite alluring under other circumstances. “Now, we must continue from last night. You’ll understand that I need to know what you were looking for in my study and moreover, what that blasted Ms. Woods knows – or thinks she knows - about me.” The Lady took a slight step closer and grinned again. “So, the question is: are you going to tell us what we need to know, or are myself and Sophia here going to have to get a little bit rough with you?”

 Hannah’s mouth was still held captive under several layers of tape. The young girl shook her head rapidly and mumbled something along the lines of “No, no, no... never” into the thick gag. The Lady evidently could not decipher the muffled words but took them to be a negative response; just as she expected. Lady Clara stared hard at her young captive, and was forming opinions in her head; this Hannah Masters character was obviously a tough kid and presumably well trained, if the grapevine tales of the ‘Woods Detective Agency’ had any substance.

  “Untie her arms Ms. Elliott, then place her hands in front of her, if you would be so kind.”

  Soon enough, Hannah was cruelly and tautly strung up with her hands high above her head; stretched right to the pulley so her booted toes just touched the ground. Already, the strain was like fire in her arms. She squealed and whimpered into the gag as she tried to deal with the pain and the perilous predicament.

  Hannah’s mind slipped into a place it always did when she was up against it. Really up against it. She wondered: ‘What would Jenny do?”

  The ‘Jenny’ in question was Jenny Masters; Hannah’s older sister. She was Megan Woods’ first recruit at the Agency, and was now such a part of the organization she was more akin to a partner to Woods than an employee. To Hannah, Jenny was always as much a guardian as a sister, their parents had died tragically when Hannah was very young. More than that, Jenny was her role model: she was tough and super-cool and had always looked after her, even going to the extent of getting her a job in her office, before pushing her forward for promotion to detective. If Jenny was here, she’d know exactly what to do to get her out of the clutches of these fiends.

  Still, in her extreme peril and desperation, the thought of Jenny was of little consolation to her. Her sister was in the midst of a well-earned vacation, and wouldn’t be able to save her from this one. But maybe Megan still would.

  As Elliott finished tying her up again; legs at ankles and thighs with coils of the same white, rough rope, Lady Clara cut through Hannah’s gag and unwound it form her head and hair, then pulled it harshly from her mouth. Hannah gasped hard, licked her lips in apprehension and tried to regain her breath and the control of her voice.

  “Now, like I said: we will continue immediately from last night and I didn’t sleep well, so you will understand my temper is short. I wish to know most of all why you were looking through my file on Emiliano Ortega and his business associates. Why is Ms. Woods so concerned about my lifestyle and my business contacts all of a sudden? And, more pertinently, what you think we ought to do with your captive, lovely young body now...”

  Hannah glared at her aristocratic captor, kept her mouth shut and tried to think quickly. She was now in this well over her head and needed to come up with something really spectacular. Her dilemma was: even if she broke her vows to Megan and told the Lady and her Tramp everything she knew, Hannah didn’t believe for one second that she would then get in touch with the Police, or much less let her go.

  “I am waiting, rather more patiently than you deserve, Miss Masters.” Lady Clara gave a thin smile: she could see the turmoil building on the gorgeous face of the captive Hannah.

  “Here. Let me help make up your mind.” The Lady grabbed the riding crop from Sophia’s grasp, and, borne of years of practice, flicked it across her smooth bottom, which was poured into the skinny jeans. The denim succeeded in absorbing some of the blow. Hannah yelped in fear-filled pain, and tried to jerk away from her aggressor.

  “Pull her jeans down, Miss Elliott.”

 “No!”

  Hannah shook her head and tried to evade her but Sophia gripped her in place, unbuckled her belt and pulled her tight jeans down to her knees, exposing her pert young ass cheeks divided by a black thong.

  Elliott stepped back, and her Lady took in the sight for a moment, before raising the crop once again.

  This whipping continued for some time; after some ten or fifteen minutes the Lady grew fed up with Hannah’s screams and gagged her once again, this time with a large, red ball gag - very tightly buckled around her head.

 The Lady placed the crop aside, and began moving her hands over other parts of Hannah’s body, most fervently over her breasts. There was a further half an hour of teasing and molestation of her prisoner before Hannah hung sobbing in her ropes; utterly defeated.

  “Do I need to whip you again? Or do you realise how far I can go...” Lady McCrystal growled, very close to Hannah’s face. She pulled the drool-soaked ball from Hannah’s mouth, allowing it to fall around her neck.

  “Stop it, please stop it… I’ll tell you what I know...” Hannah choked, spluttered and pleaded.

  “Tough, but not quite tough enough.” Elliott sneered, circling the trembling Hannah.

  Lady McCrystal grinned wildly, and sat back on a wine crate beside Elliott to listen with mounting interest at the story that poured from the lips of her hostage.

  It seemed that Megan Woods had been tracking Lady Clara McCrystal for over two years.

  The saga had begun when the Lady had messed up one of Woods’ own personal bodyguard protection jobs on a politician’s wife by demeaning her; using her power with the press to issue widespread reports about the gross misuse of public funds. In the elapsing time since this ‘Hammond Incident’, Woods had been keeping a close eye on the Lady’s public and private business deals; publicly, she acted as a so-called ‘fixer’ for companies wishing to do business globally but particularly in South America, due to her extensive list of contacts for which the Lady took enormous commissions.

 Privately, Woods was also certain that the Lady also had a more sinister racket. Woods believed McCrystal and her allies provided girls for the omnipotent crime lord Emiliano Ortega; girls who disappeared south of the border into his Columbian cartels and beyond, and were never seen or heard of again. ‘White Slavery’, some quarters of the media deemed it, whenever they dared to go anywhere near Ortega’s fear-inducing name. The girls in question were not the usual showgirls and hookers but more well to do, educated career girls who catered to a different clientele of ‘Masters’. McCrystal always chose cunningly; preying on girls who had announced an intention to travel abroad; so they were not missed for months and by which time the trail was very cold.

  Woods had a dossier; documents containing sparse details of some eleven women over a four or five year period, but with not enough evidence to hold up in court against McCrystal’s crack team of lawyers, and the sleuth knew it. However, it seemed the conniving Lady Clara had for once chosen poorly for the last girl. Emilia Ford was the daughter of one of her best friends; for whom Megan was Godmother.

  Thus, the trail had now became personal for Woods and she had vigorously stepped up her work to find concrete proof. Now, it seemed McCrystal and Elliott were quite up to date with the tale: Woods had sent Hannah Masters; her finest young agent, into the mansion to uncover something in the files to satisfy the Police. Alas, her plan had not gone too swimmingly.

  At the end of Hannah’s long, sobbing litany, Lady McCrystal nodded slowly and sagely.

  “She’s getting very good you know; but I’m still five steps ahead of this meddling little bitch. Now, her next move. Presumably she will send another one of her young harlots round to check if you got in or not. I perhaps would do the same, in her position. We need to be ready for that, Elliott. And you, my dear Miss Masters, also need to be cleaned up and kept tucked away, nicely out of sight.”

  Lady Clara sighed heavily.

   “Take her away, Ms. Elliott.”

  Sophia Elliott knelt to untie Hannah’s legs then loosened the rope around her wrists. The young detective sagged and almost collapsed directly to the ground with fatigue.

  The tough bodyguard loomed over Hannah, using her towering frame to menacing, degrading effect.

   “Stand up bitch, and get up those stairs. Keep your hands up so I can see them all the time. And don’t you dare try anything stupid.” She looked at him bleakly but saw even less sympathy in her eyes than her voice as she turned and staggered – almost drunkenly - to the stairs.

  “Hands up, Missy. NOW!” Sophia roared. Hannah had forgotten her order and quickly raised her hands up, wincing with the pain as she did so. It was difficult climbing the stairs with her hands held high; especially as her legs were still somewhat dead and unresponsive but somehow, slowly, the intrepid young detective managed it. How she was going to manage to get out of this ordeal was altogether another matter for Hannah Masters now.

[comebeonetwothree]

Blog #3: The Fun Has Just Begun

06/08/2021

Currently camping at 11,720 feet above sea level, there is snow all around the mountains and mother nature really decided to take a shit on us with weather conditions.

New Mexico is considered a desert and you can tell why… tumble weed actually flies across the roads.

Staying in hostels generated some great people and awesome experiences… including a hitchhiker, a random roommate, and a transformed school bus. Oh, and a hot tub.

From New Mexico to Colorado, the temperatures and the altitude changed drastically, forcing us to adapt in hopes of survival… kidding it wasn’t that serious.

With little to no cell service ever since entering Colorado, there is a lot of time for self-reflecting and reading! I just dove deep into the Red Hot Chili Peppers lead singer, Anthony Kiedis’, autobiography.

Who

Who wants to be friends…

Staying at a hostel I expected it to be similar to a college dorm. You basically walk around and ask people if they want to hang out.

We set out for a hike as soon as we arrived in Santa Fe, New Mexico and got some food to cook up for later in the courtyard. We got out there pretty late, but the gentleman that checked us into the hostel was still out there cleaning up the food he chefed up only minutes ago.

When we started eating, a couple came outside and we invited them to join us, but they nicely declined. It began to feel like our chances of meeting people were getting slimmer.

The following morning, we sat outside our room and started making plans for the weeks to come. Exploring campgrounds, hikes and must-see places. As we are sitting there, we get a new neighbor.

She seemed to be around our age and had a friendly face that seemed like she was open to being friends.

After a little while, she came outside and sat with us and chatted us up! She was going to college in the area but was in-between apartments. She happened to be staying at the hostel for the same period of time we were.

Her roommate came out after and sat with us. They recommended some good places to eat and must-see spots in Santa Fe.

Later on, we were hanging out in the common area, and they came to join us. We re-introduced ourselves and that’s when we become friends. Misgana and Miselo, were just around the same age as us. A bit later, someone new checked into the Hostel. She soon joined us and introduced herself to us all as Deanna.  

Deanna was staying at the hostel for work purposes. She was doing research on regenerative farming and had an interview with a farm nearby the following morning.

After a while we decided to get some brews and keep the conversations going throughout the night.

While we were hanging out getting to know each other more, one of the hostel volunteers came over and sat with us. She was wearing a “South Butt” sweatshirt not North Face, and I knew she was going to be fun to hang around. Aster, she soon introduced herself as, was from Wisconsin and was living and working at the hostel. She was on her way up to becoming the manager of the place soon enough.

As we are all hanging out, the newcomer of the hostel came over and introduced himself.

Christian, hitch hiked all the way from Rhode Island down to Santa Fe, on his way to meet up with his buddy from home who transformed an old school bus into a mobile home.

He mentioned he was leaving Friday to hitchhike up to the Great Sand Dunes… coincidentally Mary, Maya and I were heading to that exact location on that exact day. We offered him a ride up north.

When we dropped him off, we got to meet his buddy who owned the transformed school bus. It was painted all blue on the outside with Van Gogh’s Starry Night mural on the side of it.

Aiden (his buddy) had just recently gotten a 7-week-old puppy named Waldo. We got to play with Waldo along with the owner of our campgrounds three other puppies.

Jack, the owner of our campground was a wholesome dude. He was older and had lived an interesting life before settling down on the land he has now.

Jack gave us his whole back story and showed us around his new lifestyle. We were staying on his weed farm, and he was more than welcoming. He showed us around the grow house, all while giving us free samples of everything as we went along.

The plants he is growing were more like trees. At about 3-weeks old they were already fatter and taller than me.

Jack lived on the property alone and had his five dogs to keep him company: three puppies (Dirty White Boy, Little Man, and Boo) and their parents.

Jack started renting his land out to campers because he gets lonely and wanted to get some cool experiences in before his time is up.

Unfortunately, Jack has stage 3 emphysema, due to his history in custom car painting back in the day. He also has a bad heart, so this land was for him to settle and be there until the end

It was a welcoming and unforgettable experience staying there. Jack was a one-of-a-kind dude, and I hope he enjoyed our company for the time being.

At our second hostel in Colorado, we had the pleasure of paying for three beds in a room of six. We got lucky with having only one other roommate, Drew.

Drew was staying there for a week, as he was looking for a job in the area. He had been traveling around the world doing this kind of thing since about 20 years old. He was now in his late 40’s and was rocking the minimalist nomadic lifestyle. Also from Wisconsin, Drew was adopted at birth, and began his traveling lifestyle in hopes of finding his birth parents. He referred to his lifestyle as not normal, “There is nothing normal, except the cycle on the laundry.”

What

What is real anymore…

In New Mexico, we drove through a road that lasted 40 miles and it was straight up desert land. There was nothing but sand, wild cattle, and small bushes.

I had never experienced an atmosphere like that before, so it felt beyond unreal. It was one of those, “pinch me so I know I am awake”, moments.

There were a lot of those moments on this week of the trip. These were places and things I had only seen in movies. Trust me, cameras do not do this experience justice.

These moments are fully sensory moments. Everything from sight, to smell, to taste, to sound, all played a role in framing how unreal these places felts.

While driving into Colorado, seeing these massive mountains was the first time this whole trip I got to see a mountain range that topped the Hudson Valley.

There is so much land everywhere and the elevation is so high up you can see for miles and miles and miles.

The mountains were everywhere and larger than life itself. The land in between the roads and the mountains were long and open. You could see some housing along the way, but everything appeared to be small.

It was hard to tell how far away everything was because the only comparison was the mountains, making everything appear miniature.

Windows down, good music playing, head out the window; I was living my best life feeling, seeing, smelling all these new things.

Where

Where should we stay…

New Mexico is a totally different world, with large deserts and little to no grass anywhere. The architecture looks like a giant had a fun day at the beach making sandcastles. And there is strange wildlife too, they have prairie dogs and coyote just chilling in the daytime. There are also just free roaming cows on any open land you see.

We stayed more in the city of Santa Fe, New Mexico which was “whitewashed,” also known as commercialized. It was built to satisfy the white elder rich man, with little to no nightlife and overpriced goods on every corner.

The hostel we stayed in was called International Hostel Santa Fe Pension. Upon arrival we were greeted with such a warm welcome by the staff. They even brought us a basket of food that was donated from the local Whole Foods, since this hostel was non-profit.

Our room had its own bathroom, which was nice after trying to authentic Mexican cuisine…

Throughout our time in Santa Fe, we got to see some beautiful views from our hiking experiences.

We also visited an installation art museum, Meow Wolf, that made you feel as though you were in a wonderful acid trip. It was interactive for all ages, and we got to go with our new friends!

Heading up to Colorado after Santa Fe, we stopped in this wonderful town named Toas, a small area with lots of rock shops. On our way out we hit up a natural hot spring on the border of Colorado and New Mexico.

The hot spring was HOT! I know it seems self-explanatory, but you really don’t expect it to be that hot (it had to be around 110 degrees). We even got to float around in the spring with a nudist. He was a very nice middle-aged man, with a large uncircumcised flaccid penis and three beautiful dogs!

About 20 minutes after our arrival, a group of three different families walked down to the spring and were also greeted by a flaccid penis. The nudists respectfully asked the youngest boy of the group to grab his swimming trunks so he could exit the premises, respectfully. I guess kids were not really his forte.

While heading into Colorado, you can’t help but look out the window at the insane mountain range… a big step up from flat ass farmlands. These mountains are so large they have snow tips on the top.

Our campground for the night was located right outside the Great Sand Dunes National Park, on this elderly man’s property.

We booked our stay through Hipcamp, which is like the airbnb of private campgrounds. We did not realize this meant the owner of the property would be living right out front of our tent.

When we arrived, we were greeted by the owner and handed a nug of marijuana, freshly harvested out of his underground grow farm. This weed was purpleee…It made New York weed look like dirt.

After setting up our tent, we dropped off our hitch hiker at the dunes, were we then explored the natural sand mountains and watched people board down them. I have seen boogie boarding and snowboarding before but add sand underneath, and you got a bootleg ass version of both.

After leaving the Great Sand Dunes area, we went to a waterfall that was supplied by the spring run-off from the melted snow tops of the mountains. Getting to the waterfall you had to walk through a stream of water. It seemed easy enough while wearing my trusty Teva’s. NOPE, it was so cold two seconds after my feet entered the water, you begin to feel your feet going numb. It was near impossible to have your feet submerged longer than 10 seconds, but watch out there are some slippery ass rocks, so running away was out of the picture.

After successfully making it to and from the waterfall, we headed to our next location, Blue Lake Dispersed Campground, in the Breckenridge area of Colorado. This is right in the Rocky Mountains, full of snow capped mountains.

We were actively driving into a giant storm cloud when it hit us…This massive thunderstorm was not letting up. We had to rethink camping for that night, and find a new location to sleep, preferably inside.

Our experience at the first hostel in Santa Fe was so wonderful, we decided to find another around the area we were camping.

The Bivvi hostel was right around the bend from where we were originally going to camp. Walking in we were expecting a similar experience to the last hostel, so we were confused when this place was nicer than any hotel, I’ve ever stayed in.

We got lucky enough to get three beds in a shared room. At the time there was only one person staying in the six-person bunk bedroom.

Seeing that the rain was not going to clear up anytime soon, we booked the three beds and got cozied up with a pitcher of PBR in the hot tub available to all guests.

Leaving the Bivvi was sad, but when we arrived at our campground, we were taken aback at the views.

We stayed in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, with a lake in the middle from where the melted run-off snow pooled.

We quickly got our tent set up and explored around the area… Trees, grass and abandoned mining houses were discovered along our hikes.

We even got to see a mountain goat up close and personal… where my Oats at (yah you, you know the vibe)

When

When life gives you lemons…

We had a lot of time to settle into the places we saw this week.

Being in New Mexico for three nights was a great amount of time to utilize the area around us and hang out with some cool ass people.

Colorado was spread out by towns, but we are here for a week in total, so this is just half the time being here… stay tuned for the rest of the time in Colorado in next week’s blog!

Why

Why won’t the rain stop…

I get it now, why people want to live a life on the road. A life of little distractions and full control over who, what, where, when, and how you get to live your life.

There is something so refreshing about meeting people, knowing you have little time together, and being content with that fact.

I could envision myself working at a hostel and getting to experience new people weekly and being okay when they leave. There is not a time limit on those relationships necessarily, but there is some peace knowing you have made an impact on their life and vise versa.

Life on the road doesn’t sound too bad.

How

How are we this far already…  

Two weeks into the trip… How is that possible? Time is flying and I want to slow it all down.

Help how do I slow down time!!!

[smoothshift]

My takeaways from driving 1300 miles in a brand new rental Miata through Southern Germany (and the alps!). via /r/cars

My takeaways from driving 1300 miles in a brand new rental Miata through Southern Germany (and the alps!).

My girlfriend decided to do a semester abroad in Cologne, Germany. When she told me she was doing this, I planned on visiting. When I planned on visiting, I planned on renting a car.

I drive stick every day, which turned out to be good. My only options without driving stick were some flavor of Citroen or Peugeot hatchback (according to the SIXT website).

You will be shocked to know I did not want either of these cars.

I couldn't get anything super nice, (because I'm 21 and they're right not to trust me), so I really had two choices. A 1 series hatch, or an ND Miata.

I know. You can't get a 1 series hatch in the US yadayadayada... but I have driven 1 series before. I know what they're like. I didn't want a hatchback.

What I did want was a convertible, and the Miata checked that box. My other convertible options were an A3 convertible, and a Beetle convertible. Both of which fall under the category of, "The salesman said plenty of dudes buy it!" The same goes for the Miata, but I feel like those other cars are worse in this regard.

Surprisingly when we went to pick up the car, all of the available MX-5s were automatic. I stressed to the guy at the desk I would much prefer a stick. He explained he didn't really understand because apparently in Europe most people prefer automatic transmissions. I guess it's the same in the US but I didn't really expect it.

Apparently he liked me though, because after some muttering in German to his coworkers, he unreserved the only stick Miata on the lot from somebody who was going to pick it up in a few hours, and gave it to me. Guy was honestly a hero. Sounded a lot like Sebastian Vettel too.

As it turns out, this particular Miata was literally brand spanking new. It had 14km on it (like 8 fucking miles). I was the first person to actually drive it.

After figuring out how to open the trunk, I realized how pathetically small it was. We only had two carry on sized bags and they barely fit. We had to put the one backpack we also had with us behind the headrests where the top folds into. The only other place to store things was a little box between the seats.

The "gun box".

I called this box "the gun box". The only thing it seemed like it was large enough to hold was a handgun. It was too small for a laptop or anything. We ended up keeping a bag of pretzels in it, as handguns are hard to come by in Germany.

Our first stop was the city of Trier, near the border of Luxembourg. The birth place of Karl Marx! I wasn't there for any share-your-shit convention, though.

The "Porta Nigra".

Trier was a major Roman city in the province of Gaul. There's still a lot of ruins from that era laying around, including the very impressive Porta Nigra, or Black Gate. It is the original city gate constructed around 170 AD. Not bad for a bunch of Italians. Apparently it was at one point converted into a church of some kind, and then Napoleon visited Trier in 1804 and said something along the lines of, "change it back".

I just thought this was kind of odd.

The people in Trier seemed to like Americans the most out of any of the places we went. I don't think they get a lot of international tourism. The waitress at the restaurant we ate lunch at kept busting my balls about what kind of pizza to get. She apparently learned English from watching Grey's Anatomy. It seems to me like if you crack a few casual jokes to most German people, they think you're like a cool American, and then the whole interaction is very pleasant.

A panorama of Trier. The closer bridge crossing the river is also an original Roman article. The city of Trier has some small mountains across the river which provide a very nice view of the city.

The roads weren't bad either. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether you were on an actual road or some German's driveway. The Miata was plenty small enough for the petite roads, and was so far about as good as my expectations.

The clutch feel is excellent for a stock car, and as good as any new car I've driven. The pickup on it was predictable, and the feedback through the pedal was good. Felt better than a Focus ST.

Coming from an E46 M3, the size and weight of the pedal made it sort of feel like a little toy. Not in a bad way though. The shifter is fantastic and provides an amount of feedback that I can only compare to my 1974 BMW 2002. It was both refreshing and relieving to feel the amount of reassuring, handshake-like confidence I got from it. I always knew everything I wanted to know about the transmission when I changed gears. Nothing about it felt rubbery, dishonest or disconnected.

The throw was just about perfect. The flywheel felt a little heavy coming from an M3, but it was a really nice balance. The engine was loud enough for me to not have to stare at the tachometer to know when to change gears, too. That really burns my ass when a car is so quiet you don't know when to shift.

The Miata was just the right size for tight German backroads.

I think the car looks great too. Definitely the best looking Miata so far. If the car wants to break its 'hairdressery' image, this is a giant leap in the right direction. I think it looks aggressive and even a little exotic without looking as furious as many new cars do. Any aggression displayed in its little Miata face is definitely justified too, as the engine is a punchy unit (this is not all I will say about the engine).

This square was eerily quiet as there were no roads that allowed cars anywhere near it. Very strange compared to say, any city in the US. Overall I think Trier was a quaint, quiet little city that I liked a fair bit. Our hotel was like an old monastery or something right on the river. Really nice and very inexpensive. Beats the shit out of staying in some sweaty hostel with 30 dudes named Fritz and some ditsy college girls from University of Tampa. I know this isn't a travel sub or anything, I'm just trying to give my opinion here.

"Pickelmann"

From Trier (the birthplace of Karl Marx!) we headed five and a half hours south to the town of Füssen in southern Germany, right on the border with Austria. I told my girlfriend to take a picture of the Picklemann truck because I call my dog pickle man.

He looks like a pickle man, right?

This trip from Trier to Füssen was the first time I had ever been on the autobahn, something I honestly didn't even think about when I rented the car.

The view from our Airbnb in Füssen. A lot of people have the impression that the Autobahn is like, one big wide road that goes through Germany and you can do 200mph on it all the time. In truth, the Autobahn is a lot like the interstate highway network back in the states. Most of the autobahn I drove on was delimited. The speed limits in the restricted areas are typically around 100kph to 130 kph (about 60 to 80 mph), so pretty reasonable. Most people abide by them, too. It isn't abundantly clear when the derestricted areas start in some cases, though.

Sometimes there are signs that look like a regular speed limit sign that is just greyscale with lines through it. That basically means it's open season. However, sometimes the speed limit signs just end, and you don't realize its not restricted until Klaus rips by you in a sprinter van at 130 mph. The fastest most people go is around 130mph. The fastest I saw somebody go was two guys outside of Stuttgart in an SLR Stirling Moss. I didn't realize how rare the car was at the time, or even what it was, so I didn't order my girlfriend to take a picture. That was about as fast as I've ever seen a car go on a public road. Thing took off like a cartoon and must have hit 180mph.

When I got my chance in the Miata, I would typically floor it in 5th or 6th gear and cruise at 160kph (around a hundred miles per hour). You learn a few things about the Mazda Miata when you do this:

The engine may be punchy, but it doesn't seem to like being wrung out like a soaked rag. It didn't exactly sound like it was in pain, but it didn't seem to like it. (I will speak even more about the engine later).

It is loud. The convertible top allows a considerable amount of noise in, but this is just a problem with all soft top convertibles. My M3 is worse. At one point on the arrow straight highway to Füssen I had the speedometer pinned at 240kph for about half an hour. It was deafeningly loud, but we made some really good time. If I could've gotten a stick RF, I would have. The Miata always felt stable and poised at these speeds however, and I never felt like the thing was going to start breaking up or anything. Having the ability to just haul ass down the highway is something I miss about Germany. It was a little alarming at first but once you get used to it, it's fantastic. People take driving a lot more seriously on the highway in Germany.

Cigarette vending machines are absolutely everywhere. Just strange. Like no one ever got that, "smoking is bad" memo. We went to Füssen because of the Castle situation, and it did not disappoint.

Neuschwanstein Castle is the key attraction. Ever see that like really 'castly' looking castle? This is it. It was actually built around 1900 by the King of Bavaria. I think he was a King. I'm not sure what the exact translation is for his title. Anyway, according to Wikipedia he spent all his dough on it and no one knew what to do with this guy. He died under some pretty fishy circumstances. Literally weeks after this guy kicked the bucket his successor had it opened for paid tours. Guy was practically still warm when they started bussing in Chinese tourists by the thousands.

The castle isn't a defensive fixture at all, it was far too late for that. It's really a sort of romanticized palace. Many of the towers and whatnot are just decorative. You cannot go in them.

A view of one of the courtyards. Going inside had a 3 day wait list that we were not on. Can't take pictures inside anyway.

Some of it was under scaffolding, and these port windows were covered in, you guessed it: Plywood! Couldn't have painted it grey, or something?

The other castle on the sight was called Hohenschwangau. It was still a pretty nice joint but not as cool as the big white one.

If you take out your microscope you can see it in all of it's glory.

"bum a smoke?"

I saw one of those new four door Mini Coopers while I was there. That's a Mini? Thing looks like a fucking Deuce and a Half. After spending a few days wandering around the town and the castles with the lovely people of Shenzen, we decided to drive to Berchtesgaden. You know, where Hitler's house is? Apparently it's a restaurant now.

A picture on the way along the Alps. The way from Füssen to Berchtesgaden was a pretty nice trip. Almost all of the roads in Germany are perfectly paved. If they aren't, there's roadwork going on to make it that way (for better and for worse).

A backroad Maps took us down. That didn't really matter though, because the Miata rode just about perfectly. Maybe it's just from driving the M3 so much, but every bump I hit expecting to be jostled around was handled perfectly. The MX-5 has the perfect balance of sporty and comfortable, and I've searched a long time for a car that has that. The steering is also great, especially considering it's an electric rack. I remember reading all of this electric steering alarmism when the car was first coming out. People running around with their hair on fire like, "IT HAS FUCKING ELECTRIC STEERING! PACK IT UP!" Like the scene in Spongebob where he forgets his name. It's bullshit. It feels just as good or better than the benchmark, cheap sports car Focus ST, and almost as good as my M3, which is saying a lot. Could it be better? Yeah. A hydraulic rack would just be better, but it's not worth complaining about. For reference to another modern car, this chassis and steering feels better than the M235i. It feels more tactile, it feels more tied down, and I felt more confident behind the wheel as a result.

German people seem to really like stacking wood very neatly. All of the stacked firewood I saw looked flawless.

The scenery around Berchtesgaden was stunning. After we arrived at the bus stop to take us up to Hitler's eagles nest, we found it it was closed. After getting over the fact that we weren't going to get a cheeseburger in Hitler's living room, we decided to cross the alps the Salzburg.

Thank god we went to Salzburg.

The road over the Alps. I found this road on Google Maps that looked incredible. My girlfriend thought it was going to be like a cowpath or something. It was not. It was about thirty minutes worth of heaven tier alpine road. Definitely the best drive of my life. I would say it was worth the 8 dollar toll.

The view from the top of the road.

The road was very well maintained.

The way up was really great, it was the only time during the trip I really noticed the Miata having any kind of lack of power. Most of the time I was in second or third gear. I said I would address the engine, so here it is. I'm not gonna be some contrarian dope and be like, "THE MIATA HAS PLENTY OF POWER FOR WHAT IT IS, I AKCHUALLY THINK ITS A LOT!"

If 1 is "dog shit" slow, 5 is adequate power, and 10 is alarmingly quick, the Miata is somewhere between 5 and 6. The engine has a nice enough mid range, but it never climbs onto its cams or anything. At low RPM it sounds positively agricultural. It sounds like it should have a PTO under the rear bumper. It doesn't really sound great at any rpm. It also doesn't sound bad though. It's just "an engine". The only interesting noise it made was some kind of gear whine noise in the mid-range that was very faint. The adequate levels of power, and adequate noise it produces make it nothing to speak of. It's punchy, its responsive, but it's really nothing to talk about. This is kind of a let down, and not really an issue at the same time.

Another view from the top.

That being said, I feel blessed I had it up in the Alps. I wouldn't have wanted to be in a 1 series, or an A3, or something. It was the perfect car for the job. The chassis is as nearly perfect as I can imagine. The brakes' stopping power felt good, and the pedal itself felt great and provided excellent feedback. Some people complain about body roll. I didn't notice any alarming amounts of body roll. I thought it was just fine. It's an extremely rewarding car to drive near the limit.

A view down the street in Salzburg.

The interior of their Cathedral.

The 11th century castle on the outskirts of the city. All of these castles really remind you how fucking out of shape you are.

A panorama of the city from the castle.

We returned to Füssen that night along the regular Autobahn. It began to rain while we were in Salzburg, which translates to snow up in the Alps. I still feel really lucky I got to do that drive at all. I was smiling the entire time. If you have a chance to drive over the Alps in anything close to a Miata, fucking do it. You will not regret it. You'll remember the sights, the smells, the feeling of the alpine air, the gear changes... Everything. You know that feeling when your mouth starts to hurt after you've been laughing so much? I felt that from the constant grin on my face for nearly an hour. Anybody who likes cars for any reason has to do it. Make sure you have the top down.

"That is an ALP!"

On the drives during the following days back around Füssen, I had some time to really reflect on driving the Miata. I thought about how the car felt during cornering, under braking, under acceleration, everything. Was the steering actually good? Is the engine anything special? How did the car ride on this road? I had two more days with the car, and decided to wander into Austria again after dinner for a final backroad shakedown.

A windy road though a valley in the Alps.

A beautiful lake we found on Miata Maps. Austria is a really great country. Foods not bad either.

The Miata is the best new car I have driven, period. It is the only new car that has reminded me of the way an older car drives, which was very surprising. Almost every new car I have driven feels like... It feels like there's a little person making all of the decisions between everything you try to do, and what the car actually does.

It didn't have steering that felt like there was a massive rubber bushing in it. The gear change didn't feel synthetic at all. It felt direct and mechanical. The engine (although not anything to write home about) was linear and predictable. Everything the driver touched to operate this car felt extremely well sorted out. It's just the little things that got to me. I convinced myself I could never actually buy this car. The trunk was comically useless, there was almost no storage anywhere else, it could only seat one other person, and it was well... not fast.

What else did I not like? I'll cut to the chase.

Fuck the start-stop system on this car. To death. The start-stop system on this car, or "i-stop" was positively the most annoying thing during the entire trip. For some reason, it does not have memory. What do I mean? When you turn the car off, it resets. If you turn off start-stop, it will only last as long as the car is on. This may seem reasonable if nothing else has memory either, but other shit does.

What other shit? The fucking HEATED SEATS HAVE MEMORY and this shit doesn't. Who's fucking decision was that? The lane departure warning, which is also annoying and useless, has memory (the button right next to it). It also is the only button in the car that requires a long press to turn on or off. If you just press it, nothing happens. You have to hold it down for a few seconds for anything to happen, and there's nothing telling you that you have to do that. I only discovered it after getting pissed and just pushing the button as hard as I could, depressing that entire plastic region of the dashboard. You just know that somebody made the decision for this not to have memory, and whoever did that should be fucking put on trial. It was also one of the roughest starts I have ever felt in a car that has 'start-stop'. Felt and sounded like a diesel truck turning over. Shook the entire car almost alarmingly.

The car also has a blindspot monitor, which is very sensitive and very annoying. Maybe I just drive like an asshole, but it seemed like whenever I put my blinker on to change lanes, if a car was anywhere near the side of the Miata, it would start beeping. I could feel my blood pressure rising every time I considered changing lanes. Ever hear your phone's alarm during the day after you've woken up? After a while hearing those beeps felt like that.

The rear view mirror.

This car's rear view mirror also seemed pretty jacked up. There was a power button on it for some reason, I'm guessing it was for some sort of dimming, but I did not notice a difference when I hit the button. It also did not adjust so that I could actually see out of the rear window. I'm not a tall person. I'm like 5'10". Maybe I'm just a moron, but I could not get the mirror to an adjustment where I could see behind me without slumping down in my seat a few inches. To me this must be some sort of fuck-up because there's no way they didn't figure that shit out. Seemed like a really obvious thing to get right. 

The coolant temp gauge on the dashboard was also not very easy to read, and the infotainment system looked like the home screen I had on my PSP when I was in middleschool.

The car beeps whenever you put it into reverse. Why? It has a reverse lockout. Reverse feels like its in another fucking state. I know I'm changing into reverse. Why does it beep? I feel like the president complaining about this shit.

"I asked my people, why does it beep? Why does it beep when its in reverse? They said we don't know! You hear it. When you change gears, it goes... Beep! I said, I know the car is in reverse. I put it there, you know, in reverse, and... Beep! Unbelievable. We gotta get smart, people! You see what they're doing! We have to get smart."

To me it seems like they got everything about the driving experience so right, that the people who make cars annoying were like rubbing their palms ready to try and ruin it.

I'm finished complaining.

By the end of the trip, I knew where I stood with the car. I liked it a lot, it was everything I expected it to be. I wasn't in love with it, it was just a nice car to have for this little trip I went on, and nothing else. It was too impractical to buy, because it was just a useless little car to do anything besides drive in.

Then I had to return it.

Another great little road in Austria.

After 1300 miles, driving this car back to the airport, I had a pit in my stomach. It just happened. I did not want to give it back. It was a useless car! I still think it's useless! You cannot put ANYTHING or ANYBODY in it. In every day life, you basically can't take anyone anywhere, you can't carry shit, and you'll barely ever drive it. It would have to be a third or fourth car. Your friends will probably make fun of you for buying it too, at least, my friends would. They made fun of me for even renting it! Then I was thinking, well if its a third or fourth car, why not a used M3 or something? For Miata money you can have a much nicer used car. If you're barely ever gonna drive it the maintenance wont cost shit anyway. I kept running all of these scenarios though my head about all of the logical reasons why I could never have one. It's a car that's literally only useful for driving.

Then I realized, that's why I just didn't want to get rid of it.

It's only useful for driving.

It reminded me of a part of James May, The Reassembler, actually. This part.

It's a simple thing. It's a car... that you can drive. That's the only reason for it's existence. That's all it does.

It kept me thinking that the people at Mazda who make the Miata must also understand this. That really it's a stupid thing. They completely understand how it's impractical, it's uncompromising, and it really isn't good at anything in day-to-day life. They get past all of that. Somebody explained all of that to them, explained to them why they couldn't make it, and they said, "Fuck. You."

I don't know. It makes me happy as a car guy.  It's a giant middle finger to the automobile being treated as an appliance. Supercars are an even bigger middle finger, but anybody can buy a Miata.

Me and my new friend somewhere in the Alps

I'm sure most of the people reading this have watched Top Gear or The Grand Tour. You know how sometimes they get a car on a roadtrip and they tell you it becomes like one of their friends? I always thought that was bullshit, because I couldn't relate. Now I know they are completely truthful when they said that. Every time I parked the car somewhere, I was thinking to myself. "Will the Miata be safe here? How is the Miata?".

I would peek out my window and make sure it was okay.

Changing gears DID feel like shaking hands with an old friend. It carried me down the autobahn quite happily at 150mph. It waited patiently in parking lots to take me on my next adventure. It welcomed every corner with enthusiasm, and every mountain road with poise and determination. It was like an excited puppy.

"Come on! Get in! Lets go drive! Where are we going?"

Taking it back to the rental place, I just felt like I was tying it to a post and leaving it. I felt like it was still wagging its tail behind me as I was walking away.

I just hope I gave it a good break-in, and I hope it has a lot of great miles ahead of it.

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 10

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here. Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman.  If you have any feedback on that or anything else, let me know.                                                         ***

     We went door to door.  I was slipping and tripping - feet clumsy on the warped floor, hand sliding through a barely perceptible film of mucus on the walls.  At last we got everyone together in Olivia and Knobby's living room.

     Methadone Mike said, "What's this about, Courtney?  I bet we all thought the same thing - that the dicks had us."

     Grime said, "I don't think that's what's going on, but just, everyone stay quiet until she's done, OK?"

     Perry started to bark something but Patrick caught him.

     I said, "I almost died just now.  We've been having some problems on the floor here and trying to ignore them, but if it's this dangerous, we can't do that anymore."

     Grime looked more confused than anyone, but stifled himself.  Good boy.

     I continued, "The building is somehow allergic to us.  I don't get it, but my bedroom window opened and my fucking bed got sneezed out.  It's probably in the alley right now, unless it caught enough air to land on the building across the way."  People were quiet, straining for something.  Understanding?  "Does anyone not believe me?  Who needs to go see my room?"

     Leimomi shook her head, followed by Patrick, Marcie, Deandre, Mike, Olivia, and Knobby.  Perry and Richie didn't gesture but seemed to be in silent acceptance.

     Grime said, "Maybe I should look at your room.  You're totally convincing, but I'm having trouble accepting this - it's too bizarre."

     Marcie said, "It could be real dangerous.  And how can you not believe it?  You see the floor out there today?  It comes and goes but it's real bad right now."

     Patrick said, "Allergies though?  I can see it's all fucked up, I don't get it, I kinda don't wanna get it, but where do ya get allergies from?"

     Grime said, “What’s wrong with the floor?”

     Deandre said, “Are you kiddin’?  How can you not see that, feel it under your feet?”

     Grime shook his head and threw up his hands.

     “Look,” Olivia said in her usual blank way, “He’s different.”

     Everyone followed the direction she pointed - Grime’s feet.  They looked normal enough.  But he was standing between Deandre and I, and the carpet around our bare feet was swollen into little ridges.  The floor at Grime’s feet was flat and smooth.

     “Oh god,” I slapped my head.  “Stand where I’m standing, Grime.”

     “What.”

     I stepped aside to vacate the spot, leaving light swelling and foot shapes in my place.  “Stand there.”

     “OK, but my name is Graeme, Courtney.”

     “Oh, shit, whatever.  Please, now.”

     He stepped onto the spot, and the flooring smoothed out beneath his feet, laying perfectly flat.

     Everyone started chattering among themselves.

     Patrick asked, “Why?  What’s he got?  We all covered in human dander and godda take more baths?  Is he a fuckin’ Portuguese water dog?”

     Momi said, “I can’t tell the difference in how it’s pronounced.  Greeme?”

     Deandre said, “This is officially fucked up.”

     Knobby said, “Is it because he’s white?”

     Olivia said, “No, so is that guy, and that guy.”

     Deandre added, “Maybe it’s because he’s got a job and none of us do.”

     Patrick said, “Naw, I’m working.”

     Methadone Mike said, “We broke the rules.  This has to mean God hates us, man.”

     Richie said, “No gods, no masters.  If that guy is immune, we can find out why and do it ourselves.”

     Marcie said, “How?  We can’t know anything.  It’s magic, isn’t it?”

     Perry said, “It’s more like Graham, isn’t it?  I don’t care.”

     Grime said, “Graeme.  It’s spelled with G-R-A-E-”

     I said, “It doesn’t matter!”

     Momi said, “There ain’t no words with E after A.”

     I reiterated my point.  “I have it!  Graeme, you have allergies, don’t you?”

     “Yes.  I do.”

     “Maybe you aren’t affected by the building’s allergies because you have allergies?  Like a double negative thing?”

     Deandre said, “No, I got allergies too.  I got shook out of bed last night.”

     Patrick and Marcie started to speak, but then Grime, who had been looking at the way his feet smoothed the carpet, silenced them with an idea.  “I take medicine.  Do you?”

     Deandre shook his head.  “Living downtown I don’t have to.  It’s mostly plant shit, worse in the suburbs.”

     I flared my nose and stamped my feet.  The ground blistered at my touch.  “That’s it!  That’s it.  We need allergy medicine.”

     Methadone Mike said, “I don’t like the feeling, the drowsiness.”

     “I have another idea, but we’re going to need a lot.  We’re going to need a fucking lot of allergy medicine.”

     Knobby said, “Just like starting a meth lab!”

     Grime said, “Yeah, that’s what it’ll look like if we go out to lay down a bunch of money on Benadryl.”

     “Then we steal it.”

                                                        ***

     It was time to take care control of our lives again.  The Myrmidon Apartments would have to take their medicine.  We all got into our rich bitch drag and strolled out in groups.  Olivia and Knobby looked like they were going to play racquetball.  Marcie was the church lady with young Richie in a tweed suit at her side.  Momi was going with them, but in hipster drag with a skirt over leggings and puffy ski vest.  Methadone Mike was in a navy blue blazer with an anchor on the lapel, over pastel clothes and sockless boat shoes.  He wanted a hat like Alan Hale on Gilligan’s Island, but we couldn’t find one and I thought it was a bit over the top anyway.  Deandre was in his purloined dapper queer style.  Patrick, Perry, and Grime were already well groomed and dressed enough to not look too out of place.  I was in my apartment people disguise from back when I got the keys.  Wherever possible, we were rocking sunglasses.  It was what the occasion called for.

     Grime and I took the express bus north to a car rental place, in preparation for a day of hitting every place we could find.  With that we could go farther afield than the rest, which would help keep us from overlapping in our travels and wasting time.

     I did some research to see which area would have the fewest meth labs, so the store clerks would be less suspicious.  I’d heard that the south end of the county was the meth capital of the planet, so we went north.  Claims of the south side being the meth capital yielded forty thousand search engine results, and the north side only got twelve thousand.  Very scientific.  Sadly methy.

     Grime drove dangerously, like some kind of California asshat.  Turned out he was from San Dimas, of Bill & Ted fame.  I had always been told that people in Washington were more careful about breaking the speed limit, preferring to do it when traffic was light enough to have some car lengths between.  But that as soon as you cross the border from Oregon to Cali, everyone is doing a hundred ten, right on each other’s tailpipes.  I’d never traveled to witness the spectacle, but with Grime at the wheel, I believed it.  I didn’t want to get arrested with a trunk full of allergy meds - or at all - but how annoying would it be to nag him about it?

     He tore ass up I-5 all the way to Snohomish County, then hopped off onto highway 99 to start the mission.  We pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall and parked.  I held my baseball hat in hand.  “How much of your money are you willing to waste on this?  I think we should be stealing.”

     “Yeah.  I never wanted to be a thief - not like this.  It seems low.  And I know that’s some lingering classism on my part, like, why shouldn’t people steal the shit they need?  But it feels… embarrassing.  Trying not to seem like meth heads while doing meth head shit.”

     “I know.  What’s the least embarrassing job?  Grabbing the stuff, or running distraction?”

     “Grabbing the stuff, definitely, but I’ve never been slick before.”

     “Well, you’re also a medium young white guy in clean clothes, so people will be less focused on you.  I’d rather be filling the bag myself, but whatever your lack of experience?  Seems like you’d be best for it.”

     “Yeah.”

     I put on my hat and we got out of the car.  Grime went into the back seat to grab a reusable Whole Foods bag I’d modified for a similar job.  I crafted a fake pile of clothing on a flap.  Stolen goods would go in, the flap could be easily pulled up over them, so a glance in the bag would look like it contained goods from elsewhere.  The hardest part was cutting a package of socks in half and gluing it into place.  I’d made it for another foolish quest.  Today it would get a more important use.

     We walked into the store and split up, doing a few rounds of the aisles to case the locations of employees.  Seeing Grime had a decent opening, I decided to corner the nearest employee with some bullshit.  They were one aisle away from him, could walk around that corner at any moment.  Not with me in their grits.  “Hey hey, I need to know where you keep your batteries.”  I knew where they were, of course.

     It was a young white lady who tensed visibly at my voice.  That made it easier to burn her, for sure.  “They’re on aisle 12 A.”  She kept about her business.

     “Hey, hey, how am I supposed to know which one is 12 A?  Where are the signs?”

     She sighed.  “Right up there.”  She pointed them out.

     “Oh?  They’re so small.  Are they in the same place on every aisle?  Why don’t you just show me?”

     In between breaths, between words, I could hear a clatter of thin cardboard boxes, a rattle of pills, of Grime filling the bag.  It was maddening and I added words to my fast-talk just to cover it up.  “I mean I think it’s very rude.  I don’t feel like you’re giving me the same customer service you’d give anyone else.”

     She tensed and tried not to glare, by focusing awkwardly on my shoulder.  “I apologize, sir.  Let me show you to the batteries, OK?”

     “Gee, thanks.”

     She walked that way in a huff and I followed, a Marx brother following someone who told me to “walk this way.”  I hoped I wouldn’t get misgendered everywhere we went.  At the batteries she pointed, wheeled, and walked away without saying anything.

     I noticed someone looking at Grime as he walked out the door, so I made enough noise to pull that person’s attention back to me.  “Thanks for nothing, bitch!  I’m not even going to buy your shit!  I’m taking my business down the street!”  She hustled out of sight, into a back room.

     I started toward the door and the other cashier was glaring at me like daggers.  “You better leave this store, sir, or we will call the cops!”

     “Yeah, fuck you too, Jack!”  I gave him the double deuce as I went.  That was probably a bad idea, but felt right in the moment.

     Grime whipped up to me and opened the passenger side door from inside.  I hopped in, the cashier coming out to give me the business.  Yeah, the double deuce was a mistake I wasn’t going to repeat.  Grime drove fast enough to hopefully keep the man from clocking our license plate number.

     He said, “Are you nuts?  The distraction can stop when I’m out, can’t it?  Shouldn’t it?”

     “Yeah, I’ll do better next time.  What did you get?”

     “A wicked case of the heebie jeebies.  Just a moment.”  He pulled up to a red light, then reached back for the bag, handing it to me.

     “This is the reason we should hit up multiple places.  This isn’t enough.”

     “I’m just doing everything you tell me and trusting it’ll work out, but why?  This is gonna get me a record, baby.  I can’t fuckin’ wait.”

     “I can’t believe you’re gonna gripe about a little property crime while driving the way you do.”

     “What?  I stopped at the red.  I hear in Kansas they consider red lights more of a polite suggestion than an absolute.”

     “Why, you’re just a model citizen.  I didn’t mean to impugn your righteous ways.”

     The light turned green and he started out along the highway again.  “Nyeh nyeh nyeh.  So next time you’ll distract smaller?”

     “If you’ll make less racket with the pills.”

     “What?  How loud was it?”

     “It was loud.  Like Carmen Miranda with maracas.”

     “You think you can do better?”

     “You know how bad the distraction game was?”

     “How bad was it, Courtney?”

     “The distraction game was so bad, I got misgendered twice and had a dude fixing to assault me.”

     “Damn.  Damn,” he got serious, “I should be doing that part.”

     “No, I shouldn’t have mentioned the serious stuff.  I can handle it.  You learn and adapt, right?”

     “Yeah, but--”

     “I can guess what you’re going to say and I really don’t wanna talk about trans stuff with you, even if you’re a good boy.  It’s just awkward.  Like someone can be ninety-eight percent right and that two percent becomes maddening.”

     “Mm, OK, I can see that.  But seriously, if this hurts you, I’m taking over.”

     “I need you on bag patrol.  The guy at the front was watching you leave.  Your white boy -ness bought you the seconds you needed to get out the door without getting caught with the goods.”

     “You think?”

     “I know.  Here.  I have a good feeling about this one.”  I pointed to a ramshackle Safeway with garbage bags blowing around the parking lot.

     “Good call.”

     A few hours later, Grime stopped for lunch at Shari’s.  He ordered fries and a chocolate milkshake and I ordered a steak salad with blue cheese dressing.  He was drinking water, I was having coke.

     When we were sitting at the table waiting for the food, I tried to relax my fluttering ragged nerves.  A day of repeated confrontations, brushes with violence.  In that dark booth, maybe I could forget it.  The man sitting across from me sipped his water and regarded me with gentle grey eyes.  Grime.  His nose was five percent eagle beak, but more heroic than goofy looking.  His cheeks were soft, but the stubble was beginning to come back from the daily abuse.  His lips were firm and his teeth perfect in there.

     I hadn’t thought about that before.  Perfect teeth are an artifact of money, almost every time.  Who raised this San Dimas commie?  No doubt the kind of creeps that had once made Reagan governor of the state.  But this was a gentle wolf boy.  His dark hair had a few strands of silver.  I think he figured out that I like it hanging out, so he lost the pony tail.  Devilish.

     I wanted to put my leg on his leg under the table.  Lose my shoe, work my foot up to his thigh, see if I could reach closer.  I imagined myself going for that dick and accidentally pushing my toes into his belly and it amused and aroused me at the same time.  Maybe if we hit it again, I could ride on top and rub his body with both hands.

     OR NOT.  My foot hadn’t even inched that way.  Exhaustion helped, but there was a queasy feeling of moral horror settling into me at the same time.  It wouldn’t be a sin to get fucked here, not a bad thing in the least.  But I couldn’t forget how I felt when I told Leimomi.  My head sunk, my shoulders slumped.  I felt that ice in my belly and stinging heat in my face and in my skull.  I rubbed my forehead, made like I was having a headache.  I wondered, if I was more headache prone, would that pain distract from feelings like this?

     He looked at me with concern.  “What’s the matter, Courtney?  My offer still stands.”

     I shook my head and fake smiled.  “Nothing, just a headache.”

     “If you say so.”

     I felt like I wanted to say something but not anything that would lead to particulars.  I puzzled it out a few moments and came up with, “Why do fools fall in love, Graeme?  Sometimes people get really emotionally invested in making something happen, or in some crazy dream about something that was never gonna happen, and then… Sad.  Shouldn’t people be able to manage their feelings?”

     “Oh?  What brought this on?”

     “No one is in love with you, dude.”

     “Heh, a boy can dream, can’t he?”

     “Besides, I just mean it generally,” I lied.  “So yeah, why can’t people check themselves before they wreck themselves?  Heartwise.”

     “Oh, I don’t know.  I haven’t fallen uncontrollably in love since I was in high school, so it’s easy to imagine it’s all hormones or something.  I heard that teenagers have thinner coats of insulation on their neurons, which makes them more impulsive.”

     “So why would a grown-ass adult do the same thing?”

     “Lots of things can mess with impulse control.  You hear it in drug commercials, like the stop-smoking pills whose side effects can include gambling and suicide.  Brain damage.  Hormones can change a lot during a person’s life, I’m sure you know.”

     “Let’s say my abstract subject of conversation love fool isn’t a slave to nature.  Let’s say there’s hope.  Let’s hope there’s hope.  How do they rein it in?”

     The food came.  The waiter said, “Enjoy.  I’ll be back to see if you need anything else, OK?”

     I said, “Thank you.”

     Grime said, “Thanks,” and resumed the subject without missing a beat.  “That’s the trick, isn’t it?  We all have to learn that because all our songs and stories are about love and sex and romance, but no one tells you how to approach it realistically.  How to give yourself permission to get over a broken heart, or anything.  Probably we all have to figure that stuff out for ourselves.  I think I did OK.  You’re not so sure about yourself?”

     “It’s about someone else, man.”

     “Of course, I meant, you don’t feel sure because you asked me about what advice to give them, right?”

     “Oh yeah, right.”  The salad dressing had come in a little ceramic dish and I glopped it onto the leaves unceremoniously.

     He finished a sip of the shake with an unconscious “mm” and continued.  “So if I’m thinking back, trying to remember, what did I tell myself, that helped me stop feeling heartbroken?  After the worst time I resolved to always withhold a bit of myself when I go into a new relationship.  To always have something that’s me, that’s… I don’t know, maybe it’s kind of hard or cold.  But it was useful.  Now keeping a level head about infatuation is just second nature to me.  Not that it’s always easy, but I can get through it.”

     I ate a single leaf while he talked.  When he was finished I said, “That’s like a love prophylactic.  You use it to keep from falling hard.  But what if you’ve already fallen, and prevention is not an option?”

     “That’s just going to be brutal no matter what.  But your love fool has to realize they aren’t always going to feel the same way.  That’s one thing in life that can always get better.  I know you’ve seen movies that say the exact opposite, but fuck that stuff.  Life should be healthy and happy.”

     “Maaan, I should fall in love with you, Graeme, but I won’t.  You’re such a good boy.  I hope your parents are proud.”

     “Haha, oh that burns.  I think they’ll be happier when I somehow magically pull a million dollar startup out of my ass.  How ab-- mm, whatever.  Want a french fry?”

     “No thanks.  Graeme?”

     “Yes--”

     My cell phone rang.  It was Momi.  My heart skipped a beat.

     “I have to take this.”  I stood up, tripping over myself and staggered out the front door.  Having forgotten my hat and sunglasses at the table, I was as blind as I was sad and twisted.  “Hello?”

     “Courtney, hey.  Richie is in jail.  We could use help.”

     Oh fuck, I thought.  It’s all going down.  Everyone is gonna get busted.  Oh god, Marcie… She’s gonna kill me.  She should kill me.  Poor Richie.  Fuck!

     “Courtney?”

     “Um, yeah, that’s horrible.”  I had to plug my unused ear completely against the noise of the highway.  “What the hell happened?”

     “We ran into Walter.  Marcie and Richie beat him up but he beat them up too.  And the cops...”

     “Beat Richie too, didn’t they?  Is he alright?  Fucking pig bastards.”

     “I wish I knew.  Maybe Grime can help them?  With his, uh, white guy thing.”

     “Oh yeah, definitely.  We’ll be there in no time.  Give me an address...”

     It was a massive relief.  I couldn’t deal with it being about us in any way.  I got my head on straight in a hurry.  It was time to save the day.

                                                        ***

     Read the next chapter here.

[thejollyrunner]

Ah Mooloolaba – the Loo with a View. What a day we had. A day where my race went down the toilet. A day of lessons. And the lesson I learned was that if anyone tells you “less is more”, don’t believe them.

I did less training (at least in the last 4 weeks of the lead up) to my first more distance (a.k.a Olympic) triathlon. It was NOT the optimal race prep.

2 weeks off training might have been fine. You won’t lose fitness in this period of time, according to sports science. But 4 weeks of enforced* rest? I could feel the lack of fitness whilst I trundled round Mooloolaba last weekend! (*OK. I admit: the initial 2 weeks were self-imposed).

Less is more racing

I got away with it at Raby Bay, in many respects. My run suffered, as my knee had a hissy fit as I got off the bike. But I had a good swim and a good bike leg.

In fact, my swim was sufficiently good that it had pissed off a fellow participant, who I met at the start line in Mooloolaba. She commented that a lady in the wave in front of us looked to be struggling, but I just thought she was doing breaststroke. “Bless,” she said. “Oh, that’ll be me in a few minutes…” I said. “Were you at Raby Bay the other week?” she asked, an accusing tone entering her voice. “Erm, yes,” I said, as noncommittally as yes can be. “I was really dirty with some chick at Raby Bay. She was swimming faster than me and she was doing breaststroke.”

I think she might be the one I had the fight with….

Less is more training

I had attempted to do some training. I did get in the pool and do some water running.

At least, I told myself I was water running. The Grumpster appeared at the edge of the pool on one occasion and remarked “I thought you were supposed to be pool running. That looks more like walking!” So that’s why my heart rate was less elevated than I expected… OOPS.

And I did do most of the things Anna, my physio, told me. I was particularly good at icing and resting my leg. I was very happy to do more relaxing.

And I am more than happy to do more storing of the club trailer outside my house. I have an absurd, but nonetheless, intense dislike of people parking in front of our property. Which they do ALL the bloody time. So, it was a great joy to me to have the trailer marking my territory for a week.

I put the need for space down to being British. You know we need plenty of personal space. According to my mate Kylie, we also only hug dogs and horses.

Whatever, outside my property is my own private reserve. Neighbours, take note!

Less is more travelling

Talking of dogs (maybe not so much horses these days, as our own small horse, aka Gracie-Boo is no longer with us), we did more driving than was absolutely necessary.

Being such a half-ass takes a certain amount of discipline. Or possibly denial.

So, I had spent the entire lead-up to Mooloolaba in denial about race logistics. I blocked out all the chatter about accommodation and where everyone else was staying. I was staying at home. Why was that a problem?

I realised it was a problem when I finally got round to reading the race instructions. Which stated that all bikes must be racked on the Saturday.

So, we had to drive the 100km there with my bike (and the club trailer) and back on the Saturday. Dexter came too.

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And timing was impeccable too. We managed to get to Mooloolaba just as the elite men’s race was about to begin. Maintaining the air of denial, we managed to get the trailer in position by removing the road block and driving across the course. Meh – they were in the water, swimming. It was no big deal…

  We did get a good view as we walked back after racking my bike:

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Less is more in the race pack

Those in the know know that Ironman brand events are not cheap. The entry for Mooloolaba is about 3 times the price of a Gatorade series race. But, the received wisdom is, you get more for your money.

And you do get some snazzy stickers to label your equipment, as well as temporary tattoos to stick on your arm.

My tattoos were so temporary, that half of the them never got as far as my arm. Some remained on the plastic protective coating. Some remained on my thumb.

It takes skills to be this inept!

There was also a pack with a towel in it. I’ve had face clothes that have more substance to them. And apparently, the norm is a visor and a water bottle, too. Neither of these items were included for this race. Which was pretty disappointing seeing as it was the 25th anniversary of the Mooloolaba event!

And you don’t get a finishers medal. OMG. Was I gutted!!!

I was pretty damn sure that Ironman events come with a finishers medal.

So much so, that, having picked up my free oversized face cloth on the Saturday and knowing I wasn’t in good condition for the morrow, the only reason I got out of bed on the Sunday was so I could pick up my bling at the finish line. #truefact

Less is more sleeping in on a Sunday

At least it was a pretty start to the day on Sunday. This is the view looking out over the bay.

The king tide that had been hurling waves onto the normally protected beach the previous day had lost its crown. The water was pretty flat and I wondered if, perhaps, it was a sign my day might be salvaged.

I deposited my belongings by my bike in transition.

And tried not to be intimidated by the throng of other competitors. I had done a thorough recce so I knew how to get to my bike!

And then I went and hung out at the club tent to take my mind off what promised to be an uncomfortable few hours ahead of me.

Less is more racing

I don’t race. I participate. But I was a little anxious about finishing last in my category. (I don’t know if I did – Ironman were kind enough to only tell me my position in mycategory without mentioning how many others there were. Thank you Ironman. You are partially forgiven for your stingy race showboat).

Having discussed the fact that I would be breaststroking with my friend from Raby Bay, I set about swimming when the red hats* hooter went off. I had warmed up (which is code for having my customary pre-race wee in the sea) and was ready to go. The water was beautiful. Fairly warm, but not too much so and pretty flat. Committing to breaststroke meant that I stay relaxed, and whilst I spent the first 1000m bitching to myself about it being a pigging long swim and what was I thinking doing an Olympic distance, I finally found a rhythm and enjoyed the last 500m.

Less is more drowning

Which means the bloke who decided it was imperative that he swam on top of me because my little space in the ocean was the only place he needed to be, must have finished trying to drown me by then. Seriously, the dude was not going to win his wave. He was a long way off the front of his pack. I was not in the middle of a particularly tight huddle. Why do people think they have a right to drown you?

If I want to drown, I will swim freestyle. OK?

I do not need help!

I got out of the water 32 minutes after starting. From comparing notes, I had a very good swim. :D

Less is more speed

I think the bike leg was the bit I was most disappointed about. I’d made so many gains on the bike in the weeks I had trained consistently, that I could feel the progress. At our training camp in Pottesville, I had hung onto the back of riders I have no right to keep up with. At Raby Bay, my average speed was significantly faster than any previous race. The same could not be said for Mooloolaba. The bike course starts with a nasty bee sting of a hill, but then flattens out into around 18km of good quality flat tarmac. Out and back.

Yet my legs just could not make the most of the generous surface.

My friend from Raby Bay, who I clearly left behind in the swim again, came powering past me and I had nothing with which to respond. I pootled along, and my time was respectable. But it wasn’t the ride I wanted to record.

Less is more running

Let’s face it – there was no running. I thought about it. I tried it. But it wasn’t happening. A combination of no training, too much pool walking in place of pool running and the heat! Oh, the heat. Don’t let my earlier pictures fool you. The promised rain never arrived. Instead, the sun poked it’s head out, thought it looked like a great day for a party with South Bank Tri Club and came out to play. It was a scorcher.

And I had nothing.

Nothing whatsoever in the tank to deal with it.

I started out with some 20 steppers, but even that was proving too much. I was very quickly reduced to a walk.

I wasn’t alone. A lot of other participants were run/walking in the conditions.

Not many were just walking. But I was.

The girl who insists on breaststroking, also insisted on walking.

There’s a time and a place for being an individual. I’m just not convinced it’s in the midst of an Olympic distance triathlon…

But it got done.

I did run past the club tent. When you’ve got a bunch of rowdy clubmates roaring you on, it feels obligatory. (I was thankful for the bends in the road, though, which meant I could quickly give up my pretence and get back to a more comfortable pace).

Photo courtesy of the lovely Colette Hanlon

  I did run the 50m or so down to the finish line. I didn’t even want to do that. :/

Especially when I didn’t get presented with my medal!!!

Less is more partying

Thankfully South Bank Tri Club live up to their name of being the fourth leg specialists. And it was such a relief to get back to the small tent village that Robin had organised and to the sustenance that Simone had provided.

An esky full of ice cold beer, cider and soft drinks to start with, then a plunge into the paddling pool alongside team mates who had been finished for ages.

Photo courtesy of Missy Trina

  A sausage and a steak cooked on the barby, and a bit of fun in the sun, kicking back and catching up on everyone’s race stories. It was certainly the highlight of my race.

Later that night, I did notice a bit of suntan poker being played on Facebook. Sarah and Trina were comparing their rather stunning tan lines from their air suits. Well girls, I’ll see your tan lines and raise you chafe. I think that might be one thing I did win on the day!

Less is more athleticism

Whilst writing this, I have just watched Oscar try to leap onto the barbecue. And fail. I realise I may not be the only athletically challenged member of the family…

Assisted leaping… (i.e. lifted)

  And Dexter is featured simply for handsomeness…

So, there you have it: more words, less achievement. But I had a great day regardless.

You definitely have more fun with the South Bank peeps.

*each race category enters the water in a wave, and the wave is denoted by the colour of the swim cap. Mine was red.

Less is more: Mooloolaba Triathlon Race Report - the less you train, the more time you get to spend on course. #Mootri17 Ah Mooloolaba - the Loo with a View. What a day we had. A day where my race went down the toilet.

[viralhottopics]

I love Trump. Hes doing what he said. Presidents supporters keep the faith

Womens Marches and widespread criticism of the Muslim ban have not dented the loyalty of Trump voters

Cast-iron hooks, childrens vinyl records, classic food packages, tobacco baskets, vintage-style olive buckets and a rotary-dial telephone fill the shelves at James and Jess House of Goods. The antiques store opened two years ago, styling itself as rustic, hipster, chic with a twee strapline: Mostly old with a little new.

If the House of Goods was in Washington DC, it would be a decent demographic bet that its owners voted for Hillary Clinton. But it is 75 miles away in Washington County, which Donald Trump won handily. And while the capital city has been roiled by protests since Trump moved into the White House, from where James and Jess are sitting he is doing just fine.

I love Trump, James Zawatski said. I give him credit for doing what he said he was going to do; a lot of politicians dont. Im 47 and I never voted in my life but I did this year. We needed someone with a set of balls to do what needs to be done. Im tired of those liberals.

Trumps asteroid-like impact on Washington DC has caused bewilderment, consternation, disorientation, puzzlement and anger. Democratic politicians have been knocked off balance by a brash adversary while Republicans are struggling to adapt to an unpredictable ally. The media have rained criticism. Residents of DC where Clinton beat Trump by 90.9% of the vote to 4.1% express their mortification and fears. And last months Womens March on the capital was a dramatic statement of anti-Trump resistance.

But across the frontline of Americas increasingly tribal politics in Hagerstown, Washington County, Maryland, the perspective is turned on its head. Whereas critics see Trumps travel bans as un-American and sowing chaos at airports, supporters see him as keeping them safe; where critics see him blowing up foreign policy as he spars with Australia and slaps sanctions on Iran, supporters see him getting tough; where critics see him firing the acting attorney general and trampling on the constitution, supporters see him boldly smashing the old order. And where activists protest, columnists fulminate and millions recoil in fear of a world spinning towards catastrophe, supporters dismiss them as liberal cry babies and praise Trump as the first politician to keep his campaign promises. They see him not as a rampaging rhinoceros but a straight-talking strongman.

His plan to build a wall on the US-Mexico border is one example of this worldview complementarity. I love immigrants, I love Mexicans, but theres a way to do it, theres a procedure, said Zawatski, himself descended from Italian immigrants. These people come and theyre entitled to more than me whos busting his ass seven days a week. Were a great country but were being taken advantage of.

Personally I wouldnt spend money on the wall. Id just shoot them as they come over. Then they wouldnt come.

Zawatski had little sympathy with the hundreds of thousands who took part in the Womens Marches, many of whom wore pink pussy hats and carried placards condemning Trump over his past boast about feeling able to grab women by the pussy. He does not merely turn a blind eye to Trumps misogyny but condones it: What man never grabbed a womans pussy? What man doesnt talk in the locker room about what he did to a woman the night before? Women do that too. Were all human. His wife, Jess, 35, agreed: Its a guy thing. I know James talks like that among guys. So I dont hold it against Trump.

The Womens March, she added, was the stupidest thing ever because some were saying theyre being treated unequally. Women can stand up and go after what they want. Men arent standing in the way.

James Zawatski in his shop. Photograph: Chet Strange for the Observer

As Zawatski, wearing tattoos on his arms and a T-shirt with the legend Tattooed and employed, spoke to the Observer, a man stole a decorative sphere off its stand (total price $79) from the pavement outside the store. Zawatski spotted him and raced outside, prompting the man to surrender the object without acrimony.

Technically this is the hood, he remarked. There are a lot of barber shops here that are not barber shops, if you know what I mean. Comparing himself to Trump, he added: I tell the police chief, Do your job. Just do it.

Hagerstown has a drugs problem and several closed-down shops and cafes stand empty. But it challenges and scrambles perceptions of the map seen as crucial to Trumps victory. It is neither the Republican-voting deep south nor the pivotal rust belt portrayed in his dark and divisive inaugural address as containing rusted-out factories scattered like tombstones under the rubric American carnage.

On the contrary, it sits in Maryland, which Clinton won with more than 60% of the vote. It is an almost pretty city of church spires and historic buildings, boasting a fine art museum, biking and hiking trails, theatres and a tourism office, replete with leaflets about the areas civil war heritage and Hagerstowns origins involving an 18th-century German immigrant. On Thursday, students could be seen pouring out of an arts school after class.

Washington Countys median household income is $56,477 (45,000), above average for the nation but well below the state average of $74,149. The county voted 64% for Trump, 31.6% for Clinton. It is a red county in a blue state or, as Clinton supporter Al Steinbach, a 64-year-old sales rep, vividly put it: I call Maryland the vagina map: right down the centre is blue; left and right is red. Welcome to divided America.

Steinbach, who is literally afraid of what Trump might do, reads the Washington Post daily and listens to National Public Radio. When I turn to Fox News and see what the other side are saying, Im appalled by the extreme side they are on.

In the past, it has been argued, communities would be bound together by local newspapers and radio stations, establishing at least some common ground; now, in the age of fragmented digital media, everyone with a phone is an island. Last Thursday, Anthony Kline, 38, a labourer, sat in a no-frills bar watching a new Facebook video made by a bearded, muscular man who claimed to be in Iraq.

The man, called Steven Gern, said he had asked local Iraqis what would happen if he took a walk in town and they had replied he would be snatched, tortured and beheaded on video. This being so, he claimed, why should he let Iraqis into his country? Kline, gripping the phone in his tattooed hand, said: This is as real as it gets.

Trump recently told the CIA that he is in a running war with the media. Kline, who awards the president eight marks out of 10 so far, said: Mainstream media news is definitely partial. They put on what they want you to hear or think. Most people are not educated enough and they take things at face value.

The chorus of liberal outrage that greets Trump daily not only falls on deaf ears among his supporters but appears to harden their view that he is taking on a privileged, self-centred elite. Reflecting on the Womens March that followed inauguration day, Kline said: Youve got a lot of mommys-liberal-baby snowflakes that are used to having their way. Its like your spoiled kid not used to being told no. Once you tell them no, they dont know how to react.

Across town, Marlon Michael, 50, still has a Trump make America great again banner outside his home, part of a duplex with vinyl walls and flagpole with the stars and stripes. The country was going downhill and the rest of the world didnt respect us any more, he said. Trump vowed to bring all that back just like the old days. And the verdict so far? Michaels answer would be unthinkable in swaths of Manhattan: Hes doing wonderful. Hes doing everything he said hes going to do and you cant ask for more than that from a politician.

Democrats, activists and media commentators have denounced Trumps executive order banning travellers from seven Muslim-majority countries, both for its bungled execution and its sinister intent. Chuck Schumer, Democratic minority leader in the Senate, said: There are tears running down the cheeks of the Statue of Liberty tonight. Even Republican loyalists quailed.

A Reuters/Ipsos poll found about 31% of people said the ban made them feel more safe, while 26% felt less safe. Another 33% said it would not make any difference and the rest said they did not know. But Trump voters like Michael, a former US marine who works in home construction, give it a full-throated endorsement. It should have been done eight or 12 years ago, or after 9/11, he said. For the past eight years weve had a president that was a little lighthearted towards the Muslims. We lock our doors so people dont create havoc in our homes; its the same with America. Were shutting our borders so people dont create havoc.

Christianne Smith in a Hagerstown coffee shop. Photograph: Chet Strange for the Observer

Michael, too, watches Fox News CNN has too much false bullshit thats not true and Trump calls them out on it and has little but contempt for the Womens March. Fucking stupid. For what? What more privileges do you want? Women have equal rights. Theyll still be fighting for it till the end of time. Wearing a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt with an image of fingers in an up yours sign, Michael gives Trump nine out of 10. My only complaint is that I wish he would stay off Twitter.

The election demonstrated that, despite Barack Obamas plea otherwise, there are blue states and red states in America. But there are also blue and red counties. One of the defining splits in the election was between voters with a college degree and those without: according to the FiveThirtyEight website, Clinton improved on Obamas 2012 performance in 48 of the countrys 50 most well educated counties, but lost ground relative to Obama in 47 of the 50 least educated counties critical to her defeat.

Trumps debut in the White House has done little to heal the rift, with each side viewing his policies, pronouncements and antics through a rival prism. Sitting in a coffee shop in Hagerstown, Christianne Smith, 20, an African American student, gave him a score of two out of 10. Hes unfit, inexperienced, he said. He doesnt have the best interests of the people in America. I dont understand how he became president. Maybe its because I didnt vote. So its my fault.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2lbMeKj

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