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Private Money & Self-Storage Investing with Scott Meyers and Jay Conner

https://www.jayconner.com/private-money-self-storage-investing-with-scott-meyers-and-jay-conner/

Scott Meyers shares the world of Self-Storage Investing

Scott and his affiliated companies focus on the acquisition, development, and syndicating of self-storage facilities nationwide. He currently owns and operates over 2,200,000 square feet and over 13,000 units nationwide.

His education organization www.SelfStorageInvesting.com provides courses, tools, life events, and mentoring to help others launch self-storage businesses to enjoy a lifestyle, as his saying goes “free from tenant, toilets & trash!”

His various companies are also very mission-focused and funded the construction of 12 houses in Mexico and the Dominican Republic by taking his staff, partners & other associates on their all-expense-paid short-term mission trips.

Timestamps:

0:01 – Get Ready To Be Plugged Into The Money

1:38 – Jay’s New Book: “Where To Get The Money Now”- https://www.JayConner.com/Book

2:58 – Today’s guest: Scott Meyers

5:44 – How Scott Meyers got started in the real estate business

8:31 – Scott Meyers’ very first storage facility

10:15 – Scott Meyers’ lesson learned on his first storage facility deal

11:04 – What is syndication?

13:29 – Does the storage investing business also offer multiple exit strategies?

17:09 – Get connected with Scott Meyers – https://www.SelfStorageInvesting.com

18:34 – How does the pandemic affect the Self-Storage industry?

22:09 – No business strives unless it’s solving a lot of people’s problems

23:10 – Scott Meyers’ recent projects

25:19 – Best way on starting with Self-Storage Investing business

27:43 – Common mistakes that new self-storage investors make

30:17 – Scott Meyers’ parting comments – “It’s when everybody is running out that you should be, not just running in but understanding what it means to be in the real estate business.”

Private Money Academy Conference:

https://jaysliveevent.com/live/?oprid=&ref=42135

Have you read Jay’s new book: Where to Get The Money Now? It is available FREE (all you pay is the shipping and handling) at https://www.JayConner.com/Book

Free Webinar: http://bit.ly/jaymoneypodcast

Jay Conner is a proven real estate investment leader. Without using his own money or credit, Jay maximizes creative methods to buy and sell properties with profits averaging $64,000 per deal.

What is Real Estate Investing? Live Private Money Academy Conference

https://youtu.be/QyeBbDOF4wo

YouTube Channel

https://www.youtube.com/c/RealEstateInvestingWithJayConner

iTunes:

https://podcasts.apple.com/ca/podcast/private-money-academy-real-estate-investing-jay-conner/id1377723034

Listen to our Podcast:

https://realestateinvestingdeals.mypodcastworld.com/11241/private-money-self-storage-investing-with-scott-meyers-and-jay-conner

Private Money & Self-Storage Investing with Scott Meyers and Jay Conner

Jay Conner:

Stir. And you are still struggling to do your first deal because you don’t have the funding and you can’t find the money for your deals, or are you a wholesaler? And you’ve received some assignment fees, but there’s some deals you want to stay in, but you said probably haven’t been able to stay in the deals because you don’t have the money or the funding, or are you a seasoned real estate investor? And you’ve done a ton of deals, but you’re sick and tired of paying high interest rates and you want to be in control of your business and you just want to get some more cheap money really, really fast. Well, if you answered yes to any of those three questions, don’t go anywhere because I’m getting ready to plug you into the money right now.

Well, hello and welcome to another episode of the private money academy podcast. I’m Jay Conner, the private money authority. I’m the host of the show. And I want to welcome you here to the show here on the private money academy podcast. We obviously always talk about private money and getting deals funded, getting money for your deals. But in addition to that, I typically have an amazing guest and expert to join me here on the show. And today is no exception, but before I introduce you to my good friend and expert in this area of self storage, that you’re going to find amazing. I’ve got a free gift for you for just being here on the show. And that is, I just recently released my new book, which is titled where to get the money now, subtitle, how and where to get money for your real estate deals without relying on traditional or hard money lenders.

So here’s the deal folks. I just released this book hit number one on Amazon. And this book was show you. Step-by-step how I went from having no funding from ideals to over $2 million in less than 90 days and how you can get plugged into money as well. We’re not talking about traditional money. We’re not talking about institutional lenders, how to get money very, very fast at super cheap, low interest rates. And I’m glad to send this book to you for free, just cover delivery. You can get the book for free at www dot Jay Conner, J a y C o n n er.com forward slash book. Again, you can get the book, we’ll ship it right out to [email protected] forward slash book. And we’ll get you plugged into the funding for your deals right away. What, as I mentioned, I’ve got an amazing guest and a very, very close personal friend of mine on the show with me today, a little bit about him before I bring him on he and his affiliated companies, they focus in this area on the acquisition, the development and the syndicating of self storage facilities nationwide.

Now, my guests currently owns any operates over check this out 2 million, 200,000, my land’s square feet and over 13,000 units that is gotten nationwide. Well, not only does he do the business, but he also teaches and coaches other real estate investors that want to learn about self storage and how that works. His education company is self storage, investing.com, and it provides courses and tools and live events, coaching, and mentoring to help others launch like you self storage businesses to enjoy the lifestyle. And, you know, as my guest, a good friend is known to say many, many times, get in this business and you’ll be free from tenants free from toilets free from trash. Well, you know, one thing that he and I talk about, and he and I are in a high end mastermind group together, his various companies are also very mission focused. He’s got a heart of gold, he’s got a servant’s heart and he is so far to date. He’s funded the construction of 12 houses, and I’m very, very familiar with this project. 12 houses down in Mexico and the Dominican Republic by taking his staff, his partners, his friends, his business associates on their all expense paid mission trip to do houses for these people. Wow. What a service heart, where that my good friend, Scott Myers, welcome to the podcast.

Scott Meyer:

Hey Jay, it is a good to see you again, my friend, how are you?

Jay Conner:

I am doing fantastic. I know we’ve got a mastermind meeting coming up pretty soon out there in Scottsdale. Are you going to make that one or you don’t know?

Scott Meyer:

I am looking forward to it and I will attend to any, and all of those that will be held in Arizona because now I have a two kiddos that are going to grand canyon university in Phoenix. And so we’re going to be spending a lot of time out in Arizona.

Jay Conner:

Oh, that’s great. Well, Carol joy and I we’ve already got our plane tickets. We’ve got our hotel reservations. So I look forward to seeing you in Scottsdale in just a few short weeks, right around the corner.

Scott Meyer:

Likewise can’t wait. Absolutely.

Jay Conner:

Well, Scott, as I told everybody in the introduction, I mean your expertise, your wheelhouses self storage and self storage facilities, but before we get into that world and your arena, first of all, just tell everybody how you got into real estate.

Scott Meyer:

Yeah. Wow. I think probably like most people out there started with the single family house and I learned from, and many folks on here will this name and a whole lot won’t Carleton sheets, who was one of the grandfathers along with Ron Legrand and some of the others that taught people how to get into real estate. So I followed this program to buy houses, rehab them refund, and some rent them out and then replicate and do that over and over again. So the burn method before it was called the bird method. And so that’s how we got started bought a single family house. This was back in 1993 was the first one that I ever bought. It had an assumable VA mortgage on it, which I don’t think there’s any of those left out there any longer and allowed me to get in and just assume that mortgage with very little experience in the way of even credit history at the time, it was a pretty young guy at the time, as you can tell by my age now and doing the math.

So that’s how it started. And then we moved on to buying up more. We refinanced about two more houses than we need to fix them up refinance and buy more. So we had about 75 in 76 houses and didn’t really have the cashflow and the, the, you know, the freedom that we wanted that Carlton sheets had mentioned in the home study system. So we thought, well, economies of scale will fix this. So we started getting into apartments and buying several complexes around central Indiana, but same thing and just kind of bought us more tenants, toilets, trash headaches, and the business model just wasn’t right for us. We wanted to have time. We wanted the freedom that real estate brings. And so to do that in real estate, that means no tenants, no toilets. So that’s either parking lots or self storage, and you can’t really build a lot of value in, in parking lots.

And then we found, but once I dug into self storage, I realized that, ah, this is, this is a place I need to be. People don’t pay rent. You lock them out and you sell their stuff off and get paid. You turn it around by taking a blower and you blow the unit out with no paint, no carpet, no extensive clean-out or repairs. And once I more, the more I looked into the business, I really saw the light and decided that this is the path I wanted to take. So sold their houses, our apartments, and now we’ve gone just, you know, 100% into self storage made that transition about 2005 to where we are now, today, which is where you mentioned Jay, we, we buy existing facilities. Still. That same model is in place. We also convert industrial buildings, grocery stores, anything that is, can be repurposed into so storage, we’ll buy it and convert it. And then we build from the ground up and we do a lot of this on by partnering and doing joint ventures and then syndicating the private equity, which is where you come in, Jay and you know, all too well, what that looks like and how we can leverage other people’s money and bring them along as limited partners to enjoy in the growth in this incredible business. So I hope that wasn’t longer than what you were looking for, but that’s, that’s my story.

Jay Conner:

No, that was perfect. Well, tell us the story about your very first self storage facility that you got into and, and what lessons did you learn from that first deal?

Scott Meyer:

Yeah, so the F the very first facility that I got into was a, that we were sending out mailers to facility owners, just like we all do in real estate to the asset class that we’re in. And we ran across some business owners and they were getting a business, a divorce. They were partners in a concrete business and things weren’t going so well. And they wanted, they were parting ways. And this facility, they owned together as well. Well, they, as what happens, unfortunately in the worst is the other one, one side wants to hurt the other. And the other one definitely wants to destroy the other one. And so that’s what they were doing. And they were destroying the value of the facility in the meantime. And so what that meant is we were able to get into this a facility for it, was it appraised for $800,000 more than what the selling price was?

And they just had to get out from under the note, because those two had done such a good job of fighting each other, that the bank was about ready to take the facility back. So I partnered, I partnered up with a gentleman. We came in at 50, 50 cash and both on the balance sheet and excuse me, on the loan request and ended up moving forward on this first property, by taking the existing tenants and raising the rates, which they hadn’t been raised in 10 years, we let them manage, well, let me see. We didn’t let her, we freed up her future to pursue other career opportunities and put a kiosk in place because we don’t have to manage these facilities with a person on site. And then we bought the land next door and expanded and built that up and leased that up as well.

So I sold off to my partner eventually. And that leads to, I guess, the second part of your question, Jay, which is what did I learn from this? Well, first of all, I, I understood the power of leveraging and bringing partners in to projects. But I also, the lesson I learned is that I, I really want to be in that manager position. I wanted to have that control rather than 50 50, and it’s not a control issue. It’s just that, you know, once I learned about syndication and moving on to other projects, that I can be the syndicator, the promoter, and the person who is calling the shots, and I can bring in limited partners for sometimes their balance sheets to sign on the loan as well. But mostly for the equity that is, that is required to get into a facility. So that was probably the biggest lesson. And I also learned, sometimes you shouldn’t bring people that are close to you or friends into a business as well. Sometimes it doesn’t always turn out well. Yeah. Yes.

Jay Conner:

I’ve been, I’ve been down that road myself as well. So to make sure everybody understands what you’re talking about, what do you mean by syndication? What’s that look like? And what’s the benefits of it.

Scott Meyer:

Yeah. So in the true sec definition, and I am paraphrasing, anytime you bring two or more people together into a project, and in this instance, a real estate investment where one person is, is active, doing all the heavy lifting, doing all the work, and the other person is bringing money and they’re passive. They don’t have a hand in making decisions or doing any of the project management in a project. Then, then you’ve created a security and then it’s governed by the securities and exchange commission. And so they state that you have to file that, and you have to register with the, depending on the fund or the entity that you set up that has to be registered. So for us, that is a true, so for us, there was one person, as I just mentioned me that I am the promoter. I am the active person on the investment.

Whereas I bring in then a lot of private equity, a lot of limited partners that come into the project. They don’t lend a hand. They’re not involved in the decision making process. And what they’re lending is money into the project. They’re investing into the project with me. And so their role and responsibility is to wire, the funds to close the project. And my responsibility is to do everything else, report back to them, the progress show, the projections and how we are exceeding, hopefully meeting, or if we are underperforming on our projections and then send out to our K ones at the end of the year, because they do become owners of this entity. And they get to participate in the upside as well as in the depreciation as well. So that’s, and I guess a limited sense without getting too far in the weeds, Jay, is, is the definition of a syndication and how we go about approaching the market. Yeah.

Jay Conner:

So, you know, in the world of single family houses, there’s multiple exit strategies. There’s multiple strategies of what someone’s going to do with that property after they invest in it, you know, you can, you can buy a single family house, you can fix it up, you can flip it, you can wholesale houses and, you know, wholesale houses out through other real estate investors. You can buy houses and you can fix them up and you can hold them, you know, for the longterm. So compare self storage to what I just did with single family houses. Are there all these different strategies as to how you can go about the self storage business. And second part of that question is if there are different strategies, how do you decide which one you’re going to do?

Scott Meyer:

Yeah, I’d say property is property. And, you know, in a general sense, and you can do all of the above. You know, we buy them and wholesale them, or sometimes a wholesale without us ever taking ownership or taking deed to the property. You can buy them, you can fix them up, turn around and flip them. You can buy them and turn them around partially, and then sell them off and call it a flip or non you sell them to the next person down the road. That’s going to take it the rest of the way, the way that we do it is typically we’re a longer-term hold three to five years. That gives us time to in an existing facility, really turn it around, raise rates, make the improvements, and reduce the expenses as much as possible to maximize the net operating income and then sell it for maximum dollar, our conversions and development.

You know, those projects take roughly four to five years to either buy a building, say a vacant grocery store and convert it to self storage, and then start from ground zero. And at least it up to 80, 85% occupancy and bring in our limited partners and allow them to have a payday and an exit that is comparable to if they were to invest in any other type of entity, a business over that time, and really focusing on the internal rate of return and the same goes for development. So in terms of an exit strategy, it’s a little more difficult in, in the way that we head into those larger projects with our partners in that we can’t do a 10 31, unless everybody decides to go along with us into the next project, which obviously they’re not going to. So at that point we will sell and that we will take our profits off the table.

And then we will move into the next project for our limited partners. For the most part, they are investing through a retirement vehicle like a self-directed IRA or a solo or a real estate 401k. So they don’t really have those tax consequences at, at, at the exit. We also are looking at in terms of an exit strategy. And I guess to back up a step, you know, Jay, I think you, and hopefully everybody on this call recognizes that you, you should always look at the exit strategy or determine what your exit strategy is before you get into a project. It’s not a good plan to just don’t say, well, there’s a good deal. I’m just going to buy it and figure it out later. You can find yourself, maybe a do not, you know, don’t want her later on down the road, or you sit back and take a look at your empire and you realize what a mess.

I can’t even manage this because I never paid any attention to what I was doing. So every time we hit into a project, you know, we identify if it’s a good deal, are we going to keep it? You know, if we’re going to flip this thing in a year, then we’ve got some, you know, capital short-term capital gains taxes. That’s a consideration. If we own it solely, then we can do a 10 31 into something else on. Do we want to do that three years from now? And I’m saying at any point in time, do we want to do that two or three years from now? Where, what are the interest rates going to be and what our cap rates going to be, and how do we expect the market and the economy? What’s it gonna look like? So we’re, we’re always looking six months a year down the road, five years down the road and anticipating what’s going on with the market, meaning interest rates and our capitalization rates, which is how we value these facilities.

And then overall, does this really fit in our business plan? I suffer like everybody from shiny object itis, and I want to buy them all, you know, if somebody else buys a self-storage facility and develop those one, and I’m going down the road, I was just like, that should have been mine. I should have built that. I should have bought that. And it’s a, it’s a real struggle. But if we get into that, you know, we can paint ourselves into a corner if we get into that situation where we just, you know, every once in a while we have to say no. Yeah, for sure.

Jay Conner:

So just to make sure everybody knows before, anybody’s got to jump off a listing here to the podcast. How can people get in contact with you and your companies, Scott, to learn more about what you do and how you can help them in this area of self storage?

Scott Meyer:

Sure. So we go into self storage, investing.com. That is the mothership, and there’s a links to our other websites that focus on the passive investing side of the business. But self-storage investing.com is really the mothership. And, and this is where we’ve been at this longer than anybody in the business and teaching people the right way to go about investing in self storage. I’m just in hopes that once again, you know, a rising tide raises all ships and so that we want everybody to be as educated as possible to go out into the marketplace before they do this to avoid any mistakes. And then also, you know, that just kind of makes it more difficult for the rest of us, that there are a lot of gunslingers out there that aren’t really doing their due diligence and doing things the right way. So that is our, our main purpose in educating people in the business. Cause it just makes it easier for all of us to conduct business in this incredible niche. Exactly.

Jay Conner:

So if you’re remotely interested folks and connecting them with Scott and his team, that website again is www dot self storage, investing.com, self storage, investing.com. We’re coming out here, hopefully on the other side of COVID and the pandemic and all that stuff. What are you seeing in the self storage industry? I mean, overall nationwide is the industry growing, how has COVID affected self storage?

Scott Meyer:

Yeah. Self storage is on a tear right now. I mean, if you look at the asset classes in real estate, no matter what stat you look at in terms of, you know, which asset class has done well, of course I’m biased, but the stats don’t lie, self storage and industrial are right up at the top. I think data centers may be up there as well. Industrial has done really well with Amazon expanding and, and the supporters of the Amazon and the distribution centers that are now coming down to the smaller market size. And, and as we see, unfortunately, the slow death of retail, the, the industrial side and the industrial sector has benefited greatly and self storage because we are heading into a time where we’re heading into a recession. Again, we also have seen now people come home from work and they had to clear out the dining room, the spare bedroom, the spare of family room, or living room and create a workspace for one of the income earners.

And sometimes too, they also last year during the lockdown, you know, when everybody was sent home from school, the colleges shut down and, and the kids had to put all their stuff into storage again, until they were able to go back. The kids that were in K through 12 came home, and we also had to make room in our homes to do school at home as well. So clearing out more furniture to make all of that happen. And then unfortunately there’s a whole lot of businesses that immediately when, when the lockdown started, it just went under because you know, customers are go figure on the lifeblood of their business. And if they couldn’t do it online, they went under. And so their inventory machinery and furniture, business furniture went into storage. And so, you know, we see this was somewhat of a microcosm of what we see during a recession and self storage really benefits during a recession because businesses downsize and put their things in storage, individuals downsized during a recession, they may have to move in with somebody else, a friend or move back home.

And so their extra stuff goes into storage. And so we, we, we spritz traditionally has always done better. You know, we go up to the right during times people buy more stuff and they store more stuff. That’s the nature of what we do here in this country. And if that’s you on behalf of the industry, I thank you for that mentality in this country. But during a recession, you know, we get the hockey stick effect. And then that’s when banks slow down development slows down of all sorts and then demand for self storage goes up. And so that’s what we saw during the pandemic last year. And 2020 was an absolute banner year for our industry. We have been, we have been contactless and touchless since before it was cool to be contactless and touchless using kiosks to rent a unit, much like a kiosk because self storage, you know, renting a unit is a very low labor intensive transaction that can be done over the internet.

And it can be done by way of a cell phone access to our facility, our software, getting a gate code and even a key fob and access on the phone to access a unit can all be done by way of a smartphone as well. So J we don’t, we don’t celebrate recessions personally, nor my company. We don’t celebrate pandemics for now shakes, but our, our industry, I’m, I’m thankful for the industry that we’re in because we have benefited with a huge wind in our sail, not only during a recession as we’re going to pet into again, but then the pandemic, which kind of accelerated that has really benefited our industry. Well, you know,

Jay Conner:

No business thrives, unless it’s solving a lot of people’s problems. And that’s what, and that’s what you and your company and the industry is doing. I mean, due to the pandemic, you got all this and increased demand for people needing to put their stuff somewhere. And unless your industry comes along and provides a place to put their stuff, then you know, you’re not a, you’re not solving that problem. So it’s what is, so let’s say someone is, and I’ll tell you, it’s the same thing as going on around here. It’s like here in my little area where Carol joy and I live total, total area of only 40,000 people, I know of four brand new self storage facilities that are under construction right now, four of them. And we already got them everywhere. It’s like my lands, people must have a whole, much more stuff. It’s just like, it’s crazy. It’s crazy. How are you? Are you doing new construction these days? Are you still focusing on existing facilities?

Scott Meyer:

Well, a little bit of both, we are, we were really focused on in 2020 on construction. We had some projects already in the pipeline and then also picked up some others from some folks that while we’re just kind of taking the ball the rest the way down the field, some folks that had some stalls due to due to COVID and some funding issues. And so absolutely we’ve been known developing for a number of years. Now, we’ve got the team, we’ve got the experience. We’re in several markets where we know where the demand is, and we just know it’s a business model that we can replicate over and over again, that allows us to look at a market. And, and Jay, if I could, just the reason why we see so many opportunities and why you’re seeing the say, four facilities going up in your town is a lot of folks will think, well, wait, I see these things everywhere.

Isn’t the market saturated. And you know, how can we possibly, you know, have enough demand for this, but, you know, when we go into a market and we’re looking at it in a place that potentially maybe good for developing a self storage facility, there’s a lot of research that goes into that. First of all, our market is really five mile radius. That’s all the further people are going to travel to a self storage facility from their home is about five miles. And so within that five miles, if the facility is the 1, 2, 3, 4 facilities are full, have a waiting list. And the raising rates every three or four months, then we know what equilibrium is in a market. And it’s, you know, anywhere from five and a half to six and a half, you know, five and a half to six and a half square foot per person.

And anytime that we’re below that if there’s only three or four square foot per person, we know that there’s a lot of demand in that market. So that, and rental rates will dictate when we’re going to go in and build. So it’s not a build it and they will come or hope that they will come and just, you know, hope is not a strategy. And we spend millions of dollars on these facilities. And so that is the reason why we’re seeing a lot about construction. And so we absolutely are bullish because of all the factors that I just mentioned that are, that are occurring in the market right now, which is creating a huge surge in demand for storage.

Jay Conner:

If someone is brand new to self storage, and they’re really interested in exploring it and, you know, really want to see if this makes sense for them, what’s the best way for a brand new person to even get started? Where do they start looking?

Scott Meyer:

Well, I think it starts with, with learning so that they know what they are looking for. And so no shameless plug, but we just got a lot of free resources on our website. Again, just to help people, you don’t have to spend a dime on it, just so you know, what you’re looking at and looking for, then begin to seek out if you’re a part of a real estate investor group in your city and there’s people that are in stores and then strike up a conversation. I I’d asked you to ask them to go out to lunch, to pick their brain, but we know that there’s a whole lot of folks that maybe aren’t interested in doing that these days, but if you can strike up a friendship, get into a conversation or even a subgroup, and some of these other real estate investor circles, or online with several meetups around at your area, then that’s the best way to get plugged in and just sit back and be a consumer of the information and to be a student of the industry to know what’s going on.

There’s I was in single family homes for a number of years. I was in commercial real estate being multifamily. And although a lot of that skillset applies and I’m looking at leverage and cap rates and underwriting, it’s a different business. And so to understand the nuances is really key before you take a take that next and first step, and we’ve seen, as you can imagine in our, on the education side of our business, we’ve seen a lot of folks that have taken that first step and they, and they stepped in a lot of do-do and create a lot of mistakes and messes for themselves. And men have come to us to help them unwind it and get out of it or to survive that one, you know, lose the battle, but win the war by understanding what it takes to succeed on the next one.

So, and then temper that with, you know, don’t, don’t analyze too much or, you know, analysis paralysis by analysis and analysis that causes paralysis. You, you, you know, the saying that to spend too much time researching before you do actually pull the trigger. So learn about the business, get some good advisors and mentors around you before, you know, to put some eyeballs on your underwriting and your offers, and obviously the good legal team or, or a, an attorney to look at your contracts before moving forward. Those are probably the best ways to Intuit, to avoid getting into a catastrophe. My

Jay Conner:

Good friend and guest today is Scott Myers, founder of self storage, investing.com. Be sure and check out his website for the free training and resources that he has there. One last question for you, Scott. And that is what are the most common mistakes or some of the most common mistakes that new real estate investors in self storage makes.

Scott Meyer:

Yeah, I’m writing a book on it as we speak, that’s going to be out before long. So I got 101 of them because that’s the title of the book. So I’ll, I’ll focus on how about the overarching one. And that is I think, and perhaps I’m guilty of this, you know, we’ve been teaching and training people how to do this for 16 years. And, you know, we, we, we state that it is a very simple and predictable business model because it’s compared to other businesses. It is, it’s a simpler and predictable business model. You know, we know the numbers, we know the equilibriums and we can go into a, an existing facility or a development project and make our projections and darn near hit our marks and, and beat them almost every time. But so I, I say that I’m, I’m a product of that.

And that is, I think people have heard that enough. And they’ve heard that, you know, this is a simple, less moving parts. You know, you don’t have the rehabs, you know, lock them out. They don’t pay their money and then you just blow it out and you’re done. You move on to the next and all that’s true, but it’s not a hobby. I mean, this is a business and you have to treat it as such and you have to walk the four corners of your business, and you have to understand it before you get in you. As most people know that are in commercial real estate, you make a $10,000 mistake in your underwriting, meaning you miss some expenses by 5,000 and you missed them. You know, they overstated the income for late fees and other things that shouldn’t have been counted. Well, a $10,000 mistake and underwriting is a hundred to $120,000 in value that you would over pay for a facility.

So you need to understand the nuances, how to value them, how to underwrite them before putting offers, in understanding how to analyze the market. And then for gosh sakes, I’m you don’t take your hands off the wheel and assume that this is a mailbox business because no rental businesses, I don’t care who you said listen to, or, or who says it. It’s not, it’s a business and a business needs to be tended. So a long-winded answer to your question, Jay. But the mistake that people make is that they think, and they hear and assume that it is a simple business because it’s simpler than what they were doing before, but it, it means that they have to understand it and they have to tend it. And, and you do have to farm the business once you own it. And constantly be working, looking at ways to grow occupancy, to grow rates and reduce expenses. And that is perpetual, and that is on a regular basis.

Jay Conner:

In other words, folks, don’t start doing this business without joining hips with somebody that knows what they’re doing, right. And of course, Scott Myers is the expert in this arena. Scott final comments and advice.

Scott Meyer:

Final comments change is good to see again, my friend, I can’t wait to, to see each other. I can’t hold that back. And so you always make me smile and I’m looking forward to hopefully getting together and having dinner together as well with you and Carol joy. And maybe we can get that old gray hair gentlemen, to pay our bill next time again, too, that might be nice and fight from that gang. It’s an exciting time to be in a, in real estate. There’s certainly a lot of changes and there’s some potential threats that are out there, but it’s when everybody’s running out that you should be not just running in again and shooting from the hip, but understanding, you know, what it means to be in the real estate asset class and investing the way and where you should be investing. But now it’s absolutely an exciting time to be doing so. So with that, just great to be here. I’m thankful for the industry of the real estate industry and self storage and a happy to help and assist anyone anywhere along the way that we can. And just be kind, just, just choose to be kind how’s that after a long weekend, so far, and it’s only Tuesday, I’ve had some difficult conversations. So how about I leave it with, let’s just choose to be kind to one another.

Jay Conner:

I love it. There you have it. Folks. My good friend and expert in self storage, Scott Meyers, visit him at www dot self storage, investing.com. Well, so glad to have everyone here on the show. I’m Jay Conner, the private money authority wishing you all the best here’s to taking your business to the next level. And we’ll see you right here on the next private money academy podcast.

#Jay Conner #Private Money Lender #Real Estate Business #Real Estate #Real Estate Investing #Real Estate Investor #Real Estate Profit #The Private Money Authority #Flip Your House

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Hibiscus Kisses {2}

Chris Evans x OFC Ajali Rambaue AU {Ah-Jah-Lee, Ram-Bow}

Warning: Plot Heavy, Mild Cursing, Mild Slow Burn

Words: 4.9k

Summary: Ajali decides on a rash decision to go on a Disney cruise, not for her love of Disney, but because she needs time to figure things out after things get even more complicated in her complicated life. She only expected peace, quiet, tropical drinks, and an overabundance of Disney songs. What she got was more than she bargained for when the cruise of a lifetime on the brand new ship Enchantment turned into a nightmare. The only saving grace is that she’s not the only one living through the nightmare. Can Ajali survive the test of a lifetime and the dangers ahead of her, and better yet, will she finally be able to live a little?

Note: Hey, hey, hey, guys! So here we are trying something different/new. I hope you enjoy this. 🤞🏽 Please feel free to tell me what you think. I’m super excited to explore this one with you all. 🤗

As always, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG! ❤️❤️

I appreciate each and every one of your guys’ support and love!

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

**Interactive**

**Slightly Pic Heavy**

Previous Chapters: 1 |

Anyone who got up and at em’ on the first day of vacation had something to prove, and you hated them. You had nothing to prove, so you kept your ass in your room and utilized the “to cabin” service. You don’t know if it was the sound of the waves from the balcony, the lull of the ship as it pushed through the water, you being physically exhausted, or if it was your emotional exhaustion that did you in. Whatever it was, you slept until it was damn near dinner time. Even then, leaving your room was not an option.

So you called for a meal to be brought to you, snuggled into the covers, and watched the available tv channels. Not wanting to watch any movies, you decided on a channel that seemed to be a mix of the animal planet, discovery channel, and a survivalist’s dream. The program that was on was something about figuring out the difference between good food and bad food. Things like this you found interesting and always watched. It wasn’t that you planned on ever needing the information but why the hell wouldn’t you be prepared for a never possibility.

When the food arrived, you were well into another program about common dangers on Caribbean islands that tourists would never know. Once you accepted the three reusable food bags, you buried yourself right back into the bed and surrounded yourself with everything you’d requested. You bet whoever prepared it thought it was for at least three people, but nope it was all yours. Vacation was about overindulging, right?

A few hours later, your phone rang. Knowing your sister’s ringtone, you answered without looking at the ID.

“You know better than not to send a message to mom before you disappear, Lulu.”

“Disappear? Lali, I am on a huge ass ship. Where am I disappearing to?”

“You know what I mean. You know if she hasn’t heard from you, then that’s just as good as disappearing,” Atali countered.

Sighing, you rubbed your forehead. Your mother was a bit much sometimes.

“I slept in.”

“All day?”

“All day,” you repeated.

“Alone?”

Kissing your teeth, you rolled your eyes and leaned back on the headboard.

“Lali, you do know it’s me you’re talking to, right?”

Atali giggled. “It is a vacation; excuse me for thinking you’d live a little.”

“There is living a little and living recklessly,” you dryly responded.

“Recklessly? Lulu, you’re the one who is sleeping with--.”

You loudly cleared your throat, interrupting what you knew she was going to say. Atali was always good for bringing up everything you wanted to forget.

“Jeez, Atali.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

You put another piece of cake into your mouth and moaned, savoring the strawberry and the smoothness of the cheesecake. You bit your bottom lip, and for some reason, your mind ran to the stranger you still had yet to get the name of.

“Met anyone on board?”

“Lali, I didn’t come here to meet anyone.”

“I know, but you still could have—in passing.”

You sighed and went over the details of his face. You really didn’t like men with that much facial hair, but it fit him well and easily made him look younger than he quite possibly was.

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know his name, and he doesn’t matter. I did meet a woman.”

“Woman? You’ve been gone a day and already experimenting?”

You smiled and shook your head. “Shut up. Listen, she’s really cool. Her stories are classic, and she does her makeup like a goddess. You would like her, Lali.”

“She’s an older woman, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“You always attract these old-young souls.”

The two of you giggled together, but it went on for longer than just a few seconds. When you sighed out and leaned back against the headboard, you again thought of him.

“What’s your first port?”

“Dominican Republic, then Turks & Caicos, the British Virgin Islands after that then Aruba and Jamaica.”

“Jeez, you’re living life,” Atali commented.

“You have no idea. You should see this ship. They went all out times two with it. It’s just absolute luxury everywhere. I said pick me a ship. I didn’t say give me the Cleopatra treatment.”

“You knew what you were getting into when you asked me to do it,” Atali replied. “By the way, isn’t BVI and Turks and Caicos pretty close to Bermuda?”

Taking a moment to think about it, you responded, “Yeah. So?”

“So? Lulu, Bermuda,” Atali repeated.

When you didn’t speak immediately, she continued. “The Bermuda Triangle, dummy.”

Kissing your teeth, you rolled your eyes, “Oh god, you cannot be serious.”

“I am. Have you never heard that ships get lost and disappear in that area?”

“Lali, I’m sure there is a scientific explanation, and I am also sure that no one would charter a course near somewhere that they’d get lost, especially with hundreds of passengers,” you finished, confidant in your response.

The two of you talked for almost an hour before she was urging you to get out of your room and go to one of the clubs on the ship. You protested, but you knew she would not shut up about it, so you gave in though you had no interest in actually going. You spent the next hour going back and forth with your options. Most of you wanted to stay in bed or sit on the balcony and just get lost in the view, while the other knew that you’d only think of Javii if you did that.

Following a shower, you scanned your clothes. Once you found a cute dress, then applied a lite layer of makeup and did your hair, choosing to leave it down rather than putting it in a cute bun. Five or ten minutes later, you were standing in front of the entrance to one of the clubs—Jewel. The music from inside was lively, and you could imagine the number of young bodies pressing against each other, seeking a cheap thrill. Glancing from left to right, you decided to bite the bullet.

As soon as you stepped inside, you didn’t feel like you were on a ship in the middle of the ocean. It felt like it was a well established nightclub on solid ground. Whoever the DJ was, they were doing their thing, and it was evident from the bodies that littered the floor. It looked like this was where the parents came when their kids were tucked away in bed cuddling Tiana and Jasmine close. You walked through the crowds and saw plenty of couples making out and sharing drinks. Never again would you think to sleep on a Disney cruise. You thought it would be a chill time, but damn this was like parents gone wild.

After a few minutes of walking around and scoping things out, you found a place at one of the three bars.

“First Disney cruise?”

Snapping your head around, you looked at a smiling bartender with long hair that was piled on top of his head in a neat man bun.

“That obvious?”

“Let me guess, you expected tame, princess sing-a-longs, virgin pina coladas, and plenty of mickey mouse.”

The look on your face must have given you away because he was laughing a few seconds after he said it. You snorted and shook your head as you rearranged your dress and recrossed your legs.

“Fine, you got me.”

“It’s okay. I get how you’d think it was a tame little adventure. Why do you think we get so many reservations?”

“I thought it was for the kids,” you blurted out. It was his turn to laugh.

“Silly rabbit, while Disney is for kids, what happens after those kids lay their pretty little heads is a whole other story.”

Glancing around once more, you made a mental note never to make the mistake again. Disney cruises were probably as raunchy as Carnival or those geared toward singles. At that thought, you began to wonder how many swingers were on board, and if this was a swinger’s playground.

“What can I get you?”

“Something strong so my innocent mind can adjust.”

The bartender chuckled to himself as he walked around, preparing your drink. You bopped to the music and looked around again. Now it made sense to you when the mom of two who was preggo with her third said these cruises always gave her just what she needed. You bet they did—three fucking kids. Your mind was blown.

When the bartender slid your drink to you, he smiled and slipped away to serve the others. That was when you turned back around to people watch. There was no way you were going to dance with any of them. after a few sips of your drink, you saw him across the way. He was sitting at one of the other bars watching the dancefloor as you were. His hat was gone, and it showed you that his hair was long. The lights were too dim to make out much else, but what you couldn’t make out, you quickly filled in from your other encounter.

Before you realized your glass was empty, your eyes met and lingered on each other for several long moments. The only reason you looked away was because of the passing people who got in the way. When you looked back, his eyes weren’t on yours anymore, they were looking lower, but it was unclear if he was looking at you or someone on the dancefloor. Shaking it off, you spun around and requested another drink.

As you waited, you scrolled through your phone and did your best to fight the urge to check his social media. Javii wasn’t huge on social media. He preferred to have his team handle his brand's social side, but he did have a secret one that not many knew about. There he posted things that interested him, showed his lifestyle and his passions. It was also where he posted his “thirst traps.” You knew that if you went on, you’d find one or two, and you knew the caption was going to be code for you. You doubted you were mentally prepared enough for that psychological minefield.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Another beer, please.”

The deep voice beside you had your finger pausing before you tapped the circle with Javii’s picture that indicated he’d made a new story. When you looked next to you there, he was again. The dim and colored lights in the room gave you a new appreciation of his eyes. It was at this moment you knew he got a lot of attention from women. With eyes like those, how could he not? He looked at you and smiled, and that sold it for you. His teeth were perfect, and though his smile made the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes more prominent, it also made his face light up. He looked like a kind man--a gentle one perhaps.

“Either you’re following me around, or we’d call this fate.”

You couldn’t help but smile. The cocky on him was so strong. It was a familiar cocky.

“Or you’re following me around. You’re the one who bumped into me twice,” you countered.

“Eh, I was the one doing the catching, so it’s more feasible that you’re following me.”

He wore a soft grin, one that you mirrored.

“Maybe if you weren’t like a brick wall, you wouldn’t have to catch me.”

“I’m not complaining,” he responded. You stared at him and quickly got his meaning. Again, you couldn’t help but smile. Not only was he cocky, but he was charming, you thought.

You finished your drink with one raise of your hand. When you lowered your glass, you watched as he raked his fingers through his hair, bringing it full out of his face. It was then you recognized him.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Now I know where I’ve seen you from.”

He looked confused. “Now? You didn’t know this whole time?”

“No. You looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you.”

The look on his face was a lite one. He softly scoffed and raised his bottle to his head, and took a few gulps of his beer. When he lowered it, he spoke again.

“That’s refreshing. I’m not used to people not recognizing me.”

“That must suck. I couldn’t imagine living my life under suck a microscope,” you said without thinking. When you realized what you’d said, you glanced at him and tried to backtrack.

“Uh—what I mean is--.”

He smiled and shook his head. “It’s okay. I know what you mean. I’m Chris,” he replied, holding out his hand to you. When you touched his hand, you were surprised by how soft they were. He’d never used them for manual labor a day in his life, you thought.

“Ajali,” you responded.

“Aja—li, he slowly repeated, trying to mirror how you said it.

“Yes.”

“Wow, that’s a beautiful name, very unique,” Chris noted.

“Thank you.”

“What do your friends call you, Aja?”

You looked at him after raising your hand to the bartender, signaling you’d like another.

“Why? Are we friends?”

Chris smiled and dipped his head down, making his hair fall into his face. He looked good with long hair and this grizzly beard combo. Again, he raked his fingers through his hair before he looked at you.

“We can be. We can be good friends if you like.”

Searching his eyes, you tried to find evidence in there to match the flirtatious tone of his voice.

“What if my husband isn’t into that?”

Chris smiled and turned his body to you. “You don’t have a husband. From the first time we bumped into each other, I noticed you’re not wearing a wedding ring, nor do you have any tan lines to signify you’re hiding one.”

Raising your eyebrow, you allowed his words to sink in. “I could have--,” you began.

“—Kids? Nah, you were alone the first time outside and again on the deck when I passed you and the night in the dining room and even at the show.”

He’d been watching you.

“No, I’m not stalking you, I promise,” Chris quickly spoke up. “Plus, even if you had kids, it wouldn’t matter. I like kids—they like me.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. When you got your drink, you took a long sip.

“So you’re alone here on this family Disney cruise. That alone deserves a question,” Chris continued.

“It does. You’re also alone on this same family Disney cruise,” you countered. Chris nodded and took another sip of his beer before he leaned closer to you.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he whispered.

There was no way you were going to divulge personal information to a stranger, no matter if he were Captain America. You spun to face him, then uncrossed your legs to recross them. His eyes dropped to your thighs, and that told you what you needed to know. He was on this cruise for hookups. Scoffing, you finished your drink.

“Your eyes just told me yours.” You slipped off the barstool and stood before him, leaning in just a little. “I hear Disney cruises are the place to be for after dark entanglements, and you’re in the right place. Have a good night.”

You walked away, not giving him a chance to respond. Instead of moving to another bar, you decided to leave. You’d heard plenty of rumors and stories of Chris Evans and his booty calls, and you were not impressed. He was clearly here for easy, strings free sex. You’d heard more than you needed to about how he met his hook up buddies and just not was textbook. You were not here to be another notch in his bedpost.

-The Next Day-

-The Dominican Republic, 11:10 am

As you walked through the ship, everyone was abuzz with excitement for the first port. You were also excited but not to disembark like everyone else. You’d been to the Dominican Republic plenty of times and had no intention of going out today. You had a plan, and it was to soak up the quiet and empty ship. You wanted to get a spa treatment, a massage, and soak in the hot tub or the steam room and allow the essential oils to work their magic on the tension coursing through your body.

“Attention passengers, we are officially docked. I’d like to be the first to welcome you to the beautiful Dominican Republic. As you disembark, a reminder that we will be leaving port promptly at ten o'clock. Please be on time, ladies and gentlemen, and enjoy your days.”

While everyone was walking in one direction, you were walking in the opposite. Everyone was decked out in their beachwear and sunscreen, and you could tell these kids planned on swimming every inch of that beach. The ride on the elevator was a quick one because you were going lower than everyone else. The spa was on the first level below water. The pamphlet advertised it as being one with the sea thanks to the unmatched view of the ocean and life under the sea. You were excited.

Once you got to the spa entrance, you smiled, seeing that it was completely empty.

“Welcome to Aqua Spa. My name is Vikki.”

“Hi. Am I the only one?”

“You are the first here. Between you and me, I don’t expect many guests being the first port and all,” the blond wearing a sea blue uniform said.

“Excellent.”

“Have you reserved?”

“Yes, Ajali Rambaue.”

You watched her scan the computer screen before her. It didn’t take her long to smile again.

“Ms. Rambaue, welcome. I see you’ve booked the clearing treatment, a gold facial followed by the milk and rose oil bath,” Nikki listed.

Just her listing off your treats had you even more excited. Nodding, you confirmed. She returned your smile and ushered you through the spa. You could already see the blue hue from the portholes, and it bathed the entire spa in the same blue. It felt as if you were gliding underwater, completely immersed with the other creatures.

“Right this way.” You followed her into the room and gasped. The entire room was completely blue, and the sight before you through the clear window was breathtaking.

“Incredible, isn’t it? I guess you can see why they named her Enchantment.”

Maybe Lali’s splurge wasn’t so bad, you thought.

“So, the clearing treatment is an intricate one. You can change behind this screen as I prepare the room for you and your therapist,” Nikki explained.

You stepped behind the glass screen that immediately frosted once you were behind it, then began undressing and listened to her explain the treatment.

“Not only is it an incredible treatment, but it stretches to about three hours from start to finish. World-renowned masseuses and acupuncturist Jadenna Sole designed it. He aimed for it to restore the body’s balance. It does this through a mixture of Eastern and European techniques.”

When you stepped out, you were wrapped in the towel and sighed, seeing the newly lit candles that warmed the room. If you were doing a couple’s massage, this would have been the perfect atmosphere.

“It begins with a full-body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian Kama oil. After your therapist will perform a lymph system massage, and that will prep the body for your Swedish massage. After that, then your body will be wrapped in neem black clay, and you’ll sit and allow it to seep into your pores. Then you’ll rinse and sit in your milk and rose oil bath to then rinse again, and the finishing touch would be an intricate blend of oils and herbs rubbed into your skin that will help your chakras realign,” Nikki finished.

You were impressed as hell. You’d never expect a treatment like this on a cruise. It was more something for Manhattan among the rich. As you got comfortable on the table, you could hardly contain your excitement. When your massage therapist arrived and introduced herself as Marta, you prepared yourself to be shot into space. Massages were your thing. Lali joked that massages were your love language.

When Marta began the exfoliation process, it was relaxing enough for you to nearly fall asleep. You hadn’t realized how tense you were these last few days. You blamed Javii. It was all his fault. After twenty or so minutes, Marta rinsed you then really got started with the massage, all the while putting her back into it. She was a lot stronger than she looked. The pressure was perfect, and the scents from the oils were sublime. In no time, you were drifting from the ground into the sky.

After an hour, your mind was completely blank, and the knot between your shoulder blades was nearly gone. Marta made a few comments on how tense your muscles were and gave pointers on how to prevent locked muscles. You listened as she spoke and tried to retain the information, but you were too distracted with how relaxed you felt. By the time two hours had passed, your muscles were putty, and Marta was now on your gold facial.

This wasn’t the first time you’d gotten one. You and Lali often got them together as part of your sisters day. They were good for your complexion and elasticity. Your mother often stressed that collagen loved you when you were young but liked to play hide and seek the older you got and that you should cherish it and do all you could to maintain your healthy skin. You and Lali listened. After Marta finished applying the mask, you laid back and listened to the sounds of the classical music playing and drifted off to sleep.

When you awoke, it was time to wipe the concoction off and dip into your milk and rose oil bath. The warmth of the mixture had you moaning. There was something so luxurious about lounging in milk like you were an Egyptian queen that had you feeling like a boss. The mask that was applied to your hair was slowly hardening, so you fought the urge to dip your head back. Instead, you leaned back onto the cushions and sighed again.

The silence in the room was just what you needed. Any stress you’d been feeling was a distant memory now. This was just what you needed, you thought.

“Who knew milk and rose oil could be so relaxing.”

Your eyes snapped open as you looked from side to side, trying to see if someone was beside you. The tub pods were empty, and from what you could see, you were alone.

“I’m glad I took Nikki’s recommendation for this over the peppermint soak,” the voice spoke again. You recognized it. Spinning around, you saw a bare back behind yours. He was close enough to touch.

Chris turned around to face you. His face was painted with a mask, only keeping his eyes and lips visible. You quickly forgot your state of undress, but you somehow knew of his. Your eyes dipped down to his bare shoulders and the hair that laid across his chest. You saw a peek of two and a possible third tattoo, and your curiosity piqued.

“Fancy seeing you here, Ajali,” Chris said as his eyes dropped lower. You looked lower on yourself to see your breasts almost out of the milk enough for him to see some nipple. Quickly you sunk down and turned back around, facing your back to him.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Same as you.” You sighed and hugged your legs to your body.

“Shouldn’t they have men in a separate room or something?”

“I’ve seen a naked woman before,” Chris informed with a scoff. You turned around from the tone of his voice.

“I bet you have. You’ve seen plenty naked women.”

Chris turned to face you with his brows knitted together as if he fully got your meaning.

“Just what are you insinuating?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Are you suggesting that I came on this cruise to sleep with unassuming women?”

You shrugged and turned back around, keeping your back straight.

“Wow, that’s insulting. Where do you get off?”

You remained quiet. He must have taken your silence as more judgment because he spoke again.

“I didn’t come on this cruise to snake myself into someone’s bed. I came because I needed a change of pace, some breathing room. Hollywood gets confining, and the more confining it gets, the more I feel like I’m—suffocating.”

Slowly you turned to look at him. His back was turned so you trailed your eyes over the exposed skin of his back and saw peeks of more tattoos. The man was getting sexier with each passing minute. His shoulders were broad and looked incredibly strong. The low light in the room didn’t help you see anything else, but you could more than imagine everything else.

“So, the confines of a ship wouldn’t feel suffocating?”

Chris turned to look at you.

“There is Hollywood confinement and this. This is not confinement. I have freedom here; I’m not watched like a hawk. Yeah, someone will recognize me here or there, but they are so respectful. For the most part, it is always quick. Plus, I don’t mind talking to the kids.”

This was the second time he brought up kids, you thought.

“Plus, now I’ve met someone who seems to have no problem telling me I’m a whore.”

Immediately you snorted loudly then laughed. “I never called you that.”

“Hinted at it is just the same as saying the words,” Chris accused.

You smiled and sighed, and your eyes lingered on his.

“It’s refreshing again. A lot of women will say what they think I want to hear or be how they think I want them to be.

“Not me.”

“Not you.”

It was said in unison. Once both of you realized what you’d said, you laughed together.

“It must be something having women fawn all over you.”

Chris shrugged, and again your eyes fell to his shoulders, and that is where they remained.

“Something is the word. It gets old, though—real quick.”

When your eyes met again, he held your gaze. “I’m sure men fawn all over you too.”

You took a deep breath and sighed out. “I’m sure they don’t.”

Chris snorted and gave you a “yeah right” look.

“I’m sure you’re full of shit. You’re a beautiful woman.” His eyes dropped below your face again, but they quickly came back up.

You turned your back to him again and stared into the milk and oil concoction. He wasn’t wrong, though he wasn’t right either. Men didn’t fawn over you. Yeah, you got attention from men a lot but to go as far as saying they fawned over you was a stretch. You didn’t notice any man besides Javii for the last three years.

“This is supposed to be a relaxing spa day for me. Maybe we should cut the talking out and just enjoy the rest of it,” you suggested, a little salty he’d reminded you of what you’d come to forget.

“Sure thing,” Chris softly answered.

The two of you remained in your separate bath pods without speaking one more word. However, you were aware of his body and every move he made. His body gave off this energy that felt like your body reached out for. So instead of fully relaxing, you’d spent the time fighting the sway of your body or the urge to slink closer.

An hour later, you were in your clothes again and feeling ten times better than when you’d walked in. You thanked the staff and gave a generous tip, then left. When you got into the elevator, you leaned on the wall and sighed. As the doors closed, a hand stretched out, preventing it from closing. Chris then stepped onto the elevator with that stupid grin.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he joked as he pressed the six that was already lit up.

“Is six your floor too?”

“Maybe.” He nodded and leaned on the wall beside you.

The two of you rode the elevator and looked outside the glass enclosure to the ship and even the ocean outside.

“They did a fantastic job with the ship. Even though you’re not on an island right now, you feel like it’s still a tropical vacation.”

You nodded, agreeing with him.

“Do you come on Disney cruises often?”

You shook your head. “No. This is a first.”

Chris lit up and smiled widely. “Wow. It’s been a while since I’ve met a first-timer.”

“I take it you’re not.”

“Nope, veteran. I come on a cruise at least once a year and go to Disneyworld and land twice a year,” Chris excitedly bragged.

“Oh, a little boy trapped in a grown man’s body,” you teased.

Chris chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Eh, nothing wrong with being a little boy.”

“Only if you aren’t that way because you refuse to grow up,” you responded. Chris looked at you and kept his eyes there. The ding of the elevator brought your attention back to the dial.

“Six.”

You walked out the door, then turned left and proceeded to your room, wondering the whole way if that was a bitch thing to say. You had to learn to censor, you thought as you scanned your wrist and stepped into your room. Peeping back, you saw Chris still walking to his room with his head dipped low as if he’d lost his best friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caplover22 @caramara3 @southerngracela @cyntgefel01@vannahvannahhh @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @kikimiyazaki @toniilaney @areubeingserved @chaos-crusader @thinkxlovexloud @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @bellaamor88 @mack-jay @titty-teetee @pananegra @wellthirsted @sup3rn0va13 @nova3312 @hello-therree @valkyriesnymph @lo-cheu @squeackygee @niyashell @allmonstersxarehuman @zsuzstyina @peggy-potts @amelatonin @lvlyab @sullyosully @taylorveebee @renesmeeharelds @capslut2014 @ilovehatembj @thelittlemoistcarrot @sarcastic-sunshines @taylorveebee @jesseswartzwelder @90sinspiredgirl @a-dizzle777 @allnamesicouldthinkofweretaken @choices97 @jd-now-jq @actorinfluence @chrisgalore @rynabarnesrogers @ab-baybay @motivation-idontknowher @builtalongthewaysi@momobaby227@drsunshine97 @cleothegoldfish

@thatrandomhetaliachick @missdeerstalker15 @queenbetter @ilovehatembj @briellableu @zaddysqueen7@melaninhawtie @simplyyamberr @ashanti-notthesinger @chezdricks @euh-say-what-now @ajspencer1892 @chillavesss @theunsweetenedtruth @geeksareunique @aykanna @hanasamara @profilia @ollieveracity @autumn242 @missyperle @forbeautyandlife @kreolemami @songtoyou @designerwriterchic @firedolphin04 @academic-glowup @ramp-it-up @periodtcevans @queenshikongo3 @nova3312 @liquorlaughslove @afraiddreamingandloving @naturalthrone22 @squeackygeecapslut2014 @queen-audsalena @wakanda-inspired @october505 @priya212

@unknownmystery22 @thatcrazymarvelfan @mizcaptainwidow @angrybirdcr @cherrystainedlipsbaby @marvelfansworld @fanfictionaffair @kemkem101 @blowmymbackout @almostpurelysmut @blackgurlkillinit @simply-heaven @impossiblegiantrebelbasketball @renfrewscorner @choices97 @phreshouttherunwaaayy @heladoom @alyxkbrl @evemej @zeedaye @queensevansackles @rosey1981 @laketaj24 @munteanhore @minton131 @trillistb @night-of-the-living-shred @chrisevansfanfic @scoop93535 @miss-jackson500 @purplehairgawdess @ollieveracity @maddeningmayhem @what-is-your-plan-today @tantricevans @evermcfearless @richonne4life @dumbchick @toni9 @briellableu @amennariee @rynabarnesrogers-reading @chrissbabybunny @brwnsugababe @islanddgal @reignandrain @queenshikongo3 @sadishdelray @queenoftheworldisdead @thefuckingluxury @surmya1907 @maeleeme @coolbakeryprunetoad @naturalthrone22 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @starlite-starbrite @offrostandstarlight @partypoison00 @thejeneralvicinity @littlepreciousangel @doublesidedscoobysnacks

@imthatbitchsworld @soul–notforsale @toni9 @someone-really-bored @venustrap04 @chrisevansdaddycap @kittykatlow @live-laugh-love-ki @asiaaisa77 @melanicia @fistmetonystark @livinglifeformemyselfandi @crowngold @lost- ssoull @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @shar74nett @cltex84 @badbitchhtown @petty-bitch-akira @unknownmystery22 @raveviolet @madixii @bernie-k @nina1800 @almosttherebutnot @allnamesicouldthinkofweretaken @smediumsmeatbae @nervousninjatheorist @lo-cheu @creole-mami @acciolove724 @shipatheart @captainchrisstan @ramp-it-up @bforbbgirl @brownskinafro @jhayes6984 @badbo1-evans @ak329 @msblkfire84 @jovanaprime @poshgirl2 @youremysuperstar @marvelatthis30 @cleopatra-knowles @littlepreciousangel @alookintohersoul @xsweetdellzx @cxmfort @i-just-like-fanfics @storiestoldbyjazz @krrose3 @jennmurawski13 @imthewarmpenguininthemiddle @msblkfire84 @helenasmirkedno @labella420 @roseasweet @6lackfiction@perplexed3001 @chezdricks @ladydeathboobs

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. Please check that you are taggable. I’m sorry.***

#hibiscus kisses fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction

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xrpripplecrypto · 3 years ago

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Buy XRP USA Canada UK Australia Worldwide

Looking to Buy XRP, Sell XRP USA Worldwide? XRP Ripple Cryptocurrency for Cash! We also provide reviews for the best XRP exchanges, XRP wallets, and XRP news!

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A XRP wallet is where you store your cryptocurrencies after you have bought them. You can compare a cryptocurrency wallet with your bank account. In the same way that you store traditional currencies (USD, JPY, EUR etc.) in your bank account, you will store your cryptocurrencies in your crypto wallet.

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XRP exchanges are online websites that let you exchange your local currency for cryptocurrency. Exchanges are the most popular way of buying cryptocurrency. I recommend newbies to use these exchange websites as they are easy-to-use and quick to set up.

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There are a lot of exchanges for you to choose from. Each one of them has different levels of security and they each accept different types of payment methods. Most exchanges will ask you to follow the steps below before you can start buying cryptocurrency.

Check the security of the exchange. This is the most important thing you need to consider as investors have lost lots of money in the past when the exchanges have been hacked.

Transaction fees – the lower, the better.

The number of payment options available: do they accept bank transfer, credit card, PayPal, etc.?

The amount of time it takes to activate your account — if you’re in a hurry, you might not want to wait a long time to get verified!

Which cryptocurrency options they offer. For example, if you want to buy the XRP token then you need be sure that the exchange you choose sells the XRP token.

#buy xrp

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renee-writer · 4 years ago

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Redeem My Soul Chapter 14 The Octopus' Many Arms

“Tell me.” She leans against his hip.

“Okay, I got two phone calls today. The first was from Geneva, the second Column. I told Geneva that I would have nothing to with her and mean it. But with my uncle, well, I will be meeting him at The Ridge, a pub my other Uncle Dougal runs. I want you to stay away from there, by the way.”

“I will. Anyplace else?”

“Aye, All Wetherspoon pubs like the George or the Booking Office. Colum and Dougal use them to run drugs.”

“I promise that my friends and I will stay away. Now, how much did you miss me today?”

He grins, pulling her flush against him so she can feel just how much. “Let me feed you then I will show you.”

The week passes quickly with Jamie working with Sam on his Gaelic and accent. They also work out, turning heads as they run together through the streets of Edinburgh. Claire works each day with Willie taking her back and forth. He pays a lot of attention to her but she just assumed it is part of the act and doesn’t mention it to Jamie.

Friday arrives and Jamie prepared to meet Colum. Most of that involves preparing Claire. “You trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“I hate some if the things I will have to do including flirting and more with some lasses. But, I swear mo ghoal, I will stay true to you.”

“Just don’t sleep with them.”

“Never.” He pulls her into his arms. “You, only you, from now until forever.”

“Good.”

“But I will probably come home smelling of perfume.”

She shrugs. “Do as you need to get them.” She takes his head and meets his eyes. “I trust you.” She reaches out to cup his cock. “Just remember, he is mine.”

Northern Scotland

“Janet, how could you not tell us Jamie was alive!”

“I had to. To keep you and him safe from the uncle’s.”

The Ridge

He was outfitted with two different blue tooth listening devices, one on a keyring with the other in a pen. John and Hector will hear everything that happens in the pub.

His uncle greets him. “My prodigal nephew has returned. Finally.”

“Aye. What do you need?”

“Jack Randall got himself captured so I need someone to take over his operation in Scotland. I can’t stay here long. Need to return to Japan or maybe the Dominican Republic. You, my dear nephew, would have the run of Scotland. All I ask is that you make me money.”

“I always have. You know I am a good business man. But what if Dougal?”

“He is over our American operations.”

“So you have branched out across the pond. Nice. I will do it, just keep Geneva away from me.”

“Done, we shipped her to the US. She won’t be back. Now that the business is done, time for whisky and lasses.” He snaps his fingers and lasses that have been hanging over government workers and Japan mobsters move over to then. They are soon surrounded. Dougal joins them. A bit drunker and more loose lipped, he tells Jamie and the listening John and Hector about his American businesses, all the politicians in their pockets, all the dirt they have on them.

“This one lad, he came and asked me to kill his rival. What he didn’t ken was his rival was asking the same for him.” They all laugh together.

John and Hector get all this. John is soon on the phone to Hal. “Who do we have in the US we can trust? This octopus has many arms. More then we realized.” He names some people in the CIA and FBI. “Okay, get in touch, using your work phone and code words. Arrange a meet.”

Edinburgh

Jamie finally heads home, half drunk, reeking of cheap perfume. One of the lasses has bite his neck. He felt the urge to punch her for it but tempered it.

He walks in and sees Claire asleep on the bed. He longs to join her but first a shower. He won’t enter their bed smelling like a brothel. He slips the stinking clothes off and gets in the shower. A minute later the door opens and she joins him.

“You are home.”

“Aye. I stunk of the pub and the lasses. Wasn’t joining you like that. Oh and one lass bit my neck. I wished to hit her for it.”

She removes her nighty and joins him. “Only one thing to do, make it mine.” She presses her teeth over the mark and bites hard. He was hard in an instant. They are soon making frantic love against the shower wall. She cries out with her climax just as a car slowly drives by the house Sam is staying out and Geneva steps of the plane in America.

America

She is meet by four men. Asked to go with them, she does. She will be found a week later, in a cheap hotel with a needle in her arm. Drug overdose, is the ruling.

HMP Barlinnie

A guard in the prison is making rounds when he discovers one of the prisoners hanging by his bed sheets. Calling for help, he cuts Jonathan ' Jack’s Randall down. It is to late. He is dead.

Elsewhere in Edinburgh

Willie sits and studies a picture he had taken of Claire. It is wrong to want his good mates woman and to win her away from Jamie won’t be easier but he vows to try.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #redeem my soul #the octopus many arms #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #modern au #outlander fandom

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icyharrington · 5 years ago

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Is It Wrong?- Part 7 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

hello!!! so i have been trying so hard these past few weeks trying to get this final part of iiw right. i am insanely nervous to put this out there, because i don’t wanna disappoint any of the amazing people who followed this series from the beginning. i wanna thank all the thirsty hoes who have supported this fic and given me feedback, because y’all are the reason i had the motivation to finish the series. this is the most fun i’ve ever had writing anything, ever. i can’t believe this series is finally coming to an end 🤧BUTTTTT don’t forget that there will be an additional, shorter epilogue chapter! so stay tuned for that ;) I LOVE Y’ALL!!!!

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships, fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, teen angst, like seriously A FUCK TON OF TEEN ANGST, fluff, vaginal fingering, handjobs, sexual intercourse, (semi?) public sex, dirty talk

word count: 12.8k (IM SORRY LMFAOOO)

tags: @alicecooper19 @ritualmichael @blackfyrez @bbyduncan @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @michaelsapostle @trelaney @kissydevil @langdonalien @langdonsdemon @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @wroteclassicaly @cocosfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @theinevitableprophecy @sodanova @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @pr1ncessd1e @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @prophesieddarling @isoldedax @fckinsupreme @lvngdvns @hisgirlwonder @telexnesis @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @noelle525 @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @anacerta @nuke-em-from-orbit @thingsthatoncemeantnothing @littledemondani @beriveri @dcvilrising @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @imjustasadhoe @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @michaelsfrenchtoast @ms-mead @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy @coollangdon @s7venwonders @littlehouseofleaves @elvahavax @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @alternativepetewentz @maytheforcebewithqueen

(sorry to anyone who asked to be tagged but isn’t in my tag list!! tumblr won’t let me tag certain blogs for some reason!!)

“Goddamn it, how hard is it for you to follow simple GPS directions?” Miriam’s voice was pitched in annoyance as she scolded your father, whose knuckles were near white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.

“You know what? Why don’t I just pull over, and you drive instead?” your father snapped. You and Michael exchanged a glance in the back seat for what seemed like the thousandth time since you’d all loaded into the car several hours before.

In celebration of summer vacation, and you and Michael’s recent graduation from high school, your father and Miriam had decided to arrange something of an impromptu vacation. Your father was far too cheap to travel anywhere of any significant distance, so he’d decided that the next best option was to take a road trip down to Myrtle Beach, Florida.

“Oh my god, yes,” Michael had said to you after your parents had broken the news to you both. “Do you know how many half-naked sluts we’re gonna see there? Myrtle Beach is like, white trash central.”

That comment had been the fuel for one of the many arguments you and Michael had engaged in following graduation; there was tension in the air, hanging thick and heavy over your heads as the days crept along, and the mindless bickering between you and Michael was at an all time high.

Not that it stopped either of you from having sex. Quite the contrary, in fact— you and Michael had been having so much sex that it was maybe even getting a little ridiculous.

“Seriously, Michael?” you’d said after his crude comment, your tone far whinier than originally intended. “Go fuck one of those half-naked white trash sluts instead of me, then.”

It’d taken him several minutes to convince you that he’d been joking (even though you were still fairly certain that he’d been dead serious) followed by some admittedly top-quality make up sex, which proved to be enough to convince you to move on.

Maybe something was in the water, you thought. Even Miriam and your father had seemed to be fighting constantly as of late, and the stressful atmosphere of the household made you feel constantly on edge; it almost felt like there was an impending disaster coming, one that was impossible to prevent. You only hoped that whatever disaster might be on its way would avoid you and Michael.

Right now, Michael was leaning with his forehead resting against the window, a bored look on his face as he skipped through the music playing on his phone. He only had one earbud in, the other draped over his shoulder (presumably so he could eavesdrop on your parents’ ridiculous arguments), dressed casually in light gray sweatpants and a faded Jimi Hendrix shirt.

Fuck, he looked good. He was jostled slightly with each slight motion of the car as it moved forward, the muscles in his arms subtly flexing as he reached up to run his fingers through his soft, tousled blond hair. For a second, your mind was clouded with images of a beach-bound Michael, his tanned, water-speckled torso lean but still toned, swimming trunks clinging to the lowest point of his narrow hips and leaving almost nothing up to the imagination. Your mouth watered.

“You know, if I’d driven, we would’ve actually arrived at the hotel by the time the GPS said,” Miriam said.

“So why didn’t you!?” your father exclaimed.

You locked eyes with Michael yet again, whose pale eyes glimmered with slight amusement at the nonstop back-and-forth between your parents.

“Because you insisted on driving.”

“Insisted? All I did was offer to drive out of the kindness of my— oh fuck, I think we just passed the hotel.”

“We did,” offered Michael flatly from the backseat, the soft glow of the neon hotel sign reflecting in his pupils as he craned his neck to follow the building.

“Goddamn it,” your father muttered, scanning the road for somewhere to make a U-turn.

“Nice going,” Miriam muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

You were jerked forward as your father abruptly turned the car around in an act that you were ninety-nine percent sure was illegal; in a matter of seconds, the car was parked in the hotel parking lot, officially marking the end of the several-hour-long trek. Everyone seemed to let out a unanimous sigh of relief.

“Fucking finally,” said Michael, opening the door and swinging his legs outside so his ratty Converse sneakers made contact with the asphalt. You followed suit, making your way around to the trunk, which you popped open to retrieve your colorful travel bag.

The sound of crickets chirping through the mild Florida night was soothing despite its incessantness, and you found yourself smiling idly, a warm breeze gently caressing your face. So maybe you weren’t in the goddamn Dominican Republic, but you were still prepared to enjoy your time here.

Once everyone had taken their respective belongings from the trunk, your father led the way to the front entrance of the hotel.

The hotel lobby was nice, but certainly nothing special; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the sole reason your father had chosen this place above all others was because it was the cheapest. Your father, weighed down with his overstuffed black bag, trudged over to the front desk with a pained look on his face.

“Imagine this place is infested with roaches,” said Michael lowly, flashing you a shit-eating grin when your face paled at this terrifying prospect.

“Shut up. My dad isn’t that much of a cheapskate.”

“Or what if it’s haunted?” he said, furrowing his brows to mimic a deadly serious expression.

“It’ll be haunted by your ghost in about five seconds if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“I saw this thing online about a girl who went missing, and then they found her in the water tower of the hotel,” he continued, and you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t at all surprising that he was trying to scare you. “And like, all the people staying there were showering and stuff, but little did they know they were washing themselves in dead body water.”

“Can you shut up, please?”

His plump lips contorted into a devious smile. “What, am I scaring you?”

“No, you’re just being really fucking annoying.”

“Aww, don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll protect you from any ghosts or cockroaches that might be here.” He pulled you into a side hug, squeezing you against him with an iron grip as he nuzzled the top of your head with his chin. You pulled away, exerting minimal strength but still managing to evade his grasp.

“Are you going to be this obnoxious the entire trip?” you said, watching as your father appeared to be looking for something in his pockets. After patting himself down for several seconds, he said something to the man behind the front desk; whatever it was that he’d said resulted in Miriam’s face contorting into a look that could easily kill anyone three times over.

“Here we go,” Michael whispered, mouth twitching at the corners as he averted his attention away from you and onto your parents instead.

“You’re an idiot,” Miriam was saying, practically seething as she spoke. “A goddamn idiot. How the hell did you manage to forget the credit card?!”

Your father’s mouth opened and closed as he attempted to come up with a response good enough to satiate his fuming wife, but of course there was none.

“How did he forget the credit card?” Michael said.

You shrugged.

Miriam huffed loudly as she began to dig through her purse, shooting your father a contemptuous glare when her hand emerged, leather wallet in tow. You watched as she pulled out her credit card, handing it over the front desk to the visibly uncomfortable man standing there.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the muscles in your arms starting to burn from the weight of your travel bag.

Michael, having apparently lost interest in your parents’ altercation, suddenly turned back to face you. “You think I’ll be able to pass for over 21 at the hotel bar?”

Before you could respond, your father was making his way over to you, brandishing two key cards in either hand. “We decided it’d be best for all of us if you and Michael had your own room. You guys don’t mind, do you?”

He handed you a card, and as you looked it over, you tried your hardest not to pay any attention to Michael.

It was truly astounding how clueless everyone seemed to be in regards to your relationship (if you could call it that) with your stepbrother, but you definitely weren’t complaining. Just the thought of having a room all to yourselves was enough to make your heart race.

“Of course we don’t mind,” you said with a smile.

“Just— y’know. Miriam and I have some things we need to work out, and, well, I don’t want you guys swept up in any of the drama,” said your father.

“Totally understandable, dad,” said Michael, beaming as he snaked his free arm around your shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage. What do you think, (y/n)?”

Michael widened his eyes at you, the contorted features of his porcelain face dripping with faux-innocence.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, tone cheerful and sweet.

In unison, you and Michael looked away from one another and back to your father. His eyes were shadowed with deep rings, and he looked more like he was about to head off to a 9-to-5 shift at a dead-end job rather than a vacation with his family. “You kids be good, all right?”

“Don’t worry,” you said, ripples of electricity making their way up your spine as Michael lightly stroked your shoulder with his calloused fingertips. “We will.”

ii.

“Room number 69, huh?” Michael said with a quirk of his eyebrow, licking his lips as he plucked the key card from your hand and slid it into its designated slot by the door. “It’s like they knew we were gonna be staying here.”

“You are eighteen years old,” you said in a monotone, though secretly Michael’s immature sense of humor and silliness were qualities that never failed in making your heart swell.

There was a subtle beep as the light next to the slot flickered green, and Michael pushed open the door with one shoulder, the other occupied with his bag. “How fucking awesome is this?”

You followed him into the modestly-sized room, discarding your bag at the end of one of the two pristinely made beds. Michael did the same, and without even giving you time to settle into your new surroundings, he pushed you firmly up against the nearest empty wall.

Even despite the fact that he’d been sitting in a hot car for several hours (unsurprisingly, your father was very stingy with the air conditioning), Michael still managed to smell good; the intoxicating mixture of his shampoo, paired alongside his boyish deodorant and woodsy cologne, was dizzying from such a close proximity.

“You didn’t waste any time,” you chuckled, cheeks flushing as he began to pepper kisses along your neck and behind your ear, lifting one hand to brush your hair over your shoulder.

“Why would I?” he said, his voice low and seductive. He took a moment to playfully nip at your earlobe, and you squealed, wrapping your arms around him so you could pull his firm torso closer to yours. “What else are you supposed to do when you’re left all alone with such a pretty girl?”

As much as you weren’t willing to admit it, your heart soared at this validation- Michael thought you were a pretty girl. Those words, coming from that perfect mouth, made you feel a childish sense of giddiness, gave you butterflies in the pit of your stomach like an innocent playground crush.

Michael wandered one hand up over the curve of your hip and onto your waist, lips still moving open-mouthed against your jugular and around to the front of your throat. Reaching up to the back of Michael’s head, you took a fistful of butterscotch-colored hair at the root, using it to guide him back towards your face. Then you kissed him, hard and passionate, your fingers threading easily through his waves as his tongue slipped past yours and into your mouth.

Ding!

You assumed Michael’s phone had just gone off, but neither of you paid it any mind, your breath hitching as Michael slid one veined hand up under your tank top to grope your left breast.

Ding!

“My pretty baby sis,” Michael breathed, swollen mouth slick with saliva. Panting softly, he continued to ignore his phone, tugging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it behind him haphazardly.

With his upper body exposed to you now, you took the opportunity to trace your fingers down the length of his subtly defined abs, stopping just beneath his navel. Just below that, after the cute trail of fuzzy blond hair that paved the way to his v-line, was the low-hanging waistband of his gray sweatpants; you hooked your fingers there, just barely pulling the fabric down as you eyed the mouthwatering bulge prominent in the front of his pants.

You couldn’t help yourself- biting your lower lip, you brought your hand between Michael’s legs and grasped his semi-erect length through the soft material of his pants.

Ding! Ding!

Michael hissed, but he seemed to be somewhat distracted now; you knit your eyebrows as he twisted around to face the source of the interruption- his phone, which he’d left on one of the beds.

Ding!

“What is that?” you asked, frowning. It wasn’t often that Michael tolerated anything getting in the way of his hookups, so you found it mildly concerning when he broke away from you entirely to go and grab his phone.

His tongue poked out of the corner of his lips as he looked at his screen, and you could tell that he was stifling a smirk. “Oh. Uh, it’s nothing.”

You moved from your place against the wall, approaching Michael with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Sure, maybe it was none of your business, seeing that you weren’t Michael’s girlfriend or anything, but he’d piqued your curiosity.

Ding! Ding! Michael fumbled with the phone for a second before turning it on silent.

You cocked your head to one side. “No really, what is that?”

Michael had hidden his phone behind his back now, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

Okay, now you had to know.

“C’mon, lemme see,” you said, trying your hardest not to sound upset. Why were you upset, anyway? You reached around Michael to take his phone from his hand, which, surprisingly, he allowed you to do without much protest.

You looked down at his phone, jaw dropping as you began reading over the several notifications stretching down the length of his screen.

NEW MATCH! With Sofi

NEW MATCH! With Katherine

NEW MATCH! With Kristen

NEW MATCH! With Mallory

NEW MATCH! With Caitlin

NEW MATCH! With Anna

Your eyes flickered up to Michael’s face, down to the phone screen, and then back again, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to react to such a discovery. Michael just offered you a sheepish shrug, somehow only pissing you off further, and angrily you shoved his phone back into his hands.

“Are you fucking kidding? We’ve been here for less than an hour and you’re already trying to find hoes on Tinder?”

“Well, I mean, that’s one way to put it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to see what kind of girls live around here, I swear. I wasn’t actually gonna-“

“-Whatever,” you mumbled, bending over to unzip your travel bag. It wasn’t like you had any sort of right to be pissed- Michael could do what he wanted, and if what he wanted was to hook up with random Tinder girls, then so be it. Still, though, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You rifled around in your bag until you came upon the neat ziploc bag full of travel-sized shower essentials, which you tucked under your arm. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I feel gross.”

“Wait, (y/n). Are you mad at me?” You weren’t sure if he actually cared about hurting your feelings, or if he was worried that you wouldn’t want to fuck him anymore; either way, you didn’t think right now was the best of times to be honest about your feelings.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Your voice sounded dangerously close to breaking, and you knew it (and so did Michael, most likely).

“Well… I dunno. You seemed pretty pissed just now.”

“No, no. Do whatever you want. Fuck as many Tinder girls as your heart desires. It’s not like we’re exclusive.” You continued to search through your bag, pulling out your pajamas and hair towel and tucking them alongside your shower supplies.

“Someone sounds bitter,” Michael mused, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in a focused, pointed glare.

“I thought it was sort of established already that this-“ he motioned at himself, and then to you- “isn’t gonna go anywhere. So I don’t really see the harm in looking around.”

Instantly, you felt a lump form in the back of your throat.

He was right. You’d even said it yourself, that nothing good would ever become of this thing you had with Michael; as much as you wanted it to, it was impossible. So why did it hurt so bad to hear it coming from him?

“Which is why I’m not mad,” you said, swallowing thickly. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

But, like the cliché you were, you did care. Thinking of Michael with anyone else made you feel sick to your stomach. But what were you supposed to do about it? You were his stepsister.

God, if only things had been different. If only the universe hadn’t brought you together in the most inconvenient and unconventional of ways.

You turned on your heels, leaving Michael behind as you made your way to the bathroom without another word.

Once you’d started the shower and adjusted the temperature, you stripped down, catching a glimpse in the mirror of the many marks adorning your body that Michael had left behind at some point or another- hickeys (some bright lilac and navy blue, while others were fading shades of yellow and pink, all speckled down your chest and over your breasts), fingerprint-shaped bruises, shallow scratches.

And those were just the physical ways that Michael had marked you; you were sure that if you turned yourself inside out, there would be thousands more markings to be found.

You thought maybe this was exactly what you needed right now: a long, hot shower to clear your head. Maybe, if the mood struck, you’d even cry a little bit, just to get your emotions in order.

You stepped into the shower, flinching at the intensity of the stream as it cascaded relentlessly over your body. Shutting your eyes, you ran your palms over your face, skin prickling at the pleasant warmth of the water. After you’d allowed your hair to get sufficiently soaked, you reached for your travel-sized bottle of shampoo, squirting some of the coconut-scented gel into your hand and working up a lather.

You were halfway through your usual hair-washing routine when you heard the bathroom door open; you opened one eye, hardly wider than a squint, to see a tall, blond-haired figure through the steamy glass shower door entering the bathroom. Though the thick layer of steam on the door heavily obscured the intruder, you were still able to see that whoever had entered was butt fucking naked.

Fucking Michael.

There was a metallic squeak as the shower door slid open, revealing an image to you that must’ve been hand-delivered by an angel. There, in all his naked glory, stood Michael, one hand positioned by his side and the other gripping his impressively hard cock.

It was a miracle you didn’t slip and crack your skull open right then.

“Hey,” said Michael coolly, a smug smirk appearing on his lips when he noticed you staring at his length.

“Michael, what are you doing?” you asked, attempting to sound just a little less eager than you were feeling. You tilted your head back, quickly washing away the excess shampoo in your hair, and as you did this, Michael joined you in the shower.

“Saving water,” Michael replied, pulling the door shut and enclosing the two of you within the stream.

“How environmentally friendly of you.”

“Aww, are you still mad at me?” You tensed as he grabbed your hips and brought you closer to him, the head of his cock brushing your stomach and sending chills throughout your body.

“I was never mad at you,” you said flatly. You kept rinsing your hair, refusing to give Michael the attention he clearly was so desperately seeking (not yet, at least).

“You were a little jealous though, weren’t you?” he teased, squeezing your tits without warning and making you jump. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve already told you before that your pussy is my favorite.”

“I was never worried,” you snapped, but you couldn’t deny the arousal that immediately resulted from Michael’s words.

“Whatever you say, baby,” said Michael, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. You shivered at the feeling of his big cock on your ass, and all at once, whatever snarky comeback you’d been formulating disintegrated into nothingness.

Your eyes fell shut as Michael’s hands traveled over your body, his touch gentle but still possessive; he stopped at your tits, kneading the smooth peaks in both hands until they stung, kissing your shoulder when you squirmed at the slight discomfort. “Just relax and let your big brother take care of you.”

He retrieved your body wash off the ledge in the shower, gathering some in his palms and returning his attention to your tits. You leaned back, resting the back of your head on his broad shoulder as he began rubbing the body wash all over you (mainly focusing on your breasts, because what else would you expect from Michael Langdon?).

His slippery hands felt like heaven on your tits, pinching and toying with your nipples just the way you liked. It wasn’t until his hand began dipping lower, though, that your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers trailed past your stomach and down to cup your cunt, goosebumps erupting across your skin as he hummed in your ear. Your entire body reacted to his touch, muscles tightening and thighs trembling, hips rolling back so you could better feel his deliciously thick cock against your back.

“You like that? Like how I touch you?” he murmured, his words reverberating against your throat and igniting a fresh wave of arousal between your legs.

With one hand, he used his fingers to splay apart your outer lips, gathering some of your wetness by stroking up and down your slit while his other hand worked at your tits. A familiar heat began to spread from behind your navel, and paired with the near-scalding warmth and great pressure of the shower stream, you felt your head start to spin.

You laid your head back on Michael’s shoulder, trusting him to keep you balanced as you reclined limply against him. His fingers moved upwards again, using the sticky arousal on the tips of his fingers to massage slow, lazy circles over your aching bud; you let out a gravelly moan just as Michael administered a sharp pinch to your hardened nipple.

“Fuck, Michael… feels so good.”

You were well past the point of preserving your pride, bucking your hips against Michael’s hand while trying to squeeze your thighs shut around it, keeping him close to you.

“Hm? Is that right? You like when I touch your pussy?” His voice was husky, rich and warm like a roll of tropical thunder; swallowing noisily, you bobbed your head up and down in agreement.

Garnering what little energy you had left, you extended your arm behind you, spreading your fingers in search of Michael’s erection; tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips at the feeling of his stiff, smooth skin, you followed the slightly jutting vein that wound up the side of his length, stopping at the head of his cock and running your thumb over his leaking slit.

He groaned at the sensation, encouraging you on. You returned your hand to the base of his cock, grazing your fingers along his sensitive balls before taking a firm hold of his shaft, pumping your fist up and down his length with as much vigor as you could manage.

“Fuck,” he grunted, and although he now had the added task of awaiting his own impending orgasm alongside bringing you to yours, his fingers did not falter between your legs. Every throaty groan passing his lips seemed to drive his fingers into more of a frenzy, forming fast, sloppy shapes on your aching bud until you were crying out.

“That’s a good- fuck- girl. Keep jerking your big brother’s cock, just like that. Feels so fucking good,” he breathed against your skin, making you shiver even despite the heavy, humid warmth of the bathroom. You could no longer see anything through the glass door, which had become entirely overtaken with thick fog; for a moment you felt like this was the only place on earth that existed- a closed-off world of steam and water and porcelain made just for you and Michael.

With your eyes shut tight as the coil in your belly prepared to snap, all you could do was listen to the melodic blend of sounds enveloping the small space and attempt to move your body in time with the makeshift rhythm. Not one sound fell upon deaf ears- you were hyper-aware of every vulgar, human noise; every breath and every moan; every squeak of wet feet on the slick white floor.

This might be the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, you thought.

“Fuck, Michael— more.” Stretching your other arm back to desperately grab at Michael’s damp mop of waves, you allowed yourself to come undone, arching your back so your erect nipples were pointed up towards the ceiling.

Michael brought his free hand away from your breasts, instead using it to brace himself against the shower door, creating a hand-shaped imprint in the steam that immediately began to drip with condensation.

Without thinking, you let go of Michael’s hair to join his hand on the glass; lacing your fingers through his, you worked at his cock with your opposite hand until his breaths grew ragged and choppy- a sure-fire sign that he was about to cum.

“Fuck, (y/n), keep going,” he moaned breathlessly, pressing his thumb harshly against your clit and nearly causing your knees to buckle underneath you. “Gonna- fuck.”

His cock twitched in your hand, and with that, he was cumming, shooting his thick load all over your ass and lower back. Miraculously, even as he recovered from his orgasm, he still continued to touch you; his fingers were like magic on your clit, and within a matter of seconds, you, too, were being sent over the edge.

“Oh god, Michael—“

Even during an earth-shattering orgasm like the one you were experiencing, you still were able to notice the way that Michael had switched spots on the glass with you, his large hand enclosing around yours and squeezing.

He didn’t remove his hand from between your thighs until you were twitching and overstimulated, and once he did, he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms cradling you against his chest.

Your eyes fluttered open and shut again, like a person caught between life and death, when he planted a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m never gonna find anyone else like you,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper. You weren’t sure whether it was a reassurance to you, or a solemn statement of distress.

Either way, you swore you could hear something like sadness behind his words.

iii.

Since Miriam and your father were too preoccupied with their arguing to arrange any family excursions, you and Michael were left to your own devices.

Those next few days in Florida, your life was about as close to a teen romance movie as it could get. You and Michael spent the days exploring the nearby towns, trying out restaurants (it’d taken a startlingly long while for you to convince Michael to try out one of the local cafés for breakfast instead of McDonald’s, which had been his original idea) and going shopping; on one occasion, you shared a joint with Michael before dragging him to the local aquarium, which he’d pretended to be entirely disinterested in (even though you could see the wonder and fear in his eyes whilst staring at the shark exhibit- what would happen if the glass broke? he’d asked, nervously drumming his fingers on the paneling as a particularly large shark swam by).

You shared ice cream with him on the boardwalk, licking the chocolate soft serve that had melted off the cone and onto Michael’s hand off his fingers; you rubbed sunscreen on each other at the beach (although Michael wasn’t nearly as thorough as you were, and most of the time you’d wind up with a nasty sunburn thanks to his negligence); you bought 99-cent popsicles from a vendor, making out with cherry-stained lips while the sun went down.

At night, you’d sit on the beach, sometimes stoned, talking and laughing as the waves rolled in and out on the shore.

It was 3 am on your last night in Florida, and you and Michael had snuck out of the hotel room and walked down to the beach, large checkered blanket and a bottle of red wine in tow (Michael had charmed the woman behind the counter in a sketchy liquor store in order to obtain this). You were sitting side-by-side, thoughts clouded from the effects of the alcohol with your knees drawn to your chest, when a sudden realization washed upon you like one of the rumbling waves breaking against the shore.

You were in love with Michael Langdon.

This was an unwavering, undeniable fact; you were in love with him. You loved him, even the parts of him that, at one point, you had hated. The realization was both peaceful and upsetting.

“Michael,” you said, huddling closer to yourself as a cool breeze cut through the night. What were you going to say to him? You couldn’t very well tell him about the epiphany you’d just had- he’d been on Tinder just a few days ago, for god’s sake. But, still, you felt compelled to say something.

“Hmm?” He stretched out his legs, running his palms up and down his sand-covered calves. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the features of his face, save for the sparkling reflection in his eyes as he looked out towards the ocean.

You licked your lips, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle of wine that had been positioned upright in the sand. You winced at the bittersweet taste washing over your tongue, the blood-colored liquid sloshing noisily against its glass confines as you brought it back down to your side.

“I don’t know,” you said, suddenly feeling stupid. “It’s just- I don’t want this all to be over.”

“Me either,” he said, putting his arm around you and drawing you closer to him. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent of wine and stale cigarettes and salt water like it was oxygen and you’d just been saved from drowning. “I didn’t think I would, but I had a really great time this week.”

You shook your head. “I’m not just talking about this week. I just mean in general. I feel like it’s all ending so soon.”

“Oh.” He took in a breath, an especially large wave hitting the shore with a startling crash. “God, this fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Michael, I-“ I love you. The remaining words settled on the back of your tongue, refusing to roll off, but perhaps it was for the better. “-I think in another life, we could’ve worked out. Could’ve been something more than what we are. You know?”

If only, if only, if fucking only.

“Lucky us, being born in the universe where we’re fucking step siblings,” Michael laughed, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “But, (y/n). Even though shit isn’t working out the way we wanted it to, and even though it’s gonna hurt when we both go away to college, I’m still so glad that I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

There was only silence for a long moment as Michael reached for the wine bottle and took an indulgent sip. “There’s so much shit I wish could’ve been different,” he said finally, angling his head up towards the velvet blackness of the night sky. “I wish I’d treated you differently. I wish I hadn’t been so fucking scared of feeling something.”

You ran your fingers through the soft sand, forming meaningless patterns there as you listened to Michael open up for what felt like the first time since you’d met him.

“I used to lie awake at night and think of how fucking unfair this all is. That the one girl I’ve ever really wanted is the one girl I can’t have. I used to think if maybe I pushed you away, treated you like shit, that everything would hurt less. But it just hurt me more, seeing you in pain from the shit I put you through. And now I realize that it’s all gonna hurt the same either way. ‘Cause I’ll never have you the way I want.”

You felt a well-known pinching behind your eyes, and you blinked, silently willing away the tears that were threatening to escape. You kept your eyes on the drawings you’d made in the ground, knowing that if you were to look into Michael’s eyes, you’d probably break.

“What’s gonna happen to us, Michael? We can’t just wait for each other while we’re away at college and miss out on life. But god, I wanna be with you,” you said, voice quivering.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I say we just…live our lives. And if it’s meant to be, it will be. One day.”

You nodded, dragging your fingers through the sand and destroying the mindless spirals and swirls you’d formed. “One day.”

“But enough with all that sad shit,” said Michael, taking your chin in hand and moving it so you were looking at him. “What’s important is that we have each other right now. So let’s make the most of that, hm?”

The look in Michael’s eyes told you right away what he meant by making the most of your time together; your cheeks were hot, prickling from the red wine, fingertips burning to touch something. So you did- you grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, yanking him towards you and placing a haphazard, open-mouthed kiss on his lips.

The kiss was aggressive and feverish; it didn’t take long for Michael to lay you down on the checkered blanket, his hands wandering your body like it belonged to him (and, in a way, it did).

When Michael broke away to catch his breath, panting, you decided to try something new: with all the strength you could muster, you pushed Michael off of you and promptly rolled on top of him instead, straddling him with your knees on either side of his torso.

In the faint glow of the silvery moonlight, you could see an indistinct smirk playing at his lips; it wasn’t often that you were the one to take control, but it was obvious, from the growing protrusion in the front of his pants, that he liked the change.

You leaned down to reattach your lips to his, hips rocking back and forth over his bulge until the friction sent shock waves up your spine. With you bent forward, Michael was easily able to slide his veined hands up the back of your short skirt, taking two greedy fistfuls of your ass.

Almost frantically, you tore your shirt off over your head, not bothering to worry about where it landed. Now, the only thing separating your breasts from the nighttime air was a thin lace bralette, which Michael took to palming you through.

“Fuck, (y/n),” murmured Michael, rolling one of your hardened nipples between two fingers. “You have seriously got the best tits.”

“Yeah? You think so?” you said, a twinge of playful mocking to your voice; you wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrists, maneuvering them so that both his hands were fondling your breasts.

“Fuck yeah, I think so,” he said, and you only wished there was just a bit more light so you could properly admire him in his disheveled, lustful state.

“Even better than those girls on Tinder you matched with?” you taunted, grinding your hips down hard against Michael’s erection. “I wonder what they’d think about all the times you’ve been balls deep in your stepsister.”

At this, he tightened his grip on your tits, twisting them almost painfully before hoisting up the thin fabric of your bralette so your nipples were exposed. You helped him in removing the garment, pulling it off and throwing it alongside your shirt, never once ceasing the motion of your hips against his clothed, twitching cock.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Michael said, running his thumbs over your nipples. “Otherwise I’d take you over my lap and spank your ass raw for being such a little bitch.”

“And you’re lucky you have a big dick,” you shot back, words catching in your throat when he tugged hard on one of your nipples. “Otherwise I never would’ve given your fuckboy ass the time of day.”

This was a lie, of course, but your lighthearted tone of voice was enough to let him know that you were only messing around.

Michael scoffed. “No, I think you’re the one who’s lucky that I have a big dick, considering that you’re a total fucking cock-hungry slut.”

You stifled a laugh. Well, he’s not wrong.

“Is that a complaint?” you said, lips quirking as you scooted your body slightly downward, giving yourself room to pull Michael’s now-fully hard cock out. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you took the pulsing length in hand, moving your thin panties to the side and repositioning yourself so that the head of Michael’s cock was nestled just barely against your entrance.

Michael shook his head rapidly, a throaty grunt passing his lips. “Obviously- fuck- not.”

It was almost amusing to you, the way you and Michael had gone from having a heartfelt conversation to teasing each other relentlessly, but you supposed that was what you loved about your dynamic anyway. Unable to hold off any longer, you guided Michael’s cock inside you, gliding down easily on his length until he was fully seated inside. Your mouth fell open, and as you began to properly ride him, he brought his hands to grip your hips with a tight, bruising hold.

“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, tits bouncing as you rolled your hips forward, increasing your momentum. Michael slid one hand from your hip to your inner thigh, pinching the tender skin before bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing firm circles over it.

A pleasant, salt water-scented breeze passed by as you rode Michael, further disheveling your hair, which you ran your fingers through; the lewd noises of your body connecting with Michael’s were overtaken by the unmistakable sounds of the tide.

“Good girl, riding my cock so fucking good,” Michael breathed, lifting up his free hand so he could push two fingers into your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered at the salt of his skin, lips instinctively wrapping around his calloused digits and sucking.

Swirling your tongue over Michael’s fingers, you continued riding him, swaying your hips in figure-eight motions; the thick girth of his cock stretched your tight walls, and from this angle, you could practically feel him in your stomach.

The pad of Michael’s thumb pressed against your clit again, and as electric pleasure rippled up your spine, it took everything inside you not to cum right then and there. Your pussy was clenching tight around him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go—you didn’t want to be apart from him. Not yet.

For a second, you could see every contoured feature of Michael’s face illuminated in the pale light of the moon, the exaggerated shadows and highlights coming together to form an image that was almost otherworldly. His eyes were droopy-lidded, so much so that you might’ve thought his eyes were shut if it weren’t for the glint of his pupils; he’d sucked his full lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on the rosy pink flesh as he admired your curved, supple figure on top of him.

I love him, you thought, matter-of-fact, as he pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth and dragged them down between your tits, leaving a shiny trail of saliva in their wake.

I love him, you thought, bowing your body forward to kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as you hurried your pace on his cock.

I love him.

Why the fuck did you have to love him? It wasn’t fair. Your insides churned with jealousy at the thought of all the other teenage girls who were currently experiencing their first love; you thought of the constant Instagram posts of girls in new, happy relationships, the public displays of affection against lockers between classes. Those things, so seemingly insignificant, would never become a part of your reality (or at least not any reality involving Michael).

In another life you’d have Michael over for dinner to meet your father, holding his hand under the table when you’d notice his thigh jiggling anxiously. You’d kiss him freely without the underlying fear, swirling deep in the pit of your belly, that someone might catch you. You’d be his prom date, match your gown to his bow tie and take awkward pictures with him, his strong arms holding you from behind.

In another life, things would be normal. In another life, you and Michael would be happy together.

“(Y/n),” groaned Michael; the sound of his raspy voice calling your name was enough to send you over the edge, bracing your tense body with one hand next to his head as you rode out your orgasm.

You were able to move even faster now, both of his hands holding your ass as you leaned far enough forward that you could bury your head in his neck. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you was almost too much now that you’d orgasmed, but you didn’t stop, eager to witness Michael drift into his own realm of bliss.

“Fuck—“ was all that could leave Michael’s lips before he came, using your ass to hold you in place as he spilled his warm load inside of you. You didn’t move, keeping your face by his neck so you could listen to him catch his breath.

When you finally picked yourself up, Michael looked down to his shoulder and furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you just crying?”

Fuck. Yes, yes you were. Tears had apparently leaked from the corners of your eyes without you realizing, wetting his neck and the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. You said nothing, pulling off him to retrieve the clothing articles that you’d discarded in the sand earlier.

“Just a little,” you said, embarrassed, shaking the sand off your bralette and putting it on. “Red wine makes me angsty.”

“Oh.” There was a pregnant pause as Michael cleared his throat. “C’mon, (y/n), it’s not so bad.”

There was wavering uncertainty veiled beneath the confidence of his words, and you could tell he was trying to convince himself of this sentiment just as much as he was trying to convince you. Your back was to him as you slipped your shirt over your head, willing yourself not to start crying again.

“(Y/n)?”

His hand was on your back, the tips of his fingers circling lightly over the fabric of your shirt. You turned to face him, slowly. “Yes?”

“I…” He halted for a moment, contemplating something. “I really, really like you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”

“I really, really like you too.” Somewhere, a chorus of crickets were unknowingly performing a custom symphony for your own teen romance movie moment. Michael took your hand in his, lacing his long fingers through yours, and you swallowed.

He looked down at your joined hands, an almost solemn look on his face. “Just. I don’t want you to forget, all right? No matter what happens.”

No matter what happens. You didn’t want to think of what he could mean by that.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered, as if to shield your words from the ocean’s prying ears. “I won’t forget.”

And that, you knew, was an irrefutable fact.

iv.

Late August hit you like a truck, coming by so unexpectedly that you thought surely you’d been caught in some kind of time slip. Your college move-in date was a week before Michael’s, and so Michael had spent the days leading up to your departure helping you pack (he’d also, of course, made plenty of time for “breaks” throughout the process, one of which consisted of you being fucked on the floor amidst the vast array of brown moving boxes).

Your bedroom was now a shell of what it’d once been- the comfortable teenage clutter you’d been so accustomed to was now gone, and you’d finally gotten around to throwing out the pictures and stickers you’d had on your wall since freshman year. It was depressing, hollow.

On the morning of your move-in date, your father helped you bring your belongings to the car and load the trunk. The car ride was going to be fairly long, and you were dreading it, especially since Michael wasn’t coming along. He had his own matters to attend to, what with his own move-in date creeping near, and the car would be far too crowded with all your things there anyway.

You were scheduled to leave at 9, and downstairs you could hear your father and Miriam shuffling around as they prepared for the trip. You sat at the edge of your bed, surrounded by the pale purple sheets you’d had for as long as you could remember, idly scraping the toe of your sneaker back and forth along the wooden floor.

You weren’t ready to say goodbye to all of this, but when had you ever been ready for anything life had thrown your way? You hadn’t been ready to fall in love with your stepbrother, and yet that had happened all the same.

From across the hall, Michael’s bedroom door cracked open, and out he came in his flannel sleep pants and plain white t-shirt (which now perfectly complemented the slight summertime hue of bronze to his skin), blond hair in beautiful disarray. Your heart ached- you were going to miss seeing him in the morning, all sleepy and soft, voice pitched lower than usual from sleep.

You recalled all the times you’d passed him as he stood at the counter in the bathroom, brushing his teeth; he’d look at you with a lazy half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his elbows resting on the edge of the sink. He always looked so handsome even when he wasn’t trying, a quality you almost envied him for.

He noticed you watching him from the corner of your bed as he approached the doorway, waving at you as he balanced his shoulder against the frame.

“‘Morning,” he said, his bleary-eyed gaze meeting yours. He looked tired, dark rings prevalent beneath his crystal blue eyes, and you briefly wondered if he’d gotten much sleep the night before. “You should be grateful that I got up at the ass crack of dawn to say goodbye to you.”

“The ass crack of dawn? Michael, it’s 8:45,” you said, and if you really tried, you could almost pretend that this was a regular conversation between the two of you, and not the very last time you’d be interacting face-to-face until November.

“Yeah, well, 8:45 is the ass crack of dawn to me,” he said, and you stood up, meeting him halfway in the middle of your barren room. He flashed you a grin, but there wasn’t much happiness behind it, and you could see that he was… uncomfortable? Sad? Angry?— you couldn’t quite tell— from the way he’d folded his arms in front of his stomach. “So yeah. I, uh, wanted to say goodbye. And also remind you not to fuck too many frat guys. You could, like, catch something.”

“I’ll try not to, but I can’t promise anything,” you joked, following the sentence with a forced-sounding chuckle. “Bye, Michael.”

You stepped forward, winding your arms around Michael’s waist and placing your head against his chest; you could just barely hear his heart beating, the warmth of his skin touching your cheek even through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, strong arms holding you to him in an unyielding embrace. “So much.”

There were too many things you wanted to say, racing through your mind so quickly that it’d be impossible to articulate them aloud. Instead, you let out a shaky sigh, eyes falling shut as you tried your hardest to immerse yourself completely in Michael’s touch. Sometimes, there didn’t need to be any words for you to understand each other.

“Don’t be sad about this, (y/n). When you’re at college, you’re gonna meet so many guys who are so much better than I am. And you’re gonna wonder why you ever were hung up on a dumbass like me.” His tone was lighthearted, but you knew better than to really believe that he was unbothered. “But I don’t think I’ll ever find someone better than you. I’m so fucking lucky that you gave me as many chances as you did. I didn’t deserve them.”

“You’re wrong,” you said, pulling away so you could look pointedly into Michael’s eyes. God, his eyes were beautiful, and you drank in the moment, knowing this was your last chance to really look into them face-to-face. “I gave you those chances because even though you acted like a total fucking asshole, I still knew there was good in you. I could just… feel it.”

He cocked an eyebrow skepticall y. “No, you gave me all those second chances because I give good head and have a big dick.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, maybe those were contributing factors, but they weren’t the only reasons I stuck around.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, licking his lips and settling his hands on your hips. “For the record, your pussy really is my favorite. Like, I wasn’t just saying that.”

“I’m honored.”

The interaction was cut short by the sound of your father calling you from downstairs, indicating that it was time to leave, and your heart sank deep into your stomach. Standing up on the tips of your toes, you planted a chaste kiss on his lips before hurrying out into the hall, waving over your shoulder as you went.

“Bye, (y/n),” Michael said, not moving from where he stood in your bedroom. He’d dug his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, shoulders slumped forward as he watched you go. For a moment, you wished you’d hugged him for longer. “See you in November.”

“See you,” you called back, imitating nonchalance to the best of your ability, only averting your gaze when you felt tears wobbling along your waterline, threatening to overflow and spill down your cheeks.

In that last moment before you turned, you could almost swear that he had tears in his eyes, too.

When you finally made your way up those familiar porch steps again, the November air chilling you slightly even despite the thick sweater you wore, you felt like an entirely different person.

Those first few months of college had been a blur; your life was far more interesting than it’d ever been while you were in high school (if you didn’t count the whole ‘fucking your stepbrother’ thing), with a surplus of boys at your disposal at all times. You’d gotten perhaps a bit carried away with the dating and partying and hookups, but you figured you were simply making up for all the experiences you’d missed out on in high school.

Michael was a thought that you trained yourself to keep tucked away. During those first few weeks, you’d spent several nights crying yourself to sleep, the stiff dorm room bed so uninviting compared to the way Michael’s arms had always felt around you. At parties, you’d scan the crowds for boys with blond hair and blue eyes, hoping that one of them could temporarily stand in for Michael during your time away from him. None of them fulfilled the requirements, of course- you’d come to realize early on that nobody was quite as good as Michael Langdon. It took a while for you to stop searching for Michael in every boy you became acquainted with, but with practice, you became rather skilled in the art of forgetting.

You and Michael kept in contact, albeit only sometimes. His messages to you were comprised mainly of memes he’d found on Instagram that he thought you’d appreciate, along with the occasional drunk text late at night (‘Cna you send me a pci of your tits/??? Lmfao’ was one of your favorite messages from him that you’d received thus far). It made you feel special to know that he was thinking of you, even despite being surrounded by girls like you assumed he probably was.

You tried not to think of him too much, though- you knew you’d drive yourself crazy if you did.

When Thanksgiving time rolled around, you were confronted with the fact that you’d be seeing Michael again for the first time in months, a prospect that ignited your nerves far more than you were willing to admit. As excited as you were to see him, you also couldn’t help but worry: what if he announced that he’d found a girlfriend? What if he wasn’t attracted to you anymore? What if you weren’t attracted to him anymore?

It probably would be easier for the both of you if things played out that way, but you didn’t want things to be easy. It was unrealistic, but part of you was praying that things would be exactly as they were before you’d gone away.

Your hand trembled a bit as you raised it to the doorbell, and you braced yourself before jamming your finger into the button. From inside the house, you heard the muffled, off-key tone as it resounded throughout the upstairs area, followed by bounding footsteps down the stairs that you pinpointed as belonging to your father.

The front swung open and there was your father, a wide smile stretched across his face as he ushered you inside, taking it upon himself to bring in your travel bag for you. “(Y/n)! Finally! How was the train ride?”

“Not bad,” you said as he pulled you into a hug. As soon as you were apart, you started up the stairs, your pulse quickening as you came closer and closer to the moment you’d been anticipating for months. “Did Michael get back already?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.”

Your heart skipped at this revelation; your legs couldn’t bring you to the top of the stairs fast enough, and, sensing your heightened enthusiasm, your father chuckled from behind you. “Hey, hold on a second. I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you said breathlessly, the rubber soles of your sneakers making noisy contact with the wooden upstairs floor. You supposed that maybe you should’ve spent more time greeting your father, but you could no longer contain yourself- you needed to see Michael.

Leaving your bag at the top of the stairs, you hurried to the hallway where your bedrooms were located, unable to stifle your eagerness. You felt like a starved animal, finally being presented with food by a pair of benevolent hands, and you were ready to devour.

You didn’t bother knocking on Michael’s door when you approached it, bursting in with such force that you stumbled over your feet. The room was dim, what with the blinds being open so only a few rays of late-afternoon sunlight could peek through; seated in front of his once-cluttered empty desk, now occupied only by a laptop, was Michael, massive headphones positioned over his ears as he fixated on whatever stupid game he was currently playing (does he still play fortnite? you wondered).

The sound of your intrusion was loud enough to catch his attention, and as his head turned from his computer screen to your face, something shifted in his eyes. Immediately, he tore off his headphones, jumping to his feet so abruptly that they clattered to the ground. “Holy fuck, (y/n).”

It was evident, from the way you fell easily into his arms, that the attraction hadn’t faded. If anything, the distance apart seemed to have only made the magnetic connection between you grow even stronger.

Your lips clashed together feverishly (you had no idea who had been the one to initiate this— it seemed that you’d both moved in perfect unison into one another), hands wandering freely over each other’s bodies and teeth bumping against teeth. When you broke away, a string of saliva stretching and breaking between your faces, Michael beamed down at you.

The slight layer of baby fat that had once rounded out Michael’s cheeks appeared to have dissipated, his cheekbones even more pronounced than you remembered them being. His sharp jaw was shadowed with the smallest touch of brown stubble, (which you assumed was there because he’d been too lazy to shave), but you thought the more mature look suited him well.

“Jesus, (y/n), I missed you.” His voice was like smooth velvet; you’d inject it into your bloodstream if you could. “You’re even more fucking beautiful than I remembered.”

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d be grossed out by my freshman fifteen,” you laughed.

“Fuck no. The fatter the ass, the better,” he said with a devious smirk, running his long fingers through his overgrown mop of blond hair. He smelled just like you remembered, a mixture of cinnamon gum and cigarettes and cologne (and the faintest hint of marijuana, of course), and you wished you could bottle up his scent and take it with you.

“So you’re still a fuckboy, I see,” you teased, twisting the front of Michael’s t-shirt in your hands and pulling him towards you. “Some things just never change, I guess.”

“Guess not.” He was speaking lowly now, assuming the smooth tone he always used when he was attempting to seduce you, and as if on cue came a dull, throbbing ache between your legs. “I wonder if your pussy is as good as I remember?”

His fingers found their way to the bottom of your sweater, fumbling with the chunky fabric and swiftly maneuvering it off over your head. You mirrored his actions, pulling off his shirt and exposing his torso, pressing your lips back against his with urgency once his upper half had been disrobed.

“Fuck…” you breathed against his parted mouth, palming the growing erection in the front of his pale gray sweatpants (your favorite pair of pants that he owned). “Need you to fuck me, Mikey…”

“Is that right?” He tilted his head to one side, kissing you deeply as he bent his knees, using his own weight as leverage to lift you up. You intertwined your ankles behind Michael’s back, securing your place in his toned arms as he carried you over to his bed; the vulgar, wet sound of your tongues melding together filled the room as he laid you down on his checkered comforter, your legs still wrapped snugly around him. “Did my baby sis miss having her pussy split on her big bro’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you purred; there truly was no man in existence better at dirty talking than Michael. You tensed in excitement when he began fumbling with the top button of your jeans, proceeding to deftly work the form-fitting denim material down your thighs once he’d freed it from its hold. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Impatiently, you reached between your bodies, your fingers coming upon the thick outline of his bulge as he peppered your throat with sloppy kisses. You moved your hand up to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging the elastic as far back as you could; this resulted in him chuckling against your flesh, your body erupting in goosebumps at the sensation.

“So needy,” he mumbled, the vibrations of his plump lips traveling straight down to your cunt. “Did you touch yourself when you were away at school, thinking of me? Thinking of how good I touch you, how hard I make you cum?”

“M-Michael,” you whimpered, rolling your hips in melodic time with his, his clothed cock making friction against your thinly veiled pussy. “C’mon, just fuck me already. Please.”

“I like it when you beg,” he said, smug, standing so he could pull down his sweatpants and boxers, putting his long, weighted cock on display for you. You lifted your knees up for him, and in one swift motion he stripped you of your flimsy black thong. “Beg me again.”

You squirmed, sliding your flat palm down your stomach so you could touch yourself between your parted thighs; slowly, you coated your fingers with your own sticky essence, looking up at Michael from under a canopy of thick lashes. “Fuck me, Michael. I need you.”

“Ask nicely,” he chided, hoisting your thigh up to drape around his waist, eyes darkening as he observed your fingers spreading your slick wetness around your folds.

“Pleeaaaaseeee, Mikey,” you pleaded, syllables so drawn out that it almost sounded like you were singing. “It’s been so long.”

“Fuck.” He brought his lower lip into his mouth, sucking for a moment as he lined the flushed head of his cock up with your dripping entrance. When he released it, it was several shades darker than it’d been before, completely swollen and glossy with spit. “I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I saw you.”

Taking a firm grip of your thighs, he slid effortlessly into your tight heat, your jaw unhinging at the intrusion; you’d definitely be feeling him for the next few days, his thick shaft stretching out your narrow walls to the point where it was almost painful. You liked it, though, liked the delicious burn that only he could create, reminding you of who you belonged to.

“Shit,” he hissed, pausing momentarily to compose himself before assuming a deep, hard rhythm to fuck you with. “You’re so fucking tight. Must not’ve fucked anyone as big as me while you were away.”

All you could manage was a broken moan, your head lolling back towards the ceiling. He bottomed out inside you, bringing himself down to press his chest against yours, indulging in the feel of your warm, wet cunt as it spasmed around his massive length. When you started whining for more, he retracted his hips back until only the head of his cock was inside you, slamming back inside so hard that you were sent halfway up the bed.

“Oh god, Michael…” Your fingernails scraped aimlessly along the warm skin of his back, eyelids flickering open and shut in a fucked-out daze. You’d slept with a handful of guys at college, but none of them even came close to fucking you the way Michael did. He was just… special.

Fuck, I love him.

The thought startled you; you’d almost been able to forget about the little epiphany you’d had, that night in Florida when you and Michael sat side-by-side by the ocean. But now that you were with him— under him, taking every last agonizing inch of his cock, it became obvious that those feelings had remained stagnant.

After all the boys you’d been through at college, you still loved him.

God, were you fucked.

“Missed my baby girl so much,” Michael murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and peering down at you. His forehead was glowing, the sides of his face framed with cute, damp curls of blond hair; he was so beautiful, you thought. How had you survived so long without him?

He impaled you again with a sharp upwards thrust, a string of expletives passing your lips and mixing with the lewd sounds of sex swimming through the air. “I missed you— fuck!— too.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” he said, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and running his tongue along the salty skin. “Your pussy is fucking dripping for me.”

“Keep going,” you panted, wetting your chapped lips; with each brutal thrust of Michael’s cock, you bucked your hips forward to meet him halfway, desperate for all that he had to offer. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah? You like that? Like how I split you open?” His hips pounded against yours with a bruising intensity, his chest pinning you down as you writhed beneath his lean frame. His voice was becoming hoarse, breaths short and choppy, letting you know that he was close.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, more…” Your affirmations were like a prayer, encouraging Michael to fuck you even deeper, his torso making electric contact with your clit as he moved his body in time with yours. “Make me cum, Mikey, please..”

The wind was knocked from your lungs each time he pumped his length into you, and by the time the coil in your stomach was unwinding, you were struggling to catch your breath. You ran your hands through Michael’s sweat-soaked hair, letting the strands stretch around your fingers as you tugged at the root; Your toes curled when Michael administered a particularly hard thrust inside you, your lips falling open in a silent scream; there was a burst of brilliant colors behind your eyelids as you finally reached your climax, your thighs shaking as they clasped firmly around Michael’s waist.

Like a perfect teen-movie cliché, Michael came just as you did; the feeling of his hot load as it spilled deep inside your cunt was a welcomed one, and your spongey inner walls instinctively clamped down, milking his cock for all it was worth.

With a throaty grunt, Michael pulled out of you, his cum dribbling crudely down your inner thigh and onto his bedspread, which he didn’t appear to pay any attention to. Lying down beside you, he sighed, bare chest shining with slick perspiration.

“I missed doing that,” Michael rasped, eyes focused up towards the ceiling rather than on you.

“So did I,” you said, tracing idle patterns along the expanse of Michael’s torso, watching his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took. “I can’t wait to have you all Christmas break.”

Michael’s lips turned downwards at the corners, his eyebrows knitting together in a pained display. “Oh. Yeah.”

It seemed as though he’d wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips shut into a thin line, Adam’s apple bobbing. What the hell? All at once you felt nauseous- there was something about the way he’d said those two words that made you very, very uneasy.

You sat up, your mind already starting to overflow with horrid possibilities. “What, Michael?”

“I, um. I have to tell you something.” Michael’s eyes darted throughout the room before settling on his palms. You frowned, mouth going dry at his apparent reluctance to talk to you, thoughts racing in all directions to try and pinpoint what exactly he might say.

“Michael…”

“So. Um.” He was stalling, extending his arms up so his palms were flat on his forehead, still refusing to look at you as he contemplated his words. “So you remember over the summer when I spilled Red Bull on my laptop?”

You raised an eyebrow. Where exactly was he going with this? “Yeah?”

“And remember how I would borrow my mom’s laptop to play video games while I was waiting for it to get repaired?”

“Yes, I remember. Can you just get to the point?” You were growing impatient, the anxiety increasing with each additional second that Michael continued to leave you in the dark.

“Okay, well…” He inhaled sharply. “I was borrowing her laptop one night and ended up looking at the search history because, well… you can probably guess why. Anyway. I ended up seeing all these searches for, like, new apartments and divorce lawyers.”

Oh shit. Divorce lawyers? Was he about to say what you were thinking he was about to say? “You mean…?”

Michael held up a hand as if to say let me finish, and you held your tongue. “So like, I asked her about it. And she told me that her and your dad are, like, splitting up or whatever. But she told me not to mention anything about it in case they ended up working shit out.”

You didn’t understand— wasn’t this good news? If your parents divorced, wouldn’t you finally be able to be with Michael the way you wanted? You forced down the giddiness that started to bubble up from your stomach and into your throat, knowing that there had to be a catch if Michael was acting so serious.

“So our parents are getting a divorce?”

“Well… there’s more.” He licked his lips, finally gathering the courage to look at you, the expression on his face so grim that it scared you a little. “She found an apartment in California. And she’s moving us there next month.”

California!?

No, this couldn’t be happening. How could this be happening? This was perhaps even worse than the predicament you were already in. If Michael moved to California, it was pretty fucking likely that you’d never see him again.

“I… what? And you’ve known all this for how long!?” Your voice was pitched several octaves higher now, eyes watering uncontrollably, and you felt as though you were on the brink of having a total fucking meltdown.

“I always thought there was a chance they’d get things worked out, or that my mom would change her mind about moving so far away. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I already knew you were sad about us going away to college, so I just thought-”

“-Answer the question, Michael! How long have you known this for?” Hot, angry tears were falling down your face and onto your bare chest, your entire body shaking with an overwhelming mixture of rage and despair.

He sighed. “Since August.”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. How could he have hidden this from you for so long? “And you never thought to tell me? So I could at least come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never see you again once you move?”

“I didn’t wanna ruin the rest of our time together,” he said softly, eyes glossy with tears that were still yet to fall. “I fucked up, okay? I should’ve told you as soon as I found out. But I kept thinking that maybe something would change, and…I don’t know. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

“Fuck,” you mumbled. Your limbs felt numb and heavy, your heart hollow. “Why did your mom have to choose fucking California, of all places?”

“I dunno. I think it has to do with this weird religion thing she’s into,” he said. “Look, (y/n), if I had any choice, I’d stay here. But you know I can’t afford my own place right now.”

“I know. It’s just-“ you collapsed backwards, your back making contact with the bed below with a soft thud. “This is so fucking unfair. We’re finally able to be together- like, really be together. But of course there has to be a catch.”

“Remember what I said, (y/n)? How if things are meant to be, they will be?” It sounded to you like Michael was attempting to make sense of a senseless situation, but you let him speak, somewhat comforted by his words. “I only have to stay in California until I can afford my own place. And I’ll still be going to the same college, so we won’t be too far from each other during the school year.”

Your college was a five hour drive away from Michael’s. Would he really be willing to make such a long trip up to see you? Would you be willing to take a trip to see him, with the new knowledge looming on your conscience that he would no longer be an arm’s length away once the school year was up? You wanted to be optimistic, but how could you be? A fresh wave of tears escaped your eyes, blurring your vision, but your cries faded to soft whimpers when Michael pulled you up against his chest.

You tried not to remind yourself of the fact that this would likely be one of the last times you’d be able to feel him there against you, one of the last times you’d absorb the heat from his skin, his distinct scent overtaking you like a natural aphrodisiac, intoxicating you.

You tried to reason with reality: if the universe had tried so hard to keep you apart all this time, maybe you and Michael being together had simply not been written in the stars (or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself— how could a connection so strong not be meant to be?, you asked yourself dejectedly). The way you felt for Michael was special, unlike anything else you’d ever experienced before. He was a natural high, a gust of fresh springtime air, a golden ray of good in a gray-black world of bad.

But, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end. Don’t they?

Perhaps you’d always known, in the very back of your mind, that things would never work out. Perhaps you’d always known that your heart would wind up broken (no, not broken— incinerated). The cards had never been in your favor, and there had been a hundred million warning signs that you’d blatantly ignored time and time again.

But it hurt.

And you doubted it would ever stop hurting. The pain of losing Michael might one day fade from a stabbing agony to a dull ache, but that initial wound would likely never heal completely.

The only thing left to do now was stay entangled in Michael’s warmth for as long as possible, and make weary peace with the tragic ending your time with Michael had come to.

“If we survived being stepsiblings, we can survive this,” Michael said, his lips against your knotted hair, firm arms holding your naked body with a delicate tenderness that you weren’t used to. “You know that when I want something, I make sure that I get it. And what I want, (y/n), is you.”

You nodded, curling into Michael, your bodies fitting together like two perfectly-cut puzzle pieces.

“And I’m gonna have you.” You felt his hand smooth your hair out, and then he placed a kiss on your forehead, as if to imprint his words into your brain. “One day.”

Your eyes fluttered open, and all at once you were lost in a rushing sea of crystal blue, like the one that had lapped against the shore that night you’d fallen in love. As you reached up to caress Michael’s porcelain cheek, thumb grazing the rough stubble that had gathered along his jaw, you couldn’t help but believe him.

One day.

#mine #michael langdon #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #cody fern #Duncan Shepherd #american horror story #ahs #ahs smut #ahs imagines #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon imagine #ahs season 8 #apocalypse #ahs apocalypse

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fieryblazes · 4 years ago

Photo

It’s better, really, to go out in a blaze, we love the ones who walk right into the fire.

NAME: Rhys Warren / Blaze.

AGE: One hundred and twenty seven.

KINGDOM: Fire sprite.

GENDER IDENTITY: Cismale (he&him).

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Biromantic & bisexual.

Rhys Warren was born to a young couple that weren’t prepared for children. The pair had never set down roots anywhere nor did they really ever intend to. One from a traditional Irish family and the other craved a life away from where their family had been forced to live, together they chose a life on the run. His mother was groomed to remain a part of her own society, where she might take over her mother’s role as an agricultural leader. The role itself was a good one as far as things went but, it wasn’t exciting. She was never one for political intricacies and instead, held out hope for a chance to explore the world with another. Enter Rhys’ father, someone of Irish importance that held no claim to his own name. Rather than marry into another wealthy family to find a housewife and raise the allotted children that his family hoped for, he met another that he would escape his designated life with and live carefree with until their first son was born. Rhys had been unexpected but, strangely, still a wanted surprise for them.

When the family was complete with three children, the couple decided to return home for a little while. Namely, back to where Rhys’ father’s side had settled. Their life there would be short-lived, however, only a few years were spent there before the fatigue of everyday life hit the couple. They were advised by both sides of the family to leave the children behind and at first, they obliged. Rhys lived with his mother’s side of the family where he learned how to hunt, to gather and shadowed other leaders within their society. He thrived moreover in hunting and in working within the fields. The manual labor kept his fiery personality in check which was key because otherwise, the child would often pick fights with other children around them.

Like many in the early 1900’s, Rhys never attended school. Instead, he labored in fields and worked alongside elders, learning basic education with them. He learned to read and write at an older age than most would but, technically, it wasn’t something that was truly necessary for him until he was older. Until his parents decided that they were moving to Florida and hoped to take their children with them, that was. By then, Rhys was seventeen and his siblings were a few years younger. They obliged despite how their caretakers felt and soon, the five of them were living in a commune just outside of Miami. The commune itself was an offset of another that had been created several years back. It was, effectively, a socialist commune where revolutionary socialists and anarchists of all sorts came to live amongst one another. It was there that Rhys found his love for boxing and would continue to practice elsewhere later. Rhys remained at the commune for several years before he made the decision to move on to Miami.

However, Rhys wasn’t the only one interested in the Magic City. Upon the time that he moved there, the city’s officials had set out to create canals that would create more land and divert water away from the city. It was soon made clear that they required additional help doing this to finish in a timely manner. Rhys answered this call for more help and worked his way to a place to live while he looked for more work. However, this downtime sparked a change in Rhys. Hard work kept Rhys’ overactive mind at bay but, now that he had precious little to do in the way of manual labor, he started to feel the pull once again to achieve far more dangerous machinations. Burglary was first but, it certainly wasn’t enough. No matter how much he stole or how difficult the entrance and exit were, he found that the challenge didn’t do enough for him. Then came gambling. He learned the cheap tricks and dirty secrets behind how to win every time and once he had those mastered, boredom wrapped around his mind once again. But, it would be arson that kept his attention for much longer.

It was also what kept him in jail most often. He tried to keep his distance but it was difficult to do that but also watch the flames in all of their glory. So, occasionally, he was caught due to his attempt to watch the art that he had created. But, sometimes he chose places where people had angered him which made it entirely too obvious that it was Rhys Warren who had set the fire even if he was hidden elsewhere as the blaze burned the establishment down to ashes. In and out of jail, he had made friends within and outside which slowly created a network of how people knew Rhys. It wasn’t until his twenty eighth birthday, of which the evening was spent in a jail cell, that this network finally paid off. He didn’t know the person who had paid his bail but, they had known of him. A recruiter sent from the mob, Rhys was formally invited to prove himself to something bigger than him. Something that might actually hold his attention.

Rhys climbed the ranks of the mob until he sat pretty as a rum runner. He had spent several years building trust with the Miami sect of the American Mafia, where they mainly dealt in gambling and procuring alcohol during a time of Prohibition. However, he was on the fence about moving up even higher within the mob. It meant more responsibility and as someone born and raised in a world with no rigid schedule, Rhys was free-spirited. He didn’t adhere to the ideals of time management and strict routines. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that this would become a problem at some point. However, after the death of one of his siblings, the itch to leave and embark on a journey that would both keep him preoccupied and offer much needed excitement, Rhys pushed to be a part of the negotiations that dealt with the Dominican Republic. And so, he stepped onto the Horizons with the belief he would be back soon.

A lot of work had gone into Rhys’ preparation from a presentational standpoint. He had taught himself while on the voyage to conduct himself in a professional manner, to appear as a charismatic businessman rather than a hot-headed fighter with permanent calluses on the palms of his hands from a life of hard work. As fruitless as this was, the shore that he awoke on with lungs filled with salt water was beyond his wildest hopes and dreams. He accepted the deal when it was presented to him as an immediate believer of the sprites. Here, he could finally lean into the more dangerous, volatile whims that had always lurked underneath his skin. Rhys Warren was made of fire but, it was Blaze that would embody it.

CONNECTION IDEAS

THE FIRE SPREADS - Anyone who is aware of the laws of the land but still love the idea of bending them. Whether there’s a reasoning behind it or they’re more akin to Blaze who is the epitome of ‘fuck around and find out’, perhaps they were a criminal in a past life and sometimes, they just need to seek out a thrill or two.

PASSIONATE EMBERS - Those who Blaze has been with in some capacity. It’s a running theme for him to be looking for ‘the one’ and though he isn’t a wholly sensitive person, he does have a romantic side. This might have been a passionate romance with a quick burn out, nights of passion now unspoken or something else, we can figure it out.

A SPARK - This could be anything - a friendship, soon to be enemies, potentially a relationship, etc., but the point is that there’s something there and they haven’t figured out what it is. But, there’s a push and a pull between them.

ASHES NOW - They were close for some time and then had a horrible falling out. Their relationship (be it whatever it was, platonic or otherwise) was one that seemed like it would be lasting but, now it’s bitter. There’s unresolved feelings and even potentially disdain.

FIRE & ICE - I just really dig the idea of him teaming up with someone from the water kingdom, I don’t really have any solid ideas but, hit me up and we can come up with something wild.

HORIZONS PASSENGERS - Lastly, I’d dig some plots with the people that Blaze arrived with! They probably didn’t know one another at the time but, that doesn’t mean we can’t get some spicy ideas going.

#blaze: intro.#this took me six years #but imma start slowly doing replies and messaging people back i'm Sorry

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nadja-chamack16 · 5 years ago

Text

Side With The Height

Authors note: lmao I was supposed to post this basically years ago :/ (more like a month ago) but I got so self conscious about it and wasn't going to finish it... so before I regret posting this lol just know I had fun writing and there are probably grammar mistakes. I truly don’t know if this is going to be a chaptered thing but enjoy anyway! If you have any questions please let me know! and if you wanna be tagged for some reason let me know(?)

words: 3861

pairings: Eventual prinxiety, eventual logicality, Platonic demus

summary: Virgil wakes up in washington heights, the place where he's lived as long as he can remember. He goes through his usual day and we see a glimpse into his mind.

warnings: A lot of Spanglish (mix in between Spanish and English) is used, let me know if I missed anything

“ Lights up on Washington Heights”

Up at the break of day ”

Virgil woke up a tad bit late, which mind you was something very rare, still on time to open the bodega though he was almost always the first one up anyway. Watching the Barrio wake up after he was wide awake and ready to start his day, it made him feel like he was seeing the world from an outsider perspective but for once being the outsider was something good.

“ I wake up and I got this little punk I gotta chase away ”

He walked towards the bodega, one of the few things he still had from his parents and- Wait is that Remus? wait wait wait- is he about to spray paint the bodega?! His internal monologue was rudely interrupted, He bolted towards Remus, “what are the fuck are you doing?!” Remus wasn't a genius, but he could definitely tell that Virgil was pissed and he decide his best option was to run off to god knows where, he was a little worried that Virgil would run after him, but he still tried to look calm while leaving but was definitely failing miserably.

“ Pop the grate at the crack of dawn ”

Virgil knew how Remus was, he and Dee hung out a lot, (if it were up to Virgil he most definitely would not be, but he can’t monitor Dee all the time) But he never thought Remus would ever dare try to spray paint the bodega! “I guess you can’t trust people” he said under his breath while pulling up the metal grate covering his corner store.

“ Sing while I wipe down the awning

Hey y'all good morning ”

Virgil saw the piraguero, Emile, and had a short conversation with him. “Ice cold piragua. Parcha, china, cherry, strawberry, and just for today I got Mamey!” Emile said, he said it every morning so Virgil had most of it memorized by then and mouthed the words as he said them, “Oye piraguero Como esta? " Virgil asked, he didn't personally like small talk, but there was a few exceptions, “Como siempre señor Virgilio!” Emile winked. Virgil didn't hate his name or anything, his parents gave it to him and it had a story behind it, he just liked its “translation” into English a little better, when he was a kid, a few of his classmates had issues saying his name, and he didn't really like that, so he decided to use the name one of his teachers called him. He entered the store relaxed and involuntarily continued his internal monologue. Virgil enjoyed singing...when he was alone in the bodega...at an ungodly hour... before everyone was awake and bustling through the door, before anyone could judge him really, but deep down he knew nobody here would ever do that, everyone around him either saw him growing up or grew up with him, but anxiety won't stop pestering will it?

“ I am Usnavi and you prob'ly never heard my name

Reports of my fame are greatly exaggerated

Exacerbated by the fact that my syntax is highly complicated cause

I emigrated from the single greatest little place in the Caribbean

Dominican-

Republic ”

It didn't matter that Virgil was from this small tropical island in the Caribbean he still probably was the palest person in the barrio, and you couldn't really blame him, he was always working, trying to make ends meet, so he almost never went out, plus he moved to the barrio when he was a child, so he never got to really experience that Dominican heat, and those stunning sun beams crashing over one's skin through the palm trees while feeling the sand as he walked through one of its many beaches- anyway...he’s always lived in the barrio so, it’s not like he doesn’t have his culture with him, since there are other Latinos all around him, but he wants to one day experience all these things and not just day dream about experiencing his country with the only reference of that majestic place being stories Abuela had told him.

“ I love it

Jesus, I'm jealous of it

And beyond that

Ever since my folks passed on I haven't gone back

Goddamn,

I gotta get home then ”

In case you hadn’t noticed, Virgil Loved his country and culture very dearly, and he took pride in it, sometimes when Abuela Carmen told him stories about his home country, he got a weird feeling, He was most definitely grateful that Abuela took her time to tell him in detail all these stories, so he could imagine what living there must be like, but he couldn’t put a finger on what this feeling was, jealousy? Maybe. Longing? Probably. Resentment? Possibly. Desire? Who knows. He wasn’t sure, the only thing he knew for a fact was that this feeling made him wonder what would have happened if his parent just stayed in the sunny bliss that is his country, and having such a thought made him feel guilty so, he tried not to dawn it for too long, and told himself that one day he would have enough money to go and live there for the rest of his days (a few years maybe? No, he wanted this) and experience his country...but he could also come back settle down, help Dee, so he can fend for himself, and maybe start dating, he could always try to ask R-

“ I'm gonna test ya later

I'm getting tested times are tough on this bodega

Two months ago somebody bought Ortega's Our

Neighbors started packin' up and pickin' up

And ever since the rent's went up

It's gotten mad expensive

But we live with just enough”

He had to cut that train of thought quickly, he couldn't be day dreaming about impossible scenarios when rush hour was coming, and everyone would be awake heading for work and would pass through his bodega and get his world- well barrio famous café con leche, but he had no idea what he would do today since the fridge decided to stop working, and he had started to panic a little, thank god for Abuela because he would have gone into full panic mode if it weren’t for her walking in, “Mijo what's wrong? You look stressed.” she always knew when something was wrong, “Ay, abuela my fridge broke... I got café but no con leche” he tried not to sound too disheartened and worried as not to raise any worry, “try mother’s old recipe, one can of condensed milk!” that was all she had to say, and he was instantly calmer, but it wouldn’t be Abuela if she didn’t end it with “Paciencia Y Fe!” she said it as she exited the store. She may not be his real grandma, but he certainly loved her as if she was his grandmother, hell mother even! She practically raised him for god’s sake!

“ In the heights

I can't survive without café

I serve café

Cuz tonight seems like a million years away!

En Washington—”

Then and there the barrio came alive in a matter of milliseconds and everyone was rushing through the streets, and the cars were honking, and everything lit up as if from a scene in a movie. He liked how he always knew who to expect at what time, it was comforting to have routine, and he guessed other people agreed with him because they were always on time, First up was the Rosario’s, they run the cab company down the street, Even, so they struggle in the barrio, their son Patton is off to college and tuition is ridiculously expensive so, everything they get is mad cheap. Virgil always knew everyone's usual, and the Rosario’s were no exception, “Good Morning virgiiiiiil” Larry’s singsong voice sliced through his thoughts, he automatically started gathering his usual,“Pan caliente, Café con leche” he said as he put the items in the counter, “put twenty dollars on today’s lottery” Larry said with a smile on his face, before Virgil could do anything Dot’s voice came through “ one ticket that’s it!” she said with a stern tone, her eyes still pretty playful, “hey!, a man’s got a dream...” she rolled her eyes and turned to Virgil “don't mind him he's all excited ‘cuz Patton flew in at three am last night” she was smiling warmly while thinking of her son, Larry’s voice caught her attention, and she looked up “don’t look at me, this ones been cooking all week” he said while making a gesture with his thumb in her direction, she rolled her eyes, “Virgil come over for dinner there's plenty to eat!” they took the bag off the counter and left the store.

“ Me and my cousin runnin' just another

Dime-a-dozen

Mom-and-pop stop-and-shop

And, oh my god,

It's gotten too darn hot like my man Cole Porter said

People come

Through for a few cold waters and

A lottery ticket,

Just a part of the routine ”

He sees Dee trying to sneak past and obviously failing, “Dante you’re late” Virgil tries to say it in a stern voice, “chillax you know you love me.” Dee smirked and got to work, Virgil couldn't hold back the smile any longer, he just sighed and started warming up for the real rush hour coming, there was going to be multiple people talking to him at once and even if he finally had Dee to help, he knew the both wouldn't be enough, but after years of this being his job, he knows how to handle many people talking to him at once and keep in mind these are Latino people, which meant there was several people talking to him at once but at twice the speed of a normal human conversation, and if they were on a rush make it four times as fast.

“ Everybody's got a job;

Everybody's got a dream

They gossip,

As I sip my coffee and smirk

The first stop as people hop to work ”

The last people to come before rush hour were Remy and Valerie work on the salon next door, and as always Remy was telling Val about the new chisme, and Virgil couldn't help but eavesdrop, it was his bodega after all, so he had to have some sort of right to do so, plus it wasn't like he tried to hide the fact that he was listening, if something surprised him it, he wouldn't try to stifle a gasp, but he never got to hear the gossip from the beginning, so he had to try to piece it together and sometime he didn't even get to hear the end, he started preparing their usual orders as he listened, “so, then Yesenia walks in the room” “ah ha” she smells sex, and cheap perfume” “uh oh”, “it smells like one of those reeves that you hang from the rearview” Valerie didn't really add much to the story just her random reactions to show she was listening, “haha no!,” “its true! She screams ‘who's in there with you Julio!’ grabs a bat and quick in me’ door…” Virgil started piecing some things together, they were talking about Yesenia getting cheated on, Julio probably had cheated on her with some gir-” he's in bed with José from the liquor store!” well that was a twist! Virgil couldn't help what he said next, “No me diga!” he and Valerie said it in perfect sync, he hands them their respective coffees, and they both say a simple, “thanks Virgil!”

“ Bust it— I'm like— One dollar, two

Dollars, one fifty, one sixty-nine I got it

You want a box of condoms what kind?

That's two quarters Two quarter waters

The New York Times

You need a bag for that?

The tax is added ”

It was finally time, the long awaited rush hour, people were asking him the cost of things, where things were located, he even got some surprising questions, but he couldn't even stop and dawn on it for too long because he had a few people asking him questions, and he didn't want an angry mob of Latinos forming this early in the day, there was a few people here and there that came for only coffee but at this time people usually came to look for stuff that they needed like a few groceries or toiletries but this was for sure the most stressful part of the day, but it wasn't as bad as you might think.

“ Once you get some practice at it

You do rapid

Mathematics automatically

Sellin' maxipads and fuzzy dice for taxicabs and practically

Everybody's stressed, yes,

But they press through the mess

Bounce checks and wonder what's next ”

Virgil was used to this, he had this jump of adrenaline in his day-to-day life, and his need to make everyone complacent as they left his small bodega made him work extra hard, it was almost over though and the only way to truly know it was over was once Logan walked through that door, he and Dante would never tell Logan how happy, and relieved they were any time He walked in through the bodega door, Virgil was relieved when Logan entered the bodega? Yes, but was he happy? Kind of, since Logan and Dee would team up against him to poke fun at him, most of the time it had to do with Virgil’s love life but what can you do? The funniest thing was when Logan would try to beat Virgil to say what he usually got but Virgil was just faster and knew all of it by heart so, he always won, which frustrated Logan which in turn made him feel a little better when Logan and Dee bothered him about his love life, it wasn't something he liked to talk about so in turn he couldn't really argue with them about it, so he just tried to shut them up quickly especially since Roman was always the one to come after Logan, but he was usually distracted with something so even if they were talking about it, he wouldn't notice since Logan and Dante would shut up, and see what Virgil would do, now it was just time to wait for Logan to arrive, so he and Dee would be able to take a break.

“ In the heights I buy my coffee and I go

I buy my coffee and—

Set my sights

On only what I need to know

What I need to know—

In the heights Money is tight

But even so—

Even so—

When the lights go down I blast my radio!

En Washington “

The man of the hour walked through the door, Logan saw Virgil and Dante release A breath they were holding, he smirked, Virgil knew what that meant, his challenge for the day, try to beat Virgil to say what he wanted, mission impossible , Logan always tried to throw Virgil off guard with a tease, it never worked. “ you ain't got no skills!” Virgil smiled, this ought to be fun , “Logan!” virgil let logan start saying his order so then he could annoy Logan by interrupting him, “Yo, let me get a-” “milky way” he said as he put it on the counter, “ yeah, let me also get a-”, “daily news” virgil knew he was starting to get on his nerves once saw the way he looked at the paper on the counter, “ and a-” “post” virgil just smirked, logan’s smile was faltering, “And most important, my-” “ Boss’ second coffee, one cream-” LOgan always came for Mr. Rosario’s second coffee, he didn't really drink coffee from what virgil knew, “ five sugars” Logan tried to beat Virgil to saying it but they ended up saying it at the same time, dante just rolled his eyes, he knew Virgil would always win but he still cheered logan on. Once logan inevitably failed he tried to show his skills off to prove one day he might get to outsmart Virgil,“I'm the number one earner”, “what?!”, they both knew it was all in good fun, “the fastest learner”

“what?!”, but sometimes virgil would irritate Logan and that's how they would end up with Logan teasing Virgil about him liking Roman, ,“my Boss can't keep me on the damn back burner!” “yes he can” and Dante would be on LOgans team “i'm making moves, i’m making deals, but guess what” “what?” “you still ain't got no skills”, “hardee-har” virgil mocked, “ Yo, Roman Show up yet?” Virgil face was immediately up in flames, “shut up!” “hey little homie, don't get so upset” virgil know what to target on Logan but it was the same viceversa, “man..” he knew he couldn't stop this from happening anyway do he just kind of accepted it, “ Tell Roman how you feel, buy the boy a meal on the real, or you ain't got no skills-”

Logan was interrupted by someone coming in and virgil was thankful for it... until he looked up to see who it was, Roman distractedly talking to the phone so he probably didn't hear any of that (hopefully), “Nooo! No no nooo! No no nooo, no-no-no! Nooo, no-no-no! No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no, no-no-no-no-no!” well now virgil was curious to who he was talking to, Roman had always been someone extra and comfortable around everyone in the barrio but to just walk into the bodega while having an apparent important conversation was surprising nonetheless, “Mr. Johnson, I got the security deposit, It’s locked in a box in the bottom of my closet, It’s not reflected in my bank statement, But I’ve been savin’ to make a down payment and pay rent, No, no, I won’t let you down—” Roman made a pause to listen to the person on he other end of the call and Logan took this opportunity to talk “ Yo, here’s your chance; ask him out right now!” Virgil pushed logan to shut him up because Roman was right there and he could hear him! “ I’ll see you later, we can look at that lease!” Roman seemed relieved and a small smile started creeping its way into his face, he still didn't seem fully calm but he looked more at ease.

“Do somethin’, make your move, don’t freeze!” His silent awe towards Roman was interrupted as logan pushed him towards Roman just as he ended the call, so he had no way of escaping the situation, “Hey!” “You owe me a bottle of cold champagne”! Virgil had almost forgotten completely about their bet, the first one to get out of the barrio has to get the other champagne, “ Are you moving?” virgil said it almost as if he were disappointed which was a surprise to himself, “Just a little credit check and I’m on that downtown train!” Roman said it with a smile lighting up his face, Virgil noticed he was staring, adn tried to act fast “ Well, your coffee’s on the house”, “okay!” Roman took the coffee and looked down in a shy way with a small smile , virgil had never seen him like that, “Usnavi, ask him out...” he heard Logan whisper shouting at him and he sincerely hoped that Roman hadn’t heard that, “No way!” Virgil heard Dante say to Benny and that comment kind of offended him, “I’ll see you later, so…” Roman said awkwardly and turned to leave the Bodega. “ Oooh... Smooth operator, aw, damn, there she goes! Yo, bro, take five, take a walk outside! You look exhausted, lost, don’t let life slide! The whole hood is struggling, times are tight And you’re stuck to this corner like a streetlight!” after that Logan took his things and left the bodega.

“Yeah, I'm a streetlight,

Choking on the heat The world spins around while I'm frozen to my

Seat The people that I know all keep on rolling down the street But

Everyday is different so I'm switchin' up the beat Cuz my parents

Came with nothing They got a little more And sure, we're poor, but yo

At least we got the store And it's all about the legacy they left

With me, it's destiny And one day I'll be on a beach with Sonny

Writing checks

to me “

Virgil’s mood dropped as soon as those words came out of Logan’s mouth, he knew Logan didn't mean anything by it but that didn't stop his heart from dropping onto the Floor of his store, this was one of his fears to be stuck with his Bodega and be left behind by everyone else, everyone that cares for him or at least he thinks they- He stopped dead in his tracks, He couldn't be thinking like that, his parents did everything they could before they died to get this corner store and one day he's going to go back to his country just like him(?) and Abuela want and Dante will have a stable life with the income he will get from the store and his life will be bliss.

“ In the heights I hang my flag up on display We

Came to work and to live and we got a lot in

Common It reminds me that I came from miles away D

R., P

R., we are not stoppin'

In the heights

Every day, paciencia y fe

Until the day we go from poverty to stock options

In the heights I've got today

And today's all we got,

So we cannot stop This is our block In the heights I

Hang my flag up on display Lo le lo le lo lai lai lo le!

It reminds me that I came from miles away! “

Virgil can practically hear people's thoughts and dreams circling through the air but to be honest Virgil didn't really hear them...he felt the electric buzzing that came with the streets of the place he was raised. It was one of the many things he liked about his barrio at a quick glance it isn't much just a little place in New York filled with immigrants that have bigger dreams, bigger than themselves and everyone around them… its as if You cant walk through these streets without bumping into somebody's dream.

“ I Hang my flag up on display Lo le lo le lo lai lai lo le!

It reminds me that I came from miles away!

My family came from miles away— In the heights It gets more expensive

Every day Every day And tonight is so far away—

But as for mañana, mi pana Ya gotta just keep watchin'

You'll see the Late nights You'll taste Beans and rice The syrups and

Shaved ice I ain't gonna Say it twice ”

They all knew were they came from, the sunniest places a person could ever go to. They all know the situation that is happening in the barrio , how no one is really here to stay, how this is just a stepping stool towards a bigger dream...but they didn't care. They all will know soon enough what is to come but for now…

“ Turn up the stage lights

We're takin' a flight To a couple

Of days In the life of what it's like

En Washington Heights! ”

----------------------------

@malaya-is-a-hoe I did it sis

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luckylq51-blog · 4 years ago

Text

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micent · 4 years ago

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That was made clear from day one

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long-bodyswap · 6 years ago

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Pool boy

This is one of the best stories i’ve ever found, i specially love it because of the details of the body exploration. Hope you like it too. I don’t have the credits.

Beauty comes with many flaws.

When you want what he’s got, you get the total package.

He was hard not to notice. Nothing but packed, dark chocolate muscle in short tight dark blue swim trunks, if you could call them “trunks,” more like a dark blue second skin over a bubble butt. You could see the dimples in his glutes, the trunks were so tight. Each day since I’d got to the hotel in Puerto Plata, he had arrived at the pool just after I’d come down from my room and settled into the lounge chair. I’d wanted a quiet hotel and this place was great. Nice rooms, a decent restaurant, the pool and a private garden. It wasn’t cheap, but I could afford it. Years of working and I’d made a ton of money. But, what did I have? No lover, and I was tired, out of shape. I looked 75—more than 15 years older than I was. My body was a ruin. I’d become the rich, ugly old geezer lusting after muscle boys; the guy I never wanted to be. I was tired of New York, and my pals had told me about a great “men’s” hotel in the Dominican Republic. Secluded, luxurious and filled with buff young male personnel—waiters, houseboys, yardmen. Not one of them older than about 28, most in their early 20s. You name it, and the hotel had him—all shapes and sizes from swimmer, to runner, to muscle boy, and all luscious, fully baked and ready to provide whatever made an old queen happy. They were all excellent at it if you could believe all of my friends from New York—and there were a lot of them who came here. My pals told me that the rent boys knew what you wanted even before you asked. The hotel was very popular with rich, old queens from the States and Europe—mainly the UK. Tons of frustration for me every time I looked around at the staff—but particularly the muscle boys, each one of those chocolate muscle hunks was my wet dream. I’d landed at the small international airport not far from town. Puerto Plata is far north from Santo Domingo, along the Atlantic coast. It’s one of the smaller towns, the resorts dominate the beaches while the rest of the population lives a much simpler life. The contrast is stark between the haves and the have-nots. On the drive from the airport, the transport van drove through the middle of town—only one traffic light. We hit a red, of course. Immediately, three morenos—that’s what they call the poor, working class here, began to wash the van’s windows. The hotel driver cursed at them, as the light changed he drove off. The ride to the hotel from there was through the poorest part of town, near the harbor. The poverty loomed large on each side of the road. Rundown houses, shacks and sometimes little shanties. I was glad to get to the hotel. After I checked into my room, I took a book and went down to the pool to relax. That’s when I fist saw that powerful, well-built chocolate body in the tight dark blue trunks. He’d come to the end of the pool and stripped off his sweatpants to reveal the tight blue swim trunks, cut just above his package and stretched tight on his thighs—so short it almost wasn’t on his thighs. It was amazing and I was hooked. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect form—especially compared to the body that I was in after years of neglect. I’d lifted when I was young—I wanted that perfect gym-boy body. But, I never had the genetics to bulk up. Not even with a little help. I’d given up. But, this chocolate body had it all—the genetics, the shape and the size. Just what I’d always wanted. I watched the tight ass in the dark blue trunks put down the pool brush and the vacuum. He couldn’t be more than 20, about 5’9’’, working at the hotel, but he was stunning. 220 pounds of hard-packed muscle, totally fat free. He rolled out the hose and then knelled down at the edge of the pool to attach the hose into the filter. He stood up and grabbed the long brush pole. He leaned over and changed the brush head for the vacuum head. Christ, you could see every muscle in his back—it was huge. The lats were like wings—spread out so far I swear he could fly. And no fat! The Christmas Tree just above those tight glutes stood out like a beacon. You had to want it to have muscularity like that. The diet alone would kill you, not to mention the hours of gym time. I doubted that I could ever be that dedicated to my body, but I wouldn’t have minded trying for a while. He stood up and grabbed the vacuum pole with both hands. He stood at the edge of the pool and began to clean the sides. Up he would pull the pole, high over his head, and then back down. Slowly moving around the pool and towards me. With each pass of his arms, you could see every muscle move in his back. The traps trembled as he pushed the pole down the side of the pool. God, they were like two huge ropes, starting at his neck and then running to his delts. Shoulders of a muscle god. The arms were perfect too. The outer tri’s were thick and defined. His upper arm swept down over the bicep perfectly, and his forearms were thick and huge. The wrists were wide—you could tell he’d been working his body since he was a teenager. You don’t get those thick wrists unless you had put a lot of stress on the joint while it was forming. He was slowly moving closer to me as he rounded the corner of the pool. It took him a good hour to clean the pool (which seemed a little too long to me), and then he went on to other duties at the hotel. Mostly, menial stuff. And, I wondered what else he did. It couldn’t be a great life. Down here most people were dirt poor, living in some shanty town, and trying to get out and to the States. When the other yard guys came around the pool, you could tell he did what they told him to do. Sometimes, they’d yell at him about forgetting one thing or another they’d told him. Too bad the great bodies always were a little dumb. As I stared at his huge chocolate body, I was getting noticeably hard the closer he came to me. “You like what he got?” a voice said in my ear—startled the hell out of me. It was the head housemaid. A big, smiling Dominican woman. She was holding a coffee pot and poured me another cup. “Sure,” I said. “Who wouldn’t, muscles like that are hard to get and hard to keep. I never had ‘em, but I should have tried. Money’s great, but a perfect body is better.” She smiled and said, “You watch him all de time, if you like what you see I could get it all for you, den we both be happy.” She smiled again and walked off. I sipped on the coffee—it was damn hot. And looked back to the pool. He had moved almost in front of me. The bubble butt was so close I could almost squeeze it. So, I continued my scan of the body. The back was massive. As I said, the lats were like angel wings and the taper to the waist was impressive. I swear the chest must be at least 54 inches with those lats; the waist couldn’t be more than 30 inches. And, those dark blue trunks. Christ, I wanted to run a finger down those tight cheeks. I could almost feel the muscle, just like it was mine. I could sure make that body into my wet dream. Maybe I should give it a try tonight, I thought. The legs were excellent too. You could tell that squats must one of his favorite movements. The top of the 30-inch thighs swept down to the knees from the wide and thick top to the end of the leg bicep. And, the calves! They must have been 18 or 19 inches, like little ledges of muscle, moving under the dark chocolate skin each time he stepped along the edge of the pool as he cleaned the sides. But, the ass was the best—just perfect melon-shaped glutes. He turned abruptly and looked right at me. The chest was massive. Square pecs, like slabs of muscle pinned high on him. The nipples were small and placed high up on the pecs, not at the edge like some guys. His areolas were like little chocolate pillows, a little puffy which was a clue that he was loaded with steroid of some type, maybe deca durabolin or primobolan. You couldn’t get that big without some juice like dec. The obliques were striated. He must have been doing side bends when he wasn’t squatting. More than that, it wasn’t a six-pac; it was an eight-pac. The abs were so chiseled that you could run your fingers over the ridges. Little valleys on each side of the ab. The lower abs descended into the dark blue trunks with little ridges. God this guy must diet like hell. “You watch me a lot,” he said. The grin was wide and he tossed his dreadlocks out of his eyes. Always wondered how these Caribbean guys grew those dreads so long. But you could tell from the look in his eyes that whatever was behind them was a dim bulb. His voice had jolted me back from my dreaming, and made me realize that I was watching more than just a body. There was a guy in it and he was trying to make conversation with me. “You’ve got a great build, and it’s hard not to notice that,” I said. “Lots of work,” I said. “You like my body? I been training since I was 15,” he said, “My name Tyrief. What’s yours?” Again, that child-like look. This guy must be just a little slow, I thought to myself, but the body makes up for it. What did my friends always say, you don’t fuck the brain, just the body. This guy was a good example—but the body more than made up for it. “I’m Ben Stratton,” I said. “Nice to meet you,“ he said. “When I’m done with de pool, and sweeping de paths, I done. I got to get home, eat and get some sleep. It’s impo’tant to get plenty o’ sleep when you growing yo’ body like I am. I train in the early mornin’ before I come here, about 5 at Delaney’s Gym near de harbor. I got to start training at night too next week. Got to get ready for de all Caribbean Bodybuilding contest. I come in second in de super heavy-weight class last year, and I know I gonna be first this year.” He smiled again, and you forgot about his low-watt bulb. The teeth were so white against that chocolate skin. Not super dark chocolate, more like deep mocha or the color of rich, dark coffee—and it shown like sable. He was gorgeous, more than I’d ever been. As he stood in front of me at the edge of the pool, I was totally hard. Nothing but about 240 pounds of solid, skin-tight muscle in front of me. As he talked you could see his eight-pac move in and out with each breath. His pecs quivered as he moved the pool vacuum pole nervously from hand to hand as he tried to make conversation with me. The veins throbbed and pulsated along his biceps and forearms. Like little ropes of man pleasure just under the chocolate skin. His face was strong and masculine. A wide, flat nose, flared nostrils, with high check bones. Dark, deep brown eyes—almost smoke black.. You could tell that he had mixed blood. Lots of African, some European settler—probably the white farm owner or maybe a sailor in Santo Domingo on leave—and then enough Caribbean Indian to give him those high cheek bones and that straight dark black hair. He was a perfect mix, what the world would eventually be. And it would be a beautiful world. When he was this close, you could tell that his hair was straight and that he teased it into those dreadlocks. His lips were wide, thick and full. The dark skin was lustrous, baby soft. He was a total Caribbean hunk, and I wanted him. He turned and went back to cleaning the pool. “I gotta get dis done,” he said. “See you tomorrow.” He stopped and turned to me. “What it like bein’ rich? I never had nothin’; just work and training. Didn’t even finish school, all de stuff confuse me and de teachers make fun o’ me. But once I start with de weights I get big so fast, no one laugh at me. I like dat so I stop school and work around de harbor. But wid out de school, I can’t get me no good job. I get dis job dis summer, and it pay ok. Just de pool and de yard. Big Betty like me to show of my body to you. She say you men like big guys like me. She pay me enough for a room, de gym and food. I don’t really need mo’ dan dat. Big Betty tells me she get me new job here soon, and den Big Betty want my friend Enrique have dis job. I tell him dat. But I make some money from the contest prizes, I came in second last time—I needed more size on my quads dey sezs. When I win me de super heavy-weight at de Caribbean Bodybuilding Championship dis fall, I use dat money to go to New York. You been dere?” “Yes, I’ve been there, but I’m not rich,” I said. “I got enough for me to get about what I want. I’m from New York City. A muscle hunk like you would do just fine—no need to be smart, just pretty.” Needed more size on his quads, I thought. Didn’t look like that now, so he must have been squatting hard the last few months. Not one of my favorite exercises, my thighs could never push through the movement—although I always gave it a good try. I wished I’d had thighs like those when I was squatting. I could have done something with those thighs—not to mention the rest of that body. But, time had passed me by and I’d lost my chance. If I could do it again with a body like that, I’d be a real size freak. The pool guy smiled and then he left me. He packed up his pool cleaning kit. God, he was beautiful, but you could tell he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. No wonder he hadn’t finished school. The boy was dumb and he sounded like the typical low-class Dominican morenos that had surrounded the hotel van at the traffic light—bad grammar and all. But, the body made up for all of that, hard firm-packed muscle. As to the “good job” he wanted, I could employ him for a few hours of fun tonight at a very decent wage. Maybe I’d get to be with my wet dream soon. I could take “dumb” and low-class if it had a body like that. Just needed to get it while it was young and hunky. I knew exactly what I wanted that muscle god to do to me, and how I wanted him to perform his part of my muscle-worship fantasy. “He pretty muscle boy, I bet you know what you want him to do to you. You want what all dat he got?” came a voice next to my ear which startled the hell out of me again. It was the head housemaid, and she was smiling. “What the heck,” I said. “Don’t creep up on me like that.” She just smiled and said again, “You want what all dat he got? I bet dat you know what to do with what he got too. Make an old guy like you crazy.” She was an odd woman, big and dark. You could tell she was in charge. All of the workers at the hotel ran when she talked. They all were respectful, but you could tell that she meant business and didn’t take any gruff from the staff. She smiled again and said “You want what all dat he got, I get it for you if you do what I tell you.” “Sure, I said, I want what every part of that muscle hunk—I want it all for me. How much?” “A thousand,” she said. A thousand, I thought. That was a lot for one night with a rent boy, but I had the money and, what the hell, the body was gorgeous, everything I ever wanted in one package. Just didn’t know if my old body could get it up for a stud like that. But, as I looked over at the end of the pool, he was crouched over packing up the pool kit. His back muscles moved with every turn of the pool hose—no fat at all and just ridges of muscles. He was squatted down and the bubble butt just screamed from those dark blue, skin-tight trunks. I could feel myself getting hard again. “OK, I said. A thousand is fine. When?” “I get things ready, she said. I come to you soon and you have the money ready.” With that, she walked over to Tyrief and talked to him. While she was talking she ran her fingers through his hair. He looked at her with a serious face and nodded, but you could tell he was tense. She ran her fingers through his hair again and he stiffened, she stuffed something in her pocket and walked off. After she had gone, Tyrief quickly picked up the pool kit and hurried past me to the pool hut. Each stride showed off the muscles of his thighs, moving below the fat-free skin. And, the glutes pumped in the tight trunks. He had the pool hose coiled over his arm, holding it in place. As he ran by me, the veins on his biceps showed against the tight dark skin of his upper arm. He was in a hurry, and didn’t look happy. The eight-pack was remarkable, though. Damn, I was hard again. The thousand dollars would be well-spent on that rent boy. With Tyrief gone, I went back to reading my book and was soon asleep in the lounge chair at pool side. That afternoon, I cashed some Traveler’s Checks so that I’d have the money for my little adventure. I doubted that the head housemaid would produce Tyrief for my pleasure. But, she was clearly the boss here and if anyone could get me what Tyrief had, it was her. Maybe I would soon be stroking those tight glutes through the skin-tight dark blue swim trunks, and running my hands over those perky chocolate nipples—running those dreadlocks through my fingers too. Time would tell if I got to spend the night with that body, and it would be a good story to tell my friends after I got back from vacation. The next morning, I went down to the pool as I normally did, and set up at the lounge chair. Right on schedule, Tyrief came out of the pool hut for his daily pool-cleaning ritual and I sat back to watch. He dropped the pool gear and came straight over to me. “Hello Mon,” he said and sat down next to me. Just looking at him, you could tell he had just left the gym. His muscles were pumped—not huge, just that full look when the blood has been pushed into each cell. The skin quivered a little too—the muscles were still tense under the skin. And, his smell was warm. He had that light musk smell coming off his skin that all chocolate guys had. Don’t know why, but just that musk smell mixed with his sweat got me hard. So that he didn’t know what I was thinking, I dropped by gaze from his face and it landed right at the center of those tight dark blue trunks. God, his package was huge. The bulge was impressive, and he was hard too. The long, thick outline of his erect member pressed against the fabric. I could only guess that the balls were fantastic as well. I was going to enjoy my time with him and that package. “Hey Mon.” Tyrief’s voice shook me back to reality. “Mon, you talk a lot to Big Betty.” “Who?” I said. “Big Betty, dat lady.” And he pointed toward the main hotel. You could just see the head housemaid walk through the door. “Oh, that’s Big Betty.” “Yeah.” Tyrief said. “She talk to you a lot and she nobody to fool with.” “Most folk say she got power and she up to no good.” “Really,” I said. “What has she done. She seems nice to me.” “I don’t know all de stuff. I only come here dis summer. De old pool guy, Carlos, got me dis job. I know him for long time from de gym, he get me started at de weights four years ago. He find me one day after school, cryin’, after de teacher make fun of me. He told me if I go to de gym wid him I get big and nobody bother wid me no mo’. Carlos work for Big Betty full-time now down at the house she keep in town, now dat I here. He still train at de gym, but he don’t talk to me much no more, he just tell me to keep trainin’, dat he leaving and dat I be takin’ his place. Don’t know what he mean, only thing new is dis job he got me. He not like he used to be when I first met him, when he first took me to da gym, before he move into Big Betty’s house and start to work for her full time. She keep dat house for de old guys, like you, to meet de boys. She try to get me to work for her all of de time; she say I got de body dat her clients would pay for. I don’t like her and I stay away. She not like that and told me she needed what I got and would get it. You seem OK and you should stay away from her.” He left me then and started his work. The dark blue swim trunks were stretched tight across his melon-mound glutes. God, they were great. I could hardly wait to run my hands over those glutes. When he turned, he saw me looking and grinned. He rubbed his eight-pack and said: “You should try keeping deze abs up, I do crunches every morning and night, and I don’t eat no junk. Sometimes I think dat dis more work than it worth.” With that he started his methodical cleaning of the pool. Moving along the side of the pool, reaching high into the air and pushing the pole down the pool’s sloping sides. With each swing, his muscles heaved and quivered. That body was worth all the work it took to keep it perfect. He was a muscle god, and I wanted all that he had. My wet dream was right in front of me and I wanted to see that dream every morning when I woke up. Maybe Big Betty could give that to me. I left the pool and Tyrief. I was hard and I wanted some relief. I couldn’t do anything in public and I needed some privacy. I went back to my room and opened the door. Big Betty was there, sitting on the bed. “What the..” I said. She looked hard at me and said: “You got my money?” “Sure, “ I said. “You got Tyrief ready for me? He says that you want him to work for you, but that he refuses. How are you going to get him for me?” “Oh, Tyreif gonna work for me for a long time. It all ready to give you what he got, if you got da money, and you sure you want dat muscle-boy body and all dat go with it.” I had the money in the desk drawer. But I wondered if that was what I wanted. I walked toward the desk and looked out the window. The late afternoon sun was out and Tyrief was still at his work. The sheer beauty of the guy was breathtaking. His dark skin shown in the sun and each muscle was defined by the shadows from the sun. Up, down, up down. His wings worked in rhythm with his enormous guns. His legs swayed from side to side as he crept along the side of the pool. I wanted all of that, the muscle, the dark skin—I wanted my wet dream to be with me always. “You got the money?” Big Betty said again. I continued over to the desk and got the money. She watched the money and smiled as I walked over to her. “You sure you want dis, all dat Tyrief got? Dat a whole different life and mind. She said. I though her remark was odd. Of course I wanted Tyrief. As my pals always said you don’t fuck the brain, just the body and a night with that body was going to last a life-time in my memory. Wet dreams are best when they stay dreams. I just hoped that I had a Viagra left in my toilet kit. I thought that I’d left some in the pill case. “You sure you want dis? When it done, it done.” “Yeah—I want it; I want it all. When?” “Tonight; after Tyrief get off work and go home.” “I come back.” She took the money and smiled at me. It was creepy and a shiver ran down my back. Maybe Tyreif was right. Big Betty wasn’t someone to fool with. I took a hot shower and went down to dinner. The weather was great, and I ate out on the terrace. Handsome waiters everywhere; not just handsome, gorgeous. Great bodies, but you knew that they were just that—great bodies with no future. Trapped in the Dominican Republic, no education and eventually their pecs would sag. One cute guy smiled at me—I’d seen him before. I knew his type. Grab himself an old gay sugar daddy and then get himself out of this life while he was still pretty and his body held up. The thought of that life hit me—nothing ahead of you and everything tied to your looks. Basically, you were a slave to your body as the only chance that you had for a better life. I left without finishing my dinner and started up the stairs. My life wasn’t the greatest, but at least I had stuff to look forward to. And tonight that might just be Mr. Tyrief---and then back to New York tomorrow. Big Betty was at the top of the stairs. “Where you been?” She said. “Not much time, Tyrief like to get up early so he get to da gym.” “We gotta be done b’for he wake up or it not work.” “OK….” I said as I opened the door to my room. “Where is he?” Big Betty looked at me and smiled. She pulled a little bottle out of her pocket and said: “It right here.” “What?” “You drink dis and dat give you all that you want and all dat I want. Just drink it and I give you all dat Tyrief got. I give it to you right now.” She went over to the door and looked out. Tyrief must be outside, waiting for me I thought. “Drink it quick, and you get what you want.” Maybe I didn’t need the Viagra if Big Betty is giving me liquid poppers, I thought. I unscrewed the cap and tossed the stuff down. “OK” I said as I handed the bottle back to her. “You can bring Tyrief in now, I’m ready.” Big Betty turned and looked at me. “You silly,” she said. “What you want from Tyrief in de bottle.” “I mixed de hair I took from him dat first day I talked to you; with my want potion.” “Dat mixture and de Voodoo give you all dat you want, and I get what I want too. I need another muscle-man at my house for de old guys, now dat Carlos want to go with his sugar daddy. He not so young anymore and de all want de young ones.” She made no sense. But I was starting to feel odd. The room was getting dark and I was unsteady on my feet. “What’s going on?” I said. “You just getting all dat Tyrief has—but only one of you be here. It gotta be done before Tyrief wake up or it not work and you gone.” She grinned and started to laugh. The pain in my gut was unbearable and I sank to my knees. It was getting darker and I couldn’t keep my dinner down. I vomited and rolled over. I couldn’t move my legs. “What did you do to me?” I cried. “I just give you what you want. I see you tomorrow; remember, come see me just as soon as you wake up. Don’t go no where but to me. I in the big yellow house down by the harbor.” Then I blacked out.

I opened my eyes. The room was dark and Big Betty was nowhere to be seen. I lay on the bed for a few minutes while I got my wits about me. I was naked, and I never slept naked. Moreover, the room seemed odd. The sheets were rough—the hotel prided itself on ultra luxury sheets and I had noted that. I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. I took one step and fell over. Everything seemed wrong. I reached out for the bed to pull myself up and I hit a table. There isn’t a table near the bed in my room, I thought. Where the hell did Big Betty take me? I reached out for the bed, crawled over to it, but nothing was working like it should. “It must be what she drugged me with,” I thought. My legs were not going were I thought they normally should be. It was like they weren’t the legs I was used to. I hit the bed, reached across it and touched a wall. It was a single bed—not the king-sized bed in my room. “What the hell?” I thought as I pulled myself erect. As I glanced around, I could see a door to my left, and clothes piled on a chair near me. I began to walk toward the door, but I stumbled. My stride wasn’t as long as it should be—I was almost 6’2” and I took long strides, even if I was 60 and out of shape. I was taking baby steps now and my thighs were rubbing together. I widened my stance till my thighs stopped touching and slowly and carefully walked to the door. When I got to the door, I could see it was a tiny bathroom, about the size of a closet. The cheap sink was right in front of me. I moved carefully over to the sink. I seemed to be getting used to walking again. “God,” I thought, “how could you forget how to walk?” I reached the sink and turned on the water. I splashed cold water over my face and patted it dry with my hand—odd, my nose felt funny. Wider and flatter than normal, but it didn’t hurt. My lips felt odd too, thick and wide. “What the hell is going on—did Big Betty hit me in the face?” I looked up and could see the chain for the light over the dirty, stained sink. I reached up and yanked the chain. The single bulb lit up—no shade, just straight light from a 60 watt bulb. I looked straight ahead into the mirror and froze. My face—what the hell. That’s not my face. Dark skin, high cheek bones, a wide flat nose, flared nostrils, thick lips and the skin—deep, dark mocha brown, perfect without a wrinkle or a sag. Black dreadlocks fell around my neck. And then the thick traps swept away to the delts hanging on the corner of my shoulders. God, it was the pool guy’s face. “What’s going on?” I thought. And then I ran my fingers over my face just to feel. But, they weren’t my fingers. they were the pool guy’s thick, short muscular fingers. Tyrief’s fingers. I could see thick, wide wrists in the mirror too and I looked down at my forearms. They were dense, wide, enormous. The corded veins ran like ropes up to the biceps, and at my elbow they massed in a freaky knot. Fantastic. I felt my bi’s—they were like rocks. I looked in the mirror and made a muscle with my left arm. The two heads of the bicep were like mountain peaks. They must be 20 inches The man in the mirror held the muscles tense, and it was me in the mirror! I smiled and in the mirror you could see my white teeth flash against the dark skin. Beautiful. “What’s going on?” Just then I saw my chest in the mirror. Slabs of deep, dark chocolate muscle. And, those small perfect nipples. I looked again and the left nipple was pierced. A little sliver rod ran through the erect nipple head. I hadn’t noticed that before at the pool. I gently circled my nipples with my new thick fingers, and then gave each a long, hard squeeze. I could feel an instant surge of pleasure deep inside me and I began to get hard. “Hard?” I thought. Then it hit me, I was 20-year-old Tyrief. I had dreamed of playing with these nipples—I just didn’t think they’d be my nipples. I looked down between my legs to my crotch and there it was. 10 fat uncut inches. Better than I had imagined. I ran my fingers over my member and then felt my balls. They were huge. And, I was shaved—a real porn-star shave. I was stunned. What had Big Betty done? I didn’t get to fuck the pool guy tonight, I was the pool guy. My hand brushed down against my stomach and I felt them—my eight-pack. With the light from the 60 watt bulb I could just see all of my definition. I ran my fingers along each ab. I could feel the indentations and the ridges of my lower abs as they descended to my cock; I was getting hard again. “Christ, the ass,” I thought. I reached behind me with my new powerful paws and cupped my glutes. They were rock hard and supple. I massaged my ass, and then I ran my fingers along each curve of my glutes. No fat, just muscle, so the dimples of my ass were wide and deep. “My legs,“ I thought and I ran my new short, muscular fingers along the outside sweep of each thigh playing with my quads. Then down along the back of my leg, caressing the hard fat-free hams. Finally, up along my inner thigh, feeling the thick and hard adductors. “Geez.” No wonder my legs were rubbing together, my thighs are huge. Oh—it’s all of the squats Tyrief said he does. Man, he’s really built a fantastic body. And, with these wheels, squats must be his favorite movement now. I walked back into the bedroom. It was little and crowded. I was walking a little better—but my thighs still rubbed together and I had to remember to widen my stance with every step I took. It was odd too, my arms were riding high. Tyrief’s wings were so wide, I couldn’t lower my arms completely. Odd feeling, but I was sure I could get used to it. When I reached the other door to the room. I felt along the wall and hit the wall switch. Light flooded the room and I looked around. It was small and cheap looking, and dirty--it was a mess. Clothes everywhere; weights on the floor and a cracked, full-length mirror in the corner. This muscle man didn’t have any money, and it showed. But, he had this body, and that was worth more than money to me. I walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it. This gorgeous chocolate muscle boy looked back at me. There in all my naked glory was Tyrief, the pool guy. And, I was looking out of his dark brown eyes. I hit a double biceps pose in the mirror. My peaks were fantastic, and my dark naked body showed off every muscle of my abs. I turned sideways and did a side chest pose. The pec line was amazing and the sweep of my lats perfect. My raised leg showed off the tight sweep of my thigh. No wonder Tyrief thought that he’d win his next contest. I relaxed and then did a lat spread. The hood that my lats made in the mirror started to get me hard. I looked down and my thick member was swelling, totally naked without any pubic hair. I was 20 and horny. I reached down and took my cock in my new muscular hands. I spit in my hands, and then I began a methodical rhythm. I felt pleasure all over my body. I stroked my cock with one hand and pinched my dark nipples hard with the other. My cock head started to come out of the foreskin—my old body was cut, and it was totally a new experience to see the foreskin slide back to reveal the head. Shit, and what a head it was—large and dark jet black. Deeper chocolate than any part of this body that I’d seen. The head almost looked like rubber, it was so hard and shinny. I stroked the head, and I felt an instant surge of ultimate pleasure. I came quickly after that, and the gush of come juice flowed down my palm, glistening against its light caramel color, so different from the rest of me, like the dark mocha on the back of my massive hands. I turned my hand over to see my chocolate skin, and then back to see my caramel, almost creamy, palm. God, I was a chocolate Caribbean hunk with a perfect body—my wet dream. Big Betty really had given me all that Tyrief had. I’d come once in this chocolate muscle-boy body and I wanted to do it again, and again, and again. I needed to do as much with this body as I could before Big Betty switched me back. She didn’t tell me how long I’d get for the thousand dollars. It probably wasn’t long. I looked at the clock. It was 4 in the morning. Big Betty had caught me at my hotel room door at about 10 last night. Only 6 hours ago. Wonder what my Ben Stratton body was doing right now with Tyrief in it—probably still sleeping. But, it was Tyrief’s gym time and I was awake. I wonder, I thought. It had been years since I was in a gym—but I knew the movements and with this body I could hit the weights like I’d always wanted to. A gym bag lay by a pile of dirty clothes. Why not---I might as well enjoy this body while I have it. A workout would be great. But I was naked and I need to get dressed. Where the hell did Tyrief say he worked out? I picked up the gym bag and on the side I saw a bunch of letters, but I couldn’t make out what they said. Must be the light I thought, and I looked at the bag hard, but the letters were all a jumble to me. I could just make out a capital “D” and then it looked like an “e.” “Delaney’s.” Yeah, Tyrief had said it was Delaney’s down by the harbor. How hard could it be to find my gym—I thought it, my gym, not Tyrief’s gym. But I was Tyrief, at least for now until my time ran out and Big Betty switched me back. I looked around for something to wear. I opened a drawer in the chest and looked in. Wow, Tyrief must be a little kinky and its not just the porn-star shave. The drawer was full of latex and toys. Dildos, butt plugs, and leather straps. I picked up some of the latex. Shorts, with a cock sheath molded right in. Tit clips too. Maybe I’d get to play with this leather boy next trip I took down here—or maybe I could find one of his leather pals today while I was still in this body. I shut that drawer and pulled the next drawer open. It was full of thong underwear. Not the plain kind, but silk or stretch lycra. This guy knew how good he looked. I grabbed a dark blue lycra thong and held it in my hand. He sure loves dark blue, I thought. I raised one of my massive legs and put it through the leghole in the thong. I pulled the other hole open and slid my other thigh through it. As I pulled the thong up my legs and over my bubble-butt ass, I reached down and held up my balls and 10-inch cock. The thong felt so tight against my skin and my ass as I pulled it in place. I adjusted my balls and cock in the pouch and then looked in the mirror. God, I was beautiful, a perfect man. Taught naked muscle everywhere, dark chocolate skin, and the thong showed off my package perfectly, like a posing trunk. I was in heaven—kill me now God, I thought. I’m the man I always wanted to be. I reached over and grabbed a spandex T-shirt. I pulled the Tee over my head and down over my chest. It fit like a second skin and you could see the outline of my nipples through the thin fabric, nipple rod and all. The fabric was tight over my lats. I was getting hard again and my member pushed against the confines of the thong. I grabbed some shorts lying on the chair next to the bed, and I noticed leather chaps in the pile of clothes. Tyrief must really be into leather and latex, and that thought got me even harder. But before I put on the sandals that lay by the clothes pile, just for a few minutes I ran my fingers over my feet. Between each toe, and then over the heel to my Achilles tendon. You could feel the strength and then I ran my fingers up my leg to my calf. It was like a shield-shaped hockey puck, hard and oval. I could feel the corded veins circle my calf. What a perfect body, I thought again. I stood up and just for fun, I reached down and placed my palms flat on the floor. My hams felt great, so flexible and my tendons stretched with a satisfying pain. I grabbed the sandals and put them on. It was almost 4:30; I lunged at the gym bag, scored it and then strode out the door. I was still having to think about walking. These legs were just so massive and different. I started to jog, maybe that will get me oriented to this body I thought. But, I had to keep my stance wide. The harbor wasn’t far and I jogged off down the hill. The houses on each side of the street were just shacks. Nothing looked good—just poverty and disrepair everywhere. Each step was exciting, though. I could feel my quads pumping and it was great. Each massive muscle was moving in harmony and I began to swing my arms too. I could feel my inner tri’s rubbing against my lats and I was starting to get hard again. Damn, I thought, you forget how horny you were at 20. I saw a big guy walking just ahead of me and as I jogged past, he said: “Hey, Tyrief, wait up.” “You don’t want to get there before your training partner do you?” I stopped turned and looked at him. He was huge too—light- skinned, with almost blond hair, and taller than me—or rather teller than Tyrief. He was about my normal size—6’2”. And, he must be about my—Tyrief’s age: 20 or year younger. He walked over to me, punched me in the gut and said: “Let’s get moving, the sooner we get done, the sooner we get in the shower.” I followed him down the street and said: “What body part are we training today?” It was the first time that I’d spoken and my voice was weird—it wasn’t my voice. Then I remembered—I was Tyrief and I was using Tyrief’s vocal cords to talk. So—this must be what Tyrief’s voice sounded like to him, because it sure didn’t sound like the voice I had heard when Tyrief talked, Odd, the books always said the voice is different when you hear it on the inside and it sure was. I had much to learn about this body, and I was just starting. I thought Tyrief was just muscle to look at, but this body was more than that—brain, genetics, and lots of other things. What more did I need to learn about my new bundle of cells? This big guy was my training partner and I didn’t know his name or where the gym was. I thought I’d just follow along. But he turned to me with an odd look and said: “What ‘body part’ are we training today? You nuts, why you talk like dat.” We always train legs on Thursday; just like normal. Knock off the funny talk; you’d better hit those wheels hard today if you think dey gonna grow. You lost last year because you had puny legs—no definition.” That’s right, I thought. Tyrief’s training for a contest to get the prize money to go to New York. The body I saw in the mirror looking back at me just a few minutes ago in Tyrief’s room was almost contest ready, and I knew I’d have a chance to win—no, no. I know that Tyrief has a chance. Just then, we arrived at a dark building and the big guy pushed the door open. I looked up at the neon sign to make sure it was Delaney’s. But the letters were all jumbled up and I couldn’t make sense of the sign. But, the big guy had gone through the door, so I went in. As soon as I cleared the door you could see the front counter and the weight stacks beyond. I passed the counter following the big, light-skinned guy. The man at the counter said: “You and Enrique better check in.” I nodded. So, my training partner’s name is Enrique. At least I knew that much. Enrique’s Tyrief’s pal—the guy he said was going to get the pool job after Tyrief gets his new job. Enrique was moving across the gym floor toward another door and went through. I followed again and we were in the locker room. “Get changed,” Enrique said. “We late starting. Go on; I’ll get changed and meet you by the squat racks just as soon as I’ve gotten dressed and put my stuff away; I don’t want to wrinkle any of my clothes,” I said. I put my gym bag down and started to untie my shoe. Enrique just stared at me while I took my T-shirt off and folded it. I opened my gym bag and took out a pair of red compression shorts. I laid those on the bench and then pulled out a pair of gym shorts. I laid them carefully next to the folded T-shirt. I sat down and bent over the gym bag and peered in, holding my hands in my lap. Then I heard Enrique. “Hey man,” Enrique said. “What’s wrong with you? You talking and acting all funny, like one of those old queens at your hotel. And, you moving all kinda jerky. Don’t scare me like that—Pablo started acting like that in da gym last year, ‘fore he went to live at Big Betty’s place permanent. You know he never been the same since dat; dat why I started to train with you.” I froze. Maybe he could tell I wasn’t Tyrief, and I wasn’t. I was a 60-year-old queen in a chocolate jock boy’s body. And, I wasn’t used to it. Christ, I could hardly walk without rubbing my thighs together. I looked him straight in the eye and said: “I fine. I just be practicin’ to get a better job at the hotel. “Dez old guys tip good and if Big Betty let me be a waiter, and act all fine, I could make mo’ money.” I was going to have to watch my expressions and movements better, I needed to pass as a Dominican moreno until Beg Betty switched me back. Tyrief was a poor, low-class working boy, and I needed to remember that. Enrique laughed, punched me in my eight-pack and said: “Get dressed and then let’s hit the floor.” I picked a dark blue shirt out of the gym bag and looked at it. I had thought Tyreif was a little kinky and I was more sure of it now. The shirt was a skimpy muscle tank top. I put it on over my chest and looked in the mirror. It had thin spaghetti straps over my shoulders and showed off my huge traps and gigantic delts. The back straps were cut deep, and showed off my massive wings. The front neck line dipped low on my chest—just above my nipples. As I raised my arms, the top of the shirt dipped below my nipples, showing off the silver nipple ring perfectly. Tyrief sure know how good this body looked. I pulled on the red compression shorts—Under Armour stuff. Tyrief at least spent what little money he had on good gym wear. I took a look in the locker room mirror. Tiny, loose muscle tank over tight red compression shorts—quite a vision. Then I pulled the white cotton gym shorts on, socks and shoes. I was ready to try out this body—maybe a two-hour workout would make me less “jerky” in my movements. I didn’t want anyone else to suspect that I was not the hot dark muscle hunk that I appeared to be. Minutes later I stood in the squat rack with three plates on each side of the bar perched on my shoulders. I looked straight ahead into the gym mirror in front of the rack. Enrique was behind, ready to spot me. Sweat was running down the crack between my pecs, and my dreadlocks were tied behind my neck. I watched in the mirror as this huge chocolate muscle god lifted the bar off the rack, stepped back and positioned my legs to squat. I couldn’t believe that it was me. The pressure on my traps was strong, but it felt good and these traps were thick enough for twice this weight. I moved my glance upward to get into position, and then I started the first rep. The quads felt so good, I almost wet myself. I dropped down just to where the strain began on my adductors. I drove the weight up, paused and then started down again. My heart pumped and I felt like I was in heaven—that was a big theme with me right now—heaven, and I wanted God to leave me here. 15 reps done. Enrique took a set, we added two plates, and I started again. It seemed like only minutes, but Enrique and I had done 10 hard sets of 15 reps, and I could feel it. The last five sets had been hard, and I felt like I was going to puke I’d worked so hard. But, I didn’t want it to stop, I felt so good. Enrique smiled at me. I’d been watching his body throughout all of the sets, and I could see that he knew it. I wondered what the relationship was between Tyrief and Enrique—I could take it to another level if the light-skinned hunk would let me. “You a demon this mornin’,” Enrique said. “If you keep this up, you sure gonna come in first in the Caribbean Bodybuilding nationals.” I smiled, and I felt like a god. The blood was pumped into my legs—they were screaming at me. As I looked at my thighs in the mirror, I began to see that I still needed more size. I was only 20, and with the right drive and training, I could get bigger. Then I caught myself, Tyrief could get bigger. I wouldn’t be in this body much longer after I found Big Betty, and I wouldn’t have the two or three years it would take for these quads to hit the next level. That would be Tyrief’s job, if he wanted to do it. I’d be long gone, and back in New York. Maybe he’d qualify for a contest in the States—I’d get a ticket to see just what he’d done with these wheels. Enrique and I moved on to hacks, then leg extensions, sitting presses, standing presses, the butt blaster and then standing leg curls. As I pulled the weight up on the leg-curl machine, I ran my hand down my hams. It wasn’t good form, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to feel the tight surface of my hams as they struggled to lift the weight up and to slowly lower it down. I felt so good now, moving with my body. As we started calves, I couldn’t even remember what Enrique and I had done as we moved around the gym, taking extra reps at each set. I looked over to my left at the guy doing lat pull-downs. He had quite a taper from his shoulders down. As he pulled the bar down, you could tell he knew what he was doing. Slow methodical movements, a squeeze to the shoulder blades and back up. He let the bar go and let his straps unwrap. He turned and I saw his face—it was the waiter from last night at dinner. I hadn’t notice his body before, and it was great—not massive though, more like a fitness model. Slender, fat-free and total muscle. His waiter’s outfit had hidden his beauty. He caught my eyes, stared straight at me, shook his head and laughed. No emotion, just a shrug and he went back to the lat pulls, slowly wrapping his straps around the bar. Enrique saw me looking, and said: “Pablo, he changed so much since last year when he went to live a Big Betty’s.” “He train real hard, but he keep to himself now, never want to go out wid me like he used to, just meet me here at de gym to train.” Odd—I wonder how many other guys from the hotel workout here? Just then, Enrique said: “Let’s finish it off with some curls.” We both went over to the weight rack and picked up the dumbbells. I grabbed two 75 lbs. rubber knurled weights, took the stance and watched my bi’s in the mirror in front of me. I needed perfect form, and I was getting it. As I gazed into the mirror I watched a beautiful chocolate bicep move—and it was my bicep. A massive chocolate mountain on an arm corded with veins. I watched my face smile, and the high cheek bones gave me a great look. I was gorgeous—for the first time in my life. I wanted to keep it. I noticed that a guy was staring at me. He was a tall, chocolate muscle boy too. A little older than Tyrief, maybe 27 or 28. He was as stunning as me—or rather Tyrief. Just a little older, a little thicker and a little more massive. Probably what I—Tyrief, would look like after another few years of training. He was sitting on a bench and must have just put the bar back into the stand after bench pressing. He motioned to me as I put the 75’s down. I walked over. “I see she got you,” he said. “You gonna have to play along with her, do what she sezs, or it be real bad for you.” “What are you talking about,” I said. “I’m just training like normal, and who is she?” “You may fool some of de guys in here, but not me and not Pablo or de other guys from de hotel, we know you not de old Tyrief. She say she gonna get you when you check into de hotel and she gonna keep you, like me, till she done with you. I be Carlos now—I can hardly remember who I was before. Dis body was the pool boy before Tyrief. But, I’m outta here soon, I did my time with her. After a couple years in dat body, you’ll forget who you were too. You start being just dis guy in dat body, who you be now. Tyrief be my replacement, you need to start lookin’ for yours.” He stood up abruptly and walked away. I had no idea what the guy was talking about, but Enrique walked up to me right then. “Come on we been here way to long, an extra hour,” he said. “We gotta shower and get to work; we got no time to eat. Big Mike’s ready for us; we gotta get a hit.” I followed the big guy toward the locker room. God, he had a great ass. I wondered how long Enrique and Tyrief had been pals and training partners, I hoped there was more. We got into the locker room and stripped off our clothes. I was still impressed by the size of my cock. The porn star shave really showed me off, and I noticed that Enrique was looking my way. I put a towel around my waist and stood up. Just then, Big Mike came through the locker room door. He held two syringes and some white boxes. He came over toward me, ripped open one of the boxes and took out a glass vial. A paper fell out of the box at my feet. I touched my puffy chocolate areolas and knew what I had suspected was true. This body wasn’t this big all by itself. Big Mike must be my connection—but this was the Dominican Republic and things were different here. Besides, I thought, if I was Tyrief, I’d want to get as big as possible any way I could. I lived one life, and if I had it to do again, I’d benchpress my brains out, stick whatever I could in me to stay huge like I was now, and then check-out at 30. Life was better in a huge, handsome body. Everything after that was a letdown. I picked up the paper that had dropped from the box of dec that Big Mike had taken the glass vial from. I started to read it. But, something was wrong. I could see the lines fine—not blurry or out-of-focus. However, the letters were all jumbled up and didn’t make any sense. Half of them were backward and the rest just ran together. What was going on? “Hey,” said Enrique. “Gimme dat. You can’t make no sense of dat stuff, you never could. Dat’s why you quit school, remember—all dat laughing when you tried to read. I’ll read it to you like I always do if you need to know it, but it’s de same shit we get every two days and I told you about it before. Dis isn’t de new shit that we gonna try in de next cycle.” I looked at Enrique and it hit me, the gym bag, the sign on the gym and now the paper. God—Tyrieff couldn’t read. The jumbled and backward letters. He must be dyslexic or something, and he wasn’t very bright either. No wonder he dropped out of school if the kids were laughing at him. Probably no remedial program at the school. What Caribbean nation spent money on poor chocolate kids—that’s why I—he, began lifting. Only way out was sports of some kind, and with this body the obvious way was body-building. He said he’d come in second in his last contest. And at 20, in a few years he’d his full size, but he was always going to be dumb and with a learning disability too. Not much of a future. Too bad for the kid. Shit, I was the kid. I couldn’t read, I not only had Tyreif’s muscles, I had his brain too. What the hell else bad went with this body? This wasn’t good. Maybe I’d see what I could do for this big, dumb guy after Big Betty switched me back. “Get over here and bend over,” said Big Mike and he motioned me to the bench. I walked over, dropped the towel around my waist and lay over the bench. Big Mike took the syringe and filled it from the glass vial in his hand. He held the vial up to the light and pulled the oil into the syringe. After it was full, he changed the drawing needle for the smaller needle, pushed out the air and went right to my ass. He rubbed my hard glute with alcohol and then stuck the needle in. I felt it go deep, and Big Mike drew back to make sure he hadn’t hit a vein. When he was sure, he pushed the plunger hard and I felt the oil flow deep into my glute muscle, taking the dec with it. “There,” he said. “Now it’s Enrique.” I moved off the bench. I could see myself in the locker room mirror, and I turned to get a shot of my ass. A small trickle of blood ran down my glute, not much. I felt the smooth texture of the skin on my glute and pressed my short, thick finger into the muscle. I could feel the little hard pearl that the oil and dec had made deep in the muscle. It would take a few days for all of it to be absorbed by my body. It would help me grow and I was strangely happy about it, I wanted to be as huge as I could get. I’d always wanted that. But, Big Betty would switch me back before that happened. Big Mike had finished with Enrique and he said to both of us: “You only have three shots left in this cycle and we should lay off for three weeks before the next. That cycle is gonna be longer and more expensive. You boys got the money?” Enrique told him we would get it, just like we had before. Enrique walked off toward the shower, and I followed. I walked into the shower stall and turned on the water, extra hot I thought. I’d never washed this body and I was looking forward to exploring all of me. Only four hours into this adventure and I’d experienced at lot. Give me many memories to think about after Big Betty switched me back. As the hot water flowed down my pecs, I felt like melting. The workout had drained me. My legs were screaming and my arms ached from the curls and dips. As I let the water flow down my chest, over my abs and onto my cock, I felt a kiss at the base of my neck, and two arms reach around me. “Hey lover, that was a bitchin workout. I never see you train legs that hard.” It was Enrique, and his two hands had clamped down on my member and my balls. His tongue was in my ear. “Enrique,” I said. As I mentioned his name, one of his hands left my cock and a finger pushed hard and deep up my ass. The pleasure was intense and I shuddered. “Dat’s right, buddy. It’s shower time when you and me get together. I need to thank you for getting me de job at the hotel. I watch you all de time when we train, and today it’s different, I know dat you want me right now, and it time. Dis is just the start. I stop by tonight when you get back from work.” And, he left the shower. So much had happened since last night, I sat down on the shower shelf and took a moment to think. I glanced down at my mocha quads. I flexed the muscle and watched it quiver. “Beyond marvelous,” I thought. Then I realized if I was in this chocolate muscle hunk, then Tyrief must be in my body. “God, “ I thought, “what were Tyrief and Big Betty doing with my body. Nobody at the hotel knew it wasn’t me. All of my business stuff was in the hotel room drawers. Big Betty could be cleaning out all of my bank accounts right now. I’d been playing too long with the body in the gym. It was almost 9 am, and the Dominican Republic was on the same time as New York. The markets opened in half an hour. My broker had an office in Santiago, which was not far from here. Tyrief in my body could be dumping all of my accounts. No wonder Big Betty wanted me in this body. She’d take my money, then switch me back into my body. Everyone at the hotel would swear I’d taken the money out of my accounts, the local broker would too. They probably had videos. And, it was my body that would be in those videos. It would just be Tyrief inside doing what Big Betty told him to. She was clever. She knew that this muscle hunk body would be too much for me not to play with. And, she was right. I’d fallen for it. Jacked off, worked out, and got groped in the shower. It was good, but it wasn’t worth all that I’d worked for. She’d switch me out of this chocolate god, and then I’d be a poor, old queen. I had to stop her. I needed to get to the hotel. I left the shower and hurried into the locker room to get dressed. Enrique was there, he was ready to get dressed, but we were still both naked. Nobody else was in the locker room. Enrique came over to me and said: “I’ve got to get out of here and you need to be at work. Do a good job on the pool.” He grabbed me into his arms, then cupped my right glute in one of his hands. With a hard squeeze to my ass, he kissed me and drove his tongue, hard. down my throat. As worried as I was about what Big Betty was doing with my body, this 20-year-old body responded immediately. My cock sprang to life pressing hard into Enrique as he held me tight to him, and I lunged my tongue down Enrique’ throat. I sucked hard and wanted more. I was harder than I ever been in my life and I felt totally different. I wanted Enrique’s hard, muscled body in my arms. I wanted to fill him with my cock and I couldn’t stop myself. This was different—not me, someone else. My body wanted relief and I wanted Enrique. I spun Enrique around and ran my finger over his ass. He moaned, bent slightly over and spread his cheeks. I was so totally horny that I forget everything, I took my thick short fingers and guided my cock into him. He braced against me, and I slowly thrust my cock into his ass. I pressed hard, and he gave way, letting me slide into him. My hands moved to Enrique’s back, his shoulders and then his nipples. Enrique stroked his own balls, while I rhythmically pumped into him. The pleasure spread throughout my body. Pleasure as I had never felt before. “God,” I thought. “It had only been a two hours since I’d jacked off with this body and I was totally jacked and ready to go again.” The pleasure keep mounting all over my body, into every nerve, and I came inside Enrique with a shudder. The feelings that came with this muscle-hunk body were extraordinary. I collapsed over Enrique’s back. He turned to me, and I could see the cum juice dripping from his hands. His face smiled, and he kissed me again. “Tonight. lover man, tonight.” he said. He let me go, quickly got dressed, grabbed his gym bag and left through the door. I stood there naked, with a growing hard on. I was ready to go again. I wondered how bad it could be to just keep this body and have this young stud’s life. Maybe I should just leave Big Betty alone and see how far I could get away from here with this body. Not too far with no money, I realized. And, with this brain, I wouldn’t be able to get much of a job to earn money. Not much for a dumb muscle boy to do without a sugar daddy to pay for the gym time and drugs. I dressed rapidly, stuffing the gym clothes into my gym bag. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice and act like an old queen with this muscle hunk body. It didn’t take me long to get to the hotel. I started up the hill from the harbor toward the hotel. As I walked, I realized that I wasn’t tired like the last time I make this trip. Hell, the last time I was a 60-year-old man. I began to run and tossed the gym bag over my shoulders. As I felt on the way to the gym, my legs were pumping, and I could feel the air surge into my young lungs, I could feel my heart beating too—strong and regular. Tyrief must do a lot of cardio. I thought. I’m not winded at all, and I feel like I could push it. I started to sprint and my legs pushed out straight in front of me. Too bad there aren’t any hurdles, and then I spotted a fence just in front of the hotel. I ramped up and tried it. My body soared over the fence and I landed hard on the other side. Directly in front of the hotel. I’d made it, and I was running this body like I’d been born in it and lived in it all of my life. Too bad I’d soon be back in my old body. This was getting to be fun. I looked around at the front of the hotel. There was quite a commotion, people everywhere. A police car and an ambulance. I took the gym bag off my shoulder and walked over to one of the policemen. “What’s going on?” I asked. The Dominican policeman looked me up and down, and then said: “Nothing your kind need to concern yourself with, get along with you.“ “This hotel isn’t for morenos like you.” I couldn’t believe what he was saying. Nobody ever talked to me like that before. Tyrief didn’t have to put up with this, did he? Not with a muscle body like this. I turned to the policeman and said: “Hey, what’s going on.” The policeman turned and looked angry. He said: “I told you to get away, moreno.” “You don’t move now and I take you in.” I didn’t know what to do, I had to get in to see Big Betty; besides, Tyrief had to get to work. Work, that’s it. “Hey Mon,” I said. “I work here, I clean de pool.” “Then go over there and use the staff entrance.” “That’s were moreno trash like you go in.” I should have known, the staff entrance. But, trash like me? That wasn’t right, Tyrief was beautiful, I was beautiful. But, apparently only light-skinned muscle gods went in by the front door. As I got to the staff entrance, a few waiters were milling about. I asked them what had happened. One of them said: “Some old queen from New York died.” “Happens every few years.” “Big Betty found him, she always does.” “Heart attack.” “Been dead for hours, since late last night.” “Stone cold.” “I saw him, he was all black and blue, mottled.” “He one dead guy.” “He name Ben Stratton." The name hit me. It couldn’t be, I wasn’t dead. I was right here, and I needed to get back to my real body, my money and my life in New York. My plane was leaving this afternoon, and I meant to be on it. All of this would be a nightmare I would soon forget. I turned and ran down the service corridor at the back of the hotel. I slamed open the door at the end of the hallway and fell over a gurney being pushed by two paramedics. I’d pushed through the door so fast—I forgot how strong this body was—that I turned over the gurney and landed on the floor with the whole mess on top of me. I tried to get up and pushed the heavy pile off my chest. It was hard and cold, and the cover fell off. Christ—I was staring at my face, and it didn’t look good. I felt the skin, stone cold and hard. What was going on? One of the paramedics yanked me up to my feet. He was angry. “What you doing you stupid Moreno.” “You made a mess and now you’re gonna help clean it up.” He turned the gurney upright and then motioned to me. “Grab his feet and lift him up.” I couldn’t believe what I heard, he wanted me to grab my dead body and hoist it onto the gurney. The other paramedic hit me in the back and said: “Moreno, I’d do what he says or we’ll have to take you in.” The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. Ben Stratton was dead, and I was now the pool guy, a working-class moreno, someone to order around. I grabbed my ankles, no they were Ben Stratton’s ankles. But, I was Ben Stratton. I grabbed the dead guy’s ankles and on the count of three, the paramedic and I lifted the dead guy onto the gurney. God, he was heavy—no, I was heavy. The paramedic bent down to get the cover, and before he could cover the body I got a real good look. That was my face, my body. I ran my hands over the arms. They were rigid and cold. Dead. The paramedics covered my body and with a nasty look to me, they motioned to the door I’d just come through. “Hold that open, moreno.” One of them said to me. With that they went through the door taking my body with them. “Christ, what was going on? I needed to find Big Betty, fast. I ran toward the main hotel, toward the main dining room. At the door to the main dining room, the waiter from last night and the gym this morning, Pablo, was standing at the maître de station. He saw me, scowled, and motioned me over. I ran to him. “You better stop this,” Pablo said. “You’re gonna make Big Betty mad and screw it up for us all.” “What’s going on?” I cried. “Shut up, you’ll cause a scene. Big Betty will tell you everything. But, I won’t let you fuck this up. I been in this body six years, and just as soon as my replacement is ready, Big Betty gonna let me go.” “What the hell…who are you?” “Just like you. I came down here to find some chocolate hunk to sleep with. I met Big Betty and before I new it, I was the chocolate hunk.” “But who are you,” I asked. “I don’t remember anymore.” He said. “I’m this guy—this muscle boy, working out everyday and fucking old gay guys every night. That’s me now, and I like it. fine. I found me an old sugar daddy, and after my replacement is ready, I gonna go to my daddy in New York.” “Your replacement, who’s your replacement?” “You kidding? It’s Enrique, Tyrief’s training partner. I’ve been bring him along for four years, getting him bigger and more defined, just like Carlos did with Tyrief. We found you both at the same time at the gym—teenagers. Big Betty wants some light-skinned ass here now to go with all this dark chocolate. She’ll tell you what she wants you to find for your replacement when the time comes.” I didn’t know what to do—I couldn’t be stuck in this body. I needed to get back to New York and my life. I wasn’t planning to live the life of a poor, dumb muscle-head. What would I do? Big Betty came up behind me and grabbed by shoulders. “Where you been? I told you last night to come direct to me this morning. You gonna mess this up if you not careful.” “What did you do to me?” I cried. “I gave you what you wanted. Dat beautiful muscle-boy body. And, now you gonna give me what I need.” “I have to get out of here; I need to talk to the police or a doctor or somebody.” I said. “You got to talk to nobody but me. You Tyrief now and will be from now on. You talk to anybody about dis, and dey think dat you crazy. Lock you up and waste dat body in jail or worse. You stay here, work in de hotel and someday you can go. Just like Carlos. Find you a new life wid dat beautiful body.” “I won’t do it,” I said. Big Betty’s whole face changed, mean. She looked straight into my eyes and said: “You don’t do it, then I put somebody else in dat body. And, you be gone just like the old Tyrief.” “What?” I said. “Only one soul can live with the Voodoo change. The other is sacrifice. You be de next sacrifice if you don’t do what I tell you to. Life be fine in dat body if you play along with me.” Big Betty said. “What’s happened; why did you do this to me?” I said. “You wanted it bad or it would not have worked. De voodoo strong, but you had to want dat body for de potion to work. I need your soul in dat strong, young body to give de old gay guys what de pay for. You know just what you wanted before and now you have de body to give it to de old guys.” “Dis hotel mine now. I met de old gay queen who owned it—I saw him looking at de young men. I ask him what he give me if I give him a new body—one o de young men working at dis hotel. He tell me he give me de hotel and dat night I give him de young, chocolate body he want. He fuck every old guy at de hotel for de next week. He tell me dat we should keep de old guy happy and we make a fortune. He find two more old guys dat would stay and work if we change dere bodies with de young guys dat work at de hotel. Dey all happy and I make money. But, after a while dey forget dey old lives and just become different—dey think of themselves as de young man and dey don’t work as well with de old guys. I figure out dat I need to keep putting de old into the young body to keep de guest coming back. I let dem go to live dere new lives, and de all find some old queen to take dem away. Dat what happened with Carlos, and he find you to go in dat body.” “You Tyrief now, and you got all dat he had. Dat body muscled and hung, but you not very smart now. When you find your daddy to take you away, you better look for a smart one—you not gonna do well by yourself. And, you need to find me a new body for de future when you go. Start looking at de gym for a young guy like Carlos did. Train him—Carlos did real well with Tyrief. I can pay for whatever you need for de boy to grow. You one of de muscle hunks now for de guests—I need a muscle hunk as a replacement. De odder guys find replacements for de bodies. I cater to all types here and I need young body for each fantasy dat de old queens got.” Big Betty looked at me up and down, taking in all of my beauty. “Damm,” she said. “Dat body is perfect—I gonna be sorry to let you go in a few years. Don’t think dat you ever find a replacement as fine as you. You gonna make me lots of money wid dat face and de muscles. And, wid dat dick, you gonna make all de old queens scream. Now get to work. You Tyrief now and dat pool need to be cleaned. You late already.” Big Betty started to laugh, deep and long and looked at me with her eyes narrow and set. “Git along, Moreno. Your new life has just started.” She left me near the dining room and I knew that I was screwed. My old body was dead, and this life was all that I would have. I didn’t doubt that she would get rid of my soul if I didn’t play along. This body was too beautiful for her to waste and she needed to work it while it was young. She’d find another occupant for these chocolate pecs if I didn’t work out. And, given my choices at the moment, keeping these pecs and this eight-pack was what I wanted to do. I walked back towards the pool and saw Carlos looking at me. He smiled, nodded, and made a muscle with his arm. He laughed and walked away. He knew that I was stuck and that now he could leave with me as the new muscle god for the old guys to worship and play with. And, I knew just what those guys would want from this body—with this horny, chocolate muscled body, I’d be lucky if I didn’t give one or two of them heart attacks when I fucked them. I opened the pool hut door and walked in. I sat on the bench and thought about what Big Betty had told me. The Ben Stratton body was dead and with it my former life. I was stuck in Tyrief—hunky, dumb Tyrief. No brain, just a body, a low-class, moreno body—but what a body. As I looked up to the hut’s wall, the pool boy’s dark blue swim trucks, my trunks, were hanging on a peg. I reached up for them and then stared at them in my new muscular hands. “These are mine now,” I thought. I might not be that smart anymore, but I knew how good this Tyrief body looked in these dark blue trunks. I would need to remember that and work it to my advantage if I ever wanted to get away from Big Betty. What the hell was I going to do? My old life was gone. But, it was time to change and then clean the pool. I’d think about it later, after my night with Enrique. I might as well enjoy his perfect body until Big Betty stuck some old guy in that light-skinned hunk. I wonder who she’d picked for him—any old geezer would be happy with a young hunk’s body like that. Too bad I couldn’t tell Enrique what was in store for him—probably very soon. Maybe if I could, he’d fuck the hell out of this body while he still had the chance. I doubt the new occupant of that hunk-boy body would know what to do with it for the first few days—just like me. I’d have to teach him, I thought. And, that put smile on my face. I’d teach him very quickly how to use his new body—mostly to pleasure me. I needed to change, so I stripped. God, my cock was huge. It would take a while to get used to seeing it every time I stripped. I pulled the dark blue swim trunks up over the massive quads and my tight, gorgeous dark-brown ass. I tied the waist string around my narrow, fat-free 30-inch waist. I looked down at my crotch, at the outline of my member pressed hard against the dark blue trunks. “Funny,” I thought, “these trunks really show off exactly what they were designed to conceal.” I reached my massive new hands backwards and caressed my ass. It was hard and tight like I knew Tyrief’s ass, my ass now, would be. I’d wanted to stroke these dark blue trunks and this ass, and I was. I just hadn’t thought that it would be my ass that I was stroking. I picked the pool hose up and slide it over my arm. Yesterday I couldn’t pick up my suitcase and today my massive arms and back made any manual chore easy. Big Betty was right, I was a dumb, dark chocolate jock boy now, with no future unless I played along with her and did what she wanted. I’d gotten all that Tyrief had, just as she’d promised. Sure, the muscles were fantastic, but the brain was not firing on all cylinders which wouldn’t be good for finding work as more than a pool guy or a rent boy. Maybe I’d turn out like Carlos. 6 or 7 years as a rent boy, find my replacement, and then off with a sugar daddy who didn’t mind dumb muscle. I could get money that way. At least you’d have a few years on your own and I’d still have this body—she wouldn’t give it to someone else after I’d gotten into my late 20s. She only wanted young bodies, with an old gay guy inside. With this body, I had what these old queens wanted and with my old-guy memories, I knew exactly what they wanted without asking. Just what my pals had told me this hotel’s reputation was. Now I knew first hand how Big Betty and the hotel kept that reputation. It might not be so bad. Sure, I didn’t have the money that I had in New York when I was Ben Stratton. But that body was dead and if I showed up with this face to my bank or my broker in New York, I’d never get any of my money or my stocks. They wouldn’t even let me in my apartment with this dark chocolate body—however freaky muscled I was. If I thought Dominicans like that policeman were hard on a low-class moreno boy, New York would be 100 times worse . Life as a poor, dumb chocolate jock in the States would not be good, even if I could find Tyrief’s birth certificate and get a passport. I didn’t even know where I was born, what school I went to, who my parents were, or even if I had a driver’s license. Big Betty would fill in all of that. Besides, I had this great young body now. I had a second chance. I’d always wanted to be a muscle head, a freak. Being deep, dark chocolate was fine as a muscle boy—all of the recent Mr. Olympia contestants in the States had been black—some of them had come from the Dominican Republic and I was a Dominican moreno muscle boy now. I’d get used to it. This body was perfect to get me there and I was only 20, just starting on the years that could turn me huge. I could train like I always wanted to train, and I had the body to do it now—I could become the freak leather muscle daddy that I always dreamed of. What had Carlos said? Yeah—eventually your forget who you used to be and you start just being this guy, who you are now. Maybe I could just become Tyrief, and leave Ben Stratton far behind me. If I trained hard this summer, I’d get to compete in the Caribbean nationals and I knew that I could win, from there I could get back to the States. I thought about how I’d thrown the weights around at the gym this morning, and I wasn’t even sore now. That was only a few hours ago. I’d train and diet and pose like any dumb jock. Odd, I thought, I’d actually become my wet dream—a horny, freaky muscled dark chocolate guy. The only problem now was that I couldn’t fuck myself, just look at me in the mirror. I guess I’ll still be frustrated, even with these pecs and this ass. I grabbed the pool pole, brush and vacuum head, then walked through the pool hut door out to a new life. As I approached the pool to begin my duties as Tyrief, I noticed someone in the lounge chair I had used each day to stare at Tyrief and this magnificent body. He was fat and old, staring at me now. “Christ,” I thought, “did I look that bad to Tyrief?” A shiver ran down my spine. But, he kept watching me as I walked to the edge of the pool and laid the pool kit down. I knew how good I looked and I decided to give him a show. The dark blue swim trunks were as tight as ever, and I turned by back to him so that he could see the full glory of Tyrief’s ass—my ass. I bent over and moved the hose to the side of the pool and attached it to the filter. I squeezed my glutes hard so that the full effect was obvious. With my back still turned, I shook my head so that the dreadlocks fell over my shoulders, reached back and moved the dreads so that my traps and delts were perfectly displayed. Grabbing the pole, I moved the brush up and down the side of the pool, lifting my arms high. My wings popped out, and the sun hit the chocolate skin covering my guns. I knew the biceps were killer at this angle. I turned; he was still leering at me, but quickly looked away. I put the pool brush down, walked over to him and sat down on the lounge chair next to him---keeping my legs spread wide as I sat so that the full effect of my package was on display. God bless these tight dark blue trunks. Christ, he was fat, old and not attractive—plain ugly. He didn’t look like he’d ever been anything else. I locked eyes with his and said: “Hey, Mon, I’m Tyrief.” He just looked at me, mouth open. “Steve,” he said, not really sure of what to do. “You work here?” I looked straight at him with my dark brown eyes and said: “Sure, Mon. That’s why I do the pool. I’m here everyday, and some of the nights too.” If I was going to be Tyrief, I was at least going to speak proper English from now on—that much this brain could process. He reached out and put his hand on my thigh. It was fat, hairy, pasty white—age spots all over. But, the four gold rings, the square-cut ruby, and the two emerald-cut diamonds told me he had lots of money. He was staring at me, and I noticed that his gaze was not in my face but straight at my pecs—and right at the shinny silver nipple rod. My pecs were so massive, I looked like I had cleavage and I now knew what the gals meant when they said “Hey, my face is up here.” Just for fun, I twitched my pec muscles. I thought the guy was going to have a heart-attack. He started to drool. He was plain ugly, and he started to move his hand up my thigh toward my crotch. The pasty white hand moving up my rock-hard thigh was in high contrast to the deep, dark chocolate skin of my thigh, and I wanted more. I was a chocolate muscle man now, and I liked it. My member was stirring, and I was surprised how fast my 20‑year‑old body responded to any stimulation. He looked straight at me and said: ”I’d like to spend some time with you while I’m here.” I flashed him a smile with my bright white teeth, put my thick fingers over his and moved his hand over my rock-hard member so that he could feel me through the dark blue swim trunks. “Sure, I said, when?” And I knew at that moment that Big Betty was right. I was going to make her a lot of money.

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washyourdamnhands · 5 years ago

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I generally do a good job with staying positive about this whole situation, just staying quarantined and trying to find things to do around the house, but I just talked to my cousins and now I’m freaked out.

One of my cousins moved to Spain with her family just last summer, and now they can’t even leave their flat and kids are in a bad shape, and things are really bad there. And my other cousin is on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he has to work still and has to leave his kids with his wife who left him and the kids, and his wife’s boyfriend thought it was a good idea to go for a trip to the Dominican Republic cause the flights were cheap. And after he got back home, he got a call that one of the passengers on his flight had tested positive for coronavirus. My cousin went through hell, worrying about his kids. I’ve always been close with my cousins even after they moved away, hell, I spend every summer taking care of their kids, so it really makes me sad and it’s so hard not to freak out.

I’m trying not to think about it but I’m running out of ways to distract myself.

#ramblings #personal #i tried to watch a movie but i had to restart it 3 times cause i can’t focus on it

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antoine-roquentin · 6 years ago

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It is hard to give up something you claim you never had. That is the difficulty Americans face with respect to their country’s empire. Since the era of Theodore Roosevelt, politicians, journalists, and even some historians have deployed euphemisms—“expansionism,” “the large policy,” “internationalism,” “global leadership”—to disguise America’s imperial ambitions. According to the exceptionalist creed embraced by both political parties and most of the press, imperialism was a European venture that involved seizing territories, extracting their resources, and dominating their (invariably dark-skinned) populations. Americans, we have been told, do things differently: they bestow self-determination on backward peoples who yearn for it. The refusal to acknowledge that Americans have pursued their own version of empire—with the same self-deceiving hubris as Europeans—makes it hard to see that the US empire might (like the others) have a limited lifespan. All empires eventually end, but maybe an exceptional force for global good could last forever—or so its champions seem to believe.

The refusal to contemplate the scaling back of empire shuts down what ought to be our most urgent foreign policy debate before it has even begun. That is why these two new books are so necessary, and so welcome: they are the most serious efforts since Chalmers Johnson’s Blowback series (2004–2010) to reopen the question of American empire by taking for granted that it exists. Victor Bulmer-Thomas’s Empire in Retreat maintains that America has harbored imperial ambitions since its founding, and argues that its focus shifted in the twentieth century, from acquiring territory to penetrating foreign countries and influencing their governments to support US strategic and economic interests. David Hendrickson’s Republic in Peril sees that shift as the result of a decisive embrace of interventionism, aimed at extending US power throughout the world.

Both authors think withdrawal from overextended military commitments could strengthen America. Bulmer-Thomas, a British diplomat and scholar, recommends it as a pragmatic adjustment to shrinking support for US empire at home and abroad. Hendrickson, a political scientist at Colorado College, provides a theoretical rationale for it, exploring the possibility of what he calls a new internationalism, based on respect for the sovereignty of other nations. Yet even as they catalog the many signs of imperial decline (economic, political, cultural), neither is sanguine that American policymakers can manage a graceful retreat.

Bulmer-Thomas begins by recounting the rise of the US territorial empire. He shows that America’s relationship with the land it acquired during westward expansion resembled the relationship between European countries and their colonies abroad. The United States, like European colonial powers, subjugated (and nearly exterminated) aboriginal populations; used military occupation as a buffer between white settlers and rebellious natives; and established only limited representative governments in their occupied territories. One resident of America’s territories complained that they were treated like “mere colonies, occupying much the same relation to the General Government as the colonies did to the British government prior to the Revolution.”

Most textbooks date the beginning of America’s overseas expansion to 1898, when it acquired sovereignty over Cuba, Guam, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines after the conclusion of its war with Spain. Yet as Bulmer-Thomas shows, the US empire went offshore much earlier. During the 1810s and 1820s, Americans carved out the state of Liberia in West Africa, allegedly as a refuge for free American blacks; the country in fact functioned as an American colony and later as a protectorate of the Firestone Rubber Company. The US established an imperial presence in East Asia as early as 1844, when the Treaty of Wanghia gave it the same privileged access to Chinese ports as the British Empire, and went on to acquire dozens of “guano islands” in the Pacific, where abundant bird droppings provided a rich source of fertilizer.

During the 1890s, the American zeal for distant acquisitions slipped into high gear, as politicians realized they were arriving late to the imperial game. Led by Theodore Roosevelt and other advocates of expansion, they sought land through annexation and collaboration with American business interests (Hawaii) as well as through war with Spain. These acquisitions began as additions to the territorial empire but gradually acquired a more ambiguous character. They came to form the foundation of what Bulmer-Thomas calls America’s “semi-global empire,” built not on territorial acquisition but on the maintenance of client states and various other forms of international interference, including military bases that supported occasional armed interventions in local conflicts and multinational corporations run mostly by Americans.

The Philippines offers a case in point of America’s nonterritorial form of empire. The US declared war on Spain in 1898 with the avowed intention of ending Spanish rule in Cuba, but even before the declaration President William McKinley had dispatched the US Asiatic Squadron under Commodore George Dewey to Hong Kong in preparation for an assault on the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay. As soon as war was declared, Dewey moved quickly and crushed the Spanish forces. Their surrender emboldened the Filipino rebels, who erroneously assumed that the US had arrived to liberate them from their Spanish oppressors. The US military quickly disabused them of that delusion by embarking on a ferocious counterinsurgency campaign, which lasted for years and included the systematic torture and slaughter of Filipinos. As many as 250,000 died, but the US imperialists never doubted the sanctity of their cause. “Nothing can be more preposterous than the proposition that these men were entitled to receive from us sovereignty over the entire country which we were invading,” Secretary of War Elihu Root said in 1900 about the Filipino rebels. “As well the friendly Indians, who have helped us in our Indian wars, might have claimed the sovereignty of the West.”

Statehood was never considered during the debate over the Philippines: the only question was whether to establish a naval base at Manila and give the islands back to the Spanish or to annex the entire archipelago. The imperialists won the argument, and after the insurgents were finally suppressed the Philippines became a colony, from which investors in sugar, hemp, tobacco, and coconut oil could gain privileged access to US markets and Filipinos could emigrate to America in search of jobs. By the 1930s, congressional opposition to cheap exports as well as to cheap (and nonwhite) labor created support for Philippine independence, which was finally achieved in 1946. But it came with so many restrictions on trade and so much preferential treatment for American investors—not to mention continued maintenance of US military bases—that “it would be more accurate to describe the Philippines as becoming a US protectorate,” Bulmer-Thomas writes. “Thus, the end of colonialism in the Philippines did not mean the end of US imperial control.”

A similar pattern of indirect imperial control also applied to Central America and the Caribbean. The US dominated that region during the twentieth century through colonies (Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, the Panama Canal Zone), but more broadly by using its economic influence to interfere in domestic politics and maintain governments that would faithfully serve American interests (as was the case in Cuba until 1959), or by establishing asymmetrical bilateral treaties and customs receiverships—the collection of customs duties by US officials, who then used the money to pay off the debt service owed on American loans. This arrangement survived in the Dominican Republic until 1942 and in Haiti until 1947.

Military interventions underwrote economic domination. Sometimes this involved sending in the US Marines and leaving them in place for decades, as in Haiti from 1915 to 1934. Sometimes it required using military force to crush a rebellion and arranging for the emergence of a cooperative dictator, such as Rafael Trujillo in the Dominican Republic, whose brutalities the Americans tolerated as long as he respected US strategic interests in the region. This he did for thirty years, until his attempt in 1960 to overthrow the Venezuelan government cost him US support. Sensing an opportunity, his opponents assassinated him. But the US was still committed to maintaining the imperial relationship, and President Lyndon Johnson sent in the Marines in 1965 to prevent the left-of-center president Juan Bosch (who had been ousted by a military coup) from returning to power.

Johnson’s intervention recalled the conflicts of the early twentieth century, but during World War II and the cold war, US imperial strategies had begun to shift. As the USSR consolidated its power, the US scaled back its pursuit of territory abroad. Instead, it extended its imperial reach through the development of international institutions that would serve its interests but could not also be used against it. At Bretton Woods in 1944, the US initiated the creation of the IMF and the World Bank. Both institutions are headquartered in Washington, and the president of the World Bank has always been an American, by custom if not fiat.

The Point Four Program, drawn from Harry Truman’s inaugural address in 1949, linked the World Bank to the struggle with the Soviet Union for influence in the developing world, where the bank would make loans, with many political conditions attached, to governments and state-owned enterprises (later privately owned ones as well). The requirement that Congress approve these loans ensured that they would reflect what the US government considered its national interest. The United Nations, too, began as an American-dominated institution, though as its membership grew it became progressively harder for the US to control. The North Atlantic Treaty Organization, Southeast Asia Treaty Organization, and bilateral treaties worldwide also served American policy under the guise of “collective security” against the Soviet threat.

All these arrangements were fortified by the principle articulated in the Truman Doctrine of 1947—that aggression must be stopped everywhere. Such a commitment “assumes that foreign conflicts feature evil aggressors and innocent victims,” as Hendrickson writes. This unexamined assumption was endorsed and promoted by leaders from both political parties, who helped sustain an atmosphere of perpetual moral crisis during the cold war. The US, working through the CIA, helped to overthrow elected left-leaning governments in Iran, Guatemala, Congo, Brazil, and Chile. Interventions anywhere could always be rationalized as counterinterventions against the allegedly omnipresent Soviet threat.

When the cold war ended, the US’s geopolitical rationale for military interventionism—the need to contain communism—swiftly disappeared, as the country found itself in the heady position of being the world’s sole superpower. This was what is now viewed, with some nostalgia, as the unipolar moment. And yet even in the absence of its longtime ideological rival, the United States continued to conduct foreign policy with the same moral fervor that had informed its actions in the cold war, and with the same confidence that it was a force for global good.

Under the presidency of Bill Clinton, much of official Washington began to believe “that US empire would best be served by the promotion of democracy abroad—or at least an American version of democracy—on the grounds that US security, free market economies and democracies are mutually reenforcing,” as Bulmer-Thomas writes. The rationale for democracy promotion, in the words of Clinton’s first National Security Strategy, was that “democratic states are less likely to threaten our interests and more likely to cooperate with the US to meet security threats and promote sustainable development.” This formulation could work in some circumstances, but not all. Other nations could have good reasons to see democracy promotion as a form of aggression, as Russia did when Clinton sought to expand NATO eastward despite the promises made by his predecessors in the first Bush administration and the warnings of many seasoned diplomats, led by George Kennan.

Establishing “US hegemony across the globe,” in Bulmer-Thomas’s words, was not only about promoting democracy abroad but also about maintaining military supremacy everywhere. In 2000, despite cuts in personnel and the closure of many US bases, the Defense Department committed itself to the pursuit of “full spectrum dominance.” This goal, outlined in Joint Vision 2020, the Department of Defense’s blueprint for the future, meant the worldwide control of land, sea, air, and space, including cyberspace.

The triumphalist mood following the end of the cold war also emboldened neoconservative ideologues. Two of them, William Kristol and Robert Kagan, founded the Project for the New American Century in 1997. Its “Statement of Principles” pledged to “rally support for American global leadership” through “a Reaganite policy of military strength and moral clarity.” This was nothing if not an exceptionalist, even unilateralist creed, based on faith in the uniqueness of America’s position as a global leader. It evoked Secretary of State Madeleine Albright’s claim that the US was “the indispensable nation.”

The neoconservatives found their president in George W. Bush. Even before the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, Bush began to implement neoconservative policies, withdrawing from international organizations and agreements��including (in June 2002) the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty with Russia. This decision, according to Ivo Daalder of the Brookings Institution and other critics at the time, signaled a swerve in US nuclear strategy from deterrence to “war-fighting.”

The terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon provided a new enemy, international terrorism, that was even more shadowy and elusive than international communism had been. Widespread panic among Americans and their allies was taken (especially in the US) to justify a permanent state of emergency, with damaging consequences for civil liberties and public debate at home, as well as for the many thousands of civilians who would become “collateral damage” in Iraq and Afghanistan.

After September 11, new rationales for military intervention abroad emerged—not only preventative war against terror (the false justification for invading Iraq) but also R2P (the Responsibility to Protect). As Hendrickson shows, R2P originated in the recommendation of a Canadian government commission and received a modified but contested acceptance by the UN in 2005. R2P provides a virtually blank check for using force on humanitarian grounds—an idea that has little support from non-Western nations. In practice it vitiates a central assumption of international law—that each state has the right to defend itself. In his second inaugural address, Bush spelled out the vision of universal empire behind R2P: “The best hope for peace in our world is the expansion of freedom in all the world.” This was the Truman Doctrine on steroids.

Hendrickson thinks American disregard for international law helps explain the incoherence of contemporary strategic thought. According to exceptionalist ideology, the US is the primary guardian of international law, on which global stability depends. Yet Hendrickson (like Bulmer-Thomas) makes clear that more often than not, the putative rule-maker has in fact broken rules and acted in ways that it would not tolerate from any other nation.

The American exceptionalist double standard is especially apparent in its current military operations overseas. Consider the battle-ready presence of the US Navy in the South China Sea. Imagine a rival power behaving as aggressively in the Caribbean, lecturing us on our misdeeds (as we have lectured the Chinese) and appointing itself a neutral umpire for the region. A retired Chinese admiral, quoted by Hendrickson, puts the matter succinctly: the US Navy in East Asia is like “a man with a criminal record ‘wandering just outside the gates of a family home.’”

Or take the confrontation emerging on the western border of Russia. The missile defense system installed by NATO on Russia’s doorstep, combined with NATO troops conducting military exercises, could not be more provocative. No great power, least of all the United States, would allow deployments so close to its borders without protest and (probably) retaliation.

While Bulmer-Thomas treats imperial expansion as a continuous feature of American history that has run afoul of historical circumstance, Hendrickson reconstructs an anti-imperial tradition in Anglophone thought, which he calls “liberal pluralism” and recommends reviving in view of our crumbling American empire. In his view, liberal pluralism was embodied in the system of European nation-states (the “Westphalian system”) that emerged from the Thirty Years’ War. It was also the worldview of America’s founders, uniting Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, and Madison in their suspicion of military adventures abroad. From the liberal pluralist perspective, war is the summum malum of international affairs; respect for the sovereignty of other nations is the best way to avoid it. Sovereignty is the core of international law: every state has the right to defend itself from external attack; none has the right to interfere in the internal affairs of another.

The fact that liberal pluralism discourages interference does not, however, imply that it encourages nations to be passive bystanders in the face of immoral foreign policies, as contemporary political theorists who favor an interventionist approach like to claim. Liberal pluralism “does not,” Hendrickson insists, “dictate indifference to human rights”; it allows states to shelter dissidents and welcome refugees from oppression. “What it does not allow is coercive intervention in a foreign country to secure those rights.”

Hendrickson concentrates his criticisms on the reckless use of military force in foreign lands; he does not dismiss economic sanctions as an alternative. Nor does he rule out interference in extreme situations, such as the threat of genocide. But he insists that such interventions be—as far as possible—multilateral, peaceful, and respectful of international law. He proposes maintaining NATO, but with our nuclear guarantees to its members on a strictly “no-first-use” basis; preserving friendships with allies but also working out “rules of the road with putative adversaries.” He argues that fighting terrorism requires effective policing at home and the support of functioning governments abroad, not their overthrow. The liberal pluralist tradition, in his view, provides intellectual resources for reducing international tension and redirecting national wealth toward urgently necessary aims—rebuilding infrastructure, reviving the welfare state, and addressing the menace of climate change and oceanic catastrophe.

In recent years, popular support for imperial adventures has waned. Large majorities have opposed sending US troops to Libya, Syria, and Ukraine. The percentage of Americans who think it is “very important” that the US should “maintain superior military power worldwide” dropped from 68 percent in 2002 to 52 percent in 2014. And poll respondents ranked military supremacy sixth out of ten among foreign policy aims. The top-ranked goal was “protecting the jobs of American workers.”

The shift in public opinion is a response to a series of failed interventions: efforts at regime change in Iraq, Libya, and Syria have left behind chaos, failed states, terrorist recruits, and endless war. But whatever disagreements they may have had over policy details, all three presidents since September 11 have shared a commitment to US global military supremacy. No major policymaker wants to admit publicly what many suspect privately: that America’s imperial reach has begun to exceed its grasp. Barring a dramatic shift in public discourse, the American empire will not go gentle into that good night; more likely it will, as Dylan Thomas counseled the old, “burn and rave at close of day.”

No one burns and raves more flagrantly than Donald Trump. The failure of blank-check interventions fed the discontent he exploited in the 2016 campaign. Yet his chauvinist posturing has turned out to be little more than a belligerent, unhinged version of the militarized globalism he claimed to displace. So Trump lurches from one outrageous provocation to another while most of his critics repeat the stale formulas of global leadership. Neither side seems to notice that the rest of the world does not want to be led (though some countries may still want their security to be guaranteed by US power). More and more foreign countries are trying to go about their business on their own, even in areas once assumed to be vital to the US national interest—Latin America, the Middle East, the South China Sea, even the Korean peninsula, where the South Koreans have done what American leaders were unable or unwilling to do: initiate diplomacy with North Korea.

Other pillars of American power are also crumbling, as Bulmer-Thomas demonstrates in detail. Multinational corporations are no longer as dependent on American policies abroad for access to foreign markets; General Motors, for example, now sells more cars in China than anywhere else on earth, without benefit of a US presence there. Recent years have seen a steady fall in the US net investment ratio (gross investment less the consumption of fixed capital), both private and public. The consequence has been a decline in infrastructure (including public education), as well as a slowing of innovation and productivity. At the same time, neoliberal politicians in both parties, committed to cutting back the “entitlements” provided by the welfare state and privatizing the public sector, have underwritten the rise of inequality and social immobility. The effect has been to undermine the broad prosperity that was the domestic basis of the semi-global empire.

International institutions, rather than reinforcing American hegemony, challenge it. The UN, the IMF, and the World Bank have all proven unreliable in promoting US interests. At the UN, the US is more isolated than ever on the Security Council, as the dramatic increase in American vetoes shows. Various countries have learned to avoid borrowing from the IMF, with the onerous conditions it imposes, by building up their foreign exchange reserves and paying off existing debts. The World Bank now has two significant rivals, the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank and the New Development Bank (which represents the BRICS countries: Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa). The Organization of American States has been superseded, since 2011, by the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States, which insisted on the inclusion of Cuba despite US opposition. China is creating its own version of the Trans-Pacific Partnership without US participation, as well as expanding into sub-Saharan Africa and cutting a deal with Nicaragua for another isthmian canal.

Yet Trump and his opponents in the Washington consensus still envision a unipolar world, where the United States can ignore the legitimate claims of rival nations and do pretty much whatever it wants, whether because of its sheer greatness (Trump) or its exceptional goodness (Clinton et al.). Obama was cautious about intervening in Syria and eager to negotiate with Iran, but his administration maintained or intensified commitments to global military supremacy, blanket surveillance, targeted drone assassinations, and modernization of nuclear weapons, as well as engagement in the Middle East and East Asia. Fundamental policies persisted despite Obama’s misgivings.

Neither Bulmer-Thomas nor Hendrickson believes these policies can continue without catastrophe. And it might, in any case, not be in the US’s interests for them to continue. As Bulmer-Thomas reminds us, “Imperial retreat is not the same as national decline, as many other countries can attest. Indeed, imperial retreat can strengthen the nation-state just as imperial expansion can weaken it.” Yet as Hendrickson concludes, “It is crystal clear that the empire is fully determined to stick around,” despite our desperate need to dismantle it. The drift of global events may eventually require the United States to acknowledge the reality of a multipolar world, but we cannot assume that the process will be peaceful. Still, Hendrickson has performed an urgently necessary service in reconstructing the liberal pluralist tradition. He reminds us that there is a humane alternative to contemporary orthodoxy, if we can only recognize it.

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