Bonfire...

God, it's all going up in flames. I really do not want to finish writing Taking Nicky. It's a fight to keep myself working on it. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I started it as a distraction from what was going on with my brother, and now that he's gone, it reminds me too much of that horrible few weeks.

I just know I've said I'd finish it and I really try to keep my promises, even to my characters...but this bitch ain't happening. 

I mean, it's working that way in the story, too. Rett's at a point where he's slapped with some truth when Vance asks him the following question:

“Okay...and what did you plan to do with him once you were done with him?” 

That question hit hard. Having it so bluntly asked shut my brain down, for a moment. I’d planned to keep Nicky blindfolded, sure, so he wouldn't see me. And didn't know me. And I figured I was well-versed enough in handling...oh...men who were uncertain about their own possibilities to get him off and fuck him. 

But Vance had very casually alluded to the reality that there would still be a huge risk involved. That Nicky might still recognize me, thanks to all the times I’ve taken photos of him. And even video of him getting hard and cumming would be only slight protection from accusations of kidnapping and rape. 

Just because Ben and Liam had gone to Vance instead of the cops didn’t mean Nicky would follow suit. Nor did I have the impression he held the same casual attitude towards sex with men that Smoke did. 

So what the fuck was I thinking of doing? Keeping him? Killing him? Dumping his body along a freeway like William Bonin and Randy Kraft had done? No, do that to someone as beautiful as him? That's not my way.

At least, I don't think it is. But something I had learned from my research on various screenplays was the fact that at the right place and the right time, anyone is capable of anything. 

Even murder.

Did I really want to put myself in that position? Just for a fuck?

Was I that controlled by the beast within?

Updating

Today I spent updating the information I want on my adult books webpage. I've withdrawn the paperback edition of How to Rape a Straight Guy from distribution and am just going with the Curt version. Ingram did another little trick in refusing to let me update anything on it.

You see, I was checking to make certain my books are properly priced. Working through Ingram, I have to maintain a certain value in the face of rising printing costs, so I can get something of a royalty, and a couple of my books were down to pennies above the cut-off.

I also need to work up new versions of the dust jackets on the hardcover editions of The Vanishing of Owen Taylor and The Alice '65. I used to put the price on the book jackets, so what I'm charging for those is underwater. If I sell one, I have to pay for Ingram to supply it instead of making any money.

So I've gone digging for the original Photoshop files of those two...which means going through dozens of thumb drives seeking them out. Talk about tedious.

I've finally come to an understanding as to where Taking Nicky is going. Rett is going to take him, with the covert assistance of Vance. And I'll let Rett go as far as he wants. I don't think he'll do real physical damage to Nicky or kill him; he just wants to have sex...but I won't know till the end.

Still not sure what that will be, but I have to let the characters do what they want. If I try to stop them, they get pissy.

I've been sleeping till near noon, lately. Not sure why. I normally get up between 9 and 10 am, even when I stay up till 2 am.

Slowly...slowly...the world regains me...

 Just not doing...and finding lovely messages like this...are inspiring a form of peace and beauty within.

I can only dream of writing something so lovely and pure...so poetic without the artifice of poetry...

Not up to it...

Just want to vege...and watch videos like this...

Smooth voice (reminding me of Sade), lovely moves, elegant clothing designs, and feeding my need for a gentle world in the face of all the evil and hate. She has a series of them, and they help lead me to a place of zen...

Because the world is truly fuckkked up, and I'm dumbshit enough to think what I'm writing is as wicked as that. At my darkest, I'm vanilla ice cream in an existence of boiling blood-based gravy marinating human flesh...

Continuing from yesterday...

I was not up to writing, today, so here's the continuation of the lunch between Rett and Vance:

-----

I still needed info before I could counterattack. So I asked, “You knew Georgie?” 

“All my life. I was the only part of his family that didn’t turn on him.” 

“And this is the first I’m hearing of it?” 

“Need-to-know basis, only.” 

“C’mon, Vance, the guy I saw in those videos was way older than you.” 

“So? He’s my mother’s cousin. Helped make me who I am.” 

Oh, shit. I did not want to ask this, but...”Did you have anything to do with me buying that condo?” 

He leaned back, still smiling. “You said you were looking for a place. Maybe I gave the agent handling the sale a bit of a nudge...” 

“But I still almost didn’t go for it. It was expensive and I wasn’t all that crazy about being right there with the bike path and...and...” 

Oh, wait one fucking minute. Ben and Liam...dissing Nicky tipped me over. “Vance...did you know Ben and Liam before I introduced you?” 

He sighed and pulled back his hoodie...and I finally saw his eyes without shadows...one green, one a silvery blue, both cutting into me with his cold stare. 

“Rett, you’re not as worldly as you like to think you are. Or as smart. Of course I knew them. Through Georgie. And they’ve told me everything. You’ve spooked them. They don’t want to be criminals, and you think a little rape colored with blackmail will outweigh that? It’s stupid.” 

“I didn’t rape them. I showed them what they really wanted.” 

“Don’t try and justify what you did to those sweet boys.” 

“Sweet boys? They lied to me about everything, even their ages, so...” 

“They didn’t lie. They just didn’t correct your assumptions. And those assumptions were very much off the mark.” 

Our main courses came, then, and more wine was poured. 

This was not going the way I planned. Whenever that happens to me, I shut up...which is what I did. Let Vance speak as I tried to understand what the fuck had happened. 

“To start,” he said, “Georgie never used anyone underage. They had to have an ID to even talk to him. He would pay them well, and they knew he would do whatever he wanted with whatever he shot. That was in the waiver, of which every guy was given a copy.” 

“Made his living off them, huh?” I asked, just to break up his comments. 

He nodded. “Two or three a week. Posted them on his own site till the San Francisco crowd invited him to do some...oh...more intensive ones for them.” 

“Yeah, saw some of those.” 

His grin grew almost feral. “Including...?” 

It was time to stop playing ignorant. “A couple of Smoke’s.” 

He nodded. “Oh, yes...he was one of Georgie’s staples. And I helped get him his cable show.” 

I'll bet. “He came across very well, in the ones I saw.” 

“Camera loves him. But as I said, the current project's construction is clunky. I want you to help me make it better.” 

“Why?” 

“His attitude. He’s very So I did that? So what? I used the money to start a business. What’s the big deal?” 

“So a lot of the country’s assholes will get pissy about it.” 

“But a lot won’t. And this, if done well...if done right...will help lessen the stigma behind doing the kinds of videos Georgie did.” 

I had to laugh. “You’re way more optimistic than I am, about people.” 

“I can’t argue there. But c’mon, Rett, you like him. He’s got that lovely bear cub presence that enthralls you. I think enough people will love him. And it will be one more step away from the right wing’s hatefulness about the gay community.” 

“Don’t you meant LGBTQ+ Community?” He chuckled. I had to add, “They’ll find Georgie’s clips online and rip Smoke apart, Vance.” 

“Don’t bet on it,” he continued. “I’ve known Stevie since before he was married. He’s been on several of the kink sites. Sucked off. Jacked off. Light bondage. Gagged. Blindfolded. Dressed. Undressed. Captain America undies. Lots of struggling. No fucking him or him sucking, but some of him being sucked. All under different names, of course. Shall I point you to some of the studios he’s worked?” 

“No need.” 

“I tell you this because he really is not the least bit ashamed of it. Paid his bills. Bought him a house. In Culver City! He’s so up front, in fact, we made it an important part of the cable show. Building yourself from porn god to custom-designer of skateboards to the stars.” 

“I see.” 

“Do you?” 

“What am I getting paid to help you?” 

That made him blink. I’d never discussed money with Vance, before, so this bluntness caught him slightly off-guard. But only slightly. “More than you can dream.” 

“I can dream of a lot.” 

“Does that include setting Nicky up to be taken by you?” 

What the actual fuck?

I leaned back, keeping my face frozen in a nondescript expression, and quietly asked, “Can you?” 

He nodded. “But Smoke is off-limits. So are the boys, from now on.” He was serious. Like a papa bear. 

I hesitated then asked, “Would you answer me if I asked you how you knew what I was planning?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t give away my secrets, only those of others." 

“When you need to.” 

“That’s where power comes from. Do we have a deal?”  He offered up a pair of USB memory sticks. “Everything’s on here. You want to look?” 

I took them. Put them in my pocket. And finished my meal, making nothing but chit-chat the rest of lunch. Vance knew he had me...and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I cared. If he could get me Nicky, I’d give up anything. 

And he knew it. 

What he didn’t know was I’d make goddamned fucking sure it all came back to me.

I wrote, today....

Did a couple thousand words and don't like the direction it took me...but I'm changing nothing. Here's some of the more palatable part, when Vance coerces Rett into meeting him for lunch:

-----

Wesson’s was in one of those faux-Spanish buildings that had a courtyard in the back, done up in a plastic Italian vineyard style. Very comfortable, and I’d heard the pasta was good. 

Vance was still lost in his look at me but don’t look at me mode. Meaning people looked at him while trying not to look like they were looking. A crowd was waiting to get in but we were ushered straight to a table. Lots of irritated stares from them. 

He slid into a chair across from me, his face still half-hidden by a thousand-dollar hoodie and he took such a casual pose, I knew something more than a writing job was up. 

“Rett, it’s been months,” he purred. “What’ve you been doing with yourself?” 

Chit-chat? From Vance? This was a big deal. 

“Working on a new script,” I said. It’s the expected response from a screenwriter. No details needed. “Doing research. You?” 

“You ready for this? I’m associate producer on a new project that’s going to use AI renditions of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh to do an honest sequel to Gone With the Wind. Unlike that made-for-TV thing with...what was his name? Timothy Dalton as Rhett? No Timothy should EVER be a Clark Gable character.” 

Is that what he wanted me to work on? “Is that even legal? What about copyrights? Trademarks?” 

“The lawyers have an okay from those who matter. Script was worked up by ChatGPT and made semi-believable by some real writers. It’s not Shakespeare, but what is, anymore? They have it storyboarded out and I’m picking clips from their films to generate from.” 

I huffed. “But you want me to rewrite the script?” 

“Rett, Rett, Rett, please, you’re too modern to make the story suit its time.” 

“Ouch. So was that the reason for this tete-a-tete?” 

“Tete-a-tete? Oh, my God, you’re reading the dictionary, again.”

“What the fuck, Vance!?” 

“Now, Rett, don’t get too loud. You’ll get thrown out and embarrassed and you can’t do that at Wesson’s; no one will ever hire you again.” 

Fortunately, a waiter came up and cut me off before I said anything stupid. Give me a chance to remind myself that while Van could be a dick, he also had those connections that mattered. And when he said no one would ever hire me, again, he meant he’d see to it. So shut the fuck up, Rett. 

I ordered a Caprese Salad and Pasta Pomodoro while he did an antipasti and eggplant parmigiana with a nice Chianti. I almost asked for fava beans, but I don’t think the joke would have played well, here. If at all. 

I stayed quiet till we had our wine, as did Vance. Making me a bit nervous. Which was his intent, I’m sure. 

Finally, as we began our salads, he said, “Okay, the job I’m referring to is a reality program I helped produce. The script is kind of clunky, and what we need is a smoother through line. Not merely bouncing back and forth between events we recorded and talking heads. Sort of a filmic touch.” 

“I’ve never done that.” 

He shrugged. “You’re a writer, Rett. I’d like you to look over the program as it’s currently done. See the footage we excluded. Make it into more of a story than just boring facts and actions.” 

“Give it a film feel? Really?” 

He nodded. “I have a lot invested in this project, and not just money. In fact, no money. If it flops, I lose nothing...well...maybe a hit to my untarnished reputation. But it’s an important work, and I really, really cannot emphasize enough that it must succeed. I think you can help with that. You have a fairly good understanding of one part of it.” 

I was actually getting intrigued. “What is it?” 

He took a sip of wine, looked me dead in the eye and said, “It’s the story of a skater boi who wound up being misused by an older man, but who built a reputation as a skateboard designer, and who is unashamed of who he once was.” 

The way he looked at me, with that Don’t trying try fucking with me, baby, I’ll fuck you up, expression he had. Making it obvious who he was referring to. 

The son-of-a-bitch knew about my interest in Smoke.

You see, Instagram had been my friend, about him. His actual name was Stephen Marlon Kratorski. He’d done the pro-sk8ter circuit and made it to the top ten. Been at it since he was eleven. Fifteen years. Now he was just a weekender and made his living designing specialty skateboards in Culver City.

Sk8ter to the stars... 

An image from a few weeks ago showed he’d beefed up a little, which actually looked really good on him. He still had those lovely pecs, partially hidden by a cut-out t-shirt, and fine legs, made even lovelier by cargo shorts that were a size too small for him, now. His face filled in some, but with scruff on it he was almost beautiful...especially now that I got a good look at his eyes and mouth. He’d also added another tattoo to his left arm...a sk8ter boy on his sled, probably him from an earlier time. 

The next thing I found was podcasts he was doing on YouTube and other platforms about making specialty skateboards. The why this way was better than that sort of thing...and he had a lovely screen presence. Open and warm and a bit jokey, with a smile that promised heaven. During those clips, he wore an old LA Rams cap, backward, holding his longish russet hair out of his face. 

I had to check a previous video and saw that his hair had been a plain brown, so he'd colored it. Or washed it. Whichever. I’d been close to falling in more than lust for him and his best buddy looks, which would make him a serious rival to my need for sleek little Nicky. 

There was little more than a vague mention of his wife and kids on the web; just that they were part of his life. I got a bit more info about his current career. There’d been chatter about one of the cable networks bringing him on board as another of their reality shows. 

But I’d thought that would only be so long as no one connected him to the molestation clips I’d seen. Enough of his face was hidden by the blindfold and gag, and his body was different enough now, so that he had plausible deniability. And there was also the additional tattoo...and it looked like he’d altered the one he already had. With Georgie dead and the documents vanished...at least, I think they were vanished...then he would have been safe. 

But it sounded like that was not even a consideration, since Vance was involved. It was time to up my game.

I swallowed what I’d been eating, took a sip of wine to chase it down, and looked straight back at Vance.

“Oh? You mean Georgie?” I can fake ignorance really well.

Vance leaned forward, still very casually, and I think I saw a hint of a smirk on his face. “I hear you found his editing suite. Copies of his DVDs.” 

Okay, we were now in battle...and I was outmanned, since Ben and Liam were obviously on his side. 

“People don’t do DVDs, anymore,” I said. “Porn’s all online.” 

He nodded. “Yet still he burned some. Over a hundred.” 

“Do you have his paperwork?” I asked. “Title 18 section 2257 shit?” 

Vance leaned forward like a cat eyeing its prey. “I have everything. I was executor of his estate.”

Oh, fuck...paranoid writer kicked in and the only reason I didn't run screaming out of Wesson's was...my Pasta Pomodoro was killer.

I'm getting TN Done...

...ASAP. I've lost real interest in it and am fighting to keep going. Adding in a shower scene that turns out to be a dream is helping...yet still not grabbing my interest like it should.

But I started it, so I'm going to finish it. And I'm freeing myself to do whatever the fuck it wants...even if that includes madness or murder.

I'm up to chapter 11 and it's at 25K in wordage. Lots of sex, most of it non-con, and I'm posting for free on GayDemon because I don't want to go through the hassle of proofing and prepping it for publication.

I mean, I've done light proofing, so it's not too bad, but there are still a few typos. I don't care. It's being read for the sex, not precise English. And I've provided some pretty intense moments.

I've said my next project would be Blood Angel, but Dair's Window is knocking at my brain. It's set mainly in 2009 and 2010, in and around Seattle. The state had passed a domestic partner act in 2007 that many in the gay community felt was a cop-out, and Wallace, a man Dair is involved with, is helping push for same-sex marriage.

It also takes place 3-4 years after Adam, whom Dair loved, deeply, was killed in an avalanche. Lawsuits by Adam's estranged parents have kept Dair from really mourning him, but now Wallace has helped end those...and Dair's emotional state is getting to be rough.

I'm hearing a growl in my core that this needs to be finished, now. Preferably by the end of the year...if not sooner. Because if we can't overcome the fascistic crap Felon47 and the MAGAt Cult are pulling before the election in November, we're dead as a country...and hate of anything non-white or queer will prevail.

I want Dair's Window available by then. 

Odd realization...

Rett has forced  Liam to reveal just how deep he and Ben were into working with Georgie. They made money off supplying the man with guys to make use of, sexually. And they knew he recorded it. And their explanation is, the guys knew what they were doing and signed off on it.

-----

And all of a sudden, I was sad. And felt hollow. Like I’d just seen a truth I didn’t want to know about. There was nothing unusual about what they’d done. Nothing scary. You could find something like it in any town, any state, any country. 

Just some younger guys letting an older gay man buy some secret pleasure from them. Fill a life he felt was empty, if only for a moment. Maybe build a business to live off of, in the best way he could. No one would be hurt or killed... 

Well...not always. 

Not this time, anyway. 

This time was just a situation that, by being so commonplace...it was actually pretty natural. It had been happening for thousands of years. Yet too fucking many people in the world were demanding it be seen as wrong.

Ben and Liam had bought into that mentality, so were ashamed of participating in it. Fought to convince themselves they weren’t part of it...even as they used it for their own ends... 

The little hypocrites. That made me even more determined to show them they were a part of this world. 

I lifted Liam up and put him back on the couch. His shirt was still shoved up above his tits with his dick still lolling out of his briefs. He looked so young and vulnerable, I began to think he was underage, again. 

I touched his nips then pulled his shirt down his abs to trail my fingers along his treasure trail to his dick. I fondled him, for a moment, then slipped his dick back into his briefs. It was only the ass of them I’d torn. His cum was still drying on him, as was mine. 

I rubbed it. Spread it thinner. Then let my fingers drift down to tickle his basket, making him squirm. 

“Why is having sex with a man instead of a woman so bad?” I asked. “It’s just a connection between two people. Why do you think it’s okay to get other guys to offer themselves up to an older man, even help get them off...then act like you’re not that way?” 

“What you talkin’ about?” 

“The way you and Ben played me. Kept teasing me as i held back from trying anything with either of you. Let me believe you were underage. Then started acting like I was just some stupid, desperate faggot who’d do anything to have a pretty boy’s dick in my mouth. Joking like it’s a game. Getting pissy because I didn’t go along with it, in full. Thinking of me as a queer there for you to use.” 

“Rett...dude...you go it all wrong...” 

“Do I? So tell me, Liam, if I offered you six-fifty to help me get Ben off, would you say no?” 

“Don’t understand.” 

“I’m talking six-hundred and fifty dollars to just kiss Ben’s shoulders and neck, from behind, and pinch his tits. Like you did on Smoke’s video. Help me get him hard, again, so I can sit on his dick and get fucked. Isn’t that what you want me to do? Get fucked?” 

“That...that don’t make sense.” 

“You want the money, or not?” 

He shifted his gaze between me and Ben, and I could just see the gears whirling in his head. Thinking he might be able to get the upper hand if I got lost in being fucked by Ben. 

Except...why would he want to? I was offering him decent money to just play around with Ben as I fucked myself on him. Like his best buddy was a blow-up doll with a cool dildo. Split the cash with Ben. Not even, of course. He’d been fucked, so he was worthy of more. But it’s still a decent payout...and what if... 

“Make it a thousand?” he asked. His eyes sharp and cool. 

I had to chuckle, then I smacked his thighs and rose, my dick even with his face. “Seven-fifty,” I said. 

“Nine.” 

“Eight.” 

“Eight-fifty.” 

“Okay,” I said. And I cut off the tape that bound him.

I'm a writer...

But you wouldn't know it from how poorly I promote my work. I write mainstream books as well as MM erotica, but you wouldn't know it from how quiet I am about it. Friends and family are aware, as are some people on Facebook...but for the most part I do nothing to make anyone aware of what I've done.

I have a website for my mainstream books and I need to start talking about it. My books have something to say, and I need to start saying it out loud. Not worry that they might not be received or be misunderstood. I've had plenty of that with my MM books...and with The Lyons' Den.

This one, I think the dissing I got for it stemmed from people who couldn't get into the crazy writing style. Ace Shostakovich is telling the story, but he is a fictional detective developed by the main character, Daniel Bettancourt, and he's got a patois that is very off the wall. Plus, he's referencing Daniel's real-time thoughts, fears and concerns as well as memories. If you don't get into it by the third chapter, you never will.

It was an experiment in style that didn't really come together enough for just anyone to get into, and one I almost started to repeat with Dair's Window. But taking space from that story helped me see I was going about it all wrong. I want it accessible to any reader, not just a few.

I'll still have Adam telling Dair's story but not his own until much later in the book. We'll see what happens, there.

Meanwhile, I'm going to finish Taking Nicky as soon as I can. I'm probably halfway done with it, at 20,000 words. And it gets rough, in parts. Makes me uncomfortable.

Which is good.

I don't want to people...

After a lot of work at removing the smell of cigarettes from my clothes and things I brought back from San Antonio, I determined using Febreeze Air worked best at masking it. So I laundered everything after layering that on...and wouldn't you know everyone in the building wanted to do laundry, today.

I ran into other tenants left and right, and had to be pleasant when I just wanted to be left alone. But reality is, I wanted the smell of cigarettes out of my apartment more. So I tolerated them. Stayed polite. Did my thing and scurried back to my room. And life is back to normal.

Tomorrow, I am not leaving my space.

I did work more on Taking Nicky. Chapter Ten. And Rett is fucking with Ben in a different way...literal, but not...and I can see where this is heading. Vance is going to get involved, after all, and shut Rett's plans down, hard. I may even do the thing where Rett disappears and someone finds a video of him being used and abused and sold to a sheik in Saudi Arabia.

I don't know. The UAE might work better. Nobody really thinks about them. Or I might do nothing and have Rett pull back from his evil. I dunno...both seem like cop-outs.

I watched another Midsomer Murders on Acorn, and also saw the newest episode of My Life is Murder.

Cozy murder mysteries...just what one needs in a time of turmoil and travail...

Consistency is alien to me...

As if it hasn't been obvious from how all over the place my posts have been. This direction. That direction. Doing this. Doing that. Nevermind this. Nevermind that. All jumbled together in a meaningless goulash of thoughts and intentions and nothings.

I've always had a problem sticking with things to the end. I lose interest quickly and the only reason I've been able to get anything done is I get mad at myself. I look at how many times I tried to give up on A Place of Safety over the space of more than twenty-five years, and it took me finally being disgusted at my inaction that I finally wrote it all the way through.

Oh, and as whined about in my posts throughout, it was not an easy task.

I sometimes wonder if the reason I like writing MM noncon stories is because I can find some shift in them to keep me interested enough to complete them. Screenplays I would write because they were easy, really. Dialogue, action, story, three acts, nothing really too demanding. Let the actors and director find the interior bullshit. But even toi complete them, I had to fight myself, at times.

Of course, screenwriting was something I was never very good at, and even had a writer refuse to let me into a writing group she moderated because she felt I would be a detriment to the others. But wouldn't explain what that meant.

I feel like I've been flying blind my whole life, even when I had information and direction from my characters. That's the worst kind of blindness...trusting in the people in your head, not knowing their true intentions.

I just got a slap of that with Rett's rape of Liam and his threat to do the same to Ben. Not planned. Just came out. And TBH, the next step would be making those two disappear into a grave or something.

Which makes me very uncomfortable.

Home, once again...

Flew back to Buffalo on Southwest, and even though the first leg of my flight was delayed forty-five minutes, I made my connection since it was only four gates down from where we arrived.

I don't like Southwest's new system of assigning seats and no free checked baggage. They've become just another airline, so why bother with them? It's almost sad.

But the whole world is fucked up, right now. MAGAts getting more upset over Bad Bunny singing in Spanish at the Super Bowl than the thousands of women and children raped and trafficked by Jeffrey Epstein and his monsters is proof that too many of our species are morally bankrupt.

As am I, possibly. I worked on Taking Nicky, on the flights. Dropped about 1500 words and rewrote Rett's interaction with Ben and Liam into something quite vicious. Rett rapes Liam in front of Ben, and loves having done it. What that means to me is, I need a reason for Rett to start doing this. It's not enough for him to get pissy because a guy called him an asshole.

But I'm not so sure I can find an adequate excuse without needing to rework everything about him, so far. And that's already published online. So I'll be doing a lot of thinking about it.

Tomorrow is groceries; canceling my mail forwarding at the PO; figuring out how fucked up I am, financially; and working out a plan for my trip back to San Antonio, next month. I'm already set to go via Southwest, but I won't need to check a bag. This time I can just do carry-on...but from now on I'm looking at other options.

God I'm so happy to be home. My plants missed me.

Goddammit...

I don't like the direction Taking Nicky is going. Suddenly Vance is showing up and filling Rett in on how stupid he's being, planning to do a practice run on Smoke but also take a well-known model/actor. I wanted to have Vance get involved in a much more organic way, sneaking around in the shadows so you don't know what he's up to...

But now it's like the story is stepping back from being cold, cruel and vicious in order to be self-indulgent. Rett and Vance are chatting in a Hollywood Bistro and Vance already knows too much about what's going on, which would make Rett seriously wary of Ben and Liam. And rightfully so, since that's the only way he could have learned of Rett's plans.

I may need to cut 1500 words to regain my intentions...and maybe even restart the whole 9th chapter...

Or is it 8th?

Whatever. I just can't handle it, right now.

The get-together at Kelly's grave can't happen on the 23rd because a couple members of the family won't be able to make it. So they are shifting it to the 20th. I was expected to go along with this and change my ticket, but I won't. It may seem silly, but the 23rd is my mother's birthday, and that is when I want to be there.

I'm not going to pray or weep or anything. The notion that there is a God left me long ago, after I read the full bible, cover to cover. It's an amazingly horrific book in so many ways. The teachings of Jesus are good as a foundation for living a decent life, but it all really boils down to doing unto others as you want them to do unto you. Plain and simple.

But a guy in the sky who's capricious and sadistic? Count me out. I think once we die that's it.

But if there is a God, he'll need to ask my forgiveness for the evil he's allowed in the world.

Fukkk...

I was working on Taking Nicky, today, when things kept cropping up to distract me. Things dealing with my late brother's apartment, phone, and what to do with a lot of his things, as well as getting the hospital bed he was using collected, along with other items. 

So I'd just start getting into where the story wants to go...and have to break away. Once...twice...several times. Till I lost the plot. I'll see what I can do, tomorrow. It was going in an interesting direction...but one that may be too careful on my part. I do not want this to be a sacred piece. I want it cold and hard. 

This is what I did do...

--------

Instagram was my friend, here. Turned out Smoke’s actual name is Stephen Marlon Kratorski. My bet is he really got his nickname from his initials. He’d done the pro-sk8ter circuit and made it to the top ten. Been at it since he was eleven. Fifteen years. Now he was just a weekender and made his living as general manager of a skateboard manufacturer in Culver City. 

An image from a few weeks ago showed he’d beefed up a little, which actually looked really good on him. He still had those lovely pecs, partially hidden by a cut-out t-shirt, and fine legs, made even lovelier by cargo shorts that were a size too small for him, now.

His face filled in some, but with scruff on it he was almost beautiful...especially now that I got a good look at his eyes and mouth. He’d also added another tattoo to his left arm...a sk8ter boy on his sled, probably him from an earlier time.

The next thing I found was podcasts he was doing on YouTube and other platforms about making specialty skateboards. The why this way was better than that, sort of thing...and he had a lovely screen presence. Open and warm and a bit jokey, with a smile that promised heaven. 

During those clips, he wore an old LA Rams cap, backward, holding his longish russet hair out of his face. I had to check the previous video and saw in that his hair was a plain brown, so he'd colored it. Or washed it. Whichever. I was close to falling in more than lust for him and his best buddy looks, but also love. 

Which would make him a serious rival to my need for sleek little Nicky. 

There was very little about his wife and kids on the web; just that they were part of his life. I got more info about his current career. Seems one of the cable networks was bringing him on board as another of their reality shows. Which I could see happening...

So long as no one connected him to the molestation clips I’d seen. Thing about those was, enough of his face was hidden by the blindfold and gag, and his body was different enough, so that he had plausible deniability. And there was also the additional tattoo...and it looked like he’d altered the one he already had. With Georgie dead and the documents trashed...at least, I think they were trashed...then he was safe.

If not? Well...we'll just have to see.

So I decided the first thing I needed to do was find out what happened to Georgie's paperwork, and Ben and Liam were the ones to focus on.

Physical manifestations...

The last couple of days, while dealing with what little my brother had in his life, the next chapter of Taking Nicky has begun to take shape. Rett wants to do a trial run of his plan to kidnap Nicky and force Ben and Liam to assist. 

They decide to pull it with Smoke...whose real name is Stephen Maxwell Krasner. He's a guy Georgie paid to do a bondage/jack-off scene a few years earlier.

Only Smoke is married, now, has a couple of kids and works a regular job. It was one thing for him to go along with Georgie's servicing to make some money while being a sk8ter boi; it's another considering he's got a family...so he's not interested in anything more.

Only Rett doesn't care. He's fixated on Smoke and he is blackmailing Ben and Liam to help him get to the guy, anyway.

I think they're going to freak out and connect with Vance, a friends of Rett's, and ask for help to stop him. Instead, Vance uses them to get to Rett. He's long had a desire for Rett's ass, and here's his chance. Things snowball from there.

Thinking about this sort of story has kept my mind from getting lost in the death of my brother. That hasn't been easy, but a lot's been done and he's set to be cremated on Monday and interned on Thursday. It's all paid for...and it was not cheap.

My sister will represent the family at the internment, so I'm heading home on Sunday. We're going to have a gathering of the family at his grave on our mother's birthday, next month. I will have Taking Nicky fully written and posted, by then, and be working on Blood Angel.

I waste too much time just surfing the web and getting into useless arguments with the MAGAt Cult online. They are nothing but rabid dogs, and all you can do with such an animal is put it down.

And I don't mean verbally...and it's too bad that's not allowed...

So quiet...

This was my brother, Kelly, around the age of 21. Forty-three years ago. Capable. Confident. Musician. Before the world crushed him for God knows what reasons. Not drugs. Nothing criminal. Just casual destruction by the capriciousness of life.

He was wired differently from the rest of us. Extremely intelligent in some things; totally lost in others. And he had a temper that could be unforgiving while in force, then suddenly be gone. He and I went head to head more than once, but we were brothers and I cared for him in every way. Same for our sister.

When he could no longer find work, she and I made sure he had a place to live and money enough to exist. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for him and helped him maintain a level of independence and self-respect.

Now he is no longer of this world. The diagnosis of terminal cancer and months to live settled into him and he chose not to prolong his existence.

His struggles at the end were harsh and choking...but grew quieter and quieter until, even as my sister and I stood next to his bed, he slipped away without our notice. His soft breathing stopped. No pulse. Just...silence. It took several moments for us to realize he was gone.

One niece said he was on the spectrum, and that could be true. But we didn't have access to diagnoses like that when he was growing up. It might have made a difference in his difficult existence. Maybe. Guess we'll never know.

Sometimes life is really fucking cruel.

Standing watch...

 

This scene from I Remember Mama sanitizes what it means to watch someone dying...but it's close enough...

Suffice to say, Uncle Chris did not have cancer...

Kick in the ass...

Seeing my brother now, after I last saw him just two weeks ago, shows how severely he's been wasting away. If he weighs more than eighty pounds, I'd be surprised. And it's horrifying to watch.

And a reminder that when death has decided it's time to take you, it's time.

I'm ten years older than him. Granted, I've taken better care of myself, relatively speaking, and made certain to check in with health professionals to do better...while I'm nowhere near perfect with it.

But he did nothing. Wouldn't see a dentist till it was too late to save his teeth. Got one cataract removed but never went back for the other, even though our sister was paying for it. Smoked. Drank. Ate very little so was always rail thin...something I haven't been able to say about myself since college. Hadn't had a checkup in decades.

But he is emphasizing in me a realization that I won't have all that much time left, as mentioned in previous posts. I could have dropped dead this morning just trying to get from my hotel to the airport. They don't offer shuttle service, so I decided to walk the mile and a half.

That was a struggle, since there were no sidewalks along the roads leading to Austin's airport. And once at the car rental area, no signage telling me where my car was. And poor signage leading me to I-35 south. If I hadn't already known where I needed to go, I'd have been lost.

So I'm embracing my inner demons and accepting the direction Taking Nicky is going...threatening to kidnap and assault a man who's married and has kids as a trial run for Nicky's abduction. Rett even refers to himself as a father-fucker, now.

Good thing it's all fantasy...

I am so over JetBlue

Once, again, JetBlue is fucking me over. I'm heading to Austin from Buffalo, and changing planes in Fort Lauderdale...

...and the bastards have delayed my flight to Austin by 2.5 hours, putting me in after 1am. Car rental offices close at midnight, and it will be too late to get a shuttle to my hotel. I may have to walk.

My cunning plan was to drive a car one-way to San Antonio, tomorrow morning, but now I won't get down there till around 1 or 2pm instead of before noon. Because I won't get to bed till about 3am, my body clock time...at the earliest. Not a big deal, but it's an irritation I didn't need, right now.

JetBlue did this to me in Chicago, about a year ago. My flight from O'Hare to Buffalo kept getting delayed, so the second notification I received I checked Southwest, had points enough to go from Midway, so canceled the JetBlue flight and did SW. Got JB's costs back in travel funds, which I've used up all but $109.00 of...and may lose that if I don't book another flight by the 13th.

But I don't trust them, now. Southwest can have its issues, but nothing like this has ever happened with them. It has with United, twice, which is why I do not fly them if I have a choice. Now JB is on that list.

So I worked on Taking Nicky and uploaded chapter 8 to GayDemon. It should be available, tomorrow. But a recap... Rett is forcing Ben and Liam to procure him the young man he saw in one of Georgie's videos. Making them accomplices in a rape...and forcing them to help him with Nicky.

This went a wild direction, and I don't think Rett is fool enough to think Ben and Liam won't try to find a way out of the situation. He'll need to make them want to be part of it. He's already shown Ben how amazing a blowjob can be. Maybe weave more of the sexual beauty around them like a drug, of sorts. It could work...

I just need to remember this is not realistic. It's all fantasy, so I can get away with a lot if I just make it believable in the world of these lads. Which I'm trying to do.

Rett's also learned Ben and Liam are older than they claimed...except they never actually told him their ages. Hmm...he assumed because they looked young they were underage. I need to rethink that.

But I am kind of enjoying the way this story is working itself out.

Travel time

Heading back to San Antonio, tomorrow. Not sure what to expect. My brother is deteriorating, but that's all I know for certain. I don't want him to suffer, but at least I know he's got a solid regime of pain management through hospice. I guess we'll see what happens. Good thing is, this way I can give my sister and her husband a break from caring for him, for a bit.

Except...with all the snow, I'm not positive I'll get out of Buffalo, tomorrow. I have a three hour layover in Fort Lauderdale's airport, so have leeway if we leave late. But I finally got it through my thick skull that sometimes things are out of your control and you just deal with what happens. I got travel insurance on the flight. Hope it's not needed.

I posted chapter 7 of Taking Nicky on GayDemon...and it looks like Rett may have figured out a way to get the guy. He'll need help and has a good idea how to make Ben and Liam offer it. Maybe even a third as-yet unnamed dude. Not sure yet. Vance may not even be involved.

Reality is, I won't know how it's going to go till it's done. And no telling when it will be done during this trip. But it will be. And then I will turn back to Blood Angel. And then...Dair's Window.

At least, that's my plan, for now...

As usual...

Taking Nicky has shifted in a new direction and is becoming more complex and involved than I intended. I just wanted to write a quick MM story about a man's obsession turning into something criminal...and it's becoming more than that. Thanks to the characters.

Rett has found a secret room in his condo that was well-hidden between his office and the bathroom. His office used to be a small bedroom and he never paid attention to the fact that one wall didn't really line up with the bathroom's wall. Mainly because the wall in the bathroom had built in closet with shelves for towels and linens and such, hiding how much space was actually used.

In it? A mini editing suite with feeds from 9 tiny camera lenses set up around the bedroom and hidden in the molding. Which Rett hadn't bothered to have redone. There are DVDrs and an unfinished set of videos on the setup showing the man he thinks is Georgie, the prior owner of the condo, molesting a young man who's bound to a bed.

It's obvious what they're doing is pretending he's been kidnapped and is being molested. Rett even recognizes a tattoo on the guy as being one he's seen down at the skater park. So he starts to suspect Ben and Liam procured guys for Georgie to film. Get a blow job and make some cash.

He's now wondering if he's being set up by Ben and Liam...and it seems we're leading to those two knowing Vance. And letting Vance know of Rett's obsession with Nicky. And God only knows where it goes from there.

I have to take a moment and let it settle in my head. I'm not sure I like this direction. And not sure I don't like it. It's not as if I'm trying to write the great American novel, here...or even good porn. It's just an outlet...so my big concern now is to keep it from becoming too self-important.

Which Rett and Vance already don't like, and Ben and Liam think I'm being ridiculous about.

Coming soon...

I'm working up a new website for my adult books, and paying someone to do it properly. I can't really afford that, but it's needed and I've been putting it off too long. You see, I just don't know how the hell to do it right, and haven't the patience to learn.

I decided to keep the MM books completely separate from my mainstream ones to simplify promoting them. I'm not hiding anything; they all have my name on them and if you Google me, How to Rape a Straight Guy is one of the first things to come up. 

Now they're going to be under the KMSMM website name, and we'll see how it turns out.

The main deal is, I'm 73 years old. I don't need to hide anything anymore. Not even in this insane, fucked-up political climate.

I already knew enough about history to know that there has always been a sizable portion of mankind that is just plain cruel. Evil. Beastly. It shows throughout history, even from prehistoric times. Man is an animal, and like many animals has a streak of viciousness in him that cannot be removed. Only controlled...if they even want to.

This century has brought me to the understanding that probably 40% of humanity 1) does not care about anyone but themselves, 2) rejoices in the pain and suffering of those they do not like and 3) considers themselves the hierarchy of humanity. And me ever pretending some of that is not in me is really ridiculous.

I manage mine by writing books that let me vent it onto the page instead of hurting people. I've known for a while I have an unhealthy obsession with serial killers like John Wayne Gacy, Dean Corll, Randy Kraft and William Bonin. Writing books like Hunter, The Beast in the Nothing Room, and Underground Guy have given me an outlet for that obsession...which is relatively healthy...

Even as my stories grow darker and colder and crueler and my style grows more chatty and light. What can I say? I'm a psycho.

I love it when it snows...

...But only because I don't have to go out in it. Only, today I did, and it was a blizzard. Seriously. Took me half an hour to dig my car out so I could do what I needed to do. In a sharp wind that sent the snow sideways. Drove 5 miles an hour on snow-packed streets with other idiots out in it. And it's still snowing, out there.

But now I'm back in my cozy, warm apartment sipping hot tea and thinking about how to deal with new ideas for Taking Nicky. Suggestions made by the characters, for me to choose from.

Does Rett overpower Nicky, tie him up, take him to an isolated spot and rape him? It's what he wants to do but can't figure out how without eventually having to kill the guy to keep himself from being found out. And that's too stupid for him to do.

Does Rett find a way to drug Nicky and use him and record it, then use the recording to protect himself? You say anything and this is broadcast all over the world on YouTube. Not very reliable as a defense.

Does it turn out Nicky liked being forced into sex with Rett and now won't let him go? I've seen other stories like that, though, so not so sure it would work here.

Do Rett's buddies...Vance, Ben and Liam...find a way to become part of the assault on Nicky? Like find video he recorded years ago during a revenge rape. Not sure how to handle that.

Is Rett the one really being set up? He goes after Nicky but it's him who is wanted as the rape victim. Maybe as the eventual slave of an oligarch. Nicky's in on it with Vance, to help fund a movie? That's closer to fantasyland, but...

Decisions...decisions...

8th grade...

I reworked and fit Rett's school situation, when he stopped some bullies from bothering him into the story...

---------

You see, there’s something in my genetic makeup that kicks in, at times, and takes complete control of me. It’s like a switch that flicks on, starting up a maniacal focus mixed with a willingness to use violence to get my way. I first really paid attention to it in eighth grade. 

I used to doodle a lot, and wound up sketching women for the boys in my classes. Beautiful women. Anatomically correct...and very, very nude. Got those randy little shits feeling their testosterone. I’d sell them for a dollar and did okay business. 

But then two schoolyard bullies...Kenneth and Leo...got hold of one and threatened to turn me into the principal if I didn't give them half of what I made. 

I told them, "Go ahead." Automatic, on my part. Nobody blackmails me, even at the age of fourteen. 

So they did, and I got into huge trouble. Dragged into the principal's office. My folks were brought in. I was called a pornographer and horrible and needed to rethink my path in life and on and on. Slapped me with a two week suspension, and I was told if I was caught doing it, again, I’d be expelled. 

As if that would be a punishment. 

I hated that school. So I said nothing in response. Wouldn’t have made any difference, anyway. I loved those two weeks off. 

We were living in Fontana, at the time, thanks to my dad’s work at the airport. I had to ride a school bus since my folks were both deep into working and couldn’t take me. Half the brats on that bus were complete dicks to me because I wasn’t a cool kid, nor all that built up, back then, and I read a lot. That made me more nerd than they approved of. 

As for the teachers, they all wanted to make sure I understood that I was not living up to my potential, even though I was getting As and Bs... Well, except in art class. That dick hated everything I did and often used it as an example of what not to do...like a drawing of boots in a desert should minimize the shadows. Minimize shadows under a desert sun? Seriously? So it Cs only, there...which is part of the reason I shifted my focus to writing. Got As in English. 

Anyway, when 1 returned Kenneth and Leo and their little pack started in on me. Verbal harassment. Physical. That included one girl who rode the same school bus as me. She and I had ignored each other, since she got on the bus before me en route to school and had her clique of mean girls to be with on the trip home. But then she started getting on after me in the afternoon and as she passed would smack me on the head with a ring she wore. It had a large, sharp rhinestone on it which she'd shift around to her palm side, to hide what she was doing. 

I told her to stop. 

She wouldn't.

So come Friday when she did it, again, I smacked her in the side. She hit me again and I smacked her, again. And again. This continued until blood trailed down my face. She yelped and quickly moved away to be with her clique, giggling nervously. 

I just felt for the cut and pressed on it to stop the bleeding. 

Fucking bus driver did nothing about it. 

When my mother got home she freaked out over the blood on my shirt and backpack, but I wouldn’t tell her what happened. I had locked into this anger and revenge mode. And quickly worked out exactly what to do to Kenneth and his pack, on Monday. 

The day came. 

The pack of bullies swarmed me in a hallway, howling and threatening and snarling... 

Until Kenneth shoved me against the lockers. He hadn’t noticed I had a nice, sharp #2 pencil in my hand. I jerked my arm up and rammed it into the back of his left bicep. Tore in at an angle, and stuck. 

It was beautiful. Blood flew. Howls of pain. Students screamed. Teachers rushed over. A chaos of voices roared over each other as Kenneth showed them his arm and his pack pointed at me. 

He was carted off to the nurse’s station while I was hauled into the principal's office and told I was going to jail for assault. 

But this time I played the wide-eyed innocent and said, “It was an accident. He shoved me and my arm jerked, that’s all.” 

The principal didn’t believe me...until one teacher who'd actually seen it but was doing nothing to stop it was dumb enough to say, "He didn't shove you that hard." 

Which backed my claim up. As did the security cam that caught it all. No charges filed. Still a two-week suspension. But after that, the bullies left me alone. 

Probably because I whispered to Leo the first day I was back, “Next one goes in an eye.” 

Nicky flicked the switch on that attitude when he pulled his first asshole stunt while zooming past me on the bike pathway. It wasn’t overwhelming, yet, not like it could be. But it grew and expanded every time I saw him swooshing past and being his usual dickish self...

Until taking him enveloped me.

Distractions ending?

I've begun posting chapters of Taking Nicky on GayDemon.com. Have three up. If you want to read them, you're welcome to. It's free. They just will not be suitable for under 18, at all, and have some serious MM-noncon in them. But I'm using them as my therapy.

I'm going to try and get that novella done before I return to San Antonio. I have 13,300 words done and figure it will be about double that. I'll have access to good WiFi at my brother's apartment; I just don't know what kind of time or focus I'll be allowed.

Once this is done, I'm turning to finishing Blood Angel, my gay vampire series of stories. It's been on a back burner for too long and I want it finished. Now. 

In fact, I feel the need to complete everything I started. No more new stories.

So there's also completing Darian's Point as a book, Dair's Window and The Murder of a Quiet Man. Four total projects...well, five if I include TN...which will take me a while. But it's start now or start never, and never is not really an option.

Be interesting to see how long I can keep to this...

Too much going on...

My brother is at home with hospice coming in 3 times a week to work with him. Make him comfortable. And he seems to have calmed down a lot. He has good moments and bad, but the wild swings seem to have settled except for one thing...he won't eat.

I don't think it's right to make him do what he doesn't want to do. His cancer is terminal. He's not a candidate for chemo or surgery. So my thought is to just handle any pain and let things take their course.

My sister is dealing with this almost completely on her own. She's got some help from her husband and a nephew, but overall it's been on her. I'll do what I can to take over when I go down, giving her a break from it. But I don't know how much I can do. Guess we'll see.

The murder of Alex Pretti is also weighing on me, because the lack of full and complete pushback by Democratic leaders just confirms in my heart and soul that America is morally bankrupt. To allow the ICE thugs who shot that man nearly a dozen times as he lay on the ground...after he tried to help a woman they had attacked...to just walk away is depraved beyond belief.

I can't accept it. I can't handle it. I don't know what to do in response to it. The life I'd taken for granted in America is shattered...and I'm at a loss. The billionaire class has manipulated the MAGAt Cult into becoming their attack hounds, and they seem to be winning the battle. Good does not triumph here. It can't. Not enough people want it to.

I've tried to work on Taking Nicky, and did get a little more done, but finally just gave in, set up my laptop to play some Midsomer Murder mysteries and ironed my shirts and pants from weeks worth of laundry. Kept my mind off everything for a little bit.

It snowed all day, but now the clouds are gone and the half-moon is visible. Whatever happens won't be the end of the world...just the end of our lies about ourselves being decent human beings.

My world is at an end...and restarting...

ICE murdered another civilian in Minneapolis...an RN at the VA who was trying to help a woman they'd shoved to the ground...and Felon47's monsters are lying about it. He was pepper sprayed, pummeled by 6 of them and then shot point blank several times. And the MAGAt Cult is celebrating it...the motherfuckers...

Obviously, none of my screaming on Xitter and Instagram has done a bit of good, nor has contacting my reps. They're all cowards unwilling to do anything...though Schumer, one of my senators, finally said he won't let a funding bill go through, now.

How fucking brave and principled.

American is morally bankrupt. We let things get to this point, where this new gestapo is committing murder with impunity, because it was just too much trouble to stop it...and I don't know if we will be able to rebuild from this.

I shifted a lot of my anger into Taking Nicky and added nearly 3000 words...leading up to a point where Rett is going to show just how he gets even with a man who's wronged him. I'm going to have the target be a MAGAt POS to make it even sweeter.

I'm only going to publish this story for free, on GayDemon. I don't feel the need to spend money on it and just want it out there to be read, when I'm done. I may do that with the rest of Blood Angel, too.

Oh, Neptune Society doesn't work in Buffalo. So I may just ask to have my ashes strewn in the water off Catalina, once I die. Needs a VS-9 permit and has certain regulations to follow, but it's doable. Might even be able to hire a Cremated Remains Disposer to do it for us.

More bullshit to look into.

Shit, shit, and more shit...

This was one of those days where I had to deal with too much shit. Insurance refusing to cover lab work done...that is approved by Medicare, so they can't refuse it. Then changing and telling me they didn't get the doctor to respond to a request for more information. 

Getting the doctor's office to agree to look into it was fun. But it's that or I pay over $1000. All while Quest is ignoring me and won't let me get through when I try to call. I get the We're busy, call back bullshit.

And there's the ongoing saga of that car wreck I had just over a month ago...but which may finally be getting settled.

I'm also trying to get a funeral home to tell me whether or not they will work with the Neptune Society to take my ashes, once I'm gone. Not planning to kick the bucket for a while, but preparation is good. My brother's cremation and internment will cost close to $10,000 once he's gone, half of which I'm paying.

And he's also being difficult to deal with, despite hospice being there. Caused another trip to the ER to reinstate a drainage tube he pulled out of his right kidney. My sister is handling him.

So I went to a grocery store nearby, had an Avocado Roll I like there, got a couple things to take care of me when the next snow storm hits, and toodled home.

I worked a bit on Taking Nicky, mainly reworking what I'd already written and adding to it. I'm now at just over 7500 words, and it's become more vicious than I thought it would be. And fun. Rett is now wondering how he's going to get Nicky, no whether or not he should.

I really enjoyed Murder Before Evensong, despite not quite believing the reveal...though it did still affect me. Matthew Lewis was lovely as Canon Clement, and the script nicely paced. The acting on a good level, and the gay subplot well-handled.

I did think a few times the story was edging close to having Daniel and DS Neil Vanloo connect, which probably would have been to much...but I enjoyed their near flirting.

Night off.

 I'm watching a cozy British murder mystery on Acorn -- Murder Before Evensong. It's set in 1988 and is actually very well-done. Matthew Lewis is Canon Daniel Clement and I'm liking him as one of the investigators. It's 6 episodes, each about 40-45 minutes long, so I bingeing it. I need a break from the reality of the world.

Needless to say, Matthew lewis developed quite nicely from being Neville Longbottom in the Harry Potter series.

Rett's psychotic makeup...

I'm going to give Rett free rein to see what he does, thanks to this.

-------

You see, there’s some part of my genetic makeup that sometimes kicks in and takes complete control of me. It’s like a switch that flicks on, starting up a brutal stubbornness mixed with a willingness to use violence to get my way. 

I first really paid attention to it in eighth grade. I used to doodle a lot, and wound up sketching women for the boys in my classes. Beautiful women. Anatomically correct...and very, very nude. I’d sell them for a dollar and did okay business. 

But then two schoolyard bullies...Kenneth and Leon...got hold of one and threatened to turn me into the principal if I didn't give them half of what I made. 

I told them, "Go ahead." 

So they did, and I got into huge trouble. Dragged into the principal's office. My folks were brought in. I was called a pornographer and horrible and needed to rethink my path in life and on and on. Slapped me with a two week suspension, and I was told if I was caught doing it, again, I’d be expelled. As if that would be a punishment. 

I said nothing in response. Wasn’t going to make any difference. 

I loved those two weeks off because I hated that school. We were living in Fontana, at the time, thanks to dad's job at the airport. I had to ride a school bus since my folks were both deep into working and couldn’t take me. 

Half the kids on that bus were complete dicks to me because I wasn’t all that built up, back then, and read a lot. That made me more nerd than they approved of. And the teachers all wanted to make sure I understood that I had lots of potential, even though I was getting As and Bs... 

Well, except in art class. That dick hated everything I did and often used it as an example of what not to do...like a drawing of boots in a desert should minimize the shadows. Cs only, there...which is part of the reason I shifted my focus to writing. Got As in English. 

Anyway, when 1 returned Kenneth and Leon started in on me. Verbal harassment. Physical. They had a pack that included one girl who rode the same bus as me. She and I had ignored each other, since she got on the bus before I did en route to school and had her clique of mean girls to be with on the trip home. 

But then she started getting on after me, at the school, and as she passed would smack me on the head with a ring she wore. It had a large, sharp rhinestone on it which she'd shift around to her palm side, to hide what she was doing. I told her to stop. She wouldn't, so come Friday when she did it, again, I smacked her in the side. She hit me again and I smacked her, again. And again. 

This continued until blood trailed down my face. She quickly moved away to be with her clique, giggling nervously. I just felt for the cut and pressed on it to stop the bleeding. 

Fucking bus driver did nothing about it. 

When I got home, my mother freaked out over the blood, but I wouldn’t tell her what happened. I was locked into anger and revenge mode. And quickly worked out exactly what to do to Kenneth and his pack, on Monday. 

The day came. The pack of bullies surrounded me in a hallway, howling and threatening and snarling until Kenneth shoved me. 

He hadn’t noticed I had a nice, sharp #2 pencil in hand. I jerked my arm up and rammed it into the back of his left bicep. Tore in at an angle, and stuck. 

Blood flew. Screams of pain brought teachers over. A chaos of voices howled over each other as Kenneth showed them his arm and other students freaked out. 

He was carted off to the nurse’s station while I was hauled into the principal's office and told I was going to jail for assault. But this time I played the wide-eyed innocent and said, “It was an accident. He shoved me and my arm jerked, that’s all.” 

The principal didn’t believe me...until one teacher who'd actually seen it but was doing nothing to stop it...was dumb enough to say, "He didn't shove you that hard." Which backed my claim up. 

As did the security cam that caught it all. 

No charges filed. Still a two-week suspension. But after that, the bullies left me alone. Especially when I whispered to Leon the next time I saw him, “Next one goes in an eye.” 

Nicky flicked the switch on that attitude when he pulled his first asshole stunt while zooming past me on the bike pathway. Not overwhelming, yet, but it grew and expanded every time I saw him swooshing past and being a dick...until taking him was my one real focus. 

Oh, I was still able to write and network like other people in the business. But Vance noticed a new edge to my script-work. A tension that wasn’t there, anymore. It’s probably what got my latest script sold and put into production...a revenge thriller with a female protagonist and some very hot sex scenes between her and the man she’s using to get to the assholes who raped and killed her sister. The director is already talking about taking it as close to NC17 as he can without losing an R rating. 

So I was getting ready to take Nicky. Even though I knew once I did I’d be going to hell on the wings of Satan.

Paperwork and bills...

A couple weeks worth that needed to be dealt with. Car accident. Insurance screw-up with Quest. Researching charitable organizations that might help with my brother's hospice care. Updating my bank book and figuring I'm pretty screwed. Lovely times.

Tax season is coming up and I'm tempted to just ignore it. I don't want my money going to help that maniac in the White House do Putin's dirty work in destroying what held the world together for decades. What we had wasn't perfect, but wrecking it for a dictator is no way to improve it.

Rett is getting a glimmer of just how crazy his idea is, kidnapping Nicky to use as his own. And realizes he's always had this streak in him of brutal stubbornness mixed with a willing to use violence to fight back.

It stems from a time in 8th grade, when he used to write sexy stories and sell them for a dollar to other boys in the school. Two schoolyard bullies got one of the stories and threatened to turn him into the principal if he didn't give them half of what he made. He told them, "Go ahead."

So they did, and he got into huge trouble. Dragged into the principal's office. His parents were brought in. He was called a pornographer. He said nothing in response. Then he was told if he was caught doing it, again, he'd be expelled instead of merely suspended for two weeks.

He loved those two weeks off because he hated that school, but when he returned the bullies started in on him. A pack that included one girl who rode the same bus as him. Going home, she'd get on after he did then would smack him in the head with a ring she wore. It had a large, sharp rhinestone on it wwhich she'd shift around to her palm side, to hide what she was doing..

He told her to stop. She wouldn't, so come Friday when she did it, again, he smacked her in the side. She hit him again and he smacked her, again. This continued until blood trailed down his face. When he got home, he said nothing about it, even as his mother freaked out of the blood.

Monday, the pack of bullies surrounded him and howled and threatened and snarled until the lead one pushed him...not noticing Rett had a sharp pencil in his hand. He jerked his arm and rammed the pencil into the boy's left bicep. 

Blood flew. Screams of pain brought teachers over. Rett was hauled into the principal's office and told he was going to jail for assault. But this time he said it was an accident. The bully had shoved him and his arm jerked, that was all. And one teacher who'd actually seen...it but was doing nothing to stop it...was dumb enough to say, "He didn't shove you that hard."

Which backed Rett's claim up. No charges filed. Still a two-week suspension. But after that, the bullies left him alone.

Nicky flicks the switch on that attitude, in Rett, when he pulls an asshole stunt while zooming past on the bike pathway. Nothing major...but just enough.

And then it's to hell in a handbasket.

Going home.

Back home, finally, nearly 2 hours late. Snow everywhere. Sub-freezing temperatures. And I was dumbshit enough to listen to a voice in my head tell e to take my car to get to the airport. So it’s been parked for 2 weeks at $15 a day. And I’m already in deep shit financially. 

I had to go home to handle that car wreck’s last legal demands, and get a refill on my medications as well as just decompress. Seems only my sister and one nephew are doing anything about helping in this situation. 

The cancer is spreading faster than expected so that needs to be faced. Meaning the costs of the cremation and burial will be due soon, and my other brother is not willing to put in a penny. He’s been asked; he’s just ignoring it like he did when our mother died.

I hate family, sometimes. I’ve channeled some of my anger and frustration into Taking Nicky. It’s a slow build to the kidnapping and rape of the title character, with little segues along the way. 

One involves Rett nearly raping Ben, who’s just turned 18. He asks for a blowjob =as his birthday present so Rett gives him one, to the hundredth degree and would have forced his dick into Ben’s mouth except he’d put a gag over it. Shakes Ben up...but sets the stage for future situations.

Of which there will be many. This will wind up probably as a long-form novella, like HTRASG did. Just over 50K in wordage.

Still haven’t got a clue as to how it will end, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it?